SE i ada Uh cena Nay at a ak .? Spe ia ae earicies Se Seas 2 Ree, aber en ete toRonas se bates Ei: eee mea Nelle ata et’ © eres THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA ENDOWED BY THE DIALECTIC AND PHILANTHROPIC SOCIETIES PR3520 .F 03 ieee ’ #2 Be mE OF N.C. AT CHAPEL HILL HO i Vill 100003 This book is due at the LOUIS R. WILSON LIBRARY on the last date stamped under “Date Due.” If not on hold it may be © renewed by bringing it to the library. DATE b "TE a1 | AUG 0 2 ib97 Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2021 with funding from University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill https://archive.org/details/theworksofsamuelO03john fy or A wz 1 j & 4 fom K, a, } t: i % ert oie dociats i o Sia L_ KA THE WORKS == ¢. OF SAMUEL JOHNSON CONNOISSEURS’ EDITION FROM TYPE IN SIXTEEN VOLUMES VOLUME III won} ) a Ss A a) Le A - i a tte ki wane ree SLIDDONS MRS THE RAMBLER By SAMUEL JOHNSON PAFRAETS BOOK COMPANY TROY NEW YORK Of this Connoisseurs’ Edition of the Works of Samuel Johnson One Hundred and Fifty Sets have been printed from type on Special Water Marked Paper, of which this Copy is N° Pafraets Press Troy, New York 1903 eee ee CONTENTS NO. 113 The history of Hymenzus’s courtship 114 The necessity of proportioning punishments to crimes 115 The sequel of Hymenzus’s courtship 116 The young trader’s attempt at politeness Yil7 The advantages of living in a garret 118 The narrowness of fame 119 Tranquilla’s account of her lovers, opposed to Hymenzeus 120 The history of Almamoulin the son of Nouradin 121 Thedangers of imitation. The impropriety of imitating Spenser 122 A criticism on the English historians 123 The young trader turned gentleman 124 The lady’s misery in a summer retirement 125 The difficulty of defining comedy. Tragick and comick senti- ments confounded 126 The universality of cowardice. The impropriety of extorting praise. The impertinence of an astronomer 127 Diligence too soon relaxed. Necessity of perseverance #128 Anxiety universal. The unhappiness of a wit and a fine lady 129 The folly of cowardice and inactivity 130 The history of a beauty 131 Desire of gain the general passion 132 The difficulty of educating a young nobleman 133 The miseries of a beauty defaced 134 Idleness an anxious and miserable state 135 The folly of annual retreats into the country 186 The meanness and mischief of indiscriminate dedication 137 The necessity of literary courage 138 Original characters to be found in the country. The character of Mrs. Busy 139 A critical examination of Samson Agonistes 140 The criticism continued 141 The danger of attempting wit in conversation. The character ‘of Papilius 142 An account of squire Bluster 143 The criterions of plagiarism 144 The difficulty of raising reputation. The various species of de- tractors 145 Petty writers not to be despised Vv THE RAMBLER } An account of an author travelling in quest of his own character. The uncertainty of fame The courtier’s esteem of assurance The cruelty of parental tyranny Benefits not always entitled to gratitude Adversity useful to the acquisition of knowledge The climactericks of the mind Criticism on epistolary writings The treatment incurred by loss of fortune The inefficacy of genius without learning The usefulness of advice. The danger of habits. The necessity of reviewing life 3 The laws of writing not always indisputable. Reflections on tragi-comedy The scholar’s complaint of his own bashfulness Rules of writing drawn from examples. Those examples often mistaken The nature and remedies of bashfulness Rules for the choice of associates The revolutions of a garret Old men in danger of falling into pupilage. The conduct of Thrasybulus The mischiefs of following a patron Praise universally desired. The failings of eminent men often imitated The impotence of wealth. The visit of Scrotinus to the place of his nativity Favour not easily gained by the poor The marriage of Hymenzeus and Tranquilla Poetry debased by mean expressions. An example from Shakes- peare Labour necessary to excellence The history of Misella debauched by her relation LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS VOLUME III PORTRAIT OF MRS. SIDDONS FRONTISPIECE From a painting by Str Josuua RerNnowps BURKE From a painting by Str Josnua ReyNnowps Facing page 96 CHARLES WENTWORTH From a painting by Sir Josuua ReyNowtps Facing page 224 aS. THE RAMBLER No. 113. TUESDAY, APRIL 16, 1751 Uxorem, Postume, ducis ? Dic, que Tisiphone, quibus exagitere colubris? Juv. Sat. vi. 28. A sober man like thee to change his life! What fury would possess thee with a wife ? Dryben. ohn TO THE RAMBLER. KNOW not whether it is always a proof of in- nocence to treat censure with contempt. We owe so much reverence to the wisdom of mankind, as justly to wish, that our own opinion of our merit may be ratified by the concurrence of other suf- frages; and since guilt and infamy must have the same effect upon intelligences unable to pierce be- yond external appearance, and influenced often rather by example than precept, we are obliged to refute a false charge, lest we should countenance the crime which we have never committed. To turn away from an accusation with supercilious silence, is equally in the power of him that is hardened by villany, and inspirited by innocence. The wall of brass which Horace erects upon a clear conscience, may be sometimes raised by impudence or power; and we should always wish to preserve the dignity of virtue by adorning her with graces which wick- edness cannot assume. For this reason [ have determined no longer to endure, with either patient or sullen resignation, a reproach, which is, at least in my opinion, unjust; but will lay my case honestly before you, that you or your readers may at length decide it. 1 THE RAMBLER Whether you will be able to preserve your boasted impartiality, when you hear that I am con- sidered as an adversary by half the female world, you may surely pardon me for doubting, notwith- standing the veneration to which you may imagine yourself entitled by your age, your learning, your abstraction, or your virtue. Beauty, Mr. Rambler, has often overpowered the resolutions of the firm, and the reasonings of the wise, roused the old to sensibility, and subdued the rigorous to softness. I am one of those unhappy beings, who have been marked out as husbands for many different women, and deliberated a hundred times on the brink of matrimony. I have discussed all the nup- tial preliminaries so often, that I can repeat the forms in which jointures are settled, pin-money se- cured, and provisions for younger children ascer- tained; but am at last doomed by general consent to everlasting solitude, and excluded by an irrever- sible decree from all hopes of connubial felicity. I am pointed out by every mother, as a man whose visits cannot be admitted without reproach; who raises hopes only to embitter disappointment, and makes offers only to seduce girls into a waste of that part of life, in which they might gain advantageous matches, and become mistresses and mothers. I hope you will think, that some part of this penal severity may justly be remitted, when I inform you, that I never yet professed love to a woman without sincere intentions of marriage; that I have never continued an appearance of intimacy 2 THE RAMBLER from the hour that my inclination changed, but to preserve her whom I was leaving from the shock of abruptness, or the ignominy of contempt; that I always endeavoured to give the ladies an oppor- tunity of seeming to discard me; and that I never forsook a mistress for larger fortune, or brighter beauty, but because I discovered some irregularity in her conduct, or some depravity in her mind; not because I was charmed by another, but because I was offended by herself. I was very early tired of that succession of amusements by which the thoughts of most young men are dissipated, and had not long glittered in the splendour of an ample patrimony before I wished for the calm of domestick happiness. Youth is naturally delighted with sprightliness and ardour, and therefore I breathed out the sighs of my first affection at the feet of the gay, the sparkling, the vivacious Ferocula. I fancied to myself a perpetual source of happiness in wit never exhausted, and spirit never depressed; looked with veneration on her readiness of expedients, contempt of difficulty, assurance of address, and promptitude of reply ; con- sidered her as exempt by some prerogative of nature from the weakness and timidity of female minds; and congratulated myself upon a companion supe- rior to all common troubles and embarrassments. I was, indeed, somewhat disturbed by the unshaken perseverance with which she enforced her demands of an unreasonable settlement; yet I should have consented to pass my life in union with her, had not 3 THE RAMBLER my curiosity led me to a crowd gathered in the street, where I found Ferocula, in the presence of hundreds, disputing for six-pence with a chairman. I saw her in so little need of assistance, that it was no breach of the laws of chivalry to forbear inter- position, and I spared myself the shame of owning her acquaintance. I forgot some point of ceremony at our next interview, and soon provoked her to forbid me her presence. My next attempt was upon a lady of great emi- nence for learning and philosophy. I had frequently observed the barrenness and uniformity of con- nubial conversation, and therefore thought highly of my own prudence and discernment, when I selected from a multitude of wealthy beauties, the deep-read Misothea, who declared herself the inex- orable enemy of ignorant pertness, and puerile levity ; and scarcely condescended to make tea, but for the linguist, the geometrician, the astronomer, or the poet. The queen of the Amazons was only to be gained by the hero who could conquer her in single combat; and Misothea’s heart was only to bless the scholar who could overpower her by dis- putation. Amidst the fondest transports of court- ship she could call for a definition of terms, and treated every argument with contempt that could not be reduced to regular syllogism. You may easily imagine, that I wished this courtship at an end; but when I desired her to shorten my torments, and fix the day of my felicity, we were led into a long con- versation, in which Misothea endeavoured to dem- ae THE RAMBLER onstrate the folly of attributing choice and self- direction to any human being. It was not difficult to discover the danger of committing myself for ever to the arms of one who might at any time mistake the dictates of passion, or the calls of appe- tite, for the decree of fate; or consider cuckoldom as necessary to the general system, as a link in the everlasting chain of successive causes. I therefore told her, that destiny had ordained us to part, and that nothing should have torn me from her but the talons of necessity. I then solicited the regard of the calm, the pru- dent, the economical Sophronia, a lady who con- sidered wit as dangerous, and learning as superfluous, and thought that the woman who kept her house clean, and her accounts exact, took receipts for every payment, and could find them at a sudden call, in- quired nicely after the condition of the tenants, read the price of stocks once a-week, and purchased every thing at the best market, could want no accom- plishments necessary to the happiness of a wise man. She discoursed with great solemnity on the care and vigilance which the superintendence of a family demands; observed how many were ruined by con- fidence in servants; and told me, that she never ex- pected honesty but from a strong chest, and that the best storekeeper was the mistress’s eye. Many such oracles of generosity she uttered, and made every day new improvements in her schemes for the regulations of her servants, and the distribution of her time. I was convinced that, whatever I might 5 THE RAMBLER suffer from Sophronia, I should escape poverty ; and we therefore proceeded to adjust the settlements according to her own rule, far and softly. But one morning her maid came to me in tears to intreat my interest for a reconciliation with her mistress, who had turned her out at night for breaking six teeth in a tortoise-shell comb; she had attended her lady from a distant province, and having not lived long enough to save much money, was destitute among strangers, and, though of a good family, in danger of perishing in the streets, or of being com- pelled by hunger to prostitution. I made no scruple of promising to restore her; but upon my first ap- plication to Sophronia, was answered with an air which called for approbation, that if she neglected her own affairs, I might suspect her of neglecting mine; that the comb stood her in three half crowns; that no servant should wrong her twice; and that indeed she took the first opportunity of parting with Phillida, because, though she was honest, her con- stitution was bad, and she thought her very likely to fall sick. Of our conference I need not tell you the effect; it surely may be forgiven me, if on this occasion I forgot the decency of common forms. From two more ladies I was disengaged by find- ing, that they entertained my rivals at the same time, and determined their choice by the liberality of our settlements. Another, I thought myself jus- tified in forsaking, because she gave my attorney a bribe to favour her in the bargain; another because I could never soften her to tenderness, till she 6 THE RAMBLER heard that most of my family had died young; and another, because, to increase her fortune by expec- tations, she represented her sister as languishing and consumptive. I shall in another letter give the remaining part of my history of courtship. I presume that I should hitherto have injured the majesty of female virtue, had I not hoped to transfer my affection to higher merit. Panvee HYMENAEUS. No. 114. SATURDAY, APRIL 20, 1751 Audi, Nulla unquam de morte hominis cunctatio longa est. Juv. Sat. vi. 220. ——When man’s life is in debate, The judge can ne’er too long deliberate. Dryden. OWER 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 re- marks, 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 7 THE RAMBLER investing lawful authority with terrour, and govern- ing by force rather than persuasion. Pride is unwill- ing to believe the necessity of assigning any other reason than her own will; and would rather main- tain the most equitable claims by violence and penalties, than descend from the dignity of com- mand to dispute and expostulation. It may, I think, be suspected, that this political arrogance has sometimes found its way into legis- lative 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 dis- proportions between crimes and punishments, such capricious distinctions of guilt, and such confusion of remissness and severity, as can scarcely be be- lieved 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 criminal dragged to execution without asking himself, ‘‘ Who knows whether this man is not less culpable than me ?’’ On the days when the prisons of this city are emptied into the grave, let every spectator of the dreadful procession put the same question to his own heart. Few among those that crowd in thousands to the legal massacre, and look with careless- ness, perhaps with triumph, on the utmost exacer- bations of human misery, would then be able to return without horrour and dejection. For, who can congratulate himself upon a life passed without 8 THE RAMBLER some act more mischievous to the peace or pros- perity of others, than the theft of a piece of money ? It has been always the practice, when any par- ticular 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 aug- mented with greater variety of fraud, and subtilized to higher degrees of dexterity, and more occult methods of conveyance. The law then renews the pursuit in the heat of 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 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 9 THE RAMBLER increasing, yet few seem willing to despair of its efficacy; and of those who employ their specula- tions upon the present corruption of the people, some propose the introduction of more horrid, lingering, and terrifick punishments; some are in- clined to accelerate the executions; some to dis- courage 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 in- flexible 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 adaptation of penalties to offences. Death is, as one of the ancients observes, <6 ray gopepav goReparatov, of dreadful things the most dread- ful: an evil, beyond which nothing can be threatened by sublunary power, or feared from human enmity or vengeance. This terrour should, therefore, be re- served 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 in- vasion what cannot be restored. To equal robbery with murder is to reduce murder to robbery; to confound in common minds the gradations of in- iquity, and incite the commission of a greater crime to prevent the detection of a less. If only murder 10 THE RAMBLER 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 be obtained, upon what principle shall we bid them forbear? It may be urged, that the sentence is often miti- gated 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 mur- derers have, at their last hour, the common sensa- tions of mankind pleading in their favour. From this conviction of the inequality of the punishment to the offence, proceeds the frequent solicitation of pardons. They who would rejoice at the correction of a thief, are yet shocked at the thought of destroying him. His crime shrinks to nothing, compared with his misery; and severity defeats itself by exciting pity. The gibbet, indeed, certainly disables those who die upon it from infesting the community ; but their death seems not to contribute more to the refor- mation of their associates, than any other method of separation. A thief seldom passes much of his time in recollection or anticipation, but from rob- bery hastens to riot, and from riot to robbery ; nor, when the grave closes on his companion, has any other care than to find another. The frequency of capital punishments, therefore, rarely hinders the commission of a crime, but natu- rally and commonly prevents its detection, and is, if we proceed only upon prudential principles, 11 THE RAMBLER 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 punish- ment: nor is the necessity of submitting the con- science 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 con- cur with the community in an act which their private judgment cannot approve. He who knows not how often rigorous laws pro- duce total impunity, and how many crimes are concealed and forgotten for fear of hurrying the offender to that state in which there is no repent- ance, 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 con- demned to die, had been detected in their rudiments of robbery, they might, by proper discipline and use- ful labour, have been disentangled from their habits, they might have escaped all the temptation to sub- sequent crimes, and passed their days in reparation and penitence; and detected they might all have ~ been, had the prosecutors been certain that their lives would have been spared. I believe, every thief 12 THE RAMBLER 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 es- cape, than cloud their minds with the horrours of his death. All laws against wickedness are ineffectual, unless some will inform, and some will prosecute; but till we mitigate the penalties for mere violations of property, information will always be hated, and prosecution dreaded. The heart of a good man can- not 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 ade- quate retribution, will be seldom discovered; and multitudes will be suffered to advance from crime to crime, till they deserve death, because, if they had been sooner prosecuted, they would have suf- fered death before they deserved it. This scheme of invigorating the laws by relaxa- tion, and extirpating wickedness by lenity, is so remote from common practice, that I might reason- ably 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 18 THE RAMBLER More, endeavour to procure it that attention, which I wish always paid to prudence, to justice, and to mercy’. No. 115. TUESDAY, APRIL 23, 1751 Quedam parva quidem; sed non toleranda maritis. Juv. Sat. vi. 184. Some faults, though small, intolerable grow. DryDeEn. TO THE RAMBLER. SIR, SIT down, in pursuance of my late engagement, to recount the remaining part of the adventures that befel me in my long quest of conjugal felicity, which, though I have not yet been so happy as to obtain it, I have at least endeavoured to deserve by unwearied diligence, without suffering from re- peated disappointments any abatement of my hope, or repression of my activity. You must have observed in the world a species of mortals who employ themselves in promoting matrimony, and without any visible motive of in- terest or vanity, without any discoverable impulse of malice or benevolence, without any reason, but that they want objects of attention and topicks of conversation, are incessantly busy in procuring wives and husbands. They fill the ears of every sin- 4 The arguments of the revered Sir Samuel Romilly on Criminal Law, have almost been anticipated in this luminous paper, which would have gained praise even for a legislator. On the correction of our English Criminal Code, see Mr. Buxton’s speech in the House of Commons, 1820. It is a fund of practical information, and, apart from its own merits, will repay perusal by the valuable collection of opinions which it contains on this momentous and interesting subject. Ep. 14 THE RAMBLER gle man and woman with some convenient match; and when they are informed of your age and for- tune, offer a partner for life with the same readiness, and the same indifference, as a salesman, when he has taken measure by his eye, fits his customer with a coat. It might be expected that they should soon be discouraged from this officious interposition by re- sentment or contempt; and that every man should determine the choice on which so much of his hap- piness must depend, by his own judgment and ob- servation: yet it happens, that as these proposals are generally made with a shew of kindness, they seldom provoke anger, but are at worst heard with patience, and forgotten. They influence weak minds to approbation; for many are sure to find in a new acquaintance, whatever qualities report has taught them to expect; and in more powerful and active understandings they excite curiosity, and some- times, by a lucky chance, bring persons of similar tempers within the attraction of each other. I was known to possess a fortune, and to want a wife; and therefore was frequently attended by these hymeneal solicitors, with whose importunity I was sometimes diverted, and sometimes perplexed ; for they contended for me as vultures for a carcase; each employing all his eloquence, and all his arti- fices, to enforce and promote his own scheme, from the success of which he was to receive no other advantage than the pleasure of defeating others equally eager, and equally industrious. 15 THE RAMBLER An invitation to sup with one of those busy friends, made me, by a concerted chance, acquainted with Camilla, by whom it was expected that I should be suddenly and irresistibly enslaved. The lady, whom the same kindness had brought without her own concurrence into the lists of love, seemed to think me at least worthy of the honour of captiv- ity; and exerted the power, both of her eyes and wit, with so much art and spirit, that though I had been too often deceived by appearances to devote myself irrevocably at the first interview, yet I could not suppress some raptures of admiration, and flutters of desire. I was easily persuaded to make nearer approaches; but soon discovered, that an union with Camilla was not much to be wished. Camilla professed a boundless contempt for the folly, levity, ignorance, and impertinence of her own sex; and very frequently expressed her wonder that men of learning or experience could submit to trifle away life with beings incapable of solid thought. In mixed companies, she always associated with the men, and declared her satisfaction when the ladies retired. If any short excursion into the country was proposed, she commonly insisted upon the ex- clusion of women from the party; because, where they were admitted, the time was wasted in frothy compliments, weak indulgences, and idle cere- monies. To shew the greatness of her mind, she avoided all compliance with the fashion; and to boast the profundity of her knowledge, mistook the various textures of silk, confounded tabbies with 16 THE RAMBLER damasks, and sent for ribands by wrong names. She despised the commerce of stated visits, a farce of empty form without instruction; and congratulated herself, that she never learned to write message cards. She often applauded the noble sentiment of Plato, who rejoiced that he was born a man rather than a woman; proclaimed her approbation of Swift’s opinion, that women are only a higher species of monkeys; and confessed, that when she considered the behaviour, or heard the conversation, of her sex, she could not but forgive the Turks for suspecting them to want souls. It was the joy and pride of Camilla to have pro- voked, by this insolence, all the rage of hatred, and all the persecutions of calumny; nor was she ever more elevated with her own superiority, than when she talked of female anger, and female cunning. Well, says she, has nature provided that such viru- lence should be disabled by folly, and such cruelty be restrained by impotence. Camilla doubtless expected, that what she lost on one side, she should gain on the other; and im- agined that every male heart would be open to a lady, who made such generous advances to the bor- ders of virility. But man, ungrateful man, instead of springing forward to meet her, shrunk back at her approach. She was persecuted by the ladies as a deserter, and at best received by the men only as a fugitive. I, for my part, amused myself awhile with her fopperies, but novelty soon gave way to detes- tation, for nothing out of the common order of Von. 3—2 17 THE RAMBLER nature can be long borne. I had no inclination to a wife who had the ruggedness of a man without his force, and the ignorance of a woman without her softness; nor could I think my quiet and honour to be entrusted to such audacious virtue as was hourly courting danger, and soliciting assault. My next mistress was Nitella, a lady of gentle mien, and soft voice, always speaking to approve, and ready to receive direction from those with whom chance had brought her into company. In Nitella I promised myself an easy friend, with whom I might loiter away the day without dis- turbance or altercation. I therefore soon resolved to address her, but was discouraged from prosecuting my courtship, by observing, that her apartments were superstitiously regular; and that, unless she had notice of my visit, she was never to be seen. There is a kind of anxious cleanliness which I have always noted as the characteristick of a slattern; it is the superfluous scrupulosity of guilt, dreading discovery, and shunning suspicion: it is the violence of an effort against habit, which, being impelled by external motives, cannot stop at the middle point. Nitella was always tricked out rather with nicety than elegance; and seldom could forbear to discover, by her uneasiness and constraint, that her attention was burdened, and her imagination engrossed: I therefore concluded, that being only occasionally and ambitiously dressed, she was not familiarized to her own ornaments. There are so many competitors for the fame of cleanliness, that it is not hard to 18 THE RAMBLER gain information of those that fail, from those that desire to excel: I quickly found that Nitella passed her time between finery and dirt; and was always in a wrapper, nightcap, and slippers, when she was not decorated for immediate show. I was then led by my evil destiny to Charybdis, who never neglected an opportunity of seizing a new prey when it came within her reach. I thought myself quickly made happy by permission to attend her to publick places; and pleased my own vanity with imagining the envy which I should raise in a thousand hearts, by appearing as the acknowledged favourite of Charybdis. She soon after hinted her intention to take a ramble for a fortnight, into a part of the kingdom which she had never seen. I solicited the happiness of accompanying her, which, after a short reluctance, was indulged me. She had no other curiosity on her journey, than after all pos- sible means of expense; and was every moment taking occasion to mention some delicacy, which I knew it my duty upon such notices to procure. After our return, being now more familiar, she told me, whenever we met, of some new diversion; at night she had notice of a charming company that would breakfast in the gardens; and in the morning had been informed of some new song in the opera, some new dress at the playhouse, or some performer at a concert whom she longed to hear. Her intelligence was such, that there never was a show, to which she did not summon me on the second day; and as she hated a crowd, and could 19 THE RAMBLER not go alone, I was obliged to attend at some in- termediate hour, and pay the price of a whole com- pany. When we passed the streets, she was often charmed with some trinket in the toy-shops; and from moderate desires of seals and snuff-boxes, rose, by degrees, to gold and diamonds. I now began to find the smile of Charybdis too costly for a private purse, and added one more to six and forty lovers, whose fortune and patience her rapacity had exhausted. Imperia then took possession of my affections; but kept them only for a short time. She had newly inherited a large fortune, and having spent the early part of her life in the perusal of romances, brought with her into the gay world all the pride of Cleo- patra; expected nothing less than vows, altars, and sacrifices; and thought her charms dishonoured, and her power infringed, by the softest opposition to her sentiments, or the smallest transgression of her commands. Time might indeed cure this species of pride in a mind not naturally undiscerning, and vitiated only by false representations; but the oper- ations of time are slow; and I therefore left her to grow wise at leisure, or to continue in errour at her own expense. Thus I have hitherto, in spite of myself, passed my life in frozen celibacy. My friends, indeed, often tell me, that I flatter my imagination with higher hopes than human nature can gratify; that I dress up an ideal charmer in all the radiance of perfection, and then enter the world to look for the 20 THE RAMBLER same excellence in corporeal beauty. But surely, Mr. Rambler, it is not madness to hope for some terrestrial lady unstained by the spots which I have been describing; at least I am resolved to pursue my search; for I am so far from thinking meanly of marriage, that I believe it able to afford the highest happiness decreed to our present state; and if, after all these miscarriages, I find a woman that fills up my expectation, you shall hear once’ more from, Y ours, &e. HYMENAEUS. a nreaene 127 No. 116. SATURDAY, APRIL 97, 1751 Optat ephippia bos piger: optat arare caballus. Hor. Lib. i. Ep. xiv. 43. Thus the slow ox would gaudy trappings claim; The sprightly horse would plough. Francis, TO THE RAMBLER. SIR, WAS the second son of a country gentleman by the daughter of a wealthy citizen of London. My father having by his marriage freed the estate from a heavy mortgage, and paid his sisters their portions, thought himself discharged from all obligation to further thought, and entitled to spend the rest of his life in rural pleasures. He therefore spared nothing that might contribute to the completion of his felicity ; he procured the best guns and horses that the kingdom could supply, paid large salaries to his groom and huntsman, and became the envy of the country for the discipline of his hounds. But, above 21 THE RAMBLER all his other attainments, he was eminent for a breed of pointers and setting-dogs, which by long and vigilant cultivation he had so much improved, that not a partridge or heathcock could rest in security, and game of whatever species that dared to light upon his manor, was beaten down by his shot, or covered with his nets. My elder brother was very early initiated in the chace, and, at an age when other boys are creeping’ lke snails unwillingly to school, he could wind the horn, beat the bushes, bound over hedges, and swim rivers. When the huntsman one day broke his leg, he supplied his place with equal abilities, and came home with the scut in his hat, amidst the acclama- tions of the whole village. I being either delicate or timorous, less desirous of honour, or less capable of sylvan heroism, was always the favourite of my mother; because I kept my coat clean, and my com- plexion free from freckles, and did not come home, like my brother, mired and tanned, nor carry corn in my hat to the horse, nor bring dirty curs into the parlour. My mother had not been taught to amuse herself with books, and being much inclined to despise the ignorance and barbarity of the country ladies, dis- dained to learn their sentiments or conversation, and had made no addition to the notions which she had brought from the precincts of Cornhill. She was, therefore, always recounting the glories of the city; enumerating the succession of mayors; celebrating the magnificence of the banquets at Guildhall; and 22 THE RAMBLER relating the civilities paid her at the companies’ feasts by men of whom some are now made alder- men, some have fined for sheriffs, and none are worth less than forty thousand pounds. She frequently dis- played her father’s greatness; told of the large bills which he had paid at sight; of the sums for which his word would pass upon the Exchange; the heaps of gold which he used on Saturday night to toss about with a shovel; the extent of his warehouse, and the strength of his doors; and when she relaxed her imagination with lower subjects, described the furniture of their country-house, or repeated the wit of the clerks and porters. By these narratives I was fired with the splendour and dignity of London, and of trade. I therefore devoted myself to a shop, and warmed my imagi- nation from year to year with inquiries about the privileges of a freeman, the power of the common council, the dignity of a wholesale dealer, and the grandeur of mayoralty, to which my mother assured me that many had arrived who began the world with less than myself. I was very impatient to enter into a path, which led to such honour and felicity; but was forced for a time to endure some repression of my eagerness, for it was my grandfather’s maxim, that a young man seldom makes much money, who is out of his time before two-and-twenty. They thought it necessary, therefore, to keep me at home till the proper age, without any other employment than that of learn- ing merchants’ accounts, and the art of regulating 23 THE RAMBLER books; but at length the tedious days elapsed, I was transplanted to town, and, with great satisfac- tion to myself, bound to a haberdasher. My master, who had no conception of any virtue, merit, or dignity, but that of being rich, had all the good qualities which naturally arise from a close and unwearied attention to the main chance; his desire to gain wealth was so well tempered by the vanity of shewing it, that without any other principle of action, he lived in the esteem of the whole com- mercial world; and was always treated with respect by the only men whose good opinion he valued or solicited, those who were universally allowed to be richer than himself. By his instructions I learned in a few weeks to handle a yard with great dexterity, to wind tape neatly upon the ends of my fingers, and to make up parcels with exact frugality of paper and packthread ; and soon caught from my fellow-apprentices the true grace of a counter-bow, the careless air with which a small pair of scales is to be held between the fingers, and the vigour and sprightliness with which the box, after the riband has been cut, is re- turned into its place. Having no desire of any higher employment, and therefore applying all my powers to the knowledge of my trade, I was quickly master of all that could be known, became a critick in small wares, contrived new variations of figures, and new mixtures of colours, and was sometimes consulted by the weavers when they pro- jected fashions for the ensuing spring. 24 THE RAMBLER With all these accomplishments, in the fourth year of my apprenticeship, I paid a visit to my friends in the country, where I expected to be re- ceived as a new ornament of the family, and con- sulted by the neighbouring gentlemen as a master of pecuniary knowledge, and by the ladies as an oracle of the mode. But, unhappily, at the first pub- lick table to which I was invited, appeared a student of the Temple, and an officer of the guards, who looked upon me with a smile of contempt, which destroyed at once all my hopes of distinction, so that I durst hardly raise my eyes for fear of encountering their superiority of mien. Nor was my courage re- vived by any opportunities of displaying my know]l- edge; for the templar entertained the company for part of the day with historical narratives and political observations; and the colonel afterwards detailed the adventures of a birth-night, told the claims and expectations of the courtiers, and gave an account of assemblies, gardens, and diversions. I, indeed, essayed to fill up a pause in a parliamentary debate with a faint mention of trade and Spaniards; and once attempted, with some warmth, to correct a gross mistake about a silver breast-knot ; but neither of my antagonists seemed to think a reply necessary ; they resumed their discourse without emotion, and again engrossed the attention of the company; nor did one of the ladies appear desirous to know my opinion of her dress, or to hear how long the car- nation shot with white, that was then new amongst them, had been antiquated in town. 25 THE RAMBLER As I knew that neither of these gentlemen had more money than myself, I could not discover what had depressed me in their presence; nor why they were considered by others as more worthy of atten- tion and respect; and therefore resolved, when we met again, to rouse my spirit, and force myself into notice. I went very early to the next weekly meet- ing, and was entertaining a small circle very success- fully with a minute representation of my lord mayor’s show, when the colonel entered careless and gay, sat down with a kind of unceremonious civility, and without appearing to intend any inter- ruption, drew my audience away to the other part of the room, to which I had not the courage to follow them. Soon after came in the lawyer, not in- deed with the same attraction of mien, but with greater powers of language: and by one or other the company was so happily amused, that I was neither heard nor seen, nor was able to give any other proof of my existence than that I put round the glass, and was in my turn permitted to name the toast. My mother, indeed, endeavoured to comfort me in my vexation, by telling me, that perhaps these showy talkers were hardly able to pay every one his own; that he who has money in his pocket need not care what any man says of him; that, if I minded my trade, the time will come when lawyers and soldiers would be glad to borrow out of my purse; and that it is fine, when a man can set his hands to his sides, and say he is worth forty thousand 26 THE RAMBLER pounds every day of the year. These and many more such consolations and encouragements, I re- ceived from my good mother, which, however, did not much allay my uneasiness; for having by some accident heard, that the country ladies despised her as a cit, I had therefore no longer much reverence for her opinions, but considered her as one whose ignorance and prejudice had hurried me, though without ill intentions, into a state of meanness and ignominy, from which I could not find any possi- bility of rising to the rank which my ancestors had always held. I returned, however, to my master, and busied myself among thread, and silks, and laces, but with- out my former cheerfulness and alacrity. I had now no longer any felicity in contemplating the exact disposition of my powdered curls, the equal plaits of my ruffles, or the glossy blackness of my shoes; nor heard with my former elevation those compli- ments which ladies sometimes condescended to pay me upon my readiness in twisting a paper, or count- ing out the change. The term of Young Man, with which I was sometimes honoured, as I carried a parcel to the door of a coach, tortured my imagi- nation; I grew negligent of my person, and sullen in my temper; often mistook the demands of the customers, treated their caprices and objections with contempt, and received and dismissed them with surly silence. My master was afraid lest the shop should suffer by this change of my behaviour; and, therefore, 27 THE RAMBLER after some expostulations, posted me in the ware- house, and preserved me from the danger and re- proach of desertion, to which my discontent would certainly have urged me, had I continued any longer behind the counter. In the sixth year of my servitude my brother died of drunken joy, for having run down a fox that had baffled all the packs in the province. I was now heir, and with the hearty consent of my master commenced gentleman. The adventures in which my new character engaged me shall be communi- cated in another letter, by, Sir, Yours, &c. MISOCAPELUS. No. 117. TUESDAY, APRIL 30, 1751 "Oooay éx Odsburo pépacay Oger abtap ex” 0aan ITjhcov etvoorvddoy, tv obdpavos dpBatos e?n. Homer, Od. V. 314. The gods they challenge, and affect the skies: Heav’d on Olympus tott’ring Ossa stood; On Ossa, Pelion nods with all his wood. Pore. SIR, TO THE RAMBLER. OTHING has more retarded the advancement of learning than the disposition of vulgar minds to ridicule and vilify what they cannot comprehend. All industry must be excited by hope; and as the student often proposes no other reward to himself than praise, he is easily discouraged by contempt and insult. He who brings with him into a clamor- ous multitude the timidity of recluse speculation, 28 THE RAMBLER and has never hardened his front in publick life, or accustomed his passions to the vicissitudes and acci- dents, the triumphs and defeats of mixed conversa- tion, will blush at the stare of petulant incredulity, and suffer himself to be driven by a burst of laughter, from the fortresses of demonstration. The mechanist will be afraid to assert before hardy contradiction, the possibility of tearing down bulwarks with a silk-worm’s thread; and the astronomer of relating the rapidity of light, the distance of the fixed stars, and the height of the lunar mountains. If I could by any efforts have shaken off this cowardice, I had not sheltered myself under a bor- rowed name, nor applied to you for the means of communicating to the publick the theory of a garret; a subject which, except some slight and transient strictures, has been hitherto neglected by those who were best qualified to adorn it, either for want of leisure to prosecute the various researches in which a nice discussion must engage them, or because it requires such diversity of knowledge, and such extent of curiosity, as is scarcely to be found in any single intellect: or perhaps others foresaw the tumults which would be raised against them, and confined their knowledge to their own breasts, and abandoned prejudice and folly to the direction of chance. That the professors of literature generally reside in the highest stories, has been immemorially ob- served. The wisdom of the ancients was well ac- quainted with the intellectual advantages of an 29 THE RAMBLER elevated situation: why else were the Muses sta- tioned on Olympus or Parnassus, by those who could with equal right have raised them bowers in the vale of Tempe, or erected their altars among the flexures of Meander? Why was Jove himself nursed upon a mountain? or why did the goddesses, when the prize of beauty was contested, try the cause upon the top of Ida? Such were the fictions by which the great masters of the earlier ages en- deavoured to inculcate to posterity the importance of a garret, which, though they had been long ob- scured by the negligence and ignorance of succeed- ing times, were well enforced by the celebrated symbol of Pythagoras, dvep@y mvedvtwy THY Ayw Tpocxbver ; ‘‘when the wind blows, worship its echo.’’ This could not but be understood by his disciples as an inviolable injunction to live in a garret, which I have found frequently visited by the echo and the wind. Nor was the tradition wholly obliterated in the age of Augustus, for Tibullus evidently con- gratulates himself upon his garret, not without some allusion to the Pythagorean precept: Quam juvat immites ventos audire cubantem—— Aut, gelidas hibernus aquas quum fuderit Auster, Securum somnos imbre guvante sequi / Lib. i. El. i. 45. How sweet in sleep to pass the careless hours, Lull’d by the beating winds and dashing show’rs! And it is impossible not to discover the fondness of Lucretius, an earlier writer, for a garret, in his description of the lofty towers of serene learning, and of the pleasure with which a wise man looks 30 THE RAMBLER down upon the confused and erratick state of the world moving below him: Sed nil dulcius est, bene quam munita tenere Edita doctrina Sapientum templa serena; Despicere unde queas alios, passimque videre Errare, atque viam palanteis querere vite. Lib. ii. 7. *Tis sweet thy lab’ring steps to guide To virtue’s heights, with wisdom well supplied, And all the magazines of learning fortified: From thence to look below on human kind, Bewilder’d in the maze of life, and blind. DryDeEn. The institution has, indeed, continued to our own time; the garret is still the usual receptacle of the philosopher and poet; but this, like many ancient customs, is perpetuated only by an accidental imi- tation, without knowledge of the original reason for which it was established. Causa latet; res est notissima. The cause is secret, but th’ effect is known. ADDISON. Conjectures have, indeed, been advanced concern- ing these habitations of literature, but without much satisfaction to the judicious inquirer. Some have imagined, that the garret is generally chosen by the wits as most easily rented; and concluded that no man rejoices in his aérial abode, but on the days of payment. Others suspect, that a garret is chiefly convenient, as it is remoter than any other part of the house from the outer door, which is often observed to be infested by visitants, who talk in- cessantly of beer, or linen, or a coat, and repeat the same sounds every morning, and sometimes again in the afternoon, without any variation, except 31 THE RAMBLER that they grow daily more importunate and clamor- ous, and raise their voices in time from mournful murmurs to raging vociferations. This eternal mo- notony is always detestable to a man whose chief pleasure is to enlarge his knowledge, and vary his ideas. Others talk of freedom from noise, and ab- straction from common business or amusements; - and some, yet more visionary, tell us, that the facul- ties are enlarged by open prospects, and that the fancy is at more liberty, when the eye ranges without confinement. These conveniences may perhaps all be found in a well-chosen garret; but surely they cannot be supposed sufficiently important to have operated unvariably upon different climates, distant ages, and separate nations. Of an universal practice, there must still be presumed an universal cause, which, however recondite and abstruse, may be perhaps reserved to make me illustrious by its discovery, and you by its promulgation. It is universally known that the faculties of the . mind are invigorated or weakened by the state of the body, and that the body is in a great measure regulated by the various compressions of the ambient element. The effects of the air in the production or cure of corporeal maladies have been acknowledged from the time of Hippocrates; but no man has yet sufficiently considered how far it may influence the operations of the genius, though every day affords instances of local understanding, of wits and reason- ers, whose faculties are adapted to some single spot, 32 THE RAMBLER and who, when they are removed to any other place, sink at once into silence and stupidity. I have dis- covered, by a long series of observations, that in- vention and elocution suffer great impediments from dense and impure vapours, and that the tenuity of a defecated air at a proper distance from the surface of the earth, accelerates the fancy, and sets at liberty those intellectual powers which were before shackled by too strong attraction, and unable to expand themselves under the pressure of a gross atmosphere. I have found dulness to quicken into sentiment in a thin ether, as water, though not very hot, boils in a receiver partly exhausted ; and heads, in appear- ance empty, have teemed with notions upon rising ground, as the flaccid sides of a football would have swelled out into stiffness and extension. For this reason I never think myself qualified to judge decisively of any man’s faculties, whom I have only known in one degree of elevation; but take some opportunity of attending him from the cellar to the garret, and try upon him all the various de- grees of rarefaction and condensation, tension and laxity. If he is neither vivacious aloft, nor serious below, I then consider him as hopeless; but as it seldom happens, that I do not find the temper to which the texture of his brain is fitted, I accom- modate him in time with a tube of mercury, first marking the points most favourable to his intellects, according to rules which I have long studied, and which I may, perhaps, reveal to mankind in a com- plete treatise of barometrical pneumatology. Vou. 3—3 33 THE RAMBLER Another cause of the gaiety and sprightliness of the dwellers in garrets is probably the increase of that vertiginous motion, with which we are carried round by the diurnal revolution of the earth. The power of agitation upon the spirits is well known; every man has felt his heart ightened in a rapid vehicle, or on a galloping horse; and nothing is plainer, than that he who towers to the fifth story, is whirled through more space by every circumro- tation, than another that grovels upon the ground- floor. The nations between the tropicks are known to be fiery, inconstant, inventive, and fanciful; because, living at the utmost length of the earth’s diameter, they are carried about with more swift- ness than those whom nature has placed nearer to the poles; and therefore, as it becomes a wise man to struggle with the inconveniencies of his country, whenever celerity and acuteness are requisite, we must actuate our languor by taking a few turns round the centre in a garret. If you imagine that I ascribe to air and motion effects which they cannot produce, I desire you to consult your own memory, and consider whether you have never known a man acquire reputation in his garret, which, when fortune or a patron had placed him upon the first floor, he was unable to maintain; and who never recovered his former vigour of understanding, till he was restored to his original situation. That a garret will make every man a wit, I am very far from supposing; I know there are some who would continue blockheads 34 THE RAMBLER even on the summit of the Andes, or on the peak of Teneriffe. But let not any man be considered as unimprovable till this potent remedy has been tried; for perhaps he was formed to be great only in a garret, as the joiner of Aretzus was rational in no other place but his own shop. I think’a frequent removal to various distances from the centre, so necessary to a just estimate of intellectual abilities, and consequently of so great use in education, that if I hoped that the publick could be persuaded to so expensive an experiment, I would propose, that there should be a cavern dug, and a tower erected, like those which Bacon describes in Solomon’s house, for the expansion and concentration of understanding, according to the exigence of different employments, or constitutions. Perhaps some that fume away in meditations upon time and space in the tower, might compose tables of interest at a certain depth; and he that upon level ground stagnates in silence, or creeps in nar- rative, might at the height of half a mile, ferment into merriment, sparkle with repartee, and froth with declamation. Addison observes, that we may find the heat of Virgil’s climate, in some lines of his Georgick: so, when I read a composition, I immediately deter- mine the height of the author’s habitation. As an elaborate performance is commonly said to smell of the lamp, my commendation of a noble thought, a sprightly sally, or a bold figure, is to pronounce it fresh from the garret; an expression which would 35 THE RAMBLER break from me upon the perusal of most of your papers, did I not believe, that you sometimes quit the garret, and ascend into the cock-loft. HyYPERTATUS. No. 118. SATURDAY, MAY 4, 1751 Omunes illacrymabiles Urgentur, ignotique longt Nocte. Hor. Lib. iv. Ode ix. 26. In endless night they sleep, unwept, unknown. Francis. ICERO has, with his usual elegance and mag- nificence 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 solicitude, by shewing within what narrow limits all that fame and celebrity which man can hope for 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 to be found are broken by intervening deserts, and the nations are so separated as that nothing can be transmitted from one to another. With the people of the south, by whom the oppo- site part of the earth is possessed, you have no intercourse; and by how small a tract do you com- 36 THE RAMBLER municate with the countries of the north? The ter- ritory 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 Atlan- tick 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 de- clares, that according 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 pursuit of fame; ob- jections 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 37 THE RAMBLER nature, nor contracts its duration but by represent- ing it small in the estimation of superior beings. He still admits it the highest and noblest of terres- trial 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 un- derstandings, cannot be determined; 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 cultivation of knowledge, or acqui- sition of power, have very anxiously inquired what opinions prevail on the further banks of the Ganges, or invigorated any effort by the desire of spreading their renown among the clans of Caucasus. The hopes and fears of modern minds are content to range in a narrower compass; a single nation, and a few years, have generally sufficient amplitude to fill our imaginations. A. little consideration will indeed teach us, that fame has other limits than mountains and oceans; and that he who places happiness in the frequent repetition of his name, may spend his life in propa- gating it, without any danger of weeping for new worlds, or necessity of passing the Atlantick sea. The numbers to whom any real and perceptible good or evil can be derived by the greatest power, or most active diligence, are inconsiderable; and where neither benefit nor mischief operate, the only 38 THE RAMBLER motive to the mention or remembrance of others is curiosity ; a passion, which, though in some degree universally associated to reason, is easily confined, overborne, or diverted from any particular object. Among the lower classes of mankind, there will be found very little desire of any other knowledge, than what may contribute immediately to the relief of some pressing uneasiness, or the attainment of some near advantage. The Turks are said to hear with wonder a proposal to walk out, only that they may walk back; and inquire why any man should labour for nothing: so those whose condition has always restrained them to the contemplation of their own necessities, and who have been accus- tomed 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 of actions, performed in remote regions, or in dis- tant times; or that any thing can deserve their inquiry, of which, xAgog olov axodopsy, od0€ te tOpev, WE CaN only hear the report, but which cannot influence our lives by any consequences. The truth is, that very few have leisure from in- dispensable 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 engage- 39 THE RAMBLER ments, by the indulgence of some petty ambition, the admission of some insatiable desire, or the toler- ation 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 engage for mortgages: the lover disdains to turn his ear to any other name than that of Corinna; and the courtier thinks the hour lost which is not spent in 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 busy with its favourite amusement, and impatient of interruption or disturbance. But not only such employments as seduce atten- tion by appearances of dignity, or promises of happiness, may restrain the mind from excursion and inquiry ; curiosity may be equally destroyed by less formidable enemies; it may be dissipated in trifles, or congealed by indolence. The sportsman and the man of dress have their heads filled with a fox or a horse-race, a feather or a ball; and live in ignorance of every thing beside, with as much con- tent as he that heaps up gold, or solicits preferment, digs the field, or beats the anvil; and some yet lower in the ranks of intellect, dream out their days with- out 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 in- 40 THE RAMBLER clination to promote any fame, but that which their own studies entitle them to partake. The naturalist has no desire to know the opinions or conjectures of the philologer: the botanist looks upon the as- tronomer as a being unworthy of his regard: the lawyer scarcely hears the name of a physician with- out 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 valleys of life no voice but that of necessity ; all those who imagine themselves too important to regard him, and consider the mention of his name as an usurpa- tion of their time; all who are too much or too little pleased with themselves, to attend to any thing ex- ternal; 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 pur- suits; and all who slumber in universal negligence; he will find his renown straitened by nearer bounds than the rocks of Caucasus, and perceive that no man can be venerable or formidable, but to a small part of his fellow-creatures. That we may not languish in our endeavours after excellence, it is necessary, that, as Africanus counsels his descendant, ‘‘we raise our eyes to higher prospects, and contemplate our future and 41 THE RAMBLER eternal state, without giving up our hearts to the praise of crowds, or fixing our hopes on such rewards as human power can bestow. ”’ No. 119. TUESDAY, MAY 7, 1751 Lliacos intra muros peccatur, et extra. Hor. Lib. i. Ep. ii. 16. Faults lay on either side the Trojan tow’rs. Expuinston. TO THE RAMBLER. SIR, A® notwithstanding all that wit, or malice, or pride, or prudence will be able to suggest, men and women must at last pass their lives together, I have never therefore thought those writers friends to human happiness, who endeavour to excite in either sex a general contempt or suspicion of the other. To persuade them who are entering the world, and looking abroad for a suitable associate, that all are equally vicious, or equally ridiculous; that they who trust are certainly betrayed, and they who esteem are always disappointed; is not to awaken judgment, but to inflame temerity. With- out hope there can be no caution. Those who are convinced, that no reason for preference can be found, will never harass their thoughts with doubt and deliberation; they will resolve, since they are doomed to misery, that no needless anxiety shall disturb their quiet; they will plunge at hazard into the crowd, and snatch the first hand that shall be held toward them. That the world is over-run with vice, cannot be 42 THE RAMBLER denied ; but vice, however predominant, has not yet gained an unlimited dominion. Simple and unmin- gled good is not in our power, but we may generally escape a greater evil by suffering a less; and there- fore, those who undertake to initiate the young and ignorant in the knowledge of life, should be careful to inculcate the possibility of virtue and happi- ness, and to encourage endeavours by prospects of success. You, perhaps, do not suspect, that these are the sentiments of one who has been subject for many years to all the hardships of antiquated virginity; has been long accustomed to the coldness of neglect, and the petulance of insult; has been mortified in full assemblies by inquiries after forgotten fashions, games long disused, and wits and beauties of ancient renown; has been invited, with malicious importu- nity, to the second wedding of many acquaintances; has been ridiculed by two generations of coquets in whispers intended to be heard; and been long con- sidered by the airy and gay, as too venerable for familiarity, and too wise for pleasure. It is indeed natural for injury to provoke anger, and by contin- ual repetition to produce an habitual asperity; yet I have hitherto struggled with so much vigilance against my pride and my resentment, that I have preserved my temper uncorrupted. I have not yet made it any part of my employment to collect sentences against marriage; nor am inclined to , lessen the number of the few friends whom time _has left me, by obstructing that happiness which I | 43 gy Ne . THE RAMBLER cannot partake, and venting my vexation in censures of the forwardness and indiscretion of girls, or the inconstancy, tastelessness, and perfidy of men. It is, indeed, not very difficult to bear that con- dition to which we are not contlerinsdity necessity, but induced by obsefvation and choice; and there- fore I; perhaps, have never yet felt all, the malignity with which a reproach, edged with th appellation of old maid, swells some of thos héarts in which it is infixed. I was not condemned in my youth to solitude, either by indigence or defo Diity, nor passed the earlier part of life without the flattery of courtship, and the joys of triumph. [have danced the round of gaiety amidst the murmurs of envy, and gratulations of applause; been attended from pleasure to pleasure by the great, the sprightly, and the vain; and seen my regard solicited by the obse- quiousness of gallantry, the gaiety of wit, and the timidity of love. If, therefore, I am yet a stranger to nuptial happiness, I suffer only the consequences of my own resolves, and can look back upon the succession of lovers, whose addresses I have rejected, without grief, and without malice. When my name first began to be inscribed upon glasses, I was honoured with the amorous profes- sions of the gay Venustulus, a gentleman, who, being the only son of a wealthy family, had been educated in all the wantonness of expense, and softness of effeminacy. He was beautiful in his per- son, and easy in his address, and, therefore, soon gained upon my eye at an age when the sight is 44, THE RAMBLER very little over-ruled by the understanding. He had not any power in himself of gladdening or amusing ; but supplied his want of conversation by threats and diversions; and his chief art of courtship was to fill the mind of his mistress with parties, rambles, musick, and shows. We were often engaged in short excursions to gardens and seats, and I was for a while pleased with the care which Venustulus dis- covered in securing me from any appearance of danger, or possibility of mischance. He never failed to recommend caution to his coachman, or to promise the waterman a reward if he landed us safe; and always contrived to return by day-light for fear of robbers. This extraordinary solicitude was represented for a time as the effect of his ten- derness for me; but fear is too strong for continued hypocrisy. I soon discovered, that Venustulus had the cowardice as well as elegance of a female. His imagination was perpetually clouded with terrours, and he could scarcely refrain from screams and out- cries at any accidental surprise. He durst not enter a room if a rat was heard behind the wainscot, nor cross a field where the cattle were frisking in the sunshine; the least breeze that waved upon the river was a storm, and every clamour in the street was acry of fire. I have seen him lose his colour when my squirrel had broke his chain; and was forced to throw water in his face on the sudden en- trance of a black cat. Compassion once obliged me to drive away with my fan, a beetle that kept him | in distress, and chide off a dog that yelped at his 45 THE RAMBLER heels, to which he would gladly have given up me to facilitate his own escape. Women naturally ex- pect defence and protection from a lover or a hus- band, and therefore you will not think me culpable in refusing a wretch, who would have burdened life with unnecessary fears, and flown to me for that succour which it was his duty to have given. My next lover was Fungoso, the son of a stock- jobber, whose visits my friends, by the importunity of persuasion, prevailed upon me to allow. Fungoso was no very suitable companion; for having been bred in a counting-house, he spoke a language un- intelligible in any other place. He had no desire of any reputation but that of an acute prognosticator of the changes in the funds; nor had any means of raising merriment, but by telling how somebody was over-reached in a bargain by his father. He was, however, a youth of great sobriety and prudence, and frequently informed us how carefully he would improve my fortune. I was not in haste to conclude the match, but was so much awed by my parents, that I durst not dismiss him, and might perhaps have been doomed for ever to the grossness of ped- lary, and the jargon of usury, had not a fraud been discovered in the settlement, which set me free from the persecution of grovelling pride, and pecuniary impudence. I was afterwards six months without any partic- ular notice, but at last became the idol of the glittering Flosculus, who prescribed the mode of embroidery to all the fops of his time, and varied AGB THE RAMBLER at pleasure the cock of every hat, and the sleeve of every coat that appeared in fashionable assemblies. Flosculus made some impression upon my heart by a compliment which few ladies can hear without emotion; he commended my skill in dress, my judg- ment in suiting colours, and my art in disposing ornaments. But Flosculus was too much engaged by his own elegance, to be sufficiently attentive to the duties of a lover, or to please with varied praise an ear made delicate by riot of adulation. He ex- pected to be repaid part of his tribute, and staid away three days, because I neglected to take netice of a new coat. I quickly found, that Flosculus was rather a rival than an admirer; and that we should probably live in a perpetual struggle of emulous finery, and spend our lives in stratagems to be first in the fashion. I had soon after the honour at a feast of attract- ing the eyes of Dentatus, one of those human beings whose only happiness is to dine. Dentatus regaled me with foreign varieties, told me of measures that he had laid for procuring the best cook in France, and entertained me with bills of fare, prescribed the arrangement of dishes, and taught me two sauces invented by himself. At length, such is the un- certainty of human happiness, I declared my opinion too hastily upon a pie made under his own direction ; after which he grew so cold and negligent, that he was easily dismissed. Many other lovers, or pretended lovers, I have had the honour to lead a while in triumph. But AT THE RAMBLER two of them I drove from me, by discovering that they had no taste or knowledge in musick; three I dismissed, because they were drunkards; two, be- cause they paid their addresses at the same time to other ladies; and six, because they attempted to in- fluence my choice by bribing my maid. Two more I discarded at the second visit for obscene allusions; and five for drollery on religion. In the latter part of my reign, I sentenced two to perpetual exile, for offering me settlements, by which the children of a former marriage would have been injured; four, for representing falsely the value of their estates; three for concealing their debts; and one, for raising the rent of a decrepit tenant. I have now sent you a narrative, which the ladies may oppose to the tale of Hymenezus. I mean not to depreciate the sex which has produced poets and philosophers, heroes and martyrs; but will not suffer the rising generation of beauties to be dejected by partial satire; or to imagine that those who censured them have not likewise their follies, and their vices. _I do not yet believe happiness unattainable in mar- riage, though I have never yet been able to find a man, with whom I could prudently venture an in- | separable union. It is necessary to expose faults, that their deformity may be seen; but the reproach ' ought not to be extended beyond the crime, nor either sex to be contemned, because some women, or men, are indelicate or dishonest. : I am, &e. TRANQUILLA. 