enormous extent of the town, so confounded by incessant noise, and
crowds, and hurry, and so terrified by rural narratives of the arts of
sharpers, the rudeness of the populace, malignity of porters, and
treachery of coachmen, that he was afraid to go beyond the door without
an attendant, and imagined his life in danger if he was obliged to pass
the streets at night in any vehicle but his mother's chair.
He was therefore contented, for a time, that I should accompany him in
all his excursions. But his fear abated as he grew more familiar with
its objects; and the contempt to which his rusticity exposed him from
such of his companions as had accidentally known the town longer,
obliged him to dissemble his remaining terrours.
His desire of liberty made him now willing to spare me the trouble of
observing his motions; but knowing how much his ignorance exposed him to
mischief, I thought it cruel to abandon him to the fortune of the town.
We went together every day to a coffee-house, where he met wits, heirs,
and fops, airy, ignorant, and thoughtless as himself, with whom he had
become acquainted at card-tables, and whom he considered as the only
beings to be envied or admired. What were their topicks of conversation,
I could never discover; for, so much was their vivacity repressed by my
intrusive seriousness, that they seldom proceeded beyond the exchange of
nods and shrugs, an arch grin, or a broken hint, except when they could
retire, while I was looking on the papers, to a corner of the room,
where they seemed to disburden their imaginations, and commonly vented
the superfluity of their sprightliness in a peal of laughter. When they
had tittered themselves into negligence, I could sometimes overhear a
few syllables, such as--solemn rascal--academical airs--smoke the tutor--
company for gentlemen!--and other broken phrases, by which I did not
suffer my quiet to be disturbed, for they never proceeded to avowed
indignities, but contented themselves to murmur in secret, and, whenever
I turned my eye upon them, shrunk into stillness.
He was, however, desirous of withdrawing from the subjection which he
could not venture to break, and made a secret appointment to assist his
companions in the persecution of a play. His footman privately procured
him a catcall, on which he practised in a back-garret for two hours in
the afternoon. At the proper time a chair was called; he pretended an
engagement at lady Flutter's, and hastened to the place where his
critical associates had assembled. They hurried away to the theatre,
full of malignity and denunciations against a man whose name they had
never heard, and a performance which they could not understand; for they
were resolved to judge for themselves, and would not suffer the town to
be imposed upon by scribblers. In the pit, they exerted themselves with
great spirit and vivacity; called out for the tunes of obscene songs,
talked loudly at intervals of Shakespeare and Jonson, played on their
catcalls a short prelude of terrour, clamoured vehemently for a
prologue, and clapped with great dexterity at the first entrance of the
players.
Two scenes they heard without attempting interruption; but, being no
longer able to restrain their impatience, they then began to exert
themselves in groans and hisses, and plied their catcalls with incessant
diligence; so that they were soon considered by the audience as
disturbers of the house; and some who sat near them, either provoked at
the obstruction of their entertainment, or desirous to preserve the
author from the mortification of seeing his hopes destroyed by children,
snatched away their instruments of criticism, and, by the seasonable
vibration of a stick, subdued them instantaneously to decency and
silence.
To exhilarate themselves after this vexatious defeat, they posted to a
tavern, where they recovered their alacrity, and, after two hours of
obstreperous jollity, burst out big with enterprize, and panting for
some occasion to signalize their prowess. They proceeded vigorously
through two streets, and with very little opposition dispersed a rabble
of drunkards less daring than themselves, then rolled two watchmen in
the kennel, and broke the windows of a tavern in which the fugitives
took shelter. At last it was determined to march up to a row of chairs,
and demolish them for standing on the pavement; the chairmen formed a
line of battle, and blows were exchanged for a time with equal courage
on both sides. At last the assailants were overpowered, and the
chairmen, when they knew then-captives, brought them home by force.
The young gentleman, next morning, hung his head, and was so much
ashamed of his outrages and defeat, that perhaps he might have been
checked in his first follies, had not his mother, partly in pity of his
dejection, and partly in approbation of his spirit, relieved him from
his perplexity by paying the damages privately, and discouraging all
animadversion and reproof.
