NUMB. 101. TUESDAY, March 5, 1751.

NUMB. 102. SATURDAY, March 9, 1751.

"LIFE," says Seneca, "is a voyage, in the progress of which, we are perpe­tually changing our scenes; we first leave childhood behind us, then youth, then the [Page 11] years of ripened manhood, then the better and more pleasing part of old age." The perusal of this passage, having excited in me a train of reflections on the state of man, the incessant fluctuation of his wishes, the gra­dual change of his disposition to all external objects, and the thoughtlesness with which he floats along the stream of time, I sunk in­to a slumber amidst my meditations, and, on a sudden, found my ears filled with the tu­mult of labour, the shouts of alacrity, the shrieks of alarm, the whistle of winds, and the dash of waters.

MY astonishment for a time repressed my curiosity; but soon recovering myself so far as to enquire whither we were going, and what was the cause of such clamour and con­fusion, I was told that they were launching out into the ocean of life; that we had already passed the streights of infancy, in which mul­titudes had perished, some by the weakness and fragility of their vessels, and more by the folly, perverseness, or negligence, of those who undertook to steer them; and that we were now on the main sea, abandoned to the winds and billows, without any other means [Page 12] of security, than the care of the pilot, whom it was always in our power to choose among great numbers that offered their direction and assistance.

I THEN looked round with anxious eager­ness: and first turning my eyes behind me, saw a stream flowing through flowery islands, which every one that sailed along seemed to behold with pleasure; but no sooner touch­ed, than the current, which, though not noisy or turbulent, was yet irresistible, bore him away. Beyond these islands all was dark­ness, nor could any of the passengers describe the shore at which he first embarked.

BEFORE me, and each other side, was an expanse of waters violently agitated, and covered with so thick a mist, that the most perspicacious eye could see but a little way. It appeared to be full of rocks and whirl­pools, for many sunk unexpectedly while they were courting the gale with full sails, and in­sulting those whom they had left behind. So numerous, indeed, were the dangers, and so thick the darkness, that no caution could confer security. Yet there were many, who, [Page 13] by false intelligence, betrayed their followers into whirlpools, or by violence pushed those whom they found in their way against the rocks.

THE current was invariable and insur­mountable; but though it was impossible to sail against it, or to return to the place that was once passed, yet it was not so violent as to allow no opportunities for dexterity or courage, since, though none could retreat back from danger, yet they might often avoid it by oblique direction.

IT was, however, not very common to steer with much care or prudence; for, by some universal infatuation, every man appear­ed to think himself safe, though he saw his consorts every moment sinking round him; and no sooner had the waves closed over them, than their fate and their misconduct were forgotten; the voyage was persued with the same jocund confidence; every man congratulated himself upon the soundness of his vessel, and believed himself able to stem the whirlpool in which his friend was swallow­ed, or glide over the rocks on which he was [Page 14] dashed; nor was it often observed that the sight of a wreck made any man change his course; if he turned aside for a moment, he soon forgot the rudder, and left himself again to the disposal of chance.

THIS negligence did not proceed from in­difference, or from weariness of their present condition; for not one of those, who thus rushed upon destruction, failed, when he was sinking, to call loudly upon his associates for that help which could not now be given him; and many spent their last moments in caution­ing others against the folly, by which they were intercepted in the midst of their course. Their benevolence was sometimes praised, but their admonitions were unregarded.

THE vessels, in which we had embarked, being confessedly unequal to the turbulence of the stream of life, were visibly impaired in the course of the voyage; so that every passenger was certain, that how long soever he might, by favourable accidents, or by incessant vigi­lance, be preserved, he must sink at last.

THIS necessity of perishing might have been [Page 15] expected to sadden the gay, and intimidate the daring, at least to keep the melancholy and timorous in perpetual torments, and hid­der them from any enjoyment of the varieties and gratifications which nature offered them as the solace of their labours; yet in effect none seemed less to expect destruction than those to whom it was most dreadful; they all had the art of concealing their danger from themselves; and those who knew their inability to bear the sight of the terrors that embarrassed their way, took care never to look forward, but found some amusement for the present moment, and generally enter­tained themselves by playing with HOPE, who was the constant associate of the voyage of life.

YET all that HOPE ventured to promise, even to those whom she favoured most, was, not that they should escape, but that they should sink last; and with this promise every one was satisfied, though he laughed at the rest for seeming to believe it. HOPE, indeed, apparently mocked the credulity of her com­panions; for in proportion as their vessels grew leaky, she redoubled her assurances of [Page 16] safety; and none were more busy in making provisions for a long voyage, than they, whom all but themselves saw likely to perish soon by irreparable decay.

IN the midst of the current of life was the gulph of INTEMPERANCE, a dreadful whirl­pool, interspersed with rocks, of which the pointed crags were concealed under water, and the tops covered with herbage, on which EASE spread couches of repose, and with shades, where PLEASURE warbled the song of invitation. Within sight of these rocks all who sailed on the ocean of life must necessarily pass. REASON, indeed, was always at hand to steer the passengers through a narrow out­let by which they might escape; but very few could, by her intreaties or remonstran­ces, be induced to put the rudder into her hand, without stipulating that she should ap­proach so near unto the rocks of PLEASURE, that they might solace themselves with a short enjoyment of that delicious region, after which they always determined to persue their course without any other deviation.

REASON was too often prevailed upon so [Page 17] far by these promises, as to venture her charge within the eddy of the gulph of IN­TEMPERANCE, where, indeed, the circum­volution was weak, but yet interrupted the course of the vessel, and drew it, by insen­sible rotations, towards the centre. She then repented her temerity, and with all her force endeavoured to retreat; but the draught of the gulph was generally too strong to be over­come; and the passenger, having danced in circles with a pleasing and giddy velocity, was at last overwhelmed and lost. Those few whom REASON was able to extricate, generally suffered so many shocks upon the points which shot out from the rocks of PLEASURE, that they were unable to con­tinue their course with the same strength and facility as before, but floated along timorously and feebly, endangered by every breeze, and shattered by every ruffle of the water, till they sunk, by slow degrees, after long strug­gles, and innumerable expedients, always re­pining at their own folly, and warning others against the first approach to the gulph of IN­TEMPERANCE.

THERE were artists who professed to re­pair [Page 18] the breaches and stop the leaks of the vessels which had been shattered on the rocks of PLEASURE. Many appeared to have great confidence in their skill, and some, indeed, were preserved by it from sinking, who had received only a single blow; but I remarked that few vessels lasted long which had been much repaired, nor was it found that the artists themselves continued afloat longer than those who had least of their assistance.

THE only advantage, which, in the voy­age of life, the cautious had above the negli­gent, was, that they sunk later, and more suddenly; for they passed forward till they had sometimes seen all those in whose com­pany they had issued from the streights of in­fancy, perish in the way, and at last were overset by a cross breeze, without the toil of resistance, or the anguish of expectation. But such as had often fallen against the rocks of PLEASURE, commonly subsided by sensible degrees, contended long with the encroach­ing waters, and harassed themselves by la­bours that scarce HOPE herself could flatter with success.

[Page 19] AS I was looking upon the various fate of the multitude about me, I was suddenly al­armed with an admonition from some un­known Power, "Gaze not idly upon others when thou thyself art sinking. Whence is this thoughtless tranquillity, when thou and they are equally endangered?" I look­ed, and seeing the gulph of INTEMPE­RANCE before me, started and awaked.

NUMB. 103. TUESDAY, March 12, 1751.

CURIOSITY is one of the permanent and certain characteristicks of a vigorous in­ellect, to which every advance into knowledge opens new prospects, and produces new incite­ments to farther progress. All the attainments possible in our present state are evidently in­adequate to our capacities of enjoyment; con­quest serves no purpose but that of kindling ambition, discovery has no effect but of rais­ing [Page 20] expectation; the gratification of one de­sire encourages another, and after all our la­bours, studies, and enquiries, we are continu­ally at the same distance from the completion of our schemes, have still some wish impor­tunate to be satisfied, and some faculty rest­less and mutinous for want of employment.

THE desire of knowledge, though it is of­ten animated by extrinsick and adventi­tious motives, seems on many occasions to operate without subordination to any other principle; we are eager to see and hear, with­out intention of referring our observa­tions to a farther end; we climb a mountain for a prospect of the plain; we run to the strand in a storm, that we may contemplate the agitation of the water; we range from city to city, though we profess neither archi­tecture nor fortification; we cross seas only to view nature in nakedness, or magnificence in ruins; we are equally allured by novelty of every kind, by a desart or a palace, a ca­taract or a cavern, by every thing rude, and every thing polished, every thing great and every thing little; we do not see a thicket [Page 21] but with some temptation to enter it, nor re­mark an insect flying before us but with an inclination to persue it.

THIS passion is, perhaps, regularly height­ened in proportion as the powers of the mind are elevated and enlarged. Lucan there­fore introduces Caesar speaking with dignity suitable to the grandeur of his designs and the extent of his capacity, when he declares to the high priest of Egypt, that he has no desire equally powerful with that of finding the origin of the Nile, and that he would quit all the projects of the civil war for a sight of those fountains which had been so long con­cealed. And Homer, when he would furnish the Sirens with a temptation, to which his hero, renowned for wisdom, might yield without disgrace, makes them declare, that none ever departed from them but with en­crease of knowledge.

THERE is, indeed, scarce any kind of ideal acquirement which may not be applied to some use, or which may not at least gratify pride with occasional superiority; but who­ever attends the motions of his own mind [Page 22] will find, that upon the first appearance of an object, or the first start of a question, his inclination to a nearer view, or more accu­rate discussion, precedes all thoughts of pro­fit, or of competition; and that his desires take wing by instantaneous impulse, though their flight may be invigorated, or their ef­forts renewed, by subsequent considerations. The gratification of curiosity rather frees us from uneasiness than confers pleasure; we are more pained by ignorance than delighted by instruction. Curiosity is the thirst of the soul; it inflames and torments us, and makes us taste every thing with joy, however other­wise insipid, by which it may be quenched.

IT is evident that the earliest searchers after knowledge must have proposed knowledge only as their reward; and that science, though perhaps the nursling of interest, was the daughter of curiosity: for who can believe that they who first watched the course of the stars, foresaw the use of their discoveries to the facilitation of commerce, or the men­suration of time? They were delighted with the splendor of the nocturnal skies, they found that the lights changed their places, what they [Page 23] admired they were anxious to understand, and in time traced their revolutions.

THERE are, indeed, beings in the form of men, who appear satisfied with their intel­lectual possessions, and seem to live without desire of enlarging their conceptions; before whom the world passes without notice, and who are equally unmoved by nature or by art.

THIS negligence is sometimes only the temporary effect of a predominant passion; a lover finds no inclination to travel any path, but that which leads to the habitation of his mistress; a trader can spare little attention to common occurrences, when his fortune is endangered by a storm. It is frequently the consequence of a total immersion in sensua­lity: corporeal pleasures may be indulged till the memory of every other kind of hap­piness is obliterated; the mind long habitu­ated to a lethargick and quiescent state, is un­willing to wake to the toil of thinking; and though she may sometimes be disturbed by the obtrusion of new ideas, shrinks back again to ignorance and rest.

