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/lc<?3w?^(y) 




ID 



THS 



WORKS 



SAMUEL JOHNSON, L. L. D. 

A NEW EDITION. 

i 

AN ESSAY ON HIS LIFE AND GENIUS, 
BT ATTHVR MURPHT) £sq. 

VOL. XV. " 



NEW-YORK J 



/UBUSHED BY WILLIAM DURELL. 

Paul Cf ThomtUt JPrintcr** 
1811. 



.1 



:/4¥k^hf~ 



JUL % tttS 



/^i^, dUv.S^. 



CONTENTa 

OF 

THE FOURTH VOLUME. 



^HE BJMBLEIL 

IKfficulty of the £nt addretwi. Pnctice of the epic po* 

et8. Convenieiice of periodical pevfonnancet . . • S 
The necessity and danger of looking into futurity. Wri* 
ters naturally sanguine. Thdr hopes liable to disap* 
pointment -.••-..-•---•--. 8 

An allegory on csiticisa " 14 

The modern form of romances preferable to the andent. 
The necessity of characters morally good * - - • IST 

A meditation on the Spring ...23 

Happiness not local "- 38 

Betirement natural to a great' miAd. Its reKgious use • 33 
The thoughts toJbe farought under regulation ; as they 

respect the past, present, and lutofe 39 

The fondaees of every man for his profesnon. The gra« 

dual improrement of manofactures « - - . - • 45 
Four billets with, th^ answers. Remarks on masque- 
rades .-*.- 4d 

The folly of miger. Thesuseryof apeeirisholdage » » 50 
The history of a yoong womaa that oame to London fat 

service •.--..•-.-62 

The duty of seoreqr. The invalidi^ of all escuses for 

betraying secrets 69 

The difference between an allthev^l mtttngs and his eon- 

Tersation -••^.--... 75 

The foUy of cards. A letter from «huly that has lost her 

jQAOney ...-• •..•8^ 

1 



\^ • 1. 



CONTENTS. 

Page 

The dangers and miseries of < literary esiiaenoe • • - 89 
The frequent conten^ladon of death neeesaary to mode* 

rate the passions -.'---pSS 

The unhappiness of m^mage^auaed by irregular motives 

of choice --------- 100 

The danger of ranging &om on^ study to another. The 

importance of an early choice of profession . • • • 107 

The folly and. Sncontenience. of affectation 114 

The anxieties of literature not less than those of public 

stations. The inequality of authors' writings • - •119 

An allegory on wit and learning 125 

The contraries of criticism. The vanity of objection* 
^An author obtiged to depend upon his own judgment 130 
The necessity of attending to the duties of common life* 

The natural character not'fo be forsaken - 135 

Eashiless preferable to cowardice. Enterprise not to be 

repressed ------ 141 

The mischief fsi extrarag^cej and misery of depen* 

dence - -. -- ----. 146 

4n author's, treatment from six patrons - - « . . -152 
The various arts of self-delusion ----.li.* 157 
The folly of antidpating misfortunes - « - - - - • 164 
The observance of Sunday recommended; an allegory - 169 
The defence of a Jmown n^stake highly culpable • • • 174 
The vanity 6i stoidsm. The necessity of patience - • 180 

An aUegerical history of rest and labour 186 

The uneasiness and disg^t of female cowardice • • • 191 
A marriage of prudence without affection . . • • - 197 

The reasons why pastorals delight 203 

The true principles of pastoral poetry 208 

The advantagdl of mediocMrity. • An eastern ikble - - 214 
The unhappiness of women whether single or married • 219 
The difficulty of giving advice without offending . • - 225 

The advantages of memory 128 

The nkeiyef a modish lady in solitude . - « - • • 234 
The inconveniendes of predpitation and confidence • 239 • 

Religion and auperstitiony a vision 245 

The causes of disagreement in marriage • « • . .351 

The mischiefs of rural faction ^ • ^^ '- 256 

T^ Fopenneaii& of legukitipg sorrow 261 



CONTSHT8. 

Ftge 

The miseries of an Mrm eonstitotion -•••.• 266 
A disqiiis]ii<m upon the raliie of fame - • - • • • 271 
A virtaous old age always reverenced •-..•• 276 
The emptoymants of a hoiuewtfe in the eountiy - - . 281 
The contenplatMHi <^ the cakmities of otfaen, a remedy 

forgrief ♦ - - 288 

Thefoliyandmiserf of a spendthrift - - ... - -295 
A death-bed the true school 'of vdsdom. The efiects of 

death upon the survivors 298 

The ifsy widov*s kapatience of the growth of her daugh- 
ter. The history of Miss Maypole 304 

The necessity of complaisance. The Bamblez^s grief for 

offending his correspondent - 310 

Sententious rules of frugality 318 

The desire of wealth moderated by pluloaophy - - -321 
An aceount <Ji Suspirius, the human screech-ewl - - 326 

The dig^ty and usefulness of biography 331 

A London^s vi^t to the country .--..-.- 336 
A young lady's impatience to see London • • . • - 343 
Inconstancy not always a weakness *--•-- -348 
The retfoiaites ta true ^endship --.-•.. -3^3 

O^dah and the hermit, an eastern story 359 

Passion not to be eradicated. Hie views of women iB 
directed .--••-•'-.•-..-.364 






^.-NB 



TJHE 

KAMBLER. 



No-. 1. TUtSDAY, MARCH 20^1749-50. 

« 

Cur tamen ktt M^atptttiu* decurrM campa^ 

JPtr quern magnits equo* Aurunca jlexit alumnus, 

Si vacat, et placicU rationem adrmttitit^ edam. J V. 

Why te expatiate in this beaten field. 

Why arms, oil us'd in vain, I mean to itdeld; 

If time permit, and candor will attend. 

Some satisfaction this essay may lend. E L¥ h i nst o X. 

X HE difficulty of the first address on any new occa- 
91009 is felt by every man in his transactions with the 
world, and confessed by the settled and regular forms 
of salutation ^ich necessity has introduced into all 
languages. Judgment was wearied with the perplex- 
ity of being forced upon choice^ where ther^ was no 
motive to preference ; and it was found convenient 
that some easy method of introduction should be estab- 
lished, whicli, if it wanted the allurement of novelty, 
might enjoy the security of prescription. 

Perhaps {ew authors have pij^sented themselves be- 
fore the public, without wishing that such ceremonial 
modes of entrance had been anciently established, as 
might have freed them from those dangers which the 
desire of pleasing is certain to produce, and precluded 
the vain expedients of softening censure by apologiesi 
or rousing attention by abruptness. 

The epic writers have found the proemial part of 
the poem such an addition to their undertaking, that 
they have sdmost unanimously adopted the first lines 

VOL. IV. 1 



4 THEBAMBLEB. No. 1. 

of Homer, and the reader needs only be informed of 
the subject) to know in wbat manner the poem will 
begin. 

But this solemn repetition is hitherto the peculiar 
distinction of heroic poetry ; it has never been legally 
extended to the lower orders of literature, but seems 
to be considered as an hereditary privilege, to be en* 
joyed only #y those who sisiiwk it from their alliance to 
the genius of Homer. 

The rules which the injudicious use of this prero- 
gative suggested to Horace, may indeed be applied to 
the direction of candidates for inferior fiune ; it may be 
proper for ail to remember, that they ought not to raise 
expectation which it is not in their power to satisfy, 
and that it is more pleasing to see smoke brightening 
into flame,, than flame sinking into Simoke. 

This precept has been long received, both from re- 
gard to the authority of Horace, and its conformity to 
the general opinion of the world ; yet there have been 
always some, that thought it no deviation from modes- 
ty to recommend their own labors, and imagined them* 
selves entitled by ii^disputable merit to an exemption 
from general restraints, and to elevations not allowed in 
common lU^, They, perhaps, believed, that when, like 
Thucydides, they bequeathed to mankind }^)}/x» U «f<> 
an estate /or ever^ it was an additional favor^ to inform 
them of its value. 

It may, indeed, be no less dangerous to claim, on 
certain occasions, too little than too much. There is 
something captivating in spirit and intrepidity, to which 
we often yield, as to resistless power ; nor can he rea- 
sonably expect the confidence of 9thers, who too ap- 
parently distrusts himself. ^ 

Plutarch, in his enumeration of the various occasions 
©n which a man may without just ofi'ence proclaim his 



No. 1, THE RAMBLEK. 4- 

Own excellencies, has omitted the case of an author 
efltering the world ; unless it may be comprehended 
under his general position, tha:t a man may lawfully 
praise himself for those qualities wiiich cannot be 
known but from bis own mouth ^ as when h« is among 
Btrangers, and can have no opportunity of an actual ex- 
ertion of his powers. That the case of an author is 
parallel will scarcely be granted, be«ause he necessa* 
rily discovers the degree of his merit to his judges, 
when he appears at his trial. But it should be remem- 
bered, that unless his judges are inclined to £avor him^ 
they will hardly be persuaded to hear the cause. 

In love, the state which fills the heart with a degree 
«f solicitude next that of an author, it has been held a 
miaxira, that success is most easily obtained by indirecl 
and unperceived approaches ; he who too soon profes* 
se« himself a lover, raises obstacles to his own wishest 
and those whom disappointments have taught experi- 
ence, endeavor to conceal their passion till they be- 
lieve their mistress wishes for the discovery. The 
same method, if it were practicable to writers, would 
save many complaints of the severity of the age, and 
the caprices of criticism. If a man could glide imper« 
cepdbly into the favor of the public, and only pro- 
claim . his pretensions to literary honors when he is 
sure of not being rejected, he mightcommence author 
with better hopes, as his failings might escape con- 
tempt, though he shall never attain much regard. 

But since the world supposes every man that writes 
ambitious of applause, as some ladies have taught 
themselves to believe that every man intends love who 
expresses civility, the miscarriage of any endeavor in 
learning raises an unbounded contempt, indulged by 
most minds without scruple, as an honest triumph over 



Iinjdtt dakiiS) and exorbitant expectations. The aiti* 
fiees of those who pat themseWes in thie haxaTdeus 
Mate^ hftTe^erelbre been multiplied in pfoportmi^ to 
i^ir fear as weU as th€ir ambition ; and are to be leok^ 
ed upon mill more indulgence^ asthey^are incited at 
once bf the two great movers of the himian nand, the 
dei&gt of good and ihe fear of evil. For who can won- 
dertluttr allured ^iMtm side, and frightened on the other, 
some should endeavor to gain favor by bringing the 
judge with an appearance of respect which they do 
not feel, to exoite compassion by conlesdng weakness 
of iHiich they are not convinced ; and others to attract 
regard by a show of openness, dtnA magnanimity, by a 
dating prUfessioa of their own deserts, and a piibtle 
clmlienge of honors and rewards ? 
" The ostentatious and haughty display of themselves 
bas b^n the usual refuge of diurnal writers ; in vindi- 
cation of whose practice it may be said, that what it 
wants in prudence is supplied by sincerity, and who at 
least may plead, that if their boasts deceive any into the 
perusal of their performances^ tl^y defraud them of 
but little time. 

Quidenim^ Concurritur-^»r^ 

JHomcnto cita mcrt venit, aut vtetoria l^et^ 

The battle join, and In a moment's flight. 

Death, or a joyful conquest, ends the fights Fn Ascift, 

The question concerning the merit of the day is soon 
decided, and we are not condemned to toil through half 
a folio to be convinced that the writer has broke his 
promise. 

It is one among many reasons for which I purpose to 
endeavor the entertainment of my countrymen by 
a short essay on-Tuesday and Saturday, that I hope not 
much to tire those xihqm I shall not happen to please ; 



a»d if I sm not commended for Uw btmij of mjr 
ivx>rk% to beat least pandoned for their bventy. Biit 
whetbor my expectations are mosA fixed on pardon or 
l^aUey I think it not neceBsary to discoYer ; for hairing 
acGUMtely w^ghcd the reaeons for arrogance end sub- 
Xtm^^my I fin4 them so nearly equiponderant^ that my 
ia^]^eace to try the event of my first performance 
will not sttiTer ma to attend any longer the trepidationa 
ef the baluice. 

There are, indeed^ many conTenienciea almost pecu* 
liar to this method of publication! which may naturalif 
flatter the author» whether he he confident or utn<MM>us» 
The man to whom the extent of his knowiedgOi or thr 
eprightUness of hia imagination, has, in his own opi- 
nion, already secured the praises.of the world, willingif 
tajkea that way of displacing his abilities which will 
soonest give him an opportuni^ qf hearing the voice 
of fiune; it heightens his alacrity to think in how 
many.places he shall-hear what he is now writing, read 
withecstacies to-m^row. He willo£Len please him- 
self with reflecting, that the author of a large treatise^ 
must proceed with anxiety, lest, before the completioa 
of his work, the attention of the public may have 
changed its 6bject f l^ut that he who is confined to na 
singleT topic, may follow the national taste through all 
its variations, and catch the aura fiofiularisy the gale of 
favor, froip what point soever it shall blow* 
. Nor is the prospect less likely to ease the doubts of 
the cautious, and the terrors of the fearful, for to suclv 
the shortness of every single paper is a powerful 
encouragement. He that questions his abilities to ar*;^ 
range the dissimilar parts of an extensive plan, or 
fears ta be lost in a complicated system, may yet hop©: 
to adjust a few pages without perplexity ; and if, when, 
lie turns over the repositories of his memory, he finds. 



1^ coltootioD tM %mM for a roLume^ he insTf yet hum 
luaeugh to iunush out an eaaajr. He that wwM fear to 
lajFOUt tM mueh time upeii an experiment of wMiAi he 
knows not the eventy ];>ers«ades himself thatafewdaya^ 
'jKil ahow him what he is to expect from his learning 
and his genius. If he thinks his own judgment not 
aulfeifentiy enlighteaed, he may^ by attending to the 
remarks which evi^ fiaper will product, rectify his 
opinions. I{ he -should with too little premeititatidn 
eneun^r lu^self by an unwkldy subjectyi he can: quit 
Jtk without confessing his ignorance, and pass to other 
topics less dangerous, or more tractable. 4^nd if he 
finds» with alibis indi|stryf and all his artifices, that he 
eannet deserre r^iard, or cannot attain it, he may let 
the design fall at once, and, without injury to others <»r 
himselff retire to amusements of greater pleaaurOf oi!v 
to studies of better prospect. 

No. 2. SATURDAY, MARCH 24, 1749-*^. 



Stare loco ne^cit, pereunt rettigia mt^/s 
' Aiuc fugamt abientemque ferit gravis unguia tampuvu » 

SxATrtrs. 

Th* impatient courser pants i» every veifl. 
And pawing^ seems to beat the distant plain; 
IliUs, vales, and floods appear already crost, 
' And ere he starts, a thousand steps are lost. Popk. 

JL HAT the mind of man is never satisfied with the 
objectn immediately before it, but is always breaking 
away from the present moment, and losing itself 
in schemes of fu6ire felicity ; and that we forget the 
proper use of the time how in our power, to provide for 
the enjoyment of that which) perhaps, may never' 



bt^g^tftMni) baft been freqi^ntlffeiiiaTk^d; mSiH 
t)m.pt9ctkm is a cofmrnodknis subject of rtiillery to thd 
1^3^ sad of dedamatwi to tbe seriow, it has hecu ridU 
eui^'^lli all the pleasantry of wit> aiid exa^g^n^ed 
"VfMballtheampttficatiilnsef itietoric^ -Every instante^ 
t^ yMth its 4>8i]rdity tmght ap|>ear most flagratrt, haft 
been stiuliouslj celWeised ; it has been marked^ ^h 
airery e{utbtt of contempt, and aH the tropes andt 
figures hare beeif caHed fbrthagainst it« 
. Cewfture k wUlitigly indulged) because k always im« 
plias seme superiority; men please themaelires with 
iinagimiig. that they have made a deeper seaifcht of 
wider survey, than others, and detected faults and foU 
Mes, which escape vulgar obseryatioa. And the f^a- 
svreof wantoning in.eommosi ti^iesis so tempting to a 
W9iiert4hat he eannot easily resign it ; a train of senti-i^ 
ments generally received enables him to shine without 
labolv. and to conquer without a contest. It is so easy 
to laugh at the folly of him who lives only in idea, re« 
fuses immediate^a^ for distant pleasitaesy.and, instead 
of enjoying the blessings of life, lets life glide away in 
preparations to enjoy them ; it affords such opportuni* 
ties of triumphant exultation, to exemplify the uncer- 
taoD^ty of the human state, to rouse mortals.froixi theia 
dream, and inform them of the silent celerity of time, 
that we may (relieve authors willing rather to transmit 
^an examine so advantageous a principle, and more 
inclined to pursue a track so smooth and so flowery, 
^an attentively to consider whether it leads to truth* 
T This quality of looking forward into futurity, seem$ 
i^e unavoidable condition of a being, whose motions 
^%re gradual, and whose life is progressive; as his 
powers are limited, he must use means for the attain- 
mant of his ends, and intend first what he performs 
IttM}<as byt continual advances fronpi. his first s|ajg^ 



fd TtmMMmxiL No. & 



#ff existence, lie is pei^ieCttBtly var^ring the tioiison of 
Idks prospects, he imnt alwi^B dkcorer new metiveft of 
action^ new exeifementt of £ear| and allarements 
•fdeah^. 

. The end therefore which at ^iresent cM% forth ouir 
Mbrts, will be foond, when it is once gained, to be only 
OB^ of the means to«some remoter end. The natural 
lights of the- haman mind are not fr<fm pleasure 
to pleasure, but from hope to' hope. * 

He that directs his steps toia certain point, imist fre« 
gently turn his eyosto tfaa;t place which he strives to 
t^cb; he that undergoes the fatigue of labor must so^ 
luee his weariness with the contemplation of its re-' 
ward^ In agricuhure, one of the most simple and ne-^ 
eessarjr employments, no man turns up the ground but 
because he thinks of the harvest, that harvest which 
blights may intercept, which inundations may sweep 

« away, or which death or calamity may hinder lam from 

' reaping. 

Yet as few maxims are widely received or long re« 
lained but for some conformity with truth and nature, it 
must be confessed, that this caution against keeping 
our view too intent upon remote advantages is not with* 
out its propriety or usefulness, though itmayhvre 
been recited with too much levity, or enforced with too 
little distinction: for not tq speak of that teheinence 
of desire which piresses through right and wrong to its 
gratification, or that anxious inquietude which is justly 
ehargcable with distrust q[ heaven, subjects too so- 
lemn for my present purpose ; it frequently happens 
ftat, by indulging early the raptures of success, we for- 
get the measures necessary to secure it, and suffer the 
imagination to riot in the fruition of. some possible 
good) till the time of obtaining it has slipped aw'ay- 



Kq. % TBR^nAMBLBB^ <^ If 

There would, hafwever, be few cnterprites of grea* 
bbor or hazard undertaket^) if ire had not the powef 
of metgtiifjbg thie advantages nrhicli we pertHmde onr^ 
aelves to expect from them. When the knight of Ln 
Maneha grav^y recoimta to his coropankn the admen^ 
tttres by wbieh he is to signalize himself ii» such a 
scanner that he shall be summoned to the support of 
empiresi soUeitade to accept the heiress of the crown 
which he has preserved, have honors and riches to scs^« 
ter about him, and an island to bestow on his worth/ 
iquire, very few readers^ amidst their mirth or pity, can 
di^y that they have admitted viuons of the same kind | 
though they have not, perhaps, expected events equally 
strange, or by means equally inadequate. When we 
pity him, we reflect on our own disappointments ; and 
when we lapgh^ pur hearts inform us that he is not more 
ridiculous than ourselves, except that he tells what wo 
Inve ofkly thought. 

The understandingof a man naturally sanguine, may^ * 
Indeed, be easily vitiated by the luxurious indulgence 
of hope, however necessary to the production of ever]f 
thing great or excellent, as some plants are destroyed 
by too open exposure to that sun which gives life and 
beauty to the vegetable world. 

...Perhaps no class of the human species requires more 
to be ca^ioned against this anticipation of happiness^ 
^an t^se that aspire to the name of authors. A ma» 
of lively fancy no sooner finds a hint moving in hi^ 
mind, thai^be makes momentaneoUs excursions to th« 
press, and to the world, and, with a little encourage* 
mentfrom flattery, pushes forward into future ages, and 
prognosticates the honors to be paid him, when envy 
is extmct, and faction forgotten, and those,' whom par^ 
tOility now suffers to obscure him shall have given wdv 
tp the triflers of as short duration as themselves^ 



12 THE BAMBltnft. Jfo. '5* 

' Those wlio have pi^ceeded s6 fat as to appeal to the 
tribunal of succeeding times, arc not likely to be cured 
of their infatuation ; but all endeavors ought to be 
used for the prevention of a disease, for which, when it 
has attained its height, perhi^ips no remedy will be found 
in the gardens of philosophy, however she may boast 
her physic of th&miiid, her cathartics of vice, or leni- 
tives of passion. 

I shall, therefore, while I am yet but lightly touched 
with the symptoms of the writer's malady, endeavor 
to fortify myself agaiiist the infection, not without some 
T^eak hope that my preservatives may extend their 
virtues to others, whose employment exposes them to 
the same danger. 

Xaudis amort tumes? Sunt certa piacula, qutt te 
Ter pure lecto poterunt recreare libello. 

Is fame your passion ? Wisdom's powerful charm. 

If thrice read over, shall its force disarm. Fr a n ci s. 

It is the sage advice of Epictetus, that a man should 
accustom himself often to think of what is most shocks 
ing and terrible, that by such reflections he may be pre- 
served from too ardent wishes for seeming good, and 
from too much dejection in real evil. 

There is nothing more dreadful to an author than ne- 
glect ; compared with which, reproach, hatned, and 
#ppositi(Mi, are names of happiness ; yet this worse, this 
meanest fate, every one who dares to write has reason 
fofear. 

I nunc, et wrsus tecum meditare canoros. 

Go now, and meditate thy tuneful lays. ELPHiNSTOij. 

It may not be unfit for him who makes a new en^ 
trance into the lettered world, so far to suspect his own 
powers; as to believe that he possibly may de^rve nc*^ 



gleet ; that nature ma^ not have qualified Hntmuch tat 
enlarge or embeUish kiiowledge, nor aeat him fiojrtli 
entitled by indisputable superiority to regulate the con- 
duct of the rest of manJdnd; that, though the world 
must be grant^ to be yet in ignorance, he is not desti* 
tied to dispel the cloud, nor to shine out as one of the 
luminaries of life. For tlua wspicion, every catalogue 
of a library ^ill furnish sufficient reason ; as he will 
find it crowded with names of men, who, though now 
forgotten, were once no ]^ess enterprising or confident 
than himself, equally pleased with their own produc« 
tions, equally caressed by their patrons, and flattered by 
their friends. 

But though it should happen that an author is capa- 
ble of excelling, yet his merit may pass without nottee, 
huddled in the variety of things, and thrown into tiie 
general miscellany of life. He that endeavors after 
lame by writing, solicits the regard of a multitude flue* 
tuating in pleasures or immersed in business, without 
time for intellectual amusements; he appeals to jud- 
ges, prepossessed by passions, or corrupted by prejudi- 
ces, which preclude their approbation of any new per- 
formance. Some are too indolent to read any tbingt 
till its reputation is established ; others too envious to 
promote ^attinme which gives them psdn by its increase. 
What is new is opposed, because most are unwilling; 
to be taught ; and what is known is rejected, because 
it is not sufficiently considered, that men more fre- 
quently require to be reminded than informed. The 
learned are afraid to declare their opinion early, lest 
they should put their reputation in hazard ; the igno- 
rant always imagine themselves giving some proof of 
delicacy, when they refuse to be pleased : and he.lliat 
finds his way to reputation through all these obstru<i- 



14 TliBBAMBtBt. ^6.^. 

tions^must acknowledge that he is indebted to other 
dauses besides his industiy,4ds learning, or his wit. 

No. 3. TUESDAY, MARCH 27, 1750. 



V I &T u Sy repulsit n^da *wdid€^ 

intaminatUfutget honoribus, ^ 

J\>c sumit aut ponit tecurcM 
. irbitrio po/nilari* \aura, U 0&. 

Undisappotnted in designsi 

With native honors virtue shines ; 

Nor takes up pow*r, nor lavs it down^ 

As giddy rabbles smile or frown. E Lmt nsto y. 

X HE task of an author is, either to teach what is not 
known, or to recommend known tiniths by his iwMmer 
of adorning them ; either to let new light in upon the 
mind, and open new scenes to the prospect, or to vary 
the dress and situation of commen objects, so as to 
give them fresh grace and more powerful attractions, 
to spread such Bowers over the regions through which 
the intellect has already made its progress, as may 
tempt it to return, and take a second view of things 
hastily passed over, or negligently regarded. 

Either of these labors is very difficult, because 
that they may not be fruitless, men roust only be per- 
suaded of their errors, but reconciled to their guide ; 
they mus| not only confes^ their ignortinc^> but, what 
is still less pleasing, must allow that he fmm whom 
they are to learn is more knowing than themselves. 

It might be imagined that such an employment was 

in itself sufficiently irksome and hazardous ; that none 

would be found so malevolent as wantonly to add 

vf^ight to the stone ^Sisyphus } and that few endea« 

1 



^o, 3. THE RAIIQBL&S. Iti 

vours would be used to obstruct those advances to re- 
putatioHy which must be made at such an expense of 
time and thought^ with so great hazard in the mis* 
carriage^ and with so litUe advantage from the suc- 
<:ess. 

Yet th^re is a certain race of men^ that either ima- 
gine it their duty,or make it their amuscmen,tj.to hinder 
the reception of every work of learning or genius, who 
«tand as ce^tinels in the avenues of hmey and value 
themselves upon giving Ignorance and Envy the first 
notice of a prey. 

To these men^ who disdnguish themselves by the 
appellation of Qritics^ it is necessary for a new authot* 
to find some means of recommendation. It is proba- 
ble, that the most malignant of these persecutors might 
be somewhat softened, and prevailed on, for a short 
time, to remit their fury. Having for this purpose consi- 
, dered many expedients, I find in the records of ancient 
times, that Jirgua was lulled by music, and Cerberus 
quieted^with a sop ; and am, therefore, inclined to be- 
lieve that modern critics, whb, if they have not the 
eyes, have the watchfulness of ^r^u«, and can bark as 
loud as Cerberus^ though, perhaps, they cannot bite 
with equal force, might be subdued by methods of the 
same kind. I have heard how some have been paci- 
fied with claret and a supper, and others laid aaleepwith 
the soft notes of flattery. 

Though the nature of my undertaking gives me suf- 
ficient reason to dread the united attacks of this viru- 
lent generation, yet I have not hitherto persuaded my- 
self to take any measures for flight or treaty. Fori 
am in doubt whether they can act against me by lawful 
authority, and suspect that they have presumed upon a 
forged commission, styled themselves the ministers of 
CriticUm^ without any authentic evidence of delegatio|^ 

"" VOL* IV. 2 



14 THE RAMBLER. Ko. 4. 

and uttered their own determinationaas the decrees of 
a higher judicature. 

Criticism^ from whom they derive their claim to de- 
cide the fate of writers, was the eldest daughter ofLa^ 
dor and Truth: She was, at her birth, committed to 
the care o£Ju»ticey and brought up by her in the palace 
of Wiadom, Being soon distinguished by the celestials 
for her uncommon qualities, she was appointed the go- 
verness of Fancy ^ and empowered to beat time to the 
chorus of the Maaesi when they sung before the throne 
oiJufiiter, 

'When the Muaea condescended to visit this lower 
world, they came accompanied by CriticUm^ to whom, 
upon her descent from her native vt^on^j Justice gave 
a sceptre, to be carrted aloft in her right hand, one end 
of which was tinctured with ambrosia, and inwreathed 
with a golden foliage of amaranths and bays ; the other 
end was encircled with cypress and poppies, and dip- 
ped in the waters of oblivion. In her left hand she 
bore an unextinguishable torch, manufactured by La- 
bor^ and lighted by Truths of which it was the particu- 
lar quality immediately to show every thing in its true 
form, however it might be disguised to common eyes* 
Whatever Art could complicate, or Folly could con- 
found, was, upon the first gleam of the torch of Truths 
exhibited in its distinct parts and original simplicity ; 
it'darted throug:h the labyrinths of sophistry, and show- 
ed at once all the absurdities to which they served fqr 
refuge; it pierced through the robes which rhetoric 
often sold to falsehood, and detected the disproportion 
of parts which artificial veils had been contrived to 
cover 

Thus furnished for the execution of her office, CW- 
tichm came down to survey the performances of those 
larho professed themselves the votaries of tl^ MuatB: 



]^o. % THE RAMBUS. U 

Whatever was brought before her, she beheld by the 
steady light of the torch of Truths and when her exami^ 
nation had convinced her, that the laws of just writing 
had been observed, she touched it with the amaranthine 
end of the sceptre, and consigned it over to immor- 
tality. 

But it more frequently happened, that in the works 
which required her inspection, there was some impos- 
ture attempted; that false colors were laboriously 
laid i that some secrel inequality was found between 
tlie words and sentiments, or some dissimilitude of th& 
irdeas and the original objects -, that incongruities were 
linked together, or that some parts were of no use but 
to enlarge the appearance of the whole>without contri- 
buting to its beauty, solidity, or usefulness. 

Wherever such discoveries were made, and they 
were made whenever these faults were committed. 
Criticism refused the touch which conferred the sanc- 
tion of immortality, andj when the errors were frequent 
and gross, reversed the scepfre, and let drops of lethe 
distil from the poppies and cypress a fatal mildew, 
which immediately began to waste the work away, tilt 
it was at last totally destroyed. 

There were some compositions brought to the test, 
in which, when the strongest light was thrown upon 
them, their beauties and faults appeared so equally 
mingled, that Criticism stood with her sceptre poised 
in her hand, in doubt whether to shed lethe, or ambro* 
sia, upon them. These at last increased to so great a 
number, that she was weary of attending such doubtful 
claiinjoi and, for fear of using improperly the sceptre of 
Justice^ referred the cause to be considered by Time. 

The proceedings of Time, though very dilatory, were, 
some few caprices excepted, conformable to justice : 
and many who thought themselves secure by a §hort 



1€ THEHAMBLEIfc - Ko.5. 

forbearance, have sunt: under his scythe, as they were 
posting down with their volumes in triumph to futurity. 
It was observable that some were destroyed by little 
and little, and others crushed for ever by a single blow. 

Criticism having long kept her eye fixed steadily 
upon Time^ was at4ast so well satisfied with- his con- 
duct, that she withdrew from the earth with her pa- 
troness Jiatreuj and left Prejudice and False Taste to 
ravage at large as the associates oi Fraud and Mischiefs 
contenting herself thenceforth to shed her influence 
from afar upon some select miiidS) fitted for its recep- 
tion by learning and by virtue. 

Eefore her departure she broke her sceptre, of which 
the shivers, that formed the ambrosial end, were caught 
up by Flattery >i and those that had been infected with 
the waters of lethe, were with equal haste seized by 
J^Ialevolence. The followers of Flattery y to whom she 
distributed her part of the sceptre, neither had nor de- 
sired light, but touche^ indiscriminately whatever 
Power or Interest happened to e^thibit. The compa- 
nions of Malevolence were supplied by the Furies with 
a torch, which had this quality peculiar to infernal lus« 
ire, that its light fell oply upon faults. 

No U{^ht, but rather darkness visible, 
Serv'd only to discover aiglits of woe. 

With these fragments of authority, the slaves of 
Flattery and Malevolence marched out, at the command 
of their mistresses, to confer immortality, or condemn 
to oblivion. But this sceptre had now lost its power ;. 
and Time passes his sentence at leisure, without any 
regard to their determinatiofia. 



No. 4 THERAMBLBR' }7 

Nos4. SATURDAY, MARCH 31, 1750. 



Shnul efjftcunda et idonea dicere vita, HoK. 

And join both profit and delight in one* Creech. 

X HE works of fiction with which the present gene- 
ration seems more particularly delighted, are such a^ 
exhibit life in its true state, diversified only by accidents 
that daily happen in the world, and influenced by pas- 
sions and qualities which are really to be found in con- 
versing with mankind. 

This kind of writing raky be termed not improperly 
the comedy of romance, and is to be conducted nearly 
by the rules of comic poetry. Its province is to bring 
about natural events by easy means,and to keep up cu- 
riosity without the help of wonder : it is therefore pre- 
cluded from the machines and expedients of the heroic 
romance, and can neither employ giants to snatch 
away a lady from the nuptial rites, nor knights to bring 
her back from captivity ; it can neither bewilder it* 
personages, in deserts, nor lodge them in imaginary 
castles.. 

I remember a remark made by Scaliger upon Fon-- 
tanus, that all his writings are filled with the same ima-- 
ges ; and that if you take from him his lilies and his 
roses, his satyrs and his dryads, he will have nothing 
left that can be called poetry. In like rtianner, almost 
all the fictions of the last age will vanish, if you deprive 
them of a hermit and^ woodj a battle and a shipwreck. 
Why this wild strain of imagination found reception ^ 
so long in polite and learned age«, it is not easy to con- 
ceive ; but we cannot wonder that while readers could. 
Be procured, the authors were willing to continue ir>l 
2 #. 



te THE RAMBLER. No. *. 

♦ 
for when a man had by practice gained some fluifcncy 

of language, he h^d no further care than to retire to his 
closet, let loose his invention, and heat his mind with 
incredibilities ; a book was thus produced without fear 
of criticism, without the toil of study, without know- 
ledge of nature, or acqusdntance with life. 

The task.of our present writers is very different ; it 
requires, together with that learning which is to be 
gained from books, that experience which can never 
be attained by solitary diligence, but must arise from 
general converse and accurate observation of the living 
world. Their performances have, as Horace expres- 
ses it, filua oneris quantum venite minuay little indul- 
gence, and therefore more difficulty. They are enga- 
ged in portraits of which everyone knows the original, 
and can detect any deviation from exactness of resem- 
blance. Other wi'itings are safe, except from the ma- 
lice of learning, but these are in danger from every 
common reader : as the slipper ill executed was cen- 
:aured by a shoemaker who happened to stop in his way 
at the Venus of Apelles. 

But the fear of not being approved as just copiers 
€>f human manners, is not. the most important concern 
that an author of this sort ought to have before him« 
These books are written chiefly to the young, the igno- 
rant, and the idle, to whom they 'serve as lectures of' 
conduct, and introducthj^ns into life. They are the en- 
tertainment of minds unfurnished with ideas, and there^ 
fore easily susceptible of Impressions; not fixed by- 
principles, and therefore easily following the current of 
fancy ; not informed by experience, and consequently 
open to every false suggestion and |>artial account.. 

That the highest degree of reverence should be paidT 
to youth) and that nothing indecent should be suffered 
^tfl^approacl^ their eyes or ears, are precepts extorted 



by sense and tirtoe from an ancient writer, by no mean;^ 
•minent for chastity of thought. The same kindV- 
though not the same degree of caution, ia^ required in 
«very thing which is laid before them, to secure them 
from unjust prejudices, perverse opinions, and incon* 
gruous combinations of images. 

In the romances formerly written, every transaction 
and sentiment was so remote from all that ]^asses amongi 
men, that the reader was in very little danger of ma- 
king any applications to himself; the virtues and 
crimes were equally beyond his sphere of activity ; and 
he amused himself with heroes and with traitors, de<* 
liverers and persecutors, as with beings of another spe- 
cies, whose actions were regulated tupon motives of 
their own, and who had neither faults nor excellencies 
in common widi himself. 

But when an adventurer is levelled with the rest of 
the world, and acts in such scenes of the universal dra- 
ma, as may be the lot of any other man ; young specta- 
tors fix their eyes upon him with closer attention, and 
hope, by observing his behavior and success, to regu- 
late their own practices, when they shall be engaged 
in the like part. • 

For this reason, these familiar histories may per- 
haps be made of greater use than the solemnities of 
professed morality, and convey the knowledge of vice 
and virtue with more efficacy than axioms and defini-^ 
tions. But ifthe power of example is so great as to 
take possession of the memory by a kind of violence^ 
and produce ejBTects almost without the intervention of 
the will, care ought ta be taken^that, when the choice 
is unrestrained, the best examples only should be ex- 
^bited ; and that which is likely to operate so strong- 
ly, should wA be mischieYi>usor uncertain in its efiectst 



^ THERAMBLEIL No.4t 

The chief advantage which these fictions have oyer 
aeal life is, that their authors are atliberty^ though na^ 
to invent, ^ret to select objects, and to cull from 
the mass of mankind, those individuals upon which the 
attention ought most to be employed : as a diamond^ 
though it cannot be made, may be polished by art, and 
placed in such a situation, as to display that lustre 
Tirhich before was buried among, common stones. 

It is justly considered as the greatest excellency of 
art, to imitate^ nature ^ but it is necessary to distiaguisk 
those partsrof nature, which are most proper for imi- 
tation :. greater- cai*e is still required in representing^ 
life, which is so often discolored by passion,, or de- 
formed by wickedness. If tbe world be promiscuous^ 
ly described, I cannot s»e of what use it can be to read 
the account: or why it may not be as safe to turn the 
eye immediately upon mankind as upon a mirror, which 
shows all that presents itself without discrimination. 

It is therefore not a sufficient vindication of a cha- 
racter, that it is drawn as it appears ; for many charac- 
ters ought never to be drawn : nor of a narrative, that 
the train of events is agreeable to observation and ex- 
perience ; for that observation which is. called know- 
ledge of the world, will be found much more frequent- 
ly to make men cunning than. good. The purpose of 
the«e, writings is surely not only to show mankind, but 
to provide that they may be seen hereafter with less ha- 
zard ;. to teach the,means pf avoiding the snares which 
are laid by Treachery for Innocence^ without infusing^ 
any wish for that superiority with which the betray ef 
flatters his vanity ; to give the power of counteracting 
fraud, without the temptation to practise it \ to initiate 
youth by mock encounters in the art pf necessary de- 
fence,, aad to increase prudence without imj^airin^ vbv 



N6. 4. THE RAJtfTOE^ 21' 

Many writers, far the sake of following nature, ao 
mingle good and bad qualities in their principal person* 
ages, that they are both equally conspicu<»u8 ; and as 
we accompany them through their adventures with de- 
Hght, and are led by degrees to interest ourselves in 
their favor, we lose the abhorrence of their faults, be-^ 
cause they do not tdnder our pleasure, or, perhaps, re- 
gard them with some kindness, for being united with 
so much merit. 

There have been men indeed splendidly wicked, 
whose endowments threw a brightness on their crimes, 
and whom scarce any villany made perfectly detesta* 
ble, because they never could be wholly devested of their 
excellencies ; but such have been in all ages the great 
corruptors of the world, and their resemblance ought 
no more to be preserved, than the art of murdering 
without pain. 

Some have advanced, without due attention to the 
^ consequences of this notion, that certain virtues have 
their correspondent faults, and therefore that to exhi-^ 
bit either apart is to deviate from probability. Thus 
men are observed by Swift to be " grateful in the same 
degree as they are resentful.'* This principle, with- 
others of the same kind, supposes man to act from a 
brute impulse, and pursue a certain degree of inclina- 
tion, without any choice of the object ; for, otherwise,, 
though it should be allowed that gratitude and resent-' 
ment arise from the same constitution of the passionsi 
it follows not that they will be equally indulged when 
reason is consulted ; yet, unless that consequence be- 
admitted, this sagacious maxim becomes an empty 
sound, without any relation to practice or to. life. 

Nor is it evident, that even the first motions to these ' 
effects are always in the same proportion. For pride,, 
which produces quickness of resentment^ will obsti:uct 



2% TUB BAI^IJ^ Ko. '4 

gratitude, by unwillingness to admit that inferiority 
wMch obligation implies ; and it is very unlikely ths(t 
he who cannot think he receives a favor^ will acknow- 
ledge or repay it. . 

It is of the utmost importance to mankind^ that posi- 
tions of tliis tendency should be laid open and con fa- 
ted; for while men considor good and evil as springing 
iVom the same root, they will spare the one for the sake- 
of the other, and in judging, if not of others, at least of 
themselves, will be apt to estimate their virtues by their 
vices. To this fatal error all those will contiibutCy 
who confound the colors of right and wrong, and, in- 
^stead of helping to settle their boundaries, mix> them 
with so much art, that no common mind is^able to dis- 
unite them. 

In narratives where historical veracity has no place,; 
I cannot discover why there should not be exhibited the 
most perfect idea of virtue ; of virtue not angelical, nor 
above probability, for what we cannot credit, we shall 
never imitate, but the highest and purest that humani- 
ty can reach, which, exercised in such trials as the va- 
rious revolutions of things shall bring upon it, may, by 
conquering some calamities, and enduring others,, 
teach us what we may hope, and what we can perform. 
Vice, for vice is necessary to be shown, should always 
disgust ; nor should the graces of gaiety, or the digni- 
ty of courage, be so united with it, as to reconcile it to 
the mind. Wherever it appears, it should raise hatred 
by the malignity of its practices, and contempt by the? 
meanness of its stratagems : for while it is supported, 
by either parts or spirit, it will be seldom heartily ab- 
horredv The Roman tyrant was content to be hated, if 
jhe was but feared ; and there are thousands of the rea- 
ders of romances willing to be thought wicked, if they 
may be allowed tq be wit3. It is therefore to be «tea- 



2^9, 5. ^ THE RAM^t^R, ^ 

dilf inculcated, that virtue is the higfaest proof of uih* 
derstanding, and the only soHd bans of greatness ; and- 
that vice is the natural consequence of narrow thoughts ; 
that it begins in mistake, and ends in ignominy.* 

* This excellent pap» wm Qceaaioued by the popularity of 
Roderick Random, and Tom Jones, which appeared about this 
time, and hare been the models of that species of romaticei now 
Juiown by the more ooEOOkaa name of JSTovei. p. 

No. 3. TUESDAY, APRIL 3, 1750. 



£t r.unc omnia Ager^ nunc omnia parturit arbos, 
JVuncfrondent silva, nuncformoaissimus annua. Viae. 

Now ev'ry field, now ev'ry tree is green ; 

Now genial Nature's fairest face is seen. £lphinsto9* 

Hi VERY man is sufficiently discontented with some 
circumstances of his present state, to suffer his imagi- 
nation to range more or less in quest of future happi- 
ness, and to fix upon some point of time, in which, by 
the removal of the inconvenience which now perplexes 
him, or acquisition of the advantage which he at pre., 
sent wants, he shall find the condition of his life very 
much improved. 

When this time, which is too often expected with 
great impatience, at last arrives, it generally comes 
without the blessing for which it was desired ; but we 
solace ourselves with some new prospect, and press 
forward again with equal eagerness. 

It is lucky for a man, in whom this temper prevulsi, 
when he turns his hopes upon things wholly out of his 
own power ; since he forbears then to precipitate his 
affs&r^) for the sitke of the great event that i« to com- 



:plptp his feljicUf } and wc^ts for the hliiMial lum^ mnth 
leas neglect of the measures aecessary to be tajj^ea in 
the mean time. 

I have long knpwn a persopi of this temper, who iiv- 
dulged his dream of happiness with less hurt to hkad" 
self than such chimerical wishes commonly produce^ 
and adjusted his scheme with such address^ that his 
hopes were in full bloom three parts of the yeu*, and m 
the other part never wholly blasted. MaAy, perhaps 
would be desirous of learning by what means he pro- 
cured to himself such a cheap and lasting sat^sfac^on* 
It was gained by a constant practice of referring the re- 
moval of all his uneasin^ess to the coming of the next 
' spring; if his health was impaired, the spring would 
restore it ; if what he wanted was at a high price, it 
would fall its value in the spring. 

The spring indeed did often come without any of 
these effects, but he was always certain that the next 
would be more propitious ; nor was ever convinced^ 
that the present spring would fail him before the mid- 
<lle of summer ; for he always talked of the spring as 
coming till it was past, and when it was once past, 
every one agreed with him that it was coming. 

By long converse with this man, I am, perhaps, 
brought to feel immoderate pleasure in the contempla- 
tion of this delightful season ; but I have th^ satisfac- 
tion of finding many, whom it can be no shame to re- 
semble, infected with the same enthusiasm ; for there 
is, I believe, scarce any poet of eminence, who has not 
left some testimony of his fondness for the flowers, the 
zephyrs, and the warblers of the spring. Nor has the 
most luxuriant imagination been able to describe the 
serenity and happiness of the golden age, otherwise than 
by giving a perpetual spring, as the highest reward of 
uncorrupted innocence* 



' There isyiiideedy something* inexpresribly pleasing 
Id themmmil renovatieirof^e world, and the new lis- 
play of the treaauMs- of nature. The cxMl and darkness 
of wiiitea» with the naked deformity of every object on 
which we turn 6ar eye*, nutke a» 'Rejoice at the suc- 
ceeding aeason, as well for ^hat we have escaped as 
for what we may ei\]oy; and every budding flower, 
Which a warm situadon brings early to our view, is 
«6n8ide^ed1>y us as a messenger to notify the approach 
of mo^e Joyous days. 

The Sfiring affords to a mihd, so free from the dis- 
tuiiNUiee of cares or passions as to be vacant to calm 
amuaements, almost every tlnng that our present state , 
makes us capable of enjoying. The variegated ver- 
dure of the fields and woods, the succession of grateful 
odours, the voice ofpleasure pouring out its notes on 
every side, with the gladness alpparently conceived lyy 
every animal) from the growth of his food, and the cle- 
mency of the weather, throw over -the whole earth an 
air of gsuety, significantly expressed by the smile of 
nature. 

Yet there are men to whom these scenes are able to 
gtve no delight, and who hurry away from all the vari- 
eties <Sf rural beaEuty, to lose their hours smd divert their 
thoughts by cards or as8en]l>lies, a tavern dinner, or 
the prattle of the day. 

It may be laid down as a position which will seldoni 
deceive, that when a man cannot bear his own company, 
there is something wrong. He mustfiy from himself, 
either because he feels a tediousness in life from the* 
equipoise of an empty mind, which, having no tenden- 
•cy to one motion more than another, but as it is impels 
led by some external power, must alvHtys have recourse 
to foreign objects ; or he must be afraid of the intrusion 
of some unpleasiug ideas, and perhaps is struggling to 

VOL. IV. a 



2« : THE EAflfBLfiS; Ko. 5V: 

escape from the remmbnaice of aless^tfie ^BMTr <^a 
calamity, or some other thought of greater horror. 

Those whom sorrow incapodtates to enjoy the |^ca-^i 
sores of contemplation, may properly apply to^utli di« ' 
TersioQS, provided ^^ are innocent, ae lay strong tbld ' 
on the attention ; and those, whom fear of any future . 
affliction chains down to misery^ must endeavor to 
obviate the danger. 

. My considerations shall, on tinsoccaiiion^ be tifiiied ^ 
on such as are burdensome to themselVea, merely be-, 
cause t&ey want subjects for reflection^ and to whotn 
the volume of nature b thrown #pen withetut affbrdtog 
them pleasure ormstructidn, hecausetfantfyikeveip learn- 
ed to read the charatt^rs* " 

. A French au^or has advanced tMs secWiing pal^adoKr , 
that very feio men kiittw how to ttke a walks and, iff^ , 
deed, it is true, that few know how to take « walk wkh-j 
a'prospectof any other pleasure, than the same eoa^*, 
Xwmy would have afforded them at home. ^ 

There are animals that borrofw their color from the 
neighboring body, and consequently vary their h«o as . 
they happen to change their place. In .like nKanneir, 
it Mght to" be the endeavor of every man to derive bis 
reflections from the objects about him ; for it is to n^ . 
purpose that he alters his position^ if his attention con- 
tinues fixed to the same point. The mind should be 
kept open to the aecess of every new idea, ai^ so &r 
dhengaged from the. predominance of- particular 
thoughts, as easily to accemm^Kkte itself- to^occasiooal 
entertainment. 

A man that has* formed this habit of turmng<eveiy 
new object to his entertunment, finds in the produe* 
tion%of nature an inexhaustible stock of materials up- 
on which he can employ himself, without smy temple* ^ 
tions to envy or malevolence} faults^ perhaps^ seldom, 



totally aToided by thosc^ whose judgment is mych ex- 
ercised upon the works of art. He has always a cer- 
tain prospect of discovering ^new reasons for adoring 
the sovereign Author of the universe^ and probable 
hopes of making ^some discovery of benefit toothers* 
,jor. of profit to himself. There is no doubt but many 
vegeubies and animals have qualities that might be of 
great use, to the knowledge of which there is not re- 
quired much force of penetration, or fatigue of study^ 
but only frequent experiments, and close attehtipn. 
. What ia said by the chemists of their darling mercury, 
.»|}P!Prliapft> true of every body tlirough the whole crea- 
^lAOfiy tb«A if A thousand lives should be spent upon ky 
ffdl its properties would not be found out« 

MankjLud must necessarily be xUverufied by various 
jt^tfsm sin^e life affords and requires aucb multiplicity 
of ePMAcygifenfts, and a nation of naturalists is neither 
.to bo hoped or desired ; }>ttt it is surely not improper 
,to point out a fresh amuaement to ihasp who languish 
4a heaiMi, and repine in pl«lHy« for want of some source 
^4ixrQrsion that ou^ be les^ easily exhausted, and to 
.inform the multitudes of both 6exes> who are burdened 
•with^everysnew day> that there are many shows wUch 
fihey have not seen. 

He that enlarges his curiosity after the works of na« 

:t^re9 demonstrably multiplies the inlets to happiness. ; 

;aiidy therefone^ the younger part of my readers, to 

'Whoml dedicate this vernal speeulationi must excuse 

.me for calling upon them, to make use .at onc;^ of the 

spring of the year, and the spring of life ; to acquir^^ 

^while their minds may be yet impressed with new ima- 

,|^a,aloTe of innocent ple^ures, and an ardor for 

useful knowledge i and to remember, that a blighted 

spring makes a barren year, and that the vernal f^Apsy 

however beautiful and gay^ are only intended by^P|re 

as preparatives to autunmal fruits. 



Ko. 6. SATURDAY, APRIL 7, It SO. 



Strenuet not exereet Inertia, navibur atque 
• Quadrigis petimus bene vivere : quodpctis, hie iat : 

£st UiubriSf animus «i ie-non deficit aquus. Ho^ 

Active in indolence, abroad we roam 

In quest of happiness which dwells at home r 

With vain pursuits fatigu'd, at length you'M find. 

No place excludes it from an equal miad. fiLPBiMSTOS*. 

X H ATman should never suffer his happiness to de- 
pend upon external circumstances, is one of the chief 
precepts of. the Stoical phUosophy ; a precept, indeed^ 
iirhich that (ofty sect has extended beyond the condiuon 
of hunuoi life, and in which someof thein seem to have 

- comprised an utter exclusion of all corporal pain and 
pleasure from the regard or attention' of a wise man. 

Such safiientia insaniena^ as Horace call». the doc- 
trine of another sect, such extravagance of philosophy, 
t.an want neither authority nor argument for it& cpnfi>- 

y talion ; it is overthrown by the experience of every 
. hour, and the powers of nature rise up against it. But 
we may very properly inquire, how near to this exalt- 
ed state it is in our power to approach ? how far we 
r^n exempt ourselves from outward influences, and se- 
cure to our minds a state of tranquillity ? for, though 
the boast of absolute independence is ridiculous and 
vain, yet a mean flexibility to every impulse^ and a pa- 
tient submission to the tyranny of casual troubles, is 
below the dignity of that mind, which, however depra- 
ved or weakened, boasts its derivation from a celestial 
original, and hopes for an union with infinite goodnesftf 
and upvariable felicity. 



# 



^f vitiis^tejvrafo'oeiyf 
i*rofrivm deterat ortunu 



UnkM the 8oid» tor ifkse atinrtll^ 
Desert her own original. 

The necessity of erectihg ^niraeWes to some degree 
^of intenectual digpitjr) and of preserving resources of 
pleasure^ whlck may not be wholly at the mercy of ac- 
'cident) is never more apparent than when we turn our 
'«yes upon those whom fortune has let loose to their 
ovm conduct! who^ not being chained down \>y their 
ccHidkien to a regular and stated allotment of their 
.hours^are obliged to find themsiBlves business or diver- 
«iony and having nothing within that can entertain ov 
employ them^ are compelled to try all the arts of de-- 
stroying time. 

The numberless expedients practised by this cla^ 
^ mortals to alleviate the burthen of life, are not lesa 
•hamefkl) nor, perhaps, much less pidable, than thosis. 
to which a trader on the edge of bankruptcy is redu>>^ 
eed. I have seen melancholy overspread a whole fami- 
ly at the disappointment of a party for cards ; and when^ 
after the proposal of a thousand schemes^ and the d^ 
spatcbof the footman upon. a. hundred messages, they 
have submitted, with gloomy, resignation^ .to the mis«-^ 
fortune of passing one evening in conversation witk 
each other ; on a sudden, such are the revolutions o€ 
|the worlds an unexpected visitpr has, brought them re'- 
lief; acceptable as provision ta a starving, city,, and eur 
ilbled themio faoU out till the next day. 
. The general rerhedy of those, who are uneasgr witht- 
•ut knowing die cause, is. change of place ;. they are 
filing toimaglne that their pain is the consequence o€ 
tome local inconvenience, and endeavor to % from k^ 
AS i^hUdretv from their ^adows ; always hoping for 
■erne moB&fRitis£afitory deUght from,every nem sceaea 
and ailiiayaisetaniing hope with disa^pointmeat aadi 



Who tan look tlpon tfciE Is^d of in&t^iio^ without 
roflecting on thofe thatsufffer under the dreadful symp- 
^jttooi of cMfti^ inadaewij^cmedby pliy«icia»«^thc <^rww| 
of water / These mis^ahle wretchea^ vmM^ to driafc^ 
though burning with thirsty sire fi«H]ieUm«s, koown $0 
%vj variouft CQntortion«^ or i^liaatiooEa «f the body, fiftl^ 
'teringthemseWes thattbey'can aw«il«win one poatiuw 
that Uquor which tbey find in. another to rn^pel t^ic 
lips. . , 

Yet such folly is not peeuliarto the thot^^htless oe 
ignorant) but sometimes seizes those minds whick 
•seem most exempted from it^ by the variety of attune 
inents> quickness of penetration, or severity of judg>r 
9ient ; and, indeed, the prSle of wjt and knowledge is 
roften mortiEed by finding tMat they confer no security 
'against the common errors, which mislead the weaM^ 
^st and meanest of inankind^ - « 

These rejections arose in my mind upon the re« 
zn^mbrance of a passage in Cowley's pmface to his 
poems, where, however exaltiid by gieniusi and enlaf^ 
j^ed by study, he informs us of a scheme of happiness 
to which thQ imagination of a ^irl tipon the loss of her 
Itrstlover'couldhave scarcely given way $ but which 
lie seems to have indulged^ till he had totally forgotten 
its absurdity, and would probably have put in exectttloit^ 
had he been hindered only by his reason. * . 

<< My de sire," says he ^^ has been for S0in& years pas% 
though, the execution has been accideartaVy divett^ 
and does still vehemently eontipue, to nfetire myself ta 
some of bur American plantations, not to seek for; goldf 
JBV. enrich my self with ih]s traffic of those partu, ^hioik 
is the end of most men that travel thi^ier ; bnltofoff^ 
^ke this world fot* ever, with all die vaioities^and vc»^ 
ationsofit^andtobury myself there in some lAteMs^ 
retreat, but not without the consolation of testers ««A 
|[hilosopky/* 



/ 
/ 
/ 



TMo.e& TSI£ RAMBLKtt. ^ 

Such wfts the chimeH'cal provision which tTowlejr 
had made in his own mind, for the quiet of his remaiti* 
lag life, and which he seenis to recrnnmend to posteii- 
^ since there it do other reason for disclosing it. Sure- 
ly he stronger instance can be given' of a persuasion 
that content wsa the inhabitant of particular regions^ 
•nd'that a man might aet sail with a faar wind, and leave 
hehifid him ail hia cares, exicumbranceS) and calamities. 

If be travelled so far with no other purpose thttn to 
duty Mmeeif in aome obactire retreat ^ he might have 
&^Hnd^'in hia own country, innumerable coverts suffi* 
cientijr dark to have concea)^ the genius of Cowley ; 
for whatever might be his opinion of the importunitf 
with which he might be summoned back into publk 
life^ a shiart e^ip^ieoce. would have convinced him» 
thatprtvatiOii ia easier than acquisition^ and that it would 
require little continuance to free himself from the in« 
liiisiDO of the world* There is pride enough in the 
iHonas^ heart to prevent much deaireof acquaintance 
with a liMn> by whom we are sure to be neglected) 
hmrever hia. re^tation for science or virtue may ex- 
eite dur curionty ov esteem ; so that the lover of re- 
tltementneeflanot be afraid lest the respect of stran- 
gers should overwhelm him with visits. Even those 
tor. whom he has formerly bg^n known« will very patient- 
ly support his absence when they have tided a little to 
Jive without him* and found new diversiona for those 
jsaoguttsla' which his company contributed to exhilarate. 
« ItwaatperhapS) orduned by Providence, to hinder 
uairom |y ranniaing over one another, that no individual 
ehoukii»eo£sucli importance^ as to cause, by his re- 
euremept or deaths any cliasm in the world. And Cow- 
4e7 had>>conversed to. little purpose with mankind, if he 
had never remarked^ how soon the useful friend, the gay 
^^prnpaHMsa? and the favored loyer^ when once they fipo 



-^.L 



p THE &AMB1JBR. JTo. ^. 

^mored finom before the sights %vft wny to the succes* 
«Aiop of new objects^ 

The priyacy, therefore^ of hb hermitage might have 
Jbeen safe enough froin violatiooy though he had cbf»- 
^enitwlthk^elii^itsofhis native islan4 > he might 
have ibuad here preservjatives against the vantties and 
•^^ora/ion^ofthe vorld^notk^ss ^fficactous than those 
which the wooda or fielda of America could afford him:& 
}>ut having once hi4 mii»i embittered with disgHst» he 
conceived it impossible to be £ur enough from the causit 
•f^f his uneasiness ; and was posting away with the eaL- 
]>edition of a coward, who, for want qf veniuring to look 
behind him, tlunks the enemy perpetually at his heel9« 

When he waa interrupted by company, or fatigued 
.with businesa, be so stroofly^ imaged to. hbnsejif . thr 
iiappinesa of leisure and retreat, that he determined te 
Arijoytltemfot the future wtthnot interruption,, and to 
^^clttde lor ever .all that could deprive hun of his dar»> 
iing Batis&cticms. He forgot^ in the y ehemBiu:eof de*' 
nire, that solitude and quiet owe their pleasures to those 
miseries, w;hich he was so studious to obviate : for sttcli. 
are the vicissitudeA of the world, through aU its part%. 
that day and night) labor and rest, hxirty and retire^i- 
ment, endear each other ;. such are the changes that 
4eep the mind in action ; i|e desire, we pursue, W£ 6b^ 
eain, we are satiated t we desire something else^. aiid 
begin a new pursuit. 

. If he had proceeded in his project, and- fixed his 
liabitation in the most delightful part of the new worlds 
it may'Bfc doubted whether his distance from the va^ 
meieroS life would hare enabled him to keep away the- 
vexations^ It is common for a man, who feels pain, U^ 
fimcy that he could bear it better in any other part4 
Cowley having known the troubles and petplexities* 
Df a particttltf* Cflnditfo% readilyperuittdcd hipaiiel| thai 



No. t. THE RAMALEB: V^ 

Aodiing worse wets to be found, and that ev^ry altera* 
tion would bring some improvement : he never sus- 
pected that the cause of his unhappiness was withiof 
that his own passions were not sufficiently regulated,^ 
and that he was harassed by his own impatience, which 
could never be without something to awakeait, would 
accompany him over the sea^ and find its way to his 
American elysium. He would, upcm the trial) have been 
soon convinced, that the fountain of content mu&t 
spring up in the mind ; and that he who has so little 
knowledge of human nature, as to seek happiness by 
changing any thing but his own dispositions, will waste 
his life in fruitless effbrts, and multiply the griefs which 
he purposes to remove.* 

* See Dr. Jdmsen's Life of Cowley, vol: ix. p. 10, 16. 



No. 7. TUESDAY, APRIL 10, irjc. 



O quipcrpetud mundum ratione gu6cma^, 
Terrarum calique^ator ! 
IHsjice terrene nebulas and ponder a m9lis, 
Mque tuo iplendore mica / Tu namque serenum, 
Tu requiem trAnquHla piU, Te cernere,JinUf 
JPrincipium, vector, dux» semita, terminut, idem. 

BOETH^JT*' 

O thou whose powV o'er moving worlds presides. 
Whose voice create4, And whose wisdom guides,^ 
On darkling man in pure efiulgence shine. 
And cheer the clouded mind with light divine> 
'Tis thine alone to calm the pious breitst - 
With silent confidence and holy rest : 
From thiee, great God, we spring, to thee we tejnd, 
Path« motive, guide, original, and end. 

X KE love of Retirement hsiSf in all ages, adhered 
closely to those inindsi which have beeu most enlarged 



bj kxK»irkcige» ^eievated hy geDxus, Thi^«e who. en- 
jo3red every thing generally supposed to confer h^pfu- 
nessi have been forced ia seek it in the shadqs of priva- 
cy. Though they possessed both power and richeSf 
and were, therefore, surrounded by mea who consider- 
ed it as their chief interest to remove from them ev^T^ 
thing that might offend their ease, or inteiTDgkt theif^ 
|>leasure, they have soon felt the languors of sadetyi 
and found themselves unable to pursue the race of life 
nvithout frequent respirations of intennediate solitude* 

To prpfiuce this disposition^ JU}thing appoars.requi- 
4iite but quick sen«ibility, and active imagina^tioo ; for> 
.though not devot^ to. virtue, or science, the mm^ 
whose faculties enable him to make read/ comparkoiis 
of the present with the past, will find such a constant 
recurrence of the same pleasures and troubles, the 
same expectations and dis^pointments, that he will 
gladly snatch an hour of retreat, to let his thoughts ex« 
patiato/ittoge, and eeek for that variety in his own 
ideas, which the objects of sense cannot afford him. 

Nor will greatness, or abundance, exempt him from 
the importunities of this desire, since, if he is born, to 
think, he cannot restrain himself from a thousand in- 
quiries and speculations, which he must pursue by hifi 
own reason, and which the splendor , of hi^ conation 
can only hinder : for those who are most exalted above 
dcpendance or control, are yet condemned to pay so 
large a tribute of their time to custom, ceremony^ and 
popularity, that, according to the Greek proverb, no 
man in the house is more a slave than the master. 

When a king asked Euclid, the mathematician, 

wheth^ he coyld not explain hi$ art to him in ^ more 

. compendious manner ? he was answered,. That there 

was no royal way to geometry. Other Jhings may be 

seized by might, or purchased with mone;r, but know- 



tidgtf i& en tre 'gained only by study, and study to66 pfb- 
sectited'only in retirement. ^ 

* These are some of the motiveB which have had pow'-^: 
er to sequester kings and heroes from die crowds that 
soothed them with flatteries, or inspirited them with 
acclamations ; but their efficacy seems confined to th^ 
highermind,and tooperate little upon the common clas-^* 
ses of mankind, to whose tonceptions the present a^ 
ssemblage of things is adequate, and who seldom range 
beyond those entertainments and vexations, whicH so^ 
licit their attention by pressing on their senses. 

But th^re is an universal reason for some stated in« 
tervals of solitude, which the institutibns of the church 
call upon me now especially to mention; a reason 
"Which extends as wide as moral duty, or the hopes of 
divine favor in a future state; and which ought to in«> 
ihience all ranks of life, and all degrees of intellect ;• 
^nce none can imagine themselves not comprehended 
ill its obligation, but such as determine to set their Ma-: 
ker at defiance by obstinate wickedness, or whose en- 
thusiasdc security df his approbation places them, 
above external ordinances, and all hum^ means of im-- 
provemeht. 

The great task of lum who conducts his life by the' 
precepts of religion, is to make the future predomi-' 
Bate over the preseiit, to impress upon his mind so 
strong a sense of the importance of obedience to the 
divine wii), of the value of jLhe reward promised to' vir- 
tue,' and the terrors of the punishmeYit denounced 
against crimes, as may overbear all the temptations ^ 
which temporal hope or fear can britig in his way, and 
enable him to bid equal defiance to joy and sorrow, to 
turn away atone time from the allurements of ambitiony 
and push forward at another against the threats of ca- 
lamity. "■ 



It is not without reason that the apostle represents 
our passage through this stage of our existence byima- . 
ges drawn from the alarms and solicitude of a militarjr 
life ; for we areplaced in such a state, that almost everjr 
thing About us conspires against our chief interest. 
'We are in danger from whateyer can get possession of 
our thoughts; all that can excite in useitb^ pain or 
pleasure, has a tendency to ci^struct the way thi^t leads 
to happiness, and either to turn 4is aside, or retard our 
progress. 

Our senses, our appetites, and our passions, are our 
lawful and faithful guides, in most things that relate 
solely to this life ; and, therefore, by Uie hourly neces- 
sity of consulting them, we gradually sink into an im« 
plicit submission, and habitual confidence. Every act 
of compliance with their motions facilitates a second 
compliance, €very new step towards depravity is made 
with less reluctance than the former, and thus the de- 
scent to life merely sensual is perpetually accelerated. 
- The senses have not only that advantage over con- 
scienccj which things necessary must always have over 
things chosen, but they have likewise a kind of pre- 
scription in their favor. We feared pain much earlier 
than we apprehended guilt, and were delighted \vith 
the sensations of pleasure, before we had cs^acities to 
be charmed with the beauty of rectitude. To thi« power, 
thus early establi^ed, and incessahtly increasing, 
it must be remembered that almost every man has, in 
some part of his life, added new strength by a voluntary 
or negligent subjection of himself; foriyho is there 
that has not instigated his appetites by indulgence, or 
suffered them, by an unresisting neutrality, to enlarge 
their dominion, and multiply their demands I 

From the necessity of dispossessing the sensitive, 
faculties of the influence which they must naturally 



Uo. 7. THE RAMBLER. %f 

^ain by this prc^occupadon of the soul, arises that 
confiict between opposite desires in the first endea- 
vors after a refigioiis life ; which, however enthusi- 
astically it may have been described, or however con- 
temptuously ridiculed, will naturally be felt in some 
degree, though varied without end, by different tem- 
pers of mind, and innumerable circumstances of health 
or condition, greater or less fervor, more or fewer 
temptations to relapse. 

From the perpetual necessity of consulting the ani- 
mal faculties, in our provision for the present life, 
arises the difficulty of withstanding their impulses, 
even in cases where they ought to be of no weight ; for 
the motions of sense are instantaneous, its objects 
strike unsought, we are accustomed to follow its di- 
rections, and therefore often submit to the sentence 
without examining the authority of the judge. 

Thus it appears, upon a philosophical estimate that, 
supposing the mind, at any certain time, in an equi- 
poise between the pleasures of this life, and the hopes 
of futurity, present objects falling more frequently 
into the scale, would in time preponderate, and that 
our regard for an invisible state would grow every 
moment weaker, till at last it would lose ail its activi- 
ty, and become absolutely without effect. 

To prevent this dreadful event, the balance is put 
into our own hands, and we have power to transfer the 
weight to either side. The motives to a life of holiness 
are infinite, not less than the favor or anger of Om- 
nipotence, not less than eternity of happiness or mi- 
sery. But these can only influence our conduct as 
they gain our attention, which the business or diver- 
sions of the world are always calling off by contrary- 
attractions. 

VOL. tv* 4 



M TH£ RAMBLER. No. 7- 

The great art therefore of piet^, and the end foi^ 
which all the rites of religion seem to be iostituted, 
is the perpetual renovation of the motives to virtue^ 
* by a voluntary employment of our mind in the con- 
templation of its excellence, its importance, and its 
necessity, which, in proportion as they are more fre- 
quently and more willingly revolved, gsdn a more for- 
cible and permanent influence, till in time they be- 
come the rdgning ideas, the standing principles of 
action, and the test by which every thing proposed to 
the judgment is rejected or approved. 

To facilitate this change of our affections, it is ne- 
cessary that we weaken the temptations of the world, 
by retiring at certain seasons from it ; for its influ- 
ence arising only from its presence, is much lessened 
when it becomes the, object of solitary meditation. A 
constant residence amidst noise and pleasure, inevita- 
bly obliterates the impressions of piety, and a frequent 
abstraction of ourselves into a state, where this life, 
like the next, operates only upon the reason, will re- 
instate religion in its just authority, even without 
those irradiations from above, the hope of which I 
have no intention to withdraw from the sincere and 
the diligent. .,* 

This is that conquest of the world and (Yourselves, 
which has been always considered as the perfection 
of human nature ; and this is only to be obtained by 
fervent prayer, steady resolutions, and frequent re- 
tirement from folly and vanity, from the cares of ava- 
rice, and the joys of intemperance, from the lulling 
sounds of deceitful flattery^ and the tempting sight of 
prosperous wickedness. 



Ko. A THfi RAMBLER. «9 

No. 8. SATURDAY, APRIL 14, 1750. 



*— * Patitur panat peccandi saia voluntas ; 

Mim »celu* intra *t tacitunt qui eogitat ullufH^ 

Facti crimen habet. Juy*. 

Tor he that but conceives a <^rae in thought. 

Contracts the danger of an actual fault. Crexch. 

If the most active and industrions of mankind was 
able, at the close of life, to recollect distinctly his past 
moments, and distribute them in a regular account, 
according to the manner in which they have beeu 
spent, it is scarcely to be imagined how few would be 
marked out to the mind, by any permanent or visible 
effects, how small a proportion his real actions would 
bear to his seeming possibilities of action, how many X 
"fKasihshe would find of wide and continued vacuity, 
and how many interstitial spaces unfilled, even in the 
most tumultuous hurries of business, and the most 
eager vehemence of pursuit. 

It is said by modern philosophers, that not only the 
great globes of matter are thinly scattered through 
the universe, but the hardest bodies are so porous, 
that, if all matter were compressed to perfect solidity, 
it might be contained in a cube of a few feet. In like 
manner, if all the employment of life were crowded 
into the time which it really occupied, perhaps a few 
weeks, days, or hours, would be sufficient for its ac- 
complishment, so far as the mind was engaged in the 
performance. For such is the inequality of our cor- \ 
poreal to our intellectual faculties, that we contrive > 
in minutes what we execute in years, and the soul of- 
ten sitands an idle spectator of the labor of the hands, 
»nd expedition of the feet. 



m THfi RAMBLEB. ^e. ^ 

For this reason the ancient generals often found 
themselves at leisure to pursue the studjr of phild- 
sophy in the camp ; and Lucan^ %vith historical vera- 
city, makes Caesar relate of himself, that he noted the 
revolutions of the stars in the mi^st of preparations 
for battle. 

-'-^J^Iedia inter pralia semper 

SidcribuSf caiique plagis^ tuperisque vacavu 

Amid the storms of war, with curious eyes 
1 trace the planets and survey the skies. 

That the soul ahVays exerts her peculiar potrers^ 
with greater or less force, is very probable, though 
the common occasions of our present condition re* 
quire but a small part of that incessant cogitation ; 
and by the natural frame of our bodies, and general 
combination of the world, we are so frequently con* 
demned to inactivity, that as through all our time we 
are thinking,' so for a great part of our time we can 
only think. 

Lest a power so restless Should be either unprofit- 
ably or hurtfully employed, and the superfluities of 
intellect run to waste, it is no vain speculation to con* 
sider how we may govern our thoughts, restrain them 
from irregular motions, or confine them from bound* 
less dissipation. 

How the understanding is best conducted to the 
knowledge of science, by what steps it is to be led 
forwards in its pursuit, how it is to be cured of its 
defects, and habituated to new studies, has been the 
inquiry of many acute and learned men, whose obser- 
vations I shall not either adopt or censure : my pur- 
pose being to consider the moral discipline of the 
mind, and to promote the increase of virtue rather 
than of learning. 

This inquiry seems to have been neglected for 
want of remembering, that all action h^s its origin im 



No. a THE RAMBLEK. «t 

the mind, and that therefore to suffer the thoughts to / 
be vitiated, is to poison the fountains of morality ; 
irregular desires will produce licentious practices ; 
vhat men allow themselves to wish they will soon 
believe,and wiUbe at last incited to execute whatthey 
please themselves with contriving. 

For this reason the casuists of the Roman church, 
who gain, by confession, great opportunities of know- 
ing human nature, have generally determined that 
what it is a crime to do, it is a crime to think.* Since 
by revolving with pleasure the facility, safety, or ad- 
vantage of a wicked deed, a man soon begins to find 
his constancy relax, and his detestation soften ; the 
happiness of success glittering before hira, withdraws 
his attention from the atrociousness of the guilt, and 
acts are at last confidently perpetrated, of which the 
first conception only crept into the mind, disguised 
in pleasing complications, and permitted rather than ^ 
invited. 

No man has ever been drawn to crimes by love or 
jealousy, envy or hatred, but he can tell how easily he 
might at first have repelled the temptation, how rea- 
dily his mind would have obeyed a call to any other 
object, and how weak his passion has been after some 
casual avocation, till he has recalled it again to his 
heart, and revived the viper by too warm a fondness. 

Such, therefore, is the importance of keeping rea- 
son a constant guard over imagination, that we have 
otherwise no security for our own virtue, but may cor- 
rupt our heans in the most recluse solitude, with 
more pernicious and tyrannical appetites and wishes 
than the commerce of the world will generally pro- 
duce ; for we are easily shocked by crimes which ap- 

• This was determined before their time* See Matt* ch- v, 

v,sa. C. 

4* 



43 THE HAMBUBXL 3ffo. g. 

pear at once in their full mi^nitude, but the gradual 
growth of our own wickedness, endeai^ed by interest^ 
and palliated by all the artifices of self-deceit, gives 
us time to form distinctions in our own favor, and 
reason by degrees submits to absurdity, as the eye 1$ 
in time accommodated to darkness. 

In this disease ef the soul, it is of the utmost im- 
portance to apply remedies at the beginning ; and 
. therefore I shall endeavor to shew what thoughts arc 
to be rejected or improved, as they regard the past, 
present, or future ; in hopes that some may be awaken* 
ed to caution and vigilance, who, perhaps, indulge 
themselves in dangerous dreams, so much the more 
dangerous, because, being yet only dreams, they are 
concluded innocent. 
V ;/ The recollection of the past is only useful by way 
% of provision for the future ; and, therefore, in review- 
ing all occurrences that fall under a religious con- 
sideration, it is proper that a man stop at the first 
thoughts, to remark how he was led thither, and why 
he continues the reflection. If he is dwelling with 
delight upon a stratagem of successful fraud, a night 
of licentious riot, or an intrigue of jguilty pleasure, l^t 
him summon ofi'his imagination as from an unlawful 
pursuit, expel those passages from his remembrance, 
of which, though he cannot seriously approve them, 
the pleasure overpowers the guilt, and refer them to 
a future hour, when they may be considered with 
greater safety. Such an hour will certainly come;- 
for the impressions of past pleasure are always les* 
senuig, but the sense of guilt, which respects futurity, 
continues the same. 

The serious and impartial retrospect of our con- 
duct, is indisputably necessary to the confirmation or 
jrecovery of virtue, and is, therefore, recommended 



if Q. a^ THE RAI^IBLBIU 49 

under the name (^self^xaminaiiafi, Isy dWuteS) as the 
first act previous to repentance. It is, indeed^ of aa 
great uae, that without it we should always be to be- 
gin life, be seduced for ever by the same allurementsy 
and misled by the same .fallacies. But in order that 
we may not lose the advi^tage of our experience, we 
must endeavbr to see every thing in its proper form^ 
and excite in ourselves those sentiments, which the 
great Author of nature4ias decreed the concomitanta 
or followers of good or bad actions. 

Let not sleeps says PythsLgorsLS,fall upon thy eyes till thou hast 
thfiee reviewed the transactions of the past day. Where have 1 
tv.rned aside from, rectitude ? What ha^e J been doing ? What 
have I left undone, which I ought to have done ? Begin thusfronH 
the first act, and proceed; and tn conclusion, at the ill which 
thou hast dont he trouUed, and rejoice for the geod. 

Our thoughts on present things being determined 
by Uie objects before us, fall not under those indul- 
gences, or excursions, which I am now considering. 
But I cannot forbear, under this head, to caution pious 
and tender minds, that are disturbed by the irruptions 
of wicked imaginations, against too great dejection, 
and too anxious alarms ; for thoughts are only crimi- 
nal, when they are first chosen, and then voluntarily 
continued. , 

Evil into the mind of God or man 

May come and go> so unapprov'd, and leave 

No spot or stain behind. MiLToif. 

