No More Learning

Many, without being able to attain any general character of excellence,
have some single art of entertainment which serves them as a passport
through the world. One I have known for fifteen years the darling of a
weekly club, because every night, precisely at eleven, he begins his
favourite song, and during the vocal performance, by corresponding
motions of his hand, chalks out a giant upon the wall. Another has
endeared himself to a long succession of acquaintances by sitting among
them with his wig reversed; another by contriving to smut the nose of
any stranger who was to be initiated in the club; another by purring
like a cat, and then pretending to be frighted; and another by yelping
like a hound, and calling to the drawers to drive out the dog[k].

Such are the arts by which cheerfulness is promoted, and sometimes
friendship established; arts, which those who despise them should not
rigorously blame, except when they are practised at the expense of
innocence; for it is always necessary to be loved, but not always
necessary to be reverenced.



No. 189. TUESDAY, JANUARY 7, 1752.

_Quod tam grande Sophos clamat tibi turba togata;
Non tu, Pomponi; caena diserta tua est_. MART. Lib. vi. Ep. xlviii.

Resounding plaudits though the crowd have rung;
Thy treat is eloquent, and not thy tongue. F. LEWIS.

The world scarcely affords opportunities of making any
observation more frequently, than on false claims to commendation.
Almost every man wastes part of his life in attempts to display
qualities which he does not possess, and to gain applause which he
cannot keep; so that scarcely can two persons casually meet, but one is
offended or diverted by the ostentation of the other.

Of these pretenders it is fit to distinguish those who endeavour to
deceive from them who are deceived; those who by designed impostures
promote their interest, or gratify their pride, from them who mean only
to force into regard their latent excellencies and neglected virtues;
who believe themselves qualified to instruct or please, and therefore
invite the notice of mankind.

The artful and fraudulent usurpers of distinction deserve greater
severities than ridicule and contempt, since they are seldom content
with empty praise, but are instigated by passions more pernicious than
vanity. They consider the reputation which they endeavour to establish
as necessary to the accomplishment of some subsequent design, and value
praise only as it may conduce to the success of avarice or ambition.

The commercial world is very frequently put into confusion by the
bankruptcy of merchants, that assumed the splendour of wealth only to
obtain the privilege of trading with the stock of other men, and of
contracting debts which nothing but lucky casualties could enable them
to pay; till after having supported their appearance a while by
tumultuous magnificence of boundless traffick, they sink at once, and
drag down into poverty those whom their equipages had induced to trust
them.

Among wretches that place their happiness in the favour of the great, of
beings whom only high titles or large estates set above themselves,
nothing is more common than to boast of confidence which they do not
enjoy; to sell promises which they know their interest unable to
perform; and to reimburse the tribute which they pay to an imperious
master, from the contributions of meaner dependants, whom they can amuse
with tales of their influence, and hopes of their solicitation.

Even among some, too thoughtless and volatile for avarice or ambition,
may be found a species of falsehood more detestable than the levee or
exchange can shew. There are men that boast of debaucheries, of which
they never had address to be guilty; ruin, by lewd tales, the characters
of women to whom they are scarcely known, or by whom they have been
rejected; destroy in a drunken frolick the happiness of families; blast
the bloom of beauty, and intercept the reward of virtue.

Other artifices of falsehood, though utterly unworthy of an ingenuous
mind, are not yet to be ranked with flagitious enormities, nor is it
necessary to incite sanguinary justice against them, since they may be
adequately punished by detection and laughter. The traveller who
describes cities which he has never seen; the squire, who, at his return
from London, tells of his intimacy with nobles to whom he has only bowed
in the park or coffee-house; the author who entertains his admirers with
stories of the assistance which he gives to wits of a higher rank; the
city dame who talks of her visits at great houses, where she happens to
know the cook-maid, are surely such harmless animals as truth herself
may be content to despise without desiring to hurt them.

But of the multitudes who struggle in vain for distinction, and display
their own merits only to feel more acutely the sting of neglect, a great
part are wholly innocent of deceit, and are betrayed, by infatuation and
credulity, to that scorn with which the universal love of praise incites
us all to drive feeble competitors out of our way.

Few men survey themselves with so much severity, as not to admit
prejudices in their own favour, which an artful flatterer may gradually
strengthen, till wishes for a particular qualification are improved to
hopes of attainment, and hopes of attainment to belief of possession.
Such flatterers every one will find, who has power to reward their
assiduities. Wherever there is wealth there will be dependance and
expectation, and wherever there is dependance, there will be an
emulation of servility.

Many of the follies which provoke general censure, are the effects of
such vanity as, however it might have wantoned in the imagination, would
scarcely have dared the publick eye, had it not been animated and
emboldened by flattery. Whatever difficulty there may be in the
knowledge of ourselves, scarcely any one fails to suspect his own
imperfections, till he is elevated by others to confidence. We are
almost all naturally modest and timorous; but fear and shame are uneasy
sensations, and whosoever helps to remove them is received with
kindness.

Turpicula was the heiress of a large estate, and having lost her mother
in her infancy, was committed to a governess, whom misfortunes had
reduced to suppleness and humility. The fondness of Turpicula's father
would not suffer him to trust her at a publick school, but he hired
domestick teachers, and bestowed on her all the accomplishments that
wealth could purchase. But how many things are necessary to happiness
which money cannot obtain! Thus secluded from all with whom she might
converse on terms of equality, she heard none of those intimations of
her defects, which envy, petulance, or anger, produce among children,
where they are not afraid of telling what they think.

Turpicula saw nothing but obsequiousness, and heard nothing but
commendations. None are so little acquainted with the heart, as not to
know that woman's first wish is to be handsome, and that consequently
the readiest method of obtaining her kindness is to praise her beauty.
Turpicula had a distorted shape and a dark complexion; yet, when the
impudence of adulation had ventured to tell her of the commanding
dignity of her motion, and the soft enchantment of her smile, she was
easily convinced, that she was the delight or torment of every eye, and
that all who gazed upon her felt the fire of envy or love. She therefore
neglected the culture of an understanding which might have supplied the
defects of her form, and applied all her care to the decoration of her
person; for she considered that more could judge of beauty than of wit,
and was, like the rest of human beings, in haste to be admired. The
desire of conquest naturally led her to the lists in which beauty
signalizes her power. She glittered at court, fluttered in the park, and
talked aloud in the front box; but after a thousand experiments of her
charms, was at last convinced that she had been flattered, and that her
glass was honester than her maid.

[Footnote k: Mrs. Piozzi, in her Anecdotes, informs us, that the man who
sung, and, by corresponding motions of his arm, chalked out a giant on
the wall, was one Richardson, an attorney: the ingenious imitator of a
cat, was one Busby, a proctor in the Commons: and the father of Dr.
Salter, of the Charter-House, a friend of Johnson's, and a member of the
Ivy-Lane Club, was the person who yelped like a hound, and perplexed the
distracted waiters. --Mr. Chalmers, in his preface to the Rambler,
observes, that the above-quoted lively writer was the only authority for
these assignments. She is certainly far too hasty and negligent to be
relied on, when unsupported by other testimony. --See Preface. ]



No. 190. SATURDAY, DECEMBER 11, 1752.

