Youtor..
2
L
Meflection
Emmyjum
ARTES
1817
SCIENTIA
VERITAS
LIBRARY
OF THE
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN
TUEBOR
SI QUÆRIS-PENINSULAM-AMENAM
CIRCUMSPICE


HY
+
L
£
6535
G73
27
1804
G6
AN
APOLOGY
FOR THE
CONDUCT OF THE GORDONS;
CONTAINING THE WHOLE OF THEIR
CORRESPONDENCE, CONVERSATION, &c.
WITH
MRS. LEE:
TO WHICH IS ANNEXED,
AN ACCURATE ACCOUNT
OF THEIR
EXAMINATION AT BOW STREET,
AND THEIR
TRIAL AT OXFORD.
THE FIFTH EDITION.
BY
LOUDOUN HARCOURT GORDON, Esq.
NON JOVI DATUR SAPERE ET AMARE.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR JOHN GINGER, 169, PICCADILLY;
AND
THOMAS HURST, PATERNOSTER-ROW.
1804.
}
Entered at Stationer's Hall.
FRINTED BY SLATTER AND MUNDAY, OXFORD.
8-19-43
SKV
English
meir
4-14-43
47248
INTRODUCTION.
SOME apology is certainly due to the
Public for this appeal to them, which
would not have been made, had not my
own and my brother's Trial been put an
end to previously to our entering upon
our Defence; in the course of which, I
have no hesitation in saying, that we
should have been enabled to prove that
the appearance of force, which was made
use of to conceal Mrs. Lee's wishes and
intentions from her servants, was the con-
sequence of a previous arrangement be-
tween Mrs. Lee and myself for her elope-
ment; and had not the evidence given
upon my own and my brother's Trial
been misrepresented in a variety of publi-
cations.
B 2
iv.
INTRODUCTION.
Unacquainted with the rules of compo-
sition, and uninstructed in the art of
making the "worse appear the better
reason," I humbly submit to an enlightened
and liberal Public, an accurate statement
of the whole of my brother's and
brother's and my own
conduct towards Mrs. Lee, from the re-
newal of our acquaintance with her, in
December last; together with an impartial
account of our Trial, which has been
copied from notes taken by my brother
Lockhart in Court.
It is not my intention to attempt a vin-
dication of my own or my brother's con-
duct, but merely to assert, and I trust that
I shall be enabled to prove to the Public,
that we have been the dupes of an artful
and treacherous woman; who, in her turn,
has been compelled to serve the interested
and mercenary purposes of others.
Mrs. Lee (then Miss Dashwood) resided
at my mother's house in Kensington
Square, during the greater part of the
years 1789 and 1790, and was the only
young person at that time under Mrs.
Gordon's protection. Lockhart and my-
self were then at different schools, and
INTRODUCTION.
V.
during the holydays we lived upon terms
of the greatest familiarity with Mrs. Lee.
No intercourse took place between Miss
Dashwood and Mrs. Gordon after she
left my mother, owing probably to Miss
Dashwood's living in the house with her
mother.
>
At the age of fourteen I was admitted a
Cadet at the Royal Military Academy, at
Woolwich, and obtained a Commission in
the Artillery when sixteen years old. In
1797 I went to Martinique; in February,
1798, I was compelled to return to Eu-
rope by ill health: in the month of June
following, I returned to the West Indies,
and remained there until July, 1803, when,
having been superseded in the Army for
having taken the benefit of an Act for the
further relief of insolvent debtors, I re-
turned to England and arrived at Liverpool
on the 19th of October last; soon after
which I went to London, and on my
brother's return to Town, lodged with
him for some time in the house where he
had lived more than two years. The usual
enquiries after former acquaintance, in-
duced me to ask Lockhart if he knew
B 3
vi.
INTRODUCTION.
what was become of Miss Dashwood.
Lockhart said that he believed she had
married, was separated, and lived at
Woodford. A bilious complaint occa-
sioned my calling upon Mr. Blackett, on
the 2nd of December, 1803, who had for
many years attended my mother's family
as her Apothecary. Amongst others of my
former acquaintance I asked Mr. Blackett
if he knew any thing of Miss Dashwood.
Mr. Blackett told me that she was now
Mrs. Lee, and lived at Woodford, but
that she either had taken a house or was
about to take one in Bolton Row, Picca-
dilly, Mr. Blackett has since said, that he
had a private reason for not informing me
where Mrs, Lee lived, When Mr. Blackett
informed Mrs. Lee that I had made enqui-
ries after her, she desired Mr. Blackett " to
let Loudoun know that she should be hap-
py to see him.' Mr. Blackett mentioned
that circumstance to me during my con-
finement in the new Prison, Clerkenwell,
I accidentally heard, a few days after my
having seen Mr. Blackett, where Mrs. Lee
lived, and called upon her for the first
time, on the evening of the 14th of
""
INTRODUCTION.
Vil.
December.
The impression which the
charms of Miss Dashwood had made upon
my mind, in childhood, was not effaced;
separated from her by many hundred
leagues, amidst the terrors of a vertical
sun, I have frequently contemplated with
melancholy pleasure upon her beauty
and talents, which even during infancy had
created a lasting passion in my breast. The
warm reception which I received from
Mrs. Lee, rekindled the latent flame; my
own inclination, united to the artful pro-
vocations made use of by Mrs. Lee to
effect her wishes, soon deprived me of all
power of resistance or reflection. I was
insensibly ensnared, and unconscious of
the criminality of my conduct, I submitted
to the importunity with which Mrs. Lee
unceasingly endeavoured to persuade me
to use my influence to induce Lockhart to
visit her. Unhappily my endeavours were
but too successful. What I have suffered or
may do, for myself it is nothing, but I shall
for ever deplore the fate of an affectionate
brother, who has been condemned unheard.
During my second visit to Mrs. Lee, on
the 16th of December, she told me that
B 4
viii.
INTRODUCTION.
she was then writing a letter to excuse her
going to Bath, which she had intended
to do.
What could induce Mrs. Lee to alter her
intention of going to Bath so suddenly?
Was it the fear of losing an Hebrew lesson
by Mr. Friend, the once well-known ci-
devant Fellow of Jesus College, Cambridge,
in a morning? Or was it to avoid the dis-
appointment which Mrs. Lee would feel
at not having an evening tete-a-tete with
Sir William Beachey? Whatever was the
whim of the moment, Mrs. Lee remained
in London, and appointed the 24th of
December for our next interview. On that
day Mrs. Lee gave me the
me the paper contain-
ing what she then was pleased to tell me
was her dream; she has since confessed it
was a fiction. For what?—I leave the un-
prejudiced reader to define the motive
which induced a married woman, who was
in the most delicate of all situations in
which a married woman can possibly be
placed, to trump up a parcel of nonsensi-
cal words, which will readily bear a most
indecent interpretation, and to communicate
such ribaldry to a very young man, who
INTRODUCTION.
ix:
:
she well knew had passed the latter part of
his life in the Army. The erasure of her
name from the bottom of the fictitious
Dream was the first proof of the cautious
turpitude, with which Mrs. Lee has invari-
ably acted towards me. Most unhappily for
Mrs. Lee, for my brother, for myself, for
every one who is so unfortunate as to be
most distantly connected with us, I shewed
the Dream to Lockhart, with Mrs. Lee's
previous consent. He immediately told me
that it would bear a religious interpretation,
and gave me the outline of that exposition
which I afterwards transmitted to Mrs. Lee,
and which is faithfully transcribed from the
original manuscript, for the inspection of
the public, in the following pages.
The voice of scandal which has been so
loud against my brother and myself, will,
I trust, be silenced by the religious and
moral tendency of what the Public have
been induced to believe was written in the
most indecent language, to serve the most
infamous purposes. Far be it from me to
treat the hallowed subject of Christianity
with unbecoming levity. The only motive
X.
INTRODUCTION.
which could induce Lockhart to lend his
assistance, must have been a sincere desire
to point out to Mrs. Lee, in the only way
which was likely to be effectual, the weak-
ness and wickedness of scepticism. I trust
that what was written with so good an in-
tention will not be wholly useless.
Mrs. Lee lived for some years in a Con-
vent in France, and early imbibed the
dogmas of that false philosophy which has
since given rise to all the crimes and mad-
ness of the dreadful Revolution, which has
so long devastated that unhappy country.
Upon Mrs. Lee's return to England, she
was placed under the protection of my
mother; it was to have been hoped that
she would have derived benefit from the
virtuous precepts and exemplary conduct
of a learned, a pious, and an enlightened
christian,
On Friday, the 30th of December,
Lockhart called with me upon Mrs. Lee,
about one o'clock, in consequence of her
repeated and pressing request that he would
do so. Her insinuating conduct cannot
be more forcibly exemplified than by a
perusal of the conversation which took
INTRODUCTION.
xi.
place on that day. The melancholy detail
which she gave of her situation must have
excited the commiseration of the hardest
heart; and cowardice itself would have
been induced, from her representation, to
afford her that protection and support,
which she declared was denied her by those,
whose duty and interest it is to defend her.
The regret
which Lockhart expressed at
having seen Mrs. Lee arose from the purest
philanthropy, founded on a belief that Mrs.
Lee was an injured and virtuous woman.
Mrs. Lee did not venture to make a futuré
appointment in Lockhart's presence, which
she never failed to do both before and after
that visit. Remark the ingenuity with which
she contrived to draw me again to her
house; on Sunday, the 1st of January, she
sent me some comments upon my Interpre-
tation of her Dream, in a letter concluding
with the following words:
"The natural attraction which we
feel towards those whom we have known
in the days of childhood, induces me to
express a wish to see you in the course of
next week,"
xii.
INTRODUCTION.
The attraction which Mrs.Lee felt towards
me, was, I have no doubt, natural enough;
and very naturally she described it, on
Sunday, the 8th of January, the day ap
pointed by herself for me to visit her. I
will not more than once disgust the Public
with an account of what passed on that
morning, and shall only remark that I was
induced to call again upon Mrs. Lee at
eleven o'clock of the same night: she was
in bed. When I called upon her on the
next day, Davidson, her female servant,
put a note into my hands, containing the
following words:
"I cannot possibly see you unless
I receive an apology."
I carried a flaming apology to Mrs.
Lee in the evening, (Monday, the 9th of
January.) The effect which it produced will
be described in the following Narrative.
On that night she shewed me a passage in
her own hand writing, containing, to the
best of my recollection, the following
words.
"It is my determination to pass
the remainder of my life in the society of a
INTRODUCTION.
xiii.
male companion; and with him to follow
the plan of a Sect in Germany, who lead
a monastic life, with the exception of ce-
libacy."
I leave it to an impartial Public to affix
epithets to the name of a married woman,
who, after having shewn such a passage as
that above-mentioned, to a young man,
with whom she had previously agreed to
elope, endeavoured to deprive him of his
life and character, by swearing that her
elopement was against her inclination.
On Wednesday, the 11th of January, I
received a letter from Mrs. Lee, which is
given at length in the narrative.
It ap-
pears, at first sight, to be an argument
against her elopement, which had pre-
viously been determined upon; but when
the following extracts are compared with
Mrs. Lee's determination, which she had
before avowed, "to pass the rest of her
life with a male companion," any unbiassed
person must be convinced, that letter was
merely intended to draw an answer from
and to implicate Lockhart in the
elopement, both which objects it unfortu-
nately accomplished.
me,
;
xiv.
INTRODUCTION;
CC
My determination is fixed, and
those who will not second it, are no friends
of mine; shew this letter to your brother,
and believe me to be, &c."
If Mrs. Lee's determination was already
fixed not to elope with me, what necessity
was there for letting Lockhart know that
such an improper scheme had ever been in
agitation. The former part of the letter
discovers Mrs. Lee's motive for wishing my
brother to second the elopement:
"Neither your age nor your situ-
ation in life, are such as to afford me that
protection and support which will be ne-
cessary."
And therefore she asked Lockhart in the
plainest, although the most artful terms,
whether he would unite his protection and
support to mine. Lockhart's answer to
Mrs. Lee, together with my own, are
given in the annexed Narrative. I will not
attempt to justify either: my own was
dictated by that spirit of infatuation which
irresistibly hurried me beyond the bounds
of prudence and of virtue; and by incessant
importunity I induced Lockhart to become
an accessary to my own and Mrs. Lee's guilt.
INTRODUCTION.
XV.
On Thursday, the 12th of January, I
called upon Mrs. Lee; the subject of
conversation was our elopement, which
she promised to undertake speedily; and
desired me to ask Lockhart to dine with
her on Sunday, that we might talk over
and complete the plan. What must the
world think of a married woman, who is
capable of asking two brothers to dine at
her house, and who put off her dinner
an hour beyond the usual time, in order
that the plan of her elopement might
be circumstantially arranged? The Public
will naturally expect that some reason for
the elopement should be assigned; Mrs.
Lee herself gave the reason:
❝ Do you
mean to live with me in this house? If you
do, you cannot, my husband resides within
two streets of me." Well, but what could
induce her to make such a furious bustle,
if she really wished and intended to go?
Aye there's the rub.”
66
Davidson, her female servant, had lived
twelve years (according to her own state-
ment on the Trial) in Mr. Lee's family,
previously to her entering Mrs. Lee's
service, and was, as Mrs. Lee more than
xvi.
INTRODUCTION.
hinted, a spy of Mr. Lee's. It was equally
dangerous to discharge her, or to let her
into the secret. Mrs. Lee, with her usual
ingenuity, chose the middle course, and
preserved her character with Davidson,
whilst she gratified her wishes in eloping
with me. Had Mrs. Lee seriously intended
not to complete her promise, she had ample
time and opportunity to escape from the
house, or to procure the whole police of
London for her protection. One convincing
proof that Mrs. Lee might easily have pro-
cured the assistance of the very watchmen
who took Lockhart into custody on the
following night, is, that not more than five
minutes elapsed from the time that Lock-
hart stopped in the hackney coach, at Mrs.
Lee's door, on Monday night, the 16th of
January, before he was surrounded in Clar-
ges Street by an hundred people. If Mrs.
Lee was really alarmed at the sight of Lock-
hart's pistol, what could induce her to tell
her man-servant to desire him to come into
the drawing room? Why did she not men-
tion her being alarmed to the inan-servant,
when he carried candles to Mrs. Lee in the
drawing room?
INTRODUCTION.
xvii.
Before Mrs. Lee left the eating room,
Lockhart desired her to go up stairs, to
dress herself in her riding habit, and put
together whatever linen would be abso-
lutely necessary for her journey. When
Mrs. Lee left the eating room, she went into
her bedchamber, no doubt with an intention
of following Lockhart's advice, but on find-
ing Davidson there, on her coming up stairs,
Mrs. Lee found it necessary to act the far-
cical part which is detailed in the evidence
given by Davidson on the Trial. Davidson
has sworn that Mrs. Lee was very low
during the whole of Sunday. I will not
positively assert the cause of her more
than usual depression of spirits before
dinner, but I assert, without fear of con-
tradiction from Mr. Edmonds, who is the
respectable master of the Inn, at Tets-
worth, and who waited upon Mrs. Lee,
during the whole time of supper, that few
women have ever such a flow of spirits, as
she appeared to have on Sunday evening.
Mrs. Lee's refusal to take any clothes
with her, was the necessary consequence
of her determination not to entrust David-
son with her secret; and her not taking
C
xvilk.
INTRODUCTION.
any money may be most happily accounted
for, by her having declared to me some
days before, that she had none, nor should
have any until the beginning of February.
Much,. I am told, has been said about
my being in debt, and that it was impos-
sible for me to remain in London another
day. It is not my wish, if it were in my
power, to deny the fact of my having been
compelled to contract debts which I am at
present unable to pay. I was seven long
years in the army, six of which I passed in
various parts of the West Indies and the
British Settlements in America, where it is
well known that every article of consump-
tion is double, and frequently three times
the price at which it can be procured in
this country. I was compelled once, during
that period, to return to England, and
once to go to America, for the recovery
of
my health, at my own expence. I was
confined three months at Bellise, in the
Bay of Honduras, by a dreadful and ex-
pensive illness, the terrible effects of a
Coup-de-soleil. I trust my relations and
the Public will not think my having been
compelled to take the benefit of an Act for
!
INTRODUCTION.
xix.
the further relief of insolvent debtors, an
unpardonable offence, when they know
that I never received the smallest pecu-
niary assistance beyond my pay.
I was
impressed from my earliest infancy with
the highest aristocratic ideas of the dig-
nity and consequence which ought to be
attached to those persons who are con-
nected with many of the most illustrious
families in England, and most of those
in Scotland. It has been my misfortune
to have lived, in the younger part of my
life, with those who were greatly my
superiors in fortune, and to have been
turned adrift on the wide world at the age
of sixteen, without having the benefit of
the experience and controul of a father,
who might have informed me, before it
was too late, that a man who lives beyond
his income, whatever may be his situation
in life, can neither be respectable nor
happy.
That Mrs. Lee was not unacquainted
with my situation, is evident from her
letter to me, of the 11th of January. I
told Mrs. Lee that I was no longer in the
Army; she knew that I was unqualified for
C 2
XX.
INTRODUCTION,
any other profession, and therefore when
she proposed our living together, must
have intended to share her fortunes with
mine, whatever they were.
Mrs. Lee has acknowledged to a most
respectable person since the Trial, that she
eloped with her own consent, and that
person will make an affidavit of her having
said so, should it be necessary.
I pity Mrs. Lee from my soul, and la-
ment that I am not as ignorant of her for-
mer conduct as I was on the evening of
our elopement. It would have been some
alleviation of the horrors of a prison, of
the loss of my character, and of my liberty,
(perhaps for the rest of my life,) to have
known that what I have suffered or may do,
was owing to my fatal attachment to a
woman, who deserved my love. My life is
embittered by knowing, with certainty,
that consolation can never be mine. I
forgive Mrs. Lee, and sincerely wish she
may enjoy that happiness of which she has
deprived me for ever.
The sum for which I am detained in
prison amounts to two hundred pounds;
one hundred and eighteen of which is for a
INTRODUCTION.
xxi.
{
debt contracted in the West Indies, long
before I took the benefit of the Insolvent
Debtors Act; but which I was compelled
to give a note of hand for, in Jamaica,
payable in London, in December last, by
a threat of immediate imprisonment on my
arrival in this country. Had I then been
aware of the illegality of that threat, I
should certainly not have given the note,
much as I wished to discharge the claim.
The sum of fifty eight pounds is due to the
Captain of the ship, who brought me to
England. I owe the remainder to my
Taylor. It appeared to me to be absolutely
necessary, that I should lay the above
detail before the public, as many infamous
falshoods are, I am informed, in circulation
with respect to my character. General
Churchill, who kindly appeared to give his
evidence on my trial, expressed his opinion
of my conduct as an officer and a gentleman
to several persons at Oxford, with the
warmth of a real friend and the liberality
of a perfect gentleman.
To return to the immediate object_of
this publication. It is worthy of remark
that the moment Mrs. Lee walked out of
C 3
xxii.
INTRODUCTION.
her house, being no longer in dread of
what her servants might say, she threw off
all restraint, by laughing so loud, that the
post boy who drove her to Uxbridge was
able to swear that he heard her. Lord
Stair's coachman has declared that he could
and would have stopped Mrs. Lee, had
there been the smallest reason to imagine,
from her conduct, that any compulsion
had been made use of. Mrs. Lee was so
collected immediately after her getting into
the post chaise, as to ask me whether I
had shut the door: undoubtedly Mrs. Lee
asked that question for fear (as it actually
happened) that her servants should endea
your to prevent her elopement,
As to Lockhart's saying "drive on or I
will shoot you," the post boy swore that
gentlemen" very frequently said so to him;"
and indeed it is a bad expression which
Lockhart has acquired by his being much
in the habit of sporting, added to a natural
warmth of temper. Before Mrs. Lee reach-
ed Tyburn Turnpike, she desired Lockhart
to observe how perfectly collected she was.
What in the name of good fortune could
possibly prevent her being so? She well
INTRODUCTION.
xxiii.
!
knew the necessity there was to intimidate
the servants, and to make them believe that
she was really forced out of her house; and
to do them justice, as far as their evidence
can go, they have endeavoured to convince
the world of the truth of their assertions.
The only evidence Mrs. Lee's Counsel had
to produce in support of the charge against
my brother and myself, were Mrs. Lee's own
servants. To prove how impartial they were,
I have evidence to substantiate that one servant
swore on Sunday evening, after Mrs. Lee's
elopement, that "we will hang them" (mean-
brother and myself)" if possible."
ing my
I have again to apologize for quitting the
subject; the post boy drove us well, but Mrs.
Lee's wishes far outstripped the legs of the
horses; before we had gone five miles on the
Uxbridge road, I felt her fumbling about my
fingers and could not imagine what she could
be doing. She discovered the ring which I
had offered to her after dinner, upon my hand;
she took it off; I conjectured her intention,
and was in the of putting it upon the
act
C 4
xxiv.
INTRODUCTION,
*
fourth finger of her right hand, when she
laughed and said "you do not know your
right hand from your left" and gave me her
left hand, upon the fourth finger of which I
put the ring. One of the serious charges
against my brother, is, that he had prophaned
the sacred rite of marriage, by desiring me
to present a ring to Mrs. Lee. If he really
desired me to give that ring to Mrs. Lee with
a view of ridiculing or superseding her previous
marriage, he is either a fool or a madman;
and is equally entitled to commiseration, I
offered that fatal ring to Mrs. Lee as a token of
the eternal love and friendship for her, which
I then vowed, and must for ever feel. At the
moment Lockhart told me to present the ring
to Mrs. Lee, he gave way to his feelings, with-
out consulting his reason; he consented to the
gratification of a passion he had then much
reason to believe was sincere. The return
which she has made to Lockhart is such as
he deserved, and such as, had he known the
whole of her conduct, he would have ex-
dected.→→ Women who have once forfeited:
INTRODUCTION.
XXV.
their characters, know that there is no reprieve
in this world from the severe sentence which
is passed against them, and which for ever
drives them from the society of the virtuous
and independent: careless of their present and
hopeless of their future fate, they stalk abroad;
and like painted sepulchres, are at once the pest
and ornament of the city that contains them.
Mrs. Lee denied, during her cross examina-
tion on the Trial, her having accepted the ring,
which Lockhart desired Loudoun to offer to
her. Mrs. Lee had previously sworn that she
refused the ring, when first offered to her, and
probably thought that it would appear like
something more than inconsistency if she ac-
knowledged her having voluntarily taken it
from me in the post chaise.-Mrs. Lee con-
fessed, during her cross examination, that she
took her steel necklace from her neck, to which
a small bag of camphor was attached:
it was
her charm against pleasure." If proof were
wanted of the folly, not to say the madness of
infidelity, it might be fairly adduced, from Mrs.
Lee's having declared that she does not believe
"
xxvi.
INTRODUCTION.
in the truth of Christianity, and yet she sup-
poses that a small bag of camphor can restrain
those passions which the Great Author of our
Being has given us for the wisest and most
beneficent purposes, together with reason to
govern them.—Mrs. Lee admits the credibility
of her own dreams, the natural effect of indi-
gestion; yet she affects to disbelieve the truth
of those miracles and prophecies which have,
for ages, convinced the best and wisest of
mankind.-Infidelity will believe any thing but
the Bible. It has been very generally supposed
that Mrs. Lee's confession of her having thrown
away her necklace put an end to the Trial; the
fact is otherwise, as will be seen by a perusal
of Mrs. Lee's cross examination.
Mrs. Lee swore, on her examination before.
the Magistrates in Bow Street, that she was
nearly in a state of insensibility during the
whole of her journey to Tetsworth, and on the
Trial she softened it down to her being panic
struck. What Mrs. Lee's ideas may be of
insensibility and being panic struck, I will
not venture to determine, but I must be al-
INTRODUCTION.
.xxvii.
lowed to say, that she frequently gave me
greater proofs of sensibility in the post chaise,
than Lockhart wished, or could prevent, by
any thing he said.-When Mrs. Lee arrived
at Tetsworth, she became extremely facetious,
and asked me whether in my great coat, which
she had on,
"she did not look like a soldier's
trull."
Before supper Mrs. Lee asked for egg wine,
which appears to be her favourite liquor. As
Mrs. Lee believes that camphor can perform
one sort of miracle, she probably supposes
that an egg can perform wonders of another
kind. She discarded one charm because she
had no further use for it; and lost no oppor-
tunity, during the rest of our journey, of
shewing her devotion to a new one. Unfor-
tunately there was only one egg in the house
that night, Mrs. Lee eat that. I rather think
the charm consists in the number of eggs
which any one may eat, for I observed that
Mrs. Lee eat more every succeeding day than
she had done the day before.
Next morning Mrs. Lee had breakfasted
{
xxviii.
INTRODUCTION.
and written her letter to Davidson, before
Lockhart and myself were dressed. When
we came down stairs we found Mrs. Lee in
a gown which Mrs. Edmonds had kindly lent
her, until her own was washed; she was a
most ridiculous figure; Lockhart smiled which
very much encreased her ill-humour. Much
unpleasant altercation passed, and Lockhart
in vain endeavoured to convince her that she
had no cause to be alarmed at his returning to
London.
Soon after Lockhart left Tetsworth Mrs.
Lee sent for Mrs. Edmonds, the mistress of
the Inn, into her bedchamber, and told her
that "
she had been forcibly brought from her
house in London, by the two young men who
came with her." Mrs. Edmonds commis-
erated her situation, and told her she should
be happy to render her any assistance; adding,
"I suppose, Madam, you will not go any
farther."-"O yes," answered Mrs. Lee, "I
shall go on.
go`on.”
Mrs. Lee's letter to Davidson is a master-
piece of art; she was afraid that Davidson
INTRODUCTION.
xxix.
might suspect the truth from her having made.
no resistance in London; and therefore wrote
to her the following words, to convince Da-
vidson of her innocence:
"No money, no clothes, death or
compliance."
Davidson knew as well as Mrs. Lee that
she had neither money nor clothes; and Mrs.
Lee swore, on her Trial, that no sort of per-
sonal violence was at any time used towards
her. The letter is equally absurd and false;
had she wished for assistance, Mrs. Edmonds
would have procured it for her at Tetsworth;
had she wished Davidson to know where she
was going to, she would have told her. If
Mrs. Lee had not acted with duplicity and
treachery towards my brother and myself, she
would have deserved, and no doubt would
have excited universal compassion; her situ-
ation was dreadful in the extreme, there being
no alternative left her, between the resignation
of her fortune and reputation to the mercy of
a husband she detests, or her endeavouring to
convict me.
XXX.
INTRODUCTION.
And here I think it my duty to exonerate
Lockhart from the charge of his having com-
pelled me to go to bed with Mrs. Lee against
my inclination, by saying, when I was in his
bed-room, “if you do not get out of the room
I will shoot you." It is true that Lockhart did
make use of words to that effect; it was past
five o'clock in the morning; Lockhart was
tired and wanted to go to bed, but he certainly
was not so anxious to get me out of his room
as I was to go. I was longer undressing
myself than usual; Lockhart was impatient
and turned me out of his room without my
dressing-gown; the chamber-maid, who was
in the room during the whole time, would
have sworn that what Lockhart said was not
spoken seriously.
!
1
Mrs. Lee was highly delighted with the
shawl which I purchased for her at Oxford,
and I have been informed she actually wore
the veil I gave her at Oxford, and only took it
off on her coming into Court.
At North Leach Mrs. Lee drank freely of
her favouite beverage, egg wine;
‹ slept in
INTRODUCTION.
xxxi.
different beds, but Mrs. Lee invited me in the
morning to share her's, which I readily com-
plied with.
帘
​Tuesday, the 17th of January, at breakfast,
Mrs. Lee ate several eggs; we arrived safely at
Gloucester, went to bed merrily, and on Wed-
nesday morning Mrs. Lee ate a more than
usual quantity of eggs. She was very anxious
for Lockhart's arrival, and appeared to think
that some accident had certainly befallen him;
as she had dreamed that part of his skull was
blown away.
When Miller, the Bow Street Officer, made:
his appearance, Mrs. Lee either was over-
whelmed with sorrow and despair, or she
acted to admiration. What Mrs. Lee's opinion
of such a measure then was, may be discovered
by her saying that "it was a base and unwar-
rantable liberty which had been taken with her,
by sending a Bow Street Officer to take her
and Loudoun into custody."
:
During the time of dinner, at Gloucester,
Mrs. Lee reprobated the circumstance of a
Bow Street Officer having been sent to appre-
hend me, in the strongest terms. Mrs. Lee gave
xxxii.
INTRODUCTION.
such convincing proofs of her feelings, that
Miller said, in the kitchen of the Inn at Tets-
worth, "She loves him as she does her own dear
eyes." No one will suspect Miller of having
too much of the milk of human kindness in
his composition; yet he was less hardened
than others and permitted us to make vows
of eternal fidelity to each other in private.
Mrs. Lee has broken those vows; the awful
period must arrive, when we shall have to
answer for them at the bar of an unerring and
just Judge. I trust that by sincere repentance
and contrition for our past errors and crimes,
we shall obtain that mercy which the world is
neither inclined nor enabled to bestow.
During my confinement in the New Prison,
Clerkenwell, Mrs. Lee sent me word by a
mutual friend, that she intended to keep the
promise which she had made to me at Ux-
bridge. Mrs. Lee made two promises to me
at that place; the one was, that she would, if
I wished it, pass the remainder of her life
with me; the other, that she would share my
imprisonment, should it be continued; the
only thing I have to thank Mrs. Lee for, is
her not having performed those promises.
INTRODUCTION.
xxxiii.
:
:
Mrs. Lee expressed her sorrow for my
situation, to the same common friend, during
my confinement in Tothill Fields Bridewell
and said that she "regretted extremely her
inability to supply me with money, as her So-
licitor had distrained fifty pounds of her in-
come, to pay the expences of the Bow Street
Officer, to Gloucester and back again to Lon-
don." It is some consolation to me that I
have never received nor solicited any kind of
favour or assistance whatsoever from Mrs. Lee.
I am aware that it is making a miserable
apology for the many errors of this publication,
to say, that the Printer has frequently waited
until I have supplied him with a continuation
of the manuscript. I was induced to publish
a statement of my brother's conduct and my
own to Mrs. Lee, not from a wish to obtain
literary honours, but from an anxious desire
to confute the authors and retailers of the
gross falshoods which have been circulated to
our prejudice, with so much industry and
success. That I have failed in the execution,
must be attributed to my want of ability, not
to the weakness of my case.
My brother
went to London after his acquittal, with a de-
D
xxxiv.
INTRODUCTION.
termination to bear "the whips and scorns of
outrageous fortune," rather than publish a line
in his defence.
This work appears before the Public under
every disadvantage. I regret that I have not
been enabled to state my case with the minute
accuracy which I should have done, had I not
delayed writing it until three weeks after the
Trial, when I found myself imperiously called
upon to publish it, in consequence of the
clamour which has been raised against my
brother and myself. I can most positively
assert that no one circumstance which is de-
tailed in this publication, is either intentionally
or actually falsified.
Mrs. Lee has long sighed for immortality;
so inconsistent is infidelity, even with its own
dogmas; and has frequently declared that she
"would do any thing to obtain notoriety." I
wish her joy at having, though not uninten-
tionally, unexpectedly acccomplished so de-
sirable an object, and only lament that my
brother's name and my own will be handed
down to posterity, together with Mrs. Lee's.
L. H. GORDON.
Oxford Castle, April 7th, 1804.
NARRATIVE.
1
LOUDOUN GORDON called upon Mrs.
(C
Lee, at her house in Bolton Row, for the first
time after his return from the West Indies,
about seven o'clock on the evening of Wed-
nesday, the 14th of December, 1803. William
Martin, Mrs. Lee's man-servant, opened the
door, and said that his mistress was not at
home: Loudoun then asked for a card to write
his name upon; whilst the man-servant was
fetching the card, Mrs. Lee called from the
drawing-room door and said, William, who
is that?" William Martin then asked Loudoun
his name, and the servant replied to Mrs. Lee,
"Mr. Loudoun Gordon.' Mrs. Lee imme-
diately said, "Let him walk up" Loudoun
then walked up stairs into the drawing-room;
the usual expressions of joy at meeting again
were exchanged, after which the conversation
became general: Mrs. Lee spoke feelingly of
her misfortune in having married Mr. Lee, she
made some severe comments upon his conduct,
which from Mrs. Lee's description did not
D 2
36
+
much redound to his credit as a husband. Mrs.
Lee enquired kindly after Loudoun's mother,
his sister, and Lockhart; and finding from
Loudoun that Lockhart was in London, she
earnestly expressed her desire to see him, and
she requested Loudoun to communicate her
wishes to Lockhart, and to endeavour to per-
suade him to call upon her with Loudoun
at his next visit. Mrs. Lee shed tears when
she mentioned the death of Loudoun's late
elder sister Caroline, and requested to see an
elegant and affectionate letter which Caroline
had written to Loudoun when in the West
Indies, a few days previous to her death,
Davidson, the female servant, was sent to fetch
Mr. Dashwood's picture (Mrs. Lee's brother,)
and the man-servant brought coffee; with those
exceptions, no third person was in the room
during this visit, which lasted about two hours.
When Loudoun rose to take leave of Mrs. Lee,
she requested him to call upon her again on
Saturday, (the 17th of December,) and which
he promised to do; Loudoun then saluted Mrs.
Lee, which she chearfully acquiesced in, and
took his leave of her.
On Friday, the 16th of December, Loudoun
called upon Mrs. Lee, about one o'clock, was
admitted by her man-servant; when Loudoun
37
1
went into the drawing-room Mrs. Lee said,
"I did not expect you till to-morrow (Satu-
day,) and that I might have the pleasure of
seeing you, I have put off an engagement I had
for that day." Loudoun recollected that he
had anticipated the day of his visit, and apolo-
gized to Mrs. Lee for so common an error.
Mrs. Lee asked Loudoun whether he had com-
municated to Lockhart the wish she had ex-
pressed to see him; Loudoun told her that he
had, and that he would endeavour to persuade
Lockhart to come with him the next time he
called upon her. Mrs. Lee expressed her hope
that Loudoun would succeed in bringing Lock-
hart to her house. The conversation turned
upon books and, antient poetical writers; Mrs.
Lee said, that Anacreon was one of her favour-
ite poets, though she disliked poetry in general;
Loudoun said that he had an excellent transla-
tion of the Odes of Anacreon and Sappho's
Fragments; which Mrs. Lee expressed a desire
to see. Loudoun said she should have it to
read. Mrs. Lee requested Loudoun to read
Vaillant's Travels into the Interior of Africa,
and give her his opinion of those travels at his
next visit. Loudoun left the two pamphlets
which he had promised Mrs. Lee on the 14th
of December. Mrs. Lee told Loudoun that
she intended to have gone to Bath in a short
D 3
38
time, but that she had just resolved to defer
her leaving London: Loudoun rose to take his
leave of Mrs. Lee, when she fixed upon Satur-
day, the 24th of December, for his next visit.
On Saturday, the 24th of December, about
one o'clock, Loudoun called upon Mrs. Lee,
according to her appointment; before he was
seated, Mrs. Lee said "I had a presentiment
that your brother would not come with you,
and I think that I know the reason; he has
probably heard that my opinions are sceptical,
and that I have made many enemies by having
become a sceptick, which I suppose is the cause
of his not accompanying you; however, you
may tell him, if you please, if he will let me
see him, that I will never introduce the subject
of religion." Loudoun replied, "that he was
not aware of Lockhart being acquainted that
Mrs. Lee had imbibed sceptical opinions, and
that he believed Lockhart to be too liberal in
his sentiments to make that the cause of his not
accompanying Loudoun to call upon her.”
Mrs. Lee then said, "What is the reason then
that Lockhart does not come with you!
Loudoun replied, "I am ignorant of his rea-
sons, but I well know that he has a larger ac-
quaintance than he can possibly visit." Loudoun
told Mrs. Lee his opinion upon Vaillant's
39
Travels, "that he had been amused in reading
them, but that he should have been better
satisfied if he had seen the cabinet of curiosities
which Vaillant asserts he had collected in
Africa, particularly as some doubt remained in
Loudoun's mind as to the truth of Vaillant's
assertions, which were at variance with former
travellers in Africa."
Mrs. Lee reminded Loudoun of his not hav-
ing sent Anacreon and the other books. Mrs.
Lee told Loudoun that "she had not been out of
her house for two months." Loudoun perceiving
the state of her mind, requested Mrs. Lee to
use exercise and other recreation, and proposed
her going to see a pantomime, which is usually
performed at Christmas: Mrs. Lee in some
measure consented to go, but mentioned one
obstacle which prevented her, and that was "the
fear of being insulted at the theatre :" after Mrs.