In futurity chiefly are the snares lodged, by which 
the imagination is entangled. Futurity is the proper 



4* TtIB«AMBLE9« Kb. 8. 

abode of hope and fear, with all their train and proge« 
uy of subordinate apprehensions and desires. In fu* 
lurity events and chances are yet floating at large, 
without apparent connexion with their causes^ and we 
therefore easily indulge the liberty of gratifying our- 
selves with a pleasing choice. To pick and cull 
among possible advantages is, as the civil law terms 
it, in vacuum venire^ to take what belongs to nobody j 
but it has this hazard in it, that we shall be unwilling 
to quit what we have seized, though an owner should 
be found. It is easy to think on that which may be 
gained, till at last we resolve to gai^i it, and to image 
the happiness of particular conditions, till we can be 
easy in no other. We ought, at least, to let our de- 
dres fix upon nothing in another's power for the sake 
ofour quiet, or in another's possession for the sake 
of our innocence. ' When a man finds himself led, 
though by a train of honest sentiments, to wish for 
that to which he has no right, he should start back as 
from a pitfall covered with flowers. He that fancies 
he should benefit the public more in a great station 
than the man that fills it, will in time imagine it aa 
act of virtue to supplant him ; and as opposition 
readily kindles mto hatred, his eagerness to do that 
good to which he is not called, will betray him to 
crimes, which in his original scheme were never pro« 
posed. 

I He therefore that would govern his actions by the 
llaws of viitue, must regulate his thoughts by those of 
reason ; he must keep guilt from the recesses of his 
heart, and remember that the pleasures of fancy, and 
the emotions of desire, are more dangerous as they 
are more hidden, since they escape the awe of obser- 
vation, and operate equally in every situation^ without 
the concurrence of external opportunities^ 



Ko. 9, THE SAMBLEIT. 4$ 

No. 9, TUESDAY, APRIL IT, If 60. 

Quod sis esse velisf nihilque malts. Mart* 

Chuse what you are ; no other state prefer. 

Elprinstok. 

xT is justly remarked by Horace, that howsoevef 
every man may complain occasionally of the hardships 
of his, condition, he is seldom willing to change it fbt 
any other on the same level : for whether it be that 
be vrho foUows an employment, made choice of it as 
first on accoant of its suitableness to his inclination ; 
or that when accident, <»* the determination of others^ 
have placed him in a particular station, he, by endea*^ \j 
voring to reconcile himself to it gets the custom of 
viewing it only on the fairest side ; or whether every 
man thinks that class to which he belongs the most 
illustrious, merely because he has honored it with his 
name ; it is certain that, whatever be the reason, most 
men have a very strong and active prejudice in favour 
of their own vocation, always working upon their 
minds, and influencing their behavior. 

This partiality is sufiiciently visible in every rank 
of the human species : but it exerts itself more fre« 
quently, and with greater force among those who havo 
never learned to conceal their sentiments for reasons 
of policy, or* to model their expressions by the laws of 
politeness ; and thjcrefote the chief contests of wit 
among artificers and handicraftsmen arise from a mu- 
tual endeavor to exalt one trade by depreciating 
another. 

^ From the same principles are derived many conso* 
lotions to alleviate theinconvenietbcies to which eve;:y 



a 



THE RAMfiLEtt. 



Ka $\ 



calling is peculiarly exposed. A blacksmith was late- - 
ly pleasing himself at his anvil, with observing, that 
though his trade was hot and sooty, laborious and un- 
healthy, yet he had the honor of living by his hammer, 
he got his bread like a man^ and if his son should rise 
in the world, and keep his coach, nobody could re- 
proach him that his father was a tailor. 

A man, truly zealous for his fraternity, is never so 
irresistibly flattered, as when some rival calling is 
mentioned with contempt. Upon this principle a 
linen-draper boasted that he had got a new ^customer, 
whom he could safely trust, for he could have no 
doubt of his honesty, since it was known, from un- 
questionable authority, that he was now filing a bill in 
chancery to delay payment for the clothes which he 
had worn the last seven years ; and he himself had 
heard him declare, in a public coffee-house, that he 
looked upon the whole generation of woollen-drapers 
to be such despicable wretches, that no gentlems^ 
ought to pay them. 

It has been observed, that physicians and lawyer^ 
are no friends to religion ; and many conjectures have 
been formed to discover the reason of such a combi- 
nation between men who agree in nothing else, and 
who seem less to be affected, in their own provinces, 
by religious opinions, than any other part of the com- 
munity. The truth is, very few of them have thought 
about religion ; but they have all seen a parson 5 seen 
him in a habit different from their own, and therefore 
/ declared war against him. A young student from the 
inns of court, who has often attacked the curate of his 
father's parish with such arguments as his acquaintan- 
ces could furnish, and returned to town without suc- 
cess, is now gone down with a resolution to destroy 
liim \ for he has learned at last how to manage a prig,' 



No. 9. THE RAMBLER. 47 

and if he pretends to hold him again to syllogism^ lie 
has a catch in reserve, which neither logic nor meta« 
physics can resist. 

I laugh to think how your unshaken Cato 
Will look aghast, when unforeseen destructioii 
Pours in upon him thus. 

The malignity of soldiers and sailors against e^ch 
other has been often experienced at the cost of their 
country; and, perhaps, no orders of men have an 
enmity of more acrimony, or longer continuance. 
When upon our late successes at sea, some new re- 
gulations were concerted for establishing the rank of 
the naval commanders, a captain of foot very acutely 
remarked, that nothing was more absurd than to give 
any honorary rewards to seamen ; " for honor," says 
he, " ought only to be won^ by bravery, and all the 
world knows that in a sea-fight there is no danger, 
and therefore no evidence of courage.** 

But although this general desire of aggrandizing 
themselves, by raising their profession, bArays men 
to a thousand ridiculous and mischievous acts of sup* 
plantation and detraction, yet as almost all passions 
have their good as well as bad effects, it li)Lewise ex- 
cites ingenuity, and sometimes raises an honest and 
useful emulation of diligence. It may be observed 
in general, that no trade had ever reached the excel- 
lence to which it is now improved, had its professors 
looked upon it with the eyes of indifferent spectators; 
the advances, from the first rude essays must have 
been made by men who valued themselves for per- 
formances, for which scarce any other would be per- 
suaded to esteem them. 

It is pleasing to contemplate a manufacture rising 
gradually from its first mean state by the successive 
idiors of innumerable- minds ; to coni^der the first 









4a THE &Afi«m.£R. Ko. 9. 

hollow tniid^: of an oak, in which^ perhaps, the shep* 
herd could scarce venture to cross a brook swelled 
' with a shower, enlarged at last into a ship of war, at* 
tacking fortresses, terrifying nations, setting storms , 

^ and billows at defiance, and visiting the remotest parts , 

of the globe. And . it might contribute to dispose us - ' 

to a kinder regard for the labors of one another, if we 
were to consider from what unpromising beginnings 
, the most useful productions of art have probably 

v^^ arisen. Who, whetihe saw the first sandorasheS| 
>Jr ^. by a casual intenseness of heat, melted into a metal- ' 

^ i> line form, rugged with excrescenses, and clouded 1 

''^ >^v^ with impurities, would have imagined, that in this j 

shapeless lump lay concealed so many conveniencies I 

of life, as would in time constitute a great part of the J 

happiness of the world ? Yet by some such fortuitous I 

liquefaction was mankind taught to procure a body at \ 

once in a high degree solid and transparent, which 
might admit the light of the sun, and exclude the vi- 
olence of the wind: which might extend the sight of 
the philosopher to new ranges of existence, and charm 
him at one time with the unbounded extent olF the ma- 
terial creation, and at another with the^ endless subor- 
dination of animal life ; and, what is yet of more im- 
portance, might supply the decays of nature, and suc- 
cor old age with subsidiary sight. Thus was the 
first artificer in glass employed, though without liis 
own knowledge OP expectation. He was facilitating 
and prolonging the enjoyment of light, enlarging the- 
avenues of science, and conferring the highest aud 
most lasting pleasures ; he was enabling the student 
to contemplate nature, and the beauty to behold her- 
self. 

This passion for the honor of a profession, like that 
fgr the grandeur of our owa country^ is to be regu- 



fjo. la. 



THE RAMBLEB. 



49 



Iated,not extinguished. Every man, fmm the high- 
est to the lowest station, or-^ht to warm his hetrt, and 
animate his endeavors with^he hopes of being useful 
to the world, by advancing i it art which it is his lot to 
exercise, and for that end he must necessarily consi- 
der the whole extent of its application, and the whole 
weight of its importance. But let him not too readi- 
ly imagine that another is ill employed, because, for 
want of fuller knowledge of his business, he is not 
able to comprehend its dignity. Every man ought to 
endeavor at eminence, not by pulling others down, 
but by raising himself, and enjoy the pleasure of his 
own superiority, whether imaginary or real, without f 
interrupting others in the same felicity. The philo- 
sopher may very justly be delighted with the extent of 
his views, and the artificer with the readiness of his 
hands ; but let the one remember, that, witiiout ^ 
mechanical performances, refined speculation is an 
empty dream; and the other, that, without theoreti- 
cal reasoning, dexterity is little more than a brute 
instinct. 



^ 



'^:p 



No. 10. SATURDAY, APRIL 21, 1750. 



Posthabtd tamcn illorum meateria ludo 
For trifling sports I quitted grave affairs. 



VlRC^ 



A HE number of correspondents which increases 
every day upon me, shews that my paper is at least 
distinguished from the common productions of the 
press. It is no less a proof of eminence to have many 
enemies than many friends, and I look upon every 
letter, whether it contains encomiums or reproaches, 

VOL. IV. 5 



|» VSfB BAMWTO. Vp. IQ. 

as an eqv^ altestatioii of rvMPg credit Tho <Hri|r 
yaifif n iiich I can feel from my correspondence, ia 
Ihe fear of disgusting tSbse, whose letters I shall 
neglect ; and therefore llake this opportunity of re- 
nunding them, that In disapproving their attemptSf 
whBDBYtr Unu^ happen, I only return the treatment 
^Hiich I often receive. Besides, many particnter ite- 
lives influence a writer, known only to himself, or bis 
ptivatB friends ; and it may be jumly concluded, tiial 
not all kttera whicb 9re postponed tfo rejected, nor 
all that are rejected^ crkically condemned. 

Having thus eased my heart erf the only apprehw!* 
«i«nthat«atlieavyonit,IcanpliMemyself wiOi the 
eandmrof BenevQlus,whoencottrages*me-.to proceed 
irithottt stnlun g under the anger of FlirtiUa> ^Q qua^ 
lels witb me for being old and ugly, and for wanting 
both activity of body and aprightliness of mind ; &eds 
bear mpnbey with mj lucubrations, and re&sea aiqr 
reconciliation Ull I have appeared in ^vindicationitf 
masquerades. That she may not however imagine 
me without support, and left to rest wholly upon my 
own fortitude, I shall now publish some letters vdiicb 
I have received from men as well dressed, and as 
handsome, as her fevorite ; and others from ladies, 
whom I sincerely believe as young, as rich, as gay, as 
pretty, as fashionable, and as often toasted and treated 
as herself. 

<< A set of candid readers send their respects to thi^ 
Rambler, and acknowledge bis merit in so well begin-* 
ning a work that may be of public benefit. But, su- 
perior as his genius is to the impertinences of a triflioi; 
age, they cannot help a wish, that he would conde<» 
seend to the weakness of minds softened by perpetual 
amusements, and now and then throw in, like his pre- 
dfi^ssors) some papers of a gay and humorous turn.- 



*»«.—- 



m«. m THE RAMBLES. 51 

Too fidr a field now lies open^ with too plendftil i liar« 
rest of follies ! let the cheerful Thalia put in hef 
sickle, and, singing at her work, deck her hidr with 
red and blue/' 

<< A lady sends her cempUmentt to the Eamblcii 
fond desires to know by what other name she juay di> 
lect to him i what are his set of ftiends, las amose* 
menta; what his way ^^tUafciAg^mth regard to thf 
living world) and its wafit in short, whether he is a 
person now alife, audita town ? If he be, she will do 
herself tfie Inmoe to write to htoi pretty often, and 
liopes, from^me te time, to be the better for his ad« 
eseettod aaiw a il teg s iw ia ; fisr hieaaimadTersionsom 
kit oeighbars at kant. Bvtyiffaeisa mereesasyiaCt 
ipid tioiMes set himaetf witltthe maoneraof the i^^ 
ihe isaorry to tell hua, that even the genius and cor# 
leetaessofanAddieaii'Willnot secanehiiafromne^ 

No man is so niuch abstracted £rom common lifoi 
aa not to feel a particular pleasure from the regarded 
thefepiale world ; the candid writers of the first bil^ 
}et will not be offended, that my haste to satisfy a lady 
lias hurried their address too so<m out of my mind, and 
that I ref<^r them for a reply, to. some future pape% 
in order to tell this curious inquirer after my other 
name, the answer of a philosopher to a man, who 
meeting him in the street, desired to see what he car« 
ried under his cloak; / carry it there^ says he, that 
you may not see it. But, though she is never to know 
my name, she may often see my face ; for I am of her 
opinion that a diunmal writer ought to view the world, 
and that he who neglects his contemporaries, may be^i 
with justice neglected by them. 



m THE ItlCMBLEB. Ko. 1% 

•« » Lftd)r kaeket sends compUments to the Ramblet, 
Vkd tetshim knofW she shall hai^e cards at her house 
every Siinday^the retnidnder oC the season^, where he 
will be sure of meeting all the good corApany in town* 
By this means she hopes to see his papers intersper- 
sed with living characters. 'She longs to se6 the 
torch of truth produced at an assembly, and to admifd 
the charming lustre it will throw on the jewels, com* 
j^exions^ and behaviar of every dear creature there.'* 

It is a rule with me.tareceive'every ofT^rwith the 
same givility as it is made ; and, thei^efore, thmgh 
lady Raqket may have had some reason .to .guess, that 
I selddm frequent card-table* on. Sundi^, I shalLnet 
insist upon an exception, which may to h«r appear of 
so little force. My business ha&been to view, as op* 
poptunity was offered, every place in which mankind 
was t»be s.een; but at card-tables, however brilliant^ 
I have always thought my visit lost, for I could know 
nothing of the company, but their clothes and theic 
faces^ 1 saw their looks clouded at the beginning of , 
every game with an uniform solicitude, now and then 
m its progress varied with a short triumph, at one 
time wrinkled with cunning, at another deadened wFth 
despondency, or by accident flushed with rage at the 
tmskiifiM or unhicky play of a partner. From such 
assemblies, in whatever humor I happened to entfer 
them, I was quickly forced to retire ; they were too 
trifling for me, when I was grave, and too dull, whfcn 
1 was cheerful. 

Yet I cannot but value myself upon this token of re-r 
gard from a lady who is not afraid to stand before the 
torch oftruth.* Let her not, however, consult her cu- 
riosity more than her prudence j but reflect a mo- 
ment on the fate of Semele, who might have lived the 



Ho. Ml tubXhblbi, as 

fiiwrte of lupiter* tf thMwM hsi« %eMi e««Mit inth- 
out hU thunder. ItU dangerous for mortal beautf 9 
or torrestriia tirtttO} to bo o&mnined hj too strong 
% light. The torch of trUth shows much that we caa« 
not, end all that we would not see. In a fiice dim- 
pled with smileS) it has <^ten dMol>vered moieTolenco 
and envy, and detected under jewels and brocade, Uia 
firtghtful forme of poverty and distress. A fine hand 
of cards hare changed beibre it into a thousand spec* 
treaof sickness, misery, and vexation; and immense 
sums of money, while the irinner counted them with 
transport, hsve at the first glimpse of tlus unwelcome 
lustre vanished from before him. If her ladyship 
Attrefore designs to continue her assembly, I would 
advise her to shun such dangerous eicperiments, to 
satisfy herself iiMicommcMi appearances, and to light 
up her apartmema rather with myrtle than the torch 
of truth. 

^ A modest young man sends his servicp to the au^ 
thor of the Rambler, and will be very willing to assist 
him in his work, but is sadly afraid of being diacoura-^ 
ged by having his first essay rejected, a disgrace he 
has woefully experienced in every oifer he had made 
of it to every new writer of every new paper ; but he 
comforts himself by thinking, without vanity, that tbia 
has been from a peculiar favor of the muses, who sa» 
ved his performance from being buried in trash, and 
reserved it to appear with lustre in the Rambler.'* 

I am equally a friend to modesty and enterprise ; 
tnd therefore shall think it an honor to correspond 
with ayoung man who possesses both in so eminent 
a degree. Youth is, indeed, the time in which these 
qualities ought chiefly to be found ; modesty suita 
'IreU with inexperience^ and enterprise with health 
5* 



5$ ntt iiAMBi;^. sra in^ 

ttd . vigor^i aad an^«3^:ea«iTe prospect of life. One of 
my {Ire^cessorft has justly observed} that^ though 
modesty has nn aimahle aad winmn^ appeahmcey it 
ought SkQ%tJ9 fimder the exertion of the actiire powera^^^ 
but that a man should show under his blusjies a latent 
ifesolution. - This point of perfection, niee as it iS) 
my correspondent seeins to have attained. Th^t he 
is n^odest, liis own, declaration niay evince ; and, I 
think, the latent reaolution may be. discovered in hia 
letter by an acute observer. I will advise him, unce 
he so well deserves my precepts, not to be discouraged 
though the Rambler should prove equally envious, or 
tastel^s, with the i:est of this fraternity. If his papei^ 
i^ refused, the presses of England are open, let him 
try the judgment of the public. Uy as it has some- 
times happened in general combinatioas against merity 
he cannot persu^M^e thfi Msprld to buy his works, he 
may present them ia his fi*iends ; and if his frienda 
are seized with the epidemical infatuation, and cannot 
find his genius, or will not confess it, let him then re« 
fbr his cause to posterity, and reserve his labors for 
ii wiser age. 

Thus have I despatched some of Imy correspondents 
In the usual manner, with fair words, and general. 
civility. But to Ftirtilla, the gay FlirtiUa, what shall 
1 reply I Unable as I am to fly, at her command, over 
land' and seas, or to supply her from week to week 
with the fashions of Paris, or thp intrigues of Madrid^ 
I am yet not willing to incur her funcher dhpleasure, 
and would save my papers from her monkey on any 
reasonable terms, ^y what prgpiti^tion, therefore, 
ipay I atone for my former gravity, and open, without 
trembling, the* future letters of this sprightly perse* 
cutor ? To write in defence of masquerades is no easy 
tM^ ; yet sonaething diffipult aAd daring may well btl 



fequired,a» the ppce itf saii^poniHi^ «ii-aypfobttk»i: 

I.theirefore consult€<]yiii thisgreateteergenefy anm 
of high reputation in gay life, wbo, having added to 
Us other accomptishments^ no mean proficiency in 
the minute philosophy^ after the fiftli perusal of hev 
letter, broke .out with raptare-into these words : < Ami 
can you, Mr, Rambler, stand out against this charm* 
ing creature? Let her know, at least, that from this- 
moment Nigrinua deyotes his. life and (lis labors to 
her service. Is there any stubborn prejudice of eda- 
oation, that stands betwe^^n thee and the most amiable 
of mankind I Behold, Flirtilla, at thy feet, a man 
grown grey in the study of those noble arts by ^hich 
right and wrong may be confounded ; by which rea- 
son may be blinded, when we have a mind to escape 
from her inspection ; and caprice andappetite instated 
in uncontroled command, and boundlesa demfaiion !: 
Such a casuist may surely engage, with cert^ty of 
success, in vindication of an entertainment, which in 
an instant gives confidence to the timorous, an4 
kindles ardor in the cold; an entertamment where 
the vigilance of jealousy has. so often been eluded^ 
and the virgin is set free from, the necessity of lan- 
guishing in silence ; where all the outworks of chas* 
tity are at once demolished ; where the h<^rt. is. laid 
open without a blush ; where bashfuineas. may survive 
virtue, and no wish is crushed under the frown of 
modesty. Far weaker influence than Flirtilla's might 
gain over an advocate for such amttsemeots. I( waa 
declared by^ Poropey,. that if the commonwealths was 
violated, he could stamp with his foot, and raise an 
army out of t!^ ground ; if the rights of pleasure are 
s^gaininyaded,|ptbutiPlirtilla crack her fan^ neither 
pens, nor sworos, shall be wanting at the summons ; 
the yiii ^d the colonel shall mareb eutat hei^com^t 



1 



m lAMBua.. M«. u. . 



tuori, «ad u i Mwa '' krtr nor reasdn %\M staad be« 

* The ibwbUkto in thUpapor were written by Milt MuUch^ 
afterwards Mrs. Chapone^ who survived this work more than 
luftf a eentitry, and died Bee. 25, 1801. See an account of het 
A the Vjseface to the ▲dTeotuzer, •'BniTisKfissAYXtTs/^ 
vi)1.23. C, 

No. 11. TUESDAY, APRIL 24, 1750. 



JV^n Dintfymene, non adytis ouatit ^ ■ 

Mfntetn iacerdotum incola Pythiuet 

«V<M laScr «9mb «•» ^uk*^ 

S&cgendnant Cory^anta trrOp 
!rVwte# tt* »r«. Hoi;. 

Yet O ! remember, nor the p>d of wine, 

Hor M^hian Phmtmi from his inmost shrine. 

Nor Uku^fmme nor her priests poneat. 

Can with their aounding cymbala shake the breast^ 

Like furious anger. Francis. 

JL he maxim which Periander of Corinth, one of 
the seven sages of Greece, left as a memorial of his 
knowledge and benevolence, was xcka x^tirti. Be mas* 
ter f^thy anger. He considered anger as the great 
disturber of human life, the chief enemy both of puh« 
ttc happiness and private tranquillity, and thought that 
he could not lay on posterity a stronger obligation to 
teverence his memory, than by leaving them a salu^ 
tary caution against this outrageous passion. 

To what latitude Periander might extend the 
word, the brevity of his precept will scarce allow ui 
to conjecture. From anger, in its full import, pro* 
tracted into malevolence, and exerted in revenge^ 
Urise, indeed, many of the evils to which the life of 
^QMD is exposed* By anger operating upon i^wer 



are psoduced the Btibveiwm of cUiesy- tlie desbh^bn 
ef countries, the massacre of nations, and alLthoav 
dreadful and astonishing calsunities which fill the his- 
lories of the MrorldjStnd Which could tiot be read at 
any distant point of thney when the passicmd stamcl 
neutnd^and eii«i7 motive and princi^eis left to iC9 
aatural force, without some doubt of the truth of tiie 
relation, did we not see the same causes still teiMtlhg 
to the same effects^and onljr acting with less vigor 
for want of the s^ame concurrent opportunities. 

But. this, gigaatic and. eiiormous species of anger 
falls not properly under the animadversion of a wri* 
ter, whose, chief end is the regulation of common 
life, and whose precepis are tovrecomraecid then^ 
selves by their general use. Nor is this essay intend^ 
ed to expose the tragical or fatal effects even of 
private malignity. The anger which I propose now 
for my subject, is: sqch as ms^es. those who indulge 
it more .troublesome tliaii formidable,, and ranks 
them . rather with hometa and wasps,, than with ba- 
silisks and lions. I have, therefore, prefixed a motto^ . 
which ch^iracterises this passion, not so much by tho 
mischief that it causes as by the noise that it utters. 

There is in tlie world a certain class of mortalSf 
known, and contentedly ^nown, by. the appeilatioo 
.Qi fiamonate mcn^ who imagine .themselves entitled 
^by.that distinction to be provoked gn every slight 
occasion^ and. to vent their, rage in vehement and 
fierco vociferations, in furious menaces and licentious 
^pcoaphes. Their rage, indeed, for the most part, 
fumes ^way in outcries of ii^jury^ and protestations of 
vengeance, and seldom proceeds to actual .violencQi 
unless a drawer or linkboy falls lii their .wa)r ; but 
they interrupt the quiet of. those that happen to 
IjLe. witbiix.th^ reach of . their /ilamors, obi^truct th.« 



«l TMSilAllBIJEB. iTo. ri 

eMlMe ^ catfrertatioi^ and dbtUrb the enjoyment o( 
•ociety. 

Men of this kind are sometimes not without tin<* 
de^tandidg or virtue, and arc, therefore, not al* 
Iwqrs treated with the sererity which their neglect 
0f the ease of all about them might justly proV6ke ; 
Aey hmt obtained a kind of prescription for their 
9fAif$ and are cenndered by their pompstnidns as un« 
der a {>re4omiuant influence that leaves them not 
masters of their conduct or language, as acting with* 
•utcensclousoesii, and rushing mto mischief wil^ a 
saist befere their eyes^ they ane therefore pitied 
lather thun eensured, and their sallies are passed 
mw as the involuntsry hlows of a man agitated Wf 
tile spasms of a con vuMon^ 

It is surely not to be observed without indignadon, 
that men maybe found of minds mean enough to 
^aatififiad wSh this treatment; wretches who are 
proud to obtain the priviiege of madmen, and caa^ 
irilhout shame, and without regret, consider them^ 
•elves as receiving hourly pardons from ^leir com- 
panions^ and giving them continual opportunities 
of exercismg their patience, and boastbig their clje* 
DMUcy. 

Pride is ui»ioubtedly ^ origimd 6f anger; but 
pride, like every other passion, if it once breakiy 
Idtose from reason, counteracts its own purposes. 
A passionate man upon the review of his day, wllf 
have very few gratiications to offfer to his pride, 
when he has centered how his outrages were \:auv 
•ed, why itey were borne, and in what they are HMelJ* 
to end at last 

Those sudden bursts of rage generally break outf 
upon small eiBCasions; for life, unhappy as it is, can- 
^et supply igmat evils, as frequently as tlie man el 



fire thiakB it fit to be emged ; thtrefbre Ite fimi 
tefiection upon his violence must show him tliit h^ 
k inean enough to be driven froiahis post by every 
petty incident, that he is the mere slave of casualty^ 
und that his reason and virtue ar^ is the power of ^ 
wind. 

. One motive there is of these loud esfffavaganetes^ 
^ydiicb a tarn is careful to conceal from others, anA 
does not always discover to. Imnself. He that finds 
his. knowledge narrow, and his arguments weak^ 
and by consequence his uiffrage not much regardedi 
jb sometimes in hope of gaining diat attentien by Ua 
^damors which he cannot otherwise obtalni and is 
yleased with remembering that at least he made hm» 
oelf b»ff<^ that he had the power to intenrupl thoea 
wh013a.be could not confute, and suspend the decMon 
which he could not guide. 

Of this kind is the fiiry to which mtfiy men "give 
way among their sertants and domestics t theyfsel 
iheir own ignorance, they sec their own inaigmfi^ 
cance ; and therefore they endeavor, by their furyi 
to fright away contempt from before them, whej!i 
they know it must follow them behind; and think 
themselves eminently masters, when they see one 
folly tamely eemplied with, only lest refusid or delay 
should provoke them to a greater. . 

These temptations cannot but be owned, to havt 
«ome force. It is so Utile pleasing to any man to 
eee himself whoHy overlooked in the mass of thkige, 
that he may be (flowed to try a few expedients fer 
^^crurmgsome kiiid c^ supplemental dignity^ ^ 
, -use som0 endeavor to add weight, by the violehce of 
Ills temperi to the %hthess rf his other powers. 
Sut this iiafi now bten kmg practised, and founds 
uponthe most e&aet e^limltte, not to produce ftd^ 



€^ rUE RMiBL£S. . Ko. 11. 

vantages e^wd to its ineonveniehcies ; for it ap« 
' pilars not that a man can by uproar, tumult, and blus« 
f€r, alter any one's opinion of his understanding, or 
gain influence, except over those whom fortune oic 
nature iiave made his dependants* He may, by a 
steady perseverance in his ferocity, fright hischii- 
4ren, and harass his servants, but the rest t>f the 
^jxrorld will look on and laugh ; and he will have the 
comfort at last of thinking, that he lives only to raise 
contempt and hatred, emotiofis to which wisdom and 
.virtue would be .always unwilling to give occasion. 
He has contrived only to mjake those fear him, whom 
every reasonable being is endeavoring to endear by 
kindness, and must content himself with the pleasure 
ef a triumph obtained by trampling on them who 
could not resist. He must perceive that the appre- 
hension which his presence causes is not the awe of 
his virtue, but the dread of his brutality, and that he 
has given up the felicity of being loved, without gain*. 
iiig the honor of being reverenced. 

But this is not the only ill consequence of fhe fre* 
queut imlul^^ence of this blustering passion, which a 
man, by often calling to his assistance, will teach, 
in a short time, to iptrude before the summons, to 
rush upon him. with resistless violence, and without 
any previous nodge of its approach. He will find 
hin^iself liable to be inflamed at the fir^t touch of pro* 
vocation, and unable to retain his i::/£sentmenti tiU 
he has a full cenviction of;, the offence, to proportion 
his anger to the cause, or to regulatp it by prudence 
or by duty. When a man has opce sufiered his mind 
to be thus vitiated, be becoqies one of tl^ mpst hate- 
ful and unhappy beings^ He i^^ give UQ security te 
himself that b^shall not,a1t the 11^35^ intQiiiyieyir, aliez^- 
Ate by spme;suddea tfan^ppift h^s- 4«ar^^t ^fr^ej^dj or 



break' out, upon some slight contradiction, into sucT> 
terms of rudeness as can never be perfectly forgotten* 
Whoever converses with him, lives with the sus- 
picion and solitude of a man that plays with a tam6 
tiger, always under a necessity of watching* the mo- 
ment in which the capricious savage shall begin to* 
growl. 

It is told by Prior, m a panegyric on the carl of 
porset, that his servants used to put themselves ia 
his way when he was angry, because he was sure to 
recompense them for any indignities which he made 
Aem suffer. This is the round of a passionate man's 
flfe ; he contracts debts when he is furious, which 
Ins virtue, if he has virtue, obliges him to discharge 
at the return of reason. He spends his lime in out- 
rage and acknowledgment, injury and reparation. 
Or,' if there be any who hardens himself in oppres- 
sion, and justifies the wrong, because he has done 
fXy Ms insensibility can make small part of his praise, 
pr his happiness : he only adds deliberate to hasty" 
fblly, aggravates petulance- by contumacy, and de- 
sKtroys the only plea that he can offer for the tender- 
ness and patience of mankind. 

Yet, even this degree of depravity we may be con- 
tent to pity, because it seldom wants a punishment 
equal to its guilt. Nothing is more despicable or 
juore miserable than the old age of a passionate man. 
When the vigor of youth fails him, and his amuse- 
ments pall with frequent repetition, his occasional 
rage sinks by decay of strength into peevishness; 
that peevishness, for want of novelty and variety, be- 
comes habitual ; the world falls off from around him, 
and he is left as Homer expresses it, ^6iv6^Mf ^ix»v x^, 
to devour his own heart in solitude and contempt^ 

vox. ly* 6 



^ THE MMBtXM; m. IK 

[ No. 12. SATURDAY, APRILS^, l?flO« 



■ Mientm parvd nipefutUait ut pudUmndw 
^ Hxercere tcdea inter convinda p^tsit.' ■ ■ 
' Tu mitit, €f acri 
Mperitate caretu, pontcqueper omyda/attu. 
Inter ta ^t^vales u»m* mimer4irii atnicMf 
0btequiwinque doces Cf amorem quarit atnando, 

LVCANVS a(/PtSdKE|^<^ 

TTnlike tlie ribald whose licentious jest 

Folhites his biMqMti and kisults ms gOest ; ' ^* 

From wealth and grttideiv-easy tp descend. . i 

Thou joy*st to lose the master in the friend : 

We round thy board tfie cheerful menials see, ' 

Gay with die smile of Uaodcqaality-; 

Kq social care the gracious lord disdains ; 

Lore prompts to love, and reverence rev'rence gdns^. 

TO TMB lUMBAEH. 

Sia, "' 

xVs y6U ^tem to have derot^d your labors to rif* 
tUe, I cannot forbear to nifbrm you of one species 
of creelty -wkh whicfc the life of a man of letters 
perhaps does not often itmke him acqusdnted ; mH 
-vHiich, as Ift seems to produce no other advantage to 
those that practise it than a short gratification of 
thoughtless vanity > may become less common nr hen 
it has beien once exposed in its various fbrms^ and 
its f^lt magnitude. 

I am the daughter of a country gentleman^ whose 
Ikmily is numerous, and whose estate, not at first 
miflicient to sopply us with aflluence,has been lately 
fio much impaired by an unsocceaaful law*suit, that 
all the younger children are obliged to try such 
means, as their education affords them, for procu- 
ring the necessaries of life; Distress and curiosity 



oonenn^d to bring itte to I^ondon, where I was re* 
<jeived by a relatkm witii the coidness which naififor- 
tune geoerallj finds. A week) a long week) I lived 
with my cousin^ before the most vigilant inquiry 
could prooure u»the leaithc^es o€ a place, in which 
time I was much better qualified to bear all the vex* 
ations of servitude. The first .two days she was con- 
tent to pitj^me, and only wished I had not been quite 
«o well bred ; but people must comply with their 
drcumiitances. This Itoky^ however, was soon at 
an end ; and» £br the remaining part of the week* 
f teard every hour of the pnde of my fiimlly^ the 
obstinacy of my father^ and of people better bom thaa 
myself that were Gommon aewanta. 

At last, on Saturday noon, she told me, with rerf 
Tisitile satisfaction, that Mrs. Bombasine, the great 
ailk-mepcer*slady,.>waateda -maid, and a fine place 
it would be, for there would be nothing to do but 
to clean my mistress's room, get up ''her linen, dress 
the young ladm* wait at^t^ain the morning, take 
pare of a little miss just oome from nurse, and then 
sit down to my needle. But madam was. a woman of 
great spiirit* and wc^uld not be contradicted^ and there* 
fc^re I should take car% imr ^ood. places were not ot;* 
lily to be got. 

. Wi^ tlu^se cautions I waited on madam Bomba- 
al^, of whom the first ugbt gave me no ravishing 
ideas. She was two yards round the waist, hervoicii 
n^ aJtonce loud and squ^eakingf and her i^e brought 
lony«miod the picture ol. the full moon. Are.yo^ 
the young -vtsoman^says she, that arte come-tooffea 
yoursfdf I It is atrangf^ when people, of substance 
want aservantt honr soon it is the towa»talk. But 
|b«f know, a^f shall Ji«rc a beUy«&ll that live mth 



64 THE nXMBUOL M. Hi 

, me. Not Ktc people at the other end of the town^ 
we ^ne at one o'clock. Bot I never take »)y body 
without a character } what friends do you come of? 
I then told her that my father was a gendeman, md 
that we had been mifortnnate.— A great misfortmie 
indeed, to come to me, and have three meals a day! 
*— So your father was a gentleman, and you area 
gentlewoman I suppose— >sach gentlewomen !—-Ma<* 
dam, I did not mean to claim any exemptions, I- onI]ff 
SAswered your inquiry'— Such gentlewomen^ I peo- 
ple should set their children to good trades, and keep 
them off the parish. Pray go to the other end of 
the town,, there are gentlewomen, if tSiey would pay 
their debts : I am sure we have lost enough by gen* 
tlewomen. Upon this, her broad face grew broader 
with triumph, and I was afraid she would have takett 
jR\e for the pleasure of continuing her insult ; but 
happily the next word was. Pray, Mrs. gentlewoman, 
troop down stairs,— .You may believte I obeyed her. 

I returned and met with a better reception from 
my cousin than I expected ; for while I was out, 
she had heard that Mrs. Standish, whose husband 
had lately Been raised from a clerk in an office, to be 
commissioner of the excise^ had taken a fine house, 
and wanted a maid. 

To Mrs. Standish I went, and, after having wait- 
ed six hours, was at last admitted to the top of the 
stairs, when she came out of her room, with tvroof 
her company. There was a smell ^f punch. So, 
young woman, you want a place ; whence do you 
comcii-^Fpom the country, madam.^'^Yetf, they alt 
come.oHit of the country* And what brought you 
to town, a' bastard? Where do you lodge ? At the 
Seven^Dials. Wh?it, you never heard of the fouud*^ 



li^g^kOttiei UpontUtf thejall ]«uj[|ked so obstre* 
peroiuly, that I took the opportunity of sneakixtg off 
in the tumult* 

X then heard of a place at an elderly lady's. She 
vaa at caxds i but in two boura, I was told, she, would 
apeak to me. She asked me if I co^ld keiep an ai;- 
^ .county and ^ered me to writeu I wrote; two lines out 
of some book that lay by her. ^le woi^ered what 
jieople meant> to breed up poor girU to write at that 
irate. I suppoaet Mrs. Flirt, if I was to.aee yo«»r 
work, it would be fioe stuff !-*-You may walk» I will 
i|ot have love-letters written from my house to every 
^oung fellow in the street, 

. . Two days after, I went on the same pursuit to La^y 
Lofty, dressed as I was Effected, in what little orna- 
ments I had, because she had lately got a place at 
court. Upon the first sight of mci ahis tarns to th^ 
-woman that showed me in. Is this th« lady that wants^ 
a place I Pray what place would you hayire. Miss ? a 
maid of honor's place I Servants now«j^-days l«-Madam 
I heard you wanted— ^Wanted what? ^meboc^ fin^ 
t|ian myself? A pretty servant indeed^— I should be 
afraid to ^peak to her— I suppose, Mrs. Minx, these 
fine hands cannot bear wetting— A servant indeed ! 
Pray move off— lam resolved to be the head person in 
this house^— You are ready dressed^ the taverns will 
be open. 

1 went to inquire for the n^xt {dace in a clean linen 
. gown, and heard the ;iervant tell his lady, there was » 
young woman» rbut he saw she would not do. I waa 
brought up, however. Are you the trollop that faai^ 
the impndeij^ |p come for my place ? What, you haT^ 
hired that nasty gown, and are come to steal a better* 
Madamv I have another, but being obliged to walk"«r 
Then these are youi* manners^ with your blushes ajid 
6* 



« t-HB RAMBWIU Ha. H 

your cottttcsies, to come to me in your wowt gown*^^ 
Madatn, give me leave ta wait upon youin my'othe^. 
Wait on me, you saiurjr BlUt ! Then you are sure of 
eoming— I could not kt such a drab come near me-«^ 
Herei you girl, that came up with her, have you toucK« 
ed her I If you have, wash your handa before you dre» 
no*— Such trollops! €ret you down. What,^whim[- 
penng? Pray walk. * .» 

I went away with tears ; for my comin bad tost aR 
patience. Howeverj she told me, that having a re» 
spe0t for my relations, Bhe was wiHing to keep me out 
Qf the street, and' would kt me have another week. 

The first day of this week I saw two pDeices. At one 
I was asked where I had lived I and upon my answei:^ 
was told by the lady, that people should qualify them- 
^selves inordinary places, for she should" never have 
done if sho was to follow girls about. At the other 
lioHse f was a smirking- hussy, and that sweet face t 
•might make money of— For her part, it was a rata 
* with her never to take any creature that thought her* 
self handsome. 

The three next days were spent in Lady Bluff's eh- 
•tryi where I waited six hours every day for the pleii- 
sure of seeing the servants peep at me, said go awai^ 
laughing.«-^adam 'will stretch her small shanks lit 
the entry; she will know tlie house agam.— «At sunset 
the two first days, I was told, that my lady wbuld see 
me to-morrow, and on the third, that her womaa 
'Staid. 

My week was now near its end, and f had no* hopes 
ef a place. My relation, who always Idd upon tike 
the blame of every miscarriage, told ttPi that I must 
leanito humble myself and that all gre^traclies had 
particular ways ; that if I went on iii that manner, she 
ceuld aot teU who irotild keep me y ^t had knoim 



Ifo. %^ t*H&RAMBl£lt. $Z 

many tibathad refused places, sell their clothes,* and 
beg in the streets. ' ] ' ' ' •''^'* 

" It was ta no purpose that the refttsa! Vatf dcdared 
by me to be never on my side ; I was rcatoning efgatnst 
interest, and agdnst stupidity ; and'thferefore I' com- 
ftyrted myself with the hope (^succeeding bettferia 
my next attempt, and went to Mrs. Cehirtfy, avei^ 
fine lady, who had routes at her house, and saw the 
best company in town. * " 

I had not waited two hours before I was called upj 
and found Mr. Courtly and his lady at piquet, in the 
height of . good humor. Thts I looked on as^ a fevors- 
•aWe sign, and stood at the lower end of the room, iii 
expectation of the common questions. At last Mr. 
Courtly called out, afterawMsper, Stand fkctng ^e 
fight, that cme may see you. I changed my place ahd 
bhiahed. They frequently turned their €y6s upon 
me, and seemed to discover many subjects of merri<» 
ment; for at every look they whispered, and laughed 
with the most violent agitations of delight At last 
Mr. Courtly cryed out. Is that color your owuj child ? 
Yes, says the lady, if ahe ha& not robbed the kitchen 
hearth, Tl«a was so happy a conceit, that it renewed 
- the storm of laughter, and they threw down their cards 
in hopes of better sport.^ The lady then called me to 
her, and began: with an affected gravity to inquire 
what I could do? But first turn about, and let us see 
your fine shape: well, what are you fit ito^ Mrs. Mum} 
You would find your tongue I suppose, in the kftchen. 
No) ne, says Mr. Courtly, the girl^'s a good girl yeti 
but 1 am afraid a brisk young feltpw, with fine tags on 
ius shoulder— «-«-43ofii6 chlM, hold up your head; 
what? you have stole nothing.— ««-Not yet, says the 
lady, but she hopes to steal your heart quickly;— Her^ 
nrtM akugh of happinea? and triumphi prolon|;ed bf 



4he cwfiuioii wbioli I eoaU no lonctv WflMs* M 
iMt tke lady reooU^cted heraelf ; st^to ! iio-<-4>ul if ) • 
}l9A ker» I sbotad-wttebter-s Cm* thit 4owac«ftt^y«— 
Wky fianoot ^uiook peopM ui Ute^face ? Staall aapEf 
ber liuabtfidt alie w»ttl4 steal notihkig bat» perhapa, * 
Jbwiibands before tbefw^re left off by bar lady. Bit^ 
aM^ere4 1» why abaimld you» by auppoaiaf me a thie;& 
inaulk oa/^firoaawhooa you bavo received no injoryi 
Insult! says tbe lady; areyoucoasMaberetobeaeer^ 
rukU yw^ saw^ baggasre^^andtalk of insiiUiag ? W^at 
wiU this world come'toi df a gentleman may not jest 
lEitba servant! Wdl> sueb servanUl praybegone^ 
and see whenyou wiUbave tbe bonor to be somsultsd 
again. SarranU insulted !-p^ fine time~Insult»dl 
Got down sttdrs^ you slut, or tbe footman aball inssH 
you! ^ " ' ■ 

Tbe lajit day of tbe last week was now coTnmgi and 
my kind cousin talked of sendmg me down in tbe wag" 
gon to {Nreaerve mefrom bad courses. But in the mora* 
ing she came and told me that sbe bad one trial more 
for me ; Euphemia wanted a maid» and perhaps I rnigbt 
do for her; for, like me, she must fall her crest, being 
forced to lay down her chariot upon the loss of half 
her fortune by bad securities, and with her way of gi» 
ving her money to every body that pretended to want 
it, she could have little beforehand; therefore I might 
serve her; for with all her fine sense, she must not 
pretend to be nice* 

I went immediately, and met at the dpor a youpg 
gentlewoman, who told me she had herself been hired 
that morning, but that sbe was ordered to bripg any 
that offered t^p stairs. I was accordingly introduced 
|o Euphemia, whoj'when I came in,, laid down her 
book, and told me that she sent for me not to gratify 
aaidie cwiosity, buitest my disappointxyient migh|^|^ 



2^' "' •^•"■^ XT- — - ^^gm^jifc . .^aiiaiai^Jfeil 



Vol 13. ' Tiffe RAMBLeH. t$ 

made sdll more grating hy inctvilitf ; that she was in 
pain todenj vsty thing, much more what was no fayor ; 
that she saw nothing in my appearance which did not 
mnke her wish for my company; hut that another, 
whose claims might perhaps be equal, had come be- 
fore me. The thought of heing so near to sucli a 
pkce, and missing it, brought tears into my eyes, and 
my sobs hindered me from returning my acknow* 
lodgments. She rose up confused, and supposing by 
my concern that I was distressed, placed me by her, 
and made me tell her my story : which when she had 
heard, she put two guineas in my hand, ordering me 
to lodge near her, and make use of her table till she 
could provide for me. I am now under her protec* 
tion, and know not how to show my gratitude better 
than by giving this account to the Rambler, 

ZoS^MAi 

No. 13. TUESDAY, MAY 1, 1750, 



Cammisiumque teget 6* w«o tortut Cf irdt. Hor* 

And let not wine or anger wrest 

Th* intrusted secret from your breast. Prancis. 

JLt is related by Quintus Curtius, that the Persians 
always conceived an invincible contempt of a man who 
had violated the laws of secrecy ; for they thought, 
Aat, however he might be deficient in the qualities re- 
quisite to actual excellence, the negative virtues at 
least were in his power, and though he perhaps could 
not speak well if he was to try, it was «tili easy far hiq} 
not to speakr 



|i 'Qw BAnwBi. nil. m 



laforming thia o|Mliu<« of the eftstne^StOf \ 
they seem to have cooMdered it as o{»pQMd, not tm 
treachery, but loquacity, a&d to have cofiGemd tk^ 
nan whom they thus censured, not frighted by. wm^ 
naces to revea), or bribed by proniises to betmy* hilt 
incited by the mere pie^^ure of taUuBg,or some othff;^ 
.motive equally trifling, to lay open his heart witbo^rt 
reflection, and to let whatever he knew slip fromhimt 
only for« want of power to retain it Whejther^ bf^ 
their settled and avowed scorn of thoughtljetft tolMx^t 
the Persians were able to diffuse to any 0f99X eiMMft 
the virtue of taciturnity, we are hindered by the 4i«^ 
fance of those times from being s^bk to dkcoiMl^ 
there being very few memoirs remaining of the oonffe 
<^f Persepolis, nor any distinct accounts, handed ds9i|> 
to us of their ofBce-clerks> thei^ ladies of the bftdf 
-chamber, their attorneys, their chambermaid^ or 
their footmen. 

In these latter ages, though the old aiumosity 
against a prattler is still retained, it appears wholly 
to have lost its effect upon the Qonduct4f' mankind | 
for secrets are so seldom kept, that it may with sopie 
reason be doubted, wheiiier the ancients were not 
mistaken in their first postulate, whether the quai^ 
of retention be so generally bestowed, and whether 
a secret has not some subtle volatiUty, by which it 
escapes imperceptibly at the smallest vent, or some 
power of fermentation, by which it ei^pands itself, ^ 
as to burst the heart that will not give it way. 

Those that study either the body or the mn^. of 
man, very often find the most specious and plea^i^ 
theory fallmg under the* weight of contrary expert: 
ence ; and, instead of gratifying their vanity by in? 
ferring effects from causes, Uiey arc always reduced 
at last to conjecture causes from effects. Tiat it is 



S4a TtlBmAMBLCfi. fi 

€mftohe aecfet^the specuklist can demonstrate in Ms 
MtMttty and tlierefore tMnks hlflKelf justified in p1a<» 
cteg confidence ; the man of the world knows, thaf^ t 

iHiether diffiealt or not, it is uncommon, and there* 
fere finds himself rather inclmed to search after the 
reason of this universal faihire in one of the most 
Important duties of sooietjr. 

Th^;;;^nity>f being known to be trusted with a f 
aeattt is generally one of the chief motives to dis- / 
dese it ; fi>r towever absurd it may be thought to \ 
kaaat an honor by an act which shows that it was con* 
filrred withomt merit, yet most men seem rather in« 
^ined to confess the want of virtue Ihan of iropor* 
tance, and more willingly show their i£^ence,tIioug& 
' atlfae expeaae of their probity, than glide through 
life witfa no other pleasure than the private conscious* 
nesa of fidelity; which, while it is prieie'rved, must 
be without praise, except from the single person who [ 
. triesandknowait. fi vk V^f^"^*-^ 

There are many^ ways cf telega secret, by which 
a man exempts Mmitelf from the reproaches of hie 
eottseienoe, and gratifies his pride, without suffering 
litihaelf to believe that he impairs hi^ virtue. He 
ffeUa the private affairs of his patron, or his friend^ 
^nly to those firom idiom he would not conceal his 
^wtk ; he tells them to those who have no temptation 
to betray the trust, or with a denunciation of a certaia 
tefeiture of his fnendshipi if he discovers that they 
become public. 

Secrets are very frequently told in the first ardor 
«f Undneas, or of love, for the sake of proving, by 
ao important a sacrifice, sincerity or tenderness ; but 
with this motive, though it be strong in itself, vanity 
concurs, since every man desires to be most esteem- 
ed by those whom ^he loves^ or irith whom he con- 



■CKK KAHaUiB. 



»^43. 






^'i\k 



tersesy with in^m he passes his heurs ei pttmvmi 
gnd to whom he retires ftom busiaess and fi^m 
fare. 

When the discovery of secrets is iHMkj: coRttdeta* 
lion, there is always a distinction carefull)^ to be made 
between our own and«tho8e of another; those ^f 
which we are fully maatersy as they affect mify 
our own interest, and those which are reposited with 
us in trust, and involve the faappipess or coDvenieo^ 
pi such as we have no right to esipose to haaard. 
To tell our own secrets is gejieirally folly, but ihat 
folly is without guilt; to communicate those wUi 
jvhich we are intrusted is always treachery, and 
treachery for the most part combined with folly. 

There have, indeed, been some enthusiaatic and ir- 
rational zealots for friendship, who have nudntyoed* 
and perhaps believed, that one friend has a right to 
all that is in poss^sic^ of another; and that there- 
fore it is a violation of kindness to exempt any secret 
from this boundless confidence. Accordingly a late 
female minister of state* has been shameless enough 
to inform the world, that she used, when she wanted 
to extract any thing from her sovereign, to remind 
her of Montaigne's reasoning, who has determined, 
that to tell a secret to a friend is no breach of fidelity, 
because the number of persons trusted is not multi- 
plied, a man and hiaicund being virtually the same. 

That such a(^lla9p could be imposed upon any 
human understanding, or that an author could have 
Advanced a position so remote from truth and reason, 
any other ways than as a declaimer, to show to what 
extent he could stretch his imagination, and with 
what strength he could press his principle, would 



* Saj^ Outness of Marlborough. C. 



Ill iliMlfc I • ' ■ 



JIM 



1/4.13: 



niESAicrasB. 



ti 



wstcrceljMrt b^en crediblei had not this kdy kintUj^ 
shown us how far weakness may be deluded, or tndo- 
lence amused* But since it appears, that even this so« 
pbistty lias been able, with the help qf a strong desire> 
to repose in quiet l^>on the understanding of anotherj 
to' mislead honest intentions, and an understanding, 
not cmttemptible,* it may nqt be superfluous to re- 
mark, that those things which are common among 
friends are only su^ as either possesses in his own 
xil^t, and can alienate or destroy without injury to 
any other person. Without this limitation, confi- 
dence must run on without end, the second person 
may tell the secret to the third, upon the same prin« 
cipte as he received it from the first, and a third may 
hand it forward to a fourth, till at last it is told in the 
teund of friendship to them frpm whom it was the 
first int ntion to conpeal it 

The confidence which Caius has of the faithfulness 
^f Titius is nothing more than an opinion which 
himself cannot know to be true, and which Claudius,. 
who first tells his secret to Caius, may know to be 
false ; and therefore the trust is transferred by Caius, 
if he reveal what has been told him, to one from 
whom the person originally concerned would have 
withheld it< and whatever may be the event, Caii^s 
has hazarded the happiness of his friend, without 
necessity and without permission, and has put that 
trustin the hand of fortune which was given only t» 
virtue. 

All the arguments upon which a man who is telling 
^e piivate affsdrs of another may ground his con* 
fidence of security, he must upon reflectioo know to, 
be uncertain^ because he finds them without effect 



5.^;^. 



\' -'i ' 



VOL. IV* 



* That of Queen Aane. C» 
7 



74 THE BAMBLElt. STo. ISL 

tipon himself. When he is imagining that Titius 
vilt be cautious, from a regard to his interest, his re» 
putation, or his duty, he ought to reflect that he js 
himself at that instant acting in opposition to all 
these reasons, and revealing what interest, reputatioi^ 
and duty, direct him to conceal. '-'^ 

Every one feels that in his own case he should con^ 
sider the man incapable of trust, who believed him* 
self at liberty to tell whatever he knew to the first 
whom he should conclude deserving of his cob'* 
Science; therefore Caius, in admitting Titius to the 
affairs imparted only to himself, must know that ho 
violates his faith, since he acts contrary to the inten- 
tion of Claudius, to whom that faith was given. For 
promises of friendship are, like all others, useless and 
vain, unless they are made in some known sense, ad- 
Justed and acknowledged by both parties. ^ 

I am not ignorant that many questions may be start- 
ed relating to the duty of secrecy, where the aflTairs 
are of public concern ; where subsequent reasons 
may arise to alter the appearance and nature of the 
trust; that the manner in which the secret was tofd 
may change the degree of obligation, and that the 
principles upon which a man is chosen for a confidant 
may not always equally constrain him. But these 
scruples, if not too intricate, are of too extensive 
consideration for my present purpose, nor are they 
such as generally occur in common life ; and thftugh 
casuistical knowledge be useful in proper hands, yet 
i^ ought by no means to be carelessly exposed, since 
most Will use it rather to lull than to awaken their 
own consciences ; and die threads of reasoning, on- 
which truth is suspended, are frequently drawn to 
such aubtility^ that common eyes cannot perceive; 
8])d eommon sennbility cannot fee| them» 



iirf ' ' — ^^-^ 



Iff. 14 THE RAMBLES. r$ 

The vfaole doctrine, as well as practice of secre- 
cyy is so perplexing and dangerous, that next to him 
ivho is compelled to trust, I think him unhappy ^ho 
is chosen to be trusted ; for he is often involved ii> 
tuples without the liberty of calling in the help of 
any other understanding ; he is frequently drawn into 
guilt, under the appearance of friendship and 
honesty; and sometimes subjected to suspicion by 
the treachery of others, who are engaged without 
his knowledge in the s^^e schemes ; for he that has 
one confidant has generally more, and when he is at 
last betrayed, is in doubt on whom he shall fix the 
crime. 

The rules therefore that I shall propose concern* 
ing secrecy, and from which I think it not safe to de- 
iriatey without long and exact deliberation, are— 
'Never to solicit the knowledge of a secret Not 
willingly, nor without many limitations, to accept 
such confiden<^e when it is offered. When a secret 
is once admitted, to consider the trust as of a very 
high nature, important as society, and sacred as truth, 
and therefore not to be violated for any incidental 
convenience, or slight appearance ofcontrary 
jfitness. 



No, 14. SATURDAY, MAY 5, 1750- 



■ ■ ^ Ml fuU 'unquant / 

Sie dispar MUii"^-^ \ Hojr. 

Sure such a various cieatxue ne'eir was-known. Faamcsi. 

xVmONG Uie many inconsistencies which folly pro- 
duces^^or infirmity suffers^ in the human mind, there 



y 



r6 THE RAMBLEB. No. 2f 

)ias often been observed a manifest aiud striltifig cOn« 
trariety between the life of an author and his writ- 
tings; and Milton, in a letter to a learned stranger, 
by whom he had been visited, with great rei^on con? 
gratulates himself upon the consciousness of being 
found equal to his own character, and having pre* 
served in a private and familiar interview, theit repu* 
tation which his works had procured him. 

Those whom the appearance of virtue, or the evi* 
dence of genius, have tempted to a nearer knowledge 
of the writer in whose performances they may be 
found, have indeed had frequent reason to repeni 
their curiosity ; the bubble that sparkled before them 
has become common water at the touch ; the phan« 
•torn of perfection has vanished when they wished to 
press it to their bosom. They have lost the pleasure 
of imagining how far humanity may be exalted, andf 
•perhaps, felt themselves less inclined to toil up, the 
steeps of virtue, when they observe those who seem 
best able to point the way, loitering^ below, as either 
afraid of the labor, or doubtful of thp reward. 

It h^been long the custom of the oriental mo^ 
narchs^ hide themselves in gardens and palaces^ td^ 
avoid the conversation of mankind, and to be kaowii 
to their subjects only by their edicts. The same'po^ 
licy is no less necessary to him that writes, than to 
him that governs ; for men would not more patiently, 
submit to be taught, than commanded, by one knowik^ 
to have the same follies and weaknesses with them*; 
selves. A sudden intruder into the closet of an au^ 
thor would perhaps feel equal indignation with the 
of&cer, who having long solicited admission into the^ 
presence of Sardanapalus, saw him not consulting^ 
tfoh Ifkws, inquii'bg into grievan^es^ or mpdelUofi 



-'-^-Mii^MiiiMli 



Wo. 14. THE RAMBLER/ Tf 

armies, but employed in feminine amusements, and 
Erecting the ladies in their work. 

It is not difficult to conceive, however, that for 
many reasons a man writes much better jthan he lives. 
For. without entering into refined speculations, it may 
.be shown much easier to design than to perform. 
A man proposes his schemes of life in a state of ab- 
straction and disengagement, exempt from the en- 
ticements of hope, the solicitations of affection, the 
importunities of appetite, or the depressions of fear, 
and is in the same state with him that teaches upon 
land the art of navigation, to whom the sea is always 
smooth, and the wind always prosperous. 
. The mathematicians are well acquainted whh the 
difference between pure science which has to do 
only with ideas, and the application of its laws ^to tlie 
use of life, in which they are constrained to submit 
to the imperfection of matter and the influence of ac- 
cidental Thus, In moral discussions, it is to be 
remembered that many impediments obstruct our 
practice, which very easily give way to theory. Tha 
speculatist is only in danger of erroneous reasoning ; 
but the man involved in life, has his own passions, 
and those of others, to encQunter,vand is embarrassed 
with a thousand inconveniezH:ies^ which confound him 
with variety of impulse,, and either perplex or ob- 
struct his way. He is forced to act without delibera- 
tion, and obliged to chuse befbre he can examine : he 
is surprised bj ftudden alterations of the state of 
tilings, an^changes hi^ msasures according to super- 
ficial ap|>earaiices ;, he is kd by others^ either bC' 
cause: be 4» indolent, or because he is timorousi be 
is somotimea afraid to know what is right, and some- 
|hQue&&id& £p«iidftoif enemies diilgentto deceive lak^ 



We arei tberefbre, not to wonder tiiat most finl» 
Asnidst tumult) and soares, and dan||^r» in the pbsex^ 
•vance of those precepts, whkh they lay down in so* 
JUttdeySafetyt and tranquUiitf) with a mind unbiassedf 
and with liberty unobstructed. It is the condition of 
.our present state to see more than we can attaki i 
the ezactest Tigiiance and caution can never maintain 
•a single day of unmingled innocence, much lesscan 
the utmost efforts of incorporated nund reach the 
summits of speculative virtue. 

It is, however, necessary for the idea of perfedaoiu 
to be proposed, that we may have some object tiv 
which our endeavors are to be directed ; and he 
that is most deficient in the duties of life, makes. 
Hsome atonement for fab fikults, if he warns other* 
against his own &iiings, and hinders, by the salfibritf 
of his admonitions, the contagion of his example. 
• Nothing is more unjnst, however common, thaot 
to charge with hypocrisy him thali expresses seal f^lAr 
those virtues which he neglecu to practise y since he 
may be sincerely convinced of the advantages of con- 
quering his passions, without having yet obtained 
the victory, as a man may be confident of the advan-^ 
tagesofavoyage,orajonniey, wilhont having com* 
rage or industry to undertake it, and may h6iie#d|^ 
recommend to others lliose atxevspts ^hich he iif»» 
gleets himselL 

The interest whicK the corrupt part of mankhwS 
have in hardening themselves ag»nst every motive 
to amendment, has. disposed them to give to these 
contradictions, whe& they can be pvodtteed againet 
.the cause of virtue, that weight .which they will not 
^low them in any oUier t:ase. They see men act ih. 
eppositionto their interesti without enj^Moig thit 



m 



ihty do not know it ; those who give way to the 8ud« 
cUm violence of pasBioa^and Ibraake the most impor* 
tuit pursuits for petty pleaasres, are not supposed to 
have chaaged their opinions, or to approve their own 
. conduct In moral or religious questions alone, ^ey 
^determine the sendmests by the actions, and charge 
every man with endeavoring to impose upon tbft 
W0iid, whose writings are not confirmed by his lilbi 
.They never, consider that themselves neglect or 
practise something every day inconsistently with their 
,ewn settled judgment, nor discover that the conduct 
of the advocates for virtue can little increase, or le8« 
een, the oblig^ations of their dictates ; argument is to- 
be invalidated only by argument, and is in itself of 
the same force,, whether or not it conviiaees him 1^ 
Whom it is proposed. Yet since this- prejudice, how* 
ever unreasonable, is always likely io have some pre* 
valence^ it is the duty of every man to take care lest 
h^ should hinder the efficacy of his own instructions* 
When he desbes to gain the belief of (^ers,. he 
sb<mld show that he believea himself ;. and when ha 
teaf^hes^ the fitness of virtue by his reasonings, he 
ahould, fc^ his example,, prove it» possibility : Thu& 
much at least may be required of him, that be shall- 
not act wwrse than others, because he writes better i 
nor imagine diat, by the merit of his geniiia, he may 
claim indulgence beyond mortals- of the lower clas* 
^aes, and be excused for want of prudence,, or neglect 
ofvirtue» 

BaGion,inlushistory of the wmds, after having o£* 
fered something to the imaglnatim:i aa desirable, o& 
ten proposes, lower advantages in: its pkceto ti» 
teaton as attainable. The same m^hod may be 
sometimes pursued in morah endeavors, which this 
philosopher has obaevved in natural ia<£atries} havrnff 



/ 



ad THE RAMBLEft^ Ko, 14^ 

first set posidve and absolute excellence before us, 
we may be pardoned though we sink down to hum-' 
bier virtue, trying, however, to keep our point always 
in view, and struggling not to lose grounc^ though we 
cannot gain it. 

It is recorded of Sir Matthew Hale, that he, for a 
long time, concealed the consecration of himself ta 
the stricter duties of religion, lest, by some fiagitioutf 
and shameful action, he should bring piety into dis« 
grace. For the same reason it may be prudent fop 
a writer, who apprehends that he shall not enforce his 
own maxims by^his domestic character, to conceal his 
name, that he may not injure them. 

There are, indeed, a g-'^at number whose curiosi- 
ty to gsdn a more familiar knowledge of successful 
writers, is not so much prompted by an opinion of 
their power to improve as to delight, and who expect 
from them not arguments against vice, or disserta-- 
tions on temperance or justice, but flighta of wit, and 
rallies of pleasantry, or, at least, acute reinarks, nice 
distinctions, justness of sentiment, and elegance of 
diction. 

This expectation is, indeed, specious and probable, 
and yet, such is the fate of all human hopes, that it is 
very often frustrated, and those who raise admira* 
tion by their books, disgust by their company. A 
man of letters for the most part spends, in the priva- 
cies of study, that season of life in which the manners 
are to be eoftened into ease, and polished into ele- 
gance ; aikd, when ''he has gahied knowledge enough 
to be respected, baa neglected -the minute^ acts by^ 
which he might have pleased; . A^hen he enters lifi&y ' 
if his temper be soft Bmd timorous, he is diffident and 
iMshfttl, from the knowledge of his defects; orifhot 
imbeimwitlitj^itaiid resohitiniif i» ia fti^aite, 



bn^ts-ai 



Hit. 14^ 7KB RAJMPUA f\ 

and arrogant from the consciousness of his merit ; 
he is either dissipated by the awe of company, and 
unable to recollect his reading, and arrange his argu- 
ments ; or he is hot and dogmatical, quick in opposi- 
tion, and tenacious in defence, disabled by his own 
violence, and confused by his haste to triumph. 

The graces of writing and conyersation are of dif- 
ferent kinds ; and though he who excels in one might 
have been, with opportunities and application, equally 
successful in the other, yet as many please by extem- 
poraiy talk, though utterly unacquainted with the 
more accurate method, and more labored beauties^ 
^hich composition requires ; so it is very possible 
that men, wholly accustomed to works of study, may 
be without that readiness of conception, and affluence 
^ language, always necessary to colloquial entertain- 
ment. They may want address to watch the hint« 
^hich conversation offers for the display of their 
|)articular attainments, oi^ they may be so much unfur- 
iiished with matter on common subjects, that dis- 
course not professedly literary» glides over them a» 
lieterogeneous bodies, without admittbg their con- 
ceptions to mix in the circulation. 

A transition fi*om an author's book to his conversa- 
tion, is too often like an entrance into a large city^ 
after a distant prospect. Remotely, we see nothing 
but spires of temples and turrets of palaces, and ima- 
:^e it the residence of splendor, grandeur, and mag- 
nificence ; but, when we have p««ssed the gates, we 
find it perplexed with narrow passages, disgraced , 
with despicable cott$iges, embarrassed with obstruc* [ 
ttonS} and clouded with fimolie^ 



/ 



No. 15. TUESDAY, MAY 8, 1750. 



Msjor avaritia fatuit «t»«# f ^lea q^t^xid^ 

Oh animot f * *"^* 

What age to ltfg« « crop 4»f yices bore I 

Or when wm avarice extended more ? 

VHien were tbedice with nMHre prof«8ioiitlnownf 

There is no gricTaace, public or private, of 
^hich, since I took upon me the office of a periodical 
monitor, I have received so many, or so earnest coot- 
plainU, as of the predominance of playj of a iatal 
passion for cards and dice, which seems to have ovcr^ 
turned, not only the ambition of excellence, but tho 
£ure of pleasure; to have extinguisbed the flame* 
of the lover, as well as of the patriot; and threaten^ 
in iu further progress, to destroy all distinction^ 
both of rank and sex, to crush all emulation but that 
tf fraud, to corrupt aU those classes of our people 
whose ancestors have, by their virtue, their industry, 
«r their parsimony, given them the power of living ifi 
extravagance, idleness, and vice, and to leave them 
without knowledge, but of the modish games, and 
without wishes, but for lucky hands. 

I have found, by long experience, that there anp 
few enterprises so hopeless as contests, with the 
fashion, in which the opponents are not only ixiado 
confident by their numbers, and strong by their union> 
but are hardened by ewntempt of their antagonist, 
whom they always look upoi^ as a wretch of low no- 
tions, contracted views, mean conversation, and nar- 
row fortune, who envies the elevations which he ca^« 



No. IS* THE RAMBI^R. tS 

not reach, who would gladly imbitter the happiness 
which his inelegance or indigence deny him to par- 
take, and who has no other end in his advice than to 
revenge his own mortification .by hindering those 
whom their birth and taste have set above him, from 
the enjoyment of their superiority, and bringing them 
down to a level with himself. 

Though I have never found myself much affected 
by this ibrmidable censure, which f, have incurred 
liften enough to be acquainted with its full force, yet 
I shall, in some measure, obviate it on this occaaioiii 
by offering very little in my own name, either of argu<- 
ment or entreaty, since those who suffer by this gene- 
ral infatuation may be supposed best able to relate its 
effects, 

*• There seems to be so little Icnowledge lefi in the 
ivorld, and so little of that reflection practised by 
which knowledge is to be gained, that I am in doubt^ 
whether I shall be understood, when I complain of 
want of opportunity for thinking; or whether a con- 
demnadon, which at present seems irreversible, to 
perpetual ignorance, wUl raise any compassion, either 
in yott or your readers : yet I will venture to lay my 
state before you, because I believe it is natural to < 
most minds, to take some pleasure in complsdning of 
jevils, of which they have no reason to be ashamed. 
* I am the daughter of a man of great fortune^ whose 
^ffidence of mankind, and, perlu^s the pleasure of 
continual accumulation, incline him to reside upoti 
his own estate, and to educaft his children in his own 
house, where L was bred, if not with the most brilliant 
examples of virtue before my eyes, at least remote 
cAcuigh from mf incitements to vice i and wanting 



8i THE RAMBLER. iTo. 15. 

neither leisure nor books, nor the acquaintance of 
some persons of learning; in the neighborhood, I en« 
deavored to acquire such knowledge as might most 
recommend me to esteem, and thought myself able 
to support a conversation upon most of the subjects 
which my sex and condition made it proper for me to 
Understand. 

I had, besides my knowledge, as my mamma and 
Viy maid told me, a very fine face, and elegant shape^ 
and with all these advantages had been seventeen 
months the reigning toast for twelve miles round, and 
never came to the monthly assembly, but I heard the 
old ladies that sat by wishing that it might end wcll^ 
and their daughters criticising my air, my features, or 
my dress. 

You know, Mr. Rambler, that ambition is natural 
to youth, and curiosity to understanding, and there- 
fore will hear, without wonder, that I was desirous to 
extend my victories over those who might give more 
honor to the conqueror; and that I found in a country 
life a continual repetition of the same pleasuresi 
which was not sufficient to fill up the mind for the 
present, or liaise any expectations of the future ; and 
I will confess to you, that I was impatient for a sight 
of the town, and filled my thoughts with the discover- 
ries which I should make, the triumphs that I should 
obtain, and the praises that 1 should receive. 

At last the time came. My aunt, whose husband 
has a seat in parliament, and a place at court, buried 
iier only child, and sent for me to supply the loss^ 
The hope that I should so far insinuate myself into 
their favor, as to obtain a considerable augmentation 
to my fortune, procured me every convenience for 
my departure, with great expedition ; and I could not^ 
amidst ail my transports, forbear some indignation to 



No. U. THEBAMBLER- SJ 

see with what readiness the natural guardians of my 
virtue sold me to a state, which they thought more 
hazardous than it really was, as soon as a new acces* 
sion of fortune glittered in their eyes. 

Three days I was upon the road, and on the fourth 
morning my heart danced at the sight of London. I 
was set down at my aunt's, and entered upon the scene 
of action. I expected now, from the age and expe* 
rience of my aunt, some prudential lessonsj but, 
after the first civilities and first tears were over, was 
told what pity it was to have kept so fine a girl so long 
in the country; for the people who did not begin 
young, seldom dealt their cards handsomely, or play- 
ed them tolerably* 

Young persons are commonly inclined to slight the 
remarks and counsels of their elders. I smiled, per-* 
haps, with too much contempt, and was upon the 
point of telling her that my time had not been past 
in such trivial attainments. But I soon found that 
things are to be estimated, not by the importance of 
^ their efiects, but the frequency of their use. 

A few days after, my aunt gave me notice, that 
some company, which she had been six weeks in col- 
lecting, was to meet that evening, and she expected a 
finer assembly than had been seen all the winter. 
She expressed this in the jargon of a gamester, and, 
when I asked an explication of her terms of art, 
virondered where I ha<J lived. I had already found 
my aunt so incapable of any rational conclusion, and 
so ignorant of every thing, whether great or little, 
that I had lost all regard to her opinion, and dressed 
myself with great expectations of an opportunity to 
display my charms among rivals, whose competition 
would not dishonor me. The company came in, and 
after the cursory compliments 'of salutation, alike 

VOL. IV. 8 



86 THE BAKBLEB. Vo. 15. 

easy to the lowest and the highest understanding, 
what was the result ? The cards were broke open^ 
the parses were formed, the whole night passed in a 
game, upon which the young and old were equally 
employed ; nor was I able to attract an eye, or gain 
an ear, but being compelled to play without skill, I 
perpetually embarrassed my partner, and soon per- 
ceived the contempt of the whole table gathering up- 
on me. 

I cannot but suspect, Sir, that this odious fashion is 
produced by a conspiracy of the old, the ugly, and the 
ignorant, against the young and beautiful, the witty 
and the gay, as a contrivance to level all distinctions 
of nature and of art, to confound the world in a chaos 
of folly, to take from those who could outshine them 
all the advantages of mind and body, to withhold 
youth from its natural pleasures, deprive wit of its 
influence, and beauty of its charms, to fix those hearts 
upon money, to which love has hitherto been entitled, 
to sink life into a tedious uniformity, and to allow it 
no other hopes or fears, but those of robbing and be- 
ing robbed. 

Be pleased, Sir, to inform those of my sex who 
have minds capable of nobler sentiments, that, if they 
will unite in vindication of their pleasures and their 
prerogatives, they may fix a time, at which cards 
shall cease to be in fashion, or be left only to those 
who have neither beauty to be loved, nor spirit to be 
feared ; neither knowledge to teach, nor modesty to 
learn ; and who, having passed their youth in vicci 
are justly condemned to spend their age in folly. 
^ I am, Sir, &c. 

Cljsora^ 



Ko. 15. THE RAMBLBB» » 

. Sir, 

Vexation will burst my heart, if I do not give it 
vent. As you pujblish a paper, I insist upon it that 
you insert this in your next, as ever you hope for the 
kindness and encouragement of any woman of taste, 
spirit, and virtue. I would have it published to the 
world, how deserving wives are used by imperious 
coxcombs, that henceforth no woman may marry who 
has not the patience of Grizzel. Nay, if even Griz- 
zel had been married to a gamester, her temper would 
never have held out. A wretch that loses his good- 
humor and humanity along with his money, and will 
not allow enough from his own extravagances to sup- 
port a woman of fashion in the necessary amusements 
of life !— Why does not he employ his wise head to 
make a figure in parliament, raise an estate, and get 
a title ? That would be fitter for the master of a 
family, than rattling a noisy dice-box ; and then he 
might indulge his wife in a few slight expenses and 
elegant diversions. 

What if I was unfortunate at brag ?— should he not 
have stayed to see how luck would turn another time ? 
Instead of that, what does he do, but picks a quarrel, 
upbraids me with loss of beauty, abuses my acquain- 
tance, ridicules my play, and insults my understand- 
ing; says, forsooth, that women have not heads 
enough to play with^ny thing but dolls, and that they 
should be employed in things proporlionable to their 
understanding, keep at home, and mind family affairs. 

I do stay at home, Sir, and all the world knows I am 
at home every Sunday. I have had six routes this 
winter, and sent out ten packs of cards in invitations 
to private parties. As for management, I am sure he 
cannot call me extravagant, or say I do not mind my 



i-MtfMlfc 



.88 THE RAMBLER. No. 15. 

fafnily. The children are out at nurse in villages as 
cheap as any two little brats can be kept, nor have I 
ever seen them since ; so he has no trouble about 
them. The servants live at board wages. M7 own 
dinners come from the Thatched House ; and I have 
never paid a penny for any thing I have bought since 
I was married. As for play, I do tliink I may, indeed, 
indulge in that, now I am my X)wn mistress. Pap» 
made me drudge at whist till I was tired of it ; and, 
«far from wanting a head, Mr. Hoyle, when he had not 
given me above forty lessons, ssdd I was one of his 
best scholars. I thought then with myself, that, if 
once I was at libeity, I would leave play and take to 
reading romances, things so forbidden at our house, 
and so railed at, that it was impossible not to fancy 
them very charming. Most unfortunately, to save 
me from absolute undutifulness, just as I was married, 
came dear brag into fashion, and ever since it has 
been the joy of my life ; so easy, so cheerful and 
careless, so void of thought, and so genteel ! Who 
can help loving it ? Yet the perfidious thing has used 
me very ill of late, and to-morrow I should have 
changed it for faro. But oh ! this detestable to-mor« 
row, a thing always expected, and never found. 
Within these few hours must I be dragged into the 
country. The wretch. Sir, left me in a fit, which his 
threatenings had occasioned, and unmercifully order- 
ed a post-chaise. Stay I cannot, for money I have 
none, and credit I cannot get.— But I will make thp 
monkey play with me at picquet upon the road for all 
I want. I am almost sure to beat him, and his debts 
of honor I know he will pay. Then who can tell but 
I may still come back and conquer lady Packer ? Sir, 
you need not print this last scheme^ and, upon second 



No. la TSPS RAMBLEit «? 

thoughts, 3rou may— Oh, distraction I the post- 
chaise is at the door. Sir, publish what you will, only 
let it be printed without a name. 

No. 16. SATURDAY, MAY 12, 1750. 



' Multis dieendi- copia torrenff 

Et sua mortifera ettjacundi a Juv* 

Some who the depths of eloquence hav&found^ 

In that unnavigable stream were drown'd. De y d e n^ 

Sir, 

X ABC the modest young man whom you favored witBi 
your advice, in a late paper f and, as I am very far 
from suspecting that you foresaw the numberless in- 
conveniencies which I have, by following it, brought 
upon myself, I will lay my condition open before you^ 
for you seem bound ta extricate mc from the perplex* 
ities in which your counsel, however innocent in tlae 
intention, has contributed to involve me.. 

You told me,, as. you thought, to my comfort, that 
a writer might easily find means of introducing hi* 
genius to the world, for the /irea8€s of England vtere 
often. This I have now fatally experienced; the 
press is, indeed,, open.. 

■ Facilis descensus Avernu 

J^octes atque diespatet atrijanua JDitisi Juv, 

The gates of hell are open night and day ;. 

