Having by several years of continual study treasured in my mind a great
number of principles and ideas, and obtained by frequent exercise the
power of applying them with propriety, and combining them with readiness,
I resolved to quit the university, where I considered myself as a gem
hidden in the mine, and to mingle in the crowd of publick life. I was
naturally attracted by the company of those who were of the same age with
myself, and finding that my academical gravity contributed very little
to my reputation, applied my faculties to jocularity and burlesque. Thus,
in a short time, I had heated my imagination to such a state of activity
and ebullition, that upon every occasion it fumed away in bursts of
wit, and evaporations of gaiety. I became on a sudden the idol of the
coffee-house, was in one winter solicited to accept the presidentship
of five clubs, was dragged by violence to every new play, and quoted
in every controversy upon theatrical merit; was in every publick place
surrounded by a multitude of humble auditors, who retailed in other
places of resort my maxims and my jests, and was boasted as their
intimate and companion, by many, who had no other pretensions to my
acquaintance, than that they had drank chocolate in the same room.
You will not wonder, Mr. Rambler, that I mention my success with some
appearance of triumph and elevation. Perhaps no kind of superiority is
more flattering or alluring than that which is conferred by the powers
of conversation, by extemporaneous sprightliness of fancy, copiousness of
language, and fertility of sentiment. In other exertions of genius, the
greater part of the praise is unknown and unenjoyed; the writer, indeed,
spreads his reputation to a wider extent, but receives little pleasure
or advantage from the diffusion of his name, and only obtains a kind of
nominal sovereignty over regions which pay no tribute. The colloquial
wit has always his own radiance reflected on himself, and enjoys all
the pleasure which he bestows; he finds his power confessed by every one
that approaches him, sees friendship kindling with rapture, and attention
swelling into praise.
The desire which every man feels of importance and esteem, is so much
gratified by finding an assembly, at his entrance, brightened with
gladness and hushed with expectation, that the recollection of such
distinctions can scarcely fail to be pleasing whensoever it is innocent.
And my conscience does not reproach me with any mean or criminal effects
of vanity; since I always employed my influence on the side of virtue,
and never sacrificed my understanding or my religion to the pleasure
of applause.
There were many whom either the desire of enjoying my pleasantry, or the
pride of being thought to enjoy it, brought often into my company; but
I was caressed in a particular manner by Demochares, a gentleman of a
large estate, and a liberal disposition. My fortune being by no means
exuberant, inclined me to be pleased with a friend who was willing to be
entertained at his own charge. I became by daily invitations habituated
to his table, and, as he believed my acquaintance necessary to the
character of elegance, which he was desirous of establishing, I lived in
all the luxury of affluence, without expense or dependence, and passed my
life in a perpetual reciprocation of pleasure, with men brought together
by similitude of accomplishments, or desire of improvement.
But all power has its sphere of activity, beyond which it produces
no effect. Demochares, being called by his affairs into the country,
imagined that he should increase his popularity by coming among his
neighbours accompanied by a man whose abilities were so generally
allowed. The report presently spread through half the country that
Demochares was arrived, and had brought with him the celebrated Hilarius,
by whom such merriment would be excited, as had never been enjoyed or
conceived before. I knew, indeed, the purpose for which I was invited,
and, as men do not look diligently out for possible miscarriages,
was pleased to find myself courted upon principles of interest, and
considered as capable of reconciling factions, composing feuds, and
uniting a whole province in social happiness.
After a few days spent in adjusting his domestick regulations, Demochares
invited all the gentlemen of his neighbourhood to dinner, and did not
forget to hint how much my presence was expected to heighten the pleasure
of the feast. He informed me what prejudices my reputation had raised in
my favour, and represented the satisfaction with which he should see me
kindle up the blaze of merriment, and should remark the various effects
that my fire would have upon such diversity of matter.
This declaration, by which he intended to quicken my vivacity, filled me
with solicitude. I felt an ambition of shining which I never knew before;
and was therefore embarrassed with an unusual fear of disgrace. I passed
the night in planning out to myself the conversation of the coming day;
recollected all my topicks of raillery, proposed proper subjects of
ridicule, prepared smart replies to a thousand questions, accommodated
answers to imaginary repartees, and formed a magazine of remarks,
apophthegms, tales, and illustrations.
The morning broke at last in the midst of these busy meditations. I
rose with the palpitations of a champion on the day of combat; and,
notwithstanding all my efforts, found my spirits sunk under the weight of
expectation. The company soon after began to drop in, and every one, at
his entrance, was introduced to Hilarius. What conception the inhabitants
of this region had formed of a wit, I cannot yet discover; but observed
that they all seemed, after the regular exchange of compliments, to turn
away disappointed; and that while we waited for dinner, they cast their
eyes first upon me, and then upon each other, like a theatrical assembly
waiting for a show.
