No More Learning

That the diseases, commonly called nervous, tremours, fits, habitual
depression, and all the maladies which proceed from laxity and debility,
are more frequent than in any former time, is, I believe, true, however
deplorable. But this new race of evils will not be expelled by the
prohibition of tea. This general languor is the effect of general
luxury, of general idleness. If it be most to be found among
tea-drinkers, the reason is, that tea is one of the stated amusements of
the idle and luxurious. The whole mode of life is changed; every kind of
voluntary labour, every exercise that strengthened the nerves, and
hardened the muscles, is fallen into disuse. The inhabitants are crowded
together in populous cities, so that no occasion of life requires much
motion; every one is near to all that he wants; and the rich and
delicate seldom pass from one street to another, but in carriages of
pleasure. Yet we eat and drink, or strive to eat and drink, like the
hunters and huntresses, the farmers and the housewives, of the former
generation; and they that pass ten hours in bed, and eight at cards, and
the greater part of the other six at the table, are taught to impute to
tea all the diseases which a life, unnatural in all its parts, may
chance to bring upon them.

Tea, among the greater part of those who use it most, is drunk in no
great quantity. As it neither exhilarates the heart, nor stimulates the
palate, it is commonly an entertainment merely nominal, a pretence for
assembling to prattle, for interrupting business, or diversifying
idleness. They, who drink one cup, and, who drink twenty, are equally
punctual in preparing or partaking it; and, indeed, there are few but
discover, by their indifference about it, that they are brought together
not by the tea, but the tea-table. Three cups make the common quantity,
so slightly impregnated, that, perhaps, they might be tinged with the
Athenian cicuta, and produce less effects than these letters charge upon
tea.

Our author proceeds to show yet other bad qualities of this hated leaf.

"Green tea, when made strong, even by infusion, is an emetick; nay, I am
told, it is used as such in China; a decoction of it certainly performs
this operation; yet, by long use, it is drunk by many without such an
effect. The infusion also, when it is made strong, and stands long to
draw the grosser particles, will convulse the bowels: even in the manner
commonly used, it has this effect on some constitutions, as I have
already remarked to you from my own experience.

"You see I confess my weakness without reserve; but those who are very
fond of tea, if their digestion is weak, and they find themselves
disordered, they generally ascribe it to any cause, except the true one.
I am aware that the effect, just mentioned, is imputed to the hot water;
let it be so, and my argument is still good: but who pretends to say, it
is not partly owing to particular kinds of tea? perhaps, such as partake
of copperas, which, there is cause to apprehend, is sometimes the case:
if we judge from the manner in which it is said to be cured, together
with its ordinary effects, there is some foundation for this opinion.
Put a drop of strong tea, either green or bohea, but chiefly the former,
on the blade of a knife, though it is not corrosive, in the same manner
as vitriol, yet there appears to be a corrosive quality in it, very
different from that of fruit, which stains the knife. "

He afterwards quotes Paulli, to prove, that tea is a "desiccative, and
ought not to be used after the fortieth year. " I have, then, long
exceeded the limits of permission, but I comfort myself, that all the
enemies of tea cannot be in the right. If tea be a desiccative,
according to Paulli, it cannot weaken the fibres, as our author
imagines; if it be emetick, it must constringe the stomach, rather than
relax it.

The formidable quality of tinging the knife, it has in common with
acorns, the bark, and leaves of oak, and every astringent bark or leaf:
the copperas, which is given to the tea, is really in the knife. Ink may
be made of any ferruginous matter, and astringent vegetable, as it is
generally made of galls and copperas.

From tea, the writer digresses to spirituous liquors, about which he
will have no controversy with the Literary Magazine; we shall,
therefore, insert almost his whole letter, and add to it one testimony,
that the mischiefs arising, on every side, from this compendious mode of
drunkenness, are enormous and insupportable; equally to be found among
the great and the mean; filling palaces with disquiet, and distraction,
harder to be borne, as it cannot be mentioned; and overwhelming
multitudes with incurable diseases, and unpitied poverty.

"Though tea and gin have spread their baneful influence over this
island, and his majesty's other dominions, yet, you may be well assured,
that the governors of the Foundling Hospital will exert their utmost
skill and vigilance, to prevent the children, under their care, from
being poisoned, or enervated by one or the other. This, however, is not
the case of workhouses: it is well known, to the shame of those who are
charged with the care of them, that gin has been too often permitted to
enter their gates;--and the debauched appetites of the people, who
inhabit these houses, has been urged as a reason for it.

"Desperate diseases require desperate remedies: if laws are rigidly
executed against murderers in the highway, those who provide a draught
of gin, which we see is murderous, ought not to be countenanced. I am
now informed, that in certain hospitals, where the number of the sick
used to be about 5600 in 14 years,

From 1704 to 1718, they increased to 8189;
From 1718 to 1734, still augmented to 12,710;
And from 1734 to 1749, multiplied to 38,147.

"What a dreadful spectre does this exhibit! nor must we wonder, when
satisfactory evidence was given, before the great council of the nation,
that near eight millions of gallons of distilled spirits, at the
standard it is commonly reduced to for drinking, was actually consumed
annually in drams! the shocking difference in the numbers of the sick,
and, we may presume, of the dead also, was supposed to keep pace with
gin; and the most ingenious and unprejudiced physicians ascribed it to
this cause. What is to be done under these melancholy circumstances?
shall we still countenance the distillery, for the sake of the revenue;
out of tenderness to the few, who will suffer by its being abolished;
for fear of the madness of the people; or that foreigners will run it in
upon us? There can be no evil so great as that we now suffer, except the
making the same consumption, and paying for it to foreigners in money,
which I hope never will be the case.

"As to the revenue, it certainly may be replaced by taxes upon the
necessaries of life, even upon the bread we eat, or, in other words,
upon the land, which is the great source of supply to the public, and to
individuals. Nor can I persuade myself, but that the people may be
weaned from the habit of poisoning themselves. The difficulty of
smuggling a bulky liquid, joined to the severity which ought to be
exercised towards smugglers, whose illegal commerce is of so infernal a
nature, must, in time, produce the effect desired. Spirituous liquors
being abolished, instead of having the most undisciplined and abandoned
poor, we might soon boast a race of men, temperate, religious, and
industrious, even to a proverb. We should soon see the ponderous burden
of the poor's rate decrease, and the beauty and strength of the land
rejuvenate. Schools, workhouses, and hospitals, might then be sufficient
to clear our streets of distress and misery, which never will be the
case, whilst the love of poison prevails, and the means of ruin is sold
in above one thousand houses in the city of London, in two thousand two
hundred in Westminster, and one thousand nine hundred and thirty in
Holborn and St. Giles's.

"But if other uses still demand liquid fire, I would really propose,
that it should be sold only in quart bottles, sealed up, with the king's
seal, with a very high duty, and none sold without being mixed with a
strong emetic.

"Many become objects of charity by their intemperance, and this excludes
others, who are such by the unavoidable accidents of life, or who
cannot, by any means, support themselves. Hence it appears, that the
introducing new habits of life, is the most substantial charity; and
that the regulation of charity-schools, hospitals, and workhouses, not
the augmentation of their number, can make them answer the wise ends,
for which they were instituted.