Smooth the descent, and easy is the way* Drydbn*^ 

The means of doings hurt to- oui*aerve3 are always 
at hand. I immediately sent to a printer, and contract- 
ed with him for an impression of several thousands a£ 

a* 



M THE RAMBUBS. Ho. 16, 

my pamphlet. While it wa» at the press, I was sel^ 
dom absent from the printing-house, and continually 
urged the workmen to haste, by solicitations, promi- 
ses and rewards. From the day all other pleasures 
were excluded, by the delightful employment of cor- 
recting the sheets; and from the night, sleep general- 
ly was banished, by anticipations of the happiness 
which eveiy hour was bringing nearer. 

At last the time of publication approached, and my 
heart beat with the raptures of an atithor. I was 
above all little precautions, and in defiance of envy or 
of criticism, set my name upon the title, without suf- 
ficiently considering, that what has once passed the 
press is irrevocable, and that though the printing- 
house may properly be compared to the infernal re- 
gions, for the facility of its entrance, and the difficulty 
with which authors return from it ; yet there is this 
difference, that a great genius can never return to his 
former state, by a happy draught of the waters of ob« 
livion. 

I am now, Mr. Rambler, known to be an author, and 
am condemned, irreversibly condemned, to all the mi- 
series of high reputation. The first morning after 
publication my friends assembled about me ; I pre- 
sented each, as is usual, with a copy of my book. They 
lookedinto the first pages, but were hindered, by their 
admiration, from reading further. The first pages 
are, indeed, very elaborate. Some passages they par- 
ticularly dwelt upon, as more eminently beautiful than 
the rest ;. and some delicate strokes, and secret ele- 
gances, I pointed out to them, which had escaped their 
observation. I then begged of them to forbear their 
compliments, and invited them, I could do no less, to 
dine with me at a tavern. After dinner, the book w«u& 
iresumed -, hut their praises very often so much oves- 



lio. 16. THE RAMBLER. 9t 

powered my modesty) that I was forced to put about 
the glass, and had often no means of repressing the 
clamors of their admiration, but by thundering to the 
drawer for another bottle. 

NeKt morning another set of my acquaintance con* 
gratuiated me upon my performance, with such im- 
portunity of praise, that I was again forced to obviate 
their civilities by a treat. On the third day, I had yet 
a greaternumber of applauders to put to silence in the 
same manner ; . and, on the fourth, those whom I had 
entertained the firtSt day came agsdn, having, in the 
perusal of the remaining part of the book, discovered 
so many forcible sentences and masterly touches, that 
it was impossible for me to bear the repetition of 
their commendations. I therefore persuaded them 
once more to adjourn to the tavern, and chuse some 
other subject, on which I might share in their conver- 
sation. But it was not in their power to withhold their 
attention from my performance, which had so entirely 
taken possession of their minds, that no entreaties of 
mine could change their topic, and I was obliged to 
stifle, with claret, that praise which neither my mo- 
desty could hinder, nor my uneasiness repress. 

The whole week was thus spent in a kind of literary 
revel, and I have n6w found that nothing is so expen-^ 
sive as great abilities, unless thereis joined with them 
an insatiable eagerness of praise ; for to escape from 
the pain of hearing mfrself exalted above the greatest 
names, dead and living, of the learned world, it has 
already cost me two hogsheads of port, fifteen gallons 
of arrack, ten dozen of claret, and five and forty bot- 
tles of champagne. 

I was resolved to stay at home no longer, and there- 
fore rose early and went to the coffee-house ; but found 
that I bad now made myself too eminent for happiness^ 



§f - THE RAMBLSB. Ko. 16, 

Mid that I was no longer to enjoy the pleasure of mix- 
ing, upon equal terms, with the rest of the world. As 
soon as I enter the room, I see part of the company 
raging with envy, which they endeavor to concealt 
sometimes with the appearance of laughter, and some- 
times with that of contempt; but the disguise is such 
that I can discover the secret rancor of their hearts ; 
and as envy is deservedly its own punishment, I fre- 
quently indulge myself in tormenting them with my 
presence. 

But though there may be some slight satisfaction 
received from the mortification of my enemies, yet 
my benevolence will not suffer me to take any plea- 
sure in the terrors of my friends. I have been cau- 
tious, since the appearance of my work, not to give 
myself more premeditated airs of superiority, than 
the most rigid humility might allow, it is, indeed^ 
not impossible that I may sometimes have laid down 
my opinion, in a manner that showed a consciousness- 
of my ability to maintain it, or interrupted the conver- 
sation, when I saw its tendency, without suffering the 
speaker to waste his time in explsdning his sentiments ;. 
and, indeed, I did indulge myself for two days in a cus- 
tom of drumming with my fingera, when the company 
began to lose themselves in absurdities, or to encroach 
upon subjects which I knew them unqualified to dis- 
cuss. Hut I generally acted Mnth great appearance of 
respect, even to those whose atupidity I pitied in my 
Jieart. Yet, notwithstanding thi« exemplary mode* 
ration, so universal is the dread of uncommon powers, 
and such the unwillingness of mankind to be made 
wiser, that I have now for some days found myself 
shunned by all my acquaintance. If I knock at a door, 
no body is at home ; if I enter a coffee-house, I have 
the box to myselL I live in the town like a lion in h»> 



i;ro. 16. THE RAMBLER. 93 

desert, or an eagle on his rock, too great for friend- 
ship or society, and condemned to solitude by unhappy 
elevation and dreaded ascendency. 

Nor is ray character only formidable to others, but 
burdensome to myself. I naturally love to talk with-^ 
out much thinking, to scatter my merriment at ran- 
dom,, and to relax my thoughts with ludicrous remarksl 
and fanciful images ; but such is now the importance 
of my opinion, that I am afraid to offer it, lest, by being 
established too hastily into a maxim, it should be the 
occasion of error to half the nation ; and such is the 
expectation with which I am attended when I am 
going to speak, that I frequently pause to reflect whe- 
ther what 1 am about to utter is worthy of myself. 

This Sir, is sufficiently misenible; but there are 
still greater calamities behind. You must have read 
in Pope and Swift how men of parts have had their 
closets rifled, and their cabinets broke open, at the in- 
stigation of piratical booksellers, for the profit of their 
works ; and it is apparent that there are many prints 
now sold in the shops, of men whom you cannot sus- 
pect of sitting for that purpose, and whose likenesses 
must have been certainly stolen when their names 
made their faces vendible. These considerations at 
first put me on my guard, and I have, indeed, found 
sufficient reason for my caution, for I have discovered 
many people examining my countenance, with a curi- 
osity that showed their intention to draw it ; I imme- 
diately left the house, but find the same behavior in 
another. 

Others may be persecuted, but I am haunted ; I 
have good reason to believe that eleven painters are 
now dogging me, for they know that he who can get 
my face first will make his fortune. I often change 
my wig, and wear my hat over my eyes, by which I 



U THE RAMBLEH. No. Itf. 

hope somewhat to confound them ; for you know it is 
not fait' to sell my face, without admittuig me to share 
the profit. 

I am, however, not so much in pain for ray face ag 
for my papers, which I dare neither carry with mc nor 
leave behind. I have, indeed, taken some measures 
for their preservation, having put them in an iron 
chest, and fixed a padlock upon my closet. I change 
my lodgings five times a week, and always remove at 
the dead of night. 

Thus I live, in consequence of having given too 
great proofs of a predominant genius, in the solitude 
of a hermit, with the anxiety of a raiser, and the cau- 
tion of an outlaw ; afrsdd to show my face lest it should 
be copied ; afraid to speak, lest I should injure my 
character ; and to write, lest my correspondents shouM 
publish my letters ; always uneasy, lest my servants 
should steal my papers for the sake of money, or my 
friends for that of the public. This it is to soar 
above the rest of mankind ; and this representaUcm I 
lay before you, that I may be informed how to devest 
myself of the laurels which are so cumbersome to the 
wearer, and descend to the enjoyment of that quiet^ 
from which I find a writer of the first class so fatally 
debarred. 

MlSSXtLVS. 



Kq. 17. iTHE RAMBLER. 9S 



No. 17. TUESDAY, MAY 15, 1750. 



r non oraeula eertufiiy- 
Sedmois certafadu Lucak. 

Let those weak minds, who live in doubt and fear. 

To juggling priests for oracles repair ; 

One certain hour of death to each decreed. 

My fixt, my certain soul, from doubt has freed. Rowx. 



J.T is recorded of some eastern monarch, that he kept 
an officer in his house, whose employment it was to 
remind him of his mortality, by calling out every morn- 
ing, at a stated hour, Remember^ prince^ that thou 
^halt die ! And the contemplation of the frailness and 
uncertainty of our present state appeared of so much 
importance to Solon of Athens, that he left this pre- 
cept to future ages ; Keefyhine eye fixed ufion the 
end of life, 

A frequent and attentive prospect of that moment) 
which must put a period to all our schemes, and de- 
prive us of all our acquisitions, is indeed of the ut- 
jnost efficacy to the just and rational regulation of our 
lives ; nor would ever any thing wicked, or often any 
thing absurd, be undertaken or prosecuted by him 
who should begin every day with a serious reflection 
that he is born to die. 

The disturbers of our happiness, in this world, arc 
our desires, our griefs, and our fears ; and to all these^ 
the consideraton of mortality is a certain and adequate 
remedy. Think, saysEpicletus, frequently on poverty, 
banishment, and death, and thou wilt then never in- 



f6 THE RAMBUSK. Ko. ir 

dulge violent desires, or give up thy heart to mean 
sentiments, wJ"}/* ahjr^Jt retTFu/Mf ifSv/AJia-fi, tn-t uyacv 

That the maxim of Epictetus is founded on just 
observation will easily be granted, when we reflect, 
how that vehemence of eagerness after the common 
objects of pursuit is kindled in our minds. We re- 
present to ourselves the pleasures of some future 
possession, and suffer our thoughts to dwell attentively 
upon it, till it has wholly engrossed the imagination, 
and permits us not to conceive any happiness but its 
attainment, or any misery but its loss; every other 
satisfaction which the bounty of Providence has scat- 
tered over life is neglected as inconsiderable, in com- 
parison of the great object which we have placed be- 
fore us, and is thrown from us as encumbering our 
activity, or trampled under foot as standing in our way. 

Every man has experienced how much of this ar- 
dor has been remitted, when a sharp or tedious sick- 
ness has set death before his eyes. The extensive 
influence of greatness, tlfb glitter of wealth, the prai- 
ses of admirers, and theuttendance of supplicants, have 
appeared vain and empty things, when the last hour 
seemed to be approaching; and the same appearance 
they would always have, if the same thought was always 
predominant. We should then find the absurdity of 
stretching out our arms incessantly to grasp that which 
we cannot keep, and wearing out our lives in endea- 
vors to add new turrets to the fabric of ambition, when 
the foundation itself is shaking, ^d the ground on 
which it stands is mouldering away. 

All envy is proportionate to desire ; we are uneasy 
at the attainments of another, according as we think 
our own happiness would be advanced by the addition 
of that which he withholds from us 5 and therefore 



Ko. , Vr. TOTE R AMBLEB; W 

^whatever depresses immoderate wishes, will, at the 
same time, set the heart free from the corrosion of 
envy, and exempt us from thSTvice, which is, above 
most others, tormenting to ourselves, hateful to the 
world, and productive of mean artifices, and sordid 
projects. He that considers how soon he must close 
bis life, will find nothing of so much importance as to 
close it well ; and will, therefore, look with indiffer- 
ence upon whatever is useless to that purpose. 
Whoever reflects frequently upon the uncertainty of 
his own duration, will find out, that the state of others 
is not more permanent, and that what can confer no- 
thing on himself very desirable, cannot so much im- 
prove the condition of a rival, as to make him much 
superior to those frood whom he has carried the prize, 
a prize too mean to deserve a very obstinate oppo- 
sition. 

Even grief, that passion to which the virtuous and 
tender mind is particularly subject, will be obviated 
or alleviated by the same thoughts. It will be obvi*- 
ated, if all the blessings of our condition are enjoyed 
with a constant sense of this uncertain tenure. If 
we remember, that whatever we possess is to be in 
our hands but a very little time, and that the little 
wiiich our most lively hopes can promise us, may be 
made less by ten thousand accident^", we shall not 
much repine at a loss, of which ^. c cannot estimate 
the value, but of which, thougb we are not able to 
tell the least amount, we "know, with sufficient cer- 
tainty, the greatest, and ^x^ convinced that the great- 
est is not mueh to be regretted. 

But, if any passion has so much usurped our tJnr 
derstanding, as not to suffer us to enjoy advantages 
with the moderation prescribed by reason, it is not too 
late to apply this remedy, when we find ourselves 

VOh. I?v 9 



n TH£ RAMBLCB. No. If. 

uiikkig HAder sorrow, and inclined to pine lor that 
vrhkh i& irrecoverably Tanithed. We nwf then 
usefully revoWe the uncertainty of our own condition) 
and the folly of lamenting that from which) if it had 
stayed a little l<N)ger, we ahould ourseWes have been 
taken away. 

Wkh regard to the sharpest and most meking sor* 
row, that which aiises iirom the loss of those whom 
we have ioT.ed with tenderness, it may be observed, 
that friendship between mortals can be contracted on 
no other terms, than that one must some lime mourn 
for the other's death: And this grief will atways^ 
yield to the surviTor one consolation proportionate t0 
ids affliction ; for tiue pain, whateverit be, that he him- 
self feela, his friend has escaped* 

Nor is fear the most oTerbearing and resistless ol^ 
all our passions, less to be tempered by this universs^ 
medicine of the mind. The frequent contenii^ation 
of death, as it shows the vanity of all humsm good, 
discovers likewise the lightness of all terrestrial evil, 
which certainly can last no longer than the subject 
upon which it acts ; and accoiding to the old obser-* 
vation, must be shortefs as it is more violent. The 
xxvost cruel calamity* whidil misfortune can produce, 
must, by the necessity of natiire« be quickly at an end. 
The soul cannot long be held in prison, but will fijr 
away, and leave a lifeless body to humsm maJke. 

. "-"-^Ridetque stU ludihria truant. 

^ j^d«)iMiDgnk««k9 the broken IrsmebekMr. . 

The utmost that we can threaten to one another is 
that (^eath, which, indeed, we may precipitate, but caa- 
not retard, and from which, therefore, it canm^ be-. 
come a wise man to buy a reprieve at the expensce of. 



Ho. iZ: XHB RAMBUSK. ^H 

yiftilti Bince he "knows not how small a portion of 
time he can purchase, but kn<9ws^ that ^htther short 
or long) it will be made less valuable by the remem* 
brance of the price at which it has been obtained-— 
He is sure that he destroys his happiness, but is not 
sure that he lengthens his life. 

The known shortness of life, as it ought to mode- 
fate our passions, may likewise, with equal propriety^ 
contract our designs. There is not time for the most 
forcible genius, and most actire industry, to extend 
its effects beyond a certam sphere. To project the 
conquest of the world, is the madness of mightjf 
princes; to hope for excellence in every science, has 
been the folly of literary heroes; and both have found 
at last, that they have panted for a height of eminence 
denied to humanity, and have lost many opportunities 
of making themselves useful and happy, by a vain 
ambition of obtaining a species of honor, which the 
eternal laws of Providence have placed beyond the 
reach of man. 

The miscarriages of the great designs of princes 
are recorded in the histories of the world, but are of 
little use to the bulk of mankind, who seem very little 
interested in admonitions againsf errors which they 
cannot commit. But the fate of learned ambition is 
a proper subject for every scholar to consider; for 
who has not had occasion to regret the dissipation of 
great abilities in a boundless multiplicity of pursuits, 
to lament the sudden desertion of excellent designs, 
upon the offer of some other subject made inviting 
by its novelty, and to observe the inaccuracy and defi-. 
ciencies of works left unfinished by too great an ex-' 
tension of the plan ? 

It is always pleasing to observe, how much more 
our minds can conceive, than our bodies can perform I 



i^" f 



}00 THE BABBLES. Ko. le. 

yet it is our duty^ while we continue In this complica- 
ted state^ to regulate one part of our composition by 
some regard to the other. We are not to indulge our 
corporeal appetites with pleasures that impair our in- 
tellectual vigor, nor gratify our minds with schemes 
which we know our lives must fail in attempting to 
execute. The uncertainty of €Mr duration ought at 
once to set bounds to our designs, and add incitements 
to our industry ; and when we find ourselves inclined 
either to immensity in our schemes, or sluggishness 
in our endeavors^ we may either check, or animate 
Ourselves, by recollecting, with the fiither of physi^ 
that art £$ longy and life u thort. 



No. 18. SATURDAY, MAY 19, irso. 



Jliie matre carentibui^ 
JPrivignit muUer temperat innoettu, 
JVec dotata regit virutn 
Coniunx, nee nitidofidit adultero .* 

io* e*t magna parentunk 
Virtus^ et metuens (UteriuM tori 
Certo /tedere ca^titat, HoKi 

Not there the guiltless step-dame knows 
The baUnful draught for orphans to conposei 

No wife high portioned rides her spouse. 
Or trusts her essenc'd lover's faithless vows : 

The lovers there for dow'ry claim 
The father's virtue, and the spotless fame. 

Which dares not break the nuptial tie. Frakci8« 

X HERE is no observation more frequently made 
by such as employ themselves in surveying the con- 
duct of mankind, than that marriage, though the dic- 
tate of nature^ and the institution of Providence, is 



rrmft, „, ^ i,.. ■ 1 ^ 



yet very often the cause of misery, aod that those who 
enter into that state can seldom forbear to express 
their i^pentance^and their envy of those whom either 
chance or caution hath withheld from, it. 

This general unhappiness has given occasion to 
many sage maxims a^ong the serious^ and smart re- 
marks among the gay ; the moralist and the writer of 
^epigrams have equally shown their abilities upon it j 
some have lamented, and. some have ridiculed it ; but 
as the faculty of writing has been chiefly a masculine 
endowment, the reproach of making the world mise- 
rable has been always thrown upon the women, and 
the grave and the merry have equally thought them- 
selves at liberty to conclude either with declamatory 
complaints, or satirical censures, of female, folly or 
fickleness, ambition or cruelty, extravagance or lust. 

Led by such a number of examples, and incited by 
my share in the common interest, I sometimes ven- 
ture to consider this universal grievance,, having en- 
deavored to devest my hesart of all partiality, and place 
myself as a kind of neutral being between the sexes^ 
"whose clamors being equally vented oo both sides^ 
with all the vehemence of distress, all the apparent 
confidence of justice, and alL the indignation of in* 
jured virtue, seem entitled to equal regard.. The 
men have, indeed, by their superiority of writings 
been able to collect the evidence of many ages, and * 
raise prejudices in their feivor by the venerable testi- 
monies of philosophers, histovianS). and poets> but th^ 
pleas of the ladies appeal to passions of more forcible 
operation than the reverence of antiquity* If thejr 
have not so great namea on their side, they have 
stronger arguments ; it is to little purpose, that So- 
crates, or Euripides, are produced against the sigha 
of softness^ and the tears of beauty. The most frigid 



and inexorable judge would at least staod auspeii4kd 
between equal powers, as Lucan was perplexed in Ifae ^ 
determination of the cause^ where the deities were 
on one side, and Cato on the other. 

But I, who have long studied the severest andnu^st 
abstracted philosophy, have noW) in the cool maturity 
of life) arrived at such command over my passions, 
that I can hear the vociferations of either sex without 
catching any of the fire from those that utter them. 
For I have found, by long experience, that a man will 
sometimes rage at his wife, when in reality his mis- 
tress has offended him ; and a lady complain of the 
cruelty of her husl^md, when she has no other enemy 
than bad cai*ds. I do not suffer myself to be any 
longer imposed upon by oaths on one side, or fits oa 
the other ; nor when the husband hastens to the tavern, 
and the lady retires lo her closet, am I always confi- 
dent that Ibey are driven by their nuseries ; since i 
have sometimes reason to believe, that they purpose 
not ^o much to soothe their sorrows, as to animate 
their fury. But how little credit soever may be given 
to particular accusations, the general accumulation of 
the charge shows, with too much evidence, that mar- 
ried persons are not very o£ben advanced in felicity ; 
and, therefore, it may be proper to examine at what 
avenues so many evils have made their way into the 
' world. With this purpose, I have reviewed the Uvea 
of my friends, %vho have been least successful in con- 
nubial contracts, and attentively considered by what 
motives they were incited to marry, and by what prin* 
ciples they regulated their choice. 

One of the &rst of my acquaintances that resolved 
to quit the unsettled thoughtless condition of abache- 
\ lor, was Prudentius^^ a man of slow parts, but not with- 
out knowledge-or JHdgment in things which he hail 



NoCti. TIfift RAMB^LER. 109 

lebare to conrider graduallf before he determined* 
them. Whenever we met at a tavern, it was his pro- 
yince to settle the scheme of our entertainment, con- 
tract with the cook, and inform us when»we had called 
for wine to the sum originally proposed. This grave 
considerer found, by deep meditation, that a man was 
no loser by marrying early, even though he contented 
himself with a less fortune ; for estimating the exact 
worth of annuities, he found/hat considermg the con* 
stant diminution of the value of life, wkh the probable ' 
fall of the interest of money, it was not worse to have 
ten thousand pounds at the age of two and twenty years, 
than a much larger fortune at thirty f for many oppor- 
tunities, says he, occur of improving money, which if 
a man misses, he may not afterwards recovet. 

Full of these reflections, he threw his eyes about 
him, not in search of beauty or elegance, dignity pr 
understanding, but of a woman with ten thousand 
povnds. Such a woman, in a wealthy part of the 
kingdom, it was not very difficult to find ; and by art- 
ful management with her father, whose ambiticm was 
to make his daughter z gentlewoman, my friend got 
htTy as lie boasted to us in confidence, two days after 
his marriage, for a settlement of seventy-three pounds' 
a year less than her fortune might have claimed, and^ 
less than he would himself have given, if the fools 
had been but wise enough to delay the bargain. 

Thus, at once delighted with the superiority of his 
paiis and the augmentation of his fortune, he carried 
Furia to his own house, in which he never afterwards 
enjoyed one hour of happiness. For Furia was ft 
wl^ch of mean intellects, violent passions, a strong^ 
voice, and low education, without any sense of happi-^ 
ness but that which consisted in eating and counting- 
miney V Furia was a scold. They agreedi in the d««* 



«M VMS EAMBUW ]to &«( 

life of wealth* Imt witK this difiereiice» t^tPrudetih 
tius was for growing rich by gaiO) Furia by pcursimoiix/ 
Pradentius would venture bis money with chances^ 
very much in his £aivor; but Furia very wisely' 
observingi that what they had waS) while they had itt 
their ewity thought all trafiic too great a baaard» and 
was for putting it out at low interest^ upon good secu** 
rity. Prudentius ventured, however, to ensure a shij^ 
at a very unreasonable price, but happening to los^ 
his money, was so tormented with the claniors of hi% 
wife, that he never durst try a second experiment* 
He . has now grovelled seven and forty years under 
Furia's direction^ who never once mentioned hiiQf 
$ince his bad luck, by any other name than that of the, 
enaurer. 

. The next that married from our society was Floren- 
tius* He happened to see Zephyretta in a chariot a|t 
a horse-race, danced with her at night, was con&rme4t 
in his first ardor, waited on her next morning> and 
declared himself her lover. Florentius had not 
luiowledge enough of the world, to distinguish be-^ 
tween the flutter of coquetry and the sprightliness of 
wit, or between the smile of allurement and tha$ 
of cheerfulness. He was soon awaked from his rap* 
tjore, by conviction that his pleasure was but the plea^ 
sure of a day. Zephyretta had in four and twentj 
hours spent her stock of rep^tee, gone round the 
circle of her airs, and had nothing remaining for him 
but childish insipidity, or for herself, but the practice^ 
Qf the same artiflces upon new men. 

Melissus was a man of parts, capable of enjoying and. 
of improving life. He had passed through the vari-r 
ous. scenes of gaiety with that indifference and pos-* 
session of himself, natural to men who have something 
Ugher and not^erin ttieir prospect. Retiring to spend 



Ko. 10. THE RAMBLER. 10/ 

the suminer in a village little frequented, he happened 
to lodge in the same house with lanthe, and was una* 
yoidably drawn to some acquaintance, which her wit and 
politeness soon invited him to improve. Having no 
opportunity of any other company, they were always 
together ; and as they owed their pleasures to each 
other, they began to forget that any pleasure was en- 
joyed before their meeting. Melissus, from being 
delighted with her company, quickly began to be un- 
easy in her absence, and being sufficiently convinced 
of the force of ^er understanding, and finding, as he 
imagined, such a conformity of temper as declared 
ihem formed for each other, addressed her as a lover, 
rfter no very long courtship obtained her for his wife^ 
and brought her next winter to town in triumph. 

Now began their infelicity. Melissus had onlj 
seen her in one scene, where there was no variety of 
objects to produce the proper excitements to contrarj 
desires. They had both loved solitude and reflection, 
where there was nothing but solitude and reflection 
to be^loved ; but when they came into public life, lan- 
the discovered those passions which accident rathe? 
than hypocrisy had hitherto concealed. She was, in* 
deed, not without the power of thinking, but was 
wholly without the exertion of that power, when either 
gaiety or splendor played on her imagination. She 
was expensive in her diversions, |vehement in her 
passions, insatiate of pleasure, however dangerous to 
her reputation, and eager of applause, by whomsoever 
it might be given. This was the wife which Melissus 
the philosopher found in his retirement, and from 
whom he expected an associate in his stupes, and an 
assistant to his virtues. 

Prosapius, upon the death of his younger brother, 
tiiat the family might not be extmct, married his 



10$ 7ti£ RAAIBLBIL Hb. Uk 

housekeeper, and has erer since been compkining^o. 
his friends, that mean notions are instilled into his 
children, that he is ashamed to sit at his own table» 
and that his house is uneasj to him for want of suit* 
able compani<ms. 

Avaro, master of a very large estate, took a woman 
of bad reputation, recommended to him by a rich un- 
cle, who mftde that marriage the tondition on which 
he should be his heir. Avaro now wonders to per- 
ceive his own fortune, his wife's and his uncle's, insuf* 
ficient to give him that happiness which is to be finind. 
only with a woman of virtue* 

I intend to treat in more papers on this important 
article of life, and shall, therefore, make no reflecUoa 
uppn these histories, except that all whom I havo^ 
mentioned failed to obtain happiness, for want of con- 
sidering that marriage is the strictest tie of perpetual, 
friendship ; that there can be no friendship wkhout 
confidence, and no confidence without integrity ; and 
that he must expect to be wretched, who pays to 
beauty, riches, or politeness, tliat regard which only- 
virtue and piety can claim. 



KO.ISS THB&AMBLtHiV tiff 

No. 19* TUESDAY, MAY 32, irso. 



Jbtem te causidicum, dum te modo rhetor a Jinpsf 
Et noM dectrnUi Taure, quid enc tteitt, 
' Peleos & Pmmi transit, v.ei Nestoris <rf ar> 
Et serum fuer at jam Hhi desinere.--^^ 
EJa, age, runtfie moras, quo te spectabinius usque ? 
Dmrt quid sis dubkas, potes esse mhil, Ma.xt. 

To rhetoric now, and now to law indin'c!, 
Unoertaixk wbere to fix thy changing^ mind : 
Old Priam*s age or JsTestor^s may l» out. 
And thou, O Taurus ! still go on in doubt. 
Come lien, how long such wavering shall we see \ 
Thou may'st doubt on : thou xiow o«n'^ npthi»|^ be. 

F. L£WI8« 

It is nevfer without very melancholf reflections, that 
we can observe the misconduct, or miscarriage, of 
those men, who seem, by the force of understanding, 
or extent of knowledge, exempted from the general 
frailties of human nature, and privileged from the 
common infelicities of life. Though the world is 
crowded with scenes of calamity, we look upon the 
general ii^ass of wretchedness with very little regard, 
and fix our eyes upon the state of particular persons, 
whom the eminence of their qualities marks out from 
the multitude ; as in reading an account of a battle, 
we seldom reflect on the vulgar h^jps of slaughter, 
but follow the hero with our whole attention, through 
all the varieties of his fortune, without a thought of 
the thousands that are falling round hhn. 

Wkh the same kind of anxious vejieraUon I have 
for tt«ny years been making observations on the life 
cf Polyphikre, a man whom all hb acquaintances have, 
from his firstappearauceinthe world, feared for the 
quickness of his discernment, ttnd admired for thir 



IM THE RAMBLfiK. n: ti. 

multiplicity df his attainments, but whose progress in 
life, and usefulness to mankind, has been hindered by 
the superfluity of his knowledge, and the celerity of 
his mind. 

Polyphilus was remarkable at the school, for sur- 
l^ssing all his companions, without any visible appli- 
cation, and at the university was distinguished equal- 
ly for his successful progress, as well through the 
thorny mazes of science, as the flowery path of poli- 
ter literature, without any strict confinement to hours 
of study, or remarkable forbearance of the commcm 
amusements of young men. 

When Polyphilus was at the age in which men usu- 
ally choose their profession, and prepare to enter into 
a public character, every academical eye was fixed 
upon him ; all were curious to inquire what this uni- 
versal genius would fix upon for the employment of 
his life ; and no doubt was made but that he would 
leave all his contemporaries behind him, and mount 
to the highest honors of that class in which he should 
enlist himself, without those delays and pauses which 
must be endured by meaner abilities. 

Polyphilus, though by no means insolent or as- 
suming, had been sufficiently encouraged, by unin- 
terrupted success, to place great confidence in his 
own parts ; and was not below his companions iu the 
indulgence of his hopes, and expectations of the as- 
tonishment with which the world would be struck, 
when first his lustre should break out upon it; nor 
coulcf he forbear (for whom does not constant flattery 
intoxicate ?) to join sometimes in the mirth of his 
friends, at the sudden disappearance of tliose, who, 
having shone a while, and drawn the eyes of the pub- 
lic upon their feeble radiance, weij^ now doomed to 
-||^e away before faim. , 



]^9.^}9k THE BAMBUSft. 109 

It is natural for a man to tatch advantageous noUoiis 
of the condition which those with whom he converses 
are striving to attain. Polyphilusy in a ramble to 
London, fell accidentally among the physicians, and 
was so much pleased with the prospect of turning 
philosophy to profit, and so highly delighted with a 
new theory of fevers which darted into his imagina- 
tion, and which, after having considered it a few hours, 
be found himself able to maintain against all the ad- 
vocates for the ancient system, that he resolved to ap- 
ply himself to anatomy, botany, and chemistry, and to 
leave no part unconquered, either of the animal, 
noneral, or vegetable kingdoms. 

He therefore read authors, constructed systems, 
and tried experiments; but, ' unhappily, as he was 
going to see a new plant in flower at dh^lsea, he met, 
in crossing Westminster to take water, the chancel- 
lor's coach ; he had the curiosity to follow him into 
the hall, where a remarkable cau^e happened to be 
tried, and found himself able to produce so many ar- 
guments, which the lawyers had omitted on both sides, 
thkt he determined to quit physic for a profession in 
which he found it would be so easy to excel, and which 
promised higher honors, and larger profits, without 
melancholy attendance upon misery, mean submission 
to peevishness, and continual interruption of rest and 
pleasure* 

He immediately' took chambers in the Temple, 
bought a common»place book, and confined himself 
for some months to the perusal of the statutes, year- 
books, pleadings, and reports ; he was a constant 
hearer of the courts, and began to put cases with rea- 
sonable accuracy. But he soon discovered, by con* 
sidering the fortune of lawyers, that preferment was ' 
not to be got by acuteness, learning, and eloquencewg 

vot. IV. l(> 



110 rmR nJMMvm. igo, w. 

He WW perplexed by the alisttrditles of attorniesy and 
laiiFepresentations made by his clients of th^r own 
causes, by the. useless anxiety of one, and the inces- 
uxA impoimnity of another; he began to repent of 
having devoted himself to a study, which was so nar« 
i^ow in its comprehension, that it could never carry 
his name to any other country, and thought it unwor« 
thy of a man of parts to sell his life only for money* 
The barrenness of his feUow-students forced him 
generally into other company at his hours of entertain^ 
ment, and among the^arietiesof conversation through 
which his curiosity wasdsdly wandering, he, by chaac^ 
mingled at a tavern with some intelUgent ofEcers of 
the army. A man of lettei*s was easily dazzled with 
the gaiety of their appearance, and softened into kind- 
ness by the politeness of their address ; he, there- 
fore, cultivated this new acquaintance, and when he 
saw how readily they found in every place admission 
and regard, and how familiarly they mingled with 
every tank and order of men, he began to feel hUi 
heart beat for military honors, and wondered how the 
prejudices of the university should make him so long 
insensible of that ambition, which has fired so many 
hearts in every age, and negligent of that callings 
which is, above all others, universally and invariably 
illustrious, and which gives, even to the exterior ap- 
pearance of its professors, a dignity and freedom un- 
known to the rest of mankind. 

These favorable impressions were made still deeper 
by his conversation with ladies, whose regard for sol- 
diers he could not observe, without wishing.hiinself 
one of thathappy faternity, to which the female world 
. seemed to have devoted their charms and their kind- 
ness. The love of knowledge, which was still his 
predominant inclination, was gratified by the recitid 



tfli 



of adventures, and accounts oi fbi%ign ee«Mtrie« ; 
and therefore he concluded that there was no vnf of 
Itfe in which air his riews eould so completely con- 
centre «s in that of a soldier. In the art of war lie 
thought it not difficult to eiicel, having observed his 
new friends not very much versed in the principles of 
tasetics or fortification ; he therefore studied all th^ 
ntiilitary writers, both ancient tind modem, and, in 4 
shoit time, could tell how to have gained every re«- 
marlcable battle that has be<»i1ost from the beginnin^^ 
of the world. He often showed at table how Alex- 
ander should have been checked in his conquests, 
mrhat was the fatal error at Pharsalia, how Charles of 
Sweden might have escaped his ruin at Pultowa, and 
Marlborough might have been made to repent his 
V temerity at Blenheim. He entrenchcfd armies upon 
paper, so that no superiority of numbers could force 
^em, and modelled in clay many impregnable fortres- 
ses, on which all the present arts of attack would be 
exhausted without effect. 

PoljTphilus, in a short time, obtained a commission; 
but before he could rub off the solemnity of a scholar, 
-and gain the true air of a military vivacity, war was 
declared, and forces sent to the continent; Here 
Polyphilus unhappily found that study alone woufd 
not make a soldier; for being niuch accustomed to 
^ink, he let the sense of danger sink into his niind, 
and felt at the approach of any action, that terror which 
a sentence of death would have brought upon him. 
He saw that, instead of conquering their fears, the 
endeavor of his gay friends was only to escape them ; 
but his philosophy chained his mind to its object, and 
rather loaded him with shackles than furnished Mm 
with arms. He, however, suppressed his misery in 



nt TtfX BAMBUOt Ko^ t> 

flUeBce, aad pft»cd tliroiigh the campugn inth hooofi 
butlwmd himself utterly unable to support another. 

He tHen h«d recourse again to his books, and con- 
tinued to range from one study to another. As I 
usually vtat him once a month) and am admitted to 
him without pceviouB noHce, I have found him within 
this last half year^ decyphering the Chinese language, 
xnaking a £urce, collecting ayocabuhiry of the obsolete 
terms of the English law, writing an inquiry concern* 
iftkg the ancient Corinthian brass, and forming i new 
sciieme of the variadons <lf the needle.. 

Thua is this powerful genius, which might have 
extended the sphere of any science, or benefited the 
world in any profcsidon, dissipated in a boundlesa 
variety, without profi to others or himself! He 
makes sadden irruptions into the regions of know* 
ledge, and sees all obstacles give .way before him ; 
but he never stays long enough to complete his con^ 
quest, to establish' laws, or hring away the spoils. 

Such is often the folly of men, whom nature hat 
enabled to obtain skill and knowledge, on terms so 
easy, that they have nonsense of the value of the ac- 
quisition; they are qualified to make such speedy pro«- 
greas in learning, that they think themselves at liberty 
to loiter in the way, and by turning aside after every 
new object, lose the race, like Atalanta, to slower 
eempetitors, who press diligently forward, and whose 
force is directed to a single point. 

I have often thought those happy that have been 
fixed, from the first dawn 6f thbught, in a determina-- 
lion to some state of life, by the choice of one whose 
authority may preclude caprice, and whose influence 
may prejudice them in &vor of his opinion. The 
general precept of consulting the genius is of little 



199. tt^ Tm RAMPftUU U$ 

tt9ei utilefts ve ar6 told how the g^niiis ea» be kofitwm 
If it Is to be discovered ooi^ by experimentt life wUl 
be lost before the resolution can be fixed ; if soky other 
indications are to be found, they vtOLji {icrhi^s^ be v«qr 
early discerned. At least if to miscarrjr in an atten^t 
be a proof of having mistaken Uie Erection of the 
genius, men appear not leaafre^entlf deceived vikh 
regard to theqisei ves than to others^ and therefore xm 
one h^s much reason to complain that his life was 
planiied out by his friends, er i» be confident that he^ 
should have had either more honor or faappineasi bf 
being abandoned to the chance of hia own fancy. 
. . It was said of the learned bishop Sanderson, that 
when he was preparing his lectures, he hesitated so 
much, and rejected so often, that, at the time of read* 
ing, he was often forced to produce, not what was 
best, but what happened to be at hand. This will be 
the state of every man, who, in the chiuce of his em- 
ployment, balances all the arguments o& CTery fide ^ 
t|ie complication is so intricate, the motives and ob«- 
jectipns so numerous, there is so much play for tto 
imagination, and so much remains in the power of 
others, that reason is forced at last to rest in neutrali^ 
ty, the decision devolves into the hands of chance,.and 
si'ter a great part of life spent in inquiries, which caA 
i^ever be resolved]^ the rest must often pass in repent- 
ing the unnecessary delay, and caa be useful to few 
other purposes than to warn others against. the same 
folly, and to show, that of two states of lifcj equallf 
consistent with religion and vixtue, he who,choose& 
earliest choosey best. 

10 ♦ 



1» TOE lUMBLEE* Ho. SO; 

No. 20. SATURDAY, MAY 25, 1750. 



4d'popuiufn phalerat, ego te inttts, et in cute novL' 

PERSIV9i 

'Such pftgpeantry be to the people shown ; 

There boast Uiy horae's trappings aod thy own ; 

1 know thee to thy bottom, from within 

Thy shallow centw, to thy utmost skin. Drydew. 

jnLMONG the numerous stratagemSyby which pride 
endeavors to recommend folly to regard, there is 
Scarcely one that "hieets with less success than affec- 
tation, or a perpetual disguise of the real character, 
by ficticious appearances ; whether it be, that every 
man hates falsehood, from the natural congruity of 
truth to his faculties of reason, or that every man is 
jealous of the honor of his understanding, and thinks 
his discernment consequently called in question, 
whenever any thing is exhibited under a borrowed 
form. 

This aversion from all kinds of disguise, whatever 
be its eause, is universally diffused, and incessantly in 
action ; nor is it necessary, that to exasperate detesta- 
tion, or excite contempt, any interest should be in- 
vaded, or any competition attempted ; it is sufficient, 
that there is an intention to deceive, an intention 
Which every heart swells to oppose, and every tongue 
is busy to detect. 

This reflection was awakened in my mind by a very 
common practice among my correspondents, of wri- 
ting under characters which they cannot support, 
wbich are of no use to thb explanation or enforce- 
ment of that whidlfthey describe or recommend ; end 
which) therefore, since they assume theip only for the 



n^^atmta^K^aamm^mmm^ 



N._ 



Nq. Sa* TH£ RAMBLElt lltf 

sake, of dispkying their abilities, I will advise thesA 
for the future to forbear, as laborious without advaa- 
tage. 

It is almost a general ambition of 'those who favor 
me with their advice for the regulation of my conduct, 
or their contribution for the assistance of my under- 
standing, to affect the style and the names of la* 
dies. And I cannot always withhold some expression 
-of anger, like Sir Hugh in the comedy, when I hap- 
pen to find that a woman has a beard. I must there- 
fore warn the gentle Phillis, that she send me no 
.more letters from the Horse Guards ; and require of 
Belinda, that she be content to resign her pretensions 
to female elegance, till she has lived three weeks 
without hearing the politics of Batson's coffee-house. 
I must indulge myself in the liberty of observation, 
that there were some allusions in Chloris's produc-- 
tion, sufficient to show that Bracton and Plowden are 
her favorite authors ; and that Euphelia has not been 
long enough at home, to wear out all the traces of tJie 
phraseology which she learned in the expedition t& 
Carthagena. 

Among all my female friends, there was none who 
gave me more trouble to decypher her true character, 
Uian Penthesilea, whose letter lay upon my desk three 
days before I could fix upon the real writer. There 
was a <;onfusion of images, and medley of barbarity i, 
wh^ch held me long in suspense ; till by perseverance * 
I disentangled the perplexity, and found that Penthe- 
;ul6a is the son of a wealthy stock-jobber, who spends 
his morning under his father's eye in Change- Alleys 
dines at a tavern in Covent-Garden, passes his even- 
ing in the playhouse, and part of the night at a gaming- 
-table, and having leamed the dialdi^ts of these various 
regions, has mingled themall in a studied <;ompo8itiom 



116 Tfitfi UAMBVBSL Kki. SSt. 

When Lcc was once told by a ciilic, that it was 
very easy to write like a madman ; he answered, that 
it was difficult to write like a madman, but easy enough 
to write like a fool ; and I hope to be excused by my 
kind contributors, if, in imitation of this great auUior^ 
I presume to remind them, that it is much easier-uot 
to write like a man, than to write like a woman. 

I have, indeed, some ingenious well-wishers, wha* 
without departing from their sex, have found v^y 
wonderful appellations. A very smart letter has beea 
sent me from a puny ensign, signed Ajax Tehmonius f 
another, in recommendation of a new tretitise upott- 
cards, from a gamester, who calls himself Sesostris : 
and another upon the improvements of the fishery, 
from Dioclesiah : but as these seem enly to have pick- 
ed up their appellations by chance, without ^^eavor* 
ing at any particular imposture, their improprieties 
are rather instances of blunder than of affectation^ 
and are, therefore, not equally fitted to in&une the 
hostile passions ; for it is net folly but pride, not er- 
ror but deceit, which the world means to persecute, 
when It raises the full, cry of nature to hunt down at 
fectation. 

The hatred which dissimulation always draws up« 
«n itself is so greats that if I did not know how ukuch 
cunning differs from wisdom, I should wonder that 
any men have so little knowledge of their own in^ 
terest, as to aspire to wear a mask for life ; to try to im* 
pose upon the worM a character, to which they feel 
themselves void of any just claim; and to hazard* 
their .quiet, their fame, and even their profit, by ex- 
posing themselves to the danger of that reproach^ * 
snalevolence, and neglect, which such a discovery as . 
4hey have always to fear wil^ cert^ily brkig upoa 
them. 



MttatttfriHMMfl! 



No^Sft* TBEBAMBLEfi. 1».^ 

■ It might be imagined, that the pleasure of reputa- 
t)bn should consist in the satis&ction of having our' 
opuiion of our own merit confirmed by the suffrage 
of the public ; and that, to be extolled for a quality, 
which a man knows himself to want, should give him 
no other happiness than to be mistaken for the owner 
of an estate, over which he chances to be travelling* 
Bue he who subsists upon affectation, knows nothing 
of fhia delicacy ; like a desperate adventurer in com* 
merce, he takes up reputation upon tru^, mortgages 
possessifms which he never had, and enjoys to the 
fetal hour of bankruptcy, though with a thousand ter- 
TO» and anxieties, the unnecessary splendor of bor^ 
rowed riches. 

Aflbetnllciti is to be talwAys distmguished fh>m hy« 
poerisy, as being the art of counterfeiting those quali* 
ties wfaidi we might, with innocencd and safety, be 
kntown to want. Thus the man, who, to caiTy on any 
ff^ud, or to conceal any crime, pretends to rigors of 
devotion, and exactness of life, is guilty of hypocrisy ; 
and hb guilt isgreftter, as the ehd, for which he puts 
on the lidse appearance, is more pernicious. But he 
that, with an awkward address, and unpleasing coun- 
tenance, boasts of the conquests made by him among 
the ladies, and counts over the thousands which he ^ 
niight have possessed if he would have submitted to 
the yoke of matrimony, is chairgeable only with affec- ' 
tition. Hypocrisy is the necessary burthen of villa- 
ny, affectation part of the chosen trappings of folly ;' 
the one tompletes a villain, the other only finishes a 
fop. Contempt is the proper punishment of affec- 
tation, and detestation the just consequence of hypo- ' 
crisy. ^ ' 

-With the hypocrite ifis not at present my intention 
to expostulate, though even he might be taught the 



118 THE BAMnUR; Ka SO. 

excellency of virtue, by the necesBity of seeming to 
be virtuous ; but the man of affectsdon m&y, perliaps, 
be reclaimed, by fimfing how littie he is likely to gain 
by perpetual constnont, and incessant vigilance, anA 
how much more securely he might make his way to 
esteem, by cultivating reel) than di^lajmig couinser^ 
feit qualities. 

Every thing fature is to be esdmteted, by a viiae 
man, in proportion to the probt^bilhy of att a ining 1^ 
and its value, when attained ; and neither of these con* 
aiderations will- much contribme to the encourage 
jnent of affectaUm. For, if the fmkSLcltts ot ftm» 
hef at best, slippery, how unsteady must his ioeiasB^ 
be who stands upon pinnaeles without feudalksit If 
praise be made by the inconstancy and malicioit^esa 
.<^ those who must confer it, a blesnng which no man 
can promise himself from the most eonspicnmts merk 
and vigorous industry, how iaint must be tbe hope 6i 
gaining it, when the uncertunty is multiplied by thU 

. weakness ol the pretensions ! He that pursues fimfe 
with just claims, tmsu his happmess to tiie winds; 
but he that endeaY<»s after it by iUse nuritflias to 
iear, not only the violence of the slorm, Imt the lealj» 
of his vessel. Though he shm^ hi^^n to keep 
above water for a time, by the help of a softbreeae, 
and a calm sea, at the first gust he must inevitaUy 
founder, with this melancholy refiection, that, if he 
would have been content with his natural station, he 
might have escaped his calamity. Affectation may 
possibly succeed for a time, and a man may, by great 
attention, persuade others, that he really has. the 
qualities which he presumes to boast; but the hour 
will come when he should exert them, and th€^ 
whatever he enjoyed in praibie) he must suffer iir re- 

, proach. - 



Ko. 21* THE RAMBLES. 119 

' Appbttse and admiration are by no means to be 
counted among the necessaries of life^ and therefore 
any indirect arts to obtain them have very little claim 
to pardon or compassion. There is scarcely any tnan 
without some valuable or improveable qualities; by 
which he mig}it always secure himself from contempt. 
And perhaps exemption from ignominy is the most 
eligiti^le reputation) as freedom from pain is, among 
;iome philosophers, the definition of happiness. 
- If we there^re compare the value of the praiise ob* 
luned bf fictitious excellence^ even while the cheat is 
^t undisQovered) with that kindness which every man 
<may.suit by his virtue» and that esteem to which most 
;l»ea may rise by common understanding, steadily and 
iionestly applied, we shall find that when from the ad- 
«cititious happiness all the deductions are made by 
fear and casualty, there will remain nothing equipon- 
: derant to the security of truth. The state of the posses- 
^rof humble virtues, to the affecter of great excel* 
lencies, is that of a small cottage of stone, to the pa- 
lace raised with ice by the empress of Russia; it was 
tor a time splendid and luminouSf but the first sunshine 
oo&elted it to nothings ^ 

No. 21. TUESDAY, MAY 29, 1750. 



Terra salutifercu herbas, eademque nocenteig 
JiUtrit g If urttcdt pro^ima utpe rota tit. *OvXD. 

Our bane and physic the same earth bestows. 
And near the noisome nettle blooms the rose. 

jii VERY man. is prompted by the love of himself to 
imaginci that he possesses some qualities, superiori 



120 THB RAMBl£R. Ko. 21. 

either in kiod or in degrees to those which he sees al- 
lotted to the rest of the world ; and, whatever apparent i 
disadvantages he may suffer in the comparison with 
•thers, he has some invisible distinctions, some latent 
reserve of excellence^ which he throws into the ba* 
lance, and by which he generally fancies that it is turn* 
ed in his favor. 

The studious and speculative part of mankind air 
ways seem to consider their fraternity as placed in a 
state of opposition to those who are eng^iged in the tu- 
mult of public business ; and have pleased themselves^ > 
from age to age, with celebrating the felicity of their 
own condition, and with recounting the perplexity of 
politics, the dangers of greatness, the anxieties of 
ambition, and the miseries of riches. 

Among the numerous topics of declamation, that ^ 

their industry has discovered on this subject, there is 
none which they press with greater efforts, or on 
which they have more copiously laid out their reason 
and their imagination, than the instability of high sta* 
tions, and the uncertainty with which the profits and , 

honors are possessed, that must be acquired with so 
much hazard, vigilance, and labor. 

This they appear to consider as an irrefragable ar- 
gument against the choice of the statesman and the j 
warrior; and swell with confidence of victory, thus 
furnished by the muses with the arms which never can 
be blunted, and which no art or strength of their ad- 
versaiies can elude or resist. 

It was well known by experience to the nations which 
employed elephants in war, that though by the terror c 

of their bulk, and the violence of their impression, they 
often threw the enemy into disorder, yet there was al- 
ways danger in the use of them, very nearly equivalent 
to the advantage; for if their first charge could bo 



No, n. THE EAMBLEH. 121 

supported, they were easily driven back upon their 
.confederates ; they then broke through the troops be- 
hind them, and made no less havock in the precipita- 
tion of their retreat, UiMi in the fury of their onset. 

I know not whether those who have so vehemently 
urged the inconveniencies and danger of an active life, 
have not made use of arguments that may be retorted 
•with equal force upon themselves; and whether the 
happiness of a candidate for literary fame be not sub- 
ject to the same uncertainty with that of him who go- 
verns provii;ices, commands armies, presides in the 
senate, or dictates in the cabinet. 

That eminence of learning is not to be gained with- 
out labor, at least equal to that which any other kind of 
greatness can require, will be allowed by those who 
wish to elevate the character of a scholar ; since they 
cannot but know, that every human acquisition is va- 
luable in proportion to the difficulty employed in its at- 
tainment. And that those who have gained the esteerai 
and veneration of the world, by their knowledge or 
their genius, are by no means exearlpt from the solicit 
tude which any other kind of dignity produces, may 
be conjectured from the innumerable artifices which 
they make use of to degrade a superi9r, to repress a 
rival, or obstruct a follower; artifices so gross and 
mean, as to prove evidently how much a man may ex- 
cel in learning, without being either more wise or 
more virtaous than^iiose whose ignorance he pities or 
despises. 

Nothing therefore remains, by which the student 
can gratify his desire of appearing to have built his 
happiness on a more firm basis than his antagonist, ex- 
cept the certainty with which his honors are enjoyed. 
The garlands gsdned by the heroes of literature must 
be gathered from summiu equally difficult to climb 

VOL. IV. It 



.1 s^^ 



1S2 TOE RAMBLER. Ko. 21. 

trith those that bear the civic or triumphal wreaths, 
they must be worn with equal envy, and guarded with 
equal care from those hands that are always employed 
i^i efforts to tear tiicm away ; the only remaining hope 
is, that their Terdure is more lasting, and that they are 
less likely to iadeby time, or less obnoxious ^o the 
blasts of accident. 

Even this hope will receive very little encourage- 
ment from the examination of the history of learning, 
or observation of the fate of scholars in the present 
age. If we look back into past times, wefindinnu- 
merable names of authors once in high reputation, 
read perhaps by the beautiful, quoted by the witty, and 
commented on by the grave; but of whom we now 
know only that they once existed. If we consider the 
distribution of literary fiune in our own time, we shall 
find it a possession of very uncertain tenure ; some^ 
times bestowed by a sudden caprice of the public, and 
again transferred to a new favorite, for no other rea- 
son than that he is new; sometimes refused to long la- 
bor and eminent desert, and sometimes granted to 
very slight pretensions; lost sometimes by security 
and negligence, and sometimes by too diligent endea- 
vors to retain it. 

A successful aiithor is equally in danger of the di- 
minution of his fame, whether he continues or ceases 
to write. The regard of the public is not to be kept 
but by tribute, and the remembrance of past service 
will quickly languish, unless successive performances 
frequently revive it. ' Yet in every new attempt there 
is new hazard, and there are few who do not at some 
unlucky time, injure their own characters by attempt^ 
ing to enlarge them. 

There are many pos^ble causes of that inequality 
which we may so frequently observe in the perform- 



No. St THE RAMBLEB. 12$ 

atices of the same man, from the infiuence of which 
no ability or industry is sufficiently secured, and which 
tiave so often sullied the splendor of genius, that the 
wit, as well as the conqueror, may be properly cau- 
tioned not to indulge his pride with too early tri- 
umphs, but to defer to the end of life his estimate of 
happiness* 

— I7?h'«»fl ttmper 
Mitpefttmda dies hotninif dkiqu€ btahu 
Ante ohitum nemo tupremaque funtra debet* 

But no frsl mMi» howcrer jH^at or higb» 

Can be concluded bleat befere be (Uc. ^ Adsxsov. 

Among the motives that urge an author to under- 
takings by which his reputation is impaired, one of 
the most frequent must be mentioned with tendemesSf 
because it ii not to be counted among his follies, but* 
his xniseries. It very often happens that the works 
Gleaming or of wit are performed at the direction of 
those by whom they are to be rewarded ; the writer 
has not afways the choice of his subject, but is com- 
pelled to accept any task' which is thrown before him, 
without m\ich consideration of his own convenience, 
and without time to prepare himself by previous 
studies. 

Miscarriages of this kind are likewise frequently 
the consequence of that acquaintance with the great, 
which is generally considered as one of the chief^ 
privileges of literature and genius. A man who has 
once learned to think hunself exalted by familiarity 
with those whom nothing but their birth, or their for- 
tunes, or such stations as are seldom gained by moral 
excellence, set above him, will not be long without 
aubmitting his understanding t6 their conduct*; he 
will suffer tliem to prescribe the course Of his studies^ 



t24 THE RAMBLEE. No. 31. 

and employ him for their own purposes, either of di- 
version or interest. His desire of pleasing those 
whose favor he has weakly made necessary to himself, 
will not suffer him always to consider how little he is 
qualified for the work imposed. Either his vanity 
will tempt him to conceal his deficiencies, or that 
cowardice, which always encroaches fast upon such 
as spend their lives in the company of persons higher 
than themselves, will not leave him resolution to as- 
sert the liberty of choice. 

But, though we suppose that a man by his fortune 
can avoid the necessity of dependence, and by his 
spirit can repel the usurpations of patronage, yet he 
may easily, by writing long, happen to write ill. 
There is a general succession of events in which con- 
traries are produced by periodical vicissitudes ; labor 
and care are rewarded with success, success produces 
confidence, confidence relaxes industry, and negli- 
gence ruins that reputation which accuracy had 
raised. 

tie that happens not to be fulled by praise into su- 
pineness,may be animated by it to undertakings above 
his strength, or-incked to fancy himself alike quali- 
ikd for every kind of composition, and able to comply 
•with the public taste through all its variations. By 
some opinion like this, many men have been engaged, 
at an advanced age, in attempts which they had not 
lime to complete, and after a few weak efforts, sunk 
into the grave with vexation to see the rising genera- 
tion gain grou;nd upon them. From these failures 
the highest genius is not exempt; that judgment 
which appears so penetrating, when it is employed 
upon the works of others, very often fails where in- 
terest or passion can exert their power. We are 
blinded in examining our own labors by innumerable 



prejudices. Oar juvenile compositions please U8» 

because they bring to our minds the remembrance of 
youth ; our later performances we are ready to esteem, 
because we are unwilling to think that we have made 
ao improvement i what flows easily from the pea 
charms us, because we read with pleasure that which 
flatters otr opinion of our own powers ; what was 
composed with great struggles of the mind we do 
not easily reject^ because we cannot bear that so 
much labor should be fruitless. But the reader 
has none of these prepossessions, and wonders that 
the author is so unlike himself, without considering 
that the same soil will, with different culture, afford 
different products. 

No. 32. SATURDAY, JUNE 2, 175a- 



— £^a nee ttudium tine <&vite vend^ ^ 

JVec rude quid prosit video ingenium, alterius nc 
'■ ^tefapo9citopemreM,€0Conjurata7niee» Hor.% 

Without a genius learning soars in vain ; 
And without learning genius sinka again ; 
Their force united crowns the sprightly reign, _ 

Elphxmstok. 

W IT and Learning were the children of Apollo, 
by different mothers ^ Wit was the offspring of JSu- 
phrosyney and resembled her in cheerfulness and vivar 
city ; Learnings was borne of Sofihiay and retained her 
seriousness and caution. As their mothers wer0 
rivals, they were bred up by them from their birth in 
habitual opposition, and all means were so incessantly 
employed to impress upon them a hatred and con- 



1^ THE RAMBLBR. Ho. Oft 

temyt af ifddb otber^ that though Aprilo, who foreiiaw 
the ill effects of their discord, endeavored to sof^ea 
them, by dividing his regard equally between them, 
yet his im{wirtiality and kindness were withoutefiect; 
the maternal animosity was deeply rooted, hanog been 
intermingled with their first ideas, and was confirmed 
evciry hour> as fresh opportunities occurred of exert- 
ing it. No sooner were they of age to be received 
into the apartments of the other celestials, than Wit 
began to entertain Venus at her toilet, by aping the 
solemnity of Leaming^y and Learning to divert Mi- 
nerva at her loom, by exposing the blunders and ig^ 
noranceof Wit. 

Thus they grew up, with malice perpetually in- 
creasing, by the encouragement which each received 
from those whom their mothers had persuaded to 
patronise and support them ; and longed to be admit- 
ted to the tsd)le of Jupiter, not so much for the hope 
of gaining honor, as of excluding a rival from all pre- 
tendons to regard, and of putting an everlasting stop 
to the progress of that mfluence whioh either believed 
the other to have obtained by mean arts and false ap- 
pearances. 

At last the day came, when they wereboth, with the 
usual solemnities, received into the class of superior 
deities, and allowed to take nectar from the hand of 
Hebe. But from that hour Concord lost her authority 
at the table of Jupiter. The rivals, animated by tbetr 
new dignity, and incited by the alternate applauses 
of the associate powers, harassed each other by in- 
cessant contests, with such a regular vicissitude of 
viciory, that neither was depressed. 

It was observid>le, that, at the beginiiing of every 
debate, the advantage was on the side of WU; and that, 
lit the first sallies, the whole assembly sparkted^ ac* 



•^ I fi i iiiiMto— i^M^iiMlfc^l 



cording t9 Homer's expressiori, withunextiAguisliaMe 
merriment But Learning would reserve ber strength 
till the burst of applause was over, and the languor 
with which the violence of joy is always succeeded, be-» 
f;an to promise more calm and patient attention. She* 
Ihen attempted her defence, and, by comparing one 
part of her antagonist^ objections with another, com* 
monly made him confute himself; or, by showing how 
small a part of the question he had taken into his view^ 
proved that his opinion could have no weight. The 
audience began gradually to lay aside their preposses- 
sions, and rose, at last, with great veneraUon for 
Learnings but with greater kindness for IVit. - 
' Their conduct was, whenever they desired to re- 
commend themselves to distinction, entirely opposite. 
Wit was daring and adventurous ; Learning cautious 
and deliberate. Wit thought nothing reproachful 
but dulness ; Learning was afraid of no imputation 
but that of error. Wit an&wered before he under- 
stood, lest his quickness of apprehension should be 
iques^oned; Learning paused, where there was no 
difficulty, lest any insidious sophism should lie undis- 
covered. Wit perplexed every debate by rapidity 
and confusion ; Learning tired the hearers with en^- 
less^ distinctions, and prolonged the dispute without 
advantage, by proving that which never was denied. 
• Wit^ in hopes of shining, would venture to produce 
wlmt he had not considered, and often succeeded be- 
yond his own expectation) by f&llowing the train of a 
lucky thought ; Learning would reject every new no- 
tion^ for fear of being entangled inconsequences which 
she could not foresee, and was often hindered, by her 
caution, from pressing her advantages^ and sub^ung 
her opponent 



•d tbeir progroM t^iHMrdt pc»ifectim» |M&4 left tbem, 
c^Q to Attacks. Novd^ iras ikt d^xUng of ITtY,. 
aad aat^iititjr of Lct^rmmg. To FTir, aU Ui«l was^ 
Heir was speckHis ; t» Learr^ngi whatever waa an- 
cient was TeiieraUe* Wit however seldom faUed, 
to divert those whom he could not eonvmce,.aiid to* 
QOQvince waa not often his ambition; Learning' 
always supported her opinion with so many collateral 
truUiS) that) when the cause was decided against her^. 
her arguments were rememti^red with admiration* 

Nothing was more common> on either sidcy than tQ> 
quit their proper characters, and to hope for a com* 
plete conquest by the use of the weapons wUch bad 
been employed against them. Wit would sometime^ 
labor a syliogismj and X^arntnjr distort her feature^ 
with a jest; but they always suffered by the experi- 
ment»^and betrayed t&emselves to confutation or con^ 
tempt. The seriousness of Wit was without dignity^ 
and the merriment of Learning without vivacity. 

Their contests, by long continuance, grew at las| 
important, and the divinities broke into parties. Wi$ 
was taken into protection of the laughter-loving 
t^enus, had a retinue allowed him of Smilea and Jeetsy 
and was often permitted to dance among the Graces, 
Learning still continued the &vorite of Minerva, and 
seldom went out of her palace, without a train of the 
severer virtues, Cha^tUy^ Temperance^ Fortitude^ and 
Labor. Witj cohabiting with Malice^ had a son name4 
Satyr^ who followed him, carrying a quiver filled with 
poisoned arrows^ which, where they once drew bloodj 
could by no skill ever by extracted. These arrows 
he frequently shot at Learnings when she was most 
earnestly or usefully employed^ engaged in abstruse 



No. 22/' THE RAMBLER? 15? 

inquiries, or giving instructions to her followers. 
Minerva therefore deputed Criticism to her aid, who 
generally broke the point of Satyr's arrows, turned 
them aside, or retorted them on himself. 

Jupiter was at last angry that the peace of thehea- ' 
vfcnly regions should be in perpetual danger of viola-' 
tion, and resolved to dismiss these troublesome anta- 
gonists to the lower world. Hither therefore they 
came, and carried on their ancient quarrel among 
mortals, nor was either long without zealous votaries.' 
Wit, by his gaiety captivated the young ; and Learning'^ 
by her authority, influenced the old. Their power 
quickly appeared by very eminent effects, theatres 
were built for the f'eception of Wit; and colleges en- 
dowed for the residence of Learning-. Each party en- 
deavored to outvie the other in cost and magnificence,' 
and to propagate an opinion, that it was necessary, 
from the first entrance into life, to enlist in one of the 
factions ; and that none c^uld hope for the regard of 
either divinity, who had once entered the temple of the 
rival power. - 

There were indeed a class of mortals, by whom 
Wit and Learning were equally disregarded: they 
were the devotees of Plutus, the god of riches; among 
these it seldom happened that the gaiety of Wit could 
raise a smile, or the eloquence of Learning procure 
attention. In revenge of this contempt they agreed 
to incite their followers against them ; but the forces 
that were sent en those expeditions frequently betray- 
ed their trust ; and, in contempt of the orders which 
they had received, flattered the rich in public,, while 
they scorned them in their hearts ; and when, by this 
treachery, they had obtained the favor of Plutus, affect- 
ed to look with an air of superiority on those who still 
remained in the service of Wit and Learning, 



U--^ 



ISt THE BAMBLBR. Ho. 22. 

Di8gusted.mth these desertioDB, the two rivals, at 
the same time, petitioned Jupiter for re-admission to 
Aeir native habitations. Jupiter thundered on the 
right hand, and they prepared to obey the happy sum- 
mons. Wit readily spread his wings and soared aloft, 
but not being fd>le to see far, was bewildered in the^ 
pathless immenuty of the ethereal spaces. Learnings 
who knew the way, shook her pinions ; but for want of 
natural vigor could only take short flights : so, after, 
many effbrts, they both sunk again to the ground, and 
learned, from their mutual dbtress, the necessity of 
union. They therefore joined their hands, and renews 
ed their flight ; Learning was borne up by the vigor o£ 
Wit J and Wit guided by the perspicacity ei Learnings 
They soon reached the dwellings of Jupiter, and were 
so endeared to each other, that they lived afterwards 
in perpetual concord. ITt/ persuaded Learning to 
converse with the Orace^^ and Learning engaged Wit 
in the service of the Virtue9* They were now the &- 
vorites Of all the powers of heaven, and gladdened 
every banquet by their presence. They soon after 
married, at the command of Jupiter, and had a numer- 
ous jMTOgeny of ^rta and Sciences. 

No. 23. TUESDAY, JUNE 5, 1750* 



Trt^ miki CBfwivtt prope dusentirt 'oidentun 

Jfiptfcentur vario multum divena potato. Ho a- 



Three ^ests I have, dissenting at my feast. 

Requiring each to gratify his taste 

Wkh difiereiit food. Fsancis. 

JL HAT every man should regulate his actions by his 
own conscience, without any regard to the opimonaof 



^o. ^. THE RAMBLES. 3UU 

the rest of the world. Is one of the first precepts of 
moral prudence ; justified not only by the suiTrage of 
reason, which declares that none of the gifts of heaven 
are to lie useless, but by the voice likewise of expe« 
rience, which will soon inform us that if we make the' 
praise or blame of others the rule of our conduct, we 
shall be ^stracted by a boundless vaiiety ^f irrecon- 
cileable judgments, be held in perpetual suspense 
between contrary impulses, and consult for ever withf- 
out determination. 

I know not whether, for the same reason, it is not 
necessary for an author to place^some confidence in his 
own skill, and to satisfy himself in the knowledge that 
he has not deviated from the established laws c^ com- 
position, without submitting his worka to frequent ex- 
aminations before he gives them to the public, or en- 
deavoring to secure success by a solicitous conformity 
to advice and criticism. 

It is, indeed, quickly discoverable, that consultation 
and compliance can conduce little to the perfection of 
any literary performance ; for whoever is so doubtful 
of his own abilities as to encourage the remarks of 
others, will find himself every day embarrassed with 
new difficulties, and will harass his mind, in vun, with 
the hopeless labor of uniting heterogeneous ideas, di« 
gesting independent hints, and collecting into one 
point the several rays of borrowed light, emitted often 
with contrary directions. 

Of all authors, those who retail their labors in pe- 
riodical sheets would be most unhappy, if they were 
much to regard the censures or the admonitions of 
their readers : for, as their works are not sent into th^ 
worldatonce,butby small parts, in gradual succession, 
it is always imagined by those who think themselves 
qualified to giye instructions} that they may yet redeem. 



\. _. 



13S THE RAMBLES* Ko. ^. 

their former failings by hearkening to better judges, 
apd supply the deficiencies of their plan by the help 
of the criticisms which are so liberally afforded. 

I have had occasion to observe, sometimes with 
vexation, and sometimes with merriment, the differei^ 
temper with which the same man reads a printed and 
manuscript performance. When a book is once in 
the hands of the public, it is considered as permanent 
and unalterable ; and the rea4er, if he be free from 
personal prejudices^ takes it up with no other inten- 
tion than of pleasing or instructing himself : he ac- 
commodates his mind Jto the author's design ; and, ha- 
ving no interstin refusing the amusement that is 
offered him, never interrupts his own tranquillity by- 
studied cavils, or destroys his satisfactions in that 
which is already well, by an anxious inquiry how 
it might be better ; but is often contented without plea- 
sure, and pleased without perfection. 

But if the same man be called to consider the me- 
rit of a production yet unpublished, he brings an 
imagination heated with objections to passages which 
he has yet never heard; he invokes all the powers of 
criticism, and stores his memory with Taste and 
Grace, Purity and Delicacy, Manners and Unities, 
sounds which, having been once uttered by thpse that 
understood them, have been since re-echoed without 
meaning, and kept up to the disturbance of the world, 
by a constant repercussion from one coxcomb to 
another. He considers himself as, obliged to show, 
by some proof of his abilities^ that he is not consulted 
to no purpose, and therefore watches every opening 
for objection, and looks round for every opportunity 
to propose some specious alteration. Such opportu- 
nies a very small degree of sagacity will enable him 
to find i for, in ^ycty worl^ of imagination, t}ie dispo- 



No. 3i THE GAMBLER. l33 ' 

sltibii of parts, the insertion of incidents, and use of 
decorations, may be varied ai thousand ways with equal 
propriety ; and as in things nearly equal, that will al« 
ways seem best to erery man which he himself pro- 
duces ; Uie critic, whose btisiness is only to prdpose, 
without the care of execution, can never want the 
satisfaction of believing that he has suggested very 
important improvements, nor the power of enforcing 
his advice by arguments, which, as they appear con- 
vincing to himself, either his kindness or his vanity 
will press obstinately and Importunately, without sus- 
picion that he may possibly judge too hastily in 
favor of his own advice, or inquiry whether the 
advantage of the" new scheme be proportionate to the 
labor. 

It is observed by the younger Pliny, that an orator 
ought riot so much to select the strongest arguments 
which his Cause admits, as to employ all which his 
imagination csoi^ afford : for, in pleading, those rea- 
sons are of most value, which will most affect the 
judges ; and the judges, says he, will be always most 
touched with that which they had before conceived. 
Every man who is called to give hb opinion of a per- 
formance, decides upon the same principle ; he first 
sufTers himself to form expectations, and then is angry 
at his disappointment. He lets his imagination rove 
at large, and wonders that another, equally unconfined 
in the boundless ocean of possibiUty, takes a different 
course. 

But, though the rule of Pliny be judicioifsly laid 
down, it is not applicable to the writer's cause, because 
there always lies an appeal from domestic criticism to 
a higher judicature, and the public, which is never 
corrupted, nor often deceived, is to pass the last squ* 
tence upon literary claims. 

vot. IV. It 



1^4 THE RAMBLEB. iTo. 23; 

Of the great foree of preconceived opxniohs I bad 
Wiany proofs, vhen I first entered upon this weekly 
labor. My readers having, from the performances of 
my predeceasors, established an idea of unconnected 
essays', to which they believed all future authors un-» 
der a necessity of conforming, were impatient of the 
least deviation from their system, and numerous re« 
monstrances were accordingly made by each» as he 
fbund his favourite subject omitted or delayed. Some"^ 
were angry that the Ramblsh did not, like the SfeC" 
TATOB, introduce himself to the acquaintance of the 
public, by an account of his own birth and studies, an 
enumeration of his adventures, and a description of 
his physiognomy. Others soon began to remark that 
he was a solemn, serious, dictatorial writer, without 
sprightliness or gaiety, and called out with vehemence 
for mirth and humor. Another admonished him to 
have a special eye upon the various clubs of this great 
city, and informed him that much of the Spectator's 
vivacity was laid out upon such assemblies. He has 
been censured for not imitating the politeness of his 
predecessor^, having hitherto neglected to take the 
ladies under his protection, and give them rules for 
the just opposition of colors, and theproper dimen- 
sions of ruffles and pinners. He has been required 
by one to fix a particular censure upon those matrons 
who play at cards with spectacles : and another is very 
much oiTended whenever he meets with a speculation 
in which naked precepts are comprised without, the 
iSlustm^on of examples and characters. 

I m|ke not the least question that all these monitors 

intend the promotion of my design, and the instruc- 

, tion of my readers ; but they do not know, or do not 

reflect, that an author has a rule of choice peculiar to 

himself; and selects those subjects which he is be$t 



No. 24 THE RAMBLER. 135 

qualified to treaty by tl>e course of his fttudies, or the 
accidents of his iife ; that some topics of amusement 
have been already treated mrilh too much success to 
invite a competition ; and that he who endeavors to 
gain many readers must try various arts of invitation^ 
essay ^ very avenue of pleasure^ and make frequent 
changes in his methods of approach. 

I cannot but consider myself, amidst this tumult of 
criticism, as a ship in a poetical tempest, impelled at 
the same time by opposite winds, and dashed by the 
waves from every quarter, but held upright by. the 
contrariety of the assailants^ and secured in some 
measure, by multiplicity of distress. Hud the opinion 
of my censurers been unanimous, it might perhaps 
have overset my resolution ; but since I find them al 
variance with each other, I can, without scruple, ner* 
gleet them, and endeavor to gain the favor of the pub^ 
lie by fc^lowitig the direction of. my own reason, and 
indulging' the sallies of my own imagination; 



No. 24. SATURDAY, JUNE 9, 1750. 

JS/hm^ in use tentat de^ctndfre* Psas z c s. 

None, none descends into him self. D v y b e jt. 

XTLMONG the precjppts, or aphorisms, admitted by 
general consent, and inculcated by frequent repeti- 
tion, there is none more famous among the masters 
of ancient wisdom, than that compendious lesson, 
TvSB't ceetvfhv. Be acquainted nvith thyself ; ascribed 
by some to an oraclci and by others to Chilo of Lacc- 
demon. 



136 THE RAMBi£Il. No. 24. 

Xhis is, indeed, a dictate, wbich, in tke whole ex- 
tent of its meaning, may be said to comprise ail the 
speculation requisite to a moral agent. For what 
more can be necessary to the regulation of life, than 
the knowledge of our original, our end, our dutiesi^ 
and our relation to other beings i 

It is however very improbable that the first autlior, 
whoever he was, intended to be understood in thisun*- 
limited and complicated sense ; for of the inquiries, 
which in so large an acceptation it would seem to re- 
commend, some are too extensive for the powers of 
man, and some require light from above, which was 
Dotf yet indulged to the heathen world. « 

We might have had more satb&ction concerning 
the original import of this celebrated sentence, if 
history had informed us, whether it was uttered as a 
general instruction to mankind, or as a particular 
caution to some private inquirer ; whether it was ap* 
plied to some single occasion, or laki down as the uni- 
versal rule of life. 

There will occur, upon the slightest consideration, 
many possible circumstances, in which this monition 
might very properly be enforced : for every error in 
human conduct must arise from ignorance in our- 
selves, either perpetual or temporary ; and happen 
either because we do not know what is best and fittest, 
or because our knowledge is at the time of action not 
present to the mind. 

When a man employs himself upon remote and un- 
necessary subjects, and wastes his life upon questions 
which cannot be resolved, and of which the solution 
would conduce very little to the advancement of hap- 
piness ; when he lavishes his hours in calculating the 
weight of the terraqueous globe, or in adjusting suc- 
cessive systems of worlds beyond the reach of the 



Kb. 9i "^HE RAMBLER. 137 

telescope ; he may t^e very properly recalled from his 
excursions by this precept, and reminded, that there 
is a nearer beings with which it is his duty to be more 
acquainted ; and from which his attention has hither- 
to been witWield by studies to which he has no other 
motive than vanity or curiosity. 

The great pndse of Socrates is, that he drew the 
wits of Greece, by his instruction and example, from 
the vain pursuit of nattrral philosophy to moral inqui- 
ries, and turned their thoughts from stars and tides> 
and matter and motion, upon the various modes of 
virtue, and relations of life. All his lectures were 
but- commentaries upon this saying ; if we suppose 
the knowledge of ourselves, recommended by Chilo, 
IB opposition to other inquiries less suitable to tho 
atateof man;. 

. The great &ult of men of learning is still, that 
they offend against this rule, and appear willing to 
study- any thing rather than themselves ; for which 
reason they are often despised by those with whom 
tl|sy imagine themselves above comparison ; despi^ 
aed^ as useless ta common purposes, as unable to con^ 
duct the moat trivial affairs, and unqualified to per* 
form those ofi&ces by which the concatenadon of so^ 
ciety is preserved, and mutual tenderness excited and 
maintained* 

Gelidus is a man of great penetration and deep re* 
searches. Having a mind naturally formed for the 
abstruser sciences^he can comprehend intricate com- 
binations without confusion, and being of a temper 
naturally cool and equal, he is seldom interrupted by 
his passions in the pursuit of the longest chain of un* 
expected consequences. He has, therefore, a long^. 
time indulged hopes, that the solution of some pro* . 
blema> by which the professors of science have been 
12 * 



13S THE RAMBIEB. No. U, 

hitherto baffled, k reserved for his genius and indas« • 
try. He spends his time in the highest room of his 
house, into which none of his family are suffered to 
enter ; and when he comes down to his dinner, or 
lus rest, he walks about like a stranger that is there 
only for a day, without any tokens of regard or ten- 
derness. He has totally devested himself of all hu- 
I man sensations ; he has neither eye for beauty, nor 
ear for complaint ; he neither rejoices at the good 
fortune of his nearest friend, nor mourns for any pub* 
lie or private calamity. Having once received a let* 
ter, and given it to his servant to read, he was inform- 
ed, that it was written by his brother, who, being ship* 
wrecked, had swam naked to land, and was destitute ' 
of necessaries in a foreign country. Naked and desti- 
tute i says Gelidus, reach down the last volume of 
meteorological observations, extract an exact account 
of the wind, and note it carefully in the diary of the 
weather. 

