Skip to main content

Full text of "The British essayists; to which are prefixed prefaces, biographical, historical, and critical"

See other formats 


Google 



This is a digital copy of a book that was preserved for generations on library shelves before it was carefully scanned by Google as part of a project 

to make the world's books discoverable online. 

It has survived long enough for the copyright to expire and the book to enter the public domain. A public domain book is one that was never subject 

to copyright or whose legal copyright term has expired. Whether a book is in the public domain may vary country to country. Public domain books 

are our gateways to the past, representing a wealth of history, culture and knowledge that's often difficult to discover. 

Marks, notations and other maiginalia present in the original volume will appear in this file - a reminder of this book's long journey from the 

publisher to a library and finally to you. 

Usage guidelines 

Google is proud to partner with libraries to digitize public domain materials and make them widely accessible. Public domain books belong to the 
public and we are merely their custodians. Nevertheless, this work is expensive, so in order to keep providing tliis resource, we liave taken steps to 
prevent abuse by commercial parties, including placing technical restrictions on automated querying. 
We also ask that you: 

+ Make non-commercial use of the files We designed Google Book Search for use by individuals, and we request that you use these files for 
personal, non-commercial purposes. 

+ Refrain fivm automated querying Do not send automated queries of any sort to Google's system: If you are conducting research on machine 
translation, optical character recognition or other areas where access to a large amount of text is helpful, please contact us. We encourage the 
use of public domain materials for these purposes and may be able to help. 

+ Maintain attributionTht GoogXt "watermark" you see on each file is essential for in forming people about this project and helping them find 
additional materials through Google Book Search. Please do not remove it. 

+ Keep it legal Whatever your use, remember that you are responsible for ensuring that what you are doing is legal. Do not assume that just 
because we believe a book is in the public domain for users in the United States, that the work is also in the public domain for users in other 
countries. Whether a book is still in copyright varies from country to country, and we can't offer guidance on whether any specific use of 
any specific book is allowed. Please do not assume that a book's appearance in Google Book Search means it can be used in any manner 
anywhere in the world. Copyright infringement liabili^ can be quite severe. 

About Google Book Search 

Google's mission is to organize the world's information and to make it universally accessible and useful. Google Book Search helps readers 
discover the world's books while helping authors and publishers reach new audiences. You can search through the full text of this book on the web 

at |http: //books .google .com/I 



'^^?. 



.■?fn= 



s-^^' 



>>l 



•^t 



'~^i 



'M: 



^^ 



% 



.if 



3*: 



Av 



^^^^^^^'> 



m 



>iic 



wi 



X 



m 



•^-iC 



^l 



■T^ 



'^^ 



%^ 






^< 



VCj 



*^; 



:^" 



J^ 



>^: 



i.f^; 



>v. 



rStr, 






■•-ijr 



*, 



'A'^'^^x 



^^' 



•\' 



^' 



■^vV' 



^V? 



: i» . V ru^" 



r^"^ 






^-t 



^V: 



>W5 






^^%: 



iyi; 



-,>"•' 

,■=*;* 



%: 



'^. 






*^/ 



:*^' 



vi^ 



r^^ 



po> 



>. 



^ v/^^'^i/ 



VVJ 



'ii-l 



!#: 



a^#^s^ 



-^^ 



v^' 



T^ 



[I <■ 






v^^ 



■i>- >^ 



>i^'. 






^ 



i.'^ - 



vx. 



'V/ 



^ 



?i^ 



'-^ 



^3H 



^, 



^f 







THE 

BRITISH ESSAYISTS; 

TO WHICH ARE PREFIXED 

PREFACES 

BIOGRAPHICAL, HISTORICAIj, AND CRITICAL: 

By JAMES FERGUSON, Esq. 

Aatixor of the NEW BIOGRAPHICAL DICTIONARY, &e. 



* - « « * 



A New Edition, in Forty Jive Voluptes.il^ v*** 



• * * * J 



* » 



» » 



* * * * 



VOL. XXV. :....... 



' ' * * S J ^ 

■> ■> * t. * * t 



* J 



CONTAINING ^iBVJ^^Jp^B:;<mL. Ill 




yLj^ —^ 

Printefl by Barnard '«ftt( Farley, S^ne 

FOR G* OFFER; >^ Sli^B££^O.j^lirf^^ AND CO.; 

C« WALKER; J/^E^A XS AWV 80 N&f^irfP0B80W ; J. JONES; 

AND J. JOHNSON ;~jiLfO'nV^.'8TEW ART AND CO.; AND 

W. BLAIR, EDINBURGH; AND J. SAWEHS, 

GLASGOW. 

1819. 






t) 






Mnon, LE"** JSL. 

7*^ 1811 



b to k. «- •- 



b to to to 



« to V ' 



- 1 



X 



* t 






ADVENTURER. 



N» 92—140. 






» t 



'TetUanda via est ; qu& me quoque potHm * ***,**' , 

Tottere kumOj victorque virum vo^are per ora, ^ ^»», «^ « 

' » '' i > ' ^ ' 

On venturous wing^ in quest of praise I go, 
And leave the gazing multitude below. 



» «> « 



te « * • • 






te b to w » • 

* to *■ to to • 

to to to ^ to to 



• to to .^^ ^toto 

-to *• ^ to to * 



to to to to to • 



CONTENTS. 



VOL. XXV. 



92. v/RiTicisM on the Pastorals of . ! " • • » * * 



* * » * , » , 



Virgil ..,* x>^f^pS*r»s 

03. Observations on the Tempest of * ••» • * . • 

Shakspeare »..•... wart^Jj.* jj\. » I 

94. Idleness, however fortunate, inca- * .' • / • • 



» * 



pable of felicity. Story of Ned ^ »•, ., . 

Froth ,. UA^K^Wfl^ . * . 

05. Apology for apparent Plagia- • . » i . * . : 
rism. Sources of literary va- 
riety JOHNSON 

86. The necessity of reducing Ima- 

S 'nation under the dominion of 
eason, exemplified hawkeswortii 

97. Observations on the Tempest con- 

cluded WARTON 

98. Account of Tim Wildgoose by 

himself. — Anon. Project to pre- 
vent the dbappointment of modern 
Ambition hawkesworth 

99. Projectors injudiciously censured 

and applauded johnson 

100. Gradation from A Greenhorn to 

A Blood: the life of Nomen- 

tanUS HAWKESWORTH 

101. Blemishes in the Paradise Lost .... warton 

VOL. XXV. b 



JOHNSON 



tl CONTENTS. 

102. Infelicities of Retiremeat to Men of 

Basioess '. johnsoN 

103. Natural and adyentitious Excel- 

lence, less desirable than Virtue. 
Almerine and Shelimah : a Fairy 

Tale HAWKESWORTH 

104. The Fairy Tale concluded — — — 

105. On the Fragments of Menander. . . warton 
.106. Insensibility of Danger, when mis- 
taken for Courage hawkesworth 

107. Different Opinions equally plausi- 

ble • JOHNSON 

108. The Uncertainty of human Things i 

109. A Visit to Bedlam with Dean 

Swift: A Vision.. warton 

110. Pity not an expression of strong 

Beueyolence haw Resworth 

111. The Pleasures and Ad?antages of 
\** • *• • • "Tfldy^tty , ,.,, 

* I , •fUf, jb: Effects of general Familiarity 

, ,Sind wanton Rudeness... • hawkesworth 

» : * % 113.* <)S)servations on Shakspeare's King 

*:.J**.**» Lear warton 

.. .. .•\i4^:Thti Value of Life fixed by Hope 

• • • •. *•:/•• I aiJd Fear, and therefore depen- 

' • dent upon the Will : An- Eastern 

Story HAWKESWORTH 

lid. The Itch of Writing universal ..... johnson 

116. Observations on £ng Lear conti- 

nued .^ , warton 

117. Danger of assuming the Appear- 

ance of Evil. The Story oi Des- 

demona Hawkesworth 

118. The Story of Desdemona con- 

cluded...* , — I 

119. The Folly of creating inartificial 

Wants JOHNSON 

120. The Miseries of Life — — ^ 

121 . The Adventures of a I^use ....«•• hawreswortH' 

122. Observations on King Lear con- 

cluded WARTON 

123. Fatal Effects of fashionable Levi- 

ties. The Story of Flavilla ..;.. baWkSswoRth 



CONTENTS. VII 



124. The Story continued hawkeswortit 

125. The Story concluded 

126. Solitude not eligible johnson 

J 27. In what Arts the Ancients excel the 

Modems warton 

128. Men /differently employed unjustly 

censured by each other . .« johnson 

129. Characters at Bath WAirroN 

130. Danger of Relapse after Purposes 

of Amendmeot hawkeswobth 

131 . Singularity censured johnson 

132. Benevolence urged from the Mi- 

sery of Solitude: An Eastern 

Story ^.^ HAWKESWORTH 

133. In what Arts the Moderns excel the 

Ancients warton 

134. The Cruelty of deserting Natural 

Children, and the Danger of ..„,, 

slight Breaches of Duty. Aga- ^^ J 

mus^s Account of his Daughter uivflaisvfoMi' 

135. Agamus's Account of his Daugh- -^- 

tercontinued ,. i^ 

136. Concluded 



*^ ^ -J o^ <# 









137. Writers not a useless Generation johkpson-"^- -^;; ^ 

138. Their Happiness and Infelicity . —L^"'-^" -" " 

139. The Design of the critical Jrapers 

in the Adventurer warton 

i40. Account of the general Plan, and 

Conclosion of the Work hawkesworth 



• 
• 
• 


« • • •• 

• • • 

•• • •• 
•• • ; 


• 
• • 


• 


• • ••• 
• • •! 


# 


• 


• • • ** 




• 


• •• • 




t • 


•• • 




• 


••.:••.. 


• 


• ,• 


•,• •• • 


• 


' • 


•*• I 


• 



THE 

ADVENTUREE- 



11^9* 



N«»a. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBIR ^, 17S9. 



Cum tdbuUt anmum censoris tumei honettu fiOlL 



»o • c 



Sold be the critic^ zealous to his trust, - 
like Uie firm j,udge inexorably Just. 



. TO TBB A!l>VEKTOR^L 
SIB9 



3 



• *> 9 

^ -- h* 

J by 

■> J • e 



XN the papers of criticisai which yoa have gireii 
to the public, I have remarked a spirit of candoar 
•nd love of truth, equally' Temote from bigotty and 
oaptioiisQeas ; ajustdistrSlHKtioii of praise amooigst 
the ancientB and the modems ; a sol:^ d^erenee to 
p^ntation long .established, without a blind adora-^ 
lion of antiquiiy ; and a willingness to favour later 
perlionBances, without a light or puerile fondneei 
for iiovelty. 

I shall, thm^fora, venture to lay befoce you, sueh 
observajtions as liave risen to my mind in the coq« 
fidenition of Yirgil's Pastorals^ without any inquiry 
how &r my sentiments deviate from estabtished rulee 
or common .opiaioas. 

VOIm zzv. b 



2 ADVENTURER. 11^ 92. 

If we survey the ten Pastorals in a general view, 
it will be found that Virgil can derive from them 
very little claim to the praise of an inventor. To 
search into the antiquity of this kind of poetry, is 
not my present purpose ; that it has long subsisted 
in the east, the Sacred Writingis sufficiently inform 
us; and we may conjecture, with great probability, 
that it was sometimes the devotion, and sometimes 
the entertainment oi the first generations of man- 
)(ind. Theocritus united elegance with simplicity ; 
and taught his shepherds to sing with so much ease 
and harmony, that his countr3rmen, despairing to 
excel, forbore to imitate him ; and the Greeks, how- 
ever vain or ambitious, left him in quiet possession 
of the garlands which the wood-nymphs haid bestow- 
ed upon him. 
, . . ViigiJ, however, taking advantage of another lan- 
'•' \^*ge>:'^tured to copy or to rival the Sicilian 
•Bferrffhe Ras written wiUi greater splendour of dic- 
;* ;^okf j^id elevation of sentiment : but as the magni- 
*<.^ence of his performances was more, the simplicity 
' *• ^'.vrflslesa: and, perhaps, where he excels Theocritus, 
: '•"«' /Jin^ sometimes obtains hi^ superiority by deviating 
from the pastoral character, and performing what 
Theocritus never attempted. 

Yet, though I would willingly pay to Theocritus 
the honour which is always due to an original au- 
thor, I, am far from intending to depreciate Virgil ; 
of whom Horace justly declares, that the rural 
muses have {mpropriated to him their elegance and 
sweetness, and who, as he copied Theocritus in his 
design, has resembled him likewise in his success ; 
for, if we except Calphumius, an obscure author of 
the lower ages, I know not that a single Pastoral 
was written after him by any poet, till £e revival of 
literature. • 

But though fiis geaeraU merit has been univer- 



• * 



• • 



1^ 9^. ADVBVTUKBE. 3 

sally acknowledged, I am far from, thinking ali the 
productions of his rural Thalia equally excellent ; 
there is, indeed, in all his Pastorals, a strain of 
versification which it is vain to seek in any other 
poet : but if we except the first and the tenth, they 
seem liable either wholly or in part to considerable 
objections. 

The second, though we should forget the great 
charge against it, which I am afraid can never be re- 
futed, might, I think, have perished, without any 
diminution of the praise of its author ; for I know 
not that it contains one affecting sentiment or pleas- 
ing description, or one passage that strikes the ima- 
gination or awakens the passions. 

The third contains a contest between two shep- 
herds, begun with a quarrel of which some particu- 
lars might well be spared, carried on with sprightli- 
mesa and elegance, and terminated at last in a recon- 
ciliation : but surely, whether the invectives with 
which they attack each other be true or false, they 
are too much degraded from the digtiity of pastoral 
innocence ; and instead of rejoicing that ihey are 
both victorious, I should not have grieved could they 
have been both defeated. 

The poem to PoUio is, indeed, of another kind : 
it is filled with images at once splendid and pleas- 
ing, and is elevated with grandeur of language wor- 
thy of the first of Roman poets ; but I am not able 
to reconcile myself to the disproportion, between the 
performance and the occasion that produced it : 
that the golden age should return because PoUio 
had a son, appears < so wild a fiction, that I am. 
ready to suspect the poet of having written for some 
other purpose, what he took this opportunity of 
producing to the public. 

The fifth contams a celebration of Daphnis which 
has stood to all succeeding ages as the model of 

b2 



4 ADTBNTUIKBR. H* M. 

pastoral elegies To disny praise t6 a perfermanoe 
which 80 many thouslands hare laboured to* imitate^ 
would be to judge with' too little delereace for tke 
opinioa of mankind : yet whoever shall read it with 
impartiality, will find that most of the images are of 
the mythological kind, and, therefore, easily in- 
vented ; and that there are few sentiments of rar 
tional praise or natural lamentation. 

In the Silenus he again arises to the dignity of 
philosophic sentiment and heroic poetry. 1 he ad* 
dress to Varus is eminently beautiful ; but since the 
compliment paid to Gallus fixes the transaction to 
his own time, the fiction of Silenus seems injudicious ; 
nor has any sufficient reason yet been found, to 
justify his choice pf those fables that make the sub- 
ject of the song. 

The seventh exhibits another contest of the tune* 
^ful shepherds: and, surely, it is not without some 
reproach to his inventive power, that of ten pasto- 
rals Virgil has written two upon the same plan. 
One of the shepherds now gains an aeknowledged 
victory, but without any apparent superiority ; and 
the leader, when he sees the prite adjudged, is not 
able to discover how it was deserved. 

Of the eighth Pastoral, so little is properly the 
work of Virgil, that he has no claim to other praise 
or blame th^ that of a translator. 

Of the ninth it is scarce possible to discover the 
design or tendency : it is said, I know not upon 
what authority, to have been composed from frag* 
ments of other poems ; and except a few lines in 
which the author touches upon his own misfortunes, 
there is nothing that seems appropriated to any 
time or place, or of which any odier use can be dis- 
covered than to fill up the poem. 

The first and the tenth Pastoral, whatever be 
determined of the rest, are sufficient to place their 



R^ M. ADVBimiREB. 5 

author above the reach of rivalry. The complaint of 
Gallos disappointed in his love, is full of such senti- 
ments as disappointed love naturally produces ; his 
wishes are wild, his resentment is tender, and his 
purposes are inconstant In the genuine language 
of despair, he soothes himself awhile with the pity 
that shall be paid him after his death : 

Tamen amtabitiSf Arcadesy inquit, 
MonHbtu hac vestris : toU cantare periii 
Arcades. O miki turn quam mollUer os$a quietcantp 
Veitra nuot oUm tiJUtula dieat amore$ ! 



-Yet, O Arcadian swaips, 



Ye best artificers of soothing strains ! 

Tane your soft reeds, and teach your rocks vy woes. 

So shall my shade in sweeter rest repose. 

O that your birth and business had been mine ; 

To feed the flock, and prune the spreading vine ! 

WARTON. 

Discontented with his present condition, and de- 
sirous to be any thing but what he is, he wishes 
himself one of the shepherds. He then catches the 
idea of rural tranquillity ; but soon discovers how 
much happier he should be in these happy regions, 
with Lycoris at his side. 

Hie geSdifontet, kic moUia praia^ Lyeori: 
Hie nemus ; hie «|!>so tecum consumerer tepo. 
Nunc insanui amor duri me Mortis m armis ; 
Tela inter media, atque adversos detinet hastes. ■ 
Tuprocul apairia (nee sit mihi credere) tantum . 
Amnas, ah dura, niva, d^frigora Rheni 
Me sine eoia vides. Ah ie ne frigora Uedant / 
Ah Ubi ne teneras glades secet aspera plantas ! 

Here cooling fountains roll through flow'ry meads. 
Here woods, Lycoris, lift their verdant heads; 
Here could I wear my careless life nway, 
And in thy arms insensibly decay. 
Instead of that, me frantic love detains 
'Mid foesi and dreadful darts, and bloody plains : 

b3 



5 .ADTBSTVBBm. if Of* 

While yoo - t pd can my soul the tale belitrve. 

Far from your country, lonely wand'riog leave 

Me, me your lover, barbarood fugitive ! 

Seek tbe toixgh Alps where snows eternal shtney 

And joyless borders of the frozen Rhine. 

Ah ! may no cold e*er blast my dearest maid, 

Nor pointed ice thy tender feet invade ! WARTON. 

He then turns his thoughts on every side, in 
quest of something that may solace or amuse him ; 
he proposes happiness to himself, first in one scheme 
and then in another ; and at last finds that nothing 
will satisfy : 

Jam neque Hamadryodes ritrtum, nee carmina nobit 
Asapiacent: ipsa rursum concedite sylva:, 
Nbn ilium nosiri possunt mutate labores ; 
Nee siJHgoribus mediis Hebrumgue bibamusf 
SUhoma que nhes hyemis subeamus aquosee ; 
Nee Hf cwn moriens alia liber aret in ulmoy 
JEthiopum versemus cvet sub sidere Cancrif 
Omnia vincit amor ; et nos cedamus amori. 

But now again nO more the woodland maids, . 
Kor pastoral songs deligh t ' Farewell, ye shade s 
Ko toils of ours tbe cruel god can change. 
Though \6st in frozen deserts we sfaonid range; 
Though we should drink where chilling Hebrus flows. 
Endure bleak winter's blasts, atad Thracian snows ; 
Or on hot India's plains our flocks should feed, 
Where the parch'd elm declines his sickening bead ; 
Beneath fierce-glowing Cancer's fiery beams. 
Far from cool breezes and refreshing streams. 
Love over all maiptains resistless sway. 
And let as love's all-conquering power obey. 

WARTON. 

But notwithstanding the excellence of the tenth 
Pastoral, I cannot forbear to give the preference to 
the first, which is equally natural and more diversi- 
fied. The complaint of the shepherd, who saw his 
old companion at ease in the shade, while himself 
was driving his little flock he knew not whither, is 



N* n» ABVBMTVB«|I« 7 

such as, with variation of ciroamstances, migery 
always utters at tbe sight of prosperity : 

JVbf pairusjinesy 8C dulcia linguimus arva ; 

N(U ptUriam fugimus : lu, Tityre^ Untui in uH^a^ 

Rmuuam rttonare doces Amaryllida sylvas. 

We leave'oor cootitry*s boumls, our much lov'd plains ^ 
We from oiir «ouhtry fly^ uirh&ppy swains ! 
You, Tit'rus, in the groves at lersure laid, 
% Teach Amaryllis' uam<: to every shade. 

WARTON. 

His account of the difficulties of his journey, gives 
a very tender image of pastoral distress : 

'En ipse capettas 



Proienus ager ago : hanc diam viSy Tilfre^ dueo .* 
Hie inter dentas corylos nk)du namqme gemelioif 
Spem gregi§, eck / »ttice m nuda connixa reiiquk. 

And lo! sad partner of the general care, 
Weary and faint 1 drive my goats afar ! 
While scarcely this my leading band sustains, 
Tir*d with the way, and recent from her pains ; 
For 'mid yon tangled hazels as we past, 
Ob thfe bare fliat^ her hapless ttfrins shM CMt, 
The hopes and promise of my ruined fold ! 

WARTON. 

The description of Virgil's happiness in his little 
farm, combines almost all the images of rural plea- 
sure ; and he, therefore, that can read it with in- 
difference, has no sense of pastoral poetry : 

Fortunate senex, ergo iua rura manebunt, 
El tibi magna satis ; quamvis taph onnia nnduSy 
Umotoque palus obducai pnscua junco^ 
Nan intueia graves tentabunt pabula fatas^ 
Nee mala vicini pecoris contagia ttedent* 
Fortunate senex, his inter Jlumina nota, 
Ei fontes sacrosy frigus captabis ofacum, 
Mine tibiy qua semper vicino ab Itmite tepes. 



8 ADVENTURER. 19* 02, 

Htfblais apiiutflm'em depatta saUctif 
Sipe levi somnum suadebit mire susurro, 
SincaUa tub rupe cantlfrondator ad auras ; 
Nee tamen interea rauccp, tura cura palumheSf 
Nee gevure aeria cessabii turtur ab ulmo, 

Happy old man ! then still thy farms restor'd, 
Enough for thee, shall hless thy frugal board. 
What though rough stones the naked soil o'erspready 
Or marshy bulrush rear its wat'ry head. 
No foreign food thy teeming ewes shall fear, 
Ko touch contagious spread its influence here. 
Happy old man ! here 'mid th' accustom'd streams 
And sacred springs,-youUl shun the scorching beams ; 
While from yOn willow*fence, thy pasture's bound, 
The bees that suck their flow'ry stores around. 
Shall \»weetly mingle, with the whispering boughs. 
Their lulling murmurs, and invite repose : 
While from steep rocks the pruner's song is heard ; 
Nor the soft-cooing dove, thy fav'rite bird. 
Meanwhile shall cease to breathe her melting strain. 
Nor turtles from th' aerial elm to plain. WARTON. 

It may be observed, that these two poems were 
produced by events that really happened ; and may, 
therefore, be of use to prove that we can always 
feel more than we can imagine, and that the most 
artful fiction must give way to truth. 

I am, Sir, 
T. Your humble Servant, 

DUBIUS, 



H* 93. ADVBNTUASJU 9 



W 9S. TUESJ>AY, SEPTEMBER «5, 1755. 



Jrriiaty mtket^falsk Urroribus impiety 

Ut Magus j ^ ^nodo me Theitis, modoponU Athems* HOR. 

Tis he who gives my breast a tbuusand pains. 

Can make me feel each passion that he feigns ; 

Enrage, compose, with more than magic art j 

With pity, and with terror tear my heart; 

And snatch me, o'er tl>e earth, or through the air. 

To Thebes, to Athens, when he will, and where. POPE. 

Writers of a mixed character, that abound in 
transcendent beanties and in gross imperfectionB, are 
tbe most proper and most pregnant subjects for criti- 
cism. The regularity and ccMrrectness of a Virgil 
or Horace, almost confine their commentators to 
perpetual panegyric, and afford them few oppof-** 
tanities of diversifying their remarks by the detec- 
tion of latent blemishes. For this reason, I am 
inclined to think, that a few observations on the 
writings of Shakspeare, will not be deemed useless 
or unentertaining, because he exhibits more nume^ 
rous exan^les of ex,cell6ncies and faults, 6f every 
kind, than are, perhaps, to be discovered in any 
other author. I shall, therefore, from time to time, 
examine his merit as a poet, without blind admira- 
tion, or wanton invective. 

As Shakspeare is sometimes blameable for the 
conduct of his fables, which have no unity; and 
sometimes for his diction, which is obscure and 



10 ADVENTURER. N* 93. 

turgid ; so his characteristical excellencies may pos- 
sibly be reduced to these three general heads : ' his 
lively creative imagination ; his strokes of nature 
and passion ; and his preservation of the consistency 
of his characters.' These excellencies, particularly 
the last, are of so much importance in the drama, 
that they amply compensate for his transgressions 
against the rules of Time and Place, which being of 
a more mechanical nature, are often strictly ob- 
served by a genius of the lowest order ; but to pour- 
tray characters naturally, and to preserve them 
uniformly, requires such an intimate knowledge of 
the heart-of man, and is so rare a portion of felicity, 
as to have been enjoyed, perhaps, only by two writers, 
Homer and Shakspeare. 

Of all the plays of Shakspeare, the Tempest is 
the most striking instance of his creative power. 
He has there given the reins to his boundless imagi- 
nation, and has carried the romantic, the wonder- 
ful, and the wild, to the most pleasing extrava- 
gance. The scene is a desolate island; and the 
characters the most new and singular that can well 
be conceived: a prince who practises magic, an at- 
tendant spirit, a monster the son of a witch, and a 
young lady who had been brought to this solitude 
in her infancy, and had never beheld a man except 
her father. 

As I have affirmed that Shakspeare's chief excel- 
lence is the consistency of his characters, I will ex- 
emplify the truth of this remark, by pointing out 
some master-strokes of this nature in the drama 
before us. 

The poet artfully acquaints us that Prospero is a 
magician, by the very first words which his daughter 
Miranda speaks to him : 

If by your art, my dearest father, you have 
Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them : 



K^ 93. ADYEMTURER. 11 

which iDtiroate that the tempest described in the 
preceding scene, was the effect of Prosperous power. 
The manner in which he was driven from his duke-* • 
dom of Milan, and landed afterwards on this soli- 
tary island, accompanied only by his daughter, is 
immediately introduced in a short and natural nar- 
ration. 

The offices of his attendant Spirit, Ariel, are 
enumerated with amazing wildness of fancy, and yet 
with equal propriety : his employment is said to be. 

T o tread the ooze 
Of the salt deep; 

To run upoo the sharp wind of the north j 
To do — ^business in the veins o' th' earth, 
When it is bak'd with frost ; 

to dive into the fire ; to ride 
On thefCurPd clouds. 

In describing the place in which he has concealed 
the Neapolitan ship, Ariel expresses the secresy of 
its situation by the following circumstance, which 
artfully glances at another of his services ; 

——In the deep nook, where once 

Thou call'st me up at midnight, to fetch dew 

From the still-vext Bermudas. 

Ariel, being one of those elves or spirits, * whose 
pastime is to make midnight mushrooms, and who 
rejoice to listen to the solemn curfew ;' by whose 
assistance Prospero has bedimm'd the sun at noon- 
tide, 

And Hwixt the green sea and the azur'd vault, 
Set roaring war ; 

has a set of ideas and images peculiar to his station 
and office: a beauty of itte same kind with that 
which is so justly admired in the Adam of Milton, 
whose manners and sentimeats are all Paradisaical. 



If ABTEMTURER. !l*-95. 

Mow deli^htfany and how suitably to<his character, 
are thehabitadons and pastimes of this invis%le being 
pointed out in ^e following exquisite song! 



Where the bee sackd, there .suck I : 

lo a cowslip^s beli I lie; 

There I couch wheti owls do cry. 

On the bat's 'ba<»k I do fly, 

After sun-set morvily; 
Merrily iDenr% «baU I live now, 
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. 



Mr. Pope, whose Imagination has been thought 
by some the least of his excellencies, has, doubtless, 
conceived and carried on the machinery in his * Rape 
of the Lock,' with vast exubewace of fancy. The 
images, customs, and employments of his Sylphs, are 
exactly adapted to their natures, are peculiar and ap^ 
propriated, are all, if I may be allowed the expres- 
sion, Sylphish. The enumeration of the punishments 
they were to undergo, if they neglected their eharge» 
would, on account of its poetry and propriety, and 
especial^ the mixture of oblique satire, be superior to 
any circumstances inSbatepeare^s Ariel, if we could 
suppose Pope to have been unacquainted with the 
Tempest, when he wrote ^is part of his accom- 
plished poem. 



-She did confine thee 



Into. a cloven pine : within which rift 

ImprisonM, tbou didst painfully remain 

A dozen years : within which space she dyM, 

And left thee there ; where thoa didst vent thy groans. 

As fast as mill-wheels strike. 



If tbou more murmur'st, I will rend an oak, 
Attd peg thee in his knotty entmils» 'tHI 
mMiriit howlfdiaway .twekve vialcn. 



B* 91. JkimssmmoL. 13 

FortbiSy be 9ure» Uniiight thou fbi^ have cramps, 
Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up : urchins 
Shall, for that vast of night that they may work. 
All exercise on thee; thou shalt be pinched 
As thick as honey- combs, each pinch more stinging 
Than bees that made 'em. 

If tboo neglect^st or dost unwillingly 
What I command, ITl rack thee with old cramps ; 
' Fill all thy bones with aches : make thee roar, 
That beasts shall tremble at tfay dm. 

SHAKSPEARE. 

Whatever uptrit, caieless of his cbarge, 
Forsakes bis post or leaves the fair at large, 
Shall feel sharp vengeance soon overtake bis sins. 
Be stopped in vials, or transfixt with pins ; 
Or ptnng'd in lakes of bitter washes lie, 
' Or wedj^ whole a^fes in a bodkin's eye: 
64UM and pomatums «haU bis flight restrain. 
While clogg'd he beats his silken wings in Tain ^ 
Or alum styptics with contracting pow'r, 
Shrhtk'his thin essence like a shriveli'd flow'r: 
Or as fxion fix'^, the wretch shall fe^ 
The giddy xnofti (Ml of the whirling wheels 
In fames of burning chocolate shall g'iow, 
iind tremble at the sea that froths below ! POPE. 

The method which is taken to induce Ferdinand 
to believe that his father was drowned in the late 
tempest is exceedingly solemn and striking. He is 
sitting npon a solitary rock, and weeping over- 
aguBSt the place where he imagined his father was 
WMRked, wheA he suddenly hears with astoniah- 
neat aerial imiftc oieep by him «pon ihe waters, 
and the Spirit gives him the following information 
in words not proper for any but a Spirit to utter : 

Full fiithom five thy father lies : 

Of his bones are coral made : 
Those are pearls that were hia eyes: 

Nothing of him that doth fade^ 
Bat doth fuifer a sea-change, 
loilo ftomethtiig rich and strange. 
TOU XXT. C 



14 ADVEKTURBR. ^ N* 93. 

And then follows a most lively circamstance ; 

Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell. 

Hark ! now I hear them — Ding-dong-bell ! 

This is so truly poetical, that one can scarce for- 
bear exclaiming with Ferdinand, 

This is no mortal business^ nor no sound 
That the earth owns !— 

The happy versatility of Shakspeare's genius en- 
ables him to excel in lyric as well as in dramatic 
poesy. 

But the poet rises still higher in his management 
of this character of Ariel, by making a moral use of 
it, that is, I think, incomparable, and the greatest 
effort of his art Ariel informs Prospero, Uiat he 
has fulfilled his orders, and punished lus brother and 
companions so severely, that if he himself was now 
to behold their sufferings, he would greatly compas- 
sionate them. To which Prospero answers, 

——Dost thou think so. Spirit ? 
Aribl. Mine would, Sir, were I human. 
Prospxro. And mine shall. 

He then takes occasion, with wonderful dexterity and 
humanity, to draw an argument from the incorpo^ 
reality of Ariel, for the justice and necessity of pity^ 
and forgiveness : 

Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling 
Of their afflictions ; and shall not myself. 
One of their kind, that relish all as sharply, 
Passion'd as they, be kindlier mov'd than thou art? 

The poet is a more powerful magician than his own 
Prospero : we are transported into fairy land; we are 



9* 94. ADVENTURE. 15 

wrapt in a delicious dream, from which it is misery 
to be disturbed ; all around is enchantment ! 

. ....The isle is full of Doises, 

Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not. 

Sometimes a thousand twanging instruments 

Will hum about mine ears, and sometimes voices ; 

That, if I then had wak'd after long sleep, 
^ Yf}\\ make me sleep again : and then in dreaming. 

The clouds, methought, would open and shew riches 

Ready to drop upon me;— —-when I wak'd, 

I oiy'd to dream again ! 



N* 94. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 29, 1753* 



Monsiro quod ipse tibi poms dare, JUV. 



•What I shew, 



Thyself may freely on thyself bestow. DRY DEN. 

k 

TO THE ADVENTURER* 
SII, 

Yo6 have isomewhere discouraged the hope of idle- 
ness by shewing, tliat whoever compares the number 
of those who have possessed fortuitous advantages, 
and of those who have been disappointed in their 
expectations, will have little reason to register him- 
seff in the lucky catalogue. 

But as we have seen thousands subscribe to a 
raffle, of which one only could obtain the prize ; so 
idleness will still presume to hope, if the advan- 

c2 



1§ AIHTBHTDaBR. V* M. 

tafles, bowevar ioaprobable^ are admitted to Ue 
within tbe bounds of possibility. Let the drone, 
therefore, be told, that if by the error of fortune 
he obtains the stores of the bee, he cannot enjoy 
the felicity; that the honey which is not gathered 
by industry, will be eaten without relish, if it !s not 
wasted in riot; and that all who become possessed 
of the immediate object of their hope, without any 
efibrts of their own, will be disappointed of enjoy- 
ment 

No life can be happy, but that which is spent in 
the prosecution of some purpose to which our 
powers are equal, and which we, therefore, prose- 
cute with success ; for this reason it is absurd to 
dread business, upon pretence that it will leave few 
intervals to pleasure. Business is that by whic^ in- 
dustry pursues its purpose, and thie purpose of in- 
dustry is seldom disappointed : he who endeavours 
to arrive at a certain point, which he percdves 
himself perpetually to approach, enjoys all the 
happiness which nature has allotted to those hours, 
that are not spent in the immediate gratification of 
appetites by which our own wants are indicated, or 
of affections by which we are prompted to supply 
the wants of others. The end proposed by the 
busy, is various as their temper, constitution, habits, 
and circumstances : but in the labour itself is the 
enjoyment, whether it be pursued to supply the 
necessaries or the conveniences of life, whether to 
cultivate a farm or decorate a palace; for when 
the palace is decorated, and the bam filled, the 
pleasure is at an end, till the object of denre is 
again placed at a distance, and our powers are 
again employed to obtain it with apparent success. 
Nor is the value of life less, than if our enjoyment 
did not thus consist in anticipation ; for by antici- 
pation, the pleasure which would oth^wise be con- 

3 



W^ 94. ADTENTURER. 17 

tracted witbin an hour, is diffused through a week; 
and if the dread which exaggerates future evil is 
confessed to be an increase of misery, the hope 
which magnifies future good cannot be denied to 
be an accession of happiness. 

The most numerous class of those who presume 
to hope for miraculous advantages, is that of game- 
sters. But by gamesters, I do not mean the gen- 
tlemen who stake an estate, against the cunning of 
those who have none; for I leave the cure of lunatics 
to the professors of physic : I mean the dissolute and 
indigent : who in the common phrase put themselves 
in Fortune's way, and expect from her bounty that 
which they eagerly desire, and yet believe to be too 
dearly purchased by diligence and industry ; trades- 
men who neglect their business, to squander in fa- 
shionable follies more than it can produce; and 
swaggerers who rank themselves with gentlemen, 
merely because they have no business to pursue. 

The gamester of this class will appear to be 
equally wretched, whether his hope be fulfilled or 
disappointed ; the object of it depends upon a contin- 
gency, over which he has no influence ; he pursues 
no purpose with gradual and perceptible success, and, 
therefore, cannot enjoy the pleasure which arises 
from the anticipation of its accomplishment; his mind 
is perpetually on the rack ; he is anxious in proportion 
to the eagerness of his desire, and his inability to 
effi9ct it; to the pangs of suspense, succeed those of 
disappointment; and a momentary gain only embit* 
ters the loss that follows. Such is the life of him, who 
shuns business because he would secure leisure for 
enjoyment; except it hajppens, against the odds of a 
million to one, that a run of success puts him into the 
possession of a sum sufficient to subsist him in idle-'' 
ness the remainder of his life i and in this case, the 
idleness which made him wretched while he waited 

c3 



18 AOTBimTRBR. N* 1)4« 

for the homity of fortune, will necosaarily keq) kim 
wretched after it is bestowed : he will find, that in the 
gratification of his appetites he can fill but a small 
portion of his tirne^ and that these appetites themselTBi 
are weakened by every attempt to increase the enjoy* 
meat which they were intetided to supply ; he will, 
th«nefbre, either doze away life in a kind of listtesa 
indolence, which he despairs to exalt into felicity, or 
he will imagine that the good he wants is to be ob- 
tained by an increase of his wealth, by a larger house, 
a more splendid equipage, and a more numerous 
retinue. If with this notion he has again recourse 
to the altar of fortune, he will either be undeceived • 
by a new series of success, or he will be reduced to 
his original indigence by ihe loss of that which he 
knew not how to enjoy : if this happens, of which 
there is the highest degree of probability, he will in- 
stantly become more wretdied in prt)portion a» he 
was rich ; though, while he was rich, he was not more 
happy in proportion as he had been poor. MThatever 
is won, is reduced by experiment to its intrinsic value ; 
whatever is lost, is heightened by imagination to more. 
Weahh is no sooner dissipated, than its inanity is 
forgotten, and it is regrett^ as the means of hi4ppine8s 
which it was not found to affi^rd. The gamester, 
therefore, of whatever class, plays against wrtinifait 
odds ; since that which he wins he discOwrs to be 
brass, aad ^t which he loses he values as gold. 
And it should also be remarked, that in thb estimate 
of his life, I have not supposed him to lose a single 
stake which he had not first won. 

But though gaming in general is wisely prohHiited 
by the legidbitttre, as productive not only of firivato 
but of public evil ; yet there is one epedes to whidi 
all are sometimes invited, whidi equally enommiges 
Uie hiqye of idleness^ and rekzui the vigour e( 
industry. 



M* 04. AOVXNTUEBB. 19 

Ned Frothy who had beetd several yeafs butler in 
a fiunily of distinction, having saved about four 
hundred pounds, took a little house in the suburbs, 
and laid in a stock of liquors, for which he paid ready 
moneys and which were, therefore, the best of the 
kind. Ned perceived his trade increase ; he pursued 
it with fresh alacrity, he exulted in his success, and 
the joy of his heart sparicied in his countenance ; but 
it happened that Ned, in the midst of his happiness 
and |ffomrity, was prevailed upon to buy a lottery 
tidcet The moment his hope was fixed upon an ob- 
ject which industry couki not obtain, be determined 
to be industrious no longer: to draw dmk for a 
dirty «nd boisterous rabble, was a slavery to which 
he now submitted with reluctance, and he longed 
for the moment in which he should be free : instead 
of telhAg his story; and cracking his joke for the 
entertainneient of his customers, he received them 
with indifferraice, was observed to be nlent and 
fluilen^ and amused hiiiiself by going three or four 
times a day to search the register of fortune for the 
soeoess of his ticket 

■In this disposition Ned was sitting one moming 
in the comer of a bench by his fire-side, wholly a1>* 
stracted in the conten^lation of his future fortune ; 
indulging this moment the hope of a ^lere possibility, 
and the next shuddering with the dread of losing the 
felicity which his fancy had colnbined with the pos- 
session of ten thousand pounds. A man well dressed, 
entered hastily, and inquired for him of his guests, 
who many times called him aloud by his name, and 
curst him for his deafness and stupidity, before Ned, 
started up as from a dream, and asked with a fretful 
impatience what they wanted. An affected confi- 
dence of being well received, and an air of forced 
jocularity in the stranger, gave Ned some offence ; 
but the next moment he catclied him in his arms in 



% ADYBNTtmER* N* 04. 

a transport of joy, upon receiving his coDgratuladoa 
as proprietor of the fortunate ticket, which had that 
morning been drawn a prize of the first class. 

It was not, however, long before Ned discovered 
that ten thousand pounds did not bring the feUcity 
which he expected; a discovery which generally 
produces the dissipation of sudden affiuence by pro- 
digality. Ned drank, and whored, and hirei fid- 
dlers, and bought fine clothes; he bred riots at 
Vauxhall, treated flatterers, and damned plays. 
But something was still wanting ; and he resolved 
to strike a bold stroke, and attempt to double the 
remainder of his prize at play, that he might live in 
a palace and keep an equipage ; but in the execution 
of this project he lost the whole produce of his lot- 
tery ticket, except five hundred pounds in Bank 
notes, which when he would have staked he could 
not find. This sum was more than that which had 
estabhshed him in the trade he had left ; and yet, 
with the power of returning to a station that wai 
once the utmost of his ambition, and of renewing 
that pursuit which alone had made him happy, such 
was the pungency of his regret, that in the despair of 
recovering the money which he knew had produced 
nothing but riot, disease, and vexation, he threw 
himself from the bridge into the Thames. 

I am. Sir, 

Your humble Servant, 

CAUTUS. 



^ 05* A»vmKwvMMaL il 



N* 95. TUESDAY, OCTOBER 2, 1753. 



Duleique ammai novUaie ienebo, OVIO* 

And with sweet novelty your soul detain. 

It is often charged upon writers, that with all 4heir 
pretensions to genius and discoveries, they do little 
more than copy one another; and that composi- 
tions obtruded upon the world with the pomp of 
novelty, contain only tedious repetitions -of com- 
mon sentiments, or at best exhibit a transposition 
of known imiages, and give a new appearance to 
tmth oitly by some slight difference of dress and 
decoration. 

The allegation of resemblance between authors, 
is indisputaUy true : but the charge of plagiarism, 
which is raised upon it, is not to be allowed with 
•qual readiness. A coincidence of sentiment may 
easily happen without any communication, since 
there are many occasions in which all reasonable 
men will nearly think alike. Writers of all ages 
have had the same sentiments, because they have in 
all ages bad the same objects of speculation : the 
interests and passions, the virtues and vices of man-' 
kind, have been diversified in difterent times, only 
by unessential and casual varieties ; and we must, 
therefore, expect in the works of all those who at- 
tempt to describe them, such a likeness as we find 



32 ADYBNTUREE. N* 95. 

in the pictures of the same person drawn in different 
periods of his life. 

It is necessary, therefore, that before an author 
be charged, with plagiarism, one of the most re- 
proachful, though, perhaps, not the most atrocious 
of literary crimes, Uie subject on which he treats 
should be carefully considered. We do not won- 
der, that historians, relating the same facts, agree 
in their narration ; or that authors, delivering the 
elements of science, advance the same theorems, 
and lay down the same definitions : yet it is not 
wholly without use to mankind, that books are 
multiplied, and that different authors lay out their 
labours on the same subject^ for there will always 
be some reason why one should on particular oc- 
casions, or to particular persons, be preferable to 
another ; some will be clear where others are ob- 
scure, some will please by their style and others by 
their method, some by their embellishments and 
others by their simplicity, some by closeness, and 
others by diffusion. 

The same indulgence is to be shewn to the writers 
of morality : right and wrong are immutable ; and 
those, therefore, who teach us to distinguish them, 
if they all teach us right, must agree with one an- 
other. The relations of social life, and the duties 
resulting from them, must be the same at all times 
and in all nations ; some petty differences may be 
indeed produced, by forms of government or arbi- 
trary customs ; but the general doctrine can receive 
no alteration. 

Yet it is not to be desired, that morality should be 
considered as interdicted to all future writers : men 
will always be tempted to deviate from their duty» 
and will, therefore, always want a monitor to recal 
them ; and a new book often seizes the attention 
of the public, without any other claim than that it ii 



K*^ 95. ADVENTURER. 23 

new. There is likewise in composidoD, as in other 
things, a perpetual vicissitude of fashion ; and truth 
is recommended at one time to regard, by appear- 
ances which at another would expose it to neglect ; 
the author, therefore, who has judgment to discern 
the taste of his contemporari^, and skill to gratify 
it, will have always an opportunity to deserve well 
of mankind, by conveying instruction to them in a 
grateful vehicle. 

There are likewise many modes of composition, 
by which a moralist may deserve the name of an 
original writer : he may familiarize his system by 
dialogues after the manner of the ancients, or sul>- 
tilize it into a series of syllogistic arguments ; he 
may enforce his doctrine by seriousness and so- 
lemnity, or enliven it by sprightliness and gaiety ; 
he may deliver his sentiments in naked precepts, or 
illustrate them by historical examples ; he may de- 
tain 4he studious by the artful concatenation of a 
continued discourse, or relieve the busy by short 
strictures, and unconnected essays. 

To excel in any of these forms of writing, will 
require a particular cultivation of the genius ; who- 
ever can attain to excellence, will be certain to en- 
gage a set of readers, whom no other method would 
have equally allured; and he that communicates 
truth with success, must be numbered among the 
first benefactors to mankind. 

The same observation may be extended likewise 
to the passions : their influence is uniform, and their 
e&cts nearly the same in every human breast : a 
inan loves and hates, desires and avoids, exactly 
like his neighbour ; resentment and ambition, avarice 
and indolence, discover themselves by the same 
symptoms, in minds distant a theusand yewrs from 
one another. 



M ADTENTURER. N* 96. 

Nothing, therefore, ean be more uirjosty than to 
charge an author with plagiarism, merely because 
he assigns to every cause its natural effect; and 
makes his personages act, as others in liie circum- 
stances have always done. There are conceptions 
in which all men will agree, though each derives 
them from his own observation : whoever has been 
in love, will represent a lover impatient of every 
idea that interrupts his meditations on his. mistress, 
retiring to shades and solitude, that he may muse 
without disturbance on his approaching happiness, 
or associating himself with some friend that flatters 
his passion, and talking away the hours of absence 
upon his darling subject Whoever has been so 
unhappy as to have feh the miseries of long-con- 
tinued hatred, will, without any assistance from 
ancient volumes, be able to relate how the passions 
are kept in perpetual agitation, by the recollection 
of injury and meditations of revenge ; how the blood 
boils at the name of the enemy, and life is worn 
away in contrivances oi mischief. 

Every other passion is alike simple and limited, 
if it be considered only with regard to the Inreast 
which it inhabits ; the anatomy of the mind, as that 
of the body» must perpetually exhibit the same ap- 
pearances ; and though by the continued industry of 
successive inquirers, new movemetits will be from 
time to time discovered, they can affiect only the 
minuter parts, and are commonly of more cunosity 
than importance. 

It will now be natural to inquire, by what arts 
ate the writers of the present and future ages to 
Attraot the notice and favour of mankind. They 
m to observe the alterations which time is always 
making in the modes of life, that they may gratify 
every generation with a picture of themseltMi 



N° 95. ABVXIfTTZRGa. 25 

Thus love 19 unifonn^ but oourtship is perpetually 
varying : the diffisreat art9 o£ gallantry, which beau- 
ty has inspired, would of themselves be sufiicient 
to fill a volume; sometimes balls and serenades, 
sometimes tournaments and adventures, have been 
employed to melt the hearts of ladies, who in an- 
other century have been sensible of scarce any other 
merit than d^at of riches, and listened only to join- 
tures and pin-mdney. Thus the ambitious man 
has at all times been eager of wealth and power ; 
but these hopes have been gratified in some coun- 
tries by supplicating the people^ and in others by 
flattering the prince; honour in some states has 
been only the reward of military achievements, in r 
others it ha» been gained by noisy turbulence and 
popular clamour. Avarice has worn a different 
ibrm as she actuated the usuror of Rome and the 
stock-jobber of England ; and idleness itself, how 
little soever inclined to the trouble of invention, has 
been forced from time to time to change its amuse- 
m^ts, and contrive different methods of wearing 
out the day. 

Here then is the fund, from which those who 
study mankind may fill their compositions with an 
inexhaustible variety of images and allusions : and 
he must be confessed to look with little attention 
upon scenes thus perpetually changing, who cannot 
catch some of the figures before they are made vulgar 
by reiterated descriptions. 

It has been discovered by Sir Isaac Newton, that 
the distinct and primogenial colours are only seven ; 
but every eye can witness, that from various mix- 
tures, in various proportions, infinite diversifica- 
tions of tints may be produced. In like manner, 
the passions of the mind, which put the world in 
motion, and produce all the bustle and eagerness 
of the busy crowds that swann upon the earth ; the 

YOU XZT. D 



36 ADTSNTUKER. N* 96. 

passions, from whence arise all the pleasures and 
pains that we see and hear of, if we analyze the 
mind of man, are very few ; but those few agitated 
and combined, as external causes shall happen to 
operate, and modified by prerailing opinions and 
accidental caprices, make such frequent alterations 
on the surface of life, that the show, while we are 
busied in delineating it, vanishes from the view, and 
a new set of objects succeeds, doomed to the same 
shortness of duration with the former : thus curio- 
sity may always find employment, and the busy 
part of mankind will furnish the contemplative with 
the materials of speculation to the end of time. 

The complaint, therefore, that all topics are pre- 
occupied, is nothing more than the murmur of igno- 
rance or idleness,' by which some discourage others 
and some themselves: the mutability of mankind 
will always furnish writers with new images, and 
the luxuriance of fancy may always embellish them 
with new decorations. 

T. 



N* 96. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 6, 1753. 



•Foriunaios nimiumf sua si bona norint VIRG. 



O happy, if ye knew your happy state! DRYDEN. 

In proportion as the enjo3rment and infelicity of 
life depend upon imagination, it is of importance 
that this power of the mind should be directed in 
its operations by reason ; and, perhaps, imagination 
is more frequently busy, when it can only imbittet 



N* 96. ADVENTURER. 27 

disappointment and heighten calamity; and more 
frequendy slumbers when it might increase the 
triumph of success, or animate insensibility to 
happiness, than is generally perceived. 

An ecclesiastical living of considerable value .be- 
came vacant, and £vander obtained a recommenda- 
tion to the patron. His friend had too much mo- 
desty to speak with confidence of the success of an 
application supported chiefly by his interest, and 
Evander knew that others had solicited before him ; 
as he was not, therefore, much elevated by hope, 
he believed he should not be greatly depressed by a 
disappointment. The gentleman to whom he was 
recommended, received him with great courtesy; 
but upon reading the letter, he changed counte- 
nance, and discovered indubitable tokens of vexa- 
tion and regret ; then taking Evander by the hand, 
* Sir,' said he, * I think it scarce less a misfortune 
to myself than you, that you was not five minutes 
sooner in your application. The gentleman whose 
recommendation you bring, I wish more than any 
other to oblige ; but I have just presented the living 
to the person whom you saw take his leave when 
you entered the room. 

This declaration was a stroke, which Evander 
had neither skill to elude, nor force to resist The 
strength of his interest, though it was not known 
time enough to increase his hope, and his being too 
late only a few minutes, though he had reason to 
believe his application had been precluded by as 
many days, were circumstances which imagination 
immediately improved to aggravate his disappoint- 
ment : over these he mused perpetually with inex- 
pressible anguish, he related them to every friendy 
and lamented them vnth the most passionate excla- 
mations. And yet, what happened to Evander 
more than be expected? nothing that he possessed 

d2 



3S ADTKHTURER. N^ 06. 

iVBs diminislied, Bor was any possibility <^ advan- 
tage cut off; with respect to these and every 
odier reality he was in the same state, as if he had 
never heard of the vacancy, which he had some 
chance to fill: but Evander groaned under the 
t3rranny of imagination, and in a fit of causeless 
fretfulness cast away peace, becausie time was not 
stopped in its career, and a miracle did not interr 
pose to secure him a living. 

Agenor, on whom the living which Evander so- 
licited was bestowed, never conceived a single doubt 
that he should fail> in his attempt : his character was 
unexceptionable, and his recommendation such as 
it was believed no other could counterbalance ; he, 
therefore, received the bounty of his patron with- 
out much emotion ; he reganled his success as an 
ev«nt produced, like rain and sun-shine, by the 
common and regular operation of natural causes ; 
and took possession of his rectory with the same 
temper, that he would have reaped a field he had 
sown, or received the interest of a sum which he 
had placed in the funds. But having, by accident, 
heard the report which had been circulated by the 
friends of Evander, he was at once struck with a 
sense of his good fortune ; and was^ so affected by a 
retrpspect of his danger, that he could scarce be- 
lieve it to be past * ilow providential,' said he, 
*" was it, that I did not stay to drink another dish 
of tea at breaklast, that I found a hackney-coach 
at the end of the street, and that I met with no stop 
by the way T What an alteration was produced in 
Agenor's conception of the advantage of his situa- 
tion, and the means by which it was obtained ! and 
yet at least he had gained nothing more than he ex- 
pected ; his danger was not known time enough to 
alarm his fear ; the value of his acquisition was not 
increased; nor had Providence interposed farther 



5N* 96. AOVENTURE&. 29 

than to exclude chance from the gorernmeat of the' 
-world. 3ut Agenor did not before reflect that any 
^atitude was due to Providence but for a miracle ; 
he did not enjoy his preferment as a gift, nor esti- 
mate his gain but by the probability of loss. 

As success and disappointment are under the in- 
fluence of imagination, so are ease and health; 
each of which may be considered as a kind of ne- 
gative good, that may either degenerate into weari- 
someness and discontent, or be improved into com- 
placency and enjoyment. 

About three weeks ago I paid an afternoon visit 
to Curio. Curio is the proprietor of an estate 
which produces three thousand pounds a year, and 
the husband of a lady remarkable for her beauty 
and her wit; his age is that in which manhood is 
said to be complete, his constitution is vigorous, 
his person graceful, and his understanding strong. 
I found him in full health, lolling in an easy chair ; 
his countenance was florid, he was gaily dressed, 
and surrounded with all the means of happiness 
which wealth well used could bestow. Aner the 
first ceremonies had passed, he threw himself again 
back in his chair upon my having refused it, looked 
wistfully at his fingers^ ends, crossed his legs, in- 
quired the news of the day, and in the midst of all 
possible advantages seemed to possess life with a 
listless indifference, which, if he could have pre- 
served in contrary circumstances, would have in- 
vest^ him with the dignity of a stoic. 

It happened that yesterday I paid Curio another 
visit I found him in his chamber ; his head was 
swathed in flannel, and his countenance was pale. 
I was alarmed at these appearances of disease ; and 
inquired with an honest solicitude how he did. 
The moment he heard my question, he started from 

D 3 



30 AovBmnniEE. n* 96. 

bis seat, flprang towards me, oaught me by the 
hand, and told me in an extasy, that he ivas in 
beaTeo. 

Wbat difl^ence in Cuiio's circunistanoes pro* 
duced this difference in his sensations and behiiri- 
our? What prodigious advantage had now ac- 
crued to tbe man, who before had ease and health, 
youUi^affluenee, and beauty? Curio, during the ten 
days that preceded my last visit, had been tormented 
with the tootb*ache ; and had, within the last hour, 
been restored to ease, by having die tooth drawn. 

And is human reason so in^tent, and imagina- 
tion so perverse, that ease cannot be enjoyed till 
it has been taken away? Is it not possible to im- 
provB negative into positive happiness, by reflec- 
tion^ Can he, who possesses ease and health, 
whose food is tastefdl, and whose i^eep is sweet, re- 
member, without exultation and delight, the sea- 
sons in which he has pined in the languor of inap^ 
petence, and counted the watches of the night with 
restkss anxiety ? 

Is an acquiescence in the dispensations of Uner- 
ring Wisdoia, by which some advantage appeal's to 
be denied, without recalling trivial luid accidental 
cifoumstances that can only ag&ravate disappioint* 
ment, impossibk to Veasonablebeii^ ? And is a 
sense of the Divine Bounty necessarily languid, in 
proportion as that bounty appears to be less doubt- 
ful and interrupted ? 

Every man, surely, would blush to admit these 
supciositions ; let every man, diereffbre, deny tbem 
by his life. He, who brings imagination imder the 
dominion of reason, will be able to diminidi t)ie 
evil of life, and to increase the good ; he will learn 
to resign vnth complacency, to receive with graiti* 
tude, and poiaess with cheerfulness: and as in tins 



2l* S^. ADTBNTVRER. 31 

N 

oondact there ib not only wiedom, but rittue, he will, 
under every calamity, be able to rejoice in hope, 
and to anticipate the felicity of that state, in which 
* the Spirits of the Just dhall be made perfect' 



N* 97. TUESDAY, OCTOBER 9, 1753. 



wrraO'Uf aft ^f|TU?, n n etvet/kaMOV, ^ ro {iX9f. 

ARIST. POET, 

As well in th« coaduct of the manoers as in the coostitu* 
tioo of the fable, we must always endeavour to prodiute 
either what is necessary or what is probable. 



* WaoBVBE ventares,' says Horace, * to form a 
character totally original, let him endeavour to pr&T 
serve it with uniformity and consistency ; but the 
formation of an original character is a woiic of great 
difficulty, and hazard.' In this arduous and un- 
common task, however, Shakspeare has wonder- 
fatty suoceeded in his Tempest : the monster Caly- 
ban is Ike creature of his own imagination, in the 
fonna^on of whidi he could dmve no assistance 
from observation or experience. 

Calybon is the son of a witeh, begotten by a 
demdn : the sorceries of his motlMMr were - so ter- 
rible^ that her countrymen banished her into this 
deeart island as unfit for human society : in con- 
formity, therefope, to this diabolical propagation, 
he is represented as a prodigy of cruelty, malice. 



32 ADVENTUEEB. N* 97. 

pride^ ignorance, idleness, gluttony, and lust He 
IS introduced with great propriety, cursing Prospero, 
and Miranda whom he had endeavoured to defile ; 
and his execrations are artfully contrived to have 
reference to the occupation of his mother : — 

As wicked dew, as e'er my mother brush'd 
With raven's feather from unwholesome fen, 
Drop on you both ! 

Ail the charms 

Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you ! 

His kindness is, afterwards, expressed as much m 
character, as his hatred, by an enumeration of offices, 
that could be of value only in a desolate island, and 
in the estimation of a savage : — 

I pr*ythee, let me bring thee where crabs grow j 
And 1 with my long nails will dig thee pig 'nuts; 
Shew thee a jay's nest; and instruct thee how 
To snare the nimble marmazet. Pil bring thee 
To clustering filberds ; and sometimes Pll get thee 

Young sea-malls from the rock 

I'll shew thee the best springs; I'll pluck thee berries; 
I'll fish for thee, and get thee wood enough. 

Which last is, indeed, a circumstance of great use 
in a pla^e, where to be defended from the cold was 
neither easy nor usual ; and it has a farther pecu- • 
liar beauty, because the gathering wood was the 
occupation to which Calyban was subjected by 
Prospero, who, therefore, deemed it a service of 
high importance. 

The gross ignorance of this monster is represented 
with delicate judgment; he knew not the names 
of the sun and moon, which he calls the bigger 
light and the less ; and he believes that Stephano 
was the man in the moon, whom his mistress had 
often shew;i him : and when Prospero reminds him 



N* 97. ADTEimmsiu 33 

that he first taught him to prononnee irtieulately, 
his answer is full of malevolence, and rage : 

You taugbt ine language ; und my profit on't 
Ig, 1 know Low to curee:— — 

the properest return for such a fiend to make for 
such a favour. The spirits whom he supposes to be 
employed by Prospero perpetually to torment him, 
and the many forms and different methods they take 
for this purpose, are described with the utmost 
liveliness and force of fancy : 

Sometimes like apes, that moe and chatter at me> 
Aaci after bite me; theo like hedge-bogs, which 
Lie tumbling in ^ly bare-foot way, and mount 
Their pricks at my foot-fall : sometimes am I 
Ail wound with adders, who, with cloven tongues^ 
Do hlsi me into madness. 

It is scarcely possible for any speech to be more 
expressive of the manners and sentiments, than that 
in which our poet has painted the brutal barbarity and 
unfeeling savageness of this son of Sycorax, by mak- 
ing him enumerate, with a kind of horrible delight, 
the various ways in which it was possible for die 
drunken sailors to surprise and kill his master : 



There thou may'st brain him. 



Having tirst seiz'd his books; or with & log 
Batter his skull ; or paunch him with a stake f 
Or cut his wezand <rith thy knife - 

He adds, in allusion to his own abominable attempt, 
* above all, be sure to secure the daughter ; whose 
beauty,' he tells them, * is incomparable.' The 
charms of Miranda could not be more exalted, 
than by extorting this testimony from so insensible 
a monster. 



34 ADTENTURBR. N* 97. 

. Shakspeare seems to be the only poet who possesses 
the power of uniting poetry with propriety of cha- 
racter ; of which I know not an instance more striking, 
than ihe image Calyban makes use of to express 
silence, which is at once highly poetical, and exactly 
suited to the wildness of the speaker : 



Pray you tread softly, that the blind mole may not 
Hear a foot-fall. 



I always lament that our author has not preserved 
this fierce and implacable spirit in Calyban, to the 
end of the play ; instead of which, he has, I think, 
injudiciously put into his mouth, words that imply 
Repentance and understanding. 



V\\ be wise hereafter 



And seek for grace. What a thrice double ass 
Was I, to take this drunkard for a Godj 
And worship this dull fool ? 

It must not be forgotten, that Shakspeare has 
artfully taken occasion from this extraordinary cha- 
racter, which is finely contrasted to the mildness 
and obedience of Ariel, obliquely to satirize the 
prevailing passion for new and wonderful sights, 
which has rendered the English so ridiculous. 
* Were I in England now,' says Trinculo, on first 
discovering Calyban, * and had but this fish painted, 
not an holiday-fool there but would give a piece 
of silver. — ^When they vrill not give a doit to re- 
lieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a 
dead Indian.' 

Such is the inexhaustible plenty of our poet's in- 
vention, that he has exhibited another character in 
this play, entirely his own ; that of the lovely and 
innocent Miranda. 
1 



N* 97. ADVEKTURBIL 35 

When Prospero first gives her a sight of Prince 
Ferdinand, she eagerly exclaims^ 



What isH? a spirit ? 



Lord, how it looks about ! Believe me, Sir, 
It carries a brave form. Bat 'tis a spirit. 

Her imagining that as he was so beautiful he must 
necessarily be one of her father's aerial agents, is a 
stroke of nature worthy admiration : as are likewise 
her entreaties to her father not to use him harshly, 
by the power of his art ; 

Why speaks my father so ungently ? This 
Is the third man that e'er I saw ; the first 
That e'er I sigh'd for! 

Here we perceive the beginning of that passion, 
which Prospero was desirous she should feel for 
the Prince ; and which she afterwards more fully 
expresses upon an occasion, which displays at once 
the tenderness, the innocence, and the simplicity 
qf her character. She discovers her lover employed 
in the laborious task of carrying wood, which Pros- 
pero had enjoined him to perform. * Would,' says 
she, ' the lightning had burnt up those logs, that 
you are enjoined to pile I' 



If yoa'U sit dowo. 



V\\ bear your logs the while. Pray give me that, 
I'll carry 't to the pile.- 



You look wearily. 



It is by selecting such little, and almost imper- 
ceptible circumstances, that Shakspeare has more 
truly painted the passions than any other writer: 
affection is more powerfully expressed by this simple 
wish and offer of assistance, dian by the unnatural 
floqaence and witticisms of Dryden, or the amorous 
declamations of Rowe. 



