only for the duties which he neglects, or the crime that he commits, but for that negligence and irregularity which he may encourage or inculcate. Every man, in whatever station, has, or endeavours to have, his followers, admirers, and imitators, and has therefore the influence of his example to watch with care; he ought to avoid not only crimes, but the appearance of crimes; and not only to practise virtue, but to applaud, countenance, and support it. For it is possible that for want of attention, we may teach others faults from which ourselves are free, or, by a cowardly desertion of a cause which we ourselves approve, may pervert those who fix their eyes upon us, and, having no rule of their own to guide their course, are easily misled by the aberrations of that example which they choose for their di MANY words and sentences are so frequently heard in the mouths of men, that a superficial observer is inclined to believe, that they must contain some primary principle, some great rule of action, which it is proper always to have present to the attention, and by which the use of every hour is to be adjusted. Yet, if we consider the conduct of those sententious philosophers, it will often be found that they repeat these aphorisms, merely because they have somewhere heard them, because they have nothing else to say, or because they think veneration gained by such appearances of wisdom, but that no ideas are annexed to the words, and that, according to the old blunder of the followers of Aristotle, their souls are mere pipes or organs, which transmit sounds, but do not understand them. cultivate it with uncommon elegance. His great pleasure is to walk among stately trees, and lie musing in the heat of noon under their shade; he is therefore maturely considering how he shall dispose his walks and his groves, and has at last determined to send for the best plans from Italy, and forbear planting till the next season. Thus is life trifled away in preparations to do what never can be done, if it be left unattempted till all the requisites which imagination can suggest are gathered together. Where our design terminates only in our own satisfaction, the mistake is of no great importance; for the pleasure of expecting enjoyment is often greater than that of obtaining it, and the completion of almost every wish is found a disappointment; but when many others are interested in an undertaking, when any design is formed, in which the improvement or security of mankind is involved, nothing is more unworthy either of wisdom or benevolence, than to delay it from time to time, or to forget how much every day that passes over us, takes away from our power, and how soon an idle purpose to do an action sinks into a mournful wish that it had once been done. We are frequently importuned, by the baccha nalian writers, to lay hold on the present hour, to catch the pleasures within our reach, and remember that futurity is not at our command. Τὸ ρόδον ἀκμάξει βαιὸν χρόνον, ἢν δὲ παρέλθῃς, Soon fades the rose; once past the fragrant hour, But surely these exhortations, may with equal propriety, be applied to better purposes; it may be at least inculcated that pleasures are more safely postponed than virtues, and that greater loss is suffered by missing an opportunity of doing good, than an hour of giddy frolic and noisy meiriment. When Baxter had lost a thousand pounds, which he had laid up for the erection of a school, he used frequently to mention the misfortune as an incitement to be charitable while God gives the power of bestowing, and considered himself as culpable in some degree for having left a good action in the hands of chance, and suffered his benevolence to be defeated for want of quickness and diligence. Of this kind is the well-known and well attested position, that life is short, which may be heard among mankind by an attentive auditor, many times a day, but which never yet within my reach of observation left any impression upon the mind; and perhaps, if my readers will turn their thoughts It is lamented by Hearne, the learned antiquaback upon their old friends, they will find it diffi-ry of Oxford, that this general forgetfulness of cult to call a single man to remembrance, who appeared to know that life was short till he was about to lose it. It is observable that Horace, in his account of the characters of men, as they are diversified by the various influence of time, remarks, that the old man is dilator, spe longus, given to procrastination, and inclined to extend his hopes to a great distance. So far are we generally from thinking what we often say of the shortness of life, that at the time when it is necessarily shortest, we form projects which we delay to execute, indulge such expectations as nothing but a long train of events can gratify, and suffer those passions to gain upon us, which are only excusable in the prime of life. These reflections were lately excited in my mind, by an evening's conversation with my friend Prospero, who, at the age of fifty-five, has bought an estate, and is now contriving to dispose and the fragility of life, has remarkably infected the students of monuments and records; as their em ployment consists in first collecting, and after wards in arranging or abstracting, what libraries afford them, they ought to amass no more than they can digest; but when they have undertaken a work, they go on searching and transcribing, call for new supplies, when they are already overburdened, and at last leave their work unfinished. It is, says he, the business of a good antiquary, as of a good man, to have mortality always before him. Thus, not only in the slumber of sloth, but in the dissipation of ill-directed industry, is the shortness of life generally forgotten. As some men lose their hours in laziness, because they suppose, that there is time enough for the reparation of neglect; others busy themselves in providing