The Works of Samuel Johnson, Vol 3 The Rambler

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BOMBAY BRANCH
OF THE
ROYAL .
TOWN HALL, BOMBAY.
Digitized with financial assistance from the

Government of Maharashtra
on 02 January, 2016

THE '
WORKS
OF
SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL.D.

IN NINE VOLUMES.
VOLUME THE THIRD.

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CONTENTS
OF
THE SECOND VOLUME.
Nome. PAGE
106. The vanity of an author's expectations —Reasons why good authors
are sometimes neglected I
107. Properantia's hopes of a year of confusion. The misery of pro-
• stitutes 6
108. Life sufficient to all purposes if well employed 11
109. The education of a fop 15
110. Repentance stated and explained. Retirement and abstinence useful
to repentance 20
111. Youth made unfortunate by its haste and eagerness • 25
112. Too much nicety not to be indulged. The character of Eriphile 29
113. The history of Ilymenreus's courtship 34
114. The necessity of proportioning punishments to crimes .. • 39
115. The sequel of Ilymenteus's courtship . ....... .. .. 44
116. The young trader's attempt at politeness 49
117. The advantages of living in a garret 54
118. The narrowness of fame I' 60
119. Tranquilla's account of her lovers, opposed to Hymemeus 64
120. The history of Almamoulin the son of Nouradin 70
121. The dangers of imitation. The impropriety of imitating Spenser 75
122. A criticism on the English historians 80
123. The young trader turned gentleman 84
124. The lady's misery in a summer retirement ' 89
125. The difficulty of defining comedy. Tragick and comick sentiments
confounded 93
126. The universality of cowardice. The impropriety of extorting praise
The impertinence of an astronomer 98
127. Diligence too soon relaxed. Necessity of perseverance 103
vi CONTENTS.
NUMB. PAGE
128. Anxiety universal. The unhappiness of a wit and a fine lady • 107
129. The folly of cowardice and inactivity 111
130. The history of a beauty 116
131. Desire of gain the general passion 119
132. The difficulty of educating a young nobleman 125
133. The miseries of a beauty defaced 130
134. Idleness an anxious and miserable state 134
135. The folly of annual retreats into the country 138
136. The meanness and mischief of indiscriminate dedication 143
137. The necessity of literary courage 147
138. Original characters to be found in the country. The character of
Mrs. Busy.. 152
139. A critical examination of Samson Agonistes 157
140. The criticism continued • 162
141. The danger of attempting wit in conversation. The character of
Papilius 168
142. An account of squire Bluster 173
143. The criterions of plagiarism 178
144. The difficulty of raising reputation. The various species of de-
tractors , 184
145. Petty writers not to be despised 188
146. An account of an author travelling in quest of his own character.
The uncertainty of fame 192
147. The courtier's esteem of assurance 196
148. The cruelty of parental tyranny 201
149. Benefits not always entitled to gratitude . ... . . 206
150. Adversity useful to the acquisition of knowledge 211
151. Thd climactericks of the mind 215
152. Criticism on epistolary writings 220
153. The treatment incurred by loss of fortune 224
154. The inefficacy of genius without learning 229
1554 The usefulness of advice. The danger of habits. The necessity of
reviewing life 234
156. The laws of writing not always indisputable. Reflections on tragi-
comedy 239
157. The scholar's complaint of his own bashfulness 243
158. Rules of writing drawn from examples. Those examples often mis-
taken 248
159. The nature and remedies of bashfulness 252.
160. Rules for the choice of associates 256
161. The revolutions of a garret .. 260
162. Old men in danger of falling into pupilage. The conduct of Thrasy-
bul us 265
163. The mischiefs of following a patron 269
164. Praise universally desired. The failings of eminent men often
imitated 274

CONTENTS Vii
Noma. PAGE
165. The impotence of wealth. The visit of Scrolinus to the place of his •
nativity .. i 278
166. Favour not easily gained by the poor 283
167. The marriage of Hymenteus and Tranquilla 287
168. Poetry debased by mean expressions. An example from Shake-
speare 291
169. Labour necessary to excellence. 295
170. The history of Misella debauched by her relation 299
171. Misella's description of the life of a prostitute .......... 304
172, The effect of sudden riches upon the manners 309
173. Unreasonable fears of pedantry, 313
174. The mischiefs of unbounded raillery. History of Dicaculus 317
175. The majority are wicked 322
176. Directions to authors attacked by criticks. The various degrees of
critical perspicacity •.$ 326
177. An account of a club of antiquaries 329
178. Many advantages not to be enjoyed together 333
179. The awkward merriment of a student 337
180. The study of life not to be neglected for the sake of books 341
181. The history of an adventurer in lotteries 345
182. The history of Leviculus, the fortune-hunter 350
183. The influence of envy and interest compared .% .. 354
184. The subject of essays often suggested by chance. Chance equally
• prevalent in other affairs . 358
185. The prohibition of revenge justifiable by reason. The meanness of
regulating our conduct by the opinions of men .. , 36'2
186. Anningait and Ajut ; a Greenland history 367
187. The history of Anningait and Aka concluded 371
188. Favour often gained with little assistance from understanding 375
189. The mischiefs of falsehood. The character of Turpicula 379
190. The history of Abouzaid, the son of Morad 383
191. The bitsy life of a young lady 387
192. Love unsuccessful without riches 392
193. The author's art of praising himself 396
194. A young nobleman's progress in politeness 400
195. A young nobleman's introduction to the knowledge of the town .... 405
196. Human opinions mutable. The hopes of youth fallacious 409
197. The history of a legacy-hunter 413
198. The legacy-hunter's history concluded 417
199. The virtues of Rabbi Abraham's magnet 422
200. Asper's complaint of the insolence of Prospero. Unpoliteness not
always the effeAof pride 427
201. The importance of punctuality 432
202. The different acceptation of poverty. Cynicks and Monks not
poor 436

Viii CONTENTS.
NUMB. PAGE
203. The pleasures of life to be sought in prospects of futurity. Future
fame uncertain 440
204. The history of ten days of Seged, emperour of Ethiopia 444
205. The history of Seged concluded • 448
206. The art of living at the cost of others 452
207. The folly of continuing too long upon the stage 457
208. The Rambler's reception. His design • 461
THE
RAMBLER.
NO. 106. SATURDAY, MARCH 23, 1751.
/. I
•
Opinionum comments delet dies, natures judieia confirmat. CICERO, vi. Att. I.
Time obliterates the fictions of opinion, and confirms the decision of nature.
IT is necessary to the success of flattery, that it be accom-

modated to particular circumstances or characters, and
enter the heart on that side where the passions stand ready
to receive it. A lady seldom listens with attention to any
praise but that of her beauty ; a merchant always expects
to hear of his influence at the bank, his importance on the
exchange, the height of his credit, and the extent of his
triiffick : and the author will scarcely be pleased without
t
lamentations of the neglect of learning, the conspiracies
against genius, and the slow progress of merit, or some
praises of the magnanimity of those who encounter poverty
and contempt in the cause of knowledge, and trust for the
reward of their labours to the judgment and gratitude of
posterity.
An assurance of unfading laurels, and immortal reputa-
tion, is the settled reciprocation of civility between amica-
ble writers. To raise monuments more durable than brass,
and more conspicuous than pyramids, has been long the
common boast of literature ; but, among the innumerable
architects that erect columns to themselves, far the greater
part, either for want of durable materials, or of art to dis-
pose them, see their edifices perish as they are towering to
completion, and those few that for awhile attract the eye
It. no B
2 Til E RAMBLER. N°. 106.
of mankind, are generally weak in the foundation, and

soon sink by the saps of time.
No place affords a more striking conviction of the vanity
of human hopes, than a publick library ; for who can see
the wall crowded on every side by mighty volumes, the
works of laborious meditation, and accurate inquiry, now
scarcely known but by the catalogue, and preserved only
to increase the pomp of learning, without considering how
many hours have been wasted in vain endeavours, how
often imagination has anticipated the praises of futurity,
how many statues have risen to the eye of vanity, how many
ideal converts have elevated zeal, how often wit has ex-
ulted in the eternal infamy of his antagonists, and dog-
matism has delighted in the gradual advances of his au-
thority, the immutability of his decrees, and the perpetuity
of his power ?
Non dedit
unquam
Documenta fors mqjora, quamfragili loco
Starent superbi.
' Insulting chance ne'er call'd with louder voice,'
On swelling mortals to be proud no more.
Of the innumerable authors whose performances are

thus treasured up in magnificent obscurity, most are for-
gotten, because they never deserved to be remembered,
and owed the honours which they once obtained, not to
judgment or to genius, to labour or to art, but to the pre-
judice of faction, the stratagem of intrigue, or the servility
of adulation.
Nothing is more common than to find men whose works
are now totally neglected, mentioned with praises by their
contemporaries, as the oracles of their age, and the legis-
lators of science. Curiosity is naturally excited, their vo-
lumes after long inquiry are found, but seldom reward the
labour of the search. Every period of time has produced
these bubbles of artificial fame, which are kept up awhile
by the breath of fashion, and then break at once, and are
annihilated. The learned often bewail the loss of ancient
writers whose characters have survived their works; but,
N0. 106. THE RAMBLER. 3
perhaps, if we could now retrieve them, we should find

them only the Granvilles, Montagues, Stepneys, and Shef-
fields of their time, and wonder by what infatuation or ca-
prige they could be raised to notice.
It cannot, however, be denied, that -many have sunk into
oblivion, whom it were unjust to number with this despica-
ble class. Various kinds of literary fame seem destined
to various measures of duration. Some spread into exu-
berance, with a very speedy growth, but soon wither and
decay; some rise more 'slowly, but last long. Parnassus
has its flowers of transient fragrance, as well as its oaks of
towering height, and its laurels of eternal verdure.
Among those whose reputation is exhausted in a short
time by its own luxuriance, are 'tlie writers who take ad-
vantage of present incidents or characters, which strongly
interest the passions, and engage universal attention. It
is not difficult to obtain readers, when we discuss a ques-
tion which every one is desirous to understand, which is
debated in every assembly, and has divided the nation into
parties ; or when we display the faults or virtues of him,
whose publick conduct has made almost every man his
enemy or his friend. To the quick circulation of such.
productions all the motives of interest and vanity concur;
the disputant enlarges his knowledge, the zealot animates
his passion, and every man is desirous to inform himself
concerning affairs so vehemently agitated, and variously
represented.
It is scarcely to be imagined, through how many subor-
dinatiohs of interest the ardour of party is diffused; and
what multitudes fancy themdelves affected by every satire
or panegyrick on a man of eminence. Whoever has, at
any time, taken occasion to mention him with praise or
blame, whoever happens to love or hate any of his adher-
ents, as he wishes to confirm his opinion, and to strengthen
his party, will diligently peruse every paper from which he
can hope for sentiments like his own. An object, however
small in itself, if placed near to the eye, will engross all
the rays of light; and a transaction, however trivial, swells
82
4 - THE RAMBLER. N°. 106.
in to importance when it presses immediately on our atten-
tion. He that shall peruse the political pamphlets of any
past reign, will wonder why they were so eagerly read, or
so loudly praised. Many of the performances, which had
power to inflame factions, and fill a kingdom with confu-
sion, have now very little effect upon a frigid critick ; and
the time is coming, when the compositions of later hire-
lings shall lie equally despised. In proportion as those
who write on temporary subjects are exalted above their
merit at first, they are afterwards depressed below it; tior
can the brightest elegance of diction, or most artful subtilty
of reasoning, hope for so much esteem from those whose
regard is no longer quickened by curiosity or pride.
It is, indeed, the fate of controvertists, even when they
contend for philosophical or theological truth; to be soon
laid aside and slighted. Either the question is decided,
and there is no more place for doubt and opposition ; or
mankind despair of understanding it, and grow weary of
disturbance, content themselves with quiet ignorance, and
refuse to be harassed with labours, which they have no
hopes of recompensing with knowledge.
The authors of new discoveries may surely expect to be
reckoned among those whose writings are secure of vene-
ration : yet it often happens that the general reception of
a doctrine obscures the books in which it was delivered.
When any tenet is generally received and adopted as an
incontrovertible principle, we seldom look back to the ar-
guments upon which it was first established, or can bear
that tediousness of deduction, and multiplicity of evidence,
- by which its author was forced to reconcile it to prejudi-ce,
and fortify it in the weakness of novelty against obstinacy
and envy.
It is well known how much of our philosophy is derived
from Boyle's discovery of the qualities of the air; yet of
those who now adopt or enlarge his theory, very few have
read the detail of his experiments. His name is, indeed,
reverenced; but his works are- neglected; we are con- •
tented to know, that he conquered his opponents, without
No. 106. THE RAMBLER. 5
inquiring what cavils were produced against him, or by

what proofs they were confuted.
Some writers apply themselves to studies boundless and
inexhaustible, as experiments in natural philosophy. These
are always lost in successive compilations, as new ad-
vances are made, and former observations become more
familiar.• Others spend their lives in remarks onjanguage,
or explanations of antiquities, and only afford materials for
lexicographers and commentators, who are themselves
overwhelmed by subsequent collectors, that equally destroy
the memory of their predecessors by amplification, trans-
position, or contraction. . Every new system of nature
gives birth to a swarm of expositors, whose business is to
explain and illustrate it, and wIlo can hope to exist no
longer than the. founder of their sect preserves his reputa-
tion.
There are, indeed, few kinds of composition from which
an author, however learned or ingenious, can hope a long
continuance of fame. He who has carefully studied human
nature, and can well describe it, may with most reason
flatter his ambition. Bacon, among all his pretensions to
the regard of posterity, seems to have pleased himself
chiefly with his essays, which come hone to men's business
and bosoms, and of which, therefore, he declares his ex-
pectation, that they will live as long as books last. It may,
however, satisfy an honest and benevolent mind to have
been useful, though less conspicuous; nor will he that ex-
tends his hope to higher rewards, be so much anxious to
obtain praise, as to discharge the duty which providence
assigns him.
6 THE RAMBLER. N°. 107.
No. 107. TUESDAY, MARCH 26, 1751.
Alternis igitur contendere versibus min)

Cepere : alternos Muse meminisse volebant. Vain. Ec. vii. 18.
On themes alternate now the swains recite ;
The muses in alternate themes delight. EI:Pil 1NSTON.
0
AMONG the various censures, which the unavoidable
comparison of my performances with those of my prede-
cessors has produced, there is none more general than
that of uniformity. Many of my readers remark the want
of those changes of colours, which formerly fed the at-
tention with unexhausted novelty, and of that intermixture
of subjects, or alternation of manner, by which other wri-
ters relieved weariness, and awakened expectation.
I have, indeed, hitherto avoided the practice of uniting
gay and solemn subjects in the same paper, because it
seems absurd for an author to counteract himself, to press
at once with equal force upon both parts of the intellectual
balance, or give medicines, which, like the double poison
of Dryden, destroy the force of one another. I laave en-
deavouredssometimes to divert, and sometimes to elevate ;
but have imagined it an useless attempt to disturb merri-
ment by solemnity, or interrupt seriousness by drollery.
Yet I shall this day publish two letters of very different
tendency, which I hope, like tragicomedy, may chance to
please even when they are not critically approved.
TO THE RAMBLER.
DEAR SIR,
THOUGH, as my mamma tells me, I am too young
to talk at the table, I have great pleasure in listening to
the conversation of learned men, especially when they dis-
course of things which I do not understand ; and have,
therefore, been of late particularly delighted with many
disputes about the alteration of the style, which, they say,
is to be made by act of parliament.
One day when my mamma was gone out of the room,
N°. 107. THE RAMBLER. 7
I asked a very great scholar what the style was. He

told me he was afraid I should hardly understand him
when he informed me, that it was the stated and esta-
blished method of computing time. It was not, indeed,
likely that I should understand him ; for I never yet knew
time computed in my life, nor can imagine why we should
be at so much trouble to count what we cannot keep. He
did not tell me whether we are to count the time past, or
the time to come ; but I have considered them both by
myself, and think it as foolish to count time that is gone,
as money that is spent; and as for the time which is to
come, it only seems farther off by counting; and therefore,
when any pleasure is promised me, I always think of the
time as little as I can. ' •
I have since listened very attentively to every one that
talked upon this subject, of whom the greater part seem
not to understand it better than myself; for though they
often hint how much the nation has been mistaken, and re-
joice that we are at last growing wiser than our ancestors,
I have never been able to discover from them, that any
body has died sooner, or been married later, for counting
time wrong; and, therefore, I began to fancy that there
was a great bustle with little consequence.
At last, two friends of my papa, Mr. Cycle, and Mr.
Starlight, being, it seems, both of high learning, and able
to make an almanack, began to talk about the new style.
Sweet Mr. Starlight—I am sure I shall love his name as
long as I live ; for he told Cycle roundly, with a fierce
look, that we should never be right without a year of con-
fusion. Dear Mr. Rambler, did you ever hear any thing
so charming? a whole year of confusion ! When there has
been a rout at mamma's, I have thought one night of con-
fusion worth a thousand nights of rest; and if I can but
,
see a year of confusion, a whole year, of cards in one room,
and dancings in another, here a feast, and there a masque-
rade, and plays, and coaches, and hurries, atul messages,
and milliners, and raps at the door, and visits, and frolicks,
and new fashions, I shall not care what they do with the
rest of the time, nor whether they count it by the old style
or the new ; for I am resolved to break loose from the
nursery in the tumult, and play my part among the rest;
and it will be strange if I cannot get a husband and a
chariot in the year of confusion.
Cycle, who is neither so young nor so handsome as Star-
light, very gravely maintained, that all the perplexity may
be avoided by leaping over eleven days in the reckoning;
and, indeed, if it should come only to this, I think the.new
style is a delightful thing; for my mamma says I shall go
to court when I am sixteen, and if they can but contrive
often to leap over eleven days together, the months of re-.
straint will soon' be at an end. It is strange, that with all
the plots that have been laid against time, they could never
kill it by act of parliament before. Dear sir, if you have
any vote or interest, get them but for once to destroy
eleven months, and then I shall be as old as some married
ladies. But this is desired only if you think they will not
comply with Mr. Starlight's scheme; for nothing surely
could please me like a year of confusion, when I shall no
longer be fixed this hour to my pen, and the next to my
needle, or wait at home for the dancing-master one day,
and the next for the musick-master ; but run from ball to
ball, and from drum to drum; and spend all my time with-
'out tasks, and without account, and go out without telling
whither, and come home without regard to prescribed
hours, or family rules.
'I am, sir,
Your humble servant,
PROPERANTIA.
MR. RAMBLER,
I WAS seized this morning with an unusual pensive-
ness, and, finding that books only served to heighten it, took
a ramble into the fields, in hopes of relief and invigoration
from the keenness of the air and brightness of the sun.
As I wandered wrapped up in thought, my eyes were
struck with the hospital for the reception of deserted in-
fants, which I surveyed with pleasure, till, by a natuial
N°. 107. . THE RAM1113LER. 9
train of sentiment, I began to reflect on the fate of the

mothers. For to what shelter can they fly. ? Only to the
arms of their betrayer, which, perhaps, are now no longer
open to receive them ; and then how quick must be the
transition from deluded virtue to shameless guilt, and from
shameless guilt to hopeless wretchedness?
The anguish that I felt, left me no rest till I had, by
your means, addressed myself to the publick on behalf of
those forlorn creatures, the women of the town ; whose
misery here might satisfy the most rigorous censor, and
whose participation of our common nature might surely in-
duce us to endeavour, at least, their preservation from
eternal punishment.
These were all once, if not vitinous, at least innocent;
and might still have continued blameless and easy, but for
the arts and insinuations of those whose rank, fortune, or
education, furnished them with means to corrupt or to de-
lude them. Let the libertine reflect a moment on the
situation of that woman, who, being forsaken by her be-
trayer, is reduced to the necessity of turning prostitute for
bread, and judge of the enormity of his guilt by the evils
which it produces.
It cannot be doubted but that numbers follow this dread-
ful course of life, with shame, horrour, and regret; but
where can they hope for refuge; " The world is not their
friend, nor the world's law." Their sighs, and tears, and
groans, are criminal in the eye of their tyrants, the bully
and the bawd, who. fatten on their misery, and threaten
them with want or a gaol, if they show the least design of
escaping from their bondage.
" To wipe all tears from off all faces," is a task too
hard for mortals ; but to alleviate misfortunes is often
within the most limited power : yet the opportunities which
every day affords of relieving the most wretched of human
beings are overlooked and neglected, with equal disregard
of policy and goodness.
There are places, indeed, set apart, to which these un-
happy creatures may resort, when the diseases of inconti-
nence seize upon them; but if they obtain a cure, to what

are they reduced? Either to return with the small remains
of beauty to their former guilt, or perish in the streets with
nakedness and hunger.
How frequently have the gay and thoughtless, in their
evening frolicks, seen a band of those miserable females,
covered with rags, shivering with cold, and pining with
hunger; and, without either pitying their calamities, or
reflecting upon the cruelty of those who, perhaps, first se-
duced them by caresses of fondness, or magnificence of
promises, go on to reduce others to the same wretchedness
by the same means !
To stop the increase of this deplorable multitude, is un-
doubtedly the first and most pressing consideration. To
prevent evil is the great end of government, the end for
which vigilance and severity are properly employed. But
surely those whom passion or interest has already de-
praved, have some claim to compassion, from beings equally
frail and fallible with themselves. Nor will they long
groan in their present afflictions, if none were to refuse
them relief, but those that owe their exemption from the
same distress only to their wisdom and their virtue.
I am, &c.
AMICUS a*
2 The letter from A micus was from an unknown correspondent. It breathes a
tenderness of spirit worthy of Johnson himself. But he practised the lesson
which it inculcates ;—a harder task ! Sterne could write sentiment.
N°. 108. SATURDAY, MARCH 30, 1751.
-Sapere nude:
Incipe. Vivendi recte qui prorogat horam,
flusticus e3pectat dum defluat amnis ; at We
Labitur et labctur in amne volubilis xvum. Hon. Lib. i. Ep. ii. 39.
Begin, be bold, and venture to be wise;
He who defers his work from day to day,
Does on a river's bank expecting stay,
Till the whole stream, which stopp'd him, should be gone,
That runs, and as it runs, for ever will run on. COWLEY.
AN ancient poet, unreasonably discontented at the present

state of things, which his system of opinions obliged him to
represent in its worst form, ha's' 'observed of the earth,
" that its greater part is covered by the uninhabitable
ocean ; that of the rest some is encumbered with naked
mountains, and some lost under barren sands; some
scorched with unintermitted heat, and some petrified with
perpetual frost; so that only a few regions remain for the.
production of fruits, the pasture of cattle, and the accom-
modation of man."
The same observation may be transferred to the time al-
lotted us in our present state. When we have deducted
all that is absorbed in sleep, all that is inevitably appro-
priated to the demands of nature, or irresistibly engrossed
by the tyranny of custom ; all that passes in regulating the
superficial decorations of life, or is given up in the reci-
procations of civility to the disposal of others; all that is
torn from us by the violence of disease, or stolen imper-
ceptibly away by lassitude and languor; we shall find that
part of our duration very small of which we can truly call
ourselves masters, or which we can spend wholly at our
own choice. Many of our hours are lost in a rotation of
petty cares, in a constant recurrence of the same employ-
ments; many of our provisions for ease or happiness are
always exhausted by the present day ; and a great part of
our existence serves no other purpose, than that of en-
abling us to enjoy the rest.
12 THE RAMBLER. No. 108.
Of the few moments which are left in our disposal, it

may reasonably be expected, that we should be so frugal,
as to let none of them slip from us without some equiva-
lent; and perhaps it might be found, that as the earth,
however straightened by rocks and waters, is capable of pro-
ducing more than all its inhabitants are able to consume,
our lives, though much contracted by incidental distraction,
would yet afford us a large space vacant to the exercise of
reason and virtue; that we want not time, but diligence,
for great performances; and that we squander much of
our allowance, even while we think it sparing and insuffi-
cient.
This natural and necessary comminution of our lives, per-
haps often makes us insensible of the negligence with
which we suffer them to slide away. We never consider
ourselves as possessed at once of time sufficient for any
great design, and therefore indulge ourselves in fortuitous
amusements. We think it unnecessary to take an account
of a few supernumerary moments, which, however em-
ployed, could have produced little advantage, and which
were exposed to a thousand chances of disturbance and in-
terruption.
It is observable that, either by nature or by habit, our
faculties are fitted to images of a certain extent, to which
we adjust great things by division, and little things by ac-
cumulation. Of extensive surfaces we can only take a
survey, as the parts succeed one another; and atoms we
cannot perceive till they are united into masses. Thus we
break the vast periods of time into centuries and years ;
and thus, if we would know the amount of moments, we
must agglomerate them into days and weeks.
The pi'overbial oracles of our parsimonious ancestors
have informed us, that the fatal waste of fortune is by
small expenses, by the profusion of sums too little singly
to alarm our caution, and which we never suffer ourselves
to consider together. Of the same kind is the prodigality
of life ; he that hopes to look back hereafter with satis-
faction upon past years, must learn to know the present
/sT°. 108. THE RAMBLER. 13
value of single minutes and endeavour to let no particle

of time fall useless to the ground.
It is usual for those who are advised to the attainment
of any new qualification, to look upon themselves as re-
quiied to change the general course of their conduct, to
dismiss business, and exclude pleasure, and to devote their
days and nights to a particular attention. But all com-
mon degrees of excellence are attainable at a lower price;
he that should steadily and resolutely assign to any science'
or language those interstitial vacancies which intervene in
the most crowded variety of diversion or employment,
would find every day new irradiations of knowledge, and
discover how much more is to be hoped from frequency
and perseverance, than from violent efforts and sudden
desires; efforts which are soon remitted when they en-
counter difficulty, and desires, which, if they are indulged
too often, will shake off the authority of reason, and range
capriciously from one object to another.
The disposition to defer every important design to a
time of leisure, and a state of settled uniformity, proceeds
generally from a false estimate of the human powers. If
we except those gigantick and stupendous intelligencies who
are said to grasp a system by intuition, and bound forward
from one series of conclusions to another, without regular
steps through intermediate propositions, the most success-
ful students make their advances in knowledge by short
flights, between each of which the mind may lie at rest
For every single act of progression a short time. is suffi-
cient ; and it is only necessary, that whenever that time
is afforded, it be well employed.
Few minds will be long confined to severe and laborious
meditation; and when a successful attack on knowledge
has been made, the student recreates himself with the
contemplation of his conquest, and forbears another in-
cursion, till the new-acquired truth has become familiar,
and his curiosity calls upon him' for fresh gratifications.
Whether the time of intermission is spent in company, or
in solitude, in necessary business, or in voluntary levities,
14 THE RAMBLER. N°.108.
the understanding is equally abstracted from the object of

inquiry ; but, perhaps, if it be detained by occupations
less pleasing, it returns again to study with greater ala-
crity than when it is glutted with ideal pleasures, and
surfeited with intemperance of application. He that will
not suffer himself to be discouraged by fancied impossi-
bilities, may sometimes find his abilities invigorated by
the necessity of exerting them in short intervals, as the
force of a current is increased by the contraction of its
channel.
From some cause like this, it has probably proceeded,
that among those who have contributed to the advance-
ment of learning, many have risen to eminence in opposi-
tion to all the obstacles which external circumstances
could place in their way, amidst the tumult of business,
the distresses of poverty, or the dissipations of a wander-
ing and unsettled state. A great part of the life of Eras-
mus was one continual peregrination ; ill supplied with
the gifts of fortune, and led from city to • city, and from
kingdom to kingdom, by the hopes of patrons and prefer-
ment, hopes which always flattered and always deceived
him; he yet found means, by unshaken constancy, and a
vigilant improvement of those hours, which, in the midst
of the most restless activity, will remain unengaged, to
write more than another in the same condition would have
hoped to read. Compelled by want to attendance and
solicitation, and so much versed in common life, that he
has transmitted to us the most perfect delineation of the
manners of his age, he joined to his knowledge of the
world such application to books, that he will stand for ever
in the first rank of literary heroes. How this proficiency
was obtained he sufficiently discovers, by informing us;
that the Praise of Folly, one of his most celebrated
performances, was composed by him on the road to Italy ;
ne totum illud tempus quo equo fuit insidendum, illiteratis
fabulis terreretur : " lest the hours which he was obliged
to spend on horseback should be tattled away without re-
gard to literature?'
N°. 109. THE RAMBLER. • 15
An Italian philosopher expressed in his motto, that time

was his estate; an estate, indeed, which will produce no-
thing without cultivation, but will always abundantly repay
the labours of industry, and satisfy the most extensive de-
sires, if no part of it be suffered to lie waste by negli-
gence, to be overrun with noxious plants, or laid out for
show, rather than for use.
4.4.4.01.W.•••••••••••••••IWNIJNP
N°0 09. TUESDAY, APRIL 2, 1751.
Gratum est, quod patritc civent populoque dedisti,

Si facis, ut patric sit idoneus, utilis agris,
Utilis et bellorum et pacis rebus agendis.
Plurimum enim intererit, quihus artibus, et quibus hunt to
Aforibus instituas. Juv. Sat. sic. 70.
Grateful the gift ! a member to the state,
If you that member useful shall create;
Train'd both to war, and,- when the war shall cease,
As fond, as fit t'improve the arts of peace.
For much it boots which way you train your boy,
The hopeful object of your future joy. ELPHINSTON.
TO THE RAMBLER.
SIR,
THOUGH you seem to have taken a view suffi-
ciently extensive of the miseries of life, and have employed
much of your speculation on mournful subjects, you have
not yet exhausted the whole stock of human infelicity.
There is still a species of wretchedness which escapes
your observation, though it might supply you with many
sage remarks, and- salutary cautions.
I cannot but imagine the start of attention awakened
by this welcome hint; and at this instant see the Rambler
snuffing his candle, rubbing his spectacles, stirring his
fire, locking out interruption, and settling himself in his
easy chair, that he may enjoy a 'new calamity without
disturbance. For, whether it be that continued sickness
or misfortune has acquainted you only with the bitterness
of being; or that you imagine none but yourself able to
discover what I suppose has been seen and felt by all

the inhabitants of the world ; whether you intend your
writings as antidotal to the levity and merriment with
which your, rivalslendeavour- to attract the -favour of the
publick ; or fancy that you have some particular powers
of dolorous declamation, and warble out your groans with
uncommon elegance or energy ; it is certain, that what-
ever be your subject,•melancholy, for the most part, bursts
in upon your speculation, your gaiety is quickly overcast,
and though your readers may be flattered with hopes of
pleasantry, they are seldom dismissed but with heavy
hearts.
That I may, therefore, gratify you with an imitation of
your own syllables of sadness, I will inform you that I
was condemned, by some disastrous influence, to be •an
only son, born to the apparent prospect of a large fortune,
and allotted to my parents at that time of life when satiety
of common diversions allows the mind to indulge parental
affection with greater intenseness. My birth was cele-
brated by the tenants with feasts, and dances, and bag-
pipes : congratulations were sent from every family within
ten miles round; and my parents iliscovered in my first
cries such.tokens of future virtue and understanding, that
they declared themselves determined to devote the re-
maining part of life to my happiness, and the increase of
their estate.
The abilities of my father and mother were not percep-
tibly unequal, and education had given neither much
advantage over the other. They had both kept good
company, rattled in chariots, glittered in playhouses, and
danced at court, and were both expert in the games that
were in their time called in as auxiliaries against the intru-
sion of thought.
When there is such a parity between two persons as-
sociated for life, 'the dejection which the husband, if he
be not completely stupid, must always suffer for want of
superiorityAinks him to submissiveness. My mamma there-
fore governed the family without control ; vand except that
N°. 109. ' TUB RAMBLER. 17
my father still retained some authority in the stables, and,

now and then, after a supernumerary bottle, broke a
looking-glass or china dish to prove his sovereignty, the
whole course of the year was regulated by her direction,
the servants received from her all their order's, and the
tenants were continued or dismissed at her discretion.
She, therefore, thought herself entitled to the superiii-
tendence of her son's education ; and when my father, at
the instigation of the parson, faintly proposed that I should
be sent to school, very positively told him, that she should
not suffer so fine a child to be ruined ; that she never
knew any boys at a grammar-school that could come into
a room without blushing, or sit at table without some awk-
ward uneasiness; that they were always patting themselves
into danger by boisterous plays, or vitiating their be-
haviour with mean company, and that, for her part, she
would rather follow me to the grave, than see me tear my
clothes, and bang down my bead, and sneak about with
dirty shoes, and blotted fingers, my hair unpowdered, and
my hat uncocked.
My father, who had no other end in his proposal than
to appear wise and manly, soon acquiesced, since I was
not to live by my learning; for, indeed, he bad known very
few students that had not some stiffness in their manner.
They, therefore, agreed, that a domestick tutor should be
procured, and hired an honest gentleman of mean conver-
sation and narrow sentiments, but whom, having passed
the common forms of literary education, they implicitly
concluded qualified to teach all that was to be learned
from a scholar. He thought himself sufficiently exalted
by being placed at the same table with his pupil, and had
no other view than to perpetuate his felicity by the utmost
flexibility of submission to all my mother's opinions and
caprices. lie frequently took away my book, lest I should
mope with too much application, charged me never to
write without turning up my ruffles, and generally brushed
my coat before he dismissed me into the parlour.
Ile had no occasion to complain of too burdensome an
R. II. c
18 THE RAMBLER. No. 109'
employment: for my mother very judiciously considered,

that I was not likely to grow politer in his company, and
suffered me not to pass any more time in his apartment
than my lesson required. When I was summoned to my
task, she enjoined me not to get any of my tutor's ways,
who was seldom mentioned before me but for practices to
be avoided. I was every moment admonished not to lean
on my chair, cross my legs, or swing my hands like my tu-
tor; and once my mother very seriously deliberated upon
his total dismission, because I began, she said, to learn his
manner of sticking on my hat, and had his bend in my
shoulders, and his totter in my gait.
Such, however, was her care, that I escaped all these
depravities ; and when I was only twelve years old, had rid
myself of every appearance of childish diffidence. I was
celebrated round the country for the petulance of my re-
marks, and the quickness of my replies; and many a scho-
lar, five years older than myself, have I dashed into con-
fusion by the steadiness of my countenance, silenced by
my readiness of repartee, and tortured with envy by the
address with which I picked up a fan, presented a snuff-
box, or received an empty tea-cup.
At fourteen I was completely skilled in all the niceties
of dress, and I could not only enumerate all the variety of
silks, and distinguish the product of a French loom, but
dart my eye through a numerous company, and observe
every deviation from the reigning mode. I was univer-
sally skilful in all the changes of expensive finery; but as
every one, they say, has something to which he is particu-
larly born, was eminently knowing in Brussels' lace.
The next year saw me advanced to the trust and power
of adjusting the ceremonial of an assembly. All received
their partners from my hand, and to me every stranger ap-
plied for introthction. My heart now disdained the in-
structions of a tutor, who was rewarded with a small an-
nuity for life, and left me qualified, in my own opinion, to
govern myself.
In a short time I came to London, and as my father
was well known among the higher classes of life, soon ob-
tained admission to the most splendid assemblies, and most
crowded card-tables. Here I found myself universally
caressed and applauded ; the ladies praised the fancy of
my clothes, the beauty of my form, and the softness of my
voice; endeavoured, in every place, to force themselves to
my notice ; and invited, by a thousand oblique solicitations;
my attendance to the playhouse, and my salutations in the
park. I was now happy to the utmost extent of my con-
ception; I passed every morning in dress, every afternoon
in visits, and every night in some select assemblies, where
neither care nor knowledge were suffered to molest us.
After a few years, however, these delights became fa-
miliar, and I had leisure to look' round me with more at-
tention. I then found that my flatterers had very little
power to relieve the languor of satiety, or recreate weari-
ness, by varied amusement; and therefore endeavoured to
enlarge the sphere of my pleasures, and to try what satis-
faction might be found in the society of men. I will not
deny the mortification with which I perceived, that every
man whose name I had heard mentioned with respect, re-
ceived me with a kind of tenderness, nearly bordering on
compassion ; and that those whose reputation was not well
established, thought it necessary to justify their under-
standings, by treating me with contempt. One of these
witlings elevated his crest, by asking me in a full coffee-
house the price of patches ; and another whispered that'
he wondered why miss Frisk did not keep me that after-
noon to watch her squirrel.
When -I found myself thus hunted from all masculine
conversation by those who were themselves barely admitted,
I returned to the ladies, and resolved to dedicate my life
to their service and their pleasure. But I find that I have
now lost my charms. Of those with whom I entered the gay
world, some are married, some have retired, and some
have so much changed their opinion, that they scarcely pay
any regard to my civilities, if there is any other man in the
place. The new flight of beauties to whom I have made
c2
my addresses, suffer me to pay the treat, and then titter

with boys. So that I now find myself welcome only to a
few grave ladies, who, unacquainted with all that gives
either use or dignity to life, are content to pass their hours
between their bed and their cards, without esteem from
the old, or reverence from the young.
I cannot but think, Mr. Rambler, that I have reason to
complain; for surely the females ought to pay some regard
to the age of him whose youth was passed in endeavours
to please them. They that encourage folly in the boy,
have no right to punish it in the man. Yet I find that,
though they lavish their first fondness upon pertness and
gaiety, they soon transfer their regard to other qualities,
and ungratefully abandon their adorers to dream out their
last years in stupidity and contempt.
I am, &c.
FLORENTULUS.
.........................
No. 110. SATURDAY, APRIL 6, 1751.
At nobis vita dominum quarentibus unum

Lux iter est, et clara dies, et gratia simples.
Spem sequimur, gradimurque fide, fruimurquefuturis,
Ad qua non veniunt presentis gaudia vita,
Nee currunt pariter capta, et capienda voluptas.
PRUDENTIUS, Cont. Sym. ii. 904.
We through this maze of life one Lord obey ;

Whose light and grace unerring lead the way.
By hope and faith secure of future bliss,
Gladly the joys of present life we miss :
For baffled mortals still attempt in vain,
Present and future bliss at once to gain. F. LEWIS.
THAT to please the Lord and Father of the universe, is
the supreme interest of created and dependent beings, as
it is easily proved, has been universally confessed; and
since all rational agents are conscious of having neglected
or violated the duties prescribed to them, the fear of being
rejected, or punished by God, has always burdened the
human mind. The expiation of crimes, and renovation of
N°.110. THE RAMBLER. 21
the forfeited hopes of divine favour, therefore constitute a

large part of every religion.
• The various methods of propitiation and atonement
which fear and folly have dictated, or artifice and interest
tolerated in the different parts of the world, howeiier they
may sometimes reproach or degrade humanity, at least
show the general consent of all ages and nations in their
opinion of the placability of the divine nature. That God
will forgive, may, indeed, be established as the first and
fundamental truth of religion ; for, though the knowledge
of his existence is the origin of philosophy, yet, without
the belief of his mercy, it would have little influence upon
our moral conduct. There could be no prospect of en-
joying the protection or regard °M in, whom the least de-
viation from rectitude made inexorable for ever; and every
man would naturally withdraw his thoughts from the con-
templation of a creator, whom he must consider as a go-
vernor too pure to be pleased, and too severe to be paci-
fied; as an enemy infinitely wise, and infinitely powerful,
whom he could neither deceive, escape, nor resist.
Where there is no hope, there can be no endeavour.
A constant and unfailing obedience is above the reach of
terrestrial diligence ; and, therefore, the progress of life
could only have been the natural descent of negligent
despair from crime to crime, had not the universal persua-
sion of forgiveness, to be obtained by proper means of re-
conciliation, recalled those to the paths of virtue, whom
their passions had solicited aside ; and animated to new
attempts, and firmer perseverance, those whom difficulty
had discouraged, or negligence surprised.
In times and regions so disjoined from each other, that
there can scarcely be imagined any communication of sen-
timents either by commerce or tradition, has prevailed a
general and uniform expectation of propitiating God by
corporeal austerities, of anticipating his vengeance by vo-
luntary inflictions, and appeasing his justice by a speedy
and cheerful submission to a less penalty, when a greater
is incurred,
Incorporated minds will always feel some inclination

towards exterior acts and ritual observances. Ideas not
represented by sensible objects are fleeting, variable, and
evanescent. We are not able to judge of the degree of
conviction which operated at any particular time upon our
own thoughts, but as it is recorded by some certain and
definite effect. He that reviews his life in order to de-
termine the probability of his acceptance with God, if he
could once establish the necessary proportion between
crimes and sufferings, might securely rest upon his per-
formance of the expiation; but while safety remains the
reward only of mental purity, he is always afraid lest
he should decide too soon in his own favour; lest be
should not have felt the pangs of true contrition; lest
he should mistake satiety for detestation, or imagine
that his passions are subdued when they are only sleep-
ing.
From this natural and reasonable diffidence arose, in
humble and timorous piety, a disposition to confound pe-
nance with repentance, to repose on human determinations,
and to receive from some judicial sentence the stated and
regular assignment of reconciliatory pain. We are never
willing to be without resource : we seek in the knowledge
of others a succour for our own ignorance, and are ready
to trust any that will undertake to direct us when we have
no confidence in ourselves.
This desire to ascertain, by some outward marks, the
state of the soul, and this willingness to calm the con-
science by some settled method, have produced, as they
are diversified in their effects by various tempers and
principles, most of the disquisitions and rules, the doubts
and solutions, that have embarrassed the doctrine of re-
pentance, and perplexed tender and flexible minds with
innumerable scruples concerning the necessary measures
of sorrow, and adequate degrees of self-abhorrence ; and
these rules, corrupted by fraud, or debased by credulity,
have, by the common resiliency of the mind from one ex-
treme to another, incited others to an open contempt of
N°. J.J.O. THE. RAMBLER. 23
all subsidiary ordinances, all prudential .cautiun, and the

whole discipline of regulated piety.
Repentance, however difficult to be practised, is, if it
be explained without superstition, easily understood. Re-
pentance is the relinquishment of any practice, from the
conviction that it has offended God. Sorrow, and fear, and
anxiety, are properly not parts, but adjuncts of repent-
ance ; yet they are too closely connected with it to be
easily separated ; for they not only mark its sincerity, but
promote its efficacy,
No man commits any act of negligence or obstinacy,
by which his safety or happiness in this world is endan-
gered, without feeling the pungency of remorse. He who
is fully convinced, that he suffers' liy his own failure, can
never forbear to trace back his miscarriage to its first
cause, to image to himself a contrary behaviour, and to
form involuntary resolutions against the like fault, even
when he knows that he shall never again have the power
of committing it. Danger, considered as imminent, na-
turally produces such trepidations of impatience as leave
all human means of safety behind them ; he that has once
caught an alarm of terrour, is every moment seized with
useless anxieties, adding one security to another, trem-
bling with sudden doubts, and distracted by the perpetual
occurrence of. new expedients. If, therefore, he whose
crimes have deprived him of the favour of God, can re-
flect upon his conduct without disturbance, or can at will
banish the reflection ; if he who considers himself as sus-
pended over the abyss of eternal perdition only by the
thread of life, which must soon part by its own weakness,
and which the wing of every minute may divide, can cast
his eyes round him without shuddering with horrour, or
panting with security ; what can he judge of himself, but
that he is not yet awakened to sufficient conviction, since
every loss is more lamented than the loss of the divine
favour, and every danger more dreadful than the danger
of final condemnation
Retirement from the cares and pleasures of the world
24 THE RAMBLER. N°. 110
has been often recommended as useful to repentance.

This at least is evident, that every one retires, -whenever
ratiocination and recollection are required on other occa-
sions ; and surely the retrospect of life, the disentangle-
ment of actions complicated with innumerable circum-
stances, and diffused in various relations, the discovery of
the primary movements of the heart, and the extirpation of
lusts and appetites deeply rooted and widely spread, may
be allowed to demand some secession from sport and noise,
business and folly. Some suspension of common affairs,
some pause of temporal pain and pleasure, is doubtless
necessary to him that deliberates for eternity, who is form-
ing the only plan in which miscarriage cannot be repaired,
and examining the only question in which mistake cannot
be rectified.
Austerities and mortifications are means by which the
mind is -invigorated and roused, by which the attractions
of pleasure are interrupted, and the chains of sensuality
are broken. It is observed by one of the fathers, that he
who restrains himself in the use of things lawful, will never
encroach upon things forbidden. Abstinence, if nothing
more, is, at least, a cautious retreat from the utmost verge
of permission, and confers that security which cannot be
reasonably hoped by him that dares always to hover over the
precipice of destruction, or delights to approach the plea-
sures which he knows it fatal to partake. Austerity is the
proper antidote to indulgence ; the diseases of mind as
well as body are cured by contraries, and to contraries we
should readily have recourse, if we dreaded guilt as we
dread pain.
The completion and sum of repentance is a change of
life. That sorrow which dictates no caution, that fear
which does not quicken our escape, that austerity which fails
to rectify our affections, are vain and unavailing. But
sorrow and terrour must naturally precede reformation ;
for what other cause can produce it? He, therefore, that
feels himself alarmed by his conscience, anxious for the
attainment of a better state, and afflicted by the memory
N°. 111. TUB RAMBLER. 25
of his past faults, may justly conclude, that the great work
of repentance is begun, and hope by retirement and prayer,
the natural and religious means of strengthening his con-
viction, to impress upon his mind such a sense of the di-
vine presence, as may overpower the blandishments of
secular delights, and enable him to advance from one de-
gree of holiness to another, till death shall set him free
from doubt and contest, misery and temptation b.
What better can we do than prostrate fall
Before him reverent ; and there confess
llumbly our faults, and pardon beg; with tears
Waering the ground, and with our sighs the air
Frequenting, sent from hearts contrite, in sign
Of sorrow unfeign'd, and humiliation meek 1 Par. Lost, B. x. 1087.
ONOWO•WOOIONIMINNWNIVW
N°. 111. TUESDAY, APRIL 9, 1751.
.1,povelv 7dp of raze e, oix ho95aXE7c, SOPIloc.
Disaster always waits on early wit.

IT has been observed by long experience, that late springs
produce the greatest plenty. The delay of blooms and
fragrance, of verdure and breezes, is, for the most part, li-
berally recompensed by the exuberance and fecundity of
the ensuing seasons; the blossoms which lie concealed till
the year is advanced, and the sun is high, escape those
chilling blasts, and nocturnal frosts, which are often fatal
to early luxuriance, prey upon the first smiles of vernal
beauty, destroy the feeble principles of vegetable life, in-
tercept the fruit in the germ, and beat down the flowers
unopened to the ground. .
I am afraid there is little hope of persuading the young
and sprightly part of my readers, upon whom the spring
b The perusal of these profound remarks on penance and repentance had so
powerful an effect on one of the English Benedictine monks (the Rev:James

Compton) at Paris, as to lead him from the errours of popery ! For an account of
Dr. Johnson's true benevolence through the whole of this interesting occasion,
see Malone's note to Boswell's Life of Johnson, vol. iv. p. 210—edit._1822. ,
26 THE RAMBLER. No. M.
naturally forces my attention, to learn, from the great pro-

cess of nature, the difference between diligence and hurry,
between speed and precipitation; to prosecute their designs
with calmness, to watch the concurrence of opportunity,
and endeavour to find the lucky moment which they cannot
make. Youth is the time of enterprise and hope : having
yet no occasion of comparing our force with any opposing
power, we naturally fOrm presumptions in our own favour,
and imagine that obstruction and impediment will give way
before us. The first repulses rather inflame vehemence
than teach prudence ; a brave and generous mind is long
before it suspects its own weakness, or submits to sap the
difficulties which it expected to subdue by storm. Before
disappointments have enforced the dictates of philosophy,
we believe it in our power to shorten the interval between
the first cause and the last effect; we laugh at the timorous
delays of plodding industry, and fancy that, by increasing
the fire, we can at pleasure accelerate the projection.
At our entrance into the world, when health and vigour
give us fair promises of time sufficient for the regular ma-
turation of our schemes, and a long enjoyment of our ac-
quisitions, we are eager to seize the present moment ; we
pluck every gratification within our reach, without suffer-
ing it to ripen into perfection, and crowd all the varieties
of delight into a narrow compass; but age seldom fails to
change our conduct; we grow negligent of time in propor-
tion as we have less remaining, and suffer the last part of
life to steal from us in languid preparations for future
undertakings, or slow approaches to remote advantages, in
weak hopes of some fortuitous occurrence, or drowsy equi-
librations of undetermined counsel: whether it be that the
aged, having tasted the pleasures of man's condition, and
found them delusive, become less anxious for their attain-
ment; or that frequent miscarriages have depressed them
to despair, and frozen them to inactivity; or that death
shocks them more as it advances upon them, and they are
afraid to remind themselves of their decay, or to discover '
to their own hearts that the time of trifling is past.
N°. M. THE RAMBLER. 27
A perpetual conflict with natural desires seems to be the

lot of our present state. In youth we require something
of the tardiness and frigidity of age; and in age we must
labour to recall the fire and impetuosity of youth : in youth
we must learn to expect, and in age to enjoy.
The torment of expectation is, indeed, not easily to be
borne at a time when every idea of gratification fires the
blood, and flashes on the fancy; when the heart is vacant
to every fresh form of delight, and has no rival engage-
ments to withdraw it from the importunities of a new de-
sire. Yet, since the fear of missing what we seek must
always be proportionable to the happiness expected from
possessing it, the passions, even in this tempestuous state,
might be somewhat moderated bylrequent inculcation of
the mischief of temerity, and the hazard of losing that
which we endeavour to seize before our time.
He that too early aspires to honours, must resolve to
encounter not only the opposition of interest, but the ma-
lignity of envy. ' He that is too eager to be rich, generally
endangers his fortune in wild adventures, and uncertain
projects; and he that hastens too speedily to reputation,
often raises his character by artifices and fallacies, decks
himself in colours which quickly fade, or in plumes which
accident may shake off, or competition pluck away.
The danger of early eminence has been extended by
some, even to the gifts of nature ; and an opinion has been
long conceived, that quickness of invention, accuracy of
judgment, or extent of knowledge, appearing before the
usual time, presage a short life. Even those who are less
inclined to form general conclusions, from instances which
by their own nature must be rare, have yet been inclined
to prognosticate no suitable progress from the first sallies
of rapid wits ; but have observed, that after a short effort
they either loiter or faint, and stiffer themselves to be sur-
passed by the even and regular perseverance of slower
understandings.
It frequently happens, that applause abates diligence.
Whoever finds himself to have performed more than was
demanded, will be contented to spare the labour of un-

necessary performances, and sit down to enjoy at ease his
superfluities of honour. He, whom success has made con-
fident of his abilities, quickly claims the privilege of neg-
ligence, and looks contemptuously on the gradual advances
of a rival, whom he imagines himself able to leave behind
whenever he shall again summon his force to the contest.
But long intervals of pleasure dissipate attention, and
weaken constancy ; nor is it easy for him that has sunk
from diligence into sloth, to rouse out of his lethargy, to
recollect his notions, rekindle his curiosity, and engage
with his former ardour in the toils of study.
Even that friendship which intends the reward of ge-
nius, too often tends to obstruct it. The pleasure of being
caressed, distinguished, and admired, easily seduces the
student from literary solitude. He is ready to follow the
call which summons him to hear his own praise, and
which, perhaps, at once flatters his appetite with certainty
of pleasures, and his ambition with hopes of patronage ;
pleasures which he conceives inexhaustible, and hopes
which he has not yet learned to distrust.
These evils, indeed, are by no means to be imputed to
nature, or considered as inseparable from an early display
of uncommon abilities. They may be certainly escaped by
prudence and resolution, and must therefore be recounted
rather as consolations to those who are less liberally en-
dowed, than as discouragements to such as are born with
uncommon qualities. Beauty is well known to draw after
it the persecutions of impertinence, to incite the artifices
of envy, and to raise the flames of unlawful love ; yet,
among the ladies whom prudence or modesty have made
most eminent, who has ever complained of the inconve-
niencies of an amiable form ? or would have purchased
safety by the loss of charms ?
Neither grace of person, nor vigour of understanding,
are to be regarded otherwise than as blessings, as means of
happiness indulged by the supreme benefactor; but the
advantages of either may be lost by too much eagerness to
N°.112• THE RAMBLER. 29
obtain them. A thousand beauties in their first blossom,

by an imprudent exposure to the open world, have sud-
denly withered at the blast of infamy ; and men who might
have subjected new regions to the empire of learning, have
been lured by the praise of their first productions from
academical retirement, and wasted their days in vice and
dependence. The virgin who too soon aspires to celebrity
and conquest, perishes by childish vanity, ignorant credu-
lity, or guiltless indiscretion. The genius who catches at
laurels and preferment before his time, mocks the hopes,
that he had excited, and loses those years which might
have been most usefully employed, the years of youth, of
spirit, and vivacity.
It is one of the innumerable absurdities of pride, that
we are never more impatient of direction, than in that part
of life when we need it most ; we are in haste to meet
enemies whom we have not strength to overcome, and to
undertake tasks which we cannot perform : and as he that
once miscarries does not easily persuade mankind to favour
another attempt, an ineffectual struggle for fame is often
followed by perpetual obscurity.
.INOWIWIMININNWNIMINOW
N°. 112. SATURDAY, APRIL 13, 1751.
In snea vesanas habni dispendia vires,

Et mini pcnam fortis in ipse means. °vim Am. Lib. i. vii. 25.
Of strength pernicious to myself I boast;
The pow'rs I have were given me to my cost. F. Lewis.
WE are taught by Celsus, that health is best preserved
by avoiding settled habits of life, and deviating sometimes
into slight aberrations from the laws of medicine ; by va-
rying the proportions of food and exercise, interrupting
the successions of rest and labour, and mingling hardships
with indulgence. The body, long accustomed to stated
quantities and uniform periods, is disordered by the
smallest irregularity ; and since we cannot adjust every
clay by the balance or barometer, it is fit sometimes to de-
part from rigid accuracy, that we may be able to comply
with necessary affairs, or strong inclinations. He that too

long observes nice punctualities, condemns himself to vo-
luntary imbecility, and will not long escape the miseries of
disease.
The same laxity of regimen is equally necessary to in-
tellectual health, and to a perpetual susceptibility of occa-
sional pleasure. Long confinement to the same company
which, perhaps, similitude of taste brought first together,
quickly contracts the faculties, and makes a thousand
things offensive that are in themselves indifferent; a man
accustomed to hear only the echo of his own sentiments,
soon bars all the common avenues of delight, and has no
part in the general gratifications of mankind.
In things which are not immediately subject to religious
or moral consideration, it is dangerous to be too long or too
rigidly in the right. Sensibility may, by an incessant atten-
tion to elegance and propriety, be quickened to a tenderness
inconsistent with the condition of humanity, irritable by the
smallest asperity, and vulnerable by the gentlest touch.
He that pleases himself too much with minute exactness
and submits to endure nothing in accommodations, attend-
ance, or address, below the point of perfection, will, when-
ever he enters the crowd of life, be harassed with innu-
merable distresses, from which those who have not in the
same manner increased their sensations find no disturbance.
His exotick softness will shrink at the coarseness of vulgar
felicity, like a plant transplanted to northern nurseries,
from the dews and sunshine of the tropical regions.
There will always be a wide interval between practical
and•ideal excellence; and, therefore, if we allow not our-
selves to be satisfied while we can perceive any errour or
defect, we must refer our hopes of ease to some other
period of existence. It is well known, that, exposed to a
microscope, the smoothest polish of the most solid bodies
discovers cavities and prominences; and that the softest
bloom of roseate virginity repels the eye with excrescences
and discolorations. The perceptions as, well as the senses
may be improved to our own disquiet, and we may, by di-
ligent cultivation of the powers of dislike, raise, in time, an

artificial fastidiousness, which shall fill the imagination with
phantoms of turpitude, shoiv us the naked skeleton of every
delight, and present us only with the pains of pleasure, and
,
the deformities of beauty.
Peevishness, indeed, would, perhaps, very little disturb
the peace of mankind, were it always the consequence of
superfluous delicacy ; for it is the privilege only of deep
reflection, or lively fancy, to destroy happiness by art and
refinement. But, by continual indulgence of a particular
humour, or by long enjoyment of undisputed superiority,
the dull and thoughtless may likewise acquire the power of
tormenting themselves and others, and become sufficiently
ridiculous or hateful to those who ve,within sight of their
conduct, or reach of their influence.
They that have grown old in a single state are gene-
rally found to be morose, fretful, and captious; tenacious
of their own practices and maxims; soon offended by con-
tradiction or negligence ; and impatient of any association,
but with those that will watch their nod, and submit them-
selves to unlimited authority. Such is the effect of having
lived without the necessity of consulting any inclination
-but their own.
The irascibility of this class of tyrants is generally ex-
erted upon petty provocations, such as are incident to
understandings not far extended beyond the instincts of
animal life ; but, unhappily, he that fixes his attention on
things always before him, will never have long cessations
of anger. There are many veterans of luxury upon whom
every noon brings a paroxysm of violence, fury, and exe-
cration; they never sit down to their dinner without finding
the meat so injudiciously bought, or so unskilfully dressed,
such blunders in the seasoning, or such improprieties in
the sauce, as can scarcely be expiated without blood; and,
in the transports of resentment, make very little distinction
between guilt and innocence, but let fly their menaces, or
growl out their discontent, upon all whom fortune exposes
to the storm,
It is not easy to imagine a more unhappy condition than

that of dependence on a peevish man. In every other
state of inferiority the certainty of pleasing is perpetually
increased by a fuller knowledge of our duty ; and kindness
and confidence are strengthened by every new act of trust,
and proof of fidelity. But peevishness sacrifices to a mo-
mentary offence the obsequiousness or usefulness of half a
life, and, as more is performed, increases her exactions.
Chrysalus gained a fortune by trade, and retired into the
country ; and, having a brother burdened by the number
of his children, adopted one of his sons. The boy was dis-
missed with many prudent admonitions; informed of his
father's inability to maintain him in his native rank ; cau-
tioned against all opposition to the opinions or precepts of
his uncle ; and animated to perseverance by the hopes of
supporting the honour of the family, and overtopping his
elder brother. He had a natural ductility of mind, with-
out much warmth of affection, or elevation of sentiment;
and, therefore, readily complied with every variety of ca-
price; patiently endured contradictory reproofs; heard false
accusations without pain, and opprobrious reproaches with-
out reply ; laughed obstreperously at the ninetieth repe-
tition of a joke; asked questions about the universal decay
of trade ; admired the strength of those heads by which
the price of stocks is changed and adjusted ; and behaved
with such prudence and circumspection, that, after six
years, the will was made, and Juvenculus was declared
heir. But, unhappily, a month afterwards, retiring at night
from his uncle's chamber, he left the door open behind
him : the old man tore his will, and, being then percepti-
bly declining, for want of time to deliberate, left his money
to a trading company.
When female minds are embittered by age or solitude,
their malignity is generally exerted in a rigorous and spite-
ful superintendence of domestick trifles. Eriphile has em-
ployed her eloquence for twenty years upon the degeneracy
of servants, the nastiness of her house, the ruin of her fur-
niture, the difficulty of preserving tapestry from the moths,
and the carelessness of the 'sluts whom she employs in

brushing it. It is her business every morning to visit all
the rooms, in hopes of finding a chair without its cover, a
window shut or open contrary to her orders, a spot on the
hearth, or a feather on the floor, that the rest of the day
may be justifiably spent in taunts of contempt, and voci-
ferations of anger. She lives for no other purpose but to
preserve the neatness of a house and gardens, and feels
neither inclination to pleasure, nor aspiration after virtue,
while she is engrossed by the great employment of keep-
ing gravel from grass, and wainscot from dust. Of three
amiable nieces she has declared herself an irreconcilable
enemy : to one, because she broke off a tulip with her
hoop; to another, because she spilt her coffee on a Turkey
carpet; and to the third, because she let a wet dog run
into the parlour. She has broken oft' her intercourse of
visits, because company makes a house dirty; and resolves
to confine herself more to her own affairs, and to live no
longer in mire by foolish lenity.
Peevishness is generally the vice of narrow minds, and,
except when it is the effect of anguish and disease, by
which the resolution is broken, and the mind made too
feeble to bear the lightest addition to its miseries, pro-
ceeds from an unreasonable persuasion of the importance
of trifles. The proper remedy against it is, to consider
the dignity of human nature, and the folly of suffering
perturbation and uneasiness from causes unworthy of our
notice.
He that resigns his peace to little casualties, and suffers
the course of his life to be interrupted by fortuitous inad-
vertencies, or offences, delivers up himself to the direction
of the wind, and loses all that constancy and equanimity
which constitute the chief praise of a wise man.
The province of prudence lies between the greatest
things and the least ; some surpass our power by their
magnitude, and some escape our notice by their number
and their frequency. But the indispensable business of
life will afford sufficient exercise to every understanding;
It. ii. D
and such is the limitation of the human powers, that, by
attention to trifles, we must let things of importance pass
unobserved : when we examine a mite with a glass, we see
nothing but a mite.
That it is every man's interest to be pleased, will need
little proof : that it is his interest to please others, expe-
rience will inform him. It is, therefore, not less neces-
sary to happiness than to virtue, that he rid. his mind of
passions, which make him uneasy to himself, and hateful
to the world ; which enchain his intellects, and obstruct
his improvement.
............................
No. 113. TUESDAY, APRIL 16, 1751.
Uaorem, Posthume, ducis?

Dic qua Tisiphone, quibus exagitare colubris? Juv. Sat. vi. 28.
A sober man like thee to change his life !
What fury would possess thee with a wife? DRYDEN.
TO THE RAMBLER.
SIR,
I KNOW not whether it is always a proof of inno-
cence to treat censure with contempt. We owe so much
reverence to the wisdom of mankind, as justly to wish, that
our own opinion of our merit may be ratified by the con-
currence of other suffrages ; and since guilt and infamy
must have the same effect upon intelligences unable to
pierce beyond external appearance, and influenced often
rather by example than precept, we are obliged to refute
a false charge, lest we should countenance the crime which
we have never committed. To turn away from an accu-
sation with supercilious silence, is equally in the power of
him that is hardened by villany, and inspirited by inno-
cence. The wall of brass which Horace erects upoh a
clear conscience, may be sometimes raised by impudence
or power ; and we should always wish to preserve the dig-
nity of virtue, by adorning her with graces which wicked-
ness cannot assume.
For this reason, I have determined no longer to endure,

.with either patient or sullen resignation, a reproach, which
is, at least in my opinion, unjust; but will lay my case
honestly before you, that you or your readers may at length
decide it.
Whether you will be able to preserve your boasted im-
partiality, when you hear that I am considered as an ad-
versary by half the female world, you may surely pardon
me for doubting, notwithstanding the veneration to which
you may imagine yourself entitled by your age, your learn-
ing, your abstraction, or your virtue. Beauty Mr. Ram-
bler, has often overpowered the resolutions of the firm,
and the reasonings of the wise, roused the old to sensi-
bility, and subdued the rigorous to softness.
I am one of those unhappy beings, who have been marked
out as husbands for many different women, and deliberated
a hundred times on the brink of matrimony. I have dis-
cussed all the nuptial preliminaries so often, that I can
repeat the forms in which jointures are settled, pinmoney
secured, and provisions for younger children ascertained ;
but am at last doomed, by general consent, to everlasting
solitude, and excluded by an irreversible decree from all
hopes of connubial felicity. I am pointed out by every
mother, as a man whose visits cannot be admitted without
reproach ; who raises hopes only to imbitter disappoint-
ment, and makes offers only to seduce girls into a waste of
that part of life, in which they might gain advantageous
matches, and become mistresses and mothers.
I hope you will think, that some part of this penal seve-
rity may justly be remitted, when I inform you, that I never
yet professed love to a woman without sincere intentions
of marriage ; that I have never continued an appearance
of intimacy from the hour that my inclination changed, but
to preserve her whom I was leaving from the shock of
abruptness, or the ignominy of contempt ; that I always
endeavoured to give the ladies au opportunity of seeming
to discard me ; and that I never forsook a mistress for
larger fortune, or brighter beauty, but because I disco-
n 2
vered some irregularity in her conduct, or some depravity

in her mind ; not because I was charmed by another, but
because I was offended by herself.
I was very early tired of that succession of amusements
by which the thoughts of most young men are dissipated,
and had not long glittered in the splendour of an ample
patrimony before I wished for the calm of domestick hap-
piness. Youth is naturally delighted with sprightliness
and ardour, and therefore I breathed out the sighs of my
first affection at the feet of the gay, the sparkling, the
vivacious Ferocula. I fancied to myself a perpetual source
of happiness in wit never exhausted, and spirit never, de-
pressed ; looked with veneration on her readiness of ex-
pedients, contempt of difficulty, assurance of address, and
promptitude of reply ; considered her as exempt by some
prerogative of nature from the weakness and timidity of
female minds ; and congratulated myself upon a companion
superiour to all common troubles and embarrassments. I
was, indeed, somewhat disturbed by the unshaken perse-
verance with which she enforced her demands of an unrea-
sonable settlement; yet I should have consented to pass
my life in union with her, had not my curiosity led me to
a crowd gathered in the street, where I found Ferocula,
in the presence of hundreds, disputing for sixpence with
a chairman. I saw her in so little need of assistance, that
it was no breach of the laws of chivalry to forbear inter-
position, and I spared myself the shame of owning her ac-
quaintance. I forgot some point of ceremony at our next
interview, and soon provoked her to forbid me her presence.
My next attempt was upon a lady of great eminence for
learning and philosophy. I had frequently observed the
barrenness and uniformity of connubial conversation, and
therefore thought highly of my own prudence and discern-
ment, when I selected from a multitude of wealthy beau-
ties, the deep-read Misothea, who declared herself the
inexorable enemy of ignorant pertness, and puerile levity ;
and scarcely condescended to make tea, but for the linguists
the geometrician, the astronomer, or the poet. The queen
of the Amazons was only to be gained by the hero who

could conquer her in single combat ; and Misothea's heart
was only to bless the scholar who could overpower her by
disputation. Amidst the fondest transports of courtship
she could call for a definition of terms, and treated every
argument with contempt that could not be reduced to re-
gular syllogism. You may easily imagine, that I wished
this courtship at an end ; but when I desired her to shorten
my torments, and fix the day of my felicity, we were led
into a long conversation, in which Misothea endeavoured
to demonstrate the folly of attributing choice and self-direc-
tion to any human being. It was not difficult to discover
the danger of committing myself for ever to the arms of
one who might, at any time, mistake the dictates of,passion,
or the calls of appetite, for the decree of fate ; or consider
cuckoldom as necessary to the general system, as a link in
the everlasting chain of successive causes. I therefore
told her, that destiny had ordained us to part, and that
nothing should have torn me from her but the talons of
necessity. .
I then solicited the regard of the calm, the prudent, the
economical Sophronia, a lady who considered wit as dan-
gerous, and learning as superfluous, and thought that the
woman who kept her house clean, and her accounts exact,
took receipts for every payment, and could find them at a
sudden call, inquired nicely after the condition of the
tenants, .read the price of stocks once a week, and pur-
chased every thing at the best market, could want no ac-
complishments necessary to the happiness of a wise man.
She discoursed with great solemnity on the care and vigi-
lance which the superintendence of a family demands ;
observed how many were ruined by confidence in servants ;
and told me, that she never expected honesty but from a
strong chest, and that the best store-keeper was the mis-
tress's eye. Many such oracles of generosity she uttered,
and made every day new improvements in her schemes for
the regulation of her servants, and the distribution of her
time. I was convinced that, whatever I might suffer from
$8 THE RAMBLER. ' N°. 113.
Sophronia, I should escape poverty ; and we therefore pro-

ceeded to adjust the settlements according to her own rule,
fair and softly.. But one morning her maid came to me
in tears to intreat my interest for a reconciliation with her
mistress, who had turned her out at night for breaking six
teeth in a tortoise-shell comb ; she had attended her lady
from a distant province, and having not lived long enough
to save much money, was destitute among strangers, and,
though of a good family, in danger of perishing in the
streets, or of being compelled by hunger to prostitution.
I made no scruple of promising to restore her; but upon
my first application to Sophronia, was answered with an
air which called for approbation, that if she neglected her
own affairs, I might suspect her of neglecting mine ; that
the comb stood her in three half crowns; that no servant
should wrong her twice ; and that, indeed, she took the first
opportunity of parting with Phillida, because, though she
was honest, her constitution was bad, and she thought her
very likely to fall sick. Of our conference I need not
tell you the effect; it surely may be forgiven me, if, on this
occasion, I forgot the decency of common forms.
From two more ladies I was disengaged by finding, that
they entertained,my rivals at the same time, and determined
their choice by the liberality of our settlements. Another
I thought myself justified in forsaking, because she gave
my attorney a bribe to favour her in the bargain ; another
because I could never soften her to tenderness, till she
heard that most of my family had died young; and another,
because, to increase her fortune by expectations, she repre-
sented her sister as languishing and consumptive.
I shall in another letter give the remaining part of my
history of courtship. I presume that I should hitherto
have injured the majesty of female virtue, had I not hoped
to transfer my affection to higher merit.
I am, &c.
HYMEN/BUS.
•
Audi,
Nulla unquam de morte hominie cunctatio longa est. Jut,. Sat. vi. 219.
When life
man's is in debate.
The judge can ne'er too long deliberate. DRYDEN.
POWER and superiority are so flattering and delightful,

that, fraught with temptation, and exposed to danger, as
they are, scarcely any virtue is so cautious, or any pru-
dence so timorous, as to decline them. Even those that
have most reverence for the laws, of right, are pleased
with showing that not fear, but choice, regulates their be-
haviour ; and would be thought to comply, rather than
obey. We love to overlook the boundaries which we do
not wish to pass ; and, as the Roman satirist remarks, he
that has no design to take the life of another, is yet glad
to have it in his hands.
From the same principle, tending yet more to dege-
neracy and corruption, proceed' the desire of investing
lawful authority with terrour, and governing by force ra-
ther than persuasion. Pride is unwilling to believe the
necessity of assigning any other reason than her own will ;
and would rather maintain the most. equitable claims by
violence and penalties, than descend from the dignity of
command to dispute and expostulation.
It may, I think, be suspected, that this political arro-
gance has sometimes found its way into legislative assem-
blies, and mingled with deliberations upon property and
life. A. slight perusal of the laws by which the measures
of vindictive and coercive justice are established, will dis-
cover so many disproportions between crimes and punish-
ments, such capricious distinctions of guilt, and such con-
fusion of remissness and severity, as can scarcely be be-
lieved to have been produced by publick wisdom, sincerely
and calmly studious of publick happiness.
40 THE RAMBLER. - No. 114.
The learned, the judicious, the pious Boerhaave relates,
that he never saw a criminal dragged to execution without
asking himself, " Who knows whether this man is not
less culpable than me ?" On the days when the prisons of
this city are emptied into the grave, let every spectator of
the dreadful procession put the same question to his own
heart. Few among those that crowd in thousands to the
legal massacre, and look with carelessness, perhaps with
triumph, on the utmost exacerbations of human misery,
would then be able to return without horrour and dejec-
tion. For, who can congratulate himself upon a life passed
without some act more mischievous to the peace or pros-
perity of others, than the theft of a piece of money?
It has been always the practice, when any particular
species of robbery becomes prevalent and common, to en-
deavour its suppression by capital denunciations. Thus
one generation of malefactors is commonly cut off, and
their successors are frighted into new expedients ; the art
of thievery is augmented with greater variety of fraud,
and subtilized to higher degrees of dexterity, and more
occult methods of conveyance. The law then renews the
pursuit in the heat of miter, and overtakes the offender
again with death. By this practice capital inflictions are
multiplied, and crimes, very different in their degrees of
enormity, are equally subjected to the severest punishment
that man has the power of exercising upon man.
The lawgiver is undoubtedly allowed to estimate the
malignity of an offence, not merely by the loss or pain
which single acts may produce, but by the general alarm
and anxiety arising from the fear of mischief, and insecu-
rity of possession : he therefore exercises the right which
societies are supposed to have over the lives of those that
compose them, not simply to punish a transgression, but to
maintain order, and preserve quiet; he enforces those
laws with severity, that are most in danger of violation,
as the commander of a garrison doubles the guard on that
side which is threatened by the enemy.
This method has been long tried, but tried with so little
success, that rapine and violence are hourly increasing,

yet few seem willing to despair of its efficacy; and of
those who employ their speculations upon the present cor-
ruption of the people, some propose the introduction of
more horrid, lingering, and Wrifick punishments ; some
are inclined to accelerate the executions; some to discou-
rage pardons ; and all seem to think that lenity has given
confidence to wickedness, and that we can only be rescued
from the talons of robbery by inflexible rigour, and san-
guinary justice.
Yet, since the right of setting an uncertain and arbi-
trary value upon life has been disputed, and since expe-
rience of past times gives us little reason to hope that any
reformation will be effected by a periodical havock of our
fellow-beings, perhaps it will not be useless to consider
what consequences might arise from relaxations of the
law, and a more rational and equitable adaptation of penal-
ties to offences.
Death is, as one of the ancients observes, TO TEir cpoPepi5y
9013EprOTLI-011, of dreadful things the most dreadful: an evil,
beyond which nothing can be threatened by sublunary
power, or feared from human enmity or vengeance. This
terrour should, therefore, be reserved as the last resort of
authority, as the strongest and most operative of prohi-
bitory sanctions, and placed before the treasure of life, to
guard from invasion what cannot be restored. To equal
robbery with murder is to reduce murder to robbery ; to
confound in common minds the gradations of iniquity, and
incite the commission of a greater crime to prevent the
detection of a less. If only murder were punished with
death, very few robbers would stain their hands in blood ;
but when, by the last act of cruelty, no new danger is in-
curred, and greater security may be obtained, upon what
principle shall we bid them forbear?
It may be urged, that the sentence is often mitigated
to simple robbery ; but surely this is to confess that our
laws are unreasonable in our own opinion ; and, indeed,
it may be observed, that all but murderers have, at their
last hour, the common sensations of mankind pleading in
their favour.
From this conviction of the inequality of the punish-
ment to the offence, proceeds the frequent solicitation of
pardons. They who would' rejoice at the correction of a
thief, are yet shocked at the thought of destroying him.
His crime shrinks to nothing, compared with his misery ;
and severity defeats itself by exciting pity.
The gibbet, indeed, certainly disables those who die
upon it from infesting the community ; but their death
seems not to contribute more to the reformation of their
associates, than any other method of separation. A thief
seldom passes much of his time in recollection or antici-
pation, but from robbery hastens to riot, and from riot to
robbery ; nor, when the grave closes upon his companion,
has any other care than to find another.
The frequency of capital punishments, therefore, rarely
hinders the commission of a crime; but naturally and com-
monly prevents its detection, and is, if we proceed only
upon prudential principles, chiefly for that reason to be
avoided. Whatever may be urged by casuists or poli-
ticians, the greater part of mankind, as they can never
think that to pick the pocket and to pierce the heart is
equally criminal, will scarcely believe that two malefactors
so different in guilt can be justly doomed to the same pun-
ishment : nor is the necessity of submitting the conscience
to human laws so plainly evinced, so clearly stated, or so
generally allowed, but that the pious, the tender, and the
just, will always scruple to concur with the community in
an act which their private judgment cannot approve.
He who knows not how often rigorous laws produce
total impunity, and how many crimes are concealed and
forgotten for fear of hurrying the offender to that state in
which there is no repentance, has conversed very little with
mankind. And whatever epithets of reproach or contempt
this compassion may incur from those who confound cruelty
with firmness, I know not whether any wise man would
wish it less powerful, or less extensive.
If those whom the wisdom of our laws has condemned
to die, had been detected in their rudiments of robbery,
they might, by proper discipline and useful labour, have
been disentangled from their habits, they might have es-
caped all the temptation to subsequent crimes, and passed
their days in reparation and penitence ; and detected they
might all have been, had the prosecutors been certain that
their lives would have been spared. I believe every thief
will confess that he has been more than once seized:and
dismissed ; and that he has sometimes ventured upon capi-
tal crimes, because he knew, that those whom he injured
would rather connive at his escape, than cloud their minds
with the horrours of his death.
MI laws against wickedness are ineffectual, unless some
will inform, and some will prosecute ; but till we mitigate
the penalties for mere violations of property, information
will always be hated, and prosecution dreaded. The heart
of a good man cannot but recoil at the thought of punish-
ing a slight injury with death ; especially when be remem-
bers that the thief might have procured safety by another
crime, from which he was restrained only by his remain-
ing virtue.
The obligations to assist the exercise of publick justice
are indeed strong; but they will certainly be overpowered
by tenderness for life. What is punished with severity
contrary to our ideas of adequate retribution, will be sel-
dom discovered; and multitudes will be suffered to advance
from crime to crime, till they deserve death, because, if
they had been sooner prosecuted, they would have suffered
death before they deserved it,
This scheme of invigorating the laws by relaxation, and
extirpating wickedness by lenity, is so remote from com-
mon practice, that I might reasonably fear to expose it to
the publick, could it be supported only by my own obser-
vations : I shall, therefore, by ascribing• it to its author,
Sir Thomas More, endeavour to procure it that attention,
which I wish always paid to prudence, to justice, and to

mercy C.
oll•OWO...4
NMI
No. 115. TUESDAY, APRIL 23, 1751.
Quadam parrs gulden!, sed non tolersnda maritis. Juv. Sat. vi. 183.
Some faults, though small, intolerable grow. DRY DEN.
TO THE RAMBLER.
SIR,
I SIT down, in pursuance of my late engagement,
to recount the remaining part of the adventures that befell
me in my long quest of conjugal felicity, which, though I
have not yet been so happy as to obtain it, I have at least
endeavoured to deserve by unwearied diligence, without
suffering from repeated disappointments any abatement of
my hope, or repression of my activity.
You must have observed in the world a species of mor-
tals who employ themselves in promoting matrimony, and
without any visible motive of interest or vanity, without
any discoverable impulse of malice or benevolence, with-
out any reason, but that they want objects of attention and
topicks of conversation, are incessantly busy in procuring
wives and husbands. They fill the ears of every single
man and woman with some convenient match ; and when
they are informed of your age and fortune, offer a partner
for life with the same readiness, and the same indifference,
as a salesman, when he has taken measure by his eye, fits
his customer with a coat.
It might be expected that they should soon be dis-
couraged from this officious interposition by resentment or
The arguments of the revered sir Samuel Romilly on criminal law, have
almost been anticipated in this luminous paper, which would have gained
praise even for a legislator. On the correction of our English criminal code,
see Mr. Buxton's speech in the house of commons, 1820. It is a fund of prac-
tical information, and, apart from its own merits, will repay perusal by the
valuable collection of opinions which it contains on this momentous and inter-
esting subject: ED.
NO. 115. ' THE RAMBLER. 45
contempt; and that every man should determine the choice

on which so much of his happiness must depend, by his
own judgment and observation : yet it happens, that as
these proposals are generally made with a shOw of kind-
ness, they seldom provoke anger, but are, at worst, heard
with patience, and forgotten. They influence weak minds to
approbation ; for many are sure to find in a new acquaint-
ance, whatever qtialities report has taught them to expect;
and in more powerful and active understandings they ex-
cite curiosity, and sometimes, by a lucky chance, bring per-
sons of similar tempers within the attraction of each other.
I was known to possess a fortune, and to want a wife ;
and, therefore, was frequently attended by these hymeneal
solicitors, with whose importunity I was sometimes divert-
ed, and sometimes perplexed ; for they contended for me
as vultures for a carcass; each employing all his elo-
quence, and all his artifices, to enforce and promote his
own scheme, from the success of which he was to receive
no other advantage than the pleasure of defeating others
equally eager, and equally industrious.
An invitation to sup with one of those busy friends, made
me, by a concerted chance, acquainted with Camilla, by
whom it was expected that I should be suddenly and irre-
sistibly enslaved. The lady, whom the same kindness had
brought without her own concurrence into the lists of love,
seemed to think me at least worthy of the honour of capti-
vity : and exerted the power, both of her eyes and wit,
with so much art and spirit, that though I had been too
often deceived by appearances to devote myself irrevocably
at the first interview, yet I could not suppress some rap-
tures of admiration, and flutters of desire. I was easily
persuaded to make nearer approaches; but soon discovered,
that an union with Camilla was not much to be wished.
Camilla professed a boundless contempt for the folly,
levity, ignorance, and impertinence of her own sex ;
and very frequently expressed her wonder that men of
learning or experience could submit to trifle away life
with beings incapable of solid thought. In mixed
companies, she always associated with the men, and de-

clared her satisfaction When the ladies retired. If any
short excursion into the country was proposed, she com-
monly insisted upon the exclusion of women from the
party ; because, where they were admitted, the time was
wasted in frothy compliments, weak indulgences, and idle
ceremonies. To show the greatness of her mind, she avoid-
ed all compliance with the fashion ; and to boast the pro-
fundity of her knowledge, mistook the various textures of
silk, confounded tabbies with damasks, and sent for ribands
by wrong names. She despised the commerce of stated
visits, a farce of empty form without instruction ; and con-
gratulated herself, that she never learned to write message
cards. She often applauded the noble sentiment of Plato,
who rejoiced that he was born a man rather than a woman;
proclaimed her approbation of Swift's opinion, that women
are only a higher species of monkeys ; and confessed, that
when she considered the behaviour, or heard the conversa-
tion, of her sex, she Could not but forgive the Turks for
suspecting them to want souls.
It was the joy and pride of Camilla to have provoked,
by this insolence, all the rage of hatred, and all the perse-
cutions of calumny; nor was she ever more elevated with
her own superiority, than when she talked of female anger,
and female cunning. Well, says she, has nature provided
that such virulence should be disabled by folly, and such
cruelty be restrained by impotence.
Camilla, doubtless, expected, that what she lost on one
side, she should gain on the other; and imagined that every
male heart would be open to a lady, who made such ge-
nerous advances to the borders of virility. But man, un-
grateful man, instead of springing forward to meet her,
shrunk back at her approach. She was persecuted by the
ladies as a deserter, and, at best, received by the men only
as a fugitive. I, for my part, amused myself awhile with
her fopperies, but novelty soon gave way to detestation,
for nothing out of the common order of nature can be long
borne. I had no inclination to a wife who had the rugged-
N.°. 115. THE RAMBLER. 47
ness of a man without his force, and the ignorance of a
woman without her softness ; nor could I think my quiet
and honour to be intrusted to such audacious virtue as was
hourly courting danger, and soliciting assault.
My next mistress was Nitella, a lady of gentle mien, and
soft voice, always speaking to approve, and ready to re-
ceive direction from those with whom chance had brought
her into company. In Nitella I promised myself an easy
friend, with whom I might loiter away the day without dis-
turbance or altercation. I therefore soon resolved to ad-
dress her, but was discouraged from prosecuting my court-
ship, by observing, that her apartments were superstitiously
regular; and that, unless she had notice of my visit, she
was never to be seen. There is a kind of anxious cleanli-
ness which I have always noted as the characteristick of a
slattern; it is the superfluous scrupulosity of guilt, dread-
ing discovery, and shunning suspicion : it is the violence of
an effort against habit, which, being impelled by external
motives, cannot stop at the middle point.
Nitella was always tricked out rather with nicety than
elegance; and seldom could forbear to discover, by her
uneasiness and constraint, that her attention was burdened,
and her imagination engrossed : I therefore concluded, that
being only occasionally and ambitiously dressed, she was
not familiarized to her own ornaments. There are so many
competitors for the fame of cleanliness, that it is not hard
to gain information of those that fail, from those that desire
to excel : I quickly found that Nitella passed her time be-
tween finery and dirt; and was always in a wrapper, night-
cap, and slippers, when she was not decorated for imme-
diate show.
I was then led by my evil destiny to Charybdis, who
never neglected an opportunity of seizing a new prey when
it came within her reach. I thought myself quickly made
happy by permission to attend her to publick places; and
pleased my own vanity with imagining the envy which I
should raise in a thousand hearts, by appearing as the ac-
knowledged favourite of Charybdis. She soon after hinted
48 THE RAMBLER. N0. 115.
her intention to take a ramble for a fortnight, into a part

of the kingdom which she had never seen. I solicited the
happiness of accompanying her, which after a short reluct-
ance, was indulged me. She had no other curiosity on
her journey, than after all possible means of expense ; and
was every moment taking occasion to mention some deli-
cacy, which I knew it my duty upon such notices to
procure. .
After our return, being now more familiar, she told me,
whenever we met, of some new diversion ; at night she had
notice of a charming company that would breakfast in the
gardens; and in the morning had,been informed of some
new song in the opera, some new dress at the playhouse,
or some performer at a concert whom she longed to hear.
Her intelligence was such, that there never was a show, to
which she did not summon me on the second day; and as
she hated a crowd, and could not go alone, I was obliged
to attend at some intermediate hour, and pay the price of
a whole company. When we passed the streets, she was
often charmed with some trinket in the toyshops ; and from
moderate desires of seals and snuffboxes, rose, by degrees,
to gold and diamonds. I now began to find the smile of
Charybdis too costly for a private purse, 'and added one
more to six and forty lovers, whose fortune and patience
her rapacity had exhausted.
.Imperia then took possession of my affections; but kept
them only for a short time. She had newly inherited 9
large fortune, and having spent the early part of her life in
the perusal of romances, brought with her into the gay
world all the pride of Cleopatra; expected nothing less
than vows, altars, and sacrifices; and thought her charms
dishonoured, and her power infringed, by the softest oppo-
sition to her sentiments, or the smallest transgression of
her commands. Time might, indeed, cure this species of
pride irt a mind not naturally undiscerning, and vitiated
only by false representations ; but the operations of time
are slow ; and I, therefore, left her to grow wise at leisure,
or to continue in errour at her own expense.
Thus I have hitherto, in spite of myself, passed my life
in frozen celibacy. My friends, indeed, often tell me, that
I flatter my imagination with higher hopes than human na-
ture can gratify ; that I dress up an ideal charmer in all
the radiance of Perfection, and ,then enter the world to
look for the same excellence in corporeal beauty. But
surely, Mr. Rambler, it is not madness to hope for some
terrestrial lady unstained by the spots which I have been
describing ; at least I am resolved to pursue my search ;
for I am so far from thinking meanly of marriage, that I
believe it able to afford the highest happiness decreed to
our present state ; and if, after all these miscarriages, I
find a wonran that fills up my expectation, you shall hear
once more from, ..
Yours, &c.
HYMENAUS.
MMM
Optat ephippia Goa piper: optat arare cabanas. HOR. Lib. i. Ep. xiv. 43.
Thus the slow ox would gaudy trappings claim;
The horse
sprightly would
plough. FRANCIS.
TO THE RAMBLER.
SIR,
I WAS the second son of a country gentleman by
the daughter of a wealthy citizen of London. My father
having by his marriage freed the estate from a heavy mort-
gage, and paid his sisters their portions, thought himself
dischar&ed from all obligation to further thought, and en-
titled to 'spend the rest of his life in rural pleasures. lie
therefore spared nothing that might contribute to the com-
pletion of his felicity; he procured the best guns and
horses that the kingdom could supply, paid large salaries
to his groom and huntsman, and became the envy of the
country for the discipline of his bounds. But, above all
his other attainments, he was eminent for a breed of
pointers and setting-ilogs, which, by long and vigilant culti-
R. II. a
'50 THE RAMBLER. No. 116.
vation, he had so much improved, that not a partridge or

heathcock could rest in security, and game of whatever
species that' dared to light upon his manor, was beaten
down by his shot, or covered with his nets.
My elder brother was very early initiated in the chase,
and, at an age when other boys are creeping like snails un-
willingly to school, he could wind the horn, beat the bushes,
bound over hedges, and swim rivers. When the huntsman
one day broke his leg, he supplied his place with equal
abilities, and came home with the scut in his hat, amidst
the acclamations of the whole village. I, being either deli-
cate or timorous, less desirous of honour, or lesS capable
of sylvan heroism, was always the favourite of my mother;
because I kept my coat clean, and my complexion free
from freckles, and did not come home, like my brother,
mired and tanned, nor carry corn in my hat to the horse,
nor bring dirty curs into the parlour.
My mother had not been taught to amuse herself with
books, and being much inclined to despise the ignorance
and barbarity of the country ladies, disdained to learn their
sentiments or conversation, and had made no addition to
the notions which she had brought from the precincts of
Cornhill. She was, therefore, always recounting the glo-
ries of the city; enumerating the succession of mayors;
celebrating the magnificence of the banquets at Guildhall;
and relating the civilities paid her at the companies' feasts
by men of whom some are now made aldermen, some have
fined for sheriffs, and none are worth less than forty thou-
sand pounds. She frequently displayed her father's great-
ness; told of the large bills which he had paid at sight; of
the sums for which his word would pass upon the Ex-
change ; the heaps of gold which he used on Saturday
night to toss about with a shovel ; the extent of his ware-
house, and the strength of his doors; and when she relaxed
her imagination with lower subjects, described the furni-
ture of their country-house, or repeated the wit of the
'clerks and porters.
By these narratives I was fired with the splendour and
dignity of London, and of trade. I, therefore, devoted

myself to a shop, and warmed my imagination from year
to year with inquiries about the privileges►bf a freeman,
the power of the common council, the dignity of a whole-
sale dealer, and the grandeur of mayoralty, to which my
mother assured me that many bad arrived who began the
world with less than myself.
I was very impatient to enter into a path, which led to
such honour and felicity; but was forced, for a time, to en-
dure some repression of my eagerness, for• it was my
grandfather's maxim, that a young man seldom makes much
money, who is out of his time before two-and-twenty.
They thought it necessary, therefore, to keep me at home
till the proper age, without any other employment than
that of learning lnerchants' accounts, and the art of regu-
lating books; but at length the tedious days elapsed, I
was transplanted to town, and, with great satisfaction to
myself, bound to a haberdasher.
My master, who had no conception of any virtue, merit,
or dignity, but that of being rich, had all the good quali-
ties which naturally arise from a close and unwearied at-
tention to the main chance; his desire to gain wealth was
so well tempered by the vanity of showing it, that, without
any other principle of action, he lived in the esteem of the
whole commercial world ; and was always treated with
respect by the only men whose good opinion he valued or
solicited, those who were universally'allowed to be richer
than himself.
By his instructions I learned, in a few weeks, to handle
a yard with great dexterity, to wind tape neatly upon the
ends of my fingers, and to make up parcels with exact
frugality of paper and packthread ; and soon caught from
my fellow-apprentices the true grace of a counter-bow,
the careless air with which a small pair of scales is to be
held between the fingers, and the vigour and sprightliness
with which the box, after the riband has been cut, is re-
turned into its place. Having no desire of any higher
employment, and, therefore, applying all my powers to the
A2
62 THE RAMBLER. No. 1.16.
knowledge. of my trade, I was quickly master of all that
could be kno\v„n, became a critick in small wares, contrived
new variation'; of figures, and new mixtures of colours,
and was sometimes consulted by the weavers when they
projected fashions for the ensuing spring.
With all these accomplishments, in the fourth year of
my apprenticeship,. I paid a visit to my friends in the
country, where I expected to be received as a new orna-
ment of the family, and consulted by the neighbouring
gentlemen as a master of pecuniary knowledge, and by
the ladies as an oracle of the mode. But, unhappily, at
the first publick table to which I was invited, appeared a
student of the temple, and an officer of the guards, who
looked upon me with a smile of contempt, which destroyed
at once all my hopes of distinction, so that I durst hardly
raise my eyes for fear of encountering their superiority of
mien. Nor was my courage revived by any opportunities
of displaying my knowledge ; for the templar entertained
the company for part of the day with historical narratives
and political observations ; and the colonel afterwards de-
tailed the adventures of a birthright, told the claims and
expectations of the courtiers, and gave an account of
assemblies, gardens, and diversions. I, indeed, essayed
to fill up a pause in a parliamentary debate with a faint
mention of trade and Spaniards ; and once attempted,
with some warmth, to correct a gross mistake about a
silver breast-knot : but neither of my antagonists seemed
to think a reply necessary; they resumed their discourse
without emotion, and again engrossed the attention of the
_company; nor did one of the ladies appear desirous to
know my opinion of her dress, or to hear how long the
carnation shot with white, that was then new amongst
them, had been antiquated in town.
As I knew that neither of these gentlemen had more
money than myself, I could not discover what had de-
pressed me in their presence ; nor why they were consi-
dered by others as more worthy of attention and respect;
and, therefore, resolved, when we met again, to rouse my
spirit, and force myself into notice. I went very early to
the next weekly meeting, and was entertaining a small
circle very successfully with a minute representation of my
lord mayor's show, when the colonel entered, careless and
gay, sat down with a kind of unceremonious civility, and,
without appearing to intend any interruption, drew my
audience away to the other part of the room, to which I
bad not the courage to follow them. Soon after came in
the lawyer, not, indeed, with the same attraction of mien,
but with greater powers of language : and by one or other
the company was so happily amused, that I was neither
heard nor seen, nor was able to give any other proof of
my existence, than that I put round the glass, and was in
my turn permitted to name the toast. •
My mother, indeed, endeavoured to comfort me in my
vexation, by telling me, that perhaps these showy talkers
were hardly able to pay every one his own ; that he who
has money in his pocket need not care what any man says
of him ; that, if I minded my trade, the time will come
when lawyers arid soldiers would be glad to borrow out of
my purse; and that it is fine, when a man can set his hands
to his sides, and say he is worth forty thousand pounds
every day of the year. These and many more such conso-
lations and encouragements I received from my good mo-
ther, which, however, did not much allay my uneasiness ;
for, having by some accident heard that the country ladies
despised her as a cit, I had, therefore, no longer much re-
verence for her opinions, but considered her as one whose
ignorance and prejudice had hurried me, though without
ill intentions, into a state of meanness and ignominy, from
which I could not find any possibility of rising to the rank
which my ancestors had always held.
I returned, however, to my master, and busied myself
among thread, and silks, and laces, but without my former
cheerfulness and alacrity. I had now no longer any feli-
city in contemplating the exact disposition of my powdered
curls, the equal plaits of my ruffles, or the glossy blackness
of my shoes ; nor heard, with my former elevation, those
compliments which ladies sometimes condescended to pay

me upon my readiness in twisting a paper, or counting out
the change. The term of Young Man, with which I was
sometimes honoured, as I carried a parcel to the door of a
coach, tortured my imagination ; I grew negligent of my
person, and sullen in my temper; often mistook the de-
mands of the customers, treated their caprices and objec-
tions with contempt, and received and dismissed them with
surly silence.
My master was afraid lest the shop should suffer by this
change of my behaviour; and, therefore, after some ex-
postulations, posted me in the warehouse, and preserved
me from the danger and reproach of desertion, to which
my discontent would certainly have urged me, had I con-
tinued any longer behind the counter.
In the sixth year of my servitude, my brother died of
drunken joy, for having run down a fox that had baffled
all the packs in the province. I was now heir, and, with
the hearty consent of my master, commenced gentleman.
The adventures in which my new charicter engaged me
shall be communicated in another letter, by, sir,
Yours, &c.
MISOCAPELUS.
.0,00~0.0•41~MMINNW.....
No. I]7. TUESDAY, APRIL 30, 175].
"Ocrociv is 015X6i.ory fiiiiacrav Olpiv, alirclp 17r'''Ouvrp