This indulgence could not wholly preserve him from the remembrance of
his disgrace, nor at once restore his confidence and elation. He was for
three days silent, modest, and compliant, and thought himself neither
too wise for instruction, nor too manly for restraint. But his levity
overcame this salutary sorrow; he began to talk with his former raptures
of masquerades, taverns, and frolicks; blustered when his wig was not
combed with exactness; and threatened destruction to a tailor who had
mistaken his directions about the pocket.
I knew that he was now rising again above control, and that his
inflation of spirits would burst out into some mischievous absurdity. I
therefore watched him with great attention; but one evening, having
attended his mother at a visit, he withdrew himself, unsuspected, while
the company was engaged at cards. His vivacity and officiousness were
soon missed, and his return impatiently expected; supper was delayed,
and conversation suspended; every coach that rattled through the street
was expected to bring him, and every servant that entered the room was
examined concerning his departure. At last the lady returned home, and
was with great difficulty preserved from fits by spirits and cordials.
The family was despatched a thousand ways without success, and the house
was filled with distraction, till, as we were deliberating what further
measures to take, he returned from a petty gaming-table, with his coat
torn and his head broken; without his sword, snuff-box, sleeve-buttons,
and watch.
Of this loss or robbery, he gave little account; but, instead of sinking
into his former shame, endeavoured to support himself by surliness and
asperity. "He was not the first that had played away a few trifles, and
of what use were birth and fortune if they would not admit some sallies
and expenses?" His mamma was so much provoked by the cost of this prank,
that she would neither palliate nor conceal it; and his father, after
some threats of rustication which his fondness would not suffer him to
execute, reduced the allowance of his pocket, that he might not be
tempted by plenty to profusion. This method would have succeeded in a
place where there are no panders to folly and extravagance, but was now
likely to have produced pernicious consequences; for we have discovered
a treaty with a broker, whose daughter he seems disposed to marry, on
condition that he shall be supplied with present money, for which he is
to repay thrice the value at the death of his father.
There was now no time to be lost. A domestick consultation was
immediately held, and he was doomed to pass two years in the country;
but his mother, touched with his tears, declared, that she thought him
too much of a man to be any longer confined to his book, and he
therefore begins his travels to-morrow under a French governour.
I am, &c.
EUMATHES.
No. 196. SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 1, 1752.
_Multa ferunt anni venientes commoda secum,
Multa recedentes adimunt.--_ HOR. De Ar. Poet. 175.
The blessings flowing in with life's full tide,
Down with our ebb of life decreasing glide. FRANCIS.
Baxter, in the narrative of his own life, has enumerated several
opinions, which, though he thought them evident and incontestable at his
first entrance into the world, time and experience disposed him to
change.
Whoever reviews the state of his own mind from the dawn of manhood to
its decline, and considers what he pursued or dreaded, slighted or
esteemed, at different periods of his age, will have no reason to
imagine such changes of sentiment peculiar to any station or character.
Every man, however careless and inattentive, has conviction forced upon
him; the lectures of time obtrude themselves upon the most unwilling or
dissipated auditor; and, by comparing our past with our present
thoughts, we perceive that we have changed our minds, though perhaps we
cannot discover when the alteration happened, or by what causes it was
produced.
This revolution of sentiments occasions a perpetual contest between the
old and young. They who imagine themselves entitled to veneration by the
prerogative of longer life, are inclined to treat the notions of those
whose conduct they superintend with superciliousness and contempt, for
want of considering that the future and the past have different
appearances; that the disproportion will always be great between
expectation and enjoyment, between new possession and satiety; that the
truth of many maxims of age gives too little pleasure to be allowed till
it is felt; and that the miseries of life would be increased beyond all
human power of endurance, if we were to enter the world with the same
opinions as we carry from it.
We naturally indulge those ideas that please us. Hope will predominate
in every mind, till it has been suppressed by frequent disappointments.