From the uneasiness of this situation, I was relieved by the dinner;
and as every attention was taken up by the business of the hour, I sunk
quietly to a level with the rest of the company. But no sooner were
the dishes removed, than, instead of cheerful confidence and familiar
prattle, an universal silence again shewed their expectation of some
unusual performance. My friend endeavoured to rouse them by healths and
questions, but they answered him with great brevity, and immediately
relapsed into their former taciturnity.
I had waited in hope of some opportunity to divert them, but could find
no pass opened for a single sally; and who can be merry without an object
of mirth? After a few faint efforts, which produced neither applause nor
opposition, I was content to mingle with the mass, to put round the glass
in silence, and solace myself with my own contemplations.
My friend looked round him; the guests stared at one another; and if now
and then a few syllables were uttered with timidity and hesitation, there
was none ready to make any reply. All our faculties were frozen, and
every minute took away from our capacity of pleasing, and disposition to
be pleased. Thus passed the hours to which so much happiness was decreed;
the hours which had, by a kind of open proclamation, been devoted to wit,
to mirth, and to Hilarius.
At last the night came on, and the necessity of parting freed us from the
persecutions of each other. I heard them, as they walked along the court,
murmuring at the loss of the day, and inquiring whether any man would pay
a second visit to a house haunted by a wit.
Demochares, whose benevolence is greater than his penetration, having
flattered his hopes with the secondary honour which he was to gain by
my sprightliness and elegance, and the affection with which he should
be followed for a perpetual banquet of gaiety, was not able to conceal
his vexation and resentment, nor would easily be convinced, that I had
not sacrificed his interest to sullenness and caprice, and studiously
endeavoured to disgust his guests, and suppressed my powers of delighting,
in obstinate and premeditated silence. I am informed that the reproach
of their ill reception is divided by the gentlemen of the country between
us; some being of opinion that my friend is deluded by an impostor, who,
though he has found some art of gaining his favour, is afraid to speak
before men of more penetration; and others concluding that I think only
London the proper theatre of my abilities, and disdain to exert my genius
for the praise of rusticks.
I believe, Mr. Rambler, that it has sometimes happened to others, who
have the good or ill fortune to be celebrated for wits, to fall under
the same censures upon the like occasions. I hope therefore that you
will prevent any misrepresentations of such failures, by remarking that
invention is not wholly at the command of its possessor; that the power
of pleasing is very often obstructed by the desire; that all expectation
lessens surprise, yet some surprise is necessary to gaiety; and that
those who desire to partake of the pleasure of wit must contribute to
its production, since the mind stagnates without external ventilation,
and that effervescence of the fancy, which flashes into transport, can
be raised only by the infusion of dissimilar ideas.
No. 102. SATURDAY, MARCH 9, 1751.
_Ipsa quoque assiduo labuntur tempora motu,_
_Non secus ac flumen. Neque enim consistere flumen,_
_Nec levis hora potest: sed ut unda impellitur unda,_
_Urgeturque prior veniente, urgetque priorem,_
_Tempora sic fugiunt pariter, pariterque sequuntur._
OVID, Met. xv. 179.
With constant motion as the moments glide.
Behold in running life the rolling tide!
For none can stem by art, or stop by pow'r,
The flowing ocean, or the fleeting hour:
But wave by wave pursued arrives on shore,
And each impell'd behind impels before:
So time on time revolving we descry;
So minutes follow, and so minutes fly.
ELPHINSTON.
"Life," says Seneca, "is a voyage, in the progress of which we are
perpetually changing our scenes: we first leave childhood behind us,
then youth, then the years of ripened manhood, then the better and more
pleasing part of old age." The perusal of this passage having incited in
me a train of reflections on the state of man, the incessant fluctuation
of his wishes, the gradual change of his disposition to all external
objects, and the thoughtlessness with which he floats along the stream of
time, I sunk into a slumber amidst my meditations, and on a sudden, found
my ears filled with the tumult of labour, the shouts of alacrity, the
shrieks of alarm, the whistle of winds, and the dash of waters.
My astonishment for a time repressed my curiosity; but soon recovering
myself so far as to inquire whither we were going, and what was the cause
of such clamour and confusion, I was told that we were launching out into
the _ocean of life_; that we had already passed the streights of infancy,
in which multitudes had perished, some by the weakness and fragility of
their vessels, and more by the folly, perverseness, or negligence, of
those who undertook to steer them; and that we were now on the main sea,
abandoned to the winds and billows, without any other means of security
than the care of the pilot, whom it was always in our power to choose
among great numbers that offered their direction and assistance.