IliAtov iivoa:OvXXov, '111 obpavbc lipParac c771. Host. Od. A. 314.
The gods they challenge, and affect the skies :
Heav'd on Olympus tott'ring Ossa stood ;
On Ossa, Pelion nods with all his wood. Port.
TO THE RAMBLER.
SIR,
NOTHING has more retarded the advancement of
learning than the disposition of vulgar minds to ridicule
and vilify what they cannot comprehend. All industry
must be excited by hope ; and as the student often pro-
poses no other reward to himself than praise, he is easily
N°.117. TIIE RAMBLER.. 55
discouraged by contempt and insult. He who brings with

him into a clamorous multitude the timidity of recluse spe-
culation, and has never hardened his front in publick life,
or accustomed his passions to the vicissitudes and acci-
dents, the triumphs and defeats of mixed conversation,
will blush at the stare of petulant incredulity, and suffer
himself to be driven, by a burst of laughter, from the for-
tresses of demonstration. 'The mechanist will be afraid to
assert, before hardy contradiction, the possibility of tearing
down bulwarks with a silkworm's thread ; and the astro-
nomer, of relating the rapidity of light, the distance of the
fixed stars, and the height of the lunar mountains.
If I could by any efforts have shaken off this cowardice,
I had not sheltered myself under a borrowed name, nor
applied to you for the means of communicating to the pub-
lick the theory of a garret ; a subject, which, except some
slight and transient strictures, has been hitherto neglected
by those who were best qualified to adorn it, either for
want of leisure to prosecute the various researches in
which a nice discussion must engage them, or because it
requires such diversity of knowledge, and such extent of
curiosity, as is scarcely to be found in any single intellect:
or, perhaps, others foresaw the tumults which would be
raised against them, and confined their knowledge to their
own breasts, and abandoned prejudice and folly to the di-
rection of chance.
That the professors of literature generally reside in the
highest stories, has been immemorially observed. The
wisdom of the ancients was well acquainted with the in-
tellectual advantages of an elevated situation : why else
were the Muses stationed on Olympus or Parnassus, by
those who could, with equal right, have raised them bowers
in the vale of Tempe, or erected their altars among the
flexures of Meander ? Why was Jove himself nursed upon
a mountain ? or why did the goddesses, when the prize of
beauty was contested, try the cause upon the top of Ida ?
Such were the fictions by which the great masters of the
earlier ages endeavoured to inculcate to posterity the im-
portance of a garret, which, though they had been long
obscured by the negligence and ignorance of succeeding
times, were well enforced by the celebrated symbol of
Pythagoras, &YE f4gY IIVE4YTCJY, Tip Vs) 7Ypo0•KUYES : " when the wind
blows, worship its echo." This could not but be under-
stood by his disciples as an inviolable injunction to live in
a garret, which I have found frequently visited by the echo
and the wind. Nor was the tradition wholly obliterated
in the age of Augustus, for Tibullus evidently congratu-
lates himself upon his garret, not without some allusion to
the Pythagorean precept:
Quamjuvat immites ventos audire cubantem—
At, gelidas hibernus aquas quuntfuderit auster,
Securum somnos, imbre juvante, sequi ! Lib. i. El. i. 45.
How sweet in sleep to pass the careless hours,
Lull'd by the beating winds and dashing show'rs!
And it is impossible not to discover the fondness of Lu-
cretius, an earlier writer, for a garret, in his description of
the lofty towers of serene learning, and of the pleasure
with which a wise man looks down upon the confused and
erratick state of the world moving below him :
Sed nil dulcius est, bens quam munita tenere
Edita doctrina sapientum templa serena ;
Despicere uncle queas alias, passimque videre
Errare, atque Siam palanteis querere vita.. Lib. ii. 7.
—'Tis sweet thy lab'ring steps to guide .
To virtue's heights, with wisdom well supplied,
And all the magazines of learning fortified:
From thence to look below on human kind,
Bewilder'd in the maze of life, and blind. Ditynsx.
The institution has, indeed, continued to our own time ;

the garret is still the usual receptacle of the philosopher
and poet ; but this, like many ancient customs, is perpe-
tuated only by an accidental imitation, without knowledge
of the original reason for which it, was established :
Causa latet ; res est notissima.
The cause is secret, but th' effect is known. ADDISON.
Conjectures have, indeed, been advanced concerning

these habitations of literature, but without much satisfac-
tion to the judicious inquirer. Some have imagined, that
the garret is generally chosen by the wits as most easily
rented; and concluded that no man rejoices in his aerial
abode, hut on the days of payment. Others suspect,
that a garret is chiefly convenient, as it is remoter than any
other part of the house from the outer door, which is often
observed to be infested by visitants, who talk incessantly
of beer, or linen, or a coat, and repeat the same sounds
every morning, and sometimes again in the afternoon, with-
out any variation, except that they grow daily more impor-
tunate and clamorous, and raise their voices in time from
mournful murmurs to raging' vociferations. This eternal
monotony is always detestable to a man whose chief plea-
sure is to enlarge his knowledge, and, vary his ideas.
Others talk of freedom from noise, and abstraction from
common business or amusements ; and some, yet more
visionary, tell us, that the faculties are enlarged by open
prospects, and that the fancy is more at liberty, when the
eye ranges without confinement.
These conveniencies may, perhaps, all be found in a well-
chosen garret ; but surely they cannot be supposed suffi-
ciently important to have operated invariably upon dif-
ferent climates, distant ages, and separate nations. Of
an universal practice, there must still be presumed an uni-
versal cause, which, however recondite and abstruse, may
be, perhaps, reserved to make me illustrious by its disco-
very, and you by its promulgation.
It is universally known that the faculties of the mind
are invigorated or weakened by the state of the body, and
that the body is in a great measure regulated by the vari-
ous compressions of the ambient element. The effects of
the air in the production or cure of corporeal maladies
have been acknowledged from the time of Hippocrates ;
but no man has yet sufficiently considered how far it may
influence the operations of the genius, though every day
affords instances of local understanding, of wits and rea-
soners, whose faculties are adapted to some single spot,
and who, when they are removed to any other place, sink at
once into silence and stupidity. I have discovered, by a

long series of observations, that invention and elocution
suffer great impediments from dense and impure vapours,
and that the tenuity of a defecated air at a proper distance
from the surface of the earth, accelerates the fancy, and
sets at liberty those intellectual powers which were before
shackled by too strong attraction, and unable to expand
themselves under the pressure of a gross atmosphere. I
have found dulness to, quicken into sentiment in a thin
ether, as water, though not very hot, boils 'in a receiver
partly exhausted ; and heads, in appearance empty, have
teemed with notions upon 'rising ground, as the flaccid
sides of a football would have swelled out into stiffness
and extension.
For this reason I never think myself qualified to judge
decisively of any man's faculties, whom I have only known
in one degree of elevation ; but take some opportunity
of attending him from the cellar to the garret, and try upon
him all the various degrees of rarefaction and condensa- '
tion, tension and laxity. If he is neither vivacious aloft,
nor serious below, I then consider him as hopeless ; but
as it seldom happens; that I do not find the temper to which
the texture of his brain is fitted, I accommodate him in
time with a tube of mercury, first marking the points most
favourable to his intellects, according to rules which I have
long studied, and which I may, perhaps, reveal to mankind
in a complete treatise of barometrical pneumatology.
Another cause of the gaiety and sprightliness of the
dwellers in garrets is probably the increase of that ver-
tiginous motion, with which we are carried round by the
diurnal revolution of the earth. The power of agitation
upon the spirits is well known ; every man has felt his heart
lightened in a rapid vehicle, or on a galloping horse ; and
nothing is plainer, than that he who towers to the fifth story,
is whirled through more space by every circumrotation, than
another that grovels upon the ground-floor. The nations be-
tween the tropicks are known to be fiery, inconstant, inven-
tive, and fanciful ; because, living at the utmost length of the
earth's diameter, they are carried about with more swift-

ness than those whom nature has placed nearer to the
poles ; and therefore as it becomes a wise man to struggle
with the inconveniencies of his country, whenever celerity
and acuteness are requisite, we must actuate our languor
by taking a few turns round the centre in a garret.
If you imagine that I ascribe to air and motion effects
which they cannot produce, I desire you to consult your
own memory, and consider whether you have never known
a man acquire reputation in his garret, which, when for-
tune or .a patron had placed him upon the first floor, he
was unable to maintain ; and who never recovered his for-
mer vigour of understanding, till he was restored to his
original situation. That a garret will make every man a
wit, I am very far from supposing; I know there are some
who would continue blockheads even on the summit of the
Andes, or on the peak of Teneriffe. But let not any man
be considered as unimprovable till this potent remedy has
been tried ; for perhaps he was formed to be great only in
a garret, as the joiner of Aretteus was rational in no other
place but his own shop.
I think a frequent removal to various distances from the
centre, so necessary to a just estimate of intellectual abi-
lities, and consequently of so great use in education, that
if I hoped that the publick. could be persuaded to so ex-
pensive an experiment, I would propose, that there should
be a cavern dug, and a tower erected, like those which
Bacon describes in Solomon's house, for the expansion and
concentration of understanding, according to the exigence
of different employments, or constitutions. Perhaps some
that fume away in meditations upon time and space in the
tower, might compose tables of interest at a certain depth ;
and he that upon level ground stagnates in silence, or
creeps in narrative, might at the height of half a mile,
ferment into merriment, sparkle with repartee, and froth
with declamation.
Addison observes, that we may find the heat of Virgil's
climate, in some lines of his Georgick : so, when I read a
composition, I immediately determine the height of the

author's habitation. As an elaborate performance is com-
monly said to smell of the lamp, my commendation of a
noble thought, a sprightly sally, or a bold figure, is to pro-
nounce it fresh from the garret; an expression which would
break from me upon the perusal of most of your papers,
did I not believe, that you sometimes quit the garret, and
ascend into the cockloft.
HY PERTATUS.
••••••••M I I, 04,1NONMINP INI,INNINP
No. 118. SATURDAY, MAY 4, 1751.
—Omnes illacrymabiles
Urgentur, ignotlytie longs
Nocte. Hon. Lib. iv. Ode ix. 26.
In endless night they sleep, unwept, unknown. FnAscis.
CICERo has, with his usual elegance and magnificence of
language, attempted, in his relation of the dream of Scipio,
to depreciate those honours for which he hiinself appears
to have panted with restless solicitude, by showing within
what narrow limits all that fame and celebrity which man
can hope for from men is circumscribed.
(C You see," says Africanus, pointing at the earth, from
the celestial regions, " that the globe assigned to the resi-
dence and habitation of human beings is of small dimen-
sions : how then can you obtain from the praise of men,
any glory worthy of a wish ? Of this little world the inha-
bited parts are neither numerous nor wide ; even the spots
where men are to be found are broken by intervening de-
serts, and the nations are so separated as that nothing can
be transmitted from one to another. With the people of
the south, by whom the opposite part of the earth is pos-
sessed, you have no intercourse ; and by how small a tract
do you communicate with the countries of the north ? The
territory which you inhabit is no more than a scanty island,
inclosed by a small body of water, to which you give the
name of the great sea and the Atlantick ocean. And even
in this known and frequented continent, what hope can

you entertain, that your renown will pass the stream of
Ganges, or the cliffs of Caucasus? or by whom will your
name be uttered in the extremities of the north or south,
towards the rising or the setting sun ? So narrow is the
space to which your fame can be propagated ; and even
there how long will it remain??"
He then proceeds to assign natural causes why fame is
not only narrow in its extent, but short in its duration ; he
observes the difference between the computation of time
in earth and heaven, and declares, that according to the
celestial chronology, no human honours can last a single
year.
Such are the objections by which Tully leas made a show
of discouraging the pursuit of fame; objections which suf-
ficiently discover his tenderness and regard for his darling
phantom. Homer, when the plan of his poem made the
death of Patroclus necessary, resolved, at least, that he
should die with honour; and therefore brought down
against him the patron god of Trot, ,and left to Hector
only the mean task of giving the last brow to an enemy
whom a divine hand had disabled from resistance. Thus
Tully ennobles fame, which he professe's to degrade, by
opposing it to celestial happiness ; he confines not its ex-
tent but by the boundaries of nature, nor contracts its du-
ration but by representing it small in the estimation of su-
periour beings. He still admits it the highest and noblest
of terrestrial objects, and alleges little more against it,
than that it is neither without end, nor without limits.
"What might be the effect of these observations conveyed
in Ciceronian eloquence to Roman understandings, cannot
be determined; but few of those who shall in the present
age read my humble version will find themselves much de-
pressed in their hopes, or retarded in their designs ; for I
am not inclined to believe, that they who among us pass
their lives in the cultivation of knowledge, or acquisition of
power, have very anxiously inquired what opinions prevail
on the further banks of the Ganges, or invigorated any
effort by the desire of spreading their renown among the

clans of Caucasus. The hopes and fears of modern minds
are content to range in a narrower compass ; a single na-
tion, and a few years, have generally sufficient amplitude
to fill our imaginations.
A little consideration will indeed teach us, that fame
has other limits than mountains and oceans ; and that he
who places happiness in the frequent repetition of his
name, may spend his life in propagating it, without any
danger of weeping for new worlds, or necessity of passing
the Atlantick sea.
The numbers to whom any real and perceptible good or
evil can be derived by the greatest power, or most active
diligence, are inconsiderable ; and where neither benefit
nor mischief operates, the only.motive to the mention or re-
membrance of others is curiosity; a passion, which, though
in some degree universally associated to reason, is easily
confined, overborne, or diverted from any particular object.
Among the lower classes of mankind, there will be
found very little desire of any other knowledge than what
may contribute immediately to the relief of some pressing
uneasiness, or the attainment of some near advantage.
The Turks are said to hear with wonder a proposal to
walk out, only that they may walk back; and inquire why
any man should labour for nothing: so those whose con-
dition has always restrained them to the contemplation of
their own necessities, and who have been accustomed to
look forward only to a small distance, will scarcely under-
stand, why nights and days should be spent in studies,
which end in new studies, and which, according to Mal-
herbe's observation, do not tend to lessen the price of
bread ; nor will the trader or manufacturer easily be per-
suaded, that much pleasure can arise from the mere
knowledge of actions, performed in remote regions, or in
distant times ; or that any thing can deserve their inquiry,
of which, KXEg 0101, Cb(060i4EY, o, T4 nihEY, we can only hear the
report, but which cannot influence our lives by any con-
sequences.
The truth is, that very few have leisure from indis-
pensable business, to employ their thoughts upon narra-
tive or characters; and among those to whom fortune has
given the liberty of living more by their 'own choice,
many create to themselves engagements, by the indulgence
of some petty ambition, the admission of some insatiable
desire, or the toleration of some predominant passion.
The man whose whole wish is to accumulate money, has
no other care than to collect interest, to estimate secu-
rities, and to engage for mortgages : the lover disdains to
turn his ear to any other name than that of Corinna; and
the courtier thinks the hour lost which is not spent in pro-
moting his interest, and facilitating his advancement. The
adventures of valour, and the discoveries of science, will
find a cold reception, when they are obtruded upon an
attention thus busy with its favourite amusement, and im-
patient of interruption or disturbance.
But not only such employments as seduce attention by
appearances of dignity, or promises of happiness, may
restrain the mind from excursion and inquiry; curiosity
may be equally destroyed by less formidable enemies; it
may be dissipated in trifles, or congealed by indolence.
The sportsman and the man of dress have their heads
filled with a fox or a horserace, a feather or a ball ; and
live in ignorance of every thing beside, with as much con-
tent as he that heaps up gold, or solicits preferment, digs
the field, or beats the anvil ; and some yet lower in the
ranks of intellect, dream out their days without pleasure
or business, without joy or sorrow, nor ever rouse from
their lethargy to hear or think.
Even of those who have dedicated themselves to know-
ledge, the far greater part have confined their curiosity to
a few objects, and have very little inclination to promote
any fame, but that which their own studies entitle them
to partake. The naturalist has no desire to know the opi-
nions or conjectures of the philologer: the botanist looks
upon the astronomer as a being unworthy of his regard :
the lawyer scarcely hears the name of a physician without
64 THE RAMBLER. N.. 119.
contempt; and he that is growing great and happy by
electrifying a bottle, wonders how the world can be en-
gaged by trifling prattle about war or peace.
If, therefore, he that imagines the world filled with his
actions and praises, shall subduct from the number of his
encomiasts, all those who are placed below the flight of
fame, and who hear in the valleys of life no voice but that
of necessity; all those who imagine themselves too im-
portant to regard him, and consider the mention of his.
name as an usurpation of their time; all who are too much.
or too little pleased with themselves, to attend to any thing
external; all who are attracted by pleasure, or chained
down by pain, to unvaried ideas; all who are withheld
from, attending his triumph by different pursuits; and all
who slumber in universal negligence ; he will find his re-
nown straitened by nearer bounds than the rocks of
Caucasus, and perceive that no man can be venerable or
formidable, but to a small part of his fellow-creatures.
That we may not languish in our endeavours after ex-
cellence, it is necessary, that, as Africanus counsels his
descendant, " we raise our eyes to higher prospects, and
contemplate our future and eternal state, without giving
up our hearts to the praise of crowds, or fixing our hopes
on such rewards as human power can bestow."
dAININIJIMMMILKI
N°. 119. TUESDAY, MAY 7, 1751.
Iliacos infra ?auras peccatur, et extra. Hoe. Lib. i. Ep. ii. 16.
Faults lay.on either side the Trojan tow'rs. ELPHINSTON.
TO THE RAMBLER.
SIR,
As, notwithstanding all that wit, or malice, or pride,
or prudence will be able to suggest, men and women must
at last pass their lives together, I have never, therefore,
thought those writers friends to human happiness, who
endeavour to excite in either sex a general contempt or
No. 119. " THE RAMBLER. 65
suspicion of the other. To persuade them who are enter-

ing the world, and looking abroad for a suitable associate;
that all are equally vitious, or equally ridiculous; that
they who trust are certainly betrayed, and they who esteem
are always disappointed; is not to awaken judgment, but
to inflame temerity. Without hope there can be no cau-
tion. Those who are convinced, that no reason for pre-
ference can be fotind, will never harass their thoughts
With doubt and deliberation ; they will resolve, since they
are doomed to misery, that no needless anxiety shall dis-
turb their quiet; they will plunge at hazard into the
crowd, and snatch the first hand that shall be held toward
them. .
That the world is overrun with vice, cannot be denied ;
but vice, howeve—r predominant, has not yet gained an
unlimited dominion. Simple and unmingled good is not
in our power, but we may generally escape a greater evil
by suffering a less ; and, therefore, those who undertake to
initiate the young and ignorant in the knowledge of life,
should be careful to inculcate the possibility of virtue
and happiness, and to encourage endeavours by prospects
of success.
You, perhaps, do not suspect, that these are the senti-
ments of one who has been subject, for many years, to all
the hardships of antiquated virginity ; has been long ac-
customed to the coldness of neglect, and the petulance of
insult; has been mortified in full assemblies by inquiries
after forgotten fashions, games long disused, and wits and
beauties of ancient renown ; has been invited, with mali-
cious importunity, to the second wedding of many acquaint-
ances ; has been ridiculed by two generations of coquets in
whispers intended to be heard ; and been long considered
by the airy and gay, as •too venerable for familiarity, and
too wise for pleasure. It is, indeed, natural for injury to
provoke anger, and by continual repetition to produce an
habitual asperity ; yet I have hitherto struggled with so
much vigilance against my pride and my resentment, that
I have preserved my temper uncorrupted. I have not yet
R. II. F
66 THE RANIBLER. ' No.119.
made it any part of my employment to collect sentences

against marriage ; nor am inclined to lessen the number of
the few friends whom time has left me, by obstructing that
happiness which I cannot partake, and venting my vexa-
tion in censures of the forwardness and indiscretion of
girls, or the inconstancy, tastelessness, and perfidy of men.
It is, indeed, not very difficult to bear that condition to
which we are not condemned by necessity, but induced by
observation and choice ; and therefore I, perhaps, have
never yet felt all the malignity with which a reproach,
edged with the appellation of old maid, swells some of
those hearts in which it is infixed. I was not condemned
in my youth to solitude, either by indigence or deformity,
nor passed the earlier part of life without the flattery of
courtship, and the joys of triumph. I have danced the
round of gaiety amidst the murmurs of envy, and gratula-
tions of applause ; been attended from pleasure to pleasure
by the great, the sprightly, and the vain; and seen my re-
gard solicited by the obsequiousness of gallantry, the gaiety
of wit, and the timidity of love. If, therefore, I am yet a
stranger to nuptial happiness, I suffer only the conse-
quences of my own resolves, and can look back upon the.
succession of lovers, whose addresses I have rejected,
without grief, and without malice.
When my name first began to be inscribed upon glasses,
I was honoured with the amorous professions of the gay
Venustulus, a gentleman, who, being the only son of a
wealthy family, had been educated in all the wantonness
of expense, and softness of effeminacy. He was beauti-
ful in his person, and easy in his address, and, therefore,
soon gained upon my eye at an age when the sight is very
little overruled by the understanding. He had not any
power in himself of gladdening or amusing ; but supplied
his want of conversation by treats and diversions; and his
chief art of courtship was to fill the mind of his mistress
with parties, rambles, musick, and shows. We were often
engaged in short excursions to 'gardens and seats, and I
was for awhile pleased with the care which Venustulus
1\TO. 119. THE RAMBLER. 67
discovered in securing me from any appearance of danger,

or possibility of mischance. He never failed to recom-
mend caution to his coachman, or to promise the waterman
a reward if he landed us safe ; and always contrived to re-
turn by daylight, for fear of robbers. This extraordinary
solicitude was represented for a time as the effect of his
tenderness for me ; but fear is too strong for continued hy-
. pocrisy. I soon discovered that Venustulus had the
cowardice as well as elegance of a female. His imagine-
' ' tion was perpetually clouded with terrours, and he could
scarcely refrain from screams and outcries at any acci-
dental surprise. He durst not enter a room if a rat was
heard behind the wainscot, nor cross a field where the
cattle were frisking in the sunshine ; the' least breeze that
waved upon the river was a storm, and every clamour in
the street was a cry of fire. I have seen him lose his
colour when my squirrel had broke his chain ; and was
forced to throw water in his face on the sudden entrance
of a black cat. Compassion once obliged me to drive away
with my fan, a beetle that kept him in distress, and chide
off a dog that yelped at his heels, to which he would gladly
have given up me to facilitate his own escape. Women
naturally expect defence and protection from a lover or a
husband, and, therefore, you will not think me culpable in
refusing a wretch, who would have burdened life with un-
necessary fears, and flown to me for that succour which it
was his duty to have given.
My next lover was Fungoso, the son of a stockjobber,
whose visits my friends, by the importunity of persuasion,
prevailed upon me to allow. Fungoso was no very suit-
able companion ; for having been bred in a counting-house,
he spoke a language unintelligible in any other place. He
had no desire of any reputation but that of an acute prog-
nosticator of the changes in the funds ; nor had any means
of raising merriment, but by telling how somebody was
overreached in a bargain by his father. He was, however,
a youth of great sobriety and prudence, and frequently in-
formed us how carefully he would improve my fortune. I
r2
was not in haste to conclude the match, but was so much

awed by my parents, that I durst not dismiss him, and
might, perhaps, have been doomed for ever to the grossness
of pedlary, and the jargon of usury, had not a fraud been
discovered in the settlement, which set me free from the
persecution of grovelling pride, and pecuniary impudence.
I was afterwards six months without any particular
notice, but at last became the idol of the glittering Floi-
culus, who prescribed the mode of embroidery to all the
fops of his time, and varied at pleasure the cock of every
hat, and the sleeve of every coat that appeared in fashion-
able assemblies. Flosculus made some impression upon
my heart by a compliment which few ladies can hear with-
out emotion ; he commended my skill in dress, my judg-
ment in suiting colours, and my art in disposing ornaments.
But Flosculus was too much engaged by his own elegance,
to be sufficiently attentive to the duties of a lover, or to
please with varied praise -an ear made delicate by riot of
adulation. He expected to be repaid part of his tribute,
and staid away three days, because I neglected to take
notice of a new coat. I quickly found, that Flosculus was
rather a rival than an admirer; and that we should pro-
bably live in a perpetual struggle of emulous finery, and
spend our lives in stratagems to be first in the fashion.
I had soon after the honour at a feast of attracting the
eyes of Dentatus, one of those human beings whose only
happiness is to dine. Dentatus regaled me with foreigo
varieties, told me of measures that he had laid for procur-
ing the best cook in France, and entertained me with bills
of fare, prescribed the arrangement of dishes, and taught
me two sauces invented by himself. At length, such is the
uncertainty of human happiness, I declared my opinion too
hastily upon a pie made under his own direction ; after
which he grew. so cold and negligent, that he was easily
dismissed.
Many other lovers, or pretended lovers, I have had the
honour to lead awhile in triumph. But two of them I
drove from me, by discovering that they had no taste or
N-!. 119. THE RAMBLER. 69
knowledge in musick ; three I dismissed, becduse they

were drunkards ; two, because they paid their addresses
at the same time to other ladies; and six, because they
attempted to influence my choice by bribing my maid.
fwo more I discarded at the second visit for obscene allu-
sions; and five for drollery on religion. In the latter part
of my reign, I sentenced two to perpetual exile, for offer-
ing me settlements, by which the children of a former mar-
riage would have been injured; four, for representing
falsely the value of their estates ; three, for concealing
their debts ; and one, for raising the rent of a decrepit
tenant.
I have now sent you a narrative, which the ladies may
oppose to the tale of Hymenmus. J mean not to depre-
ciate the sex which has produced poets and philosophers,
heroes and martyrs; but will not suffer the rising genera-
tion of beauties to be dejected by partial satire ; or to ima-
gine that those who censured them have not likewise their
follies, and their vices. I do not yet believe happiness
unattainable in marriage, though I have never yet been
able to find a man, with whom I could prudently venture
an inseparable union. It is necessary to expose faults, that
their deformity may be seen ; but the reproach ought not
to be extended beyond the crime, nor either sex to be con-
temned, because some women, or men, are indelicate or
dishonest.
I am, &c.
TRANQUILLA.
No. 120. SATURDAY, NAY 11, 1751.

. .
Redditum Cyri salio Phraatem,
Dissidens plebi, numero beatorum
Esimit virtus, populumque falsis
Dedocet uti
Vocibus. Hon. Lib. ii. Od. ii. 17.
True virtue can the crowd unteach
Their false mistaken forms of speech ;
Virtue, to crowds a foe protest,
Disdains to number with the blets
Phraates, by his slaves ador'd,
And to the Parthian crown restor'd. FRANCIS.
IN the reign of Jenghiz Can, conqueror of the east, in the

city of Samarcand, lived Nouradin the merchant, renowned
throughout all the regions of India, for the extent of his
commerce, and the integrity of his dealings. His ware-
houses were filled with all the commodities of the remotest
nations ; every rarity of nature, every curiosity of art,
whatever was valuable, whatever was useful, basted to his
hand.. The streets were crowded with his carriages; the
sea was covered with his ships; the streams of Oxus were
wearied with conveyance, and every breeze of the sky
wafted wealth to Nouradin.
At length Nouradin felt himself seized with a slow ma-
lady, which he first endeavoured to divert by application,
and afterwards to relieve by luxury and indulgence ; but
finding his strength every day less, he was at last terrified,
and called for help upon the sages of physick ; they filled
his apartments with alexipharmicks, restoratives, and• es-
sential virtues ; the pearls of the ocean were dissolved, the
spices of Arabia were distilled, and all the powers of nature
were employed to give new spirits to his nerves, and new
balsam to his blood. Nouradin was for some time amused
with promises, invigorated with cordials, or soothed with
anodynes ; but the disease preyed upon his vitals, and he
soon discovered with indignation, that health was not to be
bought. He was confined to his chamber, deserted by his
physicians, and rarely visited by his friends; but his unwil-
lingness to die flattered him long with hopes of life.
At length, having passed the night in tedious languor,.
he called to him Almamoulin, his only son, and dismissing
his attendants, " My son," says he, " behold here the
weakness and fragility of man ; look backward a few days,
thy father was great and happy, fresh as the vernal rose,
and strong as the cedar of the mountain ; the nations of
Asia drank his dews, and art and commerce delighted in
his shade. Malevolence beheld me, and sighed : 'His root,'
she cried, ' is fixed in the depths; it is watered by the foun-
tains of Oxus ; it sends out branches afar, and bids defi-
ance to the blast; prudence reclines against his trunk, and
prosperity dances on his top.' Now4 Almamoulin, look
upon me withering and prostrate ; look upon me and at-
tend. I have trafficked, I have prospered, I have rioted
in gain ; my house is splendid, my servants are numerous ;
yet I displayed only a small part of my riches ; the rest,
which I was hindered from enjoying by the fear of raising
envy, or tempting rapacity, I have piled in towers, I have
buried in caverns, I have hidden in secret repositories,
which this scroll will discover. My purpose was, after ten
months more spent in commerce, to have withdrawn my
wealth to a safer country ; to have given seven years to
delight and festivity, and the remaining part of my days to
solitude and repentance; but the hand of death is upon
me ; a frigorifick torpor encroaches upon my veins ; I am
now leaving the produce of my toil, which it must be thy
business to enjoy with wisdom." The thought of leaving
his wealth filled Nouradin with such grief, that he fell into
convulsions, became dilirious, and expired.
Almamoulin, who loved his father, was touched awhile
with honest sorrow, and sat two hours in profound medita-
tion, without perusing the paper which he held in his hand.
lie then retired to his own chamber, as overborne with
affliction, and there read the inventory of his new posses-
sions, which swelled his heart with such transports, that
he no longer lamented his father's death. He was now
sufficiently composed to order a funeral of modest magni-
ficence, suitable at once to the rank of Nouradin's pro-
fession, and the reputation of his wealth. The two next
nights he spent in visiting the towers and the caverns, and
found the treasures greater to his eye than to his imagina-
tion.
Almamoulin had been bred to the practice of exact fru-
gality, and bad often looked with envy on the finery and
expenses of other young men : he therefore believed, that
happiness was now in his power, since he could obtain all
of which he had hitherto been accustomed to regret the
want. He resolved to give a loose to his desires, to revel
in enjoyment, and feel pain and uneasiness no more.
He immediately procured a splendid equipage, dressed
his servants in rich embroidery, and covered his horses
with golden caparisons. He showered down silver on the
populace, and suffered their acclamations to swell him
with insolence. The nobles saw him with anger, the wise
men of the state combined against him, the leaders of ar-
mies threatened his destruction. Almamoulin was in-
formed of his danger : he put on the robe of mourning in
the presence of his enemies, and appeased them with
gold, and gems, and supplication.
He then sought to strengthen himself by an alliance
with the princes of Tartary, and offered the price of king-
doms for a wife of noble birth. His suit was generally
rejected, and his presents refused ; but the princess of
Astracan once condescended to admit him to her pre-
sence. She received him, sitting on a throne, attired in
the robe of royalty, and shining with the jewels of Gol-
conda; command sparkled in her eyes, and dignity tow-
ered on her forehead. Almamoulin approached and trem-
bled. She saw his confusion and disdained him : " How,"
says she, " dares the wretch hope my obedience, who thus
shrinks at my glane ? Retire, and enjoy thy riches in sor-
did ostentation ; thou vast born to be wealthy, but never
canst be great."
He then contracted his desires to more private and do-
mestick pleasures. He built palaces, he laid out gardens d,
he changed the face of the land, he transplanted forests,
he levelled mountains, opened prospects into distant re-
gions, poured fountains from the tops of turrets, and rolled
rivers through new channels.
These amusements pleased him for a time ; but languor
and weariness soon invaded him. His bowers lost their
fragrance, and the waters murmured without notice. He
purchased large tracts of land in distant provinces, adorned
them with houses of pleasure, and diversified them with
accommodations for different seasons. Change of place
at first relioved his satiety, but all the novelties of situa-
tion were soon exhausted ; he found his heart vacant, and
his desires, for want of external objects, ravaging him-
self. '•
He, therefore, returned to Samarcand, and set open his
doors to those whom idleness sends out in search of plea-
sure. His tables were always covered with delicacies;
wines of every vintage sparkled in his bowls, and his
lamps scattered perfumes. The sound of the lute, and
the voice of the singer, chased away sadness; every hour
was crowded with pleasure ; and the day ended and began
with feasts and dances, and revelry and merriment. Al-
mamoulin cried out, " I have, at last, found the use of
riches ; I am surrounded by companions, who view my
greatness without envy; and I enjoy at once the raptures
of popularity, and the safety of an obscure station. What
trouble can he feel, whom all are studious to please, that
they may be repaid with pleasure ? What danger can he
dread to whom every man is a friend ?"
Such were the thoughts of Almamoulin, as he looked
down from a gallery upon the gay assembly regaling at
his expense ; but, in the midst of this soliloquy, an officer
of justice entered the house, and, in the form of legal cita-
tion,summoned Almamoulin to appear before the empe-
ror. The guests stood awhile aghast, then stole imper-
d See Vathek.
ceptibly away, and he was led off without a single voice

to witness his integrity. He now found one of his most
frequent visitants accusing him of treason, in hopes of
sharing his confiscation ; yet, unpatronized and unsup-
ported, he cleared himself by the openness of innocence,
and the consistence of truth; he was dismissed with ho-
nour, and his accuser perished in prison.
Almamoulin now perceived with how little reason he
had hoped for justice or fidelity from those who live only
to gratify their senses ; and, being now weary with vain
experiments upon life and fruitless researches after feli-
city, he had recourse to a sage, who, after spending his
youth in travel and observation, had retired from all human
cares, to a small habitation on the banks of Oxus, where
he conversed only with such as solicited his counsel.
" Brother," said the philosopher, " thou has suffered thy
reason to be deluded by idle hopes, and fallacious appear-
ances. Having long looked with desire upon riches, thou
Nast taught thyself to think them more valuable than na-
ture designed them, and to expect from them, what expe-
rience has now taught thee, that they cannot give. That
they do not confer wisdom, thou mayest be convinced, by
considering at how dear a price they tempted thee, upon
thy first entrance into the world, to purchase the empty
sound of vulgar acclamation. That they cannot bestow
fortitude or magnanimity, that man may be certain, who
stood trembling at Astracan, before a being not naturally
superiour to himself. That they will not supply unex-
hausted pleasure, the recollection of forsaken palaces, and
neglected gardens, will easily inform thee. That they
rarely purchase friends, thou didst soon discover, when
thou wert left to stand thy trial uncountenanced and alone.
Yet think not riches useless; there are purposes to which
a wise man may be delighted to apply them ; they may,
by a rational distribution to those who want them, ease
the pains of helpless disease, still the throbs of restless
anxiety, relieve innocence from oppression, and raise im-
becility to cheerfulness and vigour. This they will enable
thee to perform, and this will afford the only happiness

ordained for our present state, the, confidence of divine
favour, and the hope of future rewards."
+101111WINJW
No. 121. TUESDAY, MAY 14, 1751.
0 imitatores, servum pecus! Holt. Lib. i. Ep. xix. 19.

Away, ye imitators, servile herd! ELPII I NSTON.
I HAVE been informed by a letter from one of the univer-
sities, that among the youth from whom the next swarm of
reasoners is to learn philosophy, and the next flight of
beauties to hear elegies and sonnets, there are many, who,
instead of endeavouring by books and meditation to form
their own opinions, content themselves with the secondary
knowledge, which a convenient bench in a coffee-house
can supply; and without any examination or distinction,
adopt the criticisms and remarks, which happen to drop
from those who have risen, by merit or fortune, to reputa-
tion and authority.
These humble retailers of knowledge my correspondent
stigmatizes with the name of Echoes; and seems desirous
that they should be made ashamed of lazy submission, and
animated to attempts after new discoveries and original
sentiments.
It is very natural for young men to be vehement, acri-
monious, and severe. For, as they seldom comprehend at
once all the consequences of a position, or perceive the .
difficulties by which cooler and more experienced rea-
soners are restrained from confidence, they form their con-
clusions with great precipitance. Seeing nothing that can
darken or embarrass the question, they expect to find their
own opinion universally prevalent, awl are inclined to
impute uncertainty and hesitation to want of honesty, ra-
ther than of knowledge. I may, perhaps, therefore, be
reproached by my lively correspondent, when it shall be
found, that I have no inclination to persecute these collec-
tors of fortuitous knowledge with the severity required ;
yet, as I am now too old to be much pained by hasty cen-
sure, I shall not be afraid of taking into protection those
whom I think condemned without a sufficient knowledge
of their cause.
He that adopts the sentiments of another, whom he has
reason to believe wiser than himself, is only to be blamed
when he claims the honours which are not due but to the
author, and endeavours to deceive the world into praise
and veneration ; for, to learn, is the proper business of
youth; and whether we increase our knowledge by books
or by conversation, we are equally indebted to foreign
assistance.
The greater part of students are not born with abilities
to construct systems, or advance knowledge ; nor can have
any hope beyond that of becoming intelligent hearers in
the schools of art, of being able to comprehend what
others discover, and to remember what others teach.
Even those to whom providence bath allotted greater
strength of understanding, can expect only to improve a
single science. In every other part of learning, they
must be content to follow opinions, which they are not able
to examine ; and, even in that which they claim as pecu-
liarly their own, can seldom add more than some small
particle of knowledge, to the hereditary stock devolved to
them from ancient times, the collective labour of a thou-
sand intellects.
In science, which, being fixed and limited, admits of no
other variety than such as arises from new methods of
distribution, or new arts of illustration, the necessity • of
following the traces of our predecessors is indisputablY
evident; but there appears no reason, why imagination
should be subject to the same restraint. It might be con-
ceived, that of those who profess to forsake the narroW
paths of truth, every one may deviate towards a different
point, since, though rectitude is uniform and fixed, obli'
quity may be infinitely diversified. The roads of science
are narrow, so that they who travel them, must either
N°. 121. THE RAMBLER. • 77
follow or meet one another; but, in the boundless regions

of possibility, which fiction claims for her dominion, there
are surely a thousand recesses unexplored, a thousand
flowers unplucked, a thousand fountains unexhausted, com-
binations of imagery yet unobserved, and races of ideal
inhabitants not hitherto described.
Yet, whatever hope may persuade, or reason evince, ex-
perience can boast of very few additions to ancient fable.
The wars of Troy, and the travels of Ulysses, have fur-
nished almost all succeeding poets with incidents, charac-
ters, and sentiments. The Romans are confessed to have
attempted little more than to display in their own tongue
the inventions of the Greeks. There is, in all their writ-
ings, such a perpetual recurrence of allusions to the tales
of the fabulous age, that they must 'be confessed often to
want that power of giving pleasure which novelty supplies;
nor can we wonder that they excelled so much in the
graces of diction, when we consider how rarely they were
employed in search of new thoughts.
The warmest admirers of the great Mantuan poet can
extol him for little more than the skill with which he has,
by making his hero both a traveller and a warriour, united
the beauties of the Iliad and the Odyssey in one compo-
sition: yet his judgment was, perhaps, sometimes overborne
by his avarice of the Homerick treasures ; and, for fear of
suffering a sparkling ornament to be lost, he has inserted it
where it cannot shine with its original splendour.
When Ulysses visited the infernal regions, he found,
among the heroes that perished at Troy, his competitor,
Ajax, who, when the arms of Achilles were adjudged to
Ulysses, died by his own hand in the madness of disap-
pointment. He still appeared to resent, as on earth, his
loss and disgrace. Ulysses endeavoured to pacify him
with praises and submission; but Ajax walked away with-
out reply. This passage has always been considered as
eminently beautiful; because Ajax, the haughty chief, the
unlettered soldier, of unshaken courage, of immovable con-
stancy, but without the power of recommending his own
virtues by eloquence, or enforcing his assertions by any
other argument than the sword, had no way of making his
anger known, but by gloomy sullenness and dumb ferocity.
His hatred of a man whom he conceived to have defeated
him only by volubility of tongue, was therefore naturally
shown by silence more contemptuous and piercing than
any words that so rude an orator could have found, and by
which he gave his enemy no opportunity of exerting the
only power in which he was superiour.
When .1Eneas is sent by Virgil to the shades, he meets
Dido, the queen of Carthage, whom his perfidy had hurried
to the grave ; he accosts her with tenderness and excuses ;
but the lady turns away, like Ajax, in mute disdain. She
turns away like Ajax ; but she resembles him in none of
those qualities which give either dignity or propriety to
silence. She might, without any departure from the tenour
of her conduct, have burst out, like other injured women,
into clamour, reproach, and denunciation ; but Virgil had
his imagination full of Ajax, and therefore could not pre-
vail on himself to teach Dido any other mode of resent-
ment.
If Virgil could be thus seduced by imitation, there will
be little hope that common wits should escape ; and, ac-
cordingly, we find, that besides the universal and acknow-
ledged practice of copying the ancients, there has prevailed,
in every age, a particular species of fiction. At one time,
all truth was conveyed in allegory ; at another, nothing
was seen but in a vision ; at one period, all the poets fol-
lowed sheep, and every event produced a pastoral; at
another they busied themselves wholly in giving directions
to a painter.
It is, indeed, easy to conceive why any fashion should
become popular, by which idleness is favoured, and imbe-
cility assisted ; but surely no man of genius can much ap-
plaud himself for repeating a tale with which the audience
is already tired, and which could bring no honour to any
but its inventor.
There are, I think, two schemes of writing, on which
N°. 121. TIME RAMBLER. 79
the laborious wits of the present time employ their facul-

ties. One is the adaptation of sense to all the rhymes
which our language can supply to some word, that makes
the burden' of the stanza; but this, as it has been only used
in a kind of amorous burlesque, can scarcely be censured
with much acrimony. The other is the imitation of Spen-
ser, which, by the influence of some men of learning and
genius, seems likely to gain upon the:age, and therefore
deserves to be more attentively considered.
To imitate the fictions and sentiments of Spenser can
incur no reproach, for allegory is perhaps one of the most
pleasing vehicles of instruction. But I am very far Worn
extending the same respect to his diction or his stanza.
His style was in his own time allowed to be vitious, so
darkened with old words and peculihilties of phrase, and
so remote from common use, that Jonson boldly pro-
nounces him to have written no language. His stanza is
at once difficult and unpleasing; tiresome to the ear by
its uniformity, and to the attention by its length. It was
at first formed in imitation of the Italian poets, without
due regard to the genius of our language. The Italians
have little variety of termination, and were forced to con-
trive such a stanza as might admit the greatest number of
similar rhymes ; but our words end with so much diversity,
that it is seldom convenient for us to bring more than two
of the same sound together. If it be justly observed by
Milton, that rhyme obliges poets to express their thoughts
in improper terms, these improprieties must always be
multiplied, as the difficulty of rhyme is increased by long
concatenations.
The imitators of Spenser are, indeed, not very rigid cen-
sors of themselves, for they seem to conclude, that when
they have disfigured their lines with a few obsolete sylla-
bles, they have accomplished their design, without consi-
dering that they ought not only to admit old words, but to
avoid new. The laws of imitation are broken by every
word introduced since the time of Spenser, as the character
of Hector is violated by quoting Aristotle in the play. It
80 THE RAMBLER. N.°. 122.
would, indeed, be difficult to exclude from a long poem

all modern phrases, though it is easy to sprinkle it with
gleanings of antiquity. Perhaps, however, the style of
Spenser mi4ht, by long labour, be justly copied ; but life
is, surely, given us for higher purposes than to gather what
our ancestors have wisely thrown away, and to learn what
is of no value, but because it has been forgotten.
........................—........
No. 122. SATURDAY, MAY 18, 1751.
Nescio qua natale solum dulcedine captos •

Ducit. Ovin. DC Pont. Lib. i. Ep. iii. 35.
By secret charms our native land attracts. -
NOTHING is more subject to mistake and disappointment
than anticipated judgment concerning the easiness or dif-
ficulty of any undertaking, whether we form our opinion
from the performances of others, or from abstracted con-
templation of the thing to be attempted.
Whatever is done skilfully appears to be done with ease;
and art, when it is once matured to habit, vanishes from
observation. We are, therefore, more powerfully excited
to emulation, by those who have attained the highest de-
gree of excellence, and whom we can, therefore, with least
reason hope to equal.
In adjusting the probability of success by a previous
consideration of the undertaking, we are equally in danger
of deceiving ourselves. It is never easy, nor often possible,
to comprise the series of any process with all its circum-
stances, incidents, and variations, in a speculative scheme,
Experience soon shows us the tortuosities of imaginary
rectitude, the complications of simplicity, and the ask&
ties of smoothness. Sudden difficulties often start up frog'
the ambushes of art, stop the career of activity, repress the
gaiety of confidence, and, when we imagine ourselves al'
most at the end of our labours, drive us back to new plans
and different measures. .
N°. 122. THE RAMBLER. . 81
There are many things which we every day see others

unable to perform, and, perhaps, have even ourselves mis—
carried in attempting; and yet can hardly allow to be dif-
ficult; nor can we forbear to wonder afresh at every new
failure, or to promise certainty of success to our next essay;
but when we try, the same hindrances recur, the same in-
ability is perceived, and the vexation of disappointment
must again be suffered. •
Of the various kinds of speaking of writing, which serve
necessity, or promote pleasure, none appears so artless or
easy as simple narration ; for what should make him that
knows the whole order and progress of au affair unable to
relate it? Yet we hourly find such as endeavour to enter-
tain or instruct us by recitals, clouding the facts which they
intend to illustrate, and losing themselves and their au-
ditors in wilds and mazes, in digression and confusion.
When we have congratulated ourselves upon a new oppor-
tunity of inquiry, and new means of information, it often
happens, that without designing either deceit or conceal-
ment, without ignorance of the fact, or unwillingness to
disclose it, the relater fills the ear with empty sounds,
harasses the attention with fruitless impatience, and dis-
turbs the imagination by a tumult of events, without order
of time, or train of consequence.
It is natural to believe, upon the same principle, that
no writer has a more easy task than the historian. The
philosopher has the works of omniscience to examine; and
is, therefore, engaged in disquisitions, to which finite in-
tellects are utterly unequal. The poet trusts to his inven-
tion, and is not only in danger of those inconsistencies, to
which every one is exposed by departure from truth ; but
may be censured as well for deficiencies of matter, as for
irregularity of disposition, or impropriety of ornament.
But the happy historian has no other labour than of ga-
thering what tradition pours down before him, or records
treasure for his use. Ile has only the actions and designs
of men like himself to conceive and to relate ; he is not to
form, but copy characters, and therefore, is not blamed for
R. II. G
the inconsistency of statesmen, the injustice of tyrants, or
the cowardice of commanders. The difficulty of making
variety consistent, or uniting probability with surprise,
needs not to disturb him ; the manners and actions of his
personages are already fixed ; his materials are provided
and put into his hands, and he is at leisure to employ all
his powers in arranging and displaying them.
Yet, even with these advantages, very few in any age
have been able to raise themselves to reputation by writing
histories; and among the innumerable authors, who fill
every nation with accounts of their ancestors, or undertake
to transmit to futurity the events of their own time, the
greater part, when fashion and novelty have ceased to re-
commend them, are of no other use than chronological
memorials, which necessity may sometimes require to be
consulted, but which fright away curiosity, and disgust
delicacy.
It is observed, that our nation, which has produced so
many authors eminent for almost every other species of
literary excellence, has been hitherto remarkably barren
of historical genius ; and so far has this defect raised pre-
judices against us, that some have doubted whether an
Englishman can stop at that mediocrity of style, or con-
fine his mind to that even tenour of imagination, which
narrative requires.
They who can believe that nature has so capriciously
distributed understanding, have surely no claim to the ho-
nour of serious confutation. The inhabitants of the same
country have opposite characters in different ages ; the
prevalence or neglect of any particular study can proceed
only from the accidental influence of some temporary cause ;
and if we have failed in history, we can have failed only
because history has not hitherto been diligently cultivated.
But how is it. evident, that we have not historians
among us, whom we may venture to place in comparisoO
with any that the neighbouring nations can produce ? The
attempt of Raleigh is deservedly celebrated for the labour
of his researches, and the elegance of his style ; but lie
has endeavoured to exert his judgment more than his ge-

nius, to select facts, rather than adorn them ; and has pro-
duced an historical dissertation, but seldom risen to the
majesty of history.
The works of Clarendon deserve more regard. His
diction is, indeed, neither exact in itself, nor suited to the
purpose of history. It is the effusion of a mind crowded
with ideas, and desirous of imparting them; and, therefore,
always accumulating words, and involving one clause and
sentence in another. But there is in his negligence a
rude inartificial majesty, which, without the nicety of
laboured elegance, swells the mind by its plenitude and
diffusion. His narration is not, perhaps, sufficiently rapid,
being stopped too frequently by particularities, which,
though they might strike the author•who was present at
the transactions, will not equally detain the attention of
posterity. But his ignorance or carelessness of the art of
writing is amply compensated by his knowledge of nature
and of policy; the wisdom of his maxims, the justness of
his reasonings, and the variety, distinctness, and strength
of his characters.
But none of our writers can, in my opinion, justly con-
test the superiority of Knolles, who, in his history of the
Turks, has displayed all the excellencies that narration
can admit. His style, though somewhat obscured by time,
and sometimes vitiated by false wit, is pure, nervous, ele-
vated, and clear. A wonderful multiplicity of events is so
artfully arranged, and so distinctly explained, that each fa-
cilitates the knowledge of the next. Whenever a new
personage is introduced, the reader is prepared by his
character for his actions ; when a nation is first attacked,
or city besieged, he is made acquainted with its history, or
situation ; so that a great part of the world is brought into
view. The descriptions of this author are without minute-
ness, and the digressions without ostentation. Collateral
events are so artfully woven into the contexture of his
principal story, that they cannot be disjoined without leav-
ing it lacerated and broken. There is nothing turgid in
u2
his dignity, nor superfluous in his copiousness. His ora-

tions only, which he feigns, like the ancient historians, to
have been pronounced on remarkable occasions, are tedi-
ous and languid ; and since they are merely the voluntary
sports of imagination, prove how much the most judicious
and skilful may be mistaken in the estimate of their own
powers.
Nothing could have sunk this author in obscurity, but
the remoteness and barbarity of the people, whose story he
relates. It seldom happens, that all circumstances concur
to happiness or fame. The nation which produced this
great historian, has the grief of seeing his genius employed
upon a foreign and uninteresting subject ; and that writer
who might have secured perpetuity to his name, by a his-
tory of his own country, has exposed himself to the danger
of oblivion, by recounting enterprises and revolutions, of
which none desire to be informed.
•••••••••••••••••••••WhAIWW•Ne
N°. 123. TUESDAY, MAY 21, 1751.
Quo semet eat imbuta recess, servabit odorem

Testa diu. Hon. Lib. i. Ep. ii. 69.
What season'd first the vessel, keeps the taste. CREECH.
TO THE RAMBLER.
SIR,
THOUGH I have so Long found myself deluded by
projects of honour and distinction, that I often resolve to
admit them no more into my heart ; yet how determinately
soever excluded, they always recover their dominion by
force or stratagem ; and whenever, after the shortest re-
laxation of vigilance, reason and caution return to their
charge, they find hope again in possession, with all her
train of pleasures dancing about her.
Even while I am preparing to write a history of disap-
pointed expectations, I cannot forbear to flatter myself,
that you and your readers are impatient for my perform-
ante ; and that the sons of learning have laid down several
of your late papers with discontent, when they found that
Misocapelus had delayed to continue his narrative.
But the desire of gratifying the expectations that I have
raised, is not the only motive of this relation, which, bay-
ing once promised it, I think myself no longer at liberty
to forbear. For, however I may have wished to clear my-
self from every other adheSion of trade, I hope I shall be
always wise enough to retain my punctuality, and amidst
all my new arts of politeness, continue to despise negli-
gence, and detest falsehood.
When the death of my brother had dismissed me from
the duties of a shop, I considered myself as restored to
the rights of my birth, and entitled to the rank and recep-
tion which my ancestors obtained. I was, however, em-
barrassed with many difficulties at my first reentrance
into the world ; for my haste to be a gentleman inclined
me to precipitate measures ; and every accident that
forced me back towards my old station, was considered
by me as an obstructiofi of my happiness.
It was with no common grief and indignation, that I
found my former companions still daring to claim my notice,
and the journeymen and apprentices sometimes pulling
me by the sleeve as I was walking in the street, and with-
out any terrour of my new sword, which was, notwith-
standing, of an uncommon size, inviting me to partake of
a bottle at the old house, and entertaining me with histories
of the girls in the neighbourhood. I had always, in my
officinal state, been kept in awe by lace and embroidery ;
and imagined that, to fright away these unwelcome fami-
liarities, nothing was necessary, but that I should, by
splendour of dress, proclaim my reunion with a higher
rank. I, therefore, sent for my tailor ; ordered a suit
with twice the usual quantity of lace ; and that I might
not let my persecutors increase their confidence, by the
habit of accosting me, staid at home till it was made.
This week of confinement I passed in practising a for-
bidding frown, a smile of condescension, a slight salutation,
8 111-ift RAMBLER. N°. 12:3.
and an abrupt departure ; and in four mornings was able

to turn upon my 'heel, with so much levity and sprightli-
ness, that I made no doubt of discouraging all publick at-
tempts upon my dignity. I, therefore, issued forth in my
new coat, with a resolution of dazzling intimacy to a fitter
distance ; and pleased myself with the timidity and rever-
ence, which I should impress upon all who had hitherto
presumed to harass me with their freedoms. But, what-
ever was the cause, I did not find myself received with
any new degree of respect; those whom I intended to
drive from me, ventured to advance with their usual
phrases of benevolence ; and those whose acquaintance I
solicited, grew more supercilious and reserved. I began
soon to repent the expense, by which I had procured no
advantage, and to suspect that a shining dress, like a
weighty weapon, has no force in itself, but owes all its
efficacy to him that wears it.
Many were the mortifications and calamities which I was
condemned to suffer in my initiation to politeness. I was
so much tortured by the incessant 'civilities of my compa-
nions, that I never passed through that region of the city
but in a chair with the curtains drawn ; and at last left
my lodgings, and fixed myself in the verge of the court.
Here I endeavoured to be thought a gentleman just re-
turned from his travels, and was pleased to have my land-
lord believe that I was in some danger from importunate
creditors ; but this scheme was quickly defeated by a
formal deputation sent to offer me, though I had now re-
tired from business, the freedom of my company.
- I was now detected in trade, and therefore resolved to
stay no longer. I hired another apartment, and changed
my servants. Here I lived very happily for three months,
and, with secret satisfaction, often overheard the family
celebrating the greatness and felicity of the esquire ;
though the conversation seldom ended without some com-
plaint of my covetousness, or some remark upon my lan-
guage, or my gait. I now began to venture into the publick
walks, and to know the faces of nobles and beauties ; but
could not observe, without wonder, as I passed by them,
how frequently they were talking .of a tailor. I longed,
however, to be admitted to conversation, and was some-
what weary of walking in crowds without a companion,
yet continued to come and go with the rest, till, a lady
whom I endeavoured to protect in a crowded passage, as
she was about to step into her chariot, thanked me for my
civility, and told me, that, as she had often distinguished
me for my modest and respectful behaviour, whenever I
set up for myself, I might expect to see her among my
first customers.
Here was an end of all my ambulatory projects.. I, in-
deed, sometimes entered the walks again, but was always
blasted by this destructive lady, whose mischievous gene-
rosity recommended me to her acquaintance. Being, there-
fore, forced to practise my adscititious Character upon an-
other stage, 1 betook myself to a coffee-house frequented
by wits, among whom I learned, in a short time, the cant
of criticism, and talked so loudly and volubly of nature,
and manners, and sentiment, and diction, and similes, and
contrasts, and action, and pronunciation, that I was often
desired to lead the hiss and clap, and was feared and hated
by the players and the poets. Many a sentence have I
hissed, which I did not understand, and many a groan have
I uttered, when the ladies were weeping in the boxes.
At last a malignant author, whose performance I had per-
secuted through the nine nights, wrote an epigram upon
Tape the critick, which drove me from the pit for ever.
My desire to be a fine gentleman still continued : I
therefore, after a short suspense, chose a new set of friends
at the gaming-table, and was for some time pleased with
the civility and openness with which I found myself treated.
I was indeed obliged to play ; but being naturally timor-
ous and vigilant, was never surprised into large sums.
What might have been the consequence of long familiarity
with these plunderers, I had not an opportunity of know-
ing ; for one night the constables entered and seized us,
and I was once more compelled to sink into my former
condition, by sending for my old master to attest my

character.
When I was deliberating to what new qualifications I
should aspire, I was summoned into the country, by an
account of my father's death. Here I had hopes of being
able to distinguish myself, and to support the honour of
my family. I, therefore, bought guns and horses, and,
contrary to the expectation of the tenants, increased the
salary of the huntsman. But when I entered the field, it
was soon discovered, that I was not destined to the glories
of the chase. I was afraid of thorns in the thicket, and of
dirt in the marsh ; I shivered on the brink of a river while
the sportsmen crossed it, and trembled at the sight of a
five-bar gate. 'When the sport and danger were over,
I was still equally disconcerted ; for I was effeminate,
though not delicate, and could only join a feeble whis-
pering voice in the clamours of their triumph.
A fall, by which my ribs were broken, soon recalled me
to domestick pleasures, and I exerted all my art to obtain
the favour of the neighbouring ladies ; but wherever I
came, there was always some unlucky conversation upon
ribands, fillets, pins, or thread, which drove all my stock
of compliments out of my memory, and overwhelmed me
with shame and dejection.
Thus I passed the first ten years after the death of my
brother, in which I have learned at last to repress that
ambition, which I could never gratify ; and, instead of
wasting more of my life in vain endeavours after accom-
plishments, which, if not early acquired, no endeavours
- can obtain, I shall confine my care to those higher excel-
lencies which are in every man's power, and though I
cannot enchant affection by elegance and ease, hope to
secure esteem by honesty and truth.
I am, 8r,c.
MISOCAPELUS.
No 124. THE RAMBLER. 89
•
Na. 124. SATURDAY, MAY 25, 1751.
—Taciturn sylvas reptare

inter salubres,
Curantem quicquid dignum sapient ebonoque cst? lion. Lib. i. Ep. iv. 4.
To range in silence through each healthful wood,
And muse what's worthy of the wise and good. ELPIIINSTON.
THE season of the year is now come, in which the theatres

are shut, and the card-tables forsaken; the regions of
luxury are for awhile unpeopled, and pleasure leads out
leer votaries to groves and gardens, to still scenes and
erratick gratifications. Those who have passed many
months in a continual tumult of diversion ; who have never
opened their eyes in the morning, but.upon some new ap-
pointment; nor slept at night without a dream of dances,
musick, and good hands, or of soft sighs and humble sup-
plications; must now retire to distant provinces, where
the syrens of flattery are scarcely to be heard, where
beauty sparkles without praise or envy, and wit is repeated
only by the echo.
As I think it one of the most important duties of social
benevolence to give warning of the approach of calamity,
when by timely prevention it may be turned aside, or by
preparatory measures be more easily endured, I cannot
feel the increasing warmth, or observe the lengthening
days, without considering the condition of my fair readers,
who are now preparing to leave all that has so long filled
up their hours, all from which they have been accustomed
to hope for delight; and who, till fashion proclaims the
liberty of returning to the seats of mirth and elegance,
must endure the rugged 'squire, the sober housewife, the
loud huntsman, or the formal parson, the roar of obstre-
perous jollity, or the dulness of prudential instruction;
without any retreat, but to the gloom of solitude, where
they will yet find greater incouveniencies, and must learn,
however unwillingly, to endure themselves.
In winter, the life of the polite and gay may be said to
roll on with a strong and rapid current ; they float along
from pleasure to pleasure, without the trouble of regulat-
ing their own motions, and pursue the course of the stream
in all the felicity of inattention ; content that they find
themselves in progression, and careless whither they are
going. But the months of summer are a kind of sleeping
stagnation, without wind or tide, where they are left to
force themselves forward by their own labour, and to di-
rect their passage by their own skill ; and where, if they
have not some internal principle of activity, they must be
stranded upon shallows, or lie torpid in a perpetual calm.
There are, indeed, some to whom this universal disso-
lution of gay societies affords a welcome opportunity of
quitting, without disgrace, the post which they have found
themselves unable to maintain ; and of seeming to retreat
only at the call of nature, from assemblies where, after a
short triumph of uncontested superiority, they are over-
powered by some new intruder of softer elegance or
sprightlier vivacity. By these, hopeless of victory, and
yet ashamed to confess a conquest, the summer is re-
garded as a release from the fatiguing service of celebrity,
a dismission to more certain joys and a safer empire.
They now solace themselves with the influence which they
shall obtain, where they have no rival to fear; and with
the lustre which they shall effuse, when nothing can be
seen of brighter splendour. They imagine, while they are
preparing for their journey, the admiration with which the
rusticks will crowd about them ; plan the laws of a new
assembly; or contrive to delude provincial ignorance with
a fictitious mode. A thousand pleasing expectations
swarm in the fancy ; and all the approaching weeks are
filled with distinctions, honours, and authority.
But others, who have lately entered the world, or have
yet had no proofs of its inconstancy and desertion, are cut
off, by this cruel interruption, from the enjoyment of their
prerogatives, and doomed to lose four months in inactive
obscurity. Many complaints do vexation and desire ex-
tort from those exiled tyrants of the town, against the in-
exorable sun, who pursues his course without any regard
to love or beauty; and visits either tropick at the stated

time, whether shunned or courted, deprecated or im-
plored.
To them who leave the places of publick resort in the
full bloom of reputation, and withdraw from admiration,
courtship, submission, and applause, a rural triumph can
give nothing equivalent. The praise of ignorance, and
the subjection of weakness, are little regarded by beauties
who have been accustomed to more important conquests,
and more valuable panegyricks. Nor, indeed, should the
powers which have made havock in the theatres, or borne
down rivalry in courts, be degraded to a mean attack
upon the untravelled heir, or ignoble contest with the
ruddy milkmaid.
How then must four long months be worn away ? Four
months, in which there will be no routs, no shows, no
ridottos ; in which visits must be regulated by the weather,
and assemblies will depend upon the moon ! The Platonists
imagine, that the future punishment of those who have, in
this life, debased their reason by subjection to their senses,
and have preferred the gross gratifications of lewdness and
luxury, to the pure and sublime felicity of virtue and con-
templation, will arise from the predominance and solicita-
tions of the same appetites, in a state which can furnish
no means of appeasing them. I cannot but suspect that
this month, bright with sunshine, and fragrant with per-
fumes ; this month, which covers the meadow with ver-
dure, and decks the gardens with aJl the mixtures of colo-
rifick radiance ; this month, from which the man of fancy
expects new infusions of imagery, and the naturalist new
scenes of observation ; this month will chain down multi-
tudes to the Platonick penance of desire without enjoy-
ment, and hurry them from the highest satisfactions, which
they have yet learned to conceive, into a state of hopeless
wishes and pining recollection, where the eye of vanity
will look round for admiration to no purpose, and the
hand of avarice shuffle cards in a bower with ineffectual
dexterity.
From the tediousness of this melancholy suspension of

life, I would willingly preserve those who are exposed to
it, only by inexperience; who want not inclination to wis-
dom or virtue, though they have been dissipated by negli-
gence, or misled by example ; and who would gladly find
the way to rational happiness, though it should be neces-
sary to struggle with habit, and abandon fashion. To
these many arts of spending time might be recommended,
which would neither sadden the present hour with weari-
ness, nor the future with repentance.
It would seem impossible to a solitary speculatist, that a
human being can want employment. To be born in igno-
rance with a capacity of knowledge, and to be placed in
the midst of a world filled with variety, perpetually press-
ing upon the senses and irritating curiosity, is surely a suf-
ficient security against the languishment of inattention.
Novelty is, indeed; necessary to preserve eagerness and
alacrity; but art and nature have stores inexhaustible by
human intellects; and every moment produces something
new to him, who has quickened his faculties by diligent
observation.
Some studies, for which the country and the summer
afford peculiar opportunities, I shall, perhaps, endeavour to
recommend in a future essay ; but if there be any appre-
hension not apt to admit unaccustomed ideas, or any atten-
tion so stubborn and inflexible, as not easily to comply with
new directions, even these obstructions cannot exclude the
pleasure of application ; for there is a higher and nobler
employment, to which all faculties are adapted by him
who gave them. The duties of religion, sincerely and re-
gularly performed, will always be sufficient to exalt the
meanest, and to exercise the highest understanding. That
mind will never be vacant, which is frequently recalled by
stated duties to meditations on eternal interests; nor can
any hour be long, which is spent in obtaining some new
qualification for celestial happiness.
Na• 125. THE RAMBLER. 93
No. 125. TUESDAY, MAY 28, MI.
Descriptas servare vices, operumque colorer,

Cur ego, si nequeo ignoroque, poeta salutor? Hon. De Ar. Poet. 86.
But if, through weakness, or my want of art,

I can't to ev'ry diffrent style impart
The proper strokes and colours it may claim,
Why am I honour'd with a poet's name? FRANCIS.
IT is one of the maxims of the civil law, that definitions are

hazardous. Things modified by human understandings,
subject to varieties of complication, and changeable as ex-
perience advances knowledge, or ac,qident influences ca-
price, are scarcely to be included in any standing form of
expression, because they are always suffering some altera-
tion of their state. Definition is, indeed, not the province
of man ; every thing is set above or below old. faculties.
The works and operations of nature are too great in their
extent, or too much diffused in their relations, and the per-
formances of art too inconstant and uncertain, to be re-
duced to any determinate idea. It is impossible to impress
upon our minds an adequate and just representation of an
object so great that we can never take it into our view, or
so mutable that it is always changing under our eye, and
has already lost its form' while we are labouring to con-
ceive it.
Definitions have been no less difficult or uncertain in
criticisms than in law : imagination, a licentious and vagrant
faculty, unsusceptible of limitations, and impatient of re-
straint, has always endeavoured to baffle the logician, to
perplex the confines of distinction, and burst the inclosures
of regularity. There is therefore scarcely auy species of
writing, of which we can tell what is its essence, and what
are its constituents; every new genius produces some in-
novation, which, when invented and approved, subverts
the rules which the practice of foregoing authors had
established.
Comedy has been particularly unpropitious to definers;
for though, perhaps, they might properly have contented

themselves, with declaring it to be such a dramatick repre-
sentation of human life, as may excite mirth, they have
embarrassed their definition with the means by which the
comick writers attain their end, without considering that
the various methods of exhilarating their audience, not
being limited by nature, cannot be comprised in precept.
Thus, some make comedy a representation of mean, and
others of bad men ; some think that its essence consists in
the unimportance, others in the fictitiousness of the trans-
action. But any man's reflections will inform him, that
every dramatick composition which raises mirth, is comick ;
and that, to raise mirth, it is by no means universally ne-
cessary, that the personages should be either mean or cor-
rupt, nor always requisite, that the action should be trivial,
nor ever, that it should be fictitious.
If the two kinds of dramatick poetry had been defined
only by their effects upon the mind, some absurdities might
have been prevented, with which the compositions of our
greatest poets are disgraced, who, for want of some settled
ideas and accurate distinctions, have unhappily confounded
tragick with comick sentiments. They seem to have
thought, that as the meanness of personages constituted
comedy, their greatness was sufficient to form a tragedy ;
and that nothing was necessary but that they should crowd
the scene with monarchs, and generals, and guards; and
make them talk, at certain intervals, of the downfal of
kingdoms, and the rout of armies. They have not consi-
dered, that thoughts or incidents, in themselves ridiculous,
grow still more grotesque by the solemnity of such charac-
ters; that reason and nature are uniform and inflexible;
and that what is despicable and absurd, will not, by any
association with splendid titles, become rational or great ;
that the most important affairs, by an intermixture of an
unseasonable levity, may be made contemptible ; and that
the robes of royalty can give no dignity to nonsense or to
folly.
"Comedy," says Horace, "sometimes raises her voice ;''
and tragedy, may, likewise, on proper occasions, abate her

dignity ; but as the comick personages can only depart
from their familiarity of style, when the more violent pas-
sions are put in motion, the heroes and queens of tragedy
should never descend to trifle, but in the hours of ease,
and intermissions of danger. Yet, in the tragedy of Don
Sebastian, when the king of Portugal is in the hands of his
enemy, and having just drawn the lot, by which he is con-
demned to die, breaks out into a wild boast that his dust
shall take possession of Africk, the dialogue proceeds thus
between the captive and his conqueror :
Mule!) Moluch. What shall I do to conquer thee ?
Seb. Impossible ! ,
Souls know no conquerors.
M. Mol. I'll show thee for a monster thro' my Africk.
Seb. No, thou cant only show me for a man :
Africk is stored with monsters ; man's a prodigy
Thy subjects have not seen.
M. Mol. Thou talk'st as if
Still at the head of battle.
Seb. Thou mistak'st,
For there I would not talk.
Benducar, the Minister. Sure he would sleep.
This conversation, with the sly remark of the minister,
can only be found not to be comick, because it wants the
probability necessary to representations of common life,
and degenerates too much towards buffoonery and farce.
The same play affords a smart return of the general to
the emperor, who, enforcing his orders for the death of
Sebastian, vents his impatience in this abrupt threat :
—No more replies,
But see thou do'st it; Or,—
To which Dorax answers,
Choak in that threat: I can say Or as loud.
A thousand instances of such impropriety might be pro-
duced, were not one scene in Aureng-Zebu sufficient to
exemplify it. Indamora, a captive queen, having Aureng-
Zebe for her lover, employs Arimant, to whose charge she

had been entrusted, and whom she had made sensible of
.
her charms, to carry her message to his rival.
ARIMANT, with a letter in his hand : INDAMORA.
Arim. And I the messenger to him-from you ?
Your empire you to tyranny pursue:
You lay commands both cruel and unjust,
To serve my rival, and betray my trust.
Ind. You first betray'd your trust in loving me :
And should not I my own advantage see ?
Serving my love, you may my friendship gain ;
You know the rest of your pretences vain.
You must, my Arimant, you must be kind :
'Tis in your nature, and your noble mind.
Arim. I'll to the king, and straight my trust resign.
Ind. His trust you may, but you shall never mine.
Heaven made you love me for no other end,
But to become my confidant and friend:
As such, I keep no secret from your sight,
And therefore make you judge how ill I write
Read it, and tell me freely then your mind,
If 'tis indited, as I meant it, kind.
Arim. I ask not heaven my freedom to restore—Pleading.
But only for your sake—I'll read no more.
And yet I must—
Less for my own, than for your sorrow sad—[Reading.
Another line like this, would make me mad—
Heav'n ! she goes on----yet more—and yet more kind !
[As reading,
Each sentence is a dagger to my mind.
me night
See this [Reading.
Thank fortune who did such a friend provide;
For faithful Arimant shall be your guide.
Not only to be made an instrument,
But preengaged without my own consent !
Ind. Unknown t'engage you, still augments my score,
And gives you scope of meriting the more.
Arinz. The best of men
Some int'rest in their actions must confess ;
None merit, but in hope they may possess :
No. 115. THR RAMBLER. 97
The fatal paper rather let me tear,
Than, like Bellerophon, my own sentence bear.
Ind. You may ; but 'twill not be your best advice :
'Twill only give me pains of writing twice.
You know you must obey me, soon or late:
Why should you vainly struggle with your fate?
Arim. I thank thee, beav'n ! thou bast been wondrous kind !
Why am I thus to slavery design'd,
And yet am cheated with a free-born mind !
Or make thy orders with my reason suit,
Or let live
me sense,
by a glorious brute—[Shefrowns.
You frown, and I obey with speed, before
That dreadful sentence comes, See me no more.
..
In this scene, every circumstance concurs to turn tra-
gedy to farce. The wild absurdity of the expedient ; the
contemptible subjection of the lover; the folly of obliging
him to read the letter, only because it ought to have been
concealed from him; the frequent interruptions of amorous
impatience ; the faint expostulations of a voluntary slave ;
the imperious haughtiness of a tyrant without power; the
deep reflection of the yielding rebel upon fate and free-
will ; and his wise wish to lose his reason as soon as he
finds himself about to do what he cannot persuade his rea-
son to approve, are surely sufficient to awaken the most
torpid risibility.
There is scarce a tragedy of the last century which has
not debased its most important incidents, and polluted its
Most serious interlocutions, with buffoonery and mean-
ness; but though, perhaps, it cannot be pretended that
the present age has added much to the force and effi-
cacy of the drama, it has at least been able to escape many
faults, which either ignorance had overlooked, or indulgence
had licensed. The later tragedies, indeed, have faults of
another kind, perhaps more destructive to delight, though
less open to censure. That perpetual tumour of phrase
with which every thought is now expressed by every per:
sonage, the paucity of adventures which regularity admits,
and the unvaried equality of flowing dialogue, has taken
IL II. II
away from our present writers almost all that dominion

over the passions which was the boast of their predeces-
sors. Yet they may at least claim this commendation,
that they avoid gross faults, and that if they cannot often
move terrour or pity, they are always careful not to provoke
laughter.
••••••• •••
No. 126. SATURDAY, JUNE 1, 1751.
--Nihil est aliud magnum quam multa minuta. VET. Aucr.

Sands form the mountain, moments make the year. YOUNG.
TO THE RAMBLER.
SIR,
AMONG other topicks of conversation which your

papers supplyj was lately engaged in a discussion of the
character given liy Tranquilla of her lover Venustulus,
whom; notwithstanding the severity of his mistress, the
greater number seemed inclined to acquit of unmanly or
culpable timidity.
One of the company remarked that prudence ought to
be distinguished from fear; and that if Venustulus was
afraid of nocturnal adventures, no man who considered
how much every avenue of the town was infested with
robbers could think him blameable; for why should life be
hazarded without prospect of honour or advantage? An-
other was of opinion, that a brave man might be afraid of
crossing the river in the calmest weather, and declared,
that, for his part, while there were coaches and a bridge,
he would never be seen tottering in a wooden case, out of
which he might be thrown by any irregular agitation, or
which might be overset by accident, or negligence, or by
the force of a sudden gust, or the rush of a larger vessel.
It was his custom, he said, to keep the security of day-
light, and dry ground ; for it was a maxim with him, that
no wise man ever perished by water, or was lost in the
dark.
The next was humbly of opinion, that if Tranquilla had.

seen, like him, the cattle run roaring about the meadows
in the hot months, she would not have thought meanly of
her lover for not venturing his safety among them. His
neighbour then told us, that for his part he was not
ashamed to confess, that he could not see a rat, though it
was dead, without palpitation ; that he had been driven
six times out of his lodgings either by rats or mice; and
that he always had a bed in the closet for his servant,
whom he called up whenever the enemy was in motion.
Another wondered that any man should think himself dis-
graced by a precipitate retreat from a dog; for there was
always a possibility that a dog,.,might be mad; and that
surely, though there was no danger but of being bit by a
fierce animal, there was more wisdom in flight than con-
test. By all these declarations another was encouraged
to confess, that if he had been admitted to the honour of
paying his addresses to Tranquilla, he Should have been
likely to incur the same censure; for, among all the ani-
mals upon which nature has impressed deformity and hor-
Nur, there is none whom he durst not encounter rather
than a beetle.
Thus, sir, though cowardice is universally defined too
close and anxious an attention to personal safety, there
will be found scarcely any fear, however excessive in its
degree, or unreasonable in its object, which will be allowed
to characterize a coward. Fear is a passion which every
man feels so frequently predominant in his own breast,
that he is unwilling to hear it censured with great
asperity; and, perhaps, if we confess the truth, the same
restraint which would hinder a man from declaiming
against the frauds of any employment among these who
profess it, should withhold him from treating fear with
contempt among human beings.
Yet, since fortitude is one of those virtues which the
Condition of our nature makes hourly necessary, I think
you cannot better direct your admonitions than against
superfluous and panick terrours. Fear is implanted in us
a2
as a preservative from evil; but its duty, like that of other

passions, is not to overbear reason, but to assist it ; nor
should it be suffered to tyrannise in the imagination, to
raise phantoms of horrour, or beset life with supernumerary
distresses.
To be always afraid of losing life is, indeed, scarcely to
enjoy a life that can deserve the care of preservation.
He that once indulges idle fears will never be at rest.
Our present state admits only of a kind of negative secu-
rity; we must conclude ourselves safe when we see no
danger, or none inadequate to our powers of opposition.
Death, indeed, continually hovers about us, but hovers
commonly unseen, udless we sharpen our sight by useless
curiosity.
There is always a point at which caution, however soli-
citous, must limit its preservatives, because one terrour
often counteracts another. I once knew one of the specu-
latists of cowardice, whose reigning disturbance was the
dread of housebreakers. His inquiries were for nine
years employed upon the best method of barring a win-
dow, or a door; and many an hour as he spent in esta-
blishing the preference of a bolt to a lock, He bad at
last, by the daily superaddition of new expedients, con-
trived a door which could never .be forced; for one bar
was secured by another with such intricacy of subordina-
tion, that he was himself not always able to disengage
them in the proper method. He was happy in this forti-
fication, till being asked how he would escape if he was
threatened by fire, he discovered, that with all his care and
expense, he had only been assisting his own destruction.
He then immediately tore off his bolts, and now leaves at
night, bis outer door half-locked, that he may not by his
own folly perish in the flames.
There is one species of terrour which those who are
unwilling to suffer the reproach of cowardice have wisely
dignified with the name of antipathy. A man who talks
with intrepidity of the monsters of the wilderness while
they are out of sight, will readily confess his antipathy to
No. 126. • THE RAMBLER. 101
a mole, a weasel, or a frog. He has, indeed, no dread of

harm from an insect or a worm, but his antipathy turns
him pale whenever they approach him. He believes that
a boat will transport him with as much safety as his neigh-
bours, but he cannot conquer his antipathy to the water.
Thus he goes on without any reproach from his own reflec-
tions, and every day multiplies antipathies, till he becomes
contemptible to others, and burdensome to himself. '
It is, indeed, certain, that impressions of dread may,
sometimes be unluckily made by objects not in themselves
justly formidable; but when fear is discovered to be
groundless, it is to be eradicated like other false opinions,
and antipathies are generally superable by a single effort.
Re that has been taught to shudder at a mouse, if be can
persuade himself to risk one encounter, will find his own
superiority, and exchange his terrours for the pride of
conquest.
I am, sir, &c.
THRASO.
SIR,
As you profess to extend your regard to the mi-
nuteness of decency, as well as to the dignity of science, I
cannot forbear to lay before you a mode of persecution
by which I have been exiled to taverns and coffee-houses,
and deterred from entering the doors of my friends.
Among the ladies who please themselves with splendid
furniture, or elegant entertainment, it is a practice very
common, to ask every guest how he likes the carved work
of the cornice, or the figures of the tapestry ; the china at
the table, or the plate on the sideboard : and on all occa-
sions to inquire his opinion of their judgment and their
choice. Melania has laid her new watch in the window
nineteen times, that she may desire me to look upon it.
Calista has an art of dropping her snuffbox by drawing
out her handkerchief, that when I pick it up I may admire
it; and Fulgentia has conducted me, by mistake, into the
wrong room, at every visit I have paid since her picture
was put into a new frame.
4
53868
I hope, Mr. Rambler, you will inform them, that no man

should be denied the privilege of silence, or tortured to
false declarations; and that though ladies may justly claim
to be exempt from rudeness, they have no right to force
unwilling civilities. To please is a laudable and elegant
ambition, and is properly rewarded with honest praise ; but
to seize applause by violence, and call out for commenda-
tion, without knowing, or caring to know, whether it be
given from conviction, is a species of tyranny by which
modesty is oppressed, and sincerity corrupted: The tri-
bute of admiration, thus exacted by impudence and impor-
tunity, differs from the respect paid to silent merit, as the
plunder of a pirate from the merchant's profit.
I am, &c.
• MISOCOLAX.
SIR, .
YOUR great predecessor, the Spectator, endea-
voured to diffuse among his female readers a desire of
knowledge ; nor can I charge you, though you do not seem
equally attentive to the ladies, with endeavouring to dis-
courage them from any laudable pursuit. But however
either he or you may excite our curiosity, you have not
yet informed us how it may be gratified. The world seems
to have for►ned an universal conspiracy against our under-
standings ; our questions are supposed not to expect an-
swers, our arguments are confuted with a jest, and we are
treated like beings who transgress the limits of our nature
whenever we aspire to seriousness or improvement.
I inquired yesterday of a gentleman eminent for astro-
nomical skill, what made the day long in summer, and
short in winter ; and was told that nature protracted the
days in summer, lest ladies should want time to walk in the
park ; and the nights in winter, lest they should not have
hours sufficient to spend at the card-table.
I hope you do not doubt but I heard such information
with just contempt, and I desire you to discover to this
great master of ridicule, that I was far from wanting ally
N°. 127. THE RAMBLER. ' 103
intelligence which he could have given me. I asked the

question with no other intention than to set him free from
the necessity of silence, and give him an opportunity of
mingling on equal terms with a polite assembly, from
which, however uneasy, he could not then escape, by a
kind introduction of the only subject on which I believed
him able to speak with propriety.
I am, &c.
GENEROSA.
. XXXXIMiXXXXIVX
No • 127. TUESDAY, JUNE 4, 1751.
Capisti melius, quartz desinis. Ultima primis

Cedunt : dissimiles hic vir, et ille puer. Ovtn. Ep. ix. 24.
Succeeding years thy early fame destroy;
Thou, who began'st a man, wilt end a boy.
POLITIAN, a name eminent among the restorers of polite
literature, when he published a collection of epigrams, pre-
fixed to many of them the year of his age at which they
were composed. He might design, by this information,
either to boast the early maturity of his genius, or to con-
ciliate indulgence to the puerility of his performances. But
whatever was his intent, it is remarked by Scaliger, that
he very little promoted his own reputation, because he fell
below the promise which his first productions had given,
and, in the latter part of his life, seldom equalled the sal-
lies of his youth.
It is not uncommon for those who, at their first entrance
into the world, were distinguished for attainments or abili-
ties, to disappoint the hopes which they had raised, and to
end in neglect and obscurity that life which they began in
celebrity and honour. To the long catalogue of the incon-
veniencies of old age, which moral and satirical writers
have so copiously displayed, may he often added the loss
of fame.
The advance of the human mind towards any object of
laudable pursuit, may be compared to the progress of a
104 THE RAMBLER. - N°. 127.
body driven by a blow. It moves, for a time, with great

velocity and vigour, but the force of the first imi5ulse is
perpetually decreasing, and though it should• encounter no
obstacle capable of quelling it by a sudden stop, the resist-
ance of the medium through which it passes, and the latent
inequalities of the smoothest surface, will, in a short time,
by continued retardation, wholly overpower it. Some hin-
drances will be found in every road of life, but he. that
fixes his eyes upon any thing at a distance, , necessarily
loses sight of all that fills up the intermediate space, and
therefore sets forward with alacrity and confidence, nor
suspects a thousand obstacles, by which he afterwards finds
his passage embarrassed and obstructed. Some are indeed
stopt at once in their career by a sudden shock of calamity,
or diverted to a different direction by the cross impulse of
some violent passion ; but far the greater part languish by
slow degrees, deviate at first into slight obliquities, and
themselves scarcely perceive at what time their ardour
forsook them, or when they lost sight of their original
design.
Weariness and negligence are perpetually prevailing
by silent encroachments, assisted by different causes, and
not observed till they cannot, without great difficulty, be
opposed. Labour necessarily requires pauses of ease and
relaxation, and the deliciousness of ease commonly makes
us unwilling to return- to labour. We, perhaps, prevail
upon ourselves t6 renew our attempts, but eagerly listen
to every argument for frequent interpositions of amuse-
ment ; for, when indolence has once entered upon the mind,
it can scarcely be dispossessed but by such efforts as very
few are willing to exert.
It is the fate of industry to be equally endangered by
miscarriage and success, by confidence and despondency.
He that engages in a great undertaking, with a false opinion
of its facility, or too high conceptions of his own strength,
is easily discouraged by the first hindrance of his advances,
because he had promised himself an equal and perpetual
progression without impediment or disturbance; when un-
expected interruptions break in upon him, he is in the state

of a -man surprised by a tempest, where he proposed only
to bask in the calm, or sport in the shallows.
It is not only common to find the difficulty of an enter-
prise greater, but the profit-less, than hope had pictured it.
Youth enters the world with very happy prejudices in her
own favour. She imagines herself not only certain of ac-
complishing every adventure, but of obtaining those re-
wards •which. the accomplishment may. deserve. She is
Rot easily persuaded to believe that the force of merit can
be resisted by obstinacy and avarice, or its lustre darkened
by envy and malignity. She has not yet learned . that the
most evident claims to pralte or preferment may be re-
jected by malice against conviction, or by indolence with-
out examination; that they may be sometimes defeated by
artifices, and sometimes overborne by clamour; that, in
the mingled numbers of mankind, many need no other
provocation to enmity than that they find themselves ex-
celled ; that others have ceased their curiosity, and con-
sider every man who fills the mouth of report with a new
name, as an intruder upon their retreat, and disturber of
their repose; that some are engaged in complications of
interest which they imagine endangered by every innova-
tion ; that many yield themselves up implicitly to every
report which hatred disseminates or folly scatters; and
that whoever aspires to the notice of the publick, has in
almost every man an enemy and a rival; and must struggle
with the opposition of the daring, and elude the stratagems
of the timorous, must quicken the frigid and soften the
obdurate, must reclaim perverseness and inform stupidity.
It is no wonder that when the prospect of reward has
vanished, the zeal of enterprise should cease ; for who
would persevere to cultivate the soil which he has, after
long labour, discovered to be barren ? He who hath pleased
himself with anticipated praises, and expected that he
should meet in every place with patronage or friendship,
will soon remit his vigour, when he finds that, from those
who desire to be considered as his admirers, nothing can
No. 127 .
106 THE RAMBLER.
be hoped but cold civility, and that many refuse to own

his excellence, lest they should be too justly expected to
reward it.
A man, thus cut off from the prospect of that port to
which his address and fortitude had been employed to
steer him,• often abandons himself to chance and to the
wind, and glides careless and idle down the current of life,
without resolution to make another effort, till he is swal-
lowed up by the gulf of mortality. •
Others are betrayed,to the same desertion of themselves
by a contrary fallacy. It was said of Hannibal, that he
wanted nothing to the completion of his martial virtues,
but that when he had gained a victory he should know how
to use it. The folly of desisting too soon from successful
labours, and the haste of enjoying advantages before they
are secured, are often fatal to men of impetuous desire, to
men whose consciousness of uncommon powers fills them
with presumption, and who, having borne opposition down
before them, and left emulation panting behind, are early
persuaded to imagine that they have reached the heights
of perfection, and that now, being no longer in danger
from competitors, they may pass the rest of their days in
the enjoyment of their acquisitions, in contemplation of
their own superiority, and in attention to their own praises,
and look unconcerned from their eminence upon the toils
and contentions of meaner beings.
It is not sufficiently considered in the hour of exultation,
that all human excellence is comparative ; that no man per-
forms much but in proportion to what others accomplish, or
to the time and opportunities which have been allowed him ;
and that he who stops at any point of excellence is every
day sinking in estimation, because his improvement grows
continually more incommensurate to his life. Yet, ,as no
man willingly quits opinions favourable to himself, they
who have once been justly celebrated, imagine that they
still have the same pretensions to regard, and seldom per-
ceive the diminution of their character while there is time
to recover it. Nothing then remains but murmurs and re-
N°.128. THE RAMBLER: 107
worse ; for if the spendthrift's poverty be imbittered by
the reflection that he once was rich, how must the idler's
obscurity be clouded by remembering that he once had
lustre !
These errours all arise from pn original mistake of the
true motives of action. He that never extends his view
beyond the praises or rewards of men will be dejected by
neglect and envy, or infatuated by honours and applause.
But the consideration that life is only deposited in his
hands to be employed in obedience to a master who will
regard his endeavours, not his success, would have pre-
served him from trivial elations and discouragements, and
enabled him to proceed with constancy and cheerfulness,
neither enervated by commendation, nor intimidated by
censure.
4nOMPOOIVO.00.4WWW.P.••••
No. 128. SATURDAY, JUNE 8,a751.
Ah.v s' acroax,}s

Oie i'yEvtr, oiir Atax14 7rapil ll,1X51,
Ore rap' avriOicp
KritItly• Xiyovrai pay i3p6redv
'OXj3ov inriprarov of
2xeiv. PI ND. Py. iii. 153.
For not the brave, or wis4 or great,

E'er yet had happiness mamplete :
Nor Peleus,grandson of the sky,
Nor Cadmus, scap'd the shafts of pain,
Though favour'd by the pow'rs on high,
With ev'ry bliss that man can gain.
TH E writers who have undertaken the task of reconciling
mankind to their present state, and relieving the discon-
tent produced by the various distribution of terrestrial ad-
vantages, frequently remind us that we judge too hastily
of good and evil, that we view only the superfices of life,
and determine of the whole by a very small part; and that
in the condition of men it frequently happens, that grief
and anxiety lie hid under the golden robes of prosperity,
and the gloom of calamity is cheered by secret radiations
of hope and comfort ; as in the works of nature the bog is

sometimes covered with flowers, and the mine concealed
in the barren crags.
None but those who have learned the art of subjecting
their senses as well as reason to hypothetical systems, can
be persuaded by the most specious rhetorician that the lots
of life are equal ; yet it cannot be denied that every one
has his peculiar pleasures and vexations, that external ac-
cidents operate variously upon different minds, and that no
man can exactly judge from his own sensations, what an-
other would feel in the same circumstances.
If the general disposition of things be estimated by the
representation which every one makes of his own estate,
the world must be considered as the abode of sorrow and
misery ; for how few can forbear to relate their troubles
and distresses? If we judge by the account which may be
obtained of every man's fortune from others, it may be'con-
eluded, that we all are placed in an elysian region, 6ver-
spread with the luxuriance of plenty, and fanned by the
breezes of felicity; since scarcely any complaint is uttered
without censure from those that hear it, and almost all are
allowed to have obtained a provision' at least adequate to
their virtue or their understanding, to possess either more
than they deserve, or more than they enjoy.
, .
We are either born with such dissimilitude of temper
and inclination, or receive so many of our ideas and opi-
nions from the state of life in which we are engaged, that
the griefs and cares of one. part of mankind seem to the
other hypocrisy, folly, and affectation. Every class of so-
ciety has its cant of lamentation, which is understood or
regarded by none but themselves; and every part of life
has its uneasiness, which those who do not feel them will
not commiserate. An event which spreads distraction over
half the commercial world,assembles the trading companies
in councils, and committees, and shakes the nerves of a
thousand stockjobbers, is read by the landlord and the
farmer with frigid indifference. An affair of love, which
fills the young breast with incessant alternations of hope
NO. 128. THE RANI ELBE. 109
and fear, and steals away the night and day from every
other pleasure or employment, is regarded by them whose
passions time has extinguished, as au amusement, which
can properly raise neither joy nor sorrow, and, though it
may be suffered to fill the vacuity of an idle moment,
should always give way to prudence or interest.
He that never had any other desire than to fill a chest
with money, -or to add another manor to his estate, who
never grieved but at a bad mortgage, or entered a com-
pany but to make a bargain, would be astonished to hear
of beings known among the polite and gay by the denomi-
nation of wits. How would he gape with curiosity, or grin
with contempt, at the mention of beings who have no wish
but to speak what was never spoken before; who, if they
happen to inherit wealth, often exhaust their patrimonies
in treating those who will hear them talk; and if they are
poor, neglect opportunities of improving their fortunes, for
the pleasure of making others laugh? How slowly would
be believe that there are men who would rather lose a
legacy than the reputation of a distich ; who think it less
disgrace to want money than repartee ; whom the vexation
of having been foiled in a contest of raillery is sometimes
sufficient to deprive of sleep ; and who would esteem it a
lighter evil to miss a profitable bargain by some acciden-
tal delay, than not to have thought of a smart reply till the
time of producing it was past? How little would he suspect
that this child of idleness and frolick enters every assembly
With a beating bosom, like a litigant on the day of decision,
and revolves the probability of applause with the anxiety
of a conspirator, whose fate depends upon the next night;
that at the hour of retirement he carries home, under a
show of airy negligence, a heart lacerated with envy, or
depressed with disappointment; and immures himself in his
closet, that he may disencumber his memory at leisure, re-
view the progress of the day, state with accuracy his loss
or gain of reputation, and examine the causes of his f►ilure
or success?
Yet more remote from common conceptions are the nu-
110 'THE RAMBLER. N°. 128.
merous and restless anxieties, by which female happiness

is particularly disturbed. A solitary philosopher would
imagine ladies born with an exemption from care and sor-
row, lulled in perpetual quiet, and feasted with unmingled
pleasure ; for what can interrupt the content of those,
upon whom one age has laboured -after another to confer
honours, and accumulate immunities; those to whom rude-
ness is infamy, and insult is cowardice; whose eye com-
mands the brave, and whose smiles soften the severe;
whom the sailor, travels to adorn, the soldier bleeds to de-
fend, and the poet wears out life to celebrate ; who claim
tribute from every art and science, and for whom all who
approach them endeavour to multiply delights, without re-
quiring from them any return but willingness to be pleased?
Surely, among these favourites of nature, thus unac-
quainted with toil and danger, felicity must have fixed her
residence ; they must know only the changes of more vivid
or more gentle joys : their life must always move either to
the slow or sprightly melody of the lyre of gladness ; they
can never assemble but to pleasure, or retire but to peace.
Such would be the thoughts of every man who should
hover at a distance round the world, and know it only by
conjecture and speculation. But experience will soon dis-
cover how easily those are disgusted who have been made
nice by plenty and tender by indulgence. He will soon
see to how many dangers power is exposed which has no
other guard than youth and beauty, and how easily that
tranquillity is molested which can only be soothed with the
songs of flattery. It is impossible to supply wants as fast
as an idle imagination may be able to form them, or to re-
move all inconveniencies by which elegance refined into im-
patience may be offended. None are so hard to please,
as those whom satiety of pleasure makes weary of them-
selves; nor any so readily provoked as those who have
been always courted with an emulation of civility.
There are, indeed, some strokes which the envy of fate
aims immediately at the fair. The mistress of Catullus
wept for her sparrow many centuries ago, and lapdogs will
be sometimes sick in the present age. The most fashion-
able brocade is subject to stains ; a pinner, the pride of
Brussels, may be torn by a careless washer ; a picture may
drop from a watch ; or the triumph of a new suit maybe
interrupted on the first day of its enjoyment, and all dis-
tinctions of dress unexpectedly obliterated by a general
mourning.
Such is the state of every age, every sex, and every
condition : all have their cares, either from nature or from'
folly: and whoever, therefore, finds himself inclined to envy
another, should remember that he knows not the real con-
dition which he desires to obtain, but is certain that by in-
dulging a vitious passion, he mtlst lessen that .happiness
which he thinks already too sparingly bestowed.
Na. 129. TUESDAY, JUNE 11, 1751.
Nunc, 0 nunc, padale, dirit,