The youth has not yet discovered how many evils are continually hovering
about us, and when he is set free from the shackles of discipline, looks
abroad into the world with rapture; he sees an elysian region open
before him, so variegated with beauty, and so stored with pleasure, that
his care is rather to accumulate good, than to shun evil; he stands
distracted by different forms of delight, and has no other doubt, than
which path to follow of those which all lead equally to the bowers of
happiness.
He who has seen only the superficies of life believes every thing to be
what it appears, and rarely suspects that external splendour conceals
any latent sorrow or vexation. He never imagines that there may be
greatness without safety, affluence without content, jollity without
friendship, and solitude without peace. He fancies himself permitted to
cull the blessings of every condition, and to leave its inconveniencies
to the idle and the ignorant. He is inclined to believe no man miserable
but by his own fault, and seldom looks with much pity upon failings or
miscarriages, because he thinks them willingly admitted, or negligently
incurred.
It is impossible, without pity and contempt, to hear a youth of generous
sentiments and warm imagination, declaring, in the moment of openness
and confidence, his designs and expectations; because long life is
possible, he considers it as certain, and therefore promises himself all
the changes of happiness, and provides gratifications for every desire.
He is, for a time, to give himself wholly to frolick and diversion, to
range the world in search of pleasure, to delight every eye, to gain
every heart, and to be celebrated equally for his pleasing levities and
solid attainments, his deep reflections and his sparkling repartees. He
then elevates his views to nobler enjoyments, and finds all the
scattered excellencies of the female world united in a woman, who
prefers his addresses to wealth and titles; he is afterwards to engage
in business, to dissipate difficulty, and overpower opposition: to
climb, by the mere force of merit, to fame and greatness; and reward all
those who countenanced his rise, or paid due regard to his early
excellence. At last he will retire in peace and honour; contract his
views to domestick pleasures; form the manners of children like himself;
observe how every year expands the beauty of his daughters, and how his
sons catch ardour from their father's history; he will give laws to the
neighbourhood; dictate axioms to posterity; and leave the world an
example of wisdom and of happiness.
With hopes like these, he sallies jocund into life; to little purpose is
he told, that the condition of humanity admits no pure and unmingled
happiness; that the exuberant gaiety of youth ends in poverty or
disease; that uncommon qualifications and contrarieties of excellence,
produce envy equally with applause; that whatever admiration and
fondness may promise him, he must marry a wife like the wives of others,
with some virtues and some faults, and be as often disgusted by her
vices, as delighted by her elegance; that if he adventures into the
circle of action, he must expect to encounter men as artful, as daring,
as resolute as himself; that of his children, some may be deformed, and
others vicious; some may disgrace him by their follies, some offend him
by their insolence, and some exhaust him by their profusion. He hears
all this with obstinate incredulity, and wonders by what malignity old
age is influenced, that it cannot forbear to fill his ears with
predictions of misery.
Among other pleasing errours of young minds, is the opinion of their own
importance. He that has not yet remarked, how little attention his
contemporaries can spare from their own affairs, conceives all eyes
turned upon himself, and imagines every one that approaches him to be an
enemy or a follower, an admirer or a spy. He therefore considers his
fame as involved in the event of every action. Many of the virtues and
vices of youth proceed from this quick sense of reputation. This it is
that gives firmness and constancy, fidelity, and disinterestedness, and
it is this that kindles resentment for slight injuries, and dictates all
the principles of sanguinary honour.
But as time brings him forward into the world, he soon discovers that he
only shares fame or reproach with innumerable partners; that he is left
unmarked in the obscurity of the crowd; and that what he does, whether
good or bad, soon gives way to new objects of regard. He then easily
sets himself free from the anxieties of reputation, and considers praise
or censure as a transient breath, which, while he hears it, is passing
away, without any lasting mischief or advantage.
In youth, it is common to measure right and wrong by the opinion of the
world, and, in age, to act without any measure but interest, and to lose
shame without substituting virtue.