[Page 24] BUT, indeed, if we except them to whom the continual task of procuring the supports of life, denies all opportunities of deviation from their own narrow track, the number of such as live without the ardour of enquiry, is very small, though many content them­selves with cheap amusements, and waste their lives in researches of no importance.

THERE is no snare more dangerous to busy and excursive minds, than the cobwebs of petty inquisitiveness, which entangle them in trivial employments and minute studies, and detain them in a middle state between the tediousness of total inactivity, and the fatigue of laborious efforts, enchant them at once with ease and novelty, and vitiate them with the luxury of learning. The necessity of do­ing something, and the fear of undertaking much, sinks the historian to a genealogist, the philosopher to a journalist of the weather, and the mathematician to a constructer of dials.

IT is happy when those who cannot con­tent themselves to be idle, nor resolve to be [Page 25] industrious, are at least employed without injury to others; but it seldom happens that we can contain ourselves long in a neutral state, or forbear to sink into vice, when we are no longer soaring towards virtue.

NUGACULUS was distinguished in his ear­lier years by an uncommon liveliness of imagi­nation, quickness of sagacity, and extent of knowledge. When after having passed through the usual methods of education, he entered into life, he applied himself with par­ticular inquisitiveness to examine the various motives of human actions, the complicated influence of mingled affections, the different modifications of interest and ambition, and the various causes of miscarriage and success both in public and private affairs.

THOUGH his friends did not discover to what purpose all these observations were col­lected, or how Nugaculus would much im­prove his virtue or his fortune by an incessant attention to changes of countenance, bursts of inconsideration, sallies of passion, and all the other casualties by which he used to trace a character, yet they could not deny the [Page 26] study of human nature to be worthy of a wise man; they therefore flattered his vanity, applauded his discoveries, and listened with submissive modesty to his lectures on the un­certainty of inclination, the weakness of re­solves, and the instability of temper, to his account of the various motives which agitate the mind, and his ridicule of the modern dream of a ruling passion.

SUCH was the first incitement of Nuga­culus to a close inspection into the conduct of mankind. He had no interest in view, and therefore no design of supplantation; he had no malevolence, and therefore detected faults without any intention to expose them; but having once found the art of engaging his attention upon others, he had no inclination to call it back to himself, but has passed his time in keeping a watchful eye upon every rising character, and lived upon a small estate without any thought of encreasing it.

HE is, by continual application, become a general master of secret history, and can give an account of the intrigues, private marriages, competitions, and stratagems of [Page 27] half a century. He knows the mortgages upon every man's estate, the terms upon which every spendthrift raises his money, the real and reputed fortune of every lady, the jointure stipulated by every contract, and the expectations of every family from maiden aunts and childless acquaintances. He can relate the economy of every house, knows how much one man's cellar is robbed by his butler, and the land of another underlet by his steward; he can tell where the manor­house is falling, though large sums are yearly paid for repairs; and where the tenants are felling woods without the consent of the owner.

TO obtain all this intelligence he is inad­vertently guilty of a thousand acts of trea­chery. He sees no man's servant without draining him of his trust; he enters no family without flattering the children into disco­veries; he is a perpetual spy upon the doors of his neighbours; and knows, by long ex­perience, at whatever distance, the looks of a creditor, a borrower, a lover, and a pimp.

NUGACULUS is not ill-natured, and there­fore [Page 28] his industry has not hither to been very mis­chievous to others, or dangerous to himself; but since he cannot enjoy this knowledge but by discovering it, and, if he had no other mo­tive to loquacity, is obliged to traffick like the chymists, and purchase one secret with another, he is every day more hated as he is more known; for he is considered by great numbers as one that has their fame and their happiness in his power, and no man can much love him of whom he lives in fear.

THUS has an intention, innocent at first, if not laudable, the intention of regulating his own behaviour by the experience of others, betrayed Nugaculus not only to a foolish, but vicious waste of a life which might have been honourably passed in public services, or dome­stic virtues. Such is the fate of all exces­sive desires, and such the consequence of giv­ing up the mind to employments that engross, but do not improve it.

NUMB. 104. SATURDAY, March 16, 1751.

THE apparent insufficiency of every individual to his own happiness or safety, compels us to seek from one another assistance and support. The necessity of joint efforts for the execution of any great or ex­tensive design, the variety of powers dis­seminated in the species, and the propor­tion between the defects and excellencies of different persons, demand an interchange of help, and communication of intelligence, and by frequent reciprocations of beneficence, unite mankind in society and friendship.

IF it can be imagined that there ever was a time when the inhabitants of any country were in a state of equality, without distinction of rank, or peculiarity of possessions, it is rea­sonable to believe that every man was then loved in proportion as he could contribute by his strength, or his skill, to the supply of natu­ral [Page 30] wants; that there was little room for pee­vish dislike, or capricious favour; that the affe­ction then admitted into the heart, was rather esteem than tenderness; and that kindness was only purchased by benefits. But when by force or policy, by wisdom or by fortune, property and superiority were introduced and established, so that many were condemned to labour for the support of a few, then they whose possessions swelled above their wants, naturally laid out their super fluities upon pleasure; and those who could not gain friendship by neces­sary offices, endeavoured to promote their in­terest by luxurious gratifications, and to create need, which they might be courted to sup­ply.

THE desires of mankind are so much more numerous than their attainments, and the capacity of imagination so much larger than actual enjoyment, that no power of bestowing can equal expectation. Every distant appear­ance of advantage must therefore excite strug­gles and competitions; that which can be ob­tained only by one will be desired by multi­tudes, while there remain multitudes unsatisfied with their allotment; and he who cannot hope [Page 31] to succeed by real services, and either finds no room for the exertion of great qualities, or perceives himself excelled by his rivals, will have recourse to other expedients, will endeavour to become agreeable where he can­not be important, and learn, by degrees, to number the art of pleasing among the most useful studies, and most valuable acquisitions.

THIS art, like others, is cultivated in pro­portion to its usefulness, and will always flourish most where it is most rewarded: for this reason we find it practised with great as­siduity under absolute governments, where honours and riches are in the hands of one man, whom all endeavour to propitiate, and who soon becomes so much accustomed to compliance and officiousness, as not easily to find, in the most delicate address, that no­velty which is necessary to procure attention.

IT is discovered by a very few experiments, that no man is much pleased with a compa­nion, who does not encrease, in some re­spect, his fondness of himself; and, there­fore, he that wishes rather to be led forward to prosperity by the gentle hand of favour, [Page 32] than to force his way by labour and merit, must consider with more care how to display his patron's excellencies than his own; that whenever he approaches, he may fill the ima­gination with pleasing dreams, and chase away disgust and weariness by a perpetual succession of delightful images.

THIS may, indeed, sometimes be effected by turning the attention upon advantages which are really possessed, or upon prospects which reason spreads before hope; for, who­ever can deserve or require to be courted has generally, either from nature or from for­tune, gifts, which he may review with satis­faction, and of which when he is artfully re­called to the contemplation, he will seldom be displeased.

BUT those who have once degraded their understanding to an application only to the passions, and who have learned to derive hope from any other sources than industry and virtue, seldom retain dignity and magnani­mity sufficient to defend them against the con­stant recurrence of temptation to falshood. He that is too desirous to be loved will soon [Page 33] learn to flatter, and when he has exhausted all the variations of honest praise, and can de­light no longer with the civility of truth, he will invent new topics of panegyric, and break out into raptures at virtues and beauties con­ferred by himself.

THE drudgeries of dependence would, in­deed, be aggravated by hopelesness of success, if no indulgence was allowed to adulation. He that will obstinately confine his patron to hear only the commendations which he de­serves, will soon be forced to give way to others that regale him with more compass of music. The greatest human virtue bears no proportion to human vanity. We always think ourselves better than we are, and are generally desirous that others should think us still better than we think ourselves. To praise us for actions, or dispositions, which deserve praise, is not to confer a benefit, but to pay a tribute. We have always pretensions to fame, which, in our own hearts, we know to be disputable, and which we are desirous to strengthen by a new fuffrage; we have always hopes which we suspect to be falla­cious, [Page 34] and of which we eagerly snatch at every confirmation.

IT may, indeed, be proper to make the first approaches under the conduct of truth, and to secure credit to future encomiums, by such praise as may be ratified by the con­science; but the mind once habituated to the lusciousness of eulogy, becomes in a short time nice and fastidious, and like a vitiated palate is incessantly calling for higher grati­fications.

IT is scarcely credible how far discern­ment may be dazzled by the mist of pride, and wisdom infatuated by the intoxica­tion of flattery; or how low the genius may descend by successive gradations of servility, and how swiftly it may fall down the preci­pice of falshood. No man can, indeed, ob­serve without indignation, on what names, both of antient and modern times, the ut­most exuberance of praise has been lavished, and by what hands it has been bestowed. It has never yet been found, that the tyrant, the plunderer, the oppressor, the most hate­ful of the hateful, the most profligate of the [Page 35] profligate, have been denied any celebrations which they were willing to purchase, or that wickedness and folly have not found corre­spondent flatterers through all their subordi­nations, except when they have been associ­ated with avarice or poverty, and have want­ed either inclination or ability to hire a pane­gyrist.

AS there is no character so deformed as to fright away from it the prostitutes of praise, there is no degree of encomiastic veneration which pride has refused. The emperors of Rome suffered themselves to be worshiped in their lives with altars and sacrifice; and in an age more enlightened the terms peculiar to the praise and worship of the Supreme Being, have been applied to wretches whom it was the reproach of humanity to number among men; and whom nothing but riches or power hindered those that read or wrote their deifi­cation, from hunting into the toils of justice, as disturbers of the peace of nature.

THERE are, indeed, many among the poe­tical flatterers, who must be resigned to in­famy without vindication, and whom we must [Page 36] confess to have deserted the cause of virtue for pay; They have committed, against full conviction, the crime of obliterating the di­stinctions between good and evil, and, in­stead of opposing the encroachments of vice, have incited her progress, and celebrated her conquests. But there is a lower class of sy­cophants, whose understanding has not made them capable of equal guilt. Every man of high rank is surrounded with numbers, who have no other rule of thought or action, than his maxims, and his conduct; whom the honour of being numbered among his ac­quaintance, reconciles to all his vices, and all his absurdities; and who easily persuade them­selves to esteem him, by whose regard they consider themselves as distinguished and exalt­ed.

IT is dangerous for mean minds to ven­ture themselve within the sphere of greatness. Stupidity is soon blinded by the splendour of wealth, and cowardice is easily fettered in the shackles of dependence. To solicit patron­age, is, at least in the event, to set virtue to sale. None can be pleased without praise, and few can be praised without falshood; [Page 37] few can be affiduous without servility, and none can be servile without corruption.

NUMB. 105. TUESDAY, March 19, 1751.

