DR. JOHNSON'S WORKS.
THE
ADVENTURER AND IDLER.
THE
WORKS
OF
SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL.D.
IN NINE VOLUMES.
VOLUME THE FOURTH.
MDCCCXXV.
PREFATORY NOTICE
TO
THE ADVENTURER.
The Adventurer was projected in the year 1752, by Dr. John Hawkesworth.
He was partly induced to undertake the work by his admiration of the
Rambler, which had now ceased to appear, the style and sentiments of
which evidently, from his commencement, he made the models of his
imitation.
The first number was published on the seventh of November, 1752. The
quantity and price were the same as the Rambler, and also the days of
its appearance. He was joined in his labours by Dr. Johnson in 1753,
whose first paper is dated March 3, of that year; and after its
publication Johnson applied to his friend, Dr. Joseph Warton, for his
assistance, which was afforded: and the writers then were, besides the
projector Dr. Hawkesworth, Dr. Johnson, Dr. Joseph Warton, Dr. Bathurst,
Colman, Mrs. Chapone and the Hon. Hamilton Boyle, the accomplished son
of Lord Orrery [1].
Our business, however, in the present pages, does not lie with the
Adventurer in general, but only with Dr. Johnson's contributions; which
amount to the number of twenty-nine, beginning with No. 34, and ending
with No. 138.
Much criticism has been employed in appropriating some of them, and the
carelessness of editors has overlooked several that have been
satisfactorily proved to be Johnson's own[2].
Mr. Boswell relies on internal evidence, which is unnecessary, since in
Dr. Warton's copy (and his authority on the subject will scarcely be
disputed) the following remark was found at the end: "The papers marked
T were written by Mr. S. Johnson." Mrs. Anna Williams asserted that he
dictated most of these to Dr. Bathurst, to whom he presented the
profits. The anecdote may well be believed from the usual benevolence of
Johnson and his well-known attachment to that amiable physician, whose
professional knowledge might undoubtedly have enabled him to offer hints
to Johnson in the progress of composition. Thus we may account for the
references to recondite medical writers in No. 39, which so staggered
Boswell and Malone in pronouncing on the genuineness of this paper.
Those who are familiar with Johnson's writings can have little
hesitation, we conceive, in recognising his style, and manner, and
sentiments in those papers which are now published under his name. They
may be considered as a continuation of the Rambler. The same subjects
are discussed; the interests of literature and of literary men, the
emptiness of praise and the vanity of human wishes. The same intimate
knowledge, of the town and its manners is displayed[3]; and occasionally
we are amused with humorous delineation of adventure and of
character[4].
From the greater variety of its subjects, aided, perhaps, by a growing
taste for periodical literature, the sale of the Adventurer was greater
than that of the Rambler on its first appearance. But still there were
those, who "talked of it as a catch-penny performance, carried on by a
set of needy and obscure scribblers[5]." So slowly is a national taste
for letters diffused, and so hardly do works of sterling merit, which
deal not in party-politics, nor exemplify their ethical discussions by
holding out living characters to censure or contempt, win the applause
of those, whose passions leave them no leisure for abstracted truth, and
whom virtue itself cannot please by its naked dignity. But, by such,
Johnson professed, that he had little expectation of his writings being
perused. Keeping then our main object more immediately in view, the
elucidation of Johnson's real character and motives, we cannot but
admire the prompt benevolence, with which he joined Hawkesworth in his
task, and the ready zeal, with which he embraced any opportunity of
promoting the interests of morality and virtue. "To a benevolent
disposition every state of life will afford some opportunities of
contributing to the welfare of mankind," is the characteristic opening
of his first Adventurer. And when we have admired the real excellence of
his heart, we must wonder at the vigour of a mind, which could so
abstract itself from its own sorrows and misfortunes, which too often
deaden our feelings of pity, as to sympathize with others in affliction,
and even to promote innocent cheerfulness. Bowed down by the loss of a
wife[6], on whom he had called from amidst the horrors of a hopeless
melancholy, to "hide him from the ills of life," and depressed by
poverty, "that numbs the soul with icy hand," his genius sank not
beneath a load, which might have crushed the loftiest; but the
"incumbrances of his fortune were shaken from his mind, 'as dew-drops
from a lion's mane[7].'"
The same pure and exalted morality, which stamps their chief value on
the pages of the Rambler, instructs us in the lessons of the Adventurer.
Here is no cold doctrine of expediency or dangerous speculations on
moral approbation, no easy virtue which can be practised without a
struggle, and which interdicts the gratification of no passion but
malice: here is no compromise of personal sensuality, for an endurance
of others' frailties, amounting to an indifference of moral distinctions
altogether. Johnson boldly and, at once, propounds the real motives to
Christian conduct; and does not, with some ethical writers, in a slavish
dread of interfering with the more immediate office of the divine, hold
out slender inducements to virtuous action, which can never give us
strength to stem the torrent of passion; but holding with the acute Owen
Feltham[8], "that, as true religion cannot be without morality, no more
can morality, that is right, be without religion," Johnson ever directs
our attention, not to the world's smile or frown, but to the discharge
of the duty which Providence assigns us, by the consideration of the
awful approach of that night when no man can work. To conclude with the
appropriate words of an eloquent writer, "in his sublime discussions of
the most sacred truths, as no style can be too lofty nor conceptions too
grand for such a subject, so has the great master never exerted the
powers of his great genius with more signal success. Impiety shrinks
beneath his rebuke; the atheist trembles and repents; the dying sinner
catches a gleam of revealed hope; and all acknowledge the just
dispensations of eternal Wisdom[9]."