30 ADTENTURBR. N* 07. 

The resestm^t of Prospero far tbe soatchless 
cruelty and wicked usurpfttioR of his brother ; his 
parental affection and solicitude for the welfare of 
his daughter, the heiress of his dukedom ; and the 
awful solemnity of his character, as a skilful ma- 
gician; are all along preserved with equal con- 
sistency, dimity, and decorum. One part of his 
behaviour deserves to be particularly pointed out : 
dufing the exhibition of a mask with which be had 
ordefed Ariel to entertain Ferdinand and Miranda, 
he starts suddenly from the recollection of the con- 
spiracy of Calyban and his confederates against his 
life, and dismisses his attendant spirits, who in- 
stantly vanish to a hollow and confused noise. He 
appears to be greatly moved ; and suitably to this 
agitation of mind, which his danger has excited, he 
takes occasion, from the sudden disappearance of 
the visionary scene, to moralize on the dissolution 
of all. things: ) 



These our actors 



As I foretold you, were all spirits : and 
Are melted ioto air, into tbio air. 
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, 
The cloud'Capt towers, the gorgeous palaces. 
The solemn temples, tbe great globe itself, 
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve; 
And, like tbis unsubstantial pageant faded. 
Leave not a rack behind ■ 

To these noble images he adds a short, but compre- 
hensive observation on human life, not excelled by- 
any passage of the moral and sententious Euripides: 

We are such stuff 

As dreams are made on; and our little lift 
Is rounded with a sleep 1 

Thus admirably is an usiformity of chajractor, 
that leading baauty in dramatio poetry^ presenrci 



throoghout the Tempest And it may be farther 
remarked, that the unities of action, of place, and. 
of time, are in this play, though almost constantly 
violated by Shakspeare, exactly obseryed. The 
action is one, great, and entire, the restoration of 
Prospero to his dukedom ; this business is transacted 
in the compass of a small island, and in or near the 
care of Prospero : though, indeed, it had been more 
artfcd and regular to have confined it to this single 
spot ; and the time which the acdon takes up, is 
only equal to that of the representation ; an excel- 
lence which ought always to be aimed at in every well- 
conducted fable, and for the want of which a Variety 
of the most entertaining incidents can scarcely atone, 
Z. 



N* 98. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 13, 1753. 



Audi aUgfitid hrembus Gyaris^ et careere tUgtmmf 

& vis esse aliquit, J0V. 

Would'flt thou to honours and prefenoents climb ? 
Be bold in mischief, dare some mighty crime, 
Which dungeons, death or banishment deserves. 

DEYDEK. 



TO THB ADVENTURER, 

»XAft BROTHEl, 

Tbb thirst of glory is I think allowed, even by the 
doll dogs who can sit still long enough to write 
hooks, to be a noble appetite. , 

VOL. XXV. K 



My ambitioa is to be thought a man of life andb 
spirit, who could coaquer the workl if he waft to set 
aoout it, but who has too much vivacity to give the 
Bccessary attention to aay sdieme of length. 

I ani» in short, one of those heroic Adventurers,, 
who have thought proper to distinguish themselves 
by the titles of Buck, olood, and Nerve. When I 
am in the country, I am always on horseback, and 
I leap or break every hedge and gate that stands in 
my way : when I am in town, I am constantly to be 
seen at some of the public places, at the proper 
times for making my appearance ; as at Vauxhall> 
or Marybone, about ten, very drunk ; for though I 
don't love- wine,. I am obliged to be consumedly. 
drunk five or six nights in the week : nay, some- 
times five or six days together, for the sake of my 
character. Wherever 1 come, I am sure to make all 
the confusion, and do all the mischief I can ; not 
for the sake of doing mischief, but only out of tiro- 
lie, you know, to shew my vivacity. If there aie 
women near me, I swear like a devil to shew my 
courage, and tall^ bawdy to shew my wit Under 
the rose I am a cursed favourite amongst them ; 
and have had * bonne fortune,' let me tell you. I 
do love the little rogues hellishly : but faith I msSLo 
love for the good of the public ; and the town is 
obliged to me for a dozen or two of the finest 
wenches that were ever brought into its seraglios. 
One, indeed, I lost : and, poor fond soul ! I pitied 
her! but it could not be helped — self preservation 
obliged me to leave her — ^I could not tell her what 
was the matter with her, rot me if I could; and so 
it got such a head, that the devil himself could not 
have saved her. 

There's one tlnng texes me ; I have muek ado 
to avoid having that insignificant character, a good<^ • 
natured fellow, fixed upon me ; so that I am obliged. 

1 



il^M. A'bVBirroiiiER. "SO 

ia ny own dfffeace to break the boy's head, and 
kick my whore down stairs every time I enter a 
nighl-house : I pick quarrels when I am not offend- 
ed, break the windows of men I never saw, demolish 
lamp, bilk hadmey-ooachmen, overturn wheel*bar- 
vows, and storm night^cellars : I beat the watchman, 
though he bids me good-morrow, abuse the con- 
stable, and insult the justice :* for these feats I am 
finequeotly kicked, beaten, pumped, prosecuted, i&nd 
imprisoned ; but Tim is no fiincher ; and if he does 
not get iflune, blood ! he will deserve it. 

I am now writing at. a coifee-house, where I am 
just arrived, after a journey of fifty miles, which I 
have rode in four hours. I knocked up my block- 
head*9 horse two hours ago. The dog whipped and 
spurred at such a rate, that I dare say you may 
track him half the way by the blood ; but all would 
not do. The devil take the hindmost, is always my 
way of travelling. The moment I dismounted, 
down dropt Dido, by Jove : and here am I. all alive 
and merry, my old boy ! 

I'll tell thee what ; I was a hellish ass t'other 
day. I shot a damn'd clean mare through the 
bead, for jumping out of .the road to avoid running 
over an old woman. But the bitch threw me, and 
{ got a cursed slice on the cheek against a flint, 
which put me in a passion ; who could help it, you 
know ? Boi me, 1 would not have lost her for five 
hundred old women, with all their brats, and the 
brats of their brats to the third generation. She 
was a sweet creature ! I would have run her five- 
and-twenty miles within an hour, for five hundred 
pounds. But she's gone 1 — Poor jade ! I did love 
thee, that I did. 

Now what you shall* do for me, old boy, is this. 
Help to raise my name a little, d'ye mind : write 
somethiiig in praise of us sprightly pretty fellows. 

e2 



40 ADTBUnmSR. 'M* ^S, 

I assure you we take a great deal of pains for fame, 
and it is hard we should be bilkt. I would not 
trouble you, my dear ; but only I fear I have not 
much time before me to do my own business ; for 
between you and I, both my constitution and estate 
are damnably out at elbows. I intend to make 
them spin out together as evenly as possible ; but 
if my purse should happen to leak fastest, I pro- 
pose to go with my last half-crown to Ranelagh 
gardens, and there, if you approve the scheme, I'll 
mount one of the upper alcoves, and r^eat, with 
an heroic air, 

* V\\ boldly yentore on the world unknown ; 
It cannot use me worse than this has done.' 

ril then shoot mysdf through the head ; and so good 
bye t'ye. 

Your's, as yo6 serve me, 

Tim WiLDOoosE. 

I should little deserve the notice of a person so 
illustrious as the hero who honours me with the 
name of brother, if I should cavil at his principles 
or refuse his request According to the moral 
philosophy which is how in fashion, and adopted 
by many of * the dull dogs who write books,' the 
gratification of appetite is virtue; and appetite, 
therefore, I shall allow to be noble, notwithstanding 
the objections of those who pretend, that whi^tever 
be its object, it can be good or ill in no other sense 
than stature or complexion ; and that the voluntary 
effort only is moral by which appetite is directed or 
restrained, by which it is brought under the govern- 
ment of reason, and rendered subservient to moral 
purposes. 

But with whatever efforts of heroic virtue my 
correspondmit may have laboured to gratify his 



r 



H* 98. AOYBIITUltBlt. 41 

* thifst of ^ory,' I am afraid he will be disap- 
poinled. It is, indeed, true, that like liie heroes of 
antiquity, whom soeeessive geoeratioM hare ho- 
noured with Btatttes and pane^ric, he has- spent his 
li(e in doing mischief to others without procuring 
any veal good to himself: but he has not done mis- 
chief enough ; he has not sacked a city or fired a 
temple ; • he acts only against individuals in a con- 
tiai^ed iq>here, and is lost among a crowd of com- 
petijtors, whose merit can only contribute to their 
matual obscurity, as the feats which are perpetually 
porformed by innumerable adventurers, must soon 
become too common to confer distinction. 

In b^aif of some among these candidates for 
fame, the legislature has, indeed, thought fit to inter- 
pose; and their achievements are with great so- 
lemnity refaeaiaed and recorded in a temple, of which 
I know not the celestial aj^llation, but on earth it 
is called Justice Hall in the Old Bailey. 

As the Test are utterly neglected, I cannot think 
of any expedient to gratify the noble thirst of my 
cocreipondent and his compeers, but that of pn> 
oving them admission into this class ; an attempt 
in which i do not de^air of success, for I think I 
can demonstrate their right, and I will not sup- 
pose it possiUe that when this is done they will be 
eoBeluded. 

Upon the most diligent examination of ancient 
UsbMry and laodera panegyric, I find that no action 
kaa ever been held honourable in so high a degree, 
18 kiUing noicn: this, indeed, is one of the teats 
which oiir legislature bas thought fit to rescue from 
oblinOli, and reward in Justice Hall : it has also 
removed an absurd distinction, and, contrary to 
the piactiee of pagan antiquity ,< has comprehended 
the killtts of women, among diose who deserve Uie 

E 3 



42 ADTBimTRBlL M* 98. 

rewards that have been decreed to homicide. Now 
he may fairly be considered as a killer, who seduces 
a young beauty from the fondness of a parent, with 
whom she enjoys health and peace, the protection 
of the laws, and the smile of society, to the tyranny 
of a bawd, and the excesses of a brothel, to disease 
and distraction, stripes, infamy and imprisonment ; 
calamities which cannot fail to render her days not 
only evil but few. It may, perhaps, be alleged, that 
the woman was not only passive, but that in some 
sense she may be considered as felo de se. This, 
however, is mere cavil ; for the saime may be said 
of him who fights when he can run away ; and yet 
it has always been deemed more honourable to kill 
the combatant than the fugitive. 

If this claim then of the Blood be admitted, and 
I do not see how it can be set aside, I propose that 
after his remains shall have been rescued from dust 
and worms, and consecrated in the temple of 
' Hygeia, sailed Surgeon's Hall, his bones shall be 
purified by proper lustrations, and erected into a 
statue : that this statue shall be placed in a niche, 
with the name of the hero of which it is at once the 
remains and the monument written over it, among 
many others of the same rank, in the gallery of a 
spacious building, to be erected by lottery for that 
purpose : I propose that this gallery be called the 
Blood's Gallery; and, to prevent the labour and 
expense of emblazoning the achievements of every 
individual, which would be little more than repeat- 
ing the same words, that an inscription be placed 
over the door to this efiiect : ' This gallery is 8a« 
cred to the memory and the remains of the bloods; 
heroes who lived in perpetual hostility against them- 
nelves and others; who contracted diseases by 
excess that precluded en^yment, and who oonti« 



N* 99. ABTxn TtntsR. 43 

Bually perpetrated mischief not in anger but sport ; 
who purchased this distinction at the expense of life ; 
and whose glory would have been equal to Alex* 
ander's, if their power had not been less.' 



s^ 



N» 99. TUESDAY, OCTOBER 16, 1753. 



— ilfagnzs iamen exctdii aunt, OVID* 

But iu the glorious enterprise he dy'd. ADDISON. 

It has always been the practice of mankind to judge 
of actions by the event. The same attempts, con- 
ducted in the same manner, but terminated by dif- 
ferent success, produced different judgments : they 
who attain their wishes, never want celebrators of 
dieir vrisdom and t&eir virtue ; and they that mis- 
carry, are quickly discovered to have been defective 
not only in mental but in moral qualities. The 
world will never be long without some good reason 
to hate the unhappy : their real faults are imme- 
diately detected; and if those are not sufficient to 
sink them into infamy, an additional weight of ca- 
lumny will be superadded : he that foils in hi» en- 
deavours after wealth or power, will not long re- 
tain either honesty or courage. 

This species of injustice has so long prevailed in 
' muTersal practice, that it seems likewise to have 
infected speculation : so few minds are ilble to se- 
parate tte ideas of greatness and prosperity, that 

2 



44 AsrnsxprtmxBL. ' n* 00. 

even Sir Willmm Temple has 'determine, *■ that he 
-who can deserve the name of a faen>, must not only 
be virtuous but fortaaate.' 

By this unreasoDabte distribndoQ of praiife and 
blame, noue have suffered oftener than Projectors, 
whose rapidity of imagination and vastness of design, 
rai^e such envy in their fellow mortals, that every 
eye watches for their fall, and every heart exults at 
their distresses : yet even a Projector may gain fa- 
vour by success ; and the tongue that was prepared 
to hiss, then endeavours to excel others in loudness 
of applause. 

When Coriolanus, in Shakdpeare, deserted to 
Aufidius, the Volscian servants at first insulted him, 
even while he stood under the protection of the 
household Gods ; but when they saw that the Pro- 
ject took efifect, and the stranger was seated at the 
head of the table, one of them very judiciously ob- 
serves, ' that he always thought the^ was more ia 
him than he (txmld think.' 

Maehiavel has jiKtIy Mumadverted on the dif- 
ferent notice taken, by all socceoding tiflaes, of the 
two great projectors Catiline and Caesar. Both . 
farmed the same Project, and intended to raise 
tbemselves tp power, by sobverting the common- 
wealth: they pursiied their design, perhaps with 
equal abilities, and with equal virtue ; but CajdUne 
pendb^ in the field, and Qesar returned from Phar- 
aalia with uDlimited authority :- and from ^t timei, 
every monarch of the earth has thought himaelf 
honouiBd by a comparison with Cssar ; and Cati- 
line has been never mentioned, but thai his aoame 
might be applied to traitors end inoendiaries. 

Jb an i^ more leaote, Xerxes fro^actai the 
conqnest of Greece, and brought down the power 
of Asia against it: but after the world had bem 
filkd wit£ expectation and terror, hi$ anny was 



r 



N* 99. ADTBMTUESft. 4^ 

beaten, his fleet was destroyed, and Xerxes has been 
never mentioned without contempt. 

A few years afterwards, Greece likewise had her 
turn of giving birth to. a Projector ; who invading 
Asia with a small army, went forward in search of 
adventures, and by his esci^pe from one danger, 
gained only more rashness to rush into another : he 
stormed city after city, over-ran kingdom after king- 
dom, fought battles only for barren victory, and in- 
vaded nations only that he might make his way 
through them to new invasions : but having been 
fortunate in the execution of his Projects, he died 
with the name of Alexander the Great. 

These are, indeed, events of ancient times ; but 
human nature is always the same, and every age 
will afford us instances of public censures influ- 
enced by events. The great business of the middle 
centuries, was the holy war ; which undoubtedly 
was a noble Project, and was for a long time pro- 
secuted with a spirit equal to that with which it 
had been contrived : but the ardour of the European 
heroes only hurried them to destruction ; for a long 
time they could not gain the territories for which 
they fought, and when at last gained, they could not 
keep them ; their expeditions, thereibre, have been 
the scoff of idleness and ignorance, their understandr 
ing and their virtue have been equally vilified, their 
conduct has been ridiculed, and their cause has been 
defamed. 

When Columbus had engaged King Ferdinand in 
the discovery of the other hemisphere, the sailors, 
with whom he embarked in the expedition, had so 
little confidence in their commander, that after 
having been long at sea looking for coasts which 
they expected never to find, they raised a general 
mutiny, and demanded to return. He found means 
to soothe them into a permission to continue the 



same course tliree days longer, and on the eren- 
ing of the third day descried land. Had the impa- \ , 

tience of his crew denied him a few hours of the 
time requested, what had been his fate but to have 
come back with the infamy of a vain' Projector, 
who had betrayed the king's credulity to useless 
expenses, and risked his lite in seeking countries . 
that had no existence 1 how would those that had 
rejected his proposals, have triumphed in their acute- i 

ness? and when would his name have been men- 
tioned, but with the makers of potable gold and 
malleable glass? ' > 

The last royal Projectors with whom the world 
has been troubled, were Charles of Sweden and the , 

Czar of Muscovy. Charles, if any judgment may 
be formed of his designs by his measures and his 
inquiries, bad purposed, first to dethrone the Czar, 
then to lead his an;ny through pathless desarts into 
China, thence to make his way by the sword through 
the whole circuit of Asia, and by the conquest of 
Turkey to unite Sweden with his new dominions t 
but this mighty Project was crushed at Pultowa : 
and Charles has since been considered as a madman 
by those powers, who sent their ambassadors to so- 
licit his friendship, and their generals *■ to learn under 
him the art of war.' 

The Czar found employment sufficient in his own 
dominions, and amused himself in digging canals, 
and building cities; murdering his subjects with 
insufferable fatigues, and transplanting nations from 
. one corner of his dominions to another, without 
regretting the thousands that perished on the way : 
but he attained his end, he made his people for- 
midable, and is numbered by fame among the (demi- 
gods. 

t am far from intending to vindicate the san- 
guinary Projects of heroes and conquerors, and 



N** 99. A»TBNT9EEK# 47 

would wish rather to diminish the refMitation of 
their success, than the infamy of their ^scar- 
ria^:. for I oa&not coaceivey why he that has 
burnt cities, wasted nations, and filled the world 
with horror and desolation, should be more kindly 
regarded by mankind, than he that died in the nt- 
diraents of wickedness ; why he that accomplished 
misdiief should be glorious, and he that only en- 
deavoured it Aould be criminal. I would wish 
Caesar and Catiline, Xerxes and Alexander, Charles 
and Peter, huddled together in obscurity or detss- 
tation. 

But there is another species of Projectors, to 
whom I would willingly conciliate mankind ; whose 
ends are generally laudiable, and whose labours are 
innocent; who are searching put new powers of 
nature, or coa^ving new woilcs of art: but who are 
yet persecuted with incessant obloquy, and whom 
tbe uBirersal contempt with which they are treated, 
often debars from that success which Uieir industry 
would obtain, if it were permitted to act without 
opposition. 

They who find themselves inclined to censure 
new wftdertakings, only because they are nem^, 
should consider that the folly of Projection is very 
seldom the felly of a fool; it is commonly the 
eboUitioii of a capaciougmind, crowded with varie* 
ty of knowledge, and heated with intenseness of 
thouf^; it proceeds often from the consciousness 
of uncommon powers, from the confidence of those, 
who having already d^oe much, are easily persuaded 
that they can do more. When Rcmiey had eom^ 
pleted the Orrery* he atttepted the pefpetual mo»- 
tion ; when jBoyle hid exhausted the secrets of vul^ 
gar diemistry, be turned his Oughts to the W0t4^ cHf 
transmutntkm* 

A Projedor jenemlly umtes those ipalitie§ which 



48 ADTBKTURER. R* 09. 

have the fairest claim to veneration, extent of kno-W' 
ledge, ,and greatness of design : it was said of 
Catiline, *■ immoderata, incredibilia, nimis alta sem- 
per cupiebat/ Projectors of all kinds agree in their 
intellects, thongh Uiey differ, in their morals ; they 
all fail by attempting Uiings beyond their power, by 
despising vulgar attainments, and aspiring to per- 
formances, to which, perhaps, nature has not pro- 
portioned the force of man : when they fail, there- 
fore, they fail not by idleness or timidity, but by 
rash adventure and fruitless diligence. 

That the attempts of such men will often mis- 
carry, we may reasonably expect ; yet from such 
men, and such only, are we to' hope for the culti- 
vation of those parts of nature which lie yet waste, 
and the invention of those arts which are yet want- 
ing to the felicity of life. If they are, therefore, 
universally discouraged, art and discovery can make 
no advances. Whatever is attempted withoutprevious 
certainty of success, may be considered as a Project, 
- and amongst narrow minds may, therefore, erpoae 
its author to censure and contempt; and it the 
liberty of laughing be once indulged, every man 
will laugh at what he does not understand, every 
Project will be considered as madness, and every great 
or new design will be censured as a Project Men, 
unaccustomed to reason and researches, think every 
enterprise impracticable, which is extended beyond 
common effects, or comprises many intermediate 
operations. Many that presume to laugh at Pro- 
jectors would consider a flight through ^ air in a 
winged chariot, and the movement of a mighty en- 
gine by the steam of water, as equally the dreams of 
mechanic lunacy ; and would hear, with equal neg- 
ligence, of the union of the Thames and Severn by a 
canal, and the scheme of ^buauer^ue, the viceroy of 
the Indies, who in the rage of hoetiUty had contrived 



H* 100. ABVENTURKR. 49 

to make Egypt a barren desart, by turning the Nile 
into the Red Sea, 

Those vho have attempted much, have seldom 

failed to perform more than those who never deviate 

£pom the common roads of action : many valuable 

preparations of chemistry are supposed to have arisen 

firom unsuccessful inquiries after the grand elixir ; 

it is,, therefore, just to encourage those who endea- 

TOUT to enlaige . the power of art, since they often 

succeed beyond expectation ; and when they fail, 

may sometimes benefit the world, even by their 

miscairiages. 

T. 



N* 100. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 20, 1753. 



Nemo repentefmt turpissimui.—^^ ' JUV* 

No man e'er reach'd the heights of vice at first TATE. 



TO THB ADVBNTUEER. 
8». 



Though the characters of men have, perhapsi 
been essentiaUy the same in all ages, yet their ez* 
temal appearance has changed with other peca* 
liarities of time and place, and they have been 
distingttiahed by different names, as new modes of 
•zpresnon have , prevailed : a periodical writer, 
therefore, who catdies the picture of evanescent 

VOL. xzv. V 



50 ADVBNTUHU. S^ ItX). 

life, and shews the deformity of follies wludi in a 
few years will be so changed as not to be known, 
should be careful to escpress the dtaracter when he 
describes the appearance, and to connect it with 
the name by which, it then happens to be called. 
You hare frequently used the terms Buck and Bloody 
and have given some accotUit of the characters 
which are thus denominaled; but you have not 
considered them as the last sti^ges of a regular pro» 
gression, nor taken any notice of those which pre* 
cede tlMQ. Their dependence upon each other is, 
indeed, so little known, that many suppose them to 
be distinct and colUteral classes, formed by persons 
of opposite interests, tastes, capacities, and disposi- 
tions : the scale, however, consists of eight degrees: 
Gb'eenhom, Jemmy, Jessamy, Smart, Honest Fellow, 
Joyous Spirit, Buck, and Blood. As I have myself 
passed through the whole series, I shall explain each 
station by a short account of my life, remarking the 
periods when my character changed its denomina- 
tion, and the particular incidents by which the 
change was produced. 

My father was a wealthy farmer in Yorkshire 4 
and when I was near eighteen years of age, he 
brought me up to London, and put me apprentice 
to a considerable shopkeeper in the city. There 
was an awkward modest simplicity in my manner, 
and a reverence of religion and virtue in my con- 
versation. The novelty of the scene that was now 
placed before me, in which there were innumerable 
objects that I never oooceived to exist, lendered 
me attentive and credulous; peculiarities, wfaidi, 
without a provincial accent, a slouch in my gait, 
a long lank head of hair, an unfashionable sait 
of drab-colotired cloth, would have denoaiiaatad 
me a Greenhom, or, in other woids, a oeantry 
put very green. 



j 



y* 10(K ilDTENTURm. 51 

GftmHf tken, I continaed eyen in externals, near 
two years; and in this state I was the object of uni- 
versal eootempt and derision ; but being at length 
wearied with merriment and insult, I was very sedu- 
lous to assume the manners and af^>earance of those, 
who in the same station were better treated. I 
had already improTod greatly in my speech ; and 
my. father having allowed me thirty pounds a-year 
for apparel and pocket-money, the greater part of 
which I had saved, I bespoke a suit of clothes of 
•n eminent city taylor, with several waistcoats and 
breeches, and two frocks for a change: I cut off 
my hair, and procured a brown bob perriwig of 
Wilding, of the same coUur, with a single row 
of curls just round the bottom, which I wore very 
nicely combed, and without powder: my hat, 
which had been cocked with great exactness in an 
teuilateral triangle, I discarded, and purchased one 
of a more fashionable size, the fore corner of which 
projected near two inches further than those on each 
aide, and was moulded into the shape of a spout: 
I ako furnished myself with a change of white 
thread stockings, took carjd that my pumps were 
-varnished every morning with a new German black- 
mg-ball ; and when I went out, carried in my hand 
a Bttie switch, which, as it has been long appendant 
to the character that I had just assumed, has taken 
the same name, and is called a Jemmy. 

I soon perceived the advantage of this trapsfor- 
mation. My manner had not, indeed, kept pace 
with my dress; I was still modest and diffident, 
temperate, and sober, and consequently still sub- 
ject to ridicule : but I was now admitted into com- 
pany, from which I had before been excluded by 
the rusticity of my appearance ; I was rallied and 
eooouiaged by turns; and I was instructed both by 
preoq)t and example. Some offers were made of 

f2 



59 ADVEKTUEBR. N* 100. 

carr3riiig me to a house of private entertainment, 
which then I absolutely refused ; but I soon fotind 
the way into the play-house, to see the two last acts, 
and the farce : here I learned that by breaches of 
chastity no man was thought to incur either guilt or 
shame; but that, on the contrary, they were essen* 
tially necessary to the character of a fine gentle- 
man, I soon copied the original, which I found to 
be universally admired, in my iborals, and made 
some farther approaches to it in my dress: I 
suffered my hair to grow long enough to comb back 
over the fore-top of my wig, which when 1 sallied 
forth to my evening amusement, I changed to a 
queue; I tied the collar of my shirt with half 
an ell of black ribbon, which appeared under my 
neck cloth ; the fore comer of my hat was con- 
siderably elevated and shortened, so that it no 
longer resembled a spout, but the comer -of a minced 
pye ; my waistcoat was edged with a narrow lace, 
my stockings were silk, and I never appeared with- 
out a pair of clean gloves. My address, from its 
native masculine plainness, was converted to an 
excess of softness and civility, especially when 
I spoke to the ladies. I had before made some 
progress in learning to swear; I had proceeded 
by fegs, faith, pox, plague, 'pen my hfe, 'p^ii ™y 
soul, rat it, and zookers, to zauns and the divilL 
I now advanced to by Jove, 'fore ged, geds curse 
it, and demme : but I still uttered these inteijections 
in a tremulous tone, and my pronunciation was 
feminine and vicious. I was sensible of my de- 
fects, and, therefore, applied with great diligence 
to remove them. I frequently practised alone, but 
it was a long time before I could swear so mudi to 
my own satisfaction in company, as by mys^. 
My labour, however, was not without its reward ; 
U recommended me to the notice of the ladies, 



X' lOa 40Til^T17itBIL 53 

Bad prociUBd me the geatle appellation of Je»- 
samy. 

I now karoed aaooDg other Groi^rn Geatlemen to 
dance, which greatly eolarged my acquaintance ; I 
entered into a subscription for country dances once 
a week at a tavern, where each ^entlenmn engaged 
to bring a partner : at the same ti^e I made con- 
siderable advances in sweari^ ; I coUld pronounce 
damme wilh a tolesable air andr-a€cent, give the 
vowel its full sound, and look with confidence in 
the face of the person to whom I spoke. About 
this time my father's elder brother died, and left me 
an estate of near five hundred pounds per annum. 
I now bought out the remainder of my time; 
and this sudden accession of wealth and inde* 
pendence gave me immediately an air of greater 
confidence and freedom. I laid out near one hun- 
dred and fifty pounds in clothes, though I was 
obliged to go into mourning : I employed a court 
taylor to make theih up ; I exchanged my queue 
£[>r a bag ; I put on a sword, which, in appearance 
at least, was a Toledo ; and in proportion as I knew 
my dress to be elegant, I was less solicitous to be neat. 
My acquaintance now increased every hour ; I was 
attendedt flattered, and caressed ; was often invited 
to entertainmeiits, supped every night at a tavern, 
and went home in a chair ; was taken notice of in 
public places, and was universally confessed to be . 
improved into a Smart 

There were some intervals in which I found it 
necessary to abstain from wenching; and in these, 
at whatever risk, I applied mysdf to the bottle : a 
habit of drinking came insensibly upon nie, and I 
was soon able to walk home with a bottle and a 
pint. I had learned a sufficient numb^ of fashion- 
able toasts, and got by heart several toping and 
several bawdy songs, some of which I ventured to 

f3 



54 ADVENTURBR. N* 100. 

roar oat with a friend hanging on my arm as we 
scoured the street after our nocturnal revel. I 
now laboured with indefatigable industry to in- 
crease these acquisitions : I enlarged my stock of 
healths; made great progress in singing, joking, 
and story-telling ; swore well ; could make a com- 
pany of staunch topers drunk ; always collected the 
reckoning, and was the last man that departed. 
My face began to be covered with red pimples, and 
my eyes to be weak ; I became daily more negh- 
gent of my dress, and more blunt in my manner ; I 
professed myself a foe to starters and milksops, de- 
clared that there was no enjoyment equal to that of 
a bottle and a fnend, and soon gained the appella- 
tion of an Honest Fellow. 

By this distinction I was animated to attempt 
yet greater excellence; I learned several feats of 
mimicry of the under players, could take off known 
characters, tell a staring story, and humbug with so 
much skill as sometimes to take in a knowing one. 
I was so successful in the practice of these arts, to 
which, indeed, I applied myself with unwearied 
diligence and assiduity, that I kept my company 
roaring with applause, till their voices sunk by de- 
grees, and they were no longer able to laugh, because 
they were no longer able either to hear or to see. 
I had now ascended another scale in the climax ; 
and was acknowledged, by all who knew me, to be 
a Joyous Spirit 

After all these topics of merriment were exhaust- 
ed, and I /had repeated my tricks, my stories, my 
jokes and my songs, till they grew insipid, I b^ 
came mischievous; and was continually devising 
and executing Frolics, to the unspeakable delight 
of my companions, and the injury of others. For 
many of them I was prosecuted, and frequently 
obliged to pay large damages : but I bore all these 



ir*" 100. ADTBimmEX. 55 

losses with an air of jovial indifference, I pushed 
on in my career, I was more desperate in proportion 
as I had less to lose : and being deterred from ao 
mischief by the dread of its consequences, I was 
said to run at all, and complimented with the name 
of Buck. 

My estate was at length mortgaged for more than 
it was worth; my creditors were importunate; I 
became negligent of myself and of others ; I made 
a desperate effort at the gaming-table, and lost the 
last sum that I could raise ; my estate was seized 
by the mortgagee ; I learned to pack cards and to 
cog a die ; became a bully to whores ; passed my 
nights in a brothel, the street, or the watch-house ; 
was utterly insensible of shame, and lived upon the, 
town as a beast of prey in a forest. Thus I reached 
. the summit of modern glory, and had just acquired 
the distinction of a Blood, when I was arrested for 
an old debt of three hundred pounds, and thrown 
into the King's Bench prison. 

These characters. Sir, though they are distinct, 
yet do not at all differ, otherwise than as shades 
of the same colour. And though they are stages 
of a regular progression, yet the whole progress is 
not made by every individual : some are so soon 
initiated in the mysteries of the town, that they 
are never publicly known in their Greenhorn state ; 
others fix long in their Jemmyhood, others are Jes- 
samies at fourscore, and some stagnate in each of 
the higher stages for life. But I request that they 
may never hereafter be confounded either by you 
or your correspondents. Of the Blood, your brother 
Adventurer, Mr. Wildgoose, though he assumes the 
character, does not seem to have a just and pre- 
cise idea as distinct from the Buck, in which class 
he should be placed, and will probably die ; for he 
leems determined to shoot himself^ just at the time 



56 ADVBNTUEKS. R^ 101 • 

when his circuimtaiioes will enable him to assunie 
the higher distinction. 

But the retroepect upon life, which this letter has 
made necessary, covers me with confusion, and ag« 
gravates despair. I cannot but reflect, that among 
cdl these characters, I have never assumed that of a 
Man. Man is a Reasonable Being, whiqh he ceases 
to be, who disguises his body with ridiculous fop- 
peries, or decrades his mind by detestable brutality. 
These thou^ts would have beien of great use to me, 
if they had occurred seven yean ago. If they are 
of use to you, I hope you will send me a small gra- 
tuity for my labpur, to alleviate the misery of hunger 
and nakedness : but, dear Sir, let your bounty be 
speedy, lest I perish before it arrives. 

I am your humble Servant, . 
Common Side, King's Bench, NOMENTANUS. 

Oct. 18, 1763. 



N* 101. TUESDAY, OCTOBER M, 1753, 



Msi uhi peeeaL HClR. 



Yet sometimes he mistakes. 
TO IBS ADVJSHTUBXB. 



91B, 



If we oonsidar the high rank wUch Milton has de* 
senredly obtained among our few JBaglish classics, 
we cannot wonder at the multkude of comaoeiita- 
lies and criticifims of which he has been the sub* 
ject. To these I have added some miee^laMOiis 



H* 101. ADVENTtTRGR. 57 

remarks ; and if you should at first be inclined to 
reject them as trifling, you may, perhaps, deter-, 
mine to admit them, when you reflect that they 
are new. 

The description of Eden in the fourth book of 
the Paradise Lost, and the battle of the angels in 
the sixth, are usually selected as the most striking 
examples of a florid and vigorous imagination : but 
it requires much greater strength of mind to form 
an assemblage of natural objects, and range them 
^th propriety and beauty, than to' bring together 
the greatest variety of the most splendid images, 
without any regard to their use or congruity ; as in 
painting, he who, by the force of his imagination, 
can delineate s landscape, is deemed a greater 
master than he who, by heaping rocks of coral 
upon tesselated pavements, can only make absurdity 
splendid, and dispose gaudy colours so as best to 
set ofl^ each other. «, 

' Sapphire fountains that rolling over orient Pearl 
run Nectar, roses without thorns, trees that bear 
^uit of Vegetable Gold, and that weep odorous 
gums and balms,* are easily feigned ; but having no 
relative beauty as pictures of nature, nor any abso- 
lute excellence as denved from truth, they can only 
please those, who, when they read, exercise no 
faculty but fancy, and admire because they do not 
think. 

If I shall not be thought to digress wholly 
from my subject, I would illustrate this remark, by 
comparing two passages, written by Milton and 
Fletcher, on nearly the same subject. The spirit 
in Comus thus pays his address of thanks to the 
water-nymph Sabrina: 

May thy brimmed waves for this^ 
Their full tribute never miss. 



58 ADVENTURER. N* 101. 

From a thousand petty rills. 
That tumble down the snowy hills : 
Summer drought, or singed air. 
Never scorch thy tresses lair; 
Nor wet October's torrent flood 
Thy molten crystal fill with mud : 

Thus far the wishes are most proper for the welfare 
of a river goddess : the circumstance of summer not 
scorching her tresses, is highly poetical and elegant : 
but what follows, though it is pompous and ma- 
jestic, is unnatural and Yslt fetched ; 

May thy billows roll ashore 
The beryl and the golden ore : 
Miiy thy lofty head be crown'd 
With many a tow*r and terras round ; 
And here and there, thy banks upon, i 
With groves of myrrh and cinnamon ! 

The circumstance in the third and fourth line$i is 
happily fancied ; but what idea can the reader have 
of an English river rolling Gold and the Beryl 
ashore, or of groves of Cimiamon growing on its 
banks? The images in the following passage of 
Pietcher are all simple and real, all appropriated and 
strictly natural : 

For thy kindness to me shewn, 
Never from thy banks be blown 
Any tree, with windy force, 
Cross thy stream to stop thy course ; 
May no beast that comes to drink, 
With his boms cast down thy brink ; 
May none that for thy fish do look, 
Cut thy banks to dam thy brook ; 
Barefoot may no neighbour wade 
In thy cool streams, wife or maid, 
When the spawn on stones do lie. 
To wash their hemp, and spoil the fry. 

The glaring picture of Paradise is not, in my 
opinion, so strong an evidence of Milton's force of 



1i* 101. ADVBNTURER. , 69 

imagination, as his representation of Adam and 
Eve when they left it, and of the passions with 
which they -were agitated on that event. 

Against his battle of the Angels, I have the same 
objections as against his garden of Eden. He has 
endeavoured to elevate his combatants, by giving 
them the enormous stature of giants in romances, 
books of which he was known to be fond ; and the 
prowess and behaviour of Michael as much resem- 
Die the feats of Ariosto's Knight, as his two-handed 
sword does the weapons of chivalry : I think the 
sublimity of his genius much more visible in the 
first appearance of the fallen Angels ; the debates of 
the infernal peers ; the passage of Satan through the 
dominions of Chaos, and his adventure with Sin and 
Death ; the mission of Raphael to Adam ; the conver- 
sations between Adam and his wife ; the creation ; 
the account which Adam gives of his first sensations, 
and of the approach of Eve from the hand of her 
Creator ; the whole behaviour of Adam and Eye 
after the first transgression; and the prospect of 
the yarious states of the world, and history of man, 
exhibited in a vision to Adam. 

In this vision, Milton judiciously represents Adam, 
as ignorant of what disaster had befallen Abel, when 
he was murdered by his brother ; but, during his 
conversation with Raphael, the poet seems to have 
forgotten this necessary and natural ignorance of the 
first man. How was it possible for Adam to dis* 
cem what the Angel meant by ^ cubic phalanxes, 
by planets of aspect maligq, by encamping on the 
fonghten field, by raa and rear, by standnds and 
gonfidoiis and glittering tissues, hj the girding 
sword, by embattled squadrons, diariots, and flam^ 
ifig arms, and fiery steeds V And although Adam 
posieased a superior d^ree of knowledge, yet doidH- 



fQ AOVEN^U&EIU N* 101 

leas be had not skill enough in chemistry to under- 
stand Raphael, who informed him, that 



- Sulphurous and nitrous foam 



They found, they mingled, and iviih subtle art. 
Concocted and Adusted, they reduc'd 
To blackest graia, and into sUA'e convey'd. 

And, surely, the nature of cannon was not much ex- 
plained to Adam, who neither knew or wanted the 
use of iron tools, by telling him, that they resemble 
the hollow bodies of oak or fir. 

With branches lopt, in wood or mountain fell'd. 

He that never beheld the brute creation but in its 
pastimes and sports, must have gready wondered, 
when the Angel expressed the flight of the Satanic, 
host, by saying, that they fled 



Ai a herd 



Of goats or timorous flock, together throng'd. 

But as there are many exuberances in this poem, 
there appears to be also some defects. As the ser« 
pent was the instrument of the temptation, Milton 
minutely describes its beauty and allurements : and 
I have frequently wondered, that he did not, for 
the same reason, eive a more elaborate description 
of the tree of life ; especially as he was remarkable 
for his knowledge and imitation of the Sacred 
Writings, and as the following passage in the Reve- 
lations afforded him a hint, from which his creative 
£mcy might have worked up a striking picture: 
^ In the midst of the street of it, and of eiUier side 
the river, was there the . tree of life ; which bare 
twelve manner of fruits, and yielded her fruit every 



H* 101. ABTBNTURl^. 61 

month; and the leaves of the tree were for the 
healing of the nations.' 

At the end of the fourth book, suspense and at- 
tention are excited to the utmost; a combat be- 
tween Satan and the guardians of Eden is eagerly 
expected, and curiosity is impatient for the action 
and the catastrophe: but this horrid fray is pre- 
vented, expectation is cut off, and curiosity disap 
pointed, by an expedient which, though applauded 
oy Addison and Pope, and imitated from Homer 
and Virgil, will be deemed frigid and inartificial, 
by all who judge from their own sensations, and 
are , not content to echo the decisions of others. 
The golden balances are held forth, ' which,' says 
the poet, ' are yet seen between Astrea and the 
Scorpion ;' Satan looks up, and perceiving that his 
scale mounted aloft, departs with the shades of 
night To make such a use, at so critical a time, 
of Libra, a mere imaginary sign of the Zodiac, is 
scarcely justifiable in a poem founded on religious 
truth. 

Among innumerable beauties in the Paradise 
Lost, I think the most transcendent is the speech 
of Satan at the beginning of the ninth book; in 
which his unextinguishable pride and fibrce indig- 
nation against Goo, and his envy towards Man, 
are so blended with an involuntary approbation 
of goodness, and disdain of the meanness and base- 
ness of his present undertaking, as to render it, on 
account of the propriety of its sentiments and its 
turns of passion, the most natural, most spirited, 
and truly dramatic speech, that is, perhaps, to be 
found in any writer, whether ancient or modern : 
and yet Mr. Addison has passed it over, unpraised 
and unnoticed. 

If an apology should be deemed necessary for 
the fireedom here used with our inimitable bard, let 

VOL. xzv. o 



64 ADVEWTURBR. H* 102. 

me coBckde in the words of Longinus: * Whoever 
was carefully to collect the blemishes of Homer, 
Demosthenes, Plato, and of other celebrated writ- 
ers, of the same rank, would find they bore not the 
least proportion to the subliibities and excellencies 
with which their works abound.' 

I am, Sir, 
Z. Your humble Senrant, 

PAKffiOPHILUS. 



N* 102. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 27, 1753. 



—*^Stuid tarn dexiro pede concipiSi ut U 
ConatusnonpiBniieaif votiqueperactif . JUV. 

What in the condoct of oar life ap^peairs 

So well dasifa'd, so luckily begun, 

But^ when we bare our wish, we wish undone ? 

PRYDEN. 

TO THE ADVENTURER. 
IIK9 

I HAtE been for many years a trader in London. 
My beginning was narrow, and my stock small ; 
I was/ therefore, a long time brow-beaten and de- 
spised by those, who having more money thought 
they had more merit than myself. I did not, htrw- 
€ver, suffer my resentment to instigate me to any 
mean arts of supplantation, nor my eagerness oif 
riehes to betray me to any indirect methods of gain ; 
I pur svied my business with incessant assiduity^ sup- 



W' 103. AOTENTUEEK, 63 

ported by the hope of being one day richer than 
those who contemned me,; and had, upon every 
annual review of my books, the satisfaction of find- 
iog my fortune increased beyond my expectation. 

In a few years my industry and probity were 
fiilly recompensed, my wealth was really great, and 
my reputation for wealth still greater. I had large 
warehduses crowded with goods, and considerable 
sums in the public lunds ; I was caressed upon the 
Exchange by the most eminent merchants ; became 
the oracle of the common council ; was solicited to 
engage in all commercial undertakings ; was flat- 
tered with the hopes of becoming in a short time 
one of the directors of a wealthy company ; and, to 
complete my mercantile honours, enjoyed 'the ex- 
pensive happiness of fining for sheriff. 

Riches, you know, easily produce riches ; when I 
had ariived to this degree ot wealth, 1 had no longer 
any obstruction >or opposition to fear ; new acqui- 
sitions were hourly brought within my reach, and I 
continued for some years longer to heap thousands 
upon thousands. 

At last I resolved to complete the circle of a 
dtizen's prosperity by the purchase of an estate in 
the- country, and to close my life in retirement. 
From the hour that this design entered m) iroagi- 
nation, I found the fatigues of my employment 
every day more oppressive, and persuaded myself 
that I was no longer equal to perpetual attention^ 
and that my health would soon be destroyed by the 
torment and distraction ol extensive business. I 
could image to mysell' no happiness, but in vacant 
jollity, and uninterrupted leisure ; nor entertain my 
friends with any other topic, than the vexation and 
imcertainty of trade, and the happiness of rural 
privacy. 

o2* 



64 ADVENTURER. N* 102. 

But, notwithstanding these declarations, I could 
not at once reconcile myself to the thought of ceas- 
ing to get money ; and though I was every day in- 
quiring for a purchase, I found some reason for re- 
jecting all that were offered me ; and, indeed, had 
accumulated so many beauties and conveniences in 
my idea of the spot, where I was finally to be 
happy, that, perhaps, the world might have been 
travelled^over, without discovery of a place which 
would not have been defective in some particular. 

Thus I went on still talking of retirement, and 
still refusmg to retire ; my friends began to laugh at 
my delays, and I grew ashamed to trifle longer with 
my own inchnations ; an estate was at length pur- 
chased, I transferred my stock to a prudent young 
man who had married my daughter, went down into 
the country, and commenced lord of a spacious manor. 

Here for some time I found happiness equal to my 
expectation. I reformed the old house according to 
the advice of the best architects, I threw down the 
walls of the garden, and inclosed it with palisades, 
planted long avenues of trees, filled a green-house 
with exotic plants, dug a new canal, and threw the 
earth into the old moat 

The fame' of these expensive improvements 
brought in all the country to see the shew. I en- 
tertained my visitors with great liberality, led them 
round my gardens, shewed them my apartments, 
laid before them plans for new decorations, and was 
gratified by the wonder of some and the envy of 
others. 

I was envied ; but how little can one man judge 
of the condidon of another? The time was now 
coming, in which afiluence and splendour could 
no longer make me pleased with myself. I bad 
built till the imagination of the architect was 



S^ 103, AXkVENTVREB. 6$ 

exhausted ; I had added one convenience to another; 
till I knew not what more to wish or to design ; I 
bad laid out my gardens, planted my park, and 
completed my water-works; and what now remained 
to be done? what, but to look up to turrets, of 
which when they were once raised I had no farther 
use, to range over apartments where time was tar- 
nishing the furniture, to stand by the cascade of 
which I scarcely now perceived the sound, and to 
watch the growth of woods that must give their 
Aade to a £stant generation. 
^ In this gloomy inactivity, is every day begun and 
ended : the happiness that I have been so long pro« 
curing is now at an end, because it has been pro- 
cured ; I wander from room' to room till I am weary 
of myself; I ride out to a neighbouring hill in the 
centre of my estate, from whence all my lands lie in 
prospect round me ; I see nothing that I have not 
seen before, and return^ home disappointed, though 
I knew that I had nothing to expect. 

In my happy days of business I had been accus- 
tomed to' rise early in the morning ; and remember 
the time when I grieved that the night came so soon 
upon me, .and obliged me for a few hours to shut 
out affluence and prosperity. I now seldom see the 
rising sun, but to ' teu him,' with the fallen angel, 
* how I hate his beams.' I wake from sleep as to 
languor or imprisonment, and have no employment 
for thp first hour but to consider by what art I shall 
nd myself of the second. I protract the breakfast 
as long as I can, because when it is ended I have no 
call tor my attention, till I can with some degree of 
decency grow impatient for my dinner. If I could 
dine all my life, I should be nappy ; I eat not be- 
cause I am hungry, but because I am idle : but alas! 
the time quickly comes when I can eat no longer ; 
and so ill does my constitution second my inchna- 

g3 



66 ADVEKTUB&B. R* 109, 

tion, that I cannot bear strong liquors : seven hours 
must then be endured before I shall sup ; but' sup-- 
^r comes at last, the more welcome as it ia in a 
short time succeeded by sleep. 

Such, Mr. Adventurer, is the happiness, the hope 
of which seduced me from the duties and pleasures 
of a mercantile life. I shall be told by those who 
raad my narrative, that there are many means of 
innocent amusement, and many schemes of useful 
employment, which I do not appear ever to have 
known; and that nature and art have provided 
pleasures, by which, without the drudgery of settled 
business, the active may be engaged, the solitary 
soothed, and the social entertained. 

These arts. Sir, I have tried^ When first I took 
possession of my estate, in conformity to the taste 
of my neighbours, I bought guns and nets, filled my 
kennel with dogs, and my stable with horses; but 
a little experience shewed me, that these instru- 
ments of rural felicity would afford me few grati- 
fications. I never shot but to miss the mark,, and, 
to confess the truth, was afraid of the fire of my 
own gun. I could discover no music in the cry of 
the dogs, nor could divest myself of pity for the 
animal whose peaceful and inoffensive life was sacri- 
ficed to our sport I was not, indeed, always at 
leisure to reflect upon her danger ; for my horse, 
who had been bred to the chase, did not always 
regard my choice either of speed or way, but leaped 
hedges and ditches at his own discretion, and hur- 
ried me along with the dogs, to the great diversion 
of my brother sportsmen. His eagerness of pursuit 
once incited him to swim a river ; and I had leisure 
to resolve in the water, that I would never hazard 
my life again for the destruction of a hare. 

I then ordered books to be procured, and by the 
direction of the vicar had in a few weeks a closet 



H^ 102. AOVBNTOASB. 87 

elegantly farai^ed. You will, perhaps, be surprise 

ed when I shall tell you, that when once I had 

luiged them according to their sizes, and piled them' 

up in regular gradations, I had received all the 

pleasure which they could give me. I am not able 

to excite in myself any curiosity after events which 

have been long passed, and in which I can, there* 

fore, have no interest : I am utterly unconcerned to 

Icnow whether Tully or Demosthenes excelled in 

oratory, whether Hannibal lost Italy by his own 

negligence or the corruption of his countrymen* 

I have no skill in controversial learning, nor can- 

conceive why so many volumes should have been 

written upon questions, which I have lived so long 

and so happily without understanding. I once 

resolved to go through the volumes relating to the 

office of justice of the peace, but found them so 

crabbed and intricate, that in less than a month I 

desisted in despair, and resolved to supply my de* 

ficiencies by paying a competent salary to a skilful 

clerk. 

I am naturally inclined to hospitality, and for 
some time kept up a constant intercourse pf visits 
with the neighbouring gentlemen : but though they 
are easily brought about me by better wine than 
they can find at any other bouse, I am not much 
relieved by their conversation ; they have no skill 
in commerce or the stocks, and I . have no know- 
ledge of the history of famihes or the factions of 
the country; so that when the first civilities are 
ever, they usually talk to one another, and I am 
left alone in the midst of the company. Though I 
cannot drink myself, I am obliged to encourage the 
circulation of the glass ; their mirth grows more 
turbulent and obstreperous ; and before their merri- 
aent is at an end, I am sick with disgust, and, per- 



hi^, rapreaclMd mih. my sobriety, tt by some sly 
itudfiuattons iasulted as a cit 

Such, Mr. Adventurer, ia the life to nvibidi I am 
GOttdemned by a foolish endeavour to be happy by 
imiution ; such is the happiness to which I pleased 
myself with approachingf and whidi I considered as 
the diief end of my cares and my labounsu I toiled 
year after 3rear witk d&eerfuhiess^ in expectation of 
the bafipy hour in which I might be idle; the pri« 
vikge of idleness is attained, but has not brought 
with it the blessing of tranquillity. 

T. I am, 

Your^s, &c. 

MERCATOB. 



mm 



N» lOS. TUESDAY, OCTOBER 30, 175SL 



•^tttflt enm rMtione imemvs, 



Aui €tipimus f _ J U V . 

How void of reason |ire tour hopes and fears ! BRYDEN* 

In those remote times when, by the intervention of 
Fairies, men received good and evil, which suoceed- 
ilig (generations could expect only from natura} 
causes, Soliman, a mighty prince, i^igned over a 
thousand provinces in tlie distant r^ons of the 
£ast. It is recorded of Soliman, that he had no fa- 
vourite ; but among the pnncipal nobles of his court 
was Omaraddin. 

Omaraddin had two daughters, Almerine and 
Shelimah. At the birth of Almerine* the fairy £1- 
farina had presided; and in compliance with the 



N^ lOS. ADTSNTiniEIL 69 

importunalef and reiterated request of the parents^ 
liad endowed her with every natural excellence both 
of body and mind, and decreed that * she should 
be sought in marriage by a sovereign prince.' 

When the wife of Omaraddin was pregnant with 
Sheiimah) the fairy Elfarina was again invoked ; at 
-which Farimina, another power of the aerial king-* 
dom, was offended. Farimina was inexorable and 
cruel; the number of her votaries, therefore, was 
few. Elfarina was placable and benevolent ; and 
Fairies of this character were observed to be su- 
perior in power, whether because it is the nature of 
rice to defeat its own purpose, or whether the calm 
and equal tenor of a virtuous mind prevents those 
mistakes, which are committed in the tumult and 
precipitation of outrageous malevolence. But Fa- 
rimina, from whatever cause, resolved that her in- 
fluence should not be wanting ; she, therefore, as 
Ua as she was able, precluded the influence of £i- 
&rina, by first pronouncing the incantation which 
d[etermined the fortune of the infant, whom she dis- 
covered by divination to be a girl. Farimina, that 
the innocent object of her malice might be despised 
by others, and perpetually employed in tormenting 
hers^f, decreed, *• that her person should be render- 
ed hideous by every species of deformity, and that 
all her wishes should spontaneously produce an 
opposite eflect' 

The pacents dreaded the birth of the infant un- 
der this malediction, T^ith which Elfarina had ac- 
quainted them, and which she could not reverse. 
The moment they beheld it, they were solicitous 
only to conceal it from the world ; they considered 
the complicated deformity of unhappy 8helimah, as 
some reproach to themselves; and as they could 
act hope to change her appearance, they did not 
find themselves interested in her felicity. They 



70 ADTEirrtrABK* js^ 103 

made do request to Eifanna, that she wonld by any 
iatellectual eodowment alleviate miseries whi(£ 
they should not participate, but seemed, content 
that a being so hideous should suffer perpetual dis- 
appointment ; and, indeed, they concurred to in- 
jure an infant which they could not behold with 
complacency, by sendidg her with only one atten-* 
dant to a remote castle which stood on the confines 
of a wood. 

Elfarina, however, did not ihus forsake innocence 
in distress ; but to counterbalance the evils of ob* 
seurity, neglect, and ugliness, she decreed, that^ ' to 
the taste ot Shelimah the coarsest food should be 
the most exquisite dainty ; that the rags which co* 
▼ered her, should in her estimation be equal to cloth 
of gold ; that she ^ould prize a palace less than a 
cottage; and that in these circumstances lore 
shoujil be a stranger to her breast.' To prevent 
the vexation which would arise from the continual 
disappointment of her wishes, appeared at first to 
be more difficult ; but this was at length perfectly 
efSided by endowing her with Content. 

While Shelimah was immured in a remote castle, 
neglected and forgotten, eveiy city in the dominions * 
of Soliman contributed to decorate the person or 
cultivate the mind of Almerine. The house of her 
father was the resort of all who excelled in learning 
of whatever class ; and as the wit of Almerine was 
equal to her beauty, her knowledge was soon equal 
to her wit« 

Thus accomplished, she becam^ the object of 
universal admiration ; every heart throbbed at her 
approach, every tongue was silent when she spoke ; 
at the glance of her eye every cheek was covered 
tvith blushes of diffidence or desire^ and at her 
eoBimand every foot became swift as that of the 
roe. But Almerine, whom ambition was thus jea« 



M^'IOS. ▲DVBKTURER. 74 

lous to obey, who wag reverenced by hoary wisdom; 
and beloTod by yoatltful beaaty, was perhaps the 
most wretched of her sex. Perpetual adulation had 
made her haughty and fierce ; her penetration and 
delicacy rendered almost every object offensive ; she 
was disgusted with imperfections which others could 
not discover ; her breast was corroded by detesta- 
tion, when others were softened by pity ; she lost 
the sweetness of sleep by the want of exercise, and 
tbe r^ish of food by continual luxury : but her life 
became yet more wretched, by her sensibility pf that 
passion, on which the hapjnness of hfe is believed 
chiefly to depend. 

Nourassin, the physician of Soliman, was of 
noble birth, and celebrated for his skill through all 
the East He had just attained the meridian of 
Ufe; his person was graceful, and his manner soft 
and insinuating. Among many others by whom 
Almerine had been taught to investigate nature^ 
Nourassin had acquainted her with the qualities of 
trees and herbs. Of him she learned, how an in* 
numerable progeny are contained in the parent 
plant ; how they expand and quicken by degrees ; 
how from the same soil each imbibes a di^rent 
juice, which rising from the root hardens into 
branches above, swells into leaves, and flowers, and 
fruits, infinitely various in colour, and taste, and 
smell : of power to repel diseases, or precipitate the ' 
stroke of death. 

Whether by the caprice which is common to vi4l^ 
lent passions, or whether by sora^ potion which 
Nourassin found means to administer to his scholar, 
is not known ; but of Nourassin she became ena« 
moured to the most romantic excess. The pleasure 
with which she had before reflected on the decree 
of the Fairy, ' that she should be sought in mai^ 
liege by a, sotvraign pnnoe,' was sow at an tad. 



7% ADTENTURBR. R* 109. 

It was the custom of the nobles to present their 
daughters to the king, when they entered thnr 
eighteenth year; an event which Almerine had. 
often anticipated with impatience and hope, bat 
now wished to prevent with sohcitude and tenor. 
The period, urged forward, like every thing future, 
with silent and irresistible rapidity, at length ar- 
rived. The curiosity of Soliman had been raised, 
lis well by accidental encomiums, as by the artifices 
of Omaraddin, who now hasted to gratify it with 
the utmost anxiety and perturbation : he djscovered 
the confusion of his daughter, and inifagined that it 
was produced, like his own, by the uncertainty and 
importance of an event, which would be deter- 
mined before the day should be passed. He en- 
deavoured to give her a peaceful confidence in the 
promise of the Fairy, which he wanted himself; 
and perceived, with regret, that her distress rather 
increiased than diminished : this incident, however, 
as he had no suspicion of the cause, only rendered 
him more impatient of delay ; and Almerine, co- 
vered with ornaments by which art and nature were 
exhausted, was, however reluctant, introduced to 
the king. 

SoUman was now in his thirtieth year. He had 
sat ten years upon the throne, and for the steadiness 
of his virtue had been sumamed the Just He had 
hitherto considered the gratification of appetite 
as a low enjoyment, allotted to weakness ana ob- 
scurity; and the exercise of heroic virtue, as the 
superior felicity of eminence and power. He had 
as yet taken no wife ; nor had he immured in his 
palace a multitude of unhappy beauties, in whom 
desire ha^ no choice, and affection no object, to be 
successively forsaken after unresisted violation, and 
mt last sink into the grave without having answered 
any nobler purpose, than sometimes to nave grati<* 



fied the caprice of a tyrant, whom they saw at no 
other season, and whose presence could raise no 
passion more remote from detestation than fear. 

Such was Soliman; who, having gazed some 
tnomeats upon Almerine with silent admiration, rose 
up, and turning to the princes who stood round him, 
* To-morrow,' said he, ' I will grant the request 
which you have so often repeated, and place a 
beauty upon my throne, hy whom I niay transmit 
my dominion to posterity : to-morroi¥, the daughter 
of Omaraddin shall be my wife.' 

The joy with which Omaraddin heard ^is de- 
claration, was abated by the effect which it pro- 
duced upon Almerine : who, after some ineffectual 
vttrugg^ with the passions which agitated her .mind, 
'threw ibecself into the arms of ber women, and bui^t 
into tears. SoUman immediately dismissed his at- 
tendants ; and taking her in .his arms, inquired the 
cause of her distress : this, howeyer, was a secret, 
^ich neither her pride nor her fear would suffer her 
to jreyeaL She continued silent and inconsolable ; 
and Bohman, though he secredy smpected some 
other attachment, yet appeared to be satisfied with 
the suggestions of her fadier, that her emotion was 
only such as is cc»nmon to the aex upon any. great 
•ad unexpected event He desisted from farther 
importunity, and commandedthat her women should 
remove her to a private apartment of the palace, 
and that she should be -attenfled 'by his physician 
<Mottra8sin. 



VOL. xxv. H 



74 ADTBMTORBK. R* 104. 



N* 104. SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 3, 17«». 



•Semila certt 



TranquiUa per virluUm pat*i unica viUt» J U V. 

Bui only virtue thews the paths of peace. 

NouRAssiN, who had akeady learned what had hap- 
pened, found his despair relieved by this opportunity, 
of another interview. The lovers, however, were 
restrained from condolence and consultation, by the 
presence of the women, who could not be dismissed : 
but Nouradsin put a small vial into the hand of Al- 
merine as he departed, and told her, that it con- 
tained a cordial, which, if administered in time, 
would infallibly restore the cheerfulness and vigour 
that she had lost These words were heard by the 
attendants, though they were understood only by 
Almerine ; she readily comprehended, that the potion 
she had received was poison, which would relieve 
her from languor and melancholy by removing the 
cause, if it could be given to the king before her 
marriage was completed. After Nourassin was 
gone, she sat ruminating on the infelicity of her 
situation, and the dreadful events of the morrow, 
till the night was far sprat ; and then, exhausted 
with perturbation and watching, she sunk down on 
the sofa, and fell into a deep sleep. 

The king, whose rest had been interrupted by the 
eflfects which the beauty of Almerine had produced 
upon his mind, rose at the Jawn of day ; uid send- 



M* 104. ASVBKTUBER. 75 

ing for her principal attendant, who had been ordered 
to watch in her chamber, eagerly inquired what 
bad beoi her behaviour, and whether she had reco- 
▼ered from her surprise. He was acquainted, that 
siit had lately fallen asleep ; and that a cordial had 
been lefit by Nourassin, wluch he affirmed would, 
if not too long delayed, suddenly recover her from 
languor and dejection, and which, notwithstanding, 
she had neglected to take. Soliman derived new 
hopes from this intelligence; and that she might 
meet him at the hour of marriage^ with the cheerfiil 
vivaci^ which the cordial of Nourassin would in- 
spire, he ordered that it should, without asking h^r 
any question, be mixed with whatever she first 
drank in the morning. 

Almerine, in whose blood the long-continued 
tomuk of her mind had produced a feverish heat, 
awaked parched with thirst, and called eagerly for 
sherbet: her attendant, having first emptied the 
vial into the bowl, as she had been commanded by 
the king, presented it to her, and she drank it off. 
As soon as she had recollected the horrid business of 
the day, she missed the vial, and in a few moments 
she learned how it had been applied. The sudden 
terror which now seized her, hastened the effect of 
the poison : and she felt already the fire kindled in 
her veins, by which in a few hours she would be 
destroyed. Her disorder was now apparent, though 
the cause was not suspected : Nourassin was again 
introduced, and acquainted with the mistake; an anti« 
dote was immediately prepared and administered ; 
and Almerine waited the event in agonies of body 
and mind, which are not to be described. The in- 
ternal commotion every instant increased ; sudden and 
intolerable heat and cold succeeded each other ; and 
in less than an hour, she was covered with a leprosy ; 
her hair fell, her head swelled, and every feature in 



W* Abf EKT0RBtf. H* 104. 

her countenance vrwi distorted. Nourasisitt, Mrho 
^as doubtful of the event, had withdrawn to con- 
ceal his confusibn ; and Alinerine, not knowing that' 
these dreadful Appearances were the presages of 
ifecovery, and shewed thkt the fatal effects of the 
poison were expelled from the citadel of life, con- 
ceived hfer dissolution to be near, and in the agohy" 
oF remorse and terror earnestly requested to s^ thfe 
king. Soliman hastily entered her apartment, and 
beheld the riiiiis of her beauty with dstbiiishmeilt,' 
which every moment increased, while she disfcover^* 
the mischief which had been intended against hini, 
and which had now fallen upon her oWn head. 

Soliman, after he had recovered from his astonisli- 
ment, retired to. his own apartment ; and in this inter- 
val of recollection he soon discovered that the desire 
of beauty had seduced him from the path of jdsticel, 
and that he ought to have dismissed the person whose 
affections he believed to have another object. He 
did not, therefore, take away the life of Nourasdih 
for a crime to which he himself had furnished the 
temptation ; but as some punishment was necessary 
as a sanction to the laws, he condemned him to per- 
petual banishment. He commanded that Almenne 
should be sent back to her father, that her life might 
be a memorial of his folly ; and he determined, if 
possible, to atone by a second marriage for the error^ 
of the first. He considered how he might enforce 
and illustrate some general precept; which would 
contribute more to the felicity of his people, than his 
leaving them a sovereign of his own blood ; and at 
length he determined to publish this proclamation, 
throughout all the provinces of his empire : * Soliman, 
whose judgment has been perverted, and whose life 
endangered, by the influence and the treachery of 
unrivalled bfeauty, is now resolved ta place equal de- 
formity Upon his throne ; that, when this event is re- 



K* 104. ADVENTURER. 77 

corded, the world may know, that by Vice beauty 
'became yet more odious than ugliness ; and learn, 
lilte Solixnaa, to despise that excellence, which, 
without virtue, is only a specious evil, the reproach 
of the possessor, and the snare of others.' 