43 THE RAMBLER No. 120. SATURDAY, MAY 11, 1751 Redditum Cyri solio Phraaten, Dissidens plebi, numero beatorum Eximit virtus, populumque falsis Dedocet uti Vocibus. Hor. Lib. ii. Od. ii. 17. True virtue can the crowd unteach Their false mistaken forms of speech; Virtue, to crowds a foe profest, Disdains to number with the blest Phraates, by his slaves ador’d, And to the Parthian crown restor’d. Francis. N 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, what- ever was valuable, whatever was useful, hasted to his hand. The streets were crowded with his car- riages; the sea was covered with his ships; the streams of Oxus were wearied with conveyance, and every breeze of the sky wafted wealth to Nouradin. At length Nouradin felt himself seized with a slow 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 VoL. 3—4 49 THE RAMBLER 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 phy- sicians, 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 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 re- clines against his trunk, and prosperity dances on his top.’ Now, Almamoulin, look upon me wither- ing 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 numer- ous; 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 50 THE RAMBLER piled in towers, I have buried in caverns, I have hidden in secret repositories, which this scroll will discover. My purpose was, after ten months more spent in commerce, to have withdrawn my wealth to a safer country; to have given seven years to delight and festivity, and the remaining part of my days to solitude and repentance; but the hand of death is upon me; a frigorifick torpor encroaches upon my veins; I am now leaving the produce of my toil, which it must be thy business to enjoy with wisdom.’’ The thought of leaving his wealth filled Nouradin with such grief, that he fell into convulsions, became 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 overborne 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 Nou- radin’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. Almamoulin had been bred to the practice of exact frugality, and had often looked with envy on the finery and expenses of other young men: he therefore believed, that happiness was now in his 51 THE RAMBLER 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 ac- clamations to swell him with insolence. The nobles saw him with anger, the wise men of the state com- bined 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 alli- ance with the princes of Tartary, and offered the price of kingdoms for a wife of noble birth. His suit was generally rejected, and his presents refused; but the princess of Astracan once condescended to admit him to her 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 sordid ostentation; thou wast born to be wealthy, but never canst be great.’”’ He then contracted his desires to more private and 52 THE RAMBLER domestick pleasures. He built palaces, he laid out gardens”, he changed the face of the land, he trans- planted forests, he levelled mountains, opened pros- pects into distant regions, poured fountains from the tops of turrets, and rolled rivers through new channels. These amusements pleased him for a time; but languor and weariness soon invaded him. His bow- ers lost their fragrance, and the waters murmured without notice. He purchased large tracts of land in distant provinces, adorned them with houses of pleasure, and diversified them with accommodations for different seasons. Change of place at first 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 crowded with pleasure; and the day ended and began with feasts and dances, and revelry and merriment. Alma- moulin 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 ob- See Vathek. 53 THE RAMBLER scure station. What trouble can he feel, whom all are studious to please, that they may be repaid with pleasure? What danger can he dread, to whom every man is a friend?’’ Such were the thoughts of Almamoulin, as he looked down from a gallery upon the gay assembly regaling at his expense; but, in the midst of this soliloquy, an officer of justice entered the house, and in the form of legal citation, summoned Alma- moulin to appear before the emperor. The guests stood awhile aghast, then stole imperceptibly 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 researches after felicity, he had recourse to a sage, who, after spending his youth in travel and obser- vation, had retired from all human cares, to a small habitation on the banks of Oxus, where he con- versed only with such as solicited his counsel. ** Brother,’’ said the philosopher, ‘‘ thou hast suf- fered thy reason to be deluded by idle hopes, and fallacious appearances. Having long looked with desire upon riches, thou hadst taught thyself to 54 THE RAMBLER 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 mayest be con- vinced, by considering at how dear a price they tempted thee, upon thy first entrance into the world, to purchase the empty sound of vulgar accla- mation. 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 un- exhausted pleasure, the recollection of forsaken palaces, and neglected gardens, will easily inform thee. That they rarely purchase friends, thou didst soon discover, when thou wert left to stand thy trial uncountenanced and alone. Yet think not riches useless; there are purposes to which a wise man may be delighted to apply them; they may, by a rational distribution to those who want them, ease the pains of helpless disease, still the throbs of restless anxiety, relieve innocence from oppression, and raise imbecility to cheerfulness and vigour. This they will enable thee to perform, and this will afford the only happiness ordained for our present state, the confidence of Divine favour, and the hope of future rewards. ”’ 55 THE RAMBLER No. 121. TUESDAY, MAY 14, 1751 O imitatores, servum pecus! Hor. Lib. i. Ep. xix. 19. Away, ye imitators, servile herd! ELPHINSTON. 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 endeavour- ing by books and meditation to form their own opinions, content themselves with the secondary knowledge, which a convenient bench in a coffee- house can supply; and without any examination or distinction, adopt the criticisms and remarks, which happen to drop from those who have risen, by merit or fortune, to reputation and authority. These humble retailers of knowledge my corres- pondent stigmatises with the name of Echoes; and seems desirous that they should be made ashamed of lazy submission, and animated to attempts after new discoveries and original sentiments. It is very natural for young men to be vehement, acrimonious, and severe. For, as they seldom com- prehend 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. Seeing nothing that can darken or embarrass the question, they expect to find their OWN opinion universally prevalent, and are inclined 56 THE RAMBLER to impute uncertainty and hesitation to want of honesty, rather than of knowledge. I may, perhaps, therefore, be reproached by my lively correspond- ent, when it shall be found, that I have no incli- nation to persecute these collectors of fortuitous knowledge with the severity required; yet, as I am now too old to be much 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. He that adopts the sentiments of another, whom he has reason to believe wiser than himself, is only to be blamed when he claims the honours which are not due but to the author, and endeavours to deceive the world into praise and veneration; for, to learn, is the proper business of youth; and whether we increase our knowledge by books or by conversation, we are equally indebted to foreign assistance. The greater part of students are not born with abilities to construct systems, or advance knowl- edge; nor can have any hope beyond that of be- coming 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 hath 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 57 THE RAMBLER some small particle of knowledge, to the hereditary stock devolved to them from ancient times, the collective labour of a thousand intellects. In science, which, being fixed and limited, admits of no other variety than such as arises from new methods of distribution, or new arts of illustration, the necessity of following the traces of our prede- cessors 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, obli- quity may be infinitely diversified. The roads 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 re- cesses unexplored, a thousand flowers unplucked, a thousand fountains unexhausted, combinations of imagery yet unobserved, and races of ideal inhab- itants not hitherto described. 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 inven- tions of the Greeks. There is, in all their writings, such a perpetual recurrence of allusions to the tales 58 THE RAMBLER 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 [liad and the Odyssey in one composition: yet his judgment was perhaps sometimes overborne by his avarice of the Homeric treasures; and, for fear of suffering a sparkling ornament to be lost, he has inserted it where it cannot shine with its original splendour. When Ulysses visited the infernal regions, he found among the heroes that perished at Troy, his competitor, Ajax, who, when the arms of Achilles were adjudged to Ulysses, died by his own hand in the madness of disappointment. He still appeared to resent, as on earth, his loss and disgrace. Ulysses endeavoured to pacify him with praises and sub- mission; but Ajax walked away without reply. This passage has always been considered as emi- nently beautiful; because Ajax, the haughty chief, the unlettered soldier, of unshaken courage, of immovable 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 feroc- 59 THE RAMBLER ity. 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 he gave his enemy no opportunity of exerting the only power in which he was superior. When /neas is sent by Virgil to the shades, he meets Dido the queen of Carthage, whom his per- fidy 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 quali- ties 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 partic- ular species of fiction. At one time all truth was conveyed in allegory; at another, nothing was seen but in a vision: at one period all the poets followed sheep, and every event produced a pastoral; at another they busied themselves wholly in giving directions to a painter. 60 THE RAMBLER It is indeed easy to conceive why any fashion should become popular, by which idleness is fav- oured, and imbecility 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 bur- lesque, can scarcely be censured with much acri- mony. 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. 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 style 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 Jonson 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. 61 THE RAMBLER The Italians have little variety of termination, and 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 improprie- ties must always be multiplied, as the difficulty of rhyme is increased by long concatenations. The imitators of Spenser are indeed not very rigid censors of themselves, for they seem to con- clude, that when they have disfigured their lines with a few obsolete syllables, they have accom- plished their design, without considering that they ought not only to admit old words, but to avoid new. The laws of imitation are broken by every word introduced since the time of Spenser, as the character of Hector is violated by quoting Aristotle in the play. It would, indeed, be difficult to exclude from a long poem all modern phrases, though it is easy to sprinkle it with gleanings of antiquity. Per- haps, however, the style of Spenser might by long labour be justly copied; but life is surely given us for higher purposes than to gather what our ances- tors have wisely thrown away, and to learn what is of no value, but because it has been forgotten. 62 THE RAMBLER No. 122. SATURDAY, MAY 18, 1751 Nescio qua natale solum dulcedine captos Ducit. Ovip, Ex Pon. Lib. i. Ep. iii. 35. By secret charms our native land attracts. OTHING is more subject to mistake and disappointment than anticipated judgment con- cerning 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 pre- vious consideration of the undertaking, we are equally in danger of deceiving ourselves. It is never easy, nor often possible, to comprise the series of any process with all its circumstances, incidents, and variations, in a speculative scheme. Experience soon shows us the tortuosities of imaginary recti- tude, 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 63 THE RAMBLER 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, 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 in- struct us by recitals, clouding the facts which they intend to illustrate, and losing themselves and their auditors in wilds and mazes, in digression and con- fusion. When we have congratulated ourselves upon a new opportunity of inquiry, and new means of information, it often happens, that without design- ing either deceit or concealment, without ignorance of the fact, or unwillingness to disclose it, the re- lator 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 his- 64 | THE RAMBLER torian. The philosopher has the works of omnis- cience 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 danger of those inconsistencies, to which every one is exposed by departure from truth; but may be censured as well for deficiencies of matter, as for irregularity of disposition, or impropriety of | ornament. But the happy historian has no other labour than of 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 in- consistency of statesmen, the injustice of tyrants, or the cowardice of commanders. The difficulty of making variety consistent, or uniting probability with surprise, needs not to disturb him; the man- ners 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 repu- tation by writing histories; and among the innu- merable authors, who fill every nation with accounts of their ancestors, or undertake to transmit to futurity the events of their own time, the greater part, when fashion and novelty have ceased to rec- ommend them, are of no other use than chrono- logical memorials, which necessity may sometimes Vor. 3—5 65 THE RAMBLER require to be consulted, but which fright away curiosity, and disgust delicacy. It is observed, that our nation, which has pro- duced 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 style, or confine his mind to that even tenour of imagination, which narrative requires. They who can believe that nature has so capri- ciously distributed understanding, have surely no claim to the honour of serious confutation. The in- habitants of the same country have opposite char- acters in different ages; the prevalence or neglect of any particular study can proceed only from the accidental influence of some temporary cause; and if we have failed in history, we can have failed only because history has not hitherto been diligently cultivated. But how is it evident, that we have not historians among us, whom we may venture to place in com- parison with any that the neighbouring nations can produce? The attempt of Raleigh is deservedly celebrated for the labour of his researches, and the elegance of his style; but 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. 66 THE RAMBLER The works of Clarendon deserve more regard. His diction is indeed neither exact in itself, nor suited to the purpose of history. It is the effusion of a mind crowded with ideas, and desirous of im- parting them; and therefore always accumulating words, and involving one clause and sentence in another. But there is in his negligence a rude inar- tificial majesty, which, without the nicety of la- boured elegance, swells the mind by its plenitude and diffusion. His narration is not perhaps suffi- ciently rapid, being stopped too frequently by particularities, which, though they might strike the author who was present at the transactions, will not equally detain the attention of posterity. But his ignorance or carelessness of the art of writing is amply compensated by his knowledge of nature and of policy; the wisdom of his maxims, the just- ness 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 his- tory of the Turks, has displayed all the excellencies that narration can admit. His style, though some- what 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 ac- 67 THE RAMBLER quainted with its history, or situation; so that a great part of the world is brought into view. The descriptions of this author are without minuteness, and the digressions 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 imag- ination, 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 enter- prises and revolutions, of which none desire to be informed. 68 THE RAMBLER No. 123. TUESDAY, MAY 21, 1751 Quo semel est imbuta recens, servabit odorem Testa diu. Hor. Lib. i. Ep. ii. 69. What season’d first the vessel, keeps the taste. CrexEcn. TO THE RAMBLER. SIR, HOUGH I have so long found myself deluded by projects of honour and distinction, that I often resolve to admit them no more into my heart; yet how determinately soever excluded, they always recover their dominion by force or stratagem; and whenever, after the shortest relaxation of vigilance, reason and caution return to their charge, they find hope again in possession, with all her train of pleasures dancing about her. Even while I am preparing to write a history of disappointed expectations, I cannot forbear to flat- ter myself, that you and your readers are impatient for my performance; and that the sons of learning have laid down several of your late papers with discontent, when they found that Misocapelus had delayed to continue his narrative. But the desire of gratifying the expectations that I have raised, is not the only motive of this relation, which, having once promised it, I think myself no longer at liberty to forbear. For, however I may have wished to clear myself from every other adhesion of trade, I hope I shall be always wise enough to retain my punctuality, and amidst all my new arts of politeness, continue to despise negligence, and detest falsehood. 69 THE RAMBLER When the death of my brother had dismissed me from the duties of a shop, I considered myself as restored to the rights of my birth, and entitled to the rank and reception which my ancestors obtained. I was, however, embarrassed with many difficulties at my first re-entrance into the world; for my haste to be a gentleman inclined me to precipitate meas- ures; and every accident that forced me back towards my old station, was considered by me as an obstruction of my happiness. It was with no common grief and indignation, that I found my former companions still daring to claim my notice, and the journeymen and appren- tices sometimes pulling me by the sleeve as I was walking in the street, and without any terrour of my new sword, which was, notwithstanding, of an uncommon size, inviting me to partake of a bottle at the old house, and entertaining me with histories of the girls in the neighbourhood. I had always, in my officinal state, been kept in awe by lace and em- broidery ; and imagined that, to fright away these unwelcome familiarities, nothing was necessary, but that I should, by splendour of dress, proclaim my re-union with a higher rank. I, therefore, sent for my tailor; ordered a suit with twice the usual quantity of lace; and that I might not let my per- secutors increase their confidence, by the habit of accosting me, staid at home till it was made. This week of confinement I passed in practising’ a forbidding frown, a smile of condescension, a slight salutation, and an abrupt departure; and in four 70 THE RAMBLER mornings was able to turn upon my heel, with so much levity and sprightliness, that I made no doubt of discouraging all publick attempts upon my dig- nity. I therefore issued forth in my new coat, with a resolution of dazzling intimacy to a fitter distance; and pleased myself with the timidity and reverence, which I should impress upon all who had hitherto presumed to harass me with their freedoms. But, whatever was the cause, I did not find myself re- ceived with any new degree of respect; those whom I intended to drive from me, ventured to advance with their usual phrases of benevolence; and those whose acquaintance I solicited, grew more super- cilious and reserved. I began soon to repent the ex- pense, by which I had procured no advantage, and to suspect that a shining dress, like a mighty weapon, has no force in itself, but owes all its efficacy to him that wears it. Many were the mortifications and calamities which I was condemned to suffer in my initiation to politeness. I was so much tortured by the inces- sant civilities of my companions, that I never passed through that region of the city but in a chair with the curtains drawn; and at last left my lodgings, and fixed myself in the verge of the court. Here I en- deavoured to be thought a gentleman just returned from his travels, and was pleased to have my landlord believe that I was in some danger from importunate creditors; but this scheme was quickly defeated by a formal deputation sent to offer me, though I had now retired from business, the freedom of my company. 71 THE RAMBLER I was now detected in trade, and therefore re- solved to stay no longer. I hired another apartment, and changed my servants. Here I lived very happily for three months, and, with secret satisfaction, often overheard the family celebrating the greatness and felicity of the esquire; though the conversation seldom ended without some complaint of my covet- ousness, or some remark upon my language, or my gait. I now began to venture in the publick walks, and to know the faces of nobles and beauties; but could not observe, without wonder, as I passed by them, how frequently they were talking of a tailor. I longed, however, to be admitted to conversation, and was somewhat weary of walking in crowds without a companion, yet continued to come and go with the rest, till a lady whom I endeavoured to protect in a crowded passage, as she was about to step into her chariot, thanked me for my civility, and told me, that, as she had often distinguished me for my modest and respectful behaviour, when- ever I set up for myself, I might expect to see her among my first customers. Here was an end of all my ambulatory projects. I indeed sometimes entered the walks again, but was always blasted by this destructive lady, whose mischievous generosity recommended me to her acquaintance. Being therefore forced to practise my adscititious character upon another stage, I betook myself to a coffee-house frequented by wits, among whom I learned in a short time the cant of criticism, and talked so loudly and volubly of nature, and 72 THE RAMBLER manners, and sentiment, and diction, and similies, and contrasts, and action, and pronunciation, that I was often desired to lead the hiss and clap, and was feared and hated by the players and the poets. Many a sentence have I hissed, which I did not understand, and many a groan have I uttered, when the ladies were weeping in the boxes. At last a malignant author, whose performance I had per- secuted through the nine nights, wrote an epigram upon Tape the critick, which drove me from the pit for ever. My desire to be a fine gentleman still continued: I therefore, after a short suspense, chose a new set of friends at the gaming-table, and was for some time pleased with the civility and openness with which I found myself treated. I was indeed obliged to play; but being naturally timorous and vigilant, was never surprised into large sums. What might have been the consequence of long familiarity with these plunderers, I had not an opportunity of know- ing; for one night the constables entered and seized us, and I was once more compelled to sink into my former condition, by sending for my old master to attest my character. When I was deliberating to what new qualifi- cations I should aspire, I was summoned into the country, by an account of my father’s death. Here I had hopes of being able to distinguish myself, and to support the honour of my family. I therefore bought guns and horses, and, contrary to the ex- pectation of the tenants, increased the salary of the 73 THE RAMBLER huntsman. But when I entered the field, it was soon discovered, that I was not destined to the glories of the chase. I was afraid of thorns in the thicket, and of dirt in the marsh; I shivered on the brink of a river while the sportsmen crossed it, and trembled at the sight of a five-bar gate. When the sport and danger were over, I was still equally disconcerted; for I was effeminate, though not deli- cate, and could only join a feeble whispering voice in the clamours of their triumph. A fall, by which my ribs were broken, soon re- called me to domestick pleasures, and I exerted all my art to obtain the favour of the neighbouring ladies; but wherever I came, there was always some unlucky conversation upon ribands, fillets, pins, or thread, which drove all my stock of compliments out of my memory, and overwhelmed me with shame and dejection. Thus I passed the ten first years after the death of my brother, in which I have learned at last to repress that ambition, which I could never gratify ; and, instead of wasting more of my life in vain en- deavours after accomplishments, which, if not early acquired, no endeavours can obtain, I shall confine my care to those higher excellencies which are in every man’s power, and though I cannot enchant affection by elegance and ease, hope to secure esteem by honesty and truth. I am, &c. MIsSoOcAPELUS. 74 THE RAMBLER No. 124, SATURDAY, MAY 25, 1751 Tacitum sylvas inter reptare salubres, Curantem quicquid dignum sapiente bonoque est ? Hor. Lib. i. Ep. iv. 4. To range in silence through each healthful wood, And muse what’s worthy of the wise and good. ELPHINSTON. HE season of the year is now come, in which the theatres are shut, and the card-tables for- saken; the regions of luxury are for a while unpeo- pled, and pleasure leads out her votaries to groves and gardens, to still scenes and erratick gratifica- tions. 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 and humble supplications; must now retire to distant provinces, where the syrens of flattery are scarcely to be heard, where beauty sparkles without praise or envy, and wit is repeated only by the echo. As I think it one of the most important duties of social benevolence to give warning of the approach of calamity, when by timely prevention it may be turned aside, or by preparatory measures be more easily endured, I cannot feel the increasing warmth, or observe the lengthening days, without consider- ing 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 15 THE RAMBLER 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 inconveniences, 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 their own motions, and pursue the course of the stream in all the felicity of inattention; content that they find themselves in progression, and careless whither they are going. But the months of summer are a kind of sleeping stagnation without wind or tide, where they are left to force themselves forward by their own labour, and to 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 oppor- tunity 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 76 THE RAMBLER ashamed to confess a conquest, the summer is re- garded as a release from the fatiguing service of celebrity, a dismission to more certain joys and a safer empire. They now solace themselves with the influence which they shall obtain, where they have no rival to fear; and with the lustre which they shall effuse, when nothing can be seen of brighter splendour. They imagine, while they are preparing for their journey, the admiration with which the rusticks will crowd about them; plan the laws of a new assembly; or contrive to delude provincial ignorance with a fictitious mode. A thousand pleas- ing expectations swarm in the fancy; and all the approaching weeks are filled with distinctions, hon- ours, and authority. But others, who have lately entered the world, or have yet had no proofs of its inconstancy and desertion, are cut off, by this cruel interruption, from the enjoyment of their prerogatives, and doomed to lose four months in inactive obscurity. Many complaints do vexation and desire extort from those exiled tyrants of the town, against the inexorable sun, who pursues his course without any regard to love or beauty; and visits either tropick at the stated time, whether shunned or courted, deprecated or implored. 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, ay THE RAMBLER are little regarded by beauties who have been ac- customed 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 at- tack upon the untravelled heir, or ignoble contest with the ruddy milkmaid. How then must four long months be worn away ? Four months, in which there will be no routes, no shows, no ridottos; in which visits must be regu- lated 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 lewd- ness and luxury, to the pure and sublime felicity of virtue and contemplation, will arise from the pre- dominance 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 color- ifick 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 pen- ance 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 78 THE RAMBLER look round for admiration to no purpose, and the hand of avarice shuffle cards in a bower with inef- fectual dexterity. From the tediousness of this melancholy suspen- sion 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 happiness, though it should be necessary to struggle with habit, and abandon fashion. To these many arts of spending time might be recom- mended, 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 alac- rity; but art and nature have stores inexhaustible by human intellects; and every moment produces something new to him, who has quickened his facul- ties by diligent observation. Some studies, for which the country and the sum- mer afford peculiar opportunities, I shall perhaps endeavour to recommend in a future essay; but if there be any apprehension not apt to admit unac- customed ideas, or any attention so stubborn and 79 THE RAMBLER inflexible, as not easily to comply with new direc- tions, 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 obtain- ing some new qualification for celestial happiness. No. 125. TUESDAY, MAY 28, 1751 Descriptas servare vices, operumque colores, Cur ego, st negueo ignoroque, poéta salutor? Hor. De Ar. Poet. 86. But if, through weakness, or my want of art, I can’t to every different style impart The proper strokes and colours it may claim, Why am I honour’d with a poet’s name? FRANCcIs. T is one of the maxims of the civil law, that definitions are hazardous. Things modified by human understandings, subject to varieties of com- plication, and changeable as experience advances knowledge, or accident influences caprice, are scarcely to be included in any standing form of ex- pression, 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 80 THE RAMBLER 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 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 criticisms 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 confines of dis- tinction, 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 ap- proved, subverts the rules which the practice of foregoing authors had established. Comedy has been particularly unpropitious to definers; for though perhaps they might properly have contented themselves, with declaring it to be such a dramatick representation of human life, as may excite mirth, they have embarrassed their defi- nition with the means by which the comick writers attain their end, without considering that the var- ious methods of exhilarating their audience, not being limited by nature, cannot be comprised in precept. Thus, some make comedy a representation VoL. 3—6 81 THE RAMBLER 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 dra- matick composition which raises mirth, is comick; and that, to raise mirth, it is by no means univer- sally 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 tragick with comick sentiments. They seem to have thought, that as the meanest of personages constituted comedy, their greatness was sufficient to form a tragedy ; and that nothing was necessary but that they should crowd the scene with monarchs, and generals, and guards; and make them talk, at certain intervals, of the downfall of kingdoms, and the rout of armies. They have not considered, that thoughts or inci- dents, in themselves ridiculous, grow still more gro- tesque 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 inter- mixture of an unseasonable levity, may be made 82 THE RAMBLER contemptible; and that the robes of royalty can give no dignity to nonsense or to folly. ‘*Comedy,’’ says Horace, ‘‘ sometimes raises her voice;’’ and Tragedy may likewise on proper occa- sions abate her dignity ; but as the comick personages can only depart from their familiarity of style, 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 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: Muley Moluch. What shall I do to conquer thee? Seb. Impossible! Souls know no conquerors. M. Mol. 1’ shew thee for a monster thro’ my Afric. Seb. No, thou canst only shew me for a man: Afric is stored with monsters; man’s a prodigy Thy subjects have not seen. M. Mol. Thou talk’st as if Still at the head of battle. Seb. Thou mistak’st, For there I would not talk. Benducar, the Minister. Sure he would sleep. This conversation, with the sly remark of the minister, can only be found not to be comick, because it wants the probability necessary to representations of common life, and degenerates too much towards _ buffoonery and farce. 83 THE RAMBLER The same play affords a smart return of the general to the emperor, who, enforcing his orders for the death of Sebastian, vents his impatience in this abrupt threat: ——No more replies, But see thou dost it: Or—— To which Dorax answers, Choak in that threat: I can say Or as loud. A thousand instances of such impropriety might be produced, were not 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 entrusted, and whom she had made sensible of her charms, to carry her message to his rival. Artmant, with a letter in his hand: Inpamora. Arim. And I the messenger to him from you! Your empire you to tyranny pursue: You lay commands both cruel and unjust, To serve my rival, and betray my trust. Ind. You first betray’d your trust in loving me: And should not I my own advantage see? Serving my love, you may my friendship gain; You know the rest of your pretences vain. You must, my Arimant, you must be kind: *Tis in your nature, and your noble mind. Arim. Vl to the king, and straight my trust resign. Ind. His trust you mdy, but you shall never mine. Heaven made you love me for no other end, But to become my confidant and friend: As such, I keep no secret from your sight, And therefore make you judge how ill I write: Read it, and tell me freely then your mind, If ’tis indited, as I meant it, kind. Arim. JI ask not heaven my freedom to restore—[ Reading. But only for your sake——I’1l read no more. And yet I must—— 84 THE RAMBLER Less for my own, than for your sorrow sad——[Reading. Another line like this, would make me mad Heav’n! she goes on yet more and yet more kind! [As reading. Each sentence is a dagger to my mind. See me this night [ Reading. Thank fortune who did such a friend provide ; For faithful Arimant shall be your guide. Not only to be made an instrument, But pre-engaged without my own consent! Ind. Unknown to engage you still augments my score, And gives you scope of meriting the more. Arim. The best of men Some int’rest in their actions must confess; None merit, but in hope they may possess: The fatal paper rather let me tear, Than, like Bellerophon, my own sentence bear. Ind. You may; but twill not be your best advice: *Twill only give me pains of writing twice. You know you must obey me, soon or late: Why should you vainly struggle with your fate? Arim. J thank thee, Heav’n! thou hast been wondrous kind! Why am I thus to slavery design’d, And yet am cheated with a free-born mind! Or make thy orders with my reason suit, Or let me live by sense, a glorious brute You frown, and I obey with speed, before That dreadful sentence comes, See me no more. [She frowns. In this scene, every circumstance concurs to turn tragedy to farce. The wild absurdity of the ex- pedient; 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 loose his reason 85 THE RAMBLER as soon as he finds himself about to do what he can- not persuade his reason to approve, are sufficient to awaken the most torpid risibility. There is scarce a tragedy of the last century which has not debased its most important incidents, and polluted its most serious interlocutions, with buf- foonery and meanness; but though perhaps it can- not 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 tumour of phrase with which every thought is now expressed by every personage, the paucity of adventurers which regularity admits, and the unvaried equality of flow- ing 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 terrour or pity, they are always careful not to provoke laughter. 86 THE RAMBLER No. 126. SATURDAY, JUNE 1, 1751 —— Nihil est aliud magnum quam multa minuta. Ver. Avucr. Sands form the mountain, moments make the year. Youne. Minh TO THE RAMBLER. MONG other topicks of conversation which your papers supply, I was lately engaged in a discussion of the character given by Tranquilla of her lover Venustulus, whom, notwithstanding the severity of his mistress, the greater number seemed inclined to acquit of unmanly or culpable timidity. One of the company remarked that prudence ought to be distinguished from fear; and that if Venustulus was afraid of nocturnal adventures, no man who considered how much every avenue of the town was infested with robbers could think him -blameable; for why should life be hazarded without prospect of honour or advantage? Another was of opinion, that a brave man might be afraid of cross- ing the river in the calmest weather, and declared, that, for his part, while there were coaches and a bridge, he would never be seen tottering in a wooden case, out of which he might be thrown by any irregular agitation, or which might be overset by accident, or negligence, or by the force of a sud- den gust, or the rush of a larger vessel. It was his custom, he said, to keep the security of daylight, and dry ground; for it was a maxim with him, that no wise man ever perished by water, or was lost in the dark. 87 THE RAMBLER The next was humbly of opinion, that if Tran- quilla had seen, like him, the cattle run roaring about the meadows in the hot months, she would not have thought meanly of her lover for not ven- turing his safety among them. His neighbour then told us, that for his part he was not ashamed to confess, that he could not see a rat, though it was dead, without palpitation; that he had been driven six times out of his lodgings either by rats or mice; and that he always had a bed in the closet for his servant, whom he called up whenever the enemy was in motion. Another wondered that any man should think himself disgraced by a precipitate re- treat from a dog; for there was always a possibility that a dog might be mad; and that surely, though there was no danger but of being bit by a fierce ani- mal, there was more wisdom in flight than contest. By all these declarations another was encouraged to confess, that if he had been admitted to the hon- our of paying his addresses to 'Tranquilla, he should have been likely to incur the same censure; for, among all the animals upon which nature has im- pressed deformity and horrour, there is none whom he durst not encounter rather than a beetle. Thus, Sir, though cowardice is universally defined too close and anxious an attention to personal safety, there will be found scarcely any fear, however ex- cessive in its degree, or unreasonable in its object, — which will be allowed to characterise a coward. Fear is a passion which every man feels so fre- quently predominant in his own breast, that he is — 338 THE RAMBLER unwilling to hear it censured with great asperity; and, perhaps, if we confess the truth, the same re- straint which would hinder a man from declaiming against the frauds of any employment among those who profess it, should withhold him from treating | fear with contempt among human beings. Yet, since fortitude is one of those virtues which the condition of our nature makes hourly necessary, I think you cannot better direct your admonitions than against superfluous and panick terrours. Fear is implanted in us as a preservative from evil; but its duty, like that of other passions, is not to over- bear reason, but to assist it; nor should it be suffered to tyrannize in the imagination, to raise phan- toms of horrour, or beset life with supernumerary distresses. To be always afraid of losing life is, indeed, scarcely to enjoy a life that can deserve the care of preservation. He that once indulges idle fears will never be at rest. Our present state admits only of a kind of negative security; we must conclude our- selves safe when we see no danger, or none inade- quate to our powers of opposition. Death, indeed, continually hovers about us, but hovers commonly unseen, unless we sharpen our sight by useless curiosity. There is always a point at which caution, how- ever solicitous, must limit its preservatives, because one terrour often counteracts another. I once knew one of the speculatists of cowardice, whose reign- ing disturbance was the dread of housebreakers. His 89 THE RAMBLER inquiries were for nine years employed upon the best method of barring a window, or a door; and many an hour has he spent in establishing the preference of a bolt to a lock. He had at last, by the daily superaddition of new expedients, contrived a door which could never be forced; for one bar was se- cured by another with such intricacy of subordi- nation, that he was himself not always able to disengage them in the proper method. He was happy in this fortification, till being asked how he would escape if he was threatened by fire, he dis- covered, that with all his care and expense, he had only been assisting his own destruction. He then immediately tore off his bolts, and now leaves at night his outer door half-locked, that he may not by his own folly perish in the flames. There is one species of terrour which those who are unwilling to suffer the reproach of cowardice have wisely dignified with the name of antipathy. A man who talks with intrepidity of the monsters of the wilderness while they are out of sight, will readily confess his antipathy to a mole, a weasel, or a frog. He has indeed no dread of harm from an insect or a worm, but his antipathy turns him pale whenever they approach him. He believes that a boat will transport him with as much safety as his neighbours, but he cannot conquer his antipathy to the water. Thus he goes on without any reproach from his own reflections, and every day multiplies antipathies, till he becomes contemptible to others, and burdensome to himself. 90 THE RAMBLER It is indeed certain, that impressions of dread may sometimes be unluckily made by objects not in themselves justly formidable; but when fear is dis- covered to be groundless, it is to be eradicated like other false opinions, and antipathies are generally superable by a single effort. He that has been taught to shudder at a mouse, if he can persuade himself to risk one encounter, will find his own superiority, and exchange his terrours for the pride of conquest. I am, Sir, &e. THRASO. SIR, As you profess to extend your regard to the minuteness of decency, as well as to the dignity of science, I cannot forbear to lay before you a mode of persecution by which I have been exiled to taverns and coffee-houses, and deterred from enter- ing the doors of my friends. Among the ladies who please themselves with splendid furniture, or elegant entertainment, it is a practice very common, to ask every guest how he likes the carved work of the cornice, or the figures of the tapestry; the china at the table, or the plate on the side-board: and on all occasions to inquire his opinion of their judgment and their choice. Melania has laid her new watch in the window nineteen times, that she may desire me to look upon it. Calista has an art of dropping her snuff-box by drawing out her handkerchief, that when I pick it up I may admire it; and Fulgentia has conducted | 91 THE RAMBLER me, by mistake, into the wrong room, at every visit I have paid since her picture was put into a new frame. I hope, Mr. Rambler, you will inform them, that no man should be denied the privilege of silence, or tortured to false declarations; and that though ladies may justly claim to be exempt from rudeness, they have no right to force unwilling civilities. To please is a laudable and elegant ambition, and is properly rewarded with honest praise; but to seize applause by violence, and call out for commenda- tion, without knowing, or caring to know, whether it be given from conviction, is a species of tyranny by which modesty is oppressed, and sincerity cor- rupted. The tribute of admiration, thus exacted by impudence and importunity, differs from the respect paid to silent merit, as the plunder of a pirate from the merchant’s profit. I am, &c. MiIsocoLax. SIR, Your great predecessor, the Spectator, endeav- oured to diffuse among his female readers a desire of knowledge; nor can I charge you, though you do not seem equally attentive to the ladies, with endeavouring to discourage them from any laudable pursuit. But however he or you may excite our curiosity, you have not yet informed us how it may be gratified. The world seems to have formed an universal conspiracy against our understandings; our questions are supposed not to expect answers, 92 THE RAMBLER our arguments are confuted with a jest, and we are treated like beings who transgress the limits of our nature whenever we aspire to seriousness or improvement. I inquired yesterday of a gentleman eminent for astronomical skill, what made the day long in sum- mer, and short in winter; and was told that nature protracted the days in summer, lest ladies should want time to walk in the park; and the nights in winter, lest they should not have hours sufficient to spend at the card-table. I hope you do not doubt but I heard such infor- mation with just contempt, and I desire you to discover to this great master of ridicule, that I was far from wanting any intelligence which he could have given me. I asked the question with no other intention than to set him free from the necessity of silence, and gave him an opportunity of mingling on equal terms with a polite assembly, from which, however uneasy, he could not then escape, by a kind introduction of the only subject on which I believed him able to speak with propriety. I am, &e. GENEROSA. 938 THE RAMBLER No. 127. TUESDAY, JUNE 4, 1751 Capisti melius, quam desinis. Ultima primis Cedunt: dissimiles hic vir et ille puer. Ovin, Ep. ix. 24. Succeeding years thy early fame destroy; Thou, who began’st a man, wilt end a boy. OLITIAN, a name eminent among the restor- ers 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 concil- iate indulgence to the puerility of his performances. But whatever was his intent, it is remarked by Scaliger, that he very little promoted his own repu- tation, because he fell below the promise which his first productions had given, and in the latter part of his 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 at- tainments or abilities, to disappoint the hopes which they had raised, and to end in neglect and obscurity that life which they began in celebrity and honour. To the long catalogue of the inconveniences 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 pursuit, may be compared to the progress of a body driven by a blow. It moves for 94 THE RAMBLER 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 in- equalities 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 his intermediate space, and therefore sets forward with alacrity and confidence, nor suspects a thou- sand obstacles by which he afterwards finds his pas- sage embarrassed and obstructed. Some are indeed stopt at once in their career by a sudden shock of calamity, or diverted to a different direction by the cross impulse of some violent passion; but far the greater part languish by slow degrees, deviate at first into slight obliquities, and themselves scarcely perceive at what time their ardour forsook them, or when they lost sight of their original design. Weariness and negligence are perpetually pre- vailing by silent encroachments, assisted by different causes, and not observed till they cannot, without great difficulty, be opposed. Labour necessarily re- quires pauses of ease and relaxation, and the de- liciousness of ease commonly makes us unwilling to return to labour. We, perhaps, prevail upon our- selves to renew our attempts, but eagerly listen to every argument for frequent interpositions of amuse- Ment; for, when indolence has once entered upon | 95 THE RAMBLER the mind, it can scarcely be dispossessed but by such efforts as very few are willing to exert. It is the fate of industry to be equally endangered by miscarriage and success, by confidence and de- spondency. He that engages in a great undertaking, with a false opinion of its facility, or too high con- ceptions of his own strength, is easily discouraged by the first hindrance of his advances, because he had promised himself an equal and perpetual pro- gression 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 ad- venture, but of obtaining those rewards which the accomplishment may deserve. She is not easily per- suaded to believe that the force of merit can be resisted by obstinacy and avarice, or its lustre dark- ened by envy and malignity. She has not yet learned that the most evident claims to praise or preferment may be rejected by malice against con- viction, or by indolence without examination; that they may be sometimes defeated by artifices, and sometimes overborne by clamour; that, in the mingled numbers of mankind, many need no other) provocation to enmity than that they find them- 96 | Painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds, PR A BURKE a alah ay | PAY aveotd ana THE RAMBLER selves excelled; that others have ceased their curi- osity, 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 re- port which hatred disseminates or folly scatters; and that whoever aspires to the notice of the pub- lick, has in almost every man an enemy and a rival; and must struggle with the opposition of the dar- ing, 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 re- ward has vanished, the zeal of enterprize should cease; for who would persevere to cultivate the soul which he has, after long labour, discovered to be barren? He who hath pleased himself with an- ticipated praises, and expected that he should meet in every place with patronage or friendship, will soon remit his vigour, when he finds that, from those who desire to be considered as -his admirers, nothing can 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 VoL. 3—7 97 THE RAMBLER 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 comple- tion 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 la- bours, and the haste of enjoying advantages before they are secured, are often fatal to men of impetu- ous desire, to men whose consciousness of uncom- mon powers fills them with presumption, and who, having borne opposition down before them, and left emulation panting behind, are early persuaded to imagine that they have reached the heights of perfection, and that now, being no longer in danger from competitors, they may pass the rest of their days in the enjoyment of their acquisitions, in con- templation of their own superiority, and in atten- tion 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 compara- tive; that no man performs much but in proportion to what others accomplish, or to the time and op- portunities 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 98 THE RAMBLER to himself, they who have once been justly cele- brated, 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 if the spendthrift’s poverty be em- bittered by the reflection that he once was rich, how must the idler’s obscurity be clouded by re- membering that he once had lustre! These errours 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 en- deavours, not his success, would have preserved him from trivial elations and discouragements, and enabled him to proceed with constancy and cheer- fulness, neither enervated by condemnation, nor intimidated by censure. 