I Was lately considering among other ob­jects of speculation, the new attempt of an universal register, an office, in which every man may lodge an account of his super­fluities and wants, of whatever he desires to purchase, or to sell. My imagination soon presented to me the latitude to which this de­sign may be extended by integrity and in­dustry, and the advantages which may be justly hoped from a general mart of intelli­gence, when once its reputation shall be so established, that neither reproach nor fraud shall be feared from it; when an application to it shall not be censured as the last resource of desperation, nor its informations suspected as the fortuitious suggestions of men obliged [Page 38] not to appear ignorant. A place where every exuberance may be discharged, and every deficiency supplied, where every law­ful passion may find its gratifications, and every honest curiosity receive satisfaction, where the stock of a nation, pecuniary and intellectual, may be brought together, and where all conditions of humanity may hope to find relief, pleasure, and accommodation, must equally deserve the attention of the mer­chant and philosopher, of him who mingles in the tumult of business, and him who only lives to amuse himself with the various em­ployments and pursuits of others. Nor will it be an uninstructing school to the greatest masters of method and dispatch, if such mul­tiplicity can be preserved from embarrasment, and such tumult from inaccuracy.

WHILE I was concerting this splendid pro­ject, and filling my thoughts with its regula­tion, its conveniencies, its variety, and its consequences, I sunk gradually into slumber; but the same images, though less distinct, still continued to float upon my fancy. I per­ceived myself at the gate of an immense edi­fice, where innumerable multitudes were [Page 39] passing without confusion; every face on which I fixed my eyes, seemed settled in the contemplation of some important purpose, and every foot was hastened by eagerness and expectation. I followed the croud without knowing whither I should be drawn, and re­mained a while in the unpleasing state of an idler where all other beings were busy, giv­ing place every moment to those who had more importance in their looks. Ashamed to stand ignorant, and afraid to ask questions, at last I saw a lady sweeping by me, whom, by the quickness of her eyes, the agility of her steps, and a mixture of levity and im­patience, I knew to be my long loved pro­tectress, CURIOSITY. "Great goddess," said I, "may thy votary be permitted to implore thy favour; if thou hast been my directress from the first dawn of reason, if I have followed thee through the maze of life with invariable fidelity, if I have turn­ed to every new call, and quitted at thy nod one persuit for another, if I have never stopped at the invitations of fortune, nor forgot thy authority in the bowers of plea­sure, inform me now whither chance has conducted me."

[Page 40] "THOU art now," replied the smiling power, "in the presence of JUSTICE, and of TRUTH, whom the father of gods and men has sent down to register the demands and pretensions of mankind, that the world may at last be reduced to order, and that none may complain hereafter of beîng doomed to tasks for which they are un­qualified, of possessing faculties for which they cannot find employment, or virtues that languish unobserved for want of op­portunities to exert them, of being encum­bered with superfluities which they would willingly resign, or of wasting away in de­sires which ought to be satisfied. JUSTICE is now to examine every man's wishes, and TRUTH is to record them; let us ap­proach, and observe the progress of this great transaction."

SHE then moved forward, and TRUTH, who knew her among the most faithful of her followers, beckoned her to advance, till we were placed near the seat of JUSTICE. The first who required the assistance of the office, came forward with a slow pace, and tumour of dignity, and shaking a weighty purse in his [Page 41] hand, demanded to be registred by TRUTH, as the MECAENAS of the presentage, the chief encourager of literary merit, to whom men of learning and wit might apply in any exi­gence or distress with certainty of succour. JUSTICE very mildly enquired whether he had calculated the expence of such a declara­tion? whether he had been informed what number of petitioners would swarm about him? whether he could distinguish idleness and negligence from calamity, ostentation from knowledge, or vivacity from wit? To these questions he seemed not well provided with a reply, but repeated his desire to be recorded a patron. JUSTICE then offered to register his proposal on these conditions, that he should never suffer himself to be flattered; that he should never delay an audience when he had nothing to do; and that he should never en­courage followers without intending to re­ward them. These terms were too hard to be accepted; for what, said he, is the end of patronage, but the pleasure of reading de­dications, holding multitudes in suspense, and enjoying their hopes, their fears, and their anxiety, flattering them to assiduity, and, at last, dismissing them for impatience? JUSTICE [Page 42] heard his confession, and ordered his name to be posted upon the gate among cheats, and robbers, and publick nuisances, which all were by that notice warned to avoid.

ANOTHER required to be made known as the discoverer of a new art of education, by which languages and sciences might be taught to all capacities, and all inclinations, without fear of punishment, pain of confinement, loss of any part of the gay mien of ignorance, or any obstruction of the necessary progress in dress, dancing, or cards.

JUSTICE and TRUTH did not trouble this great adept with many enquiries; but finding his address aukward, and his speech barbarous, ordered him to be registred as a tall fellow who wanted employment, and might serve in any post where the knowledge of reading and writing was not required

A MAN of a very great and philosophic aspect required notice to be given of his in­tention to set out a certain day, on a subma­rine voyage, and of his willingness to take in passengers for no more than double the price [Page 43] at which they might sail above water. His desire was granted, and he retired to a con­venient stand in expectation of filling his ship, and growing rich in a short time by the se­crecy, safety, and expedition of the passage.

ANOTHER desired to advertise the curious that he had, for the advancement of true knowledge, contrived an optical instrument, by which those who laid out their industry on memorials of the changes of the wind, might observe the direction of the weathercocks on the hither side of the lunar world.

ANOTHER wished to be known as the au­thor of an invention, by which cities or king­doms might be made warm in winter by a single fire, a kettle, and pipe. Another had a vehicle by which a man might bid defiance to floods, and continue floating in an inunda­tion without any inconvenience till the wa­ter should subside. JUSTICE considered these projects as of no importance but to their au­thors, and therefore scarcely condescended to examine them; but TRUTH refused to ad­mit them into the register.

[Page 44] TWENTY different pretenders came in one hour to give notice of an universal medicine, by which all diseases might be cured or pre­vented, and life protracted beyond the age of NESTOR. But JUSTICE informed them, that one universal medicine was sufficient, and she would delay the notification of her office, till she saw who could longest preserve his own life.

A THOUSAND other claims and offers were exhibited and examined. I remarked among this mighty multitude, that, of intel­lectual advantages, many had great exube­rance, and few confessed any want; of every art there were a hundred professors for a single pupil: but of other attainments, such as riches, honours, and preserments, I found none that had too much, but thousands and ten thousands that thought themselves intitled to a larger dividend.

IT often happened that old misers, and wo­men married at the close of life, advertised their want of children; nor was it uncom­mon for those who had a numerous offspring, [Page 45] to give notice of a son or daughter to be spa­red; but though appearances promised well on both sides, the bargain seldom succeeded; for they soon lost their inclination to adopted chil­dren, and proclaimed their intentions to pro­mote some scheme of public charity; a thou­sand proposals were immediately made, among which they hesitated till death precluded the decision.

AS I stood looking on this scene of confu­sion, TRUTH condescended to ask me what was my business at her office? I was struck with the unexpected question, and awaked by my efforts to answer it.

NUMB. 106. SATURDAY, March 23, 1751.

IT is necessary to the success of flattery, that it be accommodated 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 trader 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 traffick; and the author will scarcely be pleased without some lamen­tations of the neglect of learning, the conspi­racies against genius, and the slow progress of merit, or some praises of the disinterestedness and 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 reputation, is the settled reciprocation of civility between amicable writers; to raise [Page 47] 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 greatest part, either for want of durable materials, or of art to dis­pose them, see their edifices perish as they are towering to completion, and those few that for a while attract the eye 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 croud­ed on every side by mighty volumes, the works of laborious meditation, and accurate enquiry, now scarcely known but by the ca­talogue, and preserved only to encrease 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 exulted in the eternal infamy of his antagonists, and dogmatism has delighted in the [Page 48] gradual advances of his authority, the immu­tability of his decrees, and the perpetuity of his power?

Of the innumerable authors whose per­formances are thus treasured up in magnifi­cent obscurity, most are undoubtedly for­gotten, because they never deserved to be remembred, and owed the honours which they once obtained, not to judgment or to genius, to labour or to art, but to the pre­judice of faction, the stratagems 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 legis­lators of science. Curiosity is naturally ex­cited, their volumes after long enquiry are found, but seldom reward the labour of the search. Every period of time has produced these bubbles of artificial fame, which are [Page 49] kept up a while 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, perhaps, if we could now re­trieve them, we should find them only the Granvilles, Montagues, Stepneys, and Sheffields of their time, and wonder by what infatua­tion or caprice they could rise to notice.

IT cannot, however, be denied, that many have sunk into oblivion, whom it were unjust to number with this despicable class. Vari­ous kinds of literary fame seem destined to va­rious measures of duration. Some spread in­to exuberance 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 the writers who take advantage of some pre­sent incidents and characters which strongly interest the passions, and engage universal [Page 50] attention. It is not difficult to obtain rea­ders, when we discuss a question 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 public 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 subordinations of interest, the ardour of party is diffused; and what multitudes fancy themselves 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 adherents, is desirous to confirm his opinion, and to strengthen his party, and diligently peruses every paper from which he can hope for sentiments like his own. An object, however small in itself, if placed [Page 51] near to the eye, will engross all the rays of light; and a transaction, however trivial, swells into importance, when it presses im­mediately on our attention. He that shall peruse the political pamphlets of any past reign, will wonder why they were so generally pur­chased, so eagerly read, or so loudly praised; many of the performances which had power to inflame factions, and fill a kingdom with confusion, have now very little effect upon a frigid critick, and the time is coming, when the compositions of later hirelings shall lie equally despised and forgotten. In propor­tion, as those who write on temporary sub­jects, are exalted above their merit at first, they are afterwards depressed below it; nor can the brightest elegance of diction, or most artful subtilty of reasoning, hope for much esteem from those whose regard is no longer quickened by interest or by 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, [Page 52] 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 veneration: 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 arguments 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 prejudice, 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 contented to know, that he [Page 53] conquered his opponents, without enquiring what cavils were produced against him, or by what proofs they were confuted.

SOME writers apply themselves to studies boundless and inexhaustible, as experiments and natural philosophy. These are always lost in successive compilations, as new advances are made, and former observations become more familiar. Others spend their lives in remarks on language, or explanations of anti­quities, and only afford materials for lexico­graphers and commentators; these are them­selves overwhelmed by subsequent collectors, who equally destroy the memory of their pre­decessors by amplification, transposition, or contraction. Every new system of nature gives birth to a swarm of expositors, whose business is to explain and illustrate it, and who can hope to exist no longer than the founder of their sect preserves his re­putation.

THERE are, indeed, few kinds of compo­sition from which an author, however learned or ingenious, can hope a long continuance of fame. He who has carefully studied human [Page 54] 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 home to mens busi­ness and bosoms, and of which, therefore, he declares his expectation, 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 extends his hopes to higher rewards, be so much anxious to obtain praise, as to discharge the duty which Pro­vidence assigns him.

NUMB. 107. TUESDAY, March 26, 1751.