Shelimah, during these events, experienced a very 
difiBereot fortune. She remained, till she was thirteen 
years of age, in the castle ; and it happened that, 
about this time, the person to whose care she had been 
committed, after a short sickness died. Shelimah 
imagined diat she slept ; but perceiving that all at- 
tempts to awaken her were ineffectual, and her stock 
of provisions being exhausted, she found means to 
open the wicket, and wander alone into the wood. 
She satisfied her hunger with such berries and wild 
fruits as she found, and at night, not being able to 
find her way back, she lay dovni under a thicket and 
slept Here she was awaked early in the morning by 
a peasant, whose compassion happened to be proof 
against deformity. The man asked her many ques- 
tions ; but her answers rather increasing than gratify- 
ing his curiosity, he set her before him on his beast, 
and carried her to his house in the next village, at 
the distance of about six leagues. In his family she 
was the jest of some, and the pity of others ; she was 
employed in the meanest offices, and her figure pro- 
cured her the name of Goblin. But amidst all the 
disadvantages of her situation, she enjoyed the utmost 
fefidty of food and rest ; as she formed no wishes, 
she suffered no disappointment ; her body was ' 
healthful, and her mind at peace. 

In this station she had continued four years, when 
the heralds appeared in the village with the pro- 
damatioa of Soliman. Shelimah ran out with others 
to gaze at the parade ; she listened to the proclama- 
tion with great attention, and when it was ended, 
theperoeiv«lthat the eyes of the multitude were fixed 

n3 



upon her. One of thii horsemen at thi^ saifte tinCib 
alighted, and with great ceremony entreatied her to 
enter a chariot which Was in the retinue, tellmff her, 
that she was without doubt the person whom Nf^tui^ 
and Soliman had d^tined to be their queen. SEel?- 
mah replied with a smile, that she had no desire to 
be great ; * but,' said she, ' if your i^rockmation bfe 
true, I should rejoice to be the instrument of subk 
admonition to mankind ; and, upon tins conditidii, I 
wish that I were indeed the most diefonhi^ of my 
species.' The moment this wish was uttered^ Ate 
spell of Farimina produced the contrary effect ; her 
skin, which was scaly and yellow, became smootii 
and white, her stature was perceived gradually to in- 
crease, ber neck rose like a pillar of ivory, her bosom 
expanded, and h6r waist became less; her hair, 
which before was thin and of a dirty red, was noVir 
black as the feathers of the raven, and flowed in large 
ringlets on her shoulders ; the most exquisite seiisi- 
bility now sparkled in her eyes, her cheeks i^ere 
tiiiged with the bliishes of the morning, and her lips 
moistened With the dew ; every limb waJs perfect, 
and every motion was graceful. A white robe was 
thrown over her by an invisible hand : the 6roWd 
fell back in astonishment, and gazed with inisatiable 
curiosity upon such beauty as before they hktf never 
seen. Shelimah was not less astonished thali tfate 
crowd ; she stood awhile with her eyes fixM tipoh 
* the ground ; and finding her confusion incrrase, 
would haVe retired in silence ; but she was prevent- 
ed by the heralds, who having with much importu- 
nity prevailed upon her to enteir the charidt, return- 
ed with her to the metroppliis, presented her to So- 
liman, and related the prodigy. 

Soliman looked round upon the assembly, iu 
doubt whether to prosecute or relinqdish his pu'rpose ; 
when Abbaran, a hoary sage, who had preside t^ Ae 

1 



It* 104. ADVSNTITIIES; 9i 

councS of his ftitlier, ctoiW forWat^, and pldcib^bid 
forehead on ^e footstool of the throne! ;^ 'Letth^ 
Khi^/ said he, ' accep, th^ rewatd of virttie, and 
take Shelimah to his bed. In what age, and id whit 
natiott shall not the beauty of Shelimah b^ honour- 
ed? to whom will it be transmitted alone? Will 
^ot the story of th^ wife of Sbhman descend t^ith 
her name? will it not be known, that thy d^ir^ of 
bi^oty was not gratiiied, till it had h(^ti subdued ? 
thit biy an iniquitous purpose bedtrty b^caim^hidigbus, 
and by a virtuous wish deformity became faii*?' 

Soliman, who hiad fix^ his eyes' upon Shelimdh-, 
discovered a mixture of joy and confusion in her 
countenance, which determined his choice, and was 
an earnest of his felicity ; for at that moment. Love, 
who, during her state of deformity, had been ex- 
cluded by the fairy Elfarina's interdiction, took 
possession of her breast 

The nuptial ceremony was not long delayed, and 
Elfarina honoured it with her presence. When she 
departed, she bestowed on Doth her benediction ; 
and put into the hand of Shelimah a scroll of vellum, 
on which was this inscription in letters of gold: 

' Remember, Shelimah, the fate of Almerine, 
who still lives the reproach of parental folly, of de- 
graded beauty, and perverted sense. Remember 
Almerine ; and let her example and thy own ex- 
perience teach thee, that wit and beauty, learning, 
affluence, and honour, are not essential to human 
felicity; with these she was wretched, and without 
them thou wast happy. The advantages which L 
have hitherto bestowed, must now be obtained by 
an effort of thy own : that which gives relish to the 
coarsest food, is Temperance ; the apparel and the 
dwelling of a peasant and a prince, are equal in the 
estimation of Humility ; and the torment of ineffec- 
tual desires is prevented, by the resignation of Piety 



80 ADVBNTURER. N"* 104. 

to the will of Heaven ; advantages which are in the 
power of every wretch, who repines at the unequal 
distribution of good and evil, and imputes to Na- 
ture the effects of his own folly.' 

The King, to whom Shelimah communicated 
these precepts of the Fairy, caused them to be trans- 
cribed, and with an account of the events which 
had produced them, distributed over all his domi- 
nions. Precepts which were thus enforced, had an 
imme<fiate and extensive influence ; and the happi- 
ness of Soliman and of Shelimah was thus com- 
liiumcated to the multitudes whom they governed. 



w* 105; AbVEi^TiJAttt. if 



N» 106. TUJESDAY, NOVEIS^BER 6, 175S, 



Noifam romtcam Menandrus, tkt^dlesqu'e ejtu ieia(is magls 
fit&m operUy PHilemon ae D^idlus, ^ invtnere itiiira paucitsi* 
ntot annot, neque inuiandam reiitpiere, VBLL; PATERCUL; 



Menander, together with Philemon and JDiphilas, who 
mast be named with hira rather as his contemporaries than 
his equals, invented within the compass of a few years, a 
new kind of comedy, and left it beyond the reach of imi< 
tation. 



TO THE ADTENTURBR. 
SIR, 

Morality, taste, and literature, scarcely ever suffer- 
ed more irreparably, than by the loss of the come- 
dies of Menander ; some of whose fragments, agrees 
able to my promise, I am now going to lay before 
you, whi<^h I should imagine would be as highly 
prized by the curiqus, as was the Coan Venus which 
Apelles left imperfect and unfinished. 

Menander was celebrated for the sweetness, bre- 
vity, and sententiousbess' of his style. *• He was 
fond of Euripides,' says Quintiliiin, ' and nearly 
imitated the manner of this tragic writer, though 
in a different kind of work. He is a compete pat- 
tern of oratorial etcdUvlce ; itit oinh^m vitas ima- 
ginem expressit, tanta in eo inveniendi copia, 8t 
doquendi facultas ; ita est omnibus rebus, personiir, 
a(ffi9cttbus> accommodatus ; so various and so just, 



tt ADTKirreRBit. n* ib^^ 

are all his pictures of life; so copious is his inven- 
tion, so masterly his elocution ; so wonderfully is 
he adapted to idl kinds of subjects/persons, and. 
passions.' This panegyric reflects equal honour on. 
the critic, and on the comedian. Quintilian has 
here painted Menauder with as lively and expres- 
sive strokes, as Menander had characterized the 
Athenians. 

Boileau, in his celebrated eighth Satire, has not 
represented the misery and folly of man, so forcibly 
or humcMTously as Menander. 

"Axftyrft r« ^w tern fjutflut^ivn^ 
K«i voi/y vy^vira fAaXXov avd^wirov irpXu. 
Tbv ovoy o^y a^tcri fc^wra roi/royt, 
burof naMieufMin tffrtv o/tAoXoy.ovju,fywf. 
Tti/Titf xoptoy it avrov ovhf yiy>ira<, 
A ^ff fue'is Munuv etvtw Tenur' 'X*'* 
*EfJui( it X^'S'* ^^' aTtayxcaarf xaxwy, 
At/roi ira^' avrwv trt^a tt^otrvo^i^ofAtv^ 
Auvovu,t9*j af vreton tx; av nvn xaxtvf, 
^O^i^ofxtO'* ay tin tis ivuvytoy a^oi^a 
^fiavfAtQ^' »y yXav^ av»xgayti If JotxajtAiv, 
''AytuvicUf io^<tty <piXori/x(ai, yofjioi, 
A'lravTet tai/t' ciridera ri fuo-ct xax*. 

"^ All animals are more happy, and have more un-% 
derstanding than man. Look, for instance, on yon- 
der ass ; all allow him to be miserable : his evils, 
however, are not brought on him by himself and 
his own fault : he feels only those which nature has 
inflicted. We, on the contrary, besides our neces- 
sary ills, draw upon ourselves a multitude of others. 
We are melancholy, if any person happen to sneeze ; 
we are angry, if any speak reproachfully of us ; cue 
man is aftrighted with an unlucky dream, another 
at the hooting of an owL Our contentions, our 
anxieties, our opinions, our ambition, our laws, are 
ail avils, which we ourselves have superadded to 



JSr 105. ADVEMTIJftXR. 88 

nature.' Comparisons betwixt the conditions of the 
brutal and human specif, hitre been frequently 
drawn ; but this of Menander, as it probably was 
the first, so it is the best I hare ever seen. 

If this passage is admirable for the vivacity and' 
severity of its satire, the following certainly deserves 
deeper attention for weight of sentiment, and subli- 
mit and purity of moraL 

E< rif it BvaiOf vaotr^i^y w U»fjupi^tf 
Tav^v re irXq^of n igifwv, fi, rn ^tt> 
*ETtpiint TOiovrwv, n naraa-xivao'fjutra 
X^vo-a; tfottia-etg x><afxvios nTot «ogf vgaf, 
*H it* cXe^ttVTOf, q a-fxa^yiou (ttitetf 
Exfvovf yofju^ti rev 9eoy xadto'raiwt, 
nxavar* txiivoc, xat 9(ffVa( xov^f 'X"* 
Art yu^ rov avi^a XJS^^^h^ fff<pt/xey«i, '' 

Mn it»^9tfov( fdi^ovroy jUfi fAoty^wfjuroff 
KXexroyrA, xat a-^rroira xf^^^w X'S*''* 
Mnlf fitXoitnC (vofxfi' fvtdv/uui; Ila^tXfy 
*0 y«^ 9f Of jSXiiTK 0*1 irXi|criey va^«v. 

' He that oflfers in sacrifice, O Pamphilus, a multi- 
tude of bulls and of goats, of golden vestments, of 
purple garments, or figures of ivory, or precious 
gems ; and imagines by this to conciliate the &vour 
of God, IS grossly mistdcen, and has no solid under- 
standing.. For he that would sacrifice with success, 
ought to be chaste and charitable, no corrupter of 
virgins, no adulterer, no robber or murderer for the 
sake of lucre. Covet not, O Pamphilus, even the 
thread of another man's needle; for G^od, who is 
near thee, perpetually beholds thy actions.' 

Temperance, and justice, and purity, are hese ia« 
cokated in the strongest manner, and upon the 
most powerful motive, the Omniscienoe of the 
Deity; at the same time superstition and the ido- 
latry of the heathen are artrally ridiculed. I know 
not 4moDg the ancients any passage that contains 



Buch e^l^ <and j^iriti^UziB^ 4iougbi,s,€if religioD. 
Yet if th^se refine^ .^ei^tiin^iits We^e to he ia^erto^i 
,ia a .modern comedy, I fear they would .^ rq^ecte^ 
with disdain .and di?a|)|)ro|)ation. ^Ijie Ath^aos 
could ei^di^re to hear -Qp^ ¥^4 Virtue pientioned 
in tl^ theatre ; wliile ^n English an4 ^ ^ChrUtiaa 
Au4ien€^ c^ Uogh at adultery as a jpai, tbink ob- 
scenity wit, and debauchery amiable. The mur- 
derer, if a duellist, is a man of honour, the gamester 
understands the art of living, the knave has pene- 
tration and knows mankind, the spendthrift js a fel- 
low of fine spirit, the rake has only robbed a fresh 
country girl of .hier iiinocence and honour; the jilt 
and the coquet have a great deal of vivacity and 
£re ; but a faithful husband is a dupe and a cuckold, 
and a plain country gentleman a novice and a fool. 
The wretqh.^t d^ed to ridicule Socrates abounds 
not in so much .fjsdse satire, ribaldry, obscenity, and 
blasphemy, as our witty and wicked triumvirate, 
Wycherley, Congreve, and Vanbrugh. 

M^naQd^r has another veryxemarj^le reflectipn, 
worthy jejyen th?it divine religipp, wtuch the bst- 
mei^tippod writers soin^tently epd^avourpdto de- 
.ride. >It felaA^ tp the forgiveness pf eneinifis, ^a 
.pr^pept.not totally unknown to the ancient .¥kg@s, as 
Mth ^a^hly hm^ afiion^ ; thou^ never incuUvited 
.9rith^yfih;freqi;keniQy, fervor a^d CQg90cy, and on 
mo^tes.so weighty iBLod et&CAcipus, Asby.tbe fpunder 
jirf \hfi Clwristiau System. 

/ He, iQorgias, is ..the mmi [rirtuous ,in^n, who 
•best kAows among mortals haw to bear ii\)uries with 
.{Wti^ace,' 

Jt jQay.Bot jie iii)proper .|o jiiifimlefbfi mmfi' 



H^s of .these mor^l reflectioAS>,by the addition of a 
.passnge of a more light and sprightly turn. 

*0 fxty "^KTttyjt^fjLOS Tovg ©eow; iivai \tyii^ 
AytfAOVSy viw^f ynv, riXtoff wu^, atrrt^as* 

T' »gyt;gioy »tn**v xa» to xg*^^*®" f*«vov« 
,|j^y0'a^fvo; tqi/to-^;, yoig ('f Tqv oixiq^v 

^Aygof, oixtai, digrtwovTsf, agyuowfxaTa, 
^tXot, j^ixaflTTai, |uu»gTi»gif— — 

> Epichnjmus, indeed, caljs the winds, the water, the 
earth, .the sun, the .fire, .and. the star^,.Gpds. But 
1 am of opinion that gold and 3ilyer are. our on^y 
powerful and propitious deities. For .when onpe 
you have intr(>cluqed these into your house, wish 
for what you will, you shall quicily obtain it ; an 
estate, a habitation,. servants, plate, friends, judges, 
witnesses^' 

From these short specimens, we may in some 
measure be enabled to judge of Menander's way of 
thinking and of meriting ; rememhering always how 
much his elegance is injured by a plain prosaic 
translation, and by considering l^e passages singly 
^nd.^p^rately, withput JcnQwipg the characters of 
the personages that spoke them, and the aptness and 
propriety with which they were introduced. 

The delicacy and decorum observed constantly 
by Menander, rendered him the darling writer of 
the Athenians, at a time when the Athenians were 
arrived at the height of prosperity and politeness, 
and could no longer relish the coarse railleries, the 
brutal niirth, and illiberal .wit, of ah iodo^ot Aris- 
tophanes. * Menander,' says ^Platftroh,'«'jib<MUMls 
in a precioas Attic salt,.wjhidi Baems >$a .haveJbeeD 
taken .from the aaaie m^ .whence 'iYenus ^bexmH 
arqse. ?^at the jalt ,of AristophMiV is bitter, di^ 
gnstiiig, aai oorroflirei^. , . I :^ 

VOL. XZV. ' w I 



86 ADVSITTURSR, N^ lOG. 

There are two circumstances that may justty 
give us a mean opinion of the taste of the Romans 
for comic entertainments : that in the Augustan 
age itself, notwithstanding the censure of Horace, 
they preferred the low buffoonery and drollery of 
Plautus to the delicacy and civility of Te^rence, the 
faithful copier of Menander : and that Terence, to 
gratify an audience unacqu^nted with the real ex- 
cellencies of the drama, found himself obUged to 
violate the simplicity of Menander's plots, and work 
up two stories mto one in each of his comedies, ex- 
c^t the excellent and exact Hecyra. But this du- 
plicity of fable abounding in rarious turns of for- 
tune, necessarily draws off the attention from what 
ought to be its chief object in a legitimate comedy. 
Character and Humour. 

Z. I am, Sir, 

Your humble Servant, 

PaL3B0PHILUS. 



N« 106. SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 10, 1753. 



Sluo morimre ruis ?— VIRG. 

Why wilt thou rush to Death ?— DRYDBK. 

I MAVB before remarked, that human wit has never 
been able to raider courage contemptible by ridi- 
cide : though, courage, as it is sometimes a proof of 
■exalted virtue, is also frequently an indication of 
enoraiotts vic^; for if he who effects a good pur- 
pose at the risk of Ufe, it allowed. to have the 

3 



H^ 106. AOVENT17REB. 87 

Strongest propensity to good, it must be granted, 
that he who at the risk of life e£^ts an evil pur- 
pose, has an equal propensity to evil. But as ri-> 
dicole has not distinguished courage into virtue and 
▼ioe, neither has it yet distinguished insensibility 
fironi courage. 

Every passion becomes weak in proportion as it 
is familiar with its object. Evil must be considered 
as the object of fear ; but the passion is excited 
only when the evil becomes probable, or in other 
words, when we are in danger. As the same evil 
may become probable many ways, there are several 
species of danger : that danger to which men are 
continually exposed, soon becomes familiar, and 
fear is no longer excited. This, however,, must not 
be considered as an example of courage ; for equal 
dang^ of any other kind, will still produce the same 
degree of fear in the same mind. 

Mechanical causes, therefore, may produce in« 
•ensibility of danger ; but it is absurd to suppose 
they can produce courage, for courage is an effort 
of the mind by which a sense of danger is sur« 
mounted ; and it cannot be said, without the utmost 
perversion of language, that a man is courageous, 
merely because he discovers no fear when he is sen- 
sible of no danger. 

It is indeed true, that insensibility and courage 
produce the same effect ; and when we see another 
unconcerned and cheerful in a tituation which 
would make us tremble, it is not strange that we 
should impute his tranquillity to the strength of his 
mind, and honour his want of fear with the name 
of courage. And yet when a mason whistles at his 
work on a plank of a foot broad and an inch thick, 
which is suspended by a rafter and a cord over a 
precipice, from which if he should fall he would in- 
evitably perish, he is only reconciled by habit to a 

i2 



^ ADVBNTUBER. N* 100; 

situation, in Which nior^ dangi^ is' generally appre- 
hended than exists; he has acquired no strength 
of mind, by which a sense of danger is sumiount- 
ed; nor has he with rdspect to cdurage any ad*' 
vantage over him who, though he would tremble 
on the scaffold, would yet stand under it without 
apprehension ; for the danger in both situations is 
nearly equal, and depends upon the same inci- 
dents. 

But the same insensibility is often substituted for> 
eourage by habit, even when the danger is real, and 
in those minds which every other occasion would 
shew to be destitute of fortitude. The inhabitants 
of Sicily live without terror upon the declivity 
of a volcano, which the stranger ascends with an 
interrupted pace, looking round at. every step, 
doubting whether to go forward or retire, and 
dreading the caprice of the flames which, he heah 
roar beneath him, and sees issue at the summit: 
but let a woman, who is thus become insensible to 
ihe teiTOrs of an earthquake, be carried to the mouth 
of the mines in Sweden, she will look down into 
the abyss with terror, she will shudder at the 
thought of descending it, and tremble lest the 
brink should give way. 

Against insensibility of real danger we should 
not be less watchful than against unreasonable f(^ar. 
Fear, when it is justly proportioned to its object, 
and not too strong to be governed by reason, is not 
Only blameless but honourable; it is essential to 
the perfection of human nature, and the mind would 
be as defective without it as the body without a 
limb. Man is a being exposed to perpetual evil ; 
every moment liable to destruction by innumerable 
accidents, which yet, if he foresees, he cannot fre- 
quently prevent : fear, therefore, was implanted in 
his breast for his preservation ; to warn him when 



»*^106. ADVENTUBEIU 89 

danger approaches, and to prevent his hmng preci-' 
patated upon it either by wantonness or inattention. 
out those evils which, without fear, we should not 
hare foreseen, when fear becomes excessive we are 
unable to shun ; for cowardice and presumption are 
equally. fatal, and are frequently found in the same 
mind. 

A peasant in the north of EDglan4 ^^ ^^^ ^^^> 
Thomas and John. Tom was taken to sea when 
he was very young, by the master of a small vessel 
who lived at Hull: and Jack continued to work 
with his father till he was near thirty. Tom, who 
was now become master of a smack himself, took 
his brother on board for London, and promised to 
procure him some employment among the shipping 
on the waterside. ' After they had been some hours 
under sail, the wind became contrary, and blew 
very fresh ; the waves began immediately to swell, 
dashing with violence against the •prow, whitened 
into foam. The vessel, which now plied to wind- 
ward, lay so much on one side, that the edge was 
frequently under water ; and Jack, who expected 
it to overset every moment, was seized with terrof 
which he could not conceal* He earnestly request- 
ed of Tom that, the sails might be taken in; and 
lamented the folly that had exposed him to the 
violence of a tempest, from which he could not 
without a miracle escape. Tom, with a sovereign 
contempt of his pusillanimity, derided his distress; 
and Jack, on the contrary, admired the bravery of 
Tom and his crew^ from whose countenances and 
behaviour he at length derived some hooe ; he be- 
lieved be had deserved the reproach which he suf- 
fered, and despised himself for the fear which he 
could not shake off. In the meantime the gale in- 
creased, and in less than an hour it blew a storm. 
Jack, who watched every countenance with the ut- 

Id 



90 ABTEKTURSR. if I09. 

most attention and solicitude, thought that his feam 
Were now justified by the loots of the sailors ; he, 
therefore, renewed his complaint, and perceiving 
his brother still unconceimed, again intreated him 
to take every possible precaution, and not increase 
their danger by presumption. In answer to these 
remonstrances he received such consolation as one 
lord of the creation frequently admiiiisters to an- 
other in the d^h of distress; 'Pshaw, damme, 
you fool,' says Tom, ' don't be dead-hearted ; the 
more sail we carry, the sooner we shall be out of 
the weather.' Jack's fear had, indeed, been alarm*-^ 
6d before he was in danger : but Tom was insen^' 
sible of the danger when it arrived : he, therefore, 
continued his course, exulting in the superiority 
of his courage, and anticipating the triumph of his 
vanity when they should com^ on shore. But th^ 
sails b^hg still spread, a sudden gust bore away the 
mast, which in its fall so much injured the helm^ 
that it became impossible to steer, and in a very 
short time afterwards the vessel struck. The first 
moment in which Tom became sensible of danger^ 
he was seen to be totally destitute of courage^ 
When the' vei^l struck. Jack, who had beenl order* 
ed under hatches, came up, and found the hero^ 
Whom he had so lately regarded with humility and 
admiration^ sitting on the qtiarter-deck wringing 
his hands, anid uttering incoherent and clatmorous 
estdamatiods. Jack now appeared more c^lm than 
before, and dsked, if any thing could yet be done 
to save th^r lives. Tom replied, in a frantic tone, 
thdt tliey might possibly flbat to land on some parts 
of the wreck ; and catching lip dn axii, inistead of 
aiitempting to disengage the mast!, he bi^a'n to 8tav« 
the bout. Jack, whose rea^n ^as still predbmi* 
naht, thoi^h he had beenafridfd tbb flobn, saw iiast 
Tom in M» fip^isy was about to cut. off iheir last 



r 

I 



hope ; he, therefore, caught hold of his arm, took 
away the axe by force, assisted the sailors in get- 
ting the boat into the water, persuaded his brother 
to quit the vessel, and in about four hours they got 
safe on shore. 

If the vessel had weathered the storm, Tom 
would have been deemed a hero, and Jack a cow- 
ftrd : but I hope that none, whom I have led into 
this train of thought, will, for the future, regard 
insensibility of danger as an Indication of courage : 
or impute cowardice to those whose fear is not 
inadequate to its object, or too violent to answer 
its purpose. 

There is one evil, of which multitudes are in 
perpetual danger : an evil, to which every other is 
as the drop of the bucket, and the dust of the ba- 
lance ; and yet of this danger the greater part ap- 
pear to be totally insensible. 

Every man, who wastes in negligence the day of 
salvation, stands on the brink not only of the grave, 
but of hell. That the danger of all is imminent, 
appears by the terms that Infinite Wisdom has 
chosen to express the conduct by which alone it 
can be escaped ; it is called ^ a race, a watch, a 
woik' to be wrought with fear and trembling, a 
strife unto blood, and a combat with whatever can 
seduce or terrify, with the pleasures of sense and 
the power of airgels.' The moment in which we 
i^all be snatched from the brink of this gulf, or 
plunged to the bottom, no power can either avert 
or retai'd ; it approaches silent, indeed, as the flight 
of tim^, but rapid and irresistible as the course of a 
comet That dreadful evil, winch, with equal force 
' ahd propriety, is called i3^e Second Death, should 
.BOt^ surely, be disregarded, merely because it has 
' hems- long imp^iding: and as diere ib no equivalent 
for ifirhich a man cdn reasonsUy determine to suffer 



M ADTBHTUREE. N* 107. 

it, it canBOt be considered as the object of courage* 
How it may be borne, ^should not be the inquiry, 
but how it may be shunned. And if, in this daring 
age, it is impossible to prepare £br eternity, without 
giving up the character of a hero, no reasonable 
being, surely, will be deterred by this consideration 
from the attempt; for who but an infant, or an 
idiot, would give up his paternal inheritance for a 
feather, or renounce the acclamations of a triumph 
for the tinkling of a rattle ? 



NM07. TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 13, 1753. 



Sub judice lis esi, HOR. 

And of their vain disputings find no end. FRANCIS. 

It has been sometimes asked by those, who find 
the appearance of wisdom more easily attained by 
questions than solutions, how it comes to pass, that 
the world is divided by such difference of opinion ; 
•and why men, equally reasonable, and equally 
lovers of truth, do not always think in the same 
manner? 

With regard to simple propoisitions, where the 
terms are understood, and the whole subject is 
comprehended at once, there is such an uniformity 
of sentiment among all human beings, that, for 
many ages, a very numerous set of notions were 
supposed to be innate, or necessarily co^existent 
with the faculty of reason: it being imaginedi that 



»• 107.: AOyEifTixR»# 99 

universal agreement could procded onl^i' from the 
invariable dictates of the univemal {Mtrent. 

In questions diffuse and compounded, this simi- 
larity of determination is no longer to be expected. 
At our first sally into the intelltetual world, we all 
march together along one straight and open road ; 
but, as we proceed further, and wider prospects 
dpen to our view, every eye fixes upon a diH^rent 
scene ; we divide into vatious paths, and, as we 
move forward, are still at a greater distance from 
each other. As a question becomes more compli«^ 
cated and involved, and extends to a greater num- 
ber of relations, disagreement of opinion will 
always be multiplied; not because we are irra- 
tional, but because we are finite beings, furnished 
with different kinds of knowledge, exerting different 
degrees of attention, one discovering consequences 
which escape another, none taking in the whole 
concatenation of causes and effects, and most com** 
prehending" but a very small part, each comparing 
what he observes with a different criterion, and each 
referring it tb a different purpose. 

Where, then, is the Wonder, that they who see 
only a small part, should judge erroneously of 
the whole? or, that they, who see different and 
dissiihilar parts, should judge differently from each 
other? 

Whatever has various respects, must have va- 
rious appearances of good and evil, beauty or de- 
formity; thus, the gardener tears up as a weed, 
the plant which. the physician gathers as a medi^ 
cine ; and ' a genieral,'' says Sir Kenelm Digby, 
' will look with pleasure over a plain, as a fit place 
on which the fate of empires might be decided 
in battle, which t)ie farmer will despise as bleak 
and barren, neither fruitful 6f pasturage, nor fit for 
tillage.' 



i)4 ADTEMTUBBIL N* 107* 

Two men examining the same question, proceed 
commonly like the physician and gardener in select- 
ing herbs, or the farmer and hero looking on the 
plain ; they bring minds impressed with different 
notions, and direct their inquiries to different ends ; 
they form, therefore, contrary conclusions, and each 
wonders at the other's absurdity. 

We have less reason to be surprised or oifended 
wh«i we find others differ from us in opinion, be- 
cause we very often differ from ourselves. How 
often we alter our minds, we do not always re- 
mark ; because the change is sometimes made im- 
perceptibly and gradually, and the last conviction 
effaces all memory of the former : yet every man, 
accustomed from time to time to take a survey of 
his own notions, will, by a slight retrospection, be 
able to discover, that^ his mind has suffered many 
revolutions ; that the same things have, in the se- 
veral parts of his life, been condemned and ap- 
proved, pursued and shunned : and that, on many 
occasions, even when his practice has been steady, , 
his mind has been wavering, and he has persisted 
in a scheme of action, rather because he feared the 
<;en8ure of inconstancy, than because he was always 
pleased with his own choice. ^ 

Of the different faces shewn by the same objects 
as they are viewed on opposite sides, and of the 
different inclinations which they must constantly 
raise in him that contemplates them, a more strik- 
ing example cannot easily be found than two Greek 
epigrammatists will afford us in their accounts of 
human Ufe, which I shall lay before the reader ill 
-£nglish prose. 

Posidippus, a comic poet, utters this complaint'; 
* Through which of the patlw of life is it feligible to 
pass 1 In public assembhes are debates and trouble- 
some affairs ; domestic privacies are haunted with 



H* 107. ADVENTURER. 95 

anxieties: in the country is labour; on the sea is 
terror : in a foreign land, he that has money must 
live in fear, he that wants it must pine in distress : 
are you married ? you are troubled with suspicions-; 
are you single ? you languish in solitude ; children 
occasion toil, and a childless life is a state of desti* 
tution ; the time of youth is a time of folly, and 
grey hairs are loaded with infirmity. This choice 
only, therefore, can be made, either never to receive 
being, or immediately to lose it' 

Such and so gloomy is the prospect, which Posi^ 
dippus has laid before us. but we are not to ac- 
quiesce too hastily in his determination against the 
value of existence: for Metrodorus, a philospher 
of Athens, has shewn, that life has pleasures as well 
as pains ; and having exhibited the present state of 
man in brighter colours, draws, with equal appear- 
ance of reason, a contrary conclusion. 

* You may pass well dirough any of the paths of 
hfe. In public assemblies are honours and transac- 
tions of wisdom; in domestic privacy, is stillness 
and quiet : in the country are the beauties of na- 
ture ; on the sea is the hope of gain ; in a foreign 
land, he that is rich is honoured, he that is poor 
may keep his poverty secret : are you married? you 
have a cheerful house ; are you single ? you are un- 
incumbered ; children are objects of affection ; to 
he without children is to be without care ; the time 
of youth is the time of vigour, and grey hairs are 
made venerable by piety. It will, therefore, never 
be a wise man's choice, either not to obtain exist- 
ence, or to lose it ; for every state of life has its 
felicity.' 

In these epigrams are included most of the ques- 
tions which have engaged the speculations of the 
inquirers after happiness ; and though they will not 
much assist our detenmnatiooBy they may, perhaps. 



i)6 ADVENTURER. K^ J.07. 

equally promote our, quiet, by shewing that no ab- 
solute determination ever can be formed. 

Whether a public station, or private life, be de- 
sirable, has always been debated. We see here 
both the allurements and discouragements of civil 
employments: on one side there is trouble, onthd 
other honour ; the management of affairs is vexa- 
tious and difficult, but it is the only duty in which 
wisdom can be conspicuously displayed: it must 
then still be left to every man to choose either 
ease or glory; nor can any _general precept be 
given, since no man can be happy by the prescrip- 
tion of another. 

Thus, what is said of « children by Posidippus, 
* that they are occasions of fatigue,' and by Me- 
trodoriis, * that they are objects of affection,' is 
equally certain ; but whether they will give most 
pain or pleasure, must depend on their future con- 
duct and dispositions, on many causes over which 
the parent can have little influence : there is, there- 
fore, room for all the caprices of imagination, and 
desire must be proportioned to the hope . or fear 
that shall happen to predominate. 

Such is the uncertainty in which we are always 
likely to remain with regard to questions, wherein 
. we have most interest, and which every day affords 
us fresh opportunity to examine ; we may examine, 
indeed, but we never can decide, because our fa- 
culties are unequal to the subject: we see a little, 
and form an opinion ; we see more, and change it. 

This inconstancy and unsteadiness, to which we 
must so often find ourselves liable, ought certainly 
to teach us moderation and forbearance towards 
those who cannot accommodate themselves ' to our 
sentiments : if they are deceived, we have no right 
to attribute their mistake to obstinacy or negli- 
.gence, , because we likewise have been mistaken; 



R* 107. ADTBNTURBA. 97 

we may, perhaps, again change our own opinion ; 
and what excuse shall we be able to find for aversion 
and malignity conceived against him, whom we shall 
then find to have committed no fault, and who of- 
fended us only by refusing to follow us into error? 

It may likewise contribute to soften that resent- 
ment which pride naturally raises against opposition, 
if we consider, that he who difiers from us, does 
not always contradict us ; he has one view ot an 
object, and we hare another ; each describes what 
he sees with equal fidelity, and each r^ulates his 
steps by his own eyes : one man, with Fosidippus, 
looks on celibacy as a state of gloomy solitude, 
without a partner in joy or a comforter in sorrow ; 
the other considers it, with Metrodorus, as a state 
free from incumbrances, in which a man is at 
liberty to* choose his own gratifications, to remove 
from place to place in quest of pleasure, and to 
think of nothing but merriment and diversion : full 
of these notions one hastens to choose a wife, and 
the other laughs at his rashness, or pities his ignor- 
ance ; yet it is possible that each is right, *but that 
each is right only for himself. 

Life is not the object of science : we see a little, 
very little ; and what is beyond we only can conjec- 
ture. If we inquire of those who have gone before 
us, we receive small satisfaction ; some have travelled 
life without observation, and some willingly mislead 
us. The only thought, therefore, on which we can 
repose with comfort, is that which presents to us the 
care of Providence, whose eye takes in the whole of 
things, and under whose direction all involuntary 
errors will terminate in happiness. 
T. 



VOL. XXV. 




98 ADTBNTURBK. H* 108. 



N» 108. SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 17, 1753. 



Nobis, cum simul occidit brevis lux, 

Nox est perpeiuo una dormienda, CATULLUS. 

When once the short-lived mortal dies, 

A night eternal seals his eye& . ADDISON. 

It may have been observed by every reader, that 
there are certain topics which never are exhausted. 
Of some images and sentiments the mind of man 
may be said to be enamoured ; it meets them, how- 
ever often they occur, with the same ardour which 
a lover feels at the sight of his mistress, and parts 
from them with the same regret when they can no 
longer be enjoyed. 

Of this kind are many descriptions which the 
poets have transcribed from each other, and their 
successors will probably copy to the end of time ; 
which will continue to engage, or, as the French 
term it, to flatter the imagination, as long as human 
nature shall remain the same. 

When a poet mentions the spring, we know that 
the zephyrs are about to whisper, that the groves 
are to recover their verdure, the linnets to warble 
forth their notes of love, and the flocks and herds 
to frisk over* vales painted with flowers : yet, who 
is there so insensible of the beauties of nature, so 
little delighted with the renovation of the world, as 
not to feel his heart bound at the mention of the 
spring? 



H* i08« ADTBNTURBlU 69 

When night overshadows a romantic scene, all 
is stillness, silence, and quiet; the poets of the 
^rove cease their melody, the moon towers over the 
world in gentle majesty, men forget their labours 
and their cares, and every passion and pursuit is for 
a while suspended. All this we know already, yet 
we hear it repeated without weariness; because 
such is generally the life of man, that he is pleased 
to think on the time when , he shall pause nrom a 
sense of his condition. 

When a poetical grove invites us to its covert, we 
know that we shall find what we have already seen, 
a limpid brook murmunng over pebbles, a bank 
diversified with flowers, a green arch that excludes 
the sun, and a natural grot shaded with myrtles ; 
3Fet who can forbear to enter the pleasing gloom, to 
enjoy coohiess and privacy, and gratify himself once 
more by scenes with which nature has formed him 
to be delighted ? 

Many moral sentiments likewise are so adapted 
to our state, that they find approbation whenever 
they solicit it, and are seldom read without exciting 
a gentle emotion in the mind: such is the compari- 
son of the life of man with the duration of a flower, 
a thought which, perhaps, every nation has heard 
warbled in its own language, from the Inspired Poets 
of the Hebrews to ovir own times: yet this compari- 
son must always please, because every heart feels 
its justness, and every hour confirms it by example. 
Such, hkewise, is the precept that directs us to 
use the present hour, and refer nothing to a distant 
time, which we are uncertain whether we shall 
reach : this every moralist may venture to inculcate, 
hecause it will always ba approved, and because it 
ip always forgotten. 

This rule, is, indeed, every day enforced, by ar- 
guments more powerful than the dissertations of 



100 ADTBHTORBB. 19* 109. 

moralists: we see men pleasing thettiselTes with 
future happiness, fixing a certain hour for the com* 
pletion of their wishes, and perishing some at a 
greater and some at a less distance from the haj^y 
time ; all complaining of their disappointments, and 
lamenting that they had suffered the years which 
Heaven allowed them, to pass without improve- 
ment, and deferred the principal purpose of their 
lives to the tiipe when life itself was to forsake 
them. 

It is not only uncertain, whether, through all 
the casualties and dangers which heset the life of 
man, we shall be able to reach the time appointed 
for happiness or wisdom ; but it id likely, that 
whatever now hinders us from doing that which our 
reason and conscience declared necessary to be' 
done, will equally obstruct us in times to come. It< 
is easy for the imagination, operating on things not 
yet existing, to please itself with scenes of unmin^ed 
fiiUcity, or plan out courses of uniform virtue : but 
good and evil are in real life inseparably united ; 
habits grow stronger by indulgence; and reason 
loses her dignity, in proportion as she has oftener 
yielded to temptation : * he that cannot Uve well 
to-day,' says Martial, * will be less qualified to live 
well to-morrow.' 

Of the uncertainty of every human good, every 
human being seems to be convinced ; yet this un- 
certainty is voluntarily increased by unnecessary 
delay, whether we respect external causes, or con- 
sider the nature of our own minds. He that now 
feels a desire to do right, and wishes to regulate 
his life according to his reason, is not sure that, 
at any future time assignable, he shall be able to 
rekindle the same ardour ; he that has now an op- 
portunity offered him of breaking loose from vice 
and folly, cannot know, but that he shall hereafter 



»• 108. ADTBNTURER. 101 

be more oatangled, and struggle for freedom with- 
out obtaining it. 

We are so unwilling to believe any thing to our 
own disadvantage, that we will always imagine the 
perspicacity of our judgment and the strength of our 
resolution more likely to increase than to grow less 
by time ; and, therefore, conclude, that the will to 
pursue laudable purposes will be always seconded 
by the power. 

But however we may be deceived in calculating 
the strength of our faculties, we cannot doubt the 
uncertainty of that life in which they must be em- 
ployed : we see every day the unexpected death of our 
friends and our enemies, we see new graves hourly 
opened for men older and younger than ourselves, 
for the cautious and the careless, the dissolute and 
the temperate, for men who like us were providing to 
enjoy or improve hours now irreversibly cut off; we 
see all this, and yet, instead of living, let year glide 
after year in preparations to live. 

Men are so frequently cut off in the midst of their 
projections, that sudden death causes little emotion 
in them that behold it, unless it be impressed upon 
the attention by uncommon circumstances. I, Uke 
every other man, haye outlived multitudes, have seen 
ambition sink in its triumphs, and beauty 'perish in 
its bloom ; but have been seldom so much affected 
as by the fate of Euryalus, whom I lately lost as I 
b^^ to love him, 

Euryalus had for some time flourished in a lucra- 
tive profession ; but having suffered his imagination 
to be fired by an unextinguishable curiosity, he 
grew weary of the same dull round of life, resolved 
to harass himself no longer with the drudgery of 
getting money, but to quit his business and his pro- 
fit, and enjoy for a few years the pleasures of tra- 
vel. His friends heard him proclaim his resolution 

k3 



lot ADTENTURERi ' »* 10&. 

i;eithout suspecting that he mtended to pursue it ; 
but he was constant to his purpose, and with great 
expedition closed his accounts and sold his move* 
ables, passed a few days in bidding farewell to his 
companions, and with all the eagerness of romantic 
chivalry crossed the sea in search of happiness. 
Whatever place was renowned in ancient or modem 
history, whatever region art or nature had distin- 
guished, he determined to visit : full of design and 
hope he landed on the continent ; his friends ex- 
pected accounts from him of the new scenes that 
opened in his progress, but were informed in a few 
days that Earyalus was dead. 

Such was the end of Euryalus. He is entered 
that state, whence none ever shall return ; and can 
now only benefit his friends, by remaining in their 
memories a permanent and efficacious instance of 
the blindness of desire, and the uncertainty of all 
terrestrial good. But, perhaps, every man has like 
me lost an Euryalus, has known a friend die with 
happiness in his grasp ; and yet every man con- 
tinues to think himself secure of life, and defers to 
some future time of leisure what he knows it will 
be fatal to have finally omitted. 

It is, indeed, with this as with other frailties in- 
herent in our nature; the desire of deferring to 
another time, what cannot be done without endurance 
of some pain, or forbearance of some pleasure, will, 
perhaps, never be totally overcome or suppressed ; 
there will always be something that we shall wish 
to have finished, and be nevertheless unwilling to 
begin : but against this unwillingness it is our duty 
to struggle, and every conquest over our passions 
will make way for an easier conquest ; custom is 
equally forcible to bad and good; nature will 
always be at variance with reason, but will rebel 
more feebly as she is oftei^r subdued* 



H* 109. AOTEIH'URER. 103 

The common neglect of the present hour is more 
shameful and criminal, as no mati is betrayed to it 
by error, but admits it by negligence. Of the insta- 
bility of life, the weakest understanding never thinks 
wrong, though the strongest often omits to diink 
justly : reason and experience are always rjsady to 
inform us of our real state ; but we refuse to listen 
to their suggestions, because we feel our hearts un- 
willing to obey them : but, surely, nothing is more 
unworthy of a reasonable being, than to shut his 
eyes, when he sees the road which he is commanded 
to travel, that he may deviate with fewer reproaches 
from himself; nor could any motive to tenderness, 
except the consciousness that we have all been guilty 
of the same fault, dispose us to pity those who t}iU9 
consign themselves to voluntary ruin. 



JSi' 109. TUESDAY, NOVEMBER «0, 175S* 



Insanire putai soUmnia me, neqtte rides. HOR. 

You think me but as mad as all mankind* 

TO THB ADVENTURER. 

srit, 

MoNTBSQUiEV wittily observes, that by building 
professed mad-houses, men tacitly insinuate, that all 
who are out of their senses are to be found only in 
those places. This remark having made some 



104 ADVENTURER. N^ 109. 

impression on my mind, produced last nisht the 
following vision. 

I imagined that Bedlam had been ordered to be 
rebuilt upon a more extensive plan by act of parlia- 
ment ; and that Dean Swift, calling at my lodgings, 
offered to accompany me to see the new-erected 
edifice, which, he observed, was not half capacious 
Enough before to contain the various species of mad- 
ness that are to found in this kingdom. As we 
walked through the galleries, he gave me the follow- 
ing account of the several inhabitants. 

I The lady in the first apartment had prevailed 
upon her husband, a man of study and oeconomy, 
to indulge her with a route twice a week at her own 
house. This soon multiplied her obligations to the 
company she kept, and in a fortnight she insisted 
upon two more. His lordship venturing to oppose 
her demand with steady resolution, but with equal 
tenderness, the lady complained, that the rights of 
quality and fortune were invaded, that her credit 
was lost with the fashionable world, and that ignor- 
ance and brutality had robbed her of the pleasures 
of a reasonable being, and rendered her the most 
unhappy wife in Great Britain. The cause of her 
complaints, however, still subsisted, and by perpe- 
tually brooding over it she at length turned her 
brain. 

. Next to her is a dramatic writer, whose comedy 
having been justly damned, he began' to vent his 
spleen against the public, by weekly abuses of the 
present age; but as neither the play nor his defences 
of it were read, his indignation continually increased, 
till at length it terminated in madness. 

He on the right hand is a philosopher, who has 
lost his reason in a fruitless attempt to discover the 
cause of electricity. 

He on the left is a celebi^ted jockey of noble 



»* 109. ASVBNTURBB. K)5r 

birth, whose favourite mare, that had enjoyed three 
triumphs, in former seasons, was distanced a few 
days ago at Newmarket. 

Yonder mea^e man has bewildered his un- 
derstanding by closely studying the doctrine of 
^ chances, in order to qualify himself for a profes- 
sorship which will be shortly established and amply 
endowed at an eminent chocolate-house, where lec- 
tures on this important subject are constantly to be 
read. 

An unforeseen accident turned the head of the next 
unfortunate prisoner. She had for a long time pass- 
fid for fifteen years younger than she was^ and her 
lively behaviour and airy dress concurred to help 
foVward the imposition ; till one evening, being ani- 
mated with an extraordinary flow of spirits, she 
danced out seven of her artificial teeth, which weiu 
immediately picked up, and delivered to her with 
great ceremony by her partner. 

The merchant in the neighbouring cell had re- 
solved to gain a plumb. He was possessed of 
seventy thousand pounds, and eagerly expected a 
^p that was to complete his wishes. But the ship 
was cast away in the channel, and the merchant is 
distracted for his loss. 

That (^sconsolate lady had for many years as- 
siduously attended an old gouty uncle, had assent- 
. ed to aU his absurdities, and humoured all his foi« 
bles, in full expectation of being made his exe-f 
cutrix; when happening one day to affirm that 
his gruel had sack enough in it, contrary to his opi- 
nion, he altered his will immediately, and left all to 
her brother ; which affords her no consolation, for 
avarice is able to subdue the tenderness of na- 
ture. 

Behold the beautiful and virtuous Theodora I 
Her fondness for an ungrateful husband was unr 



106 ADVENTURER. N* 10^. 

paralleled. She detected him in the arms of a dis- 
agreeable and affected prostitute, and was driven to 
distraction. 

Is my old friend the commentator here likewise 1 
Alas ! he has lost his wits in inquiring whether or 
no the ancients wore perukes ; as did his neighbour 
Cynthio, by receiving a frown from his patron at 
the l^t levee. 

The fat lady, upon whom you look so earnestly, 
is a grocer's wife in the city. Her disorder was oc- 
casioned by her seeing at court, last Twelfth night, 
the daughter of Mr. Alderman Squeeze, oilman, 
in a sack far richer and' more elegant than her 
own. 

The next chamber contains an adventurer who 
purchased thirty tickets in the last lottery. As he 
was a person of a sanguine complexion and lively 
imagination, he was sure of gaining the ten thou- 
sand pounds by the number of his chances. He 
spent a month in surveying the counties that lie in 
the neighbourhood of the metropolis, before he 
could find out an agreeable site for the fine house he 
intended to build. He next fixed his eye on a most 
blooming and beautiful girl, whom he designed to 
honour as his bride. He bespoke a magnificent 
coach, and the ornaments of his harness were to be 
of his own invention. Mr. Degagee, the tailor, 
was ordered to send to Paris for the lace with which 
his wedding clothes were to be adorned. But in the 
midst of these preparations for prosperity, all his 
tickets were drawn blanks ; and instead of his villa 
on the banks of the Thames, you now see him in 
these melancholy lodgings. 

His neighbour in the next apartment was an 
honest footman, who was persuaded likewise to try 
his fortune in the same lottery : and who, obtaining 
a very large and unexpected sum, could not stand 



2r* 109. ADVENTURER. 107 

the shock of such sudden good fortune, but grew 
mad with excess of joy. 

You wonder to see that cell beautified with Chi- 
nese vases and urns. It is inhabited by that famous 
virtuoso Lady Harriet Brittle, whose opinion was 
formerly decisive at all auctions, where she was 
usually appealed to about the genuineness of porce- 
lain. She purchased, at an exorbitant price, a Man- 
darin and a Jos, that were the envy of all the female 
€x>nnois8eurs, and were allowed to be inestimable. 
They were to be placed at the upper end of a little 
rock- work temple of Chinese architecture, in which 
neither propriety, proportion, nor true beauty were 
considered, and were carefully packed up in different 
boxes; but the brutish waggoner happening to 
overturn his carriage, they were crushed to pieces. 
The poor lady's understanding could not survive. 
so irreparable a loss ; and her relations, to soothe 
her passion, have provided those Chelsea urns with 
which she has decorated her chamber, and which 
she believes to be the true Nanquin. 

Yonder miserable youth, being engaged in a hot 
contention at a fashionable brothel about a cele- 
bifated courtezan, killed a sea-officer with whose face 
he was not acquainted ; but who proved upon in- 
quiry to be his own brother, who had been ten 
years absent in the Indies. 

Look attentively into the next cell; you will there 
discover a lady of great worth and fine accomplish- 
ments, whose father condemned, her to the arms of 
a right honourable debauchee, when he knew she 
had fixed her attentions irrevocably on another who 
possessed an unincumbered estate, but wanted the 
ornament of a title. She submitted to the orders 
of a stem father with patience, obedience, and a 
breaking heart Her husband treated her with 
that contempt which he thought due to a citizen's 



108 ADVENTURER. N^ 11^ 

daughter; and besides communicated to her an in - 
famojPis distemper, which her natural modesty forbade 
her to discover in time; and the violent medicines 
which were afterwards adminis;tered to her by an 
unskilful surgeon, threw her into a delirious fever, 
from which she could never be recovered. 

Here the Dean paused ; and looking upon me 
ivith great earnestness, and grasping my hand close- 
ly, spoke with an emphasis that awakened me ; — 
^ Think me not so insensible a monst^, as to deride 
the lamentable lot of the wretches we have now sur- 
veyed. If we laugh at the follies, let us at the same 
time pity the manifold miseries of man.' 

Z. I am. Sir, 

Your humble Servant, 

SOPHRON. 



N» 110. SATURDAY, NOVEMBER M, 1763. 



M&uimmota manetf lackrynue vohuntur manes, VIKG. 

Sighs, groans^ and tears, proclaim his inward paios ; 
But the ^tm porpose of his heart remains. BRYDEN. 

Pity has been generally considered as the passion of 
gentle, benevolent, and virtuous minds ; although it 
is acknowledged to produce only such a participa- 
tion of the calamity of others, as upon the whole is 
pleasing to ourselves. 

As a tender participation of foreign distress, it 
has been urged to prove, that man is endowed 
with social affections, which, however forcible, are 
wholly disinterested ; and as a pleading sensation^ ii 



a* 110. .AOTSVTimBlU -109 

has been deemed an example of unmixed selfish- 
ness and malignity. It has been resolved into that 
power of imagination, by which we apply the mis- 
fortunes of others to ourselves : we have been said 
to pity no longer than we fancy ourselves to suffer, 
and to be pleased only by redecting that our suf^ 
ferings are not real ; thus indulging a dream of dis- 
tress, from which we can awake whenever we please, 
to exult in our security, and enjoy the comparison 
of the fiction with truth. 

I shall not perplex my readers with the subtilties 
of a debate, in which human nature has, with equal 
zeal and plausibility, been exalted and degraded. 
It is sufficient for my purpose to remark, that Pity- 
is generally understood to be that passion, which is 
excited by the sufferings of persons with whom we 
have no tender connexion, and with whose welfare 
the stronger passions have not united our felicity ; 
for no man would call the anguish of a mother, 
whose infant was torn from her breast, and left to 
be devoured in a desert by the name of Pity; al- 
though the sentiment of a stranger, who should 
drop a silent tear at the relation, which yet might 
the next hour be forgotten, could not otherwise be 
justly denominated. 

If Pity, therefore, is absorbed in another passion, 
when our love of those that suffer is strong ^ Pity 
is rather an ' evidence of the weakness than the 
strength of that general philanthropy, for which 
some have so eagerly contended, with which they 
have flattered the pride and veiled the vices of man- 
kind, and which they have affirmed to be alone suf-- 
ficient to recommend them to the favour of Heaven, 
to atone for the indulgence of every appetite and the 
nedect of every duty. 

If human benevolence was absolutely pure and 
social,, it would not be necessary to relate the lar 

▼OJt. XXY. L 



110 ADTENTURBlt. N^ llO. 

vages of a pestilence or a famine with minute and 
discriminating circumstances to rouse onr sensibi- 
lity ; we should certainly deplore irremediable cala- 
mity, and participate temporary distress, without 
any mixture of delight ; that deceitful sorrow, in 
which pleasure is so well known to be predominant, 
that invention has been busied for ages in contnTin^ 
tales of fictitious sufferance for no other end than to 
excite it, would foe changed into honest commisera- 
tion, in which pain would be unmixed, and which, 
therefore, we should wish to lose. 

Soon after the fatal battle of Fontenoy, a young 
gentleman, who came over with the officer that 
brought the express, being expected at the house of 
a friend, a numerous company of gentlemen and 
ladies were assembled to hear an account of the 
action from an eye-witness. 

The gentleman, as every man is flattered by com- 
manding attention, was easily prevailed upon to 
gratify the company, as soon as they were seated, ^ 
and the first ceremonies past He described the 
march of many thousands of their countrymen into 
a field, where batteries had been concealed on each 
side, which in a moment strewed the ground with 
mangled limbs and ;carcasses that almost floated iii 
blood, and obstructed the path of those who followed 
to the slaughter. He related, how often the decreas- 
ing multitude returned to the mouth of the cannon : 
how suddenly they were rallied, and how suddenly 
broken : he repeated the list of officers who had 
fallen undistinguished in the carnage, men whoseemi- 
nence rendered their names universally known, their 
influence extensive, and their attachments numerous ; 
and he hinted the fatal effects which this defeat might 
produce to the nation, by turning the success of the 
war against us. But the company, however amused 
by the relationi appeared not tobe affected by the 



S^ 1 lO. ADTBNTURE«». Ill 

event ;: they were sdll attentive to every trifling ponc- 
tiiid of ceremony, usual among well-bred persons ; 
they bowed with a graceful simper to a lady who 
sneessed, mutually presented each other with snuff, 
shook their heads and changed their posture at 
proper intervals, asked some questions whach tended 
to produce a more minute detail of such circumstances 
of horror as had been lightly touched ; and having 
at last remarked that the Roman patriot regretted the 
brave could die but once, the conversation soon be- 
<;aine general, and a motion was made to divide into 
parties «t whist But just as they were about to 
comply, thegendeman again engaged their attention, 
* I forgot,' said he, * to relate one particular, which, 
however, deserves to be remembered. The captain 
of a company, whose name I cannot now jhscollect, 
had, just before his corps was ordered to embark, 
married a young lady to whom he had been long 
tenderly attached, and who, contrary to the advice 
of all her friends, and the expostulations, persuasion, 
and entreaty of her husband, insisted to go abroad 
with him, and share his fortune at all events. If he 
should be wounded, she said that she might hasten 
his recov^y, and alleviate his pain, by such attend- 
ance as strangers cannot be hired to pay ; if he should 
be taken prisoner, she might, perhaps, be permitted 
to shorten the tedious hours of captivity which soli- 
tude would protract ; and if he should die, that it would 
be better for her to know it with certainty and speed, 
than to wait at a distance in anxiety and suspense, 
tormented by doubtful and contradictory reports, and 
at last believing it possible, that if she had been pre- 
sent, her assiduity and tenderness might have pre- 
served his life. The captain, though he was not 
convinced by her reasoning, was yet overcome by 
the importunate eloquence of her love ; he consented 
to her request, and th^ embarked together. 

lid 



112 ADVENTURER. ' H* 110. 

• The head-quarters of the Duke of Cumberland 
were at Bniffoel, from whence they removed the 
evening before the battle to Monbray, a village 
within musket-shot of the enemy's lines, where the 
captain, who commanded in the left wing, was en* 
camped. 

* Their parting in the morning was short She 
looked after him, till he could no longer be distin- 
guished from others ; and as soon as the firing began^ 
she went back jpale and trembling, and sat down 
f^xpecting the event in an agony of impatience, 
anxicfty and terror. .She soon learned from stragglers 
and fugitives, that the slaughter was dreadful, and 
the victory hopeless. She did not, however, yet 
despair ; she hoped that the captain might return 
among the few tnat should remam : but soon after 
the retreat, this hope was cut ofi^, and she was in* 
formed that he fell in the first charge, and was loft 
among the dead. She was restrained by those about 
her from rushing in the frenzy of desperation to the 
field of battle, of which thie enemy was still pos* 
sessed : but the tumult of her mind having abated, 
and her grief become more calm during the night, 
she ordered a servant to attend her at break of day ; 
and as leave had been given to bury the dead, she 
weht herself to seek the remains of her husband, that 
she might honour them with the last rites, and pour 
the tears of conjugal affection upon his grave. They 
wandered about among the dying and the dead, 
gazing on every distorted countenance, and looking 
round with irresolution and amazement on a scene, 
which those who stripped had left tenfold more a 
sight of horror than those who had slain. From 
this sight she was at last turning widi confusion 
and despair ; but was stopped by the cries of a fa- . 
vourite spaniel, who had followed her without being 
perceivecL Ha was standing at some distance m 



H* lia ADVENTUBBK. ItS 

the field ; -and tbe momeot she saw lum, she con- 
ceived the strongest assurance that he had found his 
master. She hasted instantly to the place, without 
legarding any other object; and stooping over the 
corpse by which he stood, she found it so disfigured 
with wounds and besmeared with blood that the 
features Were not to be known: but as she was 
weeping in the anguish of suspense, she discovered 
hanging on the wrist the remains of a ruffle, round 
which there was a slight border of her own work. 
Thus suddenly to have discovered, and in such 
dreadful circumstances, that which she had sought, 
^uite overwhelmed her, and she sunk down on the 
body. By the assistance of the servaat she was re- 
covered to sensibility, but not to reason ; she was 
seized at once with convulsions and madness ; and 
a few hours after «he wais carried back to the village 
she expired.' 

Tho^, who had heard the fate of whole batta«- 
talions without pity, and the loss of a battle bj 
which their country would probably suffer irreparar 
Ue damage, without concern, listened to a tale of 
frivate distress with uninterrupted attention. All 
fegard to each other was for a while suspended; 
tears by degrees overflowed every eye, and every 
bosom became susceptible of Pity : but the whole 
circle paused with evident regret, when the narrar 
tive was at an end ; and would have been glad, thai 
such another could have been told to continue their 
entertainment. Such was the Benevolence of Pity 1 
But a lady who had taken the opportunity of a very 
slight acquaintance to satisfy her curiosity, was 
touched with much deeper distress ; and fainting in 
the struggle to conceal the emotions of her mind, fell 
back in her chair: an accident which was not 
sooner discovered, because every eye had been fixed 
upon thi speaker, and aU attention monopolized by 

1.3 



114 ADTBNTVRBH. N* 110. 

the story. Every one, however, was ready to afford her 
assistance ; and it was soon discovered, that she was 
mother to the lady whose distress had afforded so 
much virtuous pleasure to the company. It was not 
possible to tell her another story* which would re- 
vive the same sensations ; and if it had, the world 
could not have bribed her to have heard it. Her affec- 
tion to the sufferer was too strong to permit her, on 
this occasion, to enjoy the luxury of Pity, Imd ap- 
plaud her benevolence for sensations which shewed 
its defects. It Wouldy indeed, be happy for us, if 
we were to exist only in this state of imperfection, 
that a greater share of sensibility is not allowed us; 
but if the mole, in the kindness of Unerring Wis-' 
dom, is permitted scarce to distinguish light from 
darknes^ the mole should not, surely, be praised for 
theperspicacity of its sight « 

Let us distinguish that malignity, which others 
confound with Benevolence; and applaud as virtue ; 
let that imperfection of nature, whidi is adapted to 
an imperfect state, teach us humility ; and fix our 
dependence upon Him, who has promised to ' create 
in us a new heart and a right spirit ;' and to receive 
us to that place, where our love of others, however 
ardent, can only increase our felicity % because in 
that place there will be no object, but such as per* 
£ect Benevolence can contemplate with delight. 



S* III. ASTEMTCKEk. US 



N* in. TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 27, 1753. 



-Sikc n^n/ecimui iptif 



Vix ea nostra voco, OVID. 

The deeds of long descended ancestors 

Are but by grace of imputation oi^rs. DRYDEN. 

The evils inseparably annexed to the present condi- 
tion of man, are so numerous and afflictive, that it 
has been, from age to age, the task of some to bewail^ 
and of oth^'s to solace them ; and he, tBerefore, 
will be in danger of seeming a common enemy, who 
shall attempt to depreciate the few pleasures and 
felicities which nature has allowed us. 

Yet I will confess, that I have sometimes em- 
ployed my thoughts in examining the pretensions 
that kre made to happiness, by the splendid and 
envied condition of lite ; and have not thought the 
hour unprofitably spent, when I have detected the 
imposture of counterfeit advantages, and found dis* 
quiet lurking under false appearances of gaiety and 
' greatness. 

It is asserted by a tragic poet, that ' est miser 
nemo nisi comparatus,' * no man is miserable, but as 
he is compared with others happier than himself:' 
this position is not strictly and philosophically true. 
He might have said, with rigorous propriety, that 
no man is happy but as he is compared with thp 
miserable ; for such is the state of this world, that 
' ^e find in it absolute misery, but happinesB only 



116 ADVENTURER. N* lll« 

comparative ; we may incur as much pain as vfe can 
possibly endure, though we can never obtain as 
much happiness as we might possibly enjoy. 
' Yet it is certain, likewise, that many of our mi- 
series are merely comparative : we are often made 
unhappy, not by the presence of any real evil, but 
by the absence of some fictitious good ; of some- 
thing which is not required by any real want of 
nature, which has not in itself any power of grati- 
fication, and which neither reason nor fancy would 
have prompted us to wish, did we not see it in the 
possession of others. 

For a mind diseased with vain longings after un- 
attainable advantages, no medicine can be prescribed, 
but an impartial inquiry into the real worth of that 
which is so ardently desired. It is well known, how 
much the mind, as well as the eye, is deceived by 
distance ; and, perhaps, it will be found, that of 
many imagined blessings it may be doubted, whe* 
ther he that wants or possesses them has more rea- 
son to be satisfied with his lot 

The dignity of high birth and long extraction, no 
man, to whom nature has denied it, can confer upon 
bimself ; and, therefore, it deserves to be considered, 
whether the want of that which can never be gained* 
may not easily be endured. It is true, that if we 
consider the triumph and delight with which most of 
Ifaose recount their ancestors who have ancestors to 
recount, and the artifices by which some who have 
risen to unexpected fortune endeavour to insert them- 
•elves into an honourable stem, we shall be inclined 
io fancy that wisdom or virtue may be had by inhe- 
ritance. Of that all the exoellencies of a line of jpro^ 
genitors are aocamulated on their descendast Rea- 
•toy indeed, will soon inform us, that our esdmatioa 
ef Inrth is arbitrary and capricious, and that dead aa<- 
CaKOif eta h«ve bo inflnenoe but upon imagiaaliei^: 



il* 111. ADVBNTtREft. 117 

let it then be examined, whether one dream may not 
dperate in the place of another; whether he that 
owes nothing to forefathers, may not receive equal 
pleasure from the consciousness of owing all to him- 
self : -whether he may not, with a little meditation, 
find it more honourable to found than to continue a 
family, and to gain dignity than transmit it; whether, 
if lie receives no dignity from the virtues of his 
family, he does not likewise escape the danger of 
being disgraced by their crimes ; and whether he 
that briags a new name into the world, has not the 
oonveaience of playing the game of life without a 
stake, an opportunity of winning much though he. 
has nothing to lose. 