The family of Gelidus once broke into his study^ 
to show him that a town at a small* distance was dn 
fire, and in a few moments a servant came to tell him} 
that the flame had caught so many houses on both 
sides, that the inhabitants were confounded, and begaft 
to think of rather escaping with their lives^:tha» 
saving their dwellings. What you tell me, says Ge- 
lidus, is very probable, for fire naturally acts in a 
circle. 

Thus lives this great philosopher, insensible to 
every spectacle of distress, and unmoved by the 
loudest call of social nature, for want of considering 
that men arc designed for the succour and comfort of 
each other ; that though there are hours which may 
be laudably spent upon knowledge not immediately 
useful, yet the first attention is due to practibcal virtue ; 






No. 84» THE RAMBLER; 139 

anil that he may be justlf driven out froiti tlie cont* 
merce of mankindi. who has so far abstracted himself 
from the species, as to partake neither of the joys nor 
griefs of others^but neglects the endearments of his 
YfUCf and the caresses of his children, to count the 
drops of rain, note the changes of the wind, and cal* 
culate the eclipses of the moons of Jupiter. 

I shall reserve to some future paper the religious 
and important meaning of this epitome of wisdom* 
and only remark^ that it may be applied to the gay 
and light, as well as to the grave and solemn parts of 
life ; and, that not only the philosopher may forfeit his 
pretences to real learning, but the wit and beauty may 
miscarry in their schemes, by the want of this univer- 
sal requisite, the knowledge of themselves. 

It is surely for no other reason, that we see such 
numbers resolutely struggling against nature, and 
contending for that which they never can attain, enr 
deavouring to unite contradictions, and determined to 
excel in characters inconsistent with each other ; that 
stock-jobbers affect dress, gaiety, and elegance, and 
znathematicians labor to be wits; that the soldier 
teases his acquaintance with questions in theology, 
and the academic hopes to divert the ladies by a reci- 
tal of hia gallantries. That absurdity of pride coul(i 
proceed only from ignorance of themselves, by which 
Garth attempted criticism, and Congreve waived his 
title to dramatic reputation, and desired to be consi- 
dered only as a gentlem^. 

Euphues, with great parts, and extensive know* 
ledge, has a clouded aspect, and ungracious form^ 
yet it has been his ambition, from his first entrance 
into life^ to distinguish himself by particularities in 
his dress, to outvie beaux in embroidery, to import 
new trimnuDgs^ and to be foremost in the fashion. 



149 THE RAMtLBK* Ka 34; 

Bophixes has turned on Ids exterior appearance, that 
attention which would always have produced esteeniy 
had it been fixed upon his mind ; and though his vir* 
tues and abilities have presenred him from the con^ 
tempt which he has so diligently solicited, he has, at 
least, raised one impediment to his reputation; since 
all can judge of his dress, but few of his understand^ 
ing ; and many who discern that he is a fop, are un« 
willing to belie re that he can be wise. 

There is one instance, in which t^e ladies are par* 
ticularly unwilling to observe the rule of Chile. 
They are desirous to hide from themselves the ad« 
vances of age, and endeavor too frequently to suppljf 
the sprightllness and bloom of youth by artificial 
beauty and forced vivacity. They hope to inflame th6 
heart by glances which have lost their fire, or meh it 
by languor which is no longer delicate ; they play 
over the airs which pleased at a time when they were 
expected only to please, and forget that tirs in time 
ought to give place to virtues. They continue t(y 
trifle, because they could once trifle^ agreeably, till 
those who shared their early pleasures are withdrowa. 
to piore' serious engagements ; and are scarcely 
awakened from their dream of perpetual youth, but 
by the scorn of those whom' they endeavor t^' 
rival.* 



* Mrs. Piozzi says, that by GcHdus, in thk paper, the author^ 
meant to represent Mr. Couljson, a matliematician, who for- 
merly lived at Rochester. This is not very probable, if we 
consider the character Davies gfivefi of Mt Coidson (ColSon>^ 
in his Life of Garrick, which wag certainly written under Dtf<^ 
Johnson's inspection, and^ wliAt relates to Colson^ probably 
from his information. C\ 



No. 29. THE RAMBLES. 141 

No. 25. TUESDAY, JUNE 12, irst- 

Po^sunt quia fioise videntur. Viae JL. 

For they can conquer who believe they caa. DmYSEir. 

X HERE are some vices and errors^ which, though 
often fatal to those in whom they are found, have yet, 
by the universal consent of mankind, heen considered 
as entitled to some degree of respect, or have, at least, 
been exempted from contemptuous infamy, and con- 
demned by the severest moralists with pity rather than 
detestation. 

A constant and invariable example of this general 
partiality will be found in the different regard which 
has always been shown to rashness and cowardice ; 
two vices, of which, though they may be conceived 
equally distant from the middle point, where true for- 
titude is placed, and may equally injure any public or 
private interest, yet the one is never mentioned with- 
out some kind of veneration, and the other always 
considered as a topic of unlimited and licentious cen- 
sure, on which all the virulence of reproach may be 
lawfully exerted. 

The same distinction is made, by the common suf- 
frage, between profusion and avarice, and, perhaps, 
between many other opposite vices; and, as I have 
found reason to pay great regard to the voice of the 
people, in cases where knowledge has been forced 
upon them by experience, without long deductions or 
deep researches, I am inclined to believe that this dis- 
tribution of respect is not without some agreement 
with the natvure ^ things ; and that in the faultS) 



143 THE RAMBLER. Ko. 25/ 

which are thus mvested with extraordinary privileges, 
there are generally some latent principles of merit, 
some possibilities of future virtue, which may, by de- 
grees, break from obstruction, and by time and op- 
portunity be brought into act. 

It may be laid down as an axiom, that it is more 
easy to take away supei*fiuities than to supply defects ; 
and therefore he that is culpable, because he has pass-* 
fcd the middle point of virtue, is always accounted a 
fairer object of hope, than he who fails by falling 
short. The one has all that perfection requires, and 
more, but the excess may be easily retrenched ; the 
other wants the qualities requisite to excellence, 
and who can tell how he shall obtain them ? We are 
certain that the horse may be taught to keep pace 
with his fellows, whose fault is that he leaves them 
behind. We know that a few strokes of the axe will 
lop a cedar j but what arts of cultivation can elevate a 
shrub ? 

To walk with circumspection and steadiness in the 
fight path, at an equal distance between the extremes 
of error, ought to be the constant endeavor of every 
ireasonable beihg ; nor can I think those teachers of 
moral wisdom much to be honored as benefactors to 
^mankind, who are always enlarging upon the difficulty 
of our duties, and providing rather excuses for vice, 
than incentives to virtue. 

But, since to most it will happen often, and to all 
sometimes, that there will be a deviation towards one 
side or the othe;*, we oughfalways to employ our vi- 
gilance, with most attention, on that enemy from 
which there is the greatest danger, and to stray, if 
we must stray, towards those parts from whence we 
may quickly and easily return. 



No. 2* THE BAMBIXE. 143 

AiO<mg other opposite qualities of the inlnd, which 
may become dangerous, though in different degrees, 
I have often had occasion to consider* the contrary ef. 
fects of presumotion and despondency ; of heady 
confidence, which promises victory without contest^ 
and heartless pusillanimity, which shrinks back from 
the thought of great undertakings, confounds diffi- 
culty with impossibility, and considers all advance- 
ment towards any new attainment as irreversibly pro- 
hibited. 

Presumption will be easily corrected. Every ex- 
periment will teach caution, and miscarriages will 
hourly show, that attempts are not always rewarded 
with success. The most precipitate ardor will, in 
time, be taught the necessity of methodical gradation 
and preparatory measures; and the most daring con-, 
fidence be convinced that neither merit, nor abilities^ 
can command events. 

It is the advantage of vehemence and activity, that 
they are always hastening to their own reformation ; 
because they incite us to try whether our expecta- 
tions are well grounded, and therefore detect the de- 
ceits which they are apt to occasion. But timidity is 
a disease of the mind more obstinate and fatal ; for « 
man once persuaded that any impediment is insupera- 
ble, has given it, with respect to himself, that strength 
and weight which it had not before. He can scarce- 
ly strive with vigor and perseverance, when he has no 
hope of gaining the victory ; and since he never will 
try his strength) can never discover the unreasonable- 
ness of his fears. 

There is often to be found in men devoted to litera- 
ture a kind of intellectual cowardice, which whoever 
converses mudh among them, may observe frequent- 
ly to depress the alacrity of enterprise^ and; by con- 



144 THE RAMBLER. No. 35. 

sequence, to retard the improvement of science. 
They have annexed to every species of knowledge 
flome chimerical character of terror and inhibition, 
which they transmit, without much reflection, from 
one another; they first fright themselves, and then 
propagate the panic to their scholars and acquaintance. 
One study is inconsistent with a lively imagination, 
another with a solid judgment ; one is improper in 
the early parts of life, another requires so much time, 
that it is not to be attempted at an advanced age ; one 
is dry and contracts the sentiments, another is diffuse 
and overburdens the memory ; one is insufferable to 
taste and delicacy, and another wears out life in the 
study of words, and is useless to a wise man, who de- 
sires only the knowledge of things. 

But of all the bugbeara by which the Infantes baV'^ 
bati^ boys both young and old, have been hitherto 
frightened from digressing into new tracts of learn* 
ing, none has been more mischievously efficacious 
than an opinion that every kind of knowledge requii*es 
a peculiar genius, or mental constitution, framed for 
the reception of some Ideas, and the exclusion of 
ethers ; and that to him whose genius is not adapted 
to the study which he prosecutes, all labor shall be 
vain and fruitless, vain as an endeavor to mingle oil 
imd water, or in the language of chemistry, to amal* 
gamate bodies of heterogeneous principles. 

This opihion we may reasonably suspect to have 
been propagated by vanity, beyond the truth. It is 
natural for those who have raised a reputation by any 
science, to exalt themselves as endowed by heaven 
with peculiar powers, or marked out by an extraor- 
dinary designation for their profession ; and to fright 
competitors away by representing the difficulties with 
which they must contend, and the necessity of quali- 



ifii 



Ko. 2#i THE BAMBLEB. 14J 

ties which »re supposed to be not generally conferred, 
and which no man can know^ hut by experience, whe<i 
ther he enjoySj^ 

To this discouragement it may be possibly answer- 
cd) that since a genius, whateiiFer it be, is like fire in 
the flint, only to be produced hy collision with a pro- 
per subject, it is the business of every m^ii to. try 
whether his faculties may not happily co-operate witk 
his desires ; and since they whose proficiency he ad- 
mires, knew their own force only by the event, he 
needs but engage in the same undertaking with equal 
spirit, and may reasonably hope for equal success. 

There is another species of false intelligence, g^ven 
by those who profess to show the way to the summit 
of knowledge, of equal tendency to depress the mind 
with false distrust of itself and weaken it by need- 
less solicitude and dejection. When a scholar whom 
they desire to animate, consults them at his entrance 
on some new study, it is common to make flattering 
representations of its pleasantness and facility. Thus 
they generially attain one of two ends almost equally 
desirable j they either incite his industry by elevating 
his hopes, or produce a high opinion of their own 
abilities, since they are supposed to relate only what 
they have found, and to have proceeded with no less 
case than they promise to their followers. 

The student, inflamed by this encouragement, sets 
forward in the new path, and proceeds a few steps 
with great alacrity, but he soon finds asperities and in- 
tricacies of which he has not been forewarned, and 
imagining that none ever were so entangled or fe- 
tigued before him, sinks suddenly into despair, and 
desists as from an expedition in which fate opposes 
him. Thus his ten*or« are muKiplied by hi» hope&y 

VOL, XV. 13 



y 



\^ THE RAMBLiat; Ko. S&* 

and he is defeated without resistance) because he had 
no expectation of an enemy. 

Of these treacherous instructors, the one destroys 
industry, by declaring that industry is vain, the other 
by representing it as needless ; the one cuts away the 
root of hope, the other raises it only to be blasted ; 
the one confines his pupil to the shore, by telling him 
that his wreck is certain, the other sends him to sea^ 
without preparing him for tempests. 

False hopes and false terrors are equally to be 
avoided. Every man who proposes to grow eminent 
by learning, should carry in his mind, at once, thediffi- 
culty of excellence, and the force of industry ; and re- 
member that fame is not conferred but as the recom* 
pense of labor, and that labor vigorously continued^ 
has not often failed of its reward. 

JTo. 26. SATURDAY, JUNE 14, 1750. 



Ingentei domznos, et clara noTninaJama, 

lUuttrique graves nobilitate domo9 
J}evitat et long^ cautusjuge ; contrahe vela, 

Et te littoribu* cymba propinqua vehat Ss nsca» 

Each miffht^ lord, big with a pompous name. 
And each high house of fortune and of fame* 
With caution fly $ contract thy ample sailsj 
And near the shore improve the gently gales. 

^LFHIKSTOX* 

Mr. Rambleu, 

It is usual for men engaged in the same pursuits, to 
be inquisitive after the conduct and fortune of each 
other; and, therefore, I suppose it will not be unplea- 



Xo. Sfir THE RAMBLEH* 147 

sing to you, to read an account of the various changes 
which have happened in part of a life devoted to li« 
terature. My narrative will not exhibit any great 
variety of events, orextraordinary revolutions ; but 
i^ay, perhaps, be not less useful, because I shall re- 
late nothing which is not likely to happen to a thou- 
sand others. 

I was born heir to a very small fortune, and left by 
ifiy father, whom I cannot remember, to the care of 
an uncle. He having no children, always treated me 
as his son, and finding in me those qualities which old 
men easily discover in sprightly children, when they 
happen to love them, declared that a genius like niinc 
should never be lost for want of cultivation. He 
therefore placed me, for the usual time, at a great 
school, and then sent me to the university, with a 
larger allowance than my own patrimony would have 
afforded, that I might not keep mean company, but 
learn to become my dignity when I should be made 
lord chancellor, which he often lamented, that the in- 
crease of his infirmities was very likely to preclude 
him from seeing. ■ 

This exuberance of money displayed itself in 
gaiety of appearance, and wantonness of expense, and 
introduced me to the acquaintance of those whom the 
same superfluity of fortune betrayed to the same li- 
cense and ostentation: young heirs, \vho pleased 
themselves with a remark very frequent in their 
mouths, that though they were sent by their fathers to 
the university, they were not under the necessity of 
living by their learning. 

Among men of this class I easily obtained the re- 
putation of a great genius, and was persuaded, that 
with such liveliness of imagination, and delicacy of 
sentiment, I should never be able to submit to the 



X4a THU, RAMBUO. No. 96. 

dnidgexyofthelaw. I therefiMregaremyaelf wfaoUf 
to the more airy and elegfuit parts of learaingi and 
was often so much elated with my superiority to the 
youths with whom I conversed, that I began to listenf 
witli great attention! to those that recommended to 
me a wider and more conspicuous theatre ; and waa 
particularly touched with an obserTation, made hf 
one of my friends ; That It was not by lingering in 
Uie university that Prior became ambassador, or Ad- 
dison secretary of state. 

This desire was hourly increased by the soUcitatiott 
of my companions, who removing one by one to Lon- 
don, as the caprice of their relations allowed them» of 
the legal dismission from the hands of their guar- 
dians put it in theii* power, never failed to send an 
account of the beauty and felicitjr of the new world> 
and to remonstrate how much was lost by every 
hour's continuance in a place of retirement and cc«- 
straint. 

My uncle in the mean time frequently harassed 
me with monitory letters^ which I sometimes neglect- 
ed to open for a week after I rec^ved thei^, and ge- 
.nerally read in a tavern, with sueh^oounents as might 
show how much I was superior to instruction or sd- 
vipe< I could not but wonder, how a man confined to 
the country, and unacquainted with the present system 
of things, sl^uld in^gine himself qualified to instruct 
a rising genius, bom to give laws to the age, refine its 
taste, and multiply its pleasures. 

The postman, however, still continued to bring me 
new remonstrances ; for my uncle was very little de- 
pressed by the ridicule and reproach which he never 
heard. But men of parts have quick resentmc^ats ; 
it was impossible to bear his usurpations for ever ; 
and I resolved, once for all, to make him an example 



fro.2« THE RAMBLEB. 149 

to those "Who imagine themselves wise because they 
are old, and to teach young men, who are too tame 
under representation, in what manner grey-bearded 
insolence ought to be treated. I therefore one even- 
ing took my pen in hand, and after having animated 
myself with a catch, wrote a general answer to all 
his precepts with fuckvivacity of turn, such elegance 
of irony, and such asperity of sarcasm, that I con- 
Wttlsed a large company with universal laughter, dis- 
turbed the neighborhood with vociferations of ap- 
plause, and five days afterwards was answered, that I 
mtist be content to live on my own estate. 

This contraction of my income gave me no dis- 
turbance ; for a genius like mine was out of the reach 
of want. I had friends that would be proud to open 
their purses at my call, and prospects of such ad- 
vancement as would soon reconcile my uncle, whom, 
upon mature deliberation, I resolved to receive into 
favor without insisting on any acknowledgment of his 
offence, when the splendor of my condition should 
induce him to wish for my countenance. I therefore 
went up to London, before I had shown the alteration 
of my" condition, by any abatement of my way of 
living, and was received by all ttiy academical ac« 
qualntance with triumph and congratulation. I waft 
•immediately introduced among the wits and men of 
spirit ; and in a short time had devested myself of all 
my scholar^s gravity, and obtained the reputation of a 
pretty fellow. 

You will easily believe that I had no great know- 
ledge of the world; yet I.had been hindered, by the 
general difrinclination every man feels to confess po- 
verty, from* telting to any one the resolution of my 
uncle, and for some time subsided upon the stock of 
money which I hadlnrought with nae^ and contributed 

la ♦ 



I$t THEftAMlUR. m.^ 

my ihare as before to all our entertainments. Bet 
my pocket vras sooa emptied^ knd I was obliged to 
aak my friends for a small aum. This iras a favoirf 
which ve had often reciprocally received from one 
another; they supposed my wants only aceklental) 
and therefore, willingly supplied them. In a short 
tune. I foand a necessity dF i||lriy agam, and was 
again treated with the same civility; but the thir^ 
time they began to wonder what that old rogue my 
uncle could mean by sending a geatleman to town 
without money ; and when they^gave me what I asked 
for) advised m» to stipulate for mere regular remit- 
tances. 

This somewhal; disturbed my dream of constant af- 
fluence ; but I was three days after completely awaked ; 
for entering tiie tavern where they met every evenings 
I found the waiters remitted their complaisance, and> 
instead of eonte^ding^ to ligiat me up stairs, suffered 
me to w^t for some mimitea by the bar. When 
I came to my company, I found them unusually grave 
and formsd, and one of them took the hmt to turn the 
conversation upoa the misconduct of young m^n, and 
enlarged upon, the folly of frequenting the company of 
men of fortune, without being able to support the ex* 
pease) an obaemaiaoo which the rest contributed either 
to enforce by r&petidon, or to illustrate by examples. 
Only one of them tried to divert the ^scourse, asnd en* 
deavered to* direct my attention to remote questions^ 
and common topics. 

A man g tiilty oi pover tjr easily believes himself sus- 
pected. I went, however, next morning to breakfast 
with him, who appeared ignorant d the dfiftof the 
conversation, and by a gerie»of inquiries, drawing still 
nearer to the point, prevailed en him, not, perhftps> 
muchagauaist his vnU> to inform nae that Mr. Dash^ 



«^li09e Grtter ITM Ik l^eakbf «ttonie]r atiar n^r Mdve 

plftce, had^.themomiigbeteeyiticeivedjaia^ « 

.«fty uiuBle'^mttttBMsnjt^and cammmucated hi a intdU- 

Spftncfrnrttktli^ ulrnQStiodMiftPf of gMvctliiig insoleace* 

t . It WM iMiw nokmger practicableto costort iidth mf 

- fENrmctr fiaead^ unlesft I would, be cowtcnt to he uiod 

«» an io&f ior guests who was to paf for bis wine bf 

mirth and flattery ; a character whichi if 1 could not 

escape ky I resoli^d to endure onljr among those whx^ 

liadrnever known me Id the pride of plenty, I changed^ 

may lodgings, and frequented the coffbe-hoines in » 

different region o£ the town; where I was yery quickif 

distingniahed by several youag gentlemen of high 

birth> and iMrge elates, and began again to amuse my 

xnttgination with hopes of perferment, though no^ 

quite so confidently aa when I had less exfterience. 

The firsi great conqnest which this new scene eoa* 
bled me to gain over myself was, i^rhen I submitted to 
confess to a party> who invited me to an expensive di- 
version, that my revenues were not equal to such gold- 
en pleasures ; they would not suffer me, however, to 
stay behind, and with great reluctance I yielded to be 
treated. I took that opportunity of recommending 
myself to some office or employment, which they una- 
nimously promised to procuveme by their joint in- 
teisest. 

I had now entered into a state of dependencor and 
had hopes, or fearsy from almost every man I saw. If 
it be unhappy tahave one patron, what is his misery 
who has many ? I was obliged lo comply wilii. a thou- 
sand caprices, to concur in a thousand follies, and, to 
countenance a thousand errors. 1 endured innumer- 
able mortifications, if not from cruelty, at least from 
negligence, which will creep in upon the kindest and 
most delicate minds> whei^they converse without the' 



jm^aL^ 



1» THE &AMBLE1L ' Ko. S!f.* 

mutual ftwe of equal condition. I found the sinrit anct 
vig;or of liberty every moment sinking in me, and: 
a servile fear of displeasing stealing by degrees upon 
all my behavior, till no word, or look, or action was* 
my own. As the solicitude to please increased, the 
ptiwer of pleasing grew less, and I was always clouded' 
with diffidence where it was most my interest and wish- 
to shine. 

My patrons, considering me as belonging to the 
community, and, therefore, not the charge of any par* 
ticular person, made no scruple of neglecting any op<< 
portunity of promoting me, which every one thought 
more properly the business of another. An account 
of my expectations and disappointments, and the sUc* 
ceeding vicissitudes of my life, I shall give you in my 
following letter, which will be, I hope, of use to show 
how ill he forms his schemes, who expects happiness 
without freedom. 

I am^ Sec; 

No. 27. TUESDAY, JUNE 19, 1750. 



'"•^Pauperiem metuent potiore metallii 

Libertate caret. Hoft* 

So he, who poverty with horror viewg. 

Who sells his freedom in exchange for goU, 

(Freedom for mines of wealth too cheaply sold,) 

ShaU make eternal servitude his fate. 

And feel a haughty master's 'galhng weight Francis. 

Mr. Rambler^ 

As it is natural for every Qian to think himself of 
importance, your knowledge of the world will inclioe 



5[0U to for^g^ve me, if I iinagtne your curiosity so much 
QKcited by the former part of my xmrratioii,.a6 to make 
you desire that I should proceed without any anneces- 
^ary arts of connection. I shall) therefore, not keep 
you longer in such auspenae) as pertiafrs my perform* 
aace may not compensate* 

c In the g£^ company with which I was now vmited, t 
found those allurements and deligfats, which the friend* 
ihip of young men always afibrds^ there was that open- 
ness which naturally produces confkiexrcei that affa« 
^ility whichi in some measurei softened dependence^, 
and that airdor of profession which incited hope. 
When our hearts were cUlated with merriment, pro- 
mises were poured out Mrith unlimited profusion, and 
Ufe and fortune were but a scanty sacrifice to friend- 
9Up i but when the hour ;caane, at which any effort was 
to be made, I had generally the yexatipn to find that my 
interest weighed nothing against the slightest amuse- 
meaty and that every petty ayocation waa found a suffi- 
cient plea fotr continuing me in uncertainty and want. 
Their kindness was indeed shicere : when they pro* 
mised, they had no intention to deceive ; but the same 
juvenile warmth which kindled their benevolence, 
gave force in the same proportion to every other pas- 
sion, and I was forgotten as soon as any new pleasures 
seized on their attention. 

Vagario told me one evening, that all my perplexi- 
ties should be soon at an end, and desired me, from 
tiiat instant, to throw upon him all care of my fortune^ 
for a post of considerable value was that day become 
Tacant, and he knew his interest sufficient to procure 
it in the morning. He desired me to call on him 
•ariy, that he might be dressed soon enough to wait on 
the ndnister before any other application should be 
made* I oamct as bn appointed, with all the flame of 



ts4 THE ukvnsva^ iko' sf 

gratttttde, and was told by his semat, ihat having 
found at his lodgings, when he came home, an acquain t«> 
ance who was going to travel, he had been persuaded 
to accompany him to Dover, and that they had takea 
post-horses two hours before day. 

I was once very near to preferment, by the kindnessr 
of Charinus, who, at hay request, went to beg a Place^ 
which he thought me likely to fill with great reputa- 
tion, and in which I should have many opportunities 
of promoting his interest in return ; and he pleased' 
himself with imagining the mutua) benefits thiat we* 
should confer^ and the advances that we should make 
by our united strength. Away therefore he went^ 
equally warm with friendship and ambition, and left 
me to prepare acknowledgndents against his return. 
At length he came back, and told me that he had met 
in his way a party going to breakfast in the country, 
that the ladies importuned him too much to be refu- 
sed, and that having passed the morning >^ith them, 
he was come back to dress himself for a ball, to which 
he was invited for the evening. 

I have suffered several disappointments from tai- * 
loPS and periwig-makers, who, by neglecting to per- * 
form their work, withheld my patrons from court j and 
once fidled of an establishment for life by the delay of ' 
a servant, sent to a neighboring shop to replenish a * 
snuff-box. • 

Atlast I thought my solicitude at an end, for an office ' 
fell into the gift of Hippodamus's father, who being * 
then in the country,- could not very speedily fill it, and ' 
whose fondness would not have suffered him to refuse 
his son a less reasonable request. Hippodamus 
therefore set forward with great expedition, and I ex« 
pected every hour ah-accountof his success. A long 
time I waited without any intelligence^ but at last re- 



Jto. sy. THE bamblbr: iss 

ceived a letter from New-market^ by which I was in* 
formed that the races were begun> and I knew the; ve* 
liemence of his passions too -well to imagine that 
he could refuse himself his favorite amusement. 
^ You will not wonder that I was at last weary of the 
patronage of young menj especially as I found them 
not generally to promise much greater fidelity as they 
advanced in life ; for I observed that what they gained 
in steadiness they lost in benevolence, and grew coldet 
to my interest as they became more diligent to 
promote their own. I was convinced that their libe^ 
rality was only profuseness, that as chance directed^ 
they were equally generous to vice and virtue^ that 
they were warm but because they were thoughtless, 
and counted the support of a friend only amongst 
other gratifications of passion. 

My resolution was now to ingratiate myself with 
men. whose reputation was established, whose high 
stations enabled them to prefer me, and whose age 
exempted them from sudden changes of inelination; 
I was considered as a man of psa*tS) and therefore ea- 
sHy found admission to the table of Hilarius, the cele- 
brated orator, renowned equally for the extent of hid 
knowledge, the elegance of his diction, and the acute- 
ness of his wi . Hilarius received me with an appear- 
ance of great satisfaction, produced to me all his 
friends, and directed to me that part of his discourse 
in which he most endeavored to display his imagina- 
tion. I had now learned my own interest enough to 
supply him opportunities for smart remarks and gay 
sallies, which I never &iled to echo and applaud. 
Thus I was gaining every hour on his affections, till 
unfortunately, when the assembly was more splendid 
than usual, his desire of admiration prompted him to 
turn bis nailery upon me. I bore it for some time 



jS6 *Hfi BAMBliEB. 1^0. 2^, 

with great suVmissIoB* smd success encouraged him 
to redouble his attacks; at last my vaxuty prevailed 
ever my pmdencei I retorted his irony with such 
spirit, that Hilarius, unaccustomed to resistance, was 
<lisconcerted, and soon found means of conTincing me 
that his purpose was not to encourage a livaly but t^ 
foster a parasite* 

I was then taken into the familiarity of Argutio, % 
nobleman eminent for judgment and criticism. He 
had contributed to my reputation by the praises whicli 
be had often bestowed upon my writings, in wluch he 
owned that there were proofs of a genius that might 
rise to high degrees of excellence, when time, or m- 
formation, had reduced its exuberance. He therefore 
required me to consult him before the publication of 
any new performance, and commcmly proposed innu« 
merable alterations, without sufficient attention to the 
general design, or regard to my form of style, and 
mode of imagination. But these corrections he never 
failed to press as indispensably necessary, and thought 
the least delay of compliance an act of rebellion. The 
pride of an author made this treatment insufferable, 
and I thought any tyranny easier to be borne than that 
which took from me the use of my understanding. 

My next patron was Eutyches the statetman, who 
was wholly engaged in public affairs, and seemed to 
have no ambition but to be powerful and rich. I 
found his favor more peimanent than thatof the others ; 
for there was a certain price at which it might be 
bought; he allowed nothing to humor, or to affectiony 
but was always ready to pay liberally for the service 
that he required. His demands were, indeed, very 
often such as virtue could not ea^ly consent to graUfy ; ^ 
but virtue is not to be consulted when men are to raise 
their fortunes by the favor of the great. His measures 



No- 28. THE RAMBUIR. 167^ 

were censured ; I wrote in his defence^ and was re- 
compensed with a place, of which the profits were ne- 
ver received by me without the pangs of remember- 
ing that they were the reward of wickedness,-*^ re- 
ward which nothing but that necessity which the con- 
sumption of my little estate in these wild pursuits had 
brought upon me, hindered me from throwing back ia 
the face of my corrupter. 

At this time my uncle died without a will, and I be- 
came heir to a small fortune. I had resolution to 
throw off the^plendor which reproached me to myself, 
and retire to an humbler state, in which I am now en- 
deavoring to recover the( dignity of virtue, and hope to 
make some reparation for my crime and follies, by in- 
forming others, who may be led after the same 
pageants, that they are about to engage in a course of 
life, in which they are to purchase, by a thousand mi- 
series, the privilege of repentance. 

I am, Sec. 

EUBULUS. 



No. 28. SATURDAY, JUNE 19, 1750. 



Jiii fnor* gravis incubat, 
Qai, notus nitnii omnibus, 
Ignottu moritur ribi. S«neca. 

To him ! alas ! to him, I fear» 
The face of death will terrible appear. 
Who in his Ufe, flattering his senseless pride, "%,» 

By being known to all the world beside. 
Does not himself, when he is dying, know. 
Nor what he is, nor whither he's to go. Cowley. 

X HAVE shown, in a late essay, to what errors meft 
are hourly betrayed by a mistaken opinion of their own 
VOL. ir» U 



158 THE RAMmXR. No. 28. 

powers, and a negligent inspection of their own cha* 
racter. But as 1 then confined my observations to 
common occurrences and familiar scenes, I think it 
proper to inquire, how &r a nearer acquaintance with 
ourselves is necessary to our preservation from crimes 
as well as follies, and how much the attentive study of 
our own minds may contribute to secure to us the ap* 
probation of that Being, to whom we are accountable 
for our thoughts and our actions, and whose favor 
must finally constitute our total happiness. 

If it be reasonable to estimate the difficulty of any 
enterprise by frequent miscarriages, it may justly be 
concluded that it is not easy for a man to know himself, 
for wheresoever we turn our view, we shall find almost 
all with whom we converse so nearly as to judge of 
their sentiments, indulging more favorable concep- 
tions of their own vu'tue than they have been able to 
impress upon others, and congratulating themselves 
upon degrees of excellence, which their fondest ad- 
mirers cannot allow them to have attained. 

Those representations of imaginary virtue are ge- 
nerally considered as arts of hypocrisy, and as snares 
laid for confidence and praise. But I believe the sus- 
picion often unjust; those who thus propagate their 
own reputation, only extend the fraud by which they 
have been themselves deceived ; for this £dling is in- 
cident to numbers, who seem to live without designs, 
competitions, or pursuits; it appears on occasions 
which premise no accession of honor or of profit, and 
to persons from whom very little is to be hoped or 
feared. It is, indeed, not easy to tell how iar we may 
be blinded by the love of ourselves, when we reflect 
how much a secondary passion can cloud our judg- 
ment, and how few faults a man, in the first raptures 
of love, can discover in the person or conduct of his 
mistress. 



No. 28. TH& BAMBIfB. 159 

To lay 0{»en all the sources from which error flows 
in upon him who contemplal^es his own character, 
would require more exact knowledge of the human 
hearty than, perhaps^ the most acute and laborious ob« 
servers have acquired. And since falsehood may be 
diversified with out end, it is"not"uhlikel5rthat "every 
m^ admits an imposture in some respect peculiar to 
himself,^ as his views haye been accidentally directed, 
or his ideas particularly combined* 

Some fallacies^ however, there are, more frequently 
insidious, which it may, perhaps, not be useless to de- 
tect; because, though they are gross, they may be fatal, 
and because nothing but attention is necessary to de- 
feat them. 

One sophism by which men persuade themselves 
that they have those virtues which they really want, is 
formed by the substitution of single acts for habits. A 
miser who once relieved a friend from the danger of a 
prison, suffers his imagination to dwell for ever upon 
his own heroic generosity ; he yields his heart up Xm 
indignation at those who are blind to merit, or insen* 
sible to misery, and who can please themselves with 
the enjoyment of that wealth, which they never per- 
mit others to partake. From any censures of the 
world, or reproaches of his conscience, he has an ap- 
peal to action and to knowledge : and though his whole 
life is a course of rapacity and avarice, he concludes 
himself to be tender and libeml, because he has once 
performed an act of liberality and tenderness. 

As a glass which magnifies objects by the approach 
of one end to the eye, lessens them by the application 
of the other, so vices are extenuated by the inversion 
of that fallacy, by which virtues are augmented. 
Those faults which we cannot conceal from our own 
notice, are considered, however frequent, not as habit- 



160 THE BAMBLEa No. sa 

ual corruptions^ or settled practices^ but as casual fail- 
ures, and single lapses. A man who has from year to 
jear set his country to sale, either for the gratification 
of his ambition or resentment, confesses that the heat 
of party now and then betrays the severest virtue to 
measures that cannot be seriously defended. He that 
spends his days and nights in riot and debauchery, 
owns that his passions oftentimes overpower his reso- 
lutions. But each comforts himself that his faults are 
Dot without precedent, for the best and the wisest men 
have given way to the violence of sudden temptations. 

There are men who always confound the praise of 
goodness with the practice, and who believe them- ' 
selves mild and moderate, charitable and faithful, be- 
cause they have exerted their eloquence in commen- 
dation of mildness, fidelity, and other virtues. This 
is an error almost universal among those that converse 
much with dependents, with such whose fear or in- 
terest disposes them to a seeming reverence for any 
declamation, however enthusiastic, and submission to 
any boast, however arrogant. Having none to recall 
their attentk>n to their lives, they rate themselves by 
the goodness erf their opinions, and forget howtaiuch 
more easily men may show their virtue in their talk 
than in their actions. 

The tribe is likewise very numerous of those who 
f egulate their lives, not by the standard of religion, 
but the measure of other men's virtue ; who lull their 
own remorse with the rememberance of crimes more 
atrocious than their own, and seem to believe that they 
are not bad while another can be found worse. 

For escaping these and a thousand other deceits, 
many expedients have been proposed. Some have 
recommended the frequent consultation of a wise 
friend, admitted to intimacy, and encouraged to sin* 



\ 



m. 28- THE RAMBLER. 169 

cerity. But this appeafs a remedy bf no means adapt- I | 



ed to general use : for in order to secure the virtue of 
one, it presupposes more virtue in two than will gene- 
rally be found. In the first, such a desire of rectitude 
and amendment) as may incline hii^ to hear his own 
accusation from the mouth of him whom he esteems, 
aAd by whom, therefore, he will always hope that his 
faults are not discovered ; and in the second, such zeal _ 
andlionesty, as will make him content for his friend's 
advantage to lose his kindness. 

A long life may be passed without finding a friend 
in whose tinderstanding and virtue we can equally 
confide, and whose opinion we can value at once for 
its justness and sincerity. A weak man, however 
honest, is not qualified to judge. A man of the world, 
however penetrating. Is not fit to counsel. Friends 
are often chosen for similitude of manners, and there* 
fore each palliates the other's failings, because they 
are his own. Friends are tender, and unwilling to 
give pain, or they arc interested, and fearful to offend. 

These objections have inclined others to advise, 
that he who would know himself should consult his 
enemies, remember the reproaches that are vented to 
his face, and listen for the censures that are uttered in 
private. For his great business is to know his faults, 
and those malignity will discover, and resentment will 
reveal. But this precept may be often frustrated ; for 
it seldom happens that rivals or opponents are sHfTeif- 
ed to come near enough to know our conduct with so 
much exactness as that conscience should allow and 
reflect the accusation. The charge of an enemy is of* 
ten totally false, and commonly so mingled with false* 
hood, that the micid takes advantage from the failure of 
one part to discredit the rest, and never suffers any 
disturbance afterward from such partial reports. 
14 * 






16? 



THE RAMBI£R. 



No. St. 






>>• 






Yet it seems that enemies have been always found 

by experience the most faithful monitors ; for adver- 

' . sity has ever been considered as th<r state in which a 

I man most eadly becomes acquainted with himself, and 
V ^ ; this eifect it must produce by withdrawing flatterers, 
whose business it is to hide our weaknesses from us, 

ior by giving loose to malice, and licence to reproach ; 

lor at least, by cutting eff those pleasures which called 

\ us away from meditation on our own conduct, and 

I repressing that pride which too easily persuades us 

\ that we merit whatever we enjoy. 

Part of these benefits it is in every man's* power to 
procure to himself, by assigning proper portions of his 
life to the examination of thereat, and by putting him- 
self frequently in such a situation, by retirement and 
abstraction, as may weaken the influence of external 
objects. By this practice he may obtain the solitude 
of adversity without its melancholy, its instructions 

I without its censures, and its sensibility without its 
perturbations. 

The necessity of setting the world at a distance from 
us, when we are to take a survey of ourselves, has 
sent many from high stations to the severities of a 
monastic life ; and, indeed, every man deeply engaged 
in business, if all regard to another state by not extin- 
guished, must have the conviction, though, perhaps, 
not the resolution of Valdesso, who, when he solicited 
Charles the Fifth to dismiss him, being asked, whether 
be retired upon disgust, ai^wered, that he laid down 
his commission for no other reason but because there 
ought to be some time for sober rejection between the 
life of a soldier and hie death. 

There are few conditions which donot entangle us 
with sublunary hopes and fears, from which it is ne- 
cessary to be at intervals disencumbered, that we may 



JTo. 38. THE RAMBLER. "^ 103 

.place ourselves in his presence -vrho views effects in 
their causes, and actions in their motives ; that we 
xna7, as Chillingworth expresses it, consider things as 
if there were no other beings in the world but God and 
ourselves ; or, to use language yet more awful, may 
commune vnth our own hearUy and be still, 

Deatht says Seneca, falls heavy upon him who is too 

much known to others, and too little to himself; and 

Pontanus, a man celebrated among the early restorers 

of literature, thought the study of our own hearts of 

so much importance, that he has recommended it from 

his tomb. Sum Joannes Jovianus Pontanus, guem 

amaverunt bona musx^ ausfiexerunt virtfirobi^ honeata 

verunt regea domini ; jam^acia qui aim^ vel qui fiotiua 

/uerim; ego vero teyhoafiesy noacerein tenebri^^egueOf 

" aed leiflaum ut noacaa rogo. " I am Pontanus, beloved 

by the powers of literature, admired by men of worth, 

and dignified by the monarchs of the world. Thou 

knowest now who I am, or more properly who I was. 

For thee, stcanger, I who am in darkness cannot know 

thee, but I entreat thee to know thyself." 

. I hope every reader of this paper will consider him* 

self as engaged to the observation of a precept, which 

the wisdom and virtue of all ages have concurred to 

enforce; a precept, dictated, by philosophers,. inciM- 

cated by poetS) and ratified by saints. 



15% THE RAMBUB. Ko. 39. 



No. 29. TUESDAY, JUNE 26, 1750. 



Prudent futttri femporis exitum 
Caliginesa noctepretnit Deus, 

Jiidetque it mortaiiM ultra 

Fa^ trepidet^'^ Ho«J 

But God has wisely hid from human sight 

The dark decrees of future fate. 
And sown their seeds in depth of night j 
>Ie laughs at all the giddy turns of state. 
When mortals search too soon, and fear too late. 

Drydbn* 

JL HERE is nothing; recommended with greater fre- 
quency among the gayer poets of antiquity, than the 
secure possession of the present hour, and the dismis- 
sion of all the cares which intrude upon our quiet, or 
hinder, by importunate perturbations, the enjoyment 
of those delights which our condition happens to set 
before us. 

The ancient poets are, indeed, by no means unex- 
ceptionable teachers of morality ; tlieir precepts are to 
be always considered as the sallies of a genius, intent 
rather upon giying pleasure than instruction, eager to 
take every advantage of insinuation, and, provided the 
passion can be engaged on its side, very little solicit- 
ous about the suffrage of reason. 

The darkness and uncertainty through which the 
heathens were compelled to wander in the pursuit of 
happiness, may, indeed, be alleged as an excuse for 
many of their seducing invitations to immediate enjoy- 
ment, which the modems, by whom they have been 
imitated, have not to plead. It is no wonder that 
such as had no promise of another state should eagerly 
turn their thoughts upon the improvement of that 



No. 29. "rHBRAMBLEB. 165 

which was before them ; but surely those who are ac- 
quainted with the hopes and fears of eternity, mrght 
think it necessavy to put some restraint upon their ima- 
, ^ination, and reflect that by echoing the scwigs of the., 
ancient bacchanals, and transmitting- the maxims of 
past debauchery, they not only prove that they want 
invention, but virtue, and submit to the servility of 
imitation only to copy that of which the writer, if he 
was to live now, would often be ashamed. 

Yet as the errors and follies of a great genius &Tp 
seldom without some radiations of understanding, by 
which meaner minds may be enlightened, the incitc- 
x&enta to pleasure are, in those authors, generally 
mingled with such reflections upon life, as well de- 
serve to be considered distinctly from the purposes 
for which they are produced, and to be treasured up 
as the settled conclusions of extensive observation, 
acute sagacity, and mature experience^ 
. i It is not without true judgment, that on these occa- 
sions they often warn their readers against inquiries 
into futurity, and solicitude about events which lie hid 
in causes yet unactive, and which time has not brought 
forward into the view of reason. An idle and thought- 
less resignation to chance, without any struggle 
against calamity, or endeavor after advantage, is in- 
deed below the dignity of a reasonable being, in whose 
power Providence has put a great part even of his pre- 
sent happiness ; but it shows an equal ignorance of our 
proper sphere, to harass our thoughts with conjec- 
tures about things not yet in being. How can we re- 
gulate events, of which we yet know not whether they 
will ever happen ? And why should we think, with pain- 
ful anxiety, about that on which our thoughts can hav« 
no influence ? 



,, ^,c^ 



y. ^ 



166 THE RAMBLER. No. 31^ 

It U a inaadm commonly received, that a wise man 

is never surprised ; and perhaps, this exemption 

from astonishment may be imagined to proceed from 

such[a prospect into futurity, as gave previous iiitima* 

tion of those evils which often fall unexpected upon 

others that have less foresight. But the truth is, that 

things to come, except when they approach very 

nearly, are equally hidden from men of all degrees of 

I understanding $ and if a wise man is not amased at 

I sudden occurrences, it is not Uiat he has thought 

i more, but less upon futurity. He never considered. 

I things not yet existing as the proper objects of hia 

attention ; he never indulged dreams till he was de- 

, ceived by their phantoms, nor ever realized nonenti^ 

ties to his mind. He is not surprised because he is 

not disappointed, and he escapes disappointment b&- 

cause he never forms any expectations. 

The concern about things to come, that is so justly 
censured, is not the result of those general reflections 
on the variableness of fortune, the uncertunty of life, 
and the universal insecurity of ail human acquisitions, 
which must always be suggested by the view of th* 
world; but such a desponding anticipation of mis- 
fortune, as fixes the mind upon scenes of gloom ani 
melancholy, and makes fear predominate in every 
imagination. 

Anxiety of this kind is nearly of the same nature 
with jealousy in love, and suspicion in the general 
commerce of life ; a temper which keeps the man 
always in alarm ; disposes him to judge pf every thing 
in the manner that least favors his own quiet, iiils him 
with perpetual stratagems of counteraction, wears 
him out in schemes to obviate evils \^hich never 
threatened him, and at length, perhaps, contributes 



Ko. 29. THE BAMBLEK. iSf 

to the production of those mischiefs of which it had 
saised such dreadful apprehensions. 

It has been usual in all ages for moralists to repress ^ 
tlie swellings of vsdn hope, by representations of the \ 
innumerable casualUes to which life is subject, and j 
by instances of the unexpected defeat of the wisest 
schemes of policy, and sudden subversions of the 
highest eminences of greatness It has, perhaps, 
ROt been equally observed, that all these examples 
afford the proper antidote to fear as well as to hope, 
and may be applied with no less efficacy as consola- 
tions to the timorous, than as restraint to the proud. 

Evil is uncertain in the same degree as g;ood, and 
for the reason that we ought not to hope too securely, 
we ought not to fear with too inuch dejection. The 
State of the world is continually changing, and none 
can tell the result of the next vicissitude. Whatever 
is afloat in the stream of time, may, when it is very 
near us, be driven away by an accidental blast, which 
sh^l happen to cross the general course of the cur- 
rent The sudden accidents by which the powerful 
are depressed, may &M upon those whose malice we 
fear ; and the greatness by which we expect to be 
overborne, may become another proof of the false 
Batteries of fortune. Our enemies may become 
weak, or we grow strong before our encounter, or we 
may advance against each other without ever meet- 
ing. There are, indeed, natural evils which we can 
flatter ourselves with no hopes of escaping, and with 
little of delaying ; but of the ills which are appre- 
hended from human malignity, or the opposition of 
rival interests, we may always alleviate the terror by 
considering that our persecutors are weak and igno- 
pmt^ and mortal like ourselves. 




tea THE RAMBLER. No. 29. 

The misfortunes which arise from the concurrence 
of unhappy incidents should never disturb us before 
they happen ; because, if the breast be once Isdd open 
to the dread of mere possibilities of misery, life 
must be given a prey to dismal solicitude, and quiet 
must be lost for ever. 

It is remarked by old Cornaro, that it is absurd to be 
afrEud of the natural dissolution of the body, because 
it must certainly happen, and can, by no caution or ar- 
tifice, be avoided. Whether this sentiment be en- 

! tirely just, I shall not examine , but certainly if it be 

i improper, to fear events which must happen, it is yet 
more more evidently contrary to right reason to fear 

i those which may never happen, and which, if they 

I should come upon us, we cannot resist. 

As we ought not to give way to fear, any more than 
indulgence to hope, because the objects both of fear 
and hope are yet uncertain, so we ought not to trust 
the representations of one more than of another, be- 
cause they are both equaHy fallacious ; as hope en- 
larges happiness, fear aggravates calamity. It is ge- 
nerally allowed, that no man ever found the happiness 
I of possession proportionate to that expectation which 
'incited his desire, and invigorated his pursuit; nor 
has any man found the evils of life so formidable in 
reality, as they were described to him by his ow^ ima- 
gination; every species of distress brings with it some 
peculiar supports, some unforeseen means of resist- 
ing, or power of enduring. Taylor justly blames 
some pious persons, who indulge their fancies too 
much, set themselves, by the force of imagination, in 
the place of the ancient martyrs and confessors, and 
questions the validity of their own faith, because they 
shrink at the thoughts of flames and tortures. It is^ 



Ko. 3^« THE RAMBLER. 169 

says he, sufficient that you are able to encounter the 
temptations which now assault you ; when God sends 
trials, he may send strength. 

All fear is in itself painful, and when it conduces 
not to safety is painfulwithout use. Every considerar 
tion, therefore, by which groundless terrors may be 
removed, adds something to human happiness. It is 
likewise not unworthy of remark, that in proportion as 
our cares are employed upon the future th^^ are 
abstracted from the presentj^froi yi the only tixncjgfefch 
we cagjcall our_o3yn, and of which if we neglect the 
"Hl^parent duties, to make provision against visionary 
attacks, we shall certainly counteract our own pur« 
]|^se ; for he, doubtless, mistakes his true interest, 
who thinks that he can increase his safety when he im« 
pairs his virtue. 

No. 30. SATURDAY^ JUNE 30> 1750. 



Vultus iibi tuuM 
AffuUit populo, gratior it dies, 
£t soles meliut nitent, HoR. 

Whene'er thy countenaace divine 

Th* atteildAnt people cheers. 
The genial suns more ra^ant shine> 

The day more glad appears. Elf hsvstoiCc 

Mft. Rambler, 

X HERE are few tasks more imgrateful than fop 
persons 6{ modesty to speak thdtr own pruses. In^- 
some cases, howe^er^ this must be done Ibr the ge- 
neral good, and a generous spirit will on such occa- 
sions assert its merit; and yindicate itself with becom* 
ing warmth. 

YOL. IV. 15 



IrO THE RAMBLSa l^o. 9K 

My circumstances, Sir, are very hard and peculiar; 
Could the world he brought to tt*eal me as I deserve, 
it would be a public benefit. This makes me apply 
to you, that my case being fairly stated in a paper so 
generally esteemed, I may suffer no longer from ig^ 
norant and childish prejudices. 

My elder brother was a Jew ; a very respectable 
person, but somewhat austere in his manner : highlj^ 
and deservedly valued by his near relations and inti* 
mates, but utterly unfit for mixing in a large society") 
or gaining a general acquaintance among mankind; 
In a venerable old age he redred from the world, ani) 
I in the bloom of youth came into it, succeedmg him 
in all his dignities, and formed, as I might reasonabl)" 
flatter myself, to be the object of universal love and es^- 
teem. Joy and gladness were bom with me ; cheer- 
fulness, good-humor, and benevolence, always attenc^ 
ed and endeared my infancy. That time is long 
past. So long, that idle imaginations are apt to fancy 
me wrinkled, old, and disagreeable ; but, unless my 
looking-glass deceives me, I have not yet lost on* 
charm, one beauty of my earliest years. Howevei^ 
thus for is too certain, I am to every body just what 
they choose to think me, so that to very few I appeal 
in my right shape ; and though naturally I am the 
friend of human kind, to few, very few comparatively^ 
am I useful or agreeable. i 

This is the more grievous, as it is utterly impossi- 
ble for me to avoid being in all sorts of places aiMl 
companies; and I am therefore* liable to me^t vnA 
perpetual affronts and injuries. Though I have- as 
natural an antipathy to cards and dice, as some people 
have to a cat» many and many an«s8embly am I tooed 
to endure ; and though rest and composure are tny p0^ 
cuUar joy» am wora out and hfomased to doalh irilli 



VO. » THE nAXBUESL 171 

jcnmieshy men and wdmeoi of quality^ who neter take 
<me but when I can be of the party. Some^ on a con- 
trary extreme, will never receire me but in bed, 
where they spend at least half of the time I have to 
atay with them ; and others are so monstrously ill-bred 
as to take physic on purpose when they have reason to 
expect me. Those who keep upon terms of more 
politeness with me, are generally so cold and con- 
strained in their behavior, that I cannot hut perceiv6 
myself an unwelcome guest ; and even among persons 
Reserving of esteem, and who certainly have a value 
for me, it is too evident that generally whenever I 
come I throw a dulness over the whole company, that 
I am entertained with a formal stiff civility, and that 
they are glad when I am fairly gone. 
. How bitter must this kind of reception be to one 
fenned to inspire delight, admiration, and love ! To 
Me capable of answering and rewarding the greatest 
warmth and delicacy of sentiments ! 
. I was bred up among a set of excellent people, who 
affectionately loved me, and treated me with the ut- 
lAQst honor and respect. It would be tedious to re- 
bte the variety of my adventures, and strange vicissi- 
ludes of my fortune in many ' different countries. 
Here in England there was atime when I lived accord* 
ing to my heart's desire. Whenever I appeared^ 
public assemblies appointed for my reception were 
crowded with persons of quality and fashion, early 
llrest $is {or a court, to pay me their devoirs. Cheer- 
lU^hoapitnUty every where crowned my board, and I 
vas looked upon in every country parish as a kind of 
^opial bond between the 'squire, the parson, and the 
^tenants. The laborious poor every where blest my 
appearance: they do, so still, and keep their best 
dplhejs t»d9fa» hcmori . though M JX|uch as I delight 



m THE BAMBUSB. M..MJt 

in the honest country lblks> they do now and then 
throw a pot of ale at my head^ and sometimes an un* 
lucky boy will drive his cricket ball full in my &ce. 

Eren in these my best days there were persons who 
thought me too demure ^d grave. I must forsooth^ 
by all means be instructed by foreign masters, and 
taught to dance and play. This method of education 
was so contrary to my genius, formed fer much nobler 
entertainments, that it did not succeed at all. 

I fell next into the hands of a very different set. 
They were so excessively scandalized at the gaiety of 
my appearance, as not only to despoil me of the foreign 
fopperiest the paint and the patches that I had been^ 
tricked out with by my last misjudging tutors, but they 
robbed me of every innocent ornament I had from my 
infancy been used to gather in the fields and gardens ; 
nay, they blacked my £ice, and covered me all over 
with a habit of mourning, and that too very coarse and 
awkward. I was now obliged to spend my whole life 
in heanitg sermons ^ nor permitted so much as to smile 
upon any occasion. 

In this melancholy disguise I became a perfect bug- 
bear to all children, and young folks. Wherever I 
came there was a general hush, and immediate'stop to 
all pleasantness of look or discourse ; and not being 
permitted to talk with them in my own language 
at that time, they took such a disgust to me in those 
tedious hours of yawning, that having transmitted it to 
their children, I cannot not now be heard, though it is 
long since I have recovered my natural form, and 
pleasing tone of voice. Would they but receive my 
visits kindly, and listen to what I could tell them— let* 
me say it without vanity— how charming a companion 
should I be ! to every one could I talk on the subjects 
mdst interesting and most pleasing. With the greiA 



Ho. n^ TH£ UAMBIXM. 1/3 

und anriihioQS) I woiild discourse of honors »iid ad* 
vancetnents, of distinctions to which the whole world 
should be witness, of unenvied dignities and durable 
preferments. To the rich I would tell of inexhausti- 
ble treasures, and the sure method to attain them. I 
would teach them to put out their money on the best 
interest, and instruct the lovers of pleasure how to se- 
cure and improve it to the highest degree. The 
beauty should learn of me how to preserve an everlast- 
ing bloom. To the afflicted I would administer com- 
fort, and relaxation to the busy. 

As I dare promise myself you will attest the truth 

. of all I have advanced, there is no doubt but many will 

be desirous of improving their acquaintance with me ; 

and that I may not be thought too difficult} I will Ull 

you, in short, how I wish to be received. 

You must know I equally hate lazy idleness and 
hurry. I would every where be welcomed at a tolera- 
bly early hou^, with decent good-humor and gratitude. 
I must be attended in the great halls, peculiarly ap» 
propriated to me, with respect ; but I do not insist 
upon finery: propriety of appearance, and perfect 
neatness, is all I require. I must at dinner be treated 
with a lemperate„ but cheerful social meal; both the 
neighbors and the poor should be the better for me. 
Some time I must have tite-a-tet^ with my kind enter- 
tainers, and the rest of my visit should be spent in 
pleasant walks and airings among sets of agreeable 
people, in such discourse as I shall naturally dictate, 
qr in reading some .few selected out of those number- 
less books that are dedicated to me, and go by my 
name. A name that, alas 1 as the world stands at pre- 
sent, makes them oftener thrown aside than taken up. 
As those conversations. and books should be both well 



tlaosctif Uf gireflomeadnce obthat head may pMsibif 
famish 70a with a future papen and any tlung you sfaatt 
oflbr on my behalf will be of great service tOy 
Good Mr. Rambler^ 

Your fidthful Friend and Servant^ 

SUNDAY.* 

No. 81. TUESDAY, JULY 3, 1750. 



•> on ego mendo909 aiuim defender e mtretf 
Faiaaque pro vitiia or ma tenere meU. OviD. 

Coppupted mannepii I shall ne'er defend ; 

Kor, taUely witty, for my faults contend. Elphznstoit. 

X HOUGH the fallibility of man's reasoU) and the 
narrowness of his knowledge, are rery liberally con- 
fessed, yet the conduct of those who so willingly ad- 
mit the weakness of human nature, seems to disco]^er 
that this acknowledgment is not altogether sincere ; 
at least, that most make it with a tacit reserve in fa- 
vor of themselves, and that with whatever ease they 
give up the claim of their neighbors, they are de- 
sirous of being thought ex^empt from faults in theii* 
own conduct, and from error in their opinions. 

The certain and obstinate opposition, which we 
may observe made to confutation however clear, 
and to reproof however tender, is an undoubted ar- 
gument, that some dormant privilege is thought to 
^e attacked; for as no man can lose what he neither 

• This paper was written by Miss Catherine Talbot, daugh- 
ter of the Rev. Ed. Talbot, Archdeacon of Berks, and Preacher 
at the Rolls. She died Jan. 9, 1770. See Preface to the Ba m- 
BLEB9 in " British Essayists," vol. 19. C. 



T^wmmh ftCRT iiilagiQe« hiia^elf ta po$9eaSi» or be de- 
lQisi4«d of that to which.he hasno rigb£» it b reason* 
able to suppose that those who break out mto fniy 
at the softest contradiction, or the slightest censure^ 
since they apparently conclude themselres injuredi 
must fancy some ancient immunity violated^ or some 
natural prerogative invaded. To be inistakenf if theyr 
thought themselves liable to mistake^ could not be 
considered either as shameful or wonderful, and they 
would not receive with so oiuc)i emotion intelligence 
which only informed them of what they knew before, 
nor struggle with such earnestness against an attack 
that deprived them of nothing to which they held 
themselves entitled. 

It is related of one of the philosophers, that when 
aft account was brought him of his son's death, here* 
ceived it only with this reflection / know that my 9on 
teas mortal. He that is convinced of an error, if he had 
the same knowledge of his own weakness, would, in* 
stead of straining for artifices, and brooding malig* 
nity, only regard such oversights, as the appendages 
of humanity, and pacify himself with considering that 
he had always known man to be a fallible being. 

If it be true that most of our passions arc excited bf 
the novelty of objects, there is little reason for doubt« 
ing, that to be considered as subject to fallacies of ra« 
tiocination, or imperfection of knowledge, is to a great 
part of mankind entirely new ; for it is impossible to 
" fall into any company where there is not some regular 
and established subordination, without finding. rage 
and vehemence produced only by difference of senti« 
ments about things in which neither: of t.ie disputants 
have any other interest, tlian what proceeds from their 
mutual unwillingness to give way to any opinion that 
may bring upon them the disgrace of being wrong* 



178 THE RAMBLEB. 1^. St. 

• I hav&lieftrd of one thati having advanced some er« 
roneous doctrines in philosophy, refused to see the ex- 
periments by which they were confuted : and the ob- 
servation of every day will give new proofs with how* 
much Lidustry subterfuges and evasions are sought to 
decline the pressure of resistless arguments^ how of- 
ten the state of the question is altered, how often the 
antagonist is wilfully misrepresentedi and in how 
much perplexity the clearest positions are involved by 
those whom they happen to oppose, 
t Of all mortals none seem to have been more infect- 
ed with this species of vanity, than the race of writers^ 
whose, reputation arising solely from their understand- 
ing, gives them a very delicate sensibility of any vio- 
lence attempted on their literary honor. It is not un- 
pleasing to remark with what solicitude men of ac- 
knowledged abilities will endeavor to palliate absurdi- 
dies and reconcile contradictions, only to obviate criti- 
cisms to which all human performances mu«t ever be 
exposed, and from which they can never suffer, but 
when they teach the world, by a vain and ridiculous im- 
patience, to think them of importance. 

Dryden^ whose warmth of fancy, and haste of com- 
position, very frequently hurried him into inaccura- 
cies, heard himself sometimes exposed to ridicule for 
kaviog said in one of his tragedies, 

I follow fate, which does too fast pursue. 
That no man could at once follow and be followed, was» 
k may be thought, too plain to be long disputed ; and . 
the truth is, that Dryd^n was apparently betrayed into 
the blunder by the double meaning of the word Fate^^ 
to which in the former part of the verse he had annex- 
ed the idea of Fortune^ and in the latter that oi Death i 
•o that the sense only was, though fiur sued by Deaths 
IwUi not vfign mytel/to dtipaiu ^t wiU/oilow JFor^ ,. 



Ho. af; THERABfBLKR 1ff9 

Utncj €md do' and 9uffer what ia afijiointtd, This^ . 
however^ was not completely expressed^ and Dryden 
being determined not to give way to his critics, ne-; 
ver confessed that he had been surprised by an ambi« 
guity ; but finding luckily in Virgil an account of a m^ 
moving in a circle, with this expression, Et bis atqui" 
turque fugitque^ " Here," says he, << is the passage in 
iinitatibn of which I wrote the line ^at my critics 
were pleased to condemn as nonsense ; not tot I may 
sometimes write^nons^ise, though they have not the 
fortune to find it." 

' Every one sees the folly of such mean doublings t9 
escape the pursuit of criticism ; nor is there a single 
ssader of tliis poet, who would not have paid him 
greater veneration^ had he shown consciousness 
Enough of bis own superioiitf to^ set such cftvils at de- 
gance, and owned that he sometimes slipped into er« 
Fors by the tumult of his imagination^ and the multi- 
tude of his ideas* 

. It is happy when this temper discovers itself only 
ki little things^ whichmay be right or wrong without 
any influence on the virtue or happineiss of mankind. 
We may, with very little inquietude, see a man persist > 
HI a project which he has found to be impracticslble, 
live in an inconvenient house, because it was contrived , 
by himself, or wear a coat of a particular cut, in hope^ 
by perseverance to bring it into fashion. These are 
indeed follies, but they are only follies, and, however 
wild or ridiculous, can very little affect others. 

But such pride, once indulged, too frequently ope- , 
raies upon more important objects, and inclines men 
not only to vindicate their errors, but their vices ; to 
persist in practices which their own hearts condemn, 
only lest they sliould seem to feel reproaches, or be . 
made wiser by' the advice of others; or to searcb lor 



'•\ 



irs^ TBEBAM&IAR. M.U: 

aophbms tendifig to the confusion of all principlcrsy 
and the evacuation of all duties, that they may not ap^ 
pear to act what they are not able to defend. 

Let every man, who finds vanity so far pvedomtmoiti 
aft to betray him to the danger of this last de^ee of cor^* 
ruption, pause a moment to consider what will be the 
consequences of the plea which -he is about to ofifor for 
9f practice to which he knows himself not led at first I7 
reason, but impelled by the violence of desire, 8ur« 
prised by the suddennessofpassicm, or seduced by ^nr 
soft approaches of temptation, and by imperceptible 
gradations of guilt. Let him con^der what he is go« 
iDg to commit, by forcing his understanding to patre^ 
nise those appetites, w^ch it is its chief bu^ftess tm 
hinder and reform. 

The cause of virtue requires so little art to defend 
in, and good uid evil, when they have been onee showii^ 
are so easily distinguished, that such apologists sel^ 
dom gain proselytes to their party, nor have their fid- 
lacies power to deceive any but those whose desires 
have ^ouded their discernment. All that the best fai* 
culties thus employed can perform Is, to persuade the 
hearers that the man is hopeless whom they only 
thought vicious, that corruption has passed from his 
manners to his principles, that all endeavors for his re« 
covery are with<Mit prospect of success, and that no* 
thing remains but to avoid him as infectious, or hunt 
him down as destructive. 

But if it be supposed that he may impose on his au^^ 
dience by partial representations of consequences, in- 
tricate deductions of remote causes, or perplexed com- 
binations of ideas, wbich having various rekiSons, ap- 
pear different as viewed on different sides ; that he mayi 
sometimes puzzle the weak and well meanings and 
'How and then seduce, bty theadmiraiwiirflttsabittti^ 



9ff»wg^«dtidMAUr flobtKOtkig in unsettledimticms, and 
fi«ltbef fopti&ed by instrttctiODt nor enlightened by exr 
peiience ; yet whst must be tke event t>f such « 
ttiumph ! A man eannot spend aU his Ufe in frolic : ^e 
^^disease^ or soUtilde, will bring seme hours of serif 
««s consideration^ and itvBl thenafbrd no comfort to 
tiHnkt that he has extended the dominion of vice, that 
i|e has loaded himself withthexrimesof others, and 
can never know the extent of his own wickedness, (Ht 
ffild&e repamtion for the mischief that he has caused* 
Sh^re ia not» perhaps, in all the stores of ideal an- 
yoiali, a thought more painful, than the c<»isciousnemi 
«f- iaving propagated corruption by vitiat^g princl* 
ylea^ of haiingnotonlydrawi^ others from the paths* 
of virtue, but blocked up the way by which they stiould 
t^m^f (^htaviag bliBded thesa to every beauty but the 
paiotof plefitsure, and deafened them to every caU but 
tiie^ailttriag voiee of the syrens of destruction. 

There ia yet another danger in this practice : men 
frbo canfi»t deceiv«i others, are very o£ben successful 
in deceiving theanselves} they weave their sophistry 
tiAthw own reason is entangled, and repeat their po^ 
^tiont^Ui the^y are credited by themselves ; by often 
fSpQteAding, th^y grow sincere ia the cause; and bf 
long wishiiig for demonstrative arguments; they at last 
bring theDaj»elves.U)t fancy |hat they have found tliemi 
^ m^ ar^ then at tl>e uttcirmost verge of wickednessi 
and may die without having that light rekiadledin theur 
nsinds, which.theiiiown pride and contumacy have ex- 
tingUL&hedir 

. • The m^P^ who cm be. charged mtk fewest faitingsy 
tiii^v iii^h*re(^6ct to abilkiea cHri^rtue, are generally 
s^OtiBt fea4y to allow them ; for,, not to dwell on things 
ti,ml^m^,9f^d ai^fttl consMenuiDn, tiie humility of 
9PAiii^MH^a» thj»<tiMur8 c^aakitsimidthe dying terrors of 



tm jsmnAmmmu »o.$i. 



puwom eBiiaeat foryioty mt loaootMe, k k Will 
known that Cssar wrote an account of the errors cqa* 
inltted by htm in hb wars of Gaal, and that H^po- 
crates, whose name is perhaps in mtioRal estimivtki^ 
greater than CaBsar'st warned posterity agaiiMt a mis* 
take into which he had &llen. So much, says Celsip» 
does the o^cn and artieto confeoHon ^mn error become 
a many conocioue tkat he had emougk remoMmg to m^^ 
p9rt Ms ebaraeter. 

As all error is meanness, it is encianibent on evosf 
. man who consults his own dignity to retractk as aoon 
9B he discovers it) without fearing any censure «• 
much as that of his own mind* As justice re^uiiwa 
that all injuries should be repttredy it is the ftaty-tif 
hiin who has seduced others by bad practices or late 
notions, to endeavor that s«ch as have adopted his cdr^ 
rors should know his retraction, and that those' who 
have learned vicel^ his example, should by his «iL- 
ample be taught amendment. 

No. 33, SATURDAY, JULY 7, ir«0. ' 



' Of all the woes that load the mortal state, 
Whate'er thy portioiH mildly meet thy fate > 

' But ease it as thou can'st— Ex-phinstok. 

OO large a part of human life passes in aslatoJBoni- 
trary to our natural desffes, that oiie of the principal 
topics of moral instruction ia the art of bearing C9^ 
fnities. And such is tho certainty of «iil, tbatiitistho 
duty of every man to fiimish his mind with tiiose prm* 



^\09 itlat imay enaSbto Mm to ttct utideritirith decen- 
cy and propriety. **' 

' TIfe sect 6f ancient philosophers, that boasted to 
iii¥e -catried thh hecessary science to the highest 
jJerfectionj ^''^^^hf^^^toics, of scholars of Zeno^ "vrhose 
^fld entiinsia&tic Virtue pretended to an exemption 
from the sensibilities of unenlightened mortals, and 
^ho proclaimed the^ntSelves exalted, by the doctrlnfes 
t>f their sect, above tiie reach of those miseries Tfhich 
%fnbi€^r Hfe to the rest of the world. They there- 
Ibte removed pain, poverty, loss of friends, exile, 
ftid violent <!^aith, ftxrin tftie cataltigue of evils; and 
l^assed, in their bttughty^tyle^ a kind of irreversible 
tec^»)», by which they«lbrbBHle thfem to be counted any 
MngerttinoBgthe ©bjettsef terror or aaixicty, or to 
^ve inay Astmbance to^ ^le tMnquillity of a wise man. 
. TiiSft «<U«t was, t tMnk, not \Aiivcrsaliy observed ; 
IbriiM^iigh one of the more resolute, when he was 
tortured by a violent disease, cried out, that let pain 
kamss him to its utmost power, it should never force 
him to consider it as other than indifftcrent and neutral ; 
yet aH'^ad not sttftliomness to hold out against their 
senses : for a weaker pupil of Zeno is recorded to 
have TOiilessed in ^e anguish of dib gout, thiit he now 
Jkmndfiaki to be an evil. 

It may however be questioned, whether these phi- 
iM^kers can be very property numbered among the 
teachers of patience ; for if pain be not an evil, there 
seems no instruction requisite how it may be borne ; 
aisd therefore, wheh they endeavor to arm their fol- 
krweri with arguiiieAts against h, they may be thought 
to iMTVe -given up their first position. But such incorit 
aiiletteies are to be expected from the greatest under- 
gUOldlSngS) when'they endeavor to gro^ eminent b/ 

TOL. tV. 16 



H8 THEEAMBUEE. M. d» 

aiogiulftfttjy and eaiptey their strtpglh in cataMiiiltiwy 
ofttBioDs opposite to natuPT. % 

The controTer^ about the reality of eatexnal ento 
is now at an end. That life has many miseiies, and 
that those miseries are,- sometimes at leastf equal %o 
all the powers of fordtndey is now universally conr 
fessed ; and therefore it is useful to consider not only 
how we may escape them^ but b3r what means those 
which either the accidents of affairs^ or the infirmities 
^of nature, must bring upon us, may be mitigated aa4 
Ughtened, foid how we may make those hours lese 
wretched, which the comitidgn ef .our present exUt{ 
ence will not allow to.be Teiy happy. * 

The cure for the greatest part of human fniseviee 
is not radical, but paltialiTe. IniMicity is inTOlved M 
corporeal nature, and interwoven with our bdog ; all 
attempts therefore tedecline it wholly ure useless and 
vain : The 4imiies of pain send their arrows against 
us on every ude, the choice is only between thestf 
which are more or less sharp, or tinged'Widi poison off 
greater or. less malignity $ and the su«i%eaft« amoV 
which reason can ftmiply» Will onfy blunt their point* 
hut cannot repel them; ^ 

The gffeat.remedy which heaven fans put in om* 
hands is patience, by which, though we^eannot'lesseli 
the torments of the body,- we can in a great measure 
preserve the peace of the mind, and shall suffer only 
the natural mid. genuine force. of an evil, without 
heightening its acrimony, or proloi^ging itseffects.- 

There is indeed nothing more unsuital^e to the na« 
ture of man in ai^ calamity than rage amd turbulence^: 
which, without examining whether they are notsome* 
times impious, are at least alvs^sofij^stye, and inv 
cJine others xsither to hate and despise than to pitf aaidl 



7to. 33i «ffi RAMBLSB; U$ 



us« I€ wlitti we^rafibr has been broVKbt ^poa 
us bj ourselves, it is obsenredbf ati ancieatpoet, th&t 
pati^qkeiB eoiitiehtiy our duty) nnee no one should be 
aag^;at ficteling that which he has desenred. 

tet pain deserv'd without complaint be bome. 

'. And8ttr^f» i£-me are conscious that wehvve not 
C W ttfiii buted to OU94WU sufferings, if poniahment falla 
iqycni^innoc^ice^ onUiappoinunieiit happens to tndus-< 
ttjr said pradence, pajtkaeey whether mofe necessary 
4»^]iot» i9 much easier^ sinee our pain is then without 
ag9Pa?ation) and we havenot Um biucrness of remorse 
iQ.add to the asperity of xoisfertiBie; 
:. In ^o^B eyUs which are allotMid to ua by Previ- 
dencey.sucb aa deibnAity, pimttien of any of the 
fehsesy <Mr. old age^ it is alwaya to be remembered^ 
Ihwt Hi^atieace can have no present effect, buttode«* 
jtnve' ttsof >the consolations which our condiiioo ad«> 
soilsi bydrivingawtty from us those hy. whose ceiiver^ 
salioa or advice we soight be .amused or helped ; and 
tlfat with regard to futurity it is yetiess to be justifiedf 
wincey without lesi€»ioig.lheipain,.itenUoff the hope 
pS thalrAwa«4» wluchiiie,by.whottiit is inflicted, will 
eonfer upon them, tliat hear it wialL 

. In ^i eyiJs whichi admit n remedy, impatience is te 
^avoided, hisQause. it wastes that time and attention 
in complaints, jthat, if prpperly applied, might re 
I09iite:th^ QWIse. Tun&nne, among the acknowledg- 
m^ntisf^hich^e nppd to.pay incQi]^ersation to the me* 
2||Qry,of those by. w))qbi he had been instructed in ti^ 
Wti-of wa?) msntioi^ one with honor, who taught 
|u«iaM tp.sp^d bis time^in regretting any mistake 



m TUB lAIORAll, 99^m. 

vUcbbe kadmade, bot lo Mt JhliiBMlf mmBdii^kltf 
and vigatously to repair it. 

PatiflAee aiU aubmisaion «r^ very carefteUy to bt 
distinguidiedfromf^wai«iieeab4iBdoleii«e. Weaie 
not to repiQ9» but we may lawfully straggle ; for the 
calamitiea of life» 1IK« tbe necesai^ea of nature, are 
calla to labor and exercisea of diligence. Wheii we 
feel any pressure of distress, we are not to conclude 
tbat we can only cb^y tbe will of healien by languish* 
Sag under it* any nw>ra tban wben we^pereelTe tHao pavi 
of tfairati we are to imaguie that wnter ia pgobihiHi|fc 
Of inia6>rtiiM .H nmtp can be certaiDly known niiei 
ther^ aa proqeediDg^ff oin.4he hand of God, it is aai act 
of favor or of ^wdaboMit: .b«l aineefail the mtiiamW^ 
dispensations of Proridenee. ase to be interpreted actf 
cording to iher general analogy ef thingay we oiay 
conclude tbs^ we bftvee ri^ to remove ebe^in^eiiveA 
niMkce aa well as enothec; tbat we are etdyle taie^ 
care lest we purchase oaae with gnik; and t|iat nut 
Maker's purpose, whether of risward or aevei^y^ wil| 
be anawered by the labors which he Iq^^ n^ iai|der tho 
necessity of performing. 

This duty is not more di(lbolt in any stale than to 
diseases intensely pain&l, w^dai may indeed snihf» 
aucb exacertetions as seemto strain tbe pow^rtf e< 
life to their utmost stretch) s^d leave very little of ^le 
attention vacant to precept or reproof. In this state 
the nature of man requires some indulgence, and 
every extravagance but impiety may be eailly for^ 
^ven him. Yet, lest we should think ourselves too 
soon entitled to the mournful privileges of irree!^ 
ble misery, it is proper to reflect, that the utmost an^ 
guish which human yfk can contrive, or human malice 
can inflict, has been borne with constancy^; and tkac 
if the pains of disease be, as I believe they ar^> some^ 



'#91^8 grtoiter than those of ardicial torture, they are 
thcifefopeln their own nature shorter : the vital frame 
Hhi-^mcily broken, or thcf union between soul and body 
ik for a time suspended by^ insensibility, and we soon 
cease to feel our maladies when they once become too 
▼iolent to be borne. I think there is some reason ^or 
questioning whether the body and mind are not so 
proportioned, that the one can bear all that can be in- 
dieted on the other, whether virtue cannot stand its 
firound as long as life, and whether a soul well priiw 
^{^ed will not be separated sooner than subdued. 

In calamities which operate chiefly on our passionst 
such as diminution of fortune, loss of friends, or de- 
cienakii of charaeterf the chief danger of impatience 
*ik upon the first attack, and many expedients have 
-%«eti contrived, by whieh the blow may be broken. 
Of these the most general precept is, not to take 
pleasure m any thing of whkh it is not in our power 
-^ secure the possession to ourselves. This counsel, 
tia^enwe ccoisiderthe enjoyment* of any terrestrial 
fKtvantage, as opposite to a constant and habitual soli- 
citude for futiire felicity, is undoubtedly just, and 
flelivered by that authority which cannot be disputed ; 
tatti in atiy other sense, is it not like advice, not to walk 
lest we should stumble, or not to see lest oi^r eyea 
iitoilld light upon deformity ? It seems to me reason- 
iMe to enjoy blessiqgs with confidence, as well as to 
ig^ign them with submission, smd to hope for the con* 
tmUance of good which we possess without insolence 
«r voluptuousness, asforthc restituticm of that which 
vie lose without despondency or murmurs. 

