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vas not ploughed brought no harvest, and either oranges nor grapes would grow upon the hawthorn. At last, those who were disappointed began to be angry; those, likewise, who hated innovation were glad to gain an opportunity of ridiculing men who had depreciated, perhaps, with too much arrogance, the knowledge of antiquity. And appears from some of their earliest apologies, that the philosophers felt with great sensibility the unwelcome importunities of those, who were daily asking, "What have ye done ?"

The truth is, that little had been done compared with what fame had been suffered to promise; and the question could only be answered by general apologies and by new hopes, which, when they were frustrated, gave a new occasion to the same vexatious inquiry. This fatal question has disturbed the quiet

tudes about him is himself little more than nothing. Every man is obliged by the Supreme Master of the universe to improve all the opportunities of good which are afforded him, and to keep in continual activity such abilities as are bestowed upon him. But he has no reason to repine, though his abilities are small and his opportunities few. He that has improved the virtue, or advanced the happiness of one fellow-creature, he that has ascertained a single moral proposition, or added one useful experiment to natural knowledge, may be contented with his own perform ance, and, with respect to mortals like himself, may demand, like Augustus, to be dismissed at his departure with applause..

of many other minds. He that in the latter No. 89.] SATURDAY, DEC. 29, 1759.
part of his life too strictly inquires what he has
done, can very seldom receive from his own
heart such an account as will give him satis-
faction.

Ανέχου καὶ ἀπέχου. EPICT.

How evil came into the world-for what rea son it is that life is overspread with such boundless varieties of misery-why the only thinking being of this globe is doomed to think, merely to be wretched, and to pass his time from youth to age in fearing or in suffercalamities, is a question which philosophers have long asked, and which philosophy could never answer.

We do not, indeed, so often disappoint hers as ourselves. Te not only think more highly than others of our own abilities, but allow ourselves to form hopes which we never communicate, and please our thoughts with employments which none ever will allot us, and with elevations to which we are never expecting ed to rise; and when our days and years are passed away in common business or common anusements, and we find, at last, that we have suffered our purposes to sleep till the time of action is past, we are reproached only by our own reflections; neither our friends nor our enemies wonder that we live and die like the rest of mankind; that we live without notice, and die without memorial; they know not what task we had proposed, and, therefore, cannot discern whether it is finished.

He that compares what he has done with what he has left undone, will feel the effect which must always follow the comparison of imagination with reality; he will look with contempt on his own unimportance, and wonder to what purpose he came into the world; he will repine that he shall leave behind him no evidence of his having been, that he has added nothing to the system of life, but has glided from youth to age among the crowd, without any effort for distinction.

Religion informs us that misery and sin were produced together. The depravation of human will was followed by a disorder of the harmony of nature; and by that Providence which often places antidotes in the neighbour hood of poisons, vice was checked by misery, lest it should swell to universal and unlimited dominion.

A state of innocence and happiness is so remote from all that we have ever seen, that though we can easily conceive it possible, and may, therefore, hope to attain it, yet our speculations upon it must be general and confused. We can discover that where there is universal innocence, there will probably be universal happiness; for why should afflictions be per mitted to infest beings who are not in danger of corruption from blessings, and where there is no use of terror nor cause of punishment? But in a world like ours, where our senses Man is seldom willing to let fall the opinion assault us, and our hearts betray us, we should of his own dignity, or to believe that he does pass on from crime to crime, heedless and little only because every individual is a very remorseless, if misery did not stand in our little being. He is better content to want dili-way, and our own pains admonish us of our gence then power, and sooner confesses the folly. depravity of his will than the imbecility of his

nature.

From this mistaken notion of human greatness it proceeds, that many who pretend to have made great advances in wisdom so loudly declare that they despise themselves. If I had ever found any of the self-contemners much irritated or pained by the consciousness of their meanness, I should have given them consolation by observing, that a little more than nothing is as much as can be expected from a being who, with respect to the multi

Almost all the moral good which is left among us, is the apparent effect of physical evil.

Goodness is divided by divines into soberness, righteousness, and godliness. Let it be examined how each of these duties would be practised if there were no physical evil to enforce it.

Sobriety, or temperance, is nothing but the forbearance of pleasure; and if pleasure was not followed by pain, who would forbear it? We see every hour those in whom the desire of

present indulgence overpowers all sense of past and all foresight of future misery. In a remission of the gout, the drunkard returns to his wine, and the glutton to his feast; and if neither disease nor poverty were felt or dreaded, every one would sink down in idle sensuality, without any care of others, or of himself. To eat and drink, and lie down to sleep, would be the whole business of mankind.