"The children of beggars should be also taken from them, and bred up to
labour, as children of the public. Thus the distressed might be
relieved, at a sixth part of the present expense; the idle be compelled
to work or starve; and the mad be sent to Bedlam. We should not see
human nature disgraced by the aged, the maimed, the sickly, and young
children, begging their bread; nor would compassion be abused by those,
who have reduced it to an art to catch the unwary. Nothing is wanting
but common sense and honesty in the execution of laws.

"To prevent such abuse in the streets, seems more practicable than to
abolish bad habits within doors, where greater numbers perish. We see,
in many familiar instances, the fatal effects of example. The careless
spending of time among servants, who are charged with the care of
infants, is often fatal: the nurse frequently destroys the child! the
poor infant, being left neglected, expires whilst she is sipping her
tea! This may appear to you as rank prejudice, or jest; but, I am
assured, from the most indubitable evidence, that many very
extraordinary cases of this kind have really happened, among those whose
duty does not permit of such kind of habits.

"It is partly from such causes, that nurses of the children of the
public often forget themselves, and become impatient when infants cry;
the next step to this is using extraordinary means to quiet them. I have
already mentioned the term killing nurse, as known in some workhouses:
Venice treacle, poppy water, and Godfrey's cordial, have been the kind
instruments of lulling the child to his everlasting rest. If these pious
women could send up an ejaculation, when the child expired, all was
well, and no questions asked by the superiors. An ingenious friend of
mine informs me, that this has been so often the case, in some
workhouses, that Venice treacle has acquired the appellation of 'the
Lord have mercy upon me,' in allusion to the nurses' hackneyed
expression of pretended grief, when infants expire! Farewell. "

I know not upon what observation Mr. Hanway founds his confidence in the
governours of the Foundling Hospital, men of whom I have not any
knowledge, but whom I entreat to consider a little the minds, as well as
bodies, of the children. I am inclined to believe irreligion equally
pernicious with gin and tea, and, therefore, think it not unseasonable
to mention, that, when, a few months ago, I wandered through the
hospital, I found not a child that seemed to have heard of his creed, or
the commandments. To breed up children in this manner, is to rescue them
from an early grave, that they may find employment for the gibbet; from
dying in innocence, that they may perish by their crimes.

Having considered the effects of tea upon the health of the drinker,
which, I think, he has aggravated in the vehemence of his zeal, and
which, after soliciting them by this watery luxury, year after year, I
have not yet felt, he proceeds to examine, how it may be shown to affect
our interest; and first calculates the national loss, by the time spent
in drinking tea. I have no desire to appear captious, and shall,
therefore, readily admit, that tea is a liquor not proper for the lower
classes of the people, as it supplies no strength to labour, or relief
to disease, but gratifies the taste, without nourishing the body. It is
a barren superfluity, to which those who can hardly procure what nature
requires, cannot prudently habituate themselves. Its proper use is to
amuse the idle, and relax the studious, and dilute the full meals of
those who cannot use exercise, and will not use abstinence. That time is
lost in this insipid entertainment cannot be denied; many trifle away,
at the tea-table, those moments which would be better spent; but that
any national detriment can be inferred from this waste of time, does not
evidently appear, because I know not that any work remains undone, for
want of hands. Our manufactures seem to be limited, not by the
possibility of work, but by the possibility of sale.

His next argument is more clear. He affirms, that one hundred and fifty
thousand pounds, in silver, are paid to the Chinese, annually, for three
millions of pounds of tea, and, that for two millions more, brought
clandestinely from the neighbouring coasts, we pay, at twenty-pence a
pound, one hundred sixty-six thousand six hundred and sixty-six pounds.
The author justly conceives, that this computation will waken us; for,
says he: "the loss of health, the loss of time, the injury of morals,
are not very sensibly felt by some, who are alarmed when you talk of the
loss of money. " But he excuses the East India company, as men not
obliged to be political arithmeticians, or to inquire so much, what the
nation loses, as how themselves may grow rich. It is certain, that they,
who drink tea, have no right to complain of those that import it; but if
Mr. Hanway's computation be just, the importation, and the use of it,
ought, at once, to be stopped by a penal law.

The author allows one slight argument in favour of tea, which, in my
opinion, might be, with far greater justice, urged both against that and
many other parts of our naval trade. "The tea-trade employs," he tells
us, "six ships, and five or six hundred seamen, sent annually to China.
It, likewise, brings in a revenue of three hundred and sixty thousand
pounds, which, as a tax on luxury, may be considered as of great utility
to the state. " The utility of this tax I cannot find: a tax on luxury is
no better than another tax, unless it hinders luxury, which cannot be
said of the impost upon tea, while it is thus used by the great and the
mean, the rich and the poor. The truth is, that, by the loss of one
hundred and fifty thousand pounds, we procure the means of shifting
three hundred and sixty thousand, at best, only from one hand to
another; but, perhaps, sometimes into hands by which it is not very
honestly employed. Of the five or six hundred seamen, sent to China, I
am told, that sometimes half, commonly a third part, perish in the
voyage; so that, instead of setting this navigation against the
inconveniencies already alleged, we may add to them, the yearly loss of
two hundred men, in the prime of life; and reckon, that the trade of
China has destroyed ten thousand men, since the beginning of this
century.

If tea be thus pernicious, if it impoverishes our country, if it raises
temptation, and gives opportunity to illicit commerce, which I have
always looked on, as one of the strongest evidences of the inefficacy
of our law, the weakness of our government, and the corruption of our
people, let us, at once, resolve to prohibit it for ever.

"If the question was, how to promote industry most advantageously, in
lieu of our tea-trade, supposing every branch of our commerce to be
already fully supplied with men and money? If a quarter the sum, now
spent in tea, were laid out, annually, in plantations, in making public
gardens, in paving and widening streets, in making roads, in rendering
rivers navigable, erecting palaces, building' bridges, or neat and
convenient houses, where are now only huts; draining lands, or rendering
those, which are now barren, of some use; should we not be gainers, and
provide more for health, pleasure, and long life, compared with the
consequences of the tea-trade? "

Our riches would be much better employed to these purposes; but if this
project does not please, let us first resolve to save our money, and we
shall, afterwards, very easily find ways to spend it.




REPLY TO A PAPER IN THE GAZETTEER OF MAY 26, 1757 [5].


It is observed, in Le Sage's Gil Bias, that an exasperated author is not
easily pacified. I have, therefore, very little hope of making my peace
with the writer of the Eight Days' Journey; indeed so little, that I
have long deliberated, whether I should not rather sit silently down,
under his displeasure, than aggravate my misfortune, by a defence, of
which my heart forbodes the ill success. Deliberation is often useless.
I am afraid, that I have, at last, made the wrong choice, and that I
might better have resigned my cause, without a struggle, to time and
fortune, since I shall run the hazard of a new oifence, by the necessity
of asking him, why he is angry.

Distress and terrour often discover to us those faults, with which we
should never have reproached ourselves in a happy state. Yet, dejected
as I am, when I review the transaction between me and this writer, I
cannot find, that I have been deficient in reverence. When his book was
first printed, he hints, that I procured a sight of it before it was
published. How the sight of it was procured, I do not now very exactly
remember; but, if my curiosity was greater than my prudence, if I laid
rash hands on the fatal volume, I have surely suffered, like him who
burst the box, from which evil rushed into the world.