that no length of life may want employ influence upon us, and make the draught of life sweet or bitter by imperceptible instillations. They operate unseen and unregarded, as change of air makes us sick or healthy, though we breathe it without attention, and only know the particles that impregnate it by their salutary or malignant ment; and it often happens, that sluggishness So deeply is this fallacy rooted in the heart, and so strongly guarded by hope and fear against the approach of reason, that neither science nor experience can shake it, and we act as if life were without end, though we see and confess its uncertainty and shortness. Divines have, with great strength and ardour, shown the absurdity of delaying reformation and repentance; a degree of folly, indeed, which sets eternity to hazard. It is the same weakness, in proportion to the importance of the neglect, to transfer any care, which now claims our attention, to a future time; we subject ourselves to needless dangers from accidents which early diligence would have obviated, or perplex our minds by vain precautions, and make provision for the execution of designs, of which the opportunity once missed never will return. As he that lives longest lives but a little while, every man may be certain that he has no time to waste. The duties of life are commensurate to its duration, and every day brings its task, which if neglected is doubled on the morrow. But he that has already trifled away those months and years, in which he should have laboured, must remember that he has now only a part of that of which the whole is little; and that since the few moments remaining are to be considered as the last trust of Heaven, not one is to be lost. You have shown yourself not ignorant of the value of those subaltern endowments, yet have hitherto neglected to recommend good-humour to the world, though a little reflection will show you that it is the balm of being, the quality to which all that adorns or elevates mankind must owe its power of pleasing. Without good-humour, learning and bravery can only confer that superiority which swells the heart of the lion in the desert, where he roars without reply, and ravages without resistance. Without good-humour, virtue may awe by its dignity, and amaze by its brightness; but must always be viewed at a distance, and will scarcely gain a friend or attract an imitator. Good-humour may be defined a habit of being pleased; a constant and perennial softness of manner, easiness of approach, and suavity of disposition; like that which every man perceives in himself, when the first transports of new felicity have subsided, and his thoughts are only kept in motion by a slow succession of soft impulses. Good-humour is a state between gayety and unconcern, the act or emanation of a mind at leisure to regard the gratification of another. It is imagined by many, that whenever they aspire to please, they are required to be merry, and to show the gladness of their souls by flights of pleasantry, and bursts of laughter. But though these men may be for a time heard with applause and admiration, they seldom delight us long. We enjoy them a little, and then retire to easiness and good-humour, as the eye gazes awhile on eminence glittering with the sun, but soon turns aching away to verdure and to flowers. Gayety is to good-humour as animal perfumes to vegetable fragrance; the one overpowers weak spirits, and the other recreates and revives them. Gayety seldom fails to give some pain; the hearers either strain their faculties to accompany its towerings, or are left behind in envy and despair. Good-humour boasts no faculties which every one does not believe in his own power, and pleases principally by not offending. It is well known that the most certain way to give any man pleasure, is to persuade him that you receive pleasure from him, to encourage him to freedom and confidence, and to avoid any such appearance of superiority as may overbear and depress him. We see many that by this art only, spend their days in the midst of caresses, invitations, and civilities; and without any extraordinary qualities or attainments, are the universal favourites of both sexes, and certainly find a friend in every place. The darlings of the world will indeed, be generally found such as excite neither jealousy nor fear, and are not considered as candidates for any eminent degree of reputation, but content themselves with common accomplishments, and endeavour rather to solicit kindness than to raise esteem; therefore, in assemblies and places of resort, it seldom fails to happen, that though at the entrance of some particular person, every face brightens with gladness, and every hand is extended in salutation, yet if you pursue him beyond the first exchange of civilities, 1 of the power, or show more cruelty than to choose you will find him of very small importance, and only welcome to the company, as one by whom all conceive themselves admired, and with whom any one is at liberty to amuse himself when he can find no other auditor or companion; as one wit, whom all are at ease, who will hear a jest without criticism, and a narrative without con-rounded by those that love him, than by those tradiction, who laughs with every wit, and yields to every disputer. rest. any kind of influence before that of kindness. He that regards the welfare of others, should make his virtue approachable, that it may be loved and copied; and he that considers the want which every man feels, or will feel, of external assistance, must rather wish to be surthat admire his excellences, or solicit his favours; for admiration ceases with novelty, and interest gains its end and retires. A man whose great qualities want the ornament of superficial attractions, is like a naked mountain with mines of gold, which will be frequented only till the treasure is exhausted. There are many whose vanity always