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Righteousness, or the system of social duty, may be subdivided into justice and charity. Of justice one of the heathen sages has shown, with great acuteness, that it was impressed upon mankind only by the inconveniencies which injustice had produced. "In the first ages," says he, men acted without any rule but the impulse of desire; they practised inJustice upon others, and suffered it from others in their turn; but in time it was discoveed, that the pain of suffering wrong was greater than the pleasure of doing it; and mankind, by a general compact submitted to the restraint of laws, and resigned the pleasure to escape the pain."

Of charity it is superfluous to observe, that it could have no place if there were no want; for of a virtue which could not be practised, the omission could not be culpable. Evil is not only the occasional but the efficient cause of charity; we are incited to the relief of misery oy the consciousness that we have the same nature with the sufferer, that we are in danger of the same distresses, and may sometimes implore the same assistance.

Godliness, or piety, is elevation of the mind towards the Supreme Being, and extension of the thoughts to another life. The other life is future, and the Supreme Being is invisible. None would have recourse to an invisible power, but that all other subjects had eluded their hopes. None would fix their attention upon the future, but that they are discontented with the present. If the senses were feasted with perpetual pleasure, they would always keep the mind in subjection. Reason has no authority over us, but by its power to warn us against evil.

In childhood, while our minds are yet unoccupied, religion is impressed upon them, and the first years of almost all who have been well educated are passed in a regular discharge of the duties of piety. But as we advance forward into the crowds of life, innumerable delights solicit our inclinations, and innumerable cares distract our attention; the time of youth is passed in noisy frolics; manhood is led on from hope to hope, and from project to project; the dissoluteness of pleasure, the inebriation of success, the ardour of expectation, and the vehemence of competition chain down the mind alike to the present scene, nor is it remembered how soon this mist of trifles must be scattered, and the bubbles that float upon the rivulet of life be lost for ever in the gulf of eternity. To this consideration scarcely any man is awakened but by some pressing and resistless evil. The death of those from whom he derived his pleasures, or to whom he destined his possessions; some disease whic shows him the vanity of all ex

ternal acquisitions, or the gloom of age, which intercepts his prospects of long enjoyment, forces him to fix his hopes upon another state, and when he has contended with the tempests of life till his strength fails him, he flies, at last to the shelter of religion.

That misery does not make all virtuous, experience too clearly informs us; but it is no less certain that of what virtue there is, misery produces far the greater part. Physical evil may be, therefore, endured with patience, since it is the cause of moral good; and patience itself is one virtue by which we are prepared for that state in which evil shall be no more.

No. 90.] SATurday, Jan. 5, 1760.

Ir is a complaint which has been made from time to time, and which seems to have lately become more frequent, that English oratory, however forcible in argument, or elegant in expression, is deficient and inefficacious, because our speakers want the grace and energy of action.

Among the numerous projectors who are desirous to refine our manners, and improve our faculties, some are willing to supply the deficiency of our speakers. We have had more than one extortion to study the neglected art of moving the passions, and have been encouraged to believe that our tongues, however feeble in themselves, may, by the help of our hands and legs, obtain an uncontrollable dominion over the most stubborn audience, animate the insensible, engage the careless, force tears from the obdurate, and money from the avaricious.

If by sleight of hand or nimbleness of foot, all these wonders can be performed, he that shall neglect to attain the free use of his limbs may be justly censured as criminally lazy. But I am afraid that no specimen of such effects will easily be shown. If I could once find a speaker in 'Change Alley raising the price of stocks by the power of persuasive gestures, I should very zealously recommend the study of his art; but having never seen any action by which language was much assisted, I have been hitherto inclined to doubt whether my countrymen are not blamed too hastily for their calm and motionless utterance.

Foreigners of many nations accompany their speech with action: but why should their ex. ample have more influence upon us than ours upon them? Customs are not to be changed but for better. Let those who desire to reform us show the benefits of the change proposed. When the Frenchman waves his hands, and writhes his body, in recounting the revolutions of a game of cards, or the Neapolitan, who tells the hour of the day, shows upon his fingers the number which he mentions, I do not perceive that their manual exercise is of much use, or that they leave any image more deeply impressed by their bustle anu vehemence of communication.

SATURDAY, JAN. 12, 1760.

