ESSAYS
BY
OLIVER GOLDSMITH, M. B.
MDCCCXIX.
Printed by T. DAVISON,
Whitefriars.
GOLDSMITH’S ESSAYS.
[Illustration: _Sir J. Reynolds pinxᵗ._ _G. Murray sculp._]
LONDON, PUBLISHED BY JOHN SHARPE, PICCADILLY.
1819.
PREFACE.
The following Essays have already appeared at different times, and in
different publications. The pamphlets in which they were inserted being
generally unsuccessful, these shared the common fate, without assisting
the bookseller’s aims or extending the writer’s reputation. The public
were too strenuously employed with their own follies to be assiduous in
estimating mine; so that many of my best attempts in this way have fallen
victims to the transient topic of the times; the Ghost in Cock-lane, or
the siege of Ticonderago.
But though they have passed pretty silently into the world, I can by no
means complain of their circulation. The magazines and papers of the day
have indeed been liberal enough in this respect. Most of these essays
have been regularly reprinted twice or thrice a year, and conveyed to
the public through the kennel of some engaging publication. If there
be a pride in multiplied editions, I have seen some of my labours
sixteen times reprinted, and claimed by different parents as their own.
I have seen them flourished at the beginning with praise, and signed
at the end with the names of Philantos, Philalethes, Philaleutheros,
and Philanthropos. These gentlemen have kindly stood sponsors to my
productions, and to flatter me more have always passed them as their own.
It is time however at last to vindicate my claims, and as these
entertainers of the public, as they call themselves, have partly lived
upon me for some years, let me now try if I cannot live a little upon
myself. I would desire in this case to imitate that fat man, whom I have
somewhere heard of in a shipwreck, who, when the sailors, pressed by
famine, were taking slices from his posteriors to satisfy their hunger,
insisted with great justice on having the first cut for himself.
Yet after all, I cannot be angry with any who have taken it into their
heads to think that whatever I write is worth reprinting, particularly
when I consider how great a majority will think it scarcely worth
reading. Trifling and superficial are terms of reproach that are easily
objected, and that carry an air of penetration in the observer. These
faults have been objected to the following Essays; and it must be owned
in some measure that the charge is true. However, I could have made them
more metaphysical had I thought fit, but I would ask whether in a short
essay it is not necessary to be superficial? Before we have prepared to
enter into the depths of a subject in the usual forms, we have arrived at
the bottom of our scanty page, and thus lose the honours of a victory by
too tedious a preparation for the combat.
There is another fault in this collection of trifles, which I fear will
not be so easily pardoned. It will be alleged, that the humour of them
(if any be found) is stale and hackneyed. This may be true enough as
matters now stand, but I may with great truth assert, that the humour
was new when I wrote it. Since that time indeed many of the topics,
which were first started here, have been hunted down, and many of the
thoughts blown upon. In fact, these Essays were considered as quietly
laid in the grave of oblivion; and our modern compilers, like sextons and
executioners, think it their undoubted right to pillage the dead.
However, whatever right I have to complain of the public, they can as yet
have no just reason to complain of me. If I have written dull essays,
they have hitherto treated them as dull essays. Thus far we are at least
upon par, and until they think fit to make me their humble debtor by
praise, I am resolved not to lose a single inch of my self-importance.
Instead, therefore, of attempting to establish a credit amongst them,
it will perhaps be wiser to apply to some more distant correspondent,
and as my drafts are in some danger of being protested at home, it may
not be imprudent upon this occasion to draw my bills upon posterity. Mr.
Posterity, sir, nine hundred and ninety-nine years after sight hereof,
pay the bearer, or order, a thousand pounds’ worth of praise, free from
all deductions whatsoever, it being a commodity that will then be very
serviceable to him; and place it to the account of, &c.
ESSAYS.
I.
DESCRIPTION OF VARIOUS CLUBS.
I remember to have read in some philosopher (I believe in Tom Brown’s
works) that, let a man’s character, sentiments, or complexion, be
what they will, he can find company in London to match them. If he be
splenetic, he may every day meet companions on the seats in St. James’s
Park, with whose groans he may mix his own, and pathetically talk of the
weather. If he be passionate, he may vent his rage among the old orators
at Slaughter’s coffee-house, and damn the nation because it keeps him
from starving. If he be phlegmatic, he may sit in silence at the Hum-drum
club in Ivy-lane; and if actually mad, he may find very good company in
Moor-fields, either at Bedlam, or the Foundery, ready to cultivate a
nearer acquaintance.
But, although such as have a knowledge of the town may easily class
themselves with tempers congenial to their own, a countryman who comes
to live in London finds nothing more difficult. With regard to myself,
none ever tried with more assiduity, or came off with such indifferent
success. I spent a whole season in the search, during which time my
name has been enrolled in societies, lodges, convocations, and meetings
without number. To some I was introduced by a friend, to others invited
by an advertisement; to these I introduced myself, and to those I
changed my name to gain admittance. In short, no coquette was ever more
solicitous to match her ribbons to her complexion, than I to suit my club
to my temper, for I was too obstinate to bring my temper to conform to it.