99 THE RAMBLER No. 128. SATURDAY, JUNE 8, 1751 Aioy & adogadns Obx eyévt?, ot Alaxidg xapa. Inher, Odte zap avrrbdy Kdbpy: Xyovtat pay Bpdtwy OABov Sréptatoyv ot Exety. Prnp. Py. iii. 153. For not the brave, or wise, or great, E’er yet had happiness complete: Nor Peleus, grandson of the sky, Nor Cadmus, scap’d the shafts of pain, Though favour’d by the Pow’rs on high, With every bliss that man can gain. HE writers who have undertaken the task of reconciling mankind to their present state, and relieving the discontent produced by the various distribution of terrestrial advantages, frequently re- mind us that we judge too hastily of good and evil, that we view only the superfices of life, and de- termine of the whole by a very small part; and that in the condition of men it frequently happens, that grief and anxiety lie hid under the golden robes of prosperity, and the gloom of calamity is cheered by secret radiations of hope and comfort; as in the works of nature the bog is sometimes covered with flowers, and the mine concealed in the barren crags. None but those who have learned the art of subjecting their senses as well as reason to hypo- thetical systems, can be persuaded by the most specious rhetorician that the lots of life are equal; 100 | THE RAMBLER yet it cannot be denied that every one has his peculiar pleasures and vexations, that external ac- eidents 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 estate, the world must be considered as the abode of sorrow and misery; for how few can for- bear to relate their troubles and distresses? If we judge by the account which may be obtained of every man’s fortune from others, it may be con- cluded, that we all are placed in an elysian region, overspread with the luxuriance of plenty, and fanned by the breezes of felicity; since scarcely any com- plaint is uttered without censure from those that hear it, and almost all are allowed to have obtained a provision at least adequate to their virtue or their understanding, to possess either more than they deserve, or more than they enjoy. We are either born with such dissimilitude of temper and inclination, or receive so many of our ideas and opinions from the state of life in which we are engaged, that the griefs and cares of one part of mankind seem to the other hypocrisy, folly, and affectation. Every class of society has its cant of lamentation, which is understood or regarded by none but themselves; and every part of life has its uneasiness, which those who do not feel them will not commiserate. An event which spreads distrac- 101 THE RAMBLER tion over half the commercial world, assembles the trading companies in council and committees, and shakes the nerves of a thousand stockjobbers, is read by the landlord and the farmer with frigid in- difference. 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 pleasure or employment, is regarded by them whose passions time has extinguished, as an amusement, which can properly raise neither joy nor sorrow, and, though it may be suffered to fill the vacuity of an idle moment, should always give way to prudence or interest. He that never had any other desire than to fill a chest with money, or to add another 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 spoken before; who, if they happen to inherit wealth, often exhaust their patri- monies in treating those who will hear them talk; and if they are poor, neglect opportunities of im- proving 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 dis- grace to want money than repartee; whom the vexation of having been foiled in a contest of raillery 102 THE RAMBLER 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 the anxiety of a conspirator, whose fate de- pends upon the next night; that at the hour of retirement he carries home, under a shew of airy negligence, a heart lacerated with envy, or depressed with disappointment; and immures himself in his closet, that he may disencumber his memory at leisure, review the progress of the day, state with accuracy his loss or gain of reputation, and examine the causes of his failure or success? Yet more remote from common conceptions are the numerous and restless anxieties, by which fe- male happiness is particularly disturbed. A solitary philosopher would imagine ladies born with an ex- emption from care and sorrow, lulled in perpetual quiet, and feasted with unmingled pleasure; for what can interrupt the content of those, upon whom one age has laboured after another to confer honours, and accumulate immunities; those to whom rude- hess is infamy, and insult is cowardice; whose eye commands the brave, and whose smiles soften 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 108 THE RAMBLER science, and for whom all who approach them en- deavour to multiply delights, without requiring from them any returns 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 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 tran- quillity 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 conveniences 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 104 THE RAMBLER 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 of a new suit may be in- terrupted 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. No. 129. TUESDAY, JUNE 11, 1751 Nune, O nunc, Dedale, divit, Materiam, qua sis ingeniosus, habes. Possidet en terras, et possidet equora Minos: Nee tellus nostre, nec patet unda fuge. Restat iter celo : tentabimus ire. Da veniam cepto, Jupiter alte, meo. Ovin, Ar. Am. Lib. ii. 33. Now, Dedalus, behold, by fate assign’d, A task proportion’d to thy mighty mind! Unconquer’d bars on earth and sea withstand; Thine, Minos, is the main, and thine the land. The skies are open—let us try the skies: Forgive, great Jove, the daring enterprize. ORALISTS, like other writers, instead of casting their eyes abroad in the living world, and endeavouring to form maxims of practice and new hints of theory, content their curiosity with 105 THE RAMBLER that secondary knowledge which books afford, and think themselves entitled to reverence by a new arrangement of an ancient system, or new illustra- tion 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 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 uni- form 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; why the heart has on one side been doubly fortified, and laid open on the other to the incursions of errour, and the ravages of vice. Among the favourite topicks of moral declama- tion, may be numbered the miscarriages of impru- dent boldness, and the folly of attempts beyond our power. Every page of every philosopher is crowded with examples of temerity that sunk under burdens which she laid upon herself, and called out enemies to battle by whom she was destroyed. Their remarks are too just to be disputed, and ¢ Johnson gained his knowledge from actual experience. He told Bos- well that before he wrote the Rambler he had been running about the world more than almost any body. Boswell’s Life of Johnson, vol. i. p. 196,; and vol. iii. pp. 20, 21. 106 THE RAMBLER too salutary to be rejected; but there is likewise some danger lest timorous prudence should be in- culeated, till courage and enterprise are wholly repressed, and the mind congealed in perpetual in- activity by the fatal influence of frigorifick wisdom. Every man should, indeed, carefully compare his force with his undertaking; for though we ought not to live only for our own sakes, and though therefore danger or 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 throw away our lives upon inadequate and hope- less designs, since we might, by a just estimate of our abilities, become more useful to mankind. There is an irrational contempt of danger, which approaches nearly to the folly, if not the guilt of suicide; there is a ridiculous perseverance in im- practicable schemes, which is justly punished with ignominy and reproach. But in the wide regions of probability, which are the proper province of pru- dence and election, there is always room to deviate on either side of rectitude without rushing against apparent absurdity; and according to the inclina- tions of nature, or the impressions of precept, the dar- ing and the cautious may move in different directions without touching upon rashness or cowardice. That there is a middle path which it is every man’s duty to find, and to keep, is unanimously confessed : but it is likewise acknowledged that this middle path is so narrow, that it cannot easily be discovered, and so little beaten, that there are no | 107 THE RAMBLER certain marks by which it can be followed: the care, therefore, of all those who conduct others has been, that whenever they decline into obliquities, they should tend towards the side of safety. It can, indeed, raise no wonder that temerity has been generally censured; for it is one of the vices with which few can be charged, and which, there- fore, great numbers are 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 imbecility which is commonly neces- sary to conciliate compassion. But if the same at- tention had been applied to the search of arguments against the folly of pre-supposing 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, lest they should unfortunately fail. It is necessary to distinguish our own interest from that of others, and that distinction will per- haps 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 cer- tainly no right to hazard more than is allowed by those who partake the danger; but where only our- selves can suffer by miscarriage, we are not confined within such narrow limits; and still less is the re- proach of temerity, when numbers will receive 108 THE RAMBLER 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 reluct- ance, that vain man is ignorant of his own weak- ness, and therefore frequently presumes to attempt what he can never accomplish; but it ought like- wise to be remembered, that man is no less igno- rant of his own powers, and might perhaps have accomplished a thousand designs, which the preju- dices 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 hesita- tion, when diffidence is absorbed in the sense of danger, or overwhelmed by some resistless passion. We then soon discover, that difficulty is, for the most part, the daughter of idleness, that the ob- stacles with which our way seemed to be obstructed were only phantoms, which we believed real, be- cause we durst not advance to a close examination; and we learn that it is impossible to determine without experience how much constancy may en- dure, or perseverance perform. But whatever pleasure may be found in the re- view of distresses when art or courage has sur- | mounted them, few will be persuaded to wish that | 109 THE RAMBLER they may be awakened by want, or terrour, to the conviction of their own abilities. Every one should therefore endeavour to invigorate himself by reason and reflection, and determine to exert the latent force that nature may have reposed in him, before the hour of exigence comes upon him, and compul- sion shall torture him to diligence. It is below the dignity of a reasonable being to owe that strength to necessity which ought always to act at the call of choice, or to need any other motive to industry than the desire of performing his duty. Reflections that may drive away despair, cannot be wanting to him who considers how much life is now advanced beyond the state of naked, undisci- plined, uninstructed nature. Whatever has been effected for convenience or elegance, while it was yet unknown, was believed impossible; and there- fore 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 qualities in the products of nature yet undiscovered, and combinations in the powers of art yet untried. It is the duty of every man to endeavour that something may be added by his industry to the hereditary aggregate of knowledge and happiness. To add much ean indeed be the lot of few, but to add some- — thing, however little, every one may hope; and of | every honest endeavour, it is certain, that, however unsuccessful, it will be at last rewarded. 110 i = THE RAMBLER No. 130. SATURDAY, JUNE 15, 1751 Non sic prata novo vere decentia Astatis calide dispoliat vapor: Savit solstitio cum medius dies; Ut fulgor teneris qui radiat genis Momento rapitur! nullaque non dies Formosi spolium corporis abstulit. Res est forma fuga. quis sapiens bono Confidat fragili? Seneca, Hippol. act. ii. 764. Not faster in the summer’s ray The spring’s frail beauty fades away, Than anguish and decay consume The smiling virgin’s rosy bloom. Some beauty’s snatch’d each day, each hour; For beauty is a fleeting flow’r: Then how can wisdom e’er confide In beauty’s momentary pride? ELPHINSTON. TO THE RAMBLER. SIR, OU have very lately observed that in the numerous subdivisions of the world, every class and order of mankind have joys and sorrows of their own; we all feel hourly pain and pleasure from events which pass unheeded before other eyes, but can scarcely communicate our perceptions to minds pre-occupied by different objects, any more than the delight of well-disposed colours or harmonious sounds can be imparted to such as want the senses of hearing or of sight. I am so strongly convinced of the justness of this remark, and have on so many occasions discovered with how little attention pride looks upon calamity of which she thinks herself not in danger, and indo- lence listens to complaint when it is not echoed by 111 THE RAMBLER her own remembrance, that though I am about to lay the occurrences of my life before you, I question whether you will condescend to peruse my narra- tive, or, without the help of some female specula- tists, to be able to understand it. I was born a beauty. From the dawn of reason I had my regard turned wholly upon myself, nor can recollect any thing earlier than praise and admira- tion. My mother, whose face had luckily advanced her to a condition above her birth, thought no evil so great as deformity. She had not the power of imagining any other defect than a cloudy com- plexion, or disproportionate features; and therefore contemplated me as an assemblage of all that could raise envy or desire, and predicted with triumphant fondness the extent of my conquests, and the number of my slaves. She never mentioned any of my young acquaint- ance before me, but to remark how much they fell below my perfection; how one would have had a fine face but that her eyes were without lustre; how another struck the sight at a distance, but wanted my hair and teeth at a nearer view; another dis- graced an elegant shape with a brown skin; some had short fingers, and others dimples in a wrong place. As she expected no happiness nor advantage but from beauty, she thought nothing but beauty worthy of her care; and her maternal kindness was chiefly exercised in contrivances to protect me from any accident that might deface me with a scar, or stain me with a freckle: she never thought me suf-_ 112 | THE RAMBLER ficiently shaded from the sun, or screened from the fire. She was severe or indulgent with no other in- tention than the preservation of my form; she ex- cused me from work, lest I should learn to hang down my head, or harden my finger with a needle; she snatched away my book, because a young lady in the neighbourhood had made her eyes red with reading by a candle; but she would scarcely suffer me to eat, lest I should spoil my shape, nor to walk lest I should swell my ancle with a sprain. At night I was accurately surveyed from head to foot, lest I should have suffered any diminution of my charms in the adventures of the day; and was never per- mitted to sleep, till I had passed through the cosmetick discipline, part of which was a regular lustration performed with bean-flower water and May-dews; my hair was perfumed with variety of unguents, by some of which it was to be thickened, and by others to be curled. The softness of my hands was secured by medicated gloves, and my bosom rubbed with a pomade prepared by my mother, of virtue to discuss pimples, and clear discolorations. I was always called up early, because the morning air gives a freshness to the cheeks; but I was placed behind a curtain in my mother’s chamber, because the neck is easily tanned by the rising sun. I was then dressed with a thousand precautions, and again heard my own praises, and triumphed in the compliments and prognostications of all that approached me. Voi. 3—8 118 THE RAMBLER My mother was not so much prepossessed with an opinion of my natural excellencies as not to think some cultivation necessary to their com- pletion. She took care that I should want none of the accomplishments included in female education, or considered necessary in fashionable life. I was looked upon in my ninth year as the chief ornament of the dancing-master’s ball; and Mr. Ariet used to reproach his other scholars with my performances on the harpsichord. At twelve I was remarkable for playing my cards with great elegance of manner, and accuracy of judgment. At last the time came when my mother thought me perfect in my exercises, and qualified to display in the open world those accomplishments which had yet only been discovered in select parties, or domestick assemblies. Preparations were therefore made for my appearance on a publick night, which she considered as the most important and critical moment of my life. She cannot be charged with neglecting any means of recommendation, or leav- ing any thing to chance which prudence could ascertain. Every ornament was tried in every position, every friend was consulted about the colour of my dress, and the mantuamakers were harassed with directions and alterations. At last the night arrived from which my future life was to be reckoned. I was dressed and sent out to conquer, with a heart beating like that of an old knight-errant at his first sally. Scholars have told me of a Spartan matron, who, when she armed her 114 THE RAMBLER son for battle, bade him bring back his shield, or be brought upon it. My venerable parent dismissed me to a field, in her opinion of equal glory, with a com- mand to shew that I was her daughter, and not to return without a lover. I went, and was received like other pleasing nov- elties with a tumult of applause. Every man who valued himself upon the graces of his person, or the elegance of his address, crowded about me, and wit and splendour contended for my notice. I was de- lightfully fatigued with incessant civilities, which were made more pleasing by the apparent envy of those whom my presence exposed to neglect, and returned with an attendant equal in rank and wealth to my utmost wishes, and from this time stood in the first rank of beauty, was followed by gazers in the Mall, celebrated in the papers of the day, imi- tated by all who endeavoured to rise into fashion, and censured by those whom age or disappointment forced to retire. My mother, who pleased herself with the hopes of seeing my exaltation, dressed me with all the ex- uberance of finery; and when I represented to her that a fortune might be expected proportionate to my appearance, told me that she should scorn the reptile who could inquire after the fortune of a girl like me. She advised me to prosecute my victories, and time would certainly bring me a captive who might deserve the honour of being enchained for ever. __ My lovers were indeed so numerous, that I had no other care than that of determining to whom I 115 THE RAMBLER should seem to give the preference. But having been steadily and industriously instructed to pre- serve my heart from any impressions which might hinder me from consulting my interest, I acted with less embarrassment, because my choice was regulated by principles more clear and certain than the caprice of approbation. When I had singled out one from the rest as more worthy of encourage- ment, | proceeded in my measures by the rules of art; and yet when the ardour of the first visits was spent, generally found a sudden declension of my influence; I felt in myself the want of some power to diversify amusement, and enliven conversation, and could not but suspect that my mind failed in performing the promises of my face. This opinion was soon confirmed by one of my lovers, who mar- ried Lavinia with less beauty and fortune than mine, because he thought a wife ought to have qualities which might make her amiable when her bloom was past. The vanity of my mother would not suffer her to discover any defect in one that had been formed by her instructions, and had all the excellence which she herself could boast. She told me that nothing so much hindered the advancement of women as literature and wit, which generally frightened away those that could make the best settlements, and drew about them a needy tribe of poets and _ phi- losophers, that filled their heads with wild notions of content, and contemplation, and virtuous obscurity. She therefore enjoined me to improve my minuet- 116 —————— THE RAMBLER step with a new French dancing-master, and wait the event of the next birth-night. I had now almost completed my nineteenth year: if my charms had lost any of their softness, it was more than compensated by additional dignity; and if the attractions of innocence were impaired, their place was supplied by the arts of allurement. I was therefore preparing for a new attack, with- out any abatement of my confidence, when, in the midst of my hopes and schemes, I was seized by that dreadful malady which has so often put a sud- den end to the tyranny of beauty. I recovered my health after a long confinement; but when I looked again on that face which had been often flushed with transport at its own reflection, and saw all that I had learned to value, all that I had endeavoured to improve, all that had procured me honours or praises, irrecoverably destroyed, I sunk at once into melancholy and despondence. My pain was not much consoled or alleviated by my mother, who grieved that I had not lost my life together with my beauty; and declared, that she thought a young woman divested of her charms had nothing for which those who loved her could desire to save her from the grave. Having thus continued my relation to the period from which my life took a new course, I shall con- clude it in another letter, if, by publishing this, you shew any regard for the correspondence of, Sir, &c. VICTORIA. 117 THE RAMBLER No. 131. TUESDAY, JUNE 18, 1751 Fatis accede, Deisque, Hi cole felices, miseros fuge. sidera terre Ué distant, ut flamma mari, sic utile recto. Lucan. Lib. viii. 486. Still follow where auspicious fates invite; Caress the happy, and the wretched slight. Sooner shall jarring elements unite, Than truth with gain, than interest with right. F. Lewis. HERE 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 the general centre of inclination, the point to which all minds preserve an invariable tendency, and from which they afterwards diverge in numberless directions. 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 to gratify. He that places his happiness in 118 THE RAMBLER splendid equipage or numerous dependants, in re- fined praise or popular acclamations, in the accumu- lation 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 in arts by which life is fur- nished 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 at- tainment. Many envy and desire wealth, who can never procure it by honest industry or useful knowl- edge. They therefore turn their eyes about to examine what other methods can be found of gain- 119 THE RAMBLER ing that which none, however impotent or worth- less, will be content to want. A little inquiry will discover that there are nearer ways to profit than through the intricacies of art, or up the steeps of labour; what wisdom and vir- tue scarcely receive at the close of life, as the recompense of long toil and repeated efforts, is brought within the reach of subtilty and dishonesty by more expeditious and compendious measures: the wealth of credulity is an open prey to false- hood; and the possessions of ignorance and imbecil- ity are easily stolen away by the conveyances of secret artifice, or seized by the gripe of unresisted violence. It is likewise not hard to discover that riches always procure protection for themselves, that they dazzle the eyes of inquiry, divert the celerity of pursuit, or appease the ferocity of vengeance. When any man is incontestably known to have large pos- sessions, very few think it requisite to inquire 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 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 in- cessant struggle for riches. It is observed of gold, 120 THE RAMBLER 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 de- pravity of those beings, who must be restrained _ from violation of promise by such formal and pub- lick evidences, and precluded from equivocation and subterfuge by such punctilious minuteness. Among all the satires to which folly and wickedness have given occasion, none is equally severe with a bond or a settlement. Of the various arts by which riches may be ob- tained, the greater part are at the first view irrecon- cileable 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 deviated from 121 THE RAMBLER 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 pos- session must include spontaneity of production; for what is obtained by labour will be of right the property of him by whose labour it is gained. And while a rightful claim to pleasure or to affluence must be procured either by slow industry or uncer- tain hazard, there will always be multitudes whom cowardice or impatience incite to more safe and more speedy methods, who strive to pluck the fruit without cultivating the tree, and to share the ad- vantages 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 sup- pressed 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 forborne to in- 122 THE RAMBLER jure society, have not fully paid their contributions to its happiness. While riches are so necessary to present conveni- ence, 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 turn the intellectual balance, when weighed only against reputation; but will be light and ineffectual when the opposite scale is charged with justice, veracity, and piety’. No. 132. SATURDAY, JUNE 22, 1751 —— Dociles imitandis Turpibus ac pravis omnes sumus.——-—— Juv. Sat. xiv. 40. The mind of mortals, in perverseness strong, Imbibes with dire docility the wrong. TO THE RAMBLER. MR. RAMBLER, WAS bred a scholar, and after the usual course of education, found it necessary to employ for the support of life that learning which I had almost aJohnson often conversed, as well as wrote, on riches. In his con- versations on the subject, amidst his often indulged laxity of talk, there was ever a deep insight into the human heart. ‘‘All the arguments,”’ he once with keen satire remarked, ‘‘ which are brought to represent poverty as no evil, shew it to be evidently a great evil. You never find people labouring to convince you that you may live happily upon a plen- tiful fortune. So you hear people talking how miserable a king must be, and yet they all wish to be in his place.’ Boswell, vol. i. p. 422. When Simonides was asked whether it were better to be wise or rich, he gave an answer in favour of wealth. ‘‘For,’’ said he, ‘‘I always be- hold the wise lingering at the gates ofthe wealthy.”’ Aristot. Rhet. ii. 18. 123 THE RAMBLER exhausted my little fortune in acquiring. The lucra- tive professions drew my regard with equal attrac- tion; each presented ideas which excited my curiosity, and each imposed duties which terrified my apprehension. There is no temper more unpropitious to interest than desultory application and unlimited inquiry, by which the desires are held in a perpetual equi- poise, and the mind fluctuates between different purposes without determination. I had books of every kind round me, among which I divided my time as caprice or accident directed. I often spent the first hours of the day, in considering to what study I should devote the rest, and at last snatched up any author that lay upon the table, or perhaps fled to a coffee-house for deliverance from the anxiety of irresolution, and the gloominess of solitude. Thus my little patrimony grew imperceptibly less, till I was roused from my literary slumber by a creditor, whose importunity obliged me to pacify him with so large a sum, that what remained was not sufficient to support me more than eight months. I hope you will not reproach me with avarice or cowardice, if I acknowledge that I now thought myself in danger of distress, and obliged to endeavour after some certain competence. There have been heroes of negligence, who have laid the price of their last acre in a drawer, and, without the least interruption of their tranquillity, or abatement of their expenses, taken out one piece — 124 THE RAMBLER after another, till there was no more remaining. But I was not born to such dignity of imprudence, or such exaltation above the cares and necessities of life; I therefore immediately engaged my friends to procure me a little employment, which might set me free from the dread of poverty, and afford me time to plan out some final scheme of lasting advantage. My friends were struck with honest solicitude, and immediately promised their endeavours for my extrication. They did not suffer their kindness to languish by delay, but prosecuted their inquiries with such success, that in less than a month I was perplexed with variety of offers and contrariety of prospects. _ I had however no time for long pauses of consid- eration; and therefore soon resolved to accept the office of instructing a young nobleman in the house of his father: I went to the seat at which the fam- ily then happened to reside, was received with great politeness, and invited to enter immediately on my charge. The terms offered were such as I should willingly have accepted, though my fortune had allowed me greater liberty of choice: the re- spect with which I was treated, flattered my vanity ; and perhaps the splendour of the apartments, and the luxury of the table, were not wholly without their influence. I immediately complied with the proposals, and received the young lord into my care. Having no desire to gain more than I should truly deserve, I very diligently prosecuted my un- 125 THE RAMBLER dertaking, and had the satisfaction of discovering in my pupil a flexible temper, a quick apprehension, and a retentive memory. I did not much doubt that my care would, in time, produce a wise and useful counsellor to the state, though my labours were somewhat obstructed by want of authority, and the necessity of complying with the freaks of negligence, and of waiting patiently for the lucky moment of voluntary attention. To a man whose imagination was filled with the dignity of knowl- edge, and to whom a studious life had made all the common amusements insipid and contemptible, it was not very easy to suppress his indignation, when he saw himself forsaken in the midst of his lecture, for an opportunity to catch an insect, and found his instructions debarred from access to the intellectual faculties, by the memory of a childish frolick, or the desire of a new play-thing. Those vexations would have recurred less fre- quently, had not his mamma, by entreating at one time that he should be excused from a task as a reward for some petty compliance, and withholding him from his book at another, to gratify herself or her visitants with his vivacity, shewn him that every thing was more pleasing and more important than knowledge, and that study was to be endured rather than chosen, and was only the business of those hours which pleasure left vacant, or discipline usurped. I thought it my duty to complain, in tender terms, of these frequent avocations; but was an- 126 THE RAMBLER swered, that rank and fortune might reasonably hope for some indulgence; that the retardation of my pupil’s progress would not be imputed to any negligence or inability of mine; and that with the success which satisfied every body else, I might surely satisfy myself. I had now done my duty, and without more remonstrances continued to in- culcate my precepts whenever they could be heard, gained every day new influence, and found that by degrees my scholar began to feel the quick impulses of curiosity, and the honest ardour of studious ambition. At length it was resolved to pass a winter in London. The lady had too much fondness for her son to live five months without him, and too high an opinion of his wit and learning to refuse her vanity the gratification of exhibiting him to the publick. I remonstrated against too early an ac- quaintance with cards and company; but, with a soft contempt of my ignorance and pedantry, she said, that he had been already confined too long to solitary study, and it was now time to shew him the world; nothing was more a brand of meanness than bashful timidity; gay freedom and elegant assurance were only to be gained by mixed conver- sation, a frequent intercourse with strangers, and a timely introduction to splendid assemblies; and she had more than once observed, that his forwardness and complaisance began to desert him, that he was silent when he had not something of consequence to say, blushed whenever he happened to find him- 127 THE RAMBLER self mistaken, and hung down his head in the pres- ence of the ladies, without the readiness of reply, and activity of officiousness, remarkable in young gentlemen that are bred in London. Again I found resistance hopeless, and again thought it proper to comply. We entered the coach, and in four days were placed in the gayest and most magnificent region of the town. My pupil, who had for several years lived at a remote seat, was immediately dazzled with a thousand beams of novelty and shew. His imagination was filled with the perpetual tumult of pleasure that passed before him, and it was impossible to allure him from the window, or to overpower by any charm of eloquence the rattle of coaches, and the sounds which echoed from the doors in the neighbourhood. In three days his attention, which he began to re- gain, was disturbed by a rich suit, in which he was equipped for the reception of company, and which, having been long accustomed to a plain dress, he could not at first survey without ecstasy. The arrival of the family was now formally noti- fied; every hour of every day brought more inti- mate or more distant acquaintances to the door; and my pupil was indiscriminately introduced to all, that he might accustom himself to change of faces, and be rid with speed of his rustick diffidence. He soon endeared himself to his mother by the speedy acquisition or recovery of her darling quali- ties; his eyes sparkle at a numerous assembly, and his heart dances at the mention of a ball. He has at 128 THE RAMBLER once caught the infection of high life, and has no other test of principles or actions than the quality of those to whom they are ascribed. He begins al- ready to look down on me with superiority, and submits to one short lesson in a week, as an act of condescension rather than obedience; for he is of opinion, that no tutor is properly qualified who cannot speak French; and having formerly learned a few familiar phrases from his sister’s governess, he is every day soliciting his mamma to procure him a foreign footman, that he may grow polite by his conversation. I am not yet insulted, but find myself likely to become soon a superfluous incum- brance, for my scholar has now no time for science, or for virtue; and the lady yesterday declared him so much the favourite of every company, that she was afraid he would not have an hour in the day to dance and fence. I am, &c. EUMATHES. Vor. 3—9 129 THE RAMBLER No. 133. TUESDAY, JUNE 25, 1751 Magna quidem, sacris que dat precepta libellis Victrix fortune sapientia. Dicimus autem Hos quoque felices, qui ferre incommoda vite Nec jactare jugum, vita didicere magistra. Juv. Sat. xiii. 19. Let Stoicks ethicks’ haughty rules advance To combat fortune, and to conquer chance: Yet happy those, though not so learn’d are thought, Whom life instructs, who by experience taught, For new to come from past misfortunes look, Nor shake the yoke, which galls the more ’tis shook. CREECH. TO THE RAMBLER. SIR, OU have shewn, by the publication of my let- ter, that you think the life of Victoria not wholly unworthy of the notice of a philosopher: I shall therefore continue my narrative, without any apology for unimportance which you have dignified, or for inaccuracies which you are to correct. When my life appeared to be no longer in dan- ger, and as much of my strength was recovered as enabled me to bear the agitation of a coach, I was placed at a lodging in a neighbouring village, to which my mother dismissed me with a faint em- brace, having repeated her command not to expose my face too soon to the sun or wind, and told me that with care I might perhaps become tolerable again. The prospect of being tolerable had very little power to elevate the imagination of one who had so long been accustomed to praise and ecstasy ; but it was some satisfaction to be separated from my mother, who was incessantly ringing the knell 130 THE RAMBLER of departed beauty, and never entered my room without the whine of condolence, or the growl of anger. She often wandered over my face, as travel- lers over the ruins of a celebrated city, to note every place which had once been remarkable for a happy feature. She condescended to visit my re- tirement, but always left me more melancholy; for after a thousand trifling inquiries about my diet, and a minute examination of my looks, she generally concluded with a sigh, that I should never more be fit to be seen. At last I was permitted to return home, but found no great improvement of my condition; for I was imprisoned in my chamber as a criminal, whose appearance would disgrace my friends, and condemn me to be tortured into new beauty. Every experi- ment which the officiousness of folly could com- municate, or the credulity of ignorance admit, was tried upon me. Sometimes I was covered with emollients, by which it was expected that all the scars would be filled, and my cheeks plumped up to their former smoothness; and sometimes I was punished with artificial excoriations, in hopes of gaining new graces with a new skin. The cosmetick science was exhausted upon me; but who can repair the ruins of nature? My mother was forced to give me rest at last, and abandon me to the fate of a fallen toast, whose fortune she considered as a hopeless game, no longer worthy of solicitude or attention. The condition of a young woman who has never thought or heard of any other excellence than 131 THE RAMBLER beauty. and whom the sudden blast of disease wrinkles in her bloom, is indeed sufficiently calami- tous. She is at once deprived of all that gave her eminence or power; of all that elated her pride, or animated her activity; all that filled her days with pleasure, and her nights with hope; all that gave gladness to the present hour, or brightened her prospects of futurity. It is perhaps not in the power of a man whose attention has been divided by diver- sity of pursuits, and who has not been accustomed to derive from others much of his happiness, to image to himself such helpless destitution, such dis- mal inanity. Every object of pleasing contemplation is at once snatched away, and the soul finds every receptacle of ideas empty, or filled only with the memory of joys that can return no more. All is gloomy privation, or impotent desire; the faculties of anticipation slumber in despondency, or the powers of pleasure mutiny for employment. I was so little able to find entertainment for my- self, that I was forced in a short time to venture abroad as the solitary savage is driven by hunger from his cavern. I entered with all the humility of disgrace into assemblies, where I had lately sparkled with gaiety, and towered with triumph. I was not wholly without hope, that dejection had misrepre- sented me to myself, and that the remains of my former face might yet have some attraction and in- fluence; but the first circle of visits convinced me, that my reign was at an end; that life and death were no longer in my hands; that I was no more to 182 THE RAMBLER practise the glance of command, or the frown of prohibition; to receive the tribute of sighs and praises, or be soothed with the gentle murmurs of amorous timidity. My opinion was now unheard, and my proposals were unregarded ; the narrowness of my knowledge, and the meanness of my senti- ments, were easily discovered, when the eyes were no longer engaged against the judgment; and it was observed, by those who had formerly been charmed with my vivacious loquacity, that my understanding was impaired as well as my face, and that I was no longer qualified to fill a place in any company but a party at cards. It is scarcely to be imagined how soon the mind sinks to a level with the condition. I, who had long considered all who approached me as vassals con- demned to regulate their pleasures by my eyes, and harass their inventions for my entertainment, was in less than three weeks reduced to receive a ticket with professions of obligation; to catch with eagerness at a compliment; and to watch with all the anxiousness of dependance, lest any little civility that was paid me should pass unacknowledged. Though the negligence of the men was not very pleasing when compared with vows and adoration, yet it was far more supportable than the insolence of my own sex. For the first ten months after my return into the world, I never entered a single house in which the memory of my downfall was not re- vived. At one place I was congratulated on my 133 THE RAMBLER escape with life; at another I heard of the benefits of early inoculation; by some I have been told in express terms, that I am not yet without my charms; others have whispered at my entrance, This is the celebrated beauty. One told me of a wash that would smooth the skin; and another of- fered me her chair that I might not front the light. Some soothed me with the observation that none can tell how soon my case may be her own; and some thought it proper to receive me with mourn- ful tenderness, formal condolence, and consolatory blandishments. Thus was I every day harassed with all the strata- gems of well-bred malignity; yet insolence was more tolerable than solitude, and I therefore per- sisted to keep my time at the doors of my acquaint- ance, without gratifying them with any appearance of resentment or depression. I expected that their exultation would in time vapour away ; that the joy of their superiority would end with its novelty ; and that I should be suffered to glide along in my present form among the nameless multitude, whom nature never intended to excite envy or admi- ration, nor enabled to delight the eye or inflame the heart. This was naturally to be expected, and this I began to experience. But when I was no longer agitated by the perpetual ardour of resistance, and effort of perseverance, I found more sensibly the want of those entertainments which had formerly delighted me; the day rose upon me without an 134 THE RAMBLER engagement; and the evening closed in its natural gloom, without summoning me to a concert or a ball. None had any care to find amusements for me, and I had no power of amusing myself. Idleness exposed me to melancholy, and life began to lan- guish in motionless indifference. Misery and shame are nearly allied. It was not without many struggles that I prevailed on myself to confess my uneasiness to Euphemia, the only friend who had never pained me with comfort or with pity. I at last laid my calamities before her, rather to ease my heart, than receive assistance. ‘*We must distinguish,’’ said she, ‘‘ my Victoria, those evils which are imposed by Providence, from those to which we ourselves give the power of hurt- ing us. Of your calamity, a small part is the inflic- tion of Heaven, the rest is little more than the corrosion of idle discontent. You have lost that which may indeed sometimes contribute to happi- ness, but to which happiness is by no means in- separably annexed. You have lost what the greater number of the human race never have possessed; what those on whom it is bestowed for the most part possess in vain; and what you, while it was yours, knew not how to use: you have only lost early what the laws of nature forbid you to keep long, and have lost it while your mind is yet flexible, and while you have time to substitute more valu- able and more durable excellencies. Consider your- self, my Victoria, as a being born to know, to reason, to act; rise at once from your dream of melancholy 135 THE RAMBLER to wisdom and to piety ; you will find that there are other charms than those of beauty, and other joys than the praise of fools. ’’ I am, Sir, &c. VICTORIA. No. 134. SATURDAY, JUNE 29, 1751 Quis scit an adjiciant hodierne crastina summe Tempora Dit superi? Hor. Lib. iv. Ode vii. 16. Who knows if Heav’n, with ever-bounteous pow’r, Shall add to-morrow to the present hour? FRanNcIs. SAT yesterday morning employed in deliberat- ing on which, among the various subjects that occurred to my imagination, I should bestow the paper of to-day. After a short effort of meditation by which nothing was determined, I grew every moment more irresolute, my ideas wandered from the first intention, and I rather wished to think, than thought upon any settled subject; till at last I was awakened from this dream of study by a summons from the press; the time was now come for which I had been thus negligently purposing to provide, and, however dubious or sluggish, I was now necessitated to write. Though to a writer whose ‘design is so compre- hensive and miscellaneous, that he may accommo- date 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, 136 THE RAMBLER and of which every moment’s idleness increased the difficulty. There was however some pleasure in re- flecting 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 carelessness to hopeless calamity and barren sorrow. The folly of allowing ourselves to delay what we know cannot be finally escaped, is one of the general weaknesses, which, in spite of the instruction of moralists, and the remonstrances of reason, prevail to a greater or less degree in every mind; even they who most steadily withstand it, find it, if not the most violent, the most pertinacious of their passions, always renewing its attacks, and though often vanquished, never destroyed. | It is indeed natural to have particular regard to the time present, and to be most solicitous 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. 137 THE RAMBLER Thus life is languished away in the gloom of anxiety, and consumed in collecting resolutions which the next morning dissipates; in forming pur- poses which we scarcely hope to keep, and recon- ciling 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 that time in which the evil we dread might have been suffered and surmounted, but even where procras- tination produces no absolute increase of our diffi- culties, make them less superable to ourselves by habitual terrours. 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 mertice, the mere repugnance to motion, and find multitudes repining at the want of that which noth- ing but idleness hinders them from enjoying. The case of Tantalus, in the region of poetick punish- ment, was somewhat to be pitied, because the fruits that hung about him retired from his hand; but what tenderness can be claimed by those who, though perhaps they suffer the pains of Tantalus, will never lift their hands for their own relief ? There is nothing more common among this torpid generation than murmurs and complaints; murmurs 138 THE RAMBLER at uneasiness which only vacancy and suspicion ex- pose them to feel, and complaints of distresses which it is in their own power to remove. Laziness is commonly associated with timidity. Either fear originally prohibits endeavours by infusing despair of success; or the frequent failure of irresolute struggles, and the constant desire of avoiding labour, impress by degrees false terrours on the mind. But fear, whether natural or acquired, when once it has full possession of the fancy, never fails to employ it upon visions of calamity, such as, if they are not dissipated by useful employment, will soon overcast it with horrours, and embitter 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 gratify the passions; but to neglect our duties, merely to avoid the labour of perform- ing them, a labour which is always punctually re- warded, 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 139 THE RAMBLER 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 pursuit 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 watches carefully over his own conduct, lay out too much of his attention upon the comparison of probabilities, and the ad- justment of expedients, and pause in the choice of his road till some accident intercepts his journey. He whose penetration extends to remote conse- quences, and who, whenever he applies his attention to any design, discovers new prospects of advantage, and 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 that resolves to unite all the beauties of situation in a new purchase, must waste his life in roving to no purpose from province to province. He that hopes in the same house to obtain every convenience, may draw plans and study 140 THE RAMBLER Palladio, but will never lay a stone. He will attempt a treatise on some important subject, and amass materials, consult authors, and study all the depend- ant and collateral parts of learning, but never con- clude himself qualified to write. He that has abilities to conceive perfection, will not easily be content without it; and since perfection cannot be reached, will lose the opportunity of doing well in the vain hope of unattainable excellence. The certainty that life cannot be long, and the 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. No. 185. TUESDAY, JULY 2, 1751 Calum, non animum, mutant. Hor. Lib. i. Ep. xi. 27. Place may be chang’d; but who can change his mind? T is impossible to take a view on any side, or observe any of the various classes that form the great community of the world, without discovering the influence of example; and admitting with new conviction the observation of Aristotle, that man is an imitative being. The greater, far the greater number, follow the track which others have beaten, without any curiosity after new discoveries, or am- 141 THE RAMBLER bition of trusting themselves to their own conduct. And, of those who break the ranks and disorder the uniformity of the march, most return in a short time from their deviation, and prefer the equal and steady satisfaction of security before the frolicks of caprice and the honours of adventure. In questions difficult or dangerous it is indeed natural to repose upon authority, and, when fear happens to 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. 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 irreparable loss can be haz- arded, nor any mischief of long continuance in- curred. Vanity might be expected to operate where the more powerful passions are not awakened; the mere pleasure of acknowledging no superior might 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 control, on what occasion should it be expected, but in the selection of lawful pleasure? Pleasure, of which the essence is choice; which compulsion dissociates from every thing to which nature has united it; and which owes not only its vigour but its being to the smiles of liberty. Yet 142 THE RAMBLER 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. t this time of universal migration, when almost every one, considerable enough to attract regard, has retired, or is preparing with all the earnestness of distress to retire, into the country ; when nothing is to be heard but the hopes of speedy departure, or the complaints of involuntary delay ; 1 have often been tempted to inquire what happiness is to be gained, or what inconvenience to be avoided, by this stated recession?}Of the birds of passage, some follow the summer and some the winter, be- cause 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 rea- son, because they do not appear either to find or seek any thing which is not equally afforded by the town and country. I believe that many of these fugitives may have heard of men whose continual wish was for the quiet of retirement, who watched every oppor- tunity to steal away from observation, to forsake the crowd, and delight themselves with the society of solitude. There is indeed scarcely any writer who has not celebrated the happiness of rural privacy, and delighted himself and his reader with the melody of birds, the whisper of groves, and the murmur of rivulets; nor any man eminent for ex- tent of capacity, or greatness of exploits, that has 148 THE RAMBLER not left behind him some memorials of lonely wis- dom, 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 sciences, who having no other end of life but to learn and teach, found their searches interrupted by the com- mon commerce of civility, and their reasonings dis- jointed 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 gen- eral, ruffled with dangers, wearied with labours, and stunned with acclamations, gladly snatched an in- terval 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 in- trusion of outward objects. Such examples of solitude very few of those who are now hastening from the town, have any preten- sions to plead in their own justification, since they cannot pretend either weariness of labour, or desire of knowledge. They purpose nothing more than to 144 THE RAMBLER quit one scene of idleness for another, and after having trifled in publick, to sleep in secrecy. The utmost that they can hope to gain is the change of ridiculousness to obscurity, and the privilege of having fewer witnesses to a life of folly. He who is not sufficiently important to be disturbed in his pursuits, but spends all his hours according to his own inclination, and has more hours than his mental faculties enable him to fill either with en- joyment 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 philoso- phers and heroes. The freshness of the air, the ver- dure of the woods, the paint of the meadows, and the unexhausted variety which summer scatters upon the earth, may easily give delight to an un- learned 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 com- pared before the light of the sun can gladden, or its warmth invigorate. Novelty is itself a source of gratification; and Milton justly observes, that to him who has been long pent up in cities, no rural object can be presented, which will not delight or refresh some of his senses. Yet even these easy pleasures are missed by the greater part of those who waste their summer in the country. Should any man pursue his acquaint- Vor. 3—10 145 THE RAMBLER ances to their retreats, he would find few of them listening to Philomel, loitering in woods, or pluck- ing 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 dif- ferent place. They pay and receive visits in the usual form, they frequent the walks in the morning, they deal cards at night, they attend to the same tattle, and dance with the same partners; nor can they, at their return to their former habitation, congratulate 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 hap- piness 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 pre- rogative of every mind. There are indeed under- standings so fertile and comprehensive, that they 146 THE RAMBLER 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 inhabit- ants in a siege. But others live only from day to day, and must be constantly enabled, by foreign supplies, to keep out the encroachments of languor and stupidity. Such could not indeed be blamed for hovering within reach of their usual pleasure, more than any other animal for not quitting its native element, were not their faculties contracted by their own fault. But let not those who go into the country, merely because they dare not be left alone at home, boast their love of nature, or their quali- fications for solitude; nor pretend that they receive instantaneous infusions of wisdom from the Dryads, and are able, when they leave smoke and noise behind, to act, or think, or reason for themselves. No. 136. SATURDAY, JULY 6, 1751 °EyOpos Adp pot xstvos, dua@s atdao moAgay, "Og 7° Etepov psy xebOee dvi Ppsav, GAdo d8 Babel. Homer, I’. 343. Who dares think one thing, and another tell, My heart detests him as the gates of Hell. Pore. HE regard which they whose abilities are em- ployed in the works of imagination claim from the rest of mankind, arises in a great measure from their influence on futurity. Rank may be con- ferred by princes, and wealth bequeathed by misers or by robbers; but the honours of a lasting name, 147 THE RAMBLER and the veneration of distant ages, only the sons of learning have the power of bestowing. While there- fore it continues one of the characteristicks of rational nature to decline oblivion, authors never can be wholly overlooked in the search after hap- piness, nor become contemptible but by their own fault. The man who considers himself as constituted the ultimate judge of disputable characters, and en- trusted with the distribution of the last terrestrial rewards of merit, ought to summon all his fortitude to the support of his integrity, and resolve to dis- charge an office of such dignity with the most vigilant caution and scrupulous justice. To deliver examples to posterity, and to regulate the opinion of future times, is no slight or trivial undertaking ; nor is it easy to commit more atrocious treason against the great republick of humanity, than by falsifying its records and misguiding its decrees. To scatter praise or blame without regard to jus- tice, is to destroy the distinction of good and evil. Many have no other test of actions than general opinion; and all are so far influenced by a sense of reputation, that they are often restrained by fear of reproach, and excited by hope of honour, when other principles have lost their power; nor can any species of prostitution promote general depravity more than that which destroys the force of praise, by shewing that it may be acquired without deserv- ing it, and which, by setting free the active and ambitious from the dread of infamy, lets loose the 148 THE RAMBLER rapacity of power, and weakens the only authority by which greatness is controlled. Praise, like gold and diamonds, owes its value only to its scarcity. It becomes cheap as it becomes vulgar, and will no longer raise expectation, or ani- mate enterprise. It is therefore not only necessary, that wickedness, even when it is not safe to censure it, be denied applause, but that goodness be com- mended only in proportion to its degree; and that the garlands, due to the great benefactors of man- kind, be not suffered to fade upon the brow of him who can boast only petty services and easy virtues. Had these maxims been universally received, how much would have been added to the task of dedi- cation, 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 dis- tinguish the distinct species and degree of his desert, and at last to pay him only the honours which he might justly claim. It is much easier to learn the name of the last man whom chance has exalted to wealth and power, to obtain by the intervention of some of his domesticks the privilege of addressing him, or, in confidence of the general acceptance of flattery, to venture on an address without any pre- vious solicitation; and after having heaped upon him all the virtues to which philosophy had assigned a name, inform him how much more might be truly said, did not the fear of giving pain to his modesty 149 THE RAMBLER 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 ex- pect who professes himself the hireling of vanity, however profligate, and without shame or scruple, celebrates the worthless, dignifies the mean, and gives to the corrupt, licentious, and oppressive, the ornaments which ought only to add grace to truth, and loveliness to innocence? Every other kind of adulation, however shameful, however mischievous, is less detestable than the crime of counterfeiting characters, and fixing the stamp of literary sanc- tion upon the dross and refuse of the world. Yet I would not overwhelm the authors with the whole load of infamy, of which part, perhaps the greater part, ought to fall upon their patrons. If he that hires a bravo, partakes the guilt of mur- der, why should he who bribes a flatterer, hope to be exempted from the shame of falsehood? The un- happy dedicator is seldom without some motives which obstruct, though not destroy, the liberty of choice; he is oppressed by miseries which he hopes to relieve, or inflamed by ambition which he ex- pects to gratify. But the patron has no incitements equally violent; he can receive only a short gratifi- cation, with which nothing but stupidity could dis- pose 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 150 THE RAMBLER endeavoured to deserve well in vain. Every other encomium is, to an intelligent mind, satire and re- proach; the celebration of those 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 con- tribute to the completion of our character. Yet sometimes the patron may claim indulgence; for it does not always happen, that the encomiast has been much encouraged to his attempt. Many a hapless author, when his book, and perhaps his dedication, was ready for the press, has waited long before any one would pay the price of prostitution, or consent to hear the praises destined to insure his name against the casualties of time; and many a complaint has been vented against the decline of learning, and neglect of genius, when either parsi- monious prudence has declined expense, or honest indignation rejected falsehood. But if at last, after long inquiry and innumerable disappointments, he find a lord willing to hear of his own eloquence and taste, a statesman desirous of knowing how 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. 