There are many natures which can never approach within a certain

distance, and which, when any irregular motive impels them towards

contact, seem to start back from each other by some invincible

repulsion. There are others which immediately cohere whenever they come

into the reach of mutual attraction, and with very little formality of

preparation mingle intimately as soon as they meet. Every man, whom

either business or curiosity has thrown at large into the world, will

recollect many instances of fondness and dislike, which have forced

themselves upon him without the intervention of his judgment; of

dispositions to court some and avoid others, when he could assign no

reason for the preference, or none adequate to the violence of his

passions; of influence that acted instantaneously upon his mind, and

which no arguments or persuasions could ever overcome.

Among those with whom time and intercourse have made us familiar, we

feel our affections divided in different proportions without much regard

to moral or intellectual merit. Every man knows some whom he cannot

induce himself to trust, though he has no reason to suspect that they

would betray him; those to whom he cannot complain, though he never

observed them to want compassion; those in whose presence he never can

be gay, though excited by invitations to mirth and freedom; and those

from whom he cannot be content to receive instruction, though they never

insulted his ignorance by contempt or ostentation.

That much regard is to be had to those instincts of kindness and

dislike, or that reason should blindly follow them, I am far from

intending to inculcate: it is very certain, that by indulgence we may

give them strength which they have not from nature, and almost every

example of ingratitude and treachery proves, that by obeying them we may

commit our happiness to those who are very unworthy of so great a trust.

But it may deserve to be remarked, that since few contend much with

their inclinations, it is generally vain to solicit the good-will of

those whom we perceive thus involuntarily alienated from us; neither

knowledge nor virtue will reconcile antipathy, and though officiousness

may be for a time admitted, and diligence applauded, they will at last

be dismissed with coldness, or discouraged by neglect.

Some have indeed an occult power of stealing upon the affections, of

exciting universal benevolence, and disposing every heart to fondness

and friendship. But this is a felicity granted only to the favourites of

nature. The greater part of mankind find a different reception from

different dispositions; they sometimes obtain unexpected caresses from

those whom they never flattered with uncommon regard, and sometimes

exhaust all their arts of pleasing without effect. To these it is

necessary to look round, and attempt every breast in which they find

virtue sufficient for the foundation of friendship; to enter into the

crowd, and try whom chance will offer to their notice, till they fix on

some temper congenial to their own, as the magnet rolled in the dust

collects the fragments of its kindred metal from a thousand particles of

other substances.

Every man must have remarked the facility with which the kindness of

others is sometimes gained by those to whom he never could have imparted

his own. We are by our occupations, education, and habits of life,

divided almost into different species, which regard one another, for the

most part, with scorn and malignity. Each of these classes of the human

race has desires, fears, and conversation, vexations and merriment

peculiar to itself; cares which another cannot feel; pleasures which he

cannot partake; and modes of expressing every sensation which he cannot

understand. That frolick which shakes one man with laughter, will

convulse another with indignation; the strain of jocularity which in one

place obtains treats and patronage, would in another be heard with

indifference, and in a third with abhorrence.

To raise esteem we must benefit others, to procure love we must please

them. Aristotle observes, that old men do not readily form friendships,

because they are not easily susceptible of pleasure. He that can

contribute to the hilarity of the vacant hour, or partake with equal

gust the favourite amusement; he whose mind is employed on the same

objects, and who therefore never harasses the understanding with

unaccustomed ideas, will be welcomed with ardour, and left with regret,

unless he destroys those recommendations by faults with which peace and

security cannot consist.

It were happy, if, in forming friendships, virtue could concur with

pleasure; but the greatest part of human gratifications approach so

nearly to vice, that few who make the delight of others their rule of

conduct, can avoid disingenuous compliances; yet certainly he that

suffers himself to be driven or allured from virtue, mistakes his own

interest, since he gains succour by means, for which his friend, if ever

he becomes wise, must scorn him, and for which at last he must scorn

himself.