Lee had stated in strong colours her "dread of
insult," Loudoun offered to go with Mrs. Lee
to the theatre, and protect her.
gave
her approbation, and laughed.
tioned her having had a dream,
would permit it, she would read it to him: she
then read the dream hereafter inserted, and
made some remarks upon its extraordinary
nature, and said that "the time of her dream-
Mrs. Lee
Mrs. Lee men-
and if Loudoun
D 4
40
ing it was equally remarkable with the dream
itself, having been a few days before the
appear-
ance of the late meteor," with which phenomenon
Mrs. Lee appeared to think her dream might
have some connexion. Loudoun observing Mrs.
Lee's anxiety upon the subject of her dream,
said that “it would probably bear some kind of
elucidation, and that if she would entrust
him with the paper on which it was written,
he would endeavour to suggest some ra-
tional interpretation of it." Mrs. Lee con-
sented to let him have the dream, provided that
Loudoun would promise upon his honour to
shew her hand-writing to no one, with the ex-
ception of Lockhart: the promise being made,
Mrs. Lee carefully erased her name from the
bottom of the paper containing her dream, and
it to Loudoun for interpretation. The
gave
rest of the conversation was general; no third
person was in the room during this visit, which
lasted about two hours: when Loudoun rose
to take his leave of Mrs. Lee, she said that she
still hoped to see Lockhart, and made an ap-
pointment of some future day for Loudoun's
next visit. He observed, "it was not custo-
mary with him to be confined to any particular
day to visit his friends, and that in future he
intended to call upon Mrs. Lee occasionally."
*
41.
The following is the dream which Mrs. Lee
gave Loudoun Gordon to interpret.
"At about three o'clock in the morning, as
the Watchman afterwards informed me, and as
I guessed, I thought I looked towards the
South East and beheld the sun gloriously bright,
rising amidst clouds tinted with gold. I never
in my waking hours saw this phenomenon so
beautiful. Gazing on it, I thought I exclaim-
ed it is but three o'clock and quite dark in
our hemisphere, yet the sun is rising! that is
strange.' As I was musing on this deviation
from the usual course of nature, I directed my
eyes towards the North East, and perceived
the moon pale and rather clouded; but on each
side were two luminaries like suns, which
gradually enlightened her, till all the three
bodies had the appearance of globes of fire.
While I was observing them with peculiar
delight, suddenly the most magnificent edifice
that the human imagination can form, raised
itself out of the three fiery orbs. Its columns.
were immense and roughly studded, in the way
of fret work, with precious stones; the floor
was glassy, but the roof and upper parts were
so immensely high. that I could not discern
them; the architecture was complicated, and I
had not time to analyze it; but never was my mind
42
so strongly impressed with the ideas of beauty,
grandeur and power. I was absorbed in deep
meditation; when I opened my eyes and heard
the Watchman call 'past three o'clock.' I had
before mentioned the hour during my sleep,
which is a very remarkable circumstance."
The following is the interpretation which
Loudoun Gordon returned to Mrs. Lee's fiction.
DEAR MADAM.
December 27, 1803..
Before I submit my thoughts
to you upon the subject of the dream which
you have done me the honour to communicate
to me, allow me to assure you, Madam, that it
is not my intention to enter the lists as a
champion for the truth of christianity, which
could gain nothing, and might be injured by
my mistatement of those arguments, or mis-
application of those evidences which certainly
deserve our most serious consideration.
"The sun rising gloriously bright in the
South East," exactly represents the first appear-
ance of Jesus Christ in Judæa. He is fre-
quently stiled "the Sun of Righteousness,"
"the Light of the World," and "the true
Light." "The clouds tinted with gold,"
43.
pourtray the mental darkness and error, which
at that time, with some few exceptions, degrad-
ed the whole human race. The "moon in the
North East" exhibits the first promulgation of
the Gospel; the North being the quarter of the.
globe always first named, may figuratively ex-
press the beginning of any thing; "the moon
being pale and rather clouded" alludes to the
temporary humiliation and sufferings of the
Great Author of our religion. "The two lu-
minaries, like suns on each side of her,” are
the Father and the Holy Ghost. "The gradual
illumination of the Moon" shews the progress
of the great work of the redemption of mankind
in the person of Jesus Christ, after the com-
pletion of which, our Saviour ascended into
heaven and became one of the “three globes of
fire." "The globes of fire" most happily illus-
trate the only idea we can form of the Trinity;
fire having been allowed to be in all
ages the
purest symbol of the deity.
"The peculiar
delight which you felt at observing" such
glorious objects, is the natural effect upon the
human mind, arising from the contemplation
of the wonderful works of God.
"The mag-
nificent edifice which raised itself out of the
three fiery orbs" is Christianity. "The immense
columns" are the cardinal virtues; "their being
roughly studded in the way of fret work"
44
.
marks, the difficulty of persevering in a virtu-
ous course of life amidst the temptations and
miseries of this world. "The precious stones"
strikingly pourtray the innate beauty of virtue.
"The glassy floor" beautifully symbolizes the
tranquillity and serenity of mind, which ac-
companies the true disciples of Christianity.
"The roof and upper parts of the edifice being
so immensely high that you were unable to
discern them," shews us the weakness and ab-
surdity of our endeavouring to scan the ways of
Providence, or to weigh the councils of omni-
potence in the balance of poor human reason.
No wonder Madam that "the architecture" of
the great fabrick of revealed religion should
have appeared "complicated" to you, and that
66
you should not have had time to analyze"
those mysteries which "angels desire in vain to
know," and which "the devils believe and
tremble,'
It is impossible to consider the doctrines of
Christianity without being impressed as you
were with the highest ideas, of which the human
mind is susceptible of "the beauty, grandeur,
and power" of the great author of our exis
tence.
は
​That frequent meditation upon this, of all
45
other, most important subjects, may tranquil
lize your
mind and make you as superior to the
calamities which human nature is heir to, as
your abilities are to the far greater part of
mankind, is the sincere wish of, Dear Madam,
Your most faithful Servant,.
L. H. Gordon.
P. S. Lockhart presents his respects to you
Madam, and hopes that you will see him on
Friday Morning next, when he proposes to do
himself the honour of calling upon you.
I take the liberty of returning the paper
which you did me the honour to entrust to my
care..
Lockhart and Loudoun Gordon called upon
Mrs. Lee about One o'Clock on Friday the
30th of December. After the usual ceremonies
which take place of course between old acquaint-
ance who have not met for many years; Lock-
hart paid Mrs. Lee some common-place com-
pliments upon her good looks. After some
indifferent conversation, Lockhart observed
that he had been angry at not having his boots
properly cleaned that Morning: Mrs Lee said,
"what are you ever angry, and you too who
are a Christian ?" She added, "I am sure
46
hart's mother.
that I of all others ought to believe in a God,
for I am quite astonished how I have been
supported, having suffered every, even pecu-
niary distress." Mrs. Lee asked after Lock-
Lockhart said that she was
well. Mrs. Lee replied "I am happy to hear it,
for she is a most wonderful woman, but I think
her principles are too rigid, do not you think
so?" Lockhart replied, "I think it impossible
that any principles can be too rigid with regard
to virtue."
Mrs. Lee gave a most disgraceful account of
the conduct towards her of those who by all
laws of God and nature ought to be her pro-
tectors, and which excited pity in Lockhart
and Loudoun, as it must have done in any man
who had heard the story which she then related.
Mrs. Lee reminded Lockhart of former days,
and said that "he used to call her Dash when
she resided at his mother's, and thunder at her
door and say Dash! I will come in;" Mrs.
Lee said "she used generally to open the door".
Lockhart said that "it had often given him pain
when he recollected how roughly and in how
school-boy like a manner he had treated Miss
Dashwood at that time." Mrs. Lee said "you
did not treat me ill, I always took it as a mark
of your affection, I thought you a fine, generous,
เ
open hearted boy."
47
Nothing else material
passed; Mrs. Lee said, "she should always be
very happy to see Lockhart." Lockhart ob-
served to Loudoun, after having taken leave
of Mrs. Lee, that he "regretted having seen
her, and was sorry for her unhappy situation,
and that he would not on any account, now he
had renewed his acquaintance, have Mrs. Lee
suppose that he treated her with neglect, and
that he should therefore leave his card at her
house occasionally."
On Sunday Night the 1st of January, 1804,
when Loudoun returned home, he found a
parcel containing two books which he had lent
to Mrs. Lee, and the following letter.
January 1, 1804.
Your interpretation to the dream is
And
replete with ingenuity and good sense; the
former abounds when you launch into the
regions of fancy, the latter predominates when
you confine yourself to probabilities.
here let me caution you against giving scope
to "mimick faney," which often whilst she
flatters your vanity, and amuses your mind,
is leading your senses astray.
The epithet of "the Sun of Righteousness,"
48
though not new, is exceedingly beautiful,
alluding no doubt to that person who certainly
was a light to some of his followers, who for
the most part were vicious and ignorant. Some
of the early mystical writers have termed him
"the Day spring." I am much pleased with
your remark upon "the immense columns."
Your observation upon "the precious stones"
is beautiful. The illustration of "the glassy
floor" is very happy. I am fully convinced
that virtue is congenial to the human mind;
but in the present state of the world, the practice
of it is attended with difficulty: I say in the
present state of the world, for the serenity
which accompanies virtue is so persecuted as
almost to render it unattainable.
Vain indeed! is our attempt to scan the
ways of Providence; "the immense fabrick"
has been adapted by its wise author for pur-
poses only known to himself.
The natural attraction which we feel towards
those whom we have known in the days of
childhood, induces me to express a wish to see
you in the course of next week; with sincere
good wishes, I subscribe myself,
Yours truly,
F. A. Lee.
:
49
The parcel containing the books and the
above letter, was sealed with red wax, the seal
bearing the impression of the Anchor of Hope,
In consequence of Mrs. Lee's request,
Loudoun called upon her on Monday the 2nd
of January, 1804, about one o'clock; Sarah
Hunt, the female servant, who opened the
door, told Loudoun that Mrs. Lee was gone
to Hammersmith; Loudoun left word that he
should call the following day. On Tuesday.
Morning the 3d of January, Loudoun called
upon Mrs. Lee about one o'clock; Mrs. Lee
came to Loudoun in the dining room from the
drawing room, and apologized for not having
it in her power to remain with him that morn-
ing, an unexpected visitant having called upon
her on particular business, and Mrs. Lee said
if Loudoun would come on Thursday next,
she should take care to be disengaged. Mrs.
Lee said "I was going to write you a note not
to come to day, but I feared you would not
receive it early enough to prevent it." Lou-
doun took his leave of Mrs. Lee and said, that
she might expect him on Thursday.
Loudoun being otherwise engaged on Thurs-
day, wrote the following note to Mrs. Lee.
E
50
Mr. Loudoun H. Gordon presents his
respects to Mrs. Lee, he is extremely sorry
that the unfavourable state of the weather
should have prevented him from having the
honour of calling upon Mrs. Lee this morning,
which he hopes she will forgive. Mr. Gordon
proposes calling upon Mrs. Lee on Sunday
morning next.
Thursday, January 5, 1804.
On Friday Loudoun received the following
letter by the post from Mrs. Lee.
DEAR Sir,
I was much surprized at not
having the pleasure of your company this.
morning, which I expected. I shall be at home
both on Sunday and Monday next, and shall
be happy to see you upon either of those days.
I am,
Dear Sir,
•
Yours truly,
F. A. Lee.
January 5, 1804.
This letter was sealed with red wax, the seal
bearing the impression of the Anchor of Hope.
On Sunday morning, the 8th of January,
51
about one o'clock, Loudoun called upon Mrs.
Lee; she complimented Loudoun upon his in-
terpretation of her dream; some conversation
about dreams was started by Mrs. Lee, Loudoun
said, "that Mrs. Lee's dream, from the cir-
cumstance of its being a morning dream, must,
according to the antient poets, be a true
one."
"Post mediam noctem cum somnia vera.”
Horace.
Loudoun reminded Mrs. Lee of some beau-
tiful lines on the pleasure arising from dreams
in Ovid's Epistle from Sapphó to Phaon, as
Mr. Pope had translated it, beginning
"O night, more pleasing than the brightest day,
When Fancy gives what absence takes away;
And drest in all its visionary charms,
Restores my fair deserter to my arms.” &c.
Loudoun said that Brutus was probably
sleeping when the phantom, which is said to
have called itself his evil genius, appeared to
him. Loudoun asked Mrs. Lee whether she
·
ever heard of Alexander's dream; Mrs. Lee
begged Loudoun to relate it.
Alexander had a remarkable
He said,
He said, "that
dream before he
E 2
50
undertook the conquest of Persia; a phantom
habited in the dress of the Jewish High Priest,
having appeared to him during sleep, and as-
sured him of success. When Alexander ap-
proached Jérusalem, the High Priest, followed
by many others, went out to meet him, and to
implore the clemency of the Conqueror, who
prostrated himself before the High Priest, and
then Alexander related his dream.” Loudoun
added, that “Augustus paid so much deference
to dreams, that he was not indifferent to what
others dreamed about him." Mrs. Lee seemed
to agree with Loudoun, that it was not im-
possible that dreams might be sent us for useful
purposes.
"C
Mrs. Lee said, Loudoun, I have some-
thing very particular to communicate to you;"
Loudoun asked her what it was; Mrs. Lee said,
"that she thought it right to caution Loudoun
in time against becoming enamoured of her;
she therefore requested Loudoun, whenever he
came to see her, to suppose that she was old
and ugly; that she was unconscious of being
either, and therefore it was the more likely that
as Loudoun was young, he might be ensnared
by her attractions.”
Loudoun, who had long conceived an affec-
53
+
tion for Mrs. Lee, replied, "that her caution;
he had no doubt was intentionally good, but
happily he hoped for himself it was too late, as
his happiness was already in her hands; that
from his childhood he had ever retained a pe-
culiar penchant for Mrs. Lee; he called to her
remembrance some of their childish endear-
ments, and ended by saying that he had ac-
counted that one of the most unhappy days of
his life on which he heard of Mrs. Lee's mar-
riage, which had placed the object of his af-
fections in the arms of another." Mrs. Lee
asked Loudoun "how he had become acquainted
with the circumstance of her marriage," and said
that "he was too young to have conceived any
other than a childish affection for her, when
they had formerly lived together at his mother's.
Loudoun replied, that "the affection which he
conceived for, and expressed to Mrs. Lee in his
earlier days, was unalterable." Mrs. Lee then
acknowledged that her affection for Loudoun
was reciprocal, and that "she loved him."
Mrs. Lee said, "what is it you propose to
yourself," leaning at the same time over the
table, and taking hold of one of Loudoun's
hands, "do you wish to live with me in this
house? if you do wish it, you cannot, for
my husband resides within two streets of me."
Loudoun replied, "he had fixed on no positive
??
£ 3
54
plan:" and at that time arose from his chair,
and frequently saluted and embraced Mrs. Lee.
Mrs. Lee appeared to be pleased, and it was
evident that Loudoun and Mrs. Lee had a mu
tual affection for each other, which it was
equally their wish to indulge. Mrs. Lee asked
Loudoun "what the world would say if an
union between them was to take place?" Lous
doun replied in the language of Pope-
Love free as air, at sight of human ties,
Spreads its light wings, and in a moment flies."
Mrs. Lee said, "So you really wish me to
become your pretty little mistress?" Loudoun
replied, "human ties forbid you to be any
thing else at present than the mistress of my
soul." Some other conversation passed on this
subject, which is immaterial.
j Mrs. Lee asked Loudoun if he had ever read
Hawkins Browne's Poem on the Immortality of
the Soul. As Loudoun had not read it, she
produced a manuscript in her own hand-writing,
with some extracts from that poem, and which
she begged Loudoun to read to her; after hav-
ing read some lines, she told him, if he wished
it, to take the extracts home, and read them at
his leisure. Loudoun then arose and wished
55
Mrs. Lee good morning, after having saluted
her: he had been with Mrs. Lee without any
third person being present about two hours:
she appointed some future day for him to call.
About eleven o'clock the same night, the 8th
of January, 1804, Loudoun rapped at Mrs.
Lee's door, and the man-servant who opened
it said, that his mistress was gone to bed:
Loudoun intended to have seen her, but finding
that she was in bed, left word that he should
call in the morning,
On Monday morning, the 9th of January,
about twelve o'clock, Loudoun called upon
Mrs. Lee, at her house in Bolton Row; David-
son, the female servant, who opened the door
to Loudoun, put into his hands the following
note from Mrs. Lee.
"I can only attribute the rash action which
you committed last night to intoxication; it is
therefore impossible for me to see you until I
receive an apology; indeed unless you intend
to visit me as the friend of your infancy, per-
haps it would be better, just at present, if you
were to discontinue all personal intercourse."
E 4
56
In consequence of this note Loudoun did not
express a wish to see Mrs, Lee,
In the evening of the same day, Loudoun re-
turned to Mrs. Lee's house, between seven and
eight o'clock, and gave to her man-servant who
opened the door, the following letter for Mrs,
Lee; the servant said his mistress was very
unwell, and would not be able to see any one.
DEAR MADAM,
9th January, 1804.
You do me justice by at
tributing the rash, action which I unhappily
committed last night to intoxication!!! to in-
toxication of my soul, Madam. I dined at my
brother's lodgings by myself, and drank no
wine, as he was from home; but I had drank
too freely in the morning of the most delicious
potion which I shall ever taste, not to feel its
effects, which will be fatal indeed, should they
occasion your lasting displeasure,
A
Forgive, Madam, the only action of my life
which shall occasion your anger; do not drive
me to despair; do but see me, and treat me like
a dog as I deserve. I am,
Dear Madam,
Your most wretched servant,
L. H. GORDON,
57
(6
As soon as Mrs. Lee had read this letter, she
sent to request Loudoun to walk up stairs.
When the servant had gone out of the drawing
room, Loudoun knelt down upon one knee, took
hold of Mrs. Lee's hand, and looked earnestly
in her face: Mrs. Lee laughed at so tragi-comie
an attitude, and said Loudoun, it was not
kind of you to call in the evening; why did
you come so late?" Loudoun seeing Mrs.
Lee's good humour, arid that his letter had
been a sufficient apology, kissed her hand and
arose, Loudoun could account for his conduct
in no other way than by that expressed in his
letter which she had just read. A table at this
time divided them; Mrs. Lee said to Loudoun
46 move your chair:" she at the same time
moved her own, and the chairs in which
Loudoun and Mrs. Lee sat, came in conse-
quence close together. After endearing saluta-
tions and embraces which frequently succeeded
each other during three hours, the whole plan
of elopement was matured by mutual consent.
Loudoun having proposed a journey into Wales;
Mrs. Lee asked if "he meant to take her to a
Welch inn," the thought of which she appeared
to dislike; he replied that "he would endeavour
to procure a cottage for her," Mrs, Lee said "she
hoped that Loudoun would succeed;" he asked
her whether she meant to take her servants with
}
58
her: Mrs. Lee said, "Oh, no! I can travel
without servants, and we can procure Welch
servants when we are at our journey's end."
Mrs. Lee said, "that the elopement must be
contrived without the knowledge of her own
servants, especially as Davidson, the female
servant, had lived in Mr. Lee's family," who,
Mrs. Lee hinted, was a spy upon her conduct,
and that she had taken Davidson out of Mr.
Lee's family, to shew them that her conduct was
such as not to fear the eye of scrutiny.
Little did Mrs. Lee then imagine that I
should ever know so much of her prior conduct
as has since unhappily for myself come to my
knowledge. Loudoun asked Mrs. Lee whether
she intended to retain her present establish-
ment when she left London; Mrs Lee said,
"that she was paying two hundred and fifty
pounds a year for her house in Bolton Row,
and that, as well as the servants, would be. an
unnecessary expence." Mrs. Lee then took a
book bound with morocco leather and which
had steel clasps; when opened, Loudoun ob、
served it to be partially filled with her own
hand-writing, Mrs. Lee looked for a particu-
lar passage, and pointed out to Loudoun the
following words: "It is my determination to
pass the remainder of my life in the society of
59
a male companion, and with him to follow the
plan of a sect in Germany, who lead a mo-
nastic life, with the exception of celibacy."
After Loudoun had read that passage, she said,
46
you see how unnecessary it will be to keep
this house and my servants, and therefore it
would be better to discharge them, with the
exception of Sarah Hunt, my cook, who has
been with me for six years, and to whom I am
much attached." Mrs. Lee expressed her
dislike of Davidson. The plan about the house,
and servants, being so far arranged, it was
agreed that the cook should remain to take
charge of the house in Bolton Row during Mrs.
Lee's absence, until some definitive arrange-
ment could be made, Mrs. Lee said that there
was one material obstacle to the completion of
their expedition, and that was, that "she had
no money, as her dividends would not become
due until the ensuing month (February)."
Loudoun removed that objection, by saying,
that "he had funds adequate to the purpose."
Mrs. Lee seemed pleased at this information:
Loudoun then proposed bringing a post-chaise
to-morrow (Tuesday, the 10th of January),
for the purpose of setting out for Wales: Mrs.
Lee asked, "why he wished to be so precipitate,"
and said "you must have some presentiment of
something evil about to befal me, by wishing
60
to execute our elopement so hastily." Loudoun
assured Mrs. Lee that he had no such pre-
sentiment, and said, "that when he proposed
an immediate elopement, he was convinced from.
her own confession, it was only what she her-
self wished, and that she had too much good
sense not to lay aside dull forms and prudish
ceremonies in the conclusion of an affair which
was so intimately connected with their mutual
happiness." Mrs. Lee allowed the truth of
Loudoun's observation, and promised to raise
no obstacle to prevent the execution of the
proposed scheme; but she said that "Loudoun
must be aware of the difficulty of screening her
consent to the elopement from her servants;
and that she had some arrangements to make
first, and that it would be necessary for her to
consult a male friend about those arrangements."
Mrs. Lee described her situation to Loudoun,
and which she depicted as being insupportable,
Loudoun from her own description had every
reason to suppose that she was very unhappy,
and pointed out the propriety of her confiding
in some male companion, upon whose bosom
she could lay her head, and to whom she might
impart the sorrows of her heart, which he said
he had reason to fear were too bitter for her to
bear, but which when divided into separate
channels would alleviate the burthen that she
.1
61
¿
was then ready to sink under. Mrs. Lee fell
upon Loudoun's neck and embraced him.
Mrs. Lee read Loudoun the construction
which she herself had put upon the dream; it
began in the following words: "Some imme-
diate and material change is about to take place
in my situation." This change Mrs. Lee said
"could allude to nothing less than her union
with Loudoun :" the remainder of this interpre-
tation he has forgotten; but Loudoun observed
to Mrs. Lee that she had been kind enough to
elucidate it very favourably to their mutual
wishes.
·
Mrs. Lee asked "what Loudoun's mother and
Lockhart would think of their elopement." "He.
replied, that he could not possibly tell." Mrs.
Lee repeated several times during the evening,
"What then you really wish me to become
your
little mistress?" the answer was invariably.
"the mistress of my soul, Mrs. Lee."
Mrs. Lee said, "She was convinced that
Loudoun's mother would highly disapprove of
her conduct, and his too, when she heard of
the elopement; and said that Mrs. Gordon had
the most unalterable opinions with regard to
virtue that she used sometimes, in order to
·
62
teaze Mrs. Gordon, to observe that "she (Mrs.
Lee) conceived there was no sin in the com-
mission of fornication. Mrs. Lee said that
"Mrs. Gordon always rebuked her warmly, and
ordered Mrs. Lee to read instantly a certain
chapter in the New Testament, denouncing
punishment for the sin of fornication."
Loudoun said, "that he wished before he left
Mrs. Lee, to have a promise that she would
perform her intention of eloping, (as she said it
was impossible for them to reside together. in
London,) and fix the day for that purpose; he
requested that it should not be delayed beyond
Saturday." Mrs. Lee promised "to raise no ob-
stacle in the way of the elopement; and that if
Loudoun would give her until next Thursday
(the 12th of January) to arrange every thing,
she would upon that day fix a time for their
leaving London." During the last three hours
Mrs. Lee's and Loudoun's chairs had been close
together; the intervals of cessation in conver-
sation were filled up by mutual and warm em-
braces. About eleven o'clock, Loudoun rose
to wish Mrs. Lee good night; she presented
Loudoun with her pocket handkerchief, and he
gave Mrs. Lee his own in return. It is to be
remarked that the handkerchief which Mrs.
Lee gave to Loudoun was marked L. 9: the
63
44
number nine is a perfect number; nine is also
a mystic number, representing perfection, and
T
no doubt alluded to Mrs. Lee's perfect love and
submission to Loudoun; Mrs. Lee has made
:
some proficiency in the knowledge of the ab-
struse sciences.
Did an Ægyptian to my mother give:
that handkerchief
She was a charmer, and could almost read
The thoughts of people. She told her, while she kept it,
'Twould make her amiable, and subdue my father
Entirely to her love; but, if she lost it,
Or made a gift of it, my father's eye
Should hold her loathly, and his spirits should hunt
After new fancies: She, dying, gave it me;
And bid me, when my fate would have me wive
To give it her. I did so: and take heed on't,
Make it a darling like your precious eye;
To lose't or giv't away, were such perdition,
As nothing else could match.
There is magic in the web."
On Tuesday Afternoon Loudoun wrote the
following letter to Mrs. Lee.
January 10, 1804.
!
MY DEAR MADAM,
You have indeed put my
fortitude to the test, by commanding me to
64
absent myself for two whole days from all that
is dear to me; in this instance, as in every other,
I shall submit myself to your better judgment
and discretion; fly, fly away ye sluggish hours,
that I may behold the only object in this world
worthy of my contemplation and adoration.
I entrust this letter to the penny post for
fear of exciting suspicion, where it may be
fatal.
Think of me, and believe me to be,
My dearest Madam,
Your faithful and affectionate,
L. H. Gordon.*
* Mrs. Lee in her conversation with me on Monday
night the 9th of January, expressed her fear of what might
happen, meaning her dread of my being killed in a duel in
consequence of my elopement with her; she said that “she
should require the most ample protection." The time of
leaving London, independant of the above, is an additional
reason for having pistols. And let me ask the reader, male
or female, what man is so incautious as to elope with a
woman without pistols; and what married woman would
be willing to go, unless she had previous knowledge of his
having them for her protection?
As a proof that the elopement was agreed upon on Monday
night, the 9th of January, I lay before the public the following
memorandum, accompanying the present of a brace of piftols,
which Lockhart gave to me on Wednesday Morning the
11th of January.
65
On Wednesday Evening Loudoun received
the following letter from Mrs. Lee.
"You have drawn a true and faithful
picture of my situation, but you have pro-
posed strange means of alleviating it. By my
"Let it be indelibly impressed on your mind, that the
trifling present which accompanies this letter, was given
you for the protection of your own honour, and the defence
of an injured woman, who deserves your love, and com-
mands your respect, by sacrificing every thing desirable in
this world, for the sake of your society. Never argue,
never dispute; avoid a first quarrel as you would a pestilence;
sleep in different beds; never dress in the same room;
observe the most scrupulous delicacy at all times and upon
all occasions; enjoy, but do not abuse, the mystic rights of
Venus.
Relieve that this advice is given you from an earnest
wish for your future happiness, and is the result of much
observation. This is the last time that I shall ever give you
my advice unasked for vive valeque."
Loudoun related the above letter to Mrs. Lee, on Sunday
night in the post chaise; when he repeated "by sacrificing
every thing desirable in this world for the sake of your
society," Mrs. Lee said "then you allow Lockhart that I
sacrifice every thing for the sake of Loudoun's society.”
Lockhart answered, "Mrs. Lee you must depend on your-
selves for society."
This letter is another convincing proof that it was not
Lockhart's intention to participate in the elopement, had
not Mrs. Lee by her artful letter of the 11th, and invitation
of the 12th of January, induced him afterwards to do so.
F
66
to me.
consenting to your proposal you will gain
much, and I shall lose the little which I still
possess; neither your age nor your situation
will be able to afford me that protection and
support which will be necessary.
Consult your
heart, consult your reason, and let me know
the result. If pleasure were my object, neither
my mind nor body are at present in a state
which would make the enjoyment of it desirable
You must be well aware of the opinion
which the world will form of you and me.
You say that you are my friend, prove it by
the sacrifice of a youthful passion. When you
were a boy I perceived in you generous senti-,
ments, let me see that time has not destroyed,
but matured them. You say that you will
submit to my better judgment and discretion,
I now exact from you the fulfilment of your
promise. My determination is fixed, and
those who will not second it are not my friends.
Communicate this letter to your brother and
believe me to be,
Yours truly,
F. A. Lee.*
January 11, 1804.
In consequence of the above, Loudoun called
upon Mrs. Lee with the two following letters.
* Mrs. Lee told a mutual friend before the trial, that the
above letter was written from her desire to know "how the
alopement could be accomplished.
67
MY DEAREST MADAM,
If you assent to my
proposition, I shall gain an inexhaustible source
of felicity; you will lose the pity of the igno-
rant and the prejudiced. The protection that
I have to offer you Madam, is the strength of
body and mind, the courage and the life of a
man, not unused to danger. My age, Madam,
has been matured by adversity, the only
school of true philosophy; my situation, though
it is not what I could wish, nor what my edu-
cation and birth might have led me to expect,
is rendered less irksome, by the possession and
enjoyment of that inestimable treasure, mens
conscia recti, which can neither be purchased
nor stolen. I have consulted my heart, and
would have plucked it out had it dared to think
you less than the most perfect of human beings.
I have consulted my reason: in a low, but clear
voice, it whispered praise. Pleasure, name it
not my heart, for I have found no traces of
you imprinted there. If the union of conge-
nial souls can be rendered more complete by
the union of their bodies, obey Madam the first
mandate of God and of nature, or tremble at
the thoughts of your disobedience. The world
Madam is unworthy of you; the false opinion
which it will probably form with regard to your
conduct, will never be able to shake your con-
#
F 2
68
stancy or fortitude. In obedience to your
commands I have communicated your letter to
my brother; he respects, he admires you, and
he says that he will protect you at the hazard
of his life and fortunes. I can feel, though I
cannot express what I am to you, more than
that I am,
My Dearest Madam
Your sincere and affectionate,
L. H. Gordon.
MY DEAR MADAM,
I consent with all my heart
to every thought, word and expression con-
tained in Loudoun's answer to your letter,
which you did me the honour to desire him to
communicate to me. If Loudoun deceives you
Mrs. Lee, I will certainly blow his brains out,
and then we shall both be eternally damned as
we shall most richly deserve. Strong
Strong feelings
burst the fetters of ceremony, and express
themselves in the untutored language of nature.
Mrs. Lee will find in Lockhart Gordon a friend
who has a head to conceive, a heart to feel,
and a hand to execute whatever may conduce
to Mrs. Lee's happiness.
I have the honour to be, &c.
L. Gordon.
William Martin the man-servant immediately
69
that Mrs. Lee had read the two letters, came
into the dining room and said that his Mistress
desired Loudoun to walk up stairs. Loudoun
went into the Drawing Room and saluted Mrs.
Lee. Mrs. Lee said that she had consulted
the male friend she had spoken of to Loudoun,
the last time he was with her, who had dissuad-
ed her from eloping, in something like the
following words. "If you stand your ground
you are acting a proper part; but if you take
the step of elopement you will let the hell-
hounds loose upon you.". A good deal of
conversation, which Loudoun has forgotten,
then passed about the elopement; but it
convinced him that Mrs. Lee was as willing
to undertake the expedition as she had expressed
herself to be on the preceding Monday. Lou-
doùn frequently saluted Mrs. Lee, and once
got up and shewed her the passage in the letter,
beginning "If the union," which she did not
attempt to refute. Mrs. Lee then requested
Loudoun to go and see her picture at Mr.
Cosway's the painter before he next came to
see her. Loudoun said to Mrs. Lee "unless
the elopement takes place soon, you must never
expect to see me again." Mrs. Lee promised
that there was every probability that she should
be able to go soon, and then invited Loudoun
to dinner on the ensuing Sunday, and requested.
F 3
70
him to get his brother Lockhart to accompany
him, and then they would talk over on that
day and settle the matter. Upon this condition
Loudoun accepted the invitation, and when
Lockhart returned home from dining out the
same night, Loudoun told Lockhart of Mrs. Lee's
engagement. After much persuasion Lockhart
consented to accompany Loudoun at dinner
with Mrs. Lee,
Loudoun wrote the following note on Thurs
day night to Mrs. Lee.
MY DEAREST MADAM,
Lockhart will do himself
the honour of accompanying me at dinner with
you on Sunday next at four o'clock.
I have the honour to be,
My dearest Madam,
Your most sincere and affectionate,
L. H. Gordon.
!
January 12, 1804,
On Sunday the 15th of January, between
four and five o'clock in the afternoon, Lock-
hart and Loudoun Gordon went to Mrs. Lee's
house in a hackney coach, and were admitted
by the man-servant, who announced them to
Mrs. Lee in the drawing room, where she was
sitting with the window open; after the usual
71
""
were
expressions of civility, Lockhart asked Mrs. Lee
if she usually sat with the window open at that
time of the year; she replied, that "she thought
it a very warm day;" however Lockhart shut
the window, not being of so warm a constitution
as Mrs. Lee. Mrs. Lee said to Lockhart "
you not very much surprised at the communi-
cation Loudoun made to you?" Lockhart said
that "he was not surprised at any thing so
natural;" he added "we shall not have time
to discuss the subject before dinner, and had
therefore better defer it till afterwards." Mrs.
Lee said that "she had ordered the dinner an hour
later on purpose that there might be time enough
for the discussion before dinner. Further
conversation about the elopement them took
place. Mrs. Lee said "that in a year Loudoun
would be running all over the town after
other women;" Loudoun replied, “Your beauty,
Madam, is a sufficient security against that.
Lockhart said "I think the best thing you
can do is to go out of town in a post chaise
this evening." Mrs. Lee laughed; the man
servant announced dinner, which put an end to
the conversation. Loudoun handed Mrs. Lee
down stairs to the eating room, the conversation
was general during the time of dinner. Mrs.
Lee hobbed a nob, as it is vulgarly called, with
Lockhart, by placing the bottom of her glass
F 4
"
*1
72
on the top of Lockhart's, and vice versa; the
same ceremony was repeated with Loudoun,
and no doubt was symbolical of the union
which it was then Mrs. Lee's intention to com-
plete that night,
Some jests past during dinner, when the
servant was absent, alluding to the state in
which Mrs. Lee and Loudoun had agreed
to live. Common place conversation took
place after dinner; the bottle circulated pretty
freely; about seven o'clock Lockhart took out
his watch and said "the post chaise will be here
presently;" Mrs. Lee asked what post chaise?
Lockhart replied "the post chaise in which you
and Loudoun are going into Wales." Mrs.
Lee laughed in a girlish way, and said to Lou-
doun, "is he in earnest?" Loudoun replied, "yes
he is and I am glad of it, for we now shall be
enabled to accomplish what we mutually wish,
but want resolution to effect." Lockhart said,
"Loudoun you have a trifling present to give
Mrs. Lee, come and fetch it." He went round
the table and Lockhart gave him a ring, and
told Loudoun to put it on Mrs. Lee's finger;
Lockhart said to Mrs. Lee, "it is the only pledge
of affection which he now has it in his power
to give you." Mrs. Lee refused to accept the
ring; Loudoun did not even press her to take
73
Mrs. Lee ran round the
it; the ring remained upon the table. Some
conversation which has escaped Loudoun then
took place, when Lockhart said, "we are fully
prepared for the journey, for we have pistols
for your protection." Mrs. Lee then rose from
her chair and felt Lockhart's pockets; he took
out a pistol to prove the truth of what he said
to Mrs. Lee, and put it again into his pocket.
Lockhart requested Mrs. Lee to put her riding
habit on, and procure some linen which she
would require on the journey; however Mrs.
Lee declined doing so.
table and felt Loudoun's pockets, and said, "I
am glad to find that you have no pistols." Lock-
hart desired Loudoun to go and see whether the
post chaise was ready; when Loudoun went
out of the room Mrs. Lee wished to follow him;
Mrs. Lee went up stairs, after having rang the
bell, which the man servant answered. Lou-
doun in a few minutes came back to Lockhart,
and said the chaise was ready; Lockhart desired
Loudoun not to leave Mrs. Lee alone, but to
go up to her into the drawing room; Loudoun
as he went up stairs, heard Mrs. Lee desire the
man-servant to request Mr. Lockhart Gordon
to come into the drawing room. Loudoun
went to Mrs. Lee, who was kneeling upon a
chair, with her face to the back of it; he saluted
Mrs. Lee repeatedly, and embraced her. Lou-
doun said, "come Mrs, Lee there is no time to
74
""
be lost, pray put on your habit and take those
things which you will more immediately require."