The first club I entered upon coming to town was that of the Choice
Spirits. The name was entirely suited to my taste; I was a lover of
mirth, good-humour, and even sometimes of fun, from my childhood.
As no other passport was requisite but the payment of two shillings at
the door, I introduced myself without further ceremony to the members,
who were already assembled, and had for some time begun upon business.
The Grand, with a mallet in his hand, presided at the head of the table.
I could not avoid, upon my entrance, making use of all my skill in
physiognomy, in order to discover that superiority of genius in men, who
had taken a title so superior to the rest of mankind. I expected to see
the lines of every face marked with strong thinking; but though I had
some skill in this science, I could for my life discover nothing but a
pert simper, flat, or profound stupidity.
My speculations were soon interrupted by the Grand, who had knocked down
Mr. Spriggins for a song. I was upon this whispered by one of the company
who sat next me, that I should now see something touched off to a nicety,
for Mr. Spriggins was going to give us Mad Tom in all its glory. Mr.
Spriggins endeavoured to excuse himself; for, as he was to act a madman
and a king, it was impossible to go through the part properly without a
crown and chains. His excuses were over-ruled by a great majority, and
with much vociferation. The president ordered up the jack-chain, and
instead of a crown, our performer covered his brows with an inverted
jordan. After he had rattled his chain, and shook his head, to the great
delight of the whole company, he began his song. As I have heard few
young fellows offer to sing in company that did not expose themselves, it
was no great disappointment to me to find Mr. Spriggins among the number;
however not to seem an odd fish, I rose from my seat in rapture, cried
out, bravo! encore! and slapped the table as loud as any of the rest.
The gentleman who sat next me seemed highly pleased with my taste, and
the ardour of my approbation; and whispering, told me that I had suffered
an immense loss; for had I come a few minutes sooner, I might have heard
Gee ho Dobbin sung in a tip-top manner by the pimple-nosed spirit at the
president’s right elbow; but he was evaporated before I came.
As I was expressing my uneasiness at this disappointment, I found the
attention of the company employed upon a fat figure, who, with a voice
more rough than the Staffordshire giant’s, was giving us the ‘Softly
sweet in Lydian measure’ of Alexander’s Feast. After a short pause of
admiration, to this succeeded a Welch dialogue, with the humours of
Teague and Taffy: after that came on Old Jackson, with a story between
every stanza: next was sung the Dust-cart, and then Solomon’s Song. The
glass began now to circulate pretty freely; those who were silent when
sober, would now be heard in their turn; every man had his song, and he
saw no reason why he should not be heard as well as any of the rest;
one begged to be heard while he gave Death and the Lady in high taste;
another sung to a plate which he kept trundling on the edges: nothing was
now heard but singing; voice rose above voice, and the whole became one
universal shout, when the landlord came to acquaint the company that the
reckoning was drank out; Rabelais calls the moments in which a reckoning
is mentioned the most melancholy of our lives: never was so much noise so
quickly quelled, as by this short but pathetic oration of our landlord.
“Drank out!” was echoed in a tone of discontent round the table: “Drank
out already! that was very odd! that so much punch could be drank out
already: impossible!” The landlord however seemed resolved not to retreat
from his first assurances, the company was dissolved, and a president
chosen for the night ensuing.
A friend of mine, to whom I was complaining some time after of the
entertainment I have been describing, proposed to bring me to the club
that he frequented; which he fancied would suit the gravity of my temper
exactly. “We have at the Muzzy club,” says he, “no riotous mirth, nor
awkward ribaldry; no confusion or bawling; all is conducted with wisdom
and decency; besides, some of our members are worth forty thousand
pounds; men of prudence and foresight every one of them: these are the
proper acquaintance, and to such I will to-night introduce you.” I was
charmed at the proposal; to be acquainted with men worth forty thousand
pounds, and to talk wisdom the whole night, were offers that threw me
into rapture.
At seven o’clock I was accordingly introduced by my friend, not indeed
to the company; for though I made my best bow they seemed insensible
of my approach, but to the table at which they were sitting. Upon my
entering the room, I could not avoid feeling a secret veneration from the
solemnity of the scene before me; the members kept a profound silence,
each with a pipe in his mouth, and a pewter pot in his hand, and with
faces that might easily be construed into absolute wisdom. Happy society,
thought I to myself, where the members think before they speak, deliver
nothing rashly, but convey their thoughts to each other pregnant with
meaning, and matured by reflection.
In this pleasing speculation I continued a full half hour, expecting each
moment that somebody would begin to open his mouth; every time the pipe
was laid down I expected it was to speak; but it was only to spit. At
length resolving to break the charm myself, and overcome their extreme
diffidence, for to this I imputed their silence; I rubbed my hands, and,
looking as wise as possible, observed that the nights began to grow a
little coolish at this time of the year. This, as it was directed to none
of the company in particular, none thought himself obliged to answer;
wherefore I continued still to rub my hands and look wise. My next effort
was addressed to a gentleman who sat next me; to whom I observed that the
beer was extremely good: my neighbour made no reply, but by a large puff
of tobacco-smoke.
