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diff --git a/43656-0.txt b/43656-0.txt index 6eeb428..2a2f566 100644 --- a/43656-0.txt +++ b/43656-0.txt @@ -1,39 +1,4 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Works of Samuel Johnson, LL.D., in Nine -Volumes, Volume the Second, by Samuel Johnson - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - - - - -Title: The Works of Samuel Johnson, LL.D., in Nine Volumes, Volume the Second - The Rambler, Volume I - - -Author: Samuel Johnson - - - -Release Date: September 6, 2013 [eBook #43656] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON, -LL.D., IN NINE VOLUMES, VOLUME THE SECOND*** - - -E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram, David Garcia, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) - - +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 43656 *** Oxford English Classics. @@ -18425,363 +18390,4 @@ END OF VOL. II. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - - - - -Title: The Works of Samuel Johnson, LL.D., in Nine Volumes, Volume the Second - The Rambler, Volume I - - -Author: Samuel Johnson - - - -Release Date: September 6, 2013 [eBook #43656] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON, -LL.D., IN NINE VOLUMES, VOLUME THE SECOND*** - - -E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram, David Garcia, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) - - - -Oxford English Classics. - -DR. JOHNSON'S WORKS. -THE RAMBLER. -VOL. I. - -Talboys and Wheeler, Printers, Oxford. - - -THE WORKS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL.D. -IN NINE VOLUMES. - -VOLUME THE SECOND. - -[Illustration: DOMINUS ILLUMINATIO MEA] - - - - - - - - -Oxford: -Published by Talboys and Wheeler; -and W. Pickering, London. -MDCCCXXV. - - - - -PREFATORY NOTICE - - -An attentive consideration of the period at which any work of moral -instruction has appeared, and of the admonitions appropriate to the state -of those times, is highly necessary for a correct estimate of the merits -of the writer. For to quote the judicious remarks of one of our earlier -Essayists[1], "there is a sort of craft attending vice and absurdity; -and when hunted out of society in one shape, they seldom want address -to reinsinuate themselves in another: hence the modes of licence vary -almost as often as those of dress, and consequently require continual -observation to detect and explode them anew." The days in which the -Rambler first undertook to reprove and admonish his country, may be -said to have well required a moralist of their own. For the modes of -fashionable life, and the marked distinction between the capital and -the country, which drew forth the satire, and presented scope for the -admonitions of the Spectator and the Tatler, were then fast giving place -to other follies, and to characters that had not hitherto subsisted. The -crowd of writers[2], whatever might be their individual merit, who offered -their labours to the public, between the close of the Spectator and the -appearance of the Rambler, had contributed, in a most decided manner, -towards the diffusion of a taste for literary information. It was no -longer a coterie of wits at Button's, or at Will's, who, engrossing all -acquaintance with Belles Lettres, pronounced with a haughty and exclusive -spirit on every production for the stage or the closet; but it was a -reading public to whom writers now began to make appeal for censure -or applause. That education which the present day beholds so widely -spread had then commenced its progress; and perhaps it is not too bold -to say, that Johnson almost foresaw the course that it would run. He saw -a public already prepared for weightier discussions than could have been -understood the century before. In addition to a more general education, -the improved intercourse between the remotest parts of the country and -the metropolis made all acquainted with the dissipation and manners, -which, during the publication of the Spectator, were hardly known beyond -the circle where they existed. The pages of that incomparable production -were therefore perused by general readers, as well for the gratification -of curiosity, as for the improvement of morals. The passing news of the -day, the tattle of the auction or the Mall, the amusing extravagances of -dress, and the idle fopperies of fashion, topics that excited merriment -rather than detestation, were those most judiciously selected to allure -a nation to read. Addison and Steele therefore in their age acted wisely; -their cotemporaries would have been driven[3] "by the sternness of the -Rambler's philosophy to more cheerful and airy companions." The pages -of the Tatler were enlivened by foreign and domestic politics, by the -current scandal of the town, and by easy critiques on the last new play; -by advertisements of "orangerie for beaux[4]," and by prescriptions for -the cure of love-sickness or the spleen. The Guardian uttered forth his -moral lessons from the wide and voracious mouth of an imaginary lion, -whose roarings were to have influence[5] "for the purifying of behaviour -and the bettering of manners." But for Johnson was reserved a different -task, and one for which his powers and the natural bent of his mind -were peculiarly fitted. He disdained, as derogatory from the dignity of -a teacher, to thus humour trifling minds, and to barter by idle conceits -for the reception of his precepts. His aim was not to amuse but to -instruct, not to ridicule the frivolities of fashion, but to lash the -enormities of guilt. He resolved to write a book in which nothing should -be flattered that men had agreed to flatter, and in which no tenderness -should be shown to public prejudice or to private folly[6]. In pursuance -of this deep and solemn purpose we accordingly find him imploring -assistance in his labours from that "Giver of all good things, without -whose help all labour is ineffectual, and without whose grace all wisdom -is folly[7]." - -The Rambler was published on Tuesday March 20, 1749-50, and appeared -without intermission every Tuesday and Saturday until March 14, 1752, -on which day it closed[8]. The Author was not exhausted nor weary; his -latter pages do not fall off; perhaps, without partiality, we may say, -that he evidently gathered strength as he proceeded in his work. But -prepared as the age had been by preceding writers, it was not enlightened -to an extent adequate to the universal reception of truths so abstract -and so spoken out[9]; it could not comprehend within its reach of sight -such bold and broad sketches of human nature. In the sententious and -didactic papers of the Rambler, where truth appears "towering and -majestic, unassisted and alone[10]," lighter readers missed with regret -the sportive variety of his predecessors. We can adduce perhaps no -stronger proof of Johnson's elevation above his times, than the fact -that the meagre, common-place, and jejune paper of Richardson, was the -only one that obtained an immediate popularity[11]. The sale of the Rambler -seldom exceeded five hundred; while it is on record that twenty thousand -Spectators were sometimes sold in a day[12]. But Johnson wrote not for -his own generation alone, but for posterity, and posterity will pay him -his meed of immortality. - -The Rambler, with some trivial exceptions, is the work of a single -and unaided author, who composed it during his performance of a task -which had fatigued "united academies and long successions of learned -compilers[13]." He wrote, as he pathetically describes himself, "under the -pressure of disease, obstructed by constitutional indolence, and when -much of his time was spent in provision for the day that was passing -over him[14]." The only contributions in aid of his work, all of which -he acknowledges in his concluding Rambler, were the following papers. - -In Number 10, the four billets were written by Miss Mulso, daughter -of Thomas Mulso, Esq. who came of an ancient family at Twywell, -Northamptonshire. She is better known to the public as Mrs. Chapone. The -above articles are said to have been her first literary productions[15]. - -For Number 30. Dr. Johnson was indebted to Miss Catherine Talbot, only -daughter of the Rev. Edward Talbot, Archdeacon of Berks, and Preacher at -the Rolls. She was provided for, by the liberal bequest of Archbishop -Secker, with whom she had chiefly resided; and her composition in -the Rambler, like all her other works, breathes a spirit of piety -characteristic of her exemplary patron and protector. - -Numbers 44 and 100 were contributed by Mrs. Elizabeth Carter, the justly -celebrated translator of Epictetus, whose eminence in literature was -only surpassed by her amiable deportment in the milder duties of domestic -life[16]. Richardson, the author of Clarissa, Pamela, &c. wrote Number 97, -to which allusion has already been made. The second letter, signed Amicus, -in Number 107, was from an unknown correspondent. - -The rest of the Rambler was produced by one mind, whose resources were -developed, but not exhausted, by the work. To give a history of its -progress; to record the praises with which it was at once greeted by the -philosophic reader[17]; the empty clamour which the light, the ignorant, -and envious raised against it; the editions through which it has passed; -the countries through which it has been circulated, and the effects which -it has produced on our national style, would be among the most interesting -of researches, but the detail would be incompatible with the limits of -a Preface. Every little particular connected with it has been again -and again canvassed with that admiration or hostility which only great -works can call forth. The very title has afforded ground for censure, -for licentious imitation[18], and for acrimonious abuse. "The Rambler," -says the sprightly Lady Montague, "is certainly a strong misnomer[19]: -he always plods in the beaten road of his predecessors, following the -Spectator (with the same pace a pack-horse would do a hunter) in the -style that is proper to lengthen a paper." A formal refutation of so -flippant a charge would equal in ludicrous absurdity the attack itself. -The passage is merely quoted in evidence of the literature of the -times. For if so lively and acute a writer could so far overlook the -design and plan of the Rambler, what could be expected from his less -cultivated readers? The Italians have rendered it by Il Genio errante, -and most unhappily by Il Vagabondo.[20] Its adoption was an instance of -our Author's lofty contempt of the class who could not understand his -meaning. "I sat down at night," he observed to Sir Joshua Reynolds, "upon -my bed side, and resolved that I would not sleep till I had fixed its -title. The Rambler seemed the best that occurred, and I took it." He was -then in no trifling mode of mind. He felt himself "a solitary wanderer in -the wild of life, without any direction or fixed point of view; a gloomy -gazer on a world to which he bore little relation.[21]" This description -of himself he gave under the oppressive remembrance of a particular -privation: but he long before most deeply felt the "bitterness of being." -He felt his own misery, and, thoroughly convinced that man was miserable, -he boldly announced his conviction. - -A belief has circulated, almost as widely as Johnson's writings, -of his hurried and slovenly manner of composition. He has been -represented by Boswell himself, as sending his papers to the press, -and never afterwards even perusing them. With regard to the Rambler, -this opinion is directly opposed to fact. The labour which he bestowed -on its revision, betokened the most anxious zeal for its utility.[22] -He almost _re-wrote_ it. A comparison of the original folio Rambler, -with the copies now in circulation, would prove the nearly literal -accuracy of this assertion. Mr. Chalmers, in his British Essayists, -and Dr. Drake in his Essays on the Rambler, have given specimens.[23] -It may perhaps be equally satisfactory to state that the alterations -exceeded six thousand. Wherever Johnson laboured, amendment and excellence -must have ensued. And on the Rambler no labour was misapplied; for its -usefulness is universal. There is scarcely a situation in life for the -regulation of which some right rule may not thence be drawn. It does -not glitter to the vulgar eye, but it is a deep mine, where, if we must -labour, yet our labours are rewarded with the richest ore. - -A varied knowledge of character is the first requisite for a teacher -of moral prudence.[24] This was among Johnson's most early attainments, -for his was not that mere "lip-wisdom which wants experience.[25]" He -was not the recluse scholar, unacquainted with the world and its ways, -but he could from actual survey describe, with equal fidelity, those who -sparkled in the highest order of society, and those who struggled with -distress in the lower walks of life. His study was peculiarly man: and -his comprehensive and generalizing mind led him to analyze the primary -elements of human nature, rather than nicely to pourtray the shades of -mixed character. - -Mrs. Piozzi's assignments have perhaps little better foundation in fact -than the sage conjectures of the Rumford club,[26] who fondly imagined -themselves to be the only _Ridicules_ in the world. "Not only every man," -observes the Rambler, "has in the mighty mass of the world great numbers -in the same condition with himself, to whom his mistakes and miscarriages, -escapes and expedients, would be of immediate and apparent use; but -there is such an uniformity in the state of man, considered apart from -adventitious and separable decorations and disguises, that there is -scarce any possibility of good or ill but is common to human kind." - -Whether his view of our condition on earth was too gloomy or not, may -be agitated as a question without any impeachment of his sincere desire -to correct our faults, and to soothe our sorrows. For although other -philosophers have deplored human weaknesses and errors, and other -satirists have derided human follies, yet few have sympathized with -the wretched and the guilty with the same warm-hearted benevolence as -Johnson. He was indeed himself, as he has described another, - - Officious, innocent, sincere, - Of every friendless name the friend.[27] - -His own temperament was morbidly melancholy, but his writings contain -the best antidotes against that pitiable affection. He ridicules it when -indulged on occasion of each chance and trivial annoyance; he scorns -it as "hypocrisy of misery," when assumed by those little-minded beings -who complain for the luxury of pity: and he proposes the most salutary -remedies for it, when a real and deeply-seated malady, in active and in -honorable enterprise.[28] Above all he ever presses upon his readers, -from a view of the transitory nature of mortal enjoyment, the wisdom of -resting their hopes on the fixed prospects of futurity. - -Rousseau has been termed "the apostle of affliction." But his -conviction of the emptiness of honours and of fame, and his contempt -of the accidental distinctions of riches and of rank, led him to place -all man's possible enjoyment, and to look for the only solace of his -inevitable wretchedness, in the instant indulgence of appetite; while -his genius unhappily enabled him to throw a seductive halo around the -merest gratifications of sense. - - Here the self-torturing sophist, wild Rousseau, - The apostle of affliction, he who threw - Enchantment over passion, and from woe - Wrung overwhelming eloquence, first drew - The breath that made him wretched; yet he knew - How to make madness beautiful, and cast - O'er erring deeds and words a heavenly hue - Of words, like sunbeams, dazzling as they past - The eyes which o'er them shed tears feelingly and fast. - - _Childe Harold, Canto 3, Stanza 77._ - -This description was drawn by a bard who, not prejudiced against the -lover of the New Heloise, still keenly saw the practical effects which his -philosophy wrought in the mass of society, and how it tended to debase our -moral and intellectual natures.[29] Byron well knew, and needed not to be -told, that Rousseau's sentimentality was but a highly polished instinct; -though, like the scornful and unpitying Democritus,[30] he would bitterly -smile amidst the tombs, where man's pride and pleasures were alike laid -desolate. But Johnson sought to alleviate the woes over which he wept; -and no one ever sunk in sensuality from a despondency produced by his -lamentations over human misery. In none of his varied writings has he -lured others from the paths of virtue, or smoothed the road of perdition, -or covered with flowers the thorns of guilt, or taught temptation sweeter -notes, softer blandishments, or stronger allurements.[31] He never -smiles, like Boileau, at vice, as if half pleased with the ludicrous -images it impresses on his fancy; nor, with Swift, does he mangle human -nature, and then scowl with a tyrant's exultation on the wounds he has -inflicted.[32] He bemoans our miseries with the tender pity of a Cowper, -who, in warning us of life's grovelling pursuits and empty joys, seeks, -by withdrawing us from their delusive dominion, to prepare us for -"another and a better world." - - * * * * * - -[Footnote 1: The Champion by Fielding. 1741. 12mo. vol. i. p. 258.] - -[Footnote 2: Dr. Drake, in his Essays on the Rambler, &c. enumerates -eighty-two periodical papers published during that period. For the -comparative state of female literature, see Dr. Johnson himself, in -Rambler 173.] - -[Footnote 3: Rambler, Number 208.] - -[Footnote 4: Tatler, Number 94.] - -[Footnote 5: Guardian, Numbers 98. 114. 124. 140.] - -[Footnote 6: Chalmers' Preface to the Idler; British Essayists, vol. -xxxiii.] - -[Footnote 7: Prayer on the Rambler.] - -[Footnote 8: See Boswell's Life of Dr. Johnson, vol. i. and Chalmers' -Preface to Rambler.] - -[Footnote 9: Precepts of morality, besides the natural corruption of our -tempers, are abstracted from ideas of sense.--ADDISON.] - -[Footnote 10: Rambler, Number 96.] - -[Footnote 11: This fact was communicated, on the authority of Mr. Payne, -(the original publisher of the Rambler,) by Mr. Nichols to Mr. Chalmers. - -See Dr. Drake's Literary Life of Dr. Johnson in his Essays on the Rambler, -&c. - -His Rambler, which is almost all essence of thought, unalloyed by those -baser ingredients which so commonly add to the quantity without adding to -the worth of human compositions, experienced at first a general coldness, -discouragement, and even censure and ridicule. Censura Literaria, -vol. viii. p. 361, first edition.] - -[Footnote 12: Addisoniana, 12mo. vol. ii. p. 52.] - -[Footnote 13: Plan of an English Dictionary.] - -[Footnote 14: Preface to the English Dictionary.] - -[Footnote 15: Chalmers' Prefaces to Rambler and Adventurer.] - -[Footnote 16: Boswell, vol. i. iii. and iv.] - -[Footnote 17: Student, vol. ii. number entitled Clio. 1750. Gentleman's -Magazine of the day. Mrs. Barbauld's Correspondence of Richardson. Dr. -Young was among the first and warmest admirers of the Rambler. See -Boswell, vol. i.] - -[Footnote 18: We allude to the infamous Rambler's Magazine, which, little -to the credit of the morality of the times, has lately been allowed to -spread anew its pestilential influence.] - -[Footnote 19: Works, 8vo. vol. iv. p. 259. See also the Edinburgh Review -for July, 1803.] - -[Footnote 20: Boswell's Life, vol. iii. and Chalmers on Rambler. Essayists, -vol. xix. See also Idler, No. 1. at the commencement.] - -[Footnote 21: In a letter to Mr. Thomas Warton, speaking of the death of -Dodsley's wife, and in allusion to the loss of his own, he concludes -with a quotation where pathos and resignation are blended, - - [Greek: Oimoi; ti d' oimoi? Thnêta gar peponthamen]. BOSWELL, vol. i.] - -[Footnote 22: Chalmers, as above, and Dr. Drake.] - -[Footnote 23: Mr. Chalmers gives No. 180. of the Rambler, and Dr. Drake -some paragraphs from No. 185.] - -[Footnote 24: This opinion is maintained in the Rambler, No. 129. and in -Boswell's Life, vol. iii.] - -[Footnote 25: Sidney.] - -[Footnote 26: See her Anecdotes and Rambler, 188. note.] - -[Footnote 27: Stanzas on the death of Mr. Levet.] - -[Footnote 28: See his many letters on the subject to Mr. Boswell, -who had the misfortune to be hypochondriacal. See also Rambler, -186. Introduction.] - -[Footnote 29: Rousseau's utter sensuality is ever a theme for Mary -Woolstonecraft's declamation in her Rights of Woman.--_Fas est et ab -hoste doceri._] - -[Footnote 30: Salvator Rosa has made Democritus among the tombs the -subject of one of his solemn and heart-striking pictures. For an eloquent -description of it, see Lady Morgan's Life and Times of _Il famoso pittore -di cose morale_, vol. ii.] - -[Footnote 31: Rambler, No. 77.] - -[Footnote 32: _Ita feri ut se sentiat emori._] - - - - -CONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME. - - - NUMB. PAGE - - 1. Difficulty of the first address. - Practice of the epick poets. - Convenience of periodical performances. 1 - 2. The necessity and danger of looking into futurity. - Writers naturally sanguine. - Their hopes liable to disappointment. 6 - 3. An allegory on criticism. 11 - 4. The modern form of romances preferable to the ancient. - The necessity of characters morally good. 15 - 5. A meditation on the Spring. 20 - 6. Happiness not local. 25 - 7. Retirement natural to a great mind. Its religious use. 30 - 8. The thoughts to be brought under regulation; as they - respect the past, present, and future. 35 - 9. The fondness of every man for his profession. - The gradual improvement of manufactures. 40 - 10. Four billets, with their answers. - Remarks on masquerades. 44 - 11. The folly of anger. The misery of a peevish old age. 50 - 12. The history of a young woman that came to London for - a service. 55 - 13. The duty of secrecy. - The invalidity of all excuses for betraying secrets. 61 - 14. The difference between an author's writings and his - conversation. 66 - 15. The folly of cards. - A letter from a lady that has lost her money. 72 - 16. The dangers and miseries of a literary eminence. 78 - 17. The frequent contemplation of death necessary to moderate - the passions. 83 - 18. The unhappiness of marriage caused by irregular motives - of choice. 87 - 19. The danger of ranging from one study to another. - The importance of the early choice of a profession. 93 - 20. The folly and inconvenience of affectation. 99 - 21. The anxieties of literature not less than those of - publick stations. The inequality of authors' writings. 104 - 22. An allegory on wit and learning. 109 - 23. The contrariety of criticism. The vanity of objection. - An author obliged to depend upon his own judgment. 113 - 24. The necessity of attending to the duties of common life. - The natural character not to be forsaken. 117 - 25. Rashness preferable to cowardice. - Enterprize not to be repressed. 122 - 26. The mischief of extravagance, and misery of dependence. 127 - 27. An author's treatment from six patrons. 132 - 28. The various arts of self-delusion. 136 - 29. The folly of anticipating misfortunes. 142 - 30. The observance of Sunday recommended; an allegory. 146 - 31. The defence of a known mistake highly culpable. 150 - 32. The vanity of stoicism. The necessity of patience. 156 - 33. An allegorical history of Rest and Labour. 161 - 34. The uneasiness and disgust of female cowardice. 165 - 35. A marriage of prudence without affection. 171 - 36. The reasons why pastorals delight. 176 - 37. The true principles of pastoral poetry. 180 - 38. The advantages of mediocrity; an eastern fable. 185 - 39. The unhappiness of women whether single or married. 190 - 40. The difficulty of giving advice without offending. 194 - 41. The advantages of memory. 199 - 42. The misery of a modish lady in solitude. 204 - 43. The inconveniences of precipitation and confidence. 208 - 44. Religion and Superstition; a vision. 213 - 45. The causes of disagreement in marriage. 218 - 46. The mischiefs of rural faction. 222 - 47. The proper means of regulating sorrow. 227 - 48. The miseries of an infirm constitution. 231 - 49. A disquisition upon the value of fame. 235 - 50. A virtuous old age always reverenced. 240 - 51. The employments of a housewife in the country. 244 - 52. The contemplation of the calamities of others, - a remedy for grief. 250 - 53. The folly and misery of a spendthrift. 254 - 54. A death-bed the true school of wisdom. - The effects of death upon the survivors. 258 - 55. The gay widow's impatience of the growth of her daughter. - The history of Miss May-pole. 263 - 56. The necessity of complaisance. - The Rambler's grief for offending his correspondents. 268 - 57. Sententious rules of frugality. 273 - 58. The desire of wealth moderated by philosophy. 277 - 59. An account of Suspirius, the human screech-owl. 281 - 60. The dignity and usefulness of biography. 285 - 61. A Londoner's visit to the country. 290 - 62. A young lady's impatience to see London. 295 - 63. Inconstancy not always a weakness. 300 - 64. The requisites to true friendship. 304 - 65. Obidah and the hermit; an eastern story. 309 - 66. Passion not to be eradicated. - The views of women ill directed. 313 - 67. The garden of Hope; a dream. 317 - 68. Every man chiefly happy or miserable at home. - The opinion of servants not to be despised. 322 - 69. The miseries and prejudice of old age. 326 - 70. Different men virtuous in different degrees. - The vicious not always abandoned. 330 - 71. No man believes that his own life will be short. 334 - 72. The necessity of good humour. 338 - 73. The lingering expectation of an heir. 342 - 74. Peevishness equally wretched and offensive. - The character of Tetrica. 347 - 75. The world never known but by a change of fortune. - The history of Melissa. 352 - 76. The arts by which bad men are reconciled to themselves. 357 - 77. The learned seldom despised but when they deserve - contempt. 361 - 78. The power of novelty. - Mortality too familiar to raise apprehensions. 366 - 79. A suspicious man justly suspected. 370 - 80. Variety necessary to happiness; a winter scene. 375 - 81. The great rule of action. Debts of justice to be - distinguished from debts of charity. 369 - 82. The virtuoso's account of his rarities. 383 - 83. The virtuoso's curiosity justified. 388 - 84. A young lady's impatience of controul. 393 - 85. The mischiefs of total idleness. 398 - 86. The danger of succeeding a great author: an introduction - to a criticism on Milton's versification. 402 - 87. The reasons why advice is generally ineffectual. 408 - 88. A criticism on Milton's versification. - Elisions dangerous in English poetry. 412 - 89. The luxury of vain imagination. 417 - 90. The pauses in English poetry adjusted. 421 - 91. The conduct of Patronage; an allegory. 426 - 92. The accommodation of sound to the sense, often chimerical. 431 - 93. The prejudices and caprices of criticism. 438 - 94. An inquiry how far Milton has accommodated the sound to - the sense. 442 - 95. The history of Pertinax the sceptick. 449 - 96. Truth, Falsehood, and Fiction; an allegory. 453 - 97. Advice to unmarried ladies. 458 - 98. The necessity of cultivating politeness. 464 - 99. The pleasures of private friendship. - The necessity of similar dispositions. 468 - 100. Modish pleasures. 472 - 101. A proper audience necessary to a wit. 476 - 102. The voyage of life. 481 - 103. The prevalence of curiosity. The character of Nugaculus. 486 - 104. The original of flattery. The meanness of venal praise. 491 - 105. The universal register; a dream. 495 - - - - -THE RAMBLER. - - - - -No. 1. TUESDAY, MARCH 20, 1749-50. - - - _Cur tamen hoc potius libeat decurrere campo,_ - _Per quem magnus equos Auruncæ flexit alumnus,_ - _Si vacat, et placidi rationem admittitis, edam._ - JUV. Sat. i. 19. - - Why to expatiate in this beaten field, - Why arms, oft us'd in vain, I mean to wield; - If time permit, and candour will attend, - Some satisfaction this essay may lend. - ELPHINSTON. - - -The difficulty of the first address on any new occasion, is felt by every -man in his transactions with the world, and confessed by the settled -and regular forms of salutation which necessity has introduced into -all languages. Judgment was wearied with the perplexity of being forced -upon choice, where there was no motive to preference; and it was found -convenient that some easy method of introduction should be established, -which, if it wanted the allurement of novelty, might enjoy the security -of prescription. - -Perhaps few authors have presented themselves before the publick, -without wishing that such ceremonial modes of entrance had been anciently -established, as might have freed them from those dangers which the desire -of pleasing is certain to produce, and precluded the vain expedients -of softening censure by apologies, or rousing attention by abruptness. - -The epick writers have found the proemial part of the poem such an -addition to their undertaking, that they have almost unanimously adopted -the first lines of Homer, and the reader needs only be informed of the -subject, to know in what manner the poem will begin. - -But this solemn repetition is hitherto the peculiar distinction of -heroick poetry; it has never been legally extended to the lower orders -of literature, but seems to be considered as an hereditary privilege, -to be enjoyed only by those who claim it from their alliance to the -genius of Homer. - -The rules which the injudicious use of this prerogative suggested to -Horace, may indeed be applied to the direction of candidates for inferior -fame; it may be proper for all to remember, that they ought not to raise -expectation which it is not in their power to satisfy, and that it is -more pleasing to see smoke brightening into flame, than flame sinking -into smoke. - -This precept has been long received, both from regard to the authority -of Horace, and its conformity to the general opinion of the world; yet -there have been always some, that thought it no deviation from modesty -to recommend their own labours, and imagined themselves entitled by -indisputable merit to an exemption from general restraints, and to -elevations not allowed in common life. They perhaps believed, that when, -like Thucydides, they bequeathed to mankind [Greek: ktêma es aei], _an -estate for ever_, it was an additional favour to inform them of its value. - -It may, indeed, be no less dangerous to claim, on certain occasions, -too little than too much. There is something captivating in spirit and -intrepidity, to which we often yield, as to a resistless power; nor -can he reasonably expect the confidence of others, who too apparently -distrusts himself. - -Plutarch, in his enumeration of the various occasions on which a man may -without just offence proclaim his own excellencies, has omitted the case -of an author entering the world; unless it may be comprehended under -his general position, that a man may lawfully praise himself for those -qualities which cannot be known but from his own mouth; as when he is -among strangers, and can have no opportunity of an actual exertion of his -powers. That the case of an author is parallel will scarcely be granted, -because he necessarily discovers the degree of his merit to his judges -when he appears at his trial. But it should be remembered, that unless -his judges are inclined to favour him, they will hardly be persuaded to -hear the cause. - -In love, the state which fills the heart with a degree of solicitude -next that of an author, it has been held a maxim, that success is most -easily obtained by indirect and unperceived approaches; he who too soon -professes himself a lover, raises obstacles to his own wishes, and those -whom disappointments have taught experience, endeavour to conceal their -passion till they believe their mistress wishes for the discovery. The -same method, if it were practicable to writers, would save many complaints -of the severity of the age, and the caprices of criticism. If a man could -glide imperceptibly into the favour of the publick, and only proclaim his -pretensions to literary honours when he is sure of not being rejected, -he might commence author with better hopes, as his failings might escape -contempt, though he shall never attain much regard. - -But since the world supposes every man that writes ambitious of applause, -as some ladies have taught themselves to believe that every man intends -love, who expresses civility, the miscarriage of any endeavour in learning -raises an unbounded contempt, indulged by most minds, without scruple, -as an honest triumph over unjust claims and exorbitant expectations. The -artifices of those who put themselves in this hazardous state, have -therefore been multiplied in proportion to their fear as well as their -ambition; and are to be looked upon with more indulgence, as they are -incited at once by the two great movers of the human mind--the desire -of good, and the fear of evil. For who can wonder that, allured on one -side, and frightened on the other, some should endeavour to gain favour -by bribing the judge with an appearance of respect which they do not -feel, to excite compassion by confessing weakness of which they are -not convinced; and others to attract regard by a show of openness and -magnanimity, by a daring profession of their own deserts, and a publick -challenge of honours and rewards? - -The ostentatious and haughty display of themselves has been the usual -refuge of diurnal writers, in vindication of whose practice it may be -said, that what it wants in prudence is supplied by sincerity, and who -at least may plead, that if their boasts deceive any into the perusal -of their performances, they defraud them of but little time. - - _----Quid enim? Concurritur--horæ_ - _Momento cita mors venit, aut victoria læta._ - HOR. lib. i. Sat. 7. - - The battle join, and in a moment's flight, - Death, or a joyful conquest, ends the fight. - FRANCIS. - -The question concerning the merit of the day is soon decided, and we -are not condemned to toil through half a folio, to be convinced that -the writer has broke his promise. - -It is one among many reasons for which I purpose to endeavour the -entertainment of my countrymen by a short essay on Tuesday and Saturday, -that I hope not much to tire those whom I shall not happen to please; and -if I am not commended for the beauty of my works, to be at least pardoned -for their brevity. But whether my expectations are most fixed on pardon -or praise, I think it not necessary to discover; for having accurately -weighed the reasons for arrogance and submission, I find them so nearly -equiponderant, that my impatience to try the event of my first performance -will not suffer me to attend any longer the trepidations of the balance. - -There are, indeed, many conveniencies almost peculiar to this method -of publication, which may naturally flatter the author, whether he be -confident or timorous. The man to whom the extent of his knowledge, or -the sprightliness of his imagination, has, in his own opinion, already -secured the praises of the world, willingly takes that way of displaying -his abilities which will soonest give him an opportunity of hearing the -voice of fame; it heightens his alacrity to think in how many places he -shall hear what he is now writing, read with ecstasies to-morrow. He will -often please himself with reflecting, that the author of a large treatise -must proceed with anxiety, lest, before the completion of his work, the -attention of the publick may have changed its object; but that he who -is confined to no single topick may follow the national taste through -all its variations, and catch the _aura popularis_, the gale of favour, -from what point soever it shall blow. - -Nor is the prospect less likely to ease the doubts of the cautious, and -the terrours of the fearful; for to such the shortness of every single -paper is a powerful encouragement. He that questions his abilities to -arrange the dissimilar parts of an extensive plan, or fears to be lost -in a complicated system, may yet hope to adjust a few pages without -perplexity; and if, when he turns over the repositories of his memory, -he finds his collection too small for a volume, he may yet have enough to -furnish out an essay. He that would fear to lay out too much time upon -an experiment of which he knows not the event, persuades himself that -a few days will show him what he is to expect from his learning and his -genius. If he thinks his own judgment not sufficiently enlightened, he -may, by attending the remarks which every paper will produce, rectify his -opinions. If he should with too little premeditation encumber himself by -an unwieldy subject, he can quit it without confessing his ignorance, -and pass to other topicks less dangerous, or more tractable. And if -he finds, with all his industry, and all his artifices, that he cannot -deserve regard, or cannot attain it, he may let the design fall at once, -and, without injury to others or himself, retire to amusements of greater -pleasure, or to studies of better prospect. - - - - -No. 2. SATURDAY, MARCH 24, 1749-50. - - - _Stare loco nescit, pereunt vestigia mille_ - _Ante fugam, absentemque ferit gratis ungula campum._ - STATIUS. - - Th' impatient courser pants in every vein, - And pawing seems to beat the distant plain; - Hills, vales, and floods appear already crost, - And ere he starts, a thousand steps are lost. - POPE. - - -That the mind of man is never satisfied with the objects immediately -before it, but is always breaking away from the present moment, and -losing itself in schemes of future felicity; and that we forget the -proper use of the time, now in our power, to provide for the enjoyment -of that which, perhaps, may never be granted us, has been frequently -remarked; and as this practice is a commodious subject of raillery to -the gay, and of declamation to the serious, it has been ridiculed with -all the pleasantry of wit, and exaggerated with all the amplifications -of rhetorick. Every instance, by which its absurdity might appear most -flagrant, has been studiously collected; it has been marked with every -epithet of contempt, and all the tropes and figures have been called -forth against it. - -Censure is willingly indulged, because it always implies some superiority: -men please themselves with imagining that they have made a deeper search, -or wider survey, than others, and detected faults and follies, which -escape vulgar observation. And the pleasure of wantoning in common -topicks is so tempting to a writer, that he cannot easily resign it; -a train of sentiments generally received enables him to shine without -labour, and to conquer without a contest. It is so easy to laugh at the -folly of him who lives only in idea, refuses immediate ease for distant -pleasures, and, instead of enjoying the blessings of life, lets life -glide away in preparations to enjoy them; it affords such opportunities -of triumphant exultation, to exemplify the uncertainty of the human state, -to rouse mortals from their dream, and inform them of the silent celerity -of time, that we may believe authors willing rather to transmit than -examine so advantageous a principle, and more inclined to pursue a track -so smooth and so flowery, than attentively to consider whether it leads -to truth. - -This quality of looking-forward into futurity seems the unavoidable -condition of a being, whose motions are gradual, and whose life is -progressive: as his powers are limited, he must use means for the -attainment of his ends, and intend first what he performs last; as by -continual advances from his first stage of existence, he is perpetually -varying the horizon of his prospects, he must always discover new motives -of action, new excitements of fear, and allurements of desire. - -The end therefore which at present calls forth our efforts, will be found, -when it is once gained, to be only one of the means to some remoter -end. The natural flights of the human mind are not from pleasure to -pleasure, but from hope to hope. - -He that directs his steps to a certain point, must frequently turn -his eyes to that place which he strives to reach; he that undergoes the -fatigue of labour, must solace his weariness with the contemplation of its -reward. In agriculture, one of the most simple and necessary employments, -no man turns up the ground but because he thinks of the harvest, that -harvest which blights may intercept, which inundations may sweep away, -or which death or calamity may hinder him from reaping. - -Yet, as few maxims are widely received or long retained but for some -conformity with truth and nature, it must be confessed, that this caution -against keeping our view too intent upon remote advantages is not without -its propriety or usefulness, though it may have been recited with too -much levity, or enforced with too little distinction; for, not to speak -of that vehemence of desire which presses through right and wrong to its -gratification, or that anxious inquietude which is justly chargeable -with distrust of heaven, subjects too solemn for my present purpose; -it frequently happens that by indulging early the raptures of success, -we forget the measures necessary to secure it, and suffer the imagination -to riot in the fruition of some possible good, till the time of obtaining -it has slipped away. - -There would, however, be few enterprises of great labour or hazard -undertaken, if we had not the power of magnifying the advantages which -we persuade ourselves to expect from them. When the knight of La Mancha -gravely recounts to his companion the adventures by which he is to -signalize himself in such a manner that he shall be summoned to the -support of empires, solicited to accept the heiress of the crown which -he has preserved, have honours and riches to scatter about him, and an -island to bestow on his worthy squire, very few readers, amidst their -mirth or pity, can deny that they have admitted visions of the same -kind; though they have not, perhaps, expected events equally strange, -or by means equally inadequate. When we pity him, we reflect on our own -disappointments; and when we laugh, our hearts inform us that he is -not more ridiculous than ourselves, except that he tells what we have -only thought. - -The understanding of a man naturally sanguine, may, indeed, be easily -vitiated by luxurious indulgence of hope, however necessary to the -production of every thing great or excellent, as some plants are -destroyed by too open exposure to that sun which gives life and beauty -to the vegetable world. - -Perhaps no class of the human species requires more to be cautioned -against this anticipation of happiness, than those that aspire to the -name of authors. A man of lively fancy no sooner finds a hint moving -in his mind, than he makes momentaneous excursions to the press, and -to the world, and, with a little encouragement from flattery, pushes -forward into future ages, and prognosticates the honours to be paid him, -when envy is extinct, and faction forgotten, and those, whom partiality -now suffers to obscure him, shall have given way to the triflers of as -short duration as themselves. - -Those who have proceeded so far as to appeal to the tribunal of succeeding -times are not likely to be cured of their infatuation, but all endeavours -ought to be used for the prevention of a disease, for which, when it has -attained its height, perhaps no remedy will be found in the gardens of -philosophy, however she may boast her physick of the mind, her catharticks -of vice, or lenitives of passion. - -I shall, therefore, while I am yet but lightly touched with the symptoms -of the writer's malady, endeavour to fortify myself against the infection, -not without some weak hope, that my preservatives may extend their -virtues to others, whose employment exposes them to the same danger: - - _Laudis amore tumes? Sunt certa piacula, quæ te_ - _Ter pure lecto poterunt recreare libello._ - HOR. Ep. i. v. 36. - - Is fame your passion? Wisdom's powerful charm, - If thrice read over, shall its force disarm. - FRANCIS. - -It is the sage advice of Epictetus, that a man should accustom himself -often to think of what is most shocking and terrible, that by such -reflections he may be preserved from too ardent wishes for seeming good, -and from too much dejection in real evil. - -There is nothing more dreadful to an author than neglect, compared with -which reproach, hatred, and opposition, are names of happiness; yet this -worst, this meanest fate, every one who dares to write has reason to fear. - - _I nunc, et versus tecum meditare canoros._ - HOR. lib. ii. v. 76. - - Go now, and meditate thy tuneful lays. - ELPHINSTON. - -It may not be unfit for him who makes a new entrance into the lettered -world, so far to suspect his own powers, as to believe that he possibly -may deserve neglect; that nature may not have qualified him much -to enlarge or embellish knowledge, nor sent him forth entitled by -indisputable superiority to regulate the conduct of the rest of mankind -that, though the world must be granted to be yet in ignorance, he is not -destined to dispel the cloud, nor to shine out as one of the luminaries -of life. For this suspicion, every catalogue of a library will furnish -sufficient reason; as he will find it crowded with names of men, who, -though now forgotten, were once no less enterprising or confident than -himself, equally pleased with their own productions, equally caressed by -their patrons, and flattered by their friends. - -But though it should happen that an author is capable of excelling, yet -his merit may pass without notice, huddled in the variety of things, and -thrown into the general miscellany of life. He that endeavours after fame -by writing, solicits the regard of a multitude fluctuating in pleasures, -or immersed in business, without time for intellectual amusements; he -appeals to judges prepossessed by passions, or corrupted by prejudices, -which preclude their approbation of any new performance. Some are -too indolent to read any thing, till its reputation is established; -others too envious to promote that fame which gives them pain by its -increase. What is new is opposed, because most are unwilling to be -taught; and what is known is rejected, because it is not sufficiently -considered that men more frequently require to be reminded than informed. -The learned are afraid to declare their opinion early, lest they should -put their reputation in hazard; the ignorant always imagine themselves -giving some proof of delicacy, when they refuse to be pleased: and he -that finds his way to reputation through all these obstructions, must -acknowledge that he is indebted to other causes besides his industry, -his learning, or his wit. - - - - -No. 3. TUESDAY, MARCH 27, 1750. - - - VIRTUS, _repulsæ nescia sordidæ,_ - _Intaminatis fulget honoribus,_ - _Nec sumit aut pouit secures_ - _Arbitrio popularis auræ._ - HOR. lib. iii. Od. II. 18. - - Undisappointed in designs, - With native honours virtue shines; - Nor takes up pow'r, nor lays it down, - As giddy rabbles smile or frown. - ELPHINSTON. - - -The task of an author is, either to teach what is not known, or to -recommend known truths by his manner of adorning them; either to let -new light in upon the mind, and open new scenes to the prospect, or -to vary the dress and situation of common objects, so as to give them -fresh grace and more powerful attractions, to spread such flowers over -the regions through which the intellect has already made its progress, -as may tempt it to return, and take a second view of things hastily -passed over, or negligently regarded. - -Either of these labours is very difficult, because, that they may not -be fruitless, men must not only be persuaded of their errours, but -reconciled to their guide; they must not only confess their ignorance, -but, what is still less pleasing, must allow that he from whom they are -to learn is more knowing than themselves. - -It might be imagined that such an employment was in itself sufficiently -irksome and hazardous; that none would be found so malevolent as wantonly -to add weight to the stone of Sisyphus; and that few endeavours would be -used to obstruct those advances to reputation, which must be made at such -an expense of time and thought, with so great hazard in the miscarriage, -and with so little advantage from the success. - -Yet there is a certain race of men, that either imagine it their duty, -or make it their amusement, to hinder the reception of every work of -learning or genius, who stand as sentinels in the avenues of fame, and -value themselves upon giving Ignorance and Envy the first notice of -a prey. - -To these men, who distinguish themselves by the appellation of Criticks, -it is necessary for a new author to find some means of recommendation. -It is probable, that the most malignant of these persecutors might be -somewhat softened, and prevailed on, for a short time, to remit their -fury. Having for this purpose considered many expedients, I find in the -records of ancient times, that Argus was lulled by musick, and Cerberus -quieted with a sop; and am, therefore, inclined to believe that modern -criticks, who, if they have not the eyes, have the watchfulness of Argus, -and can bark as loud as Cerberus, though, perhaps, they cannot bite with -equal force, might be subdued by methods of the same kind. I have heard -how some have been pacified with claret and a supper, and others laid -asleep by the soft notes of flattery. - -Though the nature of my undertaking gives me sufficient reason to dread -the united attacks of this virulent generation, yet I have not hitherto -persuaded myself to take any measures for flight or treaty. For I am in -doubt whether they can act against me by lawful authority, and suspect -that they have presumed upon a forged commission, styled themselves the -ministers of Criticism, without any authentick evidence of delegation, and -uttered their own determinations as the decrees of a higher judicature. - -Criticism, from whom they derive their claim to decide the fate of -writers, was the eldest daughter of Labour and of Truth: she was at -her birth committed to the care of Justice, and brought up by her -in the palace of Wisdom. Being soon distinguished by the celestials, -for her uncommon qualities, she was appointed the governess of Fancy, -and empowered to beat time to the chorus of the Muses, when they sung -before the throne of Jupiter. - -When the Muses condescended to visit this lower world, they came -accompanied by Criticism, to whom, upon her descent from her native -regions, Justice gave a sceptre, to be carried aloft in her right hand, -one end of which was tinctured with ambrosia, and inwreathed with -a golden foliage of amaranths and bays; the other end was encircled -with cypress and poppies, and dipped in the waters of oblivion. In her -left hand she bore an unextinguishable torch, manufactured by Labour, -and lighted by Truth, of which it was the particular quality immediately -to shew every thing in its true form, however it might be disguised to -common eyes. Whatever Art could complicate, or Folly could confound, was, -upon the first gleam of the torch of Truth, exhibited in its distinct -parts and original simplicity; it darted through the labyrinths of -sophistry, and shewed at once all the absurdities to which they served -for refuge; it pierced through the robes, which Rhetoric often sold to -Falsehood, and detected the disproportion of parts, which artificial -veils had been contrived to cover. - -Thus furnished for the execution of her office, Criticism came down to -survey the performances of those who professed themselves the votaries -of the Muses. Whatever was brought before her, she beheld by the steady -light of the torch of Truth, and when her examination had convinced her -that the laws of just writing had been observed, she touched it with -the amaranthine end of the sceptre, and consigned it over to immortality. - -But it more frequently happened, that in the works, which required -her inspection, there was some imposture attempted; that false colours -were laboriously laid; that some secret inequality was found between -the words and sentiments, or some dissimilitude of the ideas and the -original objects; that incongruities were linked together, or that -some parts were of no use but to enlarge the appearance of the whole, -without contributing to its beauty, solidity, or usefulness. - -Wherever such discoveries were made, and they were made whenever these -faults were committed, Criticism refused the touch which conferred the -sanction of immortality, and, when the errours were frequent and gross, -reversed the sceptre, and let drops of lethe distil from the poppies -and cypress, a fatal mildew, which immediately began to waste the work -away, till it was at last totally destroyed. - -There were some compositions brought to the test, in which, when the -strongest light was thrown upon them, their beauties and faults appeared -so equally mingled, that Criticism stood with her sceptre poised in her -hand, in doubt whether to shed lethe, or ambrosia, upon them. These at -last increased to so great a number, that she was weary of attending -such doubtful claims, and, for fear of using improperly the sceptre of -Justice, referred the cause to be considered by Time. - -The proceedings of Time, though very dilatory, were, some few caprices -excepted, conformable to Justice: and many who thought themselves secure -by a short forbearance, have sunk under his scythe, as they were posting -down with their volumes in triumph to futurity. It was observable that -some were destroyed by little and little, and others crushed for ever -by a single blow. - -Criticism having long kept her eye fixed steadily upon Time, was at last -so well satisfied with his conduct, that she withdrew from the earth -with her patroness Astrea, and left Prejudice and False Taste to ravage -at large as the associates of Fraud and Mischief; contenting herself -thenceforth to shed her influence from afar upon some select minds, -fitted for its reception by learning and by virtue. - -Before her departure she broke her sceptre, of which the shivers, that -formed the ambrosial end, were caught up by Flattery, and those that had -been infected with the waters of lethe were, with equal haste, seized -by Malevolence. The followers of Flattery, to whom she distributed -her part of the sceptre, neither had nor desired light, but touched -indiscriminately whatever Power or Interest happened to exhibit. The -companions of Malevolence were supplied by the Furies with a torch, -which had this quality peculiar to infernal lustre, that its light fell -only upon faults. - - No light, but rather darkness visible - Serv'd only to discover sights of woe. - MILTON. - -With these fragments of authority, the slaves of Flattery and Malevolence -marched out, at the command of their mistresses, to confer immortality, -or condemn to oblivion. But the sceptre had now lost its power; -and Time passes his sentence at leisure, without any regard to their -determinations. - - - - -No. 4. SATURDAY, MARCH 31, 1750. - - - _Simul et jucunda et idonea dicere vitæ._ - HOR. A. P. 334. - - And join both profit and delight in one. - CREECH. - - -The works of fiction, with which the present generation seems more -particularly delighted, are such as exhibit life in its true state, -diversified only by accidents that daily happen in the world, and -influenced by passions and qualities which are really to be found in -conversing with mankind. - -This kind of writing may be termed not improperly the comedy of romance, -and is to be conducted nearly by the rules of comick poetry. Its province -is to bring about natural events by easy means, and to keep up curiosity -without the help of wonder: it is therefore precluded from the machines -and expedients of the heroic romance, and can neither employ giants -to snatch away a lady from the nuptial rites, nor knights to bring her -back from captivity; it can neither bewilder its personages in deserts, -nor lodge them in imaginary castles. - -I remember a remark made by Scaliger upon Pontanus, that all his writings -are filled with the same images; and that if you take from him his -lilies and his roses, his satyrs and his dryads, he will have nothing -left that can be called poetry. In like manner almost all the fictions -of the last age will vanish, if you deprive them of a hermit and a wood, -a battle and a shipwreck. - -Why this wild strain of imagination found reception so long in polite -and learned ages, it is not easy to conceive; but we cannot wonder that -while readers could be procured, the authors were willing to continue it; -for when a man had by practice gained some fluency of language, he had -no further care than to retire to his closet, let loose his invention, -and heat his mind with incredibilities; a book was thus produced without -fear of criticism, without the toil of study, without knowledge of nature, -or acquaintance with life. - -The task of our present writers is very different; it requires, together -with that learning which is to be gained from books, that experience which -can never be attained by solitary diligence, but must arise from general -converse and accurate observation of the living world. Their performances -have, as Horace expresses it, _plus oneris quantum veniæ minus_, little -indulgence, and therefore more difficulty. They are engaged in portraits -of which every one knows the original, and can detect any deviation -from exactness of resemblance. Other writings are safe, except from the -malice of learning, but these are in danger from every common reader; -as the slipper ill executed was censured by a shoemaker who happened to -stop in his way at the Venus of Apelles. - -But the fear of not being approved as just copiers of human manners, -is not the most important concern that an author of this sort ought -to have before him. These books are written chiefly to the young, the -ignorant, and the idle, to whom they serve as lectures of conduct, and -introductions into life. They are the entertainment of minds unfurnished -with ideas, and therefore easily susceptible of impressions; not fixed -by principles, and therefore easily following the current of fancy; not -informed by experience, and consequently open to every false suggestion -and partial account. - -That the highest degree of reverence should be paid to youth, and that -nothing indecent should be suffered to approach their eyes or ears, -are precepts extorted by sense and virtue from an ancient writer, by -no means eminent for chastity of thought. The same kind, though not -the same degree, of caution, is required in every thing which is laid -before them, to secure them from unjust prejudices, perverse opinions, -and incongruous combinations of images. - -In the romances formerly written, every transaction and sentiment was so -remote from all that passes among men, that the reader was in very little -danger of making any applications to himself; the virtues and crimes -were equally beyond his sphere of activity; and he amused himself with -heroes and with traitors, deliverers and persecutors, as with beings of -another species, whose actions were regulated upon motives of their own, -and who had neither faults nor excellencies in common with himself. - -But when an adventurer is levelled with the rest of the world, and acts -in such scenes of the universal drama, as may be the lot of any other man; -young spectators fix their eyes upon him with closer attention, and hope, -by observing his behaviour and success, to regulate their own practices, -when they shall be engaged in the like part. - -For this reason these familiar histories may perhaps be made of greater -use than the solemnities of professed morality, and convey the knowledge -of vice and virtue with more efficacy than axioms and definitions. But if -the power of example is so great as to take possession of the memory by a -kind of violence, and produce effects almost without the intervention of -the will, care ought to be taken, that, when the choice is unrestrained, -the best examples only should be exhibited; and that which is likely -to operate so strongly, should not be mischievous or uncertain in its -effects. - -The chief advantage which these fictions have over real life is, that -their authors are at liberty, though not to invent, yet to select objects, -and to cull from the mass of mankind, those individuals upon which the -attention ought most to be employed; as a diamond, though it cannot be -made, may be polished by art, and placed in such a situation, as to -display that lustre which before was buried among common stones. - -It is justly considered as the greatest excellency of art, to imitate -nature; but it is necessary to distinguish those parts of nature, -which are most proper for imitation: greater care is still required in -representing life, which is so often discoloured by passion, or deformed -by wickedness. If the world be promiscuously described, I cannot see -of what use it can be to read the account; or why it may not be as safe -to turn the eye immediately upon mankind as upon a mirrour which shews -all that presents itself without discrimination. - -It is therefore not a sufficient vindication of a character, that it is -drawn as it appears; for many characters ought never to be drawn: nor -of a narrative, that the train of events is agreeable to observation and -experience; for that observation which is called knowledge of the world, -will be found much more frequently to make men cunning than good. The -purpose of these writings is surely not only to shew mankind, but to -provide that they may be seen hereafter with less hazard; to teach the -means of avoiding the snares which are laid by Treachery for Innocence, -without infusing any wish for that superiority with which the betrayer -flatters his vanity; to give the power of counteracting fraud, without -the temptation to practise it; to initiate youth by mock encounters in -the art of necessary defence, and to increase prudence without impairing -virtue. - -Many writers, for the sake of following nature, so mingle good and bad -qualities in their principal personages, that they are both equally -conspicuous; and as we accompany them through their adventures with -delight, and are led by degrees to interest ourselves in their favour, -we lose the abhorrence of their faults, because they do not hinder our -pleasure, or, perhaps, regard them with some kindness, for being united -with so much merit. - -There have been men indeed splendidly wicked, whose endowments threw a -brightness on their crimes, and whom scarce any villany made perfectly -detestable, because they never could be wholly divested of their -excellencies; but such have been in all ages the great corrupters of -the world, and their resemblance ought no more to be preserved, than -the art of murdering without pain. - -Some have advanced, without due attention to the consequences of -this notion, that certain virtues have their correspondent faults, -and therefore that to exhibit either apart is to deviate from -probability. Thus men are observed by Swift to be "grateful in the same -degree as they are resentful." This principle, with others of the same -kind, supposes man to act from a brute impulse, and pursue a certain -degree of inclination, without any choice of the object; for, otherwise, -though it should be allowed that gratitude and resentment arise from -the same constitution of the passions, it follows not that they will be -equally indulged when reason is consulted; yet, unless that consequence -be admitted, this sagacious maxim becomes an empty sound, without any -relation to practice or to life. - -Nor is it evident, that even the first motions to these effects are -always in the same proportion. For pride, which produces quickness of -resentment, will obstruct gratitude, by unwillingness to admit that -inferiority which obligation implies; and it is very unlikely that he -who cannot think he receives a favour, will acknowledge or repay it. -It is of the utmost importance to mankind, that positions of this tendency -should be laid open and confuted; for while men consider good and evil -as springing from the same root, they will spare the one for the sake of -the other, and in judging, if not of others at least of themselves, will -be apt to estimate their virtues by their vices. To this fatal errour all -those will contribute, who confound the colours of right and wrong, and, -instead of helping to settle their boundaries, mix them with so much art, -that no common mind is able to disunite them. - -In narratives where historical veracity has no place, I cannot discover -why there should not be exhibited the most perfect idea of virtue; of -virtue not angelical, nor above probability, for what we cannot credit, -we shall never imitate, but the highest and purest that humanity can -reach, which, exercised in such trials as the various revolutions of -things shall bring upon it, may, by conquering some calamities, and -enduring others, teach us what we may hope, and what we can perform. Vice, -for vice is necessary to be shewn, should always disgust; nor should -the graces of gaiety, or the dignity of courage, be so united with it, -as to reconcile it to the mind. Wherever it appears, it should raise -hatred by the malignity of its practices, and contempt by the meanness -of its stratagems: for while it is supported by either parts or spirit, -it will be seldom heartily abhorred. The Roman tyrant was content to -be hated, if he was but feared; and there are thousands of the readers -of romances willing to be thought wicked, if they may be allowed to -be wits. It is therefore to be steadily inculcated, that virtue is the -highest proof of understanding, and the only solid basis of greatness; -and that vice is the natural consequence of narrow thoughts; that it -begins in mistake, and ends in ignominy[33]. - -[Footnote 33: This excellent paper was occasioned by the popularity of -Roderick Random, and Tom Jones, which appeared about this time, and have -been the models of that species of romance, now known by the more common -name of _Novel_.--C.] - - - - -No. 5. TUESDAY, APRIL 3, 1750. - - - _Et nunc omnis ager, nunc omnis parturit arbos:_ - _Nunc frondent silvæ: nunc formosissimus annus._ - VIRG. Ec. iii. v. 56. - - Now ev'ry field, now ev'ry tree is green; - Now genial Nature's fairest face is seen. - ELPHINSTON. - - -Every man is sufficiently discontented with some circumstances of his -present state, to suffer his imagination to range more or less in quest -of future happiness, and to fix upon some point of time, in which, by -the removal of the inconvenience which now perplexes him, or acquisition -of the advantage which he at present wants, he shall find the condition -of his life very much improved. - -When this time, which is too often expected with great impatience, -at last arrives, it generally comes without the blessing for which it -was desired; but we solace ourselves with some new prospect, and press -forward again with equal eagerness. - -It is lucky for a man, in whom this temper prevails, when he turns his -hopes upon things wholly out of his own power; since he forbears then -to precipitate his affairs, for the sake of the great event that is to -complete his felicity, and waits for the blissful hour with less neglect -of the measures necessary to be taken in the mean time. - -I have long known a person of this temper, who indulged his dream of -happiness with less hurt to himself than such chimerical wishes commonly -produce, and adjusted his scheme with such address, that his hopes were -in full bloom three parts of the year, and in the other part never -wholly blasted. Many, perhaps, would be desirous of learning by what -means he procured to himself such a cheap and lasting satisfaction. It -was gained by a constant practice of referring the removal of all his -uneasiness to the coming of the next spring; if his health was impaired, -the spring would restore it; if what he wanted was at a high price, -it would fall its value in the spring. - -The spring indeed did often come without any of these effects, but he -was always certain that the next would be more propitious; nor was ever -convinced, that the present spring would fail him before the middle of -summer; for he always talked of the spring as coming till it was past, -and when it was once past, every one agreed with him that it was coming. - -By long converse with this man, I am, perhaps, brought to feel immoderate -pleasure in the contemplation of this delightful season; but I have -the satisfaction of finding many whom it can be no shame to resemble, -infected with the same enthusiasm; for there is, I believe, scarce any -poet of eminence, who has not left some testimony of his fondness for the -flowers, the zephyrs, and the warblers of the spring. Nor has the most -luxuriant imagination been able to describe the serenity and happiness -of the golden age, otherwise than by giving a perpetual spring, as the -highest reward of uncorrupted innocence. - -There is, indeed, something inexpressibly pleasing in the annual -renovation of the world, and the new display of the treasures of -nature. The cold and darkness of winter, with the naked deformity of -every object on which we turn our eyes, make us rejoice at the succeeding -season, as well for what we have escaped as for what we may enjoy; -and every budding flower, which a warm situation brings early to our -view, is considered by us as a messenger to notify the approach of more -joyous days. - -The spring affords to a mind, so free from the disturbance of cares or -passions as to be vacant to calm amusements, almost every thing that -our present state makes us capable of enjoying. The variegated verdure -of the fields and woods, the succession of grateful odours, the voice -of pleasure pouring out its notes on every side, with the gladness -apparently conceived by every animal, from the growth of his food, and -the clemency of the weather, throw over the whole earth an air of gaiety, -significantly expressed by the smile of nature. - -Yet there are men to whom these scenes are able to give no delight, -and who hurry away from all the varieties of rural beauty, to lose their -hours and divert their thoughts by cards or assemblies, a tavern dinner, -or the prattle of the day. - -It may be laid down as a position which will seldom deceive, that when -a man cannot bear his own company, there is something wrong. He must -fly from himself, either because he feels a tediousness in life from the -equipoise of an empty mind, which, having no tendency to one motion more -than another, but as it is impelled by some external power, must always -have recourse to foreign objects; or he must be afraid of the intrusion -of some unpleasing ideas, and perhaps is struggling to escape from the -remembrance of a loss, the fear of a calamity, or some other thought of -greater horrour. - -Those whom sorrow incapacitates to enjoy the pleasures of contemplation, -may properly apply to such diversions, provided they are innocent, as -lay strong hold on the attention; and those, whom fear of any future -affliction chains down to misery, must endeavour to obviate the danger. - -My considerations shall, on this occasion, be turned on such as -are burthensome to themselves merely because they want subjects for -reflection, and to whom the volume of nature is thrown open without -affording them pleasure or instruction, because they never learned to -read the characters. - -A French author has advanced this seeming paradox, that _very few men -know how to take a walk_; and, indeed, it is true, that few know how to -take a walk with a prospect of any other pleasure, than the same company -would have afforded them at home. - -There are animals that borrow their colour from the neighbouring body, -and consequently vary their hue as they happen to change their place. -In like manner it ought to be the endeavour of every man to derive his -reflections from the objects about him; for it is to no purpose that -he alters his position, if his attention continues fixed to the same -point. The mind should be kept open to the access of every new idea, -and so far disengaged from the predominance of particular thoughts, -as easily to accommodate itself to occasional entertainment. - -A man that has formed this habit of turning every new object to his -entertainment, finds in the productions of nature an inexhaustible stock -of materials upon which he can employ himself, without any temptations to -envy or malevolence; faults, perhaps, seldom totally avoided by those, -whose judgment is much exercised upon the works of art. He has always -a certain prospect of discovering new reasons for adoring the sovereign -Author of the universe, and probable hopes of making some discovery of -benefit to others, or of profit to himself. There is no doubt but many -vegetables and animals have qualities that might be of great use, to the -knowledge of which there is not required much force of penetration, or -fatigue of study, but only frequent experiments, and close attention. -What is said by the chemists of their darling mercury, is, perhaps, -true of every body through the whole creation, that if a thousand lives -should be spent upon it, all its properties would not be found out. - -Mankind must necessarily be diversified by various tastes, since life -affords and requires such multiplicity of employments, and a nation of -naturalists is neither to be hoped, nor desired; but it is surely not -improper to point out a fresh amusement to those who languish in health, -and repine in plenty, for want of some source of diversion that may -be less easily exhausted, and to inform the multitudes of both sexes, -who are burdened with every new day, that there are many shows which -they have not seen. - -He that enlarges his curiosity after the works of nature, demonstrably -multiplies the inlets to happiness; and, therefore, the younger part -of my readers, to whom I dedicate this vernal speculation, must excuse -me for calling upon them, to make use at once of the spring of the year, -and the spring of life; to acquire, while their minds may be yet impressed -with new images, a love of innocent pleasures, and an ardour for useful -knowledge; and to remember, that a blighted spring makes a barren year, -and that the vernal flowers, however beautiful and gay, are only intended -by nature as preparatives to autumnal fruits. - - - - -No. 6. SATURDAY, APRIL 7, 1750. - - - _Strenua nos exercet inertia, navibus atque_ - _Quadrigis petimus bene vicere: quod petis, hic est;_ - _Est Ulubris, animus si te non deficit æquus._ - HOR. Ep. xi. lib. i. - - Active in indolence, abroad we roam - In quest of happiness which dwells at home: - With vain pursuits fatigu'd, at length you'll find, - No place excludes it from an equal mind. - ELPHINSTON. - - -That man should never suffer his happiness to depend upon external -circumstances, is one of the chief precepts of the Stoical philosophy; a -precept, indeed, which that lofty sect has extended beyond the condition -of human life, and in which some of them seem to have comprised an -utter exclusion of all corporal pain and pleasure from the regard or -attention of a wise man. - -Such _sapientia insaniens_, as Horace calls the doctrine of another sect, -such extravagance of philosophy, can want neither authority nor argument -for its confutation; it is overthrown by the experience of every hour, -and the powers of nature rise up against it. But we may very properly -inquire, how near to this exalted state it is in our power to approach, -how far we can exempt ourselves from outward influences, and secure to -our minds a state of tranquillity: for, though the boast of absolute -independence is ridiculous and vain, yet a mean flexibility to every -impulse, and a patient submission to the tyranny of casual troubles, -is below the dignity of that mind, which, however depraved or weakened, -boasts its derivation from a celestial original, and hopes for an union -with infinite goodness, and unvariable felicity. - - _Ni vitiis pejora fovens_ - _Proprium deserat ortum._ - - Unless the soul, to vice a thrall, - Desert her own original. - -The necessity of erecting ourselves to some degree of intellectual -dignity, and of preserving resources of pleasure, which may not be -wholly at the mercy of accident, is never more apparent than when we turn -our eyes upon those whom fortune has let loose to their own conduct; -who, not being chained down by their condition to a regular and stated -allotment of their hours, are obliged to find themselves business or -diversion, and having nothing within that can entertain or employ them, -are compelled to try all the arts of destroying time. - -The numberless expedients practised by this class of mortals to alleviate -the burthen of life, are not less shameful, nor, perhaps, much less -pitiable, than those to which a trader on the edge of bankruptcy -is reduced. I have seen melancholy overspread a whole family at the -disappointment of a party for cards; and when, after the proposal of a -thousand schemes, and the dispatch of the footman upon a hundred messages, -they have submitted, with gloomy resignation, to the misfortune of passing -one evening in conversation with each other; on a sudden, such are the -revolutions of the world, an unexpected visitor has brought them relief, -acceptable as provision to a starving city, and enabled them to hold -out till the next day. - -The general remedy of those, who are uneasy without knowing the cause, -is change of place; they are willing to imagine that their pain is -the consequence of some local inconvenience, and endeavour to fly -from it, as children from their shadows; always hoping for some more -satisfactory delight from every new scene, and always returning home -with disappointment and complaints. - -Who can look upon this kind of infatuation, without reflecting on those -that suffer under the dreadful symptom of canine madness, termed by -physicians the _dread of water_? These miserable wretches, unable to -drink, though burning with thirst, are sometimes known to try various -contortions, or inclinations of the body, flattering themselves that -they can swallow in one posture that liquor which they find in another -to repel their lips. - -Yet such folly is not peculiar to the thoughtless or ignorant, but -sometimes seizes those minds which seem most exempted from it, by the -variety of attainments, quickness of penetration, or severity of judgment; -and, indeed, the pride of wit and knowledge is often mortified by -finding that they confer no security against the common errours, which -mislead the weakest and meanest of mankind. - -These reflections arose in my mind upon the remembrance of a passage -in Cowley's preface to his poems, where, however exalted by genius, -and enlarged by study, he informs us of a scheme of happiness to which -the imagination of a girl upon the loss of her first lover could have -scarcely given way; but which he seems to have indulged, till he had -totally forgotten its absurdity, and would probably have put in execution, -had he been hindered only by his reason. - -"My desire," says he, "has been for some years past, though the execution -has been accidentally diverted, and does still vehemently continue, to -retire myself to some of our American plantations, not to seek for gold, -or enrich myself with the traffick of those parts, which is the end of -most men that travel thither; but to forsake this world for ever, with all -the vanities and vexations of it, and to bury myself there in some obscure -retreat, but not without the consolation of letters and philosophy." - -Such was the chimerical provision which Cowley had made in his own mind, -for the quiet of his remaining life, and which he seems to recommend -to posterity, since there is no other reason for disclosing it. Surely -no stronger instance can be given of a persuasion that content was -the inhabitant of particular regions, and that a man might set sail -with a fair wind, and leave behind him all his cares, incumbrances, -and calamities. - -If he travelled so far with no other purpose than to _bury himself -in some obscure retreat_, he might have found, in his own country, -innumerable coverts sufficiently dark to have concealed the genius of -Cowley; for whatever might be his opinion of the importunity with which -he might be summoned back into publick life, a short experience would -have convinced him, that privation is easier than acquisition, and that -it would require little continuance to free himself from the intrusion -of the world. There is pride enough in the human heart to prevent much -desire of acquaintance with a man, by whom we are sure to be neglected, -however his reputation for science or virtue may excite our curiosity -or esteem; so that the lover of retirement needs not be afraid lest the -respect of strangers should overwhelm him with visits. Even those to whom -he has formerly been known, will very patiently support his absence when -they have tried a little to live without him, and found new diversions -for those moments which his company contributed to exhilarate. - -It was, perhaps, ordained by Providence, to hinder us from tyrannizing -over one another, that no individual should be of such importance, as to -cause, by his retirement or death, any chasm in the world. And Cowley had -conversed to little purpose with mankind, if he had never remarked, how -soon the useful friend, the gay companion, and the favoured lover, when -once they are removed from before the sight, give way to the succession -of new objects. - -The privacy, therefore, of his hermitage might have been safe enough -from violation, though he had chosen it within the limits of his native -island; he might have found here preservatives against the _vanities_ -and _vexations_ of the world, not less efficacious than those which -the woods or fields of America could afford him: but having once his -mind imbittered with disgust, he conceived it impossible to be far -enough from the cause of his uneasiness; and was posting away with the -expedition of a coward, who, for want of venturing to look behind him, -thinks the enemy perpetually at his heels. - -When he was interrupted by company, or fatigued with business, he -so strongly imaged to himself the happiness of leisure and retreat, -that he determined to enjoy them for the future without interruption, -and to exclude for ever all that could deprive him of his darling -satisfactions. He forgot, in the vehemence of desire, that solitude and -quiet owe their pleasures to those miseries, which he was so studious -to obviate: for such are the vicissitudes of the world, through all -its parts, that day and night, labour and rest, hurry and retirement, -endear each other; such are the changes that keep the mind in action; -we desire, we pursue, we obtain, we are satiated; we desire something -else, and begin a new pursuit. - -If he had proceeded in his project, and fixed his habitation in the most -delightful part of the new world, it may be doubted, whether his distance -from the _vanities_ of life, would have enabled him to keep away the -_vexations_. It is common for a man, who feels pain, to fancy that he -could bear it better in any other part. Cowley having known the troubles -and perplexities of a particular condition, readily persuaded himself -that nothing worse was to be found, and that every alteration would bring -some improvement: he never suspected that the cause of his unhappiness -was within, that his own passions were not sufficiently regulated, and -that he was harassed by his own impatience, which could never be without -something to awaken it, would accompany him over the sea, and find its -way to his American elysium. He would, upon the trial, have been soon -convinced, that the fountain of content must spring up in the mind: and -that he who has so little knowledge of human nature, as to seek happiness -by changing any thing but his own dispositions, will waste his life in -fruitless efforts, and multiply the griefs which he purposes to remove[34]. - -[Footnote 34: See Dr. Johnson's Life of Cowley.] - - - - -No. 7. TUESDAY, APRIL 10, 1750. - - - _O qui perpetuâ mundum ratione gubernas,_ - _Terrarum coelique sator!----_ - _Disjice terrenæ nebulas et pondera molis,_ - _Atque tuo splendore mica! Tu namque serenum,_ - _Tu requies tranquilla piis. Te cernere, finis,_ - _Principium, vector, dux, semila, terminus idem._ - BOETHIUS, lib. iii. Metr. 9. - - O Thou, whose pow'r o'er moving worlds presides, - Whose voice created, and whose wisdom guides, - On darkling man in pure effulgence shine, - And cheer the clouded mind with light divine. - 'Tis thine alone to calm the pious breast - With silent confidence and holy rest: - From thee, great God, we spring, to thee we tend, - Path, motive, guide, original, and end. - JOHNSON. - - -The love of Retirement has, in all ages, adhered closely to those minds, -which have been most enlarged by knowledge, or elevated by genius. Those -who have enjoyed every thing generally supposed to confer happiness, -have been forced to seek it in the shades of privacy. Though they -possessed both power and riches, and were, therefore, surrounded by men -who considered it as their chief interest to remove from them every thing -that might offend their ease, or interrupt their pleasure, they have soon -felt the languors of satiety, and found themselves unable to pursue the -race of life without frequent respirations of intermediate solitude. - -To produce this disposition, nothing appears requisite but a quick -sensibility, and active imagination; for, though not devoted to virtue, -or science, the man, whose faculties enable him to make ready comparisons -of the present with the past, will find such a constant recurrence of the -same pleasures and troubles, the same expectations and disappointments, -that he will gladly snatch an hour of retreat, to let his thoughts -expatiate at large, and seek for that variety in his own ideas, which -the objects of sense cannot afford him. - -Nor will greatness, or abundance, exempt him from the importunities of -this desire, since, if he is born to think, he cannot restrain himself -from a thousand inquiries and speculations, which he must pursue by his -own reason, and which the splendour of his condition can only hinder: -for those who are most exalted above dependance or controul, are yet -condemned to pay so large a tribute of their time to custom, ceremony, -and popularity, that, according to the Greek proverb, no man in the -house is more a slave than the master. - -When a king asked Euclid, the mathematician, whether he could not -explain his art to him in a more compendious manner? he was answered, -that there was no royal way to geometry. Other things may be seized by -might, or purchased with money, but knowledge is to be gained only by -study, and study to be prosecuted only in retirement. - -These are some of the motives which have had power to sequester kings and -heroes from the crowds that soothed them with flatteries, or inspirited -them with acclamations; but their efficacy seems confined to the higher -mind, and to operate little upon the common classes of mankind, to whose -conceptions the present assemblage of things is adequate, and who seldom -range beyond those entertainments and vexations, which solicit their -attention by pressing on their senses. - -But there is an universal reason for some stated intervals of solitude, -which the institutions of the church call upon me now especially to -mention; a reason which extends as wide as moral duty, or the hopes of -divine favour in a future state; and which ought to influence all ranks -of life, and all degrees of intellect; since none can imagine themselves -not comprehended in its obligation, but such as determine to set their -Maker at defiance by obstinate wickedness, or whose enthusiastick security -of his approbation places them above external ordinances, and all human -means of improvement. - -The great task of him who conducts his life by the precepts of religion, -is to make the future predominate over the present, to impress upon his -mind so strong a sense of the importance of obedience to the divine will, -of the value of the reward promised to virtue, and the terrours of the -punishment denounced against crimes, as may overbear all the temptations -which temporal hope or fear can bring in his way, and enable him to -bid equal defiance to joy and sorrow, to turn away at one time from -the allurements of ambition, and push forward at another against the -threats of calamity. - -It is not without reason that the apostle represents our passage through -this stage of our existence by images drawn from the alarms and solicitude -of a military life; for we are placed in such a state, that almost every -thing about us conspires against our chief interest. We are in danger -from whatever can get possession of our thoughts; all that can excite -in us either pain or pleasure, has a tendency to obstruct the way that -leads to happiness, and either to turn us aside, or retard our progress. - -Our senses, our appetites, and our passions, are our lawful and faithful -guides, in most things that relate solely to this life; and, therefore, -by the hourly necessity of consulting them, we gradually sink into an -implicit submission, and habitual confidence. Every act of compliance -with their motions facilitates a second compliance, every new step -towards depravity is made with less reluctance than the former, and thus -the descent to life merely sensual is perpetually accelerated. - -The senses have not only that advantage over conscience, which things -necessary must always have over things chosen, but they have likewise a -kind of prescription in their favour. We feared pain much earlier than -we apprehended guilt, and were delighted with the sensations of pleasure, -before we had capacities to be charmed with the beauty of rectitude. To -this power, thus early established, and incessantly increasing, it -must be remembered that almost every man has, in some part of his life, -added new strength by a voluntary or negligent subjection of himself; -for who is there that has not instigated his appetites by indulgence, -or suffered them, by an unresisting neutrality, to enlarge their -dominion, and multiply their demands? - -From the necessity of dispossessing the sensitive faculties of the -influence which they must naturally gain by this pre-occupation of -the soul, arises that conflict between opposite desires in the first -endeavours after a religious life; which, however enthusiastically it may -have been described, or however contemptuously ridiculed, will naturally -be felt in some degree, though varied without end, by different tempers -of mind, and innumerable circumstances of health or condition, greater -or less fervour, more or fewer temptations to relapse. - -From the perpetual necessity of consulting the animal faculties, in our -provision for the present life, arises the difficulty of withstanding -their impulses, even in cases where they ought to be of no weight; for -the motions of sense are instantaneous, its objects strike unsought, -we are accustomed to follow its directions, and therefore often submit -to the sentence without examining the authority of the judge. - -Thus it appears, upon a philosophical estimate, that, supposing the mind, -at any certain time, in an equipois between the pleasures of this life, -and the hopes of futurity, present objects falling more frequently -into the scale, would in time preponderate, and that our regard for an -invisible state would grow every moment weaker, till at last it would -lose all its activity, and become absolutely without effect. - -To prevent this dreadful event, the balance is put into our own hands, -and we have power to transfer the weight to either side. The motives to -a life of holiness are infinite, not less than the favour or anger of -Omnipotence, not less than eternity of happiness or misery. But these can -only influence our conduct as they gain our attention, which the business -or diversions of the world are always calling off by contrary attractions. - -The great art therefore of piety, and the end for which all the rites -of religion seem to be instituted, is the perpetual renovation of -the motives to virtue, by a voluntary employment of our mind in the -contemplation of its excellence, its importance, and its necessity, which, -in proportion as they are more frequently and more willingly revolved, -gain a more forcible and permanent influence, till in time they become -the reigning ideas, the standing principles of action, and the test by -which every thing proposed to the judgment is rejected or approved. - -To facilitate this change of our affections, it is necessary that we -weaken the temptations of the world, by retiring at certain seasons from -it; for its influence, arising only from its presence, is much lessened -when it becomes the object of solitary meditation. A constant residence -amidst noise and pleasure, inevitably obliterates the impressions of -piety, and a frequent abstraction of ourselves into a state, where this -life, like the next, operates only upon the reason, will reinstate -religion in its just authority, even without those irradiations from -above, the hope of which I have no intention to withdraw from the sincere -and the diligent. - -This is that conquest of the world and of ourselves, which has been -always considered as the perfection of human nature; and this is only -to be obtained by fervent prayer, steady resolutions, and frequent -retirement from folly and vanity, from the cares of avarice, and the -joys of intemperance, from the lulling sounds of deceitful flattery, -and the tempting sight of prosperous wickedness. - - - - -No. 8. SATURDAY, APRIL 14, 1750. - - - _----Patitur poenas peccandi sola voluntas;_ - _Nam scelus intra se tacitum qui cogitat ullum,_ - _Facti crimen habet._ - JUV. Sat. xiii. 208. - - For he that but conceives a crime in thought, - Contracts the danger of an actual fault. - CREECH. - - -If the most active and industrious of mankind was able, at the close of -life, to recollect distinctly his past moments, and distribute them in a -regular account, according to the manner in which they have been spent, -it is scarcely to be imagined how few would be marked out to the mind, -by any permanent or visible effects, how small a proportion his real -action would bear to his seeming possibilities of action, how many chasms -he would find of wide and continued vacuity, and how many interstitial -spaces unfilled, even in the most tumultuous hurries of business, and -the most eager vehemence of pursuit. - -It is said by modern philosophers, that not only the great globes -of matter are thinly scattered through the universe, but the hardest -bodies are so porous, that, if all matter were compressed to perfect -solidity, it might be contained in a cube of a few feet. In like manner, -if all the employments of life were crowded into the time which it really -occupied, perhaps a few weeks, days, or hours, would be sufficient for its -accomplishment, so far as the mind was engaged in the performance. For -such is the inequality of our corporeal to our intellectual faculties, -that we contrive in minutes what we execute in years, and the soul often -stands an idle spectator of the labour of the hands, and expedition of -the feet. - -For this reason the ancient generals often found themselves at leisure to -pursue the study of philosophy in the camp; and Lucan, with historical -veracity, makes Cæsar relate of himself, that he noted the revolutions -of the stars in the midst of preparations for battle. - - _----Media inter proelia semper_ - _Stellarum, coelique plagis, superisque vacavi._ - LUCAN, l. x. 186. - - Amid the storms of war, with curious eyes - I trace the planets and survey the skies. - -That the soul always exerts her peculiar powers, with greater or less -force, is very probable, though the common occasions of our present -condition require but a small part of that incessant cogitation; and by -the natural frame of our bodies, and general combination of the world, -we are so frequently condemned to inactivity, that as though all our -time we are thinking, so for a great part of our time we can only think. - -Lest a power so restless should be either unprofitably or hurtfully -employed, and the superfluities of intellect run to waste, it is no vain -speculation to consider how we may govern our thoughts, restrain them -from irregular motions, or confine them from boundless dissipation. - -How the understanding is best conducted to the knowledge of science, -by what steps it is to be led forwards in its pursuit, how it is to be -cured of its defects, and habituated to new studies, has been the inquiry -of many acute and learned men, whose observations I shall not either -adopt or censure: my purpose being to consider the moral discipline of -the mind, and to promote the increase of virtue rather than of learning. - -This inquiry seems to have been neglected for want of remembering, that -all action has its origin in the mind, and that therefore to suffer -the thoughts to be vitiated, is to poison the fountains of morality; -irregular desires will produce licentious practices; what men allow -themselves to wish they will soon believe, and will be at last incited -to execute what they please themselves with contriving. - -For this reason the casuists of the Roman church, who gain, by confession, -great opportunities of knowing human nature, have generally determined -that what it is a crime to do, it is a crime to think[35]. Since by -revolving with pleasure the facility, safety, or advantage of a wicked -deed, a man soon begins to find his constancy relax, and his detestation -soften; the happiness of success glittering before him, withdraws his -attention from the atrociousness of the guilt, and acts are at last -confidently perpetrated, of which the first conception only crept into -the mind, disguised in pleasing complications, and permitted rather -than invited. - -No man has ever been drawn to crimes by love or jealousy, envy or -hatred, but he can tell how easily he might at first have repelled the -temptation, how readily his mind would have obeyed a call to any other -object, and how weak his passion has been after some casual avocation, -till he has recalled it again to his heart, and revived the viper by -too warm a fondness. - -Such, therefore, is the importance of keeping reason a constant guard -over imagination, that we have otherwise no security for our own virtue, -but may corrupt our hearts in the most recluse solitude, with more -pernicious and tyrannical appetites and wishes than the commerce of the -world will generally produce; for we are easily shocked by crimes which -appear at once in their full magnitude; but the gradual growth of our -own wickedness, endeared by interest, and palliated by all the artifices -of self-deceit, gives us time to form distinctions in our own favour, -and reason by degrees submits to absurdity, as the eye is in time -accommodated to darkness. - -In this disease of the soul, it is of the utmost importance to apply -remedies at the beginning; and therefore I shall endeavour to shew what -thoughts are to be rejected or improved, as they regard the past, present, -or future; in hopes that some may be awakened to caution and vigilance, -who, perhaps, indulge themselves in dangerous dreams, so much the more -dangerous, because, being yet only dreams, they are concluded innocent. - -The recollection of the past is only useful by way of provision for the -future; and, therefore, in reviewing all occurrences that fall under a -religious consideration, it is proper that a man stop at the first -thoughts, to remark how he was led thither, and why he continues the -reflection. If he is dwelling with delight upon a stratagem of successful -fraud, a night of licentious riot, or an intrigue of guilty pleasure, -let him summon off his imagination as from an unlawful pursuit, expel -those passages from his remembrance, of which, though he cannot seriously -approve them, the pleasure overpowers the guilt, and refer them to -a future hour, when they may be considered with greater safety. Such -an hour will certainly come; for the impressions of past pleasure are -always lessening, but the sense of guilt, which respects futurity, -continues the same. - -The serious and impartial retrospect of our conduct, is indisputably -necessary to the confirmation or recovery of virtue, and is, therefore, -recommended under the name of self-examination, by divines, as the first -act previous to repentance. It is, indeed, of so great use, that without -it we should always be to begin life, be seduced for ever by the same -allurements, and misled by the same fallacies. But in order that we -may not lose the advantage of our experience, we must endeavour to see -every thing in its proper form, and excite in ourselves those sentiments, -which the great Author of nature has decreed the concomitants or followers -of good and bad actions. - - [Greek: Mêd' hypnon malakoisin ep' ommasi prosdexasthai, - Prin tôn hêmerinôn ergôn tris hekaston epelthein; - Pêi parebên? ti d' erexa? ti moi deon ouk etelesthê? - Arxamenos d' apo prôtou epexithi; kai metepeita, - Deila men ekprêxas, epiplêsseo, chrêsta de, terpou.] - - Let not sleep (says Pythagoras) fall upon thy eyes till thou - hast thrice reviewed the transactions of the past day. Where have - I turned aside from rectitude? What have I been doing? What have - I left undone, which I ought to have done? Begin thus from the - first act, and proceed; and in conclusion, at the ill which thou - hast done be troubled, and rejoice for the good. - -Our thoughts on present things being determined by the objects before us, -fall not under those indulgences or excursions, which I am now considering. -But I cannot forbear, under this head, to caution pious and tender minds, -that are disturbed by the irruptions of wicked imaginations, against too -great dejection, and too anxious alarms; for thoughts are only criminal, -when they are first chosen, and then voluntarily continued. - - Evil into the mind of God or man - May come and go, so unapprov'd, and leave - No spot or stain behind. - MILTON. - -In futurity chiefly are the snares lodged, by which the imagination -is entangled. Futurity is the proper abode of hope and fear, with all -their train and progeny of subordinate apprehensions and desires. In -futurity, events and chances are yet floating at large, without apparent -connexion with their causes, and we therefore easily indulge the liberty -of gratifying ourselves with a pleasing choice. To pick and cull among -possible advantages is, as the civil law terms it, _in vacuum venire_, -to take what belongs to nobody; but it has this hazard in it, that we -shall be unwilling to quit what we have seized, though an owner should be -found. It is easy to think on that which may be gained, till at last we -resolve to gain it, and to image the happiness of particular conditions, -till we can be easy in no other. We ought, at least, to let our desires -fix upon nothing in another's power for the sake of our quiet, or in -another's possession for the sake of our innocence. When a man finds -himself led, though by a train of honest sentiments, to wish for that to -which he has no right, he should start back as from a pitfall covered -with flowers. He that fancies he should benefit the publick more in a -great station than the man that fills it, will in time imagine it an -act of virtue to supplant him; and as opposition readily kindles into -hatred, his eagerness to do that good, to which he is not called, will -betray him to crimes, which in his original scheme were never proposed. - -He therefore that would govern his actions by the laws of virtue, must -regulate his thoughts by those of reason; he must keep guilt from the -recesses of his heart, and remember that the pleasures of fancy, and -the emotions of desire, are more dangerous as they are more hidden, -since they escape the awe of observation, and operate equally in every -situation, without the concurrence of external opportunities. - -[Footnote 35: This was determined before their time. See Matt. ch. v. -ver. 28.--C.] - - - - -No. 9. TUESDAY, APRIL 17, 1750. - - - _Quod sis esse velis, nihilque malis._ - MART. lib. x. Ep. xlvii. 12. - - Choose what you are; no other state prefer. - ELPHINSTON. - - -It is justly remarked by Horace, that howsoever every man may complain -occasionally of the hardships of his condition, he is seldom willing -to change it for any other on the same level: for whether it be that -he, who follows an employment, made choice of it at first on account -of its suitableness to his inclination; or that when accident, or the -determination of others, have placed him in a particular station, he, -by endeavouring to reconcile himself to it, gets the custom of viewing -it only on the fairest side; or whether every man thinks that class to -which he belongs the most illustrious, merely because he has honoured -it with his name; it is certain that, whatever be the reason, most men -have a very strong and active prejudice in favour of their own vocation, -always working upon their minds, and influencing their behaviour. - -This partiality is sufficiently visible in every rank of the human -species; but it exerts itself more frequently and with greater force -among those who have never learned to conceal their sentiments for reasons -of policy, or to model their expressions by the laws of politeness; and -therefore the chief contests of wit among artificers and handicraftsmen -arise from a mutual endeavour to exalt one trade by depreciating another. - -From the same principles are derived many consolations to alleviate the -inconveniences to which every calling is peculiarly exposed. A blacksmith -was lately pleasing himself at his anvil, with observing that, though -his trade was hot and sooty, laborious and unhealthy, yet he had the -honour of living by his hammer, he got his bread like a man, and if his -son should rise in the world, and keep his coach, nobody could reproach -him that his father was a tailor. - -A man, truly zealous for his fraternity, is never so irresistibly -flattered, as when some rival calling is mentioned with contempt. Upon -this principle a linen-draper boasted that he had got a new customer, -whom he could safely trust, for he could have no doubt of his honesty, -since it was known, from unquestionable authority, that he was now filing -a bill in chancery to delay payment for the clothes which he had worn -the last seven years; and he himself had heard him declare, in a public -coffee-house, that he looked upon the whole generation of woollen-drapers -to be such despicable wretches, that no gentleman ought to pay them. - -It has been observed that physicians and lawyers are no friends to -religion; and many conjectures have been formed to discover the reason -of such a combination between men who agree in nothing else, and who -seem less to be affected, in their own provinces, by religious opinions, -than any other part of the community. The truth is, very few of them -have thought about religion; but they have all seen a parson; seen him -in a habit different from their own, and therefore declared war against -him. A young student from the inns of court, who has often attacked the -curate of his father's parish with such arguments as his acquaintances -could furnish, and returned to town without success, is now gone down -with a resolution to destroy him; for he has learned at last how to -manage a prig, and if he pretends to hold him again to syllogism, he -has a catch in reserve, which neither logick nor metaphysicks can resist: - - I laugh to think how your unshaken Cato - Will look aghast, when unforeseen destruction - Pours in upon him thus. - CATO, Act. ii. Sc. 6. - -The malignity of soldiers and sailors against each other has been -often experienced at the cost of their country; and, perhaps, no orders -of men have an enmity of more acrimony, or longer continuance. When, -upon our late successes at sea, some new regulations were concerted -for establishing the rank of the naval commanders, a captain of foot -very acutely remarked, that nothing was more absurd than to give any -honorary rewards to seamen, "for honour," says he, "ought only to be -won by bravery, and all the world knows that in a sea-fight there is no -danger, and therefore no evidence of courage." - -But although this general desire of aggrandizing themselves, by raising -their profession, betrays men to a thousand ridiculous and mischievous -acts of supplantation and detraction, yet as almost all passions have -their good as well as bad effects, it likewise excites ingenuity, and -sometimes raises an honest and useful emulation of diligence. It may be -observed in general, that no trade had ever reached the excellence to -which it is now improved, had its professors looked upon it with the eyes -of indifferent spectators; the advances, from the first rude essays, -must have been made by men who valued themselves for performances, -for which scarce any other would be persuaded to esteem them. - -It is pleasing to contemplate a manufacture rising gradually from its -first mean state by the successive labours of innumerable minds; to -consider the first hollow trunk of an oak, in which, perhaps, the shepherd -could scarce venture to cross a brook swelled with a shower, enlarged -at last into a ship of war, attacking fortresses, terrifying nations, -setting storms and billows at defiance, and visiting the remotest parts of -the globe. And it might contribute to dispose us to a kinder regard for -the labours of one another, if we were to consider from what unpromising -beginnings the most useful productions of art have probably arisen. Who, -when he saw the first sand or ashes, by a casual intenseness of heat, -melted into a metalline form, rugged with excrescences, and clouded -with impurities, would have imagined, that in this shapeless lump lay -concealed so many conveniences of life, as would in time constitute a -great part of the happiness of the world? Yet by some such fortuitous -liquefaction was mankind taught to procure a body at once in a high -degree solid and transparent, which might admit the light of the sun, -and exclude the violence of the wind; which might extend the sight of -the philosopher to new ranges of existence, and charm him at one time -with the unbounded extent of the material creation, and at another -with the endless subordination of animal life; and, what is yet of -more importance, might supply the decays of nature, and succour old age -with subsidiary sight. Thus was the first artificer in glass employed, -though without his own knowledge or expectation. He was facilitating -and prolonging the enjoyment of light, enlarging the avenues of science, -and conferring the highest and most lasting pleasures; he was enabling -the student to contemplate nature, and the beauty to behold herself. - -This passion for the honour of a profession, like that for the grandeur -of our own country, is to be regulated, not extinguished. Every man, -from the highest to the lowest station, ought to warm his heart, and -animate his endeavours with the hopes of being useful to the world, by -advancing the art which it is his lot to exercise, and for that end he -must necessarily consider the whole extent of its application, and the -whole weight of its importance. But let him not too readily imagine that -another is ill employed, because, for want of fuller knowledge of his -business, he is not able to comprehend its dignity. Every man ought to -endeavour at eminence, not by pulling others down, but by raising himself, -and enjoy the pleasure of his own superiority, whether imaginary or real, -without interrupting others in the same felicity. The philosopher may -very justly be delighted with the extent of his views, and the artificer -with the readiness of his hands; but let the one remember, that, without -mechanical performances, refined speculation is an empty dream, and the -other, that, without theoretical reasoning, dexterity is little more -than a brute instinct. - - - - -No. 10. SATURDAY, APRIL 21, 1750. - - - _Posthabui tamen illorum mea seria ludo._ - VIRG. Ec. vii. 17. - - For trifling sports I quitted grave affairs. - - -The number of correspondents which increases every day upon me, shews -that my paper is at least distinguished from the common productions of -the press. It is no less a proof of eminence to have many enemies than -many friends, and I look upon every letter, whether it contains encomiums -or reproaches, as an equal attestation of rising credit. The only pain, -which I can feel from my correspondence, is the fear of disgusting those, -whose letters I shall neglect; and therefore I take this opportunity of -reminding them, that in disapproving their attempts, whenever it may -happen, I only return the treatment which I often receive. Besides, -many particular motives influence a writer, known only to himself, -or his private friends; and it may be justly concluded, that not all -letters which are postponed are rejected, nor all that are rejected, -critically condemned. - -Having thus eased my heart of the only apprehension that sat heavy on -it, I can please myself with the candour of Benevolus, who encourages me -to proceed, without sinking under the anger of Flirtilla, who quarrels -with me for being old and ugly, and for wanting both activity of body, -and sprightliness of mind; feeds her monkey with my lucubrations, -and refuses any reconciliation till I have appeared in vindication -of masquerades. That she may not however imagine me without support, -and left to rest wholly upon my own fortitude, I shall now publish some -letters which I have received from men as well dressed, and as handsome, -as her favourite; and others from ladies, whom I sincerely believe as -young, as rich, as gay, as pretty, as fashionable, and as often toasted -and treated as herself. - - "A set of candid readers send their respects to the Rambler, - and acknowledge his merit in so well beginning a work that may - be of publick benefit. But, superior as his genius is to the - impertinences of a trifling age, they cannot help a wish that he - would condescend to the weakness of minds softened by perpetual - amusements, and now and then throw in, like his predecessors, - some papers of a gay and humorous turn. Too fair a field now - lies open, with too plentiful a harvest of follies! let the - cheerful Thalia put in her sickle, and, singing at her work, - deck her hair with red and blue." - - "A lady sends her compliments to the Rambler, and desires to know - by what other name she may direct to him; what are his set of - friends, his amusements; what his way of thinking, with regard - to the living world, and its ways; in short, whether he is a - person now alive, and in town? If he be, she will do herself - the honour to write to him pretty often, and hopes, from time - to time, to be the better for his advice and animadversions; - for his animadversions on her neighbours at least. But, if he - is a mere essayist, and troubles not himself with the manners - of the age, she is sorry to tell him, that even the genius and - correctness of an Addison will not secure him from neglect." - -No man is so much abstracted from common life, as not to feel a particular -pleasure from the regard of the female world; the candid writers of the -first billet will not be offended, that my haste to satisfy a lady has -hurried their address too soon out of my mind, and that I refer them -for a reply to some future paper, in order to tell this curious inquirer -after my other name, the answer of a philosopher to a man, who meeting -him in the street, desired to see what he carried under his cloak; -_I carry it there_, says he, _that you may not see it_. But, though she -is never to know my name, she may often see my face; for I am of her -opinion, that a diurnal writer ought to view the world, and that he who -neglects his contemporaries, may be, with justice, neglected by them. - - "Lady Racket sends compliments to the Rambler, and lets him know - she shall have cards at her house, every Sunday, the remainder of - the season, where he will be sure of meeting all the good company - in town. By this means she hopes to see his papers interspersed - with living characters. She longs to see the torch of truth - produced at an assembly, and to admire the charming lustre it - will throw on the jewels, complexions, and behaviour of every - dear creature there." - -It is a rule with me to receive every offer with the same civility as -it is made; and, therefore, though lady Racket may have had some reason -to guess, that I seldom frequent card-tables on Sundays, I shall not -insist upon an exception, which may to her appear of so little force. -My business has been to view, as opportunity was offered, every place -in which mankind was to be seen; but at card-tables, however brilliant, -I have always thought my visit lost, for I could know nothing of the -company, but their clothes and their faces. I saw their looks clouded -at the beginning of every game with an uniform solicitude, now and then -in its progress varied with a short triumph, at one time wrinkled with -cunning, at another deadened with despondency, or by accident flushed with -rage at the unskilful or unlucky play of a partner. From such assemblies, -in whatever humour I happened to enter them, I was quickly forced to -retire; they were too trifling for me, when I was grave, and too dull, -when I was cheerful. - -Yet I cannot but value myself upon this token of regard from a lady who -is not afraid to stand before the torch of truth. Let her not, however, -consult her curiosity more than her prudence; but reflect a moment on -the fate of Semele, who might have lived the favourite of Jupiter, -if she could have been content without his thunder. It is dangerous -for mortal beauty, or terrestrial virtue, to be examined by too strong -a light. The torch of truth shews much that we cannot, and all that we -would not see. In a face dimpled with smiles, it has often discovered -malevolence and envy, and detected under jewels and brocade, the frightful -forms of poverty and distress. A fine hand of cards have changed before -it into a thousand spectres of sickness, misery, and vexation; and -immense sums of money, while the winner counted them with transport, -have at the first glimpse of this unwelcome lustre vanished from before -him. If her ladyship therefore designs to continue her assembly, I would -advise her to shun such dangerous experiments, to satisfy herself with -common appearances, and to light up her apartments rather with myrtle, -than the torch of truth. - - "A modest young man sends his service to the author of the - Rambler, and will be very willing to assist him in his work, - but is sadly afraid of being discouraged by having his first - essay rejected, a disgrace he has woefully experienced in every - offer he had made of it to every new writer of every new paper; - but he comforts himself by thinking, without vanity, that - this has been from a peculiar favour of the muses, who saved - his performance from being buried in trash, and reserved it to - appear with lustre in the Rambler." - -I am equally a friend to modesty and enterprize; and therefore shall -think it an honour to correspond with a young man who possesses both in -so eminent a degree. Youth is, indeed, the time in which these qualities -ought chiefly to be found; modesty suits well with inexperience, and -enterprize with health and vigour, and an extensive prospect of life. -One of my predecessors has justly observed, that, though modesty has -an amiable and winning appearance, it ought not to hinder the exertion of -the active powers, but that a man should shew under his blushes a latent -resolution. This point of perfection, nice as it is, my correspondent -seems to have attained. That he is modest, his own declaration may evince; -and, I think, the _latent resolution_ may be discovered in his letter -by an acute observer. I will advise him, since he so well deserves my -precepts, not to be discouraged though the Rambler should prove equally -envious, or tasteless, with the rest of this fraternity. If his paper is -refused, the presses of England are open, let him try the judgment of -the publick. If, as it has sometimes happened in general combinations -against merit, he cannot persuade the world to buy his works, he may -present them to his friends; and if his friends are seized with the -epidemical infatuation, and cannot find his genius, or will not confess -it, let him then refer his cause to posterity, and reserve his labours -for a wiser age. - -Thus have I dispatched some of my correspondents in the usual manner with -fair words, and general civility. But to Flirtilla, the gay Flirtilla, -what shall I reply? Unable as I am to fly, at her command, over land -and seas, or to supply her from week to week with the fashions of -Paris, or the intrigues of Madrid, I am yet not willing to incur her -further displeasure, and would save my papers from her monkey on any -reasonable terms. By what propitiation, therefore, may I atone for my -former gravity, and open, without trembling, the future letters of -this sprightly persecutor? To write in defence of masquerades is no -easy task; yet something difficult and daring may well be required, -as the price of so important an approbation. I therefore consulted, -in this great emergency, a man of high reputation in gay life, who -having added to his other accomplishments, no mean proficiency, in the -minute philosophy, after the fifth perusal of her letter, broke out with -rapture into these words: "And can you, Mr. Rambler, stand out against -this charming creature? Let her know, at least, that from this moment -Nigrinus devotes his life and his labours to her service. Is there any -stubborn prejudice of education, that stands between thee and the most -amiable of mankind? Behold, Flirtilla, at thy feet, a man grown gray in -the study of those noble arts by which right and wrong may be confounded; -by which reason may be blinded, when we have a mind to escape from her -inspection; and caprice and appetite instated in uncontrouled command, -and boundless dominion! Such a casuist may surely engage, with certainty -of success, in vindication of an entertainment, which in an instant -gives confidence to the timorous, and kindles ardour in the cold; an -entertainment where the vigilance of jealousy has so often been eluded, -and the virgin is set free from the necessity of languishing in silence; -where all the outworks of chastity are at once demolished; where the -heart is laid open without a blush; where bashfulness may survive virtue, -and no wish is crushed under the frown of modesty. Far weaker influence -than Flirtilla's might gain over an advocate for such amusements. It -was declared by Pompey, that if the commonwealth was violated, he -could stamp with his foot, and raise an army out of the ground; if the -rights of pleasure are again invaded, let but Flirtilla crack her fan, -neither pens, nor swords, shall be wanting at the summons; the wit and -the colonel shall march out at her command, and neither law nor reason -shall stand before us[36]." - -[Footnote 36: The four billets in this paper were written by Miss Mulso, -afterwards Mrs. Chapone, who survived this work more than half a century, -and died Dec. 25, 1801.] - - - - -No. 11. TUESDAY, APRIL 24, 1750. - - - _Non Dindymene, non adytis quatit_ - _Mentem sacerdotum incota Pythius,_ - _Non Liber æque, non acuta_ - _Sic geminant Corybantes æra,_ - _Tristes ut inæ.--_ - HOR. lib. i. Ode xvi. 5. - - Yet O! remember, nor the god of wine, - Nor Pythian Phoebus from his inmost shrine, - Nor Dindymene, nor her priests possest, - Can with their sounding cymbals shake the breast, - Like furious anger. - FRANCIS. - - -The maxim which Periander of Corinth, one of the seven sages of Greece, -left as a memorial of his knowledge and benevolence, was [Greek: cholou -kratei], _Be master of thy anger_. He considered anger as the great -disturber of human life, the chief enemy both of publick happiness and -private tranquillity, and thought that he could not lay on posterity -a stronger obligation to reverence his memory, than by leaving them a -salutary caution against this outrageous passion. - -To what latitude Periander might extend the word, the brevity of his -precept will scarce allow us to conjecture. From anger, in its full -import, protracted into malevolence, and exerted in revenge, arise, -indeed, many of the evils to which the life of man is exposed. By -anger operating upon power are produced the subversion of cities, -the desolation of countries, the massacre of nations, and all those -dreadful and astonishing calamities which fill the histories of the -world, and which could not be read at any distant point of time, when -the passions stand neutral, and every motive and principle is left to -its natural force, without some doubt of the truth of the relation, did -we not see the same causes still tending to the same effects, and only -acting with less vigour for want of the same concurrent opportunities. - -But this gigantick and enormous species of anger falls not properly -under the animadversion of a writer, whose chief end is the regulation -of common life, and whose precepts are to recommend themselves by their -general use. Nor is this essay intended to expose the tragical or fatal -effects even of private malignity. The anger which I propose now for -my subject, is such as makes those who indulge it more troublesome -than formidable, and ranks them rather with hornets and wasps, than -with basilisks and lions. I have, therefore, prefixed a motto, which -characterizes this passion, not so much by the mischief that it causes, -as by the noise that it utters. - -There is in the world a certain class of mortals, known, and contentedly -known, by the appellation of _passionate men_, who imagine themselves -entitled by that distinction to be provoked on every slight occasion, -and to vent their rage in vehement and fierce vociferations, in furious -menaces and licentious reproaches. Their rage, indeed, for the most -part, fumes away in outcries of injury, and protestations of vengeance, -and seldom proceeds to actual violence, unless a drawer or linkboy falls -in their way; but they interrupt the quiet of those that happen to be -within the reach of their clamours, obstruct the course of conversation, -and disturb the enjoyment of society. - -Men of this kind are sometimes not without understanding or virtue, -and are, therefore, not always treated with the severity which their -neglect of the ease of all about them might justly provoke; they have -obtained a kind of prescription for their folly, and are considered by -their companions as under a predominant influence that leaves them not -masters of their conduct or language, as acting without consciousness, and -rushing into mischief with a mist before their eyes; they are therefore -pitied rather than censured, and their sallies are passed over as the -involuntary blows of a man agitated by the spasms of a convulsion. - -It is surely not to be observed without indignation, that men may be -found of minds mean enough to be satisfied with this treatment; wretches -who are proud to obtain the privilege of madmen, and can, without shame, -and without regret, consider themselves as receiving hourly pardons from -their companions, and giving them continual opportunities of exercising -their patience, and boasting their clemency. - -Pride is undoubtedly the original of anger; but pride, like every -other passion, if it once breaks loose from reason, counteracts its own -purposes. A passionate man, upon the review of his day, will have very -few gratifications to offer to his pride, when he has considered how his -outrages were caused, why they were borne, and in what they are likely -to end at last. - -Those sudden bursts of rage generally break out upon small occasions; for -life, unhappy as it is, cannot supply great evils as frequently as the -man of fire thinks it fit to be enraged; therefore the first reflection -upon his violence must shew him that he is mean enough to be driven from -his post by every petty incident, that he is the mere slave of casualty, -and that his reason and virtue are in the power of the wind. - -One motive there is of these loud extravagancies, which a man is careful -to conceal from others, and does not always discover to himself. He that -finds his knowledge narrow, and his arguments weak, and by consequence -his suffrage not much regarded, is sometimes in hope of gaining that -attention by his clamours which he cannot otherwise obtain, and is -pleased with remembering that at least he made himself heard, that he -had the power to interrupt those whom he could not confute, and suspend -the decision which he could not guide. - -Of this kind is the fury to which many men give way among their servants -and domesticks; they feel their own ignorance, they see their own -insignificance; and therefore they endeavour, by their fury, to fright -away contempt from before them, when they know it must follow them -behind; and think themselves eminently masters, when they see one folly -tamely complied with, only lest refusal or delay should provoke them to -a greater. - -These temptations cannot but be owned to have some force. It is so -little pleasing to any man to see himself wholly overlooked in the mass -of things, that he may be allowed to try a few expedients for procuring -some kind of supplemental dignity, and use some endeavour to add weight, -by the violence of his temper, to the lightness of his other powers. But -this has now been long practised, and found, upon the most exact estimate, -not to produce advantages equal to its inconveniences; for it appears not -that a man can by uproar, tumult, and bluster, alter any one's opinion of -his understanding, or gain influence, except over those whom fortune or -nature have made his dependants. He may, by a steady perseverance in his -ferocity, fright his children, and harass his servants, but the rest of -the world will look on and laugh; and he will have the comfort at last of -thinking, that he lives only to raise contempt and hatred, emotions to -which wisdom and virtue would be always unwilling to give occasion. He -has contrived only to make those fear him, whom every reasonable being -is endeavouring to endear by kindness; and must content himself with -the pleasure of a triumph, obtained by trampling on those who could -not resist. He must perceive that the apprehension which his presence -causes is not the awe of his virtue, but the dread of his brutality, -and that he has given up the felicity of being loved, without gaining -the honour of being reverenced. - -But this is not the only ill consequence of the frequent indulgence of -this blustering passion, which a man, by often calling to his assistance -will teach, in a short time, to intrude before the summons, to rush -upon him with resistless violence, and without any previous notice of -its approach. He will find himself liable to be inflamed at the first -touch of provocation, and unable to retain his resentment till he has -a full conviction of the offence, to proportion his anger to the cause, -or to regulate it by prudence or by duty. When a man has once suffered -his mind to be thus vitiated, he becomes one of the most hateful and -unhappy beings. He can give no security to himself that he shall not, -at the next interview, alienate by some sudden transport his dearest -friend; or break out, upon some slight contradiction, into such terms -of rudeness as can never be perfectly forgotten. Whoever converses with -him, lives with the suspicion and solicitude of a man that plays with -a tame tiger, always under a necessity of watching the moment in which -the capricious savage shall begin to growl. - -It is told by Prior, in a panegyrick on the earl of Dorset, that his -servants used to put themselves in his way when he was angry, because -he was sure to recompense them for any indignities which he made them -suffer. This is the round of a passionate man's life; he contracts debts -when he is furious, which his virtue, if he has virtue, obliges him to -discharge at the return of reason. He spends his time in outrage and -acknowledgment, injury and reparation. Or, if there be any who hardens -himself in oppression, and justifies the wrong, because he has done it, -his insensibility can make small part of his praise, or his happiness; he -only adds deliberate to hasty folly, aggravates petulance by contumacy, -and destroys the only plea that he can offer for the tenderness and -patience of mankind. - -Yet, even this degree of depravity we may be content to pity, because it -seldom wants a punishment equal to its guilt. Nothing is more despicable -or more miserable than the old age of a passionate man. When the vigour -of youth fails him, and his amusements pall with frequent repetition, -his occasional rage sinks by decay of strength into peevishness; that -peevishness, for want of novelty and variety, becomes habitual; the -world falls off from around him, and he is left, as Homer expresses it, -[Greek: phthinythôn philon kêr], to devour his own heart in solitude -and contempt. - - - - -No. 12. SATURDAY, APRIL 28, 1750. - - - _----Miserum parva stipe focilat, ut pudibundos_ - _Exercere sales inter convivia possit.----_ - _----Tu mitis, et acri_ - _Asperitate carens, positoque per omnia fastu,_ - _Inter ut æquales unus numeraris amicos,_ - _Obsequiumque doces, et amorem quæris amando._ - Lucanus _ad_ Pisonem. - - Unlike the ribald whose licentious jest - Pollutes his banquet, and insults his guest; - From wealth and grandeur easy to descend, - Thou joy'st to lose the master in the friend: - We round thy board the cheerful menials see, - Gay with the smile of bland equality; - No social care the gracious lord disdains; - Love prompts to love, and rev'rence rev'rence gains. - - -TO THE RAMBLER. - -SIR, - -As you seem to have devoted your labours to virtue, I cannot forbear to -inform you of one species of cruelty with which the life of a man of -letters perhaps does not often make him acquainted; and which, as it -seems to produce no other advantage to those that practise it than a -short gratification of thoughtless vanity, may become less common when -it has been once exposed in its various forms, and its full magnitude. - -I am the daughter of a country gentleman, whose family is numerous, -and whose estate, not at first sufficient to supply us with affluence, -has been lately so much impaired by an unsuccessful law-suit, that all -the younger children are obliged to try such means as their education -affords them, for procuring the necessaries of life. Distress and -curiosity concurred to bring me to London, where I was received by a -relation with the coldness which misfortune generally finds. A week, -a long week, I lived with my cousin, before the most vigilant inquiry -could procure us the least hopes of a place, in which time I was much -better qualified to bear all the vexations of servitude. The first two -days she was content to pity me, and only wished I had not been quite so -well bred; but people must comply with their circumstances. This lenity, -however, was soon at an end; and, for the remaining part of the week, -I heard every hour of the pride of my family, the obstinacy of my father, -and of people better born than myself that were common servants. - -At last, on Saturday noon, she told me, with very visible satisfaction, -that Mrs. Bombasine, the great silk-mercer's lady, wanted a maid, and a -fine place it would be, for there would be nothing to do but to clean -my mistress's room, get up her linen, dress the young ladies, wait at -tea in the morning, take care of a little miss just come from nurse, -and then sit down to my needle. But madam was a woman of great spirit, -and would not be contradicted, and therefore I should take care, for -good places were not easily to be got. - -With these cautions I waited on madam Bombasine, of whom the first -sight gave me no ravishing ideas. She was two yards round the waist, -her voice was at once loud and squeaking, and her face brought to my -mind the picture of the full moon. Are you the young woman, says she, -that are come to offer yourself? It is strange when people of substance -want a servant, how soon it is the town-talk. But they know they shall -have a belly-full that live with me. Not like people at the other end of -the town, we dine at one o'clock. But I never take any body without a -character; what friends do you come of? I then told her that my father -was a gentleman, and that we had been unfortunate.--A great misfortune -indeed, to come to me, and have three meals a-day!--So your father was a -gentleman, and you are a gentlewoman I suppose--such gentlewomen!--Madam, -I did not mean to claim any exemptions, I only answered your inquiry--Such -gentlewomen! people should set their children to good trades, and keep -them off the parish. Pray go to the other end of the town, there are -gentlewomen, if they would pay their debts: I am sure we have lost enough -by gentlewomen. Upon this, her broad face grew broader with triumph, and -I was afraid she would have taken me for the pleasure of continuing -her insult; but happily the next word was, Pray, Mrs. gentlewoman, -troop down stairs.--You may believe I obeyed her. - -I returned and met with a better reception from my cousin than I expected; -for while I was out, she had heard that Mrs. Standish, whose husband had -lately been raised from a clerk in an office, to be commissioner of the -excise, had taken a fine house, and wanted a maid. - -To Mrs. Standish I went, and, after having waited six hours, was at -last admitted to the top of the stairs, when she came out of her room, -with two of her company. There was a smell of punch. So, young woman, -you want a place; whence do you come?--From the country, madam.--Yes, -they all come out of the country. And what brought you to town, a -bastard? Where do you lodge? At the Seven-Dials? What, you never heard -of the Foundling-house! Upon this, they all laughed so obtreperously, -that I took the opportunity of sneaking off in the tumult. - -I then heard of a place at an elderly lady's. She was at cards; but in -two hours, I was told, she would speak to me. She asked me if I could -keep an account, and ordered me to write. I wrote two lines out of some -book that lay by her. She wondered what people meant, to breed up poor -girls to write at that rate. I suppose, Mrs. Flirt, if I was to see your -work, it would be fine stuff!--You may walk. I will not have love-letters -written from my house to every young fellow in the street. - -Two days after, I went on the same pursuit to Lady Lofty, dressed as I -was directed, in what little ornaments I had, because she had lately got -a place at court. Upon the first sight of me, she turns to the woman that -shewed me in, Is this the lady that wants a place? Pray what place would -you have, miss? a maid of honour's place? Servants now-a-days!--Madam, -I heard you wanted--Wanted what? Somebody finer than myself? A pretty -servant indeed--I should be afraid to speak to her--I suppose, Mrs. Minx, -these fine hands cannot bear wetting--A servant indeed! Pray move off--I -am resolved to be the head person in this house--You are ready dressed, -the taverns will be open. - -I went to inquire for the next place in a clean linen gown, and heard -the servant tell his lady, there was a young woman, but he saw she would -not do. I was brought up, however. Are you the trollop that has the -impudence to come for my place? What, you have hired that nasty gown, and -are come to steal a better!--Madam, I have another, but being obliged to -walk--Then these are your manners, with your blushes, and your courtesies, -to come to me in your worst gown. Madam, give me leave to wait upon you -in my other. Wait on me, you saucy slut! Then you are sure of coming--I -could not let such a drab come near me--Here, you girl, that came up -with her, have you touched her? If you have, wash your hands before you -dress me--Such trollops! Get you down. What, whimpering? Pray walk. - -I went away with tears; for my cousin had lost all patience. However, -she told me, that having a respect for my relations, she was willing to -keep me out of the street, and would let me have another week. - -The first day of this week I saw two places. At one I was asked where I -had lived? And upon my answer, was told by the lady, that people should -qualify themselves in ordinary places, for she should never have done -if she was to follow girls about. At the other house I was a smirking -hussy, and that sweet, face I might make money of--For her part, it was -a rule with her never to take any creature that thought herself handsome. - -The three next days were spent in Lady Bluff's entry, where I waited six -hours every day for the pleasure of seeing the servants peep at me, and -go away laughing.--Madam will stretch her small shanks in the entry; she -will know the house again.--At sunset the two first days I was told, -that my lady would see me to-morrow, and on the third, that her woman -staid. - -My week was now near its end, and I had no hopes of a place. My relation, -who always laid upon me the blame of every miscarriage, told me that I -must learn to humble myself, and that all great ladies had particular -ways; that if I went on in that manner, she could not tell who would -keep me; she had known many that had refused places, sell their clothes, -and beg in the streets. - -It was to no purpose that the refusal was declared by me to be never -on my side; I was reasoning against interest, and against stupidity; -and therefore I comforted myself with the hope of succeeding better in -my next attempt, and went to Mrs. Courtly, a very fine lady, who had -routs at her house, and saw the best company in town. - -I had not waited two hours before I was called up, and found Mr. Courtly -and his lady at piquet, in the height of good humour. This I looked -on as a favourable sign, and stood at the lower end of the room, in -expectation of the common questions. At last Mr. Courtly called out, -after a whisper, Stand facing the light, that one may see you. I changed -my place, and blushed. They frequently turned their eyes upon me, and -seemed to discover many subjects of merriment; for at every look they -whispered, and laughed with the most violent agitations of delight. At -last Mr. Courtly cried out, Is that colour your own, child? Yes, says -the lady, if she has not robbed the kitchen hearth. This was so happy -a conceit, that it renewed the storm of laughter, and they threw down -their cards in hopes of better sport. The lady then called me to her, -and began with an affected gravity to inquire what I could do? But first -turn about, and let us see your fine shape: Well, what are you fit for, -Mrs. Mum? You would find your tongue, I suppose, in the kitchen. No, no, -says Mr. Courtly, the girl's a good girl yet, but I am afraid a brisk -young fellow with fine tags on his shoulder----Come, child, hold up your -head; what? you have stole nothing.--Not yet, says the lady, but she -hopes to steal your heart quickly.--Here was a laugh of happiness and -triumph, prolonged by the confusion which I could no longer repress. -At last the lady recollected herself; Stole! no--but if I had her, I -should watch her: for that downcast eye--Why cannot you look people in -the face? Steal! says her husband, she would steal nothing but, perhaps, -a few ribands before they were left off by her lady. Sir, answered I, -why should you, by supposing me a thief, insult one from whom you have -received no injury? Insult! says the lady; are you come here to be -a servant, you saucy baggage, and talk of insulting? What will this -world come to, if a gentleman may not jest with a servant! Well, such -servants! pray be gone, and see when you will have the honour to be so -insulted again. Servants insulted!--a fine time.--Insulted! Get down -stairs, you slut, or the footman shall insult you. - -The last day of the last week was now coming, and my kind cousin talked -of sending me down in the waggon to preserve me from bad courses. But -in the morning she came and told me that she had one trial more for me; -Euphemia wanted a maid, and perhaps I might do for her; for, like me, -she must fall her crest, being forced to lay down her chariot upon the -loss of half her fortune by bad securities, and with her way of giving -her money to every body that pretended to want it, she could have little -beforehand; therefore I might serve her; for, with all her fine sense, -she must not pretend to be nice. - -I went immediately, and met at the door a young gentlewoman, who told me -she had herself been hired that morning, but that she was ordered to bring -any that offered up stairs. I was accordingly introduced to Euphemia, -who, when I came in, laid down her book, and told me, that she sent for -me not to gratify an idle curiosity, but lest my disappointment might -be made still more grating by incivility; that she was in pain to deny -any thing, much more what was no favour; that she saw nothing in my -appearance which did not make her wish for my company; but that another, -whose claims might perhaps be equal, had come before me. The thought -of being so near to such a place, and missing it, brought tears into -my eyes, and my sobs hindered me from returning my acknowledgments. -She rose up confused, and supposing by my concern that I was distressed, -placed me by her, and made me tell her my story: which when she had -heard, she put two guineas in my hand, ordering me to lodge near her, -and make use of her table till she could provide for me. I am now under -her protection, and know not how to shew my gratitude better than by -giving this account to the Rambler. - - ZOSIMA. - - - - -No. 13. TUESDAY, MAY 1, 1750. - - - _Commissumque teges et vino tortus et irâ._ - HOR. lib. i. Ep. xviii. 38. - - And let not wine or anger wrest - Th' intrusted secret from your breast. - FRANCIS. - - -It is related by Quintus Curtius, that the Persians always conceived -an invincible contempt of a man who had violated the laws of secrecy; -for they thought, that, however he might be deficient in the qualities -requisite to actual excellence, the negative virtues at least were in -his power, and though he perhaps could not speak well if he was to try, -it was still easy for him not to speak. - -In forming this opinion of the easiness of secrecy, they seem to have -considered it as opposed, not to treachery, but loquacity, and to have -conceived the man whom they thus censured, not frighted by menaces to -reveal, or bribed by promises to betray, but incited by the mere pleasure -of talking, or some other motive equally trifling, to lay open his heart -without reflection, and to let whatever he knew slip from him, only for -want of power to retain it. Whether, by their settled and avowed scorn -of thoughtless talkers, the Persians were able to diffuse to any great -extent the virtue of taciturnity, we are hindered by the distance of -those times from being able to discover, there being very few memoirs -remaining of the court of Persepolis, nor any distinct accounts handed -down to us of their office-clerks, their ladies of the bedchamber, -their attorneys, their chambermaids, or their footmen. - -In these latter ages, though the old animosity against a prattler is still -retained, it appears wholly to have lost its effect upon the conduct of -mankind, for secrets are so seldom kept, that it may with some reason be -doubted whether the ancients were not mistaken, in their first postulate, -whether the quality of retention be so generally bestowed, and whether a -secret has not some subtle volatility, by which it escapes imperceptibly -at the smallest vent; or some power of fermentation, by which it expands -itself so as to burst the heart that will not give it way. - -Those that study either the body or the mind of a man, very often find the -most specious and pleasing theory falling under the weight of contrary -experience; and instead of gratifying their vanity by inferring effects -from causes, they are always reduced at last to conjecture causes from -effects. That it is easy to be secret, the speculatist can demonstrate -in his retreat, and therefore thinks himself justified in placing -confidence; the man of the world knows, that, whether difficult or not, -it is uncommon, and therefore finds himself rather inclined to search -after the reason of this universal failure in one of the most important -duties of society. - -The vanity of being known to be trusted with a secret is generally -one of the chief motives to disclose it; for, however absurd it may be -thought to boast an honour by an act which shews that it was conferred -without merit, yet most men seem rather inclined to confess the want -of virtue than of importance, and more willingly shew their influence, -though at the expense of their probity, than glide through life with no -other pleasure than the private consciousness of fidelity; which, while -it is preserved, must be without praise, except from the single person -who tries and knows it. - -There are many ways of telling a secret, by which a man exempts himself -from the reproaches of his conscience, and gratifies his pride, without -suffering himself to believe that he impairs his virtue. He tells the -private affairs of his patron, or his friend, only to those from whom he -would not conceal his own; he tells them to those, who have no temptation -to betray the trust, or with a denunciation of a certain forfeiture of -his friendship, if he discovers that they become publick. - -Secrets are very frequently told in the first ardour of kindness, or of -love, for the sake of proving, by so important a sacrifice, sincerity -or tenderness; but with this motive, though it be strong in itself, -vanity concurs, since every man desires to be most esteemed by those whom -he loves, or with whom he converses, with whom he passes his hours of -pleasure, and to whom he retires from business and from care. - -When the discovery of secrets is under consideration, there is always a -distinction carefully to be made between our own and those of another; -those of which we are fully masters, as they affect only our own interest, -and those which are reposited with us in trust, and involve the happiness -or convenience of such as we have no right to expose to hazard. To tell -our own secrets is generally folly, but that folly is without guilt; -to communicate those with which we are intrusted is always treachery, -and treachery for the most part combined with folly. - -There have, indeed, been some enthusiastick and irrational zealots for -friendship, who have maintained, and perhaps believed, that one friend -has a right to all that is in possession of another; and that therefore -it is a violation of kindness to exempt any secret from this boundless -confidence. Accordingly a late female minister of state[37] has been -shameless enough to inform the world, that she used, when she wanted -to extract any thing from her sovereign, to remind her of Montaigne's -reasoning, who has determined, that to tell a secret to a friend is -no breach of fidelity, because the number of persons trusted is not -multiplied, a man and his friend being virtually the same. - -That such a fallacy could be imposed upon any human understanding, -or that an author could have advanced a position so remote from truth -and reason, any otherwise than as a declaimer, to shew to what extent he -could stretch his imagination, and with what strength he could press his -principle, would scarcely have been credible, had not this lady kindly -shewn us how far weakness may be deluded, or indolence amused. But since -it appears, that even this sophistry has been able, with the help of -a strong desire, to repose in quiet upon the understanding of another, -to mislead honest intentions, and an understanding not contemptible[38], -it may not be superfluous to remark, that those things which are common -among friends are only such as either possesses in his own right, and -can alienate or destroy without injury to any other person. Without this -limitation confidence must run on without end, the second person may tell -the secret to the third, upon the same principle as he received it from -the first, and a third may hand it forward to a fourth, till at last it -is told in the round of friendship to them from whom it was the first -intention to conceal it. - -The confidence which Caius has of the faithfulness of Titius is nothing -more than an opinion which himself cannot know to be true, and which -Claudius, who first tells his secret to Caius, may know to be false; -and therefore the trust is transferred by Caius, if he reveal what has -been told him, to one from whom the person originally concerned would -have withheld it: and whatever may be the event, Caius has hazarded -the happiness of his friend, without necessity and without permission, -and has put that trust in the hand of fortune, which was given only to -virtue. - -All the arguments upon which a man who is telling the private affairs of -another may ground his confidence of security, he must upon reflection -know to be uncertain, because he finds them without effect upon -himself. When he is imagining that Titius will be cautious, from a regard -to his interest, his reputation, or his duty, he ought to reflect that -he is himself at that instant acting in opposition to all these reasons, -and revealing what interest, reputation, and duty, direct him to conceal. - -Every one feels that in his own case he should consider the man incapable -of trust, who believed himself at liberty to tell whatever he knew to -the first whom he should conclude deserving of his confidence; therefore -Caius, in admitting Titius to the affairs imparted only to himself, -must know that he violates his faith, since he acts contrary to the -intention of Claudius, to whom that faith was given. For promises of -friendship are, like all others, useless and vain, unless they are made -in some known sense, adjusted and acknowledged by both parties. - -I am not ignorant that many questions may be started relating to the duty -of secrecy, where the affairs are of publick concern; where subsequent -reasons may arise to alter the appearance and nature of the trust; -that the manner in which the secret was told may change the degree of -obligation, and that the principles upon which a man is chosen for a -confidant may not always equally constrain him. But these scruples, if -not too intricate, are of too extensive consideration for my present -purpose, nor are they such as generally occur in common life; and -though casuistical knowledge be useful in proper hands, yet it ought -by no means to be carelessly exposed, since most will use it rather to -lull than to awaken their own consciences; and the threads of reasoning, -on which truth is suspended, are frequently drawn to such subtility, that -common eyes cannot perceive, and common sensibility cannot feel them. - -The whole doctrine, as well as practice of secrecy, is so perplexing -and dangerous, that next to him who is compelled to trust, I think him -unhappy who is chosen to be trusted; for he is often involved in scruples -without the liberty of calling in the help of any other understanding; -he is frequently drawn into guilt, under the appearance of friendship and -honesty; and sometimes subjected to suspicion by the treachery of others, -who are engaged without his knowledge in the same schemes; for he that -has one confidant has generally more, and when he is at last betrayed, -is in doubt on whom he shall fix the crime. - -The rules therefore that I shall propose concerning secrecy, and from -which I think it not safe to deviate, without long and exact deliberation, -are--Never to solicit the knowledge of a secret. Not willingly, nor -without many limitations, to accept such confidence when it is offered. -When a secret is once admitted, to consider the trust as of a very high -nature, important as society, and sacred as truth, and therefore not -to be violated for any incidental convenience, or slight appearance of -contrary fitness. - -[Footnote 37: Sarah Duchess of Marlborough.--C.] - -[Footnote 38: That of Queen Anne.] - - - - -No. 14. SATURDAY, MAY 5, 1750. - - - _----Nil fuit unquam_ - _Sic impar sibi----_ - HOR. lib. i. Sat. iii. 18. - - Sure such a various creature ne'er was known. - FRANCIS. - - -Among the many inconsistencies which folly produces, or infirmity suffers, -in the human mind, there has often been observed a manifest and striking -contrariety between the life of an author and his writings; and Milton, -in a letter to a learned stranger, by whom he had been visited, with -great reason congratulates himself upon the consciousness of being found -equal to his own character, and having preserved, in a private and -familiar interview, that reputation which his works had procured him. - -Those whom the appearance of virtue, or the evidence of genius, have -tempted to a nearer knowledge of the writer in whose performances they -may be found, have indeed had frequent reason to repent their curiosity; -the bubble that sparkled before them has become common water at the -touch; the phantom of perfection has vanished when they wished to press -it to their bosom. They have lost the pleasure of imagining how far -humanity may be exalted, and, perhaps, felt themselves less inclined -to toil up the steeps of virtue, when they observe those who seem best -able to point the way, loitering below, as either afraid of the labour, -or doubtful of the reward. - -It has been long the custom of the oriental monarchs to hide themselves -in gardens and palaces, to avoid the conversation of mankind, and to be -known to their subjects only by their edicts. The same policy is no less -necessary to him that writes, than to him that governs; for men would -not more patiently submit to be taught, than commanded, by one known to -have the same follies and weaknesses with themselves. A sudden intruder -into the closet of an author would perhaps feel equal indignation with -the officer, who having long solicited admission into the presence of -Sardanapalus, saw him not consulting upon laws, inquiring into grievances, -or modelling armies, but employed in feminine amusements, and directing -the ladies in their work. - -It is not difficult to conceive, however, that for many reasons a man -writes much better than he lives. For without entering into refined -speculations, it may be shewn much easier to design than to perform. -A man proposes his schemes of life in a state of abstraction and -disengagement, exempt from the enticements of hope, the solicitations -of affection, the importunities of appetite, or the depressions of fear, -and is in the same state with him that teaches upon land the art of -navigation, to whom the sea is always smooth, and the wind always -prosperous. - -The mathematicians are well acquainted with the difference between pure -science, which has to do only with ideas, and the application of its -laws to the use of life, in which they are constrained to submit to the -imperfection of matter and the influence of accidents. Thus, in moral -discussions, it is to be remembered that many impediments obstruct our -practice, which very easily give way to theory. The speculatist is only -in danger of erroneous reasoning; but the man involved in life, has his -own passions, and those of others, to encounter, and is embarrassed -with a thousand inconveniencies, which confound him with variety of -impulse, and either perplex or obstruct his way. He is forced to act -without deliberation, and obliged to choose before he can examine: he -is surprised by sudden alterations of the state of things, and changes -his measures according to superficial appearances; he is led by others, -either because he is indolent, or because he is timorous; he is sometimes -afraid to know what is right, and sometimes finds friends or enemies -diligent to deceive him. - -We are, therefore, not to wonder that most fail, amidst tumult, and -snares, and danger, in the observance of those precepts, which they lay -down in solitude, safety, and tranquillity, with a mind unbiassed, and -with liberty unobstructed. It is the condition of our present state to see -more than we can attain; the exactest vigilance and caution can never -maintain a single day of unmingled innocence, much less can the utmost -efforts of incorporated mind reach the summit of speculative virtue. - -It is, however, necessary for the idea of perfection to be proposed, -that we may have some object to which our endeavours are to be directed; -and he that is most deficient in the duties of life, makes some atonement -for his faults, if he warns others against his own failings, and hinders, -by the salubrity of his admonitions, the contagion of his example. - -Nothing is more unjust, however common, than to charge with hypocrisy -him that expresses zeal for those virtues which he neglects to practise; -since he may be sincerely convinced of the advantages of conquering -his passions, without having yet obtained the victory, as a man may be -confident of the advantages of a voyage, or a journey, without having -courage or industry to undertake it, and may honestly recommend to others, -those attempts which he neglects himself. - -The interest which the corrupt part of mankind have in hardening -themselves against every motive to amendment, has disposed them -to give to these contradictions, when they can be produced against -the cause of virtue, that weight which they will not allow them in -any other case. They see men act in opposition to their interest, -without supposing, that they do not know it; those who give way to the -sudden violence of passion, and forsake the most important pursuits -for petty pleasures, sire not supposed to have changed their opinions, -or to approve their own conduct. In moral or religious questions alone, -they determine the sentiments by the actions, and charge every man with -endeavouring to impose upon the world, whose writings are not confirmed -by his life. They never consider that themselves neglect or practise -something every day inconsistently with their own settled judgment, -nor discover that the conduct of the advocates for virtue can little -increase, or lessen, the obligations of their dictates; argument is to -be invalidated only by argument, and is in itself of the same force, -whether or not it convinces him by whom it is proposed. - -Yet since this prejudice, however unreasonable, is always likely to -have some prevalence, it is the duty of every man to take care lest -he should hinder the efficacy of his own instructions. When he desires -to gain the belief of others, he should shew that he believes himself; -and when he teaches the fitness of virtue by his reasonings, he should, -by his example, prove its possibility: Thus much at least may be required -of him, that he shall not act worse than others because he writes better, -nor imagine that, by the merit of his genius, he may claim indulgence -beyond mortals of the lower classes, and be excused for want of prudence, -or neglect of virtue. - -Bacon, in his History of the Winds, after having offered something to -the imagination as desirable, often proposes lower advantages in its -place to the reason as attainable. The same method may be sometimes -pursued in moral endeavours, which this philosopher has observed in -natural inquiries; having first set positive and absolute excellence -before us, we may be pardoned though we sink down to humbler virtue, -trying, however, to keep our point always in view, and struggling not -to lose ground, though we cannot gain it. - -It is recorded of Sir Mathew Hale, that he, for a long time, concealed the -consecration of himself to the stricter duties of religion, lest by some -flagitious and shameful action, he should bring piety into disgrace. For -the same reason it may be prudent for a writer, who apprehends that he -shall not enforce his own maxims by his domestick character, to conceal -his name, that he may not injure them. - -There are, indeed, a great number whose curiosity to gain a more familiar -knowledge of successful writers, is not so much prompted by an opinion -of their power to improve as to delight, and who expect from them not -arguments against vice, or dissertations on temperance or justice; but -flights of wit, and sallies of pleasantry, or, at least, acute remarks, -nice distinctions, justness of sentiment, and elegance of diction. - -This expectation is, indeed, specious and probable, and yet, such is -the fate of all human hopes, that it is very often frustrated, and those -who raise admiration by their books, disgust by their company. A man of -letters for the most part spends in the privacies of study, that season -of life in which the manners are to be softened into ease, and polished -into elegance; and, when he has gained knowledge enough to be respected, -has neglected the minuter acts by which he might have pleased. When he -enters life, if his temper be soft and timorous, he is diffident and -bashful, from the knowledge of his defects; or if he was born with spirit -and resolution, he is ferocious and arrogant, from the consciousness of -his merit; he is either dissipated by the awe of company, and unable -to recollect his reading, and arrange his arguments; or he is hot and -dogmatical, quick in opposition, and tenacious in defence, disabled by -his own violence, and confused by his haste to triumph. - -The graces of writing and conversation are of different kinds, and though -he who excels in one might have been, with opportunities and application, -equally successful in the other, yet as many please by extemporary talk, -though utterly unacquainted with the more accurate method, and more -laboured beauties, which composition requires; so it is very possible -that men, wholly accustomed to works of study, may be without that -readiness of conception, and affluence of language, always necessary to -colloquial entertainment. They may want address to watch the hints which -conversation offers for the display of their particular attainments, -or they may be so much unfurnished with matter on common subjects, that -discourse not professedly literary, glides over them as heterogeneous -bodies, without admitting their conceptions to mix in the circulation. - -A transition from an author's book to his conversation, is too often -like an entrance into a large city, after a distant prospect. Remotely, -we see nothing but spires of temples and turrets of palaces, and imagine -it the residence of splendour, grandeur and magnificence; but, when -we have passed the gates, we find it perplexed with narrow passages, -disgraced with despicable cottages, embarrassed with obstructions, -and clouded with smoke. - - - - -No. 15. TUESDAY, MAY 8, 1750. - - - _Et quando uberior vitiorum copia? quando_ - _Major avaritiæ patuit sinus? Alea quando_ - _Hos animos?_ - JUV. Sat. i. 87. - - What age so large a crop of vices bore, - Or when was avarice extended more? - When were the dice with more profusion thrown? - DRYDEN. - - -There is no grievance, publick or private, of which, since I took upon -me the office of a periodical monitor, I have received so many, or so -earnest complaints, as of the predominance of play; of a fatal passion -for cards and dice, which seems to have overturned, not only the ambition -of excellence, but the desire of pleasure; to have extinguished the -flames of the lover, as well as of the patriot; and threatens, in its -further progress, to destroy all distinctions, both of rank and sex, -to crush all emulation but that of fraud, to corrupt all those classes -of our people, whose ancestors have, by their virtue, their industry, -or their parsimony, given them the power of living in extravagance, -idleness, and vice, and to leave them without knowledge, but of the -modish games, and without wishes, but for lucky hands. - -I have found by long experience, that there are few enterprises so -hopeless as contests with the fashion, in which the opponents are not -only made confident by their numbers, and strong by their union, but -are hardened by contempt of their antagonist, whom they always look -upon as a wretch of low notions, contracted views, mean conversation, -and narrow fortune, who envies the elevations which he cannot reach, who -would gladly imbitter the happiness which his inelegance or indigence -deny him to partake, and who has no other end in his advice than to -revenge his own mortification by hindering those whom their birth and -taste have set above him, from the enjoyment of their superiority, and -bringing them down to a level with himself. - -Though I have never found myself much affected by this formidable -censure, which I have incurred often enough to be acquainted with its -full force, yet I shall, in some measure, obviate it on this occasion, -by offering very little in my own name, either of argument or entreaty, -since those who suffer by this general infatuation may be supposed best -able to relate its effects. - - * * * * * - -SIR, - -There seems to be so little knowledge left in the world, and so little -of that reflection practised, by which knowledge is to be gained, that -I am in doubt, whether I shall be understood, when I complain of want -of opportunity for thinking; or whether a condemnation, which at present -seems irreversible, to perpetual ignorance, will raise any compassion, -either in you, or your readers: yet I will venture to lay my state before -you, because I believe it is natural, to most minds, to take some pleasure -in complaining of evils, of which they have no reason to be ashamed. - -I am the daughter of a man of great fortune, whose diffidence of mankind, -and, perhaps, the pleasure of continual accumulation, incline him to -reside upon his own estate, and to educate his children in his own house, -where I was bred, if not with the most brilliant examples of virtue -before my eyes, at least remote enough from any incitements to vice; and -wanting neither leisure nor books, nor the acquaintance of some persons -of learning in the neighbourhood, I endeavoured to acquire such knowledge -as might most recommend me to esteem, and thought myself able to support -a conversation upon most of the subjects, which my sex and condition made -it proper for me to understand. - -I had, besides my knowledge, as my mamma and my maid told me, a very fine -face, and elegant shape, and with all these advantages had been seventeen -months the reigning toast for twelve miles round, and never came to the -monthly assembly, but I heard the old ladies that sat by wishing that -_it might end well_, and their daughters criticising my air, my features, -or my dress. - -You know, Mr. Rambler, that ambition is natural to youth, and curiosity -to understanding, and therefore will hear, without wonder, that I was -desirous to extend my victories over those who might give more honour to -the conqueror; and that I found in a country life a continual repetition -of the same pleasures, which was not sufficient to fill up the mind for -the present, or raise any expectations of the future; and I will confess -to you, that I was impatient for a sight of the town, and filled my -thoughts with the discoveries which I should make, the triumphs that I -should obtain, and the praises that I should receive. - -At last the time came. My aunt, whose husband has a seat in parliament, -and a place at court, buried her only child, and sent for me to supply -the loss. The hope that I should so far insinuate myself into their -favour, as to obtain a considerable augmentation of my fortune, procured -me every convenience for my departure, with great expedition; and I -could not, amidst all my transports, forbear some indignation to see with -what readiness the natural guardians of my virtue sold me to a state, -which they thought more hazardous than it really was, as soon as a new -accession of fortune glittered in their eyes. - -Three days I was upon the road, and on the fourth morning my heart danced -at the sight of London. I was set down at my aunt's, and entered upon -the scene of action. I expected now, from the age and experience of my -aunt, some prudential lessons; but, after the first civilities and first -tears were over, was told what pity it was to have kept so fine a girl so -long in the country; for the people who did not begin young, seldom dealt -their cards handsomely, or played them tolerably. - -Young persons are commonly inclined to slight the remarks and counsels -of their elders. I smiled, perhaps, with too much contempt, and was upon -the point of telling her that my time had not been passed in such trivial -attainments. But I soon found that things are to be estimated, not by the -importance of their effects, but the frequency of their use. - -A few days after, my aunt gave me notice, that some company, which she had -been six weeks in collecting, was to meet that evening, and she expected -a finer assembly than had been seen all the winter. She expressed this -in the jargon of a gamester, and, when I asked an explication of her -terms of art, wondered where I had lived. I had already found my aunt -so incapable of any rational conclusion, and so ignorant of every thing, -whether great or little, that I had lost all regard to her opinion, -and dressed myself with great expectations of an opportunity to display -my charms among rivals, whose competition would not dishonour me. The -company came in, and after the cursory compliments of salutation, alike -easy to the lowest and the highest understanding, what was the result? -The cards were broke open, the parties were formed, the whole night -passed in a game, upon which the young and old were equally employed; nor -was I able to attract an eye, or gain an ear; but being compelled to play -without skill, I perpetually embarrassed my partner, and soon perceived -the contempt of the whole table gathering upon me. - -I cannot but suspect, Sir, that this odious fashion is produced by a -conspiracy of the old, the ugly, and the ignorant, against the young -and beautiful, the witty and the gay, as a contrivance to level all -distinctions of nature and art, to confound the world in a chaos of -folly, to take from those who could outshine them all the advantages -of mind and body, to withhold youth from its natural pleasures, deprive -wit of its influence, and beauty of its charms, to fix those hearts upon -money, to which love has hitherto been entitled, to sink life into a -tedious uniformity, and to allow it no other hopes or fears, but those -of robbing, and being robbed. - -Be pleased, Sir, to inform those of my sex who have minds capable of -nobler sentiments, that, if they will unite in vindication of their -pleasures and their prerogatives, they may fix a time, at which cards -shall cease to be in fashion, or be left only to those who have neither -beauty to be loved, nor spirit to be feared; neither knowledge to teach, -nor modesty to learn; and who, having passed their youth in vice, are -justly condemned to spend their age in folly[39]. - -I am, Sir, &c. - - CLEORA. - - * * * * * - -SIR, - -Vexation will burst my heart, if I do not give it vent. As you publish a -paper, I insist upon it that you insert this in your next, as ever you -hope for the kindness and encouragement of any woman of taste, spirit, -and virtue. I would have it published to the world, how deserving wives -are used by imperious coxcombs, that henceforth no woman may marry who -has not the patience of Grizzel. Nay, if even Grizzel had been married to -a gamester, her temper would never have held out. A wretch that loses his -good-humour and humanity along with his money, and will not allow enough -from his own extravagances to support a woman of fashion in the necessary -amusements of life!--Why does not he employ his wise head to make a figure -in parliament, raise an estate, and get a title? That would be fitter for -the master of a family, than rattling a noisy dice-box; and then he might -indulge his wife in a few slight expenses and elegant diversions. - -What if I was unfortunate at Brag!--should he not have stayed to see -how luck would turn another time? Instead of that, what does he do, but -picks a quarrel, upbraids me with loss of beauty, abuses my acquaintance, -ridicules my play, and insults my understanding; says, forsooth, that -women have not heads enough to play with any thing but dolls, and that -they should be employed in things proportionable to their understanding, -keep at home, and mind family affairs. - -I do stay at home, Sir, and all the world knows I am at home every Sunday. -I have had six routs this winter, and sent out ten packs of cards in -invitations to private parties. As for management, I am sure he cannot -call me extravagant, or say I do not mind my family. The children are out -at nurse in villages as cheap as any two little brats can be kept, nor -have I ever seen them since; so he has no trouble about them. The servants -live at board wages. My own dinners come from the Thatched House; and I -have never paid a penny for any thing I have bought since I was married. -As for play, I do think I may, indeed, indulge in that, now I am my own -mistress. Papa made me drudge at wist till I was tired of it; and, far -from wanting a head, Mr. Hoyle, when he had not given me above forty -lessons, said I was one of his best scholars. I thought then with myself, -that, if once I was at liberty, I would leave play, and take to reading -romances, things so forbidden at our house, and so railed at, that it was -impossible not to fancy them very charming. Most unfortunately, to save -me from absolute undutifulness, just as I was married, came dear Brag -into fashion, and ever since it has been the joy of my life; so easy, so -cheerful and careless, so void of thought, and so genteel! Who can help -loving it? Yet the perfidious thing has used me very ill of late, and -to-morrow I should have changed it for Faro. But, oh! this detestable -to-morrow, a thing always expected, and never found.--Within these few -hours must I be dragged into the country. The wretch, Sir, left me in a -fit, which his threatenings had occasioned, and unmercifully ordered a -post-chaise. Stay I cannot, for money I have none, and credit I cannot -get.----But I will make the monkey play with me at picquet upon the road -for all I want. I am almost sure to beat him, and his debts of honour I -know he will pay. Then who can tell but I may still come back and conquer -Lady Packer? Sir, you need not print this last scheme, and, upon second -thoughts, you may.--Oh, distraction! the post-chaise is at the door. Sir, -publish what you will, only let it be printed without a name. - -[Footnote 39: A youth of frolicks, an old age of cards. POPE.] - - - - -No. 16. SATURDAY, MAY 12, 1750. - - - _----Torrens dicendi copia multis,_ - _Et sua mortifera est facundia----_ - JUV. Sat. x. 10. - - Some who the depths of eloquence have found, - In that unnavigable stream were drown'd. - DRYDEN. - - -SIR, - -I am the modest young man whom you favoured with your advice, in a -late paper; and, as I am very far from suspecting that you foresaw the -numberless inconveniencies which I have, by following it, brought upon -myself, I will lay my condition open before you, for you seem bound -to extricate me from the perplexities in which your counsel, however -innocent in the intention, has contributed to involve me. - -You told me, as you thought, to my comfort, that a writer might easily -find means of introducing his genius to the world, for the _presses of -England were open_. This I have now fatally experienced; the press is, -indeed, open. - - _----Facilis descensus Averni,_ - _Noctes atque dies patet atri janua Ditis._ - VIRG. Æn. lib. vi. 126. - - The gates of hell are open night and day; - Smooth the descent, and easy is the way. - DRYDEN. - -The means of doing hurt to ourselves are always at hand. I immediately -sent to a printer, and contracted with him for an impression of several -thousands of my pamphlet. While it was at the press, I was seldom absent -from the printing-house, and continually urged the workmen to haste, by -solicitations, promises, and rewards. From the day all other pleasures -were excluded, by the delightful employment of correcting the sheets; and -from the night, sleep generally was banished, by anticipations of the -happiness which every hour was bringing nearer. At last the time of -publication approached, and my heart beat with the raptures of an author. -I was above all little precautions, and, in defiance of envy or of -criticism, set my name upon the title, without sufficiently considering, -that what has once passed the press is irrevocable, and that though the -printing-house may properly be compared to the infernal regions, for the -facility of its entrance, and the difficulty with which authors return -from it; yet there is this difference, that a great genius can never -return to his former state, by a happy draught of the waters of oblivion. - -I am now, Mr. Rambler, known to be an author, and am condemned, -irreversibly condemned, to all the miseries of high reputation. The first -morning after publication my friends assembled about me; I presented -each, as is usual, with a copy of my book. They looked into the first -pages, but were hindered, by their admiration, from reading further. The -first pages are, indeed, very elaborate. Some passages they particularly -dwelt upon, as more eminently beautiful than the rest; and some delicate -strokes, and secret elegancies, I pointed out to them, which had escaped -their observation. I then begged of them to forbear their compliments, -and invited them, I could do no less, to dine with me at a tavern. -After dinner, the book was resumed; but their praises very often so much -over-powered my modesty, that I was forced to put about the glass, and -had often no means of repressing the clamours of their admiration, but by -thundering to the drawer for another bottle. - -Next morning another set of my acquaintance congratulated me upon my -performance, with such importunity of praise, that I was again forced -to obviate their civilities by a treat. On the third day, I had yet a -greater number of applauders to put to silence in the same manner; and, -on the fourth, those whom I had entertained the first day came again, -having, in the perusal of the remaining part of the book, discovered so -many forcible sentences and masterly touches, that it was impossible for -me to bear the repetition of their commendations. I therefore persuaded -them once more to adjourn to the tavern, and choose some other subject, -on which I might share in their conversation. But it was not in their -power to withhold their attention from my performance, which had so -entirely taken possession of their minds, that no entreaties of mine -could change their topick, and I was obliged to stifle, with claret, that -praise which neither my modesty could hinder, nor my uneasiness repress. - -The whole week was thus spent in a kind of literary revel, and I have now -found that nothing is so expensive as great abilities, unless there is -joined with them an insatiable eagerness of praise; for to escape from -the pain of hearing myself exalted above the greatest names, dead and -living, of the learned world, it has already cost me two hogsheads of -port, fifteen gallons of arrack, ten dozen of claret, and five and forty -bottles of champagne. - -I was resolved to stay at home no longer, and therefore rose early and -went to the coffee-house; but found that I had now made myself too -eminent for happiness, and that I was no longer to enjoy the pleasure -of mixing, upon equal terms, with the rest of the world. As soon as I -enter the room, I see part of the company raging with envy, which they -endeavour to conceal, sometimes with the appearance of laughter, and -sometimes with that of contempt; but the disguise is such, that I can -discover the secret rancour of their hearts, and as envy is deservedly -its own punishment, I frequently indulge myself in tormenting them with -my presence. - -But though there may be some slight satisfaction received from the -mortification of my enemies, yet my benevolence will not suffer me to -take any pleasure in the terrours of my friends. I have been cautious, -since the appearance of my work, not to give myself more premeditated -airs of superiority, than the most rigid humility might allow. It is, -indeed, not impossible that I may sometimes have laid down my opinion, -in a manner that shewed a consciousness of my ability to maintain it, or -interrupted the conversation, when I saw its tendency, without suffering -the speaker to waste his time in explaining his sentiments; and, indeed, -I did indulge myself for two days in a custom of drumming with my -fingers, when the company began to lose themselves in absurdities, or -to encroach upon subjects which I knew them unqualified to discuss. But -I generally acted with great appearance of respect, even to those whose -stupidity I pitied in my heart. Yet, notwithstanding this exemplary -moderation, so universal is the dread of uncommon powers, and such the -unwillingness of mankind to be made wiser, that I have now for some days -found myself shunned by all my acquaintance. If I knock at a door, nobody -is at home; if I enter a coffee-house, I have the box to myself. I live -in the town like a lion in his desert, or an eagle on his rock, too great -for friendship or society, and condemned to solitude by unhappy elevation -and dreaded ascendency. - -Nor is my character only formidable to others, but burdensome to myself. -I naturally love to talk without much thinking, to scatter my merriment -at random, and to relax my thoughts with ludicrous remarks and fanciful -images; but such is now the importance of my opinion, that I am afraid to -offer it, lest, by being established too hastily into a maxim, it should -be the occasion of errour to half the nation; and such is the expectation -with which I am attended, when I am going to speak, that I frequently -pause to reflect whether what I am about to utter is worthy of myself. - -This, Sir, is sufficiently miserable; but there are still greater -calamities behind. You must have read in Pope and Swift how men of parts -have had their closets rifled, and their cabinets broke open, at the -instigation of piratical booksellers, for the profit of their works; and -it is apparent that there are many prints now sold in the shops, of men -whom you cannot suspect of sitting for that purpose, and whose likenesses -must have been certainly stolen when their names made their faces -vendible. These considerations at first put me on my guard, and I have, -indeed, found sufficient reason for my caution, for I have discovered -many people examining my countenance, with a curiosity that shewed their -intention to draw it; I immediately left the house, but find the same -behaviour in another. - -Others may be persecuted, but I am haunted; I have good reason to believe -that eleven painters are now dogging me, for they know that he who can get -my face first will make his fortune. I often change my wig, and wear my -hat over my eyes, by which I hope somewhat to confound them; for you know -it is not fair to sell my face, without admitting me to share the profit. - -I am, however, not so much in pain for my face as for my papers, which I -dare neither carry with me nor leave behind. I have, indeed, taken some -measures for their preservation, having put them in an iron chest, and -fixed a padlock upon my closet. I change my lodgings five times a week, -and always remove at the dead of night. - -Thus I live, in consequence of having given too great proofs of a -predominant genius, in the solitude of a hermit, with the anxiety of -a miser, and the caution of an outlaw; afraid to shew my face lest it -should be copied; afraid to speak, lest I should injure my character; -and to write, lest my correspondents should publish my letters; always -uneasy lest my servants should steal my papers for the sake of money, or -my friends for that of the publick. This it is to soar above the rest of -mankind; and this representation I lay before you, that I may be informed -how to divest myself of the laurels which are so cumbersome to the -wearer, and descend to the enjoyment of that quiet, from which I find a -writer of the first class so fatally debarred. - - MISELLUS. - - - - -No. 17. TUESDAY, MAY 15, 1750. - - - _----Me non oracula certum,_ - _Sed mors certa facit._ - LUCAN, lib. ix. 582. - - Let those weak minds, who live in doubt and fear, - To juggling priests for oracles repair; - One certain hour of death to each decreed, - My fixt, my certain soul from doubt has freed. - ROWE. - - -It is recorded of some eastern monarch, that he kept an officer in -his house, whose employment it was to remind him of his mortality, -by calling out every morning, at a stated hour, _Remember, prince, that -thou shalt die!_ And the contemplation of the frailness and uncertainty -of our present state appeared of so much importance to Solon of Athens, -that he left this precept to future ages; _Keep thine eye fixed upon -the end of life._ - -A frequent and attentive prospect of that moment, which must put a -period to all our schemes, and deprive us of all our acquisitions, is -indeed of the utmost efficacy to the just and rational regulation of -our lives; nor would ever any thing wicked, or often any thing absurd, -be undertaken or prosecuted by him who should begin every day with a -serious reflection that he is born to die. - -The disturbers of our happiness, in this world, are our desires, our -griefs, and our fears; and to all these, the consideration of mortality -is a certain and adequate remedy. Think, says Epictetus, frequently on -poverty, banishment, and death, and thou wilt then never indulge violent -desires, or give up thy heart to mean sentiments, [Greek: ouden oudepote -tapeinon enthumêsê, oute agan epithumêseis tinos]. - -That the maxim of Epictetus is founded on just observation will easily -be granted, when we reflect, how that vehemence of eagerness after -the common objects of pursuit is kindled in our minds. We represent -to ourselves the pleasures of some future possession, and suffer our -thoughts to dwell attentively upon it, till it has wholly engrossed -the imagination, and permits us not to conceive any happiness but -its attainment, or any misery but its loss; every other satisfaction -which the bounty of Providence has scattered over life is neglected as -inconsiderable, in comparison of the great object which we have placed -before us, and is thrown from us as incumbering our activity, or trampled -under foot as standing in our way. - -Every man has experienced how much of this ardour has been remitted, when -a sharp or tedious sickness has set death before his eyes. The extensive -influence of greatness, the glitter of wealth, the praises of admirers, -and the attendance of supplicants, have appeared vain and empty things, -when the last hour seemed to be approaching: and the same appearance they -would always have, if the same thought was always predominant. We should -then find the absurdity of stretching out our arms incessantly to grasp -that which we cannot keep, and wearing out our lives in endeavours to -add new turrets to the fabrick of ambition, when the foundation itself -is shaking, and the ground on which it stands is mouldering away. - -All envy is proportionate to desire; we are uneasy at the attainments -of another, according as we think our own happiness would be advanced by -the addition of that which he withholds from us; and therefore whatever -depresses immoderate wishes, will, at the same time, set the heart -free from the corrosion of envy, and exempt us from that vice which is, -above most others, tormenting to ourselves, hateful to the world, and -productive of mean artifices, and sordid projects. He that considers -how soon he must close his life, will find nothing of so much importance -as to close it well; and will, therefore, look with indifference upon -whatever is useless to that purpose. Whoever reflects frequently upon the -uncertainty of his own duration, will find out, that the state of others -is not more permanent, and that what can confer nothing on himself very -desirable, cannot so much improve the condition of a rival, as to make -him much superior to those from whom he has carried the prize--a prize -too mean to deserve a very obstinate opposition. - -Even grief, that passion to which the virtuous and tender mind is -particularly subject, will be obviated or alleviated by the same -thoughts. It will be obviated, if all the blessings of our condition are -enjoyed with a constant sense of this uncertain tenure. If we remember, -that whatever we possess is to be in our hands but a very little time, -and that the little which our most lively hopes can promise us may be -made less by ten thousand accidents; we shall not much repine at a loss, -of which we cannot estimate the value, but of which, though we are not -able to tell the least amount, we know, with sufficient certainty, the -greatest; and are convinced that the greatest is not much to be regretted. - -But, if any passion has so much usurped our understanding, as not to -suffer us to enjoy advantages with the moderation prescribed by reason, it -is not too late to apply this remedy, when we find ourselves sinking under -sorrow, and inclined to pine for that which is irrecoverably vanished. We -may then usefully revolve the uncertainty of our own condition, and the -folly of lamenting that from which, if it had stayed a little longer, -we should ourselves have been taken away. - -With regard to the sharpest and most melting sorrow, that which arises -from the loss of those whom we have loved with tenderness, it may be -observed, that friendship between mortals can be contracted on no other -terms, than that one must some time mourn for the other's death: and this -grief will always yield to the survivor one consolation proportionate -to his affliction; for the pain, whatever it be, that he himself feels, -his friend has escaped. - -Nor is fear, the most overbearing and resistless of all our passions, -less to be temperated by this universal medicine of the mind. The -frequent contemplation of death, as it shews the vanity of all human -good, discovers likewise the lightness of all terrestrial evil, which -certainly can last no longer than the subject upon which it acts; and -according to the old observation, must be shorter, as it is more -violent. The most cruel calamity which misfortune can produce, must, -by the necessity of nature, be quickly an at end. The soul cannot long -be held in prison, but will fly away, and leave a lifeless body to -human malice. - - _----Ridetque sui ludibria trunci._ - - And soaring mocks the broken frame below. - -The utmost that we can threaten to one another is that death, which, -indeed, we may precipitate, but cannot retard, and from which, therefore, -it cannot become a wise man to buy a reprieve at the expense of virtue, -since he knows not how small a portion of time he can purchase, but -knows, that whether short or long, it will be made less valuable by the -remembrance of the price at which it has been obtained. He is sure that -he destroys his happiness, but is not sure that he lengthens his life. - -The known shortness of life, as it ought to moderate our passions, may -likewise, with equal propriety, contract our designs. There is not time -for the most forcible genius, and most active industry, to extend its -effects beyond a certain sphere. To project the conquest of the world, -is the madness of mighty princes; to hope for excellence in every -science, has been the folly of literary heroes; and both have found at -last, that they have panted for a height of eminence denied to humanity, -and have lost many opportunities of making themselves useful and happy, -by a vain ambition of obtaining a species of honour, which the eternal -laws of Providence have placed beyond the reach of man. - -The miscarriages of the great designs of princes are recorded in the -histories of the world, but are of little use to the bulk of mankind, -who seem very little interested in admonitions against errours which they -cannot commit. But the fate of learned ambition is a proper subject for -every scholar to consider; for who has not had occasion to regret the -dissipation of great abilities in a boundless multiplicity of pursuits, -to lament the sudden desertion of excellent designs, upon the offer of -some other subject made inviting by its novelty, and to observe the -inaccuracy and deficiencies of works left unfinished by too great an -extension of the plan? - -It is always pleasing to observe, how much more our minds can conceive, -than our bodies can perform; yet it is our duty, while we continue in -this complicated state, to regulate one part of our composition by some -regard to the other. We are not to indulge our corporeal appetites with -pleasures that impair our intellectual vigour, nor gratify our minds with -schemes which we know our lives must fail in attempting to execute. The -uncertainty of our duration ought at once to set bounds to our designs, -and add incitements to our industry; and when we find ourselves inclined -either to immensity in our schemes, or sluggishness in our endeavours, -we may either check, or animate, ourselves, by recollecting, with the -father of physick, _that art is long, and life is short_. - - - - -No. 18. SATURDAY, MAY 19, 1750. - - - _Illic matre carentibus,_ - _Privignis mulier temperat innocens,_ - _Nec dotata regit virum_ - _Conjux, nec nitido fidit adultero:_ - _Dos est magna parentium_ - _Virtus, et metuens alterius viri_ - _Certo foedere castitas._ - HOR. lib. iii. Ode xxiv. 17. - - Not there the guiltless step-dame knows - The baleful draught for orphans to compose; - No wife high portion'd rules her spouse, - Or trusts her essenc'd lover's faithless vows: - The lovers there for dow'ry claim - The father's virtue, and the spotless fame, - Which dares not break the nuptial tie. - FRANCIS. - - -There is no observation more frequently made by such as employ themselves -in surveying the conduct of mankind, than that marriage, though the -dictate of nature, and the institution of Providence, is yet very often -the cause of misery, and that those who enter into that state can seldom -forbear to express their repentance, and their envy of those whom either -chance or caution hath withheld from it. - -This general unhappiness has given occasion to many sage maxims among -the serious, and smart remarks among the gay; the moralist and the -writer of epigrams have equally shewn their abilities upon it; some have -lamented, and some have ridiculed it; but as the faculty of writing has -been chiefly a masculine endowment, the reproach of making the world -miserable has been always thrown upon the women, and the grave and the -merry have equally thought themselves at liberty to conclude either -with declamatory complaints, or satirical censures, of female folly or -fickleness, ambition or cruelty, extravagance or lust. - -Led by such a number of examples, and incited by my share in the common -interest, I sometimes venture to consider this universal grievance, -having endeavoured to divest my heart of all partiality, and place -myself as a kind of neutral being between the sexes, whose clamours -being equally vented on both sides with all the vehemence of distress, -all the apparent confidence of justice, and all the indignation of -injured virtue, seem entitled to equal regard. The men have, indeed, -by their superiority of writing, been able to collect the evidence -of many ages, and raise prejudices in their favour by the venerable -testimonies of philosophers, historians, and poets; but the pleas of the -ladies appeal to passions of more forcible operation than the reverence -of antiquity. If they have not so great names on their side, they have -stronger arguments: it is to little purpose that Socrates, or Euripides, -are produced against the sighs of softness, and the tears of beauty. The -most frigid and inexorable judge would at least stand suspended between -equal powers, as Lucan was perplexed in the determination of the cause, -where the deities were on one side, and Cato on the other. - -But I, who have long studied the severest and most abstracted philosophy, -have now, in the cool maturity of life, arrived at such command over -my passions, that I can hear the vociferations of either sex without -catching any of the fire from those that utter them. For I have found, -by long experience, that a man will sometimes rage at his wife, when -in reality his mistress has offended him; and a lady complain of the -cruelty of her husband, when she has no other enemy than bad cards. -I do not suffer myself to be any longer imposed upon by oaths on one -side, or fits on the other; nor when the husband hastens to the tavern, -and the lady retires to her closet, am I always confident that they -are driven by their miseries; since I have sometimes reason to believe, -that they purpose not so much to soothe their sorrows, as to animate their -fury. But how little credit soever may be given to particular accusations, -the general accumulation of the charge shews, with too much evidence, that -married persons are not very often advanced in felicity; and, therefore, -it may be proper to examine at what avenues so many evils have made -their way into the world. With this purpose, I have reviewed the lives -of my friends, who have been least successful in connubial contracts, -and attentively considered by what motives they were incited to marry, -and by what principles they regulated their choice. - -One of the first of my acquaintances that resolved to quit the unsettled -thoughtless condition of a bachelor, was Prudentius, a man of slow parts, -but not without knowledge or judgment in things which he had leisure -to consider gradually before he determined them. Whenever we met at a -tavern, it was his province to settle the scheme of our entertainment, -contract with the cook, and inform us when we had called for wine to the -sum originally proposed. This grave considerer found, by deep meditation, -that a man was no loser by marrying early, even though he contented -himself with a less fortune; for estimating the exact worth of annuities, -he found that considering the constant diminution of the value of life, -with the probable fall of the interest of money, it was not worse to -have ten thousand pounds at the age of two and twenty years, than a much -larger fortune at thirty; for many opportunities, says he, occur of -improving money, which if a man misses, he may not afterwards recover. - -Full of these reflections, he threw his eyes about him, not in search -of beauty or elegance, dignity or understanding, but of a woman with ten -thousand pounds. Such a woman, in a wealthy part of the kingdom, it was -not very difficult to find; and by artful management with her father, -whose ambition was to make his daughter a gentlewoman, my friend got -her, as he boasted to us in confidence two days after his marriage, -for a settlement of seventy-three pounds a year less than her fortune -might have claimed, and less than he would himself have given, if the -fools had been but wise enough to delay the bargain. - -Thus, at once delighted with the superiority of his parts and the -augmentation of his fortune, he carried Furia to his own house, in which -he never afterwards enjoyed one hour of happiness. For Furia was a wretch -of mean intellects, violent passions, a strong voice, and low education, -without any sense of happiness but that which consisted in eating and -counting money. Furia was a scold. They agreed in the desire of wealth, -but with this difference, that Prudentius was for growing rich by gain, -Furia by parsimony. Prudentius would venture his money with chances -very much in his favour; but Furia very wisely observing, that what -they had was, while they had it, _their own_, thought all traffick -too great a hazard, and was for putting it out at low interest, -upon good security. Prudentius ventured, however, to insure a ship -at a very unreasonable price, but happening to lose his money, was -so tormented with the clamours of his wife, that he never durst try -a second experiment. He has now grovelled seven and forty years under -Furia's direction, who never once mentioned him, since his bad luck, -by any other name than that of _the insurer_. - -The next that married from our society was Florentius. He happened to -see Zephyretta in a chariot at a horse-race, danced with her at night, -was confirmed in his first ardour, waited on her next morning, and -declared himself her lover. Florentius had not knowledge enough of -the world, to distinguish between the flutter of coquetry, and the -sprightliness of wit, or between the smile of allurement, and that of -cheerfulness. He was soon awaked from his rapture, by conviction that -his pleasure was but the pleasure of a day. Zephyretta had in four and -twenty hours spent her stock of repartee, gone round the circle of her -airs, and had nothing remaining for him but childish insipidity, or for -herself, but the practice of the same artifices upon new men. - -Melissus was a man of parts, capable of enjoying and of improving life. -He had passed through the various scenes of gaiety with that indifference -and possession of himself, natural to men who have something higher -and nobler in their prospect. Retiring to spend the summer in a village -little frequented, he happened to lodge in the same house with Ianthe, and -was unavoidably drawn to some acquaintance, which her wit and politeness -soon invited him to improve. Having no opportunity of any other company, -they were always together; and as they owed their pleasures to each -other, they began to forget that any pleasure was enjoyed before their -meeting. Melissus, from being delighted with her company, quickly began to -be uneasy in her absence, and being sufficiently convinced of the force -of her understanding, and finding, as he imagined, such a conformity of -temper as declared them formed for each other, addressed her as a lover, -after no very long courtship obtained her for his wife, and brought her -next winter to town in triumph. - -Now began their infelicity. Melissus had only seen her in one scene, -where there was no variety of objects, to produce the proper excitements -to contrary desires. They had both loved solitude and reflection, where -there was nothing but solitude and reflection to be loved; but when -they came into publick life, Ianthe discovered those passions which -accident rather than hypocrisy had hitherto concealed. She was, indeed, -not without the power of thinking, but was wholly without the exertion -of that power when either gaiety or splendour played on her imagination. -She was expensive in her diversions, vehement in her passions, insatiate -of pleasure, however dangerous to her reputation, and eager of applause, -by whomsoever it might be given. This was the wife which Melissus the -philosopher found in his retirement, and from whom he expected an -associate in his studies, and an assistant to his virtues. - -Prosapius, upon the death of his younger brother, that the family -might not be extinct, married his housekeeper, and has ever since been -complaining to his friends that mean notions are instilled into his -children, that he is ashamed to sit at his own table, and that his house -is uneasy to him for want of suitable companions. - -Avaro, master of a very large estate, took a woman of bad reputation, -recommended to him by a rich uncle, who made that marriage the condition -on which he should be his heir. Avaro now wonders to perceive his own -fortune, his wife's and his uncle's, insufficient to give him that -happiness which is to be found only with a woman of virtue. - -I intend to treat in more papers on this important article of life, -and shall, therefore, make no reflection upon these histories, except -that all whom I have mentioned failed to obtain happiness, for want of -considering that marriage is the strictest tie of perpetual friendship; -that there can be no friendship without confidence, and no confidence -without integrity; and that he must expect to be wretched, who pays to -beauty, riches, or politeness, that regard which only virtue and piety -can claim. - - - - -No. 19. TUESDAY, MAY 22, 1750. - - - _Dum modo causidicum, dum te modo rhetora fingis,_ - _Et non decernis, Taure, quid esse velis,_ - _Peleos et Priami transit, vel Nestoris, ætas;_ - _Et fuerat serum jam tibi desinere.----_ - _Eia age, rumpe moras: quo te sperabimus usque?_ - _Dum, quid sis, dubitas, jam potes esse nihil._ - MART. lib. ii. Ep. 64. - - To rhetorick now, and now to law inclin'd, - Uncertain where to fix thy changing mind; - Old Priam's age or Nestor's may be out, - And thou, O Taures! still go on in doubt. - Come then, how long such wavering shall we see? - Thou may'st doubt on: thou now canst nothing be. - F. LEWIS. - - -It is never without very melancholy reflections, that we can observe -the misconduct, or miscarriage, of those men, who seem, by the force of -understanding, or extent of knowledge, exempted from the general frailties -of human nature, and privileged from the common infelicities of life. -Though the world is crowded with scenes of calamity, we look upon the -general mass of wretchedness with very little regard, and fix our eyes -upon the state of particular persons, whom the eminence of their qualities -marks out from the multitude; as in reading an account of a battle, we -seldom reflect on the vulgar heaps of slaughter, but follow the hero -with our whole attention, through all the varieties of his fortune, -without a thought of the thousands that are falling round him. - -With the same kind of anxious veneration I have for many years been making -observations on the life of Polyphilus, a man whom all his acquaintances -have, from his first appearance in the world, feared for the quickness -of his discernment, and admired for the multiplicity of his attainments, -but whose progress in life, and usefulness to mankind, has been hindered -by the superfluity of his knowledge, and the celerity of his mind. - -Polyphilus was remarkable, at the school, for surpassing all his -companions, without any visible application, and at the university was -distinguished equally for his successful progress as well through the -thorny mazes of science, as the flowery path of politer literature, -without any strict confinement to hours of study, or remarkable -forbearance of the common amusements of young men. - -When Polyphilus was at the age in which men usually choose their -profession, and prepare to enter into a publick character, every -academical eye was fixed upon him; all were curious to inquire what -this universal genius would fix upon for the employment of his life; -and no doubt was made but that he would leave all his contemporaries -behind him, and mount to the highest honours of that class in which -he should inlist himself, without those delays and pauses which must be -endured by meaner abilities. - -Polyphilus, though by no means insolent or assuming, had been sufficiently -encouraged, by uninterrupted success, to place great confidence in his own -parts; and was not below his companions in the indulgence of his hopes, -and expectations of the astonishment with which the world would be struck, -when first his lustre should break out upon it; nor could he forbear -(for whom does not constant flattery intoxicate?) to join sometimes in -the mirth of his friends, at the sudden disappearance of those, who, -having shone a while, and drawn the eyes of the publick upon their -feeble radiance, were now doomed to fade away before him. - -It is natural for a man to catch advantageous notions of the condition -which those with whom he converses are striving to attain. Polyphilus, -in a ramble to London, fell accidentally among the physicians, and -was so much pleased with the prospect of turning philosophy to profit, -and so highly delighted with a new theory of fevers which darted into -his imagination, and which, after having considered it a few hours, -he found himself able to maintain against all the advocates for the -ancient system, that he resolved to apply himself to anatomy, botany, -and chemistry, and to leave no part unconquered, either of the animal, -mineral, or vegetable kingdoms. - -He therefore read authors, constructed systems, and tried experiments; -but, unhappily, as he was going to see a new plant in flower at Chelsea, -he met, in crossing Westminster to take water, the chancellor's coach; -he had the curiosity to follow him into the hall, where a remarkable -cause happened to be tried, and found himself able to produce so many -arguments, which the lawyers had omitted on both sides, that he determined -to quit physic for a profession in which he found it would be so easy to -excel, and which promised higher honours, and larger profits, without -melancholy attendance upon misery, mean submission to peevishness, -and continual interruption of rest and pleasure. - -He immediately took chambers in the Temple, bought a common-place book, -and confined himself for some months to the perusal of the statutes, -year-books, pleadings, and reports; he was a constant hearer of the -courts, and began to put cases with reasonable accuracy. But he soon -discovered, by considering the fortune of lawyers, that preferment was -not to be got by acuteness, learning, and eloquence. He was perplexed by -the absurdities of attorneys, and misrepresentations made by his clients -of their own causes, by the useless anxiety of one, and the incessant -importunity of another; he began to repent of having devoted himself to a -study, which was so narrow in its comprehension that it could never carry -his name to any other country, and thought it unworthy of a man of parts -to sell his life only for money. The barrenness of his fellow-students -forced him generally into other company at his hours of entertainment, -and among the varieties of conversation through which his curiosity was -daily wandering, he, by chance, mingled at a tavern with some intelligent -officers of the army. A man of letters was easily dazzled with the -gaiety of their appearance, and softened into kindness by the politeness -of their address; he, therefore, cultivated this new acquaintance, and -when he saw how readily they found in every place admission and regard, -and how familiarly they mingled with every rank and order of men, he -began to feel his heart beat for military honours, and wondered how the -prejudices of the university should make him so long insensible of that -ambition, which has fired so many hearts in every age, and negligent -of that calling, which is, above all others, universally and invariably -illustrious, and which gives, even to the exterior appearance of its -professors, a dignity and freedom unknown to the rest of mankind. - -These favourable impressions were made still deeper by his conversation -with ladies, whose regard for soldiers he could not observe, without -wishing himself one of that happy fraternity, to which the female -world seem to have devoted their charms and their kindness. The love of -knowledge, which was still his predominant inclination, was gratified -by the recital of adventures, and accounts of foreign countries; and -therefore he concluded that there was no way of life in which all his -views could so completely concentre as in that of a soldier. In the art of -war he thought it not difficult to excel, having observed his new friends -not very much versed in the principles of tacticks or fortification; -he therefore studied all the military writers both ancient and modern, -and, in a short time, could tell how to have gained every remarkable -battle that has been lost from the beginning of the world. He often -shewed at table how Alexander should have been checked in his conquests, -what was the fatal errour at Pharsalia, how Charles of Sweden might -have escaped his ruin at Pultowa, and Marlborough might have been made -to repent his temerity at Blenheim. He entrenched armies upon paper so -that no superiority of numbers could force them, and modelled in clay -many impregnable fortresses, on which all the present arts of attack -would be exhausted without effect. - -Polyphilus, in a short time, obtained a commission; but before he could -rub off the solemnity of a scholar, and gain the true air of military -vivacity, a war was declared, and forces sent to the continent. Here -Polyphilus unhappily found that study alone would not make a soldier; for -being much accustomed to think, he let the sense of danger sink into -his mind, and felt at the approach of any action, that terrour which -a sentence of death would have brought upon him. He saw that, instead -of conquering their fears, the endeavour of his gay friends was only -to escape them; but his philosophy chained his mind to its object, -and rather loaded him with shackles than furnished him with arms. He, -however, suppressed his misery in silence, and passed through the campaign -with honour, but found himself utterly unable to support another. - -He then had recourse again to his books, and continued to range from one -study to another. As I usually visit him once a month, and am admitted -to him without previous notice, I have found him within this last half -year, decyphering the Chinese language, making a farce, collecting a -vocabulary of the obsolete terms of the English law, writing an inquiry -concerning the ancient Corinthian brass, and forming a new scheme of -the variations of the needle. - -Thus is this powerful genius, which might have extended the sphere of -any science, or benefited the world in any profession, dissipated in a -boundless variety, without profit to others or himself! He makes sudden -irruptions into the regions of knowledge, and sees all obstacles give -way before him; but he never stays long enough to complete his conquest, -to establish laws, or bring away the spoils. - -Such is often the folly of men, whom nature has enabled to obtain skill -and knowledge, on terms so easy, that they have no sense of the value -of the acquisition; they are qualified to make such speedy progress in -learning, that they think themselves at liberty to loiter in the way, -and by turning aside after every new object, lose the race, like Atalanta, -to slower competitors, who press diligently forward, and whose force is -directed to a single point. - -I have often thought those happy that have been fixed, from the first -dawn of thought, in a determination to some state of life, by the choice -of one whose authority may caprice, and whose influence may prejudice them -in favour of his opinion. The general precept of consulting the genius -is of little use, unless we are told how the genius can be known. If -it is to be discovered only by experiment, life will be lost before the -resolution can be fixed; if any other indications are to be found, they -may, perhaps, be very early discerned. At least, if to miscarry in an -attempt be a proof of having mistaken the direction of the genius, men -appear not less frequently deceived with regard to themselves than to -others; and therefore no one has much reason to complain that his life -was planned out by his friends, or to be confident that he should have -had either more honour or happiness, by being abandoned to the chance -of his own fancy. - -It was said of the learned bishop Sanderson, that when he was preparing -his lectures, he hesitated so much, and rejected so often, that, at the -time of reading, he was often forced to produce, not what was best, but -what happened to be at hand. This will be the state of every man, who, -in the choice of his employment, balances all the arguments on every side; -the complication is so intricate, the motives and objections so numerous, -there is so much play for the imagination, and so much remains in the -power of others, that reason is forced at last to rest in neutrality, -the decision devolves into the hands of chance, and after a great part -of life spent in inquiries which can never be resolved, the rest must -often pass in repenting the unnecessary delay, and can be useful to few -other purposes than to warn others against the same folly, and to shew, -that of two states of life equally consistent with religion and virtue, -he who chooses earliest chooses best. - - - - -No. 20. SATURDAY, MAY 26, 1750. - - - _Ad populum phaleras. Ego te intus, et in cute novi._ - PERSIUS, Sat. iii. 30. - - Such pageantry be to the people shown; - There boast thy horse's trappings and thy own; - I know thee to thy bottom, from within - Thy shallow centre, to thy utmost skin. - DRYDEN. - - -Among the numerous stratagems, by which pride endeavours to recommend -folly to regard, there is scarcely one that meets with less success -than affectation, or a perpetual disguise of the real character, by -fictitious appearances; whether it be, that every man hates falsehood, -from the natural congruity of truth to his faculties of reason, or that -every man is jealous of the honour of his understanding, and thinks -his discernment consequently called in question, whenever any thing is -exhibited under a borrowed form. - -This aversion from all kinds of disguise, whatever be its cause, is -universally diffused, and incessantly in action; nor is it necessary, -that to exasperate detestation, or excite contempt, any interest should -be invaded, or any competition attempted; it is sufficient, that there -is an intention to deceive, an intention which every heart swells to -oppose, and every tongue is busy to detect. - -This reflection was awakened in my mind by a very common practice among -my correspondents, of writing under characters which they cannot support, -which are of no use to the explanation or enforcement of that which they -describe or recommend; and which, therefore, since they assume them only -for the sake of displaying their abilities, I will advise them for the -future to forbear, as laborious without advantage. - -It is almost a general ambition of those who favour me with their advice -for the regulation of my conduct, or their contribution for the assistance -of my understanding, to affect the style and the names of ladies. And -I cannot always withhold some expression of anger, like Sir Hugh in -the comedy, when I happen to find that a woman has a beard. I must -therefore warn the gentle Phyllis, that she send me no more letters -from the Horse Guards; and require of Belinda, that she be content to -resign her pretentions to female elegance, till she has lived three weeks -without hearing the politicks of Batson's coffee-house. I must indulge -myself in the liberty of observation, that there were some allusions in -Chloris's production, sufficient to shew that Bracton and Plowden are -her favourite authors; and that Euphelia has not been long enough at -home, to wear out all the traces of phraseology, which she learned in -the expedition to Carthagena. - -Among all my female friends, there was none who gave me more trouble to -decypher her true character, than Penthesilea, whose letter lay upon my -desk three days before I could fix upon the real writer. There was a -confusion of images, and medley of barbarity, which held me long in -suspense; till by perseverance I disentangled the perplexity, and found -that Penthesilea is the son of a wealthy stock-jobber, who spends his -morning under his father's eye in Change-Alley, dines at a tavern in -Covent-Garden, passes his evening in the play-house, and part of the -night at a gaming-table, and having learned the dialects of these -various regions, has mingled them all in a studied composition. - -When Lee was once told by a critick, that it was very easy to write like -a madman, he answered, that it was difficult to write like a madman, but -easy enough to write like a fool; and I hope to be excused by my kind -contributors, if, in imitation of this great author, I presume to remind -them, that it is much easier not to write like a man, than to write like -a woman. - -I have, indeed, some ingenious well-wishers, who, without departing from -their sex, have found very wonderful appellations. A very smart letter -has been sent me from a puny ensign, signed Ajax Telamonius; another, in -recommendation of a new treatise upon cards, from a gamester, who calls -himself Sesostris: and another upon the improvements of the fishery, -from Dioclesian: but as these seem only to have picked up their -appellations by chance, without endeavouring at any particular -imposture, their improprieties are rather instances of blunder than of -affectation, and are, therefore, not equally fitted to inflame the -hostile passions; for it is not folly but pride, not errour but deceit, -which the world means to persecute, when it raises the full cry of -nature to hunt down affectation. - -The hatred which dissimulation always draws upon itself, is so great, -that if I did not know how much cunning differs from wisdom, I should -wonder that any men have so little knowledge of their own interest, as -to aspire to wear a mask for life; to try to impose upon the world a -character, to which they feel themselves void of any just claim; and -to hazard their quiet, their fame and even their profit, by exposing -themselves to the danger of that reproach, malevolence, and neglect, -which such a discovery as they have always to fear will certainly bring -upon them. - -It might be imagined, that the pleasure of reputation should consist in -the satisfaction of having our opinion of our merit confirmed by the -suffrage of the publick; and that, to be extolled for a quality, which -a man knows himself to want, should give him no other happiness than -to be mistaken for the owner of an estate, over which he chances to -be travelling. But he who subsists upon affectation, knows nothing of -this delicacy; like a desperate adventurer in commerce, he takes up -reputation upon trust, mortgages possessions which he never had, and -enjoys, to the fatal hour of bankruptcy, though with a thousand terrours -and anxieties, the unnecessary splendour of borrowed riches. - -Affectation is to be always distinguished from hypocrisy, as being the -art of counterfeiting those qualities which we might, with innocence and -safety, be known, to want. Thus the man who to carry on any fraud, or to -conceal any crime, pretends to rigours of devotion, and exactness of life, -is guilty of hypocrisy; and his guilt is greater, as the end, for which -he puts on the false appearance, is more pernicious. But he that, -with an awkward address, and unpleasing countenance, boasts of the -conquests made by him among the ladies, and counts over the thousands -which he might have possessed if he would have submitted to the yoke -of matrimony, is chargeable only with affectation. Hypocrisy is the -necessary burthen of villany, affectation part of the chosen trappings -of folly; the one completes a villain, the other only finishes a fop. -Contempt is the proper punishment of affectation, and detestation the -just consequence of hypocrisy. - -With the hypocrite it is not at present my intention to expostulate, -though even he might be taught the excellency of virtue, by the necessity -of seeming to be virtuous; but the man of affectation may, perhaps, -be reclaimed, by finding how little he is likely to gain by perpetual -constraint, and incessant vigilance, and how much more securely he -might make his way to esteem, by cultivating real, than displaying -counterfeit qualities. - -Every thing future is to be estimated, by a wise man, in proportion -to the probability of attaining it and its value, when attained; and -neither of these considerations will much contribute to the encouragement -of affectation. For, if the pinnacles of fame be at best slippery, -how unsteady must his footing be who stands upon pinnacles without -foundation! If praise be made by the inconstancy and maliciousness of -those who must confer it, a blessing which no man can promise himself -from the most conspicuous merit and vigorous industry, how faint must -be the hope of gaining it, when the uncertainty is multiplied by the -weakness of the pretensions! He that pursues fame with just claims, -trusts his happiness to the winds; but he that endeavours after it by -false merit, has to fear, not only the violence of the storm, but the -leaks of his vessel. Though he should happen to keep above water for a -time, by the help of a soft breeze, and a calm sea, at the first gust -he must inevitably founder, with this melancholy reflection, that, if he -would have been content with his natural station, he might have escaped -his calamity. Affectation may possibly succeed for a time, and a man may, -by great attention, persuade others, that he really has the qualities -which he presumes to boast; but the hour will come when he should exert -them, and then whatever he enjoyed in praise, he must suffer in reproach. - -Applause and admiration are by no means to be counted among the -necessaries of life, and therefore any indirect arts to obtain them -have very little claim to pardon or compassion. There is scarcely any -man without some valuable or improveable qualities, by which he might -always secure himself from contempt. And perhaps exemption from ignominy -is the most eligible reputation, as freedom from pain is, among some -philosophers, the definition of happiness. - -If we therefore compare the value of the praise obtained by fictitious -excellence, even while the cheat is yet undiscovered, with that kindness -which every man may suit by his virtue, and that esteem to which most -men may rise by common understanding steadily and honestly applied, we -shall find that when from the adscititious happiness all the deductions -are made by fear and casualty, there will remain nothing equiponderant to -the security of truth. The state of the possessor of humble virtues, to -the affecter of great excellencies, is that of a small cottage of stone, -to the palace raised with ice by the empress of Russia; it was for a -time splendid and luminous, but the first sunshine melted it to nothing. - - - - -No. 21. TUESDAY, MAY 29, 1750. - - - _Terra salutares herbas, eademque nocentes,_ - _Nutrit; et urticæ proxima sæpe rosa est._ - OVID, Rem. Amor. 45. - - Our bane and physick the same earth bestows, - And near the noisome nettle blooms the rose. - - -Every man is prompted by the love of himself to imagine, that he -possesses some qualities, superior, either in kind or in degree, to -those which he sees allotted to the rest of the world; and, whatever -apparent disadvantages he may suffer in the comparison with others, -he has some invisible distinctions, some latent reserve of excellence, -which he throws into the balance, and by which he generally fancies -that it is turned in his favour. - -The studious and speculative part of mankind always seem to consider -their fraternity as placed in a state of opposition to those who are -engaged in the tumult of publick business; and have pleased themselves, -from age to age, with celebrating the felicity of their own condition, -and with recounting the perplexity of politicks, the dangers of greatness, -the anxieties of ambition, and the miseries of riches. - -Among the numerous topicks of declamation, that their industry has -discovered on this subject, there is none which they press with greater -efforts, or on which they have more copiously laid out their reason -and their imagination, than the instability of high stations, and the -uncertainty with which the profits and honours are possessed, that must -be acquired with so much hazard, vigilance, and labour. - -This they appear to consider as an irrefragable argument against the -choice of the statesman and the warriour; and swell with confidence of -victory, thus furnished by the muses with the arms which never can be -blunted, and which no art or strength of their adversaries can elude -or resist. - -It was well known by experience to the nations which employed elephants -in war, that though by the terrour of their bulk, and the violence of -their impression, they often threw the enemy into disorder, yet there was -always danger in the use of them, very nearly equivalent to the advantage; -for if their first charge could be supported, they were easily driven -back upon their confederates; they then broke through the troops behind -them, and made no less havock in the precipitation of their retreat, -than in the fury of their onset. - -I know not whether those who have so vehemently urged the inconveniencies -and danger of an active life, have not made use of arguments that may -be retorted with equal force upon themselves; and whether the happiness -of a candidate for literary fame be not subject to the same uncertainty -with that of him who governs provinces, commands armies, presides in -the senate, or dictates in the cabinet. - -That eminence of learning is not to be gained without labour, at least -equal to that which any other kind of greatness can require, will -be allowed by those who wish to elevate the character of a scholar; -since they cannot but know, that every human acquisition is valuable in -proportion to the difficulty employed in its attainment. And that those -who have gained the esteem and veneration of the world, by their knowledge -or their genius, are by no means exempt from the solicitude which any -other kind of dignity produces, may be conjectured from the innumerable -artifices which they make use of to degrade a superior, to repress a -rival, or obstruct a follower; artifices so gross and mean, as to prove -evidently how much a man may excel in learning, without being either more -wise or more virtuous than those whose ignorance he pities or despises. - -Nothing therefore remains, by which the student can gratify his desire -of appearing to have built his happiness on a more firm basis than his -antagonist, except the certainty with which his honours are enjoyed. -The garlands gained by the heroes of literature must be gathered from -summits equally difficult to climb with those that bear the civick or -triumphal wreaths, they must be worn with equal envy, and guarded with -equal care from those hands that are always employed in efforts to tear -them away; the only remaining hope is, that their verdure is more lasting, -and that they are less likely to fade by time, or less obnoxious to the -blasts of accident. - -Even this hope will receive very little encouragement from the examination -of the history of learning, or observation of the fate of scholars in -the present age. If we look back into past times, we find innumerable -names of authors once in high reputation, read perhaps by the beautiful, -quoted by the witty, and commented on by the grave; but of whom we now -know only that they once existed. If we consider the distribution of -literary fame in our own time, we shall find it a possession of very -uncertain tenure; sometimes bestowed by a sudden caprice of the publick, -and again transferred to a new favourite, for no other reason than that -he is new; sometimes refused to long labour and eminent desert, and -sometimes granted to very slight pretensions; lost sometimes by security -and negligence, and sometimes by too diligent endeavours to retain it. - -A successful author is equally in danger of the diminution of his fame, -whether he continues or ceases to write. The regard of the publick -is not to be kept but by tribute, and the remembrance of past service -will quickly languish, unless successive performances frequently revive -it. Yet in every new attempt there is new hazard, and there are few who -do not at some unlucky time, injure their own characters by attempting -to enlarge them. - -There are many possible causes of that inequality which we may so -frequently observe in the performances of the same man, from the influence -of which no ability or industry is sufficiently secured, and which have -so often sullied the splendour of genius, that the wit, as well as the -conqueror, may be properly cautioned not to indulge his pride with too -early triumphs, but to defer to the end of life his estimate of happiness. - - _------Ultima semper_ - _Expectanda dies homini, dicique beatus_ - _Ante obitum nemo supremaque funera debet._ - OVID, Met. iii. 135. - - But no frail man, however great or high, - Can be concluded blest before he die. - ADDISON. - -Among the motives that urge an author to undertakings by which his -reputation is impaired, one of the most frequent must be mentioned -with tenderness, because it is not to be counted among his follies, -but his miseries. It very often happens that the works of learning -or of wit are performed at the direction of those by whom they are -to be rewarded; the writer has not always the choice of his subject, -but is compelled to accept any task which is thrown before him without -much consideration of his own convenience, and without time to prepare -himself by previous studies. - -Miscarriages of this kind are likewise frequently the consequence of -that acquaintance with the great, which is generally considered as -one of the chief privileges of literature and genius. A man who has -once learned to think himself exalted by familiarity with those whom -nothing but their birth, or their fortunes, or such stations as are -seldom gained by moral excellence, set above him, will not be long -without submitting his understanding to their conduct; he will suffer -them to prescribe the course of his studies, and employ him for their -own purposes either of diversion or interest, His desire of pleasing -those whose favour he has weakly made necessary to himself, will not -suffer him always to consider how little he is qualified for the work -imposed. Either his vanity will tempt him to conceal his deficiencies, -or that cowardice, which always encroaches fast upon such as spend their -lives in the company of persons higher than themselves, will not leave -him resolution to assert the liberty of choice. - -But, though we suppose that a man by his fortune can avoid the necessity -of dependance, and by his spirit can repel the usurpations of patronage, -yet he may easily, by writing long, happen to write ill. There is -a general succession of events in which contraries are produced by -periodical vicissitudes; labour and care are rewarded with success, -success produces confidence, confidence relaxes industry, and negligence -ruins that reputation which accuracy had raised. - -He that happens not to be lulled by praise into supineness, may be -animated by it to undertakings above his strength, or incited to fancy -himself alike qualified for every kind of composition, and able to -comply with the publick taste through all its variations. By some -opinion like this, many men have been engaged, at an advanced age, in -attempts which they had not time to complete, and after a few weak -efforts, sunk into the grave with vexation to see the rising generation -gain ground upon them. From these failures the highest genius is not -exempt; that judgment which appears so penetrating, when it is employed -upon the works of others, very often fails where interest or passion can -exert their power. We are blinded in examining our own labours by -innumerable prejudices. Our juvenile compositions please us, because -they bring to our minds the remembrance of youth; our later performances -we are ready to esteem, because we are unwilling to think that we have -made no improvement; what flows easily from the pen charms us, because -we read with pleasure that which flatters our opinion of our own powers; -what was composed with great struggles of the mind we do not easily -reject, because we cannot bear that so much labour should be fruitless. -But the reader has none of these prepossessions, and wonders that the -author is so unlike himself, without considering that the same soil -will, with different culture, afford different products. - - - - -No. 22. SATURDAY, JUNE 2, 1750. - - - _----Ego nec studium sine divite venû,_ - _Nec rude quid prosit video ingenium; alterius sic_ - _Altera poscit opem res, et conjurat amice._ - HOR. Ars. Poet. 409. - - Without a genius learning soars in vain; - And without learning genius sinks again; - Their force united crowns the sprightly reign. - ELPHINSTON. - - -Wit and Learning were the children of Apollo, by different mothers; Wit -was the offspring of Euphrosyne, and resembled her in cheerfulness and -vivacity; Learning was born of Sophia, and retained her seriousness and -caution. As their mothers were rivals, they were bred up by them from -their birth in habitual opposition, and all means were so incessantly -employed to impress upon them a hatred and contempt of each other, that -though Apollo, who foresaw the ill effects of their discord, endeavoured -to soften them, by dividing his regard equally between them, yet his -impartiality and kindness were without effect; the maternal animosity -was deeply rooted, having been intermingled with their first ideas, and -was confirmed every hour, as fresh opportunities occurred of exerting -it. No sooner were they of age to be received into the apartments of -the other celestials, than Wit began to entertain Venus at her toilet, -by aping the solemnity of Learning, and Learning to divert Minerva at -her loom, by exposing the blunders and ignorance of Wit. - -Thus they grew up, with malice perpetually increasing, by the -encouragement which each received from those whom their mothers had -persuaded to patronize and support them; and longed to be admitted to -the table of Jupiter, not so much for the hope of gaining honour, as of -excluding a rival from all pretensions to regard, and of putting an -everlasting stop to the progress of that influence which either believed -the other to have obtained by mean arts and false appearances. - -At last the day came, when they were both, with the usual solemnities, -received into the class of superior deities, and allowed to take nectar -from the hand of Hebe. But from that hour Concord lost her authority at -the table of Jupiter. The rivals, animated by their new dignity, and -incited by the alternate applauses of the associate powers, harassed -each other by incessant contests, with such a regular vicissitude of -victory, that neither was depressed. - -It was observable, that, at the beginning of every debate, the -advantage was on the side of Wit; and that, at the first sallies, -the whole assembly sparkled, according to Homer's expression, with -unextinguishable merriment. But Learning would reserve her strength till -the burst of applause was over, and the languor with which the violence -of joy is always succeeded, began to promise more calm and patient -attention. She then attempted her defence, and, by comparing one part -of her antagonist's objections with another, commonly made him confute -himself; or, by shewing how small a part of the question he had taken -into his view, proved that his opinion could have no weight. The audience -began gradually to lay aside their prepossessions, and rose, at last, -with great veneration for Learning, but with greater kindness for Wit. - - -Their conduct was, whenever they desired to recommend themselves to -distinction, entirely opposite. Wit was daring and adventurous; Learning -cautious and deliberate. Wit thought nothing reproachful but dulness; -Learning was afraid of no imputation but that of errour. Wit answered -before he understood, lest his quickness of apprehension should be -questioned; Learning paused, where there was no difficulty, lest any -insidious sophism should lie undiscovered. Wit perplexed every debate -by rapidity and confusion; Learning tired the hearers with endless -distinctions, and prolonged the dispute without advantage, by proving -that which never was denied. Wit, in hopes of shining, would venture -to produce what he had not considered, and often succeeded beyond his -own expectation, by following the train of a lucky thought; learning would -reject every new notion, for fear of being entangled in consequences -which she could not foresee, and was often hindered, by her caution, -from pressing her advantages, and subduing her opponent. - -Both had prejudices, which, in some degree, hindered their progress -towards perfection, and left them open to attacks. Novelty was the -darling of wit, and antiquity of learning. To wit, all that was new was -specious; to learning, whatever was ancient was venerable. Wit, however, -seldom failed to divert those whom he could not convince, and to -convince was not often his ambition; learning always supported her -opinion with so many collateral truths, that, when the cause was decided -against her, her arguments were remembered with admiration. - -Nothing was more common, on either side, than to quit their proper -characters, and to hope for a complete conquest by the use of the -weapons which had been employed against them. Wit would sometimes -labour a syllogism, and learning distort her features with a jest; but -they always suffered by the experiment, and betrayed themselves to -confutation or contempt. The seriousness of wit was without dignity, -and the merriment of learning without vivacity. - - -Their contests, by long continuance, grew at last important, and the -divinities broke into parties. Wit was taken into protection of the -laughter-loving Venus, had a retinue allowed him of smiles and jests, and -was often permitted to dance among the graces. Learning still continued -the favourite of Minerva, and seldom went out of her palace without -a train of the severer virtues, chastity, temperance, fortitude, and -labour. Wit, cohabiting with malice, had a son named satire, who followed -him, carrying a quiver filled with poisoned arrows, which, where they -once drew blood, could by no skill ever be extracted. These arrows he -frequently shot at learning, when she was most earnestly or usefully -employed, engaged in abstruse inquiries, or giving instructions to her -followers. Minerva, therefore, deputed criticism to her aid, who generally -broke the point of satire's arrows, turned them aside, or retorted them -on himself. - -Jupiter was at last angry that the peace of the heavenly regions should -be in perpetual danger of violation, and resolved to dismiss these -troublesome antagonists to the lower world. Hither, therefore, they came, -and carried on their ancient quarrel among mortals, nor was either long -without zealous votaries. Wit, by his gaiety, captivated the young; -and learning, by her authority, influenced the old. Their power quickly -appeared by very eminent effects; theatres were built for the reception -of wit, and colleges endowed for the residence of learning. Each party -endeavoured to outvie the other in cost and magnificence, and to propagate -an opinion, that it was necessary, from the first entrance into life, -to enlist in one of the factions; and that none could hope for the regard -of either divinity, who had once entered the temple of the rival power. - -There were, indeed, a class of mortals, by whom wit and learning -were equally disregarded: these were the devotees of Plutus, the god -of riches; among these it seldom happened that the gaiety of wit could -raise a smile, or the eloquence of learning procure attention. In revenge -of this contempt they agreed to incite their followers against them; -but the forces that were sent on those expeditions frequently betrayed -their trust; and, in contempt of the orders which they had received, -flattered the rich in publick, while they scorned them in their hearts; -and when, by this treachery, they had obtained the favour of Plutus, -affected to look with an air of superiority on those who still remained -in the service of wit and learning. - -Disgusted with these desertions, the two rivals, at the same time, -petitioned Jupiter for readmission to their native habitations. Jupiter -thundered on the right hand, and they prepared to obey the happy -summons. Wit readily spread his wings and soared aloft, but not being -able to see far, was bewildered in the pathless immensity of the ethereal -spaces. Learning, who knew the way, shook her pinions; but for want of -natural vigour could only take short flights: so, after many efforts, -they both sunk again to the ground, and learned, from their mutual -distress, the necessity of union. They therefore joined their hands, -and renewed their flight: Learning was borne up by the vigour of Wit, -and Wit guided by the perspicacity of Learning. They soon reached the -dwellings of Jupiter, and were so endeared to each other, that they lived -afterwards in perpetual concord. Wit persuaded Learning to converse with -the Graces, and Learning engaged Wit in the service of the Virtues. They -were now the favourites of all the powers of heaven, and gladdened every -banquet by their presence. They soon after married, at the command of -Jupiter, and had a numerous progeny of Arts and Sciences. - - - - -No. 23. TUESDAY, JUNE 5, 1750. - - - _Tres mihi convivæ prope dissentire videntur;_ - _Poscentur vario multum diversa palato._ - HOR. lib. ii. Ep. ii. 61. - - Three guests I have, dissenting at my feast, - Requiring each to gratify his taste - With different food. - FRANCIS. - - -That every man should regulate his actions by his own conscience, without -any regard to the opinions of the rest of the world, is one of the first -precepts of moral prudence; justified not only by the suffrage of reason, -which declares that none of the gifts of heaven are to lie useless, but -by the voice likewise of experience, which will soon inform us that, -if we make the praise or blame of others the rule of our conduct, we -shall be distracted by a boundless variety of irreconcileable judgments, -be held in perpetual suspense between contrary impulses, and consult -for ever without determination. - -I know not whether, for the same reason, it is not necessary for an -author to place some confidence in his own skill, and to satisfy himself -in the knowledge that he has not deviated from the established laws of -composition, without submitting his works to frequent examinations -before he gives them to the publick, or endeavouring to secure success -by a solicitous conformity to advice and criticism. - -It is, indeed, quickly discoverable, that consultation and compliance -can conduce little to the perfection of any literary performance; -for whoever is so doubtful of his own abilities as to encourage the -remarks of others, will find himself every day embarrassed with new -difficulties, and will harass his mind, in vain, with the hopeless -labour of uniting heterogeneous ideas, digesting independent hints, and -collecting into one point the several rays of borrowed light, emitted -often with contrary directions. - -Of all authors, those who retail their labours in periodical sheets -would be most unhappy, if they were much to regard the censures or the -admonitions of their readers; for, as their works are not sent into the -world at once, but by small parts in gradual succession, it is always -imagined, by those who think themselves qualified to give instructions, -that they may yet redeem their former failings by hearkening to better -judges, and supply the deficiencies of their plan, by the help of the -criticisms which are so liberally afforded. - -I have had occasion to observe, sometimes with vexation, and sometimes -with merriment, the different temper with which the same man reads a -printed and manuscript performance. When a book is once in the hands -of the publick, it is considered as permanent and unalterable; and the -reader, if he be free from personal prejudices, takes it up with no -other intention than of pleasing or instructing himself: he accommodates -his mind to the author's design; and, having no interest in refusing the -amusement that is offered him, never interrupts his own tranquillity by -studied cavils, or destroys his satisfaction in that which is already -well, by an anxious inquiry how it might be better; but is often -contented without pleasure, and pleased without perfection. - -But if the same man be called to consider the merit of a production yet -unpublished, he brings an imagination heated with objections to passages -which he has yet never heard; he invokes all the powers of criticism, -and stores his memory with Taste and Grace, Purity and Delicacy, Manners -and Unities, sounds which, having been once uttered by those that -understood them, have been since reechoed without meaning, and kept up -to the disturbance of the world, by a constant repercussion from one -coxcomb to another. He considers himself as obliged to shew, by some -proof of his abilities, that he is not consulted to no purpose, and -therefore watches every opening for objection, and looks round for every -opportunity to propose some specious alteration. Such opportunities a -very small degree of sagacity will enable him to find; for, in every -work of imagination, the disposition of parts, the insertion of -incidents, and use of decorations, may be varied a thousand ways with -equal propríety; and as in things nearly equal, that will always seem -best to every man which he himself produces; the critick, whose business -is only to propose, without the care of execution, can never want -the satisfaction of believing that he has suggested very important -improvements, nor the power of enforcing his advice by arguments, which, -as they appear convincing to himself, either his kindness or his vanity -will press obstinately and importunately, without suspicion that he may -possibly judge too hastily in favour of his own advice, or inquiry -whether the advantage of the new scheme be proportionate to the labour. - -It is observed by the younger Pliny, that an orator ought not so much to -select the strongest arguments which his cause admits, as to employ all -which his imagination can afford: for, in pleading, those reasons are of -most value, which will most affect the judges; and the judges, says he, -will be always most touched with that which they had before conceived. -Every man who is called to give his opinion of a performance, decides -upon the same principle; he first suffers himself to form expectations, -and then is angry at his disappointment. He lets his imagination rove at -large, and wonders that another, equally unconfined in the boundless -ocean of possibility, takes a different course. - -But, though the rule of Pliny be judiciously laid down, it is not -applicable to the writer's cause, because there always lies an appeal -from domestick criticism to a higher judicature, and the publick, which -is never corrupted, nor often deceived, is to pass the last sentence -upon literary claims. - -Of the great force of preconceived opinions I had many proofs, when -I first entered upon this weekly labour. My readers having, from the -performances of my predecessors, established an idea of unconnected -essays, to which they believed all future authors under a necessity of -conforming, were impatient of the least deviation from their system, and -numerous remonstrances were accordingly made by each, as he found his -favourite subject omitted or delayed. Some were angry that the Rambler -did not, like the Spectator, introduce himself to the acquaintance of -the publick, by an account of his own birth and studies, an enumeration -of his adventures, and a description of his physiognomy. Others soon -began to remark that he was a solemn, serious, dictatorial writer, -without sprightliness or gaiety, and called out with vehemence for mirth -and humour. Another admonished him to have a special eye upon the -various clubs of this great city, and informed him that much of the -Spectator's vivacity was laid out upon such assemblies. He has been -censured for not imitating the politeness of his predecessors, having -hitherto neglected to take the ladies under his protection, and give -them rules for the just opposition of colours, and the proper dimensions -of ruffles and pinners. He has been required by one to fix a particular -censure upon those matrons who play at cards with spectacles: and -another is very much offended whenever he meets with a speculation in -which naked precepts are comprised without the illustration of examples -and characters. - -I make not the least question that all these monitors intend the -promotion of my design, and the instruction of my readers; but they -do not know, or do not reflect, that an author has a rule of choice -peculiar to himself; and selects those subjects which he is best -qualified to treat, by the course of his studies, or the accidents of -his life; that some topicks of amusement have been already treated with -too much success to invite a competition; and that he who endeavours -to gain many readers must try various arts of invitation, essay every -avenue of pleasure, and make frequent changes in his methods of -approach. - -I cannot but consider myself, amidst this tumult of criticism, as a -ship in a poetical tempest, impelled at the same time by opposite -winds, and dashed by the waves from every quarter, but held upright -by the contrariety of the assailants, and secured in some measure -by multiplicity of distress. Had the opinion of my censurers been -unanimous, it might perhaps have overset my resolution; but since I find -them at variance with each other, I can, without scruple, neglect them, -and endeavour to gain the favour of the publick by following the -direction of my own reason, and indulging the sallies of my own -imagination. - - - - - -No. 24. SATURDAY, JUNE 9, 1750. - - - _Nemo in sese tentat descendere._ - PERSIUS, Sat. iv. 23. - - None, none descends into himself. - DRYDEN. - - -Among the precepts, or aphorisms, admitted by general consent, and -inculcated by frequent repetition, there is none more famous among the -masters of ancient wisdom, than that compendious lesson, [Greek: Gnôthi -seauton], _Be acquainted with thyself_; ascribed by some to an oracle, -and by others to Chilo of Lacedæmon. - -This is, indeed, a dictate, which, in the whole extent of its meaning, -may be said to comprise all the speculation requisite to a moral agent. -For what more can be necessary to the regulation of life, than the -knowledge of our original, our end, our duties, and our relation to -other beings? - -It is however very improbable that the first author, whoever he was, -intended to be understood in this unlimited and complicated sense; for -of the inquiries, which in so large an acceptation it would seem to -recommend, some are too extensive for the powers of man, and some -require light from above, which was not yet indulged to the heathen -world. - -We might have had more satisfaction concerning the original import of -this celebrated sentence, if history had informed us, whether it was -uttered as a general instruction to mankind, or as a particular caution -to some private inquirer; whether it was applied to some single -occasion, or laid down as the universal rule of life. - -There will occur, upon the slightest consideration, many possible -circumstances, in which this monition might very properly be inforced: -for every errour in human conduct must arise from ignorance in -ourselves, either perpetual or temporary; and happen either because we -do not know what is best and fittest, or because our knowledge is at the -time of action not present to the mind. - -When a man employs himself upon remote and unnecessary subjects, and -wastes his life upon questions which cannot be resolved, and of which -the solution would conduce very little to the advancement of happiness; -when he lavishes his hours in calculating the weight of the terraqueous -globe, or in adjusting successive systems of worlds beyond the reach of -the telescope; he may be very properly recalled from his excursions by -this precept, and reminded, that there is a nearer being with which it -is his duty to be more acquainted; and from which his attention has -hitherto been withheld by studies to which he has no other motive than -vanity or curiosity. - -The great praise of Socrates is, that he drew the wits of Greece, by his -instruction and example, from the vain pursuit of natural philosophy to -moral inquiries, and turned their thoughts from stars and tides, and -matter and motion, upon the various modes of virtue, and relations of -life. All his lectures were but commentaries upon this saying; if we -suppose the knowledge of ourselves recommended by Chilo, in opposition -to other inquiries less suitable to the state of man. - -The great fault of men of learning is still, that they offend against -this rule, and appear willing to study any thing rather than themselves; -for which reason they are often despised by those with whom they imagine -themselves above comparison; despised, as useless to common purposes, as -unable to conduct the most trivial affairs, and unqualified to perform -those offices by which the concatenation of society is preserved, and -mutual tenderness excited and maintained. - -Gelidus is a man of great penetration and deep researches. Having a mind -naturally formed for the abstruser sciences, he can comprehend intricate -combinations without confusion, and being of a temper naturally cool and -equal, he is seldom interrupted by his passions in the pursuit of the -longest chain of unexpected consequences. He has, therefore, a long -time indulged hopes, that the solution of some problems, by which the -professors of science have been hitherto baffled, is reserved for his -genius and industry. He spends his time in the highest room of his -house, into which none of his family are suffered to enter; and when -he comes down to his dinner or his rest, he walks about like a stranger -that is there only for a day, without any tokens of regard or tenderness. -He has totally divested himself of all human sensations; he has neither -eye for beauty, nor ear for complaint; he neither rejoices at the good -fortune of his nearest friend, nor mourns for any publick or private -calamity. Having once received a letter, and given it his servant to -read, he was informed, that it was written by his brother, who, being -shipwrecked, had swum naked to land, and was destitute of necessaries -in a foreign country. Naked and destitute! says Gelidus, reach down the -last volume of meteorological observations, extract an exact account of -the wind, and note it carefully in the diary of the weather. - -The family of Gelidus once broke into his study, to shew him that a town -at a small distance was on fire; and in a few moments a servant came to -tell him, that the flame had caught so many houses on both sides, that -the inhabitants were confounded, and began to think of rather escaping -with their lives, than saving their dwellings. What you tell me, says -Gelidus, is very probable, for fire naturally acts in a circle. - -Thus lives this great philosopher, insensible to every spectacle of -distress, and unmoved by the loudest call of social nature, for want of -considering that men are designed for the succour and comfort of each -other; that though there are hours which may be laudably spent upon -knowledge not immediately useful, yet the first attention is due to -practical virtue; and that he may be justly driven out from the commerce -of mankind, who has so far abstracted himself from the species, as to -partake neither of the joys nor griefs of others, but neglects the -endearments of his wife and the caresses of his children, to count the -drops of rain, note the changes of the wind, and calculate the eclipses -of the moons of Jupiter. - -I shall reserve to some future paper the religious and important meaning -of this epitome of wisdom, and only remark, that it may be applied to -the gay and light, as well as to the grave and solemn parts of life; -and that not only the philosopher may forfeit his pretences to real -learning, but the wit and beauty may miscarry in their schemes, by the -want of this universal requisite, the knowledge of themselves. - -It is surely for no other reason, that we see such numbers resolutely -struggling against nature, and contending for that which they never can -attain, endeavouring to unite contradictions, and determined to excel -in characters inconsistent with each other; that stock-jobbers affect -dress, gaiety, and elegance, and mathematicians labour to be wits; that -the soldier teazes his acquaintance with questions in theology, and the -academick hopes to divert the ladies by a recital of his gallantries. -That absurdity of pride could proceed only from ignorance of themselves, -by which Garth attempted criticism, and Congreve waved his title to -dramatick reputation, and desired to be considered only as a gentleman. - -Euphues, with great parts, and extensive knowledge, has a clouded -aspect, and ungracious form; yet it has been his ambition, from his -first entrance into life, to distinguish himself by particularities in -his dress, to outvie beaux in embroidery, to import new trimmings, and -to be foremost in the fashion. Euphues has turned on his exterior -appearance, that attention which would always have produced esteem, had -it been fixed upon his mind; and though his virtues and abilities have -preserved him from the contempt which he has so diligently solicited, he -has, at least, raised one impediment to his reputation; since all can -judge of his dress, but few of his understanding; and many who discern -that he is a fop, are unwilling to believe that he can be wise. - -There is one instance in which the ladies are particularly unwilling to -observe the rule of Chilo. They are desirous to hide from themselves -the advances of age, and endeavour too frequently to supply the -sprightliness and bloom of youth by artificial beauty and forced -vivacity. They hope to inflame the heart by glances which have lost -their fire, or melt it by languor which is no longer delicate; they play -over the airs which pleased at a time when they were expected only to -please, and forget that airs in time ought to give place to virtues. -They continue to trifle, because they could once trifle agreeably, till -those who shared their early pleasures are withdrawn to more serious -engagements; and are scarcely awakened from their dream of perpetual -youth, but by the scorn of those whom they endeavoured to rival[40]. - -[Footnote 40: It is said by Mrs. Piozzi, that by Gelidus, in this paper, -the author intended to represent Mr. Coulson, the gentleman under whose -care Mr. Garrick was placed when he entered at Lincoln's Inn. But the -character which Davies gives of him in his Life of Garrick, undoubtedly -inspected by Dr. Johnson, renders this conjecture improbable.] - - - - -No. 25. TUESDAY, JUNE 12, 1750. - - - _Possunt, quia posse videntur._ - VIRGIL, Æn. v. 231. - - For they can conquer who believe they can. - DRYDEN. - - -There are some vices and errours which, though often fatal to those in -whom they are found, have yet, by the universal consent of mankind, been -considered as intitled to some degree of respect, or have, at least, -been exempted from contemptuous infamy, and condemned by the severest -moralists with pity rather than detestation. - -A constant and invariable example of this general partiality will be -found in the different regard which has always been shewn to rashness -and cowardice, two vices, of which, though they may be conceived equally -distant from the middle point, where true fortitude is placed, and may -equally injure any publick or private interest, yet the one is never -mentioned without some kind of veneration, and the other always -considered as a topick of unlimited and licentious censure, on which all -the virulence of reproach may be lawfully exerted. - -The same distinction is made, by the common suffrage, between profusion -and avarice, and, perhaps, between many other opposite vices; and, as -I have found reason to pay great regard to the voice of the people, in -cases where knowledge has been forced upon them by experience, without -long deductions or deep researches, I am inclined to believe that this -distribution of respect is not without some agreement with the nature -of things; and that in the faults, which are thus invested with -extraordinary privileges, there are generally some latent principles of -merit, some possibilities of future virtue, which may, by degrees, break -from obstruction, and by time and opportunity be brought into act. - -It may be laid down as an axiom, that it is more easy to take away -superfluities than to supply defects; and, therefore, he that is -culpable, because he has passed the middle point of virtue, is always -accounted a fairer object of hope, than he who fails by falling short. -The one has all that perfection requires, and more, but the excess may -be easily retrenched; the other wants the qualities requisite to -excellence, and who can tell how he shall obtain them? We are certain -that the horse may be taught to keep pace with his fellows, whose fault -is that he leaves them behind. We know that a few strokes of the axe -will lop a cedar; but what arts of cultivation can elevate a shrub? - -To walk with circumspection and steadiness in the right path, at an -equal distance between the extremes of errour, ought to be the constant -endeavour of every reasonable being; nor can I think those teachers of -moral wisdom much to be honoured as benefactors to mankind, who are -always enlarging upon the difficulty of our duties, and providing rather -excuses for vice, than incentives to virtue. - -But, since to most it will happen often, and to all sometimes, that -there will be a deviation towards one side or the other, we ought always -to employ our vigilance, with most attention, on that enemy from which -there is the greatest danger, and to stray, if we must stray, towards -those parts from whence we may quickly and easily return. - -Among other opposite qualities of the mind, which may become dangerous, -though in different degrees, I have often had occasion to consider the -contrary effects of presumption and despondency; of heady confidence, -which promises victory without contest, and heartless pusillanimity, -which shrinks back from the thought of great undertakings, confounds -difficulty with impossibility, and considers all advancement towards any -new attainment as irreversibly prohibited. - -Presumption will be easily corrected. Every experiment will teach -caution, and miscarriages will hourly show, that attempts are not always -rewarded with success. The most precipitate ardour will, in time, be -taught the necessity of methodical gradation and preparatory measures; -and the most daring confidence be convinced, that neither merit nor -abilities can command events. - -It is the advantage of vehemence and activity, that they are always -hastening to their own reformation; because they incite us to try -whether our expectations are well grounded, and, therefore, detect the -deceits which they are apt to occasion. But timidity is a disease of -the mind more obstinate and fatal; for a man once persuaded that any -impediment is insuperable, has given it, with respect to himself, that -strength and weight which it had not before. He can scarcely strive with -vigour and perseverance, when he has no hope of gaining the victory; and -since he never will try his strength, can never discover the -unreasonableness of his fears. - -There is often to be found in men devoted to literature a kind of -intellectual cowardice, which, whoever converses much among them, may -observe frequently to depress the alacrity of enterprise, and, by -consequence, to retard the improvement of science. They have annexed to -every species of knowledge some chimerical character of terrour and -inhibition, which they transmit, without much reflection, from one to -another; they first fright themselves, and then propagate the panick to -their scholars and acquaintance. One study is inconsistent with a lively -imagination, another with a solid judgment: one is improper in the early -parts of life, another requires so much time, that it is not to be -attempted at an advanced age; one is dry and contracts the sentiments, -another is diffuse and overburdens the memory; one is insufferable to -taste and delicacy, and another wears out life in the study of words, -and is useless to a wise man, who desires only the knowledge of things. - -But of all the bugbears by which the _Infantes barbati_, boys both young -and old, have been hitherto frighted from digressing into new tracts of -learning, none has been more mischievously efficacious than an opinion -that every kind of knowledge requires a peculiar genius, or mental -constitution, framed for the reception of some ideas, and the exclusion -of others; and that to him whose genius is not adapted to the study -which he prosecutes, all labour shall be vain and fruitless, vain as an -endeavour to mingle oil and water, or, in the language of chemistry, to -amalgamate bodies of heterogeneous principles. - -This opinion we may reasonably suspect to have been propagated, by -vanity, beyond the truth. It is natural for those who have raised a -reputation by any science, to exalt themselves as endowed by heaven -with peculiar powers, or marked out by an extraordinary designation -for their profession; and to fright competitors away by representing -the difficulties with which they must contend, and the necessity of -qualities which are supposed to be not generally conferred, and which -no man can know, but by experience, whether he enjoys. - -To this discouragement it may be possibly answered, that since a genius, -whatever it be, is like fire in the flint, only to be produced by -collison with a proper subject, it is the business of every man to try -whether his faculties may not happily co-operate with his desires; and -since they whose proficiency he admires, knew their own force only by -the event, he needs but engage in the same undertaking with equal -spirit, and may reasonably hope for equal success. - -There is another species of false intelligence, given by those who -profess to shew the way to the summit of knowledge, of equal tendency -to depress the mind with false distrust of itself, and weaken it by -needless solicitude and dejection. When a scholar whom they desire to -animate, consults them at his entrance on some new study, it is common -to make flattering representations of its pleasantness and facility. -Thus they generally attain one of two ends almost equally desirable; -they either incite his industry by elevating his hopes, or produce a -high opinion of their own abilities, since they are supposed to relate -only what they have found, and to have proceeded with no less ease than -they promise to their followers. - -The student, inflamed by this encouragement, sets forward in the new -path, and proceeds a few steps with great alacrity, but he soon finds -asperities and intricacies of which he has not been forewarned, and -imagining that none ever were so entangled or fatigued before him, sinks -suddenly into despair, and desists as from an expedition in which fate -opposes him. Thus his terrours are multiplied by his hopes, and he is -defeated without resistance, because he had no expectation of an enemy. - -Of these treacherous instructors, the one destroys industry, by -declaring that industry is vain, the other by representing it as -needless; the one cuts away the root of hope, the other raises it only -to be blasted: the one confines his pupil to the shore, by telling him -that his wreck is certain, the other sends him to sea, without preparing -him for tempests. - -False hopes and false terrours are equally to be avoided. Every man who -proposes to grow eminent by learning, should carry in his mind, at once, -the difficulty of excellence, and the force of industry; and remember -that fame is not conferred but as the recompence of labour, and that -labour vigorously continued, has not often failed of its reward. - - - - -No. 26. SATURDAY, JUNE 14, 1750. - - - _Ingentes dominos, et clara nomina famæ,_ - _Illustrique graves nobilitate domos_ - _Derita, et longe cautus fuge; contrahe vela,_ - _Et te littoribus cymba propinqua vehat._ - SENECA. - - Each mighty lord, big with a pompous name, - And each high house of fortune and of fame, - With caution fly; contract thy ample sails, - And near the shore improve the gentle gales. - ELPHINSTON. - - -MR. RAMBLER, - -It is usual for men, engaged in the same pursuits, to be inquisitive -after the conduct and fortune of each other; and, therefore, I suppose -it will not be unpleasing to you, to read an account of the various -changes which have happened in part of a life devoted to literature. My -narrative will not exhibit any great variety of events, or extraordinary -revolutions; but may, perhaps, be not less useful, because I shall -relate nothing which is not likely to happen to a thousand others. - -I was born heir to a very small fortune, and left by my father, whom I -cannot remember, to the care of an uncle. He having no children, always -treated me as his son, and finding in me those qualities which old men -easily discover in sprightly children, when they happen to love them, -declared that a genius like mine should never be lost for want of -cultivation. He therefore placed me, for the usual time, at a great -school, and then sent me to the university, with a larger allowance -than my own patrimony would have afforded, that I might not keep mean -company, but learn to become my dignity when I should be made lord -chancellor, which he often lamented, that the increase of his -infirmities was very likely to preclude him from seeing. - -This exuberance of money displayed itself in gaiety of appearance, and -wantonness of expense, and introduced me to the acquaintance of those -whom the same superfluity of fortune betrayed to the same licence and -ostentation: young heirs, who pleased themselves with a remark very -frequent in their mouths, that though they were sent by their fathers -to the university, they were not under the necessity of living by their -learning. - -Among men of this class I easily obtained the reputation of a great -genius, and was persuaded, that with such liveliness of imagination, and -delicacy of sentiment, I should never be able to submit to the drudgery -of the law. I therefore gave myself wholly to the more airy and elegant -parts of learning, and was often so much elated with my superiority to -the youths with whom I conversed, that I began to listen, with great -attention, to those that recommended to me a wider and more conspicuous -theatre; and was particularly touched with an observation made by one of -my friends; That it was not by lingering in the university that Prior -became ambassador, or Addison secretary of state. - -This desire was hourly increased by the solicitation of my companions, -who removing one by one to London, as the caprice of their relations -allowed them, or the legal dismission from the hands of their guardians -put it in their power, never failed to send an account of the beauty and -felicity of the new world, and to remonstrate how much was lost by every -hour's continuance in a place of retirement and constraint. - -My uncle in the mean time frequently harassed me with monitory letters, -which I sometimes neglected to open for a week after I received them, -generally read in a tavern, with such comments as might shew how much I -was superior to instruction or advice. I could not but wonder how a man -confined to the country, and unacquainted with the present system of -things, should imagine himself qualified to instruct a rising genius, -born to give laws to the age, refine its taste, and multiply its -pleasures. - -The postman, however, still continued to bring me new remonstrances; for -my uncle was very little depressed by the ridicule and reproach which he -never heard. But men of parts have quick resentments; it was impossible -to bear his usurpations for ever; and I resolved, once for all, to make -him an example to those who imagine themselves wise because they are -old, and to teach young men, who are too tame under representation, in -what manner grey-bearded insolence ought to be treated. I therefore one -evening took my pen in hand, and after having animated myself with a -catch, wrote a general answer to all his precepts with such vivacity -of turn, such elegance of irony, and such asperity of sarcasm, that -I convulsed a large company with universal laughter, disturbed the -neighbourhood with vociferations of applause, and five days afterwards -was answered, that I must be content to live on my own estate. - -This contraction of my income gave me no disturbance; for a genius like -mine was out of the reach of want. I had friends that would be proud to -open their purses at my call, and prospects of such advancement as would -soon reconcile my uncle, whom, upon mature deliberation, I resolved to -receive into favour without insisting on any acknowledgment of his -offence, when the splendour of my condition should induce him to wish -for my countenance. I therefore went up to London, before I had shewn -the alteration of my condition by any abatement of my way of living, -and was received by all my academical acquaintance with triumph and -congratulation. I was immediately introduced among the wits and men of -spirit; and in a short time had divested myself of all my scholar's -gravity, and obtained the reputation of a pretty fellow. - -You will easily believe that I had no great knowledge of the world; yet -I had been hindered, by the general disinclination every man feels to -confess poverty, from telling to any one the resolution of my uncle, and -for some time subsisted upon the stock of money which I had brought with -me, and contributed my share as before to all our entertainments. But my -pocket was soon emptied, and I was obliged to ask my friends for a small -sum. This was a favour, which we had often reciprocally received from -one another; they supposed my wants only accidental, and therefore -willingly supplied them. In a short time I found a necessity of asking -again, and was again treated with the same civility; but the third time -they began to wonder what that old rogue my uncle could mean by sending -a gentleman to town without money; and when they gave me what I asked -for, advised me to stipulate for more regular remittances. - -This somewhat disturbed my dream of constant affluence; but I was three -days after completely awaked; for entering the tavern where they met -every evening, I found the waiters remitted their complaisance, and, -instead of contending to light me up stairs, suffered me to wait for -some minutes by the bar. When I came to my company, I found them -unusually grave and formal, and one of them took the hint to turn the -conversation upon the misconduct of young men, and enlarged upon the -folly of frequenting the company of men of fortune, without being able -to support the expense, an observation which the rest contributed either -to enforce by repetition, or to illustrate by examples. Only one of them -tried to divert the discourse, and endeavoured to direct my attention to -remote questions, and common topicks. - -A man guilty of poverty easily believes himself suspected. I went, -however, next morning to breakfast with him who appeared ignorant of the -drift of the conversation, and by a series of inquiries, drawing still -nearer to the point, prevailed on him, not, perhaps, much against his -will, to inform me that Mr. _Dash_, whose father was a wealthy attorney -near my native place, had, the morning before, received an account of my -uncle's resentment, and communicated his intelligence with the utmost -industry of groveling insolence. - -It was now no longer practicable to consort with my former friends, -unless I would be content to be used as an inferior guest, who was to -pay for his wine by mirth and flattery; a character which, if I could -not escape it, I resolved to endure only among those who had never known -me in the pride of plenty. I changed my lodgings, and frequented the -coffee-houses in a different region of the town; where I was very -quickly distinguished by several young gentlemen of high birth, and -large estates, and began again to amuse my imagination with hopes of -preferment, though not quite so confidently as when I had less -experience. - -The first great conquest which this new scene enabled me to gain over -myself was, when I submitted to confess to a party, who invited me to -an expensive diversion, that my revenues were not equal to such golden -pleasures; they would not suffer me, however, to stay behind, and with -great reluctance I yielded to be treated. I took that opportunity of -recommending myself to some office or employment, which they unanimously -promised to procure me by their joint interest. - -I had now entered into a state of dependence, and had hopes, or fears, -from almost every man I saw. If it be unhappy to have one patron, what -is his misery who has many? I was obliged to comply with a thousand -caprices, to concur in a thousand follies, and to countenance a thousand -errours. I endured innumerable mortifications, if not from cruelty, at -least from negligence, which will creep in upon the kindest and most -delicate minds, when they converse without the mutual awe of equal -condition. I found the spirit and vigour of liberty every moment sinking -in me, and a servile fear of displeasing stealing by degrees upon all -my behaviour, till no word, or look, or action, was my own. As the -solicitude to please increased, the power of pleasing grew less, and -I was always clouded with diffidence where it was most my interest and -wish to shine. - -My patrons, considering me as belonging to the community, and, -therefore, not the charge of any particular person, made no scruple of -neglecting any opportunity of promoting me, which every one thought more -properly the business of another. An account of my expectations and -disappointments, and the succeeding vicissitudes of my life I shall give -you in my following letter, which will be, I hope, of use to shew how ill -he forms his schemes, who expects happiness without freedom. - -I am, &c. - - - - -No. 27. TUESDAY, JUNE 19, 1750. - - - _----Pauperiem veritus potiore metallis_ - _Libertate caret.