Mrs. Lee said, "I cannot go; I am not pre-
pared." After some further conversation, in
which Mrs. Lee displayed that reluctance which
was to be expected when the eyes of her servants
were upon her, Lockhart came into the drawing
room, and Loudoun said the chaise is ready.
Mrs. Lee said something about money, Lockhart
shewed her a bank note, at the sight of which she
smiled. Lockhart said, come Mrs. Lee let us
go. Mrs. Lee then walked towards the door of
the drawing-room, when she observed Davidson,
the female servant coming towards her, and
Sarah Hunt the cook. Davidson came and
took Mrs. Lee's hand and said "my Mistress
shall not go out of her house;' however Mrs.
Lee did go out, having walked very quietly
down stairs, through the passage and into the
post chaise, which was fifty yards from her
door. The two female servants made a great
outcry, ignorant that their Mistress was a
party concerned. Lockhart took a pistol out
of his pocket to prevent the foolish women
making a noise; at which they were so alarmed
that they neither knew what they did nor said.
As Loudoun and Mrs. Lee were walking towards
the chaise, they met a man, who afterwards
proved to be Lord Stair's coachman, to whom
Mrs. Lee said, "Who are you, do you know
75
me?" She repeated the question, and then
turned to Loudoun and asked him whether he
knew who he was. Loudoun said he did not,
and it did not signify. Mrs. Lee appeared to
fear it might be a servant of some neighbour,
who might recognize her. After they were in
the post-chaise, she asked Loudoun whether he
had shut the door of her house.* Loudoun re-
plied, "I left Lockhart there." He then look-
ed out of the post-chaise door, and saw Lock-
hart coming from Mrs. Lee's with Loudoun's
great coat; so little did Lockhart think that
Mrs. Lee was serious in the opposition
which she affected to make in her house. As
soon as Lockhart got into the chaise he told
the post-boy to drive on, or he would shoot
him; a phrase which Lockhart, from having
been a great sportsman, is very apt to make
use of. Mrs. Lee's servants were at that time
bawling out in the street, and Loudoun was
fearful that they would obstruct her intended
elopement.
Before the post-chaise arrived at Tyburn
Turnpike, Mrs. Lee said, "Do not I support
my presence of mind wonderfully well?" The
conversation then became general respecting
the conduct of the servants: Mrs. Lee said,
* We had evidence to substantiate the truth of that fact.
76
1
"there was no fire in the drawing-room, and
asked whether we had told her servants not to
make one there." Lockhart assured her "that
we had said nothing to any of them about the
plan of elopement." Mrs. Lee requested that
all the windows of the post-chaise might be up,
observing at the same time, "that as we were
all young, our breath would not be offensive to
each other." Loudoun sat next to Mrs. Lee,
who before they had travelled far, embraced
Loudoun. When they were about four or five
miles from London, Loudoun felt Mrs. Lee at-
tempting to take the ring off his finger, which he
had before offered to her in the dining-room:
Loudoun took the ring from Mrs. Lee, when
she had taken it off his finger, and was going
to put it upon the fourth finger of her right-
hand, when she said, "Pugh! you are going
to put it on the wrong hand;" she took the
ring from Loudoun, and put it upon the finger
of her left hand, which is appropriated to the
marriage ring, and said, "In compliance with
the custom of the world I consent to wear this
ring." Lockhart said, "I hope the ring fits
you, Mrs. Lee?" She said, "Yes it does."
Lockhart replied, "it is a good omen." Mrs.
Lee mentioned her having a ring upon her mar-
riage finger, which represented a serpent with
its tail in the mouth,
77
Immediately after Mrs. Lee had put the ring
upon her finger, Lockhart observed her letting
down the window, and flinging something out
of it; he asked, "What have you thrown away,
Mrs. Lee?" she replied, "My necklace; it has
a bag of camphor suspended to it, which was
my charm against sensual pleasure; but as I
have no longer any occasion for it, do not you
think that I am right in flinging it away?”
Loudoun replied, "certainly."
Lockhart said that he should return to Lon-
don from Uxbridge that night. Mrs. Lee then
said, "it will be infamous in you if you do;
as you have commenced the journey with
us, you are in duty bound to continue it; the
world will never forgive you for deserting us
now." Mrs. Lee would not hear of Lockhart's
intention to return to London. Lockhart re-
plied, "I never intended to have gone with
you; I have no cloaths; my presence is abso-
lutely necessary in London, to consolidate my
interest, which I am making for a living; and
I must appear at a ball to-morrow night.
Mrs. Lee said, "I suppose you intend to tell
all the pretty misses at the ball that I have
eloped with Loudoun." Lockhart said, "How
can you suppose that I could be guilty of such
an action; for my own interest you may be well
78
assured of my silence on the subject." Mrs.
Lee said, "I am sure you can go to London
for no other purpose but to let it be known
that I have eloped with your brother." Lock-
hart assured Mrs. Lee that she was mistaken in
her ideas altogether; that it was to his interest
as well as her's that the world should be igno-
rant of the elopement. A long altercation took
place between Lockhart and Mrs. Lee, during
which Mrs. Lee insisted upon Lockhart's con-
tinuing the journey into Wales, which at length
drew from Lockhart a promise that "he would
remain with them that night; and although it
would annihilate every prospect which he had
in life, yet if she continued to insist upon it,
he would go on with them into Wales, rather
than Mrs. Lee should have to accuse him of
not consulting her happiness."
At Uxbridge, Lockhart went into the inn,
where he staid about twenty minutes; Mrs,
Lee and Loudoun remained in the post-chaise:
she drank some porter, and when the other
chaise was ready, it was at Mrs. Lee's request
drawn up so closely to the one they were in, that
Mrs. Lee was able to step from one into the other:
there were several people employed in changing
horses and the baggage; Mrs. Lee would not
permit a lanthorn to be brought near the post-
79
chaise for fear of being seen; ´which precaution she
did not omit even at the turnpike gates. She
also particularly charged them both not on any ac-
count to name the word Lee, so little did she
wish that her elopement might be known: even
in the post-chaise if the name of Lee happened to
be mentioned by Lockhart or Loudoun, they met
with a very severe rebuke; and to say the truth,
Mrs. Lee used much more precaution than
Loudoun, that they should not be traced by her
husband. Lockhart proposed that Mrs. Lee
should sleep at Wycombe, there being a good inn
at that place: Mrs. Lee expressed a wish to go a
stage beyond Wycombe, and said "however
happy I may be to-night, yet local circumstances
will damp my pleasure at Wycombe;" alluding no
doubt to the residence of her reputed father, which
was at West Wycombe.
Lockhart went to sleep, and when he awoke he
observed, that Mrs. Lee was toying with Loudoun.
Lockhart said, "Well, I see that neither of you
will be able to hold out beyond Wycombe, so you
had better resolve upon sleeping there. Mrs. Lee
expressed a wish to go on to Tetsworth or Oxford
that night.
They changed horses at Wycombe, where no-
thing material happened: Mrs. Lee appeared very
contented, and at one time went to sleep. At the
80
time we arrived at the inn at Tetsworth the mail
and Worcester coach were there; the people of
the inn were in bed. Mrs. Lee was handed out of
the chaise by Lockhart and Loudoun: supper was
ordered whilst Loudoun went to choose a bed-
chamber, and to see the sheets well aired, which
Mrs. Lee had particularly requested him to do in
the post-chaise. Mrs. Lee wished much to have
some egg wine after supper; there were no eggs
in the house; the chambermaid asked Mrs. Lee
if she wished her bed made in any particular way:
Mrs. Lee said, " put the mattress on the top of
the feather-bed." Mrs. Lee ate a hearty supper;
the conversation during supper was on the intend-
ed use of the Pyramids of Egypt, on Grecian
architecture, and Hieroglyphicks. Soon after
supper Mrs. Lee went to bed. About twenty
minutes after Mrs. Lee had gone to bed, Loudoun
rang the bell, and told the chambermaid to go
and see whether the lady wanted any thing; the
chambermaid returned and told Loudoun that the
lady said "she should be in bed in twenty minutes."
The chambermaid came into the room where Lock-
hart and Loudoun were sitting; Lockhart desired
her to be particularly attentive to Mrs. Lee; in
consequence of which she again went to Mrs. Lee,
knocked at the bed-room door, and asked her if
she could do any thing for her. Mrs. Lee said,
"I am not in bed yet, but you may tell the
gen-
81
tleman to come to bed in ten minutes.” The
chambermaid communicated Mrs. Lee's mes-
sage to Loudoun. About forty minutes after
Mrs. Lee went to bed, Lockhart rang the bell,
and desired the chambermaid to warm his bed;
he went up to his room and Loudoun with him.
After they were in the bed-room, Loudoun sent
the chambermaid for his portmanteau, and was a
long time fumbling about the room, washing his
teeth, &c. Lockhart wanted to go to bed, and
said to Loudoun, "if you do not get out of the
room I will shoot you." Loudoun wanted his
dressing gown; Lockhart having had some expe-
rience of the warmth of Mrs. Lee's constitution in
the post-chaise, told Loudoun that he ought to be
ashamed of not going to bed; and turning to the
chambermaid said, "Did you ever see a fellow
make such a piece of work about going to bed to
his own wife?" At last Loudoun went to bed.
-The curtains were drawn.-
Monday, January 16th, Mrs. Lee had break-
fasted before Lockhart and Loudoun came down.
A long altercation took place between Mrs. Lee
and Lockhart, in the course of which she called
him a great scoundrel, for wishing to go to Lon-
don, in order to amuse the pretty misses at the
ball, he intended going to that evening, at her ex-
pence. Lockhart endeavoured to convince Mrs.
Lee that he was obliged to return to London to
G
82
make interest for a family living which was likely
to become vacant. At last Mrs. Lee
At last Mrs. Lee gave reluc-
tant consent to Lockhart's returning to London,
but still believed that Lockhart intended to expose
her, which no doubt induced her to send the fol-
lowing letter to Davidson, her female servant.
"No money, no cloaths, death or compliance."
After Lockhart left Tetsworth, Mrs. Lee went
into her bed-room, rang the bell, and desired the
chambermaid to send up the mistress of the house
to her. Mrs. Edmonds went to Mrs. Lee, who
said, "Can I place any confidence in you?" Mrs.
Edmonds answered that she hoped she might.
Mrs. Lee told Mrs. Edmonds that " she had been
forced from her house in London by the two young
men who came with her." Mrs. Edmonds ex-
pressed her sorrow for Mrs. Lee's unhappy situa-
tion, and offered her any assistance that she might
choose to have, and every accommodation that it
was in her power to afford her. Mrs. Lee said,
Although you see me in this situation, you may
be assured that I am a person of fortune and con-
sequence; did you observe that gentleman who
went away just now? Did he look like a clergy-
man?" Mrs. Edmonds replied, "that she did not
observe the gentleman particularly, and most gen-
tlemen wore their hair cropped, which made it
difficult to distinguish a clergyman." Mrs. Lee
(C
83
>>
asked whether Mrs. Edmonds had observed any
thing singular in his appearance or manner? She
said, "No, the gentleman looked grave. "He
is mad (said Mrs. Lee) and very mad too." Mrs.
Edmonds supposed that Mrs. Lee would not go
any farther: "O yes, said Mrs. Lee, I shall go
on;" which put an end to the extraordinary con-
ference. Mrs. Lee put on her own gown and
stockings, having worn some belonging to Miss
Edmonds whilst they were washed; she borrowed
a shawl of Mrs. Edmonds, and set out very readily
with Loudoun for Oxford.
Lockhart desired Mrs. Lee to give him a note
to her servants for her cloaths, which probably
gave rise to a report of his holding a pistol in one
hand and a draft in the other to Mrs. Lee for her
signature; a thousand lies of the same tendency
have been circulated with a view of rendering
Lockhart's character infamous.
Lockhart left Tetsworth between two and three
o'clock on Monday afternoon; Loudoun then
asked Mrs. Lee at what time she wished to set out.
on their journey towards Gloucester; she replied
"We had better dine here, and set out after din-
ner; Iwish to travel as much as possible by night."
After dinner, Mrs. Lee, as before related, went into
her bedchamber to change her gown and stock-
G 2
84
ings, which had been washed, where she staid
about an hour; she came again into the room,
where Loudoun was sitting, in apparent good hu-
mour. The post-chaise being ready, Loudoun
handed Mrs. Lee into it about half-past four:
nothing material happened till they arrived at the
King's Arms Inn, Oxford, where they changed
horses, and ordered the post-boy to drive to Mr.
Randall's, haberdasher, in the High Street, where
a straw-bonnet, black veil and shawl, were pur-
chased according to Mrs. Lee's wish. Mrs. Lee
would neither go into the shop to examine the ar-
ticles, nor suffer Mr. Randall to bring a candle to
the post-chaise that she might see them. The
bill being paid they went as far as Northleach that
night, having changed horses and the post-chaise
at Witney. At the various turnpikes through
which they passed, if the person who came for the
toll brought a candle, Mrs. Lee expressed her
anger, so anxious was she to travel unknown.
Mrs. Lee desired Loudoun to choose a bed-
chamber, and to see that the sheets were aired at
Northleach. Mrs. Lee eat very heartily at supper,
and drank egg wine enough to compensate for her
not having been able to obtain any on the prece-
ding night at Tetsworth. During supper at
Northleach, Mrs. Lee, wishing Loudoun and her-
self to be in private, told the servant-maid that
she need not wait at table. About an hour after
85
supper Mrs. Lee went to bed; when the chamber-
maid told Loudoun that Mrs. Lee was gone to
bed, he went into a separate bed in Mrs. Lee's
bedchamber. In the morning Mrs. Lee awoke
Loudoun, and desired him to come into her bed,
which summons he readily obeyed. They break-
fasted about twelve. Nothing material passed at
Northleach, Mrs. Lee wished not to set out for
Gloucester till it was dark; however the post-
chaise was ordered, and they set out about four
o'clock for Cheltenham, where having changed
horses they arrived at the Bell Inn at Gloucester,
about seven o'clock on Tuesday evening. Mrs.
Lee ordered dinner; Loudoun examined the bed
chamber and bed linen, as on the two preceding
nights. Mrs. Lee went to bed about ten o'clock,
and Loudoun soon followed her. On Wednesday
morning Mrs. Lee got up in an exceeding good
humour; she had slept the preceding night in one
of Loudoun's shirts, whilst her own chemise was
washing,
She promised Loudoun that she would rise
early in Wales and take exercise on horseback
before breakfast: their mode of life in Wales was
settled. She said to Loudoun, "in short I ex-
pect to be quite en bon point before I have been
there many weeks;" he replied, "it shall not be
my fault if you are not," she laughed at the
G 3
86
idea, Mrs. Lee frequently during the journey,
aſked Loudoun if he thought Lockhart would, as
he had promised, join them on Wednesday at
Gloucester and bring her cloaths with him. Lou-
doun constantly replied that "she might rely on it,
that Lockhart held his promises and engagements
too sacred not to keep them." Mrs. Lee appeared
to expect Lockhart with much anxiety, and she
frequently asked during Wednesday, at what hour
the mail arrived at Gloucester. Mrs. Lee and
Loudoun had a long conversation after breakfast;
she entered into a detail of her circumstances :
she said, that she had a mortgage upon an estate
in Ireland, the interest of which was badly paid;
that she was confident from the knowledge which
she had of Lockhart that he would readily have
justice done her, and that she meant to communi-
cate the particulars of that mortgage to Lockhart,
She took a full review of her fortune, after which
Loudoun said, this is the first time Mrs. Lee
that you have thought proper to enter so minutely
into your pecuniary affairs, and I therefore wish you
to understand that it is sufficient for me to know them;
but I have resolved to have no concern whatever in
the management of your fortune." Mrs. Lee ob-
served that Loudoun "must of course manage both
herself and every thing relative to her." Loudoun
said, "if you think I can do justice to you by
pointing out what may relieve your cares, I am
87
willing to undertake the management of your
person, but as to your fortune that must remain
under your own controul."
About two o'clock Loudoun went out of the
room in which Mrs. Lee was sitting; he returned
in about ten minutes, and saw Mrs. Lee in the
passage looking wild and frantic. The waiter of
the Inn, and Miller the Bow Street Officer were with
her. Davidson the female servant pointed out
Loudoun to the officer; Miller immediately came
up to Loudoun and said "I have a warrant against
you, Mr. Gordon,. I am told you have pistols;"
Loudoun replied, "you need not be frightened, my
pistols are locked up and the case is in my chamber;
if you have any thing to say to me pray follow me."
Loudoun then took Mrs. Lee by the hand, and led
her into the room. Loudoun read the warrant, and
as soon as Mrs. Lee had read it, she took Loudoun's
hand, and kissing it, said to Miller, the Bow
Street Officer, "you must not take him away,
(meaning Loudoun,) poor fellow, like a common
felon; he has done nothing; it is too bad to send
a warrant after him; it is a base and most unwar-
rantable liberty." Loudoun seeing the frantic
state of Mrs. Lee's mind, sent Davidson who was
in the room, to procure some lavender drops,
which Loudoun administered to her, and endeav-
oured as much as possible to quiet her fears with
G 4
88
regard to himself. As soon as Mrs. Lee was a
little restored, the mail coach, which stops at
the Bell Inn, where Loudoun and Mrs. Lee were
at Gloucester, passed the window; Mrs. Lee arose,
opened the window and looked eagerly to see
whether Lockhart, for whose arrival she had con-
stantly expressed an anxious wish, was arrived in
it; and not seeing Lockhart come out of the mail,
she spoke of her disappointment to Loudoun; which
Miller, who had been all the time in the room, hear-
ing, said that he believed the person we were looking
for was not come." Mrs. Lee asked Miller how
he knew whom we were looking for?" He answered
"I suppose you expect Mr. Lockhart;" Mrs. Lee
said, "yes, where is he?" Miller replied that
"Lockhart was in confinement." Mrs. Lee ap-
peared astonished and grieved at the intelligence.
She asked Miller "what he intended to do with
Loudoun." Miller answered "Mr. Parkin gave
me orders to bring Loudoun and yourself to Lon-
don as soon as possible." As that was the case,
Mrs Lee expressed a wish to have dinner before her
departure from Gloucester; which was ordered.
Mrs. Lee went into her bed chamber to dress
herself, and Loudoun sent for his pistol case, which
he gave into the charge of the Bow Street Officer.
Loudoun recollecting that he had some bank notes
in the pistol case, unlocked it before Miller, took
them out, and was about to take some other papers
89
- which were in the pistol case, when Miller took
them and said "I have orders to take all papers
from you;" "I understood at Tetsworth that you
wanted Mrs. Lee to sign some paper. Loudoun
replied "yes I did want Mrs. Lee to sign a letter
to her servants, at Tetsworth, for Lockhart to take
with him to London, that Mrs. Lee's servants
might not refuse to let Lockhart have her cloaths,
which she wished him to obtain for her; that is
the only paper I ever asked Mrs. Lee to sign;
the papers you found in the pistol case, you may
read and put them into the fire if you choose,
they contain nothing but the expences upon the
road and the route." Miller replied
Miller replied "he should
burn nothing." Mrs. Lee came into the room.
and requested Miller to go outside the door that
Loudoun and herself might converse privately for
five minutes; this request Mrs. Lee repeated and
was complied with two or three times at Gloucester.
Mrs. Lee then said to Loudoun "I am sorry to
find from Davidson that they (meaning her servants)
have taken the harshest measures in their power,
but however keep up your spirits." Mrs. Lee
made some other remarks and saluted Loudoun
several times, when Miller came into the room.
They all three sat down to dinner together, and
Mrs. Lee particularly requested Loudoun to eat
heartily, which she said would give her much
pleasure, A post coach and four was ordered that
90
they might set out after dinner. Mrs. Lee after
having drank two glasses of rum and water, which
Loudoun mixed at her request, said she was ready.
During the dinner at Gloucester, Mrs. Lee said to
Miller is it not shameful to send a warrant to
apprehend him? (meaning Loudoun,) I am sure
nobody can look in his face and say that he is a
rascal, and they certainly have acted to him as if
he was one, by sending a Bow Street Officer after
him." Miller replied, "I never heard any one
say he was a rascal, nor does he look like one.”
Just before dinner Miller wrote a letter, and Mrs.
Lee said to him, when he was going to seal it, "you
must let me see it." Miller then gave it to Mrs.
Lee and she told Loudoun afterwards it was a letter
to Mr. Parkin, saying that he had taken Loudoun
into custody, and that he should be in London to
morrow, Thursday, with Loudoun and Mrs. Lee.
Mrs. Lee, Loudoun, Miller, and Davidson, set
out in a post coach and four between four and five
o'clock, from the Bell Inn, in which, after chang-
ing horses at Northleach they went to Witney,
where Mrs. Lee was desirous of supper; they
supped; the post coach could go no further. Mrs,
Lee finding that they should be obliged to go on to
Oxford in two post-chaises, earnestly requested
Miller to permit Loudoun and herself to go in one,
whilst Davidson and Miller went in the other.
Miller would not consent to it, but offered to let
91
them go in the same post-chaise together, provided
he was also with them. Loudoun thinking that
would render Mrs. Lee uncomfortable, advised
her to go with Davidson, and that Miller and him-
self would go in the other post-chaise. Mrs. Lee
appeared to like the ale at Witney; Loudoun
ordered two bottles of it to be put into the post-
chaise for her. She made Loudoun eat heartily
at supper. Before they left Witney, Mrs. Lee again
begged Miller to let her converse privately with
Loudoun; she said that "she wished as they were
to be divided, that Loudoun wherever they stopped
to change horses during the night would come
into her post-chaise." He did so at Oxford and
at Tetsworth. They arrived at Tetsworth about
five in the morning, and Miller told Mr. Edmonds
"that Mrs, Lee loved Loudoun like her own
dear eyes.
They arrived at High Wycombe between eight
and nine on Thursday morning, when Loudoun
handed Mrs. Lee out of the post-chaise; they were
shewn into a room, Mrs. Lee said to Miller, «I
don't know what they mean by making us travel
all night in such haste to London, it is a most ex-
traordinary circumstance and uncommon affair
altogether, and Mr. Miller I am now unwell and
shall not be able to leave Wycombe for three or
four hours; as I wish to rest myself a little."
Nothing particular passed, Mrs. Lee made Lou-
92
doun cat an additional quantity of eggs. After
breakfast Loudoun saw an account of the elope-
ment in the Sun of Wednesday the 18th of Janu-
ary; that Lockhart was committed for further
examination, which he shewed to Mrs. Lee; she
was quite dispirited, and having first saluted Lou-
doun, said, "come keep up your spirits, you
know it all depends upon me, and you may rely
upon it I shall never hurt you." At Wycombe
also Mrs. Lee requested Miller to leave Loudoun
and herself together for a few minutes.
There being no post-coach to be had at
Wycombe, Mrs. Lee again asked Miller to per-
mit Loudoun and herself to go in the same chaise
without him. Miller would not. They set out
about twelve o'clock from Wycombe, and dined
at Uxbridge; before dinner Mrs. Lee again re-
quested Miller to go out of the room and leave
her alone with Loudoun, which when the Bow
Street Officer had complied with, Mrs. Lee said to
Loudoun "I am very sick Loudoun, and have
been so both yesterday and the day before, and I
am convinced that it is the sickness of conception;
if
you choose Loudoun, I am willing to pass the
remainder of my life in your society, and should
you be taken to prison, you may rely upon it
that I will share with you your confinement.”
Loudoun said " he could agree to any thing which
93
she wished but that of allowing her to share his
confinement with him, to which he never could
assent.”
Mrs. Lee then said "I promise if you
wish it, to pass the remainder of my life with you."
Loudoun assented, Mrs. Lee then saluted him
and gave him a promise of eternal fidelity. Mrs.
Lee told him to appear dejected on the journey.
She, after dinner, said to Miller, "what are you
going to do with this young man when we arrive in
London?" Miller replied that “Mr. Parkin had
ordered him to conduct Loudoun and Mrs. Lee to
Mr. Parkin's house before they went any where
else." Mrs. Lee on hearing it, begged Miller
to leave Loudoun and her alone together; he did;
she said to Loudoun "that she should wish to
:
Lockhart or a legal friend that lived in
the Temple, before she went to Mr. Parkin".
Loudoun told Mrs. Lee "he was well convinced
that Mr. Parkin would persuade her to act as he
chose in this business," and added that "Mr.
Parkin was an interested man." Mrs. Lee replied
that "Mr. Parkin had never been able to make
her do as he chose hitherto, I am sure that he will
not in this instance." Mrs. Lee allowed the truth
of Loudoun's observation that. Mr. Parkin was
interested for his own character. When Miller
returned into the room, she requested that he
would take her to Lockhart before she went to
Mr. Parkin; Miller said he could not; she repeat-
94
ed this request two or three times before they
arrived in London; Miller would not grant it.
Mrs. Lee finding he would not let her see Lock-
hart, requested she might go to a friend in the
Temple before she went to Mr. Parkin; that
Miller also refused repeatedly.
They arrived in London about seven o'clock
and drove to Mr. Parkin's house; Mrs. Lee and
Davidson got out there, and after waiting about
an hour, Mr. Parkin told Miller that he "might
take Mr. Gordon into confinement and bring him
to Bow Street about eleven o'clock to morrow."
Mr. Parkin said, " that he had seen Mr. Bond that
morning, upon the receipt of Miller's letter, and
it was agreed that the examination should be on
Friday." Miller told Loudoun in the way to the
watch house, that the first question Mr. Parkin
aſked him was, “whether he had kept Loudoun
separate from Mrs. Lee during the journey," and
which it appeared Mr. Parkin ordered Miller to
do.
[
On Monday the 23d, Mr. Blackett called upon
Loudoun in the New Prison, Clerkenwell, and
said that "Mrs. Lee desired Mr. Blackett to tell
Loudoun that she intended to keep the promise
which she had made to him."
Loudoun received a message from Mrs. Lee
95
on the 1st of February, 1804, in the following
words. "I am very sorry that I cannot send you
any money, which Mr. Parkin has prevented by
stopping fifty pounds for the expedition of the
Bow Street Officer to Gloucester."
Loudoun a few days after this message, receiv-
ed another from Mrs. Lee, in the following words.
"I hope you will form no connection during
your confinement with the sex." Loudoun re-
turned no answer to either of these messages
from Mrs. Lee.
On Monday the 17th of January, Mr. Parkin,
who acted in the double capacity of Attorney and
Trustee for Mrs. Lee, applied to the sitting
Magistrate (Mr. Robinson) in Bow Street, for a
warrant to apprehend Lockhart and Loudoun
Gordon, which was granted. Mr. Lockhart
Gordon was apprehended about eleven o'clock
that night, by Miller and Atkins, two of the
Officers belonging to the Public Office. Mr.
Lockhart Gordon was confined in St. Martin's
Watch-house during the whole of Monday night,
and was conveyed in a hackney coach to Mr.
Parkin's house in Great Ormond Street, by the
Bow Street Officers, on Tuesday Morning the 17th
of January. Miller, one of the officers, had repre-
sented Mr. Parkin to be a "perfect gentleman."
96
Mr. Lockhart Gordon told Mr. Parkin that he
was ready to confess his guilt in having carried
away Mrs. Lee, provided Mr. Parkin would give
him his word and honour that Loudoun should
not be prosecuted. Mr. Parkin would not give
that promise, which Lockhart in vain endeavoured
to extort, by declaring himself guilty of a crime
he had not committed, in order to save his brother
from the horrors of imprisonment. Lockhart
informed Mr. Parkin that Mrs. Lee and Loudoun
would be at Gloucester on Wednesday, and desired
him to send her cloaths immediately. Mr. Parkin
having obtained all the information he wanted,
told the Officer to "take him away;" Mr. Lock-
hart Gordon was conveyed to the Public Office in
Bow Street and placed at the bar.
EXAMINATION
BEFORE
MR. BOND AND SIR WILLIAM PARSONS,
Two of His Majesty's Justices of the Peace
FOR THE
COUNTY OF MIDDLESEX.
i
!
MR. BOND said, " I know nothing of these par-
"
ties." The warrant was then shewn to Mr. Bond;
and Janet Davidson, one of Mrs. Lee's servants, was
called and said, "that the prisoner at the bar had
dined with her mistress, at her house in Bolton Row,
on Sunday last; that soon after dinner Mrs. Lee rang
the bell in her bedchamber, which Davidson answer-
ed, and found Mrs. Lee crying, and very much
agitated. Mrs. Lee said to Davidson, there is a plan¨
to take me out of my house.' Davidson replied, 'who
dare take you out of your own house?' Mrs. Lee an-
swered, they have pistols, and I am afraid they will
force me out of my house.' Mrs. Lee also told David-
son' to watch, but not to say any thing.' Mrs. Lee
returned into the drawing-room: in a few minutes
afterwards Mrs. Lee's footman was sent by Davidson
6
H
98
6
to call a hackney coach; whilst he was gone Davidson
heard her mistress say, I will not be taken out of my
house,' which induced her to go with her fellow-ser-
vant to the assistance of her mistress, when she saw
the Mr. Gordons endeavouring to force her mistress
down stairs, who was resisting them. Davidson at-
tempted to rescue her; upon which Mr. Lockhart
Gordon took a pistol from his pocket, which he put to
Davidson's head, and swore he would shoot her if she
made the least noise or resistance. Davidson was
much alarmed and ran into her mistress's bedchamber
with an intention to open the window and call for
assistance; but she was so much terrified that she could
no find the window; hearing the street-door shut she
came down stairs and went into the street, when she
saw the post-chaise driving off; upon which she cried
out Fire! murder! thieves! they have stolen my
mistress.' She also saw the prisoner last night about
eleven o'clock, when he came to her mistress's house
in a hackney-coach. He got out of the hackney-coach
and said, 'Well;' and came into the passage of the
house: seeing a stranger there, he said, 'Are you a
peace officer?' to which Davidson did not hear any
answer given. Mr. Lockhart Gordon returned into
the hackney-coach, and ordered the coachman to shut
the door; he looked out of the window of the hack-
ney-coach, and said to Davidson, Come here, I
want to speak with you.' He had a pistol in his hand;
she said, 'I will not come whilst you have that pistol
in your hand.' Mr. Gordon then ordered the coach-
man to drive away; he had not gone many yards when
the coach stopped, and Mr. Lockhart Gordon jumped
99
out; she saw him soon after in custody of the Bow
Street officers.
Janet Davidson then swore to the truth of her de-
position.
6
Sarah Hunt, servant to Mrs. Lee, was called, and
said, "that the prisoner at the bar had dined at her
mistress's house on Sunday last with his brother.
Some time after dinner she heard Mrs. Lee say, I
will not be taken out of my house.' She went up
stairs with her fellow-servant Davidson to her mis-
tress's assistance; Mr. Lockhart Gordon presented a
pistol to her breast, and swore that he would shoot
her if she made any noise or resistance. Mr. Lock-
hart Gordon said to his brother, bring her down, or
I will shoot you:' Loudoun forced Mrs. Lee down
stairs, and out of the street door. Mr. Lockhart
Gordon held Sarah Hunt, and swore that he would
shoot her if she did not go up stairs:' She being much
alarmed went up stairs to her fellow-servant Davidson,
and afterwards went into the street, where she saw a
post-chaise driving very fast away, which she believed
her mistress was in." She confirmed Mr. Lockhart
Gordon's having been at her mistress's house last
night, as sworn by Davidson.
K
Sarah Hunt swore to the truth of her depositions.
William Martin, servant to Mrs. Lee, called. He
said, "that the prisoner and his brother had dined
with his mistress on Sunday last. Soon after dinner
the dining-room bell rang violently; he answered the
H 2
100
6
bell, when Mrs. Lee went out of the dining-room,
and ran up stairs: some time after he was sent by
Davidson, his fellow-servant, for a hackney-coach :
As he was coming back he heard his fellow-servants
crying out, they have stole my mistress;' and seeing
a post-chaise drive off very fast, he followed it, and
endeavoured to overtake it in vain. He went to Mr.
Robert Lee's house with his fellow-servants, and not
finding him at home, he went to Mr. Parkin, and
told him what had happened. He saw the prisoner
again on Monday night, when he came to his mis-
tress's house in a hackney coach; he got out, came
into the passage, and said, Well;' seeing a stranger
in the passage: Mr. Lockhart Gordon asked whether
he was a peace officer? Martin did not hear whether
any answer was made: He felt something in Mr.
Gordon's left-hand pocket, which he thought was a
pistol, and went out to procure assistance, and met
two watchmen not far from his mistress's house; he
was coming back again, he saw Mr. Gordon going
away in a hackney coach; the servants were calling
"He's gone! He's gone!' Martin told the coachman,
'that if he did not stop he would knock him off his
box:' one of the watchmen stopped the coach, when
the prisoner jumped out with a pistol in each hand,
and swore he would shoot the first rascal that at-
tempted to stop him: he ran away towards Clarges
Street, when he was taken into custody in a few mi-
nutes by the Bow Street officers."
William Martin swore to the truth of the above
statement.
ふ
​Miller, the Bow Street officer, was called. He
101
said, "he went with Atkins to Mr. Lockhart Gordon's
lodgings on Monday evening, about ten o'clock, and
found that Mr. Lockhart Gordon had dressed himself
there that evening and was gone to a ball in Portland
Place; they followed him to Portland Place, and
found that he had been there but was gone; they
were going to Mrs. Lee's house in Bolton Row to see
that all was safe there, when they heard the watch-
mens rattles, and on coming to the spot where a great
crowd was assembled, they were informed that it was.
Mr. Lockhart Gordon who had a pistol in each hand,
one of which Miller took from him, which he pro-
duced, and which proved to be loaded, the other was
taken from him by one of the watchmen.”
Miller swore to the truth of his deposition.
John Sharman and another watchman were called,
who said, 66
they had just gone their rounds when
William Martin came and desired them to assist him
in securing a man who had ran away with his mistress;
they followed him, and William Martin perceiving a
hackney-coach driving along, told them to stop it,
which they did by striking one of the horses on the
head; a gentleman then jumped out of the hackney-
coach, and ran down Clarges Street, where they took
him into custody; on the Bow Street officers coming
up they delivered the prisoner into their charge.”
Both the watchmen swore to the truth of the above
deposition.
Mr. Blackett was called, and said, "he had known
H 3
102
the prisoner and his brother seventeen or eighteen
years; that he had taken Deacon's Orders about three
months, and that Mr. Loudoun Gordon was an officer
in the army." Mr. Lockhart Gordon thanked Mr.
Blackett as he was going out of Court, for the gentle-
manlike and proper evidence which he had given.
Mr. Parkin then read the Statutes of the 3d Hen.
VII. c. 2 and 39. Eliz, c. 9. and appealed to the
magistrates, whether they did not think the evidence
which they had heard read was sufficient to warrant a
commitment of the prisoner under those statutes.
After some consultation between Mr. Parkin and the
magistrates, it was agreed that the prisoner should be
committed to Tothill-Fields Bridewell for further ex-
amination upon Tuesday the 24th. Mr. Bond then
said to the prisoner," then on Tuesday, Mr. Gordon."
The prisoner answered, "very well, Mr. Bond."
On Friday, the 20th of January, Mr. Lockhart
Gordon was most unexpectedly informed by Atkins,
the Bow Street officer, that he was ordered to take
him to Bow Street immediately. When Mr. Lock-
hart Gordon was placed at the Bar, he told Mr. Bond
that he was very much surprised at Mr. Bond's con-
duct, in having brought him to the Bar on that day,
Friday, the 20th of January, when Mr. Bond himself
had declared that Tuesday, the 24th of January, would
be the day of his re-examination. He thought Mr.
Bond's conduct particularly improper, as it was his
intention to have had the assistance of counsel. Mr.
Bond said, "that the reason for which he had been
brought up on that day was, that had his offence been
103
only a misdemeanour he might have been admitted to
bail." Mr. Gordon said, "that when a man gave
him a promise, he always expected him to keep it;
and told Mr. Bond that he did not believe a word he
said." Mr. Loudoun Gordon was then also brought
to the Bar, when Mrs. Lee's deposition, which had
been taken in private, was read as follows:
She said "she had been acquainted with the Gordons
about thirteen or fourteen years; that about two months
ago their acquaintance with her was renewed, by
Loudoun Gordon calling on her in Bolton Row, at
which time nothing particular passed; but since this
she saw Loudoun Gordon three times, and in company
with Mr. Lockhart Gordon, previous to Sunday last.