The chief security against the fruitless anguish of 
imiliitience, must arise from frequent reflection on 
tike wisdom and goodness of the God of nature, in 
vi^ioee bandfr are riches and poverty, honor and dis>^ 



^ * .11 






graccy p IcMw e tad p«io» »d lifeaaA deatlu ^^^i^ 
fled conYictioa of the tendency of every thii^g to o^r 
good, and of the posubility of turning miaeriet.mlp 
happiness, by receiving them rightly, will incline us 
to bUn the name ef the Lo&D, ^uhether he givee of 
take9 away* 

No. SS". TUESDAY, JULY 10, 1750. 

Qttocf caret altemarequie dmrabUe nen eit. Ovxo* 

Alternate rest and labor long endure. 

Xn the early ages of the world, as is well known to 
those who are versed in ancient traditions, when inr 
nocence was yet untainted, and simplicity unsidullQ- 
ratedi mankind was happy in the enjoyment of conti- 
nual pleasurei and constant plenty, under the protec- 
tion of Reetji a gentle* divinity, who required of her 
worshippers neither altars nor aacrifipoh and whose 
rites were only performed l^ prostrations upon turfs 
of flowers in shades of jasmine and myrtle, or by 
dances on the banks of rivers flowing with milk m^ 
nectar. 

Under this easy government the first generations 
breathed the fragrance of perpetual spring, ate the 
fruits, which, without culture, fell ripe into their 
^hands, and slept under bowers arched by nature, witli 
the birds singing over their heads, and the beasta 
sporting about them. But by degrees they began to 
lose their original integrity; each, though there was 
*imore than enough for all, was desirous of approyia^ 
• ting part to himself. Then entered violence and fraudt 
and theft and rapine* Soon after pride; and myy t^<4^ 



^ W<9Alth ; for m^n>, who tUl then thought themselves 
rich wl^» they wwted npthfeig, now rated their de» 
xafokUf QOtbyth^ callsiof natui^e^ but by the plentj 
of pthers j a^d.begiio.to consider theinfielves as poor^ 
when they behead theii? own possessions exceeded by 
those of their neighbors. Now only one could b^ 
happj) because only one coulii have xnost> and that 
one was airways in dangeri lest tlie same arts by which 
hPf had suj^j^l^ed others should be practised upon 
]umself. . , 

• Amidst the pj^evalenei^ of this corruption) the state 
of the earth wa& chi^ngjed ; the year waa divided into 
seasons ^ past of the ground became barren, and the 
rest yielded only b^rrie^, acorns, and he.rbev The 
^mmer and autumn indeed furnished a eoafse and 
inelegant sufEciency, but winter was without any rei^* 
lief; JFamincy with.i^ thousand diseases which the in^ 
clemency of the air invite^ into the upper regions^ 
:p(^ade havock ajpong men, and there appeared to be 
danger le^ they shoi^ld be destroyed before they were 
reformed. « . 

Tp oppose the devastations of. Famine^ who scat^ 
t«ired the ground every where with caroases, Labiift 
came down upon eai^th. JLabQv was the son of ^^ 
i;€9Hity^ the nurs^i^g 9f Hop^^ and the pupil of jiris 
he ^d. the strengUi of his mothers Uie spirit of his 
,purse> and the dexterity of his governess. Hi3 face 
was wrinkled with the wind^ cuid swarthy with the 
sun; he had the implements of husbandry in one 
haad) with which he turned up th^ earth ^ in the other 
^ be had the tools^of architecturoi. and raised walls vA 
towera at his plesi^sure. He called o^t with a rough 
^^Yoice, '^ Mortals i see here the power to whom yoU 
^e 4Copsigaed, a^d frqii^,>\rhom yeu are M bepe for ail 



yi^ THE BikMBLEB. ito. 3S^ 

your plealtttr«)i, and all your aafety. You iii»e l^nf^. 
languished under the dominion of Reatf an iropoleaft 
and deceitful goddesS) who can neither protect nor 
relieve you, but resigns you to the first attacks of ei^ 
ther Famine or Diaeaae^ and aufibrs her shades to be 
invaded by every enemy, and destroyed by every ac- 
cident. 

<( Awake tfaereforeto the call of Xa^^r. i wiii 
teach you to remedy the sterility of the earth, and the 
severity of the sky ; I will compel summer to find 
provisions for the winter; I will force the waters ta 
give you their fish, the. air its lbwls» and the forest 
i$s beasts ; I will tea<;h you to pierce the bowels of the 
earthy and bring out from the caverns of the moun* 
tains metals which shall give' strength to your hands^ 
and security to your bodies^ by which you may be co- 
irered from the assaults of the fiercest beasts^ and 
with which you shall iell the Oak> and divide rocks,. 
«nd subject all nature to your use and pleasure." 

Encouraged by this magnificent imritation» the in« > 
habitants of the globe considered Labor as their only 
lriend> and hasted to his command. He led them out 
to the fields and mountains^ and showed them how to 
^»en minesi to level hills> to drain marshesy and 
ehange the coiu*se of rivers. The face ^f things was . 
iinmediately transformed ; the land was covered Willi . 
towns and villages, encompassed with fields of com> i 
and plantations of fruit-trees ; and nothing was seen ji 
liut heaps of grain, and baskets of fruit, full tables, and 
crowded storehouses. 

Thus Labor and his followers added every hour new^ 
ac^isitions to their conquests, and saw Famine ^V9i^ 
dually dispossessed of hb dominions ; till atlast, amidst ' 
their jollity and triumphs, they were depressf^d and ; 
amazed by the approach oiLa^dtude^ ivbo yms knovn- 



m^am 



bf her simk eyes and dejeeted countenance. She 
came forward tfeqibling and groaning : at every groan^^ 
tbe hearts ofall those that beheld her lost their conragei 
^heir nerves slackened, their hands shook, and the in- 
struments of labor fell from their grasp. 

Shocked with this horrid phantom, they reflected 
with regret on their easy compliance with the solicita^ 
tbnSvOf ^iMr, v^ began to wish again for the golden 
hours wMch theyiremembered to have passed under 
^ reign of J^^f/^^ wh^m they resolved a^gain t6 visit, 
spd to whom they intended to dedicate the remaining 
gtM^t of their lives. JReet had not left the world ; thejf 
qpukkly found hers ^4 to atone lor their former deser* 
t^op, invited her- to the enjoyment of those acquisi<t 
t«sns whieh JLa^^r hfid procured them« 
. J^eat therefore took leave of the groves And vallies^ 
iri^h she haU hitherto inhaUted, and entered into 
p^la^s, reposed herself in alcoves,, and slumbered 
away the winter upon beds of down, and the summei^ 
le^'artffit^ial gt^ttos with cascades playing before her. 
Thei*^ was indeed always something wanting to com**^ 
plete her feHcity, and she could never lull her return V 
ing fugitives to that serenity which diey knew before 
l^f engagements with Labor : Nor was her domiV 
9h>n entirely without control, fbr she was obliged tm" 
$hare it with Luxury ^ though she always looked upon 
her as a false friend, by whom her influence was in 
reality destroyed^ while it seemed to be promoted. 

• The.two soft associates, however, i^eigned for some* 
time without visible disagreement, till at last Luxury 
betrayed her chargey and let in Disease to seize upon * 
her worshippers. Re^ then flew away, and left the' 
place to the usurpers ; who employed all their arts to^ 
fortify themsehesin their po85ession,'and to strength* * 
eii the interest of «ach ott^r. 



119 THKRAIftBI^B. 199. SS;. 

' Re$i bad not always the vane enemy : in «ome pQ» 
ees she. escaped the incuraions of DUeaae ; but had 
her residence Inyaded by a more slow and subtle in^ 
truder) Uxr very frequently, when every thing was 
composed and quiet, when there was neither pahi 
within, nor danger without, when every flower was in 
bloom, andeveiygale^freighted with perfumes^ Sd* 
tieti^ would enter with a languishing and repining look^ 
and throw herself upon the couch jriaced and adomedl 
for the accommodation of- RtBt. No soonerwas she 
seated than a general gloom spread itself on eVeff 
idde, the groves immediately lost their verdure^ aifd 
their inhabitants desisted from their melody, the 
teeeze sunk in sighs, and the flowers contracted their 
leaves, and shut up their odots. Nothing was seen on 
every side but multitudes wandering about they knew 
not whither, in quest they knew not of what ; no voice 
was heard but of complaints that mentioned no pain) 
and murmurs that could tell of no misfortune. 

Reat had now lost her authority. Her followers 
again began to treat her with contempt; some of them 
united themselves more closely to Liigcurtf^ whoi pro* 
mised by her arts to drive Satiety away ; and others, 
that were m^e wise, or had more fortitude, went back 
again to Labor ^ by whom they were indeed protected 
from Satiety J but delivered up ia time to Lamtutle^ 
and forced by her to the bowers of Rest, 

Thus Rest and Labor equally perceived their reigm^ 
of short duration and uncertain tenure, and their em-*. 
pire liable to inroads from those who were alike ene«, 
mies to both. They each foundtheir subjects unfaith«-^ 
fill, and ready to desert them upon every opportunity.. 
Labor saw the riches which he. had given always <;ar-r 
ried away as an offering to Rest j and Rest found her, 
votaries in every exigence flying from her to beg helpi 



^^: ^^.:>-* 




Ho. 34/ THBRAMBLfiR. l$l 

,ig Labor, They^ therefore, at last determined upon 
an interview, in which they agreed to divide the world 
between them, and govern it alternately, allotting th# 
domiultin of the day to one, and that of the night to the 
other, and promised to guard the fronders of each 
<ydier, 80'tlmt, whenever hostilitiei»^ were attempted, 
Satiety should be intercepted by Labor ^ and Lassitude 
expelled by Rest, Thus the ancient quarrel was ap- 
iMased, and as hatred is often succeeded by its control-- 
If J Reat afterwards became pregnant by Xa^or, and 
was delivered of Healthy a benevolent goddess, wh& 
^nsolidated the union of her parents, and contributed 
tothe.regular vicissitudes of their reign, by dispensing 
her gifts to those only who shared their lives in jusf 
^x)portions between ReH and Labor* 

r 

No. 34. SATURDAY, JULY 14, 1750. . 



» ■ J^on sive vano 

Jkrarum et silva metv."-"^ HoR« 

Alarm'd with ev*ry rising gale. 

In ev'ry wood, in ev*py vale. Elphinston. 

J. HAVE been censured for having hitherto dedicated 
^ few of my speculations to the ladies; and indeed the 
moralist, whose instructions are acconimodated only 
to one half of the human species, must be confessed 
not sufficiently to have extended his views. Yet it is 
to be considered, that masculine duties afford more 
room for -counsels and observations, as they are less 
tmiform, and connected with things more subject ta 
vicissitude and accident ; we therefore find that in phi- 
losophical discourses which telich by precept, or his- 



t %^ YHE BAMfiLEtL »o. 34. 

toricai narratives that instruct by example, tlie'pccu- 
tiar virtues or faults of women fill but a small part ; 
perhaps generally too small, for so much of our domes- 
tic happiness is in their hands, and their influence is so 
great upon our earliest years, that the universal inter- 
est of the world requires them to be well instructed 
in their province : nor can it be thought proper that the 
qualities by which so much pain or pleasure may be 
given, should foe left to the direction of chance. 

I have, therefore, willingly given a place in my pa- 
per to a letter, which perhaps may not be wholly use- 
less to them whose chief ambition is to please, as it 
fthows how certainly the end is missed by absurd and 
injudicious endeavors at distinction. 

TO THE lUMBLEJU 

^ Sir,* 

I am a young gentleman at my own disposal, with 
a considerable estate ; and having passed through the 
common forms of education, spent some time in 
foreign countries, and made myself distinguished 
since my return in the politest company, I am now 
arrived at that part of life in which every man is ex- 
pected to settle, and provide for the continuation of 
las lineage. I withstood for some time the solicita- 
tions and remonstrances of nfiy aunts and uncles, but 
at last was persuaded to visit Anthea, an heiress, 
whose land lies contiguous to mine, and whose birth 
and beauty are without objection. Our friends de« 
Glared that we were bom for each pther : all those on 
both sides who had no interest in hindering our union^ 
contributed to promote it, and were conspiring to 
hurry us into matrimony, before we had an opportu- 
nity of knowing one another. I was, however, too 



K'o. 34. THE KAMBLEB. 193 

did lobe given away without my pwn consent; and 
having happened to pick up an opinion, which to 
itiany of my relations seemed extremely odd, that a 
man might be unhappy with a large estate, determin- 
ed to obtain a nearer knowledge of the person with 
whom I was to pass the remainder of my time. To 
protract the courtship was by no mefeins difficult, for 
Anthca had a wonderful facility of evading questions 
which I seldom repeated, and of barring approaches 
which I had no great eagerness to press. 

' Thus the time passed away in visits and civilities, 
without ardent professions of love, or formal offers 
of settlements. I often attended her to public places, 
in which, as is w^l known, all behavior is so muph 
I'egulated by custom, that very little insight can be 
gained into the private character, and therefore I was 
riot yet able to inform myself of her humor and in- 
clinations. " 

At last I ventured to propose to her to make one of 
a small party, and spend a day in viewing a seat' and. 
gardens a few miles distant ; and havings upon her 
compliance, collected the rest of the company, I 
brought, at the hour, a coach which I had borrowed 
from an acquaintance, having delayed to buy one piy- 
stlf, till I should hate an opportunity of taking the 
lady's* opinion for whose \ise it was intended. Anthea 
caqie down, but as she was going to step into the 
coach, stalled back with great appearance of terror, 
and told us that she durst not enter, for the shocking 
color of the lining.had so much the ^r of the mourn- 
ing-coach in v/hich she followed her aunt's funeral 
three years before, that she should never have her 
poor dear aunt out of her head. 

' I knew that it was not for loversto argue with their 
mistresses ; 1 therefore sent back the coach, and got 

VOL. IV. 17 



394 THE RAMBLEB. No. 34. 

another more gay. Into this we all entered, the coach- 
man began to drive, and we were amusing ourselves 
with the expectation of what we should see, when, 
upon a small inclination of the carriage, Anthea 
screamed out, that we were overthrown. We were 
obliged to fix all our attention upon her, which she 
took care to keep up, by renewing her outcries at 
every comer where we had occasion to turn ; at inter- 
vals she entertained us with fretful complaints of the 
uneasiness of the coach, and obliged me to call seve- 
ral tiroes on the coachman to take care and drive with- 
out jolting. The poor fellow endeavored to please 
us, and therefore moved very slowly, till Anthea 
found out that this pace would only keep us longer on. 
the stones, and desired that I wo^ild order him to 
make more speed. He whipped his horses, the coach 
jolted again, and Anthea very complaisantly told u* 
how much she repented that she made one of our 
company. 

At last we got into the smooth road, and began to . 
think our difficulties at an end, when, on a sudden, 
Anthea saw a brook before us, which she could not 
venture to pass. We were, therefore, obliged to 
alight, that we might walk over the bridge ; but when 
we came to it, we found it so narrow, that Anthea 
durst not set her foot upon it, and was content, after 
long consultation, to call the coach back, and with in- 
numerable precautions, terrors, and lamentations, 
crossed the brook. 

It was necessary after this delay, to amend our pace,J 
and directions were accordingly given to the coach- 
man, when Anthea informed us, that it was common 
for the axle to catch fire with a quick motion, and beg. 
gcd of me to look out every minute, lest we should 
all be consumed. I was forced to obey, and give her 



No. 34. THE RAMBLER. 195 

from time to time the most solemn declarations that 
all was safe, and that I hoped we should reach the 
place without lf»|Bg our lives either by fire or water. 

Thus we passed on, over ways soft and hard, with 
more or less speed, but always with new vicissitudes 
of anxiety. If the ground was hard, vre were jolt- 
ed ; if soft, we were sinking. If we went fast, we 
should be overturned; if slowly, we should never 
reach the place. At length she saw something which 
she called a cloud, and began to consider that at that 
time of the year it frequently thundered. This seem- 
ed to be the capital terror, for after that the coach was 
suffered to mo<c on ; and no danger was thought loo 
•dreadful to be encountered, provided she could get 
into a house before the thunder. 

Thus our whole conversation passed in dangers, 
afid cares, and fears, and consolations, and stories of 
ladies dragged in the mire, forced to spend all the 
night on a heath, drowned in rivers, or burnt with 
lightning ; and no sooner had a hairbreadth escape 
set us free from one calamity, but we were threaten- 
ed with another. 

At length we reached the house where we intended 
to regale ourselves, and I proposed to Anthea the 
choice of a great number of dishes, which the place 
being well provided for entertainment, happened to 
afford. She made some objection to every thing that 
was offered ; one thing she hated at that time of the 
yeat^ another she could not bear since she had seni it 
spoiled at lady Feedwell's table, another she was sure 
they could not dress at this house, and another she 
could not touch without French sauQe. * At last she 
fixed her mind upon salmon, but there was no salmon 
in the house. It was however procured with great 
«iy>edition9 and when it came to the table she {butid 



I9d Xm AAMBUUL Ko. Si 

that her fright had tal^en away her atomaoh, wbkii 
ij^deed she thought no great loss, for she could never 
bejieve that any t}\\ng at an inn cou^ be cleanly got. 

pinner was now ove^, .and the company, pr<^itosed» 
for I was now past^e condition of making overtureSf 
that we should pursue our original design of visiting 
the gardens. Anthea declared that she could not ima* 
ginc what pleasure we expected from the sight of a 
few green trees and a little gravel, and two or threo 
.pits of clear water ; that for her part, she hated walk*, 
ing till the cool of the evening, and thought it %&tf 
likely to rain ; and again wished-that she hadataid.a^t 
' home. We th^n reconciled ourselves to our diaap- 
pointment, and began to talk on common aub^t9» 
when Anthea told us, that since we came to see gai»* 
dens, she would not hinder our satisfaction. We ail 
rose, and walked through the enclosures for soime 
time, with no other trouble than the necessity oS 
watching lest a fi*og should hop across the way, which 
Anthea told us would certainly kill her, if she.shoulfi 
happen to sec him*. 

Frogs, as it fell out, there were none;; but when Wf 
.«were \nthin a furlong of the gardens, Anthea saw 
some sheep, and heard the. wether clink his.bel}^whicb 
she was certain was not hung' upon him for notluj^i 
,and therefore no assurances nor. entreaties should pi:«^ 
vail upon her to go. a step further ; -she wa<s sorry to 
disappoint the company, but her.li£e was dearer to h^r 
thfin ceremony. 

We came back to the inn, and Anthea now discQ* 
vered that tWre was no time to :be lost in iieturning, 
.for the night would C9JAe upon us, and a thou^md 
misfortunes might happ#n in the dark- The horsea 
were immediately harnessed, apd Aflthea having won- 
• dered what could seduce h^x to stay so loog, w^* 



»gcr to «ct out. But we had now a new scene of 
terror^ every man we saw was a robber, and we were 
ordered iometimes to drive hard, lest a traveller 
whom we saw behind should overtake us ; and some- 
times to stop, lest we should come up to him who 
was passing before us. She alarmed many an honest 
man, by begging him to spare her life, as he passed 
by the coach, and drew me into fifteen quarrels with 
persons who increased her fright, by kindly stopping 
to inquire whether theycouki assist us. At last We 
came hotne, and she told her company next day what 
a pleasiant ride she had been taking. 

I suppose, Sir, I need notinquire^of you what de- 
ductions may be made from this narrative, nor what 
happiness can arise from the society of that woman 
who mistakes cowardice for elegance, and imagines 
all delicacy to consist in refusing to be pleased. 

I am> fee. 

No. 35. TUESDAY, JULY 17, ITSO; 



— — JVon pronuBa Juno^ 
^on Hymenxas adett, no» UH Gratia Ueto. Ovz^» 

Without connubial Jun^s aid they wed ; 

Nor Nymm nor the Gtacet bfes^the bed. Ei^ifHiNftToy. 

TO THE rJmBLEJL 
SlK> 

xV-S you have hitherto delayed the performance of 
the promise, by which yoVt gave us reason to hope for 
another paper upon matrimony, I imagine you desi* 
rous of collecting more materials than your own ex* 
p^rience^ or observation, can supply; and I shall 



X^ 



omu •tttrancc into the x^njugal sMQ» 

I wpB »bout €dgkt«aiidptweiitjr^f«ar& ^y.mkm h^* 
iNng tried the 4iver^0B» of the to^n ti)! { ^begwi tp^))# 
ireary, an4 being awaj^ened jnto ^tt^nliqn to mere ae- 
i|ou& business) bjr the {Eiikire of an fittor^eey to wh^opi 
I ha^ implicitly trusted the conduct of my foHjane, I 
^9«olved.t^ take py estate into my pwn p^t^e* vand ti^e*- 
thodise my whole life accof^ing io the atiNkCl^titmlfa 
of economicai prjud^nc^. 

In imrsuance of this scheme, I tongik leave ef.tnf 
acquaintance) who dismissed me wiitb n^mbepk^^sts 
vpon my new ^stem^Jifiving first endeavored to |li- 
vert me froijd a de(iigp so little wo?tl^ f)i a m^ pf 
^it) by vidicolous ^a^ecounts of ithe ignocsnice aiid rsfi^ 
Uc'ity into ivhicji, many had §mk m tjskpif vetiremimtt 
after haying dlslinguiSihed tk^m9^yp»Xn ta¥jerjo.s .a^d 
playhoi^seS) ,and given hopes of rising to uncommon 
eminence among the gay part of mankind. 

When I came firstinto the -country, which by a ne- 
glect npt uncommon wmoog young heirs^ I bad never 
seen since the death of my father, I found every thing 
in such confusion, that ^eing^ utterly without.practice 
in business^ I had great diSiculties to encounter in 
.4isefjangling tlje perplp;sitics of my «i«:u.m*tanees ; 
they however gave way to diligent application; 
aictfl I p^rceiired tji^ the advantage pf keeping my own 
accounts would very much over^balance the time 
which tliey could require. 

I had BOW visited my tenants, surveyed my land, 
^oid repaired the old hQuae, l^bifth, for sQine year?, 
Jtiadbeen running to decpty, ,TbesepT50<rfs of pepu- 
i^iary wisdom bega^ji to jxcommeod me aaa^ober, ju- 
dicious, thiivipg g€5ntleim[^p, tP all my graver i^|ph- 
bprs of t;he country, who /leyer failed tp celebrs^ my 
management in opposition to Thriftless and Latter- 



.'pki two ifinart felloiwsy wbo Juul^^^^^ :<^ ^^ ^CGkO 
f[^i;;t of tbefkingdan9» which tl^ey visited uow and tbep^ 
]|;^A ff»^ to take up their rents l>eforebaiid|deba«ii;h 
4 inijik-maid, wake a feast for the vills^e, and teU. 
a^rjea of Vh^r pwa iatrigues^.a&d then rode postbi^J^ 
tp to\yn<to.sp£d)d their monejr. 
. It. vas douhtful) however^ for aome time) whether 
i^^hoiLjd 4)e abk to hold vay resolution ; but ^ s^^Ht 
pftt'^&v^rance removed 4JI au^picions.. I rose everfi 
d^io reputation, by ;the deconcy of oif oonyer$atioi|| 
aW the rpgul^rity of n}3r;c.ondui^) luid wasinentioned 
iiKith.£^at riegard at the assizest as a nuiQyeryfitio 
Ij^ put ixk' commission for the peace. 
,. During the confusion of my i^airsy. and the dailf 
oecessky of visiting farnis, adjusting contracts^ letting 
leases, and superinten^ipg repairs, I fouxid very littlo 
vacuity rnxfiylii^yBud therefore had not many thoughts 
of nsiarriage ; but, inii little while the tumult of busi- 
^ess subsided, and the easact i|iethod which I had es* 
tsblished enabled me to despatch.my accounts with 
^reat facility* I had, therefore^ now upon my bandsj 
the task of finding means to spend my time, wi|hout 
falling back into the poor amusements which I had 
hitherto indulged, or cjianging them for the sports.of 
the field, whickl saw pursued with so much eager* 
ness by the gentleman nf the couptry, that they were 
indeed the only pleasures ifi which I could promise 
fnyself any partaker. 

The iaconvenience of this ^uaUon nftunJly dis- 
posed me to wish for a cpi^apanion, and the known 
value of my estate, with my reputation for frugality 
£ind prudence, easily gained m^ admission into every 
family > for I soon found titat no inquiry was made 
aifter any other virtue^ iior a^y.t^timonial nece^sary^ 



200 THE RAMBLfiR. Ko. Z$. 

but of mjr freedom from encumbruices, and my care 
cf what they termed the main chance. I saw, not 
without indignation, the eagerness with which the 
daughters, whereyet* I came, were set out to show ; 
nor could I conuder them in a state much different 
from prostitution, when I found them ordered to play 
their airs before me, and to exhibit, by some seeming 
chance, specimens of their music, their work, or 
their housewifery. No sooner was I placed at table^ 
than the young lady was called upon to pay me some 
civility or other ; nor could I find means of escaping, 
from either father or mother, some account of their 
daughter's excellences, with a declaration that they 
were now leaving the world, and had no busbess on 
this «de the grave, but to see their children happily 
disposed of; that she whom I had been pleased to 
compliment at table was indeed the chie^ pleasure of 
their age, so good, so dutiful, so great a relief to her 
*mamma in the care of the house, and so much her 
papa's favorite for her cheerfulness and wit, that it 
would be with the last reluctance that they should 
part ; but lo a worthj^ gentleman in the neighborhood, 
whom they might often visit, they would not so fer 
consult their own- gratification as to refuse her ; and 
theit' tenderness should be shown in her fortune, when-» 
ever a. suitable settlement was proposed. 

As I knew these overtures not to proceed from any 
preference of me before another equally rich, I could 
not but look with pity on young persons condemned 
to be set to auc^n, and made cheap by injudicious 
commendations ; for how could they know themselves 
offered and rejected a hundred times, without some 
loss of that soft elevation, and maiden dignity, so ne- 
cessary to the completion of female excellenae^ 



^^ 



ICo. §f Tl£& BAMBLEl^. 201 

.1 shall not trouble you wUh a Hstory of the ^tra' a- 
gcms practised upon my judgment, or the aUure* 
menls tried upon my heart, whichyif you have, in 
any part of your life, been acquainted with rural po- 
litics, y^ will easily conceive. Their arts have no 
^]^at variety, they think nothing worth their c^re bi^t 
mgney, and .suppQsing its influence the same upop 
all ,«the world, seldom endeavor to deqeive by any 
.other means than false computations. 

^>will not deny that, by he^uing myself loudly. conv* 
.mended for ^ly discretion, I began to set some V/alu^e^ 
up^n my character, and was unwilling to lose u^ 
.credit by marrying for love. I therefore resolv^tp 
.know .the fortune of the la^y w^ml should addre^f, 
fbefoue I indeed afte^r her wit, delicacy, . or bea^ity. 

This. determination Ipd me. to Miti&sa, the daugh- 
ter of Chrysopliilus, whose person was at lea$t witkr 
out deformity, a^d who^e manners wer,efree fromre*- 
^roach, as she ha^ been bred upat.a distance from^a^l 
c^mon. ten^ptations. To Midssa there£pire I obttur^ 
ed ieavp from, her parents to pay my coi^rt, ai¥l'Waf( 
referred by her ^gain to her father, whose d^rectiofi 
^he was resolved to follow. Ti^e. question t^en ts»^ 
jonly, whatjshould be settled? The old -gentlemaii 
made an, enormous idemand, with chichi refused tp 
.comply. JMitbsawaa ordered to eaiejrtJier power; she 
told me, that if I could jefuse h^r papa> 1 had ap 
Jove for her J that she w^s ^n unhapg^y creature, and 
jt;bat I was a perfidious ipan > then she burst into tears, 
and fell into fits. AH this, as I was qo passionate 
lover, liad little effect. She nesftce&ised to see mq, 
and because 1 thought my self obliged to write in terms 
of distress, they had once h^pes ^f fstarving 4ne into 
j;ueasures; but finding me inflexit^le, the father.com* 
plied with my proposal, and told .me he liked me the 
.isyore for being so good at a bargain. 



203 THE RAMBLER. Ko. 55. 

I was now married to Mitissay and was to expe- 
rience the happiness of a match made without pas- 
sion. Mitissa soon discovered that she was equally 
prudent with myself, and had taken a husband only 
to be at her own command) and to have aVhariot at 
her own call. She brought with her an old mud re- 
commended by her mother, who taught her all the 
arts of domestic management, and was, on every oc- 
casion, her chief agent and directress. They soon 
invented one reason or other to quarrel with all my 
0ervants, and either prevailed on me to turn them 
away, or treated them so ill that they left me of thera- 
flielves, and always supplied their places with some 
brought from my wife's relations. Thus they es- 
tablished a family, over which I had no authority, and 
which was in a perpetual conspiracy against me ; for 
Mitissa considered herself as having a separate inter- 
est, and thought nothing her own, but what she laid 
up without my knowledge. Fop this reason she 
brought me false accounts of the expenses of the 
house, joined with my tenants in complaints of hard 
times, and by means of a steward of her owJi, took 
rewards for soliciting abatements of the rent. Her 
great hope is to outlive me, that ^he may enjoy what 
she has thus accumulated, and therefore she is al- 
ways contriving some improvements of her jointure 
land, and once tried to procure an injunction to hin« 
der me from felling timber upon it for repairs. Her 
father and mother assist her in her projects, and are 
frequently hinting that she is ill used, and reproaching 
me with the presents that other ladies receive from 
their husbands. 

Such, Sir, was my situation for seven years, till 
at last my patieiice was exhausted, and having one day 
invited her father to my house, I laid the state of my 
affairs before him; detected my wife in several of her 



No. 36. THE RAMBLER, ^ 

ftauds, turned out her steward, charged a constable 
with her maid, took my business in my own hands, re- 
duced her to a settled allowance, and now write this 
account to warn others against marrying those whom 
they have no reason to esteem, 

I am, Set. 

No. 36. SATURDAY, JULY 21, 1756. 

Piping on their reeds Ae shepherds go, 
Nor fear an ambash« nor suspect a foe. Pops. 

J. HERE is scarcely any species of poetry that has 
allured more readers, or excited more writers, than 
the pastoral* It is generally pleasing, because it en- 
tertains the mind with representations of scenes fa- 
miliar to almost every imagination, and of which all 
can equally judge whether they are well described. 
It exhibits a life, to which we have been always accus- 
tomed to associate peace, and leisure, and innocence : 
and therefore we readily set open the heart for the 
admission of its images^ which contribute to drive 
away cares and perturbations, and suffer ourselves, 
without resistance, to be transported to elysian re- 
gions, where we are to meet with nothing but joy-, and 
plenty, and contentment ; where every gale whispers 
pleasure, and every shade promises repose. 

It has been maintained by some, who love to talk of 
what they do not know, that pastoral is the most an- 
cient poetry; and, indeed, since it is probable that 
poetry is nearly of the sanie antiquity with rational na- 



2b4 THE RAMBLER. No. SO- 

ttire, and since the life of the fitst men was certaihly 
rural, we may reasonably conjecture, that, as their 
ideas would necessarily be borrowed from those ob- 
jects with which they are acquainted, their compo- 
sures, being filled chiefiy with such thoughts on the 
visible creation as must occur to the first observers, 
were pastoral hymns, like those which Milton intro- 
duces the original pair^ singing, in the day of inno- 
cence, to the praise of their Maker* 

For the same reason that pasfpral poetry was the 
first employment of the human imagination, it is ge- 
nerally the first literary amusement of our minds. 
We have seen fields, and meadows, and groves, from 
the time that our eyes opened upon life; and are 
pleased with birds, and brooks, and breezes, nKich 
earlier than we engage among the actions and pas- 
sions of mankind. We are therefore delighted with 
rural pictures, because we know the original at an age 
when our curiosity can be very little awakened by de- 
scriptions of courts which we never beheld, or repre- 
sentations of passions which we never felt. 

The satisfaction received from this kind of writing 
not only begins early, but lasts long ; we do nott as we^ 
advance into the intellectual world, throw it away among^ 
other childish amusements and pastimes, but willingly 
return to it in any hour of indolenceand relaxation. 
Theimages of true pastoral have always the power of 
exciting delight, because the work's of nature, from 
which they ar^ drawn j have always the same order and 
beauty, and continue to force themselves upon our 
thoughts, being at once obvious to the most careless 
regaled, and more than adequate to the strongest rea- 
son, and severest contemplation. Our inclination to 
stillness and tranquillity is seldom much lessened by 
long knowledge of the busy and tumultuary part of thp 



J!t *.-"—, 



Ko. 3d. THE RAI^IBLER. 205 

%vorld. In childhood we turn our thoughts to the 
country, as to the region of pleasure ; we recur to it in 
old age as a port of rest, and perhaps with that second- 
ary and adventitious gladness, which every man feels 
on reviewing those places, or recollecting those oc- 
currences, that contributed to his youthful enjoymentS| 
and bring him back to the prime of life, when the 
world was gay with the bloom of novelty, when mirth 
wantoned at his side, and hope sparkled before him. 

The sense of this universal pleasure has invited 
numbers without number to try their skill in pastoral 
performances, in which they have generally succeeded 
after the manner of other imitators, transmitting the 
same images in the same combination from one to 
another, till he that reads the title of a poem, may 
guess at the whole series of the composition ; nor will 
a man, after the perusal of thousands of these perform- 
ances, find his knowledge enlarged with a single 
view of nature not produced before, or his imagination 
amused with any new application of those views to 
moral purposes. 

. The range of pastoral is indeed narrow; for 
though nature itself, philosophically considered, be in- 
exhaustible, yet its general effects on the eye and on 
the ear are uniform, and incapable of much variety 
of description. Poetry cannot dwell upon the minu- 
ter distinctions, by which one species differs from 
another, without departing from that simplicity of 
grandeur which fills the imagination ; nor dissect the 
latent^ qualities of things, without losing its general 
power of gratifying every mind by recalling its con- 
ceptions. However, as each age makes some disco- 
veries, and those discoveries are by degrees generally 
known, as new plants or modes of culture are intro- 
duced, and by little and little become common^ pasto- 

VOL. IV. 18 



206 THE RAMBI^R. Ko. 36. 

ral might receive, from time to time, small augmenta- 
tions, and exhibit once in a century a scede somewhat 
yaricd. 

But pastoral subjects have been often, like others, 
taken into the hands of those that were not qualified 
to adorn them, men to whom the fac^ of nature was so 
little known, that they have drawn it only after their 
own imagination, and changed or distorted her fea- 
tures, that their portraits might appear something^ 
snore than servile copies from their predecessors. 

Not only the images of rural life, but the occasions 
on which they*can be properly produced, are few and 
general. The state of a man confined to the employ- 
ments and pleasures of the country, is so little diver- 
sified, and exposed to so few of those accidents which 
produce perplexities, terrors, and surprises, in more 
complicated transactions, that he can be shown but 
seldom in such circumstances as attract curiosity. 
His ambition is without policy, and his love without 
intrigue. He has no pomplaints to make of his rival, 
but that he is richer than himself; nor any disasters 
to lament, but a cruel mistress, or a' bad harvest. 

The conviction of the necessity of some new source 
of pleasure induced Sannazarius to remove the scene 
from the fields to the sea, to substitute fishermen for 
shepherds, and derive his sentiments from the pisca- 
tory life ; for which he has been censured by suc- 
ceeding critics, because the sea is an object of terror, 
and by no means proper to amuse the mind, and lay the 
passions asleep. . Against this objection he might be 
defended by the established maxim, that the poet has 
a right to select his images, and is no more obliged to 
show the sea in a storm, than the land under an inun- 
dation : but may display all the pleasures, and conceal 
the dangers of the water, as he may lay his shepherd 



Ko. 36. THE RAMBLER. SOT 

xinder a shady beech, without giving him an ague, or 
letting a wild beast loose upon 'him. 

There are, however, two defects in the piscatory 
eclogue^ which perhaps cannot be supplied. The 
sea, though in hot countries it is consi<iered by those 
who live, like Sannazarius, upon the coast, as a place 
of pleasure and diversion, has notwithstanding much 
less variety than the land, and therefore will be sooner 
exhausted by a descriptive writer. When he has 
once shown the sun rising or setting upon it, curled its 
waters with the vernal breeze, rolled the waves in 
gentle succession to the shore, and enumerated the 
fish sporting in the shallows, he has nothing remain- 
ing but what is common to all other poetry, the com- 
plaint of a nymph for a drowned lover, or the indigna- 
tion of a fisher that his oysters arc refused^ and My- 
con's accepted 

Another obstacle to the general reception of this 
kind of poetry, is the ignorance of maritime pleasures^ 
in which the greater part of mankind must always live. 
To all the inland inhabitants of every region> the sea 
is only known as an immense diffusion of waters, over 
which men pass from one country to another, and in 
which life is frequently lost. They have, therefore, 
no opportunity of tracing in their own thoughts, the 
descriptions of winding shores and c&lm bays, nor can 
look on the poem in which they are mentioned, with 
other sensations than on a sea chart, or the metrical 
geography of Dionysius. i 

This defect Sannazarius was hindered from per- 
ceiving, by writing in a learned language to readers 
generally acquainted with the works of nature ; but 
if he had made his attempt in any vulgar tongue, he 
would soon have discovered how vainly he had en- 
deavored to make that loved, which was not under- 
stood. 



SOS TH& RAMBLER. No. S^T* 

I am afraid it will not be found easy to improve the 
pastorals of antiquity , by any great additions or diver* 
sifications. Our descriptions may indeed differ from 
those of Virgil, as an English from an Italian sum- 
mer, and, in some respects, as modern from ancient 
life ; but as nature is in both countries nearly the 
same, and as poetry has to do rather with the passions 
of men, which are uniform, than their customs, 
which are changeable, the varieties, which time or 
place can furnish, will be inconsiderable ; and I shall 
endeavor to show, in the next paper, how little the 
latter ages have contributed to the improvement of 
the rustic muse. 

No. sr. TUESDAY, JULY 24, 1750. 



Canto qua solitut, si quando armenta vocabat, 

Amphion Dircaus. 'VzitO^ 

Such strsdns I sing as once •impkion play'd, 
When Ust'ning flocks the powerful call obey'd. 

Elphxnstok* 



I 



N writing or judging of pastoral poetry, neither 
the authors nor critics of latter times seem to have 
paid sufficient regard to the originals left us by anti* 
quity, but haVe entangled themselves with unneces- 
sary difficulties, by advancing principles, which, ha- 
ving no foundation in the nature of things, are whol- 
ly to be rejected from a species of composition, in 
which, above all others, mere nature is to be re- 
garded. 

It is therefore necessary to inquire after some more 
distinct and exact idea of this kind of writing. This 
may, I think, be easily found in the pastijrals of Vir- 



_s^^: 



Ko. Sr, , THE RAMBI^ER. 209 

gil, from whose opinion it will not appear very safe to 
depart, if we consider that every advantage of nature 
and of fortune concurred to complete his produc- 
tions; that 'he was born with great accuracy and se- 
verity of judgment, enlightened with all the learning 
of one of the brightest ages, and embellished with 
the elegance of the Roman court; that he employed 
his powers rather in improving than inventing, and 
therefore must have endeavored to recompense the 
want of novelty by exactness ; that taking Theocritus 
for ,his original, he found pastoral far advanced to- 
wards perfection, and that having so great a rival, he 
must have proceededwith uncommon caution. 

If we search the writings of Virgil, for the true 
definition of a pastoral, it will be found a poem in 
which any action orfiassion is refireaented by its effect a 
vfion a country life. Whatsoever therefore may, ac- 
cording to the common course of things, happen in 
the country, may afford a subject for a pastoral poet^ 
In this definition, it will immediately occur to those 
who are versed in the writings of the modern critics, 
that there is no mention of the golden age. 1 cannot 
indeed easily discover why it is thought necessary to 
refer descriptions of a rural state to remote times, 
Dor can I perceive that any writer has consistently 
preserved the Arcadian manners and sentiments. 
The only reason that I have read, on which this rule 
has been founded, is, that, according to the customs 
of modern life, it is improbable that shepherds should 
be capable of harmonious numbers, or delicate senti- 
ments ; and therefore the reader must exalt his ideas 
of the pastoral character, by carrying his thoughts 
to the age in which the care of herds and flocks was 
the employment of 'the wisest and greatest meiL 
la » 



:no THE RAMBLES. No. S^ 

These reasoners seem to have been led into their 
hypothesis, by considering pastoral, not in general, 
as a representation of rural nature, and consequently 
as exhibiting the ideas and sentiments of those, who- 
ever they are, to whom the country affords pleasure 
or employment, but simply as a dialogue, or narra- 
tive of men actually tending sheep, and busied in the 
lowest and most laborious offices ; from whence they 
very readily concluded, since characters must neces- 
sarily be preserved, that either the sentiments must 
sink to the level of the speakers, or the speakers 
must be rsdsed to the height of the sentiments. 

In consequence of these original errors, a thousand 
precepts have been given, which have only contribu- 
ted to perplex and confound. Some have thought it 
necessary that the imaginary manners of the golden 
age should be universally preserved, and have there- 
fore believed, that nothing more could be admitted in 
pastoral, than lilies and roses, and rocks and streams, 
among which are heard the gentle whispers of chaste 
fondness, or the soft complaints of amorous impa- 
tience. In pastoral, a& in other writings, chastity of 
sentiment ought doubtless to be observed, and purity 
of manners to be represented | not because the poet 
is confined to the images of the golden age, but be-^ 
cause, having the subject in his own choice, he ought 
always to consult the interest of virtue. 

These advocates for the golden age lay down other 
principles, not very consistent with their general 
plan ; for they tell us, that, to support the character 
of the shepherd, it is proper that all refinement should 
be avoided, and that some slight instances of igno* 
ranee should be interspersed. Thus the shepherd in 
Virgil is supposed to have forgot the name of Anaxi- 
mander, and in Pope the term Zodiac is too hard for 



^ ^ ^^ _ 



2fo. 37. THE RAMBIOSS; Stl 

a rustic apprebenision. But if vre place our 6hep4 
herds in their primitive condition, we may give them 
learning among their other qualifications ; and if we 
suffer them to allude at all to things of later existence^ 
>vhich) perhapS}^ cannot with any great propriety be 
allowed, there can be no danger of making them 
speak with too much accuracy, since they conversed 
with divbities, and transmitted to succeeding ages 
the arts of life. 

Other writers, having the mean and despicable con- 
dition of a shepherd always before them, conceive it 
necessary to degrade the language of pastoral by ob- 
solete terms and rustic words, which they very learn- 
edly call Doric, without reflecting, that they thus be- 
came authors of a mangled dialect, which no human 
being ever could have spoken, that they may as weU 
refine the speech as the sentiments of their person- 
age, and that none of the inconsistencies which they 
endeavor to avoid, is greater than that of joining^ 
elegance of thought with coarseness of diction. 
Spenser ^begins one of his pastorals with studied bar^ 
barity; 

Diggon Dame, I bid her good-day : 
Or, IJiggon her is, or I missay. 

Dig. Her was her while it was day-light^ 
Bat now her is a most wretched wight. 

What will the reader imagine to be the subject on 
which speakers like these exercise their eloquence ? 
Will he not be somewhat disappointed, when he finds 
them met together to condemn the corruptions of the 
church of Rome ? Surely, at the same Ume that t 
shepherd learns theology, he may gain some acquaint- 
ance with his native language. 

Pastoral admits of all ranka of persons, because 
persons of all ranks inhabit the country. It excludes 



212 THE RAMBUSB. Ko. S7. 

noty therefore, on account of the characters neces- 
sary to be introduced) any elevation or delicacy of sen- 
timent; those ideas only are improper, which, not 
owing their original to rural objects, are not pastoral. 
Such is the exclamation in Virgil, 

JSTune scio quid sit Ameft durh in cautibus ilium 
Ismanttf aut HhodopCy aut extremi Garainantes^ 
J^ecgentrit no4tri pueritm, n«c tanguinis, edunt, 

I know thee. Love, in deserts thou wert bred. 

And at the du^s of savage tigers fed ; 

Alien of birth, usurper of the plains. Drvoe xr. 

which Pope endeavoring to copy, was carried to still 
greater impropriety : 

I know thee. Love, wild as the racing maift. 
More fierce than tigers on the Libyan plain ; 
Thou wert from Atna's burning entrails torn ; 
Begot in tenpests, and in thunders born ! 

Sentiments like these, as they have no groundin na» 
ture, are indeed of little value in any poem f but in 
pastoral they are particularly liable to censure, be- 
cause it wants that exaltation above common life^ 
which in tragic or heroic writings often reconciles us 
to bold flights and daring figures. 

Pastoral being the representation of an action or 
passion^ by its effects upon a country Rfe^ has nothing 
peculiar but its confinement to rural imagery, with- 
out which it ceases to be pastoral. This ifs its true 
characteristic, and this it cannot lose by any dignity 
of sentiment, or beauty of diction. Ttiie Pollio of 
Virgil, with all its elevation, is a composition truly 
bucolic, though rejected by the critics ; for all the 
images are either taken from the country, or from 
the religion of the age common to all parts of the 
empire. 



Wo. yr. THB RAMBLER. 215 

The Silenus is indeed of a more disputable kind, 
because though the scene lies in the country, the song 
being religious and historical, had been no less adapt- 
vd to any other audience or place. Neither can it 
^ell be defended as a fiction ; for the introduction of 
a god seems to imply the golden age, and yet he al- 
ludes to many subsequent transactions, and mentions 
Gallus, the poet's contemporary. 

It seems necessary to the perfection of this poem, 
that the occasion which is supposed to produce it, be 
at least not inconsistent with a country life, or less 
likely to interest those who have retired into places of 
solitude and quiet, than the more busy part of man- 
kind. It is therefore improper to give the title of a 
pastoral to verses, in which the speakers, after the . 
slight mention of their flocks, fall to complaints of 
errors in the church, and corruptions in the govern- 
ment, or to lamentations of the death of some illus- 
trious pe^jon, whom, when once the poet has called 
a shepherd, he has no longer any labor upon his hands, 
but can make the clouds weep, and lilies wither, and 
the sheep hang their heads, without art or learning 
genius or study. 

It is part of Claudian's character of his rustic, that 
he computes his time not by the succession Of con^ 
suls, but of harvests. Those who pass their days in 
retreats distant from the theatres of business, are air- 
ways least likely to hurry their imagination with pub- 
lic affairs. 

The facility of treating actions or events in the pas- 
toral style, has incited many writers, from whoni 
more judgment might have been expected, to put 
the sorrow or the joy which the occasion required 
into the mouth of Daphne or of Thyrsis ; ancf as ono 
absurdity must naturally be expected to make way fo(; 



214 THE RAMBLEIt. Ko. 39, 

another, they have written with an utter disregard 
both of life and nature, and filled their productions 
with mythological allusions, with incredible fictions, 
and with sentiments which neither passion nor reason 
could have dictated, since the change which religion 
has made in the whole system of the world. 

No. 38. SATURDAY, JULY fiS, 1750. 



JiureamquttqrHs fnedioeritatem 
Diligit, tutus caret obsoleti 
S^rdibiu tectiy caret inmidendd 

Sobritts auid. fioK. 

The man within the gt)lden mean. 

Who can his boldest wish contain. 

Securely views the ruin'd cell, 

"Where sordid want and sorrow dwell ; 

And in himself serenely g^reat. 

Declines an envied room of state. Faancis. 

-fXMONG many parallels which men of imagination 
have drawn between the natural and moral state of the 
world, it has been observed that happiness, as well as 
virtue, consists in mediocrity; that to avoid every ex- 
treme is necessary, even to him who has no other care 
than to pass through the present state with ease and 
safety ; and that the middle path is the road of secu- 
rity, on either side of which are not only the pitfalls of 
vice, but the precipices of ruin. 

Thus the maxim of Cleobulus the Lindian, ittgr^cf 
icptTot, Mediocrity ia best, has been long considered 
as an universal principle, extended through the 
whole compass of life and nature. The experience 
of evefy age seems to have given it new confirmation, 
and to show that nothing, however specious or allu- 



So. 38. THE RAMBLER. 21a 

Xing) is pureed with propriety, or enjoyed with safe- 
ty, beyond certain limits. 

Even the gifts of nature, which may truly be con- 
sidered as the most solid and durable of all terrestrial 
advantages, are found, when they exceed the middle 
point, to draw the possessor into many calamities, ea- 
sily avoided by others that have been less bountifully 
enriched or adorned. We see every day women perish 
with infamy, by having been too willing to set their beau- 
ty to show ; and others, though not with equal guilt or 
ipisery, yet with very sharp remorse, languishing in 
decay, neglect, and obscurity, for having rated their 
youthful charms at too high a price. And, indeed, 
if the opinion of Bacon be thought to deserve much 
regard, very few sighs would be vpnted for eminent 
and superlative elegance of form ; ' for beautiful wo- 
men,' says he, « are seldom of any great accomplish- 
ments, because they, for the most part, study beha- 
vior rather than virtue.* 

Health and vigor, and a happy constitution of the 
corporeal frame, are of absolute necessity to the en- 
joyment of the comforts, and to the performance of 
the duties of life, and requisite in yet a greater mea- 
sure to the accomplishment of any thing illustrious or 
distinguished ; yet even these, if we can judge by 
their apparent consequences, are sometimes not very 
beneficial to those on whom they are most liberally 
bestowed. They that frequent the chambers of the 
sick will generally find the sharpest pains, and most 
stubborn maladies, among them whom confidence of 
the force of nature formerly betrayed to negligence 
and irregularity ; and that superfluity of strength, 
which was at once their boast and their snare, has 
often, in the latter part of life, no other effect than 
that it continues them long in impotence and anguish. 



iJ^tt^ 



SX6 THE RAMBLCR. Vo. 3^ 

These 'gifts of nature are, howeyer, always bless- 
ings in themselves, and to be acknowledged with 
gratitude to him that gives them ; since they are, in 
their regular and legitimate effects, productive of 
happiness, and prove pernicious only by voluntary- 
corruption or idle negligence. And as there is little 
danger of pursuing them with too much ardor or 
anxiety, because no skill or diligence can hope ta 
procure them, the uncertainty of their influence up- 
on our lives is mentioned, not to depreciate their real 
value, but to repress the discontent and envy to which 
the want of them often gives occasion in those who 
do not enough suspect their own frailty, nor consider 
how much less is the calamity of not possessing great 
powers, than of npt using them aright. 

Of all those things that make us superior to others, 
there is none so much within the reach of our endea- 
vors as riches, nor any thing more eagerly or con- 
stantly desired. Poverty is an evil always in our 
view, an evil complicated with so many circumstances 
of uneasiness and vexation, that every man is studi- 
ous to avoid it. Some degree of riches is therefore 
required, that we may be exempt from the gripe of 
necessity ; when this purpose is once attained, we 
naturally wish for more, that the evil which is re- 
garded with so much horror, may be yet at a greater 
distance from us ; as he that has once felt or dreaded 
the paw of a savage, will not be at rest till they are 
parted by some barrier, which may take away all pos- 
sibility of a second attack. 

To this point, if fear be not unreasonably indulged, 
Cleobulus would, perhaps, not refuse to extend his 
mediocrity. But it almost always happens, that the 
man who grows rich, changes his notions of poverty, 
states his wants by some new measure, and from fly- 



Ko. 38. Tltfi RAMBI^R. SI? 

Ing the enemy that pursued hitn, bends his endeavors 
to overtake those whom he sees before him. The 
power of gratifying his appetites increases their de- 
mands ; a thousand wishes crowd in upon him, im- 
portunate to be satisfied, and vanity and ambition open 
prospects to desire, which still grow wider as they 
are more contemplated. 

Thus in time want is enlarged without bounds ; an 
eagerness for increase of possessions deluges the soul, 
«n4 we sink into the gulf^ of insatiability, only be- 
s^we do not.sufiiciently consider, that all real need 
is ry soon supplied, and all real danger of its inva- 
sion easily precluded ; that the claims of vanity, being 
without limits, must be denied at last ; and that the 
pain of repressing them is less .pungent before they 
have been long accustomed to compliance. 

Whosoever shall look heedfully upon thpse who 
are eminent for their riches, will not think their con- 
dition such as that he should hazard hfs quiet, and 
much less his virtue, to obtain it. For all that great 
wealth generally giv^ above a moderate fortune, is 
more room for the friaks of caprice, and more privi* 
lege for ignorance and vice, a quicker succession of 
flatteries, and a larger circle of voluptuousness. 

There is one reason seldom remarked which makes 
riches less desirable. Too much wealth is very fre- 
quently the occasion of poverty. He whom the wan- 
tonness of abundance has once softened, easily sinks 
into neglect of his affairs; and he that thinks he can 
afford to be negligent, is not far from being poor. He 
will soon be involved in perplexities, which his inex- 
perience will render unsurmountable ; he will fly for 
help to those whose interest it is that he should be 
more distressed, and will be at last torn to pieces by 
vultures that always hover over fortunes in decay. 

vol.. IV. 19 



218 THE BAMMMt. Ko. « 

When the plains of India were banit up by a ]<»g 
continuance of drought, Haroet and Raschid, tvo 
neighboring shepherds, faint with thirst, stood at the 
common boundary of their grounds, with their flocks 
and herds panting round them, and in extremity of 
distress prayed for water. On a sudden the air was 
becalmed, the birds ceased to chirp, and the flocks 
to bleat. They turned their eyes every way, and saw 
a being of mighty stature advancing through the 
valley, whom they knew upon his nearer approach to 
be the Genius of Distribution. In one hand he held th# 
sheaves of plenty, and in the other the sabre of de*- 
struction. The shepherds stood trembling, and 
would have retired before him ; but he called to thent 
with a voice gentle as the breeze that plays in the 
evening among the spices of Sabx ; '< Fly not from 
your benefactor, children of the dust i I am come 
to ofler you gifts, which only your own folly can make 
vain. Youliere pray for water, and water I wlU be«* 
stow ; let me know with how much you will be satis<- 
fied: speak not rashly; consider, that of whatever 
can be enjoyed by the body, excess is no less danger* 
pus than scarcity. When you remember the paia 
of thirst, do not forget the danger of sufiocatioGu 
Now, Hamet, tell me your request.'' 
. << O Being, kind and beneficent,'' says Hamet, " let 
thine eye pardon my confusion. I entreat a little 
brook, which in summer shall never be dry, and ia 
winter never overflow." " It is granted," replies the 
Genius ; and immediately he opened the ground with 
his sabre, and a fountain bubbling up under their feett 
scattered its rills over the meadows ; the flbwers re^ 
newed their fragrance, the trees spread a greener 
foliagot and the flocks aiid herds quenched their 
thirs^ 



. Then tufning to Raschid»the Gknius invited him 
likewise to offer his petition^ << I request," saya 
Raschid, " that thou wilt turn the Ganges through my 
grounds, with «H its waters, and all their inhabitants.** 
Hamet was struck with the greatness of his neigh* 
bor's sentiments, and secretly repined in his heart, 
that he had not made the same petition before him; 
when the Genius s{5oke, " Rash man, be not insa- 
tiable I remember, to thee that is nothing which thou 
canst not use, and how are thy wants greater than the 
wants of Hamet V* Raschid repeated his desire, and 
pleased himself with the mean appearance that Hamet 
would make in the. presence of the proprietor of the 
Ganges. The Genius then retired towards the river 
and the two shepherds stood waiting the event. As 
Raschid was looking with contempt upon his neighbor^ 
on a sudden was heard the roar of torrents, and they 
found by the mighty stream that the mounds of the 
Ganges were broken. The flood rolled forward into 
the lands of Raschid, his plantations were torn up, 
his flocks overwhelmed, he was swept away before it> 
and a crocodile devoured him. 



No. 39. TUESDAY, JULY 31, 1750. 

' InfeHx nulli bene nupta migrito. A v s o nx u »• 

Unblest, still doom'd to wed with misery. 

X HE condition bf the female sex has been fre- 
quently the subject of compassion to medical writers, 
because their constitution of body is such, that every 



2^ THS nXMBUSBL Ko. 39L 

state of Ufe brings its peculiar diseases : they are 
placed, according to the proverb, between Scylla and 
Charybdis, with no other choice than of dangers 
equally formidable $ and whether they embrace mar* 
riage, or deteimine upon a single life, are exposed^ 
in consequence of their choice, to sickness, misery^ 
and death. 

It were to be wished that so g^eat a degree of na« 
tural infelicity might not be increased by adventitious 
and artificial miseries ; and that beings, whose beauty 
we cannot behold without admiration, and whose de- 
licacy we cannot contemplate without tenderness, 
might be suffered to enjoy every alleviation of their 
sorrows. But, however it has happened, the custonx 
of the world seems to have been formed in a kind of 
conspiracy against them, though it does not appear 
but they had themselves an equal share in its estab« 
tishment ; and prescriptions which, by whomsoever 
they were begun, are now of long continuance, and 
by consequence of great authority, seem to have 
almost excluded them from content, in whatsoever 
condition they shall pass their lives. 

If they refuse the society of men, knd continue ia 
that state which is reasonably supposed to place hap- 
piness most in their own power, they seldom give 
those that frequent their conversation any exalted no« 
tions of the blessing of liberty ; foir whether it be 
that they are angry to see with what inconsiderate 
eageniess other heedless females rush into slavery, or 
Vfith what absurd vanity the married ladies boast the 
change of their condition, and condemn Jthe heroinea 
who endeavor to assert the natural dignity of their 
sex; whether they are conscious that like barren 
countries they are free, only because they were nevet 
thought to deserve the trouble of a conquealy or im^ 



gfi«e ^»t thw ^ceritf ift not til ways unsuspectedy 
#hen they declare their contempt of men ; it is cer- 
tftin^ that they generally appear to have some great 
and incessant cause of uneasiness, and that many of 
them have at last been persuaded, hy powerful rheto* 
licians^to try the life which they had solodgeontemn^ 
edf and put on the bridal ornaments at a time when 
tliey least became them. 

What are the real causes of the impatieiice which 
the ladies discorer in a virgin state, I shall perhaps 
take some other occasion to examine. That it is not 
to be envied for its happiness, appears from the soli- 
fiiti^e with which it is avoided ; from the opinion uni- 
versally prevalent among the sex, that no woman con- 
tinues long in it but because she is not invited to for- 
sake it ; from the disposition always shown to treat old 
naalds as the refuse of the world ; and from the wil- 
Ungneas with which it is often quitted at last, by those 
^hose experience has enabled them to judge at leisure 
and decide with authority* 

Yet such is life, that whatever is proposed, it'is 
much easier to find reasons for rejecting than embra* 
Ctng. Marriage, though a certain security from the 
re^oach and solitude of antiquated virginity, has yet, 
fts it is usually conducted, many disadvantages, that 
take away much from the pleasure which society pro* 
fasises, and might afford, if pleasures and pains were 
tonestly shared, and mutual confidenqe ioviolabi/ 
preserved. 

' ' The miseries, indeed, which many ladies suffer un- 
der conjugal vexations, are to be considered with 
f^v^at pity, because their husbands are often not taken 
|»y them as objects of affectibn, but forced upon them 
•fey aathority and violetice, or by persuasion and impor- 
•tsnhy, equally resislless when urgtd by those whom 
19 * 



tgamOi^mm 



m 1^ TVEaiMEymt ifu.m 

ttof hwm been alwujs accustomed to reverence nvi 
^hvf; and it vety seldom appears that thDse who are 
thos despotic in the disposal of their chtidreii, pa^r 
any regard to their domestic and persoaal felicity^ o# 
think it so mu^ to be inquired whether they will be 
happy, as whether they will be rich. 

It may be urged, in extenuation of this crime, which 
parents, not in any other respect to be numbered with 
robbers and assassinsj frequently commk, that, in their 
estimation^ rich/ea and happiliess ai*e equivalent terms. 
They have passed their lives with no other wish titan 
of adding acre ta£(cre, and filling one bag af^r smo- 
ther, and imagine the adv«kiltage of a daughter suffi- 
ciently considered, when tliey have secured her a 
large jointure, and given her reasonable expectations 
-of living in the midst of those pleasures widi which 
she had seen her &ther and mother solaeing their age. 

There is an cecpnomic«d oracle received amoAg the 
prudential part of the ^vorld, which advises Gathers to 
marry their dauffAtertj leet they shouid marry thcmi* 
selves $ by which I suppose it i& imx>lied, thai women 
left to their own conduct generally unite themselves 
with such partners as can contribute very little to theiv 
(eli^ity. Who was the author of this masimi or with 
what intention it was originally uttered, I have not yet 
discovered ; but imagine, that however solemnly \% 
may be transmitted, or however implicitly received) ie 
cao confer no authority which nature has denied ; it 
cannot license Titius to be unjust, lest Caia should be 
imprudent ; nor give right to imprison for life, lest li- 
berty should be ill employed. ' 

That the ladies have sometimes incurred, imputa- 
tions which might naturally produce edicts. noA mneh 
in their favor^ must be confessed by .their warmest ad- 
vocates ; and I have lAdeod seldom observed that wl^ea 



HH^Mi^i^.^.^ 



im.m Tw^mMmwrn. Ml 

tilo teftd^ni«»8 or vii^a# of their |mreiit»lkft6>«esei!refl 
Diem fi^m forced marrUgey and left them at la^e l<i 
^b^ose their own p»th io the labyrinth o£ Ufey they 
have made any great advantage of their liberty » they 
l^pmnionly take the opportunity of iodepeiidence to 
trifle away y outhf andiloae their bloom in a hurry of di« 
jverHonsy recurrmg in a suecession too quick to leave 
jroom for any setUed reflection ; they see the world 
without gaining experience, and at last regulate their 
choice by motives trifling as those of a girl, or mer- 
^CBfiiy as those of a miser. 

Melanthia came to town upon tlie death of her &« 
.tker, with a very large fortune* and with the reputa- 
^on of a much larger ; she w»i therefore followed and 
c^essed by many men of rank»iand by sinne of undec^ 
standing ; but having an insatiable desire of pleasurcf 
she was not at leisure, from the park, the gardens, the 
. theatres, visits, assemblies, and masquerades, to attend 
s^eriously to any proposal, but was still impatient for a 
. new flatterer, and neglected marriage as always in her 
power ; till in time her admirers fell away, weari^ 
.with expense^ disgusted at her folly, or offended by 
.her inconstancy ; she heard of concerts to which she 
. was not invitedf and was more than once forced to sit 
stillatanassembly for want of a partner. Inthisdis- 
tress^ chancq threw in her way Philotryphus,. a man 
. vain, glittering, and thoughtless as herself,, who had 
, spent a small fortune in equipage and dress, and w^ 
shining in the last suit for which his tailor would give 
iun credit.^ He had been long endeavoring to retrieve 
his extravagance by marriage, and therefore soon paid 
^J)is court to Melanthia, who after some weeks of in- 
sensibility saw him at a ball, and was wholly overcome 
_ by his performance in a minuet. They married : but 
^a man cannot always dance, and Philotryphus had no 



Ml T8S mkwmuM. M^ asi 

4ther method of pleasing : however, as neither was in 
any great degree vicious, they live together wil& no 
other unhappiReas, than vacuity of mind, and that 
tastelessness of life, which proceeds from a satiety of 
juvenile pleasures, and an utter inability to fiU their 
place by nobler employments. As they have known 
the fashionable world at the same time, they agree in 
their notions of all those subjects on whkh they ever 
speak ; and being able to add nothing to the ideas of 
each other, are not much inclined to conversation, but 
very often join in one wish, ^ That they could sleep 
more, and think less." 

Argyris, after haraig refused a thouaand oflfers, at 
kat consented to marry Cotylua, the younger brother 
of a duke, a man without elegance of mien, beauty of 
person, or force of understanding; who, while he 
courted her, could not always forbear allusions'to her 
birth, and hints how cheaply she would purchase an 
alliance to so illustrious a &jnily. His conduct from 
the hour of his marriage haabeen insuHRerably tyran* 
nical, nor has he any other regard to her than what ari^ 
ses from his desire that her appearance may not dis* 
fgntce him. Upon this principle, however, he always 
orders that she should be gaily dressed, and splendidly 
Attended ; and she has, among all her mortifiealioDS^ 
Ae happiness to take place of her eldest abter. 



21b. 40;' T|£E ramblbr; :s^ 

No. 40. SATURDAY, AUGUST 4, 1750, 



-JVSrc dicet, cur egb anUcunt 



Offtndam in nugu ? Hm nugm teria duetnt 

In mala derisum teip^i, Hor» 

. Ji€tr say, for trifles whv should I displease 
The man I love ? For tniles such as these 
To serious mischiefs lead the man I love. 
If once the flatterer's ridicule he prove. Faancis. 

At has been remarked, that authors are genus irrita* 
Siicj a generation very easily fint out of temper^ and 
that they seldom fail of giving proofs of their irascibi- 
lity upon the slightest attack of criticism, or the most 
gende or modest offer of advice and information. 

Writiers being best acquaikited with one another, 
have represented this character as prevailing among* 
men of Uterature, which a more extensive view of the 
worlds would have shown them to be diffused through 
all human nature, to mingle itself with every species 
of ambition and desire of prsdse, and to discover its ef- 
feets witii greater or less restraint, and under disguises 
more or less artful, in all places and all conditions. 

The quarrels of writers, indeed, are more observedt 
because they necessarily appeal to the decision of the 
public. Their enmities are incited by applauses from 
their parties, and prolonged by treacherous ehcou- 
ragement for general diversion ; and when the contest 
happens to rise high between men of genius and learn- 
ing, its memory is oontinued for the same reason as 
its vehemence was at first promoted, because it grad« 
fies the malevolence or curiosity of readers, and re« 
lieves the vs^cancies of life with amusement and 
bughter. The per^onaLdisputesi therefore, of rivsls 



^6 TUB RAMBLBIL fU. AQ. 

in wit are sometimes transmitted to posterity, when 
the grudges and heart-burnings of men less conspi- 
cuous, though carried on with equal bitterness, and 
productive of greater evils, are exposed to the know- 
ledge of those only whom they nearly affect, and suf- 
fered to pass off and be forgotten among common and 
casual transactions. 

The resentment which the discovery of a fault t)r 
folly produces, must bear a certain proportion to our 
pridci and will regularly be more acrimonious as 
pride is more immediately the principle of action. In 
whatever therefore we wish or imagine ourselves to 
excel, we shall always be displeased to have oitr 
daims to reputation disputed ; and more displeased 
if the accomplishment be such as can expect reputa- 
tion only for its reward. For this reason it is com- 
mon to find men break out into rage at any insinua- 
tions to the dissidvantage of their wit, who have borne 
with great patience reflections on their morals; and 
•f women it has been always known, that no censure 
wounds so deeply, or rankles so long, as that which 
charges them with want of beauty. 

As men frequently fill their imaginations with tri- 
fling pursuits, and please themselves most with things 
itf small imporlMice, I have often known very severe 
mkd lasting malevolence excited by unlucky censures, 
which would have fallen without any effect, had they 
»ot happened to wound a part remarkably tender* 
Gustulus, who valued himself upon the nicety of his 
palate, disinherited his eldest son for telling him tha< 
the wine which he was then commending, was the same 
which he had sent away the day before not fit to be 
drunk. Proculus withdrew his kindness from a ne* 
phew, whom he bad always considered the most pro- 
»u«og genius of the age, for happenihg to praise ia 



Ka4a THEBAMBLEB* 2^^ 

bis presence the graceful horeemaix^hip of Maiius* 
And Fortimio, when he was privy couusdllor, procu- 
red a clerk to be dismissed from one of the public offi- 
ces) in which he was eminent for his skill and assi- 
duity, because he had been heard to say that there 
was another man in the kingdom on whose sj^ill at 
billiards he would lay his money against Fortunio's. 

Felicia and Floretta had been bred up in one house, 
and shared all the pleasures and endearments of in- 
fancy together. They entered upon life at the same 
time, and continued their confidence and friendship ; 
consulted each other in every change of their dressj 
and every admission of a new lover ; thought every 
diversion more entertaining whenever it happened 
that both were present, and when separated justified 
the conduct, and celebrated the excellencies, of on^ 
another. Such was their intimacy, and such their 
fidelity ; till a birth-night approached, when Florett^^ 
took one morning an opportunity, as they were con- 
sulting upon new clothes, to advise her friend not to 
dance at the ball, and informed her that her perform- 
ance the year before had not answered the expecta* 
tion which her other accomplishments had raised. 
Felicia commended her sincerity, and thanked her for 
the caution ; but told her that she danced to pleasf 
herself, and was very little concerned what the men 
might take the liberty of saying, but that if her appear- 
ance gave her dear Floretta any uneasiness, she would 
stay away. Floretta had now nothing left but to make 
new protestations of sincerity and aifection^ with which 
Felicia was so well satisfied, that they parted with 
more than usual fondness. They still continued to 
visit, with this only difference, that Felicia was more 
punctual than before, and often declared how high a 
value she put upon sincerity, how much she thought . 



THE RAMnEIL Ko. 40. 

that goodiie|8 to be esteemed which would venture to 
admonish af riend of an error^ and with what gratitude 
advice was tb be receiyed, even when it might happen 
to proceed trom mistake. 

In a few months, Felicia, with great seriousness, 
told Floretta, that though her beauty was such as gave 
charms to whatever she did, and her qualifications so 
extensive, that she could not fail of excellence in any 
attempt, yet she thought herself obliged by the duties 
of friendship to inform her, that if ever she betrayed 
want of judgment, it was by too frequent compliance 
with solicitations to sing, for that her manner was 
somewhat ungraceful, and her voice had no great com* 
pass. It is true, says Floretta, when I sung three 
nights ago at lady Sprightly's, I was hoarse with a 
cold ; but I sing for my own satisfaction, and am not 
in the least pain whether I am liked. However, my 
dear ^licia's kindness is not the less, and I shall al* 
ways think myself happy in so true a friend. 

From this time they never saw each other without 
mutual professions of esteem, and declarations of confi- 
dence, but went soon after into the country to visit 
their relations. When they came back, they were 
prevailed on, by the importunity of new acquaintance, 
to take lodgings in different parts of the town, and had 
frequent occasion, when they met, to bewsdl the dis- 
tance at which they were placed, and the uncertainty 
which each experienced of finding the other at home. 

Thus are the fondest and firmest friendships dis- 
solved, by such openness and sincerity as interrupt 
our enjoyment of our own approbation, or recall us to 
the remembrance of those failings which we are more 
willing to indulge than to correct. 

It is by no means necessary to imagine, that he who 
is offended at advice, was ignorant of the fault, and re- 



Ko.4a. THEBAMBI4EB. 227 

sents the admonition as a false charge ; for perhaps it is 
inost natural to be enraged, when there is the strong- 
est conviction of our own guilt: While we can easily 
defend our character, we are no more disturbed 
2JL Ml accusation, than we ate alarmed by an enemy 
whom we are sure to conquer; and whose attack, 
therefore, will bring us honour without danger. But 
vhen a man feels the reprehension of a friend second- 
ed by his own heart, he^ is easily heated into resent- 
ment and revenge^ either because he hoped that the 
fault of which he was conscious, had escaped the no- 
tice of others ; or that his friend had looked upon it 
with tenderness and extenuation, and excused it foi; 
the sake of his other virtues ; or had considered him 
as too wise to need advice, or too delicate to be shock- 
ed with reproach : or, because we cannot feel with- 
out pain those reflections roused which we have been 
endeavoring to lay asleep : and when pain has pro- 
duced anger, who would not willingly believe, that it 
ought to be discharged on others, rather than on him- 
self. ^ 

The resentment produced by sincerity, whatever 
be its immediate cause, is so certain, and generally so 
keen, that very few have magnanimity sufficient for 
the practice of a duty, which, above most others, ex- 
poses its votaries to hardships and persecutions ;' yet 
friendship without it is of very little value, since tJie 
great use of so close an intimacy is, that our virtues 
maybe guarded and encouraged, and our vices re- 
pressed in their first appearance by timely detection 
land salutary remonstrances. 

It is decreed by Providence, that nothing truly va- 
luable shall be obtained in our present state, but with 
difficulty and danger. He that hopes for that advan- 
tage which is to be gained from unrestrained commu- 

VOL. XV. 20 



228 THE KA3fBL£B. No. 41. 

nication, must sometimes hazard, by uapleaung tmdis, 
that friendship which he aspires to merit. The chief 
rule to be observed in the exerdse of this dangerousof- 
fice, is to presenre It pore from all misCture of interest 
or vanity s to forbear admonition or reproof, when our 
consciences tell us that they are incited, not by Uie 
hopes of reforming faults, but the desire of showings 
our discernment, or gratifying our own pride by the 
mortification of another. It is not indeed certain, 
that the most refined caution will find a proper time 
for bringing a man to the knowledge of his own faU- 
ing3, or the most zealous benevolence reconcile hfan 
to that judgment, by which they are detected ; but he 
who endeavors only the happiness of him whom he re* 
proves, will always have either the satisfaction of ob* 
tainingor deserving kindness ; if he succeeds, he bene* 
fits his friend ; and if he fails, he has at least the con^j 
Bciousness that he sufTcrs for only doing well. 

No. 41. TUESDAY, AUGUST r, 1750. 



J^ullarecordanti lux est ingrata gravisquCf 

MtUafitit cujus non mefniniste velit, 
AmpUat atoiU spatium sihi vir bonus, hoc est 

Vivere bis, vita posse priore frui. Mart, 

No day's twnembrancc shall the good regret. 

Nor wish ope bitter moment to forget : 

They stretch the limits of this narrow span ; 

JUid, by cnjojing, live past life again. F. Lewis. 

So few of the hours of life are filled up with objects 
adequate to the mind of man, and so frequently are 
ye in want of present .pleasure or employment, that' 
we are forced to have recourse every moment to the 
past and future for supplemental satisfactions, and 



mM 



Ko. 41; THE nXWSU3M. 229 

relieve the vacuities of our being, by recoUecdon of 
former passag^es, or anticipation of events to come. 

I cannot but consider this necessity of searching 
on every side for matter on which the attention may 
be employed} as a strong proof of the superior and 
c^estial nature of the soul of man. We have no 
reason to believe that other creatures have higher 
faculties, or.more extensive capacities, than the pre- 
servation of themselves, or their species, requires; 
they seem 4dways to be folly employed j or to be com- 
pletely at ease without employment, to feel few intel- 
lectual miseries or pleasures, and to have no exube- 
rance of understanding to lay out upon curiosity or 
caprice, but to have their minds exactly adapted 
to their bodies, with few other i^eas than such as cor- 
poral pain or pleasure impress upon them* 

Of memory, which makes so large a part of the ex- 
cellence of the human soul, and which has so much 
influence upon all its other powers, but a small portion 
has been allotted to the animal world. We do not find 
the grief with which the dams lament the loss of their 
young proportionate to the tenderness with which 
they caress, the assiduity with which they feed, or the 
vehemence with which they defend them. Their re- 
l^dfor their offspring, when it is before their eyes, 
is not, in appearance, less than that of a human pa- 
rent ; but when it is taken away, it is very soon for- 
gotten, and, after a short absence, if brought again, 
wholly disregarded. 

That they have very little remembrance of any 
thing once out of the reach of their senses, and scarce 
any power of comparing the present with the past, and 
regulating their conclusions from experience, maybe 
gathered from this, that their intellects are produced 
In their full perfection. The sparrow that was hatchejl 



/ 



t^O THEKAMBUBX. Kd. 41^ 

last spring makes her first nest the ensuing season, 
of the same materials, and with the same art, as in any 
following year ; and the hen conducts and shelters her 
first brood of chickens with all the prudence that she* 
ever attains. 

It has been asked by men who love to perplex any 
thing that is plain to common understandings, how^ 
reason differs from instinct ; and Prior has with no 
great propriety made Solomon himself declare, that 
to distinguish them is the f oat a ignorance^ and thefie^ 
dant*s pride. To give an accurate answer to a ques- 
tion, of which the terms are not completely under* 
stood, is imposuble ; we do not know in what eithef 
reason or instinct consist, and therefore cannot telt 
with exactness how they differ ; but surely he that con- 
templates a ship and a bird's nest, will not be long 
without finding out, that the idea of the one was im- 
pressed at once, and continued through all the pro- 
gressive descents of the species, without variation or 
improvement ; and that the other is the result of ex- 
periments compared with experiments, has grown, by 
accumulated observation, from less to g)*eater excel-' 
lence, and exhibits the collective knowledge of differ^'' 
cnt ages and various professions. 

Memory is the purveyor of reason, the power 
which places those images before the mind Upoft 
which the judgment is lo be exercised, and whicls 
treasures up the determinations that are once passed^ 
as the rules of future action, or grounds of subsequent 
oonclusions. 

. It is, indeed, the faculty of remembrance, which 
may be said to place us in the class of moral agents. 
If we were to act only in consequence of some imme« 
diate impulse, and receive no direction i^i'om internal 
Aotives of ciK>ice, we should be pushed forward by an 



^^ - iiiiSi 



rar" 



invincible fatalitf, without power or reason for the 
most part to prefer, oae thing to another, because we 
could malke no comparison but of objects which might 
both happen to be present. 