_Ploravere suis non respondere favorem
Speratum meritis_. --HOR. Lib. ii. Ep. i. 9.

Henry and Alfred--
Clos'd their long glories with a sigh, to find
Th' unwilling gratitude of base mankind. POPE.

Among the emirs and visiers, the sons of valour and of wisdom, that
stand at the corners of the Indian throne, to assist the counsels or
conduct the wars of the posterity of Timur, the first place was long
held by Morad the son of Hanuth. Morad, having signalized himself in
many battles and sieges, was rewarded with the government of a province,
from which the fame of his wisdom and moderation was wafted to the
pinnacles of Agra, by the prayers of those whom his administration made
happy. The emperour called him into his presence, and gave into his hand
the keys of riches, and the sabre of command. The voice of Morad was
heard from the cliffs of Taurus to the Indian ocean, every tongue
faultered in his presence, and every eye was cast down before him.

Morad lived many years in prosperity; every day increased his wealth,
and extended his influence. The sages repeated his maxims, the captains
of thousands waited his commands. Competition withdrew into the cavern
of envy, and discontent trembled at his own murmurs. But human greatness
is short and transitory, as the odour of incense in the fire. The sun
grew weary of gilding the palaces of Morad, the clouds of sorrow
gathered round his head, and the tempest of hatred roared about his
dwelling.

Morad saw ruin hastily approaching. The first that forsook him were his
poets; their example was followed by all those whom he had rewarded for
contributing to his pleasures, and only a few, whose virtue had entitled
them to favour, were now to be seen in his hall or chambers. He felt his
danger, and prostrated himself at the foot of the throne. His accusers
were confident and loud, his friends stood contented with frigid
neutrality, and the voice of truth was overborne by clamour. He was
divested of his power, deprived of his acquisitions, and condemned to
pass the rest of his life on his hereditary estate.

Morad had been so long-accustomed to crowds and business, supplicants
and flattery, that he knew not how to fill up his hours in solitude; he
saw with regret the sun rise to force on his eye a new day for which he
had no use; and envied the savage that wanders in the desert, because he
has no time vacant from the calls of nature, but is always chasing his
prey, or sleeping in his den.

His discontent in time vitiated his constitution, and a slow disease
seized upon him. He refused physick, neglected exercise, and lay down on
his couch peevish and restless, rather afraid to die than desirous to
live. His domesticks, for a time, redoubled their assiduities; but
finding that no officiousness could soothe, nor exactness satisfy, they
soon gave way to negligence and sloth; and he that once commanded
nations, often languished in his chamber without an attendant.

In this melancholy state, he commanded messengers to recall his eldest
son Abouzaid from the army. Abouzaid was alarmed at the account of his
father's sickness, and hasted by long journeys to his place of
residence. Morad was yet living, and felt his strength return at the
embraces of his son; then commanding him to sit down at his bedside,
"Abouzaid," says he, "thy father has no more to hope or fear from the
inhabitants of the earth; the cold hand of the angel of death is now
upon him, and the voracious grave is howling for his prey. Hear,
therefore, the precepts of ancient experience, let not my last
instructions issue forth in vain. Thou hast seen me happy and
calamitous, thou hast beheld my exaltation and my fall. My power is in
the hands of my enemies, my treasures have rewarded my accusers; but my
inheritance, the clemency of the emperour has spared, and my wisdom his
anger could not take away. Cast thine eyes around thee; whatever thou
beholdest will, in a few hours, be thine: apply thine ear to my
dictates, and these possessions will promote thy happiness. Aspire not
to public honours, enter not the palaces of kings; thy wealth will set
thee above insult, let thy moderation keep thee below envy. Content
thyself with private dignity, diffuse thy riches among thy friends, let
every day extend thy beneficence, and suffer not thy heart to be at rest
till thou art loved by all to whom thou art known. In the height of my
power, I said to defamation, Who will hear thee? and to artifice, What
canst thou perform? But, my son, despise not thou the malice of the
weakest, remember that venom supplies the want of strength, and that the
lion may perish by the puncture of an asp. "

Morad expired in a few hours. Abouzaid, after the months of mourning,
determined to regulate his conduct by his father's precepts, and
cultivate the love of mankind by every art of kindness and endearment.
He wisely considered, that domestick happiness was first to be secured,
and that none have so much power of doing good or hurt, as those who are
present in the hour of negligence, hear the bursts of thoughtless
merriment, and observe the starts of unguarded passion. He therefore
augmented the pay of all his attendants, and requited every exertion of
uncommon diligence by supernumerary gratuities. While he congratulated
himself upon the fidelity and affection of his family, he was in the
night alarmed with robbers, who, being pursued and taken, declared that
they had been admitted by one of his servants; the servant immediately
confessed, that he unbarred the door, because another not more worthy of
confidence was entrusted with the keys.

Abouzaid was thus convinced that a dependant could not easily be made a
friend; and that while many were soliciting for the first rank of
favour, all those would be alienated whom he disappointed. He therefore
resolved to associate with a few equal companions selected from among
the chief men of the province. With these he lived happily for a time,
till familiarity set them free from restraint, and every man thought
himself at liberty to indulge his own caprice, and advance his own
opinions. They then disturbed each other with contrariety of
inclinations, and difference of sentiments, and Abouzaid was
necessitated to offend one party by concurrence, or both by
indifference.

He afterwards determined to avoid a close union with beings so
discordant in their nature, and to diffuse himself in a larger circle.
He practised the smile of universal courtesy, and invited all to his
table, but admitted none to his retirements. Many who had been rejected
in his choice of friendship, now refused to accept his acquaintance; and
of those whom plenty and magnificence drew to his table, every one
pressed forward toward intimacy, thought himself overlooked in the
crowd, and murmured because he was not distinguished above the rest. By
degrees all made advances, and all resented repulse. The table was then
covered with delicacies in vain; the musick sounded in empty rooms; and
Abouzaid was left to form in solitude some new scheme of pleasure or
security.

Resolving now to try the force of gratitude, he inquired for men of
science, whose merit was obscured by poverty. His house was soon crowded
with poets, sculptors, painters, and designers, who wantoned in
unexperienced plenty, and employed their powers in celebration of their
patron. But in a short time they forgot the distress from which they had
been rescued, and began to consider their deliverer as a wretch of
narrow capacity, who was growing great by works which he could not
perform, and whom they overpaid by condescending to accept his bounties.
Abouzaid heard their murmurs and dismissed them, and from that hour
continued blind to colours, and deaf to panegyrick.