AMONG the various censures, which the unavoidable comparison of my performances with those of my predecessors 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 attention with unex­hausted novelty, and of that intermixture of subjects, or alternation of manner, by which other writers 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, and give medicines, which, like the double poison of Dryden, de­stroy the force of one another. I have en­deavoured sometimes to divert, and some­times [Page 56] to elevate; but have imagined it an use­less attempt to disturb merriment 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.

NUMB. 108. SATURDAY, March 30, 1751.

AN ancient poet, unreasonably discontent­ed at the present state of things, which his system of opinions obliged him to repre­sent in its worst form, has 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 ac­commodation of man."

THE same observation may be transferred to the time allotted us in our present state. When we have deducted all that is absorbed in sleep, all that is inevitably appropriated to the demands of nature, or irresistibly engrossed [Page 65] by the tyranny of custom; all that passes in regulating the superficial decorations of life, or is given up in the reciprocations of civility to the disposal of others; all that is torn from us by violence of disease, or stolen impercep­tibly 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 employments; 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 enabling us to enjoy the rest.

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 equivalent; and perhaps it might be found, that as the earth, however streightened by rocks or waters, is capable of producing more than all its inha­bitants are able to consume, our lives, though much contracted by incidental distraction, and inevitable avocations, would yet afford us a [Page 66] large space vacant to the exercise of our rea­son and our virtue; that we want not time, but diligence, for great performances; and that we squander much of our allowance, even think it sparing and insufficient.

THIS natural and necessary comminution of our lives, perhaps, 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 employed, could have produced little advan­tage, and which were exposed to a thousand chances of disturbance and interruption.

IT is observable, that either by nature or by habit, our understandings are fitted to images of a certain extent, to which we adjust great things by division, and little things by accumulation. 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 [Page 67] 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 proverbial oracles of our parsimonious ancestors have informed us, that the fatal waste of fortune is by small expences, 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 satisfaction upon past years, must learn to know the present 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 persuit of any study, or the attainment of any new qualification, to look upon themselves as required 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 common degrees of excellence are attainable at a lower price; he that should steadily and resolutely assign to any science or language [Page 68] those interstitial vacancies which intervene in the most crouded 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 encounter 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 intelli­gences 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 successful 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 suffi­cient; [Page 69] 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 incursion, 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, the understanding is equally abs­tracted from the object of enquiry; but, per­haps, if it be detained by occupations less pleasing, it returns again to study with greater alacrity, 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 impossibilities, may sometimes find his abilities invigorated by the necessity of exerting them in short inter­vals, as the force of a current is encreased by the contraction of its chanel.

FROM some cause like this, it has probably [Page 70] proceeded, that among those who have con­tributed to the advancement of learning, many have risen to eminence in opposition 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 wandering and un­settled state. A great part of the life of Eras­mus 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 preferment, 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 [Page 71] 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 tereretur, lest the hours which he was obliged to spend on horseback, should be tattled away without regard to literature.

AN Italian philosopher expressed in his mot­to, that time was his estate; an estate, indeed, which will produce nothing without cultiva­tion, but will always abundantly repay the labours of industry, and generally satisfy the most extensive desires, if no part of it be suffer­ed to lie waste by negligence, to be over-run with noxious plants, or laid out for shew ra­ther than for use.

NUMB. 109. TUESDAY, April 2, 1751.

NUMB. 110. SATURDAY, April 6, 1751.

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 those duties which are prescribed to them, the fear of being de­serted, rejected, or punished by God, has al­ways burdened and oppressed the human mind. The expiation of crimes, and renova­tion of the forfeited hopes of divine favour, has therefore constituted a large part of every religion.

[Page 83] 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, however they may sometimes reproach or degrade humanity, at least shew the general consent of all ages and nations in their opinion of the mercy and 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 very little influence upon our moral conduct. There could be no prospect of enjoying the protection or regard of him, whom the least deviation from recti­tude made inexorable for ever; and every man would naturally withdraw his thoughts from the contemplation of a Creator, whom he must consider as a governor too pure to be pleased, and too severe to be pacified; 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 [Page 84] 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 persuasion of forgiveness to be obtained by proper means of reconciliation 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 ages and regions so disjoined from each other, that there can scarcely be imagined any communication of sentiments either by com­merce or tradition, has prevailed a general and uniform expectation of propitiating God by corporal austerities, of anticipating his ven­geance by voluntary inflictions, and appeas­ing his justice by a speedy and chearful 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. [Page 85] 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 determine the probability of his acceptance with God, if he could once establish the necessary propor­tion between crimes and sufferings, might se­curely rest upon his performance 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 he should not have felt the pangs of true contrition; lest he should mistake satiety for abhorrence, or imagine that his passions are subdued when they are only sleeping.

FROM this natural and reasonable diffidence arose, in humble and timorous piety, a dispo­sition to confound penance 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 [Page 86] 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 conscience 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 repentance, 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 extreme to another, in­cited others to an open contempt of all subsi­diary ordinances, all prudential caution, and the whole discipline of regulated piety.

REPENTANCE, however difficult to be practised, is, if it be explained without super­stition, easily understood. Repentance 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 [Page 87] of repentance; yet they are so closely connected with it, that they cannot easily be separated; for they not only mark its since­rity but promote its efficacy.

NO man commits any act of negligence or obstinacy, by which his present safety or hap­piness is endangered, without feeling the pun­gency of remorse. He who is fully convinced, that he suffers by 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. No man finds himself in dan­ger without such trepidations of impatience as leave all human means of safety behind them: he that has once caught an alarm of terror, is every moment seized with useless anxieties, always adding one security to another, trem­bling 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 reflect upon his conduct without disturbance, or can at will banish the reflection; if he who considers [Page 88] himself as suspended 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 horror, or panting for security; what can he judge of himself but that he is not yet awaked to sufficient conviction, since every loss is more lamented than the loss of the divine fa­vour, and every danger more dreaded than the danger of final condemnation?

RETIREMENT from the cares and plea­sures of the world 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 occasions: and surely the retrospect of life, the disentanglement of actions compli­cated with innumerable circumstances, 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, and business and folly. Some suspension of com­mon affairs, some pause of temporal pain and [Page 89] pleasure, is doubtless necessary to him that de­liberates for eternity, who is forming 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 plea­sures 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 [Page 90] a change of life. That sorrow which dictates no caution, that fear which does not quicken our escape, that austerity which fails to rectily our affections, are vain and unavailing. But sorrow and terror 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 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 conviction, to impress upon his mind such a sense of the divine presence, as may over­power the blandishments of secular delights, and enable him to advance from one degree of holiness to another, till death shall set him free from misery and temptation.

NUMB. 111. TUESDAY, April 9, 1751.

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 liberally 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, intercept the fruit in the gem, and beat down the flow­ers unopened to the ground.

[Page 92] I AM afraid there is little hope of persua­ding the young and sprightly part of my rea­ders, upon whom the spring naturally forces my attention, to learn from the great process 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 enterprize and hope; having yet had 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 purposed to subdue by storm, and expected to overbear in the violence of its course. 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 [Page 93] fancy that by encreasing 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 maturation of all our schemes, and a long enjoyment of all our ac­quisitions, we are eager to seize the present moment, to pluck every gratification within our reach without suffering it to ripen into perfection, and to croud all the varieties of delight into a narrow compass: but age sel­dom fails to change our conduct; we grow commonly negligent of time in proportion as we have less remaining, and suffer the last part of life to steal from us in languid prepa­rations for some future undertaking, or in slow approaches to some remote advantage, in weak hopes of some fortuitous occurrence, or in drowsy equilibrations of undetermined counsel. Whether it be that the aged, hav­ing tasted the pleasures of man's condition, and found them false and delusive, become less anxious for their attainment; or that frequent miscarriages have depressed them to despair, and frozen them to inactivity; or that, like all other objects of terror, death shocks them [Page 94] more as it advances upon them, and they are afraid of reminding themselves of their decay, or to discover to their own hearts, that the time of trifling is past.

A PERPETUAL conflict with our 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 recal 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 born 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 engagements to withdraw it from the importunities of a new desire. Yet since the fear of missing what we seek must always be proportionable to the advantage that we ex­pect from possessing it, the passions, even in this tempestuous state, might be somewhat moderated and restrained by frequent inculca­tion of the mischief of temerity, and the ha­zard [Page 95] 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 malignity 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 endeavours to support 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 uncertainty and 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 in an uncommon degree 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 [Page 96] observed, that after a short effort they either loiter or faint, and suffer themselves to be surpassed by the equal and regular perseve­rance of slower understandings.

IT, indeed, frequently happens, that ap­plause abates diligence. He that finds him­self to have performed more than was demand­ed, is contented to spare the labour of unne­cessary performances, and sits down to enjoy at ease his supersluities of honour. He whom success has made confident of his abilities, easi­ly allows himself the privilege of negligence, and looks contemptuously on the gradual ad­vances of a rival, whom he imagines himself able to leave behind him 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 genius, too often tends to obstruct it. The pleasure of being caressed, distin­guished, [Page 97] and admired, easily seduces the stu­dent from literary solitude. He is ready to follow the call which summons him tohear his own praise, and which, perhaps, at once flatters appetites 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 to be 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 endowed, 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 inconveniencies or the dangers of an amiable form? or who would have purchased safety by the loss of beauty?

[Page 98] 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 obtain them. A thousand beau­ties in their first blossom, by an imprudent exposure to the open world, have suddenly 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 credulity, 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 lise when we [Page 99] 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 or observe another attempt, an ineffectual struggle for fame is often followed by perpe­tual obscurity.

NUMB. 112. SATURDAY, April 13, 1751.

WE are taught by Celsus, that health is best preserved by avoiding settled ha­bits of life, and deviating sometimes into slight aberrations from the strict laws of medicine by varying 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 soon disor­dered by the smallest irregularity; and since we cannot exempt ourselves wholly from the [Page 100] power of accident, nor adjust every day by the balance or barometer, but must some­times depart from rigid accuracy in compli­ance with necessary affairs, or strong inclina­tions, he that too long observes nice punctu­alities, and condemns himself to voluntary imbecillity, will not long escape the miseries of disease.

THE same laxity of regimen is equally ne­cessary to intellectual health, to a constant enjoyment of gaiety, and perpetual suscepti­bility of occasional pleasure. He that by long confinement to the same company whom perhaps similitude of taste brought first toge­ther, has been accustomed to hear only the echo of his own sentiments, quickly contracts his faculties, and makes a thousand things offensive that are in themselves indifferent; he soon bars all the common avenues of de­light, and has no part in the general diver­sions or 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 atten­tion [Page 101] 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 attendance, or address, be­low the utmost point of perfection, will, whenever he enters the croud of life, be ha­rassed with innumerable distresses, from which those who have not in the same manner en­creased 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 he, therefore, that allows not himself to be satisfi­ed while he can perceive any error or defect, must refer his 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 [Page 102] and discolorations. The perceptions as well as the senses may be improved to our own disquiet, and we may, by diligent culti­vation of the powers of dislike, raise in time an artificial fastidiousness, which shall fill the imagination with phantoms of turpitude, shew 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 a continual indulgence of a particular humour, or by a 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 are within sight of their con­duct, or reach of their influence.