I took it, however, and inspected it, as the work of an author not
higher than myself; and was confirmed in my opinion, when I found, that
these letters were _not written to be printed_. I concluded, however,
that, though not _written_ to be _printed_, they were _printed_ to be
_read_, and inserted one of them in the collection of November last. Not
many days after, I received a note, informing me, that I ought to have
waited for a more correct edition. This injunction was obeyed. The
edition appeared, and I supposed myself at liberty to tell my thoughts
upon it, as upon any other book, upon a royal manifesto, or an act of
parliament. But see the fate of ignorant temerity! I now find, but find
too late, that, instead of a writer, whose only power is in his pen, I
have irritated an important member of an important corporation; a man,
who, as he tells us in his letters, puts horses to his chariot.

It was allowed to the disputant of old to yield up the controversy, with
little resistance, to the master of forty legions. Those who know how
weakly naked truth can defend her advocates, would forgive me, if I
should pay the same respect to a governour of the foundlings. Yets the
consciousness of my own rectitude of intention incites me to ask once
again, how I have offended.

There are only three subjects upon which my unlucky pen has happened to
venture: tea; the author of the journal; and the foundling-hospital.

Of tea, what have I said? That I have drank it twenty years, without
hurt, and, therefore, believe it not to be poison; that, if it dries the
fibres, it cannot soften them; that, if it constringes, it cannot relax.
I have modestly doubted, whether it has diminished the strength of our
men, or the beauty of our women; and whether it much hinders the
progress of our woollen or iron manufactures; but I allowed it to be a
barren superfluity, neither medicinal nor nutritious, that neither
supplied strength nor cheerfulness, neither relieved weariness, nor
exhilarated sorrow: I inserted, without charge or suspicion of
falsehood, the sums exported to purchase it; and proposed a law to
prohibit it for ever.

Of the author I unfortunately said, that his injunction was somewhat too
magisterial. This I said, before I knew that he was a governour of the
foundlings; but he seems inclined to punish this failure of respect, as
the czar of Muscovy made war upon Sweden, because he was not treated
with sufficient honours, when he passed through the country in disguise.
Yet, was not this irreverence without extenuation. Something was said of
the merit of _meaning well_, and the journalist was declared to be a
man, _whose failings might well be pardoned for his virtues_. This is
the highest praise which human gratitude can confer upon human merit;
praise that would have more than satisfied Titus or Augustus, but which
I must own to be inadequate and penurious, when offered to the member of
an important corporation.

I am asked, whether I meant to satirize the man, or criticise the
writer, when I say, that "he believes, only, perhaps, because he has
inclination to believe it, that the English and Dutch consume more tea
than the vast empire of China. " Between the writer and the man, I did
not, at that time, consider the distinction. The writer I found not of
more than mortal might, and I did not immediately recollect, that the
man put horses to his chariot. But I did not write wholly without
consideration. I knew but two causes of belief, evidence and
inclination. What evidence the journalist could have of the Chinese
consumption of tea, I was not able to discover. The officers of the East
India company are excluded, they best know why, from the towns and the
country of China; they are treated, as we treat gipsies and vagrants,
and obliged to retire, every night, to their own hovel. What
intelligence such travellers may bring, is of no great importance. And,
though the missionaries boast of having once penetrated further, I
think, they have never calculated the tea drunk by the Chinese. There
being thus no evidence for his opinion, to what could I ascribe it but
inclination.

I am yet charged, more heavily, for having said, that "he has no
intention to find any thing right at home. " I believe every reader
restrained this imputation to the subject which produced it, and
supposed me to insinuate only, that he meant to spare no part of the
tea-table, whether essence or circumstance. But this line he has
selected, as an instance of virulence and acrimony, and confutes it by
a lofty and splendid panegyrick on himself. He asserts, that he finds
many things right at home, and that he loves his oountrv almost to
enthusiasm.

I had not the least doubt, that he found, in his country, many things to
please him; nor did I suppose, that he desired the same inversion of
every part of life, as of the use of tea. The proposal of drinking tea
sour showed, indeed, such a disposition to practical paradoxes, that
there was reason to fear, lest some succeeding letter should recommend
the dress of the Picts, or the cookery of the Eskimaux. However, I met
with no other innovations, and, therefore, was willing to hope, that he
found something right at home.

But his love of his country seemed not to rise quite to enthusiasm,
when, amidst his rage against tea, he made a smooth apology for the East
India company, as men who might not think themselves obliged to be
political arithmeticians. I hold, though no enthusiastick patriot, that
every man, who lives and trades under the protection of a community, is
obliged to consider, whether he hurts or benefits those who protect him;
and that the most which can be indulged to private interest, is a
neutral traffick, if any such can be, by which our country is not
injured, though it may not be benefited.

But he now renews his declamation against tea, notwithstanding the
greatness or power of those that have interest or inclination to support
it. I know not of what power or greatness he may dream. The importers
only have an interest in defending it. I am sure, they are not great,
and, I hope, they are not powerful. Those, whose inclination leads them
to continue this practice, are too numerous; but, I believe their power
is such, as the journalist may defy, without enthusiasm. The love of our
country, when it rises to enthusiasm, is an ambiguous and uncertain
virtue: when a man is enthusiastick, he ceases to be reasonable; and,
when he once departs from reason, what will he do, but drink sour tea?
As the journalist, though enthusiastically zealous for his country, has,
with regard to smaller things, the placid happiness of philosophical
indifference, I can give him no disturbance, by advising him to
restrain, even the love of his country, within due limits, lest it
should, sometimes, swell too high, fill the whole capacity of his soul,
and leave less room for the love of truth.

Nothing now remains, but that I review my positions concerning the
foundling hospital. What I declared last month, I declare now, once
more, that I found none of the children that appeared to have heard of
the catechism. It is inquired, how I wandered, and how I examined. There
is, doubtless, subtlety in the question; I know not well how to answer
it. Happily, I did not wander alone; I attended some ladies, with
another gentleman, who all heard and assisted the inquiry, with equal
grief and indignation. I did not conceal my observations. Notice was
given of this shameful defect soon after, at my request, to one of the
highest names of the society. This, I am now told, is incredible; but,
since it is true, and the past is out of human power, the most important
corporation cannot make it false. But, why is it incredible? Because,
in the rules of the hospital, the children are ordered to learn the
rudiments of religion. Orders are easily made, but they do not execute
themselves. They say their catechism, at stated times, under an able
master. But this able master was, I think, not elected before last
February; and my visit happened, if I mistake not, in November. The
children were shy, when interrogated by a stranger. This may be true,
but the same shiness I do not remember to have hindered them from
answering other questions; and I wonder, why children, so much
accustomed to new spectators, should be eminently shy.

My opponent, in the first paragraph, calls the inference that I made
from this negligence, a hasty conclusion: to the decency of this
expression I had nothing to object; but, as he grew hot in his career,
his enthusiasm began to sparkle; and, in the vehemence of his
postscript, he charges my assertions, and my reasons for advancing them,
with folly and malice. His argumentation, being somewhat enthusiastical,
I cannot fully comprehend, but it seems to stand thus: my insinuations
are foolish or malicious, since I know not one of the governours of the
hospital; for, he that knows not the governours of the hospital, must be
very foolish or malicious.

He has, however, so much kindness for me, that he advises me to consult
my safety, when I talk of corporations. I know not what the most
important corporation can do, becoming manhood, by which my safety is
endangered. My reputation is safe, for I can prove the fact; my quiet is
safe, for I meant well; and for any other safety, I am not used to be
very solicitous.