There is another opinion concerning happiness, 
^which approaches much more nearly to universality, 
but which may, perhaps, with equal reason be dis* 
puted. The pretensions to ancestral honours many 
of the sons of earth easily see to be ill-grounded : 
but all agree to celebrate the advantage of hereditary 
riches, and to consider those as the minions of for- 
tune, who are wealthy from their cradles, whose 
estate is * res non p^Etrta labore sed rehcta ;' * the 
acquisition of another, not of themselves ;' and whom 
a father's industry has dispensed from a laborious 
attention to arts or commerce, and left at liberty to 
dispose of life as fancy shall direct them. 

if every man were wise and virtuous, capable to 
discern the best use of time, and resolute to practise 
it ; it might be granted, I think, without hesitation* 
that total liberty would be a blessing ; and that it 
would be desirable to be left at large to the exercise 
of religious and social duties, without the intemip* 
tion of importunate avocadont. 

But since felicity is relative, and that which is 
the roeaas of happiness to one man may be to an* 
•ther the cause of misery, we are to consider, what 



118 ADYBNTHREII. N* 111. 

state is best adapted to human nature in its present 
degeneracy and frailty. And, surely, to far the 
greater number it is highly expedient, that they 
should by some settled scheme of duties be rescued 
from the tyranny of caprice, that they should be 
driven oq by necessity through the paths of life 
with their attention confined to a stated task, that 
they may be less at leisure to deviate into mischief 
at the call of folly. 

When we observe the hves of those whom an 
ample inheritance has let loose to their own direc- 
tion, what d6 we discover that can excite our envy ? 
Their time seems not to pass with muoh applause 
from others, or satisfaction to themselves: many 
squander their exuberance of fortune in luxury and 
debauchery, and have no other use of money than 
to inflame their passions, and riot in a wider range 
of licentiousness ; others, less criminal indeed, but, 
surely, not much to be praised, lie down to sleep, 
and rise up to trifle, are employed every rooming 
in finding expedients to rid themselves of the day, 
chase pleasure through all the places of public resort, 
fiy from London to Bath and from Bath to I/ondon, 
without any other reason for changing place, but 
that they go in quest of company as idle and as 
vagrant as themselves, always endeavouring to raise 
some new desire that they may have something to 
pursue, to rekindle some hope which they know 
will be disaf^pointed, changing one amusement for 
another, which a few months will make equally in*> 
sipid, or inking into languor and disease for want 
of something to actuate their bodies, to exhilarate 
their minds. 

Whoever has frequented those places, where 
idlers assemble to escape from solitude, knows that 
this is generally the state of the wealthy ; and from 
this state it is ho great hardship to be debarred. 



V* 111. ADTENTURBB. lid 

No man can, be happy in total idleness : he that 
should be condemned to lie torpid and motionless, 
* would* fly for recreation,' says South, 'to the 
xninea and the gallies ;' and it is well, when nature 
or fortune find employment for those who would 
not have known how to procure it for themselves. 

He, whose mind is engaged by the acquisition or 
improvement of a fortune, not only escapes the in- 
sipidity of indifference, and the tediousness of in- 
activity, but gains enjoyments wholly unknown to 
those, who live lazily on the toil of others ; for life 
affords no higher pleasure, than that of surmount- 
ing difficulties, passing from one step of success to 
another, forming new wishes, and seeing them 
gratified. He that labcmrs in any great or laudable 
undertaking, has his fatigues first supported by 
hope, and afterwards rewarded by joy ; he is 
always moving to a certain end, and when he has 
attained it, an end more distant invites him to a 
tiew pursuit 

It does not, indeed^ always happen, that diligence 
is fortunate ; the wisest schemes are broken by un- 
expected accidents ; the most constant persevenmce 
sometimes toils through life without a recompense : 
but labour, though unsuccessful, is more eligible 
than idleness ; he that -prosecutes a lawful purpose 
by lawful means, acts always with the approbation 
of his own reason ; he is animated through the 
course of his endeavours by an expectation which, 
though not certain, he knows to be just ; and is at 
last comforted in his disappointment, by the con- 
sciousness that he has not failed by his own fault 

That kind of life is most happy which affords us 
most opportunities of gaining our own esteem ; and 
what can any man infer in his own favour from a 
condition to wl^ch, however prosperous, he contri- 
buted nothing, and which the vilest and weakest of 



ISO ADTENTURRR. H* 111. 

the species would have obtained by the same right, 
had he happened to be the sou of the same father. 

To strive ^^ f difficulties, and to conquer them, 
is the highgmf -"^^^^ felicity ; the next, is to strive, 
and deser« .> jo conquer : but he v^hose life has passed 
without a contest, and who can boast neither success 
nor merit, can survey himself only as a useless filler 
of existence ; and if he is content with his ovm cha- 
racter, must owe his satisfaction to insensibility. 

Thus it appears that the satirist advised rightly, 
when he directed us to resign ourselves to the hands 
of Heaven, and to leave to superior powers the da- 
termination of our lot : — 

Permitles ipsis expendtre Numinibusy qwd 
Ckmveniat nobis, rebuspie tit utUe nostrit: 
Carior est ilUs homo quam sibu 

f 
Intrust thy fortune to the powers above: 
Leave them to manage for thee, and to gra^ut 
What their unerring wisdom sees thee want. 
In goodness as in greatness they excel: 
Ah 1 that we lovM ouiselves but half so well. 

DRYDEN. 

What state of life admits most happiness, is uu- 
certain ; but that uncertainty ought to repress the 
petulance of comparison^ and silence the murmurs 
of discontent. , 

T, 



r 



1«* 113. ADYSMTURBII. 1^1 



NMia. SATURDAY, DECEMi). ^1, 1753. 



-^ Has pasnas garrula lingua de^t, OVj£». 



Such ira» the fate of vain loquacity. 
TO THB ADVENTURER^ 

SIR, 

To be courteous to aU, but famiUar with few, is a 
maxim whichi once despised, as originally proceedr 
ing from a mean and contracted mind, the frigid 
caution of weakness and timidity. A tame and in* 
discriminate servility I imputed to a dread of the 
contempt or the petulance of others, to fears from 
which the wit and the gentleman are exempted by a 
consciousness of their own dignity, by their power 
to repress insolence and silence ridicule ; and a ge- 
neral shyness and reserve I considered as the re- 
proach of our country, as the effect of an -illiberal 
education, by which neither a jpolite address, an 
easy confidence^ or a general acquaintance with 
public life, is to be acquired. This opinion, which 
continued to flatter the levity and pride that pro- 
duced it, was strengthened by the example of those 
whose manner in the diffidence of youth I wished 
to imitate, who entered a mixed company with an 
air of serene familiarity, accosted every man like an 
old acquaintance, and thought only of making sport 
for the rest of any with whom their caprice should 
happen to be offended, without regard to their age, 
chari^ter, or condition. 

VOL. XXV. M 



1 



1^ ADTENTVRBR. H* 112* 

But I now wish, that I had regulated my conduct 
by the maxim which I despised, for I should then 
have escaped a misfortune which I can never re- 
trieve; and the sense of which I am now endeavour- 
ing to suspend, by relating it to you as a lesson to 
others, and considering my loss of happiness as an 
acquisition of wisdom. 

While I was in France with a travolUng tutor, I 
received a letter which acquainted me, that my fa- 
ther who had been long declining, was dead; and 
that it was necessary I should immediately return to 
England to take possession of his estate, which was 
not inconsiderable, though there were mortgages 
upon it to near half its value. 

When I arrived, I found a letter which the old 
gentleman had written and directed to me with his 
own hand. It contained some general rule^ for my 
conduct, and some animadversiond upon his own : 
he took notice of the incumbrance under which he 
left me the paternal inheritance^ which had descend- 
ed through many generations, and expressed the 
, most earnest desire, that it might yet be transmitted- 
intire to posterity: with this view, he said, he had 
negociated a marriage between me and the only 
daughter of his old friend, Sir George Homestead, 
of the North, an amiable young lady, whose alli- 
ance would be an honour to my family^ and whose 
fortune would much more than redeem my estate. 

He had given the knight a faithful account of his 
affiiirs, who, after having taken some time to consi- 
der the proposal and consult his friends, had conseat*" 
ed to the match, upon condition that his daughter and 
I should be agreeable to each other, and my beha« 
▼iour should confirm the character which haid been 
^venofme. Myfatheradded,thathehopedtohaveliT- 
ed till this alliance had taken place ; but as Providence 
had otherwise determiaed, oe totrei^ed^ «» hit last' 



|»* 113. ADVENTURER. 123 

vefaeot, that as (oon as my a&irs ^lould be settled, 
md deeeucy W&uld poriDit, I would make Sir George 
« visit, aod aeglect notbiBg to accomplish his purpose. 

I was touched with the zeal aad tenderness of pa^ 
featal affeetaon, which was then directing me to hap- 
piness, after the heart that felt it had ceased to beat» 
and the hand that expressed it was mouldering in the 
dust I had also seen the lady, not indeed since we 
werechildr^; but I remember that her person was 
agreeable, and her temper sweet : I did not, therefore, 
h^tatef a moment, whether my father's injunction 
should be obeyed. I proceeded to settle his affairs; 
I took an account of his debts and credits, visited 
the tenants, recovered my usual gaiety, and at the 
end of about nine months set out for Sir George's seat 
in the NcHrth ; having before opened an epistolary cor- 
respondence, and expressed my impatience to possess 
the happiness which my father had so kindly secured. 

I was better pleased to be well mounted, than to 
loll in a chaiiot, or be jumbled in a post chaise ; and 
I knew that Sir George was an old sportsman, a 
plain hearty blade^ who would like me better in a 
pair of buckskin breedies on the back of a good 
hunter, than in a trimmed suit and a gaudy equi- 
page ; I therefore, set out on horseback wiUi only 
one servant, and reached Stilton the first night 

In the morning, as I was mounting, a gentleman, 
who had just got on horseback before me, ordered 
his servant to make some inquiry about the road, 
which I happened to overhear, and told him with 
Kfeai familiarity, that I was going the same way, 
and if he pleased we would travel together : to this 
he consented with as much frankness, and as little 
ceremony ; and I set forward, greatly delighted that 
chance had afforded me a companion. 

We immediately entered into conversation, and I 
•ooA found that he had been abroad: we extolled the 

M 2 



194 iDVBNTmtER. N* 119. 

Toads and the policy of France, the cities, the pa- 
laces, and the rillas ; entered into a critical examitta- 
tion of the most celebrated seats in En^and, the pe- 
culiarities of the building and situation, cross ways, 
market towns, the imposition of innkeepers, and 
the sports of §ie field ; topics by which we mutually 
recommended ourselves to each other, as we had 
both opportunities to discover equal' knowledge, and 
to dii^lay truth with such evidence as prevented 
diversity of opinion. g 

After we had rode about two hours, we overtool^ 
•another gentleman, whom we accosted with the same 
familiarity that we had used to each other ; we asked 
iiim how far he was going and which way, at what 
rate he travelled; where he put up, and many other 
questions of the same kind. The gentleman, who 
appeared to be near fifty, received our address with 
great coolness, reitumed short and indirect answers to 
our inquiries, and, often looking with great attention 
on us both, sometimes put forward that he might get 
before us, and sometimes checked his horse £at he ^ 
might remain behind. But we were resolved to dis- 
appoint him; and finding that his reserve increased, 
and he was visibly displeased, we winked at each 
other and determined the old put should afford us 
some sport After we had rode together upon very 
ill terms more than half an hour, my companion with 
an air of ceremonious gravity asked him, if he knew 
any house upon the road where he might be accom- 
fnodated with |i wench. The gentleman, who was, 
I believe, afraid of giving us a pretence to quarrel^ 
did not resent this insult any otherwise than by mak- 
ing no reply. I then began to talk to my companion 
as if we had been old acquaintance, reminding him 
that the gentleman extremely resembled a person, 
from whom we had taken a girl that he was carry- 
ifig to the bagnio, and, indeed, that his present re* 



H^ lit. ADVSiNTUREB. 125 

0enre made xne suspect him to be the same ; but that 
as we were willing to ask his pardon, we hoped it 
would be forgot, and that we should still have the 
pleasure of dining together at the next inn. The 
gentleman was still silent ; but as his perplexity and 
resentment visibly increased, he proportionably in* 
ereased our entertainment, which did not, however^ 
last long* for he suddenly turned down a lane; upon 
which, we set up a horse laugh, that continued till 
be was out of hearing, and then pursuing our jour- 
iiey^ we talked of the adventure, which afforded us 
conversation and merriment for the rest of the day. 
The next morning we parted, and in the evening 
1 arrived at Homestead Hall. The old knight re- 
ceived me with great affection, and immediately in- 
troduced me to his daughter, whom I now thought 
the finest woman I had ever seen. I could easily 
discover that I was not welcome to her merely upon 
iier father's recommendation, and I enjoyed by anti- 
cipation the felicity which I considered as within 
my grasp. But the pleasing scene, in which I had 
"Suffered my imagination to wander, suddenly disapr 
|>eared as by the power of enchantment ; without any 
visible motive, the behaviour of the whole family 
was changed, my assiduities to the lady were re- 
pressed, she was never to be found alone, the knight 
treated me with a cold civility, I was no longer a 
party in their visits, nor was I willingly attended 
-even by the servants. I made many attempts to dis- 
cover the cause of this misfortune, but without suc- 
cess, and one morning, when I had drawn Sir Oeoi^ 
mto the garden by himself, and was about to urge 
him \xfoa the subject, he prevented me by saying, 
that his promise to my father, for whom he had the 
highest regard, as I well knew, was conditional ; that 
he had always resolved to leave his daughter a free 
choice^ a&d (hat ahe had requested him te uqwifi^ 

M 3 ' 



IM ADVENTURER. N* 113« 

me, that her affections were otherwise engaged, and 
to intreat that I would, therefore, discontinue my 
addresses. My surprise and concern at this decla- 
ration, were such as left me no power to reply; and 
I saw Sir George turn from me and go into tne house, 
without making any attempt to stop him, or to obtain 
a further explanation. Afterwards, indeed, I fre- 
quently expostulated, intreated, and complained; 
but, perceiving that all was ineffectual, I took my 
Itove, anid determined that I would still solicit by 
letter; for the lady had taken such possession of my 
heart, that I would joyfully have married her, though 
I had been sure that her father would immediately 
have left all his fortune to a stranger. 

I meditated on my epistolary project all the way 
to London, and. before I had been three days in 
town I wrote a long letter to Sir George, in which 
I conjured him, in the strongest terms, to account for 
the change in his behaviour ; and insisted, that, on 
this occasion, to conceal the truth, was in the 
highest degree dishonourable to himself and injn* 
rious to me. 

To this letter, after about ten days, I received 
the following answer : 

* Sir, 
^ It is with great reluctance that I reveal the mo- 
lives of my conduct, because they are much to your 
disadvantage. The inclosed is a letter which I re- 
ceived from a worthy gentleman in this county, and 
contains a full answer to your inquiries, which I had 
rather you should receive in any hand than in mine. 

* I am your humble Servant, 

' Geo. Homestead.' 

I immediately opened the paper inclosed, in ivhicb> 
with the utmost impatience,! read as follows; 



19* 113; AByEKTURBS* 127 

* Sir, 
* I saw a person with your family yesterday at 
&e races, to whom, as I was soon after informed, 
you intended to give your daughter. Upon this 
occasion, it is my indispensable duty to acquaint 
you, that if his character is to be determined by 
his company, he will inevitably entail diseases and 
beggary upon his posterity, whatever be the merit 
of his wite, or the affluence of his fortune. He 
overtook me on the road from London a few weeks 
ago, in company with a wretch, who, by their 
discourse, appeared to be his old and familiar ac- 
quaintance, and whom' I well remember to have 
been brought before my friend Justice Worthy, when 
T was accidentally at his house, as the keeper of a 
brothel in Covent Garden. He has since won a con- 
siderable sum with false dice at the masquerade, for 
which he was obliged* to leave the kingdom, and is 
still liable to a prosecution. Be assured that I 
have perfect knowledge of both ; for. some incidents, 
which it is not necessary to mention, kept me near 
th^m so long on the road, that it is impossible I 
should be mistaken. 

* I am, Sir, your's, &c. 

*• James Trueman.' 

The moment I had read this letter, the riddle 
was solved. I knew Mr. Trueman to be the gen- 
tleman, whom I had concurred with a stranger, 
pi<^ed up by accident, to insult without provoca- 
tion on (he road. I was in a moment covered with 
confiision ; and though I was alone, could not help 
hiding my face with my hands. I abhorred my 
. 6>lly, which appeared yet more enormous every time 
it was reviewed. 

I courted the society of a stranger, and a stranger 
I persecuted with insult : thus I aasociated with 



128 ADYBNTU&BB. N* 113>« 

infamy, and thus my associate became bown. T 
hoped, however, to convince Sir George, that I had. 
no knowledge of the wretch whose infamy I had. 
shared, except that which I acquired from the letter 
of his friend. Bat, before I had taken proper mea« 
sures for my justification, I had the mortificatioB to 
hear, that the lady was married to a neighbouriiig 
gentleman, who had long made his addresses, and 
whom Sir George had befoie rejected in the ardour 
of his friendship for my father. 

How narrow, Mr. Adventurer, is the patii of reo 
titude, and how much may be lost by the slightest 
deviation ! 

I ittk your humble Servant, 



f 



8r*113. A9TBNTURBR. 129 



N* 113. TUESDAY, DECEMBER 4, 1753- 



Ad humum nusrore gravi deducU S^ angif, 

HOR. 

Wrings the sad soul» and bends it down to earth. 

FRANCIS. 



One of the most remarkable differences betwixt an- 
cient and modem tragedy, arises from the prevailing 
custom of describing only those distresses that ara 
occasioned by the passion of love; a passion which, 
from the universality of its dominion, may doubtless 
justly claim a large share in representations of human 
life ; but which, by totally .engrossing the theatre, 
hath contributed to degrade that noble school of 
virtue into an academy of effeminacy. 

When Racine persuaded the celebrated Arnauld 
to read his Phaedra, * Why,' said that severe critic 
to his friend, ' have you falsified the manners of Hip^ 
politus, and represented him in love V * Alas I' 
replied the poet, ' without that circumstance, how 
would the ladies and the beaux have received my 
pieced And it may well be imagined, that, to 
gratify so considerable and important a part of his 
audience, was the powerful motive that induced 
Comeille to enervate even the matchless and affect- 
ing story of CEdipus, by the frigid and impertinent 
episode of Theseus's passion for Dirce. 

Shakspeare has shewn us, by his Hamlet, Mac- 
beth, and Cssar, and, above all, by his Lear, that 



130 ADTEVTUIIBIU K* 11 SI 

very interesting tragedies may be written^ that are 
not founded on gallantry and love; and that Boileau 
vrsi3 mistaken, when he afiinnedy 



de Panuntr la sensible peinture. 
Est pour oUer au cesur la route la plus sUtre* 

Those tender scenes that pictnrM love impart, 
Insoie success, and best engage the heart. 

The distresses in this tragedy are of a very un- 
common nature, and are not touched upon by any 
other dramatic author. They are occasioned by a 
rash resolution of an aged monarch of strong pas- 
sions and quick sensibility, to resign his crown, and 
to divide his kingdom amongst his three daughters; 
the 3^oangest of whom, who was his favourite, not 
answering his sanguine expectations in expressions 
of affisction to him, he for ever banishes, and en- 
dows her sisters with her allotted share. Their un- 
natural ingratitude, the intolerable affronts, indig- 
nities, and cruelties he suffeis from them, and the 
remorse he feels from his imprudent resignation of 
his power, at first inflame him with the most violent 
rage, and, by degrees, drive him to madness and 
death. This is the outline of the fable. 

I shall confine myself, at present, to consider singly 
the judgment and art of the poet, in describing the 
origin and progress of the distraction of Lear ; in 
which, I think, he has succeeded better, than any 
other writer; even than'^ Euripides himself, whom 
Longinus so highly commends for kis representation 
of the madness of Orestes. 

It is well contrived, that the first afiront that is 
ofiered Lear, should be a proposal from Gonerill, 
his eldest daughter, to lessen t;he number of his 
knights, which must needs affect and irritate a per- 
son so jealous of bis rank and the respect due to 



R* 113. AOTBNTUBBB. 131 

it He HI, at first, astonished at the complicated' 
impudence and ingratitude of this design ; but 
quickly kindles into rage, and resolves to depart 
instantly : 

Darkness and devils !— 
Saddle my horses, call my train together— 
Degen'rate bastard ! I'll not trouble thee.— 

This is . followed by a severe reflection upon his 
own fblly for resigning his crown ; and a solemn 
invocation to Nature, to heap the most honible 
curses on the head of Gonerill; that her own off- 
spring may prove equally cruel and unnatural ; 



that she may feei, 



- How sharper than a serpeni^s tooth it is^ 
To have a thanUesa child !'■ ■ 

When Albany demands the cause of this passion', 
Lear answers, * I'll tell thee!' but immediately cries^ 
out to Goncdll) 

Life and. death! I am ashamPd, 

That thou hast power to shake my manhood thui. 

•— ^BlMts ahd fogs upon thee ! 

Tfa* uninited woundinga of a fithi^r's coiM 

Pierce every sense about thee ! 

He^stops a Uttk, andrefldcta: 

Ha.! ig it oome to this ? 
Let it be so! I have another daughter. 
Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortabliw 
When-sbe shall hear this of thee, wittklnr iiafls,y 
Sbe'ii Bay. thgr wolfish visagep-*^ 



Ha. was, hpwerer, mistakeii; for the first object 
he eneomiters in the castle of the. Earl of Glouf 
oeiter, whither he fled to meet Uuik other daughter, 
was hift tenrantin. the stockij firoA. whence he 



133 ADVENTUREJt. N* 11^. 

may easily coDJecture what reception he is to meet 
with: 



-Death on my state ! Wherefore 



Should he sit here. 

Me adds immediately afterwards^ 
O me, my heart ! my risiag heart !— but down. 

By which single line, the inexpressible anguish of 
his mind, and the dreadinl conflict of opposite pas- 
sions with which it is agitated, are more forcibly ex- 
pressed, than by the long, and laboured speech, enu- 
merating the causes of his anguish, that Rowe and 
pther modem tragic writers would certainly have 
put into' his mourn. But Nature, Sophocles, and 
Shakspeare, represent the feelings of the heart in a 
different manner; by a broken hint, a short excla- 
mation, a word, or a look : 

They mingle not, 'mid deep-felt sighs and groans^ 

Descriptions gay, or quaint comparisons. 

No flowery far-fetch'd thoughts their scenes admit ; 

111 suits conceit with passion, woe with wit. 

Here passion prompts each short, expressive speech ; 

Or silence paints what words can never reach. J. W. 

When Jocasta, in Sophocles, has discovered that 
CEdipus was the murderer of her husband, she im- 
mediately leaves the stage: but in Comeille and 
Dryden she continues on it during a whole scene, 
to bewail her destiny in set speeches. I should be 
guilty of insensibiUty and injustice, if I did not take 
this occasion to acknowledge, that I have been 
more moved and delighted, oy hearing this single 
line spoken by the only actor of the age who un- 
derstands and relishes these little touches of na* 
tare, and therefore the only one qualified to per- 
sonate this VBt09i difficult character ^ Lear;» than by 



N* 115. adventurer: 135 

the most pompous declaimer of the most pompous 
speeches m Cato or Tamerlane. 

In the next scene, the old king appears in a very 
distressful situation. H§ informs R^an, whom he 
believes to be still actuated by filial tenderness, of 
the cruelties he had suff<»red from her sister Gonerill 
in very pathetic terms : 

— Belored Regan, 

Thy sister's naught— O Regan ! she hath tied 
Sharp toothM unkindness, like a vulture, here, 
I scarce can speak to thee — thouMt not believe, 
With how depravM a quality — O Regao ! 

It is a stroke of wonderful. art in the poet to repre- 
sent him incapable of specifying the partictdar ill 
usage he has received, and breaking off thus ab- 
nipdy, as if his voice was choked by tenderness and 
resentment. 

When Regan counsels him to ask her sister for- 
^venessy he falls on his knees with a very striking 
kind of irony, and asks her how such supplicating 
language as this becometh him : 

Dear daughter, I confess that I am old ; 

Age is unnecessary : on my knees 1 beg. 

That you'll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food. 

But being again exhorted to sue for reconciliation, 
the advice wounds him to the quick, and forces him 
into execrations against Gonerill, which, though they 
chill the soul with horror, are yet well suited to ihm 
impetuosity of his temper : 

She hath abated me of half my train ; 
Look'd black upon me ; struck me with her tongue^ 
Most serpentlike, upon the very heart 
All the stoi^d vengeances of heaven fall 
On her ungrateful top ! Strike her young bones^ 
Ye taking airs, with lameness !-»— 
Ye nimble lightnings, dart your blinding flames 
Into her scornful eyes i<*-— 
TOU XXT. N 



134 .AI>T£9TURSR# N^llS*. 

The wretched king, little imagiaiiig that he is to 
be outcast from Regan also, adds very movingly ; 

.— 'Tis not in thee 

To grudge my pleasares, to cut off my train. 
To bandy hagty words, to scant my sizes,—- 

■ — ^Tboa better know'st 
The offices of nature, bond of childhood — -« 
Thy half oHh' kingdom thou hast not forgot, 
Whdrein I thee endowed.— 

That the hopes he had conceived of tender usa^pe 
from Regan should be deceived, heightens his dis- 
tress to a great degree. ^Yet it is stiU aggravated 
and increased, by the sudden appearance of Gk>- 
nerill ; upon the unexpected sight of whom he ex- 
claims, 

—Who comes here ^ O heavens ! 

If you do love old men, if your sweet sway 

Allow obedience, if yourselves are old. 

Make it your cause, send down and take my part ! 

This address is surely pathetic beyond expression ; 
it is scarce enough to speak of it in the cold terms 
of criticism. There follows a question to Gonerill, 
that I have never read without tears : 

Ar't not asham'd io look upon this beard? 

This scene abounds with many noble turns of 
passion ; or rather conflicts of very different pas- 
sions. The inhuman daughters urge him in vain, 
by all the sophistical and unfiliid arguments they 
were mistresses of, to diminish the number of fa^ 
train. He answers them by only four poigna n t 
words: 

I gave yon all ! 

When Regmr at last consents to receive him, but 
without any attendants, for that he might be served 
by her own domestics, he can a» longer contain 



«* lis* ADYEKTOREft^ IS5 

bis disappointment and rage. F^rst he appeals to 
the heavens, and points out to them a spectacle that 
is indeed inimitably affecting : 

You see me here, ye Gods ! a poor old man, 
As full of grief as age, wretched in both : 
If it be you that stir these daughters' hearts 
Againsr their fatlier, fool me not so much 
To bear it taimely ! 

Then suddenly he addresses Gonerill and Regan in 
the severest terms and with the bitterest threats : . 

-No, yoQ unnatural hags ! 



I will have such revenges on you botlv— 

That all the world shall — I will do such things— 

What they are yet, I know not. 

Nothing occurs to his mind severe enough for 
them to suffer, or hiin to inflict His passion rises 
to a height that derives him of articulation. He 
tells them that he will subdue his sorrow, though 
almost irresistible ; and that they shall not triumph 
over his weakness,: 



•You think 1*11 weep ! 



Ko! IMl not weep; I have full cause of weeping ; 
But this heart shall break into a thousand flaws^ 
Or e*er I'll weep i 

He concludes, 
O fool I I shall go mad !<^ 

^ich is an artful anticipation, that judiciously pre- 
pares us for the dreadhil event that is to follow in 
the succeeding acts. 
Z. 



K 2 



189 ABTKNTtntBI. II* 114- 



N» 114. SATURDAY, DECEMBER 8, 1753, 



^rat inftslis, neiuU teeundutf 

A^eram soriem bene prmparatum 

Pectus. ' HOR. 

Whoever eojoys tb* untroubled breast, 

With Virtue's tranquil wisdom blest ; 

With hope the gloomy hour can cheer. 

And teinper happiness with fear. FRANCIS. 

Almbt, the Dervise, who watcbed the sacred lamp 
in the sepuldire of the Prophet, as he one day 
T^se up from the devotions of the morning, which 
he had performed at the gate of the temple with 
his body turned towards the east and his forehead 
on the earth, saw before him a man in splendid ap- 
parel attended by a long retinue, who gazed sted- 
iastly at him with a look of mournful complacence, 
and seemed desirous to speak, but unwiUing to 
of^d. 

The Dervise, after a short silence, advanced, and 
saluting him with the calm dignity which independ- 
ence confers upon humility, requested that he would 
reveal his purpose. 

^Almet,' said the stranger, ^thou seest before 
thee a man whom the hand of prosperity has over- 
whelmed with wretchedness. Whatever I once de- 
sired as the means of happiness, I now possess; but 
I am not yet happy, and therefore I despair. I re- 
gret the lapse of time, because it glides away with- 
out enjoyment; and as I expect nothing in the fu- 



K* 114 ABTEVTDKBft* 137 

tore but the vanities of the past, I do not wish that 
thexfuture should ttrme. Yet I tremble lest it 
should be cut off ; and my heart sinks when I an- 
ticipate the moment, in which eternity shall close 
over the vacuity of my life like the sea upon the path 
of a ship, and leave no traces of my existence more 
durable than the furrow which remains • after the 
waves have united. If «in the treasores of thy wis- 
dom there is any precept to obtain felicity, voudi- 
safe it to me :• for this purpose I am come ; a piir« 
pose whidi yet I feared to reveal, lest like all the 
former it should be disappointed.* Almet listened 
with looks of astonishm^it and pity, to this com** 
plaint of a being, in whcMaa reason was known to 
DO a pledge of immortality ; but the serenity of his 
countenance soon returned ; and stretching out his 
hand towards Heaven * Stranger,' said, he, ' the 
knowledge which I have received from the Prophet, 
I will communicate to thee.' 

As I was sitting one evening at the pordi of the 
temple pensive and alone, nnne eye wandered 
among the multitude that was scattered before me; 
and while I remarked the weariness and solicitude 
winch was visible in every countenance, I was 
suddenly struck with a sense of their condition. 
Wretched mortals, said I, to what purpose are you 
busy ? if to produce happiness, by whom is it enjoy- 
ed ? Do the linens of Egypt, and the silks of Persia^ 
bestow fehcity on those who wear them, equal to 
the wretchedness of yonder slaves whom I see lead* 
ing the camels that bring them ? Is the fineness of 
the texture, or the splendour of the tints, regarded 
with delight by those to whom custom has rmderai 
them familiar ? or can the power of habit render 
others insensible of pain, who live only to traverse 
the desart ; a scene of dreadful uniformity, where a 
hamn level is biiunded only 1^ the hoeuBOii: 

n3 



13S ADTBNTVRBft* K* 114* 

^fdiere no diange of prospect, or variety of images, 
Mlieves die traveller from a sense of toil and danger, 
of whirlwinds which in a moment may bury him in 
the sand, and of thirst, which the wealthy have 
given half their possessions to allay 1 Do those on 
whom hereditary diamonds sparkle with unregarded 
lustre, gain from the possession what is- lost by the 
wretch who se^ them in the mine ; who lives ex- 
eluded from the common bounties of nature; to 
whom even the vicissitude of day and night is not 
known ; who sighs in perpetual darkness, and 
whose life is one mournful alternative of insensibi- 
lity and labour ? If those are not happy who pos« 
sess, in proportion as those are wretelied who be- 
stow, how vain a dream is the life of man ! and if 
there is, indeed, such dilBTerence in the value of 
existence, how shall we acquit of partiality the hand 
by which this difference has been made ? 

While my thoughts thus multiplied, and my heart 
burned within me, I became sensible of a sudden 
influence from above. The streets and the crowds 
of Mecca disappeared ; I found myself sitting on 
the declivity of a jnountain, and perceived at my 
right hand an angel, whom I knew to be Azoran, 
the minister of r^roof. When I saw him, I was 
afraid. I cast mine eye upon the ground, and was 
about to deprecate his anger, when he commanded 
me to be silent *• Almet,' said he, ' thou hast de- 
voted thy life to meditation, that thy counsel might 
deliver ignorance from the mazes of error, and deter 
presumption from the precipice of guilt ; but the 
bo<^ of nature thou hast read without understand- 
ing: it is again open before thee: look up, con« 
aider it, ui4 be wise.' 

I looked up, and behdd an inclosure, beautiful 
as the gardens of Paradise, but of a small extent. 
Through the middle there was a green walk, at the 



1^ 114. ABTBMTVEBE* 13) 

ead, a wild desart; aod beyond, impen^aUe dark* 
uess. The walk was shaded with trees of every 
kind, that were covered at oDce with blossoms and 
fruit ; innumerable birds were singing in the 
branches ; the grass was intermingled with flowers, 
which impregnated the breease wiUi fragrance, and 
painted the path with beauty : on one side flowed 
a gentle transparent stream, which was just heard to 
murmur over the golden sands diat sparkled at the 
bottom ; and on the other w^re wall^ and bowers, 
fountains, grottos, and cascades, which diversified ' 
the scene with endless variety, but did not conceal 
the bounds. 

While I was gazing in a transport of delight and 
wonder on this enchanting spot, I perceived a man 
stealing along the walk widi a thoughtful and delibe- 
rate pace : his eyes were fixed upon the earth, and 
his arms crossed on his bosom; he sometimes 
started, as if a sudden pans had seized him ; his 
countenance expressed solicitude and terror; he 
looked round with a sigh, and having gazed a mo« 
ment on the desart that lay before him, he seemed 
as if he wished to stop, but was impelled forwards 
by some invisible power : his features however soon 
settled again into a dalm melancholy; his eye was 
again fixed on the ground; and he went on, as 
before, with apparent reluctance, but without emo« 
tion. I was struck with this appearance ; and turn* 
ing hastily to the Angel, was about to inquire what 
could produce such infelicity in a being, surrounded 
with «very object that could gratify every sense ; 
but he prevented my request : ' The book of nature,* 
said he, ' is before thee ; look up, consider it, and 
be wise.' I looked, and beheld a valley between - 
two mountains that ware cra^y and barren; on 
the path there was no verdure, and the mountains 
afforded no shade; the sun burned in the zenidit 



140 ADTSNTtmSR. N^ 114. 

ftsd every dpring was dried up ; hit tbe valley ter* 
miBftted in a country that was pleasant and fertile, 
shaded with woods, and adorned with buildings. 
At a second view, I discovered a man in this valleyv 
meagre indeed and naked, but his countenance was 
eheerful, and his deportment active : he kept his eye 
ixed upon the country before him, and looked as 
if he would have run, but that he was restrained, as 
the other had been impelled, by some secret influ- 
ence: sometimes, indeed, I perceived a sudden ex- 
pression of pain, and sometimes he stepped short as 
if his foot Was pierced by the aspeiities of the way ; 
but the sprightliness of his countenance instantly 
VBturned, and he pressed forward without appear- 
ance of repining or complaint. 

I turned again toward the Angel, impatient to in- 
quire from what secret source happiness was derived, 
in a situation so different from that in which it might 
have been expected : but he again prevented my re- 
<{uest : ' Almet,' said he, *' remember what thou hast 
seen, and let this memorial be vnitten upon the tab- 
lets of thy heart. Remember, Almet, that the world 
in which thou art placed, is but the road to another ; 
imd that happiness depends not upon the path, bat 
the end : the value of this period of thy existence is 
fixed by hope and fear. 'The wretch who wished to 
linger in the gardeii, who looked round upon its 
limits with terror, was destitute of enjoyment, be* 
cause he was destitute of hope, and was perpetually 
tormented by the dread of losing that which yet he 
^d not enjoy : the song of the birds had been re- 
peated till it was not heard, and the 'flowers had so 
clten recurred, that their beauty was not seen ; the 
met glided by unnoticed ; and he feared to lift his 
oye to die prospect, lest he should behold the waste 
that circumscribed it But he that toiled throu^ 
tb» valley was happy, because he looked forwe^ 



II* 114. AOTBNTVRVIU 141 

With hope. Thus, to the sojouraer upon earth, it 
is of little moment, whether the path he treads be 
strewed with flowers or with thorns, if he perceives 
himself to approach those regions, in oomptuison of 
which the thorns and the flowers of this wilderness 
lose their distinction, and are both alike impotent to 
give pleasure or pain. 

*• What then has Eternal Wisdom unequally dis* 
tributed ? That which can make every station hap- 
py, and without which every station must be wretch- 
ed, is acquired by Virtue, and Virtue is possible to 
all. Remember, Almet, the vision which thou hast 
seen ; and let my words be written on the tablet of 
thy heart, that thou mayest direct the vranderer to 
happiness, and justify God to men.' 

While the voice of Azoran was yet sounding in 
my ear, ihe prospect vanished from before me, and 
I found myself again sitting at the porch of the 
temple. - The sun was gone down, the multitude was 
retired to rest, and ihe solemn quiet of midnight 
concurred with the resolution of my doubts to com- 
plete the tranquillity of my mind. 

Such, my son, was the vision which the Prophet 
vouchsafed me, not for my sake only, but forihine. 
Thou hast sought felicity in temporal tilings ; and, 
therefore, thou art disappointed. Let not instruc- 
tion be lost upon thee, as the seal of Mahomet in the 
well of Aris : but go thy way, let thy flock clothe 
the naked, and thy table feed ihe hungry ; deliver 
the poor from oppression, and let thy conversation 
be Above. Thus shalt thou * rejoice in Hope,' and 
look forward to the end of life as the consummation 
of thy felicity. 

Almet, in whose breast devotion kindled as he 
spake, returned into the temple, and the stranger 
dsoasted in peace. 



li% ADvumnum. a*115< 



N* 115. TUESDAY, DECEMBER 11, 1753. 



Ser^imut indocH docHqfie. HOR. 

▲U dare to write^ who can or cairaot read* 

Thet who hare attentively considered the history of 
mankind, know that every age has its peculiar charao* 
ter. At one time, no desire is felt bij^t for military ho- 
nours ; every summer affords battles^nd sieges, and 
the world is filled with ravage, bloodshed, and devas- 
tation : this sanguinary fury at length subsides, and 
nations are divided into factions, by controversies 
about points that will never be decided. Men then 
grow weary of debate and altercation, and apply 
themselves to the arts of profit ; trading companies 
are formed, manufactures improved, and navigation 
extended : and nothing is any longer thought on, 
but the increase and preservation of property, the 
artifices of getting money, and the pleasures of spend- 
ing it 

The present age, if we consider, chiefly the state 
of our own country, may be styled with great pro- 
priety The Age of Authors; for, perhaps, there 
never was a time, in which men of all degrees of 
ability, of every kind of education, of every profes- 
sion aod employment, were posting with ardour so 
general to the press. The province of writing was 
formerly left to thode, who by study, or appearance 
of study, were supposed to have gained knowledge 



B* 115. AOTBimnisft* 14S 

UBattainable by the busy part of nmnkind ; but in 
these enlj^tened days, every man i& qualified to in- 
struct every other man ; and he that beats the anvil, 
or guides the plough, not content with supplying 
corporis necessities, amuses Himself in the hours of 
leisure, with providing intellectual pleasures for his 
countrymen. 

It may be observed, that of this, as of other 
evils, complaints have been made by every genera* 
tion ; but though it may, perhaps, be true, that at 
all times more have been willing than have been 
able to write, yet there is no reason for believing^ 
that the dogmatical legions of the' presexit race 
were ever equalled in number by any former pe* 
riod ; for so widely is spread the itch of literary 
jffaise^that almost every man is an author, either in 
act or in purpose ; has either bestowed his favours 
on the public, or withholds them, that they may be 
more seasonably oflfered, or made more worthy of 
acceptance. 

In former timee, the pen, like the sword, w^ con- 
■idered as consigned by nature to the hands of men ; 
the ladies contented thetiraelves with private vir- 
tms Bsad domestic excellesiee ; and a female wtiter, 
like a female warrior, was considered as a kind of 
eccentric beings that deviated, however illustriously, 
from her due sphere of motion, and was, therefore^ 
father to be gazed at with wonder, than codnte^ 
iianoed by imitation. But as the times past a^e said 
to have seai a nation of Amazons, who drew the 
bow and wielded the battl^ax, formed enoftmp* 
iftenis and wasted nations ; the revolution of years 
has now produced a genm^ationof Amazons of ih» 
pen, who, with the spirit of their predecessors, hav« 
ail madcuHne tyranny at defiance, asserted their claim 
to the regions of science; and seem rMolved to coit^ 
last the uaurpattOBS 0^ virility. 
3 



144 ADTBNTUSBR. M*' 115. 

Some, indeed, there are of both sexes, who are 
authors only in desire, hut have not yet attained 
the power . of executing their intentions ; whose 
performances have not arrived at bulk sufficient to 
form a volume, or who have not the confidence^ 
however impatient of nameless obscurity, to solicit 
openly the assistance of the printer. Among these, 
are the innumerable correspondents of public pa- 
pers, who are always offenng assistance which no 
man will receive, and suggesting hints that are never 
taken, iwd who complain loudly of the perversenesi 
and arrogance of authors, lament their ms^isibility 
of their own interest, and fill the coffee-houses with 
dark stories of performances by eminent hands, 
which have been offered, and rejected. 

To what cause this universal eagerness of writing 
can be properly ascribed, I have not yet been able to 
discover. It is said, that every art is propagated in 
proportion to the rewards ccmferred upon it ; a po- 
sition from which a stranger would naturally infer, 
that literature was now blessed with patronage far 
transcending the candour or munificence of ibm 
Augustan age, that the road to greatness was open 
to none but authors, and that, by writing alone^ 
riches and honour were to be obtained. 

But since it is true, that writers, like other com« 
petitors, are very litde disposed to favour one 
another, it is not to be expected, that, at a time 
when 'every man tvrites, any man will patronize ; 
and, accordingly, there is not one that I can recol- 
lect at present, who professes the least regard for 
the votaries of science, invites the addresses of 
learned men, or seems to hope for reputation from 
«oy pen but his own. 

The cause, therefore, of this epidemical conspi« 
racy for the destruction of paper, must remain a 
flecret : nor eaa I discover^ whether we owe it t* 



K* U&. AfiVBirriiBBS*' lis* 

f)^ influeaces of the coiisteHations, or tbd intenipe* 
Tatnre of seasons : whether the long continuance of 
tbe wind at any single point, or intoxicating va- 
pours (Exhaled from the earth, hare turned our 
nobles and our peasants, our soldiers and traders, 
oar men and women, all into wits, philosophers, 
and writers. 

It is, indeed, of- more importance to seardi out 
the cure than the cause of this intellectual malady ; 
and he would deserve well of his country, who, in-^ 
st^ad of amusing himself with conjectural specula^' 
ttoDs, should find xn^na of persuading the peer to 
inspect his steward's accounts, or repair the rural 
mansion of his ancestors, who could replace the 
tradesman behind his counter, and send back the 
fiinner to the mattock and the flail 

General irregularities are known in time to remedy 
themselves. By the constitution of ancient Egypt, 
the priesthood was continually increasing, till at 
length there was no people beside diemselves ; the 
establishment was t\isa dissolved, and the number' 
of priests was reduced and limited. Thus among 
U9^ writers will, perhaps, be multiplied, till no read* 
ers will be found, and then the ambition of writing 
^aust necessarily ceasa 

But as it will be long before the cure is thus gra < 
dually effected, and the evil should be stopped, if it 
hd' possible, before it rises to so great a height, 1- 
could wish that both sexes would fix their thoughts 
upon some salutary considerations, which might re-^ 
press their ardour for that reputation which not on» 
of many thousands is fated to obtain. 

Let it be deeply impressed imd frequently recol- 
lected, that he who has not obtained the proper qua^ 
hfications of an author, can have no excuse for the 
arrogance of writing, but the power of imparting to. 
mankind something necessary to be Igiown. A man 

VOL, XXV. o 



146> MMmntfiaetu s^ 115. 

tmedne&ted dr tntetteved utaysdidetitties Mart a use- 
M thoaght, ormake a lUoky diseoverj^, or obtain by 
ohanoe some secret of nature', or some intelUgeiice 6f 
faots, of nvhich die ifioet ettUghteAed xftind mic^t bis£ 
ignorant, and which iri^ better to reveal, thougtl'b}^ 
a rude and unskilful eomiiiumcation, thaH' to' lose' 
for ever by suppressing it 

But few will be justiied- by this plea : for of the 
innumerable books aud pan^hlets that hav^ o^&t^ ' 
flowed die nittiOnysoaroe ode has' made atty addttidif* 
to real knowledge, or cbumined more th)an ft tiWfts^ 
position of commoa sentiments and a repetition cf 
ciommon phrases. 

It will be naturally inquired', when the^mim i^rtib' 
feels aa incliaadon to Write; may VetftUre' to mp^ 
pose himself properly Qualified; and, since every 
xaani is iiutHiiedtO' think Well of his own intellect, 
hf what test he may try his idiilides, without ha^ 
larding the coatempl or resentment of the public. 

The first, (jualification of A Writer; is a' perfect 
knowledge of the subject Which he' undMakei^ to' 
tnwt; since we c&nnot teach what We dty not know, 
Bor can properly imdertdte to instmct others* Whii«( 
WO' aT«r< ourselv^ i»-Wttnt of instmotkin: 'the' ne^ 
requisite is, that he be master of the hdigUKg^ itf 
which he delivei^ his sentiments ; if he tireats of 
flcienoe and demonstration, that he hair attained € 
style, cleai, pura, nervous and eitpressiYe; if His 
topio9 be pmbable: aind persuasory, that he be able 
to> recfommendthem bythesuperaddition of el^nce 
and imagery, to display the colours of varied dicdon^ 
and pour forth the music of modulated periods. 

If it bo again inquired, upon what principles any 
man* ^M conclude that he wants these powers, it 
may bb readily answered; that no ^nd is attained 
butbyithe^proper means ; he only can rationally pre- 
siwe that hotttDd^i^tandtoa-sabjecty who has read 



9* Xl^. Aj>irmimmmL 2147 

and compared the writers that have hitherto discus- 
sed it, familiarized their arguments to himself by 
long meditation, consulted the foundations of differ-* 
ent systems, and separated truth from error by a 
rigorous examination. 

In like maimer he only has a right to suppose 
Aatt jiecan express his thoughts, whatever they are» 
with perspicuity, or elegance, who has carefully 
perused the best authors, accurately noted their di- 
versities of style, diligently selected the best modes 
of diction, and familiarized them by long habits of 
attentive practice. 

No man is a rhetorician or philosopher by i^ance. 
He who knows that he undertakes to write on ques- 
tions which he has never studied, may without hesi- 
tation determine, that he is about to waste his own 
time and that of his reader, and expose himself to 
the derision of thoa^ whom he aspires to instruct: he 
that without forming his style by the study of the 
best models, hastens to obtrude his compositions on 
the public, may be cflrtfdn, thait whatever hope pv 
Js^ttery may suggsst, he shall shook the ilenrned-eRr 
with barbarisms, and oon^ibu^, whefever his wo«k 
shall be received* to the dcyvfVAtioniof tasfeaaadidie 
4X)iTuptiQa of langttnge. 
T. 



ot 



"MS -uvKmokix. «* licr- 



N* lis. SATURDAY, DECEMBER 15, 1753. 



Imo in cortU pudor, mixioque insania /ud^y 

Et furiis agUatus amor, dt conscia viritts, [VIRG* 

Rage boiling from the bottom of bis breast. 
And sorrow mix'd with shame his soul opprest ; 
And conscious worth lay lab'ring in his thought; 
And love by jealousy to madness wroa|fbt DRYDEN. 

Thunder and a ghost have been frequently intro- 
duced into tragedy by barren and mechanical play- 
wrights, as proper objects to impress terror and a^ 
4onisfament, where the distress has not been import- 
ant enough to render it probajble that nature would 
interpose for the sake of the sufferers, and where 
these objects themselves have not been supported 
by suitable sentiments. Thunder has, however, 
been made use of with great judgment and good 
effect by Shakspeare, to heighten uid impress the 
distresses of Lear. 

The venerable and wretched old king is driven 
out by both his daughters, without necessaries and 
without attendants, not only in the night, but in 
the midst of a most dreadful storm, and on a bleak 
and barren heath. On his first appearance in this 
dtuation, be draws an artful and pathetic oompa- 



9^ ait« .ADTUIVIffttilU jMO 

dp«m'1»etmxt]tbe'fienrienty of tbeiempeqiimfl^'bis 

"Rumbte tl^ belly fuU ! spit, fire!, spout, rain I 

')iiorT8ra» iriiid,^liander,-fire, are my daughters. 

Ittax iiottyou, -ste elementBy^itb oiikiBfkiess j 

You owe me np.sN^cfjptioD. ;:^bea let MX 
Your horrible.pleasure. Here I stand yoyr sfo^e^; 
lA. poor, mfinii) ^realk, ^nd despised.old map ! 

TPbe Hirtorm contimnng vnfk e^udl vit^lence, 'he 
drops for a moment 'the consideration of his own 
miseries, and takes occasiop tPjnorAlizfa mi ike tev" 
rors wbi<di>9H«h.iSMDmoticnsof-natiBre«hoiild raise 
in the breatt^of secret -end tmpimished villany : 



-Tremble thou wretch, 



/{3hftt hpfiffilWiBrthee undiwlfedccvDes 
,U«3wMpti»f ivistkel -liide tt^ t^u bH^yt^byundi 
Thou perjur'd, and thou sjmular.of yviXnfi 
That art incestuous !-^ 

—Close pent-up guilts 
Rive your concealingcoatioeafts,>and>ory 
Theaecdr«flKlful4iummoDersgvaee! — ' 

He adds with reference to his own case, 



•I am a man 



^Bfore sinn*d against, than sinning. 

Kent most eanMfit]yi«ntraats 4am to ienler «a bavel 
which he had discovered on the heath; and on 
pressing him again «Bd again' to takershelter, there, 
Lear exclaims, 

'WHtbreak my heart?— 

Much is contained in these four words ; as If he'-had 
said, * the kindness and the gratitude pf JJi^is. servant 
exceeds tha^ of «ny own. ^Idbon. iThftU^rl have 
given them a kingdom, yet have 'ttM^^baiily dis- 

o3 



^<^a.ded me, mbA solfered a head so old and wliitftas 
mine to be exposed to this terrible tempest, whtte 
this fellow* pities and would protect me from its 
jage. I cannot bear this kindness from a perfect 
stranger; it breaks my heart' All this seems' to be 
included in that short exclamation, which'another 
writer, less acquainted with nature, would hate dia- 
plfetyed at large : such a suppression of sentimaits 
plainly implied, is judicious and affecting. The 
reflections that follow are drawn likewise from an 
intimate knowledge of man: 

When the miud's freey 

The body's delicate : the tempest in my mind - 

Doll} from my senses take all feeing, dse. 

Save what beats there^— • 

Here the remembrance of > his daughters^ behaviour 
tushes 4ipon him, and he exclaims, frdl of di^ idea 
of its unpandleled cruelty, . . 



-rFilial ingratitude ! 



Is it not, as this mouth should tear this band 
For liftiog food to it ! 

• . - ■ ' 

He then changes his style, and vows with impotent 
menaces, as if still in possession of the power he 
had resigned, to revenge himself on his oppressors^ 
and to steel his breast with fortitude: 



■ But I'll punish home. 
No, I wiil weep no more !*— 

But the sense of his sufferings returns again, and he 
forgets the resolution he had formed the moment 
before: 

In such a night, 

To abut me out ?•— Pour on, I wiH lindiire— 

In gnch a night ag this ? i ■■ ' - - - — •;: 



Ai which, with & beautiful apostrophe, 'he suddenly 
,adjdre6Bet himself to his absent daughters, ' tenderly 
jreminding ^m of the ^vours he had so lately and 
-so Ubeially conferred upon them : 



>0 Regan, Oonerili, 



, Your old kind father i whose frank heart gave all l-r^ 
O that way madness lies ; let me sbiin that ; 
No more of that ! 

The turns of passion in these few lines are so 
quick and so vanous, that I thought >they merited 
.to be minutely pointed out by a kind of perpetual 
.i^omnoentary. . 

The mind is never so sensibly disposed to pity 
.the misfortunes of others^ as wheaJt is itself sub- 
dued and softened by calaonity. . Advecsity diffuses 
a kind of .sa(;ned.calm over the breast;, that is 'the 
parent of thou^htfulness and meditatiaUk • The 
following ^reflections of Lear in his next speech, 
when his passion has subsided for a short interval, 
aie equally proper and striking : 

PooroakeA ^wretiehes^ wberesoe'er.yeare, 
That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm ! 
How shall your houseless heads, and unfed sides. 
Your loop'd and windowM raggedness, defend you 
From seasons such as these I 

He concludes with a sentiment finely suited to his 
condition, and worthy to be written in characters of 
gold in the closet of every monarch upon earth : 

O ! I have ta'en 
Too IHtle care of this. Take physic, pomp ! 
Bsppse thyself to feel what wretches feel ; 
That thou may'st shake the superflux to them, 
And shew the Heavens more just! 

Lear being at last persuaded to take shelter in the 
hoielf the poet has artfully contriyed to lodge there 



16S JflHUdRfUlUUL Ji^ lie 

8d§Bt» (the dMMMinlad i»ii .ef'Qkmoeitery who «cdiuv- 
tafffeitB the .dumoter And habit /of ja mad "IttiggBr^ 
hannted by an evil dsmen^ and itkme ssnppoasd 
sufferings are enumesated with an >inimi|alile JmU^ 
ness of fancy ; * Whom the foul fiend hath led 
through fire, and through flame, -through ford and 
whirlpool, oV bog and quagmire; (hat hath laid 
knives under his pillow, and halters in his pew ; set 
ratsbane by his porridge^ made him proud of heart, 
<to ride ion a 'liay trdtting iMime over fkmx inched 
lbiidgi86,fto 'COUfse'his'O^m sliadow for atvai«or.-«^ 
Blen tfafy Ifive whs, Tom'« a^oold !' Whe asMnned 
madness of Edgar, and the real distraetion'Of iLear, 
^cnm a jodaciotts conttoMt. 

IJpon pcvceivrng ihe niAediiess and wntdiadBess 
^'thu Sga«e,the pQor kmg a^ks^iquestion tfaat>I 
4iev«r eoilld Tsad frithout Slrokig^^motions ^of 'pity 
and admimtion : 

Could'stthou saveiiwtfnaf ? (Siidbitrlimi giMottmnanll ? 

And when'Kent assarsB'him tbattke%e||^r4iath no 
daughters; he hastily. answers; 

' Death, traitor, notbi^g /couM.have subdued aature 
To such a lowness, but his unkind daughters. 

Afterwards, upon the calm contemplation of Ihe 
misery of Edgar, he breaks t)ut into the following 
serious and pathetic reflection : * Thou .wert better 
in thy grave, than to -answer Avith thy uncovered 
body thifi'extremity/of tlie<skies« Is man too more 
than this? Consider ferm 'well. Thou ow'st the 
worm no silk, the 'beast no hfde, the 6heep.no wool, 
tlvB cat no perfume. Ha ! here^s three of us are 
aophiaticated. Thou ^rt Aq 4hi«g lilitlf : .laac- 
•ttMnnodated saan is mo wame Jibtin rsu^ a ^fmT, 

1 



lit i 1 6 . .ABVBMttJSfil. f5S 

.baTe» foiied animal as iltum art OS, off/ you 
lendings ! Come, unbutton herre/ 

Shakspeare has no where exhibited more inimi- 
table strokes of his art, than in this uncommon 
scene ; where he has so well conducted even the na- 
tural jargon of the beggar, and the jestings of the 
fool, which in oth^er hands must have sunk into bur- 
lesque, that they contribute to heighten the pathetic 
to a very high d^ree. 

Xhe heart of Cear having been agitated aud tpm 
by a conflict of such opposite and tumultuous pas- 
'sions, it is not wonderful that his * wits should now 
begin to unsettle.' The first plain indication of the 
loss of his reason, is his calling Edgar a ' learned 
Theban ;' and telling Kent, that ^ he will keep still 
.with his philosopher.' When he next appears, he 
imagines he is punishing his daughters. The ima- 
gery is .extremely strong, and chills one with horror 
to read it ; 



To have a thousand with red baraing spits 
Come hissiag in upon them 1——-^- 



»• 



As the fancies of lunatics have an extraordinary 
force and liyeliness, and render the objects of their 
firenzy as it were present to their eyes, Lear actually 
thinks himself suddenly restored to his kingdctm* and 
seated in judgment^ to try his daughters for their 
cruelties : 



I'll see their trial first; bring in the erideRce. 
Thou robed man of justice take tby place ; 
And thou, bis yoke-fellow of equity. 
Bench by his side. You are of the cpmmissiony 
Sit you too. Arraign her first, 'tis Gonenil—— 
And here's another, whose warpt lobks proclaim 
What store her heart is made-e rf ■ * ■ 



Here iffi lin^agine? ^mH B^aa lesoapes /out of his 
hands, and he eagerly eiKi^kimfl, 



, ■ ■ I ■ Stop her ihete. 
>rms, arms, sword, fire— Corruption in the place ! 
9al«9 justicer, why hast thou let her 'scape? 

A «iroaiDirtiaiQe 'follows ^that is strangely moving 
indeed: for he fancies that his fttvounte domestic 
crealares,'that,ttsed to ^wn ijgpon and caress him, 
nod of v^hich he>was eminently fond, have now their 
^mpers -changed, and joined to insult him : 



-The tiHle dogs and a)?. 



T«ayt9 eBlasioh, jiDd.Sifeetheart,'ftee ! they bark at me. 

iie again resumes his imaginaFy power, -and orders 
them to anatomize Regan ; * See what breeds ^bottt 
her heart — Is there any cause in nature, that makes 
these^hard hearts? You, Sir,' speaking to Edgar, 
* I entertain for one of my (hundred ;'.a:Qieottmstanc8 
most artfully introduced to remind us of the first 
affiront he received, and to fix pur thoi^hts on the 
causes of his distraction. 

C^enenil criticism is on all siKbjects useless and 
t un ent e rtaining.; but is more than commonly libsurd 
^ith -respect to "Shakspeare, who must be accom- 
^panied-step hof step, and scene 'by seene, in his gra- 
dual developments of characters and passions, and 
whose finer features must be singly pointed out, if 
we would do complete justice to his genuine beau- 
ties.' It movM have been >eafly (to have 'dedared, 
in general tesms * that the madness of Ijear was 
very natural and pathetic ;' and the reader might 
then have esciyped, what be may, .perhapfi, icall a 
multitude oT weLUkncrara ^quotations: .but ithea it 



H** 1 IT. Afffssrvtmsir^ i^ 

had! beea< knpBenblertb^ eoMbk tfptfrf)^^ pl^SUte of 
the secret workings- and chatfg^ dF Leai<'^ mind, 
wydk'Vttrj! iiv eiiaH>dtieco0ditif pttS^i^, aifd which 
t^dsp aa^ aUegsitioai tff^ eacb ]^airttei>lia» siBte^haeMr 
absBkilelyr itaeeasliit)^ 



IT wr. f 0«8MY, r)fiCfiMBlfiK 18, iT^si 






1 #ki» Holf antb;i]5sct<S the subject ctf tliis^ letter, by 
Kfeting tHe ttotiVes^fi^m ^liich I HaVd' written it; 
nm< sMl' I &tp^i it tb' be pubti^bed, if, when yotf 
}0m ife&d^ it; yon do nbt lliink tbdt it cbbtsdil^ toAt^ 
tifiAone tbpic of irfsthsction. 

M^ mother has b^n dead so loiig tha« I do not 
UStoembet her ; aiid ili^en I Was ib my eighteenth 
yenr; I ym left an orphatn with a fortune of tWebty 
A6\ii^jUid pounds at my own disposal. I^haVebeetf 
ofte told; tha« I sttxi Handtome ; and* I hlive some 
reaabU to belieVfe^it to be trtie; wKich are vl^ry fkf 
ftntUfgMSKpng lily vanity or conferring Happiness: 

I was soon addressed by many lOVers, froni 
ttftOBg^om I selected Rilttrib, dieeldei' brother 



of a goodfamilyt whose paternal estate was sometiiitig" 
more than equivalent to my fortune. ' f 

Hilario was universally admired as a man vi B&me %f 
aodt to. confess the trujdb> not. much less as a man' of 
pleasure. His character appeared to rise in plt>pOF^ : 
tion as it was thought to endanger those about hinti ; 
he derived new dignity not only from the silence of 
the men, but the blushes of the ladies ; and those, 
whose wit or virtue did nat.su£E3cby.the admission of 
such a guest, were honoured as persons who could 
treat upon equal terms with a hero, who was become 
formidable by the number of his oonquosta: hififOom-' 
pany, therefore,' wias courted by all whom tfaieir fears 
did not restrain ; the resLconsidered him as moving 
in a sphere above them, and in proportion as they 
were able to imitate him, they became vicious and 
petulant in their own circle. 

I waft myself captivated with his manner and con- 
vMation ; I hoped that upon Understanding I should 
be able to engraft Virtue ; I was rather encouraged 
than cautioned by my friends ; and after a few months 
courtship I became his wife. 

During a short time all my expectations wete gra- 
tified, .an4]E>ei(uUed in my choice. Hilario wa^ 
at onc^ t^^der and pplite ; present pleasures were 
heightened by the 'anticipation of future; my ima- 
^nation was peirpetually wandering among the scenes' 
of poetry and romance; I appropriated every luxuri-: 
ous description jpf .happy lovers ; and believed, that 
whatever tii;ne shovild 1»ke from desire, would be 
lidded tp compla^enfcy ; and that in old age wf 
sl^puld only excjia^ge the tumultuous ecstacy of love^ 
for the calm, rational, and exalted delights of friend-v 
ship, which every year would increase by new recipro** 
cations of kindness, more tried fidelity, and implicit 
confidence. 

.^ . But frpn^ this pleasing dream it waa not long befoie 

\ 



X* lli^. APVBMTURER. 151 

I awaked. Although it was the whole study of my 

life to unite my pleasures with those of Hikriot to re« 

galate iBy conduct by his will, aad thus prolong the 

^liiuty which was reflected from his bosom to mine^* 

yet his visits abroad, in which I was not a party» 

became more A^uent, and his general behaviour less 

Hnd. I perceived, that when we were alone, his 

mind was often absent, and that my prattle became 

irksome : my assiduities to recover his attention, and 

excite him to cheerfulness, were sometimes suffered 

with a cold civility, sometime wholly neglected, and 

sometimes peevishly repress^ as ill-timed officious* 

ness, by which he was rather disturbed than obliged. 

I was, indeed, at length convinced, with whatevei^ 

relujCtance, that neither my person nor my mind had 

any .charm that could stand in competition withva* 

liety ; and though, as I remember, I never even with 

my looks upbraided him, yet I frequently lan^afited 

myself, and spent those hours in which I was for* 

saken by Hilario, in solitude, and tears. 

But my distress still increased, and one injury 
made way for another. Hilario, almost as soon as 
he ceased to be kind, became jealous ; he knew that 
disappointed wishes, and the resentment which they 
produce, concur to render beauty less solicitous to 
avoid -temptation, and less able to resist it; and a^ 
I did not complain of that which he knew I could 
not. but discover, he thought he had greater reason 
to sui^pect that I made reprisals : .thus his sagacity 
multiplied his vices, and my virtue defeated its. own 
purpose. 

Some maxims, however, which I had gathered^ 
from novels and plays, were still u[^ermost in ipy. 
mindr I reflected often upon the arts of Amanda^ 
and the. persevering tenderness and discretion of 
Lady Easy ; and I believed, as I hi^i been taugitt 
by |he ^sequel of every story, that they could not be 

VOL. XXV, p 



X5S j^vvmvwBM, jl'^ltT: 

liractiBed withoulf sQeeess^ but a^not ^dtdidn siafiidtty 
and obdarato ii^«ature ; flgasost the BfutefHiid ^M 
Sttllens^ whomy oft tke contfMfy, it wa0 soore« a crbfi# 
to- pimish, by adroitfing a tk\m of fUtm ioi pil«nura(#0ft 
of wbidi they were unwertliy. 