We owe to memory not only the increase of our 
knowledge, and our progress in rational inquiries, but 
many other intellectual pleasures. Indeed, almost all 
that we can be said to enjoy is past or future ; the pre- 
sent is in perpetual motion, leaves us as soon as it ar- 
rives, ceases to be present before its presence is well 
perceived, aud is only known to have existed by the 
effects which it leaves behind. The greatest part of / 
our ideas arises, therefore, from the view before or \ 
behind us, and we are happy or miserable, according ) 
as we are affected by the survey of our life^ or our <! 
prospect of future existence. ^ 

With regard to futurity, when events are at such a 
distance from us that we cannot take the whole conca- 
tenation into our view, we have generally power 
enough over our imagination to turn it upon pleasing- 
scenes, and can promise ourselves riches, honours^ 
and delights, without intermingling those vexations 
and ansieties with which all human enjoyments are 
polluted. If fear breaks in on one side, and alarms 
its with dangers and disappointments, we can call in 
hope on the other, to solace us with rewards,, and es- 
capes, and victories ; so that we are seldom without 
means of palliating remote evils, and can generally 
sooth ourselves to tranquillity, whenever any ttouble« 
some preside happens to attack us. 

It is therefore, J believe, much more common for 
the solitary and thoughtful to amuse themselves with 
schemes of the future, than reviews of the past. For 
the future is pliant and ductile, and will be easilyr 
moulded by a strong fancy into any form. But the ima-* 
30 * 



2S2 TUB BAMBLniL lOK/ 43L 

ges which mehlbry presents are' of a etnbbohi and 
untractable nature, the objects of reiBemhrance have 
already existed, and left their signature behiiDd thein» 
impressed npon the mind, So as to deff all attetiqtts. 
df rasure or of change. 

As the satis&ctions, therefore, arising fromtne^^ 
ihorf are less arbitrary, they are more solid, and are» 
indeed, the only joys which we can call our own. 
Whatever we have once reposited, as Dryden ex- 
presses it, in the ^aered treasure of the fim^ty is o«t of 
the reach of accident, or violence, nor can be le«t ei- 
ther by our own weakness, or another's malice. 

Aon tamen irritum 
Quodcunque retro est efficiet neque 
I>iffing€t$ infectunujme redtUt, 
Quodjfhgitnt temel hora vexit^ 

Be fair or foul, or rain or shine. 

The joys i have possess'd in spite of fate axe vine. 

, Not HQav'n itself upon die past has pow'r. 
But what has been has been> and I have had my hour. 

Dayx>aK« 

. There is certainly no greater happiness than to be 
^ble to look back on a life usefully and virtuously em- 
ployed, to trace our own progress in existence, by- 
such tokens as excite neither shame nor sorrow. Life, 
in which nothing has been done or suffered to distin* 
guish on^ day from another, is to him that has passed 
it, as if, it had never been, except that he is conscious 
how ill he has husbanded the great deposit of his Crl^* 
ator. Life, made memorable by crimes, and diversi- 
fied through its several periods by wickedness, is in- 
deed easily reviewed, but reviewed only with horror 
and remorse. 

The great consideration which ought to influence 
us in the use of the present moment, is tp arise from 
the efifect, which) as well or ill applied^ it must have 



il{K»i tlie tfatke to come ; for. thottglt tts actual ex- 
igence be inconceivably short, yet i^ efflects are unit* 
mited ; ii^d there is not the smallest point of time but 
may extend its consequences, either to our hurt or 
our advantage, through all eternity, and give us rean^ 
son to remember it for ever, with ang^sh or exuha^ 
tion. 

The time of life, in which memory seems particu* 
larly to claim predominance over the other faculties of 
the mind, is our declining age. It has been remaxi&^d 
by former writers, that old men are generally narra- 
tive, and fall easily into recitals of past transactions^ 
and accounts of persons known to them in their youth. 
When we approach the verge of the grave it is more 
eminently true ; 

Vita summa breads tpem nos vetat inchoare longam* 

life's span forbids thee to extend thy cares. 

And stretch thy hopes beyond thy years. Cbeecu. 

We have no longer any possibility of great vicissitudes 
ih our favor ; the chuiges which areto happen in Uie 
world will come too late for our accommodation ; and 
those who have no hope before them, and to whom 
tiieir present state is painful and irksome, must of ne- 
cessity turn their thoughts back to try what retrospect 
will afford. It ought, therefore, to be the care of those 
who wish to pass the last hours with comfort, to lay up 
such a treasure of pleasing ideas, as shall support the 
expenses<)f that time, which is to depend wholly upon 
the fund already acquired. 

^^m^Petite hinCfjuvetueque senesque 

Finem animo certum, nrntritque viatica euris. 



Seek here, ye yoimg, the anchor of your mind ; 
Here, suffering age, a bless'd provision find. 



£LPHZNtTOir« 



S34 



naRAMBLBR. 



K0.43. 



In youthy however unhappf I we solace ourselves 
with the hope of better fortune, and however vicious, 
appease our consciences with intentjionsof repentance ; 
but the time comes at last, in which life has no more 
to promise, in which happiness can be drawn only 
from recollection, and virtue will be all that we can re- 
collect with pleasure. 



No. 42. SATURDAY, AUGUST 11, 17S0. 



Mhi tarda fluunt ingrataqut tempera* Ho a* 

How heavily my time revolves along. E l p h z n &t o n. 

TO TBE RAMBLER. 
Mr. Rambler, 

X AM no great admirer of grave wiidngs, and there- 
fere very frequently lay your papers aside before E 
have read them through ; yet I cannot but confess that 
by slow degrees, you have raised my opinion of your 
understanding ; and that, though I believe it will be 
long before I can be prevailed upon to regard you 
with much kindness, you have, however, more of my 
esteem than those whom I sometimes make happy 
with opportunities to fill my teapot, or pick up my 
fan. I shall therefore choose you for the confident of 
my distresses, and ask your counsel with regard to 
the means of conquering or escai^gthem, though I 
never expect from you any of that softness and pli« 
ancy which constitutes the perfection of a companion 
for the ladies : as, in the place where I now am, I have 
recourse to the mastiff for protection, though I haves 
DO intentionof making him a lapdog. 



Kb. A TUB BAMBIM^ SM 

My mamnat is a TCiy fine-lady^ vrho has more mi* 
merous and more frequent assemblies at her house 
than any other person in the same quarter of the town. 
I was bred from my earliest in&hcy in a perpetual 
tumult of pleasure, and remember to haye heard of 
liltle else than messages, nsits, playhouses, and balls ; 
of the awkwardness of one womap, and of the coquet* 
ry of another ; the charming convenience of some ri* 
sing fashion, the difficulty of playing a new game, the 
incidents of a masquerade, and the dresses of a covatU 
Aight. I knew before I was ten years old all the rules 
of paying and receinng visits, and to how much civi« 
H^ every one of m^ acquaintance was entitled; and 
was able to return, with the proper degree of reserve 
or of vivascity, the stated and established answer to 
Civery compliment; so that I was very soon celebrated 
as a wit axfd a beauty^ and had heard before lynM 
thirteen all that is ever said to a young lady. My mo- 
tfier was generous to so uncommona degree as to bs 
pleased with my advances into life, and allowed ms) 
K^thout envy or reproof, to enjoy the same happiness 
mth herself; though most women about her own ago 
IPere very angry to see young girls so forward, an4 
many fine gentlemen t<^d her how cruel it was to 
throw new chains upon mankind;, and to tyrannise 
over them at the same time with her own chanoos 
and those of her daughter. 

I have now lived two^and-twenty years, and have 
passed of each year nine months in town, and three at 
BJchniond: sothatmy time has been spent unlfbrmlf 
in the same company, and the same amusements, ex«& 
oept as fashion has introduced new diversions, or 
the revolutions of the gay world have afforded new 
successions of wits and beaux. However, my mo« 
Iher is so gopd an ceconcMmst of pleasure, that I havo 



ho spare hours upon my hands'; for every iftonung; 
brings some new apxM>intment9 and every night Is hur- 
ried away by the necessity of making our appearance 
at dififerent places, and of being with one lady at the 
opera, and with another at the card-table. 

When the time came of settling our scheme of feli- 
city for the summer, it was determined that I should 
pay a visit to a rich aunt in a remote county. As you 
know the chief conversation of all tea-tables, in the 
spring, arises- ^om a communication of the manner in 
which time is to be passed till winter, it was a great 
relief to the barrenness of our topics, to relate the 
pleasures that were in store for me, to describe my 
uncle's seat, with the park and gardens, the charming^ 
walks and beautiful water&lls ; and every one told me 
how much she envied me, and what satisfacdon she 
had onee enjoyed in a situation of the same kind. 

As we are all credulous in bur own favor, and will* 
ing to imagine some latent satisfaction in any tMnj^ 
which we have not experienced,.! will confess to you, 
without restraint, that I had suffered my head to be 
filled With expectations of some nameless pleasure in 
a rural life, and that I hoped for the happy hour that 
^ould set me free from noise, and flutter, and cere* 
m<^y, dismiss me to the peaceful shade, and lull me in 
content and tranquillity. To solace myself under the 
misery of delay, I sometimes heard a studious lady of 
my acquaintance rei^ pastorals; I was delighted with 
scarce any talk but of leavbg the town, andoiever went 
to bed without dreaming of groves, and meadows, and 
frisking lambs. 

At length I had all my clothes in a trunk, and saw 
the coach at the door ; I sprung in with ecstacy, quar^- 
veiled with my maid for being too long in taking leaie 
ef the other servants, and rejoiced as the ground ffttw 



V9. 4^; THE RAMBLER. *S37 

less which lay between me and the completion of my 
wishes. A few days brought me to a large old house, 
encompassed on three sides with woody hills, and 
looking from the front on a gentle river, the sight of 
which renewed all my expectations of pleasure, and 
gave me some regret for having lived so long without 
the enjoyment which ^hese delightful scenes were 
now to aiford me. My aunt came out to receive me, 
but in a dress so far removed from the present fashion, 
that I could scarcely look upon her without laughter, 
which would have been no kind requital for the trou- 
ble which she had taken to make herself fine against 
my arrival. The night and the next morning were 
driven along with inquiries about our family ; my aunt 
then explained our pedigree, and told me stories of 
my great grandfather's bravery in the civil wars ; nor 
was it less than three days before I could persuade her 
to leave me to myself. 

At last ceconomy prevailed ; she went in the usual 
manner about her own affairs, and I was at liberty to 
range in the wilderness, and sit by the cascade* The 
novelty of the objects about me pleased me for a while, 
liut after sl few days they were new no longer, and I 
soon began to xserceive that the country was not my 
element ; that shades, and flowers, and lawns, and wa« 
ters, had very soon exhausted all their power of plea* 
sing, and that I had not in myself any fund of Aatis&c- 
' tibn, with which I could supply the loss of my custom- 
ary amusemLents, 

! I unhappily told my aunt, in the first warmth of our 
embraces, that I had leave to stay with her ten weeksv 
Six only are yet gone, and how shall I live through the 
remaining four ? I go out and retuni; I pluckaflower^ 
and throw it away $ I catch an insect, and when I haver 
eacamined its colors, set it at liberty ; I fling a pebbto 



tdV* THE BAMBLBB. Ko. ^. 

into the vater, tnd see one circle spread after another. 
When it chances to rain, I valk in the g^reat hall, and 
vatch the minute-hand upon the dial, or play with a 
litter of kittens,' which the cat happens to have brought 
in a lucky time. 

My aunt is afraid I shall grow melancholy, and 
therefore encourages the neighboring gentry to visit 
us. They came at first with great eagerness to see 
the fine lady from London ; but when we met, we had 
no common topic on which we could converse ; they 
had no curiosity after plays, operas, or music ; and I 
find as Httle satis&ction from their accounts of the 
quarrels or alliances of families, whose names, when 
once I can escape, I shall never hear. The women 
liave now seen me, know how my gown is made, and 
are satisfied ; the men are generally afraid of me, and 
aay Uttle, because they think themselves not at liberty 
to talk rudely. 

Thus I am condemned to solitude ; the day moves 
slowly forward, and I see the dawn with uneasiness, 
because I consider that night is at a great distance. I 
have tried to sleep by a brook, but find its murmurs 
ineffectual ; so that I am forced to be awake at least 
twelve hours, without visits, \jithout cards, without 
laughter, and without flattery. I walk because I am 
disgusted with sitting still, and sit down because I am 
weary with walking. I have no motive to action, nor 
a»y object of love, or hate, or fear, or inclination. I 
cannot dress with spirit, for I have neither rival nor 
admirer ; I cannot dance without a partner ; nor be 
kind or cruel, without a lover. 

Buch is the life of Euphelia, and such it is likely 16 
^continue for a month to come. I have not yet decla- 
red against existence, nor called upon the destinies to 
cut my thread; but I have sincerely resolved not to 



condemn myself to such another summer, nor too 
hastily to flatter myself with happiness. Yet I have 
heard, Mr. Rambler, of those who never thought 
themselves so much at ease as in solitude, and cannot 
but suspect it to be some way or other my.own fault, 
thut, without great pain, either of mind or body, I am 
thus weary of myself: that the current of youth stag** 
nates, and that I am languishing in a dead calm, for 
want of some external impulse. I shall therefore 
think you a benefactor to our sex, if you will teach 
me the art of living alone ; for I am confident that a 
thousand and a thousand ladies, who affect to talk 
with ecstacies of the pleasures of the country, are in 
reality, like me, longing for the winter, and wishing 
to be delivered from themselves by company and du 
version. 

I am, Sir, Yours, 

EVPHELXA. 

No. 43. TUESDAY, AUGUST 14, 1750. 



Flumine perpetuo totrens tolet acrius ire, 

Sed tamen hac brevU etU *^^^ perennuf aqua, O VXD. 

In course impetuous soon the torrent dries, 

The brook a constant peaceful stream supplies. F. Lewzs. 

Xt is observed by those who have written on thecoai* 
stitution of the human body, and the original of those 
diseases by which it is afflicted, that every man comes 
into the world morbid, that there is no temperature 
80 exactly regulated but that some humor is fatally 
predominant, and that we are generally impregnated^ 

VOL. IV. 21 



240 THE RAM6LBR. Ho. 4^ 

in our first entrance upon life, with the seeds of that 
malady, which, in time, shall bring us to the grave. 

This remark has been extended by others to the in- 
tellectual faculties. Some that imagine themselves to 
have looked with more than common penetration in- 
to human nature, have endeavored to persuade us that 
each man is born with a mind formed peculiarly for 
certain purposes, and with desires unalterably deter- 
mined, to particular objects, from which the attention 
cannot be long diverted, and which alone, as they are 
well or ill pursued, must produce the praise or blame, 
the happiness or misery, of his future life. 

This position has not, indeed, been hitherto pro- 
ved with strength proportionate to the assurance with 
which it had been advanced, and perhaps will never 
gain much prevalence by a close examination. 

If the doctrine of innate ideas be itself disputable, 
th^re seems to be little hope of establishing an opi- 
nion, which supposes that even complications of ideas 
have been given us at our birth, and that we are made 
by nature ambitious, or covetous, before we know the 
meaning of either power or money. 

Yet as every step in the progression of existence 
changes our position with respect to the things about 
us, so as to lay us open to new assaults and particulso* 
dangers, and subjects us to inconveniencies from 
which any other situation is exempt ; as a public or a 
, private life, youth and age, wealth and poverty, have 
all some evil closely adherent, which cannot wholly 
b^ escaped but by quitting the state to which it is an- 
nexed, and submitting to the encumbrances of sonve 
other condition ; so it cannot be denied that every 
difference in the structure of the mind has its 
advantages and its wants ; and that failures and de- 
fects being inseparable from humanity, however the 



Ko. A3. THE RAl^IBLEB. 

powers of understanding be extended or contracted, 
there will on one side or the other always be an avenue 
to error and miscarriage. 

There seem to be some souls suited to great, and 
others to little employments : some formed to soar 
aloft, and take in wide views, and others to grovel on 
the ground, and confine their regard to a narrow 
sphere. Of these the one is always in danger of be- 
conning useless by a daring negligence, the other by 
scrupulous solicitude ; the one collects many ideas, 
but confused and indistinct; the other is busied in 
minute accuracy, but without compass and without 
dignity. 

The general error of those who possess powerful 
imd elevated understandings, is, that they form 
schemes of too great extent, and flatter themselves 
too hastily with success ; they feel their own force to 
be great, and by the complacency with which every 
tnan surveys himself, imagine it still greater : they 
therefore look out for undertakings worthy of their 
Abilities, and engage in them with very little precau- 
tioiif for they imagine that without premeditated mea- 
sures, they shall be able to find expedients in all dif- 
ficulties. They are naturally apt to consider all pru« 
dential maxims as below their regard, to treat with 
contempt those securities and resources which others 
know themselves obliged to provide, and disdain to 
accomplish their purposes by established means, and 
-common gradations. 

Precipitation thus incited by the pride of intellec- 
tual superiority, is very fatal to great Resigns. The 
resolution of the combat is seldom equal to the vehe- 
mence of the charge. He that meets with an opposi- 
tion which he did not expect, loses bis courage. The 
violence of his first onset is succeeded by a lasting 



342 THE RAMSLER. Ko. 43. 

and unconquerable languor; miscarriage makes him 
fearful of giving way to new hopes ; and the content* 
plation of an attempt in which he has fallen below his 
own expectations is painful and vexatious ; he therefore 
-naturally turns his attention to more pleasing objects, 
and habituates his imagination to other entertainments 
till, by slow degrees, he quits his first pursuit^ ftnd 
suffers some other project to take possession of his 
thoaghts, in which the same ardor of mind promises him 
again certain success, and which disappointment of 
the same kind compel him to abandon. 

Thus too much vigor in the beginning of an under- 
taking, often intercepts and prevents the steadiness 
and perseverance always necessary in the conduct of 
a complicated scheme, where many interests ar» to 
be* connected, many movements to be adjusted, and 
the joint effort of distinct and independent pow^^ to 
be directed to a single point. In all important events 
which have been suddenly brought to pass, chance 
•has been the agent rather than reason ; and, there" 
fore, however those who seemed to preside in the 
transaction, may have been celebrated by suc^ as lo« 
vcd or feared them, succeeding times have commcm* 
^y considered them as fortunate rather than prudent* 
iEvery design in which the connection is regular^ 
traced from the ^rst motion to the last, must be 
formed and executed by calm ifitrepidity, Mid requires 
not only courage which danger cannot turn aside, b«t 
constancy which fatigues cannot weary, iind con^« 
vance which impediments cannot exhaust. 

All the performances of human art, at which we 
look with praise or wonder, are instances of the re* 
sistless force of perseverance : it is by this that the 
quarry becomes a pyramid, and that distant countries 
are united with caaals. If a man was to compare the 



Ko. 43. THE RAlVfBLER. 343 

effept of a single stroke of the pick-axe, or of one 
impression of the spade, with the general design ami 
last result, he would be overwhelmed by the sense of 
their disproportion ; yet those petty operations, inces- 
aantly coQtmued, in time surmount the greatest diffi- 
culties, and mountains are levelled, and oceans 
bounded, by the slender force of human beings. 
' It is therefore of the utmost importance that those 
iif ho have any intention of deviati];ig from the beaten 
jToads of life, and acquiring a reputation superior to 
names hourly swept away by tiine among the refuse 
of fame, should add to their reason, and their spirit, 
the poweir of persisting in their purposes ; acquire 
the art of sapping what they cannot batter, and the 
habit of vanquishing obstinate resistance by obstinate 
attacks, 

^ The student who would build his knowledge on so- 
lid foundations, and proceed Vy just degrees to the 
pinnacles of truth, is directed by the great philosopher 
pf France to begin by doubting of his own existence. 
In like manher, whoever would complete any arduous 
and intricate enterprise^ should, as soon as his ima- 
- gination can cool after the first blaze of hope, place 
hefore his own eyes every possible embarrassment 
that may retard or defeat him. He should first ques- 
tion the probability of success, and then endeavor to 
^move^he objections that he has raised. It is pro-* 
per, says old Markham,* to exercise your horse on 
the more inconvenient side of the course, that if he 
should, in the race, be forced upon it, he may not be 
^discouraged ; and Horace advises his poetical friend 
to consider every day as the last which he shall enjoy^ 

* Gervase Markham, in his book entitled " Perfect Horse- 
manship," 12mo. 1671. He was a dramatic poet, and a volar 
iniaow. writer on various subjects. 

2^1 * 



SU THB RAMBLEH. . Kow 43C 

because that will always give pleasure which we re« 
eeive beyond our hopes. If we alarm ourselves be* 
forehand with more difficulties than we really find^ 
we shall be animated by unexpected facility with dou- 
ble spirit ; and if we find our cautions and fears jus« 
tified by the consequence^ there will however hap[>en 
nothing against which provision has not been made, 
no sudden shock will be received, nor will the main 
scheme be disconcerted. 

There is, indeed, some danger lest he that too scru« 
pulously balances probabilities, and too perspiea- 
ciously foresees obstacles, should remain always in a 
state of inaction, without venturing upon attempts on 
which he may perhaps spend his labour without ad« 
vantage. But previous despondence is not the fault of 
those for whom'this essay is designed ; they who re- 
quire to be Mrarned against precipitation, will not suf- 
fer more fear to intrude into their contemplationa 
than is necessary to allay the effervescence of an agi* 
tated fancy. As De9 Cartes has kindly shown how a 
man may prove to himself his own existence, if once 
he can be prevailed upon to question it, so the ardent 
and adventurous will not be long without finding some 
plausible extenuation of the greatest difficulties* 
Such, indeed, is the uncertainty of all human affairs, 
that security and despair are equal follies; and as it 
is presumption and arrogance to anticipate tViumphs^ 
it is weakness and cowardice to prognosticate miscar* 
riages. The numbers that have been stopped in their 
career of happiness are sufficient to show the uncer* 
tainty of human foresight ; but there are not wanting 
contrary instances of such success obtained against 
all appearances, as may warrant the boldest flights of 
genius, if they are supported by unshaken persever* 
ance. 



No. 44. SATURDAY, AUGUST 18, 1750. 



Ovecf eit Atv^ trf* HoMER* 

■ Dreams descend from Jove. Fofe* 

TO THE RAMBLER. 
Sir, 

Jl HAD lately a very remarkable dream, which made 
so strong an impression on me, that I remember it 
every word ; and if you are not better employed, you 
may read the relation of it as follows : 

Methought I was in the midst of a very entertain- 
ing set of company, and extremely delighted ia at- 
tending to a lively conversation, when on a sudden I 
perceived one of the most shocking figures imagina- 
tion can frame, advancing towards me. She was 
drest in black, her skin was contracted into a thou- 
sand wrinkles, her eyes sunk deep in her head, and 
her complexion pale and livid as the countenance of 
death. Her looks were filled with terror and unre- 
lenting severity, and her hands armed with whips'and 
scorpions. As soon as she came near, with a horrid 
frown, and a voice that chilled my very blood, she bid 
me follow her. I obeyed, and she led me through 
rugged paths, beset with briars and thorns, into a 
deep solitary valleyi Wherever she passed, the fa- 
ding verdure withered beneath her steps ; her pesti- 
lential breath infected the air with malignant vapors, 
obscured the lustre of the sun, and involved the fair 
face of heaven in universal gloom. Dismal liowlings 
resounded through the forest, from every baleful treo 
the night raven uttered his dreadful note, and the 
prospect was filled with desolation and horror. In 



/ 



3tf THE RAMBLER Ko. 4C 

the midst of this tremendous scene mf execnJ>ie 
guide addressed me in the following manner : 

^ Retire with me, O rash untjiinking mortal, from 
the vain allurements of a deceitful world, and learn 
that pleasure was not designed the portion of human 
life. Man was bom to mourn and to be wretched ; 
this is the condition of all below the stars, and who- 
ever endeavors to oppose it, acts in contradiction to 
the will of heaven. Fly then from the fatal enchant- 
ments of youth, and social delight, and here conse* 
crate the solitary hours to lamentation and woe. Mi« 
sery is the duty of all sublunary beings, and every en* 
joyment is an offence to the Deity, who is to be wor- 
shipped only by the mortification of every sense of 
pleasure, and Uie everlasting exercise of ^ghs and 
tears." 

. This melancholy picture of life quite sunk my 
spirits, and seemed to annihilate every principle of joy 
within me. I threw myself beneath a blasted yew, 
where the winds blew cold and dismal round my head^ 
and dreadful apprehensions chilled my heart. Here 
1 resolved to lie till the hand of death, which I Impa* 
tiently invoked, should put an end to the miseries of a 
life so^ deplorably wretched. In this sad situation 
I espied on one hand of me a deep muddy river) 
whose heavy waves rolled on in slow sullen murmurs* 
Here I determined to plunge, and was just up(»i the 
brink when I found myself suddenly drawn back, t 
turned about, and was surprised by the sight of the 
loveliest object I had ever beheld. The most enga- 
ging charms of youth and beauty appeared in all her 
form ; effulgent glories sparkled in her eyes, and their 
awful splendors were softened by the gentlest looks of 
compassion and peace. At her approach the frightful 
specue who had before tormented me| vanish^dawaf^ 



J9o. 44 THE RAMBLER. .247 

and ivith her all the horrors she had caused. The 
gloomy clouds brightened into cheerful sunshine^ the 
^rores recovered their yerdure, and the whole region 
looked gay and blooming as the garden of Eden. Z 
yras quite transported at this unexpected change^ and 
reviving pleasure began to glad my thoughts, when, 
with a look of inexpressible sweetness, my beauteoua 
deliverer thus uttered her divine instructions : 

<<My name is Religion* I am the offspring of 
Tnah and Love^ and the parent of Benevolence^ Hofit 
and Joy, That monster from whose power I have 
freed you is called Sufierntitionj^ she is the child of 
JDiseontent^ and her followers are Fear and Sorrow* 
Thus different as we are^ shQ has often the insolence 
to assuiaie my name and character, and seduces unhap- 
py mortals to think us the same, till she, at lengthy 
drives them to the borders of Desfiairj that dreadful 
abyss into which you were just going to sink. 

c^Look roimd and survey the various beauties of 
the globe, which Heaven has destined for the seat of 
the human race, and consider whether a world thus 
exquisitely framed could be meant for the abode of 
'misery amd pain. For what end has the lavish hand of 
Providence diffused such innumerable objects of dcii 
light, but that all might rejoice in the privilege of ex« 
istence, and be filled with gratitude to the beneficent 
author of it ? Thus to enjoy the blessings he has sent* 
la virtue and obedience ; and to reject them merely as 
means of pleasure, is pitiable ignorance or absurd per« 
l^rseness. Infinite goodness is the source of created 
esdstence ; the proper tendency of every rational h^ 
sng, from the highest order of raptured seraphs, to th<> 
meanest rank of men, is to rise incessantly from lower 
degrees of happiness to higher. They have euch fa« 
cidtiea aisigaed them for vaiiou»o^rs of delightsi^' 



248 TH£ RAMBLES. Kb. 44 

« What," cried I, « is this the language ofReligitm ? 

^ Does she lead her votaries through flowery paths, and 

bid them pass an unlaborious life? Where are the 

painful toBs of virtue, the mortifications of penitencei 

the self-denying exercises of saints and heroes ?'* 

« The true enjoyments of a reasonable being,'' an- 
swered she mildly, <' do not consist in unbounded in- 
dulgence, or luxurious ease, in the^umult of passions, 
the languor of indolence, or the flutter of light amuse- 
ments. Yielding to immot*al pleasure corrupts the 
mind, living to animal trifling ones debases it ; both 
in their degree disqualify it for its genuine good, and 
consign it over to wretchedness. Whoever would be 
really happy, must mal^ the diligent and regular ex- 
ercise of his superior powers his chief attention, ador- 
ing the perfections of his Maker, expressing good-will 
to his fellow-creatures, cultivating inward rectitude. 
To his lower faculties he must allow such gratifica- 
tions as will, by refreshing him, invigorate his nobler 
pursuits. In the regions inhabited by angelic natures, 
unmingled felicity for ever blooms, joy flows there 
with a perpetual and abundant stream, nor n^edi^ there 
any mound to check its course. Beings conscious of 
a frame of mind originally diseased, as all the human 
race has cause to be, must use the regimen of a stricter 
self-government. Whoever has been guilty of vo- 
luntary excesses must patiently submit both to the 
painful workings of nature, and needful severities of 
medicine, in order to his cure. Still he is entitled to 
a moderate share of whatever alleviating accommodar 
tions this fair mansion of his merciful Parent afi*ords, 
consistent with his recovery. ' And in proportion as 
this recovery advances, the liveliest joy will spring 
from his secret sense of an amended and improved 
fa^art.— So far from the horrors of despair is the ton- 



Ko. 44. THE RA3IBLER. ^4$ 

dition even of the guilty. — Shudder, poor mortal, at 
the thought of the gulf into which thou wast but now 
goings to pluAge. 

<* While the most faulty have ever encouragement 
to amend, the more innocent soul will be supported 
lyith still sweeter consolations under all its experience 
of human infirmities; supported by the gladdening 
assurances that every sincere endeavor to outgrow 
thexn shall be assisted, accepted, and rewarded. To 
such a one the lowliest self-abasement is but a deep-laid 
foundation for the most elevated hopes ; since they who 
faithfully examine and acknowledge what they are, 
shall be enabled under my conductt to become what 
they desire. The christian and the hero are insepara* 
able ; and to aspirings of unassuming trust, and filial 
confidence, are set no bounds. To him who is anima- 
ted with a view of obtaining approbation from the So* 
vereign of the universe, no difficulty is insurmount- 
ble. Secure in tliis pursuit of every needful aid, his 
conflict with the severest pains and trials, is little mor^ 
than the vigorous exercises of a mind in health. His 
patient dependence on that Providence which looks 
through all eternity, his silent resignation, his ready 
accommodation of his thoughts and behavior to its ui- 
scrutable ways, is at once the most excellent sort of 
self-denial, and a source of the most exalted transports. 
Society is the true sphere of human virtue. In social, 
active life, difficulties will perpetually be met with ; 
restraints of many kinds will be necessary ; and study- 
ing to behave right in respect of these is a discipline 
^f the human heart, useful to others, and improving to 
itself. Suffering is no duty, but where it is necessary 
to avoid guilt, or to do good ; nor pleasure a crime, 
but where it strengthens the influence of bad inclina- 
tions, or lessens the generous activity of virtue. The 



tm THE RAMBLEX. 1116. 41 

bappiness allotted to man in his present statOi is indeed 
faint and lowy compared with his immortal proapocts, 
and noble capacities ; but yet whatever portion of it 
the distributing hand of heaven offers to each indivi- 
daaly is a needful support and refreshment for the pre« 
sent moment) so far as it may not hinder the attaining 
of final destination. 

<< Return then with me from continual misery to 
moderate enjoyment and grateful alaciity. Return 
from the contracted views of solitude to the proper 
duties of a relative and dependent being. Religion is 
not confined to cells and closets, nor restrained to 
sullen retirement. These are the gloomy doctrines 
of Su/ieratitibn^ by which she endeavors to break 
those chains of benevolence and social affection, that 
link the welfare of every particular with that of the 
whole. ReTTiember that the greatest honor you can 
pay to the Author of your being is by such a cheerful 
behavior as discovers a mind satisfied with his di8« 
pensations." 

Here my preceptress paused, and I was going to 
express my acknowledgments for her discourse^ when 
a ring of bells from the neighboring village, and a 
new-risen sun darting his beams through my windows, 
awaked jne. 

I am yours, &c*. 

• This paper, and No. 100, were written by Mrs. Elizabeth 
Carter, of Deal in Kent, now living. C. 



No. 4JC THE RAMBLER. 251' 

No. 45. TUESDAY, AUGUST 21, 1750. 



N»» ^ fx^fct flr«»7« EURIP. 

This is the chief felicity of life. 

That concord smile on the connubiul bed j 

But now 'tis hatred all. 

TO THE RAMBLER. 
Sib, 

X HOUGH in the dissertations which you have 
given us on marriage, very just cautions are laid down 
against the common causes of infelicity, and tlie ne- 
cessity of having, in that important choice, the first 
regard to virtue, is carefully inculcated ; yet I can* 
not think the subject so much exhausted, but that a 
little reflection would present to the mind many ques- 
tions, in the discussion of which great numbers are 
interested, and many precepts which deserve to be 
more particularly and forcibly impressed. 

You seem, like most of the writers that have gone 
before you, to have allowed as an uncontested princi- 
ple, that Marriage ia generally unhafifiy : but I know 
not whether a man who professes to think for 
himself, and concludes from his own observations, 
does not depart from his character when he follows 
the crowd thus implicitly, and receives maxims with- 
out recalling them to a new examination, especially* 
when they comprise so wide a circuit of life, and in- 
clude such variety of circumstances. As I have an 
equal right with others to give my opinion of the ob- 
jects about mci and a better title to determine can« 

VOL. IT. 32 



253 THB RAS^IBLER. No. 45. 

ceming that state which I have tried, than many who 
talk of it withoat experience, I am unwilling to be 
restrained by mere authority from advancing what, I 
believe, an accurate view of the world will confirm, 
that marriage is not commonly unhappy, otherwise 
than as life is unhappy ; and that most of those who 
complsdn of connubial miseries, have as much satis- 
faction as their nature would have admitted, or their 
conduct procured, in any other condition. 

It is indeed, common to hear both sexes repine at 
their change, relate the happiness of their earlier 
years, blame the folly and rashness of their own cbf»ce) 
and warn those whom they see coming into the worltl 
against -the same precipitance and infatuation. But 
it is to be remembered, that the days which they so 
much wish to call back, are the days not only of celi- 
bacy but of youth, the days of novelty and improve- 
ment, of ardor and of hope, of health and vigor of body, 
of gaiety and lightness of heart. It is not easy to 
surround life with any circumstances in which youth 
will not be delightful ; and I am afraid that whether 
married or unmarried, we shall find the vesture of 
terrestrial existence more heavy and cumbrous, the 
longer it is worn. 

That they censure themselves for the indiscretion 
of their choice, is not a sufficient proof that they have 
chosen ill, since we see the same discontent at every 
other part of life which we cannot change. Converse 
with almost any man, grown old in a profession, and 
you will find him regretting that he did not enter into 
some different course, to which he too late finds his' 
genius better adapted, or In which he discovers that 
wealth and honor are more easily attuned. << The 
merchant," says Horace, << envies the soldier, and the 
Mdier. recounts the felicity of the merchant; the 



*te. ^ THE RAMBLEtl. 253 

lawyer, when his clients harass him, calls out for the* 
quiet of the countryman ; . and the countryman, when 
business calls him to town^ proclaims that there is no 
happiness but amidst opulence and crowds." Every 
man recounts the inconvenieneies of his own station, 
and thinks those of any other less, because he has not 
felt. them. Thus the married praise the ease and 
freedom of a single state, and the single fly to mar- 
riage from the weariness of solitude. From all oiir 
cAservations we may collect with certainty, that mise- 
ry is the lot of man, but cannot discover in what par- 
ticular conditipn it will find most alleviations; or 
•whether all external appendages are not, as we use 
them, the causes either of good or ill. 

Whoever fe^ls great pain, naturally hopes for ease 
from change of posture ; he changes it, and finds 
himself equally tormented : and of the same kind are 
the. expedients by which we endeavor to obviate or 
lilude those uneasinesses, to which mortality will al* 
waya be subject. It is not likely that the married 
state is. eminently npdserable^ since we see such num-* 
berst whom the death of their partners has set free 
from it, entering it again. • . 

Wives and husbands are, indeed, incessantly com- 
plaining of each other; and there would be reason for 
imagining, that almost every house was infested with 
p^ryerseness or pppreasbn beyond human suffer* 
aaee, did we npt know upon how small occasions some 
minds burst out into lamentations and reproaches, and 
how naturally every animal revenges his pain upon 
those who happen to be near, without any niceexami^^ 
nation of its cause. We are always willing to fimcy. 
ourselves, within a little of happiness, and when, with 
repeated efforts, we cannot reach it, persuade our- 
si&l^a that it i% intercepted byaaiU-patrddmaitef nimc^ 



254 THfiMimW. m^ 4S. 



if we coiddfifid a^y other obsUcle^it wo«lldbe our c 
ikult that it was not removed. 

AnatomisU have often remarked, that though qus 
diseases are sufficienUy niuaer^tta and severe^ yet 
when we inquire into the structure of the bodjr, jUmi 
tenderness of some |>aru, the minuteness of otherx^ 
and the immense multiplicity of animal functioDS that 
must concur to the healthful and vigorous exerci&o 
of all our powers, there appears reason to wonder ra^ 
ther that we are preserved so longg, than that «^ perisli 
so soon, and that oiir frame subsists for a ungle daji or 
hour, without disorder, rather than tlf at it should Imb 
broken or obstructed by violence id aoeideals, or 
length of time. 

The same reflection arises in my mind, uponobeer- 
vation of the manner in which marriage is frei|uetttljr 
contracted. When I see the avariciaue and exvfty 
taking companions to their tiiblesand their beds willit 
out any inquiry, but after farms a»d money ; or ibm 
(iddy and thoughtless uniting themselves for iife^ls* 
Ihose whom they have only seen by the.l]ght.«f tapisrte 
^t a ball i when parents make articles for th w<Uidrcda» 
without inquiring after their coment; when aone 
marry for heirs to disappoint their brothers, andotbers 
t|irow themselves into the arms of those whom ^y do 
not love, because they have found themselves rejiedttd 
where they were most iBoticitouA jto ple»seu when soniQ 
marry because their servants cheat them, some be# 
^ause they squander their own money, some bt^nftuiir 
their houses are pestered with company, some hcicaiittS 
they will live like other people, and some only beeanao 
they are sick of themselves, I am not so mttchinclin(^ 
to wonder that marriage is spmetimes unhappy, as tbtyt ~ 
it appears so little loaded with cakQuty ; .and &m^ 
^ conclude that society has something in itself eml- 



^atm 



i 



1^. 4f THE RAMBLEIt ms 

AMitly agreeftUe to human nature, wlien Ifind its pka- 
«ures so great, that even the ill choice of a companioii 
«an hardly over-balance them^ 

By the ancient custom of the Muscovites, the meii 
and woman never saw each other till they were joined 
beyond the power of parting. It may be suspected 
that by this method many unsuitable matches were 
produced, and many tempers associated that were not 
qualified to give pleasure to each other. Yet, perhaps» 
among a people so little delicate, where the paucity of 
gratifications, and the uniformity of life, gave no op- 
portunity for imagination to interpose its objections', 
there was not much danger of capricious dislike ; and 
while they felt neither cold rior hunger, they might live 
quietly together, without any thought of the defects of 
one another. 

Amongst us^ whom knowledge has made nice, and 
aAuence wanton, there are, indeed, more cautions re- 
quisite to secure tranquillity; and yet if we observe 
the manner in which those converse, who have singled 
out each other for marriage, we shall, perhaps, not 
think that the Russians lost much by their restraint. 
For the whole endeavor of both parties, during the 
time of courtship, is to hinder themselves frombein^ 
known, and to disguise their natural tempeiNj^id real 
desires, in hypocritical imitation J studte^compliarft 
and continual affectation. From the time that their 
love is avowed, neither sees the other but iaa mask,, 
and the cheat is managed often on both sidbs with so^ 
4nucK art, and discovered afterwards with so much ab« 
ruptness, that each has reason to suspect that some- 
transformation has happened on the wedding nighty 
and that, by a strange imposture, one has been courtcdy, 
;pnd another married. , , 

22. • 



250 7m BAHBuat^ ftr^ 4lfc 

I desire fou» therefore, Mr* iVamdlrry.i^quevtioit 
all who shall hereafter come to you with matriixMmial 
complaints, concerning their behavior ia the time of 
courtshipi and inform them that they are neither to 
wonder nor repine, whep a contract begun with fraud 
lias ended in disappointment 

I amj &c« 

No. 46. SATURDAY, AUGUST 25, 17 S». 



' -—- Ce«w, et proavos, et qua nonfecimus ipsi^ 
' Wim ea nostra v9Co> 

Nought from my birth or ancestors I claim; 
Ail is my own» my honor and my shame. 

TO THE BMMBLEB, 
Sir, 

CJiNCE I find that you have paid so much regaYd to 
tny complaints as to publish them, I am inclitied by 
vanity) or gratitude, to continue our correspondence; 

^ and indeed, without either of these motives, am glad 
1^ an opportunity to write, for I am not accustoiftfed 
to keep in any thing that swells my heart, and have 

^rere none isfttft 'vfhoid I can freely converse. While 
I am tims employed, s^me tedious hours will s!^ 
away, and when I return to watch the clock, 1 ^11 
'&nd that I have disburdened myself df part of the tffty. 
You perceive that I do not pretend to write iA^ 
tnuch consideration of any thing but mf owtt ttsM^ 
nience ; and, not to conceal from you my real sd&ii- 
4*ients, the little time which I have spent, agalnstltalf 
wiU) x^ solitary meditation^ ha& itdt mui^koentrSMiet 



to VDf *y&mcntiioa fioir authors. I h«ve»qw aqficieBl 
reason to suspect* that, with all your splendid profes^ 
sioQs. of wisdoiOt and seemiog regard for truth, yo^ 
have very little sincerity ;. that you either write what 
you do not think, and willingly impose upon mankindf 
or that you take no care to think rightt hut W;hile yoa 
set up yourselves, as guides, mislead your followers 
by credulity or negligence ; that you produce to the 
public whatever notions you can speciously maintaint 
or elegantly express, without inquit^ing whether they 
are just, and transcribe hereditary falsehoods from 
old authors perhaps as ignorant and careless as your« 
selves. 

You may perhaps wonder that I express myself 
with so, much acj'imony o/x a question in which wo- 
men are supposed to have very little interest ; mi4 
you are likely enough, for I have seen many instances 
of the saucineas of scholars* to tell me that I ^m 
more properly employed in playing with my kittenst 
than in giving qiyself airs of criticisi^ ^ cen^u^in^ 
the learned. But you are mistake^, Jf you imagine 
that I am to be intimidated by your .^ntempt, or si« 
lenced by your reproofs. As I read, J have a right tQ 
jij^dge ; as I am injured, I have a right to complain ; an4 
these privileges, which I have purchased at so dear a 
rate, I shall not easily be persuaded to resign. 

To read l^as, in4eed, never been my bui^n^ss, btitaa 
there are hour^ of leisure in the most active life^ ). 
have passed the ^perfluities of time, which the di* 
yersions of the ipwn left upon my hands, in turnings 
pv.er a large colji^oQ. of tragedies and romanc^f^ 
where, amongsyjther sentiments, comnoon to all aa» 
thors of this^^class, I have found almost every pa^ 
. filled with the ch^rma ^ >ap|uness of a country, 
life^ that life to whic^ Qvery st^amaa in the biigfit^ 



U$ ¥»£ RAMBLEIt BTk 4^ 

tBtelemdoii of hi» prosperity is contriving to retire • 
that tife to which every tragic heroine in some scene 
or other wishes to have been bom, and which is 
represented as a certain refuge from folty, front 
fl^ixiety, from passion, and from gnilt. 

It was impossible to read so many passionate ex« 
damationsy and soothing descriptions) without feeT« 
mg some desire to enjoy the state in which all this fe-' 
licity was to be enjoyed; and therefore I received 
with raptures the invitation of my good aunt, and ex- 
pected that by some unknown infiuence I should find 
all hopes and fears, jealousies and competitions, vanish 
from my heart upon my first arrival at the seats: of in- 
nocence aod tranqutlitty; that I should sleep in hal- 
cyonr bowers, and wander in eljrsian gardens, where I 
should meet with nothing but the softness of benevo« 
KMice, the candor of simplicity, and the cheerfulness 
e€ content ; where I should see reasbn exerting her' 
sovereignty over tife, without any interruption front 
envy, avarice, or ambition, and every day passing hi 
such a manner as tlie severest wisdom should approve; 

This, Mr. Rambler, I tell you, 1 expected, and 
this 1 had by an hundred authors been taught to ex^ 
l^ct* By this expectation F was led hither, and hero 
I live in per|)etual uneasiness, without any other com* 
fort than that of ho(nng to return to London. ^ 

i 'Having, since .1 wrote my former letter, been dri- 
ven, by the mere necessity of escaping from absolute. 
inactivity> to make myself more acquainted with the 
affairs and inhabitants of this p!a<^ I' am now no long** 
er an absolute stranger to rural (JCversation and em^it 
I^yments, but am far from disctJWring in them. 
more innocence or wisdom, than in the ^sentiments or^ 
conduct of those with whom I have paasea* mor^- 
cheerful and xnoreftfWont^iie htturai ' - * 



It is eomnioa to reproach the .tei|ptal4«|p ai^ Hhe 
parky witl^ giving opportunities an4 encouragement t^ 
SQUidal. I cannot wholly, clear them from the charge ^ 
biitmuA howeyer^ observe in favor of the modish 
prattlers, that, if not by piinpiple, we are at Ic^ast Ji^ ^ 

accident) less guilty of defamation than the country la* 
dies. For having greater numbers to observe an4 
censure^ vire are commonly content to charge them 
oply with their own faults or follies, and seldom givil 
way to malevolence, but such as arise from sonie in^ 
jury or aJOfront, real pr imaginary, offered to ourBelvofk 
But in these distant provinces, where the same filmic 
lies inhabit the same houses from age.t^ age, thej ^ 

transmit and recount the faults of a wh^e «MCjc«ssion. 
X^have been informed how every estate in the neigb* 
hprhopd was originally got, ai^d fiodo if I may credii ^ 

l^e.accountsglyea me, that there is Aot a single acne 
IQthehands of th^ right ow^r. Ihavebi^entoMofsiir 
t4gues hetween bqaa^^ and toasts thst.h«ve been aqv ^ 

t^ee cei^turies in their ^uiej^ graves, aad am ofbsn em* 
tertained witJb\ .traditipnal scpudal on pemoos of vhoso } 

Dames there would have been no remembitaee, had' 
they not committed somewhat that .might dbgrasA 
t^ir descendants. 

, ^In op/e of my vAsits I happened to eommend the ait % 

93od dignity of a young lady, who had just left the comt 
^g^i upon which two gr^ve matt'OAS looked. with 
great sUnesf ^teachoth^r, and the elder aafced no 
n^eth^ I had ev4Kr seen the picture of Henry the 
^hth^ You may imagine that .1 did AOt immedialolji ^ 

perceive the propriety pf the questMMa: but.after.ha» 
vj^g waited a while for infermation^ I was SdUi that th^ 
lady's grandmother had a great-great-'grandmother 
that wast^nattendant on AanaBuUen, and supposed to 
haYebeeAtoomttphaAv«li|»^theJing. , ...5 



360 



^KmnkWN^ai. H^ 46. 



' If once'tliere happens a quarrel btetirecn the-prin- 
cipal persons of twoferailies, the matigtiHy iscotitina- 
•ed without end, and it is common for old maids to &il 
out about some election, in which their grand&thers 
were competitors ; the heart-burnings of the civil war 
are not yet extinguished ; there are two^ferailies k^the 
neighborhood who have destroyed each other's game 
from the time of Philip and Mary ; and when an 
account came of an inundation, which had injured the 
plantations of a worthy gentleman, one of the hearers 
remaiiced, with exultation, that he mig^t now hare 
some notion of the ravages committed by his ances- 
tors in their retreat from Bosworth. 

Thus malice and hatred descend here with an in- 
heritance, and it is necessary to be well versed in his- 
tory, that the various factions of this county may be 
understood. You cannot expect to be- on good teras 
with families who are resolved to love nothing in 
common; and, " in sheeting your intimates, you are 
perhaps to consider which party you most fe* 
▼or in the barons' wars. X have often lost the 
good opinion <^ my aunl^s viisitants by confounding the 
fasterestsof York and I»ancastery and was once cen^ 
sured for sitting silent when William Rufus was call*. 
c4 a tyrant. I hare^ how«v«r, now thrown awde.'all 
pretences to circumspection, for I find it imposslUc 
in less than seven yeai*s to learn all- the requisite catt« 
tions. At London^ if you know your company,; ' ao4 
their parents^^you are^safet; but you are here suspecV 
^d of alluding to the^tips of gredt-»graildni6the]f8,'an4 
of reviving! contests which rwere^ decided iinai*mof 
by the. redoubted- knights of ancient times. I hope 
therefore that you will not eondemn my impatience, if 
I am weary of attending where nothing can beleam« 
edy and of quarveyiBgiW^ei:!e«tlier6 is nothbg to eo&r 



No. >40r. THB RAMBI£B. 25t 

testy and that you will contribute to divert me while I 
stajr here by some focetious performance. 

I am sir, 

EUPHELIA. 

No. 47. TUESDAY, AUGUST 28, 1750. 



Quanquam his solatiU acqukscam, debilitor Cf frangor eadem 
ilia hutnanitate qua me, ut hoc ipsum permitterem, induxit. 
JVb« ideo tmnen velim durior fieri .* nee ignore alios hujusntodi 
casus nihil amplius vocarequaTn damnum ; eoque sibi magno* 
homines Cf sapientes videri. Qui an m,agni sapientesque sint, 
nescio: homines non sunt. Hoininis est enint affici dolore, 
sentire : resistere tamen, Cr solatia admattere ; non solatiis non 
egere. Pi.i;^. 

These proceedings have afforded me some comfort in my dis- 
tress ; notwithstanding' which, I am still dispirited and un- 
hinged by the same motives of humanity that induced me to 
frant such indulgences. However, I by no means wish t^ 
ecome less susceptible of tenderness. X know these kind 
of misfortunes would be estimated by other persons only as 
common losses, and from such sensations they would con- 
ceive themselves great and wise men. I shatl not determine 
either their greatness or their wisdom ; but lam certain they 
have no humanity. It is the part of a map to be ailfbcted 
with grief; to feel sorrow, at the same time that he is to re- 
sist it, and to admit of comfort. Earl of Ob&ery. 

\Jf the passions with which the mind of man is agi- 
tated, it may be observed, that they naturally hasten 
towards their own extinction, by inciting and quicken 
iilg the attainment of their objects. Thus fear urges 
our flight, and desire animates our progress ; and if 
there are some which perhaps may be indulged till 
they outgrow the good appropriated to their satisfac- 
ticm, as it is frequently observed of avarice and ambi- 
tion, yet their immediate tendency is to some means 
of happiness really existing, and generally within the 
prospect. The miser always imagines that there is a 



363 THE RAMBLEB. I^o. 47- 

certun sum that will fill his heart to the brim ; 
and every ambitious man, like king Pyrrhus, has an 
acquisition in his thoughts that is to terminate his la- 
bors, after which he shall pass the rest of his life in 
ease or gaiety, in repose or devotion. 

Sorrow is perhaps the only affection of the breast 
that can be excepted from this general remark, and it 
therefore deserves the particular attention of those 
who have assumed the arduous province of preserving 
the balance of the mental constitution. The other 
passions are diseases indeed, but they necessarily di- 
rect us to their proper cure. A man at once feels tbe 
pain and knows the medicine, to which he is carried 
with greater haste as the evil which requires it b 
more excruciating, and cures himself by unerring in- 
stinct, as the wounded stags of Crete are related by 
^lian to have recourse to vulnerary herbs. But for 
sorrow there is no remedy provided by nature ; it is 
often occasioned by accidents irreparable, and dwells 
upon objects that have lost or changed their exist- 
ence ; it requires what it cannot hope, that the laws 
of tbe universe should be repealed ; that the dead 
should return, or the past should be recalled. 

Sorrow is not that regret for negligence or error 
which may animate us to future care or activity, 
or that repentance of crimes for which, however irre- 
vocable, our Creator has promised to accept it as an 
atonement ; the pain which arises from these causes 
has very salutary effects, and is every hour extenua- 
ting itself by the reparation of those miscarriages that 
produce it. Sorrow is properly that state of the mind 
in which our desires are fixed upon the past, without 
looking forward to the future, an incessant wish that 
something were otherwise than it has been, a torment- 
ing and harassing vrjmt of some enjoyment or posses- 



No. 4r. k THE RAMBLER. .263 



\ 

'him V 



sion whim we have lost, and which no endeavors can 
possibly ra^ain. Into such anguish many have sunk 
upon some sudden diminution of their fortune, an un- 
expected blast of their reputation, or the loss of chil- 
dren or of friends. They have suffered all sensibility 
of pleasure to be destroyed by a single blow, have 
given up for ever the hopes of substituting any other 
object in the room of that which they lament, resign- 
ed their lives to gloom and despondency, and worn 
themselves out in unavailing misery. 

Yet so much is this passion the natural consequence 
of tenderness and endearment, that, however painful 
and however useless, it is justly reproachful not to feel 
it on some occasions ; and so widely and constantly has 
it always prevailed, that the laws of some nations, and 
the customs of others, have limited a time for the ex« 
temal appearances of grief caused by the dissolution 
of close alliances, and the breach of domestic union. 

It seems determined by the general suffrage of 
mankind, that sorrow is to a certain point laudable, as 
the offspring of love, or at least pardonable, as the ef- 
fedt of weakness ; but that it ought not to be suffered 
to increase by indulgence, but must give way, after a 
stated tim<e, to social duties, and the common avoca- 
tions of life. It is at first unavoidable, and therefore 
must be allowed, whether with or without our choice ; 
it may afterwards be admitted as a decent and affection- 
ate testimony of kindness and esteem ; something will 
be extorted by nature, and something may be given to 
the world. But all beyond the bursts of passion, or 
the forms of solemnity, is not only useless, but culpa- 
ble ; for we have no right to sacrifice to the vain long- 
ings of affection, that time which Providence allows us 
for the task of our station. 

VOL. lY. 23 



264 THE BAMBD^R Ifo. 4^, 

Yet it too often happens that sorrowi thus lawfully 
entering) gafns such a firm possession of the mind^ 
that it is not afterwards to be ejected ; the mournful 
ideas, first violently impressed and afterwards will* 
mgly received, sq much engross the attention* as to 
predominate in every thought, to darken gaiety, and 
perplex ratiocination. An habitual sax]ness seizes 
upon the soul, and the faculties are chained to. a single 
object, which can never be contemplated but with 
hopeless uneasiness. 

From tliis state of dejection it is very difficult to 
rise to cheerfulness and alacrity ; and therefore many 
who have laid down rules of intellectual health, think 
preservadves easier than remedies, and teach us not 
to trust ourselves with favorite enjoyments, not to in- 
dulge the luxury of fondness, but to keep our minds 
always suspended in such indifference, that we may 
change the objects about us without emotion. 

An exact compliance with this rule might, perhaps, 
contribute to tranquillity, but surely it would never 
produce happiness. He that regards none so much 
as to be afraid of loung them, must live for ever with- 
out the gentle pleasures of sympathy and confidence ; 
he must feel no melting fondness, no warmth of bene« 
Tolence, nor any of those honest joys which nature an* 
nexes to the power of pleasing. And as no man can 
justly claim more tenderness than he pays, he must 
forfeit his share in that ofixcious and watchful kindness 
which love only can dictate, and those lenient endear- 
ments by which love only can soften life. » He may 
justly be overlooked and neglected by such as have 
more warmth in their hearts ; for who would be the 
friend of him, whom, with whatever assiduity he may 
be courted, and with whatever services obliged, his 



No. 47* THE RAMBLES. Z6S 

principles will not suffer to make equaj^rc turns, and 
who, when you have exhausted all the instances of 
good-will, can only be prevailed on not to be an ene- 
my? 

An attempt to preserve life in a state of neutrality 
and indifference is unreasonable and vain. If by ex^ 
eluding joy we could shut out grief, the scheme would 
deserve very serious attention ; but since, however we 
may debar ourselves from happiness, misery will find 
its way at many inlets, and the assaults of pain Will force 
our regard, though we may withhold it from the invi- 
tations of pleasure, we may surely endeavor to raise 
life above the middle point of apathy at one time, since 
it will necessarily sink below it at another. 

But though it cannot be reasonable not to gain hap- , 
inness for fear of losing it> yet it must be confessed, 
that in proportion to the pleasure of possession, will 
be for some time our sorrow for the loss ; it is there- 
fore the province of the moralist to inquire whether 
such pains may not quickly give way to mitigation. 
Some have thought that the most certain way to clear 
the heart from its embarrassment is to drag it by force 
into scenes of merriment. Others imagine, that such 
a transition is too violent, and recommend rather to 
sooth it into tranquillity, by making it acquainted with 
miseries more dreadful and afflictive^ and diverting to 
the calamities of others the regards which we are in- 
clined to fix too closely upon our own misfortunes. 

It may be doubted whether either of those remedies 
win be sufficiently powerful. The efficacy ©f mirth 
is not always easy to try, and the indulgence of me- 
lancholy may be suspected to be one of those medi- 
cines, which will destroy, if it happens not to cure. 

The safe and general antidote against sorrow is em- 
ployment. It is commonly observed) that among soU 



266 THE RAMBLER. Ko. 48. 

diers and sejmen, though there is much kindness, 
there is little grief; they see their friend fall without 
any of that lamentation which is indulged in security 
and idleness, because they have no leisure to spare 
from the care of themselves ; and whoever shall keep 
his thoughts equally busy, will find himself equally 
unaffected with irretrievable losses. 
. Time is observed generally to wear out sorrow, and 
its effects might doubtless be accelerated by quicken- 
ing the succession and enlarging the variety of ob* 
jects. 

Si tempore longo * 
Leniri poterit luctusy tu sperne morari, 
Qui tapiet sibi tefnpui erit.-"-'^ , O&otzus. 

-^ 'Tis long ere time can mitigate your grief; 

To wisdom fly, she quickly brings rduef. F. Lb wis. 

Sorrow is a kind of rust of the soul, which every new 
ide£^ contributes in its passage to scour away. - It is 
* the putrefaction of stagnant life, and is renvedied by 
exercise and motion. 

No. 48. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 1, irso. 



JVan est tivcre, ^edvatere, vita. M4.&T* 

For life is not to live, but to be well. Elpkznstoit. 

Among the innumerable follies, bf which we lay 
up in our youth repentance and remorse for the suc- 
ceeding part of our lives, there is scarce any against 
which warnings are of less efEcacy than the neglect of 
health. When the springs of motion are yet elastic, 
when the heart bounds with vigor^ and the eye 



lPir?>-_^ 



m.4B. THE RAMBL^It^ S6f 

apatkles wiUi Bsirityit is with difficulty ttiat vrt are 
taugkt to conceive th^ imbecility that *very hour 
is btingitig upon us, or to imagine that the nerves^ 
ivhich are now braced with so much strength, and the 
limbs which play with so much activity, will lose all 
their power under the gripe of time, relax with numb- 
ness, and totter with debility. 

To the arguments which have been used against 
complaints under the miseries of life, the philosophers 
have, I think, forgot to add the incredulity of those to 
whom we recount our sufferings. But if the purpose 
of lamentation be to excite pity, it is surely superfluous 
for age and weakness to tell their plaintive stories ; for 
pity presupposes sympathy, and a little attention will 
show them, tiiat those who do not feel pain, seldom 
think that it is felt ; and a short recollection will in* 
form almost every n[ian, that he is only repaid the in- 
sult which he has given, since he may remember how 
often he has mocked inErmity, laughed at its cautions^ 
and censured its impatience^ \* 

The valetudinarian race have made the care of 
health ridiculous by suffering it to prevail over all 
other considerations, as the miser has brought frugal- 
ity into contempt, by permitting the lote of money not ' 
to share, but to engross his mind t they both err alike, 
by confounding the means with the end ; th^y grasp at 
health only to be well, as at money only to be rich ; 
and forget that every terrestrial advantage is chiefly 
valuable, as it famishes abilities for the exercise 
6f virtue. 

Health is indeed so necessary to all the duties, as 
well as pleasures of life, that the crime of squaaidcfring* 
it is equal to the folly ; and he that for a short gratifi- 
cation brings weakness and diseases upon himselfi; 
'a&d for the pleasure of a few years passed in the Ut^ 

2a * 



268 THE RAMBLER. ITtt. O, 

multft of ^iversiony and clamors of meniment, con- 
demns the maturer and more experienced part of his 
life to the chamber and the couch, may be justlf 
reproached, not only as a spendthrift of his own hap« 
piness, but as a robber of the public ; as a wretch that 
has voluntarily disqualified himself for the business of 
his station, and refused that part which Providence as- 
signs him in the general task of human nature. 

There are perhaps very few conditions more to be 
pitied thaji that of an active and elevated mind, labor- 
ing under the weight of a distempered body. The 
time of such a man \s always spent in forming 
schemes, which a change of wind hinders hitn from 
executing, his powers fume away in projects and 
in hope, and the day of action never arrives. He lies 
down delighted with the thoughts of to-morrow, plea- 
ses his ambition with the fame be shall acquire, or his 
benevolence with the good he shall confer. But 
in the night the skies are overcast, the temper of the 
air is changed) he wakes in languor, impatience, and 
distraction, and has no longer any wish but for ease, 
nor any attention but to misery. It may be said that 
disease generally begips that equality which death 
completes; the distinctions which set one man so 
much above another are very little perceived in the 
gloom of a sick chamber, where it will be vain to 
expect entertainment from the gay, or instruction 
from the wise ; where all human glory is obliterated, 
the wit is clouded, the reasoner perplexed, and the 
hero subdued ; where the highest and brightest of 
mortal bemgs finds nothing left him but the con- 
sciousness of innocence, 

. There is among the fragments of the Greek poets 
^ short hymn to Health, in which her powder of exalt- 
ing thQ bappmess of life, of heightening the gifts of 



K«l. 4i. THS HAMBLER. S^ 

fortune, and adding enjof ment to possession, is incuU 
cated with so much force and beauty, that no one, who 
has ever langt^ished under the discomforts and infirm'- 
itiea of a lingering disease, can read it without feeling 
the images dance in his heart, and adding from his 
own experience new vigor to the wish, and from his 
own imagination new colors to the picture. The par- 
ticular occasion of this little composition is not known, 
but it is probable that the author had been sick, and 
in the first raptures of returning vigor addressed 
HeeUth in the following manner : 

S/Og» h x^{*9> «^f*5» iv^*i(Mii ;rf Ah. 

- See^th^ most venerable of the powers of heaven / viith thee 
^naj the remaining part of my life be passed^ nor do thou refuse 
to bless me vsith thy residence. For whatever there is of beauty 
#r of pleasure in wealthy in descendants, or in sovereign com." 
•pimnd, the highest summit of human enj.oymenty or in those ob' 
jects of desire which we endeavour to chasje into the toils, of love f 
vahatever delight, or whatever solace is granted by the celestials^ 
to soften ourfatigueSy in thy presence, thou parent of happiness, 
all those Joys spread out and fourish ; in thy presence blooms the 
spring of pleasure^ and without thee no man is happy* 

Such is the power of health, that without its co- 
operation every other comfort is torpid and lifeless, as 
the powers of vegetation without the sun. And yet 
this bliss is commonly thrown away in thoughtless 



fteglif^eiice, or in foolish e!(perlmentt <m our own 
strength ; we let it perish without renieinbering its 
value, or waste it to show how much we have to 
spare ; it is sometimes given up to the management ol^ 
levitf and chaiicey and sometimes sold for the ap-* 
plause of jollity and debauchery* 

Health is equally neglected, and with equal im« 
propriety, by the votaries of business and the followers 
of pleasure. Some men ruin the fabric of their bodies 
by incessant revels, and others by intemperate stU^ 
dies ; some batter it by excess, and others sap it by lA* 
activity. To the noisy route of bacchanalian rioters, 
it will be to little purpose that advice is offered^ 
though it requires no great abilities to prove, that he 
loses pleasure who loses health ; their clamors are too 
luud for the whispers of caution, and they run the 
course of life with too much precipitance to stop 
at the call of wisdom. Nor perhaps will they that are 
busied in adding thousands to thousands, pay much re- 
gard to him that shall direct them to hasten more 
slowly to their wishes. Yet since lovers of money 
are generally cool, deliberate, and thoughtful, they 
might surely consider, that the greater good ought not 
be sacrificed to the less. Health is certainly more Va- 
luable than money, because it is by health that money 
is procured ; but thousands and millions are of small 
avail to alleviate the protracted tortures of the gout> 
to repair the broken organs of sense, or resuscitate 
the powers of digestion. Poverty is, indeed, an evil 
from which we naturally fly ; but let us not run from 
one enemy to another^ nor take shelter in the arms of 
sickness. 

— Pro/eccrtf animam / ijuam client athere in a/l« 
JVunc ^pauperiem, C< duroi tolerare labores / 



Slo. 49* THE RAMBCEB.' STl 

For heahhfoi indi^nce in vain they pny. 

In quest of wealth who throw their lives away. 

Those who lose their health in an irregular and im- 
petuous pursuit of literary accomplishments are yet 
less to be excused; for they ought to know that 
the body is not forced beyond its strength, but with the 
loss of more vigor than is proportionate to the effect 
produced. Whoever takes up life beforehand, by 
depriving himself of rest and refreshment, must not 
only pay back the hoursi but pay them back with 
usury": and for the gain of a few months but half enjoy- 
ed, must give up years to the listlessness of languory 
and the implacability of psun. They whose ^deavor 
is mental excellence, will learn, perhaps too late, 
how much it is endangered by diseases of the body, 
smd find that knowledge may easily be lost in the 
starts of melancholy, the flights of impatience^ and the 
peevishness of decrepitude. 



No. 49. TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 4, ITSO. 



^on pmnu mortar ^ multaque part ^nei 

Vitabit Ldbitinam, usque ego potterd 

Cretcam laude recent. Ho a. 

Whole Horace shall not die ; his songs shall save 

The greatest portion from the greedy grave. Creech. 

X HE first motives of human actions are those ap- 
petites which Providence has given to man in common 
with the rest of the inhabitants of the earth* Imme- 
diately after our birth, thirst and hunger incline us to 
the breast, which we draw hy instinct, like other 
young creatures, and nfhen we are satisfied, we ex- 
press our uneasiness by importuuate and iaeessaut 



SrS TUB RA1IBL£B. Ko. 491 

cries, till we have obtained a place or posttire proper 
for repose. 

The next call that rouses us from « state of ioac* 
tivity, is that of our passions-; we quickly begin to be 
sensible of hope and fear, love and hatred, desire and 
aversion ; these arising irom the power of comparison 
and reflection, extend their range wider, as our reason 
strengthens, and our knowledge enlarges. At first 
we have no thought of pain, but when we actually feel 
it ; we afterwards begin to fear it, yet not before it ap- 
proaches us very nearly; but by-degrees • we discover 
it at a greater distance, and find it lurking in remote 
oonsequeikces. Our terror in time improves into 
caution, and we learn to look round with vigilance and 
solicitude^ to stop all the avenues at which misery can 
•nter, and to perform or endure many-things in them- 
selves toilsome and unpleasing, because we know by 
reason, or by experience, that our labor will be over- 
balanced by the reward, that it will either procure 
some positive good, or avert some evil greater than 
itseli: 

But as the soul advances to a fuller exercise of its 
powers, the animal appetites, and the passions imme- 
diately arising from them, are not sufficient to find it 
employment ; the wants of nature su*e soon supplied, 
the fear of their return is easily precluded, and some- 
thing more is necessary to relieve the long intervals of 
inactivity, and to give those faculties, which cannot lie 
wholly quiescent, some particular direction. For 
this reason, new desires and artificial passions are by 
degree produced ; and, from having wishes only in 
consequence of our wants, we begin to feel wants in 
consequence of our wishes; we persuade ourselves to 
set a value upon things which are of no use but because 
we have agreed to yidue ^em; things which can nei- 



Ko. 4^ THE RAMBLXR. £73 

ther satisfy hunger^ nor mitigate pain, nor secure u» 
from any real calamity, and which, tjiereforcj we find 
of no esteem among those nations whose artless and 
barbarous manners keep them always anxious for the 
necessaries of life. 

This is the original of avarice, vanity, ambition, and 
generally of all those desires which arise from the 
comparison of our condition with that of others. He 
that thinks himself poor because hianeighbour is rich- 
er ; he that, like Cssar, would rather be the first man 
of a village, than the second ha the capital of the world, 
has apparently kindled in himself desires which he ne«- 
ver received from nature, and acts upon principles 
established o^ly by the authority of custom. 

Of those adscititious passions, some, as avarice and 
envy, are universally condemned ; some, as friendship 
and curiosity, generally praised ; but there are others 
about which the suffrages of the wise are divided, and 
of which it is doubted, whether they tend most to pro-v 
mote the happiness or increase Uie miseries of man- 
kind. 

Of this ambiguous and disputable kind is the love of 
{jekme, a desire of filling the minds of others with ad- 
miration, and of being celebrated by generations to 
come with praises which we shall not hear. This ar- 
dor has been considered by some, as nothing better 
than splendid madness, as a fiame kindled by pride, and 
fanned by folly ; for what, say they, can be more re-* 
mote from wisdom, than to direct all our actions by the 
hope of that which is not to exist till we oui*selves are 
in the grave ? To pant after that which can never be 
possessed, and of which the value thus wildly put upon 
it, arises from this particular condition, that during life 
it is not to be obtained I To gain the favor, and hear 
the applauses of our contemporaries, is indeed equally 



^^ THE BAMBLElt Ko. 49. 

desirable with any other prerogative of superioritf, 
because fiime may be of use to smooth the paths of llfe^ 
to terrify opposition, and fortify tranquillity ; but to 
what end shall wb be the darlings of mankind, when 
we can no longer receive any benefits from their favor I 
It is more reasonable to wish for reputation) while it 
may yet be enjoyed, as Anacreon calls upon his com- 
panions to give him for present use the wine and gar- 
lands which they purpose to bestow upon his tomb. 

The advocates for the love of £ame allege in its vin- 
dication, that it is a passion natural and universal ; a 
fiame lighted by Heaven, and always burning with 
greatest vigor in the most enlarged and elevated 
minds. That the dedre of being praised by posterity 
implies a resolution to deserve their prsuses, and that 
the folly charged upon it, is only a noble and disinter- 
ested generosity, which is not felt, and therefore not 
understood, by those who have been always accustom- 
ed to refer every thing to themselves, and whose sel- 
fishness has contracted their understandings. That 
the soul of man, formed for eternal life, naturally 
springs forward beyond the limits of coporeal exis- 
tence, and rejoices to consider herself as co-operating 
with future ages, and as co-extended with endless du- 
ration. That the reproach urged with so much petu- 
lance, the reproach of laboring for what cannot be en- 
joyed, is founded on an opinion which may with great 
j>robability be doubted; for since we suppose <the 
powers of the soul to be enlai*ged by its separation, 
why should we conclude that its knowledge of sublu- 
nary transactions is contracted or extinguished. 

Upon an attentive and impartial review of the argu- 
ment, it will appear that the love of fame is to be regu- 
lated rather than extinguished ; and that men should 
be taught not to be wholly careless about their memo- 



Kfd. 4^ t*HE RAMBLER. 273 

ry, but to endeavor that tlaey may be remembered 
chiefly for their virtues, since no other reputation will 
be aWe to transmit any pleasure beyond the grave. 

It is evident that fame, considered merely as the 
immortality of a name, is not less likely to be the 
reStard of bad actions than of good; he therefore has 
no certsdn principle for the regulation of his conduct, 
-whose single aim is not to be forgotten. And history 
will inform us, that this blind and undistinguishing ap* 
petke of renown has always been uncertain in its 
effects, and directed by accident or opportunity, indif- 
ferently" to the benefit or devastation of the world. 
When Themistocles complained that the trophies of 
Miltiades hmdered him from sleep, he was animated 
by them to perform the same services in the same 
cause. But Caesar, when he wept at the sight of 
Alexander's picture, having no honest opportunities 
of action, let his ambition: break out to the ruin of his 
country: 

If, therefore, the love of fame is so far indulged by 
the mind as to become independent and predominant, 
it i« dangerous and irregular ; but it may be usefully 
employed as an inferior and secondary motive, and 
and will serve sometimes to revive our activity, when 
we begin to languish and lose sight of that more cer- 
tain, more valuable, and more durable reward, which 
ought always to be our first hope and our last. But 
it must be strongly impressed upon our jninds that 
virtue is not to be pursued as one of the means 
to fame, but feme to be accepted as the only recom- 
pence which mortah can bestow on virtue ; to be ac- 
cepted with complacence, but not sought with ea- 
gerness. Simply to be remembered is no advantage ; 
it is a privilege which satire as well as panegyric can 
confer, and is not more enjoyed by Titus or Constan- 

VOL. IV. 34 



tr€ THE BAMBt3BR. Kb. 50. 

tine, than by Timocreon of Rhodes, of whoni we onif 
know from his epitaph, that he had eaten many a mealy 
drank many aflaggtm^ and uttered many a refiroUch, - 

The true satisfaction which is to be drawn from the 
consciousness that we shall sliare the attention of fu- 
ture times, must arise from the hope, that with 
our name, our virtues will be propagated ; and that 
those whom we cannot benefit in our lives, may- 
receive instruction from our examples, and incite^ 
ment from our renown. 

No. 50. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 8, IfSO. 



Credebant hoc grandt nefaset fnorte piandum, 

SijuvenU vehilo non assurrexerat, atque 

Barbato cuicungue puer, Jicet ipse videret 

Flura domifraga^ et fnajores glandU accroos. Jw, 

And had not men the hoary head rever'd. 
And boys paid rev'rence when a man appeared. 
Both must have died, though richer skins they wore, 
. And saw more heaps of acrons in their store. Ckeech. * 

X HAVE always thought it the business of those who 
turn their speculations upon the living world, to 
commend their virtues, as well as to expose the 
fiiults of their contemporaries, and to confute a false as 
well as to support a just accusation ; not only because 
it is peculiarly the business of a monitor to keep his 
own reputation , untainted, lest those who can once 
charge him with partiality, should indulge themselves 
^terwards in disbelieting him at pleasure | b^it 



JTo. 5(^ TBERAMBLBR. STT 

bfeeause he may find real crimes sufficient to give foU 
employment to caution or repentance^ without dis«* 
tracting the mind by needless scruples and vain soli- 
citudes. 

There are certain fixed and stated reproaches that 
©lie part of mankind has in all ages' thrown upon ano- 
ther, which are regularly transmitted through con- 
tinued successions, and which he that has once suffer- 
ed them is certain to use with thie same undistinguish- 
ing vehemence, when he has changed his station, and 
gained the prescriptive right of inflicting on others 
what he had formerly endured him«elf.- 

To these hereditary imputations^ of which no man 
sees the justice till it. becomes his interest to see 
it, very little regard is to be shown ; since it does not 
appear that they are produced by ratiocination or 
inquiry, but received implicitly, or caught by a kind 
of instantaneous contagion, and supported rather by 
willingness to creditythan ability to prove thein. 

It has been always the practice of those who are de- 
sirous to believe themselves made venerable by length 
of time, to censure the new comers into life, for want 
of respect to grey hairs and sage experience, f0r 
heady confidence in their own understan^gs^ for 
hasty conclusions upon partial views, for disregard of 
counsels, which their fathers and grandsires are ready 
to afford them, and a rebellious impatience of that 
•ubordinatibn to which youth is condemned by nature, 
CIS necessary to its security from evils into which 
it would be otherwise precipitated, by the rashness of 
passion, and the blindness of ignorance. 

Every old man complains of the growing depravitjr 
of the world, of the petulance and insolence of the ri- 
sihg generation. He recounts the decency! and rego- 
lm*ity of former times^ and celebrates the discipline 
and sobriety of the age in which hid youth was passedf 



^ TH£lAMSLB]t Ifo. J8& 

a happjr age, which is now no more to be exptttlbdj 
tince confusion has broken in upon the world* and 
thrown 4own all the boundaries of oivilit]^ and rever- 
ence. 

It is not sufficiently considered how much he as- 
sumes who dares to claim the privilege of complam* 
Ing ; for as every man has, in his own opinion, a full 
share of tiie miseries of life, he is inclined to considei^ 
alt diamorotts uneasiness as a proof of impatience ra- 
ther than of affliction, and co ask, What merit has this 
man to show, by which he has acquired a right to re- 
pine at the distributions of nature f Or, why does he 
imagine that exemptions should be granted him from 
the general condition of man ? We find ourselves ex- 
eited rather to captiousness than pity, and instead of 
being in haste to sooth his complaints by sympathy and 
tenderness, we inquire, whether the jmin be propor* 
tionate to the lamentation ; and whether, supposing 
the afiiiction real, it is not the effect of vice and folly, 
rather than calamity. 