I now began to be uneasy in this dumb society, till one of them a little
relieved me by observing that bread had not risen these three weeks:
“Ay,” says another, still keeping the pipe in his mouth, “that puts me
in mind of a pleasant story about that—hem—very well; you must know—but,
before I begin—sir, my service to you—where was I?”
My next club goes by the name of the Harmonical Society; probably
from that love of order and friendship which every person commends in
institutions of this nature. The landlord was himself founder. The money
spent is four-pence each; and they sometimes whip for a double reckoning.
To this club few recommendations are requisite, except the introductory
four-pence and my landlord’s good word, which, as he gains by it, he
never refuses.
We all here talked and behaved as every body else usually does on his
club-night; we discussed the topic of the day, drank each other’s
healths, snuffed the candles with our fingers, and filled our pipes from
the same plate of tobacco. The company saluted each other in the common
manner. Mr. Bellows-mender hoped Mr. Curry-comb-maker had not caught
cold going home the last club-night; and he returned the compliment
by hoping that young master Bellows-mender had got well again of the
chin-cough. Doctor Twist told us a story of a parliament-man with whom
he was intimately acquainted; while the bug-man, at the same time, was
telling a better story of a noble lord with whom he could do any thing.
A gentleman in a black wig and leather breeches, at the other end of the
table, was engaged in a long narrative of the Ghost in Cock-lane: he had
read it in the papers of the day, and was telling it to some that sat
next him, who could not read. Near him Mr. Dibbins was disputing on the
old subject of religion with a Jew pedler, over the table, while the
president vainly knocked down Mr. Leathersides for a song. Besides the
combinations of these voices, which I could hear altogether, and which
formed an upper part to the concert, there were several others playing
under parts by themselves, and endeavouring to fasten on some luckless
neighbour’s ear, who was himself bent upon the same design against some
other.
We have often heard of the speech of a corporation, and this induced me
to transcribe a speech of this club, taken in short-hand, word for word,
as it was spoken by every member of the company. It may be necessary to
observe, that the man who told of the ghost had the loudest voice, and
the longest story to tell, so that his continuing narrative filled every
chasm in the conversation.
‘So, sir, d’ye perceive me, the ghost giving three loud raps at the
bed-post—says my lord to me, my dear Smokeum, you know there is no
man upon the face of the earth for whom I have so high—a damnable
false heretical opinion of all sound doctrine and good learning;
for I’ll tell it aloud, and spare not that—Silence for a song; Mr.
Leathersides for a song—‘As I was a walking upon the highway, I met
a young damsel’—Then what brings you here? says the parson to the
ghost—Sanconiathan, Manetho, and Berosus—The whole way from Islington
turnpike to Dog-house-bar—Dam—As for Abel Drugger, sir, he’s damn’d low
in it; my ’prentice boy has more of the gentleman than he—For murder
will out one time or other; and none but a ghost, you know, gentlemen,
can—Damme if I don’t; for my friend, whom you know, gentlemen, and who
is a parliament-man, a man of consequence, a dear honest creature, to be
sure; we were laughing last night at—Death and damnation upon all his
posterity by simply, barely tasting—Sour grapes, as the fox said once
when he could not reach them; and I’ll, I’ll tell you a story about that
that will make you burst your sides with laughing: A fox once—Will nobody
listen to the song—‘As I was a walking upon the highway, I met a young
damsel both buxom and gay.’—No ghost, gentlemen, can be murdered; nor did
I ever hear but of one ghost killed in all my life, and that was stabbed
in the belly with a—My blood and soul if I don’t—Mr. Bellows-mender,
I have the honour of drinking your very good health—Blast me if I
do—dam—blood—bugs—fire—whizz—blid—tit—rat—trip.’——The rest all riot,
nonsense, and rapid confusion.
Were I to be angry at men for being fools, I could here find ample room
for declamation; but alas! I have been a fool myself; and why should I be
angry with them for being something so natural to every child of humanity?
Fatigued with this society, I was introduced the following night to a
club of fashion. On taking my place I found the conversation sufficiently
easy, and tolerably good-natured; for my lord and sir Paul were not yet
arrived. I now thought myself completely fitted, and resolving to seek no
further, determined to take up my residence here for the winter; while
my temper began to open insensibly to the cheerfulness I saw diffused on
every face in the room: but the delusion soon vanished, when the waiter
came to apprise us that his lordship and sir Paul were just arrived.
From this moment all our felicity was at an end; our new guests bustled
into the room, and took their seats at the head of the table. Adieu
now all confidence; every creature strove who should most recommend
himself to our members of distinction. Each seemed quite regardless of
pleasing any but our new guests; and what before wore the appearance of
friendship, was now turned into rivalry.
Yet I could not observe, that amidst all this flattery and obsequious
attention, our great men took any notice of the rest of the company.