THEY that have grown old in a single state are generally found to be morose, fretful, and captious; tenacious of their own practices and [Page 103] maxims; soon offended by contradiction or negligence; and impatient of any association, but with such as will watch their nod, give up all claim to choice and reason, and submit themselves 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 exerted 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 execration; 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 sawce, as can scarcely be expiated without blood; and, in the transports of resentment, make very lit­tle distinctions between guilt and innocence, but let fly their menaces, or growl out their discontent upon all whom sortune exposes to the storm.

[Page 104] 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 momentary of­fence the obsequiousness or usefulness of half a life, and as more is performed encreases 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 dismissed with many prudent admonitions; in­formed of his father's inability to maintain him in his native rank; cautioned 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, without much warmth of affection, or elevation of sentiment; and there­fore readily complied with every variety of [Page 105] caprice; patiently endured contradictory re­proofs; heard false accusations without pain, and opprobrious reproaches without reply; laughed obstreperously at the ninetieth repe­tition 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 pre­ceptibly delining, for want of time to delibe­rate, left his money to a trading company.

WHEN female minds are imbittered by age or solitude, their malignity is generally exerted in a rigorous and spiteful superin­tendence of domestic trifles. Eriphile has employed her eloquence for twenty years up­on the degeneracy of servants, the nastiness of her house, the ruin of her furniture, the diffi­culty of preserving tapestry from the moths, and the carelesness of the sluts whom she em­ploys in brushing it. It is her business every [Page 106] 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 vociferations of anger. She lives for no other purpose but to preserve the neatness of a house and gardens, and feels ther inclination to pleasure, nor aspiration after virtue, while she is engrossed by the great em­ployment of keeping gravel from grass, and wainscot from dust. Of three amiable nieces she has declared herself an irreconcileable 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 off 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 and indulgence.

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 [Page 107] to bear the lightest addition to its miseries, proceeds 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 failures unwor­thy of our notice.

HE that resigns his peace to little casual­ties, and suffers the course of his life to be interrupted by fortuitous inadvertencies, or trivial 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; 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.

[Page 108] THAT it is every man's interest to be pleas­ed, will need little proof: that it is his interest to please others, experience will inform him. It is therefore not less necessary 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.

NUMB. 113. TUESDAY, April 16, 1751.

NUMB. 114. SATURDAY, April 20, 1751.

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 pru­dence so timorous, as to decline them. Even those that have most reverence for the laws of right, are pleased with shewing that not fear, but choice, regulates their behaviour; 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 degeneracy and corruption, proceeds the desire of investing lawful authority with ter­ror, and governing by force rather than per­suasion. Pride is unwilling to believe the [Page 118] 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 pride has sometimes found its way into legislative assemblies, 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 discover so many disproportions between crimes and punishments, such capricious dis­tinctions of guilt, and such confusion of re­missness and severity, as can scarcely be be­lieved to have been produced by publick wis­dom, sincerely and calmly studious of publick happiness.

THE learned, the judicious, the pious Boerhaave relates, that he never saw a crimi­minal 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 [Page 119] procession put the same question to his own heart. How few among those that croud 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 horror and de­jection? For, who can congratulate himself upon a life passed without some act more mis­chievous to the peace or prosperity 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 endeavour 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 persuit in the heat of anger, 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 [Page 120] 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 insecurity 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 encreasing; yet few seem willing to despair of its efficacy, and of those who employ their speculations upon the present corruption of the people, some propose the introduction of more horrid, lingering, and terrifick punishments; some are inclined to [Page 121] accelerate the executions; some to discourage 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 sanguinary justice.

YET since the right of setting an uncertain and arbitrary value upon life has been disputed, and since experience 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 proportion of penalties to of­fences.

DEATH is, as one of the ancients observes, [...], 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 terror should, therefore, be reserved as the last resort of authority, as the strongest and most operative of prohibitory sanctions, and placed before the treasure of life, to guard from invasion what cannot be restored. To [Page 122] equal robbery with murder is to reduce mur­der to robbery, to confound in common minds the gradations of injury, 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 incurred, and great­er security may probably 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 punishments 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 [Page 123] 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 anticipation, but from robbery haft­ens 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 commonly prevents its detection, and is, if we reason only upon pru­dential principles, chiefly for that reason to be avoided. Whatever may be urged by ca­suists or politicians, 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 punishment; nor is the neces­sity [Page 124] 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, and by escaping all the temptations to subsequent crimes, have passed their days in reparation, and penitence; and detected they might all have been, had the prosecutors been certain, that their lives [Page 125] 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 capital crimes, be­cause he knew, that those whom he injured would rather connive at his escape, than cloud their minds with the horrors of his death.

ALL laws against crimes 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 punishing a slight injury with death; especially when he remembers, that the thief might have procured safety by another crime, from which he was restrained only by his remaining virtue.

THE obligations to assist the exercise of publick justice are 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 seldom discovered; and multitudes will be suffered to advance from crime to crime, till [Page 126] they deserve death, because if they had been early 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 common practice, that I might reasonably fear to expose it to the publick, could it be supported only by my own observations: 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.

NUMB. 115. TUESDAY, April 23, 1751.

NUMB. 116. SATURDAY, April 27, 1751.

NUMB. 117. TUESDAY, April 30, 1751.

NUMB. 118. SATURDAY, May 4, 1751.

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 himself appears to have panted with restless and impor­tunate solicitude, by shewing within what nar­row limits all that fame and celebrity which man can hope from men is circumscribed.

"YOU see," says Africanus, pointing at the earth from the celestial regions, "that the globe assigned to the residence and ha­bitation of human beings is of small dimen­sions: how then can you obtain from the praise of men, any glory worthy of a wish? Of this little world the inhabited parts are neither numerous nor wide; even the spots where men are found are broken by inter­vening desarts; and the nations are so sepa­rated [Page 158] 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 possessed, 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 [Page 159] to the celestial chronology, no human honours can last a single year.

SUCH are the objections by which Tully has made a shew of discouraging the persuit of fame; objections which sufficiently 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 Troy, and left to Hector only the mean task of giving the last blow to an enemy whom a divine hand had disabled from resistance. Thus Tully ennobles fame, which he professes to degrade by opposing it to cele­stial happiness; he confines not its extent but by the boundaries of nature, nor contracts its duration but by representing it small in the estimation of superior 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; [Page 160] but few of those who shall in the present age read my humble version will find themselves much depressed 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 cultivating of knowledge, or the acquisition of power, have very anxiously enquired what opinions prevail on the farther banks of the Ganges, or have 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 nation, and a few years, have generally sufficient amplitude to fill our imagination.

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 [Page 161] inconsiderable; and where neither benefit nor mischief operate, the only motive to the mention or remembrance of others is curiosi­ty; a passion, which, though in some degree universally associated with reason, is easily confined, overborn, 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 enquire, why any man should labour for nothing: so those whose condition 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 understand, why nights and days should be spent in studies, which end in new studies, and which, accord­ing to Malherbe's observation, do not tend to lessen the price of bread; nor will the trader or manufacturer easily be persuaded, that much pleasure can arise from the mere know­ledge [Page 162] of actions, performed in remote regi­ons, or in distant times; or that any thing can deserve their enquiry, of which [...], we can only hear the report, but which cannot influence our lives by any consequences.

THE truth is, that very few have leisure from indispensable business, to employ their thoughts upon narrative 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 secu­rities, and to enquire 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 promoting 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 [Page 163] busy with its favourite amusement, and im­patent of interruption or disturbance.

BUT not only such employments as seduce attention by the appearance of dignity, or the promise of happiness, may restrain the mind from excursion and enquiry; curiosity may be equally destroyed by less formidable enemies; it may be dissipated in trifles, or congealed by indolence. The sportsmen and the men of dress have their heads filled with a fox or a horse-race, a feather or a ball; and live in ig­norance of every thing beside, with as much content as he that heaps up gold, or solicits preferment, digs the field, or beats the anvil; and some 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 knowledge, the far greater part have confined their curiosity to a few objects, and have very little inclination to promote any fame, but that of which their own studies entitle them to partake. The naturalist has no desire to know the opinions or conjectures [Page 164] 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 contempt; and he that is growing great and happy by electrifying a bottle, wonders how the world can be engaged 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 vallies of life no other voice than that of necessity; all those who imagine themselves too important 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 with-held from attending his triumph by different persuits; and all who slumber in universal negligence; he will find his renown streightened by nearer bounds than the rocks of Caucasus, and per­ceive that no man can be venerable or for­midable, [Page 165] but to a small part of his fellow crea­tures.

THAT we may not languish in our endea­vours after excellence, 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 crouds, or fixing our hopes on such rewards as hu­man power can bestow."

NUMB. 119. TUESDAY, May 7, 1751.

NUMB. 120. SATURDAY, May 11, 1751.

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 warehouses were filled with all the commodities of the remotest nations; every rarity of nature, every curiosity of art, whatever was valuable, whatever was useful, hasted to his hand. The streets were croud­ed with his carriages; the sea was covered with his ships; the streams of Oxus were wearied with conveyance, and every breeze of the sky wasted wealth to Nouradin.

[Page 176] AT length Nouradin felt himself seized with a slow malady, 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 essential 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 unwillingness 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 [Page 177] 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 fountains of Oxus; it sends out branches afar, and bids defiance to the blast; pru­dence reclines against his trunk, and pro­sperity dances on his top. Now, Almamou­lin, look upon me withering and prostrate; look upon me, and attend. 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 [Page 178] 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 delirious, and ex­pired.

ALMAMOULIN, who loved his father, was touched a while with honest sorrow, and sat two hours in profound meditation, without perusing the paper which he held in his hand. He then retired to his own chamber, as over­born with affliction, and there read the in­ventory of his new possessions, 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 magnificence, suitable at once to the rank of Nouradin's profession, and the reputa­tion of his wealth. The two next nights he spent in visiting the tower and the caverns, and found the treasures greater to his eye than to his imagination.

[Page 179] ALMAMOULIN had been bred to the prac­tice of exact frugality, and had often looked with envy on the finery and expences 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 or 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 armies threatened his destruc­tion. Almamoulin was informed 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 kingdoms, for a wife of [Page 180] noble birth. His suit was generally rejected, and his presents refused; but a princess of Astracan once condescended to admit him to her presence. She received him sitting on a throne, attired in the robe of royalty, and shining with the jewels of Golconda; com­mand sparkled in her eyes, and dignity tow­ered on her forehead. Almamoulin approach­ed and trembled. She saw his confusion, and disdained him: How, says she, dares the wretch hope my obedience, who thus shrinks at my glance? Retire, and enjoy thy riches in forbid ostentation; thou wast born to be wealthy, but never canst be great.

HE then contracted his desires to more pri­vate and domestick pleasures. He built pa­laces, he laid out gardens, he changed the face of the land, he transplanted forests, he levelled mountains, opened prospects into distant re­gions, poured fountains from the tops of tur­rets, and rolled rivers through new chanels.