The querulousness alid indignation which is obser- 
ved so often to disfigure the last scene of life, naturally 
leads us to inquiries like these. For surely it w^l be 
Hiought at the first view of things, that if age be thus 
tontemned and ridiculed, insulted and neglected, the 
erimc must at least be equal on either part. They 
who have had opportunities of establishing their au- 
thority over minds ductile and unresisting, they who 
have been the protectors of helplessness, and the in« 
structors of ignorance, and who yet retain inthelrown 
hands the power of wealth, and the dignity of com* 
tnund, must defeat their influence by their own mis- 
conduct, andinake use of all these advantages with 
very little skill, if they cannot secure to themselves an 
appearance of respect, and ward offopen mockery, and 
declared contempt. 



K9. $0^ rm RAMBILBR; < ^ 

The gcfteral steiy of mankfnd will efvince, that law 
fill and settled authority is very seldom resisted when 
i^ is well employed. Gross cprruptiony or evident 
imbecility, is necessary to the suppression of that re- ^ 
verence with which the majority of mankind look 
upon their governors, and on those whom they see 
surrounded by splendor, and fortified by power. For 
tliough men are drawn by their passions into forgetful- 
niess of invisible rewards and punishments, yet they are 
easily kept obedient to those who have tempora.l do- 
minion in their hands, till their veneration is dissipa* 
ted by ^uch wickedness and folly as can neither \St de* 
fended nor concealed. 

It may, therefore, very reasonably be suspected, that 
the old draw upon themselves the greatest part of 
those insults which they so much lament, and that age 
is rarely de spised but when it is contemptible. If meiv 
imagine that excess <^ debauchery ^an be made reve-r 
rend by time, that knowledge is the consequence of 
long life, however idly or thoughtlessly employed, that 
priority of birth will supply the want of steadiness or 
bonesty, can it ruse much wonder that their hopes are 
disappointed, and that they see their posterity rather 
VFilUng to truet their owp eyes in their progress into 
life, tlian enlist themselves.under. guides who have lost 
their way I 

There are,, indeed,, many triiths which time nec^s* 
warily and certainly teaches, and which might, by those 
who have le.arned tliem from experience, be commu^ 
nicated to their successors at a cheaper rate : but die* 
tates, though liberally enough bestowed, are generally 
without effect, the teacher gsdns few proselytes by in* 
etruction, which his bwn behavior contradicts ; and 
youpg men miss the benefit of counsel, because they 
lice QOt very ready to believe that those nho fall belaw; 
2.4 » 



2ka *nn UAuaatM. nb. i^. 



them in pfactkCi can mnch excel them in theoty. 
Thus the pr^rett of ioiowledge is retsided^ the world 
is kept long in the same statCy and every new race mtB 
gain the prudence of their predecessors by comiml- 
Ung and redressing the same miscarriages. 

To secure to' the old that influence which they mre 
willing to chdm, and which might so much contribute 
to the improvement of the arts <^ life, it is absolutely 
necessary that they give themselves up to the duties of 
declining years ; and contentedly resign to youth its le- 
vity, it$ pleasures, its frolics, and its fopperies, it is 
a hopeless endeavor to unite the contrarieties of spring 
and winter ; it is unjust to claim the privileges of age» 
and retam the playthbgs of childhood. The young 
9dways f<M*m magnificent ideas of the wisdom and g^« 
nty of men, whom th^ c<mnder as placed at a dis- 
tance from them in the ruiks-of existence, and natu] 
rally look on those whom they find trifling wkh long 
beards, with contempt and indignation, like that which 
women feel at the effeminacy of men. If dotards wHI 
contend with boys in those performances in which 
boys must always excel them ; if they will dress crip- 
pled limbs in embroidery, endeavor at gaiety with 
feultering voices, and darken assemblies of pleasure 
with the ghastliness of disease, they may well expect 
those who find their diversions obstructed will hoot 
them away; and that if they descend to competition 
with youth, they must bear the msolence of successful 
rivals. 

ZusUti tatUf eduti satis, atqtte InbUd.* 
Tempus abire tibi est. 

You've had your share of mirth, of meat and ^bipki 
*Tt8 time to quit the sceiiGH^ttt tune to think. 

ELrnsirsrotr* 



4to.$i. rBmnkWBsam. «t 

' AnotherticeofageybfTriiiditliefi^piggeoeratiott 
ttiaf be allenaud fpooi it^ Is •everky aad cenaortoui ^ 
nesB, thai: givea no allowuiee to the fidlings of earif 
Kfe» that expect* artfulness from chihihood, and coa« 
stancy from youthy that is peremptory m every com« 
mand) and inexorable to every ftihive. There are 
many who live merely to binder hap{^ness, and whoso 
descendants can only tell of long life, that it produces 
anspiciony nsialignity, peevislmess, and perseciaition 9 
and yet even these tyrants can talk of the ingratitude 
of the agci curse their heirs for impatience, and won* 
.der that young men cannot take pleasure in their fii^* 
^ers* company. 

He tbat^ would pass the latter x>art of life with honor 
and decency, must, when he is young, consider that 
he shall one day be otd ; and remember, when he !» 
old, that he ha» once been young. In youth, he must 
lay up knowledge for his support, when his powers of 
acdng shall forsake him ; and in age forbear to animad** 
vert with rigor on iuitts- which experience only can 
Correct 



No. 5U TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER U, 1750. 

« Stttltut labor est ineptiarum. Mart. 

Hew fi^oUsh is the toil of trifling cares ! £i»piiiii»to v* 

TO TRE ItAMBLBR. 
Sir, 

jTIlS you have allowed a place in your paper to Eu« 
pbelia's letters from the country, and appear to think 
no form of human life unworthy of your attention^ I 
have resoltedy after many struggles with idleness and 



3tt THE IBLKVmXti. No, SU, 

diflldettce, to give you soiiie account of ifi,y eoterti&a* 
ment in this sober season of universal retreat, and to 
describe to you the employments of thoiie who look 
with contempt on the pleasures and diversions of po« 
lite life, and employ all their powers of censure and 
invective upon the unelessness, vanity, and foUyi 
of dress, visits, and conversation. 

When a« tiresome and vexatious journey of four 
days had brought me to the house, where invitation^ 
regularly sent for seven years together, had at last in-. 
duced me to pass the summer, I was surprised, a£ter 
the civilities of my first reception^ to find, instead 
of the leisure and tranquillity, which a rural life always 
promises, and, if well conducted, might always Siffbrdy 
a confused wildness of care, and a tumultuous buri^;. 
of diligence, by which every face was clouded^, 
and every motion agkated. The old lady, who wa& 
my father's relation, was^ indeed, very full of the hs^ 
piness which she received from my vi$it» and accord* 
ing to the forma of obsolete breedings insisted, that I 
should recompense the long delay of my company 
with a promise not to leave her till winter. But» 
amidst all her kindness and caresses, she very fre* 
quently turned her head aside, and whispered, with 
anxious earnestness, some order to her daughtersf 
which never failed to send them out with unpoUte pre«^ 
cipitation. Sometimes her impatience would not 
suffer her ta stay behind ; she begged my pardon, she 
must leave me for a moment ; she went, and returned* 
and sat down again, but was again disturbed by aome 
new care, dismissed her daughters with the same tre- 
pidation, and followed them with the same.cpimte* 
nance of business and solicitude. 

Howev^ I was alarmed at this show of eagei;»ess 
aoddisturbaQC^^ aijtd ho we^^er my ciiriiosity wj^eoM^^ 



ted by such busy piseparatiMis as natarally promked 
- mme great event, I was yet too much a stnnf er 
to grti?tify mfBt\£ with ifiquiries ; but finding nefte of 
of &e &inily hi roouming, I pleased myself with ima* 
gitiing that I should rather see a wedding than a fune« * 
rat. 

At last we sat down to supper, when I was inform*, 
ed that one of the young ladies, after whom I thought 
myself oUiged to inquire, was under a necessity 
^ of attending some ^il^r that could not be neglected t 
Sdon afterward my relation began to talk of the regu« 
larity of her family, and the inconvenience of London 
hourd ; and at last let meknoMr that they had purposed 
that night to go to bed sooner than was usual, because 
they were to rise early in the morning to make 
cheesecakes. Thi6l^htdent me to my chamber, te 
which i was ac<^OmpBnied by all the ladies, who beg- 
ged me to excuse seme large- sieves of leaves and 
flowers that covered twonhirda of the floor, for they 
iirtended to <^stil tliem wh^i they were dry, and they 
had no otlier room that so conveniently received the 
Yidihg sun. 

The scent of the plants hindered me from rest, and 
Hierefo^ I rose early in the morning with a resolution 
to explore my new habhation. I stole nnperceived by 
my busy cousins into the garden, where I found no<* 
thing either more great or elegant, than in the same 
number of acres cultivated for the market. Of the 
gardener I soon lelimed that his lady was the greatest 
manager in that part of the countfy, and that 1 was 
come hither at the time in which I might learn to 
malce more pickles and conserves, than could be 
seen at any other house a hundred miles round. 

It was not long befbre her ladyship gave me sufii- 
eient opportunides ef knowing her character, for she 



$84 THE RAMBIBB. JTo.^t 

^» too much pleased with her own acctfnipUshtiikents 
to conceal them, and took occasion, from some sw^e*- 
meaU which she set next day upon the table, to dis- 
course for two long hours upon robs and gelUes; laid 
down the best methods 6f conserving, resenrinjg^, and 
preserving all sorts of fruit ; told us with great con- 
tempt of the London lady in the neighborhood, by 
whom tiiese terms were very often confounded ; and 
tinted how much she should be ashamed to set befi:Hre 
company, at her own house, sweetmeats of so dark a 
color as she had often seen at mistress Sprightly ^s.^ 

It is, indeed, the great business of her life, to watch 
the skillet on the fire, to see it simmer with the due 
degree of heat, and to snatch it off at the moment 
of projection ;. and the employments to which she has 
bred her daughters, are to turn rose-leaves ^p the 
shade, to pick out the seeds of currants with a <}uill, to 
gather fruit without bruising it, and ta extract beaa- 
flower water for the skin. Such are the^tasks vrith 
-which, every day, since I came hither, has begun, and 
ended, to which the early hours of life are sacMfioed, 
and in which that time is passing away which never 
^all-return* 

But to reason or expostulate are hopeless attempts; 
The lady has settled her opinions,, and matntaina the 
.dignity of her own perfiH'mances with all the fi.rmii«s8 
of stupidity accustomed ta be flattered. Herdaugh* 
ters having never seea any house but their own, be- 
lieve their mother's excelleuce on her. ovrn. word. 
Her husband is a mere sportsman, who is pleased to 
aee^his table well furnished, and thinks the day auffi« 
ciently. successful, in which he brings home a leash of 
hares to be potted by his wife. 

After a few days I pretei^ded to want books, butiisgr 
lady soon tOld ma that nope of her books would suit 



J 



Ko. 31. ITHB RAMBLER. U^ 

my taste ; for her part she never loved to scie young 
-women give their minds to such follies, by which they 
would only learn to use hard words ; she bred up her 
daughters to understand a house, and whoever should 
marry themi if they knew any thing of good cookery, 
would rieve'r repent it. 

There are, however, some things in the culinary 
sciences too sublime for youthful intellects, mysteried . 
into which they must not be initiated till the years of 
serious maturity, and which are referred to the day of 
marriage, as the supreme qualification for connubial 
life. She makes an orange pudding, which is. the 
envy of all the. neighborhood, and which she has hi- 
therto found means of mixing and baking with such 
secrecy, that the ingredientto which it owes its flavor 
has never been discovered. She, indeed, ccmducts 
this great affair with all the caution that human policy 
can suggest. It is never known beforehand when 
this pudtiing will be produced ; she takes the ingredi- 
ents privately into her own eloset, employs her maids 
and daughters in different parts of the house, orders 
ithe oven to be heated for a pie, and places the pudding 
in it with herT>wn hands, the mouth of the oven is then 
flopped, and all inquiries are vain. 

The composition of the pudding she has, however, 
promised Clarinda, that if ^e pleases her in marriage, 
she shall be told without reserve. But the art of 
ixiaking English capers she has not yet persuaded 
herself to discover, but seems r^&solved that secret 
^lall perkh with her, as some alchymists have obi^* 
nately suppressed the art of transmuting metals. 
I once ventured to lay my fingers on her book of re- 

ceiptSt which she left upon the table, having intelli- 
^ncG 4Jiat a vessel of gooseberry wine had burst the 

hoops. JBut thojugh the importance of &e eveot anffii- 



cicntly eugrossed her care, to pf event any teeollectlQai 
of the danger to which her secrets were exposed, I 
was not i^le to make use of the golden moments ; for 
this treasure of hereditary knowledge was so well con- 
cealed by the manner of spelling used by her grand- 
mother, her mother, and herself, that I was totally Uttr 
able to understand it, and lost the opportunity df.con- 
sulting the oracle, for want of knowing the Ian|iiage 
in which its answers were returned* 

It is, indeed, necessary, if I have any regard to her 
ladyship's esteem, that I should apply myself to some 
of these economical accomplishments ; for I over- 
heard her, two days ago, warning her daughters, by 
my mournful example, against negUgencc of pastry, 
and ignorance in carving : for you saw, said she, that, 
with all her pretensions to knowledge, she turned the 
partridge the wrong way when she attempted to cut 
it, and, I believe, scarcely knows the difference be* 
tween paste raised, and paste in a dish. 

The. reason^ Mr. Rambler, why I have laid Lady 
Bustle's character before you, is a desire to be inform- 
ed whether, in your opinion, it is wortliy of imitation^ 
and whether I dhall throw away the books wMch 
I have hitherto thought it my duty to. read, for *Ae to- 
4y*8 closet ofienedy the comfUete servant Tnaidy and the 
court cook^ and resign all curiosity after righ^ and 
wrong, for the. art of scalding damascenes, witi burst- 
ing them, and preserving the whiteness of pickled 
mushroons. 

Lady Bustle liasr indeed, by khis incessant applica- 
tion to fruits and flowers, contracted her cares into a 
nwrow space, and set herself free from many perplex- 
ities with which other mkids are disturbed. She has 
no curiosity after the events of a war, orthe fate of he- 
roes in digress 9 slie can hear, without llie kaat emo- 



3fo. $U :rHE BAMBCES. 287 

tion, the ravage of a fire, or devastations of a storm; 
her neighbors grow^ rich or poor, come into the world 
or go out of it, without regard, while she is pressing 
the gelly-bag, or airing the .stpre-room ; but I cannot 
perceive that she is more free from disquiets than 
those whose underjitandings take a wider range. Her 
marigolds, when they are almost cured, are often scat- 
tered by the wind, and the rain sometimes falls upon 
fruit when it ought to be gathered dry. 'While her ar- 
tificial wines are f ermendngt her whole life is restless- 
ness and anxiety. Her sweetmeats ar^ not always 
bright, and the maid sometimes forgets the just pro- 
portion of salt and pepper, when venison is to be 
baked. Her cpnserves mould, her wihes^sour, and 
pickles mother; and like all the rest of mankind, she 
is every day mortified with the defeat of her schemes, 
and the disappointment of her hopes. 

With regard to vice and virtue, she seems a kind of 
neutral being. She has no crime but luxury, nor any 
virtue but chastity ; she has no desire to be praised but 
for her cookery ; nor wishes any ill to the rest of man- 
kind, but that whenever they aspire to a feast, their 
custards maybe wheyish, and their pie-crusts tough. 

1 am now very impatient to know whether I am to 
look on these ladies as the great patterns of our sex, 
and to consider conserves and pickles as the business 
of iriy life ; whether the censures which 1 now suffer 
be just, and whether the brewers of wines, and the dis- 
tillers of washes, have a right to look with insolence 
on the weakness of 

Cornelia. 

* VOL. IV. 25 



38S THE EAMBLCB. Ml J2. 

No. 52. »ATU1«>AT, SEPTEMBER 15, ITJO; 



... ■ Qu^He§JUttH Theaan ker^ 

^te modum, dixit, nemu crUm/ortuna querenda 
Sola tua esu nin$le$ auTuht resfice autu^ 
Mitiutitta/erti. OtPf^; 

HowoliinTftiiitlieiofiof 7%€Wtu»$id, 
The stormy sorrows be wiUi patience hud ; 
Nor are thy fortunes to be wept alone ; 
Wei|^ others* woes, and Idtm to bear thy own. 

Qatcoxt« 

XjlMONG the various methods pf consolation, to 
which the miseries inseparable from our present state 
have given occasion, it has been, as I have already 
remarked) recommended by some writers to put the. 
sufferer in mind of heavier pressures, and more 
excruciating calamities, than those of which he has 
himself reason to complain. 

This has, in all ages, been directed and practiced; 
and« in conformity to tbi^ custom, Lipnus, the great 
modern master of the Stoic philosophy, has, in his 
celebrated treatise on ateadineaa of mindy endeavored 
to fortify the breast agsdnst too much sensibility 
of misfortune, by enumerating the evils which have in 
former ages fallen upon the world, the devastation of 
wide-extended regions, the sack of cities, and massa- 
cre of nations. And the common voice of the multi- 
tude uninstructed by precept, and unprejudiced by 
authority, which, in questions that relate to the heart 
of man, is, in my opinion, more decisive than the 
learning of Lipsius, seems to justify the efficacy 
of this procedure ; for one of the first comforts which 
one neighbor administers to another, is a relation 



of the like infelicit^y. combined \inith circumstasucea^f 
greater bitterness. 

But this medicine of the mind is like many ren^edies 
applied to the body, of which, though we see the 
effects, we are unacquainted with the manner of ope- 
ration, and of which, therefore, some, who are unwil^- 
ling to suppose any thing out of the reach of their 
own sagacity, have been inclined to doubt whether 
they have really, those virtues for which they are ce- 
lebrated, and whether their reputation is not the mer^ 
^ift of fancy, prejudice, and credulity. 

Consolation, or comfort, are words which, in their 
proper acceptation, signify some alleviation of that 
pain to which it is not in our power to afford the pro- 
per and adequate remedy ; they imply rather an aug- 
mentation of the power of bearing, than a diminution 
of the burthen. A prisoner is relieved by him that sets 
him at liberty, but receives comfort fiom such as sug- 
gest considerations by which he is made patient un- 
der the inconvenience of confinement. To that griet 
which arises from a great loss, he only brings the true 
remedy who makes his friend's condition the ^ame a? 
before ; but he may be properly termed a comforter, 
who by persuasion extenuates the pain of poverty, 
and shows in the style of Jlesiody that half ia mor^ 
than the whole. 

It is, perhaps, not immediately obvious, how it can 
lull the memory of misfortune, or appease the throb- 
bings of anguish, to hear that others are more misera- 
ble ; others, perhaps, unknown or wholly indifferent, 
whose prosperity raises no envy, and whose fall can 
gratify no resentment. Some topics of comfort ari- 
sing, like that which gave hope and spirit to the captive 
of Sesostris, from the perpetual vicissitudes of life, and 
mutability of human affairs^ may as properly raise the 



290 THE RAMBLER. No. SSi 

dejected as depress the proud, andhayetmimine^ate 
tendency to exhilarate and rievive. Biit how can it 
avail the man who languishea in the gloom of 'sorrow^ 
without prospect of emerging into the sunshine of 
cheerfulness^ to hear that others are sunk yet deeper 
in the dungeon of misery) shackled with heavier 
chains^ and surrounded with darker desperation I 

The solace arising from this consideration seems in- 
deed the weakest of all others, and is perhaps never 
properly applied, but in cases where there is no place 
for reflections of more speedy and pleasing efficacy. 
But even from such calamities life is by no means 
free ; a thousand ills incuVable^ a thousand losses irre- 
parable, a thousand difficulties insurmountable are 
known, or will be knawn, by all the sons of men. Na* 
tive deformity cannot be rectified, a dead friend cannot 
return, and the hours of youth trifled away in folly, oi^ 
lost in sickness, cannot be restored. 

Under the oppression of such melancholy, it has 
been found useful to take. a survey of jthe world, to 
contemplate the various scenes of distress in which 
mankind are struggling round us, and acquaint our- 
selves with the tcrribiles visu formdt^ the various 
shapes of misery, which make havoc of terrestrial 
happiness range all comers almost without restraint, 
trample down pur hopes at the hour of harvest, and, 
when we have built our schemes to the top, ruin their 
foundations. 

The first effect of this meditation is, that it furnish- 
es a new employment for the mind, and engages the 
passions on remoter objects ; as kings have sometimes 
freed themselves from a subject too haughty to be go- 
verned, and too powerful to be crushed, by posting him 
in a distant province, till his popularity has subsided, 
or his pride been repressed* The attention is dissl* 



No. 52. THBBAMBLEB. 291 

pated hj yarietyj and ac}s more weakly upon any sin,'* 
gie part, as that torrents may be drawn off to different 
channels, which, pouring down in one collected body,^ 
cannot be resisted. This species of comfort is, there- 
fore, unavailing in severe paroxysms of corporal pain> 
when the mind is every instant called back to misery, 
and in the first shock of any sudden evil ; but will cer- 
tainly be of use against encroaching melancholy, and a 
settled habit of gloomy thoughts. 

It is further advantageous, as it supplies us with op- 
portunities ^of making comparisons in our own favor. 
We know that very little of the pain, or pleasure, 
which does not begin and end in our senses, is other- 
wise than relative ; we are rich or poor, great or little, 
in proportion to the number that excel us, or fall be- 
neath us, in any of these respects ; and therefore ^ 
man, whose uneasiness arises from reflection on any 
misfortune that throws him below those with whom he 
was once equal, is comforted by iinding that he is-no^ 
yet the lowest. 

There is another kind of comparison, less tending 
towards the vice of envy, very well illustrated by an 
old poet,* whose system will not afford many reasona- 
ble motives to content. " It is,'* says he, " pleasing ta 
look from shore upon the tumults of a storm, and to 
see a ship struggling with the billows j it is pleasing, 
not because the pain of another can give us delight, 
but because we have a stronger impression of the hap- 
piness of safety." Thus, when we look abroad, and 
behold the multitudes that are groaning under evils 
heavier than those which we have expei'ienced, we 
shrink back to our own state, and, instead of repining 

* Lucretius. C. 

25 * 



292 THE BAMBUS. No. 52. 

that so much must be felt, learn to rejoice that we 
have not more to feel, 

• By this observation of the miseries of others, forti- 
tude is strengthened, and the mind brought to a more 
cxtenme knowledge of her own powers. As the he- 
roes of action catch the flame from one another, so 
they to whom Providence has allotted the harder task 
of suffering with calmness and dignity, may animate 
themselves by the remembrance of those evils which 
have been laid on others, perhaps naturally as weak as 
themselves, and bear up with vigor and resolution 
against their own oppressions, when they see it possi« 
l>le that more severe afHictions may be borne. 

There is still another reason why, to many minds, 
the relation of other men^s infelicity may give a lasting 
and continual relief. Some, not well instructed in the 
measures by which Providence distributes happiness, 
are perhaps misled by divines, who, as Bellarmine 
makes temporal prosperity one of the characters of 
the true church, have represented wealth and ease as 
the certain concomitants of virtue, and the unfailing 
result of the divine approbation. Such sufferers are 
dejected in their misfortunes, not so much for what 
they feel, as for what they dread ; not because they can- 
not support the sorrows, or endure the wants, of their 
present condition, but because they consider them as 
only the beginning* of more sharp and more lasting 
psdns. To these mourners it is an act of the highest 
charity to represent the calamities which not only virtue 
iias suffered, but virtue has mcurred ; to inform them 
that one evidence of a future state, is the uncertainty of 
any present reward for goodness ; and to remind them 
from the highest authority, of the distresses and penu- 
ry of men of whom (he *a>Qrld v;as not xvorthu^ 



W&.a TliERAMBLEH. 5»$ 

No. 53. TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER IBy IfSOi 

Oiiho r£f icItctvSt. Epigram Vet^ 

Husband thy possesaions^ 

1 HERE Is scarcery among the evils of human life 
anjy so generally dreaded as poverty. Every other 
■ species of misery, those, who are not muqja accustom- 
ed to disturb the present moment with reaction, can 
' easily forget, because it is notaVways forced upon their 
regard ; but it is impossible to pass a day or an hour in 
the confluxes of men, without seeing how much indi- 
gence is exposed to contumely, neglect, and insult ; 
and, in its lowest state, to hunger and nakedness ; to 
injuries against which every passion is in arms, and to 
wants which nature cannot sustain. 

Against other evils the heart is often hardened By 
true or by false notions of dignity and reputation : thus 
MTQ see dangers of every kind faced with willingness, 
because bravery in a good or bad' cause is never with- 
out its encomiasts and admirers. But in the prospect 
of poverty, there is nothing but gtoom and melancho- 
ly ; the mind and body suffer together ; its miseries 
bring no alleviations j^ it is a state m which every virtue 
is obscured, and in w^ich no conduct can avoid re- 
• proach : a state m which cheerfulness is insensibility, 
and dejection sullenuess, of which the hardships are 
without honor, and the labors without rewai'd. 

Of these calamities there seems not to be Wanting a 
general conviction ; we hear on every side the noise of 
trade, and see the streets thronged with numberless 
multitudes, whose faces are clouded with anxiety, and 
whose steps are hurried by precipitation, from no 



S94 THBfiAM»lfl% * .^o.S8. 

other motive than the hope of gain ; and the vbole j 
vorU i9 put in motion^ hj the desire of that wealthy i 
which is chiefly to be valued as it secures us from po- I 
verty; for it is more useful for defence thanacquid- | 
tion,.^ and is not so much able to procure good as 
to exclude eviL | 

Yet there are always some whose passions or fol« | 
Ues kad them to a conduct opposite to the general { 
mai^ma and practice of mankind ; some who seem to 
rush upon poverty with the same eagerness with which 
others avoid it, who see their revenues hourly lessen- 
ed, . and the estates which they inherit from their an- 
cestors mouldering away, without resoludon to change 
their course of life ; who presevere against all remon- 
atrances, and go forward vrith full career, though they 
see before them the precipice of destruction. 

It is not my purpose in this paper, to expostulate 
with such as ruin their fortunes by expensive schemes 
of buU^iUgs and gardens, which they carry on with the 
same vanity that prompted them to begin, chuaing, as 
it happens ii^ a thousand other cases, the remote evil 
before the lighter, and deferring the shame of repent- 
.ance till they iacur the miseries of distress. Those 
for whoni^ I intend my present admonitions, are the 
thoughtless,, the negligent, and the dissolute; who 
having, by the viciousness of their own inclinations, or 
the seducements of alluring companions, been enga- 
ged in ^habits of expense, and accustomed to move in a 
certain round of pleasures disproportioned to their 
condition, are without power to extricate themselves 
from the enchantments of custom, avoid thought 
because they know it will be painful, and continue 
from day to day, and from month to month, to antici- 
pate their revenues, and sink every hour deeper into, 
ihe gulfs of usury and extortion.. 



No. S3. THE RAMBLM. Si* 

This folly has less claim to pity, because it cantidt 
be imputed to the vehemence of sudden passion ; nor 
can the mischief which It produces be extenuatied' as 
the effect of any single act, which rage, or desires 
might execute before there could be time for an ap- 
peal to reason; These men are advancing towards 
misery by soft approaches, and destroying themselves, 
not by the violence of a blow, which, when once giveti> 
can never be recalled, but by a slow poison, hourly 
repeated, and obstinately continued. 

This conduct is so absurd when it i^ examihed hf 
the unprejudiced eye of rational judgment, that no^ 
thing but experience could evince its possibility ; yet, 
'absurd as it is, the sudden fall of some families, and 
the sudden rise of others, prove it to be common; 
arid every year sees many wretches reduced to con- 
tempt and want, by their costly sacrifices to pleasure 
and vanity. 

It is the fate of almost every passion, when it ha« 
passed the bounds which nature prescribes, to'-coun- 
teract its own purpose. Too much rage hmdars the 
-warrior from circumspection, too much eagerness of 
•profit hurts the credit of the trader, too much drdor 
takes away from the* lover that easiness- of address 
-with which the ladies are delighted. -Thus esttrava- 
gance, though ^ctatedby vanity, aAd incited by vo- 
luptuousnesis, seldom procures ultimately ei^ier api*- 
plaufie or pleasure. 

If praise be justly estimatetl by the character 
of those Arom whom k is received, little satisfattion 
.will be ^iven t6 the spendthrift by the encomiums 
which he purchases. For who are they that animate 
him in his pursuits, but young men thoughtle'sff and 
abandbned like himself, unacquainted with all oa 
jMoh the wisdom of nations has impressfd the st%mp 



m 



WB TUiMaum, vtp. s$. 



f{ ex^celteoce) and devoid dike of kmiwledf^ ^ of 
^xxne I By whom is his profusion praised, hni by 
liretches, who consider him as subservient to their 
yuf poses. Sirens that entice him to shipfwreck9 wad 
Cyclops that are ga{Hng to devour hufn ? 

Every mant vrhos^ knowledge, of whose virtue, can 
five value to his opinion, looks with scorn, or pity, 
IHeith^r of which can afford much gratificattlbn to 

Sride, on lum whom the panders of luxury hav^ 
rawn into the circle of their influence, and whom he 
Sf es parcelled out among the different ministers 
of foUy, and about to be torn to. pieces by tailors and 
lookies, vintners and attornies, who at once rob and 
ridicule him» and who are secretly triumphing gvef 
hia weaknessy when they present n^w incitements to 
his appetite, aod heighten his desires by co^nterf^t- 
^d applause. 

Such is the praise that is purchased by prodigality. 
£ven when it is yet not discovered to be false, it 
is the praise only of those whom it is reproachful 
icr pletsey i|nd ^houe sincerity is corrupted by their ii^- 
tei«sl $ m^ who live by the riots which they encQu* 
n^, mi who know that whenever their pi^pi) growp 
^wise, they diall lose their ppwer« Yet i^th such fiai- 
letrief}if theycopld last, might th^ cravbgs/of vanity, 
wideh is seldom very delicate, be satisfied ^ but the 
tim» is alw^y« haf^tf ning forward when this triumph, 
poor as it is, shall vanish, and w.he^ those who noy 
{}i$rr«Hind the^ with obsequiousneisf s and compIimeii(s, 
jawn among his equipage, and ai)imate his riots, 
ahall ti»r^ upon hiqi with insotepce, and reproach 
iam with the vic^s promoted by themselves. 

And as little pretensions ha8( the man who squan- 
ders his esta^, b^ vain or vicious expenses, to greater 
4egrees of j^easuro^^ th^n are obtamed by others. To 



J 



K6. 59« nteBASflO^lL ^ 

make ai^liij^j^ine^^ sincere, it te fi^^^sarjr Hiat we- 
believe it to te lasting ; since ivirhatever i?e supposid* 
ourselves in danger of losing, mttat be enjoyed with 
solicitude s^d uneasiness, and the more ralue we iiet 
upon it« the more must the present possession be im*- 
bittered. How can he then be envied for his felicity^ 
who knows that its continuance cannot be expected, 
and who is conscious that a vef y short time will giva 
him up to the gripe of poverty, which will be harder 
to be*" borne, as he has given way to more excesses^ 
wantoned in greater abundance, and indulged his ap* 
petites with more profuseness ? 

It appears evident that frugality is necessary even 
to complete the pleasure of expense ; for it may be 
generally remarked of those who squander what they 
know their fortune n«t sufficient to allow, that in their 
most jovial expense, there always breaks out some 
proof of discontent and impatience; they either scat- 
ter with a kind of wild desperation, and affected 
lavishness, as criminals brave the gallows when thej 
cannot escape it, er paytheiir taaotiey with a peevish 
anxiety, and endeavor at once to spend idly, and 
to save meanly : having neither firmness to deny their 
jpnssions, nor courage to graUfy them, they murmidr 
at their own enjoyments, and p<Hson the bowl of plea* 
sure by reflecdon on the cost. 

Among these men there is often the vociferation of 
merriment, but very seldom the tranquillity of cheer- 
iulness ; they inflame their imaginations to a kind of 
momentary jollity, by the help of wine and riot, and 
consider it as the first buaness of the night to stupify 
recollection, and lay that reason adeep which disturbt 
their gaiety, and calls upon them to retreat from ruin; 
But this poor broken satisfacdon is of short conthiu* 
aacei and must be expiated by a long series of misery 



Ug. THE BAMBU;^ »*• * 

and wgret In a short time the crcdil^rgrows in^- 
tHent, the last acre is sold, the passions and appcme* 
aiai continue their tyranny, with incessant caUs Cor. 
their usual gratifications, and tiie remainder of life 
passes a^yay in vain repentance^ or impotent desire. 



No, 54. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 22, ITSQ.- 

^ruditur did diCf 
J\rovaqu€'pergunt interire luMt 

Tu secandamarmora i 

r Zocassubipsumfuniu,et9epulchri 

Invmemor struU dxtmM. ****** 

Day presses on the heels of day. 
And moons increase to their decay ; 
. But you, with thoughtless pride elate, 
* Unconscious of impending fate. 

Command the piUar»d dome to Ti«c. 

Wien lo ! thy tpmbforgottwi ues. . , Sra^ci s. 

TO TME RAMBLBR, 

' Sir, * 

1 HAVE lately been called, from a mingled life of 
business and amusement, to attend the last hours of an 
old friend; an o^^ce which has filled me it not with 
inelancholy, at least with serious reflections, and turn- 
ed my thoughts towards ihe contemplation of those 
subjects, which though of the utmost importance and 
<rf indubitable certainty, are generally secluded from 
our regard, by the jollity of health, the hurry 4rf em- 
ployment, and e.veni)y the .calmer diversions of stiidy 
,and speculation ; or if they become accidental topics 
pf conversation and argument, yet mrely sink deep 
into the heart, but give occasion only to some subtil-, 



No. SI THE'ttAliftlJER: ^^9' 

ties of reasoning, or elegancies of declamation, which 
are heard, applauded, and forgotten. 

It is, indeed, not hard to co?iceive how a man accus- 
tomed to extend his views through^a long concatena- 
tion of causes and effects, to trace things from their 
origin to their period, and compare means with ends, 
may discover the weakness of human schemes ; detect 
the fallacies by which mortals are deluded ; shoWthe 
insufficiency of wealth, honors, and power, to real hap- 
piness; and please himself, and his auditors, with 
learned lectures on the vanity of life. 
• But though the spcculatist may see and show the 
folly of terrestrial hopes, fears and desires, every hour 
will give proofs that he never felt it. Trace him 
through the day or year, and.you will find him acting 
upon principles whieh he has in common with the illi- 
terate and unenlightened, angry and pleased like the 
lowest of the vulgar, pursuing with the same ardor, 
the same designs, grasping, with allthe eagerness of 
transport, those riches which he knows he cannot keep, 
and swelling with the applause which he has gained by 
proving that applause, is of no value. 

The only conviction that rushes upon the soul, and 
takes away frbra our appetites and passions the power 
4>f resistance, is to be found, where I have receivcjd it, 
at the bed of a dying friend. * To enter this school of 
wisdom is not the peculiar privilege of geometricians ; 
the most sublimie and important precepts require no 
uhcommon opportunities, nor laborious preparations ; 
Ithcy are enforced without the aid of eloquence, and 
understood without skill in analytic jscience. Every 
tongue can utter them, and every understanding can 
conceive them. He that wishes in earnest to obtain 
just sentiments concerning his condition, and would 
be intimately acquainted with the world, may find in- 

VOL. IV. 26 



stmedons on everf side. He thmt desires to en^^ be^ 
hind the scene^ which eyety art has been employed to 
decoratey and ertry passion labors toillttminate, ind 
wishes to see Me stripped of those ornaments widch 
make it glitter on the stage, and exposed in its natwral 
meannesS) impotence, and nakedness, may find all die 
deluuon laid open in the chamber of disease :-te wiB 
there find vanity devested i>f her robes, power deprit- 
TCd of her sceptre, and hypocrisy without her mask. 
^ The fri^d whom I have lost was a man eminent for 
genius, and, like others of the same class, sufficiently 
pleased with Acceptance and applause. Being caress- 
ed by ^ose who have preferments and riches in Hiei^ 
disposal, he ccmsidered himself as in the direct toad 
of advancement, and had caught the flame of ambidoh 
by af^oaches to its object. But in the midst of hi^ 
hopes* his projects, and his gaieties, he was seized b^ 
a lingering disease, which, from its first stage, h^ 
knew to be incurable. Here was an end of ^11 his vi- 
sions of greatness and happiness ; from the first hbUf 
that Hs health declined, all his former pleasures gmw 
tasteless. His fMends expected to please luin by 
those accounts of the growth of his reputation, which 
were formerly eertsdn of being well received ; but the^ 
soon found how little he was now affected by coitipli** 
menu, and how vainly they attempted, by flattery, te 
exhilarate the languor of weakness, and relieve tht 
solicitude of app^roaching death. Whoever would 
know how much piety and virtue surpass all externa! 
goods, might here have seen them weighed against 
each other, where all that gives motion to the active, 
and devatum to the eminent, all that spai^les in tb^ 
eye of hope, and pants in the bosom of suspicion, (t 
once became dust in the balance, inthout weight and 
without regard, RicbeS) authoiity^ and pndse^ lose 



Sr<t.5il TKEJUMMA&V Ml 

all their ia&i^ce when they are asnndered as lichee 
Trhich.to*morrow shall be bestowed upon another, au* 
thority which sl»ll this night expire fop ever, an* 
prase which), however merited, or however sincere, 
sbtdU After a feWxmoiiients,«be heard no more. 

In those hours of seriousness and wisdom, nothing 
appeared to raise his spirits^or gladden his heart, but 
the ABCoUection of acts of goodness ; nor ta e^dte his 
attention) but some opportunity for the exercise of the 
duties of religion* Every thuig that terminated on 
this side of the grave was received with cc^dness ami 
indifferenpe, ' and regarded rather in consequenco^ 
of the habit .of valuing it, than from any opinion that it 
deeerv<e^d value ; it had little meareprevalenceover his 
viind than a bubble thet was now broken, a dream 
from which.be was ^wake. His whole powers were 
engrossed by the consideratioh of another state, and 
all conversation ws^s tedious, $hat-h«lnot someten- 
d^cy tp diseng^e him from human aflbiksi and 
open h^ prospects into ftttnri^« 
, . It is now. ps9t| >iKe.haye.clo»pd his^yes^ «id>heanl 
him breathe the groan of expiraticm* At the nght of 
1^ last confti^I felt a sensation never known to me 
before fc a coAfnsion^ passions^ an awful siiUness of 
^rrow) a gloomy terror withoutattimae^ The thoughts 
thajt entered n^ soul were too strong to-be diverted^ 
%nd too piercing to beendnred; butsuoh* violene0 
^annot be lasting, the atorm subsided ina short tim^f 
1 wept» .retired^ and grew calow 

I have from that time frecfueiidy revolved in mf 
mind the effects which the obsevvation of detvthpro* 
d^cea it^those who-arenot ii^hoUy without thepowef 
apd use of reflection; for hy &r the greater pert 
is wholly ,UDregarded* Their frienda and their ene« 
lEues . sink u^ the . gp«^ without nu^^ 



3a9 iME nkkmusxu Vi. 54 

non erooiiDii) or reminding them thatdtey a^e them- 
selves on the .edge of the precipice, and that they 
must soon plunge into the gulf of eternity. 

It^eems to me remftrka!;>le that death increases osir 
veneration for the good, and extenuates our. hatred of 
the bad. Those virtues which once we enviedy^Jts 
Horace observes^ because they^ eclipsed our owa^ oan 
now no longer obstruct our reputation, and we .have 
tlierefore no interest to s\4>press their praise* That 
wickedness^ which we feared for its. malignity, is now 
become impotent, and the man whose name lulled 
us with alarm,: and rage, and Indignation, can at last 
be considered only with pity, or contempt. - - • 

When afrieivd is carried to his grave, we at tmte 
find e^^cuses for every weakness, and^- palliations 
of every fault ; we recollect a thousand endearments^ 
whipb before glided off our minds without impression, 
a thousand favors/onrepaid, a thousand^uties unper« 
forim^dy and wish, wnly :wish for his retUtiH tit>l so 
much that we may reeeive,'as that-we may bestow 
happiness^ sod recompense thatvkiadftevs which be- 
fore we nerer understood. 

Thersr is not, perhaps, to a mind well instructed^ a 
more painCul occurrence, than the death of one whom 
we have injured without reparation. Our crime seems, 
now irretrievable, it is indelibly recorded, and the 
stamp of fate is fixed upon it. We consider, with the 
most afflictive anguish, the pain which we have given, 
and now cannot alleviate, and the losses which we 
have caoaed, and now cannot repair. 
. Of the same kind are the emotions which the death 
of an emulator or competitor produces. Whoever 
h^d qualities to alarm our jealousy, had excellence to 
deserve our fondness ; and to whatever ardor of oppo«* 
sition ^interest saay inflame us, no man ever outtirejl 



ati enemy 9 whom he did not then wish to have tnade 
ft friend. Those who are versed in literary history 
"knoW) that the elder Scaliger was the redoubted an^ 
tagoaistof Cardan and Erasmus ; yet at the death of 
each of his great rivals he relented, and complained 
that they were snatched away from bi|n before th^ir 
recondliation was completed. 

Tu-^e etiam moreris ? M / quid me linquis^ Era^meg 
Ante meus quam sit conciliatus amor ? 

Art UiQU too faUen ? ere anger could subside 
And love return, has great Ercumus died \ 

Such fOre the sentiments with which we finally 
review the effects of passion^ but which we some- 
twee delay till we can no longer rectify our errors. 
XiCt us therefore make haste to do what we shall cer^ 
tainly at last wish to have done ; let us return the ca- 
^resses of our friendsy and endeavor by mutual, en* 
dearments to heighten that tenderness which is the 
balm of life. Let us be quick to repent of inju* 
ries while repentance may not be a barren anguish^ 
and let us open our eyes to every rival excellence) ami 
pay early and willingly those honors which justicef 
will compel us to pay at last. 

ATHUNATUyr 



56 



m THE BAMnUBB. W^m 

No* 55. TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 25, 1750. 



Muuro prcpior desinefuntri 

Inter iuclere virgines, < . . . 

Et stetlU maeuia7n9p€ti*gelretandK^ :f - 

JVofi nquid Ph^loen tatU , ' 

£,t te. Chloric decet. Ho^^, 

Nbnv near to death that comes but slow^ * 
Noixr thou art stepping down below ; 
Sport not amongst the blooming maids. 
But think on ghosts and empty fthades : 
What suits with Pholce in her bloom, 
'Grey Chiorit, will not thee become ; 
A bed is diSerent fh>m a tomb. 



] 



Crkec^ 



TO THE RAMBLER. 
S£K, . . 



X HAVE been hut a little time conversant in the 
wprld} yet I have already had frequent opportunities 
of observing the little efficacy of remonstrance and 
complaint, which however extorted by oppression, or 
supported by reason, arc detested by one part of the* 
world as rebellion, censured by another as peevish- 
ness, by some heard with an appearance of compas^ 
sion, only to betray tmy of tho^e sallies of vehemence 
and resentment, which are apt to break out upon en- 
couragement, and by others passed over with indiffe- 
r«Qce and neglect, as matters in which they have no 
concern, and which if they should endeavor to ex- 
amine or regulate, they might draw mischief upoii 
themselves. 

Yet since it is no less natural for those who think 
themselves injm*ed to complain, than for othera 



s jfei i ft w a ,*^ -^> J.k. J II r'^ Mill I I nil airfi'ii 



to neglect their complamts, I shall Tenture to lay my 
case before joxif in .hopes that you will enforce my 
opinion) if you thiiik it just, or endeavor to rectify my 
sentimentsy if I am mistaken. I expect at leasts that 
you viritl devest yourself of partiality, and that what- 
ever yotur age or solemnity may be, you will not with 
the dotard's insolence, pronounce me ignorant and 
foplkbi. perverse and . refractory, only because you 
perceive that I am young. 

My father dying when I was but ten years old, left 
li\e, and a brother two years younger than myself, to 
the.^areof n^y mother, a woman of birth and educa* 
tipn, whose prudence or virtue he had no reason 
to distrust. She felt, for some time, all the sorrow 
which nature calls forth, upon the final separation of 
pf^rsons dear to one apother ; and as her grief was ex* 
baysted by its own violence, it subsided into tender** 
ness for me and my brother, and the year of mourn* 
ipig was spent in caresses, consolations, and instruc* 
tipn, in celeJ)ration of . my father's virtues, in profes- 
sions of perpetual regard to his memory, and hourly 
instances of such fondness as gratitude will not easily 
^uflfer me to forget, .. 

But when the term of this mournful felicity was ex- 
pired, a^d my. mothipr appeared again without the en- 
signs of sorrow, the ladies of her acquaintance began, 
to.tell her, uj)on whatever modves, that it was time to 
^ve like the rest of the world ; a npwerful argument, 
isrhich is seldom used to a wo.ffim without effect. 
J^y piddy was incessantly relating the occurrences 
qf the town, and Mrs. Gravely told her privately, with 
great tenderness, that it began to be publicly observed 
hifyr much she overacted her part, and that most 
of her acquaintance suspected her hope of procuring 



S9» TOEKAIttUaR M^JMK 

imothor KaBbaad to be the true fgtmsAcitSlih^^tf!^ 
pearance of tenderness and pieqr. 

Ail the oficiottsness of kindness uid (bUy was Im^ 
sied to change her conduct She was at <me tiin^ 
alarmed with censui^, and at another fired wUh* 
praise. She was told of balls, where others shoMr 
only because she was absent; of new comedusSf 
to which all the town was crowing; and of naat^ 
ingenious ironies, by which don&estic diligence waal 
made contemptible. 

It is difiteult for virtue to stand alone agdnst fofeU* 
on one side^ and pleasure on the other; especiaKf- 
When no-actual crime is proposed, and prudence itself 
cati- suggest many reasons- fop r^axation and in?^ 
dulgence. My mamma was at last persuaded to ac^ 
company Miss Giddy to a*play. She was- receirod 
With a boundless profusion of compliments, and at* 
tended home by a very fine gentleman. Next day she 
was widiless difficulty prevuled onto play at Mrs. 
Gravely 's, and came home gay and lively ; for the dia- 
tfaictions that had been paid her awakened her vanity^ 
and good kick had kept her principles of frugal!^ 
from giving herdisturbance. She now made her se^ 
cond entrance into Uio world, said her fiends were 
sufficiently industrious to prevent any return to her 
former life ; every morning brought-messages of in- 
vitation, and ever^ evening was passed in places of 
diversi<»i, fix>m wfaiih ahe for some time complained- 
that she had rather Be absent In a -vhok time she be« 
gan to feel the hap|iness of acting mdiout cotttt*<rf, of 
being unaccountable for her hours, her expenses^ an# 
herxompany ; and learned by degrees toih^op anex«' 
preasiottof contempt, orpity, at the mention of la*** 
dfes whose husbands were su^ected <^ restraifdtti^ 

I 



^^il^MiiMifirftfiu 



»b«. TH& RAMBLES. $St 

fibmr ikkaauresy or thw play, and confessed that she 
loTed to go and come as she pleased* 
- I was still faTored with some incidental precepts 
aad transient endearments, and was now and then 
fiDndly kissed for smiling like my papa : but most part 
of.,ker Bsonmag w^s spent in comparing the opinion 
«k£her.iBBid and milliner, contiiving some variation in 
her. dress, visiting: shops, and sending compliments ; 
am^ the* rest of the dayc was too short for visits^ cardsy 
plays, and concerts. 

. She now begui to discover that it %vas impossible to 
educate .children properly at home. Parents could 
t»A have them always in U^eir sight; the society ,oE 
sers^ants was contagious; company produced boldness 
and spirit; enwladon excited industry; and a large 
fii^ool was^natucally the first step into the open world. 
A.thousand other reasons she alleged, some of little 
foDse in.themselves, but so well seconded by pleasure^ 
vtmtyy and idleness, that they soon, overcame all the 
seoaaining principles of kindness and pie^, and both 
I aihd nsy-hmther were despatchedto boardiag-schools. 
.'How my mamma spent her time when she was 
tiMis disbttrtheaed.I am not able to inform you, but I 
bare, reason to* believe, that trifles and amusements 
took still faster h<^d- of her heart. At first, she visit* 
ed me at school, and afterwards wrote to me ; but in a 
Miort time,, both her visits and her letters were at an 
endf and no other notice was* takeaof me than to re« 
suit money &r my<sttpport. ' - 

.When I <^Euiieiiom&atthe vacation^ I found myself 
ceMly received, . with ' aa observation, << that this girl 
willpreftentty.be.a woman." I was, after the usual 
atay^ sent to schooLagain, . and overheard my mother 
i^f asci was a«going^. <^ Welly now I sh^U recover.'* 



^ THE OAimat 11^ MC 

. In six moadis more I came sguoi and^ withtito 
usaal childish alacritf 9 was rmiaing to my in9ther!a 
embrace^ When she stspt me with ezckuaat&ms^at the 
suddemiess and enormity of mjr growth^ harngf sh» 
said) never seen any body shoot up so much at 
toy age. She was sure no other girls spread at that 
rate, and she hated to hare children look like wxunea 
l^efoi^ their time. I waa disconcerted* and retireil 
without hearing any thing more than^.^ Nay) ifyott 
are angry, Madam Steeple, you may. walk off/' 

When once the forms of civility are violated) thtrer 
remains little hope of return to kindness or dee«icy:i 
My mamma made this appearance of resentment 
ft reason for continuing her malignity ; and. poor Mi«i 
Maypole, for that was myuppellatioU) wa» npver nusfr* 
tioned or spoken to but with some esq^esuonof aa* 
ger or dislike. 

. She had yet the pleasure of dressing, me ^Uka 
a child, and I know not when I should ha^e . be^pt 
thought fit to change my habit, had I not been resc^^ 
ed by a maiden sister of my father) who. could not hew 
tn see women inhanging sleeveS) and thereforeipre« 
sjpnted me with iMrocade^Cw. a g<9^n).)br which ^I 
should have thought myself, under great :obligaUoap# 
had she not aceompanied her favor with soioe-luntA 
that my mamma might now consider her.i^ge, aadi 
give me her ear-rings, which she had shown kmci 
enough in. public places. 

I now left the school) and came, to live with nqt 
mamma,^ who. considered me as an usurper that had. 
seised the rights of a woman before the);: were diM% 
and was pushing, her down the precipice of age^ that 
I might reign without a superior. While I am thus 
beheld wi^ ji^alQu^y and suspicion) youwiii vmii^ 



belieye that it is difficult to please. Every word and x 
look is «n offence. I never speak, but I pretend 
to sottie qualities and excellencies, which it is crimi- 
nsd to possess ; if I am gay, she thinks it early enough 
to coquette ; if I am gray£, she hates a prude in bibs ', 
if I venture into company, I am in haste for a husband ; 
if I retire to my chamber, such matron-like ladies are 
lovers of contemplation. I am on one pretence op 
other generally excluded from her assemblies, nor am 
1 ever suffered to visit at the same place with my 
mamma. £very one, wonders why she does not 
brihg'Miss more into the world, and when she comes 
home in vapors, I am certain that she has heard either 
4rf my beauty or my wit, and expect nothing for the 
^ensuing week but taunts and menaces, contradicdon 
and reproaches. 

Thus I live in a state of continual persecution, only 
^Ijecause I was born ten years too soon, and can- 
not stop the course of nature or of time, but am un- 
happily a woman before my mother can willingly 
i:ease to be-a girl. I helieve you would contribute to 
the happiness of many families, if, by any arguments 
ci* persuasions, you could make mothers ashamed e# 
rivalling their children ; if you could show them, that 
thoughthey may refuse to grow wise, they must in- 
«ntably grow old ; and that the proper solaces of age ^ 
are not music and compliments, but wisdom and de- 
votion ; that those wh6 are so unwilling to quit the 
nmrld will soon be driven from it ; and that it is there- 
fore their interest to retire while there yet remain a 
fc^ hours for nobler employments. 

I am Sec 



310 THE RAMBUaR. 8b. 56. 

No. 56. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 2^, 1750. 



^..^^Vaieat ret ludicra, time , . , „ 

Palma negata tnAcrwin, donata reducit ojdmum* Hoe- 

Farewell the stage ; for humbly I disclaim 

Such fond pursuits of picture, or of fame, 

If I must sink in shame, or swell with pride, 

As the gay palm is granted or denied. - FaAK^ii. 

Nothing is more unpleas'mg than to &nd fliat of- 
fbnce has been received when none was intended^ and 
that pain has been given to those who were not 
guilty of any provocation. As the great end of k>cie- 
ty is mutual beneficence, a good man is always un- 
easy when he finds himself acting in opposition to the 
purposes of life ; because, though his conscience may 
easily acquit him of malice firefivnse^ of settled hatred, 
or contrivances of inischief, yet he seldom can be 
certdn, that he has not failed by negligence, or indo- 
lence ; that he has naot been hindered from cbnsulting 
,the common interest by too much regard to his own 
ease, or too much indifference to the happln'eBs of 
o^ers. 

Nor is it necessary, that, to feel this uneasiness, the 
mind should be extended to any great diffusion of ge- 
nerosity, or melted by uncommon warmth of benevo- 
lence J for that prudence which the world teaches, and 
a quick sensibility of private interest, will direct us to 
shun needless enmities; since there is no man whose 
"kindness we may not some time want, or by whose 
malice we may not some time suffer. 

I have therefore frequently looked with wonder, 
and now and then with pity, at the thoughtlessness 



Ko. 5$. TH£ RAMBLER. 311 

fAth which some alienate from themselves the affec- 
tions of all whom chance) tmsinessy or incUnatioDy 
brings in their Way. When we see a man pursuing 
some darling interest^ without much regard to the 
opinion of the world, we justlv consider him as cor- 
rupt ^and dangerous, but are not long in discovering 
his motives ^ we see him actuated by passions which 
are hard to be resisted, and deluded hy appearances 
which have dazzled stronger eyes. But the greater 
part of those who set mankind at defiance by hourly 
irritation, and who live but to infuse malignity, and 
multiply enemies, have no hopes to foster, no designs 
to promote, nor any expectations of attuning power 
by insolence, or of climbing to greatness by trampling 
on others. They give up all the sweets of kindness, 
for the sake of peevishness, petulance, or gloom ; and 
alienate the world by neglect of the common forms of 
civility, and breach of the established laws of conver- 
sation. 

Every one must, in the walks of life, have met with 
men of whom all speak with censure, though they are 
not chargeable with any crime, and whom none can be 
persuaded to love, though a reason can scarcely be as* 
signed why they should be hated; and who, if their 
good qualities and actions sometimes force a commen- 
dation, have their panegyric always concluded with 
confessions of disgust ; << he is a good man, but I can- 
not like him." Surely such persons have sold the es- 
teem of the world at too low a price, since they have 
lost one of the rewards of virtue, without gaining the 
profits of wickedness. 

This ill economy of fame is sometimes the effect ot 
stupidity. Men whose perceptions are languid and 
sluggish, who lament nothing but loss of money, and 

VOL. IV. 27 



31^ THE RAMBLEfi. N%£ m 

feel nothing 6ut a blow, are often at a^ difficulty tor 
l^ess why they are encompassed vHh ehemifiBy 
though they neglect all those arts by which men are 
endeared to one another. They comfort themselves 
that they have lived irreproachably ; that none can 
charge them with having endangered his life, or dim!-* 
nished his possessions ; and therefore conclude that 
they suffer by some invincible fatality, or impute the 
malice of their neighbors to ignorance or envy. They 
wrap themselves up in their innocence, and enjoy the 
congratulations of their own hearts, without knowing 
or suspecting that they are every day deservedly incur- 
ring resentments, by withholding from those with 
whom they converse, that regard, or appearance of re- 
gard, to whieh every one is entitled by the customs of 
the world. 

There are many injuries which almost every man 
feels, though he does not complain, and which, upon 
those whom virtue, elegance, or vanity, have made de- 
licate and tender, fix deep and lasting impressions ; as 
there are many arts of graciousness and conciliation; 
which are to be practised without expense, and by 
which those may be made our friends, who have never 
received from us any real benefit. Such arts, when 
they Include neither guilt nor meanness, it is surely 
teasonable to learn, for who would want that love 
which is so easily to be gained ? And such injuries 
are to be avoided ; for who would be hated without 
profit? 

Some, mdeed, there are, for whom the excuse of ig- 
norance or negligence cannot be alleged, because it 
is apparent that they are not only careless of pleasing, 
but studious to offbhd ; that they contrive to make all 
approaches to thetKi cHfficult and rexatious, and iniagmt 



jj^. ^ - TPS RAM9L1^ 213 

t^ dMj4iggraiulize themselres by WfLsting the timo 
of others ia useless stttendance, by mortifying them 
yith sli|;htS9 md tearing them with affronts. 
, IN^en pf this kind are. generally to be found among 
those that have not mingled much in general conver-r 
sation> but spent their lives amidst the obsequiousness 
of dependents, and the flattery of parasites; and by 
|oAg consulting only their own inclination, have for^ 
gotjten that others have claim to the same deference. 
, Tyranny thus avowed, is indeed an exuberance of 
pride, by which all mankind is so much enraged, thai 
it iis never quietly endured, except in those who can 
?ewar4 the patience which they exact ; and insolen^^ 
\^ generally surrounded only by such whose baseness 
inclines them to think nothing insupportable that prof 
duces gain, and who can laugh at scurrility and rude- 
l^ess with a luxurious table dnd an open purse. 

Bgit thQUgh all wanton provocations and contempt 
tuous insolence are to be diligently avoided^ there is 
^0 less danger in timid compliance and taiae resigna« 
tion. It is common far soft and fearful tempers ta 
give themselves up implicitly to the direction of' the 
bold, the turbulent, and the over*bearing, of tliosQ 
Vhom they do not believe wiser or better than them* 
selves; tojrec^e from the best designs where oppo** 
^LU0Q must be encountered, and to fall off from virtue 
§at fear of censure. 

. Some firmness and resolution k necessaiy to the 
discharge of duty ; but it is a very unhappy state of life 
ki which the necessity of such struggles frequently 
occurs ; for no msm is defeated without some re« 
sentmenti. whobch w.ill be continued, with, obstinacy* 
while he believes himself in the right, andexert-^ 
ed with bitteraess, If even to his own cbniliction he is 
detected in the wrongs ... 4 



3U VMS^BiJIElJB. 

< fiveii tboiigk no regard be had to tiie eattenml coo* 
fioqueoceB. of contrarietf and diftpuity it must be pain* 
ful to a worthy mind to put others in paki, and thefo' 
Vfiil be danger lest the kindest nature may be vittated 
by too long a custom of debate and contest. 
. I am afraid that I may be taxeci with insensibility! 
by many of my cerrespondentSy who believe their con^ 
tributions unjustly neglected. And, indeed, when I 
sit before a pile of papers, of which each is thefi]x>4 
duction of laborious study, and the c^spring of a fond 
parent, h Yfho know the p^issions of an author, cannot 
remember how long they have lain in my boxes unro« 
garded, wichoyut imagining to myself the Tarieu« 
changes of sorrow, impatience, and resentment, Ivhich 
the writers must have felt in this tedious interval, i 
" These reflections are still more awakened^ when^ 
upon p^rusaly 1 find some of them calling for a pl«c«r 
ill the next.paper, a place which they have never yet 
obtained : ^hers writing, in a style of superiority and^ 
haughtiness, as secure of deference, andabove^leafHtf 
criticism ; otliers humbly offering theirweak assistance* 
with softness and submission, which they believe im« 
possible to be. resisted; some introducing their com* 
positions with a menace of the contempt which he that 
vefttses them will incur ; others applying privately to^ 
the booksellers for.. their . interest and solicitation^ 
every one by different ways endeavoring to secure thn 
Uiss.of pubiicatton. Xcannotbutconsider myself as 
placed in a very incommodious situation, .wiiere I am' 
forced to repress confidence, which it is pleasing to 
indulge, to repay civilities with appearances of neglect, 
and so frequently to offend those by whom I never was 
offended. 

I know well how rarely an author, fired with the 
beauties of his new composition^ conbdnshis raptures 



in Ids own boson, and how naturally he imparts to his 
fiienda his expectations of rendwn ; and as I cm e$»i\j 
eenceive the eagerness wkh which a new paper 
is snitched up, by one who expects to find it filled 
with his own production) and perhaps has called his 
oompsmlons to share the pleasure of a second perusal^ 
I grieve for the disappointment which be is t6 feel at 
Ihe &tal inspection. His hopes, however, do not yet 
fer^ke him ; he is certain of giving lustre the next 
day. The next day comes, and again he pants with 
oxpectation,. and having dreamed of laurels and Par* 
nasausy casts his eyes upon the barren page, with 
which he is doomed nevermore to be delighted. 

For auch cruelty what atonement can be made I 
For such calamities what alleviadon can be found ? I 
fun afraid that the mischief already done must bo 
without 'reparation^ and all that deserves my care 
4s prevention for the future. I^t therefore the nex| 
friendly contributor, whoever ho be^ observe the cau« 
^ns of Swift f and write secretly in his own chamberi 
without communicating his design to his nearest^ 
friend, for the nearest friend will be pleased with an 
opportunity of laughing. X.et him carry it to the post 
liimself, and waitin silence for the event. If it is pub^ 
Ushed and praised, he may then declare himself the 
author ; if it be suppressed, be may wonder in pmate 
without much vexation ; and if it be censured^ he may' 
join in the cry> and laoicat the dulnesa of tbe writing 
generation^ 



37 ♦ 



No. sr. TUESDAY, OCTOBERS, I7$(h.* 



«Voii inteiiigmt koninet gtiom magtrntn metHffml ni panimwim, 

TuxOf 

The world has not yet lemed the liciKS of fragalitf . 

TO THE RAJyiBLEH. 
SiH, 

X AM always pleased when I see literature made 
useful, and scholars descending from that eleyadon, 
which, as it raises them abore common life, mu^ 
likewise hinder them from4ieholdtng the ways ofmen 
otherwise than in a cloud of bustle and confusion. 
Having lived a life of business, and remarked how set* 
dom any occurrences emerge for which ^reat quali- 
ties are required, I have learned the necessity of re- 
garding little things ; and though I do not pretend to 
^ivelaws to the legisktors of mankind, or to- limit the 
irwige of those powerful minds that carry light and 
heat through all the regions of knowledge, yet I have 
ioog thought, that the greatest part bf those who lose 
themselves in stiidies by which I have not found that 
Aey grow much wiser, might, with more advantage 
both to the public and themselves, <apply their under- 
standings to domestic avt^ and store their minds with 
ipcioms of hiim]»le prudence, and piivate economy. 

Your late paper on frugality was very elegant and 
pleasing, but, in my opinion, not sufficiently adapted 
to common readers, who pay little regard to the mu- 
sic of periods, the artifice of connection, or the ar- 
rangement of the flowers of rhetoric ; but require a 
few pledn and cogent instructions, which may sink into 
the mind by their own weight. 



i».« ms ftAMBint m 

' Frugality is so necessary to the happiness of the 
woild, so beneficial In its various forms to every rank 
of men, from the highest of human potentates, to the 
lowest laborer or artificer ; and the miseries which the 
Reglect cf It produces are so tinmemus and so griev* 
ovLSy that it ought to be recommended with every va- 
i^ation of address, and adapted tot everf ckss of un* 
derstanding. 

Whether those who treat morals as a science will 
allow frugality to be numbered among the virtues, I 
havfc not thought it necessary to inquire. For I, who 
vdraw my opinions from a careful observtition of the 
.world, am satisfied with knowing what b abundantly 
sufficient for practice, thet if it be not a virtue, it is, at 
leftst) a qi^ality, which can seldom exist withcmt some 
virtues, and without which few virt^es can exist* 
Frugality may be termed the daughter of Prudence, 
the sister of Temperance, and the parent of Liberty. 
He that is extravagant will quickly become poor, and 
poverty will enforce dependence^ and innte corrupt 
tiofi ; it wiH tdmost always produce a passive complt- 
ai|ee wUh the wickedness of others ; and there are few 
.who do not learn by degrees to practise those crimes 
which they cease to censure. 

If there are any who do not dread poverty as dan* 
gerous to virtue, yet mankind seem uniffiimoas 
enough in abhorring it as destructive to happiness; 
and all to whom want is terrible, upon whatever prin* 
ciple, ought to think themselves d>tiged to learn the 
t sage maxims of our parsimonious ancestors, and attain 
^the salutary arts of contradicting expuise; for without 
frugality none can be rich, and with it very fow would 
be poor.. 

To most^other acts of virtue or exertions of wisdom» 
a concurrence of many circumstances Is nec6saary> 



|1# 'TOfrHABIIiaS 3b*4il 

ftome pcenoiH kii0wkd|;e must he aHuiiedy <«ttne 
uacominon gifts of natulv posfeea^d, 'or ae^ne o^^ot»- 
tunity produced by an extraordinary combthaitimi 'o( 
things ; but the mere power of garing what i» alreadf 
in our bands, must be easy of aequitttion to everjr 
mind ; and as the example of Bacon may show, that 
the highest intellect cannot ss^y .neglect ie^ athou«i 
sand instances will every day prove, that the meanett' 
may practise it with success.* 

Riches cannot be within the reach of grei^ num* 
hers, because to be ridi is to possess more thait 
is commonly placed in a ^g^e hand ; and, if many 
could obtain the sum which now makes a man weal'« 
thy, the name of wealth must then be transferred to 
still greater accumulation* But I am not certain that 
it is equally impossible to exempt the lower classes of 
^manluad from poverty ; because^ though whatever be 
the wealth of the community,. some will always have 
least, and he that has less than any other Is compara- 
tively poor ; yet I do not see any coactive necessity 
4hat many should be without the indispensable conve* 
niencies of life ; but am sometimes inclined to imagine) 
that, casual calamiues excepted, there might, by uni- 
versal prudence, be procured an universal exemption 
fifom want; and 'that he who should happen to have 
Jeast, might notwithstanding have enough. 

But without entering too far into speculations 
which I do not remember that any political calculator 
has attempted, and in which the most perspicacious 
reasoner may be easily bewildered, it is evident that 
they to whom Providence has allotted no other care^ 
but of their own fortune and iheir own virtue, which 
make far the greater part of mankind., have sufficient 
incitements to personal frugality, since, whatever 
eDCUght be its general effect upon provinces or nations^ 



4^ % P*aB ft41fiiUiL 33, 

bywikic^ it is netrer likely to be Uiod> vekJiowith^ 
cj&nmAy, that jthere is scarcely any indiTi4ual eateir- 
iog tlie wprldi who, by prudent parsimony) may not 
reasonably promise himself a cheerful cojpapetence in 
the decline of life. 

The pro9pect of penury in age is s« gloon&y and tcr» 
rifying) that every man who looks before him must re- 
solve to avoid it ; and it must he avoided generally by 
the science of sparing. For» though in every age 
there are somcj who by bold adventures^ or by favor- 
able accidents, rise suddenly to richeS) yet it is dan- 
gerous to indulge hopes of such rare events ; and the 
bulk of mankind must owe their affluence to small and 
gradual profits, below which their expense must be re- 
solutely reduced. 

You must therefore think me sinking below the 
dignity of a practical philosopher, when I recommend 
to th^ consideration of your readers, from the states- 
masi to the apprentice, a position replete with mercan- 
tile wisdom, A ftenny ag^ioed u tvfofience got} which ^ 
may, I think, be accommodated to ail conditions) by , 
observing not only that they who pursue any lucrative 
employment will save time when they forbear expense, 
tnd that the time may be employed to the increase of 
profit ; but that they who are above such minute con» 
siderations will find, by every victory over appetite or 
pfLSsion^ new strength add^d to the mind,'will g&in the 
power of refusing those solicitations by which the 
young and vivacious are hourly assaulted, and in time , 
set themselves above the reach of extravagance md 
folly. 

It may, perhaps, be inquired by those who are wU- . 
ling rather to cavil than to learn, what is the just mea- . 
sure of frugality \ and when expense, not absolutely . 
necessaryi degenerates into profusion? To suck 



320 THJG^94MPUP. m^M» 

qaestkma no gehelral acnswer can be retiir&ed ; ikiC6 
the liberty of spcndiag^ or nccessitf cf p^8iini»)y» 
may be varied without end by different circumstancea. 
It may, however, be laid down as a rule never to be 
broken, that a man's voluntary exficnse ahotUd not ex* 
ceed hia revmuei A maxim so obvious and incontro- 
vertible, that the civil law ranka the pcodigal with the 
madman, and debars them equally from the condupt of 
their own affairs. Anothe^r precept arising from Ae 
former, and indeed included in it, is yet necessary to 
be distinctly impressed upon the warm, the fanciful, 
and the brave ; Let no man anticipate uncertain firo-* 
Jita. Let no man presume to spend upon hopes, to 
trust his own abilities for. means.of deliverance from 
penury, to give a loose to his present desires, and 
leave the reckoning to fortuile or to virtue. 

To theae cautions, which I suppose are, atleast %mong 
the grayer part of mankind, undisputed, I will add ano^ 
ther, Let no man aguander against Ma,, inclination. 
With this precept it may be, pierhaps, imagined easy 
to comply ; yet if those whom profusion has buried ill 
prisons, or driven into banishracnt, were exsuaiinedf 
it would be found that very few were ruined by thei» 
ewn chmce,. or purchased pleasure with the loss of 
liheir estates ; bta that they suffered thendselves to bsi 
borne away by the violence of those, with whom th^ 
conversed, and yielded reluctantly to a thou4»id pro^ 
digalities, either from a trivial emulation of weiUth w&i 
spirit, or a mean fear of contempt and ridicule ; m. 
emulation for the prize of foiJf , or the dread «f th9 
laugh of fools. ^ 

I am, sir, 

Your humble Servantf 
SoyaROKri 



No. 58. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 6, 1750. 



' Tmprohde 



Creteunt dMtia^ tamen 

Curt^n€9cio quid temper abettreu H«x*] 

But, while ill keaps his ^cked wealth ascends. 

He 19 not of his witli posses^d ; 
ThereVi aomethiDg wanting still to make him blessed. 

Francis* 

xVs the love of money haft been, in all ages, one of 
the* passions that have given great disturbance to the 
trahquHUty of the world, there is no topic more copi- 
ously treated by the ancient moralists thafi the folly of 
devoting the heart to the accumulation of riches. 
They who are acquainted with these authors need not 
be told how riches excite. pity, contempt, or reproach, 
whenever they are mentioned ; with what numbers of 
examples the danger of large possessions is illustra^ 
ted ; and how all the powers of reason and eloquencer 
have been eichausted in endeavors to eradicate a de- 
sire, which seems to have entrenched itself too 
atrongiy in the mind to be driven out, and which, per-^ 
haps, hsbd sot lost its power, even over those who de« 
elttmed against it, but would have broken out in the 
po«torthe sage, if it had been excited by opportunity, 
md invigorated by the approximation of its proper ob« 
ject. 

• Tiieir arguments have been, indeed, so unsuccess- 
fill, that I know not whether it can be shown, that by 
all the wit and reason which this favorite cause has call- 
ed forth, a single convert was ever made ; that even 
one man has refused to be rich, when to be rich was 
m hk power, from the conviction of the greater happi* 



993 TBE RA3IBLBR« Hb. A 

ness of a nftirow fortune ; or (fisburthened himself of 
wealth when he bad tried its inquietudes, merely to en* 
joy the peace and leisure and security of m mean and 
unenvied state. 

It is true, indeed, that many have neglected oj^por- 
tunities of raising themselves to honors and to wealthy 
and rejected the kindest offers of fortune : but how* 
ever their moderation may be boasted by themselveSf 
or admired by such as duly riew them at a distance, it 
will be, perhaps, seldom found that they value riches 
less, but that they^ dread labor or danger more than 
others ; they are unable to rouse themselves to action, 
to strain in the race of competition, or to stand the 
shock of contest; but though they, theref(»e, decUner 
the toil of clhnbing, they nevertheless wish themselves 
aloft, and .would wilUngly enjoy what they cbro 
.not; seise. 

Others have retired from high stations, and volun- 
tarily condemned themselves to privacy and obsourl'- 
ty. But, even these will not afford many occasions of 
triumph to the philosopher ; for they have commonly 
either quitted that only lyhich they thought themselves 
unable to hold, and prevented disgrace by resignation ; 
or they have been induced to try new measures by 
general inconstancy, which always dreams of happi* 
ness in novelty, or by a gloomy deposition, which is 
disgusted in the same degree with every state, and 
wishes every scene of life to change as soon as it la 
beheld. Such men foundi high and low stations 
equally unable to satisfy the wishes of a distem* 
pered mind, and were unable to shelter themselvvs 
in the closet retreat from disappointment, soUcitudey 
and misery. 

Yet though these admonitions have been- tims He-- 
glected by those, who either enjoyed rishes> or irere 



n0.aL T«E laifBLaBB* sss 

Skbte to pTocure them, it i« not rashly to be deterimined 
that thef are altogether ivithout use ; for since far the 
g^ecOest part of mankind must be confined to condi- 
tions comparatively mean, and placed in situations 
from which they naturally look up with envy to the 
etnifiences before them, those writers cannot be 
thought ill employed that have administered remedies 
^discontent almost universal, by showing, that what 
ve cannot reach may very well be forborne, that the 
ineqoality of distribution, at which we murmur, is for 
the most part less than it seems, and that the greatness, 
which we admire at a distance, has much fewer ad van- 
ti^est and much less splendor, wheix we are suffered 
tir approach it. 

It is the business of moralists to detect the frauds of 
fortune, and to show that she imposes upon the care«- 
less eye, by a quick succession of shadows, which will 
shrink to nothing in the gripe ; that she disguises life 
hx extiinsic ornaments, which serve only for show, and 
are laid aside in the hours of solitude, and of pleasure ; . 
and that when greatness aspires either to felicity or to 
wisdom, it shakes off those distinctions which dazzle 
the g'cizer, and awe the supplicant.- 
' It may be remarked, that they whose condition has 
aot afibrded them the light of moral or religious in- 
struction, and who collect all their ideas by their own 
eyes, and digest them by their own understandings, 
seem to consider those who are placed in ranks of re- 
mote superiority, as almost another^and higher species 
of beings. As themselves have known little other 
misery than the consequences of want, they are with 
difficully persuaded that where there is wealth there 
can be sorrow, or that those who glitter in dignity, and 
gltde along in affluienoe, can be acquainted with pains 
?0i.».xvt 28 



And cares like those, jydu^b li^ heaver vpeii the r^t of. 

mankind. 

This prejudice 1% in4eedt Confined to the loweal 

meannetey and the darkest ignonance ; but it is so eont 

fined only because others havebeen shown its fcdlyl 

and its falsehood, because it has been ojiposed in its 

progress by history and philosophy, an^ hindered 

from spreading its infection by powerful preaenrativea; 

The doctrine of the contempt of wealth, though it 

has not been able to extinguish avarice or ambiueo^ or 

suppress that reluctance with which a man, passes his 

days in a sute of inferiority, must, at least, have made 

the lower conditions less gratmg and weariaome> and 

has consequently contributed to the general secttritf 

of life, by hindering that fraud and violence, xapine and 

circumvention, which must have been pnxliicedby sq 

unbounded eagerness of wealth, arising from an un* 

shaken conviction that to be rich is to be hf^^.. . 

Whoever finds himself incited, by some violent im- 
pulse of passion, to pursue riches as the chief ettd of 
being, must surely be so much alarmed by the succes* 
sive admonitions of those whose experience and saga- 
city have recommended them as the guides of matp* 
kiivd, as to stop and consider whether he is about to 
engage in an undertaking that will reward his tcul, sad 
' jto examine, before he rushes to wealth, thro«gh right 
and wrong, what it will confer when he has acquired 
it ; and this examination will seldom ^1 to repress his 
ardor, and retard his violence. 

Wealth is nothing in itself, it is net useful but when 
it deparu from us ; its value is found only in that 
which it can purchase, which, if we suppose it put to 
its best use by those that possess it, seemj^ not much 
to deserve the desire or envy of a wise man. It is 
certain that, with regard to corporal enjoyment, mo- 



m, j£ TUTS EAMftJSR. %H 

n^y can neither open new avenues to pleasure, nor 
block up die passa^s of anguish. Disease and infir- 
mity still continue to torture and enfeeble, perhaps ex- 
asperated by luxury, or promoted by softness. With 
respect to the mind, It has rarely been observed, that 
health cohtributes much to quicken the discernment, 
Enlarge the capacity, or elevate thd imaginatioB ; but 
may, by hfring flattery, or laying diligence asleep, con- 
firm error, and harden stupidity. 
• Weahh cannot confer greatness, for nothing can 
^ake that great which the decree of nature bias or- 
didned t6 be little. The bramble may be placed in a 
hot-bed, but can never become an oak. Eyep ipyalty 
Itself is not able to give that dignity which it happens 
not to find, but oppresses feeble minds, though it naay 
cflevate the strong. The world has liecn governed in' 
the name of kings, whose existence has scarcely been 
perceived by any real efifects beyond their own pala-* 
Qes. 