As the sons of art departed, muttering threats of perpetual infamy,
Abouzaid, who stood at the gate, called to him Hamet the poet. "Hamet,"
said he, "thy ingratitude has put an end to my hopes and experiments: I
have now learned the vanity of those labours that wish to be rewarded by
human benevolence; I shall henceforth do good, and avoid evil, without
respect to the opinion of men; and resolve to solicit only the
approbation of that Being whom alone we are sure to please by
endeavouring to please him. "



No. 191. TUESDAY, JANUARY 14, 1752.

_Cereus in vitium flecli, monitoribus asper_. HOR. Art. Poet. 163.

The youth--
Yielding like wax, th' impressive folly bears;
Rough to reproof, and slow to future cares. FRANCIS.

TO THE RAMBLER.

DEAR MR. RAMBLER,

I have been four days confined to my chamber by a cold, which has
already kept me from three plays, nine sales, five shows, and six
card-tables, and put me seventeen visits behind-hand; and the doctor
tells my mamma, that, if I fret and cry, it will settle in my head,
and I shall not be fit to be seen these six weeks. But, dear Mr. Rambler,
how can I help it? At this very time Melissa is dancing with the
prettiest gentleman;--she will breakfast with him to-morrow, and then run
to two auctions, and hear compliments, and have presents; then she will
be drest, and visit, and get a ticket to the play; then go to cards and
win, and come home with two flambeaux before her chair. Dear Mr.
Rambler, who can bear it?

My aunt has just brought me a bundle of your papers for my amusement.
She says you are a philosopher, and will teach me to moderate my
desires, and look upon the world with indifference. But, dear sir, I do
not wish nor intend to moderate my desires, nor can I think it proper to
look upon the world with indifference, till the world looks with
indifference on me. I have been forced, however, to sit this morning a
whole quarter of an hour with your paper before my face; but just as my
aunt came in, Phyllida had brought me a letter from Mr. Trip, which I
put within the leaves; and read about _absence_ and _inconsolableness_,
and _ardour_, and _irresistible passion_, and _eternal constancy_, while
my aunt imagined that I was puzzling myself with your philosophy, and
often cried out when she saw me look confused, "If there is any word
that you do not understand, child, I will explain it. "

Dear soul! how old people that think themselves wise may be imposed
upon! But it is fit that they should take their turn, for I am sure,
while they can keep poor girls close in the nursery, they tyrannize over
us in a very shameful manner, and fill our imaginations with tales of
terrour, only to make us live in quiet subjection, and fancy that we can
never be safe but by their protection.

I have a mamma and two aunts, who have all been formerly celebrated for
wit and beauty, and are still generally admired by those that value
themselves upon their understanding, and love to talk of vice and
virtue, nature and simplicity, and beauty and propriety; but if there
was not some hope of meeting me, scarcely a creature would come near
them that wears a fashionable coat. These ladies, Mr. Rambler, have had
me under their government fifteen years and a half, and have all that
time been endeavouring to deceive me by such representations of life as
I now find not to be true; but I know not whether I ought to impute them
to ignorance or malice, as it is possible the world may be much changed
since they mingled in general conversation.

Being desirous that I should love books, they told me, that nothing but
knowledge could make me an agreeable companion to men of sense, or
qualify me to distinguish the superficial glitter of vanity from the
solid merit of understanding; and that a habit of reading would enable
me to fill up the vacuities of life without the help of silly or
dangerous amusements, and preserve me from the snares of idleness and
the inroads of temptation.

But their principal intention was to make me afraid of men; in which
they succeeded so well for a time, that I durst not look in their faces,
or be left alone with them in a parlour; for they made me fancy, that no
man ever spoke but to deceive, or looked but to allure; that the girl
who suffered him that had once squeezed her hand, to approach her a
second time, was on the brink of ruin; and that she who answered a
billet, without consulting her relations, gave love such power over her,
that she would certainly become either poor or infamous.

From the time that my leading-strings were taken off, I scarce heard any
mention of my beauty but from the milliner, the mantua-maker, and my own
maid; for my mamma never said more, when she heard me commended, but
"the girl is very well," and then endeavoured to divert my attention by
some inquiry after my needle, or my book.

It is now three months since I have been suffered to pay and receive
visits, to dance at publick assemblies, to have a place kept for me in
the boxes, and to play at lady Racket's rout; and you may easily imagine
what I think of those who have so long cheated me with false
expectations, disturbed me with fictitious terrours, and concealed from
me all that I have found to make the happiness of woman.

I am so far from perceiving the usefulness or necessity of books, that
if I had not dropped all pretensions to learning, I should have lost Mr.
Trip, whom I once frighted into another box, by retailing some of
Dryden's remarks upon a tragedy; for Mr. Trip declares, that he hates
nothing like hard words, and I am sure, there is not a better partner to
be found; his very walk is a dance. I have talked once or twice among
ladies about principles and ideas, but they put their fans before their
faces, and told me I was too wise for them, who for their part never
pretended to read any thing but the play-bill, and then asked me the
price of my best head.

Those vacancies of time which are to be filled up with books I have
never vet obtained; for, consider, Mr. Rambler, I go to bed late, and
therefore cannot rise early; as soon as I am up, I dress for the
gardens; then walk in the park; then always go to some sale or show, or
entertainment at the little theatre; then must be dressed for dinner;
then must pay my visits; then walk in the park; then hurry to the play;
and from thence to the card-table. This is the general course of the
day, when there happens nothing extraordinary; but sometimes I ramble
into the country, and come back again to a ball; sometimes I am engaged
for a whole day and part of the night. If, at any time, I can gain an
hour by not being at home, I have so many things to do, so many orders
to give to the milliner, so many alterations to make in my clothes, so
many visitants' names to read over, so many invitations to accept or
refuse, so many cards to write, and so many fashions to consider, that I
am lost in confusion, forced at last to let in company or step into my
chair, and leave half my affairs to the direction of my maid.

This is the round of my day; and when shall I either stop my course, or
so change it as to want a book? I suppose it cannot be imagined, that
any of these diversions will soon be at an end. There will always be
gardens, and a park, and auctions, and shows, and playhouses, and cards;
visits will always be paid, and clothes always be worn; and how can I
have time unemployed upon my hands?

But I am most at a loss to guess for what purpose they related such
tragick stories of the cruelty, perfidy, and artifices of men, who, if
they ever were so malicious and destructive, have certainly now reformed
their manners. I have not, since my entrance into the world, found one
who does not profess himself devoted to my service, and ready to live or
die as I shall command him. They are so far from intending to hurt me,
that their only contention is, who shall be allowed most closely to
attend, and most frequently to treat me; when different places of
entertainment, or schemes of pleasure are mentioned, I can see the eye
sparkle and the cheeks glow of him whose proposals obtain my
approbation; he then leads me off in triumph, adores my condescension,
and congratulates himself that he has lived to the hour of felicity. Are
these, Mr. Rambler, creatures to be feared? Is it likely that an injury
will be done me by those who can enjoy life only while I favour them
with my presence?