Upon the English stage there is no want of | No. 91.] action, but the difficulty of making it at once various and proper, and its perpetual tendency Ir is common to overlook what is near, by to become ridiculous, notwithstanding all the keeping the eye fixed upon something remote. advantages which art and show, and custom In the same manner present opportunities are and prejudice can give it, may prove how little neglected, and attainable good is slighted, by it can be admitted into any other place, where minds busied in extensive ranges, and intent it can have no recommendation but from truth upon future advantages. Life, however short, and nature. is made still shorter by waste of time, and its The use of English oratory is only at the bar, progress towards happiness, though naturally in the parliament, and in the church. Neither slow, is yet retarded by unnecessary labour. the judges of our laws, nor the representatives The difficulty of obtaining knowledge is uniof our people, would be much affected by la-versally confessed. To fix deeply in the mind boured gesticulation, or believe any man the the principles of science, to settle their limitamore because he rolled his eyes, or puffed his tions, and deduce the long succession of their cheeks, or spread abroad his arms, or stamped consequences; to comprehend the whole comthe ground, or thumped his breast, or turned pass of complicated systems, with all the arguhis eyes sometimes to the ceiling, and some-ments, objections, and solutions, and to reposite times to the floor. Upon men intent only upon in the intellectual treasury the numberless facts, truth, the arm of an orator has little power; a experiments, apophthegms, and positions, · credible testimony, or a cogent argument, will which must stand single in the memory, and of overcome all the art of modulation, and all which none has only perceptible connection the violence of contortion. with the rest, is a task which, though undertaken with ardour, and pursued with diligence, must at last be left unfinished by the frailty of our nature.

It is well known that, in the city which may be called the parent of oratory, all the arts of mechanical persuasion were banished from the court of supreme judicature. The judges of the Areopagus considered action and vociferation as a foolish appeal to the external senses, and unworthy to be practised before those who had no desire of idle amusement, and whose only pleasure was to discover right.

To make the way to learning either less short or less smooth, is certainly absurd; yet this is the apparent effect of the prejudice which seems to prevail among us in favour of foreign authors, and of the contempt of our native literature, which this excursive curiosity must necessarily produce. Every man is more speedily instructed by his own language, than by any other; before we search the rest of the world for teachers, let us try whether we may not spare our trouble by finding them at home.

Whether action may not be yet of use in churches, where the preacher addresses a mingled audience, may deserve inquiry. It is certain that the senses are more powerful as the reason is weaker: and that he whose ears convey little to his mind, may sometimes listen with his eyes till truth may gradually take pos- The riches of the English language are session of his heart. If there be any use of much greater than they are commonly supgesticulation, it must be applied to the igno- posed. Many useful and valuable books lie rant and rude, who will be more affected by buried in shops and libraries, unknown and unvehemence than delighted by propriety. In examined, unless some lucky compiler opens the pulpit little action can be proper, for action them by chance, and finds an easy spoil of wit can illustrate nothing but that to which it may and learning. I am far from intending to inbe referred by nature or by custom. He that sinuate that other languages are not necessary imitates by his hand a motion which he de- to him who aspires to eminence, and whose scribes, explains it by a natural similitude; he whole life is devoted to study; but to him who that lays his hand on his breast, when he ex-reads only for amusement, or whose purpose is presses pity, enforces his words by a customary allusion. But theology has few topics to which action can be appropriated; that action which is vague and indeterminate will at last settle into habit, and habitual peculiarities are quickly ridiculous.

It is, perhaps, the character of the English, to despise trifles; and that art may surely be accounted a trifle which is at once useless and ostentatious, which can seldom be practised with propriety, and which, as the mind is more cultivated, is less powerful. Yet as all innocent means are to be used for the propagation of truth, I would not deter those who are employed in preaching to common congregations from any practice which they may find persuasive; for, compared with the conversion of sinners, propriety and elegance are less than nothing.

not to deck himself with the honour of literature, but to be qualified for domestic usefulness, and sit down content with subordinate reputation, we have authors sufficient to fill up all the vacancies of his time, and gratify most of his wishes for information.

Of our poets I need say little, because they are, perhaps, the only authors to whom their country has done justice. We consider the whole succession from Spencer to Pope, as superior to any names which the continent can boast; and therefore the poets of other nations, however familiarly they may be sometimes mentioned, are very little read, except by those who design to borrow their beauties.

There is I think, not one of the liberal arts which may not be competently learned in the English language. He that searches after mathematical knowledge may busy himself among his own countrymen, and will find or other able to instruct him in every part of

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hose abstruse sciences. He that is delighted with experiments, and wishes to know the nature of bodies from certain and visible effects, is happily placed where the mechanical philosophy was first established by a public institution, and from which it was spread to all other countries.