Materiam, qua sis ingeniosus, halms.
Possidet in terms, et possidet aquora, Minos:
Nec tellus nostra•, nec patet undo fugye.
Restat item crelo: cola tentabimus ire.
Da veniam cepto, Jupiter alte, meo. Ovin. Art. Am. Lib. ii. 33.
Now, Dredalus, behold, by fate assign'd,
' A task proportion'd to thy mighty mind !
Unconquer'd bars on earth and sea withstand ;
Thine, Minos, is the main, and thine the land.
The skies are open—let us try the skies :
Forgive, great Jove, the daring enterprise.
UORAL1STS, like other writers, instead of casting their
eyes abroad in the living world, and endeavouring to
form maxims of practice and new hints of theory, con-
tent their curiosity with that secondary knowledge which
hooks afford, and think themselves entitled to reverence
by a new arrangement of an ancient system, or new il-
lustration of established principlese. The sage precepts
e Johnson gained his knowledge from actual experience. lie told Boswell
that before he wrote the Rambler, he had been running about the world more
than almost any body. Boswell's Life of Johnson, vol. i. p. 196 ; and vol. iii.
pp. 20,21.
112s • THE RAMBLER. N. 12.9.
of the first instructers of the world are transmitted from

age to age with little variation, and echoed from one au-
thor to another, not, perhaps, without some loss of their
original force at every repercussion.
I know not whether any other reason than this idleness
of imitation can be assigned for that uniform and constant
partiality, by which some vices have hitherto escaped cen-
sure, and some virtues wanted recommendation ; nor can
I discover why else we have been warned only against part
of our enemies, while the rest have been suffered to steal
upon us without notice ; why the heart has on one side
been doubly fortified, and laid open on the other to the in-
cursions of errour, and the ravages of vice.
Among the favourite topicks of moral declamation, may
be numbered the miscarriages of imprudent boldness, and
the folly of attempts beyond our power. Every page of
every philosopher is crowded with examples of temerity
that sunk under burdens which she laid upon herself, and
called out enemies to battle by whom she was destroyed.
These remarks are too just to be disputed, and too salu-
tary to be rejected ; but there is likewise some danger
lest timorous prudence should be inculcated, till courage
and enterprise are wholly repressed, and the mind con-
gealed in perpetual inactivity by the fatal influence of
frigorifick wisdom.
Every man should, indeed, carefully compare his force
with his undertaking; for though we ought not to live only
for our own sakes, and though, therefore, danger or diffi-
culty should not be avoided merely because we may ex-
pose ourselves to misery or disgrace ; yet it may be justly
required of us, not to throw away our lives upon inade-
quate and hopeless designs, since we might, by a just es-
timate of our abilities, become more useful to mankind.
There is an irrational contempt of danger, which ap-
proaches nearly to the folly, if not the guilt of suicide;
there is a ridiculous perseverance in impracticable schemes,
which is justly punished with ignominy and reproach.
But in the wide regions of probability, which are the
No. M. THE RAMBLER. 113
proper province of prudence and election, there is always

room to deviate on either side of rectitude without rushing
against apparent absurdity; and according to the inclina-
tions of nature, or the impressions of precept, the daring
and the cautious may move in different directions without
touching upon rashness or cowardice.
That there is a middle path, which it is every man's
duty to find,. and to keep, is unanimously confessed : but
it is likewise acknowledged, that this middle path is so
narrow, that it cannot easily be discovered, and so little
beaten, that there are no certain marks by which it can be
followed : the care, therefore., of all those wht conduct
others has been, that whenever they decline into obliqui-
ties, they should tend towards the side of safety.
It can, indeed, raise no wonder that temerity has been
generally censured ; for it is one of the vices with which
few can be charged, and which, therefore, great numbers
are ready to condemn. It is the vice of nobles and ge-
nerous minds, the exuberance of magnanimity, and the
ebullition of genius; and• is, therefore, not regarded with
much tenderness, because it never flatters us by that ap-
pearance of softness and imbecility which is commonly
necessary to conciliate compassion. But if the same at-
tention had been applied to the search of arguments
against the folly of presupposing impossibilities, and an-
ticipating frustration, I know not whether many would
"tint have been roused to usefulness, who, having been
taught to confound prudence with timidity, never ven-'
tured to excel, lest they should unfortunately fail.
It is necessary to distinguish our own interest from
that of others, and that distinction will, perhaps, assist us
in fixing the just limits of caution and adventurousness.
In an undertaking that involves the happiness or the
safety of many, we have certainly no right to hazard
more than is allowed by those who partake the danger;
but where only ourselves can suffer by miscarriage, we
are not confined within such narrow limits; and still less
is the reproach of temerity, when numbers will receive
R. n. 1
114 THE RAMBLER. )V°. 129.
advantage by success, and only one be incommoded by

failure.
Men are generally willing to hear precepts by which
ease is favoured ; and as no resentment is raised by ge-
neral representations of human folly, even in those who
are most eminently jealous of comparative reputation, we
confess, without reluctance, that vain man is ignorant of
his own weakness, and therefore frequently presumes to
attempt what he can never accomplish; but it ought like-
wise to be remembered, that man is no less ignorant of
his own powers, and might perhaps have accomplished a
thousand designs, which the prejudices of cowardice re-
strained him from attempting.
It is observed in the golden verses of Pythagoras, that
" Power is never far from necessity." The vigour of the
human mind quickly appears, when there is no longer any
place for doubt and hesitation, when diffidence is absorbed
in the sense of danger, or overwhelmed by some resistless
passion. We then soon discover, that difficulty is, for
the most part, the daughter of idleness, that the obstacles
with which our way seemed to be obstructed were only
phantoms, which we believed real, because we durst not
advance to a close examination ; and we learn that it is
impossible to determine without experience how much
constancy may endure, or perseverance perform.
But whatever pleasure may be found in the review of
distresses when art or courage has surmounted them, few
`will be persuaded to wish that they may be awakened by
want, or terrour, to the conviction of their own abilities.
Every one should therefore endeavour to invigorate him-
self by reason and reflection, and determine to exert the
latent force that nature may have reposed in him, before
the hour of exigence comes upon him, and compulsion
shall torture him to diligence. It is below the dignity of
a reasonable being to owe that strength to necessity which
ought always to act at the call of choice, or to need any
Other motive to industry than the desire of performing
his duty.
Reflections that may drive away despair, cannot be

wanting to him who considers how much life is now ad-
vanced beyond the state of naked, undisciplined, unin-
structed nature. Whatever has been effected for con-
venience or elegance, while it was yet unknown, was
believed impossible ; and therefore would never have been
attempted, had not some, more daring than the rest, ad-
ventured to bid defiance to prejudice and censure. Nor.
is there yet any reason to doubt that the same labour
would be rewarded with the same success. There are
qualities in the products of nature yet undiscovered, and
combinations in the powers of art yet untried. It is the
duty of every man to endeavour that something may be
added by his industry to the hereditary aggregate of know-
ledge and happiness. To add much can indeed be the lot
of few, but to add .something, however little, every one
may hope; and of every honest endeavour, it is certain,
that, however unsuccessful, it will be at last rewarded.
12
N°. 130. SATURDAY, JUNE 15, 1751.
Non sic prata novo vere decentia

iEstatis call& dispoliat vapor :
S,rvit solstitio cum medius dies ;—
Ut fulgor teneris qui radiat genic
Momenta rapitur ! nullaque non dies
Formosi spolium corporis abstulit.
Res est forma fugar. Quis sapiens bono
Con fidat fragili? SENECA, Hippol. act. ii. 764.
Not faster in the summer's ray

The spring's frail beauty fades away,
Than anguish and decay consume
The smiling virgin's rosy bloom.
Some beauty's snatch'd each day, each hour ;
For beauty is a fleeting flow'r:
Then how can wisdom e'er confide
In beauty's momentary pride? ELPIIINSTC%
TO THE RAMBLER.
SIR,
You have very lately observed that in the nu-
merous subdivisions of the world, every class and order
of mankind have joys and sorrows of their own; we all
feel hourly pain and pleasure from events which pass un-
heeded before other eyes, but can scarcely communicate
our perceptions to minds preoccupied by different objects,
any more than the delight of well-disposed colours or har-
monious sounds can be imparted to such as want the
senses of hearing or of sight.
I am so strongly convinced of the justness of this re-
mark, and have on so many occasions discovered with
how little attention pride looks upon calamity, of which
she thinks herself not in danger, and indolence listens to
complaint when it is not echoed by her own remembrance,
that though I am about to lay the occurrences of my life
before you, I question whether you will condescend to
peruse my narrative, or, without the help of some female
speculatists, be able to understand it.
I was born a beauty. From the dawn of reason I had
N". 130. THE RAMBLER. 117
my regard turned wholly upon myself, nor can recollect
any thing earlier than praise and admiration. My mother,
whose face had luckily advanced her to a condition above
her birth, thought no evil so great as deformity. She had
not the power of imagining any other defect than a cloudy
complexion, or disproportionate features ; and, therefore,
contemplated me as an assemblage of all that could raise
envy or desire, and predicted with the triumphant fondness
extent of my conquests, and the number of my slaves.
She never mentioned any of my young acquaintance
before me, but to remark how much they fell below my per-
fection ; how one would have had a fine face, but that her
eyes were without lustre ; how another struck the sight at
a distance, but wanted my hair and teeth at..a nearer view ;
another disgraced an elegant shape with a brown skin ;
some had short fingers, and others dimples in a wrong
place.
As she expected no happiness nor advantage but from
beauty, she thought nothing but beauty worthy of her care;
and her maternal kindness was chiefly exercised in contri-
vances to protect me from any accident that might deface
me with a scar, or stain me with a freckle : she. never
thought me sufficiently shaded from the sun, or screened
from the fire. She was severe or indulgent with no other
intention than the preservation of my form ; she excused
me from work, lest I should learn to hang down my head,
or harden my finger with a needle ; she snatched away my
book, because a young lady in the neighbourhood had made
her eyes red with reading by a candle ; but she would
scarcely suffer me to eat, lest I should spoil my shape, nor
to walk, lest I should swell my allele with a sprain. At
night I was accurately surveyed from head to foot, lest I
should have suffered ahy diminution of my charms in the
adventures of the day : and was never permitted to sleep,
till I had passed through the cosmetick discipline, part of
which was a regular lustration performed with bean-flower
water and May-dews; my hair was perfumed with variety
of unguents, by some of which it was to be thickened, and
US THE RAMBLER. N°. 130.
by others to be curled. The softness of my hands was se-

cured by medicated gloves, and my bosom rubbed with a
pomade prepared by my mother, of virtue to discuss pim-
ples and clear discolorations.
I was always called up early, because the morning air
gives a freshnesi to the cheeks : but I was placed behind
a curtain in my mother's chamber, because the neck is
easily tanned by the rising sun. I was then dressed with
a thousand precautions, and again heard my own praises,
and triumphed in the compliments and prognostications of
all that approached me.
My mother was not so much prepossessed with an opi-
nion of my natural excellencies as not to think some culti-
vation necessary to their completion. She took care that I
should want none of the accomplishments included in fe-
male education, or considered necessary in fashionable life.
I was looked upon in my ninth year as the chief ornament
of the dancing-master's ball; and Mr. Ariet used to re-
proach his other scholars with my performances on the
harpsichord. At twelve I was remarkable for playing my
cards with great elegance of manner, and accuracy of
judgment.
At last the time came when my mother thought me per-
fect in my exercises, and qualified to display in the open
world those accomplishments which had yet only been dis-
covered in select parties, or domestick assemblies. Prepa-
rations were therefore made for my appearance on a pub-
lick night, which she considered as the most important and
critical moment of my life. She cannot be charged with
neglecting any means of recommendation, or leaving any
thing to chance which prudence could ascertain. Every
ornament was tried in every position, every friend was
consulted about the colour of my *dress, and the mantua-
makers were harassed with directions and alterations.
At last the night arrived from which my future life was
to be reckoned. I was dressed and sent out to conquer,
with a heart beating like that of an old knight-errant at his
first sally. Scholars have told me of a Spartan matron,
ISTO. 130. THE-RANIEL,ER. 119
who, when she armed her son for battle, bade him bring
back his shield, or be brought upon it. My venerable pa-
rent dismissed me to a field, in her opinion of equal glory,
with a command to show that I was her daughter, and not
to return without a lover.
I went, and was received like other pleasing novelties
with a tumult of applause. Every man who valued biin-
self upon the graces of his person, or the elegance of his
address,. crowded about me, and wit and splendour con-
tended for my notice. I was delightfully fatigued with in-
cessant civilities, which were made more pleasing by the
apparent envy of those whom my presence exposed to neg-
lect, and returned with an attendant equal in rank and
wealth to my utmost wishes, and from this time stood in
the first rank of beauty, was followed by gazers in the
Mall, celebrated in the papers of the day, imitated by all
who endeavoured to rise into fashion, and censured by
those whom age or disappointment forced to retire.
My mother, who pleased herself with the hopes of seeing
my exaltation, dressed me with all the exuberance of
finery ; and when I represented to her that a fortune might
be expected proportionate to my appearance, told me that
she should scorn the reptile who could inquire after the
fortune of a girl like me. She advised me to prosecute
my victories, and time would certainly bring me a captive
who might deserve the honour of being enchained for
ever.
My lovers were indeed so numerous, that I had no other
care than that of determining to whom I should seem to
give the preference. But having been steadily and in-
dustriously instructed to preserve my heart from any im-
pressions which might hinder me from consulting my in-
terest, I acted with less embarrassment, because my choice
was regulated by principles more clear and certain than
the caprice of approbation. When I had singled out one
from the rest as more worthy of encouragement, I pro-
ceeded in my measures by the rules of art ; and yet when
the ardour of the first visits was spent, generally found a
120 THE RAMBLER. Nu. 130.
sudden declension of my influence ; I felt in myself the

want of some power to diversify amusement, and enliven
conversation, and could not but suspect that my mind fail-
ed in performing the promises of my face. This opinion
was soon confirmed by oue of my loveis, who married La-
vinia with less beauty and fortune than mine, because he
thought a wife ought to have qualities which might make
her amiable when her bloom was past.
The vanity of my mother would not suffer her to disco-
ver any defect in one that had been formed by her instruc-
tions, and had all the excellence which she herself could
boast. She told me that nothing so much hindered the
advancement of women as literature and wit, which gene-
rally frightened away those that could make the best settle-
ments, and drew about them a needy tribe of poets and
philosophers, that filled their heads with wild notions of
content, and contemplation, and virtuous obscurity. She
therefore enjoined me to improve my minuet-step with a
new French dancing-master,, and wait the event of the
next birth-night.
I had now almost completed my nineteenth year : if my
charms had lost any of their softness, it was more than
compensated by additional dignity ; and if the attractions
of innocence were impaired, their place was supplied by
the arts of allurement. I was, therefore, preparing for a
new attack, without any abatement of my confidence,
when, in the midst of my hopes and schemes, I was seized
by that dreadful malady which has so often put a sudden
end to the tyranny of beauty. I recovered my health after
a long confinement; but when I looked again on that face
which had been often flushed with transport at its own re-
flection, and saw all that I had leaned to value, all that I
had endeavoured to improve, all that had procured me
honours or praises, irrecoverably destroyed, I sunk at once
into melancholy and despondence. My pain was not
much consoled or alleviated by my mother, who grieved
that I had not lost my life together with my beauty ; and
declared, that she thought a young woman divested of her
charms had nothing for which those who loved her could
desire to save her from the grave.
Having thus continued my relation to the period from
which' my life took a new course, I shall conclude it in an-
other letter, if, by publishing this, you show any regard for '
the correspondence of,
Sir, &c.
VICTORIA.
4NO,KINININIV INNW 0,
•
N°. 131. TUESDAY, JUNE 18, 1751.
Fatis accede, Deisque,

Ft cote felices, niiserosfuge. Sidera terra
Ut distant, et 'lemma mari, sic utile recto. LUCAS. Lib. viii. 486.
Still follow where auspicious fates invite ;
Caress the happy, and the wretched slight.
Sooner shall jarring elements unite,
Than truth with gain, than interest with right. F. LEWIS.
THERE is scarcely any sentiment in which, amidst the

innumerable varieties of inclination that nature or acci-
dent have scattered in the world, we find greater numbers
concurring, than in the wish for riches ; a wish, indeed, so
prevalent that it may be considered as universal and
transcendental, as the desire in which all other desires are
included, and of which the various purposes which actuate
mankind are only subordinate species and different modi-
fications.
Wealth is the general centre of inclination, the point to
which all minds preserve an invariable tendency, and
from which they afterwards diverge in numberless direc-
tions. Whatever is the remote or ultimate design, the
immediate care is to be rich; and in whatever enjoyment
we intend finally to acquiesce, we seldom consider it as
attainable but by the means of money. Of wealth, there-
fore, all unanimously confess the value, nor is there any
disagreement but about the use.
No desire can be formed which riches do not assist to

gratify. He that places his happiness in splendid equipage
or numerous dependents, in refined praise or popular ac-
clamations, in the accumulation of curiosities or the revels
of luxury, in splendid edifices or wide plantations, must
still, either by birth or acquisition, possess riches. They
may be considered as the elemental principles of pleasure,
which may be combined with endless diversity; as the es-
sential and necessary substance, of which only the form is
left to be adjusted by choice.
The necessity of riches being thus apparent, it is not
wonderful that almost every mind has been employed in
endeavours to acquire them; that niultitudes have vied in
arts by which life is furnished with accommodations, and
which, therefore, mankind may reasonably be expected to
reward.
It had, indeed, been happy,,if this predominant appetite
had operated only in concurrence with virtue, by influ-
encing none but those who were zealous to deserve what
they were eager to possess, and had abilities to improve
their own fortunes by contributing to the ease or happiness
of others. To have riches and to have merit would then
have been the same, and success might reasonably have
been considered as a proof of excellence.
But we do not find that any of the wishes of men keep
a stated proportion to their powers of attainment. Many
envy and desire wealth, who can never procure it by ho-
nest industry or useful knowledge. They, therefore, turn
their eyes about to examine what other methods can be
found of gaining that which none, however impotent or
worthless, will be content to want.
A little inquiry will discover that there are nearer wayS
to profit than through the intricacies of art, or up the
steeps of labour; what wisdom and virtue scarcely receive
at the close of life, as the recompense of long toil and re-
peated efforts, is brought within the reach of subtilty and
dishonesty by more expeditious and compendious mea-
sures: the wealth of credulity is an open prey to falsehood ;
and the possessions of ignorance and imbecility are easily

stolen away by the conveyances of secret artifice, or seized
by the gripe of unresisted violence.
It is, likewise, not hard to discover that riches always
procure protection for themselves, that they dazzle the
eyes of inquiry, divert the celerity of pursuit, or appease
the ferocity of vengeance. When any man is incon-
testably known to have large possessions, very few think it
requisite to inquire by what practices they were obtained ;
the resentment of mankind rages only against the strug-
gles of feeble and timorous corruption, but when it has
surmounted the first opposition, it is afterwards supported
by favour, and animated by applause.
The prospect of gaining speedily what is•ardently desired,
and the certainty of obtaining by every accession of ad-
vantage an addition of security, have so far prevailed upon
the passions of mankind, that the peace of life is destroyed
by a general and incessant struggle for riches. It is ob-
served of gold, by an old epigrammatist, that "To have it
is to be in fear, and to want it is to be in sorrow." There
is no condition which is not disquieted either with the care
of gaining or of keeping money ; and the race of man may
be divided in a political estimate between those who are
practising fraud, and those who are repelling it.
If we consider the present state of the world, it will be
found, that all confidence is lost among mankind, that no
man ventures to act, where money can be endangered upon
the faith of another. It is impossible to see the long
scrolls in which every contract is included, with all their
appendages of seals and attestation, without wondering at
the depravity of those beings, who must be restrained from
violation of promise by such formal and publick evidences,
and precluded from equivocation and subterfuge by such
punctilious minuteness. Among all the satires to which
folly and wickedness have given occasion, none is equally
severe with a bond or a settlement.
Of the various arts by which riches may be obtained,
the greater part are at the first view irreconcilable with
the laws of virtue ; some are openly flagitious, and prac-

tised not only in neglect, but in defiance of faith and
justice; and the rest are on every side so entangled with
dubious tendencies, and so beset with perpetual tempta-
tions, that very few, even of those who are not yet aban-
doned, are able to preserve their innocence, or can pro-
duce any other claim to pardon than that they have de-
viated from the right less than others, and have sooner and
more diligently endeavoured to return.
One of the chief characteristicks of the golden age, of
the age in which neither care nor danger had intruded on
mankind, is the community of possessions : strife and fraud
were totally excluded, and every turbulent passion was
stilled by plenty and equality. Such were, indeed, happy
times, but such times can return no more. Community of
possession must include spontaneity of production; for
what is obtained by labour will be of right the property of
him by whose labour it is gained. And while a rightful
claim to pleasure or to affluence must be procured either
by slow industry or uncertain hazard, there will always be
multitudes whom cowardice or impatience incite to more
safe and more speedy methods, who strive to pluck the
fruit without cultivating the tree, and to share the advan-
tages of victory without partaking the danger of the battle.
In later ages, the conviction of the danger to which vir-
tue is exposed while the mind continues open to the influ-
ence of riches, has determined many to vows of perpetual
poverty ; they have suppressed desire by cutting off the
possibility of gratification; and secured their peace by de-
stroying the enemy whom they had no hope of reducing to
quiet subjection. But, by debarring themselves from evil,
they have rescinded many opportunities of good ; they have
too often sunk into inactivity and uselessness; and, though
they have forborne to injure society, have not fully paid
their contributions to its happiness.
While riches are so necessary to present convenience,
and so much more easily obtained by crimes than virtues,
the mind can only be secured from yielding to the conti-
nual impulse of covetousness by the preponderation of un-

changeable and eternal motives. Gold will turn the intel-
lectual balance, when weighed only against reputation ;
but will be light and ineffectual when the opposite scale is
charged with justice, veracity, and piety f.
thiNOWNIMOWNOONOWWWININ.
Dociles iutilandis
Turpibus
ac pravis omnes sumus. Juv. Sat. xiv. 90.
The mind of mortals, in perverseness strong,
Imbibes, with dire docility, the wrong.
TO THE RAMBLER.
MR. RAMBLER,
I WAS bred a scholar, and, after the usual course
of education, found it necessary to employ, for the support
of life, that learning which I had almost exhausted my
little fortune in acquiring. The lucrative professions drew
my regard with equal attraction; each presented ideas
which excited my curiosity, and each imposed duties
which terrified my apprehension.
There is no temper more unpropitious to interest than
desultory application and unlimited inquiry, by which the
desires are held in a perpetual equipoise, and the mind
fluctuates between different purposes, without determina-
tion. I had books of every kind round me, among which
( Johnson often conversed, as well as wrote, on riches. In his conversations

on the subject, amidst his often indulged laxity of talk, there was ever a deep
insight into the human heart. " All the arguments," he once, with keen satire,
remarked, "which are brought to represent poverty as no evil, show it to be
evidently a great evil. You never find people labouring to convince you that
you may live happily upon a plentiful fortune. So you hear people talking how
miserable a king must be, and yet they all wish to be in Nis place." BOSWELL,
VOL i. p.422.
When Stmonides was asked, whether it were better to be wise or rich, he
gave an answer in favour of wealth. " For," said he," I always behold the
wise lingering at the gates of the wealthy." Aristot. Rhet. ii. 18.
126 THB RAMBLER. N°. 132.
I divided my time as caprice or accident directed. I often

spent the first hours of the day in considering to what
study I should devote the rest, and at last snatched up any
author that lay upon the table, or, perhapS, fled to a coffee-
house for deliverance from the anxiety of irresolution, and
the gloominess of solitude.
Thus my little patrimony grew imperceptibly less, till I
was roused from my literary slumber by a creditor, whose
importunity obliged me to pacify him with so large a sum,
that what remained was not sufficient to support me more
than eight months. I hope you will not reproach me with
avarice or cowardice, if I acknowledge that I now thought
myself in danger of distress, and obliged to endeavour after
some certain competence.
There have been heroes of negligence, who have laid
the price of their last acre in a drawer, and, without the
least interruption of their tranquillity, or abatement of their
expenses, taken out one piece after another, till there was
no more remaining. But I was not born to such dignity
of imprudence, or such exaltation above the cares and ne-
cessities of life ; I therefore immediately engaged my
friends to procure me a little employment, which might
set me free from the dread of poverty, and afford me time
to plan out some final scheme of lasting advantage.
My friends were struck with honest solicitude, and im-
mediately promised their endeavours for my extrication.
They did not suffer their kindness to languish by delay,
but prosecuted their inquiries with such success, that in
less than a month I was perplexed with variety of offers
and contrariety of prospects.
I had, however, no time for long pauses of consideration ;
and, therefore, soon resolved to accept the office of instruct-
ing a young nobleman in the house of his father; I went
to the seat at which the family then happened to reside,
was received wish great politeness, and invited to enter im-
mediately on my charge. The terms offered were such as
I should willingly have accepted, though my fortune bad al-
lowed me greater liberty of choice : the respect with which
I was treated, flattered my vanity; and perhaps the splen-

dour of the apartments, and the luxury of the table, were
not wholly without their influence. I immediately com-
plied with the proposals, and received the young lord into
my care.
Having no desire to gain more than I should truly de-
serve I very diligently prosecuted my undertaking, and
had the satisfaction of discovering in my pupil a flexible
temper, a quick apprehension, and a retentive memory. I
did not much doubt that my care would, in time, produce a
wise and useful counsellor to the state, though my labours
were somewhat obstructed by want of authority, and the
necessity of complying with the freaks of negligence, and
of waiting patiently for the lucky moment of voluntary at-
tention. To a man whose imagination 'Was filled with the
dignity of knowledge, and to whom a studious life had
made all the common amusements insipid and contempti-
ble, it was not very easy to suppress his indignation, when
he saw himself forsaken in the midst of his lecture, for an
opportunity to catch an insect, and found his instructions
debarred from access to the intellectual faculties, by the
memory of a childish frolick, or the desire of a new play-
thing.
Those vexations would have recurred less frequently,
had not his mamma, by entreating at one time that he
should be excused from a task as a reward for some petty
compliance, and withholding him from his book at another,
to gratify herself or her visitants with his vivacity, shown
him that every thing was more pleasing and more impor-
tant than knowledge, and that study was to be endured
rather than chosen, and was only the business of those
hours which pleasure left vacant, or discipline usurped.
I thought it my duty to complain, in tender terms, of
these frequent avocations ; but was answered, that rank
and fortune might reasonably hope for some indulgence;
that the .retardation of my pupil's progress would not be
imputed to any negligence or inability of mine; and that
with the success which satisfied every body else, I might
128 THE RAMBLER.' N°. 132.
surely satisfy myself. I had now done my duty, and with-

out more remonstrances continued to inculcate my pre-
cepts whenever they could be heard, gained every day
new influence, and found that by degrees .my scholar began
to feel the quick impulses of curiosity, and the honest
ardour of studious ambition.
At length it was resolved to pass a winter in London.
The lady had too much fondness for her son to live five
months without him, and too high an opinion of his wit
and learning to refuse her vanity the gratification of exhi-
biting him to the publick. I remonstrated against too
early an acquaintance with cards and company; but, with
a soft contempt of my ignorance and pedantry, she said,
that he had been already confined too long to solitary
study, and it was now time to show him the world; no-
thing was more a brand of meanness than bashful timidity ;
gay freedom and elegant assurance were only to be gained
by mixed conversation, a frequent intercourse with stran-
gers, and a timely introduction to splendid assemblies;
and she had more than once observed, that his forwardness
and complaisance began to desert him, that he was silent
when he had not something of consequence to say, blushed
whenever he happened to find himself mistaken, and hung
down his head in the presence of the ladies, without the
readiness of reply, and activity of officiousness, remarkable
in young gentlemen that are bred in London.
Again I found resistance hopeless, and again thought it
proper to comply. We entered the coach, and iu four
days were placed in the gayest and most magnificent re-
gion of the town. My pupil, who had for several years
lived at a remotd seat, was immediately dazzled with a
thousand beams of novelty and show. His imagination
was filled with the perpetual tumult of pleasure that passed
before him, and it was impossible to allure him from the
window, or to overpower. by any charm of eloquence the
rattle of coaches, and the sounds which echoed from the
doors in the neighbourhood. In three days his atten-
tion, which he began to regain, was disturbed by a rich
NO. 132. $1118 RAMBLER. 129
suit, in which he was equipped for the reception of com-

pany, and which, ha.ving been long accustomed to a plain
dress, he could not at first survey without ecstasy.
The arrival of the family was now formally notified ;
every hour of every day brought more intimate or more
distant acquaintances to the door; and my pupil was in-
discriminately introduced to all, that he might accustom
himself to change of faces, and be rid with speed of his
rustick diffidence. He soon endeared himself to his mo-
ther by the speedy acquisition or recovery of her darling
qualities ; his eyes sparkle at a numerous assembly, and
his heart dances at the mention of a ball. He has at once
caught the infection of high life, and has no other test of
principles or actions than the quality of those to whom
they are ascribed. He begins already 'to look down on
me with superiority, and submits to one short lesson in a
week, as an act of condescension rather than obedience ;
for he is of opinion, that no tutor is properly qualified who
cannot speak French ; and having formerly learned a few
familiar phrases from his sister's governess, he is every
day soliciting his mamma to procure him a foreign foot-
man, that he may grow polite by his conversation. I am
not yet insulted, but find myself likely to become soon a
superfluous incumbrance, for my scholar has now no time
for science, or for virtue ; and the lady yesterday declared
him so much the favourite of every company, that she was
afraid-he would not have an hour in the day to dance and
fence.
I am, &c.
Eu MATH ES.
130 THE RAMBLER, No. 333.
' No. 13:3. TUESDAY, JUNE 25, 1751.
Magna quidem sacris goer dat preccepta libellis

Victris fortune' sapientia. Dicimus autem
Hos quoque felices, qui ferre incommoda vita.,
Nee jactare jugum vita ilidiceve magistra. Joy. Sat. xiii. 19.
Let Wicks ethicks' haughty rules advance
To combat fortune, and to conquer chance :
Yet happy those, though not so learn'd are thought,
Whom life instructs, who by experience taught,
For new to come from past misfortunes look,
Nor shake the yoke, which galls the more 'tis shook. Cu EECII.
TO THE RAMBLER.
SIR,
You have shown, by the publication of my letter,
that you think the life of Victoria not wholly unworthy of
the notice of a philosopher : I shall, therefore, continue my
narrative, without any apology for unimportance which
you have dignified, or for inaccuracies which you are to
correct.
When my life appeared to be no longer in danger, and
as much of my strength was recovered as enabled me to
bear the agitation of a coach, I was placed at a lodging in
a neighbouring village, to which my mother dismissed me
with a faint embrace, having repeated her command not
to expose my face too soon to the sun or wind, and told me
that with care I might, perhaps, become tolerable again.
The prospect of being tolerable had very little power to
elevate the imagination of one' who had so long been ac-
customed to praise and ecstasy ; but it was some satisfac-
tion to be separated from my mother, who was incessantly
-ringing the knell of departed beauty, and never entered
my room without the whine of condolence, or the growl of
anger. She often wandered over my face, as travellers
over the ruins of a celebrated city, to note every place
which had once been remarkable for a happy feature. She
condescended to visit my retirement, but always left me
more melancholy.; for after a thousand trifling inquiries
'. No. 133. THE RAMBLER. 131
about my diet, and a minute examination of.my looks, she

generally concluded with a sigh, that I should never more
be fit to be seen.
At last I was, permitted to return home, but found no
great improvement of my condition; for I was imprisoned
in my chamber as a criminal, whose appearance would dis-
grace my friends, and condemn me to be tortured into new
beauty. Every experiment which the officiousness of folly
could communicate, or the credulity of ignorance admit,
was tried upon me. Sometimes I was covered with emol-
lients, by which it was expected that all the scars would be
filled, and my cheeks plumped up to their former smooth-
ness; and sometimes I was punished with artificial exco-
riations, in hopes of gaining new graces with a new skin.
The cosmetick science was exhausted 'upon me ; but who
can repair the ruins of nature? My mother was forced to
give me rest at last, and abandon me to the fate of a
fallen toast, whose fortune she considered as a hopeless
game, no longer worthy of solicitude or attention.
The condition of a young woman who has never thought
or heard of any other excellence than beauty, and whom
the sudden blast of disease wrinkles in her bloom, is, in-
deed, sufficiently calamitous. She is at once deprived of
all that gave her eminence or power ; of all that elated
her pride, or animated her activity; all that filled her
days with pleasure, and her nights with hope; all that
gave gladness to the present hour, or brightened her pros-
Deets of futurity. It is, perhaps, not in the power of a man
Whose attention has been divided by diversity of pursuits,
and who has not been accustomed to derive from others
Much .of his happiness, to image to himself such helpless
destitution, such dismal inanity. Every object of pleasing
contemplation is at once snatched away, and the soul finds
every receptacle of ideas empty, or filled only with the
Memory of joys that can return no more. All is gloomy
privation, or impotent desire ; the faculties of anticipation
slumber in despondency, or the powers of pleasure mutiny
for employment:
li 2
132 THE RAMBLER. N". 133.
I was so little able to find entertainment for myself, that

I was forced, in a short time, to venture abroad as the soli-
tary savage is driven by hunger from his cavern. I entered
with all the humility of disgrace into assemblies, where I
had lately sparkled with gaiety, and towered with triumph.
I was not wholly without hope, that dejection had misre-
presented me to myself, and that the remains of my former
face might yet have some attraction and influence ; but
the first circle of visits convinced me, that my reign was at
an end; that life and death were no longer in my hands;
that I was no more to practise the glance of command, or
the frown of prohibition ; to receive the tribute of sighs
and praises, or be soothed with the gentle murmurs of
amorous timidity. My opinion was now unheard, and my
proposals were unregarded ; the narrowness of my know-
ledge, and the meanness of my sentiments, were easily dis-
covered, when the eyes were no longer engaged against
the judgment; and it was observed, by those who had for-
merly been charmed with my vivacious loquacity, that my
understanding was impaired as well as my face, and that
I was no longer qualified to fill a place in any company
but a party at cards.
It is scarcely to be imagined how soon the mind sinks
to a level with the condition. I, who had long considered
all who approached me as vassals condemned to regulate
their pleasures by my eyes, and harass their inventions
for my entertainment, was in less than three weeks re-
duced to receive a ticket with professions of obligation;
to catch with eagerness at a compliment ; and to watch
with all the anxiousness of dependence, lest any little ci-
vility that was paid me should pass unacknowledged.
Though the negligence of the men was not very pleasing
when compared with vows and adoration, yet it was far
more supportable than the insolence of my own sex. For
the first ten months after my return into the world, I never
entered a single house in which the memory of my down-
fat was not revived.. At one place I was congratulated
on. my escape with life ; at another I heard of the benefits
of early inoculation ; by some I have been told, in express

terms, that I am not yet without my charms; others have
whispered at my entrance, This is the celebrated beauty.
One told me of a wash .that would smooth the skin ; and
another offered me her chair that I might not front the
light. Some soothed me with the observation that none
can tell how soon my case may be her own; and some
thought it proper to receive me with mournful tenderness,
formal condolence, and consolatory blandishments.
Thus was I every day harassed with all the stratagems
of well-bred malignity ; yet insolence was more tolerable
than solitude, and I therefore persisted to keep my time
at the doors of my acquaintance, without gratifying them
with any appearance of resentment or depression. I ex-
pected that their exultation would in time vapour away;
that the joy of their superiority would end with its novelty;
and that I should be suffered to glide along in my present
form among the nameless multitude, whom nature never
intended to excite envy or admiration, nor enabled to de-
light the eye or inflame the heart.
This was naturally to be expected, and this I began to
experience. But when I was no longer agitated by the
perpetual ardour of resistance, and effort of perseverance,
I found more sensibly the want of those entertainments
which had formerly delighted me ; the day rose upon me
without ,an engagement ; and the evening closed in its
natural gloom, without summoning me to a concert or a
ball. None had any care to find amusements, for me, and
I had no power of amusing myself. Idleness exposed me
to melancholy, and life began to languish in motionless
indifference.
Misery and shame are nearly allied. It was not without
Many struggles that I prevailed on myself to confess my
uneasiness to Euphemia, the only friend who had never
pained me with comfort or with pity. I at last laid my
calamities before her, rather to ease my heart, than receive
assistance. " We must distinguish," said she, " my Vic-
toria, those evils which are imposed by providence, from
134 TIIE RAMBLER. N°. 134.
those to which we ourselves give the power of hurting us.

Of your calamity, a small part is the infliction of heaven,
the rest is little more than the corrosion of idle discontent.
You have lost that which may, indeed, sometimes contri-
bute to happineSs, but to which happiness is by no means
inseparably annexed. You have lost what the greater
number of the human race never have possessed ; what
those on whom it is bestowed for the most part possess in
vain ; and what you, while it was yours, knew not how to
use : you have only lost early what the laws of nature for-
bid you to keep long, and have lost it while your mind is
yet flexible, ,and while you have time to substitute more
valuable and more durable excellencies. Consider your-
self, my Victoria, as a being born to know, to reason, and
to act ; rise at once from your dream of melancholy to
wisdom and to piety ; you will find that there are other
charms than those of beauty, and other joys than the praise
of fools."
I am, sir, &c.
VICTORIA.
41,••••••••••
Quis wit an adjiciant hodierna erastina summer

Tempora Dii superi? Hon. Lib. iv. Ode vii. 17.
Who knows if heav'n, with ever-bounteous pow'r,
Shall add to-morrow to the present hour ? FRANCIS.
I SAT yesterday morning employed in deliberating on

which, among the various subjects that occurred to my
imagination, I should bestow the paper of to-day. After a
short effort of meditation by which nothing was determined,
I grew every moment more irresolute, my ideas wandered
from the first intention, and I rather wished to think, than
thought upon any settled subject; till at last I was
awakened from this dream of study by a summons from
the press ; the time was now come for which I had been
N°. 134 THE RAMBLER. 135:
thus negligently purposing to provide, and, however du-

bious or sluggish, I was now necessitated to write.
Though to a writer whose design is so comprehensive
and miscellaneous, that he may accommodate himself with
a topick from every scene of life, or view of nature, it is
no great aggravation of his task to be obliged to a sudden
composition ; yet I could not forbear to reproach myself
for having so long neglected what was unavoidably to be
done, and of which every moment's idleness increased the
difficulty. There was, however, some pleasure in reflecting
that I, who had only trifled till diligence was necessary,
might still congratulate myself upon my superiority to
multitudes, who have trifled till diligence is vain ; who can
by no degree of activity or resolution recover the oppor-
tunities which have slipped away; and who are condemned,
by their own carelessness, to hopeless calamity and barren.
sorrow.
The folly of allowing ourselves to delay what we know
cannot be finally escaped, is one of the general weak-
nesses, which, in spite of the instruction of moralists, and
the remonstrances of reason, prevail to a greater or less
degree in every mind ; even they who most steadily with-
stand it, find it, if not the most violent, the most pertina-
cious of their passions, always renewing its attacks, and
though often vanquished, never destroyed.
It is, indeed, natural to have particular regard to the
time present, and to be most solicitous fqr that which is by
its nearness enabled to make the strongest impressions.
When, therefore, any sharp pain is to be suffered, or any
formidable danger to be incurred, we can scarcely exempt
ourselves wholly from the seducements of imagination ; we
readily believe that another day will bring some support
or advantage which we now want; and are easily per-
suaded, that the moment of necessity which we desire
never to arrive, is at a great distance from us.
Thus life is languished away in the gloom of anxiety,
and consumed in collecting- resolutions which the next
morning dissipates ; in forming purposes which we scarcely
136 . THE RAMBLER. N°. 134.
hope to keep, and reconciling ourselves to our own cow-

ardice by excuses, which, while we admit them, we know
to be absurd. Our firmness is, by the continual contem-
plation of misery, hourly impaired ; every submission to
our fear enlarges its dominion ; we not only waste that
time in which the evil we dread might have been suffered
and surmounted, but even where procrastination produces
no absolute increase of our difficulties, make them less
superable to ourselves by habitual terrours. When evils
cannot be avoided, it is wise to contract the interval of ex-
pectation ; to meet the mischiefs which will overtake us
if we fly ; and suffer only their real malignity, without the
conflicts of doubt, and anguish of anticipation.
To act is far easier than to suffer ; yet we every day see
the progress of life retarded by the- vis inertia, the mere
repugnance to motion, and find multitudes repining at the
want of that which nothing but idleness hinders them from
enjoying. The case of Tantalus, in the region of poetick
punishment, was somewhat to be pitied, because the fruits
that hung about him retired from his hand ; but what
tenderness can be claimed by those who, though perhaps
they suffer the pains of Tantalus, will never lift their hands
for their own relief ?
There is nothing more common among this torpid gener-
ation than murmurs and complaints ; murmurs at uneasi-
ness which only vacancy and suspicion expose them to
feel, and complaints of distresses which it is in their own
power to remove. Laziness is commonly associated with
timidity. Either fear originally prohibits endeavours by
infusing despair of success ; or the frequent failure of
irresolute struggles, and the constant desire of avoiding
labour, impress, by degrees, false terrours on the mind.
But fear, whether natural or acquired, when once it has
full possession of the fancy, never fails to employ it upon
visions of calamity, such as, if they are not dissipated by
useful employment, will soon overcast it with horrours, and
imbitter life not only with those miseries by which all
earthly beings are really more or less tormented, but with
those which do not yet exist, and which can only be dis-
cerned by the perspicacity of cowardice.
Among all who sacrifice future advantage to present
inclination, scarcely any gain so little as those that suffer
themselves to freeze in idleness. Others are corrupted by
some enjoyment of more or less power to gratify the pas-
sions; but to neglect our duties merely to avoid the _la-
bour of performing them, a labour which is always punc-
tually rewarded, is surely to sink under weak temptations.
Idleness never can secure tranquillity; the call of reason
and of conscience will pierce the closest pavilion of the
sluggard, and though it may not have force to drive Lim
from his down, will be loud enough to hinder him from
sleep. Those moments which he cannot resolve to make
useful, by devoting them to the great ..business of his being,
will still be usurped by powers that will not leave them to
his disposal; remorse and vexation will seize upon them,
and forbid him to enjoy what he is so desirous to appro-
priate.
There are other causes of inactivity incident to more
active faculties and more acute discernment. He to whom
many objects of pursuit arise at the same time, will fre-
quently hesitate between different desirei, till a rival has
precluded him, or change his course as new attractions
prevail, and harass himself without advancing. He who
sees different ways to the same end, will, unless he watches
carefully over his own conduct, lay out too much of his
attention upon the comparison of probabilities, and the ad-
justment of expedients, and pause in the choice of his
road till some accident intercepts his journey. He whose
penetration extends to remote consequences, and who,
whenever he applies his attention to any design, discovers
new prospects of advantage, and possibilities of improve-
ment, will not easily be persuaded that his project is ripe
for execution; but will superadd one contrivance to an-
other, endeavour to unite various purposes in one opera-
tion, multiply complications, and refine niceties, till he is
entangled in his own scheme, and bewildered in the per-
plexity of various intentions. He that resolves to unite

all the beauties of situation in a new purchase, must waste
his life in roving to no purpose from province to province.
He that hopes in the same house to obtain every conve-
nience, may draw plans, and study Palladio, but will never
lay a stone. He will attempt a treatise on some important
subject, and amass materials, consult authors, and study all
the dependant and collateral parts of learning, but never
conclude himself qualified to write. He that has abilities
to conceive perfection, will not easily be content without
it; and, since perfection cannot be reached, will lose the
opportunity of doing well in the vain hope of unattainable
excellence.
The certainty that life cannot be long, and the proba-
bility that it will be much shorter than nature allows, ought
to awaken every man to the active prosecution of what-
ever he is desirous to perform. It is true, that no dili-
gence can ascertain success; death may intercept the
swiftest career; but he who is cut off in the execution of
an honest undertaking, has at least the honour of falling in
his rank, and has fought the battle, though he missed the
victory.
........................,.........
No. 135. TUESDAY, JULY 2, 1751.
Co.lurn, non animum, mutant. bon. Lib. i. Ep. xii. 27.

Place may be chang'd ; but who can change his mind?
IT is impossible to take a view on any side, or observe any

of the various classes that form the great community of the
_ world, without discovering the influence of example ; and
admitting with new conviction the observation of Aristotle,
that man is. an imitative being. The greater, far the greater
rnimber, follow the track which others have beaten, with-
out any curiosity after new discoveries, or ambition of
trusting themselves to their own conduct. And, of those
who break the ranks and disorder the uniformity of the
.
march, most return in a short time from 'their deviation,

and prefer the equal and steady satisfaction of security be-
fore the frolicks of caprice and the honours of adventure.
In questions difficult or dangerous it is, indeed, natural
to repose upon authority, and, when fear happens to pre-
dominate, upon the authority of those whom we do not in
general think wiser than ourselves. Very few have abili-
ties requisite for the discovery of abstruse truth; and of
those few some want leisure, and some resolution. But it
is not so easy to find the reason of the universal submis-
sion to precedent where every man might safely judge for
himself; where no irreparable loss can be hazarded, nor
any mischief of long continuance incurred. Vanity might
be expected to operate where the more powerful passions
are not awakened ; the mere pleasure of acknowledging no
superior might produce slight singtarities, or the hope of
gaining some new degree of happiness awaken the mind to
invention or experiment.
If in any case the shackles of prescription could be
wholly shaken off, and the imagination left to act without
control, on what occasion should it be expected, but in
the selection of lawful pleasure ? Pleasure, of which the
essence is choice ; which compulsion dissociates from every
thing to which nature has united it; and which owes not
only its vigour but its being to the smiles of liberty. Yet
we see that the senses, as well as the reason, are regulated
by credulity; and that most will feel, or say that they feel,
the gratifications which others have taught them to expect.
At this time of universal migration, when almost every
one, considerable enough to attract regard, has retired, or
is preparing with all the earnestness of distress to retire,
into the country; when nothing is to be heard but the
hopes of speedy departure, or the complaints of involuntary
delay ; I have often been tempted to inquire what happi•
ness is to be gained, or what inconvenience to be avoided,
by this stated recession? Of the birds of passage, some
follow the summer and some the winter, because they live
upon sustenance which only summer or winter can supply;
but of the annual flight of human rovers it is much harder

to assign the reason, because they do not appear either to
find or seek any thing which is not equally afforded by the
town and country.
I believe that many of these fugitives may have heard
of men whose continual wish was for the quiet of retire-
ment, who watched every opportunity to steal away from
observation, to forsake the crowd, and delight themselves
with the society of solitude. There is, indeed, scarcely any
writer who has not celebrated the happiness of rural
privacy, and delighted himself and his reader with the
melody of birds, the whisper of groves, and the murmur of
rivulets; nor any man eminent for extent of capacity, or
greatness of exploits, that has not left behind him some
memorials of lonely wisdom, and silent dignity.
But almost all absurdity of conduct arises from the imi-
tation of those whom we cannot resemble. Those who thus
testified their weariness of tumult and hurry, and hasted
with so much eagerness to the leisure of retreat, were
either men overwhelmed with the pressure of difficult
employments, harassed with importunities, and distracted
with multiplicity ; or men wholly engrossed by speculative
sciences, who having no other .end of life but to learn and
teach, found their searches interrupted by the common
commerce of civility, and their reasonings disjointed by
frequent interruptions. Such men might reasonably fly to
that ease and convenience which their condition allowed
them to find only in the country. The statesman who
devoted the greater part of his time to the publick, was
desirous of keeping the remainder in his own power. The
general, ruffled with dangers, wearied with labours, and
stunned with acclamations, gladly snatched an interval of
silence and relaxation. The naturalist was unhappy where
the works of providence were not always before him. The
reasoner could adjust his systems only where his mind was
free from the intrusion of outward objects.
Such examples of solitude very few of those who are
now hastening from the town, have any pretensions to plead
N°. 135. THIS RAMBLER. 141
in their own justification, since they cannot pretend either

weariness of labour, or desire of knowledge. They pur-
pose nothing more than to quit one scene of idleness for
another, and after having trifled in publick, to sleep in
secrecy. The utmost that they can hope to gain is the
change of ridiculousness to obscurity, and the privilege of
having fewer witnesses to a life of folly. He who is not
sufficiently important to be disturbed in his pursuits, but
spends all his hours according to his own inclination, and
has more hours than his mental faculties enable him to fill
either with enjoyment or desires, can have nothing to de-
mand of shades and valleys. As bravery is said to be a
panoply, insignificancy is always a shelter.
There are,however, pleasures and advantages in a rural
situation, which are not confined to philosophers and heroes.
Tlie freshness of the air, the verdure of the woods, the
paint of the meadows, and the unexhausted variety which
summer scatters upon the earth, may easily give delight to
an unlearned spectator. • It is not necessary that he who
looks with pleasure on the colours of a flower should study
the principles of vegetation, or that the Ptolemaick and
Copernican system should be compared before the light of
the sun can gladden, or its warmth invigorate. Novelty is
itself a source of gratification; and Milton justly observes,
that to him who has been long pent up in cities, no rural
object can be presented, which will not delight or refresh
some of his senses.
Yet even these easy pleasures are missed by the greater
part of those who waste their summer in the country.
Should any man pursue his acquaintances to their retreats,
he would find few of them listening to Philomel, loitering
in woods, or plucking daisies, catching the healthy gale of
the morning, or watching the gentle coruscations of de-
clining day. Some will be discovered at a window by the
road. side, rejoicing when a new cloud of dust gathers to-
wards them, as at the approach of a momentary supply of
conversation, and a short relief from the tediousness of
unideal vacancy. Others are placed in the adjacent vil-
lages, where they look only upon houses as in the rest of

the year, with no change of objects but what a remove to
any new street in London might have given them. The
same set of acquaintances still settle together, and the
form of life is not otherwise diversified than by doing the
same things in a different place. They pay and receive
visits in the usual form, they frequent the walks in the
morning, they deal cards at night, they attend to the same
tattle, and dance with the same partners ; nor can they, at
their return to their former habitation, congratulate them-
selves on any other advantage, than that they have passed
their time like others of the same rank; and have the same
right to talk of the happiness and beauty of the country, of
happiness which they never felt, and beauty which they
never regarded.
To be able to procure its own 'entertainments,' and to
subsist upon its own stock, is not the prerogative of every
mind. There are, indeed, understandings so fertile and
comprehensive, that they can always feed reflection with
new supplies, and suffer nothing from the preclusion of
adventitious amusements ; as some cities have within their
own walls enclosed ground enough to feed their inhabitants
in a siege. But others live only from day to day, and must
be constantly enabled, by foreign supplies, to keep out the
encroachments of languor and stupidity. Such could not,
indeed, be blamed for hovering within reach of their usual
pleasure, more than any other animal for not quitting its
native element, were not their faculties contracted by their
own fault. But let not those who go into the country,
merely because they dare not be left alone at home, boast
their love of nature, or their qualifications for solitude ;
nor pretend that they receive instantaneous infusions of
wisdom from the Dryads, and are able, when they leave
smoke and noise behind, to act, or think, or reason for
themselves.
No. 136. SATURDAY, JULY 6, 1751.
'Exeoc yap pot KEIVOC Opt% 'Ai&to iravatv,

"Os x grEpov piv KliPOEt ivi OpEaiv, liXXo Si Pci4t. HOMER. r. 312.
Who dares think one thing, and another tell,
My heart detests him as the gates of hell. Pore.
THE regard which they whose abilities are employed in the

works of imagination claim from the rest of mankind, arises
in a great measure from their influence on futurity. Rank
may be conferred by princes, and wealth bequeathed by
misers or by robbers; but the honours of a lasting name,
and the veneration of distant ages, only the sons of learn-
ing have the power of bestowing. While, therefore, it con-
tinues one of the characteristicks ttf rational nature to de-
cline oblivion, authors never can be wholly overlooked in
the search after happiness, nor become contemptible but
by their own fault. ..
The man who considers himself as constituted the ulti-
mate judge of disputable characters, and intrusted with
the distribution of the last terrestrial rewards of merit,
ought to summon all his fortitude to the support of his in-
tegrity, and resolve to discharge an office of such dignity
with the most vigilant caution and scrupulous justice. To
deliver examples to posterity, and to regulate the opinion
of future times, is no slight or trivial undertaking; nor is it
easy to commit more atrocious treason against the great
republick of humanity, than by falsifying its records and
misguiding its decrees.
To scatter praise or blame without regard to justice, is
to destroy the distinction of good and evil. Many have no
other test of actions than general opinion ; and all are so
far influenced by a sense'of reputation, that they are often
restrained by fear of reproach, and excited by hope of ho-
nour, when other principles have lost their power ; nor can
any species of prostitution promote general depravity more
than that which destroys the force of praise, by showing
that it may be acquired without deserving' it, and which,

by-setting free the active and ambitious from the dread of
infamy, lets loose the rapacity of power, and weakens the
only authority by which greatness is controlled.
Praise, like gold and diamonds, owes its value only .to
its scarcity. It becomes cheap as it becomes vulgar, and
will no longer raise expectation, or animate enterprise. It
is, therefore, not only necessary, that wickedness, even
when it is not safe to censure it, be denied applause, but
that goodness be commended only in proportion to its de-
gree; and that the garlands, due to the great benefactors
of mankind, be not suffered to fade upon the brow of him
who can boast only petty services and easy virtues.
Had these maxims been universally received, how much
would have been added to the task of dedication, the work
on which all the power of modern wit has been exhausted.
How few of these initial panegyricks 'had appeared, if the
author had been obliged first to find a man of virtue, then
to distinguish the distinct species and degree of his desert,
and at last to pay him only the honours which he might
justly claim. It is much easier to learn the name of the
last man whom chance has exalted to wealth and power, to
obtain by the intervention of some of his domesticks the
privilege of addressing him, or, in confidence of the gene-
ral acceptance of flattery, to venture on an address with-
out any previous solicitation ; and after having heaped upon
him all the virtues to which philosophy had assigned a
name, inform him bow much more might be truly said, did
not the fear of giving pain to his modesty repress the rap-
tures of wonder and the zeal of veneration.
Nothing has so much degraded literature from its natu-
ral rank, as the practice of indecent and promiscuous dedi-
cation ; for what credit can he expect who professes him-
self the hireling of vanity, however profligate, and without
shame or scruple, celebrates the worthless, dignifies the
mean, and gives to .the corrupt, licentious, and oppressive,
the ornaments which ought only to add grace to truth, and
loveliness to innocence? Every other kind of adulation,
N.. 136. THE RAMBLER. 145
however shameful, however mischievous, is less detestable

than the crime of counterfeiting characters, and fixing the
stamp of literary sanction upon the dross and refuse of the
world.
Yet I would not overwhelm the authors with the whole
load of infamy, of which part, perhaps the greater part,
ought to fall upon their patrons. If he that hires a bravo,
partakes, the guilt of murder, why should he who bribes a
flatterer, hope to be exempted from the shame of false-
hood ? The unhappy dedicator is seldom without some
motives which obstruct, though not destroy, the liberty of
choice ; he is oppressed by miseries which he hors to re-
lieve, or inflamed by ambition which he expects to gratify.
But the patron has no incitements equally violent; he can
receive only a short gratification, with which nothing but
stupidity could dispose him to be pleased. The real satis-
faction which praise can afford is by repeating aloud ,the
whispers of conscience, and by showing us that we have
not endeavoured to deserve well. in vain. Every other en-
comium is, to an intelligent mind, satire and reproach; the
celebration of those virtues which we feel ourselves to
want, can only impress a quicker sense of ourown defects,
and show that we have not yet satisfied the expectations
of the world, by forcing us to observe how much fiction
must contribute to the completion, of our character.
Yet sometimes the patron may claim indulgence; for it
does not always happen, that the encomiast has been much
encouraged to his attempt. Many a hapless author, when
his book, and perhaps his dedication, was ready for the
press, has waited long before any one would pay the price
of prostitution, or consent to hear the praises destined to
insure his name against the casualties of time ; and many a
complaint has been vented against the decline of learning,
and neglect of genius, when either parsimonious prudence
has declined expense, or honest indignation rejected false-
hood. But if at last, after long inquiry and innumerable
disappointments, he find a lord willing to hear of his own
eloquence and taste,, a statesman desirous of knowing how
R. II. •L
a friendly historian will represent his conduct, or •a lady
delighted to leave to the world some memorial of her wit
and beauty,.such weakness cannot be censured as an in-
stance of enormous depravity. The wisest man may, by a
diligent solicitor, be surprised in the hour of weakness,
and persuaded to solace vexation, or invigorate hope, with
the musick of flattery.
To censure all dedications as adulatory and servile,
would discover rather envy than justice. Praise is the
tribute of merit, and he that has incontestably distin-
guished himself by any publick performance, bas a right
to all the honours which the publick can bestow. To men
thus raised above the rest of the community, there is no
need that the book or its author should have any particular
relation ; that the patron is known to deserve respect, is
sufficient to vindicate him that pays it. To the same re-
gard from particular persons, private virtue and less con-
spicuous excellence may be sometimes entitled. An au-
thor may, with great propriety, inscribe his work to him
by whose encouragement it was undertaken, or by whose
liberality he has been enabled to prosecute it, and he may
justly rejoice in his own fortitude that dares to rescue
merit from obscurity.
Acribus eiemplis videor to claudere : mince
Ergo aliquid nostris moribus.
de
Thus much I will indulge thee for thy ease, •
And mingle something of our times to please. DRYDEN, jun.
I know not whether greater relaxation may not be in-

dulged, and whether hope as well as gratitude may not
unblamably produce a dedication; but let the writer who
pours out his praises only to propitiate power, or attract
the attention of greatness, be cautious lest his desire be-
tray him to exuberant eulogies. We are naturally more
apt to please ourselves with the future than the past, and
while we luxuriate in expectation, may be easily per-
suaded to purchase what we yet rate, only by imagination,
at a higher price than experience will warrant.
But no private views of personal regard can discharge
any man from his general obligations to virtue and to
truth. It may happen, in the various combinations of life,
that a good man may receive favours from one, who, not-
withstanding his accidental beneficence, cannot be justly
proposed to the imitation of others, and whom, therefore,
he must find some other way of rewarding than by publick
celebrations. Self-love has, indeed, many powers of se-,
ducement ; but it surely ought not to exalt any individual
to equality with the collective body gf mankind, or per-
suade him that a benefit conferred on him is equivalent to
every other virtue. Yet many, upon false principles of
gratitude, have ventured to extol wretches, whom all but
their dependants numbered among the reproaches of the
species, and whom they would likewise have beheld with
the same scorn, had they not been hired to dishonest
approbation.
To encourage merit with praise is the great business of
literature ; but praise must lose its influence, by unjust or
negligent distribution ; and he that impairs its value may
be charged with misapplication of the power that genius
puts into his hands, and with squandering on guilt the re-
compense of virtue.
..".1 OWISININW•INOWNIMIN~
N°. 137. TUESDAY, JULY 9, 1751.
Dum vitant stulti vitia, in contraria currant. Holt. Lib. i. Sat. ii. 24.
—Whilst one fools vice condemn,
They run into the opposite extreme. CRUM
THAT wonder is the effect of ignorance, has been often

observed. The awful stillness of attention, with which
the mind is overspread at the first view of an unexpected
effect, ceases when we have leisure to disentangle compli-
cations and investigate causes. Wonder is a pause of
reason, a sudden cessation of the mental progress, which
lasts only while the understanding is fixed upon some
single idea, and is at an end when it recovers force
x2
enough to . divide the object into its pares, • or mark the

intermediate gradations from the first agent to the last
consequence.
It may be remarked, with equal truth, that ignorance is
often the effect of wonder. It is common for those who
have never accustomed themselves to the labour of in-
quiry, nor invigorated their confidence by conquests over
difficulty, to sleep in the gloomy quiescence of astonish-
ment, without any effort to animate inquiry, or dispel ob-
scurity. What they cannot immediately conceive, they
consider as too high to be reached, or too extensive to be
comprehended ; they therefore content themselves with
the gaze of folly, forbear to attempt what they have no
hopes of performing, and resign the pleasure of rational
contemplation to more pertinacious study, or more active
faculties.
Among the productions of mechanick art, many are of
a form so different from that of their first materials, -and
many consist of parts so numerous and so nicely adapted
to each other, that it is not possible to view them without
amazement. But when we enter the shops of artificers;
observe the various tools by which every operation is faci-
litated, and trace the progress of a manufacture through
the different hands, that, in succession to each other, con-
tribute to its perfection, we soon discover that every sin-
gle matt has an easy task, and that the extremes, however
remote, of natural rudeness and artificial elegance, are
joined by a regular concatenation of effects, of which
every one is introduced by that which precedes it, and
equally introduces that which is to follow.
The same is the state of intellectual and manual per-
formances. Long calculations or complex diagrams af-
fright the timorous and unexperienced from a second
view; but if we have skill sufficient to analyze them into
simple principles, it will be discovered that our fear was
groundless. Divide and conquer, is a principle equally
just in science as in policy. Complication is a species of
confederacy, which, while it continues united, bids de-
. N°. 137. THXRAMBLER. 149
fiance to the most active and vigorous intellect; but of

which every member is separately weak, and which may
therefore be quickly subdued, if it can once be broken.
The chief art of learning, as Locke has observed, is to
attempt but little at a time. The widest excursions of the
mind are made by short flights frequently repeated; the
most lofty fabricks of science are formed by the continued
accumulation of single propositions.
It often happens, whatever be the cause, that impa-
tience of labour, or dread of miscarriage, seizes those who
are most distinguished for quickness of apprehension; and
that they who might, with greatest reason, promise them-
selves victory, are least willing to hazard the encounter.
This diffidence, where the attention is not laid asleep by
laziness, or dissipated by pleasures, can arise only from
confused and general views, such as negligence snatches
in haste, or from the disappointment of the first hopes
formed by arrogance without reflection. To expect that
the intricacies of science will be pierced by a careless
glance, or the eminences of fame ascended without labour,
is to expect a particular privilege, a power denied to the
rest of mankind; but to suppose that the maze is inscru-
table to diligence, or the heights inaccessible to perse-
verance, is to submit tamely to the tyranny of fancy, and
enchain the mind in voluntary shackles.
It is the proper ambition of the heroes in literature to
enlarge the boundaries of knowledge by discovering and
conquering new regions of the intellectual world. To the
success of such undertakings perhaps some degree of for-
tuitous happiness is necessary, which no man can promise
or procure to himself; and therefore doubt and irresolution
may be forgiven in him that ventures into the unexplored
abysses of truth, and attempts to find his way through the
fluctuations of uncertainty, and the conflicts of contradic-
tion. But when nothing more is required, than to pursue
4.1 path already beaten, and to, trample obstacles which
others have demolished, why should any man so much dis-

150 . TH.E RAMBLER. N°. 137.
trust his own intellect as to imagine himself unequal to the

attempt ?
It were to be wished that they who devote their lives to
study would at once believe nothing too great for their at-
tainment, and consider nothing as too little for their re-
gard ; that they would extend their notice alike to science
and to life, and unite some knowledge of the present
world to their acquaintance with past ages and remote
events.
Nothing has so much exposed men of learning to con-
tempt and ridicule, as their ignorance of things which are
known to all but themselves. Those who have been taught
.to consider the institutions of the schools, as giving the
last perfection to human abilities, are surprised to see men
wrinkled with study, yet wanting to be instructed in the
minute circumstances of propriety, or the necessary forms
of daily transaction ; and quickly shake off their reverence
for modes of education, which they find to produce no
ability above the rest of mankind.
" Books," says Bacon, " can never teach the use of
books." The student must learn by commerce with man-
kind to reduce his speculations to practice, and accommo-
date his knowledge to the purposes of life.
It is too common for those who have been bred to scho-
lastick professions, and passed much of their time in
-academies where nothing but learning confers honours, to
disregard every other qualification, and to imagine that
they shall find mankind ready to pay homage to their
knowledge, and to crowd about them for instruction. They
therefore step out from .their cells into the open world with
all the confidence of authority and dignity of importance ;
they look round about them at once with ignorance and
scorn on a race of beings to whom they are equally un-
known and equally contemptible, but whose manners they
•must imitate, and with whose opinions they must comply,
if they desire to pass their time happily among them.
To lessen that disdain with which scholars are inclined
N°. 137. THE RAMBLER. , 151
to look on the common business of the world, and the un-

willingness with which they condescend to learn what is
not to he found in any system of philosophy, it may be ne-
cessary to consider that though admiration is excited by
abstruse researches and remote discoveries, yet pleasure is
not given, nor affection conciliated, but by softer accom-
plishments, and qualities more easily communicable to
those about us. He that can only converse upon ques-
tions, about which only a small part of mankind has know-
ledge sufficient to make them curious, must lose his days
in unsocial silence, and live in the criVwd of life without a
companion. He that can only be useful on great occa-
sions, may die without exerting his abilities, and stand a
helpless spectator of a thousand vexations which fret away
happiness, and which nothing is required to remove but a
little dexterity of conduct and readiness of expedients.
No degree of knowledge attainable by man is able to
set him above the want of hourly assistance, or to ex-
tinguish the desire of fond endearments, and tender offi-
ciousness ; and, therefore, no one should think it unneces-
sary to learn those arts by which friendship may be gained.
Kindness is preserved by a constant reciprocation cif bene-
fits or interchange of pleasures ; but such benefits only can
be bestowed, as others are capable to receive, and such
pleasures only imparted, as others are qualified to enjoy.
By this descent from the pinnacles of art no honour will
be lost; for the condescensions of learning are always over-
paid by gratitude. An elevated genius employed in little
things, appears, to use the simile of Longinus, like the sun
in his evening declination ; ho remits his splendour but
retains his magnitude, and pleases more though he dazzles
less.
152 THE RAMBLER. N°. 13g.
No. 138, SATURDAY, JULY 13, 1751.
0 tantum libeat mecum tibi sordida ?lira,

Atque humiles habitare casas, et figere cervos. Vino. Ec. ii. 28.
With me retire, and leave the pomp of courts
For humble cottages and rural sports.
TO THE RAMBLER.
SIR,
THOUGH the contempt with which you have treated
the annual migrations of the gay and busy part of man-
kind is justified by daily observation; since post of those
who leave the town, neither vary their entertainments nor
enlarge their notions; yet I suppose you do not intend to
represent the practice itself as ridiculous, or to declare
that he whose condition puts the distribution of his time
into his own power may not properly divide it between the
town and country.
That the country, and only the country, displays the in-
exhaustible varieties. of nature, and supplies the philoso-
phical mind with matter for admiration and inquiry, never
was denied ; but my curiosity is very little attracted by
the colour of a flower, the anatomy of an insect, or the
structure of a nest; I am generally employed upon human
_manners, and, therefore, fill up the months of rural leisure
with remarks on those who live within the circle of my
notice. If writers would more frequently visit those
regions of negligence and liberty, they might diversify
their representations, and multiply their images, for in the
country are original characters chiefly to be found. In
cities, and yet more in courts, the minute discriminations
which distinguish one from another'are, for the most part,
effaced, .the peculiarities of temper and opinion are gra-
dually worn away by promiscuous converse, as angular
bodies and uneven surfaces lose their points and asperities
by frequent attrition against one another, and approach, by
degrees, to uniform rotundity. The prevalence of fashion,
the influence of example, the desire of applause, and the

dread of censure, obstruct the natural tendencies of the
mind, and check the fancy in its first efforts to break forth
into experiments of caprice. •
Few inclinations are so strong as to grow up into habits,
when they must• struggle with the constant opposition of
settled forms and established customs. But in the country
every man is a separate and independent being: solitude
flatters irregularity with hopes of secrecy ; and wealth, re-
moved from the mortification of comparison, and the awe
of equality, swells into contemptuous confidence, and sets
blame and laughter at defiance ; the impulses of nature act
unrestrained, and the disposition dares to show itself in its
true form, without any disguise of hypocrisy, or decora-
tions of elegance. Every one indulges the full enjoyment
of his own choice, and talks and lives with no other view
than to please himself, without inquiring how far he de-
viates from the general practice, or considering others as
entitled to any account of his sentiments or actions. If he
builds or demolishes, opens or encloses, deluges or drains,
it is not his care what may be the opinion of those who are
skilled in perspective or architecture, it is sufficient that
he has no landlord to control .him, and that none has any
right to examine in what projects the lord of the manor
spends his own money on his own grounds.
For this reason it is not very common to want subjects
for rural conversation. Almost every man is daily doing
something which produces merriment, wonder, or resent-
ment, among his neighbours. This utter exemption from
restraint leaves every anomalous quality to operate in its
full extent, and suffers the natural character to diffuse
itself to every part of life. The pride which, under the
check of publick observation, would have been only vented
among servants and domesticks, becomes, iu a country
baronet, the torment of a province, and instead of termi-
nating in the destruction of china-ware and glasses, ruins
tenants, dispossesses cottagers, and harasses villages with
actions of trespass and bills of indictment.
It frequently happens that, even without violent pas-
sions, or enormous corruption, the freedom and laxity of
a rustick life produces remarkable particularities of con-
duct or manner. In the province where I now reside, we
have one lady eminent for wearing a gown always of the
same cut and colour; another for shaking hands with those
that visit her; and a third for unshaken resolution never to
let tea or coffee enter her house. '
But of all the female characters which this place affords,
I have found none so worthy of attention as that of Mrs.
Busy, a widow, who lost her husband in her thirtieth year,
and has since passed her time at the manor-house in the
government of her children, and the management of the
estate.
Mrs. Busy was married at eighteen from a boarding-
school, where she had passed her time like other young
ladies in needlework, with a few intervals of dancing and
reading. When she became a bride she spent one winter
with her husband in town, where, having no idea of any
conversation beyond the formalities of a visit, she found
nothing to engage her passions; and when she had been
one night at court, and two at an opera, and seen the mo-
nument, the tombs, and the tower, she concluded that
London had nothing more to show, and wondered that
when women had once seen the world, they could not be
—content to stay at home. She, therefore, went willingly
to the ancient seat, and for some years studied housewifery
under Mr. Busy's mother, with so much assiduity, that the
old lady, when she died, bequeathed her a candle-cup, a
soup-dish, two beakers, and a chest of table-linen spun by
herself.
Mr. Busy, finding the economical qualities of his lady,
resigned his affairs wholly into her hands, and devoted his
life to his pointers and his hounds. He never visited his
estates but to destroy the partridges or foxes ; and often
committed such devastations, in the rage of pleasure, that
some of his tenants refused to hold their lands at the usual
rent. Their landlady persuaded them ,to be satisfied, and
entreated her husband to dismiss his dogs, with many

. exact calculations of the ale drunk by his companions, and
corn consumed by the horses, and remonstrances against
the insolence of the huntsman, and the frauds of the groom.
The huntsman was too necessary to his happiness to be
discarded; and he had still continued to ravage his own
estate, had he not caught a cold and a fever by shooting
mallards in the fens. His fever was followed by a con-
sumption, which in a few months brought him to the grave.
Mrs. Busy was too much an economist to feel either joy
or sorrow at his death. She received he compliments and
consolations of her neighbours in a dark room, out of which
she stole privately every night and morning to see the
cows milked ; and after a few days declared that she
thought a widow might employ herself better than in nurs-
ing grief; and that, for her part, she was resolved that the
fortunes of her children should not be impaired by her
neglect.
She, therefore, immediately applied herself to the refor-
mation of abuses. She gave away the dogs, discharged
the servants of the kennel and stable, and sent the horses
to the next fair, but rated at so high a price that they re-
turned unsold. She was resolved to have nothing idle
about her, and ordered them to be employed in common
drudgery. They lost their sleekness and grace, and were
soon purchased at half the value.
She soon disencumbered herself from her weeds, and
put on a ridinghood, a coarse apron, and short petticoats,
and has turned a large manor into a farm, of which she
takes the management wholly upon herself. She rises be-
fore the sun to order the horses to their gears, and sees
them well rubbed down at their return from work ; she at-
tends the dairy morning and evening, and watches when a
calf falls that it may be carefully nursed ; she walks out
among the sheep at noon, counts the lambs, and observes
the fences, and, where she finds a gap, stops it with a bush
till it can be better mended. In harvest she rides a-field
in the waggon, and is very liberal of het ale from a wooden
bottle. At her leisure hours she looks goose eggs, airs the
wool-room and turns the cheese.
When respect or curiosity brings visitants to her house,
she entertains them with prognosticks of a scarcity of
wheat, or a rot among the sheep, and always thinks herself
privileged to dismiss them, when she is to see the hogs
fed, or to count her poultry on the roost.
The only things neglected about her are her children,
whom she has taught nothing but the lowest household
duties. In my last visit I met miss Busy carrying grains
to a sick cow, and was entertained with the accomplish-
ments of her eldest son, a youth of such early maturity,
that though he is only sixteen, she can trust him to sell
corn in the market. Her younger daughter, who is emi-
nent for her beauty, though somewhat tanned in making
hay, was busy in pouring out ale to the ploughmen, that
every one might have an equal share.
I could not but look with pity on this young family,
doomed by the absurd prudence of their moiher to igno-
rance and meanness : but when I recommended a more
elegant education, was answered,•that she never saw book- •
ish or finical people grow rich, and that she was good for
nothing herself till she had forgotten the nicety of the
boarding-school.
I am, yours, &c.
BucoLus.
N°. 139. THE RAMDLER. 157
N°. 139. TUESDAY, JULY 16, 1751.
—Sit quod vis simplex etduntaaat vnum. Art.

HOR. Poet. 23.
Let ev'ry piece be simple and be one.
IT is required by. Aristotle to the perfection of a tragedy,
and is equally necessary to every other species of regular
composition, that it should have a beginning, a middle,
and an end. " The beginning," says he, " is that which
bath nothing necessarily previous, but to which that which
follows is naturally consequent; the 'end, on the contrary,
is that which by necessity, or, at least, according to the com-
mon course of things, succeeds something else, but which
implies nothing consequent to itself; the middle is con-
nected on one side to something that naturally goes before,
and on the other to something that naturally follows it."
Such is the rule laid down by this great critick, for the
disposition of the different parts of a well-constituted fable.
It must begin where it may be made intelligible without
introduction ; and end where the mind is left in repose,
without expectation of any farther event. The interme-
diate passages must join the last effect to the first cause
by a regular and unbroken concatenation; nothing must be,
therefore, inserted, which does not apparently arise from
something foregoing, and properly make way for some-
thing that succeeds it.
This precept is to be understood in its rigour only with
respect to great and essential events, and cannot be ex-
tended in the same force to minuter circumstances and
arbitrary decorations, which yet are more happy, as they
contribute more to the main design ; for it is always a
proof of extensive thought and accurate circumspection,
to promote various purposes by the same act; and the idea
of an ornament admits use, though it seems to exclude ne-
cessity.
Whoever purposes, as it is expressed by Milton, to
build the lofty rhyme, must acquaint himself with this law
of poetical architecture, and take care that his edifice be
•
solid as well as beautiful ; that nothing stand single• or in-
dependent, so as that it may be taken away without in-
juring the rest; but that, from the foundation to the pinna-
cles, one part rest firm upon another.
The regular and consequential distribution is among•
common authors frequently neglected ; but the failures of
those, whose example can have no influence, may be
safely overlooked, nor is it of much use to recall obscure
and unregarded names to memory for the sake of sporting
with their infamy. But if there be any writer whose genius
can embellish impropriety, and whose authority can make
errour venerable, his works are the proper objects of cri-
tical inquisition. To expunge faults where there are no
excellencies is a task equally useless with that of the chy-
mist, who employs the arts of separation and refinement
upon ore in which no precious metal is contained to reward
his operations.
The tragedy of Samson Agonistes has been celebrated
as the second work of the great author of Paradise Lost,
and opposed, with all the confidence of triumph, to the
dramatick performances of other nations. It contains, in-
deed, just sentiments, maxims of wisdom, and oracles of
piety, and many passages written with the ancient spirit
of choral poetry, in which there is a just and pleasing
mixture of Seneca's moral declamation, with the wild en-
thusiasm of the Greek writers. It is, therefore, worthy of
examination, whether a performance thus illuminated with
genius, and enriched with learning, is composed accordirig
to the indispensable laws of Aristotelian criticism : and,
omitting, at presents all other considerations, whether it
exhibits a beginning, a middle, and an end.
The beginning is undoubtedly beautiful and proper,
opening with a graceful abruptness, and proceeding natu-
rally to a mournful recital of facts necessary to be known :
Samson. A little onward lend thy guiding hand
To these dark steps, a little farther on ;
For yonder bank hath choice of sun and shade :
There I am wont to sit when any chance
N°• 139. • THE RAMBLER. 159
Relieves me from my task of servile toil,
Daily in the common prison else enjoin'd me.-
0, wherefore was my birth from heaven foretold
Twice by an angel ?—
Why was my breeding ordered and prescribed,
As of a person separate to God,
Designed for great exploits; if I must die
Betrayed, captiv'd, and both my eyes put out ?—
Whom have .I to complain of but myself?
Who this high gift of strength committed to me,
In what part lodged, how easily bereft:me,
Under the seal of silence could not keep:
But weakly to a woman must reveal it.
His soliloquy is interrupted by a chorus or company of
men of his own tribe, whO condole his miseries, extenuate
his fault, and conclude with a solemn vindication of divine
justice. So that at 'the conclusion of the first act there is
no design laid, no discovery made, nor any disposition
formed towards the subsequent event.
In the second act, Manoah, the father of Samson, comes
to seek his son, and, being shown him by the chorus, breaks
out into lamentations of his misery, and comparisons of his
present with his former state, representing to him the
ignominy which his religion suffers, by the festival this
day celebrated in honour of Dagon, to whom the idolaters
ascribed his overthrow :
—Thou bear'st
Enough, and more, the burthen of that fault;
Bitterly hest thou paid, and still art paying
That rigid score. A worse thing yet remains,
This day the Philistines a popular feast
Here celebrate in Gaza ; and proclaim
Great pomp, and sacrifice, and praises loud
To Dagon, as their God who bath delivered
Thee, Samson, bound and blind, into their hands,
Them out of thine, who slew'st them many a slain.
Samson, touched with this reproach, makes a reply
equally penitential and pious, which his father considers
as the effusion of prophetick confidence :

Samson. He, be sure,
Will not connive, or linger, thus provok'd,
But will arise ail(' his great.name assert :
Dagon must stoop, and shall ere long receive
.Such a discomfit, as shall quite despoil him
Of all these boasted trophies won on me. '
"Illanoah. With cause this -hope relieves thee, and these '
-- words
I as a prophecy receive ; for God,
Nothing more certain; will not long defer
To vindicate the glory of his name.
This part of the dialogue, as it might tend to animate
or exasperate Samson, cannot, I think, be censured as
wholly superfluous; but the succeeding dispute, in which
Samson contends to die, and which his father breaks off,
that he may go to solicit his release, is only valuable for
its own beauties, and has no tendency to introduce any
thing that follows it.
The next event of the drama is the arrival of Delilah,
with all her graces, artifices, and allurements. This pro-
duces a dialogue, in a very high degree elegant and in-
structive, from which she retires, after she has exhausted
her persuasions, and is no more seen nor heard of; nor has
her visit any effect but that of raising the character of
Samson. 1
In the fourth act enters Harapha, the giant of Gath,
whose name had never been mentioned before, and who
has now no other motive of coming, than to see the man,
whose strength and actions are so loudly celebrated:
Haraph. • Much I have heard
Of thy prodigious might and feats perform'd,
Incredible to me ; in this displeas'd,
That I was never present in the place
Of those encounters, where we might have tried
Each other's force in camp or listed fields ;
And now am come to see of whom such noise
Hath walk'd about, and each limb to survey,
If thy appearance answer loud report.
- , • •
Samson challenges him .to, the combat; "and, after an
interchange of reproaches, elevated .by repeated defiance
on one. side, and imbittered, 14 contempt-lions, insults on.
the other, Harapha retires; we then hear it cleterpiined
_ by Samson, and, the chorus, iliat'bo conseqUence, good or

'bad, will proceed from their interview :
a
Charus. 'He will directly Co the lords, I fear,
And with malicious counsel stir them up ,
Some way or-other yet farther to afflict bee. ,
Sams. He must allege some cause, and offer's fight
Will not dare mehtion, lest a quest* rise
Whether he durst accept the offer or not;
And, that he durst not, plain enough appear'd.
At last, in the fifth act, appears a messenger from the
lords assembled at the festival of Dagon, with a summons
by which Samson is required to come and entertain them
with some proof of his strength. Samson, after a short
expostulation, dismisses him with a firm and resolute re-
fusal ; but, during the absence of the messenger, having
awhile defended the propriety of his conduct, he at last
declares himself moved by a secret in4u1se to comply,
and utters some dark presages of a great event to be
brought to pass by his agency, under the direction of
providence:
Sams. Be of good courage, I begin to feel
Some rousing motions in me, which dispose
To something extraordinary my thoughts.
I with this messenger will go along,
Nothing to do, be sure, that may dishonour
• Our law, or stain my vow of Nazarite.
If there be aught of presage in the mind,
This day will be remarkable in my life
By some great act, or of my days the last.
While Samson is conducted off by the messenger, his
father returns with hopes of success in his solicitation,
upon which he confers with .the chorus till their dialogue is
interrupted, first by a shout of triumph, and afterwards by
screams of horrour and agony. As they stand deliberating
R. II. m
162 THE RAMBLER: • N°. 140 .
where they shall be secure, a man who had been present

.at the show enters, and relates, how Samson, having pre-
vailed on his guidp to suffer him to lean against the main
pillars of the theatrical edifice, tore down the roof upon
the spectators and himself:
Those two massy pillars,
With horrible confusion, to and fro
He tugg'd, he shook, till down they came, and drew
The whole rod after them, with burst of thunder
Upon the heads of all who sat beneath
Samson, with these immixt, inevitably
Pull'd down the same destruction on himself.
This is undoubtedly a just and regular catastrophe, and
the poem, therefore, has a beginning and an end which
Aristotle himself could not have disapproved ; but it must
be allowed to want a middle, since nothing passes between
the first act and the last, that either hastens or delays the
death of Samson. The whole drama, if its superfluities
were cut off, would scarcely fill a single act ; yet this
is the tragedy which ignorance has admired, and bigotry
applauded. •
.....................—...
No. 140. SATURDAY, JULY 20, 1751.
—Quin tam Lueili fautor inepte est,

Ut non hoe fateatur? lion. Lib. i. Sat. x. 2.
What doating bigot, to his faults so blind,
As not to grant me this, can Milton find 1
IT is common, says Bacon, to- desire the end without

enduring the means. Every member of society feels and
acknowledges the necessity of detecting crimes, yet scarce
any degree of virtue or reputation is able to secure an in-
former from publick hatred. The learned world has always
admitted the usefulness of critical disquisitions, yet he that
attempts to show, however modestly, the failures of a cele-
brated writer, shall surely irritate his admirers, and incur
the imputation of envy, captiousness, and malignity.
N°. 140.' TB. B RAMBLER. 163
. .
With this .danger full in my view, I shall proceed to
examine the sentiments ipf Milton's tragedy, which, though
much•less liable to censure than the disposition of his plan,
are, like those of other writers, gdznetimes exposed io just
exceptions for want of Care, or want of discernmetg. ,. 1
Sentiments are proper and improper as they consist
more or less with the character and 'circumstances of the
person to whom they are attributed, with the rules 'of the
composition in which they are folind, or with the settled
and unalterable nature of things.
It is common among the tragick poets to introduce
their persons alluding to events or opinions, of which
they could not possibly have any knowledge. The bar-
barians of remote or newly discovered regions often display
their skill in European learning. The god of love is men-
tioned in Tamerlane with all the familiarity of a Roman
epigrammatist; and a late writer has put Harvey's doc-
trine of the circulation of the blood into the mouth of a
Turkish statesman, who lived near two centuries before
it was known even to philosophers or anatomists.
Milton's learning, which acquainted him with the man-
ners of the ancient eastern nations, and his, invention,
which required no assistance from the common cant of
poetry, have preserved him from frequent outrages of
local or chronological propriety. Yet he has mentioned
chalybean steel, of which it is not nry likely that his
chorus should have heard, and has made Alp the general
name of a mountain, in a region where the Alps could
scarcely be known:
No medicinal liquor can assuage,
Nor breath of cooling air from snowy Alp.
Ile has taught Samson the tales of Circe, and the Syrens,
at which he apparently hints in his colloquy with Delilah :
—I know thy trains,
Though dearly to my cost, thy gins, and toils;
Thy fair enchanted cup, and warbling charms,
No more on me have pow'r.
u 2
164 THE RAMBLER. N °. 140.
But the grossest errour of this kind is the solemn intro-

duction of the phoenix in the last scene ; which is faulty,
not only as it is incongruous to the personage to whom it
is ascribed, but as it is so evidently contrary to reason and
nature, that it ought never to be mentioned but as a fable
in any.serious poem :
—Virtue giv'n for lost,
Deprest, and overthrown, as seem'd,
Like that self-begotten bird
In the Arabian woods embost,
That no second knows nor third,
And lay ere while a holocaust,
From out her ashy womb now teem'd,
Revives, reflourishes, then vigorous most
When most unactive deem'd,
And though her body die, her fame survives
A secular bird, ages of lives.
Another species of impropriety is the unsuitableness
of thoughts to the general character of the poem. The
seriousness and solemnity of tragedy necessarily reject all
pointed or epigrammatical expressions, all remote conceits
and opposition of ideas. Samson's complaint is therefore
too elaborate to be natural :
As in the land of darkness, yet in light,
To live a life half dead, a living death,
And bury'd ; but, 0 yet more miserable!
Myself my sepulchre, a moving grave,
Buried, yet not exempt,
By privilege of death and burial,
From worst of other evils, pains and wrongs.
All allusions to* low and trivial objects, with which con-
tempt is usually associated, are doubtless unsuitable to a
species of composition 'which ought to be always awful,
though not always magnificent. The remark, therefore, of
the chorus on good and bad news seems to want elevation :
Manouh. A little stay will bring some notice hither.
Chor. Of good or bad so great, of bad the sooner ;
For evil news rides post, while good news baits.
But of all meanness, that has least to plead which is

produced by mere verbal conceits, which, depending only
Upon sounds, lose their existence by the change of a sylla-
ble. Of this kind is the following dialogue :
Char. But had we best retire? I see a storm.
Sams. Fair days have oft contracted wind and rain.
Chor. But this another kind of tempest brings.
Sams. Be less abstruse, my riddling days are past. .
Chor. Look now for no enchanting voice, nor fear
The bait of honied words; a rougher tongue
Draws hithenvard; I know him by his stride,
The Harapha.—
giant
And yet more despicable are the lines in which Manoah's
paternal kindness is commended by the chorus :
Fathers are wont to lay up for their sons,
Thou for thy son art bent to lay out all.
Samson's complaint of the inconveniencies of imprison-
ment is not wholly without verbal quaintness :
—I, a prisoner chain'd, scarce freely draw
The air, imprison'd also, close and damp.
From the sentiments we may properly descend to the
consideration of the language, which, in imitation of the
ancients, is through the whole dialogue remarkably simple
and unadorned, seldom heightened by epithets, or varied
by figures ; yet sometimes metaphors find admission, even
Where their consistency is not accurately preserved. Thus
Samson confounds loquacity with a shipwreck :
How could I once look up, or heave the head,
Who like a foolish pilot, have shipwrecked
My vessel trusted to me fi'om above,.
Gloriously rigged; and for a word, a tear,
Fool I have divulg'd the secret gift of God
To a deceitful ?—
woman
And the chorus talks of adding fuel to flame in a report :
Ile's gone, and who knows how he may report
Thy words, by adding fuel to the flame?
The versification is in the dialogue much more smooth
1G6 TI1E RAMBLER. N°. 140.
and harmonious, than in the parts allotted to the chorus,

which are often so harsh and dissonant, as scarce to pre-
serve, whether the lines end with or without rhymes, any
appearance of metrical regularity :
Or do my eyes misrepresent? Can this be he,
That heroic that renown'd,
Irresistible Samson ? whom unarm'd
No strength of man, or fiercest wild beast, could withstand;
- Who tore the lion, as the lion tears the kid.
Since I have thus pointed out the faults of Milton,
critical integrity requires that I should endeavour to dis-
play his excellencies, though they will not easily be dis-
covered in short quotations, because they consist in the
justness of diffuse reasonings, or in the contexture and
method of continued dialogues ; this play having none of
those descriptions, similes, or splendid sentences, with
which other tragedies are so lavishly adorned.
Yet some passages may be selected which seem to
deserve particular notice, either as containing sentiments
of passion, representations of life, precepts of conduct, or
sallies of imagination. It is not easy to give a stronger
representation of the weariness of despondency, than in
the words of Samson to his father:
—I my feel genial spirits droop,
My hopes all flat, nature within me seems
In all her functions weary of herself;
My race of glory run, and race of shame,
And I shall shortly be with them that rest.
The reply of Samson to the flattering Delilah affords 0
just and striking. description of the stratagems and allure-
ments of feminine hypocrisy :
These thy
are wonted arts,
And arts of every woman false like thee.
To break all faith, all vows, deceive, betray ;
Then as repentant to submit, beseech,
And reconcilement move with feign'd remorse,
Confess and promise wonders in her change ;
Not truly penitent, but chief to try
Her husband, how far urg'd his patience bears,
His virtue or weakness which way to assail :
Then with more cautious and instructed skill
Again transgresses, and again submits.
When Samson has refused to make himself a spectacle
at the feast of Dagon, he first justifies his behaviour to the
chorus, who charge him with having served the Philistines,
by a very just distinction ; and then destroys the common
excuse of cowardice and servility, which always confound
temptation with compulsion :
Chor. Yet with thy strength triou serv'st the Philistines.
Sams. Not in their idol worship, but by. labour
Honest and lawful to deserve my food
Of those who have me in their civil power.
Chor. Where the heart joins not, outward acts defile not.
Sams. Where outward force constrains, the sentence
holds.
But who constrains me to the temple of Dagon,
Not dragging ? The Philistine lords command.
Commands are no constraints. If I obey them,
I do it freely, vent'ring to displease
God for the fear of man, and man prefer,
Set God behind.
The complaint of blindness which Samson pours out at
the beginning of the tragedy is equally addressed to the
passions and the fancy. The enumeration of his miseries
is succeeded by a very pleasing train of poetical images,
and concluded by such expostulations and wishes, as reason
too often submits to learn from despair : .
O first created Beam, and thou great Word,
"Let there be light, and light was over all ;"
Why am I thus bereav'd thy prime decree ?
The sun to me is dark
And silent as the moon,
When she deserts the night
Hid in her vacant interlunar cave.
Since light so necessary is to life,
And almost life itself, if it be true
That light is in the soul,
She all in every part ; why was the sight
To such a tender ball as the eye confin'd,
So obvious and so easy to be quench'd ?
And not, as feeling, through all parts diffus'd,
That she may look at will through every pore ?
Such are the faults and such the beauties of Samson

Agonistes, which I have shown with no other purpose
than to promote the knowledge of true criticism. The
everlasting verdure of Milton's laurels has nothing to fear
from the blasts of malignity ; nor can my attempt produce
any other effect, than to strengthen their shoots by lopping
their luxuriance s .
0.11.41.1.1~"ININOWW~~
Hilarisque, tamers cum ponclere, virtus. STAT.