From suiefar oiaiciiflMi^ atui mi<^ exaMpkuBr, 1 f he«!^ 
§0^ derived some bepe« I \Kri8hecl earnestly to deiee^ 
Hilano'iii! Ms infidelity; that, in tile monieifedf<5e^ 
tielioilf, I migbt rouse his sensibility of my Wf&ag^f 
ttid eistah ^ opinion of my merits that 1 «i%ht 
eover hiftt ^h confnsrott, melt him tHth tefiderfiess^ 
and double bid obIigatioB» by gecierosity. 

The opportumty for wbieh I had so often tHshed^ 
but liever dan^ to hope, at length arrived. I leitmed 
by adeidient one motmisgi cbAt he intended to go itt the 
etening to a iMHasquerade; and I immediately co#* 
deiv«d a design to disooive^ bis dress, and ti^Ue w him 
^ tie theatre ; to single him out, make some aid* 
yAnce», andf if possible, hnng on an aasignatioii, 
where, in the a#dou# of his first addre^^ I mi^ strike 
Mm With astonishment by taking off my mask, re- 
^#oye hiiiK without I'eproiaeh, dnd forgite hkn with* 
out pttrode, mij^gling with the soft distress of violAtedl 
aflfeetkm,' the ealm drgkiity of mjured Ti)^e< 

Mrf imi^inodon Was fired with these ittiages, 
Whieh I Was inl^a!tieM to iiBal»2e. My pride, wboeh 
iisd hithe^o sust^vyed me aibove oompteint^ and 
teown a veil of cheerfulness over my distress, wotild 
Aef sufler liie to employ an aissistant ifr the pMaeet 
I had^ unde^fdien ; because this oould slot be mie 
without revealing my suspicions, and confidmg my 
^eiiee to Aie bfeaet of another^ by Whose m^liee or 
^frkfe if ikiight he d^t^oy ed^ Mad to whom I sheuid, 
therefore- be bVotlght into the most slairi^ silbjeetioii, 
Mthovif ^MtHng the seereey of Which my depeodenee 
#e«rld be the price. I thei^efoire i«Milved, at trbat^ 
f!¥et listof disi^potntiKietrt or det^etkm^ to tfnetfUth 



to tl^e wAndiou^ whei» fcis habit vr^e ito be hked, 
and difcoviiar ihat which he should diQoae myself. 

He bad ordiaced bis chariot at eleven : I thecefpre 
vrsappttd myself iip ia «ii uudraas, Aod «at ali^e ib 
fl»]r roosB tiU I flaw him driv^ from <theidoon I ihra 
camie dovrn, and as sooa aB he itad tiumad iato St. 
JamcfTfi S&re&t, wiaidli was aiot niore than 4;weiiilij 
yards, I went a&er biiou and meeting iwith a hackney*- 
s»uk at 1dm eiad of tW street, I ^t hastily ktto it, 
dud ordered ^ diirjer to follow ^ fhariot at sone 
dislitnce, aad to stop whieB it stopped. 

I p«dled Qp isoth the wondows ; and after half 4Ui 

Jbonr Bpent m ^ aoost toimentiBg fiuapense aod 

AAziety, it stof^ped at ihe lend of Tavisloek Stieet 

J i«M>ked liaatily out of the window^ hiding my face 

urith my handkerchief, and saw Hilario aligbt at the 

distance of about forty yacds, and go into a warei- 

ftuMise, of iwhich I could easily diatiioguisk the sign. 

I waited till Jbe caane oat, and as aooa as thechanot 

ii^as out of Bight, £ diaeharged die leoaoh, aad going 

tflUDedJataly to the waorehiiMise that Hilario had ifeft, 

I pretended to want a habit for mysdf. i saw 

many fying upou the isovisker, which I eupposed had 

Imkb brought out for Hilario'e dioioe; about these, 

thenafare, I was rery iinquisitive, iind took particular 

flustiee of a very rich Turkisdi dress, wihidi mm of 

the senraute took ^up to put jaway« W^n f saw 

ht was about to remore it, i asked hastilly whertier 

it w«8 "hiied, and learfted wi4lh UDspeakaA>k sartnaCao- 

tion, that it had iseen choeen by the gentleman wtio 

ifvas just gone. Thus far I suoeeeded to the utnaoet 

of my hones, not only by disooTiering Hikno^ 

drws, but oy his chpioe of one so viery t emai4able ; 

for if Ale had chosen a domino, my edhesme ^vrotflid 

kwB beta lendered impractknMe, iMcanae, in a 

domo, i <eoa3d not «ei1imly have diatinguieked 

^ ffsobi otbenu 

p 2 



160 Ai>vEifnmBB. v* tlT. 

As I had BOW gained the intelligence I wanted, 
I was impatient to leave the shop ; which it was not 
difficalt to do, as it was just filled with ladies from 
two coaches, and the people were in a hurry to ae- 
commodate them. My dress did not attract much 
notice, nor promise much advantage ; I was, tteB- 
fore, willingly suffered to dqiart, upon slightly 
leaving word that I would call again. 

When I got into the street, I considered that it 
would not have heen prudent to have hired a habit, 
where Hilario would either come to dress, or send 
for 'that which he had hired for himself: I th^efore 
took another coach at the end of Southamptou Street, 
mad went to a shop near the Haymarket, where I had 
before purchased a capuchin, and some other trifles, 
jiod where I knew habits were to be hired^ though 
.QOt in so public a manner as at other places. 
. ; I. uow returned home ; and such wfis the joy and 
^expectation which my success inspired, that I had 
,forg9t I had succeeded only in an attempt, for 
, which I oouldi find! nether motive. nor apology but 
in my wretchedness. 

... Dunog'the interval betweeu my return and the 
,time when the doors of the theatre were to be opened, 
I suffered the utmost inquietude and impatienoa I 
looked every moment at my watch, could scarce 
belie , ^ that it did not by some accident go too slow,- 
and was continually listening to discover whether 
it had not stopped : but the lingering hour at length 
arrived ; and though I was among the first that en- 
tered, yet it was not long before I singled out my 
victim, and found. means to attract, his regard. 
. I had, when I was at school, learned a way of 
expressing the alphabet with my fingers, which I 
have since discovered to be more generally known 
than at that time I imagined. Hilario, during his 
courtship^ had once observed me ushig it to a lad^ 



21* 117« AOvsmrviEBft. 161 

who had been my school-fellow, and would never 
let me rest till I had taught it him. In this manner. 
I saw my Turk conversing with a Nun, from whom 
\n fiuddettly taoied with fin Appearance vtf vexattoti 
and disappointment. I thought thisi a favourable 
opportunity to accost him; and; therefore, as he 
passed by me, I polled him gently by the sleeve, 
and spelt with my fingers the weeds, * I understand.' 
At "first, I was ulrsid of hekg disoo<v^»ned ^y dew- 
ing my art; but I reflected, that it would efiec- 
taally secure me fromljeingdiscoveredby-my voice, 
which I considered as the more formidable danger. 
I ^reei^i^d thaft he ima gresdly pieased ; ^aad Aar 
9l very ihontconveraalioa, irhith heBeenwd to >]aaid9 
a p<mt «f ooHticNiing in the mananr I hod hegim, 
mk aflBigMlbOn WW Htade, m nenseqiteMe^ ef wiliiich, 
m% yroeeeML tti dMurs ti» n bufnto idnrr Qnveitt 
Qti^eti^ Dnriiig this piimv^, my aaaad w» in 
great ftgilftlion ; and it is dn&cnlt tocLetennaiiie'wihe- 
&er pleM«i« «r fwni wirb prednHmailt. i did net, 
iMyinster, M «o ^itidpsle :niy trianrph in^tdieiaDB- 
fHion ^ Hihurid ; I conoei^v«d ifae mtifliier and'^iie 
terms in whk^ I wouM ^addtofls hhn, and exulted 
in the ^apeAonty whiieh f shocild -aoipiiire thy this 
tpp^ekvMi "oC l(i« tbttra^tefr <to ^mine. 



p 3 



IM ADVENTCSBX. 'W* Tltf. 



N* 118. SATURDAY, DECEMBER 22, 1753- 



'AnnnofUM 



' impulsu €t C{ge& maginafue cupidifw duetim JUV« 

By blind' impiitoe of osger pauion dri?'D. 

He Was ready to receive, me when my cbair was 
'brought into the entry, and, giving me lus hand, led 
,me hastily tqp stairs*. As soon as we entered the 
itoom, he shut the door, and, taking o£F his maak, ran 
to me withthe utmost impatience to take off- mine. 
This was the important moment; but at ^s moment 
I discovered, with inexpressib^ astonishcneBt and 
terrdr, that the person with whom I wasalonaiin 
a brothel, was not Hilario, but Capriuus, a wieteh 
wh6m I well remembered to have seen: among the 
rakes thai: he frequently' bi^ought to his. table. . 

M this sight, so Unekp6cted and so dreadful, I 
shrieked aloud; and threw myself fiaom him intoaa 
easy chair that stood by the bedside. Caprinus, 
probably believing I had fainted, hastily tore away 
my mask to give me air. At the first view of my 
face, he started back, and gazed at me with the 
same wonder that had fixed my eyes upon him. 
But our amazement was the next moment in- 
creased *, for Hilario, who had succeeded in his in- 
trigue, with whatever lady, happened to be in the 
next room, and, either alarmed by the voice of dis- 
tress, or knowing it to be mine, rushed in at the 
door which flew open before him ; but, at the next 
step, stood fixed in the.same stupor of astonishment 



1^118.: ADVBNTVRIUU 16S 

-wluch had seized us. * After a rooment's recollection, 
be came up to me, and dragging me to/the candle, 
gaeed stedfastly in my face with a look so frightful 
aft never to be forgotten ; it was the pale counte- 
na&ce of rage, which contempt had distorted with a 
smile ; his lips quivered, and he told me, in a voice 
scaiee articulate, that, ' though I might well be 
fright^ed at having stumbled upon an acquaintance 
ivhom I doubted whether I could trust, yet I should 
not have screamed so loud.' After this insult, he 
quitted me with as much n^ligence as he could as- 
sume; and bowing obsequiously to Caprinus/ -told 
)iim, ' he would leave me to his care.' Gapririus 
' had not sufficient presence of mind to r«ply ; nor 
had I power to nuJ^e any attempt, either to pacify 
or rotaiQ Hilario. 

When he was gone I burst into tears, but was still 
unable to speaL From this agony Caprinus labour- 
ed to. relieve me; and I began to hope, that he sin- 
cerely panUcipated my distress: Caprinus, ho wever, 
8Q<m appeared to be chiefly solicitous to improve 
what, with respect to himself, he began to think a 
fortunate mistake. He had no conception, that I 
intended an assi^aUon with my husband ; but be- 
lieved, Uke Hilano, that I had mistaken the persbn 
for whom; my favours were intended : while he ia<* 
mented my distress and disappointment, therefore, he 

tressed my hand with great ardour, wished that he 
ad been thought worthy of my coafidence and my 
love ; and, to facilitate his design upon the vrifeof 
his friend, declared himself a man of honour, and 
that he would maintain the character at the haaard 
of his life. 

To such an address in such circumstances^ what 
could I reply? Grief had disarmed my reseotmeat^ 
'ajaiil;^)pride^ of suspected virtue hftd forsaken me. 
I expressedmyself^not iftTeproadiesiMiloovpkiiito^ 



164 ilBTBVnfEBft. B* It Jt 

and abruptly diMDgaging myself &wn ium, I ad- 
jure biin to tell me, * how he had procured Us ha- 
hit, and whether it had not bees iiired by ifilario f 
He seemed to be struck with the <qae8doii, and ihm 
manner in which I uiiged it ; ^ i hired it,' «aid lie, 
* myself, at a wardiouse in Tavistock Street ; bat 
when I came to demand it, I was told it liad been 
the subject of much coniusion and dispute. Whcsa I 
made my agreement, the master was absent ; mi^ 
the servant neglecting to accjuaint him with it aM; Imb 
return, he afterwards, in the absence of tlie servant, 
made the same agreement with another ; but I knofr 
not with whom ; and it was with great difficulty 
diat he was brought to rsiinq%ii(^ bis claim, a^ber be 
had been convinced of the mistake/ 

I now clearly discovered the snare in whidi I had 
been tc^en, and conld only lament tbat it was im- 
poesibie to escape. Whether Caprin^is b^aa to con- 
ceive my des^, or whether he was indeed touched 
at my distress, which all his attempts to alleyiatein* 
creased, I know ftot ; bat .he d!esisted fnym fiiii^her 
protestaticns and importiii»ty, and at my earnest re^ 
quest procured me a chaif , and left me to my fortune. 

I BOW refleeted, with inconceivable anguish, upon 
diB duLsgia which a few hours had made m my con- 
dtlioiL I had M my boose in the height ef exp«e* 
tation, that in a few heuYs I should add to ^dig*- 
Bity elan untainted reputation the felicity of eonju*- 
gal endearments. I returned disappointed and de^ 
gvadkd ; detected m all the circuntstanoes of guilty 
to which I bad not apptx)aclied even in thoaglrt; 
having justified tbe jealotisy which I soufibt to re- 
move, and forfeited the esteem which I hoped to 
knpvove to veiMfatten. With these thcughls 1 6nce' 
more entered my dresmng-ttj^m, which was att the 
same fleer witb my ehamber, and in k»sthan Mf 
•tt hour I haai^ Hikmo come in. 



^M* 118. ADTBNTUJtBR. ' 165 

He weot immediately to his chamber; and beiilg 
told that I was in the next room, he locked the 
door, but did not go to bed, for I could hear him 
ivalk backward and forward all the night 

Early in the morning I sent a sealed billet to him 
by his valet ; for I had not made a confidante, even 
of my woman : it contained only a pressing intreaty 
to be heard, and a solemn asseveration of my inno- 
cence, which I hoped it would not be impossible to 
prove. He . sent me a verbal answer, that I might 
come to him ; to him, therefore, I went, not as a 
judge but a criminal ; not to accuse him whom I 
knew to be guilty, but to justify myself, whom I knew 
to be innocent; and at this moment, I would have 
given the world to have been restored to that, state, 
which the day before I had thought intolerable. 

I found him in great agitation ; which yet he la- 
txMired to conceal. I therefore hasted to relate my 
project, the motives from which it was undertaken, 
and the means by which it had been disappointed. 
He heard me with calmness and Attention, till I re» 
lated the particular of the habit : this threw him into 
a new fit of jealousy, and starting from his seat, 
'What,' said he, ' have you paid for this intelli- 
gence ? Of whom could you leani it, but the wretch 
with whom I left you ? Did he not, when he found 
you were disappointed of another, solicit for him<- 
self ?' Here he paused for my reply ; and as I could 
not deny the fact, I was silent ; my inviolable re- 
gard for truth was mistaken for the confusion of 
guilt, and equally prevented my justification. His 
passion returned with yet greater violence. ' I know,* 
^d he, ' that Caprinus related this incid^it, only 
that ;you might be enabled to impose upon my^ 
credulity, and that he might obtain a participation 
of the favours which you lavished upon others: but 
I am not thus to be deceived by the concurrence of 



106 ADTSiffTininL 1^ lis. 

accUent with cunntQg, nor reoondied to the infamy 
wittch you have broaght upoa my name.' Withdns 
iAJtifioiis reproach he would huve left me ; but C 
caught hoLdLof him, and iatDsated that he would ga 
with me to the warehouse, where the testimoBy of 
pereoQs, whoily dis^iHerested, might connrince him 
that I was there immediately after him, and in<yured 
which dRess he had chosea. To this raqueet he re^^ 
plied, by aaking me, in a peremptory tone, * Whether 
Caprinas had not told me where the habit was hired f 
As I was atrack with the suddemiess and the design 
of the que^tioB, I had not fordtude to oonfess e 
truth which yet I disdained to deny. Hikrio again 
triumphed in thesucoessfuldetectionofmyartifioes; 
and told me, with a sneer, of insupportable eontenpt 
and derision, that *- he who had so kindly directed 
me io find my witnesses, was too abbasoiicitornot 
to acquaint them what testimony they were to gire.| 
Expoetulation was now at an end, end I disdain* 
ed to intieat any nwrcy under the isaputaltion of 
gnilt All that remained, dierefore, was stiM to hide^ 
my wretdiedness in my bosom ; and, if possible, to 
preserve that character abroad, which i had iost at 
kome. fiut this i soon found to lie a vain aMempt; 
it was ianmediately wh'ispeped as a secret, that» 
* Hihurio, who liad long euspeefeed me of a crhninsi 
eoroespondence, had at length traced me fiom ihe 
masquerade io a bi^io, and surpiised me widi a 
feUow.' It (ves in vain for oie.to attempt the le* 
eovery of mj character by giving awMher 4ura ta 
this repott, ior the principal facts 1 -ooukL not deny; 
and dftose who appealed u» be most my friends, afosr 
they had attended to what they called nice dislMMV 
tions aaid minvte circumstatioes, could enly isy liuk 
it was a dark affair, and they hoped I was «st se 
euilty as was generally beliered. . I 'WM avnidail 
py <ny female acquaintance as infamous € if I went 



It 118. ilDVBNTIIRBJt. $617 

atbroadl, I ymA pointed dnt wid^ A whisper and a 
Kod: Mid \l I stayed at hooKd^ I saw no face^ but 
njr s^vMit's^ ThGise, whose WUy i had ailemly 
0ensar«d by dlsdiitiii^ td pactifw ity now ir«fd&geil 
IbensehreB' 0! the irirttie by which they ww0 ooq- 
demded, and thankdd God tbey had nevee^ yet 
pipkcd op follawA^ tJiovgb tl»ay Were not 90«|i»eJMi- 
ish a^ lo* fcfciM goiilg to s balL But thb was not 
the wourt ; «f etf y ib«rtkie.f whose ioittme colhenzed 
tbe ia«o*l«BCtft W2l» aiow nolcin^ me offers of pnMec- 
tion m Aamdem scrawLi) and feared not to soliek 
me to adnkery ; tfaey darad to hope I iihoald accept 
their p^osal by (&re6ting to A E, who declares, 
Ik9 QvpnxsQM^ that he k a man o^ honour^ and wiU 
not ierupfe t(>^ ras my husband throtigh «h« bddy, 
who noW) iadeedf tk>ught hims^f aachorbsed ta 
treat jne with every species of eruelty but blowsy at 
the same time that his hoaae Was a perpetual scene 
of lewdness and debauchery. 

ReHerated prevocation and insult soon became 
intolerable : I therefore applied to a distant relation, 
who so far interested himself in my behalf as to 
obtain me a separate maintenance, with which I re- 
tired into the country, and in this world have no 
hope but to perpetuate my obscurity. 

In this obscurity, however, your paper is known : 
and I have communicated an adventure to the Ad- 
venturer, not merely to indulge complaint, or gratify 
curiosity, but because-I think it confirms some prin- 
ciples which you have before illustrated. 

Those who doubt of a future retribution, may re* 
fleet, that I have been involved in all the miseries of 
guilt, exc^t the reproach of conscience and the fear 
of hell, by an attempt which was intended to re- 
claim another from vice, and obtain the reward of 
my own virtue. 
My example may deter others from venturiDg to 



~168 ADVBNTUEUU M* llflL 

the verge of rectitude, and assuming the appearaaoe 
ofeviL On the other hand, those who judge, of 
mere appearances without charity, may remadi^ that 
no conduct was ever condenmed with less shew of 
injurious severity; nor yet with less justice than mine. 
Whether my narrative will be believed indeed I canv 
not determine-; but where innocence is possible^ it 
is dangerous to impute guilt, ' because vrith whatao^ 
ever judgment men judge they shall be judged ;l^a 
truth Tf^hich, if it was remembered and believed hgf 
all who profess to receive it upon Divine Authority; 
would impose silence upon the censorious, and eiteit 
candour from the selfish. And I hope that the Id* 
dies, who read my story, will never hear, but with 
indignation, that the understanding of a Libertine ia 
a pledge of reformation ; for his life cannot, be 
known without abhorrence, nor shared without ruio; 

I am, Sir, ' 

Your humble Servant, 

DBSDEMONA. 



» 

. . . I 

• . • 1 -• -f. .J 



S* 119. AIIWMHIIlM Kk 109 



N* 1 19. TUESDAY, DECEMBER tb, 1753. 



. La^iU rfg^jifiit, avidum.domando 
Spirituni, qudm d Lyhiam remotis 
Gadibusju>i^a$, et uterque Pcsnus 

Sermatunu , • HOR'# 

• r '.. -■ ■ ' • 

By. Tir^e'* pvdcepU to oontroul < 

,The thirsty cravings of. the soul^ 

Is over wider realms to reign 

UiMOvied monarch, than if Spain 

YoQ could to distant Ly bia join^ 

And both the Carthages were thine. . FR^NClSr^ 

Whbn Socrates was aaked, Vwbich of mortal men 
was to be accoonted nearest, tp the Gpds in happi- 
ness T.he answered, ^that man, who is ii^'Want of. 
the fewest thing9.' 

In this answer, Siocrates left it. to .be guessed by 
his auditors, whether,, by Ihe exemption from .want 
which was to OQps^te happiness, he meant am{£- 
tode ^qf possessions ojc cpntraodon of desire. And^ 
indeed, there is so litde differenee between thendi, 
that Alexander the Qxaat ,oonfessctd the inhabitant 
of a tub the next man to the masteic of the world ^ 
and left a declamtion to future ages» that if he was. 
not Alexander, he should wish to be Diogenes. 

These two states, however, though they resemble 
each other in their consequence, d^er widely, witk 
respect to the facility with which they may b^ atr 
tained. To make great acquisitions can hiqppen to. 
▼ory few; and in the uncertainty of human affajpi, 
to many it will be incident to labour wid^out.r^ 

fOL. XXV. - Q 



ward, and to lose what they already pos9e83 by en- 
deavours to make it more ; some will always want 
abilities, and others opportunities, to aocunaulate 
wealth. It '» therefore happy, that aatare haft a^ 
lowed Us a more certain and easy road to plenty; 
every man may grow rich by contracting his wishes, 
and by quiet acquiescen€)S in what has been given 
him, supply the absence of more. 

Yet so far is ahndsf iSV^ mm frOfll dftfttkting 
the happiness of the Gods, by any other means than 
gjmsping at their power^ that k seems to be the 
great business of life to create wants as fast as they 
are satisfied. It httS* been Idilg' <3itM^rf«d by mo- 
ralists, that every liian squanders or loses 4 great 
part of that life, of which every man kaows and 
deplores the shortness : and it nlaj be remarked 
with e^ftl justness, that thoitgb etetf tram ktftents 
his own insufficiency to his happiness, and knows 

samlf sdlcMi^ i§M^ iMslsiftftte ef mhm, tfnd fei»l< 

vdg i/^Mfi #1^ his> f^MW aft eft ^tmn^ csdlM 
supply ; yet there is no man, who ^tbea ntf^^ hf flM 
^apemd^m^ri of iliiME«uf»l^ Ctt^^ i«Mider ISiftlelf 
iMl ia6f€ d^ip^tfdettl ; -Whd doe» mfi tredte^ m ailn 

6iM f6^mf, mid iNrfftr hhti^lf i^ fisiel fium 4df 

ttie trant ^ «ll#C, ^ ^tl^, Wheft if i# gfkiMf hi 

It mttmy MetAi be< iiRomA, tlMm ^ ti^*^ ]«(# 1^ 
ii 6Ht tiMe hecmm k dteak^ «#^ s^nft^ aM iilvi^ 
4Mbie, AiM iiMmy iS» \mit in ]^4sed bi^l^fi^ W« MdH' 
lect ^M if id j^^ng", se» tfhpafQfal MiM!» inl^ 
lltkrf<^ iheftmUfim ^itto&fi&tv^ imo i^& tAiM,^ And 
#b dc^ itM fte]>eeiy6 tM «hef ute gti^i^ c^ ii<r,« 
tilt the titthk Whkb fbey giv«!^ Hi^etWAkem m i(f m^' 
^to. M<!y limn ^ iMfffi<<^% ^gi<a!M ^ taW i^ 
^&tffiH of et^ry ittinEC^ df Md li^, c^ t^ Waldl^ tH^ 
tMtiot^ 6f his h«Bttt« MMb* €f oay tlmt^ l!ik«irtfl« i^ 



oib«rs trifle; in tbe mm mm^w w^ «0itch g^mi 

«moij^ iim ^i»tagic# of cbesiI|^ ; w# 90^ aU ai^Md 

% fm» of Mit^d ar^ miporAmm ; wiii |{kM «r¥i«i|r 
Ibiiigs, Bot «J>s9lut(»ly 9eQ9se»ry, we yet ^o ii90f)d 
and convenieat, that they cannot easily be Bpafed^ 
I iriU m^e yat a moi^ «aipl^ and liUiNral ooacea- 
si^O^. In opul^at states afid lic^lajr gQvarnm«ojta» 
^9 |«fnptiitioD9 to wealth ajid r««]i; ^nd to the di^ 
tMtioos that follow them., »r^ sudh w ao focc^ of 
WderBtaQding finds it ^^y to resist. 

If, tharefor^t J lyaw the quiot of life disturbed 
9Bly by isQdefivours After weakh aiad jbpnour; by 
toiiiiitudb, which the world, wb^her justly or not, 
considered as impprtapt; I should smr^y bav«e 
W cpumge to ifumlpaie $my pree^)it» of viodera'- 
(ioa a^d forbeamnce^ He ilUt is engn^ in « j^^i* 
^it, in whidi ail mankind profetss to be bis rivflifi, 
i# rapporled 1^ the e«lh<mty of idl meakind 19 
tbe pfpaeistiAioft of Us desii^o, and will, timmfow^ 
leaiwly stop to boMT (the Wtures of n solitary phi* 
lesofrfiAr. Nor «» I osrtain, tb«t the •coimk>' 
tion of honesi fain ought to he hiiuieDed, or the 
mbitiop of JQst bonours always to be repressed* 
Whatever een enable the possessor to eoofer any 
benefit ,upon others, mey na desired upon virtuoue 
prineiples; and we o«igbt not too rashly to accuse 
wy mm of intending to oonfioo the inAuenee of 
bie aoquisitions to bimeelf. 

Bnt if we ioek roiind upon mankind, whom 
Ml we find among those that fortmie permits to 
fun Aeir own mannoiSv tbatisBotkinMntinghim- 

q2 



\ 
I 



i7i Ahrv^i^mkk. f^ lift. 

irtf Wit!h% 'vrish for sometluiigj <^whicli all.tlie 
^SeiEisuie and all the benefit will cease At the' uao^ 
ftieiM of attainment? One mab is^ beggaring biis 
|k)8terity tobtiild a house^ which when finished he 
tiev«r will inhabit ; another is levelling mountains 
to open a prospect, which, when he has once '-ea^ 
jOyed it, he can enjoy no more ; another is ^a^nt-* 
ing> ceilings, catnng wainscot, and filling his apart- 
ments widi costly ferniture, only that some neigh- 
bouring house may Bot be richer or finer thah his 
own. 

' That splendour and elegance are not desirable, 
I am not so abstracted from life as to inculca^e*^ 
but if w« inquire closely into the reason for which 
they are esteemed, we shaH find them valued prin^ 
cipally as evidences of wealth.- Nothing, therefore, 
Imn shew greater depravity of understanding, than 
to delight in the shew when the reality is wanting^ 
or voluntarily to become poor, that strangers may 
for a time imagine us to be rich. 

But there are yet minuter objects and more tri- 
fiittg anxieties. Men may be found, who are kept 
libm sleep by the want of a shell particularly vai^e- 
gated'; who are wasting their livee, in stratagems 
to obtain a book in a language which they do not 
tmderstand; who pine with envy at the fiow^ of 
'imother man's parterre; who hovefr like vultures 
round the owner of a foiBsil, in hopes: to plunder 
his cabinet at his death; and who would ndt mtich 
regret to see a sftieet in flaihes, if a box of tdedals 
might be scattered in the tumult. ;^' 

' He that inmgines me to speak of thes^^sPges in 
terms exaggerated- and hyperbolical, has coiiverfled 
but little with the race of virtuosos. A slight ao- 

auaintance with their studies, and a few yitAia to 
leir assemblies, would inform him, thiit nothing is 
80 wprthlei0^.|>ut that pr^udioe and capriee ean 



1^ 119. AMfavrmunu 178 

give it Talue ; qer any tiling of so little nee, Imi 
thftt bjr indulging an idle competition or UBreafifiii>* 
abb pride, a mail may make it to himself one of 
tl^ naeessaries of life. 

Oeainis like these, I may puidy, without laour* 
ring the oeq^ure of moroseness, advise every man 
to vepel whmi they invade his mind; or if he ad^ 
mits them, never to allow them any gveater influx 
enoe than is neeessary to give petty employmeiits the 
power of pleajHAg, and diveieify the day with slight 
amiiaeiiients. 

▲n ardent wish, whatever he its <4jaot,* will 
ahmya be able to interrupt tran<]oiUity. Wiiat we 
hdiave ounalves to waqt, tfmncnts ua not in pro* 
portiea to iW real value, but acoording to the esti** 
malioa by whieh we have rated it in our own minds } 
in some diseases, the patient has been observed to 
long for food, which scarce any extremity of han- 
ger would in health have compelled him to swal« 
low ; but while his organs were thus depraved the 
craving was irresistible, nor oould any rest be ob» 
tained till it was appeased by compliance. Of the 
same nature are the irregular appetites of the mind ; 
though they are often excited by trifles, they are 
equally disquieting with real wants: the Roman, 
whp wept at the death of his lamprey, felt the 
siune degree of sorrow that extorts tears on other 
occasions. 

Inordinate desires, of whatever kind, ought to 
he repressed upon yet a higher consideration ; they 
must be considered as enemies not only to Happi* 
ness but to Virtue. Inhere are men among those 
oemiBonly reckoned the learned and the wise, who 
spare no stratagems to remove a competitor at att 
•notion, who will sink the price of a rarity at t^ 
•ipense of taruth, and whom it is not safe to tiMSI 
alone in a librajry. or carbtnot. Tbeso w^ faultSy 

q3 



174 AsvjKmma^ n'^^I^C^ 

i«ych'4]ie&4tarQity seem to look upon as jocular; 
misdiiefs, or to- think excused by the TioleiMDe of 
the temptatkm: but I shall always fear that be^ 
who accustoms himself to fraud in little tfaingg^' 
wants only opportunity to* practise it in greater; 
* he that has hardened himself by killing a sheep/* 
sttys Pythagoras, ** will wilh less reluctance ghed 
the blood of' a man.' 

To prize every thing accoiding to its real use, 
ought to be the aim of a rational being. There »e 
few things which can much conduce to Happiness^ 
and, ther^re, few things to be -ardently desired. 
He that iooks upon the business and bustle of th^ 
world, with ^e philosophy with which Soerates 
surveyed the lur at Atheas, will turn away at last 
with his (exclamation, -^ How many things are-h^e 
whidi I do not want I' 



1 1 
9 



^ N^ 120. SATURDAY, DECJEMBER 29, 1753, 



Ullima semper 



\. 



Expedondt^ dies Aommt, dkique beattts 

Ante obiium nemo supremaguefunera debet, OVID. 

Bat no frail mftn, however great or high, 

Can be concluded blest before be die. ADDISON* 



The numerous miseries of human life have extorted 
in all ages an universal complaint The wisest of 
men terminated all his experiments in search of 
happiness, by the mournful confession, that ^ all is 
vanity ;' and the ancient patriarchs lamenled, that 
* ihe days of /their pilgrimage were, leic and dviL! .■.■ 



1^*190; ASTKimmEiR; 175 

There is, indeed, no topic on which it is more sa- 
perftaoQS to^bccumulate authorities, nor any assertion 
of whicb otur own eyes yriW more easily discover, or 
dAT 96ttsatioas more frequently impress the truths 
than, that misery is the lot of man, that our present 
state is a state of danger and infelicity. 

When wie take ^e most distant prospect of fife, 

what does it present us but a chaos of unhappiness, a 

cofofused and tumultuous scene of labour and contest, 

disappointinent and defeat ? If we view past ages in 

the reflection of history, what do they offer to our 

meditation but crimes and calamities ? One year is 

distinguished by a famine, another by an earthquake : 

kingdoms are made desolate, sometimes by wars, and 

sometimes by pestilence ; the peace of the world ia 

interrupted at dne time by the caprices of a tyrant, 

at anodier by the rage of a conqueror. The memory 

is stored cmly with vicissitudes of evil: and the ha|^. 

piness, such as it is, of one part of mankind, is found' 

te arise commonly from ^sanguinary success, from 

victories which confer upon them the power, not so 

much of improving life by any new enjoyment, as 

of inflicting tnisery on others, and gratifying their 

own pride by comparative greatness. 

But by him that examines life with a more close 
attention, the happiness of the world will be found 
still less than it appears. In some intervals of pablic 
prosperity, or to use terms more proper, in some in- 
termissions of calamity, a general diffusion of happi- 
ness may seem to overspread a people; all is triumph 
and exultation, jollity and plenty; there are no puV 
lie fears and dangers, and'^^no complainings in the 
streets.* But the condition of individuals is very little 
medded by this general calm: pain and malice and 
discontent still continue their havoc : the silent depre- 
dation goes incessantly forward ; and the grave con- 
tinues to be filled by the victims of sorrow. 



17f Aoypvf^apfiu »* 190. 

He diat ffiliff » gay |i9f#mUy , M^Ufl tke dia«^ 
falpea^displiiy^ in Bvef^ co^uismfifm, And SmU ail 
mtling yac«j^ #^ 4isf»n§W^ with ^ 
ihm ta giw QX to ^ac^Fe p)aa9ui^( wottld ii«tiimUf 
imagine, th^t )m bM raaphed ^ W Ap mattapaltf 
of felicity, the p)aoe aacre^ ^ gladu^ of kiiait, moi 
whence all fear and fM^ety were irrevfiaiblsf eac* 
duded. Sucby indeed, we po^y often £nd ta be the 
opinion of thgae, wl^ if ova » lower stfttion Mk i^> 
to the pomp imdi^ie^wlnG^ they c«]iB0irea0b; biit 
who is tbece of Uiose who frequeolt theae ltti»HPio«a 
a99emblie9, t)iat will not confess his ewn YmeaaiDeiB, 
or cannot recount t)^ yp^cations and distrnwee that 
prey upon the lives of bis g%y coHipeivipQS ? 

The world, in its best state, is nothing mere thui 
a lar^ asseinhly of {^eiiigs^ combining to Qounterfittt 
htipppais which they de W>t feel, employing every 
art and contrivance to epnbellish life) and to hide 
dieir real opnditipi^ frpm the eyes ^f $»ne another. 

The species of happiness most obiious to the eb^ 
aeirvation of oth^ )s that ^ki^\i depends upcA the 

Kds of fortune; yet evep this is ofl^ fiotitiQUB. 
are i^ in tt^ world moie poverty than W genceiily 
imagined; not oQly ^@ciui3e iMny whas<) poaseafions 
are large bivf ^^e§ still Wger, ^d many measure 
their wants by t|^e gjrati^f^tions which others enjoy; 
but great jpiumbers ^^9 pressed by roal necessities 
which it is their cbi^ ^^t^on to conceal, and are 
forced to purchase \^ n^^^fanoe of oompetenoe 
and cheerfulness at the e^ipfMiiie of many comforts 
and conveniences of life. 

Many, however, are confessedly rich, and many 
more are sufficiently removed from all danger of real 
poverty : but it has been long ago remarked, that 
money cannot purchase quiet ; the highest of maakiiid 
can promise themselves po-ex^nption from tl||it d&h 
cord or suqpid^ by wbich the sveetheos of dMMStie 



n^ VXD. AlfttlMVkBft^ tiJ 

tetixeme&t is d^tmyed; tnd mtmt always be eveii 
more exposed, in the same degree as they are etevated 
above others, to the treachery of dependents, the ca- 
iQBsnyof defamers, and the violence of opponents. 

Afftiction is inseparable (rom our present state ; it 
adheres to all the inhabitants of this world, in dil^r^ 
ent proportions indeed, bot with an allotment which 
flMietns very little regulated by our own conduct It 
bas been the boast of some swelling moralists, that 
every man^s fortune was in his own power, that 
prudence supplied the place of all other divinities, 
%nd thait happiness is the unfailing consequence of 
virtue. But, surely, the quiver of Omnipotence is 
stored with arrows, against which the shield of 
human virtue, however adamantine it has been 
boasted, is held up in vain : we do not always suf- 
fer by our crimes ; we are not always protected by 
our innocence. 

* A Good Man is by no means exempt from the 
danger of suffering by the crimes of others ; even his 
goodness may raise him enemies of implacable ma- 
hce and restless perseverance : the Good Man has 
oever been warranted byHeaven from the treachery 
of friends, the disobedience of children, or the dis- 
honesty of a wife ; he may see his cares made use- 
less by profusion, his instructions defeated by per- 
verseness, and his kindness rejected by ingratitude ; 
lie may languish under the infamy of false accusa- 
tions, or perish reproachfully by an unjust sentence^ 
A Good Mall is subject, like other mortals, to all 
the influences of natural evil : his harvest is not spared 
by the tempest, nor his cattle by the murrain; his 
house flames like others in a conflagration ; nor have 
his ships any peculiar power of resisting hurricanes : 
his mind, however elevated, inhabits a body subject 
to innumerable casualties, of which he must always 
alttre the dangem and the pains y he bears about hitn 



l^rt^oi iik U& ju»^ ^ MiiauffeB of 4he ^uA 4^ 
«|oQe ; at om ^^"^ g^^fi^i^^ w4tb wswuSarttbl^ AOr 

of iiv^s^, 4ii^ ffiorf^ifits Jiw^ «lwi»y84erKv»d ^Wi itf 
t^ir 0t|i(png«st jpn^^l «d;g]»mei>t8 for a F«(itt« Slate; 
f^r sii^m^e ll^ conun^OD events of ^iie fr«aei^t life jbe^ 
UB^ aUhe to i&e ^ood .^uid bad, it fc4lew4 bom tfae 
#(UBttoe of the Supn^ne Being, thai ibera must be 
fuiQtJber atato ,ef eiciateneci, in jyvfcieb a juat feUibifc^ 
iion ahaU 1;^ wade, and eirery dnaan alwUl ha liappy 
ftfid ^ipaiaerable accerding io fcis worka. 

T^ .miseries of life may, peiiba^ affbrd aoma 
proof of a (ut,W9 atate, compa^ as well wkfa ikm 
llilercy as the Justice of filod. It is scawely te be 
iinagined, 4bat lafiaiie Bei»evo)eDoa wevld create a 
being capable of enjoying so much mor<e thaa as hem 
to be evjoyed, and qualifi^ by naAupe to prolong 
mn by rammnbrance, and anticipate it by teiror* tf 
Le was nof. deaigaed for aoovadMug nobler aad faallar 
than a 8tate> jw which i^fiif of bm £acultiea caa aami 
9^1y for bja toFmefit : io which he is to be irapotr 
tuned by deairas that ne^er can ^ aatiafied, to fed 
ma#y evils which he had no power to avoid, and to 
Cugr iOjaay which he shall never foe) : th(ena vitt 
aurely watt ^ tij»e, when every capanity of hafppir 
qpss ahaU be ^led, and none abiU oe wnstchad but 
bjy Ufi osm bxtlt 

In tbia me^EuUime, it is by affliotioB cUefly that 
^ hoiwt f4 WkB ia purified, and that the thoaghti 
a^ ^meA iupon a better atate. Pipsperity, allayed 
9n4 ifnperfect as it is, h»8 power lo iatovaoata iha 
imagi^jatm* to fix the mma ^poo the iHieaent aneaa^ 
jt9 produce ^ec^fiden^ a;od elation, and to mab him 
wr\if> epjoya affliiM^ aaid hoDOiiro format tha hvai 
^ W^fifk they wero bwtoved. li i§ addon thai 



we are, otherwise than by affliction, awakened to a 
sense of our own imbecility, or taught to know how 
little all our acquisitions can conduce to safety or to 
^uiet ; and how justly we may ascribe to the 'super« 
intendence of a Hi^er Power, those blessings 
which in the wantonness of success we considered 
as the attainments of our policy or courage. 

Nothing confers so much ability to resist the 
temptations that perpetually surround us, as an ha- 
bitual consideration of the* shortness of life, and the 
uncertainty of those pleasures that solicit our pur« 
suit ; and this consideration can be inculcated only 
by affliction. *' O Death I ho\^ bitter is the remem- 
brance of thee, to a man that lives at ease in his 
possessions !' If our present state were one conti- 
nued succession of delights, or one uniform flow of 
calmness and tranquillityy we should^ never willingly 
tkitttif uptfn its end; death* Would then snrdy sur- 
pqse us as ' a thief in the night ;' and our task of 
duty would remun- unfinishediitill ^ the night came 
when no man can work.' 

While affliction thus prepares us for felicity, we 
ntfy'eonsl^fi' oiirselve^ undet* its pre^sores;- bjr rc^> 
alsmbttiU^ tttttt they arr nfo partitrular ms^ks of 
Divine miip\mtiate\ siko&^ail tlie dl9ti««ies'oF p^ 
smtioii>hdMO^b^eb sufi^i^by those 'of whom the 
WOrM Wan noif WbMiiy ;' and the>Redeeitier of Man-* 
]Mld>h4tti!<B)t^W^'''a ifl'ali'of ssrtt>wsatid 

t; 



IM ASFnSKTtPKBL f^-^ttlT* 



N* 121. TUESDAY, JANUARY 1, 1754. 



Arma vimmque eano^ Trtja qui primus 0b 9rii 
Italiamfato profu^, Lavinaque venit 
'' lAtora, MuUum tile etierrisjactatuset alio: 

Mmlta qiuqve et bello pasmt . ■ VlIiQi 

9 

Aims and the man I sing, who forced by fate, 

ExpellM and exil'd, lafttfae Trojan shore. 

Long YsbonrSy both by sea and land, he bore, , ' 

And in the doubtful war. DRYDEN.: 

TO THE ASVENTVBBR. 

SIB* 

A FEW nights ago, after I came home from t^ tar 
vera, I took up the first volume of your pap^a, 
which at present is deposited near the elbow chaiii 
in my <;hamber, and happened to read the fifUi. 
number, which contains me narrative of a Flea» 
After I fell asleep, I imagined the book still to lie 
open before me, and that at the bottom of the pagat 
I saw, not a Ilea but a Louse, who addressed me 
with such solemnity of accent, that it brought to 
my mind some orations which I had formerly, heard 
in Saint Stephen's Chapel. 

Sir, said he, it has been remarked by those, who 
have enriched themselves from the mines of know- 
ledge by deep researches and laborious study, that 
sublunary beings are all mortal, and that life is a 



3^^ X^n. AJIVJBKTUttlBU. 191^ 

State of perpetual peril and inquietude; such, in- 

deecty hitherto has been my experience ; and yet I 

djo not remember, that I have brought calamity 

upon mysel£ by any uncommon deviations either 

from virtue or prudence. 

I was hatched in the head of a boy about eight 
years old, who was placed under the care of a pansh 
^[lurse, and educated at the charity-school. In this 
place, as in a populous city, I soon obtained a settle- 
ment ; and as our state of adolescence is short, had 
in a few months a numerous family. This, iiideed, 
^was the happiest period of my Ufe ; I suffered little 
apprehension from the •comb or the razor, and fore- 
saw no misfortune, except that our country should 
l>e overstocked, and we should be compelled to 
zander, like the Barbarians of the North, in search 
of another. But it happened that the lord of our 
soil, in an evil hour, went with some of his com- 
panions to Highgate. Just at the top of the hill 
was a stage and a mountebank, where several feats 
of wit and humour were performed by a gentleman 
with a gridiron upon his back, who assisted the 
doctor in his vocation. We were presently in the 
midst of the crowd, and soon afterward upon the 
stage ; which the boy was persuaded to ascend, that 
by a sudden stroke of conjuration, a great quantity 
of gold might be conveyed under his hat. Under 
his hat, however, the dexterous but mischievous 
operator, having imperceptibly conveyed a rotten 
egg, clapped his hand smartly upon it, and shewed 
the aurum potabile running down on each side, to 
the unspeakable delight of the beholders, but to the 
/ great disappointment of the boy, and the total ruin 
of our community. 

It is impossible to describe the confusion and dis- 
tress which this accident instantly produced among 
jost we were at once buried in a quag, intolerably 

TOL. XXV. B 



18t ' JfflfTXMTtnUBB. 2«* X^l. 

noisome^ luid insaperably viscid: thoee wiio had 
been overturned in k^ pasBage, found it impossible 
to recover their situation ; and the few who, hap* 
pening to lie near the borders of the suffusion, had 
with the utmost efforts of their strength crawled to 
those parts which it had not reached, laboured in 
vain to free themselves from shackles, which every 
moment became more strong as the substance 
which formed them grew more hard, and threaten- 
ed in a short time totally to deprive them of all 
|»ower of motion. I was myself among this num- 
ber, and cannot even now recollect my situation 
without shuddering at my danger. In the mean- 
time the candidate for enchanted gold, who in the 
•earch of pleasure had found only dirt and hunger, 
weariness and disappointment, reflecting that his 
stolen holiday was at an end, returned forlorn and 
disconsolate to his nurse. The nose of this good 
woman was soon offended by an unsavoury smell, 
and it was not long before she discovered whence it 
proceeded. A few questions, and a good thump on 
the back, brought the whole secret to light, and the 
delinquent, that he might be at once purjfied and 
punished, was carried to the next pump, where his 
head was held under the spout till he had received 
the discipline of a pickpocl^. He was indeed very 
near being drowned ; but his sufferings were nothing 
in comparison of ours. We were overwhelmed with 
a second inundation; the cataracts, which burst 
upon us with a noise tenfold more dreadful than 
thunder, swept us by hundreds before them, and the 
few that remained would not have had straigth tp 
keep their hold against the impetuosity of the toiw 
rent, if it had continued a few minutes lonM*. I 
was still among those that escaped ; and after we 
had a little recovered from our fright, we found that 
if we had lost opr firi^ds, we were released frpm tke 



1^ 1^1. AVTBNTUKBB. 183 

Tiscous dorance wbich our own strengtli could iiey«r 
have broken. We were also delwered from %h0 
dread of an emigration and a famine ; and taking 
ixnniofri in these reflections^ we were enalsled to re- 
concile ourselves, withoatmnrmnring, to the fate of 
those who had perished. 

But the series of misfortunes which I have been 
doomed to suffer, vnthout respite, was now begnUk 
The next day was Holy Thur»iay ; and the stupen* 
dous being, who, without labour, carried the mine 
of our state in processioD to the bounde of his parishy 
thought flit to break his wand into a cudgel as soon: 
as he came home. This he was impatient to use ^ 
and in aa engagement with an adversary, who had 
urmed himself with the like weapon, he received • 
ftroice upon his head, by which my favourite wifi» 
fl^d three ehildr^i,. the whole remains of my family^ 
were crashed to atoms in a moment. I was myself 
ao near as to be thrown down by the concussion of 
the blow ; and the boy immediately scratching his 
head to alleviate the smart, was within a hair of 
destroying me with bis nail. 

I was so terrified at this acddeni that I ereptdowm 
to the nape of his neefc, where I continued all the 
rest of the day ; and at night, when he retired to eat 
his cmst of bread in the chimney-corner, I concluded 
tiiat I should at least be sale till the morning, and 
therefore began my repast, which the dangers and 
misfortunes of the day had prevented. Whetheif 
having long fasted, my bite was more keen than 
usual, or whether I had made my attack in a more 
seosible part, I cannot tell ; but the boy suddenly 
thrust up his Angers with so much speed uid dex- 
terity, that he laid hold of me, and aimed with all his 
force te throw me into the fire ; in this savage attempt 
be wonl4 oertainly have succeeded^ if 1 had not 

r2 



184 AOTENTURER. . N* 11?iV 

stuck between his finger and his nail, and fell short 
upon some linen that was hanging to dry. 

The woman, who took in washing, was employed 
by a laundress of some distinction ; and it happened 
that I. had fallen on the shift sleeve of a celebrated 
toast, who frequently made her appearance at court. 
I concealed myself with great caution in the plaits, 
and the next night had the honour to accompany her 
into the drawing room, where she was surrounded 
by rival beauties, from whom she attracted every eye, 
and stood with the utmost composure of mind and 
^untenance.in the centre of admiration and desire. 
In this situation I became impatient of confinement, 
and after several efforts made my way out by her 
tucker, hoping to have passed on under her handker- 
chief to her head ; but in this hope I was disappointed, 
for handkerchief she had none. I was not, however, 
willing to go back, and as my station was the principal 
object of the whole circle, I was soon discovered by 
those who stood near. They gazed at me with 
eager attention, and sometimes turned towards each 
other with very intelligent looks ; but of this the 
lady took no notice, as it was the common effect of 
that profusion of beauty which she had been used to 
pour upon every eye ; the emotion, however, at length 
increased till she observed it, and glancing her eye 
downward with a secret exultation, she discovered the 
cause: pride instantly covered those cheeks with 
blushes which ihodesty had forsaken ; and as I was 
now become sensible of my danger, I was hasting to 
retreat. At this instant a young nobleman, who per- 
ceived that the lady was become sensible of her dis- 
grace, and who, perhaps, thought that it might be 
deemed an indecorum to approach the place where I 
stood with his hand in a public assembly, stooped 
down, and holding up his hat to his face, directed so 



M^ X^l. ADYBNTURSIU 185 

violent a liiast) towardaP me, from his mouthy th«t I 
vAnislied- before it like an aitom iA a whirlwind : ani) 
tHe next moment found myself in the toupee^ of a^ 
liattered beau, whose attention was engrossed by the 
widow of a rich citizen, with whose plum hehopecl 
to pay his debts and procure a new mistress. 

In this place the hair was so thin that it scarce 
affi»ided me shelter, e^ecept a single row of curls on 
each side) where the powder and grease were insu^ 
parable obstacles to my progi«ss : here, however, I 
continued near a week, but it was in every respect a 
«ireaiUul situation. I lived in perpetual solicitude 
and danger, secluded from my species, and exposed 
to the cursed olaws of the valet; who perseduted me 
every morning and every night. In the morning, it 
ivas with the utmost difficulty that I escaped from 
lMing:kneaded up in alump of pomatum, or squeezed 
to death between the burning forceps of a ' crisping 
iron ; and at night, after I had with the utmost vigi- 
lance and dexterity evaded^ the comb, I was still 
liable to be thrust thmugh the body with a pin« 

I frequently .meditated my escape, and formed 
many projects to effect it, which I afterwards aban-* 
doned either as dangerous or imjH'acticable. I ob- 
served that the valet had a much better head of hair' 
than his master, and that he sometimes wore tho^ 
same bag; into the bag, therefore, one evening, I^ 
descended with great circumspection, and was re^> 
moved with it: nor was it long before my utmosi^ 
expectottons were answered, for the valet tied on- 
my dormitory to hia own hair the very- next morft*'' 
iBg, and I gdned a new settlement. 

But the bag wtonot the only ^part of the m^ut^V 
dr^s which was occasionally' appropriated by thtl 
servant, who being soon after my exploit detected iii> 
wearing a laced frock before it had been left 0% wa»' 
tumedawmy at ftDoinute'e wamiog, aiMi^ cte^irittf > 

r3 



ISO' ADVENTURER. N***Ill« 

» 

to obtain a character, returned to the occupation in 
which he had been bred, and became journeyman to* 
a barber in the city, who, upon seeing a specimen of 
his skill to dress hair a-la-mode de la cour, was will* 
ipg to receive him without a scrupulous examination 
of his morals. 

This change in the situation of my patron was of 

great advantage to me ; for I began to have more 

company^ and less disturbance. But among other 

persons whom he attended every momiug to shave, 

was an elderly gentleman of great repute for natural 

knowledge, a fellow of many foreign societies, and a 

profound adept in experimental philosophy. This 

gentleman, having conceived a design to repeat 

Xieuenhoek's experiments upon the increase of our 

species, inquired of the proprietor of my dwelling if 

he could help him to a subject. The man was at 

first startled at the question; but it was no sooner 

comprehended than he pulled out an ivory comb, 

and produced myself and tWo associates, one of 

whom died soon after of the hurt he received. 

The sage received us with thanks, and very care- 
fully conveyed us into his stocking, where, though 
it was not a situation perfectly agreeable to our nature, 
we produced a numerous progeny. Here, however, 
I suffered new calamity, and was exposed to new 
danger. The philosopher, whom a sedentary and 
recluse life had rendered extremely susceptible of 
cold, would often sit with his shins so near the fire, 
that we were almost scorched to death before we 
could get round to the calf for shelter. He was also 
subject to frequent abstractions of mind ; and at these 
times mftny of us have been miserably destroyed by 
his broth or his tea, which he would hold so much 
qn one side that it would run over the vessel, and 
overflow us with a scalding deluge from his koee to 
bis ancle ; nor was this all 3 for when he felt the 



K* mi. ADTENTt7RER« ' 187 

smart he would rub the part with his hand, without 
reflecting upon his nursery, till he had crushed great 
part of those who had escaped. Still, however, it 
iwas my fortune to survive for new adventures. 

T*he philosopher, among other visitants whose cu- 
riosity he was pleased to gratify, was sometimes fa- 
voured with the company of ladies : for the enter- 
tainment of a lady it was my misfortune to be one 
morning taken from my family when I least suspect- 
ed it, and secured in the apparatus of a solar micro- 
scope. After I had contributed to their astonishment 
and diversion near an hour, I was left with the utmost 
inhumanity and ingratitude to perish of hunger, im- 
mured between the two pieces of isinglass through 
which I had been exhibited. In this condition I re- 
mained three days and three nights ; and should cer- 
tainly have perished in the fourth, if a boy about 
seven years old, who was carelessly left alone in the 
room, had not poked his finger through the hole in 
which I was confined, and once more set me at li- 
berty. I was, however, extremely weak, and the 
window being open I was blown into the street, and 
fell on the uncovered perriwig of a doctor of physic, 
who had just alighted to visit a patient. This was 
the first time I had ever entered a perriwig, a situa- 
tion which I scarce less deprecate than the micro- 
scope : I found it a desolate wilderness, without in- 
habitants and without bounds. I continued to tra- 
verse it with incredible labour, but 1 knew not in 
what direction, and despaired of being ever restored 
either to food or rest My spirits were at length ex- 
hausted, my gripe relaxed, and I fell almost in a stiEite 
of insensibi lity from the verge of the labyrmth in which 
I had been bewildered, into the head of a patient in 
the hospital, over whom, after my *all, I could just 
perceive the doctor leaning to look at his tongue. 
By the warmth and nourishment which this place 



198 ADTENTUaER. N^ 131. 

affinsded' me I soon revived. I rejoiced at my deli« 
rerance, uid thought I had nothing to fear but the 
death of the patient ia whose bead I had taken 
shelter. 

I was, however, soon convinced of my mistake; 
for among other patients in the same ward was a 
child about six years old, who having been put in for 
a rupture, had fallen into the jaundice: for thi» dis- 
ease the nurse, in the abs^ice of the physician, pr&* 
scribed a. certain number of my species to be admi- 
nistered alive in a spoonful of milk. A collection 
was immediately made, and I was numbered among 
the unhappy victims which ignorance and inhumanity 
had thus devoted to destruction : I was immerged in 
the potion, and saWi myself approach the horrid jaws 
thia I espected would the next moment close over 
me; not but that, in this dreadful moment, I had 
some languid hope of passing the gulf unhurt, and 
finding a settlement at the bottom. My fate, how- 
ever, waft otherwise determined : for the child, in a 
fit: of frowaniness and anger, dashed the spoon out 
of the hand of ^e nurse; and after incredible 
fatigue, I recovered the station to which I had de- 
scended from the doctor's wdg. 

I was once more congmtulating myself on an 
escape almost miraculous,^ when I was alarmed by 
the appearance of a barber, with all the dreadful ap- 
paratus, of his trade. I soon found that the person 
whose head I haddiosen for an asylum was become 
delinoua, and that the hair was by the physician's 
CMrder to be removed for a blister. 

Here my courage totally failed, and all my hopes 
forsook- me; It happened, ho^wever^ that though I. 
was entangled in the suds, yet I was deposited un- 
hurt upon the operator's shaving cloth; from whence^, 
as he was shaving you this night, I gained- your 
shoulder, and have this moment crawled, out^ from 



'H*' 121. ADVEimJEER. 18^ 

the plaits of your stock, which you have just taken 
off and laid upon this table. Whether this event 
be fortunate or unfortunate, time only can discover : 
htit I still hope to find some dwelling, where no 
comb shall ever enter, and no nails shall aver scratch; 
which neither pincers nor razors shall approach; 
where I shall pass the remainder of life in perfect 
security and repose, amidst the smiles of society and 
the profusion of plenty. 

At this hope, so extravagant and ridiculous, ut- 
tered with such solemnity of diction and manner, I 
burst into a fit of immoderate laughter that awaked 
^ me : but my mirth was instantly repressed by re- 
flecting that the Life of Man is not less exposed to 
Evil ; and that all his expectations of security and i 
happiness in Temporal Possessions are equally chi* 
mencal and absurd. 

I am, Sir, 

Your humble Servant, 

DORMITOIL 



190 ADYENTURER. N^ 1%. 



W 122. SATURDAY, JANUARY 6, 1754. 



TeUphus ^ Peleutj dim pauper SC exul uttrqutf 

Prqjicit ampullas ^ sesquipeJaiia verba, 

^i €urat cor ^eciantis tetip$st querel&, HOR. 

Trftgediaas too lay by tWv state to griere : 
Peleus and Telephus, exiPd and poor. 
Forget their swelling and gigantic words : 
He that would have spectators share his grief. 
Most write not only well but movingly. 

ROSGOMMaN. 

Madness being oceasioned by a close and continued 
attention of the mind to a single object, Shakspeare 
judiciously represents the resignation of his crown • 
to daughters so cruel and unnatural, as the particu- 
lar idea which has brought on the distraction of' 
Lear, and which perpetually recurs to his imagina- 
tion, and mixes itself with all his ramblings. Full 
of this idea, therefore, he breaks out abruptly in the 
Fourth Act : * No, they cannot touch me for coin- 
ing : I am the king himself.' He believes himself 
to be raising recruits, and censures the inability and 
unskilfiilness pf some of his soldiers : *• There's your 
press money. That fellow handles his bow like a 
crow-keeper: draw me a clothier's yard. Look, 
look, a mouse ! Peace, peace : this piece of toasted 
cheese will do it.' The art of our poet is transcend- 
ant in thus making a passage, that even borders on 
burlesque, strongly expressive of the madness he is 
painting. Lear suddenly thinks himself in the 



a" 12^. ADYENTORER. 191 

field ; * there^s my gauntlet — I'll prove it on a giant :' 
and that he has shot his arrow successfully ! < O 
well flown barb ! i'th' clout, i'th' clout : hewgh ! 
give the word.' He then recollects the falsehood 
and cruelty of his daughters, and breaks out in some 
pathetic reflections on his old age, and on the tem- 
pest to which he was so lately exposed: 'Ha! 
Gonerill! ha, Regan ! They flattered me like a dog, 
and told me I had white hairs on my beard, ere the 
black ones were there. To say ay, and no, to 
every thing that I said — ay and no too, was no 
good divinity. When the rain came to wet me 
once, and the wind to make me chatter ; when the 
thunder would not peace at my bidding : there I 
found 'em, there I smelt *em out. Go to, they're 
not men of their words ; they told me I was every 
thing : 'tis a lie, I am not ague-proof.' The im- 
potence of royalty to exempt its possessor, more 
than the meanest subject, from sufiering natural 
evils, is here finely hinted at 

His friend and adherent Glo'ster, having been 
lately deprived of sight, inquires if the voice he hears 
is not the voice of the king; Lear instantly catches 
the word, and replies with great quickness. 



-Ay, every inch a king : 



When I do stare, see bow the subject quakes ! 
I pardon that man's life. What was thy cause ? 
Adultery ? no, thou sbalt not die : die for adultery ! 

He then makes some very severe reflections on the 
hypocrisy of lew4 and abandoned women, and adds, 
* Fie, fie, fie ; pah, pah ; Give me an ounce of civet, 
good apothecary, to sweeten my imagination ;i and 
as every object seems to be present to the eyes of 
the lunatic, he thinks he pays for the drug : *■ there's 
money for thee I' Very strong and lively also if 
the imagery in a succeeding speech, where he thinks 

4 



m ADVENTURER. N* 1^^. 

himself yiewing his subjects punished by the proper 
officer : 

Thou rascal bede!,,ho1d thy bloody hand : 

Why d<ost thou lash that whore ? strip thy own back ; 

Thou hotly iust'st to use her in that kind 

For which thou wbip'st her ! 

This circumstance leads him to reflect on the 
efficacy of rank and power, to conceal and palliate 
profligacy and injustice: and this fine satire is 
couched in two difierent metaphors, that are car- 
ried on with much propriety and elegance : 

Through tatter'd clothes small vices do appear; 
Robes and furrM gowus hide all. Plate sin with gold. 
And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks; . 
Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw doib pierce it. 

We are moved to find that Lear has some faint 
knowledge of his old and faithful courtier. 

Tf thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my eyes : 
I know thee well enough ; thy name is Glo'ster. 

The advice he then gives him is very affecting : 

Thou must be patient ; we came crying hither : 
Thou Hnow'st the first time that we smell the air 

We wawle and cry 

When we are boro, we cry that we are come 
To this great stage of fQols ! 

This tender complaint of the miseries of human life 
bears so exact a resemblance with the following 
passage of Lucretius, that I cannot forbear trans- 
cribing it : 

VagUiique locum lugubri eompU-t, ut equum est, 
Cui tantum in mtd restet trannre malorum. 

Then with distressful cries be fills the rooniy 

Too sure presages of his future doom. DRYDEN. 



1^ 122. ADVENTURER. J 93 

It is not to be imagined that our author copied from 
the Roman ; on such a subject it is almost impossi- 
ble but that two persons of genius and sensibility 
must feel and think alike. Lear drops his morali- 
ties and meditates revenge : 



It were a delicate stratagem to sboe 
A troop of horse with felt I'll put*t in proof; 
And when I've stol'n upon these sons-in-law. 
Then kill> kill, kill, kill, kill, kill. 



The expedient is well suited to the character of a 
lunatic, and the frequent repetitions of the word 
* kill,' forcibly represent his rage and desire of re- 
venge, and must affect an intelligent audience at 
once with pity and terror. At this instant Cordelia 
sends one of her attendants to protect her father 
from the danger with which he is threatened by her 
sisters : the wretched king is so accustomed to 
misery, and so hopeless of succour, that when the 
messenger offers to lead him out, he imagines him- 
self taken captive and mortally wounded : 



No rescue ? what ! a prisoner ? I am e'en 
Thenal'rai fool of fortune: use me well. 
You shall have ransom. Let me have surgeons ; 
I am cut to the brain.-»>~ 



Cordelia at length arrives; an opiate is ad- 
ministered . to the king, to calm the agonies and 
agitations of his mind; and a most interesting in- 
terview ensues between this daughter, that was so 
unjustly suspected of disaffection, and the rash and 
mistaken father. Lear, during his slumber, has 
been arrayed in regal apparel, and is brought upon 
the stage in a chair, not recovered from his trance. 

VOL. x^v. s 



194 ADYBNTORBR. K* 1^S» 

I know not a speech more traly pathetic than that 
of Cordelia when she first sees him : 

Had you not been their father^ these white flakes 
Did challenge pity of them. Was this a face 
To be exposM against the warring winds ? 

The dreadfulnessof that night is expressed by a cir- 
cumstance of great humanity ; for which kind of 
strokes Shakspeare is as eminent as for his poetry : 

My very enemy's dog, 

Though he had bit me, should have stood that night 
Against my fire. And wast thou fain, poor father. 
To hovel thee with swine, and rogues forlorn. 
In short and musty straw ? 