----_ - HOR. lib. i. Ep. x. 39. - - So he, who poverty with horror views, - Who sells his freedom in exchange for gold, - (Freedom for mines of wealth too cheaply sold) - Shall make eternal servitude his fate, - And feel a haughty master's galling weight. - FRANCIS. - - -MR. RAMBLER, - -As it is natural for every man to think himself of importance, your -knowledge of the world will incline you to forgive me, if I imagine your -curiosity so much excited by the former part of my narration, as to -make you desire that I should proceed without any unnecessary arts of -connexion. I shall, therefore, not keep you longer in such suspense, -as perhaps my performance may not compensate. - -In the gay company with which I was now united, I found those -allurements and delights, which the friendship of young men always -affords; there was that openness which naturally produced confidence, -that affability which, in some measure, softened dependance, and that -ardour of profession which incited hope. When our hearts were dilated -with merriment, promises were poured out with unlimited profusion, and -life and fortune were but a scanty sacrifice to friendship; but when the -hour came, at which any effort was to be made, I had generally the -vexation to find that my interest weighed nothing against the slightest -amusement, and that every petty avocation was found a sufficient plea -for continuing me in uncertainty and want. - -Their kindness was indeed sincere; when they promised, they had no -intention to deceive; but the same juvenile warmth which kindled their -benevolence, gave force in the same proportion to every other passion, -and I was forgotten as soon as any new pleasures seized on their -attention. - -Vagario told me one evening, that all my perplexities should be soon at -an end, and desired me, from that instant, to throw upon him all care of -my fortune, for a post of considerable value was that day become vacant, -and he knew his interest sufficient to procure it in the morning. He -desired me to call on him early, that he might be dressed soon enough to -wait on the minister before any other application should be made. I came -as he appointed, with all the flame of gratitude, and was told by his -servant, that having found at his lodgings, when he came home, an -acquaintance who was going to travel, he had been persuaded to accompany -him to Dover, and that they had taken post-horses two hours before day. - -I was once very near to preferment, by the kindness of Charinus, who, at -my request, went to beg a place, which he thought me likely to fill with -great reputation, and in which I should have many opportunities of -promoting his interest in return; and he pleased himself with imagining -the mutual benefits that we should confer, and the advances that we -should make by our united strength. Away therefore he went, equally warm -with friendship and ambition, and left me to prepare acknowledgments -against his return. At length he came back, and told me that he had met -in his way a party going to breakfast in the country, that the ladies -importuned him too much to be refused, and that having passed the -morning with them, he was come back to dress himself for a ball, to -which he was invited for the evening. - -I have suffered several disappointments from tailors and periwig-makers, -who, by neglecting to perform their work, withheld my patrons from court; -and once failed of an establishment for life by the delay of a servant, -sent to a neighbouring shop to replenish a snuff-box. - -At last I thought my solicitude at an end, for an office fell into the -gift of Hippodamus's father, who being then in the country, could not -very speedily fill it, and whose fondness would not have suffered him to -refuse his son a less reasonable request. Hippodamus therefore set -forward with great expedition, and I expected every hour an account of -his success. A long time I waited without any intelligence, but at last -received a letter from Newmarket, by which I was informed that the races -were begun, and I knew the vehemence of his passions too well to imagine -that he could refuse himself his favourite amusement. - -You will not wonder that I was at last weary of the patronage of young -men, especially as I found them not generally to promise much greater -fidelity as they advanced in life; for I observed that what they gained -in steadiness they lost in benevolence, and grew colder to my interest -as they became more diligent to promote their own. I was convinced that -their liberality was only profuseness, that as chance directed, they -were equally generous to vice and virtue, that they were warm but -because they were thoughtless, and counted the support of a friend only -amongst other gratifications of passion. - -My resolution was now to ingratiate myself with men whose reputation was -established, whose high stations enabled them to prefer me, and whose -age exempted them from sudden changes of inclination. I was considered -as a man of parts, and therefore easily found admission to the table of -Hilarius, the celebrated orator, renowned equally for the extent of his -knowledge, the elegance of his diction, and the acuteness of his wit. -Hilarius received me with an appearance of great satisfaction, produced -to me all his friends, and directed to me that part of his discourse in -which he most endeavoured to display his imagination. I had now learned -my own interest enough to supply him opportunities for smart remarks and -gay sallies, which I never failed to echo and applaud. Thus I was gaining -every hour on his affections, till unfortunately, when the assembly was -more splendid than usual, his desire of admiration prompted him to turn -his raillery upon me. I bore it for some time with great submission, -and success encouraged him to redouble his attacks; at last my vanity -prevailed over my prudence, I retorted his irony with such spirit, that -Hilarius, unaccustomed to resistance, was disconcerted, and soon found -means of convincing me that his purpose was not to encourage a rival, -but to foster a parasite. - -I was then taken into the familiarity of Argutio, a nobleman eminent -for judgment and criticism. He had contributed to my reputation by the -praises which he had often bestowed upon my writings, in which he owned -that there were proofs of a genius that might rise to high degrees of -excellence, when time, or information, had reduced its exuberance. He -therefore required me to consult him before the publication of any new -performance, and commonly proposed innumerable alterations, without -sufficient attention to the general design, or regard to my form of -style, and mode of imagination. But these corrections he never failed -to press as indispensably necessary, and thought the least delay of -compliance an act of rebellion. The pride of an author made this -treatment insufferable, and I thought any tyranny easier to be borne -than that which took from me the use of my understanding. - -My next patron was Eutyches, the statesman, who was wholly engaged in -public affairs, and seemed to have no ambition but to be powerful and -rich, I found his favour more permanent than that of the others; for -there was a certain price at which it might be bought; he allowed -nothing to humour, or to affection, but was always ready to pay -liberally for the service that he required. His demands were, indeed, -very often such as virtue could not easily consent to gratify; but -virtue is not to be consulted when men are to raise their fortunes by -the favour of the great. His measures were censured; I wrote in his -defence, and was recompensed with a place, of which the profits were -never received by me without the pangs of remembering that they were the -reward of wickedness--a reward which nothing but that necessity which -the consumption of my little estate in these wild pursuits had brought -upon me, hindered me from throwing back in the face of my corrupter. - -At this time my uncle died without a will, and I became heir to a small -fortune. I had resolution to throw off the splendour which reproached -me to myself, and retire to an humbler state, in which I am now -endeavouring to recover the dignity of virtue, and hope to make some -reparation for my crime and follies, by informing others, who may be -led after the same pageants, that they are about to engage in a course -of life, in which they are to purchase, by a thousand miseries, the -privilege of repentance. - -I am, &c. - - EUBULUS. - - - - -No. 28. SATURDAY, JUNE 23, 1750. - - - _Illi mors gravis incubat,_ - _Qui, notus nimis omnibus,_ - _Ignotus moritur sibi._ - SENECÆ, Thyest. ii. 401. - - To him, alas! to him, I fear, - The face of death will terrible appear, - Who in his life, flattering his senseless pride, - By being known to all the world beside, - Does not himself, when he is dying, know, - Nor what he is, nor whither he's to go. - COWLEY. - - -I have shewn, in a late essay, to what errours men are hourly betrayed -by a mistaken opinion of their own powers, and a negligent inspection of -their own character. But as I then confined my observations to common -occurrences and familiar scenes, I think it proper to inquire, how far a -nearer acquaintance with ourselves is necessary to our preservation from -crimes as well as follies, and how much the attentive study of our own -minds may contribute to secure to us the approbation of that Being, to -whom we are accountable for our thoughts and our actions, and whose -favour must finally constitute our total happiness. - -If it be reasonable to estimate the difficulty of any enterprise by -frequent miscarriages, it may justly be concluded that it is not easy -for a man to know himself; for wheresoever we turn our view, we shall -find almost all with whom we converse so nearly as to judge of their -sentiments, indulging more favourable conceptions of their own virtue -than they have been able to impress upon others, and congratulating -themselves upon degrees of excellence, which their fondest admirers -cannot allow them to have attained. - -Those representations of imaginary virtue are generally considered as -arts of hypocrisy, and as snares laid for confidence and praise. But I -believe the suspicion often unjust; those who thus propagate their own -reputation, only extend the fraud by which they have been themselves -deceived; for this failing is incident to numbers, who seem to live -without designs, competitions, or pursuits; it appears on occasions -which promise no accession of honour or of profit, and to persons from -whom very little is to be hoped or feared. It is, indeed, not easy to -tell how far we may be blinded by the love of ourselves, when we reflect -how much a secondary passion can cloud our judgment, and how few faults -a man, in the first raptures of love, can discover in the person or -conduct of his mistress. - -To lay open all the sources from which errour flows in upon him who -contemplates his own character, would require more exact knowledge of -the human heart, than, perhaps, the most acute and laborious observers -have acquired. And since falsehood may be diversified without end, it is -not unlikely that every man admits an imposture in some respect peculiar -to himself, as his views have been accidentally directed, or his ideas -particularly combined. - -Some fallacies, however, there are, more frequently insidious, which it -may, perhaps, not be useless to detect; because, though they are gross, -they may be fatal, and because nothing but attention is necessary to -defeat them. - -One sophism by which men persuade themselves that they have those -virtues which they really want, is formed by the substitution of single -acts for habits. A miser who once relieved a friend from the danger of a -prison, suffers his imagination to dwell for ever upon his own heroic -generosity; he yields his heart up to indignation at those who are blind -to merit, or insensible to misery, and who can please themselves with -the enjoyment of that wealth, which they never permit others to partake. -From any censures of the world, or reproaches of his conscience, he has -an appeal to action and to knowledge: and though his whole life is a -course of rapacity and avarice, he concludes himself to be tender and -liberal, because he has once performed an act of liberality and -tenderness. - -As a glass which magnifies objects by the approach of one end to the -eye, lessens them by the application of the other, so vices are -extenuated by the inversion of that fallacy, by which virtues are -augmented. Those faults which we cannot conceal from our own notice, are -considered, however frequent, not as habitual corruptions, or settled -practices, but as casual failures, and single lapses. A man who has from -year to year set his country to sale, either for the gratification of -his ambition or resentment, confesses that the heat of party now and -then betrays the severest virtue to measures that cannot be seriously -defended. He that spends his days and nights in riot and debauchery, -owns that his passions oftentimes overpower his resolutions. But each -comforts himself that his faults are not without precedent, for the best -and the wisest men have given way to the violence of sudden temptations. - -There are men who always confound the praise of goodness with the -practice, and who believe themselves mild and moderate, charitable and -faithful, because they have exerted their eloquence in commendation of -mildness, fidelity, and other virtues. This is an errour almost universal -among those that converse much with dependants, with such whose fear or -interest disposes them to a seeming reverence for any declamation, -however enthusiastic, and submission to any boast, however arrogant. -Having none to recall their attention to their lives, they rate -themselves by the goodness of their opinions, and forget how much more -easily men may shew their virtue in their talk than in their actions. - -The tribe is likewise very numerous of those who regulate their lives, -not by the standard of religion, but the measure of other men's virtue; -who lull their own remorse with the remembrance of crimes more atrocious -than their own, and seem to believe that they are not bad while another -can be found worse[41]. - -For escaping these and thousand other deceits, many expedients have been -proposed. Some have recommended the frequent consultation of a wise -friend, admitted to intimacy, and encouraged to sincerity. But this -appears a remedy by no means adapted to general use: for in order to -secure the virtue of one, it pre-supposes more virtue in two than will -generally be found. In the first, such a desire of rectitude and -amendment, as may incline him to hear his own accusation from the mouth -of him whom he esteems, and by whom, therefore, he will always hope that -his faults are not discovered; and in the second, such zeal and honesty, -as will make him content for his friend's advantage to loose his -kindness. - -A long life may be passed without finding a friend in whose understanding -and virtue we can equally confide, and whose opinion we can value at -once for its justness and sincerity. A weak man, however honest, is -not qualified to judge. A man of the world, however penetrating, is not -fit to counsel. Friends are often chosen for similitude of manners, and -therefore each palliates the other's failings, because they are his own. -Friends are tender, and unwilling to give pain, or they are interested, -and fearful to offend. - -These objections have inclined others to advise, that he who would know -himself, should consult his enemies, remember the reproaches that are -vented to his face, and listen for the censures that are uttered in -private. For his great business is to know his faults, and those -malignity will discover, and resentment will reveal. But this precept -may be often frustrated; for it seldom happens that rivals or opponents -are suffered to come near enough to know our conduct with so much -exactness as that conscience should allow and reflect the accusation. -The charge of an enemy is often totally false, and commonly so mingled -with falsehood, that the mind takes advantage from the failure of one -part to discredit the rest, and never suffers any disturbance afterward -from such partial reports. - -Yet it seems that enemies have been always found by experience the most -faithful monitors; for adversity has ever been considered as the state -in which a man most easily becomes acquainted with himself, and this -effect it must produce by withdrawing flatterers, whose business it -is to hide our weaknesses from us, or by giving loose to malice, and -licence to reproach; or at least by cutting off those pleasures which -called us away from meditation on our own conduct, and repressing that -pride which too easily persuades us that we merit whatever we enjoy. - -Part of these benefits it is in every man's power to procure to himself, -by assigning proper portions of his life to the examination of the rest, -and by putting himself frequently in such a situation, by retirement and -abstraction, as may weaken the influence of external objects. By this -practice he may obtain the solitude of adversity without its melancholy, -its instructions without its censures, and its sensibility without its -perturbations. - -The necessity of setting the world at a distance from us, when we are -to take a survey of ourselves, has sent many from high stations to the -severities of a monastic life; and, indeed, every man deeply engaged in -business, if all regard to another state be not extinguished, must have -the conviction, though perhaps, not the resolution of Valdesso, who, -when he solicited Charles the Fifth to dismiss him, being asked, whether -he retired upon disgust, answered that he laid down his commission for -no other reason but because _there ought to be some time for sober -reflection between the life of a soldier and his death_. - -There are few conditions which do not entangle us with sublunary hopes -and fears, from which it is necessary to be at intervals disencumbered, -that we may place ourselves in his presence who views effects in their -causes, and actions in their motives; that we may, as Chillingworth -expresses it, consider things as if there were no other beings in the -world but God and ourselves; or, to use language yet more awful, _may -commune with our own hearts, and be still_. - -Death, says Seneca, falls heavy upon him who is too much known to -others, and too little to himself; and Pontanus, a man celebrated among -the early restorers of literature, thought the study of our own hearts -of so much importance, that he has recommended it from his tomb. _Sum_ -Joannes Jovianus Pontanus, _quem amaverunt bonæ musæ, suspexerunt viri -probi, honestaverunt reges domini; jam scis qui sim, vel qui potius -fuerim; ego vero te, hospes, noscere in tenebris nequeo, sed teipsum -ut noscas rogo_. "I am Pontanus, beloved by the powers of literature, -admired by men of worth, and dignified by the monarchs of the world. -Thou knowest now who I am, or more properly who I was. For thee, -stranger, I who am in darkness cannot know thee, but I intreat thee -to know thyself." - -I hope every reader of this paper will consider himself as engaged to -the observation of a precept, which the wisdom and virtue of all ages -have concurred to enforce: a precept, dictated by philosophers, -inculcated by poets, and ratified by saints. - -[Footnote 41: But they measuring themselves by themselves, and comparing -themselves among themselves, are not wise. 2 Cor. x. 12.] - - - - -No. 29. TUESDAY, JUNE 26, 1750. - - - _Prudens futuri temporis exitum_ - _Caliginosa nocte premit Deus;_ - _Ridetque, si mortalis ultra_ - _Fas trepidat----_ - HOR. lib. iii. Od. xxix. 29. - - But God has wisely hid from human sight - The dark decrees of human fate, - And sown their seeds in depth of night; - He laughs at all the giddy turns of state, - When mortals search too soon, and fear too late. - DRYDEN. - - -There is nothing recommended with greater frequency among the gayer -poets of antiquity, than the secure possession of the present hour, and -the dismission of all the cares which intrude upon our quiet, or hinder, -by importunate perturbations, the enjoyment of those delights which our -condition happens to set before us. - -The ancient poets are, indeed, by no means unexceptionable teachers of -morality; their precepts are to be always considered as the sallies of -a genius, intent rather upon giving pleasure than instruction, eager to -take every advantage of insinuation, and, provided the passions can be -engaged on its side, very little solicitous about the suffrage of -reason. - -The darkness and uncertainty through which the heathens were compelled -to wander in the pursuit of happiness, may, indeed, be alleged as an -excuse for many of their seducing invitations to immediate enjoyment, -which the moderns, by whom they have been imitated, have not to plead. -It is no wonder that such as had no promise of another state should -eagerly turn their thoughts upon the improvement of that which was -before them; but surely those who are acquainted with the hopes and -fears of eternity, might think it necessary to put some restraint upon -their imagination, and reflect that by echoing the songs of the ancient -bacchanals, and transmitting the maxims of past debauchery, they not -only prove that they want invention, but virtue, and submit to the -servility of imitation only to copy that of which the writer, if he was -to live now, would often be ashamed. - -Yet as the errours and follies of a great genius are seldom without some -radiations of understanding, by which meaner minds may be enlightened, -the incitements to pleasure are, in those authors, generally mingled -with such reflections upon life, as well deserve to be considered -distinctly from the purposes for which they are produced, and to be -treasured up as the settled conclusions of extensive observation, acute -sagacity, and mature experience. - -It is not without true judgment, that on these occasions they often -warn their readers against inquiries into futurity, and solicitude -about events which lie hid in causes yet unactive, and which time has -not brought forward into the view of reason. An idle and thoughtless -resignation to chance, without any struggle against calamity, or -endeavour after advantage, is indeed below the dignity of a reasonable -being, in whose power Providence has put a great part even of his -present happiness; but it shews an equal ignorance of our proper sphere, -to harass our thoughts with conjectures about things not yet in being. -How can we regulate events, of which we yet know not whether they will -ever happen? And why should we think, with painful anxiety, about that -on which our thoughts can have no influence? - -It is a maxim commonly received, that a wise man is never surprised; -and, perhaps, this exemption from astonishment may be imagined to -proceed from such a prospect into futurity, as gave previous intimation -of those evils which often fall unexpected upon others that have less -foresight. But the truth is, that things to come, except when they -approach very nearly, are equally hidden from men of all degrees of -understanding; and if a wise man is not amazed at sudden occurrences, -it is not that he has thought more, but less upon futurity. He never -considered things not yet existing as the proper objects of his -attention; he never indulged dreams till he was deceived by their -phantoms, nor ever realized nonentities to his mind. He is not surprized, -because he is not disappointed; and he escapes disappointment, because -he never forms any expectations. - -The concern about things to come, that is so justly censured, is not -the result of those general reflections on the variableness of fortune, -the uncertainty of life, and the universal insecurity of all human -acquisitions, which must always be suggested by the view of the world; -but such a desponding anticipation of misfortune, as fixes the mind upon -scenes of gloom and melancholy, and makes fear predominate in every -imagination. - -Anxiety of this kind is nearly of the same nature with jealousy in love, -and suspicion in the general commerce of life; a temper which keeps the -man always in alarms; disposes him to judge of every thing in a manner -that least favours his own quiet, fills him with perpetual stratagems -of counteraction, wears him out in schemes to obviate evils which never -threatened him, and at length, perhaps, contributes to the production of -those mischiefs of which it had raised such dreadful apprehensions. - -It has been usual in all ages for moralists to repress the swellings of -vain hope, by representations of the innumerable casualties to which -life is subject, and by instances of the unexpected defeat of the wisest -schemes of policy, and sudden subversions of the highest eminences of -greatness. It has, perhaps, not been equally observed, that all these -examples afford the proper antidote to fear as well as to hope, and may -be applied with no less efficacy as consolations to the timorous, than -as restraints to the proud. - -Evil is uncertain in the same degree as good, and for the reason that -we ought not to hope too securely, we ought not to fear with too much -dejection. The state of the world is continually changing, and none -can tell the result of the next vicissitude. Whatever is afloat in the -stream of time, may, when it is very near us, be driven away by an -accidental blast, which shall happen to cross the general course of the -current. The sudden accidents by which the powerful are depressed, may -fall upon those whose malice we fear; and the greatness by which we -expect to be overborne, may become another proof of the false flatteries -of fortune. Our enemies may become weak, or we grow strong before our -encounter, or we may advance against each other without ever meeting. -There are, indeed, natural evils which we can flatter ourselves with -no hopes of escaping, and with little of delaying; but of the ills -which are apprehended from human malignity, or the opposition of rival -interests, we may always alleviate the terrour by considering that our -persecutors are weak and ignorant, and mortal like ourselves. - -The misfortunes which arise from the concurrence of unhappy incidents -should never be suffered to disturb us before they happen; because, if -the breast be once laid open to the dread of mere possibilities of -misery, life must be given a prey to dismal solicitude, and quiet must -be lost for ever. - -It is remarked by old Cornaro, that it is absurd to be afraid of the -natural dissolution of the body, because it must certainly happen, and -can, by no caution or artifice, be avoided. Whether this sentiment be -entirely just, I shall not examine; but certainly if it be improper to -fear events which must happen, it is yet more evidently contrary to -right reason to fear those which may never happen, and which, if they -should come upon us, we cannot resist. - -As we ought not to give way to fear, any more than indulgence to hope, -because the objects both of fear and hope are yet uncertain, so we ought -not to trust the representations of one more than of the other, because -they are both equally fallacious; as hope enlarges happiness, fear -aggravates calamity. It is generally allowed, that no man ever found the -happiness of possession proportionate to that expectation which incited -his desire, and invigorated his pursuit; nor has any man found the evils -of life so formidable in reality, as they were described to him by his -own imagination: every species of distress brings with it some peculiar -supports, some unforeseen means of resisting, or power of enduring. -Taylor justly blames some pious persons, who indulge their fancies too -much, set themselves, by the force of imagination, in the place of the -ancient martyrs and confessors, and question the validity of their own -faith, because they shrink at the thoughts of flames and tortures. It -is, says he, sufficient that you are able to encounter the temptations -which now assault you; when God sends trials, he may send strength. - -All fear is in itself painful, and when it conduces not to safety is -painful without use. Every consideration therefore, by which groundless -terrours may be removed, adds something to human happiness. It is -likewise not unworthy of remark, that in proportion as our cares are -employed upon the future they are abstracted from the present, from the -only time which we can call our own, and of which if we neglect the -apparent duties, to make provision against visionary attacks, we shall -certainly counteract our own purpose; for he, doubtless, mistakes his -true interest, who thinks that he can increase his safety, when he -impairs his virtue. - - - - -No. 30. SATURDAY, JUNE 30, 1750. - - - _----Vultus ubi tuus_ - _Affulsit, populo gratior it dies,_ - _Et soles metius nitent._ - HOR. lib. iv. Ode v. 7. - - Whene'er thy countenance divine - Th' attendant people cheers, - The genial suns more radiant shine, - The day more glad appears. - ELPHINSTON. - - -MR. RAMBLER, - -There are few tasks more ungrateful than for persons of modesty to speak -their own praises. In some cases, however, this must be done for the -general good, and a generous spirit will on such occasions assert its -merit, and vindicate itself with becoming warmth. - -My circumstances, Sir, are very hard and peculiar. Could the world be -brought to treat me as I deserve, it would be a publick benefit. This -makes me apply to you, that my case being fairly stated in a paper so -generally esteemed, I may suffer no longer from ignorant and childish -prejudices. - -My elder brother was a Jew; a very respectable person, but somewhat -austere in his manner: highly and deservedly valued by his near -relations and intimates, but utterly unfit for mixing in a large -society, or gaining a general acquaintance among mankind. In a venerable -old age he retired from the world, and I in the bloom of youth came -into it, succeeding him in all his dignities, and formed, as I might -reasonably flatter myself, to be the object of universal love and -esteem. Joy and gladness were born with me; cheerfulness, good-humour, -and benevolence, always attended and endeared my infancy. That time is -long past. So long, that idle imaginations are apt to fancy me wrinkled, -old, and disagreeable; but, unless my looking-glass deceives me, I have -not yet lost one charm, one beauty of my earliest years. However, thus -far is too certain, I am to every body just what they choose to think -me, so that to very few I appear in my right shape; and though naturally -I am the friend of human kind, to few, very few comparatively, am I -useful or agreeable. - -This is the more grievous, as it is utterly impossible for me to avoid -being in all sorts of places and companies; and I am therefore liable to -meet with perpetual affronts and injuries. Though I have as natural an -antipathy to cards and dice, as some people have to a cat, many and many -an assembly am I forced to endure; and though rest and composure are my -peculiar joy, am worn out and harassed to death with journeys by men and -women of quality, who never take one but when I can be of the party. -Some, on a contrary extreme, will never receive me but in bed, where -they spend at least half of the time I have to stay with them; and others -are so monstrously ill-bred as to take physick on purpose when they have -reason to expect me. Those who keep upon terms of more politeness with -me, are generally so cold and constrained in their behaviour, that I -cannot but perceive myself an unwelcome guest; and even among persons -deserving of esteem, and who certainly have a value for me, it is too -evident that generally whenever I come I throw a dulness over the whole -company, that I am entertained with a formal stiff civility, and that -they are glad when I am fairly gone. - -How bitter must this kind of reception be to one formed to inspire -delight, admiration, and love! To one capable of answering and rewarding -the greatest warmth and delicacy of sentiments! - -I was bred up among a set of excellent people, who affectionately loved -me, and treated me with the utmost honour and respect. It would be -tedious to relate the variety of my adventures, and strange vicissitudes -of my fortune in many different countries. Here in England there was a -time when I lived according to my heart's desire. Whenever I appeared, -public assemblies appointed for my reception were crowded with persons -of quality and fashion, early drest as for a court, to pay me their -devoirs. Cheerful hospitality every where crowned my board, and I was -looked upon in every country parish as a kind of social bond between the -'squire, the parson, and the tenants. The laborious poor every where -blest my appearance: they do so still, and keep their best clothes to do -me honour; though as much as I delight in the honest country folks, they -do now and then throw a pot of ale at my head, and sometimes an unlucky -boy will drive his cricket-ball full in my face. - -Even in these my best days there were persons who thought me too demure -and grave. I must forsooth by all means be instructed by foreign -masters, and taught to dance and play. This method of education was so -contrary to my genius, formed for much nobler entertainments, that it -did not succeed at all. - -I fell next into the hands of a very different set. They were so -excessively scandalized at the gaiety of my appearance, as not only to -despoil me of the foreign fopperies, the paint and the patches that I -had been tricked out with by my last misjudging tutors, but they robbed -me of every innocent ornament I had from my infancy been used to gather -in the fields and gardens; nay, they blacked my face, and covered me all -over with a habit of mourning, and that too very coarse and awkward. -I was now obliged to spend my whole life in hearing sermons; nor -permitted so much as to smile upon any occasion. - -In this melancholy disguise I became a perfect bugbear to all children, -and young folks. Wherever I came there was a general hush, and immediate -stop to all pleasantness of look or discourse; and not being permitted -to talk with them in my own language at that time, they took such a -disgust to me in those tedious hours of yawning, that having transmitted -it to their children, I cannot now be heard, though it is long since -I have recovered my natural form, and pleasing tone of voice. Would they -but receive my visits kindly, and listen to what I could tell them--let -me say it without vanity--how charming a companion should I be! to every -one could I talk on the subjects most interesting and most pleasing. -With the great and ambitious, I would discourse of honours and -advancements, of distinctions to which the whole world should be -witness, of unenvied dignities and durable preferments. To the rich -I would tell of inexhaustible treasures, and the sure method to attain -them. I would teach them to put out their money on the best interest, -and instruct the lovers of pleasure how to secure and improve it to -the highest degree. The beauty should learn of me how to preserve an -everlasting bloom. To the afflicted I would administer comfort, and -relaxation to the busy. - -As I dare promise myself you will attest the truth of all I have -advanced, there is no doubt but many will be desirous of improving their -acquaintance with me; and that I may not be thought too difficult, I will -tell you, in short, how I wish to be received. - -You must know I equally hate lazy idleness and hurry. I would every -where be welcomed at a tolerable early hour with decent good-humour -and gratitude. I must be attended in the great halls, peculiarly -appropriated to me, with respect; but I do not insist upon finery: -propriety of appearance, and perfect neatness, is all I require. I must -at dinner be treated with a temperate, but cheerful social meal; both -the neighbours and the poor should be the better for me. Some time -I must have tête-à-tête with my kind entertainers, and the rest of -my visit should be spent in pleasant walks and airings among sets of -agreeable people, in such discourse as I shall naturally dictate, or -in reading some few selected out of those numberless books that are -dedicated to me, and go by my name. A name that, alas! as the world -stands at present, makes them oftener thrown aside than taken up. As -these conversations and books should be both well chosen, to give some -advice on that head may possibly furnish you with a future paper, and -any thing you shall offer on my behalf will be of great service to, - -Good Mr. RAMBLER, - -Your faithful Friend and Servant, - - SUNDAY[42]. - -[Footnote 42: This paper was written by Miss Catherine Talbot. See the -Preface.] - - - - -No. 31. TUESDAY, JULY 3, 1750. - - - _Non ego mendosos ausim defendere mores;_ - _Falsaque pro vitiis arma movere meis._ - OVID, Am. ii, iv. 1. - - Corrupted manners I shall ne'er defend; - Nor, falsely witty, for my faults contend. - ELPHINSTON. - - -Though the fallibility of man's reason, and the narrowness of his -knowledge, are very liberally confessed, yet the conduct of those who -so willingly admit the weakness of human nature, seems to discover that -this acknowledgment is not altogether sincere; at least, that most make -it with a tacit reserve in favour of themselves, and that with whatever -ease they give up the claim of their neighbours, they are desirous of -being thought exempt from faults in their own conduct, and from errour -in their opinions. - -The certain and obstinate opposition, which we may observe made to -confutation however clear, and to reproof however tender, is an undoubted -argument, that some dormant privilege is thought to be attacked; for -as no man can lose what he neither possesses, nor imagines himself -to possess, or be defrauded of that to which he has no right, it is -reasonable to suppose that those who break out into fury at the softest -contradiction, or the slightest censure, since they apparently conclude -themselves injured, must fancy some ancient immunity violated, or some -natural prerogative invaded. To be mistake, if they thought themselves -liable to mistake, could not be considered either as shameful, or -wonderful, and they would not receive with so much emotion intelligence -which only informed them of what they knew before, nor struggle with such -earnestness against an attack that deprived them of nothing to which they -held themselves entitled. - -It is related of one of the philosophers, that when an account was -brought him of his son's death, he received it only with this reflection, -_I knew that my son was mortal_. He that is convinced of an errour, if he -had the same knowledge of his own weakness, would, instead of straining -for artifices, and brooding malignity, only regard such oversights as the -appendages of humanity, and pacify himself with considering that he had -always known man to be a fallible being. - -If it be true that most of our passions are excited by the novelty of -objects, there is little reason for doubting, that to be considered as -subject to fallacies of ratiocination, or imperfection of knowledge, is -to a great part of mankind entirely new; for it is impossible to fall -into any company where there is not some regular and established -subordination, without finding rage and vehemence produced only by -difference of sentiments about things in which neither of the disputants -have any other interest, than what proceeds from their mutual -unwillingness to give way to any opinion that may bring upon them the -disgrace of being wrong. - -I have heard of one that, having advanced some erroneous doctrines in -philosophy, refused to see the experiments by which they were confuted: -and the observation of every day will give new proofs with how much -industry subterfuges and evations are sought to decline the pressure of -resistless arguments, how often the state of the question is altered, -how often the antagonist is wilfully misrepresented, and in how much -perplexity the clearest positions are involved by those whom they happen -to oppose. - -Of all mortals none seem to have been more infected with this species -of vanity, than the race of writers, whose reputation arising solely -from their understanding, gives them a very delicate sensibility of any -violence attempted on their literary honour. It is not unpleasing to -remark with what solicitude men of acknowledged abilities will endeavour -to palliate absurdities and reconcile contradictions, only to obviate -criticisms to which all human performances must ever be exposed, and from -which they can never suffer, but when they teach the world, by a vain and -ridiculous impatience, to think them of importance. - -Dryden, whose warmth of fancy, and haste of composition, very frequently -hurried him into inaccuracies, heard himself sometimes exposed to -ridicule for having said in one of his tragedies, - - "I follow Fate, which does too fast pursue." - -That no man could at once follow and be followed was, it may be thought, -too plain to be long disputed; and the truth is, that Dryden was -apparently betrayed into the blunder by the double meaning of the word -Fate, to which in the former part of the verse he had annexed the idea -of Fortune, and in the latter that of Death; so that the sense only was, -_though pursued by_ Death, _I will not resign myself to despair, but will -follow_ Fortune, _and do and suffer what is appointed_. This, however, -was not completely expressed, and Dryden being determined not to give -way to his criticks, never confessed that he had been surprised by an -ambiguity; but finding luckily in Virgil an account of a man moving in -a circle, with this expression, _Et se sequiturque fugitque_, "Here," -says he, "is the passage in imitation of which I wrote the line that my -criticks were pleased to condemn as nonsense; not but I may sometimes -write nonsense, though they have not the fortune to find it." - -Every one sees the folly of such mean doublings to escape the pursuit of -criticism; nor is there a single reader of this poet, who would not have -paid him greater veneration, had he shown consciousness enough of his own -superiority to set such cavils at defiance, and owned that he sometimes -slipped into errours by the tumult of his imagination, and the multitude -of his ideas. - -It is happy when this temper discovers itself only in little things, -which may be right or wrong without any influence on the virtue or -happiness of mankind. We may, with very little inquietude, see a man -persist in a project which he has found to be impracticable, live in an -inconvenient house because it was contrived by himself, or wear a coat -of a particular cut, in hopes by perseverance to bring it into fashion. -These are indeed follies, but they are only follies, and, however wild -or ridiculous, can very little affect others. - -But such pride, once indulged, too frequently operates upon more -important objects, and inclines men not only to vindicate their errours, -but their vices; to persist in practices which their own hearts condemn, -only lest they should seem to feel reproaches, or be made wiser by the -advice of others; or to search for sophisms tending to the confusion of -all principles, and the evacuation of all duties, that they may not appear -to act what they are not able to defend. - -Let every man, who finds vanity so far predominant, as to betray him to -the danger of this last degree of corruption, pause a moment to consider -what will be the consequences of the plea which he is about to offer -for a practice to which he knows himself not led at first by reason, -but impelled by the violence of desire, surprised by the suddenness -of passion, or seduced by the soft approaches of temptation, and by -imperceptible gradations of guilt. Let him consider what he is going to -commit, by forcing his understanding to patronise those appetites, which -it is its chief business to hinder and reform. - -The cause of virtue requires so little art to defend it, and good and -evil, when they have been once shewn, are so easily distinguished, that -such apologists seldom gain proselytes to their party, nor have their -fallacies power to deceive any but those whose desires have clouded their -discernment. All that the best faculties thus employed can perform is, -to persuade the hearers that the man is hopeless whom they only thought -vicious, that corruption has passed from his manners to his principles, -that all endeavours for his recovery are without prospect of success, and -that nothing remains but to avoid him as infectious, or hunt him down as -destructive. - -But if it be supposed that he may impose on his audience by partial -representations of consequences, intricate deductions of remote causes, -or perplexed combinations of ideas, which having various relations appear -different as viewed on different sides; that he may sometimes puzzle the -weak and well-meaning, and now and then seduce, by the admiration of -his abilities, a young mind still fluctuating in unsettled notions, and -neither fortified by instruction nor enlightened by experience; yet what -must be the event of such a triumph! A man cannot spend all this life in -frolick: age, or disease, or solitude, will bring some hours of serious -consideration, and it will then afford no comfort to think, that he has -extended the dominion of vice, that he has loaded himself with the crimes -of others, and can never know the extent of his own wickedness, or make -reparation for the mischief that he has caused. There is not, perhaps, -in all the stores of ideal anguish, a thought more painful, than the -consciousness of having propagated corruption by vitiating principles, of -having not only drawn others from the paths of virtue, but blocked up the -way by which they should return, of having blinded them to every beauty -but the paint of pleasure, and deafened them to every call but the -alluring voice of the syrens of destruction. - -There is yet another danger in this practice: men who cannot deceive -others, are very often successful in deceiving themselves; they weave -their sophistry till their own reason is entangled, and repeat their -positions till they are credited by themselves; by often contending, -they grow sincere in the cause; and by long wishing for demonstrative -arguments, they at last bring themselves to fancy that they have found -them. They are then at the uttermost verge of wickedness, and may die -without having that light rekindled in their minds, which their own pride -and contumacy have extinguished. - -The men who can be charged with fewest failings, either with respect to -abilities or virtue, are generally most ready to allow them; for, not -to dwell on things of solemn and awful consideration, the humility of -confessors, the tears of saints, and the dying terrours of persons -eminent for piety and innocence, it is well known that Cæsar wrote an -account of the errours committed by him in his wars of Gaul, and that -Hippocrates, whose name is perhaps in rational estimation greater than -Cæsar's, warned posterity against a mistake into which he had fallen. -_So much_, says Celsus, _does the open and artless confession of an errour -become a man conscious that he has enough remaining to support his -character_. - -As all errour is meanness, it is incumbent on every man who consults his -own dignity, to retract it as soon as he discovers it, without fearing -any censure so much as that of his own mind. As justice requires that all -injuries should be repaired, it is the duty of him who has seduced others -by bad practices or false notions, to endeavour that such as have adopted -his errours should know his retraction, and that those who have learned -vice by his example, should by his example be taught amendment. - - - - -No. 32. SATURDAY, JULY 7, 1750. - - - [Greek: Hossa te daimoniêsi tychais brotoi alge' echousin, - Hon an moiran echês, praôs phere, mêd' aganaktei; - Iasthai de prepei, kathoson dynê.] - PYTH. Aur. Carm. - - Of all the woes that load the mortal state, - Whate'er thy portion, mildly meet thy fate; - But ease it as thou canst.---- - ELPHINSTON. - - -So large a part of human life passes in a state contrary to our natural -desires, that one of the principal topicks of moral instruction is the -art of bearing calamities. And such is the certainty of evil, that it -is the duty of every man to furnish his mind with those principles that -may enable him to act under it with decency and propriety. - -The sect of ancient philosophers, that boasted to have carried this -necessary science to the highest perfection, were the stoicks, or -scholars of Zeno, whose wild enthusiastick virtue pretended to an -exemption from the sensibilities of unenlightened mortals, and who -proclaimed themselves exalted, by the doctrines of their sect, above -the reach of those miseries which embitter life to the rest of the -world. They therefore removed pain, poverty, loss of friends, exile, -and violent death, from the catalogue of evils; and passed, in their -haughty style, a kind of irreversible decree, by which they forbad them -to be counted any longer among the objects of terrour or anxiety, or to -give any disturbance to the tranquillity of a wise man. - -This edict was, I think, not universally observed; for though one of the -more resolute, when he was tortured by a violent disease, cried out, -that let pain harass him to its utmost power, it should never force him -to consider it as other than indifferent and neutral; yet all had not -stubbornness to hold out against their senses: for a weaker pupil of Zeno -is recorded to have confessed in the anguish of the gout, that _he now -found pain to be an evil_. - -It may however be questioned, whether these philosophers can be very -properly numbered among the teachers of patience; for if pain be not -an evil, there seems no instruction requisite how it may be borne; -and therefore, when they endeavour to arm their followers with -arguments against it, they may be thought to have given up their first -position. But such inconsistencies are to be expected from the greatest -understandings, when they endeavour to grow eminent by singularity, and -employ their strength in establishing opinions opposite to nature. - -The controversy about the reality of external evils is now at an end. -That life has many miseries, and that those miseries are, sometimes -at least, equal to all the powers of fortitude, is now universally -confessed; and therefore it is useful to consider not only how we -may escape them, but by what means those which either the accidents -of affairs, or the infirmities of nature, must bring upon us, may be -mitigated and lightened, and how we may make those hours less wretched, -which the condition of our present existence will not allow to be very -happy. - -The cure for the greatest part of human miseries is not radical, but -palliative. Infelicity is involved in corporeal nature, and interwoven -with our being; all attempts therefore to decline it wholly are useless -and vain: the armies of pain send their arrows against us on every -side, the choice is only between those which are more or less sharp, -or tinged with poison of greater or less malignity; and the strongest -armour which reason can supply, will only blunt their points, but -cannot repel them. - -The great remedy which heaven has put in our hands is patience, by which, -though we cannot lessen the torments of the body, we can in a great -measure preserve the peace of the mind, and shall suffer only the -natural and genuine force of an evil, without heightening its acrimony, -or prolonging its effects. - -There is indeed nothing more unsuitable to the nature of man in any -calamity than rage and turbulence, which, without examining whether they -are not sometimes impious, are at least always offensive, and incline -others rather to hate and despise than to pity and assist us. If what -we suffer has been brought upon us by ourselves, it is observed by an -ancient poet, that patience is eminently our duty, since no one should -be angry at feeling that which he has deserved. - - _Leniter ex merito quicquid patiare ferendum est._ - - Let pain deserv'd without complaint be borne. - -And surely, if we are conscious that we have not contributed to our -own sufferings, if punishment falls upon innocence, or disappointment -happens to industry and prudence, patience, whether more necessary or -not, is much easier, since our pain is then without aggravation, and we -have not the bitterness of remorse to add to the asperity of misfortune. - -In those evils which are allotted to us by Providence, such as deformity, -privation of any of the senses, or old age, it is always to be -remembered, that impatience can have no present effect, but to deprive -us of the consolations which our condition admits, by driving away from -us those by whose conversation or advice we might be amused or helped; -and that with regard to futurity it is yet less to be justified, since, -without lessening the pain, it cuts off the hope of that reward which -he, by whom it is inflicted, will confer upon them that bear it well. - -In all evils which admit a remedy, impatience is to be avoided, because -it wastes that time and attention in complaints, that, if properly -applied, might remove the cause. Turenne, among the acknowledgments which -he used to pay in conversation to the memory of those by whom he had been -instructed in the art of war, mentioned one with honour, who taught him -not to spend his time in regretting any mistake which he had made, but to -set himself immediately and vigorously to repair it. - -Patience and submission are very carefully to be distinguished from -cowardice and indolence. We are not to repine, but we may lawfully -struggle; for the calamities of life, like the necessities of nature, -are calls to labour and exercises of diligence. When we feel any -pressure of distress, we are not to conclude that we can only obey the -will of heaven by languishing under it, any more than when we perceive -the pain of thirst, we are to imagine that water is prohibited. Of -misfortune it never can be certainly known whether, as proceeding from -the hand of God, it is an act of favour or of punishment: but since -all the ordinary dispensations of Providence are to be interpreted -according to the general analogy of things, we may conclude that we -have a right to remove one inconvenience as well as another; that we -are only to take care lest we purchase ease with guilt; and that our -Maker's purpose, whether of reward or severity, will be answered by the -labours which he lays us under the necessity of performing. - -This duty is not more difficult in any state than in diseases intensely -painful, which may indeed suffer such exacerbations as seem to strain -the powers of life to their utmost stretch, and leave very little of -the attention vacant to precept or reproof. In this state the nature -of man requires some indulgence, and every extravagance but impiety -may be easily forgiven him. Yet, lest we should think ourselves too -soon entitled to the mournful privileges of irresistible misery, it -is proper to reflect, that the utmost anguish which human wit can -contrive, or human malice can inflict, has been borne with constancy; -and that if the pains of disease be, as I believe they are, sometimes -greater than those of artificial torture, they are therefore in their -own nature shorter: the vital frame is quickly broken, the union -between soul and body is for a time suspended by insensibility, and we -soon cease to feel our maladies when they once become too violent to be -borne. I think there is some reason for questioning whether the body -and mind are not so proportioned, that the one can bear all that can -be inflicted on the other, whether virtue cannot stand its ground as -long as life, and whether a soul well principled will not be separated -sooner than subdued. - -In calamities which operate chiefly on our passions, such as diminution -of fortune, loss of friends, or declension of character, the chief -danger of impatience is upon the first attack, and many expedients -have been contrived, by which the blow may be broken. Of these the -most general precept is, not to take pleasure in any thing, of which -it is not in our power to secure the possession to ourselves. This -counsel, when we consider the enjoyment of any terrestrial advantage -as opposite to a constant and habitual solicitude for future felicity, -is undoubtedly just, and delivered by that authority which cannot be -disputed, but in any other sense, is it not like advice, not to walk -lest we should stumble, or not to see least our eyes should light -upon deformity? It seems to me reasonable to enjoy blessings with -confidence, as well as to resign them with submission, and to hope -for the continuance of good which we possess without insolence or -voluptuousness, as for the restitution of that which we lose without -despondency or murmurs. - -The chief security against the fruitless anguish of impatience, must -arise from frequent reflection on the wisdom and goodness of the God -of nature, in whose hands are riches and poverty, honour and disgrace, -pleasure and pain, and life and death. A settled conviction of the -tendency of every thing to our good, and of the possibility of turning -miseries into happiness, by receiving them rightly, will incline us to -_bless the name of the_ LORD, _whether he gives or takes away_. - - - - -No. 33. TUESDAY, JULY 10, 1750. - - - _Quod caret alterna requie, durabile non est._ - OVID, Epist. iv. 89. - - Alternate rest and labour long endure. - - -In the early ages of the world, as is well known to those who are versed -in ancient traditions, when innocence was yet untainted, and simplicity -unadulterated, mankind was happy in the enjoyment of continual pleasure, -and constant plenty, under the protection of Rest; a gentle divinity, -who required of her worshippers neither altars nor sacrifices, and whose -rites were only performed by prostrations upon turfs of flowers in shades -of jasmine and myrtle, or by dances on the banks of rivers flowing with -milk and nectar. - -Under this easy government the first generations breathed the fragrance -of perpetual spring, ate the fruits, which, without culture, fell ripe -into their hands, and slept under bowers arched by nature, with the -birds singing over their heads, and the beasts sporting about them. But -by degrees they began to lose their original integrity; each, though -there was more than enough for all, was desirous of appropriating part -to himself. Then entered Violence and Fraud, and Theft and Rapine. Soon -after Pride and Envy broke into the world, and brought with them a new -standard of wealth; for men, who, till then, thought themselves rich -when they wanted nothing, now rated their demands, not by the calls of -nature, but by the plenty of others; and began to consider themselves as -poor, when they beheld their own possessions exceeded by those of their -neighbours. Now only one could be happy, because only one could have -most, and that one was always in danger, lest the same arts by which he -had supplanted others should be practised upon himself. - -Amidst the prevalence of this corruption, the state of the earth was -changed; the year was divided into seasons; part of the ground became -barren, and the rest yielded only berries, acorns, and herbs. The summer -and autumn indeed furnished a coarse and inelegant sufficiency, but -winter was without any relief: Famine, with a thousand diseases which -the inclemency of the air invited into the upper regions, made havock -among men, and there appeared to be danger lest they should be destroyed -before they were reformed. - -To oppose the devastations of Famine, who scattered the ground every -where with carcases, Labour came down upon earth. Labour was the son -of Necessity, the nurseling of Hope, and the pupil of Art; he had the -strength of his mother, the spirit of his nurse, and the dexterity of -his governess. His face was wrinkled with the wind, and swarthy with the -sun; he had the implements of husbandry in one hand, with which he turned -up the earth; in the other he had the tools of architecture, and raised -walls and towers at his pleasure. He called out with a rough voice, -"Mortals! see here the power to whom you are consigned, and from whom you -are to hope for all your pleasures, and all your safety. You have long -languished under the dominion of Rest, an impotent and deceitful goddess, -who can neither protect nor relieve you, but resigns you to the first -attacks of either Famine or Disease, and suffers her shades to be invaded -by every enemy, and destroyed by every accident. - -"Awake therefore to the call of Labour. I will teach you to remedy the -sterility of the earth, and the severity of the sky; I will compel summer -to find provisions for the winter; I will force the waters to give you -their fish, the air its fowls, and the forest its beasts; I will teach -you to pierce the bowels of the earth, and bring out from the caverns -of the mountains metals which shall give strength to your hands, and -security to your bodies, by which you may be covered from the assaults -of the fiercest beast, and with which you shall fell the oak, and divide -rocks, and subject all nature to your use and pleasure." - -Encouraged by this magnificent invitation, the inhabitants of the globe -considered Labour as their only friend, and hasted to his command. He led -them out to the fields and mountains, and shewed them how to open mines, -to level hills, to drain marshes, and change the course of rivers. The -face of things was immediately transformed; the land was covered with -towns and villages, encompassed with fields of corn, and plantations of -fruit-trees; and nothing was seen but heaps of grain, and baskets of -fruit, full tables, and crowded store-houses. - -Thus Labour and his followers added every hour new acquisitions to their -conquests, and saw Famine gradually dispossessed of his dominions; till -at last, amidst their jollity and triumphs, they were depressed and -amazed by the approach of Lassitude, who was known by her sunk eyes and -dejected countenance. She came forward trembling and groaning: at every -groan the hearts of all those that beheld her lost their courage, their -nerves slackened, their hands shook, and the instruments of labour fell -from their grasp. - -Shocked with this horrid phantom, they reflected with regret on their easy -compliance with the solicitations of Labour, and began to wish again for -the golden hours which they remembered to have passed under the reign -of Rest, whom they resolved again to visit, and to whom they intended to -dedicate the remaining part of their lives. Rest had not left the world; -they quickly found her, and to atone for their former desertion, invited -her to the enjoyment of those acquisitions which Labour had procured them. - -Rest therefore took leave of the groves and valleys, which she had -hitherto inhabited, and entered into palaces, reposed herself in -alcoves, and slumbered away the winter upon beds of down, and the summer -in artificial grottoes with cascades playing before her. There was -indeed always something wanting to complete her felicity, and she could -never lull her returning fugitives to that serenity which they knew -before their engagements with Labour: nor was her dominion entirely -without controul, for she was obliged to share it with Luxury, though -she always looked upon her as a false friend, by whom her influence was -in reality destroyed, while it seemed to be promoted. - -The two soft associates, however, reigned for some time without visible -disagreement, till at last Luxury betrayed her charge, and let in Disease -to seize upon her worshippers. Rest then flew away, and left the place to -the usurpers; who employed all their arts to fortify themselves in their -possession, and to strengthen the interest of each other. - -Rest had not always the same enemy: in some places she escaped the -incursions of Disease; but had her residence invaded by a more slow and -subtle intruder, for very frequently, when every thing was composed and -quiet, when there was neither pain within, nor danger without, when every -flower was in bloom, and every gale freighted with perfumes, Satiety -would enter with a languishing and repining look, and throw herself upon -the couch placed and adorned for the accommodation of Rest. No sooner was -she seated than a general gloom spread itself on every side, the groves -immediately lost their verdure, and their inhabitants desisted from -their melody, the breeze sunk in sighs, and the flowers contracted their -leaves, and shut up their odours. Nothing was seen on every side but -multitudes wandering about they knew not whether, in quest they knew not -of what; no voice was heard but of complaints that mentioned no pain, and -murmurs that could tell of no misfortune. - -Rest had now lost her authority. Her followers again began to treat her -with contempt; some of them united themselves more closely to Luxury, who -promised by her arts to drive Satiety away; and others, that were more -wise, or had more fortitude, went back again to Labour, by whom they were -indeed protected from Satiety, but delivered up in time to Lassitude, and -forced by her to the bowers of Rest. - -Thus Rest and Labour equally perceived their reign of short duration and -uncertain tenure, and their empire liable to inroads from those who were -alike enemies to both. They each found their subjects unfaithful, and -ready to desert them upon every opportunity. Labour saw the riches which -he had given always carried away as an offering to Rest, and Rest found -her votaries in every exigence flying from her to beg help of Labour. -They, therefore, at last determined upon an interview, in which they -agreed to divide the world between them, and govern it alternately -allotting the dominion of the day to one, and that of the night to the -other, and promised to guard the frontiers of each other, so that, -whenever hostilities were attempted, Satiety should be intercepted by -Labour, and Lassitude expelled by Rest. Thus the ancient quarrel was -appeased, and as hatred is often succeeded by its contrary, Rest -afterwards became pregnant by Labour, and was delivered of Health, a -benevolent goddess, who consolidated the union of her parents, and -contributed to the regular vicissitudes of their reign, by dispensing -her gifts to those only who shared their lives in just proportions -between Rest and Labour. - - - - -No. 34. SATURDAY, JULY 14, 1750. - - - _----Non sine vano_ - _Aurarum et silvæ metu._ - HOR. lib. i. Ode xxiii. 3. - - Alarm'd with ev'ry rising gale, - In ev'ry wood, in ev'ry vale. - ELPHINSTON. - - -I have been censured for having hitherto dedicated so few of my -speculations to the ladies; and indeed the moralist, whose instructions -are accommodated only to one half of the human species, must be -confessed not sufficiently to have extended his views. Yet it is to -be considered, that masculine duties afford more room for counsels -and observations, as they are less uniform, and connected with things -more subject to vicissitude and accident; we therefore find that in -philosophical discourses which teach by precept, or historical narratives -that instruct by example, the peculiar virtues or faults of women -fill but a small part; perhaps generally too small, for so much of our -domestick happiness is in their hands, and their influence is so great -upon our earliest years, that the universal interest of the world -requires them to be well instructed in their province; nor can it be -thought proper that the qualities by which so much pain or pleasure -may be given, should be left to the direction of chance. - -I have, therefore, willingly given a place in my paper to a letter, -which perhaps may not be wholly useless to them whose chief ambition -is to please, as it shews how certainly the end is missed by absurd and -injudicious endeavours at distinction. - - -TO THE RAMBLER. - -SIR, - -I am a young gentleman at my own disposal, with a considerable estate; -and having passed through the common forms of education, spent some time -in foreign countries, and made myself distinguished since my return in -the politest company, I am now arrived at that part of life in which -every man is expected to settle, and provide for the continuation of his -lineage. I withstood for some time the solicitations and remonstrances -of my aunts and uncles, but at last was persuaded to visit Anthea, an -heiress, whose land lies contiguous to mine, and whose birth and beauty -are without objection. Our friends declared that we were born for each -other; all those on both sides who had no interest in hindering our -union, contributed to promote it, and were conspiring to hurry us into -matrimony, before we had an opportunity of knowing one another. I was, -however, too old to be given away without my own consent; and having -happened to pick up an opinion, which to many of my relations seemed -extremely odd, that a man might be unhappy with a large estate, -determined to obtain a nearer knowledge of the person with whom I was -to pass the remainder of my time. To protract the courtship was by no -means difficult, for Anthea had a wonderful facility of evading questions -which I seldom repeated, and of barring approaches which I had no great -eagerness to press. - -Thus the time passed away in visits and civilities without any ardent -professions of love, or formal offers of settlements. I often attended -her to publick places, in which, as is well known, all behaviour is so -much regulated by custom, that very little insight can be gained into a -private character, and therefore I was not yet able to inform myself of -her humour and inclinations. - -At last I ventured to propose to her to make one of a small party, -and spend a day in viewing a seat and gardens a few miles distant; -and having, upon her compliance, collected the rest of the company, I -brought, at the hour, a coach which I had borrowed from an acquaintance, -having delayed to buy one myself, till I should have an opportunity of -taking the lady's opinion for whose use it was intended. Anthea came -down, but as she was going to step into the coach, started back with -great appearance of terrour, and told us that she durst not enter, for -the shocking colour of the lining had so much the air of the mourning -coach in which she followed her aunt's funeral three years before, that -she should never have her poor dear aunt out of her head. - -I knew that it was not for lovers to argue with their mistresses; I -therefore sent back the coach and got another more gay. Into this we all -entered; the coachman began to drive, and we were amusing ourselves with -the expectation of what we should see, when, upon a small inclination of -the carriage, Anthea screamed out, that we were overthrown. We were -obliged to fix all our attention upon her, which she took care to keep -up by renewing her outcries, at every corner where we had occasion to -turn; at intervals she entertained us with fretful complaints of the -uneasiness of the coach, and obliged me to call several times on the -coachman to take care and drive without jolting. The poor fellow -endeavoured to please us, and therefore moved very slowly, till Anthea -found out that this pace would only keep us longer on the stones, and -desired that I would order him to make more speed. He whipped his -horses, the coach jolted again, and Anthea very complaisantly told us -how much she repented that she made one of our company. - -At last we got into the smooth road, and began to think our difficulties -at an end, when, on a sudden, Anthea saw a brook before us, which she -could not venture to pass. We were, therefore, obliged to alight, that -we might walk over the bridge; but when we came to it we found it so -narrow, that Anthea durst not set her foot upon it, and was content, -after long consultation, to call the coach back, and with innumerable -precautions, terrours, and lamentations, crossed the brook. - -It was necessary after this delay to amend our pace, and directions were -accordingly given to the coachman, when Anthea informed us, that it was -common for the axle to catch fire with a quick motion, and begged of me -to look out every minute, lest we should all be consumed. I was forced -to obey, and give her from time to time the most solemn declarations -that all was safe, and that I hoped we should reach the place without -losing our lives either by fire or water. - -Thus we passed on, over ways soft and hard, with more or less speed, -but always with new vicissitudes of anxiety. If the ground was hard, -we were jolted; if soft, we were sinking. If we went fast, we should be -overturned; if slowly, we should never reach the place. At length she saw -something which she called a cloud, and began to consider that at that -time of the year it frequently thundered. This seemed to be the capital -terrour, for after that the coach was suffered to move on; and no danger -was thought too dreadful to be encountered, provided she could get into -a house before the thunder. - -Thus our whole conversation passed in dangers, and cares, and fears, and -consolations, and stories of ladies dragged in the mire, forced to spend -all the night on the heath, drowned in rivers, or burnt with lightning; -and no sooner had a hair-breadth escape set us free from one calamity, -but we were threatened with another. - -At length we reached the house where we intended to regale ourselves, -and I proposed to Anthea the choice of a great number of dishes, which -the place, being well provided for entertainment, happened to afford. -She made some objection to every thing that was offered; one thing she -hated at that time of the year, another she could not bear since she had -seen it spoiled at lady Feedwell's table, another she was sure they -could not dress at this house, and another she could not touch without -French sauce. At last she fixed her mind upon salmon, but there was no -salmon in the house. It was however procured with great expedition, and -when it came to the table she found that her fright had taken away her -stomach, which indeed she thought no great loss, for she could never -believe that any thing at an inn could be cleanly got. - -Dinner was now over, and the company proposed, for I was now past the -condition of making overtures, that we should pursue our original design -of visiting the gardens. Anthea declared that she could not imagine what -pleasure we expected from the sight of a few green trees and a little -gravel, and two or three pits of clear water: that for her part she -hated walking till the cool of the evening, and thought it very likely -to rain; and again wished that she had stayed at home. We then reconciled -ourselves to our disappointment, and began to talk on common subjects, -when Anthea told us, that since we came to see gardens, she would not -hinder our satisfaction. We all rose, and walked through the enclosures -for some time, with no other trouble than the necessity of watching lest -a frog should hop across the way, which Anthea told us would certainly -kill her if she should happen to see him. - -Frogs, as it fell out, there where none; but when we were within a -furlong of the gardens, Anthea saw some sheep, and heard the wether -clink his bell, which she was certain was not hung upon him for nothing, -and therefore no assurances nor intreaties should prevail upon her to -go a step further; she was sorry to disappoint the company, but her life -was dearer to her than ceremony. - -We came back to the inn, and Anthea now discovered that there was no -time to be lost in returning, for the night would come upon us, and -a thousand misfortunes might happen in the dark. The horses were -immediately harnessed, and Anthea having wondered what could seduce her -to stay so long, was eager to set out. But we had now a new scene of -terrour, every man we saw was a robber, and we were ordered sometimes to -drive hard, lest a traveller whom we saw behind should overtake us; and -sometimes to stop, lest we should come up to him who was passing before -us. She alarmed many an honest man, by begging him to spare her life as -he passed by the coach, and drew me into fifteen quarrels with persons -who increased her fright, by kindly stopping to inquire whether they -could assist us. At last we came home, and she told her company next -day what a pleasant ride she had been taking. - -I suppose, Sir, I need not inquire of you what deductions may be made from -this narrative, nor what happiness can arise from the society of that -woman who mistakes cowardice for elegance, and imagines all delicacy to -consist in refusing to be pleased. - -I am, &c. - - - - -No. 35. TUESDAY, JULY 17, 1750. - - - _----Non pronuba Juno,_ - _Non Hymenæus adest, non illi Gratia lecto._ - OVID, Met. vi. 428. - - Without connubial Juno's aid they wed; - Nor Hymen nor the Graces bless the bed. - ELPHINSTON. - - -TO THE RAMBLER. - -SIR, - -As you have hitherto delayed the performance of the promise, by which -you gave us reason to hope for another paper upon matrimony, I imagine -you desirous of collecting more materials than your own experience, or -observation, can supply; and I shall therefore lay candidly before you -an account of my own entrance into the conjugal state. - -I was about eight-and-twenty years old, when, having tried the diversions -of the town till I began to be weary, and being awakened into attention -to more serious business, by the failure of an attorney to whom I had -implicitly trusted the conduct of my fortune, I resolved to take my -estate into my own care, and methodise my whole life according to the -strictest rules of economical prudence. - -In pursuance of this scheme, I took leave of my acquaintance, who -dismissed me with numberless jests upon my new system; having first -endeavoured to divert me from a design so little worthy of a man of wit, -by ridiculous accounts of the ignorance and rusticity into which many -had sunk in their retirement, after having distinguished themselves in -taverns and playhouses, and given hopes of rising to uncommon eminence -among the gay part of mankind. - -When I came first into the country, which, by a neglect not uncommon -among young heirs, I had never seen since the death of my father, I -found every thing in such confusion, that being utterly without practice -in business, I had great difficulties to encounter in disentangling the -perplexity of my circumstances; they however gave way to diligent -application; and I perceived that the advantage of keeping my own -accounts would very much overbalance the time which they could require. - -I had now visited my tenants, surveyed my land, and repaired the old -house, which, for some years, had been running to decay. These proofs of -pecuniary wisdom began to recommend me as a sober, judicious, thriving -gentleman, to all my graver neighbours of the country, who never failed -to celebrate my management in opposition to Triftless and Latterwit, -two smart fellows, who had estates in the same part of the kingdom, -which they visited now and then in a frolick, to take up their rents -beforehand, debauch a milk-maid, make a feast for the village, and tell -stories of their own intrigues, and then rode post back to town to spend -their money. - -It was doubtful, however, for some time, whether I should be able to -hold my resolution; but a short perseverance removed all suspicions. -I rose every day in reputation, by the decency of my conversation, and -the regularity of my conduct, and was mentioned with great regard at the -assizes, as a man very fit to be put in commission for the peace. - -During the confusion of my affairs, and the daily necessity of visiting -farms, adjusting contracts, letting leases, and superintending repairs, -I found very little vacuity in my life, and therefore had not many -thoughts of marriage; but, in a little while, the tumult of business -subsided, and the exact method which I had established enabled me to -dispatch my accounts with great facility. I had, therefore, now upon my -hands, the task of finding means to spend my time, without falling back -into the poor amusements which I had hitherto indulged, or changing them -for the sports of the field, which I saw pursued with so much eagerness -by the gentlemen of the country, that they were indeed the only -pleasures in which I could promise myself any partaker. - - -The inconvenience of this situation naturally disposed me to wish for -a companion, and the known value of my estate, with my reputation for -frugality and prudence, easily gained me admission into every family; -for I soon found that no inquiry was made after any other virtue, nor -any testimonial necessary, but of my freedom from incumbrances, and -my care of what they termed the _main chance_. I saw, not without -indignation, the eagerness with which the daughters, wherever I came, -were set out to show; nor could I consider them in a state much -different from prostitution, when I found them ordered to play their -airs before me, and to exhibit, by some seeming chance, specimens of -their musick, their work, or their housewifery. No sooner was I placed -at table, than the young lady was called upon to pay me some civility or -other; nor could I find means of escaping, from either father or mother, -some account of their daughter's excellencies, with a declaration that -they were now leaving the world, and had no business on this side the -grave, but to see their children happily disposed of; that she whom I -had been pleased to compliment at table was indeed the chief pleasure of -their age; so good, so dutiful, so great a relief to her mamma in the -care of the house, and so much her papa's favourite for her cheerfulness -and wit, that it would be with the last reluctance that they should -part; but to a worthy gentleman in the neighbourhood, whom they might -often visit, they would not so far consult their own gratification, as -to refuse her; and their tenderness should be shown in her fortune, -whenever a suitable settlement was proposed. - -As I knew these overtures not to proceed from any preference of me -before another equally rich, I could not but look with pity on young -persons condemned to be set to auction, and made cheap by injudicious -commendations; for how could they know themselves offered and rejected -a hundred times, without some loss of that soft elevation, and maiden -dignity, so necessary to the completion of female excellence? - -I shall not trouble you with a history of the stratagems practised upon -my judgment, or the allurements tried upon my heart, which, if you have, -in any part of your life, been acquainted with rural politicks, you will -easily conceive. Their arts have no great variety, they think nothing -worth their care but money, and supposing its influence the same upon -all the world, seldom endeavour to deceive by any other means than false -computations. - -I will not deny that, by hearing myself loudly commended for my -discretion, I began to set some value upon my character, and was -unwilling to lose my credit by marrying for love. I therefore resolved -to know the fortune of the lady whom I should address, before I inquired -after her wit, delicacy, or beauty. - -This determination led to Mitissa, the daughter of Chrysophilus, whose -person was at least without deformity, and whose manners were free -from reproach, as she had been bred up at a distance from all common -temptations. To Mitissa therefore I obtained leave from her parents -to pay my court, and was referred by her again to her father, whose -direction she was resolved to follow. The question then was, only, what -should be settled? The old gentleman made an enormous demand, with which -I refused to comply. Mitissa was ordered to exert her power; she told me, -that if I could refuse her papa, I had no love for her; that she was an -unhappy creature, and that I was a perfidious man; then she burst into -tears, and fell into fits. All this, as I was no passionate lover, had -little effect. She next refused to see me, and because I thought myself -obliged to write in terms of distress, they had once hopes of starving -me into measures; but finding me inflexible, the father complied with my -proposal, and told me he liked me the more for being so good at a bargain. - -I was now married to Mitissa, and was to experience the happiness of a -match made without passion. Mitissa soon discovered that she was equally -prudent with myself, and had taken a husband only to be at her own -command, and to have a chariot at her own call. She brought with her -an old maid recommended by her mother, who taught her all the arts of -domestick management, and was, on every occasion, her chief agent and -directress. They soon invented one reason or other to quarrel with all -my servants, and either prevailed on me to turn them away, or treated -them so ill that they left me of themselves, and always supplied their -places with some brought from my wife's relations. Thus they established -a family, over which I had no authority, and which was in a perpetual -conspiracy against me; for Mitissa considered herself as having a -separate interest, and thought nothing her own, but what she laid up -without my knowledge. For this reason she brought me false accounts of -the expenses of the house, joined with my tenants in complaints of hard -times, and by means of a steward of her own, took rewards for soliciting -abatements of the rent. Her great hope is to outlive me, that she may -enjoy what she has thus accumulated, and therefore she is always -contriving some improvements of her jointure land, and once tried to -procure an injunction to hinder me from felling timber upon it for -repairs. Her father and mother assist her in her projects, and are -frequently hinting that she is ill used, and reproaching me with the -presents that other ladies receive from their husbands. - -Such, Sir, was my situation for seven years, till at last my patience -was exhausted, and having one day invited her father to my house, I laid -the state of my affairs before him, detected my wife in several of her -frauds, turned out her steward, charged a constable with her maid, took -my business in my own hands, reduced her to a settled allowance, and now -write this account to warn others against marrying those whom they have -no reason to esteem. - -I am, &c. - - - - -No. 36. SATURDAY, JULY 21, 1750. - - - [Greek: ----Ham' eponto nomêes, - Terpomenoi syrinxi; dolon d' outi pronoêsan.] - HOMER, II. xviii. 525. - - ----Piping on their reeds the shepherds go, - Nor fear an ambush, nor suspect a foe. - POPE. - - -There is scarcely any species of poetry that has allured more readers, -or excited more writers, than the pastoral. It is generally pleasing, -because it entertains the mind with representations of scenes familiar -to almost every imagination, and of which all can equally judge whether -they are well described. It exhibits a life, to which we have been -always accustomed to associate peace, and leisure, and innocence: and -therefore we readily set open the heart for the admission of its images, -which contribute to drive away cares and perturbations, and suffer -ourselves, without resistance, to be transported to Elysian regions, -where we are to meet with nothing but joy, and plenty, and contentment; -where every gale whispers pleasure, and every shade promises repose. - -It has been maintained by some, who love to talk of what they do not -know, that pastoral is the most ancient poetry; and, indeed, since it -is probable that poetry is nearly of the same antiquity with rational -nature, and since the life of the first men was certainly rural, we -may reasonably conjecture, that, as their ideas would necessarily be -borrowed from those objects with which they are acquainted, their -composures, being filled chiefly with such thoughts on the visible -creation as must occur to the first observers, were pastoral hymns, like -those which Milton introduces the original pair singing, in the day of -innocence, to the praise of their Maker. - - -For the same reason that pastoral poetry was the first employment of the -human imagination, it is generally the first literary amusement of our -minds. We have seen fields, and meadows, and groves, from the time that -our eyes opened upon life; and are pleased with birds, and brooks, and -breezes, much earlier than we engage among the actions and passions of -mankind. We are therefore delighted with rural pictures, because we know -the original at an age when our curiosity can be very little awakened -by descriptions of courts which we never beheld, or representations of -passions which we never felt. - -The satisfaction received from this kind of writing not only begins early, -but lasts long; we do not, as we advance into the intellectual world, -throw it away among other childish amusements and pastimes, but willingly -return to it in any hour of indolence and relaxation. The images of true -pastoral have always the power of exciting delight; because the works of -nature, from which they are drawn, have always the same order and beauty, -and continue to force themselves upon our thoughts, being at once obvious -to the most careless regard, and more than adequate to the strongest -reason, and severest contemplation. Our inclination to stillness and -tranquillity is seldom much lessened by long knowledge of the busy and -tumultuary part of the world. In childhood we turn our thoughts to the -country, as to the region of pleasure; we recur to it in old age as a -port of rest, and perhaps with that secondary and adventitious gladness, -which every man feels on reviewing those places, or recollecting those -occurrences, that contributed to his youthful enjoyments, and bring -him back to the prime of life, when the world was gay with the bloom of -novelty, when mirth wantoned at his side, and hope sparkled before him. - -The sense of this universal pleasure has invited _numbers without number_ -to try their skill in pastoral performances, in which they have generally -succeeded after the manner of other imitators, transmitting the same -images in the same combination from one to another, till he that reads -the title of a poem, may guess at the whole series of the composition; -nor will a man, after the perusal of thousands of these performances, -find his knowledge enlarged with a single view of nature not produced -before, or his imagination amused with any new application of those -views to moral purposes. - -The range of pastoral is indeed narrow, for though nature itself, -philosophically considered, be inexhaustible, yet its general effects -on the eye and on the ear are uniform, and incapable of much variety of -description. Poetry cannot dwell upon the minuter distinctions, by which -one species differs from another, without departing from that simplicity -of grandeur which fills the imagination; nor dissect the latent qualities -of things, without losing its general power of gratifying every mind, by -recalling its conceptions. However, as each age makes some discoveries, -and those discoveries are by degrees generally known, as new plants or -modes of culture are introduced, and by little and little become common, -pastoral might receive, from time to time, small augmentations, and -exhibit once in a century a scene somewhat varied. - -But pastoral subjects have been often, like others, taken into the hands -of those that were not qualified to adorn them, men to whom the face of -nature was so little known, that they have drawn it only after their own -imagination, and changed or distorted her features, that their portraits -might appear something more than servile copies from their predecessors. - -Not only the images of rural life, but the occasions on which they can be -properly produced, are few and general. The state of a man confined to -the employments and pleasures of the country, is so little diversified, -and exposed to so few of those accidents which produce perplexities, -terrours, and surprises, in more complicated transactions, that he can be -shewn but seldom in such circumstances as attract curiosity. His ambition -is without policy, and his love without intrigue. He has no complaints to -make of his rival, but that he is richer than himself; nor any disasters -to lament, but a cruel mistress, or a bad harvest. - -The conviction of the necessity of some new source of pleasure induced -Sannazarius to remove the scene from the fields to the sea, to substitute -fishermen for shepherds, and derive his sentiments from the piscatory -life; for which he has been censured by succeeding criticks, because -the sea is an object of terrour, and by no means proper to amuse the -mind, and lay the passions asleep. Against this objection he might be -defended by the established maxim, that the poet has a right to select -his images, and is no more obliged to shew the sea in a storm, than the -land under an inundation; but may display all the pleasures, and conceal -the dangers of the water, as he may lay his shepherd under a shady beech, -without giving him an ague, or letting a wild beast loose upon him. - -There are, however, two defects in the piscatory eclogue, which perhaps -cannot be supplied. The sea, though in hot countries it is considered by -those who live, like Sannazarius, upon the coast, as a place of pleasure -and diversion, has notwithstanding much less variety than the land, and -therefore will be sooner exhausted by a descriptive writer. When he has -once shewn the sun rising or setting upon it, curled its waters with the -vernal breeze, rolled the waves in gentle succession to the shore, and -enumerated the fish sporting on the shallows, he has nothing remaining -but what is common to all other poetry, the complaint of a nymph for a -drowned lover, or the indignation of a fisher that his oysters are -refused, and Mycon's accepted. - -Another obstacle to the general reception of this kind of poetry, is the -ignorance of maritime pleasures, in which the greater part of mankind -must always live. To all the inland inhabitants of every region, the -sea is only known as an immense diffusion of waters, over which men pass -from one country to another, and in which life is frequently lost. They -have, therefore, no opportunity of tracing, in their own thoughts, the -descriptions of winding shores and calm bays, nor can look on the poem -in which they are mentioned, with other sensations than on a sea chart, -or the metrical geography of Dionysius. - -This defect Sannazarius was hindered from perceiving, by writing in -a learned language to readers generally acquainted with the works of -nature; but if he had made his attempt in any vulgar tongue, he would -soon have discovered how vainly he had endeavoured to make that loved, -which was not understood. - -I am afraid it will not be found easy to improve the pastorals of -antiquity, by any great additions or diversifications. Our descriptions -may indeed differ from those of Virgil, as an English from an Italian -summer, and, in some respects, as modern from ancient life; but as -nature is in both countries nearly the same, and as poetry has to do -rather with the passions of men, which are uniform, than their customs, -which are changeable, the varieties, which time or place can furnish, -will be inconsiderable; and I shall endeavour to shew, in the next -paper, how little the latter ages have contributed to the improvement -of the rustick muse. - - - - - -No. 37. TUESDAY, JULY 24, 1750. - - - _Canto quæ solitus, si quando armenta vocabat,_ - _Amphion Dircæus._ - VIRG. Ec. ii. 23. - - Such strains I sing as once Amphion play'd, - When list'ning flocks the powerful call obey'd. - ELPHINSTON. - - -In writing or judging of pastoral poetry, neither the authors nor criticks -of latter times seem to have paid sufficient regard to the originals -left us by antiquity, but have entangled themselves with unnecessary -difficulties, by advancing principles, which, having no foundation -in the nature of things, are wholly to be rejected from a species of -composition, in which, above all others, mere nature is to be regarded. - -It is therefore necessary to inquire after some more distinct and exact -idea of this kind of writing. This may, I think, be easily found in the -pastorals of Virgil, from whose opinion it will not appear very safe to -depart, if we consider that every advantage of nature, and of fortune, -concurred to complete his productions; that he was born with great -accuracy and severity of judgment, enlightened with all the learning of -one of the brightest ages, and embellished with the elegance of the Roman -court; that he employed his powers rather in improving, than inventing, -and therefore must have endeavoured to recompense the want of novelty by -exactness; that taking Theocritus for his original, he found pastoral -far advanced towards perfection, and that having so great a rival, -he must have proceeded with uncommon caution. - -If we search the writings of Virgil for the true definition of a pastoral, -it will be found _a poem in which any action or passion is represented by -its effects upon a country life_. Whatsoever therefore may, according to -the common course of things, happen in the country, may afford a subject -for a pastoral poet. - -In this definition, it will immediately occur to those who are versed -in the writings of the modern criticks, that there is no mention of the -golden age. I cannot indeed easily discover why it is thought necessary -to refer descriptions of a rural state to remote times, nor can I -perceive that any writer has consistently preserved the Arcadian manners -and sentiments. The only reason, that I have read, on which this rule -has been founded, is, that, according to the customs of modern life, it -is improbable that shepherds should be capable of harmonious numbers, -or delicate sentiments; and therefore the reader must exalt his ideas -of the pastoral character, by carrying his thoughts back to the age in -which the care of herds and flocks was the employment of the wisest and -greatest men. - -These reasoners seem to have been led into their hypothesis, by -considering pastoral, not in general, as a representation of rural -nature, and consequently as exhibiting the ideas and sentiments of those, -whoever they are, to whom the country affords pleasure or employment, but -simply as a dialogue, or narrative of men actually tending sheep, and -busied in the lowest and most laborious office; from whence they very -readily concluded, since characters must necessarily be preserved, that -either the sentiments must sink to the level of the speakers, or the -speakers must be raised to the height of the sentiments. - -In consequence of these original errours, a thousand precepts have been -given, which have only contributed to perplex and confound. Some have -thought it necessary that the imaginary manners of the golden age should -be universally preserved, and have therefore believed, that nothing more -could be admitted in pastoral, than lilies and roses, and rocks and -streams, among which are heard the gentle whispers of chaste fondness, -or the soft complaints of amorous impatience. In pastoral, as in other -writings, chastity of sentiment ought doubtless to be observed, and -purity of manners to be represented; not because the poet is confined to -the images of the golden age, but because, having the subject in his own -choice, he ought always to consult the interest of virtue. - -These advocates for the golden age lay down other principles, not very -consistent with their general plan; for they tell us, that, to support -the character of the shepherd, it is proper that all refinement should -be avoided, and that some slight instances of ignorance should be -interspersed. Thus the shepherd in Virgil is supposed to have forgot -the name of Anaximander, and in Pope the term Zodiack is too hard for a -rustick apprehension. But if we place our shepherds in their primitive -condition, we may give them learning among their other qualifications; -and if we suffer them to allude at all to things of later existence, -which, perhaps, cannot with any great propriety be allowed, there can -be no danger of making them speak with too much accuracy, since they -conversed with divinities, and transmitted to succeeding ages the arts -of life. - -Other writers, having the mean and despicable condition of a shepherd -always before them, conceive it necessary to degrade the language of -pastoral by obsolete terms and rustick words, which they very learnedly -call Dorick, without reflecting that they thus became authors of a -mangled dialect, which no human being ever could have spoken, that they -may as well refine the speech as the sentiments of their personages, -and that none of the inconsistencies which they endeavour to avoid, -is greater than that of joining elegance of thought with coarseness -of diction. Spenser begins one of his pastorals with studied barbarity: - - Diggon Davie, I bid her good-day: - Or, Diggon her is, or I missay. - _Dig._ Her was her while it was day-light, - But now her is a most wretched wight. - -What will the reader imagine to be the subject on which speakers like -these exercise their eloquence? Will he not be somewhat disappointed, -when he finds them met together to condemn the corruptions of the church -of Rome? Surely, at the same time that a shepherd learns theology, he -may gain some acquaintance with his native language. - -Pastoral admits of all ranks of persons, because persons of all ranks -inhabit the country. It excludes not, therefore, on account of the -characters necessary to be introduced, any elevation or delicacy of -sentiment; those ideas only are improper, which, not owing their original -to rural objects, are not pastoral. Such is the exclamation in Virgil, - - _Nunc scio quid sit Amor, duris in cotibus illum_ - _Ismarus, aut Rhodope, aut extremi Garamantes,_ - _Nec generis nostri puerum, nee sanguinis edunt._ - VIRG. Ecl. viii. 44. - - I know thee, Love, in deserts thou wert bred, - And at the dugs of savage tygers fed; - Alien of birth, usurper of the plains. - DRYDEN. - -which, Pope endeavouring to copy, was carried to still greater impropriety: - - I know thee, Love, wild as the raging main, - More fierce than tygers on the Libyan plain; - Thou wert from Ætna's burning entrails torn; - Begot in tempests, and in thunders born! - -Sentiments like these, as they have no ground in nature, are indeed of -little value in any poem; but in pastoral they are particularly liable -to censure, because it wants that exaltation above common life, which -in tragick or heroick writings often reconciles us to bold flights and -daring figures. - -Pastoral being the _representation of an action or passion, by its -effects upon a country life_, has nothing peculiar but its confinement to -rural imagery, without which it ceases to be pastoral. This is its true -characteristick, and this it cannot lose by any dignity of sentiment, -or beauty of diction. The Pollio of Virgil, with all its elevation, is -a composition truly bucolick, though rejected by the criticks; for all -the images are either taken from the country, or from the religion of -the age common to all parts of the empire. - -The Silenus is indeed of a more disputable kind, because, though the -scene lies in the country, the song being religious and historical, had -been no less adapted to any other audience or place. Neither can it well -be defended as a fiction; for the introduction of a god seems to imply -the golden age, and yet he alludes to many subsequent transactions, -and mentions Gallus, the poet's contemporary. - -It seems necessary to the perfection of this poem, that the occasion which -is supposed to produce it, be at least not inconsistent with a country -life, or less likely to interest those who have retired into places of -solitude and quiet, than the more busy part of mankind. It is therefore -improper to give the title of a pastoral to verses, in which the -speakers, after the slight mention of their flocks, fall to complaints -of errours in the church, and corruptions in the government, or to -lamentations of the death of some illustrious person, whom, when once the -poet has called a shepherd, he has no longer any labour upon his hands, -but can make the clouds weep, and lilies wither, and the sheep hang their -heads, without art or learning, genius or study. - -It is part of Claudian's character of his rustick, that he computes his -time not by the succession of consuls, but of harvests. Those who pass -their days in retreats distant from the theatres of business, are always -least likely to hurry their imagination with publick affairs. - -The facility of treating actions or events in the pastoral style, has -incited many writers, from whom more judgment might have been expected, -to put the sorrow or the joy which the occasion required into the mouth -of Daphne or of Thyrsis; and as one absurdity must naturally be expected -to make way for another, they have written with an utter disregard -both of life and nature, and filled their productions with mythological -allusions, with incredible fictions, and with sentiments which neither -passion nor reason could have dictated, since the change which religion -has made in the whole system of the world. - - - - -No. 38. SATURDAY, JULY 28, 1750. - - - _Auream quisquis mediocritatem_ - _Diligit, tutus caret obsoleti_ - _Sordibus tecti, caret invidendâ_ - _Sobrius aulâ._ - HOR. lib. i. Ode iv. 10. - - The man within the golden mean - Who can his boldest wish contain, - Securely views the ruin'd cell, - Where sordid want and sorrow dwell; - And in himself serenely great, - Declines an envied room of state. - FRANCIS. - - -Among many parallels which men of imagination have drawn between the -natural and moral state of the world, it has been observed that happiness, -as well as virtue, consists in mediocrity; that to avoid every extreme -is necessary, even to him who has no other care than to pass through the -present state with ease and safety; and that the middle path is the road -of security, on either side of which are not only the pitfalls of vice, -but the precipices of ruin. - - -Thus the maxim of Cleobulus the Lindian, [Greek: metron ariston], -_Mediocrity is best_, has been long considered as an universal principle, -extended through the whole compass of life and nature. The experience -of every age seems to have given it new confirmation, and to shew that -nothing, however specious or alluring, is pursued with propriety, or -enjoyed with safety, beyond certain limits. - -Even the gifts of nature, which may truly be considered as the most solid -and durable of all terrestrial advantages, are found, when they exceed -the middle point, to draw the possessor into many calamities, easily -avoided by others that have been less bountifully enriched or adorned. We -see every day women perish with infamy, by having been too willing to set -their beauty to shew; and others, though not with equal guilt or misery, -yet with very sharp remorse, languishing in decay, neglect, and obscurity, -for having rated their youthful charms at too high a price. And, indeed, -if the opinion of Bacon be thought to deserve much regard, very few -sighs would be vented for eminent and superlative elegance of form; "for -beautiful women," says he, "are seldom of any great accomplishments, -because they, for the most part, study behaviour rather than virtue." - -Health and vigour, and a happy constitution of the corporeal frame, -are of absolute necessity to the enjoyment of the comforts, and to the -performance of the duties of life, and requisite in yet a greater measure -to the accomplishment of any thing illustrious or distinguished; yet even -these, if we can judge by their apparent consequences, are sometimes not -very beneficial to those on whom they are most liberally bestowed. They -that frequent the chambers of the sick will generally find the sharpest -pains, and most stubborn maladies, among them whom confidence of the -force of nature formerly betrayed to negligence and irregularity; and -that superfluity of strength, which was at once their boast and their -snare, has often, in the latter part of life, no other effect than that -it continues them long in impotence and anguish. - -These gifts of nature are, however, always blessings in themselves, and -to be acknowledged with gratitude to him that gives them; since they -are, in their regular and legitimate effects, productive of happiness, and -prove pernicious only by voluntary corruption or idle negligence. And as -there is little danger of pursuing them with too much ardour or anxiety, -because no skill or diligence can hope to procure them, the uncertainty -of their influence upon our lives is mentioned, not to depreciate their -real value, but to repress the discontent and envy to which the want of -them often gives occasion in those who do not enough suspect their own -frailty, nor consider how much less is the calamity of not possessing -great powers, than of not using them aright. - -Of all those things that make us superior to others, there is none so much -within the reach of our endeavours as riches, nor any thing more eagerly -or constantly desired. Poverty is an evil always in our view, an evil -complicated with so many circumstances of uneasiness and vexation, that -every man is studious to avoid it. Some degree of riches is therefore -required, that we may be exempt from the gripe of necessity; when this -purpose is once attained, we naturally wish for more, that the evil which -is regarded with so much horrour, may be yet at a greater distance from -us; as he that has once felt or dreaded the paw of a savage, will not -be at rest till they are parted by some barrier, which may take away all -possibility of a second attack. - -To this point, if fear be not unreasonably indulged, Cleobulus would, -perhaps, not refuse to extend his mediocrity. But it almost always -happens, that the man who grows rich, changes his notions of poverty, -states his wants by some new measure, and from flying the enemy that -pursued him, bends his endeavours to overtake those whom he sees before -him. The power of gratifying his appetites increases their demands; -a thousand wishes crowd in upon him, importunate to be satisfied, and -vanity and ambition open prospects to desire, which still grow wider, -as they are more contemplated. - -Thus in time want is enlarged without bounds; an eagerness for increase -of possessions deluges the soul, and we sink into the gulphs of -insatiability, only because we do not sufficiently consider, that all -real need is very soon supplied, and all real danger of its invasion -easily precluded; that the claims of vanity, being without limits, must -be denied at last; and that the pain of repressing them is less pungent -before they have been long accustomed to compliance. - -Whosoever shall look heedfully upon those who are eminent for their -riches, will not think their condition such as that he should hazard his -quiet, and much less his virtue, to obtain it. For all that great wealth -generally gives above a moderate fortune, is more room for the freaks of -caprice, and more privilege for ignorance and vice, a quicker succession -of flatteries, and a large circle of voluptuousness. - -There is one reason, seldom remarked, which makes riches less desirable. -Too much wealth is very frequently the occasion of poverty. He whom the -wantonness of abundance has once softened, easily sinks into neglect of -his affairs; and he that thinks he can afford to be negligent, is not -far from being poor. He will soon be involved in perplexities, which his -inexperience will render unsurmountable; he will fly for help to those -whose interest it is that he should be more distressed, and will be at -last torn to pieces by the vultures that always hover over fortunes in -decay. - -When the plains of India were burnt up by a long continuance of drought, -Hamet and Raschid, two neighbouring shepherds, faint with thirst, stood -at the common boundary of their grounds, with their flocks and herds -panting round them, and in extremity of distress prayed for water. On a -sudden the air was becalmed, the birds ceased to chirp, and the flocks -to bleat. They turned their eyes every way, and saw a being of mighty -stature advancing through the valley, whom they knew upon his nearer -approach to be the Genius of Distribution. In one hand he held the sheaves -of plenty, and in the other the sabre of destruction. The shepherds stood -trembling, and would have retired before him; but he called to them with -a voice gentle as the breeze that plays in the evening among the spices -of Sabæa; "Fly not from your benefactor, children of the dust! I am come -to offer you gifts, which only your own folly can make vain. You here -pray for water, and water I will bestow; let me know with how much you -will be satisfied: speak not rashly; consider, that of whatever can be -enjoyed by the body, excess is no less dangerous than scarcity. When you -remember the pain of thirst, do not forget the danger of suffocation. Now, -Hamet, tell me your request." - -"O Being, kind and beneficent," says Hamet, "let thine eye pardon my -confusion, I entreat a little brook, which in summer shall never be dry, -and in winter never overflow." "It is granted," replies the Genius; and -immediately he opened the ground with his sabre, and a fountain bubbling -up under their feet, scattered its rills over the meadows; the flowers -renewed their fragrance, the trees spread a greener foliage, and the -flocks and herds quenched their thirst. - -Then turning to Raschid, the Genius invited him likewise to offer his -petition. "I request," says Raschid, "that thou wilt turn the Ganges -through my grounds, with all his waters, and all their inhabitants." Hamet -was struck with the greatness of his neighbour's sentiments, and secretly -repined in his heart, that he had not made the same petition before him; -when the Genius spoke, "Rash man, be not insatiable! remember, to thee -that is nothing which thou canst not use; and how are thy wants greater -than the wants of Hamet?" Raschid repeated his desire, and pleased himself -with the mean appearance that Hamet would make in the presence of the -proprietor of the Ganges. The Genius then retired towards the river, and -the two shepherds stood waiting the event. As Raschid was looking with -contempt upon his neighbour, on a sudden was heard the roar of torrents, -and they found by the mighty stream that the mounds of the Ganges were -broken. The flood rolled forward into the lands of Raschid, his plantations -were torn up, his flocks overwhelmed, he was swept away before it, and -a crocodile devoured him. - - - - -No. 39. TUESDAY, JULY 31, 1750. - - - _Infelix----nulli bene nupta marito._ - AUSONIUS, Ep. Her. 30. - - Unblest, still doom'd to wed with misery. - - -The condition of the female sex has been frequently the subject of -compassion to medical writers, because their constitution of body is -such, that every state of life brings its peculiar diseases: they are -placed, according to the proverb, between Scylla and Charybdis, with no -other choice than of dangers equally formidable; and whether they embrace -marriage, or determine upon a single life, are exposed, in consequence of -their choice, to sickness, misery, and death. - -It were to be wished that so great a degree of natural infelicity might -not be increased by adventitious and artificial miseries; and that -beings, whose beauty we cannot behold without admiration, and whose -delicacy we cannot contemplate without tenderness, might be suffered to -enjoy every alleviation of their sorrows. But, however it has happened, -the custom of the world seems to have been formed in a kind of conspiracy -against them, though it does not appear but they had themselves an equal -share in its establishment; and prescriptions which, by whomsoever they -were begun, are now of long continuance, and by consequence of great -authority, seem to have almost excluded them from content, in whatsoever -condition they shall pass their lives. - -If they refuse the society of men, and continue in that state which is -reasonably supposed to place happiness most in their own power, they -seldom give those that frequent their conversation any exalted notions -of the blessing of liberty; for whether it be that they are angry to -see with what inconsiderate eagerness other heedless females rush into -slavery, or with what absurd vanity the married ladies boast the change -of their condition, and condemn the heroines who endeavour to assert -the natural dignity of their sex; whether they are conscious that like -barren countries they are free, only because they were never thought to -deserve the trouble of a conquest, or imagine that their sincerity is -not always unsuspected, when they declare their contempt of men; it is -certain, that they generally appear to have some great and incessant -cause of uneasiness, and that many of them have at last been persuaded, -by powerful rhetoricians, to try the life which they had so long -contemned, and put on the bridal ornaments at a time when they least -became them. - -What are the real causes of the impatience which the ladies discover in a -virgin state, I shall perhaps take some other occasion to examine. That -it is not to be envied for its happiness, appears from the solicitude -with which it is avoided; from the opinion universally prevalent among -the sex, that no woman continues long in it but because she is not -invited to forsake it; from the disposition always shewn to treat old -maids as the refuse of the world; and from the willingness with which it -is often quitted at last, by those whose experience has enabled them to -judge at leisure, and decide with authority. - -Yet such is life, that whatever is proposed, it is much easier to find -reasons for rejecting than embracing. Marriage, though a certain security -from the reproach and solicitude of antiquated virginity, has yet, as it -is usually conducted, many disadvantages, that take away much from the -pleasure which society promises, and might afford, if pleasures and pains -were honestly shared, and mutual confidence inviolably preserved. - -The miseries, indeed, which many ladies suffer under conjugal vexations, -are to be considered with great pity, because their husbands are often -not taken by them as objects of affection, but forced upon them by -authority and violence, or by persuasion and importunity, equally -resistless when urged by those whom they have been always accustomed to -reverence and obey; and it very seldom appears that those who are thus -despotick in the disposal of their children, pay any regard to their -domestick and personal felicity, or think it so much to be inquired -whether they will be happy, as whether they will be rich. - -It may be urged, in extenuation of this crime, which parents, not in -any other respect to be numbered with robbers and assassins, frequently -commit, that, in their estimation, riches and happiness are equivalent -terms. They have passed their lives with no other wish than of adding -acre to acre, and filling one bag after another, and imagine the -advantage of a daughter sufficiently considered, when they have secured -her a large jointure, and given her reasonable expectations of living -in the midst of those pleasures with which she had seen her father and -mother solacing their age. - -There is an oeconomical oracle received among the prudential part of the -world, which advises fathers _to marry their daughters, lest they should -marry themselves_; by which I suppose it is implied, that women left to -their own conduct generally unite themselves with such partners as can -contribute very little to their felicity. Who was the author of this -maxim, or with what intention it was originally uttered, I have not yet -discovered; but imagine that however solemnly it may be transmitted, -or however implicitly received, it can confer no authority which nature -has denied; it cannot license Titius to be unjust, lest Caia should be -imprudent; nor give right to imprison for life, lest liberty should be -ill employed. - -That the ladies have sometimes incurred imputations which might naturally -produce edicts not much in their favour, must be confessed by their warmest -advocates; and I have indeed seldom observed that when the tenderness or -virtue of their parents has preserved them from forced marriage, and left -them at large to chuse their own path in the labyrinth of life, they -have made any great advantage of their liberty: they commonly take the -opportunity of independance to trifle away youth and lose their bloom in -a hurry of diversions, recurring in a succession too quick to leave room -for any settled reflection; they see the world without gaining experience, -and at last regulate their choice by motives trifling as those of a girl, -or mercenary as those of a miser. - -Melanthea came to town upon the death of her father, with a very large -fortune, and with the reputation of a much larger; she was therefore -followed and caressed by many men of rank, and by some of understanding; -but having an insatiable desire of pleasure, she was not at leisure, -from the park, the gardens, the theatres, visits, assemblies, and -masquerades, to attend seriously to any proposal, but was still impatient -for a new flatterer, and neglected marriage as always in her power; till -in time her admirers fell away, wearied with expense, disgusted at her -folly, or offended by her inconstancy; she heard of concerts to which -she was not invited, and was more than once forced to sit still at an -assembly for want of a partner. In this distress, chance threw in her -way Philotryphus, a man vain, glittering, and thoughtless as herself, who -had spent a small fortune in equipage and dress, and was shining in the -last suit for which his tailor would give him credit. He had been long -endeavouring to retrieve his extravagance by marriage, and therefore soon -paid his court to Melanthea, who after some weeks of insensibility saw -him at a ball, and was wholly overcome by his performance in a minuet. -They married; but a man cannot always dance, and Philotryphus had no -other method of pleasing; however, as neither was in any great degree -vicious, they live together with no other unhappiness, than vacuity of -mind, and that tastelessness of life, which proceeds from a satiety of -juvenile pleasures, and an utter inability to fill their place by nobler -employments. As they have known the fashionable world at the same time, -they agree in their notions of all those subjects on which they ever -speak, and being able to add nothing to the ideas of each other, are -not much inclined to conversation, but very often join in one wish, -"That they could sleep more, and think less." - -Argyris, after having refused a thousand offers, at last consented to -marry Cotylus, the younger brother of a duke, a man without elegance of -mien, beauty of person, or force of understanding; who, while he courted -her, could not always forbear allusions to her birth, and hints how -cheaply she would purchase an alliance to so illustrious a family. His -conduct from the hour of his marriage has been insufferably tyrannical, -nor has he any other regard to her than what arises from his desire that -her appearance may not disgrace him. Upon this principle, however, he -always orders that she should be gaily dressed, and splendidly attended; -and she has, among all her mortifications, the happiness to take place of -her eldest sister. - - - - -No. 40. SATURDAY, AUGUST 4, 1750. - - - _----Nec dicet, cur ego amicum_ - _Offendam in nugis? Hæ nugæ seria ducent_ - _In mala derisum semel._ - HOR. Ars. Poet. 450. - - Nor say, for trifles why should I displease - The man I love? For trifles such as these - To serious mischiefs lead the man I love, - If once the flatterer's ridicule he prove. - FRANCIS. - - -It has been remarked, that authors are _genus irritabile_, a _generation -very easily put out of temper_, and that they seldom fail of giving -proofs of their irascibility upon the slightest attack of criticism, or -the most gentle or modest offer of advice and information. - -Writers being best acquainted with one another, have represented this -character as prevailing among men of literature, which a more extensive -view of the world would have shewn them to be diffused through all human -nature, to mingle itself with every species of ambition and desire of -praise, and to discover its effects with greater or less restraint, -and under disguises more or less artful, in all places and all conditions. - -The quarrels of writers, indeed, are more observed, because they -necessarily appeal to the decision of the publick. Their enmities are -incited by applauses from their parties, and prolonged by treacherous -encouragement for general diversion; and when the contest happens to -rise high between men of genius and learning, its memory is continued -for the same reason as its vehemence was at first promoted, because it -gratifies the malevolence or curiosity of readers, and relieves the -vacancies of life with amusement and laughter. The personal disputes, -therefore, of rivals in wit are sometimes transmitted to posterity, when -the grudges and heart-burnings of men less conspicuous, though carried -on with equal bitterness, and productive of greater evils, are exposed -to the knowledge of those only whom they nearly affect, and suffered to -pass off and be forgotten among common and casual transactions. - -The resentment which the discovery of a fault or folly produces, must -bear a certain proportion to our pride, and will regularly be more -acrimonious as pride is more immediately the principle of action. In -whatever therefore we wish to imagine ourselves to excel, we shall -always be displeased to have our claims to reputation disputed; and more -displeased, if the accomplishment be such as can expect reputation only -for its reward. For this reason it is common to find men break out into -rage at any insinuations to the disadvantage of their wit, who have -borne with great patience reflections on their morals; and of women it -has been always known, that no censure wounds so deeply, or rankles so -long, as that which charges them with want of beauty. - -As men frequently fill their imaginations with trifling pursuits, and -please themselves most with things of small importance, I have often -known very severe and lasting malevolence excited by unlucky censures, -which would have fallen without any effect, had they not happened to -wound a part remarkably tender. Gustulus, who valued himself upon the -nicety of his palate, disinherited his eldest son for telling him -that the wine, which he was then commending, was the same which he -had sent away the day before as not fit to be drunk. Proculus withdrew -his kindness from a nephew, whom he had always considered as the most -promising genius of the age, for happening to praise in his presence -the graceful horsemanship of Marius. And Fortunio, when he was privy -counsellor, procured a clerk to be dismissed from one of the publick -offices, in which he was eminent for his skill and assiduity, because -he had been heard to say that there was another man in the kingdom on -whose skill at billiards he would lay his money against Fortunio's. - -Felicia and Floretta had been bred up in one house, and shared all the -pleasures and endearments of infancy together. They entered upon life at -the same time, and continued their confidence and friendship; consulted -each other in every change of their dress, and every admission of a new -lover; thought every diversion more entertaining whenever it happened -that both were present, and when separated justified the conduct, and -celebrated the excellencies, of one another. Such was their intimacy, -and such their fidelity; till a birth-night approached, when Floretta -took one morning an opportunity, as they were consulting upon new -clothes, to advise her friend not to dance at the ball, and informed her -that her performance the year before had not answered the expectation -which her other accomplishments had raised. Felicia commended her -sincerity, and thanked her for the caution; but told her that she danced -to please herself, and was in very little concern what the men might -take the liberty of saying, but that if her appearance gave her dear -Floretta any uneasiness, she would stay away. Floretta had now nothing -left but to make new protestations of sincerity and affection, with -which Felicia was so well satisfied, that they parted with more than -usual fondness. They still continued to visit, with this only difference, -that Felicia was more punctual than before, and often declared how -high a value she put upon sincerity, how much she thought that goodness -to be esteemed which would venture to admonish a friend of an errour, -and with what gratitude advice was to be received, even when it might -happen to proceed from mistake. - -In a few months Felicia, with great seriousness, told Floretta, that -though her beauty was such as gave charms to whatever she did, and her -qualifications so extensive, that she could not fail of excellence in -any attempt, yet she thought herself obliged by the duties of friendship -to inform her, that if ever she betrayed want of judgment, it was by too -frequent compliance with solicitations to sing, for that her manner was -somewhat ungraceful, and her voice had no great compass. It is true, says -Floretta, when I sung three nights ago at lady Sprightly's, I was hoarse -with a cold; but I sing for my own satisfaction, and am not in the least -pain whether I am liked. However, my dear Felicia's kindness is not the -less, and I shall always think myself happy in so true a friend. - -From this time they never saw each other without mutual professions -of esteem, and declarations of confidence, but went soon after into -the country to visit their relations. When they came back, they were -prevailed on, by the importunity of new acquaintance, to take lodgings in -different parts of the town, and had frequent occasion, when they met, to -bewail the distance at which they were placed, and the uncertainty which -each experienced of finding the other at home. - -Thus are the fondest and firmest friendships dissolved, by such openness -and sincerity as interrupt our enjoyment of our own approbation, or -recal us to the remembrance of those failings which we are more willing -to indulge than to correct. - -It is by no means necessary to imagine, that he who is offended at advice, -was ignorant of the fault, and resents the admonition as a false charge; -for perhaps it is most natural to be enraged, when there is the strongest -conviction of our own guilt. While we can easily defend our character, -we are no more disturbed at an accusation, than we are alarmed by an -enemy whom we are sure to conquer; and whose attack, therefore, will -bring us honour without danger. But when a man feels the reprehension of -a friend seconded by his own heart, he is easily heated into resentment -and revenge, either because he hoped that the fault of which he was -conscious had escaped the notice of others; or that his friend had looked -upon it with tenderness and extenuation, and excused it for the sake -of his other virtues; or had considered him as too wise to need advice, -or too delicate to be shocked with reproach: or, because we cannot feel -without pain those reflections roused which we have been endeavouring -to lay asleep; and when pain has produced anger, who would not willingly -believe, that it ought to be discharged on others, rather than on himself? - -The resentment produced by sincerity, whatever be its immediate cause, -is so certain, and generally so keen, that very few have magnanimity -sufficient for the practice of a duty, which, above most others, exposes -its votaries to hardships and persecutions; yet friendship without it -is of very little value since the great use of so close an intimacy is, -that our virtues may be guarded and encouraged, and our vices repressed -in their first appearance by timely detection and salutary -remonstrances. - -It is decreed by Providence, that nothing truly valuable shall be obtained -in our present state, but with difficulty and danger. He that hopes for -that advantage which is to be gained from unrestrained communication, -must sometimes hazard, by unpleasing truths, that friendship which he -aspires to merit. The chief rule to be observed in the exercise of this -dangerous office, is to preserve it pure from all mixture of interest -or vanity; to forbear admonition or reproof, when our consciences tell -us that they are incited, not by the hopes of reforming faults, but the -desire of shewing our discernment, or gratifying our own pride by the -mortification of another. It is not indeed certain, that the most refined -caution will find a proper time for bringing a man to the knowledge -of his own failings, or the most zealous benevolence reconcile him to -that judgment, by which they are detected; but he who endeavours only -the happiness of him whom he reproves, will always have either the -satisfaction of obtaining or deserving kindness; if he succeeds, he -benefits his friend, and if he fails, he has at least the consciousness -that he suffers for only doing well. - - - - -No. 41. TUESDAY, AUGUST 7, 1750. - - - _Nulla recordanti lux est ingrata, gravisque:_ - _Nulla subit cujus non meminisse velit._ - _Ampliat ætatis spatium sibi vir bonus: hoc est_ - _Vivere bis, vitâ posse priore frui._ - MART. lib. x. Epig. 23. - - No day's remembrance shall the good regret, - Nor wish one bitter moment to forget: - They stretch the limits of this narrow span; - And, by enjoying, live past life again. - F. LEWIS. - - -So few of the hours of life are filled up with objects adequate to the -mind of man, and so frequently are we in want of present pleasure or -employment, that we are forced to have recourse every moment to the past -and future for supplemental satisfactions, and relieve the vacuities of -our being, by recollection of former passages, or anticipation of events -to come. - -I cannot but consider this necessity of searching on every side for -matter on which the attention may be employed, as a strong proof of the -superior and celestial nature of the soul of man. We have no reason to -believe that other creatures have higher faculties, or more extensive -capacities, than the preservation of themselves, or their species, -requires; they seem always to be fully employed, or to be completely at -ease without employment, to feel few intellectual miseries or pleasures, -and to have no exuberance of understanding to lay out upon curiosity -or caprice, but to have their minds exactly adapted to their bodies, -with few other ideas than such as corporal pain or pleasure impresses -upon them. - -Of memory, which makes so large a part of the excellence of the human -soul, and which has so much influence upon all its other powers, but a -small portion has been allotted to the animal world. We do not find the -grief with which the dams lament the loss of their young, proportionate -to the tenderness with which they caress, the assiduity with which they -feed, or the vehemence with which they defend them. Their regard for -their offspring, when it is before their eyes, is not, in appearance, -less than that of a human parent; but when it is taken away, it is very -soon forgotten, and, after a short absence, if brought again, wholly -disregarded. - -That they have very little remembrance of any thing once out of the reach -of their senses, and scarce any power of comparing the present with the -past, and regulating their conclusions from experience, may be gathered -from this, that their intellects are produced in their full perfection. -The sparrow that was hatched last spring makes her first nest the ensuing -season, of the same materials, and with the same art, as in any following -year; and the hen conducts and shelters her first brood of chickens with -all the prudence that she ever attains. - -It has been asked by men who love to perplex any thing that is plain to -common understandings, how reason differs from instinct; and Prior has -with no great propriety made Solomon himself declare, that to distinguish -them is _the fool's ignorance, and the pedant's pride_. To give an -accurate answer to a question, of which the terms are not completely -understood, is impossible; we do not know in what either reason or -instinct consists, and therefore cannot tell with exactness how they -differ; but surely he that contemplates a ship and a bird's nest, will -not be long without finding out, that the idea of the one was impressed -at once, and continued through all the progressive descents of the -species, without variation or improvement; and that the other is the -result of experiments, compared with experiments, has grown, by -accumulated observation, from less to greater excellence, and exhibits -the collective knowledge of different ages and various professions. - -Memory is the purveyor of reason, the power which places those images -before the mind upon which the judgment is to be exercised, and which -treasures up the determinations that are once passed, as the rules of -future action, or grounds of subsequent conclusions. - -It is, indeed, the faculty of remembrance, which may be said to place us -in the class of moral agents. If we were to act only in consequence of -some immediate impulse, and receive no direction from internal motives -of choice, we should be pushed forward by an invincible fatality, without -power or reason for the most part to prefer one thing to another, because -we could make no comparison but of objects which might both happen to -be present. - -We owe to memory not only the increase of our knowledge, and our progress -in rational inquiries, but many other intellectual pleasures. Indeed, -almost all that we can be said to enjoy is past or future; the present -is in perpetual motion, leaves us as soon as it arrives, ceases to be -present before its presence is well perceived, and is only known to have -existed by the effects which it leaves behind. The greatest part of our -ideas arises, therefore, from the view before or behind us, and we are -happy or miserable, according as we are affected by the survey of our -life, or our prospect of future existence. - -With regard to futurity, when events are at such a distance from us that -we cannot take the whole concatenation into our view, we have generally -power enough over our imagination to turn it upon pleasing scenes, and -can promise ourselves riches, honours, and delights, without intermingling -those vexations and anxieties, with which all human enjoyments are -polluted. If fear breaks in on one side, and alarms us with dangers and -disappointments, we can call in hope on the other, to solace us with -rewards, and escapes, and victories; so that we are seldom without -means of palliating remote evils, and can generally sooth ourselves to -tranquillity, whenever any troublesome presage happens to attack us. - -It is, therefore, I believe, much more common for the solitary and -thoughtful to amuse themselves with schemes of the future, than reviews -of the past. For the future is pliant and ductile, and will be easily -moulded by a strong fancy into any form. But the images which memory -presents are of a stubborn and untractable nature, the objects of -remembrance have already existed, and left their signature behind them -impressed upon the mind, so as to defy all attempts of rasure or of -change. - -As the satisfactions, therefore, arising from memory are less arbitrary, -they are more solid, and are, indeed, the only joys which we can call -our own. Whatever we have once reposited, as Dryden expresses it, _in -the sacred treasure of the past_, is out of the reach of accident, or -violence, nor can be lost either by our own weakness, or another's malice: - - _----Non tamen irritum_ - _Quodcunque retro est, efficiet; neque_ - _Diffinget, infectumque reddet,_ - _Quod fugiens semel hora vexit._ - HOR. lib. iii. Ode 29. 43. - - Be fair or foul, or rain or shine, - The joys I have possess'd in spite of fate are mine. - Not Heav'n itself upon the past has pow'r, - But what has been has been, and I have had my hour. - DRYDEN. - -There is certainly no greater happiness than to be able to look back -on a life usefully and virtuously employed, to trace our own progress -in existence, by such tokens as excite neither shame nor sorrow. Life, -in which nothing has been done or suffered to distinguish one day from -another, is to him that has passed it, as if it had never been, except -that he is conscious how ill he has husbanded the great deposit of his -Creator. Life, made memorable by crimes, and diversified through its -several periods by wickedness, is indeed easily reviewed, but reviewed -only with horrour and remorse. - -The great consideration which ought to influence us in the use of the -present moment, is to arise from the effect, which, as well or ill applied, -it must have upon the time to come; for though its actual existence be -inconceivably short, yet its effects are unlimited; and there is not -the smallest point of time but may extend its consequences, either to -our hurt or our advantage, through all eternity, and give us reason to -remember it for ever, with anguish or exultation. - -The time of life, in which memory seems particularly to claim predominance -over the other faculties of the mind, is our declining age. It has been -remarked by former writers, that old men are generally narrative, and -fall easily into recitals of past transactions, and accounts of persons -known to them in their youth. When we approach the verge of the grave it -is more eminently true; - - _Vitæ summa brevis spem nos vetat inchoare longam._ - HOR. lib. i. Ode 4. 15. - - Life's span forbids thee to extend thy cares, - And stretch thy hopes beyond thy years. - CREECH. - -We have no longer any possibility of great vicissitudes in our favour; -the changes which are to happen in the world will come too late for -our accommodation; and those who have no hope before them, and to whom -their present state is painful and irksome, must of necessity turn their -thoughts back to try what retrospect will afford. It ought, therefore, to -be the care of those who wish to pass the last hours with comfort, to lay -up such a treasure of pleasing ideas, as shall support the expenses of -that time, which is to depend wholly upon the fund already acquired. - - _----Petite hinc, juvenesque senesque_ - _Finem animo certum, miserisque viatica curis._ - - Seek here, ye young, the anchor of your mind; - Here, suff'ring age, a bless'd provision find. - ELPHINSTON. - -In youth, however unhappy, we solace ourselves with the hope of better -fortune, and however vicious, appease our consciences with intentions -of repentance; but the time comes at last, in which life has no more -to promise, in which happiness can be drawn only from recollection, and -virtue will be all that we can recollect with pleasure. - - - - -No. 42. SATURDAY, AUGUST 11, 1750. - - - _Mihi tarda fluunt ingrataque tempora._ - HOR. lib. i. Epist 1. 15. - - How heavily my time revolves along. - ELPHINSTON. - - -TO THE RAMBLER. - -MR. RAMBLER, - -I am no great admirer of grave writings, and therefore very frequently -lay your papers aside before I have read them through; yet I cannot -but confess that, by slow degrees, you have raised my opinion of your -understanding, and that, though I believe it will be long before I can be -prevailed upon to regard you with much kindness, you have, however, more -of my esteem than those whom I sometimes make happy with opportunities -to fill my tea-pot, or pick up my fan. I shall therefore chuse you for -the confidant of my distresses, and ask your counsel with regard to -the means of conquering or escaping them, though I never expect from -you any of that softness and pliancy, which constitutes the perfection -of a companion for the ladies: as, in the place where I now am, I have -recourse to the mastiff for protection, though I have no intention of -making him a lap-dog. - -My mamma is a very fine lady, who has more numerous and more frequent -assemblies at her house than any other person in the same quarter of -the town. I was bred from my earliest infancy in a perpetual tumult -of pleasure, and remember to have heard of little else than messages, -visits, playhouses, and balls; of the awkwardness of one woman, and the -coquetry of another; the charming convenience of some rising fashion, -the difficulty of playing a new game, the incidents of a masquerade, and -the dresses of a court-night. I knew before I was ten years old all the -rules of paying and receiving visits, and to how much civility every one -of my acquaintance was entitled; and was able to return, with the proper -degree of reserve or of vivacity, the stated and established answer to -every compliment; so that I was very soon celebrated as a wit and a -beauty, and had heard before I was thirteen all that is ever said to -a young lady. My mother was generous to so uncommon a degree as to -be pleased with my advance into life, and allowed me, without envy or -reproof, to enjoy the same happiness with herself; though most women -about her own age were very angry to see young girls so forward, and -many fine gentlemen told her how cruel it was to throw new chains upon -mankind, and to tyrannize over them at the same time with her own charms, -and those of her daughter. - -I have now lived two-and-twenty years, and have passed of each year nine -months in town, and three at Richmond; so that my time has been spent -uniformly in the same company, and the same amusements, except as fashion -has introduced new diversions, or the revolutions of the gay world have -afforded new successions of wits and beaux. However, my mother is so good -an economist of pleasure, that I have no spare hours upon my hands; for -every morning brings some new appointment, and every night is hurried -away by the necessity of making our appearance at different places, and -of being with one lady at the opera, and with another at the card-table. - -When the time came of settling our schemes of felicity for the summer, -it was determined that I should pay a visit to a rich aunt in a remote -county. As you know the chief conversation of all tea-tables, in the -spring, arises from a communication of the manner in which time is to -be passed till winter, it was a great relief to the barrenness of our -topicks, to relate the pleasures that were in store for me, to describe -my uncle's seat, with the park and gardens, the charming walks and -beautiful waterfalls; and every one told me how much she envied me, and -what satisfaction she had once enjoyed in a situation of the same kind. - -As we are all credulous in our own favour, and willing to imagine some -latent satisfaction in any thing which we have not experienced, I will -confess to you, without restraint, that I had suffered my head to be -filled with expectations of some nameless pleasure in a rural life, and -that I hoped for the happy hour that should set me free from noise, and -flutter, and ceremony, dismiss me to the peaceful shade, and lull me in -content and tranquillity. To solace myself under the misery of delay, I -sometimes heard a studious lady of my acquaintance read pastorals, I was -delighted with scarce any talk but of leaving the town, and never went -to bed without dreaming of groves, and meadows, and frisking lambs. - -At length I had all my clothes in a trunk, and saw the coach at the door; -I sprung in with ecstasy, quarrelled with my maid for being too long in -taking leave of the other servants, and rejoiced as the ground grew less -which lay between me and the completion of my wishes. A few days brought -me to a large old house, encompassed on three sides with woody hills, -and looking from the front on a gentle river, the sight of which renewed -all my expectations of pleasure, and gave me some regret for having -lived so long without the enjoyment which these delightful scenes were -now to afford me. My aunt came out to receive me, but in a dress so far -removed from the present fashion, that I could scarcely look upon her -without laughter, which would have been no kind requital for the trouble -which she had taken to make herself fine against my arrival. The night -and the next morning were driven along with inquiries about our family; -my aunt then explained our pedigree, and told me stories of my great -grandfather's bravery in the civil wars, nor was it less than three days -before I could persuade her to leave me to myself. - -At last economy prevailed; she went in the usual manner about her own -affairs, and I was at liberty to range in the wilderness, and sit by the -cascade. The novelty of the objects about me pleased me for a while, but -after a few days they were new no longer, and I soon began to perceive -that the country was not my element; that shades, and flowers, and lawns, -and waters, had very soon exhausted all their power of pleasing, and that -I had not in myself any fund of satisfaction, with which I could supply -the loss of my customary amusements. - -I unhappily told my aunt, in the first warmth of our embraces, that I had -leave to stay with her ten weeks. Six only yet are gone, and how shall I -live through the remaining four? I go out and return; I pluck a flower, -and throw it away; I catch an insect, and when I have examined its -colours set it at liberty; I fling a pebble into the water, and see one -circle spread after another. When it chances to rain, I walk in the great -hall, and watch the minute-hand upon the dial, or play with a litter of -kittens, which the cat happens to have brought in a lucky time. - -My aunt is afraid I shall grow melancholy, and therefore encourages the -neighbouring gentry to visit us. They came at first with great eagerness -to see the fine lady from London; but when we met, we had no common -topick on which we could converse; they had no curiosity after plays, -operas, or musick: and I find as little satisfaction from their accounts -of the quarrels or alliances of families, whose names, when once I can -escape, I shall never hear. The women have now seen me, know how my gown -is made, and are satisfied; the men are generally afraid of me, and say -little, because they think themselves not at liberty to talk rudely. - -Thus I am condemned to solitude; the day moves slowly forward, and I -see the dawn with uneasiness, because I consider that night is at a -great distance. I have tried to sleep by a brook, but find its murmurs -ineffectual; so that I am forced to be awake at least twelve hours, -without visits, without cards, without laughter, and without flattery. I -walk because I am disgusted with sitting still, and sit down because I am -weary with walking. I have no motive to action, nor any object of love, -or hate, or fear, or inclination. I cannot dress with spirit, for I have -neither rival nor admirer. I cannot dance without a partner; nor be kind -or cruel, without a lover. - -Such is the life of Euphelia; and such it is likely to continue for a -month to come. I have not yet declared against existence, nor called -upon the destinies to cut my thread; but I have sincerely resolved not to -condemn myself to such another summer, nor too hastily to flatter myself -with happiness. Yet I have heard, Mr. Rambler, of those who never thought -themselves so much at ease as in solitude, and cannot but suspect it to be -some way or other my own fault, that, without great pain, either of mind -or body, I am thus weary of myself: that the current of youth stagnates, -and that I am languishing in a dead calm, for want of some external -impulse. I shall therefore think you a benefactor to our sex, if you will -teach me the art of living alone; for I am confident that a thousand and -a thousand ladies, who affect to talk with ecstasies of the pleasures of -the country, are in reality, like me, longing for the winter, and wishing -to be delivered from themselves by company and diversion. - -I am, Sir, Yours, - - EUPHELIA. - - - - -No. 43. TUESDAY, AUGUST 14, 1750. - - - _Flumine perpetuo torrens solet acrius ire._ - _Sed tamen hæc brevis est, illa perennis aqua._ - OVID, Rem. 651. - - In course impetuous soon the torrent dries, - The brook a constant peaceful stream supplies. - F. LEWIS. - - -It is observed by those who have written on the constitution of the human -body, and the original of those diseases by which it is afflicted, that -every man comes into the world morbid, that there is no temperature so -exactly regulated but that some humour is fatally predominant, and that -we are generally impregnated, in our first entrance upon life, with the -seeds of that malady, which, in time, shall bring us to the grave. - -This remark has been extended by others to the intellectual faculties. -Some that imagine themselves to have looked with more than common -penetration into human nature, have endeavoured to persuade us that each -man is born with a mind formed peculiarly for certain purposes, and with -desires unalterably determined to particular objects, from which the -attention cannot be long diverted, and which alone, as they are well or -ill pursued, must produce the praise or blame, the happiness or misery of -his future life. - -This position has not, indeed, been hitherto proved with strength -proportionate to the assurance with which it has been advanced, and -perhaps will never gain much prevalence by a close examination. - -If the doctrine of innate ideas be itself disputable, there seems to -be little hope of establishing an opinion, which supposes that even -complications of ideas have been given us at our birth, and that we are -made by nature ambitious, or covetous, before we know the meaning of -either power or money. - -Yet as every step in the progression of existence changes our position -with respect to the things about us, so as to lay us open to new assaults -and particular dangers, and subjects us to inconveniences from which any -other situation is exempt; as a publick or a private life, youth and age, -wealth and poverty, have all some evil closely adherent, which cannot -wholly be escaped but by quitting the state to which it is annexed, and -submitting to the incumbrances of some other condition; so it cannot -be denied that every difference in the structure of the mind has its -advantages and its wants; and that failures and defects being inseparable -from humanity, however the powers of understanding be extended or -contracted, there will on one side or the other always be an avenue to -errour and miscarriage. - -There seem to be some souls suited to great, and others to little -employments; some formed to soar aloft, and take in wide views, and -others to grovel on the ground, and confine their regard to a narrow -sphere. Of these the one is always in danger of becoming useless by a -daring negligence, the other by a scrupulous solicitude; the one collects -many ideas, but confused and indistinct; the other is busied in minute -accuracy, but without compass and without dignity. - -The general errour of those who possess powerful and elevated -understandings, is, that they form schemes of too great extent, and -flatter themselves too hastily with success; they feel their own force -to be great, and by the complacency with which every man surveys himself, -imagine it still greater: they therefore look out for undertakings worthy -of their abilities, and engage in them with very little precaution, for -they imagine that without premeditated measures, they shall be able to -find expedients in all difficulties. They are naturally apt to consider -all prudential maxims as below their regard, to treat with contempt those -securities and resources which others know themselves obliged to provide, -and disdain to accomplish their purposes by established means, and common -gradations. - -Precipitation thus incited by the pride of intellectual superiority, -is very fatal to great designs. The resolution of the combat is seldom -equal to the vehemence of the charge. He that meets with an opposition -which he did not expect, loses his courage. The violence of his first -onset is succeeded by a lasting and unconquerable languor; miscarriage -makes him fearful of giving way to new hopes; and the contemplation of an -attempt in which he has fallen below his own expectations is painful and -vexatious; he therefore naturally turns his attention to more pleasing -objects, and habituates his imagination to other entertainments, till, by -slow degrees, he quits his first pursuit, and suffers some other project -to take possession of his thoughts, in which the same ardour of mind -promises him again certain success, and which disappointments of the same -kind compel him to abandon. - -Thus too much vigour in the beginning of an undertaking, often intercepts -and prevents the steadiness and perseverance always necessary in the -conduct of a complicated scheme, where many interests are to be connected, -many movements to be adjusted, and the joint effort of distinct and -independent powers to be directed to a single point. In all important -events which have been suddenly brought to pass, chance has been the -agent rather than reason; and, therefore, however those who seemed to -preside in the transaction, may have been celebrated by such as loved or -feared them, succeeding times have commonly considered them as fortunate -rather than prudent. Every design in which the connexion is regularly -traced from the first motion to the last, must be formed and executed by -calm intrepidity, and requires not only courage which danger cannot turn -aside, but constancy which fatigues cannot weary, and contrivance which -impediments cannot exhaust. - -All the performances of human art, at which we look with praise or wonder, -are instances of the resistless force of perseverance: it is by this -that the quarry becomes a pyramid, and that distant countries are united -with canals. If a man was to compare the effect of a single stroke of the -pick-axe, or of one impression of the spade, with the general design and -last result, he would be overwhelmed by the sense of their disproportion; -yet those petty operations, incessantly continued, in time surmount the -greatest difficulties, and mountains are levelled, and oceans bounded, by -the slender force of human beings. - -It is therefore of the utmost importance that those, who have any intention -of deviating from the beaten roads of life, and acquiring a reputation -superior to names hourly swept away by time among the refuse of fame, -should add to their reason, and their spirit, the power of persisting in -their purposes; acquire the art of sapping what they cannot batter, and -the habit of vanquishing obstinate resistance by obstinate attacks. - -The student who would build his knowledge on solid foundations, and -proceed by just degrees to the pinnacles of truth, is directed by the -great philosopher of France to begin by doubting of his own existence. -In like manner, whoever would complete any arduous and intricate -enterprise, should, as soon as his imagination can cool after the first -blaze of hope, place before his own eyes every possible embarrassment -that may retard or defeat him. He should first question the probability -of success, and then endeavour to remove the objections that he has -raised. It is proper, says old Markham[43], to exercise your horse on the -more inconvenient side of the course, that if he should, in the race, -be forced upon it, he may not be discouraged; and Horace advises his -poetical friend to consider every day as the last which he shall enjoy, -because that will always give pleasure which we receive beyond our hopes. -If we alarm ourselves beforehand with more difficulties than we really -find, we shall be animated by unexpected facility with double spirit; -and if we find our cautions and fears justified by the consequence, there -will however happen nothing against which provision has not been made, no -sudden shock will be received, nor will the main scheme be disconcerted. - -There is, indeed, some danger lest he that too scrupulously balances -probabilities, and too perspicaciously foresees obstacles, should -remain always in a state of inaction, without venturing upon attempts -on which he may perhaps spend his labour without advantage. But previous -despondence is not the fault of those for whom this essay is designed; -they who require to be warned against precipitation, will not suffer more -fear to intrude into their contemplations than is necessary to allay the -effervescence of an agitated fancy. As Des Cartes has kindly shewn how a -man may prove to himself his own existence, if once he can be prevailed -upon to question it, so the ardent and adventurous will not be long -without finding some plausible extenuation of the greatest difficulties. -Such, indeed, is the uncertainty of all human affairs, that security -and despair are equal follies; and as it is presumption and arrogance -to anticipate triumphs, it is weakness and cowardice to prognosticate -miscarriages. The numbers that have been stopped in their career of -happiness are sufficient to shew the uncertainty of human foresight; but -there are not wanting contrary instances of such success obtained against -all appearances, as may warrant the boldest flights of genius, if they -are supported by unshaken perseverance. - -[Footnote 43: Gervase Markham, in his book entitled "Perfect Horsemanship," -12mo. 1671. He was a dramatic poet, and a voluminous writer on various -subjects.] - - - - -No. 44. SATURDAY, AUGUST 18, 1750. - - - [Greek: Honar ek Dios estin.] - HOMER, Il. lib. i. 63. - - ----Dreams descend from Jove. - POPE. - - -TO THE RAMBLER. - -SIR, - -I had lately a very remarkable dream, which made so strong an impression -on me, that I remember it every word; and if you are not better employed, -you may read the relation of it as follows: - -Methought I was in the midst of a very entertaining set of company, -and extremely delighted in attending to a lively conversation, when -on a sudden I perceived one of the most shocking figures imagination -can frame, advancing towards me. She was drest in black, her skin was -contracted into a thousand wrinkles, her eyes sunk deep in her head, -and her complexion pale and livid as the countenance of death. Her looks -were filled with terrour and unrelenting severity, and her hands armed -with whips and scorpions. As soon as she came near, with a horrid frown, -and a voice that chilled my very blood, she bid me follow her. I obeyed, -and she led me through rugged paths, beset with briars and thorns, -into a deep solitary valley. Wherever she passed, the fading verdure -withered beneath her steps; her pestilential breath infected the air with -malignant vapours, obscured the lustre of the sun, and involved the fair -face of Heaven in universal gloom. Dismal howlings resounded through the -forest, from every baleful tree the night raven uttered his dreadful note, -and the prospect was filled with desolation and horrour. In the midst of -this tremendous scene my execrable guide addressed me in the following -manner: - -"Retire with me, O rash unthinking mortal, from the vain allurements of -a deceitful world, and learn that pleasure was not designed the portion -of human life. Man was born to mourn and to be wretched; this is the -condition of all below the stars, and whoever endeavours to oppose -it, acts in contradiction to the will of Heaven. Fly then from the -fatal enchantments of youth, and social delight, and here consecrate -the solitary hours to lamentation and woe. Misery is the duty of all -sublunary beings, and every enjoyment is an offence to the Deity, who is -to be worshipped only by the mortification of every sense of pleasure, -and the everlasting exercise of sighs and tears." - -This melancholy picture of life quite sunk my spirits, and seemed to -annihilate every principle of joy within me. I threw myself beneath a -blasted yew, where the winds blew cold and dismal round my head, and -dreadful apprehensions chilled my heart. Here I resolved to lie till -the hand of death, which I impatiently invoked, should put an end to -the miseries of a life so deplorably wretched. In this sad situation I -espied on one hand of me a deep muddy river, whose heavy waves rolled on -in slow sullen murmurs. Here I determined to plunge, and was just upon -the brink, when I found myself suddenly drawn back. I turned about, and -was surprised by the sight of the loveliest object I had ever beheld. -The most engaging charms of youth and beauty appeared in all her form; -effulgent glories sparkled in her eyes, and their awful splendours were -softened by the gentlest looks of compassion and peace. At her approach -the frightful spectre who had before tormented me, vanished away, and -with her all the horrours she had caused. The gloomy clouds brightened -into cheerful sunshine, the groves recovered their verdure, and the -whole region looked gay and blooming as the garden of Eden. I was quite -transported at this unexpected change, and reviving pleasure began to glad -my thoughts, when, with a look of inexpressible sweetness my beauteous -deliverer thus uttered her divine instructions: - -"My name is Religion. I am the offspring of Truth and Love, and the parent -of Benevolence, Hope, and Joy. That monster from whose power I have -freed you is called Superstition; she is the child of Discontent, and her -followers are Fear and Sorrow. Thus different as we are, she has often -the insolence to assume my name and character, and seduces unhappy mortals -to think us the same, till she, at length, drives them to the borders of -Despair, that dreadful abyss into which you were just going to sink. - -"Look round and survey the various beauties of the globe, which heaven has -destined for the seat of the human race, and consider whether a world -thus exquisitely framed could be meant for the abode of misery and pain. -For what end has the lavish hand of Providence diffused such innumerable -objects of delight, but that all might rejoice in the privilege of -existence, and be filled with gratitude to the beneficent author of it? -Thus to enjoy the blessings he has sent, is virtue and obedience; and to -reject them merely as means of pleasure, is pitiable ignorance or absurd -perverseness. Infinite goodness is the source of created existence; -the proper tendency of every rational being, from the highest order of -raptured seraphs, to the meanest rank of men, is to rise incessantly -from the lower degrees of happiness to higher. They have each faculties -assigned them for various orders of delights." - -"What," cried I, "is this the language of Religion? Does she lead her -votaries through flowery paths, and bid them pass an unlaborious life? -Where are the painful toils of virtue, the mortifications of penitents, -the self-denying exercises of saints and heroes?" - -"The true enjoyments of a reasonable being," answered she mildly, "do not -consist in unbounded indulgence, or luxurious ease, in the tumult of -passions, the languor of indolence, or the flutter of light amusements. -Yielding to immoral pleasure corrupts the mind, living to animal and -trifling ones debases it; both in their degree disqualify it for its -genuine good, and consign it over to wretchedness. Whoever would be really -happy, must make the diligent and regular exercise of his superior powers -his chief attention, adoring the perfections of his Maker, expressing -good-will to his fellow-creatures, cultivating inward rectitude. To his -lower faculties he must allow such gratifications as will, by refreshing -him, invigorate his nobler pursuits. In the regions inhabited by angelic -natures, unmingled felicity for ever blooms, joy flows there with a -perpetual and abundant stream, nor needs there any mound to check its -course. Beings conscious of a frame of mind originally diseased, as -all the human race has cause to be, must use the regimen of a stricter -self-government. Whoever has been guilty of voluntary excesses must -patiently submit both to the painful workings of nature and needful -severities of medicine, in order to his cure. Still he is entitled to a -moderate share of whatever alleviating accommodations this fair mansion -of his merciful Parent affords, consistent with his recovery. And in -proportion as this recovery advances, the liveliest joy will spring -from his secret sense of an amended and improving heart.--So far from -the horrours of despair is the condition even of the guilty.--Shudder, -poor mortal, at the thought of the gulf into which thou wast but now -going to plunge. - -"While the most faulty have every encouragement to amend, the more -innocent soul will be supported with still sweeter consolations under -all its experience of human infirmities; supported by the gladdening -assurances that every sincere endeavour to outgrow them shall be assisted, -accepted, and rewarded. To such a one the lowliest self-abasement is -but a deep-laid foundation for the most elevated hopes; since they who -faithfully examine and acknowledge what they are, shall be enabled under -my conduct to become what they desire. The christian and the hero are -inseparable; and to aspirings of unassuming trust, and filial confidence, -are set no bounds. To him who is animated with a view of obtaining -approbation from the Sovereign of the universe, no difficulty -is insurmountable. Secure in this pursuit of every needful aid, his -conflict with the severest pains and trials, is little more than the -vigorous exercises of a mind in health. His patient dependence on that -Providence which looks through all eternity, his silent resignation, -his ready accommodation of his thoughts and behaviour to its inscrutable -ways, is at once the most excellent sort of self-denial, and a source -of the most exalted transports. Society is the true sphere of human -virtue. In social, active life, difficulties will perpetually be met -with; restraints of many kinds will be necessary; and studying to behave -right in respect of these is a discipline of the human heart, useful to -others, and improving to itself. Suffering is no duty, but where it is -necessary to avoid guilt, or to do good; nor pleasure a crime, but where -it strengthens the influence of bad inclinations, or lessens the generous -activity of virtue. The happiness allotted to man in his present state, -is indeed faint and low, compared with his immortal prospects and noble -capacities; but yet whatever portion of it the distributing hand of -heaven offers to each individual, is a needful support and refreshment -for the present moment, so far as it may not hinder the attaining of -his final destination. - -"Return then with me from continual misery to moderate enjoyment and -grateful alacrity. Return from the contracted views of solitude to the -proper duties of a relative and dependent being. Religion is not confined -to cells and closets, nor restrained to sullen retirement. These are -the gloomy doctrines of Superstition, by which she endeavours to break -those chains of benevolence and social affection, that link the welfare -of every particular with that of the whole. Remember that the greatest -honour you can pay to the Author of your being is by such a cheerful -behaviour, as discovers a mind satisfied with his dispensations." - -Here my preceptress paused, and I was going to express my acknowledgments -for her discourse, when a ring of bells from the neighbouring village, -and a new-risen sun darting his beams through my windows, awaked me[44]. - -I am, Yours, &c. - -[Footnote 44: This paper, and No. 100, were written by the late Mrs. -Elizabeth Carter, of Deal in Kent, who died Feb. 19, 1806.] - - - - -No. 45. TUESDAY, AUGUST 21, 1750. - - - [Greek: Hêper megistê gignetai sôtêria, - Hotan gynê prôs andra mê dichostatê. - Nyn d' echthra panta.] - EURIP. Med. 14. - - This is the chief felicity of life, - That concord smile on the connubial bed; - But now 'tis hatred all. - - -TO THE RAMBLER. - -SIR, - -Though, in the dissertations which you have given us on marriage, very -just cautions are laid down against the common causes of infelicity, -and the necessity of having, in that important choice, the first regard -to virtue, is carefully inculcated; yet I cannot think the subject so -much exhausted, but that a little reflection would present to the mind -many questions, in the discussion of which great numbers are interested, -and many precepts which deserve to be more particularly and forcibly -impressed. - -You seem, like most of the writers that have gone before you, to have -allowed as an uncontested principle, that _marriage is generally unhappy_: -but I know not whether a man who professes to think for himself, and -concludes from his own observations, does not depart from his character -when he follows the crowd thus implicitly, and receives maxims without -recalling them to a new examination, especially when they comprise so -wide a circuit of life, and include such a variety of circumstances. As -I have an equal right with others to give my opinion of the objects about -me, and a better title to determine concerning that state which I have -tried, than many who talk of it without experience, I am unwilling to be -restrained by mere authority from advancing what, I believe, an accurate -view of the world will confirm, that marriage is not commonly unhappy, -otherwise than as life is unhappy; and that most of those who complain of -connubial miseries, have as much satisfaction as their nature would have -admitted, or their conduct procured, in any other condition. - -It is, indeed, common to hear both sexes repine at their change, relate -the happiness of their earlier years, blame the folly and rashness -of their own choice, and warn those whom they see coming into the -world against the same precipitance and infatuation. But it is to be -remembered, that the days which they so much wish to call back, are -the days not only of celibacy but of youth, the days of novelty and -improvement, of ardour and of hope, of health and vigour of body, of -gaiety and lightness of heart. It is not easy to surround life with any -circumstances in which youth will not be delightful; and I am afraid that -whether married or unmarried, we shall find the vesture of terrestrial -existence more heavy and cumbrous, the longer it is worn. - -That they censure themselves for the indiscretion of their choice, is -not a sufficient proof that they have chosen ill, since we see the same -discontent at every other part of life which we cannot change. Converse -with almost any man, grown old in a profession, and you will find him -regretting that he did not enter into some different course, to which -he too late finds his genius better adapted, or in which he discovers -that wealth and honour are more easily attained. "The merchant," says -Horace, "envies the soldier, and the soldier recounts the felicity of the -merchant; the lawyer, when his clients harass him, calls out for the quiet -of the countryman; and the countryman, when business calls him to town, -proclaims that there is no happiness but amidst opulence and crowds." -Every man recounts the inconveniences of his own station, and thinks -those of any other less, because he has not felt them. Thus the married -praise the ease and freedom of a single state, and the single fly to -marriage from the weariness of solitude. From all our observations we -may collect with certainty, that misery is the lot of man, but cannot -discover in what particular condition it will find most alleviations; -or whether all external appendages are not, as we use them, the causes -either of good or ill. - -Whoever feels great pain, naturally hopes for ease from change of posture; -he changes it, and finds himself equally tormented: and of the same -kind are the expedients by which we endeavour to obviate or elude those -uneasinesses, to which mortality will always be subject. It is not likely -that the married state is eminently miserable, since we see such numbers, -whom the death of their partners has set free from it, entering it again. - -Wives and husbands are, indeed, incessantly complaining of each other; and -there would be reason for imagining that almost every house was infested -with perverseness or oppression beyond human sufferance, did we not know -upon how small occasions some minds bursts out, into lamentations and -reproaches, and how naturally every animal revenges his pain upon those -who happen to be near, without any nice examination of its cause. We are -always willing to fancy ourselves within a little of happiness, and when, -with repeated efforts, we cannot reach it, persuade ourselves that it -is intercepted by an ill-paired mate, since, if we could find any other -obstacle, it would be our own fault that it was not removed. - -Anatomists have often remarked, that though our diseases are sufficiently -numerous and severe, yet when we inquire into the structure of the body, -the tenderness of some parts, the minuteness of others, and the immense -multiplicity of animal functions that must concur to the healthful and -vigorous exercise of all our powers, there appears reason to wonder rather -that we are preserved so long, than that we perish so soon, and that our -frame subsists for a single day, or hour, without disorder, rather than -that it should be broken or obstructed by violence of accidents, or length -of time. - -The same reflection arises in my mind, upon observation of the manner in -which marriage is frequently contracted. When I see the avaricious and -crafty, taking companions to their tables and their beds without any -inquiry, but after farms and money; or the giddy and thoughtless uniting -themselves for life to those whom they have only seen by the light of -tapers at a ball; when parents make articles for their children, without -inquiring after their consent; when some marry for heirs to disappoint -their brothers, and others throw themselves into the arms of those whom -they do not love, because they have found themselves rejected where they -were most solicitous to please; when some marry because their servants -cheat them, some because they squander their own money, some because -their houses are pestered with company, some because they will live like -other people, and some only because they are sick in themselves, I am not -so much inclined to wonder that marriage is sometimes unhappy, as that -it appears so little loaded with calamity; and cannot but conclude that -society has something in itself eminently agreeable to human nature, when -I find its pleasures so great, that even the ill choice of a companion -can hardly overbalance them. - -By the ancient customs of the Muscovites, the men and women never saw -each other till they were joined beyond the power of parting. It may be -suspected that by this method many unsuitable matches were produced, and -many tempers associated that were not qualified to give pleasure to each -other. Yet, perhaps, among a people so little delicate, where the paucity -of gratifications, and the uniformity of life, gave no opportunity for -imagination to interpose its objections, there was not much danger of -capricious dislike; and while they felt neither cold nor hunger they might -live quietly together, without any thought of the defects of one another. - -Amongst us, whom knowledge has made nice and affluence wanton, there are, -indeed, more cautions requisite to secure tranquillity; and yet if we -observe the manner in which those converse, who have singled out each -other for marriage, we shall, perhaps, not think that the Russians -lost much by their restraint. For the whole endeavour of both parties, -during the time of courtship, is to hinder themselves from being known, -and to disguise their natural temper, and real desires, in hypocritical -imitation, studied compliance, and continual affectation. From the time -that their love is avowed, neither sees the other but in a mask, and the -cheat is managed often on both sides with so much art, and discovered -afterwards with so much abruptness, that each has reason to suspect -that some transformation has happened on the wedding night, and that, -by a strange imposture, one has been courted, and another married. - -I desire you, therefore, Mr. Rambler, to question all who shall hereafter -come to you with matrimonial complaints, concerning their behaviour in -the time of courtship, and inform them that they are neither to wonder -nor repine, when a contract begun with fraud has ended in disappointment. - -I am, &c. - - - - -No. 46. SATURDAY, AUGUST 25, 1750. - - - _----Genus, et proavos, et quæ non fecimus ipsi,_ - _Via ea nostra voco._ - OVID, Metam. xiii. 140. - - Nought from my birth or ancestors I claim; - All is my own, my honour and my shame. - - -TO THE RAMBLER. - -SIR, - -Since I find that you have paid so much regard to my complaints as to -publish them, I am inclined by vanity, or gratitude, to continue our -correspondence; and indeed, without either of these motives, am glad of an -opportunity to write, for I am not accustomed to keep in any thing that -swells my heart, and have here none with whom I can freely converse. While -I am thus employed, some tedious hours will slip away, and when I return -to watch the clock, I shall find that I have disburdened myself of part -of the day. - -You perceive that I do not pretend to write with much consideration -of any thing but my own convenience; and, not to conceal from you my -real sentiments, the little time which I have spent, against my will, -in solitary meditation, has not much contributed to my veneration for -authors. I have now sufficient reason to suspect, that, with all your -splendid professions of wisdom, and seeming regard for truth, you have -very little sincerity; that you either write what you do not think, and -willingly impose upon mankind, or that you take no care to think right, -but while you set up yourselves as guides, mislead your followers by -credulity or negligence; that you produce to the publick whatever notions -you can speciously maintain, or elegantly express, without enquiring -whether they are just, and transcribe hereditary falsehoods from old -authors perhaps as ignorant and careless as yourselves. - -You may perhaps wonder that I express myself with so much acrimony on a -question in which women are supposed to have very little interest; and -you are likely enough, for I have seen many instances of the sauciness -of scholars, to tell me, that I am more properly employed in playing with -my kittens, than in giving myself airs of criticism, and censuring the -learned. But you are mistaken, if you imagine that I am to be intimidated -by your contempt, or silenced by your reproofs. As I read, I have a -right to judge; as I am injured, I have a right to complain; and these -privileges, which I have purchased at so dear a rate, I shall not easily -be persuaded to resign. - -To read has, indeed, never been my business, but as there are hours of -leisure in the most active life, I have passed the superfluities of -time, which the diversions of the town left upon my hands, in turning -over a large collection of tragedies and romances, where, amongst other -sentiments common to all authors of this class, I have found almost every -page filled with the charms and happiness of a country life; that life -to which every statesman in the highest elevation of his prosperity is -contriving to retire; that life to which every tragic heroine in some -scene or other wishes to have been born, and which is represented as a -certain refuge from folly, from anxiety, from passion, and from guilt. - -It was impossible to read so many passionate exclamations, and soothing -descriptions, without feeling some desire to enjoy the state in which all -this felicity was to be enjoyed; and therefore I received with raptures -the invitation of my good aunt, and expected that by some unknown -influence I should find all hopes and fears, jealousies and competitions, -vanish from my heart upon my first arrival at the seats of innocence -and tranquillity; that I should sleep in halcyon bowers, and wander in -elysian gardens, where I should meet with nothing but the softness of -benevolence, the candour of simplicity, and the cheerfulness of content; -where I should see reason exerting her sovereignty over life, without any -interruption from envy, avarice, or ambition, and every day passing in -such a manner as the severest wisdom should approve. - -This, Mr. Rambler, I tell you I expected, and this I had by an hundred -authors been taught to expect. By this expectation I was led hither, and -here I live in perpetual uneasiness, without any other comfort than that -of hoping to return to London. - -Having, since I wrote my former letter, been driven by the mere necessity -of escaping from absolute inactivity, to make myself more acquainted -with the affairs and inhabitants of this place, I am now no longer an -absolute stranger to rural conversation and employments, but am far from -discovering in them more innocence or wisdom, than in the sentiments -or conduct of those with whom I have passed more cheerful and more -fashionable hours. - -It is common to reproach the tea-table, and the park, with given -opportunities and encouragement to scandal. I cannot wholly clear them -from the charge; but must, however, observe in favour of the modish -prattlers, that if not by principle, we are at least by accident, less -guilty of defamation than the country ladies. For having greater numbers -to observe and censure, we are commonly content to charge them only with -their own faults or follies, and seldom give way to malevolence, but -such as arises from some injury or affront, real or imaginary, offered -to ourselves. But in these distant provinces, where the same families -inhabit the same houses from age to age, they transmit and recount the -faults of a whole succession. I have been informed how every estate -in the neighbourhood was originally got, and find, if I may credit the -accounts given me, that there is not a single acre in the hands of the -right owner. I have been told of intrigues between beaux and toasts -that have been now three centuries in their quiet graves, and am often -entertained with traditional scandal on persons of whose names there -would have been no remembrance, had they not committed somewhat that -might disgrace their descendants. - -In one of my visits I happened to commend the air and dignity of a young -lady, who had just left the company; upon which two grave matrons looked -with great sliness at each other, and the elder asked me whether I had -ever seen the picture of Henry the eighth. You may imagine that I did -not immediately perceive the propriety of the question: but after having -waited awhile for information, I was told that the lady's grandmother -had a great-great-grandmother that was an attendant on Anna Bullen, and -supposed to have been too much a favourite of the king. - -If once there happens a quarrel between the principal persons of two -families, the malignity is continued without end, and it is common for -old maids to fall out about some election, in which their grandfathers -were competitors; the heart-burnings of the civil war are not yet -extinguished; there are two families in the neighbourhood who have -destroyed each other's game from the time of Philip and Mary; and when -an account came of an inundation, which had injured the plantations of -a worthy gentleman, one of the hearers remarked, with exultation, that -he might now have some notion of the ravages committed by his ancestors -in their retreat from Bosworth. - -Thus malice and hatred descend here with an inheritance, and it is -necessary to be well versed in history, that the various factions of -this county may be understood. You cannot expect to be on good terms with -families who are resolved to love nothing in common; and, in selecting -your intimates, you are perhaps to consider which party you most favour -in the barons' wars. I have often lost the good opinion of my aunt's -visitants by confounding the interests of York and Lancaster, and was -once censured for sitting silent when William Rufus was called a tyrant. -I have, however, now thrown aside all pretences to circumspection, for -I find it impossible in less than seven years to learn all the requisite -cautions. At London, if you know your company, and their parents, -you are safe; but you are here suspected of alluding to the slips of -great-grandmothers, and of reviving contests which were decided in armour -by the redoubted knights of ancient times. I hope, therefore, that you -will not condemn my impatience, if I am weary of attending where nothing -can be learned, and of quarrelling where there is nothing to contest, and -that you will contribute to divert me while I stay here by some facetious -performance. - -I am, sir, - - EUPHELIA. - - - - -No. 47. TUESDAY, AUGUST 28, 1750. - - - _Quamquam his solatiis acquiescam, debilitor et frangor eadem - illa humanitate quæ me, ut hoc ipsum permitterem, induxit. Non - ideo tamen velim durior fieri: nec ignoro alios hujusmodi casus - nihil amplius vocare quam damnum; eoque sibi magnos homines - et sapientes videri. Qui an magni sapientesque sint, nescio; - homines non sunt. Hominis est enim affici dolore, sentire: - resistere tamen, et solatia admittere._ - PLIN. Epist. viii. 16. - - These proceedings have afforded me some comfort in my distress; - notwithstanding which, I am still dispirited and unhinged - by the same motives of humanity that induced me to grant such - indulgences. However, I by no means wish to become less susceptible - of tenderness. I know these kind of misfortunes would be estimated - by other persons only as common losses, and from such sensations - they would conceive themselves great and wise men. I shall not - determine either their greatness or their wisdom; but I am certain - they have no humanity. It is the part of a man to be affected with - grief; to feel sorrow, at the same time that he is to resist it, - and to admit of comfort. - Earl of ORRERY. - - -Of the passions with which the mind of man is agitated, it may be -observed, that they naturally hasten towards their own extinction, by -inciting and quickening the attainment of their objects. Thus fear urges -our flight, and desire animates our progress; and if there are some which -perhaps may be indulged till they outgrow the good appropriated to their -satisfaction, as it is frequently observed of avarice and ambition, yet -their immediate tendency is to some means of happiness really existing, -and generally within the prospect. The miser always imagines that -there is a certain sum that will fill his heart to the brim; and every -ambitious man, like king Pyrrhus, has an acquisition in his thoughts that -is to terminate his labours, after which he shall pass the rest of his -life in ease or gaiety, in repose or devotion. - -Sorrow is perhaps the only affection of the breast that can be expected -from this general remark, and it therefore deserves the particular -attention of those who have assumed the arduous province of preserving -the balance of the mental constitution. The other passions are diseases -indeed, but they necessarily direct us to their proper cure. A man at -once feels the pain and knows the medicine, to which he is carried with -greater haste as the evil which requires it is more excruciating, -and cures himself by unerring instinct, as the wounded stags of Crete -are related by Ælian to have recourse to vulnerary herbs. But for -sorrow there is no remedy provided by nature; it is often occasioned by -accidents irreparable, and dwells upon objects that have lost or changed -their existence; it required what it cannot hope, that the laws of the -universe should be repealed; that the dead should return, or the past -should be recalled. - -Sorrow is not that regret for negligence or errour which may animate us to -future care or activity, or that repentance of crimes for which, however -irrevocable, our Creator has promised to accept it as an atonement; the -pain which arises from these causes has very salutary effects, and is -every hour extenuating itself by the reparation of those miscarriages -that produce it. Sorrow is properly that state of the mind in which our -desires are fixed upon the past, without looking forward to the future, -an incessant wish that something were otherwise than it has been, a -tormenting and harassing want of some enjoyment or possession which -we have lost, and which no endeavours can possibly regain. Into such -anguish many have sunk upon some sudden diminution of their fortune, -an unexpected blast of their reputation, or the loss of children or of -friends. They have suffered all sensibility of pleasure to be destroyed -by a single blow, have given up for ever the hopes of substituting any -other object in the room of that which they lament, resigned their lives -to gloom and despondency, and worn themselves out in unavailing misery. - -Yet so much is this passion the natural consequence of tenderness and -endearment, that, however painful and however useless, it is justly -reproachful not to feel it on some occasions; and so widely and -constantly has it always prevailed, that the laws of some nations, and -the customs of others, have limited a time for the external appearances -of grief caused by the dissolution of close alliances, and the breach of -domestick union. - -It seems determined by the general suffrage of mankind, that sorrow -is to a certain point laudable, as the offspring of love, or at least -pardonable, as the effect of weakness; but that it ought not to be -suffered to increase by indulgence, but must give way, after a stated -time, to social duties, and the common avocations of life. It is at -first unavoidable, and therefore must be allowed, whether with or without -our choice; it may afterwards be admitted as a decent and affectionate -testimony of kindness and esteem; something will be extorted by nature, -and something may be given to the world. But all beyond the bursts of -passion, or the forms of solemnity, is not only useless, but culpable; -for we have no right to sacrifice, to the vain longings of affection, -that time which Providence allows us for the task of our station. - -Yet it too often happens that sorrow, thus lawfully entering, gains such -a firm possession of the mind, that it is not afterwards to be ejected; -the mournful ideas, first violently impressed and afterwards willingly -received, so much engross the attention, as to predominate in every -thought, to darken gaiety, and perplex ratiocination. An habitual sadness -seizes upon the soul, and the faculties are chained to a single object, -which can never be contemplated but with hopeless uneasiness. - -From this state of dejection it is very difficult to rise to cheerfulness -and alacrity; and therefore many who have laid down rules of intellectual -health, think preservatives easier than remedies, and teach us not to -trust ourselves with favourite enjoyments, not to indulge the luxury of -fondness, but to keep our minds always suspended in such indifference, -that we may change the objects about us without emotion. - -An exact compliance with this rule might, perhaps, contribute to -tranquillity, but surely it would never produce happiness. He that -regards none so much as to be afraid of losing them, must live for ever -without the gentle pleasures of sympathy and confidence; he must feel no -melting fondness, no warmth of benevolence, nor any of those honest joys -which nature annexes to the power of pleasing. And as no man can justly -claim more tenderness than he pays, he must forfeit his share in that -officious and watchful kindness which love only can dictate, and those -lenient endearments by which love only can soften life. He may justly -be overlooked and neglected by such as have more warmth in their heart; -for who would be the friend of him, whom, with whatever assiduity he may -be courted, and with whatever services obliged, his principles will not -suffer to make equal returns, and who, when you have exhausted all the -instances of good-will, can only be prevailed on not to be an enemy? - -An attempt to preserve life in a state of neutrality and indifference, is -unreasonable and vain. If by excluding joy we could shut out grief, the -scheme would deserve very serious attention; but since, however we may -debar ourselves from happiness, misery will find its way at many inlets, -and the assaults of pain will force our regard, though we may withhold it -from the invitations of pleasure, we may surely endeavour to raise life -above the middle point of apathy at one time, since it will necessarily -sink below it at another. - -But though it cannot be reasonable not to gain happiness for fear of -losing it, yet it must be confessed, that in proportion to the pleasure -of possession, will be for some time our sorrow for the loss; it is -therefore the province of the moralist to enquire whether such pains -may not quickly give way to mitigation. Some have thought that the most -certain way to clear the heart from its embarrassment is to drag it by -force into scenes of merriment. Others imagine, that such a transition -is too violent, and recommend rather to sooth it into tranquillity, by -making it acquainted with miseries more dreadful and afflictive, and -diverting to the calamities of others the regards which we are inclined -to fix too closely upon our own misfortunes. - -It may be doubted whether either of those remedies will be sufficiently -powerful. The efficacy of mirth it is not always easy to try, and the -indulgence of melancholy may be suspected to be one of those medicines, -which will destroy, if it happens not to cure. - -The safe and general antidote against sorrow is employment. It is commonly -observed, that among soldiers and seamen, though there is much kindness, -there is little grief; they see their friend fall without any of that -lamentation which is indulged in security and idleness, because they -have no leisure to spare from the care of themselves; and whoever shall -keep his thoughts equally busy, will find himself equally unaffected with -irretrievable losses. - -Time is observed generally to wear out sorrow, and its effects might -doubtless be accelerated by quickening the succession, and enlarging the -variety of objects. - - _----Si tempore reddi_ - _Pax animo tranquilla potest, tu sperne morari:_ - _Qui sapiet, sibi tempus erit.----_ - GROTIUS, Consol. ad Patrem. - - 'Tis long ere time can mitigate your grief; - To wisdom fly, she quickly brings relief. - F. LEWIS. - -Sorrow is a kind of rust of the soul, which every new idea contributes in -its passage to scour away. It is the putrefaction of stagnant life, and -is remedied by exercise and motion. - - - - -No. 48. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 1, 1750. - - - _Non est vivere, sed valere, vita._ - MART. Lib. vi. Ep, 70. 15. - - For life is not to live, but to be well. - ELPHINSTON. - - -Among the innumerable follies, by which we lay up in our youth repentance -and remorse for the succeeding part of our lives, there is scarce any -against which warnings are of less efficacy, than the neglect of health. -When the springs of motion are yet elastick, when the heart bounds with -vigour, and the eye sparkles with spirit, it is with difficulty that we -are taught to conceive the imbecility that every hour is bringing upon -us, or to imagine that the nerves which are now braced with so much -strength, and the limbs which play with so much activity, will lose all -their power under the gripe of time, relax with numbness, and totter with -debility. - -To the arguments which have been used against complaints under the -miseries of life, the philosophers have, I think, forgot to add the -incredulity of those to whom we recount our sufferings. But if the -purpose of lamentation be to excite pity, it is surely superfluous for -age and weakness to tell their plaintive stories; for pity pre-supposes -sympathy, and a little attention will shew them, that those who do not -feel pain, seldom think that it is felt; and a short recollection will -inform almost every man, that he is only repaid the insult which he has -given, since he may remember how often he has mocked infirmity, laughed -at its cautions, and censured its impatience. - -The valetudinarian race have made the care of health ridiculous by -suffering it to prevail over all other considerations, as the miser has -brought frugality into contempt, by permitting the love of money not to -share, but to engross his mind: they both err alike, by confounding the -means with the end; they grasp at health only to be well, as at money -only to be rich; and forget that every terrestrial advantage is chiefly -valuable, as it furnishes abilities for the exercise of virtue. - -Health is indeed so necessary to all the duties, as well as pleasures of -life, that the crime of squandering it is equal to the folly; and he that -for a short gratification brings weakness and diseases upon himself, and -for the pleasure of a very few years passed in the tumults of diversion, -and clamours of merriment, condemns the maturer and more experienced -part of his life to the chamber and the couch, may be justly reproached, -not only as a spendthrift of his own happiness, but as a robber of the -publick; as a wretch that has voluntarily disqualified himself for the -business of his station, and refused that part which Providence assigns -him in the general task of human nature. - -There are perhaps very few conditions more to be pitied than that of an -active and elevated mind, labouring under the weight of a distempered -body. The time of such a man is always spent in forming schemes, which -a change of wind hinders him from executing, his powers fume away in -projects and in hope, and the day of action never arrives. He lies down -delighted with the thoughts of to-morrow, pleases his ambition with -the fame he shall acquire, or his benevolence with the good he shall -confer. But in the night the skies are overcast, the temper of the air -is changed, he wakes in langour, impatience, and distraction, and has -no longer any wish but for ease, nor any attention but to misery. It -may be said that disease generally begins that equality which death -completes; the distinctions which set one man so much above another are -very little perceived in the gloom of a sick chamber, where it will be -vain to expect entertainment from the gay, or instruction from the wise; -where all human glory is obliterated, the wit is clouded, the reasoner -perplexed, and the hero subdued; where the highest and brightest of -mortal beings finds nothing left him but the consciousness of innocence. - -There is among the fragments of the Greek poets a short Hymn to Health, -in which her power of exalting the happiness of life, of heightening the -gifts of fortune, and adding enjoyment to possession, is inculcated with -so much force and beauty, that no one, who has ever languished under the -discomforts and infirmities of a lingering disease, can read it without -feeling the images dance in his heart, and adding from his own experience -new vigour to the wish, and from his own imagination new colours to -the picture. The particular occasion of this little composition is not -known, but it is probable that the author had been sick, and in the first -raptures of returning vigour addressed Health in the following manner: - - [Greek: Hygieia presbista Makarôn, - Meta sou naioimi - To leipomenon biotas; - Sy de moi prophrôn sunoikos eiês. - Ei gar tis ê ploutou charis ê tekeôn, - Tas eudaimonos t' anthrôpois - Basilêidos archas, ê pothôn, - Ous kryphiois Aphroditês arkysin thêreuomen, - Ê ei tis alla theothen anthrôpois terpsis, - Ê ponôn ampnoa pephantai; - Meta seio, makaira, Hygieia, - Tethêle panta, kai lampei charitôn ear; - Sethen de chôris, oudeis eudaimôn pelei.] - - - Health, most venerable of the powers of heaven! with thee may - the remaining part of my life be passed, nor do thou refuse to - bless me with thy residence. For whatever there is of beauty or - of pleasure in wealth, in descendants, or in sovereign command, - the highest summit of human enjoyment, or in those objects of - desire which we endeavour to chase into the toils of love; whatever - delight, or whatever solace is granted by the celestials, to - soften our fatigues, in thy presence, thou parent of happiness, - all those joys spread out and flourish; in thy presence blooms - the spring of pleasure, and without thee no man is happy. - -Such is the power of health, that without its co-operation every other -comfort is torpid and lifeless as the powers of vegetation without -the sun. And yet this bliss is commonly thrown away in thoughtless -negligence, or in foolish experiments on our own strength; we let it -perish without remembering its value, or waste it to show how much we -have to spare; it is sometimes given up to the management of levity and -chance, and sometimes sold for the applause of jollity and debauchery. - -Health is equally neglected, and with equal impropriety, by the votaries -of business and the followers of pleasure. Some men ruin the fabrick -of their bodies by incessant revels, and others by intemperate studies; -some batter it by excess, and others sap it by inactivity. To the noisy -route of bacchanalian rioters, it will be to little purpose that advice -is offered, though it requires no great abilities to prove, that he loses -pleasure who loses health; their clamours are too loud for the whispers -of caution, and they run the course of life with too much precipitance -to stop at the call of wisdom. Nor perhaps will they that are busied in -adding thousands to thousands, pay much regard to him that shall direct -them to hasten more slowly to their wishes. Yet since lovers of money are -generally cool, deliberate, and thoughtful, they might surely consider, -that the greater good ought not to be sacrificed to the less. Health is -certainly more valuable than money, because it is by health that money -is procured; but thousands and millions are of small avail to alleviate -the protracted tortures of the gout, to repair the broken organs of sense, -or resuscitate the powers of digestion. Poverty is, indeed, an evil from -which we naturally fly; but let us not run from one enemy to another, -nor take shelter in the arms of sickness. - - _----Projecere animam! quàm vellent æthere in alto_ - _Nunc et pauperiem, et duros tolerare labores!_ - - For healthful indigence in vain they pray, - In quest of wealth who throw their lives away. - -Those who lose their health in an irregular and impetuous pursuit of -literary accomplishments are yet less to be excused; for they ought to -know that the body is not forced beyond its strength, but with the loss -of more vigour than is proportionate to the effect produced. Whoever -takes up life beforehand, by depriving himself of rest and refreshment, -must not only pay back the hours, but pay them back with usury: and -for the gain of a few months but half enjoyed, must give up years to -the listlessness of languor, and the implacability of pain. They whose -endeavour is mental excellence, will learn, perhaps too late, how much it -is endangered by diseases of the body, and find that knowledge may easily -be lost in the starts of melancholy, the flights of impatience, and the -peevishness of decrepitude. - - - - -No. 49. TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 4, 1750. - - - _Non omnis moriar; multaque pars mei_ - _Vitabit Libitinam, usque ego posterâ_ - _Crescum lande recens._ - HOR. Lib. iii. Ode xxx. 6. - - Whole Horace shall not die; his songs shall save - The greatest portion from the greedy grave - CREECH. - - -The first motives of human actions are those appetites which Providence -has given to man in common with the rest of the inhabitants of the earth. -Immediately after our birth, thirst and hunger incline us to the breast, -which we draw by instinct, like other young creatures, and when we are -satisfied, we express our uneasiness by importunate and incessant cries, -till we have obtained a place or posture proper for repose. - -The next call that rouses us from a state of inactivity, is that of our -passions; we quickly begin to be sensible of hope and fear, love and -hatred, desire and aversion; these arising from the power of comparison -and reflection, extend their range wider, as our reason strengthens, and -our knowledge enlarges. At first we have no thought of pain, but when -we actually feel it; we afterwards begin to fear it, yet not before it -approaches us very nearly; but by degrees we discover it at a greater -distance, and find it lurking in remote consequences. Our terrour in -time improves into caution, and we learn to look round with vigilance -and solicitude, to stop all the avenues at which misery can enter, and -to perform or endure many things in themselves toilsome and unpleasing, -because we know by reason, or by experience, that our labour will be -overbalanced by the reward, that it will either procure some positive -good, or avert some evil greater than itself. - -But as the soul advances to a fuller exercise of its powers, the animal -appetites, and the passions immediately arising from them, are not -sufficient to find it employment; the wants of nature are soon supplied, -the fear of their return is easily precluded, and something more is -necessary to relieve the long intervals of inactivity, and to give -those faculties, which cannot lie wholly quiescent, some particular -direction. For this reason, new desires and artificial passions are by -degrees produced; and, from having wishes only in consequence of our -wants, we begin to feel wants in consequence of our wishes; we persuade -ourselves to set a value upon things which are of no use, but because -we have agreed to value them; things which can neither satisfy hunger, -nor mitigate pain, nor secure us from any real calamity, and which, -therefore, we find of no esteem among those nations whose artless and -barbarous manners keep them always anxious for the necessaries of life. - -This is the original of avarice, vanity, ambition, and generally of all -those desires which arise from the comparison of our condition with that -of others. He that thinks himself poor because his neighbour is richer; -he that, like Cæsar, would rather be the first man of a village, than -the second in the capital of the world, has apparently kindled in himself -desires which he never received from nature, and acts upon principles -established only by the authority of custom. - -Of these adscititious passions, some, as avarice and envy, are universally -condemned; some, as friendship and curiosity, generally praised; but -there are others about which the suffrages of the wise are divided, and -of which it is doubted, whether they tend most to promote the happiness, -or increase the miseries of mankind. - -Of this ambiguous and disputable kind is the love of fame, a desire of -filling the minds of others with admiration, and of being celebrated by -generations to come with praises which we shall not hear. This ardour -has been considered by some as nothing better than splendid madness, -as a flame kindled by pride, and fanned by folly; for what, say they, -can be more remote from wisdom, than to direct all our actions by the -hope of that which is not to exist till we ourselves are in the grave? -To pant after that which can never be possessed, and of which the value -thus wildly put upon it, arises from this particular condition, that, -during life, it is not to be obtained? To gain the favour, and hear the -applauses of our contemporaries, is indeed equally desirable with any -other prerogative of superiority, because fame may be of use to smooth -the paths of life, to terrify opposition, and fortify tranquillity; but -to what end shall we be the darlings of mankind, when we can no longer -receive any benefits from their favour? It is more reasonable to wish -for reputation, while it may yet be enjoyed, as Anacreon calls upon his -companions to give him for present use the wine and garlands which they -purpose to bestow upon his tomb. - -The advocates for the love of fame allege in its vindication, that it -is a passion natural and universal; a flame lighted by Heaven, and -always burning with greatest vigour in the most enlarged and elevated -minds. That the desire of being praised by posterity implies a resolution -to deserve their praises, and that the folly charged upon it, is only a -noble and disinterested generosity, which is not felt, and therefore not -understood, by those who have been always accustomed to refer every thing -to themselves, and whose selfishness has contracted their understandings. -That the soul of man, formed for eternal life, naturally springs forward -beyond the limits of corporeal existence, and rejoices to consider -herself as co-operating with future ages, and as co-extended with endless -duration. That the reproach urged with so much petulance, the reproach -of labouring for what cannot be enjoyed, is founded on an opinion which -may with great probability be doubted; for since we suppose the powers -of the soul to be enlarged by its separation, why should we conclude that -its knowledge of sublunary transactions is contracted or extinguished? - -Upon an attentive and impartial review of the argument, it will appear that -the love of fame is to be regulated rather than extinguished: and that -men should be taught not to be wholly careless about their memory, but to -endeavour that they may be remembered chiefly for their virtues, since no -other reputation will be able to transmit any pleasure beyond the grave. - -It is evident that fame, considered merely as the immortality of a name, -is not less likely to be the reward of bad actions than of good; he -therefore has no certain principle for the regulation of his conduct, -whose single aim is not to be forgotten. And history will inform us, -that this blind and undistinguishing appetite of renown has always -been uncertain in its effects, and directed by accident or opportunity, -indifferently to the benefit or devastation of the world. When -Themistocles complained that the trophies of Miltiades hindered him from -sleep, he was animated by them to perform the same services in the same -cause. But Cæsar, when he wept at the sight of Alexander's picture, having -no honest opportunities of action, let his ambition break out to the -ruin of his country. - -If, therefore, the love of fame is so far indulged by the mind as to -become independent and predominant, it is dangerous and irregular; but -it may be usefully employed as an inferior and secondary motive, and will -serve sometimes to revive our activity, when we begin to languish and -lose sight of that more certain, more valuable, and more durable reward, -which ought always to be our first hope and our last. But it must be -strongly impressed upon our minds that virtue is not to be pursued as -one of the means to fame, but fame to be accepted as the only recompence -which mortals can bestow on virtue; to be accepted with complacence, but -not sought with eagerness. Simply to be remembered is no advantage; it -is a privilege which satire as well as penegyrick can confer, and is not -more enjoyed by Titus or Constantine, than by Timocreon of Rhodes, of -whom we only know from his epitaph, _that he had eaten many a meal, drunk -many a flaggon, and uttered many a reproach_. - - [Greek: Polla phagôn, kai polla piôn, kai polla kak' eipôn - Anthrôpous, keimai Timokreôn Rhodios.] - -The true satisfaction which is to be drawn from the consciousness that we -shall share the attention of future times, must arise from the hope, that -with our name, our virtues will be propagated; and that those whom we -cannot benefit in our lives, may receive instruction from our examples, -and incitement from our renown. - - - - -No. 50. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 8, 1750. - - - _Credebant hoc grande nefas, et morte piandum,_ - _Si juvenis vetulo non assurrexerat, atque_ - _Barbato cuicunque puer, licet ipse videret_ - _Plura domi fraga, et majores glandis acervos._ - JUV. Sat. xiii. 54. - - And had not men the hoary head rever'd, - And boys paid rev'rence when a man appear'd, - Both must have died, though richer skins they wore, - And saw more heaps of acorns in their store - CREECH. - - -I have always thought it the business of those who turn their speculations -upon the living world, to commend the virtues, as well as to expose the -faults of their contemporaries, and to confute a false as well as to -support a just accusation; not only because it is peculiarly the business -of a monitor to keep his own reputation untainted, lest those who can -once charge him with partiality, should indulge themselves afterwards -in disbelieving him at pleasure; but because he may find real crimes -sufficient to give full employment to caution or repentance, without -distracting the mind by needless scruples and vain solicitudes. - -There are certain fixed and stated reproaches that one part of mankind -has in all ages thrown upon another, which are regularly transmitted -through continued successions, and which he that has once suffered them -is certain to use with the same undistinguishing vehemence, when he has -changed his station, and gained the prescriptive right of inflicting on -others what he had formerly endured himself. - -To these hereditary imputations, of which no man sees the justice, till it -becomes his interest to see it, very little regard is to be shewn; since -it does not appear that they are produced by ratiocination or inquiry, but -received implicitly, or caught by a kind of instantaneous contagion, and -supported rather by willingness to credit, than ability to prove, them. - -It has been always the practice of those who are desirous to believe -themselves made venerable by length of time, to censure the new comers -into life, for want of respect to grey hairs and sage experience, for -heady confidence in their own understandings, for hasty conclusions -upon partial views, for disregard of counsels, which their fathers and -grandsires are ready to afford them, and a rebellious impatience of that -subordination to which youth is condemned by nature, as necessary to -its security from evils into which it would be otherwise precipitated, -by the rashness of passion, and the blindness of ignorance. - -Every old man complains of the growing depravity of the world, of the -petulance and insolence of the rising generation. He recounts the -decency and regularity of former times, and celebrates the discipline and -sobriety of the age in which his youth was passed; a happy age, which is -now no more to be expected, since confusion has broken in upon the world, -and thrown down all the boundaries of civility and reverence. - -It is not sufficiently considered how much he assumes who dares to claim -the privilege of complaining; for as every man has, in his own opinion, -a full share of the miseries of life, he is inclined to consider all -clamorous uneasiness, as a proof of impatience rather than of affliction, -and to ask, what merit has this man to show, by which he has acquired a -right to repine at the distributions of nature? Or, why does he imagine -that exemptions should be granted him from the general condition of man? -We find ourselves excited rather to captiousness than pity, and instead -of being in haste to soothe his complaints by sympathy and tenderness, -we enquire, whether the pain be proportionate to the lamentation; and -whether, supposing the affliction real, it is not the effect of vice and -folly, rather than calamity. - -The querulousness and indignation which is observed so often to disfigure -the last scene of life, naturally leads us to enquiries like these. For -surely it will be thought at the first view of things, that if age be -thus contemned and ridiculed, insulted and neglected, the crime must -at least be equal on either part. They who have had opportunities of -establishing their authority over minds ductile and unresisting, they -who have been the protectors of helplessness, and the instructors of -ignorance, and who yet retain in their own hands the power of wealth, -and the dignity of command, must defeat their influence by their own -misconduct, and make use of all these advantages with very little skill, -if they cannot secure to themselves an appearance of respect, and ward -off open mockery, and declared contempt. - -The general story of mankind will evince, that lawful and settled -authority is very seldom resisted when it is well employed. Gross -corruption, or evident imbecility, is necessary to the suppression -of that reverence with which the majority of mankind look upon their -governors, and on those whom they see surrounded by splendour, and -fortified by power. For though men are drawn by their passions into -forgetfulness of invisible rewards and punishments, yet they are easily -kept obedient to those who have temporal dominion in their hands, till -their veneration is dissipated by such wickedness and folly as can -neither be defended nor concealed. - -It may, therefore, very reasonably be suspected that the old draw upon -themselves the greatest part of those insults which they so much lament, -and that age is rarely despised but when it is contemptible. If men -imagine that excess of debauchery can be made reverend by time, that -knowledge is the consequence of long life, however idly or thoughtlessly -employed, that priority of birth will supply the want of steadiness or -honesty, can it raise much wonder that their hopes are disappointed, and -that they see their posterity rather willing to trust their own eyes in -their progress into life, than enlist themselves under guides who have -lost their way? - -There are, indeed, many truths which time necessarily and certainly -teaches, and which might, by those who have learned them from experience, -be communicated to their successors at a cheaper rate: but dictates, -though liberally enough bestowed, are generally without effect, the -teacher gains few proselytes by instruction which his own behaviour -contradicts; and young men miss the benefit of counsel, because they are -not very ready to believe that those who fell below them in practice, can -much excel them in theory. Thus the progress of knowledge is retarded, -the world is kept long in the same state, and every new race is to -gain the prudence of their predecessors by committing and redressing -the same miscarriages. - -To secure to the old that influence which they are willing to claim, and -which might so much contribute to the improvement of the arts of life, -it is absolutely necessary that they give themselves up to the duties -of declining years; and contentedly resign to youth its levity, its -pleasures, its frolicks, and its fopperies. It is a hopeless endeavour -to unite the contrarieties of spring and winter; it is unjust to claim -the privileges of age, and retain the playthings of childhood. The young -always form magnificent ideas of the wisdom and gravity of men, whom they -consider as placed at a distance from them in the ranks of existence, and -naturally look on those whom they find trifling with long beards, with -contempt and indignation, like that which women feel at the effeminacy -of men. If dotards will contend with boys in those performances in -which boys must always excel them; if they will dress crippled limbs -in embroidery, endeavour at gaiety with faultering voices, and darken -assemblies of pleasure with the ghastliness of disease, they may well -expect those who find their diversions obstructed will hoot them away; -and that if they descend to competition with youth, they must bear the -insolence of successful rivals. - - _Lusisti satis, edisti satis atque bibisti:_ - _Tempus abire tibi est._ - - You've had your share of mirth, of meat and drink; - 'Tis time to quit the scene--'tis time to think. - ELPHINSTON. - -Another vice of age, by which the rising generation may be alienated -from it, is severity and censoriousness, that gives no allowance to -the failings of early life, that expects artfulness from childhood, and -constancy from youth, that is peremptory in every command, and inexorable -to every failure. There are many who live merely to hinder happiness, and -whose descendants can only tell of long life, that it produces suspicion, -malignity, peevishness, and persecution: and yet even these tyrants can -talk of the ingratitude of the age, curse their heirs for impatience, -and wonder that young men cannot take pleasure in their father's company. - -He that would pass the latter part of life with honour and decency, must, -when he is young, consider that he shall one day be old; and remember, -when he is old, that he has once been young. In youth, he must lay up -knowledge for his support, when his powers of acting shall forsake him; -and in age forbear to animadvert with rigour on faults which experience -only can correct. - - - - -No. 51. TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 11, 1750. - - - _----Stultus labor est ineptiarum._ - MART. Lib. ii. Ep. lxxxvi. 