I am always sorry, when I see any being labouring in vain; and, in
return for the journalist's attention to my safety, I will confess some
compassion for his tumultuous resentment; since all his invectives fume
into the air, with so little effect upon me, that I still esteem him, as
one that has the _merit of meaning well_; and still believe him to be a
man, whose _failings may be justly pardoned for his virtues_ [6].




REVIEW [7] OF AN ESSAY ON THE WRITINGS AND GENIUS OF POPE.


This is a very curious and entertaining miscellany of critical remarks
and literary history. Though the book promises nothing but observations
on the writings of Pope, yet no opportunity is neglected of introducing
the character of any other writer, or the mention of any performance or
event, in which learning is interested. From Pope, however, he always
takes his hint, and to Pope he returns again from his digressions. The
facts, which he mentions, though they are seldom anecdotes, in a
rigorous sense, are often such as are very little known, and such as
will delight more readers than naked criticism.

As he examines the works of this great poet, in an order nearly
chronological, he necessarily begins with his pastorals, which,
considered as representations of any kind of life, he very justly
censures; for there is in them a mixture of Grecian and English, of
ancient and modern images. Windsor is coupled with Hybla, and Thames
with Pactolus. He then compares some passages, which Pope has imitated,
or translated, with the imitation, or version, and gives the preference
to the originals, perhaps, not always upon convincing arguments.

Theocritus makes his lover wish to be a bee, that he might creep among
the leaves that form the chaplet of his mistress. Pope's enamoured swain
longs to be made the captive bird that sings in his fair one's bower,
that she might listen to his songs, and reward him with her kisses. The
critick prefers the image of Theocritus, as more wild, more delicate,
and more uncommon.

It is natural for a lover to wish, that he might be any thing that could
come near to his lady. But we more naturally desire to be that which she
fondles and caresses, than that which she would avoid, at least would
neglect. The snperiour delicacy of Theocritus I cannot discover, nor
can, indeed, find, that either in the one or the other image there is
any want of delicacy. Which of the two images was less common in the
time of the poet who used it, for on that consideration the merit of
novelty depends, I think it is now out of any critick's power to decide.

He remarks, I am afraid, with too much justice, that there is not a
single new thought in the pastorals; and, with equal reason, declares,
that their chief beauty consists in their correct and musical
versification, which has so influenced the English ear, as to render
every moderate rhymer harmonious.

In his examination of the Messiah, he justly observes some deviations
from the inspired author, which weaken the imagery, and dispirit the
expression.

On Windsor Forest, he declares, I think without proof, that descriptive
poetry was by no means the excellence of Pope; he draws this inference
from the few images introduced in this poem, which would not equally
belong to any other place. He must inquire, whether Windsor forest has,
in reality, any thing peculiar.

The Stag-chase is not, he says, so full, so animated, and so
circumstantiated, as Somerville's. Barely to say, that one performance
is not so good as another, is to criticise with little exactness. But
Pope has directed, that we should, in every work, regard the author's
end. The stag-chase is the main subject of Somerville, and might,
therefore, be properly dilated into all its circumstances; in Pope, it
is only incidental, and was to be despatched in a few lines.

He makes a just observation, "that the description of the external
beauties of nature, is usually the first effort of a young genius,
before he hath studied nature and passions. Some of Milton's most early,
as well as mos't exquisite pieces, are his Lycidas, l'Allegro, and il
Penseroso, if we may except his ode on the Nativity of Christ, which is,
indeed, prior in order of time, and in which a penetrating critick might
have observed the seeds of that boundless imagination, which was, one
day, to produce the Paradise Lost. "

Mentioning Thomson, and other descriptive poets, he remarks, that
writers fail in their copies, for want of acquaintance with originals,
and justly ridicules those who think they can form just ideas of
valleys, mountains, and rivers, in a garret in the Strand. For this
reason, I cannot regret, with this author, that Pope laid aside his
design of writing American pastorals; for, as he must have painted
scenes, which he never saw, and manners, which he never knew, his
performance, though it might have been a pleasing amusement of fancy,
would have exhibited no representation of nature or of life.

After the pastorals, the critick considers the lyrick poetry of Pope,
and dwells longest on the ode on St. Cecilia's day, which he, like the
rest of mankind, places next to that of Dryden, and not much below it.
He remarks, after Mr. Spence, that the first stanza is a perfect
concert: the second he thinks a little flat; he justly commends the
fourth, but without notice of the best line in that stanza, or in the
poem:

"Transported demi-gods stood round,
And men grew heroes at the sound. "

In the latter part of the ode, he objects to the stanza of triumph:

"Thus song could prevail," &c.

as written in a measure ridiculous and burlesque, and justifies his
answer, by observing, that Addison uses the same numbers in the scene of
Rosamond, between Grideline and sir Trusty:

"How unhappy is he," &c.

That the measure is the same in both passages, must be confessed, and
both poets, perhaps, chose their numbers properly; for they both meant
to express a kind of airy hilarity. The two passions of merriment and
exultation are, undoubtedly, different; they are as different as a
gambol and a triumph, but each is a species of joy; and poetical
measures have not, in any language, been so far refined, as to provide
for the subdivisions of passion. They can only be adapted to general
purposes; but the particular and minuter propriety must be sought only
in the sentiment and language. Thus the numbers are the same in Colin's
Complaint, and in the ballad of Darby and Joan, though, in one, sadness
is represented, and, in the other, tranquillity; so the measure is the
same of Pope's Unfortunate Lady, and the Praise of Voiture.

He observes, very justly, that the odes, both of Dryden and Pope,
conclude, unsuitably and unnaturally, with epigram.

He then spends a page upon Mr. Handel's musick to Dryden's ode, and
speaks of him with that regard which he has generally obtained among the
lovers of sound. He finds something amiss in the air "With ravished
ears," but has overlooked, or forgotten, the grossest fault in that
composition, which is that in this line:

"Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries,"

He has laid much stress upon the two latter words, which are merely
words of connexion, and ought, in musick, to be considered as
parenthetical.
From this ode is struck out a digression on the nature of odes, and the
comparative excellence of the ancients and moderns. He mentions the
chorus which Pope wrote for the duke of Buckingham; and thence takes
occasion to treat of the chorus of the ancients. He then comes to
another ode, of "The dying Christian to his Soul;" in which, finding an
apparent imitation of Flatman, he falls into a pleasing and learned
speculation, on the resembling passages to be found in different poets.

He mentions, with great regard, Pope's ode on Solitude, written when he
was but twelve years old, but omits to mention the poem on Silence,
composed, I think, as early, with much greater elegance of diction,
musick of numbers, extent of observation, and force of thought. If he
had happened to think on Baillet's chapter of Enfans célèbres, he might
have made, on this occasion, a very entertaining dissertation on early
excellence.

He comes next to the Essay on Criticism, the stupendous performance of a
youth, not yet twenty years old; and, after having detailed the
felicities of condition, to which he imagines Pope to have owed his
wonderful prematurity of mind, he tells us, that he is well informed
this essay was first written in prose. There is nothing improbable in
the report, nothing, indeed, but what is more likely than the contrary;
yet I [8] cannot forbear to hint to this writer, and all others, the
danger and weakness of trusting too readily to information. Nothing but
experience could evince the frequency of false information, or enable
any man to conceive, that so many groundless reports should be
propagated, as every man of eminence may hear of himself. Some men
relate what they think, as what they know; some men, of confused
memories and habitual inaccuracy, ascribe to one man, what belongs to
another; and some talk on, without thought or care. A few men are
sufficient to broach falsehoods, which are afterwards innocently
diffused by successive relaters.