Lear begins to awake ; but his imagination is still 
distempered, and his pain exquisite ; 

You do me wrong to take me out o'th' grave. 
Thou art a soul in bliss ! but I am bound 
Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears 
Do scald like molten lead.— — — 

When Cordelia in great affliction asks him if he 
knows her, he replies, 

You are a spirit, I know; when did yon die ? 

This reply heightens her distress ; but his sensi- 
bility beginning to return, she kneels to him, and 
begs his benediction. I hope I hare no readers 
that can peruse his answer without tears ; 

•*— *Pray do not mock me : 
I am a very foolish, fond old man. 
Fourscore and upward ; and to deal plainly, 
I fear I am not in my perfect mind. 
Methinks I should know you, and know this man| 
Yet I am doubtful : for I am mainly ignorant 
What place this is. — Do not laugh at me ; 
For as I am a man, I think this lady 
To be my child Cordelia. 



S* 122. ADYSNTUREIU 19i 

The humility, calmness, and sedateaeas of this 
speech, o{^x>sed to the fonsier rage «id iadignation 
of Lear, is finely calculated to excite commiseration. 
Struck with the remembrance of the injurious sus- 

E'cion be had cherished a^nst this favourite and 
>nd daught^, the poor old man entreats her, ^ not 
to weep,' and tells her, that ' if she has prepared 
poison for him, he is ready to drink it ; for 1 know»' 
eays be, ^ you do not, you cannot love me, after mj 
cruel Usage of you ; your sisters have done me 
Bmch wrong, of which I have some famt remenEH 
hrance; you have some cause to hate me, th^ ha^ 
none.' Being told that he is not in France, but in 
^ Us own kingdom, he answers havtily, aud in coo- 
^ nexion with that leading idea which i have before 
insisted on, ' Do not abuse me' — and adds, with a 
meekness and contriti*on that are very pathetic, ' Pray 
now forget and forgive ; I am old and foolish.' 

Corddia is at last slain : the lamentatioBS of Lear 
are extremely tender and affecting ; and this accident 
is so severe and intolerable, that it again deprives 
him of his intellect, which seemed to be returning. 

Hia la9t speech, as he surveys the body, consists 
of such simple reflections as nature and sorrow 
^ctate : 

Why should a dog, a horse, a rat have life. 

And thou no breath at all ? Thou'lt come no more ; 

Never, never, never, never, never! — — 

The heaving and swelling of bis heart is described 
by a most expressive circumstance : 

Pray you undo this button. Thank you. Sir, 
Do y»a see this ? Look on^ her, look on her lips: 
Look th«N^ look ther e ■ .■■ [dle9* 

I ahaU transiently observe, in conclusion of these 
remarks, that this drama is chargeable with con- 

s2 



mderable imperfections. The plot of Evhnand 
•agaiast his brother, which distracts the attention, and 
destroys the unity of the fable; the cruel and horrid 
extinction of Glo'ster's eyes, which ought not to 
be exhibited on the stage ; the utter improbability 
of Gl ouster's imagining, though blind, tnat^be had 
leaped down Dover cliff; and some passages that 
are too turgid and full of strained metaphors ; are 
faults which the warmest admirers of Shakspear# 
will find it difficult to excuse. 1 know not, also^ 
whether the cruelty of the daughters is not* painted 
with circumstances too savage and unnatural ; for 
it is not sufficient to say, that this monstrous bar- 
barity is founded on historical truth, if we recollect 
the just observation of Boileau, 

Le vratpeut quelquefoU nUtre pas vraisemblable. 
Some troths may be too strong to be believed. 
Z. SOMES. 



N* 123. TUESDAY, JANUARY 8, 1754. 



fampratervA 
Frontepetet Lalage taaritunu HOR. 

The maid whom now you court in vain, 
Will quickly run in quest of man. 

,1 HAVE before remarked, that * to abstain from the 
appearance of evil,' is a precept in that law, which 
has every characteristic of Divinity ; and I have, in 
more than one of these papers, endeavoured to en- 
force the practice of it, by an illustration of its ex- 
cellence and importanne. 



n^ 133. ASTENTURBB. 187 

Giicumstances haT« been adimtted as eTicboees 
of guilt, even when death has been the consequ«QCtt 
of convictioii ; and a coadact hy which evil la 
Wrongly impliad, is tittle leas peniiciQus than that 
by which it is expressed. With respect to society, 
as far as it can be influeBced by example^ the effect 
of both is the same : for every man encourages the 
practice of that vice which he commits in appear- 
ance, though he avoids it in faet : and with respect 
to the individual, as the esteem of the WQrl4 is a 
motive to virtue only less powerful than the appro- 
bation of conscience, he who knows that he is al- 
Feady degraded by the imputation of guilt, will find 
himself half disarmed when he is assuled by temp« 
tation : and as he will have less to lose, he will, in- 
deed, be less disposed to resist Of the sex, whose 
levity is most likely to provoke censure> it is ^ni- 
nently true, that the loss of character by imprudence 
frequently induces the loss of virtue ; the ladies, 
therefore, should be proportionabiy circumspect; 
as to those, in whom folly is most Ukely to termi- 
nate in guilt, it is certainly of most importance to 
be wise. 

This subject has irresistibly obtruded itself upon 
my mind in the silent hour of meditation, because, 
as often as I have reviewed the scenes in which I 
have mixed among the busy and the gay^ I have ob*^ 
served that a depravity of manners^ a licentious ex- 
travagance of dress and beh&viour, are become al- 
most universal; virtue seems ambitio us of a re- 
semblance to vice^ as vice glomes mJkS delof!lH(ie» 
which she has been used to hida/\^if ^^^^ ^- 

A decent timidity and moaa^iesxarfe^ have 
always considered as auxi)iwi» to.beitut}i^j'%ut ^i 
air of dissolute boldness ^ nifrw ^jK^e^'by, all w) 
would be thought graoefkiL or p(^te:. ch^istity,, 
vsed to be discovered; in- eve^ji^'i^^Ulire ad^Veiy 



c . V ^ * "^ X 



198> ADTEKTUREB. N* 1SS« 

look, 13 now retired to the breast, and is found only 
by those who intend its destruction ; as a general 
when the town is surrendered retreats to the citadel, 
which is always less capable of defence, when the 
out-works are possessed by the enemy. 

There is now little apparent difference between 
the virgin and the prostitute : if they are not other- 
wise known, they may share the box and the draw- 
ing-room without distinction. The same fashion 
winch takes away the veil of modesty, vnll neces- 
sarily conceal lewdness : and honour and shame 
will lose their influence, because they vnll no longer 
distinguish virtue from vice. General custom, per- 
haps, may be thought an effectual security against 
general censure ; but it will not always lull the 
suspicions of jealousy; nor can it familiarize any 
beauty without destroying its influence, or diminish 
the prerogatives of a husband without weakening 
bis attachment to his wife. 

The excess of every mode may be declined with- 
out remarkable singularity; and the ladies, who 
should even dare to be singular in the present de- 
fection of taste, would proportionably increase their 
power and secure their happiness. 

I know that in the vanity and the presumption of 
youth, it is comnion to allege the consciousness of 
innocence, as a reason for the contempt of censure ; 
and a licence, not only for every freedom, but for 
every favour except the last. This confidence can, 
' perhaps, only be repressed by a sense of danger : 
and as the persons whom I wish to warn, are most 
impatient df declamation, and most susceptible of 
pity, I will address them in a story ; and I hope 
the events will not only illustrate but impress the 
precept which they contain. 

Flavilla, just as she had ratered her fourteenth 
year, W4». Mbw og;^ to the care of her mother, 



M* 123. ADVBNTUREE. 1Q9 

in such circumstances as disappointed all the hopes 
which her education had encouraged. Her father, 
-who lived in great elegance upon the salary of a place 
at court, died suddenly without having made any pro* 
vision for his family, except an annuity of one hun- 
dred pounds, which he had purchased for his wife 
wilh part pf her marriage portion ; nor was he pos« 
sessed of any property, except the furniture of a large 
house in one of the new squares, an equipage, a few 
jewels, and some plate. 

The greater part of the furniture and the equipage 
were sold to pay his debts; the jewels, which were 
not of great value, and some useful pieces of the 
plate, were reserved; and Flavilla removed with her 
mother into lodgings. 

But notwithstanding this change in her circum- 
stances, they did not immediately lose their rank. 
They were still visited by a numerous and polite ac-^ 
quaintance: and though some gratified their 'pride 
by assuming the appearance of pity, and rather 
insulted than alleviated their distress by the whine 
< of condolence, and a minute comparison of what they 
had lost with what. they possessed ; yet from others 
they were continually receiving presents, which still 
enabled them to live with a genteel frugality ; they 
were still considered as people of fashion, and 
treated by those of a lower class with distant re- 
spect. 

Flavilla thus continued to move in a sphere to 
which she' had no claim ; she was perpetually sur- 
rounded with elegance and splendour, which the ca- 
price of others, like the rod of an enchanter, could 
dissipate in a moment, and leave her to regret the 
loss of enjoyments, which she could neither hope 
to obtain nor cease to desire. Of this,. however, 
Flavilla had no dread. She was remarkably tall for 
her age, and was celebrated not. only for her beauty 



90Q ADTBHTUKSB. N^ ISSL 

but her wit : these qualifications tUtte considered, not 
only 88 securing whatever she enjoyed by the favour 
of others, but as a pledge of possessing them in her 
own right by an advantageous marriage. Thus th^ 
vision that danced before her, derived stability from 
the very vanity which it flattered : and she h&d aa 
little apprehension of distress, as diffidence of her 
own power to please. 

There was a fashionable levity in her carriage 
and discourse, which her mother, who knew the 
danger of her situation, laboured to restrain, some- 
times with anger, and^sometimes with tears, but al^ 
ways without success. Flavilla was ever ready to 
answer, that she neither did or said any thing of 
which she had reason to be ashamed ; and therefore 
did not know why she should be restrained, except 
in mere courtesy to envy, whom it was an honour to 
provoke, or to slander, whom it was a disgrace to 
Snr. In proportion as Flavilla was more flattered 
and caressed, the influence of her mother became 
leas : and though she always treated her with re* 
spect; from a point of good breeding, yet she secret- 
ly despised her maxims, and applauded her own 
conduct 

Flavilla at eighteen was a celebrated toast ; and 
among other gay visitants who frequented her tea- 
table, was Clodio, a young baronet, whp had just 
taken possession of his title and estate. There were 
many particulars in Clodio's behaviour, which enoou- 
mged Flavilla to hope that she should obtain him 
br a husband; but she suffered his assiduities with 
•ndi apparent pleasure, and his femiUaiities with sp 
little, reserve, that he soon ventured to disclose his 
intention, and make har what he thought a very gcn^ 
tael proposal of another kind : but whatever were ^e 
mifioee. with which it was introduced, or the terms 
aJtwihiohitwaii. aid^ FkviUa r^eeted it with the 



»• 1^3. ADVENTtJR&lt. 201 

-Utmost indignation and disdain. Clodio, who, not- 
>v^ithstanding his youth, had long known and often 
practised the arts of seduction, gave way to the 
storm, threw himself at her feet, imputed his offence 
to the frenzy of his passion, flattered her pride by 
the most abject submission of extravagant praise, 
entreated her pardon, aggravated his crime, but 
made no mention of atonement by marriage. This 
particular, which Flavilla did not fail to remark, 
ought to have determined her to admit him no 
more: but her vanity and her ambition were still 
predominant, she still hoped to succeed in her pro- 
ject, Clodio's offence was tacitly forgiven, his visits 
T¥ere permitted, his familiarities were again suffer- 
ed, and his hopes revived. He had long entertained 
•an opinion that she loved him, in which, however, 
it is probable, that his own vanity and her indiscretion 
concurred to deceive him ; but this opinion, though 
it implied the strongest obligation to treat her with 
generosity and tenderness, only determined him 
again to attempt her ruin, as it encouraged him with 
a probability of success. Having, therefore, resolved 
to obtain her as a mistress, or at once to give her up, 
he thought he had little more to do, than to convince 
her that he had taken such a resolution, justify it by 
. some plausible sophistry, and give her some time 
to deliberate upon a final determination. With this 
view, he went a short journey into the country; hav- 
ing put a letter into her hand at parting, in which 
he acquainted her, that he had ouen reflected, with 
inexpressible regret, upon her resentment of his con- 
duct in a late instance ; but that the delicacy and the 
ardour of his affection were insuperable obstacles to 
his marriage; that where there was no liberty, there 
could be no happiness ; that he should become in- 
different to the endearments of love, when they 
could BO longer be distinguished from the officious- 



fM ADTENTUREIU N"* 124. 

neas of duty ; tkat while tbey were happy in the 
possession of each other, it would be ahsord to sup- 
pose they would part ; and that if this happiness 
should eease, it would not only insure but aggra- 
yate their misery to be inseparably united : that 
this erent was less probable, in proportion as their 
cohabitation was voluntary; but that he would 
make such provision for her upon the contingency, 
as a wife would expect upon his death. He con- 
jured her not to determine und^ the influence of 
pr^udice and^^ustom, but according to the laws of 
reason and nature. . ' After mature ddiberation,' 
said he, ' rememb^ that the whole value of my life 
depends upon your will. I do not request en 
explicit consent, with whatever transport I might 
behold the lovely confusion which it might produce. 
I shall attend you in a few day9> with the anxiety, 
though not with the guilt, of a criminal who waits for 
the decision of his judge. If my visit ie admitl^, 
we will never part; if it is rejected, I can see you 
no more^* 

mnesapEsnefeeesttssaspK 



N» 124. SATURDAY, JANUARY 14, 1754. 



'Incedis per igtus 



SupposUoi cpieri dUon. HOR. 

With heedless feet on fire$ you go, 
That hid in treacherous ashes glow. 

Flavilla had too much undostanding as well as 
virtue, to deliberate a mommt upon this proposal. 
She gave immediate orders that Clodie niould be 



admitted no more. But his letter wu a temptation 
to gratify her vanity, which she could not resist : she 
eliewed it first to her mother end then to the whole 
circle of her female acquaintance, with all the exulta- 
tion of a hero who exposes a yanquished enemy at 
the ^^heels of his chariot in a triumph ; she consider- 
ed it as an indisputable evidence of her virtue, as a 
reproof of all who had dared to censure the levity 
of her conduct, and a licence to continue it without 
apology or restraint 

It happened that Flavilla, soon after this acci- 
dent, was seen in one of the boxes at the playhouse 
by Mercator, a young gentleman who had just re* 
turned from his first voyage as captain of a large ship 
in the Levant trade, which had been purchased for 
him by his father, whose fortune enabled him to make 
a genteel provision for five sons, of whom Mercator 
was the youngest, and who expected to share his 
estate, which was personal, in equal proportions at 
his death. 

Mercator was captivated with her beauty, but dis- 
couraged by the splendor of her appearance, and the 
rank of her company.' He was urged rather by 
curiosity than hope, to inquire who she was ; and he 
soon gained such a knowledge of her circumstances, 
as relieved him from despair. 

As he knew not how to get admission to her com- 
pany, and had no design upon her virtue, he wrote 
m the fitst ardour of his passion to her mother ; 
giving a faithful account of his fortune and depen- 
dence, and entreating that he might be permitted 
io visit Flavilla as a candidate for her affection. 
The old lady, after having made some inquiries, by 
which the account that Mercator had given her was 
confirmed, sent him an invitation, and received his 
first visit alone. She told him, that as Flavilla had 
no fortune, and as a considerable part of his own 



104 ADVENTURER. H* lt4, 

was, dependent upon his father's will, it would be 
extremely imprudent to endanger the disappoint- 
ment of his expectations; by a marriage which would, 
make it more necessary that they should be fulfilled ; 
that he ought therefore to obtain his father's con- 
sent, before any other step was taken, lest he should 
be embarrassed by engagements which young persons 
almost insensibly contract, whose complacency in 
each other is continually gaining strength by fre- 
quent visits and conversation. To this council, so. 
salutary and perplexing, Mercator was hesitating 
what to reply, when Flavilla came in, an accident 
'which he was now only solicitous to improve. Fla 
villa was not displeased, either with his person or hi» 
address ; the frankness and gaiety of her^ disposition 
soon made him forget that he was a stranger : a 
conversation commenced, during which they became 
yet more pleased with each other ; and having thus 
surmounted the difficulty of a first visit, he thought 
no more of the old lady, as he believed her auspices 
were not necessary to his success. 

His visits were often repeated, and he became « 
every hour more impatient of delay: he pressed 
his suit with that contagious ardour, which is 
caught at every glance, and produces the consent 
which it solidts. At the same time, indeed, a 
thought of his father would intervene ; but being 
determined to gratify his wishes at all events, he 
concluded, with a sagacity almost universal on 
these occasions, that of two evils, to marry without 
his consent, was less than to marry against it ; and 
one evening, after the lovers had spent the after- 
noon by themselves, they went out in a kind of frolic, 
which Mercator had proposed in the vehemence of his 
passion, and to which Flavilla had consented in the 
giddiness of her indiscretion^ and were married at 
May Fair. 



\ 



^ 1!24. ADVENTURER. 205 

In the first interval of recollection after this pre- 
cipitate step, Mercator considered, that be ought to 
be the first who acquainted his father of the new 
alliance which had been made in his family : but as 
be bad nqt fortitude enough to do it in person, he ex- 
pressed it in the best terms he could conceive by a 
letter ; and%fter such an apology for his conduct as 
he bad been used to make to himself, he requested 
that he might be permitted to present his wife for 
the parental benediction, which alone was wanting 
to complete his felicity. 

The old gentleman, whose character I cannojt bet- 
ter express than in the fashionable phrase which has 
been' contrived to palliate false principles and disso- 
lute manners, had been a gay man, and was well 
acquainted with the town. He had often heard 
FlaviUa toasted by rakes of quality, and had often 
seen her at public places. Her beauty and her de- 
pendence, the gaiety of her dress, the multitude of 
her admirers, the levity of her conduct, and all the 
circumstances of her situation, had concurred to 
render her charact^ suspected ; and he was disposed 
to judge of it with yet less charity, when she had 
offisuded him by marrying his son, whom he coiisi*- 
dered as disgraced and impoverished, and whose 
misfortune, as it was irretrievable, he resolved not 
to alleviate, but increase ; a resolution, by which 
fathers, who* have foolish and disobedient sons, 
usually display their own kindness and wisdom. 
As soon as he had read Mercatpr^s letter, he cursed 
bim for a fool, who had been gulled by the artifices 
of a strumpet to screen her from public infamy by 
fathering her children, -and secure her from a prison 
by fippropriating her debts. In an answer to his 
letter, which he wrote only to gratify his resentment, 
be told him, that ^ if he had taken FlaviUa into 
keeping, ho would l^ve overlooked it ; and if her 

VOU XXV. T 



908 ABTSNTUHSS. M* 124^ 

extravagance had distressed him, he wmild have 
satisfied his creditors ; but that his marriage was not 
to be forgiven ; that he should never have another 
shilling of his money ; and that he was determined 
to see him no more.' Mercator, who was more 
provoked at this outrage than grieved at his loss, 
disdained to reply^ and believing that he had now 
most reason to be offended, could not be persuaded 
to solicit a reconciliation. 

He hired a genteel apartment for his wife of an up- 
holsterer, who, with a view to let lodgings, had taken 
and furnished a large house near Leicester-fields, and 
in about two months left her to make another voyage. 

He had rec^ved visits of congratulation from her 
numerous acquaintance, and had returned them as a 
pledge of his desire that they should be repeated. 
But a remembrance of the gay multitude, which 
while he was at home had flattered his vanity, as 
soon as he was absent alarmed his suspicion : he 
had, indeed, no particular cause of jealousy ; but 
his anxiety arose merely from a sense of the tempta- 
tion to which she was exposed, and the impossi- 
bility of his superintending her conduct 

In the meantime Flavilla continued to flutter 
round the same giddy circle, in which she had shone 
so long : the number of her vi^tants was rather in- 
creased than diminished, the gentlemen atteUdad 
with yet greater assiduity, and she continued to en-* 
courage their civilities by the same indiscreet &m« 
liarity : she wad one night at the . masquerade, and 
another at an opefa ; sometimes at a rout, and some* 
times rambling with a party of pleasure in short eX« 
cursions from town; she came home sometimes at 
midnight, sometimes in themormn^, and sometimes 
she was absent several nights together. 

This conduct was the catise of much speculation 
wad uneasiness to the good maici and woman ef tke 



house. At first they suspected that BWilla wts no 

better than a woman of pleasure ; and that the per* 

son who had hired the lodging for her as his wife, 

and had disappeared upon pretence of a voyage to 

sea, had been employed to impose upon them, by 

concealing her character, in order to obtain such ac- 

eommodation for her as she could not so easily hav» 

procured if it had been known : but as these sfispi* 

cions made them watchful and inquisitive, they soon 

discovered, that many ladies by whom she was 

visited were of good character and fashion. Her 

conduct, however, supposing her to he a wife, was 

still inexcusable, and still endangered their credit 

and subsistence ; hints were often dropped by the 

neighbours to the disadvantage of her chanioter ; and 

an elderly maiden lady, who lodged in the second 

floor, had given warning ; the family was disturbed 

at all hours in the night, and the door was crowded 

ail day with messengers and visitants to Flavilla. 

One day, therefore, the good woman took an op** 
portunity to remonstrate, though in the most distant 
and respectful terms, and with the utmost diffidence 
and caution. She told Flavilla, ' that she was a fine 
young lady, that her husband was abroad, that she 
kept a great deal of company, and that the world 
was censorious ; she wished that less occasion for 
scandal was given ; and hoped to be exciised ;the 
liberty she had taken, as she might be ruined by 
those slanders which could have no influence upon 
the great, and which, therefore, they were not soli« 
tkous to avoid.' This address, however ambiguous, 
and however gentle, was easily understood and 
fiercely resented. Flavilla, proud of her virtue, and 
impatient of controul, would have despised the 
counsel of a philosopher, if it had implied an im- 
peachment of her conduct; before a person so 
much her inferior, therefore, she was under no ift* 

t2 



^08 ABYEKTURBR. M"* l^t4. 

Btraint ; she answered, with a mixture of contempt 
and indignation, that * those only who did not 
know her would dare to take any liberty with her 
character ; and warned her to propagate no scan- 
dalous report at her periL' 

Flavilla immediately rose from her seat, and the 
woman departed without reply, though she was 
scarce less offended than her lodger, and from that 
moment she determined when Mercator Returned to 
give him warning. 

Mercatpr'5 voyage was prosperous ; and after an 
absence of about ten months he came back. The 
woman, to whom her husband left the whole manage- 
ment of her lodgings, and who jpersisted in her pur- 
pose, soon found an opportunity to put it in execu- 
tion. Mercator, as his part of the contract had been 
punctually fulfilled, thought he had some cause to be 
offended, and insisted to know her reasons for com- 
pelling him to leave her house. These his hostess, 
who was, indeed a friendly woman, was very unwil- 
ling to give ; and as he perceived that she evaded 
his question, he became more solicitous to obtain an 
answer. After much hesitation, which perhaps had 
a worse effect than any tale which malice could have 
invented, she told him, that *• Madam kept a great 
deal of company, and often staid out very late ; that 
she had always been used to quiet and regularity ; 
and was determined to let her apartm^it to some 
person in a more private station.' 

At this account Mercator changed countenance ; 
for he inferred from it just as much more than truth, 
as he' believed it to be less. After some moments 
of suspense, he conjured her to conceal nothing 
from him, with an emotion which convinced her 
that she had already said too much. She then as- 
sured him, that *• he had no reason to be alarmed ; 
for that she had no exception to his lady, but those 



gaieties which her station and the fashion sufficiently 

authorized.' Mercator's suspicions, however^ were 

not wholly removed ; md he began to think be had 

found a confidante whom it would be his interest 

to trust : he, therefore, in the folly of his jealousy, 

confessed, ' that he had some doubts concerning his 

wife, which it was of the utmost importance to his 

. honour and his peace to resolve : he entreated that 

he might continue in the apartment another year : 

that, as he should again leave the kingdom in a 

short time, she would suffer no incident, which 

might confirm either his hopes or his fears, to escape 

her notice in his absence ; and that at his return she 

would give him such an account, as would at least 

deliver him from, the torment of suspense, and de» 

termine his future conduct.' 

There is no sophistry more general than that by 
which we justify a busy and scrupulous inquiry after 
secrets, which to discover is to be wretched without 
hope of redress ; and no service to which others are 
so easily engaged as to assist in the search. To 
communicate suspicions of matrimonial infidehty, 
especially to a husband, is, by a strange mixture of 
folly and malignity, deemed not only an act of jus- 
tice but of friendship ; though it is too late to pre- 
vent an evil, which, whatever be its guilt, can dif- 
fuse wretchedness only in proportion as it is known. 
It is no wonder, therefore, that the general kindness 
of Mercator's confidante was on this occasion over- 
borne ; she was flattered by the trust that had been 
placed in her, and the power with which she was 
invested ; she consented to Mercator's proposal, and 
promised that she would with the utmost fidelity 
execute her commission. 

Mercator, however, concealed his suspicions from 
his wife; and, indeed, in her presence they were for- 
{Otten. Her manner of life he began seriously to 

t3 



^10 ABTENTURBR. N** 124. 

disapprove ; but being well acquainted with her 
tertiper, in which great sweetness was blended "with 
a high spirit, he would not embitter the pleasure of 
a short stay by altercation, chiding, ^nd tears : but 
when her mind was melted into tenderness at his 
departure, he clasped her in an ecstasy of fondness 
to his bosom, and intreated her to behave with re- 
serve and circumspection ; ' because,^ said he, ^ I 
know that my father keeps a watchful eye upon 
your conduct, which may, therefore, confirm or re- 
move his displeasure, and either intercept or bestow 
such an increase of my fortune as tirill prevent the 
pangs of separation which must otherwise so often 
return, and in a short time unite us to part no 
more.' To this caution she had then no power to 
reply ; and they parted with mutual protestations 
•f unalterable love. 



M* 135. ADVBNTUBMU Sll 



N' 125. TUESDAY, JANUARY 15, 1764. 



Ux^refttf Poslume, duels f 



Die qua Tisiphone, quibus exagitare colubris f JUV. 

A sober man, like thee, to change his life ! 

What fury could possess thee with a wife? DRYDEN. 



Flaviliji, soon after she was thus left in a kind of 
widowhood a second time, found herself with child ; 
and within somewhat less than eight months after 
Mercator^S return from his first voyage, she hap- 
pened to stumble as she was going up stairs, and, 
being immediately taken ill, was brought to bed 
before the next morning. The child, though its 
birth had been precipitated more than a month, was 
not remarkably small, nor had any infirmity which 
endangered its life. 

It was now necessary, that the vigils of whist and 
the tumults of balls and visits should, for n while, 
be suspended ; and in this interval of languor and 
retirement, Flavilla first became thoughtful. Sho 
often reflected upon Mercator*s caution when they 
last pai:ted, which.had made an indelible impres- 
sion upon her mind, though it had produced no 
alteration in her conduct: notwithstanding the msm* 
Bar in which it was expressed, and the reason upon 
which it was founded, she began to fear that it 
might have been secretly prompted by jealousy. 



fit AOYBNTimSR. N^ 195v 

The birth, therefore, of her first child in his absence, 
at a time when, if it had not been premature, it 
could not possibly have been his, was an accident 
which greatly alarmed her : but there was yet an- 
other, for which it was still less in her power to ac- 
count, and which, therefore, alarmed her still more. 
It happened that some civilities which she re- 
ceived from a lady who sat next her at an opera, 
and whom she had never seen before, introduced a 
conversation, which so much delighted her, that 
she gave her a pressing invitation to visit her : this 
invitation was accepted, and, in a few days, the 
visit was paid. FlaviUa was not less pleased at the 
second interview, than she had been at the first ; 
and, without making any other inquiry concerning 
the lady than where she lived, took the first oppor- 
tunity to wait on her. The apartment in which 
she was received, was the ground-floor of an elegant 
house, at a small distance from St. Jameses. It 
happened that FlaviUa was placed near the win- 
dow ; and a party of the horse-guards riding 
through the street, she expected to see some of the 
royal family, and hastily threw up the sash. A 
gentleman who was passing by at the same instant, 
turned about at the noise of the window, and Fla- 
viUa no sooner saw his face, than she knew him 
to be the father of Mercator. After looking first 
stedfastly at her, and then glancing his eye at the 
lady whom she was visiting, he affected a contemp- 
tuous sneer, and went on. FlaviUa, who had been 
thrown into some confusion, by the sudden and un- 
esqpected sight of a person, whom she knew consi- 
dered her as the disgrace of his family and the ruin 
of his child, now changed countenance, and hiastily 
rotired to another part of the room : she was touclh* 
ed both with gnef and anger at this silent insult, of 
which, however, she did not then suspect the cause. 



V^ 1^5. ADYSKTURBR. 211 

It is, indeed, probable, that the father of Mercator 
would no where have looked upon her with coxn- 
plac^icy ; but as soon as he saw her companion, 
he recollected that she was the favourite mistress 
of an old courtier, and that this was the house im 
which he kept her in great splendour, though she 
had been, by turns, a prostitute to many others. It 
happened that Flavilla, soon after this accident, 
discovered the character of her new acquaintance ; 
and never remembered by whom she had been 
seen in her company, without the utmost regret and 
apprehension. 

She now resolved to move in a less circle, and 
with more circumspection. In the meantime, her 
little boy, whom she suckled, grew very fast ; and it 
could no longer be known by his appearance, that 
he had been bom too soon. His motber fre<^uently 
gazed at him till her eyes overflowed with tears ; 
and, though her pleasures were now become domes- 
tic,, yet she feared lest that which had fH'oduced 
should destroy them. After much deliberation, she 
determined that shei would conceal the child's age 
firom its father; believing it prudent to prevent a 
suspicion, which, however ill-founded, it might be 
difficult to remove, as her justification would depend 
wholly upon the testimony of her dependents : and 
her mother's and her own would necessarily become 
doubtful, when every one would have reason to 
conclude, that it would still have been the same^ 
supposing the contrary to have been true. 

Such was the state of Flavilla's mind ; and her 
little boy was six months old when Mercator re- 
turned. She received him with joy, indeed, but it 
was mixed with a visible confusion ; their meeting 
was more tender, but on her part it was less cheer- 
ful ; she smiled with inexpressible complacency, but 
at the same time the tears gushed from her eye»> 



and she was seized with an ufdfenal tremor. Mer- 
ealor caught the infection ; and caressed first hi» 
Flavilla, and then his boy, with an excess of foiid- 
Bess and delight that before he had never expressed. 
The sight of the child made hira more than ever 
wish a reconciliation with his father; and having 
heard, at his first landing, that he was dangerously 
ill, he determined to go immediately, and attempt 
to see him, promising that he would return tou 
sapper. . He had, in the midst of his caresses, 
more than once inquired the age of his son, but 
the question had been always evaded ; of whicfa^ 
howefer, he took no notice, nor did it produce any 
su£H)icion. 

He was now hastening to inquire after his father; 
but as he passed through the hall, he was officiously 
laid hold of by his landlady. He was not much 
disposed to inquire how she had fulfilled his charge; 
but perceiving by her looks that she had somethSng 
to communicate, which was at least, in her own opi- 
nion, of importance, he suffered her to take him into 
her parlour. She immediately shut the door, and 
reminded him, that she had undertaken an office 
with reluctance which he had pressed upon her; 
and that she had done nothing in it to which ha 
had not bound her by a promise ; that she was ex-* 
tremely sorry to communicate her discoveries ; but 
that he was a worthy gentleman, and, indeed, ought 
to know them. She then told him^ ' that the child 
was bom within less than eight months after his last 
return -from abroad; that it was said to have come 
before its time, but that, having pressed to see it, 
she was refused.' This, indeed, was true, and oon« 
firmed the good woman in her suspicion ; for Flaf 
vilia, who had still resented the freedom which she 
had taken in her remonstrance, had kept her ai 
a great distance: and the servants, to gratify the 



mistress, treated her with the utmost insolence and 
contempt 

At this relation Mercator turned pale. He now 
recollected, that his question concerning the child's 
birth had been evaded; and concluded, that he had 
l)een shedding tears of tenderness and joy over a 
strumpet and a bastard, who had robbed him of his 
patrimony, his honour, and his peace. He started 
up with the furious wildness of sudden frenzy; 
but she with great difficulty prevailed upon him not 
to leave the room. He sat down and remained some 
time motionless, with his eyes fixed on the ground, 
and his hands locked in each other. In proportioa 
as he believed bis wife to be guilty, his tenderness few 
his father revived; and he resolved, Mrith yet greater 
zeal, to prosecute his purpose of immediately at^ 
tmnpting a reconciliation^ 

In this state of confusion and distress, he went td 
the house; where he learned that his father had died 
early in the morning, and that his relations were then 
assembled to read his will. Fulvius, a brother of 
Mercator's mother, with whom he had always been 
a favourite, happening to pass from one room to 
another, heard his voice. He accosted him with 
great ardour of friendship; and, soothing him 
with expressions of condolence and affection^ ]i>> 
sisted to introduce him to the company. Mer- 
cat^f tacitly consented: he was received at least 
with civility by his brothers, and sitting down 
among them the virill was read. He seemed to 
listen like the rest; hvA was, indeed, musing ever 
the story which he had, just heard^ and lost in the 
speeuilation of Ins own wretchedness. He waked as 
firom a dream, when the voice of the person who 
had. been reading was ^speaded ; and finding that 
he oould iio longer contain hiaiself, h^ sCurted up 
aedwi^ld have Wft the eowpany. 



f IS ADTEKTURER. M* 1^9^ 

Of the will which had been read before him, he 
knew nothing: but his uncle believing that he was 
moved with grief and resentment at the manner ia 
which he had been mentioned in it, and the bequest 
only of a shilling, took him into another room ; 
and, to apologize for his father's unkindness, tola 
him, that *the resentment which he expressed at 
his marriage, was every day increased by the con- 
duct of his wife, whose character was now become 
notoriously infamous ; for that she had been seen 
at the lodgings of a known prostitute, with whom 
she appeared to be well acquainted.' This account 
threw Mercator into another agony ; from which he 
was, . however, at length recovered by his uncle, 
who, as the only expedient by which he could re- 
trieve his misfortune and soothe his distress, pro- 
posed that he should no more return to his lodgings, 
out go home with him; and that he would hi^iself 
take such measures with his wife, as could scarce 
fail of inducing her to accept a separate mainte- 
nance, assume another name, and trouble him 
no more. Mercator, in the bitterness of his af- 
fliction, consented to this proposal, and they went 
away together. 

Mercator, in the meantime, was expected by 
Flavilla with the most tender impatience. She had 
put her little boy to bed, and decorated a small 
room in which they had been used to sup by them- 
selves, and which she had shut up in his absence; 
she counted the moments as they passed, and lis- 
tened * to every carriage and every step that she 
heard. Supper now wad ready: her impatience 
was increased; terror was at length mingled with 
regret, and her fondness was only busied to 
afflict her: she wished, she feared, she accused, 
ehe apologized, and she wept In the height of 
these eager expectations and this tender dutresis 



1^ 125. A0YKKTtJRBR. S17 

die received a billet which Mercator had beea per- 
auaded by his uncle to write, in which he upbraided 
her in the strongest terms, with abusing his confi* 
dence and dishonouring his bed ; ' of this,' he said» 
* he had now obtained sufficient proof to do justice 
to himself, and that he was determined to see her no 
mora' 

To those, whose hearts haye not already acquaint- 
ed them with the agony which seized Fiaviila upon 
the sight of this billet, all attempts to describe it 
would be not only ineffectual but absurd. Having 
passed the night without sleep, and the next day 
without food, disappointed in every attempt to dis- 
cover what was become of Mercator, and doubting, 
if she should have found him, whether it would be 
possible to convince him of her innocence ; the vio- 
lent agitation of her mind produced a slow fever, 
which, before she considered it as a disease, she 
communicated to the child while she cherished it at 
her bosom, and wept over it as an orphan, whose 
life she was sustaining with her own. 

After Mercator had been absent about ten days^ 
his uncle, having persuaded him to accompany some 
friends to a country-seat at the distance of near sixty 
miles, went to his lodgings in order to discharge the 
rent, and try what terms he could- make with Fia- 
viila, whom he hoped to intimidate with threats of a 
prosecution and divorce ; but when he came, he 
found that Fiaviila was sinking very fast under her 
disease, and that the child was dead already. The 
woman of the house, into whose hands she had just 
put her repeating watch and some other ornaments 
as a security for her rent, was so touched with her 
distress, and so firmly persuaded of her innocence 
by the manner in which she had addressed her, and 
the calm solemnity with which she absolved those by 
whom she had been traduced, that ,as soon as she 

VOLi XXV. u 



41* iDVENTtmttt. N* iiff, 

ll^d dte^T^red Ftilyiue's business, sihe threw herself 
iat h^t knees, and intreated that if he kft^w "v^fa^re 
Merbator #as to be found, he would urge hhn to 
return, tkat if possible the life of Flavilk might b^ 
t^res^rved, and the happiness of both be restdred 
b^ h^r justifi<?ation. Fulvius, who still suspeet^ 
appearances, or at least was in doubt of the ciils^ 
that had jproduced them, would not discov^ his 
hephew ; but after mu^h entreaty knd expostulatioii 
kt last engaged upoti his hbnour tor the conveyance 
6f a letter. The womaii, as soon as she had obtaiiied 
this promise, ran up ind communicated it to Fla- 
villa ; who, wbeii she h^d recovered from the sur- 
l^rjse and tumult which it dccastoned, was sup- 
ported in her bed, and iti dbout half ah hour, lifter 
many efforts and many hitervals; wrote a short 
billet ; whith was Sealed and put intb the hands of 
Flilvius. 

Fulvius immediate!^ enclosed and dispatched it b^ 
th% p'o^t, resolving, thai in a question ^o doubtful 
and of such importance, h!e would n6 farther inter- 
jfK)Se. Mercatbr; who Ihe ihoment he cast his eye 
tipon the letter knew both the hknd ahd seal, kfter 
pausing a feW moments iti suspense^ at length tore 
it open, and read these words : 

* Such has been my folly, that, perhaps, I should 
hot be acquitted of guilt in any circumstances, but 
those in which I write. I do not, therefore, but for 
your sake, wish them other than they are. The 
dear infant, whose birth has undone me, now lies 
dead at my side, a victim to my indiscretion and 
your resentment I am scarce able to guide my 
pen. But I most earnestly entreat to see you, that 
you may at least have the satisfaction to hear me 
attest my innocence with the l&st sigh, and seal our 
Ireconciliation on my lips while they arie yet s^^ibler 
6f the impreapioD.' 



Mercator, whom aa earthquake would less have 
affected than this letter, felt all his tenderness revive 
in a moment, and reflected with unutterable anguish 
upon the rashness of his resentment At the thought 
of his distance from London, he started as if he had 
felt a dagger in his befot : he lifted up his ^jes to 
Heaven, with a look that expressed at once an accu- 
sation of himself, and a petition for her ; and then 
rushing out of the house, without taking leave of 
any, or ordering a servant to attend him, he took 
post hojrses at a neighbouring inn, and in less than 
six- hours was in Leicester-fields. But notwithstand- 
ing his speed, he arrived too late ; Blavilla had suf- 
fered the last agony, and her eyes could behold him 
no more. Qrief and disappointment, remorse and 
de^)air, now totally subverted his reason. It be- 
came necessary to remove him by force from the 
body ; and ajE^er a confinement of two years in a 
siad-house he died. 

May every lady» on whose menlory compas^on 
ihali record these events, tremble .to assume the 
hvity of Hayilla ; for, peshaps, it is in the power 
of no man, in Mercator's circumstances, to be les^ 
jeabus than Mercator. 



v9 



fiO ADTBMTUKEB. S* )%6' 



N* 1«J. SATURDAY, JANUARY 19,1754. 



Sierilet nee legU arenas 



Ut eaneret pauas, meniique hoc pulvere ocnrm. LUC AN. 

CaMtthoH believe the vast eternal Mind 

Was e'er taSyrts and (lybian sands confin*d } 

That he would choose this waste, this barren ground, 

To teach the Ihin inhabitants around. 

And leave his truth in wilds and deserts drown 



rand, 1 
'd? > 



There has always prevailed among that part of 
mankind that addict their minds to mculation, a 
propensity to talk much of the delights of retire- 
ment ; and some of the most pleasing compositions 
produced in every age contain descriptiona of the 
peace and happiness of a country life. 

Iknow not whether those who thus ambitiously 
npeat the praises of- solitude, have always consider- 
ed, how much they depreciate mankind by declaring, 
that whatever is excellent or desirable is to be ob- 
tained by departing from them : that the assistance 
which we may denve from one another, is not equi- 
valent to the evils which we have to fear ; that the 
kindness of a few is overbalanced by the malice of 
many ; and that the protection of society is too 
dearly purchased, by encountering its dangers and 
enduring its oppressions. 

These specious representations of solitary hap- 
piness, however opprobrious to human nature, 
have so far spread tneir influence over the world, 



that ahnp9t eye^y ms^n ^d^ligbts ,his imagl|iatioii 
with the Jiqp^* pi obtajupg some time an oppor* 
tunity of jri^tr^^aL jV^aiy, iijiieeii, who enjoy re- 
treat jOjaly in imagmaiipn, qonteut tnemselyes witl^ 
^li^vingthat ailQther year will tra^sport them.tc> 
'rural ti^quillj^y, aAcl die. while .jthey.talk of doing 
wjiat, Jf* they Vi^ .^ved longQr, they .vcxuld never 
Jtiaye.d^'n^. Bvit,n|apy likewise there are, either of 
jgreat^r ,resQlitio.n Qr nipre credulity, )Yho in earn- 
est try t^e'j^iafe whiqh |h^y haye been taught tb 
thirikjhus^secdire.'Fronic^res and. gangers; ai^d re- 
tire to privacy, either that they may improye their 
happiness, increase their kno^ledge^ pr;ex^t their 
virtue. 

TTie ^eater part of the admirers x)f solitude, f^ 
of all othier, classes of jnainkind, have no higher or 
remotwr yiew, than the present gratification of their 
passipos. Of these some, haughty and impetuous^ 
ny from. society pnly because they cannpt bei^r to 
repay jto others the regard which themselves exapt ; 
and think no state of life eligible, but that yyhich 
places them put pf the reach. of censure or cpntroul^ 
and affords, them oppprtunities.of living in ap^pe- 
tual compliance with their own inclinations, without 
the necessity ot . regulating their actions , by any 
other man's convenience or opinion. 

There are others oi minds more delicate ^nd teO'* 
der,* easily offended by every , deviation from, recrti- 
tude, soon di^usted by ignprfiince or impertin^nc^ 
ai^d alwajrs e;cpepting jfrom t^e qpnversation ^f 
^in^kind^pre elegance, p.^t^,. and trujh, than the 
mjijgW jnass pf l^fe. ^ill easijy wwd. Such mca 
we in, naste.V retii;e, ^rpin jgrjfis^^ss,^ fals^ppd, a^'d 

least a negative fehcity, an cgcemption ut^px fjam 



3tt ADYXHTVllBR. K* IM. 

To neither of these votaries will solitude afford 
that content, which she has been tau^t so lavishly 
to promise. The man of arrogance will quickly dis- 
cover, that by escaping from his opponents he hag 
lost his flatterers, tnat greatness is nothing where it 
is not seen, and power nothing where it cannot be 
felt : and he, whose faculties are employed in too 
close an observation of failings and defects, vrill find 
his condition very little mended by transferring his 
attention from others to himself ; he will promibly 
IM>on come back in quest of new objects, and be glad 
to keep his captiousness employed on any charac- 
ter rather than nis own. 

Others are seduced into solitude merely by the 
authority of great names, and expect to find those 
charms in tranquillity which have allured states- 
men and conquerors to the shades : these likewise 
are apt to wonder at their disappointment, for want 
of considering, that those whom they aspire to 
imitate carried with them to their country seats 
minds full fraught with subjects of reflection, the 
consciousness of great merit, the memory of illus- 
trious actions, the knowledge of important eventsi^ 
aind the seeds of mighty designs to be ripened by 
fiiture meditation. Sohtude was to such men a 
release from fatigue, and an opportunity of useful- 
ness. But what can retirement confer upon him, 
who having done nothing, can receive no support 
from his own importance, who having known no- 
thing, can find no entertainment in reviewing the 
past, and who intending nothing, can form no hopes 
m>m prospects of the future ? he can, surely, take 
no wiser course than that of losing himself again in 
the crowd, and filling the vacuities of bi^ mind with 
the news pf the day. 

Others eonsider solitude as the parent 6( philo^ 
iophy, and retire in expectation of greater inti* 



mscies with science, as Nama repaired to the grores 
whexL he conferred with Egeria. These men have 
not always reason to repent Some studies require a 
Gontiniied prosecution of the same train of thought, 
such as is too often interrupted by the petty ayoca- 
tions of common life: sometimes, likewise, it is 
Beoessary that a multiplicity of objects be at once 
present to the mind ; and every thing, therefore, 
most be kept at a distance, which may perplex the 
memory, or dissipate the attention. 

But though learning may be conferred by soli<- 
tude, its application must be attained by gener^ 
converse. He has learned to no purpose that is 
not able to teach ; and he will always teach un- 
successfully, who cannot recommend his sentiments 
by his diction or address. 

Even the acquisition of knowledge is often much 
facihtated by me^ advantages of society : he that 
never compares his notions with those of others, 
readily acquiesces in his first thoughts, and very sel- 
dom discovers the objections which may be raised 
against his opinions ; be, therefore, often thinks him- 
self in possession of truth, when he is only fondling 
an error long since exploded. He that has neither 
companions nor rivals in his studies, will always ^ 
applaud his own progress, and • think highly of lus 
performances, because he knows not that others 
have equalled or excelled him. And I am afraid 
it may be added, that the student who withdraws 
himself from the world, will soon feel that ardour 
extinguished which prmse or emulation had enkind- 
led, and take the advantage of secrecy to sleep, 
rather than to labour. 

There remains yet another set of recluses, whose 

intention entitles them to higher respect, and whose 

motives deserve a ihore serious consideration. 

. These retire from the worlds not merely to besik 



in . ease < pr ,gratify . curiosity ; l^ut . that being flijen- 
gage^ froffi qopompn cares, tjiey xiojay eippioy piojp 
time in tliie dirties, of jeli^ion.: that. they. JHfly^q^- 
late th^ir actions, with, stricter vigilanq^, ^ j^i^ 
.Uieir.tljoifgJi>s:f)y.pipre (jeai^ept.njpditatipp. 

To. men Uius.eleYAJ^.&D!Qve the nu3ts, of morta- 
lity, 1 am far frpm jpre^i^g^pys^Jf qu^U^efl^lp 
give directions. ,0n him that appears ' no m^ 
'itttqx^fixvfe^,mvo^ othj^r c^J^mi 

*not to lose finally the thwgs,etepi^li J look .jvifji 
8ji;u^ jjex)eratioji f s ,JncJii]ies.flae.to japproye Kjs cbn- 
,l^9t,ip.Jfte ^wtoieMwiffio/at .^ ^^^ ^aininatipn.fjf 
; its parts ; ^yietl could never ioifjbiifar . to wish, that 
.^hU/B .yipe .isi.^ye^;4ay,nfjifl!tiplyiflg/^ 
.and?t^i^jforj^,i^|(Jij^ e^ontery, 

Tirtue woma not withiiraw t|ie .influeace of her 
^f ;^iice,,9r^^or)^|ur to,aa^rt,her Xfatural dijgnity hTy 
open Itand .iiD4aiV2.ted .per^T^rance .ia ttje .fi^hu 

'bl99i)»ainfjt;he,desefCW its fragraqpe.to. the 

jlf^^ »( a^Yfin, f^ 4ieUght thoge. pnbodi^d spTpjts 
il|ia^ ai^prqy ^e ^^wpf^s .pf > Qcfd a^id t.he . actip;:\s , of 
.men ; ^^^t , ^t , b^o^s 'no as^staixce vpoh farthjy 
beyjigsjjai^^bp^wwr fr^jirofla taints of imp.urity, 
, y^yi^iants, the^^ficpsjd ^lepi^pur of beQeficence. 

,Qyr^]i![^r,,wl^o,.t]^ouj^,hegay vs such yari- 
jej^ifs^of temper a^d,^^^^ of.powep, yet 

de^igncjd us ejl for happiness, uudoubtealy intended 
/li(iatiWe;Sbpuld.obtfiJn that happiness l]|y differeiit 
Mf^^' ;^ome,fU[e unat^e to ^r^istf he. temptations 
4>f UW^W^Y'*^^^^^^ of their own 

,9mo^ ^^9t^hi^\^^^i o{ pwe?t tempiatiqaa : 
of dieee it is undoubtedly J^ du^y fp {fly from 

^Hlti?%te,:mt»»%^59f>^ . 

^^A^.t^^i; t<^en%e the. J^pe^ .9^ JP^PF ¥«• 



H* 1S7. ADTENTUREll. ^5 

Strong and irregular in privacy; and who cannot 
maintain an uniform tenor of virtue, but by ex- 
posing their manners to the public eye, and assist- 
ing the admonitions of conscience with the fear of 
infamy : for such it is dangerous to exclude all wit- 
nesses of their conduct, till they have formed strong 
habits of virtue, and weakened their passions by 
frequent victories. But there is a higher order of 
men so inspired with ardour, and so fortified with 
resolution, tkat the world passes before them with- 
out influence or regard: these ought to consider 
themselves as appointed the guardians of mankind : 
they are placed m an evil world, to exhibit public 
examples of good life ; and may be said, when they 
withdraw to solitude, to desert the station which 
Providence assigned them, 
T. 



N* 127. TUESDAY, JANUARY 22, 1754. 



Veteris Ua miratur, laudatqut ! — HOR. 

The wits of old he praises and admires. 

^Iris very remarkable,' says Addison, ^thatnoty 
withstanding we fall short at present of the an- 
cients in poetry, painting, oratory, history, archi- 
tecture, and all the noble arts and sciences which 
depend more upon genius than experience; we 
exceed them as much in doggerel, humour, bur- 
lesque, and all the trivial arts of ridicule.' As this 
fine observation stands at present only in the form 



926 APTENTUREft. 11^ 1S7. 

of a geii^nd assertion, it deservfes, I i^ankf to be 
examined by a deduction of particulars, a^d con- 
finned by an allegation of examples, lyhich may 
furnish an agreeable ent^ainment to those yrhf> 
have ability and inclination to remark the revo'- 
lutions of human wit. 

'JThat Tasso, .^J^osto, and Camoens, th^ thre^ 
most celebrated of n^odem Epic Poets, px^ infimte- 
ly excelled ip. propriety of design^ of sentiment and 
8ty\e, by Homer and Virgij, it woi^ld bp si^riou^^ 
trifli^ to attempt to prove : but )^iltpn, p.erhaps> 
wiU i^ot so easily resign l^is jclaim to .eqiudity, jS 
not to superiority. Let it, however, be remeop^red* 
tha^ if Milton be enabled to dispute the prize witJh 
the great champions jpjf antiquity, it is en^rdy 
owing to the sublime conceptions b^ ha^ copied 
from the Book of God. 'These, therefore, must 
be taken away, before we begin to make a just 
estimate of his genius; and from what remains, 
it cannot, I presume, he i»id, with candour and 
impartiality, that he has excelled Homer, in the 
' sublimity find .vpriety of hi^ thoughts, or ^e 
strength and majesty of his diction.^ 

Shakspeare, Comeille, and Racine, are the only 
modem writers of Tragedy, that we can venture 
to oppose to Eschylus, Sophocles, and E^uripides. 
The first is an author so. uncommon and eccentrie, 
that we can scarcely try him by dri^nfitic xo\fia^ In 
strokes of nature and character, he yidds not to the 
Greeks : in all other ciccumstauG^ that n^n^titt^e 
the excellence of the dmrna, )he is vastly infei^rr 
Of tb^ t{iFee,9ioderqi^, .the most faultless is tihe.t^* 
der apd ,e;;2cact l^qine : but ije ,iy.a3 ^v^r f^y^o 
acilknowV^e, that ,^is cwit^il :bef^uties we^ b^r- 
ro.w^ from (bis ^fevpurite Eu'W^es : ivWdi, i»de^ 
<?^?m9t eaaxge ,^b^ qhserv^wm pf .^hp^e /wh®' ^i 
with fitt^firi^a his Pb»dr# Apd AadromftOhp. W 



K* 127. ADVENTUftfelt. S!27 

pompous and truly Rbman sentim^itts of Cdrneill^ 
are chiefly drawn from Lucan and Tacittts; thfe 
fbrmer of Vrhom, by k i^trange perversion of tkst^, 
he is krid^n to have prfefferred to VirgiL His dic- 
tion is not so pnte arid ihdliiludiis, his characteri^ 
not so t^aribds and ju^t, iior his plots do r^gularj so 
iiiteresting and simple, US those of his pathetic rival. 
It is by this simplicity of fable albtie, ^heh tevei-y 
single act, and scenes and speech, and Sentiment, and 
word, concur to acceleratiB th^ inttodlld ev^nt, that 
the Grdek tragisdies kl9pt the atteiitibb bif ihis audi- 
elada itiihibteably fixed upoh one pridcipal bbjM; 
Which ttiu§t be neces^krily tessenied^ and th^ btids of 
the dtaratt defeated, by the mazed and intHbkcibs of 
modern ptotlr. 

The assertion of Addison with resji^ to the 
first particular, r^ardirig the hi^hei* kindd of po- 
etry, Will retxiain unquestionably trub, till hatuilB in 
sft^me distant tge^ for in the present, enek'^Ated With 
Inxuiry, she sisems incajpable of such aki effort, shall 
^I'ddtice some tranddehdaht ^bniiis, bf i^towt/r to 
eclip^ die Iliad atid this (Edijpns. 

The superiority of the ancient artists in PainlSng, 
is not perhaps so clieairly manifest. They were ig- 
norant, it will be said^ of light, of shadle, and per- 
Bpecdve ; and they h&d nbt the use of oil cblours, 
^hich ai'e happily calculated to btend and unite 
without harshness and discordance, to give a bold- 
ness and relief to the figures, and to form those 
middle Teints which render every well-wroUght 
piece a closer resemblance of nature. Judges of the 
truest taste dp, however, place the merit of colour- 
ing far below that of jb^ness, bf design, and force 
of expression. In these two higher and most itn- 
porttot excell^cies the tocient painters nirere emi- 
nently ftkilled; if We trust the Ite^timonies bf Pliny, 
tSuintilitifi^ and Lucittn 3 ioMl to eredit Aeoi Wb are 



MS ADVENTORBH. K* 12T- 

obliged, if we would fonn to ourselves any idea of 
these artists at all ; for there is not one Grecian pic- 
ture remaining: and the Romans, some few of 
whose works have descended to this age, could 
never boast of a Parrhasius or Apelles, a Zeuxis, 
Tiroanthes, or Protogenes, of whose performances 
the two accomplished critics above mentioned speak 
in terms of rapture and admiration. The statues 
that have escaped the ravages of time, as the Her- 
cules and Laocoon for instance, are still a stronger 
demonstration of the power of the Grecian artists 
in expressing the passions ; for what was executed 
in marble, we have presumptive evidence to thinks 
might also have been executed in colours. Carlo 
Marat, the last valuable painter of Italy, after copy- 
ing the head of the Venus in the Medicean collec- 
tion three hundred times, generously confessed, that 
he could not arrive at half the grace and perfection 
of his model. But to speak my opinion freely on 
a very disputable point, I must own, that i!f the 
modems approach the ancients in any of the arts 
here in question, they approach them nearest in 
l^he Art of Painting. The human mind can with 
difficulty conceive any thing more exalted, than 
' The Last Judgment' of Michael Angelo, and 
* The Transfiguration' of Raphael. What can be 
more animated than Raphael s ' Paul preachine at 
Athens?' What more tender and delicate man 
Mary holding the child Jesus, in his famous ' Holy 
Family ?' What more graceful than ' The Aurora* 
of Guido? What more deeply moving than *The 
Massacre of the Innocents' by Le Brun ? 

But no modem Orator can dare to enter the lists 
with Demosthenes and Tully. We have discourses, 
indeed, that may be admired for their perspicuity, 
purity, and elegance; but can produce none that 
abound in a sublime which whirb away the auditor 



N* %^7. ADVENTUREB. %ft9 

like a mighty torrent, and pierces the inmost recesses 
of his heart like a flash of lightning ; which irre- 
sistibly and instantaneously convinces, without leav- 
ing him leisure to weigh the motives of conviction. 
The sermons of Bourdaloiie, the funeral orations of 
Bossuet, particularly that on the death of Henrietta, 
and the pleadings of Pelisson for his disgraced pa- 
tron Fouquet, are the only pieces of eloquence I 
can recollect, that bear any resemblance to the Ghneek 
or Roman orator; for in England we have been 
particularly unfortunate in our attempts to be elo- 
quent, whether in parliament, in the pulpit, or at 
the bar. If it be urged, that the nature of modem 
politics and laws excludes the pathetic and the 8ub« 
lime, and confines the speaker to a cold argumenta* 
tive method, and a dull detail of proof and dry 
matters of fact ; yet, surely, l^e neligion of the 
modems abounds in topics so incomparably noble 
and exalted, as might kindle the flames of genuine 
oratory in the most frigid and barren genius : much 
more might this success be reasonably expected from 
such geniu^s as Britain can enumerate; yet no 
piece of this sort, -worthy applause or notice, has 
ever yet appeared. 

The few, even among professed scholars, that are 
able to read the ancient Historians in their inimitable 
originals, are startled at the paradox of Bolingbroke, 
who boldly prefers Guicciaraini to Thucydides; that 
is, the most verbose and tedious to the most com- 
prehensive and concise of writers, and a collector of 
facts to one who was himself an eye-witness and a 
principal actor in the important story he relates. 
And, indeed, it may well be presumed, that the 
ancient histories exceed the modern from this single 
consideration, that the latter are commonly com- 
piled by recluse scholars, unpractised in business^ 
war^ and politics ; whilst the former are many of 

VOL. XXV. X 



it36 ADV61JTUBE*. K* 127. 

tti^th wrifi^ by thifiisters, cominand^, and princtfl 
fheth^lves. We liave, indeed, a few flimsy ibemdii^ 
particiilarly in a iieigHbotifliig natibti, written by 
person^ deeply iiit^ested in the transactions thtiy 
describe ; but these, I imagine, t^ill not be coii^at^ 
to * Thi§ rett^t of the teh thousand' Which Xend- 
bhbh himiself bohducied and related, hot to * The 
Gallife War' of Caisar^ nor * The prefcious fragiheiits* 
of Polybius, which our mddern generals and niiliis^ 
tiers would not be discredited by diligently |)erusing, 
aiid ihaking them the models of their ebnduct ad 
well as of their style. Are the reflections of Ma- 
' chi&^l so i^ubtle ILhd refined as those of Tacitus ? Are 
the ^rtrdits of Thuanus so sttt)Ug atid elpres^Vd 
las thote of Sdllust and Plutarch ? Are the narratioftd 
df DiAvila so lively and anitiiated, or do his seftti* 
ments bi^athe ^ch a lo^e of liberty and Virtue, a^ 
those of Livy and HerodotUs ? 

The supreme Excellence of the andeftt Architec- 
tute, the last partic\ilAr to be touched, I shall ndt 
enlarge upon, becdUM it has ueVer once beeu cdled 
in question, and becau^re it is abuAdatltiy testified 
by thre awful ruin^ of amphitheatre^, aqueducts^ 
arches, and columns, that are the daily objects 6^ 
veiieration, though not of imitatioh. Thid art, it is 
observable, has never been improved ih later a|i^ 
in one single instance ; but every just and legititnate 
e(]Ufice is still fortneid according to the five old 
established orders, to which human wit has never 
beeto able to ftdd a sils^ 6f equal symmetry and 
stretigth. 

Such, ikerefore, are the triumphs of the Aficients, 
especially the Greeks, over the M ddet-ns. They ttiay, 
p^haps, be not unjustly ascribed to ^ genial climate, 
that gave such a happy temperament *6'f body as 
was m'ost proper to priDduce fine sensatibns ; to a 
Ift&gaag^ to(6st hanQ[&oXi'tou&, eojpidto, titA VSmit^te; 



to the public encouragements and honours bestowed 
on the cultivators' of literature ; to the emulation 
excited among the generous youth, by exhibitions o{ 
their performances at the solemn games; to their 
ipatt^ti^q to the arts of lucre and conunerce, which 
engross and debase the minds of the modems ; and, 
above all, to an exemption from the necessity of 
overloading their natural faculties with learning and 
languages, with which we, in these later times, aie 
obliged -to quaUfy ourselves for writers, if we expect 
to be read. 

It is said by Voltaire, with his usual liveliness^ 
* We shall never again behold the time, when a 
poke d^ 1& Bouchefoucalt mi^t go frp^ th^ (Con- 
versation of a Pascal or Amauld, to the theatre of 
C[oiS9eiH.e.' This reflection may be nxor^ jjqistly apr 
plijB^ U> ih^ fM^eots, find it may with inuch grciater 
im^ be said, ' The a^ will never i^a;in return^ 
wh^ a JPftricJes, iifter walking with Plato ia a ^r- 
ticp feuilit by Pt^difts, .i^od paihted by Apelle^^ Jf^ifiH 
fg^r to hear a pleiidii^ of Pem.ostbeQ,e9, or a 
jtoigedy of Sophocles.' 

I^hali ne^ct examine the <^her paj^ of Addison^s 
a^^ertipjQt, that the modom? excel the ^cient^ ^n all 
fbe arts of iiidicule^ and asaiga the re^ons of thi» 
ftjupposed es^pellence* 

z. . 



%^ 



932 AOVENTDKER. M* 128.' 



N* 128. SATURDAY, JANUARY 26, 1754. 



UU ninsitorsumy hie dextrorston abk ; unut utripu 
Error^ sed variit iliudit partibus, HOR* 

When in a wood we leave the certain way, 

One error fools us, though we various stray, 

Some to the left, and some to t'other side* FRANCIS. 

* 

It is common among all the classes of mankind, to 
charge each other with trifling away life : every man 
looks on the occupation or amusement of his neigh- 
bour, as something below the dignity of our nature, 
and unworthy of the attention of a rational being. 

A man, who considers the paucity of the wants of 
nature, and who, bdng acquainted with the various 
means by which all manual occupations are now fa- 
cilitated, observes what numbers are supported by 
the labour of a few, would, indeed, be inclined to 
wonder, how the multitudes who are exempted from 
the necessity of working either for themselves or 
others, find business to fill up the vacuities of life. 
The greater part of mankind neither card the fleece, 
dig the mine, fell the wood, nor gather in the har- 
vest ; they neither tend herds nor build houses ; in 
what, then, are they employed ? 