Their whole discourse was addressed to each other. Sir Paul told his
lordship a long story of Moravia the Jew; and his lordship gave sir Paul
a very long account of his new method of managing silk-worms; he led
him, and consequently the rest of the company, through all the stages
of feeding, sunning, and hatching; with an episode on mulberry-trees,
a digression upon grass seeds, and a long parenthesis about his new
postilion. In this manner we travelled on, wishing every story to be the
last; but all in vain,
“Hills over hills, and Alps on Alps arose.”
The last club in which I was enrolled a member, was a society of moral
philosophers, as they called themselves, who assembled twice a week,
in order to show the absurdity of the present mode of religion, and
establish a new one in its stead.
I found the members very warmly disputing when I arrived; not indeed
about religion or ethics, but about who had neglected to lay down his
preliminary six-pence upon entering the room. The president swore that he
had laid his own down, and so swore all the company.
During this contest I had an opportunity of observing the laws, and also
the members of the society. The president, who had been, as I was told,
lately a bankrupt, was a tall pale figure with a long black wig; the next
to him was dressed in a large white wig and a black cravat: a third by
the brownness of his complexion seemed a native of Jamaica; and a fourth
by his hue appeared to be a blacksmith. But their rules will give the
most just idea of their learning and principles.
I. We being a laudable society of moral philosophers, intends to dispute
twice a week about religion and priestcraft. Leaving behind us old wives’
tales, and following good learning and sound sense: and if so be, that
any other persons has a mind to be of the society, they shall be entitled
so to do, upon paying the sum of three shillings, to be spent by the
company in punch.
II. That no member get drunk before nine of the clock, upon pain of
forfeiting three-pence, to be spent by the company in punch.
III. That as members are sometimes apt to go away without paying, every
person shall pay six-pence upon his entering the room; and all disputes
shall be settled by a majority; and all fines shall be paid in punch.
IV. That sixpence shall be every night given to the president, in order
to buy books of learning for the good of the society; the president has
already put himself to a good deal of expense in buying books for the
club; particularly the works of Tully, Socrates, and Cicero, which he
will soon read to the society.
V. All them who brings a new argument against religion, and who, being
a philosopher, and a man of learning, as the rest of us is, shall be
admitted to the freedom of the society, upon paying six-pence only, to be
spent in punch.
VI. Whenever we are to have an extraordinary meeting, it shall be
advertised by some outlandish name in the newspapers.
SAUNDERS MAC WILD, President,
ANTHONY BLEWIT, Vice-president, his ⸸ mark.
WILLIAM TURPIN, Secretary.
II.
SPECIMEN OF A MAGAZINE IN MINIATURE.
We essayists, who are allowed but one subject at a time, are by no means
so fortunate as the writers of magazines, who write upon several. If a
magaziner be dull upon the Spanish war, he soon has us up again with the
ghost in Cock-Lane; if the reader begins to doze upon that, he is quickly
rouzed by an Eastern tale; tales prepare us for poetry, and poetry for
the meteorological history of the weather. It is the life and soul of a
magazine never to be long dull upon one subject; and the reader, like the
sailor’s horse, has at least the comfortable refreshment of having the
spur often changed.
As I see no reason why they should carry off all the rewards of genius,
I have some thoughts for the future of making this essay a magazine
in miniature: I shall hop from subject to subject; and, if properly
encouraged, I intend in time to adorn my feuille volant with pictures.
But to begin in the usual form with
_A Modest Address to the Public._
The public has been so often imposed upon by the unperforming promises
of others, that it is with the utmost modesty we assure them of our
inviolable design of giving the very best collection that ever astonished
society. The public we honour and regard, and therefore to instruct and
entertain them is our highest ambition, with labours calculated as well
for the head as the heart. If four extraordinary pages of letter-press
be any recommendation of our wit, we may at least boast the honour of
vindicating our own abilities. To say more in favour of the Infernal
Magazine, would be unworthy the public; to say less, would be injurious
to ourselves. As we have no interested motives for this undertaking,
being a society of gentlemen of distinction, we disdain to eat or write
like hirelings; we are all gentlemen, resolved to sell our sixpenny
magazine merely for our own amusement.
Be careful to ask for the Infernal Magazine.
_Dedication to that most ingenious of all Patrons, the Tripoline
Ambassador._
May it please your EXCELLENCY,
As your taste in the fine arts is universally allowed and admired, permit
the authors of the Infernal Magazine to lay the following sheets humbly
at your Excellency’s toe; and should our labours ever have the happiness
of one day adorning the courts of Fez, we doubt not that the influence
wherewith we are honoured, shall be ever retained with the most warm
ardour by,
May it please your Excellency,
Your most devoted humble servants,
The Authors of the INFERNAL MAGAZINE.