FOOTNOTES:
[1] For the general history of the Adventurer, the reader may be
referred to Chalmers' British Essayists, xxiii, Dr. Drake's Essays
on Rambler, Adventurer, &c. ii, and Boswell's Journal, 3rd edit. p.
240.
[2] Five of these, Nos. 39, 67, 74, 81, and 128, which Sir John Hawkins
omitted to arrange among the writings of Johnson, are given in this
edition.
[3] See particularly the Letters of Misagargyrus.
[4] The description in No. 84, of the incidents of a stage-coach
journey, so often imitated by succeeding writers, but, perhaps,
never surpassed, will exemplify the above remark.
[5] See Lounger, No. 30.
[6] "I have heard, he means to occasionally throw some papers into the
Daily Advertiser; but he has not begun yet, as he is in great
affliction, I fear, poor man, for the loss of his wife."--Letter
from Miss Talbot to Mrs. Carter. Mrs. Johnson died March 17, 1752.
[7] See the Preface to Shakespeare.
[8] Owen Feltham's Resolves.
[9] Indian Observer, No. 1, 1793. See likewise Adventurers, Nos. 120,
126, 128.
PREFATORY NOTICE
TO
THE IDLER.
The Idler may be ranked among the best attempts which have been made to
render our common newspapers the medium of rational amusement; and it
maintained its ground in this character longer than any of the papers
which have been brought forward by Colman and others on the same
plan[1]. Dr. Johnson first inserted this production in the Universal
Chronicle, or Weekly Gazette, April 15, 1758, four years after he had
desisted from his labours as an essayist. It would seem probable, that
Newbery, the publisher of the Chronicle, projected it as a vehicle for
Johnson's essays, since it ceased to appear when its pages were no
longer enlivened by the humour of the Idler.
It is well known, that Johnson was not "built of the press and pen[2]"
when he composed the Rambler; but his sphere of observation had been
much enlarged since its publication, and his more ample means no longer
suffered his genius to be "limited by the narrow conversation, to which
men in want are inevitably condemned[3]." "The sublime philosophy of the
Rambler cannot properly be said to have portrayed the manners of the
times; it has seldom touched on subjects so transient and fugitive, but
has displayed the more fixed and invariable operations of the human
heart[4]." But the Idler breathes more of a worldly spirit, and savours
less of the closet than Johnson's earlier essays; and, accordingly, we
find delineated in its diversified pages the manners and characters of
the day in amusing variety and contrast.
Written professedly for a paper of miscellaneous intelligence, the Idler
dwells on the passing incidents of the day, whether serious or light[5],
and abounds with party and political allusion. Johnson ever surveyed
mankind with the eye of a philosopher; but his own easier circumstances
would now present the world's aspect to him in brighter, fairer colours.
Besides, he could, with more propriety and less risk of misapprehension,
venture to trifle now, than when first he addressed the public.
The World[6] had diffused its precepts, and corrected the fluctuating
manners of fashion, in the tone of fashionable raillery; and the
Connoisseur[7], by its gay and sparkling effusions, had forwarded the
advance of the public mind to that last stage of intellectual
refinement, in which alone a relish exists for delicate and half latent
irony. The plain and literal citizens of an earlier period, who conned
over what was "so nominated in the bend," would have misapprehended that
graceful playfulness of satire, elegant and fanciful as ever charmed the
leisure of the literary loungers of Athens. For, in the writings of
Bonnel Thornton and Colman, the philosophy of Aristippus may indeed be
said to be revived[8]. We would not, however, be supposed, by these
allusions, to imply that all the papers of the Idler are light and
sportive; or that Johnson for a moment lost sight of a grand moral end
in all his discussions. His mind only accommodated itself to the
circumstances in which it was placed, and diligently sought to avail
itself of each varying opportunity to admonish and to benefit, whether
from the chair of philosophic reproof or in the cheerful, social circle.
Whatever faults have been charged upon the Idler may be traced, we
conceive, to this source. Nobody at times, said Johnson, talks more
laxly than I do[9]. And this acknowledged propensity may well be
presumed to have affected the humorous and almost conversational tone of
the work before us. In the conscious pride of mental might and in the
easier moments of conversations, that illuminated the minds of
Reynolds[10] and of Burke, Johnson delighted to indulge in a lively
sophistry which might sometimes deceive himself, when at first he merely
wished to sport in elegant raillery or ludicrous paradox. When these
sallies were recorded and brought to bear against him on future
occasions, irritated at their misconstruction and conscious to himself
of an upright intention, or at most of only a wish to promote innocent
cheerfulness, he was too stubborn in retracting what he had thus
advanced. Hence, when menaced with a prosecution for his definition of
Excise in his Dictionary, so far from offering apology or promising
alteration, he called, in his Idler, a Commissioner of Excise the lowest
of human beings, and classes him with the scribbler for a party[11]. So
strange a definition and still less pardonable adherence to it can only
be justified on the ground of Johnson's warm feelings for the comfort of
the middle class of society. He knew that the execution of the excise
laws involved an intrusion into the privacies of domestic life, and
often violated the fireside of the unoffending and quiet tradesman. He,
therefore, disliked those laws altogether, and his warm-hearted
disposition would not allow him to calculate on their abstract
advantages with modern political economists, who, in their generalizing
doctrines, too frequently overlook individual comfort and interests. His
remarks, in the same paper, on the edition of the Pleas of the Crown
cannot be thus vindicated, and we must here lament an error in an
otherwise honest and well-intentioned mind[12]. Every impartial reader
of his works may thus easily trace to their origin Johnson's chief
political errors, and his research must terminate in admiration of a
writer, who never prostituted his pen to fear or favour; and who, though
erroneous often in his estimate of men and measures, still, in his
support of a party, firmly believed himself to be the advocate of
morality and right. His tenderness of spirit, his firm principles and
his deep sense of the emptiness of human pursuits are visible amidst the
lighter papers of the Idler, and his serious reflections are, perhaps,
more strikingly affecting as contrasted with mirthfulness and
pleasantry.