As little reason can I yet find to suspect them of stratagems and fraud.
When I play at cards, they never take advantage of my mistakes, nor
exact from me a rigorous observation of the game. Even Mr. Shuffle, a
grave gentleman, who has daughters older than myself, plays with me so
negligently, that I am sometimes inclined to believe he loses his money
by design, and yet he is so fond of play, that he says, he will one day
take me to his house in the country, that we may try by ourselves who
can conquer. I have not yet promised him; but when the town grows a
little empty, I shall think upon it, for I want some trinkets, like
Letitia's, to my watch. I do not doubt my luck, but must study some
means of amusing my relations.

For all these distinctions I find myself indebted to that beauty which I
was never suffered to hear praised, and of which, therefore, I did not
before know the full value. The concealment was certainly an intentional
fraud, for my aunts have eyes like other people, and I am every day
told, that nothing but blindness can escape the influence of my charms.
Their whole account of that world which they pretend to know so well,
has been only one fiction entangled with another; and though the modes
of life oblige me to continue some appearances of respect, I cannot
think that they, who have been so clearly detected in ignorance or
imposture, have any right to the esteem, veneration, or obedience of,

Sir, Yours,
BELLARIA.



No. 192. SATURDAY, JANUARY 18, 1752.

[Greek:
Genos ouden eis Erota;
Sophiae, tropos pateitai;
Monon arguron blepousin.
Apoloito protos autos
Ho ton arguron philaesas.
Dia touton ou tokaees,
Dai touton ou tokaees;
Polemoi, phonoi di auton.
To de cheiron, ollymestha
Dia touton oi philountes. ] ANACREON. [Greek: ODLI Ms. ] 5.

Vain the noblest birth would prove,
Nor worth or wit avail in love;
'Tis gold alone succeeds--by gold
The venal sex is bought and sold.
Accurs'd be he who first of yore
Discover'd the pernicious ore!
This sets a brother's heart on fire,
And arms the son against the sire;
And what, alas! is worse than all,
To this the lover owes his fall. F. LEWIS.

TO THE RAMBLER.

SIR,

I am the son of a gentleman, whose ancestors, for many ages, held the
first rank in the country; till at last one of them, too desirous of
popularity, set his house open, kept a table covered with continual
profusion, and distributed his beef and ale to such as chose rather to
live upon the folly of others, than their own labour, with such
thoughtless liberality, that he left a third part of his estate
mortgaged. His successor, a man of spirit, scorned to impair his dignity
by parsimonious retrenchments, or to admit, by a sale of his lands, any
participation of the rights of his manour; he therefore made another
mortgage to pay the interest of the former, and pleased himself with the
reflection, that his son would have the hereditary estate without the
diminution of an acre.

Nearly resembling this was the practice of my wise progenitors for many
ages. Every man boasted the antiquity of her family, resolved to support
the dignity of his birth, and lived in splendour and plenty at the
expense of his heir, who, sometimes by a wealthy marriage, and sometimes
by lucky legacies, discharged part of the incumbrances, and thought
himself entitled to contract new debts, and to leave to his children the
same inheritance of embarrassment and distress.

Thus the estate perpetually decayed; the woods were felled by one, the
park ploughed by another, the fishery let to farmers by a third; at last
the old hall was pulled down to spare the cost of reparation, and part
of the materials sold to build a small house with the rest. We were now
openly degraded from our original rank, and my father's brother was
allowed with less reluctance to serve an apprenticeship, though we never
reconciled ourselves heartily to the sound of haberdasher, but always
talked of warehouses and a merchant, and when the wind happened to blow
loud, affected to pity the hazards of commerce, and to sympathize with
the solicitude of my poor uncle, who had the true retailer's terrour of
adventure, and never exposed himself or his property to any wider water
than the Thames.

In time, however, by continual profit and small expenses, he grew rich,
and began to turn his thoughts towards rank. He hung the arms of the
family over his parlour-chimney; pointed at a chariot decorated only
with a cypher; became of opinion that money could not make a gentleman;
resented the petulance of upstarts; told stories of alderman Puff's
grandfather the porter; wondered that there was no better method for
regulating precedence; wished for some dress peculiar to men of fashion;
and when his servant presented a letter, always inquired whether it came
from his brother the esquire.

My father was careful to send him game by every carrier, which, though
the conveyance often cost more than the value, was well received,
because it gave him an opportunity of calling his friends together,
describing the beauty of his brother's seat, and lamenting his own
folly, whom no remonstrances could withhold from polluting his fingers
with a shop-book.

The little presents which we sent were always returned with great
munificence. He was desirous of being the second founder of his family,
and could not bear that we should be any longer outshone by those whom
we considered as climbers upon our ruins, and usurpers of our fortune.
He furnished our house with all the elegance of fashionable expense, and
was careful to conceal his bounties, lest the poverty of his family
should be suspected.

At length it happened that, by misconduct like our own, a large estate,
which had been purchased from us, was again exposed to the best bidder.
My uncle, delighted with an opportunity of reinstating the family in
their possessions, came down with treasures scarcely to be imagined in a
place where commerce has not made large sums familiar, and at once drove
all the competitors away, expedited the writings, and took possession.
He now considered himself as superior to trade, disposed of his stock,
and as soon as he had settled his economy, began to shew his rural
sovereignty, by breaking the hedges of his tenants in hunting, and
seizing the guns or nets of those whose fortunes did not qualify them
for sportsmen. He soon afterwards solicited the office of sheriff, from
which all his neighbours were glad to be reprieved, but which he
regarded as a resumption of ancestral claims, and a kind of restoration
to blood after the attainder of a trade.

My uncle, whose mind was so filled with this change of his condition,
that he found no want of domestick entertainment, declared himself too
old to marry, and resolved to let the newly-purchased estate fall into
the regular channel of inheritance. I was therefore considered as heir
apparent, and courted with officiousness and caresses, by the gentlemen
who had hitherto coldly allowed me that rank which they could not
refuse, depressed me with studied neglect, and irritated me with
ambiguous insults.

I felt not much pleasure from the civilities for which I knew myself
indebted to my uncle's industry, till, by one of the invitations which
every day now brought me, I was induced to spend a week with Lucius,
whose daughter Flavilla I had often seen and admired like others,
without any thought of nearer approaches. The inequality which had
hitherto kept me at a distance being now levelled, I was received with
every evidence of respect: Lucius told me the fortune which he intended
for his favourite daughter; many odd accidents obliged us to be often
together without company, and I soon began to find that they were
spreading for me the nets of matrimony.