Greatness with ease, and gay severity.
TO THE RAMBLER.
SIR,
POLITICIANS have long observed, that the great-
est events may be often traced back to slender causes.
Petty competition or casual friendship, the prudence of a
slave, or the garrulity of a woman, have hindered or pro-
moted the most important schemes, and hastened or re-
tarded the revolutions of empire.
Whoever shall review his life will generally find, that
the whole tenour of his conduct has been determined by
some accident of no apparent moment, or by a combination
of inconsiderable circumstances, acting when his imagina-
tion was unoccupied, and his judgment unsettled; and that
his principles and actions have taken their colour from
some secret infusion, mingled without design in the current
of his ideas. The desires that predominate in our hearts,
are instilled by imperceptible communications at the time
g This is notthe language or an accomplice in Lauder's imposition.—En.
when we look upon the various scenes of the world, and

the different employments of men, with the neutrality of
inexperience ; and we come forth from the nursery or the
school, invariably destined to the pursuit of great acqui-
sitions, or petty accomplishments.
Such was the impulse by which I have been kept in
motion from my earliest years. I was born to an inherit-
ance which gave my childhood a claim to distinction and
caresses, and was accustomed to hear applauses, before
they had much influence on my thoughts. The first praise
of which I remember myself sensible was that of good-
humour, which, whether I deserved it or not when it was
besto.wed, I have since made it my whole business to pro-
pagate and maintain.
When I was sent to school, the gaiety of my look, and
the liveliness of my loquacity, soon gained me admission
to hearts not yet fortified against affection by artifice or
interest. I was intrusted with every stratagem, and
associated in every sport ; my company gave alacrity to
a frolick, and gladness to a holiday. I was, indeed, so
much employed in adjusting or executing schemes of
diversion, that I had no leisure for my tasks, but was
furnished with exercises, and instructed in my lessons,
by some kind patron of the higher classes. My master;
not suspecting my deficiency, or unwilling to detect what
his kindness would not punish nor his impartiality excuse,
allowed me to escape with a slight examination, laughed
at the pertness of my ignorance, and the sprightliness of
my absurdities, and could not forbear to show that he
regarded me with such tenderness, as genius and learning
can seldom excite.
From school I was dismissed to the university, where I
soon drew upon me the notice of the younger students,
and was the constant partner of their morning walks, and
evening compotations. I was not indeed much celebrated
for literature, but was looked on with indulgence as a man
of parts, who wanted nothing but the dulness of a scholar,
and might become eminent whenever he should conde-
scend to labour and attention. My tutor awhile re-

proached- me with negligence, and repressed my sallies
with supercilious gravity; yet, having natural •good-hu-
mour lurking in his heart, he could not' long hold out
against the power of hilarity, but after a few months be-
gan to relax the muscles of disciplinarian moroseness,
received me with smiles after an elopement, and, that he
might not betray his trust to his fondness, was content to
spare my diligence by increasing his own.
Thus I continued to dissipate the gloom of collegiate
austerity, to waste my own life in idleness, and lure others
from their studies, till the happy hour arrived, .when I
was sent to London. I soon discovered the town ,to be
the proper element of youth and gaiety; and was quickly
distinguished as a wit by the ladies, a species of beings
only heard of at the university, whom I had no sooner the
happiness of approaching than I devoted all my faculties
to the ambition of pleasing them. .
A wit, Mr. Rambler, in the dialect of ladies, is not
always a man who, by the action of a vigorous fancy upon
comprehensive knowledge, brings distant ideas unexpect-
edly together, who, by some peculiar acuteness, discovers
resemblance in objects dissimilar to common eyes, or, by
mixing heterogeneous notions, dazzles the attention with
sudden scintillations of conceit. A lady's wit is a man
who can make ladies laugh, to which, however easy it may
seem, many gifts of nature, and attainments of art, must
commonly concur. He that hopes to be received as a
wit in female assemblies, should have a form neither so
amiable as to strike with admiration, nor so coarse as to
raise disgust, with an understanding too feeble to be
dreaded, and too forcible to be • despised. The other
parts of the character are more subject to variation ; it
was formerly essential to a wit, that half his back should
be covered with a snowy fleece, and, at a time yet more
remote, no man was a wit without his boots. In the
•days of the Spectator a snuffbox seems to have been
•indispensable ; but in my time an embroidered coat was
sufficient, without 'any precise regulation of the, rest of
his dress.
But wigs and boots and snuffboxes are vain, without a
perpetual resolution to be merry, and who can always find
supplies of mirth ? Juvenal, indeed, in his comparison of
the two opposite philosophers, wonders only whence an
unexhausted fountain of tears could be discharged : but
had Juvenal, with all his spirit, undertaken my province,
he would have found constant gaiety equally difficult to be
supported. Consider, Mr. Rambler, and compassionate
the condition of a man, who has taught every company to
expect from him a continual feast of laughter, an uninter-
mitted stream of jocularity. The task of every other slave
'has an end. The rower in time reaches the port; the
lexicographer at last finds the conclusion of his alphabet;
only the hapless wit has his labour always to begin, the
call for novelty is never satisfied, and one jest only raises
expectation of another.
I know that among men of learning and asperity the re-
tainers to the female world are not much regarded : yet
I cannot but hope that if you knew at how dear a rate our
honours are purchased, you would look with some gratula-
tion on our success, and with some pity on our miscarriages.
Think on the misery of him who is condemned to cultivate
barrenness and ransack vacuity ; who is obliged to continue
his talk when his meaning is spent, to raise merriment with-
out images, to harass his imagination in quest of thoughts
which he cannot start, and his memory in pursuit of narra-
tives which he cannot overtake ; observe the effort with
which he strains to conceal despondency by a smile, and
the distress in which he sits while the eyes of the com-
pany are fixed upon him as the last refuge from silence
and dejection.
It were endless to recount the shifts to which I have
been reduced, or to enumerate the different species of
artificial wit. I regularly frequented coffee-houses, and
have often lived a week upon an expression, of which he
who dropped it did not know the value. When fortune
172 • THE RAMBLER. N°. 141.
did not favour my erratick industry, I gleaned jests at home
from obsolete farces. To collect wit was indeed safe, for
I consorted with none that looked much into books, but to
disperse it was the difficulty. A seeming negligence was
often useful, and I have very successfully made a reply
not to what the lady had said, but to what it was conve-
nient for me to hear; for very few were so perverse a% to
rectify a mistake which had given occasion to a burst of
merriment. Sometimes I drew the conversation up by
degrees to a proper point, and produced a conceit which I
had treasured up, like sportsmen who boast of killing the
foxes which they lodge in the covert. Eminence is, how-
ever, in some happy moments, gained at less expense ; I
have delighted a whole circle at one time with a series of
quibbles, and made myself good company at another, by
scalding my fingers, or mistaking a lady's lap for my own
chair.
These are artful deceits and useful expedients; but
expedients are at length exhausted, and deceits detected.
Time itself, among other injuries, diminishes the power
of pleasing, and I now find, in my forty-fifth year, many
pranks and pleasantries very coldly received, which had
formerly filled a whole room with jollity and acclamation.
I am under the melancholy neceAsity of supporting that
character by study, which I gained by levity, having
learned too late that gaiety must be recommended by
higher qualities, and that mirth can never please long
but as the efflorescence of a mind loved for its luxuriance,
but esteemed for its usefulness.
I am, &c.
PAPILIUS.
NO. 142. THE RAMBLER. 173
N°. 142. SATURDAY, JULY 27, 1751.
"Evea 8' it* iviave reAtZploc-

-oi)81, lite caXouc
MoXitY, ciXX' cbravEvElev Um. (Weida-I-la Orb
Kai y4 Ba' ii irirvrro reX4toy• in; di itilKft
' Aapi 7E inT0047(1). Holum Od. I. 187.
A giant shepherd here his flock maintains
Far from the rest, and solitary reigns,
In shelter thick of horrid shade reclin'd ;
And gloomy mischiefs labour in the mind.
A form enormous! far unlike the rasa
Of human birth, in stature or in face. Pon.
TO THE RAMBLER. _
SIR,
HAVING been accustomed to retire annually from
the town, I lately accepted the invitation of Eugenio, who
has an estate and seat in a distant county. As we were
unwilling to travel without improvement, we turned often
from the direct road to please ourselves with the view of
nature or of art; we examined every wild mountain and
medicinal spring, criticised every edifice, contemplated
every ruin, and compared every scene of action with the
narratives of historians. By this succession of amusements
we enjoyed the exercise of a journey without suffering the
fatigue, and had nothing to regret but that, by a progress
so leisurely and gentle, we missed the adventures of a
post-chaise, and the pleasure of alarming villages with the
tumult of our passage, and of disguising our insignificancy
by the dignity of hurry.
The first week after our arrival at Eugenio's house was
passed in receiving visits from his neighbours, who crowded
about him with all the eagerness of benevolence; some
impatient to learn the news of the court and town, that
they might be qualified by authentick information to dic-
tate to the rural politicians ou the next bowling day ; others
desirous of his interest to accommodate disputes, or of his
advice in the settlement of their fortunes, and the marriage
of their children.
174 THE RAMBLER. • N". 142.
The civilities which he had received were soon to be re-

turned ; and I passed some time with great satisfaction in
roving through the country, and viewing the seats, gardens,
and plantations, which are scattered over it. My pleasure
would, indeed, have been greater had I been sometimes
allowed to wander in a park or wilderness alone; but to
appear as the friend of Eugenio was an honour not to be en-
joyed without some inconveniencies : so much was every
one solicitous for my regard, that I could seldom escape
to solitude, or steal a moment from the emulation of com-
plaisance, and the vigilance of officiousness.
In these rambles of good neighbourhood, we frequently
passed by a house of unusual magnificence. While I
had my curiosity yet distracted among many novelties, it
did not much attract my observation ; but in a short time
I could not forbear surveying it with particular notice ; for
the length of the wall which inclosed the. gardens, the dis-
position of the shades that waved over it, and the canals
of which I could obtain some glimpses through the trees
from our own windows, gave me reason to expect more
grandeur and beauty than I had yet seen in that province.
I therefore inquired, as we rode by it, why we never,
amongst our excursions, spent an hour where there was
such an appearance of splendour and affluence? Eugenio
told me that the seat which I so much admired, was com-
monly called in the country the haunted house, and that no
visits were paid there by any of the gentlemen whom I had
yet seen. As the haunts of incorporeal beings are gene-
rally ruinous, neglected, and desolate, I easily conceived
that there was something to be explained, and told him that I
supposed it only- fairy ground, on which we might venture
by day light without danger. The danger, says he, is in-
deed only that of appearing to solicit the acquaintance of a
man, with whom it is not possible to converse without in-
famy, and who has driven from him, by his insolence or
malignity, every human being who can live without him.
Our conversation was then accidentally interrupted ;
but my inquisitive humour being now in motion, could not
No; 142• THE RAMBLER. 175
rest without 'a full account of this newly-discovered prodigy:,

I was soon informed that the fine house and spacious gar-
dens were haunted by squire Bluster, of whom it was very
easy to learn the character, since nobody had regard for
him sufficient to hinder them from telling whatever they
could discover.
Squire Bluster is descended of an ancient family. The
estate which his ancestors had immemorially possessed was
much augmented by captain Bluster, who served under
Drake in the reign of Elizabeth ; and the Blusters, who
were before only petty gentlemen,,, have from that time fre-
quently represented the shire in parliament, been chosen
to present addresses, and given laws at hunting-matches
and races. They were eminently hospitable and popular,
till the father of this gentleman died of a fever, which he
caught in the crowd of an election. His lady went to the
grave soon after him, and left the heir, then only ten years
old, to the care of his grandmother, who would not suffer
him to be controlled, because she could not bear to hear him
cry ; and never sent him to school, because she was not able
to live without his company. She taught him, however,
very early to inspect the steward's accounts, to dog the
butler from the cellar, and to catch the servants at a junket;
so that he was at the age of eighteen a complete master
of all the lower arts of domestick policy, had often on the
road detected combinations between the coachman and the
ostler, and procured the discharge of nineteen maids for
illicit correspondence with cottagers and charwomen.
By the opportunities of parsimony which minority af-
fords, and which the probity of his guardians had diligently
improved, a very large sum of money was accumulated,
and he found himself, when he took his affairs into his own
hands, the richest man in the county. It has been long
the custom of this family to celebrate the heir's completion
of his twenty-first year, by an entertainment, at which the
house is thrown open to all that are inclined to enter it,
and the whole province flocks together as to a general
festivity. On this occasion young Bluster exhibited the
176 THE RAMBLRR. N°. 142.
first tokens of his future eminence, by shaking his purse at

an old gentleman who had been the intimate friend of his
father, and offering to wager a greater sum than he could
afford to venture ; a practice with which he has, at one
time or other, insulted every freeholder within ten miles
round him.
His next acts of offence were committed in a conten-
tious and spiteful vindication of the privileges of his ma-
nors, and a rigorous and relentless prosecution of every
man that presumed to violate his game. As he happens
to have no estate adjoining equal to his own, his oppres-
sions are often borne without resistance, for fear of a long
suit, of which he delights to count the expenses without
the least solicitude about the event ; for he knows, that
where nothing but an honorary right is contested, the
poorer antagonist must always suffer, whatever shall be the '
last decision of the law.
By the success of some of these disputes, he has so
elated his insolence, and, by reflection upon the general
hatred which they have brought upon him, so irritated his
virulence, that his whole life is spent in meditating or exe-
cuting mischief. It is his common practice to procure his
hedges to be broken in the night, and then to demand sa-
tisfaction for damages which his grounds have suffered
from his neighbour's cattle. An old widow was yesterday
soliciting Eugenio to enable her to replevin her only cow,
then in the pound by squire Bluster's order, wilt) had sent
one of his agents to take advantage of her calamity, and
persuade her to sell the cow at an under rate. He has
driven a day-labourer from his cottage, for gathering black-
berries in a hedge for his children, and has now an old
woman in the county gaol for a trespass which she com-
mitted, by coming into his grounds to pick up acorns for
her hog.
Money, in whatever hands, will confer power. Distress
will fly to immediate refuge, without much consideration
of remote consequences. Bluster has therefore a despo-
tick authority in many families, whom he has assisted, on
. N°. 142. THE RAMBLER. 177
pressing occasions, with larger sums than they can easily

repay. The only visits that he makes are to these houses
of misfortune, where he enters with the insolence of abso-
lute command, enjoys the terrours of the family, exacts
their obedience, riots at their charge, and in the height of
his joy insults the father with menaces, and the daughters
with obscenity. .
He is of late somewhat less offensive; for one of his
debtors, after gentle expostulations, by which he was only
irritated to grosser outrage, seized him by the sleeve, led
him trembling into the court-yard, and closed the door
upon him in a stormy night. He took his usual revenge
next morning by a writ ; but the debt was discharged by
the assistance of Eugenio.
It is his rule to suffer his tenants to owe him rent, be-
cause by this indulgence he secures to himself the power
of seizure whenever he has an inclination to amuse him-
self with calamity, and feast his ears with entreaties and
lamentations. Yet, as he is sometimes capriciously liberal
to those whom he happens to adopt as favourites, and lets
his lands at a cheap rate, his farms are never long unoc-
cupied ; and when one is ruined by oppression, the possi-
bility of better fortune quickly lures another to supply his
place.
Such is the life of squire Bluster; a man in whose power
fortune has liberally placed the means of happiness, but
who has defeated all her gifts of their end by the depravity
of his mind. He is wealthy without followers; he is mag-
nificent without witnesses; he has birth without alliance,
and influence without dignity. His neighbours scorn him
as a brute; his dependants dread him as an oppressor;
and he has only the gloomy comfort of reflecting, that if
he is bated, he is likewise feared.
I am, sir, &c.
VAGULUS.

—Moveat cornicula risum

Furtivis
nudata coloribus.— lion. Lib. i. Ep. iv. 19.
Lest when the birds their various colours claim,
Stripp'd of his stolen pride, the crow forlorn
Should stand the laughter of the publick scorn. Fn ANCIS.
AMONG the innumerable practices by which interest or
envy have taught those who live upon literary fame to
disturb each other at their airy banquets, one of the most
common is the charge of plagiarism. When the excel-
lence of a new composition can no longer be contested,
and malice is compelled to give way to the unanimity of
applause, there is yet this one expedient to be tried, by
which the author may be degraded, though his work be
reverenced ; and the excellence which we cannot obscure,
may be set at such a distance as not to overpower our
fainter lustre.
This accusation is dangerous, because, even when it is
false, it may be sometimes urged with probability. Bruyere
declares, that we are come into the world too late to pro-
duce any thing new, that nature and life are preoccupied,
and that description and sentiment have been long ex-
hausted. It is, indeed, certain, that whoever attempts any
common topick, will find unexpected coincidences of his
thoughts with those of other writers ; nor can the nicest
judgment always distinguish accidental similitude from
artful imitation. There is, likewise, a common stock of
images, a settled mode of _arrangement, and a beaten
track of transition, which all authors suppose, themselves
at liberty to use, and which produce the resemblance
generally observable among contemporaries. So that in
books which best deserve the name of originals, there is
little new beyond the disposition of materials already pro-
vided; the same ideas and combinations of ideas have
been long in the possession of other hands; and, by re-
storing to every man his own, as the Romans must have
returned to their cots from the possession of the world,

so the most inventive and fertile genius would reduce his
folios to a few pages. Yet the author who imitates his
predecessors only by furnishing himself with thoughts and
elegancies out of the same general magazine of literature,
can with little more propriety be reproached as a plagiary,
than the architect can be censured as a mean copier of
Angelo or Wren, because he digs his marble from the
same quarry, squares his stones by the same art, and
unites them in columns of the same orders.
Many subjects fall under the consideration of an author,
which, being limited by nature, can admit only of slight
and accidental diversities. All definitions of the same
thing must be nearly the same ; and descriptions, which
are definitions of a more lax and fanciful kind, must
always have, in some degree, that resemblance to each
other which they all have to their object. Different poets
describing the spring or the sea would mention the ze-
phyrs and the flowers, the billows and the rocks ; reflecting
on human life, they would, without any communica-
tion of opinions, lament the deceitfulness of hope, the
fugacity of pleasure, the fragility. of beauty, anti the fre-
quency of calamity ; and for palliatives of these incurable
miseries, they would concur in recommending kindness,
temperance, caution, and fortitude.
When, therefore, there are found in Virgil and Horace
two similar passages—
The tibi erunt artes
Parcere subjectis, et debellare superbos. VIRG.
To tame the proud, the fetter'd slave to free ;

These are imperial arts, and worthy thee. Dayberr.
Imperet belle II te prior, jacentem

Lenis in hasten,. lion.
Let Caesar spread his conquests far,
Less pleas'd to triumph than to spare—
it is surely not necessary to suppose with a late critick,

that one is copied from the other, since neither Virgil nor
u2
180 THE RAMBLER.. N°. 143.
Horace can be supposed ignorant of the common duties of
humanity, and the virtue of moderation in success.
• Cicero and Ovid have, on very different occasions, re-
marked how little of the honour of a victory belongs to the
general, when his soldiers and his fortune have made their
deductions ; yet why should Ovid be suspected to have•
owed to Tully an observation which, perhaps, occurs to
every man that sees or hears of military glories ?
Tully observes of Achilles, that had not Homer written,
his valour had been without praise :
• Nisi Ilias ilia eatitisset, idem tumulus qui corpus dus conteaerat, nomen
dus olaruiaet.
Unless the Iliad bad been published, his name had been lost in the
tomb that covered his body.
Horace tells us, with more energy, that there were brave
men before the wars of Troy, but they were lost in obli-
vion for want of a poet:
Visere fortes ante Agametnnona

Multi ; sed omnes illachrymabiles
Urgentur, ignotique longa
Nocte, carent quia sate sacra.
Before great Agamemnon reign'd,
Reign'd kings as great as he, and brave,
Whose huge ambition's now contain'd
In the small compass of a grave :
In endless night they sleep, unwept, unknown :
No bard had they to make all time their own. FRANCIS.
Tully inquires, in the same oration, why, but for fame,

we disturb a short life with so many fatigues ?
Quid eat quod in hoc tam eriguo vita curricula et tam brevi, tantis nos in
laboribta exerceamus?
Why in so small a circuit of life should we employ ourselves in so many
fatigues/
Horace inquires in the same manner,

Quid brevi fortes jaculamur aro
Multa?
Why do we aim, with eager strife, .
At things beyond the mark of life 1 FRANCIS.
when our life is of so short duration, why we form such

numerous designs ? But Horace, as well as Tully, might
discover that records are needful to preserve the me-
mory of actions, and that no records were so durable
as poems ; either of them might find, out that life is short,
and that we consume it in unnecessary labour.
There are other flowers of fiction so widely scattered and
so easily cropped, that it is scarcely just to tax the use of
them as an act by which any particular writer is despoiled
of his garland; for they may be said to have been planted
by the ancients in the open road of poetry for the accom-
modation of their successors, and to be the right of every-
one that has art to pluck them without injuring their
colours or their fragrance. The passage of Orpheus to
hell, with the recovery and second loss of Eurydice, have
been described after Boetius by Pope, in such a manner as
might justly leave him suspected of imitation, were not the
images such as they might both have derived from more
ancient writers :
Qum sontes agitant metu
Ultrices soden= deze
Jam trunks lacrpmis modest,
Non Isionium Caput
irelor pracipitat rota.
The pow'rs of vengeance, while they hear,
Touch'd with compassion, drop a tear :
Ixion's rapid wheel is bound,
Fix'd in attention to the sound. F. Lewis.
Thy stone, 0 Sysiphus, stands still,
lxion rests upon his wheel,
And the pale spectres dance !
The furies sink upon their iron beds. Foes.
Tandem, vineimur, arbiter
Umbrarum, miserans, ait—
Donemus, comitem Mrs,
Emtam carmine, conjugem.
Subdu'd at length, hell's pitying monarch cry'd,
The song rewarding, let us yield the bride. F. Le wis.
Ile sung; and hell consented
To hear the poet's pray'r;
Stern Proserpine relented, •
And gave him back the fair, Foes.
Hen, noctis props terminal
Orpheus Eurydicen suam
Vidit, perdidit, occidit.
Nor yet the golden verge of day begun,
When Orpheus, her unhappy lord,
Eurydice to life restor'd,
At once beheld, and lost, and was undone. F. LEWIS.
But soon, too soon, the lover turns-his eyes :
Again she falls, again she dies, she dies ! POPE.
No writer can be fully convicted of imitation, except

there is a concurrence 'of more resemblance than can be
imagined to have happened by chance ; as where the same
ideas are conjoined without any natural series or neces-
sary coherence, or where not only the thought but the
words are copied. Thus it can scarcely be doubted, that
in the first of the following passages Pope remembered
Ovid, and that in the second he copied Crashaw :
Sape pater dixit, studium quid inutile tentas?
Meronides nullas ipse reliquit opes--
Sponte sua carmen numeros veniebat ad aptos,
Et quod conabar scribere, versus eras. OVID.
Quit, quit this barren trade, my father cry'd :
Ev'n Homer left no riches when he dy'd—
In verse spontaneous flow'd my native strain,
Forc'd by no sweat or labour of the brain. F. LEWIS.
I left no calling for this idle trade;
No duty broke, no father disobey'd ;
While yet a child, ere yet a fool to fame,
I lisp'd in numbers, for the numbers came. Port.
—This plain floor,
Believe me, reader, can say more
Than many a braver marble can,
Here lies a truly honest man. CRASIIAW. •
This modest stone, what few vain marbles can,
May truly say, Here lies an honest man. POPE.
Conceits, or thoughts not immediately impressed by

sensible objects, or necessarily arising from the coalition
or comparison of common sentiments, may be with great
justice suspected whenever they are found a second time.
Thus Waller probably owed to Grotius an elegant compli-
ment :
N°. 1,43. THE RAMBLER. 183
Here lies the learned Savil's heir,
So early wise, and lasting fair,
That none, except her years they told,
Thought her a child, or thought her old. WALLEII.
Unica lux &fen, genitoris gloria, memo
Quem puerum, nemo credidit esse senem. GROT.
The►age's miracle, his,fathei's joy I
Nor old you would pronounce him, nor a hoy. F. LEWIS.
And Prior was indebted for a pretty illustration to Al-

leyne's poetical history of Henry the seventh : •
• For nought but light itself, itself can show,
And only kings can write what kings can do. ALLEYNE.
Your musick's pow'r, your musick must disclose,
For what light is, 'tis only light that shows. Paton.
And with yet more certainty may the same writer be

censured, for endeavouring the clandestine appropriation
of a thought which he borrowed, surely without thinking
himself disgraced, from an epigram of Plato :
Ty 1Tatpig r6 mirorrpoy• gra ran ply hp5ailat
Oinc Waco, .177 8' iy ircipoc, oti 8tiyapat.
Venus, take my votive glass,
Since I am not what I was ;
What from this day I shall be,
Venus, let me never see.
As not every instance of similitude can be considered

as a proof of imitation, so not every imitation ought to be
stigmatized as plagiarism. The adoption of a noble senti-
ment, or the insertion of a borrowed ornament, may some-
times display so much judgment as will almost compensate
for invention : and an inferior genius may, without any
imputation of servility, pursue the path of the ancients,
provided he declines to tread in their footsteps.
184 THE RAMBLER. .N°. 144.
N.. 144. SATURDAY, AUGUST 3, 1751.
--Daphnidis arcum
Fregisti et calamos: quiz tu, perverse Menalca,
Et quum vidisti puero donata, dolebas ;
Et, si non aliqua nocuisses, mortuus ewes. yin°. Ec. iii. 12.
The bow of Daphnis and the shafts you broke;
When the fair boy receiv'd the gift of right;
And but for mischief, you had dy'd for spite. DRYDEN.
I•r is impossible to mingle in conversation without ob-
serving the difficulty with which a new name makes its

way into the world. The first appearance of excellence
unites multitudes against it; unexpected opposition rises
up on every side; the celebrated and the obscure join in
the confederacy; subtlety furnishes arms to impudence,
and invention leads on credulity.
The strength and unanimity of this alliance is not easily
conceived. It might be expected that no man should
suffer his heart to be inflamed with malice, but by injuries;
that none should busy himself in contesting the preten-
sions of another, but when some right of his own was in-
volved in the question ; that at least hostilities, commenced
without cause, should quickly cease; that the armies of
malignity should soon disperse, when no common interest
could be found to hold them together; and that the attack
upon a rising character should be left to those who had
something to hope or fear from the event.
The hazards of those that aspire to eminence, would be
much diminished if they bad none but acknowledged rivals
to encounter. Their enemies would then be few, and,
what is yet of greater importance, would be known. But
what caution is sufficient to ward off the blows of invisible
assailants, or what force can stand against uninterrupted
attacks, and a continual succession of enemies? Yet such
is the state of the world, that no sooner can any man
emerge from the crowd, and fix the eyes of the publick
upon him, than he stands as a mark to the arrows of lurk-
ing calumny, and receives in the tumult of hostility, from
distant and from nameless hands, wounds not always easy
to be cured.
It is probable that the onset against the candidates for
renown, is originally incited by those who imagine them-
selves in danger of suffering by their success; but, when
war is once declared, volunteers flock to the standard, mul-
titudes follow the camp only for want of employment, and
flying squadrons are dispersed to every part, so pleased
with an opportunity of mischief, that they toil without pros-
pect of praise, and pillage without hope of profit.
When any man has endeavoured to deserve distinction,
he will be surprised to hear himself censured where he
could not expect to have been named ; he will find the
utmost acrimony of malice among those whom he never
could have offended.
As there are to be found in the service of envy men
of every diversity, of temper and degree of understanding,
calumny is diffused by all arts and methods of propagation.
Nothing is too gross or too refined, too cruel or too trifling,
to be practised ; very little regard is had to the rules of
honourable hostility, but every weapon is accounted law-
ful, and those that cannot make a thrust at life are content .
to keep themselves in play with petty malevolence, to
tease with feeble blows and impotent disturbance.
But as the industry of observation has divided the most
miscellaneous and confused assemblages into proper classes,
and ranged the insects of the summer, that torment us with
their drones or stings, by their several tribes ; the perse-
cutors of merit, notwithstanding their numbers, may be
likewise commodiously distinguished into Roarers, Whis-
perers, and Moderators.
The Roarer is an enemy rather terrible than dangerous.
Ile has no other qualification for a champion of controversy
than a hardened front and strong voice. Having seldom
so much desire to confute as to silence, he depends rather
upon vociferation than argument, and has very little care
to adjust one part of his accusation to another, to preserve
decency in his language, or probability in his narratives.
186 THR RAMBLER. N°. 144.
He has always a store of reproachful epithets and con-

temptuous appellations, ready to be produced as occasion
may require, which by constant use be pours out with re-
sistless volubility. If the wealth of a trader is mentioned,
he without hesitation devotes him to bankruptcy; if the
beauty and elegance of a lady be commended, he wonders
how the town can fall in love with rustick deformity; if a
new performance of genius happens to be celebrated, he
pronounces the writer a hopeless idiot, without knowledge
of books or life, and without the understanding by which
it must be acquired. His exaggerations are generally
without effect upon those whom he compels to hear them ;
and though it will sometimes happen that the timorous are
awed by his violence, and the credulous mistake his confi-
dence for knowledge, yet the opinions which he endeavours
to suppress soon recover their former strength, as the trees
that bend to the tempest erect themselves again when its
force is past.
The Whisperer is more dangerous. He easily gains at-
tention by a soft address, and excites curiosity by an air of
importance. As secrets are not to be made cheap by pro-
miscuous publication, he calls a select audience about him,
and gratifies their vanity with an appearance of trust by
communicating his intelligence in a low voice. Of the
trader he can tell that, though he seems to manage an ex-
tensive commerce, and talks in high terms of the funds, yet
his wealth is not equal to his reputation; he has lately suf-
fered much by an expensive project, and had a greater
share than is acknowledged in the rich ship that perished
by the storm. Of .the beauty he has little to say, but that
they who see her in a morning do not discover all those
graces which are admired in the Park. Of the writer he
affirms with great certainty, that though the excellence of
the work be incontestible, he can claim but a small part of
the reputation; that he owed most of the images and sen-
timents to a secret friend ; and that the accuracy and equa-
lity of the style was produced by the successive correction
of the chief criticks of the age.
NO. 144. TUE RAMBLER. 187
As every one is pleased with imagining that he knows
something not yet commonly divulged, secret history easily
gains credit ; but it is for the most part believed only while
it circulates in whispers ; and when once it is openly told,
is openly confuted.
The most pernicious enemy is the man of moderation.
Without interest in the question, or any motive but honest
curiosity, this impartial and zealous inquirer after truth is
ready to hear either side, and always disposed to kind in-
terpretations and favourable opinions. He bath heard the
trader's affairs reported with great variation, and, after a
diligent comparison of the evidence, concludes it probable
that the splendid superstructure of business being origi-
nally built upon a narrow basis, has lately been found to
totter ; but between dilatory payment and bankruptcy
there is a great distance; many merchants have supported
themselves by .expedients for a time, without any final in-
jury to their creditors ; and what is lost by one adventure
may be recovered by another. He believes that a young
lady, pleased with admiration, and desirous to make per-
fect what is already excellent, may heighten her charms
by artificial improvements, but surely most of her beauties
must be genuine, and who can say that he is wholly what
he endeavours to appear? The author he knows to be a
man of diligence, who perhaps does not sparkle with the
fire of Homer, but has the judgment to discover his own
deficiencies, and to supply them by the help of others ;
and, in his opinion, modesty is a quality so amiable and
rare, that it ought to find a patron wherever it appears,
and may justly be preferred, by the publick suffrage, to
petulant wit and ostentatious literature.
He who thus discovers failings with unwillingness, and
extenuates the faults which cannot be denied, puts an end
at once to doubt or vindication ; his hearers repose upon
his candour and veracity, and admit the charge without
allowing.the excuse.
Such are the arts by which the envious, the idle, the
Peevish, and the thoughtless, obstruct that worth which
188 , THE RAMBLER. N°.145.
they cannot equal ; and, by artifices thus easy, sordid, and

detestable, is industry defeated, beauty blasted, and ge-
nius depressed.
NYNNONPANNI.WWWWWWWW.
.
No. 145. TUESDAY, AUGUST 6, 1751.
Non, si priores Meonius tenet

Seder Homerus, Pindarice latent,
• Ceaque, et Altai minaces,
Stesichorique graves Camane. Hoe. Lib. iv. Od. ix. 5.
What though the muse her Homer thrones
High above all th' immortal quire;
Nor Pindar's raptures she disowns,
Nor hides the plaintive Crean lyre ;
Alcreus strikes the tyrant soul with dread,
Nor yet is grave Stesichorus unread. FRANCIS.
IT is allowed that vocations and employments of least

dignity are of the most apparent use ; that the meanest
artizan or manufacturer contributes more to the accommo-
dation of life, than the profound scholar and argumenta-
tive theorist; and that the publick would suffer less pre-
sent inconvenience from the banishment of philosophers
than from the extinction of any common trade.
Some have been so forcibly struck with this observation,
that they have, in the first warmth of their discovery,
thought it reasonable to alter the common distribution of
dignity, and ventured to condemn mankind of universal
ingratitude. For justice exacts, that those by whom we
are most benefited should be most honoured. And what
labour can be more useful than that which procures to
families and communities those necessaries which supply
the wants of nature, or those conveniencies by which ease,
security, and elegance, are conferred?
This is one of the innumerable theories which the first
attempt to reduce them into 'practice certainly destroys.
If we estimate dignity by immediate usefulness, agricul-
ture is undoubtedly the first and noblest science ; yet we
see the plough driven, the clod broken, the manure spread,
the seeds scattered, and the harvest reaped, by men whom

those that feed upon their industry will never be per-
suaded to admit into the same rank with heroes or with
sages ; and who, after all the confessions which 'truth may
extort in favour of their occupation, must be content to fill
up the lowest class of the commonwealth, to form the base
of the pyramid of subordination, and lie buried in obscu-
rity themselves, while they support all that is splendid,
conspicuous, or exalted.
It Will be found upon a' closer inspection, that this part
of the conduct of mankind is by no means contrary to rea-
son or equity. Remuneratory honours are proportioned
at once to the usefulness and difficulty of performances,
and are properly adjusted by comparison of the mental and
corporeal abilities, which they appear to employ. That
work, however necessary, which is carried on only by
muscular strength and manual dexterity, is not of equal
esteem, in the consideration of rational beings, with the
tasks that exercise the intellectual powers, and require the
active vigour of imagination, or the gradual and laborious
investigations of reason.
The merit of all manual occupations seems to terminate
in the inventor ; and surely the first ages cannot be charged
with ingratitude ; since those who civilized barbarians, and
taught them how to secure themselves from cold and
hunger, were numbered amongst their deities. But these
arts once discovered by philosophy, and facilitated by ex-
perience, are afterwards practised with very little assist-
ance from the faculties of the soul ; nor is any thing ne-
cessary to the regular discharge of these inferior duties,
beyond that rude observation which the most sluggish in-
tellect may practise, and that industry which the stimula-
tions of necessity naturally enforce.
Yet, though the refusal of statues and panegyrick to
those who employ only their hands' and feet in the ser-
vice of mankind may be easily justified, I am far from in-
tending to incite the petulance of pride, to justify the su-
perciliousness of grandeur, or to intercept any part of that
tenderness and benevolence which, by the privilege of

their common nature, one may claim from another.
That it would be neither wise nor equitable to discou-
rage the husbandman, the labourer, the miner, or the
smith, is generally granted ; but there is another race of
beings equally obscure and equally indigent, who, because
their usefulness is less obvious to vulgar apprehensions,
live unrewarded and die unpitied, and who have been long
exposed to insult without a defender, and to censure with-
out an apologist.
The authors of London were formerly computed by Swift
at several thousands, and there is not any reason for sus-
pecting that their number has decreased. Of these only a
very few can be said to produce, or endeavour to produce,
new ideas, to extend any principle of science, or gratify
the imagination with any uncommon train of images, or
contexture of events; the rest, however laborious, how-
ever arrogant, can only be considered as the drudges of
the pen, the manufacturers of literature, who have set up
for authors, either with or without a regular initiation, and,
like other artificers, have no other care than to deliver
their tale of wares at the stated time.
It has been formerly imagined, that he who intends the
entertainment or instruction of others, must feel in himself
some peculiar impulse of genius; that he must watch the
happy minute in which his natural fire is excited, in which
his mind is elevated with nobler sentiments, enlightened
with clearer views, and invigorated with stronger compre-
hension ; that he must carefully select his thoughts, and
polish his expressions ; and animate his efforts with the
hope of raising a monument of learning, which neither
time nor envy shall be able to destroy.
But the authors whom I am now endeavouring to re-
commend have been too long hackneyed in the ways of
men to indulge the chimerical ambition of immortality;
they have seldom any claim to the trade of writing, but
that they have tried some other without success; they
perceive no particular summons to composition, except the
N°. 145. THE RAMBLER. DI
sound of the clock ; they have no other rule than the law
or the fashion for admitting their thoughts or rejecting
them ; and' about the opinion of posterity they have little
solicitude, for their productions are seldom intended to
remain in the world longer than a week.
That such authors are not to be rewarded with praise is
evident, since nothing can be admired when it ceases to
exist; but surely, though they cannot aspire to honour,
they may be exempted from ignominy, and adopted in that
order of men which deserves our kindness, though not our
reverence. These papers of the day, the Ephemera of
learning, have uses more adequate to the purposes of com-
mon life than more pompous and durable volumes. If it
is necessary for every man to be more acquainted with his
contemporaries than with past generations, and to rather
know the events which may immediately affect his fortune
or quiet, than the revolutions of ancient kingdoms, in
which he has neither possessions nor expectations ; if it be
pleasing to hear of the preferment and dismission of states-
men, the birth of heirs, and the marriage of beauties, the
humble author ofjouruals and gazettes must be considered
as a liberal dispenser of beneficial knowledge.
Even the abridger, compiler, and translator, though
their labours cannot be ranked with those of the diurnal
historiographer, yet must not be rashly doomed to annihi-
lation. Every size of readers requires a genius of corre-
spondent capacity ; some delight in abstracts and epitomes,
because they want room in their memory for long details,
and content themselves with effects, without inquiry after
causes ; some minds are overpowered by splendour of sen-
timent, as some eyes are offended by a glaring light; such
will gladly contemplate an author in an humble imitation,
as we look without pain upon the sun in the water.
As every writer has his use, every writer ought to have
his patrons ; and since no, man, however high he may now
stand, can be certain that he shall not be soon thrown
down from his elevation by criticism or caprice, the com-
mon • interest of learning requires that her sons should
cease from intestine hostilities, and, instead of sacrificing

each other to malice and contempt, endeavour to avert
persecution from the meanest of their fraternity.
—......"..................—....—
N°. 146. SATURDAY, AUGUST 10, 1751.
Sunt illic duo, tresve, qui revolvant

Nostrarum tineas ineptiarum:
Sed cum aponsio,falthrque lasses
De scorpofuerint incitato. MART.
'Tis possible that one or two
These fooleries of mine may view ; •
But then the bettings must be o'er,
Nor Crab or Childers talk'd of more. F. LEWIS.
NONE of the projects or designs which exercise the mind

of man are equally subject to obstructions and disappoint-
ments with_ the pursuit of fame. Riches cannot easily be
denied to them who have .something of greater value to
offer in exchange; he whose fortune is endangered by
litigation, will not refuse to augment the wealth of the
lawyer; he whose days are darkened by languor, or whose
nerves are excruciated by pain, is compelled to pay tribute
to the science of healing. But praise may be always
omitted without inconvenience. When once a man has
made celebrity necessary to his happiness, he has put it iu
the power of the weakest and most timorous malignity, if
not to take away his satisfaction, at least to withhold it.
His enemies may indulge their pride by airy negligence,
and gratify their. malice by quiet neutrality. They that
could never have injured a character by invectives, may
combine to annihilate it by silence ; as the women of Rome
threatened to put an end to conquest and dominion, by
supplying no children to the commonwealth.
When a writer has with long toil produced a work in-
tended to burst upon mankind with unexpected lustre, and'
withdraw the attention of the learned world from every
other controversy or inquiry, he is seldom contented to
N°. 14G. THE RAMBLER. 193
wait long without the enjoyment of his new praises. With

an imagination full of his own importance, he walks out
like a monarch in disguise to learn the various opinions of
his readers. Prepared to feast upon admiration,; com-
posed to encounter censures without emotion; and de-
termined not to suffer his quiet to be injured by a sensi-
bility too exquisite of praise or blame, but to laugh with
equal contempt at vain objections and injudicious com-
mendations, he enters the places of mingled conversation,
sits down to his tea in an obscure corner, and, while he
appears to examine a file of antiiiimted journals, catches
the conversation of the whole room. He listens, but hears
no mention of his book, and therefore supposes that he has
disappointed his curiosity by delay; and that as men of
learning would naturally begin their conversation with
such a wonderful novelty, they had digressed to other
subjects before his arrival. The company disperses, and
their places are supplied by others equally ignorant, or
equally careless. The samedexpectation hurries him to
another place, from which the same disappointment drives
him soon away. His impatience then grows violent and
tumultuous ; he ranges over the town with restless curi-
osity, and hears in one quarter of a cricket-match, in
another of a pickpocket; is told by some of an unex-
pected bankruptcy ; by others of a turtle feast ; is some-
times provoked by importunate inquiries after the white
bear, and sometimes with praises of the dancing dog ; he
is afterwards entreated to give his judgment upon a wager
about the height of the Monument ; invited to see a foot-
race in the adjacent villages ; desired to read a ludicrous
advertisement ; or consulted about the most effectual me-
thod of making inquiry after a favourite cat. The whole
world is busied in affairs which he thinks below the notice
of reasonable creatures, and which are nevertheless suf-
ficient to withdraw all regard from his labours and his
merits.
He resolves at last to violate his own modesty, and to
recall the talkers from their folly by an inquiry after him-
R. II. 0
self. He finds every one provided with an answer ; one

has seen the work advertised, but never met with any that
had read it ; another has been so often imposed upon by
specious titles, that he never buys a book till its character
is'established ; a third wonders what any man can hope to
produce after so many writers of greater eminence ; the
next has inquired after the author, but can hear no account
of him, and therefore suspects the name to be fictitious ;
and another knows him to be a man condemned by indi-
gence to write too frequently what he does not under-
stand.
Many are the consolations with which the unhappy
author endeavours to allay his vexation, and fortify his
patience. He has written with too little indulgence to the
understanding of common readers ; he has fallen upon an
age in which solid knowledge, and delicate refinement,
have given way to low merriment, and idle buffoonery,
and therefore no writer can hope for distinction, who has
any higher purpose than torraise laughter. He finds that
his enemies, such as superiority will always raise, have
been industrious, while hg performance was in the press,
to vilify and blast it; and that the bookseller, whom he had
resolved to enrich, has rivals that obstruct the circulation
of the copies. He at last reposes upon the consideration,
that the noblest works of learning and genius have always
made their way slowly against ignorance and prejudice ;
and that reputation, which is never to be lost, must be
gradually obtained, as animals of longest life are observed
not soon to attain their full stature and strength.
By such arts .of voluntary delusion does every man en-
deavour to conceal his own unimportance from himself. It
is long before we are convinced of the small proportion
which every individual bears to the collective body of
mankind; or learn how few can be interested in the for-
tune of any single man ; how little vacancy is left in the
world for any new object of attention; to how small ex-
tent the brightest blaze of merit can be spread amidst the
mists of business and of folly; and how soon it is clouded
by the intervention' of other novelties. Not only the

writer of books, but the commander of armies, and the
deliverer of nations, will easily outlive all noisy and
popular reputation ; he may be celebrated for a. time by
the publick voice, but his actions and his name will soon
be considered as remote and unaffecting, and be rarely
mentioned but by those whose alliance gives them some
vanity to gratify by frequent commemoration.
It seems not to be sufficiently considered how little
renown can be admitted in the world. Mankind are kept
perpetually busy by their fears..or desires, and have not
more leisure from their own affairs, than to acquaint them-
selves with the accidents of the current day. Engaged in
contriving some refuge from calamity, or in shortening the
way to some new possession, they seldom suffer their
thoughts to wander to the past or future ; none but a few
solitary students have leisure to inquire into the claims of
ancient heroes or sages ; and names which hoped to range
over kingdoms and continenft, shrink at last into cloisters
or colleges.
Nor is it certain, that even of these dark and narrow
habitations, these lust retreats of fame, the possession
will be long kept. Of men devoted to literature, very
few extend their views beyond some particular science,
and the greater part seldom inquire, even in their own
profession, for any authors but those whom the present
mode of study happens to force upon their notice; they
desire not to fill their minds with unfashionable know-
ledge, but contentedly resign to oblivion those books
which they now find censured or neglected.
The hope of fame is necessarily connected with such
considerations as must abate the ardour of confidence, and
repress the vigour of pursuit. Whoever claims renown
from any kind of excellence, expects to fill the place
which is now possessed by another; for there are already
names of every class sufficient to employ all that will
desire to remember them; and surely he that is pushing
his predecessors into the gulf of obscurity, cannot but
02
sometimes suspect that he must himself sink . in like

manner, and, as he stands upon the same precipice, be
swept away with the same violence.
It sometimes happens, that fame begins when life is at
an end ; but far the greater number of candidates for ap-
plause have owed their reception in the world to some
favourable casualties, and have therefore immediately
sunk into neglect, when death stripped them of their
casual influence, and neither fortune nor patronage oper-
ated in their favour. Among those who have better
claims to regard, the honour paid to their memory is
commonly proportionate to the reputation which they en-
joyed in their lives, though still growing fainter, as it is at
a greater distance from the first emission ; and since it is
so difficult to obtain the notice of contemporaries, how
little is it to be hoped from future times ? What can merit
effect by its own force, when the help of art or friendship
can scarcely support it?
41NONWININININININOW NM1114,1.,
Ts nihil invita dices faciesve Minerra. • lion. Ar. Poet. 385.

You are of toor quick a sight,
Not to discern which way your talent lies. Roscom MON.
TO THE RAMBLER.
SIR,
As little things grow great by continual accu-
mulation, I hope you will not think the dignity of your
character impaired by an account of a ludicrous persecu-
tion, which, though it produced no scenes of horrour or
of ruin, yet, by incessant importunity of vexation, wears
away my happiness, and consumes those years which na-
ture seems particularly to have assigned to cheerfulness,
in silent anxiety and helpless resentment.
I am the eldest son of a gentleman, who having in-
herited a large estate from his ancestors, and feeling no
desire either to increase or lessen it, has, from the time of
his marriage, generally resided at his own seat; where,
by dividing his time among the duties of a father, a mas-•
ter, and a magistrate, the study of literature, and the
offices of civility, he finds means to rid himself of the day,
without any of those amusements, which all those with
whom my residence in this place has made me acquainted,
think necessary to lighten the burden of existence.
When my age made the capable of instruction, my fa-
ther prevailed upon a gentleniiiii, long known at Oxford
for the extent of his learning and. the purity of his man-
ners, to undertake my education. The regard with which
I saw him treated, disposed me to consider his instructions
as important, and I therefore soon formed a habit of at-
tention,. by which I made very quick advances in different
kinds of learning, and heard, perhaps too often, very flat-
tering comparisons of my own proficiency with that of
others, either less docile by nature, or less happily for-
warded by instruction. I was caressed by all that ex-
changed visits with my father; and as young men are with
little difficulty taught to judge favourably of themselves,
began to think that close application was no longer neces-
sary, and that the time was now come when I was at liberty
to read only for amusement, and was to receive the re-
ward of my fatigues in praise and admiration.
While I was thus banqueting upon my own perfections,
and longing in secret to escape from tutorage, my father's
brother came from London to pass a summer at his native
place. A lucrative employment which he possessed, and
a fondness for the conversation and diversions of the gay
part of mankind, had so long kept him from rural excur-
sions, that I bad never seen him since my infancy. My
curiosity was therefore strongly excited by the hope of ob-
serving a character more nearly, which I had hitherto re-
verenced only at a distance.
From all private and intimate conversation, I was long
withheld by the perpetual confluence of visitants with
198 THE RAMBLER. N0. 147.
whom the first news of my uncle's arrival crowded the

house; but was amply recompensed by seeing an exact
and punctilious practice of the arts of a courtier, in all the
stratagems of endearment, the gradations of respect, and
variations of courtesy. I remarked with what justice of
distribution he divided his talk to a wide circle; with what
address he offered to every man an occasion of indulging
some favourite topick, or displaying some particular at-
tainment; the judgment with which he regulated his in-
quiries after the absent; and the care with which he
showed all the companions of his early years how strongly
they were infixed in his memory, by the mention of past
incidents, and the recital of puerile kindnesses, dangers,
and frolicks. I soon discovered that he possessed some
science of graciousness and attraction which books had not
taught, and of which neither I nor my father had any
knowledge; that he bad the power of obliging those whom
he did not benefit; that he diffused, upon his cursory be-
haviour and most trifling actions, a gloss of softness and
delicacy by which every one was dazzled; and that, by
some occult method of captivation, he animated the timor-
ous, softened the supercilious, and opened the reserved•
I could not but repine at the inelegance of my own man-
ners, which left me no hopes but not to offend, and at the
inefficacy of rustick benevolence, which gained no friends
but by real service.
My uncle saw the veneration with which I caught every
accent of his voice, and watched every motion of his
hand ; and the awkward diligence with which I endea-
voured to imitate his embrace of fondness, and his bow
of respect. He was, like others, easily flattered by an
imitator by whom he could not fear ever to be rivalled, and
repaid my assiduities with compliments and professions.
Our fondness was so increased by a mutual endeavour to
please each other, that when he returned to London, he
declared himself unable to leave a nephew so amiable and
so accomplished behind hide; and obtained my father's
permission to enjoy my company for a few months, by a
N°. 147. THE RAMBLER, 199
promise to initiate me in the arts of politeness, and intro-

duce me into publick life.
The courtier had little inclination to fatigue, and there-
fore, by travelling very slowly, afforded me time for more
loose and familiar conversation ; but I soon found, that
by a few inquiries which he was not well prepared to
satisfy, I had made him weary of his young companion.
His element was a mixed assembly, where ceremony and
healths, compliments and common topicks, kept the tongue
employed with very little assistance from memory or reflec-
tion ; but in the chariot, where'he was necessitated to sup-
port a regular tenour of conversation, without any relief
from a new corner, or any power of starting into gay di-
gressions, or destroying argument by a jest, he soon dis-
covered that poverty of ideas which had been hitherto con-
cealed under the tinsel of politeness. The first day he
entertained me with the novelties and wonders with which
I should be astonished at my entrance into London, and
cautioned me with apparent admiration of his own wisdom
against the arts by which rusticity is frequently deluded.
The same detail and the same advice he would have re-
peated on the second day ; but as I every moment diverted
the discourse to the history of the towns by which we
passed, or some other subject of learning or of reason, he
soon lost his vivacity, grew peevish and silent, wrapped
his cloak about him, composed himself to slumber, and re-
served his gaiety for fitter auditors.
At length I entered London, and my uncle was rein-
stated in his superiority. He awaked at once to loquacity
as soon as our wheels rattled on the pavement, and told
me the name of every street as we crossed it, and owner
of every house as we passed by. He presented me to my
aunt, a lady of great eminence for the number of her ac-
quaintances, and splendour of her assemblies, and either
in kindness or revenge consulted with her, in my pre-
sence, how I might be most advantageously dressed for
my first appearance, and ►host expeditiously disencum-
bered from my villatick bashfulness. My indignation at
200 THE RAMBLER. N°f 147.
familiarity thus contemptuous flushed in my face ; they

mistook anger for shame, and alternately exerted theit
eloquence upon the benefits of publick education, and the
happiness of an assurance early acquired.
Assurance is, indeed, the only qualification to which
they seem to have annexed merit, and assurance, there-
fore, is perpetually recommended to me as the supply of
every defect, and the ornament of every excelleno. I
never sit silent in company when secret history is circu-
lating, but I am reproached for want of assurance. If I
fail to return the stated answer to a compliment; if I am
disconcerted by unexpected raillery ; if I blush when I
am discovered gazing on a beauty, or hesitate when I find
myself embarrassed in an argument; if I am unwilling to
talk of what I do not understand, or timorous in under-
taking offices which I cannot gracefully perform; if I
suffer a more lively tatter to recount the casualties of a
game, or a nimbler fop to pick up a fan, I am censured
between pity and contempt, as a wretch doomed to grovel
in obscurity for want of assurance.
I have found many young persons harassed in the same
manner, by those to whom age has given nothing but the
assurance which they recommend ; and, therefore, cannot
but think it useful to inform them, that cowardice and de-
licacy are not to be confounded ; and that he whose stu-
pidity has armed him against the shafts of ridicule, will
always act and speak with greater audacity, than they
whose sensibility represses their ardour, and who dare
never let their confidence outgrow their abilities.
No. 148. SATURDAY, AUGUST 17, 1751.
Me pater sievis oneret catenis,

Ruod viro clemens misero peperci:
Me vet eitremos Numidarum in agros
Classe releget. lion. Lib. iii. Od. xi, 45.
Me let my father load with chains,
. Or banish to Numidia's farthest plains!
My crime, that I, a loyal wife,
In kind compassion sav'd my husband's life. FILANCIS.
POLITICIANS remark, that n'd oppression is so heavy or

lasting as that which is inflicted by the perversion and ex-
orbitance of legal authority. The robber may be seized,
and the invader repelled, whenever they are found ; they
who pretend no right but that of force, may by force be
punished or suppressed. But when plunder bears the
name of impost, and murder is perpetrated by a judicial
sentence, fortitude is intimidated, and wisdom confounded:
resistance shrinks from an alliance with rebellion, and the
villain remains secure in the robes of the magistrate.
Equally dangerous and equally detestable are the cruel-
ties often exercised in private families, under the vener-
able sanction of parental authority ; the power which we
are taught to honour from the first moments of reason;
which is guarded from insult and violation by all that can
impress awe upon the mind of man; and which, therefore,
may wanton in cruelty without control, and trample the
bounds of right with innumerable transgressions, before
duty and piety will dare to seek redress, or tbink them-
selves at liberty to recur to any other means of deliver-
ance than supplications, by which insolence is elated, and
tears, by which cruelty is gratified.
It was for a long time imagined by the Romans, that no
son could be the murderer of his father; and they had
therefore no punishment appropriated to parricide. They
seem likewise to have believed with equ'al confidence,
that no father could be cruel to his child; and therefore
they allowed every man the supreme judicature in his own
house, and put the lives of his offspring into his hands.
But experience informed them by degrees, that they Ale-.
termined too hastily in favour of human nature ; they
found that instinct and habit w ere not able to contend
with avarice or malice; that the nearest relation might be
violated ; and that power, to whomsoever intrusted, might
be ill employed. They were, therefore, obliged to supply
and to change their institutions; to deter the parricide by
a new law, and to transfer capital punishments from the
parent to the magistrate.
There are, indeed, many houses which it is impossible
to enter familiarly, without discovering that parents are by
no means exempt from the intoxications of dominion ; and
that he who is in no danger of hearing remonstrances but
from his own conscience, will seldom be long without the
art of controlling his convictions, and modifying justice by
his own will.
If in any situation the heart were inaccessible to ma-
lignity, it might be supposed to be sufficiently secured by
parental relation. To have voluntarily become to any
being the occasion of its existence, produces an obligation
to make that existence happy. To see helpless infancy
stretching out her hands, and pouring out her cries in tes-
timony of depettlence, without any powers to alarm jea-
lousy, or any guilt to alienate affection, must surely awaken
tenderness in every human mind ; and tenderness once
excited will be hourly increased by the natural contagion
of felicity, by the repercussion of communicated pleasure,
by the consciousness of the dignity of benefaction. I be-
lieve no generous or benevolent man can see the vilest
animal courting his regard, and shrinking at his anger,
,
playing his gambols of delight before him, calling on hilt "
in distress, and flying to him in danger, without more kindi'
ness than he can persuade himself to feel for the wild and
unsocial inhabitants of the air and water. We naturally
endear to ourselves those to whom we impart any kind of
pleasure, because we imagine their affection and esteem
secured to us by the benefits which they receive.
There is, indeed, another method by which the pride of

superiority may be likewise gratified. He that has extin-
guished all the sensations of humanity, and has no longer
any satisfaction in the reflection that he is loved as the
distributor of happiness, may please himself with exciting
terrour, as the inflicter of pain : he may delight his soli-
tude with contemplating the extent of his power and
the force of his commands ; in imagining the desires that
flutter on the tongue which is forbidden to utter them, or
the discontent which preys on the heart in which fear con-
fines it: he may amuse himself with new contrivances of
detection, multiplications of prohibition, and varieties of
punishment ; and swell with exultation when he considers
how .little of the homage that he receives he owes to
choice.
That princes of this character have been known, the his-
tory of all absolute kingdoms will inform us ; and since, as
Aristotle observes, i otKopoiADA p.ompxta, the government of a
family is naturally monarchical, it is, like other monarchies,
too often arbitrarily administered. The regal and parental
tyrant differ only in the extent of their dominions, and the
number of their slaves. The same passions cause the same
miseries ; except that seldom any prince, however despo-
tick, has so far shaken off all awe of the publick eye, as to
venture upon those freaks of injustice, which are sometimes
indulged under the secrecy of a private dwelling. Capri-
cious injunctions, partial decisions, unequal allotments, dis-
tributions of reward, not by merit, but by fancy, and
punishments, regulated not by the degree of the offence,
but by the humour of the judge, are too frequent where no
power is known but that of a father.
That he delights in the misery of others, no man will
confess, and yet what other motive can make a father
true' ? The king may be instigated by one man to the
destruction of another ; he may sometimes think himself
endangered by the virtues of a subject ; he may dread the
successful general or the popular orator ; his avarice
may point out golden confiscations ; and his guilt may
•
204 V THE RAMBLER. N°. 148.
whisper that he can only be secure by cutting .off all

power of revenge. .
But what can a parent hope from the oppression of
those who were born to his protection; of those who can
disturb him with no competition, who can enrich him
with no spoils ? Why cowards are cruel may be easily,.
discovered ; but for what reason, not more infamous than
cowardice, can that man delight in oppression who !As
nothing to fear ?
The unjustifiable severity of a parent is loaded with this
aggravation, that those whom he injures are always in his
sight. The injustice of a prince is often exercised upon
those of whom he never bad any personal or particular
knowledge ; and the sentence which he pronounces, whe-
ther of banishment, imprisonment, or death, removes from
his view the man whom he condemns. But the domestick
oppressor dooms himself to gaze upon those faces which
he clouds with terrour and with sorrow; and beholds every
moment the effects of his own barbarities. He that can
bear to give continual pain to those who surround him,
and can walk with Satisfaction in the gloom of his own
presence ; he that can see submissive misery without re-
lenting, and meet without emotion the eye that implores
mercy, or demands justice, will scarcely be amended by
remonstrance or admonition ; he has found means of stop-
ping the avenues of tenderness, and arming his heart
against the force of reason.
Even though no consideration should be paid to the
great law of social beings, by which every individual is
commanded to consult the happiness of others, yet the,
harsh parent is less to be vindicated than any other crimi-
nal, because he less provides for the happiness of himself.
Every man, however littre he loves others, would willingly
be loved ; every man hopes to live long, and therefor
hopes for that time at which he shall sink back to imbe-
cility, and must depend for ease and cheerfulness upon
the officiousness of others. But how has he obviated the
inconveniencies of old age, who alienates from him the as-
sistance of his children, and whose bed must be surrounded

in the, last hours, in the hours of languor and dejectiori, of
impatience and of pain, by strangers to whom his life is in-
different, or by enemies to whom his death is desirable ?.
Piety will, indeed, in good minds, overcome *voca-
tion, and those who have, been harassed by brutality will
forget Die injuries which they have suffered, so far as to
perform the last duties with alacrity and zeal. But surely
no resentment can be equally painful with kindness thus
undeserved, nor can severer punishment be imprecated
upon a man not wholly lost .in meanness and stupidity,
than, through the tediousness of decrepitude, to be re-
proached by the kindness of his own children, to receive
not the tribute but the alms of attendance, and to owe
every relief of his miseries not to gratitude but to mercy.
Quod non sit Pylades hoc tempore, non sit Orestes,

Miraris? Pylades, Marce, bibebat idem.
Wee melior pan is, turdusve dabatur Oresti:
Sed par, atque eadem coma erat.—
d uobus
Te Cadmea Tyros, me pinguis Gallia vest it :
Iris to purpureum, &farce, sagatus amem ?
Ut preestem Pyladen, aliquis mihipriestet Orestem.
Hoc nonft verbis, Maree : ut ameris,ama. MART. Lib. vi. Ep. xi.
You wonder now that no man sees
Such friends as those of ancient Greece.
Here lay the point Orestes' meat
Was just the same his friend did eat;
Nor can it yet be found, his wine
ilras better, Pylades, than thine.
In home-spun russet I am drest,
Your cloth is always of the best;
But, honest Marcus, if you please
To choose me for your Pylades,
Remember, words alone are vain ;
Love if you would he lov'd again. F. Lrwrs.
TO THE RAMBLER.
SIR,
No depravity of the mind has been more frequently
or justly censured than ingratitude. There is, indeed, suf-
ficient reason for looking on those that can return evil for
good, and repay kindness and assistance with hatred or
neglect, as corrupted beyond the common degrees of wick-
edness ; nor will he, who has once been clearly detected
in acts of injury to his benefactor, deserve to be num-
bered among social beings ; he has endeavoured to destroy.
confidence, to intercept sympathy, and to turn every man's
attention wholly on himself. .
There is always danger lest the honest abhorrence of a
crime should raise the passions with too much violece
against the man to whom it is imputed. In proportion as
guilt is more enormous, it ought to be ascertained by stronger
evidence. The charge against ingratitude is very general ;
almost every Man can tell what favours he has conferred
N°, 149. VIE RAMBLER. 207
' .
upon insensibility, and how much happiness he has bestowed
without return ; but perhaps, if these patrons and °proiec-
tors were confronted with any whom they boast of having
befriended, it would often appear that they consulted only
their pleasure or vanity, and repaid themselves their petty
donativ es by gratifications of insolence and indulgence of
Contempt.
It has happened that much of my time has been passed
in a 'dependent state, and consequently I have received
many favours in the opinion of those at whose expense
I have been maintained ; yet I,do not feel in my heart any
burning gratitude or tumultuous affection ; and, as I would
not willingly suppose myself less susceptible of virtuous
passions than the rest of mankind, I shall lay the history of
my life before you, that you may, by your judgment of
my conduct, either reform, or confirm, my present sen-
timents.
My father was the second son of a very ancient and
wealthy family. He married a lady of equal birth, whose
fortune, joined to his own, might have supported his pos-
terity in honour ; bth being gay and ambitious, he prevailed
on his friends to procure him a post, which gave him an
opportunity of displaying his elegance and politeness. My
mother was equally pleased with splendour, and equally
careless of expense; they both justified their profusion to
themselves, by endeavouring to believe it necessary to the
extension of their acquaintance, and improvement of their
interest ; and whenever any place became vacant, they
expected to be repaid. In the midst of these hopes my
father was snatched away by an apoplexy ; and my mother,
who had no pleasure but in dress, equipage, assemblies, and
compliments, finding that she could, live no longer in her
accustomed rank, sunk into dejection, and in two years
wore out her life with envy and discontent.
I was sent with a sister, one year younger than myself,
to the elder brother of my father. We were not yet
capable of observing how much fortune influences affec-
tion, but flattered ourselves on the road with the tender-
208 . THE RAMBLER, N°. 149. .
ness and regard with which we should be treated by our

, uncle. •Our reception was rather frigid than malignant ;
we were introduced to our young cousins, and for the first
month more frequently consoled than upbraided; but in a-
short time we found our prattle repressed, our dress neg-,
lected, our endearments unregarded, and our requests
referred to the housekeeper.
The forms of decency were now violated, and every day
produced new insults. We were soon brought to the
necessity of receding from our imagined equality with bur
cousins, to whom we sunk into humble companions without
choice or influence, expected only to echo their opinions,
facilitate their desires, and accompany their rambles. It
was unfortunate that our early introduction into polite
company, and habitual knowledge .of the arts of civility,
had given us such an appearance of superiority to the
awkward bashfulness of our relations, as naturally drew
respect and preference from every stranger; and my aunt
was forced to assert the dignity of her own children, while
they were skulking in corners for fear of notice, and hang-
ing down their heads in silent confusion, by relating the
indiscretion of our father, displaying her own kindness,
lamenting the misery of birth without estate and de-
claring her anxiety for our future provision, and the
expedients which she had formed to secure us from those
follies or crimes, to which the conjunction of pride and
want often gives occasion. In a short time care was
taken to prevent such vexatious mistakes; we were told,
that fine clothes would only fill our heads with false
expectations, and our dress was therefore accommodated
to our fortune.
Childhood is not easily dejected or mortified. We felt
no lasting pain from insolence or neglect; but finding that
we were favoured and commended by all Whose jn'terest
did not prompt them to discountenance us, preserved our
vivacity and spirit to years of greater sensibility. It then
became irksome and disgusting to live without any princi-
ple of action but the will of another, and we often met
No 149. .. THE RAMBLER. 209_
privately;in the garden to lament our condition, and to

ease our hearts with mutual narratives of caprice, peevish- —
ness, and affront.
There Ore innumerable modes of insult, and tokens of
contempt; for which it is not easy to find a name, which.
vanish to nothing in an attempt to describe them, and yet
may, by continual repetition, make day pass after 4day in
sorrow an'd in terrour. _Phrases of cursory compliment
and established salutation may, by a different modulation
of the voice, or cast of the countenance, convey contrary
meanings, and be changed from indications of respect to
expressions of scorn. The dependant who cultivates de-
licacy in himself, very little consults his own tranquillity.
My unhappy vigilance is every moment discovering some
petulance of accent; or arrogance of mien, some vehe-
mence of interrogation, or quickness of reply, that recalls
my poverty to my mind, and which I feel more acutely, as
I know not how to resent it.
You are not, however, to imagine, that I think myself
discharged from the duties of gratitude, only because my
relations do not adjust their looks, or tune their voices to
my expectation. The insolence of benefaction terminates
not in negative rudeness or obliquities of insult. I am
often told in express terms of the miseries from which
charity has snatched me, while multitudes are suffered by
relations equally near to devolve upon the parish ; and
have more than once heard it numbered among other
favours, that 1 am admitted to the same table with my
cousins.
That I sit at the first table I must acknowledge, but I
sit thefe only that I may feel the stings of inferiority. My
inquiries are neglected, my opinion is overborne, my as-
sertions are controverted, and, as insolenee.always propa-
gates itself, the servants overlook me, in imitation of their
master ; if I call modestly, I am not heard ; if loudly, my
usurpation of authority is checked by a general frown. I
am often obliged to look uninvited upon delicacies, and
Sometimes desired to rise upon very slight pretences.
R.11. P
2I11 THE RAMBLER. N°.4).
The incivilities to which I am exposed would give me

less pain, were they not aggravated by the tears of my
sister, whom the young ladies are hourly tormenting with
every 'art of feminine persecution. As it is said of the
supreme magistrate of Venice, that he is a prince in one
place, and a slave in another, my sister is a servant to her
cousins in their apartments, and a conipanion only at the
table. Her wit and beauty draw so much regard away
from them, that they never suffer her to appear with them
in any place where they solicit notice, or expect admira-
tion ; and when they are visited by neighbouring ladies,
and pass their hours in domestick amusements, she• is
sometimes called to fill a vacancy, insulted with contemp-
tuous freedoms, and dismissed to her needle, when her
place is supplied. The heir of late, by the instigation
of his sisters, begun to harass her with clownish jocularity ;
he seems inclined to make his first rude essays of waggery
upon her; and by the connivance, if not encouragement,
of his father, treats her with such licentious brutality, as I
cannot bear, though I cannot punish it.
I beg to, be informed, Mr. Rambler, how much we can
be supposed to owe to beneficence, exerted on terms like
these? to beneficence which pollutes its gifts with con-
tumely, and may be truly said to pander to pride? I
would willingly be told, whether insolence does not re-
ward its own liberalities, and whether he that exacts ser-
vility can, with justice, at the same time, expect affection?
I am, sir, &c.
Hy? ERDULLIF,
Na. 150. THE RAMBLER. 211
N.. 150. SATURDAY, AUGUST' 24, 1751.
--0 munera nondtun

Inteilecta Dettm ! LIMAN%
—Thoti good!
chiefest
Bestoir'd by heav'n, but seldom understood. Roes.
•
As daily experience makes it evident that misfortunes are

unavoidably incident to human life, that calamity will
neither be repelled by fortitude, . nor escaped by flight;
neither awed by greatness, nor eluded by obscurity ; phi-
losophers have endeavoured to reconcile us to that condition
which they.canuot teach us to mend, by persuading us that
most of our evils are made afflictive only by ignorance or
perverseness, and that nature has annexed to every vicissi-
tude of external circumstances some advantage sufficient
to overbalance all its inconveniencies.
' This attempt may, perhaps, be justly suspected of re-
semblance to the practice of physicians, who, when they
cannot mitigate pain, destroy sensibility, and endeavour
to conceal, by opiates, the inefficacy of their other medi-
cines. The panegyrists of calamity have more frequently
gained applause to their wit, than acquiescence to their
arguments; nor has it appeared that the most musical
oratory, or subtile ratiocination, has been able long to over-
power the anguish of oppression, the tediousness of languor,
or the longings of want.
Yet, it may be generally remarked, that, where much
has been attempted, something has been performed;
though the discoveries or acquisitions of man are not
always adequate to the expectations of his pride, they are
at least sufficient to animate his industry. The antidotes
with which philosophy has medicated the cup of life, though
they cannot give it salubrity and sweetness, have at least
allayed its bitterness, and contempered its malignity ; the
balm which she drops upon the wounds of the mind abates
their pain, though it cannot heal them.
r2
By suffering willingly what we cannot avoid, we secure

ourselves from vain and immoderate disquiet; we preserve
for better purposes that strength which would be unprofit-
ably wasted in wild efforts of desperation, and maintain
that circumspection which may enable us to seize every
support, and improve every alleviation. This calmness
will be more easily obtained, as the attention is more
powerfully withdrawn from the contemplation of unmingled,
unabated evil, and diverted. to those accidental benefits
which prudence may confer on every state.
Seneca has attempted not only to pacify us in misfor-
tune, but almost to allure us to it, by representing it as
necessary to the pleasures of the mind. He that never
was acquainted with adversity, says he, has seen the world
but on one side, and is ignorant of half the scenes of nature.
He invites his pupil to calamity, as the "Syrens allured
the passenger to their coasts, by promising that he shall
return 7rXdovez en k, with increase of knowledge, with en-
larged views, and multiplied ideas.
Curiosity is, in great and generous minds, the first
passion and the last ; and perhaps always predominates in
proportion to the strength of the contemplative faculties.
He who easily comprehends all that is before him, and
soon exhausts any single subject, is always eager for new
inquiries ; and in proportion as the intellectual eye takes
in a wider prospect, it must be gratified with variety by
more rapid flights, and bolder excursions; nor perhaps
can there be proposed to those who have been accustomed
to the pleasures of thought, a more powerful incitement
to any undertaking, than the hope of filling their' fancy
with new images, of clearing their doubts, and enlightening
their reason.
When Jason, in Valerius Flaccus, would incline the
young prince Acastus to accompany him in the first essay
of navigation, he disperses his apprehensions of danger by
representations of the new tracts of earth and heaven, which
the expedition would spread before their eyes; and tells
him with what grief be will hear, at their return, of the
countries which they shall have seen, and the toils which
they have surmounted : .
0 quantum terra, quantum cognoscere can,
Permissum est ! pelages pantos aperimus in uses!
Nunc forsan grave reris opus: sed beta recurret
Cum ratis, et carom cum jam mihi reddet lolcon ;
Reis pudor hee nostros tibi tune audire labores !
Quam referam visas tea per Ittspir genies! Alto. Lib. i. 168.
Led by our stars, what tracts immense we trace !
From seas remote, what funds of science raise!
A pain to thought! but when the heroic band
Returns applauded to their naive land, ,
A life domestick you will then 'deplore,
And sigh while I describe the various shore. Enw. CAVE.
Acastus was soon prevailed upon by his curiosity to set

rocks and hardships at defiance, and commit his life to the
Winds ; and the same motives have in all ages had the
same effect upon those whom the desire of fame or wisdom
has distinguished from the lower orders of mankind.
If, therefore, it can be proved that distress is necessary
to the attainment of knowledge, and that a happy situation
hides from us so large a part of the field of meditation, the
envy of many who repine at the sight of affluence and
splendour will be much diminished ; for such is the delight
of mental superiority, that none on whom nature or study
has conferred it, would purchase the gifts or fortune by
its loss.
It is certain, that however the rhetorick of Seneca may
have dressed adversity with extrinsick ornaments, he has
justly represented it as affording some opportunities of ob-
servation, which cannot be found in continual success; he
has truly asserted, that to escape misfortune is to want in-
struction, and that to live at ease is to live in ignorance.
As no man can enjoy happiness without thinking that he
enjoys it, the experience of calamity is necessary to a just
sense of better fortune ; for the good of our present state
is merely comparative, and the evil which every man feels
will be sufficient to disturb and harass him, if he does not
know how much he escapes. The lustre of diamonds is
214 THE RAMELEE. N°. 150.
invigorated by the interposition of darker bodies ; the

lights of a picture are created by the shades. The highest
pleasure which nature has indulged to sensitive perception,
is that of rest after fatigue ; yet, that state which labour
heightens into delight, is of itself only ease, and is in-
capable of satisfying the mind without the superaddition of
diversified amusements.
Prosperity, as is truly asserted by Seneca, very much
obstructs the knowledge of ourselves. No man can form
a just estimate of his own powers by unactive speculation.
That fortitude which has encountered no dangers, that
prudence which has surmounted no difficulties, that inte-
grity which has been attacked by no temptations, can at
best be considered but as gold not yet brought to the test,
of which, therefore, the true value cannot be assigned. He
'that traverses the lists without an adversary, may receive,
says the philosopher, the reward of victory, but he has no
pretensions to the honour. If it be the highest happiness
of man to contemplate himself with satisfaction, and to re-
ceive the gratulations of his own conscience ; he whose
courage has made way amidst the turbulence of opposition,
and whose vigour has broken through the snares of distress,
has many advantages over those that have slept in the
shades of indolence, and whose retrospect of• time can
entertain them with nothing but day rising upon day, and
year gliding after year.
Equally necessary is some variety of fortune to a nearer
inspection of the manners, principles, and affections, of
mankind. Princes, when they would know the opinions or
grievances of their subjects, find it necessary to steal away
from guards and attendants, and mingle on equal terms
_among the people. To him who is known to have the
power of doing good or harm, nothing is shown in its
natural form. The behaviour of all that approach him is
regulated by his humour, their narratives are adapted to
his inclination, and their reasonings determined by his opi-
nions ; whatever can alarm suspicion, or excite resentment,
is carefully suppressed, and nothing appears but uniform'
Nu. 151. THE RAMBLER. 215
ity of sentiments, and ardour of affection. It may be ob-

served, that the unvaried complaisance which ladies have
the right of exacting, keeps them generally .unskilled in
-human nature ; prosperity will always enjoy the female
prerogatives, and therefore must be always in danger of
female ignorance. Truth is scarcely to be heard but by
those froni whom it-can serve no interest to conceal it.
••••••••
ISTo. 151. TUESDAY, AUGUST 27, 1751.

...
--'4"coir - &WO
Mon/ 4i6 p t a i v dtorXaKicri
'A vapiOparot Kpipa prat.
Tarr° X dpaxavov eii pay,
"0 n vin,, Kai iv rEXev-
ri Olprarov dvdpi rvysTv. PIND. Olymp. vii. 43.
But wrapt in error is the human mind,
And human bliss is ever insecure:
Know we what fortune yet remains behind I
Know we how long the present shall endure ? Wssr.
THE writers of medicine and physiology have traced, with
great appearance of accuracy, the effects of time upon the
human body, by marking the various periods of the consti-
tution, and the several stages by which animal life makes
its progress from infancy to decrepitude. Though their
•observations have not enabled them to discover how man-
hood may be accelerated, or old age retarded, yet surely,
if they be considered only as the amusements of curiosity,
they are of equal importance with conjectures on things
more remote, with catalogues of the fixed stars, and calcu-
lations of the bulk of planets.
It had been a task worthy of the moral philosophers, to
have considered with equal care the climactericks of the
mind; to have pointed out the time at which every pas-
sion begins and ceases to predominate, and noted the
regular variations of desire, and the succession of one
appetite to another.
The periods of mental change are not to be stated with
216 TH E RAM BLER. N°. 151.
equal certainty ; our bodies grow up under the care of

nature, and depend so little on our own management, that
something more • than negligence is necessary to discom-
posg their- structure, or impede their vigour. But our
minds are committed, in a great measure, first to the di-
rection' of others, and afterwards of ourselves. It would
be difficult to protract the weakness of infancy beyond the
usual time, but the mind may be very easily hindered from
its, share of improvement, and the bulk, and strength of
manhood must, without the assistance of education and
instruction, be informed only with the understanding of a
child.
Yet, amidst all the disorder and inequality which variety
of discipline, example, conversation, and employment,
produce in the intellectual advances of different men,
there is still discovered, by a vigilant spectator, such a
general and remote similitude, as may be expected in the
same common nature, affected by external circumstances
indefinitely yaried. We all enter the world in equal
ignorance, gaze round about us on the same objects, and
have our first pains and pleasures, our first hopes and
fears, our first aversions and desires, from the same
causes ; and though, as we proceed further, life opens
wider prospects to our view, and accidental impulses de-
termine us to different paths, yet as every mind, however
vigo.rous or abstracted, is necessitated, in its present state
of union, to receive its informations, and execute its pur-
poses, by the intervention of the body, the uniformity of
our corporeal nature communicates itself to our intellectual
operations ; and those whose abilities or knowledge incline
them most to deviate from the general round of life, are
recalled from eccentricity by the laws of their existence.
If we consider the excercises of the mind, it will be
found that in each part of life some particular faculty is
more eminently employed. When the treasures of know-
ledge are first opened before us, while novelty blooms alike
on either hand, and every thing, equally unknown and un-
examined, seems of equal value, the power of the soul
No. 151 . THE RAMBLER. 217
is principally exerted in a vivacious and desultory curiosity.

She applies by turns to every object, enjoys it for a short
time, and flies with equal ardour to another. She delights
to catch up loose and unconnected ideas; but starts away
from systems and complications, which would obstruct the
rapidity of her transitions, and detain her long in the same
pursuit.
When a number of distinct images are collected by
These erratick and hasty surveys, the fancy is busied in
arranging them; and combines them into pleasing pictures,
with more resemblance to the realities of life, as q:perience
advances, and new observations rectify the former. While
the judgment is yet uninformed, and unable to compare the
draughts of fiction with their originals, we are delighted
with improbable adventures, impracticable virtues, and
inimitable characters : but, in proportion as we have more
opportunities of acquainting ourselves• with living nature,
we are sooner disgusted with copies in which there appears
no resemblance. We first discard absurdity and impossi-
bility, then exact greater and greater degrees of proba-
bility, but at last become cold and insensible to the charms
of falsehood, however specious, and, from the imitations of
truth, which are never perfect, transfer our affection to
truth itself.
Now commences the reign of judgment or reason ; wo
begin to find little pleasure but in comparing arguments,
stating propositions, disentangling perplexities, clearing
ambiguities, and deducing consequences. The painted
vales of imagination are deserted, and our intellectual ac-
tivity is exercised in winding through the labyrinths of
fallacy, and toiling with firm and cautious steps up the
narrow tracks of demonstration. Whatever may lull vigi-
lance, or mislead attention, is contemptuously rejected,
and every disguise in which errour may be concealed, is
carefully observed, till, by degrees, a certain number of
incontestable or unsuspected propositions are established,
and at last concatenated into arguments, or compacted
into systems.
218 THE RAMBLER. .No. 151.
At length weariness succeeds to labour, and the mind

lies at ease in the contemplation of her own attainments,
without any desire of new conquests or excursions. This
is the age of recollection and narrative ; the opinions are
settled,. and the avenues of apprehension shut against any
new intelligence ; the days that are to follow must pass in
the inculcation of precepts already collected, and assertion
of tenets already received ; nothing is henceforward so
odious as opposition, so insolent as doubt, or so dangerous
as novelty.
In like manner the passions usurp the separate com-
mand of the successive periods of life. To the happiness
of our first years nothing more seems necessary than free-
dom from restraint : every man may remember that if he
was left to himself, and indulged in the disposal of his own
time, he was once content without the superaddition of
any actual pleasure. The new world is itself a banquet;
and, till we have exhausted the freshness of life, we have
always about us sufficient gratifications : the sunshine
quickens us to play, and the shade invites us to sleep.
But we soon become unsatisfied with negative felicity,
and are solicited by our senses and appetites to more
powerful delights, as the taste of him who has satisfied his
hunger must be excited by artificial stimulations. The
simplicity of natural amusement is now past, and art and
contrivance must improve our pleasures; but in time, art,
like nature, is exhausted, and the senses can no longer
supply the cravings of the intellect.
The attention is then transferred from pleasure to in-
terest, in which pleasure is perhaps included, though dif-
fused to a wider extent, and protracted through new gra-
dations. Nothing now dances before the eyes but wealth
and power, nor rings in the ear, but the voice of fame ;
wealth, to which, 'however variously denominated, every
man at some time or other aspires ; power, which all wish
to obtain within their circle of action ; and fame, which uo
man, however high or mean, however wise or ignorant ,.
was yet able to despise. Now prudence and foresight
exert their influence : no hour is devoted wholly to any

present enjoyment, no act or purpose terminates in itself,
but every motion is referred to some distant end ; the ac-
complishment of one design begins another, and the ulti-
mate wish is always pushed off to its former distance.
At length fame is observed to be uncertain, and power
to be dangerous; the man whose vigour and alacrity begin-
to forsake him, by degrees contracts his designs, remits his
former multiplicity of pursuits, and extends no longer his
regard to any other honour than the reputation of wealth,
or any other influence than his power. Avarice is gene-
rally the last passion of those lives of which the first part
has been squandered in pleasure, and the second devoted
to ambition. He that sinks under the fatigue of getting
wealth, lulls his age with the milder business of saving it.
1 have in this view of life considered man as actuated
only by natural desires, and yielding to their own inclina-
tions, without regard -to superior principles, by which the
force of external agents may be counteracted, and the
temporary prevalence of passions restrained. Nature will,
indeed, always operate; human desires will be always
ranging; but these motions, though very powerful, are not
resistless ; nature may be regulated, and desires governed ;
and, to contend with the predominance of successive pas-
sions, to be endangered first by one affection, and then
by another, is the condition upon which we are to pass
our time, the time of our preparation for that state which •
shall put an end to experiment, to disappointment, and to
change.
No. 152. SATURDAY, AUGUST 31, 1751.
Tristia mcestum
Valium verba decent, iratum plena minarum. Hon. De Ar. Poet. 105.
Disastrous words can best disaster show;
In angry phrase the angry passions glow. ELPH INSTON.
IT was the wisdom," says Seneca, " of ancient times, to
consider what is most useful is most illustrious." If this
rule be applied to works of genius, scarcely any species
of composition deserves more to be cultivated than the
epistolary style, since none is of more various or frequent
use through the whole subordination of human life.
It has yet happened that, among the numerous writers
which our nation has produced, equal, perhaps, always in
force and genius, and of late in elegance and accuracy, to
those of any other country, very few have endeavoured to
distinguish themselves by the publication of letters, except
such as were written in the discharge of publick trusts, and
during the transaction of great affairs ; which, though they
afford precedents to the minister, and memorials to the
historian, are of no use as examples of the familiar style,
or models of private correspondence.
It' it be inquired by foreigners, how this deficiency has
happened in the literature of a country, where all indulge
themselves, with so little danger, in speaking and writing,
may we not, without either bigotry or arrogance, inform
them, that it must be imputed to our contempt of trifles,
and our due sense of the dignity of the publick? We do
not think it reasonable to fill the world with volumes from
which nothing can be learned, nor expect that the employ-
ments of the busy, or the amusements of the gay, should
give way to narratives of our private affairs, complaints of
absence, expressions of fondness, or declarations of fidelity.
A slight perusal of the innumerable letters by which thet
wits of France have signalized their names, will prove that
other nations need not be discouraged from the like at-
tempts by the consciousness of inability; for surely it is
not very difficult to aggravate trifling misfortunes, to mag- —

nify familiar incidents, repeat adulatory professions, accu-
mulate servile hyperboles, and produce all that can be
found in the despicable remains of Voiture and Scarron.
Yet, as much of life must be passed in affairs consider-
able only by their frequent oocurrence, and much of the
pleasure which our condition allows, must be produced by
giving elegance to trifles, it is necessary to learn how to -
become little without becoming mean, to maintain the ne-
cessary intercourse of civility, and fill up the vacuities of
actions by agreeable appearances. It had therefore been
of advantage, if such of our writers as have excelled in the
art of decorating insignificance, had supplied us with a few
sallies of innocent gaiety, effusions of honest tenderness, or
exclamations of unimportant burry.
Precept has generally been posterior to performance.
The art of composing works of genius has never been
taught but by the example of those who performed it by
natural vigour of imagination, and rectitude of judgment.
As we have few letters, we have likewise few criticisms
upon the epistolary style. The observations with which
Walsh has introduced his pages of inanity, are such as give
him little claim to the rank assigned him by Dryden among
the criticks. Letters, says he, are intended as resemblances
of conversation, and the chief excellencies of conversation
are good humour and good breeding. This remark, equally
valuable for its novelty and propriety, he dilates and en-
forces with an appearance of complete acquiescence in his
own discovery.
No man was ever in doubt about the moral qualities of
a letter. It has been always known that he who endea-
vours to please must appear pleased, and he who would not
provoke rudeness must not practise it. But the question
among those who establish rules for an epistolary per-
formance is, how gaiety or civility may be properly ex-
pressed ; as among the criticks in history it is not con-
tested whether truth ought to be preserved, but by what
Mode of diction it is best adorned.
As letters are written on all subjects, in all states of

mind, they cannot be properly reduced to settled rules, or
described by any single characteristick : and we may safely
disentangle our minds from critical embarrassments, by de-
termining that a letter has no peculiarity but its form, and
that nothing is to be refused admission, which would be
proper in any other method of treating the same subject.
The qualities of the epistolary style most frequently re-
quired, are ease and simplicity, an even flow of unlaboured
diction, and an artless arrangement of obvious sentiments.
But these directions are no sooner applied to use, than
their scantiness and imperfection become evident. Let-
ters are written to the great and to the mean, to the
learned and the ignorant, at rest and in distress, in sport
and in passion. Nothing can be more improper than ease
and laxity of expression, when the importance of the sub-
ject impresses solicitude, or the dignity of the person
exacts reverence.
That letters should be written with strict conformity to
nature is true, because nothing bid conformity to nature
can make any composition beautiful or just. But it is na-
tural to depart from familiarity of language upon occasions
not familiar. Whatever elevates the sentiments will con-
sequently raise the expression ; whatever fills us with hope
or terrour, will produce some perturbation of images and
some figurative distortions of phrase. Wherever we are stu-
dious to please, we are afraid of trusting our first thoughts,
and endeavour to recommend our opinion by studied orna-
ments, accuracy of method, and elegance of style.
If the personages of the comick scene be allowed by
Horace to raise their language in the transports of anger
to the turgid vehemence of tragedy, the epistolary writer
may likewise without censure comply with the varieties of
his matter. If great events are to be related, he may with
all the solemnity of an historian deduce them from their
causes, connect them with their concomitants, and trace
them to their consequences. If a disputed position is to
be established, or a remote principle to be investigated, he
N°. 1,52. THE RAMBLER. 223
may detail his reasonings with 'all the nicety of syllogistick .

method. If a menace is to be averted, or a benefit im-
plored, he may, without any violation of the edicts of
criticism, call every power of rhetorick to his assistance,
and try every inlet at which love or pity enters the heart.'
Letters that have no other end than the entertAnment of
the correspondents are more properly regulated by critical
precepts, because the matter and style are equally arbi-
trary, and rules are more necessary, as there is a larger
power of choice. In letters of this kind, some conceive
art graceful, and others think,,pegligence amiable ; some
model them by the sonnet, and will allow them no means
of delighting but the soft lapse of calm mellifluence ;
others adjugt them by the epigram, and expect pointed
sentences and forcible periods. The one party considers
exemption from faults as the height of excellence, the
other looks upon neglect of excellence as the most disgust-
ing fault; one avoids censure, the other aspires to praise;
one is always in danger of insipidity, the other continually
on the brink of affectation.
When the subject has no intrinsick dignity, it must ne-
cessarily owe its attractions to artificial embellishments,
and may catch at all advantages which the art of writing
can supply. He that, like Pliny, sends his friend a por-
tion for his daughter, will, without Pliny's eloquence or
address, find means of exciting gratitude, and securing
acceptance; but he that has no present to make but a
garland, a riband, or some petty curiosity, must endea-
vour to recommend it by his manner of giving it.
The purpose for which letters are written when no in-
telligence is communicated, or business transacted, is to
preserve in the minds of the absent either love or esteem :
to excite love we must impart pleasure, and to raise es-
teem we must discover abilities. Pleasure will generally,,
be given, as abilities are displayed by scenes of imagery,
points of conceit, unexpected sallies, and artful compli-
ments. Trifles always require exuberance of ornament;
the building which has no strength can be valued only for
224 • THE RAMBLER. No. 153.
the grace of its decorations.' The pebble must be polished

-with care, which hopes to be valued as a diamond ; and
words ought surely to be laboured, when they are intended
to stand for things.
MOMP-np.1.0.4.0•••••••••••
No. 153. TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 3, 1751.
Turbo Remit Sequitur Fortunam, tit temper, et odit

Dumnatos. Jut. Sat. x. 73.
The fickle crowd with fortune comes and goes ; .
Wealth still finds followers, and misfortune foes.
TO THE RAMBLER.
SIR,
THERE are occasions on which all apology is rude-
ness. He that has an unwelcome message to deliver, may
give some proof of tenderness and delicacy, by a ceremo-
nial introduction and gradual discovery, because the mind,
upon which the weight of sorrow is to fall, gains time for
the collection of its powers ; but nothing is more absurd
than to delay the communication of pleasure, to torment
curiosity by impatience, and to delude hope by anticipa-
tion.
I shall therefore forbear the arts by which correspondents
generally secure admission, for I have too long remarked
the power, of lenity, to doubt that I shall he read by you
with a disposition to approve, when I declare that my nar-
rative has no other tendency than to illustrate and cor-
roborate your own observations.
I was the second son of a gentleman, whose patrimony
had been wasted by a long succession of squanderers, till
'he was unable to support any of his children, except his
heir, in the hereditRry dignity of idleness. Being there-
fore obliged to employ that part of life in study which my
progenitors had devoted to the hawk and hound, I was in
N°. 153. THE RAMBLER. 2.25
. .
my eighteenth year despatched to the university, without
any rural honours. I had never killed a single woodcock,
nor partaken one triumph over a conquered fox.
At the university I continued to enlarge my acquisitions
with little envy of the noisy happiness which my elder
brother had the fortune to enjoy; and, having obtained
my degree, retired to consider at leisure to what profes-
sion I should confine that application which had hitherto
been dissipated in general knowledge. To deliberate
upon a choice which custom and honour forbid to be re-
tracted, is certainly reasonable ;Jet to let loose the atten-
tion equally to the advantages and inconveniencies of every
employment is not without danger; new motives are every
moment operating on every side; and mechanicks have
long ago discovered, that contrariety of equal attractions
is equivalent to rest.
While I was thus trifling in uncertainty, an old adven-
turer, who had been once the intimate friend of my father,
arrived from the Indies with a large fortune ; which he
bad so much harassed himself in obtaining, that sickness
and infirmity left him no other desire than to die in his na-
tive country. His wealth easily procured him an invita-
tion to pass his life with us; and, being incapable of any
amusement but conversation, he necessarily became fami-
liarized .to me, whom he found studious and domestick.
Pleased with an opportunity of imparting my knowledge,
and eager of any intelligence that might increase it, I de-
lighted his curiosity with historical narratives and explica-
tions of nature, and gratified his vanity by inquiries after
the products of distant countries, and the customs of their
inhabitants.
My brother saw how much I advanced in the favour of
our guest, who, being without heirs, was naturally expected
to enrich the family of his friend, but never attempted to
alienate me, nor to ingratiate himself. He was, indeed,
little qualified to solicit the affection of a traveller, for the
remissness of his education had left him without any rule
of action but his present humour. He often forsook the
R. H. Q
226 THE RAMBLER. lc". l53•
•
old gentleman in the midst of an adventure, because the
horn sounded in the court-yard, and would have lost an
opportunity, not only of knowing the history, but sharing
the wealth of the mogul, for the trial of a new pointer, or
the sight of a horserace,
It was, therefore, not long before our new friend declared
his intention of bequeathing to me the profits of his com-
merce, as the only man in the family by whom he could
expect them to be rationally enjoyed. This distinction
drew upon me .the envy not only of my brother but my
father.
As no man is willing to believe that he suffers by his own
fault, they imputed the preference which I had obtained, to
adulatory compliances, or malignant calumnies. To no
purpose. did I call upon my patron to attest my innocence,
for who will believe what he wishes to be false? In the
heat of disappointment they forced their inmate by repeated
insults to depart from the house, and I was soon, by the
same treatment, obliged to follow him.
He chose his residence in the confines of London, where
rest, tranquillity, and medicine, restored him to part of
the health which he had lost. I pleased myself with per-
ceiving that I was not likely to obtain the immediate pos-
session of wealth which no labour of mine had contributed
to acquire ; and that he, who had thus distinguished me,
might hope to end his life without a total frustration of
those blessings, which, whatever be their real value, he
had sought with so much diligence, and purchased with so
many vicissitudes of danger and fatigue.
He, indeed, left me no reason to repine at his recovery,
for he was willing to accustom me early to the use of
money, and set apart for my expenses such a revenue as
I had scarcely dared to image. I can yet congratulate
myself that fortune has seen her golden cup once tasted
without inebriation. ' Neither my modesty nor prudence
was overwhelmed by affluence ; my elevation was without
insolence, and my expense without profusion. Employing
the influence which money always confers, to the improve'
N°: 153. THE RAMBLER. 227
ment of my understanding, I mingled in parties of gaiety,

and in conferences of learning, appeared in every place
where instruction was to be found, and imagined that, by
ranging through all the diversities of life, I had acquainted
myself fully with human nature, and learned all that was
to be known of the ways of men.
It happened, however, that I soon discovered how much
was wanted to the completion of my knowledge, and found
that, according to Seneca's remark, I had hitherto seen the
world but on one side. My patron's confidence in his in-
crease of strength tempted him. to carelessness and irregu-
larity ; he caught a fever by riding in the rain, of which
he died delirious on the third day. I buried him without
any of the heir's affected grief or secret exultation ; then
preparing to take a legal possession of his fortune, I opened
his closet, where I found a will, made at his first arrival,
by which my father was appointed the chief inheritor, and
nothing was left me but a legacy sufficient to support me
in the prosecution of my studies.
I had not yet found such charms in prosperity as to con-
tinue it by any acts of forgery or injustice, and made haste
•to inform my father of the riches which had been given
him, not by the preference of kindness, but by the delays
of indolence and cowardice of age. The hungry family
flew like vultures on their prey, and soon made my disap-
pointment publick, by the• tumult of their claims, and the
splendour of their sorrow.
It was now my part to consider how I should repair the
disappointment. I could not but triumph in my long list
of friends, which comprised almost every name that power
or knowledge entitled to eminence ; and, in the pl•ospect
of the innumerable roads to honour and preferment, which
I had laid open to myself by the wise use of temporary
riches, I believed nothing necessary but that I should con-
tinue that acquaintance to which I had been so readily
admitted, and which had hitherto been cultivated on both
sides with equal ardour.
Full of these expectations, I one morning ordered a
v 2
chair, with an intention to make my usual circle of morning

visits. Where I first stopped I saw two footmen lolling at
the door, who told me without any change of posture, or
collection of countenance, that their master was at home,
and suffered me to open the inner door without assistance.
I found my friend standing, and, as I was tattling with my
former freedom, was formally entreated to sit down ; but
did not stay to be favoured with any further condescen-
sions.
My next experiment was made at the levee of a states-
man, who received me with an embrace of tenderness, that
he might with more decency publish my change of fortune
to the sycophants about him. After he had enjoyed the
triumph of condolence, he turned to a wealthy stockjob-
ber, and left me exposed to the scorn of those who had
lately courted my notice, and solicited my interest.
I was then set down at the door of another, who, upon
my entrance, advised me, with great solemnity, to think of
some settled provision for life. I left him, and hurried
away to an old friend, who professed himself unsusceptible
of any impressions from prosperity or misfortune, and beg-
ged that he might see me when he was more at leisure.
Of sixty-seven doors, at which I knocked in the first
week after my appearance in a mourning dress, I was de-
nied admission at forty-six ; was suffered at fourteen to
wait in the outer room till busine§s was despatched ; at
four, was entertained with a few questions about the wea-
ther; at one, heard the footman rated for bringing my
name ; and at two was informed, in the flow of casual con-
versation, how much a man of rank degrades himself by
mean cbmpany.
My curiosity now led me to try what reception I should
find among the ladies; but I found that my patron had
carried all my powers of pleasing to the grave. I had
formerly been celebrated as a wit, and not perceiving any
languor in my imagination, I essayed to revive that gaiety
which bad hitherto broken out involuntarily before my
sentences were finished. My remarks were now heard
No, 154. TII B RAMBLER. 229
with a steady countenance, and if a girl happened to give

way t'o habitual merriment, her forwardness was repressed
with a frown by her mother or her Aunt.
Wherever I borne I scatter infirmity and disease ;
every lady whom I meet in the Mall is too weary to walk ;
all whom I entreat to sing are troubled with colds: if I
propose cards, they are afflicted with the headach ; if I
. invite them to the gardens, they cannot bear a crowd.
All this might be endured; but there is a class of mor-
tals who think my understanding impaired with my fortune,
exalt. themselves to the dignity of advice, and, whenever
.
we happen to meet, presume to prescribe my conduct,
regulate my economy, and direct my pursuits. Another
race, equally impertinent and equally despicable, are every
moment recommending to me an attention to my interest,
and think themselves entitled, by their superiour prudence,
to reproach me, if I speak or move without regard to
profit.
Such, Mr. Rambler, is the power of wealth, that it com-
mands the ear of greatness and the eye of beauty, gives
spirit to the dull, and authority to the timorous, and leaves
him from whom it departs, without virtue and without un-
derstanding, the sport of caprice, the scoff of insolence,
the slave of meanness, and the pupil of ignorance.
I am, &c.
.., ........
No. 154. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 7, 1751.
--,—Tibi res antique artis

landis et
Ingreflior, sanctos ausus reeltutere fontes. VIa. Geo. ii. 174.
For thee my tuneful accents will I raise,

And treat of arts disclos'd in ancient days.;
Once more unlock for thee the sacred spring. Dar 088.
TH /3 direction of Aristotle to those that study politicks, is,
first to examine and understand what has been written by

the ancients upon government; then to cast their eyes
round upon the world, and consider by what causes the
prosperity of communities is visibly influenced, and why

some are worse, and others better administered. '
The same method must be pursued by him who hopes to
become eminent in ,any other part of knowledge. The
first . task is to search books, the next to contemplate na-
ture. He must first possess himself of the intellectual
treasures which the diligence of former ages has accumu-
lated, and then endeavour to increase them by his own
collections.
The mental disease of the present generation, is impa-
tience of study, contempt of the great masters of ancient.
wisdom, and a disposition to rely wholly upon unassisted
genius and natural sagacity. The wits of these happy
days have discovered a way to fame, which the dull cau-
tion of our laborious ancestors durst never attempt; they
cut the knots of sophistry which it was formerly the busi-
ness of years to untie, solve difficulties by sudden irradia-
tions of intelligence, and comprehend long processes of
argument by immediate intuition.
Men who have flattered themselves into this opinion of
their own abilities, look down on all who waste their lives
over books, as a race of inferiour beings, condemned by
nature to perpetual pupilage, and fruitlessly endeavouring;
to remedy their barrenness by incessant cultivation, or
succour their feebleness by subsidiary strength. They
presume that none would be more industrious than they,
if they were not more sensible of deficiencies ; and readily
conclude, that he who places no confidence in his oval
powers, owes his modesty only to his weakness.
It is, however, certain, that no estimate is more in danger
of erroneous ,calculations than those by which a man com-
putes the force of his own genius. It generally happens
at our entrance into the world, that, by the natural attrac-
tion of similitude, we associate with men like ourselves,
young, sprightly, and ignorant, and rate our accomplish-
ments by comparison with theirs ; when we have once ob-
tained an acknowledged superiority over our acquaintances,
imagination and desire easily extend it over the rest of
N". 154. TI1E RAMBLER. . 31
mankind, and if no accident forces us into new emulations,

we grow old, and die in admiration of ourselves.
Vanity, thus confirmed in her dominion, readily listens
to the voice of idleness, and sooths the slumber of life
with continual dreams of excellence and greatness. A.
man, elated by confidence in bis natural vigour of fancy
and sagacity of conjecture, soon concludes that he already
possesses whatever toil and inquiry can confer. He then
listens with eagerness to the wild objections which folly
has raised against the common means of improvement ;
talks of the dark chaos of indigested knowledge ; describes
the mischievous effects of heterogeneous sciences ferment-
ing in the mind ; relates the blunders of lettered ignorance .;.
expatiates on the heroick merit of those who deviate from
prescription, or shake off authority ; and gives vent to the
inflations of his heart by declaring that he owes nothing to
pedants and universities.
All these pretensions, however confident, are very often
vain. The laurels which superficial acuteness gains in
triumphs over ignorance unsupported by vivacity, are ob-
served by Locke to be lost, whenever real learning and
rational diligence appear against her; the sallies of gaiety
are soon repressed by calm confidence ; and the artifices
of subtilty are readily detected by those, who, having
carefully studied the question, are not easily confounded
or surprised.
But, though the contemner of books had neither been
deceived by others nor himself, and was really born with a
genius surpassing the ordinary abilities of mankind ; yet
surely such gifts of providence may be more properly urged
as incitements to labour, than encouragements to negli-
gence. He that neglects the culture of ground naturally
fertile, is more shamefully culpable, than he whose field
would scarcely recompense his husbandry.
Cicero remarks, that not to know what has been trans-
acted in former times, is to continue always a child. If
no use is made of the labours of past ages, the world
Must remain always in the infancy ,of knowledge. The
discoveries of every man must terminate in his own advan-

tage, and the studies of every age be employed on ques-
tions which the past generation bad discussed and deter-
mined. We may with as little reproach borrow science as
manufactures from our ancestors ; and it is as rational to
live in caves till our own bands have erected a palace, as
to reject all knowledge of architecture which our under-
standings will not supply.
To the strongest and quickest mind it is far easier to
learn than to invent. The principles of arithmetick and
geometry may be comprehended by a close attention in a
few days ; yet who can flatter himself that the study of a
long life would have enabled him to discover them, when
he sees them yet unknown to so many nations, whom he
cannot suppose less liberally endowed with naturatreason,
than the Grecians or Egyptians ?
Every science was thus far advanced towards perfection,
by the emulous diligence of contemporary students, and
the gradual discoveries of one age improving on another.
Sometimes unexpected flashes of instrtiction were struck
out by the fortuitous collision of happy incidents, or an in-
voluntary concurrence of ideas, in which the philosopher
to whom they happened had no other merit than that of
knowing their value, and transmitting, unclouded, to pos-
terity, that light which had been kindled by causes out of
his power. The happiness of these casual- illuminations
no man can promise to himself; because no endeavours can
procure them ; and, therefore, whatever be our abilities or
application, we must submit to learn from others what, per-
haps, would have lain hid for ever from human penetration,
had not some remote inquiry brought it to view; as trea-
sures arc thrown up by the ploughman and the digger in
the rude'exercise of their common occupations.
The man whose genius qualifies him for great under-
takings, must at least be content to learn from books the
present state of human knowledge ; that he may not
ascribe to himself the invention of arts generally known ;
weary his attention with experiments of which the event
has been long registered ; and waste, in attempts which

have already succeeded or miscarried, that time which
might have been spent with usefulness and honour upon
new undertakings.
But, though the study of books is necessary, it is not
sufficient to constitute literary eminence. He that wishes
to be counted among the benefactors of posterity, must
add by his own toil to the acquisitions of his ancestors, and
secure his memory from neglect by some valuable improve-
ment. This can only be effected by looking out upon the
wastes of the intellectual world, and extending the power
of learning over regions yet undisciplined and barbarous;
or by surveying more exactly our ancient dominions, and
driving ignorance from the fortresses and retreats where she
skulks undetected and undistuqed. Every science lias
its difficulties, which yet call for solution before we attempt
new systems of knowledge ; as every country has its
forests and marshes, which it would be wise to cultivate
and drain, before distant colonies are projected as a neces-
sary discharge of the exuberance of inhabitants.
No man ever yet became great by imitation; What-
ever hopes for the veneration of mankind must have in-
vention in the design or the execution ; either the effect
must itself he new, or the means by which it is produced.
Either truths hitherto unknown must be discovered, or
those which are already known enforced by stronger evi-
dence, facilitated by clearer method, or elucidated by
brighter illustrations.
Fame cannot spread wide or endure long that is not
rooted in nature, and matured by art. That which hopes
to resist the blast of malignity, and stand firm against the
attacks of time, must contain in itself some original prin-
ciple of growth. The reputation which arises from the
detail or transposition of borrowed sentiments, may spread
for awhile, like ivy on the rind of antiquity, but will be
torn away by accident or contempt, and suffered to rot
unheeded on the ground.
2-34 THE RAMBLER.
No. 155.
1\T^. 155. TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 10, 1751.
—Sterile, transmisimus annos,

