mind, are not yet to be ranked with flagitious enormities, nor is it
necessary to incite sanguinary justice against them, since they may be
adequately punished by detection and laughter. The traveller who
describes cities which he has never seen; the squire, who, at his return
from London, tells of his intimacy with nobles to whom he has only bowed
in the park or coffee-house; the author who entertains his admirers with
stories of the assistance which he gives to wits of a higher rank; the
city dame who talks of her visits at great houses, where she happens to
know the cook-maid, are surely such harmless animals as truth herself
may be content to despise without desiring to hurt them.
But of the multitudes who struggle in vain for distinction, and display
their own merits only to feel more acutely the sting of neglect, a great
part are wholly innocent of deceit, and are betrayed, by infatuation and
credulity, to that scorn with which the universal love of praise incites
us all to drive feeble competitors out of our way.
Few men survey themselves with so much severity, as not to admit
prejudices in their own favour, which an artful flatterer may gradually
strengthen, till wishes for a particular qualification are improved to
hopes of attainment, and hopes of attainment to belief of possession.
Such flatterers every one will find, who has power to reward their
assiduities. Wherever there is wealth there will be dependance and
expectation, and wherever there is dependance, there will be an
emulation of servility.
Many of the follies which provoke general censure, are the effects of
such vanity as, however it might have wantoned in the imagination, would
scarcely have dared the publick eye, had it not been animated and
emboldened by flattery. Whatever difficulty there may be in the
knowledge of ourselves, scarcely any one fails to suspect his own
imperfections, till he is elevated by others to confidence. We are
almost all naturally modest and timorous; but fear and shame are uneasy
sensations, and whosoever helps to remove them is received with
kindness.
Turpicula was the heiress of a large estate, and having lost her mother
in her infancy, was committed to a governess, whom misfortunes had
reduced to suppleness and humility. The fondness of Turpicula's father
would not suffer him to trust her at a publick school, but he hired
domestick teachers, and bestowed on her all the accomplishments that
wealth could purchase. But how many things are necessary to happiness
which money cannot obtain! Thus secluded from all with whom she might
converse on terms of equality, she heard none of those intimations of
her defects, which envy, petulance, or anger, produce among children,
where they are not afraid of telling what they think.
Turpicula saw nothing but obsequiousness, and heard nothing but
commendations. None are so little acquainted with the heart, as not to
know that woman's first wish is to be handsome, and that consequently
the readiest method of obtaining her kindness is to praise her beauty.
Turpicula had a distorted shape and a dark complexion; yet, when the
impudence of adulation had ventured to tell her of the commanding
dignity of her motion, and the soft enchantment of her smile, she was
easily convinced, that she was the delight or torment of every eye, and
that all who gazed upon her felt the fire of envy or love. She therefore
neglected the culture of an understanding which might have supplied the
defects of her form, and applied all her care to the decoration of her
person; for she considered that more could judge of beauty than of wit,
and was, like the rest of human beings, in haste to be admired. The
desire of conquest naturally led her to the lists in which beauty
signalizes her power. She glittered at court, fluttered in the park, and
talked aloud in the front box; but after a thousand experiments of her
charms, was at last convinced that she had been flattered, and that her
glass was honester than her maid.
[Footnote k: Mrs. Piozzi, in her Anecdotes, informs us, that the man who
sung, and, by corresponding motions of his arm, chalked out a giant on
the wall, was one Richardson, an attorney: the ingenious imitator of a
cat, was one Busby, a proctor in the Commons: and the father of Dr.
Salter, of the Charter-House, a friend of Johnson's, and a member of the
Ivy-Lane Club, was the person who yelped like a hound, and perplexed the
distracted waiters.--Mr. Chalmers, in his preface to the Rambler,
observes, that the above-quoted lively writer was the only authority for
these assignments. She is certainly far too hasty and negligent to be
relied on, when unsupported by other testimony.--See Preface.]
No. 190. SATURDAY, DECEMBER 11, 1752.
_Ploravere suis non respondere favorem
Speratum meritis_.--HOR. Lib. ii. Ep. i. 9.
Henry and Alfred--
Clos'd their long glories with a sigh, to find
Th' unwilling gratitude of base mankind. POPE.