Flavilla was all softness and complaisance. I, who had been excluded by
a narrow fortune from much acquaintance with the world, and never been
honoured before with the notice of so fine a lady, was easily enamoured.
Lucius either perceived my passion, or Flavilla betrayed it; care was
taken, that our private meetings should be less frequent, and my charmer
confessed by her eyes how much pain she suffered from our restraint. I
renewed my visit upon every pretence, but was not allowed one interview
without witness; at last I declared my passion to Lucius, who received
me as a lover worthy of his daughter, and told me that nothing was
wanting to his consent, but that my uncle should settle his estate upon
me. I objected the indecency of encroaching on his life, and the danger
of provoking him by such an unseasonable demand. Lucius seemed not to
think decency of much importance, but admitted the danger of
displeasing, and concluded that as he was now old and sickly, we might,
without any inconvenience, wait for his death.

With this resolution I was better contented, as it procured me the
company of Flavilla, in which the days passed away amidst continual
rapture; but in time I began to be ashamed of sitting idle, in
expectation of growing rich by the death of my benefactor, and proposed
to Lucius many schemes of raising my own fortune by such assistance as I
knew my uncle willing to give me. Lucius, afraid lest I should change my
affection in absence, diverted me from my design by dissuasives to which
my passion easily listened. At last my uncle died, and considering
himself as neglected by me, from the time that Flavilla took possession
of my heart, left his estate to my younger brother, who was always
hovering about his bed, and relating stories of my pranks and
extravagance, my contempt of the commercial dialect, and my impatience
to be selling stock.

My condition was soon known, and I was no longer admitted by the father
of Flavilla. I repeated the protestations of regard, which had been
formerly returned with so much ardour, in a letter which she received
privately, but returned by her father's footman. Contempt has driven out
my love, and I am content to have purchased, by the loss of fortune, an
escape from a harpy, who has joined the artifices of age to the
allurements of youth. I am now going to pursue my former projects with a
legacy which my uncle bequeathed me, and if I succeed, shall expect to
hear of the repentance of Flavilla.

I am, Sir, Yours, &c.

CONSTANTIUS.



No. 193. TUESDAY, JANUARY 21, 1752.

_Laudis amore tumes? sunt certa piacula, quoe te
Ter pure lecto poterunt recreare libello_. HOR. Lib. i. Ep. i. 36.

Or art thou vain? books yield a certain spell
To stop thy tumour; you shall cease to swell
When you have read them thrice, and studied well. CREECH.

Whatever is universally desired, will be sought by industry and
artifice, by merit and crimes, by means good and bad, rational and
absurd, according to the prevalence of virtue or vice, of wisdom or
folly. Some will always mistake the degree of their own desert, and some
will desire that others may mistake it. The cunning will have recourse
to stratagem, and the powerful to violence, for the attainment of their
wishes; some will stoop to theft, and others venture upon plunder.

Praise is so pleasing to the mind of man, that it is the original motive
of almost all our actions. The desire of commendation, as of every thing
else, is varied indeed by innumerable differences of temper, capacity,
and knowledge; some have no higher wish than for the applause of a club;
some expect the acclamations of a county; and some have hoped to fill
the mouths of all ages and nations with their names. Every man pants for
the highest eminence within his view; none, however mean, ever sinks
below the hope of being distinguished by his fellow-beings, and very few
have by magnanimity or piety been so raised above it, as to act wholly
without regard to censure or opinion.

To be praised, therefore, every man resolves; but resolutions will not
execute themselves. That which all think too parsimoniously distributed
to their own claims, they will not gratuitously squander upon others,
and some expedient must be tried, by which praise may be gained before
it can be enjoyed.

Among the innumerable bidders for praise, some are willing to purchase
at the highest rate, and offer ease and health, fortune and life. Yet
even of these only a small part have gained what they so earnestly
desired; the student wastes away in meditation, and the soldier perishes
on the ramparts, but unless some accidental advantage cooperates with
merit, neither perseverance nor adventure attracts attention, and
learning and bravery sink into the grave, without honour or remembrance.

But ambition and vanity generally expect to be gratified on easier
terms. It has been long observed, that what is procured by skill or
labour to the first possessor, may be afterwards transferred for money;
and that the man of wealth may partake all the acquisitions of courage
without hazard, and all the products of industry without fatigue. It was
easily discovered, that riches would obtain praise among other
conveniencies, and that he whose pride was unluckily associated with
laziness, ignorance, or cowardice, needed only to pay the hire of a
panegyrist, and he might be regaled with periodical eulogies; might
determine, at leisure, what virtue or science he would be pleased to
appropriate, and be lulled in the evening with soothing serenades, or
waked in the morning by sprightly gratulations.

The happiness which mortals receive from the celebration of beneficence
which never relieved, eloquence which never persuaded, or elegance which
never pleased, ought not to be envied or disturbed, when they are known
honestly to pay for their entertainment. But there are unmerciful
exactors of adulation, who withhold the wages of venality; retain their
encomiast from year to year by general promises and ambiguous
blandishments; and when he has run through the whole compass of
flattery, dismiss him with contempt, because his vein of fiction is
exhausted.

A continual feast of commendation is only to be obtained by merit or by
wealth; many are therefore obliged to content themselves with single
morsels, and recompense the infrequency of their enjoyment by excess and
riot, whenever fortune sets the banquet before them. Hunger is never
delicate; they who are seldom gorged to the full with praise, may be
safely fed with gross compliments; for the appetite must be satisfied
before it is disgusted.

It is easy to find the moment at which vanity is eager for sustenance,
and all that impudence or servility can offer will be well received.
When any one complains of the want of what he is known to possess in an
uncommon degree, he certainly waits with impatience to be contradicted.
When the trader pretends anxiety about the payment of his bills, or the
beauty remarks how frightfully she looks, then is the lucky moment to
talk of riches or of charms, of the death of lovers, or the honour of a
merchant.

Others there are yet more open and artless, who, instead of suborning a
flatterer, are content to supply his place, and, as some animals
impregnate themselves, swell with the praises which they hear from their
own tongues. _Recte is dicitur laudare sese, cui nemo alius contigit
laudator_. "It is right," says Erasmus, "that he, whom no one else will
commend, should bestow commendations on himself. " Of all the sons of
vanity, these are surely the happiest and greatest; for what is
greatness or happiness but independence on external influences,
exemption from hope or fear, and the power of supplying every want from
the common stores of nature, which can neither be exhausted nor
prohibited? Such is the wise man of the stoicks; such is the divinity of
the epicureans; and such is the flatterer of himself. Every other
enjoyment malice may destroy; every other panegyrick envy may withhold;
but no human power can deprive the boaster of his own encomiums. Infamy
may hiss, or contempt may growl, the hirelings of the great may follow
fortune, and the votaries of truth may attend on virtue; but his
pleasures still remain the same; he can always listen with rapture to
himself, and leave those who dare not repose upon their own attestation,
to be elated or depressed by chance, and toil on in the hopeless task of
fixing caprice, and propitiating malice.