Hite era mihi prima dies, hire limina vita. STAT. i. 362.
—Our barren years are past ;

Be this of life the 6:st, of sloth the last. ELI'll 1 NSTON.
No weakness of the human mind has more frequently in-

curred animadversion, than the negligence with which
men overlook their own faults, however flagrant, and the
easiness with which they pardon them, however frequently
repeated.
It seems generally believed, that as the eye cannot see
itself, the mind has no faculties by which it can contem-
plate its own state, and that therefore we have not means
of becoming acquainted with our real characters ; an opi-
nion which, like innumerable other postulates, an inquirer
finds himself inclined to admit upon very little evidence,
because it affords a ready solution of many difficulties. It
will explain why the greatest abilities frequently fail to
promote the happiness of those who possess them ; why
those who can distinguish with the utmost nicety the bound-
aries of vice and virtue, suffer them to be confounded iO
their own conduct; why the active and vigilant resign their
affairs implicitly to the management of others ; and why
the cautious and fearful make hourly approaches towards
ruin, without one sigh of solicitude or struggle for escape.
When a position teems thus with commodious conse-
quences, who can without regret confess it to be false ?
Yet it is certain that declaimers have indulged a disposition
to describe the dominion of the passions as extended be-
yond the limits that nature assigned. Self-love is often
rather arrogant than blind ; it does not hide our faults
from ourselves, but persuades us that they escape the no-
tice of others, and disposes us to resent censures lest we
should confess them to be just. We are secretly conscious
N°. 155. THE RAMBLER. 2.5 .
of defects and vices, which we hope to conceal from the

publick eye, and please ourselves with innumerable im-
postures, by which, in reality, nobody is deceived.
In proof of the dimness of our internal sight, or the ge-
neral inability of man to determine rightly concerning his
own character, it is common to urge the success of the
most absurd and incredible flattery, and the resentment
always raised by advice, however soft, benevolent, and
reasonable. But flattery, if its operation be nearly exa-
mined, will be found to ewe its acceptance, not to our
ignorance, but knowledge of'our failures, and to delight
us rather as it consoles our wants than displays our pos-
sessions. He that shall solicit the favour of his patron by
praising him for qualities which he can find in himself,
will be defeated by the more daring panegyrist who en-
riches him with adscititious excellence. Just praise is
only a debt, but flattery is a present. The acknowledg-
ment of those virtues on which conscience congratulates
us, is a tribute that we can at any time exact with confi-
dence ; but the celebration of those which we only feign, or
desire without any vigorous endeavours to attain them, is
received as a confession of sovereignty over regions never
conquered, as a favourable decisiou of disputable claims,
and is more welcome as it is more gratuitous.
Advice is offensive, not because it lays us open to
unexpected regret,. or convicts us of any fault which had
escaped our notice, but because it shows us that we are
known to others as well as to ourselves ; and the officious
monitor is persecuted with hatred, not because his accusa-
tion is false, but because he assumes that superiority
which we are not willing to grant him, and has dared to
detect what we desired to conceal.
For this reason advice is commonly ineffectual. If
those who follow the call of their desires, without inquiry
whither they are going, had deviated ignorantly from the
paths of wisdom, and were rushing upon dangers unfore-
seen, they would readily listen to information that recalls
them from their errours, and catch the first alarm by which
destruction or infamy is denounced. Few that wander in

the wrong way mistake it for the right, they only find it
more smooth and flowery, and indulge their own choice
rather than approve it: therefore few are persuaded to
quit it by admonition or reproof, since it impresses no new
conviction, nor confers any powers of action or resistance.
He that is gravely informed how soon profusion will anni-
hilate his fortune, hears with little advantage what he
knew before, and catches at the next occasion of expense,
because advice has no force to suppress his vanity. He
that is told how certainly intemperance will hurry him to
the grave, runs with his usual speed to a new course of
luxury, because his reason is not invigorated, nor his appe-
tite weakened.
The mischief of flattery is, not that it persuades any
man that he is what he is not, but that it suppresses the in-
fluence of honest ambition, by raising an opinion that ho-
nour may be gained without the toil of merit; and the be-
nefit of advice arises commonly not from any new light
imparted to the mind, but_ from the discovery which it
affords of the publick suffrages. He that could withstand
conscience is frighted at infamy, and shame prevails when
reason is defeated.
As we all know our own faults, and know them com-
monly with many aggravations which human perspicacity
cannot discover, there is, perhaps, no man, however hard-
ened by impudence or dissipated by levity, sheltered by
hypocrisy or blasted by disgrace, who does not intend
some time to review his conduct, and to regulate the
remainder of his life by the laws of virtue. New temp-
tations, indeed, attack him, new invitations are offered by
pleasure and interest, and the hour of reformation is always
delayed ; every delay gives vice another opportunity of for-
tifying itself by habit ; and the change of manners though
sincerely intended and rationally planned, is referred to the
time when some craving passion shall be fully gratified, or
some powerful allurement cease its importunity.
Thus procrastination is accumulated on procrastination,
No.155. THII RAMBLER. Z37
and one impediment succeeds another, till age shatters

our resolution, or death intercepts the project of amend-
ment. Such is often the end of salutary purposes, after
they have long delighted the imagination, and appeased
that disquiet which every mind feels from known miscon-
duct, when the attention is not diverted by business or by
pleasure.
Nothing surely can be more unworthy of a reasonable
nature, than to continue in a state so opposite to real hap-
piness, as that all the peace of solitude, and felicity of me-
ditation, must arise from resolutions of forsaking it. Yet
the world will often afford examples of men, who pass
months and years in a continual war with their own con-
victions, and are daily dragged by habit, or betrayed by
passion, into practices which they closed and opened their
eyes with purposes to avoid ; purposes which, though set-
tled on conviction, the first impulse of momentary desire
totally overthrows.
The influence of custom is, indeed, such, that to conquer it
will require the utmost efforts of fortitude and virtue ; nor
can I think any man more worthy of veneration and re-
nown, than those who have burst the shackles of habitual
vice. This victory, however, has different degrees of glory
as of difficulty ; it is more heroick as the objects of guilty
gratification are more familiar, and the recurrence of soli-
citation more frequent. He that, from experience of the
folly of ambition, resigns his offices, may set himself free at
once from temptation to squander his life in courts, because
he cannot regain his former station. fie who is enslaved
by an amorous passion, may quit his tyrant in disgust, and
absence will, without the help of reason, overcome, by de-
grees, the desire of returning. But those appetites to which
every place affords their proper object, and which require
no preparatory measures or gradual advances, are more
tenaciously adhesive ; the wish is so near the enjoyment,
that compliance often precedes consideration, and, before
the powers of reason can be summoned, the time for em-
ploying them is past.
238 THE RAMBLER. . N°. 155.
Indolence is, therefore, one of the vices from which

those whom it once infects are seldom reformed. Every
other species of luxury operates upon some appetite that
is quickly satiated, and requires some concurrence of art
or accident which every place will not supply ; but the
desire of ease acts equally at all hours, and the longer it is
indulged is the more increased. To do'nothing is in every
man's power ; we can never want an opportunity of omit-
ting duties. The lapse to indolence is soft and imper-
ceptible, because it is only a mere cessation of activity ;
but the return to diligence is difficult, because it implies a
change from rest to motion, from privation to reality:
Facilis descensus Averni :
Noctes atque dies pate.. atrijanua Ditis:
Std revocare gradum, superasque evadere ad auras,
Iloc hic labor
opus, est. Vin. tEn. vi.
Lib. 126.
The gates of hell are open night and day ;
Smooth the descent, and easy is the way ;
But to return, and view the cheerful skies,
In this the task and mighty labour lies. DRY DEN
Of this vice, as of all others, every mars who indulges it is

conscious : we all know our own state, if we could be in-
duced to consider it, and it might, perhaps, be useful to the
conquest of all these ensnarers of the mind, if, at certain
stated days, life was reviewed. Many things necessary
are omitted, because we vainly imagine that they may be
always performed ; and what cannot be done without pain
will for ever be delayed, if the time of doing it be left un-
settled. No corruption is great but by long negligence,
which can scarcely prevail in a mind regularly and fre-
quently ascAakened by periodical remorse. He that thus
breaks his life into parts, will find in himself a desire to
distinguish every stage of his existence by some improve-
ment, and delight himself with the approach of the day of
recollection, as of the time which is to begin a new series
of virtue and felicity.
N°. 156. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 14, 1751.
Nunquam aliud natura, aliud sapientia dicit. Juv. Sat. sly. 321.
For wisdom ever echoes nature's voice.
EVERY government, say the politicians, is perpetually de-
generating towards corruption, from which it must be
rescued at certain periods by the resuscitation of its first
principles, and the re-establishment of its original consti-
tution. Every animal body, according to'the methodick
physicians, is, by the predominance of some exuberant
quality, continually declining towards disease and death,
which must be obviated by a seasonable reduction of the
peccant humour to the just equipoise which health re-
quires.
In the same manner the studies of mankind, all, at least,
which, not being subject to rigorous demonstration, admit
the influence of fancy and caprice, are perpetually tending
to errour and confusion. Of the great principles of truth
which the first speculatists discovered, the simplicity is em-
barrassed by ambitious additions, or the evidence obscured
by inaccurate argumentation ; and as they descend from
one succession of writers to another, like light transmitted
from room to room, they lose their strength and splendour,
and fade at last in total evanescence.
The systems of learning, therefore, must be sometimes
reviewed, complications analyzed into principles, and know-
ledge disentangled from opinion. It is not always possible,
without a close inspection, to separate the genuine shoots
of consequential reasoning, which grow out of some radical
postulate, from the branches which art has engrafted on it.
The accidental prescriptions of authority, when time has
procured them veneration, are often confounded with the
laws of nature, and those rules are supposed coeval with
reason, of which the first rise cannot be discovered. •
Criticism has sometimes permitted fancy to dictate the
laws by which fancy ought to be restrained, and fallacy to
Perplex the principles by which fallacy is to be detected ;
240 THE RAMBLER. N°. DO.
het• superintendence of others has betrayed her to negli-

gence of herself; and, like the ancient Scythians, by ex-
tending her conquests, over distant regions, she has left
her throne vacant to her slaves.
Among the laws of which the desire of extending au-
thority, or ardour of promoting knowledge, has prompted
the prescription, all which writers have' received, had not
the same original right to our regard. Some are to be
considered as fundamental and indisperisable, others only
as useful and ebnvenient ; some as dictated by reason and
necessity, others as enacted by despotick antiquity; some
as invincibly supported by their conformity to the order of
nature and operations of the intellect ; others as formed
by accident, or instituted by example, and therefore always
liable to dispute and alteration.
That many rules have been advanced without consulting
nature or reason, we cannot but suspect, when we find it
peremptorily decreed by the ancient masters, that only
three speaking personages should appear at once upon the
stage; a law, which, as the variety and intricacy of modern
plays has made it impossible to be observed, we now
violate without scruple, and, as experience proves, with-
out inconvenience.
The original of this precept was merely accidental.
Tragedy was a monody, or solitary song in honour of Bac-
chus, improved afterwards into a dialogue by the addition
of another speaker ; but the ancients, remembering that
the tragedy was at first pronounced only by one, durst not,
for some time, venture beyond two ; at last, when custom
and impunity had made them daring, they extended their
liberty to the admission of three, but restrained themselves
by a critical edict from further exorbitance.
By what accident the number of acts was limited to five
I know not that any author has informed us; but certainly
it. is not determined by any necessity arising either fro►n
the nature of action, or propriety of exhibition. An act is
only the representation of such a part of the business of
the play as proceeds in an unbroken tenour, or without anY
N°. 156; THE RAMBLER. 241
intermediate pause. Nothing is more evident than that of

every real, and, by consequence, of every dramatick action,
the intervals may be more or fewer than five ; and, indeed,
the rule is, upon the English stage, every day broken in
effect, without any other mischief than that which arises
from an absurd endeavour to observe it in appearance•
Whenever the scene is shifted, the act ceases, since some
time is necessarily supposed to elapse while the personages
of the drama change their place.
With no greater right to our obedience have the criticks
confined the dramatick action4o a certain number of hours.
Probability requires that the time of action should approach
somewhat nearly to that of exhibition, and those plays will
always be thought most happily conducted rhicli• crowd
the greatest variety into the least space. But since'it will
frequently happen that some delusion must be admitted, I
know not where the limits of imagination can be fixed. It
is rarely observed that minds, not prepossessed by mecha-
.nical criticism, feel any offence from the extension of the
intervals between the acts ; nor can I conceive it absurd
or impossible, that he who can multiply three hours into
twelve or twenty-four, might imagine with equal ease a
greater number.
I know not whether he that professes to regard no other
laws than those of nature, will not be inclined to receive
tragi-comedy to his protection, whom, however generally
condemned, her own laurels have hitherto shaded from the
fulminations of criticism. For what is there in the mingled
drama which impartial reason can condemn? The con-
nexion of important with trivial incidents, since it is not
only common but perpetual in the world, may surely be
allowed upon the stage, which pretends only to be the
mirror of life. The impropriety of suppressing passions
before we have raised them to the intended agitation, and
of diverting the expectation from an event which we keep'
suspended only to raise it, may be speciously urged. But
will not experience show this objection to be rather subtle
than just? Is it not certain that the tragick and comick
R. II_ n
affections have been moved alternately with equal force,

and that no plays .have oftener filled the eye with tears,
and the breast with palpitation, than those which are varie-
gated with interludes of mirth?
I do not, however, think it safe to judge of works of ge-
nius merely by the event. The resistless vicissitudes of
the heart, this alternate prevalence of, merriment and so-
lemnity, may sometimes be more properly ascribed to the
vigour of the writer than the justness of the design : and,
instead of vindicating tragicomedy by the success of Shake-
speare, we ought, perhaps, to pay new honours to that tran-
scendent and unbounded genius that could preside over the
passions•in sport; -who, to actuate the affections, needed
not the slow gradation 'of common means, but could fill the
heart with instantaneous jollity or sorrow, and vary our dis-
position as he changed his scenes. Perhaps the effects even
of Shakespeare's poetry might have been yet greater, had
he not counteracted himself; and we might have been more
interested in the distresses of his heroes, had we not been-
so frequently diverted by the jokes of his buffoons.
There are other rules more fixed and obligatory. It is
necessary that of every play the chief action should be
single ; for since a play represents some transaction, through
its regular maturation to its final event, two actions equally
important must evidently constitute two plays.
As the design of tragedy is to instruct by moving the
passions, it must always have a herb, a personage appa-
rently and incontestably superiour to the rest, upon whom
the attention may be fixed, and the anxiety suspended.
For though, of two persons opposing each other with equal
abilities and •equal virtue, the auditor will inevitably, in
time, choose his faiourite, yet as that choice must be with-
out any cogency of conviction, the hopes or fears which it
raises will be faint and languid. Of two heroes acting in
confederacy against a common enemy, the virtues or
dangers will give little emotion, because each claims our
concern with the same right, and the heart lies at rest
between equal motives.
It ought to be the first endeavour of a writer to distin-

guish nature from custom-; or that which is established be-
cause it is right, from that which is right only because it
is established ; that he may neither violate essential princi-
ples by a desire of novelty, nor debar himself from the
attainment of beauties within his view, by a needless fear
of breaking rules which no literary dictator had authority
to enact.
NMNMNINNIIWIMM
N °. 1.57. • TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 17, 17:11'.

,.
.
of aiFtLc .
riverai, ij r civapac µ17a aiverat, t'itV dvivners. 11031! II. Q'. 44.
Shame greatly hurts or greatly helps mankind. ELPIIINSTON.
TO THE RAMBLER.
SIR,
THOUGH one of your correspondents has presumed
to mention with some contempt that presence of attention
and easiness of address, which the polite have long agreed
to celebrate and esteem, yet I cannot be persuaded to
think them unworthy of regard or cultivation; but am in-
clined to believe that, ps we seldom value rightly what we
have never known the misery of wanting, his judgment
has been vitiated by his happiness; and that a natural
exuberance of assurance has hindered liim from discovering
its excellence and use.
This felicity, whether bestowed by constitution, or ob-
tained by early habitudes, I can scarcely contemplate with-
out envy. I was bred under a man of learning in the
country, who inculcated nothing but the dignity of know-
ledge, and the happiness of virtue. By frequency of ad-
monition, and confidence of assertion, he prevailed upon
me to believe, that the splendour of literature would always
attract reverence, if not darkened by corruption. I
therefore pursued my studies with incessant industry,
and avoided every thing which I had been taught to con-
n2
sider either as vitious or tending to vice, because I re-

garded guilt and reproach as inseparably united, and thought
a tainted reputation the-greatest calamity.
At the university, I found no reason for changing my
opinion ; for though many among my fellow students took
the opportunity of a more remiss discipline to gratify their
passions; yet virtue preserved her natural superiority, and
those who ventured to neglect, were not suffered to insult
her. The ambition of petty accomplishments found its way
into the receptacles of learning, but was observed to seize
commonly on those who either neglected the sciences or
could not attain them ; and I was therefore confirmed in
the doctrines of my old master, and thought nothing
worthy of my care but the means of gaining or imparting
knowledge.
This purity of manners, and intenseness of application,
soon extended my renown, and I was applauded by those,
whose opinion I then thought unlikely to deceive me, as a
young man that gave uncommon hopes of future eminence.
My performances in time reached my native province, and
my relations congratulated themselves upon the new ho-
nours that were added to their family.
I returned home covered with academical laurels, and
fraught with criticism and philosophy. The wit and the
scholar excited curiosity, and my acquaintance was soli-
cited by innumerable invitations. To please will always be
the wish of benevolence; to be admired must be the con-
stant aim of ambition ; and I therefore considered myself
as about to receive the reward of my honest labours, and
to find the efficacy of learning and of virtue.
The third day after my arrival I dined at the house of a
gentleman who had summoned a multitude of his friends
to the annual celebration of his wedding-day. I set for-
ward with great exultation, and thought myself happy that
I had an opportunity of displaying my knowledge to 0
numerous an assembly. I felt no sense of my own insuf-
ficiency, till, going, up stairs to the dining-room, I heard
the mingled roar of obstreperous merriment. I was, how-
ever, disgusted rather than terrified, and went forward
without dejection. The whole company rose at my en-
trance; but when I saw so many eyes fixed at once upon
me, I was blasted with a sudden imbecility, I was quelled
by some nameleSs power which I found impossible to be
resisted. My sight was dazzled, my cheeks glowed, my
perceptions were confounded ; I was harassed by the mul-
titude of eager salutations, and returned the common civi-
lities with hesitation and impropriety; the sense of my own
blunders increased my confusion, and, before the exchange
of ceremonies allowed me to tit down, I was ready to sink
under the oppression of surprise ; my voice grew weak,
and my knees trembled.
The assembly then resumed their places, and I sat with
my eyes fixed upon the ground. To the questions of cu-
riosity, or the appeals of complaisance, I could seldom
answer but with negative monosyllables, or professions of
ignorance; for the subjects on which they conversed, were
such as are seldom discussed in books, and were therefore
out of my range of knowledge. At length an old clergy-
man, who rightly conjectured the reason of my concise-
ness, relieved me by some questions about the present state
of natural knowledge, hnd engaged me by an appearance
of doubt and opposition, in the explication and defence of
the Newtonian philosophy.
The consciousness of my own abilities roused me from
depression, and long familiarity with my subject enabled
me to discourse with ease and volubility ; but, however I
might please myself, I found very little added by my de-
monstrations to the satisfaction of the company ; and my
antagonist, who knew the laws of conversation too well to
detain their attention long upon an unpleasing topick, after
he had commended my acuteness and comprehension, dis-
missed the controversy, and resigned me to my former in-
significance and perplexity.
After dinner, I received from the ladies, who had heard
that I was a wit, an invitation to the tea-table. I con-
gratulated myself upon an opportunity to escape from the
246 THE RAMBLER. ' N. 157.
company, whose gaiety began to be tumultuous, and

among whom several hints had been dropped of the use-
lessness of universities, the folly of book-learning, and the
awkwardness of scholars. To the ladies, therefore, I
flew, as to a refuge from clamour, insult, and rusticity ; but
found my heart sink as I approached their apartment, and
was again disconcerted by the ceremonies of entrance, and
confounded by the necessity of encountering so many
eyes at once.
When I sat down I considered that something pretty
was always said to ladies, and resolved to recover my
credit by some elegant observation or graceful compliment.
I applied myself to the recollection of all that I had read
or heard in praise of beauty, and endeavoured to accom-
modate some classical compliment to the present occasion.
I sunk into profound meditation, revolved the characters
of the heroines of old, considered whatever the poets have
sung in their praise; and, after having borrowed and in-
vented, chosen and rejected a thousand sentiments, which,
if I had uttered them, would not have been understood, I
was awakened from my dream of learned gallantry, by the
servant who distributed the tea.
There are not many situations more incessantly uneasy
than that in which the man is placed who is watching 00
opportunity to speak, without courage to take it when it is
offerda ; and who, though be resolves to give a specimen
of his abilities, always finds some reason or other for delay-
ing it to the next minute. I was ashamed of silence, yet
could find nothing to say of elegance or importance equal
to my wishes. The ladies, afraid of my learning, thought
themselves not qualified to propose any subject of prattle
to a man so famous for dispute, and there was nothing on
either side but impatience and vexation.
In this conflict of shame, as I was reassembling my
scattered sentiments, and, resolving to force my imagina-
tion to some sprightly sally, had just found a very happY
compliment, by too much attention to my own meditations,
I offered the saucer to drop from my hand. The cup was
broken, the lapdog was scalded, a brocaded petticoat was

stained, and the whole assembly was thrown into disorder.
I now considered all hopes of reputation at an end, and
while they were consoling and assisting one another, stole
away in silence.
The misadventures of this unhappy day are not yet at
an end ; I am afraid of meeting the meanest of them that
triumphed over me in this state of stupidity and contempt,
and feel the same terrours encroaching upon *niy heart at
the sight of those who have Once impressed them. Shame,
above any other passion, propagates itself. Before those
who have seen me confused, I can never appear without
new confusion, and the remembrance of the weakness
which I formerly discovered, hinders me from acting or
speaking with my natural force.
But is this misery, Mr. Rambler, never to cease ; have
I spent my life in study only to become the sport of the,
ignorant, and debarred myself from all the common enjoy-
ments of youth to collect ideas which must sleep in silence,
and form opinions which I must not divulge ? Inform me,
dear sir, by what means I may rescue my faculties from
these shackles of cowardice, how I may rise to a level with
my fellow-beings, recall myself from this languor of in-
voluntary subjection to the free exertion of my intellects,
and add to the power of reasoning the liberty of speech.
I am, sir, &c.
VERECVNDULUS.
IsTO.158: SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 21, 1751.
Grammatici certant, et adhuc sub judice lis est. Hon. Ar. Poet. 78.
—Criticks yet contend,
And of their vain disputings find no end. FRACIS.
CRITIcism, though dignified from the earliest ages by the

labours of men eminent for knowledge and sagacity, and,
since the revival of polite literature, the favourite study of
European scholars, has not yet attained the certainty and
stability of science. The rules hitherto received are sel-
dom drawn from any settled principle or self-evident pos-
tulate, or adapted to the natural and invariable constitution
Hof things ; but will be found, upon examination, the arbi-
trary edicts of legislators, authorized only by themselves,
who, out of various means by which. the same end may be
attained, selected such as happened to occur to their own
reflection, and then, by a law-which idleness and timidity
were too willing to obey, prohibited new experiments of
wit, restrained fancy from the indulgence of her innate
inclination to hazard and adventure, and condemned all
future flights of genius to pursue the path of the Meonian
eagle.
This authority may be mote justly opposed, as it is ap-
parently derived from them whom they endeavour to con-
trol ; for we owe few of the rules of writing to the acute-
ness of criticks, who have generally no other merit than
that, having read the works of great authors with attention,
they have observed the arrangement of their matter, or
the graces of their expression, and then expected honour
and reverence for precepts which they never could have
invented ; so that practice has introduced rules, rather
than rules have directed practice.
For this reason the laws of every species of writing have
been settled by the ideas of him who first raised it to repu-
tation, without inquiry whether his performances were not
yet susceptible of improvement. The excellencies and
N°.158. THE RAMBLER. 2-19
faults of celebrated writers have been equally recom-

mended to posterity ; and, so far has this blind reverence
prevailed, that even the number of their books has been
thought worthy of imitation.
The imagination of the first authors of lyrick poetry was
vehement and rapid, and their knowledge various and ex-
tensive. Living in an age when science had been little
cultivated, and when the minds of their auditors, not being
accustomed to accurate inspection, were easily dazzled by
glaring ideas, they applied themselves to instruct, rather
by short sentences and striking thoughts, than by regular
argumentation ; and, finding attention more successfully
excited by sudden sallies and unexpected exclamations,
than by the more artful and placid beauties of methodical
deduction, they loosed their genius to its own course,
passed from one sentiment to another without expressing
the intermediate ideas, and roved at large over the ideal
world with such lightness and agility, that their footsteps
are scarcely to be traced.
From this accidental peculiarity of the ancient writers,
the criticks deduce the rules of lyric poetry, which they
have set free from all the laws by which other. 'compositions
are confined, and allow to neglect the niceties of transition,
to start into remote digressions, and to wander without
restraint from one scene of imagery to another.
A writer of later times has, by the vivacity of his essays,
reconciled mankind to the same licentiousness in short dis-
sertations ; and he, therefore, who wants skill to form a
plan, or diligence to pursue it, needs only entitle his per-
formance an essay, to acquire the right of heaping together
the collections of half his life, without order, coherence, or
propriety.
In writing, as in life, faults are endured without disgust
.when they are associated with transcendent merit, and may
be sometimes recommended to weak judgments by the
lustre which they obtain from their union with excellence;
but it is the business of those who presume to superintend
the taste or morals of mankind, to separate delusive com-

binations, and. distinguish that which may be praised
From that which can only be excused. As vices never
promote happiness, though, when overpowered by more
active and more numerous virtues, they cannot totally
destroy it ; so confusion and irregularity produce no
beauty, though they cannot always obstruct the bright-
ness of genius and learning. To proceed from one
truth to another, and connect distant propositions by
regular consequences, is the great prerogative of man.
Independent and unconnected sentiments flashing upon
the mind in quick succession, may, for a time, delight
by their novelty, but they differ from systematical rea-
soning, as single notes from harmony, as glances of light-
ning from the radiance of the sun.
When rules are thus drawn, rather from precedents than
reason, there is danger not only from the faults of an
author, but from the errours of those who criticise his
works ; since they may often mislead their pupils by false
representations, as the Ciceronians of the. sixteenth cen-
tury were betrayed into barbarisms by corrupt copies of
their darling writer.
It is established at present, that the proemial lines of n
poem, in which the general subject is proposed, must be
void of glitter and embellishment. " The first lines of Pa-
radise Lost," says Addison, " are perhaps as plain, simple,
and unadorned, as any of the whole poem, in which parti-
cular the author has conformed himself to the example of
Homer, and the precept of "Horace."
This observation seems to have been made by an im-
plicit adoption of the common opinion, without considera-
tion either of the precept or example. Had Horace beet,
consulted, he would have been found to direct only what
should be comprised in the proposition, not how it should
be expressed; and to have commended Homer, in oppo
sition to a meaner poet, not for the gradual elevation of
his diction, but the judicious expansion of his plan; for
displaying unpromised events, not for producing unex-

pected elegancies :
—Speciosa dehinc miracula promat ;
Aneiphaten, Scyllamque, et cum Cyclope Charybdim. Hon. Ar. Poet. 144.
But from a cloud of smoke he breaks to light,
And pours his specious miracles to sight;
Antiphates his hideous feast devours, _
Charybdis barks, and Polyphemus roars. FRANCIS.
- If the exordial verses of Homer be compared with the

rest of the poem, they will not appear remarkable for
plainness or simplicity, but iiither eminently adorned and
illuminated :
*AvSpa pot &mire, Moiled, roVn-porov,Bc ;sae iroVid
raciyx0,/, Ztrei Tpoiric lipbv rroXie5pov ;aver
IfoX.16-ev b" chapoistosse Wes; liana, Kai vciov lyvos•
floXXei fr gy.by rovriii stetOtv dXyta av Kara Bolan,'
'Apvilievoc ijv Ts 4nexejo Kai mietoo itaipone
'AXA' Obir 6'.c itlepouc Whereto, liwv6C 7rEP'
Abrern, ydp mpetippetv citacrOaXiyatv Aovto•
N isnot, of Katie Pak hrepiovac'lleXimo
"HeOtor, airrap .5 rdietv hibeiXero wimpy illear
Ttbv riptiOev ye, Bea, @hyena Ask, Eisri Kai imilv.
The man, for wisdom's various arts renown'd,

Long exercised in woes, 0 muse! resound;
Who, when his arms had wrought the destin'd fall
Of sacred Troy, and raz'd her heav'n-built wall,
Wandering from clime to clime, observant stray'd,
Their manners noted, and their states survey'd.
On stormy seas unnumber'd toils he bore,
Safe with his friends to gain his natal shore:
Vain toils! their impious folly dar'd to prey
On herds devoted to the god of day ;
The god vindictive doom'd them never more
(Ali! men unbless'd) to touch that natal shore.
0 snatch some portion of these acts from fate,
Celestial muse! and to our world relate. POPE.
(a,
The first verses of the Iliad are, in like manner, particu-
larly splendid, and the proposition of the Xneid closes
With dignity and magnificence not often to be found even
in the poetry of Virgil.
The intent of the introduction is to raise expectation,
and suspend it ; something therefore must be discovered;
and something concealed ; and the poet, while the fertility
of his invention is yet unknown, may properly recommend
himself by the grace of his language.
He that reveals too much, or promises too little ; he
that never irritates the intellectual appetite, or that imme-
diately satiates it, equally defeats his own purpose. It is
necessary to the pleasure of the reader, that the events
should not be anticipated, and how then can his attention
be invited, but by grandeur of expression ?
../..NOWNINOWNINI NIP
N°. 159. TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 24, 1751.
Surat verbs et votes, quibus hunt leniro dolorem

Pass is, et magnum morbi deponere partem. Hoe. Ep. Lib. i. 34.
The power of words, and soothing sounds, appease

The raging pain, and lessen the disease. FlIANCIS.
THE imbecility with which Verecundulus complains that

the presence of a numerous assembly freezes his faculties,
is particularly incident to the studious part of mankind,
whose education necessarily secludes them in their earlier
years from mingled converse, till, at their dismission front
schools and academies, they plunge at once into the tumult
of the world, and, coming forth from the gloom of solitude,
are overpowered by the blaze of publick life.
It is, perhaps, kindly provided by nature, that as the
feathers and strength of a bird grow together, and her
wings are not completed till she is able to fly, so some pro-
portion should be preserved in the human kind between
judgment and courage; the precipitation of inexperience
is therefore restrained by shame, and we remain shackled
by timidity, till we have learned to speak and act with
propriety.
I believe few can review the days of their youth without

recollecting temptations, which shame, rather than virtue,
enabled them to resist; and opinions which, however er-
roneous in their principles, and dangerous in their conse-
quences, they have panted to advance at the hazard of
contempt and hatred, when they fiund themselves irre-
sistibly depressed by a languid anxiety, which seized them
at the moment of utterance, and still gathered strength
from their endeavours to resist it.
It generally happens that assurance keeps an even pace
with ability; and the fear of.miscarriage, which hinders
our first attempts, is gradually dissipated as our skill ad-
vances towards certainty of success. That bashfulness,
therefore, which prevents disgrace, that short and tempo-
rary shame which secures us from the danger of lasting
reproach, cannot be properly counted among our mis-
fortunes.
Bashfulness, however it may incommode for a moment,
scarcely ever produces evils of long continuance; it may
flush the cheek, flutter in the heart, deject the eyes, and
enchain the tongue, but its mischiefs soon pass off without
remembrance. It may sometimes exclude pleasure, but
seldom opens any avenue to sorrow or remorse. It is ob-
served somewhere, that few have repeated of having for-
borne to speak.
To excite opposition, and inflame malevolence, is the
unhappy privilege of courage made arrogant by conscious-
ness of strength. No man finds in himself any inclination
to attack or oppose him who confesses his superiority by
blushing in his presence. Qualities exerted with apparent
fearfulness, receive applause from every voice, and sup-
port from every hand. Diffidence may check resolution
and obstruct performance, but compensates its embarass-
meats by more important advantages; it conciliates the
proud, and softens the severe, averts envy from excellence,
and censure from miscarriage.
It may indeed happen, that knowledge and virtue remain
too long congealed by this frierifick power, as the prin-
251 THE RAMBLER. N.^. 159,
ciples of vegetation are sometimes obstructed by lingering

frosts. He that enters late into a public station, though
with all the abilities requisite to the discharge of his duty,
will find his powers at first impeded by a timidity which he
himself knows to be vitious, and must struggle long against
dejection and reluctance, before he obtains the full com-
mand of his own attention, and adds the gracefulness
of ease to the dignity of merit.
For this disease of the mind, I know not whether any
remedies of much efficacy can be found. To advise a man
unaccustomed to the eyes of multitudes to mount a tribunal
without perturbation, to tell him whose life was passed in
the shades of contemplation, that he must not be discon-
certed or perplexed in receiving and returning the compli-
ments of a splendid assembly, is to advise an inhabitant of
Brazil or Sumatra not to shiver at an English winter, or
him who has always lived upon a plain to look from ti. pre-
cipice without emotion. It is to suppose custom instan-
taneously controllable by reason, and to endeavour to
communicate, by precept, that which only time and habit
can bestow.
He that hopes by philosophy and contemplation alone to
fortify himself against that awe which all, at their first ap-
pearance on the stage of life, must feel from the spectators,
will, at the hour of need, be mocked by his resolution ; and
I doubt whether the preservatives which Plato relates
Alcibiades to have received from Socrates, when he was
about to speak in publick, proved sufficient to secure hire
from the powerful fascination.
Yet, as the effects of time may, by art and industry, be
accelerated or retarded, it cannot be improper to consider
how 'this troublesome instinct may• be opposed when it
exceeds its just proportion, and instead of repressing petu-
lance and temerity, silences eloquence, and debilitates
force ; since, though it cannot be hoped that anxiety
should be immediately dissipated, it may be at least some-
what abated; and the passions will operate with less
violence, when reason rises against them, than while she
N°. 159. T11 13 RAMBLER. 255
either slumbers in neutrality, or, mistaking her interest,

lends them her assistance. .
No cause more frequently produces bashfulness than too
high an opinion of our own importance. He that imagines
an assembly filled with his merit, panting with expectation,
and hushed with attention, easily terrifies himself with the
dread of disappointing them, and strains his imagination in
pursuit of something that may vindicate the veracity of
fame, and show that his reputation was not gained by
chance. He considers that what he shall say or do will
never be forgotten; that renown or infamy is suspended
upon every syllable, and that nothing ought to fall from
him which will not bear the test of time. Under such so-
licitude, whb can wonder that the mind is overwhelmed,
and, by struggling with attempts above her strength,
quickly sinks into languishment and despondency ?
The most useful medicines are often unpleasing to the
taste. Those who are oppressed by their own reputation,
will, perhaps, not be comforted by hearing that their cares
are unnecessary. But the truth is, that no man is much
regarded by the rest of the world. He that considers how
little be dwells upon the condition of others, will learn how
little the attention of others is attracted by himself. While
we see multitudes passing before us, of whom, perhaps, not
one appears to deserve our notice, or excite our sympathy,
we should remember, that we likewise are lost in the same
throng; that the eye which happens to glance upon us is
turned in a moment 'on him that follows us, and that the
utmost which we can reasonably hope or fear is, to fill a
vacant hour with prattle, and be forgotten.
256 THE RAMBLER. No. 10
N°.160. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 28, 1751.

—
se convenit ursis. Juv. Sat. 164.
Inter xv.
Beasts of each kind their fellows spare;
Bear lives in amity with bear.
" THE world," says Locke, "has people of all sorts." As
in the general hurry produced by the superfluities of some,
and necessities of others, no man needs td stand still for
want of employment, so in the innumerable .gradations of
ability, and endless varieties of study and inclination, no
employment can be vacant for want of a man qualified to
discharge it.
Such is probably the natural state of the universe ; but
it is so much deformed by interest and passion, that the
benefit of this adaptation of men to things is not always
perceived. The folly or indigence of those who set their
services to sale, inclines them to boast of qualifications
which they do not possess, and attempt business which
they do not understand; and they who have the power of
assigning to others the task of life, are seldom Inkiest
or seldom happy in their nominations. Patrons are cor-
rupted by avarice, cheated by credulity, or overpowered
by resistless solicitation. They are sometimes too strongly
influenced by honest prejudices of friendship, or the pre-
valence of virtuous compassion. For, whatever cool rea-
son may direct, it is not easy for a man of tender and scru-
pulous goodness to overlook the immediate effect of his
own actions, by turning his eyes upon remoter conse-
quences, and to do that which must give present pain, for
'the sake of obviating evil yet unfelt, or securing advantage
in time to come. What is distant is.in itself obscure, and,
when we have no wish to see it, easily escapes our no-
tice, or takes such a form as desire or imagination bestows
upon it.
Every man might, for the same reason, in the multitudes
that swarm about him, find some kindred mind with which
he could unite in confidence and friendship ; yet we see
many straggling single about the world, unhappy for want

of an associate, and pining with the necessity of confining
their sentiments to their own bosoms.
This inconvenience arises, in like manner, from strug-
gles of the will against the understanding. It is not often
difficult to find a suitable companion, if every man would
be content with such as he is qualified to please. But if
vanity tempts him to forsake his rank, and post himself
among those with whom no common interest or mutual
pleasure can ever unite him, he must always live in a state
of unsocial separation, withaut tenderness and without
trust.
There are many natures which can never approach
within a certain distance, and which, when any irregular
motive impels them towards contact, seem to start back
from each other by some invincible repulsion. There are
others which immediately cohere whenever they come into
the reach of mutual attraction, and with very little for-
mality of preparation mingle intimately as soon as they
meet. Every man, whom either business or curiosity
has thrown at large into the world, will recollect many in-
stances of fondness and dislike, which have forced them-
selves upou him without the intervention of his judgment;
of dispositions to court some and avoid others, when he
could assign no reason for the preference, or none ade-
quate to the violence of his passions; of influence that
acted instantaneously upon his mind, and which no argu-
ments or persuasions could ever overcome. .
Among those with whom time and intercourse have
made us familiar, we feel our affections divided in different
proportions without much regard to moral or intellectual
merit. Every man knows some whom he cannot induce
himself to trust, though he has no reason to suspect that
they would betray him; those to whom he cannot complain,
though he never observed them to want compassion ; those
in whose presence he never can be gay, though excited by
invitations to mirth and freedom ; and those from whom
5
II. IL
-r
258 THR RAMBLIM. No. 160.
he cannot be content to receive instruction, though they

never insulted his ignorance by contempt or ostentation.
That much regard is to be had to those instincts of
kindness and dislike, or that reason should blindly follow
them, I am far from intending to inculcate : it is very
certain, that by indulgence we may give them strength
which they have not from nature, and almost every ex-
ample of ingratitude and treachery proves, that by obey-
ing them we may commit our happiness to those who are
very unworthy of so great a trust. But it may deserve to
be remarked, that since few contend much with their incli-
nations, it is generally vain to solicit the good-will of those
whom we perceive thus involuntarily alienated from us:
neither knowledge nor virtue will reconcile antipathy, and
though officiousness may be for a time admitted, and dili-
gence applauded, they will at last be dismissed with cold-
ness, or discouraged by neglect.
Some have, indeed, an occult power of stealing upon the
affections, of exciting universal benevolence, and disposing
every heart to fondness and friendship. But this is a
felicity granted only to the favourites of nature. °The
greater part of mankind find a different reception fro►n
different dispositions; they sometimes obtain unexpected
caresses from those whom they never flattered with
uncommon regard, and sometimes exhaust all their arts-
of pleasing without effect. To these it is necessary to
look round, and attempt every breast in which they
find virtue sufficient for the foundation of friendship ; to
enter into the crowd, and try whom chance will offer
to their notice, till they fix on some temper congenial
to their own, as the magnet rolled in the dust collects
the fragments of its kindred metal from a thousand par-
ticles of other substances.
Every man must have remarked the'facility witI6 which
the kindness of others is sometimes gained by those to
whom he never could have imparted his own. We are,
by our occupations, education, and habits of life, divided
No. M. THE RAMBLER. 259
almost into different species, which regard one another,

for the most part, with scorn and malignity. Each of
these classes of the human race has desires, fears, and
conversation, vexations and merriment, peculiar to itself;
cares which another cannot feel ; pleasures which he can-
not partake ; and modes of expressing every sensation
which he cannot understand. That frolick which shakes
one man with laughter, will convulse another with indig-
nation; the strain of jocularity which in one place obtains
treats and patronage, would in another be heard with in-
difference, and in a third with abhorrence.
To raise esteem we must benefit others, to procure love
we must please them. Aristotle observes, that old men
do not readily form friendships, because they are not
easily susceptible of pleasure. He that can contribute to
the hilarity of the vacant hour, or partake with equal gust
the favourite amusement; he whose mind is employed on
the same objects, and who, therefore, never harasses the
understanding with unaccustomed ideas, will be welcomed
with ardour, and left with regret, unless he destroys those
recommendations by faults with which peace and security
cannot consist.
It were happy, if, in forming friendships, virtue could
concur with pleasure ; but the greatest part of human gra-
tifications approach so nearly to vice, that few who make
the delight of others their rule of conduct, can avoid dis-
ingenuous compliances; yet certainly he that suffers him-
self to be driven or allured from virtue, mistakes his own
interest, since he gains succour by means, for which his
friend, if ever he becomes -wise, must scorn him, and for
which, at last, he must scorn himself.
No. 161. TUESDAY, OCTOBER 1, 1751.
oti yap staWkatv yEviti, rain& cal "Av8porv. Nov. II. T'.
Frail as the leaves that quiver on the sprays,
Like them man flourishes, like them decays.
MR. RAMBLER.
SIR,
You have formerly observed that curiosity often

terminates in barren knowledge, and that the mind is
prompted to study and inquiry rather by the uneasiness of
ignorance, than the hope of profit. Nothing can be of
less importance to any present interest, than the fortune of
those who have been long lost in the grave, and from whom
nothing now can be hoped or feared. Yet, to rouse the
zeal of a true antiquary, little more is necessary than to
mention a name which mankind have conspired to forget;
lie will make his way to remote scenes of action, through
obscurity and contradiction, as Tully sought amidst bushes
and brambles the tomb of Archimedes.
It is not easy to discover how it concerns him that ga-
thers the produce, or receives the rent of an estate, to
know through what families the land has passed, who is
registered in the Conqueror's survey as its possessor, how
often it has been forfeited by treason, or how often sold
by prodigality. The power or wealth of the present inha-
bitants of a country cannot be much increased by an in-
quiry after the names of those barbarians, who destroyed
one another twenty centuries ago, in contests for the
shelter of woods, or convenience of pasturage. Yet we
see that no man can be at rest in the enjoyment of a new
purchase till he has learned the history of his grounds from
the ancient inhabitants of the parish, and that no make
omits to record the actions of their ancestors, however
bloody, savage, and rapacious.
The same disposition, as different opportunities call it
forth, discovers itself in great or little things. I have al'
ways thought it unworthy of a wise man to slumber in

total inactivity, only because he happens to have no em-
ployment equal to his ambition or genius ; it is, therefore,
my custom to apply my attention to the objects before me,
and as I cannot think any place wholly unworthy of notice
that affords a habitation to a man of letters, I have col-
lected the history and antiquities of the several garrets
in which I have resided :
Quantulacunque estis, trot ego magnet ma.
How small to othersvbut how great to me !
Many of these narratives my industry has been able to

extend to a considerable length; but the woman with
whom I now lodge has lived only eighteen months i❑ the
house, and can give no account of its ancient revolutions ;
the plasterer having, at her entrance, obliterated, by his
whitewash, all the smoky memorials which former tenants
had left upon the ceiling, and perhaps drawn the veil of
oblivion over politicians, philosophers, and poets.
When I first cheapened my lodgings, the landlady told
me, that she hoped I was not an author, for the lodgers on
the first floor had stipulated that the upper rooms should
not be occupied by a noisy trade. I very readily promised
to give no disturbance to her family, and soon despatched a
bargain on the usual terms.
I bad not slept many nights in my new apartment before
I began to inquire after my predecessors, and found my
landlady, whose imagination is filled chiefly with her own
affairs, very ready to give me information.
Curiosity, like all other desires, produces pain as well
as pleasure. Before she began her narrative, I had
heated my head with expectations of adventures and dis-
coveries, of elegance in disguise, and learning in distress ;
and was somewhat mortified when I heard that the first
tenant was a tailor, of whom nothing was remembered but
that he complained of his room for want of light ; and,
after having lodged in it a month, and paid only a week's
teat, pawned a piece of cloth which he was trusted to
262 TIIE RAMBLER. N°. 161.
cut out, and was forced to make a precipitate retreat from

this quarter of the town.
The next was a young woinan newly arrived from the
country, who lived for five weeks with great regularity,
and became by frequent treats very much the favourite of
the family, but at last received visits so frequently from a
cousin in Cheapside, that she brought the reputation of the
house into danger, and was therefore dismissed with good
advice.
The room then stood empty for a fortnight ; my landlady
began to think that she had judged hardly, and often
wished for such another lodger. At last, an elderly man
of a grave aspect read the bill, and bargained for the
room at the very first price that was asked. He lived in
close retirement, seldom went out till evening, and then
returned early, sometimes cheerful, and at other times
dejected. It was remarkable, that whatever he purchased,
he never had small money in his pocket ; and, though cool
and temperate on other occasions, was always vehement
and stormy till he received his change. He paid his rent
with great exactness, and seldom failed once a week to re-
quite my landlady's civility with a supper. At last, such
is the fate of human felicity, the house was alarmed at
midnight by the constable, who demanded to search the
garrets. My landlady assuring him that he had mistaken
the door, conducted him up stairs, where he found the tools
of a coiner; but the tenant had crawled along the roof to
an empty house, and escaped ; much to the joy of my land-
lady, who declares him a very honest man, and wonders
why any body should be hanged for making money when
such numbers are in want of it. She however confesses
that she shall, for the future, always question the character
of those who take her garret without beating down the
price.
The bill was then placed again in the window, and the
poor woman was teased for seven weeks by innumerable
passengers, who obliged her to climb with them every
hour up five stories, and then disliked the prospect, hate('
the noise of a publick street, thought the stairs narrow,

objected to a low ceiling, required the walls to be hung
with fresh►•r paper, asked questions about the neighbour-
hood, could not think of living so far from their acquaint-
ance, wished the windows had looked to the south rather
than the west, told how the door and chimney might
have been better disposed, bid her half the price that she
asked, or promised to give her earnest the next clay, and
came no more. .
At last, a short meagre man, in a tarnished waistcoat,
desired to see the garret, a►nh when he had stipulated for
two long shelves, and a larger table, hired it at a low rate.
When the affair was completed, he looked round him with
great satisfaction, and repeated some words which the
woman did not understand. In two days he brought a
great box of books, took possession of his room, and lived
very inoffensively, except that he frequently disturbed the
inhabitants of the next floor by unseasonable noises. He
was generally in bed at noon, but fro►n evening to mid-
night he sometimes talked aloud with great vehemence,
sometimes stamped as in rage, sometimes threw down his
poker, then clattered his chairs, then sat down in deep
thought, and again burst out into loud vociferations ;
sometimes he would sigh, as oppressed with misery, and
sometimes shake with convulsive laughter. When he
encountered any of the family, he gave way or bowed, but
rarely spoke, except that as he went up stairs he often re-
peated,
'OS inriprara &ipara vairt.
This habitant th' aerial regions boast ;
hard words, to which his neighbours listened so often, that

they learned them without understanding them. What
was his employment she did not venture to ask him, but at
last heard a printer's boy inquire for the author.
My landlady was very often advised to beware of this
strange man, who, though he was quiet for the present,
might, perhaps, become outrageous in the hot months; but,
•
as she was punctually paid, she could not find any suffi-
cient reason for dismissing him, till one night he convinced
her, by setting fire to his curtains, that it was not safe to
have an author for her inmate.
She had then, for six weeks, a succession of tenants,
who left the house on Saturday, and, instead of paying
their rent, stormed at their landlady. At last she took in
two sisters, one of whom had spent her little fortune in pro-
curing remedies for a lingering disease, and was now sup-
ported and attended by the other : she climbed with diffi-
culty to the apartment, where she languished eight weeks
without impatience, or lamentation, except for the expense
and fatigue which her sister suffered, and then calmly and
contentedly expired. The sister followed her to the
grave, paid the few debts which they had contracted,
wiped away the tears of useless sorrow, and, returning to
the business of common life, resigned to me the vacant
habitation.
Such, Mr. Rambler, are the changes which have hap-
pened in the narrow space where my present fortune has
fixed my residence. So true is it that amusement and in-
struction are always at hand for those who have skill and
willingness to find them ; and, so just is the observation of
Juvenal, that a single house will show whatever is done or
suffered in the world.
I am, sir, &c.
N°. 162• THE RAMBLER. .265
•
No. 162. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 5, 1751.
Orbus es, et locuples, et Bruto consule natus,

Esse tibi verus credis amicitias?
Sunt vera: sed quas juvenis, quas pauper habebas:
Qui novas est, mortem diligit ills tuam. MMST. Lib. xi. Ep. 44.
What! old, and rich, and childless too,
And yet believe your friends are truel
Truth might perhaps to those belong,
To those who lov'd you poor and young;
But, trust me, for the new you have,
They'll love you dearly—in your grave. F. LEWIS.
ONE of the complaints uttered by Milton's Samson, in
the anguish of blindness, is, that he shall pass his life un-
der the direction of others; that he cannot regulate his
conduct by his own knowledge, but must lie at the mercy
of those who undertake to guide him.
There is no state more contrary to the dignity of wisdom
than perpetual and unlimited dependence, in which the
understanding lies useless, and every motion is received
from external impulse. Reason is the great distinction of
human nature, the faculty by which we approach to some
degree of association with celestial intelligences ; but as
the excellence of every power appears only in its opera-
tions, not to have reason, and to have it useless and unem-
ployed, is nearly the same.
Such is the.weakness of man, that the essence of things
is seldom so much regarded as external and accidental ap-
pendages. A small variation of trifling circumstances, a
slight change of form by an artificial dress, or a casual dif-
ference of appearance, by a new light and situation, will
conciliate affection or excite abhorrence, and determine us
to pursue or to avoid. Every man considers a necessity of
compliance with any will but his own, as the lowest state of
ignominy and meanness; few are so far lost in cowardice
or negligence, as not to rouse at the first insult of ty-
ranny, and exert all their force against him who usurps
their property, or invades any privilege of speech or ac-
266 TIIE RAMBLER. NO. 162'.
tion. Yet we see often those who never wanted spirit to

repel encroachment or oppose violence, at last, by a gra-
dual relaxation of vigilance, delivering up, without capitu-
lation, the fortress which they defended against assault, and
laying down unbidden the weapons which they grasped the
harder for every attempt to wrest them from their hands.
Men eminent for spirit and wisdom often resign themselves
to voluntary pupilage, and suffer their lives to be modelled
by officious ignorance, and their choice to be regulated by
presumptuous stupidity.
This unresisting acquiescence in the determination of
others, may be the consequence of application to some
study remote from the beaten track of life, some employ-
ment which does not allow leisure for sufficient inspection
of those petty affairs, by which nature has decreed a great
part of our duration to be filled. To a mind thus with-
drawn from common objects, it is more eligible to repose
on the prudence of another, than to be exposed every mo-
ment to slight interruptions. The submission which such
confidence requires, is paid without pain, because it implies
no confession of inferiority. The business from which we
withdraw our cognizance, is not above our abilities, but
below our notice. We please our pride with the effects of
our influence thus weakly exerted, and fancy ourselves
placed in a higher orb, from which we regulate subordinate
agents by a slight and distant superintendence. But,
whatever vanity or abstraction may sugge4, no man call
safely do that by others which might be done by himself;
he that indulges negligence will quickly become ignorant
of his own affairs; and he that trusts without reserve will
at last be deceived.
It is, however, impossible but that, as the attention tends
strongly towards one thing, it must retire from another ;
and he that omits the care of domestick business, because
he is engrossed by inquiries of more importance to man-
kind, has, at least, the merit of suffering in a good cause..
But there are many who can plead no such extenuation of
their folly ; who shake off the burden of their station, not
Nc.. 162. THE RAMBLER. 267
that they may soar with less incumbrance to the heights of

knowledge or virtue, but that they may loiter at ease and
sleep in quiet; and who select for friendship and confi-
dence, not the faithful and the virtuous, but the soft, the
civil, and compliant.
This openness to flattery is the common disgrace of de-
clining life. When men feel weakness increasing on them,
they naturally desire to rest from the struggles of contra-
diction, the fatigue of reasoning, the anxiety of circum-
spection ; when they are hourly tormented with pains and
diseases, they are unable to bear any new disturbance, and
consider all opposition as an addition to misery-, of which
they feel already more than they can patiently endure.
Thus desirous of peace, and thus fearful of pain, the old
man seldom inquires after any other qualities in those
whom he caresses, than quickness in conjecturing his de-
sires, activity in supplying his wants, dexterity in intercept-
ing complaints before they approach near enough to disturb
him, flexibility to his present humour, submission to hasty
petulance, and attention to wearisome narrations. By
these arts alone many have been able to defeat the claims
of kindred and of merit, and to enrich themselves with
presents and legacies.
Thrasybulus inherited a large fortune, and augmented
it by the revenues of several lucrative employments, which
he discharged with honour and dexterity. He was at last
wise enough to consider, that life should not be devoted
wholly to accumulation, and, therefore, retiring to his estate,
applied himself to the education of his children, and the
cultivation of domestick happiness.
He passed several years in this pleasing amusement, and
taw his care amply recompensed ; his daughters were cele-
brated for modesty and elegance, and his sons for learning,
prudence, and spirit. In time the eagerness with which
the neighbouring gentlemen courted his alliance, obliged
him to resign his daughters to other families ; the vivacity
and curiosity of his sons hurried them out of rural privacy
into the open world, from whence they had not soon an in-
2G8 THE RAMBLER. N°. 162.
clination to return. This, however, he had always hoped ;

he pleased himself with the success of his schemes, and
felt no inconvenience from solitude till an apoplexy de-
prived him of his wife.
Thrasybulus had now no companion ; and the maladies
of increasing years having taken from him much of the
power of procuring amusement for himself, he thought it
necessary to procure some inferiour friend, who might ease
him of his economical solicitudes, and divert him by cheer-
ful conversation. All these qualities he soon recollected
in Vafer, a clerk in one of the offices over which he had
formerly presided. Vafer was invited to visit his old
patron, and being by his station acquainted with the pre-
sent modes of life, and by constant practice dexterous in
business, entertained him with so many novelties, and so
readily disentangled his affairs, that he was desired to re-
sign his clerkship, and accept a liberal salary in the house
of Tbrasybulus.
Vafer, having always lived in a state of dependence,
was well versed in the arts by which favour is obtained,
and could, without repugnance or hesitation, accommodate
himself to every caprice, and echo every opinion. He
never doubted but to be convinced, nor attempted oppo-
sition but to flatter Thrasybulus with the pleasure of 0
victory. By this practice he found his way into his patron's
heart, and, haVing first made himself agreeable, soon be-
came important. His insidious diligence, by which the
laziness of age was gratified, engrossed the management
of affairs; and his petty offices of civility, and occasional
intercessions, persuaded the tenants to consider him as
their friend and benefactor, and to entreat his enforcement
of their representations of hard years, and his countenance
to petitions for abatement of rent.
Thrasybulus had now banqueted on flattery, till he could
no longer bear the harshness of remonstrance or the insi-
pidity of truth. All contrariety to his own opinion shocked
him like a violation of some natural right, and all recom-
mendation of his affairs to his own inspection was dreaded
N. 162. THE RAMBLER. 269
by him as a summons to torture. His children were

alarmed by the sudden riches of Vafer, but their complaints
were heard by . their father with impatience, as the result
of a conspiracy against his quiet, and a design to condemn
' him, for their own advantage, to groan out his last hours
in perplexity and drudgery. The daughters retired with
tears in their eyes, but the son continued his importunities
till he found his inheritance hazarded by his obstinacy.
Vafer triumphed over all their efforts, and, continuing
to confirm himself in authority, at the death of his master,
purchased an estate and bade defiance to inquiry and
justice.
••••~4.4.410*••••
N°. 163. TUESDAY, OCTOBER, ft. 1751.
Mitte superba patifiutidia, spemqtre caducam

Device; vice tibi, nam moriere tibi. SENECA.
Bow to no patron's insolence ; rely
On no frail hopes, in freedom live and die. F. Lvms.
NONE of the cruelties exercised by wealth and power upon
indigence and dependence is more mischievous in its con-
sequences, or more frequently practised with wanton neg-
ligence, than the encouragement of expectations which
are never to be gratified, and the elation and depression
of the heart by needless vicissitudes of hope and dis-
appointment.
Every man is rich or poor, according to the proportion
between his desires and enjoyments; any enlargement of
wishes is, therefore, equally destructive to happiness with
the diminution of possession ; and he that teaches another
to long for what he never shall obtain, is no less an enemy
to his quiet, than if he had robbed him of part of his patri-
mony.
But representations thus refined exhibit no adequate
idea of the guilt of pretended friendship ; of artifices by
which followers are attracted only to decorate the retinue
of pomp, and swell the shout of popularity, and to be dis-
missed with contempt and ignominy, when their leader has
succeeded or miscarried, when he is sick of show, and
weary of noise. While a man, infatuated with the promises
of greatness, wastes his hours and days in attendance and
solicitation, the honest opportunities of improving his con-
dition pass by without his notice ; he neglects to cultivate
his own barren soil, because he expects every moment to
be placed in regions of spontaneous fertility, and is seldom
roused from his delusion, but by the gripe of distress which
he cannot resist, and the sense of evils which cannot be
remedied.
The punishment of Tantalus in the infernal regions af-
fords a just image of hungry servility, flattered with the
approach of advantage, doomed to lose it before it comes
into his reach, always within a few days of felicity, and
always sinking back to his former wants :
Kai pis, TcivraXov cicriaov, xaXir' tar' rxovra,
'Ectra6e iv Xipv., iSF irpoahrXcgc ylvtitir
Eraro öid4laav, irtiftv r mix Elxev &War'
'Oaaluct yap tanlite 6 yip(s)V, =EMS pivtaivatv,
Toarmix' ii&op ciroXiaKEr dvaPpoxiv• citypi 131 iroaal
taia piXatva OeIVICTKE, KaraZimaaxe Si Salimay.
Aiv8pEa 8' iikairriXa Karaxpighv xh Kapirbv,
"Onvat, Kai Amai, Kai iinXica. riyXmccapirot,
Mardi relXvrEpal, cai iXtlita rtiXL06catrat•
Tit', 67r6r letiate 6 yipury iiri 'mai imiaaaeat,
Triad' ci'vEiloc iiirraaKE rrori vipa axi6Evra. Heat. Od. A'. 581.
" I saw," says Homer's Ulysses, " the severe punishment

of Tantalus. In a lake, whose waters approached to his
lips, he stood burning with thirst, without the power to
drink. Whenever he inclined his head to the stream,
some deity commanded it to be dry, and the dark earth
appeared at his feet. Around him lofty trees spread their
fruits to view ; the pear, the pomegranate, and the apple,
the green olive, and the luscious fig, quivered before him,
which, whenever he extended his hand to seize them, were
snatched by the winds into clouds and obscurity."
This image of misery was, perhaps, originally suggested
to some poet by the conduct of his patron, by the dailY
contemplation of splendour which he never must partake,
by fruitless attempts to catch at interdicted happiness, and
by the sudden evauesceuce of his reward, when he thought
his labours almost at an end. To groan with poverty, when
all about him was opulence, riot, and superfluity, and to
find the favours which he had long been encouraged to
hope, and had long endeavoured to deserve, squandered at
last on nameless ignorance, was to thirst with water flow-
ing before him, and to see the fruits, to which his hunger
was hastening, scattered by the wind. Nor can my corre-
spondent, whatever he mayhave suffered, express with
more justness or force the vexations of dependence.
TO THE RAMBLER.
SIR,
I am one of those mortals who have been courted
and envied as the favourites of the great. Having often
gained the prize of composition at the university, I began
to hope that I should obtain the same distinction in every
other place, and determined to forsake the profession to
which I was destined by my parents, and in which the inte-
rest of my family would have procured me a very advan-
tageous settlement. The pride of wit fluttered in my
heart, and when I prepared to leave the college, nothing
entered my imagination but honours, caresses, and re-
wards, riches without labour, and luxury without expense.
I however delayed my departure for a time, to finish the
Performance by which I was to draw the first notice of
mankind upon me. When it was completed I hurried to
London, and considered every moment that passed before
its publication, as lost in a kind of neutral existence, and
cut off from the golden hours of happiness and fame. The
piece was at last printed and disseminated by a rapid
sale ; I wandered from one place of concourse to another,
feasted from morning to night on the repetition of my own
praises, and enjoyed the various conjectures of criticks, the
Mistaken candour of my friends, and the impotent malice
of my enemies. Some had read the manuscript, and rec-
titled its inaccuracies; others had seen it in a state so imper-

fect, that they could not forbear to wonder at its present ex-
cellence ; some had conversed with the author at the coffee-
house, and others gave hints that they had lent him money.
I knew that no performance is so favourably read as that
of a writer who suppresses his name, and therefore resolved
to remain concealed, till those by whom literary reputation
is established had given their suffrages too publickly to
retract them. At length my bookseller informed me that
Aurantius, the standing patron of merit, had sent inquiries
after me, and invited me to his acquaintance.
The time which I had long expected was now arrived.
I went to Aurantius with a beating heart, for I looked •
upon our interview as the critical moment of my destiny.
I was received with civilities which my academick rudeness
made me unable to repay; but when I had recovered from
my confusion, I prosecuted the conversation with such
liveliness and propriety, that I confirmed my new friend in
his esteem of my abilities, and was dismissed with the ut-
most ardour of profession, and raptures of fondness.
I was soon summoned to dine with Aurantius, who bad
assembled the most judicious of his friends to partake of the
entertainment. Again I exerted my powers of sentiment
and expression, and again found every eye sparkling with
delight, and every tongue silent with attention. I now
became familiar at the table of Aurantius, but could never,
in his most private or jocund hours, obtain more from bite
than general declarations of esteem, or endearments of
tenderness, which included no particular promise, and
therefore conferred no claim. This frigid reserve some-
what disgusted•me, and when he complained of three days'
absence, I took care to inform him with bow much impor-
tunity of kindness I had been detained by his rival Polio.
Aurantius now considered his honour as endangered by
the desertion of a wit, and, lest I should have an inclination
to wander, told me that I could never find a friend more
constant and zealous than himself; that indeed he had
made no promises, because lie hoped to surprise me with
advancement, but had been silently promoting my interest,

and should continue his good offices, unless he found the
kindness of others more desired.
If you, Mr. Rambler, have ever ventured your philo-
sophy within the attraction of greatness, you know the
force of such language, introduced with a smile of gracious
tenderness, and impressed at the conclusion with an air of
solemn sincerity. From that instant I gave myself up
wholly to Aurantius, and, as he immediately resumed his
former gaiety, expected every morning a summons to some
employment of dignity and profit. One month succeeded
another, and, in defiance of appearances, I still fancied
myself nearer to my wishes, and continued to dream of
success, and wake to disappointment. At last the failure
of my little fortune compelled me to abate the finery which
I hitherto thought necessary to the company with whom I
associated, and the rank to which I should be raised.
Aurantius, from the moment in which he discovered my
poverty, considered me as fully in his power, and after-
wards rather permitted my attendance than invited it;
thought himself at liberty to refuse my visits, whenever
he had other amusements within reach, and often suffered
me to wait, without pretending any necessary business.
'When I was admitted to his table, if any man of rank
equal to his own was present, he took occasion to men-
tion my writings, and commend my ingenuity, by which
he intended to apologize for the confusion of distinc-
tions, and the improper assortment of his company; and
often called upon me to entertain his friends with my
productions, as a sportsman delights the squires of his
neighbourhood with the curvets of his horse, or the
obedience of his spaniels.
To complete my mortification, it was his practice to im-
pose tasks upon me, by requiring me to write upon such
subjects as he thought susceptible of ornament and illus-
tration. With these extorted performances he was little
satisfied, because he rarely found in them the ideas which
R. II. T
his own imagination had suggested, and which he therefore

thought more natural than mine.
When the pale of ceremony is broken, rudeness and in-
sult soon enter the breach. He now found that he might
safely harass me with vexation, that he had fixed the
shackles of patronage upon me, and that I could neithe(
resist him nor escape. At last, in the eighth year of my
servitude, when the clamour of creditors was vehement,
and my necessity known to be extreme, he offered me a
small office, but hinted his expectation, that I should marry
a young woman with whom he had been acquainted.
I was not so far depressed by my calamities as to comply
with this proposal ; but, knowing that complaints and ex-
postulations would but gratify his insolence, I turned away
with that contempt with which I shall never want spirit to
treat the wretch who can outgo the guilt of a robber with-
out the temptation of his profit, and who lures the credulous
and thoughtless to maintain the show of his levee, and the
mirth of his table, at the expense of honour, happiness, and
life.
I am, sir, &c.
LIBERAL'S.
4.4........~........~~,~4.~
N o. 164. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 12, 17M.
Vitium, Gaure, Catonis hates. MART. Lib. ii. Ep. lxxxix. 2.

Gaurus pretends to Cato's Erne ;
And proves—by Cato's vice, his claim.
DISTINCTION is so pleasing to the pride of man, that $
great part of the pain and pleasure of life arises from the
gratification or disappointment of an incessant wish for se'
periority, from the success or miscarriage of secret cool'
petitions, from victories and defeats', of which, though they
appear to us of great importance, in reality none are coo'
scions except ourselves.
N. 164. TUB RAMBLER. 275
Proportionate to the prevalence of this love of praise is

the variety of means by which its attainment is attempted.
Every man, however hopeless his pretensions may appear
to all but himself, has some project by which be hopes to
rise to reputation ; some art by which he imagines that the
notice of the world will be attracted ; some quality, good
or bad, which discriminates him from the common herd of
mortals, and by which others may be persuaded to love, or
compelled to fear him. The ascents of honour, however
steep, never appear inaccessible; he that despairs to scale
the precipices by which learang and valour have conducted
their favourites, discovers some by-path, or easier acclivity,
which, though it cannot bring him to the summit, will yet
enable him to overlook those with whom he is now contend-
ing for eminence ; and we seldom require more to the hap-
piness of the present hour, than to surpass him that stands
next before us.
As the greater part of human kind speak and act wholly
by imitation, most of those who aspire to honour and ap-
plause propose to themselves some example which serves as
the model of their conduct, and the limit of their hopes.
Almost every man, if closely examined, will be found to
have enlisted himself under some leader whom be expects
to conduct him to renown ; to have some hero or other,
living or dead, in his view, whose character he endeavours
to assume, and whose performances he labours to equal.
When the original is well chosen, and judiciously copied,
the imitator often arrives at excellence, which he could
never have attained without direction ; for few are formed
with abilities to discover new possibilities of excellence,
and to distinguish themselves by means never tried before.
But folly and idleness often contrive to gratify pride at
a cheaper rate ; not the qualities which are most illustrious,
but those which are of easiest attainment, are selected for
imitation ; and the honours and rewards which publick gra-
titude has paid to the benefactors of mankind, are expected
by wretches who can only imitate them in their vices and
T 2
defects, or adopt some petty singularities of which those

from whom they are borrowed were secretly ashamed.
No man rises to such a height as to become conspicuous,
but he is on one side censured by undiscerning malice,
which reproaches him for his best actions, and slanders his
apparent and incontestable excellencies ; and idolized on
the other by ignorant admiration, which exalts his faults
and follies into virtues. It may be observed, that be by
whose intimacy his acquaintances imagine themselves dig-
nified, generally diffuses among theni his mien and his
habits; and indeed, without more vigilance than is gene-
rally applied to the regulation of the minuter parts of be-
haviour, it is not easy, when we converse much with one
whose general character excites our veneration, to escape
all contagion of his peculiarities, even when we do not de-
liberately think them worthy of our notice, and when they
would have excited laughter or disgust, had they not been
protected by their alliance to nobler qualities, and acci-
dentally consorted with knowledge or with virtue.
The faults of a man loved or honoured, sometimes steal
secretly and imperceptibly upon the wise and virtuous,
but, by injudicious fondness or thoughtless vanity, are
adopted with design. There is scarce any failing of mind
or body, any errour of opinion, or depravity of practice,
which instead of producing shame and discontent, its na-
tural effects, has not at one time or other gladdened vanity
with the hopes of praise, and been displayed with ostenta-
tious industry by those who sought kindred minds among
the wits or heroes, and could prove their relation only by
similitude of deformity.
In consequence of this perverse ambition, every habit
which reason condemns may be indulged and avowed.
When a man is upbraided with his faults, he may indeed be
pardoned if he endeavours to run for shelter to some
celebrated name ; .but it is not to be suffered that, from the
retreats to which he fled from infamy, he should issue
again with the confidence of conquests, and call upon maw
kind for praise. Yet we see men that waste their patri-
mony in luxury, destroy their health with debauchery, and
enervate their minds with idleness, because there have
been some whom luxury never could sink into contempt,
nor idleness hinder from the praise of genius.
This general inclination of mankind to copy characters
in the gross, and the force which the recommendation of
illustrious examples adds to the allurements of vice, ought
to be considered by all whose character excludes them from
the shades of secrecy, as incitements to scrupulous caution
and universal purity of manners. No man, however en-
slaved to his appetites, or hurried by his passions, can,
while he preserves his intellects unimpaired, please himself
with promoting the corruption of others. He whose merit
has enlarged his influence, would surely wish to exert it
for the benefit of mankind. Yet such will be the effect of
his reputation, while he suffers himself to indulge in any
favourite fault, that they who have no hope to reach his
excellence will catch at his failings, and his virtues will be
cited to justify the copiers of his vices.
It is particularly the duty of those who consign illustri-
ous names to posterity, to take care lest their readers be
misled by ambiguous examples. That writer may be justly
condemned as an enemy to goodness, who suffers fondness
or interest to confound right with wrong, or to shelter the
faults which even the wisest and the best have committed
from that ignominy which guilt ought always to suffer, and
with which it should be more deeply stigmatized when dig-
nified by its neighbourhood to uncommon worth, since we
shall be in danger of beholding it without abhorrence, un-
less its turpitude be laid open, and the eye secured from
the deception of surrounding splendour.
278 THE RANIBLER. N°. 1G5.
N°. 165. TUESDAY, OCTOBER 15, 1751.
'H,' vioc, AM rivnc• yin, ynpay, rXoLcrtoc eiµt•

'S2 ii6voc lg irdvrwv oirrptic ii, cipporipoic,
"Oc rdrs piv xpija0ca avverpriv, Ordij oi).5" 11, axov
Ntiv 3' 67r6rE xpija0aL pi) alivaitat, r6r 'Ivo. ANTIPIIILVS.
Young was I once and poor, now rich and old ;
A harder case than mine was never told;
Blest with the power to use them—I had none ;
Loaded with riches now, the power is gone. F. Lewis.
TO THE RAMBLER.
SIR,
THE writers who have undertaken the unpromising
task of moderating desire, exert all the power of their elo-
quence, to show that happiness is not the lot of man, and
have, by many arguments and examples, proved the insta-
bility of every condition by which envy or ambition is ex-
cited. They have set before our eyes all the calamities to
which we are exposed from the frailty of nature, the influ-
ence of accident, or the stratagems of malice; they have
terrified greatness with conspiracies, and riches with anxie-
ties, wit with criticism, and beauty with disease.
All the force of reason, and all the charms of language,
are, indeed, necessary to support positions which every man
hears with a wish to confute them. Truth finds an easy
entrance into the mind when she is introduced by desire,
and attended by pleasure; but when she intrudes uncalled,
and brings only fear and sorrow in her train, the passes of
the intellect are barred against her by prejudice and pas-
sion ; if she sometimes forces her way by the batteries of
argument, she seldom long keeps possession of her con-
quests, but is ejected by some favoured enemy, or, at best,
obtains only a nominal sovereignty, without influence and
without authority.
That life is short we are all convinced, and yet suffer not
that conviction to repress our projects or limit our expec-
tations ; that life is miserable we all feel, and yet we be-
lieve that the time is near when we shall feel it no longer.

But to hope happiness 'and immortality is equally vain.
Our state may, indeed, be more or less imbittered as our
duration may be more or less• contracted; yet the utmost
felicity which we' can ever attain will be little better than
alleviation of misery, and we shall always feel more pain
from our wants than pleasure from our enjoyments. The
incident which I am going to 'relate will show, that'to de-
stroy the effect of all our success, it is not necessary that
any signal calamity should fall upon us, that we should be
harassed by implacable perseciAion, or excruciated by irre-
mediable pains : the brightest hours of prosperity have their
clouds, and the stream of life, if it is not ruffled by obstruc-
tions, will grow putrid by stagnation.
My father, resolving not to imitate the folly of his ances-
tors, who had hitherto left the younger sons encumbrances
on the eldest, destined me to a lucrative profession; and
I, being careful to lose no opportunity of improvement,
was, at the usual time in which young men enter the world,
well qualified for the exercise of the business which I had
chosen.
My eagerness to distinguish myself in publick, and my
impatience of the narrow scheme of life to which my indi-
gence confined me, did not suffer me to continue long in
the town where I was born. I went away as from a place
of confinement, with a resolution to return no more, till I
should be able to dazzle with my splendour those who now
looked upon me with contempt, to reward those who had
paid honours to my dawning merit, and to show all who had
suffered me to glide by them unknown and neglected, how
much they mistook their interest in omitting to propitiate
a genius like mine.
Such were my intentions when I sallied forth into the
unknown world, in quest of riches and honours, which I ex-
pected to procure in a very short time ; for what could
'withhold them from industry and knowledge? He that in-
dulges hope will always be disappointed. Reputation I
very soon obtained; but as merit is much more cheaply
280 THE RAMBLER. N°. 165,
acknowledged than rewarded, I did not find myself yet en-

riched in proportion to my celebrity.
I had, however, in time, surmounted the obstacles by
which envy and competition obstruct the first attempts of
a new claimant, and saw my opponents and censurers tacitly
confessing their despair of success, by courting my friend-
ship and yielding to my influence. They who once pur-
sued me, were now satisfied to escape from me ; and they
who had before thought me presumptuous in hoping to
overtake them, had now their utmost wish, if they were
permitted, at no great distance, quietly to follow me.
My wants were not madly multiplied as my acquisitions
increased, and the time came, at length, when I thought
myself enabled to gratify all reasonable desires, and when,
therefore, I resolved to enjoy that plenty and serenity
which I had been hitherto labouring to procure, to enjoy
them while I was yet neither crushed by age into infirmity,
nor so habituated to a particular manner of life as to be
unqualified for new studies or entertainments.
I now quitted my profession, and, to set myself at once
free from all importunities to resume it, changed my resi-
dence, and devoted the remaining part of my time to quiet
and amusement. Amidst innumerable projects of plea-
sure, which restless idleness incited me to form, and of
which most, when they came to the moment of execution,
were rejected for others of no longer continuance, some
accident revived in my imagination the pleasing ideas of
my native place. It was now in my power to visit those
from whom I had been so long absent, in such a manner
as was consistent with my former resolution, and I won-
dered how it could happen that I had so long delayed mf
own happiness.
Full of the admiration which I should excite, and the
homage which I should receive, I dressed my servants in 0
more ostentatious livery, purchased a magnificent chariot,
and resolved to dazzle the inhabitants of the little town
with an unexpected blaze of greatness.
While the preparations that vanity required were made
for my departure, which, as workmen will not easily be

hurried beyond their ordinary rate, I thought very to-_
dious, I solaced my impatience with imaging the va-
rious censures that my appearance would produce ; the
hopes which some would feel from my bounty; the terrour
which my power would strike on others ; the awkward
respect with which I should be accosted by timorous offi-
ciousness ; and the distant reverence with which others,
less familiar to splendour and dignity, would be contented
to gaze upon me. I deliberated a long time, whether I
should immediately descend to a level with my former ac-
quaintances ; or make my condescension more grateful by
a gentle transition from haughtiness and reserve. At
length I determined to forget some of my companions, till
they discovered themselves by some indubitable token,
and to receive the congratulations of others upon my good
fortune with indifference, to show that I always expected
what I had now obtained. The acclamations of the popu-
lace I purposed to reward with six hogsheads of ale, and
a roasted ox, and then recommend to them to return to
their work.
At last all the trappings of grandeur were fitted, and I
began the journey of triumph, which I could have wished
to have ended in the same moment; but my horses felt
none of their master's ardour, and I was shaken four days
upon rugged roads. I then entered the town, and, having
graciously let fall the glasses, that my person might be
seen, passed slowly through the street. The noise of the
wheels brought the inhabitants to their doors, but I could
not perceive that I was known by them. At last I alighted,
and my name, I suppose, was told by my servants, for the
barber stepped from the opposite house, and seized me by
the hand with honest joy in his countenance, which, accord-
ing to the rule that I had prescribed to myself, I repressed
with a frigid graciousness. The fellow, instead of sinking
into dejection, turned away with contempt, and left me to
consider how the second salutation should be received.
The next friend was better treated, for I soon found that
I must purchase by civility that regard which I had ex-

pected to enforce by insolence.
There was yet no smoke of bonfires, no harmony of
bells, no shout of crowds, nor riot of joy ; the business of
the day went forward as before ; and, after having ordered
a splendid supper, which no man came to partake, and
which my chagrin hindered me from tasting,•I went to bed,
where the vexation of disappointment overpowered the
fatigue of my journey, and kept me from sleep.
I rose so much humbled by those mortifications, as to
inquire after the present state of the town, and found that
I had been absent too long to obtain the triumph which
had flattered my expectation. Of the friends whose com-
pliments I expected, some bad long ago moved to distant
provinces, some had lost, in the maladies of age, all sense
of another's prosperity, and some had forgotten our former
intimacy amidst care and distresses. Of three whom I had
resolved to punish for their former offences by a longer
continuance of neglect, one was, by his own industry,
raised above my scorn, and two were sheltered from it in
the grave. All those whom I loved, feared, or hated, all
whose envy or whose kindness I had hopes of contemplat-
ing with pleasure, were swept away, and their place was
filled by a new generation with other views and other com-
petitions ; and among many proofs of the impotence of
wealth, I found that it conferred upon me very few distinc-
tions in my native place.
I am, sir, &c.
SEROTINUS.
No• 166. • TN 13 RAMBLER. 283
Salver eris pauper, si pauper es, lEmiliane :

Dantur opes nulli nunc nisi divitibus, MART. Lib. v. Ep. lxxxi.
Once poor, my friend, still poor you must remain, •
The rich alone have all the tne7ans of gain. Emo. CAVE.
No complaint has been more frequently repeated in all

ages than that of the neglect of merit associated with
poverty, and the difficulty with• which valuable or pleasing
qualities force themselves into view, when they are ob-
scured by indigence. It has iieen long observed, that na-
tive beauty has little power to charm without the orna-
ments which fortune bestows, and that to want the favour
of others is often sufficient to hinder us from obtaining it.
Every day discovers that mankind are not yet convinced
of their errour, or that their conviction is without power
to influence their conduct; for poverty still continues to
produce contempt, and still obstructs the claims of kindred
and of virtue. The eye of wealth is elevated towards
higher stations, and seldom descends to examine the
actions of those who are placed below the level of its
notice, and who, in distant regions and lower situations,
are struggling with distress, or toiling for bread. Among
the multitudes overwhelmed with insuperable calamity, it is
common to find those whom a very little assistance would
enable to support themselves with decency, and who yet
cannot obtain from near relations, what they see hourly la-
vished in ostentation, luxury, or frolick.
There are natural reasons why poverty does not easily
conciliate affection. He that has been confined from his
infancy to the conversation of the lowest classes of mankind,
must necessarily want those accomplishments which are
the usual means of attracting favour ; and though truth,
fortitude, and probity, give an indisputable right to re-
verence and kindness, they will not be distinguished by
common eyes, unless they are brightened by elegance of
Manners, but are cast aside like unpolished gems, of which
284 THE RAMBLER. • N°. 166.
none but the artist knows the intrinsick value, till their
asperities are smoothed, and their incrustations rubbed
away:
The grossness of vulgar habits obstructs the efficacy of
virtue, as impurity and harshness of style impair the force
of reason, and rugged numbers turn off the mind from ar-
tifice of disposition, and fertility of invention. Few have
strength of reason to overrule the perceptions of sense;
and yet fewer have curiosity or benevolence to struggle
long against the first impression ; he therefore who fails to
please in his salutation and address, is at once rejected, and
never obtains an opportunity of showing his latent excel-
lencies, or essential qualities.
It is, indeed, not easy to prescribe a successful manner
of approach to the distressed or necessitous, whose condition
subjects every kind of Behaviour equally to miscarriage.
He whose confidence of merit incites him to meet, with-
out any apparent sense of inferiority, the eyes of those who
flattered themselves with their own dignity, is considered
as an insolent leveller, impatient of the just prerogatives of
rank and wealth, eager to usurp the station to which he has
no right, and to confound the subordinations of society;
and who would contribute to the exaltation of that spirit
which even want and calamity are not able to restrain from
rudeness and rebellion ?
But no better success will commonly be found to attend
servility and dejection, which often give pride the con-
fidence to treat them with contempt. A request made
with diffidence and timidity is easily denied, because the
petitioner himself seems to doubt its fitness.
Kindness is generally reciprocal ; we are desirous of
pleasing others, because we receive pleasure from them;
but by what means can the man please, whose attention
is engrossed by his distresses, and who has no leisure to be
officious ; whose will is restrained by his necessities, and
who has no power to confer benefits ; whose temper is
perhaps vitiated by misery, and whose understanding is
impeded by ignorance ?
N°. M. THE RAMBLER. 285
It is yet a more offensive discouragement, that the same

actions performed by different hands produce different
effects, and, instead of rating the man by his performances,
we rate too frequently the performance by the man. It
sometimes happens in the combinations of life, that import-
ant services are performed by inferiours ; but though their
zeal and activity may be paid by pecuniary rewards, they
seldom excite that flow of gratitude, or obtain that accu-
mulation of recompense, with which all think it their duty to
acknowledge the favour of those who descend to their as-
sistance from a higher elevation. To be obliged, is to be
in some respect inferiour to anotherh; and few willingly
indulge the memory of an action which raises one whom
they have always been accustomed to think below them, but
satisfy themselves with faint praise and penurious payment,
and then drive it from their own minds, and endeavour to
conceal it from the knowledge of others.
It may be always objected to the services of those who
can be supposed to want a reward, that they were produced
not by kindness but interest; they are, therefore, when
they are no longer wanted, easily disregarded as arts of
insinuation, or stratagems of selfishness. Benefits which
are received as gifts from wealth, are exacted as debts
from indigence ; and he that in a high station is celebrated
for superfluous goodness, would in a meaner condition have
barely been confessed to have done his duty.
It is scarcely possible for the utmost benevolence to
oblige, when exerted under the disadvantages of great in-
feriority; for, by the habitual arrogance of wealth, such
expectations are commonly formed as no zeal or industry
can satisfy ; and what regard can he hope, who has done
less than was demanded from him ?
There are, indeed, kindnesses conferred which were ne-
ver purchased by precedent favours, and there is an affec-
h Sir Joshua Reynolds evinced great reach ormind and intimate acquaintance
with humanity, when he observed, on overhearing a person condoling with some
ladies on the death of one who had conferred the greatest favours upon them,
that at all events they were relieved from the burden of gratitude.
tion not arising from gratittide or gross interest, by which

similar natures are attracted to each other, without pros-
pect of any other advantage than the pleasure of exchang-
ing sentiments, and the hope of confirming their esteem of
themselves by the approbation of each other. But this
spontaneous fondness seldom rises at the sight of poverty,
which every one regards with habitual contempt, and of
which the applause is no more courted by vanity, than the
countenance is solicited by ambition. The most generous
and disinterested friendship must be resolved at last into
the love of ourselves; he, therefore, whose reputation or
dignity inclines us to consider his esteem as a testimonial
of desert, will always find our hearts open to his endear-
ments. We every day see men of eminence followed with
all the obsequiousness of dependence, and courted with all
the blandishments of flattery, by those who want nothing
from them but professions of regard, and who think them-
selves liberally rewarded by a bow, a smile, or an embrace.
But those prejudices which every mind feels, more or
less, in favour of riches, ought, like other opinions, which
only custom and example have impressed upon us, to be
in time subjected to reason. We must learn how to sepa-
rate the real character from extraneous adhesions and
casual circumstances, to consider closely him whom we are
about to adopt or to reject; to regard his inclinations as
well as his actions; to trace out those virtues which
lie torpid in the heart for want of opportunity, and those
vices that lurk unseen by the absence of temptation ; that
when we find worth faintly shooting in the shades of ob-
scurity, we may let in light and sunshine upon it, and ripen
barren volition into efficacy and power.
NO. 167. TUESDAY, OCTOBER 22, 1751.
Candida perpetuo reside, Concordia, lecto,

Tamque pari semper sit Venus erquajugo.
Diligat illa senem quondam: sed et ipsa marito,
Tunc quoque cum fuerit, non videatur, anus. MART. Lib. iv. xiii. 7.
Their nuptial bed may smiling concord dress,
And Venus still the happy union bless !
Wrinkled with age, may mutual love and truth
To their dim eyes recall the bloom of youth. F. LEWIS.
TO THE RAMBLER.
SIR,
IT is not common to envy those with whom we can-
not easily be placed in comparison. Every man sees with-
out malevolence the progress of another in the tracks of
life, which he has himself no desire to tread, and hears,
without inclination to cavils or contradiction, the renown
of those whose distance will not suffer them to draw the
attention of mankind from his own merit. The sailor never
thinks it necessary to contest the lawyer's abilities ; nor
would the Rambler, however jealous of his reputation, be
much disturbed by the success of rival wits_ at Agra or
Ispaban.
We do not therefore ascribe to you any superlative de-
gree of virtue, when we believe that we may inform you of
our change of condition without danger of malignant fasci-
nation ; and that when you read of the marriage of your
correspondents, Hymenteus and Tranquilla, you will join
your wishes to those of their other friends for the happy
event of an union in which caprice and selfishness had so
little part.
There is, at least, this reason why we should be less de-
ceived in our connubial hopes than many who enter into
the same state ;. that we have allowed our minds to form no
unreasonable expectations, nor vitiated our fancies in the
soft hours of courtship, with visions of felicity which human
Power cannot bestow, or of perfection which human virtue
cannot attain. That impartiality with which we endeavour

to inspect the manners of all whom we have known was
never so much overpowered by our passion, but that we
discovered some faults and weaknesses in each other; and
joined our hands in conviction, that as there are advantages
to be enjoyed in marrian, there are inconveniencies like-
wise to be endured ; and, that, together with confederate
intellects and auxiliar virtues, we must find different opi-
nions and opposite inclinations.
We, however, flatter ourselves, (for who is not flattered
by himself as well as by others on the day of marriage ?)
that we are eminently qualified to give mutual pleasure.
Our birth is without any such remarkable disparity as can
give either an opportunity of insulting the other with pom-
pous names and splendid alliances, or of calling in, upon
any domestick controversy, the overbearing assistance of
powerful relations. Our fortune was equally suitable, so
that we meet without any of those obligations, which al-
ways produce reproach or suspicion of reproach, which,
though they may be forgotten in the gaieties of the first
month, no delicacy will always suppress, or of which the
suppression must be considered as a new favour, to be re-
paid by tameness and submission, till gratitude takes the
place of love, and the desire of pleasing degenerates by
degrees into the fear of offending.
The settlements caused no delay; for we did not trust
our affairs to the negotiation of wretches, who would have
paid their court by multiplying stipulations. Tranquilla
scorned to detain any part of her fortune from him into
whose hands she delivered up her person ; and Hymerueus
thought no act of baseness more criminal than his who en-
slaves his wife by her own generosity, who, by marrying
without a jointure, condemns her to all the dangers of ac-
cident and caprice, and at last boasts his liberality, by
granting what only the indiscretion of her kindness enabled
him to withhold. Ile therefore received, on the common
terms, the portion which any other woman might have
brought him, and reserved all the exuberance of acknow-
ledgment for those excellencies which he has yet been able
to discover only in Tranquilla.
We did not pass the weeks of courtship like those who
consider themselves as taking the last draught Of pleasure,
and resolve not to quit the bowl without a surfeit, or who
know themselves about to set happiness to hazard, and en-
deavour to lose their sense of danger in the ebriety of per-
petual amusement, and whirl round the gulf before they
sink. Hymenmus often repeated a medical axiom, that
the succours of sickness ought not to be wasted in health.
We know that however our eye; may yet sparkle, and our
hearts bound at the presence of each other, the time of
listlessness and satiety, of peevishness and discontent, must
come at last, in which we shall be driven for relief to shows
and recreations; that the uniformity of life must be some-
times diversified, and the vacuities of conversation some-
times supplied. We rejoice in the reflection that we have
stores of novelty yet unexhausted, which may be opened
when repletion shall call for change, and gratifications yet
untasted, by which life, when it shall become vapid or bit-
ter, may be restored to its former sweetness and sprightli-
ness, and again irritate the appetite, and again sparkle in
the cup.
Our time will probably be less tasteless than that of those
whom the authority and avarice of parents unite, almost
without their consent, in their early years, before they have
accumulated any fund of reflection, or collected materials
for mutual entertainment. Such we have often seen rising
in the morning to cards, and retiring in the afternoon to
doze, whose happiness was celebrated by their neighbours,
because they happened to grow rich by parsimony, and to
be kept quiet by insensibility, and agreed to eat and to
sleep together.
We have both mingled with the world, and are, there-
fore, no strangers to the faults and virtues, the designs and
competitions, the hopes and fears of our contemporaries.
We have both amused our leisure with books, and can,
therefore, recount the events of former times, or cite the
R. II. u
dictates of ancient wisdom. Every occurrence furnishes us

with some hint which one or the other can improve, and if
it should happen that memory or imagination fail us, we
can retire to no idle or unimproving solitude.
Though our characters, beheld at a distance, exhibit
this general resemblance, yet a nearer inspection discovers
such a dissimilitude of our habitudes and sentiments, as
leaves each some peculiar advantages, and affords that
concordia discors, that suitable disagreement, which is al-
ways necessary to intellectual harmony. There may be a
total diversity of ideas which admits no participation of
the same delight, and there may likewise be such a con-
formity of notions as leaves neither any thing to add to the
decisions of the other. With such contrariety there can
be no peace, with such similarity there can be no pleasure.
Our reasonings, though often formed upon different views,
terminate generally in the same conclusion. Our thoughts,
like rivulets issuing from distant springs, are each impreg-
nated in its course with various mixtures, and tinged by
infusions unknown to the other, yet, at last, easily unite
into one stream, and purify themselves by the gentle effer-
vescence of contrary qualities.
These benefits we receive in a greater degree as we
converse without reserve, because we have nothing to con-
ceal. We have no debts to be paid by imperceptible de-
ductions from avowed expenses, no habits to be indulged
by the private subserviency of a favoured servant, no pri-
vate interviews with needy relations, no intelligence with
spies placed upon each other. We considered marriage
as the most solemn league of perpetual friendship, a state
from which artifice and concealment are to be banished
for ever, and in ivhich every act of dissimulation is a breach
of faith.
The impetuous vivacity of youth, and that ardour of de-
sire which the first sight of pleasure naturally produces,
have long ceased to hurry us into irregularity and vehe.•
mence ; and experience has shown us that few gratifica-
tions are too valuable to be sacrificed to complaisance.
291
N°. 168. THE RAMBLER.
We have thought it convenient to rest from the fatigue of
pleasure, and now only continue that course of life into
which we had before entered, confirmed in our choice by
mutual approbation, supported in our resolution by mutual
encouragement, and assisted in our efforts by mutual ex-
hortation.
Such, Mr. Rambler, is our prospect of life, a prospect
which, as it is beheld with more attention, seems to open
more extensive happiness, and spreads, by degrees, into
the boundless regions of eternity. But if all our prudence
has been vain, and we are deemed to give one instance
more of the uncertainty of human discernment, we shall
comfort ourselves amidst our disappointments, that we
were not betrayed but by such delusions as caution could
not escape, since we sought happiness only in the arms of
virtue.
We are, sir,
Your humble servants,
HYMEN/EDS.
TRANQUILLA.
...~...................................