_A Speech spoken by the Indigent Philosopher to persuade his Club at
Cateaton to declare War against Spain._
My honest friends and brother politicians; I perceive that the intended
war with Spain makes many of you uneasy. Yesterday, as we were told,
the stocks rose, and you were glad; to-day they fall, and you are again
miserable. But, my dear friends, what is the rising or the falling of the
stocks to us, who have no money? Let Nathan Ben Funk, the Dutch Jew, be
glad or sorry for this; but my good Mr. Bellows-mender, what is all this
to you or me? You must mend broken bellows, and I write bad prose as long
as we live, whether we like a Spanish war or not. Believe me, my honest
friends, whatever you may talk of liberty and your own reason, both
that liberty and reason are conditionally resigned by every poor man in
every society; and, as we are born to work, so others are born to watch
over us while we are working. In the name of common sense then, my good
friends, let the great keep watch over us, and let us mind our business,
and perhaps we may at last get money ourselves, and set beggars at work
in our turn. I have a Latin sentence that is worth its weight in gold,
and which I shall beg leave to translate for your instruction. An author,
called Lilly’s Grammar, finely observes, that “Æs in præsenti perfectum
format;” that is, “Ready money makes a perfect man;” let us then get
ready money; and let them that will spend theirs by going to war with
Spain.
_Rules for Behaviour, drawn up by the Indigent Philosopher._
If you be a rich man, you may enter the room with three loud hems, march
deliberately up to the chimney, and turn your back to the fire. If you
be a poor man, I would advise you to shrink into the room as fast as you
can, and place yourself as usual upon a corner of a chair in a remote
corner.
When you are desired to sing in company, I would advise you to refuse;
for it is a thousand to one but that you torment us with affectation or a
bad voice.
If you be young, and live with an old man, I would advise you not to like
gravy; I was disinherited myself for liking gravy.
Don’t laugh much in public; the spectators that are not as merry as
you, will hate you, either because they envy your happiness, or fancy
themselves the subject of your mirth.
_Rules for raising the Devil. Translated from the Latin of Danæus de
Sortiariis, a Writer contemporary with Calvin, and one of the Reformers
of our Church._
The person who desires to raise the devil, is to sacrifice a dog, a
cat, and a hen, all of his own property, to Beelzebub. He is to swear
an eternal obedience, and then to receive a mark in some unseen place,
either under the eye-lid, or in the roof of the mouth, inflicted by the
devil himself. Upon this he has power given him over three spirits; one
for earth, another for air, and a third for the sea. Upon certain times
the devil holds an assembly of magicians, in which each is to give an
account of what evil he has done, and what he wishes to do. At this
assembly he appears in the shape of an old man, or often like a goat
with large horns. They upon this occasion renew their vows of obedience;
and then form a grand dance in honour of their false deity. The devil
instructs them in every method of injuring mankind, in gathering poisons,
and of riding upon occasion through the air. He shows them the whole
method, upon examination, of giving evasive answers; his spirits have
power to assume the form of angels of light, and there is but one method
of detecting them; viz. to ask them in proper form, what method is the
most certain to propagate the faith over all the world? To this they are
not permitted by the Superior Power to make a false reply, nor are they
willing to give the true one; wherefore they continue silent, and are
thus detected.
III.
ASEM, AN EASTERN TALE.
Where Tauris lifts its head above the storm, and presents nothing to the
sight of the distant traveller but a prospect of nodding rocks, falling
torrents, and all the variety of tremendous nature; on the bleak bosom of
this frightful mountain, secluded from society, and detesting the ways of
men, lived Asem, the man-hater.
Asem had spent his youth with men; had shared in their amusements;
and had been taught to love his fellow-creatures with the most ardent
affection; but from the tenderness of his disposition he exhausted all
his fortune in relieving the wants of the distressed. The petitioner
never sued in vain; the weary traveller never passed his door; he only
desisted from doing good when he had no longer the power of relieving.
From a fortune thus spent in benevolence, he expected a grateful return
from those he had formerly relieved; and made his application with
confidence of redress: the ungrateful world soon grew weary of his
importunity; for pity is but a short lived passion. He soon therefore
began to view mankind in a very different light from that in which he had
before beheld them: he perceived a thousand vices he had never before
suspected to exist: wherever he turned, ingratitude, dissimulation, and
treachery contributed to increase his detestation of them. Resolved
therefore to continue no longer in a world which he hated, and which
repaid his detestation with contempt, he retired to this region of
sterility, in order to brood over his resentment in solitude, and
converse with the only honest heart he knew; namely, with his own.
A cave was his only shelter from the inclemency of the weather; fruits
gathered with difficulty from the mountain’s side his only food: and
his drink was fetched with danger and toil from the headlong torrent.
In this manner he lived, sequestered from society, passing the hours in
meditation, and sometimes exulting that he was able to live independently
of his fellow-creatures.
At the foot of the mountain an extensive lake displayed its glassy bosom;
reflecting on its broad surface the impending horrors of the mountain. To
this capacious mirror he would sometimes descend, and reclining on its
steep banks, cast an eager look on the smooth expanse that lay before
him. “How beautiful,” he often cried, “is nature! how lovely even in
her wildest scenes! How finely contrasted is the level plain that lies
beneath me, with yon awful pile that hides its tremendous head in clouds!