Among the emirs and visiers, the sons of valour and of wisdom, that
stand at the corners of the Indian throne, to assist the counsels or
conduct the wars of the posterity of Timur, the first place was long
held by Morad the son of Hanuth. Morad, having signalized himself in
many battles and sieges, was rewarded with the government of a province,
from which the fame of his wisdom and moderation was wafted to the
pinnacles of Agra, by the prayers of those whom his administration made
happy. The emperour called him into his presence, and gave into his hand
the keys of riches, and the sabre of command. The voice of Morad was
heard from the cliffs of Taurus to the Indian ocean, every tongue
faultered in his presence, and every eye was cast down before him.
Morad lived many years in prosperity; every day increased his wealth,
and extended his influence. The sages repeated his maxims, the captains
of thousands waited his commands. Competition withdrew into the cavern
of envy, and discontent trembled at his own murmurs. But human greatness
is short and transitory, as the odour of incense in the fire. The sun
grew weary of gilding the palaces of Morad, the clouds of sorrow
gathered round his head, and the tempest of hatred roared about his
dwelling.
Morad saw ruin hastily approaching. The first that forsook him were his
poets; their example was followed by all those whom he had rewarded for
contributing to his pleasures, and only a few, whose virtue had entitled
them to favour, were now to be seen in his hall or chambers. He felt his
danger, and prostrated himself at the foot of the throne. His accusers
were confident and loud, his friends stood contented with frigid
neutrality, and the voice of truth was overborne by clamour. He was
divested of his power, deprived of his acquisitions, and condemned to
pass the rest of his life on his hereditary estate.
Morad had been so long-accustomed to crowds and business, supplicants
and flattery, that he knew not how to fill up his hours in solitude; he
saw with regret the sun rise to force on his eye a new day for which he
had no use; and envied the savage that wanders in the desert, because he
has no time vacant from the calls of nature, but is always chasing his
prey, or sleeping in his den.
His discontent in time vitiated his constitution, and a slow disease
seized upon him. He refused physick, neglected exercise, and lay down on
his couch peevish and restless, rather afraid to die than desirous to
live. His domesticks, for a time, redoubled their assiduities; but
finding that no officiousness could soothe, nor exactness satisfy, they
soon gave way to negligence and sloth; and he that once commanded
nations, often languished in his chamber without an attendant.
In this melancholy state, he commanded messengers to recall his eldest
son Abouzaid from the army. Abouzaid was alarmed at the account of his
father's sickness, and hasted by long journeys to his place of
residence. Morad was yet living, and felt his strength return at the
embraces of his son; then commanding him to sit down at his bedside,
"Abouzaid," says he, "thy father has no more to hope or fear from the
inhabitants of the earth; the cold hand of the angel of death is now
upon him, and the voracious grave is howling for his prey. Hear,
therefore, the precepts of ancient experience, let not my last
instructions issue forth in vain. Thou hast seen me happy and
calamitous, thou hast beheld my exaltation and my fall. My power is in
the hands of my enemies, my treasures have rewarded my accusers; but my
inheritance, the clemency of the emperour has spared, and my wisdom his
anger could not take away. Cast thine eyes around thee; whatever thou
beholdest will, in a few hours, be thine: apply thine ear to my
dictates, and these possessions will promote thy happiness. Aspire not
to public honours, enter not the palaces of kings; thy wealth will set
thee above insult, let thy moderation keep thee below envy. Content
thyself with private dignity, diffuse thy riches among thy friends, let
every day extend thy beneficence, and suffer not thy heart to be at rest
till thou art loved by all to whom thou art known. In the height of my
power, I said to defamation, Who will hear thee? and to artifice, What
canst thou perform? But, my son, despise not thou the malice of the
weakest, remember that venom supplies the want of strength, and that the
lion may perish by the puncture of an asp."
Morad expired in a few hours. Abouzaid, after the months of mourning,
determined to regulate his conduct by his father's precepts, and
cultivate the love of mankind by every art of kindness and endearment.