That she having had a dream, she communicated the
same to Mr. Loudoun Gordon; he shortly afterwards
replied to it by letter, therein stating an interpretation
of the dream. She received two other letters after-
wards from Mr. Loudoun Gordon, testifying the
great regard and esteem he had for her; and the last
of the two letters stating that his brother, Lockhart
Gordon, would protect her at the risk of his life and
fortune. In the course of the week previous to Sun-
day last, Mr. Loudoun Gordon called upon her, when
she invited him to dinner on Sunday last, as well as
his brother, whom she had once seen with him before:
and accordingly, a few minutes before five o'clock,
they came. Nothing particular passed during dinner,
nor until Lockhart Gordon took out his watch, and
observed to his brother, "it is near seven o'clock, the
chaise will be here at seven;" upon which Mrs. Lee
asked what chaise? when Lockhart Gordon replied
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104
८८
(addressing himself to Mrs. Lee),
you go with
Loudoun to-night;" and that, either before these
words were spoken, or after, Lockhart Gordon said
to his brother, "you have got a present for Mrs. Lee;"
to which Mrs. Lee replied, "I am determined not to
take any present;" when Mr. Lockhart Gordon de-
sired his brother to come and fetch it, who came, and
Lockhart Gordon produced a plain gold ring, desiring
his brother to put it on Mrs. Lee's finger; which
Loudoun Gordon attempted to do, but she refused to
let him, and the ring was laid upon the table. Shortly
after, Mrs, Lee arose, and attempted to go out of the
parlour, when Lockhart Gordon went to the door, and
told her she should not go out; she told him she
wished to go up stairs, but Lockhart Gordon persisted
she should not go out of the room, and shewed a
pistol; at which time she thought Lockhart Gordon
desired his brother to go and see if the chaise was
ready. She then opened her parlour door, and went
up stairs into her bed-room, where she met Davidson,
her female servant, to whom she said, "I am afraid
there is a plan to take me out of my house to-night;"
who replied, "who can take you out of your own
house?" in answer to which Mrs. Lee observed, "they
are armed with pistols; don't say any more, but
watch." Mrs. Lee then returned down stairs into her
drawing-room, where Loudoun Gordon came to her,
and requested her to go down stairs; observing the
chaise was ready. In a few minutes after, Lockhart
Gordon came into the drawing-room, and said to his
brother, "don't stand there :" when Lockhart Gordon
took hold of one of Mrs. Lee's arms, and pulled her
to the door, saying, "you shall go, I am deter-
.
|
105
{
mined;" to which she replied, "I am determined
not to go out of my house; what right have you to
force me out of my own house?" To which Lockhart
Gordon replied, "I am desperate;" at which instant
she observed Davidson, her female servant, coming
towards her, followed by her other female servant;
when Davidson came up, and endeavoured to rescue
her mistress from Lockhart Gordon; a scuffle then
ensued between Lockhart Gordon and the servant,
and they went down stairs, leaving Loudoun Gordon
with Mrs. Lee; Lockhart Gordon then called to
Loudoun Gordon, and said, “bring her down, or I
will shoot you." At this time her mind was in such a
distracted state, she had no recollection whether
Loudoun Gordon forced her down stairs or not, and
continued in that state until she found herself in a
post-chaise, into which she had been hurried by Lock-
hart and Loudoun Gordon, both of whom shë found
in the chaise when she came to herself; and the first
thing she recollected was, hearing Lockhart Gordon
calling out to the post-boy to drive on with speed, or
he would shoot him. They changed horses at Ux-
bridge and Wycombe, but could not tell whether they
had any refreshments; she did not get out of the
chaise till they got to Tetsworth, where they arrived
at midnight; the family at the inn were gone to bed,
and they were called up to get them supper, which
was ordered by Lockhart Gordon; she partook of the
supper: at this time she was perfectly in her senses,
and observed to Lockhart Gordon, it was a breach of
hospitality to take her from her own house without her
consent, and that she thought it one of the most in-
fernal measures that ever was taken; she entreated to
106
have a chaise to take her back to London, to which
Lockhart Gordon answered it was impossible to be
complied with; Mrs. Lee then said she saw it was
inevitable, and went to bed under an impression that
her life was in danger from Lockhart Gordon, and
permitted Loudoun Gordon to come to bed to her.
On Monday morning they all breakfasted together,
when Lockhart Gordon observed, that she would have
no cause to repent the measures that had been taken,
for that it would be the object of his brother's life to
render her happy; and that as to himself, he would
adhere to her as long as he had blood in his veins, and
he would be one of the best friends she ever had.
After breakfast Lockhart Gordon set off for London,
and she, at the earnest entreaty of Loudoun Gordon,
went forward with him to Gloucester."
Mr. Lockhart Gordon put two very material ques-
tions to Davidson, the female servant. The first was,
how long she supposed it was between the time
that Mrs. Lee said to her, "the Mr. Gordons were
armed with pistols, and was afraid they would take her
away," and the time they brought Mrs. Lee out of
the drawing-room, and took her into the chaise? to
which she answered, about twenty minutes.
The second question was, if the man-servant was in
the house at the time her mistress said they were.
armed with pistols, and was afraid they would take her
away? which she answered in the affirmative.
When that part of Mrs. Lee's evidence was read, in
which she stated her having said to Davidson, "they
107
are armed with pistols;" Mr. Lockhart Gordon said,
with peculiar emphasis and energy of expression,
"You know in your own soul, Mrs. Lee, that Loudoun
had no pistols; remember there is another world, and
although you do not believe it, there are many here
who do, and who will be shocked to hear you swear
to such an infamous falshood. For my own part, I
had determined to stand my trial in silence, had you
not prosecuted my brother, of whom you know that
you were once doatingly fond, but I am now resolved
not to spare you an inch." Mrs. Lee replied, "I have
“I
been tenderly alive to both your situations, and as far
as I have been able have endeavoured to save you; re-
member that it is not the first time that your lives have
been in my power."
In consequence of the unfounded conjectures which
were formed by the public, owing to Mrs. Lee's
having made use of so artful an insinuation, Mr.
Lockhart and Mr. Loudoun Gordon thought it ne-
cessary to request their Solicitor would obtain an ex-
planation, which they might be enabled to publish in
their justification.
The following letter was written by Mr. Hanson to
Mrs. Lee;
MADAM,
6th February, 1804.
As various unjust conjectures have been
formed, in consequence of an expression which the
public prints have represented you to have made, at
Bow Street, on Friday, the 20th of January, concern-
108
ing Messrs. Gordons, viz. this is not the first time
your lives have been in my power."
Mr. Gordon and his brother being convinced that
it is not your wish to conceal the truth in this instance,
they hope that you will do them the justice to state,
that you could not possibly allude to any thing that
took place previously to the 15th of January last.
Requesting to be favoured with your answer,
I have the honor to be,
MADAM,
Your humble servant,
Mrs. LEE.
J. HANSON.
SIR,
Mrs. LEE's reply to Mr. HANSON.
The phrase I made use of on the day of the
examination in Bow Street was, "I have been ten-
derly alive to your situations, recollect I had your
lives in my power;" alluding to their having been at
my disposal at Tetsworth, when, had I alarmed the
neighbourhood, they would have been taken in the
act of my resistance, and must have incurred the se-
verest penalty of the law.
I am, Sir,
Your obedient humble servant,
(
Bolton Row, Feb. 8, 1804.
F. A. LEE.
109
Mrs. Lee told Mr. Hanson's clerk, to whom she
gave the above letter, that she did not allude to any
thing which took place previously to the 15th instant,
January.
Mrs. Lee's letter is a striking proof of her ex-
treme ingenuity, and is couched in such ambiguous
terms, as Mrs. Lee was well aware would tend rather
to criminate than to exculpate the Gordons.
On Friday, the 27th of January, Mr. Lockhart and
Mr. Loudoun Gordon were brought from the different
prisons in which they were confined, to Bow Street,
and had a conference with Mr. Serjeant Best (who
kindly attended as their friend, at the express desire
of the Earl of Portsmouth, to whose unbounded ge-
nerosity they are inexpressibly indebted) and Mr.
Abbot their Counsel; they were placed at the bar of
the Public Office. Mr. Lockhart Gordon addressed
himself to Mr. Bond, the senior magistrate, and said,
"I regret, Sir, that my ignorance of the forms of
justice should have induced me to make use of some
expressions which have been thought improper; I
own, Sir, that I felt myself much hurt at being unex-
pectedly brought a second time to this bar, which
prevented my having the assistance of Counsel, and
that appearance of countenance and support from my
family and friends, which every gentleman in my un-
fortunate situation must naturally wish to have. I
trust that you, Sir, and Sir William Parsons, will
think what I now say a sufficient apology." Mrs. Lee
made the following addition to her former evidence.
· 110
"On the Monday morning, after breakfast, while
they were at Tetsworth, in a conversation with Lock-
hart Gordon, in consequence of which, whether well
or ill founded she could not tell, he appearing at that
time in a distracted state of mind, and not knowing
what he said, she delivered a note, addressed to her
female servant Davidson, at her house in Bolton Row,
Piccadilly, beginning with "No money, no cloaths,
death or compliance;" which she requested Mrs. Ed-
monds, the landlady of the house, to forward as di-
rected."
The informations of all the witnesses were read pre-
vious to Mrs. Lee leaving the office, and a few addi-
tions were made to their former accounts, but which
were not worth noticing.
Mr. Parkin's deposition was read, stating that "he
had known the said Mrs. Lee, late Rachel Fanny
Antonina Dashwood, spinster, for upwards of seven-
teen years, and who about the year 1794 intermarried
with Matthew Allen Lee, Esq. that soon after the
marriage a settlement was made of Mrs. Lee's pro-
perty by the Court of Chancery, by which a moiety
of her property was vested in the trust of Mr. Parkin
and three other gentlemen, who were authorised to
pay a certain sum to Mrs. Lee for her own sole and
separate use; that in the year 1796 a separation took
place, when it was agreed 'that Mrs. Lee should re-
ceive 10001. per annum for her life, and which had
been paid to her ever since that period, she continuing
to live separate from her said husband, who was still
living."
111
Mr. Bond asked Mr. Lockhart Gordon if he had
any thing to say, to which he replied, not a word, he
left his case to his Counsel.
Mr. Bond then put the same question to Mr.
Loudoun Gordon, who gave a similar answer to his
brother.
Mr. Abbot then addressed the magistrates, and said,
the prisoners having left the management of their de-
fence to him, he should defer what he had to offer on
that head until the day of trial, when he had no doubt
they would be able to justify their conduct.
The prisoners were fully committed for trial.
The parties were then bound over to prosecute at the
next assizes for Oxfordshire, the offence having been
committed in that county.
Mr. Lockhart Gordon said to Mr. Bond, "As this
is the last time that we shall probably meet, I hope,
Sir, that no bitterness remains in your mind on ac-
count of what has passed."
Mr. Bond replied, "Mr. Gordon, your present
conduct does you infinite credit, and I assure you that
no bad impression of what has passed will remain upon
my mind, and I do most sincerely wish you a favour-
able issue of your trial."
گر
TRIAL, &c.
OXFORD ASSIZES,
Monday, March 5th, 1804;
Before Mr. Justice Lawrence & Mr. Justice Le Blanc.
LIST OF THE GRAND JURY.
The MARQUIS OF BLANDFORD, FOREMAN,
Rt. Hon. Francis Lord Spencer Charles Browne, Esq.
Sir Christopher Willoughby
John Fane, Esq.
Oldfield Bowles, Esq.
Charles Brown Mostyn, Esq.
Thomas Toovey, Esq.
William Henry Ashurst, Esq.
William Lowndes Stone, Esq. Robert Peers, Esq.
Thomas Stonor, Esq.
George Clarke, Esq.
Francis Penystone, Esq.
John Bush, Esq.
¡
John Spencer, Esq.
Francis Wastie, Esq.
Henry Calveley Cotton, Esq.
George FrederickStratton, Esq. Michael Corgan, Esq.
John Lenthall, Esq.
William Jemmett, Esq.
William Fermor, Esq.
Alexander James, Esq.
1
114
Mr. JUSTICE LAWRENCE then addressed the
GRAND JURY in the following SPEECH,
which he took from Notes.
GENTLEMEN,
66
IT will not be necessary for me
to detain you long, explaining the law on the different
cases now to be brought under your consideration.
They are but few in number: the most considerable
I am able to speak more fully of to you, from my
having seen the Examinations at Bow Street; and that
which will require your most attentive consideration,
is the one founded on the Act of the 3d of King
HENRY VII. which makes it a capital Felony for
any person forcibly to take away a woman for the
purpose of enjoying her property, marrying her, or
defiling her person. This Statute very properly pro-
vides for the safety of those, wlto, either by hereditary
descent, marriage, or any other means, come into
possession of considerable property, who would other-
wise be liable to fall a prey to violence and injustice.
Now, in order to prove a felony, and bring it within
the meaning of the Statute, it is necessary that I
should state to you that three things are requisite, in
order to prove the crime, against which this Statute
was wisely enacted, and has since been particularly
enforced. In the first place, the Statute supposes that
the woman is possessed of property: secondly, that
the person who takes her away is actuated with the
lucre of gain, and has a design upon that property;
and thirdly, that he takes her off, either with the
design of marrying her, or violating her person. With
:
115
regard to the first, it is supposed that a woman has
property; but when she is married, she cannot have
any property of her own; however, if her affairs are
in the hands of trustees, and her property invested with
them, it amounts to the same thing, and is equally
felony, and comes within the meaning of the Statute.
Secondly, it is supposed that the possession of pro-
perty lays at the foundation of this crime, and that
the person offending is instigated by the hopes of
obtaining it, which he endeavours to accomplish by
illicit means, and to prevent which this Act was very
properly made; for if the property of women, whether
hereditary or howsoever entailed on them, be not se-
cured by law, infinite mischiefs would accrue to society,
by the rapacity and profligacy of individuals. The
third thing necessary to constitute the crime, is the
marrying the woman, forcibly taking away or defiling
her person; it is hardly necessary that I should explain
to you what this means; it signifies that carnal know-
ledge or connection between the sexes, which, when
force is used, would be denominated a rape. In order
to constitute this a capital offence, it must be proved
that force has been used; and, in order to bring it
within this indictment, it must be shewn that force
has been used in this county. Now, though force may
have been used in another county, if it is not proved
to your satisfaction, that it has been continued in this
county, where the indictment is laid, you cannot re-
ceive such evidence as sufficient to warrant the convic-
tion of the prisoners; but if the evidence adduced
before you be sufficient to prove that force has been
continued in this county, that will be sufficient to
establish the guilt of the prisoners, who will then be-
1 2
116
come liable to the penalties of the Statute. Suppose.
a man who is indicted for larceny, steals goods in one
county and exposes them for sale in another, he is
guilty of stealing them in the place where he carries
them, and is obnoxious to punishment equally as if
he had stolen them there.-Gentlemen, if the fact of
force be proved to your satisfaction, that is, if she
has been forcibly brought out of another county into
this, against her own inclination, and by compulsion.
from the prisoners, it will be sufficient to criminate
them, and it will not be material to enquire, whether
the defilement of her person took place by force, or
with her own consent. This distinction would have
been necessary in the case of a rape; but the charge
here is of a more serious nature, and depends entirely
upon the question, whether force has been used to bring
her into this county. Gentlemen, you will decide
on this case, in proportion to the evidence you receive,
and make your report accordingly.
The Grand Jury, after sitting several hours, and
examining sixteen witnesses, returned at six o'clock,
A true Bill against Lockhart and Loudoun Gordon.
:
TUESDAY, MARCH 6th, 1804.
AT seven o'clock Mr. JUSTICE LAWRENCE entered
the Court, attended by the Sheriff, &c. when the
prisoners were brought in, and delivered at the Bar.
LOCKHART GORDON, aged 28 years.
LOUDOUN GORDON, aged 23 years.
:
117
Brought March the 2nd, by Habeas Corpus, from
London, charged on the oaths of Rachael Fanny Antonina
Lee, wife of Matthew Allen Lee, Esq. and others, with
feloniously and unlawfully taking the said Rachael
Fanny Antonina Lee from her house in Bolton Row,
Piccadilly, against her will, for the lucre of substance,
and defiling her at Tetsworth, in the County of Oxford,
contrary to the Statute, &c.
!
The
The Clerk of the Arraigns proceeded to call over
the names of those gentlemen who had been suin-
moned by the Sheriff to attend as Jurymen.
Court was occupied for the space of near two hours;
before a Jury was impannelled the prisoners and
prosecutor challenged a considerable number. A
Jury was, however, at length compleated and sworn,
consisting of twelve Englishmen; the prisoners from
their appearance, had the utmost reliance that their
verdict would be given according to their conscience.
A list of the Jurors was applied for the day before,
but could not be procured by the prisoners' Counsel,
which accounts for the number of their challenges,
LIST OF THE PETTY JURY,
W. Bullock, FOREMAN
John Willis
William Jones
Robert Heritage
Thomas Lucket
Richard Higham
Thomas Faulkner
William Brooks
Thomas Giles
Samuel Huckfield
Daniel Walford
James Parker
1 3
118
FOR THE PROSECUTION,
COUNSELLORS Mills, Dauncey, and Puller,
Anthony Parkin, Esq. SOLICITOR,
FOR THE DEFENDANTS,
COUNSELLORS-Abbot and Peake,
John Hanson, Esq. SOLICITOR.
Mr. Pugh, Deputy Clerk of the Assize, read the
Indictment, which consisted of several counts, which
charged them, generally, with forcibly taking, seizing,
and carrying away Rachael Fanny Antonina Lee, for
lucre of substance, from her house in Bolton Row;
and after defiling her at Tetsworth, in the County of
Oxford, to the great displeasure of Almighty God, to
the disparagement of the said Rachael, to the dis-
comfiture of her friends, to the evil example of others,
against the form of the Statute, against the King's
peace, his crown, and diguity.-To this Indictment
the prisoners pleaded Not Guilty, and were immedi-
ately put upon their deliverance. Mr. Puller opened
the pleadings; when Counsellor Mills opened the case,
He said, "it was a most painful duty which was
imposed upon him to address the Jury in a case likę
the present; a case altogether new, and almost unpre-
119
cedented accompanied by the most outrageous in
tentions, and in which the offending parties were men
possessing, in an eminent degree, the polish of gen-
tility, and the refined advantages of high birth and
elegant education; these rendered the crime which
they had committed still more flagitious and unpar-
donable than if they had been in a lower situation, in
which they might have been supposed not to have
known better. Neither of them are mature in years,
they should therefore have been looking forward with
laudable emulation to the attainment of reputation; it
is an aggravated crime in these men, who are placed
above necessity, to have been instigated by the un-
worthy motives, for which the law provides a proper
punishment, and which it was his duty to lay down.
Before he stated the case, he begged the Jury to give
particular attention to one thing, namely, that they
would not be biassed by the false and scandalous re-
ports which had been spread by wicked and ill-inten-
tioned persons against the lady who was the Plaintiff
on the present occasion; reports which were infamous
in their nature, and should be consigned to a deserved
oblivion. He did not mean to say that the prisoners
had spread these reports. He told them, that a British
Jury, the purity of which was the corner-stone of our
constitution, was called upon to judge with unbiassed
and unprejudiced minds, and to attend only to the
evidence which was delivered before them in a court
of justice, expelling from their minds all partiality,
and forgetting whatever they may have heard in other
places. This was a case, he said, entirely new to
them, but the act of parliament on which the present
prosecution depended was so exact, that when they
I 4
120
had heard and considered the evidence which he
should bring before them, they could have no diffi-
culty in giving a fair and impartial judgment upon it.
He then read extracts from the Act (3 Hen. VII.)
which, though made nearly four hundred years ago,
defined, he said, exactly the present case-It was an
act made for the protection of women, in their three
different stages of maid, wife, or widow; and it enact-
ed, that any person who, for lucre of gain, forcibly
carried away and married any maid or widow, or de-
filed a wife in the absence of her husband, was subject
to the penalty inflicted for felony. After this act had
been passed one hundred years, the benefit of clergy
was taken away from it, and the punishment was, in
consequence, since that time, a capital one. Many
had suffered who came within the reach of this act,
and he thought he should prove that the prisoners
were in that situation. The question was, whether
they had taken away a woman by force out of her own
house, having goods in her possession? and whether
she was defiled by Loudoun Gordon? He begged
their particular attention, then, to three points: 1st.
to the time and manner of the prosecutrix being seized.
and carried off; 2d. to the events that happened be-
tween that time and their arrival at Tetsworth, in
Oxfordshire; and 3d, to the act of defilement which
took place there,
But, Gentlemen, I must forewarn you, that before
you can find them guilty of this crime, you must be
satisfied that force has been used in this county; now
though force may have been used in another county,
unless it is proved to your satisfaction that the force
121
was continued into this county, you cannot find the
prisoners guilty.
He trusted, that when he traced the progress of the
acquaintance of the prosecutrix with the prisoners;
and their subsequent conduct, they would judge with
facility the intent of the offence committed, and
whether any defence which could be opposed would
be sufficient to justify the crime of which they were
accused.
{
Mrs. Lee he then stated to be the natural daughter
of the late Lord Le Despencer, who died in 1781.
He left two illegitimate children, Mrs. Lee, and a
son. She was born in Dec. 1773. At his death,
Lord Le Despencer left 40,000l. to Mrs. Lee; and he
should prove that she was in the receipt of 12001. a-
year at the time when this unfortunate affair happened,
of which one half was at her own disposal, in case of
her death without issue. At her father's death, having
no relations, and her mother not being a woman pro-
per to have the charge and education of her daughter,
being a woman of very bad character, she remained
till the age of fourteen under the care of guardians.
At that time she was put to school under Mrs. Gor-
don, mother of the prisoners, where they of course
resided. The eldest of the Gordons was of the same
age with Mrs. Lee, the second six or seven years
younger. Their acquaintance thus began in the days
of innocence. She staid there a year. From the year
1790 to 1803 she had never seen or heard of either of
the prisoners. During that time Mr. Lee paid his
addresses to her; being a ward in chancery; and under

122
age, she could not give her consent; they therefore
eloped to Scotland, and were married according to
the rites of the Scottish church at Haddington, March
9, 1794. On his return, Mr. Lee was confined in the
Fleet for some time for this offence. A settlement
was made on Mrs. Lee, dated Feb. 9, 1795, by which
she had 5001. a-year pin-money at her own disposal.
Their tempers not agreeing, they were separated Jan.
4, 1796, since which time she had no one to protect
her, as she only lived a short time with her brother,
who afterwards went abroad. Her establishment was
one man and two maids; her income 1200l. a-year;
and she lived sometimes at Bath, and sometimes in
other places. Being of a retired disposition, and very
seldom going out, she gave herself very much up to
books, which in the end rendered her very nervous,
and injured her health. In Nov. 1803, she first heard
of Loudoun Gordon from Mr. Blackett, an apothe-
cary, who had long attended her. He had enquired
after her: she remembering him, said, "she should
be glad to see him;" in consequence of which he
called upon her, and she received him in an hospitable
manner as an old acquaintance. Loudoun soon found
out her weak part, and immediately began to work
upon it, at one of the interviews which he had with
her, of which he only had five in all. He proposed a
scheme for their travelling together into Wales: she
rallied him upon it; but finding he pressed the sub-
ject, turned it off by relating a dream which she had
had. He here observed, that the dream which had
been inserted in the different public papers was as dif-
ferent from the original one as any two things possibly
could be: her's being one of the most chaste and in-
123
nocent nature. The interpretation Mr. Mills said was
admirably written, and doubtless did great honour to
the composer of it. During all this time she had not
seen Lockhart; but hearing he was in town, she testi-,
fied a desire to see him.
1
On the 12th an extraordinary correspondence took
place; Loudoun called upon Mrs. Lee and left three
letters, two from himself and one from his brother.
(After having read Loudoun's letter, Mr. Mills said,
“what trash, what rhapsody.") During this time Mrs.
Lee had no conception that the defendants had any
idea of pressing either the journey into Wales or any
other expedition. Mr. Mills then proceeded to give
some account of the Gordons. Lockhart had lived
two years at Mrs. Westgarth's, Alsop's Buildings,
New Road, London; Loudoun was but just returned:
from the West Indies. The latter expected to be ar-
rested on the 14th of January; he gave particular:
caution to Mrs. Westgarth not to admit any one to.
him till after twelve at night; when it would be Sun-,
day. Previous to this, he had been arrested for ten
pounds, which had been discharged by Lord Ports-
mouth's Solicitor. At this moment Mr. Mills said,
there are three detainers for debt lodged at the gaol
against Loudoun Gordon. He then described what
took place, as afterwards related by Mrs. Westgarth,
Mrs. Lee, and her servants, relative to her being car-
ried off; and took occasion to insist on the shameful
behaviour of Lockhart in this instance, who was
clergyman; for Loudoun, he said, was struck with the
heinousness of the crime he was going to commit, and
was heard by Mr, Edmonds, the landlord of the Inn:

124
•
at Tetsworth, arguing upon it with his brother, who
told him that if he did not go to bed to Mrs. Lee he
would shoot him. This was also an additional proof
that Loudoun was not influenced by love for Mrs.
Lee; for if he had been, would he have hesitated a
moment when she was in his power, and when he
might enjoy her without the least fear of interruption
or hindrance? Instead of which, he could not be com-
pelled to do it but by the most violent threats. The
next morning they breakfasted at eleven o'clock; at
two Lockhart went away.-Why did he not go be-
fore?—The reason was plain; he would not leave his
brother till the thing was done. He went from thence.
to London on Monday, when he went to a ball in the
evening. At eleven at night he went again to Mrs.
Lee's house, where, on knocking, and the door being
opened, he saw a strange face, he immediately asked,
"Are you a peace officer?" He insisted on this as a
strong proof of a guilty conscience, which interpreted
évery unknown person as an officer of justice. Being
afterwards taken, and desiring to speak to Mr. Parkin,
Mrs. Lee's Solicitor, he told him he was the only per-
son to blame, as he had forced his brother into it, and
would certainly have shot him if he had not acted at
he did; he therefore desired his brother's name might
be struck out of the warrant. Mr. Parkin of course
refused to do this. Lockhart wrote the word Glou-
cester on a piece of paper, by which an arrangement
was made for Mrs. Lee's recovery and for Loudoun's
apprehension. While at Tetsworth, Mrs. Lee, after
explaining her situation to Mrs. Edmonds, the land-
lady, gave her a letter, which she begged might be
put into the post after she was gone, as she was, during
-
1
125
the whole time, in the greatest agitation. The letter
was addressed to her maid Davidson, as follows:
"Davidson,-No money, no cloaths!
no cloaths! - Death or
compliance.”—This was her last act. From all which
circumstances he concluded she was carried away by
force, for the lucre of substance, and that the force
was continued in the county of Oxford.
Mr. Mills described Mrs. Lee as seated in the chaise
between terror and provocation, and concluded a vapid
and uninteresting speech of two hours and a half, by
expressing the greatest confidence that such a shame-
ful and infamous action would meet with the punish-
ment it so richly deserved, and that a proper exercise
of justice in this case would be an awful warning to
every one, that female innocence would always find
the strongest protection in the laws of our country."
Sarah Westgarth lives at No. 8, Alsop's Bildings -
Lockhart Gordon had lodged three years at her house;
was sometimes backward in his payments; had joined with
Loudoun in security for ten pounds, for which they had both
been arrested. This was immediately discharged by a clerk
of Lord Portsmouth's Solicitor. Lockhart owes her twenty-
six pounds for lodgings, besides sixty-four pounds, for which
he gave her a note not yet become due. Loudoun ordered
her on Saturday, the 14th of January, not to admit any one
to him, as he was afraid of being arrested. Told her to
order a chaise and pair to Uxbridge, to be at the corner of
Bolton Row, Piccadilly, at seven o'clock in the evening,
and to put in it a portmanteau, box, and pair of boots of
Lockhart's; she did so accordingly, and went with it to the
126
place; she remained in the chaise till Loudoun came, and
told her she might go home. Lockhart returned to her
house on Monday, dressed in the evening for a ball, and
went out. (Cross-examined by Mr. Abbot.) Does not
know any thing of the Mr. Gordons family; Lord Ports-
mouth often comes to them; does not know what ball
Lockhart was going to; is in the habit of giving him credit
for his lodgings.
·
Janet Davidson lives at No. 4, Bolton Row-Has lived
fifteen months as lady's maid with Mrs. Lee; had lived
twelve years in Mr. Lee's family; never saw the Gordons
till they went to Mrs. Lee's house; saw Loudoun first in
December, 1803. He only came four or five times; the
first time he called he saw Mrs. Lee; the second time he
came in the evening; that time Davidson was sent to fetch
Mr. Dashwood's picture, (Mrs. Lee's brother) for Mr. Lou-
doun Gordon to look at; the third time he came at eleven
o'clock at night, he did not see her mistress that night, Mrs.
Lee was gone to bed, the family were up; the next time he
called she gave him a letter from Mrs. Lee; after reading it
Loudoun tossed up his head, and aſked if Mrs. Lee would
be at home in the evening; was answered "No," he how-
ever called and was let in. On the 15th he and his brother,
who had only called once before, dined there; they came
about five; very few minutes after their arrival went to din-
ner; the dinner was carried back into the kitchen about six;
the servants dined upon it; she went up stairs after her din-
Mrs. Lee ordered tea and coffee before dinner; after
dinner she heard the parlour bell ring violently, she ran up
and found her mistress standing in great agitation in the
drawing-room, in the dark, she appeared in great distress,
was crying and rubbing her hands, and said, "They have a
plan to carry me away." Witness said, "Who can dare
carry you out of your own house." Mrs. Lee said, "They
ner;
1
:
127
have pistols." Witness argued with her upon it, to convince
her it was impossible she should be taken by force from her
house. Mrs. Lee said, "Don't say any thing; watch, but
don't leave the house." Saw afterwards Loudoun, who told
her to send the man for a coach; sent him accordingly. As
soon as he was gone, heard a scuffle, and her mistress say,
"I am determined I will not be forced out of my own
house." Lockhart said, "I am desperate." Witness ran
up stairs with the cook, the drawing room door, was open;
found him holding her round the waist, and forcing her
down stairs; Loudoun was standing close to him; witness
put her arms round her mistress to keep her back, and said,
"You shall not take her out of her house." Lockhart took
out a pistol, and said, "Woman, let her go, or I will shoot
you." The pistol was presented to her head; she said,
* Are you a Gentleman." He said, "It is no matter what
I am." She said, "I am going down stairs." He said,
"If you go down stairs I will shoot you." Loudoun said,
before she quitted Mrs. Lee, "Woman, she shall go."
The footman was absent all this time. She let her
go, and
Lockhart laid hold of her gown; she at last got away, and
ran
up stairs in the dark, intending to open the window and
alarm the street, but was so frightened she could not; heard
the street door shut, and the other maid calling out, She's
gone! She's gone!" Ran out into the street; the post-
chaise door was not shut, she saw nothing but the door a-jar,
she exclaimed, "Murder! Fire! Thieves! They have stolen
my mistress." The post-chaise set out. The footman re-
turned with a coach, which he left, and ran after the chaise,
but could not overtake it. During the whole time no con-
sent on her part appeared. She did not alter her dress,
which was a muslin gown, with small crape on her head;
her mistress was a very nervous woman; reads and writes a
great deal; had been very uneasy all the morning of Sunday;
saw no preparations whatever for any journey. Saw Lock-
{
128
hart again on Monday night at eleven o'clock; he knocked
at the door, and when he saw the footman and another man
in the passage, took out a pistol, and said, "Are you a
peace officer?" Did not hear the answer. Lockhart then
ran out to his hackney coach, and called from the window,
"it was the witness he wanted to speak to." Witness said,
"she would not speak to him while he had a pistol in his
hand." Footman and watchmen then came up; he jumped
out and ran away. Saw him brought back afterwards by
Bow-street officers. Received the letter which her mistress
sent from Tetsworth on Tuesday. (Cross-examined by Mr.
Abbot.) Loudoun had only been admitted three or four
times; he was with her mistress for an hour and an half by
himself one evening. Mr. Loudoun Gordon staid once a
considerable time, no third person being present; she was
not acquainted with Mrs. Lee's habits of life before she en-
tered into her service; Mrs. Lee went into her bed-chamber
on Sunday evening, and came down voluntarily into the
drawing-room. Her mistress wore a steel necklace with a
bag of camphor hanging to it, had worn it some time.
When Lockhart called he left his card, as her mistress was
not at home. She is melancholy, and has been so some
time. Had not gone to church since Witness lived with her.
(Examined again.) When she saw her mistress in the
drawing-room, her eyes rolled very much, seemed very much
affected, had never seen her so much affected before.
Sarah Hunt-Said, she had lived with Mrs. Lee five years
and a half as maid of all work; Mrs. Lee lived very retired,
knew only a few people, her society was small. Three
weeks since she first saw Loudoun, only saw him once before
Sunday the 15th. Saw Janet Davidson when she came
down from the drawing room, on the evening of the 15th
of January, who told her that her mistress was in a great
fright, that she had ordered her to stay in the house and
+
129
1
watch what was going on. They accordingly went to watch
in the back parlour; after listening a quarter of an hour,
heard a noise, and the Gordons talking very loud; heard
Mrs. Lee say to Lockhart Gordon, "You are determined
on my ruin." He answered, "I am desperate." There
was then a scuffle on the stairs, and she heard her mistress
say, "she would not be forced out of her own house." She
then went up stairs, and found her on the stairs, and the
two Gordons pulling her down. Heard Lockhart say to
Davidson, "Woman she shall go." Davidson then wanted
to run down stairs; Lockhart said, "Woman, if you do, I
will shoot you." Witness had then hold of one of her mis-
tress's hands, to prevent her from being carried away.
Lockhart said, “If you make any noise, and do not let go
your mistress, I will shoot you." She then let go her hand;
saw Lockhart's pistols presented, and heard him say to his
brother, "Take her out, or I will shoot you." Lockhart
held her, while Loudoun forced out her mistress. Lockhart
then let her go, went out, and shut the street door after
him; she immediately ran up stairs to Davidson, calling out
that her mistress was gone; they then ran out into the street,
but the chaise was gone, and she only heard the noise of the
wheels; the hackney-coach then came which the footman
had been for; he ran after the chaise, but not being able to
overtake it, returned, got into the hackney-coach, and went
in it to Bow Street. Heard a double knock at the door on
Monday night, at eleven o'clock; when it was opened, saw
Lockhart Gordon and a hackney-coach in the street; he on
entering the passage, said, "Well!" and then seeing a man
in the passage with the footman, asked him whether he was
a peace officer, and directly went out again to the coach,
after getting in he looked out of the window, and said to
Davidson," It is you I want to speak with." She answered;
"I will not speak with you while you have that in your
hand." Witness did not see that he had any thing in his
K
!
130
hand. Said her mistress was very fond of books; never
went out; and knew very few people. (Cross-examined.)
When she first came into Mrs. Lee's service, she lived at
Woodford; during the whole time of her service, her mis-
tress had been but twice to church; once at Woodford, with
Lady Wright, and once at Minehead, in travelling. Knew
that a man of the name of William Roberts once lived with
her as footman; was sure that in pulling her down stairs
Loudoun had his arm round her waist.
William Martin, sworn-Said that he was footman to
Mrs. Lee. On Sunday, January 15th, at five o'clock, the
Gordons came to dine with his mistress; after dinner he took
away, and went into the kitchen; about an hour after he
heard a noise in the parlour overhead, as if the.chairs were
moved about, and people were running round the table;
the bell was then rung violently; ran up stairs, but could
not get into the parlour, because somebody held the handle
of the lock in the inside; the door at length opened and his
mistress ran up stairs, to all appearance very much flurried.
Went into the parlour, and saw Lockhart Gordon put some-
thing into the inside pocket of his coat: asked if any thing
was wanted; on being answered, No, returned down stairs;
the maid then came down, and said her mistress wanted a
light in the drawing-room; took one up; thought she looked
very much frightened; met Loudoun on the stairs, going up;
Lockhart went up after him; heard his mistress say,
"Lock-
hart Gordon, you are determined on my ruin." Did not
hear Lockhart answer; the drawing-room door then shut,
and soon after the maid told him to go for a hackney-coach;
he accordingly went for one, and returning with it, heard
the maid calling out, "Murder! They have stolen my mis-
tress!" Left the coach, and ran after a chaise, which
he saw driving off, as far as Park Lane, and then lost sight.
of it; he then returned, and went to Bow Street in the
ļ
131
hackney-coach, to give information of his mistress being
carried off. The night after heard a knock at the door at
eleven o'clock; went up stairs with a man whom he had
procured to sit with him; saw Lockhart at the door with an
opera hat on; Lockhart said, "Well!" Witness got behind
him, and felt something like a pistol in the inside of his coat;
Lockhart then said to the man, "Are you a peace-officer?"