I then looked round with anxious eagerness; and first turning my eyes
behind me, saw a stream flowing through flowery islands, which every
one that sailed along seemed to behold with pleasure; but no sooner
touched, than the current, which, though not noisy or turbulent, was yet
irresistible, bore him away. Beyond these islands all was darkness, nor
could any of the passengers describe the shore at which he first embarked.
Before me, and on each side, was an expanse of waters violently agitated,
and covered with so thick a mist, that the most perspicacious eye could
see but a little way. It appeared to be full of rocks and whirlpools, for
many sunk unexpectedly while they were courting the gale with full sails,
and insulting those whom they had left behind. So numerous, indeed, were
the dangers, and so thick the darkness, that no caution could confer
security. Yet there were many, who, by false intelligence, betrayed their
followers into whirlpools, or by violence pushed those whom they found in
their way against the rocks.
The current was invariable and insurmountable; but though it was
impossible to sail against it, or to return to the place that was once
passed, yet it was not so violent as to allow no opportunities for
dexterity or courage, since, though none could retreat back from danger,
yet they might often avoid it by oblique direction.
It was, however, not very common to steer with much care or prudence; for
by some universal infatuation, every man appeared to think himself safe,
though he saw his consorts every moment sinking round him; and no sooner
had the waves closed over them, than their fate and their misconduct were
forgotten; the voyage was pursued with the same jocund confidence; every
man congratulated himself upon the soundness of his vessel, and believed
himself able to stem the whirlpool in which his friend was swallowed, or
glide over the rocks on which he was dashed: nor was it often observed
that the sight of a wreck made any man change his course: if he turned
aside for a moment, he soon forgot the rudder, and left himself again to
the disposal of chance.
This negligence did not proceed from indifference, or from weariness
of their present condition; for not one of those who thus rushed upon
destruction, failed, when he was sinking, to call loudly upon his
associates for that help which could not now be given him; and many spent
their last moments in cautioning others against the folly by which they
were intercepted in the midst of their course. Their benevolence was
sometimes praised, but their admonitions were unregarded.
The vessels in which we had embarked being confessedly unequal to the
turbulence of the stream of life, were visibly impaired in the course of
the voyage; so that every passenger was certain, that how long soever he
might, by favourable accidents, or by incessant vigilance, be preserved,
he must sink at last.
This necessity of perishing might have been expected to sadden the gay,
and intimidate the daring, at least to keep the melancholy and timorous
in perpetual torments, and hinder them from any enjoyment of the varieties
and gratifications which nature offered them as the solace of their
labours; yet, in effect, none seemed less to expect destruction than
those to whom it was most dreadful; they all had the art of concealing
their danger from themselves; and those who knew their inability to
bear the sight of the terrours that embarrassed their way, took care
never to look forward, but found some amusement for the present moment,
and generally entertained themselves by playing with Hope, who was the
constant associate of the voyage of life.
Yet all that Hope ventured to promise, even to those whom she favoured
most, was not that they should escape, but that they should sink last;
and with this promise every one was satisfied, though he laughed at
the rest for seeming to believe it. Hope, indeed, apparently mocked the
credulity of her companions; for, in proportion as their vessels grew
leaky, she redoubled her assurances of safety; and none were more busy
in making provisions for a long voyage, than they whom all but themselves
saw likely to perish soon by irreparable decay.
In the midst of the current of life was the _gulph of_ Intemperance, a
dreadful whirlpool, interspersed with rocks, of which the pointed crags
were concealed under water, and the tops covered with herbage, on which
Ease spread couches of repose, and with shades, where Pleasure warbled
the song of invitation. Within sight of these rocks all who sailed on the
ocean of life must necessarily pass. Reason, indeed, was always at hand to
steer the passengers through a narrow outlet by which they might escape;
but very few could, by her entreaties or remonstrances, be induced to put
the rudder into her hand, without stipulating that she should approach
so near unto the rocks of Pleasure, that they might solace themselves
with a short enjoyment of that delicious region, after which they always
determined to pursue their course without any other deviation.
Reason was too often prevailed upon so far by these promises, as to
venture her charge within the eddy of the gulph of Intemperance, where,
indeed, the circumvolution was weak, but yet interrupted the course of
the vessel, and drew it, by insensible rotations, towards the centre.
She then repented her temerity, and with all her force endeavoured to
retreat; but the draught of the gulph was generally too strong to be
overcome; and the passenger, having danced in circles with a pleasing
and giddy velocity, was at last overwhelmed and lost. Those few whom
Reason was able to extricate, generally suffered so many shocks upon the
points which shot out from the rocks of Pleasure, that they were unable
to continue their course with the same strength and facility as before,
but floated along timorously and feeble, endangered by every breeze, and
shattered by every ruffle of the water, till they sunk, by slow degrees,
after long struggles, and innumerable expedients, always repining at
their own folly, and warning others against the first approach of the
gulph of Intemperance.