Such is the condition of life, that something is always wanting to
happiness. In youth, we have warm hopes, which are soon blasted by
rashness and negligence, and great designs, which are defeated by
inexperience. In age, we have knowledge and prudence without spirit to
exert, or motives to prompt them; we are able to plan schemes and
regulate measures, but have not time remaining to bring them to
completion.
No. 197. TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 4, 1752.
_Cujus vulturis hoc erit cadaver_? MART. Lib. vi. Ep. lxii. 4.
Say, to what vulture's share this carcase falls? F. LEWIS
TO THE RAMBLER.
SIR,
I belong to an order of mankind, considerable at least for their number,
to which your notice has never been formally extended, though equally
entitled to regard with those triflers, who have hitherto supplied you
with topicks of amusement or instruction. I am, Mr. Rambler, a
legacy-hunter; and, as every man is willing to think well of the tribe
in which his name is registered, you will forgive my vanity, if I remind
you that the legacy-hunter, however degraded by an ill-compounded
appellation in our barbarous language, was known, as I am told, in
ancient Rome, by the sonorous titles of Captator and Hæredipeta.
My father was an attorney in the country, who married his master's
daughter in hopes of a fortune which he did not obtain, having been, as
he afterwards discovered, chosen by her only because she had no better
offer, and was afraid of service. I was the first offspring of a
marriage, thus reciprocally fraudulent, and therefore could not be
expected to inherit much dignity or generosity, and if I had them not
from nature, was not likely ever to attain them; for, in the years which
I spent at home, I never heard any reason for action or forbearance, but
that we should gain money or lose it; nor was taught any other style of
commendation, than that Mr. Sneaker is a warm man, Mr. Gripe has done
his business, and needs care for nobody.
My parents, though otherwise not great philosophers, knew the force of
early education, and took care that the blank of my understanding should
be filled with impressions of the value of money. My mother used, upon
all occasions, to inculcate some salutary axioms, such as might incite
me _to keep what I had, and get what I could_; she informed me that we
were in a world, where _all must catch that catch can_; and as I grew
up, stored my memory with deeper observations; restrained me from the
usual puerile expenses, by remarking that _many a little made a mickle_;
and, when I envied the finery of my neighbours, told me that _brag was a
good dog, but hold-fast was a better_.
I was soon sagacious enough to discover that I was not born to great
wealth; and having heard no other name for happiness, was sometimes
inclined to repine at my condition. But my mother always relieved me, by
saying, that there was money enough in the family, that _it was good to
be of kin to means_, that I had nothing to do but to please my friends,
and I might come to hold up my head with the best squire in the country.
These splendid expectations arose from our alliance to three persons of
considerable fortune. My mother's aunt had attended on a lady, who, when
she died, rewarded her officiousness and fidelity with a large legacy.
My father had two relations, of whom one had broken his indentures and
run to sea, from whence, after an absence of thirty years, he returned
with ten thousand pounds; and the other had lured an heiress out of a
window, who, dying of her first child, had left him her estate, on which
he lived, without any other care than to collect his rents, and preserve
from poachers that game which he could not kill himself.
These hoarders of money were visited and courted by all who had any
pretence to approach them, and received presents and compliments from
cousins who could scarcely tell the degree of their relation. But we had
peculiar advantages, which encouraged us to hope, that we should by
degrees supplant our competitors. My father, by his profession, made
himself necessary in their affairs; for the sailor and the chambermaid,
he inquired out mortgages and securities, and wrote bonds and contracts;
and had endeared himself to the old woman, who once rashly lent an
hundred pounds without consulting him, by informing her, that her
debtor, was on the point of bankruptcy, and posting so expeditiously
with an execution, that all the other creditors were defrauded.
To the squire he was a kind of steward, and had distinguished himself in
his office by his address in raising the rents, his inflexibility in
distressing the tardy tenants, and his acuteness in setting the parish
free from burdensome inhabitants, by shifting them off to some other
settlement.