His concluding paper and the one[13] on the death of his mother have,
perhaps, never been surpassed. Here is no affectation of sentimentality,
no morbid and puling complaints, but the dignified and chastened
expression of sorrow, which a mind, constituted as Johnson's, must have
experienced on the departure of a mother. A heart, tender and
susceptible of pathetic emotion, as his was, must have deeply felt, how
dreary it is to walk downward to the grave unregarded by her "who has
looked on our childhood." Occasions for more violent and perturbed grief
may occur to us in our passage through life, but the gentle, quiet death
of a mother speaks to us with "still small voice" of our wasting years,
and breaks completely and, at once, our earliest and most cherished
associations. This tenderness of spirit seems ever to have actuated
Johnson, and he is surely greatest when he breathes it forth over the
sorrows and miseries of man. Even in his humorous papers, he never
wounds feeling for the sake of raising a laugh, nor sports with folly,
but in the hope of reclaiming the vicious and with the design of warning
the young of the delusion and danger of an example, which can only be
imitated by the forfeiture of virtue and the practice of vice. "In
whatever he undertook, it was his determined purpose to rectify the
heart, to purify the passions, to give ardour to virtue and confidence
to truth[14]."
FOOTNOTES:
[1] The Genius was published by Colman in the St. James's Chronicle,
1761, 1762. The Gentleman, by the same author, came out in the
London-Packet, 1775. The Grumbler was the production of the
Antiquary Grose, and appeared in the English Chronicle, 1791.
[2] Owen Feltham.
[3] Preface to Shakespeare.
[4] Country Spectator, No. 1.
[5] Idler, No. 6.
[6] The World was published in 1753.
[7] The Connoisseur appeared in 1754.
[8] See Dr. Drake's Essays, II.
[9] Journal of a Tour to the Hebrides.
[10] See life of Sir Joshua Reynolds, prefixed to his Works by Malone,
i. 28, &c.
[11] See Idler, No. 65 and Mr. Chalmers' Preface to vol. 33 of the
British Essayists.
[12] See Gentleman's Magazine 1706. p. 272.
[13] Idler, No. 41.
[14] See Pursuits of Literature, Dialogue I. note.
CONTENTS OF THE FOURTH VOLUME.
THE ADVENTURER.
34. Folly of extravagance. The story of Misargyrus
39. On sleep
41. Sequel of the story of Misargyrus
45. The difficulty of forming confederacies
50. On lying
53. Misargyrus' account of his companions in the Fleet
58. Presumption of modern criticism censured. Ancient poetry necessarily
obscure. Examples from Horace
62. Misargyrus' account of his companions concluded
67. On the trades of London
69. Idle hope
74. Apology for neglecting officious advice
81. Incitement to enterprise and emulation. Some account of the
admirable Crichton
84. Folly of false pretences to importance. A journey in a stagecoach
85. Study, composition, and converse equally necessary to intellectual
accomplishment
92. Criticism on the Pastorals of Virgil
95. Apology for apparent plagiarism. Sources of literary variety
99. Projectors injudiciously censured and applauded
102. Infelicities of retirement to men of business
107. Different opinions equally plausible
108. On the uncertainty of human things
111. The pleasures and advantages of industry
115. The itch of writing universal
119. The folly of creating artificial wants
120. The miseries of life
126. Solitude not eligible
128. Men differently employed unjustly censured by each other
131. Singularities censured
137. Writers not a useless generation
138. Their happiness and infelicity
THE IDLER.