10. - - How foolish is the toil of trifling cares! - ELPHINSTON. - - -TO THE RAMBLER. - -SIR, - -As you have allowed a place in your paper to Euphelia's letters from -the country, and appear to think no form of human life unworthy of -your attention, I have resolved, after many struggles with idleness and -diffidence, to give you some account of my entertainment in this sober -season of universal retreat, and to describe to you the employments of -those who look with contempt on the pleasures and diversions of polite -life, and employ all their powers of censure and invective upon the -uselessness, vanity, and folly, of dress, visits, and conversation. - -When a tiresome and vexatious journey of four days had brought me to the -house, where invitation, regularly sent for seven years together, had at -last induced me to pass the summer, I was surprised, after the civilities -of my first reception, to find, instead of the leisure and tranquillity, -which a rural life always promises, and, if well conducted, might always -afford, a confused wildness of care, and a tumultuous hurry of diligence, -by which every face was clouded, and every motion agitated. The old lady, -who was my father's relation, was, indeed, very full of the happiness -which she received from my visit, and, according to the forms of obsolete -breeding, insisted that I should recompense the long delay of my company -with a promise not to leave her till winter. But, amidst all her kindness -and caresses, she very frequently turned her head aside, and whispered, -with anxious earnestness, some order to her daughters, which never failed -to send them out with unpolite precipitation. Sometimes her impatience -would not suffer her to stay behind; she begged my pardon, she must -leave me for a moment; she went, and returned and sat down again, but -was again disturbed by some new care, dismissed her daughters with the -same trepidation, and followed them with the same countenance of business -and solicitude. - -However I was alarmed at this show of eagerness and disturbance, and -however my curiosity was excited by such busy preparations as naturally -promised some great event, I was yet too much a stranger to gratify myself -with enquiries; but finding none of the family in mourning, I pleased -myself with imagining that I should rather see a wedding than a funeral. - -At last we sat down to supper, when I was informed that one of the young -ladies, after whom I thought myself obliged to enquire, was under a -necessity of attending some affair that could not be neglected. Soon -afterward my relation began to talk of the regularity of her family, and -the inconvenience of London hours; and at last let me know that they had -purposed that night to go to bed sooner than was usual, because they were -to rise early in the morning to make cheesecakes. This hint sent me to my -chamber, to which I was accompanied by all the ladies, who begged me to -excuse some large sieves of leaves and flowers that covered two-thirds -of the floor, for they intended to distil them when they were dry, -and they had no other room that so conveniently received the rising sun. - -The scent of the plants hindered me from rest, and therefore I rose early -in the morning with a resolution to explore my new habitation. I stole -unperceived by my busy cousins into the garden, where I found nothing -either more great or elegant, than in the same number of acres cultivated -for the market. Of the gardener I soon learned that his lady was the -greatest manager in that part of the country, and that I was come hither -at the time in which I might learn to make more pickles and conserves, -than could be seen at any house a hundred miles round. - -It was not long before her ladyship gave me sufficient opportunities -of knowing her character, for she was too much pleased with her own -accomplishments to conceal them, and took occasion, from some sweetmeats -which she set next day upon the table, to discourse for two long -hours upon robs and jellies; laid down the best methods of conserving, -reserving, and preserving all sorts of fruit; told us with great contempt -of the London lady in the neighbourhood, by whom these terms were very -often confounded; and hinted how much she should be ashamed to set before -company, at her own house, sweetmeats of so dark a colour as she had -often seen at mistress Sprightly's. - -It is, indeed, the great business of her life, to watch the skillet on -the fire, to see it simmer with the due degree of heat, and to snatch -it off at the moment of projection; and the employments to which she has -bred her daughters, are to turn rose-leaves in the shade, to pick out the -seeds of currants with a quill, to gather fruit without brusing it, and -to extract bean-flower water for the skin. Such are the tasks with which -every day, since I came hither, has begun and ended, to which the early -hours of life are sacrificed, and in which that time is passing away -which never shall return. - -But to reason or expostulate are hopeless attempts. The lady has settled -her opinions, and maintains the dignity of her own performances with all -the firmness of stupidity accustomed to be flattered. Her daughters, -having never seen any house but their own, believe their mother's -excellence on her own word. Her husband is a mere sportsman, who is -pleased to see his table well furnished, and thinks the day sufficiently -successful, in which he brings home a leash of hares to be potted by -his wife. - -After a few days I pretended to want books, but my lady soon told me that -none of her books would suit my taste; for her part she never loved to -see young women give their minds to such follies, by which they would -only learn to use hard words; she bred up her daughters to understand -a house, and whoever should marry them, if they knew any thing of good -cookery, would never repent it. - -There are, however, some things in the culinary sciences too sublime for -youthful intellects, mysteries into which they must not be initiated -till the years of serious maturity, and which are referred to the day of -marriage, as the supreme qualification for connubial life. She makes an -orange pudding, which is the envy of all the neighbourhood, and which she -has hitherto found means of mixing and baking with such secrecy, that the -ingredient to which it owes its flavour has never been discovered. She, -indeed, conducts this great affair with all the caution that human policy -can suggest. It is never known before-hand when this pudding will be -produced; she takes the ingredient privately into her own closet, employs -her maids and daughters in different parts of the house, orders the oven -to be heated for a pie, and places the pudding in it with her own hands, -the mouth of the oven is then stopped, and all enquiries are vain. - -The composition of the pudding she has, however, promised Clarinda, that -if she pleases her in marriage, she shall be told without reserve. But -the art of making English capers she has not yet persuaded herself to -discover, but seems resolved that secret shall perish with her, as some -alchymists have obstinately suppressed the art of transmuting metals. - -I once ventured to lay my fingers on her book of receipts, which she -left upon the table, having intelligence that a vessel of gooseberry -wine had burst the hoops. But though the importance of the event -sufficiently engrossed her care, to prevent any recollection of the -danger to which her secrets were exposed, I was not able to make use of -the golden moments; for this treasure of hereditary knowledge was so well -concealed by the manner of spelling used by her grandmother, her mother, -and herself, that I was totally unable to understand it, and lost the -opportunity of consulting the oracle, for want of knowing the language -in which its answers were returned. - -It is, indeed, necessary, if I have any regard to her ladyship's esteem, -that I should apply myself to some of these economical accomplishments; -for I overheard her, two days ago, warning her daughters, by my mournful -example, against negligence of pastry, and ignorance in carving: for you -saw, said she, that, with all her pretensions to knowledge, she turned -the partridge the wrong way when she attempted to cut it, and, I believe, -scarcely knows the difference between paste raised, and paste in a dish. - -The reason, Mr. Rambler, why I have laid Lady Bustle's character before -you, is a desire to be informed whether, in your opinion, it is worthy of -imitation, and whether I shall throw away the books which I have hitherto -thought it my duty to read, for _the lady's closet opened_, _the complete -servant maid_, and _the court cook_, and resign all curiosity after right -and wrong, for the art of scalding damascenes without bursting them, and -preserving the whiteness of pickled mushrooms. - -Lady Bustle has, indeed, by this incessant application to fruits and -flowers, contracted her cares into a narrow space, and set herself free -from many perplexities with which other minds are disturbed. She has no -curiosity after the events of a war, or the fate of heroes in distress; -she can hear, without the least emotion, the ravage of a fire, or -devastations of a storm; her neighbours grow rich or poor, come into -the world or go out of it, without regard, while she is pressing the -jelly-bag, or airing the store-room; but I cannot perceive that she is -more free from disquiets than those whose understandings take a wider -range. Her marigolds, when they are almost cured, are often scattered by -the wind, and the rain sometimes falls upon fruit, when it ought to be -gathered dry. While her artificial wines are fermenting, her whole life -is restlessness and anxiety. Her sweetmeats are not always bright, and -the maid sometimes forgets the just proportions of salt and pepper, when -venison is to be baked. Her conserves mould, her wines sour, and pickles -mother; and, like all the rest of mankind, she is every day mortified -with the defeat of her schemes, and the disappointment of her hopes. - -With regard to vice and virtue she seems a kind of neutral being. She has -no crime but luxury, nor any virtue but chastity; she has no desire to be -praised but for her cookery; nor wishes any ill to the rest of mankind, -but that whenever they aspire to a feast, their custards may be wheyish, -and their pie-crusts tough. - -I am now very impatient to know whether I am to look on these ladies as -the great patterns of our sex, and to consider conserves and pickles as -the business of my life; whether the censures which I now suffer be just, -and whether the brewers of wines, and the distillers of washes, have a -right to look with insolence on the weakness of - - CORNELIA. - - - - -No. 52. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 15, 1750. - - - _----Quoties flenti Theseius heros_ - _Siste modum, dixit, neque enim fortuna querenda_ - _Sola tua est, similes aliorum respice casus,_ - _Mitius ista feres._ - OVID, Met. xv. 492. - - How oft in vain the son of Theseus said, - The stormy sorrows be with patience laid; - Nor are thy fortunes to be wept alone; - Weigh others' woes, and learn to bear thy own. - CATCOTT. - - -Among the various methods of consolation, to which the miseries -inseparable from our present state have given occasion, it has been, as I -have already remarked, recommended by some writers to put the sufferer in -mind of heavier pressures, and more excruciating calamities, than those -of which he has himself reason to complain. - -This has, in all ages, been directed and practised; and, in conformity to -this custom, Lipsius, the great modern master of the Stoick philosophy, -has, in his celebrated treatise on _Steadiness of Mind_, endeavoured -to fortify the breast against too much sensibility of misfortune, by -enumerating the evils which have in former ages fallen upon the world, -the devastation of wide-extended regions, the sack of cities, and -massacre of nations. And the common voice of the multitude, uninstructed -by precept, and unprejudiced by authority, which, in questions that -relate to the heart of man, is, in my opinion, more decisive than the -learning of Lipsius, seems to justify the efficacy of this procedure; for -one of the first comforts which one neighbour administers to another, is -a relation of the like infelicity, combined with circumstances of greater -bitterness. - -But this medicine of the mind is like many remedies applied to the body, -of which, though we see the effects, we are unacquainted with the manner -of operation, and of which, therefore, some, who are unwilling to suppose -any thing out of the reach of their own sagacity, have been inclined -to doubt whether they have really those virtues for which they are -celebrated, and whether their reputation is not the mere gift of fancy, -prejudice, and credulity. - -Consolation, or comfort, are words which, in their proper acceptation, -signify some alleviation of that pain to which it is not in our power to -afford the proper and adequate remedy; they imply rather an augmentation -of the power of bearing, than a diminution of the burthen. A prisoner -is relieved by him that sets him at liberty, but receives comfort from -such as suggest considerations by which he is made patient under the -inconvenience of confinement. To that grief which arises from a great -loss, he only brings the true remedy, who makes his friend's condition -the same as before; but he may be properly termed a comforter, who by -persuasion extenuates the pain of poverty, and shews, in the style of -Hesiod, that _half is more than the whole_. - -It is, perhaps, not immediately obvious, how it can lull the memory of -misfortune, or appease the throbbings of anguish, to hear that others -are more miserable; others, perhaps, unknown or wholly indifferent, whose -prosperity raises no envy, and whose fall can gratify no resentment. -Some topicks of comfort arising, like that which gave hope and spirit -to the captive of Sesostris, from the perpetual vicissitudes of life, -and mutability of human affairs, may as properly raise the dejected -as depress the proud, and have an immediate tendency to exhilarate and -revive. But how can it avail the man who languishes in the gloom of -sorrow, without prospect of emerging into the sunshine of cheerfulness, -to hear that others are sunk yet deeper in the dungeon of misery, -shackled with heavier chains, and surrounded with darker desperation? - -The solace arising from this consideration seems indeed the weakest of -all others, and is perhaps never properly applied, but in cases where -there is no place for reflections of more speedy and pleasing efficacy. -But even from such calamities life is by no means free; a thousand -ills incurable, a thousand losses irreparable, a thousand difficulties -insurmountable are known, or will be known, by all the sons of men. Native -deformity cannot be rectified, a dead friend cannot return, and the hours -of youth trifled away in folly, or lost in sickness, cannot be restored. - -Under the oppression of such melancholy, it has been found useful to take -a survey of the world, to contemplate the various scenes of distress -in which mankind are struggling round us, and acquaint ourselves with -the _terribiles visit formæ_, the various shapes of misery, which -make havock of terrestrial happiness, range all corners almost without -restraint, trample down our hopes at the hour of harvest, and, when we -have built our schemes to the top, ruin their foundations. - -The first effect of this meditation is, that it furnishes a new employment -for the mind, and engages the passions on remoter objects; as kings have -sometimes freed themselves from a subject too haughty to be governed and -too powerful to be crushed, by posting him in a distant province, till -his popularity has subsided, or his pride been repressed. The attention -is dissipated by variety, and acts more weakly upon any single part, as -that torrent may be drawn off to different channels, which, pouring down -in one collected body, cannot be resisted. This species of comfort is, -therefore, unavailing in severe paroxysms of corporal pain, when the mind -is every instant called back to misery, and in the first shock of any -sudden evil; but will certainly be of use against encroaching melancholy, -and a settled habit of gloomy thoughts. - -It is further advantageous, as it supplies us with opportunities of making -comparisons in our own favour. We know that very little of the pain, -or pleasure, which does not begin and end in our senses, is otherwise -than relative; we are rich or poor, great or little, in proportion to -the number that excel us, or fall beneath us, in any of these respects; -and therefore, a man, whose uneasiness arises from reflection on any -misfortune that throws him below those with whom he was once equal, is -comforted by finding that he is not yet the lowest. - -There is another kind of comparison, less tending towards the vice of -envy, very well illustrated by an old poet[45], whose system will not -afford many reasonable motives to content. "It is," says he, "pleasing to -look from shore upon the tumults of a storm, and to see a ship struggling -with the billows; it is pleasing, not because the pain of another can give -us delight, but because we have a stronger impression of the happiness -of safety." Thus, when we look abroad, and behold the multitudes that -are groaning under evils heavier than those which we have experienced, -we shrink back to our own state, and instead of repining that so much -must be felt, learn to rejoice that we have not more to feel. - -By this observation of the miseries of others, fortitude is strengthened, -and the mind brought to a more extensive knowledge of her own powers. As -the heroes of action catch the flame from one another, so they to whom -Providence has allotted the harder task of suffering with calmness and -dignity, may animate themselves by the remembrance of those evils which -have been laid on others, perhaps naturally as weak as themselves, and -bear up with vigour and resolution against their own oppressions, when -they see it possible that more severe afflictions may be borne. - -There is still another reason why, to many minds, the relation of other -men's infelicity may give a lasting and continual relief. Some, not well -instructed in the measures by which Providence distributes happiness, are -perhaps misled by divines, who, as Bellarmine makes temporal prosperity -one of the characters of the true church, have represented wealth and -ease as the certain concomitants of virtue, and the unfailing result of -the divine approbation. Such sufferers are dejected in their misfortunes, -not so much for what they feel, as for what they dread; not because -they cannot support the sorrows, or endure the wants, of their present -condition, but because they consider them as only the beginnings of -more sharp and more lasting pains. To these mourners it is an act of the -highest charity to represent the calamities which not only virtue has -suffered, but virtue has incurred; to inform them that one evidence of -a future state, is the uncertainty of any present reward for goodness; -and to remind them, from the highest authority, of the distresses and -penury of men of whom the world was not worthy. - -[Footnote 45: Lucretius.] - - - - -No. 53. TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 18, 1750. - - - [Greek: Pheideo tôn kteanôn.] - _Epigram. Vet._ - - Husband thy possessions. - - -There is scarcely among the evils of human life any so generally dreaded -as poverty. Every other species of misery, those, who are not much -accustomed to disturb the present moment with reflection, can easily -forget, because it is not always forced upon their regard; but it is -impossible to pass a day or an hour in the confluxes of men, without -seeing how much indigence is exposed to contumely, neglect, and insult; -and, in its lowest state, to hunger and nakedness; to injuries against -which every passion is in arms, and to wants which nature cannot sustain. - -Against other evils the heart is often hardened by true or by false notions -of dignity and reputation: thus we see dangers of every kind faced with -willingness, because bravery in a good or bad cause is never without its -encomiasts and admirers. But in the prospect of poverty, there is nothing -but gloom and melancholy; the mind and body suffer together; its miseries -bring no alleviations; it is a state in which every virtue is obscured, -and in which no conduct can avoid reproach: a state in which cheerfulness -is insensibility, and dejection sullenness, of which the hardships are -without honour, and the labours without reward. - -Of these calamities there seems not to be wanting a general conviction; we -hear on every side the noise of trade, and see the streets thronged with -numberless multitudes, whose faces are clouded with anxiety, and whose -steps are hurried by precipitation, from no other motive than the hope -of gain; and the whole world is put in motion, by the desire of that -wealth which is chiefly to be valued as it secures us from poverty; -for it is more useful for defence than acquisition, and is not so much -able to procure good as to exclude evil. - -Yet there are always some whose passions or follies lead them to a conduct -opposite to the general maxims and practice of mankind; some who seem -to rush upon poverty with the same eagerness with which others avoid -it, who see their revenues hourly lessened, and the estates which they -inherit from their ancestors mouldering away, without resolution to -change their course of life; who persevere against all remonstrances, and -go forward with full career, though they see before them the precipice -of destruction. - -It is not my purpose in this paper, to expostulate with such as ruin -their fortunes by expensive schemes of buildings and gardens, which they -carry on with the same vanity that prompted them to begin, choosing, -as it happens in a thousand other cases, the remote evil before the -lighter, and deferring the shame of repentance till they incur the -miseries of distress. Those for whom I intend my present admonitions, -are the thoughtless, the negligent, and the dissolute, who having, by -the vitiousness of their own inclinations, or the seducements of alluring -companions, been engaged in habits of expense, and accustomed to move -in a certain round of pleasures disproportioned to their condition, are -without power to extricate themselves from the enchantments of custom, -avoid thought because they know it will be painful, and continue from day -to day, and from month to month, to anticipate their revenues, and sink -every hour deeper into the gulfs of usury and extortion. - -This folly has less claim to pity, because it cannot be imputed to the -vehemence of sudden passion; nor can the mischief which it produces be -extenuated as the effect of any single act, which rage, or desire, might -execute before there could be time for an appeal to reason. These men are -advancing towards misery by soft approaches, and destroying themselves, -not by the violence of a blow, which, when once given, can never be -recalled, but by a slow poison, hourly repeated, and obstinately continued. - -This conduct is so absurd when it is examined by the unprejudiced eye -of rational judgment, that nothing but experience could evince its -possibility; yet, absurd as it is, the sudden fall of some families, and -the sudden rise of others, prove it to be common, and every year sees -many wretches reduced to contempt and want, by their costly sacrifices to -pleasure and vanity. - -It is the fate of almost every passion, when it has passed the bounds -which nature prescribes, to counteract its own purpose. Too much rage -hinders the warriour from circumspection, too much eagerness of profit -hurts the credit of the trader, too much ardour takes away from the lover -that easiness of address with which ladies are delighted. - -Thus extravagance, though dictated by vanity, and incited by -voluptuousness, seldom procures ultimately either applause or pleasure. - -If praise be justly estimated by the character of those from whom it -is received, little satisfaction will be given to the spendthrift by -the encomiums which he purchases. For who are they that animate him in -his pursuits, but young men, thoughtless and abandoned like himself, -unacquainted with all on which the wisdom of nations has impressed the -stamp of excellence, and devoid alike of knowledge and of virtue? By whom -is his profusion praised, but by wretches who consider him as subservient -to their purposes, Sirens that entice him to shipwreck, and Cyclops that -are gaping to devour him. - -Every man, whose knowledge or whose virtue can give value to his opinion, -looks with scorn, or pity, neither of which can afford much gratification -to pride, on him whom the panders of luxury have drawn into the circle -of their influence, and whom he sees parcelled out among the different -ministers of folly, and about to be torn to pieces by tailors and -jockeys, vintners and attorneys, who at once rob and ridicule him, and -who are secretly triumphing over his weakness, when they present new -incitements to his appetite, and heighten his desires by counterfeited -applause. - -Such is the praise that is purchased by prodigality. Even when it is -yet not discovered to be false, it is the praise only of those whom -it is reproachful to please, and whose sincerity is corrupted by their -interest; men who live by the riots which they encourage, and who know -that whenever their pupil grows wise, they shall loose their power. Yet -with such flatteries, if they could last, might the cravings of vanity, -which is seldom very delicate, be satisfied; but the time is always -hastening forward when this triumph, poor as it is, shall vanish, and -when those who now surround him with obsequiousness and compliments, -fawn among his equipage, and animate his riots, shall turn upon him with -insolence, and reproach him with the vices promoted by themselves. - -And as little pretensions has the man who squanders his estate, by vain -or vicious expenses, to greater degrees of pleasure than are obtained by -others. To make any happiness sincere, it is necessary that we believe it -to be lasting; since whatever we suppose ourselves in danger of losing, -must be enjoyed with solicitude and uneasiness, and the more value we set -upon it, the more must the present possession be imbittered. How can he -then be envied for his felicity, who knows that its continuance cannot be -expected, and who is conscious that a very short time will give him up to -the gripe of poverty, which will be harder to be borne, as he has given -way to more excesses, wantoned in greater abundance, and indulged his -appetites with more profuseness? - -It appears evident that frugality is necessary even to complete the -pleasure of expense; for it may be generally remarked of those who -squander what they know their fortune not sufficient to allow, that -in their most jovial expense, there always breaks out some proof of -discontent and impatience; they either scatter with a kind of wild -desperation, and affected lavishness, as criminals brave the gallows -when they cannot escape it, or pay their money with a peevish anxiety, -and endeavour at once to spend idly, and to save meanly: having neither -firmness to deny their passions, nor courage to gratify them, they murmur -at their own enjoyments, and poison the bowl of pleasure by reflection -on the cost. - -Among these men there is often the vociferation of merriment, but very -seldom the tranquillity of cheerfulness; they inflame their imaginations -to a kind of momentary jollity, by the help of wine and riot, and -consider it as the first business of the night to stupify recollection, -and lay that reason asleep which disturbs their gaiety, and calls upon -them to retreat from ruin. - -But this poor broken satisfaction is of short continuance, and must -be expiated by a long series of misery and regret. In a short time -the creditor grows impatient, the last acre is sold, the passions and -appetites still continue their tyranny, with incessant calls for their -usual gratifications, and the remainder of life passes away in vain -repentance, or impotent desire. - - - - -No. 54. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 22, 1750. - - - _Truditur dies die,_ - _Novteque pergunt interire Lunæ._ - _Tu secanda marmora_ - _Locas sub ipsum funus, et sepulchri_ - _Immemor struis domos._ - HOR. Lib. ii. Ode xviii. 15. - - Day presses on the heels of day, - And moons increase to their decay; - But you, with thoughtless pride elate, - Unconscious of impending fate, - Command the pillar'd dome to rise, - When lo! thy tomb forgotten lies. - FRANCIS. - - -TO THE RAMBLER. - -SIR, - -I have lately been called, from a mingled life of business and amusement, -to attend the last hours of an old friend; an office which has filled me, -if not with melancholy, at least with serious reflections, and turned my -thoughts towards the contemplation of those subjects, which though of the -utmost importance, and of indubitable certainty, are generally secluded -from our regard, by the jollity of health, the hurry of employment, and -even by the calmer diversions of study and speculation; or if they become -accidental topicks of conversation and argument, yet rarely sink deep -into the heart, but give occasion only to some subtilties of reasoning, -or elegancies of declamation, which are heard, applauded, and forgotten. - -It is, indeed, not hard to conceive how a man accustomed to extend his -views through a long concatenation of causes and effects, to trace -things from their origin to their period, and compare means with ends, -may discover the weakness of human schemes; detect the fallacies by -which mortals are deluded; shew the insufficiency of wealth, honours, -and power, to real happiness; and please himself, and his auditors, with -learned lectures on the vanity of life. - -But though the speculatist may see and shew the folly of terrestrial -hopes, fears, and desires, every hour will give proofs that he never felt -it. Trace him through the day or year, and you will find him acting upon -principles which he has in common with the illiterate and unenlightened, -angry and pleased like the lowest of the vulgar, pursuing, with the same -ardour, the same designs, grasping, with all the eagerness of transport, -those riches which he knows he cannot keep, and swelling with the -applause which he has gained by proving that applause is of no value. - -The only conviction that rushes upon the soul, and takes away from our -appetites and passions the power of resistance, is to be found, where -I have received it, at the bed of a dying friend. To enter this school -of wisdom is not the peculiar privilege of geometricians; the most -sublime and important precepts require no uncommon opportunities, nor -laborious preparations; they are enforced without the aid of eloquence, -and understood without skill in analytick science. Every tongue can utter -them, and every understanding can conceive them. He that wishes in -earnest to obtain just sentiments concerning his condition, and would -be intimately acquainted with the world, may find instructions on every -side. He that desires to enter behind the scene, which every art has been -employed to decorate, and every passion labours to illuminate, and wishes -to see life stripped of those ornaments which make it glitter on the -stage, and exposed in its natural meanness, impotence, and nakedness, may -find all the delusion laid open in the chamber of disease: he will there -find vanity divested of her robes, power deprived of her sceptre, and -hypocrisy without her mask. - -The friend whom I have lost was a man eminent for genius, and, like others -of the same class, sufficiently pleased with acceptance and applause. -Being caressed by those who have preferments and riches in their -disposal, he considered himself as in the direct road of advancement, -and had caught the flame of ambition by approaches to its object. But -in the midst of his hopes, his projects, and his gaieties, he was seized -by a lingering disease, which, from its first stage, he knew to be -incurable. Here was an end of all his visions of greatness and happiness; -from the first hour that his health declined, all his former pleasures -grew tasteless. His friends expected to please him by those accounts -of the growth of his reputation, which were formerly certain of being -well received; but they soon found how little he was now affected by -compliments, and how vainly they attempted, by flattery, to exhilarate -the languor of weakness, and relieve the solicitude of approaching -death. Whoever would know how much piety and virtue surpass all external -goods, might here have seen them weighed against each other, where all -that gives motion to the active, and elevation to the eminent, all that -sparkles in the eye of hope, and pants in the bosom of suspicion, at once -became dust in the balance, without weight and without regard. Riches, -authority, and praise, lose all their influence when they are considered -as riches which to-morrow shall be bestowed upon another, authority which -shall this night expire for ever, and praise which, however merited, or -however sincere, shall, after a few moments, be heard no more. - -In those hours of seriousness and wisdom, nothing appeared to raise his -spirits, or gladden his heart, but the recollection of acts of goodness; -nor to excite his attention, but some opportunity for the exercise of -the duties of religion. Every thing that terminated on this side of the -grave was received with coldness and indifference, and regarded rather -in consequence of the habit of valuing it, than from any opinion that -it deserved value; it had little more prevalence over his mind than a -bubble that was now broken, a dream from which he was awake. His whole -powers were engrossed by the consideration of another state, and all -conversation was tedious, that had not some tendency to disengage him -from human affairs, and open his prospects into futurity. - -It is now past, we have closed his eyes, and heard him breathe the groan -of expiration. At the sight of this last conflict, I felt a sensation -never known to me before; a confusion of passions, an awful stillness -of sorrow, a gloomy terrour without a name. The thoughts that entered my -soul were too strong to be diverted, and too piercing to be endured; but -such violence cannot be lasting, the storm subsided in a short time, I -wept, retired, and grew calm. - -I have from that time frequently revolved in my mind, the effects which -the observation of death produces, in those who are not wholly without -the power and use of reflection; for, by far the greater part, it is -wholly unregarded. Their friends and their enemies sink into the grave -without raising any uncommon emotion, or reminding them that they are -themselves on the edge of the precipice, and that they must soon plunge -into a gulf of eternity. - -It seems to me remarkable that death increases our veneration for the -good, and extenuates our hatred of the bad. Those virtues which once -we envied, as Horace observes, because they eclipsed our own, can now -no longer obstruct our reputation, and we have therefore no interest to -suppress their praise. That wickedness, which we feared for its malignity, -is now become impotent, and the man whose name filled us with alarm, and -rage, and indignation, can at last be considered only with pity, or -contempt. - -When a friend is carried to his grave, we at once find excuses for -every weakness, and palliations of every fault; we recollect a thousand -endearments, which before glided off our minds without impression, a -thousand favours unrepaid, a thousand duties unperformed, and wish, -vainly wish, for his return, not so much that we may receive, as that we -may bestow happiness, and recompense that kindness which before we never -understood. - -There is not, perhaps, to a mind well instructed, a more painful -occurrence, than the death of one whom we have injured without -reparation. Our crime seems now irretrievable, it is indelibly recorded, -and the stamp of fate is fixed upon it. We consider, with the most -afflictive anguish, the pain which we have given, and now cannot -alleviate, and the losses which we have caused, and now cannot repair. - -Of the same kind are the emotions which the death of an emulator or -competitor produces. Whoever had qualities to alarm our jealousy, had -excellence to deserve our fondness; and to whatever ardour of opposition -interest may inflame us, no man ever outlived an enemy, whom he did not -then wish to have made a friend. Those who are versed in literary history -know, that the elder Scaliger was the redoubted antagonist of Cardan -and Erasmus; yet at the death of each of his great rivals he relented, -and complained that they were snatched away from him before their -reconciliation was completed: - - _Tu-ne etiam moreris? Ah! quid me linquis, Erasme,_ - _Ante meus quam sit conciliatus amor?_ - - Art thou too fallen? Ere anger could subside - And love return, has great Erasmus died? - -Such are the sentiments with which we finally review the effects of -passion, but which we sometimes delay till we can no longer rectify our -errours. Let us, therefore, make haste to do what we shall certainly at -last wish to have done; let us return the caresses of our friends, and -endeavour by mutual endearments to heighten that tenderness which is -the balm of life. Let us be quick to repent of injuries while repentance -may not be a barren anguish, and let us open our eyes to every rival -excellence, and pay early and willingly those honours which justice will -compel us to pay at last. - - ATHANATUS. - - - - -No. 55. TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 25, 1750. - - - _Maturo propior desine funeri_ - _Inter ludere virgines,_ - _Et stellis nebulam spargere candidis._ - _Non siquid Pholoen satis,_ - _Et te, Chlori, decet._ - HOR. Lib. iii. Ode xv. 4. - - Now near to death that comes but slow, - Now thou art stepping down below; - Sport not amongst the blooming maids, - But think on ghosts and empty shades: - What suits with Pholoe in her bloom, - Grey Chloris, will not thee become; - A bed is different from a tomb. - CREECH. - - -TO THE RAMBLER. - -SIR, - -I have been but a little time conversant in the world, yet I have -already had frequent opportunities of observing the little efficacy of -remonstrance and complaint, which, however extorted by oppression, or -supported by reason, are detested by one part of the world as rebellion, -censured by another as peevishness, by some heard with an appearance -of compassion, only to betray any of those sallies of vehemence and -resentment, which are apt to break out upon encouragement, and by others -passed over with indifference and neglect, as matters in which they have -no concern, and which if they should endeavour to examine or regulate, -they might draw mischief upon themselves. - -Yet since it is no less natural for those who think themselves injured to -complain, than for others to neglect their complaints, I shall venture to -lay my case before you, in hopes that you will enforce my opinion, if you -think it just, or endeavour to rectify my sentiments, if I am mistaken. -I expect at least, that you will divest yourself of partiality, and that -whatever your age or solemnity may be, you will not, with the dotard's -insolence, pronounce me ignorant and foolish, perverse and refractory, -only because you perceive that I am young. - -My father dying when I was but ten years old, left me, and a brother two -years younger than myself, to the care of my mother, a woman of birth -and education, whose prudence or virtue he had no reason to distrust. -She felt, for some time, all the sorrow which nature calls forth, upon -the final separation of persons dear to one another; and as her grief was -exhausted by its own violence, it subsided into tenderness for me and my -brother, and the year of mourning was spent in caresses, consolations, -and instruction, in celebration of my father's virtues, in professions of -perpetual regard to his memory, and hourly instances of such fondness as -gratitude will not easily suffer me to forget. - -But when the term of this mournful felicity was expired, and my mother -appeared again without the ensigns of sorrow, the ladies of her -acquaintance began to tell her, upon whatever motives, that it was time -to live like the rest of the world; a powerful argument, which is seldom -used to a woman without effect. Lady Giddy was incessantly relating -the occurrences of the town, and Mrs. Gravely told her privately, with -great tenderness, that it began to be publickly observed how much she -overacted her part, and that most of her acquaintance suspected her hope -of procuring another husband to be the true ground of all that appearance -of tenderness and piety. - -All the officiousness of kindness and folly was busied to change her -conduct. She was at one time alarmed with censure, and at another fired -with praise. She was told of balls, where others shone only because -she was absent; of new comedies, to which all the town was crowding; -and of many ingenious ironies, by which domestick diligence was made -contemptible. - -It is difficult for virtue to stand alone against fear on one side, and -pleasure on the other; especially when no actual crime is proposed, and -prudence itself can suggest many reasons for relaxation and indulgence. -My mamma was at last persuaded to accompany Miss Giddy to a play. She -was received with a boundless profusion of compliments, and attended -home by a very fine gentleman. Next day she was with less difficulty -prevailed on to play at Mrs. Gravely's, and came home gay and lively; -for the distinctions that had been paid her awakened her vanity, and good -luck had kept her principles of frugality from giving her disturbance. -She now made her second entrance into the world, and her friends were -sufficiently industrious to prevent any return to her former life; every -morning brought messages of invitation, and every evening was passed in -places of diversion, from which she for some time complained that she -had rather be absent. In a short time she began to feel the happiness -of acting without controul, of being unaccountable for her hours, her -expenses, and her company; and learned by degrees to drop an expression -of contempt, or pity, at the mention of ladies whose husbands were -suspected of restraining their pleasures, or their play, and confessed -that she loved to go and come as she pleased. - -I was still favoured with some incidental precepts and transient -endearments, and was now and then fondly kissed for smiling like my -papa: but most part of her morning was spent in comparing the opinion of -her maid and milliner, contriving some variation in her dress, visiting -shops, and sending compliments; and the rest of the day was too short for -visits, cards, plays, and concerts. - -She now began to discover that it was impossible to educate children -properly at home. Parents could not have them always in their sight; the -society of servants was contagious; company produced boldness and spirit; -emulation excited industry; and a large school was naturally the first -step into the open world. A thousand other reasons she alleged, some of -little force in themselves, but so well seconded by pleasure, vanity, and -idleness, that they soon overcame all the remaining principles of kindness -and piety, and both I and my brother were despatched to boarding schools. - -How my mamma spent her time when she was thus disburthened I am not able -to inform you, but I have reason to believe that trifles and amusements -took still faster hold of her heart. At first, she visited me at school, -and afterwards wrote to me; but in a short time, both her visits and her -letters were at an end, and no other notice was taken of me than to remit -money for my support. - -When I came home at the vacation, I found myself coldly received, with an -observation, "that this girl will presently be a woman." I was, after the -usual stay, sent to school again, and overheard my mother say, as I was -a-going, "Well, now I shall recover." - -In six months more I came again, and, with the usual childish alacrity, -was running to my mother's embrace, when she stopt me with exclamations -at the suddenness and enormity of my growth, having, she said, never seen -any body shoot up so much at my age. She was sure no other girls spread -at that rate, and she hated to have children look like women before their -time. I was disconcerted, and retired without hearing any thing more than -"Nay, if you are angry, Madam Steeple, you may walk off." - -When once the forms of civility are violated, there remains little hope -of return to kindness or decency. My mamma made this appearance of -resentment a reason for continuing her malignity; and poor Miss May-pole, -for that was my appellation, was never mentioned or spoken to but, with -some expression of anger or dislike. - -She had yet the pleasure of dressing me like a child, and I know not when -I should have been thought fit to change my habit, had I not been rescued -by a maiden sister of my father, who could not bear to see women in -hanging-sleeves, and therefore presented me with brocade for a gown, for -which I should have thought myself under great obligations, had she not -accompanied her favour with some hints that my mamma might now consider -her age, and give me her ear-rings, which she had shewn long enough in -publick places. - -I now left the school, and came to live with my mamma, who considered me -as an usurper that had seized the rights of a woman before they were due, -and was pushing her down the precipice of age, that I might reign without -a superior. While I am thus beheld with jealousy and suspicion, you will -readily believe that it is difficult to please. Every word and look is an -offence. I never speak, but I pretend to some qualities and excellencies -which it is criminal to possess; if I am gay, she thinks it early enough -to coquette; if I am grave, she hates a prude in bibs; if I venture into -company, I am in haste for a husband; if I retire to my chamber, such -matron-like ladies are lovers of contemplation. I am on one pretence or -other generally excluded from her assemblies, nor am I ever suffered to -visit at the same place with my mamma. Every one wonders why she does -not bring Miss more into the world, and when she comes home in vapours I -am certain that she has heard either of my beauty or my wit, and expect -nothing for the ensuing week but taunts and menaces, contradiction and -reproaches. - -Thus I live in a state of continual persecution, only because I was born -ten years too soon, and cannot stop the course of nature or of time, but -am unhappily a woman before my mother can willingly cease to be a girl. -I believe you would contribute to the happiness of many families, if, by -any arguments or persuasions, you could make mothers ashamed of rivalling -their children; if you could shew them, that though they may refuse to -grow wise, they must inevitably grow old; and that the proper solaces of -age are not musick and compliments, but wisdom and devotion; that those -who are so unwilling to quit the world will soon be driven from it; and -that it is therefore their interest to retire while there yet remain a -few hours for nobler employments. - -I am, &c. - - - - -No. 56. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 29, 1750. - - - _----Valeat res ludicra, si me_ - _Palma negata macrum, donata reducit opimum._ - HOR. Lib. ii. Ep. i. 180. - - Farewell the stage; for humbly I disclaim - Such fond pursuits of pleasure, or of fame, - If I must sink in shame, or swell with pride, - As the gay palm is granted or denied. - FRANCIS. - - -Nothing is more unpleasing than to find that offence has been received -when none was intended, and that pain has been given to those who were -not guilty of any provocation. As the great end of society is mutual -beneficence, a good man is always uneasy when he finds himself acting in -opposition to the purposes of life; because, though his conscience may -easily acquit him of _malice prepense_, of settled hatred or contrivances -of mischief, yet he seldom can be certain, that he has not failed by -negligence, or indolence; that he has not been hindered from consulting -the common interest by too much regard to his own ease, or too much -indifference to the happiness of others. - -Nor is it necessary, that, to feel this uneasiness, the mind should be -extended to any great diffusion of generosity, or melted by uncommon -warmth of benevolence; for that prudence which the world teaches, and a -quick sensibility of private interest, will direct us to shun needless -enmities; since there is no man whose kindness we may not some time want, -or by whose malice we may not some time suffer. - -I have therefore frequently looked with wonder, and now and then with -pity, at the thoughtlessness with which some alienate from themselves -the affections of all whom chance, business, or inclination, brings in -their way. When we see a man pursuing some darling interest, without -much regard to the opinion of the world, we justly consider him as -corrupt and dangerous, but are not long in discovering his motives; we -see him actuated by passions which are hard to be resisted, and deluded -by appearances which have dazzled stronger eyes. But the greater part of -those who set mankind at defiance by hourly irritation, and who live but -to infuse malignity, and multiply enemies, have no hopes to foster, no -designs to promote, nor any expectations of attaining power by insolence, -or of climbing to greatness by trampling on others. They give up all the -sweets of kindness, for the sake of peevishness, petulance, or gloom; and -alienate the world by neglect of the common forms of civility, and breach -of the established laws of conversation. - -Every one must, in the walks of life, have met with men of whom all speak -with censure, though they are not chargeable with any crime, and whom -none can be persuaded to love, though a reason can scarcely be assigned -why they should be hated; and who, if their good qualities and actions -sometimes force a commendation, have their panegyrick always concluded -with confessions of disgust; "he is a good man, but I cannot like him." -Surely such persons have sold the esteem of the world at too low a price, -since they have lost one of the rewards of virtue, without gaining the -profits of wickedness. - -This ill economy of fame is sometimes the effect of stupidity. Men whose -perceptions are languid and sluggish, who lament nothing but loss of -money, and feel nothing but a blow, are often at a difficulty to guess -why they are encompassed with enemies, though they neglect all those arts -by which men are endeared to one another. They comfort themselves that -they have lived irreproachably; that none can charge them with having -endangered his life, or diminished his possessions; and therefore conclude -that they suffer by some invincible fatality, or impute the malice of -their neighbours to ignorance or envy. They wrap themselves up in their -innocence, and enjoy the congratulations of their own hearts, without -knowing or suspecting that they are every day deservedly incurring -resentments, by withholding from those with whom they converse, that -regard, or appearance of regard, to which every one is entitled by the -customs of the world. - -There are many injuries which almost every man feels, though he does not -complain, and which, upon those whom virtue, elegance, or vanity, have -made delicate and tender, fix deep and lasting impressions; as there are -many arts of graciousness and conciliation, which are to be practised -without expense, and by which those may be made our friends, who have -never received from us any real benefit. Such arts, when they include -neither guilt nor meanness, it is surely reasonable to learn, for who -would want that love which is so easily to be gained? And such injuries -are to be avoided; for who would be hated without profit? - -Some, indeed, there are, for whom the excuse of ignorance or negligence -cannot be alleged, because it is apparent that they are not only -careless of pleasing, but studious to offend; that they contrive to make -all approaches to them difficult and vexatious, and imagine that they -aggrandize themselves by wasting the time of others in useless attendance, -by mortifying them with slights, and teazing them with affronts. - -Men of this kind are generally to be found among those that have not -mingled much in general conversation, but spent their lives amidst the -obsequiousness of dependants, and the flattery of parasites; and by long -consulting only their own inclination, have forgotten that others have -claim to the same deference. - -Tyranny thus avowed, is indeed an exuberance of pride, by which all -mankind is so much enraged, that it is never quietly endured, except -in those who can reward the patience which they exact; and insolence is -generally surrounded only by such whose baseness inclines them to think -nothing insupportable that produces gain, and who can laugh at scurrility -and rudeness with a luxurious table and an open purse. - -But though all wanton provocations and contemptuous insolence are to -be diligently avoided, there is no less danger in timid compliance and -tame resignation. It is common for soft and fearful tempers to give -themselves up implicitly to the direction of the bold, the turbulent, -and the overbearing; of those whom they do not believe wiser or better -than themselves; to recede from the best designs where opposition must -be encountered, and to fall off from virtue for fear of censure. - -Some firmness and resolution is necessary to the discharge of duty; but it -is a very unhappy state of life in which the necessity of such struggles -frequently occurs; for no man is defeated without some resentment, which -will be continued with obstinacy while he believes himself in the right, -and exerted with bitterness, if even to his own conviction he is detected -in the wrong. - -Even though no regard be had to the external consequences of contrariety -and dispute, it must be painful to a worthy mind to put others in pain, -and there will be danger lest the kindest nature may be vitiated by too -long a custom of debate and contest. - -I am afraid that I may be taxed with insensibility by many of my -correspondents, who believe their contributions unjustly neglected. -And, indeed, when I sit before a pile of papers, of which each is the -production of laborious study, and the offspring of a fond parent, I, who -know the passions of an author, cannot remember how long they have lain -in my boxes unregarded, without imagining to myself the various changes -of sorrow, impatience, and resentment, which the writers must have felt -in this tedious interval. - -These reflections are still more awakened, when, upon perusal, I find some -of them calling for a place in the next paper, a place which they have -never yet obtained: others writing in a style of superiority and -haughtiness, as secure of deference, and above fear of criticism; others -humbly offering their weak assistance with softness and submission, -which they believe impossible to be resisted; some introducing their -compositions with a menace of the contempt which he that refuses them will -incur; others applying privately to the booksellers for their interest -and solicitation; every one by different ways endeavouring to secure -the bliss of publication. I cannot but consider myself as placed in a -very incommodious situation, where I am forced to repress confidence, -which it is pleasing to indulge, to repay civilities with appearances of -neglect, and so frequently to offend those by whom I never was offended. - -I know well how rarely an author, fired with the beauties of his new -composition, contains his raptures in his own bosom, and how naturally -he imparts to his friends his expectations of renown; and as I can easily -conceive the eagerness with which a new paper is snatched up, by one -who expects to find it filled with his own production, and perhaps has -called his companions to share the pleasure of a second perusal, I grieve -for the disappointment which he is to feel at the fatal inspection. His -hopes, however, do not yet forsake him; he is certain of giving lustre -the next day. The next day comes, and again he pants with expectation, -and having dreamed of laurels and Parnassus, casts his eyes upon the -barren page, with which he is doomed never more to be delighted. - -For such cruelty what atonement can be made? For such calamities what -alleviation can be found? I am afraid that the mischief already done must -be without reparation, and all that deserves my care is prevention for -the future. Let therefore the next friendly contributor, whoever he be, -observe the cautions of Swift, and write secretly in his own chamber, -without communicating his design to his nearest friend, for the nearest -friend will be pleased with an opportunity of laughing. Let him carry -it to the post himself, and wait in silence for the event. If it is -published and praised, he may then declare himself the author; if it be -suppressed, he may wonder in private without much vexation; and if it be -censured, he may join in the cry, and lament the dulness of the writing -generation. - - - - -No. 57. TUESDAY, OCTOBER 2, 1750. - - - _Non intelligunt homines quam magnum vectigal sit parsimonia._ - TULL. Par. vi. - - The world has not yet learned the riches of frugality. - - -TO THE RAMBLER. - -SIR, - -I am always pleased when I see literature made useful, and scholars -descending from that elevation, which, as it raises them above common -life, must likewise hinder them from beholding the ways of men otherwise -than in a cloud of bustle and confusion. Having lived a life of business, -and remarked how seldom any occurrences emerge for which great qualities -are required, I have learned the necessity of regarding little things; -and though I do not pretend to give laws to the legislators of mankind, -or to limit the range of those powerful minds that carry light and heat -through all the regions of knowledge, yet I have long thought, that the -greatest part of those who lose themselves in studies by which I have not -found that they grow much wiser, might, with more advantage both to the -publick and themselves, apply their understandings to domestick arts, and -store their minds with axioms of humble prudence, and private economy. - -Your late paper on frugality was very elegant and pleasing, but, in my -opinion, not sufficiently adapted to common readers, who pay little -regard to the musick of periods, the artifice of connection, or the -arrangement of the flowers of rhetorick; but require a few plain and -cogent instructions, which may sink into the mind by their own weight. - -Frugality is so necessary to the happiness of the world, so beneficial -in its various forms to every rank of men, from the highest of human -potentates, to the lowest labourer or artificer; and the miseries which -the neglect of it produces are so numerous and so grievous, that it -ought to be recommended with every variation of address, and adapted -to every class of understanding. - -Whether those who treat morals as a science will allow frugality to be -numbered among the virtues, I have not thought it necessary to inquire. -For I, who draw my opinions from a careful observation of the world, am -satisfied with knowing what is abundantly sufficient for practice; that -if it be not a virtue, it is, at least, a quality which can seldom exist -without some virtues, and without which few virtues can exist. Frugality -may be termed the daughter of prudence, the sister of temperance, and the -parent of liberty. He that is extravagant will quickly become poor, and -poverty will enforce dependence, and invite corruption; it will almost -always produce a passive compliance with the wickedness of others; and -there are few who do not learn by degrees to practice those crimes which -they cease to censure. - -If there are any who do not dread poverty as dangerous to virtue, yet -mankind seem unanimous enough in abhorring it as destructive to happiness; -and all to whom want is terrible, upon whatever principle, ought to -think themselves obliged to learn the sage maxims of our parsimonious -ancestors, and attain the salutary arts of contracting expense; for -without frugality none can be rich, and with it very few would be poor. - -To most other acts of virtue or exertions of wisdom, a concurrence of many -circumstances is necessary, some previous knowledge must be attained, -some uncommon gifts of nature possessed, or some opportunity produced -by an extraordinary combination of things; but the mere power of saving -what is already in our hands, must be easy of acquisition to every mind; -and as the example of Bacon may shew, that the highest intellect cannot -safely neglect it, a thousand instances will every day prove, that the -meanest may practise it with success. - -Riches cannot be within the reach of great numbers, because to be rich -is to possess more than is commonly placed in a single hand; and, if -many could obtain the sum which now makes a man wealthy, the name of -wealth must then be transferred to still greater accumulation. But I am -not certain that it is equally impossible to exempt the lower classes -of mankind from poverty; because, though whatever be the wealth of the -community, some will always have least, and he that has less than any -other is comparatively poor; yet I do not see any co-active necessity -that many should be without the indispensable conveniencies of life; but -am sometimes inclined to imagine, that, casual calamities excepted, there -might, by universal prudence, be procured an universal exemption from -want; and that he who should happen to have least, might notwithstanding -have enough. - -But without entering too far into speculations which I do not remember -that any political calculator has attempted, and in which the most -perspicacious reasoner may be easily bewildered, it is evident that they -to whom Providence has allotted no other care but of their own fortune -and their own virtue, which make far the greater part of mankind, have -sufficient incitements to personal frugality, since, whatever might -be its general effect upon provinces or nations, by which it is never -likely to be tried, we know with certainty, that there is scarcely -any individual entering the world, who, by prudent parsimony, may not -reasonably promise himself a cheerful competence in the decline of life. - -The prospect of penury in age is so gloomy and terrifying, that every man -who looks before him must resolve to avoid it; and it must be avoided -generally by the science of sparing. For, though in every age there are -some, who by bold adventures, or by favourable accidents, rise suddenly -to riches, yet it is dangerous to indulge hopes of such rare events: -and the bulk of mankind must owe their affluence to small and gradual -profits, below which their expense must be resolutely reduced. - -You must not therefore think me sinking below the dignity of a practical -philosopher, when I recommend to the consideration of your readers, -from the statesman to the apprentice, a position replete with mercantile -wisdom, _A penny saved is two-pence got_; which may, I think, be -accommodated to all conditions, by observing not only that they who -pursue any lucrative employment will save time when they forbear expense, -and that the time may be employed to the increase of profit; but that -they who are above such minute considerations will find, by every victory -over appetite or passion, new strength added to the mind, will gain the -power of refusing those solicitations by which the young and vivacious -are hourly assaulted, and in time set themselves above the reach of -extravagance and folly. - -It may, perhaps, be inquired by those who are willing rather to cavil -than to learn, what is the just measure of frugality? and when expense, -not absolutely necessary, degenerates into profusion? To such questions -no general answer can be returned; since the liberty of spending, -or necessity of parsimony, may be varied without end by different -circumstances. It may, however, be laid down as a rule never to be -broken, that a _man's voluntary expense should not exceed his revenue_. -A maxim so obvious and incontrovertible, that the civil law ranks the -prodigal with the madman[46], and debars them equally from the conduct of -their own affairs. Another precept arising from the former, and indeed -included in it, is yet necessary to be distinctly impressed upon the -warm, the fanciful, and the brave; _Let no man anticipate uncertain -profits_. Let no man presume to spend upon hopes, to trust his own -abilities for means of deliverance from penury, to give a loose to his -present desires, and leave the reckoning to fortune or to virtue. - -To these cautions, which, I suppose, are, at least among the graver part -of mankind, undisputed, I will add another, _Let no man squander against -his inclination_. With this precept it may be, perhaps, imagined easy to -comply; yet if those whom profusion has buried in prisons, or driven into -banishment, were examined, it would be found that very few were ruined by -their own choice, or purchased pleasure with the loss of their estates; -but that they suffered themselves to be borne away by the violence of -those with whom they conversed, and yielded reluctantly to a thousand -prodigalities, either from a trivial emulation of wealth and spirit, -or a mean fear of contempt and ridicule; an emulation for the prize of -folly, or the dread of the laugh of fools. - -I am, Sir, - -Your humble servant, - - SOPHRON. - -[Footnote 46: Institut. i. 23. 3. De furiosis et prodigis.] - - - - -No. 58. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 6, 1750. - - - _----Improbæ_ - _Crescunt divitiæ; tamen_ - _Curtæ nescio quid semper abest rei._ - HOR. Lib. iii. Ode xxiv. 62. - - But, while in heaps his wicked wealth ascends, - He is not of his wish possess'd; - There's something wanting still to make him bless'd. - FRANCIS. - - -As the love of money has been, in all ages, one of the passions that have -given great disturbance to the tranquillity of the world, there is no -topick more copiously treated by the ancient moralists than the folly of -devoting the heart to the accumulation of riches. They who are acquainted -with these authors need not be told how riches excite pity, contempt, -or reproach, whenever they are mentioned; with what numbers of examples -the danger of large possessions is illustrated; and how all the powers -of reason and eloquence have been exhausted in endeavours to eradicate a -desire, which seems to have intrenched itself too strongly in the mind -to be driven out, and which, perhaps, had not lost its power, even over -those who declaimed against it, but would have broken out in the poet or -the sage, if it had been excited by opportunity, and invigorated by the -approximation of its proper object. - -Their arguments have been, indeed, so unsuccessful, that I know not -whether it can be shewn, that by all the wit and reason which this -favourite cause has called forth, a single convert was ever made; that -even one man has refused to be rich, when to be rich was in his power, -from the conviction of the greater happiness of a narrow fortune; or -disburthened himself of wealth when he had tried its inquietudes, merely -to enjoy the peace and leisure and security of a mean and unenvied state. - -It is true, indeed, that many have neglected opportunities of raising -themselves to honours and to wealth, and rejected the kindest offers of -fortune: but however their moderation may be boasted by themselves, or -admired by such as only view them at a distance, it will be, perhaps, -seldom found that they value riches less, but that they dread labour -or danger more, than others; they are unable to rouse themselves to -action, to strain in the race of competition, or to stand the shock of -contest; but though they, therefore, decline the toil of climbing, they -nevertheless wish themselves aloft, and would willingly enjoy what they -dare not seize. - -Others have retired from high stations, and voluntarily condemned -themselves to privacy and obscurity. But even these will not afford -many occasions of triumph to the philosopher; for they have commonly -either quitted that only which they thought themselves unable to hold, -and prevented disgrace by resignation; or they have been induced to try -new measures by general inconstancy, which always dreams of happiness -in novelty, or by a gloomy disposition, which is disgusted in the same -degree with every state, and wishes every scene of life to change as soon -as it is beheld. Such men found high and low stations equally unable to -satisfy the wishes of a distempered mind, and were unable to shelter -themselves in the closest retreat from disappointment, solicitude, and -misery. - -Yet though these admonitions have been thus neglected by those who either -enjoyed riches, or were able to procure them, it is not rashly to be -determined that they are altogether without use; for since far the -greatest part of mankind must be confined to conditions comparatively -mean, and placed in situations from which they naturally look up with -envy to the eminences before them, those writers cannot be thought ill -employed that have administered remedies to discontent almost universal, -by shewing, that what we cannot reach may very well be forborne; that the -inequality of distribution, at which we murmur, is for the most part less -than it seems, and that the greatness, which we admire at a distance, has -much fewer advantages, and much less splendour, when we are suffered to -approach it. - -It is the business of moralists to detect the frauds of fortune, and to -shew that she imposes upon the careless eye, by a quick succession of -shadows, which will shrink to nothing in the gripe; that she disguises -life in extrinsick ornaments, which serve only for shew, and are laid -aside in the hours of solitude, and of pleasure; and that when greatness -aspires either to felicity or to wisdom, it shakes off those distinctions -which dazzle the gazer, and awe the supplicant. - -It may be remarked, that they whose condition has not afforded them the -light of moral or religious instruction, and who collect all their ideas -by their own eyes, and digest them by their own understandings, seem to -consider those who are placed in ranks of remote superiority, as almost -another and higher species of beings. As themselves have known little -other misery than the consequences of want, they are with difficulty -persuaded that where there is wealth there can be sorrow, or that those -who glitter in dignity, and glide along in affluence, can be acquainted -with pains and cares like those which lie heavy upon the rest of mankind. - -This prejudice is, indeed, confined to the lowest meanness, and the -darkest ignorance; but it is so confined only because others have been -shewn its folly, and its falsehood, because it has been opposed in its -progress by history and philosophy, and hindered from spreading its -infection by powerful preservatives. - -The doctrine of the contempt of wealth, though it has not been able to -extinguish avarice or ambition, or suppress that reluctance with which a -man passes his days in a state of inferiority, must, at least, have made -the lower conditions less grating and wearisome, and has consequently -contributed to the general security of life, by hindering that fraud and -violence, rapine and circumvention, which must have been produced by an -unbounded eagerness of wealth, arising from an unshaken conviction that -to be rich is to be happy. - -Whoever finds himself incited, by some violent impulse of passion, to -pursue riches as the chief end of being, must surely be so much alarmed -by the successive admonitions of those whose experience and sagacity -have recommended them as the guides of mankind, as to stop and consider -whether he is about to engage in an undertaking that will reward his -toil, and to examine, before he rushes to wealth, through right and -wrong, what it will confer when he has acquired it; and this examination -will seldom fail to repress his ardour, and retard his violence. - -Wealth is nothing in itself, it is not useful but when it departs from -us; its value is found only in that which it can purchase, which, if -we suppose it put to its best use by those that possess it, seems not -much to deserve the desire or envy of a wise man. It is certain that, -with regard to corporal enjoyment, money can neither open new avenues -to pleasure, nor block up the passages of anguish. Disease and infirmity -still continue to torture and enfeeble, perhaps exasperated by luxury, -or promoted by softness. With respect to the mind, it has rarely been -observed, that wealth contributes much to quicken the discernment, -enlarge the capacity, or elevate the imagination; but may, by hiring -flattery, or laying diligence asleep, confirm errour, and harden stupidity. - -Wealth cannot confer greatness, for nothing can make that great, which the -decree of nature has ordained to be little. The bramble may be placed in -a hot-bed, but can never become an oak. Even royalty itself is not able -to give that dignity which it happens not to find, but oppresses feeble -minds, though it may elevate the strong. The world has been governed in -the name of kings, whose existence has scarcely been perceived by any -real effects beyond their own palaces. - -When therefore the desire of wealth is taking hold of the heart, let us -look round and see how it operates upon those whose industry or fortune -has obtained it. When we find them oppressed with their own abundance, -luxurious without pleasure, idle without ease, impatient and querulous in -themselves, and despised or hated by the rest of mankind, we shall soon -be convinced, that if the real wants of our condition are satisfied, there -remains little to be sought with solicitude, or desired with eagerness. - - - - -No. 59. TUESDAY, OCTOBER 9, 1750. - - - _Est aliquid fatale malum per verba levare,_ - _Hoc querulam Prognen Halcyonenque facit:_ - _Hoc erat in gelido quare Pæantius antro_ - _Voce fatigaret Lemnia saxa sua._ - _Strangulat inclusus dolor, atque exæstuat intus,_ - _Cogitur et vires multiplicare suas._ - OVID, Trist. vi. 59. - - Complaining oft gives respite to our grief; - From hence the wretched Progne sought relief, - Hence the Pæantian chief his fate deplores, - And vents his sorrow to the Lemnian shores: - In vain by secrecy we would assuage - Our cares; conceal'd they gather tenfold rage. - F. LEWIS. - - -It is common to distinguish men by the names of animals which they are -supposed to resemble. Thus a hero is frequently termed a lion, and a -statesman a fox, an extortioner gains the appellation of vulture, and -a fop the title of monkey. There is also among the various anomalies of -character, which a survey of the world exhibits, a species of beings -in human form, which may be properly marked out as the screech-owls -of mankind. - -These screech-owls seem to be settled in an opinion that the great business -of life is to complain, and that they were born for no other purpose than -to disturb the happiness of others, to lessen the little comforts, and -shorten the short pleasures of our condition, by painful remembrances of -the past, or melancholy prognosticks of the future; their only care is -to crush the rising hope, to damp the kindling transport, and allay the -golden hours of gaiety with the hateful dross of grief and suspicion. - -To those whose weakness of spirits, or timidity of temper, subjects them -to impressions from others, and who are apt to suffer by fascination, -and catch the contagion of misery, it is extremely unhappy to live within -the compass of a screech-owl's voice; for it will often fill their ears -in the hour of dejection, terrify them with apprehensions, which their -own thoughts would never have produced, and sadden, by intruded sorrows, -the day which might have been passed in amusements or in business; it -will burthen the heart with unnecessary discontents, and weaken for a -time that love of life which is necessary to the vigorous prosecution of -any undertaking. - -Though I have, like the rest of mankind, many failings and weaknesses, -I have not yet, by either friends or enemies, been charged with -superstition; I never count the company which I enter, and I look at -the new moon indifferently over either shoulder. I have, like most other -philosophers, often heard the cuckoo without money in my pocket, and -have been sometimes reproached as fool-hardy for not turning down my eyes -when a raven flew over my head. I never go home abruptly because a snake -crosses my way, nor have any particular dread of a climacterical year; -yet I confess that, with all my scorn of old women, and their tales, -I consider it as an unhappy day when I happen to be greeted, in the -morning, by Suspirius the screech-owl. - -I have now known Suspirius fifty-eight years and four months, and have -never yet passed an hour with him in which he has not made some attack -upon my quiet. When we were first acquainted, his great topick was the -misery of youth without riches; and whenever we walked out together he -solaced me with a long enumeration of pleasures, which, as they were -beyond the reach of my fortune, were without the verge of my desires, and -which I should never have considered as the objects of a wish, had not -his unseasonable representations placed them in my sight. - -Another of his topicks is the neglect of merit, with which he never fails -to amuse every man whom he sees not eminently fortunate. If he meets -with a young officer, he always informs him of gentlemen whose personal -courage is unquestioned, and whose military skill qualifies them to -command armies, that have, notwithstanding all their merit, grown old -with subaltern commissions. For a genius in the church, he is always -provided with a curacy for life. The lawyer he informs of many men of -great parts and deep study, who have never had an opportunity to speak -in the courts: and meeting Serenus the physician, "Ah, doctor," says -he, "what a-foot still, when so many block-heads are rattling in their -chariots? I told you seven years ago that you would never meet with -encouragement, and I hope you will now take more notice, when I tell you -that your Greek, and your diligence, and your honesty, will never enable -you to live like yonder apothecary, who prescribes to his own shop, and -laughs at the physician." - -Suspirius has, in his time, intercepted fifteen authors in their way to -the stage; persuaded nine and thirty merchants to retire from a prosperous -trade for fear of bankruptcy, broke off an hundred and thirteen matches -by prognostications of unhappiness, and enabled the small-pox to kill -nineteen ladies, by perpetual alarms of the loss of beauty. - -Whenever my evil stars bring us together, he never fails to represent to -me the folly of my pursuits, and informs me that we are much older than -when we began our acquaintance, that the infirmities of decrepitude are -coming fast upon me, that whatever I now get, I shall enjoy but a little -time, that fame is to a man tottering on the edge of the grave of very -little importance, and that the time is at hand when I ought to look for -no other pleasures than a good dinner and an easy chair. - -Thus he goes on in his unharmonious strain, displaying present miseries, -and foreboding more, [Greek: nuktikorax aei thanatêphoros], every -syllable is loaded with misfortune, and death is always brought nearer -to the view. Yet, what always raises my resentment and indignation, I do -not perceive that his mournful meditations have much effect upon himself. -He talks and has long talked of calamities, without discovering otherwise -than by the tone of his voice, that he feels any of the evils which he -bewails or threatens, but has the same habit of uttering lamentations, as -others of telling stories, and falls into expressions of condolence for -past, or apprehension of future mischiefs, as all men studious of their -ease have recourse to those subjects upon which they can most fluently or -copiously discourse[47]. - -It is reported of the Sybarites, that they destroyed all their cocks, that -they might dream out their morning dreams without disturbance. Though I -would not so far promote effeminacy as to propose the Sabarites for an -example, yet since there is no man so corrupt or foolish, but something -useful may be learned from him, I could wish that, in imitation of a -people not often to be copied, some regulations might be made to exclude -screech-owls from all company, as the enemies of mankind, and confine -them to some proper receptacle, where they may mingle sighs at leisure, -and thicken the gloom of one another. - -_Thou prophet of evil_, says Homer's Agamemnon, _thou never foretellest me -good, but the joy of thy heart is to predict misfortunes_. Whoever is of -the same temper, might there find the means of indulging his thoughts, -and improving his vein of denunciation, and the flock of screech-owls -might hoot together without injury to the rest of the world. - -Yet, though I have so little kindness for this dark generation, I am very -far from intending to debar the soft and tender mind from the privilege of -complaining, when the sigh arises from the desire not of giving pain, but -of gaining ease. To hear complaints with patience, even when complaints -are vain, is one of the duties of friendship; and though it must be -allowed that he suffers most like a hero that hides his grief in silence, - - _Spem vultu simulat, premit altum corde dolorem;_ - - His outward smiles conceal'd his inward smart; - DRYDEN. - -yet it cannot be denied, that he who complains acts like a man, like a -social being, who looks for help from his fellow-creatures. Pity is to -many of the unhappy a source of comfort in hopeless distresses, as it -contributes to recommend them to themselves, by proving that they have -not lost the regard of others; and heaven seems to indicate the duty even -of barren compassion, by inclining us to weep for evils which we cannot -remedy. - -[Footnote 47: Suspirius, the screech-owl, is presumed by some to have -suggested the character of Croaker to Goldsmith, in his Comedy of the -Good-natured Man.] - - - - -No. 60. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 13, 1750. - - - _Quid sit pulchrum, quid turpe, quid utile, quid non,_ - _Plenius ac melius Chrysippo et Crantore dicit._ - HOR. Lib. i. Epist. ii. 3. - - Whose works the beautiful and base contain, - Of vice and virtue more instructive rules, - Than all the sober sages of the schools. - FRANCIS. - - -All joy or sorrow for the happiness or calamities of others is produced -by an act of the imagination, that realizes the event however fictitious, -or approximates it however remote, by placing us, for a time, in the -condition of him whose fortune we contemplate; so that we feel, while the -deception lasts, whatever motions would be excited by the same good or -evil happening to ourselves. - -Our passions are therefore more strongly moved, in proportion as we -can more readily adopt the pains or pleasure proposed to our minds, -by recognising them as once our own, or considering them as naturally -incident to our state of life. It is not easy for the most artful -writer to give us an interest in happiness or misery, which we think -ourselves never likely to feel, and with which we have never yet been -made acquainted. Histories of the downfal of kingdoms, and revolutions of -empires, are read with great tranquillity; the imperial tragedy pleases -common auditors only by its pomp of ornament, and grandeur of ideas; and -the man whose faculties have been engrossed by business, and whose heart -never fluttered but at the rise or fall of the stocks, wonders how the -attention can be seized, or the affection agitated, by a tale of love. - -Those parallel circumstances and kindred images, to which we readily -conform our minds, are, above all other writings, to be found in -narratives of the lives of particular persons; and therefore no species -of writing seems more worthy of cultivation than biography, since none -can be more delightful or more useful, none can more certainly enchain -the heart by irresistible interest, or more widely diffuse instruction to -every diversity of condition. - -The general and rapid narratives of history, which involve a thousand -fortunes in the business of a day, and complicate innumerable incidents -in one great transaction, afford few lessons applicable to private -life, which derives its comforts and its wretchedness from the right -or wrong management of things, which nothing but their frequency makes -considerable, _Parva si non fiant quotidie_, says Pliny, and which -can have no place in those relations which never descend below the -consultation of senates, the motions of armies, and the schemes of -conspirators. - -I have often thought that there has rarely passed a life of which a -judicious and faithful narrative would not be useful. For, not only -every man has, in the mighty mass of the world, great numbers in the same -condition with himself, to whom his mistakes and miscarriages, escapes -and expedients, would be of immediate and apparent use; but there is such -an uniformity in the state of man, considered apart from adventitious and -separable decorations and disguises, that there is scarce any possibility -of good or ill, but is common to human kind. A great part of the time of -those who are placed at the greatest distance by fortune, or by temper, -must unavoidably pass in the same manner; and though, when the claims of -nature are satisfied, caprice, and vanity, and accident, begin to produce -discriminations and peculiarities, yet the eye is not very heedful or -quick, which cannot discover the same causes still terminating their -influence in the same effects, though sometimes accelerated, sometimes -retarded, or perplexed by multiplied combinations. We are all prompted -by the same motives, all deceived by the same fallacies, all animated by -hope, obstructed by danger, entangled by desire, and seduced by pleasure. - -It is frequently objected to relations of particular lives, that they are -not distinguished by any striking or wonderful vicissitudes. The scholar -who passed his life among his books, the merchant who conducted only -his own affairs, the priest, whose sphere of action was not extended -beyond that of his duty, are considered as no proper objects of publick -regard, however they might have excelled in their several stations, -whatever might have been their learning, integrity, and piety. But this -notion arises from false measures of excellence and dignity, and must be -eradicated by considering, that in the esteem of uncorrupted reason, what -is of most use is of most value. - -It is, indeed, not improper to take honest advantages of prejudice, and -to gain attention by a celebrated name; but the business of a biographer -is often to pass slightly over those performances and incidents, which -produce vulgar greatness, to lead the thoughts into domestick privacies, -and display the minute details of daily life, where exterior appendages -are cast aside, and men excel each other only by prudence and by virtue. -The account of Thuanus is, with great propriety, said by its author to -have been written, that it might lay open to posterity the private and -familiar character of that man, _cujus ingenium et candorem ex ipsius -scriptis sunt olim semper miraturi_, whose candour and genius will to -the end of time be by his writings preserved in admiration. - -There are many invisible circumstances which, whether we read as inquirers -after natural and moral knowledge, whether we intend to enlarge our -science, or increase our virtue, are more important than publick -occurrences. Thus Sallust, the great master of nature, has not forgot, -in his account of Cataline, to remark that _his walk was now quick, and -again slow_, as an indication of a mind revolving something with violent -commotion. Thus the story of Melancthon affords a striking lecture on -the value of time, by informing us, that when he made an appointment, -he expected not only the hour, but the minute to be fixed, that the day -might not run out in the idleness of suspense: and all the plans and -enterprizes of De Witt are now of less importance to the world, than that -part of his personal character, which represents him as _careful of his -health, and negligent of his life_. - -But biography has often been allotted to writers who seem very little -acquainted with the nature of their task, or very negligent about the -performance. They rarely afford any other account than might be collected -from publick papers, but imagine themselves writing a life when they -exhibit a chronological series of actions or preferments; and so little -regard the manners or behaviour of their heroes, that more knowledge may -be gained of a man's real character, by a short conversation with one of -his servants, than from a formal and studied narrative, begun with his -pedigree, and ended with his funeral. - -If now and then they condescend to inform the world of particular facts, -they are not always so happy as to select the most important. I know not -well what advantage posterity can receive from the only circumstance by -which Tickell has distinguished Addison from the rest of mankind, _the -irregularity of his pulse_: nor can I think myself overpaid for the time -spent in reading the life of Malherb by being enabled to relate after -the learned biographer, that Malherb had two predominant opinions; -one, that the looseness of a single woman might destroy all her boast -of ancient descent; the other, that the French beggars made use very -improperly and barbarously of the phrase _noble Gentleman_, because -either word included the sense to both. - -There are, indeed, some natural reasons why these narratives are often -written by such as were not likely to give much instruction or delight, -and why most accounts of particular persons are barren and useless. If -a life be delayed till interest and envy are at an end, we may hope for -impartiality, but must expect little intelligence; for the incidents -which give excellence to biography are of a volatile and evanescent kind, -such as soon escape the memory, and are rarely transmitted by tradition. -We know how few can pourtray a living acquaintance, except by his most -prominent and observable particularities, and the grosser features of his -mind; and it may be easily imagined how much of this little knowledge may -be lost in imparting it, and how soon a succession of copies will lose -all resemblance of the original. - -If the biographer writes from personal knowledge, and makes haste to -gratify the public curiosity, there is danger lest his interest, his -fear, his gratitude, or his tenderness, overpower his fidelity, and tempt -him to conceal, if not to invent. There are many who think it an act of -piety to hide the faults or failings of their friends, even when they -can no longer suffer by their detection; we therefore see whole ranks of -characters adorned with uniform panegyrick, and not to be known from one -another, but by extrinsick and casual circumstances. "Let me remember," -says Hale, "when I find myself inclined to pity a criminal, that there -is likewise a pity due to the country." If we owe regard to the memory of -the dead, there is yet more respect to be paid to knowledge, to virtue, -and to truth. - - - - -No. 61. TUESDAY, OCTOBER 16, 1750. - - - _Falsus honor juvat, et mendax infamia terret,_ - _Quem, nisi mendosum et mendacem?_ - HOR. Lib. i. Ep. xvi. 39. - - False praise can charm, unreal shame controul, - Whom but a vicious or a sickly soul? - FRANCIS. - - -TO THE RAMBLER. - -SIR, - -It is extremely vexatious to a man of eager and thirsty curiosity to be -placed at a great distance from the fountain of intelligence, and not -only never to receive the current of report till it has satiated the -greatest part of the nation, but at last to find it mudded in its course, -and corrupted with taints or mixtures from every channel through which -it flowed. - -One of the chief pleasures of my life is to hear what passes in the world; -to know what are the schemes of the politick, the aims of the busy, -and the hopes of the ambitious; what changes of publick measures are -approaching; who is likely to be crushed in the collision of parties; who -is climbing to the top of power, and who is tottering on the precipice -of disgrace. But as it is very common for us to desire most what we -are least qualified to obtain, I have suffered this appetite of news to -outgrow all the gratifications which my present situation can afford it; -for being placed in a remote country, I am condemned always to confound -the future with the past, to form prognostications of events no longer -doubtful, and to consider the expediency of schemes already executed or -defeated. I am perplexed with a perpetual deception in my prospects, like -a man pointing his telescope at a remote star, which before the light -reaches his eye has forsaken the place from which it was emitted. - -The mortification of being thus always behind the active world in my -reflections and discoveries, is exceedingly aggravated by the petulance -of those whose health, or business, or pleasure, brings them hither from -London. For, without considering the insuperable disadvantages of my -condition, and the unavoidable ignorance which absence must produce, -they often treat me with the utmost superciliousness of contempt, for -not knowing what no human sagacity can discover; and sometimes seem -to consider me as a wretch scarcely worthy of human converse, when I -happen to talk of the fortune of a bankrupt, or propose the healths of -the dead, when I warn them of mischiefs already incurred, or wish for -measures that have been lately taken. They seem to attribute to the -superiority of their intellects what they only owe to the accident of -their condition, and think themselves indisputably entitled to airs -of insolence and authority, when they find another ignorant of facts, -which, because they echoed in the streets of London, they suppose equally -publick in all other places, and known where they could neither be seen, -related, nor conjectured. - -To this haughtiness they are indeed too much encouraged by the respect -which they receive amongst us, for no other reason than that they come -from London. For no sooner is the arrival of one of these disseminators -of knowledge known in the country, than we crowd about him from every -quarter, and by innumerable inquiries flatter him into an opinion of his -own importance. He sees himself surrounded by multitudes, who propose -their doubts, and refer their controversies, to him, as to a being -descended from some nobler region, and he grows on a sudden oraculous and -infallible, solves all difficulties, and sets all objections at defiance. - -There is, in my opinion, great reason for suspecting, that they sometimes -take advantage of this reverential modesty, and impose upon rustick -understandings, with a false show of universal intelligence; for I do not -find that they are willing to own themselves ignorant of any thing, or -that they dismiss any inquirer with a positive and decisive answer. The -court, the city, the park, and exchange, are those men of unbounded -observation equally familiar, and they are alike ready to tell the hour -at which stocks will rise, or the ministry be changed. - -A short residence at London entitles a man to knowledge, to wit, to -politeness, and to a despotick and dictatorial power of prescribing to -the rude multitude, whom he condescends to honour with a biennial visit; -yet, I know not well upon what motives, I have lately found myself -inclined to cavil at this prescription, and to doubt whether it be not, -on some occasions, proper to withhold our veneration, till we are more -authentically convinced of the merits of the claimant. - -It is well remembered here, that about seven years ago, one Frolick, -a tall boy, with lank hair, remarkable for stealing eggs, and sucking -them, was taken from the school in this parish, and sent up to London -to study the law. As he had given amongst us no proofs of a genius -designed by nature for extraordinary performances, he was, from the -time of his departure, totally forgotten, nor was there any talk of -his vices or virtues, his good or his ill fortune, till last summer -a report burst upon us, that Mr. Frolick was come down in the first -post-chaise which this village had seen, having travelled with such -rapidity that one of his postillions had broke his leg, and another -narrowly escaped suffocation in a quicksand; but that Mr. Frolick seemed -totally unconcerned, for such things were never heeded at London. - -Mr. Frolick next day appeared among the gentlemen at their weekly -meeting on the bowling-green, and now were seen the effects of a London -education. His dress, his language, his ideas, were all new, and he did -not much endeavour to conceal his contempt of every thing that differed -from the opinions, or practice, of the modish world. He showed us the -deformity of our skirts and sleeves, informed us where hats of the proper -size were to be sold, and recommended to us the reformation of a thousand -absurdities in our clothes, our cookery, and our conversation. When any -of his phrases were unintelligible, he could not suppress the joy of -confessed superiority, but frequently delayed the explanation, that he -might enjoy his triumph over our barbarity. - -When he is pleased to entertain us with a story, he takes care to crowd -into it names of streets, squares, and buildings, with which he knows we -are unacquainted. The favourite topicks of his discourse are the pranks -of drunkards, and the tricks put upon country gentlemen by porters and -link-boys. When he is with ladies, he tells them of the innumerable -pleasures to which he can introduce them; but never fails to hint how -much they will be deficient, at their first arrival, in the knowledge -of the town. What it is _to know the town_, he has not indeed hitherto -informed us, though there is no phrase so frequent in his mouth, nor any -science which he appears to think of so great a value, or so difficult -attainment. - -But my curiosity has been most engaged by the recital of his own -adventures and achievements. I have heard of the union of various -characters in single persons, but never met with such a constellation -of great qualities as this man's narrative affords. Whatever has -distinguished the hero; whatever has elevated the wit; whatever has -endeared the lover, are all concentered in Mr. Frolick, whose life has, -for seven years, been a regular interchange of intrigues, dangers, and -waggeries, and who has distinguished himself in every character that can -be feared, envied, or admired. - -I question whether all the officers of the royal navy can bring together, -from all their journals, a collection of so many wonderful escapes as -this man has known upon the Thames, on which he has been a thousand and -a thousand times on the point of perishing, sometimes by the terrours -of foolish women in the same boat, sometimes by his own acknowledged -imprudence in passing the river in the dark, and sometimes by shooting -the bridge under which he has rencountered mountainous waves, and -dreadful cataracts. - -Nor less has been his temerity by land, nor fewer his hazards. He has -reeled with giddiness on the top of the monument; he has crossed the -street amidst the rush of coaches; he has been surrounded by robbers -without number; he has headed parties at the playhouse; he has scaled -the windows of every toast, of whatever condition; he has been hunted for -whole winters by his rivals; he has slept upon bulks, he has cut chairs, -he has bilked coachmen; he has rescued his friends from the bailiffs, has -knocked down the constable, has bullied the justice, and performed many -other exploits, that have filled the town with wonder and with merriment. - -But yet greater is the fame of his understanding than his bravery; for -he informs us, that he is, at London, the established arbitrator of all -points of honour, and the decisive judge of all performances of genius; -that no musical performer is in reputation till the opinion of Frolick -has ratified his pretensions; that the theatres suspend their sentence -till he begins the clap or hiss, in which all are proud to concur; that -no publick entertainment has failed or succeeded, but because he opposed -or favoured it; that all controversies at the gaming-table are referred -to his determination; that he adjusts the ceremonial at every assembly, -and prescribes every fashion of pleasure or of dress. - -With every man whose name occurs in the papers of the day, he his -intimately acquainted; and there are very few posts either in the state -or army, of which he has not more or less influenced the disposal. He has -been very frequently consulted both upon war and peace; but the time is -not yet come when the nation shall know how much it is indebted to the -genius of Frolick. - -Yet, notwithstanding all these declarations, I cannot hitherto persuade -myself to see Mr. Frolick has more wit, or knowledge, or courage, than -the rest of mankind, or that any uncommon enlargement of his faculties -has happened in the time of his absence. For when he talks on subjects -known to the rest of the company, he has no advantage over us, but by -catches of interruption, briskness of interrogation, and pertness of -contempt; and therefore if he has stunned the world with his name, and -gained a place in the first ranks of humanity, I cannot but conclude, -that either a little understanding confers eminence at London, or that -Mr. Frolick thinks us unworthy of the exertion of his powers, or that -his faculties are benumbed by rural stupidity, as the magnetick needle -loses its animation in the polar climes. - -I would not, however, like many hasty philosophers, search after the cause -till I am certain of the effect; and therefore I desire to be informed, -whether you have yet heard the great name of Mr. Frolick. If he is -celebrated by other tongues than his own, I shall willingly propagate -his praise; but if he has swelled among us with empty boasts, and honours -conferred only by himself, I shall treat him with rustick sincerity, and -drive him as an impostor from this part of the kingdom to some region of -more credulity. - -I am, &c. - - RURICOLA. - - - - -No. 62. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 20, 1750. - - - _Nunc ego Triptolemi cuperem conscendere currus,_ - _Misit in ignotam qui rude semen humum:_ - _Nunc ego Medeæ vellem frænare dracones,_ - _Quos habuit fugiens arce, Corinthe, tua;_ - _Nunc ego jactandas optarem sumere pennas,_ - _Sive tuas, Perseu; Dædale, sive tuas._ - OVID, Trist. Lib. iii. El. 8. 1. - - Now would I mount his car, whose bounteous hand - First sow'd with teeming seed the furrow'd land: - Now to Medæa's dragons fix my reins, - That swiftly bore her from Corinthian plains; - Now on Dædalian waxen pinions stray, - Or those which wafted Perseus on his way. - F. LEWIS. - - -TO THE RAMBLER. - -SIR, - -I am a young woman of very large fortune, which, if my parents would have -been persuaded to comply with the rules and customs of the polite part of -mankind, might long since have raised me to the highest honours of the -female world; but so strangely have they hitherto contrived to waste my -life, that I am now on the borders of twenty, without having ever danced -but at our monthly assembly, or been toasted but among a few gentlemen -of the neighbourhood, or seen in any company in which it was worth a -wish to be distinguished. - -My father having impaired his patrimony in soliciting a place at court, at -last grew wise enough to cease his pursuit; and to repair the consequences -of expensive attendance and negligence of his affairs, married a lady -much older than himself, who had lived in the fashionable world till she -was considered as an incumbrance upon parties of pleasure, and as I can -collect from incidental informations, retired from gay assemblies just -time enough to escape the mortifications of universal neglect. - -She was, however, still rich, and not yet wrinkled; my father was too -distressfully embarrassed to think much on any thing but the means of -extrication, and though it is not likely that he wanted the delicacy which -polite conversation will always produce in understandings not remarkably -defective, yet he was contented with a match, by which he might be set -free from inconveniencies, that would have destroyed all the pleasures of -imagination, and taken from softness and beauty the power of delighting. - -As they were both somewhat disgusted with their treatment in the world, -and married, though without any dislike of each other, yet principally -for the sake of setting themselves free from dependance on caprice or -fashion, they soon retired into the country, and devoted their lives to -rural business and diversions. - -They had not much reason to regret the change of their situation; -for their vanity, which had so long been tormented by neglect and -disappointment, was here gratified with every honour that could be paid -them. Their long familiarity with publick life made them the oracles of -all those who aspired to intelligence, or politeness. My father dictated -politicks, my mother prescribed the mode, and it was sufficient to entitle -any family to some consideration, that they were known to visit at Mrs. -Courtly's. - -In this state they were, to speak in the style of novelists, made happy -by the birth of your correspondent. My parents had no other child, I was -therefore not brow-beaten by a saucy brother, or lost in a multitude of -coheiresses, whose fortunes being equal, would probably have conferred -equal merit, and procured equal regard; and as my mother was now old, my -understanding and my person had fair play, my inquiries were not checked, -my advances towards importance were not repressed, and I was soon suffered -to tell my own opinions, and early accustomed to hear my own praises. - -By these accidental advantages I was much exalted above the young ladies -with whom I conversed, and was treated by them with great deference. I -saw none who did not seem to confess my superiority, and to be held in -awe by the splendour of my appearance; for the fondness of my father made -him pleased to see me dressed, and my mother had no vanity nor expenses -to hinder her from concurring with his inclination. - -Thus, Mr. Rambler, I lived without much desire after any thing beyond -the circle of our visits; and here I should have quietly continued to -portion out my time among my books, and my needle, and my company, had -not my curiosity been every moment excited by the conversation of my -parents, who, whenever they sit down to familiar prattle, and endeavour -the entertainment of each other, immediately transport themselves to -London, and relate some adventure in a hackney-coach, some frolick -at a masquerade, some conversation in the park, or some quarrel at -an assembly, display the magnificence of a birth-night, relate the -conquests of maids of honour, or give a history of diversions, shows, -and entertainments, which I had never known but from their accounts. - -I am so well versed in the history of the gay world, that I can relate, -with great punctuality, the lives of all the last race of wits and -beauties; can enumerate with exact chronology, the whole succession of -celebrated singers, musicians, tragedians, comedians, and harlequins; -can tell to the last twenty years all the changes of fashions; and am, -indeed, a complete antiquary with respect to head-dresses, dances, and -operas. - -You will easily imagine, Mr. Rambler, that I could not hear these -narratives, for sixteen years together, without suffering some -impression, and wishing myself nearer to those places where every hour -brings some new pleasure, and life is diversified with an unexhausted -succession of felicity. - -I indeed often asked my mother why she left a place which she recollected -with so much delight, and why she did not visit London once a year, -like some other ladies, and initiate me in the world by showing me its -amusements, its grandeur, and its variety. But she always told me that -the days which she had seen were such as will never come again; that all -diversion is now degenerated, that the conversation of the present age -is insipid, that their fashions are unbecoming, their customs absurd, -and their morals corrupt; that there is no ray left of the genius which -enlightened the times that she remembers; that no one who had seen, or -heard, the ancient performers, would be able to bear the bunglers of this -despicable age: and that there is now neither politeness, nor pleasure, -nor virtue, in the world. She therefore assures me that she consults -my happiness by keeping me at home, for I should now find nothing but -vexation and disgust, and she should be ashamed to see me pleased with -such fopperies and trifles, as take up the thoughts of the present set of -young people. - -With this answer I was kept quiet for several years, and thought it no -great inconvenience to be confined to the country, till last summer a -young gentleman and his sister came down to pass a few months with one -of our neighbours. They had generally no great regard for the country -ladies, but distinguished me by a particular complaisance, and, as we -grew intimate, gave me such a detail of the elegance, the splendour, -the mirth, the happiness of the town, that I am resolved to be no longer -buried in ignorance and obscurity, but to share with other wits the joy -of being admired, and divide with other beauties the empire of the world. - -I do not find, Mr. Rambler, upon a deliberate and impartial comparison, -that I am excelled by Belinda in beauty, in wit, in judgment, in -knowledge, or in any thing, but a kind of gay, lively familiarity, -by which she mingles with strangers as with persons long acquainted, -and which enables her to display her powers without any obstruction, -hesitation, or confusion. Yet she can relate a thousand civilities paid -to her in publick, can produce, from a hundred lovers, letters filled -with praises, protestations, ecstacies, and despair; has been handed -by dukes to her chair; has been the occasion of innumerable quarrels; -has paid twenty visits in an afternoon; been invited to six balls in an -evening, and been forced to retire to lodgings in the country from the -importunity of courtship, and the fatigue of pleasure. - -I tell you, Mr. Rambler, I will stay here no longer. I have at last -prevailed upon my mother to send me to town, and shall set out in three -weeks on the grand expedition. I intend to live in publick, and to crowd -into the winter every pleasure which money can purchase, and every honour -which beauty can obtain. - -But this tedious interval how shall I endure? Cannot you alleviate the -misery of delay by some pleasing description of the entertainments of -the town? I can read, I can talk, I can think of nothing else; and if you -will not sooth my impatience, heighten my ideas, and animate my hopes, -you may write for those who have more leisure, but are not to expect any -longer the honour of being read by those eyes which are now intent only -on conquest and destruction. - - RHODOCLIA. - - - - -No. 63. TUESDAY, OCTOBER 23, 1750. - - - _----Habebat sæpe ducentos,_ - _Sæpe decem servos: modo Reges, atque Tetrarchus,_ - _Omnia magna loquens; modo, Sit mihi mensa tripes, et_ - _Concha salis puri, et toga, quæ defendere frigus,_ - _Quamvis crassa, queat._ - HOR. Lib. i. Sat. iii. 11. - - Now with two hundred slaves he crowds his train; - Now walks with ten. In high and haughty strain - At morn, of kings and governors he prates; - At night--"A frugal table, O ye fates, - "A little shell the sacred salt to hold, - "And clothes, tho' coarse, to keep me from the cold." - FRANCIS. - - -It has been remarked, perhaps, by every writer who has left behind him -observations upon life, that no man is pleased with his present state; -which proves equally unsatisfactory, says Horace, whether fallen upon by -chance, or chosen with deliberation; we are always disgusted with some -circumstance or other of our situation, and imagine the condition of -others more abundant in blessings, or less exposed to calamities. - -This universal discontent has been generally mentioned with great severity -of censure, as unreasonable in itself, since of two, equally envious of -each other, both cannot have the larger share of happiness, and as tending -to darken life with unnecessary gloom, by withdrawing our minds from the -contemplation and enjoyment of that happiness which our state affords us, -and fixing our attention upon foreign objects, which we only behold to -depress ourselves, and increase our misery by injurious comparisons. - -When this opinion of the felicity of others predominates in the heart, so -as to excite resolutions of obtaining, at whatever price, the condition -to which such transcendent privileges are supposed to be annexed; when it -bursts into action, and produces fraud, violence, and injustice, it is to -be pursued with all the rigour of legal punishments. But while operating -only upon the thoughts it disturbs none but him who has happened to admit -it, and, however it may interrupt content, makes no attack on piety or -virtue, I cannot think it so far criminal or ridiculous, but that it may -deserve some pity, and admit some excuse. - -That all are equally happy, or miserable, I suppose none is sufficiently -enthusiastical to maintain; because though we cannot judge of the -condition of others, yet every man has found frequent vicissitudes in -his own state, and must therefore be convinced that life is susceptible -of more or less felicity. What then shall forbid us to endeavour the -alteration of that which is capable of being improved, and to grasp at -augmentations of good, when we know it possible to be increased, and -believe that any particular change of situation will increase it? - -If he that finds himself uneasy may reasonably make efforts to rid -himself from vexation, all mankind have a sufficient plea for some degree -of restlessness, and the fault seems to be little more than too much -temerity of conclusion, in favour of something not yet experienced, and -too much readiness to believe, that the misery which our own passions and -appetites produce, is brought upon us by accidental causes, and external -efficients. - -It is, indeed, frequently discovered by us, that we complained too -hastily of peculiar hardships, and imagined ourselves distinguished by -embarrassments, in which other classes of men are equally entangled. We -often change a lighter for a greater evil, and wish ourselves restored -again to the state from which we thought it desirable to be delivered. -But this knowledge, though it is easily gained by the trial, is not -always attainable any other way; and that errour cannot justly be -reproached, which reason could not obviate, nor prudence avoid. - -To take a view at once distinct and comprehensive of human life, with all -its intricacies of combination, and varities of connexion, is beyond the -power of mortal intelligences. Of the state with which practice has not -acquainted us we snatch a glimpse, we discern a point, and regulate the -rest by passion, and by fancy. In this inquiry every favourite prejudice, -every innate desire, is busy to deceive us. We are unhappy, at least -less happy than our nature seems to admit; we necessarily desire the -melioration of our lot; what we desire we very reasonably seek, and -what we seek we are naturally eager to believe that we have found. Our -confidence is often disappointed, but our reason is not convinced, -and there is no man who does not hope for something which he has not, -though perhaps his wishes lie unactive, because he foresees the difficulty -of attainment. As among the numerous students of Hermetick philosophy, -not one appears to have desisted from the task of transmutation, from -conviction of its impossibility, but from weariness of toil, or impatience -of delay, a broken body, or exhausted fortune. - -Irresolution and mutability are often the faults of men, whose views -are wide, and whose imagination is vigorous and excursive, because they -cannot confine their thoughts within their own boundaries of action, -but are continually ranging over all the scenes of human existence, and -consequently are often apt to conceive that they fall upon new regions of -pleasure, and start new possibilities of happiness. Thus they are busied -with a perpetual succession of schemes, and pass their lives in alternate -elation and sorrow, for want of that calm and immovable acquiescence -in their condition, by which men of slower understandings are fixed for -ever to a certain point, or led on in the plain beaten track, which their -fathers and grandsires have trod before them. - -Of two conditions of life equally inviting to the prospect, that will -always have the disadvantage which we have already tried; because the -evils which we have felt we cannot extenuate; and though we have, perhaps -from nature, the power as well of aggravating the calamity which we -fear, as of heightening the blessing we expect, yet in those meditations -which we indulge by choice, and which are not forced upon the mind by -necessity, we have always the art of fixing our regard upon the more -pleasing images, and suffer hope to dispose the lights by which we look -upon futurity. - -The good and ill of different modes of life are sometimes so equally -opposed, that perhaps no man ever yet made his choice between them upon -a full conviction, and adequate knowledge; and therefore fluctuation -of will is not more wonderful, when they are proposed to the election, -than oscillations of a beam charged with equal weights. The mind no -sooner imagines itself determined by some prevalent advantage, than some -convenience of equal weight is discovered on the other side, and the -resolutions, which are suggested by the nicest examination, are often -repented as soon as they are taken. - -Eumenes, a young man of great abilities, inherited a large estate -from a father, long eminent in conspicuous employments. His father, -harassed with competitions, and perplexed with multiplicity of business, -recommended the quiet of a private station with so much force, that -Eumenes for some years resisted every motion of ambitious wishes; but -being once provoked by the sight of oppression, which he could not -redress, he began to think it the duty of an honest man to enable himself -to protect others, and gradually felt a desire of greatness, excited by -a thousand projects of advantage to his country. His fortune placed him -in the senate, his knowledge and eloquence advanced him at court, and he -possessed that authority and influence which he had resolved to exert for -the happiness of mankind. - -He now became acquainted with greatness, and was in a short time -convinced, that in proportion as the power of doing well is enlarged, -the temptations to do ill are multiplied and enforced. He felt himself -every moment in danger of being either seduced or driven from his honest -purposes. Sometimes a friend was to be gratified, and sometimes a rival -to be crushed, by means which his conscience could not approve. Sometimes -he was forced to comply with the prejudices of the publick, and sometimes -with the schemes of the ministry. He was by degrees wearied with perpetual -struggles to unite policy and virtue, and went back to retirement as the -shelter of innocence, persuaded that he could only hope to benefit mankind -by a blameless example of private virtue. Here he spent some years in -tranquillity and beneficence; but finding that corruption increased, -and false opinions in government prevailed, he thought himself again -summoned to posts of publick trust, from which new evidence of his own -weakness again determined him to retire. - -Thus men may be made inconstant by virtue and by vice, by too much or -too little thought; yet inconstancy, however dignified by its motives, -is always to be avoided, because life allows us but a small time for -inquiry and experiment, and he that steadily endeavours at excellence, in -whatever employment, will more benefit mankind than he that hesitates in -chusing his part till he is called to the performance. The traveller that -resolutely follows a rough and winding path, will sooner reach the end of -his journey, than he that is always changing his direction, and wastes the -hours of day-light in looking for smoother ground and shorter passages. - - - - -No. 64. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 27, 1750. - - - _Idem velle, et idem nolle, ea demum firma amicitia est._ - SALL. Bell. Cat. 20. - - To live in friendship is to have the same desires and the same aversions. - - -When Socrates was building himself a house at Athens, being asked by one -that observed the littleness of the design, why a man so eminent would -not have an abode more suitable to his dignity? he replied, that he -should think himself sufficiently accommodated, if he could see that -narrow habitation filled with real friends[48]. Such was the opinion of -this great master of human life, concerning the infrequency of such an -union of minds as might deserve the name of friendship, that among the -multitudes whom vanity or curiosity, civility or veneration, crowded -about him, he did not expect, that very spacious apartments would be -necessary to contain all that should regard him with sincere kindness, -or adhere to him with steady fidelity. - -So many qualities are indeed requisite to the possibility of friendship, -and so many accidents must concur to its rise and continuance, that the -greatest part of mankind content themselves without it, and supply its -place as they can, with interest and dependance. - -Multitudes are unqualified for a constant and warm reciprocation of -benevolence, as they are incapacitated for any other elevated excellence, -by perpetual attention to their interest, and unresisting subjection to -their passions. Long habits may superinduce inability to deny any desire, -or repress, by superior motives, the importunities of any immediate -gratification, and an inveterate selfishness will imagine all advantages -diminished in proportion as they are communicated. - -But not only this hateful and confirmed corruption, but many varieties of -disposition, not inconsistent with common degrees of virtue, may exclude -friendship from the heart. Some ardent enough in their benevolence, -and defective neither in officiousness nor liberality, are mutable and -uncertain, soon attracted by new objects, disgusted without offence, and -alienated without enmity. Others are soft and flexible, easily influenced -by reports or whispers, ready to catch alarms from every dubious -circumstance, and to listen to every suspicion which envy and flattery -shall suggest, to follow the opinion of every confident adviser, and move -by the impulse of the last breath. Some are impatient of contradiction, -more willing to go wrong by their own judgment, than to be indebted for -a better or a safer way to the sagacity of another, inclined to consider -counsel as insult, and inquiry as want of confidence, and to confer -their regard on no other terms than unreserved submission, and implicit -compliance. Some are dark and involved, equally careful to conceal good -and bad purposes; and pleased with producing effects by invisible means, -and shewing their design only in its execution. Others are universally -communicative, alike open to every eye, and equally profuse of their -own secrets and those of others, without the necessary vigilance of -caution, or the honest arts of prudent integrity, ready to accuse without -malice, and to betray without treachery. Any of these may be useful to -the community, and pass through the world with the reputation of good -purposes and uncorrupted morals, but they are unfit for close and tender -intimacies. He cannot properly be chosen for a friend, whose kindness -is exhaled by its own warmth, or frozen by the first blast of slander; -he cannot be a useful counsellor who will hear no opinion but his own; -he will not much invite confidence whose principal maxim is to suspect; -nor can the candour and frankness of that man be much esteemed, who -spreads his arms to humankind, and makes every man, without distinction, -a denizen of his bosom. - -That friendship may be at once fond and lasting, there must not only be -equal virtue on each part, but virtue of the same kind; not only the -same end must be proposed, but the same means must be approved by both. -We are often, by superficial accomplishments and accidental endearments, -induced to love those whom we cannot esteem; we are sometimes, by great -abilities, and incontestable evidences of virtue, compelled to esteem -those whom we cannot love. But friendship, compounded of esteem and love, -derives from one its tenderness, and its permanence from the other; -and therefore requires not only that its candidates should gain the -judgment, but that they should attract the affections; that they should -not only be firm in the day of distress, but gay in the hour of jollity; -not only useful in exigencies, but pleasing in familiar life; their -presence should give cheerfulness as well as courage, and dispel alike -the gloom of fear and of melancholy. - -To this mutual complacency is generally requisite an uniformity of -opinions, at least of those active and conspicuous principles which -discriminate parties in government, and sects in religion, and which -every day operate more or less on the common business of life. For though -great tenderness has, perhaps, been sometimes known to continue between -men eminent in contrary factions; yet such friends are to be shewn rather -as prodigies than examples, and it is no more proper to regulate our -conduct by such instances, than to leap a precipice, because some have -fallen from it and escaped with life. - -It cannot but be extremely difficult to preserve private kindness in -the midst of publick opposition, in which will necessarily be involved -a thousand incidents, extending their influence to conversation and -privacy. Men engaged, by moral or religious motives, in contrary parties, -will generally look with different eyes upon every man, and decide almost -every question upon different principles. When such occasions of dispute -happen, to comply is to betray our cause, and to maintain friendship by -ceasing to deserve it; to be silent is to lose the happiness and dignity -of independence, to live in perpetual constraint, and to desert, if not -to betray: and who shall determine which of two friends shall yield, -where neither believes himself mistaken, and both confess the importance -of the question? What then remains but contradiction and debate? and from -those what can be expected, but acrimony and vehemence, the insolence of -triumph, the vexation of defeat, and, in time, a weariness of contest, -and an extinction of benevolence? Exchange of endearments and intercourse -of civility may continue, indeed, as boughs may for a while be verdant, -when the root is wounded; but the poison of discord is infused, and -though the countenance may preserve its smile, the heart is hardening -and contracting. - -That man will not be long agreeable, whom we see only in times of -seriousness and severity; and therefore to maintain the softness and -serenity of benevolence, it is necessary that friends partake each -other's pleasures as well as cares, and be led to the same diversions -by similitude of taste. This is, however, not to be considered as -equally indispensable with conformity of principles, because any man may -honestly, according to the precepts of Horace, resign the gratifications -of taste to the humour of another, and friendship may well deserve the -sacrifice of pleasure, though not of conscience. - -It was once confessed to me, by a painter, that no professor of his art -ever loved another. This declaration is so far justified by the knowledge -of life, as to damp the hopes of warm and constant friendship, between -men whom their studies have made competitors, and whom every favourer -and every censurer are hourly inciting against each other. The utmost -expectation that experience can warrant, is, that they should forbear -open hostilities and secret machinations, and when the whole fraternity -is attacked, be able to unite against a common foe. Some, however, -though few, may perhaps be found, in whom emulation has not been able to -overpower generosity, who are distinguished from lower beings by nobler -motives than the love of fame, and can preserve the sacred flame of -friendship from the gusts of pride, and the rubbish of interest. - -Friendship is seldom lasting but between equals, or where the superiority -on one side is reduced by some equivalent advantage on the other. -Benefits which cannot be repaid, and obligations which cannot be -discharged, are not commonly found to increase affection; they excite -gratitude indeed, and heighten veneration; but commonly take away that -easy freedom and familiarity of intercourse, without which, though -there may be fidelity, and zeal, and admiration, there cannot be -friendship. Thus imperfect are all earthly blessings; the great effect -of friendship is beneficence, yet by the first act of uncommon kindness -it is endangered, like plants that bear their fruit and die. Yet this -consideration ought not to restrain bounty, or repress compassion; for -duty is to be preferred before convenience, and he that loses part of -the pleasures of friendship by his generosity, gains in its place the -gratulation of his conscience. - -[Footnote 48: This passage is almost a literal translation from Phædrus, -lib. iii. 9. - - Vulgare amici nomen, sed rara est fides. - Quum parvas ædes sibi fundasset Socrates, - (Cujus non fugio mortem, si famam adsequar, - Et cedo invidiæ, dum modo absolvar cinis.) - E populo sic, nescio quis, ut fieri solet: - Quæso tam angustam, talis vir, ponis domum? - Utinam, inquit, veris hanc amicis impleam.] - - - - -No. 65. TUESDAY, OCTOBER 30, 1750. - - - _----Garrit aniles_ - _Ex re fabellas.----_ - HOR. Lib. i. Sat. vi. 77. - - The cheerful sage, when solemn dictates fail, - Conceals the moral counsel in a tale. - - -Obidah, the son of Abensina, left the caravansera early in the morning, -and pursued his journey through the plains of Indostan. He was fresh and -vigorous with rest; he was animated with hope; he was incited by desire; -he walked swiftly forward over the valleys, and saw the hills gradually -rising before him. As he passed along, his ears were delighted with the -morning song of the bird of paradise, he was fanned by the last flutters -of the sinking breeze, and sprinkled with dew by groves of spices; he -sometimes contemplated the towering height of the oak, monarch of the -hills; and sometimes caught the gentle fragrance of the primrose, eldest -daughter of the spring; all his senses were gratified, and all care was -banished from his heart. - -Thus he went on till the sun approached his meridian, and the increasing -heat preyed upon his strength; he then looked round about him for some -more commodious path. He saw, on his right hand, a grove that seemed to -wave its shades as a sign of invitation; he entered it, and found the -coolness and verdure irresistibly pleasant. He did not, however, forget -whither he was travelling, but found a narrow way bordered with flowers, -which appeared to have the same direction with the main road, and was -pleased that, by this happy experiment, he had found means to unite -pleasure with business, and to gain the rewards of diligence without -suffering its fatigues. He, therefore, still continued to walk for a time, -without the least remission of his ardour, except that he was sometimes -tempted to stop by the musick of the birds whom the heat had assembled -in the shade; and sometimes amused himself with plucking the flowers -that covered the banks on either side, or the fruits that hung upon -the branches. At last the green path began to decline from its first -tendency, and to wind among hills and thickets, cooled with fountains -and murmuring with waterfalls. Here Obidah paused for a time, and began -to consider whether it were longer safe to forsake the known and common -track; but remembering that the heat was now in its greatest violence, -and that the plain was dusty and uneven, he resolved to pursue the new -path, which he supposed only to make a few meanders, in compliance with -the varieties of the ground, and to end at last in the common road. - -Having thus calmed his solicitude, he renewed his pace, though he suspected -that he was not gaining ground. This uneasiness of his mind inclined him -to lay hold on every new object, and give way to every sensation that -might sooth or divert him. He listened to every echo, he mounted every -hill for a fresh prospect, he turned aside to every cascade, and pleased -himself with tracing the course of a gentle river that rolled among the -trees, and watered a large region with innumerable circumvolutions. In -these amusements the hours passed away uncounted, his deviations had -perplexed his memory, and he knew not towards what point to travel. He -stood pensive and confused, afraid to go forward lest he should go wrong, -yet conscious that the time of loitering was now past. While he was thus -tortured with uncertainty, the sky was overspread with clouds, the -day vanished from before him, and a sudden tempest gathered round his -head. He was now roused by his danger to a quick and painful remembrance -of his folly; he now saw how happiness is lost when ease is consulted; -he lamented the unmanly impatience that prompted him to seek shelter -in the grove, and despised the petty curiosity that led him on from -trifle to trifle. While he was thus reflecting, the air grew blacker, -and a clap of thunder broke his meditation. - -He now resolved to do what remained yet in his power, to tread back the -ground which he had passed, and try to find some issue where the wood -might open into the plain. He prostrated himself on the ground, and -commended his life to the Lord of nature. He rose with confidence and -tranquillity, and pressed on with his sabre in his hand, for the beasts -of the desert were in motion, and on every hand were heard the mingled -howls of rage and fear, and ravage and expiration; all the horrours of -darkness and solitude surrounded him; the winds roared in the woods, and -the torrents tumbled from the hills, - - [Greek: ----cheimarrhoi potamoi kat' oresphi rheontes - Es misgankeian symballeton obrimon hydôr, - Tonde te têlose doupon en ouresin eklye poimên.] - - Work'd into sudden rage by wintry show'rs, - Down the steep hill the roaring torrent pours; - The mountain shepherd hears the distant noise. - -Thus forlorn and distressed, he wandered through the wild, without knowing -whither he was going, or whether he was every moment drawing nearer to -safety or to destruction. At length not fear but labour began to overcome -him; his breath grew short, and his knees trembled, he was on the point -of lying down in resignation to his fate, when he beheld through the -brambles the glimmer of a taper. He advanced towards the light, and -finding that it proceeded from the cottage of a hermit, he called humbly -at the door, and obtained admission. The old man set before him such -provisions as he had collected for himself, on which Obidah fed with -eagerness and gratitude. - -When the repast was over, "Tell me," said the hermit, "by what chance thou -hast been brought hither; I have been now twenty years an inhabitant of -the wilderness, in which I never saw a man before." Obidah then related -the occurrences of his journey, without any concealment or palliation. - -"Son," said the hermit, "let the errours and follies, the dangers and -escape of this day, sink deep into thy heart. Remember, my son, that -human life is the journey of a day. We rise in the morning of youth, -full of vigour and full of expectation; we set forward with spirit -and hope, with gaiety and with diligence, and travel on a while in the -straight road of piety towards the mansions of rest. In a short time we -remit our fervour, and endeavour to find some mitigation of our duty, -and some more easy means of obtaining the same end. We then relax our -vigour, and resolve no longer to be terrified with crimes at a distance, -but rely upon our own constancy, and venture to approach what we resolve -never to touch. We thus enter the bowers of ease, and repose in the shades -of security. Here the heart softens and vigilance subsides; we are then -willing to inquire whether another advance cannot be made, and whether -we may not, at least, turn our eyes upon the gardens of pleasure. We -approach them with scruple and hesitation; we enter them, but enter -timorous and trembling, and always hope to pass through them without -losing the road of virtue, which we, for a while, keep in our sight, -and to which we propose to return. But temptation succeeds temptation, -and one compliance prepares us for another; we in time lose the happiness -of innocence, and solace our disquiet with sensual gratifications. By -degrees we let fall the remembrance of our original intention, and quit -the only adequate object of rational desire. We entangle ourselves in -business, immerge ourselves in luxury, and rove through the labyrinths -of inconstancy, till the darkness of old age begins to invade us, and -disease and anxiety obstruct our way. We then look back upon our lives -with horrour, with sorrow, with repentance; and wish, but too often vainly -wish, that we had not forsaken the ways of virtue. Happy are they, my son, -who shall learn from thy example not to despair, but shall remember, that -though the day is past, and their strength is wasted, there yet remains -one effort to be made; that reformation is never hopeless, nor sincere -endeavours ever unassisted; that the wanderer may at length return after -all his errours, and that he who implores strength and courage from above, -shall find danger and difficulty give way before him. Go now, my son, -to thy repose, commit thyself to the care of Omnipotence, and when the -morning calls again to toil, begin anew thy journey and thy life." - - - - -No. 66. SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 3, 1750. - - - _----Pauci dignoscere possunt_ - _Vera bona, atque illis multum diversa, remotâ_ - _Erroris nebula._ - JUV. Sat. x. 2. - - ----How few - Know their own good; or, knowing it, pursue! - How void of reason are our hopes and fears! - DRYDEN. - - -The folly of human wishes and pursuits has always been a standing subject -of mirth and declamation, and has been ridiculed and lamented from age -to age; till perhaps the fruitless repetition of complaints and censures, -may be justly numbered among the subjects of censure and complaint. - -Some of these instructors of mankind have not contented themselves with -checking the overflows of passion, and lopping the exuberance of desire, -but have attempted to destroy the root as well as the branches; and not -only to confine the mind within bounds, but to smooth it for ever by a -dead calm. They have employed their reason and eloquence to persuade us, -that nothing is worth the wish of a wise man, have represented all earthly -good and evil as indifferent, and counted among vulgar errours the dread -of pain, and the love of life. - -It is almost always the unhappiness of a victorious disputant, to destroy -his own authority by claiming too many consequences, or diffusing his -proposition to an indefensible extent. When we have heated our zeal in a -cause, and elated our confidence with success, we are naturally inclined -to pursue the same train of reasoning, to establish some collateral -truth, to remove some adjacent difficulty, and to take in the whole -comprehension of our system. As a prince, in the ardour of acquisition, -is willing to secure his first conquest by the addition of another, add -fortress to fortress, and city to city, till despair and opportunity turn -his enemies upon him, and he loses in a moment the glory of a reign. - -The philosophers having found an easy victory over those desires which -we produce in ourselves, and which terminate in some imaginary state of -happiness unknown and unattainable, proceeded to make further inroads -upon the heart, and attacked at last our senses and our instincts. They -continued to war upon nature with arms, by which only folly could be -conquered; they therefore lost the trophies of their former combats, and -were considered no longer with reverence or regard. - -Yet it cannot be with justice denied, that these men have been very useful -monitors, and have left many proofs of strong reason, deep penetration, -and accurate attention to the affairs of life, which it is now our -business to separate from the foam of a boiling imagination, and to apply -judiciously to our own use. They have shewn that most of the conditions -of life, which raise the envy of the timorous, and rouse the ambition -of the daring, are empty shows of felicity, which, when they become -familiar, lose their power of delighting; and that the most prosperous -and exalted have very few advantages over a meaner and more obscure -fortune, when their dangers and solicitudes are balanced against their -equipage, their banquets, and their palaces. - -It is natural for every man uninstructed to murmur at his condition, -because, in the general infelicity of life, he feels his own miseries, -without knowing that they are common to all the rest of the species; -and therefore, though he will not be less sensible of pain by being -told that others are equally tormented, he will at least be freed from -the temptation of seeking, by perpetual changes, that ease which is no -where to be found; and though his disease still continues, he escapes the -hazard of exasperating it by remedies. - -The gratifications which affluence of wealth, extent of power, and -eminence of reputation confer, must be always, by their own nature, -confined to a very small number; and the life of the greater part of -mankind must be lost in empty wishes and painful comparisons, were -not the balm of philosophy shed upon us, and our discontent at the -appearances of an unequal distribution soothed and appeased. - -It seemed, perhaps, below the dignity of the great masters of moral -learning, to descend to familiar life, and caution mankind against that -petty ambition which is known among us by the name of Vanity; which -yet had been an undertaking not unworthy of the longest beard, and most -solemn austerity. For though the passions of little minds, acting in -low stations, do not fill the world with bloodshed and devastations, or -mark, by great events, the periods of time, yet they torture the breast -on which they seize, infest those that are placed within the reach of -their influence, destroy private quiet and private virtue, and undermine -insensibly the happiness of the world. - -The desire of excellence is laudable, but is very frequently ill directed. -We fall, by chance, into some class of mankind, and, without consulting -nature or wisdom, resolve to gain their regard by those qualities which -they happen to esteem. I once knew a man remarkably dim-sighted, who, -by conversing much with country gentlemen, found himself irresistibly -determined to sylvan honours. His great ambition was to shoot flying, -and he therefore spent whole days in the woods pursuing game; which, -before he was near enough to see them, his approach frighted away. - -When it happens that the desire tends to objects which produce no -competition, it may be overlooked with some indulgence, because, however -fruitless or absurd, it cannot have ill effects upon the morals. But most -of our enjoyments owe their value to the peculiarity of possession, and -when they are rated at too high a value, give occasion to stratagems of -malignity, and incite opposition, hatred, and defamation. The contest of -two rural beauties for preference and distinction, is often sufficiently -keen and rancorous to fill their breasts with all those passions, which -are generally thought the curse only of senates, of armies, and of -courts; and the rival dancers of an obscure assembly have their partizans -and abettors, often not less exasperated against each other, than those -who are promoting the interests of rival monarchs. - -It is common to consider those whom we find infected with an unreasonable -regard for trifling accomplishments, as chargeable with all the -consequences of their folly, and as the authors of their own unhappiness: -but, perhaps, those whom we thus scorn or detest, have more claim to -tenderness than has been yet allowed them. Before we permit our severity -to break loose upon any fault or errour, we ought surely to consider how -much we have countenanced or promoted it. We see multitudes busy in the -pursuit of riches, at the expense of wisdom and of virtue; but we see the -rest of mankind approving their conduct, and inciting their eagerness, by -paying that regard and deference to wealth, which wisdom and virtue only -can deserve. We see women universally jealous of the reputation of their -beauty, and frequently look with contempt on the care with which they -study their complexions, endeavour to preserve or to supply the bloom -of youth, regulate every ornament, twist their hair into curls, and -shade their faces from the weather. We recommend the care of their nobler -part, and tell them how little addition is made by all their arts to -the graces of the mind. But when was it known that female goodness or -knowledge was able to attract that officiousness, or inspire that ardour, -which beauty produces whenever it appears? And with what hope can we -endeavour to persuade the ladies, that the time spent at the toilet is -lost in vanity, when they have every moment some new conviction, that -their interest is more effectually promoted by a riband well disposed, -than by the brightest act of heroick virtue? - -In every instance of vanity it will be found that the blame ought to -be shared among more than it generally reaches; all who exalt trifles -by immoderate praise, or instigate needless emulation by invidious -incitements, are to be considered as perverters of reason, and corrupters -of the world: and since every man is obliged to promote happiness and -virtue, he should be careful not to mislead unwary minds, by appearing to -set too high a value upon things by which no real excellence is conferred. - - - - -No. 67. TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 6, 1750. - - - [Greek: Ai d' elpides boskousi phygadas, hôs logos - Kalois blepousi g' ommasin, mellousi de.] - EURIP. Phoen. 407. - - Exiles, the proverb says, subsist on hope, - Delusive hope still points to distant good, - To good that mocks approach. - - -There is no temper so generally indulged as hope: other passions operate -by starts on particular occasions, or in certain parts of life; but hope -begins with the first power of comparing our actual with our possible -state, and attends us through every stage and period, always urging us -forward to new acquisitions, and holding out some distant blessing to our -view, promising us either relief from pain, or increase of happiness. - -Hope is necessary in every condition. The miseries of poverty, of -sickness, of captivity, would, without this comfort, be insupportable; -nor does it appear that the happiest lot of terrestrial existence can set -us above the want of this general blessing; or that life, when the gifts -of nature and of fortune are accumulated upon it, would not still be -wretched, were it not elevated and delighted by the expectation of some -new possession, of some enjoyment yet behind, by which the wish shall be -at last satisfied, and the heart filled up to its utmost extent. - -Hope, is indeed, very fallacious, and promises what it seldom gives; but -its promises are more valuable than the gifts of fortune, and it seldom -frustrates us without assuring us of recompensing the delay by a greater -bounty. - -I was musing on this strange inclination which every man feels to deceive -himself, and considering the advantages and dangers proceeding from this -gay prospect of futurity, when, falling asleep, on a sudden I found myself -placed in a garden, of which my sight could descry no limits. Every scene -about me was gay and gladsome, light with sunshine, and fragrant with -perfumes; the ground was painted with all the variety of spring, and all -the choir of nature was singing in the groves. When I had recovered from -the first raptures, with which the confusion of pleasure had for a time -entranced me, I began to take a particular and deliberate view of this -delightful region. I then perceived that I had yet higher gratifications -to expect, and that, at a small distance from me, there were brighter -flowers, clearer fountains, and more lofty groves, where the birds, which -I yet heard but faintly, were exerting all the power of melody. The trees -about me were beautiful with verdure, and fragrant with blossoms; but I -was tempted to leave them by the sight of ripe fruits, which seemed to -hang only to be plucked. I therefore walked hastily forwards, but found, -as I proceeded, that the colours of the field faded at my approach, the -fruit fell before I reached it, the birds flew still singing before me, -and though I pressed onward with great celerity, I was still in sight -of pleasures of which I could not yet gain the possession, and which -seemed to mock my diligence, and to retire as I advanced. - -Though I was confounded with so many alternations of joy and grief, I yet -persisted to go forward, in hopes that these fugitive delights would in -time be overtaken. At length I saw an innumerable multitude of every age -and sex, who seemed all to partake of some general felicity; for every -cheek was flushed with confidence, and every eye sparkled with eagerness: -yet each appeared to have some particular and secret pleasure, and very -few were willing to communicate their intentions, or extend their concern -beyond themselves. Most of them seemed, by the rapidity of their motion, -too busy to gratify the curiosity of a stranger, and therefore I was -content for a while to gaze upon them, without interrupting them with -troublesome inquiries. At last I observed one man worn with time, and -unable to struggle in the crowd; and, therefore, supposing him more at -leisure, I began to accost him: but he turned from me with anger, and -told me he must not be disturbed, for the great hour of projection was -now come when Mercury should lose his wings, and slavery should no longer -dig the mine for gold. - -I left him, and attempted another, whose softness of mien, and easy -movement, gave me reason to hope for a more agreeable reception; but he -told me, with a low bow, that nothing would make him more happy than an -opportunity of serving me, which he could not now want, for a place which -he had been twenty years soliciting would be soon vacant. From him I had -recourse to the next, who was departing in haste to take possession of -the estate of an uncle, who by the course of nature could not live long. -He that followed was preparing to dive for treasure in a new-invented -bell; and another was on the point of discovering the longitude. - -Being thus rejected wheresoever I applied myself for information, I -began to imagine it best to desist from inquiry, and try what my own -observation would discover: but seeing a young man, gay and thoughtless, -I resolved upon one more experiment, and was informed that I was in the -garden of Hope, and daughter of Desire, and that all those whom I saw -thus tumultuously bustling round me were incited by the promises of Hope, -and hastening to seize the gifts which she held in her hand. - -I turned my sight upward, and saw a goddess in the bloom of youth sitting -on a throne: around her lay all the gifts of fortune, and all the -blessings of life were spread abroad to view; she had a perpetual gaiety -of aspect, and every one imagined that her smile, which was impartial and -general, was directed to himself, and triumphed in his own superiority to -others, who had conceived the same confidence from the same mistake. - -I then mounted an eminence, from which I had a more extensive view of -the whole place, and could with less perplexity consider the different -conduct of the crowds that filled it. From this station I observed, -that the entrance into the garden of Hope was by two gates, one of -which was kept by Reason, and the other by Fancy. Reason was surly and -scrupulous, and seldom turned the key without many interrogatories, -and long hesitation; but Fancy was a kind and gentle portress, she held -her gate wide open, and welcomed all equally to the district under her -superintendency; so that the passage was crowded by all those who either -feared the examination of Reason, or had been rejected by her. - -From the gate of Reason there was a way to the throne of Hope, by a -craggy, slippery and winding path, called the _Streight of Difficulty_, -which those who entered with the permission of the guard endeavoured -to climb. But though they surveyed the way very carefully before they -began to rise, and marked out the several stages of their progress, they -commonly found unexpected obstacles, and were obliged frequently to stop -on the sudden, where they imagined the way plain and even. A thousand -intricacies embarrassed them, a thousand slips threw them back, and a -thousand pitfalls impeded their advance. So formidable were the dangers, -and so frequent the miscarriages, that many returned from the first -attempt, and many fainted in the midst of the way, and only a very small -number were led up to the summit of Hope, by the hand of Fortitude. Of -these few the greater part, when they had obtained the gift which Hope -had promised them, regretted the labour which it cost, and felt in their -success the regret of disappointment; the rest retired with their prize, -and were led by Wisdom to the bowers of Content. - -Turning then towards the gate of Fancy, I could find no way to the seat -of Hope; but though she sat full in view, and held out her gifts with an -air of invitation, which filled every heart with rapture, the mountain -was, on that side, inaccessibly steep, but so channelled and shaded, -that none perceived the impossibility of ascending it, but each imagined -himself to have discovered a way to which the rest were strangers. Many -expedients were indeed tried by this industrious tribe, of whom some were -making themselves wings, which others were contriving to actuate by the -perpetual motion. But with all their labour, and all their artifices, -they never rose above the ground, or quickly fell back, nor ever -approached the throne of Hope, but continued still to gaze at a distance, -and laughed at the slow progress of those whom they saw toiling in the -_Streight of Difficulty_. - -Part of the favourites of Fancy, when they had entered the garden, -without making, like the rest, an attempt to climb the mountain, turned -immediately to the vale of Idleness, a calm and undisturbed retirement, -from whence they could always have Hope in prospect, and to which they -pleased themselves with believing that she intended speedily to descend. -These were indeed scorned by all the rest; but they seemed very little -affected by contempt, advice, or reproof, but were resolved to expect at -ease the favour of the goddess. - -Among this gay race I was wandering, and found them ready to answer all -my questions, and willing to communicate their mirth; but turning round, -I saw two dreadful monsters entering the vale, one of whom I knew to be -Age, and the other Want. Sport and revelling were now at an end, and an -universal shriek of affright and distress burst out and awaked me. - - - - -No. 68. SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 10, 1750. - - - _Vivendum recte est, cum propter plurima, tum his_ - _Præcipæ causis, ut linguas mancipiorum_ - _Contemnas. Nam lingua mali pars pessima servi._ - JUV. ix. 118. - - Let us live well: were it alone for this - The baneful tongues of servants to despise - Slander, that worst of poisons, ever finds - An easy entrance to ignoble minds. - HERVEY. - - -The younger Pliny has very justly observed, that of actions that deserve -our attention, the most splendid are not always the greatest. Fame, and -wonder, and applause, are not excited but by external and adventitious -circumstances, often distinct and separate from virtue and heroism. -Eminence of station, greatness of effect, and all the favours of -fortune, must concur to place excellence in publick view; but fortitude, -diligence, and patience, divested of their show, glide unobserved through -the crowd of life, and suffer and act, though with the same vigour and -constancy, yet without pity and without praise. - -This remark may be extended to all parts of life. Nothing is to be -estimated by its effect upon common eyes and common ears. A thousand -miseries make silent and invisible inroads on mankind, and the heart -feels innumerable throbs, which never break into complaint. Perhaps, -likewise, our pleasures are for the most part equally secret, and most -are borne up by some private satisfaction, some internal consciousness, -some latent hope, some peculiar prospect, which they never communicate, -but reserve for solitary hours, and clandestine meditation. - -The main of life is, indeed, composed of small incidents and petty -occurrences; of wishes for objects not remote, and grief for -disappointments of no fatal consequence; of insect vexations which -sting us and fly away, impertinences which buzz awhile about us, and -are heard no more; of meteorous pleasures which dance before us and are -dissipated; of compliments which glide off the soul like other musick, -and are forgotten by him that gave, and him that received them. - -Such is the general heap out of which every man is to cull his own -condition: for, as the chemists tell us, that all bodies are resolvable -into the same elements, and that the boundless variety of things arises -from the different proportions of very few ingredients; so a few pains -and a few pleasures are all the materials of human life, and of these -the proportions are partly allotted by Providence, and partly left to the -arrangement of reason and of choice. - -As these are well or ill disposed, man is for the most part happy or -miserable. For very few are involved in great events, or have their -thread of life entwisted with the chain of causes on which armies or -nations are suspended; and even those who seem wholly busied in publick -affairs, and elevated above low cares, or trivial pleasures, pass the -chief part of their time in familiar and domestick scenes; from these -they came into publick life, to these they are every hour recalled by -passions not to be suppressed; in these they have the reward of their -toils, and to these at last they retire. - -The great end of prudence is to give cheerfulness to those hours, which -splendour cannot gild, and acclamation cannot exhilarate; those soft -intervals of unbended amusement, in which a man shrinks to his natural -dimensions, and throws aside the ornaments or disguises, which he feels -in privacy to be useless incumbrances, and to lose all effect when -they become familiar. To be happy at home is the ultimate result of all -ambition, the end to which every enterprise and labour tends, and of -which every desire prompts the prosecution. - -It is, indeed, at home that every man must be known by those who would -make a just estimate either of his virtue or felicity; for smiles and -embroidery are alike occasional, and the mind is often dressed for show -in painted honour and fictitious benevolence. - -Every man must have found some whose lives, in every house but their -own, was a continual series of hypocrisy, and who concealed under fair -appearances bad qualities, which, whenever they thought themselves out -of the reach of censure, broke out from their restraint, like winds -imprisoned in their caverns, and whom every one had reason to love, but -they whose love a wise man is chiefly solicitous to procure. And there -are others who, without any show of general goodness, and without the -attractions by which popularity is conciliated, are received among their -own families as bestowers of happiness, and reverenced as instructors, -guardians, and benefactors. - -The most authentick witnesses of any man's character are those who -know him in his own family, and see him without any restraint or rule -of conduct, but such as he voluntarily prescribes to himself. If a -man carries virtue with him into his private apartments, and takes no -advantage of unlimited power or probable secrecy; if we trace him through -the round of his time, and find that his character, with those allowances -which mortal frailty must always want, is uniform and regular, we have -all the evidence of his sincerity that one man can have with regard to -another: and, indeed, as hypocrisy cannot be its own reward, we may, -without hesitation, determine that his heart is pure. - -The highest panegyrick, therefore, that private virtue can receive, is the -praise of servants. For, however vanity or insolence may look down with -contempt on the suffrage of men undignified by wealth, and unenlightened -by education, it very seldom happens that they commend or blame without -justice. Vice and virtue are easily distinguished. Oppression, according -to Harrington's aphorism, will be felt by those that cannot see it; -and, perhaps, it falls out very often that, in moral questions, the -philosophers in the gown, and in the livery, differ not so much in their -sentiments, as in their language, and have equal power of discerning -right, though they cannot point it out to others with equal address. - -There are very few faults to be committed in solitude, or without some -agents, partners, confederates, or witnesses; and, therefore, the servant -must commonly know the secrets of a master, who has any secrets to -entrust; and failings, merely personal, are so frequently exposed by that -security which pride and folly generally produce, and so inquisitively -watched by that desire of reducing the inequalities of condition, which -the lower orders of the world will always feel, that the testimony of -a menial domestick can seldom be considered as defective for want of -knowledge. And though its impartiality may be sometimes suspected, it is -at least as credible as that of equals, where rivalry instigates censure, -or friendship dictates palliations. - -The danger of betraying our weakness to our servants, and the -impossibility of concealing it from them, may be justly considered as -one motive to a regular and irreproachable life. For no condition is -more hateful or despicable, than his who has put himself in the power of -his servant; in the power of him whom, perhaps, he has first corrupted -by making him subservient to his vices, and whose fidelity he therefore -cannot enforce by any precepts of honesty or reason. It is seldom known -that authority thus acquired, is possessed without insolence, or that the -master is not forced to confess by his tameness or forbearance, that he -has enslaved himself by some foolish confidence. And his crime is equally -punished, whatever part he takes of the choice to which he is reduced; -and he is from that fatal hour, in which he sacrificed his dignity to his -passions, in perpetual dread of insolence or defamation; of a controuler -at home, or an accuser abroad. He is condemned to purchase, by continual -bribes, that secrecy which bribes never secured, and which, after a long -course of submission, promises, and anxieties, he will find violated in -a fit of rage, or in a frolick of drunkenness. - -To dread no eye, and to suspect no tongue, is the great prerogative of -innocence; an exemption granted only to invariable virtue. But guilt has -always its horrours and solicitudes; and to make it yet more shameful and -detestable, it is doomed often to stand in awe of those, to whom nothing -could give influence or weight, but their power of betraying. - - - - -No. 69. TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 13, 1750. - - - _Flet quoque, ut in speculo rugas adspexit aniles,_ - _Tyndaris: et secum, cur sit bis rapta, requirit._ - _Tempus edax rerum, tuque invidiosa vetustas,_ - _Omnia destruitis: vitiataque dentibus ævi_ - _Paulatim lentâ consumitis omnia morte._ - OVID, Met. xv. 232. - - The dreadful wrinkles when poor Helen spy'd, - Ah! why this second rape? with tears she cry'd, - Time, thou devourer, and thou, envious age, - Who all destroy with keen corroding rage, - Beneath your jaws, whate'er have pleas'd or please, - Must sink, consum'd by swift or slow degrees. - ELPHINSTON. - - -An old Greek epigrammatist, intending to shew the miseries that attend the -last stage of man, imprecates upon those who are so foolish as to wish -for long life, the calamity of continuing to grow old from century to -century. He thought that no adventitious or foreign pain was requisite; -that decrepitude itself was an epitome of whatever is dreadful; and -nothing could be added to the curse of age, but that it should be -extended beyond its natural limits. - -The most indifferent or negligent spectator can indeed scarcely retire -without heaviness of heart, from a view of the last scenes of the tragedy -of life, in which he finds those who, in the former parts of the drama, -were distinguished by opposition of conduct, contrariety of designs, and -dissimilitude of personal qualities, all involved in one common distress, -and all struggling with affliction which they cannot hope to overcome. - -The other miseries, which way-lay our passage through the world, wisdom -may escape, and fortitude may conquer: by caution and circumspection we -may steal along with very little to obstruct or incommode us; by spirit -and vigour we may force a way, and reward the vexation of contest by the -pleasures of victory. But a time must come when our policy and bravery -shall be equally useless; when we shall all sink into helplessness and -sadness, without any power of receiving solace from the pleasures that -have formerly delighted us, or any prospect of emerging into a second -possession of the blessings that we have lost. - -The industry of man has, indeed, not been wanting in endeavours to procure -comforts for these hours of dejection and melancholy, and to gild the -dreadful gloom with artificial light. The most usual support of old age -is wealth. He whose possessions are large, and whose chests are full, -imagines himself always fortified against invasions on his authority. If -he has lost all other means of government, if his strength and his reason -fail him, he can at last alter his will; and therefore all that have -hopes must, likewise have fears, and he may still continue to give laws -to such as have not ceased to regard their own interest. - -This is, indeed, too frequently the citadel of the dotard, the last -fortress to which age retires, and in which he makes the stand against the -upstart race that seizes his domains, disputes his commands, and cancels -his prescriptions. But here, though there may be safety, there is no -pleasure; and what remains is but a proof that more was once possessed. - -Nothing seems to have been more universally dreaded by the ancients than -orbity, or want of children; and, indeed, to a man who has survived all -the companions of his youth, all who have participated his pleasures -and his cares, have been engaged in the same events, and filled their -minds with the same conceptions, this full-peopled world is a dismal -solitude. He stands forlorn and silent, neglected or insulted, in the -midst of multitudes, animated with hopes which he cannot share, and -employed in business which he is no longer able to forward or retard; nor -can he find any to whom his life or his death are of importance, unless -he has secured some domestick gratifications, some tender employments, -and endeared himself to some whose interest and gratitude may unite them -to him. - -So different are the colours of life as we look forward to the future, -or backward to the past; and so different the opinions and sentiments -which this contrariety of appearance naturally produces, that the -conversation of the old and young ends generally with contempt or pity -on either side. To a young man entering the world with fulness of hope, -and ardour of pursuit, nothing is so unpleasing as the cold caution, -the faint expectations, the scrupulous diffidence, which experience and -disappointments certainly infuse; and the old man wonders in his turn that -the world never can grow wiser, that neither precepts, nor testimonies, -can cure boys of their credulity and sufficiency; and that not one can be -convinced that snares are laid for him, till he finds himself entangled. - -Thus one generation is always the scorn and wonder of the other; and the -notions of the old and young are like liquors of different gravity and -texture, which never can unite. The spirits of youth sublimed by health, -and volatilized by passion, soon leave behind them the phlegmatick -sediment of weariness and deliberation, and burst out in temerity and -enterprise. The tenderness, therefore, which nature infuses, and which -long habits of beneficence confirm, is necessary to reconcile such -opposition; and an old man must be a father to bear with patience those -follies and absurdities which he will perpetually imagine himself to find -in the schemes and expectations, the pleasures and the sorrows, of those -who have not yet been hardened by time, and chilled by frustration. - -Yet it may be doubted, whether the pleasure of seeing children ripening -into strength, be not overbalanced by the pain of seeing some fall in -the blossom, and others blasted in their growth; some shaken down with -storms, some tainted with cankers, and some shrivelled in the shade; and -whether he that extends his care beyond himself, does not multiply his -anxieties more than his pleasures, and weary himself to no purpose, by -superintending what he cannot regulate. - -But though age be to every order of human beings sufficiently terrible, it -is particularly to be dreaded by fine ladies, who have had no other end -or ambition than to fill up the day and the night with dress, diversions, -and flattery, and who, having made no acquaintance with knowledge, or -with business, have constantly caught all their ideas from the current -prattle of the hour, and been indebted for all their happiness to -compliments and treats. With these ladies, age begins early, and very -often lasts long; it begins when their beauty fades, when their mirth -loses its sprightliness, and their motion its ease. From that time all -which gave them joy vanishes from about them; they hear the praises -bestowed on others, which used to swell their bosoms with exultation. -They visit the seats of felicity, and endeavour to continue the habit of -being delighted. But pleasure is only received when we believe that we -give it in return. Neglect and petulance inform them that their power and -their value are past; and what then remains but a tedious and comfortless -uniformity of time, without any motion of the heart, or exercise of the -reason? - -Yet, however age may discourage us by its appearance from considering -it in prospect, we shall all by degrees certainly be old; and therefore -we ought to inquire what provision can be made against that time of -distress? what happiness can be stored up against the winter of life? and -how we may pass our latter years with serenity and cheerfulness? - -If it has been found by the experience of mankind, that not even the best -seasons of life are able to supply sufficient gratifications, without -anticipating uncertain felicities, it cannot surely be supposed that -old age, worn with labours, harassed with anxieties, and tortured with -diseases, should have any gladness of its own, or feel any satisfaction -from the contemplation of the present. All the comfort that can now be -expected must be recalled from the past, or borrowed from the future; -the past is very soon exhausted, all the events or actions which the -memory can afford pleasure are quickly recollected; and the future lies -beyond the grave, where it can be reached only by virtue and devotion. - -Piety is the only proper and adequate relief of decaying man. He that -grows old without religious hopes, as he declines into imbecility, and -feels pains and sorrows incessantly crowding upon him, falls into a gulph -of bottomless misery, in which every reflection must plunge him deeper, -and where he finds only new gradations of anguish, and precipices of -horrour. - - - - -No. 70. SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 17, 1750. - - - _----Argentea proles,_ - _Auro deterior, fulvo pretiosior ære._ - OVID, Met. i. 114. - - Succeeding times a silver age behold, - Excelling brass, but more excell'd by gold. - DRYDEN. - - -Hesiod, in his celebrated distribution of mankind, divides them into three -orders of intellect. "The first place," says he, "belongs to him that -can by his own powers discern what is right and fit, and penetrate to the -remoter motives of action. The second is claimed by him that is willing -to hear instruction, and can perceive right and wrong when they are shewn -him by another; but he that has neither acuteness nor docility, who can -neither find the way by himself, nor will be led by others, is a wretch -without use or value." - -If we survey the moral world, it will be found, that the same division -may be made of men, with regard to their virtue. There are some whose -principles are so firmly fixed, whose conviction is so constantly present -to their minds, and who have raised in themselves such ardent wishes for -the approbation of God, and the happiness with which he has promised to -reward obedience and perseverance, that they rise above all other cares -and considerations, and uniformly examine every action and desire, by -comparing it with the divine commands. There are others in a kind of -equipoise between good and ill; who are moved on the one part by riches -or pleasure, by the gratifications of passion and the delights of sense; -and, on the other, by laws of which they own the obligation, and rewards -of which they believe the reality, and whom a very small addition of -weight turns either way. The third class consists of beings immersed -in pleasure, or abandoned to passion, without any desire of higher -good, or any effort to extend their thoughts beyond immediate and gross -satisfactions. - -The second class is so much the most numerous, that it may be considered -as comprising the whole body of mankind. Those of the last are not very -many, and those of the first are very few; and neither the one nor the -other fall much under the consideration of the moralists, whose precepts -are intended chiefly for those who are endeavouring to go forward up the -steeps of virtue, not for those who have already reached the summit, or -those who are resolved to stay for ever in their present situation. - -To a man not versed in the living world, but accustomed to judge only by -speculative reason, it is scarcely credible that any one should be in -this state of indifference, or stand undetermined and unengaged, ready to -follow the first call to either side. It seems certain, that either a man -must believe that virtue will make him happy, and resolve therefore to -be virtuous, or think that he may be happy without virtue, and therefore -cast off all care but for his present interest. It seems impossible that -conviction should be on one side, and practice on the other; and that -he who has seen the right way should voluntarily shut his eyes, that -he may quit it with more tranquillity. Yet all these absurdities are -every hour to be found; the wisest and best men deviate from known and -acknowledged duties, by inadvertency or surprise; and most are good -no longer than while temptation is away, than while their passions are -without excitements, and their opinions are free from the counteraction -of any other motive. - -Among the sentiments which almost every man changes as he advances into -years, is the expectation of uniformity of character. He that without -acquaintance with the power of desire, the cogency of distress, the -complications of affairs, or the force of partial influence, has filled -his mind with the excellence of virtue, and, having never tried his -resolution in any encounters with hope or fear, believes it able to -stand firm whatever shall oppose it, will be always clamorous against -the smallest failure, ready to exact the utmost punctualities of right, -and to consider every man that fails in any part of his duty, as without -conscience and without merit; unworthy of trust or love, of pity or -regard; as an enemy whom all should join to drive out of society, as a -pest which all should avoid, or as a weed which all should trample. - -It is not but by experience, that we are taught the possibility of -retaining some virtues, and rejecting others, or of being good or bad -to a particular degree. For it is very easy to the solitary reasoner, to -prove that the same arguments by which the mind is fortified against one -crime are of equal force against all, and the consequence very naturally -follows, that he whom they fail to move on any occasion, has either never -considered them, or has by some fallacy taught himself to evade their -validity; and that, therefore, when a man is known to be guilty of one -crime, no farther evidence is needful of his depravity and corruption. - -Yet such is the state of all mortal virtue, that it is always uncertain -and variable, sometimes extending to the whole compass of duty, and -sometimes shrinking into a narrow space, and fortifying only a few avenues -of the heart, while all the rest is left open to the incursions of -appetite, or given up to the dominion of wickedness. Nothing therefore -is more unjust than to judge of man by too short an acquaintance, -and too slight inspection; for it often happens, that in the loose, -and thoughtless, and dissipated, there is a secret radical worth, which -may shoot out by proper cultivation; that the spark of heaven, though -dimmed and obstructed, is yet not extinguished, but may, by the breath -of counsel and exhortation, be kindled into flame. - -To imagine that every one who is not completely good is irrecoverably -abandoned, is to suppose that all are capable of the same degree -of excellence; it is indeed to exact from all that perfection which -none ever can attain. And since the purest virtue is consistent with -some vice, and the virtue of the greatest number with almost an equal -proportion of contrary qualities, let none too hastily conclude, that all -goodness is lost, though it may for a time be clouded and overwhelmed; -for most minds are the slaves of external circumstances, and conform to -any hand that undertakes to mould them, roll down any torrent of custom -in which they happen to be caught, or bend to any importunity that bears -hard against them. - -It may be particularly observed of women, that they are for the most -part good or bad, as they fall among those who practise vice or virtue; -and that neither education nor reason gives them much security against -the influence of example. Whether it be that they have less courage to -stand against opposition, or that their desire of admiration makes them -sacrifice their principles to the poor pleasure of worthless praise, it -is certain, whatever be the cause, that female goodness seldom keeps its -ground against laughter, flattery, or fashion. - -For this reason, every one should consider himself as entrusted, not only -with his own conduct, but with that of others; and as accountable, not -only for the duties which he neglects, or the crimes that he commits, but -for that negligence and irregularity which he may encourage or inculcate. -Every man, in whatever station, has, or endeavours to have, his followers, -admirers, and imitators, and has therefore the influence of his example -to watch with care; he ought to avoid not only crimes, but the appearance -of crimes, and not only to practise virtue, but to applaud, countenance, -and support it. For it is possible that for want of attention, we may -teach others faults from which ourselves are free, or by a cowardly -desertion of a cause which we ourselves approve, may pervert those who -fix their eyes upon us, and having no rule of their own to guide their -course, are easily misled by the aberrations of that example which they -choose for their direction. - - - - -No. 71. TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 20, 1750. - - - _Vivere quod propero pauper, nec inutilis annis;_ - _Da veniam: properat vivere nemo satis._ - MART. Lib. ii. Ep. xc. 4. - - True, sir, to live I haste, your pardon give, - For tell me, who makes haste enough to live? - F. LEWIS. - - -Many words and sentences are so frequently heard in the mouths of men, -that a superficial observer is inclined to believe, that they must -contain some primary principle, some great rule of action, which it is -proper always to have present to the attention, and by which the use of -every hour is to be adjusted. Yet, if we consider the conduct of those -sententious philosophers, it will often be found, that they repeat these -aphorisms, merely because they have somewhere heard them, because they -have nothing else to say, or because they think veneration gained by -such appearances of wisdom, but that no ideas are annexed to the words, -and that, according to the old blunder of the followers of Aristotle, -their souls are mere pipes or organs, which transmit sounds, but do not -understand them. - -Of this kind is the well-known and well-attested position, that _life is -short_, which may be heard among mankind by an attentive auditor, many -times a day, but which never yet within my reach of observation left -any impression upon the mind; and perhaps, if my readers will turn their -thoughts back upon their old friends, they will find it difficult to call -a single man to remembrance, who appeared to know that life was short -till he was about to lose it. - -It is observable that Horace, in his account of the characters of men, as -they are diversified by the various influence of time, remarks, that the -old man is _dilator, spe longus_, given to procrastination, and inclined -to extend his hopes to a great distance. So far are we generally from -thinking what we often say of the shortness of life, that at the time -when it is necessarily shortest, we form projects which we delay to -execute, indulge such expectations as nothing but a long train of events -can gratify, and suffer those passions to gain upon us, which are only -excusable in the prime of life. - -These reflections were lately excited in my mind, by an evening's -conversation with my friend Prospero, who, at the age of fifty-five, has -bought an estate, and is now contriving to dispose and cultivate it with -uncommon elegance. His great pleasure is to walk among stately trees, -and lie musing in the heat of noon under their shade; he is therefore -maturely considering how he shall dispose his walks and his groves, and -has at last determined to send for the best plans from Italy, and forbear -planting till the next season. - -Thus is life trifled away in preparations to do what never can be done, -if it be left unattempted till all the requisites which imagination can -suggest are gathered together. Where our design terminates only in our -own satisfaction, the mistake is of no great importance; for the pleasure -of expecting enjoyment is often greater than that of obtaining it, and -the completion of almost every wish is found a disappointment; but when -many others are interested in an undertaking, when any design is formed, -in which the improvement or security of mankind is involved, nothing -is more unworthy either of wisdom or benevolence, than to delay it from -time to time, or to forget how much every day that passes over us takes -away from our power, and how soon an idle purpose to do an action, sinks -into a mournful wish that it had once been done. - -We are frequently importuned, by the bacchanalian writers, to lay hold on -the present hour, to catch the pleasures within our reach, and remember -that futurity is not at our command. - - [Greek: To rhodon akmazei baion chronon; hên de parelthês, - Zêtôn heurêseis ou rhodon, alla baton.] - - Soon fades the rose; once past the fragrant hour, - The loiterer finds a bramble for a flow'r. - -But surely these exhortations may, with equal propriety, be applied to -better purposes; it may be at least inculcated that pleasures are more -safely postponed than virtues, and that greater loss is suffered by -missing an opportunity of doing good, than an hour of giddy frolick and -noisy merriment. - -When Baxter had lost a thousand pounds, which he had laid up for the -erection of a school, he used frequently to mention the misfortune as -an incitement to be charitable while God gives the power of bestowing, -and considered himself as culpable in some degree for having left a -good action in the hands of chance, and suffered his benevolence to be -defeated for want of quickness and diligence. - -It is lamented by Hearne, the learned antiquary of Oxford, that this -general forgetfulness of the fragility of life, has remarkably infected -the students of monuments and records; as their employment consists first -in collecting, and afterwards in arranging or abstracting what libraries -afford them, they ought to amass no more than they can digest; but when -they have undertaken a work, they go on searching and transcribing, -call for new supplies, when they are already overburthened, and at last -leave their work unfinished. _It is_, says he, _the business of a good -antiquary, as of a good man, to have mortality always before him_. - -Thus, not only in the slumber of sloth, but in the dissipation of -ill-directed industry, is the shortness of life generally forgotten. As -some men lose their hours in laziness, because they suppose, that there -is time enough for the reparation of neglect; others busy themselves -in providing that no length of life may want employment; and it often -happens, that sluggishness and activity are equally surprised by the -last summons, and perish not more differently from each other, than the -fowl that received the shot in her flight, from her that is killed upon -the bush. - -Among the many improvements made by the last centuries in human knowledge, -may be numbered the exact calculations of the value of life; but whatever -may be their use in traffick, they seem very little to have advanced -morality. They have hitherto been rather applied to the acquisition of -money, than of wisdom; the computer refers none of his calculations to -his own tenure, but persists, in contempt of probability, to foretel old -age to himself, and believes that he is marked out to reach the utmost -verge of human existence, and see thousands and ten thousands fall into -the grave. - -So deeply is this fallacy rooted in the heart, and so strongly guarded by -hope and fear against the approach of reason, that neither science nor -experience can shake it, and we act as if life were without end, though -we see and confess its uncertainty and shortness. - -Divines have, with great strength and ardour, shewn the absurdity of -delaying reformation and repentance; a degree of folly, indeed, which -sets eternity to hazard. It is the same weakness, in proportion to the -importance of the neglect, to transfer any care, which now claims our -attention, to a future time; we subject ourselves to needless dangers -from accidents which early diligence would have obviated, or perplex -our minds by vain precautions, and make provision for the execution of -designs, of which the opportunity once missed never will return. - -As he that lives longest lives but a little while, every man may be -certain that he has no time to waste. The duties of life are commensurate -to its duration, and every day brings its task, which if neglected is -doubled on the morrow. But he that has already trifled away those months -and years, in which he should have laboured, must remember that he has -now only a part of that of which the whole is little; and that since the -few moments remaining are to be considered as the last trust of heaven, -not one is to be lost. - - - - -No. 72. SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 24, 1750. - - - _Omnis Aristippum decuit color, et status, et res,_ - _Tentantem majora, fere præsentibus æquum._ - HOR. Lib. i. Ep. xvii. 23. - - Yet Aristippus ev'ry dress became, - In ev'ry various change of life the same; - And though he aim'd at things of higher kind, - Yet to the present held an equal mind. - FRANCIS. - - -TO THE RAMBLER. - -SIR, - -Those who exalt themselves into the chair of instruction, without -inquiring whether any will submit to their authority, have not -sufficiently considered how much of human life passes in little -incidents, cursory conversation, slight business, and casual amusements; -and therefore they have endeavoured only to inculcate the more awful -virtues, without condescending to regard those petty qualities, which -grow important only by their frequency, and which, though they produce -no single acts of heroism, nor astonish us by great events, yet are every -moment exerting their influence upon us, and make the draught of life -sweet or bitter by imperceptible instillations. They operate unseen and -unregarded, as change of air makes us sick or healthy, though we breathe -it without attention, and only know the particles that impregnate it by -their salutary or malignant effects. - -You have shewn yourself not ignorant of the value of those subaltern -endowments, yet have hitherto neglected to recommend good-humour to the -world, though a little reflection will shew you that it is the _balm of -being_, the quality to which all that adorns or elevates mankind must owe -its power of pleasing. Without good-humour, learning and bravery can only -confer that superiority which swells the heart of the lion in the desert, -where he roars without reply, and ravages without resistance. Without -good-humour, virtue may awe by its dignity, and amaze by its brightness; -but must always be viewed at a distance, and will scarcely gain a friend -or attract an imitator. - -Good-humour may be defined a habit of being pleased; a constant and -perennial softness of manner, easiness of approach, and suavity of -disposition; like that which every man perceives in himself, when the -first transports of new felicity have subsided, and his thoughts are only -kept in motion by a slow succession of soft impulses. Good-humour is a -state between gaiety and unconcern; the act or emanation of a mind at -leisure to regard the gratification of another. - -It is imagined by many, that whenever they aspire to please, they are -required to be merry, and to shew the gladness of their souls by flights -of pleasantry, and bursts of laughter. But though these men may be for -a time heard with applause and admiration, they seldom delight us long. -We enjoy them a little, and then retire to easiness and good-humour, as -the eye gazes awhile on eminences glittering with the sun, but soon turns -aching away to verdure and to flowers. - -Gaiety is to good-humour as animal perfumes to vegetable fragrance; the -one overpowers weak spirits, and the other recreates and revives them. -Gaiety seldom fails to give some pain; the hearers either strain their -faculties to accompany its towerings, or are left behind in envy and -despair. Good-humour boasts no faculties which every one does not believe -in his own power, and pleases principally by not offending. - -It is well known that the most certain way to give any man pleasure, is -to persuade him that you receive pleasure from him, to encourage him to -freedom and confidence, and to avoid any such appearance of superiority -as may overbear and depress him. We see many that by this art only spend -their days in the midst of caresses, invitations, and civilities; and -without any extraordinary qualities or attainments, are the universal -favourites of both sexes, and certainly find a friend in every place. -The darlings of the world will, indeed, be generally found such as excite -neither jealousy nor fear, and are not considered as candidates for -any eminent degree of reputation, but content themselves with common -accomplishments, and endeavour rather to solicit kindness than to raise -esteem; therefore in assemblies and places of resort it seldom fails -to happen, that though at the entrance of some particular person every -face brightens with gladness, and every hand is extended in salutation, -yet if you pursue him beyond the first exchange of civilities, you will -find him of very small importance, and only welcome to the company, as -one by whom all conceive themselves admired, and with whom any one is at -liberty to amuse himself when he can find no other auditor or companion; -as one with whom all are at ease, who will hear a jest without criticism, -and a narrative without contradiction, who laughs with every wit, and -yields to every disputer. - -There are many whose vanity always inclines them to associate with those -from whom they have no reason to fear mortification; and there are times -in which the wise and the knowing are willing to receive praise without -the labour of deserving it, in which the most elevated mind is willing -to descend, and the most active to be at rest. All therefore are at -some hour or another fond of companions whom they can entertain upon -easy terms, and who will relieve them from solitude, without condemning -them to vigilance and caution. We are most inclined to love when we have -nothing to fear, and he that encourages us to please ourselves, will not -be long without preference in our affection to those whose learning holds -us at the distance of pupils, or whose wit calls all attention from us, -and leaves us without importance and without regard. - -It is remarked by prince Henry, when he sees Falstaff lying on the -ground, that _he could have better spared a better man_. He was well -acquainted with the vices and follies of him whom he lamented, but -while his conviction compelled him to do justice to superior qualities, -his tenderness still broke out at the remembrance of Falstaff, of the -cheerful companion, the loud buffoon, with whom he had passed his time in -all the luxury of idleness, who had gladded him with unenvied merriment, -and whom he could at once enjoy and despise. - -You may perhaps think this account of those who are distinguished for -their good-humour, not very consistent with the praises which I have -bestowed upon it. But surely nothing can more evidently shew the value -of this quality, than that it recommends those who are destitute of all -other excellencies, and procures regard to the trifling, friendship to -the worthless, and affection to the dull. - -Good-humour is indeed generally degraded by the characters in which -it is found; for, being considered as a cheap and vulgar quality, we -find it often neglected by those that, having excellencies of higher -reputation and brighter splendour, perhaps imagine that they have some -right to gratify themselves at the expense of others, and are to demand -compliance, rather than to practise it. It is by some unfortunate mistake -that almost all those who have any claim to esteem or love, press their -pretensions with too little consideration of others. This mistake, my -own interest, as well as my zeal for general happiness, makes me desirous -to rectify; for I have a friend, who, because he knows his own fidelity -and usefulness, is never willing to sink into a companion: I have a wife -whose beauty first subdued me, and whose wit confirmed her conquest, but -whose beauty now serves no other purpose than to entitle her to tyranny, -and whose wit is only used to justify perverseness. - -Surely nothing can be more unreasonable than to lose the will to please, -when we are conscious of the power, or show more cruelty than to chuse -any kind of influence before that of kindness. He that regards the -welfare of others, should make his virtue approachable, that it may be -loved and copied; and he that considers the wants which every man feels, -or will feel, of external assistance, must rather wish to be surrounded -by those that love him, than by those that admire his excellencies, or -solicit his favours; for admiration ceases with novelty, and interest -gains its end and retires. A man whose great qualities want the ornament -of superficial attractions, is like a naked mountain with mines of gold, -which will be frequented only till the treasure is exhausted. - -I am, &c. - - PHILOMIDES. - - - - -No. 73. TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 27, 1750. - - - _Stulte, quid o frustra votis puerilibus optas,_ - _Quæ non ulla tulit, fertque, feretque, dies._ - OVID, Trist. Lib. iii. El. viii. 11. - - Why thinks the fool with childish hope to see - What neither is, nor was, nor e'er shall be? - ELPHINSTON. - - -TO THE RAMBLER. - -SIR, - -If you feel any of that compassion which you recommend to others, you will -not disregard a case which I have reason from observation to believe very -common, and which I know by experience to be very miserable. And though -the querulous are seldom received with great ardour of kindness, I hope -to escape the mortification of finding that my lamentations spread the -contagion of impatience, and produce anger rather than tenderness. I -write not merely to vent the swelling of my heart, but to inquire by what -means I may recover my tranquillity; and shall endeavour at brevity in -my narrative, having long known that complaint quickly tires, however -elegant, or however just. - -I was born in a remote county, of a family that boasts alliances with the -greatest names in English history, and extends its claims of affinity to -the Tudors and Plantagenets. My ancestors, by little and little, wasted -their patrimony, till my father had not enough left for the support -of a family, without descending to the cultivation of his own grounds, -being condemned to pay three sisters the fortunes allotted them by my -grandfather, who is suspected to have made his will when he was incapable -of adjusting properly the claims of his children, and who, perhaps without -design, enriched his daughters by beggaring his son. My aunts being, at -the death of their father, neither young nor beautiful, nor very eminent -for softness of behaviour, were suffered to live unsolicited, and by -accumulating the interest of their portions grew every day richer and -prouder. My father pleased himself with foreseeing that the possessions -of those ladies must revert at last to the hereditary estate, and that -his family might lose none of its dignity, resolved to keep me untainted -with a lucrative employment; whenever therefore I discovered any -inclination to the improvement of my condition, my mother never failed -to put me in mind of my birth, and charged me to do nothing with which I -might be reproached when I should come to my aunts' estate. - -In all the perplexities or vexations which want of money brought upon -us, it was our constant practice to have recourse to futurity. If any -of our neighbours surpassed us in appearance, we went home and contrived -an equipage, with which the death of my aunts was to supply us. If any -purse-proud upstart was deficient in respect, vengeance was referred to -the time in which our estate was to be repaired. We registered every act -of civility and rudeness, inquired the number of dishes at every feast, -and minuted the furniture of every house, that we might, when the hour -of affluence should come, be able to eclipse all their splendour, and -surpass all their magnificence. - -Upon plans of elegance and schemes of pleasure the day rose and set, -and the year went round unregarded, while we were busied in laying out -plantations on ground not yet our own, and deliberating whether the -manor-house should be rebuilt or repaired. This was the amusement of -our leisure, and the solace of our exigencies; we met together only to -contrive how our approaching fortune should be enjoyed; for in this our -conversation always ended, on whatever subject it began. We had none of -the collateral interests which diversify the life of others with joys and -hopes, but had turned our whole attention on one event, which we could -neither hasten nor retard, and had no other object of curiosity than the -health or sickness of my aunts, of which we were careful to procure very -exact and early intelligence. - -This visionary opulence for a while soothed our imagination, but -afterwards fired our wishes, and exasperated our necessities, and my -father could not always restrain himself from exclaiming, that _no -creature had so many lives as a cat and an old maid_. At last, upon -the recovery of his sister from an ague, which she was supposed to have -caught by sparing fire, he began to lose his stomach, and four months -afterwards sunk into his grave. - -My mother, who loved her husband, survived him but a little while, and -left me the sole heir of their lands, their schemes, and their wishes. -As I had not enlarged my conceptions either by books or conversation, -I differed only from my father by the freshness of my cheeks, and the -vigour of my step; and, like him, gave way to no thoughts but of enjoying -the wealth which my aunts were hoarding. - -At length the eldest fell ill. I paid the civilities and compliments which -sickness requires with the utmost punctuality. I dreamed every night -of escutcheons and white gloves, and inquired every morning at an early -hour, whether there were any news of my dear aunt. At last a messenger -was sent to inform me that I must come to her without the delay of a -moment. I went and heard her last advice, but opening her will, found -that she had left her fortune to her second sister. - -I hung my head; the youngest sister threatened to be married, and every -thing was disappointment and discontent. I was in danger of losing -irreparably one third of my hopes, and was condemned still to wait for -the rest. Of part of my terror I was soon eased; for the youth whom his -relations would have compelled to marry the old lady, after innumerable -stipulations, articles, and settlements, ran away with the daughter of -his father's groom; and my aunt, upon this conviction of the perfidy of -man, resolved never to listen more to amorous addresses. - -Ten years longer I dragged the shackles of expectation, without ever -suffering a day to pass, in which I did not compute how much my chance -was improved of being rich to-morrow. At last the second lady died, -after a short illness, which yet was long enough to afford her time for -the disposal of her estate, which she gave to me after the death of her -sister. - -I was now relieved from part of my misery; a larger fortune, though not -in my power, was certain and unalienable; nor was there now any danger, -that I might at last be frustrated of my hopes by a fret of dotage, -the flatteries of a chambermaid, the whispers of a tale-bearer, or the -officiousness of a nurse. But my wealth was yet in reversion, my aunt was -to be buried before I could emerge to grandeur and pleasure; and there -were yet, according to my father's observation, nine lives between me -and happiness. - -I however lived on, without any clamours of discontent, and comforted -myself with considering, that all are mortal, and they who are -continually decaying must at last be destroyed. - -But let no man from this time suffer his felicity to depend on the death -of his aunt. The good gentlewoman was very regular in her hours, and -simple in her diet, and in walking or sitting still, waking or sleeping, -had always in view the preservation of her health. She was subject to -no disorder but hypochondriac dejection; by which, without intention, -she increased my miseries, for whenever the weather was cloudy, she would -take her bed and send me notice that her time was come. I went with all -the haste of eagerness, and sometimes received passionate injunctions -to be kind to her maid, and directions how the last offices should be -performed; but if before my arrival the sun happened to break out, or -the wind to change, I met her at the door, or found her in the garden, -bustling and vigilant, with all the tokens of long life. - -Sometimes, however, she fell into distempers, and was thrice given over by -the doctor, yet she found means of slipping through the gripe of death, -and after having tortured me three months at each time with violent -alternations of hope and fear, came out of her chamber without any other -hurt than the loss of flesh, which in a few weeks she recovered by broths -and jellies. - -As most have sagacity sufficient to guess at the desires of an heir, it -was the constant practice of those who were hoping at second hand, and -endeavoured to secure my favour against the time when I should be rich, -to pay their court, by informing me that my aunt began to droop, that -she had lately a bad night, that she coughed feebly, and that she could -never climb May-hill; or, at least, that the autumn would carry her off. -Thus was I flattered in the winter with the piercing winds of March, and -in summer, with the fogs of September. But she lived through spring and -fall, and set heat and cold at defiance, till, after near half a century, -I buried her on the fourteenth of last June, aged ninety-three years, -five months, and six days. - -For two months after her death I was rich, and was pleased with that -obsequiousness and reverence which wealth instantaneously procures. -But this joy is now past, and I have returned again to my old habit of -wishing. Being accustomed to give the future full power over my mind, -and to start away from the scene before me to some expected enjoyment, -I deliver up myself to the tyranny of every desire which fancy suggests, -and long for a thousand things which I am unable to procure. Money -has much less power than is ascribed to it by those that want it. I had -formed schemes which I cannot execute, I had supposed events which do not -come to pass, and the rest of my life must pass in craving solicitude, -unless you can find some remedy for a mind, corrupted with an inveterate -disease of wishing, and unable to think on any thing but wants, which -reason tells me will never be supplied. - -I am, &c. - - CUPIDUS. - - - - -No. 74. SATURDAY, DECEMBER 1, 1750. - - - _Rixatur de lana sæpe caprina._ - HOR. Lib i. Ep. xviii. 15. - - For nought tormented, she for nought torments. - ELPHINSTON. - - -Men seldom give pleasure, where they are not pleased themselves; it is -necessary, therefore, to cultivate an habitual alacrity and cheerfulness, -that in whatever state we may be placed by Providence, whether we -are appointed to confer or receive benefits, to implore or to afford -protection, we may secure the love of those with whom we transact. For -though it is generally imagined, that he who grants favours, may spare -any attention to his behaviour, and that usefulness will always procure -friends; yet it has been found, that there is an art of granting requests, -an art very difficult of attainment; that officiousness and liberality -may be so adulterated, as to lose the greater part of their effect; that -compliance may provoke, relief may harass, and liberality distress. - -No disease of the mind can more fatally disable it from benevolence, the -chief duty of social beings, than ill-humour or peevishness; for though -it breaks not out in paroxysms of outrage, nor bursts into clamour, -turbulence, and bloodshed, it wears out happiness by slow corrosion, -and small injuries incessantly repeated. It may be considered as the -canker of life, that destroys its vigour, and checks its improvement, -that creeps on with hourly depredations, and taints and vitiates what -it cannot consume. - -Peevishness, when it has been so far indulged, as to outrun the motions -of the will, and discover itself without premeditation, is a species of -depravity in the highest degree disgusting and offensive, because no -rectitude of intention, nor softness of address, can ensure a moment's -exemption from affront and indignity. While we are courting the favour -of a peevish man, and exerting ourselves in the most diligent civility, -an unlucky syllable displeases, an unheeded circumstance ruffles and -exasperates; and in the moment when we congratulate ourselves upon having -gained a friend, our endeavours are frustrated at once, and all our -assiduity forgotten, in the casual tumult of some trifling irritation. - -This troublesome impatience is sometimes nothing more than the symptom -of some deeper malady. He that is angry without daring to confess his -resentment, or sorrowful without the liberty of telling his grief, is -too frequently inclined to give vent to the fermentations of his mind -at the first passages that are opened, and to let his passions boil over -upon those whom accident throws in his way. A painful and tedious course -of sickness frequently produces such an alarming apprehension of the -least increase of uneasiness, as keeps the soul perpetually on the watch, -such a restless and incessant solicitude, as no care or tenderness can -appease, and can only be pacified by the cure of the distemper, and the -removal of that pain by which it is excited. - -Nearly approaching to this weakness, is the captiousness of old age. When -the strength is crushed, the senses dulled, and the common pleasures -of life become insipid by repetition, we are willing to impute our -uneasiness to causes not wholly out of our power, and please ourselves -with fancying that we suffer by neglect, unkindness, or any evil which -admits a remedy, rather than by the decays of nature, which cannot be -prevented or repaired. We therefore revenge our pains upon those on whom -we resolve to charge them; and too often drive mankind away at the time -we have the greatest need of tenderness and assistance. - -But though peevishness may sometimes claim our compassion, as the -consequence or concomitant of misery, it is very often found, where -nothing can justify or excuse its admission. It is frequently one of the -attendants on the prosperous, and is employed by insolence in exacting -homage, or by tyranny in harassing subjection. It is the offspring of -idleness or pride; of idleness anxious for trifles; or pride unwilling to -endure the least obstruction of her wishes. Those who have long lived in -solitude indeed naturally contract this unsocial quality, because, having -long had only themselves to please, they do not readily depart from their -own inclinations; their singularities therefore are only blameable, when -they have imprudently or morosely withdrawn themselves from the world; -but there are others, who have, without any necessity, nursed up this -habit in their minds, by making implicit submissiveness the condition of -their favour, and suffering none to approach them, but those who never -speak but to applaud, or move but to obey. - -He that gives himself up to his own fancy, and converses with none but -such as he hires to lull him on the down of absolute authority, to -sooth him with obsequiousness, and regale him with flattery, soon grows -too slothful for the labour of contest, too tender for the asperity of -contradiction, and too delicate for the coarseness of truth; a little -opposition offends, a little restraint enrages, and a little difficulty -perplexes him; having been accustomed to see every thing give way to his -humour, he soon forgets his own littleness, and expects to find the world -rolling at his beck, and all mankind employed to accommodate and delight -him. - -Tetrica had a large fortune bequeathed to her by an aunt, which made -her very early independent, and placed her in a state of superiority -to all about her. Having no superfluity of understanding, she was soon -intoxicated by the flatteries of her maid, who informed her that ladies, -such as she, had nothing to do but take pleasure their own way; that she -wanted nothing from others, and had therefore no reason to value their -opinion; that money was every thing; and that they who thought themselves -ill-treated, should look for better usage among their equals. - -Warm with these generous sentiments, Tetrica came forth into the world, -in which she endeavoured to force respect by haughtiness of mien and -vehemence of language; but having neither birth, beauty, nor wit, in any -uncommon degree, she suffered such mortifications from those who thought -themselves at liberty to return her insults, as reduced her turbulence -to cooler malignity, and taught her to practise her arts of vexation only -where she might hope to tyrannize without resistance. She continued from -her twentieth to her fifty-fifth year to torment all her inferiors with -so much diligence, that she has formed a principle of disapprobation, and -finds in every place something to grate her mind, and disturb her quiet. - -If she takes the air, she is offended with the heat or cold, the glare of -the sun, or the gloom of the clouds; if she makes a visit, the room in -which she is to be received is too light, or too dark, or furnished with -something which she cannot see without aversion. Her tea is never of the -right sort; the figures on the China give her disgust. Where there are -children, she hates the gabble of brats; where there are none, she cannot -bear a place without some cheerfulness and rattle. If many servants are -kept in a house, she never fails to tell how lord Lavish was ruined by a -numerous retinue; if few, she relates the story of a miser that made his -company wait on themselves. She quarrelled with one family, because she -had an unpleasant view from their windows; with another, because the -squirrel leaped within two yards of her; and with a third, because she -could not bear the noise of the parrot. - -Of milliners and mantua-makers she is the proverbial torment. She compels -them to alter their work, then to unmake it, and contrive it after another -fashion; then changes her mind, and likes it better as it was at first; -then will have a small improvement. Thus she proceeds till no profit can -recompense the vexation; they at last leave the clothes at her house, and -refuse to serve her. Her maid, the only being who can endure her tyranny, -professes to take her own course, and hear her mistress talk. Such is the -consequence of peevishness; it can be borne only when it is despised. - -It sometimes happens that too close an attention to minute exactness, -or a too rigorous habit of examining every thing by the standard of -perfection, vitiates the temper, rather than improves the understanding, -and teaches the mind to discern faults with unhappy penetration. It is -incident likewise to men of vigorous imagination to please themselves -too much with futurities, and to fret because those expectations -are disappointed, which should never have been formed. Knowledge and -genius are often enemies to quiet, by suggesting ideas of excellence, -which men and the performances of men cannot attain. But let no man -rashly determine, that his unwillingness to be pleased is a proof -of understanding, unless his superiority appears from less doubtful -evidence; for though peevishness may sometimes justly boast its descent -from learning or from wit, it is much oftener of a base extraction, the -child of vanity and nursling of ignorance. - - - - -No. 75. TUESDAY, DECEMBER 4, 1750. - - - _Diligitur nemo, nisi cui Fortuna secunda est._ - _Quæ, simul intonuit, proxima quæque fugat._ - OVID, Ex Ponto. Lib. ii. Ep. iii. 23. - - When smiling Fortune spreads her golden ray, - All crowd around to flatter and obey: - But when she thunders from an angry sky, - Our friends, our flatterers, our lovers fly. - Miss A. W.[49] - - -TO THE RAMBLER. - -SIR, - -The diligence with which you endeavour to cultivate the knowledge of -nature, manners, and life, will perhaps incline you to pay some regard -to the observations of one who has been taught to know mankind by -unwelcome information, and whose opinions are the result, not of solitary -conjectures, but of practice and experience. - -I was born to a large fortune, and bred to the knowledge of those arts -which are supposed to accomplish the mind, and adorn the person of a -woman. To these attainments, which custom and education almost forced -upon me, I added some voluntary acquisitions by the use of books, and -the conversation of that species of men whom the ladies generally mention -with terrour and aversion under the name of scholars, but whom I have -found a harmless and inoffensive order of beings, not so much wiser than -ourselves, but that they may receive as well as communicate knowledge, -and more inclined to degrade their own character by cowardly submission, -than to overbear or oppress us with their learning or their wit. - -From these men, however, if they are by kind treatment encouraged to talk, -something may be gained, which, embellished with elegancy, and softened -by modesty, will always add dignity and value to female conversation; and -from my acquaintance with the bookish part of the world I derived many -principles of judgment and maxims of prudence, by which I was enabled -to draw upon myself the general regard in every place of concourse or -pleasure. My opinion was the great rule of approbation, my remarks were -remembered by those who desired the second degree of fame, my mien was -studied, my dress was imitated, my letters were handed from one family -to another, and read by those who copied them as sent to themselves; my -visits were solicited as honours, and multitudes boasted of an intimacy -with Melissa, who had only seen me by accident, and whose familiarity -had never proceeded beyond the exchange of a compliment, or return of -a courtesy. - -I shall make no scruple of confessing that I was pleased with this -universal veneration, because I always considered it as paid to my -intrinsick qualities and inseparable merit, and very easily persuaded -myself that fortune had no part in my superiority. When I looked upon my -glass, I saw youth and beauty, with health that might give me reason to -hope their continuance; when I examined my mind, I found some strength -of judgment, and fertility of fancy; and was told that every action was -grace, and that every accent was persuasion. - -In this manner my life passed like a continual triumph, amidst -acclamations, and envy, and courtship, and caresses: to please Melissa -was the general ambition, and every stratagem of artful flattery was -practised upon me. To be flattered is grateful, even when we know that -our praises are not believed by those who pronounce them; for they prove, -at least, our power, and show that our favour is valued, since it is -purchased by the meanness of falsehood. But, perhaps, the flatterer is -not often detected, for an honest mind is not apt to suspect, and no one -exerts the power of discernment with much vigour when self-love favours -the deceit. - -The number of adorers, and the perpetual distraction of my thoughts by new -schemes of pleasure, prevented me from listening to any of those who crowd -in multitudes to give girls advice, and kept me unmarried and unengaged -to my twenty-seventh year, when, as I was towering in all the pride of -uncontested excellency, with a face yet little impaired, and a mind -hourly improving, the failure of a fund, in which my money was placed, -reduced me to a frugal competency, which allowed little beyond neatness -and independence. - -I bore the diminution of my riches without any outrages of sorrow, or -pusillanimity of dejection. Indeed I did not know how much I had lost, -for having always heard and thought more of my wit and beauty, than of -my fortune, it did not suddenly enter my imagination, that Melissa could -sink beneath her established rank, while her form and her mind continued -the same; that she could cease to raise admiration but by ceasing to -deserve it, or feel any stroke but from the hand of time. - -It was in my power to have concealed the loss, and to have married, -by continuing the same appearance, with all the credit of my original -fortune; but I was not so far sunk in my own esteem, as to submit to the -baseness of fraud, or to desire any other recommendation than sense and -virtue. I, therefore, dismissed my equipage, sold those ornaments which -were become unsuitable to my new condition, and appeared among those with -whom I used to converse with less glitter, but with equal spirit. - -I found myself received at every visit, with sorrow beyond what is -naturally felt for calamities in which we have no part, and was -entertained with condolence and consolation so frequently repeated, that -my friends plainly consulted rather their own gratification, than my -relief. Some from that time refused my acquaintance, and forbore, without -any provocation, to repay my visits; some visited me, but after a longer -interval than usual, and every return was still with more delay; nor -did any of my female acquaintances fail to introduce the mention of my -misfortunes, to compare my present and former condition, to tell me how -much it must trouble me to want the splendour which I became so well, to -look at pleasures which I had formerly enjoyed, and to sink to a level -with those by whom I had been considered as moving in a higher sphere, -and who had hitherto approached me with reverence and submission, which -I was now no longer to expect. - -Observations like these, are commonly nothing better than covert insults, -which serve to give vent to the flatulence of pride, but they are now -and then imprudently uttered by honesty and benevolence, and inflict -pain where kindness is intended; I will, therefore, so far maintain my -antiquated claim to politeness, as to venture the establishment of this -rule, that no one ought to remind another of misfortunes of which the -sufferer does not complain, and which there are no means proposed of -alleviating. You have no right to excite thoughts which necessarily give -pain whenever they return, and which perhaps might not have revived but -by absurd and unseasonable compassion. - -My endless train of lovers immediately withdrew, without raising any -emotions. The greater part had indeed always professed to court, as it is -termed, upon the square, had inquired my fortune, and offered settlements; -these had undoubtedly a right to retire without censure, since they had -openly treated for money, as necessary to their happiness, and who can -tell how little they wanted any other portion? I have always thought the -clamours of women unreasonable, who imagine themselves injured because -the men who followed them upon the supposition of a greater fortune, -reject them when they are discovered to have less. I have never known -any lady, who did not think wealth a title to some stipulations in her -favour; and surely what is claimed by the possession of money is justly -forfeited by its loss. She that has once demanded a settlement has -allowed the importance of fortune: and when she cannot shew pecuniary -merit, why should she think her cheapener obliged to purchase? - -My lovers were not all contented with silent desertion. Some of them -revenged the neglect which they had formerly endured by wanton and -superfluous insults, and endeavoured to mortify me, by paying, in my -presence, those civilities to other ladies, which were once devoted only -to me. But, as it had been my rule to treat men according to the rank -of their intellect, I had never suffered any one to waste his life in -suspense, who could have employed it to better purpose, and had therefore -no enemies but coxcombs, whose resentment and respect were equally below -my consideration. - -The only pain which I have felt from degradation, is the loss of that -influence which I had always exerted on the side of virtue, in the -defence of innocence, and the assertion of truth. I now find my opinions -slighted, my sentiments criticised, and my arguments opposed by those -that used to listen to me without reply, and struggle to be first in -expressing their conviction. - -The female disputants have wholly thrown off my authority; and if I -endeavour to enforce my reasons by an appeal to the scholars that happen -to be present, the wretches are certain to pay their court by sacrificing -me and my system to a finer gown, and I am every hour insulted with -contradiction by cowards, who could never find till lately that Melissa -was liable to errour. - -There are two persons only whom I cannot charge with having changed their -conduct with my change of fortune. One is an old curate that has passed -his life in the duties of his profession, with great reputation for his -knowledge and piety; the other is a lieutenant of dragoons. The parson -made no difficulty in the height of my elevation to check me when I was -pert, and instruct me when I blundered; and if there is any alteration, -he is now more timorous, lest his freedom should be thought rudeness. The -soldier never paid me any particular addresses, but very rigidly observed -all the rules of politeness, which he is now so far from relaxing, that -whenever he serves the tea, he obstinately carries me the first dish, in -defiance of the frowns and whispers of the table, - -This, Mr. Rambler, is _to see the world_. It is impossible for those -that have only known affluence and prosperity, to judge of themselves -or others. The rich and the powerful live in a perpetual masquerade, in -which all about them wear borrowed characters; and we only discover in -what estimation we are held, when we can no longer give hopes or fears. - -I am, &c. - - MELISSA. - -[Footnote 49: Anna Williams, of whom an account is given in the Life of Dr. -Johnson, prefixed to this edition.] - - - - -No. 76. SATURDAY, DECEMBER 8, 1750. - - - _----Silvis, ubi passim_ - _Palantes error certo de tramite pellit,_ - _Ille sinistrorsum, hic dextrorsum abit; unus utrique_ - _Error, sed variis illudit partibus._ - HOR. Lib. ii. Sat iii. 48. - - While mazy error draws mankind astray - From truth's sure path, each takes his devious way; - One to the right, one to the left recedes, - Alike deluded, as each fancy leads. - ELPHINSTON. - - -It is easy for every man, whatever be his character with others, to -find reasons for esteeming himself, and therefore censure, contempt, -or conviction of crimes, seldom deprive him of his own favour. Those, -indeed, who can see only external facts, may look upon him with -abhorrence? but when he calls himself to his own tribunal, he finds every -fault, if not absolutely effaced, yet so much palliated by the goodness -of his intention, and the cogency of the motive, that very little -guilt or turpitude remains; and when he takes a survey of the whole -complication of his character, he discovers so many latent excellencies, -so many virtues that want but an opportunity to exert themselves in act, -and so many kind wishes for universal happiness, that he looks on himself -as suffering unjustly under the infamy of single failings, while the -general temper of his mind is unknown or unregarded. - -It is natural to mean well, when only abstracted ideas of virtue are -proposed to the mind, and no particular passion turns us aside from -rectitude; and so willing is every man to flatter himself, that the -difference between approving laws, and obeying them, is frequently -forgotten; he that acknowledges the obligations of morality, and pleases -his vanity with enforcing them to others, concludes himself zealous in -the cause of virtue, though he has no longer any regard to her precepts, -than they conform to his own desires; and counts himself among her warmest -lovers, because he praises her beauty, though every rival steals away -his heart. - -There are, however, great numbers who have little recourse to the -refinements of speculation, but who yet live at peace with themselves, -by means which require less understanding, or less attention. When -their hearts are burthened with the consciousness of a crime, instead -of seeking for some remedy within themselves, they look round upon the -rest of mankind, to find others tainted with the same guilt: they please -themselves with observing, that they have numbers on their side; and -that, though they are hunted out from the society of good men, they are -not likely to be condemned to solitude. - -It may be observed, perhaps without exception, that none are so -industrious to detect wickedness, or so ready to impute it, as they -whose crimes are apparent and confessed. They envy an unblemished -reputation, and what they envy they are busy to destroy; they are -unwilling to suppose themselves meaner and more corrupt than others, and -therefore willingly pull down from their elevations those with whom they -cannot rise to an equality. No man yet was ever wicked without secret -discontent, and according to the different degrees of remaining virtue, -or unextinguished reason, he either endeavours to reform himself, or -corrupt others; either to regain the station which he has quitted, or -prevail on others to imitate his defection. - -It has always been considered as an alleviation of misery not to suffer -alone, even when union and society can contribute nothing to resistance -or escape; some comfort of the same kind seems to incite wickedness -to seek associates, though indeed another reason may be given, for as -guilt is propagated the power of reproach is diminished, and among numbers -equally detestable every individual may be sheltered from shame, though -not from conscience. - -Another lenitive by which the throbs of the breast are assuaged, is, the -contemplation, not of the same, but of different crimes. He that cannot -justify himself by his resemblance to others, is ready to try some other -expedient, and to inquire what will rise to his advantage from opposition -and dissimilitude. He easily finds some faults in every human being, -which he weighs against his own, and easily makes them preponderate -while he keeps the balance in his own hand, and throws in or takes out -at his pleasure circumstances that make them heavier or lighter. He then -triumphs in his comparative purity, and sets himself at ease, not because -he can refute the charges advanced against him, but because he can -censure his accusers with equal justice, and no longer fears the arrows -of reproach, when he has stored his magazine of malice with weapons -equally sharp and equally envenomed. - -This practice, though never just, is yet specious and artful, when the -censure is directed against deviations to the contrary extreme. The man -who is branded with cowardice, may, with some appearance of propriety, -turn all his force of argument against a stupid contempt of life, and -rash precipitation into unnecessary danger. Every recession from temerity -is an approach towards cowardice, and though it be confessed that -bravery, like other virtues, stands between faults on either hand, yet -the place of the middle point may always be disputed; he may therefore -often impose upon careless understandings, by turning the attention -wholly from himself, and keeping it fixed invariably on the opposite -fault; and by shewing how many evils are avoided by his behaviour, he -may conceal for a time those which are incurred. - -But vice has not always opportunities or address for such artful -subterfuges; men often extenuate their own guilt, only by vague and -general charges upon others, or endeavour to gain rest to themselves, -by pointing some other prey to the pursuit of censure. - -Every whisper of infamy is industriously circulated, every hint of -suspicion eagerly improved, and every failure of conduct joyfully -published, by those whose interest it is, that the eye and voice of the -publick should be employed on any rather than on themselves. - -All these artifices, and a thousand others equally vain and equally -despicable, are incited by that conviction of the deformity of -wickedness, from which none can set himself free, and by an absurd -desire to separate the cause from the effects, and to enjoy the profit of -crimes without suffering the shame. Men are willing to try all methods of -reconciling guilt and quiet, and when their understandings are stubborn -and uncomplying, raise their passions against them, and hope to overpower -their own knowledge. - -It is generally not so much the desire of men, sunk into depravity, to -deceive the world as themselves, for when no particular circumstances make -them dependant on others, infamy disturbs them little, but as it revives -their remorse, and is echoed to them from their own hearts. The sentence -most dreaded is that of reason and conscience, which they would engage -on their side at any price but the labours of duty, and the sorrows of -repentance. For this purpose every seducement and fallacy is sought, the -hopes still rest upon some new experiment till life is at an end; and -the last hour steals on unperceived, while the faculties are engaged in -resisting reason, and repressing the sense of the Divine disapprobation. - - - - -No. 77. TUESDAY, DECEMBER 11, 1750. - - - _Os dignum æterno nitidum quod fulgeat auro,_ - _Si mallet laudare Deum, cui sordida monstra_ - _Prætulit, et liquidam temeravit crimine vocem._ - PRUDENT. - - A golden statue such a wit might claim, - Had God and virtue rais'd the noble flame; - But ah! how lewd a subject has he sung, - What vile obscenity profanes his tongue. - F. LEWIS. - - -Among those, whose hopes of distinction, or riches, arise from an opinion -of their intellectual attainments, it has been, from age to age, an -established custom to complain of the ingratitude of mankind to their -instructors, and the discouragement which men of genius and study suffer -from avarice and ignorance, from the prevalence of false taste, and the -encroachment of barbarity. - -Men are most powerfully affected by those evils which themselves feel, or -which appear before their own eyes; and as there has never been a time of -such general felicity, but that many have failed to obtain the rewards to -which they had, in their own judgment, a just claim, some offended writer -has always declaimed, in the rage of disappointment, against his age or -nation; nor is there one who has not fallen upon times more unfavourable -to learning than any former century, or who does not wish, that he had -been reserved in the insensibility of non-existence to some happier -hour, when literary merit shall no longer be despised, and the gifts and -caresses of mankind shall recompense the toils of study, and add lustre -to the charms of wit. - -Many of these clamours are undoubtedly to be considered only as the bursts -of pride never to be satisfied, as the prattle of affectation, mimicking -distresses unfelt, or as the common places of vanity solicitous for -splendour of sentences, and acuteness of remark. Yet it cannot be denied -that frequent discontent must proceed from frequent hardships, and though -it is evident, that not more than one age or people can deserve the -censure of being more averse from learning than any other, yet at all -times knowledge must have encountered impediments, and wit been mortified -with contempt, or harassed with persecution. - -It is not necessary, however, to join immediately in the outcry, or to -condemn mankind as pleased with ignorance, or always envious of superior -abilities. The miseries of the learned have been related by themselves, -and since they have not been found exempt from that partiality with which -men look upon their own actions and sufferings, we may conclude that -they have not forgotten to deck their cause with the brightest ornaments, -and strongest colours. The logician collected all his subtilties when -they were to be employed in his own defence; and the master of rhetorick -exerted against his adversary all the arts by which hatred is embittered, -and indignation inflamed. - -To believe no man in his own cause, is the standing and perpetual rule -of distributive justice. Since therefore, in the controversy between the -learned and their enemies, we have only the pleas of one party, of the -party more able to delude our understandings, and engage our passions, -we must determine our opinion by facts uncontested, and evidences on each -side allowed to be genuine. - -By this procedure, I know not whether the students will find their cause -promoted, or the compassion which they expect much increased. Let their -conduct be impartially surveyed; let them be allowed no longer to direct -attention at their pleasure, by expatiating on their own deserts; let -neither the dignity of knowledge overawe the judgment, nor the graces of -elegance seduce it. It will then, perhaps, be found, that they were not -able to produce claims to kinder treatment, but provoked the calamities -which they suffered, and seldom wanted friends, but when they wanted -virtue. - -That few men, celebrated for theoretick wisdom, live with conformity to -their precepts, must be readily confessed; and we cannot wonder that the -indignation of mankind rises with great vehemence against those, who -neglect the duties which they appear to know with so strong conviction the -necessity of performing. Yet since no man has power of acting equal to -that of thinking, I know not whether the speculatist may not sometimes -incur censures too severe, and by those who form ideas of his life from -their knowledge of his books, be considered as worse than others, only -because he was expected to be better. - -He, by whose writings the heart is rectified, the appetites counteracted, -and the passions repressed, may be considered as not unprofitable to the -great republick of humanity, even though his behaviour should not always -exemplify his rules. His instructions may diffuse their influence to -regions, in which it will not be inquired, whether the author be _albus -an ater_, good or bad; to times, when all his faults and all his follies -shall be lost in forgetfulness, among things of no concern or importance -to the world; and he may kindle in thousands and ten thousands that flame -which burnt but dimly in himself, through the fumes of passion, or the -damps of cowardice. The vicious moralist may be considered as a taper, -by which we are lighted through the labyrinth of complicated passions: -he extends his radiance further than his heat, and guides all that are -within view, but burns only those who make too near approaches. - -Yet since good or harm must be received for the most part from those to -whom we are familiarly known, he whose vices overpower his virtues, in -the compass to which his vices can extend, has no reason to complain that -he meets not with affection or veneration, when those with whom he passes -his life are more corrupted by his practice than enlightened by his -ideas. Admiration begins where acquaintance ceases; and his favourers are -distant, but his enemies at hand. - -Yet many have dared to boast of neglected merit, and to challenge their -age for cruelty and folly, of whom it cannot be alledged that they have -endeavoured to increase the wisdom or virtue of their readers. They -have been at once profligate in their lives, and licentious in their -compositions; have not only forsaken the paths of virtue, but attempted -to lure others after them. They have smoothed the road of perdition, -covered with flowers the thorns of guilt, and taught temptation sweeter -notes, softer blandishments, and stronger allurements. - -It has been apparently the settled purpose of some writers, whose powers -and acquisitions place them high in the rank of literature, to set -fashion on the side of wickedness; to recommend debauchery and lewdness, -by associating them with qualities most likely to dazzle the discernment, -and attract the affections; and to shew innocence and goodness with such -attendant weaknesses as necessarily expose them to contempt and derision. - -Such naturally found intimates among the corrupt, the thoughtless, and the -intemperate; passed their lives amidst the levities of sportive idleness, -or the warm professions of drunken friendship; and fed their hopes with -the promises of wretches, whom their precepts had taught to scoff at -truth. But when fools had laughed away their sprightliness, and the -languors of excess could no longer be relieved, they saw their protectors -hourly drop away, and wondered and stormed to find themselves abandoned. -Whether their companions persisted in wickedness, or returned to virtue, -they were left equally without assistance; for debauchery is selfish and -negligent, and from virtue the virtuous only can expect regard. - -It is said by Florus of Catiline, who died in the midst of slaughtered -enemies, that _his death had been illustrious, had it been suffered -for his country_. Of the wits who have languished away life under the -pressures of poverty, or in the restlessness of suspense, caressed and -rejected, flattered and despised, as they were of more or less use to -those who styled themselves their patrons, it might be observed, that -their miseries would enforce compassion, had they been brought upon them -by honesty and religion. - -The wickedness of a loose or profane author is more atrocious than that of -the giddy libertine, or drunken ravisher, not only because it extends its -effects wider, as a pestilence that taints the air is more destructive -than poison infused in a draught, but because it is committed with cool -deliberation. By the instantaneous violence of desire, a good man may -sometimes be surprised before reflection can come to his rescue; when -the appetites have strengthened their influence by habit, they are not -easily resisted or suppressed; but for the frigid villainy of studious -lewdness, for the calm malignity of laboured impiety, what apology can -be invented? What punishment can be adequate to the crime of him who -retires to solitudes for the refinement of debauchery; who tortures his -fancy, and ransacks his memory, only that he may leave the world less -virtuous than he found it; that he may intercept the hopes of the rising -generation; and spread snares for the soul with more dexterity? - -What were their motives, or what their excuses, is below the dignity of -reason to examine. If having extinguished in themselves the distinction -of right and wrong, they were insensible of the mischief which they -promoted, they deserved to be hunted down by the general compact, as no -longer partaking of social nature; if influenced by the corruption of -patrons, or readers, they sacrificed their own convictions to vanity or -interest, they were to be abhorred with more acrimony than he that murders -for pay; since they committed greater crimes without greater temptations. - -_Of him, to whom much is given, much shall be required._ Those, whom God -has favoured with superior faculties, and made eminent for quickness -of intuition, and accuracy of distinctions, will certainly be regarded -as culpable in his eye, for defects and deviations which, in souls -less enlightened, may be guiltless. But, surely, none can think without -horrour on that man's condition, who has been more wicked in proportion -as he had more means of excelling in virtue, and used the light imparted -from heaven only to embellish folly, and shed lustre upon crimes. - - - - -No. 78. SATURDAY, DECEMBER 15, 1750. - - - _----Mors sola fatetur,_ - _Quantula sint hominum corpuscula._ - JUV. Sat. x. 172. - - Death only this mysterious truth unfolds, - The mighty soul how small a body holds. - DRYDEN. - - -Corporal sensation is known to depend so much upon novelty, that custom -takes away from many things their power of giving pleasure or pain. Thus -a new dress becomes easy by wearing it, and the palate is reconciled -by degrees to dishes which at first disgusted it. That by long habit -of carrying a burden, we lose, in great part, our sensibility of its -weight, any man may be convinced by putting on for an hour the armour -of our ancestors; for he will scarcely believe that men would have had -much inclination to marches and battles, encumbered and oppressed, as he -will find himself, with the ancient panoply. Yet the heroes that overran -regions, and stormed towns in iron accoutrements, he knows not to have -been bigger, and has no reason to imagine them stronger, than the present -race of men; he therefore must conclude, that their peculiar powers were -conferred only by peculiar habits, and that their familiarity with the -dress of war enabled them to move in it with ease, vigour, and agility. - -Yet it seems to be the condition of our present state, that pain should -be more fixed and permanent than pleasure. Uneasiness gives way by slow -degrees, and is long before it quits its possession of the sensory; but -all our gratifications are volatile, vagrant, and easily dissipated. -The fragrance of the jessamine bower is lost after the enjoyment of a -few moments, and the Indian wanders among his native spices without any -sense of their exhalations. It is, indeed, not necessary to shew by many -instances what all mankind confess, by an incessant call for variety, and -restless pursuit of enjoyments, which they value only because unpossessed. - -Something similar, or analogous, may be observed in effects produced -immediately upon the mind; nothing can strongly strike or affect us, -but what is rare or sudden. The most important events, when they become -familiar, are no longer considered with wonder or solicitude, and that -which at first filled up our whole attention, and left no place for -any other thought, is soon thrust aside into some remote repository -of the mind, and lies among other lumber of the memory, overlooked and -neglected. Thus far the mind resembles the body, but here the similitude -is at an end. - -The manner in which external force acts upon the body is very little -subject to the regulation of the will; no man can at pleasure obtund or -invigorate his senses, prolong the agency of any impulse, or continue -the presence of any image traced upon the eye, or any sound infused -into the ear. But our ideas are more subjected to choice; we can call -them before us, and command their stay, we can facilitate and promote -their recurrence, we can either repress their intrusion, or hasten their -retreat. It is therefore the business of wisdom and virtue, to select -among numberless objects striving for our notice, such as may enable us -to exalt our reason, extend our views, and secure our happiness. But this -choice is to be made with very little regard to rareness or frequency; -for nothing is valuable merely because it is either rare or common, but -because it is adapted to some useful purpose, and enables us to supply -some deficiency of our nature. - -Milton has judiciously represented the father of mankind, as seized with -horrour and astonishment at the sight of death, exhibited to him on the -mount of vision. For surely, nothing can so much disturb the passions, -or perplex the intellects of man, as the disruption of his union with -visible nature; a separation from all that has hitherto delighted or -engaged him; a change not only of the place, but the manner of his being; -an entrance into a state not simply which he knows not, but which perhaps -he has not faculties to know; an immediate and perceptible communication -with the supreme Being, and, what is above all distressful and alarming, -the final sentence, and unalterable allotment. - -Yet we to whom the shortness of life has given frequent occasions of -contemplating mortality, can, without emotion, see generations of men -pass away, and are at leisure to establish modes of sorrow, and adjust -the ceremonial of death. We can look upon funeral pomp as a common -spectacle in which we have no concern, and turn away from it to trifles -and amusements, without dejection of look, or inquietude of heart. - -It is, indeed, apparent, from the constitution of the world, that there -must be a time for other thoughts; and a perpetual meditation upon -the last hour, however it may become the solitude of a monastery, is -inconsistent with many duties of common life. But surely the remembrance -of death ought to predominate in our minds, as an habitual and settled -principle, always operating, though not always perceived; and our -attention should seldom wander so far from our own condition, as not to -be recalled and fixed by sight of an event, which must soon, we know not -how soon, happen likewise to ourselves, and of which, though we cannot -appoint the time, we may secure the consequence. - -Every instance of death may justly awaken our fears and quicken our -vigilance; but its frequency so much weakens its effect, that we are -seldom alarmed unless some close connexion is broken, some scheme -frustrated, or some hope defeated. Many therefore seem to pass on from -youth to decrepitude without any reflection on the end of life, because -they are wholly involved within themselves, and look on others only as -inhabitants of the common earth, without any expectation of receiving -good, or intention of bestowing it. - -Events, of which we confess the importance, excite little sensibility, -unless they affect us more nearly than as sharers in the common interest -of mankind; that desire which every man feels of being remembered and -lamented, is often mortified when we remark how little concern is caused -by the eternal departure even of those who have passed their lives with -publick honours, and been distinguished by extraordinary performances. -It is not possible to be regarded with tenderness except by a few. That -merit which gives greatness and renown, diffuses its influence to a -wide compass, but acts weakly on every single breast; it is placed at a -distance from common spectators, and shines like one of the remote stars, -of which the light reaches us, but not the heat. The wit, the hero, -the philosopher, whom their tempers or their fortunes have hindered -from intimate relations, die, without any other effect than that of -adding a new topic to the conversation of the day. They impress none -with any fresh conviction of the fragility of our nature, because none -had any particular interest in their lives, or was united to them by a -reciprocation of benefits and endearments. - -Thus it often happens, that those who in their lives were applauded and -admired, are laid at last in the ground without the common honour of a -stone; because by those excellencies with which many were delighted, none -had been obliged, and though they had many to celebrate, they had none to -love them. - -Custom so far regulates the sentiments, at least of common minds, that -I believe men may be generally observed to grow less tender as they -advance in age. He, who, when life was new, melted at the loss of every -companion, can look in time, without concern, upon the grave into which -his last friend was thrown, and into which himself is ready to fall; -not that he is more willing to die than formerly, but that he is more -familiar to the death of others, and therefore is not alarmed so far -as to consider how much nearer he approaches to his end. But this is to -submit tamely to the tyranny of accident, and to suffer our reason to lie -useless. Every funeral may justly be considered as a summons to prepare -for that state, into which it shews us that we must some time enter; and -the summons is more loud and piercing, as the event of which it warns us -is at less distance. To neglect at any time preparation for death, is to -sleep on our post at a siege; but to omit it in old age, is to sleep at -an attack. - -It has always appeared to me one of the most striking passages in the -Visions of Quevedo, which stigmatises those as fools who complain that -they failed of happiness by sudden death. "How," says he, "can death be -sudden to a being who always knew that he must die, and that the time of -his death was uncertain?" - -Since business and gaiety are always drawing our attention away from a -future state, some admonition is frequently necessary to recall it to our -minds; and what can more properly renew the impression than the examples -of mortality which every day supplies? The great incentive to virtue is -the reflection that we must die; it will therefore be useful to accustom -ourselves, whenever we see a funeral, to consider how soon we may be -added to the number of those whose probation is past, and whose happiness -or misery shall endure for ever.