He proceeds on, examining passage after passage of this essay; but we
must pass over all these criticisms, to which we have not something to
add or to object, or where this author does not differ from the general
voice of mankind. We cannot agree with him in his censure of the
comparison of a student advancing in science, with a traveller passing
the Alps, which is, perhaps, the best simile in our language; that, in
which the most exact resemblance is traced between things, in
appearance, utterly unrelated to each other. That the last line conveys
no new _idea_, is not true; it makes particular, what was before
general. Whether the description, which he adds from another author, be,
as he says, more full and striking than that of Pope, is not to be
inquired. Pope's description is relative, and can admit no greater
length than is usually allowed to a simile, nor any other particulars
than such as form the correspondence.

Unvaried rhymes, says this writer, highly disgust readers of a good ear.
It is, surely, not the ear, but the mind that is offended. The fault,
arising from the use of common rhymes, is, that by reading the past
line, the second may be guessed, and half the composition loses the
grace of novelty.

On occasion of the mention of an alexandrine, the critick observes, that
"the alexandrine may be thought a modern measure, but that _Robert of
Gloucester's Wife_ is an alexandrine, with the addition of two
syllables; and that Sternhold and Hopkins translated the Psalms in the
same measure of fourteen syllables, though they are printed otherwise. "

This seems not to be accurately conceived or expressed: an alexandrine,
with the addition of two syllables, is no more an alexandrine, than with
the detraction of two syllables. Sternhold and Hopkins did, generally,
write in the alternate measure of eight and six syllables; but Hopkins
commonly rhymed the first and third; Sternhold, only the second and
fourth: so that Sternhold may be considered, as writing couplets of long
lines; but Hopkins wrote regular stanzas. From the practice of printing
the long lines of fourteen syllables in two short lines, arose the
license of some of our poets, who, though professing to write in
stanzas, neglect the rhymes of the first and third lines.

Pope has mentioned Petronius, among the great names of criticism, as the
remarker justly observes, without any critical merit. It is to be
suspected, that Pope had never read his book, and mentioned him on the
credit of two or three sentences which he had often seen quoted,
imagining, that where there was so much, there must necessarily be more.
Young men, in haste to be renowned, too frequently talk of books which
they have scarcely seen.

The revival of learning, mentioned in this poem, affords an opportunity
of mentioning the chief periods of literary history, of which this
writer reckons five: that of Alexander, of Ptolemy Philadelphus, of
Augustus, of Leo the tenth, of queen Anne.

These observations are concluded with a remark, which deserves great
attention: "In no polished nation, after criticism has been much
studied, and the rules of writing established, has any very
extraordinary book ever appeared. "

The Rape of the Lock was always regarded, by Pope, as the highest
production of his genius. On occasion of this work, the history of the
comick-heroick is given; and we are told, that it descended from Fassoni
to Boileau, from Boileau to Garth, and from Garth to Pope. Garth is
mentioned, perhaps, with too much honour; but all are confessed to be
inferiour to Pope. There is, in his remarks on this work, no discovery
of any latent beauty, nor any thing subtle or striking; he is, indeed,
commonly right, but has discussed no difficult question.

The next pieces to be considered are, the Verses to the Memory of an
unfortunate Lady, the Prologue to Cato, and Epilogue to Jane Shore. The
first piece he commends. On occasion of the second, he digresses,
according to his custom, into a learned dissertation on tragedies, and
compares the English and French with the Greek stage. He justly censures
Cato, for want of action and of characters; but scarcely does justice to
the sublimity of some speeches, and the philosophical exactness in the
sentiments. "The simile of mount Atlas, and that of the Numidian
traveller, smothered in the sands, are, indeed, in character," says the
critick, "but sufficiently obvious. " The simile of the mountain is,
indeed, common; but that of the traveller, I do not remember. That it is
obvious is easy to say, and easy to deny. Many things are obvious, when
they are taught.

He proceeds to criticise the other works of Addison, till the epilogue
calls his attention to Rowe, whose character he discusses in the same
manner, with sufficient freedom and sufficient candour.

The translation of the epistle of Sappho to Phaon is next considered;
but Sappho and Ovid are more the subjects of this disquisition, than
Pope. We shall, therefore, pass over it to a piece of more importance,
the epistle of Eloisa to Abelard, which may justly be regarded, as one
of the works on which the reputation of Pope will stand in future times.

The critick pursues Eloisa through all the changes of passion, produces
the passages of her letters, to which any allusion is made, and
intersperses many agreeable particulars and incidental relations. There
is not much profundity of criticism, because the beauties are sentiments
of nature, which the learned and the ignorant feel alike. It is justly
remarked by him, that the wish of Eloisa, for the happy passage of
Abelard into the other world, is formed according to the ideas of
mystick devotion.

These are the pieces examined in this volume: whether the remaining part
of the work will be one volume, or more, perhaps the writer himself
cannot yet inform us [9]. This piece is, however, a complete work, so
far as it goes; and the writer is of opinion, that he has despatched the
chief part of his task; for he ventures to remark, that the reputation
of Pope, as a poet, among posterity, will be principally founded on his
Windsor Forest, Rape of the Lock, and Eloisa to Abelard; while the facts
and characters, alluded to in his late writings, will be forgotten and
unknown, and their poignancy and propriety little relished; for wit and
satire are transitory and perishable, but nature and passion are
eternal.

He has interspersed some passages of Pope's life, with which most
readers will be pleased. When Pope was yet a child, his father, who had
been a merchant in London, retired to Binfield. He was taught to read by
an aunt; and learned to write, without a master, by copying printed
books. His father used to order him to make English verses, and would
oblige him to correct and retouch them over and over, and, at last,
could say, "These are good rhymes. "

At eight years of age, he was committed to one Taverner, a priest, who
taught him the rudiments of the Latin and Greek. At this time, he met
with Ogleby's Homer, which seized his attention; he fell next upon
Sandys's Ovid, and remembered these two translations, with pleasure, to
the end of his life.

About ten, being at school, near Hyde-park corner, he was taken to the
playhouse, and was so struck with the splendour of the drama, that he
formed a kind of play out of Ogleby's Homer, intermixed with verses of
his own. He persuaded the head boys to act this piece, and Ajax was
performed by his master's gardener. They were habited according to the
pictures in Ogleby. At twelve, he retired, with his father, to Windsor
forest, and formed himself by study in the best English poets.

In this extract, it was thought convenient to dwell chiefly upon such
observations, as relate immediately to Pope, without deviating, with the
author, into incidental inquiries. We intend to kindle, not to
extinguish, curiosity, by this slight sketch of a work, abounding with
curious quotations and pleasing disquisitions. He must be much
acquainted with literary history, both of remote and late times, who
does not find, in this essay, many things which he did not know before;
and, if there be any too learned to be instructed in facts or opinions,
he may yet properly read this book, as a just specimen of literary
moderation.




REVIEW OF A FREE ENQUIRY INTO THE NATURE AND ORIGIN OF EVIL [10].


This is a treatise, consisting of six letters, upon a very difficult and
important question, which, I am afraid, this author's endeavours will
not free from the perplexity which has entangled the speculatists of all
ages, and which must always continue while _we see_ but _in part_. He
calls it a _Free Enquiry_, and, indeed, his _freedom_ is, I think,
greater than his modesty. Though he is far from the contemptible
arrogance, or the impious licentiousness of Bolingbroke, yet he decides,
too easily, upon questions out of the reach of human determination, with
too little consideration of mortal weakness, and with too much vivacity
for the necessary caution.