1. The Idler's character.
2. Invitation to correspondents.
3. Idler's reason for writing.
4. Charities and hospitals.
5. Proposal for a female army.
6. Lady's performance on horseback.
7. Scheme for news-writers.
8. Plan of military discipline.
9. Progress of idleness.
10. Political credulity.
11. Discourses on the weather.
12. Marriages, why advertised.
13. The imaginary housewife.
14. Robbery of time.
15. Treacle's complaint of his wife.
16. Drugget's retirement.
17. Expedients of idlers.
18. Drugget vindicated.
19. Whirler's character.
20. Capture of Louisbourg.
21. Linger's history of listlessness.
22. Imprisonment of debtors.
23. Uncertainty of friendship.
24. Man does not always think.
25. New actors on the stage.
26. Betty Broom's history.
27. Power of habits.
28. Wedding-day. Grocer's wife. Chairman.
29. Betty Broom's history continued.
30. Corruption of news-writers.
31. Disguises of idleness. Sober's character.
32. On Sleep.
33. Journal of a fellow of a college.
34. Punch and conversation compared.
35. Auction-hunter described and ridiculed.
36. The terrific diction ridiculed.
37. Useful things easy of attainment.
38. Cruelty shown to debtors in prison.
39. The various uses of the bracelet.
40. The art of advertising exemplified.
41. Serious reflections on the death of a friend.
42. Perdita's complaint of her father.
43. Monitions on the flight of time.
44. The use of memory considered.
45. On painting. Portraits defended.
46. Molly Quick's complaint of her mistress.
47. Deborah Ginger's account of city-wits.
48. The bustle of idleness described and ridiculed.
49. Marvel's journey narrated.
50. Marvel's journey paralleled.
51. Domestick greatness unattainable.
52. Self-denial necessary.
53. Mischiefs of good company.
54. Mrs. Savecharges' complaint.
55. Authors' mortifications.
56. Virtuosos whimsical.
57. Character of Sophron.
58. Expectations of pleasure frustrated.
59. Books fall into neglect.
60. Minim the critic.
61. Minim the critic.
62. Hanger's account of the vanity of riches.
63. Progress of arts and language.
64. Ranger's complaint concluded.
65. Fate of posthumous works.
66. Loss of ancient writings.
67. Scholar's journal.
68. History of translation.
69. History of translation.
70. Hard words defended.
71. Dick Shifter's rural excursion.
72. Regulation of memory.
73. Tranquil's use of riches.
74. Memory rarely deficient.
75. Gelaleddin of Bassora.
76. False criticisms on painting.
77. Easy writing.
78. Steady, Snug, Startle, Solid and Misty.
79. Grand style of painting.
80. Ladies' journey to London.
81. Indian's speech to his countrymen.
82. The true idea of beauty.
83. Scruple, Wormwood, Sturdy and Gentle.
84. Biography, how best performed.
85. Books multiplied by useless compilations.
86. Miss Heartless' want of a lodging.
87. Amazonian bravery revived.
88. What have ye done?
89. Physical evil moral good.
90. Rhetorical action considered.
91. Sufficiency of the English language.
92. Nature of cunning.
93. Sam Softly's history.
94. Obstructions of learning.
95. Tim Wainscot's son a fine gentleman.
96. Hacho of Lapland.
97. Narratives of travellers considered.
98. Sophia Heedful.
99. Ortogrul of Basra.
100. The good sort of woman.
101. Omar's plan of life.
102. Authors inattentive to themselves.
103. Honour of the last.
THE
ADVENTURER.
No. 34. SATURDAY, MARCH 3, 1753.
_Has toties optata exegit gloria pænas._ Juv. Sat. x. 187.
Such fate pursues the votaries of praise.
TO THE ADVENTURER.
SIR,
Fleet Prison, Feb. 24.
To a benevolent disposition, every state of life will afford some
opportunities of contributing to the welfare of mankind. Opulence and
splendour are enabled to dispel the cloud of adversity, to dry up the
tears of the widow and the orphan, and to increase the felicity of all
around them: their example will animate virtue, and retard the progress
of vice. And even indigence and obscurity, though without power to
confer happiness, may at least prevent misery, and apprize those who are
blinded by their passions, that they are on the brink of irremediable
calamity. Pleased, therefore, with the thought of recovering others from
that folly which has embittered my own days, I have presumed to address
the ADVENTURER from the dreary mansions of wretchedness and despair, of
which the gates are so wonderfully constructed, as to fly open for the
reception of strangers, though they are impervious as a rock of adamant
to such as are within them:
--_Facilis descensus Averni:
Noctes utque dies patet atri janua Ditis:
Sed revocare gradum, superasque evadere ad auras,
Hoc opus, hic labor est_.--VIRG. Æn. vi. 126.
The gates of hell are open night and day;
Smooth the descent, and easy is the way:
But to return and view the cheerful skies;
In this the task and mighty labour lies. DRYDEN.
Suffer me to acquaint you, Sir, that I have glittered at the ball, and
sparkled in the circle; that I have had the happiness to be the unknown
favourite of an unknown lady at the masquerade, have been the delight of
tables of the first fashion, and envy of my brother beaux; and to
descend a little lower, it is, I believe, still remembered, that Messrs.
Velours and d'Espagne stand indebted for a great part of their present
influence at Guildhall, to the elegance of my shape, and the graceful
freedom of my carriage.
--_Sed quæ præclara et prospera tanti,
Ut rebus lætis par sit mensura malorum_? Juv. Sat. x. 97.
See the wild purchase of the bold and vain,
Where every bliss is bought with equal pain!
As I entered into the world very young, with an elegant person and a
large estate, it was not long before I disentangled myself from the
shackles of religion; for I was determined to the pursuit of pleasure,
which according to my notions consisted in the unrestrained and
unlimited gratifications of every passion and every appetite; and as
this could not be obtained under the frowns of a perpetual dictator, I
considered religion as my enemy; and proceeding to treat her with
contempt and derision, was not a little delighted, that the
unfashionableness of her appearance, and the unanimated uniformity of
her motions, afforded frequent opportunities for the sallies of my
imagination.