This art of happiness has been long practised by periodical writers,
with little apparent violation of decency. When we think our
excellencies overlooked by the world, or desire to recall the attention
of the publick to some particular performance, we sit down with great
composure and write a letter to ourselves. The correspondent, whose
character we assume, always addresses us with the deference due to a
superior intelligence; proposes his doubts with a proper sense of his
own inability; offers an objection with trembling diffidence; and at
last has no other pretensions to our notice than his profundity of
respect, and sincerity of admiration, his submission to our dictates,
and zeal for our success. To such a reader, it is impossible to refuse
regard, nor can it easily be imagined with how much alacrity we snatch
up the pen which indignation or despair had condemned to inactivity,
when we find such candour and judgment yet remaining in the world.

A letter of this kind I had lately the honour of perusing, in which,
though some of the periods were negligently closed, and some expressions
of familiarity were used, which I thought might teach others to address
me with too little reverence, I was so much delighted with the passages
in which mention was made of universal learning--unbounded genius--soul
of Homer, Pythagoras, and Plato--solidity of thought--accuracy of
distinction--elegance of combination--vigour of fancy--strength of
reason--and regularity of composition--that I had once determined to lay
it before the publick. Three times I sent it to the printer, and three
times I fetched it back. My modesty was on the point of yielding, when
reflecting that I was about to waste panegyricks on myself, which might
be more profitably reserved for my patron, I locked it up for a better
hour, in compliance with the farmer's principle, who never eats at home
what he can carry to the market.



No. 194. SATURDAY, JANUARY 25, 1752.

_Si damnosa senem juvat alea, ludit et heres
Bullatus, parvoque eadem movet arma fritillo_. JUV. Sat. xiv. 4.

If gaming does an aged sire entice,
Then my young master swiftly learns the vice,
And shakes in hanging sleeves the little box and dice. J. DRYDEN, jun.

TO THE RAMBLER.

SIR,

That vanity which keeps every man important in his own eyes, inclines me
to believe that neither you nor your readers have yet forgotten the name
of Eumathes, who sent you a few months ago an account of his arrival at
London, with a young nobleman his pupil. I shall therefore continue my
narrative without preface or recapitulation.

My pupil, in a very short time, by his mother's countenance and
direction, accomplished himself with all those qualifications which
constitute puerile politeness. He became in a few days a perfect master
of his hat, which with a careless nicety he could put off or on, without
any need to adjust it by a second motion. This was not attained but by
frequent consultations with his dancing-master, and constant practice
before the glass, for he had some rustick habits to overcome; but, what
will not time and industry perform? A fortnight more furnished him with
all the airs and forms of familiar and respectful salutation, from the
clap on the shoulder to the humble bow; he practises the stare of
strangeness, and the smile of condescension, the solemnity of promise,
and the graciousness of encouragement, as if he had been nursed at a
levee; and pronounces, with no less propriety than his father, the
monosyllables of coldness, and sonorous periods of respectful
profession.

He immediately lost the reserve and timidity which solitude and study
are apt to impress upon the most courtly genius; was able to enter a
crowded room with airy civility; to meet the glances of a hundred eyes
without perturbation; and address those whom he never saw before with
ease and confidence. In less than a month his mother declared her
satisfaction at his proficiency by a triumphant observation, that she
believed _nothing would make him blush_.

The silence with which I was contented to hear my pupil's praises, gave
the lady reason to suspect me not much delighted with his acquisitions;
but she attributed my discontent to the diminution of my influence, and
my fears of losing the patronage of the family; and though she thinks
favourably of my learning and morals, she considers me as wholly
unacquainted with the customs of the polite part of mankind; and
therefore not qualified to form the manners of a young nobleman, or
communicate the knowledge of the world. This knowledge she comprises in
the rules of visiting, the history of the present hour, an early
intelligence of the change of fashions, an extensive acquaintance with
the names and faces of persons of rank, and a frequent appearance in
places of resort.

All this my pupil pursues with great application. He is twice a day in
the Mall, where he studies the dress of every man splendid enough to
attract his notice, and never comes home without some observation upon
sleeves, button-holes, and embroidery. At his return from the theatre,
he can give an account of the gallantries, glances, whispers, smiles,
sighs, flirts, and blushes of every box, so much to his mother's
satisfaction, that when I attempted to resume my character, by inquiring
his opinion of the sentiments and diction of the tragedy, she at once
repressed my criticism, by telling me, "that she hoped he did not go to
lose his time in attending to the creatures on the stage. "

But his acuteness was most eminently signalized at the masquerade, where
he discovered his acquaintance through their disguises, with such
wonderful facility, as has afforded the family an inexhaustible topick
of conversation. Every new visitor is informed how one was detected by
his gait, and another by the swinging of his arms, a third by the toss
of his head, and another by his favourite phrase; nor can you doubt but
these performances receive their just applause, and a genius thus
hastening to maturity is promoted by every art of cultivation.

Such have been his endeavours, and such his assistances, that every
trace of literature was soon obliterated. He has changed his language
with his dress, and instead of endeavouring at purity or propriety, has
no other care than to catch the reigning phrase and current exclamation,
till, by copying whatever is peculiar in the talk of all those whose
birth or fortune entitles them to imitation, he has collected every
fashionable barbarism of the present winter, and speaks a dialect not to
be understood among those who form their style by poring upon authors.

To this copiousness of ideas, and felicity of language, he has joined
such eagerness to lead the conversation, that he is celebrated among the
ladies as the prettiest gentleman that the age can boast of, except that
some who love to talk themselves, think him too forward, and others
lament that, with so much wit and knowledge, he is not taller.

His mother listens to his observations with her eyes sparkling and her
heart beating, and can scarcely contain, in the most numerous
assemblies, the expectations which she has formed for his future
eminence. Women, by whatever fate, always judge absurdly of the
intellects of boys. The vivacity and confidence which attract female
admiration, are seldom produced in the early part of life, but by
ignorance at least, if not by stupidity; for they proceed not from
confidence of right, but fearlessness of wrong. Whoever has a clear
apprehension, must have quick sensibility, and where he has no
sufficient reason to trust his own judgment, will proceed with doubt and
caution, because he perpetually dreads the disgrace of errour. The pain
of miscarriage is naturally proportionate to the desire of excellence;
and, therefore, till men are hardened by long familiarity with reproach,
or have attained, by frequent struggles, the art of suppressing their
emotions, diffidence is found the inseparable associate of
understanding.