The more airy and elegant studies of philology and criticism have little need of any foreign help. Though our language, not being very analogical, gives few opportunities for grammatical researches, yet we have not wanted authors who have considered the principles of speech; and with critical writings we abound sufficiently to enable pedantry to impose rules which can seldom be observed, and vanity to talk or books which are seldom read. But our own language has, from the Reformation to the present time, been chiefly dignified and adorned by the works of our divines, who, considered as commentators, controvertists, or preachers, have undoubtedly left all other nations far behind them. No vulgar language can boast such treasures of theological knowledge, or such multitudes of authors at once learned, elegant, and pious. Other countries, and other communions, have authors perhaps equal in abilities and diligence to ours; but if we unite number with excellence there is certainly no nation which must not allow us to be superior. Of morality little is necessary to be said, because it is comprehended in practical divinity, and is, perhaps, better taught in English sermons than in any other books ancient and modern. Nor shall I dwell on our excellence in metaphysical speculations, because he that reads the works of our divines will easily discover how far human subtility has been able to penetrate.

Political knowledge is forced upon us by the form of our constitution; and all the mysteries of government are discovered in the attack or defence of every minister. The original law of society, the rights of subjects, and the prerogatives of kings, have been considered with the utmost nicety, sometimes profoundly investigated, and sometimes familiarly explained. Thus copiously instructive is the English language; and thus needless is all recourse to foreign writers. Let us not, therefore, make our neighbours proud by soliciting help which we do not want, nor discourage our own industry by difficulties which we need not suffer.

The less is the real discernment of those whom business or conversation brings together, the more illusions are practised, nor is caution ever so necessary as with associates or opponents of feeble minds.

Cunning differs from wisdom as twilight from open day. He that walks in the sunshine goes boldly forward by the nearest way; he sees that where the path is straight and even he may proceed in security, and where it is rough and crooked he easily complies with the turns, and avoids the obstructions. But the traveller in the dusk fears more as he sees less; he knows there may be danger, and therefore suspects that he is never safe, tries every step before he fixes his foot, and shrinks at every noise, lest violence should approach him. Wisdom comprehends at once the end and the means, estimates easiness or difficulty, and is cautions or confident in due proportion. Cunning discovers little at a time, and has no other. means of certainty than multiplication of stratagems and superfluity of suspicion. man of cunning always considers that he can never be too safe, and therefore always keeps himself enveloped in a mist, impenetrable, as he hopes, to the eye of rivalry or curiosity.

The

Upon this principle Tom Double has formed a habit of eluding the most harmless question. What he has no inclination to answer, he pre tends sometimes not to hear, and endeavours divert the inquirer's attention by some ol subject; but if he be pressed hard by repeated interrogation, he always evades a direct reply. Ask him whom he likes best on the stage; he is ready to tell that there are several excellent performers. Inquire when he was last at the coffee-house; he replies, that the weather has been bad lately. Desire him to tell the age of any of his acquaintance; he immediately men tions another who is older or younger.

Will Puzzle values himself upon a long reach. He foresees every thing before it will happen, though he never relates his prognostications till the event is passed. Nothing has come to pass for these twenty years of which Mr. Puzzle had not given broad hints, and told at least that it was not proper to tell. Of those predictions, which every conclusion will equally verify, he always claims the credit, and wonders that his friends did not understand them. He supposes very truly, that much may be known which he knows not, and therefore pretends to know much of which he and all mankind are equally ignorant. I desired his opinion, yesterday, of the German war, and was told, that if the Prussians were well WHATEVER is useful or honourable will be de- supported, something great may be expected; sired by many who never can obtain it; and but that they have very powerful enemies to that which cannot be obtained when it is de- encounter; that the Austrian general has long sired, artifice or folly will be diligent to coun- experience, and the Russians are hardy and terfeit. Those to whom fortune has denied resolute; but that no human power is invinci gold and diamonds, decorate themselves with ble. I then drew the conversation to our own stones and metals, which have something of affairs, and invited him to balance the proba the show, but little of the value; and every bilities of war and peace. He told me that moral excellence, or intellectual faculty, has war requires courage, and negotiation judg some vice or folly which imitates its appear-ment, and that the time will come when it will

No. 92.] SATURDAY, JAN. 13, 1760.

ance.

Every man wishes to be wise, and they who cannot be wise arc almost always cunning.

be seen whether our skill in treaty is equal to our bravery in battle. To this general prattle he will appeal hereafter, and will demand to

have his foresight applauded, whoever shall at last be conquered or victorious.

himself in pointing out the boxes o the citi zens on each side of the road, with an accurate detail of their respective failures or successes in trade; and harangued on the seve

Here, too, the seats interspersed on the surrounding hills, afforded ample matter for Sam's curious discoveries. For one, he told his companion, a rich Jew had offered money; and that a retired widow was courted at another, by an eminent dry-salter. At the same time he discussed the utility, and enumerated the expenses, of the Islington turnpike. But Sam's ambition is at present raised to nobler undertakings.