[50] - -[Footnote 50: - - Death in itself is nothing; but we fear - To be we know not what, we know not where. - Aurung-Zebe, act. iv. sc. 1. - -See also Claudio's speech in Shakspeare's "Measure for Measure."] - - - - -No. 79. TUESDAY, DECEMBER 18, 1750. - - - _Tam sæpe nostrum decipi Fabulinum_ - _Miraris, Aule? Semper bonus homo tiro est._ - MART. Lib. xii. Ep. 51. - - You wonder I've so little wit, - Friend John, so often to be bit-- - None better guard against a cheat - Than he who is a knave complete. - F. LEWIS. - - -Suspicion, however necessary it may be to our safe passage through ways -beset on all sides by fraud and malice, has been always considered, when -it exceeds the common measures, as a token of depravity and corruption; -and a Greek writer of sentences has laid down as a standing maxim, that -_he who believes not another on his oath, knows himself to be perjured_. - -We can form our opinions of that which we know not, only by placing it in -comparison with something that we know; whoever, therefore, is over-run -with suspicion, and detects artifice and stratagem in every proposal, -must either have learned by experience or observation the wickedness of -mankind, and been taught to avoid fraud by having often suffered or seen -treachery, or he must derive his judgment from the consciousness of his -own disposition, and impute to others the same inclinations, which he -feels predominant in himself. - -To learn caution by turning our eyes upon life, and observing the arts -by which negligence is surprized, timidity overborne, and credulity -amused, requires either great latitude of converse and long acquaintance -with business, or uncommon activity of vigilance, and acuteness of -penetration. When, therefore, a young man, not distinguished by vigour -of intellect, comes into the world full of scruples and diffidence; makes -a bargain with many provisional limitations; hesitates in his answer to -a common question, lest more should be intended than he can immediately -discover; has a long reach in detecting the projects of his acquaintance; -considers every caress as an act of hypocrisy, and feels neither -gratitude nor affection from the tenderness of his friends, because he -believes no one to have any real tenderness but for himself; whatever -expectations this early sagacity may raise of his future eminence or -riches, I can seldom forbear to consider him as a wretch incapable of -generosity or benevolence; as a villain early completed beyond the need -of common opportunities and gradual temptations. - -Upon men of this class instruction and admonition are generally -thrown away, because they consider artifice and deceit as proofs of -understanding; they are misled at the same time by the two great seducers -of the world, vanity and interest, and not only look upon those who act -with openness and confidence, as condemned by their principles to -obscurity and want, but as contemptible for narrowness of comprehension, -shortness of views, and slowness of contrivance. - -The world has been long amused with the mention of policy in publick -transactions, and of art in private affairs; they have been considered as -the effects of great qualities, and as unattainable by men of the common -level: yet I have not found many performances either of art or policy, -that required such stupendous efforts of intellect, or might not have -been effected by falsehood and impudence, without the assistance of any -other powers. To profess what he does not mean, to promise what he cannot -perform, to flatter ambition with prospects of promotion, and misery -with hopes of relief, to sooth pride with appearances of submission, and -appease enmity by blandishments and bribes, can surely imply nothing more -or greater than a mind devoted wholly to its own purposes, a face that -cannot blush, and a heart that cannot feel. - -These practices are so mean and base, that he who finds in himself no -tendency to use them, cannot easily believe that they are considered by -others with less detestation; he therefore suffers himself to slumber -in false security, and becomes a prey to those who applaud their own -subtilty, because they know how to steal upon his sleep, and exult in -the success which they could never have obtained, had they not attempted -a man better than themselves, who was hindered from obviating their -stratagems, not by folly, but by innocence. - -Suspicion is, indeed, a temper so uneasy and restless, that it is very -justly appointed the concomitant of guilt. It is said, that no torture -is equal to the inhibition of sleep long continued; a pain, to which the -state of that man bears a very exact analogy, who dares never give rest -to his vigilance and circumspection, but considers himself as surrounded -by secret foes, and fears to entrust his children, or his friend, with -the secret that throbs in his breast, and the anxieties that break into -his face. To avoid, at this expense, those evils to which easiness and -friendship might have exposed him, is surely to buy safety at too dear -a rate, and, in the language of the Roman satirist, to save life by -losing all for which a wise man would live[51]. - -When in the diet of the German empire, as Camararius relates, the princes -were once displaying their felicity, and each boasting the advantages -of his own dominions, one who possessed a country not remarkable for the -grandeur of its cities, or the fertility of its soil, rose to speak, and -the rest listened between pity and contempt, till he declared, in honour -of his territories, that he could travel through them without a guard, -and if he was weary, sleep in safety upon the lap of the first man whom -he should meet; a commendation which would have been ill exchanged for -the boast of palaces, pastures, or streams. - -Suspicion is not less an enemy to virtue than to happiness; he that is -already corrupt is naturally suspicious, and he that becomes suspicious -will quickly be corrupt. It is too common for us to learn the frauds by -which ourselves have suffered; men who are once persuaded that deceit will -be employed against them, sometimes think the same arts justified by the -necessity of defence. Even they whose virtue is too well established to -give way to example, or be shaken by sophistry, must yet feel their love -of mankind diminished with their esteem, and grow less zealous for the -happiness of those by whom they imagine their own happiness endangered. - -Thus we find old age, upon which suspicion has been strongly impressed, -by long intercourse with the world, inflexible and severe, not easily -softened by submission, melted by complaint, or subdued by supplication. -Frequent experience of counterfeited miseries, and dissembled virtue, in -time overcomes that disposition to tenderness and sympathy, which is so -powerful in our younger years; and they that happen to petition the old -for compassion or assistance, are doomed to languish without regard, and -suffer for the crimes of men who have formerly been found undeserving -or ungrateful. - -Historians are certainly chargeable with the depravation of mankind, -when they relate without censure those stratagems of war by which the -virtues of an enemy are engaged to his destruction. A ship comes before -a port, weather beaten and shattered, and the crew implore the liberty -of repairing their breaches, supplying themselves with necessaries, -or burying their dead. The humanity of the inhabitants inclines them -to consent; the strangers enter the town with weapons concealed, fall -suddenly upon their benefactors, destroy those that make resistance, -and become masters of the place; they return home rich with plunder, -and their success is recorded to encourage imitation. - -But surely war has its laws, and ought to be conducted with some regard to -the universal interest of man. Those may justly be pursued as enemies to -the community of nature, who suffer hostility to vacate the unalterable -laws of right, and pursue their private advantage by means, which, if -once established, must destroy kindness, cut off from every man all hopes -of assistance from another, and fill the world with perpetual suspicion -and implacable malevolence. Whatever is thus gained ought to be restored, -and those who have conquered by such treachery may be justly denied the -protection of their native country. - -Whoever commits a fraud is guilty not only of the particular injury to -him whom he deceives, but of the diminution of that confidence which -constitutes not only the ease but the existence of society. He that -suffers by imposture has too often his virtue more impaired than his -fortune. But as it is necessary not to invite robbery by supineness, so -it is our duty not to suppress tenderness by suspicion; it is better to -suffer wrong than to do it, and happier to be sometimes cheated than not -to trust. - -[Footnote 51: Propter vitam vivendi perdere causas.] - - - - -No. 80. SATURDAY, DECEMBER 22, 1750. - - - _Vides, ut alta stet nive candidum_ - _Soracte, nec jam sustineant onus_ - _Silvæ laborantes._ - HOR. Lib. i. Ode ix. 1. - - Behold yon mountain's hoary height - Made higher with new mounts of snow; - Again behold the winter's weight - Oppress the lab'ring woods below. - DRYDEN. - - -As Providence has made the human soul an active being, always impatient -for novelty, and struggling for something yet unenjoyed with unwearied -progression, the world seems to have been eminently adapted to this -disposition of the mind; it is formed to raise expectations by constant -vicissitudes, and to obviate satiety by perpetual change. - -Wherever we turn our eyes, we find something to revive our curiosity, and -engage our attention. In the dusk of the morning we watch the rising of -the sun, and see the day diversify the clouds, and open new prospects in -its gradual advance. After a few hours, we see the shades lengthen, and -the light decline, till the sky is resigned to a multitude of shining -orbs different from each other in magnitude and splendour. The earth -varies its appearance as we move upon it; the woods offer their shades, -and the fields their harvests; the hill flatters with an extensive view, -and the valley invites with shelter, fragrance, and flowers. - -The poets have numbered among the felicities of the golden age, an -exemption from the change of seasons, and a perpetuity of spring; but I -am not certain that in this state of imaginary happiness they have made -sufficient provision for that insatiable demand of new gratifications, -which seems particularly to characterize the nature of man. Our sense of -delight is in a great measure comparative, and arises at once from the -sensations, which we feel, and those which we remember. Thus ease after -torment is pleasure for a time, and we are very agreeably recreated, -when the body, chilled with the weather, is gradually recovering its -natural tepidity; but the joy ceases when we have forgot the cold: we -must fall below ease again, if we desire to rise above it, and purchase -new felicity by voluntary pain. It is therefore not unlikely, that -however the fancy may be amused with the description of regions in which -no wind is heard but the gentle zephyr, and no scenes are displayed but -valleys enamelled with unfading flowers, and woods waving their perennial -verdure, we should soon grow weary of uniformity, find our thoughts -languish for want of other subjects, call on heaven for our wonted -round of seasons, and think ourselves liberally recompensed for the -inconveniences of summer and winter, by new perceptions of the calmness -and mildness of the intermediate variations. - -Every season has its particular power of striking the mind. The nakedness -and asperity of the wintry world always fill the beholder with pensive -and profound astonishment; as the variety of the scene is lessened, its -grandeur is increased; and the mind is swelled at once by the mingled -ideas of the present and the past, of the beauties which have vanished -from the eyes, and the waste and desolation that are now before them. - -It is observed by Milton, that he who neglects to visit the country in -spring, and rejects the pleasures that are then in their first bloom -and fragrance, is guilty of _sullenness against nature_. If we allot -different duties to different seasons, he may be charged with equal -disobedience to the voice of nature, who looks on the bleak hills and -leafless woods, without seriousness and awe. Spring is the season of -gaiety, and winter of terrour; in spring the heart of tranquillity dances -to the melody of the groves, and the eye of benevolence sparkles at -the sight of happiness and plenty. In the winter, compassion melts at -universal calamity, and the tear of softness starts at the wailings of -hunger, and the cries of the creation in distress. - -Few minds have much inclination to indulge heaviness and sorrow, nor do -I recommend them beyond the degree necessary to maintain in its full -vigour that habitual sympathy and tenderness, which, in a world of so -much misery, is necessary to the ready discharge of our most important -duties. The winter, therefore, is generally celebrated as the proper -season for domestick merriment and gaiety. We are seldom invited by the -votaries of pleasure to look abroad for any other purpose, than that -we may shrink back with more satisfaction to our coverts, and when we -have heard the howl of the tempest, and felt the gripe of the frost, -congratulate each other with more gladness upon a close room, an easy -chair, a large fire, and a smoaking dinner. - -Winter brings natural inducements to jollity and conversation. Differences, -we know, are never so effectually laid asleep, as by some common -calamity. An enemy unites all to whom he threatens danger. The rigour -of winter brings generally to the same fire-side, those, who, by the -opposition of inclinations, or difference of employment, move in various -directions through the other parts of the year; and when they have met, -and find it their mutual interest to remain together, they endear each -other by mutual compliances, and often wish for the continuance of the -social season, with all its bleakness, and all its severities. - -To the men of study and imagination the winter is generally the chief time -of labour. Gloom and silence produce composure of mind, and concentration -of ideas; and the privation of external pleasure naturally causes an -effort to find entertainment within. This is the time in which those -whom literature enables to find amusements for themselves, have more than -common convictions of their own happiness. When they are condemned by the -elements to retirement, and debarred from most of the diversions which -are called in to assist the flight of time, they can find new subjects of -inquiry, and preserve themselves from that weariness which hangs always -flagging upon the vacant mind. - -It cannot indeed be expected of all to be poets and philosophers; it is -necessary that the greater part of mankind should be employed in the -minute business of common life; minute, indeed, not if we consider its -influence upon our happiness, but if we respect the abilities requisite -to conduct it. These must necessarily be more dependant on accident -for the means of spending agreeably those hours which their occupations -leave unengaged, or nature obliges them to allow to relaxation. Yet even -on these I would willingly impress such a sense of the value of time, -as may incline them to find out for their careless hours amusements -of more use and dignity than the common games, which not only weary -the mind without improving it, but strengthen the passions of envy and -avarice, and often lead to fraud and to profusion, to corruption and to -ruin. It is unworthy of a reasonable being to spend any of the little -time allotted us, without some tendency, either direct or oblique, to -the end of our existence. And though every moment cannot be laid out on -the formal and regular improvement of our knowledge, or in the stated -practice of a moral or religious duty, yet none should be so spent as -to exclude wisdom or virtue, or pass without possibility of qualifying -us more or less for the better employment of those which are to come. - -It is scarcely possible to pass an hour in honest conversation, without -being able, when we rise from it, to please ourselves with having given -or received some advantages; but a man may shuffle cards, or rattle dice, -from noon to midnight, without tracing any new idea in his mind, or being -able to recollect the day by any other token than his gain or loss, and a -confused remembrance of agitated passions, and clamorous altercations. - -However, as experience is of more weight than precept, any of my readers, -who are contriving how to spend the dreary months before them, may -consider which of their past amusements fills them now with the greatest -satisfaction, and resolve to repeat those gratifications of which the -pleasure is most durable. - - - - -No. 81. TUESDAY, DECEMBER 25, 1750. - - - _Discite Justitiam moniti._ - VIRG. Æn. vi. 620. - - Hear, and be just. - - -Among questions which have been discussed, without any approach to -decision, may be numbered the precedency or superior excellence of one -virtue to another, which has long furnished a subject of dispute to -men whose leisure sent them out into the intellectual world in search -of employment, and who have, perhaps, been sometimes withheld from -the practice of their favourite duty, by zeal for its advancement, and -diligence in its celebration. - -The intricacy of this dispute may be alleged as a proof of that tenderness -for mankind which Providence has, I think, universally displayed, by -making attainments easy in proportion as they are necessary. That all -the duties of morality ought to be practised, is without difficulty -discoverable, because ignorance or uncertainty would immediately involve -the world in confusion and distress; but which duty ought to be most -esteemed, we may continue to debate without inconvenience, so all be -diligently performed as there is opportunity or need; for upon practice, -not upon opinion, depends the happiness of mankind; and controversies, -merely speculative, are of small importance in themselves, however they -may have sometimes heated a disputant, or provoked a faction. - -Of the Divine Author of our religion it is impossible to peruse the -evangelical histories, without observing how little he favoured the -vanity of inquisitiveness; how much more rarely he condescended to -satisfy curiosity, than to relieve distress; and how much he desired -that his followers should rather excel in goodness than in knowledge. His -precepts tend immediately to the rectification of the moral principles, -and the direction of daily conduct, without ostentation, without art, at -once irrefragable and plain, such as well-meaning simplicity may readily -conceive, and of which we cannot mistake the meaning, but when we are -afraid to find it. - -The measure of justice prescribed to us, in our transactions with others, -is remarkably clear and comprehensive: _Whatsoever ye would that men -should do unto you, even so do unto them_. A law by which every claim -of right may be immediately adjusted as far as the private conscience -requires to be informed; a law, of which every man may find the -exposition in his own breast, and which may always be observed without -any other qualifications than honesty of intention, and purity of will. - -Over this law, indeed, some sons of sophistry have been subtle enough -to throw mists, which have darkened their own eyes. To perplex this -universal principle, they have inquired whether a man, conscious to -himself of unreasonable wishes, be bound to gratify them in another. But -surely there needed no long deliberation to conclude, that the desires, -which are to be considered by us as the measure of right, must be such as -we approve, and that we ought to pay no regard to those expectations in -others which we condemn in ourselves, and which, however they may intrude -upon our imagination, we know it our duty to resist and suppress. - -One of the most celebrated cases which have been produced as requiring -some skill in the direction of conscience to adapt them to this great -rule, is that of a criminal asking mercy of his judge, who cannot but -know, that if he was in the state of the supplicant, he should desire -that pardon which he now denies. The difficulty of this sophism will -vanish, if we remember that the parties are, in reality, on one side the -criminal, and on the other the community, of which the magistrate is only -the minister, and by which he is intrusted with the publick safety. The -magistrate, therefore, in pardoning a man unworthy of pardon, betrays -the trust with which he is invested, gives away what is not his own, and, -apparently, does to others what he would not that others should do to -him. Even the community, whose right is still greater to arbitrary grants -of mercy, is bound by those laws which regard the great republick of -mankind, and cannot justify such forbearance as may promote wickedness, -and lessen the general confidence and security in which all have an equal -interest, and which all are therefore bound to maintain. For this reason -the state has not a right to erect a general sanctuary for fugitives, or -give protection to such as have forfeited their lives by crimes against -the laws of common morality equally acknowledged by all nations, because -no people can, without infraction of the universal league of social -beings, incite, by prospects of impunity and safety, those practices in -another dominion, which they would themselves punish in their own. - -One occasion of uncertainty and hesitation, in those by whom this great -rule has been commented and dilated, is the confusion of what the exacter -casuists are careful to distinguish, _debts of justice_, and _debts -of charity_. The immediate and primary intention of this precept, is -to establish a rule of justice; and I know not whether invention, or -sophistry, can start a single difficulty to retard its application, when -it is thus expressed and explained, _let every man allow the claim of -right in another, which he should think himself entitled to make in the -like circumstances._ - -The discharge of the _debts of charity_, or duties which we owe to others, -not merely as required by justice, but as dictated by benevolence, admits -in its own nature greater complication of circumstances, and greater -latitude of choice. Justice is indispensably and universally necessary, -and what is necessary must always be limited, uniform, and distinct. -But beneficence, though in general equally enjoined by our religion, and -equally needful to the conciliation of the Divine favour, is yet, for the -most part, with regard to its single acts, elective and voluntary. We may -certainly, without injury to our fellow-beings, allow in the distribution -of kindness something to our affections, and change the measure of our -liberality, according to our opinions and prospects, our hopes and fears. -This rule therefore is not equally determinate and absolute, with respect -to offices of kindness, and acts of liberality, because liberality -and kindness, absolutely determined, would lose their nature; for how -could we be called tender, or charitable, for giving that which we are -positively forbidden to withhold? - -Yet, even in adjusting the extent of our beneficence, no other measure -can be taken than this precept affords us, for we can only know what -others suffer for want, by considering how we should be affected in -the same state; nor can we proportion our assistance by any other rule -than that of doing what we should then expect from others. It indeed -generally happens that the giver and receiver differ in their opinions -of generosity; the same partiality to his own interest inclines one to -large expectations, and the other to sparing distributions. Perhaps the -infirmity of human nature will scarcely suffer a man groaning under the -pressure of distress, to judge rightly of the kindness of his friends, -or think they have done enough till his deliverance is completed; not -therefore what we might wish, but what we could demand from others, we -are obliged to grant, since, though we can easily know how much we might -claim, it is impossible to determine what we should hope. - -But in all inquiries concerning the practice of voluntary and occasional -virtues, it is safest for minds not oppressed with superstitious fears -to determine against their own inclinations, and secure themselves from -deficiency, by doing more than they believe strictly necessary. For of -this every man may be certain, that, if he were to exchange conditions -with his dependent, he should expect more than, with the utmost exertion -of his ardour, he now will prevail upon himself to perform; and when -reason has no settled rule, and our passions are striving to mislead us, -it is surely the part of a wise man to err on the side of safety. - - - - -No. 82. SATURDAY, DECEMBER 29, 1750. - - - _Omnia Castor emit, sic fiet ut omnia vendat._ - MART. Ep. xcviii. - - Who buys without discretion, buys to sell. - - -TO THE RAMBLER. - -SIR, - -It will not be necessary to solicit your good-will by any formal preface, -when I have informed you, that I have long been known as the most -laborious and zealous virtuoso that the present age has had the honour -of producing, and that inconveniencies have been brought upon me by an -unextinguishable ardour of curiosity, and an unshaken perseverance in the -acquisition of the productions of art and nature. - -It was observed, from my entrance into the world, that I had something -uncommon in my disposition, and that there appeared in me very early -tokens of superior genius. I was always an enemy to trifles; the -playthings which my mother bestowed upon me I immediately broke, that -I might discover the method of their structure, and the causes of their -motions; of all the toys with which children are delighted I valued only -my coral, and as soon as I could speak, asked, like Peiresc, innumerable -questions which the maids about me could not resolve. As I grew older -I was more thoughtful and serious, and instead of amusing myself with -puerile diversions, made collections of natural rarities, and never -walked into the fields without bringing home stones of remarkable forms, -or insects of some uncommon species. I never entered an old house, from -which I did not take away the painted glass, and often lamented that -I was not one of that happy generation who demolished the convents and -monasteries, and broke windows by law. - -Being thus early possessed by a taste for solid knowledge, I passed my -youth with very little disturbance from passions and appetites; and -having no pleasure in the company of boys and girls, who talked of plays, -politicks, fashions, or love, I carried on my inquiries with incessant -diligence, and had amassed more stones, mosses, and shells, than are to -be found in many celebrated collections, at an age in which the greatest -part of young men are studying under tutors, or endeavouring to recommend -themselves to notice by their dress, their air, and their levities. - -When I was two and twenty years old, I became, by the death of my father, -possessed of a small estate in land, with a very large sum of money in -the publick funds, and must confess that I did not much lament him, for -he was a man of mean parts, bent rather upon growing rich than wise. -He once fretted at the expense of only ten shillings, which he happened -to overhear me offering for the sting of a hornet, though it was a -cold moist summer, in which very few hornets had been seen. He often -recommended to me the study of physick, in which, said he, you may at -once gratify your curiosity after natural history, and increase your -fortune by benefiting mankind. I heard him, Mr. Rambler, with pity, and -as there was no prospect of elevating a mind formed to grovel, suffered -him to please himself with hoping that I should some time follow his -advice. For you know that there are men, with whom, when they have once -settled a notion in their head, is to very little purpose to dispute. - -Being now left wholly to my own inclinations, I very soon enlarged the -bounds of my curiosity, and contented myself no longer with such rarities -as required only judgment and industry, and when once found might be -had for nothing. I now turned my thoughts to exoticks and antiques, and -became so well known for my generous patronage of ingenious men, that -my levee was crowded with visitants, some to see my museum, and others -to increase its treasures, by selling me whatever they had brought from -other countries. - -I had always a contempt for that narrowness of conception, which contents -itself with cultivating some single corner of the field of science; I -took the whole region into my view, and wished it of yet greater extent. -But no man's power can be equal to his will. I was forced to proceed -by slow degrees, and to purchase what chance or kindness happened to -present. I did not, however, proceed without some design, or imitate -the indiscretion of those, who begin a thousand collections, and finish -none. Having been always a lover of geography, I determined to collect the -maps drawn in the rude and barbarous times, before any regular surveys, -or just observations; and have, at a great expense, brought together a -volume, in which, perhaps, not a single country is laid down according -to its true situation, and by which he that desires to know the errours -of the ancient geographers may be amply informed. - -But my ruling passion is patriotism: my chief care has been to procure -the products of our own country; and as Alfred received the tribute -of the Welsh in wolves' heads, I allowed my tenants to pay their rents -in butterflies, till I had exhausted the papilionaceous tribe. I then -directed them to the pursuit of other animals, and obtained, by this easy -method, most of the grubs and insects, which land, air, or water, can -supply. I have three species of earth-worms not known to the naturalists, -have discovered a new ephemera, and can show four wasps that were taken -torpid in their winter quarters. I have, from my own ground, the longest -blade of grass upon record, and once accepted, as a half-year's rent for -a field of wheat, an ear containing more grains than had been seen before -upon a single stem. - -One of my tenants so much neglected his own interest, as to supply me, in -a whole summer, with only two horse-flies, and those of little more than -the common size; and I was upon the brink of seizing for arrears, when -his good fortune threw a white mole in his way, for which he was not only -forgiven, but rewarded. - -These, however, were petty acquisitions, and made at small expense; nor -should I have ventured to rank myself among the virtuosi without better -claims. I have suffered nothing worthy the regard of a wise man to escape -my notice. I have ransacked the old and the new world, and been equally -attentive to past ages and the present. For the illustration of ancient -history, I can show a marble, of which the inscription, though it is not -now legible, appears, from some broken remains of the letters, to have -been Tuscan, and, therefore, probably engraved before the foundation of -Rome. I have two pieces of porphyry found among the ruins of Ephesus, -and three letters broken off by a learned traveller from the monuments -of Persepolis; a piece of stone which paved the Areopagus of Athens, -and a plate without figures or characters, which was found at Corinth, -and which I, therefore, believe to be that metal which was once valued -before gold. I have sand gathered out of the Granicus; a fragment of -Trajan's bridge over the Danube; some of the mortar which cemented the -watercourse of Tarquin; a horseshoe broken on the Flaminian way; and -a turf with five daisies dug from the field of Pharsalia. - -I do not wish to raise the envy of unsuccessful collectors, by too pompous -a display of my scientifick wealth, but cannot forbear to observe, that -there are few regions of the globe which are not honoured with some -memorial in my cabinets. The Persian monarchs are said to have boasted -the greatness of their empire, by being served at their tables with drink -from the Ganges and the Danube. I can show one vial, of which the water -was formerly an icicle on the crags of Caucasus, and another that contains -what once was snow on the top of Atlas; in a third is dew brushed from a -banana in the gardens of Ispahan; and, in another, brine that has rolled -in the Pacifick ocean. I flatter myself that I am writing to a man who -will rejoice at the honour which my labours have procured to my country; -and therefore I shall tell you that Britain can, by my care, boast of a -snail that has crawled upon the wall of China; a humming bird which an -American princess wore in her ear; the tooth of an elephant which carried -the queen of Siam; the skin of an ape that was kept in the palace of the -great mogul; a riband that adorned one of the maids of a Turkish sultana; -and a cimeter once wielded by a soldier of Abas the great. - -In collecting antiquities of every country, I have been careful to choose -only by intrinsick worth, and real usefulness, without regard to party or -opinions. I have therefore a lock of Cromwell's hair in a box turned from -a piece of the royal oak; and keep in the same drawers, sand scraped from -the coffin of king Richard, and a commission signed by Henry the Seventh. -I have equal veneration for the ruff of Elizabeth and the shoe of Mary of -Scotland; and should lose, with like regret, a tobacco-pipe of Raleigh, -and a stirrup of king James. I have paid the same price for a glove of -Lewis, and a thimble of queen Mary; for a fur cap of the Czar, and a boot -of Charles of Sweden. - -You will easily imagine that these accumulations were not made without -some diminution of my fortune, for I was so well known to spare no -cost, that at every sale some bid against me for hire, some for sport, -and some for malice; and if I asked the price of any thing, it was -sufficient to double the demand. For curiosity, trafficking thus with -avarice, the wealth of India had not been enough; and I, by little and -little, transferred all my money from the funds to my closet: here I was -inclined to stop, and live upon my estate in literary leisure, but the -sale of the Harleian collection shook my resolution: I mortgaged my land, -and purchased thirty medals, which I could never find before. I have at -length bought till I can buy no longer, and the cruelty of my creditors -has seized my repository; I am therefore condemned to disperse what the -labour of an age will not re-assemble. I submit to that which cannot be -opposed, and shall, in a short time, declare a sale. I have, while it is -yet in my power, sent you a pebble, picked up by Tavernier on the banks -of the Ganges; for which I desire no other recompense than that you will -recommend my catalogue to the publick. - - QUISQUILIUS. - - - - -No. 83. TUESDAY, JANUARY 1, 1751. - - - _Nisi utile est, quod facimus, stulta est gloria._ - PHÆD. Lib. iii. Fab. xvii. 15. - - All useless science is an empty boast. - - -The publication of the letter in my last paper has naturally led me to the -consideration of thirst after curiosities, which often draws contempt and -ridicule upon itself, but which is perhaps no otherwise blameable, than -as it wants those circumstantial recommendations which add lustre even to -moral excellencies, and are absolutely necessary to the grace and beauty -of indifferent actions. - -Learning confers so much superiority on those who possess it, that they -might probably have escaped all censure had they been able to agree among -themselves; but as envy and competition have divided the republick of -letters into factions, they have neglected the common interest; each has -called in foreign aid, and endeavoured to strengthen his own cause by -the frown of power, the hiss of ignorance, and the clamour of popularity. -They have all engaged in feuds, till by mutual hostilities they -demolished those outworks which veneration had raised for their security, -and exposed themselves to barbarians, by whom every region of science is -equally laid waste. - -Between men of different studies and professions, may be observed a -constant reciprocation of reproaches. The collector of shells and stones -derides the folly of him who pastes leaves and flowers upon paper, -pleases himself with colours that are perceptibly fading, and amasses -with care what cannot be preserved. The hunter of insects stands amazed -that any man can waste his short time upon lifeless matter, while many -tribes of animals yet want their history. Every one is inclined not only -to promote his own study, but to exclude all others from regard, and -having heated his imagination with some favourite pursuit, wonders that -the rest of mankind are not seized with the same passion. - -There are, indeed, many subjects of study which seem but remotely allied -to useful knowledge, and of little importance to happiness or virtue; -nor is it easy to forbear some sallies of merriment, or expressions -of pity, when we see a man wrinkled with attention, and emaciated with -solicitude, in the investigation of questions, of which, without visible -inconvenience, the world may expire in ignorance. Yet it is dangerous -to discourage well-intended labours, or innocent curiosity; for he who -is employed in searches, which by any deduction of consequences tend -to the benefit of life, is surely laudable, in comparison of those who -spend their time in counteracting happiness, and filling the world with -wrong and danger, confusion and remorse. No man can perform so little -as not to have reason to congratulate himself on his merits, when he -beholds the multitudes that live in total idleness, and have never yet -endeavoured to be useful. - -It is impossible to determine the limits of inquiry, or to foresee -what consequences a new discovery may produce. He who suffers not his -faculties to lie torpid, has a chance, whatever be his employment, -of doing good to his fellow creatures. The man that first ranged the -woods in search of medicinal springs, or climbed the mountains for -salutary plants, has undoubtedly merited the gratitude of posterity, -how much soever his frequent miscarriages might excite the scorn of his -contemporaries. If what appears little be universally despised, nothing -greater can be attained, for all that is great was at first little, and -rose to its present bulk by gradual accessions, and accumulated labours. - -Those who lay out time or money in assembling matter for contemplation, -are doubtless entitled to some degree of respect, though in a flight of -gaiety it be easy to ridicule their treasure, or in a fit of sullenness -to despise it. A man who thinks only on the particular object before him, -goes not away much illuminated by having enjoyed the privilege of handling -the tooth of a shark, or the paw of a white bear; yet there is nothing -more worthy of admiration to a philosophical eye than the structure of -animals, by which they are qualified to support life in the elements or -climates to which they are appropriated; and of all natural bodies it must -be generally confessed, that they exhibit evidences of infinite wisdom, -bear their testimony to the supreme reason, and excite in the mind new -raptures of gratitude, and new incentives to piety. - -To collect the productions of art, and examples of mechanical science or -manual ability, is unquestionably useful, even when the things themselves -are of small importance, because it is always advantageous to know -how far the human powers have proceeded, and how much experience has -found to be within the reach of diligence. Idleness and timidity often -despair without being overcome, and forbear attempts for fear of being -defeated; and we may promote the invigoration of faint endeavours, by -shewing what has been already performed. It may sometimes happen that -the greatest efforts of ingenuity have been exerted in trifles; yet the -same principles and expedients may be applied to more valuable purposes, -and the movements, which put into action machines of no use but to raise -the wonder of ignorance, may be employed to drain fens, or manufacture -metals, to assist the architect, or preserve the sailor. - -For the utensils, arms, or dresses of foreign nations, which make the -greatest part of many collections, I have little regard when they are -valued only because they are foreign, and can suggest no improvement of -our own practice. Yet they are not all equally useless, nor can it be -always safely determined which should be rejected or retained; for they -may sometimes unexpectedly contribute to the illustration of history, -and to the knowledge of the natural commodities of the country, or of the -genius and customs of its inhabitants. - -Rarities there are of yet a lower rank, which owe their worth merely to -accident, and which can convey no information, nor satisfy any rational -desire. Such are many fragments of antiquity, as urns and pieces of -pavement; and things held in veneration only for having been once the -property of some eminent person, as the armour of King Henry; or for -having been used on some remarkable occasion, as the lantern of Guy -Faux. The loss or preservation of these seems to be a thing indifferent, -nor can I perceive why the possession of them should be coveted. Yet, -perhaps, even this curiosity is implanted by nature; and when I find Tully -confessing of himself, that he could not forbear at Athens to visit the -walks and houses which the old philosophers had frequented or inhabited, -and recollect the reverence which every nation, civil and barbarous, -has paid to the ground where merit has been buried[52], I am afraid to -declare against the general voice of mankind, and am inclined to believe, -that this regard, which we involuntarily pay to the meanest relique of -a man great and illustrious, is intended as an incitement to labour, -and an encouragement to expect the same renown, if it be sought by the -same virtues. - -The virtuoso therefore cannot be said to be wholly useless; but perhaps -he may be sometimes culpable for confining himself to business below his -genius, and losing, in petty speculations, those hours by which, if he -had spent them in nobler studies, he might have given new light to the -intellectual world. It is never without grief, that I find a man capable -of ratiocination or invention enlisting himself in this secondary class -of learning; for when he has once discovered a method of gratifying his -desire of eminence by expense rather than by labour, and known the sweets -of a life blest at once with the ease of idleness, and the reputation -of knowledge, he will not easily be brought to undergo again the toil of -thinking, or leave his toys and trinkets for arguments and principles, -arguments which require circumspection and vigilance, and principles -which cannot be obtained but by the drudgery of meditation. He will -gladly shut himself up for ever with his shells and medals, like the -companions of Ulysses, who, having tasted the fruit of Lotos, would not, -even by the hope of seeing their own country, be tempted again to the -dangers of the sea. - - [Greek: All' autou boulonto met andrasi Lôtophagoisi, - Lôton ereptomenoi menemen nostou te lathesthai.] - - ------Whoso tastes, - Insatiate riots in the sweet repasts; - Nor other home nor other care intends, - But quits his house, his country, and his friends. - POPE. - -Collections of this kind are of use to the learned, as heaps of stones -and piles of timber are necessary to the architect. But to dig the quarry -or to search the field, requires not much of any quality beyond stubborn -perseverance; and though genius must often lie unactive without this -humble assistance, yet this can claim little praise, because every man -can afford it. - -To mean understandings, it is sufficient honour to be numbered amongst the -lowest labourers of learning; but different abilities must find different -tasks. To hew stone, would have been unworthy of Palladio; and to have -rambled in search of shells and flowers, had but ill suited with the -capacity of Newton. - -[Footnote 52: See this sentiment illustrated by a most splendid passage -in Dr. Johnson's "Journey to the Western Islands," when he was on the -Island of Iona.] - - - - -No. 84. SATURDAY, JANUARY 5, 1751. - - - _Cunarum fueras motor, Charideme, mearum;_ - _Et pueri custos, assiduusque comes._ - _Jam mihi nigrescunt tonsa sudaria barbam,----_ - _Sed tibi non crevi: te noster villicus horret:_ - _Te dispensator, te domus ipsa pavet.----_ - _Corripis, observas, quereris, suspiria ducis;_ - _Et vix a ferulis abstinet ira manum._ - MART. Lib. xi. Ep. xxxix. - - You rock'd my cradle, were my guide, - In youth still tending at my side: - But now, dear sir, my beard is grown, - Still I'm a child to thee alone. - Our steward, butler, cook, and all, - You fright, nay e'en the very wall; - You pry, and frown, and growl, and chide, - And scarce will lay the rod aside. - F. LEWIS. - - -TO THE RAMBLER. - -SIR, - -You seem in all your papers to be an enemy to tyranny, and to look with -impartiality upon the world; I shall therefore lay my case before you, -and hope by your decision to be set free from unreasonable restraints, -and enabled to justify myself against the accusations which spite and -peevishness produce against me. - -At the age of five years I lost my mother; and my father, being not -qualified to superintend the education of a girl, committed me to the -care of his sister, who instructed me with the authority, and, not to -deny her what she may justly claim, with the affection of a parent. She -had not very elevated sentiments, or extensive views, but her principles -were good, and her intentions pure; and, though some may practise mere -virtues, scarce any commit fewer faults. - -Under this good lady I learned all the common rules of decent behaviour, -and standing maxims of domestick prudence; and might have grown up by -degrees to a country gentlewoman, without any thoughts of ranging beyond -the neighbourhood, had not Flavia come down, last summer, to visit her -relations in the next village. I was taken, of course, to compliment -the stranger, and was, at the first sight, surprised at the unconcern -with which she saw herself gazed at by the company whom she had never -known before; at the carelessness with which she received compliments, -and the readiness with which she returned them. I found she had something -which I perceived myself to want, and could not but wish to be like her, -at once easy and officious, attentive and unembarrassed. I went home, -and for four days could think and talk of nothing but Miss Flavia; though -my aunt told me, that she was a forward slut, and thought herself wise -before her time. - -In a little time she repaid my visit, and raised in my heart a new -confusion of love and admiration. I soon saw her again, and still found -new charms in her air, conversation, and behaviour. You, who have perhaps -seen the world, may have observed, that formality soon ceases between -young persons. I know not how others are affected on such occasions, but -I found myself irresistibly allured to friendship and intimacy, by the -familiar complaisance and airy gaiety of Flavia; so that in a few weeks I -became her favourite, and all the time was passed with me, that she could -gain from ceremony and visit. - -As she came often to me, she necessarily spent some hours with my aunt, -to whom she paid great respect by low courtesies, submissive compliance, -and soft acquiescence; but as I became gradually more accustomed to -her manners, I discovered that her civility was general; that there -was a certain degree of deference shewn by her to circumstances and -appearances; that many went away flattered by her humility, whom she -despised in her heart; that the influence of far the greatest part -of those with whom she conversed ceased with their presence; and that -sometimes she did not remember the names of them, whom, without any -intentional insincerity or false commendation, her habitual civility had -sent away with very high thoughts of their own importance. - -It was not long before I perceived that my aunt's opinion was not of -much weight in Flavia's deliberations, and that she was looked upon -by her as a woman of narrow sentiments, without knowledge of books, or -observations on mankind. I had hitherto considered my aunt as entitled, -by her wisdom and experience, to the highest reverence; and could not -forbear to wonder that any one so much younger should venture to suspect -her of errour, or ignorance; but my surprise was without uneasiness, -and being now accustomed to think Flavia always in the right, I readily -learned from her to trust my own reason, and to believe it possible, -that they who had lived longer might be mistaken. - -Flavia had read much, and used so often to converse on subjects of -learning, that she put all the men in the country to flight, except the -old parson, who declared himself much delighted with her company, because -she gave him opportunities to recollect the studies of his younger -years, and, by some mention of ancient story, had made him rub the dust -off his Homer, which had lain unregarded in his closet. With Homer, and -a thousand other names familiar to Flavia, I had no acquaintance, but -began, by comparing her accomplishments with my own, to repine at my -education, and wish that I had not been so long confined to the company -of those from whom nothing but housewifery was to be learned. I then set -myself to peruse such books as Flavia recommended, and heard her opinion -of their beauties and defects. I saw new worlds hourly bursting upon -my mind, and was enraptured at the prospect of diversifying life with -endless entertainment. - -The old lady, finding that a large screen, which I had undertaken to adorn -with turkey-work against winter, made very slow advances, and that I -had added in two months but three leaves to a flowered apron then in the -frame, took the alarm, and with all the zeal of honest folly exclaimed -against my new acquaintance, who had filled me with idle notions, and -turned my head with books. But she had now lost her authority, for I -began to find innumerable mistakes in her opinions, and improprieties -in her language; and therefore thought myself no longer bound to pay -much regard to one who knew little beyond her needle and her dairy, and -who professed to think that nothing more is required of a woman than to -see that the house is clean, and that the maids go to bed and rise at a -certain hour. - -She seemed however to look upon Flavia as seducing me, and to imagine that -when her influence was withdrawn, I should return to my allegiance; she -therefore contented herself with remote hints, and gentle admonitions, -intermixed with sage histories of the miscarriages of wit, and -disappointments of pride. But since she has found, that though Flavia -is departed, I still persist in my new scheme, she has at length lost -her patience, she snatches my book out of my hand, tears my paper if -she finds me writing, burns Flavia's letters before my face when she can -seize them, and threatens to lock me up, and to complain to my father -of my perverseness. If women, she says, would but know their duty and -their interest, they would be careful to acquaint themselves with family -affairs, and many a penny might be saved; for while the mistress of -the house is scribbling and reading, servants are junketing, and linen -is wearing out. She then takes me round the rooms, shews me the worked -hangings, and chairs of tent-stitch, and asks whether all this was done -with a pen and a book. - -I cannot deny that I sometimes laugh and sometimes am sullen; but she has -not delicacy enough to be much moved either with my mirth or my gloom, -if she did not think the interest of the family endangered by this change -of my manners. She had for some years marked out young Mr. Surly, an -heir in the neighbourhood, remarkable for his love of fighting-cocks, -as an advantageous match; and was extremely pleased with the civilities -which he used to pay me, till under Flavia's tuition I learned to -talk of subjects which he could not understand. This, she says, is the -consequence of female study: girls grow too wise to be advised, and too -stubborn to be commanded; but she is resolved to try who shall govern, -and will thwart my humour till she breaks my spirit. - -These menaces, Mr. Rambler, sometimes make me quite angry; for I have been -sixteen these ten weeks, and think myself exempted from the dominion of a -governess, who has no pretensions to more sense or knowledge than myself. -I am resolved, since I am as tall and as wise as other women, to be no -longer treated like a girl. Miss Flavia has often told me, that ladies of -my age go to assemblies and routs, without their mothers and their aunts; -I shall therefore, from this time, leave asking advice, and refuse to -give accounts. I wish you would state the time at which young ladies may -judge for themselves, which I am sure you cannot but think ought to begin -before sixteen; if you are inclined to delay it longer, I shall have very -little regard to your opinion. - -My aunt often tells me of the advantages of experience, and of the -deference due to seniority; and both she and all the antiquated part -of the world, talk of the unreserved obedience which they paid to the -commands of their parents, and the undoubting confidence with which they -listened to their precepts; of the terrours which they felt at a frown, -and the humility with which they supplicated forgiveness whenever they -had offended. I cannot but fancy that this boast is too general to be -true, and that the young and the old were always at variance. I have, -however, told my aunt, that I will mend whatever she will prove to be -wrong; but she replies that she has reasons of her own, and that she is -sorry to live in an age when girls have the impudence to ask for proofs. - -I beg once again, Mr. Rambler, to know whether I am not as wise as my aunt, -and whether, when she presumes to check me as a baby, I may not pluck -up a spirit and return her insolence. I shall not proceed to extremities -without your advice, which is therefore impatiently expected by - - MYRTILLA. - -P.S. Remember I am past sixteen. - - - - -No. 85. TUESDAY, JANUARY 8, 1751. - - - _Otia si tollas, periere Cupidinis arcus,_ - _Contemptæque jacent, et sine luce faces._ - OVID, Rem. 139. - - At busy hearts in vain Love's arrows fly; - Dim'd, scorn'd, and impotent, his torches lie. - - -Many writers of eminence in physick have laid out their diligence upon the -consideration of those distempers to which men are exposed by particular -states of life, and very learned treatises have been produced upon the -maladies of the camp, the sea, and the mines. There are, indeed, few -employments which a man accustomed to anatomical inquiries, and medical -refinements, would not find reasons for declining as dangerous to -health, did not his learning or experience inform him, that almost every -occupation, however inconvenient or formidable, is happier and safer than -a life of sloth. - -The necessity of action is not only demonstrable from the fabrick of the -body, but evident from observation of the universal practice of mankind, -who, for the preservation of health, in those whose rank or wealth -exempts them from the necessity of lucrative labour, have invented sports -and diversions, though not of equal use to the world with manual trades, -yet of equal fatigue to those who practise them, and differing only -from the drudgery of the husbandman or manufacturer, as they are acts of -choice, and therefore performed without the painful sense of compulsion. -The huntsman rises early, pursues his game through all the dangers and -obstructions of the chace, swims rivers, and scales precipices, till he -returns home no less harassed than the soldier, and has perhaps sometimes -incurred as great hazard of wounds or death; yet he has no motive to -incite his ardour; he is neither subject to the commands of a general, -nor dreads any penalties for neglect and disobedience; he has neither -profit nor honour to expect from his perils and his conquests, but toils -without the hope of mural or civick garlands, and must content himself -with the praise of his tenants and companions. - -But such is the constitution of man, that labour may be styled its -own reward; nor will any external incitements be requisite, if it be -considered how much happiness is gained, and how much misery escaped, by -frequent and violent agitation of the body. - -Ease is the most that can be hoped from a sedentary and unactive habit; -ease, a neutral state between pain and pleasure. The dance of spirits, -the bound of vigour, readiness of enterprize, and defiance of fatigue, -are reserved for him that braces his nerves, and hardens his fibres, that -keeps his limbs pliant with motion, and by frequent exposure fortifies -his frame against the common accidents of cold and heat. - -With ease, however, if it could be secured, many would be content; but -nothing terrestrial can be kept at a stand. Ease, if it is not rising -into pleasure, will be falling towards pain; and whatever hope the dreams -of speculation may suggest of observing the proportion between nutriment -and labour, and keeping the body in a healthy state by supplies exactly -equal to its waste, we know that, in effect, the vital powers unexcited by -motion, grow gradually languid; that, as their vigour fails, obstructions -are generated; and that from obstructions proceed most of those pains -which wear us away slowly with periodical tortures, and which, though -they sometimes suffer life to be long, condemn it to be useless, chain us -down to the couch of misery, and mock us with the hopes of death. - -Exercise cannot secure us from that dissolution to which we are decreed; -but while the soul and body continue united, it can make the association -pleasing, and give probable hopes that they shall be disjoined by an easy -separation. It was a principle among the ancients, that acute diseases -are from heaven, and chronical from ourselves: the dart of death indeed -falls from heaven, but we poison it by our own misconduct: to die is the -fate of man, but to die with lingering anguish is generally his folly[53]. - -It is necessary to that perfection of which our present state is capable, -that the mind and body should both be kept in action; that neither -the faculties of the one nor of the other be suffered to grow lax or -torpid for want of use; that neither health be purchased by voluntary -submission to ignorance, nor knowledge cultivated at the expense of that -health, which must enable it either to give pleasure to its possessor, -or assistance to others. It is too frequently the pride of students -to despise those amusements and recreations, which give to the rest -of mankind strength of limbs and cheerfulness of heart. Solitude and -contemplation are indeed seldom consistent with such skill in common -exercises or sports as is necessary to make them practised with delight, -and no man is willing to do that of which the necessity is not pressing -and immediate, when he knows that his awkwardness must make him ridiculous - - _Ludere qui nescit, campestribus abstinet armis,_ - _Indoctusque pilæ, discive, trochive quiescit,_ - _Ne spissæ risum tollant impune coronæ._ - HOR. Art. Poet. 379. - - He that's unskilful will not toss a ball, - Nor run, nor wrestle, for he fears the fall; - He justly fears to meet deserv'd disgrace, - And that the ring will hiss the baffled ass. - CREECH. - -Thus the man of learning is often resigned, almost by his own consent, to -languor and pain; and while in the prosecution of his studies he suffers -the weariness of labour, is subject by his course of life to the maladies -of idleness. - -It was, perhaps, from the observation of this mischievous omission in -those who are employed about intellectual objects, that Locke has, in his -"System of Education," urged the necessity of a trade to men of all ranks -and professions, that when the mind is weary with its proper task, it -may be relaxed by a slighter attention to some mechanical operation; -and that while the vital functions are resuscitated and awakened by -vigorous motion, the understanding may be restrained from that vagrance -and dissipation by which it relieves itself after a long intenseness of -thought, unless some allurement be presented that may engage application -without anxiety. - -There is so little reason for expecting frequent conformity to Locke's -precept, that it is not necessary to inquire whether the practice -of mechanical arts might not give occasion to petty emulation, and -degenerate ambition; and whether, if our divines and physicians were -taught the lathe and the chisel, they would not think more of their -tools than their books; as Nero neglected the care of his empire for his -chariot and his fiddle. It is certainly dangerous to be too much pleased -with little things; but what is there which may not be perverted? Let -us remember how much worse employment might have been found for those -hours, which a manual occupation appears to engross; let us compute the -profit with the loss, and when we reflect how often a genius is allured -from his studies, consider likewise that perhaps by the same attraction -he is sometimes withheld from debauchery, or recalled from malice, from -ambition, from envy, and from lust. - -I have always admired the wisdom of those by whom our female education -was instituted, for having contrived, that every woman, of whatever -condition, should be taught some arts of manufacture, by which the -vacuities of recluse and domestick leisure may be filled up. These arts -are more necessary, as the weakness of their sex and the general system -of life debar ladies from any employments which, by diversifying the -circumstances of men, preserve them from being cankered by the rust of -their own thoughts. I know not how much of the virtue and happiness of -the world may be the consequence of this judicious regulation. Perhaps, -the most powerful fancy might be unable to figure the confusion and -slaughter that would be produced by so many piercing eyes and vivid -understandings, turned loose at once upon mankind, with no other business -than to sparkle and intrigue, to perplex and to destroy. - -For my part, whenever chance brings within my observation a knot of misses -busy at their needles, I consider myself as in the school of virtue; -and though I have no extraordinary skill in plain work or embroidery, -look upon their operations with as much satisfaction as their governess, -because I regard them as providing a security against the most dangerous -ensnarers of the soul, by enabling themselves to exclude idleness from -their solitary moments, and with idleness her attendant train of passions, -fancies, and chimeras, fears, sorrows, and desires. Ovid and Cervantes -will inform them that love has no power but over those whom he catches -unemployed; and Hector, in the Iliad, when he sees Andromache overwhelmed -with terrours, sends her for consolation to the loom and the distaff. - -It is certain that any wild wish or vain imagination never takes such firm -possession of the mind, as when it is found empty and unoccupied. The old -peripatetick principle, that _Nature abhors a vacuum_, may be properly -applied to the intellect, which will embrace any thing, however absurd -or criminal, rather than be wholly without an object. Perhaps every man -may date the predominance of those desires that disturb his life and -contaminate his conscience, from some unhappy hour when too much leisure -exposed him to their incursions; for he has lived with little observation -either on himself or others, who does not know that to be idle is to -be vicious. - -[Footnote 53: This passage was once strangely supposed by some readers -to recommend suicide, instead of _exercise_, which is surely the more -obvious meaning. See, however, a letter from Dr. Johnson on the subject, -in Boswell's Life, vol. iv. p. 162.] - - - - -No. 86. SATURDAY, JANUARY 12, 1751. - - - _Legitimumque sonum digitis callemus et aure._ - HOR. De Ar. Poet. 274. - - By fingers, or by ear, we numbers scan. - ELPHINSTON. - - -One of the ancients has observed, that the burthen of government is -increased upon princes by the virtues of their immediate predecessors. -It is, indeed, always dangerous to be placed in a state of unavoidable -comparison with excellence, and the danger is still greater when that -excellence is consecrated by death; when envy and interest cease to act -against it, and those passions by which it was at first vilified and -opposed, now stand in its defence, and turn their vehemence against -honest emulation. - -He that succeeds a celebrated writer, has the same difficulties to -encounter; he stands under the shade of exalted merit, and is hindered -from rising to his natural height, by the interception of those beams -which should invigorate and quicken him. He applies to that attention -which is already engaged, and unwilling to be drawn off from certain -satisfaction; or perhaps to an attention already wearied, and not to be -recalled to the same object. - -One of the old poets congratulates himself that he had the untrodden -regions of Parnassus before him, and that his garland will be gathered -from plantations which no writer had yet culled. But the imitator treads -a beaten walk, and with all his diligence can only hope to find a few -flowers or branches untouched by his predecessor, the refuse of contempt, -or the omissions of negligence. The Macedonian conqueror, when he was -once invited to hear a man that sung like a nightingale, replied with -contempt, "that he had heard the nightingale herself;" and the same -treatment must every man expect, whose praise is that he imitates another. - -Yet, in the midst of these discouraging reflections, I am about to offer -to my reader some observations upon "Paradise Lost," and hope, that, -however I may fall below the illustrious writer who has so long dictated -to the commonwealth of learning, my attempt may not be wholly useless. -There are, in every age, new errours to be rectified, and new prejudices -to be opposed. False taste is always busy to mislead those that are -entering upon the regions of learning; and the traveller, uncertain of -his way, and forsaken by the sun, will be pleased to see a fainter orb -arise on the horizon, that may rescue him from total darkness, though -with weak and borrowed lustre. - -Addison, though he has considered this poem under most of the general -topicks of criticism, has barely touched upon the versification; not -probably because he thought the art of numbers unworthy of his notice, -for he knew with what minute attention the ancient criticks considered -the disposition of syllables, and had himself given hopes of some -metrical observations upon the great Roman poet; but being the first who -undertook to display the beauties, and point out the defects of Milton, -he had many objects at once before him, and passed willingly over those -which were most barren of ideas, and required labour, rather than genius. - -Yet versification, or the art of modulating his numbers, is indispensably -necessary to a poet. Every other power by which the understanding is -enlightened, or the imagination enchanted, may be exercised in prose. But -the poet has this peculiar superiority, that to all the powers which the -perfection of every other composition can require, he adds the faculty -of joining music with reason, and of acting at once upon the senses -and the passions. I suppose there are few who do not feel themselves -touched by poetical melody, and who will not confess that they are more -or less moved by the same thoughts, as they are conveyed by different -sounds, and more affected by the same words in one order than in another. -The perception of harmony is indeed conferred upon men in degrees very -unequal, but there are none who do not perceive it, or to whom a regular -series of proportionate sounds cannot give delight. - -In treating on the versification of Milton, I am desirous to be generally -understood, and shall therefore studiously decline the dialect of -grammarians; though, indeed, it is always difficult, and sometimes -scarcely possible, to deliver the precepts of an art, without the terms -by which the peculiar ideas of that art are expressed, and which had not -been invented but because the language already in use was insufficient. -If, therefore, I shall sometimes seem obscure, it may be imputed to this -voluntary interdiction, and to a desire of avoiding that offence which is -always given by unusual words. - -The heroick measure of the English language may be properly considered -as pure or mixed. It is pure when the accent rests upon every second -syllable through the whole line. - - Courage uncertain dangers may abate, - But whó can beár th' appróach of cértain fáte. - DRYDEN. - - Here love his golden shafts employs, here lights - His cónstant lámp, and wáves his púrple wíngs, - Reigns here, and revels; not in the bought smile - Of hárlots, lóveless, jóyless, únendéar'd. - MILTON. - -The accent may be observed, in the second line of Dryden, and the second -and fourth of Milton, to repose upon every second syllable. - -The repetition of this sound or percussion at equal times, is the most -complete harmony of which a single verse is capable, and should therefore -be exactly kept in distichs, and generally in the last line of a -paragraph, that the ear may rest without any sense of imperfection. - -But, to preserve the series of sounds untransposed in a long composition, -is not only very difficult, but tiresome and disgusting; for we are soon -wearied with the perpetual recurrence of the same cadence. Necessity -has therefore enforced the mixed measure, in which some variation of the -accents is allowed; this, though it always injures the harmony of the -line, considered by itself, yet compensates the loss by relieving us from -the continual tyranny of the same sound, and makes us more sensible of -the harmony of the pure measure. - -Of these mixed numbers every poet affords us innumerable instances, and -Milton seldom has two pure lines together, as will appear if any of his -paragraphs be read with attention merely to the musick. - - Thus at their shady lodge arriv'd, both stood, - Both turn'd, and under open sky ador'd - The God that made both sky, air, earth, and heav'n, - Which they beheld; the moon's resplendent globe, - _And starry pole: thou also mad'st the night,_ - Maker omnipotent! and thou the day, - Which we in our appointed work employ'd - Have finish'd, happy in our mutual help, - _And mutual love, the crown of all our bliss,_ - Ordain'd by thee; and this delicious place, - For us too large; where thy abundance wants - Partakers, and uncrop'd falls to the ground; - But thou hast promis'd from us two a race - To fill the earth, who shall with us extol - Thy goodness infinite, both when we wake, - And when we seek, as now, thy gift of sleep. - -In this passage it will be at first observed, that all the lines are not -equally harmonious, and upon a nearer examination it will be found that -only the fifth and ninth lines are regular, and the rest are more or less -licentious with respect to the accent. In some the accent is equally upon -two syllables together, and in both strong. As - - Thus at their shady lodge arriv'd, _both stood_, - _Both turned_, and under open sky ador'd - The God that made both sky, _air_, _earth_, and heav'n. - -In others the accent is equally upon two syllables, but upon both weak. - - --------------------------A race - To fill the earth, who shall with us extol - Thy goodness _infinite_, both when we wake, - _And when_ we seek, as now, thy gift of sleep. - -In the first pair of syllables the accent may deviate from the rigour -of exactness, without any unpleasing diminution of harmony, as may be -observed in the lines already cited, and more remarkably in this, - - ------------Thou also mad'st the night, - _Maker_ omnipotent! and thou the day, - -But, excepting in the first pair of syllables, which may be considered as -arbitrary, a poet who, not having the invention or knowledge of Milton, -has more need to allure his audience by musical cadences, should seldom -suffer more than one aberration from the rule in any single verse. - -There are two lines in this passage more remarkably unharmonious: - - ------------This delicious place, - For us too large; _where thy_ abundance wants - Partakers, and uncrop'd _falls_ to the ground, - -Here the third pair of syllables in the first, and fourth pair in the -second verse, have their accents retrograde or inverted; the first -syllable being strong or acute, and the second weak. The detriment -which the measure suffers by this inversion of the accents is sometimes -less perceptible, when the verses are carried one into another, but is -remarkably striking in this place, where the vicious verse concludes -a period, and is yet more offensive in rhyme, when we regularly attend -to the flow of every single line. This will appear by reading a couplet -in which Cowley, an author not sufficiently studious of harmony, has -committed the same fault. - - ----------------His harmless life - Does with substantial blessedness abound, - And the soft wings of peace _cover_ him round. - -In these the law of metre is very grossly violated by mingling -combinations of sound directly opposite to each other, as Milton -expresses in his sonnet, by _committing short and long_, and setting -one part of the measure at variance with the rest. The ancients, who had -a language more capable of variety than ours, had two kinds of verse, -the Iambick, consisting of short and long syllables alternately, from -which our heroick measure is derived, and Trochaick, consisting in a -like alternation of long and short. These were considered as opposites, -and conveyed the contrary images of speed and slowness; to confound -them, therefore, as in these lines, is to deviate from the established -practice. But where the senses are to judge, authority is not necessary, -the ear is sufficient to detect dissonance, nor should I have sought -auxiliaries on such an occasion against any name but that of Milton. - - - - -No. 87. TUESDAY, JANUARY 15, 1751. - - - _Invidus, iracundus, iners, vinosus, amator,_ - _Nemo adeo ferus est, ut non mitescere possit,_ - _Si modo culturæ patientem commodet aurem._ - HOR. Lib. i. Ep. i. 38. - - The slave to envy, anger, wine, or love, - The wretch of sloth, its excellence shall prove; - Fierceness itself shall hear its rage away. - When list'ning calmly to th' instructive lay. - FRANCIS. - - -That few things are so liberally bestowed, or squandered with so little -effect, as good advice, has been generally observed; and many sage -positions have been advanced concerning the reasons of this complaint, -and the means of removing it. It is indeed an important and noble -inquiry, for little would be wanting to the happiness of life, if every -man could conform to the right as soon as he was shewn it. - -This perverse neglect of the most salutary precepts, and stubborn -resistance of the most pathetick persuasion, is usually imputed to him -by whom the counsel is received, and we often hear it mentioned as a sign -of hopeless depravity, that though good advice was given, it has wrought -no reformation. - -Others, who imagine themselves to have quicker sagacity and deeper -penetration, have found out that the inefficacy of advice is usually the -fault of the counsellor, and rules have been laid down, by which this -important duty may be successfully performed. We are directed by what -tokens to discover the favourable moment at which the heart is disposed -for the operation of truth and reason, with what address to administer, -and with what vehicles to disguise _the catharticks of the soul_. - -But, notwithstanding this specious expedient, we find the world yet in the -same state: advice is still given, but still received with disgust; nor -has it appeared that the bitterness of the medicine has been yet abated, -or its powers increased, by any methods of preparing it. - -If we consider the manner in which those who assume the office of -directing the conduct of others execute their undertaking, it will not -be very wonderful that their labours, however zealous or affectionate, are -frequently useless. For what is the advice that is commonly given? A few -general maxims, enforced with vehemence, and inculcated with importunity, -but failing for want of particular reference and immediate application. - -It is not often that any man can have so much knowledge of another, as -is necessary to make instruction useful. We are sometimes not ourselves -conscious of the original motives of our actions, and when we know them, -our first care is to hide them from the sight of others, and often from -those most diligently, whose superiority either of power or understanding -may entitle them to inspect our lives; it is therefore very probable that -he who endeavours the cure of our intellectual maladies, mistakes their -cause; and that his prescriptions avail nothing, because he knows not -which of the passions or desires is vitiated. - -Advice, as it always gives a temporary appearance of superiority, can -never be very grateful, even when it is most necessary or most judicious. -But for the same reason every one is eager to instruct his neighbours. -To be wise or to be virtuous, is to buy dignity and importance at a high -price; but when nothing is necessary to elevation but detection of the -follies or the faults of others, no man is so insensible to the voice of -fame as to linger on the ground. - - _--Tentanda via est, qua me quoque possim_ - _Tollere humo, victorque virûm volitare per ora._ - VIRG. Geor. iii. 8. - - New ways I must attempt, my groveling name - To raise aloft, and wing my flight to fame. - DRYDEN. - -Vanity is so frequently the apparent motive of advice, that we, for the -most part, summon our powers to oppose it without any very accurate -inquiry whether it is right. It is sufficient that another is growing -great in his own eyes at our expense, and assumes authority over -us without our permission; for many would contentedly suffer the -consequences of their own mistakes, rather than the insolence of him who -triumphs as their deliverer. - -It is, indeed, seldom found that any advantages are enjoyed with that -moderation which the uncertainty of all human good so powerfully -enforces; and therefore the adviser may justly suspect, that he -has inflamed the opposition which he laments by arrogance and -superciliousness. He may suspect, but needs not hastily to condemn -himself, for he can rarely be certain that the softest language or most -humble diffidence would have escaped resentment; since scarcely any -degree of circumspection can prevent or obviate the rage with which the -slothful, the impotent, and the unsuccessful, vent their discontent upon -those that excel them. Modesty itself, if it is praised, will be envied; -and there are minds so impatient of inferiority, that their gratitude is -a species of revenge, and they return benefits, not because recompense is -a pleasure, but because obligation is a pain. - -The number of those whom the love of themselves has thus far corrupted, -is perhaps not great; but there are few so free from vanity, as not to -dictate to those who will hear their instructions with a visible sense -of their own beneficence; and few to whom it is not unpleasing to receive -documents, however tenderly and cautiously delivered, or who are not -willing to raise themselves from pupillage, by disputing the propositions -of their teacher. - -It was the maxim, I think, of Alphonsus of Arragon, that _dead counsellors -are safest_. The grave puts an end to flattery and artifice, and the -information that we receive from books is pure from interest, fear, -or ambition. Dead counsellors are likewise most instructive; because -they are heard with patience and with reverence. We are not unwilling -to believe that man wiser than ourselves, from whose abilities we may -receive advantage, without any danger of rivalry or opposition, and -who affords us the light of his experience, without hurting our eyes -by flashes of insolence. - -By the consultation of books, whether of dead or living authors, many -temptations to petulance and opposition, which occur in oral conferences, -are avoided. An author cannot obtrude his service unasked, nor can be -often suspected of any malignant intention to insult his readers with his -knowledge or his wit. Yet so prevalent is the habit of comparing ourselves -with others, while they remain within the reach of our passions, that -books are seldom read with complete impartiality, but by those from -whom the writer is placed at such a distance that his life or death -is indifferent. - -We see that volumes may be perused, and perused with attention, to little -effect; and that maxims of prudence, or principles of virtue, may be -treasured in the memory without influencing the conduct. Of the numbers -that pass their lives among books, very few read to be made wiser or -better, apply any general reproof of vice to themselves, or try their own -manners by axioms of justice. They purpose either to consume those hours -for which they can find no other amusement, to gain or preserve that -respect which learning has always obtained; or to gratify their curiosity -with knowledge, which, like treasures buried and forgotten, is of no use -to others or themselves. - -"The preacher (says a French author) may spend an hour in explaining and -enforcing a precept of religion, without feeling any impression from his -own performance, because he may have no further design than to fill up -his hour." A student may easily exhaust his life in comparing divines and -moralists, without any practical regard to morality or religion; he may -be learning not to live, but to reason; he may regard only the elegance -of style, justness of argument, and accuracy of method; and may enable -himself to criticise with judgment, and dispute with subtilty, while the -chief use of his volumes is unthought of, his mind is unaffected, and his -life is unreformed. - -But though truth and virtue are thus frequently defeated by pride, -obstinacy, or folly, we are not allowed to desert them; for whoever can -furnish arms which they hitherto have not employed, may enable them to -gain some hearts which would have resisted any other method of attack. -Every man of genius has some arts of fixing the attention peculiar to -himself, by which, honestly exerted, he may benefit mankind; for the -arguments for purity of life fail of their due influence, not because -they have been considered and confuted, but because they have been -passed over without consideration. To the position of Tully, that if -Virtue could be seen, she must be loved, may be added, that if Truth -could be heard, she must be obeyed. - - - - -No. 88. SATURDAY, JANUARY 19, 1751. - - - _Cum tabulis animum censoris sumet honesti:_ - _Audebit, quæcunque parum splendoris habebunt,_ - _Et sine pondere erunt, et honore indigna ferentur,_ - _Verba movere loco, quamvis invita recedant,_ - _Et versentur adhuc intra penetralia Vestæ._ - HOR. Lib. ii. Ep. ii. 110. - - But he that hath a curious piece designed, - When he begins must take a censor's mind. - Severe and honest; and what words appear - Too light and trivial, or too weak to bear - The weighty sense, nor worth the reader's care, - Shake off; though stubborn, they are loth to move, - And though we fancy, dearly though we love. - CREECH. - - -"There is no reputation for genius," says Quintilian, "to be gained by -writing on things, which, however necessary, have little splendour or -shew. The height of a building attracts the eye, but the foundations lie -without regard. Yet since there is not any way to the top of science, -but from the lowest parts, I shall think nothing unconnected with the -art of oratory, which he that wants cannot be an orator." - -Confirmed and animated by this illustrious precedent, I shall continue my -inquiries into Milton's art of versification. Since, however minute the -employment may appear, of analysing lines into syllables, and whatever -ridicule may be incurred by a solemn deliberation upon accents and pauses, -it is certain that without this petty knowledge no man can be a poet; -and that from the proper disposition of single sounds results that -harmony that adds force to reason, and gives grace to sublimity; that -shackles attention, and governs passions. - -That verse may be melodious and pleasing, it is necessary, not only that -the words be so ranged as that the accent may fall on its proper place, -but that the syllables themselves be so chosen as to flow smoothly into -one another. This is to be effected by a proportionate mixture of vowels -and consonants, and, by tempering the mute consonants with liquids and -semivowels. The Hebrew grammarians have observed, that it is impossible -to pronounce two consonants without the intervention of a vowel, or -without some emission of the breath between one and the other; this is -longer and more perceptible, as the sounds of the consonants are less -harmonically conjoined, and, by consequence, the flow of the verse is -longer interrupted. - -It is pronounced by Dryden, that a line of monosyllables is almost always -harsh. This, with regard to our language, is evidently true, not because -monosyllables cannot compose harmony, but because our monosyllables, -being of Teutonick original, or formed by contraction, commonly begin and -end with consonants, as, - - --------Every lower faculty - _Of sense, whereby they hear, see, smell, touch, taste._ - -The difference of harmony arising principally from the collocation of -vowels and consonants, will be sufficiently conceived by attending to the -following passages: - - Immortal _Amarant_----there grows - And flow'rs aloft, shading the fount of life, - And where the river of bliss through midst of heav'n - _Rolls o'er Elysian flow'rs her amber stream;_ - With these that never fade, the spirits elect - _Bind their resplendent locks inwreath'd with beams._ - -The same comparison that I propose to be made between the fourth and -sixth verses of this passage, may be repeated between the last lines of -the following quotations: - - --------Under foot the violet, - Crocus, and hyacinth, with rich in-lay - _Broider'd the ground, more colour'd than with stone_ - Of costliest emblem. - - --------Here in close recess, - With flowers, garlands, and sweet-smelling herbs, - Espoused Eve first deck'd her nuptial bed; - _And heav'nly choirs the hymenean sung._ - -Milton, whose ear had been accustomed, not only to the musick of the -ancient tongues, which, however vitiated by our pronunciation, excel -all that are now in use, but to the softness of the Italian, the most -mellifluous of all modern poetry, seems fully convinced of the unfitness -of our language for smooth versification, and is therefore pleased with -an opportunity of calling in a softer word to his assistance; for this -reason, and I believe for this only, he sometimes indulges himself in a -long series of proper names, and introduces them where they add little -but musick to his poem. - - --------The richer seat - Of _Atabalipa_, and yet unspoil'd - _Guiana_, whose great city _Gerion's_ sons - Call _El Dorado_.---- - - The moon----The _Tuscan_ artist views - At evening, from the top of _Fesole_ - Or in _Valdarno_, to descry new lands.-- - -He has indeed been more attentive to his syllables than to his accents, -and does not often offend by collisions of consonants, or openings of -vowels upon each other, at least not more often than other writers who -have had less important or complicated subjects to take off their care -from the cadence of their lines. - -The great peculiarity of Milton's versification compared with that -of later poets, is the elision of one vowel before another, or the -suppression of the last syllable of a word ending with a vowel, when -a vowel begins the following word. As - - --------Knowledge - Oppresses else with surfeit, and soon turns - Wisdom to folly, as nourishment to wind. - -This licence, though now disused in English poetry, was practised by -our old writers, and is allowed in many other languages ancient and -modern, and therefore the criticks on "Paradise Lost" have, without much -deliberation, commended Milton for continuing it[54]. But one language -cannot communicate its rules to another. We have already tried and -rejected the hexameter of the ancients, the double close of the Italians, -and the alexandrine of the French; and the elision of vowels, however -graceful it may seem to other nations, may be very unsuitable to the -genius of the English tongue. - -There is reason to believe that we have negligently lost part of our -vowels, and that the silent _e_ which our ancestors added to most of our -monosyllables, was once vocal. By this detruncation of our syllables, our -language is overstocked with consonants, and it is more necessary to add -vowels to the beginning of words, than to cut them off from the end. - -Milton therefore seems to have somewhat mistaken the nature of our -language, of which the chief defect is ruggedness and asperity, and has -left our harsh cadences yet harsher. But his elisions are not all equally -to be censured; in some syllables they may be allowed, and perhaps in -a few may be safely imitated. The abscission of a vowel is undoubtedly -vicious when it is strongly sounded, and makes, with its associate -consonant, a full and audible syllable. - - --------What he gives, - Spiritual, may to purest spirits be found, - _No_ ingrateful food, and food alike these pure - Intelligential substances require. - - Fruits,----Hesperian fables true, - If true, here _only_, and of delicious taste. - - ----Evening now approach'd, - For we have _also_ our evening and our morn. - - Of guests he makes them slaves, - Inhospita_bly_, and kills their infant males. - - And vital Vir_tue_ infus'd, and vital warmth - Throughout the fluid mass.---- - - God made _thee_ of choice his own, and of his own - To serve him. - -I believe every reader will agree, that in all those passages, though not -equally in all, the musick is injured, and in some the meaning obscured. -There are other lines in which the vowel is cut off, but it is so faintly -pronounced in common speech, that the loss of it in poetry is scarcely -perceived; and therefore such compliance with the measure may be allowed. - - --------Nature breeds - Perverse, all monstrous, all prodigious things, - Abomina_ble_, inuttera_ble_; and worse - Than fables yet have feigned.---- - - --------From the shore - They view'd the vast immensura_ble_ abyss. - Impenetra_ble_, impal'd with circling fire. - To none communica_ble_ in earth or heav'n. - -Yet even these contractions increase the roughness of a language too rough -already; and though in long poems they may be sometimes suffered, it -never can be faulty to forbear them. - -Milton frequently uses in his poems the hypermetrical or redundant line of -eleven syllables. - - --------Thus it shall befall - Him who to worth in woman over-trust_ing_ - Lets her will rule.---- - I also err'd in over much admir_ing_. - -Verses of this kind occur almost in every page; but though they are not -unpleasing or dissonant, they ought not to be admitted into heroick -poetry, since the narrow limits of our language allow us no other -distinction of epick and tragick measures, than is afforded by the -liberty of changing at will the terminations of the dramatick lines, and -bringing them by that relaxation of metrical rigour nearer to prose. - -[Footnote 54: _Variation_. "This licence, though an innovation in English -poetry, is yet allowed in many other languages ancient and modern; and -therefore the criticks on Paradise Lost have, without much deliberation, -commended Milton for introducing it." _First folio edition._] - - - - -No. 89. TUESDAY, JANUARY 22, 1751. - - - _Dulce est desipere in loco._ - HOR. Lib. iv. Od. xii. 28. - - Wisdom at proper times is well forgot. - - -Locke, whom there is no reason to suspect of being a favourer of idleness -or libertinism, has advanced, that whoever hopes to employ any part of his -time with efficacy and vigour, must allow some of it to pass in trifles. -It is beyond the powers of humanity to spend a whole life in profound -study and intense meditation, and the most rigorous exacters of industry -and seriousness have appointed hours for relaxation and amusement. - -It is certain, that, with or without our consent, many of the few moments -allotted us will slide imperceptibly away, and that the mind will break, -from confinement to its stated task, into sudden excursions. Severe and -connected attention is preserved but for a short time; and when a man -shuts himself up in his closet, and bends his thoughts to the discussion -of any abstruse question, he will find his faculties continually -stealing away to more pleasing entertainments. He often perceives himself -transported, he knows not how, to distant tracts of thought, and returns -to his first object as from a dream, without knowing when he forsook it, -or how long he has been abstracted from it. - -It has been observed that the most studious are not always the most -learned. There is, indeed, no great difficulty in discovering that this -difference of proficiency may arise from the difference of intellectual -powers, of the choice of books, or the convenience of information. But I -believe it likewise frequently happens that the most recluse are not the -most vigorous prosecutors of study. Many impose upon the world, and many -upon themselves, by an appearance of severe and exemplary diligence, when -they, in reality, give themselves up to the luxury of fancy, please their -minds with regulating the past, or planning the future; place themselves -at will in varied situations of happiness, and slumber away their days -in voluntary visions. In the journey of life some are left behind, -because they are naturally feeble and slow; some because they miss the -way, and many because they leave it by choice, and instead of pressing -onward with a steady pace, delight themselves with momentary deviations, -turn aside to pluck every flower, and repose in every shade. - -There is nothing more fatal to a man whose business is to think, than to -have learned the art of regaling his mind with those airy gratifications. -Other vices or follies are restrained by fear, reformed by admonition, -or rejected by the conviction which the comparison of our conduct with -that of others may in time produce. But this invisible riot of the mind, -this secret prodigality of being, is secure from detection, and fearless -of reproach. The dreamer retires to his apartments, shuts out the cares -and interruptions of mankind, and abandons himself to his own fancy; new -worlds rise up before him, one image is followed by another, and a long -succession of delights dances round him. He is at last called back to -life by nature, or by custom, and enters peevish into society, because he -cannot model it to his own will. He returns from his idle excursions with -the asperity, though not with the knowledge of a student, and hastens -again to the same felicity with the eagerness of a man bent upon the -advancement of some favourite science. The infatuation strengthens by -degrees, and like the poison of opiates, weakens his powers, without any -external symptoms of malignity. - -It happens, indeed, that these hypocrites of learning are in time -detected, and convinced by disgrace and disappointment of the difference -between the labour of thought, and the sport of musing. But this -discovery is often not made till it is too late to recover the time that -has been fooled away. A thousand accidents may, indeed, awaken drones -to a more early sense of their danger and their shame. But they who are -convinced of the necessity of breaking from this habitual drowsiness, too -often relapse in spite of their resolution; for these ideal seducers are -always near, and neither any particularity of time nor place is necessary -to their influence; they invade the soul without warning, and have often -charmed down resistance before their approach is perceived or suspected. - -This captivity, however, it is necessary for every man to break, who -has any desire to be wise or useful, to pass his life with the esteem -of others, or to look back with satisfaction from his old age upon his -earlier years. In order to regain liberty, he must find the means of -flying from himself; he must, in opposition to the Stoick precept, teach -his desires to fix upon external things; he must adopt the joys and the -pains of others, and excite in his mind the want of social pleasures and -amicable communication. - -It is, perhaps, not impossible to promote the cure of this mental malady, -by close application to some new study, which may pour in fresh ideas, -and keep curiosity in perpetual motion. But study requires solitude, and -solitude is a state dangerous to those who are too much accustomed to -sink into themselves. Active employment or public pleasure is generally -a necessary part of this intellectual regimen, without which, though some -remission may be obtained, a complete cure will scarcely be effected. - -This is a formidable and obstinate disease of the intellect, of which, -when it has once become radicated by time, the remedy is one of the -hardest tasks of reason and of virtue. Its slightest attacks, therefore, -should be watchfully opposed; and he that finds the frigid and narcotick -infection beginning to seize him, should turn his whole attention against -it, and check it at the first discovery by proper counteraction. - -The great resolution to be formed, when happiness and virtue are thus -formidably invaded, is, that no part of life be spent in a state of -neutrality or indifference; but that some pleasure be found for every -moment that is not devoted to labour; and that, whenever the necessary -business of life grows irksome or disgusting, an immediate transition be -made to diversion and gaiety. - -After the exercises which the health of the body requires, and which -have themselves a natural tendency to actuate and invigorate the mind, the -most eligible amusement of a rational being seems to be that interchange -of thoughts which is practised in free and easy conversation; where -suspicion is banished by experience, and emulation by benevolence; where -every man speaks with no other restraint than unwillingness to offend, -and hears with no other disposition than desire to be pleased. - -There must be a time in which every man trifles; and the only choice that -nature offers us, is, to trifle in company or alone. To join profit with -pleasure, has been an old precept among men who have had very different -conceptions of profit. All have agreed that our amusements should not -terminate wholly in the present moment, but contribute more or less to -future advantage. He that amuses himself among well-chosen companions, -can scarcely fail to receive, from the most careless and obstreperous -merriment which virtue can allow, some useful hints; nor can converse -on the most familiar topicks without some casual information. The loose -sparkles of thoughtless wit may give new light to the mind, and the gay -contention for paradoxical positions rectify the opinions. - -This is the time in which those friendships that give happiness or -consolation, relief or security, are generally formed. A wise and good -man is never so amiable as in his unbended and familiar intervals. -Heroick generosity, or philosophical discoveries, may compel veneration -and respect, but love always implies some kind of natural or voluntary -equality, and is only to be excited by that levity and cheerfulness -which disencumber all minds from awe and solicitude, invite the modest -to freedom, and exalt the timorous to confidence. This easy gaiety is -certain to please, whatever be the character of him that exerts it; if -our superiors descend from their elevation, we love them for lessening -the distance at which we are placed below them; and inferiors, from whom -we can receive no lasting advantage, will always keep our affections -while their sprightliness and mirth contribute to our pleasure. - -Every man finds himself differently affected by the sight of fortresses -of war, and palaces of pleasure; we look on the height and strength of -the bulwarks with a kind of gloomy satisfaction, for we cannot think -of defence without admitting images of danger; but we range delighted -and jocund through the gay apartments of the palace, because nothing -is impressed by them on the mind but joy and festivity. Such is the -difference between great and amiable characters; with protectors we are -safe, with companions we are happy. - - - - -No. 90. SATURDAY, JANUARY 26, 1751. - - - _In tenui labor._ - VIRG. Geor. iv. 6. - - What toil in slender things! - - -It is very difficult to write on the minuter parts of literature without -failing either to please or instruct. Too much nicety of detail disgusts -the greatest part of readers, and to throw a multitude of particulars -under general heads, and lay down rules of extensive comprehension, is -to common understandings of little use. They who undertake these subjects -are therefore always in danger, as one or other inconvenience arises to -their imagination, of frighting us with rugged science, or amusing us -with empty sound. - -In criticising the work of Milton, there is, indeed, opportunity to -intersperse passages that can hardly fail to relieve the languors of -attention; and since, in examining the variety and choice of the pauses -with which he has diversified his numbers, it will be necessary to -exhibit the lines in which they are to be found, perhaps the remarks may -be well compensated by the examples, and the irksomeness of grammatical -disquisitions somewhat alleviated. - -Milton formed his scheme of versification by the poets of Greece and Rome, -whom he proposed to himself for his models, so far as the difference of -his language from theirs would permit the imitation. There are indeed -many inconveniencies inseparable from our heroick measure compared -with that of Homer and Virgil; inconveniencies, which it is no reproach -to Milton not to have overcome, because they are in their own nature -insuperable; but against which he has struggled with so much art and -diligence, that he may at least be said to have deserved success. - -The hexameter of the ancients may be considered as consisting of fifteen -syllables, so melodiously disposed, that, as every one knows who has -examined the poetical authors, very pleasing and sonorous lyrick measures -are formed from the fragments of the heroick. It is, indeed, scarce -possible to break them in such a manner but that _invenias etiam disjecti -membra poetæ_, some harmony will still remain, and the due proportions -of sound will always be discovered. This measure therefore allowed great -variety of pauses, and great liberties of connecting one verse with -another, because wherever the line was interrupted, either part singly -was musical. But the ancients seem to have confined this privilege to -hexameters; for in their other measures, though longer than the English -heroick, those who wrote after the refinements of versification, venture -so seldom to change their pauses, that every variation may be supposed -rather a compliance with necessity than the choice of judgment. - -Milton was constrained within the narrow limits of a measure not very -harmonious in the utmost perfection; the single parts, therefore, into -which it was to be sometimes broken by pauses, were in danger of losing -the very form of verse. This has, perhaps, notwithstanding all his care, -sometimes happened. - -As harmony is the end of poetical measures, no part of a verse ought to -be so separated from the rest as not to remain still more harmonious than -prose, or to show, by the disposition of the tones, that it is part of -a verse. This rule in the old hexameter might be easily observed, but in -English will very frequently be in danger of violation; for the order -and regularity of accents cannot well be perceived in a succession of -fewer than three syllables, which will confine the English poet to only -five pauses; it being supposed, that when he connects one line with -another, he should never make a full pause at less distance than that -of three syllables from the beginning or end of a verse. - -That this rule should be universally and indispensably established, -perhaps cannot be granted; something may be allowed to variety, and -something to the adaptation of the numbers to the subject; but it will -be found generally necessary, and the ear will seldom fail to suffer by -its neglect. - -Thus when a single syllable is cut off from the rest, it must either be -united to the line with which the sense connects it, or be sounded alone. -If it be united to the other line, it corrupts its harmony; if disjoined, -it must stand alone, and with regard to musick be superfluous; for there -is no harmony in a single sound, because it has no proportion to another. - - ----Hypocrites austerely talk, - Defaming as impure what God declares - _Pure_; and commands to some, leaves free to all. - -When two syllables likewise are abscinded from the rest, they evidently -want some associate sounds to make them harmonious. - - ----Eyes---- - ----more wakeful than to drouze, - Charm'd with Arcadian pipe, the pastoral reed - Of Hermes, or his opiate rod. _Meanwhile_ - To re-salute the world with sacred light - Leucothea wak'd. - - He ended, and the sun gave signal high - To the bright minister that watch'd: _he blew_ - His trumpet. - - First in the east his glorious lamp was seen, - Regent of day; and all th' horizon round - Invested with bright rays, jocund to run - His longitude through heav'n's high road; _the gray_ - Dawn, and the Pleiades, before him danc'd, - Shedding sweet influence. - -The same defect is perceived in the following line, where the pause is at -the second syllable from the beginning. - - --------The race - Of that wild rout that tore the Thracian bard - In Rhodope, where woods and rocks had ears - To rapture, 'till the savage clamour drown'd - Both harp and voice; nor could the muse defend - _Her son_. So fail not thou, who thee implores. - -When the pause falls upon the third syllable or the seventh, the harmony -is the better preserved; but as the third and seventh are weak syllables, -the period leaves the ear unsatisfied, and in expectation of the -remaining part of the verse. - - ----He, with his horrid crew, - Lay vanquish'd, rolling in the fiery gulph, - Confounded though immor_tal_. But his doom - Reserv'd him to more wrath; for now the thought - Both of lost happiness and lasting pain - Torments _him_. - - God,--with frequent intercourse, - Thither will send his winged messengers - On errands of supernal grace. So sung - The glorious train ascend_ing_. - -It may be, I think, established as a rule, that a pause which concludes -a period should be made for the most part upon a strong syllable, as -the fourth and sixth; but those pauses which only suspend the sense may -be placed upon the weaker. Thus the rest in the third line of the first -passage satisfies the ear better than in the fourth, and the close of the -second quotation better than of the third. - - --------The evil soon - Drawn back, redounded (as a flood) on those - From whom it _sprung_; impossible to mix - With _blessedness_. - - --------What we by day - Lop overgrown, or prune, or prop, or bind, - One night or two with wanton growth derides, - Tending to _wild_. - - The paths and bow'rs doubt not but our joint hands - Will keep from wilderness with ease as wide - As we need walk, till younger hands ere long - Assist _us_. - -The rest in the fifth place has the same inconvenience as in the seventh -and third, that the syllable is weak. - - Beast now with beast 'gan war, and fowl with fowl, - And fish with fish, to graze the herb all leaving, - Devour'd each _other_: Nor stood much in awe - Of man, but fled _him_, or with countenance grim, - Glar'd on him pass_ing_. - -The noblest and most majestick pauses which our versification admits, are -upon the fourth and sixth syllables, which are both strongly sounded in -a pure and regular verse, and at either of which the line is so divided, -that both members participate of harmony. - - But now at last the sacred influence - Of light _appears_, and from the walls of heav'n - Shoots far into the bosom of dim night - A glimmering _dawn_: here nature first begins - Her farthest verge, and chaos to retire. - -But far above all others, if I can give any credit to my own ear, is the -rest upon the sixth syllable, which, taking in a complete compass of -sound, such as is sufficient to constitute one of our lyrick measures, -makes a full and solemn close. Some passages which conclude at this stop, -I could never read without some strong emotions of delight or admiration. - - Before the hills appear'd, or fountain flow'd, - Thou with the eternal wisdom didst converse, - Wisdom thy sister, and with her didst play - In presence of the almighty Father, pleas'd - With thy celestial _song_. - - Or other worlds they seem'd, or happy isles, - Like those Hesperian gardens fam'd of old, - Fortunate fields, and groves, and flowery vales, - Thrice happy isles! But who dwelt happy there, - He stayed not to in_quire_. - - --------He blew - His trumpet, heard in Oreb since, perhaps - When God descended; and, perhaps, once more - To sound at general _doom_. - -If the poetry of Milton be examined, with regard to the pauses and flow of -his verses into each other, it will appear, that he has performed all that -our language would admit; and the comparison of his numbers with those who -have cultivated the same manner of writing, will show that he excelled as -much in the lower as the higher parts of his art, and that his skill in -harmony was not less than his invention or his learning. - - - - -No. 91. TUESDAY, JANUARY 29, 1751. - - - _Dulcis inexpertis cultura potentis amici;_ - _Expertus metuit._ - HOR. Lib. i. Ep. xviii. 86. - - To court the great ones, and to sooth their pride, - Seems a sweet task to those that never tried; - But those that have, know well that danger's near. - CREECH. - - -The Sciences having long seen their votaries labouring for the benefit -of mankind without reward, put up their petition to Jupiter for a more -equitable distribution of riches and honours. Jupiter was moved at their -complaints, and touched with the approaching miseries of men, whom the -Sciences, wearied with perpetual ingratitude, were now threatening to -forsake, and who would have been reduced by their departure to feed in -dens upon the mast of trees, to hunt their prey in deserts, and to perish -under the paws of animals stronger and fiercer than themselves. - -A synod of the celestials was therefore convened, in which it was -resolved, that Patronage should descend to the assistance of the -Sciences. Patronage was the daughter of Astrea, by a mortal father, and -had been educated in the school of Truth, by the Goddesses, whom she -was now appointed to protect. She had from her mother that dignity of -aspect, which struck terrour into false merit, and from her mistress -that reserve, which made her only accessible to those whom the Sciences -brought into her presence. - -She came down, with the general acclamation of all the powers that favour -learning. Hope danced before her, and Liberality stood at her side, ready -to scatter by her direction the gifts which Fortune, who followed her, -was commanded to supply. As she advanced towards Parnassus, the cloud -which had long hung over it, was immediately dispelled. The shades, -before withered with drought, spread their original verdure, and the -flowers that had languished with chillness brightened their colours, -and invigorated their scents; the Muses tuned their harps, and exerted -their voices; and all the concert of nature welcomed her arrival. - -On Parnassus she fixed her residence, in a palace raised by the Sciences, -and adorned with whatever could delight the eye, elevate the imagination, -or enlarge the understanding. Here she dispersed the gifts of Fortune with -the impartiality of Justice, and the discernment of Truth. Her gate stood -always open, and Hope sat at the portal, inviting to entrance all whom -the Sciences numbered in their train. The court was therefore thronged -with innumerable multitudes, of whom, though many returned disappointed, -seldom any had confidence to complain; for Patronage was known to neglect -few, but for want of the due claims to her regard. Those, therefore, who -had solicited her favour without success, generally withdrew from publick -notice, and either diverted their attention to meaner employments, or -endeavoured to supply their deficiencies by closer application. - -In time, however, the number of those who had miscarried in their -pretensions grew so great, that they became less ashamed of their -repulses; and instead of hiding their disgrace in retirement, began to -besiege the gates of the palace, and obstruct the entrance of such as -they thought likely to be more caressed. The decisions of Patronage, -who was but half a Goddess, had been sometimes erroneous; and though -she always made haste to rectify her mistakes, a few instances of her -fallibility encouraged every one to appeal from her judgment to his own -and that of his companions, who are always ready to clamour in the common -cause, and elate each other with reciprocal applause. - -Hope was a steady friend of the disappointed, and Impudence incited -them to accept a second invitation, and lay their claim again before -Patronage. They were again, for the most part, sent back with ignominy, -but found Hope not alienated, and Impudence more resolutely zealous; they -therefore contrived new expedients, and hoped at last to prevail by their -multitudes, which were always increasing, and their perseverance, which -Hope and Impudence forbad them to relax. - -Patronage having been long a stranger to the heavenly assemblies, began to -degenerate towards terrestrial nature, and forget the precepts of Justice -and Truth. Instead of confining her friendship to the Sciences, she -suffered herself, by little and little, to contract an acquaintance with -Pride, the son of Falsehood, by whose embraces she had two daughters, -Flattery and Caprice. Flattery was nursed by Liberality, and Caprice by -Fortune, without any assistance from the lessons of the Sciences. - -Patronage began openly to adopt the sentiments and imitate the manners of -her husband, by whose opinions she now directed her decisions with very -little heed to the precepts of Truth; and as her daughters continually -gained upon her affections, the Sciences lost their influence, till none -found much reason to boast of their reception, but those whom Caprice or -Flattery conducted to her throne. - -The throngs who had so long waited, and so often been dismissed for want -of recommendation from the Sciences, were delighted to see the power of -those rigourous Goddesses tending to its extinction. Their patronesses -now renewed their encouragements. Hope smiled at the approach of Caprice, -and Impudence was always at hand to introduce her clients to Flattery. - -Patronage had now learned to procure herself reverence by ceremonies and -formalities, and, instead of admitting her petitioners to an immediate -audience, ordered the ante-chamber to be erected, called among mortals, -the _Hall of Expectation_. Into this hall the entrance was easy to those -whom Impudence had consigned to Flattery, and it was therefore crowded -with a promiscuous throng, assembled from every corner of the earth, -pressing forward with the utmost eagerness of desire, and agitated with -all the anxieties of competition. - -They entered this general receptacle with ardour and alacrity, and made -no doubt of speedy access, under the conduct of Flattery, to the presence -of Patronage. But it generally happened that they were here left to their -destiny, for the inner doors were committed to Caprice, who opened and -shut them, as it seemed, by chance, and rejected or admitted without any -settled rule of distinction. In the mean time, the miserable attendants -were left to wear out their lives in alternate exultation and dejection, -delivered up to the sport of Suspicion, who was always whispering into -their ear designs against them which were never formed, and of Envy, -who diligently pointed out the good fortune of one or other of their -competitors. Infamy flew round the hall, and scattered mildews from her -wings, with which every one was stained; Reputation followed her with -slower flight, and endeavoured to hide the blemishes with paint, which -was immediately brushed away, or separated of itself, and left the stains -more visible; nor were the spots of Infamy ever effaced, but with limpid -water effused by the hand of Time from a well which sprung up beneath the -throne of Truth. - -It frequently happened that Science, unwilling to lose the ancient -prerogative of recommending to Patronage, would lead her followers into -the Hall of Expectation; but they were soon discouraged from attending, -for not only Envy and Suspicion incessantly tormented them, but Impudence -considered them as intruders, and incited Infamy to blacken them. They -therefore quickly retired, but seldom without some spots which they could -scarcely wash away, and which shewed that they had once waited in the -Hall of Expectation. - -The rest continued to expect the happy moment, at which Caprice should -beckon them to approach; and endeavoured to propitiate her, not with -Homerical harmony, the representation of great actions, or the recital -of noble sentiments, but with soft and voluptuous melody, intermingled -with the praises of Patronage and Pride, by whom they were heard at once -with pleasure and contempt. - -Some were indeed admitted by Caprice, when they least expected it, and -heaped by Patronage with the gifts of Fortune, but they were from that -time chained to her foot-stool, and condemned to regulate their lives by -her glances and her nods: they seemed proud of their manacles, and seldom -complained of any drudgery, however servile, or any affront, however -contemptuous; yet they were often, notwithstanding their obedience, -seized on a sudden by Caprice, divested of their ornaments, and thrust -back into the Hall of Expectation. - -Here they mingled again with the tumult, and all, except a few whom -experience had taught to seek happiness in the regions of liberty, -continued to spend hours, and days, and years, courting the smile of -Caprice by the arts of Flattery; till at length new crowds pressed in -upon them, and drove them forth at different outlets into the habitations -of Disease, and Shame, and Poverty, and Despair, where they passed the -rest of their lives in narratives of promises and breaches of faith, of -joys and sorrows, of hopes and disappointments. - -The Sciences, after a thousand indignities, retired from the palace -of Patronage, and having long wandered over the world in grief and -distress, were led at last to the cottage of Independence, the daughter -of Fortitude; where they were taught by Prudence and Parsimony to support -themselves in dignity and quiet. - - - - -No. 92. SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 2, 1751. - - - _Jam nunc minaci murmure cornuum_ - _Perstringis aures: jam litui strepunt._ - HOR. Lib. ii. Ode i. 17. - - Lo! now the clarion's voice I hear, - Its threat'ning murmurs pierce mine ear, - And in thy lines with brazen breath - The trumpet sounds the charge of death. - FRANCIS. - - -It has been long observed, that the idea of beauty is vague and undefined, -different in different minds, and diversified by time or place. It has -been a term hitherto used to signify that which pleases us we know not -why, and in our approbation of which we can justify ourselves only by -the concurrence of numbers, without much power of enforcing our opinion -upon others by any argument but example and authority. It is, indeed, so -little subject to the examinations of reason, that Paschal supposes it to -end where demonstration begins, and maintains, that without incongruity -and absurdity we cannot speak of _geometrical beauty_. - -To trace all the sources of that various pleasure which we ascribe to the -agency of beauty, or to disentangle all the perceptions involved in its -idea, would, perhaps, require a very great part of the life of Aristotle -or Plato. It is, however, in many cases apparent, that this quality -is merely relative and comparative; that we pronounce things beautiful -because they have something which we agree, for whatever reason, to call -beauty, in a greater degree than we have been accustomed to find it in -other things of the same kind; and that we transfer the epithet as our -knowledge increases, and appropriate it to higher excellence, when higher -excellence comes within our view. - -Much of the beauty of writing is of this kind; and therefore Boileau -justly remarks, that the books which have stood the test of time, and -been admired through all the changes which the mind of man has suffered -from the various revolutions of knowledge, and the prevalence of contrary -customs, have a better claim to our regard than any modern can boast, -because the long continuance of their reputation proves that they are -adequate to our faculties, and agreeable to nature. - -It is, however, the task of criticism to establish principles; to improve -opinion into knowledge; and to distinguish those means of pleasing which -depend upon known causes and rational deduction, from the nameless and -inexplicable elegancies which appeal wholly to the fancy, from which we -feel delight, but know not how they produce it, and which may well be -termed the enchantresses of the soul. Criticism reduces those regions -of literature under the dominion of science, which have hitherto known -only the anarchy of ignorance, the caprices of fancy, and the tyranny -of prescription. - -There is nothing in the art of versifying so much exposed to the power -of imagination as the accommodation of the sound to the sense, or the -representation of particular images, by the flow of the verse in which -they are expressed. Every student has innumerable passages, in which -he, and perhaps he alone, discovers such resemblances; and since the -attention of the present race of poetical readers seems particularly -turned upon this species of elegance, I shall endeavour to examine how -much these conformities have been observed by the poets, or directed by -the criticks, how far they can be established upon nature and reason, and -on what occasions they have been practised by Milton. - -Homer, the father of all poetical beauty, has been particularly celebrated -by Dionysius of Halicarnassus, as "he that, of all the poets, exhibited -the greatest variety of sound; for there are," says he, "innumerable -passages, in which length of time, bulk of body, extremity of passion, -and stillness of repose; or, in which, on the contrary, brevity, speed, -and eagerness, are evidently marked out by the sound of the syllables. -Thus the anguish and slow pace with which the blind _Polypheme_ groped -out with his hands the entrance of his cave, are perceived in the cadence -of the verses which describe it." - - [Greek: Kyklôps de stenachôn te kai ôdinôn odynêsi, - Chersi psêlophoôn.----] - - Meantime the Cyclop raging with his wound, - Spreads his wide arms, and searches round and round. - POPE. - -The critick then proceeds to shew, that the efforts of Achilles struggling -in his armour against the current of a river, sometimes resisting and -sometimes yielding, may be perceived in the elisions of the syllables, -the slow succession of the feet, and the strength of the consonants. - - [Greek: Deinon d' amph' Hachilêa kykômenon histato kyma - Ôthei d' en sakei piptôn rhoos; oude podessin - Eske stêrixasthai.----] - - So oft the surge, in wat'ry mountains spread, - Beats on his back, or bursts upon his head, - Yet, dauntless still, the adverse flood he braves, - And still indignant bounds above the waves. - Tir'd by the tides, his knees relax with toil; - Wash'd from beneath him, slides the slimy soil. - POPE. - -When Homer describes the crush of men dashed against a rock, he collects -the most unpleasing and harsh sounds. - - [Greek: Syn de dyô marpsas, hôste skylakas poti gaiê - Kopt'; ek d' enkephalos chamadis rhee, deue de gaian.] - - ------His bloody hand - Snatch'd two, unhappy! of my martial band, - And dash'd like dogs against the stony floor: - The pavement swims with brains and mingled gore. - POPE. - -And when he would place before the eyes something dreadful and -astonishing, he makes choice of the strongest vowels, and the letters -of most difficult utterance. - - [Greek: Tê d' epi men Gorgô blosyrôpis estephanôto - Deinon derkomenê; peri de Deimos te Phobos te.] - - Tremendous Gorgon frown'd upon its field, - And circling terrors fill'd th' expressive shield. - POPE. - -Many other examples Dionysius produces; but these will sufficiently shew, -that either he was fanciful, or we have lost the genuine pronunciation; -for I know not whether, in any one of these instances, such similitude -can be discovered. It seems, indeed, probable, that the veneration with -which Homer was read, produced many suppositious beauties: for though it -is certain, that the sound of many of his verses very justly corresponds -with the things expressed, yet, when the force of his imagination, which -gave him full possession of every object, is considered, together with -the flexibility of his language, of which the syllables might be often -contracted or dilated at pleasure, it will seem unlikely that such -conformity should happen less frequently even without design. - -It is not however to be doubted, that Virgil, who wrote amidst the light -of criticism, and who owed so much of his success to art and labour, -endeavoured, among other excellencies, to exhibit this similitude; nor -has he been less happy in this than in the other graces of versification. -This felicity of his numbers was, at the revival of learning, displayed -with great elegance by Vida, in his Art of Poetry. - - Haud satis est illis utcunque claudere versum.---- - Omnia sed numeris vocum concordibus aptant, - Atque sono quæcunque canunt imitantur, et apta - Verborum facie, et quæsito carminis ore. - Nam diversa opus est veluti dare versibus ora,---- - Hic melior motuque pedum, et pernicibus alis, - Molle Viam tacito lapsu per levia radit: - Ille autem membris, ac mole ignavius ingens - Incedit tardo molimine subsiden le. - Ecce aliquis subit egregio pulcherrimus ore, - Cui lætum membris Venus omnibus afflat honorem. - Contra alius rudis, informes ostendit et artus, - Hirsutumque supercilium, ac caudam sinuosam, - Ingratus visu, sonitu illætabilis ipso.---- - Ergo ubi jam nautæ spumas salis ære ruentes - Incubere mari, videas spumare reductis - Convulsum remis, rostrisque stridentibus æquor. - Tunc longe sale saxa sonant, tunc et freta ventis - Incipiunt agitata tumescere: littore fluctus - Illidunt rauco, atque refracta remurmurat unda - Ad scopulos, cumulo insequitur præruptus aquæ mons.---- - Cum vero ex alto speculatus cærula Nereus - Leniit in morem stagni, placidæque paludis, - Labitur uncta vadis abies, natat uncta carina.---- - Verba etiam res exiguas angusta sequuntur, - Ingentesque juvant ingentia: cuncta gigantem - Vasta decent, vultus immanes, pectora lata, - Et magni membrorum artus, magna ossa, lacertique. - Atque adeo, siquid geritur molimine magno, - Adde moram, et pariter tecum quoque verba laborent - Segnia: seu quando vi multa gleba coactis - Æternum frangenda bidentibus, æquore seu cum - Cornua velatarum obvertimus antennarum. - At mora si fuerit damno, properare jubebo. - Si se forte cava extulerit mala vipera terra, - Tolle moras, cape saxa manu, cape robora, pastor: - Ferte citi flammas, date tela, repellite pestem. - Ipse etiam versus ruat, in præcepsque feratur, - Immenso cum præcipitans ruit Oceano nox, - Aut cum perculsus graviter procumbit humi bos. - Cumque etiam requies rebus datur, ipsa quoque ultro - Carmina paulisper cursu cessare videbis - In medio interrupta: quiêrunt cum freta ponti, - Postquam auræ posuere, quiescere protinus ipsum - Cernere erit, mediisque incoeptis sistere versum. - Quid dicam, senior cum telum imbelle sine ictu - Invalidus jacit, et defectis viribus æger? - Num quoque tum versus segni pariter pede languet: - Sanguis hebet, frigent effoetæ in corpore vires. - Fortem autem juvenem deceat prorumpere in arces, - Evertisse domos, præfractaque quadrupedantum - Pectora pectoribus perrumpere, sternere turres - Ingentes, totoque, ferum dare funera campo. - LIB. iii. 365. - - - 'Tis not enough his verses to complete, - In measure, number, or determin'd feet. - To all, proportion'd terms he must dispense, - And make the sound a picture of the sense; - The correspondent words exactly frame, - The look, the features, and the mien the same. - With rapid feet and wings, without delay, - This swiftly flies, and smoothly skims away: - This blooms with youth and beauty in his face, - And Venus breathes on ev'ry limb a grace; - That, of rude form, his uncouth members shows, - Looks horrible, and frowns with his rough brows; - His monstrous tail, in many a fold and wind, - Voluminous and vast, curls up behind; - At once the image and the lines appear, - Rude to the eye, and frightful to the ear. - Lo! when the sailors steer the pond'rous ships, - And plough, with brazen beaks, the foamy deeps, - Incumbent on the main that roars around, - Beneath the lab'ring oars the waves resound; - The prows wide echoing through the dark profound. - To the loud call each distant rock replies; - Tost by the storm the tow'ring surges rise; - While the hoarse ocean beats the sounding shore, - Dash'd from the strand, the flying waters roar, - Flash at the shock, and gathering in a heap, - The liquid mountains rise, and over-hang the deep. - But when blue Neptune from his car surveys, - And calms at one regard the raging seas, - Stretch'd like a peaceful lake the deep subsides, - And the pitch'd vessel o'er the surface glides. - When things are small, the terms should still be so; - For low words please us when the theme is low. - But when some giant, horrible and grim, - Enormous in his gait, and vast in every limb, - Stalks tow'ring on; the swelling words must rise - In just proportion to the monster's size. - If some large weight his huge arms strive to shove, - The verse too labours; the throng'd words scarce move. - When each stiff clod beneath the pond'rous plough - Crumbles and breaks, th' encumber'd lines must flow. - Nor less, when pilots catch the friendly gales, - Unfurl their shrouds, and hoist the wide-stretch'd sails. - But if the poem suffers from delay, - Let the lines fly precipitate away, - And when the viper issues from the brake, - Be quick; with stones, and brands, and fire, attack - His rising crest, and drive the serpent back. - When night descends, or stunn'd by num'rous strokes, - And groaning, to the earth drops the vast ox; - The line too sinks with correspondent sound - Flat with the steer, and headlong to the ground. - When the wild waves subside, and tempests cease, - And hush the roarings of the sea to peace; - So oft we see the interrupted strain - Stopp'd in the midst--and with the silent main - Pause for a space--at last it glides again. - When Priam strains his aged arms, to throw - His unavailing jav'line at the foe; - (His blood congeal'd, and ev'ry nerve unstrung) - Then with the theme complies the artful song; - Like him, the solitary numbers flow, - Weak, trembling, melancholy, stiff, and slow. - Not so young Pyrrhus, who with rapid force - Beats down embattled armies in his course. - The raging youth on trembling Ilion falls, - Burns her strong gates, and shakes her lofty walls; - Provokes his flying courser to the speed, - In full career to charge the warlike steed: - He piles the field with mountains of the slain; - He pours, he storms, he thunders thro' the plain.--PITT. - -From the Italian gardens Pope seems to have transplanted this flower, the -growth of happier climates, into a soil less adapted to its nature, and -less favourable to its increase. - - Soft is the strain, when Zephyr gentle blows, - And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows; - But when loud billows lash the sounding shore, - The hoarse rough verse should like the torrent roar. - When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw, - The line too labours, and the words move slow; - Nor so when swift Camilla scours the plain, - Flies o'er th' unbending corn, and skims along the main. - -From these lines, laboured with attention, and celebrated by a rival wit, -may be judged what can be expected from the most diligent endeavours -after this imagery of sound. The verse intended to represent the whisper -of the vernal breeze, must be confessed not much to excel in softness -or volubility: and the smooth stream runs with a perpetual clash of -jarring consonants. The noise and turbulence of the torrent, is, indeed, -distinctly imaged, for it requires very little skill to make our language -rough: but in these lines, which mention the effort of Ajax, there is no -particular heaviness, obstruction, or delay. The swiftness of Camilla is -rather contrasted than exemplified; why the verse should be lengthened -to express speed, will not easily be discovered. In the dactyls used -for that purpose by the ancients, two short syllables were pronounced -with such rapidity, as to be equal only to one long; they, therefore, -naturally exhibit the act of passing through a long space in a short -time. But the Alexandrine, by its pause in the midst, is a tardy and -stately measure; and the word _unbending_, one of the most sluggish and -slow which our language affords, cannot much accelerate its motion. - -These rules and these examples have taught our present criticks to inquire -very studiously and minutely into sounds and cadences. It is, therefore, -useful to examine with what skill they have proceeded; what discoveries -they have made; and whether any rules can be established which may guide -us hereafter in such researches. - - - - -No. 93. TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 5, 1751. - - - _----Experiar, quid concedatur in illos,_ - _Quorum flaminia tegitur cinis atque Latina._ - JUV. Sat. i. 170. - - More safely truth to urge her claim presumes, - On names now found alone on books and tombs. - - -There are few books on which more time is spent by young students, than -on treatises which deliver the characters of authors; nor any which -oftener deceive the expectation of the reader, or fill his mind with -more opinions which the progress of his studies and the increase of his -knowledge oblige him to resign. - -Baillet has introduced his collection of the decisions of the learned, by -an enumeration of the prejudices which mislead the critick, and raise the -passions in rebellion against the judgment. His catalogue, though large, -is imperfect; and who can hope to complete it? The beauties of writing -have been observed to be often such as cannot in the present state of -human knowledge be evinced by evidence, or drawn out into demonstrations; -they are therefore wholly subject to the imagination, and do not force -their effects upon a mind pre-occupied by unfavourable sentiments, nor -overcome the counteraction of a false principle or of stubborn partiality. - -To convince any man against his will is hard, but to please him against -his will is justly pronounced by Dryden to be above the reach of human -abilities. Interest and passion will hold out long against the closest -siege of diagrams and syllogisms, but they are absolutely impregnable -to imagery and sentiment; and will for ever bid defiance to the most -powerful strains of Virgil or Homer, though they may give way in time to -the batteries of Euclid or Archimedes. - -In trusting therefore to the sentence of a critick, we are in danger not -only from that vanity which exalts writers too often to the dignity of -teaching what they are yet to learn, from that negligence which sometimes -steals upon the most vigilant caution, and that fallibility to which the -condition of nature has subjected every human understanding; but from -a thousand extrinsick and accidental causes, from every thing which can -excite kindness or malevolence, veneration or contempt. - -Many of those who have determined with great boldness upon the various -degrees of literary merit, may be justly suspected of having passed -sentence, as Seneca remarks of Claudius, - - _Una tantum parte audita,_ - _Sæpe et nulla,_ - -without much knowledge of the cause before them: for it will not easily -be imagined of Langbaine, Borrichius, or Rapin, that they had very -accurately perused all the books which they praise or censure: or that, -even if nature and learning had qualified them for judges, they could -read for ever with the attention necessary to just criticism. Such -performances, however, are not wholly without their use; for they are -commonly just echoes to the voice of fame, and transmit the general -suffrage of mankind when they have no particular motives to suppress it. - -Criticks, like the rest of mankind, are very frequently misled by -interest. The bigotry with which editors regard the authors whom they -illustrate or correct, has been generally remarked. Dryden was known to -have written most of his critical dissertations only to recommend the -work upon which he then happened to be employed: and Addison is suspected -to have denied the expediency of poetical justice, because his own Cato -was condemned to perish in a good cause. - -There are prejudices which authors, not otherwise weak or corrupt, have -indulged without scruple; and perhaps some of them are so complicated -with our natural affections, that they cannot easily be disentangled from -the heart. Scarce any can hear with impartiality a comparison between the -writers of his own and another country; and though it cannot, I think, be -charged equally on all nations, that they are blinded with this literary -patriotism, yet there are none that do not look upon their authors with -the fondness of affinity, and esteem them as well for the place of their -birth, as for their knowledge or their wit. There is, therefore, seldom -much respect due to comparative criticism, when the competitors are of -different countries, unless the judge is of a nation equally indifferent -to both. The Italians could not for a long time believe, that there -was any learning beyond the mountains; and the French seem generally -persuaded, that there are no wits or reasoners equal to their own. I can -scarcely conceive that if Scaliger had not considered himself as allied -to Virgil, by being born in the same country, he would have found his -works so much superior to those of Homer, or have thought the controversy -worthy of so much zeal, vehemence, and acrimony. - -There is, indeed, one prejudice, and only one, by which it may be doubted -whether it is any dishonour to be sometimes misguided. Criticism has so -often given occasion to the envious and ill-natured of gratifying their -malignity, that some have thought it necessary to recommend the virtue -of candour without restriction, and to preclude all future liberty of -censure. Writers possessed with this opinion are continually enforcing -civility and decency, recommending to criticks the proper diffidence of -themselves, and inculcating the veneration due to celebrated names. - -I am not of opinion that these professed enemies of arrogance and severity -have much more benevolence or modesty than the rest of mankind; or that -they feel in their own hearts, any other intention than to distinguish -themselves by their softness and delicacy. Some are modest because -they are timorous, and some are lavish of praise because they hope to -be repaid. - -There is indeed some tenderness due to living writers, when they attack -none of those truths which are of importance to the happiness of mankind, -and have committed no other offence than that of betraying their own -ignorance or dulness. I should think it cruelty to crush an insect -who had provoked me only by buzzing in my ear; and would not willingly -interrupt the dream of harmless stupidity, or destroy the jest which -makes its author laugh. Yet I am far from thinking this tenderness -universally necessary; for he that writes may be considered as a kind of -general challenger, whom every one has a right to attack; since he quits -the common rank of life, steps forward beyond the lists, and offers his -merit to the publick judgment. To commence author is to claim praise, -and no man can justly aspire to honour, but at the hazard of disgrace. -But whatever be decided concerning contemporaries, whom he that knows -the treachery of the human heart, and considers how often we gratify -our own pride or envy under the appearance of contending for elegance -and propriety will find himself not much inclined to disturb; there can -surely be no exemptions pleaded to secure them from criticism, who can -no longer suffer by reproach, and of whom nothing now remains but their -writings and their names. Upon these authors the critick is undoubtedly -at full liberty to exercise the strictest severity, since he endangers -only his own fame, and, like Æneas when he drew his sword in the -infernal regions, encounters phantoms which cannot be wounded. He may -indeed pay some regard to established reputation; but he can by that -shew of reverence consult only his own security, for all other motives -are now at an end. - -The faults of a writer of acknowledged excellence are more dangerous, -because the influence of his example is more extensive; and the interest -of learning requires that they should be discovered and stigmatized, -before they have the sanction of antiquity conferred upon them, and -become precedents of indisputable authority. - -It has, indeed, been advanced by Addison, as one of the characteristicks -of a true critick, that he points out beauties rather than faults. But -it is rather natural to a man of learning and genius to apply himself -chiefly to the study of writers who have more beauties than faults to -be displayed: for the duty of criticism is neither to depreciate, nor -dignify by partial representations, but to hold out the light of reason, -whatever it may discover; and to promulgate the determinations of truth, -whatever she shall dictate. - - - - -No. 94. SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 9, 1751. - - - _----Bonus atque fidus_ - _Judex * * * * per obstantes catervas_ - _Explicuit sua victor arma._ - HOR. Lib. iv. Od. ix. 40. - - Perpetual magistrate is he - Who keeps strict justice full in sight; - Who bids the crowd at awful distance gaze, - And virtue's arms victoriously displays. - FRANCIS. - - -The resemblance of poetick numbers, to the subject which they mention or -describe, may be considered as general or particular; as consisting in -the flow and structure of a whole passage taken together, or as comprised -in the sound of some emphatical and descriptive words, or in the cadence -and harmony of single verses. - -The general resemblance of the sound to the sense is to be found in every -language which admits of poetry, in every author whose force of fancy -enables him to impress images strongly on his own mind, and whose choice -and variety of language readily supply him with just representations. To -such a writer it is natural to change his measure with his subject, even -without any effort of the understanding, or intervention of the judgment. -To revolve jollity and mirth necessarily tunes the voice of a poet to gay -and sprightly notes, as it fires his eye with vivacity; and reflection -on gloomy situations and disastrous events, will sadden his numbers, -as it will cloud his countenance. But in such passages there is only -the similitude of pleasure to pleasure, and of grief to grief, without -any immediate application to particular images. The same flow of joyous -versification will celebrate the jollity of marriage, and the exultation -of triumph; and the same languor of melody will suit the complaints of an -absent lover, as of a conquered king. - -It is scarcely to be doubted, that on many occasions we make the musick -which we imagine ourselves to hear, that we modulate the poem by our own -disposition, and ascribe to the numbers the effects of the sense. We may -observe in life, that it is not easy to deliver a pleasing message in -an unpleasing manner, and that we readily associate beauty and deformity -with those whom for any reason we love or hate. Yet it would be too -daring to declare that all the celebrated adaptations of harmony are -chimerical; that Homer had no extraordinary attention to the melody of -his verse when he described a nuptial festivity; - - [Greek: Nymphas d' ek thalamôn, daidôn hypolampomenaôn, - Êgineon ana asty, polys d' hymenaios orôrei.] - - Here sacred pomp and genial feast delight, - And solemn dance, and hymeneal rite; - Along the street the new-made brides are led, - With torches flaming, to the nuptial bed; - The youthful dancers, in a circle, bound - To the soft flute, and cittern's silver sound. - POPE. - -That Vida was merely fanciful, when he supposed Virgil endeavouring to -represent, by uncommon sweetness of numbers, the adventitious beauty -of Æneas; - - _Os, humerosque Deo similis: namque ipse decoram_ - _Cæsariem nato genetrix, lumenque juventæ_ - _Purpureum, et lætos oculis afflârat honores._ - - The Trojan chief appeared in open sight, - August in visage, and serenely bright. - His mother goddess, with her hands divine, - Had form'd his curling locks, and made his temples shine; - And giv'n his rolling eyes a sparkling grace, - And breath'd a youthful vigour on his face. - DRYDEN. - -Or that Milton did not intend to exemplify the harmony which he mentions: - - Fountains! and ye that warble as ye flow, - Melodious murmurs! warbling tune his praise. - -That Milton understood the force of sounds well adjusted, and knew the -compass and variety of the ancient measures, cannot be doubted; since he -was both a musician and a critick; but he seems to have considered these -conformities of cadence, as either not often attainable in our language, -or as petty excellencies unworthy of his ambition: for it will not be -found that he has always assigned the same cast of numbers to the same -objects. He has given in two passages very minute descriptions of angelic -beauty; but though the images are nearly the same, the numbers will be -found, upon comparison, very different: - - And now a stripling cherub he appears, - Not of the prime, yet such as in his face - Youth smil'd celestial, and to every limb - _Suitable grace diffus'd, so well he feign'd;_ - Under a coronet his flowing hair - _In curls on either cheek play'd: wings he wore_ - _Of many a coloured plume, sprinkled with gold._ - -Some of the lines of this description are remarkably defective in harmony, -and therefore by no means correspondent with that symmetrical elegance -and easy grace, which they are intended to exhibit. The failure, however, -is fully compensated by the representation of Raphael, which equally -delights the ear and imagination: - - A seraph wing'd: six wings he wore to shade - His lineaments divine; the pair that clad - Each shoulder broad, came mantling o'er his breast - With regal ornament: the middle pair - Girt like a starry zone his waist, and round - Skirted his loins and thighs, with downy gold, - And colours dipp'd in heav'n; the third his feet - Shadow'd from either heel with feather'd mail, - Sky-tinctur'd grain! like Maia's son he stood, - And shook his plumes, that heav'nly fragrance fill'd - The circuit wide.---- - -The adumbration of particular and distinct images by an exact and -perceptible resemblance of sound, is sometimes studied, and sometimes -casual. Every language has many words formed in imitation of the noises -which they signify. Such are _stridor_, _balo_, and _beatus_, in Latin; and -in English to _growl_, to _buzz_, to _hiss_, and to _jarr_. Words of this -kind give to a verse the proper similitude of sound, without much labour -of the writer, and such happiness is therefore to be attributed rather to -fortune than skill; yet they are sometimes combined with great propriety, -and undeniably contribute to enforce the impression of the idea. We hear -the passing arrow in this line of Virgil; - - Et fugit _horrendum stridens_ elapsa sagitta; - Th' impetuous arrow whizzes on the wing. - POPE. - -And the creaking of hell-gates, in the description by Milton; - - --------Open fly - With impetuous recoil and jarring sound - Th' infernal doors: and on their hinges grate - Harsh thunder.---- - -But many beauties of this kind, which the moderns, and perhaps the -ancients, have observed, seem to be the product of blind reverence acting -upon fancy. Dionysius himself tells us, that the sound of Homer's verses -sometimes exhibits the idea of corporeal bulk. Is not this a discovery -nearly approaching to that of the blind man, who, after long inquiry into -the nature of the scarlet colour, found that it represented nothing so -much as the clangour of a trumpet? The representative power of poetick -harmony consists of sound and measure; of the force of the syllables -singly considered, and of the time in which they are pronounced. Sound -can resemble nothing but sound, and time can measure nothing but motion -and duration. - -The criticks, however, have struck out other similitudes; nor is there any -irregularity of numbers which credulous admiration cannot discover to be -eminently beautiful. Thus the propriety of each of these lines has been -celebrated by writers whose opinion the world has reason to regard: - - _Vertitur interea coelum, et ruit oceano nox._ - - Meantime the rapid heav'us rowl'd down the light, - And on the shaded ocean rush'd the night. - DRYDEN. - - _Sternitur, exanimisque tremens procumbit humi bos._ - - Down drops the beast, nor needs a second wound; - But sprawls in pangs of death, and spurns the ground. - DRYDEN. - - _Parturiunt montes, nascitur ridiculus mus._ - - The mountains labour, and a mouse is born. - ROSCOMMON. - -If all these observations are just, there must be some remarkable -conformity between the sudden succession of night to day, the fall of an -ox under a blow, and the birth of a mouse from a mountain; since we are -told of all these images, that they are very strongly impressed by the -same form and termination of the verse. - -We may, however, without giving way to enthusiasm, admit that some -beauties of this kind may be produced. A sudden stop at an unusual -syllable may image the cessation of action, or the pause of discourse; -and Milton has very happily imitated the repetitions of an echo: - - --------I fled, and cried out _death_: - Hell trembled at the hedious name, and sigh'd - From all her caves, and back resounded _death_. - -The measure of time in pronouncing may be varied so as very strongly -to represent, not only the modes of external motion, but the quick or -slow succession of ideas, and consequently the passions of the mind. -This at least was the power of the spondaick and dactylick harmony, but -our language can reach no eminent diversities of sound. We can indeed -sometimes, by encumbering and retarding the line, show the difficulty -of a progress made by strong efforts and with frequent interruptions, or -mark a slow and heavy motion. Thus Milton has imaged the toil of Satan -struggling through chaos; - - So he with difficulty and labour hard - Mov'd on: with difficulty and labour he-- - -Thus he has described the leviathans or whales; - - Wallowing unwieldy, enormous in their gait. - -But he has at other times neglected such representations, as may be -observed in the volubility and levity of these lines, which express an -action tardy and reluctant. - - --------Descent and fall - To us is adverse. Who but felt of late, - When the fierce foe hung on our broken rear - Insulting, and pursu'd us through the deep, - With what confusion and laborious flight - We sunk thus low! Th' ascent is easy then. - -In another place, he describes the gentle glide of ebbing waters in a line -remarkably rough and halting; - - --------Tripping ebb; that stole - With soft foot tow'rds the deep who now had stopp'd - His sluices. - -It is not, indeed, to be expected, that the sound should always assist the -meaning, but it ought never to counteract it; and therefore Milton has -here certainly committed a fault like that of a player, who looked on the -earth when he implored the heavens, and to the heavens when he addressed -the earth. - -Those who are determined to find in Milton an assemblage of all the -excellencies which have ennobled all other poets, will perhaps be -offended that I do not celebrate his versification in higher terms; for -there are readers who discover that in this passage, - - So stretch'd out huge in length the arch-fiend lay, - -a _long_ form is described in a _long_ line; but the truth is, that -length of body is only mentioned in a _slow_ line, to which it has only -the resemblance of time to space, of an hour to a maypole. - -The same turn of ingenuity might perform wonders upon the description of -the ark: - - Then from the mountains hewing timber tall, - Began to build a vessel of huge bulk; - Measur'd by cubit, length, and breadth, and height. - -In these lines the poet apparently designs to fix the attention upon -bulk; but this is effected by the enumeration, not by the measure; for -what analogy can there be between modulations of sound, and corporeal -dimensions? - -Milton indeed seems only to have regarded this species of embellishment so -far as not to reject it when it came unsought; which would often happen -to a mind so vigorous, employed upon a subject so various and extensive. -He had, indeed, a greater and nobler work to perform; a single sentiment -of moral or religious truth, a single image of life or nature, would -have been cheaply lost for a thousand echoes of the cadence of the sense; -and he who had undertaken to _vindicate the ways of God to man_, might -have been accused of neglecting his cause, had he lavished much of his -attention upon syllables and sounds. - - - - -No. 95. TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 12, 1751. - - - _Parcus Deorum cultor et infrequens,_ - _Insanientis dum sapientiæ_ - _Consultus erro; nunc retrorsum_ - _Vela dare, atque iterare cursus_ - _Cogor relictos._ - HOR. Lib. i. Od. xxxiv. 1. - - A fugitive from heav'n and prayer, - I mock'd at all religious fear, - Deep scienc'd in the mazy lore - Of mad philosophy; but now - Hoist sail, and back my voyage plow - To that blest harbour, which I left before. - FRANCIS. - - -TO THE RAMBLER. - -SIR, - -There are many diseases both of the body and mind, which it is far easier -to prevent than to cure, and therefore I hope you will think me employed -in an office not useless either to learning or virtue, if I describe the -symptoms of an intellectual malady, which, though at first it seizes only -the passions, will, if not speedily remedied, infect the reason, and, from -blasting the blossoms of knowledge, proceed in time to canker the root. - -I was born in the house of discord. My parents were of unsuitable ages, -contrary tempers, and different religions, and therefore employed the -spirit and acuteness which nature had very liberally bestowed upon both, -in hourly disputes, and incessant contrivances to detect each other -in the wrong; so that from the first exertions of reason I was bred a -disputant, trained up in all the arts of domestick sophistry, initiated -in a thousand low stratagems, nimble shifts, and sly concealments; versed -in all the turns of altercation, and acquainted with the whole discipline -of _fending_ and _proving_. - -It was necessarily my care to preserve the kindness of both the -controvertists, and therefore I had very early formed the habit of -suspending my judgment, of hearing arguments with indifference, inclining -as occasion required to either side, and of holding myself undetermined -between them till I knew for what opinion I might conveniently declare. - -Thus, Sir, I acquired very early the skill of disputation; and, as we -naturally love the arts in which we believe ourselves to excel, I did not -let my abilities lie useless, nor suffer my dexterity to be lost for want -of practice. I engaged in perpetual wrangles with my school-fellows, and -was never to be convinced or repressed by any other arguments than blows, -by which my antagonists commonly determined the controversy, as I was, -like the Roman orator, much more eminent for eloquence than courage. - -At the university I found my predominant ambition completely gratified -by the study of logick. I impressed upon my memory a thousand axioms, -and ten thousand distinctions, practised every form of syllogism, passed -all my days in the schools of disputation, and slept every night with -Smiglecius[55] on my pillow. - -You will not doubt but such a genius was soon raised to eminence by -such application. I was celebrated in my third year for the most artful -opponent that the university could boast, and became the terrour and envy -of all the candidates for philosophical reputation. - -My renown, indeed, was not purchased but at the price of all my time and -all my studies. I never spoke but to contradict, nor declaimed but in -defence of a position universally acknowledged to be false, and therefore -worthy, in my opinion, to be adorned with all the colours of false -representation, and strengthened with all the art of fallacious subtilty. - -My father, who had no other wish than to see his son richer than himself, -easily concluded that I should distinguish myself among the professors -of the law; and therefore, when I had taken my first degree, dispatched -me to the Temple with a paternal admonition, that I should never suffer -myself to feel shame, for nothing but modesty could retard my fortune. - -Vitiated, ignorant, and heady as I was, I had not yet lost my reverence -for virtue, and therefore could not receive such dictates without -horrour; but, however, was pleased with his determination of my course -of life, because he placed me in the way that leads soonest from the -prescribed walks of discipline and education, to the open fields of -liberty and choice. - -I was now in the place where every one catches the contagion of vanity, -and soon began to distinguish myself by sophisms and paradoxes. I declared -war against all received opinions and established rules, and levelled my -batteries particularly against those universal principles which had stood -unshaken in all the vicissitudes of literature, and are considered as the -inviolable temples of truth, or the impregnable bulwarks of science. - -I applied myself chiefly to those parts of learning which have filled -the world with doubt and perplexity, and could readily produce all the -arguments relating to matter and motion, time and space, identity and -infinity. - -I was equally able and equally willing to maintain the system of Newton or -Descartes, and favoured occasionally the hypothesis of Ptolemy, or that -of Copernicus. I sometimes exalted vegetables to sense, and sometimes -degraded animals to mechanism. - -Nor was I less inclined to weaken the credit of history, or perplex the -doctrines of polity. I was always of the party which I heard the company -condemn. - -Among the zealots of liberty I could harangue with great copiousness upon -the advantages of absolute monarchy, the secrecy of its counsels, and the -expedition of its measures; and often celebrated the blessings produced -by the extinction of parties, and preclusion of debates. - -Among the assertors of regal authority, I never failed to declaim with -republican warmth upon the original charter of universal liberty, the -corruption of courts, and the folly of voluntary submission to those whom -nature has levelled with ourselves. - -I knew the defects of every scheme of government, and the inconveniences -of every law. I sometimes shewed how much the condition of mankind would -be improved, by breaking the world into petty sovereignties, and sometimes -displayed the felicity and peace which universal monarchy would diffuse -over the earth. - -To every acknowledged fact I found innumerable objections; for it was my -rule, to judge of history only by abstracted probability, and therefore -I made no scruple of bidding defiance to testimony. I have more than once -questioned the existence of Alexander the Great; and having demonstrated -the folly of erecting edifices like the pyramids of Egypt, I frequently -hinted my suspicion that the world had been long deceived, and that they -were to be found only in the narratives of travellers. - -It had been happy for me could I have confined my scepticism to historical -controversies and philosophical disquisitions; but having now violated -my reason, and accustomed myself to inquire not after proofs, but -objections, I had perplexed truth with falsehood, till my ideas were -confused, my judgment embarrassed, and my intellects distorted. The habit -of considering every proposition as alike uncertain, left me no test by -which any tenet could be tried; every opinion presented both sides with -equal evidence, and my fallacies began to operate upon my own mind in -more important inquiries. It was at last the sport of my vanity to weaken -the obligations of moral duty, and efface the distinctions of good and -evil, till I had deadened the sense of conviction, and abandoned my heart -to the fluctuations of uncertainty, without anchor and without compass, -without satisfaction of curiosity, or peace of conscience, without -principles of reason, or motives of action. - -Such is the hazard of repressing the first perceptions of truth, of -spreading for diversion the snares of sophistry, and engaging reason -against its own determinations. - -The disproportions of absurdity grow less and less visible, as we are -reconciled by degrees to the deformity of a mistress; and falsehood, by -long use, is assimilated to the mind, as poison to the body. - -I had soon the mortification of seeing my conversation courted only by -the ignorant or wicked, by either boys who were enchanted by novelty, or -wretches, who having long disobeyed virtue and reason, were now desirous -of my assistance to dethrone them. - -Thus alarmed, I shuddered at my own corruption, and that pride by which -I had been seduced, contributed to reclaim me. I was weary of continual -irresolution, and a perpetual equipoise of the mind; and ashamed of -being the favourite of those who were scorned and shunned by the rest -of mankind. - -I therefore retired from all temptation to dispute, prescribed a new -regimen to my understanding, and resolved, instead of rejecting all -established opinions which I could not prove, to tolerate though not adopt -all which I could not confute. I forebore to heat my imagination with -needless controversies, to discuss questions confessedly uncertain, and -refrained steadily from gratifying my vanity by the support of falsehood. - -By this method I am at length recovered from my argumental delirium, and -find myself in the state of one awakened from the confusion and tumult -of a feverish dream. I rejoice in the new possession of evidence and -reality, and step on from truth to truth with confidence and quiet. - -I am, Sir, &c. - - PERTINAX. - -[Footnote 55: A Polish writer, whose "Logick" was formerly held in great -estimation in this country, as well as on the continent.] - - - - -No. 96. SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 16, 1751. - - - _Quod si Platonis musa personat verum,_ - _Quod quisque discit, immemor recordatur._ - BOETHIUS. - - Truth in Platonick ornaments bedeck'd, - Inforc'd we love, unheeding recollect. - - -It is reported of the Persians, by an ancient writer, that the sum of -their education consisted in teaching youth _to ride, to shoot with the -bow, and to speak truth_. - -The bow and the horse were easily mastered, but it would have been happy -if we had been informed by what arts veracity was cultivated, and by -what preservatives a Persian mind was secured against the temptations -to falsehood. - -There are, indeed, in the present corruption of mankind, many incitements -to forsake truth; the need of palliating our own faults, and the -convenience of imposing on the ignorance or credulity of others, so -frequently occur; so many immediate evils are to be avoided, and so -many present gratifications obtained, by craft and delusion, that very -few of those who are much entangled in life, have spirit and constancy -sufficient to support them in the steady practice of open veracity. - -In order that all men may be taught to speak truth, it is necessary that -all likewise should learn to hear it; for no species of falsehood is -more frequent than flattery, to which the coward is betrayed by fear, -the dependant by interest, and the friend by tenderness. Those who are -neither servile nor timorous, are yet desirous to bestow pleasure; and -while unjust demands of praise continue to be made, there will always be -some whom hope, fear, or kindness, will dispose to pay them. - -The guilt of falsehood is very widely extended, and many whom their -conscience can scarcely charge with stooping to a lie, have vitiated the -morals of others by their vanity, and patronized the vice they believe -themselves to abhor. - -Truth is, indeed, not often welcome for its own sake; it is generally -unpleasing, because contrary to our wishes and opposite to our practice; -and as our attention naturally follows our interest, we hear unwillingly -what we are afraid to know, and soon forget what we have no inclination -to impress upon our memories. - -For this reason many arts of instruction have been invented, by which -the reluctance against truth may be overcome; and as physick is given -to children in confections, precepts have been hidden under a thousand -appearances, that mankind may be bribed by pleasure to escape destruction. - -While the world was yet in its infancy, Truth came among mortals from -above, and Falsehood from below. Truth was the daughter of Jupiter and -Wisdom; Falsehood was the progeny of Folly impregnated by the Wind. They -advanced with equal confidence to seize the dominion of the new creation, -and, as their enmity and their force were well known to the celestials, -all the eyes of heaven were turned upon the contest. - -Truth seemed conscious of superiour power and juster claim, and therefore -came on towering and majestick, unassisted and alone; Reason, indeed, -always attended her, but appeared her follower, rather than companion. -Her march was slow and stately, but her motion was perpetually -progressive, and when once she had grounded her foot, neither gods nor -men could force her to retire. - -Falsehood always endeavoured to copy the mien and attitudes of Truth, and -was very successful in the arts of mimickry. She was surrounded, animated, -and supported by innumerable legions of appetites and passions, but -like other feeble commanders, was obliged often to receive law from her -allies. Her motions were sudden, irregular, and violent; for she had no -steadiness nor constancy. She often gained conquests by hasty incursions, -which she never hoped to keep by her own strength, but maintained by the -help of the passions, whom she generally found resolute and faithful. - -It sometimes happened that the antagonists met in full opposition. In -these encounters, Falsehood always invested her head with clouds, and -commanded Fraud to place ambushes about her. In her left hand she bore -the shield of Impudence, and the quiver of Sophistry rattled on her -shoulder. All the Passions attended at her call; Vanity clapped her wings -before, and Obstinacy supported her behind. Thus guarded and assisted, -she sometimes advanced against Truth, and sometimes waited the attack; -but always endeavoured to skirmish at a distance, perpetually shifted -her ground, and let fly her arrows in different directions; for she -certainly found that her strength failed, whenever the eye of Truth -darted full upon her. - -Truth had the awful aspect though not the thunder of her father, and when -the long continuance of the contest brought them near to one another, -Falsehood let the arms of Sophistry fall from her grasp, and holding up -the shield of Impudence with both her hands, sheltered herself amongst -the Passions. - -Truth, though she was often wounded, always recovered in a short time; but -it was common for the slightest hurt, received by Falsehood, to spread -its malignity to the neighbouring parts, and to burst open again when it -seemed to have been cured. - -Falsehood, in a short time, found by experience that her superiority -consisted only in the celerity of her course, and the changes of her -posture. She therefore ordered Suspicion to beat the ground before her, -and avoid with great care to cross the way of Truth, who, as she never -varied her point, but moved constantly upon the same line, was easily -escaped by the oblique and desultory movements, the quick retreats, and -active doubles which Falsehood always practised, when the enemy began to -raise terrour by her approach. - -By this procedure Falsehood every hour encroached upon the world, and -extended her empire through all climes and regions. Wherever she carried -her victories she left the Passions in full authority behind her; -who were so well pleased with command, that they held out with great -obstinacy when Truth came to seize their posts, and never failed to -retard her progress, though they could not always stop it. They yielded -at last with great reluctance, frequent rallies, and sullen submission; -and always inclined to revolt when Truth ceased to awe them by her -immediate presence. - -Truth, who, when she first descended from the heavenly palaces, expected -to have been received by universal acclamation, cherished with kindness, -heard with obedience, and invited to spread her influence from province -to province, now found that wherever she came she must force her -passage. Every intellect was precluded by prejudice, and every heart -preoccupied by passion. She indeed advanced, but she advanced slowly; -and often lost the conquests which she left behind her, by sudden -insurrections of the appetites, that shook off their allegiance, and -ranged themselves again under the banner of her enemy. - -Truth, however, did not grow weaker by the struggle, for her vigour was -unconquerable; yet she was provoked to see herself thus baffled and -impeded by an enemy, whom she looked on with contempt, and who had no -advantage but such as she owed to inconstancy, weakness, and artifice. -She, therefore, in the anger of disappointment, called upon her father -Jupiter to reestablish her in the skies, and leave mankind to the -disorder and misery which they deserved, by submitting willingly to the -usurpation of falsehood. - -Jupiter compassionated the world too much to grant her request, yet was -willing to ease her labours and mitigate her vexation. He commanded -her to consult the muses by what methods she might obtain an easier -reception, and reign without the toil of incessant war. It was then -discovered, that she obstructed her own progress by the severity of -her aspect, and the solemnity of her dictates; and that men would -never willingly admit her till they ceased to fear her, since by giving -themselves up to falsehood, they seldom make any sacrifice of their -ease or pleasure, because she took the shape that was most engaging, -and always suffered herself to be dressed and painted by desire. The -muses wove, in the loom of Pallas, a loose and changeable robe, like -that in which falsehood captivated her admirers; with this they invested -truth, and named her fiction. She now went out again to conquer with -more success; for when she demanded entrance of the passions, they often -mistook her for falsehood, and delivered up their charge: but when she -had once taken possession, she was soon disrobed by reason, and shone -out, in her original form, with native effulgence and resistless dignity. - - - - -No. 97. TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 19, 1751. - - - _Foecunda culpæ soecula nuptias_ - _Primum inquinavere, et genus, et domos._ - _Hoc fonte derivala clades_ - _In patriam populumque fluxit._ - HOR. Lib. iii Od. vi. 17. - - Fruitful of crimes, this age first stain'd - Their hapless offspring, and profan'd - The nuptial bed; from whence the woes, - Which various and unnumber'd rose - From this polluted fountain head, - O'er Rome and o'er the nations spread. - FRANCIS. - - -The reader is indebted for this day's entertainment to an author from whom -the age has received greater favours, who has enlarged the knowledge of -human nature, and taught the passions to move at the command of virtue. - - -TO THE RAMBLER. - -SIR, - -When the Spectator was first published in single papers, it gave me so -much pleasure, that it is one of the favourite amusements of my age -to recollect it; and when I reflect on the foibles of those times, -as described in that useful work, and compare them with the vices -now reigning among us, I cannot but wish that you would oftener take -cognizance of the manners of the better half of the human species, that -if your precepts and observations be carried down to posterity, the -Spectators may show to the rising generation what were the fashionable -follies of their grandmothers, the Rambler of their mothers, and that -from both they may draw instruction and warning. - -When I read those Spectators which took notice of the misbehaviour of -young women at church, by which they vainly hope to attract admirers, -I used to pronounce such forward young women Seekers, in order to -distinguish them, by a mark of infamy, from those who had patience and -decency to stay till they were sought. - -But I have lived to see such a change in the manners of women, that I -would now be willing to compound with them for that name, although I then -thought it disgraceful enough, if they would deserve no worse; since now -they are too generally given up to negligence of domestick business, to -idle amusements, and to wicked rackets, without any settled view at all -but of squandering time. - -In the time of the Spectator, excepting sometimes in appearance in the -ring, sometimes at a good and chosen play, sometimes on a visit at the -house of a grave relation, the young ladies contented themselves to -be found employed in domestick duties; for then routes, drums, balls, -assemblies, and such like markets for women, were not known. - -Modesty and diffidence, gentleness and meekness, were looked upon as -the appropriate virtues and characteristick graces of the sex; and if -a forward spirit pushed itself into notice, it was exposed in print as -it deserved. - -The churches were almost the only places where single women were to be -seen by strangers. Men went thither expecting to see them, and perhaps -too much for that only purpose. - -But some good often resulted, however improper might be their motives. -Both sexes were in the way of their duty. The man must be abandoned -indeed, who loves not goodness in another; nor were the young fellows -of that age so wholly lost to a sense of right, as pride and conceit has -since made them affect to be. When therefore they saw a fair-one whose -decent behaviour and cheerful piety shewed her earnest in her first -duties, they had the less doubt, judging politically only, that she would -have conscientious regard to her second. - -With what ardour have I seen watched for, the rising of a kneeling beauty; -and what additional charms has devotion given to her recommunicated -features? - -The men were often the better for what they heard. Even a Saul was once -found prophesying among the prophets whom he had set out to destroy. To a -man thus put into good humour by a pleasing object, religion itself looked -more amiable. The Men Seekers of the Spectator's time loved the holy place -for the object's sake, and loved the object for her suitable behaviour -in it. - -Reverence mingled with their love, and they thought that a young lady of -such good principles must be addressed only by the man who at least made -a shew of good principles, whether his heart was yet quite right or not. - -Nor did the young lady's behaviour, at any time of the service, lessen -this reverence. Her eyes were her own, her ears the preacher's. Women are -always most observed when they seem themselves least to observe, or to -lay out for observation. The eye of a respectful lover loves rather to -receive confidence from the withdrawn eye of the fair-one, than to find -itself obliged to retreat. - -When a young gentleman's affection was thus laudably engaged, he pursued -its natural dictates; keeping then was a rare, at least a secret and -scandalous vice, and a wife was the summit of his wishes. Rejection -was now dreaded, and pre-engagement apprehended. A woman whom he loved, -he was ready to think must be admired by all the world. His fears, his -uncertainties, increased his love. - -Every inquiry he made into the lady's domestick excellence, which, when a -wife is to be chosen, will surely not be neglected, confirmed him in his -choice. He opens his heart to a common friend, and honestly discovers the -state of his fortune. His friend applies to those of the young lady, whose -parents, if they approve his proposals, disclose them to their daughter. - -She perhaps is not an absolute stranger to the passion of the young -gentleman. His eyes, his assiduities, his constant attendance at a -church, whither, till of late, he used seldom to come, and a thousand -little observances that he paid her, had very probably first forced her -to regard, and then inclined her to favour him. - -That a young lady should be in love, and the love of the young gentleman -undeclared, is an heterodoxy which prudence, and even policy, must not -allow. But, thus applied to, she is all resignation to her parents. -Charming resignation, which inclination opposes not. - -Her relations applaud her for her duty; friends meet; points are adjusted; -delightful perturbations, and hopes, and a few lover's fears, fill up the -tedious space till an interview is granted; for the young lady had not -made herself cheap at publick places. - -The time of interview arrives. She is modestly reserved; he is not -confident. He declares his passion; the consciousness of her own worth, -and his application to her parents, take from her any doubt of his -sincerity; and she owns herself obliged to him for his good opinion. The -inquiries of her friends into his character, have taught her that his -good opinion deserves to be valued. - -She tacitly allows of his future visits; he renews them; the regard of -each for the other is confirmed; and when he presses for the favour of -her hand, he receives a declaration of an entire acquiescence with her -duty, and a modest acknowledgment of esteem for him. - -He applies to her parents therefore for a near day; and thinks himself -under obligation to them for the cheerful and affectionate manner with -which they receive his agreeable application. - -With this prospect of future happiness, the marriage is celebrated. -Gratulations pour in from every quarter. Parents and relations on both -sides, brought acquainted in the course of the courtship, can receive the -happy couple with countenances illumined, and joyful hearts. - -The brothers, the sisters, the friends of one family, are the brothers, -the sisters, the friends of the other. Their two families, thus made one, -are the world to the young couple. - -Their home is the place of their principal delight, nor do they ever -occasionally quit it but they find the pleasure of returning to it -augmented in proportion to the time of their absence from it. - -Oh, Mr. Rambler! forgive the talkativeness of an old man! When I courted -and married my Lætitia, then a blooming beauty, every thing passed just -so! But how is the case now? The ladies, maidens, wives, and widows, -are engrossed by places of open resort and general entertainment, which -fill every quarter of the metropolis, and, being constantly frequented, -make home irksome. Breakfasting-places, dining-places, routes, drums, -concerts, balls, plays, operas, masquerades for the evening, and even for -all night, and lately, publick sales of the goods of broken housekeepers, -which the general dissoluteness of manners has contributed to make -very frequent, come in as another seasonable relief to these modern -time-killers. - -In the summer there are in every country-town assemblies; Tunbridge, Bath, -Cheltenham, Scarborough! What expense of dress and equipage is required -to qualify the frequenters for such emulous appearance! - -By the natural infection of example, the lowest people have places of -six-penny resort, and gaming-tables for pence. Thus servants are now -induced to fraud and dishonesty, to support extravagance, and supply -their losses. - -As to the ladies who frequent those publick places, they are not ashamed -to shew their faces wherever men dare go, nor blush to try who shall -stare most impudently, or who shall laugh loudest on the publick walks. - -The men who would make good husbands, if they visit those places, -are frighted at wedlock, and resolve to live single, except they are -bought at a very high price. They can be spectators of all that passes, -and, if they please, more than spectators, at the expense of others. -The companion of an evening and the companion for life, require very -different qualifications. - -Two thousand pounds in the last age, with a domestick wife, would go -farther than ten thousand in this. Yet settlements are expected, that -often, to a mercantile man especially, sink a fortune into uselessness; -and pin-money is stipulated for, which makes a wife independent, -and destroys love, by putting it out of a man's power to lay any -obligation upon her, that might engage gratitude, and kindle affection. -When to all this the card-tables are added, how can a prudent man think -of marrying? - -And when the worthy men know not where to find wives, must not the sex -be left to the foplings, the coxcombs, the libertines of the age, whom -they help to make such? And need even these wretches marry to enjoy the -conversation of those who render their company so cheap? - -And what, after all, is the benefit which the gay coquette obtains by her -flutters? As she is approachable by every man without requiring, I will -not say incense or adoration, but even common complaisance, every fop -treats her as upon the level, looks upon her light airs as invitations, -and is on the watch to take the advantage: she has companions indeed, but -no lovers; for love is respectful and timorous; and where among all her -followers will she find a husband? - -Set, dear Sir, before the youthful, the gay, the inconsiderate, the -contempt as well as the danger to which they are exposed. At one time or -other, women, not utterly thoughtless, will be convinced of the justice -of your censure, and the charity of your instruction. - -But should your expostulations and reproofs have no effect upon those -who are far gone in fashionable folly, they may be retailed from their -mouths to their nieces, (marriage will not often have entitled these -to daughters,) when they, the meteors of a day, find themselves elbowed -off the stage of vanity by other flutterers; for the most admired women -cannot have many Tunbridge, many Bath seasons to blaze in; since even -fine faces, often seen, are less regarded than new faces, the proper -punishment of showy girls for rendering themselves so impolitickly cheap. - -I am, Sir, - -Your sincere admirer, &c.[56] - -[Footnote 56: The writer of this paper was Richardson, the Novelist. -See Preface.] - - - - -No. 98. SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 23, 1751. - - - _----Quæ nec Sarmentus iniquas_ - _Cæsaris ad mensas, nec vilis Galba talisset._ - JUV. Sat. v. 3. - - Which not Sarmentus brook'd at Cæsar's board, - Nor grov'ling Galba from his haughty Lord. - ELPHINSTON. - - -TO THE AUTHOR OF THE RAMBLER. - -MR. RAMBLER, - -You have often endeavoured to impress upon your readers an observation of -more truth than novelty, that life passes, for the most part, in petty -transactions; that our hours glide away in trifling amusements and slight -gratifications; and that there very seldom emerges any occasion that can -call forth great virtue or great abilities. - -It very commonly happens that speculation has no influence on conduct. -Just conclusions, and cogent arguments, formed by laborious study, and -diligent inquiry, are often reposited in the treasuries of memory, as -gold in a miser's chest, useless alike to others and himself. As some are -not richer for the extent of their possessions, others are not wiser for -the multitude of their ideas. - -You have truly described the state of human beings, but it may be doubted -whether you have accommodated your precepts to your description; whether -you have not generally considered your readers as influenced by the -tragick passions, and susceptible of pain or pleasure only from powerful -agents, and from great events. - -To an author who writes not for the improvement of a single art, or -the establishment of a controverted doctrine, but equally intends the -advantage and equally courts the perusal of all the classes of mankind, -nothing can justly seem unworthy of regard, by which the pleasure of -conversation may be increased, and the daily satisfactions of familiar -life secured from interruption and disgust. - -For this reason you would not have injured your reputation, if you had -sometimes descended to the minuter duties of social beings, and enforced -the observance of those little civilities and ceremonious delicacies, -which, inconsiderable as they may appear to the man of science, and -difficult as they may prove to be detailed with dignity, yet contribute -to the regulation of the world, by facilitating the intercourse between -one man and another, and of which the French have sufficiently testified -their esteem, by terming the knowledge and practice of them _Sçavoir -vivre_, The art of living. - -Politeness is one of those advantages which we never estimate rightly -but by the inconvenience of its loss. Its influence upon the manners -is constant and uniform, so that, like an equal motion, it escapes -perception. The circumstances of every action are so adjusted to each -other, that we do not see where any errour could have been committed, and -rather acquiesce in its propriety than admire its exactness. - -But as sickness shews us the value of ease, a little familiarity with -those who were never taught to endeavour the gratification of others, but -regulate their behaviour merely by their own will, will soon evince the -necessity of established modes and formalities to the happiness and quiet -of common life. - -Wisdom and virtue are by no means sufficient, without the supplemental -laws of good-breeding, to secure freedom from degenerating to rudeness, -or self-esteem from swelling into insolence; a thousand incivilities may -be committed, and a thousand offices neglected, without any remorse of -conscience or reproach from reason. - -The true effect of genuine politeness seems to be rather ease than -pleasure. The power of delighting must be conferred by nature, and cannot -be delivered by precept, or obtained by imitation; but though it be the -privilege of a very small number to ravish and to charm, every man may -hope by rules and caution not to give pain, and may, therefore, by the -help of good-breeding, enjoy the kindness of mankind, though he should -have no claim to higher distinctions. - -The universal axiom in which all complaisance is included, and from -which flow all the formalities which custom has established in civilized -nations, is, _That no man shall give any preference to himself_. A rule -so comprehensive and certain, that, perhaps, it is not easy for the mind -to image an incivility, without supposing it to be broken. - -There are, indeed, in every place some particular modes of the ceremonial -part of good-breeding, which, being arbitrary and accidental, can -be learned only by habitude and conversation; such are the forms -of salutation, the different gradations of reverence, and all the -adjustments of place and precedence. These, however, may be often -violated without offence, if it be sufficiently evident, that neither -malice nor pride contributed to the failure; but will not atone, however -rigidly observed, for the tumour of insolence, or petulance of contempt. - -I have, indeed, not found among any part of mankind, less real and -rational complaisance, than among those who have passed their time in -paying and receiving visits, in frequenting publick entertainments, -in studying the exact measures of ceremony, and in watching all the -variations of fashionable courtesy. - -They know, indeed, at what hour they may beat the door of an acquaintance, -how many steps they must attend him towards the gate, and what interval -should pass before his visit is returned; but seldom extend their care -beyond the exterior and unessential parts of civility, nor refuse their -own vanity any gratification, however expensive to the quiet of another. - -Trypherus is a man remarkable for splendour and expense; a man, that having -been originally placed by his fortune and rank in the first class of the -community, has acquired that air of dignity, and that readiness in the -exchange of compliments, which courts, balls, and levees, easily confer. - -But Trypherus, without any settled purposes of malignity, partly by his -ignorance of human nature, and partly by the habit of contemplating with -great satisfaction his own grandeur and riches, is hourly giving disgust -to those whom chance or expectation subjects to his vanity. - -To a man whose fortune confines him to a small house, he declaims upon -the pleasure of spacious apartments, and the convenience of changing his -lodging-room in different parts of the year; tells him, that he hates -confinement; and concludes, that if his chamber was less, he should never -wake without thinking of a prison. - -To Eucretas, a man of birth equal to himself, but of much less estate, he -shewed his services of plate, and remarked that such things were, indeed, -nothing better than costly trifles, but that no man must pretend to the -rank of a gentleman without them; and that for his part, if his estate -was smaller, he should not think of enjoying but increasing it, and would -inquire out a trade for his eldest son. - -He has, in imitation of some more acute observer than himself, collected a -great many shifts and artifices by which poverty is concealed; and among -the ladies of small fortune, never fails to talk of frippery and slight -silks, and the convenience of a general mourning. - -I have been insulted a thousand times with a catalogue of his pictures, -his jewels, and his rarities, which, though he knows the humble neatness -of my habitation, he seldom fails to conclude by a declaration, that -wherever he sees a house meanly furnished, he despises the owner's taste, -or pities his poverty. - -This, Mr. Rambler, is the practice of Trypherus, by which he is become -the terrour of all who are less wealthy than himself, and has raised -innumerable enemies without rivalry, and without malevolence. - -Yet though all are not equally culpable with Trypherus, it is scarcely -possible to find any man who does not frequently, like him, indulge his -own pride by forcing others into a comparison with himself when he knows -the advantage is on his side, without considering that unnecessarily -to obtrude unpleasing ideas, is a species of oppression; and that it is -little more criminal to deprive another of some real advantage, than to -interrupt that forgetfulness of its absence which is the next happiness -to actual possession. - -I am, &c. - - EUTROPIUS. - - - - -No. 99. TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 26, 1751. - - - _Scilicet ingeniis aliqua est concordia junctis,_ - _Et servat studii foedera quisque sui._ - _Rusticus agricolam, miles fera bella gerentem,_ - _Rectorem dubiæ navita puppis amat._ - OVID, Ex Pon. v. 59. - - Congenial passions souls together bind, - And ev'ry calling mingles with its kind; - Soldier unites with soldier, swain with swain, - The mariner with him that roves the main. - F. LEWIS. - - -It has been ordained by Providence, for the conservation of order in the -immense variety of nature, and for the regular propagation of the several -classes of life with which the elements are peopled, that every creature -should be drawn by some secret attraction to those of his own kind; and -that not only the gentle and domestick animals which naturally unite -into companies, or co-habit by pairs, should continue faithful to their -species; but even those ravenous and ferocious savages which Aristotle -observes never to be gregarious, should range mountains and deserts in -search of one another, rather than pollute the world with a monstrous -birth. - -As the perpetuity and distinction of the lower tribes of the creation -require that they should be determined to proper mates by some uniform -motive of choice, or some cogent principle of instinct, it is necessary, -likewise, that man, whose wider capacity demands more gratifications, and -who feels in himself innumerable wants, which a life of solitude cannot -supply, and innumerable powers to which it cannot give employment, should -be led to suitable companions by particular influence; and among many -beings of the same nature with himself, he may select some for intimacy -and tenderness, and improve the condition of his existence, by -superadding friendship to humanity, and the love of individuals to that -of the species. - -Other animals are so formed, that they seem to contribute very little to -the happiness of each other, and know neither joy, nor grief, nor love, -nor hatred, but as they are urged by some desire immediately subservient -either to the support of their own lives, or to the continuation of -their race; they therefore seldom appear to regard any of the minuter -discriminations which distinguish creatures of the same kind from one -another. - -But if man were to feel no incentives to kindness, more than his -general tendency to congenial nature, Babylon or London, with all -their multitudes, would have to him the desolation of a wilderness; his -affections, not compressed into a narrower compass, would vanish, like -elemental fire, in boundless evaporation; he would languish in perpetual -insensibility, and though he might, perhaps, in the first vigour of -youth, amuse himself with the fresh enjoyments of life, yet, when -curiosity should cease, and alacrity subside, he would abandon himself to -the fluctuations of chance, without expecting help against any calamity, -or feeling any wish for the happiness of others. - -To love all men is our duty, so far as it includes a general habit of -benevolence, and readiness of occasional kindness; but to love all -equally is impossible; at least impossible without the extinction of -those passions which now produce all our pains and all our pleasures; -without the disuse, if not the abolition, of some of our faculties, and -the suppression of all our hopes and fears in apathy and indifference. - -The necessities of our condition require a thousand offices of tenderness, -which mere regard for the species will never dictate. Every man has -frequent grievances which only the solicitude of friendship will discover -and remedy, and which would remain for ever unheeded in the mighty heap -of human calamity, were it only surveyed by the eye of general benevolence -equally attentive to every misery. - -The great community of mankind is, therefore, necessarily broken into -smaller independent societies; these form distinct interests, which are -too frequently opposed to each other, and which they who have entered -into the league of particular governments falsely think it virtue to -promote, however destructive to the happiness of the rest of the world. - -Such unions are again separated into subordinate classes and combinations, -and social life is perpetually branched out into minuter subdivisions, -till it terminates in the last ramifications of private life. - -That friendship may at once be fond and lasting, it has been already -observed in these papers, that a conformity of inclinations is necessary. -No man can have much kindness for him by whom he does not believe himself -esteemed, and nothing so evidently proves esteem as imitation. - -That benevolence is always strongest which arises from participation of -the same pleasures, since we are naturally most willing to revive in our -minds the memory of persons, with whom the idea of enjoyment is connected. - -It is commonly, therefore, to little purpose that any one endeavours to -ingratiate himself with such as he cannot accompany in their amusements -and diversions. Men have been known to rise to favour and to fortune, -only by being skilful in the sports with which their patron happened to -be delighted, by concurring with his taste for some particular species of -curiosities, by relishing the same wine, or applauding the same cookery. - -Even those whom wisdom or virtue have placed above regard to such petty -recommendations, must nevertheless be gained by similitude of manners. -The highest and noblest enjoyment of familiar life, the communication -of knowledge, and reciprocation of sentiments, must always pre-suppose a -disposition to the same inquiry, and delight in the same discoveries. - -With what satisfaction could the politician lay his schemes for the -reformation of laws, or his comparisons of different forms of government, -before the chemist, who has never accustomed his thoughts to any other -object than salt and sulphur? or how could the astronomer, in explaining -his calculations and conjectures, endure the coldness of a grammarian, who -would lose sight of Jupiter and all his satellites, for a happy etymology -of an obscure word, or a better explication of a controverted line? - -Every man loves merit of the same kind with his own, when it is not -likely to hinder his advancement or his reputation; for he not only best -understands the worth of those qualities which he labours to cultivate, -or the usefulness of the art which he practises with success, but always -feels a reflected pleasure from the praises, which, though given to -another, belong equally to himself. - -There is, indeed, no need of research and refinement to discover that -men must generally select their companions from their own state of -life, since there are not many minds furnished for great variety of -conversation, or adapted to multiplicity of intellectual entertainments. - -The sailor, the academick, the lawyer, the mechanick, and the courtier, -have all a cast of talk peculiar to their own fraternity; have fixed -their attention upon the same events, have been engaged in affairs of the -same sort, and made use of allusions and illustrations which themselves -only can understand. - -To be infected with the jargon of a particular profession, and to know -only the language of a single rank of mortals, is indeed sufficiently -despicable. But as limits must be always set to the excursions of the -human mind, there will be some study which every man more zealously -prosecutes, some darling subject on which he is principally pleased -to converse; and he that can most inform or best understand him, will -certainly be welcomed with particular regard. - -Such partiality is not wholly to be avoided, nor is it culpable, unless -suffered so far to predominate as to produce aversion from every other -kind of excellence, and to shade the lustre of dissimilar virtues. Those, -therefore, whom the lot of life has conjoined, should endeavour constantly -to approach towards the inclination of each other, invigorate every -motion of concurrent desire, and fan every spark of kindred curiosity. - -It has been justly observed, that discord generally operates in little -things; it is inflamed to its utmost vehemence by contrariety of taste, -oftener than of principles; and might therefore commonly be avoided by -innocent conformity, which, if it was not at first the motive, ought -always to be the consequence of indissoluble union. - - - - -No. 100. SATURDAY, MARCH 2, 1751. - - - _Omne vafer vitium ridenti Flaccus amico_ - _Tangit, et admissus circum præcordia, ludit._ - PERSIUS, Sat. i. 116. - - Horace, with sly insinuating grace, - Laugh'd at his friend, and look'd him in the face; - Would raise a blush, where secret vice he found, - And tickle while he gently prob'd the wound. - With seeming innocence the crowd beguild; - But made the desperate passes when he smil'd. - DRYDEN. - - -TO THE RAMBLER. - -SIR, - -As very many well-disposed persons, by the unavoidable necessity of their -affairs, are so unfortunate as to be totally buried in the country, where -they labour under the most deplorable ignorance of what is transacting -among the polite part of mankind, I cannot help thinking, that, as a -publick writer, you should take the case of these truly compassionable -objects under your consideration. - -These unhappy languishers in obscurity should be furnished with such -accounts of the employments of people of the world, as may engage them -in their several remote corners to a laudable imitation; or, at least, so -far inform and prepare them, that if by any joyful change of situation -they should be suddenly transported into the gay scene, they may not gape, -and wonder, and stare, and be utterly at a loss how to behave and make a -proper appearance in it. - -It is inconceivable how much the welfare of all the country towns in the -kingdom might be promoted, if you would use your charitable endeavours to -raise in them a noble emulation of the manners and customs of higher life. - -For this purpose you should give a very clear and ample description of the -whole set of polite acquirements; a complete history of forms, fashions, -frolicks; of routs, drums, hurricanes, balls, assemblies, ridottos, -masquerades, auctions, plays, operas, puppet-shows, and bear-gardens; -of all those delights which profitably engage the attention of the -most sublime characters, and by which they have brought to such amazing -perfection the whole art and mystery of passing day after day, week after -week, and year after year, without the heavy assistance of any one thing -that formal creatures are pleased to call useful and necessary. - -In giving due instructions through what steps to attain this summit of -human excellence, you may add such irresistible arguments in its favour, -as must convince numbers, who in other instances do not seem to want -natural understanding, of the unaccountable errour of supposing they -were sent into the world for any other purpose but to flutter, sport, and -shine. For, after all, nothing can be clearer than that an everlasting -round of diversion, and the more lively and hurrying the better, is the -most important end of human life. - -It is really prodigious, so much as the world is improved, that there -should in these days be persons so ignorant and stupid as to think it -necessary to mispend their time, and trouble their heads about any thing -else than pursuing the present fancy; for what else is worth living for? - -It is time enough surely to think of consequences when they come; and -as for the antiquated notions of duty, they are not to be met with in any -French novel, or any book one ever looks into, but derived almost wholly -from the writings of authors[57], who lived a vast many ages ago, and who, -as they were totally without any idea of those accomplishments which now -characterize people of distinction, have been for some time sinking apace -into utter contempt. It does not appear that even their most zealous -admirers, for some partisans of his own sort every writer will have, can -pretend to say they were ever at one ridotto. - -In the important article of diversions, the ceremonial of visits, the -ecstatick delight of unfriendly intimacies and unmeaning civilities, they -are absolutely silent. Blunt truth, and downright honesty, plain clothes, -staying at home, hard work, few words, and those unenlivened with -censure or double meaning, are what they recommend as the ornaments and -pleasures of life. Little oaths, polite dissimulation, tea-table scandal, -delightful indolence, the glitter of finery, the triumph of precedence, -the enchantments of flattery, they seem to have had no notion of; and -I cannot but laugh to think what a figure they would have made in a -drawing-room, and how frighted they would have looked at a gaming-table. - -The noble zeal of patriotism that disdains authority, and tramples on laws -for sport, was absolutely the aversion of these tame wretches. - -Indeed one cannot discover any one thing they pretend to teach people, but -to be wise, and good; acquirements infinitely below the consideration of -persons of taste and spirit, who know how to spend their time to so much -better purpose. - -Among other admirable improvements, pray, Mr. Rambler, do not forget to -enlarge on the very extensive benefit of playing at cards on Sundays, -a practice of such infinite use, that we may modestly expect to see it -prevail universally in all parts of this kingdom. - -To persons of fashion, the advantage is obvious; because, as for some -strange reason or other, which no fine gentleman or fine lady has yet -been able to penetrate, there is neither play, nor masquerade, nor -bottled conjurer, nor any other thing worth living for, to be had on a -Sunday; if it were not for the charitable assistance of whist or bragg, -the genteel part of mankind must, one day in seven, necessarily suffer -a total extinction of being. - -Nor are the persons of high rank the only gainers by so salutary a custom, -which extends its good influence, in some degree, to the lower orders of -people; but were it quite general, how much better and happier would the -world be than it is even now? - -'Tis hard upon poor creatures, be they ever so mean, to deny them those -enjoyments and liberties which are equally open for all. Yet if servants -were taught to go to church on this day, spend some part of it in reading -or receiving instruction in a family way, and the rest in mere friendly -conversation, the poor wretches would infallibly take it into their -heads, that they were obliged to be sober, modest, diligent, and faithful -to their masters and mistresses. - -Now surely no one of common prudence or humanity would wish their -domesticks infected with such strange and primitive notions, or laid -under such unmerciful restraints: all which may, in a great measure, be -prevented by the prevalence of the good-humoured fashion, that I would -have you recommend. For when the lower kind of people see their betters, -with a truly laudable spirit, insulting and flying in the face of those -rude, ill-bred dictators, piety and the laws, they are thereby excited -and admonished, as far as actions can admonish and excite, and taught -that they too have an equal right of setting them at defiance in such -instances as their particular necessities and inclinations may require; -and thus is the liberty of the whole human species mightily improved -and enlarged. - -In short, Mr. Rambler, by a faithful representation of the numberless -benefits of a modish life, you will have done your part in promoting -what every body seems to confess the true purpose of human existence, -perpetual dissipation. - -By encouraging people to employ their whole attention on trifles, and make -amusement their sole study, you will teach them how to avoid many very -uneasy reflections. - -All the soft feelings of humanity, the sympathies of friendship, all -natural temptations to the care of a family, and solicitude about the -good or ill of others, with the whole train of domestick and social -affections, which create such daily anxieties and embarrassments, will -be happily stifled and suppressed in a round of perpetual delights; and -all serious thoughts, but particularly that of _hereafter_, be banished -out of the world; a most perplexing apprehension, but luckily a most -groundless one too, as it is so very clear a case, that nobody ever dies. - -I am, &c. - - CHARIESSA.[58] - -[Footnote 57: In the original of this paper, written by Mrs. Carter, and -republished by her nephew and executor, the Rev. Montagu Pennington, -(Memoirs of Mrs. C. Vol. ii. Oct. 1816,) the following words occur, which -were unaccountably omitted by Dr. Johnson--"authors called, I think Peter -and Paul, who lived." &c.] - -[Footnote 58: The second contribution of Mrs. Carter.] - - - - -No. 101. TUESDAY, MARCH 5, 1751. - - - _Mella jubes Hyblæa tibi, vel Hymettia nasci;_ - _Et thyma Cecropiæ Corsica ponis api?_ - MART. Lib. xi. Ep. 42. - - Alas! dear Sir, you try in vain, - Impossibilities to gain; - No bee from Corsica's rank juice, - Hyblæan honey can produce. - F. LEWIS. - - -TO THE RAMBLER. - -SIR, - -Having by several years of continual study treasured in my mind a great -number of principles and ideas, and obtained by frequent exercise the -power of applying them with propriety, and combining them with readiness, -I resolved to quit the university, where I considered myself as a gem -hidden in the mine, and to mingle in the crowd of publick life. I was -naturally attracted by the company of those who were of the same age with -myself, and finding that my academical gravity contributed very little -to my reputation, applied my faculties to jocularity and burlesque. Thus, -in a short time, I had heated my imagination to such a state of activity -and ebullition, that upon every occasion it fumed away in bursts of -wit, and evaporations of gaiety. I became on a sudden the idol of the -coffee-house, was in one winter solicited to accept the presidentship -of five clubs, was dragged by violence to every new play, and quoted -in every controversy upon theatrical merit; was in every publick place -surrounded by a multitude of humble auditors, who retailed in other -places of resort my maxims and my jests, and was boasted as their -intimate and companion, by many, who had no other pretensions to my -acquaintance, than that they had drank chocolate in the same room. - -You will not wonder, Mr. Rambler, that I mention my success with some -appearance of triumph and elevation. Perhaps no kind of superiority is -more flattering or alluring than that which is conferred by the powers -of conversation, by extemporaneous sprightliness of fancy, copiousness of -language, and fertility of sentiment. In other exertions of genius, the -greater part of the praise is unknown and unenjoyed; the writer, indeed, -spreads his reputation to a wider extent, but receives little pleasure -or advantage from the diffusion of his name, and only obtains a kind of -nominal sovereignty over regions which pay no tribute. The colloquial -wit has always his own radiance reflected on himself, and enjoys all -the pleasure which he bestows; he finds his power confessed by every one -that approaches him, sees friendship kindling with rapture, and attention -swelling into praise. - -The desire which every man feels of importance and esteem, is so much -gratified by finding an assembly, at his entrance, brightened with -gladness and hushed with expectation, that the recollection of such -distinctions can scarcely fail to be pleasing whensoever it is innocent. -And my conscience does not reproach me with any mean or criminal effects -of vanity; since I always employed my influence on the side of virtue, -and never sacrificed my understanding or my religion to the pleasure -of applause. - -There were many whom either the desire of enjoying my pleasantry, or the -pride of being thought to enjoy it, brought often into my company; but -I was caressed in a particular manner by Demochares, a gentleman of a -large estate, and a liberal disposition. My fortune being by no means -exuberant, inclined me to be pleased with a friend who was willing to be -entertained at his own charge. I became by daily invitations habituated -to his table, and, as he believed my acquaintance necessary to the -character of elegance, which he was desirous of establishing, I lived in -all the luxury of affluence, without expense or dependence, and passed my -life in a perpetual reciprocation of pleasure, with men brought together -by similitude of accomplishments, or desire of improvement. - -But all power has its sphere of activity, beyond which it produces -no effect. Demochares, being called by his affairs into the country, -imagined that he should increase his popularity by coming among his -neighbours accompanied by a man whose abilities were so generally -allowed. The report presently spread through half the country that -Demochares was arrived, and had brought with him the celebrated Hilarius, -by whom such merriment would be excited, as had never been enjoyed or -conceived before. I knew, indeed, the purpose for which I was invited, -and, as men do not look diligently out for possible miscarriages, -was pleased to find myself courted upon principles of interest, and -considered as capable of reconciling factions, composing feuds, and -uniting a whole province in social happiness. - -After a few days spent in adjusting his domestick regulations, Demochares -invited all the gentlemen of his neighbourhood to dinner, and did not -forget to hint how much my presence was expected to heighten the pleasure -of the feast. He informed me what prejudices my reputation had raised in -my favour, and represented the satisfaction with which he should see me -kindle up the blaze of merriment, and should remark the various effects -that my fire would have upon such diversity of matter. - -This declaration, by which he intended to quicken my vivacity, filled me -with solicitude. I felt an ambition of shining which I never knew before; -and was therefore embarrassed with an unusual fear of disgrace. I passed -the night in planning out to myself the conversation of the coming day; -recollected all my topicks of raillery, proposed proper subjects of -ridicule, prepared smart replies to a thousand questions, accommodated -answers to imaginary repartees, and formed a magazine of remarks, -apophthegms, tales, and illustrations. - -The morning broke at last in the midst of these busy meditations. I -rose with the palpitations of a champion on the day of combat; and, -notwithstanding all my efforts, found my spirits sunk under the weight of -expectation. The company soon after began to drop in, and every one, at -his entrance, was introduced to Hilarius. What conception the inhabitants -of this region had formed of a wit, I cannot yet discover; but observed -that they all seemed, after the regular exchange of compliments, to turn -away disappointed; and that while we waited for dinner, they cast their -eyes first upon me, and then upon each other, like a theatrical assembly -waiting for a show. - -From the uneasiness of this situation, I was relieved by the dinner; -and as every attention was taken up by the business of the hour, I sunk -quietly to a level with the rest of the company. But no sooner were -the dishes removed, than, instead of cheerful confidence and familiar -prattle, an universal silence again shewed their expectation of some -unusual performance. My friend endeavoured to rouse them by healths and -questions, but they answered him with great brevity, and immediately -relapsed into their former taciturnity. - -I had waited in hope of some opportunity to divert them, but could find -no pass opened for a single sally; and who can be merry without an object -of mirth? After a few faint efforts, which produced neither applause nor -opposition, I was content to mingle with the mass, to put round the glass -in silence, and solace myself with my own contemplations. - -My friend looked round him; the guests stared at one another; and if now -and then a few syllables were uttered with timidity and hesitation, there -was none ready to make any reply. All our faculties were frozen, and -every minute took away from our capacity of pleasing, and disposition to -be pleased. Thus passed the hours to which so much happiness was decreed; -the hours which had, by a kind of open proclamation, been devoted to wit, -to mirth, and to Hilarius. - -At last the night came on, and the necessity of parting freed us from the -persecutions of each other. I heard them, as they walked along the court, -murmuring at the loss of the day, and inquiring whether any man would pay -a second visit to a house haunted by a wit. - -Demochares, whose benevolence is greater than his penetration, having -flattered his hopes with the secondary honour which he was to gain by -my sprightliness and elegance, and the affection with which he should -be followed for a perpetual banquet of gaiety, was not able to conceal -his vexation and resentment, nor would easily be convinced, that I had -not sacrificed his interest to sullenness and caprice, and studiously -endeavoured to disgust his guests, and suppressed my powers of delighting, -in obstinate and premeditated silence. I am informed that the reproach -of their ill reception is divided by the gentlemen of the country between -us; some being of opinion that my friend is deluded by an impostor, who, -though he has found some art of gaining his favour, is afraid to speak -before men of more penetration; and others concluding that I think only -London the proper theatre of my abilities, and disdain to exert my genius -for the praise of rusticks. - -I believe, Mr. Rambler, that it has sometimes happened to others, who -have the good or ill fortune to be celebrated for wits, to fall under -the same censures upon the like occasions. I hope therefore that you -will prevent any misrepresentations of such failures, by remarking that -invention is not wholly at the command of its possessor; that the power -of pleasing is very often obstructed by the desire; that all expectation -lessens surprise, yet some surprise is necessary to gaiety; and that -those who desire to partake of the pleasure of wit must contribute to -its production, since the mind stagnates without external ventilation, -and that effervescence of the fancy, which flashes into transport, can -be raised only by the infusion of dissimilar ideas. - - - - -No. 102. SATURDAY, MARCH 9, 1751. - - - _Ipsa quoque assiduo labuntur tempora motu,_ - _Non secus ac flumen. Neque enim consistere flumen,_ - _Nec levis hora potest: sed ut unda impellitur unda,_ - _Urgeturque prior veniente, urgetque priorem,_ - _Tempora sic fugiunt pariter, pariterque sequuntur._ - OVID, Met. xv. 179. - - With constant motion as the moments glide. - Behold in running life the rolling tide! - For none can stem by art, or stop by pow'r, - The flowing ocean, or the fleeting hour: - But wave by wave pursued arrives on shore, - And each impell'd behind impels before: - So time on time revolving we descry; - So minutes follow, and so minutes fly. - ELPHINSTON. - - -"Life," says Seneca, "is a voyage, in the progress of which we are -perpetually changing our scenes: we first leave childhood behind us, -then youth, then the years of ripened manhood, then the better and more -pleasing part of old age." The perusal of this passage having incited in -me a train of reflections on the state of man, the incessant fluctuation -of his wishes, the gradual change of his disposition to all external -objects, and the thoughtlessness with which he floats along the stream of -time, I sunk into a slumber amidst my meditations, and on a sudden, found -my ears filled with the tumult of labour, the shouts of alacrity, the -shrieks of alarm, the whistle of winds, and the dash of waters. - -My astonishment for a time repressed my curiosity; but soon recovering -myself so far as to inquire whither we were going, and what was the cause -of such clamour and confusion, I was told that we were launching out into -the _ocean of life_; that we had already passed the streights of infancy, -in which multitudes had perished, some by the weakness and fragility of -their vessels, and more by the folly, perverseness, or negligence, of -those who undertook to steer them; and that we were now on the main sea, -abandoned to the winds and billows, without any other means of security -than the care of the pilot, whom it was always in our power to choose -among great numbers that offered their direction and assistance. - -I then looked round with anxious eagerness; and first turning my eyes -behind me, saw a stream flowing through flowery islands, which every -one that sailed along seemed to behold with pleasure; but no sooner -touched, than the current, which, though not noisy or turbulent, was yet -irresistible, bore him away. Beyond these islands all was darkness, nor -could any of the passengers describe the shore at which he first embarked. - -Before me, and on each side, was an expanse of waters violently agitated, -and covered with so thick a mist, that the most perspicacious eye could -see but a little way. It appeared to be full of rocks and whirlpools, for -many sunk unexpectedly while they were courting the gale with full sails, -and insulting those whom they had left behind. So numerous, indeed, were -the dangers, and so thick the darkness, that no caution could confer -security. Yet there were many, who, by false intelligence, betrayed their -followers into whirlpools, or by violence pushed those whom they found in -their way against the rocks. - -The current was invariable and insurmountable; but though it was -impossible to sail against it, or to return to the place that was once -passed, yet it was not so violent as to allow no opportunities for -dexterity or courage, since, though none could retreat back from danger, -yet they might often avoid it by oblique direction. - -It was, however, not very common to steer with much care or prudence; for -by some universal infatuation, every man appeared to think himself safe, -though he saw his consorts every moment sinking round him; and no sooner -had the waves closed over them, than their fate and their misconduct were -forgotten; the voyage was pursued with the same jocund confidence; every -man congratulated himself upon the soundness of his vessel, and believed -himself able to stem the whirlpool in which his friend was swallowed, or -glide over the rocks on which he was dashed: nor was it often observed -that the sight of a wreck made any man change his course: if he turned -aside for a moment, he soon forgot the rudder, and left himself again to -the disposal of chance. - -This negligence did not proceed from indifference, or from weariness -of their present condition; for not one of those who thus rushed upon -destruction, failed, when he was sinking, to call loudly upon his -associates for that help which could not now be given him; and many spent -their last moments in cautioning others against the folly by which they -were intercepted in the midst of their course. Their benevolence was -sometimes praised, but their admonitions were unregarded. - -The vessels in which we had embarked being confessedly unequal to the -turbulence of the stream of life, were visibly impaired in the course of -the voyage; so that every passenger was certain, that how long soever he -might, by favourable accidents, or by incessant vigilance, be preserved, -he must sink at last. - -This necessity of perishing might have been expected to sadden the gay, -and intimidate the daring, at least to keep the melancholy and timorous -in perpetual torments, and hinder them from any enjoyment of the varieties -and gratifications which nature offered them as the solace of their -labours; yet, in effect, none seemed less to expect destruction than -those to whom it was most dreadful; they all had the art of concealing -their danger from themselves; and those who knew their inability to -bear the sight of the terrours that embarrassed their way, took care -never to look forward, but found some amusement for the present moment, -and generally entertained themselves by playing with Hope, who was the -constant associate of the voyage of life. - -Yet all that Hope ventured to promise, even to those whom she favoured -most, was not that they should escape, but that they should sink last; -and with this promise every one was satisfied, though he laughed at -the rest for seeming to believe it. Hope, indeed, apparently mocked the -credulity of her companions; for, in proportion as their vessels grew -leaky, she redoubled her assurances of safety; and none were more busy -in making provisions for a long voyage, than they whom all but themselves -saw likely to perish soon by irreparable decay. - -In the midst of the current of life was the _gulph of_ Intemperance, a -dreadful whirlpool, interspersed with rocks, of which the pointed crags -were concealed under water, and the tops covered with herbage, on which -Ease spread couches of repose, and with shades, where Pleasure warbled -the song of invitation. Within sight of these rocks all who sailed on the -ocean of life must necessarily pass. Reason, indeed, was always at hand to -steer the passengers through a narrow outlet by which they might escape; -but very few could, by her entreaties or remonstrances, be induced to put -the rudder into her hand, without stipulating that she should approach -so near unto the rocks of Pleasure, that they might solace themselves -with a short enjoyment of that delicious region, after which they always -determined to pursue their course without any other deviation. - -Reason was too often prevailed upon so far by these promises, as to -venture her charge within the eddy of the gulph of Intemperance, where, -indeed, the circumvolution was weak, but yet interrupted the course of -the vessel, and drew it, by insensible rotations, towards the centre. -She then repented her temerity, and with all her force endeavoured to -retreat; but the draught of the gulph was generally too strong to be -overcome; and the passenger, having danced in circles with a pleasing -and giddy velocity, was at last overwhelmed and lost. Those few whom -Reason was able to extricate, generally suffered so many shocks upon the -points which shot out from the rocks of Pleasure, that they were unable -to continue their course with the same strength and facility as before, -but floated along timorously and feeble, endangered by every breeze, and -shattered by every ruffle of the water, till they sunk, by slow degrees, -after long struggles, and innumerable expedients, always repining at -their own folly, and warning others against the first approach of the -gulph of Intemperance. - -There were artists who professed to repair the breaches and stop the leaks -of the vessels which had been shattered on the rocks of Pleasure. Many -appeared to have great confidence in their skill, and some, indeed, were -preserved by it from sinking, who had received only a single blow; but I -remarked that few vessels lasted long which had been much repaired, nor -was it found that the artists themselves continued afloat longer than -those who had least of their assistance. - -The only advantage which, in the voyage of life, the cautious had above -the negligent, was, that they sunk later, and more suddenly; for they -passed forward till they had sometimes seen all those in whose company -they had issued from the streights in infancy, perish in the way, and -at last were overset by a cross breeze, without the toil of resistance, -or the anguish of expectation. But such as had often fallen against the -rocks of Pleasure, commonly subsided by sensible degrees, contended long -with the encroaching waters, and harassed themselves by labours that -scarce Hope herself could flatter with success. - -As I was looking upon the various fate of the multitude about me, I was -suddenly alarmed with an admonition from some unknown Power, "Gaze not -idly upon others when thou thyself art sinking. Whence is this thoughtless -tranquillity, when thou and they are equally endangered?" I looked, and -seeing the gulph of Intemperance before me, started and awaked. - - - - -No. 103. TUESDAY, MARCH 12, 1751. - - - _Scire volunt secreta domus atque inde timeri._ - JUV. Sat. iii, 113. - - They search the secrets of the house, and so - Are worshipp'd there, and fear'd for what they know. - DRYDEN. - - -Curiosity is one of the permanent and certain characteristicks of a -vigorous intellect. Every advance into knowledge opens new prospects, -and produces new incitements to further progress. All the attainments -possible in our present state are evidently inadequate to our capacities -of enjoyment; conquest serves no purpose but that of kindling ambition, -discovery has no effect but of raising expectation; the gratification of -one desire encourages another; and after all our labours, studies, and -inquiries, we are continually at the same distance from the completion of -our schemes, have still some wish importunate to be satisfied, and some -faculty restless and turbulent for want of its enjoyment. - -The desire of knowledge, though often animated by extrinsick and -adventitious motives, seems on many occasions to operate without -subordination to any other principle; we are eager to see and hear, -without intention of referring our observations to a farther end; we -climb a mountain for a prospect of the plain; we run to the strand in a -storm, that we may contemplate the agitation of the water; we range from -city to city, though we profess neither architecture nor fortification; -we cross seas only to view nature in nakedness, or magnificence in ruins; -we are equally allured by novelty of every kind, by a desert or a palace, -a cataract or a cavern, by every thing rude and every thing polished, -every thing great and every thing little; we do not see a thicket but -with some temptation to enter it, nor remark an insect flying before us -but with an inclination to pursue it. - -This passion is, perhaps, regularly heightened in proportion as the powers -of the mind are elevated and enlarged. Lucan therefore introduces Cæsar -speaking with dignity suitable to the grandeur of his designs and the -extent of his capacity, when he declares to the high-priest of Egypt, -that he has no desire equally powerful with that of finding the origin -of the Nile, and that he would quit all the projects of the civil war for -a sight of those fountains which had been so long concealed. And Homer, -when he would furnish the Sirens with a temptation, to which his hero, -renowned for wisdom, might yield without disgrace, makes them declare, -that none ever departed from them but with increase of knowledge. - -There is, indeed, scarce any kind of ideal acquirement which may not -be applied to some use, or which may not at least gratify pride with -occasional superiority; but whoever attends the motions of his own mind -will find, that upon the first appearance of an object, or the first -start of a question, his inclination to a nearer view, or more accurate -discussion, precedes all thoughts of profit, or of competition; and that -his desires take wing by instantaneous impulse, though their flight may -be invigorated, or their efforts renewed, by subsequent considerations. -The gratification of curiosity rather frees us from uneasiness than -confers pleasure; we are more pained by ignorance, than delighted -by instruction. Curiosity is the thirst of the soul; it inflames and -torments us, and makes us taste every thing with joy, however otherwise -insipid, by which it may be quenched. - -It is evident that the earliest searchers after knowledge must have -proposed knowledge only as their reward; and that science, though perhaps -the nursling of interest, was the daughter of curiosity: for who can -believe that they who first watched the course of the stars, foresaw -the use of their discoveries to the facilitation of commerce, or the -mensuration of time? They were delighted with the splendour of the -nocturnal skies, they found that the lights changed their places; what -they admired they were anxious to understand, and in time traced their -revolutions. - -There are, indeed, beings in the form of men, who appear satisfied with -their intellectual possessions, and seem to live without desire of -enlarging their conceptions; before whom the world passes without notice, -and who are equally unmoved by nature or by art. - -This negligence is sometimes only the temporary effect of a predominant -passion: a lover finds no inclination to travel any path, but that -which leads to the habitation of his mistress; a trader can spare -little attention to common occurrences, when his fortune is endangered -by a storm. It is frequently the consequence of a total immersion in -sensuality; corporeal pleasures may be indulged till the memory of every -other kind of happiness is obliterated; the mind, long habituated to -a lethargick and quiescent state, is unwilling to wake to the toil of -thinking; and though she may sometimes be disturbed by the obtrusion of -new ideas, shrinks back again to ignorance and rest. - -But, indeed, if we except them to whom the continual task of procuring the -supports of life, denies all opportunities of deviation from their own -narrow track, the number of such as live without the ardour of inquiry -is very small, though many content themselves with cheap amusements, and -waste their lives in researches of no importance. - -There is no snare more dangerous to busy and excursive minds, than -the cobwebs of petty inquisitiveness, which entangle them in trivial -employments and minute studies, and detain them in a middle state, -between the tediousness of total inactivity, and the fatigue of laborious -efforts, enchant them at once with ease and novelty, and vitiate them -with the luxury of learning. The necessity of doing something, and the -fear of undertaking much, sinks the historian to a genealogist, the -philosopher to a journalist of the weather, and the mathematician to -a constructor of dials. - -It is happy when those who cannot content themselves to be idle, nor -resolve to be industrious, are at least employed without injury to -others; but it seldom happens that we can contain ourselves long in -a neutral state, or forbear to sink into vice, when we are no longer -soaring towards virtue. - -Nugaculus was distinguished in his earlier years by an uncommon liveliness -of imagination, quickness of sagacity, and extent of knowledge. When he -entered into life, he applied himself with particular inquisitiveness to -examine the various motives of human actions, the complicated influence -of mingled affections, the different modifications of interest and -ambition, and the various causes of miscarriage and success both in -public and private affairs. - -Though his friends did not discover to what purpose all these observations -were collected, or how Nugaculus would much improve his virtue or his -fortune by an incessant attention to changes of countenance, bursts of -inconsideration, sallies of passion, and all the other casualties by -which he used to trace a character, yet they could not deny the study -of human nature to be worthy of a wise man; they therefore flattered his -vanity, applauded his discoveries, and listened with submissive modesty -to his lectures on the uncertainty of inclination, the weakness of -resolves, and the instability of temper, to his account of the various -motives which agitate the mind, and his ridicule of the modern dream of -a ruling passion. - -Such was the first incitement of Nugaculus to a close inspection into the -conduct of mankind. He had no interest in view, and therefore no design -of supplantation; he had no malevolence, and therefore detected faults -without any intention to expose them; but having once found the art of -engaging his attention upon others, he had no inclination to call it back -to himself, but has passed his time in keeping a watchful eye upon every -rising character, and lived upon a small estate without any thought of -increasing it. - -He is, by continual application, become a general master of secret -history, and can give an account of the intrigues, private marriages, -competitions, and stratagems, of half a century. He knows the mortgages -upon every man's estate, the terms upon which every spendthrift raises -his money, the real and reputed fortune of every lady, the jointure -stipulated by every contract, and the expectations of every family from -maiden aunts and childless acquaintances. He can relate the economy of -every house, knows how much one man's cellar is robbed by his butler, -and the land of another underlet by his steward; he can tell where the -manor-house is falling, though large sums are yearly paid for repairs; -and where the tenants are felling woods without the consent of the owner. - -To obtain all this intelligence he is inadvertently guilty of a thousand -acts of treachery. He sees no man's servant without draining him of -his trust; he enters no family without flattering the children into -discoveries; he is a perpetual spy upon the doors of his neighbours; and -knows by long experience, at whatever distance, the looks of a creditor, -a borrower, a lover, and a pimp. - -Nugaculus is not ill-natured, and therefore his industry has not hitherto -been very mischievous to others, or dangerous to himself: but since he -cannot enjoy this knowledge but by discovering it, and, if he had no -other motive to loquacity, is obliged to traffick like the chymists, and -purchase one secret with another, he is every day more hated as he is -more known; for he is considered by great numbers as one that has their -fame and their happiness in his power, and no man can much love him of -whom he lives in fear. - -Thus has an intention, innocent at first, if not laudable, the intention -of regulating his own behaviour by the experience of others, by an -accidental declension of minuteness, betrayed Nugaculus, not only to a -foolish, but vicious waste of a life which might have been honourably -passed in publick services, or domestick virtues. He has lost his original -intention, and given up his mind to employments that engross, but do not -improve it. - - - - -No. 104. SATURDAY, MARCH 16, 1751. - - - _----Nihil est, quod credere de se_ - _Non possit.----_ - JUV. Sat. iv. 70. - - None e'er rejects hyperboles of praise. - - -The apparent insufficiency of every individual to his own happiness or -safety, compels us to seek from one another assistance and support. The -necessity of joint efforts for the execution of any great or extensive -design, the variety of powers disseminated in the species, and the -proportion between the defects and excellencies of different persons, -demand an interchange of help, and communication of intelligence, and -by frequent reciprocations of beneficence unite mankind in society and -friendship. - -If it can be imagined that there ever was a time when the inhabitants of -any country were in a state of equality, without distinction of rank, -or peculiarity of possessions, it is reasonable to believe that every -man was then loved in proportion as he could contribute by his strength, -or his skill, to the supply of natural wants; there was then little -room for peevish dislike, or capricious favour; the affection admitted -into the heart was rather esteem than tenderness; and kindness was only -purchased by benefits. But when by force or policy, by wisdom or by -fortune, property and superiority were introduced and established, so -that many were condemned to labour for the support of a few, then they -whose possessions swelled above their wants, naturally laid out their -superfluities upon pleasure; and those who could not gain friendship by -necessary offices, endeavoured to promote their interest by luxurious -gratifications, and to create needs, which they might be courted to -supply. - -The desires of mankind are much more numerous than their attainments, and -the capacity of imagination much larger than actual enjoyment. Multitudes -are therefore unsatisfied with their allotment; and he that hopes to -improve his condition by the favour of another, and either finds no room -for the exertion of great qualities, or perceives himself excelled by his -rivals, will, by other expedients, endeavour to become agreeable where -he cannot be important, and learn, by degrees, to number the _art of -pleasing_ among the most useful studies, and most valuable acquisitions. - -This art, like others, is cultivated in proportion to its usefulness, and -will always flourish most where it is most rewarded; for this reason we -find it practised with great assiduity under absolute governments, where -honours and riches are in the hands of one man, whom all endeavour to -propitiate, and who soon becomes so much accustomed to compliance and -officiousness, as not easily to find, in the most delicate address, that -novelty which is necessary to procure attention. - -It is discovered by a very few experiments, that no man is much pleased -with a companion, who does not increase, in some respect, his fondness -of himself; and, therefore, he that wishes rather to be led forward to -prosperity by the gentle hand of favour, than to force his way by labour -and merit, must consider with more care how to display his patron's -excellencies than his own; that whenever he approaches, he may fill the -imagination with pleasing dreams, and chase away disgust and weariness by -a perpetual succession of delightful images. - -This may, indeed, sometimes be effected by turning the attention upon -advantages which are really possessed, or upon prospects which reason -spreads before hope; for whoever can deserve or require to be courted, -has generally, either from nature or from fortune, gifts, which he may -review with satisfaction, and of which, when he is artfully recalled to -the contemplation, he will seldom be displeased. - -But those who have once degraded their understanding to an application -only to the passions, and who have learned to derive hope from any other -sources than industry and virtue, seldom retain dignity and magnanimity -sufficient to defend them against the constant recurrence of temptation -to falsehood. He that is too desirous to be loved, will soon learn to -flatter, and when he has exhausted all the variations of honest praise, -and can delight no longer with the civility of truth, he will invent -new topicks of panegyrick, and break out into raptures at virtues and -beauties conferred by himself. - -The drudgeries of dependance would, indeed, be aggravated by hopelessness -of success, if no indulgence was allowed to adulation. He that will -obstinately confine his patron to hear only the commendations which he -deserves, will soon be forced to give way to others that regale him with -more compass of musick. The greatest human virtue bears no proportion -to human vanity. We always think ourselves better than we are, and are -generally desirous that others should think us still better than we -think ourselves. To praise us for actions or dispositions which deserve -praise, is not to confer a benefit, but to pay a tribute. We have always -pretensions to fame, which, in our own hearts, we know to be disputable, -and which we are desirous to strengthen by a new suffrage; we have always -hopes which we suspect to be fallacious, and of which we eagerly snatch -at every confirmation. - -It may, indeed, be proper to make the first approaches under the conduct -of truth, and to secure credit of future encomiums, by such praise as -may be ratified by the conscience; but the mind once habituated to the -lusciousness of eulogy, becomes, in a short time, nice and fastidious, -and, like a vitiated palate, is incessantly calling for higher -gratifications. - -It is scarcely credible to what degree discernment may be dazzled by the -mist of pride, and wisdom infatuated by the intoxication of flattery; -or how low the genius may descend by successive gradations of servility, -and how swiftly it may fall down the precipice of falsehood. No man can, -indeed, observe, without indignation, on what names, both of ancient and -modern times, the utmost exuberance of praise has been lavished, and by -what hands it has been bestowed. It has never yet been found, that the -tyrant, the plunderer, the oppressor, the most hateful of the hateful, -the most profligate of the profligate, have been denied any celebrations -which they were willing to purchase, or that wickedness and folly have -not found correspondent flatterers through all their subordinations, -except when they have been associated with avarice or poverty, and have -wanted either inclination or ability to hire a panegyrist. - -As there is no character so deformed as to fright away from it the -prostitutes of praise, there is no degree of encomiastick veneration -which pride has refused. The emperors of Rome suffered themselves to be -worshipped in their lives with altars and sacrifices; and, in an age more -enlightened, the terms peculiar to the praise and worship of the Supreme -Being, have been applied to wretches whom it was the reproach of humanity -to number among men; and whom nothing but riches or power hindered those -that read or wrote their deification, from hunting into the toils of -justice, as disturbers of the peace of nature. - -There are, indeed, many among the poetical flatterers, who must be -resigned to infamy without vindication, and whom we must confess to have -deserted the cause of virtue for pay; they have committed, against full -conviction, the crime of obliterating the distinctions between good and -evil, and, instead of opposing the encroachments of vice, have incited -her progress, and celebrated her conquests. But there is a lower class of -sycophants, whose understanding has not made them capable of equal guilt. -Every man of high rank is surrounded with numbers, who have no other rule -of thought or action, than his maxims, and his conduct; whom the honour -of being numbered among his acquaintance, reconciles to all his vices, -and all his absurdities; and who easily persuade themselves to esteem -him, by whose regard they consider themselves as distinguished and exalted. - -It is dangerous for mean minds to venture themselves within the sphere -of greatness. Stupidity is soon blinded by the splendour of wealth, and -cowardice is easily fettered in the shackles of dependance. To solicit -patronage, is, at least, in the event, to set virtue to sale. None can -be pleased without praise, and few can be praised without falsehood; -few can be assiduous without servility, and none can be servile without -corruption. - - - - -No. 105. TUESDAY, MARCH 19, 1751. - - - _----Animorum_ - _Impulsu, et cæcâ magnâque cupidine ducti._ - JUV. Sat. x. 350. - - Vain man runs headlong, to caprice resign'd; - Impell'd by passion, and with folly blind. - - -I was lately considering, among other objects of speculation, the new -attempt of an _universal register_, an office, in which every man -may lodge an account of his superfluities and wants, of whatever he -desires to purchase or to sell. My imagination soon presented to me the -latitude to which this design may be extended by integrity and industry, -and the advantages which may be justly hoped from a general mart of -intelligence, when once its reputation shall be so established, that -neither reproach nor fraud shall be feared from it: when an application -to it shall not be censured as the last resource of desperation, nor its -informations suspected as the fortuitous suggestions of men obliged not -to appear ignorant. A place where every exuberance may be discharged, -and every deficiency supplied; where every lawful passion may find -its gratifications, and every honest curiosity receive satisfaction; -where the stock of a nation, pecuniary and intellectual, may be brought -together, and where all conditions of humanity may hope to find relief, -pleasure, and accommodation; must equally deserve the attention of the -merchant and philosopher, of him who mingles in the tumult of business, -and him who only lives to amuse himself with the various employments -and pursuits of others. Nor will it be an uninstructing school to the -greatest masters of method and dispatch, if such multiplicity can be -preserved from embarrassment, and such tumult from inaccuracy. - -While I was concerting this splendid project, and filling my thoughts with -its regulation, its conveniences, its variety, and its consequences, I -sunk gradually into slumber; but the same images, though less distinct, -still continued to float upon my fancy. I perceived myself at the gate -of an immense edifice, where innumerable multitudes were passing without -confusion; every face on which I fixed my eyes, seemed settled in the -contemplation of some important purpose, and every foot was hastened by -eagerness and expectation. I followed the crowd without knowing whither -I should be drawn, and remained a while in the unpleasing state of an -idler, where all other beings were busy, giving place every moment to -those who had more importance in their looks. Ashamed to stand ignorant, -and afraid to ask questions, at last I saw a lady sweeping by me, whom, -by the quickness of her eyes, the agility of her steps, and a mixture of -levity and impatience, I knew to be my long-loved protectress, Curiosity. -"Great goddess," said I, "may thy votary be permitted to implore thy -favour; if thou hast been my directress from the first dawn of reason, -if I have followed thee through the maze of life with invariable -fidelity, if I have turned to every new call, and quitted at thy nod -one pursuit for another, if I have never stopped at the invitations of -fortune, nor forgot thy authority in the bowers of pleasure, inform me -now whither chance has conducted me." - -"Thou art now," replied the smiling power, "in the presence of Justice, -and of Truth, whom the father of gods and men has sent down to register -the demands and pretentions of mankind, that the world may at last be -reduced to order, and that none may complain hereafter of being doomed -to tasks for which they are unqualified, of possessing faculties for which -they cannot find employment, or virtues that languish unobserved for want -of opportunities to exert them, of being encumbered with superfluities -which they would willingly resign, or of wasting away in desires which -ought to be satisfied. Justice is now to examine every man's wishes, and -Truth is to record them; let us approach, and observe the progress of -this great transaction." - -She then moved forward, and Truth, who knew her among the most faithful of -her followers, beckoned her to advance, till we were placed near the seat -of Justice. The first who required the assistance of the office, came -forward with a slow pace, and tumour of dignity, and shaking a weighty -purse in his hand, demanded to be registered by Truth, as the Mæcenas of -the present age, the chief encourager of literary merit, to whom men of -learning and wit might apply in any exigence or distress with certainty -of succour. Justice very mildly inquired, whether he had calculated the -expense of such a declaration? whether he had been informed what number of -petitioners would swarm about him? whether he could distinguish idleness -and negligence from calamity, ostentation from knowledge, or vivacity -from wit? To these questions he seemed not well provided with a reply, -but repeated his desire to be recorded as a patron. Justice then offered -to register his proposal on these conditions, that he should never suffer -himself to be flattered; that he should never delay an audience when he -had nothing to do; and that he should never encourage followers without -intending to reward them. These terms were too hard to be accepted; -for what, said he, is the end of patronage, but the pleasure of reading -dedications, holding multitudes in suspense, and enjoying their hopes, -their fears, and their anxiety, flattering them to assiduity, and, at -last, dismissing them for impatience? Justice heard his confession, and -ordered his name to be posted upon the gate among cheats and robbers, and -publick nuisances, which all were by that notice warned to avoid. - -Another required to be made known as the discoverer of a new art of -education, by which languages and sciences might be taught to all -capacities, and all inclinations, without fear of punishment, pain -or confinement, loss of any part of the gay mein of ignorance, or any -obstruction of the necessary progress in dress, dancing, or cards. - -Justice and Truth did not trouble this great adept with many inquiries; -but finding his address awkward and his speech barbarous, ordered him to -be registered as a tall fellow who wanted employment, and might serve in -any post where the knowledge of reading and writing was not required. - -A man of very grave and philosophick aspect, required notice to be given -of his intention to set out, a certain day, on a submarine voyage, and -of his willingness to take in passengers for no more than double the -price at which they might sail above water. His desire was granted, and -he retired to a convenient stand, in expectation of filling his ship, and -growing rich in a short time by the secrecy, safety, and expedition of -the passage. - -Another desired to advertise the curious, that he had, for the advancement -of true knowledge, contrived an optical instrument, by which those who -laid out their industry on memorials of the changes of the wind, might -observe the direction of the weather-cocks on the hitherside of the lunar -world. - -Another wished to be known as the author of an invention, by which cities -or kingdoms might be made warm in winter by a single fire, a kettle, and -pipe. Another had a vehicle by which a man might bid defiance to floods, -and continue floating in an inundation, without any inconvenience, till -the water should subside. Justice considered these projects as of no -importance but to their authors, and therefore scarcely condescended to -examine them: but Truth refused to admit them into the register. - -Twenty different pretenders came in one hour to give notice of an -universal medicine, by which all diseases might be cured or prevented, -and life protracted beyond the age of Nestor. But Justice informed them, -that one universal medicine was sufficient, and she would delay the -notification till she saw who could longest preserve his own life. - -A thousand other claims and offers were exhibited and examined. I -remarked, among this mighty multitude, that, of intellectual advantages, -many had great exuberance, and few confessed any want; of every art there -were a hundred professors for a single pupil; but of other attainments, -such as riches, honours, and preferments, I found none that had too much, -but thousands and ten thousands that thought themselves entitled to a -larger dividend. - -It often happened, that old misers, and women married at the close of -life, advertised their want of children; nor was it uncommon for those -who had a numerous offspring, to give notice of a son or daughter to -be spared; but, though appearances promised well on both sides, the -bargain seldom succeeded; for they soon lost their inclination to adopted -children, and proclaimed their intentions to promote some scheme of -publick charity: a thousand proposals were immediately made, among which -they hesitated till death precluded the decision. - -As I stood looking on this scene of confusion, Truth condescended to ask -me, what was my business at her office? I was struck with the unexpected -question, and awaked by my efforts to answer it. - - -END OF VOL. II. - - -TALBOYS AND WHEELER. - - - -***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL.D., -IN NINE VOLUMES, VOLUME THE SECOND*** - - -******* This file should be named 43656-8.txt or 43656-8.zip ******* - - -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: -http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/3/6/5/43656 - - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at <a -href="http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></p> -<p>Title: The Works of Samuel Johnson, LL.D., in Nine Volumes, Volume the Second</p> -<p> The Rambler, Volume I</p> -<p>Author: Samuel Johnson</p> -<p>Release Date: September 6, 2013 [eBook #43656]</p> -<p>Language: English</p> -<p>Character set encoding: UTF-8</p> -<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL.D., IN NINE VOLUMES, VOLUME THE SECOND***</p> <p> </p> -<h3>E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram, David Garcia,<br /> - and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> - (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3> <p> </p> <hr class="full" /> <p> </p> @@ -24515,360 +24501,6 @@ END OF VOL. II. <p> </p> <p> </p> -<hr class="full" /> -<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL.D., IN NINE VOLUMES, VOLUME THE SECOND***</p> -<p>******* This file should be named 43656-h.txt or 43656-h.zip *******</p> -<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> -<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/3/6/5/43656">http://www.gutenberg.org/4/3/6/5/43656</a></p> -<p> -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed.</p> - -<p> -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.</p> - -<p>Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: -<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></p> - -<p>This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.</p> - +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 43656 ***</div> </body> </html> diff --git a/43656.txt b/43656.txt deleted file mode 100644 index ba187a0..0000000 --- a/43656.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,18788 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Works of Samuel Johnson, LL.D., in Nine -Volumes, Volume the Second, by Samuel Johnson - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - - - - -Title: The Works of Samuel Johnson, LL.D., in Nine Volumes, Volume the Second - The Rambler, Volume I - - -Author: Samuel Johnson - - - -Release Date: September 6, 2013 [eBook #43656] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON, -LL.D., IN NINE VOLUMES, VOLUME THE SECOND*** - - -E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram, David Garcia, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) - - - -Oxford English Classics. - -DR. JOHNSON'S WORKS. -THE RAMBLER. -VOL. I. - -Talboys and Wheeler, Printers, Oxford. - - -THE WORKS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL.D. -IN NINE VOLUMES. - -VOLUME THE SECOND. - -[Illustration: DOMINUS ILLUMINATIO MEA] - - - - - - - - -Oxford: -Published by Talboys and Wheeler; -and W. Pickering, London. -MDCCCXXV. - - - - -PREFATORY NOTICE - - -An attentive consideration of the period at which any work of moral -instruction has appeared, and of the admonitions appropriate to the state -of those times, is highly necessary for a correct estimate of the merits -of the writer. For to quote the judicious remarks of one of our earlier -Essayists[1], "there is a sort of craft attending vice and absurdity; -and when hunted out of society in one shape, they seldom want address -to reinsinuate themselves in another: hence the modes of licence vary -almost as often as those of dress, and consequently require continual -observation to detect and explode them anew." The days in which the -Rambler first undertook to reprove and admonish his country, may be -said to have well required a moralist of their own. For the modes of -fashionable life, and the marked distinction between the capital and -the country, which drew forth the satire, and presented scope for the -admonitions of the Spectator and the Tatler, were then fast giving place -to other follies, and to characters that had not hitherto subsisted. The -crowd of writers[2], whatever might be their individual merit, who offered -their labours to the public, between the close of the Spectator and the -appearance of the Rambler, had contributed, in a most decided manner, -towards the diffusion of a taste for literary information. It was no -longer a coterie of wits at Button's, or at Will's, who, engrossing all -acquaintance with Belles Lettres, pronounced with a haughty and exclusive -spirit on every production for the stage or the closet; but it was a -reading public to whom writers now began to make appeal for censure -or applause. That education which the present day beholds so widely -spread had then commenced its progress; and perhaps it is not too bold -to say, that Johnson almost foresaw the course that it would run. He saw -a public already prepared for weightier discussions than could have been -understood the century before. In addition to a more general education, -the improved intercourse between the remotest parts of the country and -the metropolis made all acquainted with the dissipation and manners, -which, during the publication of the Spectator, were hardly known beyond -the circle where they existed. The pages of that incomparable production -were therefore perused by general readers, as well for the gratification -of curiosity, as for the improvement of morals. The passing news of the -day, the tattle of the auction or the Mall, the amusing extravagances of -dress, and the idle fopperies of fashion, topics that excited merriment -rather than detestation, were those most judiciously selected to allure -a nation to read. Addison and Steele therefore in their age acted wisely; -their cotemporaries would have been driven[3] "by the sternness of the -Rambler's philosophy to more cheerful and airy companions." The pages -of the Tatler were enlivened by foreign and domestic politics, by the -current scandal of the town, and by easy critiques on the last new play; -by advertisements of "orangerie for beaux[4]," and by prescriptions for -the cure of love-sickness or the spleen. The Guardian uttered forth his -moral lessons from the wide and voracious mouth of an imaginary lion, -whose roarings were to have influence[5] "for the purifying of behaviour -and the bettering of manners." But for Johnson was reserved a different -task, and one for which his powers and the natural bent of his mind -were peculiarly fitted. He disdained, as derogatory from the dignity of -a teacher, to thus humour trifling minds, and to barter by idle conceits -for the reception of his precepts. His aim was not to amuse but to -instruct, not to ridicule the frivolities of fashion, but to lash the -enormities of guilt. He resolved to write a book in which nothing should -be flattered that men had agreed to flatter, and in which no tenderness -should be shown to public prejudice or to private folly[6]. In pursuance -of this deep and solemn purpose we accordingly find him imploring -assistance in his labours from that "Giver of all good things, without -whose help all labour is ineffectual, and without whose grace all wisdom -is folly[7]." - -The Rambler was published on Tuesday March 20, 1749-50, and appeared -without intermission every Tuesday and Saturday until March 14, 1752, -on which day it closed[8]. The Author was not exhausted nor weary; his -latter pages do not fall off; perhaps, without partiality, we may say, -that he evidently gathered strength as he proceeded in his work. But -prepared as the age had been by preceding writers, it was not enlightened -to an extent adequate to the universal reception of truths so abstract -and so spoken out[9]; it could not comprehend within its reach of sight -such bold and broad sketches of human nature. In the sententious and -didactic papers of the Rambler, where truth appears "towering and -majestic, unassisted and alone[10]," lighter readers missed with regret -the sportive variety of his predecessors. We can adduce perhaps no -stronger proof of Johnson's elevation above his times, than the fact -that the meagre, common-place, and jejune paper of Richardson, was the -only one that obtained an immediate popularity[11]. The sale of the Rambler -seldom exceeded five hundred; while it is on record that twenty thousand -Spectators were sometimes sold in a day[12]. But Johnson wrote not for -his own generation alone, but for posterity, and posterity will pay him -his meed of immortality. - -The Rambler, with some trivial exceptions, is the work of a single -and unaided author, who composed it during his performance of a task -which had fatigued "united academies and long successions of learned -compilers[13]." He wrote, as he pathetically describes himself, "under the -pressure of disease, obstructed by constitutional indolence, and when -much of his time was spent in provision for the day that was passing -over him[14]." The only contributions in aid of his work, all of which -he acknowledges in his concluding Rambler, were the following papers. - -In Number 10, the four billets were written by Miss Mulso, daughter -of Thomas Mulso, Esq. who came of an ancient family at Twywell, -Northamptonshire. She is better known to the public as Mrs. Chapone. The -above articles are said to have been her first literary productions[15]. - -For Number 30. Dr. Johnson was indebted to Miss Catherine Talbot, only -daughter of the Rev. Edward Talbot, Archdeacon of Berks, and Preacher at -the Rolls. She was provided for, by the liberal bequest of Archbishop -Secker, with whom she had chiefly resided; and her composition in -the Rambler, like all her other works, breathes a spirit of piety -characteristic of her exemplary patron and protector. - -Numbers 44 and 100 were contributed by Mrs. Elizabeth Carter, the justly -celebrated translator of Epictetus, whose eminence in literature was -only surpassed by her amiable deportment in the milder duties of domestic -life[16]. Richardson, the author of Clarissa, Pamela, &c. wrote Number 97, -to which allusion has already been made. The second letter, signed Amicus, -in Number 107, was from an unknown correspondent. - -The rest of the Rambler was produced by one mind, whose resources were -developed, but not exhausted, by the work. To give a history of its -progress; to record the praises with which it was at once greeted by the -philosophic reader[17]; the empty clamour which the light, the ignorant, -and envious raised against it; the editions through which it has passed; -the countries through which it has been circulated, and the effects which -it has produced on our national style, would be among the most interesting -of researches, but the detail would be incompatible with the limits of -a Preface. Every little particular connected with it has been again -and again canvassed with that admiration or hostility which only great -works can call forth. The very title has afforded ground for censure, -for licentious imitation[18], and for acrimonious abuse. "The Rambler," -says the sprightly Lady Montague, "is certainly a strong misnomer[19]: -he always plods in the beaten road of his predecessors, following the -Spectator (with the same pace a pack-horse would do a hunter) in the -style that is proper to lengthen a paper." A formal refutation of so -flippant a charge would equal in ludicrous absurdity the attack itself. -The passage is merely quoted in evidence of the literature of the -times. For if so lively and acute a writer could so far overlook the -design and plan of the Rambler, what could be expected from his less -cultivated readers? The Italians have rendered it by Il Genio errante, -and most unhappily by Il Vagabondo.[20] Its adoption was an instance of -our Author's lofty contempt of the class who could not understand his -meaning. "I sat down at night," he observed to Sir Joshua Reynolds, "upon -my bed side, and resolved that I would not sleep till I had fixed its -title. The Rambler seemed the best that occurred, and I took it." He was -then in no trifling mode of mind. He felt himself "a solitary wanderer in -the wild of life, without any direction or fixed point of view; a gloomy -gazer on a world to which he bore little relation.[21]" This description -of himself he gave under the oppressive remembrance of a particular -privation: but he long before most deeply felt the "bitterness of being." -He felt his own misery, and, thoroughly convinced that man was miserable, -he boldly announced his conviction. - -A belief has circulated, almost as widely as Johnson's writings, -of his hurried and slovenly manner of composition. He has been -represented by Boswell himself, as sending his papers to the press, -and never afterwards even perusing them. With regard to the Rambler, -this opinion is directly opposed to fact. The labour which he bestowed -on its revision, betokened the most anxious zeal for its utility.[22] -He almost _re-wrote_ it. A comparison of the original folio Rambler, -with the copies now in circulation, would prove the nearly literal -accuracy of this assertion. Mr. Chalmers, in his British Essayists, -and Dr. Drake in his Essays on the Rambler, have given specimens.[23] -It may perhaps be equally satisfactory to state that the alterations -exceeded six thousand. Wherever Johnson laboured, amendment and excellence -must have ensued. And on the Rambler no labour was misapplied; for its -usefulness is universal. There is scarcely a situation in life for the -regulation of which some right rule may not thence be drawn. It does -not glitter to the vulgar eye, but it is a deep mine, where, if we must -labour, yet our labours are rewarded with the richest ore. - -A varied knowledge of character is the first requisite for a teacher -of moral prudence.[24] This was among Johnson's most early attainments, -for his was not that mere "lip-wisdom which wants experience.[25]" He -was not the recluse scholar, unacquainted with the world and its ways, -but he could from actual survey describe, with equal fidelity, those who -sparkled in the highest order of society, and those who struggled with -distress in the lower walks of life. His study was peculiarly man: and -his comprehensive and generalizing mind led him to analyze the primary -elements of human nature, rather than nicely to pourtray the shades of -mixed character. - -Mrs. Piozzi's assignments have perhaps little better foundation in fact -than the sage conjectures of the Rumford club,[26] who fondly imagined -themselves to be the only _Ridicules_ in the world. "Not only every man," -observes the Rambler, "has in the mighty mass of the world great numbers -in the same condition with himself, to whom his mistakes and miscarriages, -escapes and expedients, would be of immediate and apparent use; but -there is such an uniformity in the state of man, considered apart from -adventitious and separable decorations and disguises, that there is -scarce any possibility of good or ill but is common to human kind." - -Whether his view of our condition on earth was too gloomy or not, may -be agitated as a question without any impeachment of his sincere desire -to correct our faults, and to soothe our sorrows. For although other -philosophers have deplored human weaknesses and errors, and other -satirists have derided human follies, yet few have sympathized with -the wretched and the guilty with the same warm-hearted benevolence as -Johnson. He was indeed himself, as he has described another, - - Officious, innocent, sincere, - Of every friendless name the friend.[27] - -His own temperament was morbidly melancholy, but his writings contain -the best antidotes against that pitiable affection. He ridicules it when -indulged on occasion of each chance and trivial annoyance; he scorns -it as "hypocrisy of misery," when assumed by those little-minded beings -who complain for the luxury of pity: and he proposes the most salutary -remedies for it, when a real and deeply-seated malady, in active and in -honorable enterprise.[28] Above all he ever presses upon his readers, -from a view of the transitory nature of mortal enjoyment, the wisdom of -resting their hopes on the fixed prospects of futurity. - -Rousseau has been termed "the apostle of affliction." But his -conviction of the emptiness of honours and of fame, and his contempt -of the accidental distinctions of riches and of rank, led him to place -all man's possible enjoyment, and to look for the only solace of his -inevitable wretchedness, in the instant indulgence of appetite; while -his genius unhappily enabled him to throw a seductive halo around the -merest gratifications of sense. - - Here the self-torturing sophist, wild Rousseau, - The apostle of affliction, he who threw - Enchantment over passion, and from woe - Wrung overwhelming eloquence, first drew - The breath that made him wretched; yet he knew - How to make madness beautiful, and cast - O'er erring deeds and words a heavenly hue - Of words, like sunbeams, dazzling as they past - The eyes which o'er them shed tears feelingly and fast. - - _Childe Harold, Canto 3, Stanza 77._ - -This description was drawn by a bard who, not prejudiced against the -lover of the New Heloise, still keenly saw the practical effects which his -philosophy wrought in the mass of society, and how it tended to debase our -moral and intellectual natures.[29] Byron well knew, and needed not to be -told, that Rousseau's sentimentality was but a highly polished instinct; -though, like the scornful and unpitying Democritus,[30] he would bitterly -smile amidst the tombs, where man's pride and pleasures were alike laid -desolate. But Johnson sought to alleviate the woes over which he wept; -and no one ever sunk in sensuality from a despondency produced by his -lamentations over human misery. In none of his varied writings has he -lured others from the paths of virtue, or smoothed the road of perdition, -or covered with flowers the thorns of guilt, or taught temptation sweeter -notes, softer blandishments, or stronger allurements.[31] He never -smiles, like Boileau, at vice, as if half pleased with the ludicrous -images it impresses on his fancy; nor, with Swift, does he mangle human -nature, and then scowl with a tyrant's exultation on the wounds he has -inflicted.[32] He bemoans our miseries with the tender pity of a Cowper, -who, in warning us of life's grovelling pursuits and empty joys, seeks, -by withdrawing us from their delusive dominion, to prepare us for -"another and a better world." - - * * * * * - -[Footnote 1: The Champion by Fielding. 1741. 12mo. vol. i. p. 258.] - -[Footnote 2: Dr. Drake, in his Essays on the Rambler, &c. enumerates -eighty-two periodical papers published during that period. For the -comparative state of female literature, see Dr. Johnson himself, in -Rambler 173.] - -[Footnote 3: Rambler, Number 208.] - -[Footnote 4: Tatler, Number 94.] - -[Footnote 5: Guardian, Numbers 98. 114. 124. 140.] - -[Footnote 6: Chalmers' Preface to the Idler; British Essayists, vol. -xxxiii.] - -[Footnote 7: Prayer on the Rambler.] - -[Footnote 8: See Boswell's Life of Dr. Johnson, vol. i. and Chalmers' -Preface to Rambler.] - -[Footnote 9: Precepts of morality, besides the natural corruption of our -tempers, are abstracted from ideas of sense.--ADDISON.] - -[Footnote 10: Rambler, Number 96.] - -[Footnote 11: This fact was communicated, on the authority of Mr. Payne, -(the original publisher of the Rambler,) by Mr. Nichols to Mr. Chalmers. - -See Dr. Drake's Literary Life of Dr. Johnson in his Essays on the Rambler, -&c. - -His Rambler, which is almost all essence of thought, unalloyed by those -baser ingredients which so commonly add to the quantity without adding to -the worth of human compositions, experienced at first a general coldness, -discouragement, and even censure and ridicule. Censura Literaria, -vol. viii. p. 361, first edition.] - -[Footnote 12: Addisoniana, 12mo. vol. ii. p. 52.] - -[Footnote 13: Plan of an English Dictionary.] - -[Footnote 14: Preface to the English Dictionary.] - -[Footnote 15: Chalmers' Prefaces to Rambler and Adventurer.] - -[Footnote 16: Boswell, vol. i. iii. and iv.] - -[Footnote 17: Student, vol. ii. number entitled Clio. 1750. Gentleman's -Magazine of the day. Mrs. Barbauld's Correspondence of Richardson. Dr. -Young was among the first and warmest admirers of the Rambler. See -Boswell, vol. i.] - -[Footnote 18: We allude to the infamous Rambler's Magazine, which, little -to the credit of the morality of the times, has lately been allowed to -spread anew its pestilential influence.] - -[Footnote 19: Works, 8vo. vol. iv. p. 259. See also the Edinburgh Review -for July, 1803.] - -[Footnote 20: Boswell's Life, vol. iii. and Chalmers on Rambler. Essayists, -vol. xix. See also Idler, No. 1. at the commencement.] - -[Footnote 21: In a letter to Mr. Thomas Warton, speaking of the death of -Dodsley's wife, and in allusion to the loss of his own, he concludes -with a quotation where pathos and resignation are blended, - - [Greek: Oimoi; ti d' oimoi? Thneta gar peponthamen]. BOSWELL, vol. i.] - -[Footnote 22: Chalmers, as above, and Dr. Drake.] - -[Footnote 23: Mr. Chalmers gives No. 180. of the Rambler, and Dr. Drake -some paragraphs from No. 185.] - -[Footnote 24: This opinion is maintained in the Rambler, No. 129. and in -Boswell's Life, vol. iii.] - -[Footnote 25: Sidney.] - -[Footnote 26: See her Anecdotes and Rambler, 188. note.] - -[Footnote 27: Stanzas on the death of Mr. Levet.] - -[Footnote 28: See his many letters on the subject to Mr. Boswell, -who had the misfortune to be hypochondriacal. See also Rambler, -186. Introduction.] - -[Footnote 29: Rousseau's utter sensuality is ever a theme for Mary -Woolstonecraft's declamation in her Rights of Woman.--_Fas est et ab -hoste doceri._] - -[Footnote 30: Salvator Rosa has made Democritus among the tombs the -subject of one of his solemn and heart-striking pictures. For an eloquent -description of it, see Lady Morgan's Life and Times of _Il famoso pittore -di cose morale_, vol. ii.] - -[Footnote 31: Rambler, No. 77.] - -[Footnote 32: _Ita feri ut se sentiat emori._] - - - - -CONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME. - - - NUMB. PAGE - - 1. Difficulty of the first address. - Practice of the epick poets. - Convenience of periodical performances. 1 - 2. The necessity and danger of looking into futurity. - Writers naturally sanguine. - Their hopes liable to disappointment. 6 - 3. An allegory on criticism. 11 - 4. The modern form of romances preferable to the ancient. - The necessity of characters morally good. 15 - 5. A meditation on the Spring. 20 - 6. Happiness not local. 25 - 7. Retirement natural to a great mind. Its religious use. 30 - 8. The thoughts to be brought under regulation; as they - respect the past, present, and future. 35 - 9. The fondness of every man for his profession. - The gradual improvement of manufactures. 40 - 10. Four billets, with their answers. - Remarks on masquerades. 44 - 11. The folly of anger. The misery of a peevish old age. 50 - 12. The history of a young woman that came to London for - a service. 55 - 13. The duty of secrecy. - The invalidity of all excuses for betraying secrets. 61 - 14. The difference between an author's writings and his - conversation. 66 - 15. The folly of cards. - A letter from a lady that has lost her money. 72 - 16. The dangers and miseries of a literary eminence. 78 - 17. The frequent contemplation of death necessary to moderate - the passions. 83 - 18. The unhappiness of marriage caused by irregular motives - of choice. 87 - 19. The danger of ranging from one study to another. - The importance of the early choice of a profession. 93 - 20. The folly and inconvenience of affectation. 99 - 21. The anxieties of literature not less than those of - publick stations. The inequality of authors' writings. 104 - 22. An allegory on wit and learning. 109 - 23. The contrariety of criticism. The vanity of objection. - An author obliged to depend upon his own judgment. 113 - 24. The necessity of attending to the duties of common life. - The natural character not to be forsaken. 117 - 25. Rashness preferable to cowardice. - Enterprize not to be repressed. 122 - 26. The mischief of extravagance, and misery of dependence. 127 - 27. An author's treatment from six patrons. 132 - 28. The various arts of self-delusion. 136 - 29. The folly of anticipating misfortunes. 142 - 30. The observance of Sunday recommended; an allegory. 146 - 31. The defence of a known mistake highly culpable. 150 - 32. The vanity of stoicism. The necessity of patience. 156 - 33. An allegorical history of Rest and Labour. 161 - 34. The uneasiness and disgust of female cowardice. 165 - 35. A marriage of prudence without affection. 171 - 36. The reasons why pastorals delight. 176 - 37. The true principles of pastoral poetry. 180 - 38. The advantages of mediocrity; an eastern fable. 185 - 39. The unhappiness of women whether single or married. 190 - 40. The difficulty of giving advice without offending. 194 - 41. The advantages of memory. 199 - 42. The misery of a modish lady in solitude. 204 - 43. The inconveniences of precipitation and confidence. 208 - 44. Religion and Superstition; a vision. 213 - 45. The causes of disagreement in marriage. 218 - 46. The mischiefs of rural faction. 222 - 47. The proper means of regulating sorrow. 227 - 48. The miseries of an infirm constitution. 231 - 49. A disquisition upon the value of fame. 235 - 50. A virtuous old age always reverenced. 240 - 51. The employments of a housewife in the country. 244 - 52. The contemplation of the calamities of others, - a remedy for grief. 250 - 53. The folly and misery of a spendthrift. 254 - 54. A death-bed the true school of wisdom. - The effects of death upon the survivors. 258 - 55. The gay widow's impatience of the growth of her daughter. - The history of Miss May-pole. 263 - 56. The necessity of complaisance. - The Rambler's grief for offending his correspondents. 268 - 57. Sententious rules of frugality. 273 - 58. The desire of wealth moderated by philosophy. 277 - 59. An account of Suspirius, the human screech-owl. 281 - 60. The dignity and usefulness of biography. 285 - 61. A Londoner's visit to the country. 290 - 62. A young lady's impatience to see London. 295 - 63. Inconstancy not always a weakness. 300 - 64. The requisites to true friendship. 304 - 65. Obidah and the hermit; an eastern story. 309 - 66. Passion not to be eradicated. - The views of women ill directed. 313 - 67. The garden of Hope; a dream. 317 - 68. Every man chiefly happy or miserable at home. - The opinion of servants not to be despised. 322 - 69. The miseries and prejudice of old age. 326 - 70. Different men virtuous in different degrees. - The vicious not always abandoned. 330 - 71. No man believes that his own life will be short. 334 - 72. The necessity of good humour. 338 - 73. The lingering expectation of an heir. 342 - 74. Peevishness equally wretched and offensive. - The character of Tetrica. 347 - 75. The world never known but by a change of fortune. - The history of Melissa. 352 - 76. The arts by which bad men are reconciled to themselves. 357 - 77. The learned seldom despised but when they deserve - contempt. 361 - 78. The power of novelty. - Mortality too familiar to raise apprehensions. 366 - 79. A suspicious man justly suspected. 370 - 80. Variety necessary to happiness; a winter scene. 375 - 81. The great rule of action. Debts of justice to be - distinguished from debts of charity. 369 - 82. The virtuoso's account of his rarities. 383 - 83. The virtuoso's curiosity justified. 388 - 84. A young lady's impatience of controul. 393 - 85. The mischiefs of total idleness. 398 - 86. The danger of succeeding a great author: an introduction - to a criticism on Milton's versification. 402 - 87. The reasons why advice is generally ineffectual. 408 - 88. A criticism on Milton's versification. - Elisions dangerous in English poetry. 412 - 89. The luxury of vain imagination. 417 - 90. The pauses in English poetry adjusted. 421 - 91. The conduct of Patronage; an allegory. 426 - 92. The accommodation of sound to the sense, often chimerical. 431 - 93. The prejudices and caprices of criticism. 438 - 94. An inquiry how far Milton has accommodated the sound to - the sense. 442 - 95. The history of Pertinax the sceptick. 449 - 96. Truth, Falsehood, and Fiction; an allegory. 453 - 97. Advice to unmarried ladies. 458 - 98. The necessity of cultivating politeness. 464 - 99. The pleasures of private friendship. - The necessity of similar dispositions. 468 - 100. Modish pleasures. 472 - 101. A proper audience necessary to a wit. 476 - 102. The voyage of life. 481 - 103. The prevalence of curiosity. The character of Nugaculus. 486 - 104. The original of flattery. The meanness of venal praise. 491 - 105. The universal register; a dream. 495 - - - - -THE RAMBLER. - - - - -No. 1. TUESDAY, MARCH 20, 1749-50. - - - _Cur tamen hoc potius libeat decurrere campo,_ - _Per quem magnus equos Auruncae flexit alumnus,_ - _Si vacat, et placidi rationem admittitis, edam._ - JUV. Sat. i. 19. - - Why to expatiate in this beaten field, - Why arms, oft us'd in vain, I mean to wield; - If time permit, and candour will attend, - Some satisfaction this essay may lend. - ELPHINSTON. - - -The difficulty of the first address on any new occasion, is felt by every -man in his transactions with the world, and confessed by the settled -and regular forms of salutation which necessity has introduced into -all languages. Judgment was wearied with the perplexity of being forced -upon choice, where there was no motive to preference; and it was found -convenient that some easy method of introduction should be established, -which, if it wanted the allurement of novelty, might enjoy the security -of prescription. - -Perhaps few authors have presented themselves before the publick, -without wishing that such ceremonial modes of entrance had been anciently -established, as might have freed them from those dangers which the desire -of pleasing is certain to produce, and precluded the vain expedients -of softening censure by apologies, or rousing attention by abruptness. - -The epick writers have found the proemial part of the poem such an -addition to their undertaking, that they have almost unanimously adopted -the first lines of Homer, and the reader needs only be informed of the -subject, to know in what manner the poem will begin. - -But this solemn repetition is hitherto the peculiar distinction of -heroick poetry; it has never been legally extended to the lower orders -of literature, but seems to be considered as an hereditary privilege, -to be enjoyed only by those who claim it from their alliance to the -genius of Homer. - -The rules which the injudicious use of this prerogative suggested to -Horace, may indeed be applied to the direction of candidates for inferior -fame; it may be proper for all to remember, that they ought not to raise -expectation which it is not in their power to satisfy, and that it is -more pleasing to see smoke brightening into flame, than flame sinking -into smoke. - -This precept has been long received, both from regard to the authority -of Horace, and its conformity to the general opinion of the world; yet -there have been always some, that thought it no deviation from modesty -to recommend their own labours, and imagined themselves entitled by -indisputable merit to an exemption from general restraints, and to -elevations not allowed in common life. They perhaps believed, that when, -like Thucydides, they bequeathed to mankind [Greek: ktema es aei], _an -estate for ever_, it was an additional favour to inform them of its value. - -It may, indeed, be no less dangerous to claim, on certain occasions, -too little than too much. There is something captivating in spirit and -intrepidity, to which we often yield, as to a resistless power; nor -can he reasonably expect the confidence of others, who too apparently -distrusts himself. - -Plutarch, in his enumeration of the various occasions on which a man may -without just offence proclaim his own excellencies, has omitted the case -of an author entering the world; unless it may be comprehended under -his general position, that a man may lawfully praise himself for those -qualities which cannot be known but from his own mouth; as when he is -among strangers, and can have no opportunity of an actual exertion of his -powers. That the case of an author is parallel will scarcely be granted, -because he necessarily discovers the degree of his merit to his judges -when he appears at his trial. But it should be remembered, that unless -his judges are inclined to favour him, they will hardly be persuaded to -hear the cause. - -In love, the state which fills the heart with a degree of solicitude -next that of an author, it has been held a maxim, that success is most -easily obtained by indirect and unperceived approaches; he who too soon -professes himself a lover, raises obstacles to his own wishes, and those -whom disappointments have taught experience, endeavour to conceal their -passion till they believe their mistress wishes for the discovery. The -same method, if it were practicable to writers, would save many complaints -of the severity of the age, and the caprices of criticism. If a man could -glide imperceptibly into the favour of the publick, and only proclaim his -pretensions to literary honours when he is sure of not being rejected, -he might commence author with better hopes, as his failings might escape -contempt, though he shall never attain much regard. - -But since the world supposes every man that writes ambitious of applause, -as some ladies have taught themselves to believe that every man intends -love, who expresses civility, the miscarriage of any endeavour in learning -raises an unbounded contempt, indulged by most minds, without scruple, -as an honest triumph over unjust claims and exorbitant expectations. The -artifices of those who put themselves in this hazardous state, have -therefore been multiplied in proportion to their fear as well as their -ambition; and are to be looked upon with more indulgence, as they are -incited at once by the two great movers of the human mind--the desire -of good, and the fear of evil. For who can wonder that, allured on one -side, and frightened on the other, some should endeavour to gain favour -by bribing the judge with an appearance of respect which they do not -feel, to excite compassion by confessing weakness of which they are -not convinced; and others to attract regard by a show of openness and -magnanimity, by a daring profession of their own deserts, and a publick -challenge of honours and rewards? - -The ostentatious and haughty display of themselves has been the usual -refuge of diurnal writers, in vindication of whose practice it may be -said, that what it wants in prudence is supplied by sincerity, and who -at least may plead, that if their boasts deceive any into the perusal -of their performances, they defraud them of but little time. - - _----Quid enim? Concurritur--horae_ - _Momento cita mors venit, aut victoria laeta._ - HOR. lib. i. Sat. 7. - - The battle join, and in a moment's flight, - Death, or a joyful conquest, ends the fight. - FRANCIS. - -The question concerning the merit of the day is soon decided, and we -are not condemned to toil through half a folio, to be convinced that -the writer has broke his promise. - -It is one among many reasons for which I purpose to endeavour the -entertainment of my countrymen by a short essay on Tuesday and Saturday, -that I hope not much to tire those whom I shall not happen to please; and -if I am not commended for the beauty of my works, to be at least pardoned -for their brevity. But whether my expectations are most fixed on pardon -or praise, I think it not necessary to discover; for having accurately -weighed the reasons for arrogance and submission, I find them so nearly -equiponderant, that my impatience to try the event of my first performance -will not suffer me to attend any longer the trepidations of the balance. - -There are, indeed, many conveniencies almost peculiar to this method -of publication, which may naturally flatter the author, whether he be -confident or timorous. The man to whom the extent of his knowledge, or -the sprightliness of his imagination, has, in his own opinion, already -secured the praises of the world, willingly takes that way of displaying -his abilities which will soonest give him an opportunity of hearing the -voice of fame; it heightens his alacrity to think in how many places he -shall hear what he is now writing, read with ecstasies to-morrow. He will -often please himself with reflecting, that the author of a large treatise -must proceed with anxiety, lest, before the completion of his work, the -attention of the publick may have changed its object; but that he who -is confined to no single topick may follow the national taste through -all its variations, and catch the _aura popularis_, the gale of favour, -from what point soever it shall blow. - -Nor is the prospect less likely to ease the doubts of the cautious, and -the terrours of the fearful; for to such the shortness of every single -paper is a powerful encouragement. He that questions his abilities to -arrange the dissimilar parts of an extensive plan, or fears to be lost -in a complicated system, may yet hope to adjust a few pages without -perplexity; and if, when he turns over the repositories of his memory, -he finds his collection too small for a volume, he may yet have enough to -furnish out an essay. He that would fear to lay out too much time upon -an experiment of which he knows not the event, persuades himself that -a few days will show him what he is to expect from his learning and his -genius. If he thinks his own judgment not sufficiently enlightened, he -may, by attending the remarks which every paper will produce, rectify his -opinions. If he should with too little premeditation encumber himself by -an unwieldy subject, he can quit it without confessing his ignorance, -and pass to other topicks less dangerous, or more tractable. And if -he finds, with all his industry, and all his artifices, that he cannot -deserve regard, or cannot attain it, he may let the design fall at once, -and, without injury to others or himself, retire to amusements of greater -pleasure, or to studies of better prospect. - - - - -No. 2. SATURDAY, MARCH 24, 1749-50. - - - _Stare loco nescit, pereunt vestigia mille_ - _Ante fugam, absentemque ferit gratis ungula campum._ - STATIUS. - - Th' impatient courser pants in every vein, - And pawing seems to beat the distant plain; - Hills, vales, and floods appear already crost, - And ere he starts, a thousand steps are lost. - POPE. - - -That the mind of man is never satisfied with the objects immediately -before it, but is always breaking away from the present moment, and -losing itself in schemes of future felicity; and that we forget the -proper use of the time, now in our power, to provide for the enjoyment -of that which, perhaps, may never be granted us, has been frequently -remarked; and as this practice is a commodious subject of raillery to -the gay, and of declamation to the serious, it has been ridiculed with -all the pleasantry of wit, and exaggerated with all the amplifications -of rhetorick. Every instance, by which its absurdity might appear most -flagrant, has been studiously collected; it has been marked with every -epithet of contempt, and all the tropes and figures have been called -forth against it. - -Censure is willingly indulged, because it always implies some superiority: -men please themselves with imagining that they have made a deeper search, -or wider survey, than others, and detected faults and follies, which -escape vulgar observation. And the pleasure of wantoning in common -topicks is so tempting to a writer, that he cannot easily resign it; -a train of sentiments generally received enables him to shine without -labour, and to conquer without a contest. It is so easy to laugh at the -folly of him who lives only in idea, refuses immediate ease for distant -pleasures, and, instead of enjoying the blessings of life, lets life -glide away in preparations to enjoy them; it affords such opportunities -of triumphant exultation, to exemplify the uncertainty of the human state, -to rouse mortals from their dream, and inform them of the silent celerity -of time, that we may believe authors willing rather to transmit than -examine so advantageous a principle, and more inclined to pursue a track -so smooth and so flowery, than attentively to consider whether it leads -to truth. - -This quality of looking-forward into futurity seems the unavoidable -condition of a being, whose motions are gradual, and whose life is -progressive: as his powers are limited, he must use means for the -attainment of his ends, and intend first what he performs last; as by -continual advances from his first stage of existence, he is perpetually -varying the horizon of his prospects, he must always discover new motives -of action, new excitements of fear, and allurements of desire. - -The end therefore which at present calls forth our efforts, will be found, -when it is once gained, to be only one of the means to some remoter -end. The natural flights of the human mind are not from pleasure to -pleasure, but from hope to hope. - -He that directs his steps to a certain point, must frequently turn -his eyes to that place which he strives to reach; he that undergoes the -fatigue of labour, must solace his weariness with the contemplation of its -reward. In agriculture, one of the most simple and necessary employments, -no man turns up the ground but because he thinks of the harvest, that -harvest which blights may intercept, which inundations may sweep away, -or which death or calamity may hinder him from reaping. - -Yet, as few maxims are widely received or long retained but for some -conformity with truth and nature, it must be confessed, that this caution -against keeping our view too intent upon remote advantages is not without -its propriety or usefulness, though it may have been recited with too -much levity, or enforced with too little distinction; for, not to speak -of that vehemence of desire which presses through right and wrong to its -gratification, or that anxious inquietude which is justly chargeable -with distrust of heaven, subjects too solemn for my present purpose; -it frequently happens that by indulging early the raptures of success, -we forget the measures necessary to secure it, and suffer the imagination -to riot in the fruition of some possible good, till the time of obtaining -it has slipped away. - -There would, however, be few enterprises of great labour or hazard -undertaken, if we had not the power of magnifying the advantages which -we persuade ourselves to expect from them. When the knight of La Mancha -gravely recounts to his companion the adventures by which he is to -signalize himself in such a manner that he shall be summoned to the -support of empires, solicited to accept the heiress of the crown which -he has preserved, have honours and riches to scatter about him, and an -island to bestow on his worthy squire, very few readers, amidst their -mirth or pity, can deny that they have admitted visions of the same -kind; though they have not, perhaps, expected events equally strange, -or by means equally inadequate. When we pity him, we reflect on our own -disappointments; and when we laugh, our hearts inform us that he is -not more ridiculous than ourselves, except that he tells what we have -only thought. - -The understanding of a man naturally sanguine, may, indeed, be easily -vitiated by luxurious indulgence of hope, however necessary to the -production of every thing great or excellent, as some plants are -destroyed by too open exposure to that sun which gives life and beauty -to the vegetable world. - -Perhaps no class of the human species requires more to be cautioned -against this anticipation of happiness, than those that aspire to the -name of authors. A man of lively fancy no sooner finds a hint moving -in his mind, than he makes momentaneous excursions to the press, and -to the world, and, with a little encouragement from flattery, pushes -forward into future ages, and prognosticates the honours to be paid him, -when envy is extinct, and faction forgotten, and those, whom partiality -now suffers to obscure him, shall have given way to the triflers of as -short duration as themselves. - -Those who have proceeded so far as to appeal to the tribunal of succeeding -times are not likely to be cured of their infatuation, but all endeavours -ought to be used for the prevention of a disease, for which, when it has -attained its height, perhaps no remedy will be found in the gardens of -philosophy, however she may boast her physick of the mind, her catharticks -of vice, or lenitives of passion. - -I shall, therefore, while I am yet but lightly touched with the symptoms -of the writer's malady, endeavour to fortify myself against the infection, -not without some weak hope, that my preservatives may extend their -virtues to others, whose employment exposes them to the same danger: - - _Laudis amore tumes? Sunt certa piacula, quae te_ - _Ter pure lecto poterunt recreare libello._ - HOR. Ep. i. v. 36. - - Is fame your passion? Wisdom's powerful charm, - If thrice read over, shall its force disarm. - FRANCIS. - -It is the sage advice of Epictetus, that a man should accustom himself -often to think of what is most shocking and terrible, that by such -reflections he may be preserved from too ardent wishes for seeming good, -and from too much dejection in real evil. - -There is nothing more dreadful to an author than neglect, compared with -which reproach, hatred, and opposition, are names of happiness; yet this -worst, this meanest fate, every one who dares to write has reason to fear. - - _I nunc, et versus tecum meditare canoros._ - HOR. lib. ii. v. 76. - - Go now, and meditate thy tuneful lays. - ELPHINSTON. - -It may not be unfit for him who makes a new entrance into the lettered -world, so far to suspect his own powers, as to believe that he possibly -may deserve neglect; that nature may not have qualified him much -to enlarge or embellish knowledge, nor sent him forth entitled by -indisputable superiority to regulate the conduct of the rest of mankind -that, though the world must be granted to be yet in ignorance, he is not -destined to dispel the cloud, nor to shine out as one of the luminaries -of life. For this suspicion, every catalogue of a library will furnish -sufficient reason; as he will find it crowded with names of men, who, -though now forgotten, were once no less enterprising or confident than -himself, equally pleased with their own productions, equally caressed by -their patrons, and flattered by their friends. - -But though it should happen that an author is capable of excelling, yet -his merit may pass without notice, huddled in the variety of things, and -thrown into the general miscellany of life. He that endeavours after fame -by writing, solicits the regard of a multitude fluctuating in pleasures, -or immersed in business, without time for intellectual amusements; he -appeals to judges prepossessed by passions, or corrupted by prejudices, -which preclude their approbation of any new performance. Some are -too indolent to read any thing, till its reputation is established; -others too envious to promote that fame which gives them pain by its -increase. What is new is opposed, because most are unwilling to be -taught; and what is known is rejected, because it is not sufficiently -considered that men more frequently require to be reminded than informed. -The learned are afraid to declare their opinion early, lest they should -put their reputation in hazard; the ignorant always imagine themselves -giving some proof of delicacy, when they refuse to be pleased: and he -that finds his way to reputation through all these obstructions, must -acknowledge that he is indebted to other causes besides his industry, -his learning, or his wit. - - - - -No. 3. TUESDAY, MARCH 27, 1750. - - - VIRTUS, _repulsae nescia sordidae,_ - _Intaminatis fulget honoribus,_ - _Nec sumit aut pouit secures_ - _Arbitrio popularis aurae._ - HOR. lib. iii. Od. II. 18. - - Undisappointed in designs, - With native honours virtue shines; - Nor takes up pow'r, nor lays it down, - As giddy rabbles smile or frown. - ELPHINSTON. - - -The task of an author is, either to teach what is not known, or to -recommend known truths by his manner of adorning them; either to let -new light in upon the mind, and open new scenes to the prospect, or -to vary the dress and situation of common objects, so as to give them -fresh grace and more powerful attractions, to spread such flowers over -the regions through which the intellect has already made its progress, -as may tempt it to return, and take a second view of things hastily -passed over, or negligently regarded. - -Either of these labours is very difficult, because, that they may not -be fruitless, men must not only be persuaded of their errours, but -reconciled to their guide; they must not only confess their ignorance, -but, what is still less pleasing, must allow that he from whom they are -to learn is more knowing than themselves. - -It might be imagined that such an employment was in itself sufficiently -irksome and hazardous; that none would be found so malevolent as wantonly -to add weight to the stone of Sisyphus; and that few endeavours would be -used to obstruct those advances to reputation, which must be made at such -an expense of time and thought, with so great hazard in the miscarriage, -and with so little advantage from the success. - -Yet there is a certain race of men, that either imagine it their duty, -or make it their amusement, to hinder the reception of every work of -learning or genius, who stand as sentinels in the avenues of fame, and -value themselves upon giving Ignorance and Envy the first notice of -a prey. - -To these men, who distinguish themselves by the appellation of Criticks, -it is necessary for a new author to find some means of recommendation. -It is probable, that the most malignant of these persecutors might be -somewhat softened, and prevailed on, for a short time, to remit their -fury. Having for this purpose considered many expedients, I find in the -records of ancient times, that Argus was lulled by musick, and Cerberus -quieted with a sop; and am, therefore, inclined to believe that modern -criticks, who, if they have not the eyes, have the watchfulness of Argus, -and can bark as loud as Cerberus, though, perhaps, they cannot bite with -equal force, might be subdued by methods of the same kind. I have heard -how some have been pacified with claret and a supper, and others laid -asleep by the soft notes of flattery. - -Though the nature of my undertaking gives me sufficient reason to dread -the united attacks of this virulent generation, yet I have not hitherto -persuaded myself to take any measures for flight or treaty. For I am in -doubt whether they can act against me by lawful authority, and suspect -that they have presumed upon a forged commission, styled themselves the -ministers of Criticism, without any authentick evidence of delegation, and -uttered their own determinations as the decrees of a higher judicature. - -Criticism, from whom they derive their claim to decide the fate of -writers, was the eldest daughter of Labour and of Truth: she was at -her birth committed to the care of Justice, and brought up by her -in the palace of Wisdom. Being soon distinguished by the celestials, -for her uncommon qualities, she was appointed the governess of Fancy, -and empowered to beat time to the chorus of the Muses, when they sung -before the throne of Jupiter. - -When the Muses condescended to visit this lower world, they came -accompanied by Criticism, to whom, upon her descent from her native -regions, Justice gave a sceptre, to be carried aloft in her right hand, -one end of which was tinctured with ambrosia, and inwreathed with -a golden foliage of amaranths and bays; the other end was encircled -with cypress and poppies, and dipped in the waters of oblivion. In her -left hand she bore an unextinguishable torch, manufactured by Labour, -and lighted by Truth, of which it was the particular quality immediately -to shew every thing in its true form, however it might be disguised to -common eyes. Whatever Art could complicate, or Folly could confound, was, -upon the first gleam of the torch of Truth, exhibited in its distinct -parts and original simplicity; it darted through the labyrinths of -sophistry, and shewed at once all the absurdities to which they served -for refuge; it pierced through the robes, which Rhetoric often sold to -Falsehood, and detected the disproportion of parts, which artificial -veils had been contrived to cover. - -Thus furnished for the execution of her office, Criticism came down to -survey the performances of those who professed themselves the votaries -of the Muses. Whatever was brought before her, she beheld by the steady -light of the torch of Truth, and when her examination had convinced her -that the laws of just writing had been observed, she touched it with -the amaranthine end of the sceptre, and consigned it over to immortality. - -But it more frequently happened, that in the works, which required -her inspection, there was some imposture attempted; that false colours -were laboriously laid; that some secret inequality was found between -the words and sentiments, or some dissimilitude of the ideas and the -original objects; that incongruities were linked together, or that -some parts were of no use but to enlarge the appearance of the whole, -without contributing to its beauty, solidity, or usefulness. - -Wherever such discoveries were made, and they were made whenever these -faults were committed, Criticism refused the touch which conferred the -sanction of immortality, and, when the errours were frequent and gross, -reversed the sceptre, and let drops of lethe distil from the poppies -and cypress, a fatal mildew, which immediately began to waste the work -away, till it was at last totally destroyed. - -There were some compositions brought to the test, in which, when the -strongest light was thrown upon them, their beauties and faults appeared -so equally mingled, that Criticism stood with her sceptre poised in her -hand, in doubt whether to shed lethe, or ambrosia, upon them. These at -last increased to so great a number, that she was weary of attending -such doubtful claims, and, for fear of using improperly the sceptre of -Justice, referred the cause to be considered by Time. - -The proceedings of Time, though very dilatory, were, some few caprices -excepted, conformable to Justice: and many who thought themselves secure -by a short forbearance, have sunk under his scythe, as they were posting -down with their volumes in triumph to futurity. It was observable that -some were destroyed by little and little, and others crushed for ever -by a single blow. - -Criticism having long kept her eye fixed steadily upon Time, was at last -so well satisfied with his conduct, that she withdrew from the earth -with her patroness Astrea, and left Prejudice and False Taste to ravage -at large as the associates of Fraud and Mischief; contenting herself -thenceforth to shed her influence from afar upon some select minds, -fitted for its reception by learning and by virtue. - -Before her departure she broke her sceptre, of which the shivers, that -formed the ambrosial end, were caught up by Flattery, and those that had -been infected with the waters of lethe were, with equal haste, seized -by Malevolence. The followers of Flattery, to whom she distributed -her part of the sceptre, neither had nor desired light, but touched -indiscriminately whatever Power or Interest happened to exhibit. The -companions of Malevolence were supplied by the Furies with a torch, -which had this quality peculiar to infernal lustre, that its light fell -only upon faults. - - No light, but rather darkness visible - Serv'd only to discover sights of woe. - MILTON. - -With these fragments of authority, the slaves of Flattery and Malevolence -marched out, at the command of their mistresses, to confer immortality, -or condemn to oblivion. But the sceptre had now lost its power; -and Time passes his sentence at leisure, without any regard to their -determinations. - - - - -No. 4. SATURDAY, MARCH 31, 1750. - - - _Simul et jucunda et idonea dicere vitae._ - HOR. A. P. 334. - - And join both profit and delight in one. - CREECH. - - -The works of fiction, with which the present generation seems more -particularly delighted, are such as exhibit life in its true state, -diversified only by accidents that daily happen in the world, and -influenced by passions and qualities which are really to be found in -conversing with mankind. - -This kind of writing may be termed not improperly the comedy of romance, -and is to be conducted nearly by the rules of comick poetry. Its province -is to bring about natural events by easy means, and to keep up curiosity -without the help of wonder: it is therefore precluded from the machines -and expedients of the heroic romance, and can neither employ giants -to snatch away a lady from the nuptial rites, nor knights to bring her -back from captivity; it can neither bewilder its personages in deserts, -nor lodge them in imaginary castles. - -I remember a remark made by Scaliger upon Pontanus, that all his writings -are filled with the same images; and that if you take from him his -lilies and his roses, his satyrs and his dryads, he will have nothing -left that can be called poetry. In like manner almost all the fictions -of the last age will vanish, if you deprive them of a hermit and a wood, -a battle and a shipwreck. - -Why this wild strain of imagination found reception so long in polite -and learned ages, it is not easy to conceive; but we cannot wonder that -while readers could be procured, the authors were willing to continue it; -for when a man had by practice gained some fluency of language, he had -no further care than to retire to his closet, let loose his invention, -and heat his mind with incredibilities; a book was thus produced without -fear of criticism, without the toil of study, without knowledge of nature, -or acquaintance with life. - -The task of our present writers is very different; it requires, together -with that learning which is to be gained from books, that experience which -can never be attained by solitary diligence, but must arise from general -converse and accurate observation of the living world. Their performances -have, as Horace expresses it, _plus oneris quantum veniae minus_, little -indulgence, and therefore more difficulty. They are engaged in portraits -of which every one knows the original, and can detect any deviation -from exactness of resemblance. Other writings are safe, except from the -malice of learning, but these are in danger from every common reader; -as the slipper ill executed was censured by a shoemaker who happened to -stop in his way at the Venus of Apelles. - -But the fear of not being approved as just copiers of human manners, -is not the most important concern that an author of this sort ought -to have before him. These books are written chiefly to the young, the -ignorant, and the idle, to whom they serve as lectures of conduct, and -introductions into life. They are the entertainment of minds unfurnished -with ideas, and therefore easily susceptible of impressions; not fixed -by principles, and therefore easily following the current of fancy; not -informed by experience, and consequently open to every false suggestion -and partial account. - -That the highest degree of reverence should be paid to youth, and that -nothing indecent should be suffered to approach their eyes or ears, -are precepts extorted by sense and virtue from an ancient writer, by -no means eminent for chastity of thought. The same kind, though not -the same degree, of caution, is required in every thing which is laid -before them, to secure them from unjust prejudices, perverse opinions, -and incongruous combinations of images. - -In the romances formerly written, every transaction and sentiment was so -remote from all that passes among men, that the reader was in very little -danger of making any applications to himself; the virtues and crimes -were equally beyond his sphere of activity; and he amused himself with -heroes and with traitors, deliverers and persecutors, as with beings of -another species, whose actions were regulated upon motives of their own, -and who had neither faults nor excellencies in common with himself. - -But when an adventurer is levelled with the rest of the world, and acts -in such scenes of the universal drama, as may be the lot of any other man; -young spectators fix their eyes upon him with closer attention, and hope, -by observing his behaviour and success, to regulate their own practices, -when they shall be engaged in the like part. - -For this reason these familiar histories may perhaps be made of greater -use than the solemnities of professed morality, and convey the knowledge -of vice and virtue with more efficacy than axioms and definitions. But if -the power of example is so great as to take possession of the memory by a -kind of violence, and produce effects almost without the intervention of -the will, care ought to be taken, that, when the choice is unrestrained, -the best examples only should be exhibited; and that which is likely -to operate so strongly, should not be mischievous or uncertain in its -effects. - -The chief advantage which these fictions have over real life is, that -their authors are at liberty, though not to invent, yet to select objects, -and to cull from the mass of mankind, those individuals upon which the -attention ought most to be employed; as a diamond, though it cannot be -made, may be polished by art, and placed in such a situation, as to -display that lustre which before was buried among common stones. - -It is justly considered as the greatest excellency of art, to imitate -nature; but it is necessary to distinguish those parts of nature, -which are most proper for imitation: greater care is still required in -representing life, which is so often discoloured by passion, or deformed -by wickedness. If the world be promiscuously described, I cannot see -of what use it can be to read the account; or why it may not be as safe -to turn the eye immediately upon mankind as upon a mirrour which shews -all that presents itself without discrimination. - -It is therefore not a sufficient vindication of a character, that it is -drawn as it appears; for many characters ought never to be drawn: nor -of a narrative, that the train of events is agreeable to observation and -experience; for that observation which is called knowledge of the world, -will be found much more frequently to make men cunning than good. The -purpose of these writings is surely not only to shew mankind, but to -provide that they may be seen hereafter with less hazard; to teach the -means of avoiding the snares which are laid by Treachery for Innocence, -without infusing any wish for that superiority with which the betrayer -flatters his vanity; to give the power of counteracting fraud, without -the temptation to practise it; to initiate youth by mock encounters in -the art of necessary defence, and to increase prudence without impairing -virtue. - -Many writers, for the sake of following nature, so mingle good and bad -qualities in their principal personages, that they are both equally -conspicuous; and as we accompany them through their adventures with -delight, and are led by degrees to interest ourselves in their favour, -we lose the abhorrence of their faults, because they do not hinder our -pleasure, or, perhaps, regard them with some kindness, for being united -with so much merit. - -There have been men indeed splendidly wicked, whose endowments threw a -brightness on their crimes, and whom scarce any villany made perfectly -detestable, because they never could be wholly divested of their -excellencies; but such have been in all ages the great corrupters of -the world, and their resemblance ought no more to be preserved, than -the art of murdering without pain. - -Some have advanced, without due attention to the consequences of -this notion, that certain virtues have their correspondent faults, -and therefore that to exhibit either apart is to deviate from -probability. Thus men are observed by Swift to be "grateful in the same -degree as they are resentful." This principle, with others of the same -kind, supposes man to act from a brute impulse, and pursue a certain -degree of inclination, without any choice of the object; for, otherwise, -though it should be allowed that gratitude and resentment arise from -the same constitution of the passions, it follows not that they will be -equally indulged when reason is consulted; yet, unless that consequence -be admitted, this sagacious maxim becomes an empty sound, without any -relation to practice or to life. - -Nor is it evident, that even the first motions to these effects are -always in the same proportion. For pride, which produces quickness of -resentment, will obstruct gratitude, by unwillingness to admit that -inferiority which obligation implies; and it is very unlikely that he -who cannot think he receives a favour, will acknowledge or repay it. -It is of the utmost importance to mankind, that positions of this tendency -should be laid open and confuted; for while men consider good and evil -as springing from the same root, they will spare the one for the sake of -the other, and in judging, if not of others at least of themselves, will -be apt to estimate their virtues by their vices. To this fatal errour all -those will contribute, who confound the colours of right and wrong, and, -instead of helping to settle their boundaries, mix them with so much art, -that no common mind is able to disunite them. - -In narratives where historical veracity has no place, I cannot discover -why there should not be exhibited the most perfect idea of virtue; of -virtue not angelical, nor above probability, for what we cannot credit, -we shall never imitate, but the highest and purest that humanity can -reach, which, exercised in such trials as the various revolutions of -things shall bring upon it, may, by conquering some calamities, and -enduring others, teach us what we may hope, and what we can perform. Vice, -for vice is necessary to be shewn, should always disgust; nor should -the graces of gaiety, or the dignity of courage, be so united with it, -as to reconcile it to the mind. Wherever it appears, it should raise -hatred by the malignity of its practices, and contempt by the meanness -of its stratagems: for while it is supported by either parts or spirit, -it will be seldom heartily abhorred. The Roman tyrant was content to -be hated, if he was but feared; and there are thousands of the readers -of romances willing to be thought wicked, if they may be allowed to -be wits. It is therefore to be steadily inculcated, that virtue is the -highest proof of understanding, and the only solid basis of greatness; -and that vice is the natural consequence of narrow thoughts; that it -begins in mistake, and ends in ignominy[33]. - -[Footnote 33: This excellent paper was occasioned by the popularity of -Roderick Random, and Tom Jones, which appeared about this time, and have -been the models of that species of romance, now known by the more common -name of _Novel_.--C.] - - - - -No. 5. TUESDAY, APRIL 3, 1750. - - - _Et nunc omnis ager, nunc omnis parturit arbos:_ - _Nunc frondent silvae: nunc formosissimus annus._ - VIRG. Ec. iii. v. 56. - - Now ev'ry field, now ev'ry tree is green; - Now genial Nature's fairest face is seen. - ELPHINSTON. - - -Every man is sufficiently discontented with some circumstances of his -present state, to suffer his imagination to range more or less in quest -of future happiness, and to fix upon some point of time, in which, by -the removal of the inconvenience which now perplexes him, or acquisition -of the advantage which he at present wants, he shall find the condition -of his life very much improved. - -When this time, which is too often expected with great impatience, -at last arrives, it generally comes without the blessing for which it -was desired; but we solace ourselves with some new prospect, and press -forward again with equal eagerness. - -It is lucky for a man, in whom this temper prevails, when he turns his -hopes upon things wholly out of his own power; since he forbears then -to precipitate his affairs, for the sake of the great event that is to -complete his felicity, and waits for the blissful hour with less neglect -of the measures necessary to be taken in the mean time. - -I have long known a person of this temper, who indulged his dream of -happiness with less hurt to himself than such chimerical wishes commonly -produce, and adjusted his scheme with such address, that his hopes were -in full bloom three parts of the year, and in the other part never -wholly blasted. Many, perhaps, would be desirous of learning by what -means he procured to himself such a cheap and lasting satisfaction. It -was gained by a constant practice of referring the removal of all his -uneasiness to the coming of the next spring; if his health was impaired, -the spring would restore it; if what he wanted was at a high price, -it would fall its value in the spring. - -The spring indeed did often come without any of these effects, but he -was always certain that the next would be more propitious; nor was ever -convinced, that the present spring would fail him before the middle of -summer; for he always talked of the spring as coming till it was past, -and when it was once past, every one agreed with him that it was coming. - -By long converse with this man, I am, perhaps, brought to feel immoderate -pleasure in the contemplation of this delightful season; but I have -the satisfaction of finding many whom it can be no shame to resemble, -infected with the same enthusiasm; for there is, I believe, scarce any -poet of eminence, who has not left some testimony of his fondness for the -flowers, the zephyrs, and the warblers of the spring. Nor has the most -luxuriant imagination been able to describe the serenity and happiness -of the golden age, otherwise than by giving a perpetual spring, as the -highest reward of uncorrupted innocence. - -There is, indeed, something inexpressibly pleasing in the annual -renovation of the world, and the new display of the treasures of -nature. The cold and darkness of winter, with the naked deformity of -every object on which we turn our eyes, make us rejoice at the succeeding -season, as well for what we have escaped as for what we may enjoy; -and every budding flower, which a warm situation brings early to our -view, is considered by us as a messenger to notify the approach of more -joyous days. - -The spring affords to a mind, so free from the disturbance of cares or -passions as to be vacant to calm amusements, almost every thing that -our present state makes us capable of enjoying. The variegated verdure -of the fields and woods, the succession of grateful odours, the voice -of pleasure pouring out its notes on every side, with the gladness -apparently conceived by every animal, from the growth of his food, and -the clemency of the weather, throw over the whole earth an air of gaiety, -significantly expressed by the smile of nature. - -Yet there are men to whom these scenes are able to give no delight, -and who hurry away from all the varieties of rural beauty, to lose their -hours and divert their thoughts by cards or assemblies, a tavern dinner, -or the prattle of the day. - -It may be laid down as a position which will seldom deceive, that when -a man cannot bear his own company, there is something wrong. He must -fly from himself, either because he feels a tediousness in life from the -equipoise of an empty mind, which, having no tendency to one motion more -than another, but as it is impelled by some external power, must always -have recourse to foreign objects; or he must be afraid of the intrusion -of some unpleasing ideas, and perhaps is struggling to escape from the -remembrance of a loss, the fear of a calamity, or some other thought of -greater horrour. - -Those whom sorrow incapacitates to enjoy the pleasures of contemplation, -may properly apply to such diversions, provided they are innocent, as -lay strong hold on the attention; and those, whom fear of any future -affliction chains down to misery, must endeavour to obviate the danger. - -My considerations shall, on this occasion, be turned on such as -are burthensome to themselves merely because they want subjects for -reflection, and to whom the volume of nature is thrown open without -affording them pleasure or instruction, because they never learned to -read the characters. - -A French author has advanced this seeming paradox, that _very few men -know how to take a walk_; and, indeed, it is true, that few know how to -take a walk with a prospect of any other pleasure, than the same company -would have afforded them at home. - -There are animals that borrow their colour from the neighbouring body, -and consequently vary their hue as they happen to change their place. -In like manner it ought to be the endeavour of every man to derive his -reflections from the objects about him; for it is to no purpose that -he alters his position, if his attention continues fixed to the same -point. The mind should be kept open to the access of every new idea, -and so far disengaged from the predominance of particular thoughts, -as easily to accommodate itself to occasional entertainment. - -A man that has formed this habit of turning every new object to his -entertainment, finds in the productions of nature an inexhaustible stock -of materials upon which he can employ himself, without any temptations to -envy or malevolence; faults, perhaps, seldom totally avoided by those, -whose judgment is much exercised upon the works of art. He has always -a certain prospect of discovering new reasons for adoring the sovereign -Author of the universe, and probable hopes of making some discovery of -benefit to others, or of profit to himself. There is no doubt but many -vegetables and animals have qualities that might be of great use, to the -knowledge of which there is not required much force of penetration, or -fatigue of study, but only frequent experiments, and close attention. -What is said by the chemists of their darling mercury, is, perhaps, -true of every body through the whole creation, that if a thousand lives -should be spent upon it, all its properties would not be found out. - -Mankind must necessarily be diversified by various tastes, since life -affords and requires such multiplicity of employments, and a nation of -naturalists is neither to be hoped, nor desired; but it is surely not -improper to point out a fresh amusement to those who languish in health, -and repine in plenty, for want of some source of diversion that may -be less easily exhausted, and to inform the multitudes of both sexes, -who are burdened with every new day, that there are many shows which -they have not seen. - -He that enlarges his curiosity after the works of nature, demonstrably -multiplies the inlets to happiness; and, therefore, the younger part -of my readers, to whom I dedicate this vernal speculation, must excuse -me for calling upon them, to make use at once of the spring of the year, -and the spring of life; to acquire, while their minds may be yet impressed -with new images, a love of innocent pleasures, and an ardour for useful -knowledge; and to remember, that a blighted spring makes a barren year, -and that the vernal flowers, however beautiful and gay, are only intended -by nature as preparatives to autumnal fruits. - - - - -No. 6. SATURDAY, APRIL 7, 1750. - - - _Strenua nos exercet inertia, navibus atque_ - _Quadrigis petimus bene vicere: quod petis, hic est;_ - _Est Ulubris, animus si te non deficit aequus._ - HOR. Ep. xi. lib. i. - - Active in indolence, abroad we roam - In quest of happiness which dwells at home: - With vain pursuits fatigu'd, at length you'll find, - No place excludes it from an equal mind. - ELPHINSTON. - - -That man should never suffer his happiness to depend upon external -circumstances, is one of the chief precepts of the Stoical philosophy; a -precept, indeed, which that lofty sect has extended beyond the condition -of human life, and in which some of them seem to have comprised an -utter exclusion of all corporal pain and pleasure from the regard or -attention of a wise man. - -Such _sapientia insaniens_, as Horace calls the doctrine of another sect, -such extravagance of philosophy, can want neither authority nor argument -for its confutation; it is overthrown by the experience of every hour, -and the powers of nature rise up against it. But we may very properly -inquire, how near to this exalted state it is in our power to approach, -how far we can exempt ourselves from outward influences, and secure to -our minds a state of tranquillity: for, though the boast of absolute -independence is ridiculous and vain, yet a mean flexibility to every -impulse, and a patient submission to the tyranny of casual troubles, -is below the dignity of that mind, which, however depraved or weakened, -boasts its derivation from a celestial original, and hopes for an union -with infinite goodness, and unvariable felicity. - - _Ni vitiis pejora fovens_ - _Proprium deserat ortum._ - - Unless the soul, to vice a thrall, - Desert her own original. - -The necessity of erecting ourselves to some degree of intellectual -dignity, and of preserving resources of pleasure, which may not be -wholly at the mercy of accident, is never more apparent than when we turn -our eyes upon those whom fortune has let loose to their own conduct; -who, not being chained down by their condition to a regular and stated -allotment of their hours, are obliged to find themselves business or -diversion, and having nothing within that can entertain or employ them, -are compelled to try all the arts of destroying time. - -The numberless expedients practised by this class of mortals to alleviate -the burthen of life, are not less shameful, nor, perhaps, much less -pitiable, than those to which a trader on the edge of bankruptcy -is reduced. I have seen melancholy overspread a whole family at the -disappointment of a party for cards; and when, after the proposal of a -thousand schemes, and the dispatch of the footman upon a hundred messages, -they have submitted, with gloomy resignation, to the misfortune of passing -one evening in conversation with each other; on a sudden, such are the -revolutions of the world, an unexpected visitor has brought them relief, -acceptable as provision to a starving city, and enabled them to hold -out till the next day. - -The general remedy of those, who are uneasy without knowing the cause, -is change of place; they are willing to imagine that their pain is -the consequence of some local inconvenience, and endeavour to fly -from it, as children from their shadows; always hoping for some more -satisfactory delight from every new scene, and always returning home -with disappointment and complaints. - -Who can look upon this kind of infatuation, without reflecting on those -that suffer under the dreadful symptom of canine madness, termed by -physicians the _dread of water_? These miserable wretches, unable to -drink, though burning with thirst, are sometimes known to try various -contortions, or inclinations of the body, flattering themselves that -they can swallow in one posture that liquor which they find in another -to repel their lips. - -Yet such folly is not peculiar to the thoughtless or ignorant, but -sometimes seizes those minds which seem most exempted from it, by the -variety of attainments, quickness of penetration, or severity of judgment; -and, indeed, the pride of wit and knowledge is often mortified by -finding that they confer no security against the common errours, which -mislead the weakest and meanest of mankind. - -These reflections arose in my mind upon the remembrance of a passage -in Cowley's preface to his poems, where, however exalted by genius, -and enlarged by study, he informs us of a scheme of happiness to which -the imagination of a girl upon the loss of her first lover could have -scarcely given way; but which he seems to have indulged, till he had -totally forgotten its absurdity, and would probably have put in execution, -had he been hindered only by his reason. - -"My desire," says he, "has been for some years past, though the execution -has been accidentally diverted, and does still vehemently continue, to -retire myself to some of our American plantations, not to seek for gold, -or enrich myself with the traffick of those parts, which is the end of -most men that travel thither; but to forsake this world for ever, with all -the vanities and vexations of it, and to bury myself there in some obscure -retreat, but not without the consolation of letters and philosophy." - -Such was the chimerical provision which Cowley had made in his own mind, -for the quiet of his remaining life, and which he seems to recommend -to posterity, since there is no other reason for disclosing it. Surely -no stronger instance can be given of a persuasion that content was -the inhabitant of particular regions, and that a man might set sail -with a fair wind, and leave behind him all his cares, incumbrances, -and calamities. - -If he travelled so far with no other purpose than to _bury himself -in some obscure retreat_, he might have found, in his own country, -innumerable coverts sufficiently dark to have concealed the genius of -Cowley; for whatever might be his opinion of the importunity with which -he might be summoned back into publick life, a short experience would -have convinced him, that privation is easier than acquisition, and that -it would require little continuance to free himself from the intrusion -of the world. There is pride enough in the human heart to prevent much -desire of acquaintance with a man, by whom we are sure to be neglected, -however his reputation for science or virtue may excite our curiosity -or esteem; so that the lover of retirement needs not be afraid lest the -respect of strangers should overwhelm him with visits. Even those to whom -he has formerly been known, will very patiently support his absence when -they have tried a little to live without him, and found new diversions -for those moments which his company contributed to exhilarate. - -It was, perhaps, ordained by Providence, to hinder us from tyrannizing -over one another, that no individual should be of such importance, as to -cause, by his retirement or death, any chasm in the world. And Cowley had -conversed to little purpose with mankind, if he had never remarked, how -soon the useful friend, the gay companion, and the favoured lover, when -once they are removed from before the sight, give way to the succession -of new objects. - -The privacy, therefore, of his hermitage might have been safe enough -from violation, though he had chosen it within the limits of his native -island; he might have found here preservatives against the _vanities_ -and _vexations_ of the world, not less efficacious than those which -the woods or fields of America could afford him: but having once his -mind imbittered with disgust, he conceived it impossible to be far -enough from the cause of his uneasiness; and was posting away with the -expedition of a coward, who, for want of venturing to look behind him, -thinks the enemy perpetually at his heels. - -When he was interrupted by company, or fatigued with business, he -so strongly imaged to himself the happiness of leisure and retreat, -that he determined to enjoy them for the future without interruption, -and to exclude for ever all that could deprive him of his darling -satisfactions. He forgot, in the vehemence of desire, that solitude and -quiet owe their pleasures to those miseries, which he was so studious -to obviate: for such are the vicissitudes of the world, through all -its parts, that day and night, labour and rest, hurry and retirement, -endear each other; such are the changes that keep the mind in action; -we desire, we pursue, we obtain, we are satiated; we desire something -else, and begin a new pursuit. - -If he had proceeded in his project, and fixed his habitation in the most -delightful part of the new world, it may be doubted, whether his distance -from the _vanities_ of life, would have enabled him to keep away the -_vexations_. It is common for a man, who feels pain, to fancy that he -could bear it better in any other part. Cowley having known the troubles -and perplexities of a particular condition, readily persuaded himself -that nothing worse was to be found, and that every alteration would bring -some improvement: he never suspected that the cause of his unhappiness -was within, that his own passions were not sufficiently regulated, and -that he was harassed by his own impatience, which could never be without -something to awaken it, would accompany him over the sea, and find its -way to his American elysium. He would, upon the trial, have been soon -convinced, that the fountain of content must spring up in the mind: and -that he who has so little knowledge of human nature, as to seek happiness -by changing any thing but his own dispositions, will waste his life in -fruitless efforts, and multiply the griefs which he purposes to remove[34]. - -[Footnote 34: See Dr. Johnson's Life of Cowley.] - - - - -No. 7. TUESDAY, APRIL 10, 1750. - - - _O qui perpetua mundum ratione gubernas,_ - _Terrarum coelique sator!----_ - _Disjice terrenae nebulas et pondera molis,_ - _Atque tuo splendore mica! Tu namque serenum,_ - _Tu requies tranquilla piis. Te cernere, finis,_ - _Principium, vector, dux, semila, terminus idem._ - BOETHIUS, lib. iii. Metr. 9. - - O Thou, whose pow'r o'er moving worlds presides, - Whose voice created, and whose wisdom guides, - On darkling man in pure effulgence shine, - And cheer the clouded mind with light divine. - 'Tis thine alone to calm the pious breast - With silent confidence and holy rest: - From thee, great God, we spring, to thee we tend, - Path, motive, guide, original, and end. - JOHNSON. - - -The love of Retirement has, in all ages, adhered closely to those minds, -which have been most enlarged by knowledge, or elevated by genius. Those -who have enjoyed every thing generally supposed to confer happiness, -have been forced to seek it in the shades of privacy. Though they -possessed both power and riches, and were, therefore, surrounded by men -who considered it as their chief interest to remove from them every thing -that might offend their ease, or interrupt their pleasure, they have soon -felt the languors of satiety, and found themselves unable to pursue the -race of life without frequent respirations of intermediate solitude. - -To produce this disposition, nothing appears requisite but a quick -sensibility, and active imagination; for, though not devoted to virtue, -or science, the man, whose faculties enable him to make ready comparisons -of the present with the past, will find such a constant recurrence of the -same pleasures and troubles, the same expectations and disappointments, -that he will gladly snatch an hour of retreat, to let his thoughts -expatiate at large, and seek for that variety in his own ideas, which -the objects of sense cannot afford him. - -Nor will greatness, or abundance, exempt him from the importunities of -this desire, since, if he is born to think, he cannot restrain himself -from a thousand inquiries and speculations, which he must pursue by his -own reason, and which the splendour of his condition can only hinder: -for those who are most exalted above dependance or controul, are yet -condemned to pay so large a tribute of their time to custom, ceremony, -and popularity, that, according to the Greek proverb, no man in the -house is more a slave than the master. - -When a king asked Euclid, the mathematician, whether he could not -explain his art to him in a more compendious manner? he was answered, -that there was no royal way to geometry. Other things may be seized by -might, or purchased with money, but knowledge is to be gained only by -study, and study to be prosecuted only in retirement. - -These are some of the motives which have had power to sequester kings and -heroes from the crowds that soothed them with flatteries, or inspirited -them with acclamations; but their efficacy seems confined to the higher -mind, and to operate little upon the common classes of mankind, to whose -conceptions the present assemblage of things is adequate, and who seldom -range beyond those entertainments and vexations, which solicit their -attention by pressing on their senses. - -But there is an universal reason for some stated intervals of solitude, -which the institutions of the church call upon me now especially to -mention; a reason which extends as wide as moral duty, or the hopes of -divine favour in a future state; and which ought to influence all ranks -of life, and all degrees of intellect; since none can imagine themselves -not comprehended in its obligation, but such as determine to set their -Maker at defiance by obstinate wickedness, or whose enthusiastick security -of his approbation places them above external ordinances, and all human -means of improvement. - -The great task of him who conducts his life by the precepts of religion, -is to make the future predominate over the present, to impress upon his -mind so strong a sense of the importance of obedience to the divine will, -of the value of the reward promised to virtue, and the terrours of the -punishment denounced against crimes, as may overbear all the temptations -which temporal hope or fear can bring in his way, and enable him to -bid equal defiance to joy and sorrow, to turn away at one time from -the allurements of ambition, and push forward at another against the -threats of calamity. - -It is not without reason that the apostle represents our passage through -this stage of our existence by images drawn from the alarms and solicitude -of a military life; for we are placed in such a state, that almost every -thing about us conspires against our chief interest. We are in danger -from whatever can get possession of our thoughts; all that can excite -in us either pain or pleasure, has a tendency to obstruct the way that -leads to happiness, and either to turn us aside, or retard our progress. - -Our senses, our appetites, and our passions, are our lawful and faithful -guides, in most things that relate solely to this life; and, therefore, -by the hourly necessity of consulting them, we gradually sink into an -implicit submission, and habitual confidence. Every act of compliance -with their motions facilitates a second compliance, every new step -towards depravity is made with less reluctance than the former, and thus -the descent to life merely sensual is perpetually accelerated. - -The senses have not only that advantage over conscience, which things -necessary must always have over things chosen, but they have likewise a -kind of prescription in their favour. We feared pain much earlier than -we apprehended guilt, and were delighted with the sensations of pleasure, -before we had capacities to be charmed with the beauty of rectitude. To -this power, thus early established, and incessantly increasing, it -must be remembered that almost every man has, in some part of his life, -added new strength by a voluntary or negligent subjection of himself; -for who is there that has not instigated his appetites by indulgence, -or suffered them, by an unresisting neutrality, to enlarge their -dominion, and multiply their demands? - -From the necessity of dispossessing the sensitive faculties of the -influence which they must naturally gain by this pre-occupation of -the soul, arises that conflict between opposite desires in the first -endeavours after a religious life; which, however enthusiastically it may -have been described, or however contemptuously ridiculed, will naturally -be felt in some degree, though varied without end, by different tempers -of mind, and innumerable circumstances of health or condition, greater -or less fervour, more or fewer temptations to relapse. - -From the perpetual necessity of consulting the animal faculties, in our -provision for the present life, arises the difficulty of withstanding -their impulses, even in cases where they ought to be of no weight; for -the motions of sense are instantaneous, its objects strike unsought, -we are accustomed to follow its directions, and therefore often submit -to the sentence without examining the authority of the judge. - -Thus it appears, upon a philosophical estimate, that, supposing the mind, -at any certain time, in an equipois between the pleasures of this life, -and the hopes of futurity, present objects falling more frequently -into the scale, would in time preponderate, and that our regard for an -invisible state would grow every moment weaker, till at last it would -lose all its activity, and become absolutely without effect. - -To prevent this dreadful event, the balance is put into our own hands, -and we have power to transfer the weight to either side. The motives to -a life of holiness are infinite, not less than the favour or anger of -Omnipotence, not less than eternity of happiness or misery. But these can -only influence our conduct as they gain our attention, which the business -or diversions of the world are always calling off by contrary attractions. - -The great art therefore of piety, and the end for which all the rites -of religion seem to be instituted, is the perpetual renovation of -the motives to virtue, by a voluntary employment of our mind in the -contemplation of its excellence, its importance, and its necessity, which, -in proportion as they are more frequently and more willingly revolved, -gain a more forcible and permanent influence, till in time they become -the reigning ideas, the standing principles of action, and the test by -which every thing proposed to the judgment is rejected or approved. - -To facilitate this change of our affections, it is necessary that we -weaken the temptations of the world, by retiring at certain seasons from -it; for its influence, arising only from its presence, is much lessened -when it becomes the object of solitary meditation. A constant residence -amidst noise and pleasure, inevitably obliterates the impressions of -piety, and a frequent abstraction of ourselves into a state, where this -life, like the next, operates only upon the reason, will reinstate -religion in its just authority, even without those irradiations from -above, the hope of which I have no intention to withdraw from the sincere -and the diligent. - -This is that conquest of the world and of ourselves, which has been -always considered as the perfection of human nature; and this is only -to be obtained by fervent prayer, steady resolutions, and frequent -retirement from folly and vanity, from the cares of avarice, and the -joys of intemperance, from the lulling sounds of deceitful flattery, -and the tempting sight of prosperous wickedness. - - - - -No. 8. SATURDAY, APRIL 14, 1750. - - - _----Patitur poenas peccandi sola voluntas;_ - _Nam scelus intra se tacitum qui cogitat ullum,_ - _Facti crimen habet._ - JUV. Sat. xiii. 208. - - For he that but conceives a crime in thought, - Contracts the danger of an actual fault. - CREECH. - - -If the most active and industrious of mankind was able, at the close of -life, to recollect distinctly his past moments, and distribute them in a -regular account, according to the manner in which they have been spent, -it is scarcely to be imagined how few would be marked out to the mind, -by any permanent or visible effects, how small a proportion his real -action would bear to his seeming possibilities of action, how many chasms -he would find of wide and continued vacuity, and how many interstitial -spaces unfilled, even in the most tumultuous hurries of business, and -the most eager vehemence of pursuit. - -It is said by modern philosophers, that not only the great globes -of matter are thinly scattered through the universe, but the hardest -bodies are so porous, that, if all matter were compressed to perfect -solidity, it might be contained in a cube of a few feet. In like manner, -if all the employments of life were crowded into the time which it really -occupied, perhaps a few weeks, days, or hours, would be sufficient for its -accomplishment, so far as the mind was engaged in the performance. For -such is the inequality of our corporeal to our intellectual faculties, -that we contrive in minutes what we execute in years, and the soul often -stands an idle spectator of the labour of the hands, and expedition of -the feet. - -For this reason the ancient generals often found themselves at leisure to -pursue the study of philosophy in the camp; and Lucan, with historical -veracity, makes Caesar relate of himself, that he noted the revolutions -of the stars in the midst of preparations for battle. - - _----Media inter proelia semper_ - _Stellarum, coelique plagis, superisque vacavi._ - LUCAN, l. x. 186. - - Amid the storms of war, with curious eyes - I trace the planets and survey the skies. - -That the soul always exerts her peculiar powers, with greater or less -force, is very probable, though the common occasions of our present -condition require but a small part of that incessant cogitation; and by -the natural frame of our bodies, and general combination of the world, -we are so frequently condemned to inactivity, that as though all our -time we are thinking, so for a great part of our time we can only think. - -Lest a power so restless should be either unprofitably or hurtfully -employed, and the superfluities of intellect run to waste, it is no vain -speculation to consider how we may govern our thoughts, restrain them -from irregular motions, or confine them from boundless dissipation. - -How the understanding is best conducted to the knowledge of science, -by what steps it is to be led forwards in its pursuit, how it is to be -cured of its defects, and habituated to new studies, has been the inquiry -of many acute and learned men, whose observations I shall not either -adopt or censure: my purpose being to consider the moral discipline of -the mind, and to promote the increase of virtue rather than of learning. - -This inquiry seems to have been neglected for want of remembering, that -all action has its origin in the mind, and that therefore to suffer -the thoughts to be vitiated, is to poison the fountains of morality; -irregular desires will produce licentious practices; what men allow -themselves to wish they will soon believe, and will be at last incited -to execute what they please themselves with contriving. - -For this reason the casuists of the Roman church, who gain, by confession, -great opportunities of knowing human nature, have generally determined -that what it is a crime to do, it is a crime to think[35]. Since by -revolving with pleasure the facility, safety, or advantage of a wicked -deed, a man soon begins to find his constancy relax, and his detestation -soften; the happiness of success glittering before him, withdraws his -attention from the atrociousness of the guilt, and acts are at last -confidently perpetrated, of which the first conception only crept into -the mind, disguised in pleasing complications, and permitted rather -than invited. - -No man has ever been drawn to crimes by love or jealousy, envy or -hatred, but he can tell how easily he might at first have repelled the -temptation, how readily his mind would have obeyed a call to any other -object, and how weak his passion has been after some casual avocation, -till he has recalled it again to his heart, and revived the viper by -too warm a fondness. - -Such, therefore, is the importance of keeping reason a constant guard -over imagination, that we have otherwise no security for our own virtue, -but may corrupt our hearts in the most recluse solitude, with more -pernicious and tyrannical appetites and wishes than the commerce of the -world will generally produce; for we are easily shocked by crimes which -appear at once in their full magnitude; but the gradual growth of our -own wickedness, endeared by interest, and palliated by all the artifices -of self-deceit, gives us time to form distinctions in our own favour, -and reason by degrees submits to absurdity, as the eye is in time -accommodated to darkness. - -In this disease of the soul, it is of the utmost importance to apply -remedies at the beginning; and therefore I shall endeavour to shew what -thoughts are to be rejected or improved, as they regard the past, present, -or future; in hopes that some may be awakened to caution and vigilance, -who, perhaps, indulge themselves in dangerous dreams, so much the more -dangerous, because, being yet only dreams, they are concluded innocent. - -The recollection of the past is only useful by way of provision for the -future; and, therefore, in reviewing all occurrences that fall under a -religious consideration, it is proper that a man stop at the first -thoughts, to remark how he was led thither, and why he continues the -reflection. If he is dwelling with delight upon a stratagem of successful -fraud, a night of licentious riot, or an intrigue of guilty pleasure, -let him summon off his imagination as from an unlawful pursuit, expel -those passages from his remembrance, of which, though he cannot seriously -approve them, the pleasure overpowers the guilt, and refer them to -a future hour, when they may be considered with greater safety. Such -an hour will certainly come; for the impressions of past pleasure are -always lessening, but the sense of guilt, which respects futurity, -continues the same. - -The serious and impartial retrospect of our conduct, is indisputably -necessary to the confirmation or recovery of virtue, and is, therefore, -recommended under the name of self-examination, by divines, as the first -act previous to repentance. It is, indeed, of so great use, that without -it we should always be to begin life, be seduced for ever by the same -allurements, and misled by the same fallacies. But in order that we -may not lose the advantage of our experience, we must endeavour to see -every thing in its proper form, and excite in ourselves those sentiments, -which the great Author of nature has decreed the concomitants or followers -of good and bad actions. - - [Greek: Med' hypnon malakoisin ep' ommasi prosdexasthai, - Prin ton hemerinon ergon tris hekaston epelthein; - Pei pareben? ti d' erexa? ti moi deon ouk etelesthe? - Arxamenos d' apo protou epexithi; kai metepeita, - Deila men ekprexas, epiplesseo, chresta de, terpou.] - - Let not sleep (says Pythagoras) fall upon thy eyes till thou - hast thrice reviewed the transactions of the past day. Where have - I turned aside from rectitude? What have I been doing? What have - I left undone, which I ought to have done? Begin thus from the - first act, and proceed; and in conclusion, at the ill which thou - hast done be troubled, and rejoice for the good. - -Our thoughts on present things being determined by the objects before us, -fall not under those indulgences or excursions, which I am now considering. -But I cannot forbear, under this head, to caution pious and tender minds, -that are disturbed by the irruptions of wicked imaginations, against too -great dejection, and too anxious alarms; for thoughts are only criminal, -when they are first chosen, and then voluntarily continued. - - Evil into the mind of God or man - May come and go, so unapprov'd, and leave - No spot or stain behind. - MILTON. - -In futurity chiefly are the snares lodged, by which the imagination -is entangled. Futurity is the proper abode of hope and fear, with all -their train and progeny of subordinate apprehensions and desires. In -futurity, events and chances are yet floating at large, without apparent -connexion with their causes, and we therefore easily indulge the liberty -of gratifying ourselves with a pleasing choice. To pick and cull among -possible advantages is, as the civil law terms it, _in vacuum venire_, -to take what belongs to nobody; but it has this hazard in it, that we -shall be unwilling to quit what we have seized, though an owner should be -found. It is easy to think on that which may be gained, till at last we -resolve to gain it, and to image the happiness of particular conditions, -till we can be easy in no other. We ought, at least, to let our desires -fix upon nothing in another's power for the sake of our quiet, or in -another's possession for the sake of our innocence. When a man finds -himself led, though by a train of honest sentiments, to wish for that to -which he has no right, he should start back as from a pitfall covered -with flowers. He that fancies he should benefit the publick more in a -great station than the man that fills it, will in time imagine it an -act of virtue to supplant him; and as opposition readily kindles into -hatred, his eagerness to do that good, to which he is not called, will -betray him to crimes, which in his original scheme were never proposed. - -He therefore that would govern his actions by the laws of virtue, must -regulate his thoughts by those of reason; he must keep guilt from the -recesses of his heart, and remember that the pleasures of fancy, and -the emotions of desire, are more dangerous as they are more hidden, -since they escape the awe of observation, and operate equally in every -situation, without the concurrence of external opportunities. - -[Footnote 35: This was determined before their time. See Matt. ch. v. -ver. 28.--C.] - - - - -No. 9. TUESDAY, APRIL 17, 1750. - - - _Quod sis esse velis, nihilque malis._ - MART. lib. x. Ep. xlvii. 12. - - Choose what you are; no other state prefer. - ELPHINSTON. - - -It is justly remarked by Horace, that howsoever every man may complain -occasionally of the hardships of his condition, he is seldom willing -to change it for any other on the same level: for whether it be that -he, who follows an employment, made choice of it at first on account -of its suitableness to his inclination; or that when accident, or the -determination of others, have placed him in a particular station, he, -by endeavouring to reconcile himself to it, gets the custom of viewing -it only on the fairest side; or whether every man thinks that class to -which he belongs the most illustrious, merely because he has honoured -it with his name; it is certain that, whatever be the reason, most men -have a very strong and active prejudice in favour of their own vocation, -always working upon their minds, and influencing their behaviour. - -This partiality is sufficiently visible in every rank of the human -species; but it exerts itself more frequently and with greater force -among those who have never learned to conceal their sentiments for reasons -of policy, or to model their expressions by the laws of politeness; and -therefore the chief contests of wit among artificers and handicraftsmen -arise from a mutual endeavour to exalt one trade by depreciating another. - -From the same principles are derived many consolations to alleviate the -inconveniences to which every calling is peculiarly exposed. A blacksmith -was lately pleasing himself at his anvil, with observing that, though -his trade was hot and sooty, laborious and unhealthy, yet he had the -honour of living by his hammer, he got his bread like a man, and if his -son should rise in the world, and keep his coach, nobody could reproach -him that his father was a tailor. - -A man, truly zealous for his fraternity, is never so irresistibly -flattered, as when some rival calling is mentioned with contempt. Upon -this principle a linen-draper boasted that he had got a new customer, -whom he could safely trust, for he could have no doubt of his honesty, -since it was known, from unquestionable authority, that he was now filing -a bill in chancery to delay payment for the clothes which he had worn -the last seven years; and he himself had heard him declare, in a public -coffee-house, that he looked upon the whole generation of woollen-drapers -to be such despicable wretches, that no gentleman ought to pay them. - -It has been observed that physicians and lawyers are no friends to -religion; and many conjectures have been formed to discover the reason -of such a combination between men who agree in nothing else, and who -seem less to be affected, in their own provinces, by religious opinions, -than any other part of the community. The truth is, very few of them -have thought about religion; but they have all seen a parson; seen him -in a habit different from their own, and therefore declared war against -him. A young student from the inns of court, who has often attacked the -curate of his father's parish with such arguments as his acquaintances -could furnish, and returned to town without success, is now gone down -with a resolution to destroy him; for he has learned at last how to -manage a prig, and if he pretends to hold him again to syllogism, he -has a catch in reserve, which neither logick nor metaphysicks can resist: - - I laugh to think how your unshaken Cato - Will look aghast, when unforeseen destruction - Pours in upon him thus. - CATO, Act. ii. Sc. 6. - -The malignity of soldiers and sailors against each other has been -often experienced at the cost of their country; and, perhaps, no orders -of men have an enmity of more acrimony, or longer continuance. When, -upon our late successes at sea, some new regulations were concerted -for establishing the rank of the naval commanders, a captain of foot -very acutely remarked, that nothing was more absurd than to give any -honorary rewards to seamen, "for honour," says he, "ought only to be -won by bravery, and all the world knows that in a sea-fight there is no -danger, and therefore no evidence of courage." - -But although this general desire of aggrandizing themselves, by raising -their profession, betrays men to a thousand ridiculous and mischievous -acts of supplantation and detraction, yet as almost all passions have -their good as well as bad effects, it likewise excites ingenuity, and -sometimes raises an honest and useful emulation of diligence. It may be -observed in general, that no trade had ever reached the excellence to -which it is now improved, had its professors looked upon it with the eyes -of indifferent spectators; the advances, from the first rude essays, -must have been made by men who valued themselves for performances, -for which scarce any other would be persuaded to esteem them. - -It is pleasing to contemplate a manufacture rising gradually from its -first mean state by the successive labours of innumerable minds; to -consider the first hollow trunk of an oak, in which, perhaps, the shepherd -could scarce venture to cross a brook swelled with a shower, enlarged -at last into a ship of war, attacking fortresses, terrifying nations, -setting storms and billows at defiance, and visiting the remotest parts of -the globe. And it might contribute to dispose us to a kinder regard for -the labours of one another, if we were to consider from what unpromising -beginnings the most useful productions of art have probably arisen. Who, -when he saw the first sand or ashes, by a casual intenseness of heat, -melted into a metalline form, rugged with excrescences, and clouded -with impurities, would have imagined, that in this shapeless lump lay -concealed so many conveniences of life, as would in time constitute a -great part of the happiness of the world? Yet by some such fortuitous -liquefaction was mankind taught to procure a body at once in a high -degree solid and transparent, which might admit the light of the sun, -and exclude the violence of the wind; which might extend the sight of -the philosopher to new ranges of existence, and charm him at one time -with the unbounded extent of the material creation, and at another -with the endless subordination of animal life; and, what is yet of -more importance, might supply the decays of nature, and succour old age -with subsidiary sight. Thus was the first artificer in glass employed, -though without his own knowledge or expectation. He was facilitating -and prolonging the enjoyment of light, enlarging the avenues of science, -and conferring the highest and most lasting pleasures; he was enabling -the student to contemplate nature, and the beauty to behold herself. - -This passion for the honour of a profession, like that for the grandeur -of our own country, is to be regulated, not extinguished. Every man, -from the highest to the lowest station, ought to warm his heart, and -animate his endeavours with the hopes of being useful to the world, by -advancing the art which it is his lot to exercise, and for that end he -must necessarily consider the whole extent of its application, and the -whole weight of its importance. But let him not too readily imagine that -another is ill employed, because, for want of fuller knowledge of his -business, he is not able to comprehend its dignity. Every man ought to -endeavour at eminence, not by pulling others down, but by raising himself, -and enjoy the pleasure of his own superiority, whether imaginary or real, -without interrupting others in the same felicity. The philosopher may -very justly be delighted with the extent of his views, and the artificer -with the readiness of his hands; but let the one remember, that, without -mechanical performances, refined speculation is an empty dream, and the -other, that, without theoretical reasoning, dexterity is little more -than a brute instinct. - - - - -No. 10. SATURDAY, APRIL 21, 1750. - - - _Posthabui tamen illorum mea seria ludo._ - VIRG. Ec. vii. 17. - - For trifling sports I quitted grave affairs. - - -The number of correspondents which increases every day upon me, shews -that my paper is at least distinguished from the common productions of -the press. It is no less a proof of eminence to have many enemies than -many friends, and I look upon every letter, whether it contains encomiums -or reproaches, as an equal attestation of rising credit. The only pain, -which I can feel from my correspondence, is the fear of disgusting those, -whose letters I shall neglect; and therefore I take this opportunity of -reminding them, that in disapproving their attempts, whenever it may -happen, I only return the treatment which I often receive. Besides, -many particular motives influence a writer, known only to himself, -or his private friends; and it may be justly concluded, that not all -letters which are postponed are rejected, nor all that are rejected, -critically condemned. - -Having thus eased my heart of the only apprehension that sat heavy on -it, I can please myself with the candour of Benevolus, who encourages me -to proceed, without sinking under the anger of Flirtilla, who quarrels -with me for being old and ugly, and for wanting both activity of body, -and sprightliness of mind; feeds her monkey with my lucubrations, -and refuses any reconciliation till I have appeared in vindication -of masquerades. That she may not however imagine me without support, -and left to rest wholly upon my own fortitude, I shall now publish some -letters which I have received from men as well dressed, and as handsome, -as her favourite; and others from ladies, whom I sincerely believe as -young, as rich, as gay, as pretty, as fashionable, and as often toasted -and treated as herself. - - "A set of candid readers send their respects to the Rambler, - and acknowledge his merit in so well beginning a work that may - be of publick benefit. But, superior as his genius is to the - impertinences of a trifling age, they cannot help a wish that he - would condescend to the weakness of minds softened by perpetual - amusements, and now and then throw in, like his predecessors, - some papers of a gay and humorous turn. Too fair a field now - lies open, with too plentiful a harvest of follies! let the - cheerful Thalia put in her sickle, and, singing at her work, - deck her hair with red and blue." - - "A lady sends her compliments to the Rambler, and desires to know - by what other name she may direct to him; what are his set of - friends, his amusements; what his way of thinking, with regard - to the living world, and its ways; in short, whether he is a - person now alive, and in town? If he be, she will do herself - the honour to write to him pretty often, and hopes, from time - to time, to be the better for his advice and animadversions; - for his animadversions on her neighbours at least. But, if he - is a mere essayist, and troubles not himself with the manners - of the age, she is sorry to tell him, that even the genius and - correctness of an Addison will not secure him from neglect." - -No man is so much abstracted from common life, as not to feel a particular -pleasure from the regard of the female world; the candid writers of the -first billet will not be offended, that my haste to satisfy a lady has -hurried their address too soon out of my mind, and that I refer them -for a reply to some future paper, in order to tell this curious inquirer -after my other name, the answer of a philosopher to a man, who meeting -him in the street, desired to see what he carried under his cloak; -_I carry it there_, says he, _that you may not see it_. But, though she -is never to know my name, she may often see my face; for I am of her -opinion, that a diurnal writer ought to view the world, and that he who -neglects his contemporaries, may be, with justice, neglected by them. - - "Lady Racket sends compliments to the Rambler, and lets him know - she shall have cards at her house, every Sunday, the remainder of - the season, where he will be sure of meeting all the good company - in town. By this means she hopes to see his papers interspersed - with living characters. She longs to see the torch of truth - produced at an assembly, and to admire the charming lustre it - will throw on the jewels, complexions, and behaviour of every - dear creature there." - -It is a rule with me to receive every offer with the same civility as -it is made; and, therefore, though lady Racket may have had some reason -to guess, that I seldom frequent card-tables on Sundays, I shall not -insist upon an exception, which may to her appear of so little force. -My business has been to view, as opportunity was offered, every place -in which mankind was to be seen; but at card-tables, however brilliant, -I have always thought my visit lost, for I could know nothing of the -company, but their clothes and their faces. I saw their looks clouded -at the beginning of every game with an uniform solicitude, now and then -in its progress varied with a short triumph, at one time wrinkled with -cunning, at another deadened with despondency, or by accident flushed with -rage at the unskilful or unlucky play of a partner. From such assemblies, -in whatever humour I happened to enter them, I was quickly forced to -retire; they were too trifling for me, when I was grave, and too dull, -when I was cheerful. - -Yet I cannot but value myself upon this token of regard from a lady who -is not afraid to stand before the torch of truth. Let her not, however, -consult her curiosity more than her prudence; but reflect a moment on -the fate of Semele, who might have lived the favourite of Jupiter, -if she could have been content without his thunder. It is dangerous -for mortal beauty, or terrestrial virtue, to be examined by too strong -a light. The torch of truth shews much that we cannot, and all that we -would not see. In a face dimpled with smiles, it has often discovered -malevolence and envy, and detected under jewels and brocade, the frightful -forms of poverty and distress. A fine hand of cards have changed before -it into a thousand spectres of sickness, misery, and vexation; and -immense sums of money, while the winner counted them with transport, -have at the first glimpse of this unwelcome lustre vanished from before -him. If her ladyship therefore designs to continue her assembly, I would -advise her to shun such dangerous experiments, to satisfy herself with -common appearances, and to light up her apartments rather with myrtle, -than the torch of truth. - - "A modest young man sends his service to the author of the - Rambler, and will be very willing to assist him in his work, - but is sadly afraid of being discouraged by having his first - essay rejected, a disgrace he has woefully experienced in every - offer he had made of it to every new writer of every new paper; - but he comforts himself by thinking, without vanity, that - this has been from a peculiar favour of the muses, who saved - his performance from being buried in trash, and reserved it to - appear with lustre in the Rambler." - -I am equally a friend to modesty and enterprize; and therefore shall -think it an honour to correspond with a young man who possesses both in -so eminent a degree. Youth is, indeed, the time in which these qualities -ought chiefly to be found; modesty suits well with inexperience, and -enterprize with health and vigour, and an extensive prospect of life. -One of my predecessors has justly observed, that, though modesty has -an amiable and winning appearance, it ought not to hinder the exertion of -the active powers, but that a man should shew under his blushes a latent -resolution. This point of perfection, nice as it is, my correspondent -seems to have attained. That he is modest, his own declaration may evince; -and, I think, the _latent resolution_ may be discovered in his letter -by an acute observer. I will advise him, since he so well deserves my -precepts, not to be discouraged though the Rambler should prove equally -envious, or tasteless, with the rest of this fraternity. If his paper is -refused, the presses of England are open, let him try the judgment of -the publick. If, as it has sometimes happened in general combinations -against merit, he cannot persuade the world to buy his works, he may -present them to his friends; and if his friends are seized with the -epidemical infatuation, and cannot find his genius, or will not confess -it, let him then refer his cause to posterity, and reserve his labours -for a wiser age. - -Thus have I dispatched some of my correspondents in the usual manner with -fair words, and general civility. But to Flirtilla, the gay Flirtilla, -what shall I reply? Unable as I am to fly, at her command, over land -and seas, or to supply her from week to week with the fashions of -Paris, or the intrigues of Madrid, I am yet not willing to incur her -further displeasure, and would save my papers from her monkey on any -reasonable terms. By what propitiation, therefore, may I atone for my -former gravity, and open, without trembling, the future letters of -this sprightly persecutor? To write in defence of masquerades is no -easy task; yet something difficult and daring may well be required, -as the price of so important an approbation. I therefore consulted, -in this great emergency, a man of high reputation in gay life, who -having added to his other accomplishments, no mean proficiency, in the -minute philosophy, after the fifth perusal of her letter, broke out with -rapture into these words: "And can you, Mr. Rambler, stand out against -this charming creature? Let her know, at least, that from this moment -Nigrinus devotes his life and his labours to her service. Is there any -stubborn prejudice of education, that stands between thee and the most -amiable of mankind? Behold, Flirtilla, at thy feet, a man grown gray in -the study of those noble arts by which right and wrong may be confounded; -by which reason may be blinded, when we have a mind to escape from her -inspection; and caprice and appetite instated in uncontrouled command, -and boundless dominion! Such a casuist may surely engage, with certainty -of success, in vindication of an entertainment, which in an instant -gives confidence to the timorous, and kindles ardour in the cold; an -entertainment where the vigilance of jealousy has so often been eluded, -and the virgin is set free from the necessity of languishing in silence; -where all the outworks of chastity are at once demolished; where the -heart is laid open without a blush; where bashfulness may survive virtue, -and no wish is crushed under the frown of modesty. Far weaker influence -than Flirtilla's might gain over an advocate for such amusements. It -was declared by Pompey, that if the commonwealth was violated, he -could stamp with his foot, and raise an army out of the ground; if the -rights of pleasure are again invaded, let but Flirtilla crack her fan, -neither pens, nor swords, shall be wanting at the summons; the wit and -the colonel shall march out at her command, and neither law nor reason -shall stand before us[36]." - -[Footnote 36: The four billets in this paper were written by Miss Mulso, -afterwards Mrs. Chapone, who survived this work more than half a century, -and died Dec. 25, 1801.] - - - - -No. 11. TUESDAY, APRIL 24, 1750. - - - _Non Dindymene, non adytis quatit_ - _Mentem sacerdotum incota Pythius,_ - _Non Liber aeque, non acuta_ - _Sic geminant Corybantes aera,_ - _Tristes ut inae.--_ - HOR. lib. i. Ode xvi. 5. - - Yet O! remember, nor the god of wine, - Nor Pythian Phoebus from his inmost shrine, - Nor Dindymene, nor her priests possest, - Can with their sounding cymbals shake the breast, - Like furious anger. - FRANCIS. - - -The maxim which Periander of Corinth, one of the seven sages of Greece, -left as a memorial of his knowledge and benevolence, was [Greek: cholou -kratei], _Be master of thy anger_. He considered anger as the great -disturber of human life, the chief enemy both of publick happiness and -private tranquillity, and thought that he could not lay on posterity -a stronger obligation to reverence his memory, than by leaving them a -salutary caution against this outrageous passion. - -To what latitude Periander might extend the word, the brevity of his -precept will scarce allow us to conjecture. From anger, in its full -import, protracted into malevolence, and exerted in revenge, arise, -indeed, many of the evils to which the life of man is exposed. By -anger operating upon power are produced the subversion of cities, -the desolation of countries, the massacre of nations, and all those -dreadful and astonishing calamities which fill the histories of the -world, and which could not be read at any distant point of time, when -the passions stand neutral, and every motive and principle is left to -its natural force, without some doubt of the truth of the relation, did -we not see the same causes still tending to the same effects, and only -acting with less vigour for want of the same concurrent opportunities. - -But this gigantick and enormous species of anger falls not properly -under the animadversion of a writer, whose chief end is the regulation -of common life, and whose precepts are to recommend themselves by their -general use. Nor is this essay intended to expose the tragical or fatal -effects even of private malignity. The anger which I propose now for -my subject, is such as makes those who indulge it more troublesome -than formidable, and ranks them rather with hornets and wasps, than -with basilisks and lions. I have, therefore, prefixed a motto, which -characterizes this passion, not so much by the mischief that it causes, -as by the noise that it utters. - -There is in the world a certain class of mortals, known, and contentedly -known, by the appellation of _passionate men_, who imagine themselves -entitled by that distinction to be provoked on every slight occasion, -and to vent their rage in vehement and fierce vociferations, in furious -menaces and licentious reproaches. Their rage, indeed, for the most -part, fumes away in outcries of injury, and protestations of vengeance, -and seldom proceeds to actual violence, unless a drawer or linkboy falls -in their way; but they interrupt the quiet of those that happen to be -within the reach of their clamours, obstruct the course of conversation, -and disturb the enjoyment of society. - -Men of this kind are sometimes not without understanding or virtue, -and are, therefore, not always treated with the severity which their -neglect of the ease of all about them might justly provoke; they have -obtained a kind of prescription for their folly, and are considered by -their companions as under a predominant influence that leaves them not -masters of their conduct or language, as acting without consciousness, and -rushing into mischief with a mist before their eyes; they are therefore -pitied rather than censured, and their sallies are passed over as the -involuntary blows of a man agitated by the spasms of a convulsion. - -It is surely not to be observed without indignation, that men may be -found of minds mean enough to be satisfied with this treatment; wretches -who are proud to obtain the privilege of madmen, and can, without shame, -and without regret, consider themselves as receiving hourly pardons from -their companions, and giving them continual opportunities of exercising -their patience, and boasting their clemency. - -Pride is undoubtedly the original of anger; but pride, like every -other passion, if it once breaks loose from reason, counteracts its own -purposes. A passionate man, upon the review of his day, will have very -few gratifications to offer to his pride, when he has considered how his -outrages were caused, why they were borne, and in what they are likely -to end at last. - -Those sudden bursts of rage generally break out upon small occasions; for -life, unhappy as it is, cannot supply great evils as frequently as the -man of fire thinks it fit to be enraged; therefore the first reflection -upon his violence must shew him that he is mean enough to be driven from -his post by every petty incident, that he is the mere slave of casualty, -and that his reason and virtue are in the power of the wind. - -One motive there is of these loud extravagancies, which a man is careful -to conceal from others, and does not always discover to himself. He that -finds his knowledge narrow, and his arguments weak, and by consequence -his suffrage not much regarded, is sometimes in hope of gaining that -attention by his clamours which he cannot otherwise obtain, and is -pleased with remembering that at least he made himself heard, that he -had the power to interrupt those whom he could not confute, and suspend -the decision which he could not guide. - -Of this kind is the fury to which many men give way among their servants -and domesticks; they feel their own ignorance, they see their own -insignificance; and therefore they endeavour, by their fury, to fright -away contempt from before them, when they know it must follow them -behind; and think themselves eminently masters, when they see one folly -tamely complied with, only lest refusal or delay should provoke them to -a greater. - -These temptations cannot but be owned to have some force. It is so -little pleasing to any man to see himself wholly overlooked in the mass -of things, that he may be allowed to try a few expedients for procuring -some kind of supplemental dignity, and use some endeavour to add weight, -by the violence of his temper, to the lightness of his other powers. But -this has now been long practised, and found, upon the most exact estimate, -not to produce advantages equal to its inconveniences; for it appears not -that a man can by uproar, tumult, and bluster, alter any one's opinion of -his understanding, or gain influence, except over those whom fortune or -nature have made his dependants. He may, by a steady perseverance in his -ferocity, fright his children, and harass his servants, but the rest of -the world will look on and laugh; and he will have the comfort at last of -thinking, that he lives only to raise contempt and hatred, emotions to -which wisdom and virtue would be always unwilling to give occasion. He -has contrived only to make those fear him, whom every reasonable being -is endeavouring to endear by kindness; and must content himself with -the pleasure of a triumph, obtained by trampling on those who could -not resist. He must perceive that the apprehension which his presence -causes is not the awe of his virtue, but the dread of his brutality, -and that he has given up the felicity of being loved, without gaining -the honour of being reverenced. - -But this is not the only ill consequence of the frequent indulgence of -this blustering passion, which a man, by often calling to his assistance -will teach, in a short time, to intrude before the summons, to rush -upon him with resistless violence, and without any previous notice of -its approach. He will find himself liable to be inflamed at the first -touch of provocation, and unable to retain his resentment till he has -a full conviction of the offence, to proportion his anger to the cause, -or to regulate it by prudence or by duty. When a man has once suffered -his mind to be thus vitiated, he becomes one of the most hateful and -unhappy beings. He can give no security to himself that he shall not, -at the next interview, alienate by some sudden transport his dearest -friend; or break out, upon some slight contradiction, into such terms -of rudeness as can never be perfectly forgotten. Whoever converses with -him, lives with the suspicion and solicitude of a man that plays with -a tame tiger, always under a necessity of watching the moment in which -the capricious savage shall begin to growl. - -It is told by Prior, in a panegyrick on the earl of Dorset, that his -servants used to put themselves in his way when he was angry, because -he was sure to recompense them for any indignities which he made them -suffer. This is the round of a passionate man's life; he contracts debts -when he is furious, which his virtue, if he has virtue, obliges him to -discharge at the return of reason. He spends his time in outrage and -acknowledgment, injury and reparation. Or, if there be any who hardens -himself in oppression, and justifies the wrong, because he has done it, -his insensibility can make small part of his praise, or his happiness; he -only adds deliberate to hasty folly, aggravates petulance by contumacy, -and destroys the only plea that he can offer for the tenderness and -patience of mankind. - -Yet, even this degree of depravity we may be content to pity, because it -seldom wants a punishment equal to its guilt. Nothing is more despicable -or more miserable than the old age of a passionate man. When the vigour -of youth fails him, and his amusements pall with frequent repetition, -his occasional rage sinks by decay of strength into peevishness; that -peevishness, for want of novelty and variety, becomes habitual; the -world falls off from around him, and he is left, as Homer expresses it, -[Greek: phthinython philon ker], to devour his own heart in solitude -and contempt. - - - - -No. 12. SATURDAY, APRIL 28, 1750. - - - _----Miserum parva stipe focilat, ut pudibundos_ - _Exercere sales inter convivia possit.----_ - _----Tu mitis, et acri_ - _Asperitate carens, positoque per omnia fastu,_ - _Inter ut aequales unus numeraris amicos,_ - _Obsequiumque doces, et amorem quaeris amando._ - Lucanus _ad_ Pisonem. - - Unlike the ribald whose licentious jest - Pollutes his banquet, and insults his guest; - From wealth and grandeur easy to descend, - Thou joy'st to lose the master in the friend: - We round thy board the cheerful menials see, - Gay with the smile of bland equality; - No social care the gracious lord disdains; - Love prompts to love, and rev'rence rev'rence gains. - - -TO THE RAMBLER. - -SIR, - -As you seem to have devoted your labours to virtue, I cannot forbear to -inform you of one species of cruelty with which the life of a man of -letters perhaps does not often make him acquainted; and which, as it -seems to produce no other advantage to those that practise it than a -short gratification of thoughtless vanity, may become less common when -it has been once exposed in its various forms, and its full magnitude. - -I am the daughter of a country gentleman, whose family is numerous, -and whose estate, not at first sufficient to supply us with affluence, -has been lately so much impaired by an unsuccessful law-suit, that all -the younger children are obliged to try such means as their education -affords them, for procuring the necessaries of life. Distress and -curiosity concurred to bring me to London, where I was received by a -relation with the coldness which misfortune generally finds. A week, -a long week, I lived with my cousin, before the most vigilant inquiry -could procure us the least hopes of a place, in which time I was much -better qualified to bear all the vexations of servitude. The first two -days she was content to pity me, and only wished I had not been quite so -well bred; but people must comply with their circumstances. This lenity, -however, was soon at an end; and, for the remaining part of the week, -I heard every hour of the pride of my family, the obstinacy of my father, -and of people better born than myself that were common servants. - -At last, on Saturday noon, she told me, with very visible satisfaction, -that Mrs. Bombasine, the great silk-mercer's lady, wanted a maid, and a -fine place it would be, for there would be nothing to do but to clean -my mistress's room, get up her linen, dress the young ladies, wait at -tea in the morning, take care of a little miss just come from nurse, -and then sit down to my needle. But madam was a woman of great spirit, -and would not be contradicted, and therefore I should take care, for -good places were not easily to be got. - -With these cautions I waited on madam Bombasine, of whom the first -sight gave me no ravishing ideas. She was two yards round the waist, -her voice was at once loud and squeaking, and her face brought to my -mind the picture of the full moon. Are you the young woman, says she, -that are come to offer yourself? It is strange when people of substance -want a servant, how soon it is the town-talk. But they know they shall -have a belly-full that live with me. Not like people at the other end of -the town, we dine at one o'clock. But I never take any body without a -character; what friends do you come of? I then told her that my father -was a gentleman, and that we had been unfortunate.--A great misfortune -indeed, to come to me, and have three meals a-day!--So your father was a -gentleman, and you are a gentlewoman I suppose--such gentlewomen!--Madam, -I did not mean to claim any exemptions, I only answered your inquiry--Such -gentlewomen! people should set their children to good trades, and keep -them off the parish. Pray go to the other end of the town, there are -gentlewomen, if they would pay their debts: I am sure we have lost enough -by gentlewomen. Upon this, her broad face grew broader with triumph, and -I was afraid she would have taken me for the pleasure of continuing -her insult; but happily the next word was, Pray, Mrs. gentlewoman, -troop down stairs.--You may believe I obeyed her. - -I returned and met with a better reception from my cousin than I expected; -for while I was out, she had heard that Mrs. Standish, whose husband had -lately been raised from a clerk in an office, to be commissioner of the -excise, had taken a fine house, and wanted a maid. - -To Mrs. Standish I went, and, after having waited six hours, was at -last admitted to the top of the stairs, when she came out of her room, -with two of her company. There was a smell of punch. So, young woman, -you want a place; whence do you come?--From the country, madam.--Yes, -they all come out of the country. And what brought you to town, a -bastard? Where do you lodge? At the Seven-Dials? What, you never heard -of the Foundling-house! Upon this, they all laughed so obtreperously, -that I took the opportunity of sneaking off in the tumult. - -I then heard of a place at an elderly lady's. She was at cards; but in -two hours, I was told, she would speak to me. She asked me if I could -keep an account, and ordered me to write. I wrote two lines out of some -book that lay by her. She wondered what people meant, to breed up poor -girls to write at that rate. I suppose, Mrs. Flirt, if I was to see your -work, it would be fine stuff!--You may walk. I will not have love-letters -written from my house to every young fellow in the street. - -Two days after, I went on the same pursuit to Lady Lofty, dressed as I -was directed, in what little ornaments I had, because she had lately got -a place at court. Upon the first sight of me, she turns to the woman that -shewed me in, Is this the lady that wants a place? Pray what place would -you have, miss? a maid of honour's place? Servants now-a-days!--Madam, -I heard you wanted--Wanted what? Somebody finer than myself? A pretty -servant indeed--I should be afraid to speak to her--I suppose, Mrs. Minx, -these fine hands cannot bear wetting--A servant indeed! Pray move off--I -am resolved to be the head person in this house--You are ready dressed, -the taverns will be open. - -I went to inquire for the next place in a clean linen gown, and heard -the servant tell his lady, there was a young woman, but he saw she would -not do. I was brought up, however. Are you the trollop that has the -impudence to come for my place? What, you have hired that nasty gown, and -are come to steal a better!--Madam, I have another, but being obliged to -walk--Then these are your manners, with your blushes, and your courtesies, -to come to me in your worst gown. Madam, give me leave to wait upon you -in my other. Wait on me, you saucy slut! Then you are sure of coming--I -could not let such a drab come near me--Here, you girl, that came up -with her, have you touched her? If you have, wash your hands before you -dress me--Such trollops! Get you down. What, whimpering? Pray walk. - -I went away with tears; for my cousin had lost all patience. However, -she told me, that having a respect for my relations, she was willing to -keep me out of the street, and would let me have another week. - -The first day of this week I saw two places. At one I was asked where I -had lived? And upon my answer, was told by the lady, that people should -qualify themselves in ordinary places, for she should never have done -if she was to follow girls about. At the other house I was a smirking -hussy, and that sweet, face I might make money of--For her part, it was -a rule with her never to take any creature that thought herself handsome. - -The three next days were spent in Lady Bluff's entry, where I waited six -hours every day for the pleasure of seeing the servants peep at me, and -go away laughing.--Madam will stretch her small shanks in the entry; she -will know the house again.--At sunset the two first days I was told, -that my lady would see me to-morrow, and on the third, that her woman -staid. - -My week was now near its end, and I had no hopes of a place. My relation, -who always laid upon me the blame of every miscarriage, told me that I -must learn to humble myself, and that all great ladies had particular -ways; that if I went on in that manner, she could not tell who would -keep me; she had known many that had refused places, sell their clothes, -and beg in the streets. - -It was to no purpose that the refusal was declared by me to be never -on my side; I was reasoning against interest, and against stupidity; -and therefore I comforted myself with the hope of succeeding better in -my next attempt, and went to Mrs. Courtly, a very fine lady, who had -routs at her house, and saw the best company in town. - -I had not waited two hours before I was called up, and found Mr. Courtly -and his lady at piquet, in the height of good humour. This I looked -on as a favourable sign, and stood at the lower end of the room, in -expectation of the common questions. At last Mr. Courtly called out, -after a whisper, Stand facing the light, that one may see you. I changed -my place, and blushed. They frequently turned their eyes upon me, and -seemed to discover many subjects of merriment; for at every look they -whispered, and laughed with the most violent agitations of delight. At -last Mr. Courtly cried out, Is that colour your own, child? Yes, says -the lady, if she has not robbed the kitchen hearth. This was so happy -a conceit, that it renewed the storm of laughter, and they threw down -their cards in hopes of better sport. The lady then called me to her, -and began with an affected gravity to inquire what I could do? But first -turn about, and let us see your fine shape: Well, what are you fit for, -Mrs. Mum? You would find your tongue, I suppose, in the kitchen. No, no, -says Mr. Courtly, the girl's a good girl yet, but I am afraid a brisk -young fellow with fine tags on his shoulder----Come, child, hold up your -head; what? you have stole nothing.--Not yet, says the lady, but she -hopes to steal your heart quickly.--Here was a laugh of happiness and -triumph, prolonged by the confusion which I could no longer repress. -At last the lady recollected herself; Stole! no--but if I had her, I -should watch her: for that downcast eye--Why cannot you look people in -the face? Steal! says her husband, she would steal nothing but, perhaps, -a few ribands before they were left off by her lady. Sir, answered I, -why should you, by supposing me a thief, insult one from whom you have -received no injury? Insult! says the lady; are you come here to be -a servant, you saucy baggage, and talk of insulting? What will this -world come to, if a gentleman may not jest with a servant! Well, such -servants! pray be gone, and see when you will have the honour to be so -insulted again. Servants insulted!--a fine time.--Insulted! Get down -stairs, you slut, or the footman shall insult you. - -The last day of the last week was now coming, and my kind cousin talked -of sending me down in the waggon to preserve me from bad courses. But -in the morning she came and told me that she had one trial more for me; -Euphemia wanted a maid, and perhaps I might do for her; for, like me, -she must fall her crest, being forced to lay down her chariot upon the -loss of half her fortune by bad securities, and with her way of giving -her money to every body that pretended to want it, she could have little -beforehand; therefore I might serve her; for, with all her fine sense, -she must not pretend to be nice. - -I went immediately, and met at the door a young gentlewoman, who told me -she had herself been hired that morning, but that she was ordered to bring -any that offered up stairs. I was accordingly introduced to Euphemia, -who, when I came in, laid down her book, and told me, that she sent for -me not to gratify an idle curiosity, but lest my disappointment might -be made still more grating by incivility; that she was in pain to deny -any thing, much more what was no favour; that she saw nothing in my -appearance which did not make her wish for my company; but that another, -whose claims might perhaps be equal, had come before me. The thought -of being so near to such a place, and missing it, brought tears into -my eyes, and my sobs hindered me from returning my acknowledgments. -She rose up confused, and supposing by my concern that I was distressed, -placed me by her, and made me tell her my story: which when she had -heard, she put two guineas in my hand, ordering me to lodge near her, -and make use of her table till she could provide for me. I am now under -her protection, and know not how to shew my gratitude better than by -giving this account to the Rambler. - - ZOSIMA. - - - - -No. 13. TUESDAY, MAY 1, 1750. - - - _Commissumque teges et vino tortus et ira._ - HOR. lib. i. Ep. xviii. 38. - - And let not wine or anger wrest - Th' intrusted secret from your breast. - FRANCIS. - - -It is related by Quintus Curtius, that the Persians always conceived -an invincible contempt of a man who had violated the laws of secrecy; -for they thought, that, however he might be deficient in the qualities -requisite to actual excellence, the negative virtues at least were in -his power, and though he perhaps could not speak well if he was to try, -it was still easy for him not to speak. - -In forming this opinion of the easiness of secrecy, they seem to have -considered it as opposed, not to treachery, but loquacity, and to have -conceived the man whom they thus censured, not frighted by menaces to -reveal, or bribed by promises to betray, but incited by the mere pleasure -of talking, or some other motive equally trifling, to lay open his heart -without reflection, and to let whatever he knew slip from him, only for -want of power to retain it. Whether, by their settled and avowed scorn -of thoughtless talkers, the Persians were able to diffuse to any great -extent the virtue of taciturnity, we are hindered by the distance of -those times from being able to discover, there being very few memoirs -remaining of the court of Persepolis, nor any distinct accounts handed -down to us of their office-clerks, their ladies of the bedchamber, -their attorneys, their chambermaids, or their footmen. - -In these latter ages, though the old animosity against a prattler is still -retained, it appears wholly to have lost its effect upon the conduct of -mankind, for secrets are so seldom kept, that it may with some reason be -doubted whether the ancients were not mistaken, in their first postulate, -whether the quality of retention be so generally bestowed, and whether a -secret has not some subtle volatility, by which it escapes imperceptibly -at the smallest vent; or some power of fermentation, by which it expands -itself so as to burst the heart that will not give it way. - -Those that study either the body or the mind of a man, very often find the -most specious and pleasing theory falling under the weight of contrary -experience; and instead of gratifying their vanity by inferring effects -from causes, they are always reduced at last to conjecture causes from -effects. That it is easy to be secret, the speculatist can demonstrate -in his retreat, and therefore thinks himself justified in placing -confidence; the man of the world knows, that, whether difficult or not, -it is uncommon, and therefore finds himself rather inclined to search -after the reason of this universal failure in one of the most important -duties of society. - -The vanity of being known to be trusted with a secret is generally -one of the chief motives to disclose it; for, however absurd it may be -thought to boast an honour by an act which shews that it was conferred -without merit, yet most men seem rather inclined to confess the want -of virtue than of importance, and more willingly shew their influence, -though at the expense of their probity, than glide through life with no -other pleasure than the private consciousness of fidelity; which, while -it is preserved, must be without praise, except from the single person -who tries and knows it. - -There are many ways of telling a secret, by which a man exempts himself -from the reproaches of his conscience, and gratifies his pride, without -suffering himself to believe that he impairs his virtue. He tells the -private affairs of his patron, or his friend, only to those from whom he -would not conceal his own; he tells them to those, who have no temptation -to betray the trust, or with a denunciation of a certain forfeiture of -his friendship, if he discovers that they become publick. - -Secrets are very frequently told in the first ardour of kindness, or of -love, for the sake of proving, by so important a sacrifice, sincerity -or tenderness; but with this motive, though it be strong in itself, -vanity concurs, since every man desires to be most esteemed by those whom -he loves, or with whom he converses, with whom he passes his hours of -pleasure, and to whom he retires from business and from care. - -When the discovery of secrets is under consideration, there is always a -distinction carefully to be made between our own and those of another; -those of which we are fully masters, as they affect only our own interest, -and those which are reposited with us in trust, and involve the happiness -or convenience of such as we have no right to expose to hazard. To tell -our own secrets is generally folly, but that folly is without guilt; -to communicate those with which we are intrusted is always treachery, -and treachery for the most part combined with folly. - -There have, indeed, been some enthusiastick and irrational zealots for -friendship, who have maintained, and perhaps believed, that one friend -has a right to all that is in possession of another; and that therefore -it is a violation of kindness to exempt any secret from this boundless -confidence. Accordingly a late female minister of state[37] has been -shameless enough to inform the world, that she used, when she wanted -to extract any thing from her sovereign, to remind her of Montaigne's -reasoning, who has determined, that to tell a secret to a friend is -no breach of fidelity, because the number of persons trusted is not -multiplied, a man and his friend being virtually the same. - -That such a fallacy could be imposed upon any human understanding, -or that an author could have advanced a position so remote from truth -and reason, any otherwise than as a declaimer, to shew to what extent he -could stretch his imagination, and with what strength he could press his -principle, would scarcely have been credible, had not this lady kindly -shewn us how far weakness may be deluded, or indolence amused. But since -it appears, that even this sophistry has been able, with the help of -a strong desire, to repose in quiet upon the understanding of another, -to mislead honest intentions, and an understanding not contemptible[38], -it may not be superfluous to remark, that those things which are common -among friends are only such as either possesses in his own right, and -can alienate or destroy without injury to any other person. Without this -limitation confidence must run on without end, the second person may tell -the secret to the third, upon the same principle as he received it from -the first, and a third may hand it forward to a fourth, till at last it -is told in the round of friendship to them from whom it was the first -intention to conceal it. - -The confidence which Caius has of the faithfulness of Titius is nothing -more than an opinion which himself cannot know to be true, and which -Claudius, who first tells his secret to Caius, may know to be false; -and therefore the trust is transferred by Caius, if he reveal what has -been told him, to one from whom the person originally concerned would -have withheld it: and whatever may be the event, Caius has hazarded -the happiness of his friend, without necessity and without permission, -and has put that trust in the hand of fortune, which was given only to -virtue. - -All the arguments upon which a man who is telling the private affairs of -another may ground his confidence of security, he must upon reflection -know to be uncertain, because he finds them without effect upon -himself. When he is imagining that Titius will be cautious, from a regard -to his interest, his reputation, or his duty, he ought to reflect that -he is himself at that instant acting in opposition to all these reasons, -and revealing what interest, reputation, and duty, direct him to conceal. - -Every one feels that in his own case he should consider the man incapable -of trust, who believed himself at liberty to tell whatever he knew to -the first whom he should conclude deserving of his confidence; therefore -Caius, in admitting Titius to the affairs imparted only to himself, -must know that he violates his faith, since he acts contrary to the -intention of Claudius, to whom that faith was given. For promises of -friendship are, like all others, useless and vain, unless they are made -in some known sense, adjusted and acknowledged by both parties. - -I am not ignorant that many questions may be started relating to the duty -of secrecy, where the affairs are of publick concern; where subsequent -reasons may arise to alter the appearance and nature of the trust; -that the manner in which the secret was told may change the degree of -obligation, and that the principles upon which a man is chosen for a -confidant may not always equally constrain him. But these scruples, if -not too intricate, are of too extensive consideration for my present -purpose, nor are they such as generally occur in common life; and -though casuistical knowledge be useful in proper hands, yet it ought -by no means to be carelessly exposed, since most will use it rather to -lull than to awaken their own consciences; and the threads of reasoning, -on which truth is suspended, are frequently drawn to such subtility, that -common eyes cannot perceive, and common sensibility cannot feel them. - -The whole doctrine, as well as practice of secrecy, is so perplexing -and dangerous, that next to him who is compelled to trust, I think him -unhappy who is chosen to be trusted; for he is often involved in scruples -without the liberty of calling in the help of any other understanding; -he is frequently drawn into guilt, under the appearance of friendship and -honesty; and sometimes subjected to suspicion by the treachery of others, -who are engaged without his knowledge in the same schemes; for he that -has one confidant has generally more, and when he is at last betrayed, -is in doubt on whom he shall fix the crime. - -The rules therefore that I shall propose concerning secrecy, and from -which I think it not safe to deviate, without long and exact deliberation, -are--Never to solicit the knowledge of a secret. Not willingly, nor -without many limitations, to accept such confidence when it is offered. -When a secret is once admitted, to consider the trust as of a very high -nature, important as society, and sacred as truth, and therefore not -to be violated for any incidental convenience, or slight appearance of -contrary fitness. - -[Footnote 37: Sarah Duchess of Marlborough.--C.] - -[Footnote 38: That of Queen Anne.] - - - - -No. 14. SATURDAY, MAY 5, 1750. - - - _----Nil fuit unquam_ - _Sic impar sibi----_ - HOR. lib. i. Sat. iii. 18. - - Sure such a various creature ne'er was known. - FRANCIS. - - -Among the many inconsistencies which folly produces, or infirmity suffers, -in the human mind, there has often been observed a manifest and striking -contrariety between the life of an author and his writings; and Milton, -in a letter to a learned stranger, by whom he had been visited, with -great reason congratulates himself upon the consciousness of being found -equal to his own character, and having preserved, in a private and -familiar interview, that reputation which his works had procured him. - -Those whom the appearance of virtue, or the evidence of genius, have -tempted to a nearer knowledge of the writer in whose performances they -may be found, have indeed had frequent reason to repent their curiosity; -the bubble that sparkled before them has become common water at the -touch; the phantom of perfection has vanished when they wished to press -it to their bosom. They have lost the pleasure of imagining how far -humanity may be exalted, and, perhaps, felt themselves less inclined -to toil up the steeps of virtue, when they observe those who seem best -able to point the way, loitering below, as either afraid of the labour, -or doubtful of the reward. - -It has been long the custom of the oriental monarchs to hide themselves -in gardens and palaces, to avoid the conversation of mankind, and to be -known to their subjects only by their edicts. The same policy is no less -necessary to him that writes, than to him that governs; for men would -not more patiently submit to be taught, than commanded, by one known to -have the same follies and weaknesses with themselves. A sudden intruder -into the closet of an author would perhaps feel equal indignation with -the officer, who having long solicited admission into the presence of -Sardanapalus, saw him not consulting upon laws, inquiring into grievances, -or modelling armies, but employed in feminine amusements, and directing -the ladies in their work. - -It is not difficult to conceive, however, that for many reasons a man -writes much better than he lives. For without entering into refined -speculations, it may be shewn much easier to design than to perform. -A man proposes his schemes of life in a state of abstraction and -disengagement, exempt from the enticements of hope, the solicitations -of affection, the importunities of appetite, or the depressions of fear, -and is in the same state with him that teaches upon land the art of -navigation, to whom the sea is always smooth, and the wind always -prosperous. - -The mathematicians are well acquainted with the difference between pure -science, which has to do only with ideas, and the application of its -laws to the use of life, in which they are constrained to submit to the -imperfection of matter and the influence of accidents. Thus, in moral -discussions, it is to be remembered that many impediments obstruct our -practice, which very easily give way to theory. The speculatist is only -in danger of erroneous reasoning; but the man involved in life, has his -own passions, and those of others, to encounter, and is embarrassed -with a thousand inconveniencies, which confound him with variety of -impulse, and either perplex or obstruct his way. He is forced to act -without deliberation, and obliged to choose before he can examine: he -is surprised by sudden alterations of the state of things, and changes -his measures according to superficial appearances; he is led by others, -either because he is indolent, or because he is timorous; he is sometimes -afraid to know what is right, and sometimes finds friends or enemies -diligent to deceive him. - -We are, therefore, not to wonder that most fail, amidst tumult, and -snares, and danger, in the observance of those precepts, which they lay -down in solitude, safety, and tranquillity, with a mind unbiassed, and -with liberty unobstructed. It is the condition of our present state to see -more than we can attain; the exactest vigilance and caution can never -maintain a single day of unmingled innocence, much less can the utmost -efforts of incorporated mind reach the summit of speculative virtue. - -It is, however, necessary for the idea of perfection to be proposed, -that we may have some object to which our endeavours are to be directed; -and he that is most deficient in the duties of life, makes some atonement -for his faults, if he warns others against his own failings, and hinders, -by the salubrity of his admonitions, the contagion of his example. - -Nothing is more unjust, however common, than to charge with hypocrisy -him that expresses zeal for those virtues which he neglects to practise; -since he may be sincerely convinced of the advantages of conquering -his passions, without having yet obtained the victory, as a man may be -confident of the advantages of a voyage, or a journey, without having -courage or industry to undertake it, and may honestly recommend to others, -those attempts which he neglects himself. - -The interest which the corrupt part of mankind have in hardening -themselves against every motive to amendment, has disposed them -to give to these contradictions, when they can be produced against -the cause of virtue, that weight which they will not allow them in -any other case. They see men act in opposition to their interest, -without supposing, that they do not know it; those who give way to the -sudden violence of passion, and forsake the most important pursuits -for petty pleasures, sire not supposed to have changed their opinions, -or to approve their own conduct. In moral or religious questions alone, -they determine the sentiments by the actions, and charge every man with -endeavouring to impose upon the world, whose writings are not confirmed -by his life. They never consider that themselves neglect or practise -something every day inconsistently with their own settled judgment, -nor discover that the conduct of the advocates for virtue can little -increase, or lessen, the obligations of their dictates; argument is to -be invalidated only by argument, and is in itself of the same force, -whether or not it convinces him by whom it is proposed. - -Yet since this prejudice, however unreasonable, is always likely to -have some prevalence, it is the duty of every man to take care lest -he should hinder the efficacy of his own instructions. When he desires -to gain the belief of others, he should shew that he believes himself; -and when he teaches the fitness of virtue by his reasonings, he should, -by his example, prove its possibility: Thus much at least may be required -of him, that he shall not act worse than others because he writes better, -nor imagine that, by the merit of his genius, he may claim indulgence -beyond mortals of the lower classes, and be excused for want of prudence, -or neglect of virtue. - -Bacon, in his History of the Winds, after having offered something to -the imagination as desirable, often proposes lower advantages in its -place to the reason as attainable. The same method may be sometimes -pursued in moral endeavours, which this philosopher has observed in -natural inquiries; having first set positive and absolute excellence -before us, we may be pardoned though we sink down to humbler virtue, -trying, however, to keep our point always in view, and struggling not -to lose ground, though we cannot gain it. - -It is recorded of Sir Mathew Hale, that he, for a long time, concealed the -consecration of himself to the stricter duties of religion, lest by some -flagitious and shameful action, he should bring piety into disgrace. For -the same reason it may be prudent for a writer, who apprehends that he -shall not enforce his own maxims by his domestick character, to conceal -his name, that he may not injure them. - -There are, indeed, a great number whose curiosity to gain a more familiar -knowledge of successful writers, is not so much prompted by an opinion -of their power to improve as to delight, and who expect from them not -arguments against vice, or dissertations on temperance or justice; but -flights of wit, and sallies of pleasantry, or, at least, acute remarks, -nice distinctions, justness of sentiment, and elegance of diction. - -This expectation is, indeed, specious and probable, and yet, such is -the fate of all human hopes, that it is very often frustrated, and those -who raise admiration by their books, disgust by their company. A man of -letters for the most part spends in the privacies of study, that season -of life in which the manners are to be softened into ease, and polished -into elegance; and, when he has gained knowledge enough to be respected, -has neglected the minuter acts by which he might have pleased. When he -enters life, if his temper be soft and timorous, he is diffident and -bashful, from the knowledge of his defects; or if he was born with spirit -and resolution, he is ferocious and arrogant, from the consciousness of -his merit; he is either dissipated by the awe of company, and unable -to recollect his reading, and arrange his arguments; or he is hot and -dogmatical, quick in opposition, and tenacious in defence, disabled by -his own violence, and confused by his haste to triumph. - -The graces of writing and conversation are of different kinds, and though -he who excels in one might have been, with opportunities and application, -equally successful in the other, yet as many please by extemporary talk, -though utterly unacquainted with the more accurate method, and more -laboured beauties, which composition requires; so it is very possible -that men, wholly accustomed to works of study, may be without that -readiness of conception, and affluence of language, always necessary to -colloquial entertainment. They may want address to watch the hints which -conversation offers for the display of their particular attainments, -or they may be so much unfurnished with matter on common subjects, that -discourse not professedly literary, glides over them as heterogeneous -bodies, without admitting their conceptions to mix in the circulation. - -A transition from an author's book to his conversation, is too often -like an entrance into a large city, after a distant prospect. Remotely, -we see nothing but spires of temples and turrets of palaces, and imagine -it the residence of splendour, grandeur and magnificence; but, when -we have passed the gates, we find it perplexed with narrow passages, -disgraced with despicable cottages, embarrassed with obstructions, -and clouded with smoke. - - - - -No. 15. TUESDAY, MAY 8, 1750. - - - _Et quando uberior vitiorum copia? quando_ - _Major avaritiae patuit sinus? Alea quando_ - _Hos animos?_ - JUV. Sat. i. 87. - - What age so large a crop of vices bore, - Or when was avarice extended more? - When were the dice with more profusion thrown? - DRYDEN. - - -There is no grievance, publick or private, of which, since I took upon -me the office of a periodical monitor, I have received so many, or so -earnest complaints, as of the predominance of play; of a fatal passion -for cards and dice, which seems to have overturned, not only the ambition -of excellence, but the desire of pleasure; to have extinguished the -flames of the lover, as well as of the patriot; and threatens, in its -further progress, to destroy all distinctions, both of rank and sex, -to crush all emulation but that of fraud, to corrupt all those classes -of our people, whose ancestors have, by their virtue, their industry, -or their parsimony, given them the power of living in extravagance, -idleness, and vice, and to leave them without knowledge, but of the -modish games, and without wishes, but for lucky hands. - -I have found by long experience, that there are few enterprises so -hopeless as contests with the fashion, in which the opponents are not -only made confident by their numbers, and strong by their union, but -are hardened by contempt of their antagonist, whom they always look -upon as a wretch of low notions, contracted views, mean conversation, -and narrow fortune, who envies the elevations which he cannot reach, who -would gladly imbitter the happiness which his inelegance or indigence -deny him to partake, and who has no other end in his advice than to -revenge his own mortification by hindering those whom their birth and -taste have set above him, from the enjoyment of their superiority, and -bringing them down to a level with himself. - -Though I have never found myself much affected by this formidable -censure, which I have incurred often enough to be acquainted with its -full force, yet I shall, in some measure, obviate it on this occasion, -by offering very little in my own name, either of argument or entreaty, -since those who suffer by this general infatuation may be supposed best -able to relate its effects. - - * * * * * - -SIR, - -There seems to be so little knowledge left in the world, and so little -of that reflection practised, by which knowledge is to be gained, that -I am in doubt, whether I shall be understood, when I complain of want -of opportunity for thinking; or whether a condemnation, which at present -seems irreversible, to perpetual ignorance, will raise any compassion, -either in you, or your readers: yet I will venture to lay my state before -you, because I believe it is natural, to most minds, to take some pleasure -in complaining of evils, of which they have no reason to be ashamed. - -I am the daughter of a man of great fortune, whose diffidence of mankind, -and, perhaps, the pleasure of continual accumulation, incline him to -reside upon his own estate, and to educate his children in his own house, -where I was bred, if not with the most brilliant examples of virtue -before my eyes, at least remote enough from any incitements to vice; and -wanting neither leisure nor books, nor the acquaintance of some persons -of learning in the neighbourhood, I endeavoured to acquire such knowledge -as might most recommend me to esteem, and thought myself able to support -a conversation upon most of the subjects, which my sex and condition made -it proper for me to understand. - -I had, besides my knowledge, as my mamma and my maid told me, a very fine -face, and elegant shape, and with all these advantages had been seventeen -months the reigning toast for twelve miles round, and never came to the -monthly assembly, but I heard the old ladies that sat by wishing that -_it might end well_, and their daughters criticising my air, my features, -or my dress. - -You know, Mr. Rambler, that ambition is natural to youth, and curiosity -to understanding, and therefore will hear, without wonder, that I was -desirous to extend my victories over those who might give more honour to -the conqueror; and that I found in a country life a continual repetition -of the same pleasures, which was not sufficient to fill up the mind for -the present, or raise any expectations of the future; and I will confess -to you, that I was impatient for a sight of the town, and filled my -thoughts with the discoveries which I should make, the triumphs that I -should obtain, and the praises that I should receive. - -At last the time came. My aunt, whose husband has a seat in parliament, -and a place at court, buried her only child, and sent for me to supply -the loss. The hope that I should so far insinuate myself into their -favour, as to obtain a considerable augmentation of my fortune, procured -me every convenience for my departure, with great expedition; and I -could not, amidst all my transports, forbear some indignation to see with -what readiness the natural guardians of my virtue sold me to a state, -which they thought more hazardous than it really was, as soon as a new -accession of fortune glittered in their eyes. - -Three days I was upon the road, and on the fourth morning my heart danced -at the sight of London. I was set down at my aunt's, and entered upon -the scene of action. I expected now, from the age and experience of my -aunt, some prudential lessons; but, after the first civilities and first -tears were over, was told what pity it was to have kept so fine a girl so -long in the country; for the people who did not begin young, seldom dealt -their cards handsomely, or played them tolerably. - -Young persons are commonly inclined to slight the remarks and counsels -of their elders. I smiled, perhaps, with too much contempt, and was upon -the point of telling her that my time had not been passed in such trivial -attainments. But I soon found that things are to be estimated, not by the -importance of their effects, but the frequency of their use. - -A few days after, my aunt gave me notice, that some company, which she had -been six weeks in collecting, was to meet that evening, and she expected -a finer assembly than had been seen all the winter. She expressed this -in the jargon of a gamester, and, when I asked an explication of her -terms of art, wondered where I had lived. I had already found my aunt -so incapable of any rational conclusion, and so ignorant of every thing, -whether great or little, that I had lost all regard to her opinion, -and dressed myself with great expectations of an opportunity to display -my charms among rivals, whose competition would not dishonour me. The -company came in, and after the cursory compliments of salutation, alike -easy to the lowest and the highest understanding, what was the result? -The cards were broke open, the parties were formed, the whole night -passed in a game, upon which the young and old were equally employed; nor -was I able to attract an eye, or gain an ear; but being compelled to play -without skill, I perpetually embarrassed my partner, and soon perceived -the contempt of the whole table gathering upon me. - -I cannot but suspect, Sir, that this odious fashion is produced by a -conspiracy of the old, the ugly, and the ignorant, against the young -and beautiful, the witty and the gay, as a contrivance to level all -distinctions of nature and art, to confound the world in a chaos of -folly, to take from those who could outshine them all the advantages -of mind and body, to withhold youth from its natural pleasures, deprive -wit of its influence, and beauty of its charms, to fix those hearts upon -money, to which love has hitherto been entitled, to sink life into a -tedious uniformity, and to allow it no other hopes or fears, but those -of robbing, and being robbed. - -Be pleased, Sir, to inform those of my sex who have minds capable of -nobler sentiments, that, if they will unite in vindication of their -pleasures and their prerogatives, they may fix a time, at which cards -shall cease to be in fashion, or be left only to those who have neither -beauty to be loved, nor spirit to be feared; neither knowledge to teach, -nor modesty to learn; and who, having passed their youth in vice, are -justly condemned to spend their age in folly[39]. - -I am, Sir, &c. - - CLEORA. - - * * * * * - -SIR, - -Vexation will burst my heart, if I do not give it vent. As you publish a -paper, I insist upon it that you insert this in your next, as ever you -hope for the kindness and encouragement of any woman of taste, spirit, -and virtue. I would have it published to the world, how deserving wives -are used by imperious coxcombs, that henceforth no woman may marry who -has not the patience of Grizzel. Nay, if even Grizzel had been married to -a gamester, her temper would never have held out. A wretch that loses his -good-humour and humanity along with his money, and will not allow enough -from his own extravagances to support a woman of fashion in the necessary -amusements of life!--Why does not he employ his wise head to make a figure -in parliament, raise an estate, and get a title? That would be fitter for -the master of a family, than rattling a noisy dice-box; and then he might -indulge his wife in a few slight expenses and elegant diversions. - -What if I was unfortunate at Brag!--should he not have stayed to see -how luck would turn another time? Instead of that, what does he do, but -picks a quarrel, upbraids me with loss of beauty, abuses my acquaintance, -ridicules my play, and insults my understanding; says, forsooth, that -women have not heads enough to play with any thing but dolls, and that -they should be employed in things proportionable to their understanding, -keep at home, and mind family affairs. - -I do stay at home, Sir, and all the world knows I am at home every Sunday. -I have had six routs this winter, and sent out ten packs of cards in -invitations to private parties. As for management, I am sure he cannot -call me extravagant, or say I do not mind my family. The children are out -at nurse in villages as cheap as any two little brats can be kept, nor -have I ever seen them since; so he has no trouble about them. The servants -live at board wages. My own dinners come from the Thatched House; and I -have never paid a penny for any thing I have bought since I was married. -As for play, I do think I may, indeed, indulge in that, now I am my own -mistress. Papa made me drudge at wist till I was tired of it; and, far -from wanting a head, Mr. Hoyle, when he had not given me above forty -lessons, said I was one of his best scholars. I thought then with myself, -that, if once I was at liberty, I would leave play, and take to reading -romances, things so forbidden at our house, and so railed at, that it was -impossible not to fancy them very charming. Most unfortunately, to save -me from absolute undutifulness, just as I was married, came dear Brag -into fashion, and ever since it has been the joy of my life; so easy, so -cheerful and careless, so void of thought, and so genteel! Who can help -loving it? Yet the perfidious thing has used me very ill of late, and -to-morrow I should have changed it for Faro. But, oh! this detestable -to-morrow, a thing always expected, and never found.--Within these few -hours must I be dragged into the country. The wretch, Sir, left me in a -fit, which his threatenings had occasioned, and unmercifully ordered a -post-chaise. Stay I cannot, for money I have none, and credit I cannot -get.----But I will make the monkey play with me at picquet upon the road -for all I want. I am almost sure to beat him, and his debts of honour I -know he will pay. Then who can tell but I may still come back and conquer -Lady Packer? Sir, you need not print this last scheme, and, upon second -thoughts, you may.--Oh, distraction! the post-chaise is at the door. Sir, -publish what you will, only let it be printed without a name. - -[Footnote 39: A youth of frolicks, an old age of cards. POPE.] - - - - -No. 16. SATURDAY, MAY 12, 1750. - - - _----Torrens dicendi copia multis,_ - _Et sua mortifera est facundia----_ - JUV. Sat. x. 10. - - Some who the depths of eloquence have found, - In that unnavigable stream were drown'd. - DRYDEN. - - -SIR, - -I am the modest young man whom you favoured with your advice, in a -late paper; and, as I am very far from suspecting that you foresaw the -numberless inconveniencies which I have, by following it, brought upon -myself, I will lay my condition open before you, for you seem bound -to extricate me from the perplexities in which your counsel, however -innocent in the intention, has contributed to involve me. - -You told me, as you thought, to my comfort, that a writer might easily -find means of introducing his genius to the world, for the _presses of -England were open_. This I have now fatally experienced; the press is, -indeed, open. - - _----Facilis descensus Averni,_ - _Noctes atque dies patet atri janua Ditis._ - VIRG. Aen. lib. vi. 126. - - The gates of hell are open night and day; - Smooth the descent, and easy is the way. - DRYDEN. - -The means of doing hurt to ourselves are always at hand. I immediately -sent to a printer, and contracted with him for an impression of several -thousands of my pamphlet. While it was at the press, I was seldom absent -from the printing-house, and continually urged the workmen to haste, by -solicitations, promises, and rewards. From the day all other pleasures -were excluded, by the delightful employment of correcting the sheets; and -from the night, sleep generally was banished, by anticipations of the -happiness which every hour was bringing nearer. At last the time of -publication approached, and my heart beat with the raptures of an author. -I was above all little precautions, and, in defiance of envy or of -criticism, set my name upon the title, without sufficiently considering, -that what has once passed the press is irrevocable, and that though the -printing-house may properly be compared to the infernal regions, for the -facility of its entrance, and the difficulty with which authors return -from it; yet there is this difference, that a great genius can never -return to his former state, by a happy draught of the waters of oblivion. - -I am now, Mr. Rambler, known to be an author, and am condemned, -irreversibly condemned, to all the miseries of high reputation. The first -morning after publication my friends assembled about me; I presented -each, as is usual, with a copy of my book. They looked into the first -pages, but were hindered, by their admiration, from reading further. The -first pages are, indeed, very elaborate. Some passages they particularly -dwelt upon, as more eminently beautiful than the rest; and some delicate -strokes, and secret elegancies, I pointed out to them, which had escaped -their observation. I then begged of them to forbear their compliments, -and invited them, I could do no less, to dine with me at a tavern. -After dinner, the book was resumed; but their praises very often so much -over-powered my modesty, that I was forced to put about the glass, and -had often no means of repressing the clamours of their admiration, but by -thundering to the drawer for another bottle. - -Next morning another set of my acquaintance congratulated me upon my -performance, with such importunity of praise, that I was again forced -to obviate their civilities by a treat. On the third day, I had yet a -greater number of applauders to put to silence in the same manner; and, -on the fourth, those whom I had entertained the first day came again, -having, in the perusal of the remaining part of the book, discovered so -many forcible sentences and masterly touches, that it was impossible for -me to bear the repetition of their commendations. I therefore persuaded -them once more to adjourn to the tavern, and choose some other subject, -on which I might share in their conversation. But it was not in their -power to withhold their attention from my performance, which had so -entirely taken possession of their minds, that no entreaties of mine -could change their topick, and I was obliged to stifle, with claret, that -praise which neither my modesty could hinder, nor my uneasiness repress. - -The whole week was thus spent in a kind of literary revel, and I have now -found that nothing is so expensive as great abilities, unless there is -joined with them an insatiable eagerness of praise; for to escape from -the pain of hearing myself exalted above the greatest names, dead and -living, of the learned world, it has already cost me two hogsheads of -port, fifteen gallons of arrack, ten dozen of claret, and five and forty -bottles of champagne. - -I was resolved to stay at home no longer, and therefore rose early and -went to the coffee-house; but found that I had now made myself too -eminent for happiness, and that I was no longer to enjoy the pleasure -of mixing, upon equal terms, with the rest of the world. As soon as I -enter the room, I see part of the company raging with envy, which they -endeavour to conceal, sometimes with the appearance of laughter, and -sometimes with that of contempt; but the disguise is such, that I can -discover the secret rancour of their hearts, and as envy is deservedly -its own punishment, I frequently indulge myself in tormenting them with -my presence. - -But though there may be some slight satisfaction received from the -mortification of my enemies, yet my benevolence will not suffer me to -take any pleasure in the terrours of my friends. I have been cautious, -since the appearance of my work, not to give myself more premeditated -airs of superiority, than the most rigid humility might allow. It is, -indeed, not impossible that I may sometimes have laid down my opinion, -in a manner that shewed a consciousness of my ability to maintain it, or -interrupted the conversation, when I saw its tendency, without suffering -the speaker to waste his time in explaining his sentiments; and, indeed, -I did indulge myself for two days in a custom of drumming with my -fingers, when the company began to lose themselves in absurdities, or -to encroach upon subjects which I knew them unqualified to discuss. But -I generally acted with great appearance of respect, even to those whose -stupidity I pitied in my heart. Yet, notwithstanding this exemplary -moderation, so universal is the dread of uncommon powers, and such the -unwillingness of mankind to be made wiser, that I have now for some days -found myself shunned by all my acquaintance. If I knock at a door, nobody -is at home; if I enter a coffee-house, I have the box to myself. I live -in the town like a lion in his desert, or an eagle on his rock, too great -for friendship or society, and condemned to solitude by unhappy elevation -and dreaded ascendency. - -Nor is my character only formidable to others, but burdensome to myself. -I naturally love to talk without much thinking, to scatter my merriment -at random, and to relax my thoughts with ludicrous remarks and fanciful -images; but such is now the importance of my opinion, that I am afraid to -offer it, lest, by being established too hastily into a maxim, it should -be the occasion of errour to half the nation; and such is the expectation -with which I am attended, when I am going to speak, that I frequently -pause to reflect whether what I am about to utter is worthy of myself. - -This, Sir, is sufficiently miserable; but there are still greater -calamities behind. You must have read in Pope and Swift how men of parts -have had their closets rifled, and their cabinets broke open, at the -instigation of piratical booksellers, for the profit of their works; and -it is apparent that there are many prints now sold in the shops, of men -whom you cannot suspect of sitting for that purpose, and whose likenesses -must have been certainly stolen when their names made their faces -vendible. These considerations at first put me on my guard, and I have, -indeed, found sufficient reason for my caution, for I have discovered -many people examining my countenance, with a curiosity that shewed their -intention to draw it; I immediately left the house, but find the same -behaviour in another. - -Others may be persecuted, but I am haunted; I have good reason to believe -that eleven painters are now dogging me, for they know that he who can get -my face first will make his fortune. I often change my wig, and wear my -hat over my eyes, by which I hope somewhat to confound them; for you know -it is not fair to sell my face, without admitting me to share the profit. - -I am, however, not so much in pain for my face as for my papers, which I -dare neither carry with me nor leave behind. I have, indeed, taken some -measures for their preservation, having put them in an iron chest, and -fixed a padlock upon my closet. I change my lodgings five times a week, -and always remove at the dead of night. - -Thus I live, in consequence of having given too great proofs of a -predominant genius, in the solitude of a hermit, with the anxiety of -a miser, and the caution of an outlaw; afraid to shew my face lest it -should be copied; afraid to speak, lest I should injure my character; -and to write, lest my correspondents should publish my letters; always -uneasy lest my servants should steal my papers for the sake of money, or -my friends for that of the publick. This it is to soar above the rest of -mankind; and this representation I lay before you, that I may be informed -how to divest myself of the laurels which are so cumbersome to the -wearer, and descend to the enjoyment of that quiet, from which I find a -writer of the first class so fatally debarred. - - MISELLUS. - - - - -No. 17. TUESDAY, MAY 15, 1750. - - - _----Me non oracula certum,_ - _Sed mors certa facit._ - LUCAN, lib. ix. 582. - - Let those weak minds, who live in doubt and fear, - To juggling priests for oracles repair; - One certain hour of death to each decreed, - My fixt, my certain soul from doubt has freed. - ROWE. - - -It is recorded of some eastern monarch, that he kept an officer in -his house, whose employment it was to remind him of his mortality, -by calling out every morning, at a stated hour, _Remember, prince, that -thou shalt die!_ And the contemplation of the frailness and uncertainty -of our present state appeared of so much importance to Solon of Athens, -that he left this precept to future ages; _Keep thine eye fixed upon -the end of life._ - -A frequent and attentive prospect of that moment, which must put a -period to all our schemes, and deprive us of all our acquisitions, is -indeed of the utmost efficacy to the just and rational regulation of -our lives; nor would ever any thing wicked, or often any thing absurd, -be undertaken or prosecuted by him who should begin every day with a -serious reflection that he is born to die. - -The disturbers of our happiness, in this world, are our desires, our -griefs, and our fears; and to all these, the consideration of mortality -is a certain and adequate remedy. Think, says Epictetus, frequently on -poverty, banishment, and death, and thou wilt then never indulge violent -desires, or give up thy heart to mean sentiments, [Greek: ouden oudepote -tapeinon enthumese, oute agan epithumeseis tinos]. - -That the maxim of Epictetus is founded on just observation will easily -be granted, when we reflect, how that vehemence of eagerness after -the common objects of pursuit is kindled in our minds. We represent -to ourselves the pleasures of some future possession, and suffer our -thoughts to dwell attentively upon it, till it has wholly engrossed -the imagination, and permits us not to conceive any happiness but -its attainment, or any misery but its loss; every other satisfaction -which the bounty of Providence has scattered over life is neglected as -inconsiderable, in comparison of the great object which we have placed -before us, and is thrown from us as incumbering our activity, or trampled -under foot as standing in our way. - -Every man has experienced how much of this ardour has been remitted, when -a sharp or tedious sickness has set death before his eyes. The extensive -influence of greatness, the glitter of wealth, the praises of admirers, -and the attendance of supplicants, have appeared vain and empty things, -when the last hour seemed to be approaching: and the same appearance they -would always have, if the same thought was always predominant. We should -then find the absurdity of stretching out our arms incessantly to grasp -that which we cannot keep, and wearing out our lives in endeavours to -add new turrets to the fabrick of ambition, when the foundation itself -is shaking, and the ground on which it stands is mouldering away. - -All envy is proportionate to desire; we are uneasy at the attainments -of another, according as we think our own happiness would be advanced by -the addition of that which he withholds from us; and therefore whatever -depresses immoderate wishes, will, at the same time, set the heart -free from the corrosion of envy, and exempt us from that vice which is, -above most others, tormenting to ourselves, hateful to the world, and -productive of mean artifices, and sordid projects. He that considers -how soon he must close his life, will find nothing of so much importance -as to close it well; and will, therefore, look with indifference upon -whatever is useless to that purpose. Whoever reflects frequently upon the -uncertainty of his own duration, will find out, that the state of others -is not more permanent, and that what can confer nothing on himself very -desirable, cannot so much improve the condition of a rival, as to make -him much superior to those from whom he has carried the prize--a prize -too mean to deserve a very obstinate opposition. - -Even grief, that passion to which the virtuous and tender mind is -particularly subject, will be obviated or alleviated by the same -thoughts. It will be obviated, if all the blessings of our condition are -enjoyed with a constant sense of this uncertain tenure. If we remember, -that whatever we possess is to be in our hands but a very little time, -and that the little which our most lively hopes can promise us may be -made less by ten thousand accidents; we shall not much repine at a loss, -of which we cannot estimate the value, but of which, though we are not -able to tell the least amount, we know, with sufficient certainty, the -greatest; and are convinced that the greatest is not much to be regretted. - -But, if any passion has so much usurped our understanding, as not to -suffer us to enjoy advantages with the moderation prescribed by reason, it -is not too late to apply this remedy, when we find ourselves sinking under -sorrow, and inclined to pine for that which is irrecoverably vanished. We -may then usefully revolve the uncertainty of our own condition, and the -folly of lamenting that from which, if it had stayed a little longer, -we should ourselves have been taken away. - -With regard to the sharpest and most melting sorrow, that which arises -from the loss of those whom we have loved with tenderness, it may be -observed, that friendship between mortals can be contracted on no other -terms, than that one must some time mourn for the other's death: and this -grief will always yield to the survivor one consolation proportionate -to his affliction; for the pain, whatever it be, that he himself feels, -his friend has escaped. - -Nor is fear, the most overbearing and resistless of all our passions, -less to be temperated by this universal medicine of the mind. The -frequent contemplation of death, as it shews the vanity of all human -good, discovers likewise the lightness of all terrestrial evil, which -certainly can last no longer than the subject upon which it acts; and -according to the old observation, must be shorter, as it is more -violent. The most cruel calamity which misfortune can produce, must, -by the necessity of nature, be quickly an at end. The soul cannot long -be held in prison, but will fly away, and leave a lifeless body to -human malice. - - _----Ridetque sui ludibria trunci._ - - And soaring mocks the broken frame below. - -The utmost that we can threaten to one another is that death, which, -indeed, we may precipitate, but cannot retard, and from which, therefore, -it cannot become a wise man to buy a reprieve at the expense of virtue, -since he knows not how small a portion of time he can purchase, but -knows, that whether short or long, it will be made less valuable by the -remembrance of the price at which it has been obtained. He is sure that -he destroys his happiness, but is not sure that he lengthens his life. - -The known shortness of life, as it ought to moderate our passions, may -likewise, with equal propriety, contract our designs. There is not time -for the most forcible genius, and most active industry, to extend its -effects beyond a certain sphere. To project the conquest of the world, -is the madness of mighty princes; to hope for excellence in every -science, has been the folly of literary heroes; and both have found at -last, that they have panted for a height of eminence denied to humanity, -and have lost many opportunities of making themselves useful and happy, -by a vain ambition of obtaining a species of honour, which the eternal -laws of Providence have placed beyond the reach of man. - -The miscarriages of the great designs of princes are recorded in the -histories of the world, but are of little use to the bulk of mankind, -who seem very little interested in admonitions against errours which they -cannot commit. But the fate of learned ambition is a proper subject for -every scholar to consider; for who has not had occasion to regret the -dissipation of great abilities in a boundless multiplicity of pursuits, -to lament the sudden desertion of excellent designs, upon the offer of -some other subject made inviting by its novelty, and to observe the -inaccuracy and deficiencies of works left unfinished by too great an -extension of the plan? - -It is always pleasing to observe, how much more our minds can conceive, -than our bodies can perform; yet it is our duty, while we continue in -this complicated state, to regulate one part of our composition by some -regard to the other. We are not to indulge our corporeal appetites with -pleasures that impair our intellectual vigour, nor gratify our minds with -schemes which we know our lives must fail in attempting to execute. The -uncertainty of our duration ought at once to set bounds to our designs, -and add incitements to our industry; and when we find ourselves inclined -either to immensity in our schemes, or sluggishness in our endeavours, -we may either check, or animate, ourselves, by recollecting, with the -father of physick, _that art is long, and life is short_. - - - - -No. 18. SATURDAY, MAY 19, 1750. - - - _Illic matre carentibus,_ - _Privignis mulier temperat innocens,_ - _Nec dotata regit virum_ - _Conjux, nec nitido fidit adultero:_ - _Dos est magna parentium_ - _Virtus, et metuens alterius viri_ - _Certo foedere castitas._ - HOR. lib. iii. Ode xxiv. 17. - - Not there the guiltless step-dame knows - The baleful draught for orphans to compose; - No wife high portion'd rules her spouse, - Or trusts her essenc'd lover's faithless vows: - The lovers there for dow'ry claim - The father's virtue, and the spotless fame, - Which dares not break the nuptial tie. - FRANCIS. - - -There is no observation more frequently made by such as employ themselves -in surveying the conduct of mankind, than that marriage, though the -dictate of nature, and the institution of Providence, is yet very often -the cause of misery, and that those who enter into that state can seldom -forbear to express their repentance, and their envy of those whom either -chance or caution hath withheld from it. - -This general unhappiness has given occasion to many sage maxims among -the serious, and smart remarks among the gay; the moralist and the -writer of epigrams have equally shewn their abilities upon it; some have -lamented, and some have ridiculed it; but as the faculty of writing has -been chiefly a masculine endowment, the reproach of making the world -miserable has been always thrown upon the women, and the grave and the -merry have equally thought themselves at liberty to conclude either -with declamatory complaints, or satirical censures, of female folly or -fickleness, ambition or cruelty, extravagance or lust. - -Led by such a number of examples, and incited by my share in the common -interest, I sometimes venture to consider this universal grievance, -having endeavoured to divest my heart of all partiality, and place -myself as a kind of neutral being between the sexes, whose clamours -being equally vented on both sides with all the vehemence of distress, -all the apparent confidence of justice, and all the indignation of -injured virtue, seem entitled to equal regard. The men have, indeed, -by their superiority of writing, been able to collect the evidence -of many ages, and raise prejudices in their favour by the venerable -testimonies of philosophers, historians, and poets; but the pleas of the -ladies appeal to passions of more forcible operation than the reverence -of antiquity. If they have not so great names on their side, they have -stronger arguments: it is to little purpose that Socrates, or Euripides, -are produced against the sighs of softness, and the tears of beauty. The -most frigid and inexorable judge would at least stand suspended between -equal powers, as Lucan was perplexed in the determination of the cause, -where the deities were on one side, and Cato on the other. - -But I, who have long studied the severest and most abstracted philosophy, -have now, in the cool maturity of life, arrived at such command over -my passions, that I can hear the vociferations of either sex without -catching any of the fire from those that utter them. For I have found, -by long experience, that a man will sometimes rage at his wife, when -in reality his mistress has offended him; and a lady complain of the -cruelty of her husband, when she has no other enemy than bad cards. -I do not suffer myself to be any longer imposed upon by oaths on one -side, or fits on the other; nor when the husband hastens to the tavern, -and the lady retires to her closet, am I always confident that they -are driven by their miseries; since I have sometimes reason to believe, -that they purpose not so much to soothe their sorrows, as to animate their -fury. But how little credit soever may be given to particular accusations, -the general accumulation of the charge shews, with too much evidence, that -married persons are not very often advanced in felicity; and, therefore, -it may be proper to examine at what avenues so many evils have made -their way into the world. With this purpose, I have reviewed the lives -of my friends, who have been least successful in connubial contracts, -and attentively considered by what motives they were incited to marry, -and by what principles they regulated their choice. - -One of the first of my acquaintances that resolved to quit the unsettled -thoughtless condition of a bachelor, was Prudentius, a man of slow parts, -but not without knowledge or judgment in things which he had leisure -to consider gradually before he determined them. Whenever we met at a -tavern, it was his province to settle the scheme of our entertainment, -contract with the cook, and inform us when we had called for wine to the -sum originally proposed. This grave considerer found, by deep meditation, -that a man was no loser by marrying early, even though he contented -himself with a less fortune; for estimating the exact worth of annuities, -he found that considering the constant diminution of the value of life, -with the probable fall of the interest of money, it was not worse to -have ten thousand pounds at the age of two and twenty years, than a much -larger fortune at thirty; for many opportunities, says he, occur of -improving money, which if a man misses, he may not afterwards recover. - -Full of these reflections, he threw his eyes about him, not in search -of beauty or elegance, dignity or understanding, but of a woman with ten -thousand pounds. Such a woman, in a wealthy part of the kingdom, it was -not very difficult to find; and by artful management with her father, -whose ambition was to make his daughter a gentlewoman, my friend got -her, as he boasted to us in confidence two days after his marriage, -for a settlement of seventy-three pounds a year less than her fortune -might have claimed, and less than he would himself have given, if the -fools had been but wise enough to delay the bargain. - -Thus, at once delighted with the superiority of his parts and the -augmentation of his fortune, he carried Furia to his own house, in which -he never afterwards enjoyed one hour of happiness. For Furia was a wretch -of mean intellects, violent passions, a strong voice, and low education, -without any sense of happiness but that which consisted in eating and -counting money. Furia was a scold. They agreed in the desire of wealth, -but with this difference, that Prudentius was for growing rich by gain, -Furia by parsimony. Prudentius would venture his money with chances -very much in his favour; but Furia very wisely observing, that what -they had was, while they had it, _their own_, thought all traffick -too great a hazard, and was for putting it out at low interest, -upon good security. Prudentius ventured, however, to insure a ship -at a very unreasonable price, but happening to lose his money, was -so tormented with the clamours of his wife, that he never durst try -a second experiment. He has now grovelled seven and forty years under -Furia's direction, who never once mentioned him, since his bad luck, -by any other name than that of _the insurer_. - -The next that married from our society was Florentius. He happened to -see Zephyretta in a chariot at a horse-race, danced with her at night, -was confirmed in his first ardour, waited on her next morning, and -declared himself her lover. Florentius had not knowledge enough of -the world, to distinguish between the flutter of coquetry, and the -sprightliness of wit, or between the smile of allurement, and that of -cheerfulness. He was soon awaked from his rapture, by conviction that -his pleasure was but the pleasure of a day. Zephyretta had in four and -twenty hours spent her stock of repartee, gone round the circle of her -airs, and had nothing remaining for him but childish insipidity, or for -herself, but the practice of the same artifices upon new men. - -Melissus was a man of parts, capable of enjoying and of improving life. -He had passed through the various scenes of gaiety with that indifference -and possession of himself, natural to men who have something higher -and nobler in their prospect. Retiring to spend the summer in a village -little frequented, he happened to lodge in the same house with Ianthe, and -was unavoidably drawn to some acquaintance, which her wit and politeness -soon invited him to improve. Having no opportunity of any other company, -they were always together; and as they owed their pleasures to each -other, they began to forget that any pleasure was enjoyed before their -meeting. Melissus, from being delighted with her company, quickly began to -be uneasy in her absence, and being sufficiently convinced of the force -of her understanding, and finding, as he imagined, such a conformity of -temper as declared them formed for each other, addressed her as a lover, -after no very long courtship obtained her for his wife, and brought her -next winter to town in triumph. - -Now began their infelicity. Melissus had only seen her in one scene, -where there was no variety of objects, to produce the proper excitements -to contrary desires. They had both loved solitude and reflection, where -there was nothing but solitude and reflection to be loved; but when -they came into publick life, Ianthe discovered those passions which -accident rather than hypocrisy had hitherto concealed. She was, indeed, -not without the power of thinking, but was wholly without the exertion -of that power when either gaiety or splendour played on her imagination. -She was expensive in her diversions, vehement in her passions, insatiate -of pleasure, however dangerous to her reputation, and eager of applause, -by whomsoever it might be given. This was the wife which Melissus the -philosopher found in his retirement, and from whom he expected an -associate in his studies, and an assistant to his virtues. - -Prosapius, upon the death of his younger brother, that the family -might not be extinct, married his housekeeper, and has ever since been -complaining to his friends that mean notions are instilled into his -children, that he is ashamed to sit at his own table, and that his house -is uneasy to him for want of suitable companions. - -Avaro, master of a very large estate, took a woman of bad reputation, -recommended to him by a rich uncle, who made that marriage the condition -on which he should be his heir. Avaro now wonders to perceive his own -fortune, his wife's and his uncle's, insufficient to give him that -happiness which is to be found only with a woman of virtue. - -I intend to treat in more papers on this important article of life, -and shall, therefore, make no reflection upon these histories, except -that all whom I have mentioned failed to obtain happiness, for want of -considering that marriage is the strictest tie of perpetual friendship; -that there can be no friendship without confidence, and no confidence -without integrity; and that he must expect to be wretched, who pays to -beauty, riches, or politeness, that regard which only virtue and piety -can claim. - - - - -No. 19. TUESDAY, MAY 22, 1750. - - - _Dum modo causidicum, dum te modo rhetora fingis,_ - _Et non decernis, Taure, quid esse velis,_ - _Peleos et Priami transit, vel Nestoris, aetas;_ - _Et fuerat serum jam tibi desinere.----_ - _Eia age, rumpe moras: quo te sperabimus usque?_ - _Dum, quid sis, dubitas, jam potes esse nihil._ - MART. lib. ii. Ep. 64. - - To rhetorick now, and now to law inclin'd, - Uncertain where to fix thy changing mind; - Old Priam's age or Nestor's may be out, - And thou, O Taures! still go on in doubt. - Come then, how long such wavering shall we see? - Thou may'st doubt on: thou now canst nothing be. - F. LEWIS. - - -It is never without very melancholy reflections, that we can observe -the misconduct, or miscarriage, of those men, who seem, by the force of -understanding, or extent of knowledge, exempted from the general frailties -of human nature, and privileged from the common infelicities of life. -Though the world is crowded with scenes of calamity, we look upon the -general mass of wretchedness with very little regard, and fix our eyes -upon the state of particular persons, whom the eminence of their qualities -marks out from the multitude; as in reading an account of a battle, we -seldom reflect on the vulgar heaps of slaughter, but follow the hero -with our whole attention, through all the varieties of his fortune, -without a thought of the thousands that are falling round him. - -With the same kind of anxious veneration I have for many years been making -observations on the life of Polyphilus, a man whom all his acquaintances -have, from his first appearance in the world, feared for the quickness -of his discernment, and admired for the multiplicity of his attainments, -but whose progress in life, and usefulness to mankind, has been hindered -by the superfluity of his knowledge, and the celerity of his mind. - -Polyphilus was remarkable, at the school, for surpassing all his -companions, without any visible application, and at the university was -distinguished equally for his successful progress as well through the -thorny mazes of science, as the flowery path of politer literature, -without any strict confinement to hours of study, or remarkable -forbearance of the common amusements of young men. - -When Polyphilus was at the age in which men usually choose their -profession, and prepare to enter into a publick character, every -academical eye was fixed upon him; all were curious to inquire what -this universal genius would fix upon for the employment of his life; -and no doubt was made but that he would leave all his contemporaries -behind him, and mount to the highest honours of that class in which -he should inlist himself, without those delays and pauses which must be -endured by meaner abilities. - -Polyphilus, though by no means insolent or assuming, had been sufficiently -encouraged, by uninterrupted success, to place great confidence in his own -parts; and was not below his companions in the indulgence of his hopes, -and expectations of the astonishment with which the world would be struck, -when first his lustre should break out upon it; nor could he forbear -(for whom does not constant flattery intoxicate?) to join sometimes in -the mirth of his friends, at the sudden disappearance of those, who, -having shone a while, and drawn the eyes of the publick upon their -feeble radiance, were now doomed to fade away before him. - -It is natural for a man to catch advantageous notions of the condition -which those with whom he converses are striving to attain. Polyphilus, -in a ramble to London, fell accidentally among the physicians, and -was so much pleased with the prospect of turning philosophy to profit, -and so highly delighted with a new theory of fevers which darted into -his imagination, and which, after having considered it a few hours, -he found himself able to maintain against all the advocates for the -ancient system, that he resolved to apply himself to anatomy, botany, -and chemistry, and to leave no part unconquered, either of the animal, -mineral, or vegetable kingdoms. - -He therefore read authors, constructed systems, and tried experiments; -but, unhappily, as he was going to see a new plant in flower at Chelsea, -he met, in crossing Westminster to take water, the chancellor's coach; -he had the curiosity to follow him into the hall, where a remarkable -cause happened to be tried, and found himself able to produce so many -arguments, which the lawyers had omitted on both sides, that he determined -to quit physic for a profession in which he found it would be so easy to -excel, and which promised higher honours, and larger profits, without -melancholy attendance upon misery, mean submission to peevishness, -and continual interruption of rest and pleasure. - -He immediately took chambers in the Temple, bought a common-place book, -and confined himself for some months to the perusal of the statutes, -year-books, pleadings, and reports; he was a constant hearer of the -courts, and began to put cases with reasonable accuracy. But he soon -discovered, by considering the fortune of lawyers, that preferment was -not to be got by acuteness, learning, and eloquence. He was perplexed by -the absurdities of attorneys, and misrepresentations made by his clients -of their own causes, by the useless anxiety of one, and the incessant -importunity of another; he began to repent of having devoted himself to a -study, which was so narrow in its comprehension that it could never carry -his name to any other country, and thought it unworthy of a man of parts -to sell his life only for money. The barrenness of his fellow-students -forced him generally into other company at his hours of entertainment, -and among the varieties of conversation through which his curiosity was -daily wandering, he, by chance, mingled at a tavern with some intelligent -officers of the army. A man of letters was easily dazzled with the -gaiety of their appearance, and softened into kindness by the politeness -of their address; he, therefore, cultivated this new acquaintance, and -when he saw how readily they found in every place admission and regard, -and how familiarly they mingled with every rank and order of men, he -began to feel his heart beat for military honours, and wondered how the -prejudices of the university should make him so long insensible of that -ambition, which has fired so many hearts in every age, and negligent -of that calling, which is, above all others, universally and invariably -illustrious, and which gives, even to the exterior appearance of its -professors, a dignity and freedom unknown to the rest of mankind. - -These favourable impressions were made still deeper by his conversation -with ladies, whose regard for soldiers he could not observe, without -wishing himself one of that happy fraternity, to which the female -world seem to have devoted their charms and their kindness. The love of -knowledge, which was still his predominant inclination, was gratified -by the recital of adventures, and accounts of foreign countries; and -therefore he concluded that there was no way of life in which all his -views could so completely concentre as in that of a soldier. In the art of -war he thought it not difficult to excel, having observed his new friends -not very much versed in the principles of tacticks or fortification; -he therefore studied all the military writers both ancient and modern, -and, in a short time, could tell how to have gained every remarkable -battle that has been lost from the beginning of the world. He often -shewed at table how Alexander should have been checked in his conquests, -what was the fatal errour at Pharsalia, how Charles of Sweden might -have escaped his ruin at Pultowa, and Marlborough might have been made -to repent his temerity at Blenheim. He entrenched armies upon paper so -that no superiority of numbers could force them, and modelled in clay -many impregnable fortresses, on which all the present arts of attack -would be exhausted without effect. - -Polyphilus, in a short time, obtained a commission; but before he could -rub off the solemnity of a scholar, and gain the true air of military -vivacity, a war was declared, and forces sent to the continent. Here -Polyphilus unhappily found that study alone would not make a soldier; for -being much accustomed to think, he let the sense of danger sink into -his mind, and felt at the approach of any action, that terrour which -a sentence of death would have brought upon him. He saw that, instead -of conquering their fears, the endeavour of his gay friends was only -to escape them; but his philosophy chained his mind to its object, -and rather loaded him with shackles than furnished him with arms. He, -however, suppressed his misery in silence, and passed through the campaign -with honour, but found himself utterly unable to support another. - -He then had recourse again to his books, and continued to range from one -study to another. As I usually visit him once a month, and am admitted -to him without previous notice, I have found him within this last half -year, decyphering the Chinese language, making a farce, collecting a -vocabulary of the obsolete terms of the English law, writing an inquiry -concerning the ancient Corinthian brass, and forming a new scheme of -the variations of the needle. - -Thus is this powerful genius, which might have extended the sphere of -any science, or benefited the world in any profession, dissipated in a -boundless variety, without profit to others or himself! He makes sudden -irruptions into the regions of knowledge, and sees all obstacles give -way before him; but he never stays long enough to complete his conquest, -to establish laws, or bring away the spoils. - -Such is often the folly of men, whom nature has enabled to obtain skill -and knowledge, on terms so easy, that they have no sense of the value -of the acquisition; they are qualified to make such speedy progress in -learning, that they think themselves at liberty to loiter in the way, -and by turning aside after every new object, lose the race, like Atalanta, -to slower competitors, who press diligently forward, and whose force is -directed to a single point. - -I have often thought those happy that have been fixed, from the first -dawn of thought, in a determination to some state of life, by the choice -of one whose authority may caprice, and whose influence may prejudice them -in favour of his opinion. The general precept of consulting the genius -is of little use, unless we are told how the genius can be known. If -it is to be discovered only by experiment, life will be lost before the -resolution can be fixed; if any other indications are to be found, they -may, perhaps, be very early discerned. At least, if to miscarry in an -attempt be a proof of having mistaken the direction of the genius, men -appear not less frequently deceived with regard to themselves than to -others; and therefore no one has much reason to complain that his life -was planned out by his friends, or to be confident that he should have -had either more honour or happiness, by being abandoned to the chance -of his own fancy. - -It was said of the learned bishop Sanderson, that when he was preparing -his lectures, he hesitated so much, and rejected so often, that, at the -time of reading, he was often forced to produce, not what was best, but -what happened to be at hand. This will be the state of every man, who, -in the choice of his employment, balances all the arguments on every side; -the complication is so intricate, the motives and objections so numerous, -there is so much play for the imagination, and so much remains in the -power of others, that reason is forced at last to rest in neutrality, -the decision devolves into the hands of chance, and after a great part -of life spent in inquiries which can never be resolved, the rest must -often pass in repenting the unnecessary delay, and can be useful to few -other purposes than to warn others against the same folly, and to shew, -that of two states of life equally consistent with religion and virtue, -he who chooses earliest chooses best. - - - - -No. 20. SATURDAY, MAY 26, 1750. - - - _Ad populum phaleras. Ego te intus, et in cute novi._ - PERSIUS, Sat. iii. 30. - - Such pageantry be to the people shown; - There boast thy horse's trappings and thy own; - I know thee to thy bottom, from within - Thy shallow centre, to thy utmost skin. - DRYDEN. - - -Among the numerous stratagems, by which pride endeavours to recommend -folly to regard, there is scarcely one that meets with less success -than affectation, or a perpetual disguise of the real character, by -fictitious appearances; whether it be, that every man hates falsehood, -from the natural congruity of truth to his faculties of reason, or that -every man is jealous of the honour of his understanding, and thinks -his discernment consequently called in question, whenever any thing is -exhibited under a borrowed form. - -This aversion from all kinds of disguise, whatever be its cause, is -universally diffused, and incessantly in action; nor is it necessary, -that to exasperate detestation, or excite contempt, any interest should -be invaded, or any competition attempted; it is sufficient, that there -is an intention to deceive, an intention which every heart swells to -oppose, and every tongue is busy to detect. - -This reflection was awakened in my mind by a very common practice among -my correspondents, of writing under characters which they cannot support, -which are of no use to the explanation or enforcement of that which they -describe or recommend; and which, therefore, since they assume them only -for the sake of displaying their abilities, I will advise them for the -future to forbear, as laborious without advantage. - -It is almost a general ambition of those who favour me with their advice -for the regulation of my conduct, or their contribution for the assistance -of my understanding, to affect the style and the names of ladies. And -I cannot always withhold some expression of anger, like Sir Hugh in -the comedy, when I happen to find that a woman has a beard. I must -therefore warn the gentle Phyllis, that she send me no more letters -from the Horse Guards; and require of Belinda, that she be content to -resign her pretentions to female elegance, till she has lived three weeks -without hearing the politicks of Batson's coffee-house. I must indulge -myself in the liberty of observation, that there were some allusions in -Chloris's production, sufficient to shew that Bracton and Plowden are -her favourite authors; and that Euphelia has not been long enough at -home, to wear out all the traces of phraseology, which she learned in -the expedition to Carthagena. - -Among all my female friends, there was none who gave me more trouble to -decypher her true character, than Penthesilea, whose letter lay upon my -desk three days before I could fix upon the real writer. There was a -confusion of images, and medley of barbarity, which held me long in -suspense; till by perseverance I disentangled the perplexity, and found -that Penthesilea is the son of a wealthy stock-jobber, who spends his -morning under his father's eye in Change-Alley, dines at a tavern in -Covent-Garden, passes his evening in the play-house, and part of the -night at a gaming-table, and having learned the dialects of these -various regions, has mingled them all in a studied composition. - -When Lee was once told by a critick, that it was very easy to write like -a madman, he answered, that it was difficult to write like a madman, but -easy enough to write like a fool; and I hope to be excused by my kind -contributors, if, in imitation of this great author, I presume to remind -them, that it is much easier not to write like a man, than to write like -a woman. - -I have, indeed, some ingenious well-wishers, who, without departing from -their sex, have found very wonderful appellations. A very smart letter -has been sent me from a puny ensign, signed Ajax Telamonius; another, in -recommendation of a new treatise upon cards, from a gamester, who calls -himself Sesostris: and another upon the improvements of the fishery, -from Dioclesian: but as these seem only to have picked up their -appellations by chance, without endeavouring at any particular -imposture, their improprieties are rather instances of blunder than of -affectation, and are, therefore, not equally fitted to inflame the -hostile passions; for it is not folly but pride, not errour but deceit, -which the world means to persecute, when it raises the full cry of -nature to hunt down affectation. - -The hatred which dissimulation always draws upon itself, is so great, -that if I did not know how much cunning differs from wisdom, I should -wonder that any men have so little knowledge of their own interest, as -to aspire to wear a mask for life; to try to impose upon the world a -character, to which they feel themselves void of any just claim; and -to hazard their quiet, their fame and even their profit, by exposing -themselves to the danger of that reproach, malevolence, and neglect, -which such a discovery as they have always to fear will certainly bring -upon them. - -It might be imagined, that the pleasure of reputation should consist in -the satisfaction of having our opinion of our merit confirmed by the -suffrage of the publick; and that, to be extolled for a quality, which -a man knows himself to want, should give him no other happiness than -to be mistaken for the owner of an estate, over which he chances to -be travelling. But he who subsists upon affectation, knows nothing of -this delicacy; like a desperate adventurer in commerce, he takes up -reputation upon trust, mortgages possessions which he never had, and -enjoys, to the fatal hour of bankruptcy, though with a thousand terrours -and anxieties, the unnecessary splendour of borrowed riches. - -Affectation is to be always distinguished from hypocrisy, as being the -art of counterfeiting those qualities which we might, with innocence and -safety, be known, to want. Thus the man who to carry on any fraud, or to -conceal any crime, pretends to rigours of devotion, and exactness of life, -is guilty of hypocrisy; and his guilt is greater, as the end, for which -he puts on the false appearance, is more pernicious. But he that, -with an awkward address, and unpleasing countenance, boasts of the -conquests made by him among the ladies, and counts over the thousands -which he might have possessed if he would have submitted to the yoke -of matrimony, is chargeable only with affectation. Hypocrisy is the -necessary burthen of villany, affectation part of the chosen trappings -of folly; the one completes a villain, the other only finishes a fop. -Contempt is the proper punishment of affectation, and detestation the -just consequence of hypocrisy. - -With the hypocrite it is not at present my intention to expostulate, -though even he might be taught the excellency of virtue, by the necessity -of seeming to be virtuous; but the man of affectation may, perhaps, -be reclaimed, by finding how little he is likely to gain by perpetual -constraint, and incessant vigilance, and how much more securely he -might make his way to esteem, by cultivating real, than displaying -counterfeit qualities. - -Every thing future is to be estimated, by a wise man, in proportion -to the probability of attaining it and its value, when attained; and -neither of these considerations will much contribute to the encouragement -of affectation. For, if the pinnacles of fame be at best slippery, -how unsteady must his footing be who stands upon pinnacles without -foundation! If praise be made by the inconstancy and maliciousness of -those who must confer it, a blessing which no man can promise himself -from the most conspicuous merit and vigorous industry, how faint must -be the hope of gaining it, when the uncertainty is multiplied by the -weakness of the pretensions! He that pursues fame with just claims, -trusts his happiness to the winds; but he that endeavours after it by -false merit, has to fear, not only the violence of the storm, but the -leaks of his vessel. Though he should happen to keep above water for a -time, by the help of a soft breeze, and a calm sea, at the first gust -he must inevitably founder, with this melancholy reflection, that, if he -would have been content with his natural station, he might have escaped -his calamity. Affectation may possibly succeed for a time, and a man may, -by great attention, persuade others, that he really has the qualities -which he presumes to boast; but the hour will come when he should exert -them, and then whatever he enjoyed in praise, he must suffer in reproach. - -Applause and admiration are by no means to be counted among the -necessaries of life, and therefore any indirect arts to obtain them -have very little claim to pardon or compassion. There is scarcely any -man without some valuable or improveable qualities, by which he might -always secure himself from contempt. And perhaps exemption from ignominy -is the most eligible reputation, as freedom from pain is, among some -philosophers, the definition of happiness. - -If we therefore compare the value of the praise obtained by fictitious -excellence, even while the cheat is yet undiscovered, with that kindness -which every man may suit by his virtue, and that esteem to which most -men may rise by common understanding steadily and honestly applied, we -shall find that when from the adscititious happiness all the deductions -are made by fear and casualty, there will remain nothing equiponderant to -the security of truth. The state of the possessor of humble virtues, to -the affecter of great excellencies, is that of a small cottage of stone, -to the palace raised with ice by the empress of Russia; it was for a -time splendid and luminous, but the first sunshine melted it to nothing. - - - - -No. 21. TUESDAY, MAY 29, 1750. - - - _Terra salutares herbas, eademque nocentes,_ - _Nutrit; et urticae proxima saepe rosa est._ - OVID, Rem. Amor. 45. - - Our bane and physick the same earth bestows, - And near the noisome nettle blooms the rose. - - -Every man is prompted by the love of himself to imagine, that he -possesses some qualities, superior, either in kind or in degree, to -those which he sees allotted to the rest of the world; and, whatever -apparent disadvantages he may suffer in the comparison with others, -he has some invisible distinctions, some latent reserve of excellence, -which he throws into the balance, and by which he generally fancies -that it is turned in his favour. - -The studious and speculative part of mankind always seem to consider -their fraternity as placed in a state of opposition to those who are -engaged in the tumult of publick business; and have pleased themselves, -from age to age, with celebrating the felicity of their own condition, -and with recounting the perplexity of politicks, the dangers of greatness, -the anxieties of ambition, and the miseries of riches. - -Among the numerous topicks of declamation, that their industry has -discovered on this subject, there is none which they press with greater -efforts, or on which they have more copiously laid out their reason -and their imagination, than the instability of high stations, and the -uncertainty with which the profits and honours are possessed, that must -be acquired with so much hazard, vigilance, and labour. - -This they appear to consider as an irrefragable argument against the -choice of the statesman and the warriour; and swell with confidence of -victory, thus furnished by the muses with the arms which never can be -blunted, and which no art or strength of their adversaries can elude -or resist. - -It was well known by experience to the nations which employed elephants -in war, that though by the terrour of their bulk, and the violence of -their impression, they often threw the enemy into disorder, yet there was -always danger in the use of them, very nearly equivalent to the advantage; -for if their first charge could be supported, they were easily driven -back upon their confederates; they then broke through the troops behind -them, and made no less havock in the precipitation of their retreat, -than in the fury of their onset. - -I know not whether those who have so vehemently urged the inconveniencies -and danger of an active life, have not made use of arguments that may -be retorted with equal force upon themselves; and whether the happiness -of a candidate for literary fame be not subject to the same uncertainty -with that of him who governs provinces, commands armies, presides in -the senate, or dictates in the cabinet. - -That eminence of learning is not to be gained without labour, at least -equal to that which any other kind of greatness can require, will -be allowed by those who wish to elevate the character of a scholar; -since they cannot but know, that every human acquisition is valuable in -proportion to the difficulty employed in its attainment. And that those -who have gained the esteem and veneration of the world, by their knowledge -or their genius, are by no means exempt from the solicitude which any -other kind of dignity produces, may be conjectured from the innumerable -artifices which they make use of to degrade a superior, to repress a -rival, or obstruct a follower; artifices so gross and mean, as to prove -evidently how much a man may excel in learning, without being either more -wise or more virtuous than those whose ignorance he pities or despises. - -Nothing therefore remains, by which the student can gratify his desire -of appearing to have built his happiness on a more firm basis than his -antagonist, except the certainty with which his honours are enjoyed. -The garlands gained by the heroes of literature must be gathered from -summits equally difficult to climb with those that bear the civick or -triumphal wreaths, they must be worn with equal envy, and guarded with -equal care from those hands that are always employed in efforts to tear -them away; the only remaining hope is, that their verdure is more lasting, -and that they are less likely to fade by time, or less obnoxious to the -blasts of accident. - -Even this hope will receive very little encouragement from the examination -of the history of learning, or observation of the fate of scholars in -the present age. If we look back into past times, we find innumerable -names of authors once in high reputation, read perhaps by the beautiful, -quoted by the witty, and commented on by the grave; but of whom we now -know only that they once existed. If we consider the distribution of -literary fame in our own time, we shall find it a possession of very -uncertain tenure; sometimes bestowed by a sudden caprice of the publick, -and again transferred to a new favourite, for no other reason than that -he is new; sometimes refused to long labour and eminent desert, and -sometimes granted to very slight pretensions; lost sometimes by security -and negligence, and sometimes by too diligent endeavours to retain it. - -A successful author is equally in danger of the diminution of his fame, -whether he continues or ceases to write. The regard of the publick -is not to be kept but by tribute, and the remembrance of past service -will quickly languish, unless successive performances frequently revive -it. Yet in every new attempt there is new hazard, and there are few who -do not at some unlucky time, injure their own characters by attempting -to enlarge them. - -There are many possible causes of that inequality which we may so -frequently observe in the performances of the same man, from the influence -of which no ability or industry is sufficiently secured, and which have -so often sullied the splendour of genius, that the wit, as well as the -conqueror, may be properly cautioned not to indulge his pride with too -early triumphs, but to defer to the end of life his estimate of happiness. - - _------Ultima semper_ - _Expectanda dies homini, dicique beatus_ - _Ante obitum nemo supremaque funera debet._ - OVID, Met. iii. 135. - - But no frail man, however great or high, - Can be concluded blest before he die. - ADDISON. - -Among the motives that urge an author to undertakings by which his -reputation is impaired, one of the most frequent must be mentioned -with tenderness, because it is not to be counted among his follies, -but his miseries. It very often happens that the works of learning -or of wit are performed at the direction of those by whom they are -to be rewarded; the writer has not always the choice of his subject, -but is compelled to accept any task which is thrown before him without -much consideration of his own convenience, and without time to prepare -himself by previous studies. - -Miscarriages of this kind are likewise frequently the consequence of -that acquaintance with the great, which is generally considered as -one of the chief privileges of literature and genius. A man who has -once learned to think himself exalted by familiarity with those whom -nothing but their birth, or their fortunes, or such stations as are -seldom gained by moral excellence, set above him, will not be long -without submitting his understanding to their conduct; he will suffer -them to prescribe the course of his studies, and employ him for their -own purposes either of diversion or interest, His desire of pleasing -those whose favour he has weakly made necessary to himself, will not -suffer him always to consider how little he is qualified for the work -imposed. Either his vanity will tempt him to conceal his deficiencies, -or that cowardice, which always encroaches fast upon such as spend their -lives in the company of persons higher than themselves, will not leave -him resolution to assert the liberty of choice. - -But, though we suppose that a man by his fortune can avoid the necessity -of dependance, and by his spirit can repel the usurpations of patronage, -yet he may easily, by writing long, happen to write ill. There is -a general succession of events in which contraries are produced by -periodical vicissitudes; labour and care are rewarded with success, -success produces confidence, confidence relaxes industry, and negligence -ruins that reputation which accuracy had raised. - -He that happens not to be lulled by praise into supineness, may be -animated by it to undertakings above his strength, or incited to fancy -himself alike qualified for every kind of composition, and able to -comply with the publick taste through all its variations. By some -opinion like this, many men have been engaged, at an advanced age, in -attempts which they had not time to complete, and after a few weak -efforts, sunk into the grave with vexation to see the rising generation -gain ground upon them. From these failures the highest genius is not -exempt; that judgment which appears so penetrating, when it is employed -upon the works of others, very often fails where interest or passion can -exert their power. We are blinded in examining our own labours by -innumerable prejudices. Our juvenile compositions please us, because -they bring to our minds the remembrance of youth; our later performances -we are ready to esteem, because we are unwilling to think that we have -made no improvement; what flows easily from the pen charms us, because -we read with pleasure that which flatters our opinion of our own powers; -what was composed with great struggles of the mind we do not easily -reject, because we cannot bear that so much labour should be fruitless. -But the reader has none of these prepossessions, and wonders that the -author is so unlike himself, without considering that the same soil -will, with different culture, afford different products. - - - - -No. 22. SATURDAY, JUNE 2, 1750. - - - _----Ego nec studium sine divite venu,_ - _Nec rude quid prosit video ingenium; alterius sic_ - _Altera poscit opem res, et conjurat amice._ - HOR. Ars. Poet. 409. - - Without a genius learning soars in vain; - And without learning genius sinks again; - Their force united crowns the sprightly reign. - ELPHINSTON. - - -Wit and Learning were the children of Apollo, by different mothers; Wit -was the offspring of Euphrosyne, and resembled her in cheerfulness and -vivacity; Learning was born of Sophia, and retained her seriousness and -caution. As their mothers were rivals, they were bred up by them from -their birth in habitual opposition, and all means were so incessantly -employed to impress upon them a hatred and contempt of each other, that -though Apollo, who foresaw the ill effects of their discord, endeavoured -to soften them, by dividing his regard equally between them, yet his -impartiality and kindness were without effect; the maternal animosity -was deeply rooted, having been intermingled with their first ideas, and -was confirmed every hour, as fresh opportunities occurred of exerting -it. No sooner were they of age to be received into the apartments of -the other celestials, than Wit began to entertain Venus at her toilet, -by aping the solemnity of Learning, and Learning to divert Minerva at -her loom, by exposing the blunders and ignorance of Wit. - -Thus they grew up, with malice perpetually increasing, by the -encouragement which each received from those whom their mothers had -persuaded to patronize and support them; and longed to be admitted to -the table of Jupiter, not so much for the hope of gaining honour, as of -excluding a rival from all pretensions to regard, and of putting an -everlasting stop to the progress of that influence which either believed -the other to have obtained by mean arts and false appearances. - -At last the day came, when they were both, with the usual solemnities, -received into the class of superior deities, and allowed to take nectar -from the hand of Hebe. But from that hour Concord lost her authority at -the table of Jupiter. The rivals, animated by their new dignity, and -incited by the alternate applauses of the associate powers, harassed -each other by incessant contests, with such a regular vicissitude of -victory, that neither was depressed. - -It was observable, that, at the beginning of every debate, the -advantage was on the side of Wit; and that, at the first sallies, -the whole assembly sparkled, according to Homer's expression, with -unextinguishable merriment. But Learning would reserve her strength till -the burst of applause was over, and the languor with which the violence -of joy is always succeeded, began to promise more calm and patient -attention. She then attempted her defence, and, by comparing one part -of her antagonist's objections with another, commonly made him confute -himself; or, by shewing how small a part of the question he had taken -into his view, proved that his opinion could have no weight. The audience -began gradually to lay aside their prepossessions, and rose, at last, -with great veneration for Learning, but with greater kindness for Wit. - - -Their conduct was, whenever they desired to recommend themselves to -distinction, entirely opposite. Wit was daring and adventurous; Learning -cautious and deliberate. Wit thought nothing reproachful but dulness; -Learning was afraid of no imputation but that of errour. Wit answered -before he understood, lest his quickness of apprehension should be -questioned; Learning paused, where there was no difficulty, lest any -insidious sophism should lie undiscovered. Wit perplexed every debate -by rapidity and confusion; Learning tired the hearers with endless -distinctions, and prolonged the dispute without advantage, by proving -that which never was denied. Wit, in hopes of shining, would venture -to produce what he had not considered, and often succeeded beyond his -own expectation, by following the train of a lucky thought; learning would -reject every new notion, for fear of being entangled in consequences -which she could not foresee, and was often hindered, by her caution, -from pressing her advantages, and subduing her opponent. - -Both had prejudices, which, in some degree, hindered their progress -towards perfection, and left them open to attacks. Novelty was the -darling of wit, and antiquity of learning. To wit, all that was new was -specious; to learning, whatever was ancient was venerable. Wit, however, -seldom failed to divert those whom he could not convince, and to -convince was not often his ambition; learning always supported her -opinion with so many collateral truths, that, when the cause was decided -against her, her arguments were remembered with admiration. - -Nothing was more common, on either side, than to quit their proper -characters, and to hope for a complete conquest by the use of the -weapons which had been employed against them. Wit would sometimes -labour a syllogism, and learning distort her features with a jest; but -they always suffered by the experiment, and betrayed themselves to -confutation or contempt. The seriousness of wit was without dignity, -and the merriment of learning without vivacity. - - -Their contests, by long continuance, grew at last important, and the -divinities broke into parties. Wit was taken into protection of the -laughter-loving Venus, had a retinue allowed him of smiles and jests, and -was often permitted to dance among the graces. Learning still continued -the favourite of Minerva, and seldom went out of her palace without -a train of the severer virtues, chastity, temperance, fortitude, and -labour. Wit, cohabiting with malice, had a son named satire, who followed -him, carrying a quiver filled with poisoned arrows, which, where they -once drew blood, could by no skill ever be extracted. These arrows he -frequently shot at learning, when she was most earnestly or usefully -employed, engaged in abstruse inquiries, or giving instructions to her -followers. Minerva, therefore, deputed criticism to her aid, who generally -broke the point of satire's arrows, turned them aside, or retorted them -on himself. - -Jupiter was at last angry that the peace of the heavenly regions should -be in perpetual danger of violation, and resolved to dismiss these -troublesome antagonists to the lower world. Hither, therefore, they came, -and carried on their ancient quarrel among mortals, nor was either long -without zealous votaries. Wit, by his gaiety, captivated the young; -and learning, by her authority, influenced the old. Their power quickly -appeared by very eminent effects; theatres were built for the reception -of wit, and colleges endowed for the residence of learning. Each party -endeavoured to outvie the other in cost and magnificence, and to propagate -an opinion, that it was necessary, from the first entrance into life, -to enlist in one of the factions; and that none could hope for the regard -of either divinity, who had once entered the temple of the rival power. - -There were, indeed, a class of mortals, by whom wit and learning -were equally disregarded: these were the devotees of Plutus, the god -of riches; among these it seldom happened that the gaiety of wit could -raise a smile, or the eloquence of learning procure attention. In revenge -of this contempt they agreed to incite their followers against them; -but the forces that were sent on those expeditions frequently betrayed -their trust; and, in contempt of the orders which they had received, -flattered the rich in publick, while they scorned them in their hearts; -and when, by this treachery, they had obtained the favour of Plutus, -affected to look with an air of superiority on those who still remained -in the service of wit and learning. - -Disgusted with these desertions, the two rivals, at the same time, -petitioned Jupiter for readmission to their native habitations. Jupiter -thundered on the right hand, and they prepared to obey the happy -summons. Wit readily spread his wings and soared aloft, but not being -able to see far, was bewildered in the pathless immensity of the ethereal -spaces. Learning, who knew the way, shook her pinions; but for want of -natural vigour could only take short flights: so, after many efforts, -they both sunk again to the ground, and learned, from their mutual -distress, the necessity of union. They therefore joined their hands, -and renewed their flight: Learning was borne up by the vigour of Wit, -and Wit guided by the perspicacity of Learning. They soon reached the -dwellings of Jupiter, and were so endeared to each other, that they lived -afterwards in perpetual concord. Wit persuaded Learning to converse with -the Graces, and Learning engaged Wit in the service of the Virtues. They -were now the favourites of all the powers of heaven, and gladdened every -banquet by their presence. They soon after married, at the command of -Jupiter, and had a numerous progeny of Arts and Sciences. - - - - -No. 23. TUESDAY, JUNE 5, 1750. - - - _Tres mihi convivae prope dissentire videntur;_ - _Poscentur vario multum diversa palato._ - HOR. lib. ii. Ep. ii. 61. - - Three guests I have, dissenting at my feast, - Requiring each to gratify his taste - With different food. - FRANCIS. - - -That every man should regulate his actions by his own conscience, without -any regard to the opinions of the rest of the world, is one of the first -precepts of moral prudence; justified not only by the suffrage of reason, -which declares that none of the gifts of heaven are to lie useless, but -by the voice likewise of experience, which will soon inform us that, -if we make the praise or blame of others the rule of our conduct, we -shall be distracted by a boundless variety of irreconcileable judgments, -be held in perpetual suspense between contrary impulses, and consult -for ever without determination. - -I know not whether, for the same reason, it is not necessary for an -author to place some confidence in his own skill, and to satisfy himself -in the knowledge that he has not deviated from the established laws of -composition, without submitting his works to frequent examinations -before he gives them to the publick, or endeavouring to secure success -by a solicitous conformity to advice and criticism. - -It is, indeed, quickly discoverable, that consultation and compliance -can conduce little to the perfection of any literary performance; -for whoever is so doubtful of his own abilities as to encourage the -remarks of others, will find himself every day embarrassed with new -difficulties, and will harass his mind, in vain, with the hopeless -labour of uniting heterogeneous ideas, digesting independent hints, and -collecting into one point the several rays of borrowed light, emitted -often with contrary directions. - -Of all authors, those who retail their labours in periodical sheets -would be most unhappy, if they were much to regard the censures or the -admonitions of their readers; for, as their works are not sent into the -world at once, but by small parts in gradual succession, it is always -imagined, by those who think themselves qualified to give instructions, -that they may yet redeem their former failings by hearkening to better -judges, and supply the deficiencies of their plan, by the help of the -criticisms which are so liberally afforded. - -I have had occasion to observe, sometimes with vexation, and sometimes -with merriment, the different temper with which the same man reads a -printed and manuscript performance. When a book is once in the hands -of the publick, it is considered as permanent and unalterable; and the -reader, if he be free from personal prejudices, takes it up with no -other intention than of pleasing or instructing himself: he accommodates -his mind to the author's design; and, having no interest in refusing the -amusement that is offered him, never interrupts his own tranquillity by -studied cavils, or destroys his satisfaction in that which is already -well, by an anxious inquiry how it might be better; but is often -contented without pleasure, and pleased without perfection. - -But if the same man be called to consider the merit of a production yet -unpublished, he brings an imagination heated with objections to passages -which he has yet never heard; he invokes all the powers of criticism, -and stores his memory with Taste and Grace, Purity and Delicacy, Manners -and Unities, sounds which, having been once uttered by those that -understood them, have been since reechoed without meaning, and kept up -to the disturbance of the world, by a constant repercussion from one -coxcomb to another. He considers himself as obliged to shew, by some -proof of his abilities, that he is not consulted to no purpose, and -therefore watches every opening for objection, and looks round for every -opportunity to propose some specious alteration. Such opportunities a -very small degree of sagacity will enable him to find; for, in every -work of imagination, the disposition of parts, the insertion of -incidents, and use of decorations, may be varied a thousand ways with -equal propriety; and as in things nearly equal, that will always seem -best to every man which he himself produces; the critick, whose business -is only to propose, without the care of execution, can never want -the satisfaction of believing that he has suggested very important -improvements, nor the power of enforcing his advice by arguments, which, -as they appear convincing to himself, either his kindness or his vanity -will press obstinately and importunately, without suspicion that he may -possibly judge too hastily in favour of his own advice, or inquiry -whether the advantage of the new scheme be proportionate to the labour. - -It is observed by the younger Pliny, that an orator ought not so much to -select the strongest arguments which his cause admits, as to employ all -which his imagination can afford: for, in pleading, those reasons are of -most value, which will most affect the judges; and the judges, says he, -will be always most touched with that which they had before conceived. -Every man who is called to give his opinion of a performance, decides -upon the same principle; he first suffers himself to form expectations, -and then is angry at his disappointment. He lets his imagination rove at -large, and wonders that another, equally unconfined in the boundless -ocean of possibility, takes a different course. - -But, though the rule of Pliny be judiciously laid down, it is not -applicable to the writer's cause, because there always lies an appeal -from domestick criticism to a higher judicature, and the publick, which -is never corrupted, nor often deceived, is to pass the last sentence -upon literary claims. - -Of the great force of preconceived opinions I had many proofs, when -I first entered upon this weekly labour. My readers having, from the -performances of my predecessors, established an idea of unconnected -essays, to which they believed all future authors under a necessity of -conforming, were impatient of the least deviation from their system, and -numerous remonstrances were accordingly made by each, as he found his -favourite subject omitted or delayed. Some were angry that the Rambler -did not, like the Spectator, introduce himself to the acquaintance of -the publick, by an account of his own birth and studies, an enumeration -of his adventures, and a description of his physiognomy. Others soon -began to remark that he was a solemn, serious, dictatorial writer, -without sprightliness or gaiety, and called out with vehemence for mirth -and humour. Another admonished him to have a special eye upon the -various clubs of this great city, and informed him that much of the -Spectator's vivacity was laid out upon such assemblies. He has been -censured for not imitating the politeness of his predecessors, having -hitherto neglected to take the ladies under his protection, and give -them rules for the just opposition of colours, and the proper dimensions -of ruffles and pinners. He has been required by one to fix a particular -censure upon those matrons who play at cards with spectacles: and -another is very much offended whenever he meets with a speculation in -which naked precepts are comprised without the illustration of examples -and characters. - -I make not the least question that all these monitors intend the -promotion of my design, and the instruction of my readers; but they -do not know, or do not reflect, that an author has a rule of choice -peculiar to himself; and selects those subjects which he is best -qualified to treat, by the course of his studies, or the accidents of -his life; that some topicks of amusement have been already treated with -too much success to invite a competition; and that he who endeavours -to gain many readers must try various arts of invitation, essay every -avenue of pleasure, and make frequent changes in his methods of -approach. - -I cannot but consider myself, amidst this tumult of criticism, as a -ship in a poetical tempest, impelled at the same time by opposite -winds, and dashed by the waves from every quarter, but held upright -by the contrariety of the assailants, and secured in some measure -by multiplicity of distress. Had the opinion of my censurers been -unanimous, it might perhaps have overset my resolution; but since I find -them at variance with each other, I can, without scruple, neglect them, -and endeavour to gain the favour of the publick by following the -direction of my own reason, and indulging the sallies of my own -imagination. - - - - - -No. 24. SATURDAY, JUNE 9, 1750. - - - _Nemo in sese tentat descendere._ - PERSIUS, Sat. iv. 23. - - None, none descends into himself. - DRYDEN. - - -Among the precepts, or aphorisms, admitted by general consent, and -inculcated by frequent repetition, there is none more famous among the -masters of ancient wisdom, than that compendious lesson, [Greek: Gnothi -seauton], _Be acquainted with thyself_; ascribed by some to an oracle, -and by others to Chilo of Lacedaemon. - -This is, indeed, a dictate, which, in the whole extent of its meaning, -may be said to comprise all the speculation requisite to a moral agent. -For what more can be necessary to the regulation of life, than the -knowledge of our original, our end, our duties, and our relation to -other beings? - -It is however very improbable that the first author, whoever he was, -intended to be understood in this unlimited and complicated sense; for -of the inquiries, which in so large an acceptation it would seem to -recommend, some are too extensive for the powers of man, and some -require light from above, which was not yet indulged to the heathen -world. - -We might have had more satisfaction concerning the original import of -this celebrated sentence, if history had informed us, whether it was -uttered as a general instruction to mankind, or as a particular caution -to some private inquirer; whether it was applied to some single -occasion, or laid down as the universal rule of life. - -There will occur, upon the slightest consideration, many possible -circumstances, in which this monition might very properly be inforced: -for every errour in human conduct must arise from ignorance in -ourselves, either perpetual or temporary; and happen either because we -do not know what is best and fittest, or because our knowledge is at the -time of action not present to the mind. - -When a man employs himself upon remote and unnecessary subjects, and -wastes his life upon questions which cannot be resolved, and of which -the solution would conduce very little to the advancement of happiness; -when he lavishes his hours in calculating the weight of the terraqueous -globe, or in adjusting successive systems of worlds beyond the reach of -the telescope; he may be very properly recalled from his excursions by -this precept, and reminded, that there is a nearer being with which it -is his duty to be more acquainted; and from which his attention has -hitherto been withheld by studies to which he has no other motive than -vanity or curiosity. - -The great praise of Socrates is, that he drew the wits of Greece, by his -instruction and example, from the vain pursuit of natural philosophy to -moral inquiries, and turned their thoughts from stars and tides, and -matter and motion, upon the various modes of virtue, and relations of -life. All his lectures were but commentaries upon this saying; if we -suppose the knowledge of ourselves recommended by Chilo, in opposition -to other inquiries less suitable to the state of man. - -The great fault of men of learning is still, that they offend against -this rule, and appear willing to study any thing rather than themselves; -for which reason they are often despised by those with whom they imagine -themselves above comparison; despised, as useless to common purposes, as -unable to conduct the most trivial affairs, and unqualified to perform -those offices by which the concatenation of society is preserved, and -mutual tenderness excited and maintained. - -Gelidus is a man of great penetration and deep researches. Having a mind -naturally formed for the abstruser sciences, he can comprehend intricate -combinations without confusion, and being of a temper naturally cool and -equal, he is seldom interrupted by his passions in the pursuit of the -longest chain of unexpected consequences. He has, therefore, a long -time indulged hopes, that the solution of some problems, by which the -professors of science have been hitherto baffled, is reserved for his -genius and industry. He spends his time in the highest room of his -house, into which none of his family are suffered to enter; and when -he comes down to his dinner or his rest, he walks about like a stranger -that is there only for a day, without any tokens of regard or tenderness. -He has totally divested himself of all human sensations; he has neither -eye for beauty, nor ear for complaint; he neither rejoices at the good -fortune of his nearest friend, nor mourns for any publick or private -calamity. Having once received a letter, and given it his servant to -read, he was informed, that it was written by his brother, who, being -shipwrecked, had swum naked to land, and was destitute of necessaries -in a foreign country. Naked and destitute! says Gelidus, reach down the -last volume of meteorological observations, extract an exact account of -the wind, and note it carefully in the diary of the weather. - -The family of Gelidus once broke into his study, to shew him that a town -at a small distance was on fire; and in a few moments a servant came to -tell him, that the flame had caught so many houses on both sides, that -the inhabitants were confounded, and began to think of rather escaping -with their lives, than saving their dwellings. What you tell me, says -Gelidus, is very probable, for fire naturally acts in a circle. - -Thus lives this great philosopher, insensible to every spectacle of -distress, and unmoved by the loudest call of social nature, for want of -considering that men are designed for the succour and comfort of each -other; that though there are hours which may be laudably spent upon -knowledge not immediately useful, yet the first attention is due to -practical virtue; and that he may be justly driven out from the commerce -of mankind, who has so far abstracted himself from the species, as to -partake neither of the joys nor griefs of others, but neglects the -endearments of his wife and the caresses of his children, to count the -drops of rain, note the changes of the wind, and calculate the eclipses -of the moons of Jupiter. - -I shall reserve to some future paper the religious and important meaning -of this epitome of wisdom, and only remark, that it may be applied to -the gay and light, as well as to the grave and solemn parts of life; -and that not only the philosopher may forfeit his pretences to real -learning, but the wit and beauty may miscarry in their schemes, by the -want of this universal requisite, the knowledge of themselves. - -It is surely for no other reason, that we see such numbers resolutely -struggling against nature, and contending for that which they never can -attain, endeavouring to unite contradictions, and determined to excel -in characters inconsistent with each other; that stock-jobbers affect -dress, gaiety, and elegance, and mathematicians labour to be wits; that -the soldier teazes his acquaintance with questions in theology, and the -academick hopes to divert the ladies by a recital of his gallantries. -That absurdity of pride could proceed only from ignorance of themselves, -by which Garth attempted criticism, and Congreve waved his title to -dramatick reputation, and desired to be considered only as a gentleman. - -Euphues, with great parts, and extensive knowledge, has a clouded -aspect, and ungracious form; yet it has been his ambition, from his -first entrance into life, to distinguish himself by particularities in -his dress, to outvie beaux in embroidery, to import new trimmings, and -to be foremost in the fashion. Euphues has turned on his exterior -appearance, that attention which would always have produced esteem, had -it been fixed upon his mind; and though his virtues and abilities have -preserved him from the contempt which he has so diligently solicited, he -has, at least, raised one impediment to his reputation; since all can -judge of his dress, but few of his understanding; and many who discern -that he is a fop, are unwilling to believe that he can be wise. - -There is one instance in which the ladies are particularly unwilling to -observe the rule of Chilo. They are desirous to hide from themselves -the advances of age, and endeavour too frequently to supply the -sprightliness and bloom of youth by artificial beauty and forced -vivacity. They hope to inflame the heart by glances which have lost -their fire, or melt it by languor which is no longer delicate; they play -over the airs which pleased at a time when they were expected only to -please, and forget that airs in time ought to give place to virtues. -They continue to trifle, because they could once trifle agreeably, till -those who shared their early pleasures are withdrawn to more serious -engagements; and are scarcely awakened from their dream of perpetual -youth, but by the scorn of those whom they endeavoured to rival[40]. - -[Footnote 40: It is said by Mrs. Piozzi, that by Gelidus, in this paper, -the author intended to represent Mr. Coulson, the gentleman under whose -care Mr. Garrick was placed when he entered at Lincoln's Inn. But the -character which Davies gives of him in his Life of Garrick, undoubtedly -inspected by Dr. Johnson, renders this conjecture improbable.] - - - - -No. 25. TUESDAY, JUNE 12, 1750. - - - _Possunt, quia posse videntur._ - VIRGIL, Aen. v. 231. - - For they can conquer who believe they can. - DRYDEN. - - -There are some vices and errours which, though often fatal to those in -whom they are found, have yet, by the universal consent of mankind, been -considered as intitled to some degree of respect, or have, at least, -been exempted from contemptuous infamy, and condemned by the severest -moralists with pity rather than detestation. - -A constant and invariable example of this general partiality will be -found in the different regard which has always been shewn to rashness -and cowardice, two vices, of which, though they may be conceived equally -distant from the middle point, where true fortitude is placed, and may -equally injure any publick or private interest, yet the one is never -mentioned without some kind of veneration, and the other always -considered as a topick of unlimited and licentious censure, on which all -the virulence of reproach may be lawfully exerted. - -The same distinction is made, by the common suffrage, between profusion -and avarice, and, perhaps, between many other opposite vices; and, as -I have found reason to pay great regard to the voice of the people, in -cases where knowledge has been forced upon them by experience, without -long deductions or deep researches, I am inclined to believe that this -distribution of respect is not without some agreement with the nature -of things; and that in the faults, which are thus invested with -extraordinary privileges, there are generally some latent principles of -merit, some possibilities of future virtue, which may, by degrees, break -from obstruction, and by time and opportunity be brought into act. - -It may be laid down as an axiom, that it is more easy to take away -superfluities than to supply defects; and, therefore, he that is -culpable, because he has passed the middle point of virtue, is always -accounted a fairer object of hope, than he who fails by falling short. -The one has all that perfection requires, and more, but the excess may -be easily retrenched; the other wants the qualities requisite to -excellence, and who can tell how he shall obtain them? We are certain -that the horse may be taught to keep pace with his fellows, whose fault -is that he leaves them behind. We know that a few strokes of the axe -will lop a cedar; but what arts of cultivation can elevate a shrub? - -To walk with circumspection and steadiness in the right path, at an -equal distance between the extremes of errour, ought to be the constant -endeavour of every reasonable being; nor can I think those teachers of -moral wisdom much to be honoured as benefactors to mankind, who are -always enlarging upon the difficulty of our duties, and providing rather -excuses for vice, than incentives to virtue. - -But, since to most it will happen often, and to all sometimes, that -there will be a deviation towards one side or the other, we ought always -to employ our vigilance, with most attention, on that enemy from which -there is the greatest danger, and to stray, if we must stray, towards -those parts from whence we may quickly and easily return. - -Among other opposite qualities of the mind, which may become dangerous, -though in different degrees, I have often had occasion to consider the -contrary effects of presumption and despondency; of heady confidence, -which promises victory without contest, and heartless pusillanimity, -which shrinks back from the thought of great undertakings, confounds -difficulty with impossibility, and considers all advancement towards any -new attainment as irreversibly prohibited. - -Presumption will be easily corrected. Every experiment will teach -caution, and miscarriages will hourly show, that attempts are not always -rewarded with success. The most precipitate ardour will, in time, be -taught the necessity of methodical gradation and preparatory measures; -and the most daring confidence be convinced, that neither merit nor -abilities can command events. - -It is the advantage of vehemence and activity, that they are always -hastening to their own reformation; because they incite us to try -whether our expectations are well grounded, and, therefore, detect the -deceits which they are apt to occasion. But timidity is a disease of -the mind more obstinate and fatal; for a man once persuaded that any -impediment is insuperable, has given it, with respect to himself, that -strength and weight which it had not before. He can scarcely strive with -vigour and perseverance, when he has no hope of gaining the victory; and -since he never will try his strength, can never discover the -unreasonableness of his fears. - -There is often to be found in men devoted to literature a kind of -intellectual cowardice, which, whoever converses much among them, may -observe frequently to depress the alacrity of enterprise, and, by -consequence, to retard the improvement of science. They have annexed to -every species of knowledge some chimerical character of terrour and -inhibition, which they transmit, without much reflection, from one to -another; they first fright themselves, and then propagate the panick to -their scholars and acquaintance. One study is inconsistent with a lively -imagination, another with a solid judgment: one is improper in the early -parts of life, another requires so much time, that it is not to be -attempted at an advanced age; one is dry and contracts the sentiments, -another is diffuse and overburdens the memory; one is insufferable to -taste and delicacy, and another wears out life in the study of words, -and is useless to a wise man, who desires only the knowledge of things. - -But of all the bugbears by which the _Infantes barbati_, boys both young -and old, have been hitherto frighted from digressing into new tracts of -learning, none has been more mischievously efficacious than an opinion -that every kind of knowledge requires a peculiar genius, or mental -constitution, framed for the reception of some ideas, and the exclusion -of others; and that to him whose genius is not adapted to the study -which he prosecutes, all labour shall be vain and fruitless, vain as an -endeavour to mingle oil and water, or, in the language of chemistry, to -amalgamate bodies of heterogeneous principles. - -This opinion we may reasonably suspect to have been propagated, by -vanity, beyond the truth. It is natural for those who have raised a -reputation by any science, to exalt themselves as endowed by heaven -with peculiar powers, or marked out by an extraordinary designation -for their profession; and to fright competitors away by representing -the difficulties with which they must contend, and the necessity of -qualities which are supposed to be not generally conferred, and which -no man can know, but by experience, whether he enjoys. - -To this discouragement it may be possibly answered, that since a genius, -whatever it be, is like fire in the flint, only to be produced by -collison with a proper subject, it is the business of every man to try -whether his faculties may not happily co-operate with his desires; and -since they whose proficiency he admires, knew their own force only by -the event, he needs but engage in the same undertaking with equal -spirit, and may reasonably hope for equal success. - -There is another species of false intelligence, given by those who -profess to shew the way to the summit of knowledge, of equal tendency -to depress the mind with false distrust of itself, and weaken it by -needless solicitude and dejection. When a scholar whom they desire to -animate, consults them at his entrance on some new study, it is common -to make flattering representations of its pleasantness and facility. -Thus they generally attain one of two ends almost equally desirable; -they either incite his industry by elevating his hopes, or produce a -high opinion of their own abilities, since they are supposed to relate -only what they have found, and to have proceeded with no less ease than -they promise to their followers. - -The student, inflamed by this encouragement, sets forward in the new -path, and proceeds a few steps with great alacrity, but he soon finds -asperities and intricacies of which he has not been forewarned, and -imagining that none ever were so entangled or fatigued before him, sinks -suddenly into despair, and desists as from an expedition in which fate -opposes him. Thus his terrours are multiplied by his hopes, and he is -defeated without resistance, because he had no expectation of an enemy. - -Of these treacherous instructors, the one destroys industry, by -declaring that industry is vain, the other by representing it as -needless; the one cuts away the root of hope, the other raises it only -to be blasted: the one confines his pupil to the shore, by telling him -that his wreck is certain, the other sends him to sea, without preparing -him for tempests. - -False hopes and false terrours are equally to be avoided. Every man who -proposes to grow eminent by learning, should carry in his mind, at once, -the difficulty of excellence, and the force of industry; and remember -that fame is not conferred but as the recompence of labour, and that -labour vigorously continued, has not often failed of its reward. - - - - -No. 26. SATURDAY, JUNE 14, 1750. - - - _Ingentes dominos, et clara nomina famae,_ - _Illustrique graves nobilitate domos_ - _Derita, et longe cautus fuge; contrahe vela,_ - _Et te littoribus cymba propinqua vehat._ - SENECA. - - Each mighty lord, big with a pompous name, - And each high house of fortune and of fame, - With caution fly; contract thy ample sails, - And near the shore improve the gentle gales. - ELPHINSTON. - - -MR. RAMBLER, - -It is usual for men, engaged in the same pursuits, to be inquisitive -after the conduct and fortune of each other; and, therefore, I suppose -it will not be unpleasing to you, to read an account of the various -changes which have happened in part of a life devoted to literature. My -narrative will not exhibit any great variety of events, or extraordinary -revolutions; but may, perhaps, be not less useful, because I shall -relate nothing which is not likely to happen to a thousand others. - -I was born heir to a very small fortune, and left by my father, whom I -cannot remember, to the care of an uncle. He having no children, always -treated me as his son, and finding in me those qualities which old men -easily discover in sprightly children, when they happen to love them, -declared that a genius like mine should never be lost for want of -cultivation. He therefore placed me, for the usual time, at a great -school, and then sent me to the university, with a larger allowance -than my own patrimony would have afforded, that I might not keep mean -company, but learn to become my dignity when I should be made lord -chancellor, which he often lamented, that the increase of his -infirmities was very likely to preclude him from seeing. - -This exuberance of money displayed itself in gaiety of appearance, and -wantonness of expense, and introduced me to the acquaintance of those -whom the same superfluity of fortune betrayed to the same licence and -ostentation: young heirs, who pleased themselves with a remark very -frequent in their mouths, that though they were sent by their fathers -to the university, they were not under the necessity of living by their -learning. - -Among men of this class I easily obtained the reputation of a great -genius, and was persuaded, that with such liveliness of imagination, and -delicacy of sentiment, I should never be able to submit to the drudgery -of the law. I therefore gave myself wholly to the more airy and elegant -parts of learning, and was often so much elated with my superiority to -the youths with whom I conversed, that I began to listen, with great -attention, to those that recommended to me a wider and more conspicuous -theatre; and was particularly touched with an observation made by one of -my friends; That it was not by lingering in the university that Prior -became ambassador, or Addison secretary of state. - -This desire was hourly increased by the solicitation of my companions, -who removing one by one to London, as the caprice of their relations -allowed them, or the legal dismission from the hands of their guardians -put it in their power, never failed to send an account of the beauty and -felicity of the new world, and to remonstrate how much was lost by every -hour's continuance in a place of retirement and constraint. - -My uncle in the mean time frequently harassed me with monitory letters, -which I sometimes neglected to open for a week after I received them, -generally read in a tavern, with such comments as might shew how much I -was superior to instruction or advice. I could not but wonder how a man -confined to the country, and unacquainted with the present system of -things, should imagine himself qualified to instruct a rising genius, -born to give laws to the age, refine its taste, and multiply its -pleasures. - -The postman, however, still continued to bring me new remonstrances; for -my uncle was very little depressed by the ridicule and reproach which he -never heard. But men of parts have quick resentments; it was impossible -to bear his usurpations for ever; and I resolved, once for all, to make -him an example to those who imagine themselves wise because they are -old, and to teach young men, who are too tame under representation, in -what manner grey-bearded insolence ought to be treated. I therefore one -evening took my pen in hand, and after having animated myself with a -catch, wrote a general answer to all his precepts with such vivacity -of turn, such elegance of irony, and such asperity of sarcasm, that -I convulsed a large company with universal laughter, disturbed the -neighbourhood with vociferations of applause, and five days afterwards -was answered, that I must be content to live on my own estate. - -This contraction of my income gave me no disturbance; for a genius like -mine was out of the reach of want. I had friends that would be proud to -open their purses at my call, and prospects of such advancement as would -soon reconcile my uncle, whom, upon mature deliberation, I resolved to -receive into favour without insisting on any acknowledgment of his -offence, when the splendour of my condition should induce him to wish -for my countenance. I therefore went up to London, before I had shewn -the alteration of my condition by any abatement of my way of living, -and was received by all my academical acquaintance with triumph and -congratulation. I was immediately introduced among the wits and men of -spirit; and in a short time had divested myself of all my scholar's -gravity, and obtained the reputation of a pretty fellow. - -You will easily believe that I had no great knowledge of the world; yet -I had been hindered, by the general disinclination every man feels to -confess poverty, from telling to any one the resolution of my uncle, and -for some time subsisted upon the stock of money which I had brought with -me, and contributed my share as before to all our entertainments. But my -pocket was soon emptied, and I was obliged to ask my friends for a small -sum. This was a favour, which we had often reciprocally received from -one another; they supposed my wants only accidental, and therefore -willingly supplied them. In a short time I found a necessity of asking -again, and was again treated with the same civility; but the third time -they began to wonder what that old rogue my uncle could mean by sending -a gentleman to town without money; and when they gave me what I asked -for, advised me to stipulate for more regular remittances. - -This somewhat disturbed my dream of constant affluence; but I was three -days after completely awaked; for entering the tavern where they met -every evening, I found the waiters remitted their complaisance, and, -instead of contending to light me up stairs, suffered me to wait for -some minutes by the bar. When I came to my company, I found them -unusually grave and formal, and one of them took the hint to turn the -conversation upon the misconduct of young men, and enlarged upon the -folly of frequenting the company of men of fortune, without being able -to support the expense, an observation which the rest contributed either -to enforce by repetition, or to illustrate by examples. Only one of them -tried to divert the discourse, and endeavoured to direct my attention to -remote questions, and common topicks. - -A man guilty of poverty easily believes himself suspected. I went, -however, next morning to breakfast with him who appeared ignorant of the -drift of the conversation, and by a series of inquiries, drawing still -nearer to the point, prevailed on him, not, perhaps, much against his -will, to inform me that Mr. _Dash_, whose father was a wealthy attorney -near my native place, had, the morning before, received an account of my -uncle's resentment, and communicated his intelligence with the utmost -industry of groveling insolence. - -It was now no longer practicable to consort with my former friends, -unless I would be content to be used as an inferior guest, who was to -pay for his wine by mirth and flattery; a character which, if I could -not escape it, I resolved to endure only among those who had never known -me in the pride of plenty. I changed my lodgings, and frequented the -coffee-houses in a different region of the town; where I was very -quickly distinguished by several young gentlemen of high birth, and -large estates, and began again to amuse my imagination with hopes of -preferment, though not quite so confidently as when I had less -experience. - -The first great conquest which this new scene enabled me to gain over -myself was, when I submitted to confess to a party, who invited me to -an expensive diversion, that my revenues were not equal to such golden -pleasures; they would not suffer me, however, to stay behind, and with -great reluctance I yielded to be treated. I took that opportunity of -recommending myself to some office or employment, which they unanimously -promised to procure me by their joint interest. - -I had now entered into a state of dependence, and had hopes, or fears, -from almost every man I saw. If it be unhappy to have one patron, what -is his misery who has many? I was obliged to comply with a thousand -caprices, to concur in a thousand follies, and to countenance a thousand -errours. I endured innumerable mortifications, if not from cruelty, at -least from negligence, which will creep in upon the kindest and most -delicate minds, when they converse without the mutual awe of equal -condition. I found the spirit and vigour of liberty every moment sinking -in me, and a servile fear of displeasing stealing by degrees upon all -my behaviour, till no word, or look, or action, was my own. As the -solicitude to please increased, the power of pleasing grew less, and -I was always clouded with diffidence where it was most my interest and -wish to shine. - -My patrons, considering me as belonging to the community, and, -therefore, not the charge of any particular person, made no scruple of -neglecting any opportunity of promoting me, which every one thought more -properly the business of another. An account of my expectations and -disappointments, and the succeeding vicissitudes of my life I shall give -you in my following letter, which will be, I hope, of use to shew how ill -he forms his schemes, who expects happiness without freedom. - -I am, &c. - - - - -No. 27. TUESDAY, JUNE 19, 1750. - - - _----Pauperiem veritus potiore metallis_ - _Libertate caret.