But so little distrust has my pupil of his own abilities, that he has
for some time professed himself a wit, and tortures his imagination on
all occasions for burlesque and jocularity. How he supports a character
which, perhaps, no man ever assumed without repentance, may be easily
conjectured. Wit, you know, is the unexpected copulation of ideas, the
discovery of some occult relation between images in appearance remote
from each other; an effusion of wit, therefore, presupposes an
accumulation of knowledge; a memory stored with notions, which the
imagination may cull out to compose, new assemblages. Whatever may be
the native vigour of the mind, she can never form many combinations from
few ideas, as many changes can never be rung upon a few bells. Accident
may indeed sometimes produce a lucky parallel or a striking contrast;
but these gifts of chance are not frequent, and he that has nothing of
his own, and yet condemns himself to needless expenses, must live upon
loans or theft.

The indulgence which his youth has hitherto obtained, and the respect
which his rank secures, have hitherto supplied the want of intellectual
qualifications; and he imagines that all admire who applaud, and that
all who laugh are pleased. He therefore returns every day to the charge
with increase of courage, though not of strength, and practises all the
tricks by which wit is counterfeited. He lays trains for a quibble; he
contrives blunders for his footman; he adapts old stories to present
characters; he mistakes the question, that he may return a smart answer;
he anticipates the argument, that he may plausibly object; when he has
nothing to reply, he repeats the last words of his antagonist, then
says, "your humble servant," and concludes with a laugh of triumph.

These mistakes I have honestly attempted to correct; but what can be
expected from reason unsupported by fashion, splendour, or authority? He
hears me, indeed, or appears to hear me, but is soon rescued from the
lecture by more pleasing avocations; and shows, diversions, and
caresses, drive my precepts from his remembrance.

He at last imagines himself qualified to enter the world, and has met
with adventures in his first sally, which I shall, by your paper,
communicate to the publick.

I am, &c.

EUMATHES.



No. 195. TUESDAY, JANUARY 28, 1752.

--_Nescit equo rudis
Haerere ingenuus puer,
Venarique timet; ludere doctior,
Seu Graeco jubeas trocho,
Seu malis vetitâ legibus aleâ_. HOR. Lib. iii. Ode xxiv. 54.

Nor knows our youth, of noblest race,
To mount the manag'd steed, or urge the chace;
More skill'd in the mean arts of vice,
The whirling troque, or law-forbidden dice. FRANCIS.

TO THE RAMBLER.

SIR,

Favours of every kind are doubled when they are speedily conferred. This
is particularly true of the gratification of curiosity. He that long
delays a story, and suffers his auditor to torment himself with
expectation, will seldom be able to recompense the uneasiness, or equal
the hope which he suffers to be raised.

For this reason, I have already sent you the continuation of my pupil's
history, which, though it contains no events very uncommon, may be of
use to young men who are in too much haste to trust their own prudence,
and quit the wing of protection before they are able to shift for
themselves.

When he first settled in London, he was so much bewildered in the
enormous extent of the town, so confounded by incessant noise, and
crowds, and hurry, and so terrified by rural narratives of the arts of
sharpers, the rudeness of the populace, malignity of porters, and
treachery of coachmen, that he was afraid to go beyond the door without
an attendant, and imagined his life in danger if he was obliged to pass
the streets at night in any vehicle but his mother's chair.

He was therefore contented, for a time, that I should accompany him in
all his excursions. But his fear abated as he grew more familiar with
its objects; and the contempt to which his rusticity exposed him from
such of his companions as had accidentally known the town longer,
obliged him to dissemble his remaining terrours.

His desire of liberty made him now willing to spare me the trouble of
observing his motions; but knowing how much his ignorance exposed him to
mischief, I thought it cruel to abandon him to the fortune of the town.
We went together every day to a coffee-house, where he met wits, heirs,
and fops, airy, ignorant, and thoughtless as himself, with whom he had
become acquainted at card-tables, and whom he considered as the only
beings to be envied or admired. What were their topicks of conversation,
I could never discover; for, so much was their vivacity repressed by my
intrusive seriousness, that they seldom proceeded beyond the exchange of
nods and shrugs, an arch grin, or a broken hint, except when they could
retire, while I was looking on the papers, to a corner of the room,
where they seemed to disburden their imaginations, and commonly vented
the superfluity of their sprightliness in a peal of laughter. When they
had tittered themselves into negligence, I could sometimes overhear a
few syllables, such as--solemn rascal--academical airs--smoke the tutor--
company for gentlemen! --and other broken phrases, by which I did not
suffer my quiet to be disturbed, for they never proceeded to avowed
indignities, but contented themselves to murmur in secret, and, whenever
I turned my eye upon them, shrunk into stillness.

He was, however, desirous of withdrawing from the subjection which he
could not venture to break, and made a secret appointment to assist his
companions in the persecution of a play. His footman privately procured
him a catcall, on which he practised in a back-garret for two hours in
the afternoon. At the proper time a chair was called; he pretended an
engagement at lady Flutter's, and hastened to the place where his
critical associates had assembled. They hurried away to the theatre,
full of malignity and denunciations against a man whose name they had
never heard, and a performance which they could not understand; for they
were resolved to judge for themselves, and would not suffer the town to
be imposed upon by scribblers. In the pit, they exerted themselves with
great spirit and vivacity; called out for the tunes of obscene songs,
talked loudly at intervals of Shakespeare and Jonson, played on their
catcalls a short prelude of terrour, clamoured vehemently for a
prologue, and clapped with great dexterity at the first entrance of the
players.

Two scenes they heard without attempting interruption; but, being no
longer able to restrain their impatience, they then began to exert
themselves in groans and hisses, and plied their catcalls with incessant
diligence; so that they were soon considered by the audience as
disturbers of the house; and some who sat near them, either provoked at
the obstruction of their entertainment, or desirous to preserve the
author from the mortification of seeing his hopes destroyed by children,
snatched away their instruments of criticism, and, by the seasonable
vibration of a stick, subdued them instantaneously to decency and
silence.

To exhilarate themselves after this vexatious defeat, they posted to a
tavern, where they recovered their alacrity, and, after two hours of
obstreperous jollity, burst out big with enterprize, and panting for
some occasion to signalize their prowess. They proceeded vigorously
through two streets, and with very little opposition dispersed a rabble
of drunkards less daring than themselves, then rolled two watchmen in
the kennel, and broke the windows of a tavern in which the fugitives
took shelter. At last it was determined to march up to a row of chairs,
and demolish them for standing on the pavement; the chairmen formed a
line of battle, and blows were exchanged for a time with equal courage
on both sides. At last the assailants were overpowered, and the
chairmen, when they knew then-captives, brought them home by force.

The young gentleman, next morning, hung his head, and was so much
ashamed of his outrages and defeat, that perhaps he might have been
checked in his first follies, had not his mother, partly in pity of his
dejection, and partly in approbation of his spirit, relieved him from
his perplexity by paying the damages privately, and discouraging all
animadversion and reproof.