No. 161. TUESDAY, OCTOBER 1, 1751.

[Greek: Oiae gar phullon geneae, toiaede kai Andron.]

HOM. Il. [Greek: T.]

Frail as the leaves that quiver on the sprays,

Like them man flourishes, like them decays.

MR. RAMBLER.

SIR,

You have formerly observed that curiosity often terminates in barren

knowledge, and that the mind is prompted to study and inquiry rather by

the uneasiness of ignorance, than the hope of profit. Nothing can be of

less importance to any present interest, than the fortune of those who

have been long lost in the grave, and from whom nothing now can be hoped

or feared. Yet, to rouse the zeal of a true antiquary, little more is

necessary than to mention a name which mankind have conspired to forget;

he will make his way to remote scenes of action through obscurity and

contradiction, as Tully sought amidst bushes and brambles the tomb of

Archimedes.

It is not easy to discover how it concerns him that gathers the produce,

or receives the rent of an estate, to know through what families the

land has passed, who is registered in the Conqueror's survey as its

possessor, how often it has been forfeited by treason, or how often sold

by prodigality. The power or wealth of the present inhabitants of a

country cannot be much increased by an inquiry after the names of those

barbarians, who destroyed one another twenty centuries ago, in contests

for the shelter of woods, or convenience of pasturage. Yet we see that

no man can be at rest in the enjoyment of a new purchase till he has

learned the history of his grounds from the ancient inhabitants of the

parish, and that no nation omits to record the actions of their

ancestors, however bloody, savage, and rapacious.

The same disposition, as different opportunities call it forth,

discovers itself in great or little things. I have always thought it

unworthy of a wise man to slumber in total inactivity, only because he

happens to have no employment equal to his ambition or genius; it is

therefore my custom to apply my attention to the objects before me, and

as I cannot think any place wholly unworthy of notice that affords a

habitation to a man of letters, I have collected the history and

antiquities of the several garrets in which I have resided.

Quantulacunque estis, vos ego magna voco.

How small to others, but how great to me!

Many of these narratives my industry has been able to extend to a

considerable length; but the woman with whom I now lodge has lived only

eighteen months in the house, and can give no account of its ancient

revolutions; the plaisterer having, at her entrance, obliterated, by his

white-wash, all the smoky memorials which former tenants had left upon

the ceiling, and perhaps drawn the veil of oblivion over politicians,

philosophers, and poets.

When I first, cheapened my lodgings, the landlady told me, that she

hoped I was not an author, for the lodgers on the first floor had

stipulated that the upper rooms should not be occupied by a noisy trade.

I very readily promised to give no disturbance to her family, and soon

despatched a bargain on the usual terms.

I had not slept many nights in my new apartment before I began to

inquire after my predecessors, and found my landlady, whose imagination

is filled chiefly with her own affairs, very ready to give me

information.

Curiosity, like all other desires, produces pain as wel as pleasure.

Before she began her narrative, I had heated my head with expectations

of adventures and discoveries, of elegance in disguise, and learning in

distress; and was somewhat mortified when I heard that the first tenant

was a tailor, of whom nothing was remembered but that he complained of

his room for want of light; and, after having lodged in it a month, and

paid only a week's rent, pawned a piece of cloth which he was trusted,

to cut out, and was forced to make a precipitate retreat from this

quarter of the town.

The next was a young woman newly arrived from the country, who lived for

five weeks with great regularity, and became by frequent treats very

much the favourite of the family, but at last received visits so

frequently from a cousin in Cheapside, that she brought the reputation

of the house into danger, and was therefore dismissed with good advice.