inclines them to associate with those from whom they have no reason to fear mortification; and there are times in which the wise and the knowing are willing to receive praise without the labour of deserving it, in which the most elevated mind is willing to descend, and the most active to be at All therefore are at some hour or another fond of companions whom they can entertain upon easy terms, and who will relieve them from solitude, without condemning them to vigilance No. 73.] and caution. We are most inclined to love when we have nothing to fear, and he that encourages us to please ourselves, will not be long without preference in our affection to those whose learning holds us at the distance of pupils, or whose wit calls all attention from us, and leaves us without importance and without regard. I am, &c. PHILOMIDES. TUESDAY, NOV. 27, 1750. Stulte, quid O frustra votis puerilibus optas Why thinks the fool, with childish hope, to see SIR, TO THE RAMBLER. OVID. ELPHINSTON./ It is remarked by Prince Henry, when he sees Falstaff lying on the ground, that he could have better spared a better man. He was well ac- IF you feel any of that compassion which you quainted with the vices and follies of him whom recommend to others, you will not disregard a he lamented; but while his conviction compelled case which I have reason from observation to behim to do justice to superior qualities, his tender-lieve very common, and which I know by expeness still broke out at the remembrance of Fal-rience to be very miserable. And though the staff, of the cheerful companion, the loud buffoon, querulous are seldom received with great ardour with whom he had passed his time in all the of kindness, I hope to escape the mortification of luxury of idleness, who had gladded him with finding that my lamentations spread the contaunenvied merriment, and whom he could at once gion of impatience, and produce anger rather enjoy and despise. than tenderness. I write not merely to vent the swelling of my heart, but to inquire by what means I may recover my tranquillity: and shall endeavour at brevity in my narrative, having long known that complaint quickly tires, however elegant or however just. You may perhaps think this account of those who are distinguished for their good humour, not very consistent with the praises which I have bestowed upon it. But surely nothing can more evidently show the value of this quality, than that it recommends those who are destitute of all other excellences, and procures regard to the trifling, friendship to the worthless, and affection to the dull. I was born in a remote county, of a family that boasts alliances with the greatest names in English history, and extends its claims of affinity to the Tudors and Plantagenets. My ancestors by Good humour is indeed generally degraded by little and little wasted their patrimony, till my the characters in which it is found; for, being father had not enough left for the support of a considered as a cheap and vulgar quality, we find family, without descending to the cultivation of it often neglected by those that, having excel- his own grounds, being condemned to pay three ences of higher reputation and brighter splen- sisters the fortunes allotted them by my grandfadour, perhaps imagine that they have some right to ther, who is suspected to have made his will gratify themselves at the expense of others, and when he was incapable of adjusting properly the are to demand compliance rather than to practice claims of his children, and who, perhaps, withit. It is by some unfortunate mistake that al-out design, enriched his daughters by beggaring most all those who have any claim to esteem or his son. My aunts being, at the death of their falove, press their pretensions with too little con- ther, neither young nor beautiful, nor very emisideration of others. This mistake, my own in-nent for softness of behaviour, were suffered to terest, as well as my zeal for general happiness, live unsolicited, and by accumulating the interest makes me desirous to rectify; for I have a friend, of their portions, grew every day richer and who, because he knows his own fidelity and use-prouder. My father pleased himself with forefulness, is never willing to sink into a companion: I have a wife, whose beauty first subdued me, and whose wit confirmed her conquest, but whose beauty now serves no other purpose than to entitle her to tyranny, and whose wit is only used to ustify perverseness. Surely nothing can be more unreasonable than to lose the will to please, when we are conscious seeing that the possessions of those ladies must revert at last to the hereditary estate, and, that his family might lose none of its dignity, resolved to keep me untainted with a lucrative employment: whenever therefore I discovered any inclination to the improvement of my condition, my mother never failed to put me in mind of my birth, and charged me to do nothing with which Ten years longer I dragged the shackles of expectation, without ever suffering a day to pass in which I did not compute how much my chance was improved of being rich to-morrow. At last the second lady died, after a short illness, which yet was long enough to afford her time for the disposal of her estate, which she gave to me after the death of her sister. I might be reproached when I should come to | tions, articles, and settlements, ran away with my aunt's estate. the daughter of his father's groom; and my aunt, In all the perplexities or vexations which want upon this conviction of the perfidy of man, resolv of money brought upon us, it was our constanted never to listen more to amorous addresses. practice to have recourse to futurity. If any of our neighbours surpassed us in appearance, we went home and contrived an equipage, with which the death of my aunts was to supply us. If any purseproud upstart was deficient in respect, vengeance was referred to the