Decipit
Frons prima mhos: rara me:* intelligit,
Ritod interior.: condidit curie angulo. PIIIEDRUS, Lib. iv. Fab. i. 5.
The tinsel glitter, and the specious mien,
Delude the most; few pry behind the scene.
IT has been observed by Boileau, that " a mean or com-

mon thought expressed in pompous diction, generally
pleases more than a new or noble sentiment delivered in
low and vulgar language; because the number is greater
of those whom custom has enabled to judge of words, than
whom study has qualified to examine things."
This solution might satisfy, if such only were offended
with meanness of expression as are unable to distinguish
Propriety of thought, and to separate propositions or images
u2
from the vehicles by which they aro conveyed to the un-

derstanding. But this kind of disgust is by no means con-
fined to the ignorant or superficial ; it operates uniformly
and universally upon readers of all classes; every man,
however profound or abstracted, perceives himself irre-
sistibly alienated by low terms; they who profess the most
zealous adherence to truth are forced to admit that she
owes Oil of her charms to her ornaments ; and loses
much of her power over the soul, when she appears dis-
graced by a dress uncouth or ill adjusted.
We are all offended by low terms, but are not disgusted
alike by the same compositions, because we do not all
agree to censure the same terms as low. No word is
naturally or intrinsically meaner than another; our opinion
therefore of words, as of other things arbitrarily and ca-
priciously established, depends wholly upon accident and
custom. The cottager thinks those apartments splendid
and spacious, which an inhabitant of palaces will despise
for their inelegance; and to him who has passed most of
his hours with the delicate and polite, many expressions
will seem sordid, which another, equally acute, may hear
without offence ; but a mean term never fails to displease
him to whom it appears mean, as poverty is certainly and
invariably despised, though he who is poor in the eyes of
some, may, by others, be envied for his wealth.
Words become low by the occasions to which they are
applied, or the general character of them who use them;
and the disgust which they produce, arises from the re-
vival of those images with which they are commonly
united. Thus if, in the most solemn discourse, a phrase
happens to occur. which has been successfully employed
in some ludicrous narrative, the gravest auditor finds it
difficult to refrain from laughter, when they who are not
prepossessed by the same accidental association, are
utterly unable to guess the reason of his merriment.
Words which convey ideas of dignity in one age, are
banished from elegant writing or conversation in another,
because they are in time debased by vulgar mouths, and
No. 168. TILL' RAMBLER. 93
can be no longer heard without the involuntary recollec-

tion of unpleasing images.
When Macbeth is confirming himself in the horrid pur-
pose of stabbing his king, he breaks out amidst his emo-
tions into a wish natural to a murderer:
—Conic, thick night!
And pall thee in the thinnest smoke of hell,
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes;
Nor hcav'n peep through the blanket of the dark,
To Hold
cry, ! hold !
In this passage is exerted all 'the force of poetry; that

force which calls new powers into being, which embodies
sentiment, and animates matter: yet, perhaps, scarce any
man now peruses it without some disturbance of his at-
tention from the counteraction of the words to the ideas.
What can be more dreadful than to implore the presence
of night, invested, not in common obscurity, but in the
smoke of hell? Yet the efficacy of this innovation is
destroyed by the insertion of an epithet now seldom heard
but in the stable, and dun night may come or go without
any other notice than contempt.
If we start into raptures when some hero of the Iliad
tells us that '6._.pu
• kiZtrYETai, his lance rages with eagerness to
destroy; if we are alarmed at the terrour of the soldiers
commanded by Cmsar to hew down the sacred grove, who
dreaded, says Lucan, lest the axe aimed at the oak should
fly back upon the striker: •
—Si inborn sacra ferirent,
In sua credebant redituras mentbrn secures;
None dares with impious steel the grove to lend,

Lest on himself the destin'd stroke descend ;
we cannot surely but sympathize with the honours of a

wretch about to murder his master, his friend, his bene-
factor, who suspects that the weapon will refuse its office,
and start back from the breast which he is preparing to
violate. Yet this sentiment is weakened by the name of
an instrument used by butchers and cooks in the meanest
employments : we do not immediately conceive that any
294 TH B RAMBLER. N°. 168.
crime of importance is to be committed with a knife; or

who does not, at last, from the long habit of connecting
a knife with sordid offices, feel aversion rather than ter-
roar.
Macbeth proceeds to wish, in the madness of guilt, that
the inspection of heaven may be intercepted, and that he
may, in the involutions of infernal darkness, escape the
eye of providence. This is the utmost extravagance of
determined wickedness; yet this is so debased by two
unfortunate words, that while I endeavour to impress on
my reader the energy of the sentiment, I can scarce check
my risibility, when the expression forces itself upon my
mind; for who, without some relaxation of his gravity, can
hear of the avengers of guilt peeping through a blanket?
These imperfections of diction are less obvious to the
reader, as he is less acquainted with common usages ;
they are, therefore, wholly imperceptible to a foreigner,
who learns our language from books, and will strike a
solitary academick less forcibly than a modish lady.
Among the numerous requisites that must concur to
complete an author, few are of more importance than an
early entrance into the living world. The seeds of know-
ledge may be planted in solitude, but must be cultivated
in publick. Argumentation may be taught in colleges,
and theories formed in retirement; but the artifice of em-
bellishment, and the powers of attraction, can be gained
only by general converse.
An acquaintance with prevailing customs and fashion-
able elegance is necessary, likewise, for other purposes.
The injury that grand imagery suffers from unsuitable
language, personal merit may fear from rudeness and
indelicacy. When the success of ./Eneas depended on
the favour of the queen upon whose coasts he was driven,
his celestial protectress thought him not sufficiently se-
cured against rejection by his piety or bravery, but de-
corated him for the interview with preternatural beauty.
Whoever desires, for his writings or himself, what none
can reasonably contemn, the favour of mankind, must add
grace to strength, and make his thoughts agreeable as well

as useful. Many complain of neglect who never tried to
attract regard. It cannot be expected that the patrons of
science or virtue should be solicitous to discover excel-
lencies, which they who possess them shade and disguise.
Few have abilities so much needed by the rest of the
world as to be caressed on their own terms ; and he that
will not condescend to recommend himself by external
embellishments, must submit to the fate of just sentiment
meanly expressed, and be ridiculed and forgotten before
he is understood.
4......•"•••••••••••~4wwww.
No. 169. TUESDAY, OCTOBER 29, 1751.
Nec pluteum credit, nec demorso3 sapit 'inputs. Pen. Sat. i. 106.
No blood from bitten nails those poems drew;
But churn'd, like spittle, from the lips they flew. DnYDEN.
NATURAL historians assert, that whatever is formed for

long duration arrives slowly to its maturity. Thus the
firmest timber is of tardy growth, and animals generally
exceed each other in longevity, in proportion to the time
between their conception and their birth.
The same observation may be extended to the offspring
of the mind. Hasty compositions, however they please at
first by flowery luxuriance, and spread in the sunshine of
temporary favour, can seldom endure the change of sea-
sons, but perish at the first blast cf criticism, or frost of
neglect. When Apelles was reproached with the paucity
of his productions, and the incessant attention with which
he retouched his pieces, he condescended to make no other
answer than that he painted for perpetuity.
No vanity can more justly incur contempt and indig-
nation than that which boasts of negligence and hurry.
For who can bear with patience the writer who claims
such superiority to the rest of his species, as to imagiuo
that mankind are at leisure for attention to his extempo-

rary sallies, and that posterity will reposite his casual
effusions among the treasures of ancient wisdom?
Men have sometimes appeared of such transcendent
abilities, that their slightest and most cursory perform-
ances excel all that labour and study can enable meaner
intellects to compose ; as there are regions of which the
spontaneous products cannot be equalled in other soils by
care and culture. But it is no less dangerous for any
man to place himself in this rank of understanding, and
fancy that he is born to be illustrious without labour, than
to omit the cares of husbandry, and expect from his ground
the blossoms of Arabia.
The greatest part of those who congratulate themselves
upon their intellectual dignity, and usurp the privileges of
genius, are men whom only themselves would ever have
marked out as enriched by uncommon liberalities of na-
ture, or entitled to veneration and immortality on easy
terms. This ardour of confidence is usually found among
those who, having not enlarged their notions by books or
conversation, are persuaded, by the partiality which we all
feel in our own favour, that they have reached the summit
of excellence, because they discover none higher than
themselves; and who acquiesce in the first thoughts that
occur, because their scantiness of knowledge allows then)
little choice ; and the narrowness of their views affords
them no glimpse of perfection, of that sublime idea which
human industry has from the first ages been vainly toiling
to approach. They see a little, and believe that there is
nothing beyond their sphere of vision, as the Patuecos of
Spain, who inhabited a small valley, conceived the sur-
rounding mountains to be the boundaries of the world. In
proportion as perfection is more distinctly conceived, the
pleasure of contemplating our own performances will be
lessened ; it may, therefore, be observed, that they who
most deserve praise are often afraid to decide in favour
of their own performances ; they know how much is still
wanting to their completion, and wait with anxiety and
N°. 1G9. THE RAMBLER. 297
terrour the determination of the publick. I please every
one else, says Tully, but never satisfy myself.
It has often been inquired, why, notwithstanding the
advances of later ages in science, and the assistance which
the infusion of so many new ideas has given us, we fall
below the ancients in the art of composition. Some part
of their superiority may be justly ascribed to the graces of
their language, from which the most polished of the present
European tongues are nothing more than barbarous degene-
rations. Some advantage they might gain merely by priority,
which put them in possession of the most natural senti-
ments, and left us nothing but servile repetition or forced
conceits. But the greater part of their praise seems to
have been the just reward of modesty and labour. Their
sense of human weakness confined them commonly to one
study, which their knowledge of the extent of every science
engaged them to prosecute with indefatigable diligence.
Among the writers of antiquity I remember none, ex- •
cept Statius, who ventures to mention the speedy produc-
tion of his writings, either as an extenuation of his faults,
or a proof of his facility. Nor did Statius, when he con-
sidered himself as a candidate for lasting reputation, think
a closer attention unnecessary, but amidst all his pride
and indigence, the two great hasteners of modern poems,
employed twelve years upon the Thebaid, and thinks his
claim to renown proportionate to his labour:
Thelmis, multa cruciata lima,
Tema, audaci fide, Mawr:arm.
Gaudialamic.
Polish'd with endless toil, my lays
At length aspire to Mantuan praise.
Ovid indeed apologizes in his banishment for the im-

perfection of his letters, but mentions his want of leisure
to polish them as an addition to his calamities; and was so
far from imagining revisals and corrections unnecessary,
that at his departure from Rome, he threw his Metamor-
phones into the fire, lest he should be disgraced by a book

which he could not hope to finish.
It seems not often to have happened that the same
writer aspired to reputation in verse and prose; and of
those few that attempted such diversity of excellence, I
know not that even one succeeded. Contrary characters
they never imagined a single mind able to • support, and
therefore no man is recorded to have undertaken more
than one kind of dramatick poetry.
What they had written, they did not venture in their
first fondness to thrust into the world, but, considering the
impropriety of sending forth inconsiderately that which
cannot be recalled, deferred the publication, if not nine
years, according to the direction of Horace, yet till their
fancy was cooled after the raptures of invention, and the
glare of novelty had ceased to dazzle the judgment.
There were in those days no weekly or diurnal writers;
multa dies et multa litura, much time, and many rasures,
were considered as indispensable requisites; and that no
other method of attaining lasting praise has been yet dis-
covered, may be conjectured from the blotted manuscripts
of Milton now remaining, and from the tardy emission of
Pope's compositions, delayed more than once till the inci-
dents to which they alluded were forgotten, till his enemies
were .secure from his satire, and, what to an honest mind
must be more painful, his friends were deaf to his enco-
miums.
To him, whose eagerness of praise hurries his produc-
tions soon into the light, many imperfections are unavoid-
able, even where the mind furnishes the materials, as well
as regulates their, disposition, and nothing depends upon
search or information. Delay opens new veins of thought,
the subject dismissed for a time appears with a new train
of dependent images, the accidents of reading or con-
versation supply new ornaments or allusions, or mere
intermission of the fatigue of thinking enables the mind to
collect new force, and make new excursions. But all
those benefits come too late for him, who, when he was
weary with labour, snatched at the recompense, and gave
his work to his friends and his enemies, as soon as impa-
tience and pride persuaded him to conclude it.
One of the most pernicious effects of haste, is obscurity.
He that teems with a quick succession of ideas, and per-
ceives how one sentiment produces another, easily believes
that he can clearly express what he so strongly compre-
hends; he seldom suspects his thoughts of embarrassment,
while he preserves in his own memory the series of con-
nexion, or his diction of ambituity, while only one sense
is present to his mind. Yet if he has been employed on
an abstruse, or complicated argument, he will find, when
he has awhile withdrawn his mind, and returns as a new
reader to his work, that he has only a conjectural glimpse
of his own meaning, and that to explain it to those whom
he desires to instruct, he must open his sentiments, dis-
entangle his method, and alter his arrangement.
Authors and lovers always suffer some infatuation, from
which only absence can set them free; and every man
ought to restore himself to *he full exercise of his judg-
ment, before he does that which he cannot do improperly,
without injuring his honour and his quiet.
4..1.0.1W..".~041Ww.....W.0,.....,
No. 170. SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 2, 1751.
Confiteor ; si quid prodest delicta fateri. Ovin. Am. Lib. ii. El. iv, 3.
I grant the charge; forgive the fault confess'cl.
TO THE RAMBLER.
8I R,
1 AM one of those beings from whom many, that
melt at the sight of all other misery, think it meritorious
to withhold relief; one whom the rigour of virtuous in-
dignation dooms to suffer without complaint, and perish
without regard; and whom I myself have formerly in-
sulted in the pride of reputation and security of innocence.
I am of a good family, but my father was burthened with

more children than he could decently support. A wealthy
relation, as he travelled from London to his country seat,
condescending to make him a visit, was touched with com-
passion of his narrow fortune, and resolved to ease him of
part of his charge, by taking the care of a child upon him-
self. Distress on one side, and ambition on the other,
were too powerful for parental fondness, and the little
family passed in review before him, that he might make
his choice. I was then ten years old, and, without know-
ing for what purpose, I was called to my great cousin,
endeavoured to recommend myself by my best courtesy,
sung him my prettiest song, told the last story that I had
read, and so much endeared myself by my innocence, that
he declared his resolution to adopt me, and to educate me
with his own daughters.
My parents felt the common struggles at the thought
of parting, and some natural tears they dropp'd, but wip'd
them soon. They considered, not without that false esti-
mation of the value of wealth, which poverty, long con-
tinued, always produces, that I was raised to higher rank
than they could give me, and to hopes of more ample for-
tune than they could bequeath. My mother sold some
of her ornaments to dress me in such a manner as might
secure me from contempt at my first arrival; and when
she dismissed me, pressed me to her bosom with an em-
brace that I still feel, gave me some precepts of piety,
which, however neglected, I have not forgotten, and
uttered prayers for my final happiness, of which I have
not yet ceased to hope that they will at last be granted.
My sisters envied my new finery, and seemed not much
to regret our separation ; my father conducted me to the
stagecoach with a kind of cheerful tenderness ; and in a
very short time I was transported to splendid apartments,
and a luxurious table, and grew familiar to show, noise,
and gaiety.
In three years my mother died, having implored a
blessing on her family with her last breath. I had little
AT°. ]70. THE RAMBLER. 301
opportunity to indulge a sorrow which there was none to
partake with me, and, therefore, soon ceased to reflect much
upon my loss. My father turned all his care upon his
other children, whom some fortunate adventures and un-
expected legacies enabled him, when he died, four years
after my mother, to leave in a condition above their ex-
pectations.
I should have shared the increase of his fortune, and
had once a portion assigned me in his will; but my cousin
assuring him that all care for me was needless, since be
had resolved to place me happily in the world, directed
him to divide my part amongst my sisters.
Thus I was thrown upon dependence without resource.
Being now at an age in which young women are initiated
into company, I was no longer to be supported in my
former character, but at considerable expense; so that
partly lest I should waste money, and partly lest my ap-
pearance might draw too many compliments and assi-
duities, I was insensibly degraded from my equality, and
enjoyed few privileges above the bead servant, but that of
receiving no wages. •
I felt every indignity, but knew that resentment would
precipitate my fall. I therefore endeavoured to continue
my importance by little services and active officiousness,
and, for a time, preserved myself from neglect, by with-
drawing all pretences to competition, and studying to
please rather than to shine. But my interest, notwith-
standing this expedient, hourly declined, and my cousin's
favourite maid began to exchange repartees with me, and
consult me about the alterations of a cast gown.
I was now completely depressed ; and, though I had
seen mankind enough to know the necessity of outward
cheerfulness, I often withdrew to my chamber to vent my
grief, or turn my condition in my mind, and examine by
what means I might escape from perpetual mortification.
At last my schemes and sorrows were interrupted by a
sudden change of my relation's behaviour, who one day
took an occasion, when we were left together in a room, to
302 THE RAMBLER. N. 170.
bid me suffer myself no. longer to be insulted, but assume

the place which he always intended me to hold in the family.
He assured me that his wife's preference of her own daugh-
ters should never hurt me.; and, accompanying. his profes-
sions with a purse of gold, ordered me to bespeak a rich
suit at the mercer's, and to apply privately to him for
money when I wanted it, and insinuate that my other
friends supplied me, which he would take care to confirm.
By this stratagem, which I did not then understand, he
filled me with tenderness and gratitude, compelled me to
repose on him as my only support, and produced a neces-
sity of private conversation. He often *minted interviews
at the house of an acquaintance, and sometimes called
on, me with a coach, and carried me, abroad. My sense of
his favour, and the desire of retaining .it, disposed me to
unlimited complaisance, and, though I saw his kindness
grow everyday more fond, I did not suffer any suspicion
to enter my thoughts. At last the wretch took advantage
of the familiarity which he enjoyed as my relation, and the
submission which he exacted as my benefactor, to com-
plete the ruin of an orphan, whom his own. proMises bad
made indigent, whom his indulgence bad melted, and his
authority subdued.
I know not why it should afford subject of exultation to
overpower, on any terms, the resolution, or surprise the
caution of a girl ; but of all the boasters .that deck them-
selves in the spoils of innocence and beauty, they suiely
have the least pretensions to triumph, who submit to owe
their success to some casual influence. They neither em-
ploy the graces of fancy, nor the force of understanding,
in their attempts ; they cannot please. their vanity with
the art of their approaches, the delicacy of their adula-
tions, the elegance of their address, or the efficacy of their
eloquence ; nor applaud themselves as possessed of any
qualities, by which affection is attracted. They surmount
no obstacles, they defeat no rivals, but attack only those.
wbo cannot resist; and are often content to possess the.
body without any solicitude to gain the heart.
Many of those despicable wretches does my present ac-

quaintance with infamy and wickedness enable me to num-
ber among the heroes of debauchery. Reptiles whom their
own servants would have despised, had they not been their
servants, and with whom beggary would have disdained
intercourse, had she not been allured by hopes of relief.
Many of the beings which are now rioting in taverns, or
shivering in the streets, have been corrupted, not by arts
of gallantry, which stole gradually upon the affections and
laid prudence asleep, but by the fear of losing benefits
which were never intended, 'ar of incurring resentment
which they could not escape; some have been frighted
by masters, and some awed by guardians into ruin.
Our crime bad its usual consequence, and be soon per-
ceived that I could not long continue in his family. I was
distracted at the thought of the reproach which I now be-
lieved inevitable. He comforted me with hopes of elud-
ing all discovery, and often upbraided me with the anxiety,
which perhaps none but himself saw in my countenance;
but at last mingled his assurances of protection and main-
tenance with menaces of total desertion, if, in the moments
of perturbation, I should suffer his secret to escape, or en-
deavour to throw on him any part of my infamy.
Thus passed the dismal hours, till my retreat could no
longer be delayed. It was pretended that my relations
had sent for me to a distant county, and I entered upon
a state which shall be described in my next letter.
I am, sir, 8c.c.
MISELLA.
304 THE RAMBLER. N.. I71•
• N°. 171. TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 5, 1751.
Tadet call convexa tueri. VI no .

Dark is the sun, and loathsome is the day.
TO THE RAMBLER.
SIR,
MISELLA now sits down to continue her narrative.
I am convinced that nothing would more powerfully pre-
serve youth from irregularity, or guard inexperience from
seduction, than a just description of the condition into
which the wanton plunges herself; and therefore hope that
my letter may be a sufficient antidote to my example.
After the distraction, hesitation, and delays which the
timidity of guilt naturally produces, I was removed to lodg-
ings in a distant part of the town, under one of the charac-
ters commonly assumed upon such occasions. Here, being
by my circumstances condemned to solitude, I passed most
of my hours in bitterness and anguish. The conversation
of the people with whom I was placed was not at all capa-
ble of engaging my attention, or dispossessing the reigning
ideas. The books which I carried to my retreat were such
as heightened my abhorrence of myself; for I was not so
far abandoned as to sink voluntarily into corruption, or en-
deavour to conceal from my own mind the enormity of my
crime.
My relation remitted none of his fondness, but visited
me so often, that I was sometimes afraid lest his assiduity
should expose him to suspicion. Whenever he came he
found me weeping, and was, therefore, less delightfully
entertained than he expected. After frequent expostula-
tions upon the unreasonableness of my sorrow, and innu-
merable protestations of everlasting regard, he at last found
that I was more affected with the loss of my innocence,
than the danger of my fame, and, that he might not be dis-
turbed by my remorse, began to lull my conscience with
the opiates of irreligion. His arguments were such as my
course of life has since exposed me often to the necessity

of hearing,—vulgar, empty, and fallacious ; yet they at first
confounded me by their novelty, filled me with doubt and
perplexity, and interrupted that peace which I begkn to
feel from the sincerity of my repentance, without substitut-
ing any other support. I listened awhile to his impious
gabble, but its influence was soon overpowered by natural
reason and early education, and the convictions which this
new attempt gave me of his baseness completed my abhor-
rence. I have heard of barbarians, who, when tempests
drive ships upon their coast, decoy them to the rocks that
they may plunder their lading, and have always thought
that wretches, thus merciless in their depredations, ought
to be destroyed by a general insurrection of all social'
beings ; yet how light is this guilt to the crime of him, who,
in the agitations of remorse, cuts away the anchor of piety,
and, when he has drawn aside credulity from the paths of
virtue, hides the light of heaven which would direct her to
return. I had hitherto considered him as a man equally
betrayed with myself by the concurrence of appetite and*
opportunity ; but I now saw with horrour that he was con-
triving to perpetuate hig gratification, and was desirous to
fit me to his purpose, by complete and radical corruption.
To escape, however, was not yet in my power. I could
support the expenses of my condition only by the con-
tinuance of his favour. He provided all that was ne-
cessary, and in a few weeks congratulated me upon my
escape from the danger which we had both expected with
so much anxiety. I then began to remind him of his pro-
mise to restore me with my fame uninjured to the world.
He promised me in general terms, that nothing should be
Wanting which his power could add to my happiness, but
forbore to release me from my confinement. I knew how
much my reception in the world depended upon my speedy
return, and was, therefore, outrageously impatient of his
delays, which I now perceived to be only artifices of lewd-
ness. He told me at last, with au appearance of sorrow,
that all hopes of restoration to my former state were for
R. II. x
300 THE •RANIBLER. N°. 171.
ever precluded ; that chance had discovered my secret,

and malice divulged it; and that nothing now remained,
but to seek a retreat more private, where curiosity or ha-
tred could never find us.
' The rage, anguish, and resentment, which I felt at this
account are not to be expressed. I was in so much dread
of reproach and infamy, which he represented as pursuing
me with full cry, that I yielded myself implicitly to his
disposal, and was removed, with a thousand studied pre-
cautions, through by-ways and dark passages, to another
house, where I harassed him with perpetual solicitatiOns
for a small annuity that might enable me to live in the
country in obscurity and innocence.
This demand he at first evaded with ardent professions,
but in time appeared offended at my importunity and dis-
trust; and having one day endeavoured to sooth me with
uncommon expressions of tenderness, when he found my
discontent immoveable, left me with some inarticulate mur-
murs of anger. I was pleased that he was at last roused
to sensibility, and expecting that at his next visit he would
comply with my request, lived with great tranquillity upon
the money in my hands, and was so much pleased with this
pause of persecution, that I did not reflect how much his
absence had exceeded the usual intervals, till I was alarmed
with the danger of wanting subsistence. I then suddenly
contracted my expenses, but was unwilling to supplicate
for assistance. Necessity, however, soon overcame my
modesty or my pride, and I applied to him by a letter, but
had no answer. I writ in terms more pressing, but with-
out effect. I then sent an agent to inquire after him, who
informed me, that be bad quitted his house, and was gone
with his family "to reside for some time on his estate in
Ireland.
However shocked at this abrupt departure, I was yet
unwilling to believe that he could wholly abandon me, and
therefore, by the sale of my clothes, I supported myself,
expecting that every post would bring me relief. Thus 1
passed seven months between hope and dejection, in 0
307
No 171. THE RAMBLER.
gradual approach to poverty and distress, emaciated with
discontent, and bewildered with uncertainty. At last my
landlady, after many hints of the necessity of a new lover,
took the opportunity of my absence to search my boxes,
and missing some of my apparel, seized the remainder for
rent, and led me to the door.
To remonstrate against legal cruelty, was vain; to sup-
plicate obdurate brutality, was hopeless. I went away I
knew not whither, and wandered about without any settled
purpose, unacquainted with the usual expedients of misery,
unqualified for laborious offices; afraid to meet an eye that
had seen me before, and hopeless of-relief from those who
were strangers to my former condition. Night came on in
the midst of my distraction, and I still continued to wander
till the menaces of the watch obliged me to shelter myself
in a covered passage.
Next day, I procured a lodging in the backward garret
of a mean house, and employed my landlady to inquire for
a service. My applications were generally rejected for
want of a character. At length I was received at a dra-
per's, but when it was known to my mistress that I had
only one gown, and that of silk, she was of opinion that I
looked like a thief, and without warning hurried me away.
I then tried to support myself by my needle; and, by my
landlady's recommendation obtained a little work from a
shop, and for three weeks lived without repining; but
when my punctuality had gained me so much reputation,
that I was trusted to make up a head of some value, one
of my fellow-lodgers stole the lace, and I was obliged to
fly from a prosecution.
Thus driven again into the streets, I lived upon the
least that could support me, and at night accommodated
myself under penthouses as well as I could. At length I
became absolutely pennyless, and having strolled all day
without sustenance, was, at the close of evening, accosted
by an elderly man, with an invitation to a tavern. I
refused him with hesitation; he seized me by the hand,
and drew me into a neighbouring house, where, when ho
x2
saw my face pale with hunger, and my eyes swelling with

tears, he spurned me from him, and bade me cant and
whine in some other place ; he for his part would take care
of his pockets.
I still continued to stand in the way, having scarcely
strength to walk further, when another soon addressed me
in the same manner. When he saw the same tokens of
calamity, he considered that I might be obtained at a cheap
rate, and, therefore, quickly made overtures, which I no
longer had firmness to reject. By this man I was main-
tained four months in' penurious wickedness, and then
abandoned to my former condition, from which I was de-
livered by another keeper.
In this abject state I have now passed four years, the
drudge of extortion and the sport of drunkenness; some-
times the property of one man, and sometimes the com-
mon prey of accidental lewdness; at one time tricked up
for sale by the mistress of a brothel, at another begging in
the streets 'to be relieved from hunger by wickedness;
without any hope in the day but of finding some whoa'
folly or excess may expose to my allurements, and without
any reflections at night, but such as guilt and terrour an-
press upon me.
If those who pass their days in plenty and security,
could visit for an hour the dismal receptacles to which the
prostitute retires from her nocturnal excursions, and see
the wretches that lie crowded together, mad with intem-
perance, ghastly with famine, nauseous with filth, and
noisome with disease ; it would not be easy for any degree
of abhorrence to harden them against compassion, or to
repress the desire which they must immediately feel to
rescue such numbers of human beings from a state so
dreadful.
It is said, that in France they annually evacuate their
streets, and ship their prostitutes and vagabonds to their
colonies. If the women that infest this city had the same
opportunity of escaping from their miseries, I believe very
little force would be necessary ; for who among them can
dread any change ? Many of us, indeed, are wholly un-
qualified for any but the most servile employments, and
those, perhaps, would require the care of a magistrate to
hinder them from following the same practices in another
country ; but others are only precluded by infamy from
reformation, and would gladly be delivered, on any terms,
from the necessity of guilt, and the tyranny of chance.
No place but a populous City, can afford opportunities for
open prostitution; and where the eye of justice can at-
tend to individuals, those who cannot be made good may
be restrained from mischief. Tor my part, I should exult
at the privilege of banishment, and think myself happy in
any region that should restore me once again to honesty
and peace. I am, sir, &c.
MiSELLA.
..w................................................
sa-pe rogare soles, qualis sim, Prisce,futurus,

Si flans locuples, simque repente potent.
Queniquam posse putas mores narrarefuturos?
Die mini, sifias Cu leo, qualis eris? MART. Lib. :ii. Ep. 93.
Prisons, you've often ask'd me how I'd live,
Should fate at once both wealth and honour give.
What soul his future conduct can foresee ?
Tell me what sort of lion you would be. F. Lswis.
NOTHING has been longer observed, than that a change
of fortune causes a change of manners ; and that it is
difficult to conjecture from the conduct o' him whom we
see in a low condition, how he would act, if wealth and
Power were put into his hands. But it is generally agreed,
that few men are made better by affluence or exaltation;
and that the powers of the mind, when they are unbound
and expanded by the sunshine of felicity, more frequently
luxuriate into follies, than blossom into goodness.
Many observations have concurred to establish this
opinion, and it is not likely soon to become obsolete, for
310 THE RAMBLER. No. 172•
want of new occasions to revive it. The greater part of

mankind are corrupt in every condition, and differ in high
and in low stations, only as they have more or fewer op-
portunities of gratifying their desires, or as they are more
or less restrained by human censures. Many vitiate their
principles in the acquisition of riches; and who can wonder
that what is gained by fraud and extortion is enjoyed with
tyranny and excess ?
Yet I am willing to believe that the depravation of the
mind by external advantages, though certainly not un-
common, yet approaches not so nearly to universality, as
some have asserted in the bitterness of resentment, or
heat of declamation.
Whoever rises above those who once pleased them-
selves with equality, will have many malevolent gazers at
his eminence. To gain sooner than others that which all
pursue with the same ardour, and to which all imagine
themselves entitled, will for ever be a crime. When those
who started with us in the race of life, leave us so far be-
hind, that we have little hope to overtake them, we revenge
our disappointment by remarks on the arts of supplantation
by which they gained the advantage, or on the folly and
arrogance with which they possess it. Of them, whose
rise we could not hinder, we solace ourselves by prognos-
ticating the fall.
It is impossible for human purity not to betray to an
eye, thus sharpened by malignity, some stains which lay
concealed and unregarded, while none thought it their
interest to discover them ; nor can the most circumspect
attention, or steady rectitude, escape blame from censors,
who have no inclination to approve. Riches therefore,
perhaps, do not so often produce crimes as incite ac-
cusers.
The common charge against those who rise above their
original condition, is that of pride. It is certain that suc-
cess naturally confirms us in a favourable opinion of our
own abilities. Scarce any man is willing to allot to acci-
dent, friendship, and a thousand causes, which concur in
N°. 172. THE RAMBLERS 311
every event without human contrivance or interposition,
the part which they may justly claim in his advancement.
We rate ourselves by our fortune rather than our virtues,
and exorbitant claims are quickly produced by imaginary
merit. But captiousness and jealousy are, likewise, easily
offended, and to him who studiously looks for an affront,
every mode of behaviour will supply it; freedom will be
rudeness, and reserve sullenness ; mirth will be negli-
gence, and seriousness formality; when he is received
with ceremony, distance and respect are inculcated ; if he
is treated with familiarity, ho concludes himself insulted
by condescensions.
It must, however, be confessed, that as all sudden
changes are dangerous, a quick transition from poverty to
abundance can seldom be made with safety. He that has
long lived within sight of pleasures which he could 'not
reach, will need more than common moderation, not to
lose his reason in unbounded riot, when they are first put
into his power.
Every possession is endeared by novelty; every gratifi-
cation is exaggerated by desire. It is difficult not to esti-
mate what is lately gained above its real value; it is im-
possible not to annex greater happiness to that condition
from which we are unwillingly excluded, than nature has
qualified us to obtain. For this reason, the remote in-
heritor of an unexpected fortune, may be generally dis-
tinguished from those who are enriched in the common
course of lineal descent, by his greater haste to enjoy his
wealth, by the finery of his dress, the pomp of his equi-
page, the splendour of his furniture, and the luxury of his
table.
A thousand things which familiarity discovers to be of
little value, have power for a time to seize the imagina-
tion. A Virginian king, when the Europeans had fixed
a lock on his door, was so delighted to find his subjects
admitted or excluded with such facility, that it was from
morning to evening his whole employment to turn the key.
We, among whom locks and keys have been longer in use,
are inclined to laugh at this American amusement ; yet I
doubt whether this paper will have a single reader that
may not apply the story to himself, and recollect some
hours of his life in which he has been eqsually overpowered
by the transitory charms of trifling novelty.
Some indulgence is due to him whom a happy gale of
fortune has suddenly transported into new regions, where
unaccustomed lustre dazzles his eyes, and untasted ,deli-
cacies solicit his appetite. Let him not be .considered as
lost in hopeless degeneracy, though he for awhile forgets
the regard due to others, to indulge the contemplation of
himself, and in the extravagance of his first raptures ex-
pects that his eye should regulate the motions of all that
approach him, and his opinion be received as decisive and
ordculous. His intoxication will give way to time ; the
madness of joy will fume imperceptibly away; the sense
of his insufficiency will soon return ; he will remember
that the co-operation of others is necessary to his happi-
ness, and learn to conciliate their regard by reciprocal
beneficence.
There is, at least, one consideration which ought to
alleviate our censures of the powerful and rich. To
imagine them chargeable with all the guilt and folly of
their own actions, is to be very little acquainted with the
world :
De l'absolu pouvoir vous ignores l'ivresse,
Et du. Iiiche flatteur la voix enchanteresse.
Thou hast not known the giddy whirls of fate,
Nor servile flatteries which enchant the great. Miss A. W.
He that can do much good or harm, will not find many

whom ambition or cowardice will suffer to be sincere.
While we live upon the level with the rest of mankind,
we are reminded of our duty by the admonitions of friends
and reproaches of enemies ; but men who stand in the
highest ranks of society, seldom hear of their faults; if by
any accident an opprobrious clamour reaches their ears,
flattery is always at hand to pour in her opiates, to quiet

conviction, and obtund remorse.
Favour is seldom gained but by conformity in vice.
Virtue can stand without assistance, and considers herself
as very little obliged by countenance and approbation : but
vice, spiritless and timorous, seeks the shelter of crowds,
and support of confederacy. The sycophant, therefore,
neglects the good qualities of his patron, and employs all
his art on his weaknesses and follies, regales his reigning
vanity, or stimulates his prevalent desires.
Virtue is sufficiently diffictilt with any circumstances,
but the difficulty is increased when reproof and advice are
frighted away. In common life, reason and conscience
have only the appetites and passions to encounter; but in
higher stations, they must oppose artifice and adulation.
He, therefore, that yields to such temptations, cannot give
those who look upon his miscarriage much reason for ex-
ultation, since few can justly presume that from the same
snare they should have been able to escape.
toNOWWWWWIPOSINNOW441.
N°. 173. TUESDAY, NOVEIIIBER 12, 1751.
Quo virtue, quo ferat error, lion. De Ar. Poet. 308.

Now say, where virtue stops, and vice begins 1
As any action or posture, long continued, will distort and

disfigure the limbs ; so the mind, likewise, is crippled and
contracted by perpetual application to the same set of
ideas. It is easy to guess the trade of an artisan by his
knees, his fingers, or his shoulders : and there are few
among men of the more liberal professions, whose minds
do not carry the brand of their calling, or whose conversa-
tion does not quickly discover to what class of the commu-
nity they belong.
These peculiarities have been of great use, in the ge-
neral hostility which every part of mankind exercises
against the rest, to furnish insujts and sarcasms. Every
art has its dialect, uncouth and ungrateful to all whom

custom has not reconciled to its sound, and which, there-
fore, becomes ridiculous by a slight misapplication, or
unnecessary repetition. .
The general reproach with which ignorance revenges
the superciliousness of learning, is that of pedantry ; a
censure which every man incurs, who has at any time the
misfortune to talk to those who cannot understand him,
and by which the modest and timorous are sometimes
frighted from the display of their acquisitions, and the
exertion of their powers.
The name of a pedant is so formidable to young men
when they first sally from their colleges, and is so liberally
scattered by those who mean to boast their elegance of
education, easiness of manners, and knowledge of the
world, that it seems to require particular consideration ;
since, perhaps, if it were once understood, many a heart
might be freed from painful apprehensions, and many a
tongue delivered from restraint.
Pedantry is the unseasonable ostentation of learning.
It may be discovered either in the choice of a subject, or
in the manner of treating it. He is undoubtedly guilty of
pedantry, who, when he has made himself master of some
abstruse and uncultivated part of knowledge, obtrudes his
remarks and discoveries upon those whom he believes un-
able to judge of his proficiency, and from whom, as he
cannot fear contradiction, he cannot properly expect ap-
plause.
To this errour the student is sometimes betrayed by the
natural recurrence of the mind to its common employment,
by the pleasure which every man receives from the recol-
lection of pleasing images, and the desire of dwelling upon
topicks, on which he knows himself able to speak with just-
ness. But because we are seldom so far prejudiced in
favour of each other, as to search out for palliations, this
failure of politeness is imputed always to vanity; and the
harmless collegiate, who, perhaps, intended entertainment
and instruction, or, at worst, only spoke without sufficient
reflection upon the character of his hearers, is censured
as arrogant or overbearing, and eager to extend his re-
nown, in contempt of the convenience of society and the
laws of conversation.
All discourse of which others cannot partake, is not only
an irksome usurpation of the time devoted to pleasure and
entertainment, but, what never fails to excite very keen
resentment, an insolent assertion of superiority, and h
triumph over less enlightened understandings. The pe-
dant is, therefore, not only heard with weariness, but ma-
lignity; and those who conceive themselves insulted by
his knowledge, never fail to tell with acrimony how inju-
diciously it wass exerted.
To avoid this dangerous imputation, scholars sometimes
divest themselves with too much baste of their academical
formality, and in their endeavours to accommodate their no-
tions and their style to common conceptions, talk rather
of any thing than of that which they understand, and sink
into insipidity of sentiment and meanness of expression.
There prevails among men of letters an opinion, that all
appearance of science is particularly hateful to women ;
and that, therefore, whoever desires to be well received in
female assemblies, must qualify himself by a total rejection
of all that is serious, rational, or important; must consider
argument or criticism, as perpetually interdicted ; and de-
vote all his attention to trifles, and all his eloquence to
compliment.
Students often form their notions of the present gener-
ation from the writings of the past, and are not very early
informed of those changes which the gradual diffusion of
knowledge, or the sudden caprice of fashion, produces
in the world. Whatever might be the state of female
literature in the last century, there is now no longer any
danger lest the scholar should want an adequate audience
at the tea-table; and whoever thinks it necessary to regu-
late his conversation by antiquated rules, will be rather
despised for his futility than caressed for his politeness.
To talk intentionally in a manner alms e the compre-
hension of those whom we address, is unquestionable pe-

dantry; but surely complaisance requires, that no man
should, without proof, conclude his company incapable of
following him to the highest elevation of his fancy; or the
utmost extent of his knowledge. It is always safer to err
in favour of others than of ourselves, and, therefore, we
seldom hazard much by endeavouring to excel.
It ought, at least, to be the care of learning, when she
quits her exaltation, to descend with dignity. Nothing is
more'despicable than the airiness and jocularity of a man
bred to severe science, and solitary meditation. To trifle
agreeably is a secret which schools cannot impart; that
gay negligence and vivacious levity, which charm down
resistance wherever they appear, are never attainable by
him who, having spent his first years among the dust of
libraries, enters late into the gay world with an unpliant
attention and established habits.
It is observed in the panegyrick on Fabricius the me-
chanist, that, though forced by publick employments into
mingled conversation, he never lost the modesty and se-
riousness of the convent, nor drew ridicule upon himself
by an affected imitation of fashionable life. To the same
praise every man devoted to learning ought to aspire. If
he attempts the softer arts of pleasing, and endeavours to
learn the graceful bow and the familiar embrace, the insi-
nuating accent and the general smile, he will lose the.re-
spect due to the character of learning, without arriving
at the envied honour of doing any thing with elegance and
facility.
Theophrastus was discovered not to be a native of
Athens, by so strict an adherence to the A ttick dialect,
as showed that he had learned it not by custom, but by
rule. A man not early formed to habitual elegance, be-
trays, in like manner, the effects of his education, by an
unnecessary anxiety of behaviour. It is as possible to
become pedantick, by fear of pedantry, as to be trouble-
some by ill-timed civility. There is no kind of imperti-
nence more justly censurable than his who is always la-
N°. 174." THE RAMBLER. 317
bouring to level thoughts to intellects higher than his

own ; who apologizes for every word which his own nar-
rowness of converse inclines him to think unusual ; keeps
the exuberance of his faculties under visible restraint;
is solicitous to anticipate inquiries by needless explana-
tions ; and endeavours to shade his own abilities, lest weak
eyes should be dazzled with their lustre.
...........................................--
Ferman habet in cornu, longer fttge ; dummodo risum

Ercutiat eibi, non Mc cuiguam parcel amiro. Hon. Lib. i. Sat. iv. 34.
Yonder he drives—avoid that furious beast :
If he may have his jest, he never cares
At whose expense; nor friend nor patron spares. FRANCIS.
TO THE RAMBLER.
MR. RAMBLER,
THE laws of social benevolence require, that every
man should endeavour to assist others by his experience.
He that has at last escaped into port from the fluctuations
of chance, and the gusts of opposition, ought to make some
improvements in the chart of life, by marking the rocks
on which he has been dashed, and the shallows where he
has been stranded.
The errour into which I was betrayed, when custom
first gave me up to my own direction, is very frequently
incident to the quick, the sprightly, the fearless, and the
gay ; to all whose ardour hurries them into precipitate
execution of their designs, and imprudent declaration of
their opinions ; who seldom count the cost of pleasure, or
examine the distant consequences of any practice that
flatters them with immediate gratification.
I came forth into the crowded world with the usual
juvenile ambition, and desired nothing beyond the title of
a wit. Money I considered as below my care ; for I saw
such multitudes grow rich without understanding, that I
318 THE RAMBLER. N°. 174
could not forbear to look on wealth as an acquisition easy

to industry, directed by genius, and therefore threw it
aside as a secondary convenience, to be procured when
my principal -wish should be satisfied, and the claim to in-
tellectual excellence universally acknowledged.
With this view I regulated my behaviour in_ publick,
and exercised my meditations in solitude. My life was
divided between the care of .providing topicks for the en-
tertainment of my company, and that of collecting com-
pany worthy to be entertained ; for I soon foUnd, that wit,
like every other power, has its boundaries; that its suc-
cess depends upon the aptitude of others to receive im-
pressions; and that as some bodies, indissoluble by heat,
can set the furnace and crucible at defiance, there are
minds upon which the rays of fancy may be pointed with-
out effect, and which no fire of sentiment can agitate or
exalt.
It was, however, not long before I fitted myself with a
set of companions who knew how to laugh, and to whom
no other recommendation was necessary than the power of
striking out a jest. Among those I fixed my residence,
and for a time enjoyed the felicity of disturbing the neigh-
bours every night with the obstreperous applause which
my sallies forced from the audience. The reputation of
our club every day increased, and as my flights and re-
marks were circulated by my admirers, every day brought
new solicitations for admission into our society.
To support this perpetual fund of merriment, I fre-
quented every place of concourse, cultivated the acquaint-
ance of all the fashionable race, and passed the day in a
continual succession of visits, in which 1 collected a trea-
sure of pleasantry for the expenses of the evening. What-
ever errour of conduct I could discover, whatever peculi-
arity of manner I could observe, whatever weakness was
betrayed by confidence, whatever lapse was suffered by
neglect, all was drawn together for the diversion of my
wild companions, who, when they had been taught the art of
ridicule, never failed to signalize themselves by a zealous
imitation, and filled the town on the ensuing day with

scandal and vexation, with merriment and shame.
I can scarcely. believe, when I recollect my own prac-
tice, that I could 'have been so far deluded with petty
praise, as to divulge the secrets of trust, and to expose the
levities of frankness; to waylay the walks of the cautious,
and surprise the security of the thoughtless. Yet it is
certain, that for many years. I heard nothing but with de-
sign to tell it, and saw nothing with any other curiosity
than after some failure that might furnish out a jest.
My heart, indeed, acquits me of deliberate malignity,
or interested insidiousness. I bad no other purpose than
to heighten the' pleasure of laughter by communication,
nor ever raised any pecuniary advantage from the calami-
ties of others. I led weakness and negligence into diffi-
culties, only that I might divert myself with their perplexi-
ties and distresses; and violated every law of friendship,
with no other hope than that of gaining the reputation of
smartness and waggery.
I would not be understood to charge myself with any
crimes of the atrocious or destructive kind. I never be-
trayed an heir to gamesters, or a girl to debauchees ; never
intercepted the kindness of a patron, or sported away the
reputation of innocence. My delight was only in petty mis-
chief, and momentary vexations, and my acuteness was
employed not upon fraud and oppression, which it had
been meritorious to detect, but upon harmless ignorance
or absurdity, prejudice or mistake.
This inquiry I pursued with so much diligence and sa-
gacity, that I was able to relate, of every man whom I
knew, some blunder or miscarriage ; to betray the. most
circumspect of my friends into follies, by a judicious flat-
tery of his predominant passion ; or expose him to con-
tempt, by placing him in circumstances which put his pre-
3udices into action, brought to view his natural defects, or
drew the attention of the company on his airs of affecta-
tion.
The power had been possessed in vain if it had never
been exerted; and it was not my custom to let any arts of

jocularity remain unemployed. My impatience of applause
brought me always early to the place of entertainment ;
and I seldom failed to lay a scheme with the small knot
that first gathered round me, by which some of those whom
we expected might be made subservient to our sport.
Every man has some favourite topick of conversation, on
which, by a feigned seriousness of attention, he may be
drawn to expatiate without end. Every man has some
habitual contortion of body, or established mode of ex-
pression, which never fails to raise mirth if it be pointed
out to notice. By premonitions of these particularities I
secured our pleasantry. Our companion entered with his
usual gaiety, and began to partake of our noisy cheerful-
ness, when the conversation was imperceptibly diverted to
a subject which pressed upon his tender part, and extorted
the expected shrug, the customary exclamation, or the
predicted remark. A general clamour of joy then burst
from all that were admitted to the stratagem. Our mirth
was often increased by the triumph of him that occasioned
it; for as we do not hastily form conclusions against our-
selves, seldom any one suspected, that he had exhilarated
us otherwise•than by his wit.
You will hear, I believe, with very little surprise, that
by this conduct I had in a short time united mankind
against me, and that every tongue was diligent in preven-
tion or revenge. I soon perceived myself regarded with
malevolence or distrust, but wondered what had been dis-
covered in me either terrible or hateful. I had invaded
no man's property ; I had rivalled no man's claims ; nor
had ever engaged in any of those attempts which provoke
the jealousy of ambition or the rage of faction. I had lived
but to laugh, and make others laugh ; and believed that I
was loved by all who caressed, and .favoured by all who
applauded me. I never imagined, that he who, in the mirth
of a nocturnal revel, concurred in ridiculing his friend,
would consider, in a cooler hour, that the same trick might
be played against himself; or that even where there is no
N°. I74. THE RAMBLER. 321
sense of danger, the natural pride of htiman nature rises

against him, who, by general censures, lays claim to gene-
ral superiority. '
I was convinced, by a total desertion, of the impropriety
of my conduct; every man avoided, and cautioned others
to avoid me. 'Wherever I came, I found silence and de-
jection, coldness and terrour. No one would venture to
speak, lest. he should lay *himself ()peg to unfavourable'.
representations ; the company, however numerous, dropped
off at my entrance upon various pretences ; and, if I re-
tired to avoid the shame of baing left, I heard confidence
and mirth revive at my departure.
If those whom I had thus offended could have contented
themselves with repaying one insult for another, and kept
up the war only by a reciprocation of sarcasms, they might
have perhaps vexed, but would never have much hurt me ;
for no man heartily hates him at whom he can. laugh. But
these wounds which they give me as they fly, are without
cure ; this alarm which they spread by their' solicitude to
escape me, excludes me from all friendship and from all
pleasure. I am condemned to pass a long interval of my
life in solitude, as 'a man suspected of infection is refused
admission into cities; and must linger in obsc►irity, till my
conduct shall convince the world, that I may be approached
Without hazard.
I am, &c.
DICACULUS.
322 THE RAMBLER. N", 175.
No. 175. TUE SDAY, NOVEMBER 19, 1751.
Rani quippe boni, numerus viz est totidem quot

Thebarum porta, vet divitis ostia Niti. J v v . Sat. xiii. 26.
Good men are scarce, the just are thinly sown :
They thrive but ill, nor can they last when grown.
And should we count them, and our store compile,
Yet Thebes more gates could show, more mouths the Nile. CREECH.
NONE of the axioms of wisdom which recommend the

ancient sages to veneration, seems to have required less
extent of knowledge or perspicacity of penetration, than
the remark of Bias, that of r?,.‘orfc KaK01, " The majority are
wicked."
The depravity of mankind is so easily discoverable, that
nothing but the desert or the cell can exclude it from no-
tice. The knowledge of crimes intrudes uncalled and
undesired. They whom their abstraction from common
occurrences hinders from seeing iniquity, will quickly have
their attention awakened by feeling it. Even he who
ventures not into the world, may learn its corruption in
his closet. For what are treatises of morality, but per-
suasives to the practice of duties, for which no arguments
would be necessary, but that we are continually tempted
to violate or neglect them ? What are all the records of
history, but narratives of successive villanies, of treasons
and usurpations, massacres and wars?
But, perhaps, the excellence of aphorisms consists not
so much in the expression of some rare and abstruse sen-
timent, as in the comprehension of some obvious and use-
ful truths in a few words. We frequently fall into errour
and folly, not because the true principles of action are not
known, but because, for a time, they are not remembered ;
and he may, therefore, be justly numbered among the be-
nefactors of mankind, who contracts the great rules of life
into short sentences, that may be easily impressed on the
memory, and taught by frequent recollection to recur
habitually to the mind.
However those who have passed through half the life of

man, may now wonder that any should require to be cau-
tioned against corruption, they will find that they have
themselves purchased their conviction by many disap-
pointments and vexations which an earlier knowledge
would have spared them ; and may see, on every side,
some entangling themselves in perplexities, and some
sinking into ruin, by ignorance or neglect of the maxim of •
Bias.
Every day sends out, in quest of pleasure and distinc-
tion, some heir fondled in ignorance, and flattered into
pride. He comes forth with all the confidence of a spirit
unacquainted with superiours, and all the benevolence of a
mind not yet irritated by opposition, alarmed by fraud, or
imbittered by cruelty. He loves all, because ho imagines
himself the universal favourite. Every exchange of salu-
tation produces .new acquaintance, and every acquaintance
kindles into friendship.
Every season brings a new flight of beauties into the
world, who have hitherto heard only of their own charms,
and imagine that the heart feels no passion but that of
love. They are soon surrounded by admirers whom they
credit, because they tell them only what is heard with de-
light. Whoever gazes upon them is a lover; and whoever
forces a sigh, is pining in despair.
He, surely, is a useful monitor, who inculcates to these
thoughtless strangers, that the majority are wicked; who
informs them, that the train which wealth and beauty draw
after them, is lured only by the scent of prey ; and that,
perhaps, among all those who crowd about them with pro-
fessions and flatteries, there is not one who does not hope
for some opportunity to devour or betray them, to glut
himself by their destruction, or to share their spoils with
a stronger savage.
Virtue presented singly to the imagination or the reason,
is so well recommended by its own graces, and so strongly
supported by arguments, that a good man wonders how
any can be bad ; and they who are ignorant of the force of
Y 2
passion and interest, who never observed the arts of se-

duction, the contagion of example, the gradual descent
from one crime to another, or the insensible depravation
of the principles by loose conversation, naturally expect
to find integrity in every bosom, and veracity on every
tongue.
It is, indeed, impossible not to hear from those who have
lived longer, of wrongs and falsehoods, of violence and
circumvention ; but such narratives are commonly regarded
by the young, the heady, and the confident, as nothing
more than the murmurs of peevishness, or the dreams of
dotage; and, notwithstanding all the documents of hoary
wisdom, we commonly plunge into the world fearless and
credulous, without any foresight of danger, or apprehension
of deceit.
I have remarked, in a former paper, that credulity is
the common failing of unexperienced virtue; and that he
who is spontaneously suspicious, may be justly charged
with radical corruption ; for, if he has not known the preva-
lence of dishonesty by information, nor had time to observe
it with his own eyes, whence can he take his measures of
judgment but from himself?
They who best deserve to escape the snares of artifice,
are most likely to be entangled. He that endeavours to
live for the good of others, must always be exposed to the
arts of them who live only for themselves, unless he is
taught by timely precepts the caution required in com-
mon transactions, and shown at a distance the pitfalls of
treachery.
To youth, therefore, it should be carefully inculcated,
that, to enter the road of life without caution or reserve,
in expectation .of general fidelity and justice, is to launch
on the wide ocean without the instruments of steerage,
and to hope that every wind will be prosperous, and that
every coast will afford a harbour.
To enumerate the various motives to deceit and injury,
would be to count all the desires that prevail among the
sons of men ; since there is no ambition, however petty, no
wish, however absurd, that, by indulgence, will not be
enabled to overpower the influence of virtue. Many there
are, who openly, and almost professedly, regulate all their
conduct by their love of money; who have no other reason
for action or forbearance, for compliance or refusal,,than
that they hope to gain more by one than by the other.
These are, indeed, the meanest and cruelest of human
beings; a race with whom, as with some pestiferous ani-
mals, the whole creation seems to be at war; but who,
however detested or scorned, long continue to add heap to
heap, and when they have reduced one to beggary, are
still permitted to fasten on' another.
Others, yet less rationally wicked, pass their lives in
mischief, because they cannot bear the sight of success,
and mark out every man for hatred, whose fame or fortune
they believe increasing.
Many, who have not advanced to these degrees of guilt,
are yet wholly unqualified for friendship, and unable to
maintain any constant or regular course of kindness. Hap-
piness may be destroyed not only by union with the man
who is apparently the slave of interest, but with him whoin
a wild opinion of the dignity of perseverance, in whatever
cause, disposes to pursue every injury with unwearied and
perpetual resentment ; with him whose vanity inclines him
to consider every man as a rival in every pretension; with
him whose airy negligence puts his friend's affairs or se-
crets in continual hazard, and who thinks his forgetfulness
of others excused by his inattention to himself; and with
him whose inconstancy ranges without any settled rule of
choice through varieties of friendship, and who adopts and
dismisses favourites by the sudden impulse of caprice.
Thus numerous are the dangers to which the converse
of mankind exposes us, and which can be avoided only by
prudent distrust. He, therefore, that, remembering this
salutary maxim, learns early to withhold his fondness from
fair appearances, will have reason to pay some honours to
Bias of Priene, who enabled him to become wise without
the cost of experience.
326 THE RAMBLER. N°. 176•
N°. 176. SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 23, 1751.

Naso Hon. Lib.
suspendis adunco. i. Sat. 5.
vi.
On turn
me you the nose.
THERE are many vexatious accidents, and uneasy situa-

tions, which raise little compassion for the sufferer, and
which no man but those whom they immediately distress
can regard with seriousness. Petty mischiefs, that have
no influence on futurity, nor extend their effects to the
rest of life, are always seen with a kind of malicious plea-
sure. A mistake or embarrassment, which, for the present
moment, fills the face with blushes, and the mind with con-
fusion, will have no other effect upon those who observe
it, than that of convulsing them with irresistible laughter.
Some circumstances of misery are so powerfully ridicu-
lous, that neither kindness nor duty can withstand them;
they bear down love, interest, and reverence, and force
the friend, the dependant, or the child, to give way to in-
stantaneous•motions of merriment.
Among the principal of comick calamities, may be reck-
oned the pain which an author, not yet hardened into in-
sensibility, feels at the onset of a furious critick, whose
age, rank, or fortune, gives him confidence to speak with-
out reserve; who heaps one objection upon another, and
obtrudes his remarks, and enforces his corrections, without
tenderness or awe. •
The author, full of the importance of his work, and
anxious for the justification of every syllable, starts and
kindles at the slightest attack ; the critick, eager to es-
tablish his superiority, triumphing in every discovery of
failure, and zealous to impress the cogency of his argu-
ments, pursues him from line to line without cessation or
remorse. The critick, who hazards little, proceeds with
vehemence, impetuosity, and fearlessness ; the author,
whose quiet and fame, and life and immortality, are in-
volved in the controversy, tries every art of subterfuge
and defence; maintains modestly what he resolves never to
yield, and yields unwillingly what cannot be maintained.

The critick's purpose is to conquer, the author only hopes
to escape; the critick, therefore, knits his brow, and raises
his voice, and rejoices whenever he perceives any tokens
of pain excited by the pressure of his assertions, or the
point of his sarcasms. The author, whose endeavour is at
once to mollify and elude his persecutor, composes his fea-
tures and softens his accent, breaks the force of assault by
retreat, and rather steps aside than flies or advances.
A4 it very seldom happens that the rage of extemporary
criticism inflicts fatal or lasting• wounds, I know not that
,the laws of benevolence entitle this distress to much sym-
pathy. The diversion of baiting an author has the sanction
of all ages and nations, and is more lawful than the sport
of teasing other animals, because, for the most part, he
comes voluntarily to the stake, furnished, as he imagines,
by the patron powers of literature, with resistless weapons,
and impenetrable armour, with the mail of the boar of
trymanth, and the paws of the lion of Nemea.
But the works of genius are sometimes produced by
.other motives than vanity; and he whom necessity or duty
enforces to write, is not always so well satisfied with him-
self, as not to be discouraged by censorious impudence.
It may, therefore, be necessary to consider, how they whom
publication lays open to the insults of such as their obscu-
rity secures against reprisals, may extricate themselves
from unexpected encounters.
Vida, a man of considerable skill in the politicks of lite-
rature, directs his pupil wholly to abandon his defence, and
even when he can irrefragably refute all objections, to
sutler tamely the exaltations of his antagonist.
This rule may, perhaps, be just when advice is asked,
and severity solicited, because no man tells his opinion so
freely as when he imagines it received with implicit vener-
ation ; and criticks ought never to be consulted, but while
errours may yet be rectified or insipidity suppressed. But
when the book has once been dismissed into the world, and
can be no more retouched, I know not whether a very dif-
ferent conduct should not be prescribed, and whether firm-

ness and spirit may not sometimes be of use to overpower
arrogance, and repel brutality. Softness, diffidence, and
moderation, will often be mistaken for imbecility and de-
jection ; they lure cowardice to the attack by the hopes
of easy victory, and it will soon be found that he whom
every man thinks he can conquer, shall never be at
peace.
The animadversions of criticks are commonly such as
may easily provoke the sedatest writer to some quickness
of resentment and asperity of reply. A man, who by long
consideration has familiarized a subject to his own mind,
carefully surveyed the series of his thoughts, and planned
all the parts of his composition into a regular dependence
on each other, will often start at the sinistrous interpreta-
tions or absurd remarks of haste and ignorance, and won-
der by what infatuation they have been led away from the
obvious sense, and upon what peculiar principles of judg-
ment they decide against him.
The eye of the intellect, like that of the body, is not
equally perfect in all, nor equally adapted in any to all
objects: the end of criticism is to supply its defects; rules
are the instruments of mental vision, which may, indeed,
assist our faculties when properly used, but produce con-
fusion and obscurity by unskilful application.
Some seem always to read with the microscope of criti-
cism, and employ their whole attention upon minute ele-
gance, or faults scarcely visible to common observation.
The dissonance of a syllable, the recurrence of the same
sound, the repetition of a particle, the smallest deviation
from propriety, the slightest defect in construction or ar-
rangement, swell' before their eyes into enormities. As
they discern with great exactness, they comprehend but a
narrow compass, and know nothing of the justness of the
design, the general spirit of the performance, the artifice
of connexion, or the harmony of the parts ; they never
conceive how small a proportion that which they are busy
in contemplating bears to the whole, or how the petty in-
.N°. 177. THE RAMBLER. 329
accuracies, with which they are offended, are absorbed
and lost in general excellence.
Others are Furnished by criticism with a telescope.
They see with great clearness whatever is too remote to
be discovered by the rest of mankind, but are totally blind
to all that lies immediately before them. They discover
in every passage some secret meaning, some remote allu-
sion, some artful allegory, or some occult imitation, which
no other reader ever suspected ; but they have no percep-
tion of the cogency of arguments, the force of pathetick
sentiments, the various colours of diction, or the flowery
embellishments of fancy ; of all that engages the attention
of others they are totally insensible, while they pry into
worlds of conjecture, and amuse themselves with phan-
toms in the clouds.
In criticism, as in every other art, we fail sometimes by
our weakness, but more frequently by our fault. We are
sometimes bewildered by ignorance, and sometimes by
prejudice, but we seldom deviate far from the right, but
when we deliver ourselves up to the direction of vanity.
No. 177. TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 26, 1761.
nape est tl!fficiles habere tinges. MART. Lib. ii. Ep.lxxxvi. 9.

Those things which now seem frivolous and slight,
Will be of serious consequence to you,
When they have made you once ridiculous. ROSCOMMON.
TO THE RAMBLER.
SIR,
WHEN I was, at the usual time, about to enter
upon the profession to which my friends had destined me,
being summoned, by the death of my father, into the
country, I found myself master of an unexpected sum of
Money, and of an estate, which, though not large, was, in
My opinion, sufficient to support me in a condition far
Preferable to the fatigue, dependence, and uncertainty of
any gainful occupation. I therefore resolved to devote

the rest of my life wholly to curiosity, and without any
confinement of my excursions, or termination of my views,
to wander over the boundless regions of general know-
ledge. .
This scheme of life seemed pregnant with inexhaustible
Variety, and therefore I could not forbear to congratulate
myself upon the wisdom of my choice. I furnished a
large room with all conveniencies for study; collected
books of every kind ; quitted every science at the first
perception of disgust; returned to it again as soon as my
former ardour happened to revive; and having no rival to
depress me by comparison, nor any critick to alarm me
with objections, I spent day after day in profound tran-
quillity, with only so much complaisance in my own ha-
provements, as served to excite and animate my applica-
tion.
Thus I lived for some years with complete acquiescence
in my own plan of conduct, rising early to read, and di-
viding the latter part of the day between economy, exer-
cise, and reflection. But, in time, I began to find my
mind contracted and stiffened by solitude. My ease and
elegance were sensibly impaired ; I was no longer able to
accommodate myself with readiness to the accidental cur-
rent of conversation ; my notions grew particular and para-
doxical, and my phraseology formal and unfashionable; I
spoke, on common occasions, the language of books. My
quickness of apprehension, and celerity of reply, had en-
tirely deserted me ; when I delivered my opinion, or de-
tailed my knowledge, I was bewildered by an unseason-
able interrogatory, disconcerted by any slight opposition,
and overwhelmed and lost in dejection, when the smallest
advantage was gained against me in dispute. I became
decisive and dogmatical, impatient of contradiction, per-
petually jealous of my character, insolent to such as ac-
knowledged my superiority, and sullen and malignant to
all who refused to receive my dictates.
This I soon discovered to be one of those intellectual
diseases which a wise man should make haste to cure. I
therefore resolved for a time to shut my books, and learn
again the art of conversation; to defecate and clear my
mind by brisker motions, and stronger impulses; and to
unite myself once more to the living generation.
For this purpose I halted to Londoq, and entreated
one of my academical acquaintances to introduce me into
some of the little societies of literature which are formed
in taverns and coffee-houses. He was pleased with an
opportunity of showing me to his friends, and soon ob-
tained me admission among .a select company of curious
men, who met once a week to exhilarate their studies, and
compare their acquisitions.
The eldest and most venerable of this society was
Hirsutus, who, after the first civilities of my reception,
found means to introduce the mention of his favourite .
studies, by a severe censure of those who want the due
regard for their native country. He informed me, that
he had early withdrawn his attention from foreign trifles,
and that since he began to addict his mind to serious and
manly studies, he had very carefully amassed all the Eng-
lish books that were printed in the black character. This
search be had pursued so diligently, that he was able to
show the deficiencies of the best catalogues. He had
long since completed his Caxton, had three sheets of Tre-
veris unknown to the antiquaries, and wanted to a perfect
Pynsou but two volumes, of which one was promised him
as a legacy by its present possessor, and the other he was
resolved to buy, at whatever price, when Quisquilius's
library should be sold. Hirsutus had no other reason for
the valuing or slighting a book, than that it was printed in
the Roman or the Gothic letter, nor any ideas but such as
his favourite volumes had supplied; when he was serious
he expatiated on the narratives of "Johan de Trevisa,"
and when he was merry, regaled us with a quotation from
the " Shippe of Foles."
While I was listening to this hoary student, Ferratus
entered in a hurry, and informed us, with the abruptness
of ecstacy, that his set of halfpence was now complete ;

he had just received in a handful of change, the piece that
he had so long been seeking, and could now defy mankind
to outgo his collection of English copper.
Chartophylax then observed how fatally human sagacity
was sometimes baffled, and how often the most valuable
discoveries are made by chance. He had employed him-
self and his emissaries seven years at great expense to
perfect his series of Gazettes, but had long wanted a
single paper, which, when he despaired of obtaining it,
was sent him wrapped round a parcel of tobacco.
Cantilenus turned all his thoughts upon old ballads, for
he considered them as the genuine records of the national
taste. He offered to show me a copy of "The Children
in the Wood," which be firmly believed to be of the first
edition, and, by the help of which the text might be freed
from several corruptions, if this age of barbarity had any
claim to such favours from him.
Many were admitted into this society as inferiour mem-
bers, because they bad collected old prints and neglected
pamphlets, or possessed some fragment of antiquity, as the
seal of an ancient corporation, the charter of a religious
house, the genealogy of a family extinct, or a letter writ-
ten in the reiga of Elizabeth.
Every one of these virtuosos looked on all his associates
as wretches of depraved taste and narrow notions. Their
conversation was, therefore, fretful and waspish, their be-
haviour brutal, their merriment bluntly sarcastick, and
their seriousness gloomy and suspicious. They were
totally ignorant of all that passes, or has lately passed, in
the world ; unable to discuss any question of religious,
political, or military knowledge; equally strangers to
science and politer learning, and without any wish to im-
prove their minds, or any other pleasure than that of dis-
playing rarities, of which they would not suffer others to
make the proper use.
Hirsutus graciously informed me, that the number of
their society was limited, but that I might sometimes at-
tend as an auditor. I was pleased to find myself in no
danger of an honour, which I could not have willingly
accepted, nor gracefully refused, and left them without
any intention of returning; for I soon found that the sup-
pression of those habits with which I was vitiated, required
association with men very different from this solemn race.
I am, sir, &c.
VIVACULUS.
It is natural to feel grief or indignation when any thing

necessary or useful is wantonky wasted, or negligently de-
stroyed; and, therefore, my correspondent cannot be
blamed for looking with uneasiness on the waste of life.
Leisure and curiosity might soon make great advances in
useful knowledge, were they not diverted by minute emu-
lation and laborious trifles. It may, however, somewhat
mollify his anger to reflect, that, Perhaps, none of the as-
sembly which he describes, was capable of any nobler em-
ployment, and that he who does his best, however little, is
always to be distinguished from him who does nothing.
Whatever busies the mind without corrupting it, has at
least this use, that it rescues the day'from idleness, and
be that is never idle will not often be vitious.
.....,...,.0%., • • • 0 • • MO, 4.0.......
N°. 170. SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 30, 1751.
Pars sanitatis vale sanaria fait. SENECA.

To yield to remedies is half the cure.
PYTHAGORAS is reported to have required from those

whom he instructed in philosophy a probationary silence
of five years. Whether this prohibition of speech ex-
tended to all the parts of this time, as seems generally to
be supposed, or was to be observed only in the school or
in the presence of their master, as is more probable, it was
sufficient to discover the pupil's disposition ; to try whether
he was willing to pay the price of learning, or whether he
was one of those whose ardour was rather violent than

lasting, and who expected to grow wise on other terms
than those of patience and obedience.
Many of the blessings universally desired, are very fre-
quently wanted, because most men, when they should
labour, content themselves to complain, and rather linger
in a state in which they cannot be at rest, than improve
their condition by vigour and resolution.
Providence has fixed the limits of human enjoyment by
immoveable boundaries, and has set different gratifications
at such a distance from each other, that no art or power
can bring them together. This great law it is the business
of every rational being to understand, that life may not
pass away in an attempt to make contradictions consistent,
to combine opposite qualities, and to unite things which
the nature of their being must always keep asunder.
Of two objects tempting at a distance on contrary sides,
it is impossible to approach one but by receding from the
other; by long deliberation and dilatory projects, they may
be both lost, but can never be both gained. It is, there-
fore, necessary to compare them, and, when we have de-
termined the preference, to withdraw our eyes and our
thoughts at once from that which reason directs us to re-
ject. This is more necessary, if that which we are for-
saking has the power of delighting the senses, or firing the
fancy. He that once turns aside to the allurements of
unlawful pleasure, can have no security that he shall ever
regain the paths of virtue.
The philosophick goddess of Boethius, having related
the story of Orpheus, who, when he had recovered his
wife from the dominions of death, lost her again by looking
back upon her in the confines of light, concludes with a
very elegant and forcible application. " Whoever you
are that endeavour to elevate your minds to the illumina-
tions of heaven, consider yourselves as represented in
this fable ; for he that is once so far overcome as to turn
back his eyes towards the infernal caverns, loses at the
first sight all that influence which attracted him on high :"
No. 178• THE RAMBLER. 335
Vos lime fabula respicit,

Quicunque in superum diem
Mentem ducere qureritis.
Nam qui Tartareum in specus
Victus lumina flexerit,
Quidquid prrecipuum trahit, •
Perdit, dum videt inferos.
It may be observed, in general, that the future is pur-

chased by the present. It is not possible to secure distant
or permanent happiness but by the forbearance of some
immediate gratification. This is so evidently trite with
regard to the whole of our existence, that all the precepts
of theology have no other tendency than to enforce a life
of faith; a life regulated not by our senses but our belief;
a life in which pleasures are to be refused for fear of in-
visible punishments, and calamities sometimes to be sought,
and always endured, in hope of rewards that shall be ob-
tained in another state.
Even if we take into our view only that particle of our
duration which is terminated by the grave, it will be
found that we cannot enjoy one part of life beyond the
common limitations of pleasure, but by anticipating some
of the satisfaction which should exhilarate the following
years. The heat of youth may spread happiness into wild
luxuriance, but the radical vigour requisite to make it
perennial is exhausted, and all that can be hoped after-
wards is languor and sterility.
The reigning ertour of mankind is, that we are not con-
tent with the conditions on which the goods of life are
granted. No man is insensible of the value of knowledge,
the advantages of health, or the convenience of plenty, but
every day shows us those on whom the conviction is with-
out effect.
Knowledge is praised and desired by multitudes whom
her charms could never rouse from the couch of sloth;
whom the faintest invitation of pleasure draws away from
their studies; to whom any other method of wearing out
the day is more eligible than the use of books, and who are
..• more easily engaged by any conversation, than such as may

rectify their notions or enlarge their comprehdnsion.
Every man that has felt pain, knows how little all other
comforts can gladden him to whom health is denied. Yet
who is there doeQ not sometimes "hazard it for the, enjoy-
ment of an hour? All assemblies of jollity, all places of
publick entertainment, exhibit examples 9f strength wasting
in riot, and beauty withering in irregularity ; nor is it easy
to enter a house in which part of the family is not groaning
in repentance of past intemperance, and part admitting
disease by negligence, or soliciting it by luxury.
There is no pleasure which men of every age and sect
have more generally agreed to mention with contempt,
than the gratifications of the palate ; an entertainment so
far removed from intellectual happiness, that scarcely the
most shameless of the sensual herd have dared- to defend
it: yet even to this, the lowest of our delights, to this,
though neither quick nor lasting, is health with all its
activity and sprightliness daily sacrificed ; and for this are
half the miseries endured which urge impatience to call on
death.
The whole world is put in motion by the wish for riches
and the dread of poverty. Who, then, would not imagine
that such conduct as will inevitably destroy what all are
thus labouring to acquire, must generally be avoided ?
That he who spends more than he receives, must in time
become indigent, cannot be doubted ; but, how evident so-
ever this consequence may appear, the spendthrift moves
in the whirl of pleasure with too much rapidity to keep it
before his eyes, and, in the intoxication of gaiety, grows
every day poorer without any such sense of approaching
ruin as is sufficient to wake him into caution.
Many complaints are made of the misery of life ; and,
indeed, it must be confessed that we are subject to cala-
mities by which the good and bad, the diligent and sloth-
ful, the vigilant and heedless, are equally afflicted. But
surely, though some indulgence may be allowed to groans
N°. 179. THE RAMBLER. ' 387
extorted by inevitable misery, no mantas a right to repine

at evils whicl, against warning, against experience, he
deliberately and leisurely brings upon his own head ; or
to consider.:himself as debarred from happiness by such
obstacles a$reso!ution niay break or dexterity may put
aside.
Great numbers who quarrel with their condition, have
wanted not the power but the will to obtain a better state.
They have never contemplated the difference between
good and evil sufficiently to quicken aversion, or invigor-
ate desire; they have indulged a drowsy thoughtlessness
or giddy levity ; have committed the balance of choice to
the management of 'caprice ; and when they have long ac-
customed themselves to receive all that chance offered
them, without examination, lament at last that they find
themselves deceived.
. •
~JO 40.0,N, ANJWIONII,~4,
N°. 179. TUESDAY, DECEMBER 3, 1751.
Perpetuo risu pulmonem agitare soltbut. Jrv. Sat. a. 33.

Demoeritus would feed his spleen, and shake
Iris sides and shoulders till he felt them ake. DRYDEN
tVERY man, says Tully, has two characters; one which

he partakes with. all' mankind, and by which he is distin-
guished from brute animals; another which discriminates
him from the rest of his own species, and impresses on
him a manner and ,temper peculiar to himself; this parti-
cular character, if it be not repugnant to the laws of gene-
ral humanity, it is always his business to cultivate and
Preserve. .
Every hour furnishes some confirmation of Tully's pre•
cept. It seldom happens, that an assembly of pleasure is
So happily selected, but that some one finds admission,
With whom the rest are deservedly offended; and it will
appear, on a close inspection, that scarce any man be-
R. IL a
comes eminently disagreeable, but by a departure from his

real character, and an attempt at something fof which
nature or education have left him unqualified.
Ignorance or dulness have indeed no power of affording
delight, but they never give disgust except when they as-
sume the dignity of knowledge, or ape the sprightliness of
wit. Awkwardness and inelegance have none of those
attractions by which ease and politeness take possession
of the heart; but ridicule and censure seldom rise against
them, unless they appear associated with that confidence
which belongs only to long acquaintance with the modes
of life, and to consciousness of unfailing propriety of be-
haviour. Deformity itself is regarded with tenderness
rather than aversion, when it does not attempt to deceive
the sight by dress and decoration, and to seize upon ficti-
tious claims the prerogatives of beauty.
He that stands to contemplate the crowds that fill the
streets of a populous city, will see many passengers whose
air and motion it will be difficult to behold without contempt
and laughter; but if he examines what are the appear-
ances that thus powerfully excite his risibility, he will find
among them neither poverty nor disease, nor any involun-
tary or painful defect. The disposition to derision and
insult is awakened by the softness of foppery, the swell of
insolence, the liveliness of levity, or the solemnity of gran-
deur; by the sprightly trip, the stately stalk, the formal
strut, the lofty mien ; by gestures intended to catch the
eye, and by looks elaborately formed as evidences of im-
portance.
It has, I think, been sometimes urged in favour of affec-
tation, that it is only a mistake of the means to a good end,
and that the intention with which it is practised is always
to please. If all attempts to innovate the constitutional
or habitual character have really proceeded from publick
spirit and love of others, the world has hitherto been suf-
ficiently ungrateful, since no return but scorn has yet been
made to the most difficult of all enterprises, a contest with
nature ; nor has any pity been shown to the fatigues of

labour which never succeeded, and the uneasiness of dis-
guise by which nothing was concealed.
It seems therefore to be determined by the general suf-
frage of mankind, that he who decks himself in adscititious
qualities rather purposes to command applause than impart
pleasure : and he is therefore treated as a man who, by an
unreasonable ambition, usurps the place in society to which
he has no right. Praise is seldom paid with willingness
even to incontestable merit, and it can be no wonder that
he who calls for it without desert is repulsed with universal
indignation.
Affectation naturally counterfeits those excellencies which
are placed at the greatest distance from possibility of at-
tainment. We are conscious of our own defects, and
eagerly endeavour to supply them by artificial excellence;
for would such efforts be wholly without excuse, were they
not often excited by ornamental trifles, which he, that thus
anxiously struggles for the reputation of possessing them,
would not have been known to want, had not his industry
quickened observation.
Gelasimus passed the first part of his life in academical
privacy and rural retirement, without any other conversa-
tion than that of scholars, grave, studious, and abstracted
as himself. He cultivated the mathematical sciences with
indefatigable diligence, discovered many useful theorems,
discussed with great accuracy the resistance of fluids, and,
though his priority was not generally acknowledged, was
the first who fully explained all the properties of the cate-
narian curve.
Learning, when it rises to eminence, will be observed in
time, whatever mists may happen to surround it Gela-
simus, in his forty-ninth year, was distinguished by those
who have the rewards of knowledge in their hands, and
called out to display his acquisitions for the honour of his
country, and add dignity by his presence to philosophical
assemblies. As he did not suspect his unfitness for corn-
Mon affairs, he felt no reluctance to obey the invitation,
z2
340 THE RAMBLERS N°.1'79.
and what he did not feel he had yet too much honesty to
feign. He entered into the world as a larger and more
populous college, where his performances would be more
publick, and his renown farther extended ; and imagined
that he should find his reputation universally prevalent,
and the influence of learning every where the same.
His merit introduced him to splendid tables and ele-
gant acquaintance ; but he did not find himself always
qualified to join in the conversation. He was distressed
by civilities, which he knew not how to repay, and en-
tangled in many ceremonial perplexities, from which his
books and diagrams could not extricate him. He was
sometimes unluckily engaged in disputes with ladies, with
whom algebraick axioms had no great weight, and saw many
whose favour and esteem he could not but desire, to whom
he was very little recommended by his theories of the
tides, or his approximations to the quadrature of the circle.
Gelasimus did not want penetration to discover, that no
charm was more generally irresistible than that of easy
facetiousness and flowing hilarity. He saw that diversion
was more frequently welcome than improvement ; that au-
thority and seriousness were rather feared than loved; and
that the grave scholar was a kind of imperious ally, hastily
dismissed when his assistance was no longek necessary.
He came to a sudden resolution of throwing off those
cumbrous ornaments of learning which hindered his recep-
tion, and commenced a man of wit and jocularity. Utterly
unacquainted with every topick of merriment, ignorant of
the modes and follies, the vices and virtues of mankind,
and unfurnished with any ideas but such as Pappas and
Archimedes had given him, he began to silence all inquir-
ies with a jest instead of a solution, extended his face with
a grin, which he mistook for .a smile, and in the place of
scientifick discourse, retailed in a new language, formed
between the college and the tavern, the intelligence of the
newspaper.
Laughter, he knew, was a token of alacrity ; and, there-
fore, whatever he said or heard, he was careful not to fail
in that great duty of a wit. If he asked or told.the hour

of the day, if he complained of heat or cold, stirred the
fire, or filled a glass, removed his chair, or snuffed a candle,
Im always found some occasion to laugh. The jest was
indeed a secret to all but himself; but habitual confidence
in his o vn discernment hindered him from suspecting any
weakness or mistake. He wondered that his wit was so
little understood, but expected that his audience would
comprehend it by degrees, and persisted all his life to
show by gross buffoonery, how little the strongest faculties
can perform beyond the limits of their own province.
1,600.0.11."1...0,04,..M11.0.0,04PIP
N.". 180. SATURDAY, DECEMBER 7, 1731.
'rain- tiiii'oc aoliiic, lath, wimp, r 'Erriimipor iartrw

UM" rii Kirby Ziirilv, Kai rift: ai immitic. tutomroos.
On 'ilk:, on morals, be thy thoughts employ'd :

Leave to the schools their atoms and their void.
IT is somewhere related by Le Clerc, that a wealthy trader

of good understanding, ha; ing the common ambition to
breed his son a. scholar, carried him to an university, re-
solving to use his own jud,2ment in the choice of a tutor.
He had been taught, by whatever intelligence, the nearest
way to the heart of an academick, and at his arrival enter-
tained all who came about him m ith such profusion, that
the professors were lured by the smell of his table from
their books, and flocked round loin with till the cringes of
awkward complaisance. This eagerness answered the mer-
chant's purpose : lie glutted them m ith delicacies, and
softened them with caresses, till he pre ailed upon one
after another to open his bosom, and make a discovery of
his competitions, jealousies, and resentments. Having
thus learned each man's character, partly from himself, and
partly from his acquaintances, he resolved to find some
other education for his son, and went away COM inced,
that a schplastick life has no other tendency than to vi-
, tittle the morals and contract the understanding: nor would
3-12 THE RAMBLER. No. 180.
he afterwards hear with patience the praises of' the ancient

authors, being persuaded that scholars of all ages must
have been the same, and that Xenophon and Cicero were
professors of some former university, and therefore mean
and selfish, ignorant and servile, like those whom he had
lately visited and forsaken.
Envy, curiosity, and a sense of the imperfection of our
present state, incline us to estimate the advantages which
are in the possession of others above their real value.
Every one must have remarked, what powers and pre-
rogatives the vulgar imagine to be conferred by learn-
ing. A man of science is expected to excel the unlettered
and unenlightened even on occasions where literature is
of no use, and among weak minds, loses part of his rever-
ence, by discovering no superiority in those parts of life,
in which all are unavoidably equal ; as when a monarch
makes a progress to the remoter provinces, the rustics are
said sometimes to wonder that they find him of the same
size with themselves.
These demands of prejudice and folly can never be sa-
tisfied ; and therefore many of the imputations which learn-
ing suffers from disappointed ignorance, are without re-
proach. But there are some failures, to which men of
study are peculiarly exposed. Every condition has its dis-
advantages. The circle of knowledge is too wide for the
most active and diligent intellect, and while science is
pursued, other accomplishments are neglected ; as a small
garrison must leave one part of an extensive fortress naked,
when an alarm calls them to another.
The learned, however, might generally support their
dignity with more success, if they suffered not themselves
to be misled by the desire of superfluous attainments.
Raphael, in return to Adam's inquiries into the courses of
the stars, and the revolutions of heaven, counsels him to
withdraw his mind from idle speculations, and employ his
faculties upon nearer and more interesting objects, the
survey of his own life, the subjection of his passions,
the knowledge of duties which must daily be performed,
N°, 180. THE RAMBLER. 343 •
and the detection of dangers which must daily be in-

curred.
This angelick counsel every man of letters should always
have before him. He that devotes himself to retired study
naturally sinks from omission to forgetfulness of social
duties ; he must be therefore sometimes awakened and re-
called to the general condition of mankind.
I am far from any intention to limit curiosity, or confine
the labours of learning to arts of immediate and necessary
use. It is only from the various essays of experimental
industry, and the vague excursions of minds sent out upon
discovery, that any advancement of knowledge can be ex-
pected ; and, though many must be disappointed in their
labours, yet they are not to be charged with having spent
their time in vain; their example contributed to inspire
emulation, and their miscarriages taught others the way to
success. ,
But the distant hope of being oue day useful or eminent,
ought not to mislead us too far from that study which is
equally requisite to the great and mean, to the celebrated
and obscure ; the art of moderating the desires, of repres-
sing the appetites, and of conciliating or retaining the fa-
vour of mankind.
No man can • imagine the course of his own life, or the
conduct of the world around him, unworthy his attention;
yet, among the sons of learning, many seem to have thought
of every thing rather than of themselves, and to have ob-
served every thing but what passes before their eyes :
many who toil through the intricacy of complicated sys-
tems, are insuperably embarrassed with the least perplexity
in. common affairs; many who compare the actions, and
ascertain the characters of ancient heroes, let their own
days glide away without examination, and suffer vicious
habits to encroach upon their minds without resistance or
detection.
The most frequent reproach of the scholastick race is
the want of fortitude, not martial but philosophick. Men
bred in shades and silence, taught to immure themselves
at sunset, and accustomed to no other weapon than syllo-

gism, may be allowed to feel-terrour at personal danger,
and to be disconcerted by tumult and alarm. But why
should he"whose life is spent in contemplation, and whose
business is only to discover truth, be unable to rectify the
fallacies of imagination, or contend successfully against
prejudice and passion? To what end has he read and
meditated, if he gives up his understanding to false ap-
p6arances, and suffers himself to be enslaved by fear of
evils to which only folly or vanity can expose him, or
elated by advantages to which, as they are equally con-
ferred upon the good and bad, no real dignity is annexed.
Such, however, is the state of the world, that the most
obsequious of the slaves of pride, the most rapturous of
the gazers upon wealth, the most officious of the whisper-
ers of greatness, are collected from seminaries appro-
priated to the study of wisdom and of virtue, where it was
intended that appetite should learn to be content with little,
and that hope should aspire only to honours which no
human power can give or take away'.
The student, when he comes forth into the •world,
instead of congratulating himself upon his exemption from
the errours of those whose opinions have been formed by
accident or custom, and who live without any certain prin-
ciples of conduct, is commonly in haste to mingle with the
multitude, and shew his sprightliness and ductility by an
expeditious compliance with fashions or vices. The first
smile of a man, whose fortune gives him power to reward
his dependants, commonly enchants him beyond resistance ;
the glare of equipage, the sweets of luxury, the liberality
of general promises, the softness of habitual affability, fill
his imagination ; and he soon ceases to have any other
wish than to be well received, or any measure of right
and wrong but the opinion of his patron.
i " Such arc a sort of sacrilegious ministers in the temple of intellect. They
profane its shew-bread to pamper the palate, its everlasting lamp they use to
light unholy fires within their breast, and show them the way to the sensual
chambers of sense and worldliness." In VING.
A man flattered and obeyed, learns to exact grosser

adulation, and enjoin lower submission. Neither our vir-
tues nor vices are all our own. If there were no cowardice,
there would be little insolence; pride cannot rise to any
great degree, but by the concurrence of blandishment or
the sufferance of tameness. The wretch who would shrink
and crouch before one that should dart his eyes upon him
with the spirit of natural equality, becomes capricious and
tyrannical when he sees himself approached with a down-
cast look, and hears the soft address of awe and servility.
To those who are willing to purchase favour by cringes
and compliance, is to be imputed the haughtiness that
leaves nothing to be hoped by,firmuess and integrity.
If, instead of wandering after the meteors of philosophy,
which fill the world with splendour for a while, and then
sink and are forgotten, the candidates of learning fixed
their eyes upon the permanent lustre of moral and religious
truth, they would find a more certain direction to happi-
ness. A little plausibility of discourse, and acquaintance
with unnecessary speculations, is dearly purchased, when
it excludes those instructions which fortify the heart with
resolution, and exalt the spirit to independence.
MNIM I
— .rlaitem spe
Nen dabhe pendttlus hor,v. floe. Lb, 1. Ep. xviii. 110.
Nor let me float in fortune's pow'r,
Dependent on the future hour. FRANCIS.
TO THE RAMBLER.
SIR,
As I have passed much of my life in disquiet and
suspense, and lost many opportunities of advantage by a
passion which I have reason to believe prevalent in dif-
ferent degrees over a great part of mankind, I cannot but
think myself well qualified to warn those who are yet un-
captivated, of the danger which they incur by placing
themselves within its influence.
346 THE RAMBLER. N°. 1St
•
I served an apprenticeship to a linen-draper, with un-

common reputation for diligence and fidelity; and at the
age of three-and-twenty opened a shop for myself with a
large stock, and such credit among all the merchants, who
were acquainted with my master, that I could command
whatever was imported curious or valuable. For five years
I proceeded with success proportionate to close application
and untainted integrity ; was a daring bidder at every sale; •
always paid my notes before they were due ; and advanced
so fast in commercial reputation, that I was proverbially
marked out as the model of young traders, and every one
expected that a few years would make me an alderman.
In this course of even prosperity, I was one day per-
suaded to buy a ticket in the lottery. The sum was in-
considerable, part was to be repaid though fortune might
fail to favour me, and therefore my established maxims of
frugality did not restrain me from so trifling an experiment.
The ticket lay almost forgotten till the time at which
every man's fate was to be determined ; nor did the affair
even then seem of any importance, till I discovered by
the publick papers that the number next to mine had con-
ferred the great prize.
My heart leaped at the thought of such an approach to
sudden riches, which I considered myself, however con-
trarily to the laws of computation, as having missed by a
single chance ; and I could not forbear to revolve the
consequences which such a bounteous allotment would
have produced, if it had happened to me. This dream of
felicity, by degrees, took possession of my imagination.
The great delight of my solitary hours was to purchase an
estate, and form•plantations with money which once might
have been mine, and I never met my friends hut I spoiled
all their merriment by perpetual complaints of my ill luck.
At length another lottery was opened, and I had now
so heated my imagination with the prospect of a prize,
that I should have pressed among the first purchasers,
had not my ardour been withheld by deliberation upon the
probability of success from one ticket rather than another.
N°. 181. THE RAMBLER. 3-17
I hesitated long between even and odd ; considered the

square and cubick numbers through the lottery; examined
all those to which good luck had been hitherto annexed ;
and at last fixed upon one, which, by some secret relation
to the events of my life, I thought predestined to make
me happy. Delay in great affairs is often mischievous;
the ticket was sold, and its possessor could not be found.
I returned to my conjectures, and after many arts of
prognostication, fixed upon another chance, but with less
' confidence. Never did captive, heir, or lover, feel so
much vexation from the slow.pace of time, as I suffered
between the purchase of my ticket and the distribution of
the prizes. I solaced my uneasiness as well as I could,
by frequent contemplation of approaching happiness ; when
the sun rose I knew it would set, and congratulated my-
self at night that I was so much nearer to my wishes. At
last the day came, my ticket appeared, and rewarded all
my care and sagacity with a despicable prize of fifty
pounds. • •
My friends, who honestly rejoiced upon my success,
were very coldly received ; I hid myself a fortnight in the
country, that my chagrin might fume away without obser-
vation, and then returning to my shop, began to listen
after another lottery.
With the news of a lottery I was soon gratified, and
s having now found the vanity of conjecture, and inefficacy
of computation, I resolved to take the prize by violence,
and therefore bought forty tickets, not omitting, however,
to divide them between the even and odd numbers, that I
might not miss the lucky class. Many conclusions did I
form, and many experiments did I try, to determine from
which of those tickets I might most reasonably expect
riches. At last, being unable to satisfy myself by any
modes of reasoning, I wrote the numbers upon dice, and
allotted five hours every day to the amusement of throw-
ing them in a garret; and, examining the event by an
exact register, found, on the evening before the lottery
was drawn, that one of my numbers had been turned up
3-18 TH E RAMBLER. N".181.
five times more than any of the rest in three 'hundred and
thirty thousand throws.
This experiment was fallacious ; the first day presented
the hopeful ticket, a detestable blank. The rest came
out with different fortune, and in Conclusion I lost thirty
pounds by this great adventure.
I had•now wholly changed the cast of my behaviour
and the conduct of my life. The shop was for the most
part abandoned to my servants, and if I entered it, my
thoughts were so engrossed by my tickets, that I scarcely
heard or answered a question, but considered every cus-
tomer as an intruder upon my meditations, whom I was in
haste to despatch. I mistook the price of my goods,' com-
mitted blunders in my hills, forgot to file my receipts, and
neglected to regulate my books. My acquaintances by
degrees began to fall away ; but I perceived the decline
of my business with little emotion, because whatever de-
ficience there might be in my gains, I expected the next
lottery to supply.
Miscarriage naturally produces diffidence ; I began now
to seek assistance against .ill luck, by an alliance with
those that had been more successful. I inquired dili-
gently at what office any prize had been sold, that I might
purchase of a propitious vender; solicited those who had
been fortunate in former lotteries, to partake with me in
my new tickets; and whenever 1 met with one that had
in any event of his life been eminently prosperous, I in-
vited him to take a larger share. I had, by this rule
of conduct, so diffused my interest, that I had a fourth
part of fifteen tickets, an eighth of forty, and a sixteenth
of ninety.
I waited for the decision of my fate with my former
palpitations, and looked upon the business of my trade
with the usual neglect. The wheel at last was turned,
and its revolutions brought me a long succession of sor-
rows and disappointments. I indeed often partook of a
small prize, and the loss of one day was generally balanced
by the gain of the next ; but my desires yet remained un-
N".181 THE RAMBLER. 34.9
satisfied, and when one of my chances had failed, all my

expectation was suspended on those which remained yet
undetermined. At last a prize of five thousand pounds
was proclaimed ; I caught fire at the cry, and inquiring
the number, found it to be one of my own tickets, which I •
had divided among those on whose hick I depended, and
of which I had retained only a sixteenth part.
You will easily judge with what detestation of himself,
a man thus intent upon gain reflected that he had sold a
prize which was once in his possession. It was to no pur-
pose, that I represented to my mind the impossibility of
recalling the past, or the folly of condemning an act,
which only its event, an event which no human intelli-
gence could foresee, proved to be wrong. The prize
which, though put in my hands, had been suffered to slip
from me, filled me with anguish, and knowing that com-
plaint would only expose me to ridicule, I gave myself up
ilently to grief, and lost by degrees my appetite and my
rest.
My indisposition soon became visible; I was visited by
my friends, and among them by Eumnthes, a clergyman,
whose piety and learning gave hint such an ascendant
over me, that I could not refuse to open my heart. There
are, said he, few minds sufficiently firm to be trusted in
the hands of chance. Whoever finds himself inclined to
anticipate futurity, and exalt possibility to certainty,
should avoid every kind of casual adventure, since his
grief must be always proportionate to his hope. You
have long wasted that time, which, by a proper applica-
tion, would have certainly, though moderately, increased
your fortune, in a laborious and anxious pursuit of a
species of gain, which no labour or anxiety, no art or ex-
pedient, can secure or promote. You are now fretting
away your life in repentance of an act, against which re-
pentance can give no caution, but to avoid the occasion
of committing it. Rouse from this lazy dream of fortuit-
ous riches, which, if obtained, you could scarcely have
enjoyed, because they could confer no consciousness of
desert ; return to rational and manly industry, hnd consider

the mere gift of luck as below the care of a wise man.
..........--„...--
N°. 182. SATURDAY, DECEMBER 14, 1751.
--Dives quifieri volt,

cite vultfieri.-
Et xiv. 176.
Juv.Sat.
The lust of wealth can never bear delay.
IT has been observed in a late paper, that we are unrea-

sonably desirous to separate the goods of life from those
evils which Providence has connected with them, and to
catch advantages without paying the price at which they are
offered us. Every man wishes to be rich, but very few
have the powers necessary to raise a sudden fortune, either
by new discoveries, or by superiority of skill, in any ne-
cessary employment ; and among lower understandings,
many want the firmness and industry requisite to regular
gain and gradual acquisitions.
From the hope of enjoying affluence by methods more
compendious than those of labour, and more generally
practicable than those of genius, proceeds the common in-
clination to experiment and hazard, and that willingness to
snatch all opportunities of growing rich by chance, which,
when it has once taken possession of the mind, is seldom
driven out either by time or argument, but continues to
waste life in perpetual delusion, and generally ends in
wretchedness and want.
The folly of untimely exultation and visionary prospe-
rity, is by no means peculiar to the purchasers of tickets ;
there are multitudes whose life is nothing but a continual
lottery ; who are always within a few months of plenty and
happiness, and how often soever they are mocked with
blanks, expect a prize from the next adventure.
Among the most resolute and ardent of the votaries of
chance, may be numbered the mortals whose hope is to
raise themselves by a wealthy match ; who lay out all their
No. 182. Til E RAMBLER. 351
industry oil the assiduities of courtship, and sleep and

wake with no other ideas than of treats, compliments,
guardians and rivals.
One of the most indefatigable of this class, is my old
friend Leviculus, whom I have never known for thirty years
without some matrimonial project of advantage. Leviculus
was bred under a merchant, and by the graces of his per-
son, the sprightliness of his prattle, and the neatness of his
dress, so much enamoured his'master's second daughter, a
girl of sixteen, that she declared her resolution to have no
other husband. Her father/ after having chidden her for
undutifulness, consented to the match, not much to the sa-
tisfaction of Leviculus, who was sufficiently elated with
his conquest to think himself entitled to a larger fortune.
He was, however, soon rid of his perplexity, for his mis-
tress died before their marriage.
He was now so well satisfied with his own accomplish-
ments, that he determined to commence fortune-hunter ;
and when his apprenticeship expired, instead of beginning-,
as was expected, to walk the Exchange with a face of im-
portance, or associating himself with those who were most
eminent for their knowledge of the stocks, he at once
threw off the solemnity of the counting-house, equipped
himself with a modish wig, listened to wits in coffee-houses,
passed his evenings behind the scenes in the theatres,
learned the names of beauties of quality, hummed the last
stanzas of fashionable songs, talked with familiarity of
high play, boasted of his achievements upon drawers and
coachmen, was often brought to his lodgings at mid-
night in a chair, told with negligence and jocularity of
bilking a tailor, and now and then let fly a shrewd jest at
a sober citizen.
Thus furnished with irresistible artillery, he turned his
batteries upon the female world, and, in the first warmth
of self-approbation, proposed no less than the possession
of riches and beauty united. He therefore paid his civili-
ties to Flavilla, the only daughter of a wealthy shop-
keeper, who not being accustomed to amorous blandish-
ments, or respectful addresses, was delighted with the no-

velty of love, and easily suffered him to conduct her to
the play, and to meet her where she visited. Leviculus
did not doubt but her father, however offended by a clan-
destine marriage, would soon be reconciled by the tears of
his daughter, and the merit of his son-in-law, and was in
haste to conclude the affair. But the lady liked better to
be courted than married, and kept him three years in un-
certainty and attendance. At last she fell in love with a
young ensign at a ball, and having danced with him all
night, married him in the •morning.
Leviculus, to avoid the ridicule of his companions, took
a journey to a small estate in the country, where, after his
usual inquiries concerning the nymphs in the neighbour-
hood, he found it proper to fall in love with Altilia, a
maiden lady, twenty years older than himself, for whose
favour fifteen, nephews and nieces were in perpetual con-
tention. They hovered round her with such jealous offi-
ciousness, as scarcely left a moment vacant for a lover.
Leviculus, nevertheless, discovered his passion in a letter,
and Altilia could not withstand the pleasure of hearing
vows and sighs, and flatteries and protestations. She ad-
mitted his visits, enjoyed for five years the happiness of
keeping all her expectants in perpetual alarms, and amused
herself with the various stratagems which were practised to
disengage her affections. Sometimes she was advised
with great earnestness to travel for her health, and some-
times entreated to keep her brother's house. Many sto-
ries were spread to the disadvantage of Leviculus, by
which she commonly seemed affected for a time, but took
care soon afterwards to express her conviction of their
falsehood. But being at last satiated with this ludicrous
tyranny, she told her lover, when he pressed for the re-
ward of his services, that she was very sensible of his
merit, but was resolved not to impoverish an ancient family.
IIe then returned to the town, and soon after his ar-
rival, became acquainted with Latronia, a lady distin-
guished by the elegance of her equipage, and the regu-
larity of her conduct. Her wealth was evident in her

magnificence, and her prudence- in her economy, and
therefore Leviculus, who had scarcely confidence to solicit
her favour, readily acquitted fortune of her former debts,
when he found himself distinguished by her with such
marks of preference as a woman of modesty is allowed to
give. He now grew bolder, and ventured to breathe out
his impatience before her. She heard him without re-
sentment, in time permitted him to hope for happiness,
and at last fixed the nuptial day, without any distrustful
reserve of pin-money, or sor4hl ,stipulations for jointure,
and settlements.
Leviculus was triumphing on the eve of marriage, when
he heard on the stairs the voice of Latronia's maid, whom
frequent bribes had secured in his service. She soon burst
into his room, and told him that she could not suffer him to
be longer deceived ; that her mistress was now Spending
the last payment of her fortune, and was only supported
in her expense by the credit of his estate. Leviculus
shuddered to ree himself so near a precipice, and found
that he was indebted for his escape to the resentment of
the maid( who having assisted Latronia to gain the con-
quest, quarrelled with her at last about the plunder.
Leviculus was now hopeless and disconsolate, till one
Sunday he saw a lady in the Mall, whom her dress declared
a widow, and whom, by the jolting prance of her gait, and
the broad resplendence of her countenance, he guessed to
have lately buried some prosperous citizen. He followed
her home, and found her to be no less than the relict of
Prune the grocer, who, having no children, had bequeathed
to her all his debts and dues, and his estates real and per-
sonal. No formality was necessary in addressing madam
Prune, and therefore Leviculus went next morning without
an introductor.. His declaration was received with a loud
laugh ; she then collected her countenance, wondered at
his impudence, asked if he knew to whom he was talking,
then shewed him the door, and again laughed to find him
confused. Leviculus discovered that this coarseness was
R. II, ,a
nothing more than the coquetry of Cornhill, and next day
returned to the attack. He soon grew familiar to her dia-
lect, and in a few weeks heard, without any emotion, hints
of gay clothes with empty pockets ; concurred in many
sage remarks on the regard due to people of property; and
agreed with her in detestation of the ladies at the other
end of the town, who pinched their bellies to buy fine-laces,
and then pretended to laugh'at the city.
• He sometimes presumed to mention marriage; but was
always answered with a slap, a hoot, and a flounce. At
last he began to press her closer,-and thought himself more
favourably received ; but going one morning, with a reso-
lution to trifle no longer, he found her gone to church with
a young journeyman from the neighbouring shop, of whom
she had become enamoured at her window.
In these, and a thousand intermediate adventures, has
Leviculus spent his time, till he is now grown grey with
age, fatigue, and disappointment. He' begins at last to
find that success is not to be expected, and being unfit for
any employment that might improve his fortune, and un-
furnished with any arts that might amuse his leisure, is
condemned to wear out a tasteless life in narratives which
few will hear, and complaints which none will pity.
/WOW •••••••
Nulla fides regni soeiis, nmnisque pntestas

impatiens eunsartis trig. LISCAN. Lib. i. 92.
No faith of partnership dominion owns ;