There were artists who professed to repair the breaches and stop the leaks
of the vessels which had been shattered on the rocks of Pleasure. Many
appeared to have great confidence in their skill, and some, indeed, were
preserved by it from sinking, who had received only a single blow; but I
remarked that few vessels lasted long which had been much repaired, nor
was it found that the artists themselves continued afloat longer than
those who had least of their assistance.
The only advantage which, in the voyage of life, the cautious had above
the negligent, was, that they sunk later, and more suddenly; for they
passed forward till they had sometimes seen all those in whose company
they had issued from the streights in infancy, perish in the way, and
at last were overset by a cross breeze, without the toil of resistance,
or the anguish of expectation. But such as had often fallen against the
rocks of Pleasure, commonly subsided by sensible degrees, contended long
with the encroaching waters, and harassed themselves by labours that
scarce Hope herself could flatter with success.
As I was looking upon the various fate of the multitude about me, I was
suddenly alarmed with an admonition from some unknown Power, "Gaze not
idly upon others when thou thyself art sinking. Whence is this thoughtless
tranquillity, when thou and they are equally endangered?" I looked, and
seeing the gulph of Intemperance before me, started and awaked.
No. 103. TUESDAY, MARCH 12, 1751.
_Scire volunt secreta domus atque inde timeri._
JUV. Sat. iii, 113.
They search the secrets of the house, and so
Are worshipp'd there, and fear'd for what they know.
DRYDEN.
Curiosity is one of the permanent and certain characteristicks of a
vigorous intellect. Every advance into knowledge opens new prospects,
and produces new incitements to further progress. All the attainments
possible in our present state are evidently inadequate to our capacities
of enjoyment; conquest serves no purpose but that of kindling ambition,
discovery has no effect but of raising expectation; the gratification of
one desire encourages another; and after all our labours, studies, and
inquiries, we are continually at the same distance from the completion of
our schemes, have still some wish importunate to be satisfied, and some
faculty restless and turbulent for want of its enjoyment.
The desire of knowledge, though often animated by extrinsick and
adventitious motives, seems on many occasions to operate without
subordination to any other principle; we are eager to see and hear,
without intention of referring our observations to a farther end; we
climb a mountain for a prospect of the plain; we run to the strand in a
storm, that we may contemplate the agitation of the water; we range from
city to city, though we profess neither architecture nor fortification;
we cross seas only to view nature in nakedness, or magnificence in ruins;
we are equally allured by novelty of every kind, by a desert or a palace,
a cataract or a cavern, by every thing rude and every thing polished,
every thing great and every thing little; we do not see a thicket but
with some temptation to enter it, nor remark an insect flying before us
but with an inclination to pursue it.
This passion is, perhaps, regularly heightened in proportion as the powers
of the mind are elevated and enlarged. Lucan therefore introduces Cæsar
speaking with dignity suitable to the grandeur of his designs and the
extent of his capacity, when he declares to the high-priest of Egypt,
that he has no desire equally powerful with that of finding the origin
of the Nile, and that he would quit all the projects of the civil war for
a sight of those fountains which had been so long concealed. And Homer,
when he would furnish the Sirens with a temptation, to which his hero,
renowned for wisdom, might yield without disgrace, makes them declare,
that none ever departed from them but with increase of knowledge.
There is, indeed, scarce any kind of ideal acquirement which may not
be applied to some use, or which may not at least gratify pride with
occasional superiority; but whoever attends the motions of his own mind
will find, that upon the first appearance of an object, or the first
start of a question, his inclination to a nearer view, or more accurate
discussion, precedes all thoughts of profit, or of competition; and that
his desires take wing by instantaneous impulse, though their flight may
be invigorated, or their efforts renewed, by subsequent considerations.
The gratification of curiosity rather frees us from uneasiness than
confers pleasure; we are more pained by ignorance, than delighted
by instruction. Curiosity is the thirst of the soul; it inflames and
torments us, and makes us taste every thing with joy, however otherwise
insipid, by which it may be quenched.
It is evident that the earliest searchers after knowledge must have
proposed knowledge only as their reward; and that science, though perhaps
the nursling of interest, was the daughter of curiosity: for who can
believe that they who first watched the course of the stars, foresaw
the use of their discoveries to the facilitation of commerce, or the
mensuration of time? They were delighted with the splendour of the
nocturnal skies, they found that the lights changed their places; what
they admired they were anxious to understand, and in time traced their
revolutions.