He wisely considered, that domestick happiness was first to be secured,
and that none have so much power of doing good or hurt, as those who are
present in the hour of negligence, hear the bursts of thoughtless
merriment, and observe the starts of unguarded passion. He therefore
augmented the pay of all his attendants, and requited every exertion of
uncommon diligence by supernumerary gratuities. While he congratulated
himself upon the fidelity and affection of his family, he was in the
night alarmed with robbers, who, being pursued and taken, declared that
they had been admitted by one of his servants; the servant immediately
confessed, that he unbarred the door, because another not more worthy of
confidence was entrusted with the keys.
Abouzaid was thus convinced that a dependant could not easily be made a
friend; and that while many were soliciting for the first rank of
favour, all those would be alienated whom he disappointed. He therefore
resolved to associate with a few equal companions selected from among
the chief men of the province. With these he lived happily for a time,
till familiarity set them free from restraint, and every man thought
himself at liberty to indulge his own caprice, and advance his own
opinions. They then disturbed each other with contrariety of
inclinations, and difference of sentiments, and Abouzaid was
necessitated to offend one party by concurrence, or both by
indifference.
He afterwards determined to avoid a close union with beings so
discordant in their nature, and to diffuse himself in a larger circle.
He practised the smile of universal courtesy, and invited all to his
table, but admitted none to his retirements. Many who had been rejected
in his choice of friendship, now refused to accept his acquaintance; and
of those whom plenty and magnificence drew to his table, every one
pressed forward toward intimacy, thought himself overlooked in the
crowd, and murmured because he was not distinguished above the rest. By
degrees all made advances, and all resented repulse. The table was then
covered with delicacies in vain; the musick sounded in empty rooms; and
Abouzaid was left to form in solitude some new scheme of pleasure or
security.
Resolving now to try the force of gratitude, he inquired for men of
science, whose merit was obscured by poverty. His house was soon crowded
with poets, sculptors, painters, and designers, who wantoned in
unexperienced plenty, and employed their powers in celebration of their
patron. But in a short time they forgot the distress from which they had
been rescued, and began to consider their deliverer as a wretch of
narrow capacity, who was growing great by works which he could not
perform, and whom they overpaid by condescending to accept his bounties.
Abouzaid heard their murmurs and dismissed them, and from that hour
continued blind to colours, and deaf to panegyrick.
As the sons of art departed, muttering threats of perpetual infamy,
Abouzaid, who stood at the gate, called to him Hamet the poet. "Hamet,"
said he, "thy ingratitude has put an end to my hopes and experiments: I
have now learned the vanity of those labours that wish to be rewarded by
human benevolence; I shall henceforth do good, and avoid evil, without
respect to the opinion of men; and resolve to solicit only the
approbation of that Being whom alone we are sure to please by
endeavouring to please him."
No. 191. TUESDAY, JANUARY 14, 1752.
_Cereus in vitium flecli, monitoribus asper_. HOR. Art. Poet. 163.
The youth--
Yielding like wax, th' impressive folly bears;
Rough to reproof, and slow to future cares. FRANCIS.
TO THE RAMBLER.
DEAR MR. RAMBLER,
I have been four days confined to my chamber by a cold, which has
already kept me from three plays, nine sales, five shows, and six
card-tables, and put me seventeen visits behind-hand; and the doctor
tells my mamma, that, if I fret and cry, it will settle in my head,
and I shall not be fit to be seen these six weeks. But, dear Mr. Rambler,
how can I help it? At this very time Melissa is dancing with the
prettiest gentleman;--she will breakfast with him to-morrow, and then run
to two auctions, and hear compliments, and have presents; then she will
be drest, and visit, and get a ticket to the play; then go to cards and
win, and come home with two flambeaux before her chair. Dear Mr.
Rambler, who can bear it?
My aunt has just brought me a bundle of your papers for my amusement.
She says you are a philosopher, and will teach me to moderate my
desires, and look upon the world with indifference. But, dear sir, I do
not wish nor intend to moderate my desires, nor can I think it proper to
look upon the world with indifference, till the world looks with
indifference on me. I have been forced, however, to sit this morning a
whole quarter of an hour with your paper before my face; but just as my
aunt came in, Phyllida had brought me a letter from Mr. Trip, which I
put within the leaves; and read about _absence_ and _inconsolableness_,
and _ardour_, and _irresistible passion_, and _eternal constancy_, while
my aunt imagined that I was puzzling myself with your philosophy, and
often cried out when she saw me look confused, "If there is any word
that you do not understand, child, I will explain it."