Still discord hovers o'er divided thrones.
THE hostility perpetually exercised between one man and

another, is caused by the desire of many for that which
only few can possess. Every man would be rich, powerful,
and famous ; yet fame, power, and riches are only the
names of relative conditions, which imply the obscurity,
dependance, and poverty of greater numbers.
N. 183. • TUE RAMBLER. 355
This universal and incessant competition produces injury

and malice by two motives, interest and envy ; the pros-
pect of adding to our possessions what we can take from
others, and the hope of alleviating the sense of our dis-
parity by lessening others, though we gain nothing to our-
selves.
Of these two malignant and destructive powers, it seems
probable at the first view, that interest has the strongest
and most extensive influence. It is easy to conceive that
opportunities to seize what has been long wanted, may ex-
cite desires almost irresistible4.but surely the same eager-
ness cannot be kindled by an accidental power of destroy-
ing that which gives happiness to another. It must be
more natural to rob for gain, than to ravage only foruiis-
chief.
Yet I am inclined to believe, that the great law of mu-
tual benevolence is oftener violated by envy than by inter-
est, and that most of the misery which the defamation of
blameless actions, or- the obstruction of honest eudeavours,
brings upon the world, is inflicted by men that propose no
advantage to themselves but the satisfaction of poisoning
the banquet which they cannot taste, and blasting the har-
vest which they have no right to reap.
Interest can diffuse itself but to a narrow compass. The
number is never large of those who can hope to fill the
posts of degraded power, catch the. fragments of shattered
fortune, or succeed to the honours of depreciated beauty.
But the empire of envy has no limits, as it requires to its
influence very little help from external circumstances.
Envy may always be prodUced by idleness and pride, and
in what place will they not be found ?
Interest requires some qualities not universally bestowed.
The ruin of another will produce no profit to him who has
not discernment to mark his advantage, courage to seize,
and activity to pursue it; but the cold malignity of envy
May be exerted in a torpid and quiescent state, amidst the
gloom of stupidity, iii the coverts of cowardice. Ile that
falls by the attacks of interest, is torn by hungry tigers ;
A a .),
he may discover and resist his enemies. He that perishes

in the ambushes of envy, is destroyed by unknown and in-
visible assailants, and dies like. a man suffocated by a poi-
• sonous vapour, without knowledge of his danger, or possi-
bility of contest.
Interest is seldom pursued but at some hazard. He
that hopes to gain much, has commonly something to lose,
and when he ventures to attack superiority, if he fails to
conquer, is irrecoverably crushed. But envy may act with-
out expense or danger. To spread suspicion, to invent
calumnies, to propagate- scandal, requires neither labour
nor courage. It is easy for the author of a lie, however
malignant, to escape detection, and infamy needs very
little industry to assist its circulation.
Envy is almost the only vice which.is practicable at all
times, and in every place ; the only passion which can
never lie quiet for want of irritation : its effects therefore
are every where discoverable, and its attempts always to
be dreaded.
It is impossible to mention a name :Which any advan-
tageous distinction has made eminent, but some latent ani-
mosity will burst out. The wealthy trader,. however he
may abstract himself from publick affairsr will never want
those who hint, with Shylock, that ships are but boards.
The beauty, adorned only with the unambitious graces of
innocence and modesty, provokes, whenever she appears,
a thousand murmurs of detraction. The genius, even
when he endeavours only to entertain or instruct, yet suf-
fers persecution from innumerable criticks, whose acrimony
is excited merely by the pain of seeing others pleased, and
of hearing applauses which another enjoys.
The frequency of envy makes it so familiar, that it es-
capes our notice ; nor do we often reflect upon its turpitude
or malignity, till we happen to feel its influence. When
be that has given no provocation to malice, but by at-
tempting to excel, finds himself pursued by multitudes
whom be never saw, with all the implacability of personal
resentment ; when he perceives clamour and malice let
N°. 183. THE RAMBLER. 3,57
loose upon him as a publick enemy, and incited by every

stratagem of defamation; when he bears the misfortunes
of his family, or the follies of his youth, exposed to the
world ; and every failure of conduct, or defect of nature,
aggravated and ridiculed ; he then learns to abhor those
artifices at which he only laughed before,. and discovers
how much the happiness of life would be advanced by the
eradication of envy from the human heart.
Envy is, indeed, a stubborn weed of the mind, and
seldom yields to the ,culture of philosophy. There are,
however, considerations; which, if carefully implanted and
diligently propagated, might in time overpower and re-
press it, since no one can nurse it for the sake of pleasure,
as its effects are only shame, anguish, and perturbation.
It is above all other vices inconsistent with the character
of a social being, because it sacrifices truth and kindness
to very weak temptations. He that plunders a wealthy
neighbour gains as much as he takes away, and may im-
prove his own condition in the same proportion as he im-
pairs another's ; but he that blasts a flourishing reputation,
must be content with a small dividend of additional fame,
so small as can afford very little consolation to balance the
guilt by which it is obtained. .
I have hitherto avoided that dangerous and empirical
morality, which cures one vice by means or another. But
envy is so base and detestable, so vile in its original, and
so pernicious in its effects, that the predominance of almost
any other quality is to be preferred. It is one of those
lawless enemies of society, against which poisoned arrows
May honestly be used. Let it therefore be constantly re-
membered, that whoever envies another, confesses his su-
periority, and let those be reformed by their pride who
have lost their virtue.
It is no slight aggravation of the injuries which envy
incites, that they are committed against those who have
given no intentional provocation ; and that the sufferer is
Often marked out for ruin, not because he has failed in any
358 THE RAMBLER. Nu. 1St
duty, but because he has dared to do more than was re-

quired.
Almost every other crime is practised by the help of
some quality which might have produced esteem or love,
if it had been well employed ; but envy is mere unmixed
and genuine evil ; it pursues a hateful end by despicable
means, and desires not so much its own happiness as
another's misery. To avoid depravity like this, it is not
necessary that any one should aspire to heroism or sanctity,
but only that he should resolve not to quit the rank which
nature assigns him, and wish' to maintain the dignity of a
human being.
ornow.no.ww.....woverr...r~we
No. 184. SATURDAY, DECEMBER 21, 1751.
Permittes ipsis espenciere numinibus, quid •

Sat. x. 347.
Conueniat nobis, vebusque sit utile nostris. Juv.
Intrust thy fortune to the pow'rs above;
Leave them to manage for thee, and to grant
What their unerring wisdom sees thee want. DRYDEN.
As every scheme of life, so every form of writing, has its

advantages and inconveniencies, though • not mingled in
the same proportions. The writer of essays escapes many
embarrassments to which a large work would have exposed
him ; he seldom •harasses his reason with long trains of
consequences, dims his eyes with the perusal of antiquated
volumes, or burthens his memory with great accumula-
tions of preparatory knowledge. A careless glance - upon
a favourite author, or transient survey of the varieties of
life, is sufficient to supply the first hint ar seminal idea,
which, enlarged by the gradual accretion of matter stored
in the mind, is by the warmth of fancy easily expanded
into flowers, and sometimes ripened into fruit,
The most frequent difficulty by which the authors of these
petty compositions are distressed, arises from the perpetual
demand of novelty and change. The compiler of a system
of science lays his invention at rest, and employs only his
N. 184. • THE RAMBLER. 359 '
judgment, the faculty exerted with least fatigue. Even
the relator of feigned adventures, when once the principal
characters are established, and the great events regularly
connected, finds incidents and episodes crowding upon his
mind ; every change opens new views, and the latter part
of the story grows without labour out of the former. But
he that attempts to entertain his reader with unconnected
pieces, finds the irksomeness of his task rather increased
than lessened by every production. The day calls afresh
upon him for a new topick, and he is again obliged to
choose, without any principle to regulate his choice.
It is indeed true, that there is seldom any necessity of
looking far, or inquiring long for a proper subject. Every
diversity of art or nature, every publick blessing or cala-
mity, every domestick pain or gratification, every sally of
caprice; blunder of absurdity, or stratagem of affectation,
may supply matter to him whose only rule is to avoid uni-
formity. But it often happens, that the judgment is dis-
tracted with boundless multiplicity, the imagination ranges
from one design to another, and the hours pass impercep-
tibly away, till the Composition can be no longer delayed,
and necessity enforces the use of those thoughts which
then happen to be at hand. The mind, rejoicing at de-
liverance en any terms from perplexity and suspense,
applies herself vigorously to the work before her, collects
embellishments and illustrations, and sometimes finishes,
with great elegance and happiness, what in a state of ease
and leisure she never had begun.
It is not commonly observed, how much, even of actions,
considered as particularly subject to choice, is to be attri-
buted to accident, or some cause out of nur own power,
by whatever name it be distinguished. To close tedious
deliberations with hasty resolves, and after long consulta-
tions with reason to refer the question to caprice, is by no
means peculiar to the essayist. Let him that peruses this
paper review the series of his life, and inquire how he was
placed in his present condition. He will find, that of the
good or ill which he has experienced', a great part came
unexpected, without any visible gradations of approach ;

that every event bas been influenced by causes acting
without his intervention ; and that whenever he pretended
to the prerogative of foresight, he was mortified with new
conviction of the shortness of his views.
The busy, the ambitious, the inconstant, and the adven-
turous, may be said to throw themselves by design into the
arms of fortune, and voluntarily to quit the power of go-
verning themselves; they engage in a course of life in
which little can be ascertained by previous measures ; nor
is it any wonder that their time is passed between elation
and despondency, hope and disappointment.
Some there are who appear to walk thwroad,of life with
more circumspection, and make no step till they think
themselves secure from the hazard of a precipice, when
neither pleasure nor profit can tempt them from the
beaten path ; who refuse to climb lest they should fall, or
to run lest they should stumble, and move slowly forward
without any compliance with those passions by which the
heady and vehement are seduced and betrayed.
Yet even the timorous prudence of this judicious class
is far from exempting them from the dominion of chance,
a subtle and insidious power, who will intrude upon pri-
vacy and embarrass caution. No course of life is so pre-
scribed and limited, but that many aetions must result
from arbitrary election. Every one must form the general
plan of his conduct by his own reflections ; he must resolve
whether he will endeavour at riches or at content ; whether
he will exercise private or publick virtues ; whether he
will labour for the general benefit of mankind, or contract
his beneficence to his family and dependants.
This question has long exercised the schools of philo-
sophy, but remains yet undecided; and what hope is there
that a young man, unacquainted with the arguments on
either side, should determine his own destiny otherwise
than by chance.?
When chance has given him a partner of his bed, whom
he prefers to all other women, without any proof of supe-
No. 184. THB RAMBLER. • 361
. •
rior desert, chance must again direct hinrin the educa-
tion of his children ; for, who is ever -able to convince
himself by arguments, that he had chosen for his son that
mode Of instruction to which his understanding was best
adapted, or.liy which he would -most easily be made wise '
or virtuous.? . .
,- Whoever shall inquire by what motives. be gas' deter- .
mined on these important occasions; Will find them such as
his pride will l'carcely. Suffer fiim.to ,confess ; Some sudden
ardour of .desit', some uncertain 'gliinpse of advantage,
some petty competition, senile inaccurate conChision, or
some example bnplicitly reverenced. Such are often the
t
first causes ,of ouresolves ; for it is necessary to .,act,.but
impossible to. know the consequences of action, or to dis-
cuss all, the' reasons whiCA offer themselves on every part
to inquiitivenes,s arid solicitude. -
' Since life itself uncertain, nothing which has 'life for
its basis on boast much Stability. Yet this is but a 'small:.
part of our .perplexity. ' We set out on a tempestuous sea
in quest of 'some port,. where we expect to find rest, but'
where -we are not sure of admission, he are not only in
danger of sinking in.. the way; but of being misled by
meteors mistaken. for stars, of beiiig driven from our course
'by the changes- of the wind;•and of losing it by unskilful
steerage; yet ie somOimes happens, that dross winds blow
tis 'to a safer. cast, that ineteois draw us aside from whirl-
pools, and that negligence ,or errour contributes to our
escape from mischiefs to which-a direct course would have
exposed us. Of those that, by. 'precipitate conclusions,
involve themselves. in calamities without guilt, very few,
however they may reproach themselves, can be certain
that other nieasures Would have been more successful.
In this state of universal uncertainty, where a thousand
dangers hover about us,- and none can tell whether the
good that he pursues is' not evil in disguise, or whether
the next step will lead him to safety or destruction, nothing
can afford any kational tranquillity, but the conviction that,
however we amuse ourselves with mlideal sounds, nothing
362 THE RAMBLER. • N".185.
in reality is governed by chance, but that the universe is

under the perpetual superintendauce of Him who creafed
it; that our being is in the hands of omnipotent Good-
ness, by whom what appears casual to us, is directed for
ends ultimately kind and merciful ; and that nothing can
finally hurt him who debars not himself from the Divine
favour. •
..........,.................,..*
No. 185. TUESDAY, DECEMBER 24, 1751.
At vindicta &mum vita jucundius ipso,

Nempe hoc indocti.
Chrysippus non dicet idem, nec mite Thaletis
Ingenium, dulcique senex vicinus Hymetto,
Qui partem adcepta seems inter vilicla Cievue
Adcusatori nollet dare.— •
Quippe minuti
Server et it firmi est animi exiguique veluptes
Illtie. ' JUN. Sat. xiii. 180.
But 0! revenge is sweet. •

Thus think the crowd ; who, eager to engage,
Take quickly fire, and kindle into rage.
Not so mild Thales nor Chrysippus thought,
Nor that good man, who drank the poisonous draught
With mind serene ; and could not wish to see
His vile acctser drink as deep as he :
Exalted Socrates ! divinely brave !
Injur'd he fell, and dying he forgave !
Too noble for revenge ; whicirstill we find
The weakest frailty of a feeble mind. DRYDEN.
No vicious dispositions of the mind more obstinately re-

sist both the counsels of philosophy and the injunctions of
religion, than those which are complicated with an opinion
of dignity; and which we cannot dismiss without leaving
in the hands of opposition some advantage iniquitously
obtained; or suffering from our own prejudices some im-
putation of pusillanimity.
For this reason scarcely, any law of our Redeemer is
more openly transgressed, or more industriously evaded,
N°. 1.85, THE RAMBLER. 363
than that by which he commands his followers to forgive
injuries, and prohibits, under the sanction of eternal
misery, the gratification of the desire which every man
feels 'to return pain upon him that inflicts it. Many who
could have conquered their anger, are unable to,combat
pride, and pursue offences to extremity of vengeance,
lest they should be insulted by the triumph of an enemy.
But certainly no precept could better become him, at
whose birth peace was proclaimed to the earth. For,
what would so soon destroy all the order of society, and
deform life with violence antl. ravage, as a permission to
every one to judge his own cause, and to apportion his own
recompense for imagined injuries ?
It is difficult for a man of the strictest justice not to
favour himself too much, in the calmest moments of soli-
tary meditation. Every one wishes for the distinctions
for which thousands are wishing at the same time, in their
own opinion, with better claims. He that, when his rea-
son operates -in its full force, can thus, by the mere pre-
valence of self-love, prefer himself to his fellow-beings, is
very unlikely to judge equitably when his passions are
agitated by a sense of wrong, and his attention wholly en-
grossed by pain, interest, or danger. Whoever arrogates
to himself the right of vengeance, chews how little he is
qualified to decide his own claims, since he certainly de-
mands what he' would think unfit to be granted to another.
Nothing is more apparent than that, however injured,
or however prOvoked, some must at last be contented to
forgive. For it can never be hoped, that he who first
commits an injury, will contentedly acquiesce, in the
penalty required : the same haughtiness of contempt, or
vehemence of desire, that prompt the act of injustice,
will more strongly incite its justification ; and resentment
can never so exactly balance the punishment with the
fault, but there will remain an overplus of vengeance
which even he who condemns his first action will think
himself entitled to retaliate. What then can ensue but
a continual exacerbation of hatred, au inextinguishable
fend, an incessant reciprocation of mischief, a mutual vigi-

lance to entrap, and eagerness to destroy.
Since then the imaginary right of vengeance must be at
last remitted, because it is impossible to live in perpetual
hostility, and equally impossible that of two enemies,
either should first think himself obliged by justice to sub-
mission, it is surely eligible to forgive early. Every
passion is more easily subdued before it has been long
accustomed to possession -of the heart; every idea is obli-
terated with less diffiCalty, as it has been more slightly
impressed, and less frequently renewed. He who has often
brooded over his wrongs, pleased himself with• schemes of
malignity, and glutted his pride with the fancied supplica-
tions of humbled enmity, will not easily open his bosom to
amity and reconciliation, or indulge the gentle sentiments
of benevolence and peace. . .
It is easiest to forgive, while there is yet little to be
forgiven. A single injury may be soon dismissed from
the memory ; but a long succession of ill offices by degrees
associates itself with every idea; a long contest involves
so many circumstances, that every place and action will
recall it to the mind, and fresh remembrance of vexation
must still enkindle rage, and irritate revenge.
A wise man will make haste to forgive, because he
knows the true value of time, and will not suffer it to pass
away in unnecessary pain. He that willingly suffers the
corrosions of inveterate hatred, and gives up his days and
nights to the gloom of malice, and perturbations Of strata-
gem, cannot surely be said to consult his ease. Resent-
ment is an union of sorrow with malignity, a combination
of a passion which all endeavour to avoid, with a passion
which all concur to detest. The man who retires to me-
ditate mischief, and to exasperate his own rage; whose
thoughts are employed only on means of distress and con-
trivances of ruin ; whose mind never pauses from the
remembrance of his own sufferings, but to indulge some
hope of enjoying the calamities of another, may justly be
numbered among the most miserable of human beings,
among those who are guilty without reward, who have

neither the gladness of prosperity, nor the calm of inno-
cence.
Whoever considers the weakness both of himself and
others, will not long want persuasives to forgiveness. We
know not to what degree of malignity any injury is to be
imputed; or how flinch its guilt,.if we were to inspect the
mind of him that committed it, would be extenuated by
mistake, precipitance, or negligence ; we cannot be cer-
tain how much more we feel than was intended to be in-
flicted, or how much we increase the mischief to ourselves
by voluntary aggravations. We may charge to design the
effects of accident; we may think the blow violent only
because we have made ourselves delicate and tender; we
are on every side in danger of errour and of guilt; which
we are certain to avoid only by speedy forgiveness.
From this pacifick and harmless temper, thus propitious
to others and ourselves, to domestick tranquillity and to
social happiness, no man is withheld but by pride, by the
fear of being insulted by his adversary, or despised by the
world.
It may be laid down as an unfailing and universal axiom,
that "all pride is abject and mean." It is always an ig-
norant, lazy, or cowardly acquiescence in a false appear-
ance of excellence, and proceeds not from consciousness
of our attainments, but insensibility of our wants.
Nothing can be great which is not right. Nothing
'which reason condemns can be suitable to the dignity of
the human mind. To be driven by external motives from
the path which our own heart approves, to give way to any
thing but conviction, to suffer the opinion of others to rule
our choice, or overpower our resolves, is to submit tamely
to the lowest and mat ignominious slavery, and to resign
the right of directing our own lives.
The utmost excellence at which humanity can arrive, is
a constant and determinate pursuit of virtue, without re-
gard to present dangers or advantage; a continual refer-
ence of every action to the divine will ; an habitual appeal
to everlasting justice; and an unvaried elevation of the

intellectual eye to the reward which perseverance only
can obtain. But that pride which many, who presume to
boast of generous sentiments, allow to regulate their
measures, has nothing nobler in view than the approba-
tion of men, of beings whose superiority we are under
no obligation to acknowledge, and who, when we have
courted them with the utmost assiduity, can confer no
valuable or permanent reward ; of beings who ignorantly
judge of what they do not understand, or partially de-
termine what they never have examined ; and whose sen-
tence is therefore of no weight till it has received the rati-
fication of our own conscience.
He that can descend to bribe suffrages like these, at
the price of his innocence ; he that can' suffer the delight
of such acclamations to withhold his attention from the
commands of the universal Sovereign, has little reason to
congratulate himself upon the greatness of his mind ; when-
ever he awakes to seriousness and reflection, he must be-
come despicable in his own eyes, and shrink with shame
from the remembrance of his cowardice and folly.
Of him that hopes to be forgiven, it is indispensably
required that he forgive. It is therefore superfluous to
urge any other motive. On this great duty eternity is
suspended, and to him that refuses to practise it, the
Throne of mercy is inaccessible, and the Saviour of the
world has been born in vain.
N.. 186. SATURDAY, DECEMBER 28, 1751.
Pone me, pigris ubi mina campis

Arbor a'stiva recreatur aurd
Duke ridentem Lalagen amain),
DuIce loquentens. Hon. Lib. i. Ode xxii. 17.
Place me where never summer breeze

Unbinds the glebe, or warms the trees;
Where ever lowering clouds appear,
And angry Jove deforms th' inclement year:
Love and the nymph shall chasm my toils,
The- nymph, who sweetly speaks and sweetly smiles. FRA NCIS.
OF the happiness •and misery of our present state, part

arises from our sensations, And part from our opinions; part
is distributed by.nature, and part is in a great measure ap-
portioned by ourselves. Positive pleasure we cannot al-
ways obtain, and positive pain we often cannot remove.
No man can give to his own plantations the fragrance of
the Indian groves ; nor will any precepts of philosophy
enable him Co withdraw his attention from wounds or dis-
eases. But the negative infelicity which proceeds, not
from the pressure of sufferings, but the absence of en-
joyments, will always yield to the remedies of reason.
One of the great arts of escaping superfluous uneasiness,
is to free our minds from the habit of comparing our con-
dition with that of others on whom the blessings of life are
more bountifully bestowed, or with imaginary states of de-
light and security, perhaps unattainable by mortals. Few
are placed in a situation so gloomy and distressful, as not
to see every day beings yet more forlorn and miserable,
from whom they may learn to rejoice in their own lot.
No inconvenience is less superable by art or diligence
than the inclemency of climates, and therefore none affords
more proper exercise for this philosophical abstraction, A
native of England, pinched with the frosts of December,
may lessen his affection for his own country by suffering
his imagination to wander in the vales of Asia, and sport
among the woods that are always green, and streams that
always murmur; but if he turns his thought towards the
polar regions, and considers the nations to whom a great
portion of the year is darkness, and who are condemned
to pass weeks and months amidst mountains of snow, he
will soon recover his tranquillity, and, while he stirs his
fire, or throws his, cloak about him, reflect how much he
owes to Providence, that lie is not placed in Greenland or
Siberia.
The barrenness of the earth and the severity of the skies
in these dreary countries, are such as might be expected
to confine the mind wholly to the contemplation of neces-
sity and distress, so that the care of escaping death from
cold and hunger, should leave no room for those passions
which, in lands of plenty, influence conduct, or diversify
characters ; the summer should be spent only in pro:-
viding for the winter, and the winter in longing for the
summer.
Yet learned curiosity is known to have found its way
into these abodes of poverty and gloom : Lapland and
Iceland have their historians, their criticks, and their
poets; and love, that extends his dominion wherever hu-
manity can be found, perhaps exerts the same power in
the Greenlander's hut as in the palates of eastern monarchs.
In one of the large caves to which the families of
Greenland retire together, to pass the cold months, and
which may be termed their villages or cities, a youth and
maid, who came from different parts of the country, were
so much distinguished for their beauty, that they were
called by the rest of the inhabitants Anuingait and Ajut,
from a supposed resemblance to their ancestors of the
same names, who" had been transformed of old into the sun
and moon.
Anningait for some time heard the praises of Ajut with
little emotion, but at last, by frequent interviews, be-
came sensible of her charms, and first made a discovery of
his affection, by inviting her with her parents to a feast,
where he placed before Ajut the tail of a whale. Ajut
. 869
No. 186. THE RAMBLER.
seemed not much delighted by this gallantry ; yet, how-
ever, from that time was observed rarely to appear, but in
a vest made of the skin of a white deer; she used fre-
quently to renew the black dye upon her hands and fore-
head, to adorn her sleeves with coral and shells, and to
braid her hair with great exactness.
The elegance of her dress, and the judicious disposition
of her ornaments, had such' an effect upon Anningait, that
he could no longer be restrained from a declaration of his
love. He therefore composed a poem in her praise, in
whiCh, among other heroick ,and tender sentiments, he
protested, that "she was beautiful as the vernal willow,
and fragrant as the thyme upon the mountains ; that her
fingers were white as the teeth of the morse, and her smile
grateful as the dissolution of the ice ; that he would pursue
her, though she should pass the snows of the midland cliffs,
or seek shelter in the caves of the eastern cannibals : that
he would tear her from the embraces of the genius of the
rocks, snatch her from the paws of Amarock, and rescue
her from the ravine of Hafgufa." He concluded with a
wish, that " whoever shall attempt to hinder his union with
Ajut, might be buried without his bow, and that, in the land
of souls, his skull might serve for no other use than to
catch the droppings of the starry lamps."
This ode being universally applauded, it was expected
that Ajut would soon yield to such fervour and accom-
plishments ; but Ajut, with the natural haughtiness of
beauty, expected all the forms of courtship ; and before
she would confess herself conquered, the sun returned, the
ice broke, and the season of labour called all to their em-
ployments.
Anningait and Ajut for a time always went out in the
same boat, and divided whatever was caught. Anningait,
in the sight of his mistress, lost no opportunity of signa-
lizing his courage: he attacked the sea-horses on the ice;
pursued the seals into the water, and leaped upon the
back of the whale, while he was yet struggling with the
remains of life. Nor was his diligence less to accumulate
R. II. ab
all that could be necessary to make winter comfortable :

he dried the roe of fishes and the flesh of seals ; he en-
trapped deer and foxes, and dressed their skins to adorn
his bride ; he feasted her with eggs from the rocks, and
strewed her tent with flowers.
It happened that a tempest drove the fish to a distant
part of the coast, before Anningait had completed his
store; he therefore entreated Ajut, that she would at last
grant him her hand, and accompany him to that part of
the country whither he was now summoned by necessity.
Ajut thought him not yet entitled to such condescension,
but proposed, as a trial of his constancy, that he should
return at the end of summer to the cavern where their
acquaintance commenced, and there expect the reward of
his assiduities. " 0 virgin, beautiful as the sun shining
on the water, consider," said Anningait, " what thou bast
required. How easily may my return be precluded by a
sudden frost or unexpected fogs ! then must the night be
passed without my Ajut. We live not, my fair, in those
fabled countries, which lying strangers so wantonly de-
scribe ; where the whole year is divided into short days
and nights ; where the same habitation serves for summer
and winter; where they raise houses in rows above the
ground, dwell together from year to year, with flocks of
tame animals grazing in the fields about them; can travel
at any time from one place to another, through ways in-
closed with trees, or over walls raised upon the inland
waters; and direct their course through wide countries by
the, sight of green hills or scattered buildings. Even in
summer we have no means of crossing the mountains,
whose snows are never dissolved ; nor can remove to any
distant residence, but in our boats coasting the bays. Con-
sider, Ajut, a few summer-days, and a few winter-nights,
and the life of man is at an end. Night is the time of
ease and festivity, of revels and gaiety ; but what will be
the flaming lamp, the delicious seal, or the soft oil, with-
out the smile of Ajut ?"
The eloquence of Anningait was vain ; the maid conti-
nued inexorable; and they parted with ardent promises to

meet again before the night of winter.
—........—.......
N.. 187. TUESDAY, DECEMBER 31, 1751.
Non ilium nostri possunt mutare 'aborts;

Non si frigoribus mediis Ilebrunque bihamus,
Sithonlasque hyernis
nives subeamus Grosz: .
Omuta vintit amor. Vino. Ec. x. 64.
Love alters not for us his hartbdecrees,

Not though beneath the Thracian clime we freeze,
Or the mild bliss of temperate skies forego.
And in mid winter treaAl Sithonian snow:—
Love conquers all. DRYDEN.
ANNINGAIT, however discomposed by the dilatory coy-

ness of Ajut, was yet resolved to omit no tokens of amor-
ous respect ; and therefore presented her at his departure
with the skins of seven white fawns, of five swans and
eleven seals, with three marble lamps, ten vessels of seal
oil, and a large kettle of brass, which he had purchased
from a ship, at the price of half a whale, and two horns of
sea-unicorns.
Ajut was so much affected by the fondness of her lover,
or so much overpowered by his magnificence, that she fol-
lowed him to the sea-side ; and, when she saw him enter
the boat, 'wished aloud, that he might return with plenty
of skins and oil; that neither the mermaids might snatch
him into the deeps, nor the spirits of the rocks confine
him in their caverns.
She stood a while to gaze upon the departing vessel,
and then returning to her hut, silent and dejected, laid
aside, from that hour, her white deer skin, suffered her
hair to spread upbraided on her shoulders, and forbore to
mix in the dances of the maidens. She endeavoured to
divert her thoughts, by continual application to feminine
employments, gathered moss for the winter lamps, and
'dried grass to line the boots of Anningait. Of the skins
b b2
which he had bestowed upon her, she made a fishing-coat,

a small boat, and tent, all of exquisite manufacture ; and
while she was thus busied, solaced her labours with a song,
in which she prayed, " that her lover might have hands
stronger than the paws of the bear, and feet swifter than
the feet of. the reindeer; that his dart might never err,
and that his boat might never leak ; that be might never
stumble on the ice, nor faint in the water; that the seal
might rush on his harpoon, and the wounded whale might
dash the waves in vain."
The large boats in which the Greenlanders transport
their- families, are always rowed by women ; for a man
will not debase himself by work, which requires neither
skill nor courage. Anningait was therefore exposed by
idleness to the ravages of passion. He went thrice to the
stern of the boat, with an intent to leap into the water,
and swim back to his mistress ; but, recollecting the misery
which they must endure in the winter, without oil for the
lamp, or skins for the bed, he resolved to employ the
weeks of absence in provision for a night of plenty and
felicity. He then composed his emotions as he could,
and expressed, in wild numbers and uncouth images, his
hopes, his sorrows, and his fears. -" 0 life !" says be,
" frail and uncertain ! where shall ivretched man find thy
resemblance, but in ice floating on the ocean ? It towers
on high, it sparkles from afar, while the storms drive and
the waters beat it, the Ain melts it above, and the rocks
shatter it below. What art thou, deceitful pleasure ! but
a sudden blaze streaming from the north, which plays a
moment on the eye, mocks the traveller with the hopes of
light, and then vanishes for ever ? What, love, art thou
but a whirlpool, which we approach without knowledge of
our danger, drawn on by imperceptible degrees, till we
have lost all power of resistance and escape ? Till I fixed
my eyes on the graces of Ajut, while I had not yet called
her to the banquet, I was careless as the sleeping morse,
was merry as the singers in the stars. Why, Ajut, did
I gaze upon thy graces ? why, my fair, did I call thee to
the banquet ? Yet,•be faithful, my love, remember Annin-
gait, and meet my return with the smile of virginity. I
will chase the deer, I will subdue the whale, resistless as
the frost of darkness, and unwearied as the summer sun.
In' a few weeks I shall return prosperous and wealthy ;
then shall the roe-fish and the porpoise feast thy kindred ;
the fox and hare shall cover thy couch; the tough hide of
the seal shall shelter thee from cold; and the fat of the
whale illuminate thy dwelling."
Anningait having with these sentiments consoled his
grief, and animated his industry, found that they had now
coasted the headland, and saw the whales spouting at a
distance. He therefore placed himself in his fishing-boat,
called his associates to their several employments, plied his
oar and harpoon with incredible courage and dexterity ;
and, by dividing his time between the chase and fishery,
suspended the miseries of absence and suspicion.
Ajut, in the mean time, notwithstanding her neglected
dress, happened, as she was drying some skins in the sun,
to catch the eye of Norngsuk, on his return from hunting.
Norngsuk was of birth truly illustrious. His mother had
died in child-birth, and his father, the most expert fisher of
Greenland, had perished by too close pursuit of the whale.
His dignity was equalled by his riches ; he was master of
four men's and two women's boats, had ninety tubs of oil
in his winter habitation, and five-and-twenty seals buried
in the snow against the season of darkness. When he saw
the beauty of Ajut, he immediately threw over her the
skin of a deer that he had taken, and soon after presented
her with a branch of coral. Ajut refused his gifts, and de-
termined to admit no lover in the place of Anningait.
Norngsuk, thus rejected, had recourse to stratagem.
He knew that Ajut would consult an Angekkok, or diviner,
concerning the fate of her lover, and the felicity of her
future life. He therefore applied himself to the most cele-
brated Angekkok of that part of the country, and, by a
present of two seals and a marble kettle, obtained a pro-
mise, that when Ajut should consult him, he would declare
that her lover was in the land of souls. Ajut, in a short
time, brought him a coat made by herself, and inquired
what events were to befall her, with assurances of a much
larger reward at the return of Anningait, if the prediction
should flatter her desires. The Angekkok knew the way
to riches, and foretold that Anningait, having already
caught two whales, would soon return home with a large
boat laden with provisions.
This prognostication she was ordered to keep secret;
and Norngsuk depending upon his artifice, renewed his ad-
dresses with greater confidence ; but finding his suit still
unsuccessful, applied himself to her parents with gifts and
promises. The wealth of Greenland is too powerful for
the virtue of a Greenlander; they forgot the merit and
the presents of Anningait, and decreed Ajut to the em-
braces of Norngsuk. She entreated; she remonstrated; she
wept, and raved ; but finding riches irresistible, fled away
into the uplands, and lived in a cave upon such berries as •
she could gather, and the birds or hares which she had the
fortune to ensnare, taking care, at an hour when she was
not likely to be found, to view the sea every day, that her
lover might not miss her at his return.
At last she saw the great boat in which Anningait had
departed, stealing slow and heavy laden along the coast.
She ran with all the impatience of affection to catch her
lover in her arms, and relite her constancy and sufferings.
When the company reached the land, they informed her
that Anningait, after the fishery was, ended, being unable
to support the slow passage of the vessel of carriage, had
set out before them in his fishing-boat, and they expected
at their arrival to have found him on shore. •
Ajut, distracted at this intelligence, was about to fly into
the hills, without knowing -why, though she was now in the
hands of her parents, who forced her back to their own
hut, and endeavoured to comfort her; but when at last
they retired to rest, Ajut went down to the beach ; where,
finding a fishing-boat, she entered it without hesitation,
and telling those who wondered at her rashness, that she
,No. 188. • THE RAMBLER. 375
was going in search of A nningait, rowed away with great

swiftness, and was seen no more.
The fate of these lovers gave occasion to various fictions
and conjectures. Some are of opinion, that they were
changed into stars ; others imagine, that Anningait was
seized in his passage by the genius of the rocks, and that
Ajut was transformed into a mermaid, and still continues
to seek her lover in the deserts of the sea. But the gene-
ral persuasion is, that they are both in that part of the land
'of souls where the sun never sets, where oil is always fresh,
and provisions always warm. .The virgins sometimes throw
a thimble and a needle into the bay, from which the hap-
less maid departed ; and when a Greenlander would praise
any couple for virtuous affection, he declares that they love
like Anningait and Ajut.
IMMONIMIMMANNOWNIVLINNO
N.. 188. SATURDAY, JANUARY 4, 17M.
-Si to cote, nonSeate, omit/0. Msnr. Lib. ii. Ep. lv. 33.
The more I honour thee, the less I love.
NONE of the desires dictated by vanity is more general, or

less blamable, than that of being distinguished for the
arts of conversation. Other accomplishments may be pos-
sessed without opportunity of exerting them, or wanted
without danger that the defect can often be remarked; but
as no man can live, otherwise than in an hermitage, with-
out hourly pleasure or vexation, from the fondness or neg-
lect of those about him, the faculty of giving pleasure is
of continual use. Few are more frequently envied than
those who have the power of forcing attention wherever
they come, whose entrance is considered as a promise of
felicity, and whose departure is lamented, like the recess
of the sun from northern climates, as a privation of all
that enlivens fancy, or inspirits gaiety.
It is apparent, that to excellence in this valuable art,
some peculiar qualifications are necessary; for every one's

experience will inform him, that the pleasure which men
are able to give in conversation, holds no stated proportion
to their knowledge or their virtue. Many find their way
to the tables and the parties of those who never consider
them as of the least importance in any other place ; we
have all, at one time or other, been content to love those
whom we could not esteem, and been persuaded to try the
dangerous experiment of admitting him for a companion,
whom we knew to be too ignorant for a counsellor, and
too treacherous for a friend.
I question whether some abatement of character is not
necessary to general acceptance. Few spend their time
with much satisfaction under the eye of uncontestable su•
periority ; .and therefore, among those whose presence is
courted at assemblies of jollity, there are seldom found
men eminently distinguished for powers or acquisitions.
The wit whose vivacity condemns slower tongues to si-
lence, the scholar whose knowledge allows no man to fancy
that he instructs him, the critick who suffers no fallacy to
pass undetected, and the reasoner who condemns the idle
to thought, and the negligent to attention, are generally
praised and feared, reverenced and avoided.
He that would please must rarely aim at such excel-
lence as depresses his hearers in their own opinion, or de-
bars them from the hope of contributing reciprocally to the
entertainment of the company. Merriment, extorted by
sallies of imagination, sprightliness of remark, or quick-
ness of reply, is too often what the Latins call, the Sar-
dinian laughter, a distortion of the face without gladness
of heart.
For this reason,.no style of conversation is more exten-
sively acceptable than the narrative. He who has stored
his memory with slight anecdotes, private incidents, and
personal peculiarities, seldom fails to find his audience fa-
vourable. Almost every man listens with eagerness to
contemporary history ; for almost every man has some real
or imaginary connexion with a celebrated character, some
desire to advance or oppose a rising name. Vanity often
co-operates with curiosity. He that is a hearer in one
place, qualifies himself to become a speaker in another ;
for though he cannot comprehend a series of argument, or
transport the volatile spirit of wit without evaporation, he
yet thinks himself able to treasure up the various incidents
of a story, and please his hopes with the information which
he shall give to some inferior society.
Narratives are for the most part heard without envy,
because they are not supposed to imply any intellectual
qualities above the common Rte. To be acquainted with
facts not yet echoed by plebeian mouths, may happen to
one man as well as to another; and to relate them when
they are known, has in appearance so little difficulty, that
every one concludes himself equal to the task.,
But it is not easy, and in some situations of life not pos-
sible, to accumulate such a stock of materials as may sup-
port the expense of continual narration ; and it frequently
happens, that they who attempt this method of ingratiating
themselves, please only at the first interview; and, for
want of new supplies of intelligence, wear out their sto-
ries by continual repetition.
There would be, therefore, little hope of obtaining the
praise of a good companion, were it not to be gained by
more compendious methods; but such is the kindness of
mankind to all, except those who aspire to real merit and
rational dignity, that every understanding may find some
way to excite benevolence ; and whoever is not envied
mali learn the art of procuring love. We are willing to
be pleased, but are not willing to admire : we favour the
mirth or officiousness that solicits our regard, but oppose
the worth or spirit that enforces it.
The first place among those that please, because they
desire only to please, is due to the merry fellow, whose
laugh is loud, and whose voice is strong ; who is ready to
echo every jest with obstreperous approbation, and coun-
tenance every frolick with vociferatious of applause. It
is not necessary to a merry fellow to have in himself any
fund of jocularity, or force of conception ; it is sufficient

that he always appears in the highest exaltation of glad-
ness, for the greater part of mankind are gay or serious by
infection, and follow without resistance the attraction of
example.
Next to the merry fellow is the good-natured man, a
being generally without benevolence, or any other virtue,
than such as indolence and insensibility confer. The cha-
racteristitk of a good-natured man is to bear a joke ; to
sit unmoved and unaffected amidst noise and turbulence,
profaneness and obscenity ; to hear every tale without
contradiction ; to endure insult without reply ; and to fol-
low the stream of folly, whatever course it shall happen to
take. The good-natured man is commonly the darling of
the petty wits, with whom they exercise themselves in the
rudiments of raillery ; for he never takes advantage of
failings, nor disconcerts a puny satirist with unexpected
sarcasms ; but while the glass continues to circulate, con-
tentedly bears the expense of an uninterrupted laughter,
and retires rejoicing at his own importance.
The modest man is a companion of a yet lower rank,
whose only power of giving pleasure is not to interrupt it.
The modest man satisfies himself with peaceful silence,
which all his companions are candid enough to consider
as proceeding not from inability to speak, but willingness
to hear.
Many, without being able to attain any general charac-
ter of excellence, have some single art of entertainment
which serves them as a passport through the world. One
I have known for fifteen years the darling of a weekly club,
because every night, precisely at eleven, he begins his
favourite song, and during the vocal performance, by cor-
responding motions of his hand, chalks out a giant upon
the wall. Another has endeared himself to a long succes-
sion of acquaintances by sitting among them with his wig
reversed ; another by contriving to smut the nose of any
stranger who was to be initiated in the club ; another by
purring like a cat, and then pretending to be frighted ;
N°. 189, THE RAMBLER. • 379
and another by yelping like a hound, and calling to the

drawers to drive out the dog k.
Such are the arts by which cheerfulness is promoted,
and sometimes friendship established ; arts, which those
who despise them should not rigorously blame, except
when they are practised at the expense of innocence; for
it is always necessary to be loved, but not always neces-
sary to be reverenced.
OINIM•NONANNOIMMOWOMOW.
e I• 0
No. 189. TUESDAY, JANUARY 7, 1752.
Quad tam gran& Sophos clamat tibi turbo togata ;

Non tu, Pomponi ; cans diserta tua est. Kim Lib. vi. Ep. xlviii.
Resounding plaudits though the crowd have rung;
Thy treat is eloquent, and not thy tongue. F. Lzwts.
TH It world scarcely affords opportunities of making any

observation more frequently, than on false claims to com-
mendation. Almost every man wastes part of his life in
attempts to display qualities which he does not possess,
and to gain applause which he cannot keep; so that
scarcely can two persons casually meet, but one is of-
fended or diverted by the ostentation of the other.
Of these pretenders it is fit to distinguish those who
endeavour to deceive from them who are deceived ; those
who by designed impostures promote their interest, or
gratify their pride, from them who mean only to force
into regard their latent excellencies and neglected vir-
k Mrs. Piozzi, in her Anecdotes, informs us, that the man who sung, and,
by corresponding motions of his arm, chalked out a giant on the wall, was
one Richardson, an attorney : the ingenious imitator of a cat, was one Busby,
a proctor in the Commons : and the father of Dr. Salter, of the Charter-House,
a friend of Johnson's, and a member of the Ivy-Lane Club, was the person
who yelped like a hound, and perplexed the distracted waiters.—Mr. Chal-
mers, in his-preface to the Rambler, observes, that the above-quoted lively
writer was the only authority fur these assignments. She is certainly far too
hasty and negligent to be relied on, when unsupported by other testimony.—
See Preface,
tues ; who• believe themselves qualified to instruct or

please, and therefore invite the notice of mankind.
The artful and fraudulent usurpers of distinction de-
serve greater severities than ridicule and contempt, since
they are seldom content with empty praise, but are insti-
gated by passions more pernicious than vanity. They
consider the reputation which they endeavour to establish
as necessary to the accomplishment of some subsequent
design, and value praise only as it may conduce to the
success of avarice or ambition.
The commercial world is very frequently put into con-
fusion by the bankruptcy of merchants, that assumed the
splendour of wealth only to obtain the privilege of trading
with the stock of other men, and of contracting debts
which nothing but lucky casualties could enable them to
pay ; till after having supported their appearance a while
by tumultuous magnificence of boundless traffick, they
sink at once, and drag down into poverty those whom
their equipages had induced to trust them.
Among wretches that place. their happiness in the fa-
vour of the great, of beings whom only high titles or large
estates set above themselves, nothing is more common
than to boast of confidence which they do not enjoy; to
sell promises which they know their interest unable to
perform ; and to reimburse the tribute which they pay to
an imperious master, from the contributions of meaner
dependants, whom they can amuse with tales of their in-
fluence, and hopes of their solicitation.
Even among some, too thoughtless and volatile for
avarice or ambition, may be found a species of falsehood
more detestable than the levee or exchange can shew.
There are men that boast of debaucheries, of which they
never had address to be guilty; ruin, by lewd tales, the
characters of women to whom they are scarcely known, or
by whom they have been rejected ; destroy in a drunken
frolick the happiness of families ; blast the bloom of beauty,
and intercept the reward of virtue.
Other artifices of falsehood, though utterly unworthy of
an ingenuous mind, are not yet to be ranked with flagi-

tious enormities, nor is it necessary to incite sanguinary
justice against them, since they may be adequately punished
by detection and laughter. The traveller who describes
cities which he has never seen ; the squire, who, at his
return from London, tells of his intimacy with nobles to
whom he has only bowed in the park or coffee-house; the
author who entertains his admirers with stories of the as-
sistance which he gives to wits of a higher rank ; the city
dame who talks of her visits at great houses, where she
happens to know the cook-maid, are surely such harmless
animals as truth herself may be content to despise without
desiring to hurt them.
But of the multitudes who struggle in vain for dis-
tinction, and display their own merits only to feel more
acutely the sting of neglect, a great part are wholly inno-
cent of deceit, and are betrayed, by infatuation and cre-
dulity, to that scorn with which the universal love of praise
incites us all to drive feeble competitors out of our way.
Few men survey themselves with so much severity, as
not to adniit prejudices in their own favour, which an art-
ful flatterer may gradually strengthen, till wishes for a
particular qualification are improved to hopes of attain-
ment, and hopes of attainment to belief of possession.
Such flatterers every one will find, who has power to re-
ward their assiduities. Wherever there is wealth there
will be dependance and expectation, and wherever there
is dependance, there will be an emulation of servility.
Many of the follies which provoke general censure, are
the effects of such vanity as, however it might have wan-
toned in the imagination, would scarcely have dared the
publick eye, had it not been animated and emboldened by
flattery. 'Whatever difficulty there may be in the know;
ledge of ourselves, scarcely any one fails to suspect his
own imperfections, till he is elevated by others to confi-
dence. We are almost all naturally modest and timorous;
but fear and shame are uneasy sensations, and whosoever
helps to remove them is received with kindness.
382 THE RAMBLER. No. I89.
Turpicula was the heiress of a large estate, and having

lost her mother in her infancy, was committed to a go-
verness, whom misfortunes had reduced to suppleness and
humility. The fondness of Turpicula's father would not
suffer him to trust her at a publick school, but he hired
domestick teachers, and bestowed on her all the accom-
plishments that wealth could purchase. But how many
things are necessary to happiness which money cannot
obtain ! Thus secluded from all with whom she might
converse on terms of equality, she heard none of those
intimations of her defects, which envy, petulance, or
anger, produce among children, where they are not afraid
of telling what they think.
Turpicula saw nothing but obsequiousness, and heard
nothing but commendations. None are so little acquainted
with the heart, as not to know that woman's first wish is to
be handsome, and that consequently the readiest method
of obtaining her kindness is to praise her beauty. Tur-
picula had a distorted shape and a dark complexion; yet,
when the impudence of adulation had ventured to tell ller
of the commanding dignity of her motion, and the soft en-
chantment of her smile, she was easily convinced, that she
was the delight or torment of every eye, and that all who
gazed upon her felt the fire of envy or love. She there-
fore neglected the culture of an understanding which might
have supplied the defects of her form, and applied all her
care to the decoration of her person ; for she considered
that more could judge of beauty than of wit, and was, like
the rest of human beings, in haste to be admired. The
desire of conquest naturally led her to the lists in which
beauty signalizes her power. She glittered at court,
fluttered in the park, and talked aloud i❑ the front box ;
but after a thousand experiments of her charms, was at
last convinced that she had been flattered, and that her
glass was honester than her maid.
N°. 190. SATURDAY, DECEMBER 11, 1752.
Ploravere suis non responclere faroreM

Speratum meritis.-- Hon. Lib. ii. Ep. i. 9.
Henry Alfred—
and
Clos'd their long glories with a sigh, to find
Th' unwilling gratitude of base mankind. POPE.
AMONG the emirs and visiers, the sons of valour and of

wisdom, that stand at the corners of the Indian throne, to
assist the counsels or conduct -the wars of the posterity of
Timur, the first place was long held by' Morad the son of
Hanuth. Morad, having signalized himself in many battles
and sieges, was rewarded with the government of a pro-
vince, from which the fame of his wisdom and moderation
was wafted to the pinnacles of Agra, by the- prayers of
those whom his administration made happy. The empe-
rour called him into his presence, and gave into his hand
the keys of riches, and the sabre of command. The voice
of Morad was heard from the cliffs of Taurus to the Indian
ocean, every tongue faultered in his presence, and every
eye was cast down before him.
Morad lived many years in prosperity ; every day in-
creased his wealth, and extended his influence. The sages
repeated his maxims, the captains of thousands waited his
commands. Competition withdrew into the cavern of envy,
and discontent trembled at his own murmurs. But human
greatness is short and transitory, as the odour of incense in
the fire. The sun grew weary of gilding the palaces of
Morad, the clouds of sorrow gathered round his head, and
the tempest of hatred roared about his dwelling.
Morad saw ruin hastily approaching. The first that
forsook him were his poets ; their example was followed by
all those whom he had rewarded for contributing to his
pleasures, and only a few, whose virtue had entitled them
to favour, were now to be seen in his hall or chambers.
He felt his danger, and prostrated himself at the foot of
the throne. His accusers were confident and loud, his
friends stood contented with frigid neutrality, and the

voice of truth was overborne by clamour. He was divested
of his power, deprived of his acquisitions, and condemned
to pass the rest of his life on his hereditary estate.
Morad had been so long accustomed to crowds and
business, supplicants and flattery, that he knew not how to
fill up his hours in solitude ; he saw with regret the sun
rise to force on his eye a new day for which he had no use ;
and envied the savage that wanders in the desert, because
he has no time vacant from the calls of nature, but is
always chasing his prey, or sleeping in his den.
His discontent in time vitiated his constitution, and a
slow disease seized upon him. He refused physick, neg-
lected exercise, and lay down on his couch peevish and
restless, rather afraid to die than desirous to live. His
domesticks, for a time, redoubled their assiduities ; but
finding that no officiousness could soothe, nor exactness
satisfy, they soon gave way to negligence and sloth ; and
he that once commanded nations, often languished in his
chamber without an attendant. .
In this melancholy state, he commanded messengers to
recall his eldest son Abouzaid from the army. Abouzaid
was alarmed at the account of his father's sickness, and
hasted by long journeys to his place of residence. Morad
was yet living, and felt his strength return at the embraces
of his son ; then commanding him to sit down at his bed-
side, " Abouzaid," says he, " thy father has no more to
hope or fear from the inhabitants of the earth ; the cold
hand of the angel of death is now upon him, and the vora-
cious grave is howling for his prey. Hear, therefore, the
precepts of ancient experience, let not my last instructions
issue forth in vain. Thou bast seen me happy and calami-
tous, thou hest beheld my exaltation and my fall. My
power is in the hands of my enemies, my treasures have
rewarded my accusers ; but my inheritance the clemency
of the emperour has spared, and my wisdom his anger could
not take away. Cast thine eyes around thee ; whatever
thou beholdest will, in a few hours, be thine : apply thine
NO. 190. 'THE RAMBLER. 385
ear to my dictates, and these possessions will promote thy

happiness. Aspire not to public honours, enter not the
palaces of kings ; thy wealth will set thee above insult, let
thy moderation keep thee below envy. Content thyself
with private dignity, diffuse thy riches among thy friends,
let every day extend thy beneficence, and suffer not thy
heart to be at rest till thou art loved by all to whom thou
art known. In the height of my power, I said to defama-
tion, Who will hear thee? and to artifice, What canst
thou perform ? But, my son, despise not thou the malice
of the weakest, remember that..venom supplies the want
of strength, and that the lion may perish by the puncture
of an asp."
Morad expired in a few hours. Abouzaid, after the
months of mourning, determined to regulate his conduct
by his father's precepts, and cultivate the love of mankind
by every art of kindness and endearment. He wisely con-
sidered, that domestick happiness was first to be secured,
and that none have so much power of doing good or hurt;
as those who are present in the hour of negligence, hear
the bursts of thoughtless merriment, and observe the starts
of unguarded passion. He therefore augmented the pay
of all his attendants, and requited every exertion of un-
common diligence by supernumerary gratuities. While
he congratulated himself upon the fidelity and affection of
his family, he was inhe night alarmed with robbers, who,
being pursued and taken, declared that they had been ad-
mitted by one of his servants ; the servant immediately
confessed, that he unbarred the door, because another not
more worthy of confidence was entrusted with the keys.
Abouzaid was thus convinced that a dependant could
not easily be made a friend ; and that while many were
soliciting for the first rank of favour, all those would be
alienated whom he disappointed. He therefore resolved
to associate with a few equal companions selected from
among the chief men of the province. With these he
lived happily for a time, till familiarity set them free from
restraint, and every man thought himself at liberty to in-
R. II. cc
386 THE RAMBLER. N°. 190•
dulge his own caprice, and advance his own opinions.

They then disturbed each other with contrariety of in-
clinations, and difference of sentiments, and Abouzaid
was necessitated to offend one party by concurrence, or
both by indifference.
He afterwards determined to avoid a close union with
beings so discordant in their nature, and to diffuse himself
in a larger circle. He practised the smile of universal
courtesy, and invited all to his table, but admitted none
to his retirements. Many who had been rejected in his
choice of friendship, now refused to accept his acquaint-
ance ; and of those whom plenty and magnificence drew
to his table, every one pressed forward toward intimacy,
thought himself overlooked in the crowd,' and murmured
because he was not distinguished above the rest. By de-
grees all made advances, and all resented repulse. The
table was then covered with delicacies in vain ; the mu-
sick sounded in empty rooms ; and Abouzaid was left to
form in solitude some new scheme of pleasure or se-
curity.
Resolving now to try the force of gratitude, he inquired
for men of science, whose merit was obscured by poverty.
His house was soon crowded with poets, sculptors, paint-
ers, and designers, who wantoned in unexperienced plenty,
and employed their powers in celebration of their patron.
But in a short time they forgot the distress from which
they had been rescued, and began to consider their de-
liverer as a wretch of narrow capacity, who was growing
great by works which he could not perform, and whom
they overpaid by condescending to accept his bounties.
Abouzaid heard their murmurs and dismissed them, and
from that hour continued blind to colours, and deaf to
panegyrick.
As the sons of art departed, muttering threats of per-
petual infamy, Abouzaid, who stood at the gate, called to
him Hamet the poet. " Hamet," said he, " thy ingrati-
tude has put an end to my hopes and experiments : I have
now learned the vanity of those labours that wish to be
rewarded by human benevolence ; I shall henceforth do
good, and avoid evil, without respect to the opinion of
men; and resolve to solicit only the approbation of that
Being whom alone we are sure to please by endeavouring
to please him."
............................
Cereus in vitium flecti, monitim'fbus asper. Hon. Art. Poet. 163.

The youth
Yielding like wax, th' impressive folly bears;
Rough to reproof, and slow to future cares. FRANCIS.
TO THE RAMBLER.
DEAR MR. RAMBLER,
I HAVE been four days confined to my chamber by a

cold, which has already kept me from three plays, nine
sales, five shows, and six card-tables, and put me seven-
teen visits behind-hand ; and the doctor tells my mamma,
that, if I fret and cry, it will settle in my head, and I
shall not be fit to be seen these six weeks. But, dear
Mr. Rambler, how can I help it ? At this very time Melissa
is dancing with the prettiest gentleman ;—she will break-
fast with him to-morrow, and then run to two auctions,
and hear compliments, and have presents; then site will
be drest, and visit, and get a ticket to the play; then go
to cards and win, and come home with two flambeaux be-
fore her chair. Dear Mr. Rambler, who can bear it ?
My aunt has just brought me a bundle of your papers
for my amusement. She says you are a philosopher, and
will teach me to moderate my desires, and look upon the
world with indifference. But, dear sir, I do not wish
nor intend to moderate my desires, nor can I think it
proper to look upon the world with indifference, till the
world looks with indifference on me. I have been forced,
however, to sit this morning a whole quarter of an hour
cc2
with your paper before my face; but just as my aunt came

in, Phyllida had brought me a letter from Mr. Trip, which
I put within the leaves ; and read about absence and in-
consolableness, and ardour, and irresistible passion, and
eternal constancy, while my aunt imagined that I was puz-
zling myself with your philosophy, and often cried out,
when she saw me look confused, " If there is any -word
" that you do not understand, child, I will explain it."
Dear soul ! how old people that think themselves wise
may be imposed upon ! But it is fit that they should take
their turn, for I am sure, while they can keep poor girls
close in the nursery, they tyrannize over us in a very
shameful manner, and fill our imaginations with tales of
terrour, only to make us live in quiet subjection, and fancy
that we can never be safe but by their protection.
I have a mamma and two aunts, who have all been for-
merly celebrated for wit and beauty, and are still gene-
rally admired by those that value themselves upon their
understanding, and love to talk of vice and virtue, nature
and simplicity, and beauty and propriety ; but if there
was not some hope of meeting me, scarcely a creature
would come near them that wears a fashionable coat.
These ladies, Mr. Rambler, have had me under their go-
vernment fifteen years and a half, and have all that time
been endeavouring to deceive me by such representations
of life as I now find not to be true; but I know not whe-
ther I ought to impute them to ignorance or malice, as it
is possible the world may be much changed since they
mingled in general conversation.
Being desirous that I should love books, they told me,
that nothing but knowledge could make me an agreeable
companion to men of sense, or qualify me to distinguish the
superficial glitter of vanity from the solid merit of under-
standing ; and that a habit of reading would enable me to
fill up the vacuities of life without the help of silly or dan-
gerous amusements, and preserve me from the snares of
idleness and the inroads of temptation.
But their principal intention was to make me afraid of
men ; in which they succeeded so well for a time, that I

durst not look in their faces, or be left alone with them in
a parlour; for they made me fancy, that no man ever spoke
but to deceive, or looked but to allure ; that the girl who
suffered him that had once squeezed her hand, to approach
her a second time, was on the brink of. ruin; and that she
who answered a billet, without consulting her relations,
gave love such power over her, that she would certainly
become either poor or infamous.
From the time that my leading-strings were taken off, I
scarce heard any mention of my beauty but from the milli-
ner, the mantua-maker, and my own maid ; for my mamma
never said more, when she heard me commended, but
" the girl is very well," and then endeavoured to divert
my attention by some inquiry after my needle, or my
book.
It is uow three months since I have been suffered to
pay and receive visits, to dance at publick assemblies, to
have a place kept for me in the boxes, and to play at lady
Racket's rout ; and you may easily imagine what I think
of those who have so long cheated me with false expecta-
tions, disturbed me with fictitious terrours, and concealed
from me alj that I have found to make the happiness of
woman.
I am so far from perceiving the usefulness or necessity
of books, that if I had not dropped all pretensions to learn-
ing, I should have lost Mr. Trip, whom I once frighted
into another box, by retailing some of Dryden's remarks
upon a tragedy ; for Mr. Trip declares, that he hates nothing
like hard words, and I am sure, there is not a better part-
ner to be found; his very walk is a dance. I have talked
once or twice among ladies about principles and ideas, but
they put their fans before their faces, and told me I was
too wise for them, who for their part never pretended to
read any thing but the play-bill, and then asked me the
price of my best head.
Those vacancies of time which are to be filled up with
books I have never yet obtained; for, consider, Mr. Ram-
390 THE RAMBLER. N°, 191.
bier, I go to bed late, and therefore cannot rise early ;

as soon as I am up, I dress for the gardens ; then walk
in the park ; then always go to some sale or show, or en-
tertainment at the little theatre; then must be dressed
for dinner; then must pay my visits; then walk in the
park ; then hurry to the play ; and from thence to the card-
table. This is the general course of the day, when there
happens nothing extraordinary; but sometimes I ramble
into the country, and come back again to a ball ; some-
times I am engaged for a whole day anti part of the night.
If, at any time, I can gain an hour by not being at home,
I have so many things to do, so many 'orders to give to
the milliner, so many alterations to make in my clothes, so
many visitants' names to read over, so many invitations to
accept or refuse, so many cards to write, and so many
fashions to consider, that I am lost in confusion, forced at
last to let in company or step into my chair, and leave half
my affairs to the direction of my maid.
This is the round of my day; and when shall I either
stop my course, or so change it as to want a book ? I sup-
pose it cannot be imagined, that any of these diversions
will soon be at an end. There will always be gardens, and
a park, and auctions, and shows, and playhouses, and cards;
visits will always be paid, and clothes always be worn ; and
how can I have time unemployed upon my hands ?
But I am most at a loss to guess for what purpose they
related such tragick stories of the cruelty, perfidy, and
artifices of men, who, if they ever were so malicious .and
destructive, have certainly now reformed their manners.
I have not, since my entrance into the world, found one
who does not profess himself devoted to my service, and
ready to live or die as I shall command him. They are so
far from intending to hurt me, that their only contention is,
who shall be allowed most closely to attend, and most fre-
quently to treat me ; when different places of entertain-
ment, or schemes of pleasure are mentioned, I can see the
eye sparkle and the cheeks glow of him whose proposals
obtain my approbation ; he then leads me off in triumph,
adores my condescension, and congratulates himself that

he has lived to the hour of felicity. Are these, Mr. Ram-
bler, creatures to be feared? Is it likely that an injury
will be done me by those who can enjoy life only while I
favour them with my presence ?
As little reason can I yet find to suspect them of strata-
gems and fraud. When I play at cards, they never take
advantage of my mistakes, nor exact from me a rigorous
observation of the game. Even Mr. Shuffle, a grave gentle-
man, who has daughters older than myself, plays with me
so negligently, that I am somOimes inclined to believe he
loses his money by design, and yet he is so fond of play,
that he says, he will one day take me to his house in the
country, that we may try by ourselves who can conquer.
I have not yet promised him ; but when the town grows a
little empty, I shall think upon it, for I want some trinkets,
like Letitia's, to my watch. I do not doubt my luck, but
must study some means of amusing my relations.
For all these distinctions I find myself indebted to that
beauty which I was never suffered to hear praised, and of
which, therefore, I did not before know the full value.
The concealment was certainly an intentional fraud, for
my aunts have eyes like other people, and I am every day
told, that nothing but blindness can escape the, influence
of my charms. Their whole account of that world which
they pretend to know so well, has been only one fiction
entangled with another ; and though the modes of life
oblige me to continue some appearances of respect, I can-
not think that they, who have been so clearly detected in
ignorance or imposture, have any right to the esteem, ve-
neration, or obedience of,
Sir, Yours,
BELLARIA.
0 ‘112614,0
4, OR ',I-
a,
.., , . .4
16,ratik
r1'
op NCII
aci4, ,111
61/
4 7-10 S°
No. 192. SATURDAY, JANUARY 18, 1752.
Pivot obit' iv Etc Epwra-

Mapirb rpOroc rariirar
Movov dpyupov grAiroturtv.
'A vraotro rp(Trroc auras
'0 rim upyypov itnXiloytc.
Atd roirrov am koiX(pec,
Auk ram; ob roxiifc•
116XEpot, 06uos at' altreiv.
Td Si ripov, 6XXilactOa
dui roil' rov of (paoilvrec. ANACREON. OIAAL Me. 5.
Vain the noblest birth would prove,
Nor worth or wit avail in love;
'Tis cold alone succeeds—by gold
The venal sex is bought and sold.
Accurs'd be he who first of yore
Discover'd the pernicious ore!
This sets a brother's heart on fire,
And arms the son against the sire;
And what, alas! is worse than all,
To this the lover owes his fall. F. LEWIS.
TO THE RAMBLER.
SIR,
I AM the son of a gentleman, whose ancestors, for
many ages, held the first rank in the country ; till at last
one of them, too desirous of popularity, set his house open,
kept a table covered with continual profusion, and distri-
buted his beef and ale to such as chose rather to live upon
the folly of others, than their own labour, with such thought-
less liberality, that he left a third part of his estate mort-
gaged. His successor, a man of spirit, scorned to impair
his dignity by parsimonious retrenchments, or to admit, by
a sale of his lands, "any participation' of the rights of his
manour ; he therefore made another mortgage to pay the
interest of the former, and pleased himself with the reflec-
tion, that his son would have the hereditary estate without
the diminution of an acre.
Nearly resembling this was the practice of my wise
progenitors for many ages. Every man boasted the anti-
quity of his family, resolved to support the dignity of his

birth, and lived in splendour and plenty at the expense of
his heir, who, sometimes by a wealthy marriage, and some-
times by lucky legacies, discharged part of the incum-
brances, and thought himself entitled to contract new
debts, and to leave to his children the same inheritance
of embarrasSment and distress.
Thus the estate perpetually decayed ; the woods were
felled by one, the park ploughed by another, the fishery let
to farmers by a third; at last the old hall was pulled down
to spare the cost of reparation, and part of the materials
sold to build a small house with the rest. We were now
openly degraded from our original rank, and my father's
brother was allowed with less reluctance to serve an ap-
prenticeship, though we never reconciled ourselves heartily
to the sound of haberdasher, but always talked of ware-
houses and a merchant, and when the wind happened to
blow loud, affected to pity the hazards of commerce, and
to sympathize with the solicitude of my poor uncle, who
had the true retailer's terrour of adventure, and never ex-
posed himself or his proporty to any wider water than the
Thames.
In time, however, by continual profit and small expenses,
he grew rich, and began to turn his thoughts towards rank.
Ho hung the arms of the family over his parlour-chimney ;
pointed at a chariot decorated only with a cypher; became
of opinion that money could not make a gentleman; resented
the petulance of upstarts ; told stories of alderman Puff's
grandfather the porter; wondered that there was no better
method for regulating precedence ; wished for some dress
peculiar to men of fashion ; and when his servant pre-
sented a letter, always inquired whether it came from his
brother the esquire. ,
My father was careful to send him game by every car-
rier, which, though the conveyance often cost more than
the value, was well received, because it gave him an op-
portunity of calling his friends together, describing the
beauty of his brother's scat, and lamenting his own folly,
394 VIE RAMBLER. No. 192.
whom no remonstrances could withhold from polluting his

angers with a shop-book.
The little presents which we sent were always returned
with great munificence. He was desirous of being the
second founder of his family, and could not bear that we
should be any longer outshone by those whom we consi-
dered as climbers upon our ruins, and usurpers of our for-
tune. He furnished our house with all the eleganbe of
fashionable expense, and was careful to conceal his boun-
ties, lest the poverty of his family should be suspected.
At length it happened that, by misconduct like our own,
a large estate, which had been purchased from us, was
again exposed to the best bidder. My uncle, delighted
with an opportunity of reinstating the family in their pos-
sessions, came down with treasures scarcely to be imagined
in a place where commerce has not made large sums fami-
liar, and at once drove all the competitors away, expe-
dited the writings, and took possession. He now consi-
dered himself as superior to trade, disposed of his stock,
and as soon as he had settled his economy, began to show
his rural sovereignty, by breaking the hedges of his tenants
in hunting, and seizing the guns or nets of those whose
fortunes did not qualify them for sportsmen. He soon af-
terwards solicited the office of sheriff, from which all his
neighbours were glad to be reprieved, but which he re-
garded as a resumption of ancestral claims, and a kind of
restoration to blood after the attainder of a trade.
My uncle, whose mind was so filled with this change of
his condition, that he found no want of domestick enter-
tainment, declared himself too old to marry, and resolved
to let the newly-purchased estate fall into the regular chan-'
nel of inheritance. I was, therefore, considered as heir ap-
parent, and courted with officiousness and caresses, by the
gentlemen who had hitherto coldly allowed me that rank
which they could not refuse, depressed me with studied
neglect, and irritated me with ambiguous insults.
I felt not much pleasure from the civilities for which I
knew myself indebted to my uncle's industry, till, by one
of the invitations which every day now brought me, I was

induced to spend a week with Lucius, whose daughter Fla-
villa I had often seen and admired like others, without any
thought of nearer approaches. The inequality which had
hitherto kept me at a distance being now levelled, I was
received with every evidence of respect : Lucius told me
the fortune which he intended for his favourite daughter;
many odd accidents obliged us to be often together without
company, and I soon began to find that they were spread-
ing for me the nets of matrimony.
Flavilla was all softness and.complaisance. I, who had
been excluded by a narrow fortune from much acquaint-
ance with the world, and never been honoured before with
the notice of so fine a lady, was easily enamoured. Lucius
either perceived my passion, or Flavilla betrayed it; care
was taken, that our private meetings should be less fre-
quent, and my charmer confessed by her eyes how much
pain she suffered from our restraint. I renewed my visit
upon every pretence, but was not allowed one interview
without witness ; at last I declared my passion to Lucius,
who received me as a lover worthy of his daughter, and
told me that nothing was wanting to his consent, but that
my uncle should settle his estate upon me. I objected
the indecency of encroaching on his life, and the danger of
provoking him by such an unseasonable demand. Lucius
seemed not to think decency of much importance, but ad-
mitted the danger of displeasing, and concluded that as he
was now old and sickly, we might, without any inconve-
nience, wait for his death.
With this resolution I was better contented, as it pro-
cured me the company of Flavilla, in which the days
passed away amidst continual rapture ; but in time I began
to be ashamed of sitting idle, in expectation of growing
rich by the death of my benefactor, and proposed to Lu-
cius many schemes of raising my own fortune by such as-
sistance as I knew my uncle willing to give me. Lucius,
afraid lest 1 should change my affection in absence, di-
verted me from my design by dissuasives to which my
passion easily listened. At last my uncle died, and consi-

dering himself as neglected by me, from the time that
Flavilla took possession, of my heart, left his estate to my
younger brother, who was always hovering about his bed,
and relating stories of my pranks and extravagance, my
contempt of the commercial dialect, and my impatience to
be selling stock.
My condition was soon known, and I was no longer ad-
mitted by the father of Flavilla. I repeated the protes-
tations of regard, which had been formerly returned with
so much ardour, in a letter which she received privately,
but returned by her father's footman. Contempt has
driven out my love, and I am content to have purchased,
by the loss of fortune, an escape from a harpy, who has
joined the artifices of age to the allurements of youth. I
am now going to pursue my former projects with a legacy
which my uncle bequeathed me, and if I succeed, shall
expect to hear of the repentance of Flavilla.
I am, Sir, Yours, &c.
CONSTANTIUS.
,........................................"
Landis amore banes? cunt certa piacula, gtur to

Ter pure lecto poterunt recreare libello. HOn. Lib. i. Ep. i. 36.
Or art thou vain1 books yield a certain spell

To stop thy tumour; you shall cense to swell
When you have read them thrice, and studied well. CREECH.
WIIATEVER is universally desired, will be sought by in-

dustry and artifice, by merit and crimes, by means good
and bad, rational and absurd, according to the prevalence
of virtue or vice, of wisdom or folly. Some will always
mistake the degree of their own desert, and some will de-
sire that others may mistake it. The cunning will have
recourse to stratagem, and the powerful to violence, for
the attainment of their wishes; some will stoop to theft,

and others venture upon plunder.
Praise is so pleasing to the mpd of man, that it is the
original motive of almost all our actions. The desire of
commendation, as of every thing else, is varied indeed by
innumerable differences of temper, capacity, and know-
ledge; some have no higher wish than for the applause of
a club; some expect the acclamations of a county; and
some have hoped to fill the mouths of all ages and nations
with their names. Every man pants for the highest emi-
nence within his view; •none,..,however mean, ever sinks
below the hope of being distinguished by his fellow-beings,
and very few have by magnanimity or piety been so raised
above it, as to act wholly without regard to censure or
opinion.
To be praised, therefore, every man resolves ; but reso-
lutions will not execute themselves. That which all think
too parsimoniously distributed to their own claims, they
will not gratuitously squander upon others, and some ex-
pedient must be tried, by which praise may be gained be-
fore it can be enjoyed.
Among the innumerable bidders for praise, some are
willing to purchase at the highest rate, and offer ease and
health, fortune and life. Yet even of these only a small
part have gained what they so earnestly desired; the stu-
dent wastes away in meditation, and the soldier perishes
on the ramparts, but unless some accidental advantage co-
operates with merit, neither perseverance nor adventure
attracts attention, and learning and bravery sink into the
grave, without honour or remembrance.
But ambition and vanity generally expect to be gratified
on easier terms. It has been long observed, that what is
procured by skill or labour to the first possessor, may be
afterwards transferred for money; and that the man of
wealth may partake all the acquisitions of courage without
hazard, and all the products of industry without fatigue.
It was easily discovered, that riches would obtain praise
among other conveniencies, and that he whose pride was
unluckily associated with laziness, ignorance, or cowardice,

needed only to pay the hire of a panegyrist, and he might
be regaled with periodical eulogies; might determine, at
leisure, what virtue or science he would be pleased to
appropriate, and be lulled in the evening with soothing
serenades, or waked in the morning by sprightly gratula-
tions.
The happiness which mortals receive from the celebra-
tion of beneficence which never relieved, eloquence which
never persuaded, or elegance which never pleased, ought
not to be envied or disturbed, when they are known ho-
nestly to pay for their entertainment. But there are un-
merciful exactors of adulation, who withhold the wages of
venality; retain their encomiast from year to year by ge-
neral promises and ambiguous blandishments ; and when
be has run through the whole compass of flattery, dismiss
him with contempt, because his vein of fiction is ex-
hausted.
A continual feast of commendation is only to be obtained
by merit or by wealth ; many are therefore obliged to con-
tent themselves with single morsels, and recompense the
infrequency of their enjoyment by excess and riot, when-
ever fortune sets the banquet before them. Hunger is
never delicate ; they who are seldom gorged to the full
with praise, may be safely fed with gross compliments ;
for the appetite must be satisfied before it is disgusted.
It is easy to find the moment at which vanity is eager
for sustenance, and all that impudence or servility can
offer will be well received. When any one complains of
the want of what he is known to possess in an uncommon
degree, be certainly waits with impatience to be contra-
dicted. When the trader pretends anxiety about the
payment of his bills, or the beauty remarks how frightfully
she looks, then is the lucky moment to talk of riches or of
charms, of the death of lovers, or the honour of a mer-
chant.
Others there are yet more open and artless, who, in-
stead of suborning a flatterer, are content to supply his
N°.193. TFIE RAMBLER. 399
place, and, as some animals impregnate themselves, swell

with the praises which they hear from their own tongues.
Recte is dicitur laudare sese, cui nem° alius contigit lauda-
tor, " It is right," says Erasmus, " that he, whom no one
else will commend, should bestow commendations on him-
self." Of all the sons of vanity, these are surely the hap-
piest and greatest; for what is greatness or happiness but
independence on external influences, exemption from hope
or fear, and the. power of supplying every want from the
common stores of nature, whith can neither be exhausted
nor prohibited? Such is the wise man of the stoicks; such
is the divinity of the epicureans; and such is the flatterer
of himself. Eyery other enjoyment malice may destroy;
every other panegyrick envy may withhold; but no human
power can deprive the boaster of his own encomiums.
Infamy may hiss, or contempt may growl, the hirelings of
the great may follow fortune, and the votaries of truth may
attend on virtue ; but his pleasures still remain the same;
he can always listen with rapture to himself, and leave
those who dare not repose upon their own attestation, to
be elated or depressed by chance, and toil on in the hope-
less task of fixing caprice, and propitiating malice.
This art of happiness has been long practised by peri-
odical writers, with little apparent violation of decency.
When we think our excellencies overlooked by the world,
or desire to recall the attention of the publick to some par-
ticular performance, we sit down with great composure
and write a letter to ourselves. The correspondent, whose
character we assume, always addresses us with the defer-
ence due to a superior intelligence; proposes his doubts
with a proper sense of his own inability; offers an objec-
tion with trembling diflidence ; and at last has no other
pretensions to Our notice than his profundity of respect,
and sincerity of admiration, his submission to our dictates,
and zeal for our success. To such a reader, it is impossi-
ble to refuse regard, nor can it easily be imagined with
how much alacrity we snatch up the pen which indigna-
tion or despair had condemned to inactivity, when we find
such candour and judgment yet remaining in the world.
A letter of this kind I had lately the honour of perusing,
in which, though some of the periods were negligently -
closed, and some expressions of familiarity were used,
which I thought might teach others to address me with too
little reverence, I was so much delighted with the passages
in which mention was made of universal learning—un-
bounded genius—soul of Homer, Pythagoras, and Plato—
solidity of thought—accuracy of distinction-'-elegance of
combination—vigour of fancy—strength of reason—and
regularity of composition—that I had once determined to
Jay it before the publick. Three times I sent it to the
printer, and three times I fetched it back. My modesty
was on the point of yielding, when reflecting that I was
about to waste panegyricks on myself, which might be
more profitably reserved for my patron, I locked it up for
a better hour, in compliance with the farmer's principle,
who never eats at home what he can carry to the market.
..........,........................«....
N°. 194. SATURDAY, JANUARY 25, 1752.
Si damnosa senemjuvat ales, hunt et heres

Bullatus, parvoque eadem movet arena fritillo. Juv. Sat. xiv. 4.
If gaming does an aged sire entice,
Then my young master swiftly learns the vice,
And shakes in hanging sleeves the little box and dice.
J. DRYDEN, jun.
TO THE RAMBLER.
SIR,
THAT vanity which keeps every man important in
his own eyes, inclines me to believe that neither you nor
your readers have yet forgotten the name of Eumathes,
who sent you a few months ago an account of his arrival at
London, with a young nobleman his pupil. I shall there-
N".194. THE RAMBLER. 401
fore continue my narrative without preface or recapitula-

tion.
My pupil, in a very short time, by his mother's counte-
nance and direction, accomplished himself with all those
qualifications which constitute puerile politeness. He be-
came in a few days a perfect master of his hat, which with
a careless nicety he could put off or on, without any need
to adjust it by a second motion. This was not attained
but by frequent consultations with his dancing-master, and
constant practice before the glass, for he had some rustick
habits to overcome; but, what,will not time and industry
perform ? A fortnight more furnished him with all the airs
and forms of familiar and respectful salutation, from the
clap on the shoulder to the humble bow ; he practises the
stare of strangeness, and the smile of condescension, the
solemnity of promise, and the graciousness of encourage-
ment, as if he had been nursed at a levee; and pronounces,
with no less propriety than his father, the monosyllables of
coldness, and sonorous periods of respectful profession.
He immediately lost the reserve and timidity which soli-
tude and study are apt to impress upon the most courtly
genius ; was able to enter a crowded room with airy ci-
vility; to meet the glances of a hundred eyes without per-
turbation ; and address those whom he never saw before
with ease and confidence. In less than a month his mother
declared her satisfaction at his proficiency by a triumphant
observation, that she believed nothing would make him
blush.
The silence with which I was contented to hear my pu-
pil's praises, gave the lady reason to suspect me not much
delighted with his acquisitions ; but she attributed my dis-
content to the diminution of my influence, and my fears of
losing the patronage of the family; and though she thinks
favourably of my learning and morals, she considers me as
wholly unacquainted with the customs of the polite part of
mankind; and therefore not qualified to form the manners
of a young nobleman, or communicate the knowledge of
the world. This knowledge she comprises in the rules of
R. H. D d
visiting, the history of the present hour, an early intelli-

gence of the change of fashions, an extensive acquaintance
with the names and faces of persons of rank, and a fre-
quent appearance in places of resort.
All this my pupil pursues with great application. He
is twice a day in the Mall, where he studies the dress of
every man splendid enough to attract his notice, and never
comes home without some observation upon sleeves, but-
ton-holes, and embroidery. At his return from the theatre,
he can give an account of the gallantries, glances, whis-
pers, smiles, sighs, flirts, and blushes of every box, so much
to his mother's satisfaction, that when I attempted to re-
sume my Character, by inquiring his opinion of the senti-
ments and diction of the tragedy, she at once repressed
my criticism, by telling me, " that she hoped he did not go
to lose his time in attending to the creatures on the stage."
But his acuteness was most eminently signalized at the
masquerade, where he discovered his acquaintance through
their disguises, with such wonderful facility, as has afforded
the family an inexhaustible topick of conversation. Every
new visitor is informed how one was detected by his gait,
and another by the swinging of his arms, a third by the
toss of his head, and another by his favourite phrase ; nor
can you doubt but these performances receive their just
applause, and a genius thus hastening to maturity is pro-
moted by every art of cultivation.
Such have been his endeavours, and such his assistances,
that every trace of literature was soon obliterated. He
has changed his language with his dress, and instead of
endeavouring at purity or propriety, has no other care than
to catch the reigning phrase and current exclamation, till,
by copying whatever is peculiar in the talk of all those
whose birth or fortune entitles them to imitation, he has
collected every fashionable barbarism of the present win-
ter, and speaks a dialect not to be understood among those
who form their style by poring upon authors.
To this copiousness of ideas, and felicity of language, he
has joined such eagerness to lead the conversation, that he
is celebrated among the ladies as the prettiest gentleman

that the age can boast of, except that some who love to
talk themselves, think him too forward, and others lament
that, with so much wit and knowledge, be is not taller.
His mother listens to his observations with her eyes
sparkling and her heart beating, and can scarcely contain,
in the most numerous assemblies, the expectations which
she has formed for his future eminence. Women, by
whatever fate, always judge absurdly of the intellects of
boys. The vivacity and confidence which attract female
admiration, are seldom producesl in the early part of life, but
by ignorance at least, if not by stupidity ; for they proceed
not from confidence of right, but fearlessness of wrong.
Whoever has a clear apprehension, must have quick sen-
sibility, and where he has no sufficient reason to trust his
own judgment, will proceed with doubt and caution, be-
cause he perpetually dreads the disgrace of errour. The
pain of miscarriage is naturally proportionate to the desire
of excellence ; and, therefore, till men are hardened by
long familiarity with reproach, or have attained, by fre-
quent struggles, the art of suppressing their emotions,
diffidence is found the inseparable associate of under-
standing.
But so little distrust has my pupil of his own abilities,
that he has for some time professed himself a wit, and
tortures his imagination on all occasions for burlesque and
jocularity. How he supports a character which, perhaps,
no man ever assumed without repentance, may be easily
conjectured. Wit, you know, is the unexpected copula-
tion of ideas, the discovery of some occult relation between
images in appearance remote from each other; an effusion
of wit, therefore, presupposes an accumulation of know-
ledge ; a memory stored with notions, which the imagina-
tion may cull out to compose new assemblages. What-
ever may be the native vigour of the mind, she can never
form many combinations from few ideas, as many changes
can never be rung upon a few bells. Accident may in-
deed sometimes produce a lucky parallel or a striking coil-
nd2
trast ; but these gifts of chance are not frequent, and he

that has nothing of his own, and yet condemns himself to
needless expenses, must live upon loans or theft.
The indulgence which his youth has hitherto obtained,
and the respect which his rank secures, have hitheito sup-
plied the want of intellectual qualifications ; and he ima-
gines that all admire who applaud, and that all who laugh
are pleased. He therefore returns every day to the
charge with increase of courage, though not of strength,
and practises all the tricks by which wit is counterfeited.
He lays trains for a quibble ; he contrives blunders for
his footman ; he adapts old stories to present characters ;
be mistakes the question, that he may return a smart an-
swer; he anticipates the argument, that he may plausibly
object ;, when he has nothing to reply, he repeats the last
words of his antagonist, then says, " your humble servant,"
and concludes with a laugh of triumph.
These mistakes I have honestly attempted to correct ;
but what can be expected from reason unsupported by
fashion, splendour, or authority ? He heard me, indeed, or
appears to hear me, but is soon rescued from the lecture
by more pleasing avocations ; and shows, diversions, and
caresses, drive my precepts from his remembrance.
He at last imagines himself qualified to enter the world,
and has met with adventures in his first sally, which I
shall, by your paper, communicate to the publick.
I am, &c.
Eu MATH ES.
Nescit equo ,-udis

IIarere ingenuus puer,
Venarique timet ; ludere doctior,
Sett Grecojubeas trocho,
Seu malls yak& legibus oleo. Hon. Lib. iii. Ode xxiv. 54.
Nor knows our youth, of noblest race,
To mount the manag'd steed, or urge the chace ;
More skill'd in the mean arts of vice,
The whirling troque, or law-forbidden dice. FRANcis.
TO THE RAMBLER.
SIR, ..
FAVOURS of every kind are doubled when they
are speedily conferred. This is particularly true of the
gratification of curiosity. He that long delays a story, and
suffers his auditor to torment himself with expectation, will
seldom be able to recompense the uneasiness, or equal
the hope which he suffers to be raised.
For this reason, I have already sent you the continuation
of my pupil's history, which, though it contains no events
very uncommon, may be of use to young men who are in
too• much haste to trust their own prudence, and quit the
wing of protection before they are able to shift for them-
selves.
When he first settled in London, he was so much bewil-
dered in the enormous extent of the town, so confounded
by incessant noise, and crowds, and hurry, and so terrified
by rural narratives o£ the arts of sharpers, the rudeness of
the populace, malignity of porters, and treachery of coach-
men, that he was afraid to go beyond the door without an
attendant, and imagined his life in danger if he was
obliged to pass the streets at night in any vehicle but his
mother's chair.
He was therefore contented, for a time, that I should
accompany him in all his excursions. But his fear abated
as he grew more familiar with its objects ; and the con-
tempt to which his rusticity exposed him from such of his
Aro. 195.
406 THE RAMBLER.
companions as had .accidentally known the town longer,

obliged him to dissemble his remaining terrours.
His desire of liberty made him now willing to spare me
the trouble of observing his motions; but knowing how
much his ignorance exposed him to mischief, I thought it
cruel to abandon him to the fortune of the town. We
went together every day to a coffee-house, where he met
wits, heirs, and fops, airy, ignorant, and thoughtless as
himself, with whom he had become acquainted at card-
tables, and whom he considered as the only beings to be
envied or admired. What were their topicks of conversa-
tion, I could never discover; for, so much was their viva-
city repressed by my intrusive seriousness, that they seldom
proceeded beyond the exchange of nods and shrugs, an
arch grin, or a broken hint, except when they could retire,
while I was looking on the papers, to a corner of the room,
where they seemed to disburden their imaginations, and
commonly vented the superfluity of their sprightliness in a
peal of laughter. When they had tittered themselves into
negligence, I could sometimes overhear a few syllables,
such as—solemn rascal—academical airs—smoke the tu-
tor—company for gentlemen1—and other broken phrases,
by which I did not suffer my quiet to be disturbed, for
they never proceeded to avowed indignities, but contented
themselves to murmur in secret, and, whenever I turned
my eye upon them, shrunk into stillness.
He was, however, desirous of withdrawing from the
subjection which he could not venture to break, and made
a secret appointment to assist his companions in the perse-
cution of a play. His footman privately procured him a
catcall, on which he practised in a back-garret for two
hours in the afternoon. At the proper time a chair was
called ; he pretended an engagement at lady Flutter's, and
hastened to the place wher9 his critical associates had as-
sembled. They hurried away to the theatre, full of ma-
lignity and denunciations against a man whose name they
had never heard, and a performance which they could not
understand ; for they were resolved to judge for them-
selves, and would not suffer the town to be imposed upon

by scribblers. In the pit, they exerted themselves with
great spirit and vivacity ; called out for the tunes of ob-
scene songs, talked loudly at intervals of Shakespeare and
Jonson, played on their catcalls a short prelude of terrour,
clamoured vehemently for a prologue, and clapped with
great dexterity at the first entrance of the players.
Two scenes they heard without attempting interruption;
but,' being no longer able to restrain their impatience, they
then began to exert themselves in groans and hisses, and
plied their catcalls with incessant diligence; so that they
were soon considered by the audience as disturbers of the
house ; and some who sat near them, either provoked at
the obstruction of their entertainment, or desirous to pre-
serve the author from the mortification of seeing his hopes
destroyed by children, snatched away their instruments of
criticism, and, by the seasonable vibration of a stick, sub-
dued them instantaneously to decency and silence.
To exhilarate themselves after this vexatious defeat,
they posted to a tavern, where they recovered their ala-
crity, and, after two hours of obstreperous jollity, burst out
big with enterprize, and panting for some occasion to sig-
nalize their prowess. They proceeded vigorously through
two streets, and with very little opposition dispersed a
rabble of drunkards less daring than themselves, then rolled
two watchmen in the kennel, and broke the windows of a
tavern in which the fugitives took shelter. At last it was
determined to march up to a row of chairs, and demolish
them for standing on the pavement; the chairmen formed
a line of battle, and blows were exchanged for a time with
equal courage on both sides. At last the assailants were
overpowered, and the chairmen, when they knew their
captives, brought them home by force.
The young gentleman, next morning, hung his head, and
was so much ashamed of his outrages and defeat, that per-
haps he might have been checked in his first follies, had
not his mother, partly in pity of his dejection, and partly
in approbation of his spirit, relieved him from his perplexity
by paying the damages privately, and discouraging all

animadversion and reproof. .
This indulgence could not wholly preserve him from the
remembrance of his disgrace, nor at once restore his con-
fidence and elation. He was for three days silent, modest,
and compliant, and thought himself neither too wise for
instruction, nor too manly for restraint. But his levity
overcame this salutary sorrow; he began to talk with his
former raptures of masquerades, taverns, and frolicks ;
blustered when his wig was not combed with exactness ;
and threatened destruction to a tailor who had mistaken
his directions about the pocket.
I knew that he was now rising again above control,
and that his inflation of spirits would burst out into some
mischievous absurdity. I therefore watched him with
great attention ; but one evening, having attended • his
mother at a visit, he withdrew himself, unsuspected,
while the company was engaged at cards. His vivacity
and officiousness were soon missed, and his return impa-
tiently expected ; supper was delayed, and conversation
suspended ; every scoachthat rattled through the street
was expected to bring him, and every servant that entered
the room was examined concerning his departure. At last
the lady returned home, and was with great difficulty pre-
served from fits by spirits and cordials. The family was
despatched a thousand ways without success, and the house
was filled with distraction, till, as we were deliberating
what further measures to take, he returned from a petty
gaming-table, with his coat torn and his head broken ;
without his sword, snuff-box, sleeve-buttons, and watch.
Of this loss or robbery, he gave little account ; but, in-
stead of sinking into his former shame, endeavoured to
support himself by surliness and asperity. " He was not
the first that had played away a few trifles, and of what
use were birth and fortune if they would not admit some
sallies and expenses ?" His mamma was so much pro-
voked by the cost of this prank, that she would neither
palliate nor conceal it ; and his father, after some threats
N''. 196. THE RAMBLER. 409
of rustication which his fondness would not suffer him to

execute, reduced the allowance of his pocket, that he
might not he tempted by plenty to profusion. This method
would have succeeded in a place where there are no pan-
ders to folly and extravagance, but was now likely to have
produced pernicious consequences ; for we have discovered
a treaty with a broker, whose daughter he seems disposed
to marry, on condition that he shall be supplied with pre-
sent money, for which he is to repay thrice the value at
the death of his father.
There was now no time ta. be lost. A domestick con-
sultation was immediately held, and he was doomed to
pass two year§ in the country; but his mother, touched
with his tears, declared, that she thought him too much of
a man to be any longer confined to his book, and he there-
fore begins his travels to-morrow under a French governour.
I am, &c.
Eti MATH ES.
044.11W~•~0111WW.WWW
Na. 196. SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 1, 1752.
Mille ferunt anni venientes commoda serum,

Multa recedentes udimunt.— Hon. De Ar. Poet. 175.
The blessings flowing in with life's full tide,
Down with our ebb of life decreasing glide. FRANCIS.
BAXTER, in the narrative of his own life, has enumerated

several opinions, which, though he thought them evident
and incontestable at his first entrance into the world, time
and experience disposed him to change.
Whoever reviews the state of his own mind from the
dawn of manhood to its decline, and considers what he
pursued or dreaded, slighted or esteemed, at different
periods of his age, will have no reason to imagine such
changes of sentiment peculiar to any station or character.
Every man, however careless and inattentive, has con-
viction forced upon him ; the lectures of time obtrude
themselves upon the most unwilling or dissipated auditor;
and, by comparing our past with our present thoughts, we

perceive that we have changed our minds, though perhaps
we cannot discover when the alteration happened, or by
what causes it was produced.
This revolution of sentiments occasions a perpetual con-
test between the old and young. They who imagine them-
selves entitled to veneration by the prerogative of longer
life, are inclined to treat the notions of those whose con-
duct they superintend with superciliousness and contempt,
for want of considering that the future and the past have
different appearances ; that the disproportion will always
be great between expectation and enjoyment, between
new possession and satiety; that the truth“)f many max-
ims of age gives too little pleasure to be allowed till it is
felt; and that the miseries of life would be increased be-
yond all human power of endurance, if we were to enter
the world with the same opinions as we carry from it.
We naturally indulge those ideas that please us. Hope
will predominate in every mind, till it has been suppressed
by frequent disappointments. The youth has not yet dis-
covered how many evils are continually hovering about
us, and when he is set free from the shackles of discipline,
looks abroad into the world with rapture ; he sees an ely-
sian region open before him, so variegated with beauty,
and so stored with pleasure, that his care is rather to ac-
cumulate good, than to shun evil ; he stands distracted by
different forms of delight, and has no other doubt, than
which path to follow of those which all lead equally to the
bowers of happiness. -
He who has seen only the superlicies of life believes
every thing to be what it appears, and rarely suspects that
external splendour conceals any latent sorrow or vexation.
He never imagines that there may be greatness without
safety, affluence without content, jollity without friendship,
and solitude without peace. He fancies himself permitted
to cull the blessings of every condition, and to leave its
inconveniencies to the idle and the ignorant. He is in-
clined to believe no man miserable but by his own fault,
N°. 196. TEEM RAMBLER. 411
and seldom looks with much pity upon failings or mis-

carriages, because he thinks them willingly admitted, or
negligently incurred.
It is impossible, without pity and contempt, to hear a
youth of generous sentiments and warm imagination, de-
claring, in the moment of openness and confidence, his
designs and expectations ; because long life is possible,
he considers it as certain, and therefore promises himself
all the changes of happiness, and provides gratifications
for every desire. He is, for a time, to giye himself wholly
to frolick and diversion, to range the world in search of
pleasure, to delight every eye, to gain every heart, and to
be celebrated, equally for his pleasing levities and solid
attainments, his deep reflections and his sparkling repar-
tees. He then elevates his views to nobler enjoyments,
and finds all the scattered excellencies of the female
world united in a woman, who prefers his addresses to
wealth and titles ; he is afterwards to engage in business,
to dissipate difficulty, and overpower opposition : to climb,
by the mere force of merit, to fame and greatness ; and
reward all those who countenanced his rise, or paid due
regard to his early excellence. At last he will retire in
peace and honour; contract his views to domestick plea-
sures ; form the manners of children like himself ; observe
how every year expands the beauty of his daughters, and
how his sons catch ardour from their father's history; he
will give laws to the neighbourhood; dictate axioms to
posterity; and leave the world an example of wisdom and
of happiness.
With hopes like these, he sallies jocund into life ; to
little purpose is he told, that the condition of humanity
admits no pure and unmingled happiness; that the exu-
berant gaiety of youth ends in poverty or disease ; that
uncommon qualifications and contrarieties of excellence,
produce envy equally with applause ; that whatever ad-
miration and fondness may promise him, he must marry a
wife like the wives of others, with some virtues and some
faults, and be as often disgusted by her vices, as delighted
by her elegance ; that if he adventures into the circle of

action, he must expect to encounter men as artful, as
daring, as resolute as himself; that of his children, some
may be deformed; and others vicious ; some may disgrace
him by their follies, some offend him by their insolence,
and some exhaust hini by their profusion. He hears all
this with obstinate incredulity, and wonders by what
malignity old age is influenced, that it cannot forbear to
fill his ears with predictions of misery.
Among other pleasing errours of young minds, is the
opinion of their own importance. He that has not yet
remarked, how little attention his contemporaries can
spare from their own affairs, conceives all eyes turned
upon himself, and imagines every one that approaches
him to be an enemy or a follower, an admirer or a spy.
He therefore considers his fame as involved in the event
of every action. Mauy of the virtues and vices of youth
proceed from this quick sense of reputation. This it is
that gives firmness and constancy, fidelity, and disin-
terestedness, and it is this that kindles resentment for
slight injuries, and dictates all the principles of sanguinary
honour.
But as time brings him forward into the world, he soon
discovers that he only shares fame or reproach with innu-
merable partners ;-that he is left unmarked in the obscu-
rity of the crowd; and that what he does, whether good
or bad, soon gives way to new objects of regard. He
then easily sets himself free from the anxieties of repu-
tation, and considers praise or censure as a transient
breath, which, while he hears it, is passing away, without
any lasting mischief or advantage.
In youth, it is common to measure right and wrong by
the opinion of the world, and, in age, to act without any
measure but interest, and to lose shame without substi-
tuting virtue.
Such is the condition of life, that something is always
wanting to happiness. In youth, we have warm hopes,
which are soon blasted by rashness and negligence, and
great designs, which are defeated by inexperience. In

age, we have knowledge and prudence without spirit to
exert, or motives to prompt them ; we are able to plan
schemes and regulate measures, but have not time remain-
ing to bring them to completion.
INISAINOMINIWWW.MIN
N o• 197. TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 4, 1752.
Coins vulturis hoc erit cadaver?'' MART. Lib. vi. Ep. lxii. 4.
Say, to what vulture's share this carcase falls 7 F. Levels
TO THE RAMBLER.
SIR,
I BELONG to an order of mankind, considerable at
least for their number, to which your notice has never been
formally extended, though equally entitled to regard with
those triflers, who have hitherto supplied you with topicks
of amusement or instruction. I am, Mr. Rambler, a legacy-
hunter; and, as every man is willing to think well of the
tribe in which 'his name is registered, you will forgive my
vanity, if I remind you that the legacy-hunter, however
degraded by an ill-compounded appellation in our barbar-
ous language, was known, as I am told, in ancient Rome,
by the sonorous titles of Captator and Iheredipeta.
My father was an attorney in the country, who married
his master's daughter in hopes of a fortune which he did
not obtain, having been, as he afterwards discovered,
chosen by her only because she had no better offer, and
was afraid of service. I was the first offspring of a mar-
riage, thus reciprocally fraudulent, and therefore could
not be expected to inherit much dignity or generosity, and
if I had them not from nature, was not likely ever to at-
tain them ; for, in the years which I spent at home, I never
heard any reason for action or forbearance, but that we
should 'gain money or lose it ; nor was taught any other
style of commendation, than that Mr. Sneaker is a warm
man, Mr. Gripe has done his business, and needs care for
nobody.
My parents, though otherwise not great philosophers,
knew the force of early education, and took care that the
blank of my understanding should be filled with impres-
sions of the value of money. My mother used, upon all
occasions, to inculcate some salutary axioms, such as might
incite me to keep what I had, and get what" I could; she
informed me that we were in a world, where all must
catch that catch can ; and as I grew up, stored my me-
mory with deeper observations ; restrained me from the
usual puerile expenses, by remarking that many a little
made a mickle ; and, when I envied the. finery of my
neighbours, told me that brag was a good dog, but hold-
fast was a better.
I was soon sagacious enough to discover that I was not
born to great wealth ; and having heard no other name for
happiness, was sometimes inclined to repine at my condi-
tion. But my mother always relieved me, by saying, that
there was money enough in the family, that it was good to
be of kin to means, that I had nothing to do but to please
my friends, and I might come to hold up my head with the
best squire in the country.
These splendid expectations arose from our alliance to
three persons of considerable fortune. My mother's aunt
had attended on a lady, who, when she died, rewarded
her officiousness and fidelity with a large legacy. My
father had two relations, of whom one had broken his in-
dentures and run to sea, from whence, after an absence of
thirty years, he returned with ten thousand pounds; and
the other had lured an heiress out of a window, who, dying
of her first child, had left him her estate, on which he lived,
without any other care than to collect his rents, and pre-
serve from poachers that game which he could not kill
himself.
These hoarders of money were visited and courted by
all who had any pretence to approach them, and received
presents and compliments from cousins who could scarcely
tell the degree of their relation. But we had peculiar ad-

vantages, which encouraged us to hope, that we should by
degrees supplant our competitors. My father, by his pro-
fession, made himself necessary in their affairs; for the
sailor and the chambermaid, be inquired out mortgages
and securities, and wrote bonds and contracts; and had en-
deared himself to the old woman, who once rashly lent an
hundred pounds without consulting him, by informing her,
that her debtor, was on the point of bankruptcy, and post-
ing so expeditiously with an execution, that all the other
creditors were defrauded.
To the squire he was a kind of steward, and had dis-
tinguished himself in his office by his address in raising the
rents, his inflexibility in distressing the tardy tenants, and
his acuteness in setting the parish free from burdensome
inhabitants, by shifting them off to some other settlement.
Business made frequent attendance necessary; trust
soon produced intimacy; and success gave a claim to kind-
ness ; so that we had opportunity to practise all the arts of
flattery and endearment. My mother, who could not sup-
port the thoughts of losing any thing, determined, that all
their fortunes should centre in me; and, in the prosecu-
tion of her schemes, took care to inform me that nothing
cost less than good words, and that it is comfortable to leap
into an estate which another has got.
She trained me by these precepts to the utmost ductility
of obedience, and the closest attention to profit. At an
age when other boys are sporting in the fields or murmur-
ing in the school, I was contriving some new method of
paying my court; inquiring the age of my future benefac-
tors; or considering how I should employ their legacies.
If our eagerness of money could have been satisfied
with the possessions of any one of my relations, they might
perhaps have been obtained ; but as it was impossible to
be always present with all three, our competitors were busy
to efface any trace of affection which we might have left
behind ; and since there was not, on any part, such supe-
riority of merit as could enforce a constant and unshaken
preference, whoever was the last that flattered or obliged,

had, for a time, the ascendant.
My relations maintained a regular exchange of courtesy,
took care to miss no occasion of condolence or congratula-
tion, and sent presents at stated times, but had in their
hearts not much esteem for one another. The seaman
looked with contempt upon the squire as a milksop and a
landman, who had lived without knowing the points of the
compass, or seeing any part of the world beyond the
county-town; and whenever they met, would talk of lon-
gitude and latitude, and circles and tropicks, would scarcely
tell him the hour without some mention of the horizon and
meridian, nor shew him the news without detecting his ig-
norance of the situation of other countries. .
The squire considered the sailor as a rude uncultivated
savage, with little more of human than his form, and di-
verted himself with his ignorance of all common objects
and affairs ; when he could persuade him to go into the
field, he always exposed him to the sportsmen, by sending
him to look for game in improper places; and once pre-
vailed upon him to be present at the races, only that he
might shew the gentlemen how a sailor sat upon a horse.
The old gentlewoman thought herself wiser than both,
for she lived with no servant but a maid, and saved her
money. The others were indeed sufficiently frugal ; but
the squire could not live without dogs and horses, and the
sailor never suffered the day to pass but over a bowl of
punch, to which, as he was not critical in the choice of his
company, every man was welcome that could roar out a
catch, or tell a story.
All these, however, I was to please; an arduous task ;
but what will not youth and avarice undertake ? I had an
unresisting suppleness of temper, and an insatiable wish
for riches ; I was perpetually instigated by the ambition of
my parents, and assisted occasionally by their instructions.
What these advantages enabled me to perform, shall be
told in the next letter of,
Yours, &e. CAPTATOR.
No. 198. ' THE RAMBLER. 417
No. 198. SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 8, 1752.
Nil mihi das ohms: dieis, post fata daturum.