This indulgence could not wholly preserve him from the remembrance of
his disgrace, nor at once restore his confidence and elation. He was for
three days silent, modest, and compliant, and thought himself neither
too wise for instruction, nor too manly for restraint. But his levity
overcame this salutary sorrow; he began to talk with his former raptures
of masquerades, taverns, and frolicks; blustered when his wig was not
combed with exactness; and threatened destruction to a tailor who had
mistaken his directions about the pocket.

I knew that he was now rising again above control, and that his
inflation of spirits would burst out into some mischievous absurdity. I
therefore watched him with great attention; but one evening, having
attended his mother at a visit, he withdrew himself, unsuspected, while
the company was engaged at cards. His vivacity and officiousness were
soon missed, and his return impatiently expected; supper was delayed,
and conversation suspended; every coach that rattled through the street
was expected to bring him, and every servant that entered the room was
examined concerning his departure. At last the lady returned home, and
was with great difficulty preserved from fits by spirits and cordials.
The family was despatched a thousand ways without success, and the house
was filled with distraction, till, as we were deliberating what further
measures to take, he returned from a petty gaming-table, with his coat
torn and his head broken; without his sword, snuff-box, sleeve-buttons,
and watch.

Of this loss or robbery, he gave little account; but, instead of sinking
into his former shame, endeavoured to support himself by surliness and
asperity. "He was not the first that had played away a few trifles, and
of what use were birth and fortune if they would not admit some sallies
and expenses? " His mamma was so much provoked by the cost of this prank,
that she would neither palliate nor conceal it; and his father, after
some threats of rustication which his fondness would not suffer him to
execute, reduced the allowance of his pocket, that he might not be
tempted by plenty to profusion. This method would have succeeded in a
place where there are no panders to folly and extravagance, but was now
likely to have produced pernicious consequences; for we have discovered
a treaty with a broker, whose daughter he seems disposed to marry, on
condition that he shall be supplied with present money, for which he is
to repay thrice the value at the death of his father.

There was now no time to be lost. A domestick consultation was
immediately held, and he was doomed to pass two years in the country;
but his mother, touched with his tears, declared, that she thought him
too much of a man to be any longer confined to his book, and he
therefore begins his travels to-morrow under a French governour.

I am, &c.

EUMATHES.



No. 196. SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 1, 1752.

_Multa ferunt anni venientes commoda secum,
Multa recedentes adimunt. --_ HOR. De Ar. Poet. 175.

The blessings flowing in with life's full tide,
Down with our ebb of life decreasing glide. FRANCIS.

Baxter, in the narrative of his own life, has enumerated several
opinions, which, though he thought them evident and incontestable at his
first entrance into the world, time and experience disposed him to
change.

Whoever reviews the state of his own mind from the dawn of manhood to
its decline, and considers what he pursued or dreaded, slighted or
esteemed, at different periods of his age, will have no reason to
imagine such changes of sentiment peculiar to any station or character.
Every man, however careless and inattentive, has conviction forced upon
him; the lectures of time obtrude themselves upon the most unwilling or
dissipated auditor; and, by comparing our past with our present
thoughts, we perceive that we have changed our minds, though perhaps we
cannot discover when the alteration happened, or by what causes it was
produced.

This revolution of sentiments occasions a perpetual contest between the
old and young. They who imagine themselves entitled to veneration by the
prerogative of longer life, are inclined to treat the notions of those
whose conduct they superintend with superciliousness and contempt, for
want of considering that the future and the past have different
appearances; that the disproportion will always be great between
expectation and enjoyment, between new possession and satiety; that the
truth of many maxims of age gives too little pleasure to be allowed till
it is felt; and that the miseries of life would be increased beyond all
human power of endurance, if we were to enter the world with the same
opinions as we carry from it.

We naturally indulge those ideas that please us. Hope will predominate
in every mind, till it has been suppressed by frequent disappointments.
The youth has not yet discovered how many evils are continually hovering
about us, and when he is set free from the shackles of discipline, looks
abroad into the world with rapture; he sees an elysian region open
before him, so variegated with beauty, and so stored with pleasure, that
his care is rather to accumulate good, than to shun evil; he stands
distracted by different forms of delight, and has no other doubt, than
which path to follow of those which all lead equally to the bowers of
happiness.

He who has seen only the superficies of life believes every thing to be
what it appears, and rarely suspects that external splendour conceals
any latent sorrow or vexation. He never imagines that there may be
greatness without safety, affluence without content, jollity without
friendship, and solitude without peace. He fancies himself permitted to
cull the blessings of every condition, and to leave its inconveniencies
to the idle and the ignorant. He is inclined to believe no man miserable
but by his own fault, and seldom looks with much pity upon failings or
miscarriages, because he thinks them willingly admitted, or negligently
incurred.

It is impossible, without pity and contempt, to hear a youth of generous
sentiments and warm imagination, declaring, in the moment of openness
and confidence, his designs and expectations; because long life is
possible, he considers it as certain, and therefore promises himself all
the changes of happiness, and provides gratifications for every desire.
He is, for a time, to give himself wholly to frolick and diversion, to
range the world in search of pleasure, to delight every eye, to gain
every heart, and to be celebrated equally for his pleasing levities and
solid attainments, his deep reflections and his sparkling repartees. He
then elevates his views to nobler enjoyments, and finds all the
scattered excellencies of the female world united in a woman, who
prefers his addresses to wealth and titles; he is afterwards to engage
in business, to dissipate difficulty, and overpower opposition: to
climb, by the mere force of merit, to fame and greatness; and reward all
those who countenanced his rise, or paid due regard to his early
excellence. At last he will retire in peace and honour; contract his
views to domestick pleasures; form the manners of children like himself;
observe how every year expands the beauty of his daughters, and how his
sons catch ardour from their father's history; he will give laws to the
neighbourhood; dictate axioms to posterity; and leave the world an
example of wisdom and of happiness.

With hopes like these, he sallies jocund into life; to little purpose is
he told, that the condition of humanity admits no pure and unmingled
happiness; that the exuberant gaiety of youth ends in poverty or
disease; that uncommon qualifications and contrarieties of excellence,
produce envy equally with applause; that whatever admiration and
fondness may promise him, he must marry a wife like the wives of others,
with some virtues and some faults, and be as often disgusted by her
vices, as delighted by her elegance; that if he adventures into the
circle of action, he must expect to encounter men as artful, as daring,
as resolute as himself; that of his children, some may be deformed, and
others vicious; some may disgrace him by their follies, some offend him
by their insolence, and some exhaust him by their profusion. He hears
all this with obstinate incredulity, and wonders by what malignity old
age is influenced, that it cannot forbear to fill his ears with
predictions of misery.

Among other pleasing errours of young minds, is the opinion of their own
importance. He that has not yet remarked, how little attention his
contemporaries can spare from their own affairs, conceives all eyes
turned upon himself, and imagines every one that approaches him to be an
enemy or a follower, an admirer or a spy.