There are, indeed, beings in the form of men, who appear satisfied with
their intellectual possessions, and seem to live without desire of
enlarging their conceptions; before whom the world passes without notice,
and who are equally unmoved by nature or by art.
This negligence is sometimes only the temporary effect of a predominant
passion: a lover finds no inclination to travel any path, but that
which leads to the habitation of his mistress; a trader can spare
little attention to common occurrences, when his fortune is endangered
by a storm. It is frequently the consequence of a total immersion in
sensuality; corporeal pleasures may be indulged till the memory of every
other kind of happiness is obliterated; the mind, long habituated to
a lethargick and quiescent state, is unwilling to wake to the toil of
thinking; and though she may sometimes be disturbed by the obtrusion of
new ideas, shrinks back again to ignorance and rest.
But, indeed, if we except them to whom the continual task of procuring the
supports of life, denies all opportunities of deviation from their own
narrow track, the number of such as live without the ardour of inquiry
is very small, though many content themselves with cheap amusements, and
waste their lives in researches of no importance.
There is no snare more dangerous to busy and excursive minds, than
the cobwebs of petty inquisitiveness, which entangle them in trivial
employments and minute studies, and detain them in a middle state,
between the tediousness of total inactivity, and the fatigue of laborious
efforts, enchant them at once with ease and novelty, and vitiate them
with the luxury of learning. The necessity of doing something, and the
fear of undertaking much, sinks the historian to a genealogist, the
philosopher to a journalist of the weather, and the mathematician to
a constructor of dials.
It is happy when those who cannot content themselves to be idle, nor
resolve to be industrious, are at least employed without injury to
others; but it seldom happens that we can contain ourselves long in
a neutral state, or forbear to sink into vice, when we are no longer
soaring towards virtue.
Nugaculus was distinguished in his earlier years by an uncommon liveliness
of imagination, quickness of sagacity, and extent of knowledge. When he
entered into life, he applied himself with particular inquisitiveness to
examine the various motives of human actions, the complicated influence
of mingled affections, the different modifications of interest and
ambition, and the various causes of miscarriage and success both in
public and private affairs.
Though his friends did not discover to what purpose all these observations
were collected, or how Nugaculus would much improve his virtue or his
fortune by an incessant attention to changes of countenance, bursts of
inconsideration, sallies of passion, and all the other casualties by
which he used to trace a character, yet they could not deny the study
of human nature to be worthy of a wise man; they therefore flattered his
vanity, applauded his discoveries, and listened with submissive modesty
to his lectures on the uncertainty of inclination, the weakness of
resolves, and the instability of temper, to his account of the various
motives which agitate the mind, and his ridicule of the modern dream of
a ruling passion.
Such was the first incitement of Nugaculus to a close inspection into the
conduct of mankind. He had no interest in view, and therefore no design
of supplantation; he had no malevolence, and therefore detected faults
without any intention to expose them; but having once found the art of
engaging his attention upon others, he had no inclination to call it back
to himself, but has passed his time in keeping a watchful eye upon every
rising character, and lived upon a small estate without any thought of
increasing it.
He is, by continual application, become a general master of secret
history, and can give an account of the intrigues, private marriages,
competitions, and stratagems, of half a century. He knows the mortgages
upon every man's estate, the terms upon which every spendthrift raises
his money, the real and reputed fortune of every lady, the jointure
stipulated by every contract, and the expectations of every family from
maiden aunts and childless acquaintances. He can relate the economy of
every house, knows how much one man's cellar is robbed by his butler,
and the land of another underlet by his steward; he can tell where the
manor-house is falling, though large sums are yearly paid for repairs;
and where the tenants are felling woods without the consent of the owner.
To obtain all this intelligence he is inadvertently guilty of a thousand
acts of treachery. He sees no man's servant without draining him of
his trust; he enters no family without flattering the children into
discoveries; he is a perpetual spy upon the doors of his neighbours; and
knows by long experience, at whatever distance, the looks of a creditor,
a borrower, a lover, and a pimp.
Nugaculus is not ill-natured, and therefore his industry has not hitherto
been very mischievous to others, or dangerous to himself: but since he
cannot enjoy this knowledge but by discovering it, and, if he had no
other motive to loquacity, is obliged to traffick like the chymists, and
purchase one secret with another, he is every day more hated as he is
more known; for he is considered by great numbers as one that has their
fame and their happiness in his power, and no man can much love him of
whom he lives in fear.
Thus has an intention, innocent at first, if not laudable, the intention
of regulating his own behaviour by the experience of others, by an
accidental declension of minuteness, betrayed Nugaculus, not only to a
foolish, but vicious waste of a life which might have been honourably
passed in publick services, or domestick virtues. He has lost his original
intention, and given up his mind to employments that engross, but do not
improve it.