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. | 151 THE RAMBLER To censure all dedications as adulatory and ser- vile, 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 ean 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 virtue and less con- spicuous excellence may be sometimes entitled. An author may with great propriety inscribe his work to him by whose encouragement it was un- dertaken, or by whose liberality he has been en- abled to prosecute it, and he may justly rejoice in his own fortitude that dares to rescue merit from obscurity. Acribus exemplis videor te claudere: misce Ergo aliquid nostris de moribus. Thus much I will indulge thee for thy ease, And mingle something of our times to please. Drynden, jun. I know not whether greater relaxation may not be indulged, and whether hope as well as gratitude may not unblamably produce a dedication; but let the writer who pours out his praises only to pro- pitiate power, or attract the attention of greatness, be cautious lest his desire betray him to exuberant eulogies. We are naturally more apt to please our- selves with the future than the past, and while we 152 THE RAMBLER 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 of personal regard can dis- charge any man from his general obligations to virtue and to truth. It may happen in the various combinations of life, that a good man may receive favours from one, who, notwithstanding his acci- dental beneficence, cannot be justly proposed to the imitation of others, and whom therefore he must find some other way of rewarding than by public celebrations. Self-love has indeed many powers of seducement; but it surely ought not to exalt any individual to equality with the collective body of mankind, or persuade him that a benefit conferred on him is equivalent to every other virtue. Yet many, upon false principles of gratitude, have ventured to extol wretches, whom all but their de- pendents 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 busi- ness of literature; but praise must lose its influence, by unjust or negligent distribution; and he that impairs its value may be charged with misapplica- tion of the power that genius puts into his hands, and with squandering on guilt the recompense of virtue. 158 THE RAMBLER No. 137. TUESDAY, JULY 9, 1751 Dum vitant stulti vitia, in contraria currunt. Hor. Lib. i. Sat. ii. 24. ——- Whilst fools one vice condemn, They run into the opposite extreme. CREECH. HAT wonder is the effect of ignorance, has been often observed. The awful stillness of attention, with which the mind is overspread at the first view of an unexpected effect, ceases when we have leisure to disentangle complications and in- vestigate causes. Wonder is a pause of reason, a sudden cessation of the mental progress, which lasts only while the understanding is fixed upon some single idea, and is at an end when it recovers force enough to divide the object into its parts, or mark the intermediate gradations from the first agent to the last consequence. It may be remarked with equal truth, that igno- rance is often the effect of wonder. It is common for those who have never accustomed themselves to the labour of inquiry, nor invigorated their confi- dence by conquests over difficulty, to sleep in the gloomy quiescence of astonishment, without any effort to animate inquiry, or dispel obscurity. What they cannot immediately conceive, they consider as too high to be reached, or too extensive to be comprehended; they therefore content themselves with the gaze of folly, forbear to attempt what they have no hopes of performing, and resign the pleas- ure of rational contemplation to more pertinacious study, or more active faculties. 154 THE RAMBLER Among the productions of mechanick art, many are of a form so different from that of their first materials, and many consist of parts so numerous and so nicely adapted to each other, that it is not possible to view them without amazement. But when we enter the shops of artificers, observe the various tools by which every operation is facilitated, and trace the progress of a manufacture through the different hands, that, in succession to each other, contribute to its perfection, we soon discover that every single man has an easy task, and that the extremes, however remote, of natural rudeness and artificial elegance, are joined by a regular concate- nation of effects, of which every one is introduced by that which precedes it, and equally introduces that which is to follow. The same is the state of intellectual and manual performances. Long calculations or complex dia- grams affright the timorous and unexperienced from a second view; but if we have skill sufficient to analyze them into simple principles, it will be dis- covered that our fear was groundless. Divide and conquer, is a principle equally just in science as in policy. Complication is a species of confederacy, which, while it continues united, bids defiance to the most active and vigorous intellect; but of which every member is separately weak, and which may therefore be quickly subdued, if it can once be broken. The chief art of learning, as Locke has observed, is to attempt but little at a time. The widest excur- sions of the mind are made by short flights fre- 155 THE RAMBLER quently repeated ; the most lofty fabricks of science are formed by the continued accumulation of single propositions. It often happens, whatever be the cause, that im- patience of labour, or dread of miscarriage, seizes those who are most distinguished for quickness of apprehension; and that they who might with great- est reason promise themselves victory, are least willing to hazard the encounter. This diffidence, where the attention is not laid asleep by laziness, or dissipated by pleasures, can arise only from con- fused and general views, such as negligence snatches in haste, or from the disappointment of the first hopes formed by arrogance without reflection. To expect that the intricacies of science will be pierced by a careless glance, or the eminences of fame as- cended without labour, is to expect a particular privilege, a power denied to the rest of mankind; but to suppose that the maze is inscrutable to dili- gence, or the heights inaccessible to perseverance, is to submit tamely to the tyranny of fancy, and enchain the mind in voluntary shackles. It is the proper ambition of the heroes in litera- ture to enlarge the boundaries of knowledge by discovering and conquering new regions of the in- tellectual world. To the success of such undertak- ings perhaps some degree of fortuitous happiness is necessary, which no man can promise or procure to himself; and therefore doubt and irresolution may be forgiven in him that ventures into the un- explored abysses of truth, and attempts to find his 156 THE RAMBLER way through the fluctuations of uncertainty, and the conflicts of contradiction. But when nothing more is required, than to pursue a path already beaten, and to trample obstacles which others have demolished, why should any man so much distrust his own intellect as to imagine himself unequal to the attempt? It were to be wished that they who devote their lives to study would at once believe nothing too great for their attainment, and consider nothing as too little for their regard; that they would ex- tend their notice alike to science and to life, and unite some knowledge of the present world to their acquaintance with past ages and remote events. Nothing has so much exposed men of learning to contempt and ridicule, as their ignorance of things which are known to all but themselves. Those who have been taught to consider the institutions of the schools, as giving the last perfection to human abilities, are surprised to see men wrinkled with study, yet wanting to be instructed in the minute circumstances of propriety, or the necessary forms of daily transaction; and quickly shake off their reverence for modes of education, which they find to produce no ability above the rest of mankind. ** Books,’’ says Bacon, “‘ can never teach the use of books.’’ The student must learn by commerce with mankind to reduce his speculations to prac- tice, and accommodate his knowledge to the pur- poses of life. It is too common for those who have been bred 157 THE RAMBLER to scholastick professions, and passed much of their time in academies where nothing but learning con- fers honours, to disregard every other qualification, and to imagine that they shall find mankind ready to pay homage to their knowledge, and to crowd about them for instruction. They therefore step out from their cells into the open world with all the confidence of authority and dignity of importance; they look round about them at once with ignorance and scorn on a race of beings to whom they are equally unknown and equally contemptible, but whose manners they must imitate, and with whose opinions they must comply, if they desire to pass their time happily among them. To lessen that disdain with which scholars are inclined to look on the common business of the world, and the unwillingness with which they con- descend to learn what is not to be found in any system of philosophy, it may be necessary to con- sider that though admiration is excited by abstruse researches and remote discoveries, yet pleasure is not given, nor affection conciliated, but by softer accom- plishments, and qualities more easily communicable to those about us. He that can only converse upon questions, about which only a small part of mankind has knowledge sufficient to make them curious, must lose his days in unsocial silence, and live in the crowd of life without a companion. He that can only be useful on great occasions, may die without exerting his abilities, and stand a helpless spectator of a thousand vexations which fret away happiness, 158 THE RAMBLER and which nothing is required to remove but a little dexterity of conduct and readiness of expedients. No degree of knowledge attainable by man is able to set him above the want of hourly assistance, or to extinguish the desire of fond endearments, and tender officiousness; and therefore, no one should think it unnecessary to learn those arts by which friendship may be gained. Kindness is preserved by a constant reciprocation of benefits or interchange of pleasures; but such benefits only can be bestowed, as others are capable to receive, and such pleasures only imparted, as others are qualified to enjoy. By this descent from the pinnacles of art no honour will be lost; for the condescensions of learn- ing are always overpaid by gratitude. An elevated genius employed in little things, appears, to use the simile of Longinus, like the sun in his evening declination: he remits his splendour but retains his magnitude, and pleases more though he dazzles less. No. 138. SATURDAY, JULY 13, 1751 O tantum libeat mecum tibt sordida rura, Atque humiles habitare casas, et figere cervos. Vire. Ee. ii. 28. With me retire, and leave the pomp of courts For humble cottages and rural sports. = TO THE RAMBLER. HOUGH the contempt with which you have treated the annual migrations of the gay and busy part of mankind is justified by daily observa- tion ; since most of those who leave the town, neither 159 THE RAMBLER vary their entertainments nor enlarge their notions; yet I suppose you do not intend to represent the practice itself as ridiculous, or to declare that he whose condition puts the distribution of his time into his own power may not properly divide it between the town and country. That the country, and only the country, displays the inexhaustible varieties of nature, and supplies the philosophical mind with matter for admiration and inquiry, never was denied; but my curiosity is very little attracted by the colour of a flower, the anatomy of an insect, or the structure of a nest; I am generally employed upon human manners, and therefore fill up the months of rural leisure with remarks on those who live within the circle of my notice. If writers would more frequently visit those regions of negli- gence and liberty, they might diversify their repre- sentations, and multiply their images, for in the country are original characters chiefly to be found. In cities, and yet more in courts, the minute dis- criminations which distinguish one from another are for the most part effaced, the peculiarities of temper and opinion are gradually worn away by promis- cuous converse, as angular bodies and uneven surfaces lose their points and asperities by frequent attrition against one another, and approach by degrees to uniform rotundity. The prevalence of fashion, the influence of example, the desire of applause, and the dread of censure, obstruct the natural tendencies of the mind, and check the fancy in its first efforts to break forth into experiments of caprice. 160 THE RAMBLER Few inclinations are so strong as to grow up into habits, when they must struggle with the constant opposition of settled forms and established customs. But in the country every man is a separate and in- dependent being: solitude flatters irregularity with hopes of secrecy; and wealth, removed from the mortification of comparison, and the awe of equality, swells into contemptuous confidence, and sets blame and laughter at defiance; the impulses of nature act unrestrained, and the disposition dares to shew itself in its true form, without any disguise of hypocrisy, or decorations of elegance. Every one indulges the full enjoyment of his own choice, and talks and lives with no other view than to please himself, without inquiring how far he deviates from the general practice, or considering others as en- titled to any account of his sentiments or actions. If he builds or demolishes, opens or encloses, deluges or drains, it is not his care what may be the opinion of those who are skilled in perspective or architec- ture, it is sufficient that he has no landlord to con- troul him, and that none has any right to examine in what projects the lord of the manour spends his own money on his own grounds. For this reason it is not very common to want subjects for rural conversation. Almost every man is daily doing something which produces merriment, wonder, or resentment, among his neighbours. This utter exemption from restraint leaves every anom- alous quality to operate in its full extent, and suf- fers the natural character to diffuse itself to every Vor. 3—11 161 THE RAMBLER part of life. The pride which, under the check of publick observation, would have been only vented among servants and domesticks, becomes in a coun- try baronet the torment of a province, and instead of terminating in the destruction of China-ware and glasses, ruins tenants, dispossesses cottagers, and harasses villages with actions of trespass and bills of indictment. It frequently happens that, even without violent passions, or enormous corruption, the freedom and laxity of a rustick life produces remarkable partic- ularities of conduct or manner. In the province where I now reside, we have one lady eminent for wearing a gown always of the same cut and colour; another for shaking hands with those that visit her; and a third for unshaken resolution never to let tea or coffee enter her house. But of all the female characters which this place affords, I have found none so worthy of attention as that of Mrs. Busy, a widow, who lost her hus- band in her thirtieth year, and has since passed her time at the manour-house in the government of her children, and the management of the estate. Mrs. Busy was married at eighteen from a board- ing-school, where she had passed her time like other young ladies, in needle-work, with a few intervals of dancing and reading. When she became a bride she spent one winter with her husband in town, where, having no idea of any conversation beyond the formalities of a visit, she found nothing to en- gage her passions: and when she had been one night 162 THE RAMBLER at court, and two at an opera, and seen the Monu- ment, the Tombs, and the Tower, she concluded that London had nothing more to shew, and won- dered that when women had once seen the world, they could not be content to stay at home. She therefore went willingly to the ancient seat, and for some years studied housewifery under Mr. Busy’s mother, with so much assiduity, that the old lady, when she died, bequeathed her a caudle-cup, a soup- dish, two beakers, and a chest of table-linen spun by herself. Mr. Busy, finding the economical qualities of his lady, resigned his affairs wholly into her hands, and devoted his life to his pointers and his hounds. He never visited his estates but to destroy the partridges or foxes; and often committed such devastations in the rage of pleasure, that some of his tenants re- fused to hold their lands at the usual rent. Their landlady persuaded them to be satisfied, and en- treated her husband to dismiss his dogs, with many exact calculations of the ale drunk by his com- panions, and corn consumed by the horses, and re- monstrances against the insolence of the huntsman, and the frauds of the groom. The huntsman was too necessary to his happiness to be discarded; and he had still continued to ravage his own estate, had he not caught a cold and a fever by shooting mal- lards in the fens. His fever was followed by a con- sumption, which in a few months brought him to the grave. Mrs. Busy was too much an economist to feel 163 THE RAMBLER either joy or sorrow at his death. She received the compliments and consolations of her neighbours in a dark room, out of which she stole privately every night and morning to see the cows milked; and after a few days declared that she thought a widow might employ herself better than in nursing grief; and that, for her part, she was resolved that the fortunes of her children should not be impaired by her neglect. She therefore immediately applied herself to the reformation of abuses. She gave away the dogs, dis- charged the servants of the kennel and stable, and sent the horses to the next fair, but rated at so high a price that they returned unsold. She was resolved to have nothing idle about her, and ordered them to be employed in common drudgery. They lost their sleekness and grace, and were soon purchased at half the value. She soon disencumbered herself from her weeds, and put on a riding-hood, a coarse apron, and short petticoats, and has turned a large manour into a farm, of which she takes the management wholly upon herself. She rises before the sun to order the horses to their gears, and sees them well rubbed down at their return from work; she attends the dairy morning and evening, and watches when a calf falls that it may be carefully nursed; she walks out among the sheep at noon, counts the lambs, and observes the fences, and, where she finds a gap, © stops it with a bush till it can be better mended. In harvest she rides a-field in the waggon, and is 164 THE RAMBLER very liberal of her ale from a wooden bottle. At her leisure hours she looks goose eggs, airs the wool-room, and turns the cheese. When respect or curiosity brings visitants to her house, she entertains them with prognosticks of a scarcity of wheat, or a rot among the sheep, and always thinks herself privileged to dismiss them, when she is to see the hogs fed, or to count her poultry on the roost. The only things neglected about her are her chil- dren, whom she has taught nothing but the lowest household duties. In my last visit I met Mrs. Busy carrying grains to a sick cow, and was entertained with the accomplishments of her eldest son, a youth of such early maturity, that though he is only six- teen, she can trust him to sell corn in the market. Her younger daughter, who is eminent for her beauty, though somewhat tanned in making hay, was busy in pouring out ale to the ploughmen, that every one might have an equal share. I could not but look with pity on this young family, doomed by the absurd prudence of their mother to ignorance and meanness: but when I recommended a more elegant education, was answered, that she never saw bookish or finical people grow rich, and that she was good for noth- ing herself till she had forgotten the nicety of the boarding-school. Iam, Yours, &c. Buco.Lus. 165 THE RAMBLER No. 139. TUESDAY, JULY 16, 1751 Sit quod vis simplex duntaxat et unum. Hor. Ar. Poet. 23. Let every piece be simple and be one. T is required by Aristotle to the perfection of a tragedy, and is equally necessary to every other species of regular composition, that it should have a beginning, a middle, and an end. “‘ The begin- ning,’’ says he, ‘‘is that which hath nothing neces- sarily previous, but to which that which follows is naturally consequent; the end, on the contrary, is that which by necessity, or at least, according to the common course of things, succeeds something: else, but which implies nothing consequent to it- self; the middle is connected on one side to some- thing that naturally goes before, and on the other to something that naturally follows it.”’ Such is the rule laid down by this great critick, for the disposition of the different parts of a well- constituted fable. It must begin, where it may be made intelligible without introduction; and end, where the mind is left in repose, without expecta- tion of any farther event. The intermediate passages must join the last effect to the first cause, by a regular and unbroken concatention; nothing must be therefore inserted which does not apparently arise from something foregoing, and properly make way for something that succeeds it. This precept is to be understood in its rigour only with respect to great and essential events, and cannot be extended in the same force to minuter 166 THE RAMBLER circumstances and arbitrary decorations, which yet are more happy, as they contribute more to the main design; forit is always a proof of extensive thought and accurate circumspection, to promote various pur- poses by the same act; and the idea of an ornament admits use, though it seems to exclude necessity. Whoever purposes, as it is expressed by Milton, to build the lofty rhyme, must acquaint himself with this law of poetical architecture, and take care that his edifice be solid as well as beautiful; that nothing stand single or independent, so as that it may be taken away without injuring the rest; but that, from the foundation to the pinnacles, one part rest firm upon another. The regular and consequential distribution is among common authors frequently neglected; but the failures of those, whose example can have no influence, may be safely overlooked, nor is it of much use to recall obscure and unguarded names to memory for the sake of sporting with their infamy. But if there is any writer whose genius can em- bellish impropriety, and whose authority can make errour venerable, his works are the proper objects of critical inquisition. To expunge faults where there are no excellencies, is a task equally useless with that of the chemist, who employs the arts of separation and refinement upon one in which no precious metal is contained to reward his operations. The tragedy of Samson Agonistes has been cele- brated as the second work of the great author of Paradise Lost, and opposed, with all the confidence 167 THE RAMBLER of triumph, to the dramatick performances of other nations. It contains indeed just sentiments, maxims of wisdom, and oracles of piety, and many passages written with the ancient spirit of choral poetry, in which there is a just and pleasing mixture of Sen- eca’s moral declamation, with the wild enthusiasm of the Greek writers. It is therefore worthy of ex- amination, whether a performance thus illuminated with genius, and enriched with learning, is com- posed according to the indispensable laws of Aris- totelian criticism: and, omitting at present all other considerations, whether it exhibits a beginning, a middle, and an end. The beginning is undoubtedly beautiful and proper, opening with a graceful abruptness, and proceeding naturally to a mournful recital of facts necessary to be known. Samson. A little onward lend thy guiding hand To these dark steps, a little farther on; For yonder bank hath choice of sun and shade: There I am wont to sit, when any chance Relieves me from my task of servile toil, Daily in the common prison else enjoin’d me.— O, wherefore was my birth from Heav’n foretold Twice by an Angel?— Why was my breeding order’d and prescrib’d, As of a person separate to God, Design’d for great exploits; if I must die Betray’d, captiv’d, and both my eyes put out?— Whom have I to complain of but myself? Who this high gift of strength committed to me, In what part lodg’d, how easily bereft me, Under the seal of silence could not keep: But weakly to a woman must reveal it. His soliloquy is interrupted by a chorus or company of men of his own tribe, who condole his miseries, 168 THE RAMBLER extenuate his fault, and conclude with a solemn vindication of divine justice. So that at the conclu- sion of the first act there is no design laid, no dis- covery made, nor any disposition formed towards the consequent event. In the second act, Manoah, the father of Samson, comes to seek his son, and, being shewn him by the chorus, breaks out into lamentations of his misery, and comparisons of his present with his former state, representing to him the ignominy which his reli- gion suffers, by the festival this day celebrated in honour of Dagon, to whom the idolaters ascribed his overthrow. — Thou bear’st Enough, and more, the burthen of that fault; Bitterly hast thou paid, and still art paying That rigid score. A worse thing yet remains, This day the Philistines a popular feast Here celebrate in Gaza; and proclaim Great pomp, and sacrifice, and praises loud To Dagon, as their God, who hath deliver’d Thee, Samson, bound and blind, into their hands. Them out of thine, who slew’st them many a slain. Samson, touched with this reproach, makes a reply equally penitential and pious, which his father considers as the effusion of prophetick confidence: Samson. He, be sure, Will not connive, or linger, thus provok’d; But will arise and his great name assert: Dagon must stoop, and shall ere long receive _ Such a discomfit, as shall quite despoil him Of all these boasted trophies won on me. Manoah. With cause this hope relieves thee, and these words I as a prophecy receive; for God, Nothing more certain, will not long defer To vindicate the glory of his name. 169 THE RAMBLER This part of the dialogue, as it might tend to ani- mate or exasperate Samson, cannot, I think, be censured as wholly superfluous; but the succeeding dispute, in which Samson contends to die, and which his father breaks off, that he may go to solicit his release, is only valuable for its own beauties, and has no tendency to introduce any thing that follows it. The next event of the drama is the arrival of Dalila, with all her graces, artifices, and allure- ments. This produces a dialogue, in a very high degree elegant and instructive, from which she re- tires, after she has exhausted her persuasions, and is no more seen nor heard of; nor has her visit any effect but that of raising the character of Samson. In the fourth act enters Harapha, the giant of Gath, whose name had never been mentioned be- fore, and who has now no other motive of coming, than to see the man whose strength and actions are so loudly celebrated : Haraph. Much have I heard Of thy prodigious might and feats perform’d, Incredible to me, in this displeas’d, That I was never present in the place Of those encounters, where we might have tried Each other’s force in camp or listed fields; And now am come to see of whom such noise Hath walk’d about, and each limb to survey, If thy appearance answer loud report. Samson challenges him to the combat; and, after an interchange of reproaches, elevated by repeated defiance on one side, and imbittered by contemptu- ous insults on the other, Harapha retires; we then hear it determined by Samson, and the chorus, that 170 THE RAMBLER no consequence good or bad will proceed from their interview : Chorus. He will directly to the lords, I fear, And with malicious counsel stir them up Some way or other yet farther to afflict thee. Sams. He must allege some cause, and offer’d fight Will not dare mention, lest a question rise Whether he durst accept the offer or not; And, that he durst not, plain enough appear’d. At last, in the fifth act, appears a messenger from the lords assembled at the festival of Dagon, with a summons by which Samson is required to come and entertain them with some proof of his strength. Samson, after a short expostulation, dismisses him with a firm and resolute refusal; but, during the absence of the messenger, having a while defended the propriety of his conduct, he at last declares himself moved by a secret impulse to comply, and utters some dark presages of a great event to be brought to pass by his agency, under the direction of Providence: Sams. Be of good courage, I begin to feel Some rousing motions in me, which dispose To something extraordinary my thoughts. I with this messenger will go along, Nothing to do, be sure, that may dishonour Our Law, or stain my vow of Nazarite. If there be aught of presage in the mind, This day will be remarkable in my life By some great act, or of my days the last. While Samson is conducted off by the messenger, his father returns with hopes of success in his solici- tation, upon which he confers with the chorus till their dialogue is interrupted, first by a shout of triumph, and afterwards by screams of horrour and 171 THE RAMBLER agony. As they stand deliberating where they shall be secure, a man who had been present at the show enters, and relates how Samson, having prevailed on his guide to suffer him to lean against the main pillars of the theatrical edifice, tore down the roof upon the spectators and himself: —Those two massy pillars, With horrible convulsion, to and fro He tugg’d, he shook, till down they came, and drew The whole roof after them, with burst of thunder Upon the heads of all who sat beneath Samson, with these immixt, inevitably Pull’d down the same destruction on himself. This is undoubtedly a just and regular catas- trophe, and the poem, therefore, has a beginning and an end which Aristotle himself could not have disapproved ; but it must be allowed to want a mid- dle, since nothing passes between the first act and the last, that either hastens or delays the death of Samson. The whole drama, if its superfluities were cut off; would scarcely fill a single act; yet this is the tragedy which ignorance has admired, and bigotry applauded. No. 140. SATURDAY, JULY 20, 1751 —Quis tum Lucili fautor inepte est, Ué non hoc fateatur? Hor. Lib. i. Sat. x. 2. What doating bigot, to his faults so blind, As not to grant me this, can Milton find? T is common, says Bacon, to desire the end with- out enduring the means. Every member of society feels and acknowledges the necessity of detecting crimes, yet scarce any degree of virtue or reputa- 172 THE RAMBLER tion is able to secure an informer from publick hatred. The learned world has always admitted the usefulness of critical disquisitions, yet he that at- tempts to show, however modestly, the failures of a celebrated writer, shall surely irritate his admirers, and incur the imputation of envy, captiousness, and malignity. With this danger full in my view, I shall pro- ceed to examine the sentiments of Milton’s tragedy, which, though much less liable to censure than the disposition of his plan, are, like those of other writers, sometimes exposed to just exceptions for want of care, or want of discernment. Sentiments are proper and improper as they con- sist more or less with the character and circum- stances of the person to whom they are attributed, with the rules of the composition in which they are found, or with the settled and unalterable nature of things. It is common among the tragick poets to intro- duce their persons alluding to events or opinions, of which they could not possibly have any knowl- edge. The barbarians of remote or newly discovered regions often display their skill in European learn- ing. The god of love is mentioned in Tamerlane with all the familiarity of a Roman epigrammatist ; and a late writer has put Harvey’s doctrine of the circulation of the blood into the mouth of a Turk- ish statesman, who lived near two centuries before it was known even to philosophers or anatomists. Milton’s learning, which acquainted him with the 173 THE RAMBLER manners of the ancient eastern nations, and his in- vention, which required no assistance from the common cant of poetry, have preserved him from frequent outrages of local or chronological propri- ety. Yet he has mentioned Chalybean steel, of which it is not very likely that his chorus should have heard, and has made Alp the general name of a mountain, in a region where the Alps could scarcely be known: No medicinal liquor can assuage, Nor breath of cooling air from snowy Alp. He has taught Samson the tales of Circe, and the Syrens, at which he apparently hints in his colloquy with Dalila: I know thy trains, Though dearly to my cost, thy gins, and toils; Thy fair enchanted cup, and warbling charms No more on me have pow’r. But the grossest errour of this kind is the solemn introduction of the Phoenix in the last scene; which is faulty, not only as it is incongruous to the per- sonage to whom it is ascribed, but as it is so evidently contrary to reason and nature, that it ought never to be mentioned but as a fable in any serious poem: —— Virtue giv’n for lost, Deprest, and overthrown, as seem’d, Like that self-begotten bird In the Arabian woods embost, That no second knows nor third, And lay ere while a holocaust, From out her ashy womb now teem’d, Revives, reflourishes, then vigorous most When most unactive deem’d, And though her body die, her fame survives A secular bird, ages of lives. 174 THE RAMBLER. Another species of impropriety is the unsuitable- ness of thoughts to the general character of the poem. The seriousness and solemnity of tragedy necessarily reject all pointed or epigrammatical expressions, all remote conceits and opposition of ideas. Samson’s complaint is therefore too elaborate to be natural: As in the land of darkness, yet in light, To live a life half dead, a living death, And bury’d; but, O yet more miserable! Myself, my sepulchre, a moving grave, Buried, yet not exempt, By privilege of death and burial. From worst of other evils, pains and wrongs. All allusions to low and trivial objects, with which contempt is usually associated, are doubtless unsuitable to a species of composition which ought to be always awful, though not always magnificent. The remark therefore of the chorus on good or bad news seems to want elevation: Manoah. A little stay will bring some notice hither. Chor. Of good or bad so great, of bad the sooner; For evil news rides post, while good news baits. But of all meanness that has least to plead which is produced by mere verbal conceits, which, depend- ing only upon sounds, lose their existence by the change of a syllable. Of this kind is the following dialogue: Chor. But had we best retire? I see a storm. Sams. Fair days have oft contracted wind and rain. Chor. But this another kind of tempest brings. Sams. Be less abstruse, my riddling days are past. Chor. Look now for no enchanting voice, nor fear The bait of honied words; a rougher tongue Draws hitherward; I know him by his stride, The giant Harapha. 175 THE RAMBLER And yet more despicable are the lines in which Manoah’s paternal kindness is commended by the chorus: Fathers are wont to lay up for their sons, Thou for thy son art bent to lay ou# all. Samson’s complaint of the inconveniences of im- prisonment is not wholly without verbal quaintness: ——I, a prisoner chain’d, scarce freely draw The air, imprison’d also, close and damp. From the sentiments we may properly descend to the consideration of the language, which, in imi- tation of the ancients, is through the whole dialogue remarkably simple and unadorned, seldom height- ened by epithets, or varied by figures; yet some- times metaphors find admission, even where their consistency is not accurately preserved. Thus Sam- som confounds loquacity with a shipwreck: How could [ once look up, or heave the head, Who, like a foolish pilot, have shipwreck’d My vessel trusted to me from above, Gloriously rigg’d; and for a word, a tear, Fool! have divulg’d the secret gift of God To a deceitful woman! And the chorus talks of adding fuel to flame in a report: He’s gone, and who knows how he may report Thy words, by adding fuel to the flame? The versification is in the dialogue much more smooth and harmonious, than in the parts allotted to the chorus, which are often so harsh and disso- nant, as scarce to preserve, whether the lines end 176 THE RAMBLER with or without rhymes, any appearance of metrical regularity : Or do my eyes misrepresent? Can this be he, That heroic, that renown’d, Irresistible Samson? whom unarm’d No strength of man, or fiercest wild beast, could withstand; Who tore the lion, as the lion tears the kid. Since I have thus pointed out the faults of Mil- ton, critical integrity requires that I should endeav- our to display his excellencies, though they will not easily be discovered in short quotations, because they consist in the justness of diffuse reasonings, or in the contexture and method of continued dia- logues; this play having none of those descriptions, similies, or splendid sentences, with which other tragedies are so lavishly adorned. Yet some passages may be selected which seem to deserve particular notice, either as containing sentiments of passion, representations of life, pre- cepts of conduct, or sallies of imagination. It is not easy to give a stronger representation of the weari- ness of despondency, than in the words of Samson to his father: ——I feel my genial spirits droop, My hopes all flat, Nature within me seems In all her functions weary of herself, My race of glory run, and race of shame, And I shall shortly be with them that rest. The reply of Samson to the flattering Dalila affords a just and striking description of the strata- gems and allurements of feminine hypocrisy: These are thy wonted arts, And arts of every woman false like thee, To break all faith, all vows, deceive, betray, VoL. 3—12 177 THE RAMBLER Then as repentant to submit, beseech, And reconcilement move with feign’d remorse, Confess and promise wonders in her change; Not truly penitent, but chief to try Her husband, how far urg’d his patience bears, His virtue or weakness which way to assail: Then with more cautious and instructed skill Again transgresses, and again submits. When Samson has refused to make himself a spectacle at the feast of Dagon, he first justifies his behaviour to the chorus, who charge him with hav- ing served the Philistines, by a very just distinc- tion: and then destroys the common excuse of cowardice and servility, which always confound temptation with compulsion: Chor. Yet with thy strength thou serv’st the Philistines. Sams. Not in their idol worship, but by labour Honest and lawful to deserve my food Of those, who have me in their civil power. Chor. Where the heart joins not, outward acts defile not. Sams. Where outward force constrains, the sentence holds. But who constrains me to the temple of Dagon, Not dragging? The Philistine lords command. Commands are no constraints. If I obey them, I do it freely, venturing to displease God for the fear of Man, and Man prefer, Set God behind. The complaint of blindness which Samson pours out at the beginning of the tragedy is equally addressed to the passions and the fancy. The enumeration of his miseries is succeeded by a very pleasing train of poetical images, and concluded by such expostulation and wishes, as reason too often submits to learn from despair: O first created Beam, and thou great Word “* Let there be light, and light was over all;”’ 178 THE RAMBLER Why am I thus bereav’d thy prime decree? The sun to me is dark ’ And silent as the moon, When she deserts the night Hid in her vacant interlunar cave. Since light so necessary is to life, And almost life itself, if it be true That light is in the soul, She all in every part; why was the sight To such a tender ball as the eye confin’d, So obvious and so easy to be quench’d? And not, as feeling, through all parts diffus’d, That she may look at will through every pore? Such are the faults and such the beauties of Sam- son Agonistes, which I have shown with no other purpose than to promote the knowledge of true criticism. The everlasting verdure of Milton’s laurels has nothing to fear from the blasts of malignity; nor can my attempt produce any other effect, than to strengthen their shoots by lopping their luxuriance’®. No. 141. TUESDAY, JULY 93, 1751 Hilarisque, tamen cum pondere, virtus. Srat. Greatness with ease, and gay severity. TO THE RAMBLER. SIR, OLITICIANS have long observed, that the greatest events may be often traced back to slender causes. Petty competition or casual friend- ship, the prudence of a slave, or the garrulity of a woman, have hindered or promoted the most im- portant schemes, and hastened or retarded the revolutions of empire. Whoever shall review his life will generally find, © This is not the language of an accomplice in Lauder’s imposition.—Ep. 179 THE RAMBLER that the whole tenour of his conduct has been de- termined by some accident of no apparent moment, or by acombination of inconsiderable circumstances, acting when his imagination was unoccupied, and his judgment unsettled; and that his principles and actions have taken their colour from some secret infusion, mingled without design in the cur- rent of his ideas. The desires that predominate in our hearts, are instilled by imperceptible communi- cations at the time when we look upon the various scenes of the world, and the different employments of men, with the neutrality of inexperience; and we come forth from the nursery or the school, invari- ably destined to the pursuit of great acquisitions, or petty accomplishments. Such was the impulse by which I have been kept in motion from my earliest years. I was born to an inheritance which gave my childhood a claim to distinction and caresses, and was accustomed to hear applauses, before they had much influence on my thoughts. The first praise of which I remember myself sensible was that of good-humour, which, whether I deserved it or not when it was bestowed, I have since made it my whole business to propa- gate and maintain. When I was sent to school, the gaiety of my look, and the liveliness of my loquacity, soon gained me admission to hearts not yet forfeited against affection by artifice or interest. I was entrusted with every stratagem, and associated in every sport; my company gave alacrity to a frolick, and gladness 180 THE RAMBLER to a holiday. I was indeed so much employed in ad- justing or executing schemes of diversion, that I had no leisure for my tasks, but was furnished with exercises, and instructed in my lessons, by some kind patron of the higher classes. My master, not suspecting my deficiency, or unwilling to detect what his kindness would not punish nor his impar- tiality excuse, allowed me to escape with a slight examination, laughed at the pertness of my igno- rance, and the sprightliness of my absurdities, and could not forbear to show that he regarded me with such tenderness, as genius and learning can seldom excite. From school I was dismissed to the university, where I soon drew upon me notice of the younger students, and was the constant partner of their morning walks, and evening compotations. I was not indeed much celebrated for literature, but was looked on with indulgence as a man of parts, -who wanted nothing but the dulness of a scholar, and might become eminent whenever he should condescend to labour and attention. My tutor a while reproached me with negligence, and repressed my sallies with supercilious gravity; yet, having natural good-humour lurking in his heart, he could not long hold out against the power of hilarity, but after a few months began to relax the muscles of disciplinarian moroseness, received me with smiles after an elopement, and, that he might not betray his trust to his fondness, was content to spare my diligence by increasing his own. 181 THE RAMBLER Thus I continued to dissipate the gloom of col- legiate austerity, to waste my own life in idleness, and lure others from their studies, till the happy hour arrived, when I was sent to London. I soon discovered the town to be the proper element of youth and gaiety, and was quickly distinguished as a wit by the ladies, a species of beings only heard of at the university, whom I had no sooner the hap- piness of approaching than I devoted all my facul- ties to the ambition of pleasing them. A wit, Mr. Rambler, in the dialect of ladies, is not always a man who, by the action of a vigorous fancy upon comprehensive knowledge, brings dis- tant ideas unexpectedly together, who, by some peculiar acuteness, discovers resemblance in objects dissimilar to common eyes, or, by mixing hetero- geneous notions, dazzles the attention with sudden scintillations of conceit. A lady’s wit is a man who can make ladies laugh, to which, however easy it may seem, many gifts of nature, and attainments of art, must commonly concur. He that hopes to be received as a wit in female assemblies, should have a form neither so amiable as to strike with admiration, nor so coarse as to raise disgust, with an understanding too feeble to be dreaded, and too forcible to be despised. The other parts of the character are more subject to variation; it was for- merly essential to a wit, that half his back should be covered with a snowy fleece, and, at a time yet more remote, no man was a wit without his boots. In the days of the Spectator a snuff-box seems to 182 THE RAMBLER have been indispensable; but in my time an em- broidered coat was sufficient, without any precise regulation of the rest of his dress. But wigs and boots and snuff-boxes are vain, without a perpetual resolution to be merry, and who can always find supplies of mirth? Juvenal in- deed, in his comparison of the two opposite philoso- phers, wonders only whence an unexhausted fountain of tears could be discharged: but had Juvenal, with all his spirit, undertaken my province, he would have found constant gaiety equally difficult to be supported. Consider, Mr. Rambler, and compassion- ate the condition of a man, who has taught every company to expect from him a continual feast of laughter, an unintermitted stream of jocularity. The task of every other slave has an end. The rower in time reaches the port; the lexicographer at last finds the conclusion of his alphabet; only the hapless wit has his labour always to begin, the call for novelty is never satisfied, and one jest only raises expecta- tion of another. } I know that among men of learning and asperity the retainers to the female world are not much re- garded: yet I cannot but hope that if you knew at how dear a rate our honours are purchased, you would look with some gratulation on our success, and with some pity on our miscarriages. Think on the misery of him who is condemned to cultivate barrenness and ransack vacuity; who is obliged to continue his talk when his meaning is spent, to raise merriment without images, to harass his imagina- 183 THE RAMBLER tion in quest of thoughts which he cannot start, and his memory in pursuit of narratives which he cannot overtake; observe the effort with which he strains to conceal despondency by a smile, and the distress in which he sits while the eyes of the com- pany are fixed upon him as the last refuge from silence and dejection. It were endless to recount the shifts to which I have been reduced, or to enumerate the different species of artificial wit. I regularly frequented cof- fee-houses, and have often lived a week upon an expression, of which he who dropped it did not know the value. When fortune did not favour my erratick industry, I gleaned jests at home from ob- solete farces. To collect wit was indeed safe, for I consorted with none that looked much into books, but to disperse it was the difficulty. A seeming negligence was often useful, and I have very suc- cessfully made a reply not to what the lady had said, but to what it was convenient for me to hear; for very few were so perverse as to rectify a mistake which had given occasion to a burst of merriment. Sometimes I drew the conversation up by degrees to a proper point, and produced a conceit which I had treasured up, like sportsmen who boast of kill- ing the foxes which they lodge in the covert. Emi- nence is, however, in some happy moments, gained at less expense; I have delighted a whole circle at one time with a series of quibbles, and made myself good company at another, by scalding my fingers, or mistaking a lady’s lap for my own chair. 184 THE RAMBLER These are artful deceits and useful expedients; but expedients are at length exhausted, and deceits detected. Time itself, among other injuries, dimin- ishes the power of pleasing, and I now find, in my forty-fifth year, many pranks and pleasantries very coldly received, which had formerly filled a whole room with jollity and acclamation. I am under the melancholy necessity of supporting that character by study, which I gained by levity, having learned too late that gaiety must be recommended by higher qualities, and that mirth can never please long but as the efflorescence of a mind loved for its luxuriance, but esteemed for its usefulness. I am, &c. PAPILIvs. No. 142. SATURDAY, JULY 27, 1751 "Ev0a © dunp eviave nehdptos a obd8, wet GAovg Huet, Gd ardvevbev eay abepiotia HON. Kat yap Oadby erétoxto meddptov’ obd8 exq@et *Avdpt ye ottogdyy. Homer. Od. I’. 187. A giant shepherd here his flock maintains Far from the rest, and solitary reigns, In shelter thick of horrid shade reclin’d; And gloomy mischiefs labour in the mind. A form enormous! far unlike the race Of human birth, in stature or in face. Pore. TO THE RAMBLER. SIR, AVING been accustomed to retire annually from the town, I lately accepted the invitation of Eugenio, who has an estate and seat in a distant county. As we were unwilling to travel without 185 THE RAMBLER improvement, we turned often from the direct road to please ourselves with the view of nature or of art; we examined every wild mountain and medicinal spring, criticised every edifice, contemplated every ruin, and compared every scene of action with the narratives of historians. By this succession of amuse- ments we enjoyed the exercise of a journey without suffering the fatigue, and had nothing to regret but that, by a progress so leisurely and gentle, we missed the adventures of a post-chaise, and the pleasure of alarming villages with the tumult of our passage, and of disguising our insignificancy by the dignity of hurry. The first week after our arrival at EKugenio’s house was passed in receiving visits from his neigh- bours, who crowded about him with all the eager- ness of benevolence; some impatient to learn the news of the court and town, that they might be qualified by authentick information to dictate to the rural politicians on the next bowling day; others desirous of his interest to accommodate disputes, or his advice in the settlement of their fortunes and the marriage of their children. The civilities which he had received were soon to be returned; and I passed sometime with great sat- isfaction in roving through the country, and viewing the seats, gardens, and plantations, which are scat- tered over it. My pleasure would indeed have been greater had I been sometimes allowed to wander in a park or wilderness alone; but to appear as a friend of Eugenio was an honour not to be enjoyed with- 186 THE RAMBLER out some inconveniences: so much was every one solicitous for my regard, that I could seldom escape to solitude, or steal a moment from the emulation of complaisance, and the vigilance of officiousness. In these rambles of good neighbourhood, we fre- quently passed by a house of unusual magnificence. While I had my curiosity yet distracted among many novelties, it did not much attract my obser- vation; but in a short time I could not forbear surveying it with particular notice; for the length of the wall which inclosed the gardens, the disposi- tion of the shades that waved over it, and the canals of which I could obtain some glimpses through the trees from our own windows, gave me reason to expect more grandeur and beauty than I had yet seen in that province. I therefore inquired, as we rode by it, why we never, amongst our excursions, spent an hour where there was such an appearance of splendour and affluence? Eugenio told me that the seat which I so much admired, was commonly called in the country the haunted house, and that no visits were paid there by any of the gentlemen whom I had yet seen. As the haunts of incorporeal beings are generally ruinous, neglected, and deso- late, I easily conceived that there was something to be explained, and told him that I supposed it only fairy ground, on which we might venture by day- light without danger. The danger, says he, is indeed only that of appearing to solicit the acquaintance of a man, with whom it is not possible to converse without infamy, and who has driven from him, by 187 THE RAMBLER his insolence or malignity, every human being who can live without him. Our conversation was then accidentally inter- rupted; but my inquisitive humour being now in motion, could not rest without a full account of this newly discovered prodigy. I was soon informed that the fine house and spacious gardens were haunted by squire Bluster, of whom it was very easy to learn the character, since nobody had regard for him suffi- cient to hinder them from telling whatever they could discover. Squire Bluster is descended of an ancient family. The estate which his ancestors had immemorially possessed was much augmented by captain Blus- ter, who served under Drake in the reign of Eliza- beth; and the Blusters, who were before only petty gentlemen, have from that time frequently repre- sented the shire in parliament, been chosen to pre- sent addresses, and given laws at hunting-matches and races. They were eminently hospitable and popular, till the father of this gentleman died of an election. His lady went to the grave soon after him, and left the heir, then only ten years old, to the care of his grandmother, who would not suffer him to be controlled, because she could not bear to hear him cry; and never sent him to school, because she was not able to live without his company. She taught him however very early to inspect the steward’s accounts, to dog the butler from the cellar, and to catch the servants at a junket; so that he was at the age of eighteen a complete master of all the lower 188 THE RAMBLER arts of domestick policy, had often on the road detected combinations between the coachman and the ostler, and procured the discharge of nineteen maids for illicit correspondence with cottagers and charwomen. By the opportunities of parsimony which minor- ity affords, and which the probity of his guardians had diligently improved, a very large sum of money was accumulated, and he found himself, when he took his affairs into his own hands, the richest man in the county. It has been long the custom of this family to celebrate the heir’s completion of his twenty-first year, by an entertainment, at which the house is thrown open to all that are inclined to enter it, and the whole province flocks together as to a general festivity. On this occasion young Blus- ter exhibited the first tokens of his future eminence, by shaking his purse at an old gentleman who had been the intimate of his father, and offering to wager a greater sum than he could afford to ven- ture; a practice with which he has, at one time or other, insulted every freeholder within ten miles round him. His next acts of offence were committed in a contentious and spiteful vindication of the privi- leges of his manours, and a rigorous and relentless prosecution of every man that presumed to violate his game. As he happens to have no estate adjoin- ing equal to his own, his oppressions are often borne without resistance, for fear of a long suit, of which he delights to count the expenses without the least 189 THE RAMBLER solicitude about the event; for he knows, that where nothing but an honorary right is contested, the poorer antagonist must always suffer, whatever shall be the last decision of the law. By the success of some of these disputes, he has so elated his insolence, and, by reflection upon the general hatred which they have brought upon him, so irritated his virulence, that his whole life is spent in meditating or executing mischief. It is his com- mon practice to procure his hedges to be broken in the night, and then to demand satisfaction for dam- ages which his grounds have suffered from his neigh- bour’s cattle. An old widow was yesterday soliciting Eugenio to enable her to replevin her only cow, then in the pound by squire Bluster’s order, who had sent one of his agents to take advantage of her calamity, and persuade her to sell the cow at an under rate. He has driven a day-labourer from his cottage, for gathering blackberries in a hedge for his children, and has now an old woman in the coun- try-gaol for a trespass which she committed, by coming into his ground to pick up acorns for her hog. Money, in whatever hands, will confer power. Distress will fly to immediate refuge, without much consideration of remote consequences. Bluster has therefore a despotick authority in many families, whom he has assisted, on pressing occasions, with larger sums than they can easily repay. The only visits that he makes are to these houses of misfor- tune, where he enters with the insolence of absolute 190 THE RAMBLER command, enjoys the terrours of the family, exacts their obedience, riots at their charge, and in the height of his joy insults the father with menaces, and the daughters with obscenity. He is of late somewhat less offensive; for one of his debtors, after gentle expostulations, by which he was only irritated to grosser outrage, seized him by the sleeve, led him trembling into the court-yard, and closed the door upon him in a stormy night. He took his usual revenge next morning by a writ; but the debt was discharged by the assistance of Eugenio. It is his rule to suffer tenants to owe him rent, because by this indulgence he secures to himself the power of seizure whenever he has an inclination to amuse himself with calamity, and feast his ears with entreaties and lamentations. Yet as he is some- times capriciously liberal to those whom he happens to adopt as favourites, and lets his lands at a cheap rate, his farms are never long unoccupied; and when one is ruined by oppression, the possibility of better fortune quickly lures another to supply his place. Such is the life of squire Bluster; a man in whose power fortune has liberally placed the means of happiness, but who has defeated all her gifts of their end by the depravity of his mind. He is wealthy without followers; he is magnificent with- out witnesses; he has birth without alliance, and influence without dignity. His neighbours scorn him as a brute; his dependants dread him as an 191 THE RAMBLER oppressor; and he has only the gloomy comfort of reflecting, that if he is hated, he is likewise feared. I am, Sir, &c. VAGULUS. No. 143. TUESDAY, JULY 30, 1751 — Moveat cornicula risum Furtivis nudata coloribus. Hor. Lib. i. Ep. i. 19. Lest when the birds their various colours claim, Stripp’d of his stolen pride, the crow forlorn Should stand the laughter of the publick scorn. Francis. MONG the innumerable practices by which interest or envy have taught those who live upon literary fame to disturb each other at their airy banquets, one of the most common is the charge of plagiarism. When the excellence of a new composition can no longer be contested, and malice is compelled to give way to the unanimity of ap- plause, there is yet this one expedient to be tried, by which the author may be degraded, though his work be reverenced; and the excellence which he cannot obscure, may be set at such a distance as not to overpower our fainter lustre. This accusation is dangerous, because, even when it is false, it may be sometimes urged with proba- bility. Bruyere declares, that we are come into the world too late to produce any thing new, that nature and life are pre-occupied, and that descrip- tion and sentiment have been long exhausted. It is indeed certain, that whoever attempts any com- mon topick, will find unexpected coincidences of 192 THE RAMBLER his thoughts with those of other writers; nor can the nicest judgment always distinguish accidental similitude from artful imitation. There is likewise a common stock of images, a settled mode of arrange- ment, and a beaten track of transition, which all authors suppose themselves at liberty to use, and which produce the resemblance generally observ- able among contemporaries. So that in books which best deserve the name of originals, there is little new beyond the disposition of materials already provided ; the same ideas and combinations of ideas have been long in the possession of other hands; and, by restoring to every man his own, as the Romans must have returned to their cots from the possession of the world, so the most inventive and fertile genius would reduce his folios to a few pages. Yet the author who imitates his predecessors only by furnishing himself with thoughts and elegancies out of the same general magazine of literature, can with little more propriety be reproached as a plagi- ary, than the architect can be censured as a mean copier of Angelo or Wren, because he digs his mar- ble from the same quarry, squares his stones by the same art, and unites them in the columns of the same orders. Many subjects fall under the consideration of an author, which, being limited by nature, can admit only of slight and accidental diversities. All defini- tions of the same thing must be nearly the same; and descriptions, which are definitions of a more lax and fanciful kind, must always have in some degree Vou. 3—13 193 THE RAMBLER that resemblance to each other which they all have to their object. Different poets describing the spring or the sea would mention the zephyrs and the flow- ers, the billows and the rocks; reflecting on human life, they would, without any communication of opinions, lament the deceitfulness of hope, the fugacity of pleasure, the fragility of beauty, and the frequency of calamity; and for palliatives of these incurable miseries, they would concur in rec- ommending kindness, temperance, caution, and fortitude. When therefore there are found in Virgil and Horace two similar passages — He tibi erunt artes Parcere subjectis, et debellare swperbos. Vine. To tame the proud, the fetter’d slave to free: These are imperial arts, and worthy thee. Dryvden, Imperet bellante prior, jacentem Lents in hostem. Hor. Let Cesar spread his conquests far, Less pleas’d to triumph than to spare— it is surely not necessary to suppose with a late ceritick, that one is copied from the other, since neither Virgil nor Horace can be supposed ignorant of the common duties of humanity, and the virtue of moderation in success. Cicero and Ovid have on very different occasions remarked how little of the honour of a victory be- longs to the general, when his soldiers and his for- tune have made their deductions; yet why should Ovid be suspected to have owed to Tully an obser- 194 THE RAMBLER vation which perhaps occurs to every man that sees or hears of military glories ? Tully observes of Achilles, that had not Homer written, his valour had been without praise: Nisi Ilias lla extitisset, idem tumulus qui corpus ejus contexerat, nomen ejus obruisset. Unless the Iliad had been published, his name had been lost in the tomb that covered his body. Horace tells us with more energy that there were brave men before the wars of Troy, but they were lost in oblivion for want of a poet: Vixere fortes ante Agamemnona Multi; sed omnes illachrymabiles Urgentur, ignotique longa Nocte, carent quia vate sacro. Before great Agamemnon reign’d, Reigned kings as great as he, and brave, Whose huge ambition’s now contain’d In the small compass of a grave: In endless night they sleep, unwept, unknown: No bard had they to make all time their own. Francis. Tully inquires, in the same oration, why, but for fame, we disturb a short life with so many fatigues? Quid est quod in hoc tum exiguo vite curriculo et tam brevi, tantis nos in laboribus exerceamus? Why in so small a circuit of life should we employ ourselves in so many fatigues? Horace inquires in the same manner, Quid brevi fortes gaculamur evo Multa? Why do we aim, with eager strife, At things beyond the mark of life? FRaNcis. when our life is of so short duration, why we form 195 THE RAMBLER such numerous designs? But Horace, as well as Tully, might discover that records are needful to preserve the memory of actions, and that no records were so durable as poems; either of them might find out that life is short, and that we consume it in unnecessary labour. There are other flowers of fiction so widely scat- tered and so easily cropped, that it is scarcely just to tax the use of them as an act by which any par- ticular writer is despoiled of his garland; for they may be said to have been planted by the ancients in the open road of poetry for the accommodation of their successors, and to be the right of every one that has art to pluck them without injuring their colours or their fragrance. The passage of Orpheus to hell, with the recovery and second loss of Eurydice, have been described after Boetius by Pope, in such a manner as might justly leave him suspected of imitation, were not the images such as they might both have derived from more ancient writers. Que sontes agitant metu Ultrices scelerum dew Jam meste lacrymis madent, Non Ixionium caput Velox precipitat rota. The pow’rs of vengeance, while they hear, Touch’d with compassion, drop a tear: Ixion’s rapid wheel is bound, Fix’d in attention to the sound. F. Lewis. Thy stone, O Sysiphus, stands still, Ixion rests upon the wheel, And the pale spectres dance! The furies sink upon their iron beds. Porr. 196 THE RAMBLER Tandem, vincimur, arbiter Umbrarum, miserans, ait—— Donemus, comitem viro, Emtam carmine, conjugem. Subdu’d at length, Hell’s pitying monarch cry’d, The song rewarding, let us yield the bride. ¥. Lewis. He sung; and hell consented To hear the poet’s prayer; Stern Proserpine relented, And gave him back the fair. Pops. Heu, noctis prope terminos Orpheus Eurydicen suam Vidit, perdidit, occidit. Nor yet the golden verge of day begun, When Orpheus, her unhappy lord, Eurydice to life restor’d, At once beheld, and lost, and was undone. F. Lewis. But soon, too soon, the lover turns his eyes: Again she falls, again she dies, she dies! Pore. No writer can be fully convicted of imitation, except there is a concurrence of more resemblance than can be imagined to have happened by chance; as where the same ideas are conjoined without any natural series or necessary coherence, or where not only the thought but the words are copied. Thus it can scarcely be doubted, that in the first of the following passages Pope remembered Ovid, and that in the second he copied Crashaw: Sepe pater diwit, studium quid inutile tentas? Meon des nullas ipse reliquit opes —— Sponte sua carmen numeros veniebat ad aptos, Ht quod conabar scribere, versus erat. Ovip. Quit, quit this barren trade, my father cry’d: Ev’n Homer left no riches when he dy’d— In verse spontaneous flow’d my native strain, Fore’d by no sweat or labour of the brain. F. Lewis. 