Conceiving now that I was sufficiently qualified to laugh away scruples,
I imparted my remarks to those among my female favourites, whose virtue
I intended to attack; for I was well assured, that pride would be able
to make but a weak defence, when religion was subverted; nor was my
success below my expectation: the love of pleasure is too strongly
implanted in the female breast, to suffer them scrupulously to examine
the validity of arguments designed to weaken restraint; all are easily
led to believe, that whatever thwarts their inclination must be wrong:
little more, therefore, was required, than by the addition of some
circumstances, and the exaggeration of others, to make merriment supply
the place of demonstration; nor was I so senseless as to offer arguments
to such as could not attend to them, and with whom a repartee or catch
would more effectually answer the same purpose. This being effected,
there remained only "the dread of the world:" but Roxana soared too
high, to think the opinion of others worthy her notice; Lætitia seemed
to think of it only to declare, that "if all her hairs were worlds," she
should reckon them "well lost for love;" and Pastorella fondly
conceived, that she could dwell for ever by the side of a bubbling
fountain, content with her swain and fleecy care; without considering
that stillness and solitude can afford satisfaction only to innocence.
It is not the desire of new acquisitions, but the glory of conquests,
that fires the soldier's breast; as indeed the town is seldom worth
much, when it has suffered the devastations of a siege; so that though I
did not openly declare the effects of my own prowess, which is forbidden
by the laws of honour, it cannot be supposed that I was very solicitous
to bury my reputation, or to hinder accidental discoveries. To have
gained one victory, is an inducement to hazard a second engagement: and
though the success of the general should be a reason for increasing the
strength of the fortification, it becomes, with many, a pretence for an
immediate surrender, under the notion that no power is able to withstand
so formidable an adversary; while others brave the danger, and think it
mean to surrender, and dastardly to fly. Melissa, indeed, knew better;
and though she could not boast the apathy, steadiness, and inflexibility
of a Cato, wanted not the more prudent virtue of Scipio, and gained the
victory by declining the contest.
You must not, however, imagine, that I was, during this state of
abandoned libertinism, so fully convinced of the fitness of my own
conduct, as to be free from uneasiness. I knew very well, that I might
justly be deemed the pest of society, and that such proceedings must
terminate in the destruction of my health and fortune; but to admit
thoughts of this kind was to live upon the rack: I fled, therefore, to
the regions of mirth and jollity, as they are called, and endeavoured
with Burgundy, and a continual rotation of company, to free myself from
the pangs of reflection. From these orgies we frequently sallied forth
in quest of adventures, to the no small terrour and consternation of all
the sober stragglers that came in our way: and though we never injured,
like our illustrious progenitors, the Mohocks, either life or limbs; yet
we have in the midst of Covent Garden buried a tailor, who had been
troublesome to some of our fine gentlemen, beneath a heap of
cabbage-leaves and stalks, with this conceit,
_Satia te caule quem semper cupisti_.
Glut yourself with cabbage, of which you have always been greedy.
There can be no reason for mentioning the common exploits of breaking
windows and bruising the watch; unless it be to tell you of the device
of producing before the justice broken lanterns, which have been paid
for an hundred times; or their appearances with patches on their heads,
under pretence of being cut by the sword that was never drawn: nor need
I say any thing of the more formidable attack of sturdy chairmen, armed
with poles; by a slight stroke of which, the pride of Ned Revel's face
was at once laid flat, and that effected in an instant, which its most
mortal foe had for years assayed in vain. I shall pass over the
accidents that attended attempts to scale windows, and endeavours to
dislodge signs from their hooks: there are many "hair-breadth 'scapes,"
besides those in the "imminent deadly breach;" but the rake's life,
though it be equally hazardous with that of the soldier, is neither
accompanied with present honour nor with pleasing retrospect; such is,
and such ought to be, the difference between the enemy and the preserver
of his country.
Amidst such giddy and thoughtless extravagance, it will not seem
strange, that I was often the dupe of coarse flattery. When Mons.
L'Allonge assured me, that I thrust quart over arm better than any man
in England, what could I less than present him with a sword that cost me
thirty pieces? I was bound for a hundred pounds for Tom Trippet, because
he had declared that he would dance a minuet with any man in the three
kingdoms except myself. But I often parted with money against my
inclination, either because I wanted the resolution to refuse, or
dreaded the appellation of a niggardly fellow; and I may be truly said
to have squandered my estate, without honour, without friends, and
without pleasure. The last may, perhaps, appear strange to men
unacquainted with the masquerade of life: I deceived others, and I
endeavoured to deceive myself; and have worn the face of pleasantry and
gaiety, while my heart suffered the most exquisite torture.
By the instigation and encouragement of my friends, I became at length
ambitious of a seat in parliament; and accordingly set out for the town
of Wallop in the west, where my arrival was welcomed by a thousand
throats, and I was in three days sure of a majority: but after drinking
out one hundred and fifty hogsheads of wine, and bribing two-thirds of
the corporation twice over, I had the mortification to find that the
borough had been before sold to Mr. Courtly.
In a life of this kind, my fortune, though considerable, was presently
dissipated; and as the attraction grows more strong the nearer any body
approaches the earth, when once a man begins to sink into poverty, he
falls with velocity always increasing; every supply is purchased at a
higher and higher price, and every office of kindness obtained with
greater and greater difficulty. Having now acquainted you with my state
of elevation, I shall, if you encourage the continuance of my
correspondence, shew you by what steps I descended from a first floor in
Pall-Mall to my present habitation[1].