time in which our estate was to be repaired. We registered every act of civility and rudeness, inquired the number of dishes at every feast, and minuted the furniture of every house, that we might, when the hour of affluence should come, be able to eclipse all their splendour, and surpass all their magnificence. Upon plans of elegance, and schemes of pleasure, the day rose and set, and the year went round unregarded, while we were busied in laying out plantations on ground not yet our own, and deliberating whether the manor-house should be rebuilt or repaired. This was the amusement of our leisure, and the solace of our exigences; we met together only to contrive how our ap- I however lived on, without any clamours of proaching fortune should be enjoyed; for in this discontent, and comforted myself with considerour conversation always ended, on whatever sub-ing that all are mortal, and they who are contiject it began. We had none of the collateral in-nually decaying, must at last be destroyed. terests, which diversify the life of others with joys and hopes, but had turned our whole attention on one event, which we could neither hasten nor retard, and had no other object of curiosity than the health or sickness of my aunts, of which we were careful to procure very exact and early intelligence. This visionary opulence for a while soothed our imagination, but afterwards fired our wishes, and exasperated our necessities, and my father could not always restrain himself from exclaiming, that no creature had so many lives as a cat and an old maid. At last upon the recovery of his sister from an ague, which she was supposed to have caught by sparing fire, he began to lose his stomach, and four months afterwards sunk into the grave. My mother, who loved her husband, survived him but a little while, and left me the sole heir of their lands, their schemes, and their wishes. As I had not enlarged my conceptions either by books or conversation, I differed only from my father by the freshness of my cheeks, and the vigour of my step: and, like him, gave way to no thoughts but of enjoying the wealth which my aunts were hoarding. At length the eldest fell ill. I paid the civilities and compliments which sickness requires with the utmost punctuality. I dreamed every night of escutcheons and white gloves, and inquired every morning at an early hour, whether there were any news of my dear aunt. At last a messenger was sent to inform me that I must come to her without the delay of a moment. I went and heard her last advice, but opening her will, found that she had left her fortune to her second sister. I hung my head; the youngest sister threatened to be married, and every thing was disappointment and discontent. I was in danger of losing irreparably one third of my hopes, and was condemned still to wait for the rest. Of part of my terror I was soon eased; for the youth, whom his relations would have compelled to marry the old lady, after innumerable stipula I was now relieved from part of my misery; a large fortune, though not in my power, was certain and unalienable; nor was there now any danger that I might at last be frustrated of my hopes by fret of dotage, the flatteries of a chamber-maid, the whispers of a tale-bearer, or the of ficiousness of a nurse. But my wealth was yet in reversion, my aunt was to be buried before I could emerge to grandeur and pleasure; and there was yet, according to my father's observation, nine lives between me and happiness. But let no man from this time suffer his felicity to depend on the death of his aunt. The good gentlewoman was very regular in her hours, and simple in her diet; and in walking or sitting still, waking or sleeping, had always in view the preservation of her healthy She was subject to no disorder but hypochondriac dejection; by which, without intention, she increased my miseries, for whenever the weather was cloudy, she would take her bed and send me notice that her time was come. I went with all the haste of eager ness, and sometimes received passionate injunc tions to be kind to her maid, and directions how the last offices should be performed; but if before my arrival the sun happened to break out, or the wind to change, I met her at the door, or found her in the garden, bustling and vigilant, with all the tokens of long life. Sometimes, however, she fell into distempers, and was thrice given over by the doctor, yet she found means of slipping through the gripe of death, and after having tortured me three months at each time with violent alternations of hope and fear, came out of her chamber without any other hurt than the loss of flesh, which in a few weeks she recovered by broths and jellies. As most have sagacity sufficient to guess at the desires of an heir, it was the constant practice of those who were hoping at second hand, and endeavoured to secure my favour against the time when I should be rich, to pay their court, by informing me that my aunt began to droop, that she had lately a bad night, that she coughed feebly, and that she could never climb May hill; or, at least, that the autumn would carry her off. Thus was I flattered in the winter with the piercing winds of March, and in summer with the fogs of September. But she lived through spring and fall, and set heat and cold at defiance, till, afte near half a century, I buried her on the fourteenth of last June, aged ninety-three years, months, and six days. five For two months after her death I was rich, and was pleased with that obsequiousness and reverence which wealth instantaneously pro cures. But this joy is now past, and I have re-thing more than the symptoms of some deeper turned again to my old habit of wishing. Being malady. He that is angry without daring to accustomed to give the future full power over my confess his resentment, or sorrowful without the mind, and to start away from the scene before liberty of telling