The room then stood empty for a fortnight; my landlady began to think

that she had judged hardly, and often wished for such another lodger. At

last, an elderly man of a grave aspect read the bill, and bargained for

the room at the very first price that was asked. He lived in close

retirement, seldom went out till evening, and then returned early,

sometimes cheerful, and at other times dejected. It was remarkable, that

whatever he purchased, he never had small money in his pocket; and,

though cool and temperate on other occasions, was always vehement and

stormy, till he received his change. He paid his rent with great

exactness, and seldom failed once a week to requite my landlady's

civility with a supper. At last, such is the fate of human felicity, the

house was alarmed at midnight by the constable, who demanded to search

the garrets. My landlady assuring him that he had mistaken the door,

conducted him up stairs, where he found the tools of a coiner; but the

tenant had crawled along the roof to an empty house, and escaped; much

to the joy of my landlady, who declares him a very honest man, and

wonders why any body should be hanged for making money when such numbers

are in want of it. She however confesses that she shall, for the future,

always question the character of those who take her garret without

beating down the price.

The bill was then placed again in the window, and the poor woman was

teased for seven weeks by innumerable passengers, who obliged her to

climb with them every hour up five stories, and then disliked the

prospect, hated the noise of a publick street, thought the stairs

narrow, objected to a low ceiling, required the walls to be hung with

fresher paper, asked questions about the neighbourhood, could not think

of living so far from their acquaintance, wished the windows had looked

to the south rather than the west, told how the door and chimney might

have been better disposed, bid her half the price that she asked, or

promised to give her earnest the next day, and came no more.

At last, a short meagre man, in a tarnished waistcoat, desired to see

the garret, and when he had stipulated for two long shelves, and a

larger table, hired it at a low rate. When the affair was completed, he

looked round him with great satisfaction, and repeated some words which

the woman did not understand. In two days he brought a great box of

books, took possession of his room, and lived very inoffensively, except

that he frequently disturbed the inhabitants of the next floor by

unseasonable noises. He was generally in bed at noon, but from evening

to midnight he sometimes talked aloud with great vehemence, sometimes

stamped as in rage, sometimes threw down his poker, then clattered his

chairs, then sat down in deep thought, and again burst out into loud

vociferations; sometimes he would sigh as oppressed with misery, and

sometimes shaked with convulsive laughter. When he encountered any of

the family, he gave way or bowed, but rarely spoke, except that as he

went up stairs he often repeated,

[Greek:--Hos hupertata domata naiei].

This habitant th' aerial regions boast;

hard words, to which his neighbours listened so often, that they learned

them without understanding them. What was his employment she did not

venture to ask him, but at last heard a printer's boy inquire for the

author.

My landlady was very often advised to beware of this strange man, who,

though he was quiet for the present, might perhaps become outrageous in

the hot months; but, as she was punctually paid, she could not find any

sufficient reason for dismissing him, till one night he convinced her,

by setting fire to his curtains, that it was not safe to have an author

for her inmate.

She had then for six weeks a succession of tenants, who left the house

on Saturday, and, instead of paying their rent, stormed at their

landlady. At last she took in two sisters, one of whom had spent her

little fortune in procuring remedies for a lingering disease, and was

now supported and attended by the other: she climbed with difficulty to

the apartment, where she languished eight weeks without impatience, or

lamentation, except for the expense and fatigue which her sister

suffered, and then calmly and contentedly expired. The sister followed

her to the grave, paid the few debts which they had contracted, wiped

away the tears of useless sorrow, and, returning to the business of

common life, resigned to me the vacant habitation.

Such, Mr. Rambler, are the changes which have happened in the narrow

space where my present fortune has fixed my residence. So true it is

that amusement and instruction are always at hand for those who have

skill and willingness to find them; and, so just is the observation of

Juvenal, that a single house will shew whatever is done or suffered in

the world.

I am, Sir, &c.

No. 162. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 5, 1751.

Orbus es, et locuples, et Bruto consule natus,

Esse tibi veras credis amicitias?

Sunt veræ: sed quas juvenis, quas pauper habebas:

Qui novus est, mortem diligit ille tuam. MART. Lib. xi. Ep. 44.