Witness immediately went for a watchman, and returning
with him, heard the women crying out, "Murder!" &c.
and saw a hackney-coach driving off; he ran up and seized
the reins of the horses, and told the coachman that he would
knock him off his box if he did not stop. The watchman at
length succeeded in stopping the coach; Lockhart then
jumped out with a pistol in each hand, and said, “I will
shoot you." While he stooped to avoid the pistol, Lockhart
ran away. They pursued him, and overtook him in Clarges
Street; he had a pistol in each hand, and said he would
shoot the first rascal that offered to seize him. They how-
ever took him, and afterwards delivered him to Miller the
Bow street officer, who happened to meet them. (Cross-
examined.) Once when Loudoun called, he said his mis-
tress was not at home; when she heard his voice she asked
him up. Has called in all about eight or nine times; staid
generally alone with her, and remained a considerable time,
two hours or more; has heard the name of John and
William Roberts mentioned, but does not know where John
Roberts now lives; has heard Mrs. Lee had a footman of the
name of Roberts; Loudoun one evening brought three let-
ters for Mrs. Lee; took one letter from his mistress to Lou-
doun on the 1st of January; he called one evening and
brought three letters, he delivered them to Mrs. Lee; Lou-
doun staid in the parlour, and was afterwards shewed into
the drawing-room; Mrs. Lee seldom eats supper, and it
did not wait for Mrs. Lee that evening; he staid about two
X 2
132
hours, might stay till ten; he never refused Mrs. Lee to
Loudoun, who called seven, eight, or nine times upon his
mistress.
George Hunt, sworn-Said he was a postboy, in High
Street, Mary-le-bone; Mrs. Westgarth ordered a chaise to
be brought to Allsop's Buildings; he drove one there, and
took her to the end of Bolton Place, at about seven o'clock;
she told him to wait till the gentlemen came, and also
waited there herself. In half an hour one of the gentlemen
came, and called to him to move across the street immedi-
ately, and wait there; Mrs. Westgarth went home; in a
quarter of an hour afterwards a gentleman and lady came
towards him; the chaise door was open; he thought the
lady was laughing; they came up to the chaise; she got in,
and he after her; another gentleman then came, got in, and
shut the door; ordered him to drive to Uxbridge as fast as
possible; and told him to drive on as fast as he could or he
would shoot him. Witness paid turnpikes; did not observe
that the lady madè any resistance; he drove to Uxbridge in
an hour and an half; received half-a-guinea for himself from
one of the gentlemen, who went into the house while the
chaise was changing; did not hear any screaming when he
set off from Bolton-street; did not assist in changing the
luggage at Uxbridge; the Uxbridge chaise drew up along-
side of the other; did not see the company go from one
chaise into the other. (Cross-examined.) The lady came-
walking along the street, with the gentleman; the lady was
laughing; he saw the gentleman hand the lady into the post-
chaise; he was looking that way; another gentleman came
a few minutes afterwards; the lady appeared to come very
willingly; there was nothing that induced him to suppose
that the lady was carried off by force. There were four
men about the post chaise at one time at Uxbridge; the lady
did not ask for assistance; Lockhart was in the inn at that
133
time. She might have had assistance at Uxbridge; the
waiter was ordered to take some porter to the post-chaise,
of which the lady partook. He said the gentleman gave
him half-a-guinea, it was very good pay, and what the
gentleman chose to give him. He said that gentlemen often
said to him," Drive on or I will shoot you."
Thomas Gamby sworn-Said he was a post-boy at Ux-
bridge; did not see how the company got from one chaise to
the other; drove them to Wycombe; heard one of the gen-
tlemen ask the lady whether she would stop at Wycombe,
or go on to Tetsworth; she answered she did not care; one
of the gentlemen got out and paid him; they staid at Wy-
combe about 20 minutes.
Joseph Powell sworn-Said he was a post-boy at Wy-
combe; drove two gentlemen and a lady to Tetsworth,
where they got out, carried the luggage into the room where
they were, took in two pistols and some other things; one
gentleman and the lady were standing by the fire; they
went through the kitchen that she might not wet her feet.
(Cross examined.) While at Tetsworth, the Worcester
coach and the Mail were in the yard; he saw two passengers
of the Worcester coach standing in the yard of the inn.
(Examined again.) One of the gentlemen found fault with
him for not driving faster; he answered, he must have drove
him in two hours at farthest, or he would not have beat the
Mail.
Rachel Fanny Antonina Lee sworn-Said she was mar-
ried to Mr. Lee, at Haddington, in Scotland, in 1794, and
was not re-married in England; was not then of age; Mr.
Lee was confined in the Fleet by the Chancellor, for having
ran away with her; they were separated in a year and an
half, and have lived separate ever since; since that time has
1
1
K 3
134
i
been in the receipt of 1200l. per annum, separate income,
entirely at her own disposal; was 7 years old when her
father Lord Le Despencer died; went at 14 years of age to
Mrs. Gordon's, at Kensington; her situation, in point of
fortune, was known there; she staid there almost a year;
Lockhart and Loudoun Gordon were there in the holydays;
she saw them often, but had never seen either of them since
1790, or been at all acquainted with their circumstances
till December 1803; at that time she heard Loudoun was
in town from her apothecary, Mr. Blackett, and that he had
enquired after her; she understood he was just returned
from the West Indies, and wished to send her some present;
she said "she should be happy to see him;" Loudoun ac-
cordingly called; he staid with her between an hour and two
the first visit; the subject of their conversation was, the
death of his sister; he came again some days after, and in
all he called four times by himself, and once with his bro-
ther; he staid sometimes two hours with her; she always
read and wrote a great deal; their conversation often turned
upon books; on the second interview Mrs. Lee warned
Loudoun against any particular attachment to her, she
thought it likely as he was young; he replied, that "his
happiness was in her hands;" to turn the conversation, she
related to him a dream, after this she read him two inter-
pretations of the dream, which were both political; he re-
quested to take it home; he did so, he sent an interpre-
tation to it; she has destroyed it; she saw him twice after
the dream; once when he called she ran down stairs and
told him she could not see him then, having somebody with
her; remembers sending him a note, in which she said that
she supposed his intoxication was the cause of his calling so
late; at the third interview, he proposed to her to take a
tour with him into Wales; she talked about it, reasoned
against it, and at last refused it; never agreed to any time
of going off with him; never heard of any preparations for
1
135
the journey, nor ever consented to it; received two letters
on the 12th of January, the proposition mentioned in the
one from Loudoun, related to the journey into Wales.
(The letter was here produced, and she identified it.) She
had told him to absent himself from her for some days pre-
viously to her receiving Loudoun's letter of 12th January.
The following letter was read:
•
MY DEAREST MADAM,
January 12, 1804.
If you assent to my proposition, I shall gain an in-
IF
exhaustible source of felicity; you will lose the pity of the
ignorant and the prejudiced. The protection that I have
to offer to you, Madam, is the strength of body and mind,
the courage and the life of a man, not unused to danger:
My age, Madam, has been matured by adversity, the only
school of true philosophy; my situation, though it is not
what I could wish, nor what my education and birth might
have led me to expect, is rendered less irksome, by the pos-
session and enjoyment of that inestimable treasure; mens
conscia recti, which can neither be purchased nor stolen.
I have consulted my heart, and would have plucked it out
had it dared to think you less than the most perfect of human
beings. I have consulted my reason in a low, but clear
voice, it whispered praise. Pleasure, name it not my
heart, for I have found no traces of you imprinted there.
If the union of congenial souls can be rendered more com-
plete by the union of their bodies, obey Madam the first
mandate of God and of nature, or tremble at the thoughts
of your disobedience. The world, Madam, is unworthy of
you; the false opinion which it will probably form with re-
gard to your conduct, will never be able to shake your con-
stancy or fortitude. In obedience to your commands I have
communicated your letter to my brother; he respects, he
K 4
136
admires you, and he says that he will protect you at the
hazard of his life and fortunes. I can feel, though I cannot
express what I am to you, more than that I am,
My dearest Madam,
Your sincere and affectionate
L. H. GORDON.
Mrs. Lee said that Loudoun's letter was in answer to one
which she had written to him; she only remembered one
sentence of her own letter,
Lockhart's letter was then produced, but not identified;
the man-servant brought them up; she received them both
at the same time; does not recollect seeing Loudoun Gor-
don on Friday, nor that the footman brought up any letter
but a note in answer to the invitation to dinner she had sent
them. The following letter was then read;
MY DEAR MADAM,
January 12, 1804.
I consent with all my heart to every thought,
word, and expression contained in Loudoun's answer to
your letter, which you did me the honour to desire him to
communicate to me. If Loudoun deceives you Mrs. Lee,
I will certainly blow his brains out, and then we shall both
be eternally damned as we shall most richly deserve. Strong
feelings burst the fetters of ceremony, and express them-
selves in the untutored language of nature. Mrs. Lee will
find in Lockhart Gordon, a friend who has a head to con-
ceive, a heart to feel, and a hand to execute whatever may
conduce to Mrs. Lee's happiness.
I have the honour to be, &c.
L. GORDON,
•
137
Does not remember that
evening of January the 12th.
12th, she invited him and his brother to dinner on Sunday
the 15th; begged Loudoun that Lockhart and himself would
come to her as friends; the invitation was after she had re-
ceived the two letters; she said she would talk about
Loudoun's plan with Lockhart and himself on Sunday; did
not see either of them between the 12th and 15th of January,
nor had any communication with them: on the 15th they
came to dine with her; before dinner she said to Lockhart,
"What do you think of this extraordinary plan your brother
has proposed?" Lockhart answered, "If you love Loudoun,
and Loudoun loves you, it will conduce to the happiness of
both." She said, "have you reflected upon the conse-
quences of the measure?" he answered, "Mrs. Lee, you
will gain two friends; have you a friend that would shed
his blood for you?" she said, "No, I have friends to lose;"
nothing about leaving London was then said. They went
down to dinner, and the conversation turned on various
subjects. Nothing led her to suspect, nor had she ever any
idea that any journey was intended. After dinner Lock-
hart said to Loudoun, "you have a present for Mrs. Lee;”
Lockhart said, "Come and fetch it;" Loudoun went to
him, and took the ring, which he tried to put on her finger,
but which she resisted, and it was laid on the table; soon
after Lockhart said, "It is near seven o'clock, and the
chaise will be here at seven;" she said, "What chaise?”
Lockhart answered, "You must go with Loudoun to-night:"
she treated it as a joke, and joked upon it; does not know
how long it was before she went up stairs; when she did,
Lockhart opposed her; he then produced a pistol; she was
panic struck; did not ring the bell in the parlour; did not
see her man-servant when he came into the dining-room,
after Lockhart had shewed the pistol; Lockhart told Loudoun
to go and see if the chaise was ready, he went; she went
Loudoun called on her on the
During Loudoun's visit on the
138
•
up stairs to her room; saw her maid Davidson, and told her
there was a plan to take her out of her house; Davidson
said, "How can they take you out of your own house?"
she said, "they have pistols." She then went down stairs
to the drawing-room; Loudoun came in and was alone
with her in the drawing-room; Loudoun asked her to go,
and said the post-chaise was ready; she said she could not
go; Lockhart soon came up, and said, "Do not stand there,
I am determined you shall go," taking her at the same time
by the arm; she said, “she would not go out of the house;"
he said, "I am desperate." Mrs. Lee recollects Davidson
coming up and attempting to part Lockhart from her;
a scuffle ensued; she cannot speak as to the pointing of the
pistol; was not absolutely stupified; she does not remember
the other servant coming up with Davidson; heard Lock-
hart say,
"Bring her down, or I will shoot you;" he was
then on the middle of the stairs, and she at the top; she
went down with Loudoun; when she got into the passage,
saw Lockhart pointing at the other maid with a pistol; they
then got her out into the street, where she saw a chaise;
had no idea beforehand of the chaise being prepared; does
not remember in what relative situations she was in, in her
way to the chaise, with regard to Lockhart or Loudoun,
and cannot say how she got in, having such a vague idea
about it; remembers perfectly saying in the chaise, that she
was in a state of stupefaction; she spoke principally to Lock-
hart, to induce him to let her return; she begged to have a
chaise to return; Lockhart said, it was impossible; did not
get out of the chaise, except when she got from one chaise
to the other; remembers that Lockhart said something about
the ring, and that Loudoun put it on her finger; she remem-
bers being left in the room at Tetsworth with Lockhart; re-
monstrated with him; and said, she thought it was one of the
most infernal measures that ever was taken, and a breach of
hospitality to take her out of her own house; she again.
139
begged to have a chaise, which he refused; the maid asked
when she should be in bed, and when she should light the
gentleman up; she said in about ten minutes; she was ap
prehensive that a serious scuffle might ensue, in which lives
might be lost, if she did not comply; whatever might have
passed in the chaise implying assent, and notwithstanding she
was in her senses when they sat down to supper, had she
had the perfect exercise of her mind, she should have been
more inclined to have ordered a post-chaise than to have gone
to bed; had her affection for Loudoun been ever so violent,
under such circumstances she would not have wished to have
indulged it; she was quite a stranger in Tetsworth, and knew
nobody to apply to; Loudoun staid all night with her, and
she did not deny that she submitted to his embraces; they
got up at half-past eleven; the maid came to their room in
the morning, and took her gown to be washed, as she had
no change of cloaths; went down to breakfast, and saw
Lockhart; her mind was confused, she does not recollect
Lockhart's going away from Tetsworth; saw Mrs. Edmonds,
the landlady of the inn, after Lockhart had gone away;
there was no acquaintance between them; communicated
her situation to her, and entrusted her with a letter for her
maid Davidson; in the chaise remembers hearing Lockhart
say, he wished to be in town the next evening to a ball.
Mrs. Lee, did that intercourse which usually takes place.
between man and wife, take place between Loudoun and
you at Tetsworth?
It did.
(Cross examined by Mr. Abbot.) Knew that the late
Lord Portsmouth was Mrs. Gordon's brother; Mr. Gordon
was dead, he was brother to Lord Aboyne; Lockhart and
Loudoun used to come home for the holidays, when an ac-
quaintance commenced between them.
!
140
The ring was put on her finger during the journey to
Tetsworth, by Loudoun; she does not recollect that Loudoun -
mistook the hand, nor rallying him for having done so; she
cannot say that it did not pass. The ring first occurred to
her about a fortnight or three weeks ago; her servant,
Davidson, told her that she (Mrs. Lee) had just taken off a
strange ring; she could not recollect saying “in compliance.
with the custom of the world I consent to wear this ring;"-
she could not say it did not pass; she recollected that Lockhart
wished to return to Town, to go to a ball, that he might
not be suspected to be concerned in the elopement; she
thought it a very villainous thing, because it would make it
appear that she had gone away with Loudoun; that appear-
ed to be his-motive. She did not hear what family he was
to meet at the ball; did not consent to his returning to Lon-
don. Mrs. Lee knew before Sunday night that Lockhart
was about some arrangement relative to a living; he said it
would be to his interest to return to town, that he might
appear at the ball and consolidate his interest; he said
"that she ought to consider his prospects would be destroy-
ed if she did not consent to his return to town;" she replied
"that he had destroyed her prospects." She considered
Lockhart as the person who had led to the whole of the
affair; he alone made use of any violent expression; he.
alone had expressed the determination that she should leave
her house; Loudoun was as much subservient to Lockhart
as she herself. Mrs. Lee said that she had her steel neck-.
lace on when she left her house on Sunday night, that she
threw it out of the post-chaise window; she could not say
whether it was before she arrived at Uxbridge or not; she
said that was her charm against pleasure," when she
threw it out of the window; at that moment she gave
herself up, she afterwards expostulated; a bag of camphor
hung to the necklace; the word charm alluded to one of the
supposed properties of that medicine; she used it as a seda-
141
:
tive, it is supposed to calm the passions, particularly that
passion which subsists between one sex and the other. She
did not recollect desiring the post-chaise might be drawn
up close to the other at Uxbridge; she could not say it was
not so; she recollected Lockhart leaving the post-chaise at
Uxbridge, but did not recollect that she drank porter there.
She recollected Lockhart talking something about his health;
some enquiries were made about Loudoun's health; the
enquiries were made by herself. Mrs. Lee was satisfied
that Loudoun's health was unimpaired; this was in the
course of the journey to Tetsworth; Mrs. Lee might, she
said, have enquired in the post-chaise on Sunday night, how
long it had been since Loudoun had connected himself with
a woman; she recollected that Lockhart said Loudoun had
not been out at night. Mrs. Lee sent advice to both brothers,
during their confinement in Newgate, to abstain from a
connection with the sex, which might be most prejudicial
to them. That advice was not sent to Loudoun in particu-
lar. Mrs. Lee might have desired in the post-chaise that
the sheets should be well aired at Tetsworth. Mrs. Lee
said she ate a good supper at Tetsworth, that the conversa-
tion was about Hieroglyphicks and Grecian Architecture;
from the whole of the conversation her conduct certainly
was such as to induce Loudoun to suppose he might come
to bed to her. She first heard Loudoun's return from the
West Indies of Mr. Blackett, who, Mrs. Lee said was a
very respectable apothecary, and had attended her for
thirteen or fourteen years; she told Mr. Blackett to tell
Loudoun that she should be very glad to see him. His first
visit was upon the 14th of December; Mrs. Lee recollected
that Loudoun saluted her that day, and that he was in the
habit of saluting her when he called, but Mrs. Lee said
that no further familiarities passed between them; remem
bered appointing a day for Loudoun to come to her again
●n his first visit; she recollected receiving a note from him
142
for not coming upon the day she had fixed upon. Remem-
bered desiring Loudoun to tell his brother that he need not
be afraid to call upon her, although he was a clergyman,
because her religious opinions were sceptical; she never
denied that her opinions were sceptical; she had not attend-
ed places of divine worship for some years; Mrs. Lee said
that the doctrines which are preached there did not accord
with her's, and added, that she did not believe in christian-
ity.
As soon as Mrs. Lee had said that "she did not believe
in christianity;" Mr. Abbot, whose abilities during Mrs.
Lee's cross examination and that of other unwilling witnesses,
had been very conspicuous, discontinued his questions.
A conference between the judge and the counsel on the
part of the prosecution then took place for some minutes:
afterwards the counsel on both sides conferred together, and
Mrs. Lee was given to understand by them, that there was
no farther occasion for her evidence. Mr. Justice Lawrence
desired Mr. Anthony Parkin to protect Mrs. Lee out of
court; after some hesitation Mr. Parkin exhibited himself
upon the council table, which he had to cross in order to
overtake Mrs. Lee. Mr. Edmonds, master of the Inn at
Tetsworth, was called to the bar, in order probably to
cover Mrs. Lee's retreat.
Mr. Justice Lawrence said to the jury "it did not appear
that any force had been used to bring Mrs. Lee into the
county of Oxford, and observed to them that Mrs. Lee
might have had assistance at the different turnpikes through
which she passed on the road to Tetsworth, as well as at
the inns where the horses were changed; you must therefore
acquit the prisoners." The jury immediately pronounced
the prisoners "not guilty."
143
Mr. Justice Lawrence addressing himself to the prisoners
said "their acquittal was no cause of triumph to them, as
their conduct had been disgraceful."
Mr. Abbot exacted a promise from Lockhart, just before
the Judge made his observations upon their conduct that he
would not speak, which promise was the cause of his
silence.
A gentleman behind the bar wished Lockhart joy; he said
"I thank you Sir, and am only sorry that I have not had an
opportunity of clearing my character from the aspersions
which have been thrown upon it." Some noblemen and
several gentlemen kindly and voluntarily appeared in court
to give their evidence in favour of the prisoners.
1

MAXIMS

t
CHARACTERS,
AND
Fulke Greville,
REFLECTIONS,
CRITICAL, SATYRICAL, and MORAL.
Laugh where we must, be candid where we can.
POPE.
Et moi auffi je fuis Peintr
MONTESQUIEU
LONDON:
Printed for J. and R. TONSON in the Strand.
MDCCLVI.
1756
*
F
;

14
[iii]
1
PREFACE.
E
VERY one, I believe, has his
moments of reflection; I have
had mine. My mind has frequently
been filled with images, and bufied
in arranging and comparing them;
in forming principles, and drawing
conclufions: Thefe ideas I found it
difficult wholly to retain, and wholly
to difmifs; they were continually
recurring, though not without fome
confufion, becauſe they were conti-
nually increaſing; ſo that I was at
length urged, by a kind of necef-
fity, to throw them out upon paper
merely that I might relieve
mory, and indulge my imagination
in new purſuits without diſtraction.
A 2
my
me-
When
[ iv ]
When they were once written, I felt
the fame defire to diſcharge them
from my cabinet, as I had felt to
diſcharge them from my mind; and
as I had before thrown out my
thoughts upon paper, I have now
thrown my papers into the world.
IT is however, of little confe-
quence to the reader what may
have been my motive for offering
him this little book; he will un-
doubtedly confider only how far
it pleaſes him I haften then to
fay what appears to me not im-
proper for him to know, before he
commences my judge.
:
IN the first place I muſt ob-
ferve, that there are about a dozen
fentences among the maxims that
are extremely like fome that occur
in La Rochefoucault, or La Bruiere;
it is therefore neceffary to prevent a
charge of plagiariſm by declaring that
I firſt read thofe celebrated authors,
after the maxims in queftion were

written,
[ v
√ ]
even
written, and in confequence of hav-
ing written them, and fome hun-
dred more which I have not brought
into this collection. As the fimili-
tude of thoſe paffages is a very
confiderable proof that the fentiment
they contain is true, I was for that
reafon determined to admit them;
and upon this occafion I would
remark, that if I had juftly fuffered
as a plagiary, truth would
then have fuffered with me; for
the moment we read what we think
unfairly borrowed, we are fo offend-
ed at the difingenuity which would
appropriate the merit of another,
that we pay no regard to the fen-
timent itſelf, nor give ourſelves lei-
fure to confider a moment whether
it is true or falfe, trivial or impor-
tant; fo ftrong is the natural love
of juftice among men!
It is farther neceffary to apprize
my reader, that he will here and
there detect me in the ufe of words
A 3
and
!
[vi]
and expreffions that are wholly
French; but before he cenfures me
as guilty either of negligence or
affectation, let him try to find an
Engliſh word or expreffion that in-
cludes preciſely the fame idea; if
he cannot, he muſt neceffarily ac-
quit me, and if he can, I fhall
I fhall envy
him the diſcovery and wiſh it had
been mine.
IT is certainly true, however
little to be accounted for, that the
inhabitants of every country have
a peculiar characteriſtic, by which
they are diſtinguiſhed from all others.
Every language therefore muſt have
peculiar advantagés and diſadvan¬
tages; it muſt be more adapted to ex-
preſs thoſe ideas that have a particu-
lar connection with the prevailing
genius and temper of the people that
uſe it, and muſt be lefs adapted to ex-
preſs thoſe ideas which have a parti-
cular connection with the temper and
genius of others. As to the different
charac-
[vii]
characteriſtics of France and Eng-
land, they will be beſt diſtinguiſhed
by a view of each as repreſented
by the other; becauſe the peculiari-
ties of each being then exaggerated,
will be more eafily difcerned. If
we believe what a Frenchman and
an Engliſhman would fay of their
reſpective countries, we fhall con-
clude, that one is gawdy and fan-
taftic, the other deftitute of fancy;
one idly volatile, the other fo-
lemnly bufy; that one is profligate
in her manners, the other wants gal-
lantry; one is too fond of company,
and the other of folitude; one is
trifling, the other formal; one is too
much in jeft, the other too much in
earneft; one carries the gaiety of
converſation between the fexes into
indelicacy and libertiniſm, the other
renders it infipid by an aukward re-
ferve in one fex, and ungraceful
bafhfulneſs in the other; one reaſons
too much, the other too little; in the
A 4
pro-
:
1
[viii]
productions of imagination one in-
dulges a wild and licentious luxuri-
ancy, the other is too tamely fond of
exactneſs, propriety, and rule; for
as one is more extenfive in her ideas,
fo is fhe lefs precife; and as the
other is lefs extenfive, fo is fhe more
precife. It is not here neceffary, to
draw the line of truth between theſe
two accounts, it is fufficient to ob-
ſerve, that there is at leaſt a propen-
fity in the two nations to theſe ex-
ceffes, and that when they err, they
err in every particular on oppofite
fides. The general difference is now
much leſs than it was ten years ago:
whether we ſhall continue to approach
each other till we meet, or whether
we ſhall withdraw into our original
limits, time only can determine.
By this ſketch it may, I think,
be ſeen where the ftrength of the
two languages lies; the Engliſh
language has greater depth and
compafs, and is therefore capable
I
of
[ix]
of more force and elegance than
the French; but at the fame time
it has leſs refinement and precifion;
and though with reſpect to fub-
jects of importance it has a greater
variety of words; yet with reſpect
to objects of tafte, to the deli-
cacies of manner and converſation,
the nice diftinctions of modes of be-
haviour, and all the numberless re-
finements of fociety, it is compara-
tively poor.
Upon this occafion
perhaps I may be permitted to ob-
ſerve, that our language is copious
and expreffive not only by the num-
ber of words, but by the various
fenfes in which the fame word is uſed:
but this, although it frequently pro-
duces a beauty, fometimes renders
a paffage ambiguous and obfcure;
eſpecially in unconnected aphorifms,
where truth is compreffed into a ſmall
compaſs, and can receive no illuftra-
tion from antecedent or fubfequent`
paffages. Our language alfo feems
to
I
[x]
to want accuracy and precifion, by
having no genders; fo that the
words, it, they, that, thofe, and other
relatives, are not ſo eaſily referred to
their particular antecedents: for this
reaſon, perhaps, ſome have thought
the French language better adapted
to expreſs independent truths in hort
maxims than ours. And indeed, if
it be allowed that the Engliſh lan-
guage is capable of equal perfpicuity
with the French, it muſt be acknow-
ledged that it is at leaſt more difficult
to render it thus perfpicuous, as the
number of words out of which the
choice is to be made is greater; and
many of thoſe that offer are fo un-
certain in their fignification, that
they may be read in a fenfe very
different from that in which they
were written: in this inftance there-
fore, the diſadvantage of our lan-
guage refults from its abundance, as
the advantage of the French from its
poverty. If my thoughts are expreffed
•
with
i
[xi]
with any degree of ftrength and ele-
gance, I defire to acknowledge my
obligation to the language in which I
write; and if they ſhould happen alſo
to be expreffed with perfpicuity, by
a happy choice of words, I muſt
confeſs that they owe this in a great
degree to the advantage which re-
fulted from my communicating them
to others, and hearing their expref-
fion of my ſentiment.
As to the fenfe which my max-
ims or characters contain, I offer it
only as my opinion, and would by no
means be thought to impofe it upon
others. I neither expect, nor think
I have reaſon to expect, that in every
particular it will be univerfally re-
ceived as true: men differ from men
too much to ſee objects in the fame
light, or draw the fame conclufions
from the fame principles. The
reader will however, I think, eafily
fee that my thoughts are fuch as
naturally aroſe from a perufal of that
great
3
>
:
[ xii ]
great miſcellany, the living world;
and are not contrived to fupport any
favourite theory, which I had either
formed or adopted in a library or a
college; and therefore, before he
concludes that I am miſtaken, I
hope he will have recourfe to the
fame fchool, and try me not by
opinion but experience, not by logic
but by life.
But as I know fome will charge
me with error, I know alfo that I
cannot hope to pleaſe all who ad-
mit my notions to be true. I know
that our neighbours the French
are pleaſed with a fententious and,
unconnected manner of writing
and that in general we are not.
The cauſe of this difference of
tafte between two nations fo emi-
nent for genius and learning I
fhall not here attempt to affign,
though I think that in fome de-
gree it might eaſily be done.
BUT
[ xiii] ·
BUT that I might as much as
poffible accommodate myſelf to the
taſte of my country, I have ex-
tended and rendered more explicit
many of
my fhort maxims, which,
tho' they reflected my own ideas
to myſelf, might have wanted ex-
planation to others. I have alfo
added characters, which in many
inftances have given me an oppor-
tunity, not only of fhewing the
reader the concatenation of ideas
that has either flowed from, or
produced my original maxim, but
alſo of attempting fome nicer touches
of fentiment, fatire, or humour.
I HAVE alfo added fome fhort
pieces of poetry that are not
quite foreign to my general defign,
and fome few criticiſms on received
opinions which did not appear to
me to be juſt.
•
SOMETIMES the maxim is illuf
trated but in part, and fometimes
་
indeed
[ xiv ]
indeed the maxim and character
have no connection at all. The
maxims themſelves are in fome few
inftances ranged fo as to throw a
light upon each other, though in
other inftances they are wholly un-
connected; and fometimes though
they have a common relation to
the ſame ſubject, are ſeparated by
defign. It muſt be left to the in-
telligent reader to diſtinguiſh theſe
particulars, and to fee the author's
different view in the various and
very different parts of this work.
I DOUBT not but that my book
has now many defects, and it will
every day have more; for fuch parts
as allude to faſhions and cuftoms,
muſt neceffarily loſe not only their
force and propriety, but even their
meaning, as thoſe faſhions and cuf-
toms change and are forgotten; nay
the finer is a ftroke of fatire or hu-
mour, particularly if the expreffion be
ironical, the fooner is it liable to be
loft.
2
[ xv ]
loft. The next winter may per-
haps render me unintelligible in
fome parts where I am now beſt
underſtood; even while I am writ-
ing my fubject eludes me, and my
labour may in that refpect perhaps
be compared to that of a painter,
who fhould attempt to delineate
the figure of a cloud, which is
every moment changing its fhape,
and will in a fhort time totally
diſappear.
I WOULD not however be thought
to apologize for defects, or to fol-
licit applaufe. If the public fhall
honour theſe fheets with a favou-
rable regard in a general view, and
thus make them worthy of another
edition, I fhall pay the utmoſt de-
ference to its juft cenfure of parti-
cular parts, and readily remove or
alter what fhall appear reprehen-
fible.
My first inducement indeed to
give theſe fheets to the world was
my
[ xvi ]
my own fatisfaction, and that can-
not be taken from me. If I fhould
be fo happy as to pleaſe the unpre-
judiced and the juft, nay to be re-
prehended by them, my fecond
pleaſure will indeed be greater than
my firft.
ERRAT A.
Page 32, line 10. for puppy! bow, read puppy bow.
45,
76,
83,
84,
. 108,
109,
116,
128,
131,
231,
250,
13. for difcourfes read difcourfe.
5. for troubleſome 'read tireſome.
12. dele full point after apt.
14. for Frabicius read Fabricius.
3. for falje read falſe.
5. for as muſicians read as fome muficians.
17. for deſerver read obferver.
20. for jolting read jutting.
23. dele comma after bawrk.
25. for quelle difgrace read quelle diſgrace.
19. for was very pretty read was a very pretty.
1. for is a man read is man.
13. for principles read principle.
MAXIMS,
[ x ]
I
MAXIMS, &c.
A
MAXIM is, fometimes like the
feed of a plant which the foil it is
thrown into muſt expand into leaves, and
flowers, and fruit; fo that great part of it
muſt ſometimes be written as it were by.
the reader.
No man was ever fo much deceived by
another as by himſelf.
THE best heads can but misjudge in
cauſes belonging to the 'juriſdiction of the
Heart.
TRUE delicacy, as true generofity, is
more wounded by an offence from itſelf, if
$
B
I
[2]
I may be allowed the expreffion, than to
itſelf.
As fome poiſonous animals carry about
them an antidote to their own venom, fo
do moſt people for the offence they give by
flight, hatred, and contempt.
VERY nice fcruples are fometimes the
effect of a great mind, but oftner of a
little one.
SOME men talk fenfibly and act foolishly,
fome talk foolishly and act fenfibly; the
firſt laugh at the laft, the laft cheat the firſt.
SAYS Agothles I am of confequence,
pray confider me; I am agreeable, pray
feek my company: the world is in this in-
ſtance fo complying that it takes his word
and gratifies him. Yes, fay you, the un-
difcerning and the foolish, all others fee
that the man is only vain and impudent.
It is true; but while I hear thoſe others cry
out againſt the impofition, I. likewife fee
them comply with the request.
CHRYSANTES is more fought after than
any man I know: he is alike the favourite
of the old, the young, the men, of parts
and
7
[ 3 ]
and the illiterate.
Hear
No one ever calls him
by his firname, or Mr. it is the fmalleft di-
minutive of his chriftian name that he goes
by, and were there any thing in the lan-
guage correfpondent to ANIMULA that
would doubtless be his appellation. Adrian
could not have invented any thing more
fondling for his own foul than every one
would beſtow upon this Mignion.
then the rare qualities that have dignified
this Delicia humani generis. Chryfantes is
in his perſon unwieldly, clumfy, and vulgar,
and his countenance is not only correfpon-
dent to his figure in regard to his features,
but is wholly unanimated and without ex-
preffion; his behaviour muſt conſequently
be equally deſtitute of grace and delicacy.
What are his morals? execrable; all his
fenfations towards human nature are con-
fined to the little circle of his own perſon;
but what then, I fay, are his charms? nay,
if you don't find them out it is not my fault.
Will you fit up? Chryfantes is your Man
provided your Champaigne be good, or
your purſe full and expoſed to be emptied.
Dice, cards, heads or tails, Chryfantes has
no choice, he is all complaifance, only if
B 2
;
you
!
[4]
you leave it to him he had rather play for
indefinite ſums, and it is very eaſy for each
man to tell his lump. He never miſtakes,
he will tell you, every time he wins, to a
guinea what he had before him; no man
reckons better, or ſo faft as he; he is the
beſt companion, the bonefteft fellow in the
world; but what is his converſation? is it
the awful profound of reaſoning, or the gay
fuperficies of wit that thus attracts the lite-
rati? neither; you are tired with the para-
dox!-Chryfantes has the beft cook in the
world, the beſt wines; and a great houſe
whofe door hates the threshold.
SAYING an ingenious or difcerning thing
is no proof of a found underſtanding, faying
an abfurd thing, prejudice always excepted,
is a proof of the contrary.-Folly is ſeldom
fo grofs as to admit no gleam of light, and
one right hit cannot prove a right affem-
'blage of ideas; though a right affemblage
of ideas makes grofs abfurdity even in a
fingle inftance impoffible.
VANITY is the poifon of agreeableness;
yet as poifon when artfully and properly ap-
ply'd, has a falutary effect in medicine, fo
has
}
[ 5 ]
has vanity in the commerce and fociety of
the world.
WE are never fo ready to praiſe as when
we are inclined to detract, and often has
one man, nay one nation, been flattered by
the commendations of a writer who really
meant no more than to fix a ftronger cen-
fure úpon another.
Pleaſure is a game for which it will be in
vain to try, it muſt ſtart before you or you'll
never find.
IF
you find your friend covetous hope
he is inconfiftent too-he has nothing elſe
for it.
NOTHING fo difficult as tracing effects
into cauſes, nothing fo quick as the inven-
tion of cauſes for effects.
Some men are like certain ftuffs, beauti-
ful on one fide, hideous on the other.
AN unpretending man is never deficient;
or if he is, as La Bruiere fays of uglineſs
in an agreeable man,
"Cela ne fait pas
Son effet."