197 THE RAMBLER I left no calling for this idle trade; No duty broke, no father disobey’d; While yet a child, ere yet a fool to fame, I lisp’d in numbers, for the numbers came. Pore. -——This plain floor, Believe me, reader, can say more Than many a braver marble can, Here lies a truly honest man. CrasHAw. This modest stone, what few vain marbles can, May truly say, Here lies an honest man. Pope. Conceits, or thoughts not immediately impressed by sensible objects, or necessarily arising from the coalition or comparison of common sentiments, may be with great justice suspected whenever they are found a second time. Thus Waller probably owed to Grotius an elegant compliment: Here lies the learned Savil’s heir, So early wise, and lasting fair, That none, except her years they told, Thought her a child, or thought her old. WALLER. Unica lux secli, genitoris gloria, nemo Quem puerum, nemo credidit esse senem. Gror. The age’s miracle, his father’s joy! Nor old you would pronounce him, nora boy. F. Lrewts. And Prior was indebted for a pretty illustration to Alleyne’s poetical history of Henry the Seventh: For nought but light itself, itself can shew, And only kings can write, what kings can do. ALLEYNE. Your musick’s pow’r your musick must disclose, For what light is, *tis only light that shews. Prior. And with yet more certainty may the same writer be censured, for endeavouring the clandes- tine appropriation of a thought which he borrowed, 198 THE RAMBLER surely without thinking himself disgraced, from an epigram of Plato: Ty Hagin t0 xdtontpov, exee tutn pev 0pacbac 06x 20chw, oi'n © fy xdpos, od dbvapac. Venus, take my votive glass, Since I am not what I was ; What from this day I shall be, Venus, let me never see. As not every instance of similitude can be con- sidered as a proof of imitation, so not every imita- tion ought to be stigmatized as plagiarism. The adoption of a noble sentiment, or the insertion of a borrowed ornament, may sometimes display so much judgment as will almost compensate for in- vention: and an inferior genius may, without any imputation of servility, pursue the path of the ancients, provided he declines to tread in their footsteps. No. 144. SATURDAY, AUGUST 3, 1751 Daphnidis arcum Fregisti et calamos: que tu, perverse Menalca, Ht quum vidisti puero donata, dolebas; Et si non aliqua nocuisses, mortuus esses. Vira. Ee. iii. 12. The bow of Daphnis and the shafts you broke; When the fair boy receiv’d the gift of right; And but for mischief, you had dy’d for spite. Drynpen. T is impossible to mingle in conversation without observing the difficulty with which a new name makes its way into the world. The first appearance of excellence unites multitudes against it; unex- pected opposition rises up on every side; the 199 THE RAMBLER celebrated and the obscure join in the confederacy ; subtlety furnishes arms to impudence, and inven- tion leads on credulity. The strength and unanimity of this alliance is not easily conceived. It might be expected that no man should suffer his heart to be inflamed with malice, but by injuries; that none should busy him- self in contesting the pretensions of another, but when some right of his own was involved in the question; that at least hostilities, commenced with- out cause, should quickly cease; that the armies of malignity should soon disperse, when no common interest could be found to hold them together; and that the attack upon a rising character should be left to those who had something to hope or fear from the event. The hazards of those that aspire to eminence, would be much diminished if they had none but acknowledged rivals to encounter. Their enemies would then be few, and, what is yet of greater im- portance, would be known. But what caution is sufficient to ward off the blows of invisible assail- ants, or what force can stand against uninterrupted attacks, and a continual succession of enemies ? Yet such is the state of the world, that no sooner can any man emerge from the crowd, and fix the eyes of the publick upon him, than he stands as a mark to the arrows of lurking calumny, and receives in the tumult of hostility, from distant and from nameless hands, wounds not always easy to be cured. 200 THE RAMBLER It is probable that the onset against the candi- dates for renown, is originally incited by those who imagine themselves in danger of suffering by their success; but, when war is once declared, volunteers flock to the standard, multitudes follow the camp only for want of employment, and flying squadrons are dispersed to every part, so pleased with an op- portunity of mischief, that they toil without pros- pect of praise, and pillage without hope of profit. When any man has endeavoured to deserve dis- tinction, he will be surprised to hear himself cen- sured where he could not expect to have been named ; he will find the utmost acrimony of malice among those whom he never could have offended. As there are to be found in the service of envy men of every diversity of temper and degree of understanding, calumny is diffused by all arts and methods of propagation. Nothing is too gross or too refined, too cruel or too trifling, to be prac- tised; very little regard is had to the rules of hon- ourable hostility, but every weapon is accounted lawful, and those that cannot make a thrust at life are content to keep themselves in play with petty malevolence, to tease with feeble blows and im- potent disturbance. But as the industry of observation has divided the most miscellaneous and confused assemblages into proper classes, and ranged the insects of the summer, that torment us with their drones or stings, by their several tribes; the persecutors of merit, notwithstanding their numbers, may be like- 201 THE RAMBLER wise commodiously distinguished into Roarers, Whisperers, and Moderators. * The Roarer is an enemy rather terrible than dangerous. He has no other qualification for a champion of controversy than a hardened front and strong voice. Having seldom so much desire to confute as to silence, he depends rather upon vociferation than argument, and has very little care to adjust one part of his accusation to another, to preserve decency in his language, or probability in his narratives. He has always a store of reproachful epithets and contemptuous appellations, ready to be produced as occasion may require, which by constant use he pours out with resistless volubility. If the wealth of a trader is mentioned, he without hesitation devotes him to bankruptcy; if the beauty and elegance of a lady be commended, he wonders how the town can fall in love with rustick deformity; if a new performance of genius hap- pens to be celebrated, he pronounces the writer a hopeless idiot, without knowledge of books or life, and without the understanding by which it must be acquired. His exaggerations are generally with- out effect upon those whom he compels to hear them; and though it will sometimes happen that the timorous are awed by his violence, and the credulous mistake his confidence for knowledge, yet the opinions which he endeavours to suppress soon recover their former strength, as the trees that bend to the tempest erect themselves again when its force is past. 202 THE RAMBLER The. Whisperer is more dangerous. He easily gains attention by a soft address, and excites curi- osity by an air of importance. As secrets are not to be made cheap by promiscuous publication, he calls a select audience about him, and gratifies their vanity with an appearance of trust by communi- cating his intelligence in a low voice. Of the trader he can tell that, though he seems to manage an ex- tensive commerce, and talks in high terms of the funds, yet his wealth is not equal to his reputation; he has lately suffered much by an expensive pro- ject, and had a greater share than is acknowledged in the rich ship that perished by the storm. Of the beauty he has little to say, but that they who see her in a morning do not discover all those graces which are admired in the Park. Of the writer he affirms with great certainty, that though the ex- cellence of the work be incontestible, he can claim but a small part of the reputation; that he owed most of the images and sentiments to a secret friend; and that the accuracy and equality of the style was produced by the successive correction of the chief criticks of the age. As every one is pleased with imagining that he knows something not yet commonly divulged, secret history easily gains credit; but it is for the most part believed only while it circulates in whis- pers; and when once it is openly told, is openly confuted. The most pernicious enemy is the man of Mod- eration. Without interest in the question, or any 2038 THE RAMBLER motive but honest curiosity, this impartial and zealous inquirer after truth is ready to hear either side, and always disposed to kind interpretations and favourable opinions. He hath heard the trader’s affairs reported with great variation, and, after a diligent comparison of the evidence, concludes it probable that the splendid superstructure of busi- ness being originally built upon a narrow basis, has lately been found to totter; but between dilatory payment and bankruptcy there is a great distance; many merchants have supported themselves by ex- pedients for a time, without any final injury to their creditors; and what is lost by one adventure may be recovered by another. He believes that a young lady pleased with admiration, and desirous to make perfect what is already excellent, may heighten her charms by artificial improvements, but surely most of her beauties must be genuine, and who can say that he is wholly what he endeavours to appear ? The author he knows to be a man of diligence, who perhaps does not sparkle with the fire of Homer, but has the judgment to discover his own deficiencies, and to supply them by the help of others; and, in his opinion, modesty is a quality so amiable and rare, that it ought to find a patron wherever it appears, and may justly be preferred by the publick suffrage to petulant wit and ostenta- tious literature. He who thus discovers failings with unwilling- ness, and extenuates the faults which cannot be denied, puts an end at once to doubt or vindica- 204 THE RAMBLER tion; his hearers repose upon his candour and verac- ity, and admit the charge without allowing the excuse. Such are the arts by which the envious, the idle, the peevish, and the thoughtless, obstruct that worth which they cannot equal, and, by artifices thus easy, sordid, and detestable, is industry de- feated, beauty blasted, and genius depressed. No. 145. TUESDAY, AUGUST 6, 1751 Non, st priores Meonius tenet Sedes Homerus, Pindarice latent, Coceque, et Alcai minaces, Stesichorique graves Camene. Hor. Lib. iv. Od. ix. 5. What though the muse her Homer thrones High above all the immortal quire; Nor Pindar’s raptures she disowns, Nor hides the plaintive Czan lyre; Alceeus strikes the tyrant soul with dread, Nor yet is grave Stesichorus unread. Francis. T is allowed that vocations and employments of least dignity are of the most apparent use; that the meanest artizan or manufacturer contributes more to the accommodation of life, than the pro- found scholar and argumentative theorist ; and that the publick would suffer less present inconvenience from the banishment of philosophers than from the extinction of any common trade. Some have been so forcibly struck with this ob- servation, that they have, in the first warmth of their discovery, thought it reasonable to alter the com- 205 THE RAMBLER mon distribution of dignity, and ventured to con- demn mankind of universal ingratitude. For justice exacts, that those by whom we are most benefited should be most honoured. And what labour can be more useful than that which procures to families and communities those necessaries which supply the wants of nature, or those conveniences by which ease, security, and elegance, are conferred. This is one of the innumerable theories which the first attempt to reduce them into practice certainly destroys. If we estimate dignity by immediate use- fulness, agriculture is undoubtedly the first and noblest science; yet we see the plough driven, the clod broken, the manure spread, the seeds scattered, and the harvest reaped, by men whom those that feed upon their industry will never be persuaded to admit into the same rank with heroes, or with sages; and who, after all the confessions which truth may extort in favour of their occupation, must be content to fill up the lowest class of the common- wealth, to form the base of the pyramid of subor- dination, and lie buried in obscurity themselves, while they support all that is splendid, conspicuous, or exalted. It will be found upon a closer inspection, that this part of the conduct of mankind is by no means contrary to reason or equity. Remuneratory honours are proportioned at once to the usefulness and diffi- culty of performances, and are properly adjusted by comparison of the mental and corporeal abilities, which they appear to employ. That work, however 206 THE RAMBLER necessary, which is carried on only by muscular strength and manual dexterity, is not of equal esteem, in the consideration of rational beings, with the tasks that exercise the intellectual powers, and require the active vigour of imagination or the gradual and laborious investigations of reason. The merit of all manual occupations seems to terminate in the inventor; and surely the first ages cannot be charged with ingratitude; since those who civilized barbarians, and taught them how to secure themselves from cold and hunger, were num- bered amongst their deities. But these arts once discovered by philosophy, and facilitated by experi- ence, are afterwards practised with very little assist- ance from the faculties of the soul; nor is any thing necessary to the regular discharge of these inferior duties, beyond that rude observation which the most sluggish intellect may practise, and that in- dustry which the stimulations of necessity naturally enforce. Yet though the refusal of statues and panegyrick to those who employ only their hands and feet in the service of mankind may be easily justified, [ am far from intending to incite the petulance of pride, to justify the superciliousness of grandeur, or to intercept any part of that tenderness and be- nevolence which, by the privilege of their common nature, one may claim from another. That it would be neither wise nor equitable to discourage the husbandman, the labourer, the miner, or the smith, is generally granted; but there is an- 207 THE RAMBLER other race of beings equally obscure and equally indigent, who, because their usefulness is less obvious to vulgar apprehensions, live unrewarded and die unpitied, and who have been long exposed to insult without a defender, and to censure without an apologist. The authors of London were formerly computed by Swift at several thousands, and there is not any reason for suspecting that their number has de- creased. Of these only a very few can be said to produce, or endeavour to produce, new ideas, to extend any principle of science, or gratify the im- agination with any uncommon train of images or contexture of events; the rest, however laborious, however arrogant, can only be considered as the drudges of the pen, the manufacturers of literature, who have set up for authors, either with or without a regular initiation, and, like other artificers, have no other care than to deliver their tale of wares at the stated time. It has been formerly imagined, that he who in- tends the entertainment or instruction of others, must feel in himself some peculiar impulse of genius; that he must watch the happy minute in which his natural fire is excited, in which his mind is elevated with nobler sentiments, enlightened with clearer views, and invigorated with stronger compre- hension; that he must carefully select his thoughts and polish his expressions; and animate his efforts with the hope of raising a monument of learning, which neither time nor envy shall be able to destroy. 208 THE RAMBLER But the authors whom I am now endeavouring to recommend have been too long hackneyed in the ways of men to indulge the chimerical ambition of immortality: they have seldom any claim to the trade of writing, but that they have tried some other without success; they perceive no particular summons to composition, except the sound of the clock; they have no other rule than the law or the fashion for admitting their thoughts or rejecting them; and about the opinion of posterity they have little solicitude, for their productions are seldom intended to remain in the world longer than a week. That such authors are not to be rewarded with praise is evident, since nothing can be admired when it ceases to exist; but surely, though they cannot aspire to honour, they may be exempted from ignominy, and adopted in that order of men which deserves our kindness, though not our rever- ence. These papers of the day, the Hphemere of learning, have uses more adequate to the purposes of common life than more pompous and durable volumes. If it is necessary for every man to be more acquainted with his contemporaries than with past generations, and to rather know the events which may immediately affect his fortune or quiet, than the revolutions of ancient kingdoms, in which he has neither possessions nor expectations; if it be pleasing to hear of the preferment and dismission of statesmen, the birth of heirs, and the marriage of beauties, the humble author of journals and ga- Vou. 3—14 209 THE RAMBLER zettes must be considered as a liberal dispenser of beneficial knowledge. Even the abridger, compiler, and_ translator, though their labours cannot be ranked with those of the diurnal historiographer, yet must not be rashly doomed to annihilation. Every size of read- ers requires a genius of correspondent capacity; some delight in abstracts and epitomes, because they want room in their memory for long details, and content themselves with effects, without inquiry after causes; some minds are overpowered by splen- dour of sentiment, as some eyes are offended by a glaring light; such will gladly contemplate an author in an humble imitation, as we look without pain upon the sun in the water. As every writer has his use, every writer ought to have his patrons; and since no man, however high he may now stand, can be certain that he shall not be soon thrown down from his elevation by criti- cism or caprice, the common interest of learning requires that her sons should cease from intestine hostilities, and, instead of sacrificing each other to malice and contempt, endeavour to avert persecu- tion from the meanest of their fraternity. 210 THE RAMBLER No. 146. SATURDAY, AUGUST 10, 1751 Sunt illic duo, tresve, qui revolvant Nostrarum tineas ineptiarum; Sed cum sponsio, fabuleque lasse De scorpo fuerint incitato. Marr. Tis possible that one or two These fooleries of mine may view; But then the bettings must be o’er, Nor Crab or Childers talk’d of more. F. Lewis. ONE of the projects or designs which exercise the mind of man are equally subject to obstruc- tions and disappointments with pursuit of fame. Riches cannot easily be denied to them who have something of greater value to offer in exchange; he whose fortune is endangered by litigation, will not refuse to augment the wealth of the lawyer; he whose days are darkened by languor, or whose nerves are excruciated by pain, is compelled to pay tribute to the science of healing. But praise may be always omitted without inconvenience. When once a man has made celebrity necessary to his happi- ness, he has put it in the power of the weakest and most timorous malignity, if not to take away his satisfaction, at least to withhold it. His enemies may indulge their pride by airy negligence, and gratify their malice by quiet neutrality. They that could never have injured a character by invectives, may combine to annihilate it by silence; as the women of Rome threatened to put an end to con- quest and dominion, by supplying no children to the commonwealth. 211 THE RAMBLER When a writer has with long toil produced a work intended to burst upon mankind with unex- pected lustre, and withdraw the attention of the learned world from every other controversy or inquiry, he is seldom contented to wait long with- out the enjoyment of his new praises. With an imagination full of his own importance, he walks out like a monarch in disguise to learn the various opinions of his readers. Prepared to feast upon ad- miration; composed to encounter censures without emotion; and determined not to suffer his quiet to be injured by a sensibility too exquisite of praise or blame, but to laugh with equal contempt at vain objections and injudicious commendations, he enters the places of mingled conversation, sits down to his tea in an obscure corner, and, while he appears to examine a file of antiquated journals, catches the conversation of the whole room. He listens, but hears no mention of his book, and therefore supposes that he has disappointed his curiosity by delay; and that as men of learning would naturally begin their conversation with such a wonderful novelty, they had digressed to other subjects before his arrival. The company disperses, and their places are supplied by others equally ig- norant, or equally careless. The same expectation hurries him to another place, from which the same disappointment drives him soon away. His impa- tience then grows violent and tumultuous; he ranges over the town with restless curiosity, and hears in one quarter of a cricket-match, in another 212 THE RAMBLER ot a pick-pocket; is told by some of an unexpected bankruptcy; by others of a turtle feast; is some- times provoked by importunate inquiries after the white bear, and sometimes with praises of the dancing dog;; he is afterwards entreated to give his judgment upon a wager about the height of the Monument; invited to see a foot-race in the adja- cent villages; desired to read a ludicrous advertise- ment; or consulted about the most effectual method of making inquiry after a favourite cat. The whole world is busied in affairs which he thinks below the notice of reasonable creatures, and which are nevertheless sufficient to withdraw all regard from his labours and his merits. He resolves at last to violate his own modesty, and to recall the talkers from their folly by an in- quiry after himself. He finds every one provided with an answer; one has seen the work advertised, but never met with any that had read it; another has been so often imposed upon by specious titles, that he never buys a book till its character is established; a third wonders what any man can hope to produce after so many writers of greater eminence; the next has inquired after the author, but can hear no account of him, and therefore sus- pects the name to be fictitious; and another knows him to be a man condemned by indigence to write too frequently what he does not understand. Many are the consolations with which the un- happy author endeavours to allay his vexation, and fortify his patience. He has written with too little 213 THE RAMBLER indulgence to the understanding of common read- ers; he has fallen upon an age in which solid knowledge, and delicate refinement, have given way to a low merriment, and idle buffoonery, and therefore no writer can hope for distinction, who has any higher purpose than to raise laughter. He finds that his enemies, such as superiority will al- ways raise, have been industrious, while his per- formance was in the press, to vilify and blast it; and that the bookseller, whom he had resolved to enrich, has rivals that obstruct the circulation of the copies. He at last reposes upon the considera- tion, that the noblest works of learning and genius have always made their way slowly against igno- rance and prejudice; and that reputation, which is never to be lost, must be gradually obtained, as animals of longest life are observed not soon to at- tain their full stature and strength. By such arts of voluntary delusion does every man endeavour to conceal his own unimportance from himself. It is long before we are convinced of the small proportion which every individual bears to the collective body of mankind; or learn how few can be interested in the fortune of any single man; how little vacancy is left in the world for any new object of attention; to how small extent the brightest blaze of merit can be spread amidst the mists of business and of folly; and how soon it is clouded by the intervention of other novelties. Not only the writer of books, but the commander of armies, and the deliverer of nations, will easily 214 THE RAMBLER outlive all noisy and popular reputation; he may be celebrated for a time by the publick voice, but his actions and his name will soon be considered as re- mote and unaffecting, and be rarely mentioned but by those whose alliance gives them some vanity to gratify by frequent commemoration. It seems not to be sufficiently considered how little renown can be admitted in the world. Man- kind are kept perpetually busy by their fears or desires, and have not more leisure from their own affairs, than to acquaint themselves with the acci- dents of the current day. Engaged in contriving some refuge from calamity, or in shortening the way to some new possession, they seldom suffer their thoughts to wander to the past or future; none but a few solitary students have leisure to in- quire into the claims of ancient heroes or sages; and names which hoped to range over kingdoms and continents, shrink at last into cloisters or colleges. Nor is it certain, that even of these dark and narrow habitations, these last retreats of fame, the possession will be long kept. Of men devoted to literature, very few extend their views beyond some particular science, and the greater part seldom in- quire, even in their own profession, for any authors but those whom the present mode of study hap- pens to force upon their notice; they desire not to fill their minds with unfashionable knowledge, but contentedly resign to oblivion those books which they now find censured or neglected. The hope of fame is necessarily connected with 215 THE RAMBLER such considerations as must abate the ardour of confidence, and repress the vigour of pursuit. Who- ever claims renown from any kind of excellence, expects to fill the place which is now possessed by another; for there are already names of every class sufficient to employ all that will desire to remem- ber them; and surely he that is pushing his prede- cessors into the gulph of obscurity, cannot but sometimes suspect, that he must himself sink in like manner, and, as he stands upon the same preci- pice, be swept away with the same violence. It sometimes happens, that fame begins when life is at an end; but far the greater number of candi- dates for applause have owed their reception in the world to some favourable casualties, and have there- fore immediately sunk into neglect, when death stripped them of their casual influence, and neither fortune nor patronage operated in their favour. Among those who have better claims to regard, the honour paid to their memory is commonly proportionate to the reputation which they enjoyed in their lives, though still growing fainter, as it is at a greater distance from the first emission; and since it is so difficult to obtain the notice of contempo- raries, how little is to be hoped from future times ? What can merit effect by its own force, when the help of art or friendship can scarcely support it ? 216 THE RAMBLER No. 147. TUESDAY, AUGUST 13, 1751 Tu nihil invita dices faciesve Minerva. Hor. Ar. Poet. 385. You are of too quick a sight, Not to discern which way your talent lies. Roscommon. TO THE RAMBLER. SIR, S little things grow great by continual accu- mulation, I hope you will not think the dignity of your character impaired by an account of a ludi- crous persecution, which, though it produced no scenes of horrour or of ruin, yet, by incessant im- portunity of vexation, wears away my happiness, and consumes those years which nature seems par- ticularly to have assigned to cheerfulness, in silent anxiety and helpless resentment. I am the eldest son of a gentleman, who having inherited a large estate from his ancestors, and feel- ing no desire either to increase or lessen it, has from the time of his marriage generally resided at his own seat; where, by dividing his time among the duties of a father, a master, and a magistrate, the study of literature, and the offices of civility, he finds means to rid himself of the day, without any of those amusements, which all those with whom my residence in this place has made me acquainted, think necessary to lighten the burthen of existence. When my age made me capable of instruction, my father prevailed upon a gentleman, long known at Oxford for the extent of his learning and the 217 THE RAMBLER purity of his manners, to undertake my education. The regard with which I saw him treated, disposed me to consider his instructions as important, and I therefore soon formed a habit of attention, by which I made very quick advances in different kinds of learning, and heard, perhaps too often, very flattering comparisons of my own proficiency with that of others, either less docile by nature, or less happily forwarded by instruction. I was ca- ressed by all that exchanged visits with my father; and as young men are with little difficulty taught to judge favourably of themselves, began to think that close application was no longer necessary, and that the time was now come when I was at liberty to read only for amusement, and was to receive the reward of my fatigues in praise and admiration. While I was thus banqueting upon my own per- fections, and longing in secret to escape from tutor- age, my father’s brother came from London to pass a summer at his native place. A lucrative employ- ment which he possessed, and a fondness for the conversation and diversions of the gay part of man- kind, had so long kept him from rural excursions, that I had never seen him since my infancy. My curiosity was therefore strongly excited by the hope of observing a character more nearly, which I had hitherto reverenced only at a distance. From all private and intimate conversation, I was long withheld by the perpetual confluence of visitants with whom the first news of my uncle’s arrival crowded the house; but was amply recom- 218 THE RAMBLER pensed by seeing an exact and punctilious practice of the arts of a courtier, in all the stratagems of endearment, the gradations of respect, and varia- tions of courtesy. I remarked with what justice of distribution he divided his talk to a wide circle; with what address he offered to every man an oc- easion of indulging some favourite topick, or dis- playing some particular attainment; the judgment with which he regulated his inquiries after the ab- sent; and the care with which he shewed all the companions of his early years how strongly they were infixed in his memory, by the mention of past incidents and the recital of puerile kindnesses, dan- gers, and frolicks. I soon discovered that he pos- sessed some seience of graciousness and attraction which books had not taught, and of which neither I nor my father had any knowledge; that he had the power of obliging those whom he did not bene- fit; that he diffused, upon his cursory behaviour and most trifling actions, a gloss of softness and delicacy by which every one was dazzled; and that, by some occult method of captivation, he animated the timorous, softened the supercilious, and opened the reserved. I could not but repine at the inele- gance of my own manners, which left me no hopes but not to offend, and at the inefficacy of rustick benevolence, which gained no friends but by real service. My uncle saw the veneration with which I caught every accent of his voice, and watched every motion of his hand; and the awkward dili- 219 THE RAMBLER gence with which I endeavoured to imitate his embrace of fondness, and his bow of respect. He was, like others, easily flattered by an imitator by whom he could not fear ever to be rivalled, and repaid my assiduities with compliments and pro- fessions. Our fondness was so increased by a mu- tual endeavour to please each other, that when he returned to London, he declared himself unable to leave a nephew so amiable and so accomplished behind him; and obtained my father’s permission to enjoy my company for a few months, by a promise to initiate me in the arts of politeness, and introduce me into publick life. The courtier had little inclination to fatigue, and therefore, by travelling very slowly, afforded me time for more loose and familiar conversation; but I soon found, that by a few inquiries which he was not well prepared to satisfy, I had made him weary of his young companion. His element was a mixed assembly, where ceremony and healths, compli- ments and common topicks, kept the tongue em- ployed with very little assistance from memory or reflection; but in the chariot, where he was necessi- tated to support a regular tenour of conversation, without any relief from a new comer, or any power of starting into gay digressions, or destroying argu- ment by a jest, he soon discovered that poverty of ideas which had been hitherto concealed under the tinsel of politeness. The first day he entertained me with the novelties and wonders with which I should be astonished at my entrance into London, 220 THE RAMBLER and cautioned me with apparent admiration of his own wisdom against the arts by which rusticity is frequently deluded. The same detail and the same advice he would have repeated on the second day ; but as I every moment diverted the discourse to the history of the towns by which we passed, or some other subject of learning or of reason, he soon lost his vivacity, grew peevish and silent, wrapped his cloak about him, composed himself to slumber, and reserved his gaiety for fitter auditors. At length I entered London, and my uncle was reinstated in his superiority. He awaked at once to loquacity as soon as our wheels rattled on the pave- ment, and told me the name of every street as we crossed it, and owner of every house as we passed by. He presented me to my aunt, a lady of great eminence for the number of her acquaintances, and splendour of her assemblies, and either in kindness or revenge consulted with her, in my presence, how I might be most advantageously dressed for my first appearance, and most expeditiously disencum- bered from my villatick bashfulness. My indignation at familiarity thus contemptuous flushed in my face; they mistook anger for shame, and alternately exerted their eloquence upon the benefits of publick education, and the happiness of an assurance early acquired. Assurance is, indeed, the only qualification to which they seem to have annexed merit, and assur- ance, therefore, is perpetually recommended to me as the supply of every defect, and the ornament of 221 THE RAMBLER every excellence. I never sit silent in company when secret history is circulating, but I am reproached for want of assurance. If I fail to return the stated answer to a compliment; if I am disconcerted by unexpected raillery; if I blush when I am discov- ered gazing on a beauty, or hesitate when I find myself embarrassed in an argument; if I am unwill- ing to talk of what I do not understand, or timorous in undertaking offices which I cannot gracefully perform; if I suffer a more lively tatler to recount the casualties of a game, or a nimbler fop to pick up a fan, 1 am censured between pity and con- tempt, as a wretch doomed to grovel in obscurity for want of assurance. I have found many young persons harassed in the same manner, by those to whom age has given nothing but the assurance which they recommend; and therefore cannot but think it useful to inform them, that cowardice and delicacy are not to be confounded; and that he whose stupidity has armed him against the shafts of ridicule, will always act and speak with greater audacity, than they whose sensibility represses their ardour, and who dare never let their confidence outgrow their abilities. 222 THE RAMBLER No. 148. SATURDAY, AUGUST 17, 1751 Me pater sevis oneret catenis, Quod viro clemens misero peperci: Me vel extremis Numidarum in agros Classe releget. Hor. Lib. iii. Od. xi. 45. Me let my father load with chains, Or banish to Numidia’s farthest plains! My crime, that I, a loyal wife, In kind compassion sav’d my husband’s life. FRaNcIs. OLITICIANS remark, that no oppression is so heavy or lasting as that which is inflicted by the perversion and exorbitance of legal authority. The robber may be seized, and the invader repelled, whenever they are found; they who pretend no right but that of force, may by force be punished or suppressed. But when plunder bears the name of impost, and murder is perpetrated by a judicial sentence, fortitude is intimidated, and wisdom con- founded: resistance shrinks from an alliance with rebellion, and the villain remains secure in the robes of the magistrate. Equally dangerous and equally detestable are the cruelties often exercised in private families, under the venerable sanction of parental authority; the power which we are taught to honour from the first moments of reason; which is guarded from insult and violation by all that can impress awe upon the mind of man; and which therefore may wanton in cruelty without control, and trample the bounds of right with innumerable transgressions, before duty and piety will dare to seek redress, or think 223 THE RAMBLER themselves at liberty to recur to any other means of deliverance than supplications by which insolence is elated, and tears by which cruelty is gratified. It was for a long time imagined by the Romans, that no son could be the murderer of his father; and they had therefore no punishment appropriated to parricide. They seem likewise to have believed with equal confidence, that no father could be cruel to his child; and therefore they allowed every man the supreme judicature in his own house, and put the lives of his offspring into his hands. But ex- perience informed them by degrees, that they de- termined too hastily in favour of human nature; they found that instinct and habit were not able to contend with avarice or malice; that the nearest relation might be violated; and that power, to whomsoever intrusted, might be ill employed. They were therefore obliged to supply and to change their institutions; to deter the parricide by a new law, and to transfer capital punishments from the parent to the magistrate. There are indeed many houses which it is impos- sible to enter familiarly, without discovering that parents are by no means exempt from the intoxi- cations of dominion; and that he who is in no danger of hearing remonstrances but from his own conscience, will seldom be long without the art of controling his convictions, and modifying justice by his own will. | If in any situation the heart were inaccessible to — malignity, it might be supposed to be sufficiently 224 | Painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds,PRA. S WENTWORTH la CHARLIE MARQUIS OF ROCKINGHAM THE RAMBLER secured by parental relation. To have voluntarily become to any being the occasion of its existence, produces an obligation to make that existence happy. To see helpless infancy stretching out her hands, and pouring out her cries in testimony of dependence, without any powers to alarm jealousy, or any guilt to alienate affection, must surely awaken tenderness in every human mind; and tenderness once excited will be hourly increased by the natural contagion of felicity, by the repercussion of com- municated pleasure, by the consciousness of the dignity of benefaction. I believe no generous or benevolent man can see the vilest animal courting his regard, and shrinking at his anger, playing his gambols of delight before him, calling on him in _ distress, and flying to him in danger, without more kindness than he can persuade himself to feel for the wild and unsocial inhabitants of the air and water. We naturally endear to ourselves those to whom we impart any kind of pleasure, because we imagine their affection and esteem secured to us by the benefits which they receive. There is, indeed, another method by which the pride of superiority may be likewise gratified. He that has extinguished all the sensations of human- ity, and has no longer any satisfaction in the reflec- tion that he is loved as the distributor of happiness, may please himself with exciting terrour as the in- flictor of pain: he may delight his solitude with contemplating the extent of his power and the force of his commands; in imagining the desires Vor. 3—15 225 THE RAMBLER that flutter on the tongue which is forbidden to utter them, or the discontent which preys on the heart in which fear confines it: he may amuse him- self with new contrivances of detection, multiplica- tions of prohibition, and varieties of punishment; and swell with exultation when he considers how little of the homage that he receives he owes to choice. That princes of this character have been known, the history of all absolute kingdoms will inform us; and since, as Aristotle observes, 4 otxovopix) povapX fa, the government of a family is naturally monarchical, it is, like other monarchies, too often arbitrarily administered. The regal and parental tyrant differ only in the extent of their dominions, and the num- ber of their slaves. The same passions cause the same miseries; except that seldom any prince, how- ever despotick, has so far shaken off all awe of the publick eye, as to venture upon those freaks of in- justice, which are sometimes indulged under the secrecy of a private dwelling. Capricious injunc- tions, partial decisions, unequal allotments, distri- butions of reward, not by merit, but by fancy, and punishments, regulated not by the degree of the offence, but by the humour of the judge, are too frequent where no power is known but that of a father. That he delights in the misery of others, no man will confess, and yet what other motive can make a father cruel? The king may be instigated by one man to the destruction of another; he may some- times think himself endangered by the virtues of a 226 THE RAMBLER subject; he may dread the successful general or the popular orator; his avarice may point out golden confiscations; and his guilt may whisper that he can only be secure by cutting off all power of revenge. But what can a parent hope from the oppression of those who were born to his protection, of those who can disturb him with no competition, who can enrich him with no spoils ? Why cowards are cruel may be easily discovered; but for what reason, not more infamous than cowardice, can that man de- light in oppression who has nothing to fear ? The unjustifiable severity of a parent is loaded with this aggravation, that those whom he injures are always in his sight. The injustice of a prince is often exercised upon those of whom he never had any personal or particular knowledge; and the sen- tence which he pronounces, whether of banishment, imprisonment, or death, removes from his view the man whom he condemns. But the domestick op- pressor dooms himself to gaze upon those faces which he clouds with terrour and with sorrow; and beholds every moment the effects of his own bar- barities. He that can bear to give continual pain to those who surround him, and can walk with satis- faction in the gloom of his own presence; he that can see submissive misery without relenting, and meet without emotion the eye that implores mercy, or demands justice, will scarcely be amended by remonstrance or admonition; he has found means of stopping the avenues of tenderness, and arming his heart against the force of reason. 227 THE RAMBLER Even though no consideration should be paid to the great law of social beings, by which every indi- vidual is commanded to consult the happiness of others, yet the harsh parent is less to be vindicated than any other criminal, because he less provides for the happiness of himself. Every man, however little he loves others, would willingly be loved; every man hopes to live long, and therefore hopes for that time at which he shall sink back to imbe- cility, and must depend for ease and cheerfulness upon the officiousness of others. But how has he obviated the inconveniences of old age, who alien- ates from him the assistance of his children, and whose bed must be surrounded in the last hours, in the hours of languor and dejection, of impatience and of pain, by strangers to whom his life is indiffer- ent, or by enemies to whom his death is desirable ? Piety will, indeed, in good minds overcome prov- ocation, and those who have been harassed by brutality will forget the injuries which they have suffered, so far as to perform the last duties with alacrity and zeal. But surely no resentment can be equally painful with kindness thus undeserved, nor can severer punishment be imprecated upon a man not wholly lost in meanness and stupidity, than, through the tediousness of decreptitude, to be re- proached by the kindness of his own children, to receive not the tribute but the alms of attendance, and to owe every relief of his miseries, not to gratitude but to mercy. 228 THE RAMBLER No. 149. TUESDAY, AUGUST 20, 1751 Quod non sit Pylades hoc tempore, non sit Orestes, Miraris? Pylades, Marce, bibebat idem. Nec melior panis, turdusve dabatur Oresti : Sed par, atque eadem cena duobus erat. Te Cadmea Tyros, me pinguis Gallia vestit : Vis te purpureum, Marce, sagatus amem ? Ut prestem Pylanden, aliquis mihi prestet Oresiem. Hoc non jit verbis, Marce: ut ameris, ama. Mart. Lib. vi. Ep. xi. You wonder now that no man sees Such friends as those of ancient Greece. Here lay the point-——Orestes’ meat Was just the same his friend did eat; Nor can it yet be found, his wine Was better, Pylades, than thine. In home-spun russet, I am drest, Your cloth is always of the best; But, honest Marcus, if you please To chuse me for your Pylades, Remember, words alone are vain; Love——if you would be lov’d again. F. Lewis. TO THE RAMBLER. SIR, O depravity of the mind has been more fre- quently or justly censured than ingratitude. There is indeed sufficient reason for looking on those that can return evil for good, and repay kindness and assistance, with hatred or neglect, as corrupted beyond the common degrees of wickedness; nor will he, who ‘has once been clearly detected in acts of injury to his benefactor, deserve to be numbered among social beings; he has endeavoured to destroy confidence, to intercept sympathy, and to turn every man’s attention wholly on himself. 229 THE RAMBLER There is always danger lest the honest abhorrence of a crime should raise the passions with too much violence against the man to whom it is imputed. In proportion as guilt is more enormous, it ought to be ascertained by stronger evidence. The charge against ingratitude is very general; almost every man can tell what favours he has conferred upon insensibility, and how much happiness he has be- stowed without return; but perhaps, if these pa- trons and protectors were confronted with any whom they boast of having befriended, it would often appear that they consulted only their pleas- ure or vanity, and repaid themselves their petty donatives by gratifications of insolence and indul- gence of contempt. It has happened that much of my time has been passed in a dependent state, and consequently I have received many favours in the opinion of those at whose expense I have been maintained; yet I do not feel in my heart any burning gratitude or tumultuous affection; and, as I would not willing suppose myself less susceptible of virtuous passions than the rest of mankind, I shall lay the history of my life before you, that you may, by your judgment of my conduct, either reform, or confirm, my pres- ent sentiments. My father was the second son of a very ancient and wealthy family. He married a lady of equal birth, whose fortune, joined to his own, might have supported his posterity in honour; but being gay and ambitious, he prevailed on his friends to pro- 230 THE RAMBLER cure him a post, which gave him an opportunity of displaying his elegance and politeness. My mother was equally pleased with splendour, and equally careless of expense; they both justified their pro- fusion to themselves, by endeavouring to believe it necessary to the extension of their acquaintance, and improvement of their interest; and whenever any place became vacant, they expected to be re- paid. In the midst of these hopes my father was snatched away by an apoplexy; and my mother, who had no pleasure but in dress, equipage, assem- blies, and compliments, finding that she could live no longer in her accustomed rank, sunk into de- jection, and in two years wore out her life with envy and discontent. I was sent with a sister, one year younger than myself, to the elder brother of my father. We were not yet capable of observing how much fortune in- fluences affection, but flattered ourselves on the road with the tenderness and regard with which we should be treated by our uncle. Our reception was rather frigid than malignant; we were intro- duced to our young cousins, and for the first month more frequently consoled than upbraided; but in a short time we found our prattle repressed, our dress neglected, our endearments unregarded, and our requests referred to the housekeeper. - The forms of decency were now violated, and every day produced new insults. We were soon brought to the necessity of receding from our im- agined equality with our cousins, to whom we sunk 231 THE RAMBLER into humble companions without choice or influ- ence, expected only to echo their opinions, facilitate their desires, and accompany their rambles. It was unfortunate that our early introduction into polite company, and habitual knowledge of the arts of civility, had given us such an appearance of superi- ority to the awkward bashfulness of our relations, as naturally drew respect and preference from every stranger; and my aunt was forced to assert the dig- nity of her own children, while they were sculking in corners for fear of notice, and hanging down their heads in silent confusion, by relating the in- discretion of our father, displaying her own kind- ness, lamenting the misery of birth without estate, and declaring her anxiety for our future provision, and the expedients which she had formed to secure us from those follies or crimes, to which the con- junction of pride and want often gives occasion. In a short time care was taken to prevent such vexatious mistakes; we were told, that fine clothes would only fill our heads with false expectations, and our dress was therefore accommodated to our fortune. Childhood is not easily dejected or mortified. We felt no lasting pain from insolence or neglect; but finding that we were favoured and commended by all whose interest did not prompt them to dis- countenance us, preserved our vivacity and spirit to years of greater sensibility. It then became irksome and disgusting to live without any principle of ac- tion but the will of another, and we often met pri- 232 THE RAMBLER vately in the garden to lament our condition, and to ease our hearts with mutual narratives of caprice, peevishness, and affront. There are innumerable modes of insult and tokens of contempt, for which it is not easy to find a name, which vanish to nothing in an attempt to describe them, and yet may, by continual repetition, make day pass after day in sorrow and in terrour. Phrases of cursory compliment and established salutation may, by a different modulation of the voice, or cast of the countenance, convey contrary meanings, and be changed from indications of respect to expres- sions of scorn. The dependant who cultivates delicacy in himself, very little consults his own tranquillity. My unhappy vigilance is every moment discovering some petulance of accent, or arrogance of mien, some vehemence of interrogation, or quickness of reply, that recalls my poverty to my mind, and which I feel more acutely, as I know not how to resent it. You are not, however, to imagine, that I think myself discharged from the duties of gratitude, only because my relations do not adjust their looks, or tune their voices to my expectation. The insolence of benefaction terminates not in negative rudeness or obliquities of insult. I am often told in express terms of the miseries from which charity has snatched me, while multitudes are suffered by re- lations equally near to devolve upon the parish; and have more than once heard it numbered among other favours, that I am admitted to the same table with my cousins. 