What! old, and rich, and childless too,

And yet believe your friends are true?

Truth might perhaps to those belong,

To those who lov'd you poor and young;

But, trust me, for the new you have,

They'll love you dearly--in your grave. F. LEWIS.

One of the complaints uttered by Milton's Samson, in the anguish of

blindness, is, that he shall pass his life under the direction of

others; that he cannot regulate his conduct by his own knowledge, but

must lie at the mercy of those who undertake to guide him.

There is no state more contrary to the dignity of wisdom than perpetual

and unlimited dependance, in which the understanding lies useless, and

every motion is received from external impulse. Reason is the great

distinction of human nature, the faculty by which we approach to some

degree of association with celestial intelligences; but as the

excellence of every power appears only in its operations, not to have

reason, and to have it useless and unemployed, is nearly the same.

Such is the weakness of man, that the essence of things is seldom so

much regarded as external and accidental appendages. A small variation

of trifling circumstances, a slight change of form by an artificial

dress, or a casual difference of appearance, by a new light and

situation, will conciliate affection or excite abhorrence, and determine

us to pursue or to avoid. Every man considers a necessity of compliance

with any will but his own, as the lowest state of ignominy and meanness;

few are so far lost in cowardice or negligence, as not to rouse at the

first insult of tyranny, and exert all their force against him who

usurps their property, or invades any privilege of speech or action. Yet

we see often those who never wanted spirit to repel encroachment or

oppose violence, at last, by a gradual relaxation of vigilance,

delivering up, without capitulation, the fortress which they defended

against assault, and laying down unbidden the weapons which they grasp

the harder for every attempt to wrest them from their hands. Men eminent

for spirit and wisdom often resign themselves to voluntary pupilage, and

suffer their lives to be modelled by officious ignorance, and their

choice to be regulated by presumptuous stupidity.

This unresisting acquiescence in the determination of others, may be the

consequence of application to some study remote from the beaten track of

life, some employment which does not allow leisure for sufficient

inspection of those petty affairs, by which nature has decreed a great

part of our duration to be filled. To a mind thus withdrawn from common

objects, it is more eligible to repose on the prudence of another, than

to be exposed every moment to slight interruptions. The submission which

such confidence requires, is paid without pain, because it implies no

confession of inferiority. The business from which we withdraw our

cognizance, is not above our abilities, but below our notice. We please

our pride with the effects of our influence thus weakly exerted, and

fancy ourselves placed in a higher orb, for which we regulate

subordinate agents by a slight and distant superintendance. But,

whatever vanity or abstraction may suggest, no man can safely do that by

others which might be done by himself; he that indulges negligence will

quickly become ignorant of his own affairs; and he that trusts without

reserve will at last be deceived.

It is, however, impossible but that, as the attention tends strongly

towards one thing, it must retire from another; and he that omits the

care of domestick business, because he is engrossed by inquiries of more

importance to mankind, has, at least, the merit of suffering in a good

cause. But there are many who can plead no such extenuation of their

folly; who shake off the burden of their situation, not that they may

soar with less incumbrance to the heights of knowledge or virtue, but

that they may loiter at ease and sleep in quiet; and who select for

friendship and confidence not the faithful and the virtuous, but the

soft, the civil, and compliant.

This openness to flattery is the common disgrace of declining life. When

men feel weakness increasing on them, they naturally desire to rest from

the struggles of contradiction, the fatigue of reasoning, the anxiety of

circumspection; when they are hourly tormented with pains and diseases,

they are unable to bear any new disturbance, and consider all opposition

as an addition to misery, of which they feel already more than they can

patiently endure. Thus desirous of peace, and thus fearful of pain, the

old man seldom inquires after any other qualities in those whom he

caresses, than quickness in conjecturing his desires, activity in

supplying his wants, dexterity in intercepting complaints before they

approach near enough to disturb him, flexibility to his present humour,

submission to hasty petulance, and attention to wearisome narrations. By

these arts alone many have been able to defeat the claims of kindred and

of merit, and to enrich themselves with presents and legacies.