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 [Page 181] 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 relieved his satiety, but all the novelties of situation were soon exhausted; he found his heart vacant, and his desires, for want of external objects, ravaging himself.

HE therefore returned to Samarcand, and set open his doors to those whom idleness sends out in search of pleasure. 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 crouded with pleasure; and the day ended and began with feasts and dances, and revelry and merriment. Almamoulin 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 [Page 182] 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 expence; but in the midst of this soliloquy, an officer of justice en­tered the house, and, in the form of legal cita­tion, summoned Almamoulin to appear before the emperor. The guests stood a while aghast, then stole imperceptible 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 unsupported, he cleared himself by the openness of innocence, and the consist­ence of truth; he was dismissed with ho­nour, 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 searches after felicity, he had recourse to a sage, who, af­ter spending his youth in travel and observa­tion, [Page 183] 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 hast suffered thy reason to be deluded by idle hopes, and fallacious ap­pearances. Having long looked with desire upon riches, thou hadst taught thyself to think them more valuable than nature de­signed them, and to expect from them, what experience has now taught thee, that they cannot give. That they do not con­fer wisdom, thou mayst 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 su­perior to himself. That they will not sup­ply unexhausted 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 tryal un­countenanced and alone. Yet think not [Page 184] 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 imbecillity to chearfulness 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."

NUMB. 121. TUESDAY, May 14, 1751.

I Have been informed by a letter, from one of the universities, 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 coffee­house 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 repu­tation and authority.

THESE humble retailers of knowledge my correspondent stigmatizes with the name of Echoes; and seems desirous, that they should [Page 186] 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, acrimonious, 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 reasoners are restrained from confi­dence, they form their conclusions with great precipitance; as they see nothing that can darken or embarrass the question, they expect to find their own opinion universally preva­lent, and are inclined to impute uncertainty and hesitation to want of honesty, rather 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 collectors of fortuitous knowledge with the severity required; yet, as I am now too old to be much terrified or pained by hasty censure, I shall not be afraid of taking into protection those whom I think condemned without a sufficient knowledge of their cause.

[Page 187] 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 encrease 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 has 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 peculiarly their own, can seldom add more than some small particle of knowledge, to the hereditary [Page 188] stock devolved to them from ancient times, the collective labour of a thousand intel­lects.

IN science, which being fixed and limited, admits of no other 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 conceived, 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, obliquity may be infinitely diversified. The fields of science are narrow, so that they who travel them, must either 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, combinations of imagery yet unob­served, and races of ideal inhabitants not hi­therto described.

[Page 189] YET, whatever hope may persuade, or rea­son evince, experience can boast of very few additions to ancient fable. The wars of Troy, and the travels of Ulysses, have furnished almost all succeeding poets with incidents, chara­cters, 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 writings, 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 warrior, united the beauties of the Iliad and Odyssey in one com­position: yet his judgment was perhaps some­times overborn by his avarice of the Homeric treasures; and, for fear of suffering a sparkling [Page 190] ornament to be lost, he has inserted it where it cannot shine with its original splendor.

WHEN Ulysses visited the infernal regions, he found, that 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 disappointment. 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 without reply. This pas­sage has always been considered as eminently beautiful; because Ajax the haughty chief, the unlettered soldier, of unshaken courage, of immoveable constancy, 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 shewn by silence more con­temptuous and piercing than any words that so rude an orator could have found, and by which [Page 191] he gave his enemy no opportunity of exerting the only power in which he was superior.

WHEN Aeneas is sent by Virgil to visit the shades, he meets with 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 prevail on himself to teach Dido any other mode of resentment.

IF Virgil could be thus seduced by imita­tion, there will be little hope, that common wits should escape; and accordingly we find, that besides the universal and acknowledged 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 [Page 192] in a vision; at one period, all the poets fol­lowed 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 imbecillity assisted; but surely no man of genius can much applaud 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 the laborious wits of the present time employ their faculties. 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 Spen­ser, 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.

[Page 193] 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 from extend­ing the same respect to his diction or his stanza. His stile was in his own time al­lowed to be vicious, so darkened with old words and peculiarities of phrase, and so re­mote from common use, that Johnson boldly pronounces 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 so little variety of termination, that they were forced to contrive 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 [Page 194] difficulty of rhyme is encreased by long con­catenations.

THE imitators of Spenser are indeed not very rigid censors of themselves, for they seem to conclude, that when they have dis­figured their lines with a few obsolete syllables, they have accomplished their design, without considering that they ought not only to admit 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 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 stile of Spen­ser might 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.

NUMB. 122. SATURDAY, May 18, 1751.

NOTHING is more subject to mistake and disappointment than an­ticipated judgment concerning the easiness or difficulty of any undertaking, whether we form our opinion from the performances of others, or from abstracted contemplation 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 degree 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 [Page 196] are equally in danger of deceiving ourselves. It is never easy, nor often possible, to com­prise the series of any process, with all its cir­cumstances, incidents, and variations, in a speculative scheme. Experience soon shews us the tortuosities of imaginary rectitude, the complications of simplicity, and the as­perities of smoothness. Sudden difficulties often start up from the ambushes of art, stop the career of activity, repress the gaiety of confidence, and when we imagine ourselves almost at the end of our labours, drive us back to new plans and different measures.

THERE are many things which we every day see others unable to perform, and perhaps have even ourselves mis­carried in attempting; and yet can hardly allow to be difficult; 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 inability is perceived, and the vexa­tion of disappointment must again be suffered.

OF the various kinds of speaking or wri­ting, which serve necessity, or promote plea­sure, [Page 197] none appears so artless or easy as simple narration; for what should make him that knows the whole order and progress of an af­fair unable to relate it? Yet we hourly find such as endeavour to entertain or instruct us by recitals, clouding the facts which they in­tend to illustrate, and losing themselves and their auditors in wilds and mazes, in digres­sion and confusion. When we have con­gratulated ourselves upon a new opportunity of enquiry, and new means of information; it often happens, that without designing either deceit or concealment, without ignorance of the fact, or unwillingness to disclose it, the relator fills the ear with empty sounds, ha­rasses the attention with fruitless impatience, and disturbs 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 intellects are utterly unequal. The poet trusts to his invention, and is not only in [Page 198] danger of those inconsistencies, to which every one is exposed by departure from truth; but may be censured as well for defici­cencies of matter, as for irregularity of dis­position, or impropriety of ornament. But the happy historian has no other labour than of gathering what tradition pours down before him, or records treasure for his use. He 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 the inconsistency of statesmen, the injustice of tyrants, or the cowardice of commanders. The difficulty of making va­riety consistent, or uniting probability with surprize, needs not to distrub 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 ttansmit to futurity the events of [Page 199] their own time, the greater part, when fashion and novelty have ceased to recommend 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 has been 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 prejudices against us, that some have doubted, whether an Englishman can stop at that me­diocrity of stile, or confine 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 honour of serious consu­tation. 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 [Page 200] 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 comparison 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 stile; but he has endeavoured to exert his judgment more than his genius, to select facts, rather than adorn them; and has produced an historical dissertation, but seldom risen to the majesty of history.

THE work of Clarendon deserves more re­gard. His diction is indeed neither exact in itself, nor suited to the purpose of history. It is the effusion of a mind crouded with ideas, and desirous of imparting them; and there­fore always accumulating words, and involv­ing one clause and sentence in another. But there is dignity 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 [Page 201] 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 carelesness of the art of writing are 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 contest the superiority of Knolles, who, in his history of the Turks, has displayed all the excellencies that narration can admit. His stile, though somewhat obscured by time, and sometimes vitiated by false wit, is pure, nervous, elevated, and clear. A wonderful multiplicity of events is so artfully arranged, and so distinctly explained, that each facilitates 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 under his view. The descriptions of this au­thor are without minuteness, and the digres­sions [Page 202] without ostentation. Collateral events are so artfully woven into the contexture of his principal story, that they cannot be dis­joined, without leaving it lacerated and bro­ken. There is nothing turgid in his dignity, nor superfluous in his copiousness. His ora­tions only, which he feigns, like the ancient historians, to have been pronounced on re­markable occasions, are tedious 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 hi­story of his own country, has exposed him­self to the danger of oblivion, by recounting enterprizes and revolutions, of which none desire to be informed.

NUMB. 123. TUESDAY, May 21, 1751.

NUMB. 124. SATURDAY, May 25, 1751.

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 a while unpeopled, and pleasure leads out her 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 appointment; nor slept at night without a dream of dances, musick, and good hands, or of soft sighs, languishing looks, and humble supplications; must now retire to distant pro­vinces, where the sirens of flattery are scarce­ly to be heard, where beauty sparkles without praise or envy, and wit is repeated only by the echo.

[Page 213] 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 encreasing 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 obstreperous jollity, or the dulness of prudential instruction; without any retreat, but to the gloom of solitude, where they will yet find greater inconveniencies, 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 regulating [Page 214] their own motions, and persue 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 direct 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 dissolution 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 overpowered 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 regarded as a release from the fatiguing service of celebrity, a dismission to more certain joys and a safer empire. They now [Page 215] 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 image, while they are pre­paring for their journey, the admiration with which the rusticks will croud 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 unactive obscurity. Many com­plaints do vexation and desire extort from these exiled tyrants of the town, against the inex­orable sun, who persues his course without any regard to love or beauty; and visits either tropick at the stated time, whether shunned or courted, deprecated or implored.

[Page 216] 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 milk-maid.

HOW then must four long months be worn away? Four months, in which there will be no routes, no shews, 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 contemplation, will arise from [Page 217] the predominance and solicitations 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 perfumes; this month, which covers the meadow with verdure, and decks the gardens with all the mixtures of co­lorifick 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 multi­tudes to the Platonick penance of desire with­out enjoyment, 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 wis­dom or virtue, though they have been dis­sipated by negligence, or misled by example: and who would gladly find the way to rational [Page 218] happiness, though it should be necessary 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 weariness, nor the future with repentance.

IT would seem impossible to a solitary spe­culatist, that a human being can want em­ployment. To be born in ignorance with a capacity of knowledge, and to be placed in the midst of a world filled with variety, perpetu­ally pressing upon the senses and irritating cu­riosity, is surely a sufficient 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 ap­prehension not apt to admit unaccustomed [Page 219] ideas, or any attention 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 regularly 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.

NUMB. 125. TUESDAY, May 28, 1751.

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 experience advances knowledge, or acci­dent influences caprice, are scarcely to be in­cluded in any standing form of expression, because they are always suffering some alter­ation of their state. Definition is, indeed, not the province of man; every thing is set above or below our faculties. The works and operations of nature are too great in their ex­tent or too much diffused in their relations, and the performances of art too inconstant and uncertain, to be reduced to any determi­nate idea. It is impossible to impress upon our minds an adequate and just representa­tion [Page 221] 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 conceive it.