This is certainly a question, which a distant 
prospect of the world will not enable us to answer. 
We find all ranks and ages mingled together in a 
tumultuous confusion, with haste in their motions, 
and eagerness in their looks ; but what they hav^i 



.^lillg8'Poye^xrxwely:bQqausfe:^b^ l^e, and 

.«D«^fie.^ fix ^}^b^i(^ /Vl^e.^^Uftl^t i^^j^^ is 
-wor&less in itself, and then coi(|^nfL fi^r .tJ^jji^ 

.:be,b^s^ti(?«ked:>is Pi«gir|«pwt<^y,; g|ri^V4^(^t :the 

rpfiji^tis^ :l»y «Ai^r. [I?hieifl9Qft3»|fJ5W9. attg|p, 
dmd .'rfpws :th*t ibis r?i%lis tWs #1^ Jiw fas^ 
ji^«rs/ilMi%ttn*8l4ne.wit)i;^i3iA5fni. ,T^^ ipa^ .is 

iWcdi W^ 4«w j«HawwWhb?fiW« fem ; ?«otber burets 
from his company to the play, because )|e)|ip»^^ 

ima^ ih^-j^fiXL loF j^ ^r^. ; : 99l^i«p^ the 

.mmmg I'm imm^wis^f^ ^wt^ u4b»r itawr» ii»4 

-wm ifii^if^ff^fm.tfi Itofiir'^ftk = ^98»e tare: fe^- 
:j|ig> parties fpr .cards, and some, laying .wf§^rs jit ^a 

,I(.fiam«]t, jl tlvii^,,>e^^l^i^^,[jt^tspme:j^f tb^ 

.Ji^es lare papaed in. trifles,. in^oi56upajkj,^ 

ilhe buay neither benefit .i^hem^YjiQS: ^r-ot^rs,.;^ 

-.byTWhidk-no flaj^nvConU 1^4ongeng«gqd,r.|jrl^;feri- 

eiosly ^iw49ied what Jie 5¥imdqU»g,j9r l^adJi^ow 

;Wgei.ei>ough.|tp. efl^mpwfe^^^hat he ^with^lfLhft:]^ 

:li^bt-be jpRa(^. ,IJoiweyer,.,jiSjp^pie,who,,J^ye 

itkie'Sfwe JiH^iHk|^gQ9«:aUy(49i^ y^^fhst, eyjsfy 

trifler is kept igi.^unt^anpe ]^y ^thq. eight of othc^ni 

3ts iwipriifi^bly actiive^.as hiDO^;(hy„kijidlaig the 

MmUm^^^y ib»^9g)ua)Pva449te9sely:J9fa^ 



Some degree of eelf-approlNitioii is always the 
reward of dUligence; and I cannot, thoefore, bat 
consider the laborious fniltivation of petty pleasares, 
88 a more happy and more virtuoas diqpositioiiy 
than that universal contempt and haughty negligenoe 
which is sometimes associated with powerful facal* 
ties, but is often assumed by indolence when it 
disowns its name, and aspires to the appellation of 
greatness of mind. 

It has been long obsenred, that drollery and ridi- 
eule is the most easy kind of wit : let it be added, 
that contempt and arrogance is the easiest philo- 
sophy. To find some objection to every thing, 
and to dissolve in perpetual laziness under pretsenee 
that occasions are wanting to call forth activity, to 
laugh at those who are ridiculously busy without 
setting an example of more rational industry, is no 
less in the power of the meanest than of the highest 
intellects. 

Our present state has placed us at once in such 
different relations, that every human employment, 
which is not a visible and immediate act of good- 
, ness, vrill be, in some respect or other, sulject to 
contempt : but it is true, likewise, that almost every 
act, which is not directly vicious, is, in some respect, 
beneficial and laudable. ^ I often,' says Bruyere, 
< observe from my window, two beings of erect form 
and amiable countenance, endowed with the powers 
of reason, able to clothe their thoughts in language, 
and convey their notions to each other. They rise 
early in the morning, and are every day employed 
till sun-set in rubbing two smooth stones together, 
' or, in other terms, in polishing marble.' 

* If lions could paint,' says the fable, *■ in the 
room of those pictures which exhibit men vanquisk- 
ing hons, we should see lions feeding upon me^' 
If the stone-cuttw could have written like Bniyeie, 
what would he have replied ? 



N* 128. ADTXlTTOBEt. t3& 

* I look up,' aays he, * every day from my shop, 
upon a man whom the idlers, who stand still to 
gaze upon my work, often celebrate as a wit and a 
philosopher. I of^ perceite his face clouded 
with care, and am told that his taper is sometimes 
burning at midni^t The sight of a man who 
works so much harder than myself, excited my 
cariosity. I heard no sound of tools in his apart- 
ment, and, therefore, could not imagine what he 
was doing ; but was told at last, that he was writing 
descriptions of mankind, who when he had de- 
scribed them would live just as they had lived be- 
fore ; that he sat up whole nights to change a sen* 
tenee, because the sound of a letter was too ohea. 
repeated ; that he was often disquieted with doubto, 
about the propriety of a word which every body 
•understood; that he would hesitate between two 
-expressions equally proper, till he could not fix hiis 
choice but by consulting his friends ; that he will 
nm from one end of Paris to the other, for an op- 
portunity of reading a period to a nice ear ; that 
if a single line is heard with coldness and inatteft- 
tion, he returns home dejected and disconsolate-; 
and that by all. this care and labour, he hopes only 
to make a little book, which at last will teach no 
useful art, and which none who has it not will per- 
ceive himself to want I have often wondered for 
what end such a being as this was sent into the 
world ; and should be glad to see those who live 
thus foolishly, seized by an order of the govenf- 
ment, and obliged to labour at some useful oocupa* 
tion.' 

Thus, by a partial and imperfect representatiotit 
may every thing be made equally ridiculous. He 
dkat gazed with contempt on human beings rul^ 
bing stones together, mi^t have prolonged the 
sipe amusement by walking through .the city, and 



seeiiig otbeEs with 1(x4es of ixqportanoe hfM|{nng one 
' .brick upon «B0ther ; or ,by rambling into .the counr- 
trjr, whore he might obaeinrev other creatiurfis of the 
Bame kind idriving in Apiocerof .sharp iron into the 
jcky, or in ;the iknguage lOf .men J986'enl^hlencd» 
.ploughing the .field. 

'As it is thus^eesy by a detail of ;minute 'circum^ 
Manoes to make-eyei^y: thing little, so it is .not dif* 
.ficult by «n .^^egation of effioets to otake .ey^ 
thing.great ^ae polisher ofmarbleiinaytbeifocm- 
ifl^ Dmanients for due palaces of Tirtue^.and.the 
jchoi^of seienoe; or .providio^ tables <m whidh 
ihe actions of heroes and the dlscoy^es of mgi» 
«hallbe:reoorded, for the indteni^nt <afid inslnie* 
tioaof future goierations. The ttasom is^^oameish 
ing one of the principal ^arts by whiadi -geftsomng 
.hnn^s aie distinguiahed from the bnutQ, .^<^aft to 
. »wfaidi life owes much of its safety and ;>allitstcc»i<- 
useaiftQce, by which we are secui?ed froivi the in^ 
^eiBency of the. seasons, and fortified agausst cihe 
laMages.of hostility ; and the ploughman is .dMAg- 
4Ag the face of nature, diffusing plenty and ha^ppi- 
ness/iOTer kingdoms, and. compelling the <earth:to 
^w food to l^r inhabitants. 

Gmalmsss a»d littleness are terms merely com- 
j»aiative ; .and iwe .^r.in our estimation. of thiogs, 
'.beoNiae^we/ineaflUjre them bytaoime wrcmg: standasd. 
•The trifler proposes to himself only to equal H»r 
fixfiel some ot^er trifler, and is . happy or. miserable 
-as he siioeeeds or.aoiscarries : the man of sedentary 
jiaate and unacttye ambition sits compaiii^^ Ma 
power with his wishes ; and makes his inabihty^to 
eperform.things impossible, an excuseuto himedtf for 
^rfonning . nothing* Man can* only foian t^ifmt 
•cbtknate.of his.own actions, by making. Jus ;:MWier 
4he lest .t>f his performance^ by.conq^iiQg^irnayie 
<doe8with'Whftt.he^«aaido. lvfh(m»ti^^niiij:fm'^ 



■everes in the (ixertidn of all his faculties, does what 
is great with respect to himself; and what will not 
be despised by Him, who has given to all created 
beings their different abilities: be faithfully per- 
formi the task of life, within whatever limits his 
labours may be confined, or how soon soever they 
may be forgotten. 

We can conceive so much more than we can ac- 
complish, that whoever tries his own actions by his 
imagination, may appear despicable in his own 
eyes. He that despises for its littleness any thing 
really useful, has no pretensions to applaud the 
grandeur of his conceptions; since nothing but 
narrowness of mind hinder^ him from seeing, that 
by pursuing the same principles every thing limited 
'will appear contemptible. 

He that neglects the care of his family, while his 
benevolence expands itself in scheming the happiness 
of imaginary kingdoms, mi^l with equal reason sit 
on a throne dreaming of universal empire, and of 
the difiusion of blessings over all the globe : yet 
even this globe is little, compared vnth^the system 
of matter within our view ! and that system barely 
something more than non-entity, compared widi 
the boundless regions of space, to which neither 
eye nor imagination can extend. 

IVom conceptions, therefore, of what we might 
have been, and from wishes to be what we are not, 
conceptions that we know to be foolish, and wishes 
which we feel to be vain, we must necessarily de- 
scend to the consideration of what we are. We 
have powers very scanty in their utmost extent, but 
which in different men are differently proportioned. 
Suitably to these powers we have duties prescribed, 
which we must neither decline for the sake of 
delighting ourselves with easier amusements, nov 



938 ADVBNTVEBIU 9^ 129. 

6verlook in idle co&lsmplation of greater excvHenom 
or more extensive oompiehension. 

In order to the right conduct of oor lives, we must 
lemember, that we are not born to please ourselves. 
He that studies simply his own satis&ction, will 
always find the proper business of his staiioo too 
hard or too easy for him. But if we bear contkm* 
ally in raiad, our rektion to The Father of Being, 
by whom we are placed in the world, and who has 
allotted us the part which we are to bear in the 
general system of life, we shall be easily persuaded 
to resign our own inctinattons to Unerring Wiadom* 
and do die work decreed for us with Jbe&MD08$ 
diligence. 

T. 



wmmaeammmmaBOBm 



N» 129. TUESDAY, JANUARY 29, 1764. 



Slmcguid oguui homtnes, votum, wmfir^ ira, voluptag^ 
Gaudia ^— - JVX, 

Wbate'er excites onr hatred, love, or joy. 

Or hope, or fear, these themes my muse employ. 



TO THE ADVEMTURERr 
SIR,' Bath, Itec. 29. 

LsoNMteo OA ViNGi, ouo of the most accom* 
pliahed masters in the an of paintiqg, was aecus- 
tomed to delineate mstimtly in his poeket«-book 
every face in wbich he discovered any singularity of 
«ar or feature. By this method he obtained a vast 



N* 129. ADTENTumnu 239 

coMe6don of tariout countenances ; and escaped that 
barren uDiformity and resemblance, so visible in the 
generality of history pieoes» that the spectator is apt 
to imagine all the figures are of one family. 

As a moralist should imitate this practice, and 
sketdi characters from the life, at the instant in 
which they strike him ; I amused myself yesterday 
in the Panp-room, by contemplating the different 
condidcSM and characters of the persons who were 
moving before me» and particularly the various mo- 
tives that influenced them to crowd to the city. 

Aphiodieius, a young nobleman of great hopes 
and large property, fell into a course of early de* 
baucbery at Westminster school, and at the age of 
sixteen |nivately kept an abandoned woman of the 
towB^ to whose lodgings he stole in the intervals of 
sdiool hours, and who soon communicated to him 
a disease of peculiar power to poison the springs of 
life, aa^d prevent the maturity of manhood. His 
body is enervated and emaciated, his cheek yellow 
and bloodless, his hand fMalsied, and his mind 
gloomy and d^ected. ~ It being thought, however, 
absolutely necessary for the welfare of his family 
that he should many, he has been betrothed, in this 
drsadft^l condition, to a lady whose bettuty and 
vivacity are in their meridian : and his physicians 
have ordered him to these salutary waters to try if 
it be possible for him to recover a little health be- 
fore the marriage is celebrated. Can we wonder at 
the diminished race of half-formed animals, that 
crawl about our streets in the shape of men, when 
matches so unequal and so unnatural are not only 
permitted, but enjoined as « test of filial duty, and 
the condition of parental favour 1«— 

InvtUidifue patrum r^ermi jejuiua moft. V IRQ . 

From the fisint embrace 
Vonfanly sons arise, « puny vace! 



1M0 ADTBNTUAER. N"" 1^9^ 

Inertk) is a plump and healthy old bachelor, a 
senior fellow of a nich society in one of our am- 
versities, whose chief business in life is to ride be- 
fore dinner for a good appetite, and after it for a 
good digestion. Not only his situation but his 
taste has determined him to continue in a state of 
celibacy ; * for,' says he, ' at present I can afford to 
drink port and keep a couple of geldings ; but if I 
should rashly encumber myself with madam and 
her brats, I must descend to walk on foot and drink 
ale.' He was much alarmed at missing his regular 
annual fit of the gout, and, on that account, having 
waited for it with impatience and uneasiness a 
month longer than the expected time, he hurried to 
this city in hopes of acquiring it by the efficacy of 
the waters. 1 found him yesterday extremely de- 
jected, and on my entering his chamber, * Idfe,^ 
said he, ^ is fall of rexations and disappointments: 
what a dreadful accident !' I imagined that some 
selected friend, some brother of his choice, was 
dead, or that the college treasury was burnt : but 
he immediately undeceived me by adding — ^ I was 
presented with the finest, the fattest collar of brawn, 
and expected it at dinner this day : but the rascally 
carrier has conveyed it to a wrong place, fifty miles 
off, and before I can receive it, it will be absolutely 
unfit for eating.' 

Here likewise is the learned and ingenious Crita 
Crito is a genius of a superior order, who hath long 
instructed and entertained his country by many in- 
comparable works of literature and morality ; and 
who in a Grecian commonwealth would have had 
a statue erected, and have been maintained at the 
public expense ; but in this kingdom he has with 
|;reat difficulty gained a precarious competence, by 
mcessant labour and application. These uninter- 
rupted and unrewarded studies have at length im- 



«* 1^9* At>VBllTUR«K. 241 

paired his health, and undermined a constitution 
naturally vigorous and happy: and as Crito has 
never been able to lay up a sum sufficient to pro* 
cure him the assistance which the debility of sickness 
and age require, he was obliged to insure his life, 
and borrow at exorbitant interest a few pounds to 
enable him to perform this journey to Bath, which 
alone could restore his health and spirits ; and now, 
as his money and credit are exhausted, he will be 
oompelled to abandon this place, when his'cure is 
only half-effected ; and must retire to languish in a 
little lodging in London, while his readers and ad- 
mirers content themselves with lamenting his distress, 
and wondering how it comes to pass that nothing has 
been done for a man of such distinguished abilities 
and integrity. 

Doctor Pamper is possessed of three large eccle- 
riastical preferments : his motive for coming hither i^ 
somewliat singular; it is, because his parishes cannot 
furnish him with a set of persons that are equal to 
liim in the knowledge of whist ; he is, therefore, 
necessitated every season to frequent this place, where 
alone he can meet with gamesters that are worth 
cont^iding with. 

Spumosius, who is one of. the liveliest of free- 
thinkers, had not been three months at the Temple 
before he became irresistibly enamoured of the beauty 
of virtuev He always carried a Shaftesbury in his 
pocket, and used to read and explain the striking 
passages to large circles at the coffee-house ; he was 
of opinion that for purity and perspicuity, elegance of 
xStyle, and force of reasoning, the Characteristics were 
incomparable, and were models 'equally proper for 
reguladng our taste and our morals. He discovered 
a dehcate artificial connexion in these discourses, 
which to vulgar eyes appear to be loose and incohe- 
rent rhapsodies : nay, be deariy perceived, that each 

VOXm XXV. T 



treatiM depended on Uie for^goiag, and nUogeibor 
fxmipoaed oae uniform whole, mi &e noblest syst^ro 
of triOh end rirtue that had been inipurted to ni«^»* 
Idsd* He quarrelled irreconcilably with bi9 d^ar^t 
friend, irho happened to hint, that the 9tyle w.s9 
affected and unharnianioua, the n^^tephors far- 
fetehed aad violent, and frequently coaree and il- 
libtfal, (he argueo^nts ineonciupive aad unfivr, tb# 
raillery frigid and inaipid, and t9taUy difi^ent from 
the Attic iricNiy of Socrates, which the author pr^ 
turned to propose for his paitemu Sfxufnosius always 
disdained to practise Wrtue <»» the mean and n^er^ 
jsenary motives of reward fffid puniitoeni ; 4nd was 
cDnvinced, that so excelleni a creature as mm mi^i 
he kept in order by the silken OQrds oti^Ufm^j Mid 
decorum. He, therefore, frequently snafued at the 
priestly notions of hea^^Ma md hell, as fit only to be 
emertaiined by vulgar and sordid minds. But ibeing 
lately attacked by a ae¥«re distemper, he ba4ira|red 
fears that were not compat>ls»le with the bcidxkess of 
his former profesaons ; and teirifiAd at the approadi 
of death, has had recourse to various remedies, and 
is at last arrived here, as full of doubt as .of disease^ 
but feeling more acute pain in his mind than ^caa 
possibly ,be inflicted on his body^ 

Mr. OuU was ktely a soopbiojiler at Chester, but 
having accumialated a ^vast fortune by trade, he is 
now resolved to be polite, and enjoy his money 
with taste. He has brougl^ has numerous family 
of awkward girls hither, only because he has heard 
that people of fashion do at this time of the year 
generally take a trip to Bath: and for the same 
reason he intends in the spring toonake a journey 
to Paris, and will, I dare say, commence virtuoso 
on his return, and be a professed judge of dress, 
{nctures, and fiimitn^. 

I must not forget to inform yon that wo fauve the 



company of Captain Gairish, a wit and a critic, who 
pretends he is perfectly acquainted with the best 
'writers of the age, and whose opinion on every new 
"work is deemed decisive in the Pamp-room. The 
prefaces of Dryden, and the French critics, are the 
sources From which his immense literature is derived. 
Oacier's Plutarch has enabled him to talk familiarly 
of the most celebrated Greeks and Romans, and 
Bayle's Dictionary finished him for a scholar. Some- 
titties te vouchsafes to think the Adventurer tolerable; 
but he generally exclaims, ^ How grave and senten- 
tious ! Good Heavens 1 what more Greek ! Thia 
cirtumstantovrillfuinthecredit of the paper. They 
will not take my advice, for you must know I am 
intimate with ail the authore of it ; they are ten in 
ftuinber ; and some of them-— ^-^But as I have been 
vntKtsted with their secrets, I must <Mtclose no more. 
*rb tell you l!ie tru^, I hare given them a few essays 
thyself, which I have written for my amusement 

If £ete portraits, which are faithfully eofned from 
^ life, should amuse you, I may, periiafps, take an 
idppoitunity of adding to the collection. 

1 am, 
Z. Mr. Adtenturer, Your*s, 

PHILOMEnBS^ 



Y« 



344 ADTKMTUftBIU «* 190l 



N' 13a SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 4, 1754. 



Ski non ett hodie, crat mtfiirt aptmt §ni» MART* 

The man will surely fail who dares delay^ 
Aiid lose to*iDorruw tbat has lost to-day. 

It was said by Raleigh^ when some of his firieads 
lamented his confiaement under a sentence of deaths 
which he knew not how soon he might suffer, 
* that the world itself was only a larger prison, out 
of which some were every day selected for execu- 
tion.* That there is a time when every man is 
struck with a sense of this awful truth, I do not 
doubt ; and, perhaps, a hasty speculatist would 
conclude that its influence would be stronger in 
proportion as it more frequently occurred : but upon 
every mind that is become familiar with calamity, 
calamity loses its force ; and misery grows less only 
by its continuance, because those who have long 
suffered, lose their sensibility. 

If he, who lies down at night in the vigour and 
health of five-and-twenty, should rise in the morn- 
ing with the infirmities of fourscore, it is not impro« 
bable that he would sink under a sense of his condi- 
tion ; regret of enjoyments which could never return, 
would preclude all that remained, and the last mourn- 
ful effects of decaywo'uld be hastened and aggrdvated 
by anticipation. But those who have been enfeebled 
by degrees, who have been shaken ten years by 



HhB pikf^ orenppM by the gout, firoqaently totter 

aivottt ^tfpOB iiieir enitdies with an air of waggish 

jocuUnri^, are always teady to entertain ^leir com- 

patay with a jent, meet their acquaintance with a 

toothkn grin, and are the first to toast a young 

'iMNiit^ tdMi ihey cansearee lift the ghas to their 

'l)p6. Efen ^miniils, who -knew that in the mom- 

ting they w«re to die, have often slept in :die night ; 

'tiiCN)g|i very few of thote who have been committed 

ribr a4HipilBl'^«nee,'whieh they knew would be»easily 

proved, hat^-slept fhb'fimt nig^ after they were con- 

•fitied. Di^r so sudden and soimmincnt, ahoms, 

'-eoiifoiaidafttiid terrifies ; but after a time stuporsup- 

plies the want 6f fordtude ; andastheevilapproaeho, 

•It is in^ctfeet iMsttrrihle, except in the moxn«it when 

it -arrive: atod (hm, 'indeed, itwcommon to km^t 

tliat insiAisibility, which before |)eriiapB wasvolun- 

'farilyincre^didd bydrtmkanness or distnpation, by 

eolii^ iiit^tiipefanoe dr tumultuous eonqpany. 

There is sofnseftedsoin to believe, that * ibis power 
of the world' foP0Ome,'ais it is expreftsed to* due sub- 
fimity of Sasti^fn mettphor, is gencndly felt^t die 
sa)ne lig^. The^dretta ^of death ^bas 'seUom been 
found to intrude upon the cheerftihiess, moplicity, 
and -itkiooeacfe ^f '^fldren ; they gaze mt a iinieral 
pfoc^esi<6n'iiHl^' as^much vacant«urio8ity,?asat any 
o^Mnr shew, And-see the world diadge before tfacm 
with^t^ least MSnse-of their own ffaare. in die 
tieissitude. In yoUth, when all the appetites are 
ntnWg, «nd ^ery gratification is heightened by tio* 
telty, the mind refti^ moumftil impteBskms withia 
kiadof-ela^ic'pdiwer, by whieh die figila;tnre diat 
is foftted upon it is iMuecyately effiieod : when this 
tuhmlt fit8t> Aibsid^, ^while die attadndent of life 
' is yet'Miotfg, and the^ mind begins to loekforwasd, 
and concert measures by whidi those eigoymMttfl 
ttaybefe0tmted^wU(^tt is •olicitoa8'ilo>Jliq>i or 

t3 



346 abvevturbH.^ k* ISO. 

others obtaiDad to atone for the disappoiBtmeiits that 
are past, then death starts up like a spectre in all his 
terrors, the blood is chilled at his appearance, he 
is perceived to approach with a constant and irresist- 
ible pace,, retreat is impossible, and resistance is vain. 

The terror and anguish which this image produces 
whenever, it first rashes upon the mind, are always 
complicated with a sense of guilt ahd remorse ; and 
genmlly produce some hasty and zealous purposes 
of more uniform virtue and more ardent derotion, 
of something that may secure us not only from the 
worm that never dies, and the fire that is not 
quenched, but from total mortality, an4 admit hope 
to the regions beyond the grave. 

This purpose is seldom wholly relinquished,* 
though it is not always executed with vigour and 
perseverance ; the reflection which produced it often 
recurs, but it still recurs with less force ; desire of 
immediate pleasure becomes predominant ; appetite 
is no longer restrained ; and either all att^npts to 
secure future happiness are deferred ' to a more con- 
venient season,' or some expedients are sought to 
render sensuality and virtue compatible, and to ob- 
tain every object of hope without lessening the trea- 
sures of possession. Thus vice naturally becomes 
the disciple of infidelity ; and the wretch who dares 
not aspire to the heroic virtue of a Christian, listens 
with eagerness to . every objection against the au- 
thority of that law by which he is condemned, and 
labours in vain to establish another that will acquit 
him : he forms many arguments to justify natural 
desires ; he learns at length to impose upon himself; 
and assents to principles which yet in his heart he 
does not believe ; he thinks himself convinced, that 
virtue must be happiness, and then dreams that 
happiness is virtue. 

These frauds, though they would have been im* 



•I* 150. ADYBNTimBR. 947 

pDastUe in the hour of conviction and terror, are yet 
pfnctiaed with great ease when it is jpast, and contri- 
bute very much to prevmt its return. It is, indeed, 
scarce possible, that it should return with the same 
force, because the power of novelty is necessarily 
exhausted in the first onset Some incidents, how- 
ever, there are, which renew the terror; and they 
sddom fail to renew the purpose : upon the death of 
a friend, a parent, or a wife, the comforts and the 
confidence of sophistry are at an end : the moment' 
that suspends the influence of temptation, restores 
the power of conscience, and at once rectifies the 
understanding. He, who has been labouring to 
explain away those duties which he had not fortitude 
to practise, then sees the vanity of the attempt; he 
ngrets the time that is past, and resolves to improve 
that which remains^ but if the first purpose of refer-* 
mation has been ineffectual, the second is seldom ex* 
ecuted ; as the sense of danger by which it is produced 
is not so strong, the motive is less ; and as the power 
of appetite is increased by habitual gratification, the 
opposition is more : the new conviction wears off; 
* the duties are again neglected as unnecessary, which 
are found to be unpleasant ; the lethargy of the soul 
returns, and as the danger increases she becomes less 
susceptible of fear. 

Thus the dreadfiil condition of him, * who looks 
back after having put his hand to the plough,' may 
be resolved into natural causes; and it may be 
affirmed, upon mere philosophical principles, that 
there is a call which is repeated no more, and an apos- 
tacy from which it is extremely difiicult to return. 

Let those who still delay that which yet they be- 
lieve to be of eternal moment, remember that their 
motives to effect it will still grow weaker, and the 
difficulty of the work perpetually increase ; to neglect 
it now, therefore, is a pl^te^ that it will be negleoted 



%4ir MbfBffvonut. M* iSO. 

*fer eter ; andtf tkey ai^ioaBed by this tSiOttglfi, l6t 

-diem instantly improve its iiiflttence^ for ev^a this 

thought when it Manis, iriU rmmh with Itess ^Wer , 

•nd though it should rOuse thte now, will perhaps 

Touse them no- more. But let them 'tiot confidiB ui 

-such virtue as can be practised wiiho^t 'a styuggfe, 

and which interdicts the grutifioiktioti of no {>a8sidii 

but malice; nor adopt j^rmciplesiVhieh^oukliiiey^ 

be believed at ^ only timeVhen fisa^y icouM be U9<^ 

Ail; like at^gbhietits which nM^isdttietimesf form whte 

%ey slumber^ and the moment they awtdee discover 

lobe absurd. 

Let those who in the lOigaiBh of an 'in^irakeiMd 

mind hate regrettedthe p8St,'andi<Mlvedloi«lte^ln 

"^it in the fhtuire, pet^t invariably to do '#hitfiff«r tl»iy 

"iSsm wished to have donfe. Let this be ^ieitabHifliMBd 

ilfli a oo)DtttantmIe of abtion, and opposed ^o toAdle 

-'(tArih of sophistry and sense ; for this wish' wilVine- 

vi«ably return when' it must for ever be ine£Pe^tf^, at 

'llfat awful mbmiBnt when *'tiieshadow«f death shall 

be stnstdied over them, and that night comtnenee in 

\Ad^ ttio man c$ak work/ 



ADTBltTimKB. i49 



N* 131. TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 5, 1754. 



"Misce 



Ergo aKquid twttris de nwribut, JUV* 

And mbgle something of our timet to please. 

DRYDEN, Jon« 

FoNTBHELLK, in hts panegyric on Sir Isaac Newton, 
doses ft long enumeration of that great philosopher's 
'Virtues and attainments, with an obseryation, that 
* he was not distinguished from other men by any 
nngukrity either natural or affected.' 

it is an eminent instance of Newton's superiority 
to the rest of mankind, that he was able to separate 
knowledge from those weaknesses by which know- 
ledge is genierally disgraced ; that he was able to 
excel in science and wisdom, without purchasing 
them by the neglect of little things ; and that he 
stood alone, merely because he had left the rest of 
mankind behind him, not because he deviated from 
the beaten track. 

Whoever, after the example of Plutarch, should 
compare the lives of illustrious men, might set this 
part of Newton's character to view with great ad- 
vantage, hj opposing it to that of Bacon, perhaps 
the only man of later ages, who has any preten« 
tions to dispute with him the palm of genius and 
science. 

Bacon, after he had added to a long' and careful 
coatemplatioo of ahnost every other object of know- 



kdge a eurious inspection into common life, and. 
after haying mureyed nature as a philosopher, had 
examined ' men's bosiness and bosoms' as a states- 
man ; yet failed so much in the conduct of domes- 
tie affairs, that, in the most lucrative post to which 
H grieat and w^thy kin'gdoin could advance hiih, 
be felt all the miseries of distressful poverty, and 
committed all the crim<fi to which poverty incites. 
Such were at once his negligence and rapacity, that 
as it is saidy he would gain by unworthy practices 
that money, which, when so acquired, his servants' 
might steal from one end of the table, while he sat 
studious and abstracted at the other. 

As scarcely any man has reached the excellence^, 
very few have sunk to the weakness of Baeon : but 
almost all the studioi^ tribe, as they obtain aay fut^ 
tidpation of his knowledge, feel likewise some conta^ 
(ion of his defects ; and obstmet the venenttidit 
which learning would procure^ by follies greater or 
lets to which only learning could betray them. 

It has been formerly remarked by The Ghmrdiani 
that the world pmushes with too great severity the 
error of those, who imagine that the ignomnee oT 
little things may be con|pettsated by the knoiwledge 
of |;reat ; for so it is, that as more can detect pett^ 
faihngs than can disdnceisk or esteem great quidifi- 
cations, and as mankind is in general moke easily 
disposed to censure than to admiration, coslempt is 
often incurred by slight mistakes, which real vtitue 
or usefulness cannot oounterbahmoe. 

Yet such mistakes and inadvertencies, it is not 
easy for a man deeply immersed in study to ardid ; 
no man can become qualified for ^e eommon in- 
teioottrses of life, by private meditatton; the man- 
ners of the world are not a regular system, plenned 
by pfailosophere upon setded piincipies, in which 
•rery cause has a congraoes effect^ aad on^ foi . 



m^ 13L AI^VBNTVRBIU Ml 

basAJustiiefmBQetpiMiotbar. Of tballuiiioiupre* 
valent in every oountry, ^ few have mma, perhapiy 
fjnoa pfutiea}ii^r teiBf«ratuire9 of the diin«te; a few 
sam froin ihe ponsUtution of the govenuneat ; but 
the gseater psirt h^Q grown up by cbaoee, heea 
started by cafNTice, been contrived by affi^ctation, or 
borrowed without ^y just motives of dioice firoa 
iother coi^ntri^ 

Of aH these, the savage that hunts bis prey upon 
the mountains, aB4 the sage that speculates in his 
closet, must necessarily live in equal ignorance; 
yet by the observation of these trifla^ it is, that the 
ranks of mankin4 are kept in order, that the address 
of one to auo^eris rsj^ted,siiid the gsneral busi- 
ness of the world earned on with facility and me- 
thod. 

These thin|ps» therefore, thou^ small in them- 
selves, h^fiOfst^ great by their frequency ; and he 
very much mistakes his own interest, who, to the 
nnav^id^l^lo v^nskiUulness of ahstraction^and retire* 
ment, adds a voluntary n^lect of common forms, 
and increases the disadvantages of a studious course 
of life i>y an furrogaut contempt of those practices, 
by which others endeavour to ^in favour and mul- 
tiply friendBhips. 

. A f cal ^Byi interior disdun of feshioo and oere- 
mony, ifii iodaod, not very often to be found: much 
the greater part of those who pretend to hiugh at 
fpppery and formalities, secretly wish to have pos- 
' a^^ those qualifications which they pretend to 
despise ; and because they find it difficult to wash 
away the tincture which they have so deeply imbibr 
ed, endeavour to harden themselves in a sullen ap- 
probation of their own colour. Neutrality is a state, 
into which the busy passions of man cannot easily 
' JVibside^ and he who is in danger of tha pangs of 



tB2 ADTBNTimER. N* I3t» 

envy, is 'generally forced to recreate his itnaginadon 
with an ejBTort of contempt. 

Some, however, may be found, who, sapported 
by the consciousness of great abilities, and eleyated 
by a long course of reputation and applause, voliin* 
tarily consign themselves to singulanty, affect ta 
cross the roads of life because they know that they 
shall not be justled, and indulge a boundless gmti-' 
fication of will, because they perceive that they 
shall be quietly obeyed. Men of this kind are ge- 
nerally known by the name of Humourists, an ap- 
pellation by winch he that has obtained it, and 
ean be contented to keep it, is set free at once from 
the shackles of fashion; and can go in or out, ait or 
atand, be talkative or silent, gloomy or meirry^ ad* 
vance absurdities or oppose demonstration, without 
any other reprehension from mankind, than that it 
is his way, that he is an odd fellow, and must be 
let alone. 

This seems, to many, an easy piassport through the 
Tarious factions of mankind ; and those on whom it 
is bestowed, appear too frequently to consider the 
patience with which their caprices are suffered as an 
undoubted evidence of their own importance, of a 
genius to which submission is universally paid, and 
whose irregularities are only considered as conse» 
quences of its vigour. These peculiarities, howevM*, 
are always found to spot a character, though they 
may not totally obscure it ; and he who expects from 
mankind, that they should give up established cus- 
toms in compUance with his single will, and exacts 
that deference which he does not pay, may be en« 
dured, but can never be approted. 

Singularity is, I think, m its own nature, univer<« 
sally and invariably displeasing. In whatever re- 
q)ecl a man differs from othmy he must be oo#- 



n^ 1.31. ABYBHTUREE* %$ 

«d<ered by them as other worse or better : by be- 

~ Isetter, it is well known that a man gains admi- 

of^ner than love, since ail approbation of 
practice must necessarily condemn him tiiat 
it ; and though a man often pleases by inferi- 
ority^ there are few who desire to give such plea* 
sure. Yet the truth is, that singularity is almost 
a.l'vrays regarded as a brand of slight reproach ; and 
'^nrliere it is associated with acknowledged merit, 
serves as an abatement, or an allay of excellence, 
1>y which weak eyes are reconciled to its lustre, and 
l>y which, though kindness is not gained, at least 
envy is averted. 

But let no man be in haste to conclude his own 
merit so great or conspicuous, as to require or jus- 
tify singidarity ; it is as hazardous for a moderata 
understanding to usurp the prerogatives of genius, 
as for a common form to play over the airs of uncon- 
tested beauty. The pride of men will not patiently 
endure to see one, whose understanding or attain- 
ments are but level with their own, break the rules 
by which they have consented to be bound, or for* 
sake the direction which they submissively follow* 
All violation of established practice implies in its 
own nature a rejection of the common ppinion, a 
ddiance of common censure, and an appeal from 
gmeral laws to private judgment: he, therefor^ 
who differs from others without apparent advantage; 
ought not to be angry if his arrogance is punished 
with ridicule; if those, whose example he super* 
dUously overlooks, point him out to derision, and 
hoot him back again into die common^road. 

The pride of singularity is often exerted in littla 
tiungs, where right and wrong are indetenminable^ 
and where, therefore^ vanity is without excuse. But 
dure are oceavMi on whidi^ it is ngUe to dart i» 



t54 AS>yVSiTV^MM. n^I^l*. 

fitand. ak>n#« To he piou^ among infiddB, to b^ 
diaiatear^etod in a tim^ of geo^ral yenality,, to laad. a 
Ufe of virtue and reason in the mid^t of sonsuaUsts^ 
i« a proof of a inind intent on npVler things tbau& 
the praise or blame of men, of a ^^1 fixed i& ibe 
contemplation of th^ highest good, and aupenpr tp 
the tynumy of custom and example. 

In ijaoral and religious questions only, a wise ma& 
will hold no opn^^ltatiQ^s with fi^ian, bacause 
thesQ duties are constant and immujtabl^y an4 de- 
pend not on the ^otipus o| m^^n, but the commnn^s 
of Heaven.: yet even of these, the external mpde i^ 
to be in some measure regulated by the prevailing 
taate of the age in which we liv^ ; for b^.is ceitainly 
no friend to virtne, who neglects to give it any lai^- 
ful attractjioo, oi su^rs it to displease th$ eye, oj 
aLie^ate the a&ctipns, for want of innoQ^Qt compU- 
8^p with fa^ionahle docorajdoi^* 

It in yet remembered of thp learned suad piqu^ 
Nelson, that he waa remarkably elegant inhism4)i^t 
l^ers, and splendid in bis dr/ess. He linaw that t)^ 
eininence of bis character drew many eyes uppQ 
^on ; and he was careful not tp driv^ tb§ }^oung or 
1^ gay away from religion, by representing it as an 
^(^my to any distinction pr enjoyment in, wbi(r^ 
bnman nature may innocently delight. 

In this censure of singularity, 1. have, ther^&jNte, 

np intention to sul^ect rei^^n or consci(snpQ iq G^%* 

IPQ^ or example. To comply with tbe.notipn^, and 

practices of mankind is in some degree the duty of 

> li, social being ; because by compliance ^nly h^ ca^ 

£ lease, and by pleasing only bp can becoine meful : 
ttt as the end is not to be lost for the sake of the 
])%ean8, we are not to give up virtue tp complaisaocp; 
iic the end of complaisancp is only to gain th^ |pnd« 

i)fi6«of our /dtow*WpgR» T(bpf^ kjin4»^ i^ i^imr 



N*lS^. ADVENTITRER. 255 

bte oiAj as inistrdrtiental to happittess, tod happiness 
mnst be always lost by detoartare from virtue. 



N^ 152. SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 9, 1754. 



*-— Fm«<«r per opaM-loe&rum, VI RQ. 

•«>— Driv'n through the palpable obscure. 

Caracas, the merchant 6f Bagdat, Was eminetit 
Uifoughout all the East for his avarice and hid 
wealth : his origin was obscure, as that of the spark 
^hich by the collision of steel and adamant is struck 
•out of darkness ; and the patient labour of perse* 
^^ng diligence ^ne had made him rich. It Was 
remembered, that when he was indigent he wai 
thotight to be generous ; and he Was still acknow- 
ledgled to be inexorably just, tint whether in hii 
dealings with hien he discovered a perfidy which 
.tfempt^ him to put his trust in g6ld, or whether in 
nfdjportion as he accumulated wealth he discovered 
Ins own importance to increase, Caravan priced il 
ihore as htf used it less ; he gradually lost the incli- 
nation to do good, as he acquired the power : and 
as the hand of time scattered Snow upon his head, 
tke freezing influence extended to his bosom. 

But though the door of Caravan was never open- 
ed by hospitality, nor his hand by compassion, yet 
fear led him instantly to the mosque at the stated 

z2 



156 ADTEHTUBBB. tfi 199l 

boun of prayers ; he performed all the rites of demo- 
tion with the most scrupuloos punctuality, and had 
thrice paid his vows at the Temple of the Prophet. 
That devotion which arises from the Love of God,. 
and necessarily includes the Love of Man, as it con- 
nects gratitude with beneficence, and exalts thai 
which was moral to divine, confers new" dignity 
upon goodness, and is 4he object not only of affec- 
tion but reverence. On the contrary, the devoti<» 
of the selfish, whether it be thought to avert the 
punishment which every one wishes to be inflicted^ 
or to insure it by the complication of hypocrisy with 
guilt, never fails to excite indignation and abhor- 
rence. Carazan, therefore, when he had locked hi^ 
door, and turning Tound with a look of circum- 
spective suspicion proceeded to the iHosque, was 
followed by every eye vrith silent maligni^ ; the 
poor suspended their supplication whan he passed 
oy; and though he was known by every man, yet 
no man saluted him. 

Such had long been the life of Carazan, and such 
was the character which he had acquired, when no- 
tice was given by proclamation, that he was removed 
to a magnificent building in the centre of the city, 
that his table should be spread for the public, and 
that the stranger should be welcome to his bed. The 
multitude soon rushed like a torrent to his door, 
where they beheld hin^ distributing bread to the 
hungry and apparel to the naked, his eye softened 
with compassion, and his cheek glowing with de- 
light. Every one gazed with astonishment at the 
prodigy ; and the murmur of innumerable voices in- 
creasing like the sound of approaching thunder, Ca- 
razan ^koned with his hand ; attention suffpended 
the tumult in a moment, and he thus gratined the 
curiosity which had procured him audience. 

To Him who touches the mountains and they 



silBoke. The Alm%faty and the Most Merciful, be 
efTBrlasting honour! he has ordained sleep to be the 
nimii^r of ilistraction, and his visions hare reproved 
lAe in the night. As I was sitting alone in my 
Iferam, with my lamp burping before me, computing 
tho product of my merchandize, and exulting in tba 
increase of my wealth, I fell into a deep sle^, and 
the hand of him who dwells in the third Heaven 
"WBB upon me. I beheld the Angel of death coming 
forward tike a whirlwind, and he smote me before | 
ccHild deprecate ^e blow. At the same moment I 
felX myself lifted from the ground, and transported 
with astottishing rapidity, through the regions of the 
air. The earth was contracted to an atom beneath ; 
and the stars^ glowed round me with a lustre thai 
obscured the sun. The gate of Paradise was now in 
eight; and I was intercepted by a sudden brightness 
ndhkih. no human eye could behold : the irrevocable 
sentence was now to be pronounced; my day of pro- 
bation tjnas past : and from the evil of my life nothing 
cbuki be taken awa;^, nor cduld any thing be added 
to the good. When I reflected that my lot fbr 
eternity was cast, which not all the powers of nature 
could reverse, my confidence totally forsook me ; 
and while I stood trembling and silent, covered with 
confusion and chilled with horror^ I was thus ad< 
dressed by the radiance that ildmed before mc. 

• Garazan, thy worship has not been accepted ; 
because it was not prompted by Love of God ; nei- 
Hwr cati thy righteousness be rewarded, because it 
was not produced by Love of Man : for thy own 
sake only hast thou rendered to every man his due ; 
and thou hast approached the Almighty only for thy- 
self. Thou hast not looked up with gratitude nor 
around thee with kindness. Around thec« thou hast 
indeed, beheld vice and folly ; but if vice and folly 
could justify thy paruitnonv, would' they not condemn 

t3 



25S AnTESnUUMML K* 1X» 

^he bounty of Heavea ? If not upon iibe foolish and 
tfae vicious, where sball the son diffiise his light, of 
^he clouds distil their dew ? Where shall the lipe of 
4ie ipring breathe fragrance, or the hand of aQtonm 
d'ffiue plenty ? Remember, Carazan, that thou bast 
shut compassion from thine heart, and grasped tl^ 
treasures with a hand of iron : thou hss lived for 
thyself ; and, therefore, henceforth for ever thou shalt 
subsist alone. From the light of Heaven, and from 
the society of all beings, shalt thou be driven ; soli- 
tude shall protract the lingering hours of eternity, 
and darkness aggravate the horrors of despair.' At 
this moment I was driven by some secret and ir- 
resistible power through the glowing system of cre- 
ation, and passed innumerable worlds in a moment 
As I approached the verge of nature, I perceived the 
shadows of total and boundless vacuity deepen before 
me, a dreadful region of eternal silence, solitude, and 
darkness ! Unutterable horror seized me at the pros- 
pect, and this exclamation burst from me with all the 
vehemence of desire : Oh I that I had heeaa, doomed 
for ever to the common receptacle of impenitence 
and guilt ! their society would have alleviated the 
torment of despair, and the rage of fire could not 
have excluded the comfort of light Or if I had 
been condemned to reside in a comet, that would 
return but once in a thousand years to the regions 
of light and life ; the hope of these periods, however 
distant, would cheer roe in the dread interval of 
cold and darkness, and the vicissitudes would divide 
eternity into time.' While this thought passed over 
roy mind, I lost sight of the remotest star, and the 
last glimmering of light was quenched in utter dark- 
ness. The agonies of despair etery moment increased, 
as every moment augmented my distance from the 
last habitable world. I reflected with intolerable 
anguish, that when ten thous^pd thousand years had 
carried nie beyond the reach of all but that Power 



'M'^ 13^ ADTENTURGIL 259 

iTvlio fills iDfinitude, I should still look forwai:d into 
sin immense abyss of darkness, through which I 
should still drive without succour and without 
society, farther and farther still, for ever and for 
ever. I then stretched out my hand towards the 
regions of existence, with an emotion that awaked 
xne. Thus have I been taught to estimate society, 
lake every other ble3sing, by its loss. My heart is 
\(ranned to liberality ; and I am zealous to com- 
municate the happiness which I feel, to those from 
whom it is derived ; for the society of one wretch, 
whom in the pride of prosperity T would have 
spumed from my door, would, in the dreadful soli- 
tude to which I was condemned, have been more 
highly prized than the gold of Afric, or the gems 
of Golconda. 

At this reflection upon his dream, Carazan be- 
came suddenly silent, and looked upward in ecstacy 
of gratitude and devotion. The multitude were 
struck at once with the precept and example ; aad 
the Caliph, to whom the event was related, that he 
might be liberal beyond the power of gold, com- 
•maiided it to he recorded for the benefit of po^ 
terity. 



180 ADVBMTUKGtt. K* 133. 



N" 133. TUESDAY, f EIBRUARY 12, 17i54. 



M nottrx pToavi Plautinot S^ numeros et 

Laudavert sales; nimium paiienter utruniquef 

Ne dicaitistulUt mirati; it m&do ego S^ vos 

Sdnuu inurbanum lepido stponere dielo. ^Olft; 

' And yet our sires with joy could Plautus bear; 

' Qay were his jests, his numbers charm'd their ear,' 

Let me not say too lavishly they |>rdis'd; 

But sure their judgment iris fall cheaply plMfe^ft, 

If yoa or I with taste are haply blest. 

To know a clownish from a coullly jest. PRANCIS. 



The fondness I hare so frequently manifested for 
the ancients, has not so far blinded my judgment as 
to render me unable to discern or unwilling to a^ 
knowledge the superiority of the modems, in pieces 
of Humour and Ridicule. I shall, therefore, eon- 
firm the general assertion of Addison, part of which 
hath already been examined. 

Comedy, Satire, and Burlesque, being the three 
chief branches of ridicule, it is necessary for us to 
compare together the most admired performances 
of the ancients and modems in these three kinds 
of writing, to qualify us justly to censure or com- 
mend, as the beauties or blemishes of eacfi party 
may deserve. 

As Aristophanes wrote to please the multitude, 
ibX a time when the licentiousnais .of the Athenians 



133. ADVBNTURER. S6l 

boondDess, his pleasantries are coarse and un- 
polite, his characters extravagantly forced, and dis«- 
torted with unnatural deformity^ like the monstrous 
caricatures of Callot. 

He is full of the grossest obscenity, indecency^ 
and inurbanity ; and as the populace always delight 
to hear their superiors abused and misrepresented, 
lie scatters the rankest calumnies on the wisest and 
worthiest personages of his country. His style is 
unequal, occasioned by a frequent introduction of 
.parodies on Sophocles and Euripides. It is, how- 
ever, certain, that he abounds in artful allusions to 
the state of Athens at the time when he wrote ; and, 
perhaps, he is more valuable, considered as a poli- 
tical satirist, than a writer of comedy. 

Plautus has adulterated a rich vein of genuine 
T^t and humour, with a mixture of the basest buf- 
foonery. No writer seems to have been born with 
a more forcible or more fertile genius for comedy. 
He has drawn some characters with incomparable 
spirit : we are indebted to him for the first good 
miser, and for that worn-out character among the 
Romans, a boastful Thraso. But his love degene- 
rates into lewdness ; and his jests are insupportably 
low and illiberal, and fit only for ' the dregs of 
Romulus' to use and to hear ; he has furnished ex- 
amples of every species of true and false wit, even 
down to » quibble and a pun. Plautus lived in an 
age when the Romans were but just emerging into 
pohteness ; and I cannot forbear thinking, that if 
he had been reserved for the age of Augustus, he 
would have produced more perfect plays than even 
the elegant disciple of Menander. 

Delicacy, sweetness, and correctness, are the 
characteristics of Terence. His polite images are 
all represented in the most clear and perspicuous 
expression , but his characters are too general and 



l6t ADVENTimiBlt. It" 135. 

tmiform, nor ure they marked WMi thb^ discrfmi- 
fiating peculiarities that distingui^ one 'tiika from 
another ; there is a tedious and disgastSng samene]^ 
of incidents in his plots, which, &s liath been ob- 
senred in a former paper, ate too cotnplicated d.iid 
intricate. It may be added, that he super^bouhdift 
in soliloquies ; and that nordiing can be more itiarti* 
licial or improper, than the manner in which he 
bath introduced them. 

To these three celebrated ancients 1 Irentare tt> 
oppose singly the matchless MoUere, as the ttiost 
consummate master of comedy" that former or later 
ages have produced. He was not content with 
painting obvious and common characters, but set 
niraself closely to examine the numberless varieties 
of human nature : he soon discovered fetery diffe- 
rence, however minute ; and by a proper managa- 
ment could make it striking ; his portraits, there- 
fore, though they appear to be ncrW, are V^t di^cto- 
Vered to be just. The Tartn^ and the Mis&ntr6j)e 
are the most singular, and yet, perhaps, the taoirt 
proper and perfect characters that comedy can 
Irepresent ; and his Miser excels that of any oth^r 
nation. He seems to have hit upon the true na- 
ture of comedy ; which is, to exhibit one singulalf 
and unfamihar character, by Such a i^ies of mci- 
dents ieTs may best contribute to shew its Angulari- 
ties. All the circumstances In the Misanbrope t6nd 
to manifest the peevish and captious disgust of tb^ 
hero ; all the circumstances in the Tiartuflfe Ate cftd- 
culated to shew the treachery of an accomplished 
hypocrite. I am sorry that no English writer of 
comedy can be produced as a rival to Moliere : al- 
though it must be .confessed, that Falstaff and Mo- 
rose are two admirable charict^rs, excellently sup- 
ported and displayed ; for Shakspeate has cbntrived 
All the incidents to illustrate the gluttohy, lewd- 



li^ 133k AOVSNTURSII. !|6S 

ness, eowaiidtce, uid boastfulness of the fat old 

Ifjiig^t : and Joimoa has with equal art displayed 
the oddity, of a whimsical humourist, who could 
^odure no kind oi noise. 

Will k be deemed a paradox to assert, that Con* 
gjieve's dr^maiip pfsrsons have no striking and natu- 
riU characteristic 1 His Fondlewife and Foresight 
ace l;>ut faint ppxtraits. of common characters, and, 
ISm i^ a forced and unnatural caricatura. His 
plays fi^peat not to be legitimate comedies, but 
strings of repartees and sallies of wit, the most poig-. 
ixa,Qt and pxuite, indeed, but unnatural and ill placed* 
The. trite a^d; trivial character of a fop hath strangely 
ep^pssed tbp English, stage, and given an insipid 
sjlmilaiLty to our pest pomic pieces : ofiginals can 
never be wantijog in such a kingdom as this, where 
Qji^h man follows hi^ natural inclinations and pro- 
^nsitjk^, if our writers would really contemplate 
i)ature, and endeavpur to open those mijies of hur 
niPU^ whidbi have been so long and so unaccountably 
Q^l^cted. 

If we prpceed to consider the Satirists of anti* 
cuiity, I shall not scruple to prefer Boileaa and. 
Pope tp Horace and Juvenal; the arrows of whos^ 
ridicule are mQre sharp, in proportion as they are 
mor^ polished. That reformers should abound in 
obscenities, as is the case of the two Romaa poets, 
is siirely an impropriety of the most extraordinary, 
l^ind; the courtly Horace also sometimes sinks into 
iQcian and farcical abuse, as in the first lines of the. 
seventh satire of the first book ; but Boileau and 
Pop^ have given to their Satire the Cestus of Venus : 
their ridicule is concealed and oblique ; that of the. 
Romans direct and open. The tenth satire of 
Bpileau on i^i^omen is more bitter, and more decent 
aji^^eL^nt, tbap. the ^j;th of Juvenal, on the 8am« 



1!64 ABVENT0RBK. M* 133. 

subject ; and Pope^s epistle to Mrs. Blount far ex- 
cels them both, in the artfulness and delicacy with 
which it touches female foibles* I may add, that 
the imitations of Horace by Pope, and of Juvenal 
by Johnson, are preferable to their originals in the 
appositeness of their examples, and in the poignanc]f 
of their ridicule. Above all, the Lutrin, the Rape 
of the Lock, the Dispensary, and the Dunciad, can* 
not be paralleled by any works that the wittiest of the 
ancients can boast of : because by assuming the form 
of the epopea, they have acquired a dignity and grace- 
fulness, which all satires delivered merely in the poet's 
own person must want, and with which the satirists 
of antiquity were wholly unacquainted ; for the 
Batrachomuomachia of Homer cannot be considered 
as the model of these admirable pieces. 

Lucian is the greatest master of Burlesque among 
the ancients : but the travels of Gulliver, though 
indeed evidently copied from his True History, do 
as evidently excels it. Lucian sets out with inform- 
ing his readers, that he is in jest, and intends to 
ridicule some of the incredible stories in Ctesias and 
Herodotus: this introduction surely enfeebles his 
satire, and defeats his purpose. The True History 
consists only of the most wild, monstrous, and mi- 
raculous persons and accidents: Gulliver has a 
concealed meaning, and his dwarfs and giants con- 
vey tacitly some moral or political instruction. 
The Charon, or the Prospect (tnnrxoitovfrts) one of 
the dialogues of Lucian, has likewise given occasion 
to that agreeable French satire, entitled, * Le Diable 
Boiteux,' or * The lame Devil;' which has highly 
improved on its original by a greater variety of 
characters and descriptions, lively remarks, and in- 
teresting adventures. So if a parallel be drawn be- 
tween Lucian and CerVantes, the ancient will still' 



HP 133. ADVENTtntBX. 265 

appear io difladvantage : the burlesque of Lucian 
pniunpally consists in making his gods and philoso- 
phers speak and act like the meanest of the people; 
^t of CenraQtes arises from the solemn and im-> 
portant air with which the most idle and ridiculous 
actions are related: and is, therefore, much more 
striking and forcible. In a word, Don Quixote, 
and its copy Hudibras, the Splendid Shilling, the 
Adventures of Oil Bias, the Tale of a Tub, and 
the Rehearsal, are pieces of humour which antiquity 
cannot equal, much less excel. 

Theophrastus must yield to La Bruyere for his 
intimate knowledge of human nature; and the Athe- 
nians never produced a writer whose humour was 
80 exquisite as that of Addison, or who delineated 
and supported a character with so much nature 
and true pleasantry as that of Sir Roger de Coverly. 
It ought, indeed, to be r^onembered, that every 
species of wit written in distant times and in dead 
languages, iq>pears with many disadvantages to pre- 
sent readers, from their ignorance of the manners 
and customs alluded to and exposed ; but the gross- 
neas, the rudeness,, and indelicacy of the ancients 
will, notwithstanding, sufficiently appear, even from 
the sentiments'' of such critics as Cicero and Quin- 
tilian, who mention corporal defects and deformities 
as proper objects pf raillery. 

If it be now asked, to what can we ascribe this 
superiority of the moderns in all the species of Ridi* 
eule? I answer, to the* improved state of conversa- 
tion. The great geniuses of Greek and Rome were 
formed dujring the times of a republican govern- 
meikt: and though it be certain, as Longinus asserts, 
that democracies are the nurseries of true sublimity ; 
yet monarchies and courts are more productive of 
politeDiBs. The arts ot oivihty} and the decencies 



of ooivreraftiioii* as th^ uiut« men mo(r^ c}q^3% 
and Mmg them move froqiooBtly. tpg^tb^r, laultijpljF 
cmpQctiuiiiJ«s of ob^evving ibom, iaQOogcuitifss i^)4 
abeurditk^ of bdiiwvioiMr, ob, w^h. Midici>le i% 
feiuuied. The aj^cientd hadi sior^i t^ib^rtyt aod 
Seriouanesa; tiie Biaderwi hft^e «$^ L^npsjg cMlii 
LaughlfV. 



aKM 



N* 134. SATURDAY, FE^HUARY 16, 1754 



Fhiniibutoi9kit 



Re&angusttideniL JWMUt^^ 

Bardy tfaey rise by ▼irfcue'fl al^y wl(«>.He 
j^luog'd.iii the d^tb of l)^lp)es&]^pY?rty. 

DRYDEN. 



TO THE ADVBNTUBSR. 
SIB, 

As I was informed by your bookseller, upon wliein 
i called a few days ago to make a small puidMiie 
for my daughter, that your wholb woi^ would he 
comprised in one hundred and forty pepets^ I earn 
no longer delay to send you the* ai^ttnt oi hsr 
Hie, which 1 gave you some reasoa to exfMOt wiwi 
i lelated ntj own** This oeeoiuit rile am i» thai 



4^ tS'4* 4SffMram^ fSSf 

xne with horror; the night in which I hadhtVed her M 
h. fiAroaititiite, bni €6nl4 not hafve bden dtefterr^ from 
incest, bat hy an -eVtot so txtrasordinsry, IhW it ^vH* 
i^hMM IhifMftflbair. I te\f;&, ind^, f^[a6n€y iA* 
temptfed t6 rekfib a stoty which i ebn 6eT«r fotgisb 
but I wa» always diasatis^ed with tey own ex^r^ 
^ts : nor could I ever produce in writing a taarratii^ 
Wfaicb appeal^ ^ual to die efkct that it wrought 
Upon mj mind wtiei^ I heard it I have, therefom, 

e vailed upon ihe dear ifgured girl to relate it in 
own woids, which I f^all faithfully transcribe. 

The first sdtualion that I retnentber was in a oelUo'; 
wh^re, 1 suppose, I had been placed by the paridh- 
tfficers, whh a woman who Icept a little dairy. M^ 
mttie '#ast3iblig^ to be often abroad, and I waslben 
left to tbe care of a girl, who "^as just old enough t6 
lug me about in her aarte, and who, like other petty 
creatures ih office, knew Aot how to ishew her autho- 
fity but by the abuse of ^ Such was my dread 
6f her power and resentilheAt, that I sufl^red almost 
Whuftever she inflicted without com{>laint; and when 
I was scarcely four years old, had learnt so far to 
surmouttt l3ie sense of pain and suppress my pas« 
tiotts, that I have been pinched black and blue with- 
out wincing, and patiently suffered her to impute to 
kie many tiivial mischiefs which her own perverse- 
itess or tsjelessneSs had produced. 

Thiis situation, however, was not without ks 
iidvant^eis ; for, instead of a hard crust and small 
bc^, which would probably have been the principal 
t^ut of my ^bsi^tenoe if I had been placed with a 
j^nion Of the same rank, but of a different employ- 
inent, I had Always plenty of milk ; which, though 
it had been skimmed for cream, was not sour, and 
which, indeed, was wholesome food ; upon which 
I thrtnre v«ry tet^ tod was taken notice ^ 6y evr* 



^6$ ikDTENTtmBft. wTlB^i. 

body for the freshness of my looks, and the clear- 
ness of my skin. 

Almost as soon as I could speak plain, I was sent 
to the parish-school to learn to read ; and thought 
myself as fine in my blue gown and badge, as a court 
beauty in a birth-night suit. The mistress of the 
school was the widow of a clergyman, whom I have 
often heard her mention with tears, though he had 
been long dead when I first came under her tuition* 
and left her in such circumstances as made her solicit 
an employment, of which, before, she would have 
dreaded the labour, and scorned the meanness. She 
had been very genteelly educated, and had acquired 
a general knowledge of literature after her marriage; 
the communication 6f which enlivened their hours 
of retirement, and afforded such a subject of con- 
versation, as added to every other enjoyment the 
pleasures of beneficence and gratitude. 

There was something in her manner, which won 
my affection and commanded my reverence. I found 
her a person very different from my nurse ; and I 
watched her looks with such ardour and attention^ 
that I was sometimes able, young as I was, to antici- 
pate her commands. It was natural that she should 
love the virtue which she had produced, nor was it 
incongruous that she should reward it I perceived, 
with inexpressible delight, that she treated me with 
peculiar tenderness ; and when I was about eight 
years old, she ofiered to take my education wholly 
upon herself, without putting the parish to any farther 
charge fo^ my maintenance. Her offer was readily 
accepted, my nurse was discharged, and I was taken 
home to my mistress, who called me her little maid, a 
name which I was ambitious to deserve, because sha 
did not, like a tyrant, exact my obedience as a slave^ 
but, like a parent, invited me to the duty of a child. 
As our family consisted only of my mistress and my« 



9* %Bi» AVtawitrm* 9M 

Oii^ icoDgfiptfiOxnetiiiics « charwomlm^ tr» ^vv^m tlhrtp 

altMM in th« iatenr^lB of bnsihese ; Hfid the good 

tomiroa maaaed iwnelf by inttlrttctiDg sq^, dot on!y 

in tcadiaf^, wnting, tad ^ fifBt rules Of ftHthtn^^c^ 

¥at lA ratioufi hiads of oieedlework ; ftnd Whdi Wftii 

]fet of more moment, in the ]^nei|)ie» of virtue and 

idUf^oa, vr^Bodi, in her life, appeared to b6 so amitLble^ 

iimt I WoBAedi neither example nor motive. She gave 

xne also some general notions of the decorum practised 

aknong peiaoss of a higher class ; and I was thtis ac7 

^uainted^ liiuk I was yet a child, and in an obscure 

station, with «>me rndiments of good breeding. 

Before I was fifteen, I began to assist my bene- 
fftctmsB ui her employment, and by 0ome plain 
work which she had procured me, I famished my- 
adf with decent cloth^. By an insoisible and §p^n- 
taaeoiis imitation of her manner, I had acquired 
such a carriage^ as gained me more respect in a 
yard-wide stuff, than is often paid by strangers to 
aa uppor servant in a rich alk* 

Sudi was now the simplicity and innocetiee of 
my life, that I had scarce a wish unsatisfied.; and I 
often reflected upon my own happiness witll a setise 
of gratitude that ino^aaed it. But^ akft ! this fiilicity 
was seaice sooner enjoyed than lost : the good tna'> 
tn»iy who was in the most endearing sense iny patient 
aad my friend, was seized with a fever, which, in a 
few days, put an end to her life, and left me alone 
in the world without alliance or protection, over^ 
whelmed with grief, and distracted With anxiety. 
The world, ind^> was before me; but I trembled 
to enter it alone. I knew no art by which I conld 
eubsist Inysetf ; Mid I was unwilling to be condemned 
to a fttate of servitude, in which no such art could be 
leamed. I therefore i^pplied s^ain to the officers of 
the parish) who, as a testimony of respect to my 
patroneas^ condescended still to consider me as their 

A A 3 



^70 ABTinmntn. n* ld4«^ 

cfaai^ge, Old with the fumal sum bound me appreo* 
tice to a mantua-maker, whose business, of which^ 
indeed, she had but little, was among persons that 
were something below the middle class,, and who, 
as I verily believe, had applied to the churchwardens 
for an apprentice, only that she might silence & 
number of petty duns, and obtain new credit with 
the money Uiat is given as a consideration for ne* 
cessary clothes. 

The dwelling of my new mistress was two back 
rooms in a dirty street near the Seven Dials. She 
received me, however, with great appearance of kind* 
ness; we breakfasted, dined, and supped together,' 
and though I could not but regret the alteration of 
my'condition, yet I comforted myself with reflecting, 
that in a few years I should be mistress of a trade 
by which I might become independent, and live in 
{^ manner more agreeable to my inclinations. But 
my indentures were no. sooner signed, than I suf^* 
fered a new change of fortune. The first step my 
mistress took was, to turn away her maid, a poor 
slave, who was covered only with rags and dirt, and 
whose ill qualities I foolishly thought were the only 
cause of her ill treatment. I was now compelled to 
light fires, go of errands, wash linen, and dress vic- 
tuals, and, in short, to do every kind of household 
drudgery, and to sit up half the night, that the task 
of hemming and running seams, which had been 
assigned me, might be performed. 

1 hough I sufiered all this without murmur or 
complaint, yet I became pensive and melancholy ; 
the tears would often steid silently from my eyesi 
and my mind was sometimes so abstracted in the 
contemplation of my own misery, that I did not 
hear what was said to me. But my sensibility pro- 
duced resentment instead of pity ; my melancnoly 
drew upon me the reproach of soUenneasi I was 



134 isfwanvEMM* t71 

stonned at for ipoifing my wmk widi flonrriliii^ I 
kift«w not why, aod thrai^eDed that H dunld not 
long be without canfle ; a meoaoe idiidi was gone- 
FBlly ezecated the momeat it was uttered ; my ama 
-end nedL oontimiaUy boie the mariks of the yaid, 
and I was in every respect traated with the most 
'bntal unkindiiesA. 