I am, Sir,
Your humble servant,
MISARGYRUS.
[1] For an account of the disputes raised on this paper, and on the
other letters of Misargyrus, see Preface.
No. 39. TUESDAY, MARCH 20, 1753.
--[Greek: Oduseus phulloisi kalupsato to d ar Athaenae
Hypnon ep ommasi cheu, ina min pauseie tachista
Dusponeos kamatoio.]--HOM. E. 491
--Pallas pour'd sweet slumbers on his soul;
And balmy dreams, the gift of soft repose,
Calm'd all his pains, and banish'd all his woes. POPE.
If every day did not produce fresh instances of the ingratitude of
mankind, we might, perhaps, be at a loss, why so liberal and impartial a
benefactor as sleep, should meet with so few historians or panegyrists.
Writers are so totally absorbed by the business of the day, as never to
turn their attention to that power, whose officious hand so seasonably
suspends the burthen of life; and without whose interposition man would
not be able to endure the fatigue of labour, however rewarded, or the
struggle with opposition, however successful.
Night, though she divides to many the longest part of life, and to
almost all the most innocent and happy, is yet unthankfully neglected,
except by those who pervert her gifts.
The astronomers, indeed, expect her with impatience, and felicitate
themselves upon her arrival: Fontenelle has not failed to celebrate her
praises; and to chide the sun for hiding from his view the worlds, which
he imagines to appear in every constellation. Nor have the poets been
always deficient in her praises: Milton has observed of the night, that
it is "the pleasant time, the cool, the silent."
These men may, indeed, well be expected to pay particular homage to
night; since they are indebted to her, not only for cessation of pain,
but increase of pleasure; not only for slumber, but for knowledge. But
the greater part of her avowed votaries are the sons of luxury; who
appropriate to festivity the hours designed for rest; who consider the
reign of pleasure as commencing when day begins to withdraw her busy
multitudes, and ceases to dissipate attention by intrusive and unwelcome
variety; who begin to awake to joy when the rest of the world sinks into
insensibility; and revel in the soft affluence of flattering and
artificial lights, which "more shadowy set off the face of things."
Without touching upon the fatal consequences of a custom, which, as
Ramazzini observes, will be for ever condemned, and for ever retained;
it may be observed, that however sleep may be put off from time to time,
yet the demand is of so importunate a nature, as not to remain long
unsatisfied: and if, as some have done, we consider it as the tax of
life, we cannot but observe it as a tax that must be paid, unless we
could cease to be men; for Alexander declared, that nothing convinced
him that he was not a divinity, but his not being able to live without
sleep.
To live without sleep in our present fluctuating state, however
desirable it might seem to the lady in Clelia, can surely be the wish
only of the young or the ignorant; to every one else, a perpetual vigil
will appear to be a state of wretchedness, second only to that of the
miserable beings, whom Swift has in his travels so elegantly described,
as "supremely cursed with immortality."
Sleep is necessary to the happy to prevent satiety, and to endear life
by a short absence; and to the miserable, to relieve them by intervals
of quiet. Life is to most, such as could not be endured without frequent
intermission of existence: Homer, therefore, has thought it an office
worthy of the goddess of wisdom, to lay Ulysses asleep when landed on
Phaeacia.
It is related of Barretier, whose early advances in literature scarce
any human mind has equalled, that he spent twelve hours of the
four-and-twenty in sleep: yet this appears from the bad state of his
health, and the shortness of his life, to have been too small a respite
for a mind so vigorously and intensely employed: it is to be regretted,
therefore, that he did not exercise his mind less, and his body more:
since by this means, it is highly probable, that though he would not then
have astonished with the blaze of a comet, he would yet have shone with
the permanent radiance of a fixed star.
Nor should it be objected, that there have been many men who daily spend
fifteen or sixteen hours in study: for by some of whom this is reported
it has never been done; others have done it for a short time only; and
of the rest it appears, that they employed their minds in such
operations as required neither celerity nor strength, in the low
drudgery of collating copies, comparing authorities, digesting
dictionaries, or accumulating compilations.
Men of study and imagination are frequently upbraided by the industrious
and plodding sons of care, with passing too great a part of their life
in a state of inaction. But these defiers of sleep seem not to remember
that though it must be granted them that they are crawling about before
the break of day, it can seldom be said that they are perfectly awake;
they exhaust no spirits, and require no repairs; but lie torpid as a
toad in marble, or at least are known to live only by an inert and
sluggish locomotive faculty, and may be said, like a wounded snake, to
"drag their slow length along."
Man has been long known among philosophers by the appellation of the
microcosm, or epitome of the world: the resemblance between the great
and little world might, by a rational observer, be detailed to many
particulars; and to many more by a fanciful speculatist. I know not in
which of these two classes I shall be ranged for observing, that as the
total quantity of light and darkness allotted in the course of the year
to every region of the earth is the same, though distributed at various
times and in different portions; so, perhaps, to each individual of the
human species, nature has ordained the same quantity of wakefulness and
sleep; though divided by some into a total quiescence and vigorous
exertion of their faculties, and, blended by others in a kind of
twilight of existence, in a state between dreaming and reasoning, in
which they either think without action, or act without thought.