But the beauty of these scenes is no way comparable with their utility;
hence an hundred rivers are supplied, which distribute health and verdure
to the various countries through which they flow. Every part of the
universe is beautiful, just, and wise, but man; vile man is a solecism
in nature; the only monster in the creation. Tempests and whirlwinds
have their use; but vicious ungrateful man is a blot in the fair page of
universal beauty. Why was I born of that detested species, whose vices
are almost a reproach to the wisdom of the divine Creator! Were men
entirely free from vice, all would be uniformity, harmony, and order. A
world of moral rectitude should be the result of a perfect moral agent.
Why, why then, O Alla! must I be thus confined in darkness, doubt, and
despair?”
Just as he uttered the word despair, he was going to plunge into the
lake beneath him, at once to satisfy his doubts, and put a period to his
anxiety; when he perceived a most majestic being walking on the surface
of the water, and approaching the bank on which he stood. So unexpected
an object at once checked his purpose; he stopped, contemplated, and
fancied he saw something awful and divine in his aspect.
“Son of Adam,” cried the genius, “stop thy rash purpose; the Father of
the Faithful has seen thy justice, thy integrity, thy miseries, and hath
sent me to afford and administer relief. Give me thine hand, and follow
without trembling wherever I shall lead; in me behold the Genius of
Conviction, kept by the Great Prophet, to turn from their errors those
who go astray, not from curiosity, but a rectitude of intention. Follow
me, and be wise.”
Asem immediately descended upon the lake, and his guide conducted him
along the surface of the water; till, coming near the centre of the
lake, they both began to sink; the waters closed over their heads; they
descended several hundred fathoms, till Asem, just ready to give up
his life as inevitably lost, found himself with his celestial guide in
another world, at the bottom of the waters, where human foot had never
trod before. His astonishment was beyond description, when he saw a sun
like that he had left, a serene sky over his head, and blooming verdure
under his feet.
“I plainly perceive your amazement,” said the genius; “but suspend it for
a while. This world was formed by Alla, at the request, and under the
inspection, of our great Prophet; who once entertained the same doubts
which filled your mind when I found you, and from the consequence of
which you were so lately rescued. The rational inhabitants of this world
are formed agreeable to your own ideas; they are absolutely without vice.
In other respects it resembles your earth, but differs from it in being
wholly inhabited by men who never do wrong. If you find this world more
agreeable than that you so lately left, you have free permission to spend
the remainder of your days in it; but permit me for some time to attend
you, that I may silence your doubts, and make you better acquainted with
your company and your new habitation!”
“A world without vice! rational beings without immorality!” cried Asem in
a rapture: “I thank thee, O Alla, who hast at length heard my petitions:
this, this indeed will produce happiness, ecstasy, and ease. O! for an
immortality, to spend it among men who are incapable of ingratitude,
injustice, fraud, violence, and a thousand other crimes, that render
society miserable.”
“Cease thine acclamations,” replied the genius. “Look around thee;
reflect on every object and action before us, and communicate to me the
result of thine observations. Lead wherever you think proper, I shall be
your attendant and instructor.” Asem and his companion travelled on in
silence for some time, the former being entirely lost in astonishment;
but at last recovering his former serenity, he could not help observing
that the face of the country bore a near resemblance to that he had left,
except that this subterranean world still seemed to retain its primeval
wildness.
“Here,” cried Asem, “I perceive animals of prey, and others that seem
only designed for their subsistence; it is the very same in the world
over our heads. But had I been permitted to instruct our Prophet, I would
have removed this defect, and formed no voracious or destructive animals,
which only prey on the other parts of the creation.” “Your tenderness
for inferior animals is, I find, remarkable,” said the genius, smiling:
“but with regard to meaner creatures, this world exactly resembles the
other; and indeed for obvious reasons; for the earth can support a more
considerable number of animals, by their thus becoming food for each
other, than if they had lived entirely on her vegetable productions. So
that animals of different natures, thus formed, instead of lessening
their multitude, subsist in the greatest number possible. But let us
hasten on to the inhabited country before us, and see what that offers
for instruction.”
They soon gained the utmost verge of the forest, and entered the country
inhabited by men without vice; and Asem anticipated in idea the rational
delight he hoped to experience in such an innocent society. But they
had scarcely left the confines of the wood, when they beheld one of the
inhabitants flying with hasty steps, and terror in his countenance, from
an army of squirrels that closely pursued him. “Heavens!” cried Asem,
“why does he fly? What can he fear from animals so contemptible?” He
had scarcely spoken, when he perceived two dogs pursuing another of the
human species, who, with equal terror and haste, attempted to avoid them.
“This,” cried Asem to his guide, “is truly surprising; nor can I conceive
the reason for so strange an action.” “Every species of animals,” replied
the genius, “has of late grown very powerful in this country; for the
inhabitants at first thinking it unjust to use either fraud or force
in destroying them, they have insensibly increased, and now frequently
ravage their harmless frontiers.” “But they should have been destroyed,”
cried Asem; “you see the consequence of such neglect.” “Where is then
that tenderness you so lately expressed for subordinate animals?” replied
the genius, smiling; “you seem to have forgot that branch of justice.”
“I must acknowledge my mistake,” returned Asem; “I am now convinced that
we must be guilty of tyranny and injustice to the brute creation, if we
would enjoy the world ourselves. But let us no longer observe the duty of
man to these irrational creatures, but survey their connexions with one
another.”