Si non es stultus, scis, Mar., quid cupiam. MART. Lib. xi: 67.
You've told me, Maro, whilst you live,
You'd not a single penny give,
But that whene'er you chance to die,
You'd leave a handsome legacy :
You must be mad beyond redress,
If my next wish you cannot guess. F. Law's.
MR. RAMBLER.
SIR, .
i ,
IL ou, who must have observed the inclination which
almost every man, however unactive or insignificant, dis-
covers of representing his life as distinguished by extra-
ordinary events, will not wonder that Captator thinks his
narrative important enough to be continued. Nothing is
i
more common than for those to tease their companions with
their history, who have neither done nor suffered any thing
that can excite curiosity, or afford instruction.
As I was taught to flatter with the first essays of speech,
and had very early lost every other passion in the desire
of money, I began my pursuit with omens of success ; for
I divided 'my officiousness so judiciously among my rela-
tions, that 1 was equally the favourite of all. When any
of them entered' the door, I went to welcome him with
raptures; when he went away, 1 hung down my head, and
sometimes entreated to go with him with so much importu-
nity, that I very narrowly escaped a consent which I
dreaded in my heart. When at an annual entertainment
they were altogether, I had a harder task ; but plied them
so impartially with caresses, that none could charge me
with neglect; and when they were wearied with my fond-
ness and civilities, I was always dismissed with money to
buy playthings.
Life cannot be kept at a stand : the years of innocence
and prattle were soon at an end, and other qualifications
R II. cc
were necessary to recommend me to continuance of kind-

ness. It luckily happened that none of my friends had
high notions of book-learning, The sailor hated to see
tall boys shut tip in a school, when they might more pro-
perly be seeing the world, and making their fortunes ; and
was of opinion, that when the first rules of arithmetick
were known, all that was necessary to make a man coin-
plete might be learned on ship-board. The squire only
insisted, that so much scholarship was indispensably ne-
cessary, as might confer ability to draw a lease and read
the court hands; and the old chambermaid declared loudly
her contempt of books, and her opinion that they only
took the head off the main chance.
To unite, as well as we could, all their systems, I was
bred at home. Each was taught to believe, that I followed
his directions, and I gained likewise, as my mother ob-
served, this advantage, that I was always in the way; for
she had known many favourite children sent to schools or
academies, and forgotten.
As I grew fitter to be trusted to my own discretion, It.
was often despatched upon various pretences to visit my
relations, with directions from my parents how to ingra-
tiate myself, and drive away .competitors.
1 was, from my infancy, considered by the sailor as a
promising genius, because I liked punch better than wine;
and I took care to improve this prepossession by continual
inquiries about the art of navigation, the degree of heat
and cold in different climates, the profits of trade, and the
dangers of shipwreck. I admired the courage of the sea-
men, and gained his heart by importuning him for a recital
of his adventures, and a sight of his foreign curiosities.
I listened with an appearance of close attention to stories
which I could already repeat, and at the close never failed
to express my resolution to visit distant countries, and my
contempt of the cowards and drones that spend all their
lives in their native parish; though I had in reality no de-
sire of any thing but money, nor ever felt the stimulations
of curiosity or ardour of adventure, but would contentedly
No. DS. TUE RAMBLER. 419
have passed the years of Nestor in receiving rents, and

lending upon mortgages.
The squire I was able to please with less hypocrisy, for
I really thought it pleasant enough to kill the game and
eat it, Some arts of falsehood, however, the hunger of
gold persuaded me to practise, by which, though no other
mischief was produced, the purity of my thoughts was vi-
tiated, and the reverence for truth gradually destroyed.
I sometimes purchased fish, and pretended to have caught
them; I hired the countrymen to shew me partridges, and
then gave my uncle intelligencv of their haunt; I learned
the seats of hares at night, and discovered them in the
morning with:a sagacity that raised the wonder and envy
of old sportsmen. One only obstruction to the advance-
ment of my reputation I could never fully surmount; I
was naturally a coward, and was therefore always left
shamefully behind, when there was a necessity to leap a
hedge, to swim a river, or force the horses to the utmost
speed; but as these exigencies did not frequently happen,
I maintained my honour with sufficient success, and was
never left out of a hunting party.
The old chambermaid was not so certainly, nor so easily
pleased, for she had no predominant passion but avarice,
and was therefore cold and inaccessible. She had no con-
ception of any virtue in a young man but that of saving his
money. When she heard of my exploits in the field, she
would shake her head, inquire how much I should be the
richer for all my performances, and lament that such sums
should be spent upon dogs and horses. If the sailor told
her of my inclination to travel, she was sure there was no
place like England, and could not imagine why any man
that can live in his own country should leave it. This
sullen and frigid being I found means, however, to propi-
tiate by frequent commendations of frugality, and perpetual
care to avoid expense.
From the sailor was our first and most considerable ex-
pectation; for he was richer than the chambermaid, mist
older than the squire. He was so awkward and bashful
Ee 2
420 THE RAMBLER. No. 19S.
among women, that we concluded him secure from matri-

mony; and the noisy fondness with which he used to wel-
come me to his house, made us imagine that he would look
out for no other heir, and that we had nothing to do but
wait patiently for his death. But in the midst of our
triumph, my uncle saluted us one morning with a cry of
transport, and, clapping his hand hard on my shoulder, told
me, I was a happy fellow to have a friend like him in the
world, for he came to fit me out for a voyage with one of
his old acquaintances. I turned pale, and trembled; thy
father told him, that he believed my constitution not fitted
to the sea; and my mother, bursting into tears, cried out,
that her heart would break if she lost me. All this had no
effect ; the sailor was wholly insusceptive of the softer
passions, and, without regard to tears or arguments, per-
sisted in his resolution to make me a man.
We were obliged to comply in appearance, and prepa-
rations were accordingly made. I took leave of my
friends with great alacrity, proclaimed the beneficence of
my uncle with the highest strains of gratitude, and rejoiced
at the opportunity now put into my hands of gratifying my
thirst of knowledge. But, a week before the day ap-
pointed for my departure, I fell sick by my mother's di-
rection, and refused all food but what she privately
brought me; whenever my uncle visited me I was lethar-
gick or delirious, but took care in my raving fits to talk in-
cessantly of travel and merchandize. The room was kept
dark; the table was filled with vials and gallipots; my mo-
ther was with difficulty persuaded not to endanger her life
with nocturnal attendance; my father lamented the loss of
the profits of the voyage; and such superfluity of artifices
was employed, as perhaps might have discovered the
cheat to a man of penetration. But the sailor, unac-
quainted with subtilties and stratagems, was easily de-
luded; and as the ship could not stay for my recovery,
sold the cargo, and left me to re-establish my health at
leisure.
I was sent to regain my flesh in a purer air, lest it
should appear never to have been wasted, and in two

months returned to deplore my disappointment. My uncle
pitied my dejection, and bid me prepare myself against
next year, for no land-lubber should touch his money.
A. reprieve however was obtained, and perhaps some
new stratagem might have succeeded another spring; but
my uncle unhappily made amorous advances to my mother's
maid, who, to promote so advantageous a match, disco-
vered the secret with which only she had been entrusted.
He stormed, and raved, and declaring that he would have
heirs of his own, and not givt' his substance to cheats and
cowards, married the girl in two days, and has now four
children. '
Cowardice is always scorned, and deceit universally de-
tested. I found my friends, if not wholly alienated, at
least cooled in their affection ; the squire, though he did
not wholly discard me, was less fond, and often inquired
when I would go to sea. I was obliged to bear his in-
sults, and endeavoured to rekindle his kindness by assi-
duity and respect; but all my care was vain; he died
without a will, and the estate devolved to the legal heir.
Thus has the folly of my parents condemned me to
spend in flattery and attendance those years in which I
might have been qualified to place myself above hope or
fear. I am arrived at manhood without any useful art,
or generous sentiment ; and, if the old woman should like-
wise at last deceive me, am in danger at once of beggary
and ignorance.
I am, &c.
CAPTATOR.
422 THE RAMBLER. No. 199
•
N°. 199. TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 11, 1752.
Decolor, obscurus, rills. Non ille repexam

Ca-sarion Regum, nee candid,, virginis °rind
Collo, nec insigni splendet per cingula niorsu :
Sed nova si nigri videos miracle& sail,
Tung puleros superat cultus, et quidquid Eois
Indus liloribus rubra scrutatur in alga, CLAUDIA:a:5, XIOil. 10.
Obscure, unpris'd, and dark, the magnet lies,
Nor lures the search of avaricious eyes,
Nor binds the neck, nor sparkles in the hair,
Nor dignifies the great, nor decks the fair.
But search the wonders of the dusky stone,
And own all glories of the mine outdone, -
Each grace of form, each ornament of state,
That decks the fair, or dignifies the great.
TO THE RANIBLER.,
SIR,
THOUGH you have seldom digressed from moral
subjects, I suppose you are not so rigorous or cynical as
to deny the value or usefulness of natural philosophy ; or
to have lived in this age of inquiry and experiment, with-
out any attention to the wonders every day produced by
the pokers of magnetism and the wheels of electricity.
At least, I may be allowed to hope that, since nothing is
more contrary to moral excellence than envy, you will not
refuse to promote the happiness of others, merely because
you cannot partake of their enjoyments.
In confidence, therefore, that your ignorance has not
made you an enemy to knowledge, I offer you the honour
of introducing to the notice of the publick, an adept, who,
having long laboured for the benefit of mankind, is not
willing, like too many of his predecessors, to conceal his
secrets in the grave.
Many have signalized themselves by melting their estates
in crucibles. I was born to no fortune, and therefore had
only my mind and body to devote to knowledge, and the
gratitude of posterity will attest, that neither mind nor
body have been spared. I have sat whole weeks without
sleep by the side of an athanor, to watch the moment of

projection; I have made the first experiment in nineteen
diving engines of new construction ; I have fallen eleven
times speechless under the shock of electricity; I have
twice dislocated my limbs, and once fractured my skull, in
essaying to 4'; and four times endangered my life by
submitting to the transfusion of blood.
In the first pi.riod of my studies, I exerted the powers
of my body more than those of my mind, and was not
without hopes that fame might be purchased by a few
broken bones without the toii,of thinking ;• but having been
shattered by some violent experiments, and constrained to
confine myself to my books, I passed six-and-thirty years
in searching the treasures of ancient wisdom, but am at
last amply recompensed for all my perseverance.
The curiosity of the present race of philosophers, having
been long exercised upon electricity, has been lately trans-
ferred to magnetism; the qualities of the loadstone have
been investigated, if not with much advantage, yet with
great applause ; and as the highest praise of art is to imi-
tate nature, I hope no man will think the makers of artifi-
cial magnets celebrated or reverenced above their deserts.
I have, for some time, employed myself in the same prac-
tice, but with deeper knowledge and more extensive views.
While my contemporaries were touching needles and rais-
ing weights, or busying themselves with inclination and
variation, I have been examining those qualities of magnet-
ism which may be applied to the accommodation and happi-
ness of common life. I have left to inferiour understand-
ings the care of conducting the sailor through the hazards
of the ocean, and reserved to myself the more difficult and
illustrious province of preserving the connubial compact
from violation, and setting mankind free for ever from the
1 In the sixth chapter of Rasselas we have an excellent story of an experi-

mentalist in the art of flying. Dr. Johnson sketched perhaps from life, for we
are informed that he once lodged in the same house with a man who broke his
legs in the daring attempt. .
danger of supposititious children, and the torments of fruit-

less vigilance and anxious suspicion.
To defraud any man of his due- praise is unworthy of a
philosopher; I shall, therefore, openly confess that I owe
the first hint of this inestimable secret to the rabbi Abra-
ham Ben Hannase, who, in his treatise of precious stoned,
has left this account of the magnet : tit7s0145147rt, &c.
" The calamita, or loadstone that attracts iron, produces
many bad fantasies in man. Women fly from this stone.
If, therefore, any husband be disturbed with jealousy, and
fear lest his wife converses with other men, let him lay this
stone upon her while she is asleep. If she be pure, she
will, when she wakes, clasp her husband fondly in her arms;
but if she be guilty, she will fall out of bed, and run away."
When I first read this wonderful passage, I could not
easily conceive why it had remained hitherto unregarded
in such a zealous competition for magnetical fame. It
would surely be unjust to suspect that any of the candi-
dates are strangers to the name or works of rabbi Abra-
ham, or to conclude, from a late edict of the Royal Society
in favour of.the English language; that philosophy and lite-
rature are no longer to act in concert. Yet, how should
a quality so useful escape promulgation, but by the obscu-
rity of the language in which it was delivered ? 'Why are
footmen and chambermaids paid on every side for keeping
secrets, which no caution nor expense could secure from
the all-penetrating magnet? Or, why are so many wit-
nesses summoned, and so many artifices practised, to dis-
cover what so easy an experiment would infallibly reveal I
Full of this perplexity, I read the lines of Abraham to
a friend, who advised me not to expose my life by a mad
indulgence of the love of fame : he warned me by the fate
of Orpheus, that knowledge or genius could give no pro-
tection to the invader of female prerogatives; assured me
that neither the armour of Achilles, nor the antidote of
Mithridates, would be able to preserve me; and counselled
me, if I could not live without renown, to attempt the ac-
quisition of universal empire, in which the honour would

perhaps be equal, and the danger certainly be less.
I, a solitary student, pretend not to much knowledge of
the world, but am unwilling to think it so generally corrupt,
as that a scheme for the detection of incontinence should
bring any danger upon its inventor. My friend has indeed
told me that all the women will be my enemies, and that,
however I flatter myself with hopes of defence from the
men, I shall certainly find myself deserted in the hour of
danger. Of the young men, said he, some will be afraid
of sharing the disgrace of their mothers, and some the dan-
ger of their mistresses ; of those who are married, part are
already convinced of the falsehood of their wives, and part
shut their eyes to avoid conviction; few ever sought for
virtue in marriage, and therefore few will try whether they
have found it. Almost every man is careless or timorous,
and to trust is easier and safer than to examine.
These observations discouraged me, till I began to con-
sider what reception I was likely to find among the ladies,
whom I have reviewed under the three classes of maids,
wives, and widows, and cannot but hope that I may obtain
some countenance among them. The single ladies I sup-
pose universally ready to patronise my method, by which
connubial wickedness may be detected, since no woman
marries with a previous design to be unfaithful to her hus-
band. And to keep them steady in my cause, I promise
never to sell one of my magnets to a man who steals a
girl from school ; marries a woman of forty years younger
than himself; or employs the authority of parents to ob-
tain a wife without her own consent.
Among the married ladies, notwithstanding the insinu-
ations of slander, yet I resolve to believe, that the greater
part are my friends, and am at least convinced, that they
who demand the test, and appear on my side, will supply,
by their spirit, the deficiency of their numbers, and that
their enemies will shrink and quake at the sight of a mag-
net, as the slaves of Scythia fled from the scourge.
Thet,widows will be confederated in my favour by their
curiosity, if not by their virtue ; for it may be observed,
that women who have outlived their husbands, always think
themselves entitled to superintend the conduct of young
wives; and as they are themselves in no danger from this
magnetick trial, I shall expect them to be eminently and
unanimously zealous in recommending it.
With these hopes I shall, in a short time, offer to sale
magnets armed with a particular metallick composition,
which concentrates their virtue, and determines their
agency. It is known that the efficacy of the magnet, in
common operations, depends much upon its armature, and
it cannot be imagined, that a stone, naked, or cased only
in a common manner, will discover the virtues ascribed to
it by Rabbi Abraham. The secret of this metal I shall
carefully. conceal, and, therefore, am not afraid of imitators,
nor shall trouble the offices with solicitations for a patent.
I shall sell them of different sizes, and various degrees
of strength. I have some of a bulk proper to be hung at
the bed's head, as scare-crows, and some so small that they
may be easily concealed. Some I have ground into oval
forms to be hung at watches ; and sonic, for the curious, I
have set in wedding rings, that ladies may never want an
attestation of their innocence. Some I can produce so
sluggish and inert, that they will not act before the third
failure; and others so vigorous and animated, that they ex-
ert their influence against unlawful wishes, if they have
been willingly and deliberately indulged. As it is my prac-
tice honestly to tell my customers the properties of my
magnets, I can judge, by their choice, of the delicacy of
their sentiments. Many have been content to spare cost
by purchasing only -the lowest degree of efficacy, and all
have started with terrour from those which operate upon
the thoughts. One young lady only fitted on a ring of the
strongest energy, and declared that she scorned to separate
her wishes from her acts, or allow herself to think what she
was forbidden to practise.
I am, &c.
HERMETICUS.
No. 200. THE RAMBLER. 4:17
No. 200. SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 15, 1752.
Nemo petit, niodieis glue inittebantur amicis

A Seneca, gum Piso bonus, qua: Cotta solebat
Largiri; ?unique et titulis, et fascibus olim
Major habebatur donandi gloria: sotam
Pescimus, ut ca•ues ciriliter. hoc face, et ego,
Este, ut aline multi, dives tibi, pauper minds. Jc v. Sat. v. 108.
No man expects (for who so much a sot
Who has the times he lives in so forgot?)
What Seneca, what Piso us'd to send,
To raise or to support a sinkilig friend,
Those godlike men, to wanting virtue kind,
Bounty veil plac'd, preferr'd, and well decign'd,
. To all their titles, all that height of pow'r,
Which turns the brains of fools, and fools alone adore.
When your poor client is condetnn'd t' attend,
'Tis all we ask, receive him as a friend :
Descend to this, and then we ask no more ;
Rich to yourself, to all beside be poor. ItowLes.
TO TILE RAMBLER.
Mn. RAMBLER,
SUCH is the tenderness or infirmity of many minds,
that when any affliction oppresses them, they have imme-
diate recourse to lamentation and complaint, which, though
it can only be allowed reasonable when evils admit of
remedy, and then only when addressed to those from
whom the remedy is expected, yet seems even in hopeless
and incurable distresses to be natural, since those by whom
it is not indulged, imagine that they give a proof of ex-
traordinary fortitude by suppressing it.
I am one of those who, with the Sancho of Cervantes,
leave to higher characters the merit of suffering in silence,
and give vent without scruple to any sorrow that swells in
my heart. It is therefore to me a severe aggravation of a
calamity, when it is such as in the common opinion will
not justify the acerbity of exclamation, or support the so-
lemnity of vocal grief. Yet many pains are incident to a
man of delicacy, which the unfeeling world cannot be
persuaded to pity, and which, when they are separated
428 Tim RAMBLER. N°.200.
from their peculiar and personal circumstances, will never

be considered as important enough to claim attention, or
deserve redress.
Of this kind will appear to gross and vulgar apprehen-
sions, the miseries which I endured in a morning visit to
Prospero, a man lately raised to wealth by a lucky project,
and too much intoxicated by sudden elevation, or too little
polished by thought and conversation, to enjoy his present
fortune with elegance and decency.
We set out in the world together ; and for a long time
mutually assisted each other in our exigencies, as either
happened to have money or influence beyond his imme-
diate necessities. You know that nothing' generally en-
dears men so much as participation of dangers and mis-
fortunes ; I therefore always considered Prospero as
united with me in the strongest league of kindness, and
imagined that our friendship was only to be broken by the
hand of death. I felt at his sudden shoot of success an
honest and disinterested joy ; but as I want no part of his
superfluities, am not willing to descend from that equality
in which we hitherto have lived.
Our intimacy was regarded by me as a dispensation
from ceremonial visits ; and it was so long before I saw
him at his new house, that he gently complained of my
neglect, and obliged me to come on a day appointed. I
kept my promise, but found that the impatience of my
friend arose not from any desire to communicate his hap-
piness, but to enjoy his superiority.
When I told my name at the door, the footman went
to see if his master was at home, and, by the tardiness of
his return, gave me reason to suspect that time was taken
to deliberate. He then informed me, that Prospero de-
sired my company, and shewed the staircase carefully
secured by mats from the pollution of my feet. The best
apartments were ostentatiously set open, that I. might
have a distant view of the magnificence which I was not
permitted to approach ; and my old friend receiving me
with all the insolence of condescension at the top of the
stairs, conducted me to a back room, where he told me he

always breakfasted when he had not great company.
On the floor where we sat lay a carpet covered with a
cloth, of which Prospero ordered his servant to lift up a
corner, that I might contemplate the brightness of the
colours, and the elegance ,of the texture, and asked me
whether I had ever seen any thing so fine before3 I did
not gratify his folly with any outcries of admiration, but
coldly bade the footman let down the cloth.
We then sat down, and I began to hope that pride was
glutted with persecution, when Prospero desired that I
would give the servant leave to adjust the cover of my
chair, which was slipt a little aside, to shew the damask ;
he informed me that he had bespoke ordinary chairs for
common use, but had been disappointed by his trades-
man. I put the chair aside with my foot, and drew
another so hastily, that I was entreated not to rumple the
carpet.
Breakfast was at last set, and as I was not willing to
indulge the peevishness that began to seize me, I com-
mended the tea : Prospero then told me, that another time
I should taste his finest sort, but that he had only a very
small quantity remaining, and reserved it for those whom
he thought himself obliged to treat with particular respect.
While we were conversing upon such subjects as imagi-
nation happened to suggest, he frequently digressed into
directions to the servant that waited, or made a slight
inquiry after the jeweller or silversmith; and once, as I
was pursuing an argument with some degree of earnest-
ness, he started from his posture of attention, and ordered,
that if lord Lofty called on him that morning, he should
be shown into the best parlour.
My patience was yet not wholly subdued. I was willing
to promote his satisfaction, and therefore observed that
the figures on the china were eminently pretty. Prospero
had now an opportunity of calling for his Dresden china,
which, says he, I always associate with my chased tea-
kettle. The cups were brought; I once resolved not to
430 THE RAMBLER. N. 200.
have looked upon them, but my curiosity prevailed. - When

I had examined them a little, Prospero desired me to set
them down, for they who were accustomed only to common
dishes, seldom handled china with much care. You will,
I hope, commend my philosophy, when I tell you that I
did not dash his baubles to the ground.
He was now so much elevated with his own greatness,
that he thought some humility necessary to avert the
ghince of envy, and therefore told me, with an air of soft
composure, that I was not to estimate life by external
appearance, that all these shining acquisitions had added
little to his happiness, that he still remembered with plea.
sure the days in which he and I were upon the level, and
had often, in the moment of reflection, been doubtful,
whether he should lose much by changing his condition
for mine.
I began now to be afraid lest his pride should, by si-
lence and submission be emboldened to insults that could
not easily be borne, and therefore coolly considered, how
I should repress it without such bitterness of reproof as I
was yet unwilling to use. But he interrupted my medita-
tion, by asking leave to be dressed, and told me, that he had
promised to attend some ladies in the park, and, if I was
going the same way, would take me in his chariot. I had
no inclination to any other favours, and therefore left him
without any intention of seeing him again, unless some
misfortune should restore his understanding.
I am, &c.
ASPER.
Though I am not wholly insensible of the provocations

which my correspondent has received, I cannot altogether
commend the keenness of his resentment, nor encourage
him to persist in his resolution of breaking off' all com-
merce with his old acquaintance. One of the golden
precepts of Pythagoras directs, that a friend should not be
hated for little faults; and surely he, upon whom nothing
worse can be charged, than that he mats his stairs, and
INT°. 200. THE RAMBLER. 431
covers his carpet, and sets out his finery to show before
those whom he does not admit to use it, has yet committed
nothing that should exclude him from common degrees of
kindness. Such improprieties often proceed rather from
stupidity than malice. Those who thus shine only to
dazzle, are influenced merely by custom and example,
and neither examine, nor are qualified to examine, the
motives of their own practice, or to state the nice limits
between elegance and ostentation, They are often in-
nocent of the pain which their vanity produces, and insult
others when they have no worse purpose than to please
themselves.
Ile that too much refines his delicacy will always en-
danger his quiet. Of those with whom nature and virtue
oblige us to converse, some are ignorant of the art of
pleasing, and offend when they design to caress ; some
are negligent, and gratify themselves without regard to
the quiet of another; some, perhaps, are malicious, and
feel no greater satisfaction in prosperity, titan that of
raising envy and trampling inferiority. But, whatever
be the motive of insult, it is always best to overlook it,
for folly scarcely can deserve resentment, and malice is
punished by neglect m.
m Garrick's little vanities are recognized by all in the character of Prospero.
Mr. Boswell informs us, that he never forgave its pointed satire. On the
same authority we are assured, that though Johnson so dearly loved to ridicule
his pupil, yet he so habitually considered him as his own property, that lie
would permit no one beside to hold up his weaknesses to derision.
N°. 201. TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 18, 1752.
Sanctus haberi
Justithcque tenor faztis dictisque mereris,
Adnosco procerem. Juv. Sat. Lib. viii. 24.
Convince the world that you're devout and true ;
Be just in all you say, and all you do;
Whatever be your birth, you're sure to be
A peer of the first magnitude to me. STEPNEY.
.
BOY LE has observed, that the excellency of manufactures,
and the facility of labour, would be much promoted, if the
various expedients and contrivances which lie concealed
in private hands, were by reciprocal communications made
generally known ; for there are few operations that are
not performed by one or other with some peculiar advan-
tages, which, though singly of little importance, would, by
conjunction and concurrence, open new inlets to knowledge,
and give new powers to diligence.
There are, in like manner, several moral excellencies
distributed among the different classes of a community.
LIt was said by Cujacius, that he never read more than
one book by which he was not instructed ; and he that
shall inquire after virtue with ardour and attention, will
seldom find a man by whose example or sentiments he
may not be improved.
Every profession has some essential and appropriate
virtue, without which there can be no hope of honour or
success, and which, as it is more or less cultivated, confers
within its sphere of activity different degrees of merit and
reputation. As the, astrologers range the subdivisions of
mankind under the planets which they suppose to influence
their lives, the moralist may distribute them according to
the virtues which they necessarily practise, and consider
them as distinguished by prudence or fortitude, diligence
or patience.
So much are the modes of excellence settled by time
and place, that men may be heard boasting in one street
N°.201.' THE RAMBLER. - 433
of that which they would anxiously conceal in another.

The grounds of scorn and esteem, the topicks of praise and
satire, are varied accordingto the several virtues or vices
which the course of life has disposed men to admire or ab-
hor; but he who is solicitous for his own improvement,
must not be limited by local reputation, but select from
every tribe of mortals their characteristical virtues, and
constellate in himself the scattered graces which shine sin-
gle in other men.
The chief praise to which a trader aspires is that of
punctuality, or an exact and rigorous observance of com-
mercial engagements; nor is there any vice of which he so ,
much dreads the imputation, as of negligence and instabi,
lity. This is a quality which the interest of mankind re-
quires to be diffused through all the ranks of life, but which
many seem to consider as a vulgar and ignoble virtue, be-
low the ambition of greatness or attention of wit, scarcely
requisite among men of gaiety and spirit, and sold at its
highest rate when it is sacrificed to a frolick or a jest.
Every man has daily occasion to remark what vexations
arise from this privilege of deceiving one another. The
active and vivacious have so long disdained the restraints
of truth, that promises and appointments have lost their
cogency, and both parties neglect their stipulations, be-
cause each concludes that they will be broken by the
other.
Negligence is first admitted in small affairs, and
strengthened by petty indulgences. He that is not yet
hardened by custom, ventures not on the violation of im-
portant engagements, but thinks himself bound by his
word in cases of property or danger, though he allows him-
self to forget ,at what time he is to meet ladies in the park,
or at what tavern his friends are expecting him.
This laxity of honour would be more tolerable, if it could
be restrained to jhe play-house, the ball-room, or the card-
table ; yet eveti there it is sufficiently troublesome, and
darkens those moments with expectation, suspense, and
It. IL rf
resentment, which are set aside for pleasure, and from

which we naturally hope for uumingled enjoyment, and
total relaxation. But he that suffers the slightest breach
in his morality, can seldom tell what shall enter it, or how
wide it shall be made; when a passage is open, the influx
of corruption is every moment wearing down opposition,
and by slow degrees deluges the heart.
Aliger entered the world a youth of lively imagination,
extensive views, and untainted principles. His curiosity
incited him to' range from place to place, and tvy all the
varieties of conversation ; his elegance of address and fer-
tility of ideas gained him friends wherever he appeared ;
or at least_ he found the general kindness of reception
always shown to a young man whose birth and fortune give
him a claim to notice, and who has neither by vice nor folly
destroyed his privileges. Aliger was pleased with this ge-
neral smile of mankind, and was industrious to preserve it
by compliance and' officiousness, but did not suffer his de-
sire of pleasing to vitiate his integrity. It was his esta-
blished maxim, that a promise is never to be broken ; nor
was it without long reluctance that he once suffered himself
to be drawn away from a festal engagement by the impor-
tunity of another company.
He spent the evening, as is usual in the rudiments of
vice, in perturbation and imperfect enjoyment, and met his
disappointed friends in the morning with confusion and ex-
cuses. His companions, not accustomed to such scrupti-
lousanxiety, laughed at his uneasiness, compounded the
offence for a bottle, gave him courage to break his word
again, and again levied the penalty. He ventured the
same experiment upon another society, and found them
equally ready to consider it as a venial fault, always inci-
dent to a man of quickness and gaiety ; till, by degrees, he
began to think himself at liberty to follow the last invita-
tion, and was no longer shocked at the turpitude of false-
hood. He made no difficulty to promise his presence at
distant places, and if listlessness happened to creep upon
•
him, would sit at home with great tranquillity, and has
often sunk to sleep in a chair, while he held ten tables in
continual expectations of his entrance.
It was so pleasant to live in perpetual vacancy, that he
soon dismissed his attention as an useless incumbrance,
and resigned himself to carelessness and dissipation, with-
out any regard to the future or thepast, or any other mo-
tive s of action than the impulse of a sudden desire, or the
attraction of immediate pleasure. The absent were imme-
diately forgotten, and the hopes or fears felt by others, had
no influence upon his conduct. He was in speculation .
completely just, but never kept liis promise to a creditor;
he was bene,volent, but always deceived those• friends
whom he undertook io patronise or assist; he was prudent,
but suffered his affairs to be embarrassed for want of regu-
lating his accounts at stated times. He courted a young
lady, and when the settlements were drawn, took a ramble
into the country on the day appointed to sign them. He
resolved to travel, and sent his chests on shipboard, hut
delayed to follow them till he lost his passage. He was
summoned as an evidence in a cause of great importance,
and loitered on the way till the trial was past. If is said
that when he bad, with great expense, formed an interest
in a borough, his opponent contrived, by some agents who
knew his temper, to lure him away on the day of election.
His benevolence draws him into the commission of a
thousand crimes, which others less kind or civil would
escape. His courtesy invites application ; his promises
produce dependance ; he has his pockets filled with peti-
tions, which he intends some time to deliver and enforce,
and his table covered with letters of request, with which
he purposes to comply ; but time slips imperceptibly away,
while he is either idle or busy; his friends lose their oppor-
tunities, and charge upon him their miscarriages and cala-
mities.
This character, however contemptible, is not peculiar to
Aliger. They whose activity of imagination is often shifting
the scenes of expectation, are frequently subject to such
rf 2
sallies of caprice as make all their actions fortuitous, de-

stroy the value of their friendship, obstruct the efficacy of
their virtues, and set them below the meanest of those
that persist in their resolutions, execute what they design,
and perform what they have promised.
MONWOWN,PIMMI•PIAMP!
N°. 202. SATURDAY, FEBRUARY,22, 1752.
npac ihravra &AZT icrriv 6 rivqc npimara,

Kai warTic ailroii Kararppoveiv inroXaµPciva.
'0 Bi furpiwc rpirraiv rEparxEXityrEpov .
"Aravra r avtapa, Aaisrpia, sbipet. CALLIMACHUS.
From no affliction is the poor exempt,
He thinks each eye surveys him with contempt;
Unmanly poverty subdues the heart,
Cankers each wound, and sharpen's ev'ry dart. F. Lewis.
AMONG those who have endeavoured to promote learning,

and rectify judgment, it has been long customary to com-
plain of the abuse of words, which are often admitted to
signify things so different, that, instead of assisting the un-
derstanding as vehicles of knowledge, they produce errdur,
dissention, and perplexity, because what is affirmed in one
sense, is received in another.
If this ambiguity sometimes embarrasses the most solemn
controversies, and obscures the demonstrations of science,
it may well be expected to infest the pompous periods of
declaimers, whose purpose is often only to amuse with fal-
lacies, and change the colours of truth and falsehood ; or
the musical compositions of poets, whose style is profes-
sedly figurative, and whose art is imagined to consist in
distorting words from their original meaning.
There are few words of which the reader believes hint-
self better to know the import, than of poverty; yet, who-
ever studies either the poets or philosophers, will find such
an account of the condition expressed by that term as his
experience or observation will not easily discover to be
true. Instead of the meanness, distress, complaint, anxi-

ety, and dependance, which have hitherto been combined
in his ideas of poverty, he will read of content, innocence,
and cheerfulness, of health and safety, tranquillity and
freedom ; of pleasures not known but to then unencum-
bered with possessions ; and of sleep that sheds his bal-
samick anodynes only on the cottage. Such are the bless-
ings to be obtained by the resignation of riches, that kings
might descend from their thrones, and generals retire from
a triumph, only to slumber undisturbed in the elysium of
poverty. $$
If these authors do not deceive us, nothing can be more

absurd than that perpetual contest for wealth which keeps
the world in commotion ; nor any complaints more justly
censured than those which proceed from want of the gifts
of fortune, which we are taught by the great masters of
moral wisdom to consider as golden shackles, by which the
wearer is at once disabled and adorned ; as luscious poi-
sons which may for a time please the palate, but soon be-
tray their malignity by languor'and by pain.
It is the great privilege of poverty to be happy unenvied,
to be healthful without physick, and secure without a
guard ; to obtain from the bounty of nature, what the
great and wealthy are compelled to procure by the help of
artists and attendatits, of flatterers and spies.
But it will be found upon a nearer view, that they who
extol the happiness of poverty, do not mean the same state
with those who deplore its miseries. Poets have their
imaginations filled with ideas of magnificence; and being
accustomed to contemplate the downfall of empires, or to
contrive forms of lamentations, for monarchs in distress,
rank all the classes of mankind in a state of poverty, who
make no approaches to the dignity of crowns. To be poor,
in the epick language, is only not to command the wealth
of nations, nor to have fleets and armies in pay.
Vanity has perhaps contributed to this impropriety of
style. He that wishes to become a philosopher at a cheap
rate, easily gratifies his ambition by submitting to poverty
when he does not feel it, and by boasting his contempt of

riches when he has already more than he enjoys. He who
would shew the extent of his views, and grandeur of his
conceptions, or discover his acquaintance with splendour
and magnificence, may talk like Cowley, of an humble sta-
tion and quiet obscurity, of the paucity of nature's wants,
and the inconveniencies of superfluity, and at last, like
him, limit his desires to five hundred pounds a year; a
fortune, indeed, not exuberant, when we compare it with
the expenses of pride and luxury, but to which it little
becomes a philosopher to affix the name of poverty, since
no man can, with any propriety, be termed poor, who
does not see the greater part of mankind richer than him-
self.
As little is the general condition of human life under-
stood by the panegyrists and historians, who amuse us
with accounts of the poverty of heroes and sages. Riches
are of no value in themselves, their use is discovered only
in that which they, procure. They are not coveted, unless
by narrow understandings, which confound the means with
the end, but. for the sake of power, influence, and esteem ;
or, by some of less elevated and refined sentiments, as ne-
cessary:to sensual enjoyment.
The pleasures of luxury, many have, without uncommon
virtues been able to despise, even when affluence and
idleness have concurred to tempt them ; and therefore
he who feels nothing from indigence but the want of gra-
tifications -which he could not in any other condition make
consistent with innocence, has given no proof of eminent
patience. Esteem and influence every man desires, but
they are equally pleasing, and equally valuable, by what-
ever-means they are obtained ; and whoever has found the
art of securing them without the help of money, ought, in
reality, to be accounted rich, since he has all that riches
can purchase to a wise man. Cincinnatus, 'though he
lived ;upon a few acres cultivated by his own hand, was
sufficiently removed from all the evils generally compre-
hended under the name of poverty, when his reputation
was such, that the voice of his country called him from his
farm to take absolute command into his hand; nor was
Diogenes much mortified by his residence in a tub, where
he was honoured with the visit 'of Alexander the Great.
The same fallacy has conciliated veneration to the re-
ligious orders. When we behold a man abdicating the
lope of terrestrial possessions, and precluding himself,' by
an irrevocable vow, from the pursiiit ana acquisition of all
that his fellow-beings consider as worthy of wishes and
endeavours, we are immediately struck with the purity,
abstraction, and firmness ot,his mind, and regard him as
wholly employed in securing the interests of futurity, and
devoid of arty other care than to gain, .at whatever price,
the surest passage to eternal rest.
Yet, what can the votary be justly said to have lost of
his present happiness? If he resides in a convent, ,he
converses only with men whose condition is the same with
his own ; he has, film the munificence of the founder, all
the necessaries of life, and is safe from, that deititution,
which Hooker declares to be " such an impediment to
virtue, as, till it be removed, suffereth not the, mind of
man to admit any other care." All temptations to envy
and competition are shut out from his retreat; he is not
pained with the sight of unattainable dignity, nor insulted
with the bluster of insolence, or the smile of forced fami-
liarity. If he wanders abroad, the sanctity of his chat
racter amply compensates all other distinctions ; he is
seldom seen but with reverence, nor heard but with sub-
mission.
It has been remarked, that death, though often defied
in the field, seldom fails to terrify when it approaches the
bed of sickness in its natural horrour ; so poverty may
easily be endured, while associated with dignity, and re-
putation, but will always be shunned and dreaded, when it
is accompanied with ignominy and contempt,
• No. 203. TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 25, 1752.
Cum voles illa dies, qua nil nisi corprkis Indus

Jus habet, incerti spatium mihi frniat ea. Chin. Met. xv. 873.
Come, soon or late, death's undetermin'd day,
This mortal being only can decay. WELSIILD.
IT seems to be the fate of man to seek all his consolations

in futurity. The time present is seldom able to fill desire
or imagination with 'immediate enjoyment, and we are
forced to supply its deficiencies by recollection or anti-
cipation.
Every one has so often detected the fallaciousneSs of
hope, and the inconvenience of teaching himself to expect
what a thousand accidents may preclude, that, when time
has abated the confidence with which youth rushes out to
take possession of the world, we endeavour, or wish, to
find entertainment in the review of life, and to repose upon
real facts, and certain experience. This is perhaps one
reason, among many, why age delights in narratives.
But so full is the world of calamity, that every source
of pleasure is polluted, and every retirement of tranquil-
lity disturbed. When time has supplied us with events
sufficient to employ our thoughts, it has mingled them with
so many disasteis, that we shrink from their remembrance,
dread their intrusion upon our minds, and fly from them as
from enemies that pursue us with torture.
No man past the middle point of life can sit down to
feast upon the pleasures of youth without finding the ban-
quet embittered by the cup of sorrow ; he may revive
lucky accidents, and pleasing extravagancies ; many days
of harmless frolick, or nights of honest festivity, will per-
haps recur; or, if he has been engaged in scenes of action,
and acquainted with affairs of difficulty and vicissitudes of
fortune, he may enjoy the nobler pleasure of looking back
upon distress firmly supported, dangers resolutely encoun-
tered, and opposition artfully defeated. YEneas properly '''
comforts his companions, when, after the horrours of a
storm, they have landed on an unknown and desolate coun-

try, with the hope that their miseries will be at some dis-
tant time recounted with delight. There are few higher
gratifications, than that of reflection on surmounted evils,
when they are not incurred nor protracted by our fault,
and neither reproach us with cowardice nor guilt.
But this felicity is almost always abated by the reflec-
tion that they with whom we should be most pleased to
share it are now in the grave. A few years make such
havock in human generations, that we soon see ourselves
deprived of those with whom• we entered the world, and
whom the participation of pleasures or fatigues bad en-
deared to otir remembrance. The man of enterprise re-
counts his adventures and expedients, but is forced, at the
close of the relation, to pay a sigh to the names of those
that contributed to his success; be that passes his life
among_ the gayer part of mankind, has his remembrance
stored with remarks and repartees of wits, whose spright-
liness and merriment are now lost in perpetual silence ;
the trader, whose industry has supplied the want of in-
heritance, repines in solitary plenty at the absence of com-
panions, with whom lie had planned out amusements far
his latter years; and the scholar, whose merit, after a long
series of efforts, raises him from obscurity, looks round in
vain from his exaltation for his old friends or enemies,
whose applause or mortification would heighten his triumph.
Among Martial's requisites to happiness is, Res non
parta labore, sed relicts, " an estate not gained by in-
dustry, but left by inheritance." It is necessary to the
completion of every good, that it be timely obtained ; for
whatever comes at the close of life will come too late to
give much delight; yet all human happiness has its de-
fects. Of what we do not gain for ourselves we have only
a faint and imperfect fruition, because we cannot com-
pare the difference between want and possession, or at
,least can derive from it no conviction of our own abilities,
itor any increase of self-esteem ; what we acquire by
bravery or science, by mental or corporeal diligence,
comes at last when we cannot communicate, and, therefore,

cannot enjoy it.
Thus every period of life is obliged to borrow its happi-
ness from the time to come. In youth we have nothing
past to entertain us, and in age, we derive little from re-
trospect but hopeless sorrow. Yet the future likewise
has its limits, which the imagination dreads to approach,
but which we see to be not far distant. The loss of our
friends and companions impresses hourly upon us the ne-
cessity of our own departure ; we know that the schemes
of man are quickly at an end, that we must soon lie down
in the grave with the forgotten multitudes of former ages,
and yield our place to others, who, like us, shall be driven
awhile by hope or fear about the surface of the earth, and
then like us be lost in the shades of death.
Beyond this termination of our material existence, we
are, therefore, obliged to extend our hopes; and almost
every man indulges his imagination with something, which
is not to happen till he has changed his manner of being:
some amuse themselves with entails and settlements, pro-
vide for the perpetuation of families and honours, or con-
trive to obviate the dissipation of the fortunes, which it has
been their business to accumulate; others, more refined or
exalted, congratulate their own hearts upon the future ex-
tent of their reputation, the reverence of distant nations,
and the gratitude of unprejudiced posterity.
They whose souls are so chained down to coffers and
tenements, that they cannot conceive a state in which
they shall look upon them with less solicitude, are seldom
attentive or flexible to arguments ; but the votaries of fame
are capable of reflection, and, therefore, may be called to
reconsider the probability of their expectations.
Whether to be remembered in remote times be worthy
of a wise man's wish, has not yet been satisfactorily de-
cided ; and, indeed, to be long remembered, can happen
to so small a number, that the bulk of mankind has very
little interest in the question. There is never room in the
world for more than a certain quantity or measure of re-
nown. The necessary business of life, the immediate

pleasures or pains of every condition, leave us not leisure
beyond a fixed proportion for contemplations which do not
forcibly influence our present welfare. When this vacuity
is filled, no characters can be admitted into the circulation
of fame; but by occupying the place of some that must be
thrust into oblivion. The eye of the mind, like that of the
body, can only extend its view to new objects, by losing
sight of those which are now before it.
Reputation is therefore a meteor, which blazes a while
and disappears for ever; and, if3ve except a feed transcend-
ent *and invincible names, which no revolutions of opi-
nion or length of time is able to suppress; all those that
engage our thoughts, or diversify our conversation, are
every moment basting to obscurity, as new favourites are,
adopted by fashion.
It is•not therefore from this world, that any ray of com-
fort can proceed, to cheer the gloom of the last hour. But
futurity has still its prospects; there is yet happiness in
reserve, which, if we transfer our attention to it, will sup-
port us in the pains of disease, and the languor of decay.
This happiness we may expect with confidence; because it
is out of the power. of chance, and may be attained by all
that sincerely desire and earnestly pursue it. On this
therefore every mind ought finally to rest. Hope is the
chief blessing of man, and that hope only is rational, of
which we are certain that it cannot deceive us.
No..204. SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 29, 1752*

•
Nemo tam divos habuit _ferrates,
Crastiman ut posit sibi polliceri. , SENECA .
Of heaven's protection who can be :
So confident to utter this?—
To-morrow I will spend in bliss. F. LEWIS.
SHOED, lord of Ethiopia, to the inhabitants of the world: .

To the sons of Presumption, humility and fear; and to the
daughters of Sorrow, content and acquiescence.
Thus, in the twenty-seventh year of his. reign, spoke
Seged, the monarch of forty nations, the distributor of the
waters of the Nile: " At length, Seged, thy toils are at an
end ; thou bast reconciled disaffection, thou hast sup-
pressed rebellion, thou hast pacified the jealousies of thy
courtiers, fhou hast chased war from thy confines, and
erected fortresses in the lands of thine enemies. All who
have offended thee tremble in thy presence, and wherever
thy voice is heard, it is obeyed. , Thy throne is surrounded
by armies, numerous' as the locusts of the summer, and
resistless as the blasts of pestilence. Thy magazines are
stored with ammunition, thy treasures overflow' with the
tribute of conquered kingdoms. Plenty waves upon thy
fields, and opulence glitters in thy cities. Thy nod is as
the earthquake that shakes the mountains, and thy smile
as the dawn of the vernal day. In thy hand is the strength
of thousands, And thy health is the health of millions.
Thy palace is gladdened by the song of praise, and thy
path perfumed by the breath of benediction. Thy subjects
gaze upon thy greatness, and think of danger or misery no
more. Why, Seged, wilt not thou partake the blessings
thou bestowest? Why shouldst thou only forbear to rejoice
in this general felicity? Why should thy face be clouded
with anxiety, when the meanest of those who call thee
sovereign, gives the day to festivity, and the night to
peace? At length, Seged, reflect and be wise. What is
the gift of conquest but safety ? Why are riches collected
but to purchase happiness ?"
Seged then ordered the house of pleasure, built in an
island of the lake of Dambea, to be prepared for his re-
ception. " I will retire," says he, " for ten days from tu-
mult and care, from counsels and decrees: Long quiet is
not the lot of the governours of nations, but a cessation of
ten days cannot be denied me. This short interval of hap-
pineSs may surely be secured from the interruption of fear
or perplexity, sorrow or disappointment. I will exclude
all trouble from my abode, and remove from my thoughts
whatever may confuse the harmony of the concert, or abate
the sweetness of the banquet. I will fill the whole capacity
of my soul with enjoyment, and try what it is to live with-
out a wish unsatisfied.".
In a few days the orders were performed, and Seged
basted to the palace of Dambea, which stood in an island
cultivated only for pleasure, planted with every flower
that spreads its colours to the sun, and every shrub that
sheds fragrance in the air. In one part of this extensive
garden, were open walks for excursions in the morning;
in another, thick groves, and silent arbours, and bubbling
fountains for repose at noon. All that pould solace the
sense, or flatter the fancy, all that industry could extort
from nature, or wealth furnish to art, all that conquest
could seize, or beneficence attract, was collected together,
and every perception of delight was excited and gratified.
Into this delicious region Seged summoned all the per-
sons of his court, who seemed eminently qualified to re-
ceive or communicate pleasure. His call was readily
obeyed ; the young, the fair, the vivacious, and the witty,
were all in haste to be sated with felicity. They sailed
jocund over the lake, which seemed to smooth its surface
before them : their passage was cheered with musick, and
their hearts dilated with expectation.
Seged, landing here with his band of pleasure, de-
termined from that hour to break off all acquaintance with
discontent, to give his heart for ten days to ease and jollity,
and then fall back to the common state of man, and suffer
his life to be diversified, as before, with joy and sorrow.
He immediately entered his chamber, to consider where
he should begin his circle of happiness. He had all the
artists of delight before him, but knew not whom to call,
since he could not enjoy one, but by delaying' the perform-
ance of another. He chose and rejected, he resolved and
changed his resolution, till his faculties were harassed, and
his thoughts confused ; then returned to the apartment
where his presence was expected, with languid eyes and
clouded countenance, and spread the infection of uneasi-
ness over the whole assembly. He observed their de-
pression, and was offended, for he found his vexation in-
creased by those whom he expected to dissipte and re-
lieve it. He retired again to his private chaIber, and
sought for consolation in his own mind; one thought flowed
in upon another ; a long succession of images seized his •
attention ; the moments crept imperceptibly away through
the gloom of pensiveness, till, having recovered his tran-
quillity, he lifted his head, and saw the lake brightened by
the setting sun. " Such," said Seged, sighing, " is the
longest day of human existence : before we have learned
to use it, we find it at an end."
The regret which he felt for the loss of so great a part
of his first day, took from him all disposition to enjoy the
evening i and, after having endeavoured, for the sake of
his attendants, to force an airs of gaiety, and excite that
mirth which he could not share, he resolved to refer his
hopes to the -next morning, and lay down to partake with
the slaves of labour and poverty the blessing of sleep.
He rose early the second morning, and resolved now to
be happy. He therefore fixed upon the gate of the palace
an edict, importing, that whoever, during nine days, should
appear in the presence of the king with a dejected counte-
nance, or utter any expression of discontent or sorrow,
should be driven for ever from the palace of Dambea.
This edict was immediately made known in every cham-
ber of the court, and bower of the gardens. Mirth was
frighted away, and they who were before dancing in the

lawns, or „singing in the shades, were at once engaged in
the care of regulating' their looks, that Seged might find
his will punctually obeyed, and see none among them liable
to banishment.
Seged now met every face settled in a smile; but a
smile that betrayed solicitude, timidity, and constraint.
He accosted his favourites with familiarity and softness;
but they.durst not speak without premeditation, lest they
should be convicted of discontent or sorrow. He proposed
diversions, to which no objection was made, because ob-
jection would have implied uneasiness; but they were 're-
garded with, indifference by the courtiers, who had no
other desire than to signalize themselves by clamorous
exultation. He offered various topicks of conversation,
but obtained only forced jests, and laborious laughter; and
after many attempts to animate his train to confidence and
alacrity, was obliged to confess to himself the impotence
of command, and resign another day to grief and disap-
pointment.
He at last relieved his companions from their terrours,
and shut himself up in his chamber to ascertain, by differ-
ent measures, the felicity of the succeeding days. At
length he threw himself on the bed, and closed his eyes,
but imagined, in his sleep, . that his palace and gardens
were overwhelmed by an inundation, and waked with all
the terrours of a man struggling in the water. He com-
posed himself again to rest, but was affrighted by an ima-
ginary irruption into his kingdom ; and striving, as is usual
in dreams, without ability to move, fancied himself betrayed
to his enemies, and again started up with horrour and in-
dignation.
It was now day, and fear was so strongly impressed on
his mind, that he could sleep no more. He rose, but his
thoughts were filled with the deluge and invasion, nor was
he able to disengage his attention, or mingle with vacancy
and ease in any amusement. At length his perturbation
gave way to reason, and he resolved no longer to be ha-
rassed by visionary miseries; but, before this resolution

could be completed, half the day had elapsed: he felt a
new conviction of the uncertainty of human schemes, and
could not forbear to bewail the weakness of that being
whose quiet was to be interrupted by vapours of the fancy.
Having been first disturbed by a dream, he afterwards
grieved that a dream could disturb him. He at last dis-
covered, that his terrours and grief were equally vain, and
that to lose the present in lamenting the past, was volun-
tarily to protract a melancholy vision. The third day was
now declining, and Seged again resolved to be happy on
the morrow.
i
No. 205. TUESDAY, MARCH 3, 1752.
Vol a t ambiguis
Mobilis alis bora. nec ulli
Prastat vein Fortuna fidem. SENECA. Hippo!. 1141.
On fickle wings the minutes haste,
And fortune's favours never last. F. LEW rs.
ON the fourth morning Seged rose early, refreshed with

sleep, vigorous with health, and eager with expectation.
He entered the garden, attended by the princes and ladies
of his court, and seeing nothing about him but airy cheek-
fulness, began to say to his heart, " This day shall be a
day of pleasure." The sun played upon the water, the
birds warbled in the groves, and the gales quivered among
the branches. He roved from walk to walk as chance
directed him, and sometimes listened to the songs, some-
times mingled with the dancers, sometimes let loo'se his
imagination in flights of merriment ; and sometimes uttered
grave reflections, and sententious maxims, and feasted on
the admiration with which they were received.
Thus the day rolled on, without any accident of vexa-
tion, or intrusion of melancholy thoughts. All that be-
held him caught gladness from his looks, and the sight of •
happiness conferred by himself filled his heart with satis-
faction: but having passed three hours in this harmless
luxury, he was alarmed on a sudden by an universal
scream among the women, and turning back saw the
whole -assembly flying in confusion. A young croco-
dile had risen out of the lake, and was ranging the garden
in wantonness or hunger. Seged beheld him with indig-
nation, as a disturber of his felicity, and chased him back
into the lake, but could not persuade his retinue to stay,
or- free their hearts from the terrour which had seized
upon them. The princesses ,inclosed themselves in the
palace, and could yet scarcely believe themselves in safety.
Every attention was fixed upon the late danger and
escape, and no mind was any longer at leisure for gay
sallies or careless prattle.
Seged had now no other employment than to contem-
plate the innumerable casualties which lie in ambush on
every side to intercept the happiness of man, and break in
upon the hour of delight and tranquillity. He had, how-
ever, the consolation of thinking, that he had not been
now disappoiuted by his own fault, and that the accident
which had blasted the hopes of the day, might easily be
prevented by future caution.
That he might provide for the pleasure of the next
morning, he resolved to repeal his penal edict, since he
had already found that discontent and melancholy were
not to be frighted away by the threats of authority, and
that pleasure would only reside where she was exempted
from control. He therefore invited all the companions
of his retreat to unbounded pleasantry, by proposing
prizes for those who should, on the following day, distin-
guish themselves by any festive performances; the tables
of the, antechamber were covered with gold and pearls,
and robes and garlands decreed the rewards of those who
could refine elegance or heighten pleasure.
At this display of riches every eye immediately sparkled,
and every tongue was busied in celebrating the bounty
and magnificence of the emperour. But when' Segel en-
R. IL eig
tered, in hopes of uncommon entertainment from univer-

sal emulation, he found that any passion too strongly agi-
tated, puts an end to that tranquillity which is necessary
to mirth, and that the mind, that is to be moved by the
gentle ventilations of gaiety, must be first smoothed by a
total calm. Whatever we ardently wish to gain, we must
in the same degree be afraid to lose, and fear and pleasure
cannot dwell together.
All was now care and solicitude. Nothing was done or
spoken, but with so visible an endeavour at perfection, as
always failed to delight, though it sometimes forced admi-
ration: and Seged could not but observe with sorrow,
that his prizes had more influence than himself. As the
evening approached, the contest grew more earnest, and
those who were forced to allow themselves excelled, began
to discover the malignity of defeat, first by angry glances,
and at last by contemptuous murmurs. Seged likewise
shared the anxiety of the day, for considering himself as
obliged to distribute with exact justice the prizes which
had been so zealously sought, he durst never remit his
attention, but passed his time upon the rack of doubt, in
balancing different kinds of merit, and adjusting the claims
of all the competitors.
At last, knowing that no exactness could satisfy those
whose hopes he should disappoint, and thinking that on a
day set apart for happiness, it would be cruel to oppress
any heart with sorrow, he declared that all had pleased
him alike, and dismissed all with presents of equal value.
Seged soon saw that his caution had not been able W
avoid offence. They who had believed themselves secure
of the highest prizes, were not pleased to be levelled
with the crowd : and though, by the liberality of the king,
they received more than his promise had entitled them to
expect, they departed unsatisfied, because they were
honoured with no distinction, and wanted an opportunity
to triumph in the mortification of their opponents. " Be:
hold here," said Seged, " the condition of him who places
his happiness in the happiness of others." He then retired
•
to meditate, and, while the courtiers were repining at his
distributions, saw the fifth sun go down iu discontent.
The next dawn renewed his resolution to be happy.
But having learned how little he could effect by settled
schemes or preparatory measures, he thought it best to
give up one day entirely to chance, and left every one to
please and be pleased his own way.
This relaxation of regularity diffused a general compla-
cence through the whole court, and the emperour imagined
that he had at last found the secret of obtaining an interval
of felicity. But as he was roving iu this careless assembly
with equal carelessness, he.overheard one of his courtiers
in a close arbour murmuring alone : i' What merit has
Seged above us, that we should thus fear and obey him, a
man, whom, whatever he may have formerly performed,
his luxury now shows to have the same weakness with
ourselves." This charge affected him the more, as it was
uttered by one whom he had always observed among the
most abject of his flatterers. At first his indignation
prompted him to severity; but reflecting, that what was
spoken without intention to be leard, was to be considered
as only thought, and was perhaps but the sudden burst of
casual and temporary vexation, he invented some decent
pretence to send him away, that his retreat might not be
tainted with the breath of envy, and, after the struggle of
deliberation was past, and all desire of revenge utterly
suppressed, passed the evening not only with tranquillity,
but triumph, though none but himself was conscious of the
victory. •
The remembrance of his clemency cheered the beginning
of the seventh day, and nothing happened to disturb the
pleasure of Seged, till, looking on the tree that shaded
him, he recollected, that, under a tree of the same kind
he had passed the night after his defeat in the kingdom of
Goiama. The reflection on his loss, his dishonour, and the
miseries which his subjects suffered from the invader, filled
him with sadness. At last he shook off the weight of sor-
row, and began to solace himself with his usual pleasures,
e. g 2
452 THE RAMBLER. N°. 20G.
when his tranquillity was again disturbed by jealousies
which the late contest for the prizes had produced, and
which, having in vain tried to pacify them by persuasion,
he was forced to silence by command.
On the eighth morning Seged was awakened early by
an unusual hurry, in the apartments, and inquiring the
cause, was told that the princess Balkis was seized with
sickness. He rose, and calling the physicians, found that
they had little hope of her recovery. Here was an end of
jollity : all his thoughts 'were now upon his daughter,
whose eyes he closed on the tenth day.
Such were the days- which Seged of Ethiopia had ap-
propriated to a short respiration from the fatigues of war
and the cares of government. This narrative he has be-
queathed to future generations, that no man hereafter may
presume to say, " This day shall be a day of happiness."
—............--...
No. 206. SATURDAY, MARCH 7, 1752.
Propositi nondum'pudet, atque eadeni est mens,

Ut bona summa putes, aliena virere quadra. Juv. Sat. v. 1.
But harden'd by affronts, and still the same,
Lost to all sense of honour and of fame,
Thou yet canst love to haunt the great man's board,
And think no supper good but with a lord. BOWLES.
WH EN Diogenes was once asked, what kind of wine he

liked best? he answered, " That which is drunk at the
cost of others."
Though the character of Diogenes has never excited any
general zeal of imitation, there are many who resemble
him in his taste of wine ; many who are frugal, though
not abstemious ; whose appetites, though too powerful for
reason, are kept under restraint by avarice ; and to whom
all delicacies lose their flavour, when they cannot be ob-
tained but at their own expense.
Nothing produces more singularity of manners and in-
N°.206. THS RAMBLER. 453
constancy of life, than the conflict of opposite vices in the
same mind. ' He that uniformly pursues any purpose,
whether good or bad, has a settled principle of action ;
and as he may always find associates who are travelling
the same way, is countenanced by example, and sheltered
in the multitude ; but a man, actuated at once by dif-
ferent desires, must move in a direction peculiar to him-
self, and suffer that reproach which we are naturally in-
clined to bestow on those who deviate from the rest of the
world, even without inquiring whether they are worse or
.•
better.
Yet this conflict of desires sometimes produces wonder-
ful efforts. To riot in far-fetched dishes, or surfeit with
unexhausted variety, and yet practise the most rigid
economy, is surely an art which may justly draw the eyes
of mankind upon them whose industry or judgment has
enabled them to attain it. To him, indeed, who is content
to break open the chests, or mortgage the manours, of his
ancestors, that he may hire the ministers of excess at the.
highest price, gluttony is an easy science ; yet we often
hear the votaries of luxury boasting of the elegance which
they owe to the taste of others, relating with rapture the
succession of dishes with which their cooks and caterers
supply them; and. expecting their share of praise with the
discoverers of arts and the civilizers of nations. But to
shorten the way to convivial happiness, by eating without
cost, is a secret hitherto in few hands, but which certainly
deserves the curiosity of those whose principal enjoyment
is their dinner, and who see the sun rise with no other
hope than that they shall fill their bellies before it sets.
Of them that have within my knowledge attempted this
scheme of happiness, the greater part have been imme-
diately obliged to desist; and some, whom their first at-
tempts flattered with success, were reduced by degrees to
a few tables, from which they were at last chased to make
way for others ; and having long habituated themselves to
superfluous plenty, growled away their latter years in dis-
contented competence.
None enter the regions0of luxury with higher expecta-

tions than men of wit, who imagine, that they shall never
want a welcome to that company whose ideas they can
enlarge, or whose imaginations they can elevate, and be-
lieve themselves able to pay for their wine with the mirth
which it qualifies them to. produce. Full of this opinion,
they crowd with little invitation, wherever the smell of a
feast allures them, but are seldom encouraged to repeat
their visits, being dreaded by the pert as rivals, and hated
by the dull as disturbers of the company.
No man has been so happy in gaining and keeping the
privilege of living at luxurious houses as Gulosulus, who,
after thirty years of continual revelry, has now established,
by uncontroverted prescription, his claim to partake of
every entertainment, and whose presence they who aspire
to the praise of a sumptuous table are careful to procure
on a day of importance, by sending the invitation a fort-
night before.
Gulosulus entered the world without any eminent de-
gree of merit ; but was careful to frequent houses where
persons of rank resorted. By being often seen, he be-
came in time known ; and, from sitting in the same room,
was suffered to mix in idle conversation, or assisted to fill
up a vacant hour, when better amusement was not readily
to be had. From the coffee-house he was sometimes taken
away to dinner ; and as no man refuses the acquaintance
of him whom he sees admitted to familiarity by others of
equal dignity, when lie had been met at a few tables, he
with less difficulty found the way to more, till at last he
was regularly expected to appear wherever preparations
are made for a feast, within the circuit of his acquaintance.
When he was thus by accident initiated in luxury, he
felt in himself no inclination to retire from a life of so
much pleasure, and therefore very seriously considered
how he might continue it. Great qualities, or uncommon
accomplishments, he did not find necessary ; for he had
already seen that merit rather enforces respect than at-
tracts fondness; and as he thought no folly greater than
• No. 206. THE RAMBLER. 455
that of losing a dinner for any Other gratification, he often
congratulated himself, that he had none of that disgusting
excellence which impresses awe upon greatness, and con-
demns its possessors to the society of those who are wise
or brave, and indigent as themselves.
Gulosulus, having never allotted much of his time to
,books or meditation, had no opinion in philosophy or poli-
ticks, and was not in danger of injuring his interest by
dogmatical positions or violent 'contradiction. If a dis-
pute arose, he took care to listen with earnest attention;
and, when either speaker grew vehement and loud, turned
towards him with eager quickness, and uttered a short
phrase of admiration, as if surprised by such cogency of
argument as he had never known before. By this silent
concession, he generally preserved in either controvertist
such a conviction of his own superiority, as inclined him
rather to pity than irritate his adversary, and prevented
those outrages which are sometimes produced by the rage
of defeat, or petulance of triumph.
Gulosulus was never embarrassed but when he was re-
quired to declare his sentiments before he had been able
to discover to which side the master of the house inclined,
for it was his invariable rule to adopt the notions of those
that invited him.
It will sometimes happen that the insolence of wealth
breaks into contemptuousness, or the turbulence of wine
requires a vent; and Gulosulus seldom fails of being
singled out on such emergencies, as one on whom any
exp6riment of ribaldry may be safely tried. Sometimes
his lordship finds himself inclined to exhibit a specimen of
raillery for the diversion of his guests, and Gulosulus
always supplies him with a subject of merriment. But he
has learned to consider rudeness and indignities as fami-
liarities that entitle him to greater freedom : he comforts
himself, that those who treat and insult him pay for their
laughter, and that he keeps his money while they enjoy
their jest.
His chief policy consists in selecting some dish from
every course, and recommending it to the company, with

an air so decisive, that no one ventures to contradict him.
By this practice he acquires at a feast a kind of dictatorial
authority ; his taste becomes the standard of pickles and
seasoning, and he is venerated by the professors of epi-
curism, as the only man who understands the niceties of
cookery.
Whenever a new sauce is imported, or any innovation
made in the culinary system, he procures the earliest in-
telligence, and the most authentick receipt ; and, by com-
municating his knowledge under proper injunctions of
secrecy, gains a right of tasting his own dish whenever it
is prepared, that he may tell whether his directions have
been fully understood.
By this method of life Gulosulus has so impressed on
his imagination the dignity of feasting, that he has no other
topick of talk, or subject of meditation. His calendar is a
bill of fare ; he measures the year by successive dainties.
The only common-places of his memory are his meals; and
if you ask him at what time an event happened, he consi-
ders whether he heard it after a dinner of turbot or veni-
son. He knows, indeed, that those who value themselves
upon sense, learning, or piety, speak of him with contempt;
but he considers them as wretches, envious or ignorant,
who do not know his happiness, or wish to supplant him ;
and declares to his friends, that he is fully satisfied with
his own conduct, since he has fed every day on twenty
dishes, and yet doubled his estate.
No. 207. - THE RAMBLER. 457
N.. 207. TUESDAY, MARCH 10, 1752.
Solve senescentetn mature sanus equum, ne

Peccet ad extremum ridendus.— Hon. Lib. i. Ep. i. 8.
The voice of reason cries with winning force,
Loose from the rapid car your aged horse,
Lest, in the race derided, left behind,
He drag his jaded limbs, and burst his wind. FRANCIS.
SUCH is the emptiness of human enjoyment, that we are

always impatient of the present. Attainment is followed
by neglect, and possession, by disgust; and the malicious
remark of the Greek epigrammatist on marriage may be
applied to every other course of life, that its two days of
happiness are the first and the last.
Few moments are more pleasing than those in which the
mind is concerting measures for a new undertaking. From
the first hint that wakens the fancy, till the hour of actual
execution, all is improvement and progress, triumph and
felicity. Every hour brings additions to the original
scheme, suggests 'some new expedient to secure success,
or discovers consequential advantages not hitherto fore-
seen. While preparations are made, and materials accu- .
mulated, day glides after day through elysian prospects,
and the heart dances to the song of hope.
Such is the pleasure of projecting, that many content
themselves with a succession of visionary schemes, and
wear out their allotted time in the calm amusement of
contriving what they never attempt or hope to execute.
Others, not, able to feast their imagination with pure
ideas, advance somewhat nearer to the grossness of action;
with great diligence collect whatever is requisite to their
design,' and, after a thousand researches and consultations,
are snatched away by death, as they stand in procinctu,
waiting for a proper opportunity to begin.
If there were no other end of life, than to find some
adequate solace for every day, I know not whether any
condition could be preferred to that of the man who
45s THE RAMBLER. N°. 207.
involves himself in his own thoughts, and never suffers

experience to show him the vanity of speculation ; for no
sooner are notions reduced to practice, than tranquillity
and confidence forsake the breast; every day brings its
task, and often without bringing abilities, to perform it :
difficulties embarrass, uncertainty perplexes, opposition
retards, censure exasperates, or neglect depresses. We
proceed because we have begun ; we complete our design,
that the labour already spent may not be vain ; but as
expectation gradually dies away, the gay smile of alacrity
disappears, we are compelled to implore severer powers,
and trust the event to patience and constancy.
When once our labour has begun, the comfort that en-
ables us to endure it is the prospect of its end; for though
in every long work there are some joyous intervals of self-
applause, when the attention is recreated by unexpected
facility, and the imagination soothed by incidental excel-
lencies; yet the toil with which performance struggles
after idea, is so irksome and disgusting, and so frequent
is the necessity of resting below that perfection which we
imagined within our reach, that seldom any man obtains
more from his endeavours than a painful conviction of his
defects, and a continual resuscitation of desires which he
feels himself unable to gratify.
So certainly is weariness the concomitant-of our under-
takings, that every man, in whatever he is engaged, con-
soles himself with the hope of change ; if he has made his
way by assiduity to publick employment, he talks among
his friends of the delight of retreat; if by the necessity of
solitary application he is secluded from the world, he listens
with a beating heart to distant noises, longs to mingle with
living beings, and resolves to take hereafter his fill of
diversions, or display his abilities on the universal theatre,
and enjoy the pleasure of distinction and applause.
Every desire, however innocent, grows dangerous, as by
long indulgence it becomes ascendant in the mind. When
we have been much accustomed to consider any thing as
capable of giving happiness, it is not easy to restrain our
N°..207. THE RAMBLER. 459
-ardour, or to forbear some precipitation in our advances,
and irregularity in our pursuits. He that has cultivated •
the tree, watched the swelling bud and opening blossom,
and pleased himself with computing how much every sun
and shower add to its growth, scarcely stays till the fruit
has obtained its maturity, but defeats his own cares by
eagerness to reward them. When we have diligently la-
boured for any purpose, we are willing to believe that we
have attained it, and, because we have already done much,
too suddenly conclude that no more is to be done.
All. attraction is increased by the approach of the at-
tracting body. We never find ourselves so desirous to
finish as in the latter part of our work, or so impatient of
delay, as when we know that delay cannot be long. This
unseasonable importunity of discontent may be partly im-
puted to languor and weariness, which must always oppress
those more whose toil has been longer continued ; but the
greater part usually proceeds from frequent contemplation
of that ease which is now considered as within reach, and
which, when it has once flattered our hopes, we cannot
suffer to be withheld.
In some of the noblest compositions of wit, the conclu-
sion falls below the vigour and spirit of the first books ;
and as a genius is not to be degraded by the imputation of
human failings, the cause of this declension is commonly
sought in the structure of the work, and plausible reasons
are given why, in the defective part, less ornament was ne-
cessary, or less could be admitted. But, perhaps, the au-
thor would have confessed, that his fancy was tired, and
his perseverance broken ; that he knew his design to be
unfinished, but that, when he saw the end so near, he
could no longer refuse to be at rest.
Against the instillations of this frigid opiate, the heart
should be secured by all the considerations which once
concurred to kindle the ardour of enterprise. Whatever
motive first incited action, has still greater force to stimu-
late perseverance ; since he that might have lain still at
first in blameless obscurity, cannot afterwards desist but
with infamy and reproach. He, whom a doubtful promise

of distant good could encourage to set difficulties at defi-
ance, ought not to remit his vigour, when he. has almost
obtained his recompense. To faint or loiter, when only
the last efforts are required, is to steer the ship through
tempests, and abandon it to the winds in sight of land ; •it
is to break the ground and scatter the seed, and at last to
neglect the harvest.
The masters of rhetorick direct, that the most forcible
arguments be produced in the latter part of an oration,
lest they should be effaced or perplexed by supervenient
images. This precept may be justly extended to the series
of life : nothing is ended with honour, which does not
conclude better than it began. It is not sufficient to main-
tain the first vigour; for excellence loses its effect upon
the mind by custom, as light after a time ceases to dazzle.
Admiration must be continued by that novelty which first
produced it, and how much soever is given, there must
always be reason to imagine that more remains.
We not only are most sensible of the last impressions,
but such is the unwillingness of mankind to admit tran-
scendant merit, that, though it be difficult to obliterate the
reproach of miscarriages by any subsequent achievement,
however illustrious, yet the reputation raised by a long
train of success may be finally ruined by a single failure;
for weakness or errour will be always remembered by that
malice and envy which it gratifies.
For the prevention of that disgrace, which lassitude and
negligence may bring at last upon the greatest perform-
ances, it is necessary to proportion carefully our labour to
our strength. If the design comprises many parts, equally
essential, and, therefore, not to be separated, the only time
for caution is before we engage ; the powers of the mind
must be then impartially estimated, and it must be re-
membered that, not to complete the plan, is not to have
.begun it; and that nothing is done while any thing is
omitted.
But, if the task consists in the repetition of single acts,
No. 208.. TETE RAMBLER. 461
no one of which derives its'efficacy from the rest, it may
be attempted with less scruple, because there is always
opportunity to' retreat with honour, The danger is only,
lest we expect from the world the indulgence with which
most are disposed to treat themselves; and in the hour of
listlessness imagine, that the diligence of one day will
atone for the idleness of another, and that applause begun
by approbation will be continued by habit.
He that is himself weary will soon weary the publick.
Let him therefore lay down his employment, whatever it
be, who can no longer exert his former activity or atten-
. tion ; let him not endeavour to struggle with censure, or
obstinately infest the stage till a general hiss commands
him to depart.
...............,—.44,„---,--
No. 208. SATURDAY, MARCH 14; 1752.
liperaccroc 11'6. ri pr l'o KelT41 EXA172 (4100CrOl;

06x Nay iirdvouv, roil Si lc' irriaraicivocr
• Elc ipoi civOpearroc rptopipica• oi 8. civerpeOpoi
Ovittic. raiir' abda Kai rrapci iliparpotri. D1OG. LAEIVT,
Begone, ye blockheads, Heraclitus cries,
And leave my labours to the learn'd and wise;
By wit, by knowledge, studious to be read,
I scorn the multitude, alive and dead.
TIME, which puts an end to all human pleasures and

sorrows, has likewise concluded the labours of the Ram-
bler. Having supported, for two years, the anxious em-
ployment of a periodical writer, and multiplied my essays
to upwards of two hundred, I have now determined to
desist.
The reasons of this resolution it is of little importance
to declare, since justification is unnecessary when no ob-
jection is made. I am far from supposing, that the cessa-
tion of my performances will raise any inquiry, for I have
never been much a favourite of the publick, nor can boast
that, in the progress of my undertaking, I have been ani-

mated by the rewards of the liberal, the caresses of the
great, or the praises of the eminent.
But I have no design to gratify pride by submission, or
malice by lamentation ; nor think it reasonable to complain
of neglect from those whose regard I never solicited. If
I have not been distinguished by the distributors of lite-
rary honours, I have seldom descended to the arts by
which favour is obtained. I Wave seen the meteors of
fashions rise and fall, without any attempt to add a mo-
ment to their duration. I have never complied with tem-
porary curiosity, nor enabled my readers to discuss the
topick of the day ; I have rarely exemplified my assertions
by living characters ; in my papers, no man could look
for censures of his enemies, or praises of himself; and
they only were expected to peruse them, whose passions
left them leisure for abstracted truth, and whom virtue
could please by its naked dignity.
To some, however, I am indebted for encouragement,
and to others for assistance. The number of my friends
was never great, but they have been such as would not
suffer me to think that I was writing in vain, and I did
not feel much dejection from the want of popularity.
My obligations having not been frequent, my acknow-
ledgments may be soon despatched. I can restore to all
my correspondents.their productions, with little diminution
of the bulk of my volumes, though not without the 'loss of
some pieces to which particular honours have been paid.
The parts from which I claim no other praise than that
of having given them an opportunity of appearing, are the
four billets in the tenth paper, the second letter in the
fifteenth, the thirtieth, the forty-fourth, the ninety-seventh,
and the hundredth papers, and the second letter in the
hundred and seventh.
Having thus deprived myself of many excuses which
candour might have admitted for the inequality of my
compositions, being no longer able to allege the necessity
of gratifying correspondents, the importunity with which
publication was solicited, or obstinacy with which correction

was rejected, I must remain accountable for all my faults,
and submit, without subterfuge, to the censures of criticism,
which, however, I shall not endeavour to soften by a for- .
mal deprecation, or to overbear by the influence of a
patron. The supplications of an author never yet re-
prieved him a moment from oblivion ; and, though great-
ness has sometimes sheltered guilt, it can afford no pro-
tection to ignorance or dulness. Having hitherto at-
tempted only the propagation of truth, I will not at last
violate it by the confession of terrours which I do not
feel ; having laboured to mliintain the dignity of virtue, I
will not now degrade itiby the meanness of dedication.
The seeming vanity with which I have sometimes spoken
of myself, would perhaps require au apology, were it not
extenuated by the example of those who have published
essays before me, and by the privilege which every name-
less writer has been hitherto allowed. " A mask," says
Castiglione, " confers a right of acting and speaking will'
less restraint, even when the wearer happens to be known."
He that is discovered without his own consent, may claim
some indulgence, and 'cannot be rigorously called to jus-
tify those sallies or frolicks which his disguise must prove
him desirous to conceal.
But I have been cautious lest this offence should be
frequently or grossly committed ; for, as one of the philo-
sophers directs us to live with a friend, as with one that is
some time to become an enemy, I have always thought it
the duty of an anonymous author to write, as if he ey1-
pected to be hereafter known.
I am willing to flatter myself with hopes, that, by col-
lecting these papers, I am not preparing, for my future
life, either shame or repentance. That all are happily
imagined, or accurately polished, that the same sentiments
have not sometimes recurred, or the same expressions been
too frequently repeated, I have not confidence in.my abi-
lities Sufficient to warrant. He that condemns himself to
compose on a stated day, will often bring to his task an
464 - THE RAMBLER. N°.208,
•
attention dissipated, a memory embarrassed, an imagina-
tion overwhelmed, a mind distracted with anxieties, a
body languishing with disease : he will labour on a barren
topick, till it is too late to change it ; or, in the ardour of
invention, diffuse his thoughts into wild exuberance, which
the pressing hour of publication cannot suffer judgment to
examine or reduce.
Whatever shall be the final sentence of mankind, I
have at least endeavoured to deserve their kindness. I
have laboured to refine our language to grammatical pu-
rity, and to clear it from colloquial barbarisms, licentious
idioms, and irregular combinations. Something, perhaps,
I have added to the elegance of its construction, and
something to the harmony of its cadence. .Witen Common
words were less pleasing to the ear, or less distinct in their
signification, I have familiarized the terms of philosophy,
by applying them to popular ideas, but have rarely ad-
mitted any words not authorized by former writers ; for I
believe that whoever knows the English tongue in its pre-
sent extent, will be able to express his thoughts without
further help from other nations ''.
As it has been my principal design to inculcate wisdom
or piety, I have allotted few papers to the idle sports of
imagination. Some, perhaps, may be found, of which the
highest excellence is harmless merriment ; but scarcely
any 'man is so steadily serious as not to complain, that the
severity of dictatorial instruction has been too seldom re-
lieved, and that he is driven by the sternness of the
Rambler's philosophy to more cheerful and airy compa-
nions.
. " If an author arises, whose deep learning, and large imagination, struggling
for expression equal to his conceptions, tempt him to lengthen his periods and
swell his phraseology ; if an intimate familiarity with the combinations of a
dead language now and then betray him into too wide a deviation from the
vernacular idiom ; such a writer will have the mortification to see the beauties
of his style distorted by awkward imitation, and his errors (if in him they are
errors) made ridiculous by aggravation. The language that in his masterhand,
like a well-tuned instrument, ' discourses most eloquent music,' tinder their
management utters nothing but discord."—Colnuas's Gentleman, No. III. in
Colman's Prose on several Occasions, Vol. I.
Next to the excursions of fancy are the disquisitions of

criticism, which, in my opinion, is only to be ranked among
the subordinate and instrumental arts. Arbitrary decision
and general exclamation I have carefully avoided, by as-
serting nothing without a reason, and establishing all my
principles of judgment on unalterable and evident truth.
In the pictures of life I have never been so studious of
novelty or surprise, as to depart wholly from all resem-
blance ; a fault which writers deservedly celebrated fre-
quently commit, that they may raise, as the occasion re-
quires, either mirth or abhorrence. Sme enlargement
. ..
may be allowed to declamation, and some exaggeration to
burlesque ; but as they deviate farther from reality, they
become less useful, because their lessons will fail of appli-
cation. The mind of the reader is carried away from the
contemplation of his own manners ; he finds in himself no
likeness to the phantom before him ; and though he laughs
or rages, is not reformed.
The essays professedly serious, if I have been able to
execute my own intentions, will be found exactly con-
formable to the precepts of Christianity, without any ac-
commodation to the licentiousness and levity of the present
age. I therefore look back on this part of my work with
pleasure, which no blame or praise of man shall diminish
or augment. I shall never envy the honours which wit and
learning obtain in any other cause, if I can be numbered
among the writers who have given ardour to virtue, and
confidence to truth.
Aiirav ix parripoy avnittor tly dpoigi.
Celestial pow'rs! that piety regard,
From you my labours wait their last reward.
END OF VOL. III.
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SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL.D.

VOLUME THE THIRD.

THE SECOND VOLUME.

NO. 106. SATURDAY, MARCH 23, 1751.

IT is necessary to the success of flattery, that it be accom-

of mankind, are generally weak in the foundation, and

Of the innumerable authors whose performances are

perhaps, if we could now retrieve them, we should find

inquiring what cavils were produced against him, or by

No. 107. TUESDAY, MARCH 26, 1751.

Alternis igitur contendere versibus min)

I asked a very great scholar what the style was. He

train of sentiment, I began to reflect on the fate of the

nence seize upon them; but if they obtain a cure, to what

N°. 108. SATURDAY, MARCH 30, 1751.

AN ancient poet, unreasonably discontented at the present

Of the few moments which are left in our disposal, it

value of single minutes and endeavour to let no particle

the understanding is equally abstracted from the object of

An Italian philosopher expressed in his motto, that time

N°0 09. TUESDAY, APRIL 2, 1751.

Gratum est, quod patritc civent populoque dedisti,

discover what I suppose has been seen and felt by all

my father still retained some authority in the stables, and,

employment: for my mother very judiciously considered,

my addresses, suffer me to pay the treat, and then titter

At nobis vita dominum quarentibus unum

We through this maze of life one Lord obey ;

the forfeited hopes of divine favour, therefore constitute a

Incorporated minds will always feel some inclination

all subsidiary ordinances, all prudential .cautiun, and the

has been often recommended as useful to repentance.

N°. 111. TUESDAY, APRIL 9, 1751.

.1,povelv 7dp of raze e, oix ho95aXE7c, SOPIloc.

Disaster always waits on early wit.

b The perusal of these profound remarks on penance and repentance had so

powerful an effect on one of the English Benedictine monks (the Rev:James

naturally forces my attention, to learn, from the great pro-

A perpetual conflict with natural desires seems to be the

demanded, will be contented to spare the labour of un-

obtain them. A thousand beauties in their first blossom,

N°. 112. SATURDAY, APRIL 13, 1751.

In snea vesanas habni dispendia vires,

with necessary affairs, or strong inclinations. He that too

ligent cultivation of the powers of dislike, raise, in time, an

It is not easy to imagine a more unhappy condition than

and the carelessness of the 'sluts whom she employs in

Uaorem, Posthume, ducis?

For this reason, I have determined no longer to endure,

vered some irregularity in her conduct, or some depravity

of the Amazons was only to be gained by the hero who

Sophronia, I should escape poverty ; and we therefore pro-

POWER and superiority are so flattering and delightful,

success, that rapine and violence are hourly increasing,

which I wish always paid to prudence, to justice, and to