233 THE RAMBLER That I sit at the first table I must acknowledge, but I sit there only that I may feel the stings of inferiority. My inquiries are neglected, my opinion is overborne, my assertions are controverted, and, as insolence always propagates itself, the servants overlook me, in imitation of their master; if I call modestly, I am not heard; if loudly, my usurpation of authority is checked by a general frown. I am often obliged to look uninvited upon delicacies, and sometimes desired to rise upon very slight pretences. The incivilities to which I am exposed would give me less pain, were they not aggravated by the tears of my sister, whom the young ladies are hourly tormenting with every art of feminine per- secution. As it is said of the supreme magistrate of Venice, that he is a prince in one place and a slave in another, my sister is a servant to her cousins in their apartments, and a companion only at the table. Her wit and beauty drew so much regard away from them, that they never suffer her to ap- pear with them in any place where they solicit notice, or expect admiration; and when they are visited by neighbouring ladies and pass their hours in domestick amusements, she is sometimes called to fill a vacancy, insulted with contemptuous free- doms, and dismissed to her needle, when her place is supplied. The heir has of late, by the instigation of his sisters, begun to harass her with clownish jocularity ; he seems inclined to make his first rude essays of waggery upon her; and by the connivance, if not encouragement, of his father, treats her with 234 THE RAMBLER such licentious brutality, as I cannot bear, though I cannot punish it. I beg to be informed, Mr. Rambler, how much we can be supposed to owe to beneficence, exerted on terms like these ? to beneficence which pollutes its gifts with contumely, and may be truly said to pander to pride ? I would willingly be told, whether insolence does not reward its own liberalities, and whether he that exacts servility can, with justice, at the same time, expect affection ? I am, Sir, &e. HyPpERDULUS. No. 150. SATURDAY, AUGUST 24, 1751 ——O munera nondum Intellecta Detim ! Lucan. Thou chiefest good! Bestow’d by Heav’n, but seldom understood. Rowe. S daily experience makes it evident that mis- fortunes are unavoidably incident to human life, that calamity will neither be repelled by forti- tude, nor escaped by flight; neither awed by great- ness, nor eluded by obscurity; philosophers have endeavoured to reconcile us to that condition which they cannot teach us to mend, by persuading us that most of our evils are made afflictive only by ignorance or perverseness, and that nature has annexed to every vicissitude of external circum- stances some advantage sufficient to overbalance all its inconveniences. This attempt may, perhaps, be justly suspected 235 THE RAMBLER of resemblance to the practice of physicians, who, when they cannot mitigate pain, destroy sensibility, and endeavour to conceal, by opiates, the inefficacy of their other medicines. The panegyrists of calam- ity have more frequently gained applause to their wit, than acquiescence to their arguments; nor has it appeared that the most musical oratory, or subtle ratiocination, has been able long to overpower the anguish of oppression, the tediousness of languor, or the longings of want. Yet, it may be generally remarked, that, where much has been attempted, something has been per- formed; though the discoveries or acquisitions of man are not always adequate to the expectations of his pride, they are at least sufficient to animate his industry. The antidotes with which philosophy has medicated the cup of life, though they cannot give it salubrity and sweetness, have at least allayed its bitterness, and contempered its malignity; the balm which she drops upon the wounds of the mind abates their pain, though it cannot heal them. By suffering willingly what we cannot avoid, we secure ourselves from vain and immoderate dis- quiet; we preserve for better purposes that strength which would be unprofitably wasted in wild efforts of desperation, and maintain that circumspection which may enable us to seize every support, and improve every alleviation. This calmness will be more easily obtained, as the attention is more powerfully withdrawn from the contemplation of unmingled unabated evil, and diverted to those 236 THE RAMBLER accidental benefits which prudence may confer on every state. Seneca has attempted, not only to pacify us in misfortune, but almost to allure us to it, by repre- senting it as necessary to the pleasures of the mind. He that never was acquainted with adversity, says he, has seen the world but on one side, and is ignorant of half the scenes of nature. He invites his pupil to calamity, as the Syrens allured the passenger to their coasts, by promising that he shall return zieova edd, With increase of knowledge, with enlarged views, and multiplied ideas. Curiosity is, in great and generous minds, the first passion and the last; and perhaps always predomi- nates in proportion to the strength of the contem- plative faculties. He who easily comprehends all that is before him, and soon exhausts any single subject, is always eager for new inquiries; and, in proportion as the intellectual eye takes in a wider prospect, it must be gratified with variety by more rapid flights, and bolder excursions; nor perhaps can there be proposed to those who have been accus- tomed to the pleasures of thought, a more powerful incitement to any undertaking, than the hope of filling their fancy with new images, of clearing their doubts, and enlightening their reason. When Jason, in Valerius Flaccus, would incline the young prince Acastus to accompany him in the first essay of navigation, he disperses his apprehen- sions of danger by representations of the new tracts of earth and heaven, which the expedition would 237 THE RAMBLER spread before their eyes; and tells him with what grief he will hear, at their return, of the countries which they shall have seen, and the toils which they have surmounted: O quantum terre, quantum cognoscere coli Permissum est! pelague quantos aperimus in usus! Nunc forsan grave reris opus: sed leta recurret Cum ratis, e& caram cum gam mihi reddet Iolcon; Quis pudor heu nostros tibi tunc audire labores! Quam referam visas tua per suspicia gentes! Are. Lib. i. 168. Led by our stars, what tracts immense we trace! From seas remote, what funds of science raise! A pain to thought! but when the heroick band Returns applauded to their native land, A life domestick you will then deplore, And sigh while I describe the various shore. Epw. Cave. Acastus was soon prevailed upon by his curiosity to set rocks and hardships at defiance, and commit his life to the winds; and the same motives have in all ages had the same effect upon those whom the desire of fame or wisdom has distinguished from the lower orders of mankind. If, therefore, it can be proved that distress is necessary to the attainment of knowledge, and that a happy situation hides from us so large a part of the field of meditation, the envy of many who repine at the sight of affluence and splendour will be much diminished ; for such is the delight of mental supe- riority, that none on whom nature or study have conferred it, would purchase the gifts of fortune by its loss. It is certain, that however the rhetorick of Seneca may have dressed adversity with extrinsick orna- 238 THE RAMBLER ments, he has justly represented it as affording some opportunities of observation, which cannot be found im continual success; he has truly asserted, that to escape misfortune is to want instruction, and that to live at ease is to live in ignorance. As no man can enjoy happiness without thinking that he enjoys it, the experience of calamity is nec- essary to a just sense of better fortune: for the good of our present state is merely comparative, and the evil which every man feels will be sufficient to dis- turb and harass him, if he does not know how much he escapes. The lustre of diamonds is invigorated by the interposition of darker bodies; the lights of a picture are created by the shades. The highest pleasure which nature has indulged to sensitive per- ception, is that of rest after fatigue; yet, that state which labour heightens into delight, is of itself only ease, and is incapable of satisfying the mind with- out the superaddition of diversified amusements. Prosperity, as is truly asserted by Seneca, very much obstructs the knowledge of ourselves. No man can form a just estimate of his own powers by unactive speculation. That fortitude which has en- countered no dangers, that prudence which has sur- mounted no difficulties, that integrity which has been attacked by no temptations, can at best be considered but as gold not yet brought to the test, of which therefore the true value cannot be assigned. He that traverses the lists without an adversary, may _ receive, says the philosopher, the reward of victory, but he has no pretensions to the honour. If it be the 239 THE RAMBLER highest happiness of man to contemplate himself with satisfaction, and to receive the gratulations of his own conscience; he whose courage has made way amidst the turbulence of opposition, and whose vigour has broken through the snares of distress, has many advantages over those that have slept in the shades of indolence, and whose retrospect of time can entertain them with nothing but day rising upon day, and year gliding after year. Equally necessary is some variety of fortune to a nearer inspection of the manners, principles, and affections of mankind. Princes, when they would know the opinions or grievances of their subjects, find it necessary to steal away from guards and at- tendants, and mingle on equal terms among the people. To him who is known to have the power of doing good or harm, nothing is shewn in its natu- ral form. The behaviour of all that approach him is regulated by his humour, their narratives are adapted to his inclination, and their reasonings determined by his opinions; whatever can alarm suspicion, or ex- cite resentment, is carefully suppressed, and nothing appears but uniformity of sentiments, and ardour of affection. It may be observed, that the unvaried complaisance which ladies have the right of exact- ing, keeps them generally unskilled in human nature; prosperity will always enjoy the female prerogatives, and therefore must be always in dan- ger of female ignorance. Truth is scarcely to be heard, but by those from whom it can serve no in- terest to conceal it. 240 THE RAMBLER No. 151. TUESDAY, AUGUST 27, 1751 "Apgr © av0po- twy pocow aurhaxtat "AvaptOpatot xpgpavrae ~ Todto © dudyavoy cdbpety, "O te vov, xart ev tedev- td, Péptatoy avdpt tvysty. Prnpar, Ol. vii. 43. But wrapt in error is the human mind, And human bliss is ever insecure: Know we what fortune yet remains behind? Know we how long the present shall endure? West. HE writers of medicine and physiology have traced, with great appearance of accuracy, the effects of time upon the human body, by marking the various periods of the constitution, and the sev- eral stages by which animal life makes its progress from infancy to decrepitude. Though their observa- tions have not enabled them to discover how manhood may be accelerated, or old age retarded, yet surely, if they be considered only as the amuse- ments of curiosity, they are of equal importance with conjectures on things more remote, with cata- logues of the fixed stars, and calculations of the bulk of planets. It had been a task worthy of the moral philoso- phers to have considered with equal care the cli- matericks of the mind; to have pointed out the time at which every passion begins and ceases to predominate, and noted the regular variations of desire, and the succession of one appetite to another. The periods of mental change are not to be Vout. 3—16 PAI THE RAMBLER stated with equal certainty; our bodies grow up under the care of nature, and depend so little on our own management, that something more than negligence is necessary to discompose their structure, or impede their vigour. But our minds are committed in a great measure first to the direc- tion of others, and afterwards of ourselves. It would be difficult to protract the weakness of infancy be- yond the usual time, but the mind may be very easily hindered from its share of improvement, and the bulk and strength of manhood must, without the assistance of education and instruction, be in- formed only with the understanding of a child. Yet, amidst all the disorder and inequality which variety of discipline, example, conversation, and employment, produce in the intellectual advances of different men, there is still discovered, by a vigi- lant spectator, such a general and remote similitude, as may be expected in the same common nature affected by external circumstances indefinitely varied. We all enter the world in equal ignorance, gaze round about us on the same objects, and have our first pains and pleasures, our first hopes and fears, our first aversions and desires, from the same causes; and though, as we proceed farther, life opens wider prospects to our view, and accidental im- pulses determine us to different paths, yet as every mind, however vigorous or abstracted, is necessi- tated, in its present state of union, to receive its informations, and execute its purposes, by the in- tervention of the body, the uniformity of our cor- 242 THE RAMBLER poreal nature communicates itself to our intellectual operations; and those whose abilities or knowledge incline them most to deviate from the general round of life, are recalled from eccentricity by the laws of their existence. If we consider the exercises of the mind, it will be found that in each part of life some particular faculty is more eminently employed. When the treasures of knowledge are first opened before us, while novelty blooms alike on either hand, and every thing equally unknown and unexamined seems of equal value, the power of the soul is prin- cipally exerted in a vivacious and desultory curi- osity. She applies by turns to every object, enjoys it for a short time, and flies with equal ardour to another. She delights to catch up loose and uncon- nected ideas, but starts away from systems and complications, which would obstruct the rapidity of her transitions, and detain her long in the same pursuit. When a number of distinct images are collected by these erratick and hasty surveys, the fancy is busied in arranging them; and combines them into pleasing pictures with more resemblance to the realities of life as experience advances, and new ob- servations rectify the former. While the judgment is yet uninformed, and unable to compare the draughts of fiction with their originals, we are delighted with improbable adventures, impracticable virtues, and inimitable characters: but, in proportion as we have more opportunities of acquainting ourselves with 243 THE RAMBLER living nature, we are sooner disgusted with copies in which there appears no resemblance. We first discard absurdity and impossibility, then exact greater and greater degrees of probability, but at last become cold and insensible to the charms of falsehood, however specious, and, from the imita- tions of truth, which are never perfect, transfer our affection to truth itself. Now commences the reign of judgment or reason ; we begin to find little pleasure but in comparing arguments, stating propositions, disentangling per- plexities, clearing ambiguities, and deducing con- sequences. The painted vales of imagination are deserted, and our intellectual activity is exercised in winding through the labyrinths of fallacy, and toiling with firm and cautious steps up the narrow tracks of demonstration. Whatever may lull vigi- lance, or mislead attention, is contemptuously re- jected, and every disguise in which errour may be concealed, is carefully observed, till, by degrees, a certain number of incontestable or unsuspected propositions are established, and at last concatenated into arguments, or compacted into systems. At length weariness succeeds to labour, and the mind lies at ease in the contemplation of her own attainments, without any desire of new conquests or excursions. This is the age of recollection and narrative; the opinions are settled, and the avenues of apprehension shut against any new intelligence; the days that are to follow must pass in the incul- cation of precepts already collected, and assertion 244 THE RAMBLER of tenets already received; nothing is henceforward so odious as opposition, so insolent as doubt, or so dangerous as novelty. In like manner the passions usurp the separate command of the successive periods of life. To the happiness of our first years nothing more seems necessary than freedom from restraint; every man may remember that if he was left to himself, and indulged in the disposal of his own time, he was once content without: the superaddition of any actual pleasure. The new world is itself a banquet; and, till we have exhausted the freshness of life, we have always about us sufficient gratifications: the sunshine quickens us to play, and the shade invites us to sleep. But we soon become unsatisfied with negative felicity, and are solicited by our senses and appetites to more powerful delights, as the taste of him who has satisfied his hunger must be excited by artificial stimulations. The simplicity of natural amusement is now past, and art and contrivance must improve our pleasures; but, in time, art, like nature, is ex- hausted, and the senses can no longer supply the cravings of the intellect. The attention is then transferred from pleasure to interest, in which pleasure is perhaps included, though diffused to a wider extent, and protracted through new gradations. Nothing now dances be- fore the eyes but wealth and power, nor rings in the ear, but the voice of fame; wealth, to which, however variously denominated, every man at some 245 THE RAMBLER time or other aspires; power, which all wish to ob- tain within their circle of action; and fame, which no man, however high or mean, however wise or ignorant, was yet able to despise. Now prudence and foresight exert their influence: no hour is de- voted wholly to any present enjoyment, no act or purpose terminates in itself, but every motion is referred to some distant end; the accomplishment of one design begins another, and the ultimate wish is always pushed off to its former distance. At length fame is observed to be uncertain, and power to be dangerous; the man whose vigour and alacrity begin to forsake him, by degrees contracts his designs, remits his former multiplicity of pur- suits, and extends no longer his regard to any other honour than the reputation of wealth, or any other influence than his power. Avarice is generally the last passion of those lives of which the first part has been squandered in pleasure, and the second devoted to ambition. He that sinks under the fatigue of get- ting wealth, lulls his age with the milder business of saving it. I have in this view of life considered man as actu- ated only by natural desires, and yielding to their own inclinations, without regard to superior princi- ples, by which the force of external agents may be counteracted, and the temporary prevalence of pas- sions restrained. Nature will indeed always operate, human desires will be always ranging; but these motions, though very powerful, are not resistless; nature may be regulated, and desires governed; 246 THE RAMBLER and, to contend with the predominance of succes- sive passions, to be endangered first by one affection, and then by another, is the condition upon which we are to pass our time, the time of our preparation for that state which shall put an end to experiment, to disappointment, and to change. No. 152. SATURDAY, AUGUST 31, 1751 Tristia mestum Vultum verba decent, iratum plena minarum. Hor. De. Ar. Poet. 105. Disastrous words can best disaster shew; In angry phrase the angry passions glow. ELpHrInston. 668 T was the wisdom,’’ says Seneca, “* of ancient times, to consider what is most useful as most illustrious. ’’ If this rule be applied to works of gen- lus, scarcely any species of composition deserves more to be cultivated than the epistolary style, since none is of more various or frequent use through the whole subordination of human life. It has yet happened that, among the numerous writers which our nation has produced, equal, per- haps, always in force and genius, and of late in ele- gance and accuracy, to those of any other country, very few have endeavoured to distinguish them- selves by the publication of letters, except such as - were written in the discharge of publick trusts, and during the transaction of great affairs; which, though they afford precedents to the minister, and memorials to the historian, are of no use as ex- 247 THE RAMBLER amples of the familiar style, or models of private correspondence. If it be inquired by foreigners, how this deficiency has happened in the literature of a country, where all indulge themselves with so little danger in speak- ing and writing, may we not without either bigotry or arrogance inform them, that it must be imputed to our contempt of trifles, and our due sense of the dignity of the publick ? We do not think it reason- able to fill the world with volumes from which nothing can be learned, nor expect that the em- ployments of the busy, or the amusements of the gay, should give way to narratives of our private affairs, complaints of absence, expressions of fond- ness, or declarations of fidelity. A slight perusal of the innumerable letters by which the wits of France have signalized their names, will prove that other nations need not be discouraged from the like attempts by the con- sciousness of inability; for surely it is not very dif- ficult to aggravate trifling misfortunes, to magnify familiar incidents, repeat adulatory professions, ac- cumulate servile hyperboles, and produce all that can be found in the despicable remains of Voiture and Scarron. Yet, as much of life must be passed in affairs considerable only by their frequent occurrence, and much of the pleasure which our condition allows, must be produced by giving elegance to trifles, it is necessary to learn how to become little without be- coming mean, to maintain the necessary intercourse 248 . THE RAMBLER of civility, and fill up the vacuities of actions by agreeable appearances. It had therefore been of ad- vantage, if such of our writers as have excelled in the art of decorating insignificance, had supplied us with a few sallies of innocent gaiety, effusions of honest tenderness, or exclamations of unimportant hurry. Precept has generally been posterior to perform- ance. The art of composing works of genius has never been taught but by the example of those who performed it by natural vigour of imagination, and rectitude of judgment. As we have few letters, we have likewise few criticisms upon the epistolary style. The observations with which Walsh has in- _ troduced his pages of inanity, are such as give him little claim to the rank assigned him by Dryden among the criticks. Letters, says he, are intended as resemblances of conversation, and the chief excel- lencies of conversation are good humour and good breeding. This remark, equally valuable for its novelty and propriety, he dilates and enforces with an appearance of complete acquiescence in his own discovery. No man was ever in doubt about the moral qual- ities of a letter. It has been always known that he who endeavours to please must appear pleased, and he who would not provoke rudeness must not prac- tise it. But the question among those who establish rules for an epistolary performance is how gaiety or civility may be properly expressed; as among the criticks in history it is not contested whether truth 249 THE RAMBLER ought to be preserved, but by what mode of diction it is best adorned. As letters are written on all subjects, in all states of mind, they cannot be properly reduced to settled rules, or described by any single characteristick ; and we may safely disentangle our minds from critical embarrassments, by determining that a let- ter has no peculiarity but its form, and that nothing is to be refused admission, which would be proper in any other method of treating the same subject. The qualities of the epistolary style most frequently required, are ease and simplicity, an even flow of unlaboured diction, and an artless arrangement of obvious sentiments. But these directions are no sooner applied to use, than their scantiness and im- perfection become evident. Letters are written to the great and to the mean, to the learned and the ignorant, at rest and in distress, in sport and in pas- sion. Nothing can be more improper than ease and laxity of expression, when the importance of the subject impresses solicitude, or the dignity of the person exacts reverence. That letters should be written with strict con- formity to nature is true, because nothing but conformity to nature can make any composition beautiful or just. But it is natural to depart from familiarity of language upon occasions not familiar. Whatever elevates the sentiments will consequently raise the expression; whatever fills us with hope or terrour, will produce some perturbation of images and some figurative distortions of phrase. Wherever 250 THE RAMBLER we are studious to please, we are afraid of trusting our first thoughts, and endeavour to recommend our opinion by studied ornaments, accuracy of method, and elegance of style. If the personages of the comick scene be al- lowed by Horace to raise their language in the transports of anger to the turgid vehemence of tragedy, the epistolary writer may likewise with- out censure comply with the varieties of his mat- ter. If great events are to be related, he may with all the solemnity of an historian deduce them from their causes, connect them with their concom- itants, and trace them to their consequences. If a disputed position is to be established, or a remote principle to be investigated, he may detail his reasonings with all the nicety of syllogistick method. If a menace is to be averted, or a benefit implored, he may, without any violation of the edicts of criticism, call every power of rhetorick to his assist- ance, and try every inlet at which love or pity enters the heart. Letters that have no other end than the enter- tainment of the correspondents are more properly regulated by critical precepts, because the matter and style are equally arbitrary, and rules are more necessary, as there is a larger power of choice. In letters-of this kind, some conceive art graceful, and others think negligence amiable; some model them by the sonnet, and will allow them no means of delighting but the soft lapse of calm mellifluence; others adjust them by the epigram, and expect 251 THE RAMBLER pointed sentences and forcible periods. The one party considers exemption from faults as the height of excellence, the other looks upon neglect of ex- cellence as the most disgusting fault; one avoids censure, the other aspires to praise; one is always in danger of insipidity, the other continually on the brink of affectation. | When the subject has no intrinsick dignity, it must necessarily owe its attractions to artificial em- bellishments, and may catch at all advantages which the art of writing can supply. He that, like Pliny, sends his friend a portion for his daughter, will, without Pliny’s eloquence or address, find means of exciting gratitude, and securing acceptance; but he that has no present to make but a garland, a riband, or some petty curiosity, must endeavour to recommend it by his manner of giving it. The purpose for which letters are written when no intelligence is communicated, or business trans- acted, is to preserve in the minds of the absent either love or esteem: to excite love we must impart pleasure, and to raise esteem we must discover abilities. Pleasure will generally be given, as abilities are displayed by scenes of imagery, points of con- ceit, unexpected sallies, and artful compliments. — Trifles always require exuberance of ornament; the building which has no strength can be valued only for the grace of its decorations. The pebble must be polished with care, which hopes to be valued as a diamond; and words ought surely to be laboured, when they are intended to stand for things. 252 THE RAMBLER No. 153. TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 8, 1751 Turba Remi? Sequitur Fortunam, ut semper, et odit Damnatos. Juv. Sat. x. 73. The fickle crowd with fortune comes and goes; Wealth still finds followers, and misfortune foes. TO THE RAMBLER. SIR, HERE are occasions on which all apology is rudeness. He that has an unwelcome message to deliver, may give some proof of tenderness and delicacy, by a ceremonial introduction and gradual discovery, because the mind, upon which the weight of sorrow is to fall, gains time for the collection of its powers; but nothing is more absurd than to delay the communication of pleasure, to torment curiosity by impatience, and to delude hope by anticipation. I shall therefore forbear the arts by which corres- pondents generally secure admission, for I have too long remarked the power of vanity, to doubt that I shall be read by you with a disposition to approve, when I declare that my narrative has no other ten- dency than to illustrate and corroborate your own _ observations. I was the second son of a gentleman, whose patri- mony had been wasted by a long succession of squanderers, till he was unable to support any of his children, except his heir, in the hereditary dignity of idleness. Being therefore obliged to employ that part of life in study which my progenitors had 253 THE RAMBLER devoted to the hawk and hound, I was in my eighteenth year despatched to the university, with- out any rural honours. I had never killed a single woodcock, nor partaken one triumph over a con- quered fox. At the university I continued to enlarge my acquisitions with little envy of the noisy happiness which my elder brother had the fortune to enjoy; and, having obtained my degree, retired to consider at leisure to what profession I should confine that application which had hitherto been dissipated in general knowledge. To deliberate upon a choice which custom and honour forbid to be retracted, is certainly reasonable; yet to let loose the attention equally to the advantages and inconveniences of every employment is not without danger; new mo- tives are every moment operating on every side; and mechanicks have long ago discovered, that contrariety of equal attractions is equivalent to rest. While I was thus trifling in uncertainty, an old adventurer, who had been once the intimate friend of my father, arrived from the Indies with a large fortune; which he had so much harassed himself in obtaining, that sickness and infirmity left him no other desire than to die in his native country. His wealth easily procured him an invitation to pass his life with us; and, being incapable of any amusement but conversation, he necessarily became familiarized to me, whom he found studious and domestick. Pleased with an opportunity of imparting my knowl- edge, and eager of any intelligence that might in- 254 THE RAMBLER crease it, I delighted his curiosity with historical narratives and explications of nature, and gratified his vanity by inquiries after the products of distant countries, and the customs of their inhabitants. My brother saw how much I advanced in the favour of our guest, who, being without heirs, was naturally expected to enrich the family of his friend, but never attempted to alienate me, nor to ingra- tiate himself. He was, indeed, little qualified to so- licit the affection of a traveller, for the remissness of his education had left him without any rule of action but his present humour. He often forsook the old gentleman in the midst of an adventure, because the horn sounded in the court-yard, and would have lost an opportunity, not only of know- ing the history, but sharing the wealth of the mogul, for the trial of a new pointer, or the sight of a horse-race. It was therefore not long before our new friend declared his intention of bequeathing to me the profits of his commerce, as the only man in the family by whom he could expect them to be ra- tionally enjoyed. This distinction drew upon me the envy not only of my brother but my father. As no man is willing to believe that he suffers by his own fault, they imputed the preference which I had obtained to adulatory compliances, or malig- nant calumnies. To no purpose did I call upon my patron to attest my innocence, for who will believe what he wishes to be false? In the heat of disap- pomintment they forced their inmate by repeated 255 THE RAMBLER insults to depart from the house, and I was soon, by the same treatment, obliged to follow him. He chose his residence in the confines of Lon- don, where rest, tranquillity, and medicine, restored him to part of the health which he had lost. I pleased myself with perceiving that I was not likely to obtain the immediate possession of wealth which no labour of mine had contributed to acquire; and that he, who had thus distinguished me, might hope to end his life without a total frustration of those blessings, which, whatever be their real value, he had sought with so much diligence, and purchased with so many vicissitudes of danger and fatigue. He, indeed, left me no reason to repine at his recovery, for he was willing to accustom me early to the use of money, and set apart for my expenses such a revenue as I had scarcely dared to image. I can yet congratulate myself that fortune has seen her golden cup once tasted without inebria- tion. Neither my modesty nor prudence was over- whelmed by affluence; my elevation was without insolence, and my expense without profusion. EKm- ploying the influence which money always confers, to the improvement of my understanding, I mingled in parties of gaiety, and in conferences of learning, appeared in every place where instruction was to be found, and imagined that, by ranging through all the diversities of life, | had acquainted myself fully with human nature, and learned all that was to be known of the ways of men. It happened, however, that I soon discovered how 256 THE RAMBLER much was wanted to the completion of my knowl- edge, and found that, according to Seneca’s remark, I had hitherto seen the world but on one side. My patron’s confidence in his increase of strength tempted him to carelessness and irregularity; he caught a fever by riding in the rain, of which he died delirious on the third day. I buried him with- out any of the heir’s affected grief or secret exulta- tion; then preparing to take a legal possession of his fortune, I opened his closet, where I found a will, made at his first arrival, by which my father was appointed the chief inheritor, and nothing was left me but a legacy sufficient to support me in the prosecution of my studies. I had not yet found such charms in prosperity as to continue it by any acts of forgery or injustice, and made haste to inform my father of the riches which had been given him, not by the preference of kindness, but by the delays of indolence, and cowardice of age. The hungry family flew like vultures on their prey, and soon made my disap- pointment publick, by the tumult of their claims, and the splendour of their sorrow. It was now my part to consider how I should repair the disappointment. I could not but triumph in my long list of friends, which comprised almost every name that power or knowledge entitled to eminence; and, in the prospect of the innumerable roads to honour and preferment, which had I laid open to myself by the wise use of temporary riches, I believed nothing necessary but that I should con- Vou. 3—17 257 > THE RAMBLER tinue that acquaintance to which I had been so readily admitted, and which had hitherto been cultivated on both sides with equal ardour. Full of these expectations, I one morning ordered a chair, with an intention to make my usual circle of morning visits. Where I first stopped I saw two footmen lolling at the door, who told me, without any change of posture, or collection of countenance, that their master was at home, and suffered me to open the inner door without assistance. I found my friend standing, and, as I was tattling with my for- mer freedom, was formally entreated to sit down; but did not stay to be favoured with any further condescensions. My next experiment was made at the levee of a statesman, who received me with an embrace of tenderness, that he might with more decency pub- lish my change of fortune to the sycophants about him. After he had enjoyed the triumph of con- dolence, he turned to a wealthy stock-jobber, and left me exposed to the scorn of those who had lately courted my notice, and solicited my interest. I was then set down at the door of another, who, upon my entrance, advised me, with great solem- nity, to think of some settled provision for life. I left him, and hurried away to an old friend, who professed himself unsusceptible of any impressions from prosperity or misfortune, and begged that he might see me when he was more at leisure. Of sixty-seven doors, at which I knocked in the first week after my appearance in a mourning dress, 258 THE RAMBLER I was denied admission at forty-six; was suffered at fourteen to wait in the outer room till business was despatched; at four, was entertained with a few questions about the weather; at one, heard the footman rated for bringing my name; and at two was informed, in the flow of casual conversation, how much a man of rank degrades himself by mean company. My curiosity now led me to try what reception I should find among the ladies; but I found that my patron had carried all my powers of pleasing to the grave. I had formerly been celebrated as a wit, and not perceiving any languor in my imagination, I essayed to revive that gaiety which had hitherto broken out involuntarily before my sentences were finished. My remarks were now heard with a steady countenance, and if a girl happened to give way to habitual merriment, her forwardness was repressed with a frown by her mother or her aunt. Wherever I come I scatter infirmity and disease; every lady whom I meet in the Mall is too weary to walk; all whom I entreat to sing are troubled with colds: if I propose cards, they are afflicted with the head-ache; if I invite them to the gardens, they cannot bear a crowd. All this might be endured; but there is a class of mortals who think my understanding impaired with my fortune, exalt themselves to the dignity of ad- vice, and, whenever we happen to meet, presume to prescribe my conduct, regulate my economy, and direct my pursuits. Another race, equally imperti- 259 THE RAMBLER nent and equally despicable, are every moment recommending to me an attention to my interest, and think themselves entitled, by their superior prudence, to reproach me if I speak or move without regard to profit. Such, Mr. Rambler, is the power of wealth, that it commands the ear of greatness and the eye of beauty, gives spirit to the dull, and authority to the timorous, and leaves him from whom it departs, without virtue and without understanding, the sport of caprice, the scoff of insolence, the slave of meanness, and the pupil of ignorance. I am, &c. No. 154. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 7, 1751 Tibi res antique laudis et artis Ingredior, sanctos ausus recludere fontes. Vir. Geo. ii. 174. For thee my tuneful accents will I raise, And treat of arts disclos’d in ancient days; Once more unlock for thee the sacred spring. Drypen. HE direction of Aristotle to those that study politicks, is first to examine and understand what has been written by the ancients upon govern- ment; then to cast their eyes round upon the world, and consider by what causes the prosperity of com- munities is visibly influenced, and why some are worse, and others better administered. The same method must be pursued by him who hopes to become eminent in any other part of knowledge. The first task is to search books, the next to contemplate nature. He must first possess 260 THE RAMBLER himself of the intellectual treasures which the dili- gence of former ages has accumulated, and then endeavour to increase them by his own collections. The mental disease of the present generation, is impatience of study, contempt of the great masters | ~~ of ancient wisdom, and a disposition to rely wholly upon unassisted genius and natural sagacity. The wits of these happy days have discovered a way to fame, which the dull caution of our laborious ances- tors durst never attempt; they cut the knots of sophistry which it was formerly the business of va years to untie, solve difficulties by sudden irradia-| \~ tions of intelligence, and comprehend long processes | of argument by immediate intuition. Men who have flattered themselves into this opinion of their own abilities, look down on all who waste their lives over books, as a race of inferior beings, condemned by nature to perpetual pupilage, and fruitlessly endeavouring to remedy their bar- renness by incessant cultivation, or succour their feebleness by subsidiary strength. They presume that none would be more industrious than they, if they were not more sensible of deficiencies; and readily conclude, that he who places no confidence in his own powers, owes his modesty only to his weakness. It is however certain, that no estimate is more in danger of erroneous calculations than those by which a man computes the force of his own genius. It generally happens at our entrance into the world, that, by the natural attraction of similitude, we as- 261 THE RAMBLER sociate with men like ourselves, young, sprightly, and ignorant, and rate our accomplishments by comparison with theirs; when we have once ob- tained an acknowledged superiority over our ac- quaintances, imagination and desire easily extend it over the rest of mankind, and if no accident forces us into new emulations, we grow old, and die in admiration of ourselves. Vanity, thus confirmed in her dominion, readily listens to the voice of idleness, and sooths the slum- ber of life with continual dreams of excellence and greatness. A man, elated by confidence in his natu- ral vigour of fancy and sagacity of conjecture, soon concludes that he already possesses whatever toil and inquiry can confer. He then listens with eager- ness to the wild objections which folly has raised against the common means of improvement; talks of the dark chaos of indigested knowledge; de- scribes the mischievous effects of heterogeneous sciences fermenting in the mind; relates the blun- ders of lettered ignorance; expatiates on the heroick merit of those who deviate from prescription, or shake off authority; and gives vent to the inflations of his heart by declaring that he owes nothing to pedants and universities. All these pretensions, however confident, are very often vain. The laurels which superficial acuteness gains in triumphs over ignorance unsupported by vivacity, are observed by Locke to be lost, when- ever real learning and rational diligence appear against her; the sallies of gaiety are soon repressed 262 THE RAMBLER by calm confidence; and the artifices of subtilty are readily detected by those, who, having carefully studied the question, are not easily confounded or surprised. But, though the contemner of books had neither been deceived by others nor himself, and was really born with a genius surpassing the ordinary abilities of mankind; yet surely such gifts of Providence may be more properly urged as incitements to labour, than encouragements to negligence. He that neglects the culture of ground naturally fer- tile, is more shamefully culpable, than he whose field would scarcely recompense his husbandry. Cicero remarks, that not to know what has been transacted in former times, is to continue always a child. If no use is made of the labours of past ages, _ the world must remain always in the infancy of |. knowledge. The discoveries of every man must ter- | minate in his own advantage, and the studies of every age be employed on questions which the past generation had discussed and determined. We may with as little reproach borrow science as manufac- tures from our ancestors; and it is as rational to live in caves till our own hands have erected a palace, as to reject all knowledge of architecture which our understandings will not supply. To the strongest and quickest mind it is far easier to learn than to invent. The principles of arithmetick and geometry may be comprehended by a close at- tention in a few days; yet who can flatter himself that the study of a long life would have enabled him 263 THE RAMBLER to discover them, when he sees them yet unknown to so many nations, whom he cannot suppose less liberally endowed with natural reason, than the Grecians or Egyptians ? Every science was thus far advanced towards per- fection, by the emulous diligence of contemporary students, and the gradual discoveries of one age im- proving on another. Sometimes unexpected flashes of instruction were struck out by the fortuitous col- lision of happy incidents, or an involuntary con- currence of ideas, in which the philosopher to whom they happened had no other merit than that of knowing their value, and transmitting, unclouded, to posterity, that light which had been kindled by causes out of his power. The happiness of these casual illuminations no man can promise to himself, because no endeavours can procure them; and there- fore whatever be our abilities or application, we must submit to learn from others what perhaps would have lain hid for ever from human penetra- tion, had not some remote inquiry brought it to view; as treasures are thrown up by the ploughman and the digger in the rude exercise of their common occupations. The man whose genius qualifies him for great undertakings, must at least be content to learn from books the present state of human knowledge; that he may not ascribe to himself the invention of arts generally known; weary his attention with experi- ments of which the event has been long registered ; and waste, in attempts which have already suc- 264 THE RAMBLER ceeded or miscarried, that time which might have been spent with usefulness and honour upon new undertakings. But, though the study of books is necessary, it is not sufficient to constitute literary eminence. He that wishes to be counted among the benefac- tors of posterity, must add by his own toil to the acquisitions of his ancestors, and secure his mem- ory from neglect by some valuable improvement. This can only be effected by looking out upon the wastes of the intellectual world, and extending the power of learning over regions yet undisciplined and barbarous; or by surveying more exactly our ancient dominions, and driving ignorance from the fortresses and retreats where she skulks undetected and undisturbed. Every science has its difficulties, which yet call for solution before we attempt new systems of knowledge; as every country has its forests and marshes, which it would be wise to cul- tivate and drain, before distant colonies are projec- ted as a necessary discharge of the exuberance of inhabitants. No man ever yet became great by imitation. Whatever hopes for the veneration of mankind must have invention in the design or the execu- tion; either the effect must itself be new, or the means by which it is produced. Either truths hitherto unknown must be discovered, or those which are already known enforced by stronger evi- dence, facilitated by clearer method, or elucidated by brighter illustrations. 265 THE RAMBLER Fame cannot spread wide or endure long that is not rooted in nature, and manured by art. That which hopes to resist the blast of malignity, and stand firm against the attacks of time, must con- tain in itself some original principle of growth. The reputation which arises from the detail or transportation of borrowed sentiments, may spread for awhile, like ivy on the rind of antiquity, but will be torn away by accident or contempt, and suffered to rot unheeded on the ground. No. 155. TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 10, 1751 Steriles transmisimus annos, Hee evi mihi prima dies, hee limina vite. Srav. i. 362. — Our barren years are past; Be this of life the first, of sloth the last. Expuinston. O weakness of the human mind has more fre- quently incurred animadversion, than the neg- ligence with which men overlook their own faults, however flagrant, and the easiness with which they pardon them, however frequently repeated. It seems generally believed, that as the eye can- not see itself, the mind has no faculties by which it can contemplate its own state, and that therefore we have not means of becoming acquainted with our real characters; an opinion which, like innumer- able other postulates, an inquirer finds himself in- clined to admit upon very little evidence, because it affords a ready solution of many difficulties. It will explain why the greatest abilities frequently 266 THE RAMBLER fail to promote the happiness of those who possess them; why those who can distinguish with the ut- most nicety the boundaries of vice and virtue, suffer them to be confounded in their own conduct; why the active and vigilant resign their affairs implicitly to the management of others; and why the cautious and fearful make hourly approaches towards ruin, without one sigh of solicitude or struggle for escape. When a position teems thus with commodious consequences, who can without regret confess it to be false ? Yet it is certain that declaimers have in- dulged a disposition to describe the dominion of the passions as extended beyond the limits that nature assigned. Self-love is often rather arrogant than blind; it does not hide our faults from our- selves, but persuades us that they escape the notice of others, and disposes us to resent censures lest we should confess them to be just. We are secretly conscious of defects and vices, which we hope to conceal from the publick eye, and please ourselves with innumerable impostures, by which, in reality, nobody is deceived. In proof of the dimness of our internal sight, or the general inability of man to determine rightly concerning his own character, it is common to urge the success of the most absurd and incredible flattery, and the resentment always raised by ad- vice, however soft, benevolent, and reasonable. But flattery, if its operation be nearly examined, will be found to owe its acceptance, not to our ig- norance, but knowledge of our failures, and to 267 THE RAMBLER delight us rather as it consoles our wants than dis- plays our possessions. He that shall solicit the fa- vour of his patron by praising him for qualities which he can find in himself, will be defeated by the more daring panegyrist who enriches him with adscititious excellence. Just praise is only a debt, but flattery is a present. The acknowledgment of those virtues on which conscience congratulates us, is a tribute that we can at any time exact with confidence; but the celebration of those which we only feign, or desire without any vigorous endeav- ours to attain them, is received as a confession of sovereignty over regions never conquered, as a favourable decision of disputable claims, and is more welcome as it is more gratuitous. Advice is offensive, not because it lays us open to unexpected regret, or convicts us of any fault which had escaped our notice, but because it shews us that we are known to others as well as to our- ‘selves; and the officious monitor is persecuted with hatred, not because his accusation is false, but be- cause he assumes that superiority which we are not willing to grant him, and has dared to detect what we desired to conceal. For this reason advice is commonly ineffectual. If those who follow the call of their desires, with- out inquiry whither they are going, had deviated ignorantly from the paths of wisdom, and were rushing upon dangers unforeseen, they would read- ily listen to information that recalls them from their errours, and catch the first alarm by which destruc- 268 THE RAMBLER tion or infamy is denounced. Few that wander in the wrong way mistake it for the right, they only find it more smooth and flowery, and indulge their own choice rather than approve it: therefore few are per- suaded to quit it by admonition or reproof, since it impresses no new conviction, nor confers any powers of action or resistance. He that is gravely informed how soon profusion will annihilate his fortune, hears with little advantage what he knew before, and catches at the next occasion of expense, because advice has no force to suppress his vanity. He that is told how certainly intemperance will hurry him to the grave, runs with his usual speed to a new course of luxury, because his reason is not invigor- ated, nor his appetite weakened. The mischief of flattery is, not that it persuades any man that he is what he is not, but that it sup- presses the influence of honest ambition, by raising an opinion that honour may be gained without the toil of merit; and the benefit of advice arises com- monly not from any new light imparted to the mind, but from the discovery which it affords of the publick suffrages. He that could withstand con- science is frighted at infamy, and shame prevails when reason is defeated. As we all know our own faults, and know them commonly with many aggravations which human perspicacity cannot discover, there is, perhaps, no man, however hardened by impudence or dissipated by levity, sheltered by hypocrisy or blasted by dis- grace, who does not intend some time to review his 269 THE RAMBLER conduct, and to regulate the remainder of his life by the laws of virtue. New temptations indeed attack him, new invitations are offered by pleasure and interest, and the hour of reformation is always delayed; every delay gives vice another opportunity of fortifying itself by habit; and the change of manners, though sincerely intended and rationally planned, is referred to the time when some craving passion shall be fully gratified, or some powerful allurement cease its importunity. Thus procrastination is accumulated on procras- tination, and one impediment succeeds another, till age shatters our resolution, or death intercepts the project of amendment. Such is often the end of salutary purposes, after they have long delighted the imagination, and appeased that disquiet which every mind feels from known misconduct, when the attention is not diverted by business or by pleasure. Nothing surely can be more unworthy of a rea- sonable nature, than to continue in a state so oppo- site to real happiness, as that all the peace of solitude, and felicity of meditation, must arise from resolu- tions of forsaking it. Yet the world will often afford examples of men, who pass months and years in a continual war with their own convictions, and are daily dragged by habit, or betrayed by passion, into practices which they closed and opened their eyes with purposes to avoid ; purposes which, though set- tled on conviction, the first impulse of momentary desire totally overthrows. 270 THE RAMBLER The influence of custom is indeed such, that to conquer it will require the utmost efforts of fortitude and virtue; nor can I think any man more worthy of veneration and renown, than those who have burst the shackles of habitual vice. This victory, however, has different degrees of glory as of diffi- culty; it is more heroick as the objects of guilty gratification are more familiar, and the recurrence of solicitation more frequent. He that, from experi- ence of the folly of ambition, resigns his offices, may set himself free at once from temptation to squan- der his life in courts, because he cannot regain his former station. He who is enslaved by an amorous passion, may quit his tyrant in disgust, and absence will, without the help of reason, overcome by de- grees the desire of returning. But those appetites to which every place affords their proper object, and which require no preparatory measures or gradual advances, are more tenaciously adhesive; the wish is so near the enjoyment, that compliance often precedes consideration, and, before the powers of reason can be summoned, the time for employing them is past. Indolence is therefore one of the vices from which those whom it once infects are seldom reformed. Every other species of luxury operates upon some appetite that is quickly satiated, and requires some concurrence of art or accident which every place will not supply; but the desire of ease acts equally at all hours, and the longer it is indulged is the more increased. To do nothing is in every man’s 271 THE RAMBLER power; we can never want an opportunity of omit- ting duties. The lapse to indolence is soft and im- perceptible, because it is only a mere cessation of activity ; but the return to diligence is difficult, be- cause it implies a change from rest to motion, from privation to reality: ————Facilis descensus Averni: Noctes atque dies patet atri janua ditis; Sed revocare gradum, superasque evadere ad auras, : Hoc opus, hic labor est. Vir. Ain. Lib. vi. 126. The gates of hell are open night and day; Smooth the descent, and easy is the way; But to return, and view the cheerful skies, In this the task and mighty labour lies. Dryven. Of this vice, as of all others, every man who in- dulges it is conscious: we all know our own state, if we could be induced to consider it, and it might perhaps be useful to the conquest of all these en- snarers of the mind, if, at certain stated days, life was reviewed. Many things necessary are omitted, because we vainly imagine that they may be always performed; and what cannot be done without pain will for ever be delayed, if the time of doing it be left unsettled. No corruption is great but by long negligence, which can scarcely prevail in a mind regularly and frequently awakened by periodical remorse. He that thus breaks his life into parts, will find in himself a desire to distinguish every stage of his existence by some improvement, and delight himself with the approach of the day of recollection, as of the time which is to begin a new series of virtue and felicity. 272 THE RAMBLER No. 156. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 14, 1751 Nunquam aliud Natura, aliud Sapientia dicit. Juv. Sat. xiv. 321. For Wisdom ever echoes Nature’s voice. VERY government, say the politicians, is per- petually degenerating towards corruption, from which it must be rescued at certain periods by the resuscitation of its first principles, and the re-estab- lishment of its original constitution. Every animal body, according to the methodick physicians, is, by the predominance of some exuberant quality, con- tinually declining towards disease and death, which must be obviated by a seasonable reduction of the peccant humour to the just equipoise which health requires. In the same manner the studies of mankind, all at least which, not being subject to rigorous demon- stration, admit the influence of fancy and caprice, are perpetually tending to errour and confusion. Of the great principles of truth which the first speculatists discovered, the simplicity is embarrassed by ambitious additions, or the evidence obscured by inaccurate argumentation; and as they descend from one succession of writers to another, like ight transmitted from room to room, they lose their strength and splendour, and fade at last in total evanescence. The systems of learning therefore must be some- times reviewed, complications analyzed into prin- ciples, and knowledge disentangled from opinion. Vor. 3—18 273 THE RAMBLER It is not always possible, without a close inspection, to separate the genuine shoots of consequential rea- soning, which grow out of some radical postulate, from the branches which art has ingrafted on it. The accidental prescriptions of authority, when time has procured them veneration, are often confounded with the laws of nature, and those rules are sup- posed coéval with reason, of which the first rise cannot be discovered. Criticism has sometimes permitted fancy to dic- tate the laws by which fancy ought to be restrained, and fallacy to perplex the principles by which fal- lacy is to be detected ; her superintendence of others has betrayed her to negligence of herself; and, like the ancient Scythians, by extending her conquests over distant regions, she has left her throne vacant to her slaves. Among the laws of which the desire of extend- ing authority, or ardour of promoting knowledge, has prompted the prescription, all which writers have received, had not the same original right to our regard. Some are to be considered as funda- mental and indispensable, others only as useful and convenient; some as dictated by reason and neces- sity, others as enacted by despotick antiquity ; some as invincibly supported by their conformity to the order of nature and operations of the intellect; others as formed by accident, or instituted by ex- ample, and therefore always liable to dispute and alteration. That many rules have been advanced without 274 THE RAMBLER consulting nature or reason, we cannot but suspect, when we find it peremptorily decreed by the ancient masters, that only three speaking personages should appear at once upon the stage ; a law, which, as the variety and intricacy of modern plays has made it impossible to be observed, we now violate with- out scruple, and, as experience proves, without inconvenience. The original of this precept was merely acci- dental. Tragedy was a monody, or solitary song in honour of Bacchus, improved afterwards into a dia- logue by the addition of another speaker; but the ancients, remembering that the tragedy was at first pronounced only by one, durst not for some time venture beyond two; at last,. when custom and impunity had made them daring, they extended their liberty to the admission of three, but re- strained themselves by a critical edict from further exorbitance. By what accident the number of acts was limited to five, I know not that any author has informed us; but certainly it is not determined by any neces- sity arising either from the nature of action, or propriety of exhibition. An act is only the repre- sentation of such a part of the business of the play as proceeds in an unbroken tenour, or without any intermediate pause. Nothing is more evident than that of every real, and by consequence of every dra- matick action, the intervals may be more or fewer than five; and indeed the rule is upon the English stage every day broken in effect, without any other 275 THE RAMBLER mischief than that which arises from an absurd en- deavour to observe it in appearance. Whenever the scene is shifted the act ceases, since some time is necessarily supposed to elapse while the personages of the drama change their place. With no greater right to our obedience have the criticks. confined the dramatick action to a certain number of hours. Probability requires that the time of action should approach somewhat nearly to that of exhibition, and those plays will always be thought most happily conducted which crowd the greatest variety into the least space. But since it will fre- quently happen that some delusion must be admit- ted, I know not where the limits of imagination can be fixed. It is rarely observed that minds, not pre- possessed by mechanical criticism, feel any offence from the extension of the intervals between the acts; nor can I conceive it absurd or impossible, that he who can multiply three hours into twelve or twenty-four, might imagine with equal ease a greater number. I know not whether he that professes to regard no other laws than those of nature, will not be in- clined to receive tragi-comedy to his protection, whom, however generally condemned, her own laurels have hitherto shaded from the fulminations of criticism. For what is there in the mingled drama which impartial reason can condemn? The con- nexion of important with trivial incidents, since it is not only common but perpetual in the world, may surely be allowed upon the stage, which pre- 276 THE RAMBLER tends only to be the mirror of life.! The impropriety of suppressing passions before we have raised them to the intended agitation, and of diverting the ex- pectation from an event which we keep suspended only to raise it, may be speciously urged. But will not experience shew this objection to be rather subtle than just ? Is it not certain that the tragick and comick affections have been moved alternately with equal force, and that no plays have oftener filled the eye with tears, and the breast with palpi- tation, than those which are variegated with inter- ludes of mirth ? I do not however think it safe to judge of works of genius merely by the event. The resistless vicis- situdes of the heart, this alternate prevalence of merriment and solemnity, may sometimes be more properly ascribed to the vigour of the writer than the justness of the design: and, instead of vindicat- ing tragi-comedy by the success of Shakspeare, we ought, perhaps, to pay new honours to that tran- scendent and unbounded genius that could preside over the passions in sport; who, to actuate the af- fections, needed not the slow gradation of common means, but could fill the heart with instantaneous jollity or sorrow, and vary our disposition as he changed his scenes. Perhaps the effects even of Shakspeare’s poetry might have been yet greater, had he not counteracted himself; and we might have been more interested in the distresses of his heroes, had we not been so frequently diverted by the jokes of his buffoons. 