----_ - HOR. lib. i. Ep. x. 39. - - So he, who poverty with horror views, - Who sells his freedom in exchange for gold, - (Freedom for mines of wealth too cheaply sold) - Shall make eternal servitude his fate, - And feel a haughty master's galling weight. - FRANCIS. - - -MR. RAMBLER, - -As it is natural for every man to think himself of importance, your -knowledge of the world will incline you to forgive me, if I imagine your -curiosity so much excited by the former part of my narration, as to -make you desire that I should proceed without any unnecessary arts of -connexion. I shall, therefore, not keep you longer in such suspense, -as perhaps my performance may not compensate. - -In the gay company with which I was now united, I found those -allurements and delights, which the friendship of young men always -affords; there was that openness which naturally produced confidence, -that affability which, in some measure, softened dependance, and that -ardour of profession which incited hope. When our hearts were dilated -with merriment, promises were poured out with unlimited profusion, and -life and fortune were but a scanty sacrifice to friendship; but when the -hour came, at which any effort was to be made, I had generally the -vexation to find that my interest weighed nothing against the slightest -amusement, and that every petty avocation was found a sufficient plea -for continuing me in uncertainty and want. - -Their kindness was indeed sincere; when they promised, they had no -intention to deceive; but the same juvenile warmth which kindled their -benevolence, gave force in the same proportion to every other passion, -and I was forgotten as soon as any new pleasures seized on their -attention. - -Vagario told me one evening, that all my perplexities should be soon at -an end, and desired me, from that instant, to throw upon him all care of -my fortune, for a post of considerable value was that day become vacant, -and he knew his interest sufficient to procure it in the morning. He -desired me to call on him early, that he might be dressed soon enough to -wait on the minister before any other application should be made. I came -as he appointed, with all the flame of gratitude, and was told by his -servant, that having found at his lodgings, when he came home, an -acquaintance who was going to travel, he had been persuaded to accompany -him to Dover, and that they had taken post-horses two hours before day. - -I was once very near to preferment, by the kindness of Charinus, who, at -my request, went to beg a place, which he thought me likely to fill with -great reputation, and in which I should have many opportunities of -promoting his interest in return; and he pleased himself with imagining -the mutual benefits that we should confer, and the advances that we -should make by our united strength. Away therefore he went, equally warm -with friendship and ambition, and left me to prepare acknowledgments -against his return. At length he came back, and told me that he had met -in his way a party going to breakfast in the country, that the ladies -importuned him too much to be refused, and that having passed the -morning with them, he was come back to dress himself for a ball, to -which he was invited for the evening. - -I have suffered several disappointments from tailors and periwig-makers, -who, by neglecting to perform their work, withheld my patrons from court; -and once failed of an establishment for life by the delay of a servant, -sent to a neighbouring shop to replenish a snuff-box. - -At last I thought my solicitude at an end, for an office fell into the -gift of Hippodamus's father, who being then in the country, could not -very speedily fill it, and whose fondness would not have suffered him to -refuse his son a less reasonable request. Hippodamus therefore set -forward with great expedition, and I expected every hour an account of -his success. A long time I waited without any intelligence, but at last -received a letter from Newmarket, by which I was informed that the races -were begun, and I knew the vehemence of his passions too well to imagine -that he could refuse himself his favourite amusement. - -You will not wonder that I was at last weary of the patronage of young -men, especially as I found them not generally to promise much greater -fidelity as they advanced in life; for I observed that what they gained -in steadiness they lost in benevolence, and grew colder to my interest -as they became more diligent to promote their own. I was convinced that -their liberality was only profuseness, that as chance directed, they -were equally generous to vice and virtue, that they were warm but -because they were thoughtless, and counted the support of a friend only -amongst other gratifications of passion. - -My resolution was now to ingratiate myself with men whose reputation was -established, whose high stations enabled them to prefer me, and whose -age exempted them from sudden changes of inclination. I was considered -as a man of parts, and therefore easily found admission to the table of -Hilarius, the celebrated orator, renowned equally for the extent of his -knowledge, the elegance of his diction, and the acuteness of his wit. -Hilarius received me with an appearance of great satisfaction, produced -to me all his friends, and directed to me that part of his discourse in -which he most endeavoured to display his imagination. I had now learned -my own interest enough to supply him opportunities for smart remarks and -gay sallies, which I never failed to echo and applaud. Thus I was gaining -every hour on his affections, till unfortunately, when the assembly was -more splendid than usual, his desire of admiration prompted him to turn -his raillery upon me. I bore it for some time with great submission, -and success encouraged him to redouble his attacks; at last my vanity -prevailed over my prudence, I retorted his irony with such spirit, that -Hilarius, unaccustomed to resistance, was disconcerted, and soon found -means of convincing me that his purpose was not to encourage a rival, -but to foster a parasite. - -I was then taken into the familiarity of Argutio, a nobleman eminent -for judgment and criticism. He had contributed to my reputation by the -praises which he had often bestowed upon my writings, in which he owned -that there were proofs of a genius that might rise to high degrees of -excellence, when time, or information, had reduced its exuberance. He -therefore required me to consult him before the publication of any new -performance, and commonly proposed innumerable alterations, without -sufficient attention to the general design, or regard to my form of -style, and mode of imagination. But these corrections he never failed -to press as indispensably necessary, and thought the least delay of -compliance an act of rebellion. The pride of an author made this -treatment insufferable, and I thought any tyranny easier to be borne -than that which took from me the use of my understanding. - -My next patron was Eutyches, the statesman, who was wholly engaged in -public affairs, and seemed to have no ambition but to be powerful and -rich, I found his favour more permanent than that of the others; for -there was a certain price at which it might be bought; he allowed -nothing to humour, or to affection, but was always ready to pay -liberally for the service that he required. His demands were, indeed, -very often such as virtue could not easily consent to gratify; but -virtue is not to be consulted when men are to raise their fortunes by -the favour of the great. His measures were censured; I wrote in his -defence, and was recompensed with a place, of which the profits were -never received by me without the pangs of remembering that they were the -reward of wickedness--a reward which nothing but that necessity which -the consumption of my little estate in these wild pursuits had brought -upon me, hindered me from throwing back in the face of my corrupter. - -At this time my uncle died without a will, and I became heir to a small -fortune. I had resolution to throw off the splendour which reproached -me to myself, and retire to an humbler state, in which I am now -endeavouring to recover the dignity of virtue, and hope to make some -reparation for my crime and follies, by informing others, who may be -led after the same pageants, that they are about to engage in a course -of life, in which they are to purchase, by a thousand miseries, the -privilege of repentance. - -I am, &c. - - EUBULUS. - - - - -No. 28. SATURDAY, JUNE 23, 1750. - - - _Illi mors gravis incubat,_ - _Qui, notus nimis omnibus,_ - _Ignotus moritur sibi._ - SENECAE, Thyest. ii. 401. - - To him, alas! to him, I fear, - The face of death will terrible appear, - Who in his life, flattering his senseless pride, - By being known to all the world beside, - Does not himself, when he is dying, know, - Nor what he is, nor whither he's to go. - COWLEY. - - -I have shewn, in a late essay, to what errours men are hourly betrayed -by a mistaken opinion of their own powers, and a negligent inspection of -their own character. But as I then confined my observations to common -occurrences and familiar scenes, I think it proper to inquire, how far a -nearer acquaintance with ourselves is necessary to our preservation from -crimes as well as follies, and how much the attentive study of our own -minds may contribute to secure to us the approbation of that Being, to -whom we are accountable for our thoughts and our actions, and whose -favour must finally constitute our total happiness. - -If it be reasonable to estimate the difficulty of any enterprise by -frequent miscarriages, it may justly be concluded that it is not easy -for a man to know himself; for wheresoever we turn our view, we shall -find almost all with whom we converse so nearly as to judge of their -sentiments, indulging more favourable conceptions of their own virtue -than they have been able to impress upon others, and congratulating -themselves upon degrees of excellence, which their fondest admirers -cannot allow them to have attained. - -Those representations of imaginary virtue are generally considered as -arts of hypocrisy, and as snares laid for confidence and praise. But I -believe the suspicion often unjust; those who thus propagate their own -reputation, only extend the fraud by which they have been themselves -deceived; for this failing is incident to numbers, who seem to live -without designs, competitions, or pursuits; it appears on occasions -which promise no accession of honour or of profit, and to persons from -whom very little is to be hoped or feared. It is, indeed, not easy to -tell how far we may be blinded by the love of ourselves, when we reflect -how much a secondary passion can cloud our judgment, and how few faults -a man, in the first raptures of love, can discover in the person or -conduct of his mistress. - -To lay open all the sources from which errour flows in upon him who -contemplates his own character, would require more exact knowledge of -the human heart, than, perhaps, the most acute and laborious observers -have acquired. And since falsehood may be diversified without end, it is -not unlikely that every man admits an imposture in some respect peculiar -to himself, as his views have been accidentally directed, or his ideas -particularly combined. - -Some fallacies, however, there are, more frequently insidious, which it -may, perhaps, not be useless to detect; because, though they are gross, -they may be fatal, and because nothing but attention is necessary to -defeat them. - -One sophism by which men persuade themselves that they have those -virtues which they really want, is formed by the substitution of single -acts for habits. A miser who once relieved a friend from the danger of a -prison, suffers his imagination to dwell for ever upon his own heroic -generosity; he yields his heart up to indignation at those who are blind -to merit, or insensible to misery, and who can please themselves with -the enjoyment of that wealth, which they never permit others to partake. -From any censures of the world, or reproaches of his conscience, he has -an appeal to action and to knowledge: and though his whole life is a -course of rapacity and avarice, he concludes himself to be tender and -liberal, because he has once performed an act of liberality and -tenderness. - -As a glass which magnifies objects by the approach of one end to the -eye, lessens them by the application of the other, so vices are -extenuated by the inversion of that fallacy, by which virtues are -augmented. Those faults which we cannot conceal from our own notice, are -considered, however frequent, not as habitual corruptions, or settled -practices, but as casual failures, and single lapses. A man who has from -year to year set his country to sale, either for the gratification of -his ambition or resentment, confesses that the heat of party now and -then betrays the severest virtue to measures that cannot be seriously -defended. He that spends his days and nights in riot and debauchery, -owns that his passions oftentimes overpower his resolutions. But each -comforts himself that his faults are not without precedent, for the best -and the wisest men have given way to the violence of sudden temptations. - -There are men who always confound the praise of goodness with the -practice, and who believe themselves mild and moderate, charitable and -faithful, because they have exerted their eloquence in commendation of -mildness, fidelity, and other virtues. This is an errour almost universal -among those that converse much with dependants, with such whose fear or -interest disposes them to a seeming reverence for any declamation, -however enthusiastic, and submission to any boast, however arrogant. -Having none to recall their attention to their lives, they rate -themselves by the goodness of their opinions, and forget how much more -easily men may shew their virtue in their talk than in their actions. - -The tribe is likewise very numerous of those who regulate their lives, -not by the standard of religion, but the measure of other men's virtue; -who lull their own remorse with the remembrance of crimes more atrocious -than their own, and seem to believe that they are not bad while another -can be found worse[41]. - -For escaping these and thousand other deceits, many expedients have been -proposed. Some have recommended the frequent consultation of a wise -friend, admitted to intimacy, and encouraged to sincerity. But this -appears a remedy by no means adapted to general use: for in order to -secure the virtue of one, it pre-supposes more virtue in two than will -generally be found. In the first, such a desire of rectitude and -amendment, as may incline him to hear his own accusation from the mouth -of him whom he esteems, and by whom, therefore, he will always hope that -his faults are not discovered; and in the second, such zeal and honesty, -as will make him content for his friend's advantage to loose his -kindness. - -A long life may be passed without finding a friend in whose understanding -and virtue we can equally confide, and whose opinion we can value at -once for its justness and sincerity. A weak man, however honest, is -not qualified to judge. A man of the world, however penetrating, is not -fit to counsel. Friends are often chosen for similitude of manners, and -therefore each palliates the other's failings, because they are his own. -Friends are tender, and unwilling to give pain, or they are interested, -and fearful to offend. - -These objections have inclined others to advise, that he who would know -himself, should consult his enemies, remember the reproaches that are -vented to his face, and listen for the censures that are uttered in -private. For his great business is to know his faults, and those -malignity will discover, and resentment will reveal. But this precept -may be often frustrated; for it seldom happens that rivals or opponents -are suffered to come near enough to know our conduct with so much -exactness as that conscience should allow and reflect the accusation. -The charge of an enemy is often totally false, and commonly so mingled -with falsehood, that the mind takes advantage from the failure of one -part to discredit the rest, and never suffers any disturbance afterward -from such partial reports. - -Yet it seems that enemies have been always found by experience the most -faithful monitors; for adversity has ever been considered as the state -in which a man most easily becomes acquainted with himself, and this -effect it must produce by withdrawing flatterers, whose business it -is to hide our weaknesses from us, or by giving loose to malice, and -licence to reproach; or at least by cutting off those pleasures which -called us away from meditation on our own conduct, and repressing that -pride which too easily persuades us that we merit whatever we enjoy. - -Part of these benefits it is in every man's power to procure to himself, -by assigning proper portions of his life to the examination of the rest, -and by putting himself frequently in such a situation, by retirement and -abstraction, as may weaken the influence of external objects. By this -practice he may obtain the solitude of adversity without its melancholy, -its instructions without its censures, and its sensibility without its -perturbations. - -The necessity of setting the world at a distance from us, when we are -to take a survey of ourselves, has sent many from high stations to the -severities of a monastic life; and, indeed, every man deeply engaged in -business, if all regard to another state be not extinguished, must have -the conviction, though perhaps, not the resolution of Valdesso, who, -when he solicited Charles the Fifth to dismiss him, being asked, whether -he retired upon disgust, answered that he laid down his commission for -no other reason but because _there ought to be some time for sober -reflection between the life of a soldier and his death_. - -There are few conditions which do not entangle us with sublunary hopes -and fears, from which it is necessary to be at intervals disencumbered, -that we may place ourselves in his presence who views effects in their -causes, and actions in their motives; that we may, as Chillingworth -expresses it, consider things as if there were no other beings in the -world but God and ourselves; or, to use language yet more awful, _may -commune with our own hearts, and be still_. - -Death, says Seneca, falls heavy upon him who is too much known to -others, and too little to himself; and Pontanus, a man celebrated among -the early restorers of literature, thought the study of our own hearts -of so much importance, that he has recommended it from his tomb. _Sum_ -Joannes Jovianus Pontanus, _quem amaverunt bonae musae, suspexerunt viri -probi, honestaverunt reges domini; jam scis qui sim, vel qui potius -fuerim; ego vero te, hospes, noscere in tenebris nequeo, sed teipsum -ut noscas rogo_. "I am Pontanus, beloved by the powers of literature, -admired by men of worth, and dignified by the monarchs of the world. -Thou knowest now who I am, or more properly who I was. For thee, -stranger, I who am in darkness cannot know thee, but I intreat thee -to know thyself." - -I hope every reader of this paper will consider himself as engaged to -the observation of a precept, which the wisdom and virtue of all ages -have concurred to enforce: a precept, dictated by philosophers, -inculcated by poets, and ratified by saints. - -[Footnote 41: But they measuring themselves by themselves, and comparing -themselves among themselves, are not wise. 2 Cor. x. 12.] - - - - -No. 29. TUESDAY, JUNE 26, 1750. - - - _Prudens futuri temporis exitum_ - _Caliginosa nocte premit Deus;_ - _Ridetque, si mortalis ultra_ - _Fas trepidat----_ - HOR. lib. iii. Od. xxix. 29. - - But God has wisely hid from human sight - The dark decrees of human fate, - And sown their seeds in depth of night; - He laughs at all the giddy turns of state, - When mortals search too soon, and fear too late. - DRYDEN. - - -There is nothing recommended with greater frequency among the gayer -poets of antiquity, than the secure possession of the present hour, and -the dismission of all the cares which intrude upon our quiet, or hinder, -by importunate perturbations, the enjoyment of those delights which our -condition happens to set before us. - -The ancient poets are, indeed, by no means unexceptionable teachers of -morality; their precepts are to be always considered as the sallies of -a genius, intent rather upon giving pleasure than instruction, eager to -take every advantage of insinuation, and, provided the passions can be -engaged on its side, very little solicitous about the suffrage of -reason. - -The darkness and uncertainty through which the heathens were compelled -to wander in the pursuit of happiness, may, indeed, be alleged as an -excuse for many of their seducing invitations to immediate enjoyment, -which the moderns, by whom they have been imitated, have not to plead. -It is no wonder that such as had no promise of another state should -eagerly turn their thoughts upon the improvement of that which was -before them; but surely those who are acquainted with the hopes and -fears of eternity, might think it necessary to put some restraint upon -their imagination, and reflect that by echoing the songs of the ancient -bacchanals, and transmitting the maxims of past debauchery, they not -only prove that they want invention, but virtue, and submit to the -servility of imitation only to copy that of which the writer, if he was -to live now, would often be ashamed. - -Yet as the errours and follies of a great genius are seldom without some -radiations of understanding, by which meaner minds may be enlightened, -the incitements to pleasure are, in those authors, generally mingled -with such reflections upon life, as well deserve to be considered -distinctly from the purposes for which they are produced, and to be -treasured up as the settled conclusions of extensive observation, acute -sagacity, and mature experience. - -It is not without true judgment, that on these occasions they often -warn their readers against inquiries into futurity, and solicitude -about events which lie hid in causes yet unactive, and which time has -not brought forward into the view of reason. An idle and thoughtless -resignation to chance, without any struggle against calamity, or -endeavour after advantage, is indeed below the dignity of a reasonable -being, in whose power Providence has put a great part even of his -present happiness; but it shews an equal ignorance of our proper sphere, -to harass our thoughts with conjectures about things not yet in being. -How can we regulate events, of which we yet know not whether they will -ever happen? And why should we think, with painful anxiety, about that -on which our thoughts can have no influence? - -It is a maxim commonly received, that a wise man is never surprised; -and, perhaps, this exemption from astonishment may be imagined to -proceed from such a prospect into futurity, as gave previous intimation -of those evils which often fall unexpected upon others that have less -foresight. But the truth is, that things to come, except when they -approach very nearly, are equally hidden from men of all degrees of -understanding; and if a wise man is not amazed at sudden occurrences, -it is not that he has thought more, but less upon futurity. He never -considered things not yet existing as the proper objects of his -attention; he never indulged dreams till he was deceived by their -phantoms, nor ever realized nonentities to his mind. He is not surprized, -because he is not disappointed; and he escapes disappointment, because -he never forms any expectations. - -The concern about things to come, that is so justly censured, is not -the result of those general reflections on the variableness of fortune, -the uncertainty of life, and the universal insecurity of all human -acquisitions, which must always be suggested by the view of the world; -but such a desponding anticipation of misfortune, as fixes the mind upon -scenes of gloom and melancholy, and makes fear predominate in every -imagination. - -Anxiety of this kind is nearly of the same nature with jealousy in love, -and suspicion in the general commerce of life; a temper which keeps the -man always in alarms; disposes him to judge of every thing in a manner -that least favours his own quiet, fills him with perpetual stratagems -of counteraction, wears him out in schemes to obviate evils which never -threatened him, and at length, perhaps, contributes to the production of -those mischiefs of which it had raised such dreadful apprehensions. - -It has been usual in all ages for moralists to repress the swellings of -vain hope, by representations of the innumerable casualties to which -life is subject, and by instances of the unexpected defeat of the wisest -schemes of policy, and sudden subversions of the highest eminences of -greatness. It has, perhaps, not been equally observed, that all these -examples afford the proper antidote to fear as well as to hope, and may -be applied with no less efficacy as consolations to the timorous, than -as restraints to the proud. - -Evil is uncertain in the same degree as good, and for the reason that -we ought not to hope too securely, we ought not to fear with too much -dejection. The state of the world is continually changing, and none -can tell the result of the next vicissitude. Whatever is afloat in the -stream of time, may, when it is very near us, be driven away by an -accidental blast, which shall happen to cross the general course of the -current. The sudden accidents by which the powerful are depressed, may -fall upon those whose malice we fear; and the greatness by which we -expect to be overborne, may become another proof of the false flatteries -of fortune. Our enemies may become weak, or we grow strong before our -encounter, or we may advance against each other without ever meeting. -There are, indeed, natural evils which we can flatter ourselves with -no hopes of escaping, and with little of delaying; but of the ills -which are apprehended from human malignity, or the opposition of rival -interests, we may always alleviate the terrour by considering that our -persecutors are weak and ignorant, and mortal like ourselves. - -The misfortunes which arise from the concurrence of unhappy incidents -should never be suffered to disturb us before they happen; because, if -the breast be once laid open to the dread of mere possibilities of -misery, life must be given a prey to dismal solicitude, and quiet must -be lost for ever. - -It is remarked by old Cornaro, that it is absurd to be afraid of the -natural dissolution of the body, because it must certainly happen, and -can, by no caution or artifice, be avoided. Whether this sentiment be -entirely just, I shall not examine; but certainly if it be improper to -fear events which must happen, it is yet more evidently contrary to -right reason to fear those which may never happen, and which, if they -should come upon us, we cannot resist. - -As we ought not to give way to fear, any more than indulgence to hope, -because the objects both of fear and hope are yet uncertain, so we ought -not to trust the representations of one more than of the other, because -they are both equally fallacious; as hope enlarges happiness, fear -aggravates calamity. It is generally allowed, that no man ever found the -happiness of possession proportionate to that expectation which incited -his desire, and invigorated his pursuit; nor has any man found the evils -of life so formidable in reality, as they were described to him by his -own imagination: every species of distress brings with it some peculiar -supports, some unforeseen means of resisting, or power of enduring. -Taylor justly blames some pious persons, who indulge their fancies too -much, set themselves, by the force of imagination, in the place of the -ancient martyrs and confessors, and question the validity of their own -faith, because they shrink at the thoughts of flames and tortures. It -is, says he, sufficient that you are able to encounter the temptations -which now assault you; when God sends trials, he may send strength. - -All fear is in itself painful, and when it conduces not to safety is -painful without use. Every consideration therefore, by which groundless -terrours may be removed, adds something to human happiness. It is -likewise not unworthy of remark, that in proportion as our cares are -employed upon the future they are abstracted from the present, from the -only time which we can call our own, and of which if we neglect the -apparent duties, to make provision against visionary attacks, we shall -certainly counteract our own purpose; for he, doubtless, mistakes his -true interest, who thinks that he can increase his safety, when he -impairs his virtue. - - - - -No. 30. SATURDAY, JUNE 30, 1750. - - - _----Vultus ubi tuus_ - _Affulsit, populo gratior it dies,_ - _Et soles metius nitent._ - HOR. lib. iv. Ode v. 7. - - Whene'er thy countenance divine - Th' attendant people cheers, - The genial suns more radiant shine, - The day more glad appears. - ELPHINSTON. - - -MR. RAMBLER, - -There are few tasks more ungrateful than for persons of modesty to speak -their own praises. In some cases, however, this must be done for the -general good, and a generous spirit will on such occasions assert its -merit, and vindicate itself with becoming warmth. - -My circumstances, Sir, are very hard and peculiar. Could the world be -brought to treat me as I deserve, it would be a publick benefit. This -makes me apply to you, that my case being fairly stated in a paper so -generally esteemed, I may suffer no longer from ignorant and childish -prejudices. - -My elder brother was a Jew; a very respectable person, but somewhat -austere in his manner: highly and deservedly valued by his near -relations and intimates, but utterly unfit for mixing in a large -society, or gaining a general acquaintance among mankind. In a venerable -old age he retired from the world, and I in the bloom of youth came -into it, succeeding him in all his dignities, and formed, as I might -reasonably flatter myself, to be the object of universal love and -esteem. Joy and gladness were born with me; cheerfulness, good-humour, -and benevolence, always attended and endeared my infancy. That time is -long past. So long, that idle imaginations are apt to fancy me wrinkled, -old, and disagreeable; but, unless my looking-glass deceives me, I have -not yet lost one charm, one beauty of my earliest years. However, thus -far is too certain, I am to every body just what they choose to think -me, so that to very few I appear in my right shape; and though naturally -I am the friend of human kind, to few, very few comparatively, am I -useful or agreeable. - -This is the more grievous, as it is utterly impossible for me to avoid -being in all sorts of places and companies; and I am therefore liable to -meet with perpetual affronts and injuries. Though I have as natural an -antipathy to cards and dice, as some people have to a cat, many and many -an assembly am I forced to endure; and though rest and composure are my -peculiar joy, am worn out and harassed to death with journeys by men and -women of quality, who never take one but when I can be of the party. -Some, on a contrary extreme, will never receive me but in bed, where -they spend at least half of the time I have to stay with them; and others -are so monstrously ill-bred as to take physick on purpose when they have -reason to expect me. Those who keep upon terms of more politeness with -me, are generally so cold and constrained in their behaviour, that I -cannot but perceive myself an unwelcome guest; and even among persons -deserving of esteem, and who certainly have a value for me, it is too -evident that generally whenever I come I throw a dulness over the whole -company, that I am entertained with a formal stiff civility, and that -they are glad when I am fairly gone. - -How bitter must this kind of reception be to one formed to inspire -delight, admiration, and love! To one capable of answering and rewarding -the greatest warmth and delicacy of sentiments! - -I was bred up among a set of excellent people, who affectionately loved -me, and treated me with the utmost honour and respect. It would be -tedious to relate the variety of my adventures, and strange vicissitudes -of my fortune in many different countries. Here in England there was a -time when I lived according to my heart's desire. Whenever I appeared, -public assemblies appointed for my reception were crowded with persons -of quality and fashion, early drest as for a court, to pay me their -devoirs. Cheerful hospitality every where crowned my board, and I was -looked upon in every country parish as a kind of social bond between the -'squire, the parson, and the tenants. The laborious poor every where -blest my appearance: they do so still, and keep their best clothes to do -me honour; though as much as I delight in the honest country folks, they -do now and then throw a pot of ale at my head, and sometimes an unlucky -boy will drive his cricket-ball full in my face. - -Even in these my best days there were persons who thought me too demure -and grave. I must forsooth by all means be instructed by foreign -masters, and taught to dance and play. This method of education was so -contrary to my genius, formed for much nobler entertainments, that it -did not succeed at all. - -I fell next into the hands of a very different set. They were so -excessively scandalized at the gaiety of my appearance, as not only to -despoil me of the foreign fopperies, the paint and the patches that I -had been tricked out with by my last misjudging tutors, but they robbed -me of every innocent ornament I had from my infancy been used to gather -in the fields and gardens; nay, they blacked my face, and covered me all -over with a habit of mourning, and that too very coarse and awkward. -I was now obliged to spend my whole life in hearing sermons; nor -permitted so much as to smile upon any occasion. - -In this melancholy disguise I became a perfect bugbear to all children, -and young folks. Wherever I came there was a general hush, and immediate -stop to all pleasantness of look or discourse; and not being permitted -to talk with them in my own language at that time, they took such a -disgust to me in those tedious hours of yawning, that having transmitted -it to their children, I cannot now be heard, though it is long since -I have recovered my natural form, and pleasing tone of voice. Would they -but receive my visits kindly, and listen to what I could tell them--let -me say it without vanity--how charming a companion should I be! to every -one could I talk on the subjects most interesting and most pleasing. -With the great and ambitious, I would discourse of honours and -advancements, of distinctions to which the whole world should be -witness, of unenvied dignities and durable preferments. To the rich -I would tell of inexhaustible treasures, and the sure method to attain -them. I would teach them to put out their money on the best interest, -and instruct the lovers of pleasure how to secure and improve it to -the highest degree. The beauty should learn of me how to preserve an -everlasting bloom. To the afflicted I would administer comfort, and -relaxation to the busy. - -As I dare promise myself you will attest the truth of all I have -advanced, there is no doubt but many will be desirous of improving their -acquaintance with me; and that I may not be thought too difficult, I will -tell you, in short, how I wish to be received. - -You must know I equally hate lazy idleness and hurry. I would every -where be welcomed at a tolerable early hour with decent good-humour -and gratitude. I must be attended in the great halls, peculiarly -appropriated to me, with respect; but I do not insist upon finery: -propriety of appearance, and perfect neatness, is all I require. I must -at dinner be treated with a temperate, but cheerful social meal; both -the neighbours and the poor should be the better for me. Some time -I must have tete-a-tete with my kind entertainers, and the rest of -my visit should be spent in pleasant walks and airings among sets of -agreeable people, in such discourse as I shall naturally dictate, or -in reading some few selected out of those numberless books that are -dedicated to me, and go by my name. A name that, alas! as the world -stands at present, makes them oftener thrown aside than taken up. As -these conversations and books should be both well chosen, to give some -advice on that head may possibly furnish you with a future paper, and -any thing you shall offer on my behalf will be of great service to, - -Good Mr. RAMBLER, - -Your faithful Friend and Servant, - - SUNDAY[42]. - -[Footnote 42: This paper was written by Miss Catherine Talbot. See the -Preface.] - - - - -No. 31. TUESDAY, JULY 3, 1750. - - - _Non ego mendosos ausim defendere mores;_ - _Falsaque pro vitiis arma movere meis._ - OVID, Am. ii, iv. 1. - - Corrupted manners I shall ne'er defend; - Nor, falsely witty, for my faults contend. - ELPHINSTON. - - -Though the fallibility of man's reason, and the narrowness of his -knowledge, are very liberally confessed, yet the conduct of those who -so willingly admit the weakness of human nature, seems to discover that -this acknowledgment is not altogether sincere; at least, that most make -it with a tacit reserve in favour of themselves, and that with whatever -ease they give up the claim of their neighbours, they are desirous of -being thought exempt from faults in their own conduct, and from errour -in their opinions. - -The certain and obstinate opposition, which we may observe made to -confutation however clear, and to reproof however tender, is an undoubted -argument, that some dormant privilege is thought to be attacked; for -as no man can lose what he neither possesses, nor imagines himself -to possess, or be defrauded of that to which he has no right, it is -reasonable to suppose that those who break out into fury at the softest -contradiction, or the slightest censure, since they apparently conclude -themselves injured, must fancy some ancient immunity violated, or some -natural prerogative invaded. To be mistake, if they thought themselves -liable to mistake, could not be considered either as shameful, or -wonderful, and they would not receive with so much emotion intelligence -which only informed them of what they knew before, nor struggle with such -earnestness against an attack that deprived them of nothing to which they -held themselves entitled. - -It is related of one of the philosophers, that when an account was -brought him of his son's death, he received it only with this reflection, -_I knew that my son was mortal_. He that is convinced of an errour, if he -had the same knowledge of his own weakness, would, instead of straining -for artifices, and brooding malignity, only regard such oversights as the -appendages of humanity, and pacify himself with considering that he had -always known man to be a fallible being. - -If it be true that most of our passions are excited by the novelty of -objects, there is little reason for doubting, that to be considered as -subject to fallacies of ratiocination, or imperfection of knowledge, is -to a great part of mankind entirely new; for it is impossible to fall -into any company where there is not some regular and established -subordination, without finding rage and vehemence produced only by -difference of sentiments about things in which neither of the disputants -have any other interest, than what proceeds from their mutual -unwillingness to give way to any opinion that may bring upon them the -disgrace of being wrong. - -I have heard of one that, having advanced some erroneous doctrines in -philosophy, refused to see the experiments by which they were confuted: -and the observation of every day will give new proofs with how much -industry subterfuges and evations are sought to decline the pressure of -resistless arguments, how often the state of the question is altered, -how often the antagonist is wilfully misrepresented, and in how much -perplexity the clearest positions are involved by those whom they happen -to oppose. - -Of all mortals none seem to have been more infected with this species -of vanity, than the race of writers, whose reputation arising solely -from their understanding, gives them a very delicate sensibility of any -violence attempted on their literary honour. It is not unpleasing to -remark with what solicitude men of acknowledged abilities will endeavour -to palliate absurdities and reconcile contradictions, only to obviate -criticisms to which all human performances must ever be exposed, and from -which they can never suffer, but when they teach the world, by a vain and -ridiculous impatience, to think them of importance. - -Dryden, whose warmth of fancy, and haste of composition, very frequently -hurried him into inaccuracies, heard himself sometimes exposed to -ridicule for having said in one of his tragedies, - - "I follow Fate, which does too fast pursue." - -That no man could at once follow and be followed was, it may be thought, -too plain to be long disputed; and the truth is, that Dryden was -apparently betrayed into the blunder by the double meaning of the word -Fate, to which in the former part of the verse he had annexed the idea -of Fortune, and in the latter that of Death; so that the sense only was, -_though pursued by_ Death, _I will not resign myself to despair, but will -follow_ Fortune, _and do and suffer what is appointed_. This, however, -was not completely expressed, and Dryden being determined not to give -way to his criticks, never confessed that he had been surprised by an -ambiguity; but finding luckily in Virgil an account of a man moving in -a circle, with this expression, _Et se sequiturque fugitque_, "Here," -says he, "is the passage in imitation of which I wrote the line that my -criticks were pleased to condemn as nonsense; not but I may sometimes -write nonsense, though they have not the fortune to find it." - -Every one sees the folly of such mean doublings to escape the pursuit of -criticism; nor is there a single reader of this poet, who would not have -paid him greater veneration, had he shown consciousness enough of his own -superiority to set such cavils at defiance, and owned that he sometimes -slipped into errours by the tumult of his imagination, and the multitude -of his ideas. - -It is happy when this temper discovers itself only in little things, -which may be right or wrong without any influence on the virtue or -happiness of mankind. We may, with very little inquietude, see a man -persist in a project which he has found to be impracticable, live in an -inconvenient house because it was contrived by himself, or wear a coat -of a particular cut, in hopes by perseverance to bring it into fashion. -These are indeed follies, but they are only follies, and, however wild -or ridiculous, can very little affect others. - -But such pride, once indulged, too frequently operates upon more -important objects, and inclines men not only to vindicate their errours, -but their vices; to persist in practices which their own hearts condemn, -only lest they should seem to feel reproaches, or be made wiser by the -advice of others; or to search for sophisms tending to the confusion of -all principles, and the evacuation of all duties, that they may not appear -to act what they are not able to defend. - -Let every man, who finds vanity so far predominant, as to betray him to -the danger of this last degree of corruption, pause a moment to consider -what will be the consequences of the plea which he is about to offer -for a practice to which he knows himself not led at first by reason, -but impelled by the violence of desire, surprised by the suddenness -of passion, or seduced by the soft approaches of temptation, and by -imperceptible gradations of guilt. Let him consider what he is going to -commit, by forcing his understanding to patronise those appetites, which -it is its chief business to hinder and reform. - -The cause of virtue requires so little art to defend it, and good and -evil, when they have been once shewn, are so easily distinguished, that -such apologists seldom gain proselytes to their party, nor have their -fallacies power to deceive any but those whose desires have clouded their -discernment. All that the best faculties thus employed can perform is, -to persuade the hearers that the man is hopeless whom they only thought -vicious, that corruption has passed from his manners to his principles, -that all endeavours for his recovery are without prospect of success, and -that nothing remains but to avoid him as infectious, or hunt him down as -destructive. - -But if it be supposed that he may impose on his audience by partial -representations of consequences, intricate deductions of remote causes, -or perplexed combinations of ideas, which having various relations appear -different as viewed on different sides; that he may sometimes puzzle the -weak and well-meaning, and now and then seduce, by the admiration of -his abilities, a young mind still fluctuating in unsettled notions, and -neither fortified by instruction nor enlightened by experience; yet what -must be the event of such a triumph! A man cannot spend all this life in -frolick: age, or disease, or solitude, will bring some hours of serious -consideration, and it will then afford no comfort to think, that he has -extended the dominion of vice, that he has loaded himself with the crimes -of others, and can never know the extent of his own wickedness, or make -reparation for the mischief that he has caused. There is not, perhaps, -in all the stores of ideal anguish, a thought more painful, than the -consciousness of having propagated corruption by vitiating principles, of -having not only drawn others from the paths of virtue, but blocked up the -way by which they should return, of having blinded them to every beauty -but the paint of pleasure, and deafened them to every call but the -alluring voice of the syrens of destruction. - -There is yet another danger in this practice: men who cannot deceive -others, are very often successful in deceiving themselves; they weave -their sophistry till their own reason is entangled, and repeat their -positions till they are credited by themselves; by often contending, -they grow sincere in the cause; and by long wishing for demonstrative -arguments, they at last bring themselves to fancy that they have found -them. They are then at the uttermost verge of wickedness, and may die -without having that light rekindled in their minds, which their own pride -and contumacy have extinguished. - -The men who can be charged with fewest failings, either with respect to -abilities or virtue, are generally most ready to allow them; for, not -to dwell on things of solemn and awful consideration, the humility of -confessors, the tears of saints, and the dying terrours of persons -eminent for piety and innocence, it is well known that Caesar wrote an -account of the errours committed by him in his wars of Gaul, and that -Hippocrates, whose name is perhaps in rational estimation greater than -Caesar's, warned posterity against a mistake into which he had fallen. -_So much_, says Celsus, _does the open and artless confession of an errour -become a man conscious that he has enough remaining to support his -character_. - -As all errour is meanness, it is incumbent on every man who consults his -own dignity, to retract it as soon as he discovers it, without fearing -any censure so much as that of his own mind. As justice requires that all -injuries should be repaired, it is the duty of him who has seduced others -by bad practices or false notions, to endeavour that such as have adopted -his errours should know his retraction, and that those who have learned -vice by his example, should by his example be taught amendment. - - - - -No. 32. SATURDAY, JULY 7, 1750. - - - [Greek: Hossa te daimoniesi tychais brotoi alge' echousin, - Hon an moiran eches, praos phere, med' aganaktei; - Iasthai de prepei, kathoson dyne.] - PYTH. Aur. Carm. - - Of all the woes that load the mortal state, - Whate'er thy portion, mildly meet thy fate; - But ease it as thou canst.---- - ELPHINSTON. - - -So large a part of human life passes in a state contrary to our natural -desires, that one of the principal topicks of moral instruction is the -art of bearing calamities. And such is the certainty of evil, that it -is the duty of every man to furnish his mind with those principles that -may enable him to act under it with decency and propriety. - -The sect of ancient philosophers, that boasted to have carried this -necessary science to the highest perfection, were the stoicks, or -scholars of Zeno, whose wild enthusiastick virtue pretended to an -exemption from the sensibilities of unenlightened mortals, and who -proclaimed themselves exalted, by the doctrines of their sect, above -the reach of those miseries which embitter life to the rest of the -world. They therefore removed pain, poverty, loss of friends, exile, -and violent death, from the catalogue of evils; and passed, in their -haughty style, a kind of irreversible decree, by which they forbad them -to be counted any longer among the objects of terrour or anxiety, or to -give any disturbance to the tranquillity of a wise man. - -This edict was, I think, not universally observed; for though one of the -more resolute, when he was tortured by a violent disease, cried out, -that let pain harass him to its utmost power, it should never force him -to consider it as other than indifferent and neutral; yet all had not -stubbornness to hold out against their senses: for a weaker pupil of Zeno -is recorded to have confessed in the anguish of the gout, that _he now -found pain to be an evil_. - -It may however be questioned, whether these philosophers can be very -properly numbered among the teachers of patience; for if pain be not -an evil, there seems no instruction requisite how it may be borne; -and therefore, when they endeavour to arm their followers with -arguments against it, they may be thought to have given up their first -position. But such inconsistencies are to be expected from the greatest -understandings, when they endeavour to grow eminent by singularity, and -employ their strength in establishing opinions opposite to nature. - -The controversy about the reality of external evils is now at an end. -That life has many miseries, and that those miseries are, sometimes -at least, equal to all the powers of fortitude, is now universally -confessed; and therefore it is useful to consider not only how we -may escape them, but by what means those which either the accidents -of affairs, or the infirmities of nature, must bring upon us, may be -mitigated and lightened, and how we may make those hours less wretched, -which the condition of our present existence will not allow to be very -happy. - -The cure for the greatest part of human miseries is not radical, but -palliative. Infelicity is involved in corporeal nature, and interwoven -with our being; all attempts therefore to decline it wholly are useless -and vain: the armies of pain send their arrows against us on every -side, the choice is only between those which are more or less sharp, -or tinged with poison of greater or less malignity; and the strongest -armour which reason can supply, will only blunt their points, but -cannot repel them. - -The great remedy which heaven has put in our hands is patience, by which, -though we cannot lessen the torments of the body, we can in a great -measure preserve the peace of the mind, and shall suffer only the -natural and genuine force of an evil, without heightening its acrimony, -or prolonging its effects. - -There is indeed nothing more unsuitable to the nature of man in any -calamity than rage and turbulence, which, without examining whether they -are not sometimes impious, are at least always offensive, and incline -others rather to hate and despise than to pity and assist us. If what -we suffer has been brought upon us by ourselves, it is observed by an -ancient poet, that patience is eminently our duty, since no one should -be angry at feeling that which he has deserved. - - _Leniter ex merito quicquid patiare ferendum est._ - - Let pain deserv'd without complaint be borne. - -And surely, if we are conscious that we have not contributed to our -own sufferings, if punishment falls upon innocence, or disappointment -happens to industry and prudence, patience, whether more necessary or -not, is much easier, since our pain is then without aggravation, and we -have not the bitterness of remorse to add to the asperity of misfortune. - -In those evils which are allotted to us by Providence, such as deformity, -privation of any of the senses, or old age, it is always to be -remembered, that impatience can have no present effect, but to deprive -us of the consolations which our condition admits, by driving away from -us those by whose conversation or advice we might be amused or helped; -and that with regard to futurity it is yet less to be justified, since, -without lessening the pain, it cuts off the hope of that reward which -he, by whom it is inflicted, will confer upon them that bear it well. - -In all evils which admit a remedy, impatience is to be avoided, because -it wastes that time and attention in complaints, that, if properly -applied, might remove the cause. Turenne, among the acknowledgments which -he used to pay in conversation to the memory of those by whom he had been -instructed in the art of war, mentioned one with honour, who taught him -not to spend his time in regretting any mistake which he had made, but to -set himself immediately and vigorously to repair it. - -Patience and submission are very carefully to be distinguished from -cowardice and indolence. We are not to repine, but we may lawfully -struggle; for the calamities of life, like the necessities of nature, -are calls to labour and exercises of diligence. When we feel any -pressure of distress, we are not to conclude that we can only obey the -will of heaven by languishing under it, any more than when we perceive -the pain of thirst, we are to imagine that water is prohibited. Of -misfortune it never can be certainly known whether, as proceeding from -the hand of God, it is an act of favour or of punishment: but since -all the ordinary dispensations of Providence are to be interpreted -according to the general analogy of things, we may conclude that we -have a right to remove one inconvenience as well as another; that we -are only to take care lest we purchase ease with guilt; and that our -Maker's purpose, whether of reward or severity, will be answered by the -labours which he lays us under the necessity of performing. - -This duty is not more difficult in any state than in diseases intensely -painful, which may indeed suffer such exacerbations as seem to strain -the powers of life to their utmost stretch, and leave very little of -the attention vacant to precept or reproof. In this state the nature -of man requires some indulgence, and every extravagance but impiety -may be easily forgiven him. Yet, lest we should think ourselves too -soon entitled to the mournful privileges of irresistible misery, it -is proper to reflect, that the utmost anguish which human wit can -contrive, or human malice can inflict, has been borne with constancy; -and that if the pains of disease be, as I believe they are, sometimes -greater than those of artificial torture, they are therefore in their -own nature shorter: the vital frame is quickly broken, the union -between soul and body is for a time suspended by insensibility, and we -soon cease to feel our maladies when they once become too violent to be -borne. I think there is some reason for questioning whether the body -and mind are not so proportioned, that the one can bear all that can -be inflicted on the other, whether virtue cannot stand its ground as -long as life, and whether a soul well principled will not be separated -sooner than subdued. - -In calamities which operate chiefly on our passions, such as diminution -of fortune, loss of friends, or declension of character, the chief -danger of impatience is upon the first attack, and many expedients -have been contrived, by which the blow may be broken. Of these the -most general precept is, not to take pleasure in any thing, of which -it is not in our power to secure the possession to ourselves. This -counsel, when we consider the enjoyment of any terrestrial advantage -as opposite to a constant and habitual solicitude for future felicity, -is undoubtedly just, and delivered by that authority which cannot be -disputed, but in any other sense, is it not like advice, not to walk -lest we should stumble, or not to see least our eyes should light -upon deformity? It seems to me reasonable to enjoy blessings with -confidence, as well as to resign them with submission, and to hope -for the continuance of good which we possess without insolence or -voluptuousness, as for the restitution of that which we lose without -despondency or murmurs. - -The chief security against the fruitless anguish of impatience, must -arise from frequent reflection on the wisdom and goodness of the God -of nature, in whose hands are riches and poverty, honour and disgrace, -pleasure and pain, and life and death. A settled conviction of the -tendency of every thing to our good, and of the possibility of turning -miseries into happiness, by receiving them rightly, will incline us to -_bless the name of the_ LORD, _whether he gives or takes away_. - - - - -No. 33. TUESDAY, JULY 10, 1750. - - - _Quod caret alterna requie, durabile non est._ - OVID, Epist. iv. 89. - - Alternate rest and labour long endure. - - -In the early ages of the world, as is well known to those who are versed -in ancient traditions, when innocence was yet untainted, and simplicity -unadulterated, mankind was happy in the enjoyment of continual pleasure, -and constant plenty, under the protection of Rest; a gentle divinity, -who required of her worshippers neither altars nor sacrifices, and whose -rites were only performed by prostrations upon turfs of flowers in shades -of jasmine and myrtle, or by dances on the banks of rivers flowing with -milk and nectar. - -Under this easy government the first generations breathed the fragrance -of perpetual spring, ate the fruits, which, without culture, fell ripe -into their hands, and slept under bowers arched by nature, with the -birds singing over their heads, and the beasts sporting about them. But -by degrees they began to lose their original integrity; each, though -there was more than enough for all, was desirous of appropriating part -to himself. Then entered Violence and Fraud, and Theft and Rapine. Soon -after Pride and Envy broke into the world, and brought with them a new -standard of wealth; for men, who, till then, thought themselves rich -when they wanted nothing, now rated their demands, not by the calls of -nature, but by the plenty of others; and began to consider themselves as -poor, when they beheld their own possessions exceeded by those of their -neighbours. Now only one could be happy, because only one could have -most, and that one was always in danger, lest the same arts by which he -had supplanted others should be practised upon himself. - -Amidst the prevalence of this corruption, the state of the earth was -changed; the year was divided into seasons; part of the ground became -barren, and the rest yielded only berries, acorns, and herbs. The summer -and autumn indeed furnished a coarse and inelegant sufficiency, but -winter was without any relief: Famine, with a thousand diseases which -the inclemency of the air invited into the upper regions, made havock -among men, and there appeared to be danger lest they should be destroyed -before they were reformed. - -To oppose the devastations of Famine, who scattered the ground every -where with carcases, Labour came down upon earth. Labour was the son -of Necessity, the nurseling of Hope, and the pupil of Art; he had the -strength of his mother, the spirit of his nurse, and the dexterity of -his governess. His face was wrinkled with the wind, and swarthy with the -sun; he had the implements of husbandry in one hand, with which he turned -up the earth; in the other he had the tools of architecture, and raised -walls and towers at his pleasure. He called out with a rough voice, -"Mortals! see here the power to whom you are consigned, and from whom you -are to hope for all your pleasures, and all your safety. You have long -languished under the dominion of Rest, an impotent and deceitful goddess, -who can neither protect nor relieve you, but resigns you to the first -attacks of either Famine or Disease, and suffers her shades to be invaded -by every enemy, and destroyed by every accident. - -"Awake therefore to the call of Labour. I will teach you to remedy the -sterility of the earth, and the severity of the sky; I will compel summer -to find provisions for the winter; I will force the waters to give you -their fish, the air its fowls, and the forest its beasts; I will teach -you to pierce the bowels of the earth, and bring out from the caverns -of the mountains metals which shall give strength to your hands, and -security to your bodies, by which you may be covered from the assaults -of the fiercest beast, and with which you shall fell the oak, and divide -rocks, and subject all nature to your use and pleasure." - -Encouraged by this magnificent invitation, the inhabitants of the globe -considered Labour as their only friend, and hasted to his command. He led -them out to the fields and mountains, and shewed them how to open mines, -to level hills, to drain marshes, and change the course of rivers. The -face of things was immediately transformed; the land was covered with -towns and villages, encompassed with fields of corn, and plantations of -fruit-trees; and nothing was seen but heaps of grain, and baskets of -fruit, full tables, and crowded store-houses. - -Thus Labour and his followers added every hour new acquisitions to their -conquests, and saw Famine gradually dispossessed of his dominions; till -at last, amidst their jollity and triumphs, they were depressed and -amazed by the approach of Lassitude, who was known by her sunk eyes and -dejected countenance. She came forward trembling and groaning: at every -groan the hearts of all those that beheld her lost their courage, their -nerves slackened, their hands shook, and the instruments of labour fell -from their grasp. - -Shocked with this horrid phantom, they reflected with regret on their easy -compliance with the solicitations of Labour, and began to wish again for -the golden hours which they remembered to have passed under the reign -of Rest, whom they resolved again to visit, and to whom they intended to -dedicate the remaining part of their lives. Rest had not left the world; -they quickly found her, and to atone for their former desertion, invited -her to the enjoyment of those acquisitions which Labour had procured them. - -Rest therefore took leave of the groves and valleys, which she had -hitherto inhabited, and entered into palaces, reposed herself in -alcoves, and slumbered away the winter upon beds of down, and the summer -in artificial grottoes with cascades playing before her. There was -indeed always something wanting to complete her felicity, and she could -never lull her returning fugitives to that serenity which they knew -before their engagements with Labour: nor was her dominion entirely -without controul, for she was obliged to share it with Luxury, though -she always looked upon her as a false friend, by whom her influence was -in reality destroyed, while it seemed to be promoted. - -The two soft associates, however, reigned for some time without visible -disagreement, till at last Luxury betrayed her charge, and let in Disease -to seize upon her worshippers. Rest then flew away, and left the place to -the usurpers; who employed all their arts to fortify themselves in their -possession, and to strengthen the interest of each other. - -Rest had not always the same enemy: in some places she escaped the -incursions of Disease; but had her residence invaded by a more slow and -subtle intruder, for very frequently, when every thing was composed and -quiet, when there was neither pain within, nor danger without, when every -flower was in bloom, and every gale freighted with perfumes, Satiety -would enter with a languishing and repining look, and throw herself upon -the couch placed and adorned for the accommodation of Rest. No sooner was -she seated than a general gloom spread itself on every side, the groves -immediately lost their verdure, and their inhabitants desisted from -their melody, the breeze sunk in sighs, and the flowers contracted their -leaves, and shut up their odours. Nothing was seen on every side but -multitudes wandering about they knew not whether, in quest they knew not -of what; no voice was heard but of complaints that mentioned no pain, and -murmurs that could tell of no misfortune. - -Rest had now lost her authority. Her followers again began to treat her -with contempt; some of them united themselves more closely to Luxury, who -promised by her arts to drive Satiety away; and others, that were more -wise, or had more fortitude, went back again to Labour, by whom they were -indeed protected from Satiety, but delivered up in time to Lassitude, and -forced by her to the bowers of Rest. - -Thus Rest and Labour equally perceived their reign of short duration and -uncertain tenure, and their empire liable to inroads from those who were -alike enemies to both. They each found their subjects unfaithful, and -ready to desert them upon every opportunity. Labour saw the riches which -he had given always carried away as an offering to Rest, and Rest found -her votaries in every exigence flying from her to beg help of Labour. -They, therefore, at last determined upon an interview, in which they -agreed to divide the world between them, and govern it alternately -allotting the dominion of the day to one, and that of the night to the -other, and promised to guard the frontiers of each other, so that, -whenever hostilities were attempted, Satiety should be intercepted by -Labour, and Lassitude expelled by Rest. Thus the ancient quarrel was -appeased, and as hatred is often succeeded by its contrary, Rest -afterwards became pregnant by Labour, and was delivered of Health, a -benevolent goddess, who consolidated the union of her parents, and -contributed to the regular vicissitudes of their reign, by dispensing -her gifts to those only who shared their lives in just proportions -between Rest and Labour. - - - - -No. 34. SATURDAY, JULY 14, 1750. - - - _----Non sine vano_ - _Aurarum et silvae metu._ - HOR. lib. i. Ode xxiii. 3. - - Alarm'd with ev'ry rising gale, - In ev'ry wood, in ev'ry vale. - ELPHINSTON. - - -I have been censured for having hitherto dedicated so few of my -speculations to the ladies; and indeed the moralist, whose instructions -are accommodated only to one half of the human species, must be -confessed not sufficiently to have extended his views. Yet it is to -be considered, that masculine duties afford more room for counsels -and observations, as they are less uniform, and connected with things -more subject to vicissitude and accident; we therefore find that in -philosophical discourses which teach by precept, or historical narratives -that instruct by example, the peculiar virtues or faults of women -fill but a small part; perhaps generally too small, for so much of our -domestick happiness is in their hands, and their influence is so great -upon our earliest years, that the universal interest of the world -requires them to be well instructed in their province; nor can it be -thought proper that the qualities by which so much pain or pleasure -may be given, should be left to the direction of chance. - -I have, therefore, willingly given a place in my paper to a letter, -which perhaps may not be wholly useless to them whose chief ambition -is to please, as it shews how certainly the end is missed by absurd and -injudicious endeavours at distinction. - - -TO THE RAMBLER. - -SIR, - -I am a young gentleman at my own disposal, with a considerable estate; -and having passed through the common forms of education, spent some time -in foreign countries, and made myself distinguished since my return in -the politest company, I am now arrived at that part of life in which -every man is expected to settle, and provide for the continuation of his -lineage. I withstood for some time the solicitations and remonstrances -of my aunts and uncles, but at last was persuaded to visit Anthea, an -heiress, whose land lies contiguous to mine, and whose birth and beauty -are without objection. Our friends declared that we were born for each -other; all those on both sides who had no interest in hindering our -union, contributed to promote it, and were conspiring to hurry us into -matrimony, before we had an opportunity of knowing one another. I was, -however, too old to be given away without my own consent; and having -happened to pick up an opinion, which to many of my relations seemed -extremely odd, that a man might be unhappy with a large estate, -determined to obtain a nearer knowledge of the person with whom I was -to pass the remainder of my time. To protract the courtship was by no -means difficult, for Anthea had a wonderful facility of evading questions -which I seldom repeated, and of barring approaches which I had no great -eagerness to press. - -Thus the time passed away in visits and civilities without any ardent -professions of love, or formal offers of settlements. I often attended -her to publick places, in which, as is well known, all behaviour is so -much regulated by custom, that very little insight can be gained into a -private character, and therefore I was not yet able to inform myself of -her humour and inclinations. - -At last I ventured to propose to her to make one of a small party, -and spend a day in viewing a seat and gardens a few miles distant; -and having, upon her compliance, collected the rest of the company, I -brought, at the hour, a coach which I had borrowed from an acquaintance, -having delayed to buy one myself, till I should have an opportunity of -taking the lady's opinion for whose use it was intended. Anthea came -down, but as she was going to step into the coach, started back with -great appearance of terrour, and told us that she durst not enter, for -the shocking colour of the lining had so much the air of the mourning -coach in which she followed her aunt's funeral three years before, that -she should never have her poor dear aunt out of her head. - -I knew that it was not for lovers to argue with their mistresses; I -therefore sent back the coach and got another more gay. Into this we all -entered; the coachman began to drive, and we were amusing ourselves with -the expectation of what we should see, when, upon a small inclination of -the carriage, Anthea screamed out, that we were overthrown. We were -obliged to fix all our attention upon her, which she took care to keep -up by renewing her outcries, at every corner where we had occasion to -turn; at intervals she entertained us with fretful complaints of the -uneasiness of the coach, and obliged me to call several times on the -coachman to take care and drive without jolting. The poor fellow -endeavoured to please us, and therefore moved very slowly, till Anthea -found out that this pace would only keep us longer on the stones, and -desired that I would order him to make more speed. He whipped his -horses, the coach jolted again, and Anthea very complaisantly told us -how much she repented that she made one of our company. - -At last we got into the smooth road, and began to think our difficulties -at an end, when, on a sudden, Anthea saw a brook before us, which she -could not venture to pass. We were, therefore, obliged to alight, that -we might walk over the bridge; but when we came to it we found it so -narrow, that Anthea durst not set her foot upon it, and was content, -after long consultation, to call the coach back, and with innumerable -precautions, terrours, and lamentations, crossed the brook. - -It was necessary after this delay to amend our pace, and directions were -accordingly given to the coachman, when Anthea informed us, that it was -common for the axle to catch fire with a quick motion, and begged of me -to look out every minute, lest we should all be consumed. I was forced -to obey, and give her from time to time the most solemn declarations -that all was safe, and that I hoped we should reach the place without -losing our lives either by fire or water. - -Thus we passed on, over ways soft and hard, with more or less speed, -but always with new vicissitudes of anxiety. If the ground was hard, -we were jolted; if soft, we were sinking. If we went fast, we should be -overturned; if slowly, we should never reach the place. At length she saw -something which she called a cloud, and began to consider that at that -time of the year it frequently thundered. This seemed to be the capital -terrour, for after that the coach was suffered to move on; and no danger -was thought too dreadful to be encountered, provided she could get into -a house before the thunder. - -Thus our whole conversation passed in dangers, and cares, and fears, and -consolations, and stories of ladies dragged in the mire, forced to spend -all the night on the heath, drowned in rivers, or burnt with lightning; -and no sooner had a hair-breadth escape set us free from one calamity, -but we were threatened with another. - -At length we reached the house where we intended to regale ourselves, -and I proposed to Anthea the choice of a great number of dishes, which -the place, being well provided for entertainment, happened to afford. -She made some objection to every thing that was offered; one thing she -hated at that time of the year, another she could not bear since she had -seen it spoiled at lady Feedwell's table, another she was sure they -could not dress at this house, and another she could not touch without -French sauce. At last she fixed her mind upon salmon, but there was no -salmon in the house. It was however procured with great expedition, and -when it came to the table she found that her fright had taken away her -stomach, which indeed she thought no great loss, for she could never -believe that any thing at an inn could be cleanly got. - -Dinner was now over, and the company proposed, for I was now past the -condition of making overtures, that we should pursue our original design -of visiting the gardens. Anthea declared that she could not imagine what -pleasure we expected from the sight of a few green trees and a little -gravel, and two or three pits of clear water: that for her part she -hated walking till the cool of the evening, and thought it very likely -to rain; and again wished that she had stayed at home. We then reconciled -ourselves to our disappointment, and began to talk on common subjects, -when Anthea told us, that since we came to see gardens, she would not -hinder our satisfaction. We all rose, and walked through the enclosures -for some time, with no other trouble than the necessity of watching lest -a frog should hop across the way, which Anthea told us would certainly -kill her if she should happen to see him. - -Frogs, as it fell out, there where none; but when we were within a -furlong of the gardens, Anthea saw some sheep, and heard the wether -clink his bell, which she was certain was not hung upon him for nothing, -and therefore no assurances nor intreaties should prevail upon her to -go a step further; she was sorry to disappoint the company, but her life -was dearer to her than ceremony. - -We came back to the inn, and Anthea now discovered that there was no -time to be lost in returning, for the night would come upon us, and -a thousand misfortunes might happen in the dark. The horses were -immediately harnessed, and Anthea having wondered what could seduce her -to stay so long, was eager to set out. But we had now a new scene of -terrour, every man we saw was a robber, and we were ordered sometimes to -drive hard, lest a traveller whom we saw behind should overtake us; and -sometimes to stop, lest we should come up to him who was passing before -us. She alarmed many an honest man, by begging him to spare her life as -he passed by the coach, and drew me into fifteen quarrels with persons -who increased her fright, by kindly stopping to inquire whether they -could assist us. At last we came home, and she told her company next -day what a pleasant ride she had been taking. - -I suppose, Sir, I need not inquire of you what deductions may be made from -this narrative, nor what happiness can arise from the society of that -woman who mistakes cowardice for elegance, and imagines all delicacy to -consist in refusing to be pleased. - -I am, &c. - - - - -No. 35. TUESDAY, JULY 17, 1750. - - - _----Non pronuba Juno,_ - _Non Hymenaeus adest, non illi Gratia lecto._ - OVID, Met. vi. 428. - - Without connubial Juno's aid they wed; - Nor Hymen nor the Graces bless the bed. - ELPHINSTON. - - -TO THE RAMBLER. - -SIR, - -As you have hitherto delayed the performance of the promise, by which -you gave us reason to hope for another paper upon matrimony, I imagine -you desirous of collecting more materials than your own experience, or -observation, can supply; and I shall therefore lay candidly before you -an account of my own entrance into the conjugal state. - -I was about eight-and-twenty years old, when, having tried the diversions -of the town till I began to be weary, and being awakened into attention -to more serious business, by the failure of an attorney to whom I had -implicitly trusted the conduct of my fortune, I resolved to take my -estate into my own care, and methodise my whole life according to the -strictest rules of economical prudence. - -In pursuance of this scheme, I took leave of my acquaintance, who -dismissed me with numberless jests upon my new system; having first -endeavoured to divert me from a design so little worthy of a man of wit, -by ridiculous accounts of the ignorance and rusticity into which many -had sunk in their retirement, after having distinguished themselves in -taverns and playhouses, and given hopes of rising to uncommon eminence -among the gay part of mankind. - -When I came first into the country, which, by a neglect not uncommon -among young heirs, I had never seen since the death of my father, I -found every thing in such confusion, that being utterly without practice -in business, I had great difficulties to encounter in disentangling the -perplexity of my circumstances; they however gave way to diligent -application; and I perceived that the advantage of keeping my own -accounts would very much overbalance the time which they could require. - -I had now visited my tenants, surveyed my land, and repaired the old -house, which, for some years, had been running to decay. These proofs of -pecuniary wisdom began to recommend me as a sober, judicious, thriving -gentleman, to all my graver neighbours of the country, who never failed -to celebrate my management in opposition to Triftless and Latterwit, -two smart fellows, who had estates in the same part of the kingdom, -which they visited now and then in a frolick, to take up their rents -beforehand, debauch a milk-maid, make a feast for the village, and tell -stories of their own intrigues, and then rode post back to town to spend -their money. - -It was doubtful, however, for some time, whether I should be able to -hold my resolution; but a short perseverance removed all suspicions. -I rose every day in reputation, by the decency of my conversation, and -the regularity of my conduct, and was mentioned with great regard at the -assizes, as a man very fit to be put in commission for the peace. - -During the confusion of my affairs, and the daily necessity of visiting -farms, adjusting contracts, letting leases, and superintending repairs, -I found very little vacuity in my life, and therefore had not many -thoughts of marriage; but, in a little while, the tumult of business -subsided, and the exact method which I had established enabled me to -dispatch my accounts with great facility. I had, therefore, now upon my -hands, the task of finding means to spend my time, without falling back -into the poor amusements which I had hitherto indulged, or changing them -for the sports of the field, which I saw pursued with so much eagerness -by the gentlemen of the country, that they were indeed the only -pleasures in which I could promise myself any partaker. - - -The inconvenience of this situation naturally disposed me to wish for -a companion, and the known value of my estate, with my reputation for -frugality and prudence, easily gained me admission into every family; -for I soon found that no inquiry was made after any other virtue, nor -any testimonial necessary, but of my freedom from incumbrances, and -my care of what they termed the _main chance_. I saw, not without -indignation, the eagerness with which the daughters, wherever I came, -were set out to show; nor could I consider them in a state much -different from prostitution, when I found them ordered to play their -airs before me, and to exhibit, by some seeming chance, specimens of -their musick, their work, or their housewifery. No sooner was I placed -at table, than the young lady was called upon to pay me some civility or -other; nor could I find means of escaping, from either father or mother, -some account of their daughter's excellencies, with a declaration that -they were now leaving the world, and had no business on this side the -grave, but to see their children happily disposed of; that she whom I -had been pleased to compliment at table was indeed the chief pleasure of -their age; so good, so dutiful, so great a relief to her mamma in the -care of the house, and so much her papa's favourite for her cheerfulness -and wit, that it would be with the last reluctance that they should -part; but to a worthy gentleman in the neighbourhood, whom they might -often visit, they would not so far consult their own gratification, as -to refuse her; and their tenderness should be shown in her fortune, -whenever a suitable settlement was proposed. - -As I knew these overtures not to proceed from any preference of me -before another equally rich, I could not but look with pity on young -persons condemned to be set to auction, and made cheap by injudicious -commendations; for how could they know themselves offered and rejected -a hundred times, without some loss of that soft elevation, and maiden -dignity, so necessary to the completion of female excellence? - -I shall not trouble you with a history of the stratagems practised upon -my judgment, or the allurements tried upon my heart, which, if you have, -in any part of your life, been acquainted with rural politicks, you will -easily conceive. Their arts have no great variety, they think nothing -worth their care but money, and supposing its influence the same upon -all the world, seldom endeavour to deceive by any other means than false -computations. - -I will not deny that, by hearing myself loudly commended for my -discretion, I began to set some value upon my character, and was -unwilling to lose my credit by marrying for love. I therefore resolved -to know the fortune of the lady whom I should address, before I inquired -after her wit, delicacy, or beauty. - -This determination led to Mitissa, the daughter of Chrysophilus, whose -person was at least without deformity, and whose manners were free -from reproach, as she had been bred up at a distance from all common -temptations. To Mitissa therefore I obtained leave from her parents -to pay my court, and was referred by her again to her father, whose -direction she was resolved to follow. The question then was, only, what -should be settled? The old gentleman made an enormous demand, with which -I refused to comply. Mitissa was ordered to exert her power; she told me, -that if I could refuse her papa, I had no love for her; that she was an -unhappy creature, and that I was a perfidious man; then she burst into -tears, and fell into fits. All this, as I was no passionate lover, had -little effect. She next refused to see me, and because I thought myself -obliged to write in terms of distress, they had once hopes of starving -me into measures; but finding me inflexible, the father complied with my -proposal, and told me he liked me the more for being so good at a bargain. - -I was now married to Mitissa, and was to experience the happiness of a -match made without passion. Mitissa soon discovered that she was equally -prudent with myself, and had taken a husband only to be at her own -command, and to have a chariot at her own call. She brought with her -an old maid recommended by her mother, who taught her all the arts of -domestick management, and was, on every occasion, her chief agent and -directress. They soon invented one reason or other to quarrel with all -my servants, and either prevailed on me to turn them away, or treated -them so ill that they left me of themselves, and always supplied their -places with some brought from my wife's relations. Thus they established -a family, over which I had no authority, and which was in a perpetual -conspiracy against me; for Mitissa considered herself as having a -separate interest, and thought nothing her own, but what she laid up -without my knowledge. For this reason she brought me false accounts of -the expenses of the house, joined with my tenants in complaints of hard -times, and by means of a steward of her own, took rewards for soliciting -abatements of the rent. Her great hope is to outlive me, that she may -enjoy what she has thus accumulated, and therefore she is always -contriving some improvements of her jointure land, and once tried to -procure an injunction to hinder me from felling timber upon it for -repairs. Her father and mother assist her in her projects, and are -frequently hinting that she is ill used, and reproaching me with the -presents that other ladies receive from their husbands. - -Such, Sir, was my situation for seven years, till at last my patience -was exhausted, and having one day invited her father to my house, I laid -the state of my affairs before him, detected my wife in several of her -frauds, turned out her steward, charged a constable with her maid, took -my business in my own hands, reduced her to a settled allowance, and now -write this account to warn others against marrying those whom they have -no reason to esteem. - -I am, &c. - - - - -No. 36. SATURDAY, JULY 21, 1750. - - - [Greek: ----Ham' eponto nomees, - Terpomenoi syrinxi; dolon d' outi pronoesan.] - HOMER, II. xviii. 525. - - ----Piping on their reeds the shepherds go, - Nor fear an ambush, nor suspect a foe. - POPE. - - -There is scarcely any species of poetry that has allured more readers, -or excited more writers, than the pastoral. It is generally pleasing, -because it entertains the mind with representations of scenes familiar -to almost every imagination, and of which all can equally judge whether -they are well described. It exhibits a life, to which we have been -always accustomed to associate peace, and leisure, and innocence: and -therefore we readily set open the heart for the admission of its images, -which contribute to drive away cares and perturbations, and suffer -ourselves, without resistance, to be transported to Elysian regions, -where we are to meet with nothing but joy, and plenty, and contentment; -where every gale whispers pleasure, and every shade promises repose. - -It has been maintained by some, who love to talk of what they do not -know, that pastoral is the most ancient poetry; and, indeed, since it -is probable that poetry is nearly of the same antiquity with rational -nature, and since the life of the first men was certainly rural, we -may reasonably conjecture, that, as their ideas would necessarily be -borrowed from those objects with which they are acquainted, their -composures, being filled chiefly with such thoughts on the visible -creation as must occur to the first observers, were pastoral hymns, like -those which Milton introduces the original pair singing, in the day of -innocence, to the praise of their Maker. - - -For the same reason that pastoral poetry was the first employment of the -human imagination, it is generally the first literary amusement of our -minds. We have seen fields, and meadows, and groves, from the time that -our eyes opened upon life; and are pleased with birds, and brooks, and -breezes, much earlier than we engage among the actions and passions of -mankind. We are therefore delighted with rural pictures, because we know -the original at an age when our curiosity can be very little awakened -by descriptions of courts which we never beheld, or representations of -passions which we never felt. - -The satisfaction received from this kind of writing not only begins early, -but lasts long; we do not, as we advance into the intellectual world, -throw it away among other childish amusements and pastimes, but willingly -return to it in any hour of indolence and relaxation. The images of true -pastoral have always the power of exciting delight; because the works of -nature, from which they are drawn, have always the same order and beauty, -and continue to force themselves upon our thoughts, being at once obvious -to the most careless regard, and more than adequate to the strongest -reason, and severest contemplation. Our inclination to stillness and -tranquillity is seldom much lessened by long knowledge of the busy and -tumultuary part of the world. In childhood we turn our thoughts to the -country, as to the region of pleasure; we recur to it in old age as a -port of rest, and perhaps with that secondary and adventitious gladness, -which every man feels on reviewing those places, or recollecting those -occurrences, that contributed to his youthful enjoyments, and bring -him back to the prime of life, when the world was gay with the bloom of -novelty, when mirth wantoned at his side, and hope sparkled before him. - -The sense of this universal pleasure has invited _numbers without number_ -to try their skill in pastoral performances, in which they have generally -succeeded after the manner of other imitators, transmitting the same -images in the same combination from one to another, till he that reads -the title of a poem, may guess at the whole series of the composition; -nor will a man, after the perusal of thousands of these performances, -find his knowledge enlarged with a single view of nature not produced -before, or his imagination amused with any new application of those -views to moral purposes. - -The range of pastoral is indeed narrow, for though nature itself, -philosophically considered, be inexhaustible, yet its general effects -on the eye and on the ear are uniform, and incapable of much variety of -description. Poetry cannot dwell upon the minuter distinctions, by which -one species differs from another, without departing from that simplicity -of grandeur which fills the imagination; nor dissect the latent qualities -of things, without losing its general power of gratifying every mind, by -recalling its conceptions. However, as each age makes some discoveries, -and those discoveries are by degrees generally known, as new plants or -modes of culture are introduced, and by little and little become common, -pastoral might receive, from time to time, small augmentations, and -exhibit once in a century a scene somewhat varied. - -But pastoral subjects have been often, like others, taken into the hands -of those that were not qualified to adorn them, men to whom the face of -nature was so little known, that they have drawn it only after their own -imagination, and changed or distorted her features, that their portraits -might appear something more than servile copies from their predecessors. - -Not only the images of rural life, but the occasions on which they can be -properly produced, are few and general. The state of a man confined to -the employments and pleasures of the country, is so little diversified, -and exposed to so few of those accidents which produce perplexities, -terrours, and surprises, in more complicated transactions, that he can be -shewn but seldom in such circumstances as attract curiosity. His ambition -is without policy, and his love without intrigue. He has no complaints to -make of his rival, but that he is richer than himself; nor any disasters -to lament, but a cruel mistress, or a bad harvest. - -The conviction of the necessity of some new source of pleasure induced -Sannazarius to remove the scene from the fields to the sea, to substitute -fishermen for shepherds, and derive his sentiments from the piscatory -life; for which he has been censured by succeeding criticks, because -the sea is an object of terrour, and by no means proper to amuse the -mind, and lay the passions asleep. Against this objection he might be -defended by the established maxim, that the poet has a right to select -his images, and is no more obliged to shew the sea in a storm, than the -land under an inundation; but may display all the pleasures, and conceal -the dangers of the water, as he may lay his shepherd under a shady beech, -without giving him an ague, or letting a wild beast loose upon him. - -There are, however, two defects in the piscatory eclogue, which perhaps -cannot be supplied. The sea, though in hot countries it is considered by -those who live, like Sannazarius, upon the coast, as a place of pleasure -and diversion, has notwithstanding much less variety than the land, and -therefore will be sooner exhausted by a descriptive writer. When he has -once shewn the sun rising or setting upon it, curled its waters with the -vernal breeze, rolled the waves in gentle succession to the shore, and -enumerated the fish sporting on the shallows, he has nothing remaining -but what is common to all other poetry, the complaint of a nymph for a -drowned lover, or the indignation of a fisher that his oysters are -refused, and Mycon's accepted. - -Another obstacle to the general reception of this kind of poetry, is the -ignorance of maritime pleasures, in which the greater part of mankind -must always live. To all the inland inhabitants of every region, the -sea is only known as an immense diffusion of waters, over which men pass -from one country to another, and in which life is frequently lost. They -have, therefore, no opportunity of tracing, in their own thoughts, the -descriptions of winding shores and calm bays, nor can look on the poem -in which they are mentioned, with other sensations than on a sea chart, -or the metrical geography of Dionysius. - -This defect Sannazarius was hindered from perceiving, by writing in -a learned language to readers generally acquainted with the works of -nature; but if he had made his attempt in any vulgar tongue, he would -soon have discovered how vainly he had endeavoured to make that loved, -which was not understood. - -I am afraid it will not be found easy to improve the pastorals of -antiquity, by any great additions or diversifications. Our descriptions -may indeed differ from those of Virgil, as an English from an Italian -summer, and, in some respects, as modern from ancient life; but as -nature is in both countries nearly the same, and as poetry has to do -rather with the passions of men, which are uniform, than their customs, -which are changeable, the varieties, which time or place can furnish, -will be inconsiderable; and I shall endeavour to shew, in the next -paper, how little the latter ages have contributed to the improvement -of the rustick muse. - - - - - -No. 37. TUESDAY, JULY 24, 1750. - - - _Canto quae solitus, si quando armenta vocabat,_ - _Amphion Dircaeus._ - VIRG. Ec. ii. 23. - - Such strains I sing as once Amphion play'd, - When list'ning flocks the powerful call obey'd. - ELPHINSTON. - - -In writing or judging of pastoral poetry, neither the authors nor criticks -of latter times seem to have paid sufficient regard to the originals -left us by antiquity, but have entangled themselves with unnecessary -difficulties, by advancing principles, which, having no foundation -in the nature of things, are wholly to be rejected from a species of -composition, in which, above all others, mere nature is to be regarded. - -It is therefore necessary to inquire after some more distinct and exact -idea of this kind of writing. This may, I think, be easily found in the -pastorals of Virgil, from whose opinion it will not appear very safe to -depart, if we consider that every advantage of nature, and of fortune, -concurred to complete his productions; that he was born with great -accuracy and severity of judgment, enlightened with all the learning of -one of the brightest ages, and embellished with the elegance of the Roman -court; that he employed his powers rather in improving, than inventing, -and therefore must have endeavoured to recompense the want of novelty by -exactness; that taking Theocritus for his original, he found pastoral -far advanced towards perfection, and that having so great a rival, -he must have proceeded with uncommon caution. - -If we search the writings of Virgil for the true definition of a pastoral, -it will be found _a poem in which any action or passion is represented by -its effects upon a country life_. Whatsoever therefore may, according to -the common course of things, happen in the country, may afford a subject -for a pastoral poet. - -In this definition, it will immediately occur to those who are versed -in the writings of the modern criticks, that there is no mention of the -golden age. I cannot indeed easily discover why it is thought necessary -to refer descriptions of a rural state to remote times, nor can I -perceive that any writer has consistently preserved the Arcadian manners -and sentiments. The only reason, that I have read, on which this rule -has been founded, is, that, according to the customs of modern life, it -is improbable that shepherds should be capable of harmonious numbers, -or delicate sentiments; and therefore the reader must exalt his ideas -of the pastoral character, by carrying his thoughts back to the age in -which the care of herds and flocks was the employment of the wisest and -greatest men. - -These reasoners seem to have been led into their hypothesis, by -considering pastoral, not in general, as a representation of rural -nature, and consequently as exhibiting the ideas and sentiments of those, -whoever they are, to whom the country affords pleasure or employment, but -simply as a dialogue, or narrative of men actually tending sheep, and -busied in the lowest and most laborious office; from whence they very -readily concluded, since characters must necessarily be preserved, that -either the sentiments must sink to the level of the speakers, or the -speakers must be raised to the height of the sentiments. - -In consequence of these original errours, a thousand precepts have been -given, which have only contributed to perplex and confound. Some have -thought it necessary that the imaginary manners of the golden age should -be universally preserved, and have therefore believed, that nothing more -could be admitted in pastoral, than lilies and roses, and rocks and -streams, among which are heard the gentle whispers of chaste fondness, -or the soft complaints of amorous impatience. In pastoral, as in other -writings, chastity of sentiment ought doubtless to be observed, and -purity of manners to be represented; not because the poet is confined to -the images of the golden age, but because, having the subject in his own -choice, he ought always to consult the interest of virtue. - -These advocates for the golden age lay down other principles, not very -consistent with their general plan; for they tell us, that, to support -the character of the shepherd, it is proper that all refinement should -be avoided, and that some slight instances of ignorance should be -interspersed. Thus the shepherd in Virgil is supposed to have forgot -the name of Anaximander, and in Pope the term Zodiack is too hard for a -rustick apprehension. But if we place our shepherds in their primitive -condition, we may give them learning among their other qualifications; -and if we suffer them to allude at all to things of later existence, -which, perhaps, cannot with any great propriety be allowed, there can -be no danger of making them speak with too much accuracy, since they -conversed with divinities, and transmitted to succeeding ages the arts -of life. - -Other writers, having the mean and despicable condition of a shepherd -always before them, conceive it necessary to degrade the language of -pastoral by obsolete terms and rustick words, which they very learnedly -call Dorick, without reflecting that they thus became authors of a -mangled dialect, which no human being ever could have spoken, that they -may as well refine the speech as the sentiments of their personages, -and that none of the inconsistencies which they endeavour to avoid, -is greater than that of joining elegance of thought with coarseness -of diction. Spenser begins one of his pastorals with studied barbarity: - - Diggon Davie, I bid her good-day: - Or, Diggon her is, or I missay. - _Dig._ Her was her while it was day-light, - But now her is a most wretched wight. - -What will the reader imagine to be the subject on which speakers like -these exercise their eloquence? Will he not be somewhat disappointed, -when he finds them met together to condemn the corruptions of the church -of Rome? Surely, at the same time that a shepherd learns theology, he -may gain some acquaintance with his native language. - -Pastoral admits of all ranks of persons, because persons of all ranks -inhabit the country. It excludes not, therefore, on account of the -characters necessary to be introduced, any elevation or delicacy of -sentiment; those ideas only are improper, which, not owing their original -to rural objects, are not pastoral. Such is the exclamation in Virgil, - - _Nunc scio quid sit Amor, duris in cotibus illum_ - _Ismarus, aut Rhodope, aut extremi Garamantes,_ - _Nec generis nostri puerum, nee sanguinis edunt._ - VIRG. Ecl. viii. 44. - - I know thee, Love, in deserts thou wert bred, - And at the dugs of savage tygers fed; - Alien of birth, usurper of the plains. - DRYDEN. - -which, Pope endeavouring to copy, was carried to still greater impropriety: - - I know thee, Love, wild as the raging main, - More fierce than tygers on the Libyan plain; - Thou wert from Aetna's burning entrails torn; - Begot in tempests, and in thunders born! - -Sentiments like these, as they have no ground in nature, are indeed of -little value in any poem; but in pastoral they are particularly liable -to censure, because it wants that exaltation above common life, which -in tragick or heroick writings often reconciles us to bold flights and -daring figures. - -Pastoral being the _representation of an action or passion, by its -effects upon a country life_, has nothing peculiar but its confinement to -rural imagery, without which it ceases to be pastoral. This is its true -characteristick, and this it cannot lose by any dignity of sentiment, -or beauty of diction. The Pollio of Virgil, with all its elevation, is -a composition truly bucolick, though rejected by the criticks; for all -the images are either taken from the country, or from the religion of -the age common to all parts of the empire. - -The Silenus is indeed of a more disputable kind, because, though the -scene lies in the country, the song being religious and historical, had -been no less adapted to any other audience or place. Neither can it well -be defended as a fiction; for the introduction of a god seems to imply -the golden age, and yet he alludes to many subsequent transactions, -and mentions Gallus, the poet's contemporary. - -It seems necessary to the perfection of this poem, that the occasion which -is supposed to produce it, be at least not inconsistent with a country -life, or less likely to interest those who have retired into places of -solitude and quiet, than the more busy part of mankind. It is therefore -improper to give the title of a pastoral to verses, in which the -speakers, after the slight mention of their flocks, fall to complaints -of errours in the church, and corruptions in the government, or to -lamentations of the death of some illustrious person, whom, when once the -poet has called a shepherd, he has no longer any labour upon his hands, -but can make the clouds weep, and lilies wither, and the sheep hang their -heads, without art or learning, genius or study. - -It is part of Claudian's character of his rustick, that he computes his -time not by the succession of consuls, but of harvests. Those who pass -their days in retreats distant from the theatres of business, are always -least likely to hurry their imagination with publick affairs. - -The facility of treating actions or events in the pastoral style, has -incited many writers, from whom more judgment might have been expected, -to put the sorrow or the joy which the occasion required into the mouth -of Daphne or of Thyrsis; and as one absurdity must naturally be expected -to make way for another, they have written with an utter disregard -both of life and nature, and filled their productions with mythological -allusions, with incredible fictions, and with sentiments which neither -passion nor reason could have dictated, since the change which religion -has made in the whole system of the world. - - - - -No. 38. SATURDAY, JULY 28, 1750. - - - _Auream quisquis mediocritatem_ - _Diligit, tutus caret obsoleti_ - _Sordibus tecti, caret invidenda_ - _Sobrius aula._ - HOR. lib. i. Ode iv. 10. - - The man within the golden mean - Who can his boldest wish contain, - Securely views the ruin'd cell, - Where sordid want and sorrow dwell; - And in himself serenely great, - Declines an envied room of state. - FRANCIS. - - -Among many parallels which men of imagination have drawn between the -natural and moral state of the world, it has been observed that happiness, -as well as virtue, consists in mediocrity; that to avoid every extreme -is necessary, even to him who has no other care than to pass through the -present state with ease and safety; and that the middle path is the road -of security, on either side of which are not only the pitfalls of vice, -but the precipices of ruin. - - -Thus the maxim of Cleobulus the Lindian, [Greek: metron ariston], -_Mediocrity is best_, has been long considered as an universal principle, -extended through the whole compass of life and nature. The experience -of every age seems to have given it new confirmation, and to shew that -nothing, however specious or alluring, is pursued with propriety, or -enjoyed with safety, beyond certain limits. - -Even the gifts of nature, which may truly be considered as the most solid -and durable of all terrestrial advantages, are found, when they exceed -the middle point, to draw the possessor into many calamities, easily -avoided by others that have been less bountifully enriched or adorned. We -see every day women perish with infamy, by having been too willing to set -their beauty to shew; and others, though not with equal guilt or misery, -yet with very sharp remorse, languishing in decay, neglect, and obscurity, -for having rated their youthful charms at too high a price. And, indeed, -if the opinion of Bacon be thought to deserve much regard, very few -sighs would be vented for eminent and superlative elegance of form; "for -beautiful women," says he, "are seldom of any great accomplishments, -because they, for the most part, study behaviour rather than virtue." - -Health and vigour, and a happy constitution of the corporeal frame, -are of absolute necessity to the enjoyment of the comforts, and to the -performance of the duties of life, and requisite in yet a greater measure -to the accomplishment of any thing illustrious or distinguished; yet even -these, if we can judge by their apparent consequences, are sometimes not -very beneficial to those on whom they are most liberally bestowed. They -that frequent the chambers of the sick will generally find the sharpest -pains, and most stubborn maladies, among them whom confidence of the -force of nature formerly betrayed to negligence and irregularity; and -that superfluity of strength, which was at once their boast and their -snare, has often, in the latter part of life, no other effect than that -it continues them long in impotence and anguish. - -These gifts of nature are, however, always blessings in themselves, and -to be acknowledged with gratitude to him that gives them; since they -are, in their regular and legitimate effects, productive of happiness, and -prove pernicious only by voluntary corruption or idle negligence. And as -there is little danger of pursuing them with too much ardour or anxiety, -because no skill or diligence can hope to procure them, the uncertainty -of their influence upon our lives is mentioned, not to depreciate their -real value, but to repress the discontent and envy to which the want of -them often gives occasion in those who do not enough suspect their own -frailty, nor consider how much less is the calamity of not possessing -great powers, than of not using them aright. - -Of all those things that make us superior to others, there is none so much -within the reach of our endeavours as riches, nor any thing more eagerly -or constantly desired. Poverty is an evil always in our view, an evil -complicated with so many circumstances of uneasiness and vexation, that -every man is studious to avoid it. Some degree of riches is therefore -required, that we may be exempt from the gripe of necessity; when this -purpose is once attained, we naturally wish for more, that the evil which -is regarded with so much horrour, may be yet at a greater distance from -us; as he that has once felt or dreaded the paw of a savage, will not -be at rest till they are parted by some barrier, which may take away all -possibility of a second attack. - -To this point, if fear be not unreasonably indulged, Cleobulus would, -perhaps, not refuse to extend his mediocrity. But it almost always -happens, that the man who grows rich, changes his notions of poverty, -states his wants by some new measure, and from flying the enemy that -pursued him, bends his endeavours to overtake those whom he sees before -him. The power of gratifying his appetites increases their demands; -a thousand wishes crowd in upon him, importunate to be satisfied, and -vanity and ambition open prospects to desire, which still grow wider, -as they are more contemplated. - -Thus in time want is enlarged without bounds; an eagerness for increase -of possessions deluges the soul, and we sink into the gulphs of -insatiability, only because we do not sufficiently consider, that all -real need is very soon supplied, and all real danger of its invasion -easily precluded; that the claims of vanity, being without limits, must -be denied at last; and that the pain of repressing them is less pungent -before they have been long accustomed to compliance. - -Whosoever shall look heedfully upon those who are eminent for their -riches, will not think their condition such as that he should hazard his -quiet, and much less his virtue, to obtain it. For all that great wealth -generally gives above a moderate fortune, is more room for the freaks of -caprice, and more privilege for ignorance and vice, a quicker succession -of flatteries, and a large circle of voluptuousness. - -There is one reason, seldom remarked, which makes riches less desirable. -Too much wealth is very frequently the occasion of poverty. He whom the -wantonness of abundance has once softened, easily sinks into neglect of -his affairs; and he that thinks he can afford to be negligent, is not -far from being poor. He will soon be involved in perplexities, which his -inexperience will render unsurmountable; he will fly for help to those -whose interest it is that he should be more distressed, and will be at -last torn to pieces by the vultures that always hover over fortunes in -decay. - -When the plains of India were burnt up by a long continuance of drought, -Hamet and Raschid, two neighbouring shepherds, faint with thirst, stood -at the common boundary of their grounds, with their flocks and herds -panting round them, and in extremity of distress prayed for water. On a -sudden the air was becalmed, the birds ceased to chirp, and the flocks -to bleat. They turned their eyes every way, and saw a being of mighty -stature advancing through the valley, whom they knew upon his nearer -approach to be the Genius of Distribution. In one hand he held the sheaves -of plenty, and in the other the sabre of destruction. The shepherds stood -trembling, and would have retired before him; but he called to them with -a voice gentle as the breeze that plays in the evening among the spices -of Sabaea; "Fly not from your benefactor, children of the dust! I am come -to offer you gifts, which only your own folly can make vain. You here -pray for water, and water I will bestow; let me know with how much you -will be satisfied: speak not rashly; consider, that of whatever can be -enjoyed by the body, excess is no less dangerous than scarcity. When you -remember the pain of thirst, do not forget the danger of suffocation. Now, -Hamet, tell me your request." - -"O Being, kind and beneficent," says Hamet, "let thine eye pardon my -confusion, I entreat a little brook, which in summer shall never be dry, -and in winter never overflow." "It is granted," replies the Genius; and -immediately he opened the ground with his sabre, and a fountain bubbling -up under their feet, scattered its rills over the meadows; the flowers -renewed their fragrance, the trees spread a greener foliage, and the -flocks and herds quenched their thirst. - -Then turning to Raschid, the Genius invited him likewise to offer his -petition. "I request," says Raschid, "that thou wilt turn the Ganges -through my grounds, with all his waters, and all their inhabitants." Hamet -was struck with the greatness of his neighbour's sentiments, and secretly -repined in his heart, that he had not made the same petition before him; -when the Genius spoke, "Rash man, be not insatiable! remember, to thee -that is nothing which thou canst not use; and how are thy wants greater -than the wants of Hamet?" Raschid repeated his desire, and pleased himself -with the mean appearance that Hamet would make in the presence of the -proprietor of the Ganges. The Genius then retired towards the river, and -the two shepherds stood waiting the event. As Raschid was looking with -contempt upon his neighbour, on a sudden was heard the roar of torrents, -and they found by the mighty stream that the mounds of the Ganges were -broken. The flood rolled forward into the lands of Raschid, his plantations -were torn up, his flocks overwhelmed, he was swept away before it, and -a crocodile devoured him. - - - - -No. 39. TUESDAY, JULY 31, 1750. - - - _Infelix----nulli bene nupta marito._ - AUSONIUS, Ep. Her. 30. - - Unblest, still doom'd to wed with misery. - - -The condition of the female sex has been frequently the subject of -compassion to medical writers, because their constitution of body is -such, that every state of life brings its peculiar diseases: they are -placed, according to the proverb, between Scylla and Charybdis, with no -other choice than of dangers equally formidable; and whether they embrace -marriage, or determine upon a single life, are exposed, in consequence of -their choice, to sickness, misery, and death. - -It were to be wished that so great a degree of natural infelicity might -not be increased by adventitious and artificial miseries; and that -beings, whose beauty we cannot behold without admiration, and whose -delicacy we cannot contemplate without tenderness, might be suffered to -enjoy every alleviation of their sorrows. But, however it has happened, -the custom of the world seems to have been formed in a kind of conspiracy -against them, though it does not appear but they had themselves an equal -share in its establishment; and prescriptions which, by whomsoever they -were begun, are now of long continuance, and by consequence of great -authority, seem to have almost excluded them from content, in whatsoever -condition they shall pass their lives. - -If they refuse the society of men, and continue in that state which is -reasonably supposed to place happiness most in their own power, they -seldom give those that frequent their conversation any exalted notions -of the blessing of liberty; for whether it be that they are angry to -see with what inconsiderate eagerness other heedless females rush into -slavery, or with what absurd vanity the married ladies boast the change -of their condition, and condemn the heroines who endeavour to assert -the natural dignity of their sex; whether they are conscious that like -barren countries they are free, only because they were never thought to -deserve the trouble of a conquest, or imagine that their sincerity is -not always unsuspected, when they declare their contempt of men; it is -certain, that they generally appear to have some great and incessant -cause of uneasiness, and that many of them have at last been persuaded, -by powerful rhetoricians, to try the life which they had so long -contemned, and put on the bridal ornaments at a time when they least -became them. - -What are the real causes of the impatience which the ladies discover in a -virgin state, I shall perhaps take some other occasion to examine. That -it is not to be envied for its happiness, appears from the solicitude -with which it is avoided; from the opinion universally prevalent among -the sex, that no woman continues long in it but because she is not -invited to forsake it; from the disposition always shewn to treat old -maids as the refuse of the world; and from the willingness with which it -is often quitted at last, by those whose experience has enabled them to -judge at leisure, and decide with authority. - -Yet such is life, that whatever is proposed, it is much easier to find -reasons for rejecting than embracing. Marriage, though a certain security -from the reproach and solicitude of antiquated virginity, has yet, as it -is usually conducted, many disadvantages, that take away much from the -pleasure which society promises, and might afford, if pleasures and pains -were honestly shared, and mutual confidence inviolably preserved. - -The miseries, indeed, which many ladies suffer under conjugal vexations, -are to be considered with great pity, because their husbands are often -not taken by them as objects of affection, but forced upon them by -authority and violence, or by persuasion and importunity, equally -resistless when urged by those whom they have been always accustomed to -reverence and obey; and it very seldom appears that those who are thus -despotick in the disposal of their children, pay any regard to their -domestick and personal felicity, or think it so much to be inquired -whether they will be happy, as whether they will be rich. - -It may be urged, in extenuation of this crime, which parents, not in -any other respect to be numbered with robbers and assassins, frequently -commit, that, in their estimation, riches and happiness are equivalent -terms. They have passed their lives with no other wish than of adding -acre to acre, and filling one bag after another, and imagine the -advantage of a daughter sufficiently considered, when they have secured -her a large jointure, and given her reasonable expectations of living -in the midst of those pleasures with which she had seen her father and -mother solacing their age. - -There is an oeconomical oracle received among the prudential part of the -world, which advises fathers _to marry their daughters, lest they should -marry themselves_; by which I suppose it is implied, that women left to -their own conduct generally unite themselves with such partners as can -contribute very little to their felicity. Who was the author of this -maxim, or with what intention it was originally uttered, I have not yet -discovered; but imagine that however solemnly it may be transmitted, -or however implicitly received, it can confer no authority which nature -has denied; it cannot license Titius to be unjust, lest Caia should be -imprudent; nor give right to imprison for life, lest liberty should be -ill employed. - -That the ladies have sometimes incurred imputations which might naturally -produce edicts not much in their favour, must be confessed by their warmest -advocates; and I have indeed seldom observed that when the tenderness or -virtue of their parents has preserved them from forced marriage, and left -them at large to chuse their own path in the labyrinth of life, they -have made any great advantage of their liberty: they commonly take the -opportunity of independance to trifle away youth and lose their bloom in -a hurry of diversions, recurring in a succession too quick to leave room -for any settled reflection; they see the world without gaining experience, -and at last regulate their choice by motives trifling as those of a girl, -or mercenary as those of a miser. - -Melanthea came to town upon the death of her father, with a very large -fortune, and with the reputation of a much larger; she was therefore -followed and caressed by many men of rank, and by some of understanding; -but having an insatiable desire of pleasure, she was not at leisure, -from the park, the gardens, the theatres, visits, assemblies, and -masquerades, to attend seriously to any proposal, but was still impatient -for a new flatterer, and neglected marriage as always in her power; till -in time her admirers fell away, wearied with expense, disgusted at her -folly, or offended by her inconstancy; she heard of concerts to which -she was not invited, and was more than once forced to sit still at an -assembly for want of a partner. In this distress, chance threw in her -way Philotryphus, a man vain, glittering, and thoughtless as herself, who -had spent a small fortune in equipage and dress, and was shining in the -last suit for which his tailor would give him credit. He had been long -endeavouring to retrieve his extravagance by marriage, and therefore soon -paid his court to Melanthea, who after some weeks of insensibility saw -him at a ball, and was wholly overcome by his performance in a minuet. -They married; but a man cannot always dance, and Philotryphus had no -other method of pleasing; however, as neither was in any great degree -vicious, they live together with no other unhappiness, than vacuity of -mind, and that tastelessness of life, which proceeds from a satiety of -juvenile pleasures, and an utter inability to fill their place by nobler -employments. As they have known the fashionable world at the same time, -they agree in their notions of all those subjects on which they ever -speak, and being able to add nothing to the ideas of each other, are -not much inclined to conversation, but very often join in one wish, -"That they could sleep more, and think less." - -Argyris, after having refused a thousand offers, at last consented to -marry Cotylus, the younger brother of a duke, a man without elegance of -mien, beauty of person, or force of understanding; who, while he courted -her, could not always forbear allusions to her birth, and hints how -cheaply she would purchase an alliance to so illustrious a family. His -conduct from the hour of his marriage has been insufferably tyrannical, -nor has he any other regard to her than what arises from his desire that -her appearance may not disgrace him. Upon this principle, however, he -always orders that she should be gaily dressed, and splendidly attended; -and she has, among all her mortifications, the happiness to take place of -her eldest sister. - - - - -No. 40. SATURDAY, AUGUST 4, 1750. - - - _----Nec dicet, cur ego amicum_ - _Offendam in nugis? Hae nugae seria ducent_ - _In mala derisum semel._ - HOR. Ars. Poet. 450. - - Nor say, for trifles why should I displease - The man I love? For trifles such as these - To serious mischiefs lead the man I love, - If once the flatterer's ridicule he prove. - FRANCIS. - - -It has been remarked, that authors are _genus irritabile_, a _generation -very easily put out of temper_, and that they seldom fail of giving -proofs of their irascibility upon the slightest attack of criticism, or -the most gentle or modest offer of advice and information. - -Writers being best acquainted with one another, have represented this -character as prevailing among men of literature, which a more extensive -view of the world would have shewn them to be diffused through all human -nature, to mingle itself with every species of ambition and desire of -praise, and to discover its effects with greater or less restraint, -and under disguises more or less artful, in all places and all conditions. - -The quarrels of writers, indeed, are more observed, because they -necessarily appeal to the decision of the publick. Their enmities are -incited by applauses from their parties, and prolonged by treacherous -encouragement for general diversion; and when the contest happens to -rise high between men of genius and learning, its memory is continued -for the same reason as its vehemence was at first promoted, because it -gratifies the malevolence or curiosity of readers, and relieves the -vacancies of life with amusement and laughter. The personal disputes, -therefore, of rivals in wit are sometimes transmitted to posterity, when -the grudges and heart-burnings of men less conspicuous, though carried -on with equal bitterness, and productive of greater evils, are exposed -to the knowledge of those only whom they nearly affect, and suffered to -pass off and be forgotten among common and casual transactions. - -The resentment which the discovery of a fault or folly produces, must -bear a certain proportion to our pride, and will regularly be more -acrimonious as pride is more immediately the principle of action. In -whatever therefore we wish to imagine ourselves to excel, we shall -always be displeased to have our claims to reputation disputed; and more -displeased, if the accomplishment be such as can expect reputation only -for its reward. For this reason it is common to find men break out into -rage at any insinuations to the disadvantage of their wit, who have -borne with great patience reflections on their morals; and of women it -has been always known, that no censure wounds so deeply, or rankles so -long, as that which charges them with want of beauty. - -As men frequently fill their imaginations with trifling pursuits, and -please themselves most with things of small importance, I have often -known very severe and lasting malevolence excited by unlucky censures, -which would have fallen without any effect, had they not happened to -wound a part remarkably tender. Gustulus, who valued himself upon the -nicety of his palate, disinherited his eldest son for telling him -that the wine, which he was then commending, was the same which he -had sent away the day before as not fit to be drunk. Proculus withdrew -his kindness from a nephew, whom he had always considered as the most -promising genius of the age, for happening to praise in his presence -the graceful horsemanship of Marius. And Fortunio, when he was privy -counsellor, procured a clerk to be dismissed from one of the publick -offices, in which he was eminent for his skill and assiduity, because -he had been heard to say that there was another man in the kingdom on -whose skill at billiards he would lay his money against Fortunio's. - -Felicia and Floretta had been bred up in one house, and shared all the -pleasures and endearments of infancy together. They entered upon life at -the same time, and continued their confidence and friendship; consulted -each other in every change of their dress, and every admission of a new -lover; thought every diversion more entertaining whenever it happened -that both were present, and when separated justified the conduct, and -celebrated the excellencies, of one another. Such was their intimacy, -and such their fidelity; till a birth-night approached, when Floretta -took one morning an opportunity, as they were consulting upon new -clothes, to advise her friend not to dance at the ball, and informed her -that her performance the year before had not answered the expectation -which her other accomplishments had raised. Felicia commended her -sincerity, and thanked her for the caution; but told her that she danced -to please herself, and was in very little concern what the men might -take the liberty of saying, but that if her appearance gave her dear -Floretta any uneasiness, she would stay away. Floretta had now nothing -left but to make new protestations of sincerity and affection, with -which Felicia was so well satisfied, that they parted with more than -usual fondness. They still continued to visit, with this only difference, -that Felicia was more punctual than before, and often declared how -high a value she put upon sincerity, how much she thought that goodness -to be esteemed which would venture to admonish a friend of an errour, -and with what gratitude advice was to be received, even when it might -happen to proceed from mistake. - -In a few months Felicia, with great seriousness, told Floretta, that -though her beauty was such as gave charms to whatever she did, and her -qualifications so extensive, that she could not fail of excellence in -any attempt, yet she thought herself obliged by the duties of friendship -to inform her, that if ever she betrayed want of judgment, it was by too -frequent compliance with solicitations to sing, for that her manner was -somewhat ungraceful, and her voice had no great compass. It is true, says -Floretta, when I sung three nights ago at lady Sprightly's, I was hoarse -with a cold; but I sing for my own satisfaction, and am not in the least -pain whether I am liked. However, my dear Felicia's kindness is not the -less, and I shall always think myself happy in so true a friend. - -From this time they never saw each other without mutual professions -of esteem, and declarations of confidence, but went soon after into -the country to visit their relations. When they came back, they were -prevailed on, by the importunity of new acquaintance, to take lodgings in -different parts of the town, and had frequent occasion, when they met, to -bewail the distance at which they were placed, and the uncertainty which -each experienced of finding the other at home. - -Thus are the fondest and firmest friendships dissolved, by such openness -and sincerity as interrupt our enjoyment of our own approbation, or -recal us to the remembrance of those failings which we are more willing -to indulge than to correct. - -It is by no means necessary to imagine, that he who is offended at advice, -was ignorant of the fault, and resents the admonition as a false charge; -for perhaps it is most natural to be enraged, when there is the strongest -conviction of our own guilt. While we can easily defend our character, -we are no more disturbed at an accusation, than we are alarmed by an -enemy whom we are sure to conquer; and whose attack, therefore, will -bring us honour without danger. But when a man feels the reprehension of -a friend seconded by his own heart, he is easily heated into resentment -and revenge, either because he hoped that the fault of which he was -conscious had escaped the notice of others; or that his friend had looked -upon it with tenderness and extenuation, and excused it for the sake -of his other virtues; or had considered him as too wise to need advice, -or too delicate to be shocked with reproach: or, because we cannot feel -without pain those reflections roused which we have been endeavouring -to lay asleep; and when pain has produced anger, who would not willingly -believe, that it ought to be discharged on others, rather than on himself? - -The resentment produced by sincerity, whatever be its immediate cause, -is so certain, and generally so keen, that very few have magnanimity -sufficient for the practice of a duty, which, above most others, exposes -its votaries to hardships and persecutions; yet friendship without it -is of very little value since the great use of so close an intimacy is, -that our virtues may be guarded and encouraged, and our vices repressed -in their first appearance by timely detection and salutary -remonstrances. - -It is decreed by Providence, that nothing truly valuable shall be obtained -in our present state, but with difficulty and danger. He that hopes for -that advantage which is to be gained from unrestrained communication, -must sometimes hazard, by unpleasing truths, that friendship which he -aspires to merit. The chief rule to be observed in the exercise of this -dangerous office, is to preserve it pure from all mixture of interest -or vanity; to forbear admonition or reproof, when our consciences tell -us that they are incited, not by the hopes of reforming faults, but the -desire of shewing our discernment, or gratifying our own pride by the -mortification of another. It is not indeed certain, that the most refined -caution will find a proper time for bringing a man to the knowledge -of his own failings, or the most zealous benevolence reconcile him to -that judgment, by which they are detected; but he who endeavours only -the happiness of him whom he reproves, will always have either the -satisfaction of obtaining or deserving kindness; if he succeeds, he -benefits his friend, and if he fails, he has at least the consciousness -that he suffers for only doing well. - - - - -No. 41. TUESDAY, AUGUST 7, 1750. - - - _Nulla recordanti lux est ingrata, gravisque:_ - _Nulla subit cujus non meminisse velit._ - _Ampliat aetatis spatium sibi vir bonus: hoc est_ - _Vivere bis, vita posse priore frui._ - MART. lib. x. Epig. 23. - - No day's remembrance shall the good regret, - Nor wish one bitter moment to forget: - They stretch the limits of this narrow span; - And, by enjoying, live past life again. - F. LEWIS. - - -So few of the hours of life are filled up with objects adequate to the -mind of man, and so frequently are we in want of present pleasure or -employment, that we are forced to have recourse every moment to the past -and future for supplemental satisfactions, and relieve the vacuities of -our being, by recollection of former passages, or anticipation of events -to come. - -I cannot but consider this necessity of searching on every side for -matter on which the attention may be employed, as a strong proof of the -superior and celestial nature of the soul of man. We have no reason to -believe that other creatures have higher faculties, or more extensive -capacities, than the preservation of themselves, or their species, -requires; they seem always to be fully employed, or to be completely at -ease without employment, to feel few intellectual miseries or pleasures, -and to have no exuberance of understanding to lay out upon curiosity -or caprice, but to have their minds exactly adapted to their bodies, -with few other ideas than such as corporal pain or pleasure impresses -upon them. - -Of memory, which makes so large a part of the excellence of the human -soul, and which has so much influence upon all its other powers, but a -small portion has been allotted to the animal world. We do not find the -grief with which the dams lament the loss of their young, proportionate -to the tenderness with which they caress, the assiduity with which they -feed, or the vehemence with which they defend them. Their regard for -their offspring, when it is before their eyes, is not, in appearance, -less than that of a human parent; but when it is taken away, it is very -soon forgotten, and, after a short absence, if brought again, wholly -disregarded. - -That they have very little remembrance of any thing once out of the reach -of their senses, and scarce any power of comparing the present with the -past, and regulating their conclusions from experience, may be gathered -from this, that their intellects are produced in their full perfection. -The sparrow that was hatched last spring makes her first nest the ensuing -season, of the same materials, and with the same art, as in any following -year; and the hen conducts and shelters her first brood of chickens with -all the prudence that she ever attains. - -It has been asked by men who love to perplex any thing that is plain to -common understandings, how reason differs from instinct; and Prior has -with no great propriety made Solomon himself declare, that to distinguish -them is _the fool's ignorance, and the pedant's pride_. To give an -accurate answer to a question, of which the terms are not completely -understood, is impossible; we do not know in what either reason or -instinct consists, and therefore cannot tell with exactness how they -differ; but surely he that contemplates a ship and a bird's nest, will -not be long without finding out, that the idea of the one was impressed -at once, and continued through all the progressive descents of the -species, without variation or improvement; and that the other is the -result of experiments, compared with experiments, has grown, by -accumulated observation, from less to greater excellence, and exhibits -the collective knowledge of different ages and various professions. - -Memory is the purveyor of reason, the power which places those images -before the mind upon which the judgment is to be exercised, and which -treasures up the determinations that are once passed, as the rules of -future action, or grounds of subsequent conclusions. - -It is, indeed, the faculty of remembrance, which may be said to place us -in the class of moral agents. If we were to act only in consequence of -some immediate impulse, and receive no direction from internal motives -of choice, we should be pushed forward by an invincible fatality, without -power or reason for the most part to prefer one thing to another, because -we could make no comparison but of objects which might both happen to -be present. - -We owe to memory not only the increase of our knowledge, and our progress -in rational inquiries, but many other intellectual pleasures. Indeed, -almost all that we can be said to enjoy is past or future; the present -is in perpetual motion, leaves us as soon as it arrives, ceases to be -present before its presence is well perceived, and is only known to have -existed by the effects which it leaves behind. The greatest part of our -ideas arises, therefore, from the view before or behind us, and we are -happy or miserable, according as we are affected by the survey of our -life, or our prospect of future existence. - -With regard to futurity, when events are at such a distance from us that -we cannot take the whole concatenation into our view, we have generally -power enough over our imagination to turn it upon pleasing scenes, and -can promise ourselves riches, honours, and delights, without intermingling -those vexations and anxieties, with which all human enjoyments are -polluted. If fear breaks in on one side, and alarms us with dangers and -disappointments, we can call in hope on the other, to solace us with -rewards, and escapes, and victories; so that we are seldom without -means of palliating remote evils, and can generally sooth ourselves to -tranquillity, whenever any troublesome presage happens to attack us. - -It is, therefore, I believe, much more common for the solitary and -thoughtful to amuse themselves with schemes of the future, than reviews -of the past. For the future is pliant and ductile, and will be easily -moulded by a strong fancy into any form. But the images which memory -presents are of a stubborn and untractable nature, the objects of -remembrance have already existed, and left their signature behind them -impressed upon the mind, so as to defy all attempts of rasure or of -change. - -As the satisfactions, therefore, arising from memory are less arbitrary, -they are more solid, and are, indeed, the only joys which we can call -our own. Whatever we have once reposited, as Dryden expresses it, _in -the sacred treasure of the past_, is out of the reach of accident, or -violence, nor can be lost either by our own weakness, or another's malice: - - _----Non tamen irritum_ - _Quodcunque retro est, efficiet; neque_ - _Diffinget, infectumque reddet,_ - _Quod fugiens semel hora vexit._ - HOR. lib. iii. Ode 29. 43. - - Be fair or foul, or rain or shine, - The joys I have possess'd in spite of fate are mine. - Not Heav'n itself upon the past has pow'r, - But what has been has been, and I have had my hour. - DRYDEN. - -There is certainly no greater happiness than to be able to look back -on a life usefully and virtuously employed, to trace our own progress -in existence, by such tokens as excite neither shame nor sorrow. Life, -in which nothing has been done or suffered to distinguish one day from -another, is to him that has passed it, as if it had never been, except -that he is conscious how ill he has husbanded the great deposit of his -Creator. Life, made memorable by crimes, and diversified through its -several periods by wickedness, is indeed easily reviewed, but reviewed -only with horrour and remorse. - -The great consideration which ought to influence us in the use of the -present moment, is to arise from the effect, which, as well or ill applied, -it must have upon the time to come; for though its actual existence be -inconceivably short, yet its effects are unlimited; and there is not -the smallest point of time but may extend its consequences, either to -our hurt or our advantage, through all eternity, and give us reason to -remember it for ever, with anguish or exultation. - -The time of life, in which memory seems particularly to claim predominance -over the other faculties of the mind, is our declining age. It has been -remarked by former writers, that old men are generally narrative, and -fall easily into recitals of past transactions, and accounts of persons -known to them in their youth. When we approach the verge of the grave it -is more eminently true; - - _Vitae summa brevis spem nos vetat inchoare longam._ - HOR. lib. i. Ode 4. 15. - - Life's span forbids thee to extend thy cares, - And stretch thy hopes beyond thy years. - CREECH. - -We have no longer any possibility of great vicissitudes in our favour; -the changes which are to happen in the world will come too late for -our accommodation; and those who have no hope before them, and to whom -their present state is painful and irksome, must of necessity turn their -thoughts back to try what retrospect will afford. It ought, therefore, to -be the care of those who wish to pass the last hours with comfort, to lay -up such a treasure of pleasing ideas, as shall support the expenses of -that time, which is to depend wholly upon the fund already acquired. - - _----Petite hinc, juvenesque senesque_ - _Finem animo certum, miserisque viatica curis._ - - Seek here, ye young, the anchor of your mind; - Here, suff'ring age, a bless'd provision find. - ELPHINSTON. - -In youth, however unhappy, we solace ourselves with the hope of better -fortune, and however vicious, appease our consciences with intentions -of repentance; but the time comes at last, in which life has no more -to promise, in which happiness can be drawn only from recollection, and -virtue will be all that we can recollect with pleasure. - - - - -No. 42. SATURDAY, AUGUST 11, 1750. - - - _Mihi tarda fluunt ingrataque tempora._ - HOR. lib. i. Epist 1. 15. - - How heavily my time revolves along. - ELPHINSTON. - - -TO THE RAMBLER. - -MR. RAMBLER, - -I am no great admirer of grave writings, and therefore very frequently -lay your papers aside before I have read them through; yet I cannot -but confess that, by slow degrees, you have raised my opinion of your -understanding, and that, though I believe it will be long before I can be -prevailed upon to regard you with much kindness, you have, however, more -of my esteem than those whom I sometimes make happy with opportunities -to fill my tea-pot, or pick up my fan. I shall therefore chuse you for -the confidant of my distresses, and ask your counsel with regard to -the means of conquering or escaping them, though I never expect from -you any of that softness and pliancy, which constitutes the perfection -of a companion for the ladies: as, in the place where I now am, I have -recourse to the mastiff for protection, though I have no intention of -making him a lap-dog. - -My mamma is a very fine lady, who has more numerous and more frequent -assemblies at her house than any other person in the same quarter of -the town. I was bred from my earliest infancy in a perpetual tumult -of pleasure, and remember to have heard of little else than messages, -visits, playhouses, and balls; of the awkwardness of one woman, and the -coquetry of another; the charming convenience of some rising fashion, -the difficulty of playing a new game, the incidents of a masquerade, and -the dresses of a court-night. I knew before I was ten years old all the -rules of paying and receiving visits, and to how much civility every one -of my acquaintance was entitled; and was able to return, with the proper -degree of reserve or of vivacity, the stated and established answer to -every compliment; so that I was very soon celebrated as a wit and a -beauty, and had heard before I was thirteen all that is ever said to -a young lady. My mother was generous to so uncommon a degree as to -be pleased with my advance into life, and allowed me, without envy or -reproof, to enjoy the same happiness with herself; though most women -about her own age were very angry to see young girls so forward, and -many fine gentlemen told her how cruel it was to throw new chains upon -mankind, and to tyrannize over them at the same time with her own charms, -and those of her daughter. - -I have now lived two-and-twenty years, and have passed of each year nine -months in town, and three at Richmond; so that my time has been spent -uniformly in the same company, and the same amusements, except as fashion -has introduced new diversions, or the revolutions of the gay world have -afforded new successions of wits and beaux. However, my mother is so good -an economist of pleasure, that I have no spare hours upon my hands; for -every morning brings some new appointment, and every night is hurried -away by the necessity of making our appearance at different places, and -of being with one lady at the opera, and with another at the card-table. - -When the time came of settling our schemes of felicity for the summer, -it was determined that I should pay a visit to a rich aunt in a remote -county. As you know the chief conversation of all tea-tables, in the -spring, arises from a communication of the manner in which time is to -be passed till winter, it was a great relief to the barrenness of our -topicks, to relate the pleasures that were in store for me, to describe -my uncle's seat, with the park and gardens, the charming walks and -beautiful waterfalls; and every one told me how much she envied me, and -what satisfaction she had once enjoyed in a situation of the same kind. - -As we are all credulous in our own favour, and willing to imagine some -latent satisfaction in any thing which we have not experienced, I will -confess to you, without restraint, that I had suffered my head to be -filled with expectations of some nameless pleasure in a rural life, and -that I hoped for the happy hour that should set me free from noise, and -flutter, and ceremony, dismiss me to the peaceful shade, and lull me in -content and tranquillity. To solace myself under the misery of delay, I -sometimes heard a studious lady of my acquaintance read pastorals, I was -delighted with scarce any talk but of leaving the town, and never went -to bed without dreaming of groves, and meadows, and frisking lambs. - -At length I had all my clothes in a trunk, and saw the coach at the door; -I sprung in with ecstasy, quarrelled with my maid for being too long in -taking leave of the other servants, and rejoiced as the ground grew less -which lay between me and the completion of my wishes. A few days brought -me to a large old house, encompassed on three sides with woody hills, -and looking from the front on a gentle river, the sight of which renewed -all my expectations of pleasure, and gave me some regret for having -lived so long without the enjoyment which these delightful scenes were -now to afford me. My aunt came out to receive me, but in a dress so far -removed from the present fashion, that I could scarcely look upon her -without laughter, which would have been no kind requital for the trouble -which she had taken to make herself fine against my arrival. The night -and the next morning were driven along with inquiries about our family; -my aunt then explained our pedigree, and told me stories of my great -grandfather's bravery in the civil wars, nor was it less than three days -before I could persuade her to leave me to myself. - -At last economy prevailed; she went in the usual manner about her own -affairs, and I was at liberty to range in the wilderness, and sit by the -cascade. The novelty of the objects about me pleased me for a while, but -after a few days they were new no longer, and I soon began to perceive -that the country was not my element; that shades, and flowers, and lawns, -and waters, had very soon exhausted all their power of pleasing, and that -I had not in myself any fund of satisfaction, with which I could supply -the loss of my customary amusements. - -I unhappily told my aunt, in the first warmth of our embraces, that I had -leave to stay with her ten weeks. Six only yet are gone, and how shall I -live through the remaining four? I go out and return; I pluck a flower, -and throw it away; I catch an insect, and when I have examined its -colours set it at liberty; I fling a pebble into the water, and see one -circle spread after another. When it chances to rain, I walk in the great -hall, and watch the minute-hand upon the dial, or play with a litter of -kittens, which the cat happens to have brought in a lucky time. - -My aunt is afraid I shall grow melancholy, and therefore encourages the -neighbouring gentry to visit us. They came at first with great eagerness -to see the fine lady from London; but when we met, we had no common -topick on which we could converse; they had no curiosity after plays, -operas, or musick: and I find as little satisfaction from their accounts -of the quarrels or alliances of families, whose names, when once I can -escape, I shall never hear. The women have now seen me, know how my gown -is made, and are satisfied; the men are generally afraid of me, and say -little, because they think themselves not at liberty to talk rudely. - -Thus I am condemned to solitude; the day moves slowly forward, and I -see the dawn with uneasiness, because I consider that night is at a -great distance. I have tried to sleep by a brook, but find its murmurs -ineffectual; so that I am forced to be awake at least twelve hours, -without visits, without cards, without laughter, and without flattery. I -walk because I am disgusted with sitting still, and sit down because I am -weary with walking. I have no motive to action, nor any object of love, -or hate, or fear, or inclination. I cannot dress with spirit, for I have -neither rival nor admirer. I cannot dance without a partner; nor be kind -or cruel, without a lover. - -Such is the life of Euphelia; and such it is likely to continue for a -month to come. I have not yet declared against existence, nor called -upon the destinies to cut my thread; but I have sincerely resolved not to -condemn myself to such another summer, nor too hastily to flatter myself -with happiness. Yet I have heard, Mr. Rambler, of those who never thought -themselves so much at ease as in solitude, and cannot but suspect it to be -some way or other my own fault, that, without great pain, either of mind -or body, I am thus weary of myself: that the current of youth stagnates, -and that I am languishing in a dead calm, for want of some external -impulse. I shall therefore think you a benefactor to our sex, if you will -teach me the art of living alone; for I am confident that a thousand and -a thousand ladies, who affect to talk with ecstasies of the pleasures of -the country, are in reality, like me, longing for the winter, and wishing -to be delivered from themselves by company and diversion. - -I am, Sir, Yours, - - EUPHELIA. - - - - -No. 43. TUESDAY, AUGUST 14, 1750. - - - _Flumine perpetuo torrens solet acrius ire._ - _Sed tamen haec brevis est, illa perennis aqua._ - OVID, Rem. 651. - - In course impetuous soon the torrent dries, - The brook a constant peaceful stream supplies. - F. LEWIS. - - -It is observed by those who have written on the constitution of the human -body, and the original of those diseases by which it is afflicted, that -every man comes into the world morbid, that there is no temperature so -exactly regulated but that some humour is fatally predominant, and that -we are generally impregnated, in our first entrance upon life, with the -seeds of that malady, which, in time, shall bring us to the grave. - -This remark has been extended by others to the intellectual faculties. -Some that imagine themselves to have looked with more than common -penetration into human nature, have endeavoured to persuade us that each -man is born with a mind formed peculiarly for certain purposes, and with -desires unalterably determined to particular objects, from which the -attention cannot be long diverted, and which alone, as they are well or -ill pursued, must produce the praise or blame, the happiness or misery of -his future life. - -This position has not, indeed, been hitherto proved with strength -proportionate to the assurance with which it has been advanced, and -perhaps will never gain much prevalence by a close examination. - -If the doctrine of innate ideas be itself disputable, there seems to -be little hope of establishing an opinion, which supposes that even -complications of ideas have been given us at our birth, and that we are -made by nature ambitious, or covetous, before we know the meaning of -either power or money. - -Yet as every step in the progression of existence changes our position -with respect to the things about us, so as to lay us open to new assaults -and particular dangers, and subjects us to inconveniences from which any -other situation is exempt; as a publick or a private life, youth and age, -wealth and poverty, have all some evil closely adherent, which cannot -wholly be escaped but by quitting the state to which it is annexed, and -submitting to the incumbrances of some other condition; so it cannot -be denied that every difference in the structure of the mind has its -advantages and its wants; and that failures and defects being inseparable -from humanity, however the powers of understanding be extended or -contracted, there will on one side or the other always be an avenue to -errour and miscarriage. - -There seem to be some souls suited to great, and others to little -employments; some formed to soar aloft, and take in wide views, and -others to grovel on the ground, and confine their regard to a narrow -sphere. Of these the one is always in danger of becoming useless by a -daring negligence, the other by a scrupulous solicitude; the one collects -many ideas, but confused and indistinct; the other is busied in minute -accuracy, but without compass and without dignity. - -The general errour of those who possess powerful and elevated -understandings, is, that they form schemes of too great extent, and -flatter themselves too hastily with success; they feel their own force -to be great, and by the complacency with which every man surveys himself, -imagine it still greater: they therefore look out for undertakings worthy -of their abilities, and engage in them with very little precaution, for -they imagine that without premeditated measures, they shall be able to -find expedients in all difficulties. They are naturally apt to consider -all prudential maxims as below their regard, to treat with contempt those -securities and resources which others know themselves obliged to provide, -and disdain to accomplish their purposes by established means, and common -gradations. - -Precipitation thus incited by the pride of intellectual superiority, -is very fatal to great designs. The resolution of the combat is seldom -equal to the vehemence of the charge. He that meets with an opposition -which he did not expect, loses his courage. The violence of his first -onset is succeeded by a lasting and unconquerable languor; miscarriage -makes him fearful of giving way to new hopes; and the contemplation of an -attempt in which he has fallen below his own expectations is painful and -vexatious; he therefore naturally turns his attention to more pleasing -objects, and habituates his imagination to other entertainments, till, by -slow degrees, he quits his first pursuit, and suffers some other project -to take possession of his thoughts, in which the same ardour of mind -promises him again certain success, and which disappointments of the same -kind compel him to abandon. - -Thus too much vigour in the beginning of an undertaking, often intercepts -and prevents the steadiness and perseverance always necessary in the -conduct of a complicated scheme, where many interests are to be connected, -many movements to be adjusted, and the joint effort of distinct and -independent powers to be directed to a single point. In all important -events which have been suddenly brought to pass, chance has been the -agent rather than reason; and, therefore, however those who seemed to -preside in the transaction, may have been celebrated by such as loved or -feared them, succeeding times have commonly considered them as fortunate -rather than prudent. Every design in which the connexion is regularly -traced from the first motion to the last, must be formed and executed by -calm intrepidity, and requires not only courage which danger cannot turn -aside, but constancy which fatigues cannot weary, and contrivance which -impediments cannot exhaust. - -All the performances of human art, at which we look with praise or wonder, -are instances of the resistless force of perseverance: it is by this -that the quarry becomes a pyramid, and that distant countries are united -with canals. If a man was to compare the effect of a single stroke of the -pick-axe, or of one impression of the spade, with the general design and -last result, he would be overwhelmed by the sense of their disproportion; -yet those petty operations, incessantly continued, in time surmount the -greatest difficulties, and mountains are levelled, and oceans bounded, by -the slender force of human beings. - -It is therefore of the utmost importance that those, who have any intention -of deviating from the beaten roads of life, and acquiring a reputation -superior to names hourly swept away by time among the refuse of fame, -should add to their reason, and their spirit, the power of persisting in -their purposes; acquire the art of sapping what they cannot batter, and -the habit of vanquishing obstinate resistance by obstinate attacks. - -The student who would build his knowledge on solid foundations, and -proceed by just degrees to the pinnacles of truth, is directed by the -great philosopher of France to begin by doubting of his own existence. -In like manner, whoever would complete any arduous and intricate -enterprise, should, as soon as his imagination can cool after the first -blaze of hope, place before his own eyes every possible embarrassment -that may retard or defeat him. He should first question the probability -of success, and then endeavour to remove the objections that he has -raised. It is proper, says old Markham[43], to exercise your horse on the -more inconvenient side of the course, that if he should, in the race, -be forced upon it, he may not be discouraged; and Horace advises his -poetical friend to consider every day as the last which he shall enjoy, -because that will always give pleasure which we receive beyond our hopes. -If we alarm ourselves beforehand with more difficulties than we really -find, we shall be animated by unexpected facility with double spirit; -and if we find our cautions and fears justified by the consequence, there -will however happen nothing against which provision has not been made, no -sudden shock will be received, nor will the main scheme be disconcerted. - -There is, indeed, some danger lest he that too scrupulously balances -probabilities, and too perspicaciously foresees obstacles, should -remain always in a state of inaction, without venturing upon attempts -on which he may perhaps spend his labour without advantage. But previous -despondence is not the fault of those for whom this essay is designed; -they who require to be warned against precipitation, will not suffer more -fear to intrude into their contemplations than is necessary to allay the -effervescence of an agitated fancy. As Des Cartes has kindly shewn how a -man may prove to himself his own existence, if once he can be prevailed -upon to question it, so the ardent and adventurous will not be long -without finding some plausible extenuation of the greatest difficulties. -Such, indeed, is the uncertainty of all human affairs, that security -and despair are equal follies; and as it is presumption and arrogance -to anticipate triumphs, it is weakness and cowardice to prognosticate -miscarriages. The numbers that have been stopped in their career of -happiness are sufficient to shew the uncertainty of human foresight; but -there are not wanting contrary instances of such success obtained against -all appearances, as may warrant the boldest flights of genius, if they -are supported by unshaken perseverance. - -[Footnote 43: Gervase Markham, in his book entitled "Perfect Horsemanship," -12mo. 1671. He was a dramatic poet, and a voluminous writer on various -subjects.] - - - - -No. 44. SATURDAY, AUGUST 18, 1750. - - - [Greek: Honar ek Dios estin.] - HOMER, Il. lib. i. 63. - - ----Dreams descend from Jove. - POPE. - - -TO THE RAMBLER. - -SIR, - -I had lately a very remarkable dream, which made so strong an impression -on me, that I remember it every word; and if you are not better employed, -you may read the relation of it as follows: - -Methought I was in the midst of a very entertaining set of company, -and extremely delighted in attending to a lively conversation, when -on a sudden I perceived one of the most shocking figures imagination -can frame, advancing towards me. She was drest in black, her skin was -contracted into a thousand wrinkles, her eyes sunk deep in her head, -and her complexion pale and livid as the countenance of death. Her looks -were filled with terrour and unrelenting severity, and her hands armed -with whips and scorpions. As soon as she came near, with a horrid frown, -and a voice that chilled my very blood, she bid me follow her. I obeyed, -and she led me through rugged paths, beset with briars and thorns, -into a deep solitary valley. Wherever she passed, the fading verdure -withered beneath her steps; her pestilential breath infected the air with -malignant vapours, obscured the lustre of the sun, and involved the fair -face of Heaven in universal gloom. Dismal howlings resounded through the -forest, from every baleful tree the night raven uttered his dreadful note, -and the prospect was filled with desolation and horrour. In the midst of -this tremendous scene my execrable guide addressed me in the following -manner: - -"Retire with me, O rash unthinking mortal, from the vain allurements of -a deceitful world, and learn that pleasure was not designed the portion -of human life. Man was born to mourn and to be wretched; this is the -condition of all below the stars, and whoever endeavours to oppose -it, acts in contradiction to the will of Heaven. Fly then from the -fatal enchantments of youth, and social delight, and here consecrate -the solitary hours to lamentation and woe. Misery is the duty of all -sublunary beings, and every enjoyment is an offence to the Deity, who is -to be worshipped only by the mortification of every sense of pleasure, -and the everlasting exercise of sighs and tears." - -This melancholy picture of life quite sunk my spirits, and seemed to -annihilate every principle of joy within me. I threw myself beneath a -blasted yew, where the winds blew cold and dismal round my head, and -dreadful apprehensions chilled my heart. Here I resolved to lie till -the hand of death, which I impatiently invoked, should put an end to -the miseries of a life so deplorably wretched. In this sad situation I -espied on one hand of me a deep muddy river, whose heavy waves rolled on -in slow sullen murmurs. Here I determined to plunge, and was just upon -the brink, when I found myself suddenly drawn back. I turned about, and -was surprised by the sight of the loveliest object I had ever beheld. -The most engaging charms of youth and beauty appeared in all her form; -effulgent glories sparkled in her eyes, and their awful splendours were -softened by the gentlest looks of compassion and peace. At her approach -the frightful spectre who had before tormented me, vanished away, and -with her all the horrours she had caused. The gloomy clouds brightened -into cheerful sunshine, the groves recovered their verdure, and the -whole region looked gay and blooming as the garden of Eden. I was quite -transported at this unexpected change, and reviving pleasure began to glad -my thoughts, when, with a look of inexpressible sweetness my beauteous -deliverer thus uttered her divine instructions: - -"My name is Religion. I am the offspring of Truth and Love, and the parent -of Benevolence, Hope, and Joy. That monster from whose power I have -freed you is called Superstition; she is the child of Discontent, and her -followers are Fear and Sorrow. Thus different as we are, she has often -the insolence to assume my name and character, and seduces unhappy mortals -to think us the same, till she, at length, drives them to the borders of -Despair, that dreadful abyss into which you were just going to sink. - -"Look round and survey the various beauties of the globe, which heaven has -destined for the seat of the human race, and consider whether a world -thus exquisitely framed could be meant for the abode of misery and pain. -For what end has the lavish hand of Providence diffused such innumerable -objects of delight, but that all might rejoice in the privilege of -existence, and be filled with gratitude to the beneficent author of it? -Thus to enjoy the blessings he has sent, is virtue and obedience; and to -reject them merely as means of pleasure, is pitiable ignorance or absurd -perverseness. Infinite goodness is the source of created existence; -the proper tendency of every rational being, from the highest order of -raptured seraphs, to the meanest rank of men, is to rise incessantly -from the lower degrees of happiness to higher. They have each faculties -assigned them for various orders of delights." - -"What," cried I, "is this the language of Religion? Does she lead her -votaries through flowery paths, and bid them pass an unlaborious life? -Where are the painful toils of virtue, the mortifications of penitents, -the self-denying exercises of saints and heroes?" - -"The true enjoyments of a reasonable being," answered she mildly, "do not -consist in unbounded indulgence, or luxurious ease, in the tumult of -passions, the languor of indolence, or the flutter of light amusements. -Yielding to immoral pleasure corrupts the mind, living to animal and -trifling ones debases it; both in their degree disqualify it for its -genuine good, and consign it over to wretchedness. Whoever would be really -happy, must make the diligent and regular exercise of his superior powers -his chief attention, adoring the perfections of his Maker, expressing -good-will to his fellow-creatures, cultivating inward rectitude. To his -lower faculties he must allow such gratifications as will, by refreshing -him, invigorate his nobler pursuits. In the regions inhabited by angelic -natures, unmingled felicity for ever blooms, joy flows there with a -perpetual and abundant stream, nor needs there any mound to check its -course. Beings conscious of a frame of mind originally diseased, as -all the human race has cause to be, must use the regimen of a stricter -self-government. Whoever has been guilty of voluntary excesses must -patiently submit both to the painful workings of nature and needful -severities of medicine, in order to his cure. Still he is entitled to a -moderate share of whatever alleviating accommodations this fair mansion -of his merciful Parent affords, consistent with his recovery. And in -proportion as this recovery advances, the liveliest joy will spring -from his secret sense of an amended and improving heart.--So far from -the horrours of despair is the condition even of the guilty.--Shudder, -poor mortal, at the thought of the gulf into which thou wast but now -going to plunge. - -"While the most faulty have every encouragement to amend, the more -innocent soul will be supported with still sweeter consolations under -all its experience of human infirmities; supported by the gladdening -assurances that every sincere endeavour to outgrow them shall be assisted, -accepted, and rewarded. To such a one the lowliest self-abasement is -but a deep-laid foundation for the most elevated hopes; since they who -faithfully examine and acknowledge what they are, shall be enabled under -my conduct to become what they desire. The christian and the hero are -inseparable; and to aspirings of unassuming trust, and filial confidence, -are set no bounds. To him who is animated with a view of obtaining -approbation from the Sovereign of the universe, no difficulty -is insurmountable. Secure in this pursuit of every needful aid, his -conflict with the severest pains and trials, is little more than the -vigorous exercises of a mind in health. His patient dependence on that -Providence which looks through all eternity, his silent resignation, -his ready accommodation of his thoughts and behaviour to its inscrutable -ways, is at once the most excellent sort of self-denial, and a source -of the most exalted transports. Society is the true sphere of human -virtue. In social, active life, difficulties will perpetually be met -with; restraints of many kinds will be necessary; and studying to behave -right in respect of these is a discipline of the human heart, useful to -others, and improving to itself. Suffering is no duty, but where it is -necessary to avoid guilt, or to do good; nor pleasure a crime, but where -it strengthens the influence of bad inclinations, or lessens the generous -activity of virtue. The happiness allotted to man in his present state, -is indeed faint and low, compared with his immortal prospects and noble -capacities; but yet whatever portion of it the distributing hand of -heaven offers to each individual, is a needful support and refreshment -for the present moment, so far as it may not hinder the attaining of -his final destination. - -"Return then with me from continual misery to moderate enjoyment and -grateful alacrity. Return from the contracted views of solitude to the -proper duties of a relative and dependent being. Religion is not confined -to cells and closets, nor restrained to sullen retirement. These are -the gloomy doctrines of Superstition, by which she endeavours to break -those chains of benevolence and social affection, that link the welfare -of every particular with that of the whole. Remember that the greatest -honour you can pay to the Author of your being is by such a cheerful -behaviour, as discovers a mind satisfied with his dispensations." - -Here my preceptress paused, and I was going to express my acknowledgments -for her discourse, when a ring of bells from the neighbouring village, -and a new-risen sun darting his beams through my windows, awaked me[44]. - -I am, Yours, &c. - -[Footnote 44: This paper, and No. 100, were written by the late Mrs. -Elizabeth Carter, of Deal in Kent, who died Feb. 19, 1806.] - - - - -No. 45. TUESDAY, AUGUST 21, 1750. - - - [Greek: Heper megiste gignetai soteria, - Hotan gyne pros andra me dichostate. - Nyn d' echthra panta.] - EURIP. Med. 14. - - This is the chief felicity of life, - That concord smile on the connubial bed; - But now 'tis hatred all. - - -TO THE RAMBLER. - -SIR, - -Though, in the dissertations which you have given us on marriage, very -just cautions are laid down against the common causes of infelicity, -and the necessity of having, in that important choice, the first regard -to virtue, is carefully inculcated; yet I cannot think the subject so -much exhausted, but that a little reflection would present to the mind -many questions, in the discussion of which great numbers are interested, -and many precepts which deserve to be more particularly and forcibly -impressed. - -You seem, like most of the writers that have gone before you, to have -allowed as an uncontested principle, that _marriage is generally unhappy_: -but I know not whether a man who professes to think for himself, and -concludes from his own observations, does not depart from his character -when he follows the crowd thus implicitly, and receives maxims without -recalling them to a new examination, especially when they comprise so -wide a circuit of life, and include such a variety of circumstances. As -I have an equal right with others to give my opinion of the objects about -me, and a better title to determine concerning that state which I have -tried, than many who talk of it without experience, I am unwilling to be -restrained by mere authority from advancing what, I believe, an accurate -view of the world will confirm, that marriage is not commonly unhappy, -otherwise than as life is unhappy; and that most of those who complain of -connubial miseries, have as much satisfaction as their nature would have -admitted, or their conduct procured, in any other condition. - -It is, indeed, common to hear both sexes repine at their change, relate -the happiness of their earlier years, blame the folly and rashness -of their own choice, and warn those whom they see coming into the -world against the same precipitance and infatuation. But it is to be -remembered, that the days which they so much wish to call back, are -the days not only of celibacy but of youth, the days of novelty and -improvement, of ardour and of hope, of health and vigour of body, of -gaiety and lightness of heart. It is not easy to surround life with any -circumstances in which youth will not be delightful; and I am afraid that -whether married or unmarried, we shall find the vesture of terrestrial -existence more heavy and cumbrous, the longer it is worn. - -That they censure themselves for the indiscretion of their choice, is -not a sufficient proof that they have chosen ill, since we see the same -discontent at every other part of life which we cannot change. Converse -with almost any man, grown old in a profession, and you will find him -regretting that he did not enter into some different course, to which -he too late finds his genius better adapted, or in which he discovers -that wealth and honour are more easily attained. "The merchant," says -Horace, "envies the soldier, and the soldier recounts the felicity of the -merchant; the lawyer, when his clients harass him, calls out for the quiet -of the countryman; and the countryman, when business calls him to town, -proclaims that there is no happiness but amidst opulence and crowds." -Every man recounts the inconveniences of his own station, and thinks -those of any other less, because he has not felt them. Thus the married -praise the ease and freedom of a single state, and the single fly to -marriage from the weariness of solitude. From all our observations we -may collect with certainty, that misery is the lot of man, but cannot -discover in what particular condition it will find most alleviations; -or whether all external appendages are not, as we use them, the causes -either of good or ill. - -Whoever feels great pain, naturally hopes for ease from change of posture; -he changes it, and finds himself equally tormented: and of the same -kind are the expedients by which we endeavour to obviate or elude those -uneasinesses, to which mortality will always be subject. It is not likely -that the married state is eminently miserable, since we see such numbers, -whom the death of their partners has set free from it, entering it again. - -Wives and husbands are, indeed, incessantly complaining of each other; and -there would be reason for imagining that almost every house was infested -with perverseness or oppression beyond human sufferance, did we not know -upon how small occasions some minds bursts out, into lamentations and -reproaches, and how naturally every animal revenges his pain upon those -who happen to be near, without any nice examination of its cause. We are -always willing to fancy ourselves within a little of happiness, and when, -with repeated efforts, we cannot reach it, persuade ourselves that it -is intercepted by an ill-paired mate, since, if we could find any other -obstacle, it would be our own fault that it was not removed. - -Anatomists have often remarked, that though our diseases are sufficiently -numerous and severe, yet when we inquire into the structure of the body, -the tenderness of some parts, the minuteness of others, and the immense -multiplicity of animal functions that must concur to the healthful and -vigorous exercise of all our powers, there appears reason to wonder rather -that we are preserved so long, than that we perish so soon, and that our -frame subsists for a single day, or hour, without disorder, rather than -that it should be broken or obstructed by violence of accidents, or length -of time. - -The same reflection arises in my mind, upon observation of the manner in -which marriage is frequently contracted. When I see the avaricious and -crafty, taking companions to their tables and their beds without any -inquiry, but after farms and money; or the giddy and thoughtless uniting -themselves for life to those whom they have only seen by the light of -tapers at a ball; when parents make articles for their children, without -inquiring after their consent; when some marry for heirs to disappoint -their brothers, and others throw themselves into the arms of those whom -they do not love, because they have found themselves rejected where they -were most solicitous to please; when some marry because their servants -cheat them, some because they squander their own money, some because -their houses are pestered with company, some because they will live like -other people, and some only because they are sick in themselves, I am not -so much inclined to wonder that marriage is sometimes unhappy, as that -it appears so little loaded with calamity; and cannot but conclude that -society has something in itself eminently agreeable to human nature, when -I find its pleasures so great, that even the ill choice of a companion -can hardly overbalance them. - -By the ancient customs of the Muscovites, the men and women never saw -each other till they were joined beyond the power of parting. It may be -suspected that by this method many unsuitable matches were produced, and -many tempers associated that were not qualified to give pleasure to each -other. Yet, perhaps, among a people so little delicate, where the paucity -of gratifications, and the uniformity of life, gave no opportunity for -imagination to interpose its objections, there was not much danger of -capricious dislike; and while they felt neither cold nor hunger they might -live quietly together, without any thought of the defects of one another. - -Amongst us, whom knowledge has made nice and affluence wanton, there are, -indeed, more cautions requisite to secure tranquillity; and yet if we -observe the manner in which those converse, who have singled out each -other for marriage, we shall, perhaps, not think that the Russians -lost much by their restraint. For the whole endeavour of both parties, -during the time of courtship, is to hinder themselves from being known, -and to disguise their natural temper, and real desires, in hypocritical -imitation, studied compliance, and continual affectation. From the time -that their love is avowed, neither sees the other but in a mask, and the -cheat is managed often on both sides with so much art, and discovered -afterwards with so much abruptness, that each has reason to suspect -that some transformation has happened on the wedding night, and that, -by a strange imposture, one has been courted, and another married. - -I desire you, therefore, Mr. Rambler, to question all who shall hereafter -come to you with matrimonial complaints, concerning their behaviour in -the time of courtship, and inform them that they are neither to wonder -nor repine, when a contract begun with fraud has ended in disappointment. - -I am, &c. - - - - -No. 46. SATURDAY, AUGUST 25, 1750. - - - _----Genus, et proavos, et quae non fecimus ipsi,_ - _Via ea nostra voco._ - OVID, Metam. xiii. 140. - - Nought from my birth or ancestors I claim; - All is my own, my honour and my shame. - - -TO THE RAMBLER. - -SIR, - -Since I find that you have paid so much regard to my complaints as to -publish them, I am inclined by vanity, or gratitude, to continue our -correspondence; and indeed, without either of these motives, am glad of an -opportunity to write, for I am not accustomed to keep in any thing that -swells my heart, and have here none with whom I can freely converse. While -I am thus employed, some tedious hours will slip away, and when I return -to watch the clock, I shall find that I have disburdened myself of part -of the day. - -You perceive that I do not pretend to write with much consideration -of any thing but my own convenience; and, not to conceal from you my -real sentiments, the little time which I have spent, against my will, -in solitary meditation, has not much contributed to my veneration for -authors. I have now sufficient reason to suspect, that, with all your -splendid professions of wisdom, and seeming regard for truth, you have -very little sincerity; that you either write what you do not think, and -willingly impose upon mankind, or that you take no care to think right, -but while you set up yourselves as guides, mislead your followers by -credulity or negligence; that you produce to the publick whatever notions -you can speciously maintain, or elegantly express, without enquiring -whether they are just, and transcribe hereditary falsehoods from old -authors perhaps as ignorant and careless as yourselves. - -You may perhaps wonder that I express myself with so much acrimony on a -question in which women are supposed to have very little interest; and -you are likely enough, for I have seen many instances of the sauciness -of scholars, to tell me, that I am more properly employed in playing with -my kittens, than in giving myself airs of criticism, and censuring the -learned. But you are mistaken, if you imagine that I am to be intimidated -by your contempt, or silenced by your reproofs. As I read, I have a -right to judge; as I am injured, I have a right to complain; and these -privileges, which I have purchased at so dear a rate, I shall not easily -be persuaded to resign. - -To read has, indeed, never been my business, but as there are hours of -leisure in the most active life, I have passed the superfluities of -time, which the diversions of the town left upon my hands, in turning -over a large collection of tragedies and romances, where, amongst other -sentiments common to all authors of this class, I have found almost every -page filled with the charms and happiness of a country life; that life -to which every statesman in the highest elevation of his prosperity is -contriving to retire; that life to which every tragic heroine in some -scene or other wishes to have been born, and which is represented as a -certain refuge from folly, from anxiety, from passion, and from guilt. - -It was impossible to read so many passionate exclamations, and soothing -descriptions, without feeling some desire to enjoy the state in which all -this felicity was to be enjoyed; and therefore I received with raptures -the invitation of my good aunt, and expected that by some unknown -influence I should find all hopes and fears, jealousies and competitions, -vanish from my heart upon my first arrival at the seats of innocence -and tranquillity; that I should sleep in halcyon bowers, and wander in -elysian gardens, where I should meet with nothing but the softness of -benevolence, the candour of simplicity, and the cheerfulness of content; -where I should see reason exerting her sovereignty over life, without any -interruption from envy, avarice, or ambition, and every day passing in -such a manner as the severest wisdom should approve. - -This, Mr. Rambler, I tell you I expected, and this I had by an hundred -authors been taught to expect. By this expectation I was led hither, and -here I live in perpetual uneasiness, without any other comfort than that -of hoping to return to London. - -Having, since I wrote my former letter, been driven by the mere necessity -of escaping from absolute inactivity, to make myself more acquainted -with the affairs and inhabitants of this place, I am now no longer an -absolute stranger to rural conversation and employments, but am far from -discovering in them more innocence or wisdom, than in the sentiments -or conduct of those with whom I have passed more cheerful and more -fashionable hours. - -It is common to reproach the tea-table, and the park, with given -opportunities and encouragement to scandal. I cannot wholly clear them -from the charge; but must, however, observe in favour of the modish -prattlers, that if not by principle, we are at least by accident, less -guilty of defamation than the country ladies. For having greater numbers -to observe and censure, we are commonly content to charge them only with -their own faults or follies, and seldom give way to malevolence, but -such as arises from some injury or affront, real or imaginary, offered -to ourselves. But in these distant provinces, where the same families -inhabit the same houses from age to age, they transmit and recount the -faults of a whole succession. I have been informed how every estate -in the neighbourhood was originally got, and find, if I may credit the -accounts given me, that there is not a single acre in the hands of the -right owner. I have been told of intrigues between beaux and toasts -that have been now three centuries in their quiet graves, and am often -entertained with traditional scandal on persons of whose names there -would have been no remembrance, had they not committed somewhat that -might disgrace their descendants. - -In one of my visits I happened to commend the air and dignity of a young -lady, who had just left the company; upon which two grave matrons looked -with great sliness at each other, and the elder asked me whether I had -ever seen the picture of Henry the eighth. You may imagine that I did -not immediately perceive the propriety of the question: but after having -waited awhile for information, I was told that the lady's grandmother -had a great-great-grandmother that was an attendant on Anna Bullen, and -supposed to have been too much a favourite of the king. - -If once there happens a quarrel between the principal persons of two -families, the malignity is continued without end, and it is common for -old maids to fall out about some election, in which their grandfathers -were competitors; the heart-burnings of the civil war are not yet -extinguished; there are two families in the neighbourhood who have -destroyed each other's game from the time of Philip and Mary; and when -an account came of an inundation, which had injured the plantations of -a worthy gentleman, one of the hearers remarked, with exultation, that -he might now have some notion of the ravages committed by his ancestors -in their retreat from Bosworth. - -Thus malice and hatred descend here with an inheritance, and it is -necessary to be well versed in history, that the various factions of -this county may be understood. You cannot expect to be on good terms with -families who are resolved to love nothing in common; and, in selecting -your intimates, you are perhaps to consider which party you most favour -in the barons' wars. I have often lost the good opinion of my aunt's -visitants by confounding the interests of York and Lancaster, and was -once censured for sitting silent when William Rufus was called a tyrant. -I have, however, now thrown aside all pretences to circumspection, for -I find it impossible in less than seven years to learn all the requisite -cautions. At London, if you know your company, and their parents, -you are safe; but you are here suspected of alluding to the slips of -great-grandmothers, and of reviving contests which were decided in armour -by the redoubted knights of ancient times. I hope, therefore, that you -will not condemn my impatience, if I am weary of attending where nothing -can be learned, and of quarrelling where there is nothing to contest, and -that you will contribute to divert me while I stay here by some facetious -performance. - -I am, sir, - - EUPHELIA. - - - - -No. 47. TUESDAY, AUGUST 28, 1750. - - - _Quamquam his solatiis acquiescam, debilitor et frangor eadem - illa humanitate quae me, ut hoc ipsum permitterem, induxit. Non - ideo tamen velim durior fieri: nec ignoro alios hujusmodi casus - nihil amplius vocare quam damnum; eoque sibi magnos homines - et sapientes videri. Qui an magni sapientesque sint, nescio; - homines non sunt. Hominis est enim affici dolore, sentire: - resistere tamen, et solatia admittere._ - PLIN. Epist. viii. 16. - - These proceedings have afforded me some comfort in my distress; - notwithstanding which, I am still dispirited and unhinged - by the same motives of humanity that induced me to grant such - indulgences. However, I by no means wish to become less susceptible - of tenderness. I know these kind of misfortunes would be estimated - by other persons only as common losses, and from such sensations - they would conceive themselves great and wise men. I shall not - determine either their greatness or their wisdom; but I am certain - they have no humanity. It is the part of a man to be affected with - grief; to feel sorrow, at the same time that he is to resist it, - and to admit of comfort. - Earl of ORRERY. - - -Of the passions with which the mind of man is agitated, it may be -observed, that they naturally hasten towards their own extinction, by -inciting and quickening the attainment of their objects. Thus fear urges -our flight, and desire animates our progress; and if there are some which -perhaps may be indulged till they outgrow the good appropriated to their -satisfaction, as it is frequently observed of avarice and ambition, yet -their immediate tendency is to some means of happiness really existing, -and generally within the prospect. The miser always imagines that -there is a certain sum that will fill his heart to the brim; and every -ambitious man, like king Pyrrhus, has an acquisition in his thoughts that -is to terminate his labours, after which he shall pass the rest of his -life in ease or gaiety, in repose or devotion. - -Sorrow is perhaps the only affection of the breast that can be expected -from this general remark, and it therefore deserves the particular -attention of those who have assumed the arduous province of preserving -the balance of the mental constitution. The other passions are diseases -indeed, but they necessarily direct us to their proper cure. A man at -once feels the pain and knows the medicine, to which he is carried with -greater haste as the evil which requires it is more excruciating, -and cures himself by unerring instinct, as the wounded stags of Crete -are related by Aelian to have recourse to vulnerary herbs. But for -sorrow there is no remedy provided by nature; it is often occasioned by -accidents irreparable, and dwells upon objects that have lost or changed -their existence; it required what it cannot hope, that the laws of the -universe should be repealed; that the dead should return, or the past -should be recalled. - -Sorrow is not that regret for negligence or errour which may animate us to -future care or activity, or that repentance of crimes for which, however -irrevocable, our Creator has promised to accept it as an atonement; the -pain which arises from these causes has very salutary effects, and is -every hour extenuating itself by the reparation of those miscarriages -that produce it. Sorrow is properly that state of the mind in which our -desires are fixed upon the past, without looking forward to the future, -an incessant wish that something were otherwise than it has been, a -tormenting and harassing want of some enjoyment or possession which -we have lost, and which no endeavours can possibly regain. Into such -anguish many have sunk upon some sudden diminution of their fortune, -an unexpected blast of their reputation, or the loss of children or of -friends. They have suffered all sensibility of pleasure to be destroyed -by a single blow, have given up for ever the hopes of substituting any -other object in the room of that which they lament, resigned their lives -to gloom and despondency, and worn themselves out in unavailing misery. - -Yet so much is this passion the natural consequence of tenderness and -endearment, that, however painful and however useless, it is justly -reproachful not to feel it on some occasions; and so widely and -constantly has it always prevailed, that the laws of some nations, and -the customs of others, have limited a time for the external appearances -of grief caused by the dissolution of close alliances, and the breach of -domestick union. - -It seems determined by the general suffrage of mankind, that sorrow -is to a certain point laudable, as the offspring of love, or at least -pardonable, as the effect of weakness; but that it ought not to be -suffered to increase by indulgence, but must give way, after a stated -time, to social duties, and the common avocations of life. It is at -first unavoidable, and therefore must be allowed, whether with or without -our choice; it may afterwards be admitted as a decent and affectionate -testimony of kindness and esteem; something will be extorted by nature, -and something may be given to the world. But all beyond the bursts of -passion, or the forms of solemnity, is not only useless, but culpable; -for we have no right to sacrifice, to the vain longings of affection, -that time which Providence allows us for the task of our station. - -Yet it too often happens that sorrow, thus lawfully entering, gains such -a firm possession of the mind, that it is not afterwards to be ejected; -the mournful ideas, first violently impressed and afterwards willingly -received, so much engross the attention, as to predominate in every -thought, to darken gaiety, and perplex ratiocination. An habitual sadness -seizes upon the soul, and the faculties are chained to a single object, -which can never be contemplated but with hopeless uneasiness. - -From this state of dejection it is very difficult to rise to cheerfulness -and alacrity; and therefore many who have laid down rules of intellectual -health, think preservatives easier than remedies, and teach us not to -trust ourselves with favourite enjoyments, not to indulge the luxury of -fondness, but to keep our minds always suspended in such indifference, -that we may change the objects about us without emotion. - -An exact compliance with this rule might, perhaps, contribute to -tranquillity, but surely it would never produce happiness. He that -regards none so much as to be afraid of losing them, must live for ever -without the gentle pleasures of sympathy and confidence; he must feel no -melting fondness, no warmth of benevolence, nor any of those honest joys -which nature annexes to the power of pleasing. And as no man can justly -claim more tenderness than he pays, he must forfeit his share in that -officious and watchful kindness which love only can dictate, and those -lenient endearments by which love only can soften life. He may justly -be overlooked and neglected by such as have more warmth in their heart; -for who would be the friend of him, whom, with whatever assiduity he may -be courted, and with whatever services obliged, his principles will not -suffer to make equal returns, and who, when you have exhausted all the -instances of good-will, can only be prevailed on not to be an enemy? - -An attempt to preserve life in a state of neutrality and indifference, is -unreasonable and vain. If by excluding joy we could shut out grief, the -scheme would deserve very serious attention; but since, however we may -debar ourselves from happiness, misery will find its way at many inlets, -and the assaults of pain will force our regard, though we may withhold it -from the invitations of pleasure, we may surely endeavour to raise life -above the middle point of apathy at one time, since it will necessarily -sink below it at another. - -But though it cannot be reasonable not to gain happiness for fear of -losing it, yet it must be confessed, that in proportion to the pleasure -of possession, will be for some time our sorrow for the loss; it is -therefore the province of the moralist to enquire whether such pains -may not quickly give way to mitigation. Some have thought that the most -certain way to clear the heart from its embarrassment is to drag it by -force into scenes of merriment. Others imagine, that such a transition -is too violent, and recommend rather to sooth it into tranquillity, by -making it acquainted with miseries more dreadful and afflictive, and -diverting to the calamities of others the regards which we are inclined -to fix too closely upon our own misfortunes. - -It may be doubted whether either of those remedies will be sufficiently -powerful. The efficacy of mirth it is not always easy to try, and the -indulgence of melancholy may be suspected to be one of those medicines, -which will destroy, if it happens not to cure. - -The safe and general antidote against sorrow is employment. It is commonly -observed, that among soldiers and seamen, though there is much kindness, -there is little grief; they see their friend fall without any of that -lamentation which is indulged in security and idleness, because they -have no leisure to spare from the care of themselves; and whoever shall -keep his thoughts equally busy, will find himself equally unaffected with -irretrievable losses. - -Time is observed generally to wear out sorrow, and its effects might -doubtless be accelerated by quickening the succession, and enlarging the -variety of objects. - - _----Si tempore reddi_ - _Pax animo tranquilla potest, tu sperne morari:_ - _Qui sapiet, sibi tempus erit.----_ - GROTIUS, Consol. ad Patrem. - - 'Tis long ere time can mitigate your grief; - To wisdom fly, she quickly brings relief. - F. LEWIS. - -Sorrow is a kind of rust of the soul, which every new idea contributes in -its passage to scour away. It is the putrefaction of stagnant life, and -is remedied by exercise and motion. - - - - -No. 48. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 1, 1750. - - - _Non est vivere, sed valere, vita._ - MART. Lib. vi. Ep, 70. 15. - - For life is not to live, but to be well. - ELPHINSTON. - - -Among the innumerable follies, by which we lay up in our youth repentance -and remorse for the succeeding part of our lives, there is scarce any -against which warnings are of less efficacy, than the neglect of health. -When the springs of motion are yet elastick, when the heart bounds with -vigour, and the eye sparkles with spirit, it is with difficulty that we -are taught to conceive the imbecility that every hour is bringing upon -us, or to imagine that the nerves which are now braced with so much -strength, and the limbs which play with so much activity, will lose all -their power under the gripe of time, relax with numbness, and totter with -debility. - -To the arguments which have been used against complaints under the -miseries of life, the philosophers have, I think, forgot to add the -incredulity of those to whom we recount our sufferings. But if the -purpose of lamentation be to excite pity, it is surely superfluous for -age and weakness to tell their plaintive stories; for pity pre-supposes -sympathy, and a little attention will shew them, that those who do not -feel pain, seldom think that it is felt; and a short recollection will -inform almost every man, that he is only repaid the insult which he has -given, since he may remember how often he has mocked infirmity, laughed -at its cautions, and censured its impatience. - -The valetudinarian race have made the care of health ridiculous by -suffering it to prevail over all other considerations, as the miser has -brought frugality into contempt, by permitting the love of money not to -share, but to engross his mind: they both err alike, by confounding the -means with the end; they grasp at health only to be well, as at money -only to be rich; and forget that every terrestrial advantage is chiefly -valuable, as it furnishes abilities for the exercise of virtue. - -Health is indeed so necessary to all the duties, as well as pleasures of -life, that the crime of squandering it is equal to the folly; and he that -for a short gratification brings weakness and diseases upon himself, and -for the pleasure of a very few years passed in the tumults of diversion, -and clamours of merriment, condemns the maturer and more experienced -part of his life to the chamber and the couch, may be justly reproached, -not only as a spendthrift of his own happiness, but as a robber of the -publick; as a wretch that has voluntarily disqualified himself for the -business of his station, and refused that part which Providence assigns -him in the general task of human nature. - -There are perhaps very few conditions more to be pitied than that of an -active and elevated mind, labouring under the weight of a distempered -body. The time of such a man is always spent in forming schemes, which -a change of wind hinders him from executing, his powers fume away in -projects and in hope, and the day of action never arrives. He lies down -delighted with the thoughts of to-morrow, pleases his ambition with -the fame he shall acquire, or his benevolence with the good he shall -confer. But in the night the skies are overcast, the temper of the air -is changed, he wakes in langour, impatience, and distraction, and has -no longer any wish but for ease, nor any attention but to misery. It -may be said that disease generally begins that equality which death -completes; the distinctions which set one man so much above another are -very little perceived in the gloom of a sick chamber, where it will be -vain to expect entertainment from the gay, or instruction from the wise; -where all human glory is obliterated, the wit is clouded, the reasoner -perplexed, and the hero subdued; where the highest and brightest of -mortal beings finds nothing left him but the consciousness of innocence. - -There is among the fragments of the Greek poets a short Hymn to Health, -in which her power of exalting the happiness of life, of heightening the -gifts of fortune, and adding enjoyment to possession, is inculcated with -so much force and beauty, that no one, who has ever languished under the -discomforts and infirmities of a lingering disease, can read it without -feeling the images dance in his heart, and adding from his own experience -new vigour to the wish, and from his own imagination new colours to -the picture. The particular occasion of this little composition is not -known, but it is probable that the author had been sick, and in the first -raptures of returning vigour addressed Health in the following manner: - - [Greek: Hygieia presbista Makaron, - Meta sou naioimi - To leipomenon biotas; - Sy de moi prophron sunoikos eies. - Ei gar tis e ploutou charis e tekeon, - Tas eudaimonos t' anthropois - Basileidos archas, e pothon, - Ous kryphiois Aphrodites arkysin thereuomen, - E ei tis alla theothen anthropois terpsis, - E ponon ampnoa pephantai; - Meta seio, makaira, Hygieia, - Tethele panta, kai lampei chariton ear; - Sethen de choris, oudeis eudaimon pelei.] - - - Health, most venerable of the powers of heaven! with thee may - the remaining part of my life be passed, nor do thou refuse to - bless me with thy residence. For whatever there is of beauty or - of pleasure in wealth, in descendants, or in sovereign command, - the highest summit of human enjoyment, or in those objects of - desire which we endeavour to chase into the toils of love; whatever - delight, or whatever solace is granted by the celestials, to - soften our fatigues, in thy presence, thou parent of happiness, - all those joys spread out and flourish; in thy presence blooms - the spring of pleasure, and without thee no man is happy. - -Such is the power of health, that without its co-operation every other -comfort is torpid and lifeless as the powers of vegetation without -the sun. And yet this bliss is commonly thrown away in thoughtless -negligence, or in foolish experiments on our own strength; we let it -perish without remembering its value, or waste it to show how much we -have to spare; it is sometimes given up to the management of levity and -chance, and sometimes sold for the applause of jollity and debauchery. - -Health is equally neglected, and with equal impropriety, by the votaries -of business and the followers of pleasure. Some men ruin the fabrick -of their bodies by incessant revels, and others by intemperate studies; -some batter it by excess, and others sap it by inactivity. To the noisy -route of bacchanalian rioters, it will be to little purpose that advice -is offered, though it requires no great abilities to prove, that he loses -pleasure who loses health; their clamours are too loud for the whispers -of caution, and they run the course of life with too much precipitance -to stop at the call of wisdom. Nor perhaps will they that are busied in -adding thousands to thousands, pay much regard to him that shall direct -them to hasten more slowly to their wishes. Yet since lovers of money are -generally cool, deliberate, and thoughtful, they might surely consider, -that the greater good ought not to be sacrificed to the less. Health is -certainly more valuable than money, because it is by health that money -is procured; but thousands and millions are of small avail to alleviate -the protracted tortures of the gout, to repair the broken organs of sense, -or resuscitate the powers of digestion. Poverty is, indeed, an evil from -which we naturally fly; but let us not run from one enemy to another, -nor take shelter in the arms of sickness. - - _----Projecere animam! quam vellent aethere in alto_ - _Nunc et pauperiem, et duros tolerare labores!_ - - For healthful indigence in vain they pray, - In quest of wealth who throw their lives away. - -Those who lose their health in an irregular and impetuous pursuit of -literary accomplishments are yet less to be excused; for they ought to -know that the body is not forced beyond its strength, but with the loss -of more vigour than is proportionate to the effect produced. Whoever -takes up life beforehand, by depriving himself of rest and refreshment, -must not only pay back the hours, but pay them back with usury: and -for the gain of a few months but half enjoyed, must give up years to -the listlessness of languor, and the implacability of pain. They whose -endeavour is mental excellence, will learn, perhaps too late, how much it -is endangered by diseases of the body, and find that knowledge may easily -be lost in the starts of melancholy, the flights of impatience, and the -peevishness of decrepitude. - - - - -No. 49. TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 4, 1750. - - - _Non omnis moriar; multaque pars mei_ - _Vitabit Libitinam, usque ego postera_ - _Crescum lande recens._ - HOR. Lib. iii. Ode xxx. 6. - - Whole Horace shall not die; his songs shall save - The greatest portion from the greedy grave - CREECH. - - -The first motives of human actions are those appetites which Providence -has given to man in common with the rest of the inhabitants of the earth. -Immediately after our birth, thirst and hunger incline us to the breast, -which we draw by instinct, like other young creatures, and when we are -satisfied, we express our uneasiness by importunate and incessant cries, -till we have obtained a place or posture proper for repose. - -The next call that rouses us from a state of inactivity, is that of our -passions; we quickly begin to be sensible of hope and fear, love and -hatred, desire and aversion; these arising from the power of comparison -and reflection, extend their range wider, as our reason strengthens, and -our knowledge enlarges. At first we have no thought of pain, but when -we actually feel it; we afterwards begin to fear it, yet not before it -approaches us very nearly; but by degrees we discover it at a greater -distance, and find it lurking in remote consequences. Our terrour in -time improves into caution, and we learn to look round with vigilance -and solicitude, to stop all the avenues at which misery can enter, and -to perform or endure many things in themselves toilsome and unpleasing, -because we know by reason, or by experience, that our labour will be -overbalanced by the reward, that it will either procure some positive -good, or avert some evil greater than itself. - -But as the soul advances to a fuller exercise of its powers, the animal -appetites, and the passions immediately arising from them, are not -sufficient to find it employment; the wants of nature are soon supplied, -the fear of their return is easily precluded, and something more is -necessary to relieve the long intervals of inactivity, and to give -those faculties, which cannot lie wholly quiescent, some particular -direction. For this reason, new desires and artificial passions are by -degrees produced; and, from having wishes only in consequence of our -wants, we begin to feel wants in consequence of our wishes; we persuade -ourselves to set a value upon things which are of no use, but because -we have agreed to value them; things which can neither satisfy hunger, -nor mitigate pain, nor secure us from any real calamity, and which, -therefore, we find of no esteem among those nations whose artless and -barbarous manners keep them always anxious for the necessaries of life. - -This is the original of avarice, vanity, ambition, and generally of all -those desires which arise from the comparison of our condition with that -of others. He that thinks himself poor because his neighbour is richer; -he that, like Caesar, would rather be the first man of a village, than -the second in the capital of the world, has apparently kindled in himself -desires which he never received from nature, and acts upon principles -established only by the authority of custom. - -Of these adscititious passions, some, as avarice and envy, are universally -condemned; some, as friendship and curiosity, generally praised; but -there are others about which the suffrages of the wise are divided, and -of which it is doubted, whether they tend most to promote the happiness, -or increase the miseries of mankind. - -Of this ambiguous and disputable kind is the love of fame, a desire of -filling the minds of others with admiration, and of being celebrated by -generations to come with praises which we shall not hear. This ardour -has been considered by some as nothing better than splendid madness, -as a flame kindled by pride, and fanned by folly; for what, say they, -can be more remote from wisdom, than to direct all our actions by the -hope of that which is not to exist till we ourselves are in the grave? -To pant after that which can never be possessed, and of which the value -thus wildly put upon it, arises from this particular condition, that, -during life, it is not to be obtained? To gain the favour, and hear the -applauses of our contemporaries, is indeed equally desirable with any -other prerogative of superiority, because fame may be of use to smooth -the paths of life, to terrify opposition, and fortify tranquillity; but -to what end shall we be the darlings of mankind, when we can no longer -receive any benefits from their favour? It is more reasonable to wish -for reputation, while it may yet be enjoyed, as Anacreon calls upon his -companions to give him for present use the wine and garlands which they -purpose to bestow upon his tomb. - -The advocates for the love of fame allege in its vindication, that it -is a passion natural and universal; a flame lighted by Heaven, and -always burning with greatest vigour in the most enlarged and elevated -minds. That the desire of being praised by posterity implies a resolution -to deserve their praises, and that the folly charged upon it, is only a -noble and disinterested generosity, which is not felt, and therefore not -understood, by those who have been always accustomed to refer every thing -to themselves, and whose selfishness has contracted their understandings. -That the soul of man, formed for eternal life, naturally springs forward -beyond the limits of corporeal existence, and rejoices to consider -herself as co-operating with future ages, and as co-extended with endless -duration. That the reproach urged with so much petulance, the reproach -of labouring for what cannot be enjoyed, is founded on an opinion which -may with great probability be doubted; for since we suppose the powers -of the soul to be enlarged by its separation, why should we conclude that -its knowledge of sublunary transactions is contracted or extinguished? - -Upon an attentive and impartial review of the argument, it will appear that -the love of fame is to be regulated rather than extinguished: and that -men should be taught not to be wholly careless about their memory, but to -endeavour that they may be remembered chiefly for their virtues, since no -other reputation will be able to transmit any pleasure beyond the grave. - -It is evident that fame, considered merely as the immortality of a name, -is not less likely to be the reward of bad actions than of good; he -therefore has no certain principle for the regulation of his conduct, -whose single aim is not to be forgotten. And history will inform us, -that this blind and undistinguishing appetite of renown has always -been uncertain in its effects, and directed by accident or opportunity, -indifferently to the benefit or devastation of the world. When -Themistocles complained that the trophies of Miltiades hindered him from -sleep, he was animated by them to perform the same services in the same -cause. But Caesar, when he wept at the sight of Alexander's picture, having -no honest opportunities of action, let his ambition break out to the -ruin of his country. - -If, therefore, the love of fame is so far indulged by the mind as to -become independent and predominant, it is dangerous and irregular; but -it may be usefully employed as an inferior and secondary motive, and will -serve sometimes to revive our activity, when we begin to languish and -lose sight of that more certain, more valuable, and more durable reward, -which ought always to be our first hope and our last. But it must be -strongly impressed upon our minds that virtue is not to be pursued as -one of the means to fame, but fame to be accepted as the only recompence -which mortals can bestow on virtue; to be accepted with complacence, but -not sought with eagerness. Simply to be remembered is no advantage; it -is a privilege which satire as well as penegyrick can confer, and is not -more enjoyed by Titus or Constantine, than by Timocreon of Rhodes, of -whom we only know from his epitaph, _that he had eaten many a meal, drunk -many a flaggon, and uttered many a reproach_. - - [Greek: Polla phagon, kai polla pion, kai polla kak' eipon - Anthropous, keimai Timokreon Rhodios.] - -The true satisfaction which is to be drawn from the consciousness that we -shall share the attention of future times, must arise from the hope, that -with our name, our virtues will be propagated; and that those whom we -cannot benefit in our lives, may receive instruction from our examples, -and incitement from our renown. - - - - -No. 50. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 8, 1750. - - - _Credebant hoc grande nefas, et morte piandum,_ - _Si juvenis vetulo non assurrexerat, atque_ - _Barbato cuicunque puer, licet ipse videret_ - _Plura domi fraga, et majores glandis acervos._ - JUV. Sat. xiii. 54. - - And had not men the hoary head rever'd, - And boys paid rev'rence when a man appear'd, - Both must have died, though richer skins they wore, - And saw more heaps of acorns in their store - CREECH. - - -I have always thought it the business of those who turn their speculations -upon the living world, to commend the virtues, as well as to expose the -faults of their contemporaries, and to confute a false as well as to -support a just accusation; not only because it is peculiarly the business -of a monitor to keep his own reputation untainted, lest those who can -once charge him with partiality, should indulge themselves afterwards -in disbelieving him at pleasure; but because he may find real crimes -sufficient to give full employment to caution or repentance, without -distracting the mind by needless scruples and vain solicitudes. - -There are certain fixed and stated reproaches that one part of mankind -has in all ages thrown upon another, which are regularly transmitted -through continued successions, and which he that has once suffered them -is certain to use with the same undistinguishing vehemence, when he has -changed his station, and gained the prescriptive right of inflicting on -others what he had formerly endured himself. - -To these hereditary imputations, of which no man sees the justice, till it -becomes his interest to see it, very little regard is to be shewn; since -it does not appear that they are produced by ratiocination or inquiry, but -received implicitly, or caught by a kind of instantaneous contagion, and -supported rather by willingness to credit, than ability to prove, them. - -It has been always the practice of those who are desirous to believe -themselves made venerable by length of time, to censure the new comers -into life, for want of respect to grey hairs and sage experience, for -heady confidence in their own understandings, for hasty conclusions -upon partial views, for disregard of counsels, which their fathers and -grandsires are ready to afford them, and a rebellious impatience of that -subordination to which youth is condemned by nature, as necessary to -its security from evils into which it would be otherwise precipitated, -by the rashness of passion, and the blindness of ignorance. - -Every old man complains of the growing depravity of the world, of the -petulance and insolence of the rising generation. He recounts the -decency and regularity of former times, and celebrates the discipline and -sobriety of the age in which his youth was passed; a happy age, which is -now no more to be expected, since confusion has broken in upon the world, -and thrown down all the boundaries of civility and reverence. - -It is not sufficiently considered how much he assumes who dares to claim -the privilege of complaining; for as every man has, in his own opinion, -a full share of the miseries of life, he is inclined to consider all -clamorous uneasiness, as a proof of impatience rather than of affliction, -and to ask, what merit has this man to show, by which he has acquired a -right to repine at the distributions of nature? Or, why does he imagine -that exemptions should be granted him from the general condition of man? -We find ourselves excited rather to captiousness than pity, and instead -of being in haste to soothe his complaints by sympathy and tenderness, -we enquire, whether the pain be proportionate to the lamentation; and -whether, supposing the affliction real, it is not the effect of vice and -folly, rather than calamity. - -The querulousness and indignation which is observed so often to disfigure -the last scene of life, naturally leads us to enquiries like these. For -surely it will be thought at the first view of things, that if age be -thus contemned and ridiculed, insulted and neglected, the crime must -at least be equal on either part. They who have had opportunities of -establishing their authority over minds ductile and unresisting, they -who have been the protectors of helplessness, and the instructors of -ignorance, and who yet retain in their own hands the power of wealth, -and the dignity of command, must defeat their influence by their own -misconduct, and make use of all these advantages with very little skill, -if they cannot secure to themselves an appearance of respect, and ward -off open mockery, and declared contempt. - -The general story of mankind will evince, that lawful and settled -authority is very seldom resisted when it is well employed. Gross -corruption, or evident imbecility, is necessary to the suppression -of that reverence with which the majority of mankind look upon their -governors, and on those whom they see surrounded by splendour, and -fortified by power. For though men are drawn by their passions into -forgetfulness of invisible rewards and punishments, yet they are easily -kept obedient to those who have temporal dominion in their hands, till -their veneration is dissipated by such wickedness and folly as can -neither be defended nor concealed. - -It may, therefore, very reasonably be suspected that the old draw upon -themselves the greatest part of those insults which they so much lament, -and that age is rarely despised but when it is contemptible. If men -imagine that excess of debauchery can be made reverend by time, that -knowledge is the consequence of long life, however idly or thoughtlessly -employed, that priority of birth will supply the want of steadiness or -honesty, can it raise much wonder that their hopes are disappointed, and -that they see their posterity rather willing to trust their own eyes in -their progress into life, than enlist themselves under guides who have -lost their way? - -There are, indeed, many truths which time necessarily and certainly -teaches, and which might, by those who have learned them from experience, -be communicated to their successors at a cheaper rate: but dictates, -though liberally enough bestowed, are generally without effect, the -teacher gains few proselytes by instruction which his own behaviour -contradicts; and young men miss the benefit of counsel, because they are -not very ready to believe that those who fell below them in practice, can -much excel them in theory. Thus the progress of knowledge is retarded, -the world is kept long in the same state, and every new race is to -gain the prudence of their predecessors by committing and redressing -the same miscarriages. - -To secure to the old that influence which they are willing to claim, and -which might so much contribute to the improvement of the arts of life, -it is absolutely necessary that they give themselves up to the duties -of declining years; and contentedly resign to youth its levity, its -pleasures, its frolicks, and its fopperies. It is a hopeless endeavour -to unite the contrarieties of spring and winter; it is unjust to claim -the privileges of age, and retain the playthings of childhood. The young -always form magnificent ideas of the wisdom and gravity of men, whom they -consider as placed at a distance from them in the ranks of existence, and -naturally look on those whom they find trifling with long beards, with -contempt and indignation, like that which women feel at the effeminacy -of men. If dotards will contend with boys in those performances in -which boys must always excel them; if they will dress crippled limbs -in embroidery, endeavour at gaiety with faultering voices, and darken -assemblies of pleasure with the ghastliness of disease, they may well -expect those who find their diversions obstructed will hoot them away; -and that if they descend to competition with youth, they must bear the -insolence of successful rivals. - - _Lusisti satis, edisti satis atque bibisti:_ - _Tempus abire tibi est._ - - You've had your share of mirth, of meat and drink; - 'Tis time to quit the scene--'tis time to think. - ELPHINSTON. - -Another vice of age, by which the rising generation may be alienated -from it, is severity and censoriousness, that gives no allowance to -the failings of early life, that expects artfulness from childhood, and -constancy from youth, that is peremptory in every command, and inexorable -to every failure. There are many who live merely to hinder happiness, and -whose descendants can only tell of long life, that it produces suspicion, -malignity, peevishness, and persecution: and yet even these tyrants can -talk of the ingratitude of the age, curse their heirs for impatience, -and wonder that young men cannot take pleasure in their father's company. - -He that would pass the latter part of life with honour and decency, must, -when he is young, consider that he shall one day be old; and remember, -when he is old, that he has once been young. In youth, he must lay up -knowledge for his support, when his powers of acting shall forsake him; -and in age forbear to animadvert with rigour on faults which experience -only can correct. - - - - -No. 51. TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 11, 1750. - - - _----Stultus labor est ineptiarum._ - MART. Lib. ii. Ep. lxxxvi. 