Happiness having been defined, by certain acute wits the art of being
adroitly deceived, perhaps, therefore, no order in society merits
congratulation more, than that cajoled cluster of “good easy men,” whom
knaves call dupes. Amadis de Gaul, or any other knight errant of old
romance, must have cordially cursed the malignant enchanter, who, by the
touch of a tallisman, caused the gorgeous castle to dwindle to a cot, or
the wrinkles of a witch to mar the brow of a peerless damsel. The Dupe,
whom the unreflecting “million” too often deride for being gulled, would
have equal reason to upbraid that impertinent and pretended friend, who,
in the game of human artifice, should stand behind his chair, and
incessantly tell him, that he was cheated. Although I cannot agree with
that eccentric orator, who harangued in praise of ignorance; although I
cannot print paradoxes, like ROUSSEAU’s, pronouncing the arts and
sciences useless, and barbarism a blessing; yet I would fervently
implore those gamesome genii, who delight in the mockery of mortals,
that they would never unbind from my eyes that fillet which conceals
from their view the foibles of the friend I respect, and the frailties
of the woman I love. In life’s pilgrimage, curiosity must be sparingly
indulged: and, lest dejection invade, we should not scarcely see, still
less contemplate, the deformities of ZAARA, or _The Desart_. One of the
most amiable _weaknesses,_ as the world calls them, in my uncle Toby’s
character, as delineated by Sterne, was that you might cheat him ten
times a day, if nine times were not sufficient for your purpose. Ælian,
a narrative Greek, records the case of an insane Athenian, who, living
in a maritime town, fancied that all the vessels which arrived in the
haven were his own. Horace mentions likewise, a nobleman of Argos,
a literary enthusiast, a “child of fancy,” who, even in the vacant pit,
fancied that he witnessed the representation of sublime tragedies, and
“hearkened even to extacy.” Now how unfortunate an officer would uncle
Toby have been, had Corporal Trim hinted at the duplicity of Bridget,
widow Wadman, or any of the Shandy family; and how unfortunate were the
frantic Athenian and the illustrious Argive, from whose minds the “dear
deceit” was expelled by the officious friend, and the operative
hellebore.
I have read somewhere, I believe in Sir Thomas More’s works, that the
world is undone by looking at things at a distance. One would suppose
that so wise a Chancellor would have philosophised better than this, and
have maintained the _reverse_ of the proposition. Happy would it have
been had his practice militated with his principles. If he had surveyed
the Romish superstition, and the caprice of the eighth Henry _at a
distance_, if he had kneeled to the saints without questioning their
right to be worshipped, and obeyed the king without asking wherefore;
the “rays of royal indignation,” would not have confused the Chancellor,
and he would not have paid with his head the price of _too near_ an
examination.
The inimitable BUTLER, in whose Hudibras we always find much of the good
sense and truth of poetry, acknowledges that,
Doubtless the pleasure is as great
Of being cheated, as to cheat.
But he might have said more, and affirmed that the satisfaction is
greater, and that the dupe is happier, than the knave. It is better to
be the gulled spectator of a puppet show, than the master juggler, who
comprehends the whole trick. How foolishly conducts that curious
impertinent, who swears that the glittering crown of the theatrical
monarch is nothing but tinsel, and rallies behind the scenes to view the
actors in an undress. For the naked skeleton, even of delight to adopt a
happy phrase of Dr. Johnson’s, is loathsome; and those inquisitive
beings, who wish to survey every object stripped of its trappings,
resemble children who dash their gilded toys to pieces to know what is
inside.
In every age inquisitiveness has caused many, eager to take a peep, to
go on their way sorrowing. If our grand parent Eve had been content with
innocent ignorance, and not _hankered_ after those cursed crab apples
which have “set the children’s teeth on edge,” we should all be “jolly
fellows;” each, after rising from the feast of life, would have no
reckoning but his own to discharge. But since the habit of tearing off
the veil from every object has grown inveterate, how many misshapen
monsters have exhibited to the curious eye, most naked and nauseous
disproportion. How many noble, how many ecclesiastical heads, recent
from the guillotine, have gasped on the ground because TOM PAINE railed
at the mob for their servility to the ruling powers, and taught them the
“Rights of Man.” If _happy_ ignorance had been our hereditary queen, no
persecution, civil or religious, would have urged non-conforming victims
to the stake or the scaffold. The bells on St. Bartholomew’s night would
not have tolled, Luther would not have defaced so many paintings, nor
have mutilated so many statues of the Romish Church. Calvin’s proselytes
would have been a visionary band, feeble and insignificant as the madcap
shakers. _Mother Church_ would never have quarrelled with her
_daughters_ for precedency. _Lawn sleeves_ would not have been rent by
one side, nor _grey coats_ singed threadbare by the other; but all the
members of the _great family_ would have sung what ditties they pleased,
and perhaps amicably joined in a general chorus of
“SINCE WE ARE MET, LET’S MERRY, MERRY BE,
WITH A TINKER, OR A TAILOR.”
* * * * *
* * * *
+HENRY and LOUISA+;
An Affecting Tale,
Founded on recent Facts.
_Introduced in a Letter of Consolation and Advice to Mrs. FRANKS,
from her Sister._
* * *