277 THE RAMBLER There are other rules more fixed and obligatory. It is necessary that of every play the chief action should be single; for since a play represents some transaction, through its regular maturation to its final event, two actions equally important must evi- dently constitute two plays. As the design of tragedy is to instruct by mov- ing the passions, it must always have a hero, a per- sonage apparently and incontestably superior to the rest, upon whom the attention may be fixed, and the anxiety suspended. For though, of two persons opposing each other with equal abilities and equal virtue, the auditor will inevitably, in time, choose his favourite, yet as that choice must be without any cogency of conviction, the hopes or fears which it raises will be faint and languid. Of two heroes acting in confederacy against a common enemy, the virtues or dangers will give little emotion, be- cause each claims our concern with the same right, and the heart lies at rest between equal motives. It ought to be the first endeavour of a writer to distinguish nature from custom; or that which is established because it is right, from that which is right only because it is established; that he may neither violate essential principles by a desire of novelty, nor debar himself from the attainment of beauties within his view, by aneedless fear of break- ing rules which no literary dictator had authority to enact. 278 THE RAMBLER No. 157. TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 17, 1751 0i aldas Fivetat, i} t dvdpas péya otverat 70 dvivyet. Hom. Il. Q', 44. Shame greatly hurts or greatly helps mankind. ELPHINsTON. TO THE RAMBLER. SIR, HOUGH one of your correspondents has pre- sumed to mention with some contempt that presence of attention and easiness of address, which the polite have long agreed to celebrate and esteem, yet I cannot be persuaded to think them unworthy of regard or cultivation; but am inclined to believe that, as we seldom value rightly what we have never known the misery of wanting, his judgment has been vitiated by his happiness; and that a natural exuberance of assurance has hindered him from discovering its excellence and use. This felicity, whether bestowed by constitution, or obtained by early habitudes, I can scarcely con- template without envy. I was bred under a man of learning in the country, who inculcated nothing but the dignity of knowledge, and the happiness of virtue. By frequency of admonition, and confidence of assertion, he prevailed upon me to believe, that the splendour of literature would always attract reverence, if not darkened by corruption. I there- fore pursued my studies with incessant industry, and avoided every thing which I had been taught to consider either as vicious or tending to vice, 279 THE RAMBLER because I regarded guilt and reproach as insepa- rably united, and thought a tainted reputation the greatest calamity. At the university, I found no reason for changing my opinion; for though many among my fellow students took the opportunity of a more remiss dis- cipline to gratify their passions; yet virtue preserved her natural superiority, and those who ventured to neglect, were not suffered to insult her. The am- bition of petty accomplishments found its way into the receptacles of learning, but was observed to seize commonly on those who either neglected the sciences or could not attain them; and I was there- fore confirmed in the doctrines of my old master, and thought nothing worthy of my care but the means of gaining or imparting knowledge. This purity of manners, and intenseness of appli- cation, soon extended my renown, and I was ap- plauded by those, whose opinion I then thought unlikely to deceive me, as a young man that gave uncommon hopes of future eminence. My perform- ances in time reached my native province, and my relations congratulated themselves upon the new honours that were added to their family. I returned home covered with academical laurels, and fraught with criticism and philosophy. The wit and the scholar excited curiosity, and my acquaint- ance was solicited by innumerable invitations. To please will always be the wish of benevolence, to be admired must be the constant aim of ambition; and I therefore considered myself as about to re- 280 THE RAMBLER ceive the reward of my honest labours, and to find the efficacy of learning and of virtue. The third day after my arrival I dined at the house of a gentleman who had summoned a multi- tude of his friends to the annual celebration of his wedding-day. I set forward with great exultation, and thought myself happy that I had an oppor- tunity of displaying my knowledge to so numerous an assembly. I felt no sense of my own insufficiency, till, going up stairs to the dining-room, I heard the mingled roar of obstreperous merriment. I was, how- ever, disgusted rather than terrified, and went for- ward without dejection. The whole company rose at my entrance; but when I saw so many eyes fixed at once upon me, I was blasted with a sudden im- becility, I was quelled by some nameless power which I found impossible to be resisted. My sight was dazzled, my cheeks glowed, my perceptions were confounded; I was harassed by the multitude of eager salutations, and returned the common civilities with hesitation and impropriety ; the sense of my own blunders increased my confusion, and, before the exchange of ceremonies allowed me to sit down, I was ready to sink under the oppression of surprise; my voice grew weak, and my knees trembled. The assembly then resumed their places, and I sat with my eyes fixed upon the ground. To the questions of curiosity, or the appeals of complais- ance, I could seldom answer but with negative monosyllables, or professions of ignorance; for the 281 THE RAMBLER subjects on which they conversed, were such as are seldom discussed in books, and were therefore out of my range of knowledge. At length an old clergy- man, who rightly conjectured the reason of my conciseness, relieved me by some questions about the present state of natural knowledge, and en- gaged me, by an appearance of doubt and oppo- sition, in the explication and defence of the Newtonian philosophy. The consciousness of my own abilities roused me from depression, and long familiarity with my sub- ject enabled me to discourse with ease and volu- bility ; but, however I might please myself, I found very little added by my demonstrations to the sat- isfaction of the company; and my antagonist, who knew the laws of conversation too well to detain their attention long upon an unpleasing topick, after he had commended my acuteness and comprehension, dismissed the controversy, and resigned me to my former insignificance and perplexity. After dinner, I received from the ladies, who had heard that I was a wit, an invitation to the tea- table. I congratulated myself upon an opportunity to escape from the company, whose gaiety began to be tumultuous, and among whom several hints had been dropped of the uselessness of universities, the folly of book-learning, and the awkwardness of scholars. To the ladies, therefore, I flew, as to a refuge from clamour, insult, and rusticity; but found my heart sink as I approached their apart- 282 THE RAMBLER ment, and was again disconcerted by the ceremonies of entrance, and confounded by the necessity of encountering so many eyes at once. When I sat down I considered that something pretty was always said to ladies, and resolved to re- cover my credit by some elegant observation or graceful compliment. I applied myself to the recol- lection of all that I had read or heard in praise of beauty, and endeavoured to accommodate some classical compliments to the present occasion. I sunk into profound meditation, revolved the characters of the heroines of old, considered whatever the poets have sung in their praise, and, after having borrowed and invented, chosen and rejected a thou- sand sentiments, which, if I had uttered them, would not have been understood, I was awakened from my dream of learned gallantry, by the servant who distributed the tea. There are not many situations more incessantly uneasy than that in which the man is placed who is watching an opportunity to speak, without courage to take it when it is offered, and who, though he re- solves to give a specimen of his abilities, always finds some reason or other for delaying it to the next minute. I was ashamed of silence, yet could find nothing to say of elegance or importance equal to my wishes. The ladies, afraid of my learning, thought themselves not qualified to propose any subject of prattle to a man so famous for dispute, and there was nothing on either side but impatience and vexation. 283 THE RAMBLER In this conflict of shame, as I was re-assembling my scattered sentiments, and, resolving to force my imagination to some sprightly sally, had just found a very happy compliment, by too much attention to my own meditations, I suffered the saucer to drop from my hand. The cup was broken, the lap- dog was scalded, a brocaded petticoat was stained, and the whole assembly was thrown into disorder. I now considered all hopes of reputation at an end, and while they were consoling and assisting one another, stole away in silence. The misadventures of this unhappy day are not yet at an end; I am afraid of meeting the meanest of them that triumphed over me in this state of stupidity and contempt, and feel the same terrours encroaching upon my heart at the sight of those who have once impressed them. Shame, above any other passion, propagates itself. Before those who have seen me confused, I can never appear without new confusion, and the remembrance of the weak- ness which I formerly discovered, hinders me from acting or speaking with my natural force. But is this misery, Mr. Rambler, never to cease; have I spent my life in study only to become the sport of the ignorant, and debarred myself from all the common enjoyments of youth to collect ideas which must sleep in silence, and form opinions which I must not divulge ? Inform me, dear Sir, by what means I may rescue my faculties from these shackles of cowardice, how I may rise to a level with my fellow-beings, recall myself from this languor 284 THE RAMBLER of involuntary subjection to the free exertion of my intellects, and add to the power of reasoning the liberty of speech. Tea esiea ee VERECUNDULUS. No. 158. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 21, 1751 Grammatici certant, et adhuc sub judice lis est. Hor. Ar. Poet. 78. Criticks yet contend, And of their vain disputing find no end. FRANCIs. RITICISM, though dignified from the earliest ages by the labours of men eminent for know]l- edge and sagacity, and, since the revival of polite literature, the favourite study of European scholars, has not yet attained the certainty and stability of science. The rules hitherto received are seldom drawn from any settled principle or self-evident postulate, or adapted to the natural and invariable constitution of things; but will be found, upon ex- amination, the arbitrary edicts of legislators, author- ised only by themselves, who, out of various means by which the same end may be attained, selected such as happened to occur to their own reflection, and then, by a law which idleness and timidity were too willing to obey, prohibited new experiments of wit, restrained fancy from the indulgence of her in- nate inclination to hazard and adventure, and con- demned all future flights of genius to pursue the path of the Meonian eagle. This authority may be more justly opposed, as it 285 THE RAMBLER is apparently derived from them whom they en- deavour to control; for we owe few of the rules of writing to the acuteness of criticks, who have gen- erally no other merit than that, having read the works of great authors with attention, they have observed the arrangement of their matter, or the graces of their expression, and then expected honour and reverence for precepts which they never could have invented ; so that practice has introduced rules; rather than rules have directed practice. For this reason the laws of every species of writing have been settled by the ideas of him who first raised it to reputation, without inquiry whether his performances were not yet susceptible of improve- ment. The excellencies and faults of celebrated writers have been equally recommended to pos- terity; and, so far has blind reverence prevailed, that even the number of their books has been thought worthy of imitation. The imagination of the first authors of lyrick poetry was vehement and rapid, and their knowl- edge various and extensive. Living in an age when science had been little cultivated, and when the minds of their auditors, not being accustomed to accurate inspection, were easily dazzled by glaring ideas, they applied themselves to instruct, rather by short sentences and striking thoughts, than by regu- lar argumentation ; and, finding attention more suc- cessfully excited by sudden sallies and unexpected exclamations, than by the more artful and placid beauties of methodical deduction, they loosed their 286 THE RAMBLER genius to its own course, passed from one sentiment to another without expressing the intermediate ideas, and roved at large over the ideal world with such lightness and agility, that their footsteps are scarcely to be traced. From this accidental peculiarity of the ancient writers the criticks deduce the rules of lyrick poetry, which they have set free from all the laws by which other compositions are confined, and allow to neg- lect the niceties of transition, to start into remote digressions, and to wander without restraint from one scene of imagery to another. A writer of later times has, by the vivacity of his essays, reconciled mankind to the same licen- tiousness in short dissertations; and he therefore who wants skill to form a plan, or diligence to pur- sue it, needs only entitle his performance an essay, to acquire the right of heaping together the collec- tions of half his life without order, coherence, or propriety. In writing, as in life, faults are endured without disgust when they are associated with transcendent merit, and may be sometimes recommended to weak judgments by the lustre which they obtain from their union with excellence; but it is the busi- ness of those who presume to superintend the taste or morals of mankind, to separate delusive combi- nations and distinguish that which may be praised from that which can only be excused. As vices never promote happiness, though, when overpow- ered by more active and more numerous virtues, 287 THE RAMBLER they cannot totally destroy it; so confusion and irregularity produce no beauty, though they can- not always obstruct the brightness of genius and learning. To proceed from one truth to another, and connect distant propositions by regular conse- quences, is the great prerogative of man. Independ- ent and unconnected sentiments flashing upon the mind in quick succession, may, for a time, delight by their novelty, but they differ from systematical reasoning, as single notes from harmony, as glances of lightning from the radiance of the sun. When rules are thus drawn, rather from prece- dents than reason, there is danger not only from the faults of an author, but from the errours of those who criticise his works; since they may often mislead their pupils by false representations, as the Ciceronians of the sixteenth century were betrayed into barbarisms by corrupt copies of their darling writer. It is established at present, that the proémial lines of a poem, in which the general subject is pro- posed, must be void of glitter and embellishment. ‘*'The first lines of Paradise Lost,’’ says Addison, **are perhaps as plain, simple, and unadorned, as any of the whole poem, in which particular the author has conformed himself to the example of Homer, and the precept of Horace.”’ This observation seems to have been made by an implicit adoption of the common opinion, without consideration either of the precept or example. Had Horace been consulted, he would have been found 288 THE RAMBLER to direct only what should be comprised in the proposition, not how it should be expressed; and to have commended Homer in opposition to a meaner poet, not for the gradual elevation of his diction, but the judicious expansion of his plan; for displaying unpromised events, not for producing unexpected elegancies. Speciosa dehine miracula promat; Antiphaten, Scyllamque, et cum Cyclope Charybdim. Hor. Ar. Poet. 146. But from a cloud of smoke he breaks to light, And pours his specious miracles to sight; Antiphates his hideous feast devours, Charybdis barks, and Polyphemus roars. Francis. If the exordial verses of Homer be compared with the rest of the poem, they will not appear re- markable for plainness or simplicity, but rather eminently adorned and illuminated: "Avdpd poe &vvere, Modoa, roddtporoy, bs pdha rodha IhéyyOn, exet Tpotns iepov xrodted poy exepae: Hoddy © av3padnwy ev dotea, xat voov eyvw: Toda © bf ev névtw radSev Gdyea by xata Supov, *Apvipevos Hy te Puyjy xat voortoy Etaipwv AIX 060 DS etdpous eppbcarto, léusvds mep* Abtaév yap opetépyow atacdadigow dioyto: Nyxtot, ot xata Bods breptovos ’Hedioro *Hodtov abtap 6 totow adetheto vootipoy juap’ Toy Gpo%ev ye, Sea, Sbyatep Atos, etre xak Huiv. The man, for wisdom’s various arts renown’d, ' Long exercised in woes, O muse! resound. Who, when his arms had wrought the destin’d fall Of Sacred Troy, and raz’d her heav’n-built wall, Wandering from clime to clime, observant stray’d, The manners noted, and their states survey’d. On stormy seas unnumber’d toils he bore, Safe with his friends to gain his natal shore: VoL. 3—19 289 THE RAMBLER Vain toils! their impious folly dar’d to prey On herds devoted to the god of day; The god vindictive doom’d them never more (Ah! men unbless’d) to touch that natal shore. O snatch some portion of these acts from fate, Celestial muse! and to our world relate. Pope. The first verses of the Iliad are in like manner particularly splendid, and the proposition of the /Kneid closes with dignity and magnificence not often to be found even in the poetry of Virgil. The intent of the introduction is to raise expec- tation, and suspend it; something therefore must be discovered, and something concealed; and the poet, while the fertility of his invention is yet un- known, may properly recommend himself by the grace of his language. He that reveals too much, or promises too little; he that never irritates the intellectual appetite, or that immediately satiates it, equally defeats his own purpose. It is necessary to the pleasure of the reader, that the events should not be anticipated, and how then can his attention be invited, but by grandeur of expression? No. 159. TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 24, 1751 Sunt verba et voces, quibus hunc lenire dolorem Possis, et magnum morbi deponere partem. Hor. Ep. Lib. i. 34, The power of words, and soothing sounds, appease The raging pain, and lessen the disease. Francis. HE imbecility with which Verecundulus com- plains that the presence of a numerous assem- bly freezes his faculties, is particularly incident to the studious part of mankind, whose education 290 THE RAMBLER necessarily secludes them in their earlier years from mingled converse, till, at their dismission from schools and academies, they plunge at once into the tumult of the world, and, coming forth from the gloom of solitude, are overpowered by the blaze of publick life. It is, perhaps, kindly provided by nature, that as the feathers and strength of a bird grow together, and her wings are not completed till she is able to fly, so some proportion should be preserved in the human kind between judgment and courage; the precipitation of inexperience is therefore re- strained by shame, and we remain shackled by timidity, till we have learned to speak and act with propriety. I believe few can review the days of their youth without recollecting temptations, which shame, rather than virtue, enabled them to resist; and opinions which, however erroneous in their prin- ciples, and dangerous in their consequences, they have panted to advance at the hazard of contempt and hatred, when they found themselves irresistibly depressed by a languid anxiety, which seized them at the moment of utterance, and still gathered strength from their endeavours to resist it. It generally happens that assurance keeps an even pace with ability, and the fear of miscarriage, which hinders our first attempts, is gradually dissipated as our skill advances towards certainty of success. That bashfulness, therefore, which prevents dis- grace, that short and temporary shame which secures 291 THE RAMBLER us from the danger of lasting reproach, cannot be properly counted among our misfortunes. Bashfulness, however it may incommode for a moment, scarcely ever produces evils of long con- tinuance; it may flush the cheek, flutter in the heart, deject the eyes, and enchain the tongue, but its mischiefs soon pass off without remembrance. It may sometimes exclude pleasure, but seldom opens any avenue to sorrow or remorse. It is observed somewhere that few have repented of having for- borne to speak. To excite opposition, and inflame malevolence, is the unhappy privilege of courage made arrogant by consciousness of strength. No man finds in him- self any inclination to attack or oppose him who confesses his superiority by blushing in his presence. Qualities exerted with apparent fearfulness, receive applause from every voice, and support from every hand. Diffidence may check resolution and obstruct performance, but compensates its embarrassments by more important advantages; it conciliates the proud, and softens the severe, averts envy from excellence, and censure from miscarriage. It may indeed happen that knowledge and virtue remain too long congealed by this frigorifick power, as the principles of vegetation are sometimes ob- structed by lingering frosts. He that enters late into a public station, though with all the abilities requisite to the discharge of his duty, will find his powers at first impeded by a timidity which he himself knows to be vicious, and must struggle long against dejec- 292 THE RAMBLER tion and reluctance, before he obtains the full com- mand of his own attention, and adds the gracefulness of ease to the dignity of merit. For this disease of the mind I know not whether any remedies of much efficacy can be found. To advise a man unaccustomed to the eyes of multi- tudes to mount a tribunal without perturbation, to tell him whose life was passed in the shades of con- templation, that he must not be disconcerted or perplexed in receiving and returning the compli- ments of a splendid assembly, is to advise an in- habitant of Brasil or Sumatra not to shiver at an English winter, or him who has always lived upon a plain to look from a precipice without emotion. It is to suppose custom instantaneously controllable by reason, and to endeavour to communicate, by precept, that which only time and habit can bestow. He that hopes by philosophy and contemplation alone to fortify himself against that awe which all, at their first appearance on the stage of life, must feel from the spectators, will, at the hour of need, be mocked by his resolution; and I doubt whether the preservatives which Plato relates Alcibiades to have received from Socrates, when he was about to speak in public, proved sufficient to secure him from the powerful fascination. Yet, as the effects of time may by art and industry be accelerated or retarded, it cannot be improper to consider how this troublesome instinct may be opposed when it exceeds its just proportion, and instead of repressing petulance and temerity, 293 THE RAMBLER silences eloquence, and debilitates force; since, though it cannot be hoped that anxiety should be immediately dissipated, it may be at least somewhat abated; and the passions will operate with less vio- lence, when reason rises against them, than while she either slumbers in neutrality, or, mistaking her interest, lends them her assistance. No cause more frequently produces bashfulness than too high an opinion of our own importance. He that imagines an assembly filled with his merit, panting with expectation, and hushed with atten- tion, easily terrifies himself with the dread of disap- pointing them, and strains his imagination in pursuit of something that may vindicate the veracity of fame, and shew that his reputation was not gained by chance. He considers that what he shall say or do will never be forgotten; that renown or infamy is suspended upon every syllable, and that nothing ought to fall from him which will not bear the test of time. Under such solicitude, who can wonder that the mind is overwhelmed, and, by struggling with attempts above her strength, quickly sinks into languishment and despondency? The most useful medicines are often unpleasing to the taste. Those who are oppressed by their own reputation, will, perhaps, not be comforted by hear- ing that their cares are unnecessary. But the truth is, that no man is much regarded by the rest of the world. He that considers how little he dwells upon the condition of others, will learn how little the attention of others is attracted by himself. While 294 i THE RAMBLER we see multitudes passing before us, of whom, per- haps, not one appears to deserve our notice, or ex- cite our sympathy, we should remember, that we likewise are lost in the same throng; that the eye which happens to glance upon us is turned in a moment on him that follows us, and that the ut- most which we can reasonably hope or fear is, to fill a vacant hour with prattle, and be forgotten. No. 160. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 28, 1751 —Tnter se convenit ursis. Juv. Sat. xv. 164. Beasts of each kind their fellows spare! Bear lives in amity with bear. 66 HE world,’’ says Locke, ‘‘ has people of all sorts.’ As in the general hurry produced by the superfluities of some, and necessities of others, no man needs to stand still for want of employ- ment, so in the innumerable gradations of ability, and endless varieties of study and inclination, no employment can be vacant for want of a man qualified to discharge it. Such is probably the natural state of the uni- verse; but it is so much deformed by interest and passion, that the benefit of this adaptation of men to things is not always perceived. The folly or indi- gence of those who set their services to sale, in- clines them to boast of qualifications which they do not possess, and attempt business which they do not understand; and they who have the power of assigning to others the task of life, are seldom hon- 295 THE RAMBLER est or seldom happy in their nomination. Patrons are corrupted by avarice, cheated by credulity, or overpowered by resistless solicitation. They are sometimes too strongly influenced by honest preju- dices of friendship, or the prevalence of virtuous compassion. For, whatever cool reason may direct, it is not easy for a man of tender and scrupulous goodness to overlook the immediate effect of his own actions, by turning his eyes upon remoter con- sequences, and to do that which must give present pain, for the sake of obviating evil yet unfelt, or securing advantage in time to come. What is dis- tant is in itself obscure, and, when we have no wish to see it, easily escapes our notice, or takes such a form as desire or imagination bestows upon it. Every man might, for the same reason, in the multitudes that swarm about him, find some kindred mind with which he could unite in confidence and friendship; yet we see many struggling single about the world, unhappy for want of an associate, and pining with the necessity of confining their senti- ments to their own bosoms. This inconvenience arises, in like manner, from struggles of the will against the understanding. It is not often difficult to find a suitable companion, if every man would be content with such as he is qualified to please. But if vanity tempts him to forsake his rank, and post himself among those with whom no common interest or mutual pleasure can ever unite him, he must always live in a state of 296 THE RAMBLER unsocial separation, without tenderness and without trust. There are many natures which can never approach within a certain distance, and which, when any ir- regular motive impels them towards contact, seem to start back from each other by some invincible repulsion. There are others which immediately co- here whenever they come into the reach of mutual attraction, and with very little formality of prepara- tion mingle intimately as soon as they meet. Every man, whom either business or curiosity has thrown at large into the world, will recollect many instances of fondness and dislike, which have forced them- selves upon him without the intervention of his judgment; of dispositions to court some and avoid others, when he could assign no reason for the pref- erence, or none adequate to the violence of his pas- sions; of influence that acted instantaneously upon his mind, and which no arguments or persuasions could ever overcome. Among those with whom time and intercourse have made us familiar, we feel our affections di- vided in different proportions without much regard to moral or intellectual merit. Every man knows some whom he cannot induce himself to trust, though he has no reason to suspect that they would betray him; those to whom he cannot complain, though he never observed them to want compas- sion; those in whose presence he never can be gay, though excited by invitations to mirth and freedom ; and those from whom he cannot be content to re- 297 THE RAMBLER ceive instruction, though they never insulted his ignorance by contempt or ostentation. That much regard is to be had to those instincts of kindness and dislike, or that reason should blindly follow them, I am far from intending to inculcate: it is very certain, that by indulgence we may give them strength which they have not from nature, and almost every example of ingratitude and treach- ery proves, that by obeying them we may commit our happiness to those who are very unworthy of so great a trust. But it may deserve to be remarked, that since few contend much with their inclinations, it is generally vain to solicit the good-will of those whom we perceive thus involuntarily alienated from us; neither knowledge nor virtue will reconcile an- tipathy, and though officiousness may be for a time admitted, and diligence applauded, they will at last be dismissed with coldness, or discouraged by neglect. Some have indeed an occult power of stealing upon the affections, of exciting universal benevo- lence, and disposing every heart to fondness and friendship. But this is a felicity granted only to the favourites of nature. The greater part of mankind find a different reception from different dispositions ; they sometimes obtain unexpected caresses from those whom they never flattered with uncommon regard, and sometimes exhaust all their arts of pleasing without effect. To these it is necessary to look round, and attempt every breast in which they find virtue sufficient for the foundation of friend- 298 THE RAMBLER ship; to enter into the crowd, and try whom chance will offer to their notice, till they fix on some tem- per congenial to their own, as the magnet rolled in the dust collects the fragments of its kindred metal from a thousand particles of other substances. Every man must have remarked the facility with which the kindness of others is sometimes gained by those to whom he never could have imparted his own. We are by our occupations, education, and habits of life, divided almost into different species, which regard one another, for the most part, with scorn and malignity. Each of these classes of the human race has desires, fears, and conversation, vex- ations and merriment peculiar to itself; cares which another cannot feel; pleasures which he cannot par- take; and modes of expressing every sensation which he cannot understand. That frolick which shakes one man with laughter, will convulse an- other with indignation; the strain of jocularity which in one place obtains treats and patronage, would in another be heard with indifference, and in a third with abhorrence. To raise esteem we must benefit others, to pro- cure love we must please them. Aristotle observes, that old men donot readily form friendships, because they are not easily susceptible of pleasure. He that can contribute to the hilarity of the vacant hour, or partake with equal gust the favourite amusement; he whose mind is employed on the same objects, and who therefore never harasses the understanding with unaccustomed ideas, will be welcomed with 299 measles a SNE SC RR EP THE RAMBLER ardour, and left with regret, unless he destroys those recommendations by faults with which peace and security cannot consist. It were happy, if, in forming friendships, virtue could concur with pleasure; but the greatest part of human gratifications approach so nearly to vice, that few who make the delight of others their rule of conduct, can avoid disingenuous compliances; yet certainly he that suffers himself to be driven or ' allured from virtue, mistakes his own interest, since he gains succour by means, for which his friend, if ever he becomes wise, must scorn him, and for which at last he must scorn himself. No. 161. TUESDAY, OCTOBER 1, 1751 Oly yap pbdrwy yevén, tombe xat” Avdpwy. Hom. II. T’. Frail as the leaves that quiver on the sprays, Like them man flourishes, like them decays. MR. RAMBLER. SIR, OU have formerly observed that curiosity often terminates in barren knowledge, and that the mind is prompted to study and inquiry rather by the uneasiness of ignorance, than the hope of profit. Nothing can be of less importance to any present interest, than the fortune of those who have been long lost in the grave, and from whom nothing now can be hoped or feared. Yet, to rouse the zeal of a true antiquary, little more is necessary than to mention a name which mankind have conspired to 300 THE RAMBLER forget; he will make his way to remote scenes of action through obscurity and contradiction, as Tully sought amidst bushes and brambles the tomb of Archimedes. It is not easy to discover how it concerns him that gathers the produce, or receives the rent of an estate, to know through what families the land has passed, who is registered in the Conqueror’s survey as its possessor, how often it has been forfeited by treason, or how often sold by prodigality. The power or wealth of the present inhabitants of a country cannot be much increased by an inquiry after the names of those barbarians, who destroyed one an- other twenty centuries ago, in contests for the shel- ter of woods, or convenience of pasturage. Yet we see that no man can be at rest in the enjoyment of anew purchase till he has learned the history of his grounds from the ancient inhabitants of the parish, and that no nation omits to record the actions of their ancestors, however bloody, savage, and rapacious. The same disposition, as different opportunities call it forth, discovers itself in great or little things. I have always thought it unworthy of a wise man to slumber in total inactivity, only be- cause he happens to have no employment equal to his ambition or genius; it is therefore my cus- tom to apply my attention to the objects before me, and as I cannot think any place wholly un- worthy of notice that affords a habitation to a man of letters, I have collected the history and 301 THE RAMBLER antiquities of the several garrets in which I have resided. Quantulacunque estis, vos ego magna voco. How small to others, but how great to me! Many of these narratives my industry has been able to extend to a considerable length; but the woman with whom I now lodge has lived only eigh- teen months in the house, and can give no account of its ancient revolutions; the plaisterer having, at her entrance, obliterated, by his white-wash, all the smoky memorials which former tenants had left upon the ceiling, and perhaps drawn the veil of oblivion over politicians, philosophers, and poets. When I first cheapened my lodgings, the land- lady told me, that she hoped I was not an author, for the lodgers on the first floor had stipulated that the upper rooms should not be occupied by a noisy trade. I very readily promised to give no disturbance to her family, and soon dispatched a bargain on the usual terms. I had not slept many nights in my new apartment before I began to inquire after my predecessors, and found my landlady, whose imagination is filled chiefly ‘with her own affairs, very ready to give me information. Curiosity, like all other desires, produces pain as well as pleasure. Before she began her narrative, I had heated my head with expectations of adventures and discoveries, of elegance in disguise, and learning in distress; and was somewhat mortified when I 302 THE RAMBLER heard that the first tenant was a tailor, of whom nothing was remembered but that he complained of his room for want of light; and, after having lodged in it a month, and paid only a week’s rent, pawned a piece of cloth which he was trusted to cut out, and was forced to make a precipitate re- treat from this quarter of the town. The next was a young woman newly arrived from the country, who lived for five weeks with great regularity, and became by frequent treats very much the favourite of the family, but at last re- ceived visits so frequently from a cousin in Cheap- side, that she brought the reputation of the house into danger, and was therefore dismissed with good advice. The room then stood empty for a fortnight; my landlady began to think that she had judged hardly, and often wished for such another lodger. At last, an elderly man of a grave aspect read the bill, and bargained for the room at the very first price that was asked. He lived in close retirement, seldom went out till evening, and then returned early, sometimes cheerful, and at other times dejected. It was remarkable, that whatever he purchased, he never had small money in his pocket; and, though cool and temperate on other occasions, was always vehement and stormy, till he received his change. He paid his rent with great exactness, and seldom failed once a week to requite my landlady’s civility with a supper. At last, such is the fate of human felicity, the house was alarmed at midnight by the 3038 THE RAMBLER constable, who demanded to search the garrets. My landlady assuring him that he had mistaken the door, conducted him upstairs, where he found the tools of a coiner; but the tenant had crawled along the roof to an empty house, and escaped; much to the joy of my landlady, who declares him a very honest man, and wonders why any body should be hanged for making money when such numbers are in want of it. She however confesses that she shall, for the future, always question the character of those who take her garret without beating down the price. The bill was then placed again in the window, and the poor woman was teased for seven weeks by innumerable passengers, who obliged her to climb with them every hour up five stories, and then dis- liked the prospect, hated the noise of a publick street, thought the stairs narrow, objected to a low ceiling, required the walls to be hung with fresher paper, asked questions about the neighbourhood, could not think of living so far from their acquaint- ance, wished the windows had looked to the south rather than the west, told how the door and chimney might have been better disposed, bid her half the price that she asked, or promised to give her earnest the next day, and came no more. At last, a short meagre man, in a tarnished waist- coat, desired to see the garret, and when he had stipulated for two long shelves, and a larger table, hired it at a low rate. When the affair was com- pleted, he looked round him with great satisfaction, 304 THE RAMBLER and repeated some words which the woman did not understand. In two days he brought a great box of books, took possession of his room, and lived very inoffensively, except that he frequently disturbed the inhabitants of the next floor by unseasonable noises. He was generally in bed at noon, but from evening to midnight he sometimes talked aloud with great vehemence, sometimes stamped as in rage, sometimes threw down his poker, then clattered his chairs, then sat down in deep thought, and again burst out into loud vociferations; sometimes he would sigh as oppressed with misery, and sometimes shaked with convulsive laughter. When he encoun- tered any of the family, he gave way or bowed, but rarely spoke, except that as he went upstairs he often repeated, —‘Os ixéptata ddpata vater. This habitant th’ aerial regions boast ; hard words, to which his neighbours listened so often, that they learned them without understand- ing them. What was his employment she did not venture to ask him, but at last heard a printer’s boy inquire for the author. My landlady was very often advised to beware of this strange man, who, though he was quiet for the present, might perhaps become outrageous in the hot months; but, as she was punctually paid, she could not find any sufficient reason for dismissing him, till one night he convinced her, by setting fire to his VoL. 3—20 305 THE RAMBLER curtains, that it was not safe to have an author for her inmate. She had then for six weeks a succession of tenants, who left the house on Saturday, and, instead of paying their rent, stormed at their landlady. At last she took in two sisters, one of whom had spent her little fortune in procuring remedies for a lingering disease, and was now supported and attended by the other: she climbed with difficulty to the apart- ment, where she languished eight weeks without impatience, or lamentation, except for the expense and fatigue which her sister suffered, and then calmly and contentedly expired. The sister followed her to the grave, paid the few debts which they had contracted, wiped away the tears of useless sorrow, and, returning to the business of common life, re- signed to me the vacant habitation. Such, Mr. Rambler, are the changes which have happened in the narrow space where my present fortune has fixed my residence. So true it is that amusement and instruction are always at hand for those who have skill and willingness to find them; and, so just is the observation of Juvenal, that a single house will shew whatever is done or suffered in the world. I am, Sir, &c. 306 THE RAMBLER No. 162. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 5, 1751 Orbus es, et locuples, et Bruto consule natus, Esse tibi veras credis amicitias? Sunt vere: sed quas Juvenis, quas pauper habebas: Qui novus est, mortem diligit ille tuam. Mart, Lib. xi. Ep. 44. What! old and rich, and childless too, And yet believe your friends are true? Truth might perhaps to those belong, To those who lov’d you poor and young; But, trust me, for the new you have, They’ll love you dearly—in your grave. F. Lewis. NE of the complaints uttered by Milton’s Samson, in the anguish of blindness, is, that he shall pass his life under the direction of others; that he cannot regulate his conduct by his own knowledge, but must lie at the mercy of those who undertake to guide him. There is no state more contrary to the dignity of wisdom than perpetual and unlimited depend- ance, in which the understanding lies useless, and every motion is received from external impulse. Reason is the great distinction of human nature, the faculty by which we approach to some degree of association with celestial intelligences; but as the excellence of every power appears only in its operations, not to have reason, and to have it use- less and unemployed, is nearly the same. Such is the weakness of man, that the essence of things is seldom so much regarded as external and accidental appendages. A small variation of trifling circumstances, a slight change of form by an arti- 307 THE RAMBLER ficial dress, or a casual difference of appearance, by a new light and situation, will conciliate affection or excite abhorrence, and determine us to pursue or to avoid. Every man considers a necessity of com- pliance with any will but his own, as the lowest state of ignominy and meanness; few are so far lost in cowardice or negligence, as not to rouse at the first insult of tyranny, and exert all their force against him who usurps their property, or invades any privilege of speech or action. Yet we see often those who never wanted spirit to repel encroach- ment or oppose violence, at last, by a gradual relaxation of vigilance, delivering up, without ca- pitulation, the fortress which they defended against assault, and laying down unbidden the weapons which they grasp the harder for every attempt to wrest them from their hands. Men eminent for spirit and wisdom often resign themselves to voluntary pupilage, and suffer their lives to be modelled by officious ignorance, and their choice to be regulated by presumptuous stupidity. This unresisting acquiescence in the determina- tion of others, may be the consequence of applica- tion to some study remote from the beaten track of life, some employment which does not allow leisure for sufficient inspection of those petty af- fairs, by which nature has decreed a great part of our duration to be filled. To a mind thus withdrawn from common objects, it is more eligible to repose on the prudence of another, than to be exposed every moment to slight interruptions. The submis- 308 THE RAMBLER sion which such confidence requires, is paid without pain, because it implies no confession of inferiority. The business from which we withdraw our cogni- zance, is not above our abilities, but below our notice. We please our pride with the effects of our influence thus weakly exerted, and fancy ourselves placed in a higher orb, for which we regulate subordinate agents by a slight and distant superintendence. But, whatever vanity or abstraction may suggest, no man can safely do that by others which might be done by himself; he that indulges negligence will quickly become ignorant of his own affairs; and he that trusts without reserve will at last be deceived. It is, however, impossible but that, as the atten- tion tends strongly towards one thing, it must re- tire from another; and he that omits the care of domestick business, because he is engrossed by in- quiries of more importance to mankind, has, at least, the merit of suffering in a good cause. But there are many who can plead no such extenuation of their folly; who shake off the burden of their situation, not that they may soar with less incum- brance to the heights of knowledge or virtue, but that they may loiter at ease and sleep in quiet; and who select for friendship and confidence not the faithful and the virtuous, but the soft, the civil, and compliant. This openness to flattery is the common disgrace of declining life. When men feel weakness increas- ing on them, they naturally desire to rest from the struggles of contradiction, the fatigue of reasoning, 309 THE RAMBLER the anxiety of cireumspection ; when they are hourly tormented with pains and diseases, they are unable to bear any new disturbance, and consider all oppo- sition as an addition to misery, of which they feel already more than they can patiently endure. Thus desirous of peace, and thus fearful of pain, the old man seldom inquires after any other qualities in those whom he caresses, than quickness in conjec- turing his desires, activity in supplying his wants, dexterity in intercepting complaints before they approach near enough to disturb him, flexibility to his present humour, submission to hasty petulance, and attention to wearisome narrations. By these arts alone many have been able to defeat the claims of kindred and of merit, and to enrich themselves with presents and legacies. Thrasybulus inherited a large fortune, and aug- mented it by the revenues of several lucrative em- ployments, which he discharged with honour and dexterity. He was at last wise enough to consider, that life should not be devoted wholly to accumu- lation, and therefore retiring to his estate applied himself to the education of his children, and the cultivation of domestick happiness. He passed several years in this pleasing amuse- ment, and saw his care amply recompensed; his daughters were celebrated for modesty and elegance, and his sons for learning, prudence, and spirit. In time the eagerness with which the neighbouring gentlemen courted his alliance, obliged him to resign his daughters to other families; the vivacity and 310 THE RAMBLER curiosity of his sons hurried them out of rural privacy into the open world, from whence they had not soon an inclination to return. This, however, he had always hoped; he pleased himself with the suc- cess of his schemes, and felt no inconvenience from solitude till an apoplexy deprived him of his wife. Thrasybulus had now no companion; and the maladies of increasing years having taken from him much of the power of procuring amusement for himself, he thought it necessary to procure some inferior friend, who might ease him of his economical solicitudes, and divert him by cheerful conversation. All these qualities he soon recollected in Vafer, a clerk in one of the offices over which he had formerly presided. Vafer was invited to visit his old patron, and being by his station acquainted with the present modes of life, and by constant practice dexterous in business, entertained him with so many novelties, and so readily disentangled his affairs, that he was desired to resign his clerkship, and accept a liberal salary in the house of Thrasybulus. Vafer, having always lived in a state of depend- ance, was well versed in the arts by which favour is obtained, and could, without repugnance or hesi- tation, accommodate himself to every caprice, and echo every opinion. He never doubted but to be convinced, nor attempted opposition but to flatter Thrasybulus with the pleasure of a victory. By this practice he found his way into his patron’s heart, and, having first made himself agreeable, soon be- came important. His insidious diligence, by which 311 THE RAMBLER the laziness of age was gratified, engrossed the management of affairs; and his petty offices of civility, and occasional intercessions, persuaded the tenants to consider him as their friend and bene- factor, and to entreat his enforcement of their rep- resentations of hard years, and his countenance to petitions for abatement of rent. Thrasybulus had now banqueted on flattery, till he could no longer bear the harshness of remon- strance or the insipidity of truth. All contrariety to his own opinion shocked him like a violation of some natural right, and all recommendation of his affairs to his own inspection was dreaded by him as a summons to torture. His children were alarmed by the sudden riches of Vafer, but their complaints were heard by their father with impatience, as the result of a conspiracy against his quiet, and a design to condemn him, for their own advantage, to groan out his last hours in perplexity and drudgery. The daughters retired with tears in their eyes, but the son continued his importunities till he found his in- heritance hazarded by his obstinacy. Vater triumphed over all their efforts, and, con- tinuing to confirm himself in authority, at the death of his master, purchased an estate, and bade defiance to inquiry and justice. 312 THE RAMBLER No. 163. TUESDAY, OCTOBER 8, 1751 Mitte superba pati fastidia, spemque caducam Despice; vive tibi, nam moriere tibi. SENECA. Bow to no patron’s insolence; rely On no frail hopes, in freedom live and die. F. Lewis. ONE of the cruelties exercised by wealth and power upon indigence and dependance is more mischievous in its consequences, or more frequently practised with wanton negligence, than the encour- agement of expectations which are never to be grati- fied, and the elation and depression of the heart by needless vicissitudes of hope and disappointment. Every man is rich or poor, according to propor- tion between his desires and enjoyments; any en- largement of wishes is therefore equally destructive to happiness with the diminution of possession; and he that teaches another to long for what he never shall obtain, is no less an enemy to his quiet, than if he had robbed him of part of his patrimony. But representations thus refined exhibit no ade- quate idea of the guilt of pretended friendship; of artifices by which followers are attracted only to decorate the retinue of pomp, and swell the shout of popularity, and to be dismissed with contempt and ignominy, when their leader has succeeded or miscarried, when he is sick of show, and weary of noise. While a man infatuated with the promises of greatness, wastes his hours and days in attend- ance and solicitation, the honest opportunities of improving his condition pass by without his notice; 313 THE RAMBLER he neglects to cultivate his own barren soil, because he expects every moment to be placed in regions of spontaneous fertility, and is seldom roused from his delusion, but by the gripe of distress which he cannot resist, and the sense of evils which cannot be remedied. The punishment of Tantalus in the infernal re- gions affords a just image of hungry servility, flat- tered with the approach of advantage, doomed to lose it before it comes into his reach, always within a few days of felicity, and always sinking back to his former wants: Kat pny Tdvtadoy eicetdov, yalér ahye eyovta, *Eotaét’ ev Aiuyy’ 9 6é mpocénhale yevely Xacdto O& dedwy, nesewv © odx elyev Ehgabar: ‘Ooodxt yap xddel 6 yépwy negewy peveatvuy, Tosody Sdwp aroléoxer dvaBpoyéy" apg dé zocor Tata pélawa pdveoxe, xatalyvacxe 0é datuwy. Aégvdpea © Sdurétyha xataxp7Oev yée xaproy, "Oyyvat, xar potar, xa uniéat dyhadxaprot, Louxat te phoxepat, xat dhatat tyre Odwoa: Tay bx6v tObcet 6 yépwy ext yepol pacacbat, Tdo® dvepos pintaoxe mote végea oxtéevta. Hom. Od. A’. 581. *“T saw,’’ says Homer’s Ulysses, ‘‘ the severe punishment of Tantalus. In a lake, whose waters ap- proached to his lips, he stood burning with thirst, without the power to drink. Whenever he inclined his head to the stream, some deity commanded it to be dry, and the dark earth appeared at his feet. Around him lofty trees spread their fruits to view; the pear, the pomegranate and the apple, the green 314 THE RAMBLER olive and the luscious fig quivered before him, which, whenever he extended his hand to seize them, were snatched by the winds into clouds and obscurity. ’’ This image of misery was perhaps originally sug- gested to some poet by the conduct of his patron, by the daily contemplation of splendour which he never must partake, by fruitless attempts to catch at interdicted happiness, and by the sudden eva- nescence of his reward, when he thought his labours almost at an end. To groan with poverty, when all about him was opulence, riot, and superfluity, and to find the favours which he had long been en- couraged to hope, and had long endeavoured to deserve, squandered at last on nameless ignorance, was to thirst with water flowing before him, and to see the fruits, to which his hunger was hastening, scattered by the wind. Nor can my correspondent, whatever he may have suffered, express with more justness or force the vexations of dependance. a TO THE RAMBLER. I am one of those mortals who have been courted and envied as the favourites of the great. Having often gained the prize of composition at the uni- versity, I began to hope that I should obtain the same distinction in every other place, and deter- mined to forsake the profession to which I was des- tined by my parents, and in which the interest of my family would have procured me a very advan- tageous settlement. The pride of wit fluttered in 315 THE RAMBLER my heart, and when I prepared to leave the college, nothing entered my imagination but honours, ca- resses, and rewards, riches without labour, and lux- ury without expense. I however delayed my departure for a time, to finish the performance by which I was to draw the first notice of mankind upon me. When it was com- pleted I hurried to London, and considered every moment that passed before its publication, as lost in a kind of neutral existence, and cut off from the golden hours of happiness and fame. The piece was at last printed and disseminated by a rapid sale; I wandered from one place of concourse to another, feasted from morning to night on the repetition of my own praises, and enjoyed the various conjec- tures of criticks, the mistaken candour of my friends, and the impotent malice of my enemies. Some had read the manuscript, and rectified its inaccuracies; others had seen it in a state so imperfect, that they could not forbear to wonder at its present excellence; some had conversed with the author at the coffee- house; and others gave hints that they had lent him money. I knew that no performance is so favourably read as that of a writer who suppresses his name, and therefore resolved to remain concealed, till those by whom literary reputation is established had given their suffrages too publickly to retract them. At length my bookseller informed me that Aurantius, the standing patron of merit, had sent inquiries after me, and invited me to his acquaintance. 