The poets are generally well affected to sleep: as men who think with
vigour, they require respite from thought; and gladly resign themselves
to that gentle power, who not only bestows rest, but frequently leads
them to happier regions, where patrons are always kind, and audiences
are always candid; where they are feasted in the bowers of imagination,
and crowned with flowers divested of their prickles, and laurels of
unfading verdure.
The more refined and penetrating part of mankind, who take wide surveys
of the wilds of life, who see the innumerable terrours and distresses
that are perpetually preying on the heart of man, and discern with
unhappy perspicuity, calamities yet latent in their causes, are glad to
close their eyes upon the gloomy prospect, and lose in a short
insensibility the remembrance of others' miseries and their own. The
hero has no higher hope, than that, after having routed legions after
legions, and added kingdom to kingdom, he shall retire to milder
happiness, and close his days in social festivity. The wit or the sage
can expect no greater happiness, than that, after having harassed his
reason in deep researches, and fatigued his fancy in boundless
excursions, he shall sink at night in the tranquillity of sleep.
The poets, among all those that enjoy the blessings of sleep, have been
least ashamed to acknowledge their benefactor. How much Statius
considered the evils of life as assuaged and softened by the balm of
slumber, we may discover by that pathetick invocation, which he poured
out in his waking nights: and that Cowley, among the other felicities of
his darling solitude, did not forget to number the privilege of sleeping
without disturbance, we may learn from the rank that he assigns among
the gifts of nature to the poppy, "which is scattered," says he, "over
the fields of corn, that all the needs of man may be easily satisfied,
and that bread and sleep may be found together."
Si quis invisum Cereri benignæ
Me putat germen, vehementer errat;
Illa me in partem recipit libenter
Fertilis agri.
Meque frumentumque simul per omnes
Consulens mundo Dea spargit oras;
Crescite, O! dixit, duo magna sustentaculu
vitæ,
Carpe, mortalis, mea dona lætus,
Carpe, nec plantas alias require,
Sed satur panis, satur et soporis,
Cætera sperue,
He wildly errs who thinks I yield
Precedence in the well-cloth'd field,
Tho' mix'd with wheat I grow:
Indulgent Ceres knew my worth,
And to adorn the teeming earth,
She bade the Poppy blow.
Nor vainly gay the sight to please,
But blest with pow'r mankind to ease,
The goddess saw me rise:
"Thrive with the life-supporting grain,"
She cried, "the solace of the swain,
The cordial of his eyes.
Seize, happy mortal, seize the good;
My hand supplies thy sleep and food,
And makes thee truly blest:
With plenteous meals enjoy the day,
In slumbers pass the night away,
And leave to fate the rest." C. B.
Sleep, therefore, as the chief of all earthly blessings, is justly
appropriated to induustry and temperance; the refreshing rest, and the
peaceful night, are the portion only of him who lies down weary with
honest labour, and free from the fumes of indigested luxury; it is the
just doom of laziness and gluttony, to be inactive without ease, and
drowsy without tranquillity.
Sleep has been often mentioned as the image of death[1]; "so like it,"
says Sir Thomas Brown, "that I dare not trust it without my prayers:"
their resemblance is, indeed, apparent and striking; they both, when
they seize the body, leave the soul at liberty: and wise is he that
remembers of both, that they can be safe and happy only by virtue.
[1]
Lovely sleep! thou beautiful image of terrible death,
Be thou my pillow-companion, my angel of rest!
Come, O sleep! for thine are the joys of living and dying:
Life without sorrow, and death with no anguish, no pain.
_From the German of Schmidt_
No. 41. TUESDAY, MARCH 27, 1753.
--_Si mutabile pectus
Est tibi, consiliis, non curribus, utere nostris;
Dum potes, et solidis etiamnum sedibus adstas,
Dumque male optatos nondum premis inscius axes._ OVID. Met. ii. 143.
--Th' attempt forsake,
And not my chariot but my counsel take;
While yet securely on the earth you stand;
Nor touch the horses with too rash a hand. ADDISON.
TO THE ADVENTURER.
Sir, Fleet, March 24.
I now send you the sequel of my story, which had not been so long
delayed, if I could have brought myself to imagine, that any real
impatience was felt for the fate of Misargyrus; who has travelled no
unbeaten track to misery, and consequently can present the reader only
with such incidents as occur in daily life. You have seen me, Sir, in
the zenith of my glory, not dispensing the kindly warmth of an
all-cheering sun: but, like another Phaeton, scorching and blasting
every thing round me. I shall proceed, therefore, to finish my career,
and pass as rapidly as possible through the remaining vicissitudes of my
life.
When I first began to be in want of money, I made no doubt of an
immediate supply. The newspapers were perpetually offering directions to
men, who seemed to have no other business than to gather heaps of gold
for those who place their supreme felicity in scattering it. I posted
away, therefore, to one of these advertisers, who by his proposals
seemed to deal in thousands; and was not a little chagrined to find,
that this general benefactor would have nothing to do with any larger
sum than thirty pounds, nor would venture that without a joint note from
myself and a reputable housekeeper, or for a longer time than three
months.
It was not yet so bad with me, as that I needed to solicit surety for
thirty pounds: yet partly from the greediness that extravagance always
produces, and partly from a desire of seeing the humour of a petty
usurer, a character of which I had hitherto lived in ignorance, I
condescended to listen to his terms. He proceeded to inform me of my
great felicity in not falling into the hands of an extortioner; and
assured me, that I should find him extremely moderate in his demands: he
was not, indeed, certain that he could furnish me with the whole sum,
for people were at this particular time extremely pressing and
importunate for money: yet, as I had the appearance of a gentleman, he
would try what he could do, and give me his answer in three days.