No. 104. SATURDAY, MARCH 16, 1751.
_----Nihil est, quod credere de se_
_Non possit.----_
JUV. Sat. iv. 70.
None e'er rejects hyperboles of praise.
The apparent insufficiency of every individual to his own happiness or
safety, compels us to seek from one another assistance and support. The
necessity of joint efforts for the execution of any great or extensive
design, the variety of powers disseminated in the species, and the
proportion between the defects and excellencies of different persons,
demand an interchange of help, and communication of intelligence, and
by frequent reciprocations of beneficence unite mankind in society and
friendship.
If it can be imagined that there ever was a time when the inhabitants of
any country were in a state of equality, without distinction of rank,
or peculiarity of possessions, it is reasonable to believe that every
man was then loved in proportion as he could contribute by his strength,
or his skill, to the supply of natural wants; there was then little
room for peevish dislike, or capricious favour; the affection admitted
into the heart was rather esteem than tenderness; and kindness was only
purchased by benefits. But when by force or policy, by wisdom or by
fortune, property and superiority were introduced and established, so
that many were condemned to labour for the support of a few, then they
whose possessions swelled above their wants, naturally laid out their
superfluities upon pleasure; and those who could not gain friendship by
necessary offices, endeavoured to promote their interest by luxurious
gratifications, and to create needs, which they might be courted to
supply.
The desires of mankind are much more numerous than their attainments, and
the capacity of imagination much larger than actual enjoyment. Multitudes
are therefore unsatisfied with their allotment; and he that hopes to
improve his condition by the favour of another, and either finds no room
for the exertion of great qualities, or perceives himself excelled by his
rivals, will, by other expedients, endeavour to become agreeable where
he cannot be important, and learn, by degrees, to number the _art of
pleasing_ among the most useful studies, and most valuable acquisitions.
This art, like others, is cultivated in proportion to its usefulness, and
will always flourish most where it is most rewarded; for this reason we
find it practised with great assiduity under absolute governments, where
honours and riches are in the hands of one man, whom all endeavour to
propitiate, and who soon becomes so much accustomed to compliance and
officiousness, as not easily to find, in the most delicate address, that
novelty which is necessary to procure attention.
It is discovered by a very few experiments, that no man is much pleased
with a companion, who does not increase, in some respect, his fondness
of himself; and, therefore, he that wishes rather to be led forward to
prosperity by the gentle hand of favour, than to force his way by labour
and merit, must consider with more care how to display his patron's
excellencies than his own; that whenever he approaches, he may fill the
imagination with pleasing dreams, and chase away disgust and weariness by
a perpetual succession of delightful images.
This may, indeed, sometimes be effected by turning the attention upon
advantages which are really possessed, or upon prospects which reason
spreads before hope; for whoever can deserve or require to be courted,
has generally, either from nature or from fortune, gifts, which he may
review with satisfaction, and of which, when he is artfully recalled to
the contemplation, he will seldom be displeased.
But those who have once degraded their understanding to an application
only to the passions, and who have learned to derive hope from any other
sources than industry and virtue, seldom retain dignity and magnanimity
sufficient to defend them against the constant recurrence of temptation
to falsehood. He that is too desirous to be loved, will soon learn to
flatter, and when he has exhausted all the variations of honest praise,
and can delight no longer with the civility of truth, he will invent
new topicks of panegyrick, and break out into raptures at virtues and
beauties conferred by himself.
The drudgeries of dependance would, indeed, be aggravated by hopelessness
of success, if no indulgence was allowed to adulation. He that will
obstinately confine his patron to hear only the commendations which he
deserves, will soon be forced to give way to others that regale him with
more compass of musick. The greatest human virtue bears no proportion
to human vanity. We always think ourselves better than we are, and are
generally desirous that others should think us still better than we
think ourselves. To praise us for actions or dispositions which deserve
praise, is not to confer a benefit, but to pay a tribute. We have always
pretensions to fame, which, in our own hearts, we know to be disputable,
and which we are desirous to strengthen by a new suffrage; we have always
hopes which we suspect to be fallacious, and of which we eagerly snatch
at every confirmation.
It may, indeed, be proper to make the first approaches under the conduct
of truth, and to secure credit of future encomiums, by such praise as
may be ratified by the conscience; but the mind once habituated to the
lusciousness of eulogy, becomes, in a short time, nice and fastidious,
and, like a vitiated palate, is incessantly calling for higher
gratifications.