10. - - How foolish is the toil of trifling cares! - ELPHINSTON. - - -TO THE RAMBLER. - -SIR, - -As you have allowed a place in your paper to Euphelia's letters from -the country, and appear to think no form of human life unworthy of -your attention, I have resolved, after many struggles with idleness and -diffidence, to give you some account of my entertainment in this sober -season of universal retreat, and to describe to you the employments of -those who look with contempt on the pleasures and diversions of polite -life, and employ all their powers of censure and invective upon the -uselessness, vanity, and folly, of dress, visits, and conversation. - -When a tiresome and vexatious journey of four days had brought me to the -house, where invitation, regularly sent for seven years together, had at -last induced me to pass the summer, I was surprised, after the civilities -of my first reception, to find, instead of the leisure and tranquillity, -which a rural life always promises, and, if well conducted, might always -afford, a confused wildness of care, and a tumultuous hurry of diligence, -by which every face was clouded, and every motion agitated. The old lady, -who was my father's relation, was, indeed, very full of the happiness -which she received from my visit, and, according to the forms of obsolete -breeding, insisted that I should recompense the long delay of my company -with a promise not to leave her till winter. But, amidst all her kindness -and caresses, she very frequently turned her head aside, and whispered, -with anxious earnestness, some order to her daughters, which never failed -to send them out with unpolite precipitation. Sometimes her impatience -would not suffer her to stay behind; she begged my pardon, she must -leave me for a moment; she went, and returned and sat down again, but -was again disturbed by some new care, dismissed her daughters with the -same trepidation, and followed them with the same countenance of business -and solicitude. - -However I was alarmed at this show of eagerness and disturbance, and -however my curiosity was excited by such busy preparations as naturally -promised some great event, I was yet too much a stranger to gratify myself -with enquiries; but finding none of the family in mourning, I pleased -myself with imagining that I should rather see a wedding than a funeral. - -At last we sat down to supper, when I was informed that one of the young -ladies, after whom I thought myself obliged to enquire, was under a -necessity of attending some affair that could not be neglected. Soon -afterward my relation began to talk of the regularity of her family, and -the inconvenience of London hours; and at last let me know that they had -purposed that night to go to bed sooner than was usual, because they were -to rise early in the morning to make cheesecakes. This hint sent me to my -chamber, to which I was accompanied by all the ladies, who begged me to -excuse some large sieves of leaves and flowers that covered two-thirds -of the floor, for they intended to distil them when they were dry, -and they had no other room that so conveniently received the rising sun. - -The scent of the plants hindered me from rest, and therefore I rose early -in the morning with a resolution to explore my new habitation. I stole -unperceived by my busy cousins into the garden, where I found nothing -either more great or elegant, than in the same number of acres cultivated -for the market. Of the gardener I soon learned that his lady was the -greatest manager in that part of the country, and that I was come hither -at the time in which I might learn to make more pickles and conserves, -than could be seen at any house a hundred miles round. - -It was not long before her ladyship gave me sufficient opportunities -of knowing her character, for she was too much pleased with her own -accomplishments to conceal them, and took occasion, from some sweetmeats -which she set next day upon the table, to discourse for two long -hours upon robs and jellies; laid down the best methods of conserving, -reserving, and preserving all sorts of fruit; told us with great contempt -of the London lady in the neighbourhood, by whom these terms were very -often confounded; and hinted how much she should be ashamed to set before -company, at her own house, sweetmeats of so dark a colour as she had -often seen at mistress Sprightly's. - -It is, indeed, the great business of her life, to watch the skillet on -the fire, to see it simmer with the due degree of heat, and to snatch -it off at the moment of projection; and the employments to which she has -bred her daughters, are to turn rose-leaves in the shade, to pick out the -seeds of currants with a quill, to gather fruit without brusing it, and -to extract bean-flower water for the skin. Such are the tasks with which -every day, since I came hither, has begun and ended, to which the early -hours of life are sacrificed, and in which that time is passing away -which never shall return. - -But to reason or expostulate are hopeless attempts. The lady has settled -her opinions, and maintains the dignity of her own performances with all -the firmness of stupidity accustomed to be flattered. Her daughters, -having never seen any house but their own, believe their mother's -excellence on her own word. Her husband is a mere sportsman, who is -pleased to see his table well furnished, and thinks the day sufficiently -successful, in which he brings home a leash of hares to be potted by -his wife. - -After a few days I pretended to want books, but my lady soon told me that -none of her books would suit my taste; for her part she never loved to -see young women give their minds to such follies, by which they would -only learn to use hard words; she bred up her daughters to understand -a house, and whoever should marry them, if they knew any thing of good -cookery, would never repent it. - -There are, however, some things in the culinary sciences too sublime for -youthful intellects, mysteries into which they must not be initiated -till the years of serious maturity, and which are referred to the day of -marriage, as the supreme qualification for connubial life. She makes an -orange pudding, which is the envy of all the neighbourhood, and which she -has hitherto found means of mixing and baking with such secrecy, that the -ingredient to which it owes its flavour has never been discovered. She, -indeed, conducts this great affair with all the caution that human policy -can suggest. It is never known before-hand when this pudding will be -produced; she takes the ingredient privately into her own closet, employs -her maids and daughters in different parts of the house, orders the oven -to be heated for a pie, and places the pudding in it with her own hands, -the mouth of the oven is then stopped, and all enquiries are vain. - -The composition of the pudding she has, however, promised Clarinda, that -if she pleases her in marriage, she shall be told without reserve. But -the art of making English capers she has not yet persuaded herself to -discover, but seems resolved that secret shall perish with her, as some -alchymists have obstinately suppressed the art of transmuting metals. - -I once ventured to lay my fingers on her book of receipts, which she -left upon the table, having intelligence that a vessel of gooseberry -wine had burst the hoops. But though the importance of the event -sufficiently engrossed her care, to prevent any recollection of the -danger to which her secrets were exposed, I was not able to make use of -the golden moments; for this treasure of hereditary knowledge was so well -concealed by the manner of spelling used by her grandmother, her mother, -and herself, that I was totally unable to understand it, and lost the -opportunity of consulting the oracle, for want of knowing the language -in which its answers were returned. - -It is, indeed, necessary, if I have any regard to her ladyship's esteem, -that I should apply myself to some of these economical accomplishments; -for I overheard her, two days ago, warning her daughters, by my mournful -example, against negligence of pastry, and ignorance in carving: for you -saw, said she, that, with all her pretensions to knowledge, she turned -the partridge the wrong way when she attempted to cut it, and, I believe, -scarcely knows the difference between paste raised, and paste in a dish. - -The reason, Mr. Rambler, why I have laid Lady Bustle's character before -you, is a desire to be informed whether, in your opinion, it is worthy of -imitation, and whether I shall throw away the books which I have hitherto -thought it my duty to read, for _the lady's closet opened_, _the complete -servant maid_, and _the court cook_, and resign all curiosity after right -and wrong, for the art of scalding damascenes without bursting them, and -preserving the whiteness of pickled mushrooms. - -Lady Bustle has, indeed, by this incessant application to fruits and -flowers, contracted her cares into a narrow space, and set herself free -from many perplexities with which other minds are disturbed. She has no -curiosity after the events of a war, or the fate of heroes in distress; -she can hear, without the least emotion, the ravage of a fire, or -devastations of a storm; her neighbours grow rich or poor, come into -the world or go out of it, without regard, while she is pressing the -jelly-bag, or airing the store-room; but I cannot perceive that she is -more free from disquiets than those whose understandings take a wider -range. Her marigolds, when they are almost cured, are often scattered by -the wind, and the rain sometimes falls upon fruit, when it ought to be -gathered dry. While her artificial wines are fermenting, her whole life -is restlessness and anxiety. Her sweetmeats are not always bright, and -the maid sometimes forgets the just proportions of salt and pepper, when -venison is to be baked. Her conserves mould, her wines sour, and pickles -mother; and, like all the rest of mankind, she is every day mortified -with the defeat of her schemes, and the disappointment of her hopes. - -With regard to vice and virtue she seems a kind of neutral being. She has -no crime but luxury, nor any virtue but chastity; she has no desire to be -praised but for her cookery; nor wishes any ill to the rest of mankind, -but that whenever they aspire to a feast, their custards may be wheyish, -and their pie-crusts tough. - -I am now very impatient to know whether I am to look on these ladies as -the great patterns of our sex, and to consider conserves and pickles as -the business of my life; whether the censures which I now suffer be just, -and whether the brewers of wines, and the distillers of washes, have a -right to look with insolence on the weakness of - - CORNELIA. - - - - -No. 52. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 15, 1750. - - - _----Quoties flenti Theseius heros_ - _Siste modum, dixit, neque enim fortuna querenda_ - _Sola tua est, similes aliorum respice casus,_ - _Mitius ista feres._ - OVID, Met. xv. 492. - - How oft in vain the son of Theseus said, - The stormy sorrows be with patience laid; - Nor are thy fortunes to be wept alone; - Weigh others' woes, and learn to bear thy own. - CATCOTT. - - -Among the various methods of consolation, to which the miseries -inseparable from our present state have given occasion, it has been, as I -have already remarked, recommended by some writers to put the sufferer in -mind of heavier pressures, and more excruciating calamities, than those -of which he has himself reason to complain. - -This has, in all ages, been directed and practised; and, in conformity to -this custom, Lipsius, the great modern master of the Stoick philosophy, -has, in his celebrated treatise on _Steadiness of Mind_, endeavoured -to fortify the breast against too much sensibility of misfortune, by -enumerating the evils which have in former ages fallen upon the world, -the devastation of wide-extended regions, the sack of cities, and -massacre of nations. And the common voice of the multitude, uninstructed -by precept, and unprejudiced by authority, which, in questions that -relate to the heart of man, is, in my opinion, more decisive than the -learning of Lipsius, seems to justify the efficacy of this procedure; for -one of the first comforts which one neighbour administers to another, is -a relation of the like infelicity, combined with circumstances of greater -bitterness. - -But this medicine of the mind is like many remedies applied to the body, -of which, though we see the effects, we are unacquainted with the manner -of operation, and of which, therefore, some, who are unwilling to suppose -any thing out of the reach of their own sagacity, have been inclined -to doubt whether they have really those virtues for which they are -celebrated, and whether their reputation is not the mere gift of fancy, -prejudice, and credulity. - -Consolation, or comfort, are words which, in their proper acceptation, -signify some alleviation of that pain to which it is not in our power to -afford the proper and adequate remedy; they imply rather an augmentation -of the power of bearing, than a diminution of the burthen. A prisoner -is relieved by him that sets him at liberty, but receives comfort from -such as suggest considerations by which he is made patient under the -inconvenience of confinement. To that grief which arises from a great -loss, he only brings the true remedy, who makes his friend's condition -the same as before; but he may be properly termed a comforter, who by -persuasion extenuates the pain of poverty, and shews, in the style of -Hesiod, that _half is more than the whole_. - -It is, perhaps, not immediately obvious, how it can lull the memory of -misfortune, or appease the throbbings of anguish, to hear that others -are more miserable; others, perhaps, unknown or wholly indifferent, whose -prosperity raises no envy, and whose fall can gratify no resentment. -Some topicks of comfort arising, like that which gave hope and spirit -to the captive of Sesostris, from the perpetual vicissitudes of life, -and mutability of human affairs, may as properly raise the dejected -as depress the proud, and have an immediate tendency to exhilarate and -revive. But how can it avail the man who languishes in the gloom of -sorrow, without prospect of emerging into the sunshine of cheerfulness, -to hear that others are sunk yet deeper in the dungeon of misery, -shackled with heavier chains, and surrounded with darker desperation? - -The solace arising from this consideration seems indeed the weakest of -all others, and is perhaps never properly applied, but in cases where -there is no place for reflections of more speedy and pleasing efficacy. -But even from such calamities life is by no means free; a thousand -ills incurable, a thousand losses irreparable, a thousand difficulties -insurmountable are known, or will be known, by all the sons of men. Native -deformity cannot be rectified, a dead friend cannot return, and the hours -of youth trifled away in folly, or lost in sickness, cannot be restored. - -Under the oppression of such melancholy, it has been found useful to take -a survey of the world, to contemplate the various scenes of distress -in which mankind are struggling round us, and acquaint ourselves with -the _terribiles visit formae_, the various shapes of misery, which -make havock of terrestrial happiness, range all corners almost without -restraint, trample down our hopes at the hour of harvest, and, when we -have built our schemes to the top, ruin their foundations. - -The first effect of this meditation is, that it furnishes a new employment -for the mind, and engages the passions on remoter objects; as kings have -sometimes freed themselves from a subject too haughty to be governed and -too powerful to be crushed, by posting him in a distant province, till -his popularity has subsided, or his pride been repressed. The attention -is dissipated by variety, and acts more weakly upon any single part, as -that torrent may be drawn off to different channels, which, pouring down -in one collected body, cannot be resisted. This species of comfort is, -therefore, unavailing in severe paroxysms of corporal pain, when the mind -is every instant called back to misery, and in the first shock of any -sudden evil; but will certainly be of use against encroaching melancholy, -and a settled habit of gloomy thoughts. - -It is further advantageous, as it supplies us with opportunities of making -comparisons in our own favour. We know that very little of the pain, -or pleasure, which does not begin and end in our senses, is otherwise -than relative; we are rich or poor, great or little, in proportion to -the number that excel us, or fall beneath us, in any of these respects; -and therefore, a man, whose uneasiness arises from reflection on any -misfortune that throws him below those with whom he was once equal, is -comforted by finding that he is not yet the lowest. - -There is another kind of comparison, less tending towards the vice of -envy, very well illustrated by an old poet[45], whose system will not -afford many reasonable motives to content. "It is," says he, "pleasing to -look from shore upon the tumults of a storm, and to see a ship struggling -with the billows; it is pleasing, not because the pain of another can give -us delight, but because we have a stronger impression of the happiness -of safety." Thus, when we look abroad, and behold the multitudes that -are groaning under evils heavier than those which we have experienced, -we shrink back to our own state, and instead of repining that so much -must be felt, learn to rejoice that we have not more to feel. - -By this observation of the miseries of others, fortitude is strengthened, -and the mind brought to a more extensive knowledge of her own powers. As -the heroes of action catch the flame from one another, so they to whom -Providence has allotted the harder task of suffering with calmness and -dignity, may animate themselves by the remembrance of those evils which -have been laid on others, perhaps naturally as weak as themselves, and -bear up with vigour and resolution against their own oppressions, when -they see it possible that more severe afflictions may be borne. - -There is still another reason why, to many minds, the relation of other -men's infelicity may give a lasting and continual relief. Some, not well -instructed in the measures by which Providence distributes happiness, are -perhaps misled by divines, who, as Bellarmine makes temporal prosperity -one of the characters of the true church, have represented wealth and -ease as the certain concomitants of virtue, and the unfailing result of -the divine approbation. Such sufferers are dejected in their misfortunes, -not so much for what they feel, as for what they dread; not because -they cannot support the sorrows, or endure the wants, of their present -condition, but because they consider them as only the beginnings of -more sharp and more lasting pains. To these mourners it is an act of the -highest charity to represent the calamities which not only virtue has -suffered, but virtue has incurred; to inform them that one evidence of -a future state, is the uncertainty of any present reward for goodness; -and to remind them, from the highest authority, of the distresses and -penury of men of whom the world was not worthy. - -[Footnote 45: Lucretius.] - - - - -No. 53. TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 18, 1750. - - - [Greek: Pheideo ton kteanon.] - _Epigram. Vet._ - - Husband thy possessions. - - -There is scarcely among the evils of human life any so generally dreaded -as poverty. Every other species of misery, those, who are not much -accustomed to disturb the present moment with reflection, can easily -forget, because it is not always forced upon their regard; but it is -impossible to pass a day or an hour in the confluxes of men, without -seeing how much indigence is exposed to contumely, neglect, and insult; -and, in its lowest state, to hunger and nakedness; to injuries against -which every passion is in arms, and to wants which nature cannot sustain. - -Against other evils the heart is often hardened by true or by false notions -of dignity and reputation: thus we see dangers of every kind faced with -willingness, because bravery in a good or bad cause is never without its -encomiasts and admirers. But in the prospect of poverty, there is nothing -but gloom and melancholy; the mind and body suffer together; its miseries -bring no alleviations; it is a state in which every virtue is obscured, -and in which no conduct can avoid reproach: a state in which cheerfulness -is insensibility, and dejection sullenness, of which the hardships are -without honour, and the labours without reward. - -Of these calamities there seems not to be wanting a general conviction; we -hear on every side the noise of trade, and see the streets thronged with -numberless multitudes, whose faces are clouded with anxiety, and whose -steps are hurried by precipitation, from no other motive than the hope -of gain; and the whole world is put in motion, by the desire of that -wealth which is chiefly to be valued as it secures us from poverty; -for it is more useful for defence than acquisition, and is not so much -able to procure good as to exclude evil. - -Yet there are always some whose passions or follies lead them to a conduct -opposite to the general maxims and practice of mankind; some who seem -to rush upon poverty with the same eagerness with which others avoid -it, who see their revenues hourly lessened, and the estates which they -inherit from their ancestors mouldering away, without resolution to -change their course of life; who persevere against all remonstrances, and -go forward with full career, though they see before them the precipice -of destruction. - -It is not my purpose in this paper, to expostulate with such as ruin -their fortunes by expensive schemes of buildings and gardens, which they -carry on with the same vanity that prompted them to begin, choosing, -as it happens in a thousand other cases, the remote evil before the -lighter, and deferring the shame of repentance till they incur the -miseries of distress. Those for whom I intend my present admonitions, -are the thoughtless, the negligent, and the dissolute, who having, by -the vitiousness of their own inclinations, or the seducements of alluring -companions, been engaged in habits of expense, and accustomed to move -in a certain round of pleasures disproportioned to their condition, are -without power to extricate themselves from the enchantments of custom, -avoid thought because they know it will be painful, and continue from day -to day, and from month to month, to anticipate their revenues, and sink -every hour deeper into the gulfs of usury and extortion. - -This folly has less claim to pity, because it cannot be imputed to the -vehemence of sudden passion; nor can the mischief which it produces be -extenuated as the effect of any single act, which rage, or desire, might -execute before there could be time for an appeal to reason. These men are -advancing towards misery by soft approaches, and destroying themselves, -not by the violence of a blow, which, when once given, can never be -recalled, but by a slow poison, hourly repeated, and obstinately continued. - -This conduct is so absurd when it is examined by the unprejudiced eye -of rational judgment, that nothing but experience could evince its -possibility; yet, absurd as it is, the sudden fall of some families, and -the sudden rise of others, prove it to be common, and every year sees -many wretches reduced to contempt and want, by their costly sacrifices to -pleasure and vanity. - -It is the fate of almost every passion, when it has passed the bounds -which nature prescribes, to counteract its own purpose. Too much rage -hinders the warriour from circumspection, too much eagerness of profit -hurts the credit of the trader, too much ardour takes away from the lover -that easiness of address with which ladies are delighted. - -Thus extravagance, though dictated by vanity, and incited by -voluptuousness, seldom procures ultimately either applause or pleasure. - -If praise be justly estimated by the character of those from whom it -is received, little satisfaction will be given to the spendthrift by -the encomiums which he purchases. For who are they that animate him in -his pursuits, but young men, thoughtless and abandoned like himself, -unacquainted with all on which the wisdom of nations has impressed the -stamp of excellence, and devoid alike of knowledge and of virtue? By whom -is his profusion praised, but by wretches who consider him as subservient -to their purposes, Sirens that entice him to shipwreck, and Cyclops that -are gaping to devour him. - -Every man, whose knowledge or whose virtue can give value to his opinion, -looks with scorn, or pity, neither of which can afford much gratification -to pride, on him whom the panders of luxury have drawn into the circle -of their influence, and whom he sees parcelled out among the different -ministers of folly, and about to be torn to pieces by tailors and -jockeys, vintners and attorneys, who at once rob and ridicule him, and -who are secretly triumphing over his weakness, when they present new -incitements to his appetite, and heighten his desires by counterfeited -applause. - -Such is the praise that is purchased by prodigality. Even when it is -yet not discovered to be false, it is the praise only of those whom -it is reproachful to please, and whose sincerity is corrupted by their -interest; men who live by the riots which they encourage, and who know -that whenever their pupil grows wise, they shall loose their power. Yet -with such flatteries, if they could last, might the cravings of vanity, -which is seldom very delicate, be satisfied; but the time is always -hastening forward when this triumph, poor as it is, shall vanish, and -when those who now surround him with obsequiousness and compliments, -fawn among his equipage, and animate his riots, shall turn upon him with -insolence, and reproach him with the vices promoted by themselves. - -And as little pretensions has the man who squanders his estate, by vain -or vicious expenses, to greater degrees of pleasure than are obtained by -others. To make any happiness sincere, it is necessary that we believe it -to be lasting; since whatever we suppose ourselves in danger of losing, -must be enjoyed with solicitude and uneasiness, and the more value we set -upon it, the more must the present possession be imbittered. How can he -then be envied for his felicity, who knows that its continuance cannot be -expected, and who is conscious that a very short time will give him up to -the gripe of poverty, which will be harder to be borne, as he has given -way to more excesses, wantoned in greater abundance, and indulged his -appetites with more profuseness? - -It appears evident that frugality is necessary even to complete the -pleasure of expense; for it may be generally remarked of those who -squander what they know their fortune not sufficient to allow, that -in their most jovial expense, there always breaks out some proof of -discontent and impatience; they either scatter with a kind of wild -desperation, and affected lavishness, as criminals brave the gallows -when they cannot escape it, or pay their money with a peevish anxiety, -and endeavour at once to spend idly, and to save meanly: having neither -firmness to deny their passions, nor courage to gratify them, they murmur -at their own enjoyments, and poison the bowl of pleasure by reflection -on the cost. - -Among these men there is often the vociferation of merriment, but very -seldom the tranquillity of cheerfulness; they inflame their imaginations -to a kind of momentary jollity, by the help of wine and riot, and -consider it as the first business of the night to stupify recollection, -and lay that reason asleep which disturbs their gaiety, and calls upon -them to retreat from ruin. - -But this poor broken satisfaction is of short continuance, and must -be expiated by a long series of misery and regret. In a short time -the creditor grows impatient, the last acre is sold, the passions and -appetites still continue their tyranny, with incessant calls for their -usual gratifications, and the remainder of life passes away in vain -repentance, or impotent desire. - - - - -No. 54. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 22, 1750. - - - _Truditur dies die,_ - _Novteque pergunt interire Lunae._ - _Tu secanda marmora_ - _Locas sub ipsum funus, et sepulchri_ - _Immemor struis domos._ - HOR. Lib. ii. Ode xviii. 15. - - Day presses on the heels of day, - And moons increase to their decay; - But you, with thoughtless pride elate, - Unconscious of impending fate, - Command the pillar'd dome to rise, - When lo! thy tomb forgotten lies. - FRANCIS. - - -TO THE RAMBLER. - -SIR, - -I have lately been called, from a mingled life of business and amusement, -to attend the last hours of an old friend; an office which has filled me, -if not with melancholy, at least with serious reflections, and turned my -thoughts towards the contemplation of those subjects, which though of the -utmost importance, and of indubitable certainty, are generally secluded -from our regard, by the jollity of health, the hurry of employment, and -even by the calmer diversions of study and speculation; or if they become -accidental topicks of conversation and argument, yet rarely sink deep -into the heart, but give occasion only to some subtilties of reasoning, -or elegancies of declamation, which are heard, applauded, and forgotten. - -It is, indeed, not hard to conceive how a man accustomed to extend his -views through a long concatenation of causes and effects, to trace -things from their origin to their period, and compare means with ends, -may discover the weakness of human schemes; detect the fallacies by -which mortals are deluded; shew the insufficiency of wealth, honours, -and power, to real happiness; and please himself, and his auditors, with -learned lectures on the vanity of life. - -But though the speculatist may see and shew the folly of terrestrial -hopes, fears, and desires, every hour will give proofs that he never felt -it. Trace him through the day or year, and you will find him acting upon -principles which he has in common with the illiterate and unenlightened, -angry and pleased like the lowest of the vulgar, pursuing, with the same -ardour, the same designs, grasping, with all the eagerness of transport, -those riches which he knows he cannot keep, and swelling with the -applause which he has gained by proving that applause is of no value. - -The only conviction that rushes upon the soul, and takes away from our -appetites and passions the power of resistance, is to be found, where -I have received it, at the bed of a dying friend. To enter this school -of wisdom is not the peculiar privilege of geometricians; the most -sublime and important precepts require no uncommon opportunities, nor -laborious preparations; they are enforced without the aid of eloquence, -and understood without skill in analytick science. Every tongue can utter -them, and every understanding can conceive them. He that wishes in -earnest to obtain just sentiments concerning his condition, and would -be intimately acquainted with the world, may find instructions on every -side. He that desires to enter behind the scene, which every art has been -employed to decorate, and every passion labours to illuminate, and wishes -to see life stripped of those ornaments which make it glitter on the -stage, and exposed in its natural meanness, impotence, and nakedness, may -find all the delusion laid open in the chamber of disease: he will there -find vanity divested of her robes, power deprived of her sceptre, and -hypocrisy without her mask. - -The friend whom I have lost was a man eminent for genius, and, like others -of the same class, sufficiently pleased with acceptance and applause. -Being caressed by those who have preferments and riches in their -disposal, he considered himself as in the direct road of advancement, -and had caught the flame of ambition by approaches to its object. But -in the midst of his hopes, his projects, and his gaieties, he was seized -by a lingering disease, which, from its first stage, he knew to be -incurable. Here was an end of all his visions of greatness and happiness; -from the first hour that his health declined, all his former pleasures -grew tasteless. His friends expected to please him by those accounts -of the growth of his reputation, which were formerly certain of being -well received; but they soon found how little he was now affected by -compliments, and how vainly they attempted, by flattery, to exhilarate -the languor of weakness, and relieve the solicitude of approaching -death. Whoever would know how much piety and virtue surpass all external -goods, might here have seen them weighed against each other, where all -that gives motion to the active, and elevation to the eminent, all that -sparkles in the eye of hope, and pants in the bosom of suspicion, at once -became dust in the balance, without weight and without regard. Riches, -authority, and praise, lose all their influence when they are considered -as riches which to-morrow shall be bestowed upon another, authority which -shall this night expire for ever, and praise which, however merited, or -however sincere, shall, after a few moments, be heard no more. - -In those hours of seriousness and wisdom, nothing appeared to raise his -spirits, or gladden his heart, but the recollection of acts of goodness; -nor to excite his attention, but some opportunity for the exercise of -the duties of religion. Every thing that terminated on this side of the -grave was received with coldness and indifference, and regarded rather -in consequence of the habit of valuing it, than from any opinion that -it deserved value; it had little more prevalence over his mind than a -bubble that was now broken, a dream from which he was awake. His whole -powers were engrossed by the consideration of another state, and all -conversation was tedious, that had not some tendency to disengage him -from human affairs, and open his prospects into futurity. - -It is now past, we have closed his eyes, and heard him breathe the groan -of expiration. At the sight of this last conflict, I felt a sensation -never known to me before; a confusion of passions, an awful stillness -of sorrow, a gloomy terrour without a name. The thoughts that entered my -soul were too strong to be diverted, and too piercing to be endured; but -such violence cannot be lasting, the storm subsided in a short time, I -wept, retired, and grew calm. - -I have from that time frequently revolved in my mind, the effects which -the observation of death produces, in those who are not wholly without -the power and use of reflection; for, by far the greater part, it is -wholly unregarded. Their friends and their enemies sink into the grave -without raising any uncommon emotion, or reminding them that they are -themselves on the edge of the precipice, and that they must soon plunge -into a gulf of eternity. - -It seems to me remarkable that death increases our veneration for the -good, and extenuates our hatred of the bad. Those virtues which once -we envied, as Horace observes, because they eclipsed our own, can now -no longer obstruct our reputation, and we have therefore no interest to -suppress their praise. That wickedness, which we feared for its malignity, -is now become impotent, and the man whose name filled us with alarm, and -rage, and indignation, can at last be considered only with pity, or -contempt. - -When a friend is carried to his grave, we at once find excuses for -every weakness, and palliations of every fault; we recollect a thousand -endearments, which before glided off our minds without impression, a -thousand favours unrepaid, a thousand duties unperformed, and wish, -vainly wish, for his return, not so much that we may receive, as that we -may bestow happiness, and recompense that kindness which before we never -understood. - -There is not, perhaps, to a mind well instructed, a more painful -occurrence, than the death of one whom we have injured without -reparation. Our crime seems now irretrievable, it is indelibly recorded, -and the stamp of fate is fixed upon it. We consider, with the most -afflictive anguish, the pain which we have given, and now cannot -alleviate, and the losses which we have caused, and now cannot repair. - -Of the same kind are the emotions which the death of an emulator or -competitor produces. Whoever had qualities to alarm our jealousy, had -excellence to deserve our fondness; and to whatever ardour of opposition -interest may inflame us, no man ever outlived an enemy, whom he did not -then wish to have made a friend. Those who are versed in literary history -know, that the elder Scaliger was the redoubted antagonist of Cardan -and Erasmus; yet at the death of each of his great rivals he relented, -and complained that they were snatched away from him before their -reconciliation was completed: - - _Tu-ne etiam moreris? Ah! quid me linquis, Erasme,_ - _Ante meus quam sit conciliatus amor?_ - - Art thou too fallen? Ere anger could subside - And love return, has great Erasmus died? - -Such are the sentiments with which we finally review the effects of -passion, but which we sometimes delay till we can no longer rectify our -errours. Let us, therefore, make haste to do what we shall certainly at -last wish to have done; let us return the caresses of our friends, and -endeavour by mutual endearments to heighten that tenderness which is -the balm of life. Let us be quick to repent of injuries while repentance -may not be a barren anguish, and let us open our eyes to every rival -excellence, and pay early and willingly those honours which justice will -compel us to pay at last. - - ATHANATUS. - - - - -No. 55. TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 25, 1750. - - - _Maturo propior desine funeri_ - _Inter ludere virgines,_ - _Et stellis nebulam spargere candidis._ - _Non siquid Pholoen satis,_ - _Et te, Chlori, decet._ - HOR. Lib. iii. Ode xv. 4. - - Now near to death that comes but slow, - Now thou art stepping down below; - Sport not amongst the blooming maids, - But think on ghosts and empty shades: - What suits with Pholoe in her bloom, - Grey Chloris, will not thee become; - A bed is different from a tomb. - CREECH. - - -TO THE RAMBLER. - -SIR, - -I have been but a little time conversant in the world, yet I have -already had frequent opportunities of observing the little efficacy of -remonstrance and complaint, which, however extorted by oppression, or -supported by reason, are detested by one part of the world as rebellion, -censured by another as peevishness, by some heard with an appearance -of compassion, only to betray any of those sallies of vehemence and -resentment, which are apt to break out upon encouragement, and by others -passed over with indifference and neglect, as matters in which they have -no concern, and which if they should endeavour to examine or regulate, -they might draw mischief upon themselves. - -Yet since it is no less natural for those who think themselves injured to -complain, than for others to neglect their complaints, I shall venture to -lay my case before you, in hopes that you will enforce my opinion, if you -think it just, or endeavour to rectify my sentiments, if I am mistaken. -I expect at least, that you will divest yourself of partiality, and that -whatever your age or solemnity may be, you will not, with the dotard's -insolence, pronounce me ignorant and foolish, perverse and refractory, -only because you perceive that I am young. - -My father dying when I was but ten years old, left me, and a brother two -years younger than myself, to the care of my mother, a woman of birth -and education, whose prudence or virtue he had no reason to distrust. -She felt, for some time, all the sorrow which nature calls forth, upon -the final separation of persons dear to one another; and as her grief was -exhausted by its own violence, it subsided into tenderness for me and my -brother, and the year of mourning was spent in caresses, consolations, -and instruction, in celebration of my father's virtues, in professions of -perpetual regard to his memory, and hourly instances of such fondness as -gratitude will not easily suffer me to forget. - -But when the term of this mournful felicity was expired, and my mother -appeared again without the ensigns of sorrow, the ladies of her -acquaintance began to tell her, upon whatever motives, that it was time -to live like the rest of the world; a powerful argument, which is seldom -used to a woman without effect. Lady Giddy was incessantly relating -the occurrences of the town, and Mrs. Gravely told her privately, with -great tenderness, that it began to be publickly observed how much she -overacted her part, and that most of her acquaintance suspected her hope -of procuring another husband to be the true ground of all that appearance -of tenderness and piety. - -All the officiousness of kindness and folly was busied to change her -conduct. She was at one time alarmed with censure, and at another fired -with praise. She was told of balls, where others shone only because -she was absent; of new comedies, to which all the town was crowding; -and of many ingenious ironies, by which domestick diligence was made -contemptible. - -It is difficult for virtue to stand alone against fear on one side, and -pleasure on the other; especially when no actual crime is proposed, and -prudence itself can suggest many reasons for relaxation and indulgence. -My mamma was at last persuaded to accompany Miss Giddy to a play. She -was received with a boundless profusion of compliments, and attended -home by a very fine gentleman. Next day she was with less difficulty -prevailed on to play at Mrs. Gravely's, and came home gay and lively; -for the distinctions that had been paid her awakened her vanity, and good -luck had kept her principles of frugality from giving her disturbance. -She now made her second entrance into the world, and her friends were -sufficiently industrious to prevent any return to her former life; every -morning brought messages of invitation, and every evening was passed in -places of diversion, from which she for some time complained that she -had rather be absent. In a short time she began to feel the happiness -of acting without controul, of being unaccountable for her hours, her -expenses, and her company; and learned by degrees to drop an expression -of contempt, or pity, at the mention of ladies whose husbands were -suspected of restraining their pleasures, or their play, and confessed -that she loved to go and come as she pleased. - -I was still favoured with some incidental precepts and transient -endearments, and was now and then fondly kissed for smiling like my -papa: but most part of her morning was spent in comparing the opinion of -her maid and milliner, contriving some variation in her dress, visiting -shops, and sending compliments; and the rest of the day was too short for -visits, cards, plays, and concerts. - -She now began to discover that it was impossible to educate children -properly at home. Parents could not have them always in their sight; the -society of servants was contagious; company produced boldness and spirit; -emulation excited industry; and a large school was naturally the first -step into the open world. A thousand other reasons she alleged, some of -little force in themselves, but so well seconded by pleasure, vanity, and -idleness, that they soon overcame all the remaining principles of kindness -and piety, and both I and my brother were despatched to boarding schools. - -How my mamma spent her time when she was thus disburthened I am not able -to inform you, but I have reason to believe that trifles and amusements -took still faster hold of her heart. At first, she visited me at school, -and afterwards wrote to me; but in a short time, both her visits and her -letters were at an end, and no other notice was taken of me than to remit -money for my support. - -When I came home at the vacation, I found myself coldly received, with an -observation, "that this girl will presently be a woman." I was, after the -usual stay, sent to school again, and overheard my mother say, as I was -a-going, "Well, now I shall recover." - -In six months more I came again, and, with the usual childish alacrity, -was running to my mother's embrace, when she stopt me with exclamations -at the suddenness and enormity of my growth, having, she said, never seen -any body shoot up so much at my age. She was sure no other girls spread -at that rate, and she hated to have children look like women before their -time. I was disconcerted, and retired without hearing any thing more than -"Nay, if you are angry, Madam Steeple, you may walk off." - -When once the forms of civility are violated, there remains little hope -of return to kindness or decency. My mamma made this appearance of -resentment a reason for continuing her malignity; and poor Miss May-pole, -for that was my appellation, was never mentioned or spoken to but, with -some expression of anger or dislike. - -She had yet the pleasure of dressing me like a child, and I know not when -I should have been thought fit to change my habit, had I not been rescued -by a maiden sister of my father, who could not bear to see women in -hanging-sleeves, and therefore presented me with brocade for a gown, for -which I should have thought myself under great obligations, had she not -accompanied her favour with some hints that my mamma might now consider -her age, and give me her ear-rings, which she had shewn long enough in -publick places. - -I now left the school, and came to live with my mamma, who considered me -as an usurper that had seized the rights of a woman before they were due, -and was pushing her down the precipice of age, that I might reign without -a superior. While I am thus beheld with jealousy and suspicion, you will -readily believe that it is difficult to please. Every word and look is an -offence. I never speak, but I pretend to some qualities and excellencies -which it is criminal to possess; if I am gay, she thinks it early enough -to coquette; if I am grave, she hates a prude in bibs; if I venture into -company, I am in haste for a husband; if I retire to my chamber, such -matron-like ladies are lovers of contemplation. I am on one pretence or -other generally excluded from her assemblies, nor am I ever suffered to -visit at the same place with my mamma. Every one wonders why she does -not bring Miss more into the world, and when she comes home in vapours I -am certain that she has heard either of my beauty or my wit, and expect -nothing for the ensuing week but taunts and menaces, contradiction and -reproaches. - -Thus I live in a state of continual persecution, only because I was born -ten years too soon, and cannot stop the course of nature or of time, but -am unhappily a woman before my mother can willingly cease to be a girl. -I believe you would contribute to the happiness of many families, if, by -any arguments or persuasions, you could make mothers ashamed of rivalling -their children; if you could shew them, that though they may refuse to -grow wise, they must inevitably grow old; and that the proper solaces of -age are not musick and compliments, but wisdom and devotion; that those -who are so unwilling to quit the world will soon be driven from it; and -that it is therefore their interest to retire while there yet remain a -few hours for nobler employments. - -I am, &c. - - - - -No. 56. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 29, 1750. - - - _----Valeat res ludicra, si me_ - _Palma negata macrum, donata reducit opimum._ - HOR. Lib. ii. Ep. i. 180. - - Farewell the stage; for humbly I disclaim - Such fond pursuits of pleasure, or of fame, - If I must sink in shame, or swell with pride, - As the gay palm is granted or denied. - FRANCIS. - - -Nothing is more unpleasing than to find that offence has been received -when none was intended, and that pain has been given to those who were -not guilty of any provocation. As the great end of society is mutual -beneficence, a good man is always uneasy when he finds himself acting in -opposition to the purposes of life; because, though his conscience may -easily acquit him of _malice prepense_, of settled hatred or contrivances -of mischief, yet he seldom can be certain, that he has not failed by -negligence, or indolence; that he has not been hindered from consulting -the common interest by too much regard to his own ease, or too much -indifference to the happiness of others. - -Nor is it necessary, that, to feel this uneasiness, the mind should be -extended to any great diffusion of generosity, or melted by uncommon -warmth of benevolence; for that prudence which the world teaches, and a -quick sensibility of private interest, will direct us to shun needless -enmities; since there is no man whose kindness we may not some time want, -or by whose malice we may not some time suffer. - -I have therefore frequently looked with wonder, and now and then with -pity, at the thoughtlessness with which some alienate from themselves -the affections of all whom chance, business, or inclination, brings in -their way. When we see a man pursuing some darling interest, without -much regard to the opinion of the world, we justly consider him as -corrupt and dangerous, but are not long in discovering his motives; we -see him actuated by passions which are hard to be resisted, and deluded -by appearances which have dazzled stronger eyes. But the greater part of -those who set mankind at defiance by hourly irritation, and who live but -to infuse malignity, and multiply enemies, have no hopes to foster, no -designs to promote, nor any expectations of attaining power by insolence, -or of climbing to greatness by trampling on others. They give up all the -sweets of kindness, for the sake of peevishness, petulance, or gloom; and -alienate the world by neglect of the common forms of civility, and breach -of the established laws of conversation. - -Every one must, in the walks of life, have met with men of whom all speak -with censure, though they are not chargeable with any crime, and whom -none can be persuaded to love, though a reason can scarcely be assigned -why they should be hated; and who, if their good qualities and actions -sometimes force a commendation, have their panegyrick always concluded -with confessions of disgust; "he is a good man, but I cannot like him." -Surely such persons have sold the esteem of the world at too low a price, -since they have lost one of the rewards of virtue, without gaining the -profits of wickedness. - -This ill economy of fame is sometimes the effect of stupidity. Men whose -perceptions are languid and sluggish, who lament nothing but loss of -money, and feel nothing but a blow, are often at a difficulty to guess -why they are encompassed with enemies, though they neglect all those arts -by which men are endeared to one another. They comfort themselves that -they have lived irreproachably; that none can charge them with having -endangered his life, or diminished his possessions; and therefore conclude -that they suffer by some invincible fatality, or impute the malice of -their neighbours to ignorance or envy. They wrap themselves up in their -innocence, and enjoy the congratulations of their own hearts, without -knowing or suspecting that they are every day deservedly incurring -resentments, by withholding from those with whom they converse, that -regard, or appearance of regard, to which every one is entitled by the -customs of the world. - -There are many injuries which almost every man feels, though he does not -complain, and which, upon those whom virtue, elegance, or vanity, have -made delicate and tender, fix deep and lasting impressions; as there are -many arts of graciousness and conciliation, which are to be practised -without expense, and by which those may be made our friends, who have -never received from us any real benefit. Such arts, when they include -neither guilt nor meanness, it is surely reasonable to learn, for who -would want that love which is so easily to be gained? And such injuries -are to be avoided; for who would be hated without profit? - -Some, indeed, there are, for whom the excuse of ignorance or negligence -cannot be alleged, because it is apparent that they are not only -careless of pleasing, but studious to offend; that they contrive to make -all approaches to them difficult and vexatious, and imagine that they -aggrandize themselves by wasting the time of others in useless attendance, -by mortifying them with slights, and teazing them with affronts. - -Men of this kind are generally to be found among those that have not -mingled much in general conversation, but spent their lives amidst the -obsequiousness of dependants, and the flattery of parasites; and by long -consulting only their own inclination, have forgotten that others have -claim to the same deference. - -Tyranny thus avowed, is indeed an exuberance of pride, by which all -mankind is so much enraged, that it is never quietly endured, except -in those who can reward the patience which they exact; and insolence is -generally surrounded only by such whose baseness inclines them to think -nothing insupportable that produces gain, and who can laugh at scurrility -and rudeness with a luxurious table and an open purse. - -But though all wanton provocations and contemptuous insolence are to -be diligently avoided, there is no less danger in timid compliance and -tame resignation. It is common for soft and fearful tempers to give -themselves up implicitly to the direction of the bold, the turbulent, -and the overbearing; of those whom they do not believe wiser or better -than themselves; to recede from the best designs where opposition must -be encountered, and to fall off from virtue for fear of censure. - -Some firmness and resolution is necessary to the discharge of duty; but it -is a very unhappy state of life in which the necessity of such struggles -frequently occurs; for no man is defeated without some resentment, which -will be continued with obstinacy while he believes himself in the right, -and exerted with bitterness, if even to his own conviction he is detected -in the wrong. - -Even though no regard be had to the external consequences of contrariety -and dispute, it must be painful to a worthy mind to put others in pain, -and there will be danger lest the kindest nature may be vitiated by too -long a custom of debate and contest. - -I am afraid that I may be taxed with insensibility by many of my -correspondents, who believe their contributions unjustly neglected. -And, indeed, when I sit before a pile of papers, of which each is the -production of laborious study, and the offspring of a fond parent, I, who -know the passions of an author, cannot remember how long they have lain -in my boxes unregarded, without imagining to myself the various changes -of sorrow, impatience, and resentment, which the writers must have felt -in this tedious interval. - -These reflections are still more awakened, when, upon perusal, I find some -of them calling for a place in the next paper, a place which they have -never yet obtained: others writing in a style of superiority and -haughtiness, as secure of deference, and above fear of criticism; others -humbly offering their weak assistance with softness and submission, -which they believe impossible to be resisted; some introducing their -compositions with a menace of the contempt which he that refuses them will -incur; others applying privately to the booksellers for their interest -and solicitation; every one by different ways endeavouring to secure -the bliss of publication. I cannot but consider myself as placed in a -very incommodious situation, where I am forced to repress confidence, -which it is pleasing to indulge, to repay civilities with appearances of -neglect, and so frequently to offend those by whom I never was offended. - -I know well how rarely an author, fired with the beauties of his new -composition, contains his raptures in his own bosom, and how naturally -he imparts to his friends his expectations of renown; and as I can easily -conceive the eagerness with which a new paper is snatched up, by one -who expects to find it filled with his own production, and perhaps has -called his companions to share the pleasure of a second perusal, I grieve -for the disappointment which he is to feel at the fatal inspection. His -hopes, however, do not yet forsake him; he is certain of giving lustre -the next day. The next day comes, and again he pants with expectation, -and having dreamed of laurels and Parnassus, casts his eyes upon the -barren page, with which he is doomed never more to be delighted. - -For such cruelty what atonement can be made? For such calamities what -alleviation can be found? I am afraid that the mischief already done must -be without reparation, and all that deserves my care is prevention for -the future. Let therefore the next friendly contributor, whoever he be, -observe the cautions of Swift, and write secretly in his own chamber, -without communicating his design to his nearest friend, for the nearest -friend will be pleased with an opportunity of laughing. Let him carry -it to the post himself, and wait in silence for the event. If it is -published and praised, he may then declare himself the author; if it be -suppressed, he may wonder in private without much vexation; and if it be -censured, he may join in the cry, and lament the dulness of the writing -generation. - - - - -No. 57. TUESDAY, OCTOBER 2, 1750. - - - _Non intelligunt homines quam magnum vectigal sit parsimonia._ - TULL. Par. vi. - - The world has not yet learned the riches of frugality. - - -TO THE RAMBLER. - -SIR, - -I am always pleased when I see literature made useful, and scholars -descending from that elevation, which, as it raises them above common -life, must likewise hinder them from beholding the ways of men otherwise -than in a cloud of bustle and confusion. Having lived a life of business, -and remarked how seldom any occurrences emerge for which great qualities -are required, I have learned the necessity of regarding little things; -and though I do not pretend to give laws to the legislators of mankind, -or to limit the range of those powerful minds that carry light and heat -through all the regions of knowledge, yet I have long thought, that the -greatest part of those who lose themselves in studies by which I have not -found that they grow much wiser, might, with more advantage both to the -publick and themselves, apply their understandings to domestick arts, and -store their minds with axioms of humble prudence, and private economy. - -Your late paper on frugality was very elegant and pleasing, but, in my -opinion, not sufficiently adapted to common readers, who pay little -regard to the musick of periods, the artifice of connection, or the -arrangement of the flowers of rhetorick; but require a few plain and -cogent instructions, which may sink into the mind by their own weight. - -Frugality is so necessary to the happiness of the world, so beneficial -in its various forms to every rank of men, from the highest of human -potentates, to the lowest labourer or artificer; and the miseries which -the neglect of it produces are so numerous and so grievous, that it -ought to be recommended with every variation of address, and adapted -to every class of understanding. - -Whether those who treat morals as a science will allow frugality to be -numbered among the virtues, I have not thought it necessary to inquire. -For I, who draw my opinions from a careful observation of the world, am -satisfied with knowing what is abundantly sufficient for practice; that -if it be not a virtue, it is, at least, a quality which can seldom exist -without some virtues, and without which few virtues can exist. Frugality -may be termed the daughter of prudence, the sister of temperance, and the -parent of liberty. He that is extravagant will quickly become poor, and -poverty will enforce dependence, and invite corruption; it will almost -always produce a passive compliance with the wickedness of others; and -there are few who do not learn by degrees to practice those crimes which -they cease to censure. - -If there are any who do not dread poverty as dangerous to virtue, yet -mankind seem unanimous enough in abhorring it as destructive to happiness; -and all to whom want is terrible, upon whatever principle, ought to -think themselves obliged to learn the sage maxims of our parsimonious -ancestors, and attain the salutary arts of contracting expense; for -without frugality none can be rich, and with it very few would be poor. - -To most other acts of virtue or exertions of wisdom, a concurrence of many -circumstances is necessary, some previous knowledge must be attained, -some uncommon gifts of nature possessed, or some opportunity produced -by an extraordinary combination of things; but the mere power of saving -what is already in our hands, must be easy of acquisition to every mind; -and as the example of Bacon may shew, that the highest intellect cannot -safely neglect it, a thousand instances will every day prove, that the -meanest may practise it with success. - -Riches cannot be within the reach of great numbers, because to be rich -is to possess more than is commonly placed in a single hand; and, if -many could obtain the sum which now makes a man wealthy, the name of -wealth must then be transferred to still greater accumulation. But I am -not certain that it is equally impossible to exempt the lower classes -of mankind from poverty; because, though whatever be the wealth of the -community, some will always have least, and he that has less than any -other is comparatively poor; yet I do not see any co-active necessity -that many should be without the indispensable conveniencies of life; but -am sometimes inclined to imagine, that, casual calamities excepted, there -might, by universal prudence, be procured an universal exemption from -want; and that he who should happen to have least, might notwithstanding -have enough. - -But without entering too far into speculations which I do not remember -that any political calculator has attempted, and in which the most -perspicacious reasoner may be easily bewildered, it is evident that they -to whom Providence has allotted no other care but of their own fortune -and their own virtue, which make far the greater part of mankind, have -sufficient incitements to personal frugality, since, whatever might -be its general effect upon provinces or nations, by which it is never -likely to be tried, we know with certainty, that there is scarcely -any individual entering the world, who, by prudent parsimony, may not -reasonably promise himself a cheerful competence in the decline of life. - -The prospect of penury in age is so gloomy and terrifying, that every man -who looks before him must resolve to avoid it; and it must be avoided -generally by the science of sparing. For, though in every age there are -some, who by bold adventures, or by favourable accidents, rise suddenly -to riches, yet it is dangerous to indulge hopes of such rare events: -and the bulk of mankind must owe their affluence to small and gradual -profits, below which their expense must be resolutely reduced. - -You must not therefore think me sinking below the dignity of a practical -philosopher, when I recommend to the consideration of your readers, -from the statesman to the apprentice, a position replete with mercantile -wisdom, _A penny saved is two-pence got_; which may, I think, be -accommodated to all conditions, by observing not only that they who -pursue any lucrative employment will save time when they forbear expense, -and that the time may be employed to the increase of profit; but that -they who are above such minute considerations will find, by every victory -over appetite or passion, new strength added to the mind, will gain the -power of refusing those solicitations by which the young and vivacious -are hourly assaulted, and in time set themselves above the reach of -extravagance and folly. - -It may, perhaps, be inquired by those who are willing rather to cavil -than to learn, what is the just measure of frugality? and when expense, -not absolutely necessary, degenerates into profusion? To such questions -no general answer can be returned; since the liberty of spending, -or necessity of parsimony, may be varied without end by different -circumstances. It may, however, be laid down as a rule never to be -broken, that a _man's voluntary expense should not exceed his revenue_. -A maxim so obvious and incontrovertible, that the civil law ranks the -prodigal with the madman[46], and debars them equally from the conduct of -their own affairs. Another precept arising from the former, and indeed -included in it, is yet necessary to be distinctly impressed upon the -warm, the fanciful, and the brave; _Let no man anticipate uncertain -profits_. Let no man presume to spend upon hopes, to trust his own -abilities for means of deliverance from penury, to give a loose to his -present desires, and leave the reckoning to fortune or to virtue. - -To these cautions, which, I suppose, are, at least among the graver part -of mankind, undisputed, I will add another, _Let no man squander against -his inclination_. With this precept it may be, perhaps, imagined easy to -comply; yet if those whom profusion has buried in prisons, or driven into -banishment, were examined, it would be found that very few were ruined by -their own choice, or purchased pleasure with the loss of their estates; -but that they suffered themselves to be borne away by the violence of -those with whom they conversed, and yielded reluctantly to a thousand -prodigalities, either from a trivial emulation of wealth and spirit, -or a mean fear of contempt and ridicule; an emulation for the prize of -folly, or the dread of the laugh of fools. - -I am, Sir, - -Your humble servant, - - SOPHRON. - -[Footnote 46: Institut. i. 23. 3. De furiosis et prodigis.] - - - - -No. 58. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 6, 1750. - - - _----Improbae_ - _Crescunt divitiae; tamen_ - _Curtae nescio quid semper abest rei._ - HOR. Lib. iii. Ode xxiv. 62. - - But, while in heaps his wicked wealth ascends, - He is not of his wish possess'd; - There's something wanting still to make him bless'd. - FRANCIS. - - -As the love of money has been, in all ages, one of the passions that have -given great disturbance to the tranquillity of the world, there is no -topick more copiously treated by the ancient moralists than the folly of -devoting the heart to the accumulation of riches. They who are acquainted -with these authors need not be told how riches excite pity, contempt, -or reproach, whenever they are mentioned; with what numbers of examples -the danger of large possessions is illustrated; and how all the powers -of reason and eloquence have been exhausted in endeavours to eradicate a -desire, which seems to have intrenched itself too strongly in the mind -to be driven out, and which, perhaps, had not lost its power, even over -those who declaimed against it, but would have broken out in the poet or -the sage, if it had been excited by opportunity, and invigorated by the -approximation of its proper object. - -Their arguments have been, indeed, so unsuccessful, that I know not -whether it can be shewn, that by all the wit and reason which this -favourite cause has called forth, a single convert was ever made; that -even one man has refused to be rich, when to be rich was in his power, -from the conviction of the greater happiness of a narrow fortune; or -disburthened himself of wealth when he had tried its inquietudes, merely -to enjoy the peace and leisure and security of a mean and unenvied state. - -It is true, indeed, that many have neglected opportunities of raising -themselves to honours and to wealth, and rejected the kindest offers of -fortune: but however their moderation may be boasted by themselves, or -admired by such as only view them at a distance, it will be, perhaps, -seldom found that they value riches less, but that they dread labour -or danger more, than others; they are unable to rouse themselves to -action, to strain in the race of competition, or to stand the shock of -contest; but though they, therefore, decline the toil of climbing, they -nevertheless wish themselves aloft, and would willingly enjoy what they -dare not seize. - -Others have retired from high stations, and voluntarily condemned -themselves to privacy and obscurity. But even these will not afford -many occasions of triumph to the philosopher; for they have commonly -either quitted that only which they thought themselves unable to hold, -and prevented disgrace by resignation; or they have been induced to try -new measures by general inconstancy, which always dreams of happiness -in novelty, or by a gloomy disposition, which is disgusted in the same -degree with every state, and wishes every scene of life to change as soon -as it is beheld. Such men found high and low stations equally unable to -satisfy the wishes of a distempered mind, and were unable to shelter -themselves in the closest retreat from disappointment, solicitude, and -misery. - -Yet though these admonitions have been thus neglected by those who either -enjoyed riches, or were able to procure them, it is not rashly to be -determined that they are altogether without use; for since far the -greatest part of mankind must be confined to conditions comparatively -mean, and placed in situations from which they naturally look up with -envy to the eminences before them, those writers cannot be thought ill -employed that have administered remedies to discontent almost universal, -by shewing, that what we cannot reach may very well be forborne; that the -inequality of distribution, at which we murmur, is for the most part less -than it seems, and that the greatness, which we admire at a distance, has -much fewer advantages, and much less splendour, when we are suffered to -approach it. - -It is the business of moralists to detect the frauds of fortune, and to -shew that she imposes upon the careless eye, by a quick succession of -shadows, which will shrink to nothing in the gripe; that she disguises -life in extrinsick ornaments, which serve only for shew, and are laid -aside in the hours of solitude, and of pleasure; and that when greatness -aspires either to felicity or to wisdom, it shakes off those distinctions -which dazzle the gazer, and awe the supplicant. - -It may be remarked, that they whose condition has not afforded them the -light of moral or religious instruction, and who collect all their ideas -by their own eyes, and digest them by their own understandings, seem to -consider those who are placed in ranks of remote superiority, as almost -another and higher species of beings. As themselves have known little -other misery than the consequences of want, they are with difficulty -persuaded that where there is wealth there can be sorrow, or that those -who glitter in dignity, and glide along in affluence, can be acquainted -with pains and cares like those which lie heavy upon the rest of mankind. - -This prejudice is, indeed, confined to the lowest meanness, and the -darkest ignorance; but it is so confined only because others have been -shewn its folly, and its falsehood, because it has been opposed in its -progress by history and philosophy, and hindered from spreading its -infection by powerful preservatives. - -The doctrine of the contempt of wealth, though it has not been able to -extinguish avarice or ambition, or suppress that reluctance with which a -man passes his days in a state of inferiority, must, at least, have made -the lower conditions less grating and wearisome, and has consequently -contributed to the general security of life, by hindering that fraud and -violence, rapine and circumvention, which must have been produced by an -unbounded eagerness of wealth, arising from an unshaken conviction that -to be rich is to be happy. - -Whoever finds himself incited, by some violent impulse of passion, to -pursue riches as the chief end of being, must surely be so much alarmed -by the successive admonitions of those whose experience and sagacity -have recommended them as the guides of mankind, as to stop and consider -whether he is about to engage in an undertaking that will reward his -toil, and to examine, before he rushes to wealth, through right and -wrong, what it will confer when he has acquired it; and this examination -will seldom fail to repress his ardour, and retard his violence. - -Wealth is nothing in itself, it is not useful but when it departs from -us; its value is found only in that which it can purchase, which, if -we suppose it put to its best use by those that possess it, seems not -much to deserve the desire or envy of a wise man. It is certain that, -with regard to corporal enjoyment, money can neither open new avenues -to pleasure, nor block up the passages of anguish. Disease and infirmity -still continue to torture and enfeeble, perhaps exasperated by luxury, -or promoted by softness. With respect to the mind, it has rarely been -observed, that wealth contributes much to quicken the discernment, -enlarge the capacity, or elevate the imagination; but may, by hiring -flattery, or laying diligence asleep, confirm errour, and harden stupidity. - -Wealth cannot confer greatness, for nothing can make that great, which the -decree of nature has ordained to be little. The bramble may be placed in -a hot-bed, but can never become an oak. Even royalty itself is not able -to give that dignity which it happens not to find, but oppresses feeble -minds, though it may elevate the strong. The world has been governed in -the name of kings, whose existence has scarcely been perceived by any -real effects beyond their own palaces. - -When therefore the desire of wealth is taking hold of the heart, let us -look round and see how it operates upon those whose industry or fortune -has obtained it. When we find them oppressed with their own abundance, -luxurious without pleasure, idle without ease, impatient and querulous in -themselves, and despised or hated by the rest of mankind, we shall soon -be convinced, that if the real wants of our condition are satisfied, there -remains little to be sought with solicitude, or desired with eagerness. - - - - -No. 59. TUESDAY, OCTOBER 9, 1750. - - - _Est aliquid fatale malum per verba levare,_ - _Hoc querulam Prognen Halcyonenque facit:_ - _Hoc erat in gelido quare Paeantius antro_ - _Voce fatigaret Lemnia saxa sua._ - _Strangulat inclusus dolor, atque exaestuat intus,_ - _Cogitur et vires multiplicare suas._ - OVID, Trist. vi. 59. - - Complaining oft gives respite to our grief; - From hence the wretched Progne sought relief, - Hence the Paeantian chief his fate deplores, - And vents his sorrow to the Lemnian shores: - In vain by secrecy we would assuage - Our cares; conceal'd they gather tenfold rage. - F. LEWIS. - - -It is common to distinguish men by the names of animals which they are -supposed to resemble. Thus a hero is frequently termed a lion, and a -statesman a fox, an extortioner gains the appellation of vulture, and -a fop the title of monkey. There is also among the various anomalies of -character, which a survey of the world exhibits, a species of beings -in human form, which may be properly marked out as the screech-owls -of mankind. - -These screech-owls seem to be settled in an opinion that the great business -of life is to complain, and that they were born for no other purpose than -to disturb the happiness of others, to lessen the little comforts, and -shorten the short pleasures of our condition, by painful remembrances of -the past, or melancholy prognosticks of the future; their only care is -to crush the rising hope, to damp the kindling transport, and allay the -golden hours of gaiety with the hateful dross of grief and suspicion. - -To those whose weakness of spirits, or timidity of temper, subjects them -to impressions from others, and who are apt to suffer by fascination, -and catch the contagion of misery, it is extremely unhappy to live within -the compass of a screech-owl's voice; for it will often fill their ears -in the hour of dejection, terrify them with apprehensions, which their -own thoughts would never have produced, and sadden, by intruded sorrows, -the day which might have been passed in amusements or in business; it -will burthen the heart with unnecessary discontents, and weaken for a -time that love of life which is necessary to the vigorous prosecution of -any undertaking. - -Though I have, like the rest of mankind, many failings and weaknesses, -I have not yet, by either friends or enemies, been charged with -superstition; I never count the company which I enter, and I look at -the new moon indifferently over either shoulder. I have, like most other -philosophers, often heard the cuckoo without money in my pocket, and -have been sometimes reproached as fool-hardy for not turning down my eyes -when a raven flew over my head. I never go home abruptly because a snake -crosses my way, nor have any particular dread of a climacterical year; -yet I confess that, with all my scorn of old women, and their tales, -I consider it as an unhappy day when I happen to be greeted, in the -morning, by Suspirius the screech-owl. - -I have now known Suspirius fifty-eight years and four months, and have -never yet passed an hour with him in which he has not made some attack -upon my quiet. When we were first acquainted, his great topick was the -misery of youth without riches; and whenever we walked out together he -solaced me with a long enumeration of pleasures, which, as they were -beyond the reach of my fortune, were without the verge of my desires, and -which I should never have considered as the objects of a wish, had not -his unseasonable representations placed them in my sight. - -Another of his topicks is the neglect of merit, with which he never fails -to amuse every man whom he sees not eminently fortunate. If he meets -with a young officer, he always informs him of gentlemen whose personal -courage is unquestioned, and whose military skill qualifies them to -command armies, that have, notwithstanding all their merit, grown old -with subaltern commissions. For a genius in the church, he is always -provided with a curacy for life. The lawyer he informs of many men of -great parts and deep study, who have never had an opportunity to speak -in the courts: and meeting Serenus the physician, "Ah, doctor," says -he, "what a-foot still, when so many block-heads are rattling in their -chariots? I told you seven years ago that you would never meet with -encouragement, and I hope you will now take more notice, when I tell you -that your Greek, and your diligence, and your honesty, will never enable -you to live like yonder apothecary, who prescribes to his own shop, and -laughs at the physician." - -Suspirius has, in his time, intercepted fifteen authors in their way to -the stage; persuaded nine and thirty merchants to retire from a prosperous -trade for fear of bankruptcy, broke off an hundred and thirteen matches -by prognostications of unhappiness, and enabled the small-pox to kill -nineteen ladies, by perpetual alarms of the loss of beauty. - -Whenever my evil stars bring us together, he never fails to represent to -me the folly of my pursuits, and informs me that we are much older than -when we began our acquaintance, that the infirmities of decrepitude are -coming fast upon me, that whatever I now get, I shall enjoy but a little -time, that fame is to a man tottering on the edge of the grave of very -little importance, and that the time is at hand when I ought to look for -no other pleasures than a good dinner and an easy chair. - -Thus he goes on in his unharmonious strain, displaying present miseries, -and foreboding more, [Greek: nuktikorax aei thanatephoros], every -syllable is loaded with misfortune, and death is always brought nearer -to the view. Yet, what always raises my resentment and indignation, I do -not perceive that his mournful meditations have much effect upon himself. -He talks and has long talked of calamities, without discovering otherwise -than by the tone of his voice, that he feels any of the evils which he -bewails or threatens, but has the same habit of uttering lamentations, as -others of telling stories, and falls into expressions of condolence for -past, or apprehension of future mischiefs, as all men studious of their -ease have recourse to those subjects upon which they can most fluently or -copiously discourse[47]. - -It is reported of the Sybarites, that they destroyed all their cocks, that -they might dream out their morning dreams without disturbance. Though I -would not so far promote effeminacy as to propose the Sabarites for an -example, yet since there is no man so corrupt or foolish, but something -useful may be learned from him, I could wish that, in imitation of a -people not often to be copied, some regulations might be made to exclude -screech-owls from all company, as the enemies of mankind, and confine -them to some proper receptacle, where they may mingle sighs at leisure, -and thicken the gloom of one another. - -_Thou prophet of evil_, says Homer's Agamemnon, _thou never foretellest me -good, but the joy of thy heart is to predict misfortunes_. Whoever is of -the same temper, might there find the means of indulging his thoughts, -and improving his vein of denunciation, and the flock of screech-owls -might hoot together without injury to the rest of the world. - -Yet, though I have so little kindness for this dark generation, I am very -far from intending to debar the soft and tender mind from the privilege of -complaining, when the sigh arises from the desire not of giving pain, but -of gaining ease. To hear complaints with patience, even when complaints -are vain, is one of the duties of friendship; and though it must be -allowed that he suffers most like a hero that hides his grief in silence, - - _Spem vultu simulat, premit altum corde dolorem;_ - - His outward smiles conceal'd his inward smart; - DRYDEN. - -yet it cannot be denied, that he who complains acts like a man, like a -social being, who looks for help from his fellow-creatures. Pity is to -many of the unhappy a source of comfort in hopeless distresses, as it -contributes to recommend them to themselves, by proving that they have -not lost the regard of others; and heaven seems to indicate the duty even -of barren compassion, by inclining us to weep for evils which we cannot -remedy. - -[Footnote 47: Suspirius, the screech-owl, is presumed by some to have -suggested the character of Croaker to Goldsmith, in his Comedy of the -Good-natured Man.] - - - - -No. 60. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 13, 1750. - - - _Quid sit pulchrum, quid turpe, quid utile, quid non,_ - _Plenius ac melius Chrysippo et Crantore dicit._ - HOR. Lib. i. Epist. ii. 3. - - Whose works the beautiful and base contain, - Of vice and virtue more instructive rules, - Than all the sober sages of the schools. - FRANCIS. - - -All joy or sorrow for the happiness or calamities of others is produced -by an act of the imagination, that realizes the event however fictitious, -or approximates it however remote, by placing us, for a time, in the -condition of him whose fortune we contemplate; so that we feel, while the -deception lasts, whatever motions would be excited by the same good or -evil happening to ourselves. - -Our passions are therefore more strongly moved, in proportion as we -can more readily adopt the pains or pleasure proposed to our minds, -by recognising them as once our own, or considering them as naturally -incident to our state of life. It is not easy for the most artful -writer to give us an interest in happiness or misery, which we think -ourselves never likely to feel, and with which we have never yet been -made acquainted. Histories of the downfal of kingdoms, and revolutions of -empires, are read with great tranquillity; the imperial tragedy pleases -common auditors only by its pomp of ornament, and grandeur of ideas; and -the man whose faculties have been engrossed by business, and whose heart -never fluttered but at the rise or fall of the stocks, wonders how the -attention can be seized, or the affection agitated, by a tale of love. - -Those parallel circumstances and kindred images, to which we readily -conform our minds, are, above all other writings, to be found in -narratives of the lives of particular persons; and therefore no species -of writing seems more worthy of cultivation than biography, since none -can be more delightful or more useful, none can more certainly enchain -the heart by irresistible interest, or more widely diffuse instruction to -every diversity of condition. - -The general and rapid narratives of history, which involve a thousand -fortunes in the business of a day, and complicate innumerable incidents -in one great transaction, afford few lessons applicable to private -life, which derives its comforts and its wretchedness from the right -or wrong management of things, which nothing but their frequency makes -considerable, _Parva si non fiant quotidie_, says Pliny, and which -can have no place in those relations which never descend below the -consultation of senates, the motions of armies, and the schemes of -conspirators. - -I have often thought that there has rarely passed a life of which a -judicious and faithful narrative would not be useful. For, not only -every man has, in the mighty mass of the world, great numbers in the same -condition with himself, to whom his mistakes and miscarriages, escapes -and expedients, would be of immediate and apparent use; but there is such -an uniformity in the state of man, considered apart from adventitious and -separable decorations and disguises, that there is scarce any possibility -of good or ill, but is common to human kind. A great part of the time of -those who are placed at the greatest distance by fortune, or by temper, -must unavoidably pass in the same manner; and though, when the claims of -nature are satisfied, caprice, and vanity, and accident, begin to produce -discriminations and peculiarities, yet the eye is not very heedful or -quick, which cannot discover the same causes still terminating their -influence in the same effects, though sometimes accelerated, sometimes -retarded, or perplexed by multiplied combinations. We are all prompted -by the same motives, all deceived by the same fallacies, all animated by -hope, obstructed by danger, entangled by desire, and seduced by pleasure. - -It is frequently objected to relations of particular lives, that they are -not distinguished by any striking or wonderful vicissitudes. The scholar -who passed his life among his books, the merchant who conducted only -his own affairs, the priest, whose sphere of action was not extended -beyond that of his duty, are considered as no proper objects of publick -regard, however they might have excelled in their several stations, -whatever might have been their learning, integrity, and piety. But this -notion arises from false measures of excellence and dignity, and must be -eradicated by considering, that in the esteem of uncorrupted reason, what -is of most use is of most value. - -It is, indeed, not improper to take honest advantages of prejudice, and -to gain attention by a celebrated name; but the business of a biographer -is often to pass slightly over those performances and incidents, which -produce vulgar greatness, to lead the thoughts into domestick privacies, -and display the minute details of daily life, where exterior appendages -are cast aside, and men excel each other only by prudence and by virtue. -The account of Thuanus is, with great propriety, said by its author to -have been written, that it might lay open to posterity the private and -familiar character of that man, _cujus ingenium et candorem ex ipsius -scriptis sunt olim semper miraturi_, whose candour and genius will to -the end of time be by his writings preserved in admiration. - -There are many invisible circumstances which, whether we read as inquirers -after natural and moral knowledge, whether we intend to enlarge our -science, or increase our virtue, are more important than publick -occurrences. Thus Sallust, the great master of nature, has not forgot, -in his account of Cataline, to remark that _his walk was now quick, and -again slow_, as an indication of a mind revolving something with violent -commotion. Thus the story of Melancthon affords a striking lecture on -the value of time, by informing us, that when he made an appointment, -he expected not only the hour, but the minute to be fixed, that the day -might not run out in the idleness of suspense: and all the plans and -enterprizes of De Witt are now of less importance to the world, than that -part of his personal character, which represents him as _careful of his -health, and negligent of his life_. - -But biography has often been allotted to writers who seem very little -acquainted with the nature of their task, or very negligent about the -performance. They rarely afford any other account than might be collected -from publick papers, but imagine themselves writing a life when they -exhibit a chronological series of actions or preferments; and so little -regard the manners or behaviour of their heroes, that more knowledge may -be gained of a man's real character, by a short conversation with one of -his servants, than from a formal and studied narrative, begun with his -pedigree, and ended with his funeral. - -If now and then they condescend to inform the world of particular facts, -they are not always so happy as to select the most important. I know not -well what advantage posterity can receive from the only circumstance by -which Tickell has distinguished Addison from the rest of mankind, _the -irregularity of his pulse_: nor can I think myself overpaid for the time -spent in reading the life of Malherb by being enabled to relate after -the learned biographer, that Malherb had two predominant opinions; -one, that the looseness of a single woman might destroy all her boast -of ancient descent; the other, that the French beggars made use very -improperly and barbarously of the phrase _noble Gentleman_, because -either word included the sense to both. - -There are, indeed, some natural reasons why these narratives are often -written by such as were not likely to give much instruction or delight, -and why most accounts of particular persons are barren and useless. If -a life be delayed till interest and envy are at an end, we may hope for -impartiality, but must expect little intelligence; for the incidents -which give excellence to biography are of a volatile and evanescent kind, -such as soon escape the memory, and are rarely transmitted by tradition. -We know how few can pourtray a living acquaintance, except by his most -prominent and observable particularities, and the grosser features of his -mind; and it may be easily imagined how much of this little knowledge may -be lost in imparting it, and how soon a succession of copies will lose -all resemblance of the original. - -If the biographer writes from personal knowledge, and makes haste to -gratify the public curiosity, there is danger lest his interest, his -fear, his gratitude, or his tenderness, overpower his fidelity, and tempt -him to conceal, if not to invent. There are many who think it an act of -piety to hide the faults or failings of their friends, even when they -can no longer suffer by their detection; we therefore see whole ranks of -characters adorned with uniform panegyrick, and not to be known from one -another, but by extrinsick and casual circumstances. "Let me remember," -says Hale, "when I find myself inclined to pity a criminal, that there -is likewise a pity due to the country." If we owe regard to the memory of -the dead, there is yet more respect to be paid to knowledge, to virtue, -and to truth. - - - - -No. 61. TUESDAY, OCTOBER 16, 1750. - - - _Falsus honor juvat, et mendax infamia terret,_ - _Quem, nisi mendosum et mendacem?_ - HOR. Lib. i. Ep. xvi. 39. - - False praise can charm, unreal shame controul, - Whom but a vicious or a sickly soul? - FRANCIS. - - -TO THE RAMBLER. - -SIR, - -It is extremely vexatious to a man of eager and thirsty curiosity to be -placed at a great distance from the fountain of intelligence, and not -only never to receive the current of report till it has satiated the -greatest part of the nation, but at last to find it mudded in its course, -and corrupted with taints or mixtures from every channel through which -it flowed. - -One of the chief pleasures of my life is to hear what passes in the world; -to know what are the schemes of the politick, the aims of the busy, -and the hopes of the ambitious; what changes of publick measures are -approaching; who is likely to be crushed in the collision of parties; who -is climbing to the top of power, and who is tottering on the precipice -of disgrace. But as it is very common for us to desire most what we -are least qualified to obtain, I have suffered this appetite of news to -outgrow all the gratifications which my present situation can afford it; -for being placed in a remote country, I am condemned always to confound -the future with the past, to form prognostications of events no longer -doubtful, and to consider the expediency of schemes already executed or -defeated. I am perplexed with a perpetual deception in my prospects, like -a man pointing his telescope at a remote star, which before the light -reaches his eye has forsaken the place from which it was emitted. - -The mortification of being thus always behind the active world in my -reflections and discoveries, is exceedingly aggravated by the petulance -of those whose health, or business, or pleasure, brings them hither from -London. For, without considering the insuperable disadvantages of my -condition, and the unavoidable ignorance which absence must produce, -they often treat me with the utmost superciliousness of contempt, for -not knowing what no human sagacity can discover; and sometimes seem -to consider me as a wretch scarcely worthy of human converse, when I -happen to talk of the fortune of a bankrupt, or propose the healths of -the dead, when I warn them of mischiefs already incurred, or wish for -measures that have been lately taken. They seem to attribute to the -superiority of their intellects what they only owe to the accident of -their condition, and think themselves indisputably entitled to airs -of insolence and authority, when they find another ignorant of facts, -which, because they echoed in the streets of London, they suppose equally -publick in all other places, and known where they could neither be seen, -related, nor conjectured. - -To this haughtiness they are indeed too much encouraged by the respect -which they receive amongst us, for no other reason than that they come -from London. For no sooner is the arrival of one of these disseminators -of knowledge known in the country, than we crowd about him from every -quarter, and by innumerable inquiries flatter him into an opinion of his -own importance. He sees himself surrounded by multitudes, who propose -their doubts, and refer their controversies, to him, as to a being -descended from some nobler region, and he grows on a sudden oraculous and -infallible, solves all difficulties, and sets all objections at defiance. - -There is, in my opinion, great reason for suspecting, that they sometimes -take advantage of this reverential modesty, and impose upon rustick -understandings, with a false show of universal intelligence; for I do not -find that they are willing to own themselves ignorant of any thing, or -that they dismiss any inquirer with a positive and decisive answer. The -court, the city, the park, and exchange, are those men of unbounded -observation equally familiar, and they are alike ready to tell the hour -at which stocks will rise, or the ministry be changed. - -A short residence at London entitles a man to knowledge, to wit, to -politeness, and to a despotick and dictatorial power of prescribing to -the rude multitude, whom he condescends to honour with a biennial visit; -yet, I know not well upon what motives, I have lately found myself -inclined to cavil at this prescription, and to doubt whether it be not, -on some occasions, proper to withhold our veneration, till we are more -authentically convinced of the merits of the claimant. - -It is well remembered here, that about seven years ago, one Frolick, -a tall boy, with lank hair, remarkable for stealing eggs, and sucking -them, was taken from the school in this parish, and sent up to London -to study the law. As he had given amongst us no proofs of a genius -designed by nature for extraordinary performances, he was, from the -time of his departure, totally forgotten, nor was there any talk of -his vices or virtues, his good or his ill fortune, till last summer -a report burst upon us, that Mr. Frolick was come down in the first -post-chaise which this village had seen, having travelled with such -rapidity that one of his postillions had broke his leg, and another -narrowly escaped suffocation in a quicksand; but that Mr. Frolick seemed -totally unconcerned, for such things were never heeded at London. - -Mr. Frolick next day appeared among the gentlemen at their weekly -meeting on the bowling-green, and now were seen the effects of a London -education. His dress, his language, his ideas, were all new, and he did -not much endeavour to conceal his contempt of every thing that differed -from the opinions, or practice, of the modish world. He showed us the -deformity of our skirts and sleeves, informed us where hats of the proper -size were to be sold, and recommended to us the reformation of a thousand -absurdities in our clothes, our cookery, and our conversation. When any -of his phrases were unintelligible, he could not suppress the joy of -confessed superiority, but frequently delayed the explanation, that he -might enjoy his triumph over our barbarity. - -When he is pleased to entertain us with a story, he takes care to crowd -into it names of streets, squares, and buildings, with which he knows we -are unacquainted. The favourite topicks of his discourse are the pranks -of drunkards, and the tricks put upon country gentlemen by porters and -link-boys. When he is with ladies, he tells them of the innumerable -pleasures to which he can introduce them; but never fails to hint how -much they will be deficient, at their first arrival, in the knowledge -of the town. What it is _to know the town_, he has not indeed hitherto -informed us, though there is no phrase so frequent in his mouth, nor any -science which he appears to think of so great a value, or so difficult -attainment. - -But my curiosity has been most engaged by the recital of his own -adventures and achievements. I have heard of the union of various -characters in single persons, but never met with such a constellation -of great qualities as this man's narrative affords. Whatever has -distinguished the hero; whatever has elevated the wit; whatever has -endeared the lover, are all concentered in Mr. Frolick, whose life has, -for seven years, been a regular interchange of intrigues, dangers, and -waggeries, and who has distinguished himself in every character that can -be feared, envied, or admired. - -I question whether all the officers of the royal navy can bring together, -from all their journals, a collection of so many wonderful escapes as -this man has known upon the Thames, on which he has been a thousand and -a thousand times on the point of perishing, sometimes by the terrours -of foolish women in the same boat, sometimes by his own acknowledged -imprudence in passing the river in the dark, and sometimes by shooting -the bridge under which he has rencountered mountainous waves, and -dreadful cataracts. - -Nor less has been his temerity by land, nor fewer his hazards. He has -reeled with giddiness on the top of the monument; he has crossed the -street amidst the rush of coaches; he has been surrounded by robbers -without number; he has headed parties at the playhouse; he has scaled -the windows of every toast, of whatever condition; he has been hunted for -whole winters by his rivals; he has slept upon bulks, he has cut chairs, -he has bilked coachmen; he has rescued his friends from the bailiffs, has -knocked down the constable, has bullied the justice, and performed many -other exploits, that have filled the town with wonder and with merriment. - -But yet greater is the fame of his understanding than his bravery; for -he informs us, that he is, at London, the established arbitrator of all -points of honour, and the decisive judge of all performances of genius; -that no musical performer is in reputation till the opinion of Frolick -has ratified his pretensions; that the theatres suspend their sentence -till he begins the clap or hiss, in which all are proud to concur; that -no publick entertainment has failed or succeeded, but because he opposed -or favoured it; that all controversies at the gaming-table are referred -to his determination; that he adjusts the ceremonial at every assembly, -and prescribes every fashion of pleasure or of dress. - -With every man whose name occurs in the papers of the day, he his -intimately acquainted; and there are very few posts either in the state -or army, of which he has not more or less influenced the disposal. He has -been very frequently consulted both upon war and peace; but the time is -not yet come when the nation shall know how much it is indebted to the -genius of Frolick. - -Yet, notwithstanding all these declarations, I cannot hitherto persuade -myself to see Mr. Frolick has more wit, or knowledge, or courage, than -the rest of mankind, or that any uncommon enlargement of his faculties -has happened in the time of his absence. For when he talks on subjects -known to the rest of the company, he has no advantage over us, but by -catches of interruption, briskness of interrogation, and pertness of -contempt; and therefore if he has stunned the world with his name, and -gained a place in the first ranks of humanity, I cannot but conclude, -that either a little understanding confers eminence at London, or that -Mr. Frolick thinks us unworthy of the exertion of his powers, or that -his faculties are benumbed by rural stupidity, as the magnetick needle -loses its animation in the polar climes. - -I would not, however, like many hasty philosophers, search after the cause -till I am certain of the effect; and therefore I desire to be informed, -whether you have yet heard the great name of Mr. Frolick. If he is -celebrated by other tongues than his own, I shall willingly propagate -his praise; but if he has swelled among us with empty boasts, and honours -conferred only by himself, I shall treat him with rustick sincerity, and -drive him as an impostor from this part of the kingdom to some region of -more credulity. - -I am, &c. - - RURICOLA. - - - - -No. 62. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 20, 1750. - - - _Nunc ego Triptolemi cuperem conscendere currus,_ - _Misit in ignotam qui rude semen humum:_ - _Nunc ego Medeae vellem fraenare dracones,_ - _Quos habuit fugiens arce, Corinthe, tua;_ - _Nunc ego jactandas optarem sumere pennas,_ - _Sive tuas, Perseu; Daedale, sive tuas._ - OVID, Trist. Lib. iii. El. 8. 1. - - Now would I mount his car, whose bounteous hand - First sow'd with teeming seed the furrow'd land: - Now to Medaea's dragons fix my reins, - That swiftly bore her from Corinthian plains; - Now on Daedalian waxen pinions stray, - Or those which wafted Perseus on his way. - F. LEWIS. - - -TO THE RAMBLER. - -SIR, - -I am a young woman of very large fortune, which, if my parents would have -been persuaded to comply with the rules and customs of the polite part of -mankind, might long since have raised me to the highest honours of the -female world; but so strangely have they hitherto contrived to waste my -life, that I am now on the borders of twenty, without having ever danced -but at our monthly assembly, or been toasted but among a few gentlemen -of the neighbourhood, or seen in any company in which it was worth a -wish to be distinguished. - -My father having impaired his patrimony in soliciting a place at court, at -last grew wise enough to cease his pursuit; and to repair the consequences -of expensive attendance and negligence of his affairs, married a lady -much older than himself, who had lived in the fashionable world till she -was considered as an incumbrance upon parties of pleasure, and as I can -collect from incidental informations, retired from gay assemblies just -time enough to escape the mortifications of universal neglect. - -She was, however, still rich, and not yet wrinkled; my father was too -distressfully embarrassed to think much on any thing but the means of -extrication, and though it is not likely that he wanted the delicacy which -polite conversation will always produce in understandings not remarkably -defective, yet he was contented with a match, by which he might be set -free from inconveniencies, that would have destroyed all the pleasures of -imagination, and taken from softness and beauty the power of delighting. - -As they were both somewhat disgusted with their treatment in the world, -and married, though without any dislike of each other, yet principally -for the sake of setting themselves free from dependance on caprice or -fashion, they soon retired into the country, and devoted their lives to -rural business and diversions. - -They had not much reason to regret the change of their situation; -for their vanity, which had so long been tormented by neglect and -disappointment, was here gratified with every honour that could be paid -them. Their long familiarity with publick life made them the oracles of -all those who aspired to intelligence, or politeness. My father dictated -politicks, my mother prescribed the mode, and it was sufficient to entitle -any family to some consideration, that they were known to visit at Mrs. -Courtly's. - -In this state they were, to speak in the style of novelists, made happy -by the birth of your correspondent. My parents had no other child, I was -therefore not brow-beaten by a saucy brother, or lost in a multitude of -coheiresses, whose fortunes being equal, would probably have conferred -equal merit, and procured equal regard; and as my mother was now old, my -understanding and my person had fair play, my inquiries were not checked, -my advances towards importance were not repressed, and I was soon suffered -to tell my own opinions, and early accustomed to hear my own praises. - -By these accidental advantages I was much exalted above the young ladies -with whom I conversed, and was treated by them with great deference. I -saw none who did not seem to confess my superiority, and to be held in -awe by the splendour of my appearance; for the fondness of my father made -him pleased to see me dressed, and my mother had no vanity nor expenses -to hinder her from concurring with his inclination. - -Thus, Mr. Rambler, I lived without much desire after any thing beyond -the circle of our visits; and here I should have quietly continued to -portion out my time among my books, and my needle, and my company, had -not my curiosity been every moment excited by the conversation of my -parents, who, whenever they sit down to familiar prattle, and endeavour -the entertainment of each other, immediately transport themselves to -London, and relate some adventure in a hackney-coach, some frolick -at a masquerade, some conversation in the park, or some quarrel at -an assembly, display the magnificence of a birth-night, relate the -conquests of maids of honour, or give a history of diversions, shows, -and entertainments, which I had never known but from their accounts. - -I am so well versed in the history of the gay world, that I can relate, -with great punctuality, the lives of all the last race of wits and -beauties; can enumerate with exact chronology, the whole succession of -celebrated singers, musicians, tragedians, comedians, and harlequins; -can tell to the last twenty years all the changes of fashions; and am, -indeed, a complete antiquary with respect to head-dresses, dances, and -operas. - -You will easily imagine, Mr. Rambler, that I could not hear these -narratives, for sixteen years together, without suffering some -impression, and wishing myself nearer to those places where every hour -brings some new pleasure, and life is diversified with an unexhausted -succession of felicity. - -I indeed often asked my mother why she left a place which she recollected -with so much delight, and why she did not visit London once a year, -like some other ladies, and initiate me in the world by showing me its -amusements, its grandeur, and its variety. But she always told me that -the days which she had seen were such as will never come again; that all -diversion is now degenerated, that the conversation of the present age -is insipid, that their fashions are unbecoming, their customs absurd, -and their morals corrupt; that there is no ray left of the genius which -enlightened the times that she remembers; that no one who had seen, or -heard, the ancient performers, would be able to bear the bunglers of this -despicable age: and that there is now neither politeness, nor pleasure, -nor virtue, in the world. She therefore assures me that she consults -my happiness by keeping me at home, for I should now find nothing but -vexation and disgust, and she should be ashamed to see me pleased with -such fopperies and trifles, as take up the thoughts of the present set of -young people. - -With this answer I was kept quiet for several years, and thought it no -great inconvenience to be confined to the country, till last summer a -young gentleman and his sister came down to pass a few months with one -of our neighbours. They had generally no great regard for the country -ladies, but distinguished me by a particular complaisance, and, as we -grew intimate, gave me such a detail of the elegance, the splendour, -the mirth, the happiness of the town, that I am resolved to be no longer -buried in ignorance and obscurity, but to share with other wits the joy -of being admired, and divide with other beauties the empire of the world. - -I do not find, Mr. Rambler, upon a deliberate and impartial comparison, -that I am excelled by Belinda in beauty, in wit, in judgment, in -knowledge, or in any thing, but a kind of gay, lively familiarity, -by which she mingles with strangers as with persons long acquainted, -and which enables her to display her powers without any obstruction, -hesitation, or confusion. Yet she can relate a thousand civilities paid -to her in publick, can produce, from a hundred lovers, letters filled -with praises, protestations, ecstacies, and despair; has been handed -by dukes to her chair; has been the occasion of innumerable quarrels; -has paid twenty visits in an afternoon; been invited to six balls in an -evening, and been forced to retire to lodgings in the country from the -importunity of courtship, and the fatigue of pleasure. - -I tell you, Mr. Rambler, I will stay here no longer. I have at last -prevailed upon my mother to send me to town, and shall set out in three -weeks on the grand expedition. I intend to live in publick, and to crowd -into the winter every pleasure which money can purchase, and every honour -which beauty can obtain. - -But this tedious interval how shall I endure? Cannot you alleviate the -misery of delay by some pleasing description of the entertainments of -the town? I can read, I can talk, I can think of nothing else; and if you -will not sooth my impatience, heighten my ideas, and animate my hopes, -you may write for those who have more leisure, but are not to expect any -longer the honour of being read by those eyes which are now intent only -on conquest and destruction. - - RHODOCLIA. - - - - -No. 63. TUESDAY, OCTOBER 23, 1750. - - - _----Habebat saepe ducentos,_ - _Saepe decem servos: modo Reges, atque Tetrarchus,_ - _Omnia magna loquens; modo, Sit mihi mensa tripes, et_ - _Concha salis puri, et toga, quae defendere frigus,_ - _Quamvis crassa, queat._ - HOR. Lib. i. Sat. iii. 11. - - Now with two hundred slaves he crowds his train; - Now walks with ten. In high and haughty strain - At morn, of kings and governors he prates; - At night--"A frugal table, O ye fates, - "A little shell the sacred salt to hold, - "And clothes, tho' coarse, to keep me from the cold." - FRANCIS. - - -It has been remarked, perhaps, by every writer who has left behind him -observations upon life, that no man is pleased with his present state; -which proves equally unsatisfactory, says Horace, whether fallen upon by -chance, or chosen with deliberation; we are always disgusted with some -circumstance or other of our situation, and imagine the condition of -others more abundant in blessings, or less exposed to calamities. - -This universal discontent has been generally mentioned with great severity -of censure, as unreasonable in itself, since of two, equally envious of -each other, both cannot have the larger share of happiness, and as tending -to darken life with unnecessary gloom, by withdrawing our minds from the -contemplation and enjoyment of that happiness which our state affords us, -and fixing our attention upon foreign objects, which we only behold to -depress ourselves, and increase our misery by injurious comparisons. - -When this opinion of the felicity of others predominates in the heart, so -as to excite resolutions of obtaining, at whatever price, the condition -to which such transcendent privileges are supposed to be annexed; when it -bursts into action, and produces fraud, violence, and injustice, it is to -be pursued with all the rigour of legal punishments. But while operating -only upon the thoughts it disturbs none but him who has happened to admit -it, and, however it may interrupt content, makes no attack on piety or -virtue, I cannot think it so far criminal or ridiculous, but that it may -deserve some pity, and admit some excuse. - -That all are equally happy, or miserable, I suppose none is sufficiently -enthusiastical to maintain; because though we cannot judge of the -condition of others, yet every man has found frequent vicissitudes in -his own state, and must therefore be convinced that life is susceptible -of more or less felicity. What then shall forbid us to endeavour the -alteration of that which is capable of being improved, and to grasp at -augmentations of good, when we know it possible to be increased, and -believe that any particular change of situation will increase it? - -If he that finds himself uneasy may reasonably make efforts to rid -himself from vexation, all mankind have a sufficient plea for some degree -of restlessness, and the fault seems to be little more than too much -temerity of conclusion, in favour of something not yet experienced, and -too much readiness to believe, that the misery which our own passions and -appetites produce, is brought upon us by accidental causes, and external -efficients. - -It is, indeed, frequently discovered by us, that we complained too -hastily of peculiar hardships, and imagined ourselves distinguished by -embarrassments, in which other classes of men are equally entangled. We -often change a lighter for a greater evil, and wish ourselves restored -again to the state from which we thought it desirable to be delivered. -But this knowledge, though it is easily gained by the trial, is not -always attainable any other way; and that errour cannot justly be -reproached, which reason could not obviate, nor prudence avoid. - -To take a view at once distinct and comprehensive of human life, with all -its intricacies of combination, and varities of connexion, is beyond the -power of mortal intelligences. Of the state with which practice has not -acquainted us we snatch a glimpse, we discern a point, and regulate the -rest by passion, and by fancy. In this inquiry every favourite prejudice, -every innate desire, is busy to deceive us. We are unhappy, at least -less happy than our nature seems to admit; we necessarily desire the -melioration of our lot; what we desire we very reasonably seek, and -what we seek we are naturally eager to believe that we have found. Our -confidence is often disappointed, but our reason is not convinced, -and there is no man who does not hope for something which he has not, -though perhaps his wishes lie unactive, because he foresees the difficulty -of attainment. As among the numerous students of Hermetick philosophy, -not one appears to have desisted from the task of transmutation, from -conviction of its impossibility, but from weariness of toil, or impatience -of delay, a broken body, or exhausted fortune. - -Irresolution and mutability are often the faults of men, whose views -are wide, and whose imagination is vigorous and excursive, because they -cannot confine their thoughts within their own boundaries of action, -but are continually ranging over all the scenes of human existence, and -consequently are often apt to conceive that they fall upon new regions of -pleasure, and start new possibilities of happiness. Thus they are busied -with a perpetual succession of schemes, and pass their lives in alternate -elation and sorrow, for want of that calm and immovable acquiescence -in their condition, by which men of slower understandings are fixed for -ever to a certain point, or led on in the plain beaten track, which their -fathers and grandsires have trod before them. - -Of two conditions of life equally inviting to the prospect, that will -always have the disadvantage which we have already tried; because the -evils which we have felt we cannot extenuate; and though we have, perhaps -from nature, the power as well of aggravating the calamity which we -fear, as of heightening the blessing we expect, yet in those meditations -which we indulge by choice, and which are not forced upon the mind by -necessity, we have always the art of fixing our regard upon the more -pleasing images, and suffer hope to dispose the lights by which we look -upon futurity. - -The good and ill of different modes of life are sometimes so equally -opposed, that perhaps no man ever yet made his choice between them upon -a full conviction, and adequate knowledge; and therefore fluctuation -of will is not more wonderful, when they are proposed to the election, -than oscillations of a beam charged with equal weights. The mind no -sooner imagines itself determined by some prevalent advantage, than some -convenience of equal weight is discovered on the other side, and the -resolutions, which are suggested by the nicest examination, are often -repented as soon as they are taken. - -Eumenes, a young man of great abilities, inherited a large estate -from a father, long eminent in conspicuous employments. His father, -harassed with competitions, and perplexed with multiplicity of business, -recommended the quiet of a private station with so much force, that -Eumenes for some years resisted every motion of ambitious wishes; but -being once provoked by the sight of oppression, which he could not -redress, he began to think it the duty of an honest man to enable himself -to protect others, and gradually felt a desire of greatness, excited by -a thousand projects of advantage to his country. His fortune placed him -in the senate, his knowledge and eloquence advanced him at court, and he -possessed that authority and influence which he had resolved to exert for -the happiness of mankind. - -He now became acquainted with greatness, and was in a short time -convinced, that in proportion as the power of doing well is enlarged, -the temptations to do ill are multiplied and enforced. He felt himself -every moment in danger of being either seduced or driven from his honest -purposes. Sometimes a friend was to be gratified, and sometimes a rival -to be crushed, by means which his conscience could not approve. Sometimes -he was forced to comply with the prejudices of the publick, and sometimes -with the schemes of the ministry. He was by degrees wearied with perpetual -struggles to unite policy and virtue, and went back to retirement as the -shelter of innocence, persuaded that he could only hope to benefit mankind -by a blameless example of private virtue. Here he spent some years in -tranquillity and beneficence; but finding that corruption increased, -and false opinions in government prevailed, he thought himself again -summoned to posts of publick trust, from which new evidence of his own -weakness again determined him to retire. - -Thus men may be made inconstant by virtue and by vice, by too much or -too little thought; yet inconstancy, however dignified by its motives, -is always to be avoided, because life allows us but a small time for -inquiry and experiment, and he that steadily endeavours at excellence, in -whatever employment, will more benefit mankind than he that hesitates in -chusing his part till he is called to the performance. The traveller that -resolutely follows a rough and winding path, will sooner reach the end of -his journey, than he that is always changing his direction, and wastes the -hours of day-light in looking for smoother ground and shorter passages. - - - - -No. 64. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 27, 1750. - - - _Idem velle, et idem nolle, ea demum firma amicitia est._ - SALL. Bell. Cat. 20. - - To live in friendship is to have the same desires and the same aversions. - - -When Socrates was building himself a house at Athens, being asked by one -that observed the littleness of the design, why a man so eminent would -not have an abode more suitable to his dignity? he replied, that he -should think himself sufficiently accommodated, if he could see that -narrow habitation filled with real friends[48]. Such was the opinion of -this great master of human life, concerning the infrequency of such an -union of minds as might deserve the name of friendship, that among the -multitudes whom vanity or curiosity, civility or veneration, crowded -about him, he did not expect, that very spacious apartments would be -necessary to contain all that should regard him with sincere kindness, -or adhere to him with steady fidelity. - -So many qualities are indeed requisite to the possibility of friendship, -and so many accidents must concur to its rise and continuance, that the -greatest part of mankind content themselves without it, and supply its -place as they can, with interest and dependance. - -Multitudes are unqualified for a constant and warm reciprocation of -benevolence, as they are incapacitated for any other elevated excellence, -by perpetual attention to their interest, and unresisting subjection to -their passions. Long habits may superinduce inability to deny any desire, -or repress, by superior motives, the importunities of any immediate -gratification, and an inveterate selfishness will imagine all advantages -diminished in proportion as they are communicated. - -But not only this hateful and confirmed corruption, but many varieties of -disposition, not inconsistent with common degrees of virtue, may exclude -friendship from the heart. Some ardent enough in their benevolence, -and defective neither in officiousness nor liberality, are mutable and -uncertain, soon attracted by new objects, disgusted without offence, and -alienated without enmity. Others are soft and flexible, easily influenced -by reports or whispers, ready to catch alarms from every dubious -circumstance, and to listen to every suspicion which envy and flattery -shall suggest, to follow the opinion of every confident adviser, and move -by the impulse of the last breath. Some are impatient of contradiction, -more willing to go wrong by their own judgment, than to be indebted for -a better or a safer way to the sagacity of another, inclined to consider -counsel as insult, and inquiry as want of confidence, and to confer -their regard on no other terms than unreserved submission, and implicit -compliance. Some are dark and involved, equally careful to conceal good -and bad purposes; and pleased with producing effects by invisible means, -and shewing their design only in its execution. Others are universally -communicative, alike open to every eye, and equally profuse of their -own secrets and those of others, without the necessary vigilance of -caution, or the honest arts of prudent integrity, ready to accuse without -malice, and to betray without treachery. Any of these may be useful to -the community, and pass through the world with the reputation of good -purposes and uncorrupted morals, but they are unfit for close and tender -intimacies. He cannot properly be chosen for a friend, whose kindness -is exhaled by its own warmth, or frozen by the first blast of slander; -he cannot be a useful counsellor who will hear no opinion but his own; -he will not much invite confidence whose principal maxim is to suspect; -nor can the candour and frankness of that man be much esteemed, who -spreads his arms to humankind, and makes every man, without distinction, -a denizen of his bosom. - -That friendship may be at once fond and lasting, there must not only be -equal virtue on each part, but virtue of the same kind; not only the -same end must be proposed, but the same means must be approved by both. -We are often, by superficial accomplishments and accidental endearments, -induced to love those whom we cannot esteem; we are sometimes, by great -abilities, and incontestable evidences of virtue, compelled to esteem -those whom we cannot love. But friendship, compounded of esteem and love, -derives from one its tenderness, and its permanence from the other; -and therefore requires not only that its candidates should gain the -judgment, but that they should attract the affections; that they should -not only be firm in the day of distress, but gay in the hour of jollity; -not only useful in exigencies, but pleasing in familiar life; their -presence should give cheerfulness as well as courage, and dispel alike -the gloom of fear and of melancholy. - -To this mutual complacency is generally requisite an uniformity of -opinions, at least of those active and conspicuous principles which -discriminate parties in government, and sects in religion, and which -every day operate more or less on the common business of life. For though -great tenderness has, perhaps, been sometimes known to continue between -men eminent in contrary factions; yet such friends are to be shewn rather -as prodigies than examples, and it is no more proper to regulate our -conduct by such instances, than to leap a precipice, because some have -fallen from it and escaped with life. - -It cannot but be extremely difficult to preserve private kindness in -the midst of publick opposition, in which will necessarily be involved -a thousand incidents, extending their influence to conversation and -privacy. Men engaged, by moral or religious motives, in contrary parties, -will generally look with different eyes upon every man, and decide almost -every question upon different principles. When such occasions of dispute -happen, to comply is to betray our cause, and to maintain friendship by -ceasing to deserve it; to be silent is to lose the happiness and dignity -of independence, to live in perpetual constraint, and to desert, if not -to betray: and who shall determine which of two friends shall yield, -where neither believes himself mistaken, and both confess the importance -of the question? What then remains but contradiction and debate? and from -those what can be expected, but acrimony and vehemence, the insolence of -triumph, the vexation of defeat, and, in time, a weariness of contest, -and an extinction of benevolence? Exchange of endearments and intercourse -of civility may continue, indeed, as boughs may for a while be verdant, -when the root is wounded; but the poison of discord is infused, and -though the countenance may preserve its smile, the heart is hardening -and contracting. - -That man will not be long agreeable, whom we see only in times of -seriousness and severity; and therefore to maintain the softness and -serenity of benevolence, it is necessary that friends partake each -other's pleasures as well as cares, and be led to the same diversions -by similitude of taste. This is, however, not to be considered as -equally indispensable with conformity of principles, because any man may -honestly, according to the precepts of Horace, resign the gratifications -of taste to the humour of another, and friendship may well deserve the -sacrifice of pleasure, though not of conscience. - -It was once confessed to me, by a painter, that no professor of his art -ever loved another. This declaration is so far justified by the knowledge -of life, as to damp the hopes of warm and constant friendship, between -men whom their studies have made competitors, and whom every favourer -and every censurer are hourly inciting against each other. The utmost -expectation that experience can warrant, is, that they should forbear -open hostilities and secret machinations, and when the whole fraternity -is attacked, be able to unite against a common foe. Some, however, -though few, may perhaps be found, in whom emulation has not been able to -overpower generosity, who are distinguished from lower beings by nobler -motives than the love of fame, and can preserve the sacred flame of -friendship from the gusts of pride, and the rubbish of interest. - -Friendship is seldom lasting but between equals, or where the superiority -on one side is reduced by some equivalent advantage on the other. -Benefits which cannot be repaid, and obligations which cannot be -discharged, are not commonly found to increase affection; they excite -gratitude indeed, and heighten veneration; but commonly take away that -easy freedom and familiarity of intercourse, without which, though -there may be fidelity, and zeal, and admiration, there cannot be -friendship. Thus imperfect are all earthly blessings; the great effect -of friendship is beneficence, yet by the first act of uncommon kindness -it is endangered, like plants that bear their fruit and die. Yet this -consideration ought not to restrain bounty, or repress compassion; for -duty is to be preferred before convenience, and he that loses part of -the pleasures of friendship by his generosity, gains in its place the -gratulation of his conscience. - -[Footnote 48: This passage is almost a literal translation from Phaedrus, -lib. iii. 9. - - Vulgare amici nomen, sed rara est fides. - Quum parvas aedes sibi fundasset Socrates, - (Cujus non fugio mortem, si famam adsequar, - Et cedo invidiae, dum modo absolvar cinis.) - E populo sic, nescio quis, ut fieri solet: - Quaeso tam angustam, talis vir, ponis domum? - Utinam, inquit, veris hanc amicis impleam.] - - - - -No. 65. TUESDAY, OCTOBER 30, 1750. - - - _----Garrit aniles_ - _Ex re fabellas.----_ - HOR. Lib. i. Sat. vi. 77. - - The cheerful sage, when solemn dictates fail, - Conceals the moral counsel in a tale. - - -Obidah, the son of Abensina, left the caravansera early in the morning, -and pursued his journey through the plains of Indostan. He was fresh and -vigorous with rest; he was animated with hope; he was incited by desire; -he walked swiftly forward over the valleys, and saw the hills gradually -rising before him. As he passed along, his ears were delighted with the -morning song of the bird of paradise, he was fanned by the last flutters -of the sinking breeze, and sprinkled with dew by groves of spices; he -sometimes contemplated the towering height of the oak, monarch of the -hills; and sometimes caught the gentle fragrance of the primrose, eldest -daughter of the spring; all his senses were gratified, and all care was -banished from his heart. - -Thus he went on till the sun approached his meridian, and the increasing -heat preyed upon his strength; he then looked round about him for some -more commodious path. He saw, on his right hand, a grove that seemed to -wave its shades as a sign of invitation; he entered it, and found the -coolness and verdure irresistibly pleasant. He did not, however, forget -whither he was travelling, but found a narrow way bordered with flowers, -which appeared to have the same direction with the main road, and was -pleased that, by this happy experiment, he had found means to unite -pleasure with business, and to gain the rewards of diligence without -suffering its fatigues. He, therefore, still continued to walk for a time, -without the least remission of his ardour, except that he was sometimes -tempted to stop by the musick of the birds whom the heat had assembled -in the shade; and sometimes amused himself with plucking the flowers -that covered the banks on either side, or the fruits that hung upon -the branches. At last the green path began to decline from its first -tendency, and to wind among hills and thickets, cooled with fountains -and murmuring with waterfalls. Here Obidah paused for a time, and began -to consider whether it were longer safe to forsake the known and common -track; but remembering that the heat was now in its greatest violence, -and that the plain was dusty and uneven, he resolved to pursue the new -path, which he supposed only to make a few meanders, in compliance with -the varieties of the ground, and to end at last in the common road. - -Having thus calmed his solicitude, he renewed his pace, though he suspected -that he was not gaining ground. This uneasiness of his mind inclined him -to lay hold on every new object, and give way to every sensation that -might sooth or divert him. He listened to every echo, he mounted every -hill for a fresh prospect, he turned aside to every cascade, and pleased -himself with tracing the course of a gentle river that rolled among the -trees, and watered a large region with innumerable circumvolutions. In -these amusements the hours passed away uncounted, his deviations had -perplexed his memory, and he knew not towards what point to travel. He -stood pensive and confused, afraid to go forward lest he should go wrong, -yet conscious that the time of loitering was now past. While he was thus -tortured with uncertainty, the sky was overspread with clouds, the -day vanished from before him, and a sudden tempest gathered round his -head. He was now roused by his danger to a quick and painful remembrance -of his folly; he now saw how happiness is lost when ease is consulted; -he lamented the unmanly impatience that prompted him to seek shelter -in the grove, and despised the petty curiosity that led him on from -trifle to trifle. While he was thus reflecting, the air grew blacker, -and a clap of thunder broke his meditation. - -He now resolved to do what remained yet in his power, to tread back the -ground which he had passed, and try to find some issue where the wood -might open into the plain. He prostrated himself on the ground, and -commended his life to the Lord of nature. He rose with confidence and -tranquillity, and pressed on with his sabre in his hand, for the beasts -of the desert were in motion, and on every hand were heard the mingled -howls of rage and fear, and ravage and expiration; all the horrours of -darkness and solitude surrounded him; the winds roared in the woods, and -the torrents tumbled from the hills, - - [Greek: ----cheimarrhoi potamoi kat' oresphi rheontes - Es misgankeian symballeton obrimon hydor, - Tonde te telose doupon en ouresin eklye poimen.] - - Work'd into sudden rage by wintry show'rs, - Down the steep hill the roaring torrent pours; - The mountain shepherd hears the distant noise. - -Thus forlorn and distressed, he wandered through the wild, without knowing -whither he was going, or whether he was every moment drawing nearer to -safety or to destruction. At length not fear but labour began to overcome -him; his breath grew short, and his knees trembled, he was on the point -of lying down in resignation to his fate, when he beheld through the -brambles the glimmer of a taper. He advanced towards the light, and -finding that it proceeded from the cottage of a hermit, he called humbly -at the door, and obtained admission. The old man set before him such -provisions as he had collected for himself, on which Obidah fed with -eagerness and gratitude. - -When the repast was over, "Tell me," said the hermit, "by what chance thou -hast been brought hither; I have been now twenty years an inhabitant of -the wilderness, in which I never saw a man before." Obidah then related -the occurrences of his journey, without any concealment or palliation. - -"Son," said the hermit, "let the errours and follies, the dangers and -escape of this day, sink deep into thy heart. Remember, my son, that -human life is the journey of a day. We rise in the morning of youth, -full of vigour and full of expectation; we set forward with spirit -and hope, with gaiety and with diligence, and travel on a while in the -straight road of piety towards the mansions of rest. In a short time we -remit our fervour, and endeavour to find some mitigation of our duty, -and some more easy means of obtaining the same end. We then relax our -vigour, and resolve no longer to be terrified with crimes at a distance, -but rely upon our own constancy, and venture to approach what we resolve -never to touch. We thus enter the bowers of ease, and repose in the shades -of security. Here the heart softens and vigilance subsides; we are then -willing to inquire whether another advance cannot be made, and whether -we may not, at least, turn our eyes upon the gardens of pleasure. We -approach them with scruple and hesitation; we enter them, but enter -timorous and trembling, and always hope to pass through them without -losing the road of virtue, which we, for a while, keep in our sight, -and to which we propose to return. But temptation succeeds temptation, -and one compliance prepares us for another; we in time lose the happiness -of innocence, and solace our disquiet with sensual gratifications. By -degrees we let fall the remembrance of our original intention, and quit -the only adequate object of rational desire. We entangle ourselves in -business, immerge ourselves in luxury, and rove through the labyrinths -of inconstancy, till the darkness of old age begins to invade us, and -disease and anxiety obstruct our way. We then look back upon our lives -with horrour, with sorrow, with repentance; and wish, but too often vainly -wish, that we had not forsaken the ways of virtue. Happy are they, my son, -who shall learn from thy example not to despair, but shall remember, that -though the day is past, and their strength is wasted, there yet remains -one effort to be made; that reformation is never hopeless, nor sincere -endeavours ever unassisted; that the wanderer may at length return after -all his errours, and that he who implores strength and courage from above, -shall find danger and difficulty give way before him. Go now, my son, -to thy repose, commit thyself to the care of Omnipotence, and when the -morning calls again to toil, begin anew thy journey and thy life." - - - - -No. 66. SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 3, 1750. - - - _----Pauci dignoscere possunt_ - _Vera bona, atque illis multum diversa, remota_ - _Erroris nebula._ - JUV. Sat. x. 2. - - ----How few - Know their own good; or, knowing it, pursue! - How void of reason are our hopes and fears! - DRYDEN. - - -The folly of human wishes and pursuits has always been a standing subject -of mirth and declamation, and has been ridiculed and lamented from age -to age; till perhaps the fruitless repetition of complaints and censures, -may be justly numbered among the subjects of censure and complaint. - -Some of these instructors of mankind have not contented themselves with -checking the overflows of passion, and lopping the exuberance of desire, -but have attempted to destroy the root as well as the branches; and not -only to confine the mind within bounds, but to smooth it for ever by a -dead calm. They have employed their reason and eloquence to persuade us, -that nothing is worth the wish of a wise man, have represented all earthly -good and evil as indifferent, and counted among vulgar errours the dread -of pain, and the love of life. - -It is almost always the unhappiness of a victorious disputant, to destroy -his own authority by claiming too many consequences, or diffusing his -proposition to an indefensible extent. When we have heated our zeal in a -cause, and elated our confidence with success, we are naturally inclined -to pursue the same train of reasoning, to establish some collateral -truth, to remove some adjacent difficulty, and to take in the whole -comprehension of our system. As a prince, in the ardour of acquisition, -is willing to secure his first conquest by the addition of another, add -fortress to fortress, and city to city, till despair and opportunity turn -his enemies upon him, and he loses in a moment the glory of a reign. - -The philosophers having found an easy victory over those desires which -we produce in ourselves, and which terminate in some imaginary state of -happiness unknown and unattainable, proceeded to make further inroads -upon the heart, and attacked at last our senses and our instincts. They -continued to war upon nature with arms, by which only folly could be -conquered; they therefore lost the trophies of their former combats, and -were considered no longer with reverence or regard. - -Yet it cannot be with justice denied, that these men have been very useful -monitors, and have left many proofs of strong reason, deep penetration, -and accurate attention to the affairs of life, which it is now our -business to separate from the foam of a boiling imagination, and to apply -judiciously to our own use. They have shewn that most of the conditions -of life, which raise the envy of the timorous, and rouse the ambition -of the daring, are empty shows of felicity, which, when they become -familiar, lose their power of delighting; and that the most prosperous -and exalted have very few advantages over a meaner and more obscure -fortune, when their dangers and solicitudes are balanced against their -equipage, their banquets, and their palaces. - -It is natural for every man uninstructed to murmur at his condition, -because, in the general infelicity of life, he feels his own miseries, -without knowing that they are common to all the rest of the species; -and therefore, though he will not be less sensible of pain by being -told that others are equally tormented, he will at least be freed from -the temptation of seeking, by perpetual changes, that ease which is no -where to be found; and though his disease still continues, he escapes the -hazard of exasperating it by remedies. - -The gratifications which affluence of wealth, extent of power, and -eminence of reputation confer, must be always, by their own nature, -confined to a very small number; and the life of the greater part of -mankind must be lost in empty wishes and painful comparisons, were -not the balm of philosophy shed upon us, and our discontent at the -appearances of an unequal distribution soothed and appeased. - -It seemed, perhaps, below the dignity of the great masters of moral -learning, to descend to familiar life, and caution mankind against that -petty ambition which is known among us by the name of Vanity; which -yet had been an undertaking not unworthy of the longest beard, and most -solemn austerity. For though the passions of little minds, acting in -low stations, do not fill the world with bloodshed and devastations, or -mark, by great events, the periods of time, yet they torture the breast -on which they seize, infest those that are placed within the reach of -their influence, destroy private quiet and private virtue, and undermine -insensibly the happiness of the world. - -The desire of excellence is laudable, but is very frequently ill directed. -We fall, by chance, into some class of mankind, and, without consulting -nature or wisdom, resolve to gain their regard by those qualities which -they happen to esteem. I once knew a man remarkably dim-sighted, who, -by conversing much with country gentlemen, found himself irresistibly -determined to sylvan honours. His great ambition was to shoot flying, -and he therefore spent whole days in the woods pursuing game; which, -before he was near enough to see them, his approach frighted away. - -When it happens that the desire tends to objects which produce no -competition, it may be overlooked with some indulgence, because, however -fruitless or absurd, it cannot have ill effects upon the morals. But most -of our enjoyments owe their value to the peculiarity of possession, and -when they are rated at too high a value, give occasion to stratagems of -malignity, and incite opposition, hatred, and defamation. The contest of -two rural beauties for preference and distinction, is often sufficiently -keen and rancorous to fill their breasts with all those passions, which -are generally thought the curse only of senates, of armies, and of -courts; and the rival dancers of an obscure assembly have their partizans -and abettors, often not less exasperated against each other, than those -who are promoting the interests of rival monarchs. - -It is common to consider those whom we find infected with an unreasonable -regard for trifling accomplishments, as chargeable with all the -consequences of their folly, and as the authors of their own unhappiness: -but, perhaps, those whom we thus scorn or detest, have more claim to -tenderness than has been yet allowed them. Before we permit our severity -to break loose upon any fault or errour, we ought surely to consider how -much we have countenanced or promoted it. We see multitudes busy in the -pursuit of riches, at the expense of wisdom and of virtue; but we see the -rest of mankind approving their conduct, and inciting their eagerness, by -paying that regard and deference to wealth, which wisdom and virtue only -can deserve. We see women universally jealous of the reputation of their -beauty, and frequently look with contempt on the care with which they -study their complexions, endeavour to preserve or to supply the bloom -of youth, regulate every ornament, twist their hair into curls, and -shade their faces from the weather. We recommend the care of their nobler -part, and tell them how little addition is made by all their arts to -the graces of the mind. But when was it known that female goodness or -knowledge was able to attract that officiousness, or inspire that ardour, -which beauty produces whenever it appears? And with what hope can we -endeavour to persuade the ladies, that the time spent at the toilet is -lost in vanity, when they have every moment some new conviction, that -their interest is more effectually promoted by a riband well disposed, -than by the brightest act of heroick virtue? - -In every instance of vanity it will be found that the blame ought to -be shared among more than it generally reaches; all who exalt trifles -by immoderate praise, or instigate needless emulation by invidious -incitements, are to be considered as perverters of reason, and corrupters -of the world: and since every man is obliged to promote happiness and -virtue, he should be careful not to mislead unwary minds, by appearing to -set too high a value upon things by which no real excellence is conferred. - - - - -No. 67. TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 6, 1750. - - - [Greek: Ai d' elpides boskousi phygadas, hos logos - Kalois blepousi g' ommasin, mellousi de.] - EURIP. Phoen. 407. - - Exiles, the proverb says, subsist on hope, - Delusive hope still points to distant good, - To good that mocks approach. - - -There is no temper so generally indulged as hope: other passions operate -by starts on particular occasions, or in certain parts of life; but hope -begins with the first power of comparing our actual with our possible -state, and attends us through every stage and period, always urging us -forward to new acquisitions, and holding out some distant blessing to our -view, promising us either relief from pain, or increase of happiness. - -Hope is necessary in every condition. The miseries of poverty, of -sickness, of captivity, would, without this comfort, be insupportable; -nor does it appear that the happiest lot of terrestrial existence can set -us above the want of this general blessing; or that life, when the gifts -of nature and of fortune are accumulated upon it, would not still be -wretched, were it not elevated and delighted by the expectation of some -new possession, of some enjoyment yet behind, by which the wish shall be -at last satisfied, and the heart filled up to its utmost extent. - -Hope, is indeed, very fallacious, and promises what it seldom gives; but -its promises are more valuable than the gifts of fortune, and it seldom -frustrates us without assuring us of recompensing the delay by a greater -bounty. - -I was musing on this strange inclination which every man feels to deceive -himself, and considering the advantages and dangers proceeding from this -gay prospect of futurity, when, falling asleep, on a sudden I found myself -placed in a garden, of which my sight could descry no limits. Every scene -about me was gay and gladsome, light with sunshine, and fragrant with -perfumes; the ground was painted with all the variety of spring, and all -the choir of nature was singing in the groves. When I had recovered from -the first raptures, with which the confusion of pleasure had for a time -entranced me, I began to take a particular and deliberate view of this -delightful region. I then perceived that I had yet higher gratifications -to expect, and that, at a small distance from me, there were brighter -flowers, clearer fountains, and more lofty groves, where the birds, which -I yet heard but faintly, were exerting all the power of melody. The trees -about me were beautiful with verdure, and fragrant with blossoms; but I -was tempted to leave them by the sight of ripe fruits, which seemed to -hang only to be plucked. I therefore walked hastily forwards, but found, -as I proceeded, that the colours of the field faded at my approach, the -fruit fell before I reached it, the birds flew still singing before me, -and though I pressed onward with great celerity, I was still in sight -of pleasures of which I could not yet gain the possession, and which -seemed to mock my diligence, and to retire as I advanced. - -Though I was confounded with so many alternations of joy and grief, I yet -persisted to go forward, in hopes that these fugitive delights would in -time be overtaken. At length I saw an innumerable multitude of every age -and sex, who seemed all to partake of some general felicity; for every -cheek was flushed with confidence, and every eye sparkled with eagerness: -yet each appeared to have some particular and secret pleasure, and very -few were willing to communicate their intentions, or extend their concern -beyond themselves. Most of them seemed, by the rapidity of their motion, -too busy to gratify the curiosity of a stranger, and therefore I was -content for a while to gaze upon them, without interrupting them with -troublesome inquiries. At last I observed one man worn with time, and -unable to struggle in the crowd; and, therefore, supposing him more at -leisure, I began to accost him: but he turned from me with anger, and -told me he must not be disturbed, for the great hour of projection was -now come when Mercury should lose his wings, and slavery should no longer -dig the mine for gold. - -I left him, and attempted another, whose softness of mien, and easy -movement, gave me reason to hope for a more agreeable reception; but he -told me, with a low bow, that nothing would make him more happy than an -opportunity of serving me, which he could not now want, for a place which -he had been twenty years soliciting would be soon vacant. From him I had -recourse to the next, who was departing in haste to take possession of -the estate of an uncle, who by the course of nature could not live long. -He that followed was preparing to dive for treasure in a new-invented -bell; and another was on the point of discovering the longitude. - -Being thus rejected wheresoever I applied myself for information, I -began to imagine it best to desist from inquiry, and try what my own -observation would discover: but seeing a young man, gay and thoughtless, -I resolved upon one more experiment, and was informed that I was in the -garden of Hope, and daughter of Desire, and that all those whom I saw -thus tumultuously bustling round me were incited by the promises of Hope, -and hastening to seize the gifts which she held in her hand. - -I turned my sight upward, and saw a goddess in the bloom of youth sitting -on a throne: around her lay all the gifts of fortune, and all the -blessings of life were spread abroad to view; she had a perpetual gaiety -of aspect, and every one imagined that her smile, which was impartial and -general, was directed to himself, and triumphed in his own superiority to -others, who had conceived the same confidence from the same mistake. - -I then mounted an eminence, from which I had a more extensive view of -the whole place, and could with less perplexity consider the different -conduct of the crowds that filled it. From this station I observed, -that the entrance into the garden of Hope was by two gates, one of -which was kept by Reason, and the other by Fancy. Reason was surly and -scrupulous, and seldom turned the key without many interrogatories, -and long hesitation; but Fancy was a kind and gentle portress, she held -her gate wide open, and welcomed all equally to the district under her -superintendency; so that the passage was crowded by all those who either -feared the examination of Reason, or had been rejected by her. - -From the gate of Reason there was a way to the throne of Hope, by a -craggy, slippery and winding path, called the _Streight of Difficulty_, -which those who entered with the permission of the guard endeavoured -to climb. But though they surveyed the way very carefully before they -began to rise, and marked out the several stages of their progress, they -commonly found unexpected obstacles, and were obliged frequently to stop -on the sudden, where they imagined the way plain and even. A thousand -intricacies embarrassed them, a thousand slips threw them back, and a -thousand pitfalls impeded their advance. So formidable were the dangers, -and so frequent the miscarriages, that many returned from the first -attempt, and many fainted in the midst of the way, and only a very small -number were led up to the summit of Hope, by the hand of Fortitude. Of -these few the greater part, when they had obtained the gift which Hope -had promised them, regretted the labour which it cost, and felt in their -success the regret of disappointment; the rest retired with their prize, -and were led by Wisdom to the bowers of Content. - -Turning then towards the gate of Fancy, I could find no way to the seat -of Hope; but though she sat full in view, and held out her gifts with an -air of invitation, which filled every heart with rapture, the mountain -was, on that side, inaccessibly steep, but so channelled and shaded, -that none perceived the impossibility of ascending it, but each imagined -himself to have discovered a way to which the rest were strangers. Many -expedients were indeed tried by this industrious tribe, of whom some were -making themselves wings, which others were contriving to actuate by the -perpetual motion. But with all their labour, and all their artifices, -they never rose above the ground, or quickly fell back, nor ever -approached the throne of Hope, but continued still to gaze at a distance, -and laughed at the slow progress of those whom they saw toiling in the -_Streight of Difficulty_. - -Part of the favourites of Fancy, when they had entered the garden, -without making, like the rest, an attempt to climb the mountain, turned -immediately to the vale of Idleness, a calm and undisturbed retirement, -from whence they could always have Hope in prospect, and to which they -pleased themselves with believing that she intended speedily to descend. -These were indeed scorned by all the rest; but they seemed very little -affected by contempt, advice, or reproof, but were resolved to expect at -ease the favour of the goddess. - -Among this gay race I was wandering, and found them ready to answer all -my questions, and willing to communicate their mirth; but turning round, -I saw two dreadful monsters entering the vale, one of whom I knew to be -Age, and the other Want. Sport and revelling were now at an end, and an -universal shriek of affright and distress burst out and awaked me. - - - - -No. 68. SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 10, 1750. - - - _Vivendum recte est, cum propter plurima, tum his_ - _Praecipae causis, ut linguas mancipiorum_ - _Contemnas. Nam lingua mali pars pessima servi._ - JUV. ix. 118. - - Let us live well: were it alone for this - The baneful tongues of servants to despise - Slander, that worst of poisons, ever finds - An easy entrance to ignoble minds. - HERVEY. - - -The younger Pliny has very justly observed, that of actions that deserve -our attention, the most splendid are not always the greatest. Fame, and -wonder, and applause, are not excited but by external and adventitious -circumstances, often distinct and separate from virtue and heroism. -Eminence of station, greatness of effect, and all the favours of -fortune, must concur to place excellence in publick view; but fortitude, -diligence, and patience, divested of their show, glide unobserved through -the crowd of life, and suffer and act, though with the same vigour and -constancy, yet without pity and without praise. - -This remark may be extended to all parts of life. Nothing is to be -estimated by its effect upon common eyes and common ears. A thousand -miseries make silent and invisible inroads on mankind, and the heart -feels innumerable throbs, which never break into complaint. Perhaps, -likewise, our pleasures are for the most part equally secret, and most -are borne up by some private satisfaction, some internal consciousness, -some latent hope, some peculiar prospect, which they never communicate, -but reserve for solitary hours, and clandestine meditation. - -The main of life is, indeed, composed of small incidents and petty -occurrences; of wishes for objects not remote, and grief for -disappointments of no fatal consequence; of insect vexations which -sting us and fly away, impertinences which buzz awhile about us, and -are heard no more; of meteorous pleasures which dance before us and are -dissipated; of compliments which glide off the soul like other musick, -and are forgotten by him that gave, and him that received them. - -Such is the general heap out of which every man is to cull his own -condition: for, as the chemists tell us, that all bodies are resolvable -into the same elements, and that the boundless variety of things arises -from the different proportions of very few ingredients; so a few pains -and a few pleasures are all the materials of human life, and of these -the proportions are partly allotted by Providence, and partly left to the -arrangement of reason and of choice. - -As these are well or ill disposed, man is for the most part happy or -miserable. For very few are involved in great events, or have their -thread of life entwisted with the chain of causes on which armies or -nations are suspended; and even those who seem wholly busied in publick -affairs, and elevated above low cares, or trivial pleasures, pass the -chief part of their time in familiar and domestick scenes; from these -they came into publick life, to these they are every hour recalled by -passions not to be suppressed; in these they have the reward of their -toils, and to these at last they retire. - -The great end of prudence is to give cheerfulness to those hours, which -splendour cannot gild, and acclamation cannot exhilarate; those soft -intervals of unbended amusement, in which a man shrinks to his natural -dimensions, and throws aside the ornaments or disguises, which he feels -in privacy to be useless incumbrances, and to lose all effect when -they become familiar. To be happy at home is the ultimate result of all -ambition, the end to which every enterprise and labour tends, and of -which every desire prompts the prosecution. - -It is, indeed, at home that every man must be known by those who would -make a just estimate either of his virtue or felicity; for smiles and -embroidery are alike occasional, and the mind is often dressed for show -in painted honour and fictitious benevolence. - -Every man must have found some whose lives, in every house but their -own, was a continual series of hypocrisy, and who concealed under fair -appearances bad qualities, which, whenever they thought themselves out -of the reach of censure, broke out from their restraint, like winds -imprisoned in their caverns, and whom every one had reason to love, but -they whose love a wise man is chiefly solicitous to procure. And there -are others who, without any show of general goodness, and without the -attractions by which popularity is conciliated, are received among their -own families as bestowers of happiness, and reverenced as instructors, -guardians, and benefactors. - -The most authentick witnesses of any man's character are those who -know him in his own family, and see him without any restraint or rule -of conduct, but such as he voluntarily prescribes to himself. If a -man carries virtue with him into his private apartments, and takes no -advantage of unlimited power or probable secrecy; if we trace him through -the round of his time, and find that his character, with those allowances -which mortal frailty must always want, is uniform and regular, we have -all the evidence of his sincerity that one man can have with regard to -another: and, indeed, as hypocrisy cannot be its own reward, we may, -without hesitation, determine that his heart is pure. - -The highest panegyrick, therefore, that private virtue can receive, is the -praise of servants. For, however vanity or insolence may look down with -contempt on the suffrage of men undignified by wealth, and unenlightened -by education, it very seldom happens that they commend or blame without -justice. Vice and virtue are easily distinguished. Oppression, according -to Harrington's aphorism, will be felt by those that cannot see it; -and, perhaps, it falls out very often that, in moral questions, the -philosophers in the gown, and in the livery, differ not so much in their -sentiments, as in their language, and have equal power of discerning -right, though they cannot point it out to others with equal address. - -There are very few faults to be committed in solitude, or without some -agents, partners, confederates, or witnesses; and, therefore, the servant -must commonly know the secrets of a master, who has any secrets to -entrust; and failings, merely personal, are so frequently exposed by that -security which pride and folly generally produce, and so inquisitively -watched by that desire of reducing the inequalities of condition, which -the lower orders of the world will always feel, that the testimony of -a menial domestick can seldom be considered as defective for want of -knowledge. And though its impartiality may be sometimes suspected, it is -at least as credible as that of equals, where rivalry instigates censure, -or friendship dictates palliations. - -The danger of betraying our weakness to our servants, and the -impossibility of concealing it from them, may be justly considered as -one motive to a regular and irreproachable life. For no condition is -more hateful or despicable, than his who has put himself in the power of -his servant; in the power of him whom, perhaps, he has first corrupted -by making him subservient to his vices, and whose fidelity he therefore -cannot enforce by any precepts of honesty or reason. It is seldom known -that authority thus acquired, is possessed without insolence, or that the -master is not forced to confess by his tameness or forbearance, that he -has enslaved himself by some foolish confidence. And his crime is equally -punished, whatever part he takes of the choice to which he is reduced; -and he is from that fatal hour, in which he sacrificed his dignity to his -passions, in perpetual dread of insolence or defamation; of a controuler -at home, or an accuser abroad. He is condemned to purchase, by continual -bribes, that secrecy which bribes never secured, and which, after a long -course of submission, promises, and anxieties, he will find violated in -a fit of rage, or in a frolick of drunkenness. - -To dread no eye, and to suspect no tongue, is the great prerogative of -innocence; an exemption granted only to invariable virtue. But guilt has -always its horrours and solicitudes; and to make it yet more shameful and -detestable, it is doomed often to stand in awe of those, to whom nothing -could give influence or weight, but their power of betraying. - - - - -No. 69. TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 13, 1750. - - - _Flet quoque, ut in speculo rugas adspexit aniles,_ - _Tyndaris: et secum, cur sit bis rapta, requirit._ - _Tempus edax rerum, tuque invidiosa vetustas,_ - _Omnia destruitis: vitiataque dentibus aevi_ - _Paulatim lenta consumitis omnia morte._ - OVID, Met. xv. 232. - - The dreadful wrinkles when poor Helen spy'd, - Ah! why this second rape? with tears she cry'd, - Time, thou devourer, and thou, envious age, - Who all destroy with keen corroding rage, - Beneath your jaws, whate'er have pleas'd or please, - Must sink, consum'd by swift or slow degrees. - ELPHINSTON. - - -An old Greek epigrammatist, intending to shew the miseries that attend the -last stage of man, imprecates upon those who are so foolish as to wish -for long life, the calamity of continuing to grow old from century to -century. He thought that no adventitious or foreign pain was requisite; -that decrepitude itself was an epitome of whatever is dreadful; and -nothing could be added to the curse of age, but that it should be -extended beyond its natural limits. - -The most indifferent or negligent spectator can indeed scarcely retire -without heaviness of heart, from a view of the last scenes of the tragedy -of life, in which he finds those who, in the former parts of the drama, -were distinguished by opposition of conduct, contrariety of designs, and -dissimilitude of personal qualities, all involved in one common distress, -and all struggling with affliction which they cannot hope to overcome. - -The other miseries, which way-lay our passage through the world, wisdom -may escape, and fortitude may conquer: by caution and circumspection we -may steal along with very little to obstruct or incommode us; by spirit -and vigour we may force a way, and reward the vexation of contest by the -pleasures of victory. But a time must come when our policy and bravery -shall be equally useless; when we shall all sink into helplessness and -sadness, without any power of receiving solace from the pleasures that -have formerly delighted us, or any prospect of emerging into a second -possession of the blessings that we have lost. - -The industry of man has, indeed, not been wanting in endeavours to procure -comforts for these hours of dejection and melancholy, and to gild the -dreadful gloom with artificial light. The most usual support of old age -is wealth. He whose possessions are large, and whose chests are full, -imagines himself always fortified against invasions on his authority. If -he has lost all other means of government, if his strength and his reason -fail him, he can at last alter his will; and therefore all that have -hopes must, likewise have fears, and he may still continue to give laws -to such as have not ceased to regard their own interest. - -This is, indeed, too frequently the citadel of the dotard, the last -fortress to which age retires, and in which he makes the stand against the -upstart race that seizes his domains, disputes his commands, and cancels -his prescriptions. But here, though there may be safety, there is no -pleasure; and what remains is but a proof that more was once possessed. - -Nothing seems to have been more universally dreaded by the ancients than -orbity, or want of children; and, indeed, to a man who has survived all -the companions of his youth, all who have participated his pleasures -and his cares, have been engaged in the same events, and filled their -minds with the same conceptions, this full-peopled world is a dismal -solitude. He stands forlorn and silent, neglected or insulted, in the -midst of multitudes, animated with hopes which he cannot share, and -employed in business which he is no longer able to forward or retard; nor -can he find any to whom his life or his death are of importance, unless -he has secured some domestick gratifications, some tender employments, -and endeared himself to some whose interest and gratitude may unite them -to him. - -So different are the colours of life as we look forward to the future, -or backward to the past; and so different the opinions and sentiments -which this contrariety of appearance naturally produces, that the -conversation of the old and young ends generally with contempt or pity -on either side. To a young man entering the world with fulness of hope, -and ardour of pursuit, nothing is so unpleasing as the cold caution, -the faint expectations, the scrupulous diffidence, which experience and -disappointments certainly infuse; and the old man wonders in his turn that -the world never can grow wiser, that neither precepts, nor testimonies, -can cure boys of their credulity and sufficiency; and that not one can be -convinced that snares are laid for him, till he finds himself entangled. - -Thus one generation is always the scorn and wonder of the other; and the -notions of the old and young are like liquors of different gravity and -texture, which never can unite. The spirits of youth sublimed by health, -and volatilized by passion, soon leave behind them the phlegmatick -sediment of weariness and deliberation, and burst out in temerity and -enterprise. The tenderness, therefore, which nature infuses, and which -long habits of beneficence confirm, is necessary to reconcile such -opposition; and an old man must be a father to bear with patience those -follies and absurdities which he will perpetually imagine himself to find -in the schemes and expectations, the pleasures and the sorrows, of those -who have not yet been hardened by time, and chilled by frustration. - -Yet it may be doubted, whether the pleasure of seeing children ripening -into strength, be not overbalanced by the pain of seeing some fall in -the blossom, and others blasted in their growth; some shaken down with -storms, some tainted with cankers, and some shrivelled in the shade; and -whether he that extends his care beyond himself, does not multiply his -anxieties more than his pleasures, and weary himself to no purpose, by -superintending what he cannot regulate. - -But though age be to every order of human beings sufficiently terrible, it -is particularly to be dreaded by fine ladies, who have had no other end -or ambition than to fill up the day and the night with dress, diversions, -and flattery, and who, having made no acquaintance with knowledge, or -with business, have constantly caught all their ideas from the current -prattle of the hour, and been indebted for all their happiness to -compliments and treats. With these ladies, age begins early, and very -often lasts long; it begins when their beauty fades, when their mirth -loses its sprightliness, and their motion its ease. From that time all -which gave them joy vanishes from about them; they hear the praises -bestowed on others, which used to swell their bosoms with exultation. -They visit the seats of felicity, and endeavour to continue the habit of -being delighted. But pleasure is only received when we believe that we -give it in return. Neglect and petulance inform them that their power and -their value are past; and what then remains but a tedious and comfortless -uniformity of time, without any motion of the heart, or exercise of the -reason? - -Yet, however age may discourage us by its appearance from considering -it in prospect, we shall all by degrees certainly be old; and therefore -we ought to inquire what provision can be made against that time of -distress? what happiness can be stored up against the winter of life? and -how we may pass our latter years with serenity and cheerfulness? - -If it has been found by the experience of mankind, that not even the best -seasons of life are able to supply sufficient gratifications, without -anticipating uncertain felicities, it cannot surely be supposed that -old age, worn with labours, harassed with anxieties, and tortured with -diseases, should have any gladness of its own, or feel any satisfaction -from the contemplation of the present. All the comfort that can now be -expected must be recalled from the past, or borrowed from the future; -the past is very soon exhausted, all the events or actions which the -memory can afford pleasure are quickly recollected; and the future lies -beyond the grave, where it can be reached only by virtue and devotion. - -Piety is the only proper and adequate relief of decaying man. He that -grows old without religious hopes, as he declines into imbecility, and -feels pains and sorrows incessantly crowding upon him, falls into a gulph -of bottomless misery, in which every reflection must plunge him deeper, -and where he finds only new gradations of anguish, and precipices of -horrour. - - - - -No. 70. SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 17, 1750. - - - _----Argentea proles,_ - _Auro deterior, fulvo pretiosior aere._ - OVID, Met. i. 114. - - Succeeding times a silver age behold, - Excelling brass, but more excell'd by gold. - DRYDEN. - - -Hesiod, in his celebrated distribution of mankind, divides them into three -orders of intellect. "The first place," says he, "belongs to him that -can by his own powers discern what is right and fit, and penetrate to the -remoter motives of action. The second is claimed by him that is willing -to hear instruction, and can perceive right and wrong when they are shewn -him by another; but he that has neither acuteness nor docility, who can -neither find the way by himself, nor will be led by others, is a wretch -without use or value." - -If we survey the moral world, it will be found, that the same division -may be made of men, with regard to their virtue. There are some whose -principles are so firmly fixed, whose conviction is so constantly present -to their minds, and who have raised in themselves such ardent wishes for -the approbation of God, and the happiness with which he has promised to -reward obedience and perseverance, that they rise above all other cares -and considerations, and uniformly examine every action and desire, by -comparing it with the divine commands. There are others in a kind of -equipoise between good and ill; who are moved on the one part by riches -or pleasure, by the gratifications of passion and the delights of sense; -and, on the other, by laws of which they own the obligation, and rewards -of which they believe the reality, and whom a very small addition of -weight turns either way. The third class consists of beings immersed -in pleasure, or abandoned to passion, without any desire of higher -good, or any effort to extend their thoughts beyond immediate and gross -satisfactions. - -The second class is so much the most numerous, that it may be considered -as comprising the whole body of mankind. Those of the last are not very -many, and those of the first are very few; and neither the one nor the -other fall much under the consideration of the moralists, whose precepts -are intended chiefly for those who are endeavouring to go forward up the -steeps of virtue, not for those who have already reached the summit, or -those who are resolved to stay for ever in their present situation. - -To a man not versed in the living world, but accustomed to judge only by -speculative reason, it is scarcely credible that any one should be in -this state of indifference, or stand undetermined and unengaged, ready to -follow the first call to either side. It seems certain, that either a man -must believe that virtue will make him happy, and resolve therefore to -be virtuous, or think that he may be happy without virtue, and therefore -cast off all care but for his present interest. It seems impossible that -conviction should be on one side, and practice on the other; and that -he who has seen the right way should voluntarily shut his eyes, that -he may quit it with more tranquillity. Yet all these absurdities are -every hour to be found; the wisest and best men deviate from known and -acknowledged duties, by inadvertency or surprise; and most are good -no longer than while temptation is away, than while their passions are -without excitements, and their opinions are free from the counteraction -of any other motive. - -Among the sentiments which almost every man changes as he advances into -years, is the expectation of uniformity of character. He that without -acquaintance with the power of desire, the cogency of distress, the -complications of affairs, or the force of partial influence, has filled -his mind with the excellence of virtue, and, having never tried his -resolution in any encounters with hope or fear, believes it able to -stand firm whatever shall oppose it, will be always clamorous against -the smallest failure, ready to exact the utmost punctualities of right, -and to consider every man that fails in any part of his duty, as without -conscience and without merit; unworthy of trust or love, of pity or -regard; as an enemy whom all should join to drive out of society, as a -pest which all should avoid, or as a weed which all should trample. - -It is not but by experience, that we are taught the possibility of -retaining some virtues, and rejecting others, or of being good or bad -to a particular degree. For it is very easy to the solitary reasoner, to -prove that the same arguments by which the mind is fortified against one -crime are of equal force against all, and the consequence very naturally -follows, that he whom they fail to move on any occasion, has either never -considered them, or has by some fallacy taught himself to evade their -validity; and that, therefore, when a man is known to be guilty of one -crime, no farther evidence is needful of his depravity and corruption. - -Yet such is the state of all mortal virtue, that it is always uncertain -and variable, sometimes extending to the whole compass of duty, and -sometimes shrinking into a narrow space, and fortifying only a few avenues -of the heart, while all the rest is left open to the incursions of -appetite, or given up to the dominion of wickedness. Nothing therefore -is more unjust than to judge of man by too short an acquaintance, -and too slight inspection; for it often happens, that in the loose, -and thoughtless, and dissipated, there is a secret radical worth, which -may shoot out by proper cultivation; that the spark of heaven, though -dimmed and obstructed, is yet not extinguished, but may, by the breath -of counsel and exhortation, be kindled into flame. - -To imagine that every one who is not completely good is irrecoverably -abandoned, is to suppose that all are capable of the same degree -of excellence; it is indeed to exact from all that perfection which -none ever can attain. And since the purest virtue is consistent with -some vice, and the virtue of the greatest number with almost an equal -proportion of contrary qualities, let none too hastily conclude, that all -goodness is lost, though it may for a time be clouded and overwhelmed; -for most minds are the slaves of external circumstances, and conform to -any hand that undertakes to mould them, roll down any torrent of custom -in which they happen to be caught, or bend to any importunity that bears -hard against them. - -It may be particularly observed of women, that they are for the most -part good or bad, as they fall among those who practise vice or virtue; -and that neither education nor reason gives them much security against -the influence of example. Whether it be that they have less courage to -stand against opposition, or that their desire of admiration makes them -sacrifice their principles to the poor pleasure of worthless praise, it -is certain, whatever be the cause, that female goodness seldom keeps its -ground against laughter, flattery, or fashion. - -For this reason, every one should consider himself as entrusted, not only -with his own conduct, but with that of others; and as accountable, not -only for the duties which he neglects, or the crimes that he commits, but -for that negligence and irregularity which he may encourage or inculcate. -Every man, in whatever station, has, or endeavours to have, his followers, -admirers, and imitators, and has therefore the influence of his example -to watch with care; he ought to avoid not only crimes, but the appearance -of crimes, and not only to practise virtue, but to applaud, countenance, -and support it. For it is possible that for want of attention, we may -teach others faults from which ourselves are free, or by a cowardly -desertion of a cause which we ourselves approve, may pervert those who -fix their eyes upon us, and having no rule of their own to guide their -course, are easily misled by the aberrations of that example which they -choose for their direction. - - - - -No. 71. TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 20, 1750. - - - _Vivere quod propero pauper, nec inutilis annis;_ - _Da veniam: properat vivere nemo satis._ - MART. Lib. ii. Ep. xc. 4. - - True, sir, to live I haste, your pardon give, - For tell me, who makes haste enough to live? - F. LEWIS. - - -Many words and sentences are so frequently heard in the mouths of men, -that a superficial observer is inclined to believe, that they must -contain some primary principle, some great rule of action, which it is -proper always to have present to the attention, and by which the use of -every hour is to be adjusted. Yet, if we consider the conduct of those -sententious philosophers, it will often be found, that they repeat these -aphorisms, merely because they have somewhere heard them, because they -have nothing else to say, or because they think veneration gained by -such appearances of wisdom, but that no ideas are annexed to the words, -and that, according to the old blunder of the followers of Aristotle, -their souls are mere pipes or organs, which transmit sounds, but do not -understand them. - -Of this kind is the well-known and well-attested position, that _life is -short_, which may be heard among mankind by an attentive auditor, many -times a day, but which never yet within my reach of observation left -any impression upon the mind; and perhaps, if my readers will turn their -thoughts back upon their old friends, they will find it difficult to call -a single man to remembrance, who appeared to know that life was short -till he was about to lose it. - -It is observable that Horace, in his account of the characters of men, as -they are diversified by the various influence of time, remarks, that the -old man is _dilator, spe longus_, given to procrastination, and inclined -to extend his hopes to a great distance. So far are we generally from -thinking what we often say of the shortness of life, that at the time -when it is necessarily shortest, we form projects which we delay to -execute, indulge such expectations as nothing but a long train of events -can gratify, and suffer those passions to gain upon us, which are only -excusable in the prime of life. - -These reflections were lately excited in my mind, by an evening's -conversation with my friend Prospero, who, at the age of fifty-five, has -bought an estate, and is now contriving to dispose and cultivate it with -uncommon elegance. His great pleasure is to walk among stately trees, -and lie musing in the heat of noon under their shade; he is therefore -maturely considering how he shall dispose his walks and his groves, and -has at last determined to send for the best plans from Italy, and forbear -planting till the next season. - -Thus is life trifled away in preparations to do what never can be done, -if it be left unattempted till all the requisites which imagination can -suggest are gathered together. Where our design terminates only in our -own satisfaction, the mistake is of no great importance; for the pleasure -of expecting enjoyment is often greater than that of obtaining it, and -the completion of almost every wish is found a disappointment; but when -many others are interested in an undertaking, when any design is formed, -in which the improvement or security of mankind is involved, nothing -is more unworthy either of wisdom or benevolence, than to delay it from -time to time, or to forget how much every day that passes over us takes -away from our power, and how soon an idle purpose to do an action, sinks -into a mournful wish that it had once been done. - -We are frequently importuned, by the bacchanalian writers, to lay hold on -the present hour, to catch the pleasures within our reach, and remember -that futurity is not at our command. - - [Greek: To rhodon akmazei baion chronon; hen de parelthes, - Zeton heureseis ou rhodon, alla baton.] - - Soon fades the rose; once past the fragrant hour, - The loiterer finds a bramble for a flow'r. - -But surely these exhortations may, with equal propriety, be applied to -better purposes; it may be at least inculcated that pleasures are more -safely postponed than virtues, and that greater loss is suffered by -missing an opportunity of doing good, than an hour of giddy frolick and -noisy merriment. - -When Baxter had lost a thousand pounds, which he had laid up for the -erection of a school, he used frequently to mention the misfortune as -an incitement to be charitable while God gives the power of bestowing, -and considered himself as culpable in some degree for having left a -good action in the hands of chance, and suffered his benevolence to be -defeated for want of quickness and diligence. - -It is lamented by Hearne, the learned antiquary of Oxford, that this -general forgetfulness of the fragility of life, has remarkably infected -the students of monuments and records; as their employment consists first -in collecting, and afterwards in arranging or abstracting what libraries -afford them, they ought to amass no more than they can digest; but when -they have undertaken a work, they go on searching and transcribing, -call for new supplies, when they are already overburthened, and at last -leave their work unfinished. _It is_, says he, _the business of a good -antiquary, as of a good man, to have mortality always before him_. - -Thus, not only in the slumber of sloth, but in the dissipation of -ill-directed industry, is the shortness of life generally forgotten. As -some men lose their hours in laziness, because they suppose, that there -is time enough for the reparation of neglect; others busy themselves -in providing that no length of life may want employment; and it often -happens, that sluggishness and activity are equally surprised by the -last summons, and perish not more differently from each other, than the -fowl that received the shot in her flight, from her that is killed upon -the bush. - -Among the many improvements made by the last centuries in human knowledge, -may be numbered the exact calculations of the value of life; but whatever -may be their use in traffick, they seem very little to have advanced -morality. They have hitherto been rather applied to the acquisition of -money, than of wisdom; the computer refers none of his calculations to -his own tenure, but persists, in contempt of probability, to foretel old -age to himself, and believes that he is marked out to reach the utmost -verge of human existence, and see thousands and ten thousands fall into -the grave. - -So deeply is this fallacy rooted in the heart, and so strongly guarded by -hope and fear against the approach of reason, that neither science nor -experience can shake it, and we act as if life were without end, though -we see and confess its uncertainty and shortness. - -Divines have, with great strength and ardour, shewn the absurdity of -delaying reformation and repentance; a degree of folly, indeed, which -sets eternity to hazard. It is the same weakness, in proportion to the -importance of the neglect, to transfer any care, which now claims our -attention, to a future time; we subject ourselves to needless dangers -from accidents which early diligence would have obviated, or perplex -our minds by vain precautions, and make provision for the execution of -designs, of which the opportunity once missed never will return. - -As he that lives longest lives but a little while, every man may be -certain that he has no time to waste. The duties of life are commensurate -to its duration, and every day brings its task, which if neglected is -doubled on the morrow. But he that has already trifled away those months -and years, in which he should have laboured, must remember that he has -now only a part of that of which the whole is little; and that since the -few moments remaining are to be considered as the last trust of heaven, -not one is to be lost. - - - - -No. 72. SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 24, 1750. - - - _Omnis Aristippum decuit color, et status, et res,_ - _Tentantem majora, fere praesentibus aequum._ - HOR. Lib. i. Ep. xvii. 23. - - Yet Aristippus ev'ry dress became, - In ev'ry various change of life the same; - And though he aim'd at things of higher kind, - Yet to the present held an equal mind. - FRANCIS. - - -TO THE RAMBLER. - -SIR, - -Those who exalt themselves into the chair of instruction, without -inquiring whether any will submit to their authority, have not -sufficiently considered how much of human life passes in little -incidents, cursory conversation, slight business, and casual amusements; -and therefore they have endeavoured only to inculcate the more awful -virtues, without condescending to regard those petty qualities, which -grow important only by their frequency, and which, though they produce -no single acts of heroism, nor astonish us by great events, yet are every -moment exerting their influence upon us, and make the draught of life -sweet or bitter by imperceptible instillations. They operate unseen and -unregarded, as change of air makes us sick or healthy, though we breathe -it without attention, and only know the particles that impregnate it by -their salutary or malignant effects. - -You have shewn yourself not ignorant of the value of those subaltern -endowments, yet have hitherto neglected to recommend good-humour to the -world, though a little reflection will shew you that it is the _balm of -being_, the quality to which all that adorns or elevates mankind must owe -its power of pleasing. Without good-humour, learning and bravery can only -confer that superiority which swells the heart of the lion in the desert, -where he roars without reply, and ravages without resistance. Without -good-humour, virtue may awe by its dignity, and amaze by its brightness; -but must always be viewed at a distance, and will scarcely gain a friend -or attract an imitator. - -Good-humour may be defined a habit of being pleased; a constant and -perennial softness of manner, easiness of approach, and suavity of -disposition; like that which every man perceives in himself, when the -first transports of new felicity have subsided, and his thoughts are only -kept in motion by a slow succession of soft impulses. Good-humour is a -state between gaiety and unconcern; the act or emanation of a mind at -leisure to regard the gratification of another. - -It is imagined by many, that whenever they aspire to please, they are -required to be merry, and to shew the gladness of their souls by flights -of pleasantry, and bursts of laughter. But though these men may be for -a time heard with applause and admiration, they seldom delight us long. -We enjoy them a little, and then retire to easiness and good-humour, as -the eye gazes awhile on eminences glittering with the sun, but soon turns -aching away to verdure and to flowers. - -Gaiety is to good-humour as animal perfumes to vegetable fragrance; the -one overpowers weak spirits, and the other recreates and revives them. -Gaiety seldom fails to give some pain; the hearers either strain their -faculties to accompany its towerings, or are left behind in envy and -despair. Good-humour boasts no faculties which every one does not believe -in his own power, and pleases principally by not offending. - -It is well known that the most certain way to give any man pleasure, is -to persuade him that you receive pleasure from him, to encourage him to -freedom and confidence, and to avoid any such appearance of superiority -as may overbear and depress him. We see many that by this art only spend -their days in the midst of caresses, invitations, and civilities; and -without any extraordinary qualities or attainments, are the universal -favourites of both sexes, and certainly find a friend in every place. -The darlings of the world will, indeed, be generally found such as excite -neither jealousy nor fear, and are not considered as candidates for -any eminent degree of reputation, but content themselves with common -accomplishments, and endeavour rather to solicit kindness than to raise -esteem; therefore in assemblies and places of resort it seldom fails -to happen, that though at the entrance of some particular person every -face brightens with gladness, and every hand is extended in salutation, -yet if you pursue him beyond the first exchange of civilities, you will -find him of very small importance, and only welcome to the company, as -one by whom all conceive themselves admired, and with whom any one is at -liberty to amuse himself when he can find no other auditor or companion; -as one with whom all are at ease, who will hear a jest without criticism, -and a narrative without contradiction, who laughs with every wit, and -yields to every disputer. - -There are many whose vanity always inclines them to associate with those -from whom they have no reason to fear mortification; and there are times -in which the wise and the knowing are willing to receive praise without -the labour of deserving it, in which the most elevated mind is willing -to descend, and the most active to be at rest. All therefore are at -some hour or another fond of companions whom they can entertain upon -easy terms, and who will relieve them from solitude, without condemning -them to vigilance and caution. We are most inclined to love when we have -nothing to fear, and he that encourages us to please ourselves, will not -be long without preference in our affection to those whose learning holds -us at the distance of pupils, or whose wit calls all attention from us, -and leaves us without importance and without regard. - -It is remarked by prince Henry, when he sees Falstaff lying on the -ground, that _he could have better spared a better man_. He was well -acquainted with the vices and follies of him whom he lamented, but -while his conviction compelled him to do justice to superior qualities, -his tenderness still broke out at the remembrance of Falstaff, of the -cheerful companion, the loud buffoon, with whom he had passed his time in -all the luxury of idleness, who had gladded him with unenvied merriment, -and whom he could at once enjoy and despise. - -You may perhaps think this account of those who are distinguished for -their good-humour, not very consistent with the praises which I have -bestowed upon it. But surely nothing can more evidently shew the value -of this quality, than that it recommends those who are destitute of all -other excellencies, and procures regard to the trifling, friendship to -the worthless, and affection to the dull. - -Good-humour is indeed generally degraded by the characters in which -it is found; for, being considered as a cheap and vulgar quality, we -find it often neglected by those that, having excellencies of higher -reputation and brighter splendour, perhaps imagine that they have some -right to gratify themselves at the expense of others, and are to demand -compliance, rather than to practise it. It is by some unfortunate mistake -that almost all those who have any claim to esteem or love, press their -pretensions with too little consideration of others. This mistake, my -own interest, as well as my zeal for general happiness, makes me desirous -to rectify; for I have a friend, who, because he knows his own fidelity -and usefulness, is never willing to sink into a companion: I have a wife -whose beauty first subdued me, and whose wit confirmed her conquest, but -whose beauty now serves no other purpose than to entitle her to tyranny, -and whose wit is only used to justify perverseness. - -Surely nothing can be more unreasonable than to lose the will to please, -when we are conscious of the power, or show more cruelty than to chuse -any kind of influence before that of kindness. He that regards the -welfare of others, should make his virtue approachable, that it may be -loved and copied; and he that considers the wants which every man feels, -or will feel, of external assistance, must rather wish to be surrounded -by those that love him, than by those that admire his excellencies, or -solicit his favours; for admiration ceases with novelty, and interest -gains its end and retires. A man whose great qualities want the ornament -of superficial attractions, is like a naked mountain with mines of gold, -which will be frequented only till the treasure is exhausted. - -I am, &c. - - PHILOMIDES. - - - - -No. 73. TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 27, 1750. - - - _Stulte, quid o frustra votis puerilibus optas,_ - _Quae non ulla tulit, fertque, feretque, dies._ - OVID, Trist. Lib. iii. El. viii. 11. - - Why thinks the fool with childish hope to see - What neither is, nor was, nor e'er shall be? - ELPHINSTON. - - -TO THE RAMBLER. - -SIR, - -If you feel any of that compassion which you recommend to others, you will -not disregard a case which I have reason from observation to believe very -common, and which I know by experience to be very miserable. And though -the querulous are seldom received with great ardour of kindness, I hope -to escape the mortification of finding that my lamentations spread the -contagion of impatience, and produce anger rather than tenderness. I -write not merely to vent the swelling of my heart, but to inquire by what -means I may recover my tranquillity; and shall endeavour at brevity in -my narrative, having long known that complaint quickly tires, however -elegant, or however just. - -I was born in a remote county, of a family that boasts alliances with the -greatest names in English history, and extends its claims of affinity to -the Tudors and Plantagenets. My ancestors, by little and little, wasted -their patrimony, till my father had not enough left for the support -of a family, without descending to the cultivation of his own grounds, -being condemned to pay three sisters the fortunes allotted them by my -grandfather, who is suspected to have made his will when he was incapable -of adjusting properly the claims of his children, and who, perhaps without -design, enriched his daughters by beggaring his son. My aunts being, at -the death of their father, neither young nor beautiful, nor very eminent -for softness of behaviour, were suffered to live unsolicited, and by -accumulating the interest of their portions grew every day richer and -prouder. My father pleased himself with foreseeing that the possessions -of those ladies must revert at last to the hereditary estate, and that -his family might lose none of its dignity, resolved to keep me untainted -with a lucrative employment; whenever therefore I discovered any -inclination to the improvement of my condition, my mother never failed -to put me in mind of my birth, and charged me to do nothing with which I -might be reproached when I should come to my aunts' estate. - -In all the perplexities or vexations which want of money brought upon -us, it was our constant practice to have recourse to futurity. If any -of our neighbours surpassed us in appearance, we went home and contrived -an equipage, with which the death of my aunts was to supply us. If any -purse-proud upstart was deficient in respect, vengeance was referred to -the time in which our estate was to be repaired. We registered every act -of civility and rudeness, inquired the number of dishes at every feast, -and minuted the furniture of every house, that we might, when the hour -of affluence should come, be able to eclipse all their splendour, and -surpass all their magnificence. - -Upon plans of elegance and schemes of pleasure the day rose and set, -and the year went round unregarded, while we were busied in laying out -plantations on ground not yet our own, and deliberating whether the -manor-house should be rebuilt or repaired. This was the amusement of -our leisure, and the solace of our exigencies; we met together only to -contrive how our approaching fortune should be enjoyed; for in this our -conversation always ended, on whatever subject it began. We had none of -the collateral interests which diversify the life of others with joys and -hopes, but had turned our whole attention on one event, which we could -neither hasten nor retard, and had no other object of curiosity than the -health or sickness of my aunts, of which we were careful to procure very -exact and early intelligence. - -This visionary opulence for a while soothed our imagination, but -afterwards fired our wishes, and exasperated our necessities, and my -father could not always restrain himself from exclaiming, that _no -creature had so many lives as a cat and an old maid_. At last, upon -the recovery of his sister from an ague, which she was supposed to have -caught by sparing fire, he began to lose his stomach, and four months -afterwards sunk into his grave. - -My mother, who loved her husband, survived him but a little while, and -left me the sole heir of their lands, their schemes, and their wishes. -As I had not enlarged my conceptions either by books or conversation, -I differed only from my father by the freshness of my cheeks, and the -vigour of my step; and, like him, gave way to no thoughts but of enjoying -the wealth which my aunts were hoarding. - -At length the eldest fell ill. I paid the civilities and compliments which -sickness requires with the utmost punctuality. I dreamed every night -of escutcheons and white gloves, and inquired every morning at an early -hour, whether there were any news of my dear aunt. At last a messenger -was sent to inform me that I must come to her without the delay of a -moment. I went and heard her last advice, but opening her will, found -that she had left her fortune to her second sister. - -I hung my head; the youngest sister threatened to be married, and every -thing was disappointment and discontent. I was in danger of losing -irreparably one third of my hopes, and was condemned still to wait for -the rest. Of part of my terror I was soon eased; for the youth whom his -relations would have compelled to marry the old lady, after innumerable -stipulations, articles, and settlements, ran away with the daughter of -his father's groom; and my aunt, upon this conviction of the perfidy of -man, resolved never to listen more to amorous addresses. - -Ten years longer I dragged the shackles of expectation, without ever -suffering a day to pass, in which I did not compute how much my chance -was improved of being rich to-morrow. At last the second lady died, -after a short illness, which yet was long enough to afford her time for -the disposal of her estate, which she gave to me after the death of her -sister. - -I was now relieved from part of my misery; a larger fortune, though not -in my power, was certain and unalienable; nor was there now any danger, -that I might at last be frustrated of my hopes by a fret of dotage, -the flatteries of a chambermaid, the whispers of a tale-bearer, or the -officiousness of a nurse. But my wealth was yet in reversion, my aunt was -to be buried before I could emerge to grandeur and pleasure; and there -were yet, according to my father's observation, nine lives between me -and happiness. - -I however lived on, without any clamours of discontent, and comforted -myself with considering, that all are mortal, and they who are -continually decaying must at last be destroyed. - -But let no man from this time suffer his felicity to depend on the death -of his aunt. The good gentlewoman was very regular in her hours, and -simple in her diet, and in walking or sitting still, waking or sleeping, -had always in view the preservation of her health. She was subject to -no disorder but hypochondriac dejection; by which, without intention, -she increased my miseries, for whenever the weather was cloudy, she would -take her bed and send me notice that her time was come. I went with all -the haste of eagerness, and sometimes received passionate injunctions -to be kind to her maid, and directions how the last offices should be -performed; but if before my arrival the sun happened to break out, or -the wind to change, I met her at the door, or found her in the garden, -bustling and vigilant, with all the tokens of long life. - -Sometimes, however, she fell into distempers, and was thrice given over by -the doctor, yet she found means of slipping through the gripe of death, -and after having tortured me three months at each time with violent -alternations of hope and fear, came out of her chamber without any other -hurt than the loss of flesh, which in a few weeks she recovered by broths -and jellies. - -As most have sagacity sufficient to guess at the desires of an heir, it -was the constant practice of those who were hoping at second hand, and -endeavoured to secure my favour against the time when I should be rich, -to pay their court, by informing me that my aunt began to droop, that -she had lately a bad night, that she coughed feebly, and that she could -never climb May-hill; or, at least, that the autumn would carry her off. -Thus was I flattered in the winter with the piercing winds of March, and -in summer, with the fogs of September. But she lived through spring and -fall, and set heat and cold at defiance, till, after near half a century, -I buried her on the fourteenth of last June, aged ninety-three years, -five months, and six days. - -For two months after her death I was rich, and was pleased with that -obsequiousness and reverence which wealth instantaneously procures. -But this joy is now past, and I have returned again to my old habit of -wishing. Being accustomed to give the future full power over my mind, -and to start away from the scene before me to some expected enjoyment, -I deliver up myself to the tyranny of every desire which fancy suggests, -and long for a thousand things which I am unable to procure. Money -has much less power than is ascribed to it by those that want it. I had -formed schemes which I cannot execute, I had supposed events which do not -come to pass, and the rest of my life must pass in craving solicitude, -unless you can find some remedy for a mind, corrupted with an inveterate -disease of wishing, and unable to think on any thing but wants, which -reason tells me will never be supplied. - -I am, &c. - - CUPIDUS. - - - - -No. 74. SATURDAY, DECEMBER 1, 1750. - - - _Rixatur de lana saepe caprina._ - HOR. Lib i. Ep. xviii. 15. - - For nought tormented, she for nought torments. - ELPHINSTON. - - -Men seldom give pleasure, where they are not pleased themselves; it is -necessary, therefore, to cultivate an habitual alacrity and cheerfulness, -that in whatever state we may be placed by Providence, whether we -are appointed to confer or receive benefits, to implore or to afford -protection, we may secure the love of those with whom we transact. For -though it is generally imagined, that he who grants favours, may spare -any attention to his behaviour, and that usefulness will always procure -friends; yet it has been found, that there is an art of granting requests, -an art very difficult of attainment; that officiousness and liberality -may be so adulterated, as to lose the greater part of their effect; that -compliance may provoke, relief may harass, and liberality distress. - -No disease of the mind can more fatally disable it from benevolence, the -chief duty of social beings, than ill-humour or peevishness; for though -it breaks not out in paroxysms of outrage, nor bursts into clamour, -turbulence, and bloodshed, it wears out happiness by slow corrosion, -and small injuries incessantly repeated. It may be considered as the -canker of life, that destroys its vigour, and checks its improvement, -that creeps on with hourly depredations, and taints and vitiates what -it cannot consume. - -Peevishness, when it has been so far indulged, as to outrun the motions -of the will, and discover itself without premeditation, is a species of -depravity in the highest degree disgusting and offensive, because no -rectitude of intention, nor softness of address, can ensure a moment's -exemption from affront and indignity. While we are courting the favour -of a peevish man, and exerting ourselves in the most diligent civility, -an unlucky syllable displeases, an unheeded circumstance ruffles and -exasperates; and in the moment when we congratulate ourselves upon having -gained a friend, our endeavours are frustrated at once, and all our -assiduity forgotten, in the casual tumult of some trifling irritation. - -This troublesome impatience is sometimes nothing more than the symptom -of some deeper malady. He that is angry without daring to confess his -resentment, or sorrowful without the liberty of telling his grief, is -too frequently inclined to give vent to the fermentations of his mind -at the first passages that are opened, and to let his passions boil over -upon those whom accident throws in his way. A painful and tedious course -of sickness frequently produces such an alarming apprehension of the -least increase of uneasiness, as keeps the soul perpetually on the watch, -such a restless and incessant solicitude, as no care or tenderness can -appease, and can only be pacified by the cure of the distemper, and the -removal of that pain by which it is excited. - -Nearly approaching to this weakness, is the captiousness of old age. When -the strength is crushed, the senses dulled, and the common pleasures -of life become insipid by repetition, we are willing to impute our -uneasiness to causes not wholly out of our power, and please ourselves -with fancying that we suffer by neglect, unkindness, or any evil which -admits a remedy, rather than by the decays of nature, which cannot be -prevented or repaired. We therefore revenge our pains upon those on whom -we resolve to charge them; and too often drive mankind away at the time -we have the greatest need of tenderness and assistance. - -But though peevishness may sometimes claim our compassion, as the -consequence or concomitant of misery, it is very often found, where -nothing can justify or excuse its admission. It is frequently one of the -attendants on the prosperous, and is employed by insolence in exacting -homage, or by tyranny in harassing subjection. It is the offspring of -idleness or pride; of idleness anxious for trifles; or pride unwilling to -endure the least obstruction of her wishes. Those who have long lived in -solitude indeed naturally contract this unsocial quality, because, having -long had only themselves to please, they do not readily depart from their -own inclinations; their singularities therefore are only blameable, when -they have imprudently or morosely withdrawn themselves from the world; -but there are others, who have, without any necessity, nursed up this -habit in their minds, by making implicit submissiveness the condition of -their favour, and suffering none to approach them, but those who never -speak but to applaud, or move but to obey. - -He that gives himself up to his own fancy, and converses with none but -such as he hires to lull him on the down of absolute authority, to -sooth him with obsequiousness, and regale him with flattery, soon grows -too slothful for the labour of contest, too tender for the asperity of -contradiction, and too delicate for the coarseness of truth; a little -opposition offends, a little restraint enrages, and a little difficulty -perplexes him; having been accustomed to see every thing give way to his -humour, he soon forgets his own littleness, and expects to find the world -rolling at his beck, and all mankind employed to accommodate and delight -him. - -Tetrica had a large fortune bequeathed to her by an aunt, which made -her very early independent, and placed her in a state of superiority -to all about her. Having no superfluity of understanding, she was soon -intoxicated by the flatteries of her maid, who informed her that ladies, -such as she, had nothing to do but take pleasure their own way; that she -wanted nothing from others, and had therefore no reason to value their -opinion; that money was every thing; and that they who thought themselves -ill-treated, should look for better usage among their equals. - -Warm with these generous sentiments, Tetrica came forth into the world, -in which she endeavoured to force respect by haughtiness of mien and -vehemence of language; but having neither birth, beauty, nor wit, in any -uncommon degree, she suffered such mortifications from those who thought -themselves at liberty to return her insults, as reduced her turbulence -to cooler malignity, and taught her to practise her arts of vexation only -where she might hope to tyrannize without resistance. She continued from -her twentieth to her fifty-fifth year to torment all her inferiors with -so much diligence, that she has formed a principle of disapprobation, and -finds in every place something to grate her mind, and disturb her quiet. - -If she takes the air, she is offended with the heat or cold, the glare of -the sun, or the gloom of the clouds; if she makes a visit, the room in -which she is to be received is too light, or too dark, or furnished with -something which she cannot see without aversion. Her tea is never of the -right sort; the figures on the China give her disgust. Where there are -children, she hates the gabble of brats; where there are none, she cannot -bear a place without some cheerfulness and rattle. If many servants are -kept in a house, she never fails to tell how lord Lavish was ruined by a -numerous retinue; if few, she relates the story of a miser that made his -company wait on themselves. She quarrelled with one family, because she -had an unpleasant view from their windows; with another, because the -squirrel leaped within two yards of her; and with a third, because she -could not bear the noise of the parrot. - -Of milliners and mantua-makers she is the proverbial torment. She compels -them to alter their work, then to unmake it, and contrive it after another -fashion; then changes her mind, and likes it better as it was at first; -then will have a small improvement. Thus she proceeds till no profit can -recompense the vexation; they at last leave the clothes at her house, and -refuse to serve her. Her maid, the only being who can endure her tyranny, -professes to take her own course, and hear her mistress talk. Such is the -consequence of peevishness; it can be borne only when it is despised. - -It sometimes happens that too close an attention to minute exactness, -or a too rigorous habit of examining every thing by the standard of -perfection, vitiates the temper, rather than improves the understanding, -and teaches the mind to discern faults with unhappy penetration. It is -incident likewise to men of vigorous imagination to please themselves -too much with futurities, and to fret because those expectations -are disappointed, which should never have been formed. Knowledge and -genius are often enemies to quiet, by suggesting ideas of excellence, -which men and the performances of men cannot attain. But let no man -rashly determine, that his unwillingness to be pleased is a proof -of understanding, unless his superiority appears from less doubtful -evidence; for though peevishness may sometimes justly boast its descent -from learning or from wit, it is much oftener of a base extraction, the -child of vanity and nursling of ignorance. - - - - -No. 75. TUESDAY, DECEMBER 4, 1750. - - - _Diligitur nemo, nisi cui Fortuna secunda est._ - _Quae, simul intonuit, proxima quaeque fugat._ - OVID, Ex Ponto. Lib. ii. Ep. iii. 23. - - When smiling Fortune spreads her golden ray, - All crowd around to flatter and obey: - But when she thunders from an angry sky, - Our friends, our flatterers, our lovers fly. - Miss A. W.[49] - - -TO THE RAMBLER. - -SIR, - -The diligence with which you endeavour to cultivate the knowledge of -nature, manners, and life, will perhaps incline you to pay some regard -to the observations of one who has been taught to know mankind by -unwelcome information, and whose opinions are the result, not of solitary -conjectures, but of practice and experience. - -I was born to a large fortune, and bred to the knowledge of those arts -which are supposed to accomplish the mind, and adorn the person of a -woman. To these attainments, which custom and education almost forced -upon me, I added some voluntary acquisitions by the use of books, and -the conversation of that species of men whom the ladies generally mention -with terrour and aversion under the name of scholars, but whom I have -found a harmless and inoffensive order of beings, not so much wiser than -ourselves, but that they may receive as well as communicate knowledge, -and more inclined to degrade their own character by cowardly submission, -than to overbear or oppress us with their learning or their wit. - -From these men, however, if they are by kind treatment encouraged to talk, -something may be gained, which, embellished with elegancy, and softened -by modesty, will always add dignity and value to female conversation; and -from my acquaintance with the bookish part of the world I derived many -principles of judgment and maxims of prudence, by which I was enabled -to draw upon myself the general regard in every place of concourse or -pleasure. My opinion was the great rule of approbation, my remarks were -remembered by those who desired the second degree of fame, my mien was -studied, my dress was imitated, my letters were handed from one family -to another, and read by those who copied them as sent to themselves; my -visits were solicited as honours, and multitudes boasted of an intimacy -with Melissa, who had only seen me by accident, and whose familiarity -had never proceeded beyond the exchange of a compliment, or return of -a courtesy. - -I shall make no scruple of confessing that I was pleased with this -universal veneration, because I always considered it as paid to my -intrinsick qualities and inseparable merit, and very easily persuaded -myself that fortune had no part in my superiority. When I looked upon my -glass, I saw youth and beauty, with health that might give me reason to -hope their continuance; when I examined my mind, I found some strength -of judgment, and fertility of fancy; and was told that every action was -grace, and that every accent was persuasion. - -In this manner my life passed like a continual triumph, amidst -acclamations, and envy, and courtship, and caresses: to please Melissa -was the general ambition, and every stratagem of artful flattery was -practised upon me. To be flattered is grateful, even when we know that -our praises are not believed by those who pronounce them; for they prove, -at least, our power, and show that our favour is valued, since it is -purchased by the meanness of falsehood. But, perhaps, the flatterer is -not often detected, for an honest mind is not apt to suspect, and no one -exerts the power of discernment with much vigour when self-love favours -the deceit. - -The number of adorers, and the perpetual distraction of my thoughts by new -schemes of pleasure, prevented me from listening to any of those who crowd -in multitudes to give girls advice, and kept me unmarried and unengaged -to my twenty-seventh year, when, as I was towering in all the pride of -uncontested excellency, with a face yet little impaired, and a mind -hourly improving, the failure of a fund, in which my money was placed, -reduced me to a frugal competency, which allowed little beyond neatness -and independence. - -I bore the diminution of my riches without any outrages of sorrow, or -pusillanimity of dejection. Indeed I did not know how much I had lost, -for having always heard and thought more of my wit and beauty, than of -my fortune, it did not suddenly enter my imagination, that Melissa could -sink beneath her established rank, while her form and her mind continued -the same; that she could cease to raise admiration but by ceasing to -deserve it, or feel any stroke but from the hand of time. - -It was in my power to have concealed the loss, and to have married, -by continuing the same appearance, with all the credit of my original -fortune; but I was not so far sunk in my own esteem, as to submit to the -baseness of fraud, or to desire any other recommendation than sense and -virtue. I, therefore, dismissed my equipage, sold those ornaments which -were become unsuitable to my new condition, and appeared among those with -whom I used to converse with less glitter, but with equal spirit. - -I found myself received at every visit, with sorrow beyond what is -naturally felt for calamities in which we have no part, and was -entertained with condolence and consolation so frequently repeated, that -my friends plainly consulted rather their own gratification, than my -relief. Some from that time refused my acquaintance, and forbore, without -any provocation, to repay my visits; some visited me, but after a longer -interval than usual, and every return was still with more delay; nor -did any of my female acquaintances fail to introduce the mention of my -misfortunes, to compare my present and former condition, to tell me how -much it must trouble me to want the splendour which I became so well, to -look at pleasures which I had formerly enjoyed, and to sink to a level -with those by whom I had been considered as moving in a higher sphere, -and who had hitherto approached me with reverence and submission, which -I was now no longer to expect. - -Observations like these, are commonly nothing better than covert insults, -which serve to give vent to the flatulence of pride, but they are now -and then imprudently uttered by honesty and benevolence, and inflict -pain where kindness is intended; I will, therefore, so far maintain my -antiquated claim to politeness, as to venture the establishment of this -rule, that no one ought to remind another of misfortunes of which the -sufferer does not complain, and which there are no means proposed of -alleviating. You have no right to excite thoughts which necessarily give -pain whenever they return, and which perhaps might not have revived but -by absurd and unseasonable compassion. - -My endless train of lovers immediately withdrew, without raising any -emotions. The greater part had indeed always professed to court, as it is -termed, upon the square, had inquired my fortune, and offered settlements; -these had undoubtedly a right to retire without censure, since they had -openly treated for money, as necessary to their happiness, and who can -tell how little they wanted any other portion? I have always thought the -clamours of women unreasonable, who imagine themselves injured because -the men who followed them upon the supposition of a greater fortune, -reject them when they are discovered to have less. I have never known -any lady, who did not think wealth a title to some stipulations in her -favour; and surely what is claimed by the possession of money is justly -forfeited by its loss. She that has once demanded a settlement has -allowed the importance of fortune: and when she cannot shew pecuniary -merit, why should she think her cheapener obliged to purchase? - -My lovers were not all contented with silent desertion. Some of them -revenged the neglect which they had formerly endured by wanton and -superfluous insults, and endeavoured to mortify me, by paying, in my -presence, those civilities to other ladies, which were once devoted only -to me. But, as it had been my rule to treat men according to the rank -of their intellect, I had never suffered any one to waste his life in -suspense, who could have employed it to better purpose, and had therefore -no enemies but coxcombs, whose resentment and respect were equally below -my consideration. - -The only pain which I have felt from degradation, is the loss of that -influence which I had always exerted on the side of virtue, in the -defence of innocence, and the assertion of truth. I now find my opinions -slighted, my sentiments criticised, and my arguments opposed by those -that used to listen to me without reply, and struggle to be first in -expressing their conviction. - -The female disputants have wholly thrown off my authority; and if I -endeavour to enforce my reasons by an appeal to the scholars that happen -to be present, the wretches are certain to pay their court by sacrificing -me and my system to a finer gown, and I am every hour insulted with -contradiction by cowards, who could never find till lately that Melissa -was liable to errour. - -There are two persons only whom I cannot charge with having changed their -conduct with my change of fortune. One is an old curate that has passed -his life in the duties of his profession, with great reputation for his -knowledge and piety; the other is a lieutenant of dragoons. The parson -made no difficulty in the height of my elevation to check me when I was -pert, and instruct me when I blundered; and if there is any alteration, -he is now more timorous, lest his freedom should be thought rudeness. The -soldier never paid me any particular addresses, but very rigidly observed -all the rules of politeness, which he is now so far from relaxing, that -whenever he serves the tea, he obstinately carries me the first dish, in -defiance of the frowns and whispers of the table, - -This, Mr. Rambler, is _to see the world_. It is impossible for those -that have only known affluence and prosperity, to judge of themselves -or others. The rich and the powerful live in a perpetual masquerade, in -which all about them wear borrowed characters; and we only discover in -what estimation we are held, when we can no longer give hopes or fears. - -I am, &c. - - MELISSA. - -[Footnote 49: Anna Williams, of whom an account is given in the Life of Dr. -Johnson, prefixed to this edition.] - - - - -No. 76. SATURDAY, DECEMBER 8, 1750. - - - _----Silvis, ubi passim_ - _Palantes error certo de tramite pellit,_ - _Ille sinistrorsum, hic dextrorsum abit; unus utrique_ - _Error, sed variis illudit partibus._ - HOR. Lib. ii. Sat iii. 48. - - While mazy error draws mankind astray - From truth's sure path, each takes his devious way; - One to the right, one to the left recedes, - Alike deluded, as each fancy leads. - ELPHINSTON. - - -It is easy for every man, whatever be his character with others, to -find reasons for esteeming himself, and therefore censure, contempt, -or conviction of crimes, seldom deprive him of his own favour. Those, -indeed, who can see only external facts, may look upon him with -abhorrence? but when he calls himself to his own tribunal, he finds every -fault, if not absolutely effaced, yet so much palliated by the goodness -of his intention, and the cogency of the motive, that very little -guilt or turpitude remains; and when he takes a survey of the whole -complication of his character, he discovers so many latent excellencies, -so many virtues that want but an opportunity to exert themselves in act, -and so many kind wishes for universal happiness, that he looks on himself -as suffering unjustly under the infamy of single failings, while the -general temper of his mind is unknown or unregarded. - -It is natural to mean well, when only abstracted ideas of virtue are -proposed to the mind, and no particular passion turns us aside from -rectitude; and so willing is every man to flatter himself, that the -difference between approving laws, and obeying them, is frequently -forgotten; he that acknowledges the obligations of morality, and pleases -his vanity with enforcing them to others, concludes himself zealous in -the cause of virtue, though he has no longer any regard to her precepts, -than they conform to his own desires; and counts himself among her warmest -lovers, because he praises her beauty, though every rival steals away -his heart. - -There are, however, great numbers who have little recourse to the -refinements of speculation, but who yet live at peace with themselves, -by means which require less understanding, or less attention. When -their hearts are burthened with the consciousness of a crime, instead -of seeking for some remedy within themselves, they look round upon the -rest of mankind, to find others tainted with the same guilt: they please -themselves with observing, that they have numbers on their side; and -that, though they are hunted out from the society of good men, they are -not likely to be condemned to solitude. - -It may be observed, perhaps without exception, that none are so -industrious to detect wickedness, or so ready to impute it, as they -whose crimes are apparent and confessed. They envy an unblemished -reputation, and what they envy they are busy to destroy; they are -unwilling to suppose themselves meaner and more corrupt than others, and -therefore willingly pull down from their elevations those with whom they -cannot rise to an equality. No man yet was ever wicked without secret -discontent, and according to the different degrees of remaining virtue, -or unextinguished reason, he either endeavours to reform himself, or -corrupt others; either to regain the station which he has quitted, or -prevail on others to imitate his defection. - -It has always been considered as an alleviation of misery not to suffer -alone, even when union and society can contribute nothing to resistance -or escape; some comfort of the same kind seems to incite wickedness -to seek associates, though indeed another reason may be given, for as -guilt is propagated the power of reproach is diminished, and among numbers -equally detestable every individual may be sheltered from shame, though -not from conscience. - -Another lenitive by which the throbs of the breast are assuaged, is, the -contemplation, not of the same, but of different crimes. He that cannot -justify himself by his resemblance to others, is ready to try some other -expedient, and to inquire what will rise to his advantage from opposition -and dissimilitude. He easily finds some faults in every human being, -which he weighs against his own, and easily makes them preponderate -while he keeps the balance in his own hand, and throws in or takes out -at his pleasure circumstances that make them heavier or lighter. He then -triumphs in his comparative purity, and sets himself at ease, not because -he can refute the charges advanced against him, but because he can -censure his accusers with equal justice, and no longer fears the arrows -of reproach, when he has stored his magazine of malice with weapons -equally sharp and equally envenomed. - -This practice, though never just, is yet specious and artful, when the -censure is directed against deviations to the contrary extreme. The man -who is branded with cowardice, may, with some appearance of propriety, -turn all his force of argument against a stupid contempt of life, and -rash precipitation into unnecessary danger. Every recession from temerity -is an approach towards cowardice, and though it be confessed that -bravery, like other virtues, stands between faults on either hand, yet -the place of the middle point may always be disputed; he may therefore -often impose upon careless understandings, by turning the attention -wholly from himself, and keeping it fixed invariably on the opposite -fault; and by shewing how many evils are avoided by his behaviour, he -may conceal for a time those which are incurred. - -But vice has not always opportunities or address for such artful -subterfuges; men often extenuate their own guilt, only by vague and -general charges upon others, or endeavour to gain rest to themselves, -by pointing some other prey to the pursuit of censure. - -Every whisper of infamy is industriously circulated, every hint of -suspicion eagerly improved, and every failure of conduct joyfully -published, by those whose interest it is, that the eye and voice of the -publick should be employed on any rather than on themselves. - -All these artifices, and a thousand others equally vain and equally -despicable, are incited by that conviction of the deformity of -wickedness, from which none can set himself free, and by an absurd -desire to separate the cause from the effects, and to enjoy the profit of -crimes without suffering the shame. Men are willing to try all methods of -reconciling guilt and quiet, and when their understandings are stubborn -and uncomplying, raise their passions against them, and hope to overpower -their own knowledge. - -It is generally not so much the desire of men, sunk into depravity, to -deceive the world as themselves, for when no particular circumstances make -them dependant on others, infamy disturbs them little, but as it revives -their remorse, and is echoed to them from their own hearts. The sentence -most dreaded is that of reason and conscience, which they would engage -on their side at any price but the labours of duty, and the sorrows of -repentance. For this purpose every seducement and fallacy is sought, the -hopes still rest upon some new experiment till life is at an end; and -the last hour steals on unperceived, while the faculties are engaged in -resisting reason, and repressing the sense of the Divine disapprobation. - - - - -No. 77. TUESDAY, DECEMBER 11, 1750. - - - _Os dignum aeterno nitidum quod fulgeat auro,_ - _Si mallet laudare Deum, cui sordida monstra_ - _Praetulit, et liquidam temeravit crimine vocem._ - PRUDENT. - - A golden statue such a wit might claim, - Had God and virtue rais'd the noble flame; - But ah! how lewd a subject has he sung, - What vile obscenity profanes his tongue. - F. LEWIS. - - -Among those, whose hopes of distinction, or riches, arise from an opinion -of their intellectual attainments, it has been, from age to age, an -established custom to complain of the ingratitude of mankind to their -instructors, and the discouragement which men of genius and study suffer -from avarice and ignorance, from the prevalence of false taste, and the -encroachment of barbarity. - -Men are most powerfully affected by those evils which themselves feel, or -which appear before their own eyes; and as there has never been a time of -such general felicity, but that many have failed to obtain the rewards to -which they had, in their own judgment, a just claim, some offended writer -has always declaimed, in the rage of disappointment, against his age or -nation; nor is there one who has not fallen upon times more unfavourable -to learning than any former century, or who does not wish, that he had -been reserved in the insensibility of non-existence to some happier -hour, when literary merit shall no longer be despised, and the gifts and -caresses of mankind shall recompense the toils of study, and add lustre -to the charms of wit. - -Many of these clamours are undoubtedly to be considered only as the bursts -of pride never to be satisfied, as the prattle of affectation, mimicking -distresses unfelt, or as the common places of vanity solicitous for -splendour of sentences, and acuteness of remark. Yet it cannot be denied -that frequent discontent must proceed from frequent hardships, and though -it is evident, that not more than one age or people can deserve the -censure of being more averse from learning than any other, yet at all -times knowledge must have encountered impediments, and wit been mortified -with contempt, or harassed with persecution. - -It is not necessary, however, to join immediately in the outcry, or to -condemn mankind as pleased with ignorance, or always envious of superior -abilities. The miseries of the learned have been related by themselves, -and since they have not been found exempt from that partiality with which -men look upon their own actions and sufferings, we may conclude that -they have not forgotten to deck their cause with the brightest ornaments, -and strongest colours. The logician collected all his subtilties when -they were to be employed in his own defence; and the master of rhetorick -exerted against his adversary all the arts by which hatred is embittered, -and indignation inflamed. - -To believe no man in his own cause, is the standing and perpetual rule -of distributive justice. Since therefore, in the controversy between the -learned and their enemies, we have only the pleas of one party, of the -party more able to delude our understandings, and engage our passions, -we must determine our opinion by facts uncontested, and evidences on each -side allowed to be genuine. - -By this procedure, I know not whether the students will find their cause -promoted, or the compassion which they expect much increased. Let their -conduct be impartially surveyed; let them be allowed no longer to direct -attention at their pleasure, by expatiating on their own deserts; let -neither the dignity of knowledge overawe the judgment, nor the graces of -elegance seduce it. It will then, perhaps, be found, that they were not -able to produce claims to kinder treatment, but provoked the calamities -which they suffered, and seldom wanted friends, but when they wanted -virtue. - -That few men, celebrated for theoretick wisdom, live with conformity to -their precepts, must be readily confessed; and we cannot wonder that the -indignation of mankind rises with great vehemence against those, who -neglect the duties which they appear to know with so strong conviction the -necessity of performing. Yet since no man has power of acting equal to -that of thinking, I know not whether the speculatist may not sometimes -incur censures too severe, and by those who form ideas of his life from -their knowledge of his books, be considered as worse than others, only -because he was expected to be better. - -He, by whose writings the heart is rectified, the appetites counteracted, -and the passions repressed, may be considered as not unprofitable to the -great republick of humanity, even though his behaviour should not always -exemplify his rules. His instructions may diffuse their influence to -regions, in which it will not be inquired, whether the author be _albus -an ater_, good or bad; to times, when all his faults and all his follies -shall be lost in forgetfulness, among things of no concern or importance -to the world; and he may kindle in thousands and ten thousands that flame -which burnt but dimly in himself, through the fumes of passion, or the -damps of cowardice. The vicious moralist may be considered as a taper, -by which we are lighted through the labyrinth of complicated passions: -he extends his radiance further than his heat, and guides all that are -within view, but burns only those who make too near approaches. - -Yet since good or harm must be received for the most part from those to -whom we are familiarly known, he whose vices overpower his virtues, in -the compass to which his vices can extend, has no reason to complain that -he meets not with affection or veneration, when those with whom he passes -his life are more corrupted by his practice than enlightened by his -ideas. Admiration begins where acquaintance ceases; and his favourers are -distant, but his enemies at hand. - -Yet many have dared to boast of neglected merit, and to challenge their -age for cruelty and folly, of whom it cannot be alledged that they have -endeavoured to increase the wisdom or virtue of their readers. They -have been at once profligate in their lives, and licentious in their -compositions; have not only forsaken the paths of virtue, but attempted -to lure others after them. They have smoothed the road of perdition, -covered with flowers the thorns of guilt, and taught temptation sweeter -notes, softer blandishments, and stronger allurements. - -It has been apparently the settled purpose of some writers, whose powers -and acquisitions place them high in the rank of literature, to set -fashion on the side of wickedness; to recommend debauchery and lewdness, -by associating them with qualities most likely to dazzle the discernment, -and attract the affections; and to shew innocence and goodness with such -attendant weaknesses as necessarily expose them to contempt and derision. - -Such naturally found intimates among the corrupt, the thoughtless, and the -intemperate; passed their lives amidst the levities of sportive idleness, -or the warm professions of drunken friendship; and fed their hopes with -the promises of wretches, whom their precepts had taught to scoff at -truth. But when fools had laughed away their sprightliness, and the -languors of excess could no longer be relieved, they saw their protectors -hourly drop away, and wondered and stormed to find themselves abandoned. -Whether their companions persisted in wickedness, or returned to virtue, -they were left equally without assistance; for debauchery is selfish and -negligent, and from virtue the virtuous only can expect regard. - -It is said by Florus of Catiline, who died in the midst of slaughtered -enemies, that _his death had been illustrious, had it been suffered -for his country_. Of the wits who have languished away life under the -pressures of poverty, or in the restlessness of suspense, caressed and -rejected, flattered and despised, as they were of more or less use to -those who styled themselves their patrons, it might be observed, that -their miseries would enforce compassion, had they been brought upon them -by honesty and religion. - -The wickedness of a loose or profane author is more atrocious than that of -the giddy libertine, or drunken ravisher, not only because it extends its -effects wider, as a pestilence that taints the air is more destructive -than poison infused in a draught, but because it is committed with cool -deliberation. By the instantaneous violence of desire, a good man may -sometimes be surprised before reflection can come to his rescue; when -the appetites have strengthened their influence by habit, they are not -easily resisted or suppressed; but for the frigid villainy of studious -lewdness, for the calm malignity of laboured impiety, what apology can -be invented? What punishment can be adequate to the crime of him who -retires to solitudes for the refinement of debauchery; who tortures his -fancy, and ransacks his memory, only that he may leave the world less -virtuous than he found it; that he may intercept the hopes of the rising -generation; and spread snares for the soul with more dexterity? - -What were their motives, or what their excuses, is below the dignity of -reason to examine. If having extinguished in themselves the distinction -of right and wrong, they were insensible of the mischief which they -promoted, they deserved to be hunted down by the general compact, as no -longer partaking of social nature; if influenced by the corruption of -patrons, or readers, they sacrificed their own convictions to vanity or -interest, they were to be abhorred with more acrimony than he that murders -for pay; since they committed greater crimes without greater temptations. - -_Of him, to whom much is given, much shall be required._ Those, whom God -has favoured with superior faculties, and made eminent for quickness -of intuition, and accuracy of distinctions, will certainly be regarded -as culpable in his eye, for defects and deviations which, in souls -less enlightened, may be guiltless. But, surely, none can think without -horrour on that man's condition, who has been more wicked in proportion -as he had more means of excelling in virtue, and used the light imparted -from heaven only to embellish folly, and shed lustre upon crimes. - - - - -No. 78. SATURDAY, DECEMBER 15, 1750. - - - _----Mors sola fatetur,_ - _Quantula sint hominum corpuscula._ - JUV. Sat. x. 172. - - Death only this mysterious truth unfolds, - The mighty soul how small a body holds. - DRYDEN. - - -Corporal sensation is known to depend so much upon novelty, that custom -takes away from many things their power of giving pleasure or pain. Thus -a new dress becomes easy by wearing it, and the palate is reconciled -by degrees to dishes which at first disgusted it. That by long habit -of carrying a burden, we lose, in great part, our sensibility of its -weight, any man may be convinced by putting on for an hour the armour -of our ancestors; for he will scarcely believe that men would have had -much inclination to marches and battles, encumbered and oppressed, as he -will find himself, with the ancient panoply. Yet the heroes that overran -regions, and stormed towns in iron accoutrements, he knows not to have -been bigger, and has no reason to imagine them stronger, than the present -race of men; he therefore must conclude, that their peculiar powers were -conferred only by peculiar habits, and that their familiarity with the -dress of war enabled them to move in it with ease, vigour, and agility. - -Yet it seems to be the condition of our present state, that pain should -be more fixed and permanent than pleasure. Uneasiness gives way by slow -degrees, and is long before it quits its possession of the sensory; but -all our gratifications are volatile, vagrant, and easily dissipated. -The fragrance of the jessamine bower is lost after the enjoyment of a -few moments, and the Indian wanders among his native spices without any -sense of their exhalations. It is, indeed, not necessary to shew by many -instances what all mankind confess, by an incessant call for variety, and -restless pursuit of enjoyments, which they value only because unpossessed. - -Something similar, or analogous, may be observed in effects produced -immediately upon the mind; nothing can strongly strike or affect us, -but what is rare or sudden. The most important events, when they become -familiar, are no longer considered with wonder or solicitude, and that -which at first filled up our whole attention, and left no place for -any other thought, is soon thrust aside into some remote repository -of the mind, and lies among other lumber of the memory, overlooked and -neglected. Thus far the mind resembles the body, but here the similitude -is at an end. - -The manner in which external force acts upon the body is very little -subject to the regulation of the will; no man can at pleasure obtund or -invigorate his senses, prolong the agency of any impulse, or continue -the presence of any image traced upon the eye, or any sound infused -into the ear. But our ideas are more subjected to choice; we can call -them before us, and command their stay, we can facilitate and promote -their recurrence, we can either repress their intrusion, or hasten their -retreat. It is therefore the business of wisdom and virtue, to select -among numberless objects striving for our notice, such as may enable us -to exalt our reason, extend our views, and secure our happiness. But this -choice is to be made with very little regard to rareness or frequency; -for nothing is valuable merely because it is either rare or common, but -because it is adapted to some useful purpose, and enables us to supply -some deficiency of our nature. - -Milton has judiciously represented the father of mankind, as seized with -horrour and astonishment at the sight of death, exhibited to him on the -mount of vision. For surely, nothing can so much disturb the passions, -or perplex the intellects of man, as the disruption of his union with -visible nature; a separation from all that has hitherto delighted or -engaged him; a change not only of the place, but the manner of his being; -an entrance into a state not simply which he knows not, but which perhaps -he has not faculties to know; an immediate and perceptible communication -with the supreme Being, and, what is above all distressful and alarming, -the final sentence, and unalterable allotment. - -Yet we to whom the shortness of life has given frequent occasions of -contemplating mortality, can, without emotion, see generations of men -pass away, and are at leisure to establish modes of sorrow, and adjust -the ceremonial of death. We can look upon funeral pomp as a common -spectacle in which we have no concern, and turn away from it to trifles -and amusements, without dejection of look, or inquietude of heart. - -It is, indeed, apparent, from the constitution of the world, that there -must be a time for other thoughts; and a perpetual meditation upon -the last hour, however it may become the solitude of a monastery, is -inconsistent with many duties of common life. But surely the remembrance -of death ought to predominate in our minds, as an habitual and settled -principle, always operating, though not always perceived; and our -attention should seldom wander so far from our own condition, as not to -be recalled and fixed by sight of an event, which must soon, we know not -how soon, happen likewise to ourselves, and of which, though we cannot -appoint the time, we may secure the consequence. - -Every instance of death may justly awaken our fears and quicken our -vigilance; but its frequency so much weakens its effect, that we are -seldom alarmed unless some close connexion is broken, some scheme -frustrated, or some hope defeated. Many therefore seem to pass on from -youth to decrepitude without any reflection on the end of life, because -they are wholly involved within themselves, and look on others only as -inhabitants of the common earth, without any expectation of receiving -good, or intention of bestowing it. - -Events, of which we confess the importance, excite little sensibility, -unless they affect us more nearly than as sharers in the common interest -of mankind; that desire which every man feels of being remembered and -lamented, is often mortified when we remark how little concern is caused -by the eternal departure even of those who have passed their lives with -publick honours, and been distinguished by extraordinary performances. -It is not possible to be regarded with tenderness except by a few. That -merit which gives greatness and renown, diffuses its influence to a -wide compass, but acts weakly on every single breast; it is placed at a -distance from common spectators, and shines like one of the remote stars, -of which the light reaches us, but not the heat. The wit, the hero, -the philosopher, whom their tempers or their fortunes have hindered -from intimate relations, die, without any other effect than that of -adding a new topic to the conversation of the day. They impress none -with any fresh conviction of the fragility of our nature, because none -had any particular interest in their lives, or was united to them by a -reciprocation of benefits and endearments. - -Thus it often happens, that those who in their lives were applauded and -admired, are laid at last in the ground without the common honour of a -stone; because by those excellencies with which many were delighted, none -had been obliged, and though they had many to celebrate, they had none to -love them. - -Custom so far regulates the sentiments, at least of common minds, that -I believe men may be generally observed to grow less tender as they -advance in age. He, who, when life was new, melted at the loss of every -companion, can look in time, without concern, upon the grave into which -his last friend was thrown, and into which himself is ready to fall; -not that he is more willing to die than formerly, but that he is more -familiar to the death of others, and therefore is not alarmed so far -as to consider how much nearer he approaches to his end. But this is to -submit tamely to the tyranny of accident, and to suffer our reason to lie -useless. Every funeral may justly be considered as a summons to prepare -for that state, into which it shews us that we must some time enter; and -the summons is more loud and piercing, as the event of which it warns us -is at less distance. To neglect at any time preparation for death, is to -sleep on our post at a siege; but to omit it in old age, is to sleep at -an attack. - -It has always appeared to me one of the most striking passages in the -Visions of Quevedo, which stigmatises those as fools who complain that -they failed of happiness by sudden death. "How," says he, "can death be -sudden to a being who always knew that he must die, and that the time of -his death was uncertain?" - -Since business and gaiety are always drawing our attention away from a -future state, some admonition is frequently necessary to recall it to our -minds; and what can more properly renew the impression than the examples -of mortality which every day supplies? The great incentive to virtue is -the reflection that we must die; it will therefore be useful to accustom -ourselves, whenever we see a funeral, to consider how soon we may be -added to the number of those whose probation is past, and whose happiness -or misery shall endure for ever.