In the first letter, on evil in general, he observes, that, "it is the
solution of this important question, whence came _evil_? alone, that can
ascertain the moral characteristic of God, without which there is an end
of all distinction between good and evil. " Yet he begins this inquiry by
this declaration: "That there is a supreme being, infinitely powerful,
wise, and benevolent, the great creator and preserver of all things, is
a truth so clearly demonstrated, that it shall be here taken for
granted. " What is this, but to say, that we have already reason to grant
the existence of those attributes of God, which the present inquiry is
designed to prove? The present inquiry is, then, surely made to no
purpose. The attributes, to the demonstration of which the solution of
this great question is necessary, have been demonstrated, without any
solution, or by means of the solution of some former writer.

He rejects the Manichean system, but imputes to it an absurdity, from
which, amidst all its absurdities, it seems to be free, and adopts the
system of Mr. Pope. "That pain is no evil, if asserted with regard to
the individuals who suffer it, is downright nonsense; but if considered
as it affects the universal system, is an undoubted truth, and means
only, that there is no more pain in it, than what is necessary to the
production of happiness. How many soever of these evils, then, force
themselves into the creation, so long as the good preponderates, it is a
work well worthy of infinite wisdom and benevolence; and,
notwithstanding the imperfections of its parts, the whole is, most
undoubtedly, perfect. " And, in the former part of the letter, he gives
the principle of his system in these words: "Omnipotence cannot work
contradictions; it can only effect all possible things. But so little
are we acquainted with the whole system of nature, that we know not what
are possible, and what are not; but if we may judge from that constant
mixture of pain with pleasure, and inconveniency with advantage, which
we must observe in every thing around us, we have reason to conclude,
that, to endue created beings with perfection, that is, to produce good,
exclusive of evil, is one of those impossibilities, which even infinite
power cannot accomplish. "

This is elegant and acute, but will by no means calm discontent, or
silence curiosity; for, whether evil can be wholly separated from good
or not, it is plain, that they may be mixed, in various degrees, and, as
far as human eyes can judge, the degree of evil might have been less,
without any impediment to good.

The second letter, on the evils of imperfection, is little more than a
paraphrase of Pope's epistles, or, yet less than a paraphrase, a mere
translation of poetry into prose. This is, surely, to attack difficulty
with very disproportionate abilities, to cut the Gordian knot with very
blunt instruments. When we are told of the insufficiency of former
solutions, why is one of the latest, which no man can have forgotten,
given us again? I am told, that this pamphlet is not the effort of
hunger; what can it be, then, but the product of vanity? and yet, how
can vanity be gratified by plagiarism or transcription? When this
speculatist finds himself prompted to another performance, let him
consider, whether he is about to disburden his mind, or employ his
fingers; and, if I might venture to offer him a subject, I should wish,
that he would solve this question: Why he, that has nothing to write,
should desire to be a writer?

Yet is not this letter without some sentiments, which, though not new,
are of great importance, and may be read, with pleasure, in the
thousandth repetition.

"Whatever we enjoy, is purely a free gift from our creator; but, that we
enjoy no more, can never, sure, be deemed an injury, or a just reason to
question his infinite benevolence. All our happiness is owing to his
goodness; but, that it is no greater, is owing only to ourselves; that
is, to our not having any inherent right to any happiness, or even to
any existence at all. This is no more to be imputed to God, than the
wants of a beggar to the person who has relieved him: that he had
something, was owing to his benefactor; but that he had no more, only to
his own original poverty. "

Thus far he speaks what every man must approve, and what every wise man
has said before him. He then gives us the system of subordination, not
invented, for it was known, I think, to the Arabian metaphysicians, but
adopted by Pope, and, from him, borrowed by the diligent researches of
this great investigator.

"No system can possibly be formed, even in imagination, without a
subordination of parts. Every animal body must have different members,
subservient to each other; every picture must be composed of various
colours, and of light and shade; all harmony must be formed of trebles,
tenours, and bases; every beautiful and useful edifice must consist of
higher and lower, more and less magnificent apartments. This is in the
very essence of all created things, and, therefore, cannot be prevented,
by any means whatever, unless by not creating them at all. "

These instances are used, instead of Pope's oak and weeds, or Jupiter
and his satellites; but neither Pope, nor this writer, have much
contributed to solve the difficulty. Perfection, or imperfection, of
unconscious beings has no meaning, as referred to themselves; the base
and the treble are equally perfect; the mean and magnificent apartments
feel no pleasure or pain from the comparison. Pope might ask the weed,
why it was less than the oak? but the weed would never ask the question
for itself. The base and treble differ only to the hearer, meanness and
magnificence only to the inhabitant. There is no evil but must inhere in
a conscious being, or be referred to it; that is, evil must be felt,
before it is evil. Yet, even on this subject, many questions might be
offered, which human understanding has not yet answered, and which the
present haste of this extract will not suffer me to dilate.

He proceeds to an humble detail of Pope's opinion: "The universe is a
system, whose very essence consists in subordination; a scale of beings
descending, by insensible degrees, from infinite perfection to absolute
nothing; in which, though we may justly expect to find perfection in the
whole, could we possibly comprehend it; yet would it be the highest
absurdity to hope for it in all its parts, because the beauty and
happiness of the whole depend altogether on the just inferiority of its
parts; that is, on the comparative imperfections of the several beings
of which it is composed.

"It would have been no more an instance of God's wisdom to have created
no beings, but of the highest and most perfect order, than it would be
of a painter's art to cover his whole piece with one single colour, the
most beautiful he could compose. Had he confined himself to such,
nothing could have existed but demi-gods, or archangels, and, then, all
inferior orders must have been void and uninhabited; but as it is,
surely, more agreeable to infinite benevolence, that all these should be
filled up with beings capable of enjoying happiness themselves, and
contributing to that of others, they must, necessarily, be filled with
inferior beings; that is, with such as are less perfect, but from whose
existence, notwithstanding that less perfection, more felicity, upon the
whole, accrues to the universe, than if no such had been created. It is,
moreover, highly probable, that there is such a connexion between all
ranks and orders, by subordinate degrees, that they mutually support
each other's existence, and every one, in its place, is absolutely
necessary towards sustaining the whole vast and magnificent fabric.

"Our pretences for complaint could be of this only, that we are not so
high in the scale of existence as our ignorant ambition may desire; a
pretence which must eternally subsist, because, were we ever so much
higher, there would be still room for infinite power to exalt us; and,
since no link in the chain can be broke, the same reason for disquiet
must remain to those who succeed to that chasm, which must be occasioned
by our preferment. A man can have no reason to repine, that he is not an
angel; nor a horse, that he is not a man; much less, that, in their
several stations, they possess not the faculties of another; for this
would be an insufferable misfortune. "

This doctrine of the regular subordination of beings, the scale of
existence, and the chain of nature, I have often considered, but always
left the inquiry in doubt and uncertainty.

That every being not infinite, compared with infinity, must be
imperfect, is evident to intuition; that, whatever is imperfect must
have a certain line which it cannot pass, is equally certain. But the
reason which determined this limit, and for which such being was
suffered to advance thus far, and no farther, we shall never be able to
discern. Our discoverers tell us, the creator has made beings of all
orders, and that, therefore, one of them must be such as man; but this
system seems to be established on a concession, which, if it be refused,
cannot be extorted.