' When therefore the desire of wealth is taking hold 
^tke heart, let us look round and see how it opei^tes 
upon those whose industry or fortune has obtained it. 
When we find them oppressed with their own abun- 
dance, luxurious without pleasure, idle without ease,' 
iftipatient and querulous in ^emselves, and despised 
oi* hated by the rest of mankind, we shall' soon be con- 
vinced,' that if the real wants of our condition are satis-* 
fted, there remjuhs little to be sought with solicitude, 
* or desired with eagerness. 



No. 59. TUESDAY, OCTOBER, 9, ITSO. 



JEtt ali^idfatah malum pervert tevarty 

Boc^erulamHaLcyonenque Progncnfaiatt *>/ 

Hoc erat in tolo quare Pttantias aiitro j^ 
Voxfatigaret Lem.nia aaxa sua, 

Strmngulat incliuw dtdir atque exastuat ^tu* 'v 

Cogitur et viret multiplicare sua* Oviv^ 

Complaining oft, gives respite to our grief; • '*• 

Fremh^nce the wretched Prot^ nought vclkL 

Hence the Paantian chief his me deplores. 

And vents his sorrow to the Lemnian shores : 

In vain by secrecy we would assbage 

Our cares ; conceid'd they gather tenfold rage. ^ ^ 

F. Lewis. 

It is common to distinguish men by the names of 
animals which they are supposed to resemble. Thus 
a hero is frequently ternied a lion, and a statesman a 
f#x, an extortioner gains the appellauon of vulture,. 
and a fop the title of monkey. There is also amODg 
the various anomalies of character, which a survey of . 
the world exhitMts, a species of beings in human form,, 
which may be properly marked out as the screech-" 
owls of mankind. 

These screech-owls seem to be settled in ail' 
opiniop. that the great business of life is to complain,.^ 
and that th*y were born for no other purpose than to' 
disturb the happiness of others, to lessen the littld*' 
comforts, and shorten the short pleasures of our con-. 
dition> by painfUl retnembFances of the pastf or me«^' 
lancholy pR^nosttes of the future ; their only care * 
is to crush the liainig'hope, to ^mp the kindling^ 
twnnport, andalla^ the golden hours of gaiety with ' 
the imteful drou of grief an^ auspleion. ' 



21$^ 5% TiBB4»BUafRv 9» 

• To thosft vrhcam weatoeas oC spirifci^. ^r titniditf of 
temper^ ftubj ects them to impreraona f vora others^ and 
who are apt to suffer byikaciaationy and eatah the con-* 
ta|^ of miaerj, it ia extremely unhappf to tire witfa« 
ia tlie 43oiiipaas of a screech-owl's roice ; fat it will of- 
tea fill their ear&iii the hours of dejeetion, terrify them 
with apprehensions, which their own thoughts would 
■erer hav^ prodvcod; and aaddoBf by intruded sor- 
ravSf the day which naight hav^ be«n passed in. arnuse-^ 
mentsor in business; it will burden the heart with 
unnecessary discontents, and weaken for a time that 
lAve of life which is necessary to the vigorous prose- 
cution of any undertaking. 

' Though I hare, like the rest of mankind, many fsdl-* 
lugs and weakneaees) I have not yet, by friends or 
^nenuesi been charged with superstition ; I neyeif 
CDMAt the company which I enter, and I look at the 
90 w moon indiEerently over either shouldev» I have,^ 
like most other philosophers, often heard the cuckoo 
without money ia ray pocket, and hav« been some*- 
times reproaahed aa faoMiardy for not tunning dow» 
my eyes^ whenf a raven'fie w aver my head. I neyer ga 
home abruptly because a snake crosses my way, no» 
have any particular dread of a climactrical year t yet • 
Icon&ssthat, withaU a^ scorn of old women, and 
their tales, i consider it as an unhappy day when I.hap« f '4^ 

pen to be greeted, in the monuog, by Suspimui thcp 
Screech*owL ^^ 

' I have now kiMmn Suspirius fifty-eight years and 
kfi^r n^oolhs, and have never yet passed.aa hour with 
him in which he has not made some attack upon myr 
fiiiet. When we were first ac^piainted, his great to* 
p|e was the misery of youth without riches ; and whenur 
ever we walked* out tegether he aokced me with 
tifliiig cn u m e wion .of pleasures whidmis thej yer» 
2a • 



? L 



tK8 THfi BAlinUEB. Ko.». 

beyond liiereiKdi. of my&atune, were without ll»e 
irerge of my desires, and which I should never hate 
considered as the ohjects of a wish, had not hk ttn*- 
seasonable representations placed them in my sight. 

Another of his topics is the neglect of merit) with 
which he never fails to anmse every man whoin hie 
sees not eminently fortunate. If he meets with a 
young officer^ he always informs him of gentlemen 
whose personal courage is unquestioned, and whose 
military skill qualifies there to command armies^ that 
ha«e» notwithstanding all their merit, grown old wkh 
subaltern commissions. For a genius in the churchy 
he is always provided with a curacy, for life. The law- 
yer he informs of many men of great parts and deep 
studj9 who have never had an opportunity to speak^ 
the courts:. And meeting Serenus the physician^ 
"Ah, doctor,*' says he, *'what, a-foot still, when se 
many blockheads are rattling in their chariots? I told 
you seven years ago that you would never meet with 
encouragement, and I hope you will now take more 
notice, when I tell you that your Greek, and your 
diligence, and your honesty, will never enable you te 
Uve like yonder apothecary, who prescribes^in his own 
shop, and laughs at the physician.'* 

Suspirius has, in his- time, intercepted fifteen au» 
ihoTs. in their way to the stage ; persuaded nine and 
thirty merchants to retire from a prpepeeous trade for 
fear of bankruptcy, broke off an hun^Jred and>thtrteett- 
snatches by prognostications of unhappinessy and en- 
abled the 8mall-po3L to kin nineteen ladies, by perpe- 
tual alarms of the loss of beautf . 
• Whenever ray evil stars bring us together, he- 
, never fedls* to repres^bt to me the folly of my pve^ 
suits, and informs me thatr we «tre< muoholdor thae 
when ^9 begun our acquaintance^that the- infiri|aiikt 



xo. la TBB mjaauau am 

of (feerepitttjde ire conmg fast upon ffte» that what* 
OTor Lnow ge^) I shall enjoy bat a little tune, tkatfamo 
lata a man tottering on the edge of the. grave of very, 
little importance* and that the time is at hand when I 
ought to look for no other pleasures t^n a good dia* 
. Aev and an easy chair. 

Thus he goes on in his unharmonious strain, din^ 
playitig present miseries, uid foreboding more, tvu^ 
94ft9^mi tta 3-e»»Tn^t^u every, syllable is loaded with 
misfortuae, and death is always* brought, nearer to the 
i^w. Yet, what always raises my resentment and in- 
.diguatioQ, 1 do not perceive that his mournful medi- 
tations have much effect upon himself Be talks, and 
has .long talked of calamities, without discovering 
.cithexwise than-by the tooe of his voice, that he feels 
any of the evils which he bewails or threatens, but has 
the same habit of utteiing lamentations, as others of 
telling stories, and falls into expressions of condolence 
for pa^t, or apprehension of future mischiefs, as all 
«ien studious of their ease have recourse to those 
aubjectt upon which they can most fluently or copl-. 
i^usly discourse. 

It 13 repoHed of the Sybarites, that they destroyed* 
all their cocks, that they might dream out their morn- 
ing dreams without clisturbance. Though 1 would not 
ao far promote efifeminacy as to propose tlie Sybaritea 
for an example, yet since there is no. man so corrupt 
oe fbolish, but something useful may be learned from, 
him, £ could wish that, in imitation of a people not of- 
ten to be* copied, some regulations might be made to 
exclude screech-owls from all company, astheene* 
pdes of mankind, and confine them to some proper re- 
^ptaele, where they may mingle sighs at leisuf^ 
mi thickon the glooim of oone mother* 



9a»; TlfllftAiaMjBS. . M^^4 

- ' Thou f^Q^htf^f eiriiy says Homer's AgMfiemnoiiiL' 
^Aou never/brttetie^t me ^oo^^$ui thejoiy pftha^ heut% 
t% to ptedUct nd^for$unea. Whoever is ef the same 
temper, might there find the means of indulging his- 
thou^^htSi and tfni>roving his vein of deminciation, an4^ 
tbt' flock of screech-owls might hoot together without 
injury to the rest of the world. 

Yet, though I have so little kindness for this dark 
gmeration, I am veiy far from intending to debar the 
soft and tender mind from the privilege of eoihplaiii^' 
ing when the sigh arises from the desire not of giving 
pain, but of gaining ease. To hear complaints with . 
patience, even when com]^aints are vain, is one of the 
duties of friendship; and though it must be allowed 
that he suffers most like %, hero that hidfs his grief ift^ 
sUence, 

Sfem vultu simulat, premit altum corde dohrcm* 
His outward sroiles concealM lus inward MmxeU, 

yet it cannot be denied, that he who complains acts 
like a man, like a social being, who looks for help 
Uom his fellow-creatures. Pity is to many of the un- , 
happy a source of comfort in hopeless dbtresses, as > 
it contributes to recommend them to themselves, by 
pi^ving that they have not lost the regard of others i . 
and heaven seems to indicate the duty even of barren.^ 
compassion, by inclining us to weep for evib wiueh- - . 
we cannot remedy^ 



m: 69. THE R AMbLfiR. S31 

No. 6CX SATURDAY, OCTOBER 13, 1750.^ 



*'' Quid *id pulchrum^ quid turpe, quid utile, quid non, 

PUniui it nvtliuM Chrysippo et Crantore didt* HoK* 

Whose works the beautiful and base contain, 
' Of vic^ and vtrtue laore instructive roles. 
Than aU the sober sages of the schools. Fbanczs* 

-All joy or sorrow for the happiness or calamities 
of others is produced by an act of the imagination, 
that realizes the event however fictitious, or approxi- 
mates it however remote, by placing us, for a time, in 
the condition of him whose fortune we contemplate ; 
8o that we feel, while the deception lasts, whatever 
motions would be excited by the same good or evil . 
happening to ourselTea. 

Our passions are therefore more strongly moved, in 
proportion as we can more readily adopt the pains or 
pleasure proposed to our minds, by recognising , 
them as once our own, or considering them as natu- 
rally incident to our state of life. It is not easy for 
the most artful writer to give us an interest in happi- 
ness or misery, which we think ourselves never iikelf 
toTcel, and with which we have never yet been made 
acquainted. Histories of the downfal of kingdoms, 
and revolutions of empires, are read with tranquillity; 
the imperial tragedy pleases common, auditors only by 
its pomp of ornament and grandeur of ideas ; and the 
man whose faculties have been engrossed by business, 
and whose heart never fluuered but at the rise or fall 
of the stocks, wonders how the attention can be 
seized, or the affection agitated, ^t)y a tale of love. 

' Those parallel circumstances and kindred images, 
fo which we readily conform our miads^ are^ abave aU 



S3f f&Bnk^ijEsL td.^ 

other writings, to be found in narratives of the Kvc5» 
of particular persons; and therefore no species o^ 
writing seems more worthy of cultivation than biogra- 
phy, since none can be more delightful or more use- 
ful, none can more certainly enchsdn the heart by irre- 
sistible interest, or more widely diffuse Instruction to 
every diversity of condition. 

The general and rapid narrafives of history, which 
Involve a thousand fortunes in the business of a day> 
9ad complicate iooumerabje incidents in one gretH 
transaction, afford few lessons applicable to private 
life, which derives its comforts and its wretchedness 
from the right or wrong management of things^ 
frhkch nothing but their frequency makes ronsidera-^ 
Wle, Parpa n npnjtunt ^notidie^ says PUny, and which 
flU) have no place in those relations which never der 
scend below the consultation of senates, the snotioxvai 
#f armies, and the schemes of conspirators. 
• I have often thought that there has rarely passed 9 
life of which a judicious and faithftil narrative would 
aot be useftiL For, not only every man hast in tbQ 
mtjgbty mast of <Uie world» great numbers in the s%mm 
•fmdidiQn with himself* to Whom his mistakes and nus^ 
earriagefi, escapes and expedients, would be of imme« 
d^e aod atyparent use ; but there is such an uniformi-^ 
ly mthe stale of mah, considered apart from adreo- 
titioUB and separable decorations and disguises, that 
tiiere is scarce any possil^ity of good or ill, but is: 
common to human kind. A great part of the Umei 
of Ibosa who are |rilaced at the greatest distances by 
fortune^ or by temper, must unavoidably pass in the 
aalne maaner ; and though, when the claims of nature 
are satisfied, caprice, and vanity, and accident, begia. 
t0 produce discriminations and peculiarities, yet the 
«ye U Mt very lieedfiil orquicki:iiMchc«n8yat di&«» 



1^. ^ THE EAKBUBl^ |0 

^ovet.tht isaiifte causes jitiil terminating their vn&wi 
ence in the same effectS) tbou^ someUmes accele^ 
rated, sometimes retarded^ or perplexed by miiltipli« 
ed eo:mt»natioDS. We ai*e all prompted by the santv 
^BOtiveS) all deceiyed by the same fallacies^ all animM 
ted by hope, obstfucted by dangec, entangled bf de^ 
sire, and seduced by pleasure. ' 

It is frequently objected to xelations of partievlftf 
lives, that they are not distinguished by any strlkmg 
or wonderful vicissitudes. The scholar who passed 
liis life among his books, the merchant who conduct^ 
ed only his own affairs, the priest, whose sphere of 
action was not extended beyond that of his duty, an| 
considered as no proper objects of public regar^^ 
liowever they might have e^ccelled in their several 
stations) whatever might have been their learning, in* 
tegrity, and piety. But this notion arises from falw 
measures of excellence and digt^ty, and must be 
^eradicated by considering, that in the esteem of un^ 
^corrupted reasouy what is of most use is of most 
Talue. 

It is, indeed, not improper to take honest advan- 
tages of prejudice, and to gain attention by a cor 
lebrated name ; but the business of the biographet* 
is often to pass slightly over those performances anA 
incidents, which produce vulgar greatness, to lead the 
tlioughts into domestic privacies, and display the mi^ 
-Bute details of duily life, where exterior appendages 
•are cast aside, and men excel each other only by pru- 
dence and by virtue. The account of Thuanus is, 
with great propriety, said by its author to have been 
^written, that it might lay open to posterity the private 
esd familiar character of that man, cujua ingenium et 
4:mnd^rem ex ifo$iu$ 9crtfitU> aunt oHm semfifrmiraturif 



S34 THEBAMBLEB. Ko. 60. 

irhose candor and genius will to the end of time be by 
his writings preserved in admiration. 

There are manf invisible circumstances which, 
whether we read as inquirers after natural or moral 
knowledge, whether we intend to enlarge our science, 
or increase our virtue, are more important than public 
occurrences. Thus Sallust, the great master of na- 
ture, has not forgot in his account of Catiline, to re- 
mark that fds walk ttma now quick^ and again slowy as 
an indication of a mind revolving something with vio- 
lent commotion. Thus the story of Melancthon af- 
fords a striking lecture on the value of time, by in- 
forming us, that when he made an appointment, he 
expected not only the hour, but the minute to be fix- 
ed, that the day might not run out in the idleness 
of suspense : and all the plans and enterprises of Oe 
Witt are now of less importance to the world, than 
that part of his personal character, which represents 
him as careful of his health, and negligent of hia life. 

But biography has often been allotted to writers 
who seem very little acquainted with the nature of 
their task, or very negligent about the performance. 
They rarely afford any other account than might 
be collected from public papers, but imagine them- 
selves writing a life when they exhibit a chronologi- 
cal series of acdons or preferments ; and so little re- 
gard the maimers or behavior of their heroes, that 
more knowledge noay be gained of a man's real cha- 
racter, by a short conversation with one of his ser- 
vants, than from a formal and studied narrative, he- 
gun with his pedigree, and ended with his funeral. 

If now and then they condescend to inform the 
world of particular facts, they are not always so hs^py 
as to select the most important. I kxtow not well 



„ . ^o. GO. THE RAMBIXR. S3S 

^^^ what advantage posterity can receive fromllic only 
•> circumstance by which Tickell has distinguished Ad- 
dkon from the rest of mankind^ the irregularity of 
his fitUae : nor can I think myself overpaid for the 
time speAt in reading the life of Malherb, by being 
enabled to relate after the learned biographer, that 
Malherb had two predominant opinions ; one, that the 
looseness of a single wom^n might destroy all her 
boast of ancient descent; the other, that the French 
beggars made use very improperly'and barbarously of 
the phrase : noble Gentlemariy because either word in* 
eluded the sense of both. 

There are, indeed, some natural reasons why these 
narratives are often written by such as were not likely 

^g ' to give much instruction or delight, and why most ac- 

. 1^) counts of particular persons are barren and useless. 

^^^ If a life -be delayed till interest and envy are at an end, 
we may hope for impartiality, but must expect little 
intelligence ; for the incidents which give excellence 
to biography are of a volatile and evanescent kind, 
such as soon escape the memory, and are rarely trans- 
mitHftd by tradition. We know how few can^ portray 
a living acquaintance, except by his most prominent 
and observable particularities, and the grosser fea- 
tures of his mind ; and it may be easily imagined how 
much of this little knowledge may be lost in impart- 
ing it, and how soon a succession of copies will lose 
all resemblance of the original. 

If the biographer writes from personal knowledge, 
and makes haste to gratify the public curiosity, there 
is danger lest his interest, his fear, kis gratitude, or his 
tenderness, overpower his fidelity, and tempt him to 
conceal, if not to invents There are many who think it 
an act of piety to hide the faults or failings of their 
friends, even when they can no longer suffer by their 

VOL. IV. 29 



336 TBBniamuaL Vh.6l] 

detecti<Ui ; ve tlier^fbre tee whole nmks of characters 
adorned with uniform panegyric, and not to be known 
front one another, but by extrinsic and casual circum* 
stances. <<Let me remember/' says Hale, << when I 
find myftelf inclined to pity a criminal, that there is 
likewise a pity due to the country,'* If we owe r^* 
gard to the memory of the dead, thc^re is yet more re*- 
spect to be paid to knowledge, to virtue, and to truth* 

No. 61. TUESDAY, OCTOBER 16, 1750. 



Fai4u* honor jwatf et mendax infamia terret^ 

Quetn nUi ntendosum et fnendacem ? Hoh. 

False praise can charm, unreal shame control— -^ 
Whom but a vicious or a sickly soul ? Franc is. 

TO THE RAMBLER. 
Sir, 

XT is extremely vexatious to a man of eager and 
thirsty curiosity to be placed at a great distance%^ni 
the fountsdn of intelligence, and not only never to re- 
ceive the current of repoit till it has satiated the 
greatest part of the nation, but at last to find it mud- 
ded in its course, and corrupted with taints or mix- 
tures from every channel through which it flowed. 

One of the chief pleasures of my life is to heat 
what passes in the world, to know what are the 
schemes of the politic, the aims of the busy, and the 
hopes of the ambitious ; what changes of public mea- 
sures are approaching ; who is likely to t>e crushed in 
the collision of parties ; who is climbing to the top of 
power, and who is tottering on the precipice of dis- 
grace. But as it is very common for ud> to desire 



No. 61 THB RAMBLEE; 337 

most whftt ve sere least qualified to obtain, I have suf- 
fered this appetite of news to outgrow all the gratifi- 
cations which my present situation can afford it ; for 
bplng placed in a remote country,^ I am condemned al- 
ways to confound the future with the past, to form 
prognostications of events no longer doubtful, and to 
consider ^e expediency of schemes already executed 
or defeated. I am perplexed with a perpetual decep-* 
tion in my prospects, like a man pointing his telescope 
at a remote star, which before the light reaches his 
eye has forsaken the piace from which it was emitted. 
The mortification of being thus always behind the 
active world in my reflections and discoveries, is ex* 
ceedingly aggravated by the petulance of those whose' 
health, or business, or pleasure, brings them hiUier 
from London. For,^ without considering the insupe* 
rable disadvantages of my condition, and tlie unavoid-* 
able ignorance which absence must produce, they of- 
ten treat me with the utmost superciliousness of con- 
tempt, for not knowing what no human sagacity can 
discover; and sometimes seem to consider me at 
a wretch scarcely wonhy of human converse, when I 
happen to talk of the fortune of a bankrupt, or propose 
the healths of the dead, when I warn them of mischiefs 
fdready incurred, or wish for measures that have been 
lately taken. They seem to attribute to the superi- 
ority of their intellects what they only owe to the ac- 
cident of their condition, and think themselves indis- 
piutably entitled to airs of insolence and authority, 
"When they find anotlier ignor^t of facts, which, be- 
cause they echoed in the streets of London, they sup- 
pose equally public in all other places, and known 
where they could neither be seenj related, nor conjec- 
tured. 

• • \ • 



338 THEBAMBLEVR No. 6i* 

To this haughtiness thef are indeed too much en« 
couraged by the respect which they receive amongst 
us, for no other reason than that they come from Lon- 
don. For no sooner is the arrival of one of these dis- 
seminators of knowledge known in the country, than 
we crowd about him from every quarter, and by innu- 
merable inquiries flatter him into an opinion of his 
own importance* He sees himself surrounded by 
multitudes, who propose their doubts, and refer their 
controversies, to him, as to a being descended from 
some nobler region, and he grows on a sudden oracu- 
lous and infallible, solves all difficulties, and sets all 
objections at defiance. '^ ^ 

There is in my opinion, great reason for suspect- 
ing, that they sometimes take advantage of thb reve- 
rential modesty, and impose upon rustic understand- 
ings with a false show of universal intelligence ; for 
I 'So not find that they are willing to own themselves 
ignorant ofany thing, or that they dismiss any inquirer 
with a positive and decisive answer. The court, the 
city, the park, and exchange, are to those men of^^lln-- 
bounded observation equally familiar, and they ^i^e 
iJike ready to tell the hour at which stocks mil else, 
or the ministry be changed. ' - '9 

' A short residence at London entitles a man to 
knowledge, to wit, to politeness, and to a despotic and 
dictatorial power of prescribing to the rude multitude, 
whom he condescends to honor with a biennial visit ; 
yet, I know not well upon what motives, I have lately 
found myself inclined to cavil at this preception, and 
to doubt whether it be not, on some occasions, proper 
to withhold our veneration, till we are more authenti- 
cally convinced of the merits of the claimant* 

It is well remembered here, that, about seven years 
ago, one Frolic, a tsdl boy, with lank hair, remarkable 



Kb. 6U THE RAMBLlll. 339 

for steaSng efgs, and sucking theniy was taken from the 
school in this parish^ and sent up to London to studf 
the law* As he had given amongst us ne proofs of a 
gemtta designed by nature for extraordinary perfor- 
mances^ he was^ from the time of his departure, total* 
If forgotten, nor was there any talk of bis vices or vir- 
tues, his good or his ill fortune, till last summer a re- 
port burst upon us, that Mr. Frolic was come down in 
the first post-chaise which this village had seen, ha- 
mig^ travelled with such rapidity that one of his postil- 
liono had broke his leg, and another narrowly escaped 
sUffocaiicMi in a quicksand ; but that Mr. Frolic seem« 
ed totally unconcerned, for such things were never 
heeded at London. 

- Mr. Frolic next day appeared among the gentlemen 
at their weekly meeting on the bowling-green, and 
now were seen the effects of a London education* 
His dress, his language, his ideas, were all new, and 
he did not miuch endeavor to conceal his contempt of 
every thing that differed hom the opinions, or pi^ac- 
laee, of the modish world. He showed us the defor- 
mity of our skirts and sleeves, informed us where hats 
of the proper siae were to be sold, and recommended 
to us the reformation of a thousand absurdities in our 
clothes, our cookery, and our conversation. Whea 
any of his phrases were unintelligible, he could liot 
suppress the joy of confessed superiority, but fre- 
quently delayed the explanation, that he might enjc^ 
his triumph over our barbarity. 

When he is pleased to entertain us with a story, he ) 
takes care to crowd into it names of streets, squares^ | \\ { 
and buildings, with which he knows we are unac^ 
quainted. The iavonte topics ^f his discourse are the 
pranks of drunkards, uid the tricks put upon country 
genilemca by porters and Unk-b^Sr When he !» 
• 3^ » 






340 TSB RAMKiBR. No. 61« 

neitk ladies, h« tells them of the innumeraUe pleasures 
to which he can introduce them ; but never Bails to hint 
how muc^ they will be deficient, at their first arrival, 
in the knowledge of the town. What it is to know the 
towih he has not indeed hitherto informed us, though 
there is no phrase so frequent in his mouth, nor any 
science which he appears to think of so great a value, 
or so difficult attainment. 

» But my curiosity has been most engaged by the riB- 
ckal of his own adventures and atchievements. I have 
beard of the union of various characters in single per- 
sons, but never met with such a constellation of great 
qualities as this man's narrative affords. Whatever 
has distinguished the hero ; whatever has elevated the 
wit ; whatever has endeared the lover, are all concen- 
tiered in Mr. Frolic, whose life has, for seven yeafs, 
been a regular interchange of intrigues, dangers, and 
waggeries, and who has distingubhed himself in every 
character that can be feared, envied, or admired* 

. I question whether all the officers of the royal navy 
oau bi'ing together, from all their journals, a collection 
of so many wonderful escapes as this man has knowa 
upon the Thames^ on which he. has been a thousand 
and a thousand times on the point of perishing^ some* 
times by. the terrors of foolish women in the same 
boat, somedmes by his own acknowledged imprudence 
in passing the river in the dark, and sometimes by 
shootmg the bridge under which he has rencountered 
mountainous waves, and dreadful cataracts. 

Nor less hasbeen'his temerity by land, nor fewer 
bis hazards. He has^ reeled with giddiness on the tQp» 
of the monument ; he hascrossed the street amidst the 
rush of coaches ; he has been suirounded by robbers 
without number; he has headed parties at the play- 
house 9 he has scaled the windows of eyery tioasti .of 



»>.&. TBERABfBLBB. 341 

'wfaate ver condidon : he has been hunted for whole win* 
ters by his rivals ; he has slept upon bulks, he has eut 
chairs, hajias bilked coachmen ; he has rescued his 
friends from the bailiffs; has knocked down the con- 
stable, has bullied the justice, and peiformed manf 
oUier exploits, that hare filled the town with wonder 
and with merriment. 

But yet greater is the fame of his understanding 
than his bravery ; for he informs us, that he is, at Lon- 
don, the established arbitrator of all points of honor, 
and the decisive judge of all performances of geniiis ; 
that no musical performer is in reputation till the opi- 
nion of Frolic hi^s ratified his pretensions ; that the. 
theatres suspend their sentence till he begins the clap 
or hiss, in which all are proud to concur ; that no pub- 
lic entertainment has failed or succeeded^ but because 
he opposed or favored it^that all <;ontroversies at the 
gaming-table* are referred to his determination ; that 
he adjusts the ceremonial at every assiembly, and pre- 
scribes every fashion of pleasure or of dress. 

> With every man whose name occurs in the papers 
of the day, he is intimately acquainted ; and there are 
very few posts, either in the state or army^ pf which he 
has not more or less influenced the disposal* He has 
been very frequently consulted both upon war and 
peace ; but the time is not yet come when the nation 
shall know how much it is indebted to the genius of 
Frolic. 

Yet, notwithstanding all these declarations, I can- 
« not hitherto persuade myself tosee that Mr. Frolic has 
nicMre wit, or kn9wledge, or courage, than the rest of 
xpankind, or that any uncommon enlargement of his 
faculties has happened in the time of his absence* 
For when he talks on subjects known to the rest of the 
company) he has no adrnntage over us> but by catcher 



B4a THE UkMBLEK K*. €£. 

61 interrttp1ion» briskness of iiiterrogadmi> and peit« 
ness of contempt ; and therefore if he has stunned the 
world with his naiae^ and gained a place hi the first 
ranks of hnmanitf ^ 1 cannot bnt conclude, that either a 
litUe undenunding confers eminence at Loniion, ok* 
that Mr. Frolic thinks us unworthy of the exertion of 
his powers, or that his faculties s^ e benumbed by m*- 
ral stufildity, as 1^ magnetic needle loses its anima- 
tion in the pold^ climes. 

I would not, however, like many hasty philosophers, 
iearch after the cause till I am certain of the effect ; 
and therefore 1 desire to be informed, whether ytnt 
have yet heard the great name of Mr. Frolic. If he l» 
celebrated by other tongues than his own, I shall wil- 
Imgiy propagate his praise; but if he has swelled 
ameng us with empty boasts, and honors conferred 
only by himself, I shall treat him with rustic sincerity, 
and driTC him as an impostor from this part of the 
kingdooi to scsfto region of more credulity. 

I am> Bcc. 

Rtriticou* 



Ko. 62. THE BAMBLER. 343 

No. 62. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 20, 1750. 



Mtnc ego Triptotemi cuperem conscendere eurru9, 

JUuit in ignotam qui rude semen hvmum -* 
J^unc ego Medece 'oellemfranare dracone^ 

Quos habuitfugiens arva, Corinthe, tua s 
^unc ego jactandas optarent turner e.pennat^ 

Si'oe tuas, Perseu ; D^dale, tive tuat» Ovis. 

. Now w6uld I mount his car, whose bounteous taid 
First sow'd with teeming* seed the furrow'd land : 
Now to Medaa*s dragons fix my reins. 
That swiftly bore her from Corinthian plaint : 
Now on Dadalian waxen pinions stray. 
Or those which wafted Peneus on his way. F. Lewis. 



TO TEB RAMBLER. 
Sir, 

X AM a young woman of very large fortune, which, 
if my parents would have been persuaded to comply 
with the rules and customs of the polite part of man- 
kind, might long since have raised me to the highest 
honors of the female world ; but so strangely have they 
hitherto contrived to waste my life, that I am now on 
ihe borders of twenty, without having ever danced but 
tX, our monthly assembly, or been toasted but among a 
few gentlemen of the neighbourhood, or seen any 
company in which it was worth a wish to be distin- 
guished. 

My father having impaired his patrimony in solicit- 
ing a place at court,, at last grew wise enough to cease 
his pursuit; and to repair the consequences of expensive 
attendance and negligence of his affairs, married a lady 
niuch older than himself, who had lived in the fashion- 
ablo world till she was considered as an encumbrance 
upon pvties ofpleasurC} and as I can collect from in- 



344 THE RAMBI£B. Ho. 63, 

ddeiitaiiafermalaons; retired from gay assemblies ju«t 
time enough to escape the mortification of universal 
neglect 

She wasy however, still rich, and not yet iirrinkled ; 
my father waa too distressfally embarrassed to think 
much on any thing but the means of extiScaUon, and 
though it is not likely that he wanted the delicacy 
which polite coaversation will always produce in un«- 
derstandings not remarkably defective, yet he was 
contented^with a match, by which he might be set 
free from inconvenieneies, that would have destroyed 
all the pleasures of imagination, and taken from soft- 
ness and beauty the power of deligh^g. 

As they were both somewhat disgusted with their 
treatment in the world, and married, though without 
any dislike of each other, yet principally for the sake 
of setting themselves free from dependence on cap- 
rice or fashion, they soon retired into the country, and 
devoted their lives to rural business and diversions. 

They had not much reason to regret the change of 
their situation ; for their vanity, which had so kmg 
been tormented by neglect and disappointment, waa 
here gratified with every honor that could be pak) 
them* Their long famiiiari^ wi^ public life made 
them the oracles of all those who aspired to iatellL* 
gence or politeness. My father dictated politics, mf 
mother pi*e8cribeid the mode, and it was sufficient to 
entitle any family to some consideration, that the; 
were known to visit at Mrs. Ceurtly's. 
. In this state, they were, to speak in the ityle of no* 
velists, made happy by the birth of your correspond* 
^t. My parents had no other child, I w«a therefore 
not brow-beaten by a saucy brother, or lost in a muU 
titude of coheiresses, whose fortunes being equal| 
^uld probably have conferred equal peril} and grox 



c«ired equal fegard ; and as mj motber was now oM^ 
my understandbg and my person had fair play, my in* 
qiiiries were not checked^ my advances towards im*- 
portance were not repressed, and I was soon sulFered 
to tell my own opimons, and early accustomed to hear 
my own praises. 

By these accidental advantages Iwas mnchexah* 
ed above the young ladies with whom I conversed, 
mnd was tfseated by them with great deference. I saw 
none who did not seem to confess my superiority, and 
to be held in awe by the splendor of my appearance ; 
lor the fondness of my &ther made him pleased to see 
me dressed, and my mother had no vanity nor expen- 
ses to hinder her from concurring with his incli* 
nadon. 

Thus, Mr. Rambler, I lived without much dedre 
after any thing beyond the circle of our visits ; and 
here I should have quietly continued to portion out 
my time among my books, and my needle, and my 
company, had not my curiosity been every moment 
excited by the conversati<m of my parents, who, 
whenever they sit down to familiar prattle, and en** 
deavor the entertainment of each other, immediately 
transport themselves to London, and relate some ad« 
venture in a hackn^y*coach, some frolic at a mas* 
querade, some conversation in the Park, or some 
quarrel at an assembly, display the magnificence of a 
birthnight, relate the conquests of maids of honor, or 
give a history of diversions, shows, and entertain^ 
ments, which I had never known but from their 
accounts* 

I am so well versed in the history of the gay world, 
that I can relate, with great punctuality, the lives of 
all the last race of wits and beauties ; can enumerate, 
with exact chronology, the whole succession of celc- 



346 THE RAMBLER. Ko. 62. 

brated singers, musiciansi tragedians, comedians, and 
harlequins ; can tell to the last twenty years all the 
changes of fashions; and am, indeed, a complete an« 
^quai7 with respect to headdresses, dances, and 
operas. 

You will easily imagine, Mr. Rambler, that I could 
not hear these narratives, for sixteen years together* 
without suffering some impression, and wishing my- 
self nearer to those places where every hour brings 
some new pleasure, and life is diversified with an un- 
exhausted succession of felicity. 

1 indeed often asked my mother why she left a 
place which she recollected with so much delight, and 
why she did not visit London once a year, like some 
other ladies, and initiate me in the world by showing 
me its amusements, its grandeur, and its variety. But 
she always told me that the days which she had seeix 
were such as will never come again, that all diver* 
sion is now degenerated, that the conversation of the 
present age is insipid, that their, fashions are unbe- 
coming, their customs absurd, and their morals cor- 
rupt ; that there is no rjay left of the genius which en- 
lightened the times that she remembers ; that no one 
who had seen, or heard, the ancient performers, would 
be able to bear the bunglers of this despicable age ; 
and that there is now neither politeness, nor pleasui;:e) 
nor virtue, in the world. She therefore assures tap 
that she consults my happiness by^ keeping nie at 
home, for I should now find nothing but vexation and 
disgust, and she should be ashamed to see me pleased 
with such fopperies and trifles, as take up the. 
thoughts of the present set of young people. 

With this answer I was kept quiet for several 
years, and thought it no great inconvenience to be , 
confined to the country, till last summer a young 



No. 62. THfi .RAMBLER. 3jr 

gentleman and ius sister came down to pass a few 
months with ohe of our neighbors. iThey had gene- 
rally no great regard £br the country ladies, but dis- 
dngttished fne by a particular complaisance, and, as^ 
"wm grew iatimate^ gave me such a detail of the ele^ 
gance, the splendor, the mirth, the happi&ess, of the- 
town, that I am resolved to be no longer buried in ig- 
norance and obscurity, but to share with other wits the 
joy of being admired, and divide with other beauties 
the empire of the world. 

-I do not find, Mr. Rambler, upon a deliberate and 
impartial comparison, that I am excelled by Belinda 
in beauty, in wit, in judgment, in knowledge, or in any 
thing, but a kind of gay, lively familiarity, by which 
she mingles with strangers as with persons long ac- 
quainted, and which enables her to display her powers 
without any obstruction, hesitation, or confusion. Yet 
she can relate a thousand civilities paid to her in pub- 
lic, can produce, from a hundred lovers, letters filled 
with praises, protestations, ecstacies, and despair ; has 
been handed by dukes to her chair ; has beeii the oc- 
casion of innumerable quarrels ; has paid twenty visits ' 
in an afternoon ; been invited to six balls in an even- 
ing, and been forced to retire to lodgings in the coun- 
try from the importunity of courtship, and the fatigue 
of pleasure* 

I tell you, Mr. Rambler, I will stay here no longer. 
I have at last prevailed upon my mother to send me 
to town, and shall set out in three weeks on the grand 
expedition. I intend to live in public, and to crowd 
into the winter every pleasure which money can pur- 
chase, and every honor which beauty can obtain. 

But thin tedious interval how shall I endure ? Can- 
not you alleviate the misery of delay by some pleasing 
description of the entertainments of the town I I can 

VOL. IT. 30 



34d THR RA]iat£B. No. €3^ 

read, I can talk, I caatliink of ootbiiigeifie ; andif ^te 
viil not sooth my irapal^eo, keigfaten my ideas, mA 
animato my hopes, you may imte for those wlio hi^o 
more leisure, bat are not to expect any lo^»ger the ho* 
nor of being read by tliose eyos which we m^m luteal 
only on cooiigbest and dofttfOiClioo. 

llB09!0C^tIA« 

No. 63. TUESDAY, OCTOBER, 23^ 1?SD. 

^ \ 

■ B aMat tape duecHtMi . - 

JSape decern *ervo* / fnodo regee atque tetrarchas. 
Omnia magna loquens : modo, nt m,ihi ^nensa tripes, ct 
V Concha talis puri, et toga qu^e defender efrigui^ 
Quam^ie craeea,gti0af. ^OJu 

Now with two hundred slaves he crowds his train ; 

Kow walks with ten. Iahig^aiidh«9gfaty tttviQ 

At morn^ of Idnp and |^oy«rnors he prates | 

At night. — '* A n'Ugal table, O ye fates, 

*' A little shell the sacred salt to h6ld, * - * 

*' And clothes^ tbo' coapse^to keep lae &9m the cold.'.' 

Francis. 

At has been remarked, perhaps by every -miter rrho 
has left behind him observations upon lUe^ that no 
man is pleased with his present state ; which provet; 
equally unsatisfactory, says Horace, whe^er Ihlien 
upon by chance, or chosen with deliberation ; we are 
always disgusted with some circumstance or other of 
pur situation, and imagine the condition of Others 
more abundant in blessings, or less ex|>osed to cala-? 
mities. - 

This universal discontent has been generally meii* 
tioned with^great severity of censure, as unreasonable 
in itself, since of two, equally envious of oadrother, 
both cannot have the larger share of happioess^ and 



as tending. tadarhen life i»Mi ^nnee^ssaiy gtoovny by 
^ffitlidimmiig ^wp minds ftoiatlieeomemplatibiv bM 
eojojrment^ tlint hstpfiiMiss wiikfa'Mr^t^te aflfb^ds 
us| and iiadng cmr attention upon Melgn obj^ts^ 
n^ich ve 9fily behold tO' dopfess onrs^v^fii and 
incneaseour pmery bj mpifim^ 'OQitnpttiidtmii* 
: WiHtn thiaopinlpQ of )|li0'lfi)i<% of 03l«rf« predo- 
naimates in tlb&liQarti so a^to exclfe8 4rtB8i^iitlons of ob« 
twungy at whatever {MPioje^.tbe 'conditkm ib which 
wcktyanaceadeftit .prjivile|$rli am ^wappmtii^ %e ui* 
nexod ; ;9vhearit bac8t|iyititDaei^on$ te»d p«ididUGe»fi'i!iirdy 
Tiolence^andinjuatifiiibit h^tof^^f ui»n«»Siii^^ 
rigor of iip^.pttBisfaiiaemai; ^%ttc^ihilw-<^p»c^i^ 
jcoily upon the tbpugku» it distiirfao nene tet l^m "Who 
has happened to admit it, and, however it may inter- 
rt|^.cOiitfi^tf^^m]df^ea;m'^ack o& piety ^i^trirnie, I 
jcai^^Qt .f^)9^ 4t m %i €]^iinliiial< or lidiQiiloissy b«it thc^ 
;)t tff^j^^ipwrsf^itp^ edmt sianva ^isiu^iise. 

^ .i;haiitatt,|kw?eiq«^ ha^yOr wIser^Ai^ fisOfit^ 
1^9 i^^^^loYfUf ^^^ ;bttbauiie 

4^'g^:we.^^^ outers, 

j^e^^yei;^ msnJ]^ found ftieqiiiesit viclsdtudtts i^ kte 
jpwn «W^9 ^jcmuatthere^Nre be coomced tiiat liib is 
^^^f^j^^t^raCmcur^ <»r teiM^if^icitf « What then shall 
j^i^ njSiMpx^^^^^^ aiteratioaof that which is ca« 
j^lejoih^l^imfmvvdf and to gi;aH>^^>^t aogmenta^ 
f,v^^^ 9f ^ Q^i^vtp^ff^ tuidwit posiible to beinerea- 
a|Bd> aii^^lif^v^.that eiiy^uB^n^^haiige ol shuatiott 
,wiUii«irc#seit? . . >.. . , 

. )f ]^^ tib^^j^dySibmsfilf uneasy msy^reasonahly mak^ 
efforts to lid^iumseU Cra«n veKatix^^/all'inankind have 
ft. W%o«$^t p^ea.foreoi»e degree of refttlessneasi ^vA 
Ihe ia,\dt seen^stpij^eliu^more tlian teo muchteme^ 
x^y xi{;co)PPhi2^$0;^.ia^ yet expo- 



S59 . THE UXWgUSR. Hki, & 

viencedy ^and tod «iwh iiMdiii^^ to licMve) ^at-thc^ 
whery which our own p««ftioiis and apfpedtes pt^ 
ducei is brottght upon us bf MDld<Sdlal oii«6iS8) rnvd est* 
.ternal f fikientei 

: It is, indeedi frequ^ntlf discovered bf us, that ^^ 
Gomplajbedtoo hastily of peciHiar hardships, and ima- 
gined ourselves distuiguished by embarrassments,' ih 
which other classes of men are equally entangUA 
We often chaoge a lighter, for a greater evily and wish 
iHirselres restored again to the ^tate-^KHti wht^h'wo 
tiiought it deairablo to be d^TOred.- Bnt thfs'know- 
JedgO) though it is easily gfaiiiod by the trials is net 
always attaiiuyUo afiy'«iftier way '; and that em^catmdt 
jusUy be reproaohed) w^tehTtasdA eoii^KNfol^obtii^e, 
nor prudence avoid* 

. To take-a vieW at once distinct atid eoftiprehensire 
of l>umanUfe, with all its intricates of cotnbinatibn, 
and. varieties of coniiexion, is beyond the power of 
mortai inltiiUigeiicits. Of the state with which prac- 
tice has not a^quaint^d us we'snatcha gHmpse, we 
dt^oem a point j and regulate the rcfst by "passion, and 
by-fi4ney« In thb inquiry ev^sry fkvbrite pfejudit^t 
c«^ery iMate desire is busy to deteiteus. Wtire 
unhappy, at least less happy than our nat<if6 setms to 
adrnit ; M^o nece'ssartly desire tho niefioMiott'of bor 
lot; what wo desire we very reasonably aeek, attd 
what we seek we are liaturaliy eagisr to believe that 
Yft have fpund. Our confidence is often diisappoint* 
edf but our reason is not convinced, and * there Is 
no man who does not hope for something^ ^kh he has 
not, though perhaps his wishes lie tenactlte, because 
be foresees the difficulty of attainment. As amongtiiB 
iMimerous students of HermeUc philosophy^ not one 
appears to have desbted from the task of Jtransmnta* 



«3i ' ^ 'mmmmifm m 



their thoughts within their pifix.hwnd|iriQ» of »ctiQ|^ 
1^1; i^^QBtipi«»% cf^iof; ^y^ all tb^ scc^^eA af> hu- 
eniiD 1»^^st^Cl?9^8.&d cpii^ei^«i^ml^,ikm oftep a{>ttQ pon^ 
«4^ thfit thejfiLU »|KmAewr^fiaiift Qf.f4e^a»iu*et aad 
iitart Bf w iipftsibiU^es :ei h»9^^^^ 'tbm Xh^f'9Xp 
h»M^ wilh^eirpei«9l AH&ocfnm^ «^e9&Q9f ^.{Mf 

th»t: c#iii:tMiion^<^)ie M»plei(iPiea(Q|i i^ thw popir 
ililuo3»9 hy iHfhich Qum <|^ sloyv»^rt«NN''lta|i4ii}||^ ai^ 
£i^e4lor^m ta iii^f tw |M?iii^ torrMiopii^ ^e:pbw 
b^fijteniiTM^.wkidi /their 1^ md e¥ii&du9«» haifsl^ 
trod .he&s;^ tb«i^. . r: . - 

Of two conditionsk of life equaiJf biv^g |o thft 
^ioap^^ th^ wiUj^wajr^fal^vethe, di»i^^^ 
1R!^ hi^e ali^y .^ii^; beakii»^ ^jevils vhich we 
|«[s» jQptt we ^mm jemifiwmQ : .and thoitgh we haY9 
perhaps fr^Bi naltrre^ the powets aa- Wi^U ^tf fggraTar 
^^^"Si^iMi^ wbi<^#« fe^r ^ of h«^trt6jim)g the 
Weaaing m ^sv^g^ yetia. tko^r loeditiijttiBna- whic& 
firj^imlaJge bf.chjttQ^and which aiie4)^fcliE}re«d upw 
the lajNui Ji^i^c^^iyi we^ hai^ 1^^^ art<of ^n* 

mi^fopv.wei^m^ ii{^SD,4be iiioiei^kasin^ 
fiulpBT b^ ^to fttapop^/the Ughiahy wbicfar w<a took 

. The If cNMlaiui ill of ^6nBg»t«M>c|e%of life are aom^ 
4i»taw,ieqita%o{q9oaia()« th»t.pi9iiwpan0^»iaii<Q<vi^ 
yat MMrie Ipia ctoaioc; be t — ttt th^ i»p€»iifrfiiil^C0OW»^ 
iiiaai, mdw^BqmmlBaovM^. rmi. therefasc fiiM:ttii^ 
%i« of wiU ia not anor^ wo^^ciSsif wfe^n they asa jfi^ 
30 ♦ 



mmmmam^^mmt^t^m 



charged with equal ¥mfKt». The fliHid nvaeMir 
imagines itself determined' bf-MiM^^fMW^ftlem'advfla^ 
tftg^t thian some convenience of eqiisd freight is dioE»- 
vered on the other aadei«aidtfi«fes»hilM»ifrwhkh' ate 
BUggested by the nicest e^camiiiat^ctti are^eften repent* 
ed as soon as they are taken. 

' Eomenes) u young man. <>f great abtH^s^ inhetiM 
^ large estafie from a lath^,long^ eminent in -eonej^eu* 
ous employments. H^ ftithen harassed with eoB^- 
titlons, aind perplexed with multiplicity of bsaiiiessy 
recommended the quiet of a private etalien wiih.^SQ 
much force,' that Eumenes for some years resisted 
eyei7 motion of Simbitious wiihes^ but beteigonee 
provoked by the sight of oppreMlot),' whi<£h he cmid 
not redt^sS) he began to think it the'dutf of an hefeiest 
man to enable himself to protect otli^rs, and gradi»iUy 
felt a de^re of greatness^ excilcfd by a thousand pro- 
jects bfadvantager to his ecuntry. Hfeibrtuaei^ced 
him in the senate^ his knowledge andelei^eiiee adu^ 
vanced him at court} and he possessed tintt aaicheft^^ 
andlnDuence which he lutd resolvM to^e^rt for tbe 
happiness of mankind. ' t. 

' He now became nequidnted witk greatness^ and vm» 
in a short time convinced,- that, in propordon as the 
))Ower of doingi yrell is enlargedi the tenipte^ons to do 
, Ml are multipMed and enforced. Hirfelt^hims€lf every 
menisnt in danger of being tii^li^r>se«kic«4 or drivea 
from his honest purposes. Sometimes a friendimr to 
be gratified, and Sometimes a rival to be crashed, by 
•means whleK his cMscie^i^e' could i»ot app?olBe« 
Stymetimes he was forced to' dympif with'tbei/pec|udi^ 
ces of the pulHictand ^ometimea w^iv^ihevciiAaieftitf 
tlie ministry. He «l» bydegeees wusifid^with pai:*^ 
petual .struggles to uhit^ poUcy and vidrtiie^ cnd^weiit 



THEJtAMBLBft. S53 



hMs to p e tiw i i i BC as tfae^tfaoHir :of • uinocftttce^ per^ 
s«ad«d4d»al(hecDttlcl«■d)^bope^o4»«|Iefit aumkbid bf 
ipMMtteidn«p«si|^c4>f privalte rn^HB* Hiore he speai 
«Dn« feat«iB*naqiitlifty«adbMiefifaence ; bttlfisdiiig 
^iMttu M 'iw p d oi tlmOT«wd»««afel8e>0pinleti ingoveiii- 
iaentpfttvailed^* he Ui^ugte Itfaamtf aig^ emnmoned 
to poets of public imtty JTrom^whicli new evidence of 
bkomi ivealoifiw asaiii d^eitniRed liim to retire. 
** rThusmenroiayliesiuidemconfiliyit'b^rftFttte and l>7 
vice, by too much or too little thought, yet incon^t^Dtift 
h^ipever dignified by its motives, iaalways to be ayind- 
<«df bi»o«»se life aUove ue but i^ smalltime lor bquiry 
aad^^q^erimciitf 99A he tJiati»teadil|r endeavors at eit« 
OcUenqei hh whalfSf «r es^leysosentf will more benefit 
tiHHiikind than h^ that hesitates in ehsqsing h» part 
tUi he 18 called to the performance. The traveller 
tbfttreanluiely follows a rough, and winding patth^will 
sootier veaah the end M his journey, than be that is al** 
ways changing- his dirf«tion» and wsu^tes the hours.of 
da^rMghtin looking for smoother gvonnd) and. shorter 



« No. #4i. SATURDAY, OCTOBER S7, 1750. 



Blem, villet tt idem noUe, eh demumjlrma amichia est. 
;. • , . . . Sa^i.ust« 

"to live in friendsliip is to have the same desires and the same 
" aversions* j.*****^ 

W H£N Soosetea was building himself a house at 
iUiiisnSy being asked by onaths^t obserred the little- 
mm^^ tbe^asipt^ why a^a^ovsQ eminent, would not 
havt «h abode mora suitable to his dignity ? he repUedj 



aktt he shotM ^imklKmii^f s«fid€«lif aoeomiiidift.* 
ted) if hecooUeeetha^narvoir hab^tiOQ filled wkb 
ireel friendt. Smtk was ttoV^^^imonof dkisgreait inafr* 
ter «f humtaiife'co&ceniifi^ ^le iatrequmief ef siub 
iQittnion of mUidf as.migltt de«en^ Ihe name of firmdf 
iliip, that among the nmititudes whom v9mty or caxk 
osity, civyitjT or VeaefatioiYy crowded alioiit lam, ho 
did not expect, that very spaciooa apartments would 
be necessary to oohtaih all that shottld regacd him 
with ^noere kiodnesS) or adhere to Um with steoif 
fidelity. 

So many qualities are indeed r«qiitske to the ppssi^ 
bility of friend^ip) and so mmiy accidents most con* 
cur to its fise and its continwiice, that the greatest 
part of mankind content themselves without It, Mid 
supply its place as they can, with interest and depea^ 
dence. 

I^ltttudes are unqualified.for aconstaiit^^ 
reciprocation of bene volenee, as they are iiifiapBcitated' 
for any other elevated excellence, ^ perpetiiat atten-> 
tion to their interest, and -unremting abjection tc> 
^eir passions. Lon^ habits may superindueeinabdlitj 
to deny any desire, or repress, 4>y-super{or moUves, 
the importunkles of a|iy imtoediate gca^oai«a), andk 
ao inveterate selfishness will imagine all advantagor 
^minished in proportion as^they are cwtimunicalftdi 

dot not 'Only <Ms hatteftd and confirmed eorrapti<m|/ 
but many varieties of (Usp6siyon, not lBCoiittstent< 
with common degrees of yirtoe, may exclude in/Mid*^ 
sUp from the heart. S^sme ardent emMi|^h in thtiri 
benevolence, and defective neither in ofikioosness-noip 
fiberality , are mutable and uneerudn, soon attracted by 
new objects, disgusted without elFenee, and alienated: 
without enmity. Others are soft and flexible, > ttuXtf 
influenced by reports or whispers^ ready to <»ildi 



l^;'6tfv' THEHAMBHTfL Si5* 

ev^iy^istispiciohw^tHsh eiiYjr a:Dd'fiattery shall sug^ett^ 
t€i4Motr the opinion of every confident adviser, and 
tii^e by the imptilse 6i the la«t breath. Sosne an» im* 
piNiem oP contradiction, more willing to gd wrong bf 
-thm'otwn. jud^mMit, than to be indebted for^a better 
or ^ Mifer way to the stgaeky t>f another ittettned to 
oensfder coanttBi aa intnlt, and iriqniiy a^ want of tsoa* 
'Mmce^ anli«oe<»ileEithei&re^donMbtherteni»i 
ita»3liBQiMrv^<tiibtliiduon, and impHc^ comp&Hicej; 
:St»ne are d^tkvand invoiflred^ equally care fal to-con* 
t)eai goodand^bad purposes ; and pleased with prodUH- 
«ang«&ct9 bf invisible meens^ aadalMWHig tfieirdi&* 
sign only in its execntion.' Othersare nmirersallyrcom* 
SBmnsatiTer alike open* to every ey^, andeqitally pro^* 
^£iis^«C . their owft secrets and ilK»e of otherst Without 
?the«eceAaai^9a|^lance of caution^ orthe honest Mrfctof 
.^ttdmUtiiel^rttfri^veadyitoaccuaerwkhotttffv^ and 
't03>tetra]^wilhottl'treaahBryr''Any4>(ft^»8^ «wy be 
'iis^¥di^itb«kCiimia!iniiy»*>and.pass thronghrlhe world 
witiiirlibAii^ptiuti^n^Qf'gQfid purposes and.tmcorrupted 
»i0Std% but ihey»af«t unfit for dose and t^ndfv ialinui- 
cm» Ha cannot. propuHy llerpboaeii>:£M> a fciendf 
tWhoscdBadness is exhaled by ^ own warmtbror fro- 
jseisby^tbe first blastof slander;; he caimolibis a u^e&il 
counsellor who will hear no opimlon but hiaowag he 
will BofraftUCftMntitftconfideftoe whose prinolpalmaBKim 
is to''8Dflpuf>t ; nor ca<i<the candor (ind fraoli&ess of 
itliat>man be mnchesteemedy who spreada his arms to 
itrnnaodiindy and makea^everymani without distinctipot 
a'deiiizeti of his bosom.' 

. * /Thatfiiendahsp may be at i>nce fpnd and lasting, 
jflsacemustnot only -be equal virtue on each part, but 
"vistifto of the same kind ; not only t)>e same end must 
be^ firoposed, but the same means must be approved. 



355 THE UiMBI^B. Ka £4. 

by bdtli. We arte often, by superfickl aocompHkh*^ 
ments and accidental endiearments, induced to lore 
those whom We cannot e«teein ; we are sometifne%i>3r 
^greataUUticfs, aitd incontestable evidences of rhtiiey 
tcompelled to esteem those whom we cannot loire. 
But friendship^ compounded of esteem and loye, de« 
rives froiin~ one Its tend^mes!^, and its permamenne 
fft«n the other ; and therefore requires not otilythi^ 
Its caikdidlrtes shdOTd gain the judgment, but tlaie 
they shdutd attrtict the affections ; that they shoiM 
Tidttmty be firm f h the day of distress, but gay iii the 
floor of joUiQr i not only useful in exigencies, bttt 
plea^ihg ihfiithillar life'; their presence should gird 
t^eerfulness as wen as courage, and dispei aUk^, the 
^oom of fear arid of melancholy. 
' To th» mutuiil coiodplacency is generally re^^isite 
kn uniformity of <^inion, at least of thc^e active fMiH 
/^ons^itbus prindiples which discriihinate partieB 
Ih goy«rrini^it; aitd sects in religipri, wfid w)bkich pvekf 
;ijay opterate more- br les* on tie common business <iff 
life. Tor though great tenderness has, perhaps, been 
'somctimes'khown to cotitinufe between men eminent 
f h contraiy feclions ; yet such friends are to be shown 
leather as prodigies than exampltss, and it is: no mojnfe 
proper to regulate our conduct by such, instanc<l[i, 
^"ttJan to Ica^ a precipice,' because somehaW fallcfii 
trom it and escaped with life, . t 

f It cannot but be extremely dlAcuh to prcg^rvepri*. 
Vate kindness in the midst of public oppoiwtion, im 
which will necessarily be Involved a thousand incidents 
extending their infiuence' to conversation and^ivacy; 
Men engaged, by moral or religious motives, in «bii- " 
travy parties, will generally k)ok with different ey4i> 
upon every man, and decide almost every ^uesl^on 
upon diflPerent principles. When such occasfew Q^T 



Ka 64u THE RAMBLER. ^T 

dispute happen^ ta complf is to betray our cause, uid- 
to maijitaui fidciulabip by ceasing to deserve it; to ber 
<aleikt is to lose the happiness md dignity of indepen* 
dence^ to livein perpetual conetrainty and to desert, ii 
%mt to betray : and who shall- determine whlcli of t wo- 
tmnds shall yield, where neither beUetsee hitneeH 
aaistaken, and both confess the impoitanee of the^ 
iioestlon? What tfafio remiybs but contradiction and 
debate? and from those what can be expected, but 
acrimony and TChemence, the insolence of triumph, the 
vexation of defeat, and, in time, a weariness of contest^ 
end an extinetion of benevolence ? Exchange of tnr 
dearments and intercourse of civility may jcontinue, 
indeed, as houghs may for a while be verdant, when 
the root is wounded, but the poison of discord is infu** 
s^d,. and though the countenance may preserve its 
smile, the heart is hardening and contracting. 

That raian will nqt be long agreeable, wluun we see 
only ia times of seriousness and severity ; and there* 
fiure, to maintain the softness and serenity of benevo- 
knee, it is necessary that friends partake each other's 
pleasures as well as cares, and be led to the same di<* 
versions by similitude of taste. This is, however,^ not 
to be considered as equally indispensable wUh con« 
fdrmity of piinciples, because any man may honestly, 
according to the precepts of Horace, resign the gra« 
tifications of taste to the humor of another, and friend-* 
ship may well deserve the sacrifice of pleasure, 
though not of conscience. 

^ It was once confessed to me, by a painter, that no 
yofessor of his art eve^r loved another. This declara- 
tion is so far justified by the knowledge of life, as to 
damp the hopes of warm and constant friendship be- 
tween men whom their studies have made competitors, 
aiiid whom every favorer and every censurer are hourly 



S59 THE RAMBLER. Xo. 64. 

inciting against each other. The utmost exi>ectatioh 
that experience can warrant, is, that they should focv 
boar open hostilities and secret machinations, and) 
^hen the -whole fraternity is attacked, be able to unite 
i^gainst a common foe. Some, however, tliough fewf 
may perhaps be found, in whom emulation has not 
been able to overporwer g^neiaouity, who are distia*^. 
gttished from lower beings by nobler motives tha^ 
the love of fame, and can presi^rvethe sacred flame of 
friendship from the gusts of pride, and,(he rubbish qf 
interest. 

• Friendship is seldom lasting but between equals, or 
where the superiority on one side is reduced by some 
equivalent advantage oa the other. Benefits whicli 
cannot be repaid, and obligations which cannot be dis« 
charged, are not commonly found to increase affec- 
tion $ they excite gratitude indeed, and heighten ve- 
neration ; but commonly take away that easy freedom 
and familiaritx of intercourse, without which, though 
tliere may be fidelity, and zeal, and admiration, there 
cannot be friendship. Thus imperfect are all earthly 
blessings ; the. great effect of friendship is bene- 
ficence,<'yet by the first act of uncommon kindness it 
is endai^gered, like plants that bear their fruit and die* 
Yet this consideration ought not to restrain bounty, or 
repress compassion ; for duty is to be preferred befor^ 
convenience, and he that loses part of the pleasures of 
friendship by his generosity, gains in its place tho 
gratulation of his conscience. 



No. 65. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 30, 17 SO. 



■ ■ Garrit anilei. 
Ex re'fabellaa, . ■ ■■ 



The ek6erfbl flage, when solemn Uictatef faiiy 
Cpnceals the mond counsel in a tale. 

v/BIDAH, the «on of Abensina, left the cai^vansera 
early in the morning, and pursued his journey 
through the plains of Indostan. He was fresh and 
vigorous with rest; he was animated with hope ; he 
tiras incited by desire ; he walked swiftly forward over 
the vailies, and saw the hills gradually rising before 
him. As he passed along, his ears were delighted 
with the morning song of the bird of paradise, he was 
fanned by tbe last flutters of the sinking breeze, and 
sprinkled with dew by gro veii of spices ; he sometimes 
contemplated the towering height of the oak, mo<* 
narch of the hills ; aiid sometimes caught the gentle 
fragrance of the prnxirose, eldest daughter of the 
j^ring :^1 his senses were gratified, and all care was 
llanished from hi» heart 

Thus he went on till the sun approached his meri« 
ffian, and the increasing heat preyed upon his strength $ 
Ire then looked' round about him for some more com* 
modious psth. He saw, on his right hand, a groT0 
liiat seemed to wave its shades as a sign of invitation ; 
lie entered it, and found the coolness and verdure ir- 
resistibly pleasant. He did not, however, fergef 
nrhither he was travelling, but £Dund a narrow way ' 
bordered with flowers, which appeared to have tbiS 
sa»ne direction with themsto road, and was pleased 
that, by this happy experimenti he hadfoand means to 

TOL. IV. 31 



^60 THE RAMBLEit; Ko. 66. 

unite pleasure with business, and to gain the rewards 
of diligence without suffering its fatigues. He, 
therefore^ still continued to walk for a time, without 
the least remission of his ardor, except that he waa 
sometimes tempted to stop by the music of the birds^ 
whom the heat had assi^mbled in the shade ; and 
sometimes amused himself with plucking the flowers 
that coverctTthe banks on either side, or the fruits 
that hung upon the branches. At last the green path 
l^egan to decline from its first tendency, and to wind 
among hitls and thickets, cooled with fountains and 
murmuring with water-falls,. Here Obidah paused 
for a time., and began to consider, ^yhether it were 
longer safe to. forsake the knawn and common^^ track ^ 
but remembering that the heat was now In its. great- 
est violence, and that the plain was dusty and unevenjit 
he resolved to pursue the new path, which he suppo* 
sed only to make a few meanders, in cpmpliance with 
tlie varieties of the ground, and to end at last in the^ 
commonroad. ^ 

Having thus calmed his solicitude, he renewed hi« 
paQej though h^ suspected that he was not gaining, 
groupdf < Thi^. uneasiness of his mind inclined ^imta 
lay hold on every new object^ and give way to every? 
sensation that i4ight soothor divert him. He listen- 
ed, to every, echo, he mounted every hill for a fresh, 
prospect, he turhed^ja^|de tp.etvery. cascade, ,and plea-* 
3ed himself with tracing, ^e course of a gentle rivet 
that rolled^ WP»»S the trces^ and watered a largt^ 
region with ii^numerabjie circumvolutions. In these 
amusements the houra passed away uncounted, his de«. 
i?iat^(His had perplexed his memory, and he knew not 
towards what point to travel. He stpod pensive and 
confused, afri^d to go ^forward lest h^ should g<^ 
wrong/ yet conscious tJ^at the time orjoitering wa^ 



*o. 6^. THE RAMBLES. 551 

now past. While he was thus tortured with uncer- 
tainty, the sky was overspread with clouds, the dajr 
vanished from before him, and a sudden tempest ga- 
thered round his head. He was roused by his danger to 
a quick and painful remembrance of Ifiis folly ; he now 
saw how happiness is lost when case is consulted ; he 
lamented the unmanly impatience that prompted him 
to seek shelter in the grove, and despised the petty 
curiosity that led him on from trifle to trifle. While 
he was thus reflecting, the air grew blacker, and a clap 
of thunder broke his meditation* 

He now resolved to do what remained yet in his 
power, to tread back the ground which he had passed^ 
and try to find some issue were the wood mi^ht open 
into the plain. He prostrated himself on the ground, 
fmd commended his life to the Lord of nature. He 
rose with confidence and tranquillity, and pressed on 
with his sabre in his hand, for the beasts of the desert 
were in motion, ahd on every hand were heard 
.the mingled howls of rage and fear, and ravage and ex- 
piration ; all the horrors of darkness and solitude sur- 
rounded hijn : the winds roared in the woods, and iU6 
torrents tumbled from the hills, 

Work'd into sudden rage by wintry eliowVs, 
Down the steep hill the roaring torrent^pours ; 
The mountain shepherd hears the distant noise. 

* 

Thus forlorn and distressed, lie wandered througfi 
the wild» without knowing Whither he was going, ot* 
whether he was every moment drawing nearer to 
safety or to destruction. At length not fear but laboi* 
began to overcome him j his breath grew short, dirii 



352 THE BAMKUSB. liT^. ^. 

his knees treixd>led, and h^ w»b fin t^e ppint oi l]mg 
down in resigmMion to his fate^ vhen hfi behe^ld 
through the brambles the gli^niner of a tapser. H^ 
advanced towards the light) and finding that it pro- 
ceeded from the cottage of a hermit, he called huiobly 
at the door, and obtained admission. The old jnaan set 
before him such provisicms as he had collected for 
himself, on which Obidah fed with eagerness and gra- 
titude. 

When the repast was over, " Tell .me,*' ss^d thfJ 
hermit, " by what chance thou hast l>een iti^pugh^ 
hither; I have been now twenty yeaits an iql^bitant 
pf the wildemessy in wjxich I n^v^r saw aijEvm her 
fore.** Qbidah then related ttke occurrexic^s of .tuft 
journey, without any concealment ar palliatipn. . 

« Son," said the herowt, " let :theierrprs and fefll^ 
the dangers and escape of this de^» sink deep into tb^f 
heart. Remember, my son, that human life is th^ 
journey of a day. We rise in jthe n^oiMOiag of youU^ 
fttU of vigor and full of .e3t|>ectation.; we set^rwcffd 
with spirit and hope^ with gaiety and diUge^^ie^ .m4 
ti*avel on a while in the straighitiroad of piety, :to.ward« 
the mansions of rest. Jn a shortUme w,e.cwnit;Ourfei> 
vor, and endeavor to find some mitigation of our duty, 
and some more easy means of obtaining the same end. 
We then relax our vigor, and resolve no longer to be 
terrified with crimes at a distance, but rely upon out 
own constancy,' and venture to approach what we re* 
solve never to touch. We thus enter the bowers of 
ease, and repose in the shades of security. Here the 
heart softens and vigilance subsides ; we are then wiU 
Jing to inquire whether another advance cannot be 
^ade, and whether we may not, at least, turn our eyes 
.upon the gardens of pleasure. We approach them^ 
with scruple and hesitation ; we enter the^^ jbut enter 



y 



No. 62r. Tttfe ItAMfiLER; "363 

timorous and trembling, and always hope to pass 
through them without losing the road of virtue^, which 
we, for a while, keep in our sight, and to which we 
propose to return. But temptation succeeds tempta-^ 
tion, and one compliance prepares us for another ; we 
in time lose the happiness of innocence, and solace oUr 
disquiet with sensual gratificatioas. By degrees W0 
let fall the remembrance of our original intention, and 
quit the only adequate object of rational desire. We 
entangle ourselves in business, immerge ourselves in 
luxury, and rove through the labyrinths ofinconstancy, 
till the darkness of old age begins to invade us, and 
disease and anxiety obstruct our Way. We then look 
back upon our lives with horror^ with sorrow, with re- 
pentance ; and wish, but too often vainly wish, that we 
had not forsaken the ways of virtue. Happy are they, 
my son, who shall learn from thy example not to ,de- 
spair, but shall remember, that though the day is past, 
and their strength is wasted, there yet remains one ef- 
fort to be made ^ that reformation is never hopeless^ 
Bor sincere endeavors ever unassisted ; that the wan- 
derer may at length return after all his errors, and that 
he who implores strength and courage from above, 
shall find dange'r and difficulty give way before him. 
Go now, my son, to thy repose, commit thyself to. the 
care of Omnipotence, and when the morning call5 
agaiivto toil, begin anew thy journey and thy life/' 



.^V 



36A Tins JRAMBLEK. No. ^. 



No. 66. SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 3, 1750. 



"Paua dignoscere possunt 



Vcfa 6ona, atque Hits multum divena, rematS 

Error is nebula. J^JV^ 

How few- 
Know their own good; or, knowing it, pursue ? 
How void of reason are our hopes and tears ? Drydbn. 

X H£ foUy of human wishes and pursuits has always 
been a standing subject of mirth and declaraatioxi, aad 
has been ridiculed and lamented from ^ge to age ; till 
perhaps the fruitless repetition of complaints and cen« 
aures may be justly numbered among the'siibjects of 
qensure and complaint. 

Some of these instructors of mankind have not 
c^ontented themselves with checking the pvergows of 
passion, and lopping the exuberance of desire, but 
have attempted to destroy the root as well as the 
branches ; and not only to confine the mind within 
bounds, but to smooth it for ever bjr a dead calm. 
They have employed their re^qn and eloquence to 
persuade us, that nothkig is worth the wish of a wise 
man,, have represented all earthly good and evil as iq- 
different, and counted among vulgar errors the dread 
of pain, and the love of life. 

It is almost always the unhappiness of a victorious 
disputant, to destroy hisown authority by claiming too 
many consequences, or diffusing his proposition to an 
indefensible extent. When we have heated our i^eal 
in a cause, and elated our confidence with succes#, we 
are naturally inclined to pursue the same traia of rea^ 



Qpningy to.es$ablish«ome^l^t^i^<ti||t}i, tfrprnp^e 
^ofne i^4J£i^ent diffic|ii^, ^^d 't^ t^e jn the whol^ 
conaprehension of p^r #y9tean. A» Aipnpce, in tb^ ar- 
dor .of acg\iisitioD, iswilUngto {seciir^-hU fir^t con- 
quest by the addition of another, s^^^b §Qtv%re^ to CodTi* 
tress, ^pd cttj^ to city, tUi despair and opportunity turn ' 
hi^ jBnc^mie^ upon him; and he Ipse^^^i a lopmont tho 
^ory of aceign. 

* The philosophers hav^glbwd:^ eaay yiatory oyer 
those desires ivhich we produce in ourselves, and 
yf\ach tterminate ,in some knagins^ry state of happi<v 
ness unknown and ^iji^ttainat^l^, prpceeded to make 
further iaroa$}s ujpon -the A^fiFt;, ^n4 slacked at last 
our $enses $UDd our ^nstinct§'. Tb^y continued to war 
i^pon nature with arms, by which only folly could be 
conquered^ they therefore io^ the trophies of their 
former combs^ts, a^d yrei^^ considered 119 longer with 
reverence qr xegard. 

Yet it cannot l^e ivith justice 4e{)ii^dt tbst diesemen 
have been vBry u^ej[\il monitors, ^d hfiice left mai^ 
proofs of Sitrqpg r«fi^n, i^ep penetration^ and aocm^ 
rate attention to the a^Wlra pf life^ wbioh it is nuw ouir 
busines^^to se^p^rate from t^e fo^m of a boiling ima-* 
gination, |»nd to ap^ily }u4iciously to our own use. 
They have shpjvn thajt ngiost of the coinditic«s of life, 
yrhich ^sp the envy pf the tii^ftprons, and rouse the 
umbilical of the daring, s^rp. empty shojiva of felicity^ 
Yrhicb, when they l^ecome ffimUiar, los^ their power of 
delighting ; and that the mo$^ prosperous a^ exalted 
have very few advantages over a meaner and more ob- 
scure fortune, when their dangers And solicitudes arts 
balanced ag^nst their equipage, thpir banquets, and 
their psds^es. • '^ 

It is natural for every man sminstructed to mur^* 
apciur at bis condition^ because, in the genera^^ infelicity 



S86 THE RAMBLKir No. 66. 

of life, he feels his own miseries, without knowing' 
that they are common to all the rest of the species ; 
and therefore, though he will not be less sensible of 
pain by being told that others are equally tormented, 
he will at least be freed from the temptation of jseek- 
ing, by perpetual changes, that ease whi^h is no where 
to be found ^ and, though his disease still continues, 
he escapes the hazard of exasperating it by remedies. 

The gratifications which affluence of wealth, ex- 
tent of power, and eminence of reputation- confer, 
must be always, by their nature, confined to a very 
small number; and the life of the greater part of 
mankind must be lost in empty wishes and painful 
comparisons, were not the balm of philosophy shed 
upon us, and our discontent at the appearances of are 
unequal distribution soothed and appeased. 

It seemed, perhaps, l)elow the dignity of the great 
masters of moral learning, to descend to f«mrliar life," 
and caution mankind against that pe^y ambftibii which 
is known among us by the name of Vanily ; whfch yet 
had been an undertaking not unworthy of the longest 
beard, and most solemn austerity. For though the 
passions of little minds, acting in low statioac, do not 
fill the world with bloodshed and devastations, or mark, 
by great events, the periods of time> yet they torture 
the breast on which they seize, infest those that are 
placed within the reach of their infhience, destroy pri- 
vate quiet ^and private viKue, and underniihe insensi* 
blyth&happmess of the World. 
^ The desire of excellence is laudable, but is very fre- 
quently ill directed. We fall, by chance, into some 
class of mankind, and^ without consulting nature or 
wisdom, resolve to gain their regard by those qualities 
which they happen to esteem. I once knew a man 
rejjkark^biy di|R*sighte()} who^ by conversing smcb 



X 

termioed tQ sylvan bonora. His gteat rnnbkion wf^S 
to shoot &7t»g, and bte. therefore spent iwhole daysiq 
the woods pursuing^ game,;.whicjb9hef0r^ he was xxQ^^r 
enough to see theip, his appniachirlghtQd away. 

When it happens that the desice ^ends to objects 
vrhich produce no competition, itmsybe overlooked 
-with «ome indulgence, because, however fruitless or 
absurd, it cannot liave ill effects upom the morals* 
But most of our enjogriments owe.their value to the pe- 
iculiarity of possession, and when they are i:ated at 
too high a value, give occasion to stratagems of ma.- 
ligpity, and incite opposition, hatred, an,d»dQfamation. 
The 4;<>At^t of two rural beauties for .preference and 
distifi9tipn„is oftfsn -sufficiently l^eeo.apd. rancorous to 
S,U theiribr^^s with all those pas^ons, whi^harege- 
nerally thought the curs^pnly of senates, o£armies>iuid 
pf 4:pucts; and the ri^^aldancerspf^u obscure ^issem- 
)^ ha^t their partisans and abpttor^, often not lefis 
e:K^perated agaihst.each other, th^ those who .^q 
promoting the interests pf rival pip^arpbs. 

XtisxoiYiinon to co^i^der those-whofyi .i«^:gpd in£&cj> 
ed with ;an ^unre^s^iiabLe ,r^gard ffor trilling accopfv^ 
plishmeuts, a&chArgf;abl£ with^ the consequ^iM^es of 
jtheir fplly, smdastheauthorsof'^heir p\qi,\inbappiness^ 
J>ut, ,p^rhap9, tho^e whom w^ thus #9orp or detes^ 
have more claim to tenderness than h^ beien^eit al- 
lowed them. Before we permit our severity.to break 
loose upon any fault or error, we ought surely to con- 
sider how much we have countenanced or promoted it. 
We see multitudes busy in.the.^rsuit of riches,^ at 
the expense of wisdom and of virtue ; but we see the 
rest of mankind approving their conduct, and inciting 
their Eagerness, by paying that regard and deference 
%Q vrealth; which wisdom and virtue only can deserve. 



368 THE RAMBLER. No. ^ 

Wc sec women universally jealous of the reptitatiii 
of their beauty^ and frequently look with contempt d 
the care with which they study their complexions, efl 
deavor to preserve er to supply the bloom of youtn 
regulate every ornament, twist their hair into x:urM 
and shade their faces from the weather. We recom^ 
mend the care of their nobler part, and tell them ho^ 
little addition is made by all their arts to the graces d 
the mind. But when was it known that female goodi 
ness or knowledge was able to attract that officious^ 
ness, or inspire that ardor, which beauty produces 
whenever it appears ? And with what hope can we en J 
deavor to persuade the ladies, that the time spent at 
the. toilet is lost in vanity, when they have every mo-| 
roent some new conviction,'that their interest is more 
effectually promoted by a riband well disposed, than by 
the brightest act of heroic virtue ? 

In every instance of vanity it will be found that the 
blame ought to be shared among more than it gener- 
ally reaches ; all who exalt trifles by immoderate praise, 
or instigate needless emulation by invidious incite'* 
ments, are to be considered as perverters of reason, 
and corrupters of the world ; and since every man is 
obliged £o promote happiness and virtue, he should be 
careful not to mislead unwary minds, by appearing to 
set too high a value upon things by which no real ex- 
cellence is c(mferred. 



EKD OF vox*. lY. 



^ 




HySSATS 



\