ARCON is what the French call d'un fort
mauvais ton; and he is much more fo from
B 3
aiming
1
¡
[ 6 ]
aiming at what they call un bon ton; he is
well-born, not ill educated, or by any means
of a contemptible underſtanding: Maisdun
fort mauvais ton!-He happens of late years
to have been in a fituation which has kept
him chiefly in the country (no help to that
fame mauvais ton) but he has there often
feen what is called good company: Arcon
has juſt converted his old chariot into a very
genteel poft chaiſe, his little boy rides poſti-
lion with his hair tied behind, and his
Valet de chambre attends in his flaxen wig,
fo that he is now quite as genteel as his
neighbours; nay, he will tell you of feveral
lords and ladies with whom he is very inti-
mate; fometimes indeed he ſtumbles upon a
name which is really the very reverfe of a puff,
but it's not his fault, he thinks it a confider-
able one: elſe, himſelf, I affure
you, would
have taken no great notice of the perſon¸
Talk to Arcon, or his Wife, (they are one
fleſh) about the fafhions; he will diſpute
the cut of a ſleeve, or the cock of a hat as
ftrenuouſly as any one; happy if he had juſt
feen for the firſt time ſome travelling mode,
which being not above half worn out, was
ſpick and ſpan in his quarters! he has ſeen
French
[7]
French cookery too; you will never puzzlé
him with your Fricandeaus or your Bouillis ;
-he had once feen diſhes that were fo
called at a friend's houfe: Arcon was invited
to dine at a table that was really well-ſerved
in the French manner :-he ordered his
equipage and went; and after all proper
compliments and ceremonies they fat down
to dinner. Soup, hors doeuvres, entrees, rôt,
and entremets; Arcon looked a little queer:
however, he ſaw his Boulie, afked for it
and had it. The petits patees were at a dif-
tance; pray, my lord, fays he, be fo good
as to help me to one of thoſe little tarts;
your lordship's broth was vaftly good! he
eat but little of the rot, for unfortunately he
hated bacon, and every thing was either
bardé or lardé; he pleaſed himſelf however,
and felt fnug, in his obfervations upon a
fowl at the upper end of the table ſent up
with-no fure-yes, he look'd again, and
faw it peep from each fide-with grafs un-
der it for that he had never feen, nor
would he forget it. As foon as the
entremet was ſerved he obſerved with plea-
ſure over againſt him a fine large Créme aù
pistache, and begged the gentleman who fat
by it to fend him a little of the custard.
What
B 4
[ 8 ]
What was it that made Arcon ridiculous?
not his ignorance, but his pretenfions to
knowledge.
THE art of making yourſelf confider-
able in the great and gay world, is neither
to be defined, nor learnt.
EVERY character is in fome refpects uni-
form and in others inconfiftent, and it is
only by the ſtudy of both, and a compariſon
of them with each other, that the know-
ledge of man is acquired.
THE
great fault of the human underſtand-
ing, is not the not going well, but the not
ſtopping well.
MERON is a man of quality, and though
young, has a confiderable office in the go-
vernment: he is member of parliament,
and has often diftinguiſhed himſelf in it,
He has about three quarters of a good
underſtanding and about-three quarters of
an amiable difpofition.He is noble and
generous, but he is not free from pride and
oftentation; he is determined in his party,
and reſolute in his purpoſe; but then he is
obſtinate and overbearing; as a companion
he is frank and agreeable; but he is fupercili-
ous and contemptuous to his inferiors; nay,
as
[ 9 ]
as he is not very exact, he fometimes mif-
takes thoſe inferiors. He has certainly what
may pafs for eloquence, a fine choice of
words, and an agreeable flow, but then he
wants taſte. His fubjects are fometimes ill-
chofen, and his eloquence ill-tim'd; Meron
has been known to indulge this flow of elocu-
tion at focial entertainments, which, though
it may poffibly come within the circle of
taſte and propriety in Britain, would certainly
be thought every where elſe extreamly ab-
furd. The habit of political buſineſs and
political fpeaking has encouraged him to
Speech it at dinners, at fuppers; nay, where
there were women as well as men: Then
he will ſometimes tell you one thing is pre-
mature, another is what he won't opiniâtre,
a third is ſomething to which the parties will
not accede. Then he is too apt-and that in-
deed is hardly confiftent with the reſt of his
character, or within the circle of Britanic
taſte—He is too apt to be prolix on a trivial
unintereſting ſubject. He is circumſtantial
—I had almoſt faid pathetic-about the
regulation of the laft year's opera, or
the leſs intereſting concerns of a com-
mon acquaintance; Meron has theſe ex-
cellen-
1
[ 10 ]
cellencies, but he has alſo theſe imperfec-
tions: he feems to have made a diſcovery,
I know not whether you will ſubſcribe to it,
but he feems to have found out, that the
common opinion which places the beauty of
converſation in compreffing our thoughts is a
vulgar error, and that, on the contrary,
they ſhould be dilated and ſpun out.
PENETRATION feems a kind of in-
ſpiration; it gives me an idea of prophecy.
ERROR is often nouriſhed by good Senſe.
HUMAN knowledge is the parent of
doubt.
PLEASURE is the buſineſs of the young,
buſineſs the pleaſure of the old.
THE fenfe to conduct fenfe is worth every
other part of it; for great abilities are more
frequently poffeffed, than properly apply'd.
NOTHING ſo eaſy as to keep up an eſ-
tabliſh'd character of fenſe by converſation,
nothing fo difficult as to acquire one by it;
at leaſt a converfation fuperior to that which
keeps it up, may not give it.
A lively and agreeable man of honour
has not only the merit of thofe qualities in
himſelf,
[ 11 ]
himſelf, but that alſo of awakening them
in others.
It is a melancholy confideration, that the
difficulty of gaining reputation or riches,
fhould be great in proportion to the want of
them.
A man muſt be a fool indeed, if I think
him one at the time he is applauding me.
THE oak which is generally confidered
as the king of trees, is that alſo which ar-
rives lateſt at perfection; and perhaps in fome
ſenſe the ſame obſervation may be true with
reſpect to mankind.
POLYDORE and Craterus paft their child-
hood together, and received, in every ref-
pect, the fame education, and yet they came
into the world with oppofite characters.
Polydore had what is called bright parts,
which he neglected to ufe: Craterus had
what is called good folid fenfe which he ex-
erted with conſtant and unwearied diligence:
Polydore had fo lively a reliſh for pleaſure,
that his life was wafted in perpetual diffipa-
tion. Craterus had fo much regard to the
main chance, that he was never feduced to
idleneſs or irregularity, but improved fuch
talents
+
[ 12 ]
:
talents as he had to the utmoſt advantage.
They both obtained feats in parliament al-
moſt as ſoon as they were of age, and Cra-
terus attended at the houſe with fo much
punctuality, and ſo affiduouſly applied to the
ſubject of every queſtion, that he became
almoſt a man of buſineſs the first year. But
Polydore all this while neither knew, nor
cared what was doing; he ſometimes attended
indeed in appearance, but his mind was
abfent, except in fome fudden ftart of recol-
lection, when he curfed the dull tedious de-
bate that kept him from his pleaſures. Thus
Polydore with fuperior natural talents, al-
ways appeared inferior to Craterus, except in
matters of taſte, for in theſe his fuperiority
appeared without an effort, it was the effect
of nature, inſtant and fpontaneous; but
where a ſeries of principles were to be traced,
and connections diſcovered, Craterus had
greatly the advantage; for though Polydore
was more able he was lefs willing to apply,
and the effect of mere indolence was fome-
times miſtaken for that of incapacity. Poly-
dore was many years ſhort of that maturity at
which Craterus was arrived. Craterus was
all he could ever be, Polydore in compari-
fon
[ 13 ]
ſon of what he might be was as yet nothing.
Polydore put one in mind of a high-bred
pack of true vermin fox-hounds at the begin-
ning of the ſeaſon, which daſhed, flew, and
run riot nobody knows where, and had a
ſpirit that twenty whippers-in could not re-
ſtrain: Craterus, of a ftaunch pack of fou-
therns, which were never off the true ſcent,
but would eat, drink, and comply with all
other calls of nature in the height of the
chaſe, though fifty whippers-in fhould fweat
in vain to get them forwards. Craterus one
day told Polydore, that it was a fhame for
a member to know ſo little of the buſineſs of
the houſe. Pooh- d—n it, ſays he, I tell
you- you are premature.
PRAXITELES is one of thoſe rare geni-
uſes, which, like fome plants, rife, bloom,
and arrive at perfection almoft at once,
though they are of the firſt claſs. He had
fcarce entered the world as a man, before
he made his way to the top of it; he took
his feat in parliament, and he roſe up an
orator: Penetration fupplied him with all
the advantages which experience beſtows
others. Nature ſeemed to have ani-
upon
mated
>
*
!
[ 14 ]
mated and adorned the wisdom of age
with all the fire, the gayety, the luftre of
youth, and thus to have produced a being
of a new fpecies. When he rofe up to ſpeak,
all was filence and expectation; nor was this
expectation ever difappointed. All the beau-
ties of poetry, all the delicacy of ſentiment,
all the ſtrength of reaſon, united in that tor-
rent of eloquence, which, as it flowed with
irrefiftable force, fparkled with unrivalled
luftre, and was admired even by thoſe who,
having in vain oppofed its courſe were in a
moment borne down before it. If he was
attacked, no matter by how many, he not
only avoided the weapon of his adverfaries,
but turned the edge of it with double force
upon themſelves, always directing it with
unerring ſkill to that part where it would
moſt eaſily enter. It is, methinks, difficult
to ſpeak of Praxiteles without a metaphor,
becauſe common language can but ill expreſs
uncommon excellence; it may however be
faid, that Praxiteles has the art of uniting
the elegance of a courtier and the accuracy
of a ſcholar with the keennefs of a difputant,
and will
pay the
the politeft complement to the
perſon, while he expoſes the ſophiſtry of the
3
ſpeaker.
[ 15 ]
fpeaker. Praxiteles has fuch command
over elegance, grace, and taſte, that he
has been able to carry them even into a
fociety of politicians, and to touch the breafts
of thoſe whoſe imaginations have wanted
vigour to push them beyond the frozen
virtues of induſtrious regularity, with fome-
thing of that elevating delight, infpired by
the ſtriking fuperiority, which nice difcern-
ment and true tafte can fo ill define,
and fo well conceive. In a word, Prax-
iteles is in every refpect truly great that
ambition which is in fome men fo ap-
parently a vice, was in him evidently a
virtue. It was a principle implanted in
him by nature, to place him in a con-
fpicuous ſtation that a work which did
her honour might not be hid.
.
<< ſhe never told her love
"But let concealment like a worm i'th' bud
"Feed on her damafk cheek; fhe pin'd in thought,
"And with a green and yellow melancholy
"She fate like Patience on a monument
66
Smiling at grief.
How justly celebrated are thefe lines! and
let me obferve, that they prove a cer-
tain
[ 16 ]
tain elegance of thought, a certain deli-
cate tenderneſs for which Shakeſpear has
not, I think, been generally celebrated.
Nothing furely can be more fentimental!
and yét let me venture at an objection,
where all the world feems hitherto only
to have approved. Is there not fomething
of a faulty image, fomething of a difpleaf-
ing idea conveyed in that "
green and
yellow melancholy?" It may indeed re-
preſent ſickneſs, and fuch ficknefs as was
produced by the delicate love Shakeſpear
deſcribes; but yet, methinks, he rather
keffens than increaſes our compaffionate
concern, by telling us fo exprefsly, that
the countenance of the fufferer was tinged
with green and yellow. I fear it is na-
tural for us to pity, not in exact pro-
portion to feminine diftrefs, but in pro-
portion as we are ftruck with the beauty
of the fufferer, and that our pity is al-
ways comparatively weak when we are
difgufted with the object; this hue of
countenance neceffarily difgufts, and the
idea of it is therefore incongruous to
that tender, that almoft amorous concern
which the rest of the picture fo for-
cibly
[ 17 ]
cibly excites; I fpeak however with the
utmoſt deference to the genius of Shake-
fpear and the public judgment, by which
this paffage has been not only approved,
but admired.
SWIFT obferves that a reader does
not fail to cry out, that is clever,
"that is fenfible !" when he meets with
exactly what he himſelf had thought;
yet he may in this cafe
cafe approve the
opinion, not only becauſe it is his own, but
becauſe the perfect agreement of two dif
tant and unconnected minds has con-
firmed it.
WE have our days for being in play
for fenfe, as we have for being in play
for tennis or billards.
PEOPLE feldom fpeak ill of them-
felves, but when they have a good chance
of being contradicted.
WIT gives confidence lefs than con-
fidence gives wit.
I HAVE known men modeft enough to
allow they had not a great deal of ſenſe, but
I don't recollect to have feen any one of them
C
give
;
[ 18 ]
give up an opinión of his own to that of a
perſon whom he allowed had a great deal.
MANY men will reaſon and act fenfibly on
various occafions, and yet be even abfurd in
fpeculation and practice, with refpect to things
extreamly plain, which happen to lie out
of their way: as mufical clocks will play
fuch a number of tunes, and difficult ones
too, but not one beyond them.
FOGRAMO is a kind of philofopher, a
mathematician, a chymift, a man of letters
in ſhort, and a deep reafoner; he has had
more than one literary difpute, and always
with fuccefs; he utterly defpifes and difre-
gards trifles; and of all trifles, he very juftly
thinks that dreſs is the greateft: however,
he naturally falls into what is fuitable and
proper, and has a certain dignity: his
clothes therefore are always black, and his
wigs white; but once made, he fcarcely
remembers that he poffeffes any
fuch things,
and he puts them on purely from its being
neceſſary that he ſhould. Fogramo wanted
to move his perſon from one part of the
ifland to another; on what account I never
learnt, but on fome important one you may
be
}
[ 19 ]
be fure: he was told of the late invention of
poft-chays, of their great expedition, conve-
niency, and cheapnefs, provided one could
get a fellow-traveller; and that to effect this
one only need to advertiſe for a poft-chay
companion. Fogramo approved of all this,
and did it; Jack Flaſh was in a certain
coffee-houſe near the garden, and read the
Advertiſement: he wanted to go to the fame
place at the fame time, caſh was ſhort, he
was in a hurry, ſơ, d―n him, he was
his Man: the travellers met according to
appointment, and after ſome admiration of
each other, and fome fwearing from Jack
about the horſes and the tackle, Fogramo
freely and fans ceremonie, got into the chaife
and placed himſelf commodiouſly in about
the middle of it. Jack claps one hand on
the oftler's ſhoulder, and the other on the
top of the wheel, and bruſhes in after him,
having but little room, he buſtles and be-
ftirs himſelf a few, and Fogramo mecha-
nically, as it were, retired into his corner.
Off they go, moſt prodigiouſly faſt, accord-
ing to Fogramo, and according to Flaſh,
doctors differ, damnably flow. One began
to fwear, the other to groan, too politely
however
C 2
[ 20 ]
however to be troublefome, for however
each jolt might affect Fogramo he reſolved
not to vent his diſpleaſure: but he began to
reflect on the ſcheme he had undertaken,
and to doubt fomewhat of the charms of
a poft-chay, ftill with the utmoſt politeneſs
and attention to his companion, is not that
indeed regarding one's felf? Fogramo,
however, who was a rational and confequen-
tial perfon, had obferved that the young
gentleman had carried all before him, and
ſhewn peculiar knowledge and underſtand-
ing about the chaife, horſes, harneſs, and
all their apurtenances, and doubted not
but he was a man of the world: captain,
fays he, you feem to know the world very
well: yes, fir, a little, I know men a little,
but nothing to my knowledge of women:
but there's nothing in that, for to be fure
there I have had fome experience; fome ex-
perience! why fure captain, you can't have
been married more than once? Jack went
off fo loud and fo very nonfenfically, that
Fogramo who was a rational and confequen-
tial perfon, began to recover his original
idea of Jack, and fat up very tight in his
corner. Jack hummed a little and fell faft
3
aſleep
[ 21 ]
afleep, a thing he had not done in the laſt
twenty-four hours; his fleep was as pro
found, as his waking had been turbulent; as
the deadeft calm follows the moft furious
ftorm: Fogramo, though broad awake, was
foon no more conſcious of his chay fituation,
than his companion; fometimes he was in
the ſky amongſt the planets and funs, fome-
times in the earth amongſt minerals and
foffils, fometimes in the fea with monſters
and wrecks; at length however, Fogramo
began to awake out of his dream by an ac-
cident, and though Jack continued in his,
yet he made many wry faces; the chaife
bump'd continually againſt the fide quarter,
and Fogramo was furprized to find his jolts
renewed upon him with greater force than
ever; the road was not ftony, and he could
not conceive the meaning of it: he looked
about him, out of the window, within
the window; but the folving twenty
problems was nothing, compared to his
difficulty of diſcovering the cauſe of theſe
repeated jolts and knocks, it was-out
of his way; at length they jolted his
friend Jack broad awake, and looking out
of the window, "d-n your body, fays
"he,
C 3
[ 22
.5
"he, where did
where did you learn
your road-
"work, boy? d-n ye, where are your eyes
<<
ec
<<
you dog? why a'nt they in your poll
by g-d? ca'nt you fee, d-n ye, that
your near horfe don't draw an ounce?
pull the chay over, do ye blood of a
"b-ch!" Would you believe it? Jack,
contrary to all expectation and defire, was
literally obeyed. The poor boy, frighted
at the captain's fwearing, whipped up the
off inftead of the near horfe, and actually
overturned the chay. Poor Fogramo's
head, ornamented with a bloody noſe, ap-
peared at the window of the chaife, and the
boy helped him, all trembling, to climb out
at it, whilſt Jack was finking and curfing
under him; but he foon, red with choler,
climbed after, and the moment he got on his
legs, was going to fall on the poft-boy; but
luckily for him, fome back chaiſe-horſes came
by at the critical minute, and he run from
Flaſh immediately, got upon one of them,
and rode for it with his fellow poft-boy,
leaving the travellers to fettle the cauſe of
their misfortunes on the high road.
SOME men are blamed and fought after by
every body, fome commended and fhun'd by
every
[23]
every body; may I not afk, whether it
is the blame or the praiſe that is moft
eligible?
THE man of humour, the droll, he who
enchants the whole liftening circle with the
fpirit and fire of his wit, if another who ex-
cells him in the fame way is introduced into
the company, will not only appear leſs, but
be ſhrunk into nothing: Thus if you let
the beams of the fun into your room they
put your fire out,
SOME chance event to the man, will fome-
times carry a conviction that was refuſed to
the demonſtration of his arguments; nay,
will produce a conviction which his argu-
ments did not deſerve,
You think the time long paft fince a be-
nevolent genii could be found to form a ta-
lifman that would not only give importance,
wit, and agreeableneſs to the poffeffor, but
ſo faſcinate other people, that they ſhould
fancy every advantage greater than it was,
and give him credit for twenty more to
which he had no right? Do not however
conclude too haſtily: Gnatho no longer ago
than laſt ſpring became poffefs'd of this talif-
C 4
man,
[24]
man, nay I'm ferious, he inherited ten thou-
fand a year.
THE Uſe of converfation is the perceiving,
perhaps adopting, the ideas of others; the
End, the difplaying our own.
VIRTUE pleaſes more as nature than as
virtue; but let me add, that virtue is the first
beauty of naturę.
1
PHORBAS is poffefs'd of almoſt every
good quality; he is rational, impartial, and
confequential, even to felf-condemnation.
It is a rule with Phorbas to do always
what is right; he is virtuous, he is ſo from
principle, and he is univerfally approv'd.
Phormio is noble, is gentle, is generous; he
poffeffes every amiable virtue, but he is ſo far
from being conſcious of any, or reflecting
upon them as virtues, that he practiſes them
only as the means of happineſs, and they
are fo far from being the effect of labor or
reſtraint, that he would fuffer if he ever de-
viated from them; his virtues therefore have
a certain freedom, a certain elegance, an
inexpreffible charm of nature about them,
which to be admir'd needs only to be ſeen.
He joins to the greatest contempt of money,
the
[ 25 ]
often goes
the greateſt contempt of profufion, which fo
hand in hand with rapacity; nay
what would be profufion in another, is gene-
rofity and propriety in Phormio; common
rules are not the guides of uncommon na-
tures: Phormio loves pleaſure, he under-
ftands it, he was formed for it, he enjoys it,
and he inſpires it: coldnefs and infenfibility,
corrupt ſelfiſhneſs and licentious depravity,
he compels at once to perceive, to taſte, and
to approve, the pure, the exalted, the refin'd
delight of which before they had neither
reliſh nor conception. Vice on the one fide,
and vice on the other fide, is afhamed
of its own deformity. How amiable is
Phormio! in his perfon manly yet ſoft,
and expreffive; in his manners modeft,
yet full of taſte and fire; in his difpofition.
never weak, yet full of fenfibility: under-
ſtanding, enjoying, extracting the effence,
the quinteffence of pleaſure from every object
of pleaſure, yet deriving ftill more from the
facrifice of it all to another. Is his friend in
diſtreſs? he will with pleaſure give up his
purſe to relieve him. In danger? he will
with ſtill more pleaſure expofe his perfon
to defend him. How lovely! how ſtriking!
and
$
[26]
and let me add, that Phormio is not only
judicious and fenfible, but judicious and fen-
fible in the higheſt degree; the fame prin-
ciple that led his tafte to the precifion of every
pleaſure, feems to have directed his under-
ſtanding to that of every truth and every
elegance. Thus was Phormio happily
form'd, as if nature had for once infus'd a
ſuperior ſpirit to fhew man the amiableneſs
and the felicity of that virtue which is her
own gift. Phorbas look'd up to Phormio
and faw that he was made to be virtuous, and
could not be otherwife; he faw this, and
however upright his heart, he could not but
feel its inferiority compared with that of
Phormio: he was juft, but he had never felt
the tranſport of being more than juſt; he
difdain'd to do wrong, but he underſtood not
the endearments of delicacy, the minute re
finements of generofity, of doing that which
is fublimely right. It is true indeed that he
ftudied, he anticipated the wishes of his
friend, and gratified them to his own incon-
venience, but he did not enjoy the virtue;
his natural bent directed him not to it, he
was not proportionably happy, nor did others
proportionably approve. Phorbas was vir-
tuous
[ 27 ]
tuous from reaſon and reflection; Phormio
from nature, and elevation of foul; the vir-
tue of of Phorbas was moft meritorious, the
virtue of Phormio moft endearing.
WE Confefs our faults in the plural, and
deny them in the fingular.
THE great comfort of mankind is fociety;
but it feeems as if neither the first men of
the world nor the last were the beſt cal-
culated to enjoy it. The two polar regions
of the globe are fabled to be inhabited, one
by giants, the other by pigmies, and both
are moſt uncomfortable climates: the inter-
mediate regions are inhabited by middle
fiz❜d men, and thoſe are the happy countries.
It is a ludicrous kind of thought, yet
certainly a true one, that poets and painters
have hitherto given us a falfe reprefentation
of Time, as the meaſure of duration, by
drawing him an old man; they ſhould paint
him middle-aged; for if he has always
exifted, will he not always exift? and is
not every point of duration, however diftant
from the prefent, equally the middle of eter-
nity?
A
[ 28 ]
A FOOL has often the contrivance of a
man of ſenſe, and a man of ſenſe the pre-
judice of a fool.
WHAT nice diftinctions are to be made
in the characters of mankind! contempt for
money and profufion, have the fame line of
feparation between them that virtue and
vice have.
SOME men miſtake talking about ſenſe,
for talking ſenſe.
ONE has ſometimes feen at a maſque-
rade an agreeable maſk, which in ſpight of
ones knowing it was a maſk, has com-
manded one's attention the whole night; may
not this happen too in the great maſquerade
of the world?
1 THE general harmony of the phyfical
world is maintained by a particular quality
in each body, by which it attracts every
thing to its own centre; it is exactly the fame
in the moral.
EVEN juſtice itſelf is ſometimes offenfive
to the generous and delicate mind.
· SOME men are feldom out of humour
becauſe they are feldom in humour.
WE
[ 29 ]
WE do not often I fear commend a man,
but for an apology to find fault with him;
but we ſeldom indeed find fault with our-
felves, but for an apology to commend
ourſelves.
MANY men would have more wiſdom
if they had lefs wit.
THE defire to pleaſe often fruſtrates it-
felf; but in this cafe the defire to pleaſe will
generally be found to proceed rather from
a ſelfiſh than a focial motive.
We are often governed by people not
only weaker than ourſelves, but even whom
we think fo.
I SEE many minds which are, if I may
be allowed the figure, well feated, but I
fee hardly any that have any elbow-
room.
THE fenfes feed fentiment, and fenti-
ment the ſenſes:
WE are not flow at diſcovering the
ſelfiſhneſs of others for this plain reaſon,
becauſe it claſhes with our own: as to the
falfhood of others, the caſe is extreamly
different, for there nothing but the mere
•
:
!
love
[30]
!
love of truth can encourage the detections
Let us not then be furprized to ſee ſo much
lefs falfhood diſcovered than ſelfiſhneſs.
MAN is faid to be a rational creature,
but ſhould it not rather be faid, that man
is a creature capable of being rational, as we
fay a parrot is a creature capable of Speech.
SOME men do by their fenfe, as farmers
in the market by their corn, paſs off a good
deal of bad by the help of a little good.
We laugh heartily to fee a whole flock
of ſheep jump becauſe one did fo; might
not one imagine that fuperior beings do the
fame by us, and for exactly the fame rea-
fon ?
THERE are few men but have more
cunning than we fufpect them of, and leſs
than they fufpect themſelves of.
How cunning, how clever was I fays
Paon to himſelf, the moment he returned
home from the company he had been with.
D-n it, fays he, they must not think I am
a dupe. I can fee pretty well how things
go; I think I flung out there-aye, I did
Illyrius's buſineſs.-Gad, I am a charming
clever
[31]
*
clever fellow!
Alas, poor Paon! how
little doft thou think that each man faid
pretty much the fame thing to himſelf be-
fore he went to fleep.-And poffibly you
did give it Illyrius, but if you did, he or
fomebody elſe gave it you. There is, my
poor Paon, an eternal reciprocration of thofe
ſmart clever blows, and it is part of each
man's buſineſs to perfuade himſelf that he
gives all and receives none.
IF it be granted that our ideas of the
fame things may be extreamly different at
different times and places, who ſhall de-
cide at which they are juſt and true?
WE are oftner deceived by being told
fome truth than no truth. :
THERE are faults which as they be-
come greater diſpleaſe leſs.
Is that young Efchylus coming down
* Fops-alley? No fure; yes it is: it is his
figure; and yet it is not his air; yes faith,
now he is nearer I fee it is Eſchylus. But,
heavens! what a metamorphofes! let any
thing but himſelf be kis parallel !———————poor
boy! it was but laft year, fo humble, fo
* A place in the opera houſe.
modeft,
:
[ 32 ]
modeſt, ſo condefcending! and how glad
was one to encourage him! and can a few
fleeting moons then have made fo great
an alteration? my dear
hurt,—I mean for you—
Efchylus, I am
what don't you
know me? my dear Eſchylus!-you have
got a touch of the qui vive too, have you
not? I must not laugh; but yet the thing
diverts me, I want to laugh: What! a
puppy! bow to the countefs too!-well
faith, I fhall laugh: why you are not per-
fect, you cock your chin, and look about
you, and make the agreeable,-very diſa-
greeably! depend upon it, if you don't play
the monkey better, you will be--very
ridiculous!
HA! there he is; obferve Dorimon,
young Efchylus; he does it with a ſwing!-
Dorimon is ſomething like a coxcomb; why,
he would beat you under his leg;-Yes,
Dorimon, you make me laugh, but I love
to laugh with you Dorimon. My dear
Dorimon! will you fit by me? tant mieux!
Tell me then, thou happy Dog! how many
this laſt week? ha, only one counteſs; ay,
you are diſcreet; come, the kept miftreffes,
you
[ 33 ]
!
you may own them; faith I won't divulge:
well, I'll keep the fecret; and really that's
a vaſt number for one week. Look, Efchylus,
ſee how eaſy it fits upon him! look at his
cloaths too, they are not too fine, and they
fit well upon him; nor is my friend afraid
of rumpling them or himſelf. Yes, Dorimon
is a coxcomb! and, believe me, Efchylus,
there are faults which diſpleaſe even from
being incompleat.
You would know how a man talks to
judge of his underſtanding; and yet, poffibly,
however great
great the
the paradox, the very contrary
method might be lefs fallible; the knowing
how he hears might fhew it you much
better: there is a kind of mechanical flow
belonging to a man's converfation, which,
when put in motion, goes perhaps roundly,
and ingeniouſly, and yet feems, fometimes,
leſs the operation of reaſon than habit: he
may at the ſame time be deftitute of the
faculty of dividing, weighing, diftinguiſhing,
and judging: bearing then, may, perhaps,
be more the teſt of fenfe than speaking.
How ſtupid is young Theocles! he was
with us an hour, and whilft Cleon, the
other
D
ī
[ 34 ]
other young man his companion, entertained
us with a great deal of fenfible converſation,
he had not one word to fay for himſelf; he
will ſurely make a bad figure in the world;
he can have no parts: thus was I told by
every one preſent, nor did I contradict it;
and yet, as to myſelf, how differently did
I think! Theocles, I obferv'd, did not once
fail expreffing in his countenance, that he
underſtood and tafted every thing that was
faid, Cleon never: he attended to nothing
but what he himſelf utter'd: that was a
fuperficial flow, a ſomething, a nothing,
yet all that it could ever be; incapable of
increaſe or improvement. Theocles on the
contrary, with ten times the qualifications
for talking, thought he had too few to ex-
poſe his fentiments amongſt thoſe which his
amiable prejudice eſteemed ſo much ſuperior
to his own. Theocles was diffident for the
ſame reaſon that lambs are playful; the
cauſe was nature and propriety: I faw him
fmile with a delicate approbation of ſenti-
ment, at an account of generofity and love;
I ſaw him fmile with fcorn and indignation
at a ftory of meannefs and diſhonour; I
faw his eyes animated, and his features
glow
[ 35 ]
glow at an account of ſpirit and gallantry:
and Cleon all this time alter'd not a muſcle
of his face. As foon as he had an oppor-
tunity he told his own ſtory indeed properly
and without confufion: Theocles told no
ſtory, he had not a word to offer.
what a difference!
EVERY man loves virtue better than
vice; but then he loves himſelf better than
either, and in his own way.
THE best judges of pleaſure, are the beſt
judges of virtue.
COMPLAINT againſt fortune, is often
a maſk'd apology for indolence.
SOME men put me in mind of half-bred
horſes, which often grow worfe in propor-
tion as you feed and exerciſe them for im-
provement.
THE more perfect the nature, the more
weak, the more wrong, the more abfurd,
may be fomething in a character; to ex-
plain the paradox, if a mind is delicate and
fufceptible, falſe impreffions in education
will have a bad effect in proportion to that
fufceptibility, and, confequently, may pro-
D 2
duce
;
[ 361
duce an evil, which a ſtupid and infenfible
nature might have avoided.-What a leſſon
to thoſe who have the charge of education!
We often reject the dictates of reaſon, even
when they are in favour of ſelf-love.
A ROGUE who fears to be taken up, will
mechanically flip to a corner and get out of
the way
when he is not in the leaſt danger;
and many of the curious ſchemes of cun-
ning, proceed from much the fame prin-
ciple, and have much the fame uſe.
It is from a beauty, a perfection of na-
ture, that we are affected and grieved at a
particular event or fault in ourſelves or
others; without that beauty or perfection it
might have paſs'd by as a wind, a nothing;
-painful preeminence!
DISAGREEABLE qualities are often
heighten'd by reſtraint, as the power of a
fpring is increas'd by drawing it back.
He that fees ever fo accurately, ever fo
finely into the motives of other people's
acting, may poffibly be entirely ignorant as
to his own: it is by the mental as the cor-
poral eye, the object may be placed too near
the
[ 37 ]
the fight to be ſeen truly as well as too far
off; nay too near to be ſeen at all.
I PITY a king that is not vain, I envy one
that is.
As love will often make a wife man act
like a fool, fo will intereft often make a
fool act like a wife man..
upon :
AFTER having found a man rational and
agreeable, in many different inftances, we
are furprized to find him quite otherwiſe in
fome one which we had not touched
you may, if you pleaſe, have your harpfi-
chord tuned in fuch a manner as to have
ſeveral keys in perfect tune, but then you
muſt have ſome one horridly difcordant; the
inftrument is imperfect, and the difcord
muſt be thrown fomewhere. May not man
be fuch a fort of inftrument?
WE often fee characters in the world,
which we ſhould call ridiculouſly extrava-
gant in a book.
UNJUST accufations feldom affect us
much, but from having fome juftice in
them.
WITHOUT
D 3
[38]
WITHOUT content we fhall find it al-
moſt as difficult to pleaſe others as our-
felves.
Of two players at tennis a good judge
may prefer the play of the worft; .of two
colts who run together, a difcerning jocky
may think the beaten one the moſt eligible;
and of two underſtandings a penetrating
man may fee that the inferior one in pre-
fent, is likely to become the fuperior in
future.
REMEDIES for the mind, as well as the
body, are often difguftful in proportion as
they are falutary.
IT feems as if fome men were allowed
merit, as beggars are relieved with money,
merely from having made people weary of
refufing.
MEN and ftatues that are admired in an
elevated ſituation, have a very different effect
upon us when we approach them, the firſt
appear leſs than we imagined them, the laft
bigger.
MODESTY in women, fay fome fhrewd
philofophers, is not natural; it is artificial
I
and
[39]
S
:
and acquired, but what then, and to
what end, is that natural tafte, that de-
licate fenfation, that approbation of it in
man ?
THE union of characters ſeems to have
much the fame fort of law as the union
of founds, the fame note makes good
concord, but a quite different one much
better:
THERE are things which we are in doubt
whether to call very good or very bad, tho'
we are ſure they are one or the other. As
great wit is nearly allied to madneſs, * fo
there is but a very narrow bound between
the utmoſt excurfions of wit, and the firſt
fallies of frenzy. When Milton talks of
vifible darkness; of prodigies produced by
nature; of death that lives, of life that dies;
we know that he has reached the laſt verge
of propriety, and we are apt to doubt whether
he has not paſſed it. So when Pope ſup-
poſes Newton to be fhewn by angels, as a
*"Great wits to madneſs fure are near ally'd,
"And thin partitions do their bounds divide.
DRYDEN.
D 4
monkey
[ 40 ]
monkey is by men, our taſte is as much in
doubt about his propriety, as our judgment
is about that of Milton.
THERE is often in women ſomething of
a pleaſurable fenfibility, which, though very
attractive, in its infancy, yet as it increaſes
neceffarily degenerates into ſomething which
has quite a contrary effect; fuch women
are like fome fruits beft before they are ripe.
POLITICS is the food of fenfe expos'd
to the hunger of folly.
THE Great fee the world at one end by
flattery, the Little at the other end by neg-
lect; the meannefs which both diſcover
is the fame, but how different alas! are the
mediums thro' which it is feen?
PEOPLE oftner want fomething to be
taken away to make them agreeable, than
fomething to be added.
COMPARISON is the greateſt cheat, and
yet often the greateſt friend to mankind.
OUR companions pleafe us lefs from
the charms we find in their converfation,
than from thoſe they find in ours.
氯
​i
WHEN
1
[ 41 ]
WHEN real noblenefs accompanies that
imaginary one of birth, the imaginary feems
to mix with the real, and becomes real
too.
Ask the man of adverfity how other
men act towards him, afk thofe others how
he acts towards them; adverfity is the true
touch-ſtone of merit in both; happy if it
does not produce the difhonefty of mean-
nefs in one, and that of infolence and pride
in the other!
We do not always like people the bet-
ter for paying us all the court which we
ourſelves think our due.
THERE is ſometimes, let it be granted,
a very fatisfactory fenfation in preferring
our own pleaſure to that of another: it
is furpafs'd by none in the world, except
that of preferring the pleaſure of another
to our own.
ONE is methinks tempted to believe of
certain men that they imagine giving plea-
fure to be like giving money, and that the
very portion of it they afford to others muſt
neceffarily
[ 42 ]
1
neceffarily be taken away from them-
felves.
EVEN affectation is natural, if I may
fo exprefs myſelf, to fome men, and there-
fore pleafing.
A perfon afferts a thing is good or bad
true or falſe, ſaying he knows it to be fo;
but how proper would it generally be for
him first to prove himself a competent
judge!
WE fometimes think we have diſcovered.
a new truth that lay very deep, when per-
haps we have only a lively fenſe of ſome-
thing, which others feel in a leſs degree,
SCHOLARSHIP, or if you will, learning, is
perpetually rung in my ears as the fummum
bonum, the one thing neceffary to man; to
ſay of a perſon that he is a good ſcholar,
feems to imply every kind of fuperiority, to
ſay he is no ſcholar juſt the contrary. But I
confefs, that after much reflection and much
enquiry, I am yet at a lofs to comprehend
this mighty advantage of ſcholarſhip; fome
advantage to be ſure it has, but perhaps not
to minds of the firſt claſs; it fometimes
pre-
vents
[ 43 ]
vents the excurfions of a vigorous under-
ftanding by keeping it in a beaten track:
It perpetuates error by impofing received
opinions upon thofe who, if they had begun
the enquiry, would have diſcovered truth;
it divides the attention, and ſometimes fixes
it to fubjects which are not fuited to that
particular genius and turn of mind which
nature would have exerted upon ſome other,
the object of her own choice, with infinite
advantage: by loading the memory it re-
ſtrains imagination, and by multiplying pre-
cepts it anticipates the judgment. Give me
the man whoſe knowledge is deriv'd from
the copious fource of his own reafon, whoſe
mind is fill'd with ideas that ſprung not from
books but thought; whofe principles are con-
fiftent becauſe deduced in a regular feries from
each other, and not ſcraps of different
ſyſtems gleaned from the works of others,
and huddled together without examining
their incongruity: where is the fcholar whoſe
opinion is entirely his own? and where is
the genius whom we wish to have known
he opinions of others? are we fure that
Shakeſpear would have been the wonder he
was, had he been a deep Scholar!