Thrasybulus inherited a large fortune, and augmented it by the revenues

of several lucrative employments, which he discharged with honour and

dexterity. He was at last wise enough to consider, that life should not

be devoted wholly to accumulation, and therefore retiring to his estate,

applied himself to the education of his children, and the cultivation of

domestick happiness.

He passed several years in this pleasing amusement, and saw his care

amply recompensed; his daughters were celebrated for modesty and

elegance, and his sons for learning, prudence, and spirit. In time the

eagerness with which the neighbouring gentlemen courted his alliance,

obliged him to resign his daughters to other families; the vivacity and

curiosity of his sons hurried them out of rural privacy into the open

world, from whence they had not soon an inclination to return. This,

however, he had always hoped; he pleased himself with the success of his

schemes, and felt no inconvenience from solitude till an apoplexy

deprived him of his wife.

Thrasybulus had now no companion; and the maladies of increasing years

having taken from him much of the power of procuring amusement for

himself, he thought it necessary to procure some inferior friend, who

might ease him of his economical solicitudes, and divert him by cheerful

conversation. All these qualities he soon recollected in Vafer, a clerk

in one of the offices over which he had formerly presided. Vafer was

invited to visit his old patron, and being by his station acquainted

with the present modes of life, and by constant practice dexterous in

business, entertained him with so many novelties, and so readily

disentangled his affairs, that he was desired to resign his clerkship,

and accept a liberal salary in the house of Thrasybulus.

Vafer, having always lived in a state of dependance, was well versed in

the arts by which favour is obtained, and could, without repugnance or

hesitation, accommodate himself to every caprice, and echo every

opinion. He never doubted but to be convinced, nor attempted opposition

but to flatter Thrasybulus with the pleasure of a victory. By this

practice he found his way into his patron's heart, and, having first

made himself agreeable, soon became important. His insidious diligence,

by which the laziness of age was gratified, engrossed the management of

affairs; and his petty offices of civility, and occasional

intercessions, persuaded the tenants to consider him as their friend and

benefactor, and to entreat his enforcement of their representations of

hard years, and his countenance to petitions for abatement of rent.

Thrasybulus had now banqueted on flattery, till he could no longer bear

the harshness of remonstrance or the insipidity of truth. All

contrariety to his own opinion shocked him like a violation of some

natural right, and all recommendation of his affairs to his own

inspection was dreaded by him as a summons to torture. His children were

alarmed by the sudden riches of Vafer, but their complaints were heard

by their father with impatience, as the result of a conspiracy against

his quiet, and a design to condemn him, for their own advantage, to

groan out his last hours in perplexity and drudgery. The daughters

retired with tears in their eyes, but the son continued his

importunities till he found his inheritance hazarded by his obstinacy.

Vafer triumphed over all their efforts, and, continuing to confirm

himself in authority, at the death of his master, purchased an estate,

and bade defiance to inquiry and justice.

No. 163. TUESDAY, OCTOBER 8, 1751.

Mitte superba pati fastidia, spemque caducam

Despice; vive tibi, nam moriere tibi. SENECA.

Bow to no patron's insolence; rely

On no frail hopes, in freedom live and die. F. LEWIS.

None of the cruelties exercised by wealth and power upon indigence and

dependance is more mischievous in its consequences, or more frequently

practised with wanton negligence, than the encouragement of expectations

which are never to be gratified, and the elation and depression of the

heart by needless vicissitudes of hope and disappointment.

Every man is rich or poor, according to the proportion between his

desires and enjoyments; any enlargement of wishes is therefore equally

destructive to happiness with the diminution of possession; and he that

teaches another to long for what he never shall obtain, is no less an

enemy to his quiet, than if he had robbed him of part of his patrimony.

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