Every reason which can be brought to prove, that there are beings of
every possible sort, will prove, that there is the greatest number
possible of every sort of beings; but this, with respect to man, we
know, if we know any thing, not to be true.

It does not appear, even to the imagination, that of three orders of
being, the first and the third receive any advantage from the
imperfection of the second, or that, indeed, they may not equally exist,
though the second had never been, or should cease to be; and why should
that be concluded necessary, which cannot be proved even to be useful?

The scale of existence, from infinity to nothing, cannot possibly have
being. The highest being not infinite, must be, as has been often
observed, at an infinite distance below infinity. Cheyne, who, with the
desire inherent in mathematicians to reduce every thing to mathematical
images, considers all existence as a cone; allows that the basis is at
an infinite distance from the body; and in this distance between finite
and infinite, there will be room, for ever, for an infinite series of
indefinable existence.

Between the lowest positive existence and nothing, wherever we suppose
positive existence to cease, is another chasm infinitely deep; where
there is room again for endless orders of subordinate nature, continued
for ever and for ever, and yet infinitely superiour to nonexistence.

To these meditations humanity is unequal. But yet we may ask, not of our
maker, but of each other, since, on the one side, creation, wherever it
stops, must stop infinitely below infinity, and on the other, infinitely
above nothing, what necessity there is, that it should proceed so far,
either way, that beings so high or so low should ever have existed? We
may ask; but, I believe, no created wisdom can give an adequate answer.

Nor is this all. In the scale, wherever it begins or ends, are infinite
vacuities. At whatever distance we suppose the next order of beings to
be above man, there is room for an intermediate order of beings between
them; and if for one order, then for infinite orders; since every thing
that admits of more or less, and consequently all the parts of that
which admits them, may be infinitely divided. So that, as far as we can
judge, there may be room in the vacuity between any two steps of the
scale, or between any two points of the cone of being, for infinite
exertion of infinite power.

Thus it appears, how little reason those, who repose their reason upon
the scale of being, have to triumph over them who recur to any other
expedient of solution, and what difficulties arise, on every side, to
repress the rebellions of presumptuous decision: "Qui pauca considerat,
facile pronunciat. " In our passage through the boundless ocean of
disquisition, we often take fogs for land, and, after having long toiled
to approach them, find, instead of repose and harbours, new storms of
objection, and fluctuations of uncertainty.

We are next entertained with Pope's alleviations of those evils which we
are doomed to suffer.

"Poverty, or the want of riches, is generally compensated by having more
hopes, and fewer fears, by a greater share of health, and a more
exquisite relish of the smallest enjoyments, than those who possess them
are usually blessed with. The want of taste and genius, with all the
pleasures that arise from them, are commonly recompensed by a more
useful kind of common sense, together with a wonderful delight, as well
as success, in the busy pursuits of a scrambling world. The sufferings
of the sick are greatly relieved by many trifling gratifications,
imperceptible to others, and, sometimes, almost repaid by the
inconceivable transports occasioned by the return of health and vigour.
Folly cannot be very grievous, because imperceptible; and I doubt not
but there is some truth in that rant of a mad poet, that there is a
pleasure in being mad, which none but madmen know. Ignorance, or the
want of knowledge and literature, the appointed lot of all born to
poverty and the drudgeries of life, is the only opiate capable of
infusing that insensibility, which can enable them to endure the
miseries of the one, and the fatigues of the other. It is a cordial,
administered by the gracious hand of providence, of which they ought
never to be deprived by an ill-judged and improper education. It is the
basis of all subordination, the support of society, and the privilege of
individuals; and I have ever thought it a most remarkable instance of
the divine wisdom, that, whereas in all animals, whose individuals rise
little above the rest of their species, knowledge is instinctive; in
man, whose individuals are so widely different, it is acquired by
education; by which means the prince and the labourer, the philosopher
and the peasant, are, in some measure, fitted for their respective
situations. "

Much of these positions is, perhaps, true; and the whole paragraph might
well pass without censure, were not objections necessary to the
establishment of knowledge. Poverty is very gently paraphrased by want
of riches. In that sense, almost every man may, in his own opinion, be
poor. But there is another poverty, which is want of competence of all
that can soften the miseries of life, of all that can diversify
attention, or delight imagination. There is yet another poverty, which
is want of necessaries, a species of poverty which no care of the
publick, no charity of particulars, can preserve many from feeling
openly, and many secretly.

That hope and fear are inseparably, or very frequently, connected with
poverty and riches, my surveys of life have not informed me. The milder
degrees of poverty are, sometimes, supported by hope; but the more
severe often sink down in motionless despondence. Life must be seen,
before it can be known. This author and Pope, perhaps, never saw the
miseries which they imagine thus easy to be borne. The poor, indeed, are
insensible of many little vexations, which sometimes imbitter the
possessions, and pollute the enjoyments, of the rich. They are not
pained by casual incivility, or mortified by the mutilation of a
compliment; but this happiness is like that of a malefactor, who ceases
to feel the cords that bind him, when the pincers are tearing his flesh.

That want of taste for one enjoyment is supplied by the pleasures of
some other, may be fairly allowed; but the compensations of sickness I
have never found near to equivalence, and the transports of recovery
only prove the intenseness of the pain.

With folly, no man is willing to confess himself very intimately
acquainted, and, therefore, its pains and pleasures are kept secret. But
what the author says of its happiness, seems applicable only to fatuity,
or gross dulness; for that inferiority of understanding, which makes one
man, without any other reason, the slave, or tool, or property of
another, which makes him sometimes useless, and sometimes ridiculous, is
often felt with very quick sensibility. On the happiness of madmen, as
the case is not very frequent, it is not necessary to raise a
disquisition, but I cannot forbear to observe, that I never yet knew
disorders of mind increase felicity: every madman is either arrogant and
irascible, or gloomy and suspicious, or possessed by some passion, or
notion, destructive to his quiet. He has always discontent in his look,
and malignity in his bosom. And, if he had the power of choice, he would
soon repent who should resign his reason to secure his peace.

Concerning the portion of ignorance necessary to make the condition of
the lower classes of mankind safe to the publick, and tolerable to
themselves, both morals and policy exact a nicer inquiry than will be
very soon or very easily made. There is, undoubtedly, a degree of
knowledge which will direct a man to refer all to providence, and to
acquiesce in the condition with which omniscient goodness has determined
to allot him; to consider this world as a phantom, that must soon glide
from before his eyes, and the distresses and vexations that encompass
him, as dust scattered in his path, as a blast that chills him for a
moment, and passes off for ever.

Such wisdom, arising from the comparison of a part with the whole of our
existence, those that want it most cannot possibly obtain from
philosophy; nor, unless the method of education, and the general tenour
of life are changed, will very easily receive it from religion. The bulk
of mankind is not likely to be very wise or very good; and I know not,
whether there are not many states of life, in which all knowledge, less
than the highest wisdom, will produce discontent and danger. I believe
it may be sometimes found, that a _little learning_ is, to a poor man, a
_dangerous thing_. But such is the condition of humanity, that we easily
see, or quickly feel the wrong, but cannot always distinguish the right.
Whatever knowledge is superfluous, in irremediable poverty, is hurtful,
but the difficulty is to determine when poverty is irremediable, and at
what point superfluity begins. Gross ignorance every man has found
equally dangerous with perverted knowledge. Men, left wholly to their
appetites and their instincts, with little sense of moral or religious
obligation, and with very faint distinctions of right and wrong, can
never be safely employed, or confidently trusted; they can be honest
only by obstinacy, and diligent only by compulsion or caprice. Some
instruction, therefore, is necessary, and much, perhaps, may be
dangerous.