It is scarcely credible to what degree discernment may be dazzled by the
mist of pride, and wisdom infatuated by the intoxication of flattery;
or how low the genius may descend by successive gradations of servility,
and how swiftly it may fall down the precipice of falsehood. No man can,
indeed, observe, without indignation, on what names, both of ancient and
modern times, the utmost exuberance of praise has been lavished, and by
what hands it has been bestowed. It has never yet been found, that the
tyrant, the plunderer, the oppressor, the most hateful of the hateful,
the most profligate of the profligate, have been denied any celebrations
which they were willing to purchase, or that wickedness and folly have
not found correspondent flatterers through all their subordinations,
except when they have been associated with avarice or poverty, and have
wanted either inclination or ability to hire a panegyrist.
As there is no character so deformed as to fright away from it the
prostitutes of praise, there is no degree of encomiastick veneration
which pride has refused. The emperors of Rome suffered themselves to be
worshipped in their lives with altars and sacrifices; and, in an age more
enlightened, the terms peculiar to the praise and worship of the Supreme
Being, have been applied to wretches whom it was the reproach of humanity
to number among men; and whom nothing but riches or power hindered those
that read or wrote their deification, from hunting into the toils of
justice, as disturbers of the peace of nature.
There are, indeed, many among the poetical flatterers, who must be
resigned to infamy without vindication, and whom we must confess to have
deserted the cause of virtue for pay; they have committed, against full
conviction, the crime of obliterating the distinctions between good and
evil, and, instead of opposing the encroachments of vice, have incited
her progress, and celebrated her conquests. But there is a lower class of
sycophants, whose understanding has not made them capable of equal guilt.
Every man of high rank is surrounded with numbers, who have no other rule
of thought or action, than his maxims, and his conduct; whom the honour
of being numbered among his acquaintance, reconciles to all his vices,
and all his absurdities; and who easily persuade themselves to esteem
him, by whose regard they consider themselves as distinguished and exalted.
It is dangerous for mean minds to venture themselves within the sphere
of greatness. Stupidity is soon blinded by the splendour of wealth, and
cowardice is easily fettered in the shackles of dependance. To solicit
patronage, is, at least, in the event, to set virtue to sale. None can
be pleased without praise, and few can be praised without falsehood;
few can be assiduous without servility, and none can be servile without
corruption.
No. 105. TUESDAY, MARCH 19, 1751.
_----Animorum_
_Impulsu, et cæcâ magnâque cupidine ducti._
JUV. Sat. x. 350.
Vain man runs headlong, to caprice resign'd;
Impell'd by passion, and with folly blind.
I was lately considering, among other objects of speculation, the new
attempt of an _universal register_, an office, in which every man
may lodge an account of his superfluities and wants, of whatever he
desires to purchase or to sell. My imagination soon presented to me the
latitude to which this design may be extended by integrity and industry,
and the advantages which may be justly hoped from a general mart of
intelligence, when once its reputation shall be so established, that
neither reproach nor fraud shall be feared from it: when an application
to it shall not be censured as the last resource of desperation, nor its
informations suspected as the fortuitous suggestions of men obliged not
to appear ignorant. A place where every exuberance may be discharged,
and every deficiency supplied; where every lawful passion may find
its gratifications, and every honest curiosity receive satisfaction;
where the stock of a nation, pecuniary and intellectual, may be brought
together, and where all conditions of humanity may hope to find relief,
pleasure, and accommodation; must equally deserve the attention of the
merchant and philosopher, of him who mingles in the tumult of business,
and him who only lives to amuse himself with the various employments
and pursuits of others. Nor will it be an uninstructing school to the
greatest masters of method and dispatch, if such multiplicity can be
preserved from embarrassment, and such tumult from inaccuracy.
While I was concerting this splendid project, and filling my thoughts with
its regulation, its conveniences, its variety, and its consequences, I
sunk gradually into slumber; but the same images, though less distinct,
still continued to float upon my fancy. I perceived myself at the gate
of an immense edifice, where innumerable multitudes were passing without
confusion; every face on which I fixed my eyes, seemed settled in the
contemplation of some important purpose, and every foot was hastened by
eagerness and expectation. I followed the crowd without knowing whither
I should be drawn, and remained a while in the unpleasing state of an
idler, where all other beings were busy, giving place every moment to
those who had more importance in their looks. Ashamed to stand ignorant,
and afraid to ask questions, at last I saw a lady sweeping by me, whom,
by the quickness of her eyes, the agility of her steps, and a mixture of
levity and impatience, I knew to be my long-loved protectress, Curiosity.
"Great goddess," said I, "may thy votary be permitted to implore thy
favour; if thou hast been my directress from the first dawn of reason,
if I have followed thee through the maze of life with invariable
fidelity, if I have turned to every new call, and quitted at thy nod
one pursuit for another, if I have never stopped at the invitations of
fortune, nor forgot thy authority in the bowers of pleasure, inform me
now whither chance has conducted me."