In the meantinie, however, I af^plied myeeif to 
learn the business as my last resource, and the oidy 
foundation of my hope. My diligence aad assiduity 
atoned for the want of instruction ; and it might have 
been truly said, thai I stole the knowledge which my 
mistress had engaged to communicate. As I had a 
taste for dress, I recommended myself to the best 
cu8toniei9» and frequently corrected a fiuih of which 
they complained, taad^ which my mistress was not 
able to discover. The countenance and courtesy 
which this gained, though it encouraged my hope 
of the future, yet it made the present less tolerable. 
My tyrant treated me with yet more inhumanity, 
and my suflferings were so great, that I frequently 
meditated an escape, though I knew not whither to 
go, and thon^ I foresaw that the moment I became 
a fugitive, i should forfeit all my interest, justify 
every complaint, and incur a disgrace which I could 
never obliterate. 

I had now groaned under the most cruel oppress 
sion something more than four years ; the clothes 
which had been the purchase of my own money I 
had worn out; and my mistress thought it her in* 
terest not to furnish me with any better than would 
just serve me to go out on her errands, and follow 
her with a bundle. But as so much of my time 
was past, I thought it highly reasonable, and mdeed 
necessary, that I should make a more decent ap- 
pearance, that I should attend the customers, take 
their ordeFs and their measure, or at least fit' en 



S7% ASvsimniMu it*^'13<k 

tfae viotk. After much premeditatroii, sad nuuijr 

atieittpfes, I at lengtk «irmoanted my fears^ and ia 

s«c^ terms and manner as I dwaght least lilotly to 

give o^Hice, i entreated that I floight have tUch 

ctethes as might aaswer liiepulriMee, and propoeedl 

te WDik so many hotuns extraordinary as wonld pro«* 

duce the money they should cost But this request^ 

however modest, w^s answered only widi reproadies 

and ifiSUlt. ' I wanted, forsooth) to be a gentle* 

woman : yes, I should be equip|)ed to set up for 

myself. This she might have expected^ for taking 

a beggar from the parish ; but I should see that ahd 

knew how to mortify my pride^ and disappoint my 

eunning.' I was at onoe grieved and angered at thu 

tTfisbnent ; and I hriieve, for the first dme, express* 

•d^ myself with some indignadon and resentment. 

My resentment) however, she treated with densioa 

and contempt) as an in^potent attempt to throw off 

her authority; and declaring that she would soon 

shew me who was mistress^ she struck me so violent 

a blow, that I fell finom my cheor. Whether th% 

was frightened at my fall, or whedi^ she susqpected 

I should akrm the house, i^e did not repeat her 

bloW) but contented herself with reviling the poverty 

and wtetlcfaedness which she laboured to perpetnatet. 

I burst into tears of anguish and resentment, and 

made no reply ; but from this moment my hatred 

became irre^ncileable, and I secretly determined at 

all events to escape from a slavery which I accused 

myself for having akeady enduited too long. 



19^ 135. ABtBHTlhlUU 27S 



N* 185. TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 19, 1764. 



^Lattt angitit mherba. VIRG« 



Beneath the grass conceal'd a serpent lies. 

It bappenedy that the next morning I was sent with 
some work as far as Chelsea : it was about the mid« 
4lle of May. Upon me, who had long toiled in the 
4moke and darkness of London, and had seen the 
8un-shine only upon a dumney, or a wall, the fresh- 
ness of the air, the verdure of the fields, and the 
song of the birds, had the power of enchantment. 
I could not forbear lingering inrmy walk: and every 
aooment of delay made me less willing to return; 
Jlot' indeed by increasing my. enjoyment, but my, 
iear : I was tenacious of tbefuresent, because I dread- 
ed the future ; and increased the evil which I ap- 
proached at every step, by a vain attempt to retain 
and possess that which at every step I was leaving 
behind. I found that not to look forward with 
hope, was not to look round with pleasure ; and yet 
I still loitered away the hours which 1 could not 
enjoy, and returned in a state of anxious irresolution, 
still taking the way home, because I knew not where 
else to go, but stiU neglecting the speed which alone 
eould make home less dreadful. My torment in- 
creased as my walk become shorter ; and when I 
had returned as far as the lower end of the Mall in 
St. James's Park, I was quite overwhelmed with 



^4 kbt^lSWnk. t^ lis. 

regret and despair, and sitting down on one of the 
trenches I burst into tears. 

As my mind was wholly employed on my own 
distress, and my apron held up to my eyes, it was 
«oroe time before I discovered an eideiiy lady who 
had sat down by me. The moment I saw her, such 
is the force of habit, all thoughts of my own wretch- 
edness gave way to a sense of indecorum : and as 
she appeared by her dress to be a person in whose 
company it was presUmptibh in me to sit, I started 
»p in great confusion, and would have left the seat. 
This, however, she would not suffer ; but taking 
hold of my gown, and gently drawing me back, ad- 
i^trei^sed Me with an accent of tenderness, and toothed 
ttie WiHi pity b«fbre she kheW my distress. It wte 
i96 Ibbgsiitce I Itad itetitd th« voice of kindness, that 
)fay hfeftrt ttieSted as sh« spoke With gratitude ifthd 
jby. I toW her lall my Wory ; to wM'ch she U«- 
ttened With g^ekt attention, and often gazed dted- 
'feftly tA my facfe. When my hairdtiVe Was ended, 
fthe told me that tfve ttianner in which I had related 
it, w^ aloh^ sufficient to convince her that it w& 
Inte ; that tbei^ was ah air of simplicity and sin*- 
iteritf about me, which had prejudiced her in tny 
'finvour as soon lus she sa\^ me; and, that, ther^ond, 
ihe Was determined to take me home, diat I ^tnild 
Jive with her till she had established me in my btr- 
tiness, which she could easily do by recommending 
ieae to her acquaintance ; and that in the meantime 
^e would take care to prevent my mistre^ flroih 
bein^ troublesome. 

it is impossible to express the tiranq>ort that I 
felt at this nnexpected deliverance. I was utterly 
iihaeqnainted with the artifices of those who aro 
faftcknied in the ways of vice; and the tiemem- 
bratice of the disinterested kindness of my first 
fri^d^ by whom I had been brought up, came fiesh 



in^ n} TwA' It tbetefbce, i];]4\Llged( the bope qX 
h»yifQg fbmid such another without scruple; ajxi 
v^tecuig 90Vf^ inoohereut expressiosts gf gra^^itude,, 
wt^ch wai9 too great to he forooed iato comj^^^ent,^ 
I accepted the offer, and followed i;ny conductress 
l)Mpj9(ie, 7b^ hpjume was auqh ^s I had uever ejwt^ed 
before ^ the rooms were sp^cious^ and t^e £urniture 
elfg^. I looked Bound with wonder; ^d bCushr 
i^g witljL a, s^a^e of my own xoesiini^^ast wo^d have 
fpllawed th^ se^agat wkp. opened the door into, the 
l^^bofv but hec miatre^ ^es(en.l;ed, v^. She s^yti 
my confusion, and encaura^(^ m^ W^ ^. ^roilei 
i^i, j^ up^ staij;s in^o ^ kind oi, dreasii^g-room, 
Inhere sh/^ iipuxiedia,t^ly fumiehed me wi^ ^le^j> 
sbo^ a,ad ^ddngs» 9, eajg^ handkejrcbi^f, ni^esi 
a^ 9ipxpf^, ^M a njlght-gO)Wn oi[ a gsnteel Iri^b 
{(t^4. ^^b had npt h^n, n^u^h, won^, &oug^ ijt was 
«^^ afifl stained iA many places.: thpy belonged^ 
sbc^ sai4t ^ her cousin, a^ yo^ng lady for whom sh^ 
bd4 UBderbikep. to, provide; and ijQsist^d upon my 
puttii^ them, on, th^ I might sit down wit^h her 
frmijy Bf, djjrn^ ; * fior^' said, she, ' I have uq, auj- 
quaiicLtax^ce,. to whom I could recoi)[un^Qd,a.m^tuAr 
leaker that I k^pt in. my l^tchen^' 

i pev^ved thati abe wajtched m^ wit^ great atr 
tAOtipa wluie I wa3 dressing, and seem^ to be 
greatly delighted with the alteration in my appear- 
^ji^Q% wh^ I had doui^ ' I see,' said she, ' that 
jfM; w^as nfia^Q for a^ gentlewomatUt and a. gentle- 
womaa yx^u shall be, or it»^U,l^,your own feult.' 
I G0ul4 only court'sy; in answer to, this compliment; 
^t D^^withs^tandin^ the appearai^e. o£ difi^dence 
^d mf^e^ty in. di^ blush wliich.I felt bum upon 
^ du^r y^ u^ h^art, s^r^tly ei^ulted ia, a. proud 
qK^fid^pQithii^t it w^.tru€|. When, I came dpwn 
stairs, I was iz^oduqe^bjj my patjjomesa (wip told 
a^^jai^ wi^a^W^lwpqiiJ, tp thq.youpg ladyher 



276 ADTSNTtmSR* n^ 185. 

^^usin, and three others ; to whom, soon after w« 
^ere seated, she related my story, intermixing much- 
invective against my mistress, and much flattery to- 
me, with neither of which, if the truth be confessed, 
I was much displeased. 

After dinner, as I understood that company wjas 
expected, I entreated leave to retire, and was 
shewed up stairs into a small chamber very neatly 
furnished, which I was desired to consider as my 
own. As die company staid till it was very late, I 
drank tea and supped alone, one of the servants 
being ordered to attend me. 

The next morning, when I came down stairs to 
breakfast, Mrs. Wellwood presented me with a 
piece of printed cotton sufficient for a sack and coat, 
and about twelve yards of slight silk for a night* 
gown, which, she said, I should make up myself as 
a specimen of my skill. I attempted to excuse my* 
self from accepting this benefaction, with much 
hesitation and conj^sion; but I was commanded 
with a kind frown, and in a peremptory tone, to be 
silent. I was told, that, when business came in, I 
ihould pay all my debts; that in the meantime, I 
should De solicitous only to set up ; and that a: 
change of genteel apparel might be considered as 
my stock in trade, smce without it my business 
could neither be procured nor transacted. 

To work, therefore, I went ; my cloth/es were 
made and worn; many encomiums were lavished' 
upon my dexterity and my person ; and thus I wa^ 
entangled in' the snare that had been laid for me» 
before I discovered my danger. I had contracted 
debts which it was imppssible I should pay; the 
power of the law could now be applied to effect tha 
purposes of guilt; and my creditor could urge ma • 
to her purpose, both by hope and fear. 
I jbad now bean near a month in my new k)dgtii|p} 



»• 135. ADTENTimEft. 877 

and great care had hitherto been taken to conceal 
whatever might shock my modesty, or acquaint me 
with the danger of my situation. Some incidents, 
however, notwithstanding this caution, had fallen 
nnder my notice, that might well have alarmed me; 
bat as those who are waking from a pleasing dream, 
shut their eyes against the light, and endeavour to 
prolpng the delusion by slumbering again, I checked 
my suspicions the moment they rose, as if danger 
diat was not known would not exist ; without eon- 
ndering that inquiry alone could confinn the good, 
and enable me to escape the evil. 

The house was often filled with company, which 
divided into separate rooms ; the visits were fire- . 
quently continued till midnight, and sometimes till 
moniing; I had, however, always desired leave to 
retire, which had hitherto been permitted, though 
not without reluctance ; but at length I was pressed 
to make tea, with an importunity that I could not 
resist The company was very gay, and some fiei- 
miliarities passed between, the gentlemen and ladies 
which direw me into confusion and covered me 
with blushes; yet I was still zealous to impose 
upon myself, and, therefore, was contented with the 
supposition, that they were liberties allowed among 
persons of fashion, many of whose polite levities I 
had heard described and censured by the dear 
monitor of my youth, to whom I owed all my vir- 
tue and all my knowledge. I could not, however, 
reflect without solicitude and anxiety, that since 
the first week of my arrival I had heard no more of 
my business. I had, indeed, frequently ventured 
to mention it ; and still hoped that when my patro- 
ness had procured me a little set of customers 
among her friends, I should be permitted to venture 
into a room of my own ; for I could not think of 
aarrying it on where it would degrade my benefiuK 

VOk XXY, B B 



tfess«, of wl^o^ it Qould not, ifkhout m bSjtxm hi^ 
said, that she let lodgpgs to a maotiMirmaker ; npv 
coul.4 ( without indeoorum distribute direptij^n^ 
wli^re \ WAS to ba found, tiU \ had. moyed t9( ai»p<- 
t^er house. But whenever I intsodjuced iii» subr 
ject of couversaXiou, I was ^bjBr rallied &w lujt gr^if- 
vity* or gently reproached, with pride, a^ i^patientf^ 
of obUgfttioa : sometio^ea I ^aa told, with au aii? oC 
luerrimeat, that ipy business should be plea&ure,^ 
an(it soroetimea I was eQ|tei;t^q«d with, ajyiiorom^t 
stories, and escited hy.liQentious..andfiati^riDg.de• 
scriptions, to a relish of ki3;ui:ioJi]^ idlen^ess and 9^ 
p(9n§ive atpus^^nts. In sl^oiit, o^^s suspicions gp>a- 
dually increas^ ; a|id my ^a)^, g^w stronger, ult 
my d>^ea^, was at a^ end, and ^ could sluo iber no^ 
mpre. l^he terroi; tl^t seized m^^ when 1 could no* 
Iqnger doubt into, what hands I bad fallen, isnottos 
be expressed, noi;, ind^d, could it be- concealed; 
the e£Eect which it produced in. iny aspeet and boi- 
havipur,^ afforded the. wretch who ajttempted to. soi- 
duce me, no prospect of success ; and aa she de- 
spaired of exciting n^e by tbe love of pleasure to vor 
luntary gu^lt, she determined to affect her piirpps#' 
by supj^ri^e^ aJ^d, drive me into hei: tpila by desp^ 
ration. 

It was; notf les^ my misfortune- thsm reproach*; 
that I did Xiot immediately quit a place in which % 
kuew myself devoted to deatcuction.- This, iudeed^ 
Mrs. Wellwood was very assiduous to prevent : th» 
morning after I had discpverad her. purpose, tbe- 
t^lk £^bput my business was renewed ; and a^ 9ooq» 
ap we had breakfasted, she took me out with her ior 
a h£ickney-co^cb, under pretence of procuring mea^ 
lodging. ; but she had. still some, plausible objection, 
against all th?^t we saw. Thus sha contrived to. 
busy my mind, and keep me with her the greatest 
(^rt, pf th^d^if;, at t^(^. Wj^ i^eturaeijl to diimer,^ 

4 



«nd pasflijd ^e-flfttttioon without feotnptoy. I drank 
tea mik khe family ; ^nd in the ^eviiirin^, lieing ii^- 
coiftfifionfl'y 4rowsy, I went to bfed taetfr two Soui^ 
BckMier tfefta tisuial. 



HI" >"i | 'l ' I W >| 



«• 136. SATUllDAY, FEiSfetrARY 23, 1754 



•StitV taliafando 



iemper^i a lact tints ? VIRQ, 

And who can ^ear this tale without a tear ^ 

iPo the tranaactions of thw night I Was nbt donad- 
ous ; bttt what they had been the eircnmstaheeis <of 
the iBormng left nre fee room to doubt. 1 discover- 
ed with asfianidhmeat, indignation, anddesqpair, Whirfi 
for a time suspendfed all my faouhies, that I had 
suffered irreparable inj^iry in a atate of insensibility ; 
iiot so mac^ to gratify the wretch by .whom 1 h^ 
been afeused, as that 4 might With less scruple ad- 
mt another, and by refleeting that 'k was impos- 
^le to reeover what 1 had lost, foecotne careless of 
all that remained. Many artifices were used to 
soothe me ; and when these were found to be inef- 
^tiia!I, attesnpts were made to intimidate me with 
menaees. I knew not exactly what passed in the 
fkst fary 6f my detraction, but at length it quits 
exhausted me. In the evening, being calm through 
mere languor and debility, and no precaution hav- 
ing been taken to detain itte, because I was not 
thought able to esca{)e, I found meam to steal dow^ 

B b2 



MO AVTBvnmBS. n** 136^ 

Btain, knd grt into the street without being miasedL 
Wretohed as I was, I feltsome emotions of joy when 
I first found myself at liberty ; though it was no 
better than the liberty of an exile in a desert, where 
haTiDg escaped from the dungeon and the wheel, 
he must yet, ¥rithout a miracle, be destroyed by 
sarafes or hunger. It was not bng, indeed, before 
I reflected, that I knew no house that would recdve 
me, and that I had no money in my pocket I had 
not, however, the least inclination to go back. I 
sometimes thought of returning to my old mistress, 
the mantua-muer ; but the moment I began to 
anticipate the malicious inference she would draw 
from my absence and appearance, and her triumph 
in the mournful necessity that urged me to return, I 
determined rather to suffer any other evil that could 
befal mOp « 

Thus destitute and forlorn, feeble and dispirited, 
I continued to creep along till the shops were aH 
shut, and the deserted streets became siloit. The 
busy crowds, which had almost borne me before 
them, were now dissipated; and every one was re* 
tired home, except a few wretched outcasts like my 
self, who were either huddled together in a comer, 
or strolling about not knowing whither they went 
It is not easy to conceive the anguish, with which 
I reflected upon my condition ; and, perhaps, it would 
scarcely have been thought posnble, that a person 
who was not a fugitive from justice, nor an enemy to 
labour, could be thus destitute even of the little Uiat 
is essential to life, and in danger of perishing for 
want in the midst of a populous city, abounding with 
accommodations for every rank, from the peer to the 
beggar. Such, however, was my lot I found my-f 
self compelled by necessity to pass the night in the 
etreet, without hope of passing the next in any other 
place, or, indeed, of procuring food to 8up{X)rt ma 



^l k wrriTed. I had now fasted the whole day; 
Wkf laui^or iaepeaaed every inomeDt ; I was weary 
asid fuBting ; my faee was covered with a csoidsweat, 
and fliy legs trembled uiider lae ; but i did not dare 
to ait down, or to w^ twiee aloc^ the same street, 
lest I ahoiftld have beee seized by the watch^ or ia- 
snlted by aoiaae ToluAtary vagabond in the T»ge or 
wanton&ess of dniakeniiess or lust. I knew net, 
ladeed, well kow to vary my walk ; but im^giaed 
that, upoa tlite whole, I should be mone safe in the 
oity, than «nong the brothels ia the Straad» or ia 
fltreeAs w^ eh beiog less frequented are less carnally 
wftt€^ied : for though I searee tealured to eoasider 
the law as my friend, yet I w4s mote afraidi of those 
who should attempt to break the peaces than those 
who were appointed to kee^ it I went forward, 
therefore, as weU as I was able, aod passed throi^h 
&L Paul's Churoh-yardaa the dock struck one ; hit 
sudi was my miefortuaek that the calamity which I 
dreaded overtook one in the very place to which I 
had fled to avoid it. - Just as I was crossing at the 
comer into Chei^ide, I was laid hdd oa by a man 
not mieaniy pressed, who would have hurriedme down 
towards the Old Change. I kne<v^ not what he said, 
but I stit>ve to disengage myself from lam without 
toaking any reply : my struggles, indeed, were weak ; 
and the maa still kecking his bold, imd perhaps, mis- 
taking the feebleness of my resislanee for som6 incli- 
nadon to comply, proceeded to indecencies, for which 
I struck him with the sudden force that was supplied 
by rage and indignation ; but, my whol^ strength 
tras exhausted in the blow, which (he brute instantly 
retunied, and repectled till I idl Instinct is stiU 
nsady in the defence of lif^, however wretched t aad 
though the moment before 1 had wished to die» yet 
ia this distress I spontaneously cried out for help. 
My voice was heard by a. watchmani who immedl'- 

BB 3 



t82 ADrBNTtniER. H* 130. 

Afelf ran towards me, and finding me upon the 
ground, lifted up his lantern, and examined me with 
an attention, which made me reflect with great con- 
fusion upon the disorder of my dress, wluch before 
had not once occurred to my thoughts ; my hair bung 
loosely about my shoulders, my stays were but hal^ 
laoed, and the rest of my clothes were carelessly 
thrown on in the tumult and distraction of mind, 
whichprevented my attending to trivial circumstances 
when I made my escape from Wellwood's. My ge- 
neral appearance, and the condition in which I was 
found, convinced the watchman thatlwasastroUing 
postitute; and finding that I was not able to rise 
without assistance, he also concluded that I was 
drunk ; he, therefore, set down his lantern, and calling 
his comrade to assist him, they lifted me up. As my 
▼oice was faltering, my looks wild, and my whole 
frame so feeble that I tottered as I stood, the man was 
confirmed in his first opinion; and seeing my face 
bloody, and my eyes swelled, he told me with a sneer, 
that to secure me from further ill-treatment, he would 
provide a lodging for me till themoming; and accord-' 
ingly they dragged me between them to the Compter; 
without any regard to my entreaties or distress. 

I passed the night in agonies, upon which even 
now I shudder to look back ; and in the morning ! 
was carried before a magistrate. The watchman 
gave an account of his having found me very drunk, 
crying out murder, and breeding a riot in the street 
at one* o'clock in the morning : *• I was scarcely yet 
sober,* he said, * as his worship might see, and had 
been pretty handsomely beaten : but he supposed 
it was for an unsuccessftil attempt to pick a podcet^ 
'at which I must have been very dexterous, indeedi 
to have succeeded in that condition.' 

This account, however injurious, was greatly con* 
finned by my appearanoe : 1 was almostcov^ped with 



>^^ 136. 40VENTUIIKII, Mi3 

kennei dirt, my face was diflooloured, my speedi was 
inarticulate, and I was so oppressed with faintiiess 
and terror, that I could not stand without a support* 
The magistrate, however, with great kindness, called 
iipon me to make my defence, which I attempted 
by relating the truth ; but the story was told with v 
«o much hesitation, and was in itself so wild and 
improbable, so like the inartificial tales that are 
hastily formed as an apology for detected guilt, that 
it could not be believed ; and I was told, that eX- 
•c^t I could sumx>rt my character by some credible 
witness, I should be committed to Bridewell. 

I wa!s thunderstruck at this menace ; and -had 
formed ideas so dread&d of the place to which I 
was to be sent, that my dungeon at the mantua- 
maker's became a palace in the comparison ; and to 
return thither, with whatever disadvantages, was 
now the utmost object of my hope. I, therefore, 
desired that my mistress might be sent for, and flat- 
tered myself that she would at least take me out of 
•a house of correction, if it were only for the plea- 
sure of tormenting me herself. 

In about two hours the messenger returned, and 
with him my tyrant, who eyed me wkh such mali^- 
cious pleasure, that my hopes failed me the moment I 
'^aw her, and I almost repented ikat she was come. 
She was, I believe, glad of an opportunity effectually 
^ prevent my obtaining any part of her business, 
which she had some reason to fear ; and, therefore, 
-told the justice who examined her, that ^ she had 
4ak^i me a b^gar from the parish four years ago, 
and taught me her trade ; but that I had been always . 
sullen, mischievous, and idle ; and it was more than a 
month since I had clandestinely left her service, in 
decent and modest apparel fitting my condition ; and 
that she would leave his worship to judge, whether I 
eame honestly by the tawdry nigs which I hgd on mj 



Ittdk.' This aiBccmttt, however con»«poiid^i vnlh 
my own, served oaly to conftrm tboee facts which 
condemned ine : it«|^ared moonteslably, titat I faad 
deserted my servke ; and been del^awshed in a bro- 
^heiy where I had been futotehed with clothes, «nd 
eoatinicied more than a month. That I had beeb 
igjBorant of my ^sitsiattoa, |NX}stituted without my 
coDseqt, and at kst had es€a^)ed to avoid further in- 
jury, af^peared to be jgetkious oircMn»tanG8B, in- 
vented to fMiUiate iby offence : the person whom I 
had 'accused lived «b another eoiuity ; and it was 
necesalary lor 'the fpresent ko brkng the ihatter to a 
likort issue: i&y mistresst, therefore, was a^ed, 
whether ehe would wecmve atte again, upon my pro- 
«iise of good behanonsf ; and «ipon her fieremptory 
.fe&Klal, my mittimiw was made out) imd I was 
<«)mmitted to hard lahonr. The clerk, however, 
was ^dered to tahe a memorandum of my chai^ 
a^^iast Wellwood, ahid I was told that inquiry 
^should he made about hisr. 

After I had been oonfined aboat a week, a note 
was brought me withal date or name, in which I 
was toid, *' that my malice against those who wduld 
have been my beoafactors' was disappointed ; that if I 
WooUl return to them, my diachange shoald be pro^ 
cured, and I shoald etiii be kindly received ; but that 
if I persisted in my ingratitude, it should not be an- 
revenged.' From this note I conjectured, that 
Wellwood had found means to stop an inquiry into 
her conduct, which she had discovered to have been 
begun iqpon my information, andhad thus learnt where 
I was to be found : I therefore returned no aoswer, 
but that I was contented' with my ntuation, andpre^ 
pared to suffer whatever Providence should appomt. 
During my confinement, I was not txaated with 
^eat seventy ; and at 'die next court, as no particuhur 
^^nme w^ alleged against me, I was oidtaed to be 



11*136. ADVBNTURBR. MS 

discharged. As my character was nt)w irretrievably 
lost, asl had oo friead who would afford me shelter, 
nor any business to which I could apply, I had no 
prospect but again to wander about the streets, with- 
out lodging and without food. I, therefore, entreated, 
that the officers of the parish to which I belonged, 
might be ordered to receive me into the work* house, 
till they could get me a service, or find me some 
employment by which my labour would procure me 
« subsistence. This request, so reasonable and so 
uncommon, was much commended, and immediately 
,granted ; but as I was going out at the gate witn my 
pass in my hand, I was met by a bailifT, with an 
emissary of Wellwood's, and arrested for a debt of 
twenty pounds. As it was no more in my power 
to procure bail than to pay the money, I was imme- 
4iiately dragged to Newgate. It was soon known 
that I had not a farthing in my pocket, and that no 
money, either for fees^or accommodations, coul4 be 
expected ; I was, therefore, turned over to a place 
called the common side, among the most wretched 
and the most profligate of human beings. In Bride- 
well, indeed, my associates were wicked ; but they 
were overawed by the presence of their taskmaster, 
•and restrained from licentiousness by perpetual la- 
l>our : but my ears were now violated every moment 
by oaths, execrations, and obscenity ; the conversa- 
tion of Mother Wellwood, her inmates, and her 
guests, was chaste and holy to that of the inhabitants 
of this place ; and in comparison with their life, 
that to which I had been solicited was innocent. 
Thus I began insensibly to think of mere inconti- 
nence without horror; and, indeed, became less 
.sensible of more complicated enormities, in propor- 
tion as they became familiar. My wretchedness, 
however, was not alleviated, though my virtue be- 
came less. I was without friends and without 



MI5 A»VEjmjii*ii. ^ iStt. 

^odey ; atftd "ftie nrisery of conffinahent ta a «ai- 
'«otne dungeon, tvasaggrtivated by hunger ahd thirst, 
lind cold and n^ednests. In iMs iiour bf llria!, 1 
irms again assailed by 'the wretdi, who fead produced 
4t only to facilitate her success. And let not tfcoste, 
feeto!^ whom Ae path df virtue bas been strewed 
With'fioweps, and every thorn removed by -prospeaity, 
^oo sevel'eiy censure me, to whom it was a barren 
*md a rugged road in whidh I had long toiled wiA 
labour and anguish, if at last, when I was benighted 
in a storm, I 'turned at the first light, -and hasted tb 
Hbe ^nearest shelter : let me not be too severely cen- 
sured, if 1 now accepted liberty, and'ease, and plenty, 
upon the only terms on which they could be ob- 
•taiined. I <5on8ented, with whatever reluctance and 
-teompuHCfion, 1o return, and complete my ruin in 
the «place wiiere it •♦vas begun. I'he action of debt 
Was ^immediately Withdrawn, tny fees were paid, 
*nd 1 was once more removed to my 'lodging near 
Covent Garden. In a short time 1 recovered my 
Jjealfh and beauty ; I was again dressed andadomed 
at the expense of my tyrant, whose power increased 
in proportion to my debt ; the terms of prostitution 
were prescribed me ; and out of the money, which 
Was the iprice not only of my body but my soul, 
I scarce received more than 1 could have -earned by 
weeding in a field. The will of my creditor wafi 
trty law, from which I knew not how to appeal. 
My slavery was most deplorable, and my employ- 
ment most odious ; for the principles o'f virtue and 
^religion, which had been implanted in my youth, 
liowever they had been choked by weeds, could 
iiever be plucked up by the root ; nor did i ever 
'admit a di^onourable visit, but my heart simk, my ' 
•lips <]uivered, and my knees smote each other. 

Froih this dreadful situation I am at length deli- 
vered. Bat while I hft up my iieart in gratitude to 



r 

/ 

r 



ifi \$6, AOVBNTUltSR. 387 

mm, wlio alone can bring good out of evil, I desire 
it may be remembered, that my deviation to ill was 
natural, my recoTery almost miraculous. ' My first 
step to vice was the desertion of my service ; anct 
of this, all my guilt and misery weretii^ consequence. 
L^et none, dierefore, quit the post that is assigned 
them by Providence, or iwnture out of the strait 
way ; the bye- path, though it may invite them by 
its ver4ure, will inevitably lead tl^em to a precipice ; 
nor can it, without folly and presumption, be pro- 
nounced ot any, that their first deviation Irom 
rectitude will produce less evil than mine. 

Such, Mr. Adventttfer, is the story of my child, 
and such are her reiiections upon, it ; to which. I cao; 
only add, that he who abandoiift his offepnngv or 
o^rupts them by his example, perpetsales grealer- 
evil than a murderer, in proportion aa immoctaiitf^ 
16 o§ more yalU8' than life. 

lam, Siv, 

Youff hujiiUe: Servant, 

ACKlMfflBli 



288 ADYENTURBK. N" 187. 



N« 137, TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 26, 1754. 



What \xnve I been doing ? 

As man is a being wety sparingly fumi^ed witb 
the power of prescieBce^ he can provide for the 
future only by considering the past ; andras futurity 
is all in whic^ he has any real interest, he ought; 
very diligently to lise the only means by which he. 
can be enabled to enjoy it, and frequently to revolve: 
the experiments which he has hitherto made upon 
life, that he may gain wisdom from his mistakes, 
and eaution from his miscarriages. 

Though I do not so exactly conform to the pre- 
cepts of PjTthagoras, as to practise every night this 
solemn recollection, yet I am not so lost in dissipation 
as wholly to omit it ; nor can I forbear sometimes to 
inquire of myself, in what enfiloyinent my Efe haii 
passed away. Much of my time has sunk into no- 
thing, and left no trace by which it can be distinguishf* 
ed ; and of thb I now only know, that it was once 
in my power, and might once have been improved. 

Of other parts of life memory can give some ac- 
count ; at some hours I have been gay, and at odiers 
serious ; I have sometimes mingled in conversation, 
and sometimes meditated in solitude ; one day has 
been spent in consulting the ancient sages, and 
another in writing Adventurers. 

At the tfOQflluaioa of any undertaking, it is usual 



N" 13^. ADVEKTURER4 / 489 

to compute the loss and profit. As I shal^ soon 
cease to write Adventurers, J could not forbear lately 
to consider what has been the consequence of niy 
labours ; and whether I am to reckon the hours laid 
out in these compositions, as applied to a good and 
laudable purpose, or suffered to fume away in use- 
less evaporations. 

That I have intended well, I have the attestatioa 
of my own heart: but good intentions may be frus« 
trated, when they are executed without suitable skill, 
or directed to an end unattainable in itself. 

Some there are, who leave writers very little room 
for self-congratulation ; some who affirm, that books 
have no influence upon the public, that no age was 
ever made better by its authors, and that to call upon 
mankind to correct their manners, is like Xerxes, to 
scourge the wind, or shackle the torrent. 

This opinion they pretend to support by unfailing 
experience. The world is full of fraud and cornip- 
tion, rapine and malignity: interest is the ruling mo- 
tive of mankind, and every one is endeavouring to 
increase his own stores of happiness by perpetual 
Accumulation, without reflecting upon the numbers 
whom his superfluity condemns to want : in this state 
of things, a book of morality is published, in which 
charity and benevolence are strongly enforced ; and 
it is proved beyond opposition, that men are happy 
in proportion as they are virtuous, and rich as they 
are liberal. The book is applauded, and the author 
is preferred ; he imagines his applause deserved, and 
receives less pleasure frdm the acquisition of reward 
than the consciousness of merit. Let us look again 
upon mankind : interest is still the ruling motive, 
and the world is yet full of fraud and corruption^ 
malevolence and rapine. 

The difficulty of confuting this assertion arises 
• merely from ita geqerality and comprehension : to 

VOL. XXV. c c 



f fid ADT^NTURBft. Itf^ 137. 

overthrow k bj a detail of distinct fiaicts, requires % 
tncler survey of the world than human eyes can 
take; the progress of reformation is gr«ujiual and 
silent, as the exten^iop of evening shadows ; we 
](now that they were short at upon, and are long at 
sun-sety but Qi^r senses were not able to discern their 
increase : we know of every civil nation* that it wa$ 
once savage, ^nd how was it recUJRied but by pre- 
cept and ad^ipnition ? 

Mapkind are universally corrnpt, but corrupt in 
di£ferent degrees ; as they are iiniv^^lly ignorant, 
yet with greater or less irradiations of knowledge. 
How has knowledge qr virtue been increo^ed an4. 
preserved in ope pla^e beypnd another, but by dili?- 
gent inculcation aud rational enforcement? 

Books of morfi)ity are daily written, yet its influr- 
ence is still little in the world ; so the ground 19 
annually ploughed, and yet multitudes are in want 
of bread. But, surely, neither the ^labours of the 
moralist nor of the husbandman are vain ; let them» 
for a yrhile, neglect their task^, and their usefulneeiB 
will be known ; the wickecbiess that i^ now frequent 
would become universal, the bre»d ik^X i? now 
acjirce would wholly fail. 

The power, indeed, of every individual i^ sm^U, 
wd the consequence of his endeavours i]Dper(;eptibla 
in a general prospect of the world* Pr^videoice has 
^ven no man ability to do ipuch, that something 
might be left for every man to do. The bn^in^ of 
iife is carried oa by a general coroperetion ; iu whiqh 
the part of any jingle m*a can be »o^ more disu^- 
guished, than thd eff?at of a partipular drop wheni the 
gi^^adows are floaii^ by 9^ summer shower: yet every 
drop increases the inundation, s^nd every haod add^ 
to the happiness or misery of mankind* 

That a writer, however zealous or eloquent, sel- 
dom works 1^ Tiflible effect upon oities or nations. 



n^ 137. ADTommfia. Ml 

will readily b6 gmitedi. The book which is r^ad 
most, is read by few, compared with those thai 
read it not ; and of those few, the greater part pe- 
ruse it with diqx>sitioii» that very little favour their 
own improvemefit. 

It is difficult to emiinerate the serreral motiTea 
which prdcare to books the hoooiir of perusal : spite, 
vanity, and cariosity, hope and fear, love and hatred, 
every passion which incites to any other action, servea 
at one time or other to stimalate a reader. 

Some are fond to take a celebrated volume int6 
their hands, because they hope to distinguish their 
penetration, by finding faults which have escaped the 
puUic; others eagerly buy \% iti'the first bloom, of 
reputation, that they may join the chorus of praise, 
and not lag, aa Falstaff terms it^ in ^ the rearward 
of the fashion/ ^ 

Some read for style, and some for argument; one 
has little care about the sentiment, he observes only 
how it is expressed ; another regards not the con- 
clusion, but is diligent to mark how it is inferred : 
thejr read for other purposes than the attainment of 
practical knowledge; and are no more likely to grow 
wise by an examination of a treatise of moral pru- 
dence, than an architect to inflame his devotion by 
considering attentively the proportions of a temple. 

Some read that they may embellish their conver- 
sation, or shine in dispute ; some, that they may not 
be detected in ignorance, or want the reputation of 
lit^ary accomphshments : but the most general and 

Prevalent reason of study is, the impossibility of 
nding another amusement equally cheap or con«- 
stant, equally dependent on thfe hour of the weather. 
He that wants money to follow the chase of pleasure 
through her yearly circuit, and is left at home When 
tbe gay world rolls to Bath or Tunbridge; he, 
whose gout .compels him to hear from his chambe#^ 

c c 2 



tn ADTENTirRBIt. N*" 137. 

the rattlei of chliriots transporting hapj^ier beings to 
plays and assemblies, will be forced to seek in books 
a refuge from himself. 

The author is not wholly useless, who provides 
innocent amusements for minds like these. There 
are, in the present state of things, so many more in- 
stigations to evil than incitements to good, that he 
who keeps men in a neutral state, may be justly 
<:onsidered as a benefactor to life. 

But, perhaps, it seldom happens, that study termi- 
nates in mere pasti^ne. Books have always a secret 
influence on the understanding ; we cannot at plea* 
sure obliterate ideas ; he that reads books of science, 
though without any fixed desire ol' improvement, 
will grow more knowing ; he that entertains himself 
with moral or religious treatises, will imperceptibly 
advance in goodness; the ideas which are oftea 
offered to the mind, will at last find a lucky mo- 
ment when it is disposed to receive them. 

It is, therefore, urged vnthout reason, as a dis- 
couragement to writers, that thei*e are already books 
sufficient in the world ; that all the topics of per- 
suasion have been discussed, and every important 
question clearly stated and justly decided ; and that, 
therefore^ there is no room to hope, that pigmies 
should conquer where heroes have been defeated, or 
that the petty copiers of the present time should 
advance the great work of reformation, which their 
.predecessors were forced to leave unfinished. 

Whatever be the present extent of human know* 
ledge, it is not only finite, and therefore in its own 
nature capable of increase, but so narrow, that al- 
most every understanding may, by a diligent appli- 
cation of its powers, hope to enlarge it. It is, how- 
ever, not necessary, that a man should forbear to 
write, till he has discovered some truth unknown 
before; he may be sufiiciently useful, by only 



N* 137* AWBKTVltBB* ^ 203 

diversifying the surface of knowledge, and luring 
the mind by a new appearance to a second view of 
those beauties which it had passed over inattentively 
before. Every writer may find intellects correspond- 
ent to his own, to whom his expressions are fa« 
miliar, and his thoughts congenial ; and, perhaps, 
truth is often more successfully propagated by men 
of moderate abilities, who, adopting the opinions of 
others, have no care but to explain them clearly, 
than by subtile speculatists and curious searchers, 
who exact froni ^eir readers powers equal to their 
own, and if their fabrics of science be strong, take 
no care to render them accessible. 

f^or my part, I do not regret the hours which I 
have laid out in these little compositions. That the 
Wbrld had grdwn apparently better since the ptibli* . 
cation of tibe Adventurer, I have not observed ; but 
dm willing to think, that mdny have been nffected 
by single sentiments, of which it is their business 
to renew the ithprbssion; that many hftve caught 
hints of truth, which it is how their duty to pursue; 
and that those who have received no improyement^ 
have wanted not bpportunity, but intenticMi to im- 
prove. 

T. 



c c 3 



294 ADTBRTUHBK. H* 139. 



N» 138. SATURDAY, MARCH % 1754. 



fi.\nd pure tranqu'dletf honos^ an duke lucellum, 

An secretum iter^ ei faiUntis semita vuaf HOR* 

Whether the tranquil mind and pure^ 

Honours or wealth our bliss insure; 

Or down through life unknown to stray. 

Where iunely leads the sileut way. FRANCIS. 

Haying considered the impprtance of authors to 
the welfare of the public, I am led by a natMral tnun 
of thought, to reflect on their condition with regard 
to themselves ; and to inquire what d^ree of hap« 
piness or vexation is annexed to the difficult and 
laborious employment of providing instruction or 
entertainment for mankind. 

In estimating the pain or pleasure of any particular 
state, every man, indeed, draws his decisions from 
his own breast, and cannot with certainty determine, 
whether other minds are aifected by the same causes 
in the same manner. Yet, by this criterion we must 
be content to judge, because no other can be obtained ; 
aAd, indeed, we have no reason to think it very fal- 
lacious, for, excepting here and there an anomalous 
mind, which either does not feel like others, or dis- 
sembles its sensibility, we find men unanimously 
concur in attributing happiness or misery to parti* 
cular conditions, as they agree in acknowledging the 
cold of winter and the heat of autumn. 

If we apply to authors themselves for an account 
of their atate^ it will appear very little to deserve envy; 






B* 138. ABVBNTURBR. ^5 

for they have in all ages been addicted to complaint 
The neglect of learning, the ingratitude of the pre- 
sent age, and the absurd preference by which igno- 
rance and dulness often obtain favour and rewards, 
have been from age to age topics of invective ; and 
few have lett their names to posterity, without somo 
appeal to future candour from the perverseness and 
malice of their own times. 

I have, nevertheless, beet often inclined to doubt, 
whether authors, however querulous, are in reality 
more miserable than their fellow-mortals. The pre- 
sent life is to all a state of infelicity ; every man, like 
an author, believes himself to merit more than ha 
obtains, and solaces the present with the prbspect of 
^ the future ; others, indeed, suffer those oisappoint- 
ments in silence, of which the writer complains, to 
shew how well he has learnt the art of lamentation. 

There is at least one gleam of felicity, of which 
few writers have missed the enjoyment : he whose 
hopes have so far overpowered his fears, as that ho 
has resolved to stand forth a candidate for fame, 
seldom fails to amuse himself, before his appearance^ 
with pleasing scenes of affluence or honour; white 
his fortune is yet under the regulation of fancy, h« 
easily models it to his wish, suffers no thoughts of 
critics or rivals to intrude upon his mind, but coant$ 
over the bounties of patronage, or listens to the voic^ 
of praise. ' 

Some there are, that talk very luxuriously of the 
aeoond period of an author's happiness, and tell of 
the tumultuous raptures of invention, when the ipind 
hots in imagery, .and the choice stands suspended 
between different sentiments. 

These pleasures, I believe, may sometimes be in- 
dulged to thoae, who come to a subject of disquiai* 
tion with minds full of ideas, and with fancies so vi" 
g9iottSy a« easily to #xcite,4eleat» aod arrange them* 



To write is, indeed, no tinpleasing employment, 
when one sentiment readily produces another, and 
both ideas and expressions present themselves at the 
first summons: but such happiness, the greatest 
genius does not always obtain; and common writersr 
know it only to such a degree, as to credit its pos« 
siibility. Composition is, for the most p^rt, an effort 
of slow diligence and steady perseverance, to which 
the mind is dragged by tiecessity or resolution, and 
fVom which the attention i^ every moment starting; 
to more delightful amusements. 
• It frequently happens, that a design which, when 
considered at a distance, gave flattering hopes of 
facility, mocks us in the execution with unexpect^ 
difficulties^ the mind Which, While it considered it 
in the groiss, imagified itself amply furnished with 
materials, finds sottietiines an Unexpected barrenness 
tmd vacuity, and Wofiders whither all those ideas 
tire vanished, which a little before seemed fttragglin^ 
for >emisl»ion. 

Sometimes many thoughts present themselves ; but 
go confused and unconnected, that they are not with- 
tmi difficulty reduced to method, or concatenated in 
It regular and dependent series : the mind falls at 
bnceinto a labyrinth, of which neither the banning 
tior end can be discovered, and toils and struggles 
^thput progreto or extricAtion, 

It is asserted by Horace, that ^ if matter be once 
got together, Words will be found With very little 
difficulty i* a position which, though sufficiently plau- 
4Bible to be inserted in poetical precepts, is by no nieanis 
•dtrictly and philosophically true. If words wei^ 
naturally and necessarily consequential to sentiment^, 
it would always follow, that he who has most know- 
ledge must have most eloquence, and that every mibi 
Would clearly express What he fully understood : yet 
W0 findy thftt.to think^•9Uld to dv^opurse; are often tte 

4 



k"* 138. ADVENTURBR. 397 

qualities of different persons ; and many books might 
surely ISe produced, where just and noble sentiments 
are degraded and obscured by unsuitable diction. 

Words, therefore, as well as things, claim the 
care of an author. Indeed of many authors, and 
those not useless or contemptible, words are almost 
the only care : many make it their study, not so 
much to strike out new sentiments, as to recommend 
those which are already known to more favourablo 
notice by fairer decorations ; but every man, whether 
he copies or invents, whether he delivers his own 
thoughts or those of another, has often found himself 
deficient in the power of expression, big with ideas 
which he could not utter, obliged to ransack his 
memory for terms adequate to his conceptions, and 
at last unable to impress upon his reader the image 
existing in his own mind. 

It is one of the common distresses of a writer, to 
be within a word of a happy period, to want only 
a single epi(het to give amplification its full 
force, to require only a correspondent term in order 
to finish a paragraph with elegance, and make one of 
its members answer to the Other: but these deficien* 
cies cannot always be supplied; and after long study 
and vexation, the passage is turned anew, and the 
web unwoven that was so nearly finished. 

But when thoughts and words are collected and 
adjusted, and the whole composition at last con- 
cluded, it seldom gratifies the author, when becomes 
coolly and deliberately to review it, 
which had been excited in the fu 
ance: novelty always captivates tkej^if; as our 
thoughts rise fresh upon us, we/roaiSily believe tton 
just and original, which, whe^^tbe ple^dre of pro*;, 
duction is over, we find toAmmeagi andcq;3imo% 
or borrowed from the work^ of others, anji^up^iibd/ 
by memory rather than invTofionV' /^ , \> y 

220 



V 



i98 ADVENTURER. N* 13g, 

But ttioii|;h it should happen that the writer find« 
&o such faults in his per&rmance, he is still to re- 
member, that he looks upon it with partial eyes ; and 
when he (considers, how much men who could Judge 
of others with great exactness, have often failed of 
judging' of themselves, he will be afraid of deciding 
too hastily in his own favour, or df allowing himself 
to contemplate with toe much complacence, treasure 
that has not yet been brought to the test, nor past the- 
only trial that can stamp its value. 

From the public, and only from the public, is he 
to await a confirmation of his claim, and a final jus* 
tification of self-esteem; but the public is not easily 
persuaded to favour an author. If mankind were 
left to judge for themselves, it is reasonable to ima- 
gine, that of such writings, at least, as describe the- 
movements of the human passions, and of which 
^ery man caihries the archetype within him, a just 
Opinion would be formed; but whoever has remark- 
ed th6 fate of books, must have found it governed 
by other eauseff, than general consent arising from 
general conviction. If a new performance happens 
not to fall into the hands of some, who have courage 
to tell, and authority to propagate their opinion, it 
ofiten remains long in obscurity, and perhaps perishes 
unknown and unexamined. A few, a very few, com- 
monly constitute t]ie taste of the time; the judgment 
which they have once pronounced, some are too 
lazy to discuss, and some too timorous to contradict t 
it may, however, be, I think, observed, that their 
power is greater to depress than exalt, as mankind 
are more credulous of censure than of praise. 

This perversion of the public judgment is not to 
be rashly numbered amongst due miseries of an 
author ; since it commonly serves, after miscarriage, 
to raooncile him to himself. Because the' world has 
sometimes passed an unjust sentence, he readily con- 



X 



V* 138. ADTSHmsA. 299 

eludes the sentenoe anjast by wliich his perfonnanoe 
is condemned; because some have been exalted 
above their merits by partiality, be is sure to ascribe 
the success of a rival, not to the merit of his woi^ 
but the zeal of his patrons. Upon the whole, as the 
^u^or seems to share aQ the common miseries of 
life, he appears to partake likewise of its lenitives 
•and abatements. 
T. 



806 ADVENTUREIU »'' 130. 

/ 



N* 139. TUESDAY, MARCH 5, 1754. 

1-^ 



Ipse v'lam tanium potui itocume reperttmi 
Aon^t ad monies, longegue osiendtre MusaSf 
Plaudentes ceUte choreas in veriice rupis. VIDA* 

I only pointed out the paths that lead 

The panting youth to steep Parnassus* head. 

And shew'd the tuneful muses from afar, 

Mixt in a solemn choir and dancing there. PITT. 

He that undertakes to superintend the morals and 
the taste of the public, should attentively consider, 
what are the peculiar irregularities and defects 
that characterize the times : for though some have 
contended, that men have always been vicious and 
foohsh in the same degree ; yet their vices aiitl 
follies are known to have been not only difief^Bit 
but opposite in their kind. The disease of the 
time has been sometimes a fever, and sometimes a 
lethargy; and he, therefore, who should always 
prescribe the same remedy, would be justly scorn-' 
ed as a quack, the dispenser of a nostrum, which, 
however efficacious, must, if indiscriminately ap- 
plied, produce as much evil as good. There was a 
time, when every man, who was ambitious of reli- 
gion or virtue, enlisted himself in a crusade, or 
buried himself in a hermitage : and he who should 
then have declaimed against lukewarmness and 
scepticism, would have acted just as absurdly as 
he, who should warn the present age against 



N* 1'3D. ADVBNTURER. 301 

priestcraft and superstition, or set himself grarely to 
prore the lawfulness of pleasure, to lure the hermit 
frdm his cell, and deliver the penitent from suicide. 

But as vicious manners have not* differed more than 
vicious taste, there was a time when every literary 
character was disgraced by an impertinent ostentation 
of skill in abstruse science, and an habitual familiarity 
with books written in the dead languages : every man, 
therefore, was a pedant, in proportion as he desired to 
be thought a scholar. The preacher and the pleader 
strung together classical quotations with the same la- 
bour, affectation, and insignificance ; truths however 
obvious, and opinions however indisputable, were il- 
lustrated and confirmed by the testimonies of Tully 
or Horace; and Seneca and Epictetun were solemnly 
cited, to evince the certainty of death or the fickle- 
ness of fortune. The discourses of Taylor are crowd- 
ed with extracts from the writers of the porch and 
the academy; and it is scarcely possible to forbear 
smiling a^ a marginal note of Lord Coke, in which 
he gravely acquaints his reader with an excellence 
that he might otherwise have overlooked : ' This,* 
says he, * is the thirty-third time that Virgil hath 
been quoted in this work.' The mixture, however, 
is so preposterous, that to those who can read Coke 
with pleasure, these passages will appear like a 
dancer who should intrude on the solemnity of 
a senate ; and to those who have a taste only 
for polite literature, like a fountain or a palm- 
tree in the deserts of Arabia. 

It appears by the essays of Montaigne and La 
Motte le Vayer, that this affectation extended to 
France; but the absurdity was too gross to remiaia 
long afler the revival of literature. It was ridiculed 
here so early as the * Silent Woman ' of Ben Jonson ; 
and afterwards more strongly and professedly in the 
character of Hudibras^ who decorates his flimsy ora« 

VOL. XXV. D D 



302 ADVENTURER. N® 139. 

tions with gaudy patches of Latin, and scraps of tissue 
from the schoolmen. The same task was also under- 
taken in France by Balzac, in a satire called ' Barbon.' 

Wit is more rarely disappointed of its purpose 
than wisdom ; and it is no wonder that this species 
of pedantry, in itself so ridiculous and despicable, 
was soon brought into contempt by those powers, 
against which truth and rectitude have not always 
maintained their dignity. The features of learning" 
began insensibly to lose their austerity, and her air 
became engaging and easy: philosophy was now 
decorated by the graces. • 

The abstruse truths of astronomy were explained 
by Fontenelle to a lady by moonlight; justness and 
propriety of thought and sentiment were discussed 
by Bouhours amid the delicacies of a garden ; and 
Algarotti introduced the Newtonian theory of light 
and colours to the toilet. Addison'remarks that So- 
crates was said to have brought philosophy down 
from heaven to inhabit among men : ^ And I,' says 
he, ' shall be ambitious to have it said of me, that I 
have brought philosophy out of closets and libraries, 
schools and colleges, to dwell in clubs and assem- 
blies, at tea-tables, and in coffee-houses.' 

But this purpose has in some measure been de- 
feated by its success ; and we have been driven from 
one extreme with such precipitation, that we have 
not stopped in the medium, but gone on to the other. 

Learni ng has been divested of the pecuiiarities of a 
college dress, that she might mix in polite assemblies, 
and be admitted to domestic familiarity ; but by this 
means she has been confounded with ignorance and 
levity. Those who before could distinguish her only 
by the singularity of her garb, cannot now^ distinguish 
her at all; and whenever she asserts the dignity of 
her character, she has reason to fear that ridicule, 
which is inseparably c^nected with the remembrance 



■N^ 139 . ADVENTURER. 303 

of her dress: she is therefore in danger of being 
driven back to the college, where, such is her trans- 
formation, she may at last be refused admittance ; for, 
instead of learning's having elevated conversation, 
conversation has degraded learning ; and the barbarous 
and inaccurate manner in which an extemporary 
speaker expresses a hasty conception, is now contend- 
er! to be the rule by which an author should write. 
It seems, therefore, that to correct the taste of the 
present generation, literary subjects should be again 
introduced among the polite and gay, without labour- 
ing too much to disguise them like common prattle ; 
and that conversation should be weeded of folly and 
impertinence, of common-place rhetoric, gingling 
phrases, and trite repartee, which are echoed from one 
visitor to another without the labour of thought, and 
have been suffered by better understandings in the 
dread of an imputation of pedantry. I am of opinion, 
that with this view Swift wrote his ' Polite Conver- 
sation :' and where he has plucked up a weed, the 
writers who succeed him should endeavour to plant 
a flower. With this view. Criticism has in this paper 
been intermixed with subjects of greater importance ; 
and it is hoped that our foshi enable conversation will 
no longer be the disgrace of rational beings; and that 
men of genius and literature will not give the sanc- 
tion of their example to popular folly, and suffer 
their evenings to pass in hearing or in telling the ex- 
ploits of a pointer, discussing a method to prevent 
wines from being pricked, or solving a difficult case 
in backgammon. 

I would not, however, be thought solicitous to con- 
fine the conversation even of scholars to literary sub- 
jects, but only to prevent such subjects from being 
totally excluded. And it may be remarjced that the 
present insignificance of conversation has a very ex- 
tensive effect : excellence that is not understood will 



I 

304 ABVBNTURBlt. M* 140. 

nev«r be rewarded, and withodt kope 6f reward fei^ 
will labour to excel; every w^ter will be tempted. 
to negligence, in proportion as he diespises the judg- 
ment of thosQ who are to deietifiplne hi» merit ; and 
as it is no man's interest to write that which the pub- 
lic is not disposed to read^ the produetiona of th^e 
press will always be accommodated to popular taste, 
and in proportion as the world is inclined to be ig*- 
norant, little will bl» taught them. Thus the Greek 
and Roman ard^tecture are discarded for the novel- 
ties of China^ the Ruins of Palmyra, and the copies 
of the capital pictures of Oorreggio,arenegleoled for 
gothic designs, and burlesque political prints ; and 
the tinsel of a Burletta has more admif^rs than the 
gold of Shakspeare, though it now receives ne^ 
splendor from the mint, and, like a medal, is iliach- 
trious, not only for intrinsic worth, but for beaofty 
of expression. 

Perhaps it may be thought, that if this be, indeed, 
the state of learning and taste, an attempt to improve 
it by a private hand is romantic, and the hope of 
success chimerical : but to this I am not solitiitoud 
to give other answer, than that such an atten^t is 
consistent with the character in which this pt^r is 
written ; and that the Adventurer can assert, upon 
classical authority, that in brave attempts it is glorious 
even to &iL 

Z- • 

N^UO. SATURDAY, MARCH 9, 1754. 

Dewu JManaUoif m$a tibw,de$hie eanius, VIRO. 

Kow cease, my pipe, now cease^ Menalian 8traia8.W ART. 

Whbk this work was first planned, it was determined, 
^t whatever might be the success, it should not be 
eontinued as a paper, till it became unwieldy a» » 



M* 140. ADTXHTDBEK. 305 

book : for no immediate advantafe would have 
indiicied the Adventurer to write what, like a news- 
paper, was designed but for a day ; and he knew» 
that the pieces of which it would consist, might be 
multiplied till they were thought too numerous to 
collect, and too costly to purchase, even by those 
who should allow them to be excellent in thar 
land. It was soon agreed, that four volumes, 
when they should be printed in a pocket size, 
would circulate better than more, and that scarce 
any of the purposes of publication could be ef-* 
fected by less; the work, therefoVe, was limited 
to four volumes, and four volumes are now com- 
pleted. 

A moral writer, of whatever abilities, who la- 
bours to reclaim those to whom vice is becooM^ 
habitual, and who are become Yetenns in infi- 
delity, must surely labour to little purpose. Vice 
is a gradual and easy descent, where it first de- 
viates from the level of innocence ; but the de- 
clivity at every pace becomes more steep, and 
those who descend, descend every moment with 
greater rapidity. As a moralist, ther^ore, I de-* 
ttrmined to mark the first insensible gradation t9 
ill; to caution against those acts which are npt 
generally believed to incur guilt, but of which in- 
dubitable vice and hopeless misery are the natural 
and almost necessary consequences. 

As I was upon these principles to write for th« 
Young and the Gay ; for those who are entering 
the path of life, I knew that it would be necessary 
to amuse the imagination while I was approach- 
ing the heart ; and that I could not hope to fix the 
attention, but by engaging the passions. I have, 
therefore, sometimes led them into the regions of 
fancy, and sometimes held up before them the mirror 



305 ADTBKTOBBS. M* 140. 

of life; I have conoatenftted e^t^ents, rather than 
deduced conaequences by logical reasoning; and 
have exhibited scenes of prosperity and distren 
as more forcibly persuasive than the rhetoric of 
declamatioD. 

In the story of Melissa, T hare endeavoured ta- 
reptess romantic hopes, by which the reward of 
laborious industry is despised ; and have founded 
affluence and honour upon an act of generous in- 
tegrity, to which few would have thought them* 
selves obliged. In the life of Opsinous, I hav« 
shown the danger of the first speculative defection, - 
and endeavoured to demonstrate the necensary de* 
pendence of Virtue upon Religion. AmuratVs Mrst 
advance to cruelty was striking a dog. The wretch- 
edness of Hassan was produced merely by the want 
of positive virtue ; and that of Mirza by the soli* 
tariness of his devotion. The distress of Lady 
Freeman arises from a common and allowed devi- 
ation iirom truth ; and in the two papers upon 
marriage, the importance of minute particulars ie 
illustrated and displayed. With this clue, the 
reader will be able to discover the same design in 
almost every paper that I have written, which may 
easily be known from the rest by having no signa- 
ture^ at the bottom. Among these, however^ 
Number forty-four was the voluntary contribution 
of a stranger, and Number forty-two + the gift of a 
friend ; so were the first hints on which I wrote 

* By signature it meant the letter, or mark, placed on 
the left hand side of the pag^ ; not the subscribed nanea 
of the asstimed characters iu which leveral of ihe papers 
ar« written. 

f Said, by mistake^ to be Naaber forty-stven^ io former 
•ditionsp 



N* 140, ADVENTURER. 307 

the story of Eugeoio, and the letter signed Tim. 

COGDIF* 

I did not, however, undertake to execute this 
acbeme alone; not ofily be<:au8e I wanted suf- 
ficient leisure, but because some degree of same-* 
ness is produced by the peculiarities of erery 
writer; and it was thought that the conceptions 
and expression of another, whose pieces should 
have a general coincidence with mine, would pro- 
duce variety, and by increasing entertainment facili- 
tate instruction. 

With this view the piieces that appear in the be- 
ginning of the work signed A, were procured ; but 
this resource soon failing, I was obliged to carry on 
the publication alone, except some casual sup- 
plies, till I obtained from the gentlemen who have 
distinguished their pieces by the letters T and Z ♦ 
such assistance as I most wished. Of their views 
and expectations, tome account has been already 
given in Number one hundred and thirty-se- 
ven, and Number one hundred and thirty-nine. 
But there is one particular, in which the critical 
pieces concur in the general design of this paper, 
which has not been mentioned: those who can 
judge of literary excellence, will easily discover 
the Sacred Writings to have a divine origin by 
their manifest superiority; he, therefore, who dis* 
plays the beauties and defects of a classic author, 
whether ancient or modern, puts into the bands of 
those to whom he communicates critical know- 
ledge, a new testimonial of the truth of Chris- 
tianity. ' 

* The pieces signed Z are by the Rev. Mr. Wartctn, 
whose translation of Virgil's Pastorals and Georgics woald 
alone sufficiently ^l^tingHish hioji as a genius aa4 a 
scholar. 



308 ' ADVENTURER. K"" 1 40, 

Besides the assistance of these gentlemen, I have 
. received some voluntary contributions which would 
have done honour to any collection : the allegori- 
cal letter from Night, signed S ; the Story of Fi- 
delia, in three parts, signed Y ; the letter signed Tim 
Wildqoose; Number fortytfour and Number 
ninety marked with an ^^ were sent by unknown 
hands. 

But whatever was the design to which I direct- 
ed my part of this work, I will not pretend, that 
the view with which 1 undertook it was wholly 
disinterested ; or that I would have engaged in a 
periodical paper, if I had not considered, that 
though it would not require deep researches and 
abstracted speculation, yet it would admit much of 
that novelty which nature can now supply, and af- 
ford me opportunity to excel, if I possessed the 
power ; as the pencil of a master is as easily dis- 
tinguished in still life, as in a Hercules or a Venus, 
a landscape or a battle. I confess, that to thia 
work I was incited, not only by a desire to propa- 
gate virtue, but to gratify myself; nor has the pri- 
vate wish, which was involved in the public, been 
disappointed. I have no cause to complain, that 
the Adventurer has been injuriously neglected ; or . 
that I have been denied that praise, the hope of 
which animated my labour and cheered my weari- 
ness : I have been pleased, in proportion as I have 
heen known in this character ; and as the fears in 
which I made the first experiment are past, I have 
subscribed this paper with my name. But the hour 
is hastening, in which, whatever praise or (Censure 
1 have acquired by these compositions^ if they are 
remembered at all, will be remembered with equal . 
indifference, and the tenour of them only will af-. 
ford me comfort. Time, who is impatient tQ <Jat»^ 



K* 140. ADTENTURE5IU 300 

my last paper, will shortly moulder the hand that 
is now writing it in the dust, and still the breast 
that now throbs at the reflection : but let not this 
be read as something that relates only to another; 
for a few years only can divide the eye that is now 
reading from the hand that has written. This aw« 
fill truth, however obvious, and however reiterated, 
is yet frequently forgotten ; for, surely, if we did 
nat lose our remembrance, or at least our sensibili- 
ty, that view would always predominate in our 
lives, which alone can afford us comfort when we 
die. 

JOHN HAWKESWORTH. 



Bromley^ in Kent^ 
March Sf 1754 



END OF THB TWENTY-flf TH VOLUME. 




BARWAHJ} AMD rAKCBY, 

gkbimerJUreH, Jkmdmu 





-Sv^!?^* 




*-^i 



'>-^^ 



V^ 



^'>^. 



m: 



1>K 



i^^^: 



,-^>jKt*i- 



^^. 



3^ 



i^k. 



V','' -wV 



■>^,^';. x.; 



oV; 



i^J 



^S^^^ 



.,%w 



Vrt^' 



L^^ 



5i^-^ 



.^^ 



■♦5*l' 



.'<». 



W: 



->>:, 






m^m. 



<^. 



•^ 



. -*«j 



'■M.. 






J^> 



-^ 



d-JJdsti-l 



*-^x 



*^ 



.-:^>^^ 



:^i 



' -^-v, -i. 



■:^ 



^i*!?!^^!'^*^ 

^ 



'^^ 






?^m*- 



T 



■V' 



V it' 



>^1^ 



>^>^ "1^7 



.M) 



l-ft 



-.^.\-SH-^. 



,f:' 



"i 



^ 



r-t 



.^^ 






■i- 






<1> 



^ 



v< 



^■.*1'' 



<^ 



■■^> 



•^*v 



^'^ 






;¥ 



A"^ 



.K, i 



■h' 



^'■< 



Srjf :./ 






xr^. 



':;i^^ 



'.W.k'' 









•^^Wk^^d