At the expiration of the time, I called upon him again; and was again
informed of the great demand for money, and that, "money was money now:"
he then advised me to be punctual in my payment, as that might induce
him to befriend me hereafter; and delivered me the money, deducting at
the rate of five and thirty _per cent_. with another panegyrick upon his
own moderation.
I will not tire you with the various practices of usurious oppression;
but cannot omit my transaction with Squeeze on Tower-hill, who, finding
me a young man of considerable expectations, employed an agent to
persuade me to borrow five hundred pounds, to be refunded by an annual
payment of twenty per cent_. during the joint lives of his daughter
Nancy Squeeze and myself. The negociator came prepared to enforce his
proposal with all his art; but, finding that I caught his offer with the
eagerness of necessity, he grew cold and languid; "he had mentioned it
out of kindness; he would try to serve me: Mr. Squeeze was an honest
man, but extremely cautious." In three days he came to tell me, that his
endeavours had been ineffectual, Mr. Squeeze having no good opinion of
my life; but that there was one expedient remaining: Mrs. Squeeze could
influence her husband, and her good will might be gained by a
compliment. I waited that afternoon on Mrs. Squeeze, and poured out
before her the flatteries which usually gain access to rank and beauty:
I did not then know, that there are places in which the only compliment
is a bribe. Having yet credit with a jeweller, I afterwards procured a
ring of thirty guineas, which I humbly presented, and was soon admitted
to a treaty with Mr. Squeeze. He appeared peevish and backward, and my
old friend whispered me, that he would never make a dry bargain: I
therefore invited him to a tavern. Nine times we met on the affair; nine
times I paid four pounds for the supper and claret; and nine guineas I
gave the agent for good offices. I then obtained the money, paying ten
_per cent_. advance; and at the tenth meeting gave another supper, and
disbursed fifteen pounds for the writings.
Others who styled themselves brokers, would only trust their money upon
goods: that I might, therefore, try every art of expensive folly, I took
a house and furnished it. I amused myself with despoiling my moveables
of their glossy appearance, for fear of alarming the lender with
suspicions: and in this I succeeded so well, that he favoured me with
one hundred and sixty pounds upon that which was rated at seven hundred.
I then found that I was to maintain a guardian about me to prevent the
goods from being broken or removed. This was, indeed, an unexpected tax;
but it was too late to recede: and I comforted myself, that I might
prevent a creditor, of whom I had some apprehensions, from seizing, by
having a prior execution always in the house.
By such means I had so embarrassed myself, that my whole attention was
engaged in contriving excuses, and raising small sums to quiet such as
words would no longer mollify. It cost me eighty pounds in presents to
Mr. Leech the attorney, for his forbearance of one hundred, which he
solicited me to take when I had no need. I was perpetually harassed with
importunate demands, and insulted by wretches, who a few months before
would not have dared to raise their eyes from the dust before me. I
lived in continual terrour, frighted by every noise at the door, and
terrified at the approach of every step quicker than common. I never
retired to rest without feeling the justness of the Spanish proverb,
"Let him who sleeps too much, borrow the pillow of a debtor:" my
solicitude and vexation kept me long waking; and when I had closed my
eyes, I was pursued or insulted by visionary bailiffs.
When I reflected upon the meanness of the shifts I had reduced myself
to, I could not but curse the folly and extravagance that had
overwhelmed me in a sea of troubles, from which it was highly improbable
that I should ever emerge. I had some time lived in hopes of an estate,
at the death of my uncle; but he disappointed me by marrying his
housekeeper; and, catching an opportunity soon after of quarrelling with
me, for settling twenty pounds a year upon a girl whom I had seduced,
told me that he would take care to prevent his fortune from being
squandered upon prostitutes.
Nothing now remained, but the chance of extricating myself by marriage;
a scheme which, I flattered myself, nothing but my present distress
would have made me think on with patience. I determined, therefore, to
look out for a tender novice, with a large fortune, at her own disposal;
and accordingly fixed my eyes upon Miss Biddy Simper. I had now paid her
six or seven visits; and so fully convinced her of my being a gentleman
and a rake, that I made no doubt that both her person and fortune would
be soon mine.
At this critical time, Miss Gripe called upon me, in a chariot bought
with my money, and loaded with trinkets that I had, in my days of
affluence, lavished on her. Those days were now over; and there was
little hope that they would ever return. She was not able to withstand
the temptation of ten pounds that Talon the bailiff offered her, but
brought him into my apartment disguised in a livery; and taking my sword
to the window, under pretence of admiring the workmanship, beckoned him
to seize me.
Delay would have been expensive without use, as the debt was too
considerable for payment or bail: I, therefore, suffered myself to be
immediately conducted to gaol.
_Vestibulum ante ipsum, primisque in faucibus Orci,
Luctus et ultrices posuere cubilia curae:
Pallentesque habitant morbi, tristisque senectus,
Et metus, et malesuada fames, et turpis egestas._ VIRG. Aen. vi. 273.
Just in the gate and in the jaws of hell,
Revengeful cares and sullen sorrows dwell;
And pale diseases, and repining age;
Want, fear, and famine's unresisted rage. DRYDEN.