Dear soul! how old people that think themselves wise may be imposed
upon! But it is fit that they should take their turn, for I am sure,
while they can keep poor girls close in the nursery, they tyrannize over
us in a very shameful manner, and fill our imaginations with tales of
terrour, only to make us live in quiet subjection, and fancy that we can
never be safe but by their protection.
I have a mamma and two aunts, who have all been formerly celebrated for
wit and beauty, and are still generally admired by those that value
themselves upon their understanding, and love to talk of vice and
virtue, nature and simplicity, and beauty and propriety; but if there
was not some hope of meeting me, scarcely a creature would come near
them that wears a fashionable coat. These ladies, Mr. Rambler, have had
me under their government fifteen years and a half, and have all that
time been endeavouring to deceive me by such representations of life as
I now find not to be true; but I know not whether I ought to impute them
to ignorance or malice, as it is possible the world may be much changed
since they mingled in general conversation.
Being desirous that I should love books, they told me, that nothing but
knowledge could make me an agreeable companion to men of sense, or
qualify me to distinguish the superficial glitter of vanity from the
solid merit of understanding; and that a habit of reading would enable
me to fill up the vacuities of life without the help of silly or
dangerous amusements, and preserve me from the snares of idleness and
the inroads of temptation.
But their principal intention was to make me afraid of men; in which
they succeeded so well for a time, that I durst not look in their faces,
or be left alone with them in a parlour; for they made me fancy, that no
man ever spoke but to deceive, or looked but to allure; that the girl
who suffered him that had once squeezed her hand, to approach her a
second time, was on the brink of ruin; and that she who answered a
billet, without consulting her relations, gave love such power over her,
that she would certainly become either poor or infamous.
From the time that my leading-strings were taken off, I scarce heard any
mention of my beauty but from the milliner, the mantua-maker, and my own
maid; for my mamma never said more, when she heard me commended, but
"the girl is very well," and then endeavoured to divert my attention by
some inquiry after my needle, or my book.
It is now three months since I have been suffered to pay and receive
visits, to dance at publick assemblies, to have a place kept for me in
the boxes, and to play at lady Racket's rout; and you may easily imagine
what I think of those who have so long cheated me with false
expectations, disturbed me with fictitious terrours, and concealed from
me all that I have found to make the happiness of woman.
I am so far from perceiving the usefulness or necessity of books, that
if I had not dropped all pretensions to learning, I should have lost Mr.
Trip, whom I once frighted into another box, by retailing some of
Dryden's remarks upon a tragedy; for Mr. Trip declares, that he hates
nothing like hard words, and I am sure, there is not a better partner to
be found; his very walk is a dance. I have talked once or twice among
ladies about principles and ideas, but they put their fans before their
faces, and told me I was too wise for them, who for their part never
pretended to read any thing but the play-bill, and then asked me the
price of my best head.
Those vacancies of time which are to be filled up with books I have
never vet obtained; for, consider, Mr. Rambler, I go to bed late, and
therefore cannot rise early; as soon as I am up, I dress for the
gardens; then walk in the park; then always go to some sale or show, or
entertainment at the little theatre; then must be dressed for dinner;
then must pay my visits; then walk in the park; then hurry to the play;
and from thence to the card-table. This is the general course of the
day, when there happens nothing extraordinary; but sometimes I ramble
into the country, and come back again to a ball; sometimes I am engaged
for a whole day and part of the night. If, at any time, I can gain an
hour by not being at home, I have so many things to do, so many orders
to give to the milliner, so many alterations to make in my clothes, so
many visitants' names to read over, so many invitations to accept or
refuse, so many cards to write, and so many fashions to consider, that I
am lost in confusion, forced at last to let in company or step into my
chair, and leave half my affairs to the direction of my maid.