Though it should be granted, that those who are _born to poverty and
drudgery_, should not be _deprived_, by an _improper education_, of the
_opiate of ignorance_; even this concession will not be of much use to
direct our practice, unless it be determined, who are those that are
_born to poverty_. To entail irreversible poverty upon generation after
generation, only because the ancestor happened to be poor, is, in
itself, cruel, if not unjust, and is wholly contrary to the maxims of a
commercial nation, which always suppose and promote a rotation of
property, and offer every individual a chance of mending his condition
by his diligence. Those, who communicate literature to the son of a poor
man consider him, as one not born to poverty, but to the necessity of
deriving a better fortune from himself. In this attempt, as in others,
many fail and many succeed. Those that fail, will feel their misery more
acutely; but since poverty is now confessed to be such a calamity, as
cannot be borne without the opiate of insensibility, I hope the
happiness of those whom education enables to escape from it, may turn
the balance against that exacerbation which the others suffer.

I am always afraid of determining on the side of envy or cruelty. The
privileges of education may, sometimes, be improperly bestowed, but I
shall always fear to withhold them, lest I should be yielding to the
suggestions of pride, while I persuade myself that I am following the
maxims of policy; and, under the appearance of salutary restraints,
should be indulging the lust of dominion, and that malevolence which
delights in seeing others depressed.

Pope's doctrine is, at last, exhibited in a comparison, which, like
other proofs of the same kind, is better adapted to delight the fancy
than convince the reason.

"Thus the universe resembles a large and well-regulated family, in which
all the officers and servants, and even the domestic animals, are
subservient to each other, in a proper subordination: each enjoys the
privileges and perquisites peculiar to his place, and, at the same time,
contributes, by that just subordination, to the magnificence and
happiness of the whole. "

The magnificence of a house is of use or pleasure always to the master,
and sometimes to the domesticks. But the magnificence of the universe
adds nothing to the supreme being; for any part of its inhabitants, with
which human knowledge is acquainted, an universe much less spacious or
splendid would have been sufficient; and of happiness it does not
appear, that any is communicated from the beings of a lower world to
those of a higher.

The inquiry after the cause of natural evil is continued in the third
letter, in which, as in the former, there is mixture of borrowed truth,
and native folly, of some notions, just and trite, with others uncommon
and ridiculous.

His opinion of the value and importance of happiness is certainly just,
and I shall insert it; not that it will give any information to any
reader, but it may serve to show, how the most common notion may be
swelled in sound, and diffused in bulk, till it shall, perhaps, astonish
the author himself.

"Happiness is the only thing of real value in existence, neither riches,
nor power, nor wisdom, nor learning, nor strength, nor beauty, nor
virtue, nor religion, nor even life itself, being of any importance, but
as they contribute to its production. All these are, in themselves,
neither good nor evil: happiness alone is their great end, and they are
desirable only as they tend to promote it. "

Success produces confidence. After this discovery of the value of
happiness, he proceeds, without any distrust of himself, to tell us what
has been hid from all former inquirers.

"The true solution of this important question, so long and so vainly
searched for by the philosophers of all ages and all countries, I take
to be, at last, no more than this, that these real evils proceed from
the same source as those imaginary ones of imperfection, before treated
of, namely, from that subordination, without which no created system can
subsist; all subordination implying imperfection, all imperfection evil,
and all evil some kind of inconveniency or suffering: so that there
must, be particular inconvenieucies and sufferings annexed to every
particular rank of created beings by the circumstances of things, and
their modes of existence.

"God, indeed, might have made us quite other creatures, and placed us in
a world quite differently constituted; but then we had been no longer
men, and whatever beings had occupied our stations in the universal
system, they must have been liable to the same inconveniencies. "

In all this, there is nothing that can silence the inquiries of
curiosity, or culm the perturbations of doubt. Whether subordination
implies imperfection may be disputed. The means respecting themselves
may be as perfect as the end. The weed, as a weed, is no less perfect
than the oak, as an oak. That _imperfection implies evil, and evil
suffering_, is by no means evident. Imperfection may imply privative
evil, or the absence of some good, but this privation produces no
suffering, but by the help of knowledge. An infant at the breast is yet
an imperfect man, but there is no reason for belief, that he is unhappy
by his immaturity, unless some positive pain be superadded. When this
author presumes to speak of the universe, I would advise him a little to
distrust his own faculties, however large and comprehensive. Many words,
easily understood on common occasions, become uncertain and figurative,
when applied to the works of omnipotence. Subordination, in human
affairs, is well understood; but, when it is attributed to the universal
system, its meaning grows less certain, like the petty distinctions of
locality, which are of good use upon our own globe, but have no meaning
with regard to infinite space, in which nothing is _high_ or _low_.
That, if man, by exaltation to a higher nature, were exempted from the
evils which he now suffers, some other being must suffer them; that, if
man were not man, some other being must be man, is a position arising
from his established notion of the scale of being. A notion to which
Pope has given some importance, by adopting it, and of which I have,
therefore, endeavoured to show the uncertainty and inconsistency. This
scale of being I have demonstrated to be raised by presumptuous
imagination, to rest on nothing at the bottom, to lean on nothing at the
top, and to have vacuities, from step to step, through which any order
of being may sink into nihility without any inconvenience, so far as we
can judge, to the next rank above or below it. We are, therefore, little
enlightened by a writer who tells us, that any being in the state of man
must suffer what man suffers, when the only question that requires to be
resolved is: Why any being is in this state. Of poverty and labour he
gives just and elegant representations, which yet do not remove the
difficulty of the first and fundamental question, though supposing the
present state of man necessary, they may supply some motives to content.

"Poverty is what all could not possibly have been exempted from, not
only by reason of the fluctuating nature of human possessions, but
because the world could not subsist without it; for, had all been rich,
none could have submitted to the commands of another, or the necessary
drudgeries of life; thence all governments must have been dissolved,
arts neglected, and lands uncultivated, and so an universal penury have
overwhelmed all, instead of now and then pinching a few. Hence, by the
by, appears the great excellence of charity, by which men are enabled,
by a particular distribution of the blessings and enjoyments of life, on
proper occasions, to prevent that poverty, which, by a general one,
omnipotence itself could never have prevented; so that, by enforcing
this duty, God, as it were, demands our assistance to promote universal
happiness, and to shut out misery at every door, where it strives to
intrude itself.

"Labour, indeed, God might easily have excused us from, since, at his
command, the earth would readily have poured forth all her treasures,
without our inconsiderable assistance; but, if the severest labour
cannot sufficiently subdue the malignity of human nature, what plots and
machinations, what wars, rapine, and devastation, what profligacy and
licentiousness, must have been the consequences of universal idleness!
So that labour ought only to be looked upon, as a task kindly imposed
upon us by our indulgent creator, necessary to preserve our health, our
safety, and our innocence. "

I am afraid, that "the latter end of his commonwealth forgets the
beginning. " If God _could easily have excused us from labour_, I do not
comprehend why _he could not possibly have exempted all from poverty_.
For poverty, in its easier and more tolerable degree, is little more
than necessity of labour; and, in its more severe and deplorable state,
little more than inability for labour. To be poor is to work for others,
or to want the succour of others, without work.