As they walked further up the country, the more he was surprised to
see no vestiges of handsome houses, no cities, nor any mark of elegant
design. His conductor perceiving his surprise, observed, that the
inhabitants of this new world were perfectly content with their ancient
simplicity; each had a house, which, though homely, was sufficient to
lodge his little family; they were too good to build houses, which could
only increase their own pride, and the envy of the spectator; what they
built was for convenience, and not for show. “At least, then,” said
Asem, “they have neither architects, painters, nor statuaries, in their
society; but these are idle arts, and may be spared. However, before I
spend much more time, you should have my thanks for introducing me into
the society of some of their wisest men: there is scarcely any pleasure
to me equal to a refined conversation; there is nothing of which I am
so much enamoured as wisdom.” “Wisdom!” replied his instructor, “how
ridiculous! We have no wisdom here, for we have no occasion for it;
true wisdom is only a knowledge of our own duty, and the duty of others
to us; but of what use is such wisdom here? each intuitively performs
what is right in himself, and expects the same from others! If by
wisdom you should mean vain curiosity, and empty speculation, as such
pleasures have their origin in vanity, luxury, or avarice, we are too
good to pursue them.” “All this may be right,” says Asem; “but methinks
I observe a solitary disposition prevail among the people; each family
keeps separately within their own precincts, without society, or without
intercourse.” “That indeed is true,” replied the other: “here is no
established society; nor should there be any: all societies are made
either through fear or friendship: the people we are among are too good
to fear each other; and there are no motives to private friendship where
all are equally meritorious.” “Well, then,” said the sceptic, “as I am to
spend my time here, if I am to have neither the polite arts, nor wisdom,
nor friendship, in such a world, I should be glad at least of an easy
companion, who may tell me his thoughts, and to whom I may communicate
mine.” “And to what purpose should either do this?” says the genius:
“flattery or curiosity are vicious motives, and never allowed of here;
and wisdom is out of the question.”
“Still, however,” said Asem, “the inhabitants must be happy; each is
contented with his own possessions, nor avariciously endeavours to heap
up more than is necessary for his own subsistence: each has therefore
leisure for pitying those that stand in need of his compassion.” He had
scarcely spoken, when his ears were assaulted with the lamentations of
a wretch who sat by the way side, and in the most deplorable distress
seemed gently to murmur at his own misery. Asem immediately ran to his
relief, and found him in the last stage of a consumption. “Strange,”
cried the son of Adam, “that men who are free from vice should thus
suffer so much misery without relief!” “Be not surprised,” said the
wretch who was dying; “would it not be the utmost injustice for beings,
who have only just sufficient to support themselves, and are content
with a bare subsistence, to take it from their own mouths to put it into
mine? They never are possessed of a single meal more than is necessary;
and what is barely necessary cannot be dispensed with.” “They should
have been supplied with more than is necessary,” cried Asem; “and yet I
contradict my own opinion but a moment before: all is doubt, perplexity,
and confusion. Even the want of ingratitude is no virtue here, since
they never received a favour. They have, however, another excellence yet
behind; the love of their country is still I hope one of their darling
virtues.” “Peace, Asem,” replied the guardian, with a countenance not
less severe than beautiful, “nor forfeit all thy pretensions to wisdom;
the same selfish motives by which we prefer our own interest to that of
others, induce us to regard our country preferably to that of another.
Nothing less than universal benevolence is free from vice, and that
you see is practised here.” “Strange!” cries the disappointed pilgrim,
in an agony of distress; “what sort of a world am I now introduced
to? There is scarcely a single virtue, but that of temperance, which
they practise; and in that they are no way superior to the very brute
creation. There is scarcely an amusement which they enjoy; fortitude,
liberality, friendship, wisdom, conversation, and love of country, all
are virtues entirely unknown here: thus it seems, that to be unacquainted
with vice is not to know virtue. Take me, O my genius, back to that very
world which I have despised; a world which has Alla for its contriver is
much more wisely formed than that which has been projected by Mahomet.
Ingratitude, contempt, and hatred, I can now suffer, for perhaps I have
deserved them. When I arraigned the wisdom of Providence, I only showed
my own ignorance; henceforth let me keep from vice myself, and pity it
in others.”
He had scarcely ended, when the genius, assuming an air of terrible
complacency, called all his thunders around him, and vanished in a
whirlwind. Asem, astonished at the terror of the scene, looked for his
imaginary world; when, casting his eyes around, he perceived himself in
the very situation, and in the very place, where he first began to repine
and despair; his right foot had been just advanced to take the fatal
plunge, nor had it been yet withdrawn; so instantly did Providence strike
the series of truths just imprinted on his soul. He now departed from the
water-side in tranquillity, and, leaving his horrid mansion, travelled
to Segestan, his native city, where he diligently applied himself to
commerce, and put in practice that wisdom he had learned in solitude.
The frugality of a few years soon produced opulence; the number of his
domestics increased; his friends came to him from every part of the city;
nor did he receive them with disdain: and a youth of misery was concluded
with an old age of elegance, affluence, and ease.