This is the round of my day; and when shall I either stop my course, or
so change it as to want a book? I suppose it cannot be imagined, that
any of these diversions will soon be at an end. There will always be
gardens, and a park, and auctions, and shows, and playhouses, and cards;
visits will always be paid, and clothes always be worn; and how can I
have time unemployed upon my hands?
But I am most at a loss to guess for what purpose they related such
tragick stories of the cruelty, perfidy, and artifices of men, who, if
they ever were so malicious and destructive, have certainly now reformed
their manners. I have not, since my entrance into the world, found one
who does not profess himself devoted to my service, and ready to live or
die as I shall command him. They are so far from intending to hurt me,
that their only contention is, who shall be allowed most closely to
attend, and most frequently to treat me; when different places of
entertainment, or schemes of pleasure are mentioned, I can see the eye
sparkle and the cheeks glow of him whose proposals obtain my
approbation; he then leads me off in triumph, adores my condescension,
and congratulates himself that he has lived to the hour of felicity. Are
these, Mr. Rambler, creatures to be feared? Is it likely that an injury
will be done me by those who can enjoy life only while I favour them
with my presence?
As little reason can I yet find to suspect them of stratagems and fraud.
When I play at cards, they never take advantage of my mistakes, nor
exact from me a rigorous observation of the game. Even Mr. Shuffle, a
grave gentleman, who has daughters older than myself, plays with me so
negligently, that I am sometimes inclined to believe he loses his money
by design, and yet he is so fond of play, that he says, he will one day
take me to his house in the country, that we may try by ourselves who
can conquer. I have not yet promised him; but when the town grows a
little empty, I shall think upon it, for I want some trinkets, like
Letitia's, to my watch. I do not doubt my luck, but must study some
means of amusing my relations.
For all these distinctions I find myself indebted to that beauty which I
was never suffered to hear praised, and of which, therefore, I did not
before know the full value. The concealment was certainly an intentional
fraud, for my aunts have eyes like other people, and I am every day
told, that nothing but blindness can escape the influence of my charms.
Their whole account of that world which they pretend to know so well,
has been only one fiction entangled with another; and though the modes
of life oblige me to continue some appearances of respect, I cannot
think that they, who have been so clearly detected in ignorance or
imposture, have any right to the esteem, veneration, or obedience of,
Sir, Yours,
BELLARIA.
No. 192. SATURDAY, JANUARY 18, 1752.
[Greek:
Genos ouden eis Erota;
Sophiae, tropos pateitai;
Monon arguron blepousin.
Apoloito protos autos
Ho ton arguron philaesas.
Dia touton ou tokaees,
Dai touton ou tokaees;
Polemoi, phonoi di auton.
To de cheiron, ollymestha
Dia touton oi philountes.] ANACREON. [Greek: ODLI Ms.] 5.
Vain the noblest birth would prove,
Nor worth or wit avail in love;
'Tis gold alone succeeds--by gold
The venal sex is bought and sold.
Accurs'd be he who first of yore
Discover'd the pernicious ore!
This sets a brother's heart on fire,
And arms the son against the sire;
And what, alas! is worse than all,
To this the lover owes his fall. F. LEWIS.
TO THE RAMBLER.
SIR,
I am the son of a gentleman, whose ancestors, for many ages, held the
first rank in the country; till at last one of them, too desirous of
popularity, set his house open, kept a table covered with continual
profusion, and distributed his beef and ale to such as chose rather to
live upon the folly of others, than their own labour, with such
thoughtless liberality, that he left a third part of his estate
mortgaged. His successor, a man of spirit, scorned to impair his dignity
by parsimonious retrenchments, or to admit, by a sale of his lands, any
participation of the rights of his manour; he therefore made another
mortgage to pay the interest of the former, and pleased himself with the
reflection, that his son would have the hereditary estate without the
diminution of an acre.
Nearly resembling this was the practice of my wise progenitors for many
ages. Every man boasted the antiquity of her family, resolved to support
the dignity of his birth, and lived in splendour and plenty at the
expense of his heir, who, sometimes by a wealthy marriage, and sometimes
by lucky legacies, discharged part of the incumbrances, and thought
himself entitled to contract new debts, and to leave to his children the
same inheritance of embarrassment and distress.