316 THE RAMBLER The time which I had long expected was now arrived. I went to Aurantius with a beating heart, for I looked upon our interview as the critical mo- ment of my destiny. I was received with civilities which my academick rudeness made me unable to repay; but when I had recovered from my confu- sion, I prosecuted the conversation with such liveli- ness and propriety, that I confirmed my new friend in his esteem of my abilities, and was dismissed with the utmost ardour of profession, and raptures of fondness. I was soon summoned to dine with Aurantius, who had assembled the most judicious of his friends to partake of the entertainment. Again I exerted my powers of sentiment and expression, and again found every eye sparkling with delight, and every tongue silent with attention. I now became familiar at the table of Aurantius, but could never, in his most private or jocund hours, obtain more from him than general declarations of esteem, or endearments of tenderness, which included no particular promise, and therefore conferred no claim. This frigid reserve somewhat disgusted me, and when he complained of three days absence, I took care to inform him with how much importunity of kindness I had been detained by his rival Pollio. Aurantius now considered his honour as endan- gered by the desertion of a wit, and, lest I should have an inclination to wander, told me that I could never find a friend more constant and zealous than himself; that indeed he had made no promises be- 317 THE RAMBLER cause he hoped to surprise me with advancement, but had been silently promoting my interest, and should continue his good offices, unless he found the kindness of others more desired. If you, Mr. Rambler, have ever ventured your philosophy within the attraction of greatness, you know the force of such language introduced with a smile of gracious tenderness, and impressed at the conclusion with an air of solemn sincerity. From that instant I gave myself up wholly to Auran- tius, and, as he immediately resumed the former gaiety, expected every morning a summons to some employment of dignity and profit. One month suc- ceeded another, and, in defiance of appearances, I still fancied myself nearer to my wishes, and con- tinued to dream of success, and wake to disappoint- ment. At last the failure of my little fortune compelled me to abate the finery which I hitherto thought necessary to the company with whom I associated, and the rank to which I should be raised. Aurantius, from the moment in which he discovered my poverty, considered me as fully in his power, and afterwards rather permitted my attendance than invited it; thought himself at liberty to refuse my visits, whenever he had other amusements within reach, and often suffered me to wait, without pre- tending any necessary business. When I was ad- mitted to his table, if any man of rank equal to his own. was present, he took occasion to mention my writings, and commend my ingenuity, by which he intended to apologize for the confusion of distinc- 318 THE RAMBLER tions, and the improper assortment of his company ; and often called upon me to entertain his friends with my productions, as a sportsman delights the squires of his neighbourhood with the curvets of his horse, or the obedience of his spaniels. To complete my mortification, it was his practice to impose tasks upon me, by requiring me to write upon such subjects as he thought susceptible of ornament and illustration. With these extorted per- formances he was little satisfied, because he rarely found in them the ideas which his own imagination had suggested, and which he therefore thought more natural than mine. When the pale of ceremony is broken, rudeness and insult soon enter the breach. He now found that he might safely harass me with vexation, that he had fixed the shackles of patronage upon me, and that I could neither resist him nor escape. At last, in the eighth year of my servitude, when the clamour of creditors was vehement, and my neces- sity known to be extreme, he offered me a small office, but hinted his expectation, that I should marry a young woman with whom he had been acquainted. I was not so far depressed by my calamities as to comply with this proposal; but, knowing that com- plaints and expostulations would but gratify his insolence, I turned away with that contempt with which I shall never want spirit to treat the wretch who can outgo the guilt of a robber without the temptation of his profit, and who lures the credulous 319 THE RAMBLER and thoughtless to maintain the show of his levee, and the mirth of his table, at the expense of honour, happiness, and life. Tastee LIBERALIS. No. 164. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 12, 1751 Vitium, Gaure, Catonis habes. Mart. Lib. ii. Ep. lxxxix. 2. Gaurus pretends to Cato’s fame; And proves—by Cato’s vice, his claim. ISTINCTION is so pleasing to the pride of man, that a great part of the pain and pleasure of life arises from the gratification or disappoint- ment of an incessant wish for superiority, from the success or miscarriage of secret competitions, from victories and defeats, of which, though they appear to us of great importance, in reality none are con- scious except ourselves. Proportionate to the prevalence of this love of praise is the variety of means by which its attain- ment is attempted. Every man however hopeless « his pretensions may appear to all but himself, has some project by which he hopes to rise to reputa- tion; some art by which he imagines that the notice of the world will be attracted; some quality, good or bad, which discriminates him from the common herd of mortals, and by which others may be per- suaded to love, or compelled to fear him. The ascents of honour, however steep, never appear in- accessible; he that despairs to scale the precipices 320 THE RAMBLER by which learning and valour have conducted their favourites, discovers some by-path, or easier accliv- ity, which, though it cannot bring him to the sum- mit, will yet enable him to overlook those with whom he is now contending for eminence; and we seldom require more to the happiness of the present hour, than to surpass him that stands next before us. As the greater part of human kind speak and act wholly by imitation, most of those who aspire to honour and applause propose to themselves some example which serves as the model of their con- duct, and the limit of their hopes. Almost every man, if closely examined, will be found to have en- listed himself under some leader whom he expects to conduct him to renown; to have some hero or other, living or dead, in his view, whose character he endeavours to assume, and whose performances he labours to equal. When the original is well chosen, and judiciously copied, the imitator often arrives at excellence, which he could never have attained without direc- tion; for few are formed with abilities to discover new possibilities of excellence, and to distinguish themselves by means never tried before. But folly and idleness often contrive to gratify pride. at a cheaper rate: not the qualities which are most illustrious, but those which are of easiest at- tainment, are selected for imitation; and the hon- ours and rewards which publick gratitude has paid to the benefactors of mankind, are expected by wretches who can only imitate them in their vices Vor. 3—21 321 THE RAMBLER and defects, or adopt some petty singularities of which those from whom they are borrowed were secretly ashamed. No man rises to such a height as to become con- spicuous, but he is on one side censured by undis- cerning malice, which reproaches him for his best actions, and slanders his apparent and incontestable excellencies; and idolized on the other by ignorant admiration, which exalts his faults and follies into virtues. It may be observed, that he by whose inti- macy his acquaintances imagine themselves digni- fied, generally diffuses among them his mien and his habits; and indeed, without more vigilance than is generally applied to the regulation of the minu- ter parts of behaviour, it is not easy, when we con- verse much with one whose general character excites our veneration, to escape all contagion of his peculi- arities, even when we do not deliberately think them worthy of our notice, and when they would have excited laughter or disgust, had they not been pro- tected by their alliance to nobler qualities, and acci- dentally consorted with knowledge or with virtue. The faults of a man loved or honoured, sometimes steal secretly and imperceptibly upon the wise and virtuous, but, by injudicious fondness or thoughtless vanity, are adopted with design. There is scarce any failing of mind or body, any errour of opinion, or depravity of practice, which instead of producing shame and discontent, its natural effects, has not at one time or other gladdened vanity with the hopes of praise, and been displayed with ostentatious in- 322 THE RAMBLER dustry by those who sought kindred minds among the wits or heroes, and could prove their relation only by similitude of deformity. In consequence of this perverse ambition, every habit which reason condemns may be indulged and avowed. When a man is upbraided with his faults, he may indeed be pardoned if he endeavours to run for shelter to some celebrated name; but it is not to be suffered that, from the retreats to which he fled from infamy, he should issue again with the confidence of conquests, and call upon mankind for praise. Yet we see men that waste their patri- mony in luxury, destroy their health with debauch- ery, and enervate their minds with idleness, because there have been some whom luxury never could sink into contempt, nor idleness hinder from the praise of genius. This general inclination of mankind to copy char- acters in the gross, and the force which the recom- mendation of illustrious examples adds to the allurements of vice, ought to be considered by all whose character excludes them from the shades of secrecy, as incitements to scrupulous caution and universal purity of manners. No man, however en- slaved to his appetites, or hurried by his passions, can, while he preserves his intellects unimpaired, please himself with promoting the corruption of others. He whose merit has enlarged his influence, would surely wish to exert it for the benefit of man- kind. Yet such will be the effect of his reputation, while he suffers himself to indulge in any favourite 323 THE RAMBLER fault, that they who have no hope to reach his ex- cellence will catch at his failings, and his virtues will be cited to justify the copiers of his vices. It is particularly the duty of those who consign illustrious names to posterity, to take care lest their readers be misled by ambiguous examples. That writer may be justly condemned as an enemy to goodness, who suffers fondness or interest to con- found right with wrong, or to shelter the faults which even the wisest and the best have committed from that ignominy which guilt ought always to suffer, and with which it should be more deeply stigmatized when dignified by its neighbourhood to uncommon worth, since we shall be in danger of beholding it without abhorrence, unless its turpi- tude be laid open, and the eye secured from the deception of surrounding splendour. No. 165. TUESDAY, OCTOBER 14, 1751 "Hy véos, adha révys vdv ynp@y, maobotog eter *Q pédvos 2x mdvtwy olxtpds ev ap.portépote, "Os tote pev ypjcbat Svvduny, dxd67 ob0 ey etyoy. Nov © éxéte ypjobat py ddvapnat, tét eyw. ANTIPHILUS. Young was I once and poor, now rich and old; A harder case than mine was never told; Blest with the power to use them—I had none; Loaded with riches now, the power is gone. F. Lewis. ee TO THE RAMBLER. HE writers who have undertaken the unprom- ising task of moderating desire, exert all the power of their eloquence, to shew that happiness is 324 THE RAMBLER not the lot of man, and have, by many arguments and examples, proved the instability of every con- dition by which envy or ambition are excited. They have set before our eyes all the calamities to which we are exposed from the frailty of nature, the in- fluence of accident, or the stratagems of malice; they have terrified greatness with conspiracies, and riches with anxieties, wit with criticism, and beauty with disease. All the force of reason, and all the charms of language, are indeed necessary to support positions which every man hears with a wish to confute them. Truth finds an easy entrance into the mind when she is introduced by desire, and attended by pleas- ure; but when she intrudes uncalled, and brings only fear and sorrow in her train, the passes of the intellect are barred against her by prejudice and passion; if she sometimes forces her way by the batteries of argument, she seldom long keeps pos- session of her conquests, but is ejected by some favoured enemy, or at best obtains only a nom- inal sovereignty, without influence and without authority. That life is short we are all convinced, and yet suffer not that conviction to repress our projects or limit our expectations; that life is miserable we all feel, and yet we believe that the time is near when we shall feel it no longer. But to hope happiness and immortality is equally vain. Our state may indeed be more or less embittered as our duration may be more or less contracted; yet the utmost $25 THE RAMBLER felicity which we can ever attain will be little better than alleviation of misery, and we shall always feel more pain from our wants than pleasure from our enjoyments. The incident which I am going to relate will shew, that to destroy the effect of all our success, it is not necessary that any signal calamity should fall upon us, that we should be harassed by implacable persecution, or excruciated by irremedi- able pains: the brightest hours of prosperity have their clouds, and the stream of life, if it is not ruffled by obstructions, will grow putrid by stagnation. My father, resolving not to imitate the folly of his ancestors, who had hitherto left the younger sons encumbrances on the eldest, destined me to a lucra- tive profession; and I, being careful to lose no opportunity of improvement, was, at the usual time in which young men enter the world, well qualified for the exercise of the business which I had chosen. My eagerness to distinguish myself in publick, and my impatience of the narrow scheme of life to which my indigence confined me, did not suffer me to continue long in the town where I was born. I went away as from a place of confinement, with a resolution to return no more, till I should be able to dazzle with my splendour those who now looked upon me with contempt, to reward those who had paid honours to my dawning merit, and to shew all who had suffered me to glide by them unknown and neglected, how much they mistook their interest in omitting to propitiate a genius like mine. Such were my intentions when I sallied forth into 326 THE RAMBLER the unknown world, in quest of riches and honours, which I expected to procure in a very short time; for what could withhold them from industry and knowledge? He that indulges hope will always be disappointed. Reputation I very soon obtained ; but as merit is much more cheaply acknowledged than rewarded, I did not find myself yet enriched in pro- portion to my celebrity. IT had, however, in time, surmounted the obstacles by which envy and competition obstruct the first attempts of a new claimant, and saw my opponents and censurers tacitly confessing their despair of success, by courting my friendship and yielding to my influence. They who once pursued me, were now satisfied to escape from me; and they who had before thought me presumptuous in hoping to over- take them, had now their utmost wish, if they were permitted, at no great distance, quietly to follow me. My wants were not madly multiplied as my acquisitions increased, and the time came, at length, when I thought myself enabled to gratify all reason- able desires, and when, therefore, I resolved to en- joy that plenty and serenity which I had been hitherto labouring to procure, to enjoy them while I was yet neither crushed by age into infirmity, nor so habituated to a particular manner of life as to be unqualified for new studies or entertainments. I now quitted my profession, and, to set myself at once free from all importunities to resume it, changed my residence, and devoted the remaining part of my time to quiet and amusement. Amidst 327 THE RAMBLER innumerable projects of pleasure, which restless idle- ness incited me to form, and of which most, when they came to the moment of execution, were re- jected for others of no longer continuance, some accident revived in my imagination the pleasing ideas of my native place. It was now in my power to visit those from whom I had been so long absent, in such a manner as was consistent with my former resolution, and I wondered how it could happen that I had so long delayed my own happiness. Full of the admiration which I should excite, and the homage which I should receive, I dressed my servants in a more ostentatious livery, purchased a magnificent chariot, and resolved to dazzle the in- habitants of the little town with an unexpected blaze of greatness. While the preparations that vanity required were made for my departure, which, as workmen will not easily be hurried beyond their ordinary rate, I thought very tedious, I solaced my impatience with imaging the various censures that my appearance would produce; the hopes which some would feel from my bounty; the terrour which my power would strike on others; the awkward respect with which I should be accosted by timorous officious- ness; and the distant reverence with which others, less familiar to splendour ‘and dignity, would be contented to gaze upon me. I deliberated a long time, whether I should immediately descend to a level with my former acquaintances; or make my condescension more grateful by a gentle transition 328 THE RAMBLER from haughtiness and reserve. At length I deter- mined to forget some of my companions, till they discovered themselves by some indubitable token, and to receive the congratulations of others upon my good fortune with indifference, to shew that I always expected what I had now obtained. The acclamations of the populace I purposed to reward with six hogsheads of ale, and a roasted ox, and then recommend to them to return to their work. At last all the trappings of grandeur were fitted, and I began the journey of triumph, which I could have wished to have ended in the same moment; but my horses felt none of their master’s ardour, and I was shaken four days upon rugged roads. I then entered the town, and, having graciously let fall the glasses, that my person might be seen, passed slowly through the street. The noise of the wheels brought the inhabitants to their doors, but I could not perceive that I was known by them. At last I alighted, and my name, I suppose, was told by my servants, for the barber stepped from the opposite house, and seized me by the hand with honest joy in his countenance, which, according to the rule that I had prescribed to myself, I repressed with a frigid graciousness. The fellow, instead of sinking into dejection, turned away with contempt, and left me to consider how the second salutation should be received. The next fellow was better treated, for I soon found that I must purchase by civility that regard which I had expected to enforce by insolence. 329 THE RAMBLER There was yet no smoke of bonfires, no harmony of bells, no shout of crowds, nor riot of joy; the business of the day went forward as before; and, after having ordered a splendid supper, which no man came to partake, and which my chagrin hin- dered me from tasting, I went to bed, where the vexation of disappointment overpowered the fatigue of my journey, and kept me from sleep. I rose so much humbled by those mortifications, as to inquire after the present state of the town, and found that I had been absent too long to obtain the triumph which had flattered my expectation. Of the friends whose compliments I expected, some had long ago moved to distant provinces, some had lost in the maladies of age all sense of another’s prosperity, and some had forgotten our former in- timacy amidst care and distresses. Of three whom I had resolved to punish for their former offences by a longer continuance of neglect, one was, by his own industry, raised above my scorn, and two were sheltered from it in the grave. All those whom I\ loved, feared, or hated, all whose envy or whose kindness I had hopes of contemplating with pleas- ure, were swept away, and their place was filled by a new generation with other views and other com- petitions; and among many proofs of the impotence of wealth, I found that it conferred upon me very few distinctions in my native place. I am, Sir, &c. SEROTINUS. 330 THE RAMBLER No. 166. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 19, 1751 Semper, eris pauper st pauper es, Aimiliane: Dantur opes nullis nune nisi divitibus. Marr. Lib. v. Ep. Ixxxi. Once poor, my friend, still poor you must remain, The rich alone have all the means of gain. Epw. Cave. O complaint has been more frequently repeated in all ages than that of the neglect of merit as- sociated with poverty, and the difficulty with which valuable or pleasing qualities force themselves into view, when they are obscured by indigence. It has been long observed, that native beauty has little power to charm without the ornaments which for- tune bestows, and that to want the favour of others is often sufficient to hinder us from obtaining it. Every day discovers that mankind are not yet convinced of their errour, or that their conviction is without power to influence their conduct; for poverty still continues to produce contempt, and still obstructs the claims of kindred and of virtue. The eye of wealth is elevated towards higher sta- tions, and seldom descends to examine the actions of those who are placed below the level of its no- tice, and who in distant regions and lower situations are struggling with distress, or toiling for bread. Among the multitudes overwhelmed with insuper- able calamity, it is common to find those whom a very little assistance would enable to support them- selves with decency, and who yet cannot obtain from near relations, what they see hourly lavished in ostentation, luxury, or frolick. 331 THE RAMBLER There are natural reasons why poverty does not easily conciliate affection. He that has been con- fined from his infancy to the conversation of the lowest classes of mankind, must necessarily want those accomplishments which are the usual means of attracting favour; and though truth, fortitude, and probity, give an indisputable right to reverence and kindness, they will not be distinguished by common eyes, unless they are brightened by ele- gance of manners, but are cast aside like unpolished gems, of which none but the artist knows the in- trinsick value, till their asperities are smoothed, and their incrustations rubbed away. The grossness of vulgar habits obstructs the effi- eacy of virtue, as impurity and harshness of style impair the force of reason, and rugged numbers turn off the mind from artifice of disposition, and fertility of invention. Few have strength of reason to over-rule the perceptions of sense; and yet fewer have curiosity or benevolence to struggle long against the first impression; he therefore who fails — to please in his salutation and address, is at once rejected, and never obtains an opportunity of shew- ing his latent excellencies, or essential qualities. It is, indeed, not easy to prescribe a successful manner of approach to the distressed or necessitous, whose condition subjects every kind of behaviour equally to miscarriage. He whose confidence of merit incites him to meet, without any apparent sense of inferiority, the eyes of those who flattered themselves with their own dignity, is considered as 332 THE RAMBLER an insolent leveller, impatient of the just preroga- tives of rank and wealth, eager to usurp the station to which he has no right, and to confound the sub- ordinations of society; and who would contribute to the exaltation of that spirit which even want and calamity are not able to restrain from rudeness and rebellion ? But no better success will commonly be found to attend servility and dejection, which often give pride the confidence to treat them with contempt. A request made with diffidence and timidity is easily denied, because the petitioner himself seems to doubt its fitness. Kindness is generally reciprocal; we are desirous of pleasing others, because we receive pleasure from them; but by what means can the man please, whose attention is engrossed by his distresses, and who has no leisure to be officious; whose will is re- strained by his necessities, and who has no power to confer benefits; whose temper is perhaps vitiated by misery, and whose understanding is impeded by ignorance ? It is yet a more offensive discouragement, that the same actions performed by different hands pro- duce different effects, and, instead of rating the man by his performances, we rate too frequently the performance by the man. It sometimes happens in the combinations of life, that important services are performed by inferiors; but though their zeal and activity may be paid by pecuniary rewards, they seldom excite that flow of gratitude, or obtain 333 THE RAMBLER that accumulation of recompense, with which all think it their duty to acknowledge the favour of those who descend to their assistance from a higher elevation. To be obliged, is to be in some respect inferior to another’; and few willingly indulge the memory of an action which raises one whom they have always been accustomed to think below them, but satisfy themselves with faint praise and penuri- ous payment, and then drive it from their own minds, and endeavour to conceal it from the knowl- edge of others. It may be always objected to the services of those who can be supposed to want a reward, that they were produced not by kindness but interest; they are, therefore, when they are no longer wanted, easily disregarded as arts of insinuation, or strata- gems of selfishness. Benefits which are received as gifts from wealth, are exacted as debts from indi- gence; and he that in a high station is celebrated for superfluous goodness, would in a meaner con- dition have barely been confessed to have done his duty. It is scarcely possible for the utmost benevolence to oblige, when exerted under the disadvantages of great inferiority; for, by the habitual arrogance of wealth, such expectations are commonly formed as no zeal or industry can satisfy; and what regard f Sir Joshua Reynolds evinced great reach of mind and intimate ac- quaintance with humanity, when he observed, on overhearing a person condoling with some ladies on the death of one who had conferred the greatest favours upon them, that at all events they were relieved from the burden of gratitude. 334 THE RAMBLER can he hope, who has done less than was demanded from him ? There are indeed kindnesses conferred which were never purchased by precedent favours, and there is an affection not arising from gratitude or gross interest, by which similar natures are attracted to each other, without prospect of any other advantage than the pleasure of exchanging sentiments, and the hope of confirming their esteem of themselves by the approbation of each other. But this spon- taneous fondness seldom rises at the sight of poverty, which every one regards with habitual con- tempt, and of which the applause is no more courted by vanity, than the countenance is solicited by ambition. The most generous and disinterested friendship must be resolved at last into the love of ourselves; he therefore whose reputation or dignity inclines us to consider his esteem as a testimonial of desert, will always find our hearts open to his endearments. We every day see men of eminence followed with all the obsequiousness of dependance, and courted with all the blandishments of flattery, by those who want nothing from them but profes- sions of regard, and who think themselves liberally rewarded by a bow, a smile, or an embrace. But those prejudices which every mind feels more or less in favour of riches, ought, like other opinions, which only custom and example have impressed upon us, to be in time subjected to reason. We must learn how to separate the real character from extraneous adhesions and casual circumstances, to 335 THE RAMBLER consider closely him whom we are about to adopt or to reject; to regard his inclinations as well as his actions; to trace out those virtues which lie torpid in the heart for want of opportunity, and those vices that lurk unseen by the absence of temptation; that when we find worth faintly shooting in the shades of obscurity, we may let in light and sun- shine upon it, and ripen barren volition into efficacy and power. _No. 16%.” TUESDAY, OCTOBER 22, 1751 Candida perpetuo reside, Concordia, lecto, Tamque pari semper sit Venus aqua jugo. Diligat illa senem quondam: sed et ipsa marito, Tum quoque cum fuerit, non videatur, anus. Mart. Lib. iv. xii. 7. Their nuptial bed may smiling concord dress, And Venus still the happy union bless! Wrinkled with age, may mutual love and truth To their dim eyes recall the bloom of youth. F. Lewts. naa TO THE RAMBLER. T is not common to envy those with whom we cannot easily be placed in comparison. Every man sees without malevolence the progress of another in the tracks of life, which he has himself no desire to tread, and hears, without inclination to cavils or contradiction, the renown of those whose distance will not suffer them to draw the attention of man- kind from his own merit. The sailor never thinks it necessary to contest the lawyer’s abilities; nor would the Rambler, however jealous of his reputation, be much disturbed by the success of rival wits at Agra or Ispahan. 336 THE RAMBLER We do not therefore ascribe to you any super- lative degree of virtue, when we believe that we may inform you of our change of condition without danger of malignant fascination; and that when you read of the marriage of your correspondents Hymeneus and Tranquilla, you will join your wishes to those of their other friends for the happy event of an union in which ecaprice and selfishness had so little part. There is at least this reason why we should be less deceived in our connubial hopes than many who enter into the same state, that we have allowed our minds to form no unreasonable expectations, nor vitiated our fancies in the soft hours of courtship, with visions of felicity which human power cannot bestow, or of perfection which human virtue can- not attain. That impartiality with which we en- deavour to inspect the manners of all whom we have known was never so much overpowered by our passion, but that we discovered some faults and weaknesses in each other; and joined our hands in conviction, that as there are advantages to be en- joyed in marriage, there are inconveniences likewise to be endured; and that, together with confederate intellects and auxiliar virtues, we must find different opinions and opposite inclinations. We however flatter ourselves, for who is not flattered by himself as well as by others on the day of marriage ? that we are eminently qualified to give mutual pleasure. Our birth is without any such remarkable disparity as can give either an oppor- Vo. 3—22 337 THE RAMBLER tunity of insulting the other with pompous names and splendid alliances, or of calling in, upon any domestick controversy, the overbearing assistance of powerful relations. Our fortune was equally suit- able, so that we meet without any of those obliga- tions, which always produce reproach or suspicion of reproach, which, though they may be forgotten in the gaieties of the first month, no delicacy will always suppress, or of which the suppression must be considered as a new favour, to be repaid by tame- ness and submission, till gratitude takes the place of love, and the desire of pleasing degenerates by degrees into the fear of offending. The settlements caused no delay; for we did not trust our affairs to the negociation of wretches, who would have paid their court by multiplying stipulations. Tranquilla scorned to detain any part of her fortune from him into whose hands she de- livered up her person; and Hymeneus thought no act of baseness more criminal than his who enslaves his wife by her own generosity, who by marrying without a jointure, condemns her to all the dangers of accident and caprice, and at last boasts his liber- ality, by granting what only the indiscretion of her kindness enabled him to withhold. He therefore re- ceived on the common terms the portion which any other woman might have brought him, and reserved all the exuberance of acknowledgment for those excellencies which he has yet been able to discover only in Tranquilla. We did not pass the weeks of courtship like 338 THE RAMBLER those who consider themselves as taking the last draught of pleasure, and resolve not to quit the bowl without a surfeit, or who know themselves about to set happiness to hazard, and endeavour to lose their sense of danger in the ebriety of per- petual amusement, and whirl round the gulph be- fore they sink. Hymenzus often repeated a medical axiom, that the swccours of sickness ought not to be wasted in health. We know that however our eyes may yet sparkle, and our hearts bound at the pres- ence of each other, the time of listlessness and satiety, of peevishness and discontent, must come at last, in which we shall be driven for relief to shows and recreations; that the uniformity of life must be sometimes diversified, and the vacuities of conversation sometimes supplied. We rejoice in the reflection that we have stores of novelty yet unex- hausted, which may be opened when repletion shall call for change, and gratifications yet untasted, by which life, when it shall become vapid or bitter, may be restored to its former sweetness and spright- liness, and again irritate the appetite, and again sparkle in the cup. Our time will probably be less tasteless than that of those whom the authority and avarice of parents unite almost without their consent in the early years, before they have accumulated any fund of reflection, or collected materials for mutual enter- tainment. Such we have often seen rising in the morning to cards, and retiring in the afternoon to doze, whose happiness was celebrated by their 339 THE RAMBLER neighbours, because they happened to grow rich by parsimony, and to be kept quiet in insensibility, and agreed to eat and to sleep together. We have both mingled with the world, and are therefore no strangers to the faults and virtues, the designs and competitions, the hopes and fears of our contemporaries. We have both amused our leisure with books, and can therefore recount the events of former times, or cite the dictates of an- cient wisdom. Every occurrence furnishes us with some hint which one or the other can improve, and if it should happen that memory or imagination fail us, we can retire to no idle or unimproving solitude. Though our characters, beheld at a distance, ex- hibit this general resemblance, yet a nearer inspec- tion discovers such a dissimilitude of our habitudes and sentiments, as leaves each some peculiar advan- tages, and affords that concordia discors, that suit- able: disagreement which is always necessary to intellectual harmony. There may be a total diversity of ideas which admits no participation of the same delight, and there may likewise be such a conform- ity of notions as leaves neither any thing to add to the decisions of the other. With such contrariety there can be no peace, with such similarity there can be no pleasure. Our reasonings, though often formed upon different views, terminate generally in the same conclusion. Our thoughts, like rivulets issuing from distant springs, are each impregnated in its course with various mixtures, and tinged by 340 THE RAMBLER infusions unknown to the other, yet, at last, easily unite into one stream, and purify themselves by the gentle effervescence of contrary qualities. These benefits we receive in a greater degree as we converse without reserve, because we have noth- ing to conceal. We have no debts to be paid by imperceptible deductions from avowed expenses, no habits to be indulged by the private subserviency of a favoured servant, no private interviews with needy relations, no intelligence with spies placed upon each other. We considered marriage as the most solemn league of perpetual friendship, a state from which artifice and concealment are to be ban- ished for ever, and in which every act of dissimula- tion is a breach of faith. The impetuous vivacity of youth, and that ar- dour of desire, which the first sight of pleasure naturally produces, have long ceased to hurry us into irregularity and vehemence; and experience has shewn us that few gratifications are too valu- able to be sacrificed to complaisance. We have thought it convenient to rest from the fatigue of pleasure, and now only continue that course of life into which we had before entered, confirmed in our choice by mutual approbation, supported in our resolution by mutual encouragement, and assisted in our efforts by mutual exhortation. Such, Mr. Rambler, is our prospect of life, a pros- pect which, as it is beheld with more attention, seems to open more extensive happiness, and spreads, by degrees, into the boundless regions of eternity. 341 THE RAMBLER But if all our prudence has been vain, and we are doomed to give one instance more of the uncer- tainty of human discernment, we shall comfort our- selves amidst our disappointments, that we were not betrayed but by such delusions as caution could not escape, since we sought happiness only in the arms of virtue. We are, Sir, Your humble Servants, HYMEN 2US. TRANQUILLA. No. 168. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 26, 1751 Decipit Frons prima multos: rara mens intelligit, Quod interiore condidtt cura angulo. Puaprvs, Lib. iv. Fab. i. 5. The tinsel glitter, and the specious mien, Delude the most; few pry behind the scene. [* has been observed by Boileau, that ‘‘a mean or common thought expressed in pompous dic- tion, generally pleases more than a new or noble sentiment delivered in low and vulgar language; because the number is greater of those whom cus- tom has enabled to judge of words, than whom study has qualified to examine things. ’”’ This solution might satisfy, if such only were of- fended with meanness of expression as are unable to distinguish propriety of thought, and to separate propositions or images from the vehicles by which they are conveyed to the understanding. But this 342 THE RAMBLER kind of disgust is by no means confined to the ignorant or superficial; it operates uniformly and universally upon readers of all classes; every man, however profound or abstracted, perceives himself irresistibly alienated by low terms; they who pro- fess the most zealous adherence to truth are forced to admit that she owes part of her charms to her ornaments; and loses much of her power over the soul, when she appears disgraced by a dress uncouth or ill-adjusted. We are all offended by low terms, but are not disgusted alike by the same compositions, because we do not all agree to censure the same terms as low. No word is naturally or intrinsically meaner than another; our opinion therefore of words, as of other things arbitrarily and capriciously established, depends wholly upon accident and custom. The cottager thinks those apartments splendid and spa- cious, which an inhabitant of palaces will despise for their inelegance; and to him who has passed most of his hours with the delicate and polite, many expressions will seem sordid, which another, equally acute, may hear without offence; but a mean term never fails to displease him to whom it appears mean, as poverty is certainly and invariably despised, though he who is poor in the eyes of some, may, by others, be envied for his wealth. Words become low by the occasions to which they are applied, or the general character of them who use them; and the disgust which they produce, arises from the revival of those images with which 343 THE RAMBLER they are commonly united. Thus if, in the most solemn discourse, a phrase happens to occur which has been successfully employed in some ludicrous narrative, the gravest auditor finds it difficult to re- frain from laughter, when they who are not prepos- sessed by the same accidental association, are utterly unable to guess the reason of his merriment. Words which convey ideas of dignity in one age, are ban- ished from elegant writing or conversation in an- other, because they are in time debased by vulgar mouths, and can be no longer heard without the involuntary recollection of unpleasing images. When Macbeth is confirming himself in the horrid purpose of stabbing his king, he breaks out amidst his emotions into a wish natural to a murderer: Come, thick night! And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell, That my keen knife see not the wound it makes; Nor heav’n peep through the blanket of the dark, To cry, Hold! hold! In this passage is exerted all the force of poetry; that force which calls new powers into being, which embodies sentiment, and animates matter: yet, per- haps, scarce any man now peruses it without some disturbance of his attention from the counteraction of the words to the ideas. What can be more dread- ful than to implore the presence of night, invested, not in common obscurity, but in the smoke of hell ? Yet the efficacy of this invocation is destroyed by the insertion of an epithet now seldom heard but in the stable, and dwn night may come or go without any other notice than contempt. 344 THE RAMBLER If we start into raptures when some hero of the Thiad tells us that 6600 patverar, his lance rages with eagerness to destroy; if we are alarmed at the ter- rour of the soldiers commanded by Cesar to hew down the sacred grove, who dreaded, says Lucan, lest the axe aimed at the oak should fly back upon the striker: Si robora sacra ferirent, In sua credebant redituras membra secures; None dares with impious steel the grove to rend, Lest on himself the destin’d stroke descend; we cannot surely but sympathise with the horrours of a wretch about to murder his master, his friend, his benefactor, who suspects that the weapon will refuse its office, and start back from the breast which he is preparing to violate. Yet this sentiment is weakened by the name of an instrument used by butchers and cooks in the meanest employments: we do not immediately conceive that any crime of importance is to be committed with a knife ; or who does not, at last, from the long habit of connecting a knife with sordid offices, feel aversion rather than terrour ? Macbeth proceeds to wish, in the madness of guilt, that the inspection of heaven may be inter- cepted, and that he may, in the involutions of in- fernal darkness, escape the eye of Providence. This is the utmost extravagance of determined wicked- ness; yet this is so debased by two unfortunate words, that while I endeavour to impress on my reader the energy of the sentiment, I can scarce B45 THE RAMBLER check my risibility, when the expression forces itself upon my mind; for who, without some relaxation of his gravity, can hear of the avengers of guilt peeping through a blanket ? These imperfections of diction are less obvious to the reader, as he is less acquainted with common usages; they are therefore wholly imperceptible to a foreigner, who learns our language from books, and will strike a solitary academick less forcibly than a modish lady. Among the numerous requisites that must con- cur to complete an author, few are of more import- ance than an early entrance into the living world. The seeds of knowledge may be planted in solitude, but must be cultivated in publick. Argumentation may be taught in colleges, and theories formed in retirement; but the artifice of embellishment, and the powers of attraction, can be gained only Dy general converse. An acquaintance with prevailing customs and fashionable elegance is necessary likewise for other purposes. The injury that grand imagery suffers from unsuitable language, personal merit may fear from rudeness and indelicacy. When the success of ineas depended on the favour of the queen upon whose coasts he was driven, his celestial protectress thought him not sufficiently secured against rejec- tion by his piety or bravery, but decorated him for the interview with preternatural beauty. Whoever desires, for his writings or himself, what none can reasonably contemn, the favour of mankind, must 346 THE RAMBLER add grace to strength, and make his thoughts agree- able as well as useful. Many complain of neglect who never tried to attract regard. It cannot be ex- pected that the patrons of science or virtue should be solicitous to discover excellencies, which they who possess them shade and disguise. Few have abilities so much needed by the rest of the world as to be caressed on their own terms; and he that will not condescend to recommend himself by ex- ternal embellishments, must submit to the fate of just sentiment meanly expressed, and be ridiculed and forgotten before he is understood. No. 169. TUESDAY, OCTOBER 29, 1751 Nec pluteum cedit, nec demorsos sapit ungues. Per. Sat. i. 106. No blood from bitten nails those poems drew; But churn’d, like spittle, from the lips they flew. Drypen. ATURAL historians assert, that whatever is formed for long duration arrives slowly to its maturity. Thus the firmest timber is of tardy growth, and animals generally exceed each other in longevity, in proportion to the time between their conception and their birth. The same observation may be extended to the offspring of the mind. Hasty compositions, however they please at first by flowery luxuriance, and spread in the sunshine of temporary favour, can seldom endure the change of seasons, but perish at the first blast of criticism, or frost of neglect. When Apelles was reproached with the paucity of his productions, 347 THE RAMBLER and the incessant attention with which he retouched his pieces, he condescended to make no other answer than that he painted for perpetuity. No vanity can more justly incur contempt and indignation than that which boasts of negligence and hurry. For who can bear with patience the writer who claims such superiority to the rest of his species, as to imagine that mankind are at leisure for attention to his extemporary sallies, and that posterity will reposite his casual effusions among the treasures of ancient wisdom ? Men have sometimes appeared of such transcend- ent abilities, that their slightest and most cursory performances excel all that labour and study can enable meaner intellects to compose; as there are regions of which the spontaneous products cannot be equalled in other soils by care and culture. But it is no less dangerous for any man to place himself in this rank of understanding, and fancy that he is born to be illustrious without labour, than to omit _ the cares of husbandry, and expect from his ground the blossoms of Arabia. The greatest part of those who congratulate them- selves upon their intellectual dignity, and usurp the privileges of genius, are men whom only themselves would ever have marked out as enriched by uncom- mon liberalities of nature, or entitled to veneration and immortality on easy terms. This ardour of con- fidence is usually found among those who, having not enlarged their notions by books or conversation, are persuaded, by the partiality which we all feel in 348 THE RAMBLER our own favour, that they have reached the summit of excellence, because they discover none higher than themselves; and who acquiesce in the first thoughts that occur, because their scantiness of knowledge allows them little choice; and the narrow- ness of their views affords them no glimpse of per- fection, of that sublime idea which human industry has from the first ages been vainly toiling to ap- proach. They see a little, and believe that there is nothing beyond their sphere of vision, as the Patuecos of Spain, who inhabited a small valley, conceived the surrounding mountains to be the boundaries of the world. In proportion as perfection is more distinctly conceived, the pleasure of con- templating our own performances will be lessened ; it may therefore be observed, that they who most deserve praise are often afraid to decide in favour of their own performances; they know how much is still wanting to their completion, and wait with anxiety and terrour the determination of the pub- lick. I please every one else, says Tully, but never satisfy myself. It has often been inquired, why, notwithstanding the advances of later ages in science, and the assist- ance which the infusion of so many new ideas has given us, we fall below the ancients in the art of composition. Some part of their superiority may be justly ascribed to the graces of their language, from which the most polished of the present Kuro- pean tongues are nothing more than barbarous degenerations. Some advantage they might gain 349 THE RAMBLER merely by priority, which put them in possession of the most natural sentiments, and left us nothing but servile repetition or forced conceits. But the greater part of their praise seems to have been the just reward of modesty and labour. Their sense of human weakness confined them commonly to one study, which their knowledge of the extent of every science engaged them to prosecute with in- defatigable diligence. Among the writers of antiquity I remember none except Statius who ventures to mention the speedy production of his writings, either as an ex- tenuation of his faults, or a proof of his facility. Nor did Statius, when he considered himself as a candidate for lasting reputation, think a closer at- tention unnecessary, but amidst all his pride and indigence, the two great hasteners of modern po- ems, employed twelve years upon the Thebaid, and thinks his claim to renown proportionate to his labour. Thebais, multa cruciata lima, Tentat, audaci fide, Mantuane Gaudia fame. Polish’d with endless toil, my lays At length aspire to Mantuan praise. Ovid indeed apologizes in his banishment for the imperfection of his letters, but mentions his want of leisure to polish them as an addition to his calamities; and was so far from imagining revisals and corrections unnecessary, that at his departure from Rome, he threw his Metamorphoses into the 350 THE RAMBLER fire, lest he should be disgraced by a book which he could not hope to finish. It seems not often to have happened that the same writer aspired to reputation in verse and prose; and of those few that attempted such diver- sity of excellence, I know not that even one suc- ceeded. Contrary characters they never imagined a single mind able to support, and therefore no man is recorded to have undertaken more than one kind of dramatick poetry. What they had written, they did not venture in their first fondness to thrust into the world, but, considering the impropriety of sending forth incon- siderately that which cannot be recalled, deferred the publication, if not nine years, according to the direction of Horace, yet till their fancy was cooled after the raptures of invention, and the glare of novelty had ceased to dazzle the judgment. There were in those days no weekly or diurnal writers; multa dies et multa litura, much time, and many rasures, were considered as indispensable requisites; and that no other method of attaining lasting praise has been yet discovered, may be con- jectured from the blotted manuscripts of Milton now remaining, and from the tardy emission of Pope’s compositions, delayed more than once till the incidents to which they alluded were forgotten, till his enemies were secure from his satire, and, what to an honest mind must be more painful, his friends were deaf to his encomiums. To him, whose eagerness of praise hurries his 351 THE RAMBLER productions soon into the light, many imperfections are unavoidable, even where the mind furnishes the materials, as well as regulates their disposition, and nothing depends upon search or information. Delay opens new veins of thought, the subject dismissed for a time appears with a new train of dependent images, the accidents of reading our conversation supply new ornaments or allusions, or mere inter- mission of the fatigue of thinking enables the mind to collect new force, and make new excursions. But all those benefits come too late for him, who, when he was weary with labour, snatched at the recom- pense, and gave his work to his friends and _ his enemies, as soon as impatience and pride persuaded him to conclude it. One of the most pernicious effects of haste, is obscurity. He that teems with a quick succession of ideas, and perceives how one sentiment produces another, easily believes that he can clearly express what he so strongly comprehends; he seldom sus- pects his thoughts of embarrassment, while he pre- serves in his own memory the series of connection, or his diction of ambiguity, while only one sense is present to his mind. Yet if he has been employed on an abstruse, or complicated argument, he will find, when he has awhile withdrawn his mind, and returns as a new reader to his work, that he has only a conjectural glimpse of his own meaning, and that to explain it to those whom he desires to instruct, he must open his sentiments, disentangle his method, and alter his arrangement. 352 THE RAMBLER - Authors and lovers always suffer some infatua- tion, from which only absence can set them free; and every man ought to restore himself to the full exercise of his judgment, before he does that which he cannot do improperly, without injuring his hon- our and his quiet. No. 170. SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 2, 1751 Confiteor; si quid prodest delicta fateri. Ovip. Am. Lib. i. El. iv. 3. I grant the charge; forgive the fault confess’d. ari: TO THE RAMBLER. AM one of those beings from whom many, that melt at the sight of all other misery, think it meritorious to withhold relief; one whom the rigour of virtuous indignation dooms to suffer without complaint, and perish without regard; and whom [I myself have formerly insulted in the pride of repu- tation and security of innocence. I am of a good family, but my father was bur- thened with more children than he could decently support. A wealthy relation, as he travelled from London to his country-seat, condescending to make him a visit, was touched with compassion of his narrow fortune, and resolved to ease him of part of his charge, by taking the care of a child upon him- self. Distress on one side, and ambition on the other, were too powerful for parental fondness, and the little family passed in review before him, that he might make his choice. I was then ten years old, VoL. 3—23 353 THE RAMBLER and, without knowing for what purpose, I was called to my great cousin, endeavoured to recommend myself by my best courtesy, sung him my prettiest song, told the last story that I had read, and so much endeared myself by my innocence, that he declared his resolution to adopt me, and to educate me with his own daughters. My parents felt the common struggles at the thought of parting, and some natural tears they dropp’d, but wip’d them soon. They considered, not without that false estimation of the value of wealth, which poverty long continued always produces, that I was raised to higher rank than they could give me, and to hopes of more ample fortune than they could bequeath. My mother sold some of her ornaments to dress me in such a manner as might secure me from contempt at my first arrival; and when she dismissed me, pressed me to her bosom with an embrace that I still feel, gave me some precepts of piety, which, however neglected, I have not forgotten, and uttered prayers for my final hap- piness, of which I have not yet ceased to hope that they will at last be granted. My sisters envied my new finery, and seemed not much to regret our separation; my father con- ducted me to the stage-coach with a kind of cheerful tenderness; and in a very short time I was trans- ported to splendid apartments, and a luxurious table, and grew familiar to shew, noise, and gaiety. In three years my mother died, having implored a blessing on her family with her last breath. I had 354 THE RAMBLER little opportunity to indulge a sorrow which there was none to partake with me, and therefore soon ceased to reflect much upon my loss. My father turned all his care upon his other children, whom some fortunate adventures and unexpected lega- cies enabled him, when he died, four years after my mother, to leave in a condition above their expectations. I should have shared the increase of his fortune, and had once a portion assigned me in his will; but my cousin assuring him that all care for me was needless, since he had resolved to place me happily in the world, directed him to divide my part amongst my sisters. Thus I was thrown upon dependance without resource. Being now at an age in which young women are initiated into company, I was no longer to be supported in my former character, but at a considerable expense; so that partly lest I should waste money, and partly lest my appearance might draw too many compliments and assiduities, I was insensibly degraded from my equality, and enjoyed few privileges above the head servant, but that of receiving no wages. I felt every indignity, but knew that resentment would precipitate my fall. I therefore endeavoured to continue my importance by little services and active officiousness, and, for a time, preserved myself from neglect, by withdrawing all pretences to com- petition, and studying to please rather than to shine. But my interest, notwithstanding this expedient, 335 THE RAMBLER hourly declined, and my cousin’s favourite maid began to exchange repartees with me, and consult me about the alterations of a cast gown. I was now completely depressed; and, though I had seen mankind enough to know the necessity of outward cheerfulness, I often withdrew to my chamber to vent my grief, or turn my condition in my mind, and examine by what means I might escape from perpetual mortification. At last my schemes and sorrows were interrupted by a sudden change of my relation’s behaviour, who one day took an occasion when we were left together in a room, to bid me suffer myself no longer to be in- sulted, but assume the place which he always intended me to hold in the family. He assured me that his wife’s preference of her own daughters should never hurt me; and, accompanying his pro- fessions with a purse of gold, ordered me to bespeak a rich suit at the mercers, and to apply privately to him for money when I wanted it, and insinuate that my other friends supplied me, which he would take care to confirm. By this stratagem, which I did not then under- stand, he filled me with tenderness and gratitude, compelled me to repose on him as my only support, and produced a necessity of private conversation. He often appointed interviews at the house of an acquaintance, and sometimes called on me with a coach, and carried me abroad. My sense of his favour, and the desire of retaining it, disposed me to unlimited complaisance, and, though I saw his 356 THE RAMBLER kindness grow every day more fond, I did not suffer any suspicion to enter my thoughts. At last the wretch took advantage of the familiarity which he enjoyed as my relation, and the submission which he exacted as my benefactor, to complete the ruin of an orphan, whom his own promises had made ‘indigent, whom his indulgence had melted, and his authority subdued. I know not why it should afford subject of exul- tation to overpower on any terms the resolution, or surprise the caution of a girl; but of all the boasters that deck themselves in the spoils of innocence and beauty, they surely have the least pretensions to triumph, who submit to owe their success to some casual influence. They neither employ the graces of fancy, nor the force of understanding, in their attempts; they cannot please their vanity with the art of their approaches, the delicacy of their adula- tions, the elegance of their address, or the efficacy of their eloquence; nor applaud themselves as possessed of any qualities, by which affection is at- tracted. They surmount no obstacles, they defeat no rivals, but attack only those who cannot resist, and are often content to possess the body, without any solicitude to gain the heart. Many of those despicable wretches does my present acquaintance with infamy and wickedness enable me to number among the heroes of de- bauchery. Reptiles whom their own servants would have despised, had they not been their servants, and with whom beggary would have disdained 357 THE RAMBLER intercourse, had she not been allured by hopes of relief. Many of the beings which are now rioting in taverns, or shivering in the streets, have been corrupted, not by arts of gallantry which stole gradually upon the affections and laid prudence asleep, but by the fear of losing benefits which were never intended, or of incurring resentment which they could not escape; some have been frighted by masters, and some awed by guardians into ruin. Our crime had its usual consequence, and he soon perceived that I could not long continue in his family. I was distracted at the thought of the re- proach which I now believed inevitable. He com- forted me with hopes of eluding all discovery, and often upbraided me with the anxiety, which perhaps none but himself saw in my countenance; but at last mingled his assurances of protection and main- tenance with menaces of total desertion, if, in the moments of perturbation I should suffer his secret to escape, or endeavour to throw on him any part of my infamy. Thus passed the dismal hours, till my retreat could no longer be delayed. It was pretended that my relations had sent for me to a distant county, and I entered upon a state which shall be described in my next letter. octets MISELLA. 358 : j y yi ‘i a) en ah j aut 4 Diy TG andy i) a TA i tea » ae ex 7 7 1 ti, ‘ AU Ant 1m ; ta a : i af i ri a7 a ae % on on % ; %, ae a eet OW, a) am 5 “2S (I? @ ee a ee es hee SASSI en saR eee se Se Aopen = Seca ie = ara gieeae ele fab ope ivy eas pans: &