IV.
ON THE ENGLISH CLERGY, AND POPULAR PREACHERS.
It is allowed on all hands, that our English divines receive a more
liberal education, and improve that education by frequent study, more
than any others of this reverend profession in Europe. In general also
it may be observed, that a greater degree of gentility is affixed to the
character of a student in England than elsewhere; by which means our
clergy have an opportunity of seeing better company while young, and of
sooner wearing off those prejudices which they are apt to imbibe even
in the best regulated universities, and which may be justly termed the
vulgar errors of the wise.
Yet with all these advantages, it is very obvious, that the clergy are
no where so little thought of by the populace, as here; and though our
divines are foremost with respect to abilities, yet they are found last
in the effects of their ministry; the vulgar in general appearing no way
impressed with a sense of religious duty. I am not for whining at the
depravity of the times, or for endeavouring to paint a prospect more
gloomy than in nature; but certain it is, no person who has travelled
will contradict me, when I aver, that the lower orders of mankind
in other countries testify on every occasion the profoundest awe of
religion; while in England they are scarcely awakened into a sense of its
duties, even in circumstances of the greatest distress.
This dissolute and fearless conduct foreigners are apt to attribute to
climate and constitution: may not the vulgar, being pretty much neglected
in our exhortations from the pulpit, be a conspiring cause? Our divines
seldom stoop to their mean capacities; and they who want instruction
most, find least in our religious assemblies.
Whatever may become of the higher orders of mankind, who are generally
possessed of collateral motives to virtue, the vulgar should be
particularly regarded, whose behaviour in civil life is totally hinged
upon their hopes and fears. Those who constitute the basis of the great
fabric of society should be particularly regarded; for in policy, as in
architecture, ruin is most fatal when it begins from the bottom.
Men of real sense and understanding prefer a prudent mediocrity to a
precarious popularity; and, fearing to outdo their duty, leave it half
done. Their discourses from the pulpit are generally dry, methodical, and
unaffecting; delivered with the most insipid calmness; insomuch, that,
should the peaceful preacher lift his head over the cushion, which alone
he seems to address, he might discover his audience, instead of being
awakened to remorse, actually sleeping over his methodical and laboured
composition.
This method of preaching is however by some called an address to reason,
and not to the passions; this is styled the making of converts from
conviction: but such are indifferently acquainted with human nature, who
are not sensible, that men seldom reason about their debaucheries till
they are committed; reason is but a weak antagonist when headlong passion
dictates: in all such cases we should arm one passion against another: it
is with the human mind as in nature; from the mixture of two opposites
the result is most frequently neutral tranquillity. Those, who attempt to
reason us out of our follies, begin at the wrong end, since the attempt
naturally presupposes us capable of reason; but to be made capable of
this is one great point of the cure.
There are but few talents requisite to become a popular preacher, for the
people are easily pleased if they perceive any endeavours in the orator
to please them; the meanest qualifications will work this effect, if the
preacher sincerely sets about it. Perhaps little indeed, very little
more is required, than sincerity and assurance; and a becoming sincerity
is always certain of producing a becoming assurance. “Si vis me flere,
dolendum est primum tibi ipsi,” is so trite a quotation, that it almost
demands an apology to repeat it; yet, though all allow the justice of the
remark, how few do we find put it in practice! our orators, with the most
faulty bashfulness, seem impressed rather with an awe of their audience
than with a just respect for the truths they are about to deliver; they,
of all professions, seem the most bashful, who have the greatest right to
glory in their commission.
The French preachers generally assume all the dignity which becomes men
who are ambassadors from Christ: the English divines, like erroneous
envoys, seem more solicitous not to offend the court to which they are
sent, than to drive home the interest of their employer. The bishop
of Massillon, in the first sermon he ever preached, found the whole
audience, upon his getting into the pulpit, in a disposition no way
favourable to his intentions; their nods, whispers, or drowsy behaviour,
showed him that there was no great profit to be expected from his sowing
in a soil so improper; however, he soon changed the disposition of his
audience by his manner of beginning. “If,” says he, “a cause, the most
important that could be conceived, were to be tried at the bar before
qualified judges; if this cause interested ourselves in particular; if
the eyes of the whole kingdom were fixed upon the event; if the most
eminent counsel were employed on both sides; and if we had heard from our
infancy of this yet undetermined trial; would you not all sit with due
attention, and warm expectation, to the pleadings on each side? Would
not all your hopes and fears be hinged upon the final decision? And yet,
let me tell you, you have this moment a cause of much greater importance
before you; a cause where not one nation, but all the world, are
spectators; tried not before a fallible tribunal, but the awful throne of
Heaven; where not your temporal and transitory interests are the subject
of debate, but your eternal happiness or misery, where the cause is still
undetermined; but perhaps, the very moment I am speaking may fix the
irrevocable decree that shall last for ever; and yet, notwithstanding all
this, you can hardly sit with patience to hear the tidings of your own
salvation; I plead the cause of Heaven, and I am scarcely attended to,
&c.”