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With Ned Smuggle all is a secret. He believes himself watched by observation and malignity on every side, and rejoices in the dex-ral equipages that were accidentally passing. terity by which he has escaped snares that never were laid. Ned holds that a man is never deceived if he never trusts, and therefore will not tell the name of his tailor or his hatter. He rides out every morning for the air, and pleases himself with thinking that nobody knows where he has been. When he dines with a friend, he never goes to his house the nearest way, but walks up a bye street to perplex the scent. When he has a coach called, he never tells him at the door the true place to When the happy hour of the annual expewhich he is going, but stops him in the way,dition arrives, the seat of the chaise is furnishthat he may give him directions where nobody ed with "Ogilvy's Book of Roads,” and a can hear him. The price of what he buys or choice quantity of cold tongues. The most sells is always concealed. He often takes alarming disaster which can happen to our lodgings in the country by a wrong name, and hero, who thinks he "throws a whip" admirathinks that the world is wondering where he bly well, is to be overtaken in a road which can be hid. All these transactions he regis- affords no quarter" for wheels. Indeed, few ters in a book, which, he says, will some time men possess more skill or discernment for conor other amaze posterity. certing and conducting a "party of pleasure." When a seat is to be surveyed, he has a pe. culiar talent in selecting some shady bench in the park, where the company may most commodiously refresh themselves with cold tongue, chicken, and French rolls; and is very sagacious in discovering what cool temple in the garden will be best adapted for drinking tea, brought for this purpose, in the afternoon, and from which the chaise may be resumed with the greatest convenience. In viewing the house itself, he is principally attracted by the chairs and beds, concerning the cost of which his minute inquiries generally gain the clearest information. An agate table easily diverts his eyes from the most capital strokes of Rubens, and a Turkey carpet has more charms than a Titian. Sam, however, dwells with some attention on the family portraits, particularly the most modern ones; and as this is a topic on which the housekeeper usually harangues in a more copious manner, he takes this opportunity of improving his knowledge of intermarriages. Yet, notwithstanding this appearance of satisfaction, Sam has some objection to all he sees. One house has too much gilding; at another, the chimney-pieces are all monuments; at a third, he conjectures that the beautiful canal must certainly be dried up in a hot summer. He despises the statues at Wilton, because he thinks he can see much better carving at Westminster Abbey. But there is one general objection which he is sure to make at almost every house, particularly at those which are most distinguished. He allows that all the apartments are extremely fine, but adds, with a sneer, that they are too fine to be inha. bited.

It is remarked by Bacon, that many men try to procure reputation only by objections, of which, if they are once admitted, the nullity never appears, because the design is laid aside. "This false feint of wisdom," says he, "is the ruin of business." The whole power of cunning is privative; to say nothing, and to do nothing, is the utmost of its reach. Yet men thus narrow by nature, and mean by art, are sometimes able to rise by the miscarriages of bravery and the openness of integrity; and by watching failures, and snatching opportu■nities obtain advantages which belong properly to higher characters.

No. 93.] SATURDAY, JAN. 26, 1760.

SAM SOFTLY was bred a sugar-baker; but succeeding to a considerable estate on the death of his elder brother, he retired early from business, married a fortune, and settled in a country-house near Kentish-town. Sam, who formerly was a sportsman, and in his apprenticeship used to frequent Barnet races, keeps a high chaise, with a brace of seasoned geldings. During the summer months, the principal passion and employment of Sam's life is to visit, in this vehicle, the most eminent seats of the nobility and gentry in different parts of the kingdom, with his wife and some select friends. By these periodical excursions Sam gratifies many important purposes. He assists the several pregnancies of his wife; he shows his chaise to the best advantage; he indulges his insatiable curiosity for finery, which, since he has turned gentleman, has grown upon him to an extraordinary degree; he discovers taste and spirit; and, what is above all, he finds frequent opportunities of displaying to the party, at every house he sees, his knowledge of family connections. At first Sam was contented with driving a friend between London and his villa. Here he prided

Misapplied genius most commonly proves ridiculous. Had Sam, as nature intended, contentedly continued in the calmer and less conspicuous pursuits of sugar-baking, he might have been a respectable and useful character. At present he dissipates his life in a specious idleness, which neither improves himself nor his friends. Those talents which

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