Business made frequent attendance necessary; trust soon produced
intimacy; and success gave a claim to kindness; so that we had
opportunity to practise all the arts of flattery and endearment. My
mother, who could not support the thoughts of losing any thing,
determined, that all their fortunes should centre in me; and, in the
prosecution of her schemes, took care to inform me that _nothing cost
less than good words_, and that it is comfortable to leap into an estate
which another has got.
She trained me by these precepts to the utmost ductility of obedience,
and the closest attention to profit. At an age when other boys are
sporting in the fields or murmuring in the school, I was contriving some
new method of paying my court; inquiring the age of my future
benefactors; or considering how I should employ their legacies.
If our eagerness of money could have been satisfied with the possessions
of any one of my relations, they might perhaps have been obtained; but
as it was impossible to be always present with all three, our
competitors were busy to efface any trace of affection which we might
have left behind; and since there was not, on any part, such superiority
of merit as could enforce a constant and unshaken preference, whoever
was the last that flattered or obliged, had, for a time, the ascendant.
My relations maintained a regular exchange of courtesy, took care to
miss no occasion of condolence or congratulation, and sent presents at
stated times, but had in their hearts not much esteem for one another.
The seaman looked with contempt upon the squire as a milksop and a
landman, who had lived without knowing the points of the compass, or
seeing any part of the world beyond the county-town; and whenever they
met, would talk of longitude and latitude, and circles and tropicks,
would scarcely tell him the hour without some mention of the horizon and
meridian, nor shew him the news without detecting his ignorance of the
situation of other countries.
The squire considered the sailor as a rude uncultivated savage, with
little more of human than his form, and diverted himself with his
ignorance of all common objects and affairs; when he could persuade him
to go into the field, he always exposed him to the sportsmen, by sending
him to look for game in improper places; and once prevailed upon him to
be present at the races, only that he might shew the gentlemen how a
sailor sat upon a horse.
The old gentlewoman thought herself wiser than both, for she lived with
no servant but a maid, and saved her money. The others were indeed
sufficiently frugal; but the squire could not live without dogs and
horses, and the sailor never suffered the day to pass but over a bowl of
punch, to which, as he was not critical in the choice of his company,
every man was welcome that could roar out a catch, or tell a story.
All these, however, I was to please; an arduous task; but what will not
youth and avarice undertake? I had an unresisting suppleness of temper,
and an insatiable wish for riches; I was perpetually instigated by the
ambition of my parents, and assisted occasionally by their instructions.
What these advantages enabled me to perform, shall be told in the next
letter of,
Yours, &c.
CAPTATOR.
No. 198. SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 8, 1752.
_Nil mihi das vivus: dicis, post fata daturum.
Si non es stultus, scis, Maro, quid cupiam_. MART. Lib. xi. 67.
You've told me, Maro, whilst you live,
You'd not a single penny give,
But that whene'er you chance to die,
You'd leave a handsome legacy:
You must be mad beyond redress,
If my next wish you cannot guess. F. LEWIS.
MR. RAMBLER.
SIR,
You, who must have observed the inclination which almost every man,
however unactive or insignificant, discovers of representing his life as
distinguished by extraordinary events, will not wonder that Captator
thinks his narrative important enough to be continued. Nothing is more
common than for those to tease their companions with their history, who
have neither done nor suffered any thing that can excite curiosity, or
afford instruction.
As I was taught to flatter with the first essays of speech, and had very
early lost every other passion in the desire of money, I began my
pursuit with omens of success; for I divided my officiousness so
judiciously among my relations, that I was equally the favourite of all.
When any of them entered the door, I went to welcome him with raptures;
when he went away, I hung down my head, and sometimes entreated to go
with him with so much importunity, that I very narrowly escaped a
consent which I dreaded in my heart. When at an annual entertainment
they were altogether, I had a harder task; but plied them so impartially
with caresses, that none could charge me with neglect; and when they
were wearied with my fondness and civilities, I was always dismissed
with money to buy playthings.