Он
}
[44]
OH clever! and in a man of faſhion too!
Gyges will quote you from Virgil and
Horace, in Latin, till you ſtare again!
Its true, that he is aukwardly drefs'd; that
he lives ill, and above all, that he generally
takes the falſe fide of the queſtion; but
he will quote, ye gods! how he will
be
quote !
MELISSA has not much common, but a
great deal of uncommon, or if you will, out of
the way fenfe. She understands latin, has
written much verfe, has read a good
deal of hiſtory, and a great deal of meta-
phyficks; he is a zealous enemy of fuper-
ftition and prieftcraft, and holds Mofes and
all fuch people extremely cheap: Meliffa
will ſport a ſubject with you willingly; and if
you
talk more upon
upon it than ſhe, I had almoſt
faid better, I am not a little miſtaken: her
words flow with fuch eafy volubility, that
certainly if
you have any tafte Meliffa will
attract your attention, poffibly your admira-
tion; but then you muſt not turn the ftream,
you muſt not put her mind out of its courſe,
for the road once loft fhe will wander
farther and farther from it in endleſs
}
I
per-
:
•
[ 45 ]
perplexity; fhe goes on where the fees
the track, but never yet aſked herſelf
whither it would lead her: fhe talks not from
fentiment but from memory, and a kind
of inſtinct, ſo that though what the fays
is rational, yet fhe has not herſelf deduced
it from reaſon. The regular dependance
of one principle upon another is what ſhe
leaft regards, and fhe is therefore fo incon-
fiftent that often has Meliffa difputed power-
fully, nay felf-perfuafively on Monday on
one fide, and on Tueſday on the other. In
her diſcourſes too, fhe confiders herſelf much
more than the perfon fhe fpeaks to, and
therefore ſhe often tells a fentimental ſtory to
a civil liftening country farmer, and fome
cant joke of one fociety to a member of
another. As to others, indeed, Meliffa thinks
little about them, and be
you a celebrated
author, a man of fenfe, a blockhead, a
coxcomb, or a pedant, the equally attends
to you and to herſelf: Minuties fhe little re-
gards, he is not one of thoſe prying mortals
who from a word, a motion, or look, will
catch the ideas or defigns of another, and
though very knowing in theory, yet as fhe
:
the
[ 46 ]
knows theory only by rote, the is often ex-
treamly ignorant in the practice of the very
theory ſhe is fo well acquainted with. Me-
liffa rather likes than deſpiſes dreſs, and there
too her difregard of Minuties taſte and con-
nection manifefts itſelf: fhe has been known
to change her ſhoes in the morning without
changing the buckles, and fo wear her ſhoes
a whole day with the two ftraps pointing to-
wards each other, nor does the care how they
fit to her feet, or how or of what they are made:
her ribbands too are either left to the choice
of her maid, or elſe perhaps odly choſen by
herſelf; and when ſhe has put on a rich gown
which required one kind of affortment, the has
been known totally to ſpoil its effect by an-
other. With Meliffa, in ſhort, you muſt diſtin-
guish between a love for drefs, and a tafte for
drefs. But has not nature, when ſhe gave
fuch flying agility to the roe, refuſed him
the ftrength of the lion? why then may not
Corinna poffefs thoſe feminine graces which
are refuſed to Meliſſa? Corinna was one day
ſo much admired in the prefence of Meliffa
for the becoming elegance of her cloaths,
that Meliffa ordered the very fame for her-
ſelf, and yet, ſtrange confequence! no one
admired
[ 47 ]
:
admired them at all upon her: fhe proved,
that it is the perfon which adorns the dreſs,
not the dreſs the perfon. Corinna pulls her
hair about with her fingers for two minutes,
and no head is fo well coiffed: Meliffa fits
fometimes two hours to her Accomodeur, and
few appear worfe. Meliffa, in fhort, fixes
her chief attention on your great objects;
Corinna, on the graceful ones. With Me-
liſſa and Corinna you have your choice
as your taſte happens to be-between a
lady of mafculine knowledge, or----
feminine ignorance.
CAMILLA is really what writers have fo
often imagined, or rather the poffeffes a
combination of delicacies, which they have
feldom had minuteneſs of virtue and tafte
enough to conceive; to fay fhe is beautiful,
fhe is accompliſh'd, fhe is generous, he is
tender, is talking in general, and it is the
particular I would defcribe. In her perſon
ſhe is almoſt tall and almoſt thin; graceful,
cominanding, and infpiring a kind of tender
refpect; the tone of her voice is melodious,
and the can neither look nor move with-
out expreffing ſomething to her advantage :
poffeffed
[ 48 ]
poffeffed of almoſt every excellence the is
unconſcious of any, and thus heightens
them all ſhe is modeft and diffident of her
own opinion, yet always perfectly compre-
hends the ſubject on which the gives it,
and fees the queſtion in its true light: fhe
has neither pride, prejudice nor precipitan-
cy to miſguide her; the is true, and there-
fore judges truly. If there are fubjects too
intricate, too complicated for the feminine
fimplicity of her foul, her ignorance of
them, ferves only to diſplay a new beauty
in her character which refults from her ac-
knowledging, nay, perhaps from her pof-
feffing that very ignorance. The great
characteriſtic of Camilla's underſtanding is
tafte; but when the fays moft upon a fub-
ſhe
ject ſhe ſtill ſhews that ſhe has much more
to fay, and by this unwillingneſs to triumph
ſhe perfuades the more. With the moſt
refined ſentiment fhe poffeffes the fofteft
fenfibility, and it lives and fpeaks in every
feature of her face. Is Camilla melan-
choly? does the figh? every body is af-
fected. They enquire whether any misfor-
tune has happened to Camilla; they find
that the fighed for the misfortune of an-
other,
4
[49
49 ]
•
other, and they are affected ftill more.
Young, lovely, and high born, Camilla
graces every company, and heightens the
brillancy of courts; wherever fhe appears
áll others feem by a natural impulfe to feel
her fuperiority; and yet when the converfes
fhre has the art of infpiring others with an
eaſe which they never knew before: the joins:
to the moſt ſcrupulous politeness the moſt
chearful gaiety, free both from reſtraint and
boldness; always gentle, yet never inferior;
always unaffuming, yet never afhamed or
aukward; for fhame and aukwardneſs are
the effects of pride, which is too often
miſcalled modeſty; nay to the most criti-
cal difcernment fhe adds fomething of a.
blufhing timidity which ferves but to give
a meaning and piquancy even to her looks,
and admirable effect of true fuperiority!
by this filent unaffuming mérit, the
over-awes the turbulent and the proud, and
ftops the torrent of that indecent, that over-
bearing noiſe with which inferior natures in
fuperior ftations overwhelm the flaviſh and
the mean. Yes, all admire and love and
reverence Camilla.
E
T
You
[ 50 ]
50]
You ſee a character that you admire, and
you think it perfect; do you therefore con-
clude that every different character is im-
perfect? what, will you allow a variety of
beauty almoſt equally ftriking in the art of
a Corregio, a Guido, and a Raphael, and
refuſe it to the infinity of nature! how dif-
ferent from lovely Camilla is the beloved
Flora! in Camilla, nature has difplay'd the
beauty of exact regularity, and the elegant
ſoftneſs of female propriety. In Flora, ſhe
charms with a certain artleſs poignancy,
a graceful negligence, and an uncontrolled
yet blameleſs freedom. Flora has fomething
original and peculiar about her, a charm
which is not eafily defined; to know her
and to love her is the fame thing, but you
cannot know her by defcription. Her per-
fon is rather touching than majeſtic, her
features more expreffive than regular, and
her manner pleaſes rather becauſe it is re-
ſtrained by no rule, than becauſe it is con-
formable to any that cuftom has eſtabliſhed.
Camilla puts you in mind of the moſt per-
fect muſic that can be compofed; Flora,. of
the wild ſweetneſs which is ſometimes pro-
duced by the irregular play of the breeze upon
3
the
[51]
the Æolian harp. Camilla reminds you of a.
lovely young queen: Flora, of her more
lovely maid of honour. In Camilla you
admire the decency of the Graces; in Flora,
the attractive ſweetneſs of the Loves. Artleſs
fenfibility, wild native feminine gayety, and
the moſt touching tenderneſs of foul, are the
ftrange characteriſtics of Flora. Her coun-
tenance glows with youthful beauty, which
all art ſeems rather to diminish than increaſe,
rather to hide than adorn: and while Ca-
milla charms you with the choice of her
dreſs, Flora enchants you by the neglect of
hers. Thus different are the beauties which
nature has manifefted in Camilla and Flora!
yet while ſhe has, in this contrariety fhewn
the extent of her power to pleaſe, ſhe has
alſo proved, that truth and virtue are always
the fame. Generofity and tenderneſs are
the first principles in the minds of both
favourites, and were never poffeffed in an
higher degree than they are poffeffed by
Flora; fhe is juft as attentive to the intereſt
of others as the is negligent of her own,
and though the could fubmit to any mif-
fortune that could befal herfelf, yet fhe
hardly knows how to bear the misfortunes
E 2
of
[ 52 ]
another. Thus does Flora unite the ſtrongeſt
ſenſibility and the 'moſt lively gayety, and
both are expreffed with the most bewitching
mixture in her countenance. While Ca-
milla inſpires a reverence that keeps you at
a reſpectful yet admiring diftance, Flora ex-
cites the moſt ardent yet elegant defire: Ca-
milla reminds you of the dignity of Diana,
Flora of the attractive fenfibility of Caliſto:
Camilla almoſt elevates you to the fenfibility
of angels, Flora delights you with the love-
lieft idea of woman.
THE bad fide of poverty is not the want
of money for ourſelves, but for other peo-
ple, for how trifling is the mortification
of felf-denial, compared to that of being
obliged to the ungenerous, or difappointing
the worthy? and how can either be avoided
by the indigent and generous man?
WE are forward in our offers of fervice
that are of no confequence, in proportion as
we are backward in thofe that are:
As we generally overlook every weak
thing a man of fuperior underſtanding fays,
fo we do every ftrong one that a man of
inferior underſtanding happens to fay.
What
3
[53]
}
WHAT a Reflection? and if true, who
of us is fafe? the very difpofition of mind
which is the cauſe of any particular wrong
thinking, is alſo an indiſpoſition, I will not
fay an incapacity, to correct it.
It is odds but he who is not duped at
coming into the world has a touch of the
knave in his character, as it is odds but he
who is duped when he is in the world, has
a touch of the fool.
·
WOULD you fee Pylades and Oreftes,
thoſe ſworn friends and companions of an-
tiquity revived ?—I will fhew you a modern
Pylades and Oreftes, and, if you are feri-
ous, you will honour the fublimity of mo-
dern friendſhip. One of theſe friends, I
mean of the moderns, is a lord, the other
writes himſelf gent. My lord Pylades is
affluent, not inacceffible, and a joker: Gent.
Oreftes is poor, complying, and---moſt
See then what rare
willingly a butt.
harmony theſe two inftruments make to-
gether. His lordship would be forry not to
have his dearest friend at any one of the great
dinners which he often gives to his fellow-
nobles
E 3
[54]
nobles and others; and the gentleman would
be as forry not to affift at the ceremony,
not to heighten the mirth, not to give
himſelf for fewel to the fire of his patron's
wit. One day lord Pylades cracked fome
joke, and laughed moft heartily at it;
gentleman Oreftes immediately laughed as
much to the full: the perſon who fat next
him not having heard what was faid, aſked
him what they laughed at. I don't know,
faid Oreftes, I laughed becauſe my lord
laughed. Idem velle atque idem nolle cademum
is Oreftes's motto; arms, paternal arms,
he happened not to have, fo he chofe his
own, and this is his motto. Says Pylades,
that Oreftes is an honeft poor devil; there
is not much in him--but he is an honeft poor
creature; I am really fond of him; now and
then I'm a little hard upon him. I love
joking, but I really mean him no harm, he
knows he is welcome to every thing I have.
Oreftes fays very much the fame thing;
his lordſhip makes a little free with him,
cuts his joke upon him, bids him open the
door, ſhut the door, hold his tongue, and
takes twenty fuch little freedoms, but he
efteems it an honour and a pleaſure to
oblige
[ 55 ]
oblige his friend; what! have ſcruples with
one's friend! his generofity is above it.
Oreftes, fays Pylades, you are not angry
with me for thoſe jokes I cut upon you
yeſterday, are you? not at all my lord.
lord. Ay,
you know I mean no harm, but you're a
good creature; what have you been fo kind
as to get in thofe rents for me? yes, my
lord. And paid away that money for me?
yes, my lord. Well, Oreftes, thou art an
honeft fellow, and a good friend to me,
that's the truth of the matter.
•
Or how little credit to you will be the
proof, that you would have done a very clever
thing but from an accident having intervened
in your disfavour, compared to the de-
monſtration of your having done a clever
thing from an accident which intervened in
your favour.
SURELY no man can reflect without
wonder upon the viciffitudes of human life
arifing from cauſes in the higheſt degree
accidental and trifling: if you trace the ne-
ceffary concatenation of human events a
very little way back, you may perhaps dif-
cover that a perſon's very going in, or out
E 4
of
[56]
of a door, has been the means of colouring
with mifery or happineſs the remaining cur-
rent of his life. It was poffibly fome cir-
cutance equally trifling, that thus totally
varied the Difpofitions of Caftalio and De-
metrius. Caftalio and Demetrius were two
young noblemen whom birth, family con-
nection, and above all, fympathy of fouls,
had united in the moſt endearing intimacy:
they had run together hand in hand through
part of that fometimes delicious period,
youth: that period in which irregularities
have appeared beauties, nay, have even ex-
torted, from the very formalifts who con-
demned them, the involuntary, and there-
fore moft convincing fmile of approbation.
See how every rapture of Caftalio's foul
was exchanged for difguft, regret and
deſpair! thus did he pour forth the for-
rowful Effufions of his heart.
Ah 1
[ 57 ]
!
1
Ah! what avails the length'ming mead,
By nature's kindeſt bounty ſpread,
Along the vale of flow'rs!
Ah! what avails the darkning grove,
· Or Philomel's melodious love,
That glads the midnight hours!
For me, alas! the god of day,
Ne'er glitters on the hawthorn ſpray,
Nor night her comfort brings;
I have no pleaſure in the roſe,
For me.no vernal beauty blows,
Nor Philomela. fings.
See how the ſturdy peaſants ftride
Adown yon hillock's verdant fide,
In chearful ign'rance bleft!
Alike to them the rofe or thorn;
Alike arifes ev'ry morn,
By gay contentment drefs'd.
Content, fair daughter of the fkies,
Or gives fpontaneous, or denies,
Her choice divinely free ;
She vifits oft the hamlet cot,
When want and forrow are the lot
Of avarice-or me!
- the
But
!
[ 58 ]
$
But fee or is it fancy's dream?
Methought a bright celeſtial gleam,
Shot fudden through the groves ;-
Behold, behold, in loofe array,
Euphrofyne more bright than day,
More mild than paphian doves!
Welcome, oh! welcome pleafure's queen!
And fee along the velvet green,
The jocund train advance;
With ſcatter'd flow'rs they fill the air,
The wood-nymph's dew-befpangled hair
Plays in the ſportive dance.
Ah baneful grant of angry heav'n,
When to the feeling wretch is giv'n,
A foul alive to joy!·
Joys fly with ev'ry hour away,
And leave th' unguarded heart a prey,
To cares that peace deſtroy.
And fee, with viſionary hafte,
Too foon!--the gay deluſion paft
Reality remains :
Deſpair has feiz'd my captive foul,
And horror drives without controul,
And flackens ftill the reins.
Ten
[ 59 ]
!
Ten thouſand beauties round me throng:
What beauties, fay ye Nine! belong
To the distemper'd foul ?
I fee the lawn of hideous dye,
The tow'ring elm nods mifery,
With groans the waters roll.
Ye gilded roofs, palladian domes,
Ye vivid tints of Perfia's looms,
Ye were for mis'ry made ;-
'Twas thus the man of forrow fpoke;
His wayward ſtep then penfive took,
Along th' unhallow'd fhade.
And hear the jovial philofophy, the ſpirit,
the rapture of young
Demetrius: thus did ·
his glad heart vent its joyful foliloquy.
Yes, to the fages be it told,
However great, or wife, or old,-
Fair pleaſure's my purſuit;
For her I breathe the joyful day,
For her through nature's wilds I ftray,
And cull the flow'rs and fruit.
1
Sweep
+
[60]
↑
Sweep, ſweep the lute's enchanting ftring,
And all thy fweets lov'd lux'ry bring!
"T' enjoy is to obey "
The heav'nly mandate ftill prevail,
And let each unwife wretch bewail,
The dire, neglected day:
Ah! graceless wretch! to difebeya
And devious quit the flow'ry way,
And flight the gods decree!
Still, ftill, ye gods, the bleffings fend!
If e'er my guilty hands offend,
Indeed my heart is free.
In pleaſure's ray ſee nature fhine,
How dull, alas! at wifdom's fhrine!
""Tis folly to be wife;
Collufive term, poor vain pretence,
Enjoyment fure is real fenfe
In philofophic eyes.
I love the carol of the hound,
Enraptur'd on the living ground
In daſhing ecstacy;
I love the aukward courfer's ftride,
The courfer that has been well-try'd,
And with him eager fly.
And
靠
​[ 61 ]
And yes, I love, ye fneering wife,
Fair honour, ſpurning ftill at lies,
As courting liberty;
Still hand in hand great nature goes,
With joys to honour never foes,
And all thoſe joys are free.
And welcome thrice to Britiſh land,
From Italy's voluptuous ftrand,
Ye deftin❜d men of art;
Breathe on the thrilling meaning found,
Each grace ſhall ſtill be faithful found,
At your admirer's heart.
Avert, ye gods! that curfe of fools,
The pride of theoretic rules;
That dupery of fenſe:
I ne'er refuſe the proffer'd joy,
With ev'ry good---that can annoy---
Moſt eaſily diſpenſe.
I catch each rapture as it flies,
Each happy loſs a gain fupplies,
And boon ſtill follows boon:
The ſmile of beauty gilds my day,
Regardleſs of her frowns I ftray ;-
Thus through my hours I run!
But
;
[ 62 ]
But let me not for idle rhime,
Neglect, ungrateful, good old time:
Dear watch! thou art obey'd:
'Twas thus the man of pleaſure ſpoke,
His jovial ſtep then careleſs took
To Cælia-
-or her maid.
WHEN we ſay ſuch a man has ſpirit, I
ſhould like to hear fome devout perfons give
a definition of the word.
THERE is, amongſt friends, a neglect
that is flattering, and an attention that is
mortifying.
IF
If you have a great deal of taſte for a
particular fubject, you may do very well
with a perſon who has no tafte at all, but
there is no doing with one who has a little
taſte for it.
THERE is a certain author who produces
perpetual paradoxes in my mind; I am at a
lofs to decide whether he charms or offends
me moſt, whether to call him the first of
writers or the laft: and this one would think
a difficulty likewife with other people, for
he has written what has had merit enough
to
f
¡
[63]
to get into all hands, and defect enough
to be flung out of all. It is his great praiſe,
his honour, that he is condemned by ſen-
fible men, and applauded by weak women;
for the firſt are often as ignorant of the
powers of the heart, as the laft are of thoſe
of the underſtanding. He is in many par-.
ticulars the moft minute, fine, delicate,
obferver of human nature I ever met with;
the moſt refin'd and juft in his fentiments;
but he often carries that refinement into pu-
rility, and that juftneſs into taſtelefnefs; he
not only enters upon thoſe beautiful and touch-
ing diſtinctions which the grofs conceptions
of moſt men are incapable of difcerning, but
he falls alfo upon all the trivial filly circum-
ftances of fociety, which can have attrac-
tions only for a nurſery: this writer pof-
feffes infinite powers both of delicacy and
reaſon, but he poffeffes not the judicious
faculty of directing thoſe powers. He is
deficient in TASTE: hence he is irregular and
falfe in his notions of the manners he treats
of: he plainly fhews that he has neither
from nature nor education the kind of in-
telligence, which fhould guide him in the
purſuit he attempts: his underſtanding
feem
[ 64 ]
feems to be hampered and confined, it
wants enlargement, freedom, or to fay
all in one word, TASTE; his men of the
world are ſtrange debauchées, his women
ridiculouſly outrées, both in good and bad
qualities; parts there are, not only of the
moft refin'd, the moft elevated, I had almoft
faid the moſt celeftial delicacy; but even of
gaiety, eaſe, and agreeableneſs: but you fee
plainly that the writer is not A MASTER
deficiencies, ftiffneſs, improprieties, break
in upon you at times, and fhock you: and
you grieve that he does not pleaſe you
more or leſs.
REASON puts me in mind of the pound
ſterling which we all pay with nominally
tho' not really.
ONE great reaſon why men practifë
generofity fo little in the world, is, their
finding ſo little there: generofity is catching,
and if fo many men efcape it, it is in a
great degree from the fame reaſon that coun-
trymen eſcape the fmall-pox; becauſe they
meet with no one to give it them.
1
[ 65]
I WONDER La Rochfaucault never faid,
that we loved generofity becauſe we got by
it: it would have been methinks agreeable
to the fyftem of that ingenious and pleaſing
writer. And let me, in the midſt of my
admiration of his delicate difcernment, cen-
fure that overſtraining keennefs in him,
which in his difquifitions into nature went
fometimes to fources to which ſhe does not
feem to have aſcended herſelf. It appears
to me, that he fometimes gives us cauſes
for things which are primary in themſelves,
and that he really did what Leibnitz thought
it unreaſonable to require, as appears by
his pleaſant queftion to fome curious queen,
when he faid, Vous voulez, madame, que je
vous donne le pourquoi du pourquoi?
4
WHAT fire and what eafe in the language
and painting of La Bruiere! how mafterly,
how minute, and yet how fpirited! I admire
theſe excellencies'; I fée alfo marks of good
fenſe and right thinking in his writings,
and thus far I approve La Bruïère: but I
fuffer not his excellencies to dazzle my
fight or diſguiſe his faults with a falſe luftré:
I never regulate my opinion by that of
others,
F
[ 66 ]
others, and I boldy declare that I fee little
penetration, little compafs of thought in La
Bruiere: I think he dwells upon trifles, and
ſeems too much taken up with them to have
contemplated fuch objects as alone are worthy
the attention of a genius; Il ne penetre que
Fecorce des hommes, is a remark upon him by
a friend of mine which pleaſes me much.
What a difference between La Bruiere and
La Rochfaucault! I fee methinks, fometimes
at leaſt I think I fee in La Bruiere, a fatyr
produced by ſpleen; in La Rochfaucault, a
keennefs arifing from real curiofity and
truth; La Bruiere fometimes adopts a dubious
principle, merely because it is difadvan-
tageous to mankind; La Rochfaucault indeed
fometimes does wrong to humanity, but it
always follows by juft confequence from his
own principle, and is always the genuine
branch of one radical mistake. In my
opinion La Rochfaucault is generally fearch-
ing, deep, intuitive, and great; La Bruiere
generally half difcerning, and little.
WHAT an amazing quality has turpen-
tine! ftir and agitate its particles, you give
it prodigious force, leave it to itself it has
3
none
1
[67]
none at all: emblem of the faculties of
man!
THERE is a fort of learned pedant at
Oxford, who at Paris would have been a
petit maitre manquè.
4.
IT is well known that none can give fo
accurate an account of any errors or follies,
as thoſe who have been fubject to them them-
felves, or at leaſt connected with fome that
have. They know the fort and the foible,
the pour and the contre. They know, and
they only know, becauſe they have felt, what
was the charm that fafcinated, the attrac-
tion that drew, and the tie that bound
they therefore can beft defcribe, and moſt
effectually expofe them: who, for inſtance,
could fo effectually expafe the fopperies of
popery, as a converted papiſt? thoſe who
are leſs minutely acquainted with the fub-
ject, will fometimes go too far, and fome-
times ftop fhort; but it unfortunately hap
pens, that men generally cenfure because
they do not underſtand, at leaft they cen-
fure thofe things which a natural averfion
has prevented their being minutely acquain-
ted with. Hence the wild, imperfect and falle
F 24
accounts
[68]
accounts of one country produced by the
writers of another; and hence it comes to
paſs that we are ſo often difgufted with
à coarſe daubing of fome miſhapen figure,
when a portrait, or at leaft a charicatura
the hand of a mafter, would have af-
forded the moſt exquifite delight. I re-
member in a modern, nay English book,
a ftrange figure carried to Paris to be
fhewn as a true Engliſh, country, sporting
'fquire, and he was among other things
dreffed in a leathern-cap; need I aſk how
imperfect the whole picture muſt be after
the painter had fhewn his ignorance by fo
grofs an impropriety?
WHY the dI do they not bring
Burrhus's Salisbury up? O, I fee it is com-
ing round-Whoo-ey, it ſtops at the door.
You think Burrhus wants to get into it;
you are miſtaken: come, John, refign to
your mafter, get upon thy fifth horfe
and wag on.-But hold; Burrhus choofes
to ſtep round firſt and handle the bits a few,
juſt fling his eye round and fee how the
tackle ftands; he won't keep you long; if
any thing is amifs he'll fee it with half an
3
eye,
[ 69 ]
eye; nay he would have harneſſed himſelf,
but that he was tying a knot or two in his
laſh; you ſee there is only a ſmall matter of
alteration in the bearing reins, and all is
right. Come, Hippias, if we are to ride
with him, order your horfe out-but let
us fee Burrhus get out of the yard before
us. It's an aukward fort of a turning for
four horfes. Pooh, that's the beauty of
it: What think you of turning out of the
Angel-yard with one of the leaders falfe,
and the other galled in the fhoulders?
Burrhus wiſhes that was the cafe now.-
Come, Will, give your mafter his great
coat, there,-pull down one of the under
capes-and now, Burrhus, thou happy mor-
tal! thy reign begins. Burrhus with the
profoundeſt confideration, takes the two neat
black reins, artificially one under the other,
and his heart in fecret throbs with delight,
at the endearing touch: he gives them a
fudden and beautiful turn downwards, and
then quietly mounts the various ſteps of his
"ambition's ladder," but he does not, like
the vile ſtateſman, "fcorn the baſe degrees by
which he did afcend, when he has gained
the topmoft round," the coach box; but
F 3
he
[70]
but he ſtill loves every wheel, every ſpoke,
every iron that connects and preferves his
little world, Gey heau-gey heau-fee
how he goes! what grace! what attitudes!
his body's as fupple as a poſture-mafter's, or
a man's that has been broken on the wheel
i
his head goes noddle noddle, like a Chi-
nefe figure; and fee! now his right hand
moves like the arms of a windmill, fairly
round and round.Ay, now he changes
upon you, now it's backward and forward,
ftill from the ſhoulder you ſee.There,
he has juft fired the four nags-you thought
they were not ſharp. They are all ſcramb←
ling you fee. Burrhus can make any thing
fharp It's quite a fine fight, don't you
think fo ?There, now they're all up→
fa'atly, fa'atly ſee how they champ on
their bits!Pooh! but you don't enjoy
this —you have no tafte-I'll be hang'd
if you fee half Burrhus's excellencies;
what, you don't fee that all his clothes are
under him, nor but it would be endlefs
and uſeleſs to fhew you theſe beauties,
you fay, Burrhus is mad-be it fo: but do
you forget that "there is a pleaſure in being
"mad, which none but madmen know."
Do
[ 71 ]
Do fome wife men know that even pre-
judices and follies may refult from fenfibility!
and that the reafon why they are not preju-
diced and fooliſh may have been that they
were infenfible.
WHEN I am told that Alexander feemed
really to doubt whether he had not ſome-
thing divine in his compofition, I am far
from being fo much furprized at it as I fee
other people: I can eafily conceive that hu-
man nature might without grofs abfurdity
be put out of its common courfe of reafon-
ing by ſuch a ſeries of ftrange events as
happened to that extraordinary man. If
they ſtrike us as almoſt fupernatural, what
effect is it natural to fuppofe they would
have upon him to whom they hap-
pened! he was continually effecting what
human powers were thought unable to
effect; his whole life was paffed as it were
on fairy land, where every thing was rather
produced by enchantment than nature, he
lived in an age when the existence of demi
gods, a progeny of mortals mixing with im-
mortals, was readily admitted, and he was
ſurrounded by flatterers who were continually
F 4
4
-im-
[72]
improving every miraculous incident of his
life to perfuade him that he was of this celef
tial race, and that not Philip but Jupiter was
his father. If all this be confidered, perhaps
it will be allowed that it was more probable,
I had almoft faid more rational, for Alex-
ander to think himſelf a divinity than a
man.
FORTUNE, luck: filly terms fay you, in-
vented by fhort-fighted men who cannot
fee the cauſes of things, and who have no
idea of connection and confequence. But
the reality of what we impute to luck none
can deny, and the cauſe of it perhaps none
can difcover. What is the cauſe of runs at
play? what makes one man win almoſt
every ſtake for an hour together, and an-
other man at the fame publick table, and
the fame game, depending wholly upon
chance, lofe almoft every ſtake for an hour
together? what can continue this difference
for a month, nay for a year? the fact is too
well known to be controverted, and what,
ever is the cauſe of this, may be the cauſe
of a like run in the more important occur-
rences of life where the odds in point of
chance
[73]
chance are against it. That there is ſuch a
run I think almoſt equally evident, for who
has not ſeen ſome inftances where every
prudential meaſure has been fruftrated and
over-rul'd as it were by an unfurmountable
fatality, and a ſeries of the moft ill concert-
ed and-ill conducted prejects crowned with
fuccefs? fuch," a tide there is in the af
"fairs of men;" and when I am told that
Cæfar defpifed the ftorms that filled the
mariners with terror, I do not wonder at his
preſumption when I confider his life, but
fay with him to the mariners," you carry
Cæfar and his fortune."
A THOROUGH good Newmarket groom
would have been a good miniſter of ſtate if
he had been train'd for it.
I HAVE heard fome of the first judges
of whift fay, that it was not thofe who
play'd beft by the true laws of the game
that would win moſt, but thoſe who play'd
beſt to the falſe play of others, and I am
fure it is true of the great game of the
world.
፡
EXERCISE is still more requifite to the
health of the mind than of the body.
THE
3
[74]
1
THE claret-drinker hates the tafte of port,
the port-drinker prefers it 'to claret, and
every foreigner fays of one and the other
C'est un beuorage epais et deteftable. What!
does habit, then extend its dominion over,
and give laws to the very fenſes !
*
! How comes it that fo many of the moſt
fenfible men in the world decide fo diffe-
rently on the fame and often on the moſt
important points? Becauſe there are fo
few third perfons.
IT has happened that a woman who has
made herſelf cheap, has been aſtoniſh'd to
find herſelf little valued by another.
MANY men ſtudy and practiſe the
œconomy of their money, hardly any that
of their pleaſure, without which money is
ufelefs. !
i
THE mind will not only be diffatisfied at
not enjoying what the fees and longs for,
fhe will often be fo at having miſs'd even
what is pafs'd, and what if ſhe had enjoyed
would now be no more.
•
No two things can be fo contradictory,
fo much at varience as truth and falfhood,
and
yet none are ſo mixed and united.
THE
[75]
1
:
THE great reaſon why falſe Virtues pafs
fo well in the world is, that true ones are
fo feldom near to compare them with.
SOME men have juſt ſenſe enough to
prove their want of it.
FRIENDSHIP never afcends to love, love
often defcends to friendſhip.
A FOOL is not always without wit; and
it is when he fhews wit, that he is infup-
portable: his wit is like an edged tool put
into the hands of a child; without it he
might be as harmleſs; and poffibly as en-
tertaining.
Fw difficulties, as well as few women,
hold out against real attacks.
COURAGE to think, is infinitely more
rare than courage to act, and yet the danger
in the firſt cafe is generally imaginary, in
the laſt real.
-
43
THE medium between too fcrupulouſly
returning, and too eafily accepting obli-
gations, is the fineſt and moſt difficult me,
dium I know in the world.
GREAT attention, among intimates and
relations, is generally lefs a mark of the
force
[76]
force of their attachment, than of the maſk-
ing the decline of it.
IT is unluky that the very reaſon which
makes Eugenio think his ftories entertaining,
fhould make me think them troubleſome;
their being about himſelf.
If it is true that from the fame principle
that you are delighted with generofity,
nature and truth, you are ſhocked by mean-
nefs, pretenfion, and affectation, what will
be your fate, if you are generous, natural,
and true?
It is a known rule, that if you are to
reckon for the
the expence of any under-
taking, you ſhould by way of precaution
throw more money into the account than
you can find articles for. How excellently
do men follow this rule in the portion of
felf-regard they are to beftow upon them-
felves in their dealings with others!
ONE great difadvantage to the cauſe
of truth is its being fo often in the hands
of Liars.
THERE are men who are fo knowing
and ingenious, who fee fo far into things,
and
[ 27 ]
and difcern effects fo remote from their
cauſes, that no difputant can ftand againſt
them: yet while theſe men triumph in
the power which ariſes from their acquaint-
ance with theſe diſtant objects of the under-
ſtanding, they have perhaps quite over-
looked thoſe that lie near them. There
perhaps they are defenceleſs, and may eaſily
be conquered; as a battery of cannon is often
diſpoſed ſo as to defend a fort from the moſt
powerful veffels, while fmall boats may
come fecurely under their direction, and in
ſpight of theſe mighty cannon take the
place.
We often fly to the defence of certain
faults when they are attacked, which, though
we really are guilty of them, we never had
acknowledged even to ourſelves: as dogs
eat fimples when they are fick, without
being conſcious that they act from a princi-
ple of felf-prefervation.
I HARDLY know fo true a mark of a
little mind, as the fervile imitation of
others; or alas! fo common a thing.
THOUGH I lament the preſent depravity
of Britiſh taſte, that prefers the Chineſe to
the
[ 78 ]
#
the Grecian and Roman architecture; yet
I have objections to many parts even of
thefe, though very great examples are
againſt me; I mean thoſe repreſentations of
monſters and incongruous figures; of hu
man faces ſtuck to beafts bodies ;
of
mouths for fpouts of water; of one crea-
ture's leg joined to another's thigh: all this,
whatever may be the authority, is in my
opinion, FALSE-TASTE: I think every part
of architecture fhould be judged by one
rule, and that the whole fhould be noble,
fimple, and natural.
SENSE and good tafte often fuffer from
the defects which folly and bad tafte
enjoy.
POSSESSION without right, is in moſt
cafes of property, a much better title than
right without poffeffion; is it not ſo alſo in
moſt caſes of confideration, refpect, and
admiration of the world?
It does not feem an eafy queftion to re-
folve, whether men like beft to prime over
others, or to have others prime over
them.
SOME
L
[79]
SOME prejudices are to the mind, what
the atmoſphere is to the body; we cannot
feel without the one, nor breathe without
the other.
EVERY man will allow that a ftander-
by fees better than a player; no man will
prefer the opinion of another, about him-
felf, to his own.
SOME men have a reaſonable under-
ftanding, and a ridiculous character.
FABRICIUS is of a very uncommon caſt,
I hardly know fo ftrong an inftance of the
contrariety between the underſtanding and
character as in him; he is perhaps, the
moft fenfible, the moft droll, and the
moft foolish man you ever met with.
Hark! what a roar of laughter! Oh! it is
a ring Fabricius has got round him; he is
certainly entertaining his company with,
the moſt facetious, and the moft abfurd ſto-
ries you can conceive. Shall we get up
upon the table to fee over the heads of
thofe that furround him what he is doing?