DEFINITIONS have been no less difficult or uncertain in criticism than in law. Ima­gination, a licentious and vagrant faculty, un­susceptible of limitations, and impatient of restraint, has always endeavoured to baffle the logician, to perplex the consines of distin­ction, and burst the inclosures of regularity, There is therefore scarcely any species of wri­ting, of which we can tell what is its essence, and what are its constituents; every new genius produces some innovation, 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 dramatic re­presentation of human life, as may excite mirth, they have embarrassed their definition with [Page 222] the means by which the comic 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 transaction. But any man's reflections will inform him, that every dramatic com­position which raises mirth is comic; and that, to raise mirth, it is by no means universally necessary, that the personages should be either mean or corrupt, 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 tragic with comic sentiments. They seem to have thought, that as the meanness of personages constituted comedy, their greatness was suf­ficient [Page 223] to form a tragedy; and that nothing was necessary to dignity and seriousness, but that they should croud 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 considered, that thoughts or inci­dents in themselves ridiculous, grow still more grotesque by the solemnity of such cha­racters; 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 protection 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 comic personages can only depart from their familiarity of stile, when the more violent passions are put in motion, the heroes and queens of tragedy should never descend to trifle, but in the hours of ease, and inter­missions [Page 224] 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 condemned 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:

THIS conversation, with the sly remark of the minister, can only be found not to be co­mick, [Page 225] because it wants the probability ne­cessary to representations of common life, and degenerates too much towards buffoonry 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:

To which Dorax answers,

A THOUSAND instances of such impro­priety might be produced, were not one scene in Aureng-Zebe sufficient to exemplify it. In­damora, a captive queen, having Aureng-Zebe for her lover, employs Arimant, to whose charge she had been intrusted, and whom she had made sensible of her charms, to carry a message to his rival.

IN this scene, every circumstance concurs to turn tragedy 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 reason to ap­prove, are surely sufficient to awaken the most torpid risibility.

THERE is scarce a tragedy of the last cen­tury [Page 229] which has not debased its most important incidents, and polluted its most serious inter­locutions with buffoonry and meanness; but though perhaps it cannot be pretended that the present age has added much to the force and efficacy 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 tumor of phrase with which every thought is now expressed by every personage, the paucity of adventures which regularity ad­mits, and the unvaried equality of flowing dialogue, has taken away from our present writers almost all that dominion over the pas­sions which was the boast of their predeces­sors. Yet they may at least claim this com­mendation, that they avoid gross faults, and that if they cannot often move terror or pity, they are always careful not to provoke laugh­ter.

NUMB. 126. SATURDAY, June 1, 1751.

NUMB. 127. TUESDAY, June 4, 1751.

POLITIAN, a name eminent among the restorers of polite literature, when he published a collection of epigrams, prefix­ed 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 conciliate 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 life seldom equalled the sallies of his youth.

IT is not uncommon for those who at their first entrance into the world were distinguish­ed for eminent attainments or superior abili­ties, to disappoint the hopes which they had [Page 241] raised, and to end in neglect and obscurity that life which they began in celebrity and honour. To the long catalogue of the in­conveniencies of old age, which moral and satirical writers have so copiously displayed, may be often added the loss of fame.

THE advance of the human mind towards any object of laudable persuit, may be com­pared to the progress of a body driven by a blow. It moves for a time with great velo­city and vigour, but the force of the first im­pulse is perpetually decreasing, and though it should encounter no obstacle capable of quell­ing it by a sudden stop, the resistance 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 hindrances 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 [Page 242] 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 to renew our attempts, but eagerly listen to every argument for frequent interpositions of amusement; for when indolence has once entered upon the mind, it can scarcely be dis­possessed but by such efforts as very few are found 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 [Page 243] 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 un­expected interruptions break in upon him, he is in the state of a man surprised by a tempest where he purposed only to bask in the calm, or sport in the shallows.

IT is not only common to find the difficulty of an enterprize greater, but the profit less, than hope had pictured it. Youth enters the world with very happy prejudices in her own favour. She imagines herself not only certain of ac­complishing every adventure, but of obtaining those rewards which the accomplishment may deserve. She is not 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 praise or pre­ferment may be rejected by malice against conviction, or by indolence without exami­nation; that they may be sometimes defeated by artifices, and sometimes overborn by clamour; that in the mingled numbers of mankind, [Page 244] many need no other provocation to enmity than that they find themselves excelled; that others have ceased their curiosity, and consider 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 innovation; 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, he 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 enterprize should cease; for who would persevere to cul­tivate the soil which he has, after long labour, discovered to be barren? He who had 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 [Page 245] to be considered as his admirers nothing can 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 swallowed up by the gulph 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, is often fatal to men of impetuous desire, and ardent imagination, to men whose con­sciousness of uncommon powers fills them with presumption, and who, having born op­position down before them, and left emula­tion [Page 246] 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 performs 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 perceive the diminution of their character while there is time to recover it. Nothing then remains but murmurs and remorse; for [Page 247] 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 errors all arise from an 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 pre­served him from trivial elations and discourage­ments, and enabled him to proceed with con­stancy and chearfulness, neither enervated by commendation, nor intimidated by censure.

NUMB. 128. SATURDAY, June 8, 1751.

THE writers who have undertaken the task of reconciling mankind to their present state, and of relieving the discontent produced by the various distribution of ter­restrial advantages, very frequently remind us that we judge too hastily of good and evil, that we view only the superficies 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 fear, anxiety and de­sire, lie hid under the golden robes of prospe­rity, and the gloom of calamity is cheared by secret radiations of hope and comfort; as in the works of nature the bog is sometimes [Page 249] 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 their reason to hypothetical systems will 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 accidents operate variously upon different minds, and that no man can exactly judge from his own sensa­tions what another would feel in the same circumstances.

IF the general disposition of things be esti­mated by the representation which every one makes of his own state, 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 concluded, that we are all placed in an elysian region, over-spread with the luxuriance of plenty, and fan­ned by the breezes of felicity; since scarcely any complaint is uttered without censure [Page 250] 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 inclinations, or receive so many of our ideas and opinions from the state of life in which we are engaged, and the particular objects by which we are surrounded, that the griefs and cares of one part of mankind seem to the other hypocrisy, folly, and affectation. Every class of society has its cant of lamenta­tion, which is understood or regarded by none but themselves; and every part of life has its uneasinesses, which those who do not feel them will not commiserate. An event which spreads terror and distraction over half the commercial world, that assembles the trading companies in councils and committees, and sinks the hearts 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 and fear, and steals away the night and day from every other [Page 251] pleasure or employment, is regarded by them whose passions time has extinguished, as a tri­vial amusement, which can properly raise nei­ther joy, nor sorrow, and which, 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 manour to his estate, who never grieved but at a bad mortgage, or entered a company but to make a bargain, would be astonished to hear of beings known among the polite and gay by the denomination 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 spoke 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 a thousand opportunities of im­proving their fortunes for the pleasure of ma­king others laugh? How slowly would he 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 [Page 252] 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 accidental 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 all the anxiety of a conspirator whose fate de­pends upon the next night; that at the hour of retirement he often carries home, amidst all his 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, review the progress of the day, state with accuracy his loss or gain of reputation, and examine the causes of his failure or success?

AND yet more remote from common con­ceptions are the numerous and restless anxie­ties, by which female happiness is particularly disturbed. A solitary philosopher would ima­gine ladies born with an exemption from care [Page 253] and sorrow, lulled in perpetual security, 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 rudeness is infamy, and insult is cowardice; whose eye commands the brave, and whose smile softens the severe; whom the sailor travels to adorn, the soldier bleeds to defend, 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 re­quiring from them any return but willingness to be pleased?

SURELY, among these favourites of nature, thus unacquainted 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 [Page 254] world, and know it only by conjecture and speculation. But experience will soon disco­ver 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 re­move all inconveniencies by which elegance refined into impatience may be offended. None are so hard to please as those whom satiety of pleasure makes weary of themselves; 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 fashionable 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 [Page 255] of a new suit may be interrupted on the first day of its enjoyment, and all distinctions 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 condition which he desires to obtain, but is certain that by indulging a vicious passion, he must lessen that happiness which he thinks already too sparingly bestowed.

NUMB. 129. TUESDAY, June 11, 1751.

THE greater part of moralists, like other writers, instead of casting their eyes abroad into the living world, and endea­vouring to form from their own observations new maxims of practice and new hints of theo­ry, content their curiosity with that secondary knowledge which the perusal of books affords, and think themselves entitled to reverence and to fame by a new arrangement of an ancient system, or new illustration of established prin­ciples. The sage precepts of the first instruc­tors of the world are transmitted from age to age with little variation, and echoed from one [Page 257] author 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 cen­sure, 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; or why on one side the heart has been doubly fortified, while it has lain open on the other to the incursions of error, and the ravages of vice.

AMONG the favourite topicks of moral de­clamation, may be numbered the dangers and miscarriages of imprudent boldness, the folly of attempts beyond our power, and the necessity of modest diffidence and cautious deliberation. Every page of every philosopher is crouded with examples of temerity that sunk under burthens which she laid upon herself, and called out enemies to battle by whom she was destroyed.

[Page 258] THEIR remarks are certainly too just to be disputed, and too salutary to be rejected; but there is likewise some danger lest timorous prudence should be too strongly inculcated, lest courage and enterprize should be wholly repressed, and the mind congealed 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, or act with regard folely to our own advantage, and though therefore danger or difficulty should not be avoided merely because we may expose ourselves to misery or disgrace; yet it may be justly required of us, not to ha­zard our lives, or throw away our labour, upon inadequate and hopeless designs, since we might by a more just estimate of our abilities have become more useful to mankind.

THERR is, doubtless, an irrational con­tempt of danger which approaches very near­ly to the folly, if not the guilt, of suicide: there is a ridiculous perseverance in imprac­ticable [Page 259] schemes, which is justly punished with ignominy and reproach. But in the wide regions of probability which are the 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 inclinations 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 observe, is unanimously confessed; but it is likewise uni­versally 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 who have undertaken conduct others has been, that whenever they decline into obliquities, they should be cer­tain to 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 [Page 260] ready to condemn. It is the vice of noble and generous 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 ap­pearance of softness and imbeciility which is commonly necessary to conciliate compassion. But if the same attention had been applied to the search of arguments against cold despond­ency, against the mean and cowardly dere­liction of ourselves, and the folly of presup­posing impossibilities, and anticipating fru­stration, I know not whether many would not have been roused to usefulness, who, having been taught to confound prudence with timi­dity, never ventured to excel left they should unfortunately fail.

IT is always 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 dangers; but where only our­selves can suffer by miscarriage, we are not [Page 261] confined within such narrow limits; and still less is the reproach of temerity, when num­bers will receive 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 general 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 like­wise to be remembered, that he is no less ig­norant of his own powers, and might per­haps have accomplished a thousand designs, which the prejudices of cowardice restrained 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 over-whelmed by some resistless passion. We then [Page 262] 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 diligence 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 terror to the conviction of their own abili­ties. Every one should therefore endeavour to invigorate himself by reason and reflection, and determine to exert, in any laudable un­dertaking, the latent force that nature may have reposited in him against the hour of exi­gence, before external 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 and perseverance than the de­sire of performing the duties of his condition.