his grief, is too frequently inme to some expected enjoyment, I deliver up my-clined to give vent to the fermentations of his self to the tyranny of every desire which fancy mind at the first passages that are opened, and suggests, and long for a thousand things which to let his passions boil over upon those whom I am unable to procure. Money has much less accident throws in his way. A painful and tepower than is ascribed to it by those that want dious course of sickness frequently produces such it. I had formed schemes which I cannot exe- an alarming apprehension of the least increase cute, I had, supposed events which do not come of uneasiness, as keeps the soul perpetually on to pass, and the rest of my life must pass in crav- the watch, such a restless and incessant soliciing solicitude, unless you can find some remedy tude, as no care or tenderness can appease, and for a mind corrupted with an inveterate disease can only be pacified by the cure of the distemper, of wishing, and unable to think on any thing but and the removal of that pain by which it is ex wants, which reason tells me will never be sup- cited. plied. No. 74.] I am, &c. SATURDAY, DEC. 1, 1750. Rixatur de lana sæpe caprina.. CUPIDUS. For nought tormented, she for nought torments. HOR. ELPHINSTON. MEN seldom give pleasure when they are not pleased themselves; it is necessary, therefore, to cultivate an habitual alacrity and cheerfulness, that in whatever state we may be placed by Providence, whether we are appointed to confer or receive benefits, to implore or to afford protection, we may secure the love of those with whom we transact. For though it is generally imagined, that he who grants favours, may spare any attention to his behaviour, and that usefulness will always procure friends; yet it has been found, that there is an art of granting requests, an art very difficult of attainment; that officiousness and liberality may be so adulterated, as to lose the greater part of their effect; that compliance may provoke, relief may harass, and liberality distress. Nearly approaching to this weakness, is he captiousness of old age. When the strength is crushed, the senses are dulled, and the common pleasures of life become insipid by repetition, we are willing to impute our uneasiness to causes not wholly out of our power, and please ourselves with fancying that we suffer by neglect, unkindness, or any evil which admits a remedy, rather than by the decays of nature, which cannot be prevented or repaired. We therefore revenge our pains upon those on whom we resolve to charge them; and too often drive mankind away at the time we have the greatest need of tenderness and assistance. But though peevishness may sometimes claim our compassion, as the consequence or concomitant of misery, it is very often found, where nothing can justify or excuse its admission. It is frequently one of the attendants on the prosper ous, and is employed by insolence in exacting homage, or by tyranny in harassing subjection. It is the offspring of idleness or pride; of idleness anxious for trifles; or pride unwilling to endure the least obstruction of her wishes. Those who have long lived in solitude, indeed naturally contract this unsocial quality, because, having long had only themselves to please, they do not readily depart from their own inclinations; their singu larities therefore are only blameable, when they No disease of the mind can more fatally disa- have imprudently or morosely withdrawn themble it from benevolence, the chief duty of social selves from the world; but there are others, who beings, than ill humour or peevishness; for have, without any necessity, nursed up this habit though it breaks not out in paroxysms of outrage, in their minds, by making implicit submissive nor bursts into clamour, turbulence, and blood-ness the condition of their favour, and suffering shed, it wears out happiness by slow corrosion, and small injuries incessantly repeated. It may be considered as the canker of life, that destroys its vigour, and checks its improvement, that creeps on with hourly depredations, and taints and vitiates what it cannot consume. Peevishness, when it has been so far indulged, as to outrun the motions of the will, and discover itself without premeditation, is a species of depravity in the highest degree disgusting and of fensive, because no rectitude of intention, nor softness of address, can ensure a moment's exemption from affront and indignity. While we are courting the favour of a peevish man, and exerting ourselves in the most diligent civility, an unlucky syllable displeases, an unheeded circumstance ruffles and exasperates; and in the moment when we congratulate ourselves upon having gained a friend, our endeavours are frustrated Ft once; and all our assiduity forgotten in the casual tumult of some trifling irritation. none to approach them, but those who never speak but to applaud, or move but to obey. He that gives himself up to his own fancy, and converses with none but such as he hires to lull him on the down of absolute authority, to soothe him with obsequiousness, and regale him with flattery, soon grows too slothful for the labour of contest, too tender for the asperity of contradic tion, and too delicate for the coarseness of truth, a little opposition offends, a little restraint enrages, and a little difficulty perplexes him; having been accustomed to see every thing give way to his humour, he soon forgets his own littleness, and expects to find the world rolling at his beck, and all mankind employed to acommodate and delight him. Tetrica had a large fortune bequeathed to her by an aunt, which made her very early inde pendent, and placed her in a state of superiority to all about her. Having no superfluity of un derstanding, she was soon intoxicated by the This troublesome impatience is sometimes no- | flatteries of her maid, who informed her that 會 |