[50] - -[Footnote 50: - - Death in itself is nothing; but we fear - To be we know not what, we know not where. - Aurung-Zebe, act. iv. sc. 1. - -See also Claudio's speech in Shakspeare's "Measure for Measure."] - - - - -No. 79. TUESDAY, DECEMBER 18, 1750. - - - _Tam saepe nostrum decipi Fabulinum_ - _Miraris, Aule? Semper bonus homo tiro est._ - MART. Lib. xii. Ep. 51. - - You wonder I've so little wit, - Friend John, so often to be bit-- - None better guard against a cheat - Than he who is a knave complete. - F. LEWIS. - - -Suspicion, however necessary it may be to our safe passage through ways -beset on all sides by fraud and malice, has been always considered, when -it exceeds the common measures, as a token of depravity and corruption; -and a Greek writer of sentences has laid down as a standing maxim, that -_he who believes not another on his oath, knows himself to be perjured_. - -We can form our opinions of that which we know not, only by placing it in -comparison with something that we know; whoever, therefore, is over-run -with suspicion, and detects artifice and stratagem in every proposal, -must either have learned by experience or observation the wickedness of -mankind, and been taught to avoid fraud by having often suffered or seen -treachery, or he must derive his judgment from the consciousness of his -own disposition, and impute to others the same inclinations, which he -feels predominant in himself. - -To learn caution by turning our eyes upon life, and observing the arts -by which negligence is surprized, timidity overborne, and credulity -amused, requires either great latitude of converse and long acquaintance -with business, or uncommon activity of vigilance, and acuteness of -penetration. When, therefore, a young man, not distinguished by vigour -of intellect, comes into the world full of scruples and diffidence; makes -a bargain with many provisional limitations; hesitates in his answer to -a common question, lest more should be intended than he can immediately -discover; has a long reach in detecting the projects of his acquaintance; -considers every caress as an act of hypocrisy, and feels neither -gratitude nor affection from the tenderness of his friends, because he -believes no one to have any real tenderness but for himself; whatever -expectations this early sagacity may raise of his future eminence or -riches, I can seldom forbear to consider him as a wretch incapable of -generosity or benevolence; as a villain early completed beyond the need -of common opportunities and gradual temptations. - -Upon men of this class instruction and admonition are generally -thrown away, because they consider artifice and deceit as proofs of -understanding; they are misled at the same time by the two great seducers -of the world, vanity and interest, and not only look upon those who act -with openness and confidence, as condemned by their principles to -obscurity and want, but as contemptible for narrowness of comprehension, -shortness of views, and slowness of contrivance. - -The world has been long amused with the mention of policy in publick -transactions, and of art in private affairs; they have been considered as -the effects of great qualities, and as unattainable by men of the common -level: yet I have not found many performances either of art or policy, -that required such stupendous efforts of intellect, or might not have -been effected by falsehood and impudence, without the assistance of any -other powers. To profess what he does not mean, to promise what he cannot -perform, to flatter ambition with prospects of promotion, and misery -with hopes of relief, to sooth pride with appearances of submission, and -appease enmity by blandishments and bribes, can surely imply nothing more -or greater than a mind devoted wholly to its own purposes, a face that -cannot blush, and a heart that cannot feel. - -These practices are so mean and base, that he who finds in himself no -tendency to use them, cannot easily believe that they are considered by -others with less detestation; he therefore suffers himself to slumber -in false security, and becomes a prey to those who applaud their own -subtilty, because they know how to steal upon his sleep, and exult in -the success which they could never have obtained, had they not attempted -a man better than themselves, who was hindered from obviating their -stratagems, not by folly, but by innocence. - -Suspicion is, indeed, a temper so uneasy and restless, that it is very -justly appointed the concomitant of guilt. It is said, that no torture -is equal to the inhibition of sleep long continued; a pain, to which the -state of that man bears a very exact analogy, who dares never give rest -to his vigilance and circumspection, but considers himself as surrounded -by secret foes, and fears to entrust his children, or his friend, with -the secret that throbs in his breast, and the anxieties that break into -his face. To avoid, at this expense, those evils to which easiness and -friendship might have exposed him, is surely to buy safety at too dear -a rate, and, in the language of the Roman satirist, to save life by -losing all for which a wise man would live[51]. - -When in the diet of the German empire, as Camararius relates, the princes -were once displaying their felicity, and each boasting the advantages -of his own dominions, one who possessed a country not remarkable for the -grandeur of its cities, or the fertility of its soil, rose to speak, and -the rest listened between pity and contempt, till he declared, in honour -of his territories, that he could travel through them without a guard, -and if he was weary, sleep in safety upon the lap of the first man whom -he should meet; a commendation which would have been ill exchanged for -the boast of palaces, pastures, or streams. - -Suspicion is not less an enemy to virtue than to happiness; he that is -already corrupt is naturally suspicious, and he that becomes suspicious -will quickly be corrupt. It is too common for us to learn the frauds by -which ourselves have suffered; men who are once persuaded that deceit will -be employed against them, sometimes think the same arts justified by the -necessity of defence. Even they whose virtue is too well established to -give way to example, or be shaken by sophistry, must yet feel their love -of mankind diminished with their esteem, and grow less zealous for the -happiness of those by whom they imagine their own happiness endangered. - -Thus we find old age, upon which suspicion has been strongly impressed, -by long intercourse with the world, inflexible and severe, not easily -softened by submission, melted by complaint, or subdued by supplication. -Frequent experience of counterfeited miseries, and dissembled virtue, in -time overcomes that disposition to tenderness and sympathy, which is so -powerful in our younger years; and they that happen to petition the old -for compassion or assistance, are doomed to languish without regard, and -suffer for the crimes of men who have formerly been found undeserving -or ungrateful. - -Historians are certainly chargeable with the depravation of mankind, -when they relate without censure those stratagems of war by which the -virtues of an enemy are engaged to his destruction. A ship comes before -a port, weather beaten and shattered, and the crew implore the liberty -of repairing their breaches, supplying themselves with necessaries, -or burying their dead. The humanity of the inhabitants inclines them -to consent; the strangers enter the town with weapons concealed, fall -suddenly upon their benefactors, destroy those that make resistance, -and become masters of the place; they return home rich with plunder, -and their success is recorded to encourage imitation. - -But surely war has its laws, and ought to be conducted with some regard to -the universal interest of man. Those may justly be pursued as enemies to -the community of nature, who suffer hostility to vacate the unalterable -laws of right, and pursue their private advantage by means, which, if -once established, must destroy kindness, cut off from every man all hopes -of assistance from another, and fill the world with perpetual suspicion -and implacable malevolence. Whatever is thus gained ought to be restored, -and those who have conquered by such treachery may be justly denied the -protection of their native country. - -Whoever commits a fraud is guilty not only of the particular injury to -him whom he deceives, but of the diminution of that confidence which -constitutes not only the ease but the existence of society. He that -suffers by imposture has too often his virtue more impaired than his -fortune. But as it is necessary not to invite robbery by supineness, so -it is our duty not to suppress tenderness by suspicion; it is better to -suffer wrong than to do it, and happier to be sometimes cheated than not -to trust. - -[Footnote 51: Propter vitam vivendi perdere causas.] - - - - -No. 80. SATURDAY, DECEMBER 22, 1750. - - - _Vides, ut alta stet nive candidum_ - _Soracte, nec jam sustineant onus_ - _Silvae laborantes._ - HOR. Lib. i. Ode ix. 1. - - Behold yon mountain's hoary height - Made higher with new mounts of snow; - Again behold the winter's weight - Oppress the lab'ring woods below. - DRYDEN. - - -As Providence has made the human soul an active being, always impatient -for novelty, and struggling for something yet unenjoyed with unwearied -progression, the world seems to have been eminently adapted to this -disposition of the mind; it is formed to raise expectations by constant -vicissitudes, and to obviate satiety by perpetual change. - -Wherever we turn our eyes, we find something to revive our curiosity, and -engage our attention. In the dusk of the morning we watch the rising of -the sun, and see the day diversify the clouds, and open new prospects in -its gradual advance. After a few hours, we see the shades lengthen, and -the light decline, till the sky is resigned to a multitude of shining -orbs different from each other in magnitude and splendour. The earth -varies its appearance as we move upon it; the woods offer their shades, -and the fields their harvests; the hill flatters with an extensive view, -and the valley invites with shelter, fragrance, and flowers. - -The poets have numbered among the felicities of the golden age, an -exemption from the change of seasons, and a perpetuity of spring; but I -am not certain that in this state of imaginary happiness they have made -sufficient provision for that insatiable demand of new gratifications, -which seems particularly to characterize the nature of man. Our sense of -delight is in a great measure comparative, and arises at once from the -sensations, which we feel, and those which we remember. Thus ease after -torment is pleasure for a time, and we are very agreeably recreated, -when the body, chilled with the weather, is gradually recovering its -natural tepidity; but the joy ceases when we have forgot the cold: we -must fall below ease again, if we desire to rise above it, and purchase -new felicity by voluntary pain. It is therefore not unlikely, that -however the fancy may be amused with the description of regions in which -no wind is heard but the gentle zephyr, and no scenes are displayed but -valleys enamelled with unfading flowers, and woods waving their perennial -verdure, we should soon grow weary of uniformity, find our thoughts -languish for want of other subjects, call on heaven for our wonted -round of seasons, and think ourselves liberally recompensed for the -inconveniences of summer and winter, by new perceptions of the calmness -and mildness of the intermediate variations. - -Every season has its particular power of striking the mind. The nakedness -and asperity of the wintry world always fill the beholder with pensive -and profound astonishment; as the variety of the scene is lessened, its -grandeur is increased; and the mind is swelled at once by the mingled -ideas of the present and the past, of the beauties which have vanished -from the eyes, and the waste and desolation that are now before them. - -It is observed by Milton, that he who neglects to visit the country in -spring, and rejects the pleasures that are then in their first bloom -and fragrance, is guilty of _sullenness against nature_. If we allot -different duties to different seasons, he may be charged with equal -disobedience to the voice of nature, who looks on the bleak hills and -leafless woods, without seriousness and awe. Spring is the season of -gaiety, and winter of terrour; in spring the heart of tranquillity dances -to the melody of the groves, and the eye of benevolence sparkles at -the sight of happiness and plenty. In the winter, compassion melts at -universal calamity, and the tear of softness starts at the wailings of -hunger, and the cries of the creation in distress. - -Few minds have much inclination to indulge heaviness and sorrow, nor do -I recommend them beyond the degree necessary to maintain in its full -vigour that habitual sympathy and tenderness, which, in a world of so -much misery, is necessary to the ready discharge of our most important -duties. The winter, therefore, is generally celebrated as the proper -season for domestick merriment and gaiety. We are seldom invited by the -votaries of pleasure to look abroad for any other purpose, than that -we may shrink back with more satisfaction to our coverts, and when we -have heard the howl of the tempest, and felt the gripe of the frost, -congratulate each other with more gladness upon a close room, an easy -chair, a large fire, and a smoaking dinner. - -Winter brings natural inducements to jollity and conversation. Differences, -we know, are never so effectually laid asleep, as by some common -calamity. An enemy unites all to whom he threatens danger. The rigour -of winter brings generally to the same fire-side, those, who, by the -opposition of inclinations, or difference of employment, move in various -directions through the other parts of the year; and when they have met, -and find it their mutual interest to remain together, they endear each -other by mutual compliances, and often wish for the continuance of the -social season, with all its bleakness, and all its severities. - -To the men of study and imagination the winter is generally the chief time -of labour. Gloom and silence produce composure of mind, and concentration -of ideas; and the privation of external pleasure naturally causes an -effort to find entertainment within. This is the time in which those -whom literature enables to find amusements for themselves, have more than -common convictions of their own happiness. When they are condemned by the -elements to retirement, and debarred from most of the diversions which -are called in to assist the flight of time, they can find new subjects of -inquiry, and preserve themselves from that weariness which hangs always -flagging upon the vacant mind. - -It cannot indeed be expected of all to be poets and philosophers; it is -necessary that the greater part of mankind should be employed in the -minute business of common life; minute, indeed, not if we consider its -influence upon our happiness, but if we respect the abilities requisite -to conduct it. These must necessarily be more dependant on accident -for the means of spending agreeably those hours which their occupations -leave unengaged, or nature obliges them to allow to relaxation. Yet even -on these I would willingly impress such a sense of the value of time, -as may incline them to find out for their careless hours amusements -of more use and dignity than the common games, which not only weary -the mind without improving it, but strengthen the passions of envy and -avarice, and often lead to fraud and to profusion, to corruption and to -ruin. It is unworthy of a reasonable being to spend any of the little -time allotted us, without some tendency, either direct or oblique, to -the end of our existence. And though every moment cannot be laid out on -the formal and regular improvement of our knowledge, or in the stated -practice of a moral or religious duty, yet none should be so spent as -to exclude wisdom or virtue, or pass without possibility of qualifying -us more or less for the better employment of those which are to come. - -It is scarcely possible to pass an hour in honest conversation, without -being able, when we rise from it, to please ourselves with having given -or received some advantages; but a man may shuffle cards, or rattle dice, -from noon to midnight, without tracing any new idea in his mind, or being -able to recollect the day by any other token than his gain or loss, and a -confused remembrance of agitated passions, and clamorous altercations. - -However, as experience is of more weight than precept, any of my readers, -who are contriving how to spend the dreary months before them, may -consider which of their past amusements fills them now with the greatest -satisfaction, and resolve to repeat those gratifications of which the -pleasure is most durable. - - - - -No. 81. TUESDAY, DECEMBER 25, 1750. - - - _Discite Justitiam moniti._ - VIRG. Aen. vi. 620. - - Hear, and be just. - - -Among questions which have been discussed, without any approach to -decision, may be numbered the precedency or superior excellence of one -virtue to another, which has long furnished a subject of dispute to -men whose leisure sent them out into the intellectual world in search -of employment, and who have, perhaps, been sometimes withheld from -the practice of their favourite duty, by zeal for its advancement, and -diligence in its celebration. - -The intricacy of this dispute may be alleged as a proof of that tenderness -for mankind which Providence has, I think, universally displayed, by -making attainments easy in proportion as they are necessary. That all -the duties of morality ought to be practised, is without difficulty -discoverable, because ignorance or uncertainty would immediately involve -the world in confusion and distress; but which duty ought to be most -esteemed, we may continue to debate without inconvenience, so all be -diligently performed as there is opportunity or need; for upon practice, -not upon opinion, depends the happiness of mankind; and controversies, -merely speculative, are of small importance in themselves, however they -may have sometimes heated a disputant, or provoked a faction. - -Of the Divine Author of our religion it is impossible to peruse the -evangelical histories, without observing how little he favoured the -vanity of inquisitiveness; how much more rarely he condescended to -satisfy curiosity, than to relieve distress; and how much he desired -that his followers should rather excel in goodness than in knowledge. His -precepts tend immediately to the rectification of the moral principles, -and the direction of daily conduct, without ostentation, without art, at -once irrefragable and plain, such as well-meaning simplicity may readily -conceive, and of which we cannot mistake the meaning, but when we are -afraid to find it. - -The measure of justice prescribed to us, in our transactions with others, -is remarkably clear and comprehensive: _Whatsoever ye would that men -should do unto you, even so do unto them_. A law by which every claim -of right may be immediately adjusted as far as the private conscience -requires to be informed; a law, of which every man may find the -exposition in his own breast, and which may always be observed without -any other qualifications than honesty of intention, and purity of will. - -Over this law, indeed, some sons of sophistry have been subtle enough -to throw mists, which have darkened their own eyes. To perplex this -universal principle, they have inquired whether a man, conscious to -himself of unreasonable wishes, be bound to gratify them in another. But -surely there needed no long deliberation to conclude, that the desires, -which are to be considered by us as the measure of right, must be such as -we approve, and that we ought to pay no regard to those expectations in -others which we condemn in ourselves, and which, however they may intrude -upon our imagination, we know it our duty to resist and suppress. - -One of the most celebrated cases which have been produced as requiring -some skill in the direction of conscience to adapt them to this great -rule, is that of a criminal asking mercy of his judge, who cannot but -know, that if he was in the state of the supplicant, he should desire -that pardon which he now denies. The difficulty of this sophism will -vanish, if we remember that the parties are, in reality, on one side the -criminal, and on the other the community, of which the magistrate is only -the minister, and by which he is intrusted with the publick safety. The -magistrate, therefore, in pardoning a man unworthy of pardon, betrays -the trust with which he is invested, gives away what is not his own, and, -apparently, does to others what he would not that others should do to -him. Even the community, whose right is still greater to arbitrary grants -of mercy, is bound by those laws which regard the great republick of -mankind, and cannot justify such forbearance as may promote wickedness, -and lessen the general confidence and security in which all have an equal -interest, and which all are therefore bound to maintain. For this reason -the state has not a right to erect a general sanctuary for fugitives, or -give protection to such as have forfeited their lives by crimes against -the laws of common morality equally acknowledged by all nations, because -no people can, without infraction of the universal league of social -beings, incite, by prospects of impunity and safety, those practices in -another dominion, which they would themselves punish in their own. - -One occasion of uncertainty and hesitation, in those by whom this great -rule has been commented and dilated, is the confusion of what the exacter -casuists are careful to distinguish, _debts of justice_, and _debts -of charity_. The immediate and primary intention of this precept, is -to establish a rule of justice; and I know not whether invention, or -sophistry, can start a single difficulty to retard its application, when -it is thus expressed and explained, _let every man allow the claim of -right in another, which he should think himself entitled to make in the -like circumstances._ - -The discharge of the _debts of charity_, or duties which we owe to others, -not merely as required by justice, but as dictated by benevolence, admits -in its own nature greater complication of circumstances, and greater -latitude of choice. Justice is indispensably and universally necessary, -and what is necessary must always be limited, uniform, and distinct. -But beneficence, though in general equally enjoined by our religion, and -equally needful to the conciliation of the Divine favour, is yet, for the -most part, with regard to its single acts, elective and voluntary. We may -certainly, without injury to our fellow-beings, allow in the distribution -of kindness something to our affections, and change the measure of our -liberality, according to our opinions and prospects, our hopes and fears. -This rule therefore is not equally determinate and absolute, with respect -to offices of kindness, and acts of liberality, because liberality -and kindness, absolutely determined, would lose their nature; for how -could we be called tender, or charitable, for giving that which we are -positively forbidden to withhold? - -Yet, even in adjusting the extent of our beneficence, no other measure -can be taken than this precept affords us, for we can only know what -others suffer for want, by considering how we should be affected in -the same state; nor can we proportion our assistance by any other rule -than that of doing what we should then expect from others. It indeed -generally happens that the giver and receiver differ in their opinions -of generosity; the same partiality to his own interest inclines one to -large expectations, and the other to sparing distributions. Perhaps the -infirmity of human nature will scarcely suffer a man groaning under the -pressure of distress, to judge rightly of the kindness of his friends, -or think they have done enough till his deliverance is completed; not -therefore what we might wish, but what we could demand from others, we -are obliged to grant, since, though we can easily know how much we might -claim, it is impossible to determine what we should hope. - -But in all inquiries concerning the practice of voluntary and occasional -virtues, it is safest for minds not oppressed with superstitious fears -to determine against their own inclinations, and secure themselves from -deficiency, by doing more than they believe strictly necessary. For of -this every man may be certain, that, if he were to exchange conditions -with his dependent, he should expect more than, with the utmost exertion -of his ardour, he now will prevail upon himself to perform; and when -reason has no settled rule, and our passions are striving to mislead us, -it is surely the part of a wise man to err on the side of safety. - - - - -No. 82. SATURDAY, DECEMBER 29, 1750. - - - _Omnia Castor emit, sic fiet ut omnia vendat._ - MART. Ep. xcviii. - - Who buys without discretion, buys to sell. - - -TO THE RAMBLER. - -SIR, - -It will not be necessary to solicit your good-will by any formal preface, -when I have informed you, that I have long been known as the most -laborious and zealous virtuoso that the present age has had the honour -of producing, and that inconveniencies have been brought upon me by an -unextinguishable ardour of curiosity, and an unshaken perseverance in the -acquisition of the productions of art and nature. - -It was observed, from my entrance into the world, that I had something -uncommon in my disposition, and that there appeared in me very early -tokens of superior genius. I was always an enemy to trifles; the -playthings which my mother bestowed upon me I immediately broke, that -I might discover the method of their structure, and the causes of their -motions; of all the toys with which children are delighted I valued only -my coral, and as soon as I could speak, asked, like Peiresc, innumerable -questions which the maids about me could not resolve. As I grew older -I was more thoughtful and serious, and instead of amusing myself with -puerile diversions, made collections of natural rarities, and never -walked into the fields without bringing home stones of remarkable forms, -or insects of some uncommon species. I never entered an old house, from -which I did not take away the painted glass, and often lamented that -I was not one of that happy generation who demolished the convents and -monasteries, and broke windows by law. - -Being thus early possessed by a taste for solid knowledge, I passed my -youth with very little disturbance from passions and appetites; and -having no pleasure in the company of boys and girls, who talked of plays, -politicks, fashions, or love, I carried on my inquiries with incessant -diligence, and had amassed more stones, mosses, and shells, than are to -be found in many celebrated collections, at an age in which the greatest -part of young men are studying under tutors, or endeavouring to recommend -themselves to notice by their dress, their air, and their levities. - -When I was two and twenty years old, I became, by the death of my father, -possessed of a small estate in land, with a very large sum of money in -the publick funds, and must confess that I did not much lament him, for -he was a man of mean parts, bent rather upon growing rich than wise. -He once fretted at the expense of only ten shillings, which he happened -to overhear me offering for the sting of a hornet, though it was a -cold moist summer, in which very few hornets had been seen. He often -recommended to me the study of physick, in which, said he, you may at -once gratify your curiosity after natural history, and increase your -fortune by benefiting mankind. I heard him, Mr. Rambler, with pity, and -as there was no prospect of elevating a mind formed to grovel, suffered -him to please himself with hoping that I should some time follow his -advice. For you know that there are men, with whom, when they have once -settled a notion in their head, is to very little purpose to dispute. - -Being now left wholly to my own inclinations, I very soon enlarged the -bounds of my curiosity, and contented myself no longer with such rarities -as required only judgment and industry, and when once found might be -had for nothing. I now turned my thoughts to exoticks and antiques, and -became so well known for my generous patronage of ingenious men, that -my levee was crowded with visitants, some to see my museum, and others -to increase its treasures, by selling me whatever they had brought from -other countries. - -I had always a contempt for that narrowness of conception, which contents -itself with cultivating some single corner of the field of science; I -took the whole region into my view, and wished it of yet greater extent. -But no man's power can be equal to his will. I was forced to proceed -by slow degrees, and to purchase what chance or kindness happened to -present. I did not, however, proceed without some design, or imitate -the indiscretion of those, who begin a thousand collections, and finish -none. Having been always a lover of geography, I determined to collect the -maps drawn in the rude and barbarous times, before any regular surveys, -or just observations; and have, at a great expense, brought together a -volume, in which, perhaps, not a single country is laid down according -to its true situation, and by which he that desires to know the errours -of the ancient geographers may be amply informed. - -But my ruling passion is patriotism: my chief care has been to procure -the products of our own country; and as Alfred received the tribute -of the Welsh in wolves' heads, I allowed my tenants to pay their rents -in butterflies, till I had exhausted the papilionaceous tribe. I then -directed them to the pursuit of other animals, and obtained, by this easy -method, most of the grubs and insects, which land, air, or water, can -supply. I have three species of earth-worms not known to the naturalists, -have discovered a new ephemera, and can show four wasps that were taken -torpid in their winter quarters. I have, from my own ground, the longest -blade of grass upon record, and once accepted, as a half-year's rent for -a field of wheat, an ear containing more grains than had been seen before -upon a single stem. - -One of my tenants so much neglected his own interest, as to supply me, in -a whole summer, with only two horse-flies, and those of little more than -the common size; and I was upon the brink of seizing for arrears, when -his good fortune threw a white mole in his way, for which he was not only -forgiven, but rewarded. - -These, however, were petty acquisitions, and made at small expense; nor -should I have ventured to rank myself among the virtuosi without better -claims. I have suffered nothing worthy the regard of a wise man to escape -my notice. I have ransacked the old and the new world, and been equally -attentive to past ages and the present. For the illustration of ancient -history, I can show a marble, of which the inscription, though it is not -now legible, appears, from some broken remains of the letters, to have -been Tuscan, and, therefore, probably engraved before the foundation of -Rome. I have two pieces of porphyry found among the ruins of Ephesus, -and three letters broken off by a learned traveller from the monuments -of Persepolis; a piece of stone which paved the Areopagus of Athens, -and a plate without figures or characters, which was found at Corinth, -and which I, therefore, believe to be that metal which was once valued -before gold. I have sand gathered out of the Granicus; a fragment of -Trajan's bridge over the Danube; some of the mortar which cemented the -watercourse of Tarquin; a horseshoe broken on the Flaminian way; and -a turf with five daisies dug from the field of Pharsalia. - -I do not wish to raise the envy of unsuccessful collectors, by too pompous -a display of my scientifick wealth, but cannot forbear to observe, that -there are few regions of the globe which are not honoured with some -memorial in my cabinets. The Persian monarchs are said to have boasted -the greatness of their empire, by being served at their tables with drink -from the Ganges and the Danube. I can show one vial, of which the water -was formerly an icicle on the crags of Caucasus, and another that contains -what once was snow on the top of Atlas; in a third is dew brushed from a -banana in the gardens of Ispahan; and, in another, brine that has rolled -in the Pacifick ocean. I flatter myself that I am writing to a man who -will rejoice at the honour which my labours have procured to my country; -and therefore I shall tell you that Britain can, by my care, boast of a -snail that has crawled upon the wall of China; a humming bird which an -American princess wore in her ear; the tooth of an elephant which carried -the queen of Siam; the skin of an ape that was kept in the palace of the -great mogul; a riband that adorned one of the maids of a Turkish sultana; -and a cimeter once wielded by a soldier of Abas the great. - -In collecting antiquities of every country, I have been careful to choose -only by intrinsick worth, and real usefulness, without regard to party or -opinions. I have therefore a lock of Cromwell's hair in a box turned from -a piece of the royal oak; and keep in the same drawers, sand scraped from -the coffin of king Richard, and a commission signed by Henry the Seventh. -I have equal veneration for the ruff of Elizabeth and the shoe of Mary of -Scotland; and should lose, with like regret, a tobacco-pipe of Raleigh, -and a stirrup of king James. I have paid the same price for a glove of -Lewis, and a thimble of queen Mary; for a fur cap of the Czar, and a boot -of Charles of Sweden. - -You will easily imagine that these accumulations were not made without -some diminution of my fortune, for I was so well known to spare no -cost, that at every sale some bid against me for hire, some for sport, -and some for malice; and if I asked the price of any thing, it was -sufficient to double the demand. For curiosity, trafficking thus with -avarice, the wealth of India had not been enough; and I, by little and -little, transferred all my money from the funds to my closet: here I was -inclined to stop, and live upon my estate in literary leisure, but the -sale of the Harleian collection shook my resolution: I mortgaged my land, -and purchased thirty medals, which I could never find before. I have at -length bought till I can buy no longer, and the cruelty of my creditors -has seized my repository; I am therefore condemned to disperse what the -labour of an age will not re-assemble. I submit to that which cannot be -opposed, and shall, in a short time, declare a sale. I have, while it is -yet in my power, sent you a pebble, picked up by Tavernier on the banks -of the Ganges; for which I desire no other recompense than that you will -recommend my catalogue to the publick. - - QUISQUILIUS. - - - - -No. 83. TUESDAY, JANUARY 1, 1751. - - - _Nisi utile est, quod facimus, stulta est gloria._ - PHAED. Lib. iii. Fab. xvii. 15. - - All useless science is an empty boast. - - -The publication of the letter in my last paper has naturally led me to the -consideration of thirst after curiosities, which often draws contempt and -ridicule upon itself, but which is perhaps no otherwise blameable, than -as it wants those circumstantial recommendations which add lustre even to -moral excellencies, and are absolutely necessary to the grace and beauty -of indifferent actions. - -Learning confers so much superiority on those who possess it, that they -might probably have escaped all censure had they been able to agree among -themselves; but as envy and competition have divided the republick of -letters into factions, they have neglected the common interest; each has -called in foreign aid, and endeavoured to strengthen his own cause by -the frown of power, the hiss of ignorance, and the clamour of popularity. -They have all engaged in feuds, till by mutual hostilities they -demolished those outworks which veneration had raised for their security, -and exposed themselves to barbarians, by whom every region of science is -equally laid waste. - -Between men of different studies and professions, may be observed a -constant reciprocation of reproaches. The collector of shells and stones -derides the folly of him who pastes leaves and flowers upon paper, -pleases himself with colours that are perceptibly fading, and amasses -with care what cannot be preserved. The hunter of insects stands amazed -that any man can waste his short time upon lifeless matter, while many -tribes of animals yet want their history. Every one is inclined not only -to promote his own study, but to exclude all others from regard, and -having heated his imagination with some favourite pursuit, wonders that -the rest of mankind are not seized with the same passion. - -There are, indeed, many subjects of study which seem but remotely allied -to useful knowledge, and of little importance to happiness or virtue; -nor is it easy to forbear some sallies of merriment, or expressions -of pity, when we see a man wrinkled with attention, and emaciated with -solicitude, in the investigation of questions, of which, without visible -inconvenience, the world may expire in ignorance. Yet it is dangerous -to discourage well-intended labours, or innocent curiosity; for he who -is employed in searches, which by any deduction of consequences tend -to the benefit of life, is surely laudable, in comparison of those who -spend their time in counteracting happiness, and filling the world with -wrong and danger, confusion and remorse. No man can perform so little -as not to have reason to congratulate himself on his merits, when he -beholds the multitudes that live in total idleness, and have never yet -endeavoured to be useful. - -It is impossible to determine the limits of inquiry, or to foresee -what consequences a new discovery may produce. He who suffers not his -faculties to lie torpid, has a chance, whatever be his employment, -of doing good to his fellow creatures. The man that first ranged the -woods in search of medicinal springs, or climbed the mountains for -salutary plants, has undoubtedly merited the gratitude of posterity, -how much soever his frequent miscarriages might excite the scorn of his -contemporaries. If what appears little be universally despised, nothing -greater can be attained, for all that is great was at first little, and -rose to its present bulk by gradual accessions, and accumulated labours. - -Those who lay out time or money in assembling matter for contemplation, -are doubtless entitled to some degree of respect, though in a flight of -gaiety it be easy to ridicule their treasure, or in a fit of sullenness -to despise it. A man who thinks only on the particular object before him, -goes not away much illuminated by having enjoyed the privilege of handling -the tooth of a shark, or the paw of a white bear; yet there is nothing -more worthy of admiration to a philosophical eye than the structure of -animals, by which they are qualified to support life in the elements or -climates to which they are appropriated; and of all natural bodies it must -be generally confessed, that they exhibit evidences of infinite wisdom, -bear their testimony to the supreme reason, and excite in the mind new -raptures of gratitude, and new incentives to piety. - -To collect the productions of art, and examples of mechanical science or -manual ability, is unquestionably useful, even when the things themselves -are of small importance, because it is always advantageous to know -how far the human powers have proceeded, and how much experience has -found to be within the reach of diligence. Idleness and timidity often -despair without being overcome, and forbear attempts for fear of being -defeated; and we may promote the invigoration of faint endeavours, by -shewing what has been already performed. It may sometimes happen that -the greatest efforts of ingenuity have been exerted in trifles; yet the -same principles and expedients may be applied to more valuable purposes, -and the movements, which put into action machines of no use but to raise -the wonder of ignorance, may be employed to drain fens, or manufacture -metals, to assist the architect, or preserve the sailor. - -For the utensils, arms, or dresses of foreign nations, which make the -greatest part of many collections, I have little regard when they are -valued only because they are foreign, and can suggest no improvement of -our own practice. Yet they are not all equally useless, nor can it be -always safely determined which should be rejected or retained; for they -may sometimes unexpectedly contribute to the illustration of history, -and to the knowledge of the natural commodities of the country, or of the -genius and customs of its inhabitants. - -Rarities there are of yet a lower rank, which owe their worth merely to -accident, and which can convey no information, nor satisfy any rational -desire. Such are many fragments of antiquity, as urns and pieces of -pavement; and things held in veneration only for having been once the -property of some eminent person, as the armour of King Henry; or for -having been used on some remarkable occasion, as the lantern of Guy -Faux. The loss or preservation of these seems to be a thing indifferent, -nor can I perceive why the possession of them should be coveted. Yet, -perhaps, even this curiosity is implanted by nature; and when I find Tully -confessing of himself, that he could not forbear at Athens to visit the -walks and houses which the old philosophers had frequented or inhabited, -and recollect the reverence which every nation, civil and barbarous, -has paid to the ground where merit has been buried[52], I am afraid to -declare against the general voice of mankind, and am inclined to believe, -that this regard, which we involuntarily pay to the meanest relique of -a man great and illustrious, is intended as an incitement to labour, -and an encouragement to expect the same renown, if it be sought by the -same virtues. - -The virtuoso therefore cannot be said to be wholly useless; but perhaps -he may be sometimes culpable for confining himself to business below his -genius, and losing, in petty speculations, those hours by which, if he -had spent them in nobler studies, he might have given new light to the -intellectual world. It is never without grief, that I find a man capable -of ratiocination or invention enlisting himself in this secondary class -of learning; for when he has once discovered a method of gratifying his -desire of eminence by expense rather than by labour, and known the sweets -of a life blest at once with the ease of idleness, and the reputation -of knowledge, he will not easily be brought to undergo again the toil of -thinking, or leave his toys and trinkets for arguments and principles, -arguments which require circumspection and vigilance, and principles -which cannot be obtained but by the drudgery of meditation. He will -gladly shut himself up for ever with his shells and medals, like the -companions of Ulysses, who, having tasted the fruit of Lotos, would not, -even by the hope of seeing their own country, be tempted again to the -dangers of the sea. - - [Greek: All' autou boulonto met andrasi Lotophagoisi, - Loton ereptomenoi menemen nostou te lathesthai.] - - ------Whoso tastes, - Insatiate riots in the sweet repasts; - Nor other home nor other care intends, - But quits his house, his country, and his friends. - POPE. - -Collections of this kind are of use to the learned, as heaps of stones -and piles of timber are necessary to the architect. But to dig the quarry -or to search the field, requires not much of any quality beyond stubborn -perseverance; and though genius must often lie unactive without this -humble assistance, yet this can claim little praise, because every man -can afford it. - -To mean understandings, it is sufficient honour to be numbered amongst the -lowest labourers of learning; but different abilities must find different -tasks. To hew stone, would have been unworthy of Palladio; and to have -rambled in search of shells and flowers, had but ill suited with the -capacity of Newton. - -[Footnote 52: See this sentiment illustrated by a most splendid passage -in Dr. Johnson's "Journey to the Western Islands," when he was on the -Island of Iona.] - - - - -No. 84. SATURDAY, JANUARY 5, 1751. - - - _Cunarum fueras motor, Charideme, mearum;_ - _Et pueri custos, assiduusque comes._ - _Jam mihi nigrescunt tonsa sudaria barbam,----_ - _Sed tibi non crevi: te noster villicus horret:_ - _Te dispensator, te domus ipsa pavet.----_ - _Corripis, observas, quereris, suspiria ducis;_ - _Et vix a ferulis abstinet ira manum._ - MART. Lib. xi. Ep. xxxix. - - You rock'd my cradle, were my guide, - In youth still tending at my side: - But now, dear sir, my beard is grown, - Still I'm a child to thee alone. - Our steward, butler, cook, and all, - You fright, nay e'en the very wall; - You pry, and frown, and growl, and chide, - And scarce will lay the rod aside. - F. LEWIS. - - -TO THE RAMBLER. - -SIR, - -You seem in all your papers to be an enemy to tyranny, and to look with -impartiality upon the world; I shall therefore lay my case before you, -and hope by your decision to be set free from unreasonable restraints, -and enabled to justify myself against the accusations which spite and -peevishness produce against me. - -At the age of five years I lost my mother; and my father, being not -qualified to superintend the education of a girl, committed me to the -care of his sister, who instructed me with the authority, and, not to -deny her what she may justly claim, with the affection of a parent. She -had not very elevated sentiments, or extensive views, but her principles -were good, and her intentions pure; and, though some may practise mere -virtues, scarce any commit fewer faults. - -Under this good lady I learned all the common rules of decent behaviour, -and standing maxims of domestick prudence; and might have grown up by -degrees to a country gentlewoman, without any thoughts of ranging beyond -the neighbourhood, had not Flavia come down, last summer, to visit her -relations in the next village. I was taken, of course, to compliment -the stranger, and was, at the first sight, surprised at the unconcern -with which she saw herself gazed at by the company whom she had never -known before; at the carelessness with which she received compliments, -and the readiness with which she returned them. I found she had something -which I perceived myself to want, and could not but wish to be like her, -at once easy and officious, attentive and unembarrassed. I went home, -and for four days could think and talk of nothing but Miss Flavia; though -my aunt told me, that she was a forward slut, and thought herself wise -before her time. - -In a little time she repaid my visit, and raised in my heart a new -confusion of love and admiration. I soon saw her again, and still found -new charms in her air, conversation, and behaviour. You, who have perhaps -seen the world, may have observed, that formality soon ceases between -young persons. I know not how others are affected on such occasions, but -I found myself irresistibly allured to friendship and intimacy, by the -familiar complaisance and airy gaiety of Flavia; so that in a few weeks I -became her favourite, and all the time was passed with me, that she could -gain from ceremony and visit. - -As she came often to me, she necessarily spent some hours with my aunt, -to whom she paid great respect by low courtesies, submissive compliance, -and soft acquiescence; but as I became gradually more accustomed to -her manners, I discovered that her civility was general; that there -was a certain degree of deference shewn by her to circumstances and -appearances; that many went away flattered by her humility, whom she -despised in her heart; that the influence of far the greatest part -of those with whom she conversed ceased with their presence; and that -sometimes she did not remember the names of them, whom, without any -intentional insincerity or false commendation, her habitual civility had -sent away with very high thoughts of their own importance. - -It was not long before I perceived that my aunt's opinion was not of -much weight in Flavia's deliberations, and that she was looked upon -by her as a woman of narrow sentiments, without knowledge of books, or -observations on mankind. I had hitherto considered my aunt as entitled, -by her wisdom and experience, to the highest reverence; and could not -forbear to wonder that any one so much younger should venture to suspect -her of errour, or ignorance; but my surprise was without uneasiness, -and being now accustomed to think Flavia always in the right, I readily -learned from her to trust my own reason, and to believe it possible, -that they who had lived longer might be mistaken. - -Flavia had read much, and used so often to converse on subjects of -learning, that she put all the men in the country to flight, except the -old parson, who declared himself much delighted with her company, because -she gave him opportunities to recollect the studies of his younger -years, and, by some mention of ancient story, had made him rub the dust -off his Homer, which had lain unregarded in his closet. With Homer, and -a thousand other names familiar to Flavia, I had no acquaintance, but -began, by comparing her accomplishments with my own, to repine at my -education, and wish that I had not been so long confined to the company -of those from whom nothing but housewifery was to be learned. I then set -myself to peruse such books as Flavia recommended, and heard her opinion -of their beauties and defects. I saw new worlds hourly bursting upon -my mind, and was enraptured at the prospect of diversifying life with -endless entertainment. - -The old lady, finding that a large screen, which I had undertaken to adorn -with turkey-work against winter, made very slow advances, and that I -had added in two months but three leaves to a flowered apron then in the -frame, took the alarm, and with all the zeal of honest folly exclaimed -against my new acquaintance, who had filled me with idle notions, and -turned my head with books. But she had now lost her authority, for I -began to find innumerable mistakes in her opinions, and improprieties -in her language; and therefore thought myself no longer bound to pay -much regard to one who knew little beyond her needle and her dairy, and -who professed to think that nothing more is required of a woman than to -see that the house is clean, and that the maids go to bed and rise at a -certain hour. - -She seemed however to look upon Flavia as seducing me, and to imagine that -when her influence was withdrawn, I should return to my allegiance; she -therefore contented herself with remote hints, and gentle admonitions, -intermixed with sage histories of the miscarriages of wit, and -disappointments of pride. But since she has found, that though Flavia -is departed, I still persist in my new scheme, she has at length lost -her patience, she snatches my book out of my hand, tears my paper if -she finds me writing, burns Flavia's letters before my face when she can -seize them, and threatens to lock me up, and to complain to my father -of my perverseness. If women, she says, would but know their duty and -their interest, they would be careful to acquaint themselves with family -affairs, and many a penny might be saved; for while the mistress of -the house is scribbling and reading, servants are junketing, and linen -is wearing out. She then takes me round the rooms, shews me the worked -hangings, and chairs of tent-stitch, and asks whether all this was done -with a pen and a book. - -I cannot deny that I sometimes laugh and sometimes am sullen; but she has -not delicacy enough to be much moved either with my mirth or my gloom, -if she did not think the interest of the family endangered by this change -of my manners. She had for some years marked out young Mr. Surly, an -heir in the neighbourhood, remarkable for his love of fighting-cocks, -as an advantageous match; and was extremely pleased with the civilities -which he used to pay me, till under Flavia's tuition I learned to -talk of subjects which he could not understand. This, she says, is the -consequence of female study: girls grow too wise to be advised, and too -stubborn to be commanded; but she is resolved to try who shall govern, -and will thwart my humour till she breaks my spirit. - -These menaces, Mr. Rambler, sometimes make me quite angry; for I have been -sixteen these ten weeks, and think myself exempted from the dominion of a -governess, who has no pretensions to more sense or knowledge than myself. -I am resolved, since I am as tall and as wise as other women, to be no -longer treated like a girl. Miss Flavia has often told me, that ladies of -my age go to assemblies and routs, without their mothers and their aunts; -I shall therefore, from this time, leave asking advice, and refuse to -give accounts. I wish you would state the time at which young ladies may -judge for themselves, which I am sure you cannot but think ought to begin -before sixteen; if you are inclined to delay it longer, I shall have very -little regard to your opinion. - -My aunt often tells me of the advantages of experience, and of the -deference due to seniority; and both she and all the antiquated part -of the world, talk of the unreserved obedience which they paid to the -commands of their parents, and the undoubting confidence with which they -listened to their precepts; of the terrours which they felt at a frown, -and the humility with which they supplicated forgiveness whenever they -had offended. I cannot but fancy that this boast is too general to be -true, and that the young and the old were always at variance. I have, -however, told my aunt, that I will mend whatever she will prove to be -wrong; but she replies that she has reasons of her own, and that she is -sorry to live in an age when girls have the impudence to ask for proofs. - -I beg once again, Mr. Rambler, to know whether I am not as wise as my aunt, -and whether, when she presumes to check me as a baby, I may not pluck -up a spirit and return her insolence. I shall not proceed to extremities -without your advice, which is therefore impatiently expected by - - MYRTILLA. - -P.S. Remember I am past sixteen. - - - - -No. 85. TUESDAY, JANUARY 8, 1751. - - - _Otia si tollas, periere Cupidinis arcus,_ - _Contemptaeque jacent, et sine luce faces._ - OVID, Rem. 139. - - At busy hearts in vain Love's arrows fly; - Dim'd, scorn'd, and impotent, his torches lie. - - -Many writers of eminence in physick have laid out their diligence upon the -consideration of those distempers to which men are exposed by particular -states of life, and very learned treatises have been produced upon the -maladies of the camp, the sea, and the mines. There are, indeed, few -employments which a man accustomed to anatomical inquiries, and medical -refinements, would not find reasons for declining as dangerous to -health, did not his learning or experience inform him, that almost every -occupation, however inconvenient or formidable, is happier and safer than -a life of sloth. - -The necessity of action is not only demonstrable from the fabrick of the -body, but evident from observation of the universal practice of mankind, -who, for the preservation of health, in those whose rank or wealth -exempts them from the necessity of lucrative labour, have invented sports -and diversions, though not of equal use to the world with manual trades, -yet of equal fatigue to those who practise them, and differing only -from the drudgery of the husbandman or manufacturer, as they are acts of -choice, and therefore performed without the painful sense of compulsion. -The huntsman rises early, pursues his game through all the dangers and -obstructions of the chace, swims rivers, and scales precipices, till he -returns home no less harassed than the soldier, and has perhaps sometimes -incurred as great hazard of wounds or death; yet he has no motive to -incite his ardour; he is neither subject to the commands of a general, -nor dreads any penalties for neglect and disobedience; he has neither -profit nor honour to expect from his perils and his conquests, but toils -without the hope of mural or civick garlands, and must content himself -with the praise of his tenants and companions. - -But such is the constitution of man, that labour may be styled its -own reward; nor will any external incitements be requisite, if it be -considered how much happiness is gained, and how much misery escaped, by -frequent and violent agitation of the body. - -Ease is the most that can be hoped from a sedentary and unactive habit; -ease, a neutral state between pain and pleasure. The dance of spirits, -the bound of vigour, readiness of enterprize, and defiance of fatigue, -are reserved for him that braces his nerves, and hardens his fibres, that -keeps his limbs pliant with motion, and by frequent exposure fortifies -his frame against the common accidents of cold and heat. - -With ease, however, if it could be secured, many would be content; but -nothing terrestrial can be kept at a stand. Ease, if it is not rising -into pleasure, will be falling towards pain; and whatever hope the dreams -of speculation may suggest of observing the proportion between nutriment -and labour, and keeping the body in a healthy state by supplies exactly -equal to its waste, we know that, in effect, the vital powers unexcited by -motion, grow gradually languid; that, as their vigour fails, obstructions -are generated; and that from obstructions proceed most of those pains -which wear us away slowly with periodical tortures, and which, though -they sometimes suffer life to be long, condemn it to be useless, chain us -down to the couch of misery, and mock us with the hopes of death. - -Exercise cannot secure us from that dissolution to which we are decreed; -but while the soul and body continue united, it can make the association -pleasing, and give probable hopes that they shall be disjoined by an easy -separation. It was a principle among the ancients, that acute diseases -are from heaven, and chronical from ourselves: the dart of death indeed -falls from heaven, but we poison it by our own misconduct: to die is the -fate of man, but to die with lingering anguish is generally his folly[53]. - -It is necessary to that perfection of which our present state is capable, -that the mind and body should both be kept in action; that neither -the faculties of the one nor of the other be suffered to grow lax or -torpid for want of use; that neither health be purchased by voluntary -submission to ignorance, nor knowledge cultivated at the expense of that -health, which must enable it either to give pleasure to its possessor, -or assistance to others. It is too frequently the pride of students -to despise those amusements and recreations, which give to the rest -of mankind strength of limbs and cheerfulness of heart. Solitude and -contemplation are indeed seldom consistent with such skill in common -exercises or sports as is necessary to make them practised with delight, -and no man is willing to do that of which the necessity is not pressing -and immediate, when he knows that his awkwardness must make him ridiculous - - _Ludere qui nescit, campestribus abstinet armis,_ - _Indoctusque pilae, discive, trochive quiescit,_ - _Ne spissae risum tollant impune coronae._ - HOR. Art. Poet. 379. - - He that's unskilful will not toss a ball, - Nor run, nor wrestle, for he fears the fall; - He justly fears to meet deserv'd disgrace, - And that the ring will hiss the baffled ass. - CREECH. - -Thus the man of learning is often resigned, almost by his own consent, to -languor and pain; and while in the prosecution of his studies he suffers -the weariness of labour, is subject by his course of life to the maladies -of idleness. - -It was, perhaps, from the observation of this mischievous omission in -those who are employed about intellectual objects, that Locke has, in his -"System of Education," urged the necessity of a trade to men of all ranks -and professions, that when the mind is weary with its proper task, it -may be relaxed by a slighter attention to some mechanical operation; -and that while the vital functions are resuscitated and awakened by -vigorous motion, the understanding may be restrained from that vagrance -and dissipation by which it relieves itself after a long intenseness of -thought, unless some allurement be presented that may engage application -without anxiety. - -There is so little reason for expecting frequent conformity to Locke's -precept, that it is not necessary to inquire whether the practice -of mechanical arts might not give occasion to petty emulation, and -degenerate ambition; and whether, if our divines and physicians were -taught the lathe and the chisel, they would not think more of their -tools than their books; as Nero neglected the care of his empire for his -chariot and his fiddle. It is certainly dangerous to be too much pleased -with little things; but what is there which may not be perverted? Let -us remember how much worse employment might have been found for those -hours, which a manual occupation appears to engross; let us compute the -profit with the loss, and when we reflect how often a genius is allured -from his studies, consider likewise that perhaps by the same attraction -he is sometimes withheld from debauchery, or recalled from malice, from -ambition, from envy, and from lust. - -I have always admired the wisdom of those by whom our female education -was instituted, for having contrived, that every woman, of whatever -condition, should be taught some arts of manufacture, by which the -vacuities of recluse and domestick leisure may be filled up. These arts -are more necessary, as the weakness of their sex and the general system -of life debar ladies from any employments which, by diversifying the -circumstances of men, preserve them from being cankered by the rust of -their own thoughts. I know not how much of the virtue and happiness of -the world may be the consequence of this judicious regulation. Perhaps, -the most powerful fancy might be unable to figure the confusion and -slaughter that would be produced by so many piercing eyes and vivid -understandings, turned loose at once upon mankind, with no other business -than to sparkle and intrigue, to perplex and to destroy. - -For my part, whenever chance brings within my observation a knot of misses -busy at their needles, I consider myself as in the school of virtue; -and though I have no extraordinary skill in plain work or embroidery, -look upon their operations with as much satisfaction as their governess, -because I regard them as providing a security against the most dangerous -ensnarers of the soul, by enabling themselves to exclude idleness from -their solitary moments, and with idleness her attendant train of passions, -fancies, and chimeras, fears, sorrows, and desires. Ovid and Cervantes -will inform them that love has no power but over those whom he catches -unemployed; and Hector, in the Iliad, when he sees Andromache overwhelmed -with terrours, sends her for consolation to the loom and the distaff. - -It is certain that any wild wish or vain imagination never takes such firm -possession of the mind, as when it is found empty and unoccupied. The old -peripatetick principle, that _Nature abhors a vacuum_, may be properly -applied to the intellect, which will embrace any thing, however absurd -or criminal, rather than be wholly without an object. Perhaps every man -may date the predominance of those desires that disturb his life and -contaminate his conscience, from some unhappy hour when too much leisure -exposed him to their incursions; for he has lived with little observation -either on himself or others, who does not know that to be idle is to -be vicious. - -[Footnote 53: This passage was once strangely supposed by some readers -to recommend suicide, instead of _exercise_, which is surely the more -obvious meaning. See, however, a letter from Dr. Johnson on the subject, -in Boswell's Life, vol. iv. p. 162.] - - - - -No. 86. SATURDAY, JANUARY 12, 1751. - - - _Legitimumque sonum digitis callemus et aure._ - HOR. De Ar. Poet. 274. - - By fingers, or by ear, we numbers scan. - ELPHINSTON. - - -One of the ancients has observed, that the burthen of government is -increased upon princes by the virtues of their immediate predecessors. -It is, indeed, always dangerous to be placed in a state of unavoidable -comparison with excellence, and the danger is still greater when that -excellence is consecrated by death; when envy and interest cease to act -against it, and those passions by which it was at first vilified and -opposed, now stand in its defence, and turn their vehemence against -honest emulation. - -He that succeeds a celebrated writer, has the same difficulties to -encounter; he stands under the shade of exalted merit, and is hindered -from rising to his natural height, by the interception of those beams -which should invigorate and quicken him. He applies to that attention -which is already engaged, and unwilling to be drawn off from certain -satisfaction; or perhaps to an attention already wearied, and not to be -recalled to the same object. - -One of the old poets congratulates himself that he had the untrodden -regions of Parnassus before him, and that his garland will be gathered -from plantations which no writer had yet culled. But the imitator treads -a beaten walk, and with all his diligence can only hope to find a few -flowers or branches untouched by his predecessor, the refuse of contempt, -or the omissions of negligence. The Macedonian conqueror, when he was -once invited to hear a man that sung like a nightingale, replied with -contempt, "that he had heard the nightingale herself;" and the same -treatment must every man expect, whose praise is that he imitates another. - -Yet, in the midst of these discouraging reflections, I am about to offer -to my reader some observations upon "Paradise Lost," and hope, that, -however I may fall below the illustrious writer who has so long dictated -to the commonwealth of learning, my attempt may not be wholly useless. -There are, in every age, new errours to be rectified, and new prejudices -to be opposed. False taste is always busy to mislead those that are -entering upon the regions of learning; and the traveller, uncertain of -his way, and forsaken by the sun, will be pleased to see a fainter orb -arise on the horizon, that may rescue him from total darkness, though -with weak and borrowed lustre. - -Addison, though he has considered this poem under most of the general -topicks of criticism, has barely touched upon the versification; not -probably because he thought the art of numbers unworthy of his notice, -for he knew with what minute attention the ancient criticks considered -the disposition of syllables, and had himself given hopes of some -metrical observations upon the great Roman poet; but being the first who -undertook to display the beauties, and point out the defects of Milton, -he had many objects at once before him, and passed willingly over those -which were most barren of ideas, and required labour, rather than genius. - -Yet versification, or the art of modulating his numbers, is indispensably -necessary to a poet. Every other power by which the understanding is -enlightened, or the imagination enchanted, may be exercised in prose. But -the poet has this peculiar superiority, that to all the powers which the -perfection of every other composition can require, he adds the faculty -of joining music with reason, and of acting at once upon the senses -and the passions. I suppose there are few who do not feel themselves -touched by poetical melody, and who will not confess that they are more -or less moved by the same thoughts, as they are conveyed by different -sounds, and more affected by the same words in one order than in another. -The perception of harmony is indeed conferred upon men in degrees very -unequal, but there are none who do not perceive it, or to whom a regular -series of proportionate sounds cannot give delight. - -In treating on the versification of Milton, I am desirous to be generally -understood, and shall therefore studiously decline the dialect of -grammarians; though, indeed, it is always difficult, and sometimes -scarcely possible, to deliver the precepts of an art, without the terms -by which the peculiar ideas of that art are expressed, and which had not -been invented but because the language already in use was insufficient. -If, therefore, I shall sometimes seem obscure, it may be imputed to this -voluntary interdiction, and to a desire of avoiding that offence which is -always given by unusual words. - -The heroick measure of the English language may be properly considered -as pure or mixed. It is pure when the accent rests upon every second -syllable through the whole line. - - Courage uncertain dangers may abate, - But who can bear th' approach of certain fate. - DRYDEN. - - Here love his golden shafts employs, here lights - His constant lamp, and waves his purple wings, - Reigns here, and revels; not in the bought smile - Of harlots, loveless, joyless, unendear'd. - MILTON. - -The accent may be observed, in the second line of Dryden, and the second -and fourth of Milton, to repose upon every second syllable. - -The repetition of this sound or percussion at equal times, is the most -complete harmony of which a single verse is capable, and should therefore -be exactly kept in distichs, and generally in the last line of a -paragraph, that the ear may rest without any sense of imperfection. - -But, to preserve the series of sounds untransposed in a long composition, -is not only very difficult, but tiresome and disgusting; for we are soon -wearied with the perpetual recurrence of the same cadence. Necessity -has therefore enforced the mixed measure, in which some variation of the -accents is allowed; this, though it always injures the harmony of the -line, considered by itself, yet compensates the loss by relieving us from -the continual tyranny of the same sound, and makes us more sensible of -the harmony of the pure measure. - -Of these mixed numbers every poet affords us innumerable instances, and -Milton seldom has two pure lines together, as will appear if any of his -paragraphs be read with attention merely to the musick. - - Thus at their shady lodge arriv'd, both stood, - Both turn'd, and under open sky ador'd - The God that made both sky, air, earth, and heav'n, - Which they beheld; the moon's resplendent globe, - _And starry pole: thou also mad'st the night,_ - Maker omnipotent! and thou the day, - Which we in our appointed work employ'd - Have finish'd, happy in our mutual help, - _And mutual love, the crown of all our bliss,_ - Ordain'd by thee; and this delicious place, - For us too large; where thy abundance wants - Partakers, and uncrop'd falls to the ground; - But thou hast promis'd from us two a race - To fill the earth, who shall with us extol - Thy goodness infinite, both when we wake, - And when we seek, as now, thy gift of sleep. - -In this passage it will be at first observed, that all the lines are not -equally harmonious, and upon a nearer examination it will be found that -only the fifth and ninth lines are regular, and the rest are more or less -licentious with respect to the accent. In some the accent is equally upon -two syllables together, and in both strong. As - - Thus at their shady lodge arriv'd, _both stood_, - _Both turned_, and under open sky ador'd - The God that made both sky, _air_, _earth_, and heav'n. - -In others the accent is equally upon two syllables, but upon both weak. - - --------------------------A race - To fill the earth, who shall with us extol - Thy goodness _infinite_, both when we wake, - _And when_ we seek, as now, thy gift of sleep. - -In the first pair of syllables the accent may deviate from the rigour -of exactness, without any unpleasing diminution of harmony, as may be -observed in the lines already cited, and more remarkably in this, - - ------------Thou also mad'st the night, - _Maker_ omnipotent! and thou the day, - -But, excepting in the first pair of syllables, which may be considered as -arbitrary, a poet who, not having the invention or knowledge of Milton, -has more need to allure his audience by musical cadences, should seldom -suffer more than one aberration from the rule in any single verse. - -There are two lines in this passage more remarkably unharmonious: - - ------------This delicious place, - For us too large; _where thy_ abundance wants - Partakers, and uncrop'd _falls_ to the ground, - -Here the third pair of syllables in the first, and fourth pair in the -second verse, have their accents retrograde or inverted; the first -syllable being strong or acute, and the second weak. The detriment -which the measure suffers by this inversion of the accents is sometimes -less perceptible, when the verses are carried one into another, but is -remarkably striking in this place, where the vicious verse concludes -a period, and is yet more offensive in rhyme, when we regularly attend -to the flow of every single line. This will appear by reading a couplet -in which Cowley, an author not sufficiently studious of harmony, has -committed the same fault. - - ----------------His harmless life - Does with substantial blessedness abound, - And the soft wings of peace _cover_ him round. - -In these the law of metre is very grossly violated by mingling -combinations of sound directly opposite to each other, as Milton -expresses in his sonnet, by _committing short and long_, and setting -one part of the measure at variance with the rest. The ancients, who had -a language more capable of variety than ours, had two kinds of verse, -the Iambick, consisting of short and long syllables alternately, from -which our heroick measure is derived, and Trochaick, consisting in a -like alternation of long and short. These were considered as opposites, -and conveyed the contrary images of speed and slowness; to confound -them, therefore, as in these lines, is to deviate from the established -practice. But where the senses are to judge, authority is not necessary, -the ear is sufficient to detect dissonance, nor should I have sought -auxiliaries on such an occasion against any name but that of Milton. - - - - -No. 87. TUESDAY, JANUARY 15, 1751. - - - _Invidus, iracundus, iners, vinosus, amator,_ - _Nemo adeo ferus est, ut non mitescere possit,_ - _Si modo culturae patientem commodet aurem._ - HOR. Lib. i. Ep. i. 38. - - The slave to envy, anger, wine, or love, - The wretch of sloth, its excellence shall prove; - Fierceness itself shall hear its rage away. - When list'ning calmly to th' instructive lay. - FRANCIS. - - -That few things are so liberally bestowed, or squandered with so little -effect, as good advice, has been generally observed; and many sage -positions have been advanced concerning the reasons of this complaint, -and the means of removing it. It is indeed an important and noble -inquiry, for little would be wanting to the happiness of life, if every -man could conform to the right as soon as he was shewn it. - -This perverse neglect of the most salutary precepts, and stubborn -resistance of the most pathetick persuasion, is usually imputed to him -by whom the counsel is received, and we often hear it mentioned as a sign -of hopeless depravity, that though good advice was given, it has wrought -no reformation. - -Others, who imagine themselves to have quicker sagacity and deeper -penetration, have found out that the inefficacy of advice is usually the -fault of the counsellor, and rules have been laid down, by which this -important duty may be successfully performed. We are directed by what -tokens to discover the favourable moment at which the heart is disposed -for the operation of truth and reason, with what address to administer, -and with what vehicles to disguise _the catharticks of the soul_. - -But, notwithstanding this specious expedient, we find the world yet in the -same state: advice is still given, but still received with disgust; nor -has it appeared that the bitterness of the medicine has been yet abated, -or its powers increased, by any methods of preparing it. - -If we consider the manner in which those who assume the office of -directing the conduct of others execute their undertaking, it will not -be very wonderful that their labours, however zealous or affectionate, are -frequently useless. For what is the advice that is commonly given? A few -general maxims, enforced with vehemence, and inculcated with importunity, -but failing for want of particular reference and immediate application. - -It is not often that any man can have so much knowledge of another, as -is necessary to make instruction useful. We are sometimes not ourselves -conscious of the original motives of our actions, and when we know them, -our first care is to hide them from the sight of others, and often from -those most diligently, whose superiority either of power or understanding -may entitle them to inspect our lives; it is therefore very probable that -he who endeavours the cure of our intellectual maladies, mistakes their -cause; and that his prescriptions avail nothing, because he knows not -which of the passions or desires is vitiated. - -Advice, as it always gives a temporary appearance of superiority, can -never be very grateful, even when it is most necessary or most judicious. -But for the same reason every one is eager to instruct his neighbours. -To be wise or to be virtuous, is to buy dignity and importance at a high -price; but when nothing is necessary to elevation but detection of the -follies or the faults of others, no man is so insensible to the voice of -fame as to linger on the ground. - - _--Tentanda via est, qua me quoque possim_ - _Tollere humo, victorque virum volitare per ora._ - VIRG. Geor. iii. 8. - - New ways I must attempt, my groveling name - To raise aloft, and wing my flight to fame. - DRYDEN. - -Vanity is so frequently the apparent motive of advice, that we, for the -most part, summon our powers to oppose it without any very accurate -inquiry whether it is right. It is sufficient that another is growing -great in his own eyes at our expense, and assumes authority over -us without our permission; for many would contentedly suffer the -consequences of their own mistakes, rather than the insolence of him who -triumphs as their deliverer. - -It is, indeed, seldom found that any advantages are enjoyed with that -moderation which the uncertainty of all human good so powerfully -enforces; and therefore the adviser may justly suspect, that he -has inflamed the opposition which he laments by arrogance and -superciliousness. He may suspect, but needs not hastily to condemn -himself, for he can rarely be certain that the softest language or most -humble diffidence would have escaped resentment; since scarcely any -degree of circumspection can prevent or obviate the rage with which the -slothful, the impotent, and the unsuccessful, vent their discontent upon -those that excel them. Modesty itself, if it is praised, will be envied; -and there are minds so impatient of inferiority, that their gratitude is -a species of revenge, and they return benefits, not because recompense is -a pleasure, but because obligation is a pain. - -The number of those whom the love of themselves has thus far corrupted, -is perhaps not great; but there are few so free from vanity, as not to -dictate to those who will hear their instructions with a visible sense -of their own beneficence; and few to whom it is not unpleasing to receive -documents, however tenderly and cautiously delivered, or who are not -willing to raise themselves from pupillage, by disputing the propositions -of their teacher. - -It was the maxim, I think, of Alphonsus of Arragon, that _dead counsellors -are safest_. The grave puts an end to flattery and artifice, and the -information that we receive from books is pure from interest, fear, -or ambition. Dead counsellors are likewise most instructive; because -they are heard with patience and with reverence. We are not unwilling -to believe that man wiser than ourselves, from whose abilities we may -receive advantage, without any danger of rivalry or opposition, and -who affords us the light of his experience, without hurting our eyes -by flashes of insolence. - -By the consultation of books, whether of dead or living authors, many -temptations to petulance and opposition, which occur in oral conferences, -are avoided. An author cannot obtrude his service unasked, nor can be -often suspected of any malignant intention to insult his readers with his -knowledge or his wit. Yet so prevalent is the habit of comparing ourselves -with others, while they remain within the reach of our passions, that -books are seldom read with complete impartiality, but by those from -whom the writer is placed at such a distance that his life or death -is indifferent. - -We see that volumes may be perused, and perused with attention, to little -effect; and that maxims of prudence, or principles of virtue, may be -treasured in the memory without influencing the conduct. Of the numbers -that pass their lives among books, very few read to be made wiser or -better, apply any general reproof of vice to themselves, or try their own -manners by axioms of justice. They purpose either to consume those hours -for which they can find no other amusement, to gain or preserve that -respect which learning has always obtained; or to gratify their curiosity -with knowledge, which, like treasures buried and forgotten, is of no use -to others or themselves. - -"The preacher (says a French author) may spend an hour in explaining and -enforcing a precept of religion, without feeling any impression from his -own performance, because he may have no further design than to fill up -his hour." A student may easily exhaust his life in comparing divines and -moralists, without any practical regard to morality or religion; he may -be learning not to live, but to reason; he may regard only the elegance -of style, justness of argument, and accuracy of method; and may enable -himself to criticise with judgment, and dispute with subtilty, while the -chief use of his volumes is unthought of, his mind is unaffected, and his -life is unreformed. - -But though truth and virtue are thus frequently defeated by pride, -obstinacy, or folly, we are not allowed to desert them; for whoever can -furnish arms which they hitherto have not employed, may enable them to -gain some hearts which would have resisted any other method of attack. -Every man of genius has some arts of fixing the attention peculiar to -himself, by which, honestly exerted, he may benefit mankind; for the -arguments for purity of life fail of their due influence, not because -they have been considered and confuted, but because they have been -passed over without consideration. To the position of Tully, that if -Virtue could be seen, she must be loved, may be added, that if Truth -could be heard, she must be obeyed. - - - - -No. 88. SATURDAY, JANUARY 19, 1751. - - - _Cum tabulis animum censoris sumet honesti:_ - _Audebit, quaecunque parum splendoris habebunt,_ - _Et sine pondere erunt, et honore indigna ferentur,_ - _Verba movere loco, quamvis invita recedant,_ - _Et versentur adhuc intra penetralia Vestae._ - HOR. Lib. ii. Ep. ii. 110. - - But he that hath a curious piece designed, - When he begins must take a censor's mind. - Severe and honest; and what words appear - Too light and trivial, or too weak to bear - The weighty sense, nor worth the reader's care, - Shake off; though stubborn, they are loth to move, - And though we fancy, dearly though we love. - CREECH. - - -"There is no reputation for genius," says Quintilian, "to be gained by -writing on things, which, however necessary, have little splendour or -shew. The height of a building attracts the eye, but the foundations lie -without regard. Yet since there is not any way to the top of science, -but from the lowest parts, I shall think nothing unconnected with the -art of oratory, which he that wants cannot be an orator." - -Confirmed and animated by this illustrious precedent, I shall continue my -inquiries into Milton's art of versification. Since, however minute the -employment may appear, of analysing lines into syllables, and whatever -ridicule may be incurred by a solemn deliberation upon accents and pauses, -it is certain that without this petty knowledge no man can be a poet; -and that from the proper disposition of single sounds results that -harmony that adds force to reason, and gives grace to sublimity; that -shackles attention, and governs passions. - -That verse may be melodious and pleasing, it is necessary, not only that -the words be so ranged as that the accent may fall on its proper place, -but that the syllables themselves be so chosen as to flow smoothly into -one another. This is to be effected by a proportionate mixture of vowels -and consonants, and, by tempering the mute consonants with liquids and -semivowels. The Hebrew grammarians have observed, that it is impossible -to pronounce two consonants without the intervention of a vowel, or -without some emission of the breath between one and the other; this is -longer and more perceptible, as the sounds of the consonants are less -harmonically conjoined, and, by consequence, the flow of the verse is -longer interrupted. - -It is pronounced by Dryden, that a line of monosyllables is almost always -harsh. This, with regard to our language, is evidently true, not because -monosyllables cannot compose harmony, but because our monosyllables, -being of Teutonick original, or formed by contraction, commonly begin and -end with consonants, as, - - --------Every lower faculty - _Of sense, whereby they hear, see, smell, touch, taste._ - -The difference of harmony arising principally from the collocation of -vowels and consonants, will be sufficiently conceived by attending to the -following passages: - - Immortal _Amarant_----there grows - And flow'rs aloft, shading the fount of life, - And where the river of bliss through midst of heav'n - _Rolls o'er Elysian flow'rs her amber stream;_ - With these that never fade, the spirits elect - _Bind their resplendent locks inwreath'd with beams._ - -The same comparison that I propose to be made between the fourth and -sixth verses of this passage, may be repeated between the last lines of -the following quotations: - - --------Under foot the violet, - Crocus, and hyacinth, with rich in-lay - _Broider'd the ground, more colour'd than with stone_ - Of costliest emblem. - - --------Here in close recess, - With flowers, garlands, and sweet-smelling herbs, - Espoused Eve first deck'd her nuptial bed; - _And heav'nly choirs the hymenean sung._ - -Milton, whose ear had been accustomed, not only to the musick of the -ancient tongues, which, however vitiated by our pronunciation, excel -all that are now in use, but to the softness of the Italian, the most -mellifluous of all modern poetry, seems fully convinced of the unfitness -of our language for smooth versification, and is therefore pleased with -an opportunity of calling in a softer word to his assistance; for this -reason, and I believe for this only, he sometimes indulges himself in a -long series of proper names, and introduces them where they add little -but musick to his poem. - - --------The richer seat - Of _Atabalipa_, and yet unspoil'd - _Guiana_, whose great city _Gerion's_ sons - Call _El Dorado_.---- - - The moon----The _Tuscan_ artist views - At evening, from the top of _Fesole_ - Or in _Valdarno_, to descry new lands.-- - -He has indeed been more attentive to his syllables than to his accents, -and does not often offend by collisions of consonants, or openings of -vowels upon each other, at least not more often than other writers who -have had less important or complicated subjects to take off their care -from the cadence of their lines. - -The great peculiarity of Milton's versification compared with that -of later poets, is the elision of one vowel before another, or the -suppression of the last syllable of a word ending with a vowel, when -a vowel begins the following word. As - - --------Knowledge - Oppresses else with surfeit, and soon turns - Wisdom to folly, as nourishment to wind. - -This licence, though now disused in English poetry, was practised by -our old writers, and is allowed in many other languages ancient and -modern, and therefore the criticks on "Paradise Lost" have, without much -deliberation, commended Milton for continuing it[54]. But one language -cannot communicate its rules to another. We have already tried and -rejected the hexameter of the ancients, the double close of the Italians, -and the alexandrine of the French; and the elision of vowels, however -graceful it may seem to other nations, may be very unsuitable to the -genius of the English tongue. - -There is reason to believe that we have negligently lost part of our -vowels, and that the silent _e_ which our ancestors added to most of our -monosyllables, was once vocal. By this detruncation of our syllables, our -language is overstocked with consonants, and it is more necessary to add -vowels to the beginning of words, than to cut them off from the end. - -Milton therefore seems to have somewhat mistaken the nature of our -language, of which the chief defect is ruggedness and asperity, and has -left our harsh cadences yet harsher. But his elisions are not all equally -to be censured; in some syllables they may be allowed, and perhaps in -a few may be safely imitated. The abscission of a vowel is undoubtedly -vicious when it is strongly sounded, and makes, with its associate -consonant, a full and audible syllable. - - --------What he gives, - Spiritual, may to purest spirits be found, - _No_ ingrateful food, and food alike these pure - Intelligential substances require. - - Fruits,----Hesperian fables true, - If true, here _only_, and of delicious taste. - - ----Evening now approach'd, - For we have _also_ our evening and our morn. - - Of guests he makes them slaves, - Inhospita_bly_, and kills their infant males. - - And vital Vir_tue_ infus'd, and vital warmth - Throughout the fluid mass.---- - - God made _thee_ of choice his own, and of his own - To serve him. - -I believe every reader will agree, that in all those passages, though not -equally in all, the musick is injured, and in some the meaning obscured. -There are other lines in which the vowel is cut off, but it is so faintly -pronounced in common speech, that the loss of it in poetry is scarcely -perceived; and therefore such compliance with the measure may be allowed. - - --------Nature breeds - Perverse, all monstrous, all prodigious things, - Abomina_ble_, inuttera_ble_; and worse - Than fables yet have feigned.---- - - --------From the shore - They view'd the vast immensura_ble_ abyss. - Impenetra_ble_, impal'd with circling fire. - To none communica_ble_ in earth or heav'n. - -Yet even these contractions increase the roughness of a language too rough -already; and though in long poems they may be sometimes suffered, it -never can be faulty to forbear them. - -Milton frequently uses in his poems the hypermetrical or redundant line of -eleven syllables. - - --------Thus it shall befall - Him who to worth in woman over-trust_ing_ - Lets her will rule.---- - I also err'd in over much admir_ing_. - -Verses of this kind occur almost in every page; but though they are not -unpleasing or dissonant, they ought not to be admitted into heroick -poetry, since the narrow limits of our language allow us no other -distinction of epick and tragick measures, than is afforded by the -liberty of changing at will the terminations of the dramatick lines, and -bringing them by that relaxation of metrical rigour nearer to prose. - -[Footnote 54: _Variation_. "This licence, though an innovation in English -poetry, is yet allowed in many other languages ancient and modern; and -therefore the criticks on Paradise Lost have, without much deliberation, -commended Milton for introducing it." _First folio edition._] - - - - -No. 89. TUESDAY, JANUARY 22, 1751. - - - _Dulce est desipere in loco._ - HOR. Lib. iv. Od. xii. 28. - - Wisdom at proper times is well forgot. - - -Locke, whom there is no reason to suspect of being a favourer of idleness -or libertinism, has advanced, that whoever hopes to employ any part of his -time with efficacy and vigour, must allow some of it to pass in trifles. -It is beyond the powers of humanity to spend a whole life in profound -study and intense meditation, and the most rigorous exacters of industry -and seriousness have appointed hours for relaxation and amusement. - -It is certain, that, with or without our consent, many of the few moments -allotted us will slide imperceptibly away, and that the mind will break, -from confinement to its stated task, into sudden excursions. Severe and -connected attention is preserved but for a short time; and when a man -shuts himself up in his closet, and bends his thoughts to the discussion -of any abstruse question, he will find his faculties continually -stealing away to more pleasing entertainments. He often perceives himself -transported, he knows not how, to distant tracts of thought, and returns -to his first object as from a dream, without knowing when he forsook it, -or how long he has been abstracted from it. - -It has been observed that the most studious are not always the most -learned. There is, indeed, no great difficulty in discovering that this -difference of proficiency may arise from the difference of intellectual -powers, of the choice of books, or the convenience of information. But I -believe it likewise frequently happens that the most recluse are not the -most vigorous prosecutors of study. Many impose upon the world, and many -upon themselves, by an appearance of severe and exemplary diligence, when -they, in reality, give themselves up to the luxury of fancy, please their -minds with regulating the past, or planning the future; place themselves -at will in varied situations of happiness, and slumber away their days -in voluntary visions. In the journey of life some are left behind, -because they are naturally feeble and slow; some because they miss the -way, and many because they leave it by choice, and instead of pressing -onward with a steady pace, delight themselves with momentary deviations, -turn aside to pluck every flower, and repose in every shade. - -There is nothing more fatal to a man whose business is to think, than to -have learned the art of regaling his mind with those airy gratifications. -Other vices or follies are restrained by fear, reformed by admonition, -or rejected by the conviction which the comparison of our conduct with -that of others may in time produce. But this invisible riot of the mind, -this secret prodigality of being, is secure from detection, and fearless -of reproach. The dreamer retires to his apartments, shuts out the cares -and interruptions of mankind, and abandons himself to his own fancy; new -worlds rise up before him, one image is followed by another, and a long -succession of delights dances round him. He is at last called back to -life by nature, or by custom, and enters peevish into society, because he -cannot model it to his own will. He returns from his idle excursions with -the asperity, though not with the knowledge of a student, and hastens -again to the same felicity with the eagerness of a man bent upon the -advancement of some favourite science. The infatuation strengthens by -degrees, and like the poison of opiates, weakens his powers, without any -external symptoms of malignity. - -It happens, indeed, that these hypocrites of learning are in time -detected, and convinced by disgrace and disappointment of the difference -between the labour of thought, and the sport of musing. But this -discovery is often not made till it is too late to recover the time that -has been fooled away. A thousand accidents may, indeed, awaken drones -to a more early sense of their danger and their shame. But they who are -convinced of the necessity of breaking from this habitual drowsiness, too -often relapse in spite of their resolution; for these ideal seducers are -always near, and neither any particularity of time nor place is necessary -to their influence; they invade the soul without warning, and have often -charmed down resistance before their approach is perceived or suspected. - -This captivity, however, it is necessary for every man to break, who -has any desire to be wise or useful, to pass his life with the esteem -of others, or to look back with satisfaction from his old age upon his -earlier years. In order to regain liberty, he must find the means of -flying from himself; he must, in opposition to the Stoick precept, teach -his desires to fix upon external things; he must adopt the joys and the -pains of others, and excite in his mind the want of social pleasures and -amicable communication. - -It is, perhaps, not impossible to promote the cure of this mental malady, -by close application to some new study, which may pour in fresh ideas, -and keep curiosity in perpetual motion. But study requires solitude, and -solitude is a state dangerous to those who are too much accustomed to -sink into themselves. Active employment or public pleasure is generally -a necessary part of this intellectual regimen, without which, though some -remission may be obtained, a complete cure will scarcely be effected. - -This is a formidable and obstinate disease of the intellect, of which, -when it has once become radicated by time, the remedy is one of the -hardest tasks of reason and of virtue. Its slightest attacks, therefore, -should be watchfully opposed; and he that finds the frigid and narcotick -infection beginning to seize him, should turn his whole attention against -it, and check it at the first discovery by proper counteraction. - -The great resolution to be formed, when happiness and virtue are thus -formidably invaded, is, that no part of life be spent in a state of -neutrality or indifference; but that some pleasure be found for every -moment that is not devoted to labour; and that, whenever the necessary -business of life grows irksome or disgusting, an immediate transition be -made to diversion and gaiety. - -After the exercises which the health of the body requires, and which -have themselves a natural tendency to actuate and invigorate the mind, the -most eligible amusement of a rational being seems to be that interchange -of thoughts which is practised in free and easy conversation; where -suspicion is banished by experience, and emulation by benevolence; where -every man speaks with no other restraint than unwillingness to offend, -and hears with no other disposition than desire to be pleased. - -There must be a time in which every man trifles; and the only choice that -nature offers us, is, to trifle in company or alone. To join profit with -pleasure, has been an old precept among men who have had very different -conceptions of profit. All have agreed that our amusements should not -terminate wholly in the present moment, but contribute more or less to -future advantage. He that amuses himself among well-chosen companions, -can scarcely fail to receive, from the most careless and obstreperous -merriment which virtue can allow, some useful hints; nor can converse -on the most familiar topicks without some casual information. The loose -sparkles of thoughtless wit may give new light to the mind, and the gay -contention for paradoxical positions rectify the opinions. - -This is the time in which those friendships that give happiness or -consolation, relief or security, are generally formed. A wise and good -man is never so amiable as in his unbended and familiar intervals. -Heroick generosity, or philosophical discoveries, may compel veneration -and respect, but love always implies some kind of natural or voluntary -equality, and is only to be excited by that levity and cheerfulness -which disencumber all minds from awe and solicitude, invite the modest -to freedom, and exalt the timorous to confidence. This easy gaiety is -certain to please, whatever be the character of him that exerts it; if -our superiors descend from their elevation, we love them for lessening -the distance at which we are placed below them; and inferiors, from whom -we can receive no lasting advantage, will always keep our affections -while their sprightliness and mirth contribute to our pleasure. - -Every man finds himself differently affected by the sight of fortresses -of war, and palaces of pleasure; we look on the height and strength of -the bulwarks with a kind of gloomy satisfaction, for we cannot think -of defence without admitting images of danger; but we range delighted -and jocund through the gay apartments of the palace, because nothing -is impressed by them on the mind but joy and festivity. Such is the -difference between great and amiable characters; with protectors we are -safe, with companions we are happy. - - - - -No. 90. SATURDAY, JANUARY 26, 1751. - - - _In tenui labor._ - VIRG. Geor. iv. 6. - - What toil in slender things! - - -It is very difficult to write on the minuter parts of literature without -failing either to please or instruct. Too much nicety of detail disgusts -the greatest part of readers, and to throw a multitude of particulars -under general heads, and lay down rules of extensive comprehension, is -to common understandings of little use. They who undertake these subjects -are therefore always in danger, as one or other inconvenience arises to -their imagination, of frighting us with rugged science, or amusing us -with empty sound. - -In criticising the work of Milton, there is, indeed, opportunity to -intersperse passages that can hardly fail to relieve the languors of -attention; and since, in examining the variety and choice of the pauses -with which he has diversified his numbers, it will be necessary to -exhibit the lines in which they are to be found, perhaps the remarks may -be well compensated by the examples, and the irksomeness of grammatical -disquisitions somewhat alleviated. - -Milton formed his scheme of versification by the poets of Greece and Rome, -whom he proposed to himself for his models, so far as the difference of -his language from theirs would permit the imitation. There are indeed -many inconveniencies inseparable from our heroick measure compared -with that of Homer and Virgil; inconveniencies, which it is no reproach -to Milton not to have overcome, because they are in their own nature -insuperable; but against which he has struggled with so much art and -diligence, that he may at least be said to have deserved success. - -The hexameter of the ancients may be considered as consisting of fifteen -syllables, so melodiously disposed, that, as every one knows who has -examined the poetical authors, very pleasing and sonorous lyrick measures -are formed from the fragments of the heroick. It is, indeed, scarce -possible to break them in such a manner but that _invenias etiam disjecti -membra poetae_, some harmony will still remain, and the due proportions -of sound will always be discovered. This measure therefore allowed great -variety of pauses, and great liberties of connecting one verse with -another, because wherever the line was interrupted, either part singly -was musical. But the ancients seem to have confined this privilege to -hexameters; for in their other measures, though longer than the English -heroick, those who wrote after the refinements of versification, venture -so seldom to change their pauses, that every variation may be supposed -rather a compliance with necessity than the choice of judgment. - -Milton was constrained within the narrow limits of a measure not very -harmonious in the utmost perfection; the single parts, therefore, into -which it was to be sometimes broken by pauses, were in danger of losing -the very form of verse. This has, perhaps, notwithstanding all his care, -sometimes happened. - -As harmony is the end of poetical measures, no part of a verse ought to -be so separated from the rest as not to remain still more harmonious than -prose, or to show, by the disposition of the tones, that it is part of -a verse. This rule in the old hexameter might be easily observed, but in -English will very frequently be in danger of violation; for the order -and regularity of accents cannot well be perceived in a succession of -fewer than three syllables, which will confine the English poet to only -five pauses; it being supposed, that when he connects one line with -another, he should never make a full pause at less distance than that -of three syllables from the beginning or end of a verse. - -That this rule should be universally and indispensably established, -perhaps cannot be granted; something may be allowed to variety, and -something to the adaptation of the numbers to the subject; but it will -be found generally necessary, and the ear will seldom fail to suffer by -its neglect. - -Thus when a single syllable is cut off from the rest, it must either be -united to the line with which the sense connects it, or be sounded alone. -If it be united to the other line, it corrupts its harmony; if disjoined, -it must stand alone, and with regard to musick be superfluous; for there -is no harmony in a single sound, because it has no proportion to another. - - ----Hypocrites austerely talk, - Defaming as impure what God declares - _Pure_; and commands to some, leaves free to all. - -When two syllables likewise are abscinded from the rest, they evidently -want some associate sounds to make them harmonious. - - ----Eyes---- - ----more wakeful than to drouze, - Charm'd with Arcadian pipe, the pastoral reed - Of Hermes, or his opiate rod. _Meanwhile_ - To re-salute the world with sacred light - Leucothea wak'd. - - He ended, and the sun gave signal high - To the bright minister that watch'd: _he blew_ - His trumpet. - - First in the east his glorious lamp was seen, - Regent of day; and all th' horizon round - Invested with bright rays, jocund to run - His longitude through heav'n's high road; _the gray_ - Dawn, and the Pleiades, before him danc'd, - Shedding sweet influence. - -The same defect is perceived in the following line, where the pause is at -the second syllable from the beginning. - - --------The race - Of that wild rout that tore the Thracian bard - In Rhodope, where woods and rocks had ears - To rapture, 'till the savage clamour drown'd - Both harp and voice; nor could the muse defend - _Her son_. So fail not thou, who thee implores. - -When the pause falls upon the third syllable or the seventh, the harmony -is the better preserved; but as the third and seventh are weak syllables, -the period leaves the ear unsatisfied, and in expectation of the -remaining part of the verse. - - ----He, with his horrid crew, - Lay vanquish'd, rolling in the fiery gulph, - Confounded though immor_tal_. But his doom - Reserv'd him to more wrath; for now the thought - Both of lost happiness and lasting pain - Torments _him_. - - God,--with frequent intercourse, - Thither will send his winged messengers - On errands of supernal grace. So sung - The glorious train ascend_ing_. - -It may be, I think, established as a rule, that a pause which concludes -a period should be made for the most part upon a strong syllable, as -the fourth and sixth; but those pauses which only suspend the sense may -be placed upon the weaker. Thus the rest in the third line of the first -passage satisfies the ear better than in the fourth, and the close of the -second quotation better than of the third. - - --------The evil soon - Drawn back, redounded (as a flood) on those - From whom it _sprung_; impossible to mix - With _blessedness_. - - --------What we by day - Lop overgrown, or prune, or prop, or bind, - One night or two with wanton growth derides, - Tending to _wild_. - - The paths and bow'rs doubt not but our joint hands - Will keep from wilderness with ease as wide - As we need walk, till younger hands ere long - Assist _us_. - -The rest in the fifth place has the same inconvenience as in the seventh -and third, that the syllable is weak. - - Beast now with beast 'gan war, and fowl with fowl, - And fish with fish, to graze the herb all leaving, - Devour'd each _other_: Nor stood much in awe - Of man, but fled _him_, or with countenance grim, - Glar'd on him pass_ing_. - -The noblest and most majestick pauses which our versification admits, are -upon the fourth and sixth syllables, which are both strongly sounded in -a pure and regular verse, and at either of which the line is so divided, -that both members participate of harmony. - - But now at last the sacred influence - Of light _appears_, and from the walls of heav'n - Shoots far into the bosom of dim night - A glimmering _dawn_: here nature first begins - Her farthest verge, and chaos to retire. - -But far above all others, if I can give any credit to my own ear, is the -rest upon the sixth syllable, which, taking in a complete compass of -sound, such as is sufficient to constitute one of our lyrick measures, -makes a full and solemn close. Some passages which conclude at this stop, -I could never read without some strong emotions of delight or admiration. - - Before the hills appear'd, or fountain flow'd, - Thou with the eternal wisdom didst converse, - Wisdom thy sister, and with her didst play - In presence of the almighty Father, pleas'd - With thy celestial _song_. - - Or other worlds they seem'd, or happy isles, - Like those Hesperian gardens fam'd of old, - Fortunate fields, and groves, and flowery vales, - Thrice happy isles! But who dwelt happy there, - He stayed not to in_quire_. - - --------He blew - His trumpet, heard in Oreb since, perhaps - When God descended; and, perhaps, once more - To sound at general _doom_. - -If the poetry of Milton be examined, with regard to the pauses and flow of -his verses into each other, it will appear, that he has performed all that -our language would admit; and the comparison of his numbers with those who -have cultivated the same manner of writing, will show that he excelled as -much in the lower as the higher parts of his art, and that his skill in -harmony was not less than his invention or his learning. - - - - -No. 91. TUESDAY, JANUARY 29, 1751. - - - _Dulcis inexpertis cultura potentis amici;_ - _Expertus metuit._ - HOR. Lib. i. Ep. xviii. 86. - - To court the great ones, and to sooth their pride, - Seems a sweet task to those that never tried; - But those that have, know well that danger's near. - CREECH. - - -The Sciences having long seen their votaries labouring for the benefit -of mankind without reward, put up their petition to Jupiter for a more -equitable distribution of riches and honours. Jupiter was moved at their -complaints, and touched with the approaching miseries of men, whom the -Sciences, wearied with perpetual ingratitude, were now threatening to -forsake, and who would have been reduced by their departure to feed in -dens upon the mast of trees, to hunt their prey in deserts, and to perish -under the paws of animals stronger and fiercer than themselves. - -A synod of the celestials was therefore convened, in which it was -resolved, that Patronage should descend to the assistance of the -Sciences. Patronage was the daughter of Astrea, by a mortal father, and -had been educated in the school of Truth, by the Goddesses, whom she -was now appointed to protect. She had from her mother that dignity of -aspect, which struck terrour into false merit, and from her mistress -that reserve, which made her only accessible to those whom the Sciences -brought into her presence. - -She came down, with the general acclamation of all the powers that favour -learning. Hope danced before her, and Liberality stood at her side, ready -to scatter by her direction the gifts which Fortune, who followed her, -was commanded to supply. As she advanced towards Parnassus, the cloud -which had long hung over it, was immediately dispelled. The shades, -before withered with drought, spread their original verdure, and the -flowers that had languished with chillness brightened their colours, -and invigorated their scents; the Muses tuned their harps, and exerted -their voices; and all the concert of nature welcomed her arrival. - -On Parnassus she fixed her residence, in a palace raised by the Sciences, -and adorned with whatever could delight the eye, elevate the imagination, -or enlarge the understanding. Here she dispersed the gifts of Fortune with -the impartiality of Justice, and the discernment of Truth. Her gate stood -always open, and Hope sat at the portal, inviting to entrance all whom -the Sciences numbered in their train. The court was therefore thronged -with innumerable multitudes, of whom, though many returned disappointed, -seldom any had confidence to complain; for Patronage was known to neglect -few, but for want of the due claims to her regard. Those, therefore, who -had solicited her favour without success, generally withdrew from publick -notice, and either diverted their attention to meaner employments, or -endeavoured to supply their deficiencies by closer application. - -In time, however, the number of those who had miscarried in their -pretensions grew so great, that they became less ashamed of their -repulses; and instead of hiding their disgrace in retirement, began to -besiege the gates of the palace, and obstruct the entrance of such as -they thought likely to be more caressed. The decisions of Patronage, -who was but half a Goddess, had been sometimes erroneous; and though -she always made haste to rectify her mistakes, a few instances of her -fallibility encouraged every one to appeal from her judgment to his own -and that of his companions, who are always ready to clamour in the common -cause, and elate each other with reciprocal applause. - -Hope was a steady friend of the disappointed, and Impudence incited -them to accept a second invitation, and lay their claim again before -Patronage. They were again, for the most part, sent back with ignominy, -but found Hope not alienated, and Impudence more resolutely zealous; they -therefore contrived new expedients, and hoped at last to prevail by their -multitudes, which were always increasing, and their perseverance, which -Hope and Impudence forbad them to relax. - -Patronage having been long a stranger to the heavenly assemblies, began to -degenerate towards terrestrial nature, and forget the precepts of Justice -and Truth. Instead of confining her friendship to the Sciences, she -suffered herself, by little and little, to contract an acquaintance with -Pride, the son of Falsehood, by whose embraces she had two daughters, -Flattery and Caprice. Flattery was nursed by Liberality, and Caprice by -Fortune, without any assistance from the lessons of the Sciences. - -Patronage began openly to adopt the sentiments and imitate the manners of -her husband, by whose opinions she now directed her decisions with very -little heed to the precepts of Truth; and as her daughters continually -gained upon her affections, the Sciences lost their influence, till none -found much reason to boast of their reception, but those whom Caprice or -Flattery conducted to her throne. - -The throngs who had so long waited, and so often been dismissed for want -of recommendation from the Sciences, were delighted to see the power of -those rigourous Goddesses tending to its extinction. Their patronesses -now renewed their encouragements. Hope smiled at the approach of Caprice, -and Impudence was always at hand to introduce her clients to Flattery. - -Patronage had now learned to procure herself reverence by ceremonies and -formalities, and, instead of admitting her petitioners to an immediate -audience, ordered the ante-chamber to be erected, called among mortals, -the _Hall of Expectation_. Into this hall the entrance was easy to those -whom Impudence had consigned to Flattery, and it was therefore crowded -with a promiscuous throng, assembled from every corner of the earth, -pressing forward with the utmost eagerness of desire, and agitated with -all the anxieties of competition. - -They entered this general receptacle with ardour and alacrity, and made -no doubt of speedy access, under the conduct of Flattery, to the presence -of Patronage. But it generally happened that they were here left to their -destiny, for the inner doors were committed to Caprice, who opened and -shut them, as it seemed, by chance, and rejected or admitted without any -settled rule of distinction. In the mean time, the miserable attendants -were left to wear out their lives in alternate exultation and dejection, -delivered up to the sport of Suspicion, who was always whispering into -their ear designs against them which were never formed, and of Envy, -who diligently pointed out the good fortune of one or other of their -competitors. Infamy flew round the hall, and scattered mildews from her -wings, with which every one was stained; Reputation followed her with -slower flight, and endeavoured to hide the blemishes with paint, which -was immediately brushed away, or separated of itself, and left the stains -more visible; nor were the spots of Infamy ever effaced, but with limpid -water effused by the hand of Time from a well which sprung up beneath the -throne of Truth. - -It frequently happened that Science, unwilling to lose the ancient -prerogative of recommending to Patronage, would lead her followers into -the Hall of Expectation; but they were soon discouraged from attending, -for not only Envy and Suspicion incessantly tormented them, but Impudence -considered them as intruders, and incited Infamy to blacken them. They -therefore quickly retired, but seldom without some spots which they could -scarcely wash away, and which shewed that they had once waited in the -Hall of Expectation. - -The rest continued to expect the happy moment, at which Caprice should -beckon them to approach; and endeavoured to propitiate her, not with -Homerical harmony, the representation of great actions, or the recital -of noble sentiments, but with soft and voluptuous melody, intermingled -with the praises of Patronage and Pride, by whom they were heard at once -with pleasure and contempt. - -Some were indeed admitted by Caprice, when they least expected it, and -heaped by Patronage with the gifts of Fortune, but they were from that -time chained to her foot-stool, and condemned to regulate their lives by -her glances and her nods: they seemed proud of their manacles, and seldom -complained of any drudgery, however servile, or any affront, however -contemptuous; yet they were often, notwithstanding their obedience, -seized on a sudden by Caprice, divested of their ornaments, and thrust -back into the Hall of Expectation. - -Here they mingled again with the tumult, and all, except a few whom -experience had taught to seek happiness in the regions of liberty, -continued to spend hours, and days, and years, courting the smile of -Caprice by the arts of Flattery; till at length new crowds pressed in -upon them, and drove them forth at different outlets into the habitations -of Disease, and Shame, and Poverty, and Despair, where they passed the -rest of their lives in narratives of promises and breaches of faith, of -joys and sorrows, of hopes and disappointments. - -The Sciences, after a thousand indignities, retired from the palace -of Patronage, and having long wandered over the world in grief and -distress, were led at last to the cottage of Independence, the daughter -of Fortitude; where they were taught by Prudence and Parsimony to support -themselves in dignity and quiet. - - - - -No. 92. SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 2, 1751. - - - _Jam nunc minaci murmure cornuum_ - _Perstringis aures: jam litui strepunt._ - HOR. Lib. ii. Ode i. 17. - - Lo! now the clarion's voice I hear, - Its threat'ning murmurs pierce mine ear, - And in thy lines with brazen breath - The trumpet sounds the charge of death. - FRANCIS. - - -It has been long observed, that the idea of beauty is vague and undefined, -different in different minds, and diversified by time or place. It has -been a term hitherto used to signify that which pleases us we know not -why, and in our approbation of which we can justify ourselves only by -the concurrence of numbers, without much power of enforcing our opinion -upon others by any argument but example and authority. It is, indeed, so -little subject to the examinations of reason, that Paschal supposes it to -end where demonstration begins, and maintains, that without incongruity -and absurdity we cannot speak of _geometrical beauty_. - -To trace all the sources of that various pleasure which we ascribe to the -agency of beauty, or to disentangle all the perceptions involved in its -idea, would, perhaps, require a very great part of the life of Aristotle -or Plato. It is, however, in many cases apparent, that this quality -is merely relative and comparative; that we pronounce things beautiful -because they have something which we agree, for whatever reason, to call -beauty, in a greater degree than we have been accustomed to find it in -other things of the same kind; and that we transfer the epithet as our -knowledge increases, and appropriate it to higher excellence, when higher -excellence comes within our view. - -Much of the beauty of writing is of this kind; and therefore Boileau -justly remarks, that the books which have stood the test of time, and -been admired through all the changes which the mind of man has suffered -from the various revolutions of knowledge, and the prevalence of contrary -customs, have a better claim to our regard than any modern can boast, -because the long continuance of their reputation proves that they are -adequate to our faculties, and agreeable to nature. - -It is, however, the task of criticism to establish principles; to improve -opinion into knowledge; and to distinguish those means of pleasing which -depend upon known causes and rational deduction, from the nameless and -inexplicable elegancies which appeal wholly to the fancy, from which we -feel delight, but know not how they produce it, and which may well be -termed the enchantresses of the soul. Criticism reduces those regions -of literature under the dominion of science, which have hitherto known -only the anarchy of ignorance, the caprices of fancy, and the tyranny -of prescription. - -There is nothing in the art of versifying so much exposed to the power -of imagination as the accommodation of the sound to the sense, or the -representation of particular images, by the flow of the verse in which -they are expressed. Every student has innumerable passages, in which -he, and perhaps he alone, discovers such resemblances; and since the -attention of the present race of poetical readers seems particularly -turned upon this species of elegance, I shall endeavour to examine how -much these conformities have been observed by the poets, or directed by -the criticks, how far they can be established upon nature and reason, and -on what occasions they have been practised by Milton. - -Homer, the father of all poetical beauty, has been particularly celebrated -by Dionysius of Halicarnassus, as "he that, of all the poets, exhibited -the greatest variety of sound; for there are," says he, "innumerable -passages, in which length of time, bulk of body, extremity of passion, -and stillness of repose; or, in which, on the contrary, brevity, speed, -and eagerness, are evidently marked out by the sound of the syllables. -Thus the anguish and slow pace with which the blind _Polypheme_ groped -out with his hands the entrance of his cave, are perceived in the cadence -of the verses which describe it." - - [Greek: Kyklops de stenachon te kai odinon odynesi, - Chersi pselophoon.----] - - Meantime the Cyclop raging with his wound, - Spreads his wide arms, and searches round and round. - POPE. - -The critick then proceeds to shew, that the efforts of Achilles struggling -in his armour against the current of a river, sometimes resisting and -sometimes yielding, may be perceived in the elisions of the syllables, -the slow succession of the feet, and the strength of the consonants. - - [Greek: Deinon d' amph' Hachilea kykomenon histato kyma - Othei d' en sakei pipton rhoos; oude podessin - Eske sterixasthai.----] - - So oft the surge, in wat'ry mountains spread, - Beats on his back, or bursts upon his head, - Yet, dauntless still, the adverse flood he braves, - And still indignant bounds above the waves. - Tir'd by the tides, his knees relax with toil; - Wash'd from beneath him, slides the slimy soil. - POPE. - -When Homer describes the crush of men dashed against a rock, he collects -the most unpleasing and harsh sounds. - - [Greek: Syn de dyo marpsas, hoste skylakas poti gaie - Kopt'; ek d' enkephalos chamadis rhee, deue de gaian.] - - ------His bloody hand - Snatch'd two, unhappy! of my martial band, - And dash'd like dogs against the stony floor: - The pavement swims with brains and mingled gore. - POPE. - -And when he would place before the eyes something dreadful and -astonishing, he makes choice of the strongest vowels, and the letters -of most difficult utterance. - - [Greek: Te d' epi men Gorgo blosyropis estephanoto - Deinon derkomene; peri de Deimos te Phobos te.] - - Tremendous Gorgon frown'd upon its field, - And circling terrors fill'd th' expressive shield. - POPE. - -Many other examples Dionysius produces; but these will sufficiently shew, -that either he was fanciful, or we have lost the genuine pronunciation; -for I know not whether, in any one of these instances, such similitude -can be discovered. It seems, indeed, probable, that the veneration with -which Homer was read, produced many suppositious beauties: for though it -is certain, that the sound of many of his verses very justly corresponds -with the things expressed, yet, when the force of his imagination, which -gave him full possession of every object, is considered, together with -the flexibility of his language, of which the syllables might be often -contracted or dilated at pleasure, it will seem unlikely that such -conformity should happen less frequently even without design. - -It is not however to be doubted, that Virgil, who wrote amidst the light -of criticism, and who owed so much of his success to art and labour, -endeavoured, among other excellencies, to exhibit this similitude; nor -has he been less happy in this than in the other graces of versification. -This felicity of his numbers was, at the revival of learning, displayed -with great elegance by Vida, in his Art of Poetry. - - Haud satis est illis utcunque claudere versum.---- - Omnia sed numeris vocum concordibus aptant, - Atque sono quaecunque canunt imitantur, et apta - Verborum facie, et quaesito carminis ore. - Nam diversa opus est veluti dare versibus ora,---- - Hic melior motuque pedum, et pernicibus alis, - Molle Viam tacito lapsu per levia radit: - Ille autem membris, ac mole ignavius ingens - Incedit tardo molimine subsiden le. - Ecce aliquis subit egregio pulcherrimus ore, - Cui laetum membris Venus omnibus afflat honorem. - Contra alius rudis, informes ostendit et artus, - Hirsutumque supercilium, ac caudam sinuosam, - Ingratus visu, sonitu illaetabilis ipso.---- - Ergo ubi jam nautae spumas salis aere ruentes - Incubere mari, videas spumare reductis - Convulsum remis, rostrisque stridentibus aequor. - Tunc longe sale saxa sonant, tunc et freta ventis - Incipiunt agitata tumescere: littore fluctus - Illidunt rauco, atque refracta remurmurat unda - Ad scopulos, cumulo insequitur praeruptus aquae mons.---- - Cum vero ex alto speculatus caerula Nereus - Leniit in morem stagni, placidaeque paludis, - Labitur uncta vadis abies, natat uncta carina.---- - Verba etiam res exiguas angusta sequuntur, - Ingentesque juvant ingentia: cuncta gigantem - Vasta decent, vultus immanes, pectora lata, - Et magni membrorum artus, magna ossa, lacertique. - Atque adeo, siquid geritur molimine magno, - Adde moram, et pariter tecum quoque verba laborent - Segnia: seu quando vi multa gleba coactis - Aeternum frangenda bidentibus, aequore seu cum - Cornua velatarum obvertimus antennarum. - At mora si fuerit damno, properare jubebo. - Si se forte cava extulerit mala vipera terra, - Tolle moras, cape saxa manu, cape robora, pastor: - Ferte citi flammas, date tela, repellite pestem. - Ipse etiam versus ruat, in praecepsque feratur, - Immenso cum praecipitans ruit Oceano nox, - Aut cum perculsus graviter procumbit humi bos. - Cumque etiam requies rebus datur, ipsa quoque ultro - Carmina paulisper cursu cessare videbis - In medio interrupta: quierunt cum freta ponti, - Postquam aurae posuere, quiescere protinus ipsum - Cernere erit, mediisque incoeptis sistere versum. - Quid dicam, senior cum telum imbelle sine ictu - Invalidus jacit, et defectis viribus aeger? - Num quoque tum versus segni pariter pede languet: - Sanguis hebet, frigent effoetae in corpore vires. - Fortem autem juvenem deceat prorumpere in arces, - Evertisse domos, praefractaque quadrupedantum - Pectora pectoribus perrumpere, sternere turres - Ingentes, totoque, ferum dare funera campo. - LIB. iii. 365. - - - 'Tis not enough his verses to complete, - In measure, number, or determin'd feet. - To all, proportion'd terms he must dispense, - And make the sound a picture of the sense; - The correspondent words exactly frame, - The look, the features, and the mien the same. - With rapid feet and wings, without delay, - This swiftly flies, and smoothly skims away: - This blooms with youth and beauty in his face, - And Venus breathes on ev'ry limb a grace; - That, of rude form, his uncouth members shows, - Looks horrible, and frowns with his rough brows; - His monstrous tail, in many a fold and wind, - Voluminous and vast, curls up behind; - At once the image and the lines appear, - Rude to the eye, and frightful to the ear. - Lo! when the sailors steer the pond'rous ships, - And plough, with brazen beaks, the foamy deeps, - Incumbent on the main that roars around, - Beneath the lab'ring oars the waves resound; - The prows wide echoing through the dark profound. - To the loud call each distant rock replies; - Tost by the storm the tow'ring surges rise; - While the hoarse ocean beats the sounding shore, - Dash'd from the strand, the flying waters roar, - Flash at the shock, and gathering in a heap, - The liquid mountains rise, and over-hang the deep. - But when blue Neptune from his car surveys, - And calms at one regard the raging seas, - Stretch'd like a peaceful lake the deep subsides, - And the pitch'd vessel o'er the surface glides. - When things are small, the terms should still be so; - For low words please us when the theme is low. - But when some giant, horrible and grim, - Enormous in his gait, and vast in every limb, - Stalks tow'ring on; the swelling words must rise - In just proportion to the monster's size. - If some large weight his huge arms strive to shove, - The verse too labours; the throng'd words scarce move. - When each stiff clod beneath the pond'rous plough - Crumbles and breaks, th' encumber'd lines must flow. - Nor less, when pilots catch the friendly gales, - Unfurl their shrouds, and hoist the wide-stretch'd sails. - But if the poem suffers from delay, - Let the lines fly precipitate away, - And when the viper issues from the brake, - Be quick; with stones, and brands, and fire, attack - His rising crest, and drive the serpent back. - When night descends, or stunn'd by num'rous strokes, - And groaning, to the earth drops the vast ox; - The line too sinks with correspondent sound - Flat with the steer, and headlong to the ground. - When the wild waves subside, and tempests cease, - And hush the roarings of the sea to peace; - So oft we see the interrupted strain - Stopp'd in the midst--and with the silent main - Pause for a space--at last it glides again. - When Priam strains his aged arms, to throw - His unavailing jav'line at the foe; - (His blood congeal'd, and ev'ry nerve unstrung) - Then with the theme complies the artful song; - Like him, the solitary numbers flow, - Weak, trembling, melancholy, stiff, and slow. - Not so young Pyrrhus, who with rapid force - Beats down embattled armies in his course. - The raging youth on trembling Ilion falls, - Burns her strong gates, and shakes her lofty walls; - Provokes his flying courser to the speed, - In full career to charge the warlike steed: - He piles the field with mountains of the slain; - He pours, he storms, he thunders thro' the plain.--PITT. - -From the Italian gardens Pope seems to have transplanted this flower, the -growth of happier climates, into a soil less adapted to its nature, and -less favourable to its increase. - - Soft is the strain, when Zephyr gentle blows, - And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows; - But when loud billows lash the sounding shore, - The hoarse rough verse should like the torrent roar. - When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw, - The line too labours, and the words move slow; - Nor so when swift Camilla scours the plain, - Flies o'er th' unbending corn, and skims along the main. - -From these lines, laboured with attention, and celebrated by a rival wit, -may be judged what can be expected from the most diligent endeavours -after this imagery of sound. The verse intended to represent the whisper -of the vernal breeze, must be confessed not much to excel in softness -or volubility: and the smooth stream runs with a perpetual clash of -jarring consonants. The noise and turbulence of the torrent, is, indeed, -distinctly imaged, for it requires very little skill to make our language -rough: but in these lines, which mention the effort of Ajax, there is no -particular heaviness, obstruction, or delay. The swiftness of Camilla is -rather contrasted than exemplified; why the verse should be lengthened -to express speed, will not easily be discovered. In the dactyls used -for that purpose by the ancients, two short syllables were pronounced -with such rapidity, as to be equal only to one long; they, therefore, -naturally exhibit the act of passing through a long space in a short -time. But the Alexandrine, by its pause in the midst, is a tardy and -stately measure; and the word _unbending_, one of the most sluggish and -slow which our language affords, cannot much accelerate its motion. - -These rules and these examples have taught our present criticks to inquire -very studiously and minutely into sounds and cadences. It is, therefore, -useful to examine with what skill they have proceeded; what discoveries -they have made; and whether any rules can be established which may guide -us hereafter in such researches. - - - - -No. 93. TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 5, 1751. - - - _----Experiar, quid concedatur in illos,_ - _Quorum flaminia tegitur cinis atque Latina._ - JUV. Sat. i. 170. - - More safely truth to urge her claim presumes, - On names now found alone on books and tombs. - - -There are few books on which more time is spent by young students, than -on treatises which deliver the characters of authors; nor any which -oftener deceive the expectation of the reader, or fill his mind with -more opinions which the progress of his studies and the increase of his -knowledge oblige him to resign. - -Baillet has introduced his collection of the decisions of the learned, by -an enumeration of the prejudices which mislead the critick, and raise the -passions in rebellion against the judgment. His catalogue, though large, -is imperfect; and who can hope to complete it? The beauties of writing -have been observed to be often such as cannot in the present state of -human knowledge be evinced by evidence, or drawn out into demonstrations; -they are therefore wholly subject to the imagination, and do not force -their effects upon a mind pre-occupied by unfavourable sentiments, nor -overcome the counteraction of a false principle or of stubborn partiality. - -To convince any man against his will is hard, but to please him against -his will is justly pronounced by Dryden to be above the reach of human -abilities. Interest and passion will hold out long against the closest -siege of diagrams and syllogisms, but they are absolutely impregnable -to imagery and sentiment; and will for ever bid defiance to the most -powerful strains of Virgil or Homer, though they may give way in time to -the batteries of Euclid or Archimedes. - -In trusting therefore to the sentence of a critick, we are in danger not -only from that vanity which exalts writers too often to the dignity of -teaching what they are yet to learn, from that negligence which sometimes -steals upon the most vigilant caution, and that fallibility to which the -condition of nature has subjected every human understanding; but from -a thousand extrinsick and accidental causes, from every thing which can -excite kindness or malevolence, veneration or contempt. - -Many of those who have determined with great boldness upon the various -degrees of literary merit, may be justly suspected of having passed -sentence, as Seneca remarks of Claudius, - - _Una tantum parte audita,_ - _Saepe et nulla,_ - -without much knowledge of the cause before them: for it will not easily -be imagined of Langbaine, Borrichius, or Rapin, that they had very -accurately perused all the books which they praise or censure: or that, -even if nature and learning had qualified them for judges, they could -read for ever with the attention necessary to just criticism. Such -performances, however, are not wholly without their use; for they are -commonly just echoes to the voice of fame, and transmit the general -suffrage of mankind when they have no particular motives to suppress it. - -Criticks, like the rest of mankind, are very frequently misled by -interest. The bigotry with which editors regard the authors whom they -illustrate or correct, has been generally remarked. Dryden was known to -have written most of his critical dissertations only to recommend the -work upon which he then happened to be employed: and Addison is suspected -to have denied the expediency of poetical justice, because his own Cato -was condemned to perish in a good cause. - -There are prejudices which authors, not otherwise weak or corrupt, have -indulged without scruple; and perhaps some of them are so complicated -with our natural affections, that they cannot easily be disentangled from -the heart. Scarce any can hear with impartiality a comparison between the -writers of his own and another country; and though it cannot, I think, be -charged equally on all nations, that they are blinded with this literary -patriotism, yet there are none that do not look upon their authors with -the fondness of affinity, and esteem them as well for the place of their -birth, as for their knowledge or their wit. There is, therefore, seldom -much respect due to comparative criticism, when the competitors are of -different countries, unless the judge is of a nation equally indifferent -to both. The Italians could not for a long time believe, that there -was any learning beyond the mountains; and the French seem generally -persuaded, that there are no wits or reasoners equal to their own. I can -scarcely conceive that if Scaliger had not considered himself as allied -to Virgil, by being born in the same country, he would have found his -works so much superior to those of Homer, or have thought the controversy -worthy of so much zeal, vehemence, and acrimony. - -There is, indeed, one prejudice, and only one, by which it may be doubted -whether it is any dishonour to be sometimes misguided. Criticism has so -often given occasion to the envious and ill-natured of gratifying their -malignity, that some have thought it necessary to recommend the virtue -of candour without restriction, and to preclude all future liberty of -censure. Writers possessed with this opinion are continually enforcing -civility and decency, recommending to criticks the proper diffidence of -themselves, and inculcating the veneration due to celebrated names. - -I am not of opinion that these professed enemies of arrogance and severity -have much more benevolence or modesty than the rest of mankind; or that -they feel in their own hearts, any other intention than to distinguish -themselves by their softness and delicacy. Some are modest because -they are timorous, and some are lavish of praise because they hope to -be repaid. - -There is indeed some tenderness due to living writers, when they attack -none of those truths which are of importance to the happiness of mankind, -and have committed no other offence than that of betraying their own -ignorance or dulness. I should think it cruelty to crush an insect -who had provoked me only by buzzing in my ear; and would not willingly -interrupt the dream of harmless stupidity, or destroy the jest which -makes its author laugh. Yet I am far from thinking this tenderness -universally necessary; for he that writes may be considered as a kind of -general challenger, whom every one has a right to attack; since he quits -the common rank of life, steps forward beyond the lists, and offers his -merit to the publick judgment. To commence author is to claim praise, -and no man can justly aspire to honour, but at the hazard of disgrace. -But whatever be decided concerning contemporaries, whom he that knows -the treachery of the human heart, and considers how often we gratify -our own pride or envy under the appearance of contending for elegance -and propriety will find himself not much inclined to disturb; there can -surely be no exemptions pleaded to secure them from criticism, who can -no longer suffer by reproach, and of whom nothing now remains but their -writings and their names. Upon these authors the critick is undoubtedly -at full liberty to exercise the strictest severity, since he endangers -only his own fame, and, like Aeneas when he drew his sword in the -infernal regions, encounters phantoms which cannot be wounded. He may -indeed pay some regard to established reputation; but he can by that -shew of reverence consult only his own security, for all other motives -are now at an end. - -The faults of a writer of acknowledged excellence are more dangerous, -because the influence of his example is more extensive; and the interest -of learning requires that they should be discovered and stigmatized, -before they have the sanction of antiquity conferred upon them, and -become precedents of indisputable authority. - -It has, indeed, been advanced by Addison, as one of the characteristicks -of a true critick, that he points out beauties rather than faults. But -it is rather natural to a man of learning and genius to apply himself -chiefly to the study of writers who have more beauties than faults to -be displayed: for the duty of criticism is neither to depreciate, nor -dignify by partial representations, but to hold out the light of reason, -whatever it may discover; and to promulgate the determinations of truth, -whatever she shall dictate. - - - - -No. 94. SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 9, 1751. - - - _----Bonus atque fidus_ - _Judex * * * * per obstantes catervas_ - _Explicuit sua victor arma._ - HOR. Lib. iv. Od. ix. 40. - - Perpetual magistrate is he - Who keeps strict justice full in sight; - Who bids the crowd at awful distance gaze, - And virtue's arms victoriously displays. - FRANCIS. - - -The resemblance of poetick numbers, to the subject which they mention or -describe, may be considered as general or particular; as consisting in -the flow and structure of a whole passage taken together, or as comprised -in the sound of some emphatical and descriptive words, or in the cadence -and harmony of single verses. - -The general resemblance of the sound to the sense is to be found in every -language which admits of poetry, in every author whose force of fancy -enables him to impress images strongly on his own mind, and whose choice -and variety of language readily supply him with just representations. To -such a writer it is natural to change his measure with his subject, even -without any effort of the understanding, or intervention of the judgment. -To revolve jollity and mirth necessarily tunes the voice of a poet to gay -and sprightly notes, as it fires his eye with vivacity; and reflection -on gloomy situations and disastrous events, will sadden his numbers, -as it will cloud his countenance. But in such passages there is only -the similitude of pleasure to pleasure, and of grief to grief, without -any immediate application to particular images. The same flow of joyous -versification will celebrate the jollity of marriage, and the exultation -of triumph; and the same languor of melody will suit the complaints of an -absent lover, as of a conquered king. - -It is scarcely to be doubted, that on many occasions we make the musick -which we imagine ourselves to hear, that we modulate the poem by our own -disposition, and ascribe to the numbers the effects of the sense. We may -observe in life, that it is not easy to deliver a pleasing message in -an unpleasing manner, and that we readily associate beauty and deformity -with those whom for any reason we love or hate. Yet it would be too -daring to declare that all the celebrated adaptations of harmony are -chimerical; that Homer had no extraordinary attention to the melody of -his verse when he described a nuptial festivity; - - [Greek: Nymphas d' ek thalamon, daidon hypolampomenaon, - Egineon ana asty, polys d' hymenaios ororei.] - - Here sacred pomp and genial feast delight, - And solemn dance, and hymeneal rite; - Along the street the new-made brides are led, - With torches flaming, to the nuptial bed; - The youthful dancers, in a circle, bound - To the soft flute, and cittern's silver sound. - POPE. - -That Vida was merely fanciful, when he supposed Virgil endeavouring to -represent, by uncommon sweetness of numbers, the adventitious beauty -of Aeneas; - - _Os, humerosque Deo similis: namque ipse decoram_ - _Caesariem nato genetrix, lumenque juventae_ - _Purpureum, et laetos oculis afflarat honores._ - - The Trojan chief appeared in open sight, - August in visage, and serenely bright. - His mother goddess, with her hands divine, - Had form'd his curling locks, and made his temples shine; - And giv'n his rolling eyes a sparkling grace, - And breath'd a youthful vigour on his face. - DRYDEN. - -Or that Milton did not intend to exemplify the harmony which he mentions: - - Fountains! and ye that warble as ye flow, - Melodious murmurs! warbling tune his praise. - -That Milton understood the force of sounds well adjusted, and knew the -compass and variety of the ancient measures, cannot be doubted; since he -was both a musician and a critick; but he seems to have considered these -conformities of cadence, as either not often attainable in our language, -or as petty excellencies unworthy of his ambition: for it will not be -found that he has always assigned the same cast of numbers to the same -objects. He has given in two passages very minute descriptions of angelic -beauty; but though the images are nearly the same, the numbers will be -found, upon comparison, very different: - - And now a stripling cherub he appears, - Not of the prime, yet such as in his face - Youth smil'd celestial, and to every limb - _Suitable grace diffus'd, so well he feign'd;_ - Under a coronet his flowing hair - _In curls on either cheek play'd: wings he wore_ - _Of many a coloured plume, sprinkled with gold._ - -Some of the lines of this description are remarkably defective in harmony, -and therefore by no means correspondent with that symmetrical elegance -and easy grace, which they are intended to exhibit. The failure, however, -is fully compensated by the representation of Raphael, which equally -delights the ear and imagination: - - A seraph wing'd: six wings he wore to shade - His lineaments divine; the pair that clad - Each shoulder broad, came mantling o'er his breast - With regal ornament: the middle pair - Girt like a starry zone his waist, and round - Skirted his loins and thighs, with downy gold, - And colours dipp'd in heav'n; the third his feet - Shadow'd from either heel with feather'd mail, - Sky-tinctur'd grain! like Maia's son he stood, - And shook his plumes, that heav'nly fragrance fill'd - The circuit wide.---- - -The adumbration of particular and distinct images by an exact and -perceptible resemblance of sound, is sometimes studied, and sometimes -casual. Every language has many words formed in imitation of the noises -which they signify. Such are _stridor_, _balo_, and _beatus_, in Latin; and -in English to _growl_, to _buzz_, to _hiss_, and to _jarr_. Words of this -kind give to a verse the proper similitude of sound, without much labour -of the writer, and such happiness is therefore to be attributed rather to -fortune than skill; yet they are sometimes combined with great propriety, -and undeniably contribute to enforce the impression of the idea. We hear -the passing arrow in this line of Virgil; - - Et fugit _horrendum stridens_ elapsa sagitta; - Th' impetuous arrow whizzes on the wing. - POPE. - -And the creaking of hell-gates, in the description by Milton; - - --------Open fly - With impetuous recoil and jarring sound - Th' infernal doors: and on their hinges grate - Harsh thunder.---- - -But many beauties of this kind, which the moderns, and perhaps the -ancients, have observed, seem to be the product of blind reverence acting -upon fancy. Dionysius himself tells us, that the sound of Homer's verses -sometimes exhibits the idea of corporeal bulk. Is not this a discovery -nearly approaching to that of the blind man, who, after long inquiry into -the nature of the scarlet colour, found that it represented nothing so -much as the clangour of a trumpet? The representative power of poetick -harmony consists of sound and measure; of the force of the syllables -singly considered, and of the time in which they are pronounced. Sound -can resemble nothing but sound, and time can measure nothing but motion -and duration. - -The criticks, however, have struck out other similitudes; nor is there any -irregularity of numbers which credulous admiration cannot discover to be -eminently beautiful. Thus the propriety of each of these lines has been -celebrated by writers whose opinion the world has reason to regard: - - _Vertitur interea coelum, et ruit oceano nox._ - - Meantime the rapid heav'us rowl'd down the light, - And on the shaded ocean rush'd the night. - DRYDEN. - - _Sternitur, exanimisque tremens procumbit humi bos._ - - Down drops the beast, nor needs a second wound; - But sprawls in pangs of death, and spurns the ground. - DRYDEN. - - _Parturiunt montes, nascitur ridiculus mus._ - - The mountains labour, and a mouse is born. - ROSCOMMON. - -If all these observations are just, there must be some remarkable -conformity between the sudden succession of night to day, the fall of an -ox under a blow, and the birth of a mouse from a mountain; since we are -told of all these images, that they are very strongly impressed by the -same form and termination of the verse. - -We may, however, without giving way to enthusiasm, admit that some -beauties of this kind may be produced. A sudden stop at an unusual -syllable may image the cessation of action, or the pause of discourse; -and Milton has very happily imitated the repetitions of an echo: - - --------I fled, and cried out _death_: - Hell trembled at the hedious name, and sigh'd - From all her caves, and back resounded _death_. - -The measure of time in pronouncing may be varied so as very strongly -to represent, not only the modes of external motion, but the quick or -slow succession of ideas, and consequently the passions of the mind. -This at least was the power of the spondaick and dactylick harmony, but -our language can reach no eminent diversities of sound. We can indeed -sometimes, by encumbering and retarding the line, show the difficulty -of a progress made by strong efforts and with frequent interruptions, or -mark a slow and heavy motion. Thus Milton has imaged the toil of Satan -struggling through chaos; - - So he with difficulty and labour hard - Mov'd on: with difficulty and labour he-- - -Thus he has described the leviathans or whales; - - Wallowing unwieldy, enormous in their gait. - -But he has at other times neglected such representations, as may be -observed in the volubility and levity of these lines, which express an -action tardy and reluctant. - - --------Descent and fall - To us is adverse. Who but felt of late, - When the fierce foe hung on our broken rear - Insulting, and pursu'd us through the deep, - With what confusion and laborious flight - We sunk thus low! Th' ascent is easy then. - -In another place, he describes the gentle glide of ebbing waters in a line -remarkably rough and halting; - - --------Tripping ebb; that stole - With soft foot tow'rds the deep who now had stopp'd - His sluices. - -It is not, indeed, to be expected, that the sound should always assist the -meaning, but it ought never to counteract it; and therefore Milton has -here certainly committed a fault like that of a player, who looked on the -earth when he implored the heavens, and to the heavens when he addressed -the earth. - -Those who are determined to find in Milton an assemblage of all the -excellencies which have ennobled all other poets, will perhaps be -offended that I do not celebrate his versification in higher terms; for -there are readers who discover that in this passage, - - So stretch'd out huge in length the arch-fiend lay, - -a _long_ form is described in a _long_ line; but the truth is, that -length of body is only mentioned in a _slow_ line, to which it has only -the resemblance of time to space, of an hour to a maypole. - -The same turn of ingenuity might perform wonders upon the description of -the ark: - - Then from the mountains hewing timber tall, - Began to build a vessel of huge bulk; - Measur'd by cubit, length, and breadth, and height. - -In these lines the poet apparently designs to fix the attention upon -bulk; but this is effected by the enumeration, not by the measure; for -what analogy can there be between modulations of sound, and corporeal -dimensions? - -Milton indeed seems only to have regarded this species of embellishment so -far as not to reject it when it came unsought; which would often happen -to a mind so vigorous, employed upon a subject so various and extensive. -He had, indeed, a greater and nobler work to perform; a single sentiment -of moral or religious truth, a single image of life or nature, would -have been cheaply lost for a thousand echoes of the cadence of the sense; -and he who had undertaken to _vindicate the ways of God to man_, might -have been accused of neglecting his cause, had he lavished much of his -attention upon syllables and sounds. - - - - -No. 95. TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 12, 1751. - - - _Parcus Deorum cultor et infrequens,_ - _Insanientis dum sapientiae_ - _Consultus erro; nunc retrorsum_ - _Vela dare, atque iterare cursus_ - _Cogor relictos._ - HOR. Lib. i. Od. xxxiv. 1. - - A fugitive from heav'n and prayer, - I mock'd at all religious fear, - Deep scienc'd in the mazy lore - Of mad philosophy; but now - Hoist sail, and back my voyage plow - To that blest harbour, which I left before. - FRANCIS. - - -TO THE RAMBLER. - -SIR, - -There are many diseases both of the body and mind, which it is far easier -to prevent than to cure, and therefore I hope you will think me employed -in an office not useless either to learning or virtue, if I describe the -symptoms of an intellectual malady, which, though at first it seizes only -the passions, will, if not speedily remedied, infect the reason, and, from -blasting the blossoms of knowledge, proceed in time to canker the root. - -I was born in the house of discord. My parents were of unsuitable ages, -contrary tempers, and different religions, and therefore employed the -spirit and acuteness which nature had very liberally bestowed upon both, -in hourly disputes, and incessant contrivances to detect each other -in the wrong; so that from the first exertions of reason I was bred a -disputant, trained up in all the arts of domestick sophistry, initiated -in a thousand low stratagems, nimble shifts, and sly concealments; versed -in all the turns of altercation, and acquainted with the whole discipline -of _fending_ and _proving_. - -It was necessarily my care to preserve the kindness of both the -controvertists, and therefore I had very early formed the habit of -suspending my judgment, of hearing arguments with indifference, inclining -as occasion required to either side, and of holding myself undetermined -between them till I knew for what opinion I might conveniently declare. - -Thus, Sir, I acquired very early the skill of disputation; and, as we -naturally love the arts in which we believe ourselves to excel, I did not -let my abilities lie useless, nor suffer my dexterity to be lost for want -of practice. I engaged in perpetual wrangles with my school-fellows, and -was never to be convinced or repressed by any other arguments than blows, -by which my antagonists commonly determined the controversy, as I was, -like the Roman orator, much more eminent for eloquence than courage. - -At the university I found my predominant ambition completely gratified -by the study of logick. I impressed upon my memory a thousand axioms, -and ten thousand distinctions, practised every form of syllogism, passed -all my days in the schools of disputation, and slept every night with -Smiglecius[55] on my pillow. - -You will not doubt but such a genius was soon raised to eminence by -such application. I was celebrated in my third year for the most artful -opponent that the university could boast, and became the terrour and envy -of all the candidates for philosophical reputation. - -My renown, indeed, was not purchased but at the price of all my time and -all my studies. I never spoke but to contradict, nor declaimed but in -defence of a position universally acknowledged to be false, and therefore -worthy, in my opinion, to be adorned with all the colours of false -representation, and strengthened with all the art of fallacious subtilty. - -My father, who had no other wish than to see his son richer than himself, -easily concluded that I should distinguish myself among the professors -of the law; and therefore, when I had taken my first degree, dispatched -me to the Temple with a paternal admonition, that I should never suffer -myself to feel shame, for nothing but modesty could retard my fortune. - -Vitiated, ignorant, and heady as I was, I had not yet lost my reverence -for virtue, and therefore could not receive such dictates without -horrour; but, however, was pleased with his determination of my course -of life, because he placed me in the way that leads soonest from the -prescribed walks of discipline and education, to the open fields of -liberty and choice. - -I was now in the place where every one catches the contagion of vanity, -and soon began to distinguish myself by sophisms and paradoxes. I declared -war against all received opinions and established rules, and levelled my -batteries particularly against those universal principles which had stood -unshaken in all the vicissitudes of literature, and are considered as the -inviolable temples of truth, or the impregnable bulwarks of science. - -I applied myself chiefly to those parts of learning which have filled -the world with doubt and perplexity, and could readily produce all the -arguments relating to matter and motion, time and space, identity and -infinity. - -I was equally able and equally willing to maintain the system of Newton or -Descartes, and favoured occasionally the hypothesis of Ptolemy, or that -of Copernicus. I sometimes exalted vegetables to sense, and sometimes -degraded animals to mechanism. - -Nor was I less inclined to weaken the credit of history, or perplex the -doctrines of polity. I was always of the party which I heard the company -condemn. - -Among the zealots of liberty I could harangue with great copiousness upon -the advantages of absolute monarchy, the secrecy of its counsels, and the -expedition of its measures; and often celebrated the blessings produced -by the extinction of parties, and preclusion of debates. - -Among the assertors of regal authority, I never failed to declaim with -republican warmth upon the original charter of universal liberty, the -corruption of courts, and the folly of voluntary submission to those whom -nature has levelled with ourselves. - -I knew the defects of every scheme of government, and the inconveniences -of every law. I sometimes shewed how much the condition of mankind would -be improved, by breaking the world into petty sovereignties, and sometimes -displayed the felicity and peace which universal monarchy would diffuse -over the earth. - -To every acknowledged fact I found innumerable objections; for it was my -rule, to judge of history only by abstracted probability, and therefore -I made no scruple of bidding defiance to testimony. I have more than once -questioned the existence of Alexander the Great; and having demonstrated -the folly of erecting edifices like the pyramids of Egypt, I frequently -hinted my suspicion that the world had been long deceived, and that they -were to be found only in the narratives of travellers. - -It had been happy for me could I have confined my scepticism to historical -controversies and philosophical disquisitions; but having now violated -my reason, and accustomed myself to inquire not after proofs, but -objections, I had perplexed truth with falsehood, till my ideas were -confused, my judgment embarrassed, and my intellects distorted. The habit -of considering every proposition as alike uncertain, left me no test by -which any tenet could be tried; every opinion presented both sides with -equal evidence, and my fallacies began to operate upon my own mind in -more important inquiries. It was at last the sport of my vanity to weaken -the obligations of moral duty, and efface the distinctions of good and -evil, till I had deadened the sense of conviction, and abandoned my heart -to the fluctuations of uncertainty, without anchor and without compass, -without satisfaction of curiosity, or peace of conscience, without -principles of reason, or motives of action. - -Such is the hazard of repressing the first perceptions of truth, of -spreading for diversion the snares of sophistry, and engaging reason -against its own determinations. - -The disproportions of absurdity grow less and less visible, as we are -reconciled by degrees to the deformity of a mistress; and falsehood, by -long use, is assimilated to the mind, as poison to the body. - -I had soon the mortification of seeing my conversation courted only by -the ignorant or wicked, by either boys who were enchanted by novelty, or -wretches, who having long disobeyed virtue and reason, were now desirous -of my assistance to dethrone them. - -Thus alarmed, I shuddered at my own corruption, and that pride by which -I had been seduced, contributed to reclaim me. I was weary of continual -irresolution, and a perpetual equipoise of the mind; and ashamed of -being the favourite of those who were scorned and shunned by the rest -of mankind. - -I therefore retired from all temptation to dispute, prescribed a new -regimen to my understanding, and resolved, instead of rejecting all -established opinions which I could not prove, to tolerate though not adopt -all which I could not confute. I forebore to heat my imagination with -needless controversies, to discuss questions confessedly uncertain, and -refrained steadily from gratifying my vanity by the support of falsehood. - -By this method I am at length recovered from my argumental delirium, and -find myself in the state of one awakened from the confusion and tumult -of a feverish dream. I rejoice in the new possession of evidence and -reality, and step on from truth to truth with confidence and quiet. - -I am, Sir, &c. - - PERTINAX. - -[Footnote 55: A Polish writer, whose "Logick" was formerly held in great -estimation in this country, as well as on the continent.] - - - - -No. 96. SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 16, 1751. - - - _Quod si Platonis musa personat verum,_ - _Quod quisque discit, immemor recordatur._ - BOETHIUS. - - Truth in Platonick ornaments bedeck'd, - Inforc'd we love, unheeding recollect. - - -It is reported of the Persians, by an ancient writer, that the sum of -their education consisted in teaching youth _to ride, to shoot with the -bow, and to speak truth_. - -The bow and the horse were easily mastered, but it would have been happy -if we had been informed by what arts veracity was cultivated, and by -what preservatives a Persian mind was secured against the temptations -to falsehood. - -There are, indeed, in the present corruption of mankind, many incitements -to forsake truth; the need of palliating our own faults, and the -convenience of imposing on the ignorance or credulity of others, so -frequently occur; so many immediate evils are to be avoided, and so -many present gratifications obtained, by craft and delusion, that very -few of those who are much entangled in life, have spirit and constancy -sufficient to support them in the steady practice of open veracity. - -In order that all men may be taught to speak truth, it is necessary that -all likewise should learn to hear it; for no species of falsehood is -more frequent than flattery, to which the coward is betrayed by fear, -the dependant by interest, and the friend by tenderness. Those who are -neither servile nor timorous, are yet desirous to bestow pleasure; and -while unjust demands of praise continue to be made, there will always be -some whom hope, fear, or kindness, will dispose to pay them. - -The guilt of falsehood is very widely extended, and many whom their -conscience can scarcely charge with stooping to a lie, have vitiated the -morals of others by their vanity, and patronized the vice they believe -themselves to abhor. - -Truth is, indeed, not often welcome for its own sake; it is generally -unpleasing, because contrary to our wishes and opposite to our practice; -and as our attention naturally follows our interest, we hear unwillingly -what we are afraid to know, and soon forget what we have no inclination -to impress upon our memories. - -For this reason many arts of instruction have been invented, by which -the reluctance against truth may be overcome; and as physick is given -to children in confections, precepts have been hidden under a thousand -appearances, that mankind may be bribed by pleasure to escape destruction. - -While the world was yet in its infancy, Truth came among mortals from -above, and Falsehood from below. Truth was the daughter of Jupiter and -Wisdom; Falsehood was the progeny of Folly impregnated by the Wind. They -advanced with equal confidence to seize the dominion of the new creation, -and, as their enmity and their force were well known to the celestials, -all the eyes of heaven were turned upon the contest. - -Truth seemed conscious of superiour power and juster claim, and therefore -came on towering and majestick, unassisted and alone; Reason, indeed, -always attended her, but appeared her follower, rather than companion. -Her march was slow and stately, but her motion was perpetually -progressive, and when once she had grounded her foot, neither gods nor -men could force her to retire. - -Falsehood always endeavoured to copy the mien and attitudes of Truth, and -was very successful in the arts of mimickry. She was surrounded, animated, -and supported by innumerable legions of appetites and passions, but -like other feeble commanders, was obliged often to receive law from her -allies. Her motions were sudden, irregular, and violent; for she had no -steadiness nor constancy. She often gained conquests by hasty incursions, -which she never hoped to keep by her own strength, but maintained by the -help of the passions, whom she generally found resolute and faithful. - -It sometimes happened that the antagonists met in full opposition. In -these encounters, Falsehood always invested her head with clouds, and -commanded Fraud to place ambushes about her. In her left hand she bore -the shield of Impudence, and the quiver of Sophistry rattled on her -shoulder. All the Passions attended at her call; Vanity clapped her wings -before, and Obstinacy supported her behind. Thus guarded and assisted, -she sometimes advanced against Truth, and sometimes waited the attack; -but always endeavoured to skirmish at a distance, perpetually shifted -her ground, and let fly her arrows in different directions; for she -certainly found that her strength failed, whenever the eye of Truth -darted full upon her. - -Truth had the awful aspect though not the thunder of her father, and when -the long continuance of the contest brought them near to one another, -Falsehood let the arms of Sophistry fall from her grasp, and holding up -the shield of Impudence with both her hands, sheltered herself amongst -the Passions. - -Truth, though she was often wounded, always recovered in a short time; but -it was common for the slightest hurt, received by Falsehood, to spread -its malignity to the neighbouring parts, and to burst open again when it -seemed to have been cured. - -Falsehood, in a short time, found by experience that her superiority -consisted only in the celerity of her course, and the changes of her -posture. She therefore ordered Suspicion to beat the ground before her, -and avoid with great care to cross the way of Truth, who, as she never -varied her point, but moved constantly upon the same line, was easily -escaped by the oblique and desultory movements, the quick retreats, and -active doubles which Falsehood always practised, when the enemy began to -raise terrour by her approach. - -By this procedure Falsehood every hour encroached upon the world, and -extended her empire through all climes and regions. Wherever she carried -her victories she left the Passions in full authority behind her; -who were so well pleased with command, that they held out with great -obstinacy when Truth came to seize their posts, and never failed to -retard her progress, though they could not always stop it. They yielded -at last with great reluctance, frequent rallies, and sullen submission; -and always inclined to revolt when Truth ceased to awe them by her -immediate presence. - -Truth, who, when she first descended from the heavenly palaces, expected -to have been received by universal acclamation, cherished with kindness, -heard with obedience, and invited to spread her influence from province -to province, now found that wherever she came she must force her -passage. Every intellect was precluded by prejudice, and every heart -preoccupied by passion. She indeed advanced, but she advanced slowly; -and often lost the conquests which she left behind her, by sudden -insurrections of the appetites, that shook off their allegiance, and -ranged themselves again under the banner of her enemy. - -Truth, however, did not grow weaker by the struggle, for her vigour was -unconquerable; yet she was provoked to see herself thus baffled and -impeded by an enemy, whom she looked on with contempt, and who had no -advantage but such as she owed to inconstancy, weakness, and artifice. -She, therefore, in the anger of disappointment, called upon her father -Jupiter to reestablish her in the skies, and leave mankind to the -disorder and misery which they deserved, by submitting willingly to the -usurpation of falsehood. - -Jupiter compassionated the world too much to grant her request, yet was -willing to ease her labours and mitigate her vexation. He commanded -her to consult the muses by what methods she might obtain an easier -reception, and reign without the toil of incessant war. It was then -discovered, that she obstructed her own progress by the severity of -her aspect, and the solemnity of her dictates; and that men would -never willingly admit her till they ceased to fear her, since by giving -themselves up to falsehood, they seldom make any sacrifice of their -ease or pleasure, because she took the shape that was most engaging, -and always suffered herself to be dressed and painted by desire. The -muses wove, in the loom of Pallas, a loose and changeable robe, like -that in which falsehood captivated her admirers; with this they invested -truth, and named her fiction. She now went out again to conquer with -more success; for when she demanded entrance of the passions, they often -mistook her for falsehood, and delivered up their charge: but when she -had once taken possession, she was soon disrobed by reason, and shone -out, in her original form, with native effulgence and resistless dignity. - - - - -No. 97. TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 19, 1751. - - - _Foecunda culpae soecula nuptias_ - _Primum inquinavere, et genus, et domos._ - _Hoc fonte derivala clades_ - _In patriam populumque fluxit._ - HOR. Lib. iii Od. vi. 17. - - Fruitful of crimes, this age first stain'd - Their hapless offspring, and profan'd - The nuptial bed; from whence the woes, - Which various and unnumber'd rose - From this polluted fountain head, - O'er Rome and o'er the nations spread. - FRANCIS. - - -The reader is indebted for this day's entertainment to an author from whom -the age has received greater favours, who has enlarged the knowledge of -human nature, and taught the passions to move at the command of virtue. - - -TO THE RAMBLER. - -SIR, - -When the Spectator was first published in single papers, it gave me so -much pleasure, that it is one of the favourite amusements of my age -to recollect it; and when I reflect on the foibles of those times, -as described in that useful work, and compare them with the vices -now reigning among us, I cannot but wish that you would oftener take -cognizance of the manners of the better half of the human species, that -if your precepts and observations be carried down to posterity, the -Spectators may show to the rising generation what were the fashionable -follies of their grandmothers, the Rambler of their mothers, and that -from both they may draw instruction and warning. - -When I read those Spectators which took notice of the misbehaviour of -young women at church, by which they vainly hope to attract admirers, -I used to pronounce such forward young women Seekers, in order to -distinguish them, by a mark of infamy, from those who had patience and -decency to stay till they were sought. - -But I have lived to see such a change in the manners of women, that I -would now be willing to compound with them for that name, although I then -thought it disgraceful enough, if they would deserve no worse; since now -they are too generally given up to negligence of domestick business, to -idle amusements, and to wicked rackets, without any settled view at all -but of squandering time. - -In the time of the Spectator, excepting sometimes in appearance in the -ring, sometimes at a good and chosen play, sometimes on a visit at the -house of a grave relation, the young ladies contented themselves to -be found employed in domestick duties; for then routes, drums, balls, -assemblies, and such like markets for women, were not known. - -Modesty and diffidence, gentleness and meekness, were looked upon as -the appropriate virtues and characteristick graces of the sex; and if -a forward spirit pushed itself into notice, it was exposed in print as -it deserved. - -The churches were almost the only places where single women were to be -seen by strangers. Men went thither expecting to see them, and perhaps -too much for that only purpose. - -But some good often resulted, however improper might be their motives. -Both sexes were in the way of their duty. The man must be abandoned -indeed, who loves not goodness in another; nor were the young fellows -of that age so wholly lost to a sense of right, as pride and conceit has -since made them affect to be. When therefore they saw a fair-one whose -decent behaviour and cheerful piety shewed her earnest in her first -duties, they had the less doubt, judging politically only, that she would -have conscientious regard to her second. - -With what ardour have I seen watched for, the rising of a kneeling beauty; -and what additional charms has devotion given to her recommunicated -features? - -The men were often the better for what they heard. Even a Saul was once -found prophesying among the prophets whom he had set out to destroy. To a -man thus put into good humour by a pleasing object, religion itself looked -more amiable. The Men Seekers of the Spectator's time loved the holy place -for the object's sake, and loved the object for her suitable behaviour -in it. - -Reverence mingled with their love, and they thought that a young lady of -such good principles must be addressed only by the man who at least made -a shew of good principles, whether his heart was yet quite right or not. - -Nor did the young lady's behaviour, at any time of the service, lessen -this reverence. Her eyes were her own, her ears the preacher's. Women are -always most observed when they seem themselves least to observe, or to -lay out for observation. The eye of a respectful lover loves rather to -receive confidence from the withdrawn eye of the fair-one, than to find -itself obliged to retreat. - -When a young gentleman's affection was thus laudably engaged, he pursued -its natural dictates; keeping then was a rare, at least a secret and -scandalous vice, and a wife was the summit of his wishes. Rejection -was now dreaded, and pre-engagement apprehended. A woman whom he loved, -he was ready to think must be admired by all the world. His fears, his -uncertainties, increased his love. - -Every inquiry he made into the lady's domestick excellence, which, when a -wife is to be chosen, will surely not be neglected, confirmed him in his -choice. He opens his heart to a common friend, and honestly discovers the -state of his fortune. His friend applies to those of the young lady, whose -parents, if they approve his proposals, disclose them to their daughter. - -She perhaps is not an absolute stranger to the passion of the young -gentleman. His eyes, his assiduities, his constant attendance at a -church, whither, till of late, he used seldom to come, and a thousand -little observances that he paid her, had very probably first forced her -to regard, and then inclined her to favour him. - -That a young lady should be in love, and the love of the young gentleman -undeclared, is an heterodoxy which prudence, and even policy, must not -allow. But, thus applied to, she is all resignation to her parents. -Charming resignation, which inclination opposes not. - -Her relations applaud her for her duty; friends meet; points are adjusted; -delightful perturbations, and hopes, and a few lover's fears, fill up the -tedious space till an interview is granted; for the young lady had not -made herself cheap at publick places. - -The time of interview arrives. She is modestly reserved; he is not -confident. He declares his passion; the consciousness of her own worth, -and his application to her parents, take from her any doubt of his -sincerity; and she owns herself obliged to him for his good opinion. The -inquiries of her friends into his character, have taught her that his -good opinion deserves to be valued. - -She tacitly allows of his future visits; he renews them; the regard of -each for the other is confirmed; and when he presses for the favour of -her hand, he receives a declaration of an entire acquiescence with her -duty, and a modest acknowledgment of esteem for him. - -He applies to her parents therefore for a near day; and thinks himself -under obligation to them for the cheerful and affectionate manner with -which they receive his agreeable application. - -With this prospect of future happiness, the marriage is celebrated. -Gratulations pour in from every quarter. Parents and relations on both -sides, brought acquainted in the course of the courtship, can receive the -happy couple with countenances illumined, and joyful hearts. - -The brothers, the sisters, the friends of one family, are the brothers, -the sisters, the friends of the other. Their two families, thus made one, -are the world to the young couple. - -Their home is the place of their principal delight, nor do they ever -occasionally quit it but they find the pleasure of returning to it -augmented in proportion to the time of their absence from it. - -Oh, Mr. Rambler! forgive the talkativeness of an old man! When I courted -and married my Laetitia, then a blooming beauty, every thing passed just -so! But how is the case now? The ladies, maidens, wives, and widows, -are engrossed by places of open resort and general entertainment, which -fill every quarter of the metropolis, and, being constantly frequented, -make home irksome. Breakfasting-places, dining-places, routes, drums, -concerts, balls, plays, operas, masquerades for the evening, and even for -all night, and lately, publick sales of the goods of broken housekeepers, -which the general dissoluteness of manners has contributed to make -very frequent, come in as another seasonable relief to these modern -time-killers. - -In the summer there are in every country-town assemblies; Tunbridge, Bath, -Cheltenham, Scarborough! What expense of dress and equipage is required -to qualify the frequenters for such emulous appearance! - -By the natural infection of example, the lowest people have places of -six-penny resort, and gaming-tables for pence. Thus servants are now -induced to fraud and dishonesty, to support extravagance, and supply -their losses. - -As to the ladies who frequent those publick places, they are not ashamed -to shew their faces wherever men dare go, nor blush to try who shall -stare most impudently, or who shall laugh loudest on the publick walks. - -The men who would make good husbands, if they visit those places, -are frighted at wedlock, and resolve to live single, except they are -bought at a very high price. They can be spectators of all that passes, -and, if they please, more than spectators, at the expense of others. -The companion of an evening and the companion for life, require very -different qualifications. - -Two thousand pounds in the last age, with a domestick wife, would go -farther than ten thousand in this. Yet settlements are expected, that -often, to a mercantile man especially, sink a fortune into uselessness; -and pin-money is stipulated for, which makes a wife independent, -and destroys love, by putting it out of a man's power to lay any -obligation upon her, that might engage gratitude, and kindle affection. -When to all this the card-tables are added, how can a prudent man think -of marrying? - -And when the worthy men know not where to find wives, must not the sex -be left to the foplings, the coxcombs, the libertines of the age, whom -they help to make such? And need even these wretches marry to enjoy the -conversation of those who render their company so cheap? - -And what, after all, is the benefit which the gay coquette obtains by her -flutters? As she is approachable by every man without requiring, I will -not say incense or adoration, but even common complaisance, every fop -treats her as upon the level, looks upon her light airs as invitations, -and is on the watch to take the advantage: she has companions indeed, but -no lovers; for love is respectful and timorous; and where among all her -followers will she find a husband? - -Set, dear Sir, before the youthful, the gay, the inconsiderate, the -contempt as well as the danger to which they are exposed. At one time or -other, women, not utterly thoughtless, will be convinced of the justice -of your censure, and the charity of your instruction. - -But should your expostulations and reproofs have no effect upon those -who are far gone in fashionable folly, they may be retailed from their -mouths to their nieces, (marriage will not often have entitled these -to daughters,) when they, the meteors of a day, find themselves elbowed -off the stage of vanity by other flutterers; for the most admired women -cannot have many Tunbridge, many Bath seasons to blaze in; since even -fine faces, often seen, are less regarded than new faces, the proper -punishment of showy girls for rendering themselves so impolitickly cheap. - -I am, Sir, - -Your sincere admirer, &c.[56] - -[Footnote 56: The writer of this paper was Richardson, the Novelist. -See Preface.] - - - - -No. 98. SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 23, 1751. - - - _----Quae nec Sarmentus iniquas_ - _Caesaris ad mensas, nec vilis Galba talisset._ - JUV. Sat. v. 3. - - Which not Sarmentus brook'd at Caesar's board, - Nor grov'ling Galba from his haughty Lord. - ELPHINSTON. - - -TO THE AUTHOR OF THE RAMBLER. - -MR. RAMBLER, - -You have often endeavoured to impress upon your readers an observation of -more truth than novelty, that life passes, for the most part, in petty -transactions; that our hours glide away in trifling amusements and slight -gratifications; and that there very seldom emerges any occasion that can -call forth great virtue or great abilities. - -It very commonly happens that speculation has no influence on conduct. -Just conclusions, and cogent arguments, formed by laborious study, and -diligent inquiry, are often reposited in the treasuries of memory, as -gold in a miser's chest, useless alike to others and himself. As some are -not richer for the extent of their possessions, others are not wiser for -the multitude of their ideas. - -You have truly described the state of human beings, but it may be doubted -whether you have accommodated your precepts to your description; whether -you have not generally considered your readers as influenced by the -tragick passions, and susceptible of pain or pleasure only from powerful -agents, and from great events. - -To an author who writes not for the improvement of a single art, or -the establishment of a controverted doctrine, but equally intends the -advantage and equally courts the perusal of all the classes of mankind, -nothing can justly seem unworthy of regard, by which the pleasure of -conversation may be increased, and the daily satisfactions of familiar -life secured from interruption and disgust. - -For this reason you would not have injured your reputation, if you had -sometimes descended to the minuter duties of social beings, and enforced -the observance of those little civilities and ceremonious delicacies, -which, inconsiderable as they may appear to the man of science, and -difficult as they may prove to be detailed with dignity, yet contribute -to the regulation of the world, by facilitating the intercourse between -one man and another, and of which the French have sufficiently testified -their esteem, by terming the knowledge and practice of them _Scavoir -vivre_, The art of living. - -Politeness is one of those advantages which we never estimate rightly -but by the inconvenience of its loss. Its influence upon the manners -is constant and uniform, so that, like an equal motion, it escapes -perception. The circumstances of every action are so adjusted to each -other, that we do not see where any errour could have been committed, and -rather acquiesce in its propriety than admire its exactness. - -But as sickness shews us the value of ease, a little familiarity with -those who were never taught to endeavour the gratification of others, but -regulate their behaviour merely by their own will, will soon evince the -necessity of established modes and formalities to the happiness and quiet -of common life. - -Wisdom and virtue are by no means sufficient, without the supplemental -laws of good-breeding, to secure freedom from degenerating to rudeness, -or self-esteem from swelling into insolence; a thousand incivilities may -be committed, and a thousand offices neglected, without any remorse of -conscience or reproach from reason. - -The true effect of genuine politeness seems to be rather ease than -pleasure. The power of delighting must be conferred by nature, and cannot -be delivered by precept, or obtained by imitation; but though it be the -privilege of a very small number to ravish and to charm, every man may -hope by rules and caution not to give pain, and may, therefore, by the -help of good-breeding, enjoy the kindness of mankind, though he should -have no claim to higher distinctions. - -The universal axiom in which all complaisance is included, and from -which flow all the formalities which custom has established in civilized -nations, is, _That no man shall give any preference to himself_. A rule -so comprehensive and certain, that, perhaps, it is not easy for the mind -to image an incivility, without supposing it to be broken. - -There are, indeed, in every place some particular modes of the ceremonial -part of good-breeding, which, being arbitrary and accidental, can -be learned only by habitude and conversation; such are the forms -of salutation, the different gradations of reverence, and all the -adjustments of place and precedence. These, however, may be often -violated without offence, if it be sufficiently evident, that neither -malice nor pride contributed to the failure; but will not atone, however -rigidly observed, for the tumour of insolence, or petulance of contempt. - -I have, indeed, not found among any part of mankind, less real and -rational complaisance, than among those who have passed their time in -paying and receiving visits, in frequenting publick entertainments, -in studying the exact measures of ceremony, and in watching all the -variations of fashionable courtesy. - -They know, indeed, at what hour they may beat the door of an acquaintance, -how many steps they must attend him towards the gate, and what interval -should pass before his visit is returned; but seldom extend their care -beyond the exterior and unessential parts of civility, nor refuse their -own vanity any gratification, however expensive to the quiet of another. - -Trypherus is a man remarkable for splendour and expense; a man, that having -been originally placed by his fortune and rank in the first class of the -community, has acquired that air of dignity, and that readiness in the -exchange of compliments, which courts, balls, and levees, easily confer. - -But Trypherus, without any settled purposes of malignity, partly by his -ignorance of human nature, and partly by the habit of contemplating with -great satisfaction his own grandeur and riches, is hourly giving disgust -to those whom chance or expectation subjects to his vanity. - -To a man whose fortune confines him to a small house, he declaims upon -the pleasure of spacious apartments, and the convenience of changing his -lodging-room in different parts of the year; tells him, that he hates -confinement; and concludes, that if his chamber was less, he should never -wake without thinking of a prison. - -To Eucretas, a man of birth equal to himself, but of much less estate, he -shewed his services of plate, and remarked that such things were, indeed, -nothing better than costly trifles, but that no man must pretend to the -rank of a gentleman without them; and that for his part, if his estate -was smaller, he should not think of enjoying but increasing it, and would -inquire out a trade for his eldest son. - -He has, in imitation of some more acute observer than himself, collected a -great many shifts and artifices by which poverty is concealed; and among -the ladies of small fortune, never fails to talk of frippery and slight -silks, and the convenience of a general mourning. - -I have been insulted a thousand times with a catalogue of his pictures, -his jewels, and his rarities, which, though he knows the humble neatness -of my habitation, he seldom fails to conclude by a declaration, that -wherever he sees a house meanly furnished, he despises the owner's taste, -or pities his poverty. - -This, Mr. Rambler, is the practice of Trypherus, by which he is become -the terrour of all who are less wealthy than himself, and has raised -innumerable enemies without rivalry, and without malevolence. - -Yet though all are not equally culpable with Trypherus, it is scarcely -possible to find any man who does not frequently, like him, indulge his -own pride by forcing others into a comparison with himself when he knows -the advantage is on his side, without considering that unnecessarily -to obtrude unpleasing ideas, is a species of oppression; and that it is -little more criminal to deprive another of some real advantage, than to -interrupt that forgetfulness of its absence which is the next happiness -to actual possession. - -I am, &c. - - EUTROPIUS. - - - - -No. 99. TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 26, 1751. - - - _Scilicet ingeniis aliqua est concordia junctis,_ - _Et servat studii foedera quisque sui._ - _Rusticus agricolam, miles fera bella gerentem,_ - _Rectorem dubiae navita puppis amat._ - OVID, Ex Pon. v. 59. - - Congenial passions souls together bind, - And ev'ry calling mingles with its kind; - Soldier unites with soldier, swain with swain, - The mariner with him that roves the main. - F. LEWIS. - - -It has been ordained by Providence, for the conservation of order in the -immense variety of nature, and for the regular propagation of the several -classes of life with which the elements are peopled, that every creature -should be drawn by some secret attraction to those of his own kind; and -that not only the gentle and domestick animals which naturally unite -into companies, or co-habit by pairs, should continue faithful to their -species; but even those ravenous and ferocious savages which Aristotle -observes never to be gregarious, should range mountains and deserts in -search of one another, rather than pollute the world with a monstrous -birth. - -As the perpetuity and distinction of the lower tribes of the creation -require that they should be determined to proper mates by some uniform -motive of choice, or some cogent principle of instinct, it is necessary, -likewise, that man, whose wider capacity demands more gratifications, and -who feels in himself innumerable wants, which a life of solitude cannot -supply, and innumerable powers to which it cannot give employment, should -be led to suitable companions by particular influence; and among many -beings of the same nature with himself, he may select some for intimacy -and tenderness, and improve the condition of his existence, by -superadding friendship to humanity, and the love of individuals to that -of the species. - -Other animals are so formed, that they seem to contribute very little to -the happiness of each other, and know neither joy, nor grief, nor love, -nor hatred, but as they are urged by some desire immediately subservient -either to the support of their own lives, or to the continuation of -their race; they therefore seldom appear to regard any of the minuter -discriminations which distinguish creatures of the same kind from one -another. - -But if man were to feel no incentives to kindness, more than his -general tendency to congenial nature, Babylon or London, with all -their multitudes, would have to him the desolation of a wilderness; his -affections, not compressed into a narrower compass, would vanish, like -elemental fire, in boundless evaporation; he would languish in perpetual -insensibility, and though he might, perhaps, in the first vigour of -youth, amuse himself with the fresh enjoyments of life, yet, when -curiosity should cease, and alacrity subside, he would abandon himself to -the fluctuations of chance, without expecting help against any calamity, -or feeling any wish for the happiness of others. - -To love all men is our duty, so far as it includes a general habit of -benevolence, and readiness of occasional kindness; but to love all -equally is impossible; at least impossible without the extinction of -those passions which now produce all our pains and all our pleasures; -without the disuse, if not the abolition, of some of our faculties, and -the suppression of all our hopes and fears in apathy and indifference. - -The necessities of our condition require a thousand offices of tenderness, -which mere regard for the species will never dictate. Every man has -frequent grievances which only the solicitude of friendship will discover -and remedy, and which would remain for ever unheeded in the mighty heap -of human calamity, were it only surveyed by the eye of general benevolence -equally attentive to every misery. - -The great community of mankind is, therefore, necessarily broken into -smaller independent societies; these form distinct interests, which are -too frequently opposed to each other, and which they who have entered -into the league of particular governments falsely think it virtue to -promote, however destructive to the happiness of the rest of the world. - -Such unions are again separated into subordinate classes and combinations, -and social life is perpetually branched out into minuter subdivisions, -till it terminates in the last ramifications of private life. - -That friendship may at once be fond and lasting, it has been already -observed in these papers, that a conformity of inclinations is necessary. -No man can have much kindness for him by whom he does not believe himself -esteemed, and nothing so evidently proves esteem as imitation. - -That benevolence is always strongest which arises from participation of -the same pleasures, since we are naturally most willing to revive in our -minds the memory of persons, with whom the idea of enjoyment is connected. - -It is commonly, therefore, to little purpose that any one endeavours to -ingratiate himself with such as he cannot accompany in their amusements -and diversions. Men have been known to rise to favour and to fortune, -only by being skilful in the sports with which their patron happened to -be delighted, by concurring with his taste for some particular species of -curiosities, by relishing the same wine, or applauding the same cookery. - -Even those whom wisdom or virtue have placed above regard to such petty -recommendations, must nevertheless be gained by similitude of manners. -The highest and noblest enjoyment of familiar life, the communication -of knowledge, and reciprocation of sentiments, must always pre-suppose a -disposition to the same inquiry, and delight in the same discoveries. - -With what satisfaction could the politician lay his schemes for the -reformation of laws, or his comparisons of different forms of government, -before the chemist, who has never accustomed his thoughts to any other -object than salt and sulphur? or how could the astronomer, in explaining -his calculations and conjectures, endure the coldness of a grammarian, who -would lose sight of Jupiter and all his satellites, for a happy etymology -of an obscure word, or a better explication of a controverted line? - -Every man loves merit of the same kind with his own, when it is not -likely to hinder his advancement or his reputation; for he not only best -understands the worth of those qualities which he labours to cultivate, -or the usefulness of the art which he practises with success, but always -feels a reflected pleasure from the praises, which, though given to -another, belong equally to himself. - -There is, indeed, no need of research and refinement to discover that -men must generally select their companions from their own state of -life, since there are not many minds furnished for great variety of -conversation, or adapted to multiplicity of intellectual entertainments. - -The sailor, the academick, the lawyer, the mechanick, and the courtier, -have all a cast of talk peculiar to their own fraternity; have fixed -their attention upon the same events, have been engaged in affairs of the -same sort, and made use of allusions and illustrations which themselves -only can understand. - -To be infected with the jargon of a particular profession, and to know -only the language of a single rank of mortals, is indeed sufficiently -despicable. But as limits must be always set to the excursions of the -human mind, there will be some study which every man more zealously -prosecutes, some darling subject on which he is principally pleased -to converse; and he that can most inform or best understand him, will -certainly be welcomed with particular regard. - -Such partiality is not wholly to be avoided, nor is it culpable, unless -suffered so far to predominate as to produce aversion from every other -kind of excellence, and to shade the lustre of dissimilar virtues. Those, -therefore, whom the lot of life has conjoined, should endeavour constantly -to approach towards the inclination of each other, invigorate every -motion of concurrent desire, and fan every spark of kindred curiosity. - -It has been justly observed, that discord generally operates in little -things; it is inflamed to its utmost vehemence by contrariety of taste, -oftener than of principles; and might therefore commonly be avoided by -innocent conformity, which, if it was not at first the motive, ought -always to be the consequence of indissoluble union. - - - - -No. 100. SATURDAY, MARCH 2, 1751. - - - _Omne vafer vitium ridenti Flaccus amico_ - _Tangit, et admissus circum praecordia, ludit._ - PERSIUS, Sat. i. 116. - - Horace, with sly insinuating grace, - Laugh'd at his friend, and look'd him in the face; - Would raise a blush, where secret vice he found, - And tickle while he gently prob'd the wound. - With seeming innocence the crowd beguild; - But made the desperate passes when he smil'd. - DRYDEN. - - -TO THE RAMBLER. - -SIR, - -As very many well-disposed persons, by the unavoidable necessity of their -affairs, are so unfortunate as to be totally buried in the country, where -they labour under the most deplorable ignorance of what is transacting -among the polite part of mankind, I cannot help thinking, that, as a -publick writer, you should take the case of these truly compassionable -objects under your consideration. - -These unhappy languishers in obscurity should be furnished with such -accounts of the employments of people of the world, as may engage them -in their several remote corners to a laudable imitation; or, at least, so -far inform and prepare them, that if by any joyful change of situation -they should be suddenly transported into the gay scene, they may not gape, -and wonder, and stare, and be utterly at a loss how to behave and make a -proper appearance in it. - -It is inconceivable how much the welfare of all the country towns in the -kingdom might be promoted, if you would use your charitable endeavours to -raise in them a noble emulation of the manners and customs of higher life. - -For this purpose you should give a very clear and ample description of the -whole set of polite acquirements; a complete history of forms, fashions, -frolicks; of routs, drums, hurricanes, balls, assemblies, ridottos, -masquerades, auctions, plays, operas, puppet-shows, and bear-gardens; -of all those delights which profitably engage the attention of the -most sublime characters, and by which they have brought to such amazing -perfection the whole art and mystery of passing day after day, week after -week, and year after year, without the heavy assistance of any one thing -that formal creatures are pleased to call useful and necessary. - -In giving due instructions through what steps to attain this summit of -human excellence, you may add such irresistible arguments in its favour, -as must convince numbers, who in other instances do not seem to want -natural understanding, of the unaccountable errour of supposing they -were sent into the world for any other purpose but to flutter, sport, and -shine. For, after all, nothing can be clearer than that an everlasting -round of diversion, and the more lively and hurrying the better, is the -most important end of human life. - -It is really prodigious, so much as the world is improved, that there -should in these days be persons so ignorant and stupid as to think it -necessary to mispend their time, and trouble their heads about any thing -else than pursuing the present fancy; for what else is worth living for? - -It is time enough surely to think of consequences when they come; and -as for the antiquated notions of duty, they are not to be met with in any -French novel, or any book one ever looks into, but derived almost wholly -from the writings of authors[57], who lived a vast many ages ago, and who, -as they were totally without any idea of those accomplishments which now -characterize people of distinction, have been for some time sinking apace -into utter contempt. It does not appear that even their most zealous -admirers, for some partisans of his own sort every writer will have, can -pretend to say they were ever at one ridotto. - -In the important article of diversions, the ceremonial of visits, the -ecstatick delight of unfriendly intimacies and unmeaning civilities, they -are absolutely silent. Blunt truth, and downright honesty, plain clothes, -staying at home, hard work, few words, and those unenlivened with -censure or double meaning, are what they recommend as the ornaments and -pleasures of life. Little oaths, polite dissimulation, tea-table scandal, -delightful indolence, the glitter of finery, the triumph of precedence, -the enchantments of flattery, they seem to have had no notion of; and -I cannot but laugh to think what a figure they would have made in a -drawing-room, and how frighted they would have looked at a gaming-table. - -The noble zeal of patriotism that disdains authority, and tramples on laws -for sport, was absolutely the aversion of these tame wretches. - -Indeed one cannot discover any one thing they pretend to teach people, but -to be wise, and good; acquirements infinitely below the consideration of -persons of taste and spirit, who know how to spend their time to so much -better purpose. - -Among other admirable improvements, pray, Mr. Rambler, do not forget to -enlarge on the very extensive benefit of playing at cards on Sundays, -a practice of such infinite use, that we may modestly expect to see it -prevail universally in all parts of this kingdom. - -To persons of fashion, the advantage is obvious; because, as for some -strange reason or other, which no fine gentleman or fine lady has yet -been able to penetrate, there is neither play, nor masquerade, nor -bottled conjurer, nor any other thing worth living for, to be had on a -Sunday; if it were not for the charitable assistance of whist or bragg, -the genteel part of mankind must, one day in seven, necessarily suffer -a total extinction of being. - -Nor are the persons of high rank the only gainers by so salutary a custom, -which extends its good influence, in some degree, to the lower orders of -people; but were it quite general, how much better and happier would the -world be than it is even now? - -'Tis hard upon poor creatures, be they ever so mean, to deny them those -enjoyments and liberties which are equally open for all. Yet if servants -were taught to go to church on this day, spend some part of it in reading -or receiving instruction in a family way, and the rest in mere friendly -conversation, the poor wretches would infallibly take it into their -heads, that they were obliged to be sober, modest, diligent, and faithful -to their masters and mistresses. - -Now surely no one of common prudence or humanity would wish their -domesticks infected with such strange and primitive notions, or laid -under such unmerciful restraints: all which may, in a great measure, be -prevented by the prevalence of the good-humoured fashion, that I would -have you recommend. For when the lower kind of people see their betters, -with a truly laudable spirit, insulting and flying in the face of those -rude, ill-bred dictators, piety and the laws, they are thereby excited -and admonished, as far as actions can admonish and excite, and taught -that they too have an equal right of setting them at defiance in such -instances as their particular necessities and inclinations may require; -and thus is the liberty of the whole human species mightily improved -and enlarged. - -In short, Mr. Rambler, by a faithful representation of the numberless -benefits of a modish life, you will have done your part in promoting -what every body seems to confess the true purpose of human existence, -perpetual dissipation. - -By encouraging people to employ their whole attention on trifles, and make -amusement their sole study, you will teach them how to avoid many very -uneasy reflections. - -All the soft feelings of humanity, the sympathies of friendship, all -natural temptations to the care of a family, and solicitude about the -good or ill of others, with the whole train of domestick and social -affections, which create such daily anxieties and embarrassments, will -be happily stifled and suppressed in a round of perpetual delights; and -all serious thoughts, but particularly that of _hereafter_, be banished -out of the world; a most perplexing apprehension, but luckily a most -groundless one too, as it is so very clear a case, that nobody ever dies. - -I am, &c. - - CHARIESSA.[58] - -[Footnote 57: In the original of this paper, written by Mrs. Carter, and -republished by her nephew and executor, the Rev. Montagu Pennington, -(Memoirs of Mrs. C. Vol. ii. Oct. 1816,) the following words occur, which -were unaccountably omitted by Dr. Johnson--"authors called, I think Peter -and Paul, who lived." &c.] - -[Footnote 58: The second contribution of Mrs. Carter.] - - - - -No. 101. TUESDAY, MARCH 5, 1751. - - - _Mella jubes Hyblaea tibi, vel Hymettia nasci;_ - _Et thyma Cecropiae Corsica ponis api?_ - MART. Lib. xi. Ep. 42. - - Alas! dear Sir, you try in vain, - Impossibilities to gain; - No bee from Corsica's rank juice, - Hyblaean honey can produce. - F. LEWIS. - - -TO THE RAMBLER. - -SIR, - -Having by several years of continual study treasured in my mind a great -number of principles and ideas, and obtained by frequent exercise the -power of applying them with propriety, and combining them with readiness, -I resolved to quit the university, where I considered myself as a gem -hidden in the mine, and to mingle in the crowd of publick life. I was -naturally attracted by the company of those who were of the same age with -myself, and finding that my academical gravity contributed very little -to my reputation, applied my faculties to jocularity and burlesque. Thus, -in a short time, I had heated my imagination to such a state of activity -and ebullition, that upon every occasion it fumed away in bursts of -wit, and evaporations of gaiety. I became on a sudden the idol of the -coffee-house, was in one winter solicited to accept the presidentship -of five clubs, was dragged by violence to every new play, and quoted -in every controversy upon theatrical merit; was in every publick place -surrounded by a multitude of humble auditors, who retailed in other -places of resort my maxims and my jests, and was boasted as their -intimate and companion, by many, who had no other pretensions to my -acquaintance, than that they had drank chocolate in the same room. - -You will not wonder, Mr. Rambler, that I mention my success with some -appearance of triumph and elevation. Perhaps no kind of superiority is -more flattering or alluring than that which is conferred by the powers -of conversation, by extemporaneous sprightliness of fancy, copiousness of -language, and fertility of sentiment. In other exertions of genius, the -greater part of the praise is unknown and unenjoyed; the writer, indeed, -spreads his reputation to a wider extent, but receives little pleasure -or advantage from the diffusion of his name, and only obtains a kind of -nominal sovereignty over regions which pay no tribute. The colloquial -wit has always his own radiance reflected on himself, and enjoys all -the pleasure which he bestows; he finds his power confessed by every one -that approaches him, sees friendship kindling with rapture, and attention -swelling into praise. - -The desire which every man feels of importance and esteem, is so much -gratified by finding an assembly, at his entrance, brightened with -gladness and hushed with expectation, that the recollection of such -distinctions can scarcely fail to be pleasing whensoever it is innocent. -And my conscience does not reproach me with any mean or criminal effects -of vanity; since I always employed my influence on the side of virtue, -and never sacrificed my understanding or my religion to the pleasure -of applause. - -There were many whom either the desire of enjoying my pleasantry, or the -pride of being thought to enjoy it, brought often into my company; but -I was caressed in a particular manner by Demochares, a gentleman of a -large estate, and a liberal disposition. My fortune being by no means -exuberant, inclined me to be pleased with a friend who was willing to be -entertained at his own charge. I became by daily invitations habituated -to his table, and, as he believed my acquaintance necessary to the -character of elegance, which he was desirous of establishing, I lived in -all the luxury of affluence, without expense or dependence, and passed my -life in a perpetual reciprocation of pleasure, with men brought together -by similitude of accomplishments, or desire of improvement. - -But all power has its sphere of activity, beyond which it produces -no effect. Demochares, being called by his affairs into the country, -imagined that he should increase his popularity by coming among his -neighbours accompanied by a man whose abilities were so generally -allowed. The report presently spread through half the country that -Demochares was arrived, and had brought with him the celebrated Hilarius, -by whom such merriment would be excited, as had never been enjoyed or -conceived before. I knew, indeed, the purpose for which I was invited, -and, as men do not look diligently out for possible miscarriages, -was pleased to find myself courted upon principles of interest, and -considered as capable of reconciling factions, composing feuds, and -uniting a whole province in social happiness. - -After a few days spent in adjusting his domestick regulations, Demochares -invited all the gentlemen of his neighbourhood to dinner, and did not -forget to hint how much my presence was expected to heighten the pleasure -of the feast. He informed me what prejudices my reputation had raised in -my favour, and represented the satisfaction with which he should see me -kindle up the blaze of merriment, and should remark the various effects -that my fire would have upon such diversity of matter. - -This declaration, by which he intended to quicken my vivacity, filled me -with solicitude. I felt an ambition of shining which I never knew before; -and was therefore embarrassed with an unusual fear of disgrace. I passed -the night in planning out to myself the conversation of the coming day; -recollected all my topicks of raillery, proposed proper subjects of -ridicule, prepared smart replies to a thousand questions, accommodated -answers to imaginary repartees, and formed a magazine of remarks, -apophthegms, tales, and illustrations. - -The morning broke at last in the midst of these busy meditations. I -rose with the palpitations of a champion on the day of combat; and, -notwithstanding all my efforts, found my spirits sunk under the weight of -expectation. The company soon after began to drop in, and every one, at -his entrance, was introduced to Hilarius. What conception the inhabitants -of this region had formed of a wit, I cannot yet discover; but observed -that they all seemed, after the regular exchange of compliments, to turn -away disappointed; and that while we waited for dinner, they cast their -eyes first upon me, and then upon each other, like a theatrical assembly -waiting for a show. - -From the uneasiness of this situation, I was relieved by the dinner; -and as every attention was taken up by the business of the hour, I sunk -quietly to a level with the rest of the company. But no sooner were -the dishes removed, than, instead of cheerful confidence and familiar -prattle, an universal silence again shewed their expectation of some -unusual performance. My friend endeavoured to rouse them by healths and -questions, but they answered him with great brevity, and immediately -relapsed into their former taciturnity. - -I had waited in hope of some opportunity to divert them, but could find -no pass opened for a single sally; and who can be merry without an object -of mirth? After a few faint efforts, which produced neither applause nor -opposition, I was content to mingle with the mass, to put round the glass -in silence, and solace myself with my own contemplations. - -My friend looked round him; the guests stared at one another; and if now -and then a few syllables were uttered with timidity and hesitation, there -was none ready to make any reply. All our faculties were frozen, and -every minute took away from our capacity of pleasing, and disposition to -be pleased. Thus passed the hours to which so much happiness was decreed; -the hours which had, by a kind of open proclamation, been devoted to wit, -to mirth, and to Hilarius. - -At last the night came on, and the necessity of parting freed us from the -persecutions of each other. I heard them, as they walked along the court, -murmuring at the loss of the day, and inquiring whether any man would pay -a second visit to a house haunted by a wit. - -Demochares, whose benevolence is greater than his penetration, having -flattered his hopes with the secondary honour which he was to gain by -my sprightliness and elegance, and the affection with which he should -be followed for a perpetual banquet of gaiety, was not able to conceal -his vexation and resentment, nor would easily be convinced, that I had -not sacrificed his interest to sullenness and caprice, and studiously -endeavoured to disgust his guests, and suppressed my powers of delighting, -in obstinate and premeditated silence. I am informed that the reproach -of their ill reception is divided by the gentlemen of the country between -us; some being of opinion that my friend is deluded by an impostor, who, -though he has found some art of gaining his favour, is afraid to speak -before men of more penetration; and others concluding that I think only -London the proper theatre of my abilities, and disdain to exert my genius -for the praise of rusticks. - -I believe, Mr. Rambler, that it has sometimes happened to others, who -have the good or ill fortune to be celebrated for wits, to fall under -the same censures upon the like occasions. I hope therefore that you -will prevent any misrepresentations of such failures, by remarking that -invention is not wholly at the command of its possessor; that the power -of pleasing is very often obstructed by the desire; that all expectation -lessens surprise, yet some surprise is necessary to gaiety; and that -those who desire to partake of the pleasure of wit must contribute to -its production, since the mind stagnates without external ventilation, -and that effervescence of the fancy, which flashes into transport, can -be raised only by the infusion of dissimilar ideas. - - - - -No. 102. SATURDAY, MARCH 9, 1751. - - - _Ipsa quoque assiduo labuntur tempora motu,_ - _Non secus ac flumen. Neque enim consistere flumen,_ - _Nec levis hora potest: sed ut unda impellitur unda,_ - _Urgeturque prior veniente, urgetque priorem,_ - _Tempora sic fugiunt pariter, pariterque sequuntur._ - OVID, Met. xv. 179. - - With constant motion as the moments glide. - Behold in running life the rolling tide! - For none can stem by art, or stop by pow'r, - The flowing ocean, or the fleeting hour: - But wave by wave pursued arrives on shore, - And each impell'd behind impels before: - So time on time revolving we descry; - So minutes follow, and so minutes fly. - ELPHINSTON. - - -"Life," says Seneca, "is a voyage, in the progress of which we are -perpetually changing our scenes: we first leave childhood behind us, -then youth, then the years of ripened manhood, then the better and more -pleasing part of old age." The perusal of this passage having incited in -me a train of reflections on the state of man, the incessant fluctuation -of his wishes, the gradual change of his disposition to all external -objects, and the thoughtlessness with which he floats along the stream of -time, I sunk into a slumber amidst my meditations, and on a sudden, found -my ears filled with the tumult of labour, the shouts of alacrity, the -shrieks of alarm, the whistle of winds, and the dash of waters. - -My astonishment for a time repressed my curiosity; but soon recovering -myself so far as to inquire whither we were going, and what was the cause -of such clamour and confusion, I was told that we were launching out into -the _ocean of life_; that we had already passed the streights of infancy, -in which multitudes had perished, some by the weakness and fragility of -their vessels, and more by the folly, perverseness, or negligence, of -those who undertook to steer them; and that we were now on the main sea, -abandoned to the winds and billows, without any other means of security -than the care of the pilot, whom it was always in our power to choose -among great numbers that offered their direction and assistance. - -I then looked round with anxious eagerness; and first turning my eyes -behind me, saw a stream flowing through flowery islands, which every -one that sailed along seemed to behold with pleasure; but no sooner -touched, than the current, which, though not noisy or turbulent, was yet -irresistible, bore him away. Beyond these islands all was darkness, nor -could any of the passengers describe the shore at which he first embarked. - -Before me, and on each side, was an expanse of waters violently agitated, -and covered with so thick a mist, that the most perspicacious eye could -see but a little way. It appeared to be full of rocks and whirlpools, for -many sunk unexpectedly while they were courting the gale with full sails, -and insulting those whom they had left behind. So numerous, indeed, were -the dangers, and so thick the darkness, that no caution could confer -security. Yet there were many, who, by false intelligence, betrayed their -followers into whirlpools, or by violence pushed those whom they found in -their way against the rocks. - -The current was invariable and insurmountable; but though it was -impossible to sail against it, or to return to the place that was once -passed, yet it was not so violent as to allow no opportunities for -dexterity or courage, since, though none could retreat back from danger, -yet they might often avoid it by oblique direction. - -It was, however, not very common to steer with much care or prudence; for -by some universal infatuation, every man appeared to think himself safe, -though he saw his consorts every moment sinking round him; and no sooner -had the waves closed over them, than their fate and their misconduct were -forgotten; the voyage was pursued with the same jocund confidence; every -man congratulated himself upon the soundness of his vessel, and believed -himself able to stem the whirlpool in which his friend was swallowed, or -glide over the rocks on which he was dashed: nor was it often observed -that the sight of a wreck made any man change his course: if he turned -aside for a moment, he soon forgot the rudder, and left himself again to -the disposal of chance. - -This negligence did not proceed from indifference, or from weariness -of their present condition; for not one of those who thus rushed upon -destruction, failed, when he was sinking, to call loudly upon his -associates for that help which could not now be given him; and many spent -their last moments in cautioning others against the folly by which they -were intercepted in the midst of their course. Their benevolence was -sometimes praised, but their admonitions were unregarded. - -The vessels in which we had embarked being confessedly unequal to the -turbulence of the stream of life, were visibly impaired in the course of -the voyage; so that every passenger was certain, that how long soever he -might, by favourable accidents, or by incessant vigilance, be preserved, -he must sink at last. - -This necessity of perishing might have been expected to sadden the gay, -and intimidate the daring, at least to keep the melancholy and timorous -in perpetual torments, and hinder them from any enjoyment of the varieties -and gratifications which nature offered them as the solace of their -labours; yet, in effect, none seemed less to expect destruction than -those to whom it was most dreadful; they all had the art of concealing -their danger from themselves; and those who knew their inability to -bear the sight of the terrours that embarrassed their way, took care -never to look forward, but found some amusement for the present moment, -and generally entertained themselves by playing with Hope, who was the -constant associate of the voyage of life. - -Yet all that Hope ventured to promise, even to those whom she favoured -most, was not that they should escape, but that they should sink last; -and with this promise every one was satisfied, though he laughed at -the rest for seeming to believe it. Hope, indeed, apparently mocked the -credulity of her companions; for, in proportion as their vessels grew -leaky, she redoubled her assurances of safety; and none were more busy -in making provisions for a long voyage, than they whom all but themselves -saw likely to perish soon by irreparable decay. - -In the midst of the current of life was the _gulph of_ Intemperance, a -dreadful whirlpool, interspersed with rocks, of which the pointed crags -were concealed under water, and the tops covered with herbage, on which -Ease spread couches of repose, and with shades, where Pleasure warbled -the song of invitation. Within sight of these rocks all who sailed on the -ocean of life must necessarily pass. Reason, indeed, was always at hand to -steer the passengers through a narrow outlet by which they might escape; -but very few could, by her entreaties or remonstrances, be induced to put -the rudder into her hand, without stipulating that she should approach -so near unto the rocks of Pleasure, that they might solace themselves -with a short enjoyment of that delicious region, after which they always -determined to pursue their course without any other deviation. - -Reason was too often prevailed upon so far by these promises, as to -venture her charge within the eddy of the gulph of Intemperance, where, -indeed, the circumvolution was weak, but yet interrupted the course of -the vessel, and drew it, by insensible rotations, towards the centre. -She then repented her temerity, and with all her force endeavoured to -retreat; but the draught of the gulph was generally too strong to be -overcome; and the passenger, having danced in circles with a pleasing -and giddy velocity, was at last overwhelmed and lost. Those few whom -Reason was able to extricate, generally suffered so many shocks upon the -points which shot out from the rocks of Pleasure, that they were unable -to continue their course with the same strength and facility as before, -but floated along timorously and feeble, endangered by every breeze, and -shattered by every ruffle of the water, till they sunk, by slow degrees, -after long struggles, and innumerable expedients, always repining at -their own folly, and warning others against the first approach of the -gulph of Intemperance. - -There were artists who professed to repair the breaches and stop the leaks -of the vessels which had been shattered on the rocks of Pleasure. Many -appeared to have great confidence in their skill, and some, indeed, were -preserved by it from sinking, who had received only a single blow; but I -remarked that few vessels lasted long which had been much repaired, nor -was it found that the artists themselves continued afloat longer than -those who had least of their assistance. - -The only advantage which, in the voyage of life, the cautious had above -the negligent, was, that they sunk later, and more suddenly; for they -passed forward till they had sometimes seen all those in whose company -they had issued from the streights in infancy, perish in the way, and -at last were overset by a cross breeze, without the toil of resistance, -or the anguish of expectation. But such as had often fallen against the -rocks of Pleasure, commonly subsided by sensible degrees, contended long -with the encroaching waters, and harassed themselves by labours that -scarce Hope herself could flatter with success. - -As I was looking upon the various fate of the multitude about me, I was -suddenly alarmed with an admonition from some unknown Power, "Gaze not -idly upon others when thou thyself art sinking. Whence is this thoughtless -tranquillity, when thou and they are equally endangered?" I looked, and -seeing the gulph of Intemperance before me, started and awaked. - - - - -No. 103. TUESDAY, MARCH 12, 1751. - - - _Scire volunt secreta domus atque inde timeri._ - JUV. Sat. iii, 113. - - They search the secrets of the house, and so - Are worshipp'd there, and fear'd for what they know. - DRYDEN. - - -Curiosity is one of the permanent and certain characteristicks of a -vigorous intellect. Every advance into knowledge opens new prospects, -and produces new incitements to further progress. All the attainments -possible in our present state are evidently inadequate to our capacities -of enjoyment; conquest serves no purpose but that of kindling ambition, -discovery has no effect but of raising expectation; the gratification of -one desire encourages another; and after all our labours, studies, and -inquiries, we are continually at the same distance from the completion of -our schemes, have still some wish importunate to be satisfied, and some -faculty restless and turbulent for want of its enjoyment. - -The desire of knowledge, though often animated by extrinsick and -adventitious motives, seems on many occasions to operate without -subordination to any other principle; we are eager to see and hear, -without intention of referring our observations to a farther end; we -climb a mountain for a prospect of the plain; we run to the strand in a -storm, that we may contemplate the agitation of the water; we range from -city to city, though we profess neither architecture nor fortification; -we cross seas only to view nature in nakedness, or magnificence in ruins; -we are equally allured by novelty of every kind, by a desert or a palace, -a cataract or a cavern, by every thing rude and every thing polished, -every thing great and every thing little; we do not see a thicket but -with some temptation to enter it, nor remark an insect flying before us -but with an inclination to pursue it. - -This passion is, perhaps, regularly heightened in proportion as the powers -of the mind are elevated and enlarged. Lucan therefore introduces Caesar -speaking with dignity suitable to the grandeur of his designs and the -extent of his capacity, when he declares to the high-priest of Egypt, -that he has no desire equally powerful with that of finding the origin -of the Nile, and that he would quit all the projects of the civil war for -a sight of those fountains which had been so long concealed. And Homer, -when he would furnish the Sirens with a temptation, to which his hero, -renowned for wisdom, might yield without disgrace, makes them declare, -that none ever departed from them but with increase of knowledge. - -There is, indeed, scarce any kind of ideal acquirement which may not -be applied to some use, or which may not at least gratify pride with -occasional superiority; but whoever attends the motions of his own mind -will find, that upon the first appearance of an object, or the first -start of a question, his inclination to a nearer view, or more accurate -discussion, precedes all thoughts of profit, or of competition; and that -his desires take wing by instantaneous impulse, though their flight may -be invigorated, or their efforts renewed, by subsequent considerations. -The gratification of curiosity rather frees us from uneasiness than -confers pleasure; we are more pained by ignorance, than delighted -by instruction. Curiosity is the thirst of the soul; it inflames and -torments us, and makes us taste every thing with joy, however otherwise -insipid, by which it may be quenched. - -It is evident that the earliest searchers after knowledge must have -proposed knowledge only as their reward; and that science, though perhaps -the nursling of interest, was the daughter of curiosity: for who can -believe that they who first watched the course of the stars, foresaw -the use of their discoveries to the facilitation of commerce, or the -mensuration of time? They were delighted with the splendour of the -nocturnal skies, they found that the lights changed their places; what -they admired they were anxious to understand, and in time traced their -revolutions. - -There are, indeed, beings in the form of men, who appear satisfied with -their intellectual possessions, and seem to live without desire of -enlarging their conceptions; before whom the world passes without notice, -and who are equally unmoved by nature or by art. - -This negligence is sometimes only the temporary effect of a predominant -passion: a lover finds no inclination to travel any path, but that -which leads to the habitation of his mistress; a trader can spare -little attention to common occurrences, when his fortune is endangered -by a storm. It is frequently the consequence of a total immersion in -sensuality; corporeal pleasures may be indulged till the memory of every -other kind of happiness is obliterated; the mind, long habituated to -a lethargick and quiescent state, is unwilling to wake to the toil of -thinking; and though she may sometimes be disturbed by the obtrusion of -new ideas, shrinks back again to ignorance and rest. - -But, indeed, if we except them to whom the continual task of procuring the -supports of life, denies all opportunities of deviation from their own -narrow track, the number of such as live without the ardour of inquiry -is very small, though many content themselves with cheap amusements, and -waste their lives in researches of no importance. - -There is no snare more dangerous to busy and excursive minds, than -the cobwebs of petty inquisitiveness, which entangle them in trivial -employments and minute studies, and detain them in a middle state, -between the tediousness of total inactivity, and the fatigue of laborious -efforts, enchant them at once with ease and novelty, and vitiate them -with the luxury of learning. The necessity of doing something, and the -fear of undertaking much, sinks the historian to a genealogist, the -philosopher to a journalist of the weather, and the mathematician to -a constructor of dials. - -It is happy when those who cannot content themselves to be idle, nor -resolve to be industrious, are at least employed without injury to -others; but it seldom happens that we can contain ourselves long in -a neutral state, or forbear to sink into vice, when we are no longer -soaring towards virtue. - -Nugaculus was distinguished in his earlier years by an uncommon liveliness -of imagination, quickness of sagacity, and extent of knowledge. When he -entered into life, he applied himself with particular inquisitiveness to -examine the various motives of human actions, the complicated influence -of mingled affections, the different modifications of interest and -ambition, and the various causes of miscarriage and success both in -public and private affairs. - -Though his friends did not discover to what purpose all these observations -were collected, or how Nugaculus would much improve his virtue or his -fortune by an incessant attention to changes of countenance, bursts of -inconsideration, sallies of passion, and all the other casualties by -which he used to trace a character, yet they could not deny the study -of human nature to be worthy of a wise man; they therefore flattered his -vanity, applauded his discoveries, and listened with submissive modesty -to his lectures on the uncertainty of inclination, the weakness of -resolves, and the instability of temper, to his account of the various -motives which agitate the mind, and his ridicule of the modern dream of -a ruling passion. - -Such was the first incitement of Nugaculus to a close inspection into the -conduct of mankind. He had no interest in view, and therefore no design -of supplantation; he had no malevolence, and therefore detected faults -without any intention to expose them; but having once found the art of -engaging his attention upon others, he had no inclination to call it back -to himself, but has passed his time in keeping a watchful eye upon every -rising character, and lived upon a small estate without any thought of -increasing it. - -He is, by continual application, become a general master of secret -history, and can give an account of the intrigues, private marriages, -competitions, and stratagems, of half a century. He knows the mortgages -upon every man's estate, the terms upon which every spendthrift raises -his money, the real and reputed fortune of every lady, the jointure -stipulated by every contract, and the expectations of every family from -maiden aunts and childless acquaintances. He can relate the economy of -every house, knows how much one man's cellar is robbed by his butler, -and the land of another underlet by his steward; he can tell where the -manor-house is falling, though large sums are yearly paid for repairs; -and where the tenants are felling woods without the consent of the owner. - -To obtain all this intelligence he is inadvertently guilty of a thousand -acts of treachery. He sees no man's servant without draining him of -his trust; he enters no family without flattering the children into -discoveries; he is a perpetual spy upon the doors of his neighbours; and -knows by long experience, at whatever distance, the looks of a creditor, -a borrower, a lover, and a pimp. - -Nugaculus is not ill-natured, and therefore his industry has not hitherto -been very mischievous to others, or dangerous to himself: but since he -cannot enjoy this knowledge but by discovering it, and, if he had no -other motive to loquacity, is obliged to traffick like the chymists, and -purchase one secret with another, he is every day more hated as he is -more known; for he is considered by great numbers as one that has their -fame and their happiness in his power, and no man can much love him of -whom he lives in fear. - -Thus has an intention, innocent at first, if not laudable, the intention -of regulating his own behaviour by the experience of others, by an -accidental declension of minuteness, betrayed Nugaculus, not only to a -foolish, but vicious waste of a life which might have been honourably -passed in publick services, or domestick virtues. He has lost his original -intention, and given up his mind to employments that engross, but do not -improve it. - - - - -No. 104. SATURDAY, MARCH 16, 1751. - - - _----Nihil est, quod credere de se_ - _Non possit.----_ - JUV. Sat. iv. 70. - - None e'er rejects hyperboles of praise. - - -The apparent insufficiency of every individual to his own happiness or -safety, compels us to seek from one another assistance and support. The -necessity of joint efforts for the execution of any great or extensive -design, the variety of powers disseminated in the species, and the -proportion between the defects and excellencies of different persons, -demand an interchange of help, and communication of intelligence, and -by frequent reciprocations of beneficence unite mankind in society and -friendship. - -If it can be imagined that there ever was a time when the inhabitants of -any country were in a state of equality, without distinction of rank, -or peculiarity of possessions, it is reasonable to believe that every -man was then loved in proportion as he could contribute by his strength, -or his skill, to the supply of natural wants; there was then little -room for peevish dislike, or capricious favour; the affection admitted -into the heart was rather esteem than tenderness; and kindness was only -purchased by benefits. But when by force or policy, by wisdom or by -fortune, property and superiority were introduced and established, so -that many were condemned to labour for the support of a few, then they -whose possessions swelled above their wants, naturally laid out their -superfluities upon pleasure; and those who could not gain friendship by -necessary offices, endeavoured to promote their interest by luxurious -gratifications, and to create needs, which they might be courted to -supply. - -The desires of mankind are much more numerous than their attainments, and -the capacity of imagination much larger than actual enjoyment. Multitudes -are therefore unsatisfied with their allotment; and he that hopes to -improve his condition by the favour of another, and either finds no room -for the exertion of great qualities, or perceives himself excelled by his -rivals, will, by other expedients, endeavour to become agreeable where -he cannot be important, and learn, by degrees, to number the _art of -pleasing_ among the most useful studies, and most valuable acquisitions. - -This art, like others, is cultivated in proportion to its usefulness, and -will always flourish most where it is most rewarded; for this reason we -find it practised with great assiduity under absolute governments, where -honours and riches are in the hands of one man, whom all endeavour to -propitiate, and who soon becomes so much accustomed to compliance and -officiousness, as not easily to find, in the most delicate address, that -novelty which is necessary to procure attention. - -It is discovered by a very few experiments, that no man is much pleased -with a companion, who does not increase, in some respect, his fondness -of himself; and, therefore, he that wishes rather to be led forward to -prosperity by the gentle hand of favour, than to force his way by labour -and merit, must consider with more care how to display his patron's -excellencies than his own; that whenever he approaches, he may fill the -imagination with pleasing dreams, and chase away disgust and weariness by -a perpetual succession of delightful images. - -This may, indeed, sometimes be effected by turning the attention upon -advantages which are really possessed, or upon prospects which reason -spreads before hope; for whoever can deserve or require to be courted, -has generally, either from nature or from fortune, gifts, which he may -review with satisfaction, and of which, when he is artfully recalled to -the contemplation, he will seldom be displeased. - -But those who have once degraded their understanding to an application -only to the passions, and who have learned to derive hope from any other -sources than industry and virtue, seldom retain dignity and magnanimity -sufficient to defend them against the constant recurrence of temptation -to falsehood. He that is too desirous to be loved, will soon learn to -flatter, and when he has exhausted all the variations of honest praise, -and can delight no longer with the civility of truth, he will invent -new topicks of panegyrick, and break out into raptures at virtues and -beauties conferred by himself. - -The drudgeries of dependance would, indeed, be aggravated by hopelessness -of success, if no indulgence was allowed to adulation. He that will -obstinately confine his patron to hear only the commendations which he -deserves, will soon be forced to give way to others that regale him with -more compass of musick. The greatest human virtue bears no proportion -to human vanity. We always think ourselves better than we are, and are -generally desirous that others should think us still better than we -think ourselves. To praise us for actions or dispositions which deserve -praise, is not to confer a benefit, but to pay a tribute. We have always -pretensions to fame, which, in our own hearts, we know to be disputable, -and which we are desirous to strengthen by a new suffrage; we have always -hopes which we suspect to be fallacious, and of which we eagerly snatch -at every confirmation. - -It may, indeed, be proper to make the first approaches under the conduct -of truth, and to secure credit of future encomiums, by such praise as -may be ratified by the conscience; but the mind once habituated to the -lusciousness of eulogy, becomes, in a short time, nice and fastidious, -and, like a vitiated palate, is incessantly calling for higher -gratifications. - -It is scarcely credible to what degree discernment may be dazzled by the -mist of pride, and wisdom infatuated by the intoxication of flattery; -or how low the genius may descend by successive gradations of servility, -and how swiftly it may fall down the precipice of falsehood. No man can, -indeed, observe, without indignation, on what names, both of ancient and -modern times, the utmost exuberance of praise has been lavished, and by -what hands it has been bestowed. It has never yet been found, that the -tyrant, the plunderer, the oppressor, the most hateful of the hateful, -the most profligate of the profligate, have been denied any celebrations -which they were willing to purchase, or that wickedness and folly have -not found correspondent flatterers through all their subordinations, -except when they have been associated with avarice or poverty, and have -wanted either inclination or ability to hire a panegyrist. - -As there is no character so deformed as to fright away from it the -prostitutes of praise, there is no degree of encomiastick veneration -which pride has refused. The emperors of Rome suffered themselves to be -worshipped in their lives with altars and sacrifices; and, in an age more -enlightened, the terms peculiar to the praise and worship of the Supreme -Being, have been applied to wretches whom it was the reproach of humanity -to number among men; and whom nothing but riches or power hindered those -that read or wrote their deification, from hunting into the toils of -justice, as disturbers of the peace of nature. - -There are, indeed, many among the poetical flatterers, who must be -resigned to infamy without vindication, and whom we must confess to have -deserted the cause of virtue for pay; they have committed, against full -conviction, the crime of obliterating the distinctions between good and -evil, and, instead of opposing the encroachments of vice, have incited -her progress, and celebrated her conquests. But there is a lower class of -sycophants, whose understanding has not made them capable of equal guilt. -Every man of high rank is surrounded with numbers, who have no other rule -of thought or action, than his maxims, and his conduct; whom the honour -of being numbered among his acquaintance, reconciles to all his vices, -and all his absurdities; and who easily persuade themselves to esteem -him, by whose regard they consider themselves as distinguished and exalted. - -It is dangerous for mean minds to venture themselves within the sphere -of greatness. Stupidity is soon blinded by the splendour of wealth, and -cowardice is easily fettered in the shackles of dependance. To solicit -patronage, is, at least, in the event, to set virtue to sale. None can -be pleased without praise, and few can be praised without falsehood; -few can be assiduous without servility, and none can be servile without -corruption. - - - - -No. 105. TUESDAY, MARCH 19, 1751. - - - _----Animorum_ - _Impulsu, et caeca magnaque cupidine ducti._ - JUV. Sat. x. 350. - - Vain man runs headlong, to caprice resign'd; - Impell'd by passion, and with folly blind. - - -I was lately considering, among other objects of speculation, the new -attempt of an _universal register_, an office, in which every man -may lodge an account of his superfluities and wants, of whatever he -desires to purchase or to sell. My imagination soon presented to me the -latitude to which this design may be extended by integrity and industry, -and the advantages which may be justly hoped from a general mart of -intelligence, when once its reputation shall be so established, that -neither reproach nor fraud shall be feared from it: when an application -to it shall not be censured as the last resource of desperation, nor its -informations suspected as the fortuitous suggestions of men obliged not -to appear ignorant. A place where every exuberance may be discharged, -and every deficiency supplied; where every lawful passion may find -its gratifications, and every honest curiosity receive satisfaction; -where the stock of a nation, pecuniary and intellectual, may be brought -together, and where all conditions of humanity may hope to find relief, -pleasure, and accommodation; must equally deserve the attention of the -merchant and philosopher, of him who mingles in the tumult of business, -and him who only lives to amuse himself with the various employments -and pursuits of others. Nor will it be an uninstructing school to the -greatest masters of method and dispatch, if such multiplicity can be -preserved from embarrassment, and such tumult from inaccuracy. - -While I was concerting this splendid project, and filling my thoughts with -its regulation, its conveniences, its variety, and its consequences, I -sunk gradually into slumber; but the same images, though less distinct, -still continued to float upon my fancy. I perceived myself at the gate -of an immense edifice, where innumerable multitudes were passing without -confusion; every face on which I fixed my eyes, seemed settled in the -contemplation of some important purpose, and every foot was hastened by -eagerness and expectation. I followed the crowd without knowing whither -I should be drawn, and remained a while in the unpleasing state of an -idler, where all other beings were busy, giving place every moment to -those who had more importance in their looks. Ashamed to stand ignorant, -and afraid to ask questions, at last I saw a lady sweeping by me, whom, -by the quickness of her eyes, the agility of her steps, and a mixture of -levity and impatience, I knew to be my long-loved protectress, Curiosity. -"Great goddess," said I, "may thy votary be permitted to implore thy -favour; if thou hast been my directress from the first dawn of reason, -if I have followed thee through the maze of life with invariable -fidelity, if I have turned to every new call, and quitted at thy nod -one pursuit for another, if I have never stopped at the invitations of -fortune, nor forgot thy authority in the bowers of pleasure, inform me -now whither chance has conducted me." - -"Thou art now," replied the smiling power, "in the presence of Justice, -and of Truth, whom the father of gods and men has sent down to register -the demands and pretentions of mankind, that the world may at last be -reduced to order, and that none may complain hereafter of being doomed -to tasks for which they are unqualified, of possessing faculties for which -they cannot find employment, or virtues that languish unobserved for want -of opportunities to exert them, of being encumbered with superfluities -which they would willingly resign, or of wasting away in desires which -ought to be satisfied. Justice is now to examine every man's wishes, and -Truth is to record them; let us approach, and observe the progress of -this great transaction." - -She then moved forward, and Truth, who knew her among the most faithful of -her followers, beckoned her to advance, till we were placed near the seat -of Justice. The first who required the assistance of the office, came -forward with a slow pace, and tumour of dignity, and shaking a weighty -purse in his hand, demanded to be registered by Truth, as the Maecenas of -the present age, the chief encourager of literary merit, to whom men of -learning and wit might apply in any exigence or distress with certainty -of succour. Justice very mildly inquired, whether he had calculated the -expense of such a declaration? whether he had been informed what number of -petitioners would swarm about him? whether he could distinguish idleness -and negligence from calamity, ostentation from knowledge, or vivacity -from wit? To these questions he seemed not well provided with a reply, -but repeated his desire to be recorded as a patron. Justice then offered -to register his proposal on these conditions, that he should never suffer -himself to be flattered; that he should never delay an audience when he -had nothing to do; and that he should never encourage followers without -intending to reward them. These terms were too hard to be accepted; -for what, said he, is the end of patronage, but the pleasure of reading -dedications, holding multitudes in suspense, and enjoying their hopes, -their fears, and their anxiety, flattering them to assiduity, and, at -last, dismissing them for impatience? Justice heard his confession, and -ordered his name to be posted upon the gate among cheats and robbers, and -publick nuisances, which all were by that notice warned to avoid. - -Another required to be made known as the discoverer of a new art of -education, by which languages and sciences might be taught to all -capacities, and all inclinations, without fear of punishment, pain -or confinement, loss of any part of the gay mein of ignorance, or any -obstruction of the necessary progress in dress, dancing, or cards. - -Justice and Truth did not trouble this great adept with many inquiries; -but finding his address awkward and his speech barbarous, ordered him to -be registered as a tall fellow who wanted employment, and might serve in -any post where the knowledge of reading and writing was not required. - -A man of very grave and philosophick aspect, required notice to be given -of his intention to set out, a certain day, on a submarine voyage, and -of his willingness to take in passengers for no more than double the -price at which they might sail above water. His desire was granted, and -he retired to a convenient stand, in expectation of filling his ship, and -growing rich in a short time by the secrecy, safety, and expedition of -the passage. - -Another desired to advertise the curious, that he had, for the advancement -of true knowledge, contrived an optical instrument, by which those who -laid out their industry on memorials of the changes of the wind, might -observe the direction of the weather-cocks on the hitherside of the lunar -world. - -Another wished to be known as the author of an invention, by which cities -or kingdoms might be made warm in winter by a single fire, a kettle, and -pipe. Another had a vehicle by which a man might bid defiance to floods, -and continue floating in an inundation, without any inconvenience, till -the water should subside. Justice considered these projects as of no -importance but to their authors, and therefore scarcely condescended to -examine them: but Truth refused to admit them into the register. - -Twenty different pretenders came in one hour to give notice of an -universal medicine, by which all diseases might be cured or prevented, -and life protracted beyond the age of Nestor. But Justice informed them, -that one universal medicine was sufficient, and she would delay the -notification till she saw who could longest preserve his own life. - -A thousand other claims and offers were exhibited and examined. I -remarked, among this mighty multitude, that, of intellectual advantages, -many had great exuberance, and few confessed any want; of every art there -were a hundred professors for a single pupil; but of other attainments, -such as riches, honours, and preferments, I found none that had too much, -but thousands and ten thousands that thought themselves entitled to a -larger dividend. - -It often happened, that old misers, and women married at the close of -life, advertised their want of children; nor was it uncommon for those -who had a numerous offspring, to give notice of a son or daughter to -be spared; but, though appearances promised well on both sides, the -bargain seldom succeeded; for they soon lost their inclination to adopted -children, and proclaimed their intentions to promote some scheme of -publick charity: a thousand proposals were immediately made, among which -they hesitated till death precluded the decision. - -As I stood looking on this scene of confusion, Truth condescended to ask -me, what was my business at her office? I was struck with the unexpected -question, and awaked by my efforts to answer it. - - -END OF VOL. II. - - -TALBOYS AND WHEELER. - - - -***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL.D., -IN NINE VOLUMES, VOLUME THE SECOND*** - - -******* This file should be named 43656.txt or 43656.zip ******* - - -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: -http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/3/6/5/43656 - - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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