[Page 263] REFLECTIONS that may at least drive away despair, cannot easily be wanting to him who has taken a survey of the world, and con­siders how much life is now advanced beyond the state of naked, undisciplined, uninstructed nature. Whatever has been effected for con­venience 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, adven­tured 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 certainly in­numerable qualities in the products of nature yet undiscovered, and innumerable 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 knowledge 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.

NUMB. 130. SATURDAY, June 15, 1751.

NUMB. 131. TUESDAY, June 18, 1751.

THERE is scarcely any sentiment in which, amidst the innumerable varie­ties of inclination that nature or accident 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 modifications.

WEALTH is indeed the general center of inclination, the point to which all minds pre­serve an invariable tendency, and from which they afterwards diverge in numberless dire­ctions. [Page 275] 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 there­fore all unanimously confess the value, nor is there any disagreement but about the use.

NO desire can be formed which riches do not assist us to gratify. He that places his happiness in splendid equipage or numerous dependents, in refined praise or popular ac­clamations, 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 essential 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 multitudes have vied with each other in arts by which life is furnished [Page 276] 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 influencing 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 honest industry or useful knowledge. They there­fore turn their eyes about to examine what other methods can be sound of gaining that which none, however impotent or worth­less, will be content to want.

A LITTLE enquiry will discover that there are nearer ways to profit than through the in­tricacies [Page 277] of art, or up the steeps of labour; that what wisdom and virtue scarcely receive at the close of life, as the recompence of long toil and repeated efforts, is brought within the reach of subtilty and dishonesty by more ex­peditious and compendious measures: that the wealth of credulity is an open prey to fals­hood; and that the possessions of ignorance and imbecillity 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 enquiry, divert the celerity of pursuit, or appease the ferocity of vengeance. When any man is in­contestably known to have large possessions, very few think it requisite to enquire by what practices they were obtained; the resentment of mankind rages only against the struggles 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 [Page 278] ardently desired, and the certainty of obtaining by every accession of advantage 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 observed 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 [Page 279] 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 irrreconcileable with the laws of virtue; some are openly flagitious, and practised 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 temptations, that very few, even of those who are not yet abandoned, are able to preserve their innocence, or can pro­duce any other claim to pardon than that they have deviated 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 [Page 280] must always include spontaneity of pro­duction; for what is only to be obtained by labour, must 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 will incite to more safe and more speedy methods, who will strive to pluck the fruit without cultivating the tree, and to share the advantages of victory without partaking the danger of the battle.

IN later ages, the conviction of the danger to which virtue is exposed while the mind continues open to the influence 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 destroying 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 forborn to injure society, have not fully paid their contributions to its happiness.

[Page 281] 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 con­tinual impulse of covetousness by the pre­ponderation of unchangeable and eternal motives. Gold will generally turn the in­tellectual balance, when weighed only against reputation; but will be light and ineffectual when the opoposite scale is charged with jus­tice, veracity, and piety.

NUMB. 132. SATURDAY, June 22, 1751.

NUMB. 133. TUESDAY, June 25, 1751.

NUMB. 134. SATURDAY, June 29, 1751.

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 which by 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 come for which I had been thus negligently purposing to provide, and, however dubious or sluggish, I was now necessitated to write.

THOUGH to a writer whose design is so [Page 301] 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 opportunities which have slipped away; and who are condemned by their own carelesness 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 weaknesses, which in spite of the instruction of moralists, and the remon­strances of reason, prevail to a greater or less degree in almost every mind: even they who most steadily withstand it, find it, if not the most violent, the most pertinacious of their [Page 302] 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 for 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 persuaded, 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 reso­lution which the next morning dissipates; in forming purposes which we scarcely hope to keep; and reconciling ourselves to our own cowardice by excuses, which, while we ad­mit them, we know to be absurd. Our firm­ness is by the continual contemplation of mi­sery hourly impaired; every submission to our fear enlarges its dominion; we not only waste [Page 303] that time in which the evil we dread might have been suffered and surmounted, but even where procrastination produces no absolute encrease of our difficulties, make them less superable to ourselves by habitual terrors. When evils cannot be avoided, it is wise to contract the interval of expectation; 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 inertiae, 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 [Page 304] this torpid generation than murmurs and com­plaints; murmurs at uneasiness 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 ter­rors 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 soon dissipated by useful employment, will soon overcast it with horrors, 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 discerned 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 [Page 305] gratify the passions; but to neglect our duties, merely to avoid the labour of performing them, a labour which is always punctually 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 him 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 appro­priate.

THERE are other causes of inactivity in­cident to more active faculties and more acute discernment. He to whom many objects of persuit arise at the same time, will frequently hesitate between different desires, 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 [Page 306] watches carefully over his own conduct, lay out too much of his attention upon the com­parison of probabilities, and the adjustment 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 new possibilities of improvement, will not easily be persuaded that his project is ripe for execution; but will su­peradd one contrivance to another, endeavour to unite various purposes in one operation, multiply complications, and refine niceties, till he is entangled in his own scheme, and bewildered in the perplexity of various inten­tions. He will resolve to unite all the beau­ties of situation in a new purchase, and waste his life in roving to no purpose from province to province. He will hope in the same house to obtain every convenience, and draw plans and study Palladio, but never lay a stone. He will attempt a treatise on some important subject, and amass materials, consult au­thors, and study all the dependent and colla­teral parts of learning, but never con­clude himself qualified to write. He that has [Page 307] 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 probability that it will be much shorter than nature allows, ought to awaken every man to the active prosecution of whatever he is desirous to perform. It is true that no dili­gence 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.

NUMB. 135. TUESDAY, July 2, 1751.

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 some proof of the in­fluence of example; and admitting with new conviction and in a sense more extensive the observation of Arstotle, that man is an imitative being. The greater, far the greater, number follow the track which others have beaten, without any curiosity after new dis­coveries, or ambition of trusting themselves to their own conduct. And, of those whom the confidence of juvenile temerity incites to 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 before the frolicks of caprice and the honours of adventure.

[Page 309] IN questions difficult or dangerous it is in­deed natural to repose upon authority, and, when fear happens to predominate, upon the authority of those whom we do not in general think wiser than ourselves. Very few have abilities requisite for the discovery of abstruse truth; and of those few some want leisure and some resolution, some are drawn off from the search by business or amusements, and some retire at the appearance of difficulty. But it is not so easy to find the reason of the universal submission to precedent where every man might safely judge for himself; where no irre­reparable loss can be hazarded, nor any mis­chief of long continuance incurred. Vanity might be expected to operate on those who are not restrained by any more powerful pas­sion; the mere pleasure of acknowledging no superior might sometimes produce slight sin­gularities, 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 controul, on what oc­casion [Page 310] 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, confiderable 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 enquire what happiness 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 [Page 311] 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 retirement, who watched every opportunity to steal away from observation, to forsake the croud, 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 imitation 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 [Page 312] 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 in their own justification, since they cannot pretend either weariuess of labour, or desire of knowledge. They purpose nothing more than to quit one scene of idleness for another, and after having trifled in publick to sleep in secrecy. The [Page 313] 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 demand of shades and valleys. As bravery is said to be a pan­oply, insignificancy is always a shelter.

THERE are however pleasures and advan­tages in a rural situation, which are not con­fined to philosophers and heroes. The 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 [Page 314] pent up in cities no rural object can be pre­sented, which will not gladden some of his senses with refreshment.

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 declining day. Some will be discovered at a window by the road side, rejoicing when a new cloud of dust gathers towards 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 villages, 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 [Page 315] 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 them­selves 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 pleasures, more than any other animal for not quitting its native element, [Page 316] 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.

NUMB. 136. SATURDAY, July 16, 1751.

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 conserred by princes, and wealth bequeathed by misers or by rob­bers; but the honours of a lasting name and a title to the veneration of distant ages only the sons of learning have the power of bestow­ing. [Page 317] While therefore the love of fame is a motive of action, while it continues one of the characteristicks of rational nature to de­cline 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 ultimate judge of disputable cha­racters, as entrusted with the distribution of the last terrestrial rewards of merit, ought surely to summon all his fortitude to the sup­port of his integrity, and resolve to discharge an office of such dignity and importance 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 [Page 318] by a sense of reputation, that they are often restrained by fear of reproach, and ex­cited by hope of honour, when other princi­ples have lost their power; nor can any spe­cies of prostitution promote general depravity more than that which destroys the value of praise, by shewing that it may be acquired without deserving it, and, which by setting free the active and ambitious who must always determine the fate of others, 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 must become cheap as it becomes vulgar, and will no lon­ger raise expectation, or animate enterprize. 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 degree; 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 [Page 319] 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 know 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 to venture on an address without any previous solicita­tion in confidence of the general acceptance of flattery; and after having heaped upon him all the virtues to which philosophy has assign­ed a name, inform him how much more might be truly said, did not the fear of giving pain to his modesty repress the raptures of wonder and the zeal of veneration.

NOTHING has so much degraded litera­ture from its natural rank, as the practice of indecent and promiscuous dedication; for what credit can he expect who professes him­self the hireling of vanity, however profligate, [Page 320] 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 fraud or adulteration, however shameful, however mischievous, is certainly far less detestable than the crime of counter­feiting characters, and fixing the stamp of li­terary sanction, upon the dross and refuse of the world.

I WOULD not, yet 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 falshood? The unhappy dedicator is seldom without some motives which obstruct, though not destroy the liberty of choice; he is perhaps oppressed by miseries which he hopes to relieve, 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 [Page 321] dispose him to be pleased. The real satisfac­tion which praise can afford is by repeating aloud the whispers of conscience, and by shewing us that we have not endeavoured to deserve well in vain. Every other enco­mium is, to an intelligent mind, satire and re­proach; the celebration of these virtues which we feel ourselves to want, can only impress a quicker sense of our own defects, and shew 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 perhaps the patron himself may have some claim to 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 had de­clined [Page 322] expence, or honest indignation reject­ed falshood. But if at last, after long enquiry and innumerable disappointments, he finds a lord willing to hear of his own eloquence and taste, a statesman desirous of knowing how 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 instance of en­ormous depravity. It can scarcely be expected but 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 distinguished himself by any publick performance, has 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 regard from particular persons pri­vate [Page 323] virtue and less conspicuous excellence may be sometimes entitled. An author 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 may justly rejoice in his own fortitude when he dares to rescue merit from obscurity.

I know not whether greater relaxation may not be indulged, and whether hope as well as gratitude may not unblameably 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 betray 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 persuaded to purchase what we yet rate only by imagination, at a higher price than experience will warrant.

BUT no private views or personal regard can discharge any man from his general obli­gations [Page 324] to virtue and to truth. It may hap­pen in the various combinations of life that a good man may receive favours from one who, notwithstanding 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 seducement, but it surely ought not to exalt us to equality with the collective body of mankind, or persuade us that a benefit con­ferred on us is equivalent to every other vir­tue. Yet many upon false principles of gra­titude have ventured to extol wretches whom all but their dependents numbered among the reproaches of 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 recompence of virtue.