"SIR,
"Having lately read your discourse about the family of
Trubies,[138] wherein you observe that there are some who fall
into laughter out of a certain benevolence in their temper, and
not out of the ordinary motive, viz., contempt and triumph over
the imperfections of others, I have conceived a good idea of your
knowledge of mankind. And as you have a tragi-comic genius, I beg
the favour of you to give us your thoughts of a quite different
effect, which also is caused by other motives than what are
commonly taken notice of. What I would have you treat of, is, the
cause of shedding tears. I desire you would discuss it a little,
with observations upon the various occasions which provoke us to
that expression of our concern, &c."
To obey this complaisant gentleman, I know no way so short as examining
the various touches of my own bosom, on several occurrences in a long
life, to the evening of which I am arrived, after as many various
incidents as anybody has met with. I have often reflected, that there
is a great similitude in the motions of the heart in mirth and in
sorrow; and I think the usual occasion of the latter, as well as the
former, is something which is sudden and unexpected. The mind has
not a sufficient time to recollect its force, and immediately gushes
into tears before we can utter ourselves by speech or complaint. The
most notorious causes of these drops from our eyes, are pity, sorrow,
joy, and reconciliation. The fair sex, who are made of man, and not
of earth, have a more delicate humanity than we have, and pity is the
most common cause of their tears: for as we are inwardly composed of an
aptitude to every circumstance of life, and everything that befalls any
one person might have happened to any other of human race, self-love,
and a sense of the pain we ourselves should suffer in the circumstances
of any whom we pity, is the cause of that compassion. Such a reflection
in the breast of a woman immediately inclines her to tears; but in a
man, it makes him think how such a one ought to act on that occasion,
suitable to the dignity of his nature. Thus a woman is ever moved for
those whom she hears lament, and a man for those whom he observes to
suffer in silence. It is a man's own behaviour in the circumstances he
is under which procures him the esteem of others, and not merely the
affliction itself which demands our pity: for we never give a man that
passion which he falls into for himself. He that commends himself never
purchases our applause; nor he who bewails himself, our pity. Going
through an alley the other day, I observed a noisy impudent beggar bawl
out, that he was wounded in a merchantman, that he had lost his poor
limbs, and showed a leg clouted up. All that passed by, made what haste
they could out of sight and hearing. But a poor fellow at the end of
the passage, with a rusty coat, a melancholy air, and a soft voice,
desired them to look upon a man not used to beg. The latter received
the charity of almost every one that went by. The strings of the heart,
which are to be touched to give us compassion, are not so played on
but by the finest hand. We see in tragical representations it is not
the pomp of language, or magnificence of dress, in which the passion
is wrought that touches sensible spirits, but something of a plain and
simple nature which breaks in upon our souls, by that sympathy which
is given us for our mutual good-will and service.[139] In the tragedy
of "Macbeth," where Wilks[140] acts the part of a man whose family
has been murdered in his absence, the wildness of his passion, which
is run over in a torrent of calamitous circumstances, does but raise
my spirits, and give me the alarm; but when he skilfully seems to be
out of breath, and is brought too low to say more, and upon a second
reflection, cry, only wiping his eyes, "What, both children! Both, both
my children gone!" there is no resisting a sorrow which seems to have
cast about for all the reasons possible for its consolation, but has
no recourse. There is not one left, but both, both are murdered![141]
Such sudden starts from the thread of the discourse, and a plain
sentiment expressed in an artless way, are the irresistible strokes of
eloquence and poetry. The same great master, Shakespeare, can afford us
instances of all the places where our souls are accessible, and ever
commands our tears; but it is to be observed, that he draws them from
some unexpected source, which seems not wholly of a piece with the
discourse. Thus when Brutus and Cassius had a debate in the tragedy
of "Cæsar," and rose to warm language against each other, insomuch
that it had almost come to something that might be fatal, till they
recollected themselves; Brutus does more than make an apology for the
heat he had been in, by saying, "Porcia is dead."[142] Here Cassius is
all tenderness, and ready to dissolve, when he considers that the mind
of his friend had been employed on the greatest affliction imaginable,
when he had been adding to it by a debate on trifles; which makes him
in the anguish of his heart cry out, "How scaped I killing when I thus
provoked you?"[143] This is an incident which moves the soul in all
its sentiments; and Cassius's heart was at once touched with all the
soft pangs of pity, remorse, and reconciliation. It is said indeed by
Horace, "If you would have me weep, you must first weep yourself."[144]
This is not literally true, for it would have been as rightly said,
if we observe nature, that I shall certainly weep if you do not; but
what is intended by that expression is, that it is not possible to give
passion except you show that you suffer yourself. Therefore the true
art seems to be, that when you would have the person you represent
pitied, you must show him at once, in the highest grief and struggling,
to bear it with decency and patience. In this case, we sigh for him,
and give him every groan he suppresses.[145] I remember, when I was
young enough to follow the sports of the field, I have more than
once rode off at the death of a deer, when I have seen the animal in
an affliction which appeared human without the least noise, let fall
tears when he was reduced to extremity; and I have thought of the
sorrow I saw him in when his haunch came to the table. But our tears
are not given only to objects of pity, but the mind has recourse to
that relief on all occasions which give us much emotion. Thus, to be
apt to shed tears is a sign of a great as well as little spirit. I
have heard say, the present Pope[146] never passes through the people,
who always kneel in crowds and ask his benediction, but the tears are
seen to flow from his eyes. This must proceed from an imagination that
he is the father of all those people, and that he is touched with so
extensive a benevolence that it breaks out into a passion of tears. You
see friends, who have been long absent, transported in the same manner:
a thousand little images crowd upon them at their meeting, as all the
joys and griefs they have known during their separation; and in one
hurry of thought, they conceive how they should have participated in
those occasions, and weep, because their minds are too full to wait the
slow expression of words.
_His lacrimis vitam damus, et miseressimus ultro._[147]
There is lately broke loose from the London Pack[148] a very tall
dangerous biter. He is now at the Bath, and it is feared will make
a damnable havoc amongst the game. His manner of biting is new, and
called the Top. He secures one die betwixt his two fingers: the other
is fixed by the help of a famous wax invented by an apothecary, since a
gamester; a little of which he puts upon his forefinger, and that holds
the die in the box at his devotion. Great sums have been lately won by
these ways; but it is hoped that this hint of his manner of cheating
will open the eyes of many who are every day imposed upon.
* * * * *
There is now in the press, and will be suddenly published, a book
entitled "An Appendix to the Contempt of the Clergy,"[149] wherein
will be set forth at large, that all our dissensions are owing to
the laziness of persons in the sacred ministry, and that none of the
present schisms could have crept into the flock but by the negligence
of the pastors. There is a digression in this treatise, proving that
the pretences made by the priesthood from time to time that the Church
was in danger, is only a trick to make the laity passionate for that of
which they themselves have been negligent. The whole concludes with an
exhortation to the clergy, to the study of eloquence, and practice of
piety, as the only method to support the highest of all honours, that
of a priest, who lives and acts according to his character.