"Thou art now," replied the smiling power, "in the presence of Justice,
and of Truth, whom the father of gods and men has sent down to register
the demands and pretentions of mankind, that the world may at last be
reduced to order, and that none may complain hereafter of being doomed
to tasks for which they are unqualified, of possessing faculties for which
they cannot find employment, or virtues that languish unobserved for want
of opportunities to exert them, of being encumbered with superfluities
which they would willingly resign, or of wasting away in desires which
ought to be satisfied. Justice is now to examine every man's wishes, and
Truth is to record them; let us approach, and observe the progress of
this great transaction."
She then moved forward, and Truth, who knew her among the most faithful of
her followers, beckoned her to advance, till we were placed near the seat
of Justice. The first who required the assistance of the office, came
forward with a slow pace, and tumour of dignity, and shaking a weighty
purse in his hand, demanded to be registered by Truth, as the Mæcenas of
the present age, the chief encourager of literary merit, to whom men of
learning and wit might apply in any exigence or distress with certainty
of succour. Justice very mildly inquired, whether he had calculated the
expense of such a declaration? whether he had been informed what number of
petitioners would swarm about him? whether he could distinguish idleness
and negligence from calamity, ostentation from knowledge, or vivacity
from wit? To these questions he seemed not well provided with a reply,
but repeated his desire to be recorded as a patron. Justice then offered
to register his proposal on these conditions, that he should never suffer
himself to be flattered; that he should never delay an audience when he
had nothing to do; and that he should never encourage followers without
intending to reward them. These terms were too hard to be accepted;
for what, said he, is the end of patronage, but the pleasure of reading
dedications, holding multitudes in suspense, and enjoying their hopes,
their fears, and their anxiety, flattering them to assiduity, and, at
last, dismissing them for impatience? Justice heard his confession, and
ordered his name to be posted upon the gate among cheats and robbers, and
publick nuisances, which all were by that notice warned to avoid.
Another required to be made known as the discoverer of a new art of
education, by which languages and sciences might be taught to all
capacities, and all inclinations, without fear of punishment, pain
or confinement, loss of any part of the gay mein of ignorance, or any
obstruction of the necessary progress in dress, dancing, or cards.
Justice and Truth did not trouble this great adept with many inquiries;
but finding his address awkward and his speech barbarous, ordered him to
be registered as a tall fellow who wanted employment, and might serve in
any post where the knowledge of reading and writing was not required.
A man of very grave and philosophick aspect, required notice to be given
of his intention to set out, a certain day, on a submarine voyage, and
of his willingness to take in passengers for no more than double the
price at which they might sail above water. His desire was granted, and
he retired to a convenient stand, in expectation of filling his ship, and
growing rich in a short time by the secrecy, safety, and expedition of
the passage.
Another desired to advertise the curious, that he had, for the advancement
of true knowledge, contrived an optical instrument, by which those who
laid out their industry on memorials of the changes of the wind, might
observe the direction of the weather-cocks on the hitherside of the lunar
world.
Another wished to be known as the author of an invention, by which cities
or kingdoms might be made warm in winter by a single fire, a kettle, and
pipe. Another had a vehicle by which a man might bid defiance to floods,
and continue floating in an inundation, without any inconvenience, till
the water should subside. Justice considered these projects as of no
importance but to their authors, and therefore scarcely condescended to
examine them: but Truth refused to admit them into the register.
Twenty different pretenders came in one hour to give notice of an
universal medicine, by which all diseases might be cured or prevented,
and life protracted beyond the age of Nestor. But Justice informed them,
that one universal medicine was sufficient, and she would delay the
notification till she saw who could longest preserve his own life.
A thousand other claims and offers were exhibited and examined. I
remarked, among this mighty multitude, that, of intellectual advantages,
many had great exuberance, and few confessed any want; of every art there
were a hundred professors for a single pupil; but of other attainments,
such as riches, honours, and preferments, I found none that had too much,
but thousands and ten thousands that thought themselves entitled to a
larger dividend.
It often happened, that old misers, and women married at the close of
life, advertised their want of children; nor was it uncommon for those
who had a numerous offspring, to give notice of a son or daughter to
be spared; but, though appearances promised well on both sides, the
bargain seldom succeeded; for they soon lost their inclination to adopted
children, and proclaimed their intentions to promote some scheme of
publick charity: a thousand proposals were immediately made, among which
they hesitated till death precluded the decision.
As I stood looking on this scene of confusion, Truth condescended to ask
me, what was my business at her office? I was struck with the unexpected
question, and awaked by my efforts to answer it.