-ſee how he gefticulates! how he mi-
mics the drawling affectation of the
lady he is talking about! what, fure he is
Not
i
[80]
not dancing! yes, that decent brown coat,
waiſtcoat, breeches, ftockings, and ſquare
toed fhoes; that decent figure, that long
black bob, is dancing like an antic! and
now again he is recounting. Were it pof-
fible for you to get through the crowd and
liſten to him, you would find that Fabri-
cius is mafter of the keenneft difcernment,
the moſt judicious difcrimination you can.
conceive; he will extract, nay take care
he don't from you, he will extract every
grain of ridicule out of a character, as a
loadſtone the particles of ſteel from thoſe of
fand that are mixed with them: he will
hold them up to the light, and expofe
theſe abſurdities, even though with them
he expofes his own: nothing efcapes him,
nay in theſe comic defcriptions he will
often mix the moſt ingenious obſervations,
and the juſteſt reaſonings, and you are for
a moment fufpended between the admira-
tion of his Wit and his underſtanding;
but as foon as the torrent of his humour
breaks in upon you, every ſerious confider-
ation is hurried away before it, and you
think of nothing, you defire nothing but
thoſe extatic breaks of laughter which he
extorts
[ 81 ]
•
extorts from you: afk not for any relation
of what he ſays, he alone can give it you;
he is a living farce, a puppet fhew, and
we all fupply the ſcenes, the incidents, and
the fable of it. Thus he uſes the charac-
ters of others; what is his own? humo-
rous you fee, and, if the character of an-
other, would be the beſt fubject of hu-
mour to him. Fabricius poffeffes four
thouſand pounds per annum, but were you
to judge of his rank in the world, either
by his own appearance, or
appearance, or by that of
the people he is connected with, you
would perhaps fuppofe he had as many
hundreds out of which he faved about half.
He keeps no houfe, no equipage, no fer-
vants, no company; you would take him
for a mechanick: no dignity in his appear-
ance, no carriage, no addrefs; yet he is
perfectly free, and will converfe with you,
I mean to you as long as you will hear him.
What are the ſubjects of his diſcourſe? men,
and women:if you would fee the
comic fide of the world he is your man:
he carries conftantly in his mind a kind of
human raree-ſhow, which he will exhibit
gratis, without lofs of time, to any perfon
G
who
[82]
>
who cares, or does not care, to fee it; and
this from morrow to morrow as long as op-
portunity ferves. Then you may depend
upon the exiſtence of the originals he gives
you fuch original copies of. They are all
his own, or your intimates and friends; if
you have not diſcovered their latent charac-
teriſtics he will fhew them.
and intimates! will he
friends and intimates to
he
My friends
ridicule my
me? is
me? is that
confiftent with propriety and decorum?
nay, I only faid it was droll; and the od-
dity and impropriety of it certainly makes
it droll in a higher degree. Not a little
Mifs but ftares with aftoniſhment at the
choice of his ſubjects, and if he paints them
they paint him, as well as they can. Fabri-
cius is a man of tafte too, and a man of
letters; the polite arts, and the unpolite
profeffors of them are his by particular con-
nection, but his excellence is in the out of
the way arts; he chiefly delights in the
uſeleſs and neglected ftudies; 'he will fet
his mind on fomething that you and I and
others, would chufe to forget, and make
a voyage to Aleppo to get to the bottom of
it. When he is ferious he will talk to you
and
3
[83]
and reaſon on thefe fubjects extreamly well,
and you will at leaſt allow, that if he is in
an error it is fed not by wild fancy but by
reaſon and ſenſe: Fabricius almoſt tempts
one fometimes to think that fenfe had loft'
her way, and was fallen into the hands of
a fool. He has great talents in horfeman-
ſhip too, and nothing can be more comic
than his exercifing thoſe talents; his ideas are
fo much elevated above the brute creation
that he does not know one horfe from
another, and he is very apt.But what
end of defcribing Fabricius! what pity is it,
oh Fabricius! that no power of nature, or
necromancy could at once transform thee
into another, and leave thee thyself! what
an account wouldst thou give of thy-
felf!
Ir is the underſtanding that talks, and
the character that acts; nay, that per-
fuades.
MEN lay down pofitions that are indif-
putable, and not only their antagoniſts de-
viate from them, but they themſelves, whene
ever it ferves their purpoſe.
G 2
THE
[ 84 ]
THE thing which of all others in
the world we have moft warning of is
what we are moft deceived in, falſe re-
ports.
THEY who liften to themſelves, are
not liſtened to by others.
DESPAIR is the fhocking eafe to the
mind, that mortification is to the flesh.
A LITTLE reftraint will often put the
man of ſenſe and the fool upon the ſame
footing.
Ir is in general much lefs neceffary for
you to fix well, than to fix.
It is by ſome actions in life as by fome
little tricks of dexterity which are played
in company among friends; they are fhewn
us, and we plainly fee how fimple and eaſy
they are, yet when we try, we find ourſelves
unable to put them in practice.
THERE fometimes wants only a ſtroke
of fortune to diſcover numberless latent
good or bad qualities which would other-
wife have been eternally concealed; as
words written with a certain liquor appear
only when applied to the fire.
SENSE
[85]
+
SENSE fhould prompt us to talk, but
we fhould not prompt fenfe; or, to be
more explicit, you ſhould never be clever
but when you cannot help it.
If you are to judge of a watch which
you find does not go well, you will certainly
examine whether the movement is hinder'd
by any accidental obſtruction before you
condemn it as a bad piece of work; and
fhould not the fame rule be obferved where
it ſeems to be often neglected? I mean in
our judgments of men.
LOVERS generally find the moſt noble and
amiable qualities in their miftreffes, and
will tell you that thofe qualities are the
occafion of their paffion, but in reality
the paffion is generally the occafion of thoſe
qualities.
ONE great fatisfaction muſt be wanting
to thoſe who have been bleffed with
uninterrupted happineſs, the conſciouſneſs
of that happineſs arifing from a reflexion
upon it.
THINGS. do not always ftrike in pro-
portion as they are obvious; on the contrary,
G 3.
fome
?
[86]
:
喽
​fome do not ſtrike at all becauſe they are
obvious in the higheſt degree; has truth
then its effect upon the mind, lefs as truth
than as novelty?
THE improper behaviour to fome men, is
the being civil to them, and what they
will return accordingly,
I HAVE heard it vulgarly faid, that if a
thing was good we ſhould receive it tho'
it came from the devil; this puts me in
mind of the various motives for content-
ment among men,
WHEN we are very young, we admire
and envy the perſon of one man, the riches
of another, the parts of another, the houſe,
the gardens, the horſes, of another, the
bodily accompliſhments, the what not,
the beauties and advantages which reſult
from art, or nature, or fortune, wherever
find them; and we fail not to ſuppoſe
that the poffeffor of them enjoys the hap-
pineſs that we imagine they would give to
us: how pleaſing is fuch a man in his per-
fon or accompliſhments, and what advan-
tages muſt he have over fuch another, who
we
is
ནི་ག
[ 87 ]
is fo much his inferior in every thing! but
we then little confider what it is that the
enjoyment of theſe advantages muſt ariſe
from; we do not reflect how much of it
depends upon others, upon their fenti-
ments, opinion, and behaviour; nor how
much depends upon the mind and diſpoſi-
tion of the poffeffor himſelf.
When we
are grown older, and various diſappoint-
ments of what we have thought our moſt
reaſonable expectations have made us wiſer,
we admire, or we may do fo at leaſt, the
curious diſpenſation of the benefits of this
world, which fo often makes up a real
deficiency by an imaginary advantage. A
man is neither pleafing in his perfon or
character, he fancies himſelf ſo in both,
and the illufions of his vanity produce real
happineſs, for they do not fuffer him to
fee that the opinion of the world is different
from his own.. Another, who has neither
tafte nor diſcernment, admires a woman
with falſe beauty and an affected under-
ſtanding, he admires her offspring who are
equally deficient, and he admires himſelf in
both, with fuch a confident fondneſs, that
it would be impoffible for truth herſelf to
fhew
¿
G 4
:
[88.]
fhew him his miftake. If the world fwarms
with imperfections, it fwarms alſo with
minds that can enjoy them; and to fuch
minds fuperior difcernment will be no more
miffed or defired than fight by a man born.
blind: but as it muſt be granted that thoſe
who fee, have a natural capacity for happi-
nefs which the blind have not; fo it is true
that when natural advantages are poffeffed
with a fuitable temper and difpofition, and
in ſuch circumſtances as give them a proper
effect upon others, they not only produce a
proportionate ſenſation of happineſs to the
poffeffor, but alſo eclipſe thofe that derive
their happineſs from mere imaginary per-
fection, who will themfelves, by a necef-
fary impulſe, feel their own inferiority.
But alas! when do theſe various requifites
for happineſs meet? the philofopher may
draw fpecious conclufions, and indulge the
moft delicious hopes with refpect to futu-
rity, but little muft he expect to find their
concurrence here; never muſt he conclude
that in this world fuperiority is happi-
nefs.
1
*
You
[89]
You are a maried man, I think, Mr. a,
a, a, what d'ye call'um? O yes, Sir, this is
my fourth wife. Good God, have you had
four wives! why you are but a young man.
True, Sir, but I love the ftate; I was married,
Sir, before I was twenty, and one wife has
died one way, and another another, and
in fhort, if this wife was to die, poor
woman! I fhould certainly take another:
O yes, I love the ftate extreamly; no
happineſs in my opinion but in the married
ftate. It is the State then, Mr. what d'ye call
it, the State ITSELF that pleaſes you?
you don't love your wife? not love my wife!
God forbid not love my wife! bleſs me,
can any body charge me with following
other women? not love my own wife!-
but I thought you faid you would imme-
diately marry again if ſhe was to die? well,
Sir-and is there any fin in that? you would
not, I fuppofe, have me live with her after
fhe was dead! No certainly, but yet methinks
the forgetting one's wife fo foon and taking
another is but an odd confequence of hav-
ing loved her extremely. Why is it not
enough then, Sir, to love a woman as long
as fhe lives?—I lov'd all my wives, for my
part,
!
[90]
part, poor women, as long as they lived,
and fo I fhould twenty more if I was to
have them; I think it one's duty, for my
part, to love one's wife, and though I did
not love e'er a one of them before I married
them, I loved them all as foon as they
became my wives: I know my duty, Sir-
I love a fober regular life, for my
part, and a wife is a wife I think; and a
very good thing it is: I know for my part,
I will never be without one; and, pleaſe
God, I hope I fhall always make a good
huſband.-- Well, theſe are charming
principles! now I confefs myſelf ſo un-
worthy, that if any thing could have de-
troyed the affection I have for my wife it
would have been her becoming fo. I
loved her extremely before I married her,
and my delicacy was rather wounded at
even that imaginary conftraint which mar-
riage might be ſuppoſed to put upon her
mind by making it a duty to love me:
liberty, free, fpontaneous and mutual tender-
nefs are very endearing, and afford an
elevated and delicate fenfation which is
almoſt incompatible even with an ideal
conſtraint. I beg pardon, Sir, I believe
I
[91]
I did not hear you very well, I did not
rightly underſtand but in truth I got
you;
a fad ear-ach and cold at our laft affizes,
and I have never been rightly fenfible fince:
I am grown quite dull of hearing; I crave
pardon, Sir.-Why no, Mr. a, a, a, I don't
know, I did not fpeak very plainly,—I
don't know why I muttered fo, not I,-
I talked to myſelf, I think,-good night,
good Sir-pray my compliments to your
fpouſe.
RICHES beget riches, poverty poverty;
melancholy reflection!
"A BIRD in the hand is worth two
"in the buſh," is a proverb that may have
a very good moral. But I believe that if
we could inculcate a quite contrary doctrine
it would be of much more general utility:
it is methinks what is not in hand that ſeems
to require our principal attention. The
facrifice of the preſent to the future, if a
fault, ſeems too rare to require a particular
caution, and to be like fome unnatural
crimes, in no danger of becoming epi-
demical.
WHEN
2
[92]
ง
WHEN I reflect upon the greatneſs of
Cæfar's foul which could prompt him to
contract a debt fuperior to his whole for-
tune many times told, from a view of ad-
vantage, which, however great in the eye
of his ambition, was yet diftant and preca-
rious: when I reflect upon his amazing ne-
glect of a preſent advantage in favour of a
much greater that was diſtant, by giving his
´vote and intereft for Pompey againſt him-
felf, I am overwhelmed with aſtoniſhment
and veneration. When I reflect on the
numbers I know, who in numberless in-
ſtances think and act from motives arifing
from the prefent moment, from mere cuf-
tom, prejudice, or pride, not only in evi-
dent oppofition to reafon and conviction,
but even to intereft; when I reflect upon
theſe inſtances of abfurdity and narrowneſs
of foul, I am not lefs aftoniſhed, but my
aftoniſhment is mingled with indignation
and contempt, and I not only join with
hiftorians in acknowledging fuch a foul as
Cæfar's moſt uncommon, but add alſo, that
the fouls of theſe others are very com-
mon.
A.
I
MEN
[ 93 ]
MEN much more frequently think and
act from motives arifing from preſent circum-
ftances than from future; though the for-
mer are not fufficient to juftify their con-
duct and the latter are.
POLITENESS is faid to be the ſcience of
civility, yet perfons are perhaps more fre-
quently unpolite from too much civility than
from too little.
LATITUDE of thought and vice as con-
tractedneſs and virtue, are, it muſt be con-
feffed, placed extreamly near to each other,
yet eternally ſeparated.
Two men are equally free from the
rage of ambition; are they therefore equal
in merit? perhaps not, one may be above
ambition, the other below it.
THERE is methinks a certain reflective
caft and impartiality in. Fontenelle's writ-
ings which are found in few others: there
is an obfervation in his plurality of worlds
, which lies out of the road of a common
mind, and I think however whimfical, it
is particularly pleafing. " Such are thé
"motions of the earth and the moon, fays
Fon-
!
[ 94 ]
Fontinelle, "that only one fide of the
"moon can ever be turned towards the
"earth: to that fide the earth is a moor
<c
forty times bigger than the moon is to the
"earth, but the other fide, has no moon
"at all; may we not then fuppofe that
"curiofity is continually bringing travellers
" from the unenlightened to the enlightened
"hemifphere of that planet merely to fee
"in a foreign country our enormous lu-
CC
minary which they could never fee in
"their own?" this reflection not only
pleafed me but fuggefted another; are there
not intellectual lights, peculiar to the regions
of different minds, which can never be
ſeen without travelling from one to the
other? and may I not carry the compariſon
ftill farther, and fay, that theſe lights alfo
are reflected, and that all our knowledge
is to truth what the moon is to the fun, a
faint reflection of broken rays that but
juſt enlightens us and ſcarce warms us at
all?
How ftrangely forcible is the power of
nature! it often happens that the thing we
try to do is for that very reafon undone; thoſe
we ſtrive moſt to pleaſe are perhaps thoſe we
make
[ 95 ]
make ourſelves leaſt agreeable to; we try
to be gay, and we are ftupid; to get the.
better of drowſineſs and fatigue, and we
fink the more under them; in short, it
appears to me that there are many things
the fuccefs of which might be beſt enfured
by trying to do the direct contrary.
THOUGH men hardly ever think them-
felves wrong in the offence, yet they al-
moft always feel themfelves fo in the juſt
reproof.
AVARICE is both knave and fool.
Ir makes the philoſopher ſmile to reflect
that the violent incentives of ambition ſhould
ſo often ſerve only to put men upon ſtudy-
ing, watching, working, toiling, well or
ill, for the fervice of thofe very perſons
whom they look down upon as ſcarcely of
the fame fpecies with themſelves. How
mortifying could they once be fenfible
of it!
1
Ir is from the fame principle that men
are very ſweet and very four; confequently
we often ſee the two extreams in the ſame
perfon.
THE
[96 1
THE world is an excellent judge in ge-
neral, but a very bad one in particular.
SOME inconfiderable though defirable
effects, cannot be produced by common
underſtandings, fome confiderable effects
may; yet men are always praiſed and ho-
noured in proportion to the effect, and not
in proportion to the known difficulty of pro-
ducing it.
PROFUSION is generally nearer allied to
avarice than generoſity.
*+
THE criterion of true beauty is that it
increaſes on examination; of falfe, that it
leffens. There is fomething therefore in
true beauty that correfponds with right
reaſon, and is not merely the creature of
fancy.
As charity covers à multitude of fins be-
fore God; fo does politeness before men.
natural
I HAVE heard politenefs defined "an ar-
"tificial good nature," may we not more
truly fay that good nature is a
politenefs? art will make but an imperfect
work if the affiſtance of nature is want-
ing.
ACTIONS
[97 1
ACTIONS which nature prompts, and
reafon approves, are more ftriking than
thoſe which reafon prompts in fpight of
nature.
NATURE has ordain'd that ſome crea
tures ſhould prey upon others, and it is ob
fervable that the latter have a certain in-
ftinct by which they know their enemies
and avoid them, yet there is one creature
whoſe ftrange inftinct is to find out its ene-
my, and keep continually in its way: aſk
Clodius what creature I mean:
Ан Clodius, faid Julia, how can I be-
lieve all you tell me? don't I know how
often you have faid the fame thing to
others? yes, dear Julia, faid the infinuat-
ing, the falſe, the conquering Clodius, but
conſider to whom. Can I put you upon
the fame level with Fulvia, Clara, and
Corinna, and fuch creatures! do more
juſtice, lovely Julia, to yourſelf if not to
me. Well, faid Julia, we will not enter
into an argument on the fubject; but, be-
lieve me, I know perfectly well how little
you think, what you fo emphatically fay;
befides, you fee it is my dinner-time, my
huſband
H
[ 98 ]
huſband is coming home, and I imagine it
is your dinner-time too. Ah, cruel Julia,
how faſt the hours fly in your preſence,
and with what regret do I always leave you!
-Shall I not pay my refpects to you to-
morrow?—No indeed, I am engaged
to-morrow next day then? why next
day, faid fhe, as the intently counted the
ſticks of her fan, I am engaged too-but
you may call if you willá, mo-
call—if
ment.
I HAVE heard of fome creature which
when drefs'd for food, has in its different
parts the taſtes of many others. It puts
me in mind of Sicinius, who is by fits a
French Agréable, an Engliſh farmer, a
keen ſportſman, and a book-worm; not to
mention ſeveral other little turns of whim
or fancy to which Sicinius fometimes. gives
his mind. Nothing is more jaunty than
young Sicinius; if you faw him at the
opera or play-houſe and had never heard
who he was, you would certainly afk,
for his appearance is ftriking, his cloaths
hang ſo eaſy about him, he is fo minutely
well-drefs'd, I mean with that commanding
eaſe
[ 99 ]
cafe as well as propriety, that the affemblage
of the whole muft ftrike even thoſe eyes,
by which particular parts would be undif-
tinguifhed. He lolls, he talks, he holds
his tongue, ftill with a certain uncommon
fuperiority he is the truth of an Agréable
-you would ſcarce think whilft you faw
föme faſhionable woman almoſt paying her
court to Sicinius on the outfide of her fide-
box, that he intended going the next morn-
ing, perhaps that very night, to his old
houſe in the country, to ſhut himſelf up
there for many months; but ftill leſs would
you believe that he was juſt come from the
baker's club, where he had talked his five
minutes, and worn his great wig and great
coat like a true and orthodox member of that
celebrated and learned fociety. Will
you fol-
low him to his old houſe in the country?--you
will ſee him with his hair hanging about his
ears, and not only with as bad a coat as any
farmer in the country, but alſo with as bad an
air: yes, he is a Proteus: fo far from being
abſurd about things that happen to lie out of
his way, he conftantly finds out the very
fomething, which diftinguiſhes every clafs
of men: he affumes the moſt contrary
characters,
H 2
3
[100 1
characters, and is this moment the very
reverſe of what he was the laſt.-Sicinius
takes his oaken-ſtick, gets a ſtride a kind
of half-cart mare, and kicks her to market
to a neighbouring town; there he will look
at, and cheapen fome hay, or oats, and
no one underſtands both more minutely;
nor will he fail to wet the bargain with the
feller. He has been known to drink very
near his gallon of bad ale in an evening
with a fet of farmers in the midſt of
tobacco-fmoak, to which he fairly con-
tributed his füll fhare of whiffs, nay, and
to talk juſt as well, and as much as the
beft of them.-
izing, I would
cinius would be
Were it not for fcandal-
mention too how much Si-
found to have changed his
tafte as to his ladies-but that-As to this
ruftic life, he may perhaps continue it fome-
time, perhaps turn fhort about and affume
another, it is juft as. it happens; however
you may be certain whatever are his avo-
cations, he will always be,-totus in illis-
he has been known to remain a whole year
together in an odd character, and to have
been quite deſpaired of by his acquaintance
who were in another.-However, I think
they
[101]
they all recover him again firſt or laſt.—At
preſent indeed Sicinius mixes two characters
together, which you muſt allow to be ex-
tremely different he is a pedant and a
fox-hunter. He boards with a nobleman's
keeper at his little hut, lives abfolutely by
himſelf, and is up every other morning in
December two hours before it is light to
attend the fox-hounds, fix, twelve, or four-
teen miles from home, and he has no com-
panion or attendant but a little pocket
Horace. He divides his converfation be-
tween the hounds and his Horace. In the
field Sicinius fpeaks to no living creature
except (I fay) a hound, and to hounds no
one ſpeaks fo well—no man makes a try
like him, or gets fo well into hounds, nor
does he ever quit the field while even a ter-
rier remains in it-he has been known to
ſtay many hours after ftar-light with la-
bourers and whippers-in and terriers at an
earth.No man is fo keen, or fo good
a ſportſman as Sicinius; nor would any,
who did not know it, fufpect that all the
while he had his little Horace in his pocket ;
when he does not hunt, he converfes with
him-or his horfe, and perhaps next year
*
霉
​H 3
we
[102]
we may fee a tranflation of Horace by Sici-
nius. One half of the year perhaps he is a
fober man and drinks little or no wine, the
next, poffibly he is as great a reveller as
Marc Anthony, and few men become jol-
lity better. If you fhould get up at four
o'clock in the morning to go a hunting,
during Sicinius's revelling feaſon, you may,
perhaps, meet him with his fine cloaths
unbutton'd, and his fine lace ruffles as black
as the ground, ftaggering home down both
fides of the ſtreet. When Sicinius fets about
it, he is quite the agreeable debauché. What
he will enter upon next I can't fay; but I
expect to hear, one day or other, that he
has taken orders, and is an archbiſhop.
WEAKNESS of mind is ftill more difguft.
ing than vice.
WEAK men often, from the very prin-
ciple of their weakneſs, derive a certain fuf-
ceptibility, delicacy and taſte, which render
them in thoſe particulars, much fuperior to
men of ſtronger and more confiftent minds
who laugh at them.
SOME men have the ftrange faculty of
commanding an inattention to what is well
worth the hearing,
A
*
[ 103 ]
A PROUD man never fhews his pride fo
much as when he is civil.
THINGS which men call the caufes of
their melancholy, are, I believe, often the
effects of it.
ONE great reaſon why virtue is fo little
practiſed, is its being ſo ill underſtood.
MORTIFYING reflection! however diffi-
cult it may be for us to fee our faults, it
is ſtill more to correct them; confolating
reflection! feeing our faults is often more
an attonement for them, than correcting
them:
THE poets judged like philofophers when
they feigned love to be blind: how often
do we fee in a woman, what our judgment
and taſte approve, and yet feel nothing to-
wards her, how often what they both con-
demn, and yet feel a great deal!
THE facility of procuring many of our
very beſt pleaſures grows with, nay alas!
even from our indifference towards them.
THERE is an unfortunate difpofition in
man to attend much more to the faults of
H 4
his
[104]
his companions which offend him, than to
their perfections which pleaſe him.
WE often miſtake the effect for the
caufe; it is for inftance, generally much
lefs the love that invades the heart,
than it is the heart that invites the
love.
GOOD humour will conquer ill-hu-
mour, but ill-humour will conquer it much
better.
IT is often better to have a great deal of
harm happen to one than a little; a great
deal may rouze you to remove, what a little
will only accuftom you to endure.
IT requires recollection, even in a fen-
fible man, to fee that things are the ſame
at the end and beginning of a period of ten
or twenty years.
WE fhall be often deceived if we expect
men to quit an opinion as foon as the cauſe
which produced it is removed; as the tur-
bulent fea will by no means lofe its tur-
bulence with the ftorm that occafioned
it.
THE
[105]
THE merrieſt people are not always
thoſe whoſe hearts are moft fufceptible of
joy.
THE well-concerted project of a fenfible
man, muſt often depend for fucceſs on the
will of a fool.
WHEN I reflect upon the particular con-
fideration and attention which fuperior ho-
nours or riches command, it puts me in
mind of certain days, when clouds are fly-
ing about, and the fun happens to fhine
out ſtrongly from between fome of them on
particular parcels of ground: thofe ſpots of
the profpect will then be gilded and diftin-
guiſhed to the eye in fuch a manner, that
all the others, however beautiful they may
be in themſelves, will be quite overlooked
and difregarded.
EVERY man, I believe, has his weak
place, and may be duped if it could be
found out.
WHEN men are accufed of an ill humour
or diſpleaſure, which is fo violent that it
bears no proportion to the apparent cauſe of
it, it is, I believe, very rare but that there
are
[106]
are other foreign and hidden caufes, un-
known, perhaps, even to the perſon him-
ſelf, which contribute to, and heighten
that violence.
Or all diftinctions, fure none is fo little
attended to, as that between the neceffary
care to preſerve our own right, and the in-
vafion of the right of another: men are fo
apt to think their own right more than it
is, and the right of others lefs, that he who
is equally fcrupulous and vigilant to preſerve
both in their utmoft extent, will probably be
deſpiſed as a dupe, merely becauſe he ſcorns
to dupe others: fuch a chance has honeſty
for reſpect among the major part of thoſe
who are pleaſed to value themſelves for be-
ing notable and clever; for having a moſt
fagacious difcernment, and knowing how
to make the moſt of it.
WHAT trouble and pain do people often
take to make themſelves agreeable when
every effort carries them farther from their
point! and how much furprized would
they be, could they be perfuaded that there
was an infallible fecret of fucceeding in their
defires, which was to do-nothing.
MAY
[ 107 ]
MAY not taſte be compared to that ex-
quifite fenfe of the bee, which inftantly dif
covers and extracts the quinteffence of
every flower, and diſregards all the reſt.
What a day! the cold, the rain, the
winds are past and a glow of warmth,
endor, and beauty, is fpread over the
face of the earth! my mind expanded and
rejoiced in its influence. I contemplated
nature in all its glory, and I felt, that thus
to contemplate nature was to be happy;
my reaſon was urged to the moft pleafing
confequences, and that I might indulge it
without interruption I returned again to my
ſtudy: here my attention was drawn to a
number of flies which I had left in my win-
dow ſcarce able to crawl, and which were
now ſporting in the beams of the fun, and
exulting in the vigour and delight which
the weather had infpired. Good God, am
I then a fly!
REMOVING prejudices is alas! too often
removing the boundary of a delightful
near profpect, in order to let in a fhocking
extenfive one.
How
[108]
HOWEVER fond we are of ourſelves
we are often, I believe, lefs averſe to the
man who dupes us, than to the man we
dupe.
li
SOME пich feem to talk fenfe, as muſicians
play muſic, becauſe it is their und -
As to
taſte or reflection-I had almoſt faid con-
ſciouſneſs either in mufic or fenſe, that is
not part of the trade and they know nothing
of it.
CHARITY is a virtue much talked of,
but I think very little underſtood. Cha-
rity it is ſaid forbids me to think fuch or
fuch ill of fuch particular perfons. What!
does charity prompt one thing and reaſon
another? charity may regulate our behavi-
our, but can have no influence over our
opinion.
•
It would be a ridiculous trial, and yet,
I believe, a very efficacious one, if it was pof-
fible, to compel every man to bet ten thouſand
pounds if he had fo much, on every opinion
he himſelf ſhould tell you he was confirmed
in: might not fuch a favour make fome
ftrange revolutions in the faith of men who
themſelves little fufpect it?
3
I
[109]
I HAVE fometimes faid to myſelf, why
fhould I hate people becauſe they are ir-
rational, prejudiced, and ſelfiſh? it is not
their faults, they were made fo. And yet,
if I am made to hate their being fo, may
not I alſo have my privilege?
RESPECT is better procured by exacting
than folliciting it.
I HAVE often thought that the nature of
women was inferior to that of men in ge-
neral, but fuperior in particular.
THE fame difpofition which makes men
inquifitive and curious in fmall things,
makes them negligent and incurious in great
ones:
Ir is methinks worthy the curiofity of a
nice deſerver of human nature to watch the
courſe of a principle in the mind, and mark
its various effects; now cheriſhing a virtue
now a vice; now eſtabliſhing order, and
now inclining to irregularity: to trace it
like a ſtream from a fource through all its
windings, each of which thoſe who ſee but
a part, diſtinguiſh by a different name, and
fuppofe to be fed by a different fpring.
I
[ 110 ]
I HARDLY remember to have known
two people thought alike, but that both
were diſpleaſed.
THERE are ſome perfons, who are ſharp-
ers to one ſet of men, and dupes to an-
other, as the little fiſh prey upon leſs, and
the great fish
prey upon them.
THE fame objects appear pleafing or dif-
pleafing, as the circumſtances in which we
fee them are comfortable or uncomfortable.
UNBECOMING forwardneſs oftner pro-
ceeds from ignorance than impudence.
How happily is an imperfection fome-
times placed in the mind, how unhappily
a perfection!
WHAT an argument in favour of fo-
cial connection is the common obfervation,
that by communicating our grief we have
leſs, and by communicating our pleaſure
we have more.
SOME men hate human nature, becauſe
belongs to others; fome love it becauſe it
belongs to themſelves.
WHO can define prejudice?
I
A
:
[ 11 ]
A MAN fhould not be confcious of his
own perfections, and yet, methinks, he
fhould be conſcious of them.
thing of a diftinction here,
A
I feel fome-
which is fo
fine that it eſcapes every term of lan-
guage.
A VERY great fource of error is the
common practice of judging what men
will appear in a point of view in which
we have not ſeen them, from what they
appear in another, in which we have feen
them.
GOOD and bad, feem to be blended to-
gether through all nature, and fometimes
to be confounded with each other. In
man there ſeem to be certain vices and vir-
tues which generally go together; and when
we ſee, as we continually do, that ſome
faulty characters pleafe, and fome virtuous
characters diſpleaſe, we ought to diſtinguiſh
what in particular it is, that pleaſes or
diſpleaſes in them, and if we do, we fhall
find, at leaſt I believe much oftner than we
are aware of, that the virtuous character
diſpleaſes only in the vicious part, and the
vicious character pleaſes only in the virtuous
part:
:
[112]
;
part.
It muft indeed be confeffed, that
fome virtuous characters difpleaſe us more
upon the whole, than fome vicious cha-
racters, but then it happens, that the vice
mingled in the virtuous character is of
the moſt odious kind, for we are more
offended with parfimony degenerated into
avarice, than with liberality puſhed on
to profufion; and it ſhould alſo be remem-
bered, that there are fome good and bad
qualities, which partake very little, either
of virtue or vice, and will yet almoſt ob-
fcure the one, and atone for the other.
FOR the first time the difference may
not be very great, perhaps, whether you
are to impoſe upon a perſon who has a great
deal of fagacity, or one who has but little;
but the difference the fecond time will be
immenſe.
THE method of knowing whether your
fum total be right in arithmetic is to try it
by the figures which compofe it: the me-
thod of knowing whether your content in
the world is juft, is not by the cauſes
that produce it, for the produce itſelf is a
proof
[113]
proof that the cauſes are what they ſhould
be.'
THE greateſt deceiver in the world is
human reaſon.
As we ſhould adapt the ftile of our writ-
ing to the capacity of the perfon it is ad-
dreffed to, fo fhould we our manner of
acting; for as perfons of inferior underſtand-
ings will miſconceive, and perhaps fufpect
ſome ſophiſtry from an elegance of expref-
fion which they cannot comprehend, ſo per-
fons of inferior fentiments will probably
miſtake the intention, or even ſuſpect a
fraud from a delicacy of acting which
they want capacity to feel.
HARDLY a man, whatever his circum-
ſtances and ſituation, but if
you get his confi-
dence, will tell you that he is not happy. It
is however certain all men are not unhappy
in the fame degree, though by theſe ac-
counts we might almoſt be tempted to
think fo. Is not this to be accounted for
by ſuppoſing that all men meaſure the hap-
pineſs they poffefs by the happineſs they
defire, or think they deſerve?
I
WE
1
[114]
WE lament at every ill we have, we re-
joice at none we have not.
How many times in your life have you
met with the most unreaſonable and extra-
ordinary man you ever met with?
WE are about as much mortified to be
duped by another, as we are little fo to be
duped by ourſelves.
THE fool deceives himſelf by his own
inconſiſtency; the man of fenfe by that of
others.
CORINNA is very pretty, very gay,
and very fantaſtical; Pharamond is one of
her moft paffionate admirers, and he is
fo filly and fo vain as to conftrue common
civility into the higheſt encouragement, and
a little innocent coquetry into a tacit promiſe
of the laſt favour. Fulvius is alfo a fincere
admirer of Corinna, and Fulvius is a man
of gallantry, fenfe, and difcernment. Co-
rinna however capriciously fhe may have
behaved to others, has fhewn a peculiar par- .
tiality to Fulvius. Pharamond thinks him-
felf encouraged, and Fulvius is fo. The
other day Pharamond paid a vifit to Co-
J
*
rinna
L
[115]
rinna and behaved fo impertinently, and
fo impudently that Corinna was forced
to turn him down ftairs. Fulvius paid a
vifit foon after, and prefuming upon the
repeated teftimonies of her favour, he urged
his paffion with great delicacy indeed, but
with great ardour, and-he was turned
down ftairs.
If you meet young Torifmond at the
opera, and aſk him how he does, he will
anſwer you, "his dam was got by White-
"foot, his grand dam by Julius Cæfar, his
r
great grand dam by Chimney-fweeper,
"his great great grand dam by Silly Tom
"out of the old Mouna barb mare."-Have
you any running horfes to fell?--or match?
you may do either with young Torifmond,
quite upon an agreeable footing: three or four
hundred Pounds are with him but as fo
many farthings: Torifmond has feldom
fewer racers in his ftring than thirteen or
fourteen; moſt of them firft form'd nags,
and all Torifmond's intimate friends. To-
rifmond is none of your half-bred jockeys,
he improves in training, and if he
goes on
improving till he is an old man, he will
I 2
cer-
[116]
certainly be a jockey in an exceeding high
form. If you meet Toriſmond on the road
whether on horfeback or in his chariot,
its all one-it will be full gallop; his out-
riders indeed may be trotting behind, for
they ride coach-horſes, he drives running
horfes-in order to have a race before his
eyes wherever he goes. Oh! they have all
fix won many and many a king's plate! You
afk whither he is going in fuch a hurry?
what a queſtion! to fee his friends to be
fure: and the next day, if you go the fame
road, you will perhaps fee him coming the
fame pace back again after having feen
them. You don't comprehend the pleaſure
refulting from looking at beafts?-Well, if
you are fo dull I cannot help it: it will be
in vain to recommend to you the contem-
plation of this beautiful ftring; you will ne-
ver comprehend the grace of their jolting
walk, the charm of their ungain gallop,
the delightful whiſk of a long, ragged, and
ugly tail, much leſs the beauty of a horfe's
ftopping fhort, bolting his tail ftraight up,
and-But it would require the
pen of a Swift
to defcribe all the delicia of thoſe dear
Houyhnhnms which that great man had the
pene-
}
[117]
I
penetration to fee, and the tafte to enjoy.
Torifmond enjoys them all, and next to the
horſes he enjoys their feeder: if you was to
meet that ſame feeder and Torifmond toge-
ther, they would put you in mind of the two
kings of Brentford-they always whiſper-
no matter whether any one is near, or whe-
ther there is any fecret, they are always
cheek by joul—and whispering; nay, if
there was a fecret, and you were near, and
were to liften, you would get nothing by it;
their language is that of a jockey, and you
would find it about as intelligible as that of
a horſe. Torifmond is an adept you fee, he
is deep in the myſtery, he is indeed a joc-
key-You aſk why he does not rather think
of being a politician and making a figure in
publick life-indeed I do not know: whe-
ther it be that he has any party prejudices,
or what it is indeed I do not know, but he
does not think of it. Well then, fay you, as
he is young, fome gallantries with the fine
ladies might be a cleverer employment--bleſs
me, but ſuppoſe he has no tafte for any of
theſe things! I tell you Torifmond is a joc-
key, a very jockey, and every time he wakes'
I 3
out
•
[118]
out of his fleep, he ſays-" Give me ano-
ther horfe."
EVEN honeft men miſtake oftener in
their own favour than in other peoples.
We are ſcarce ever ſo juſt either to our-
felves or others, as to attend even to the
thing that pleaſes us when not accompanied
and fet off by fomething elſe. Strabo takes
a journey to ſee the fine fituation of his
friend's feat; he paffes by twenty fituations
in his road which are incomparably more
beautiful without even looking at them,
and yet, when he arrives at that he is in
raptures with it. Strabo thinks Flavia vaſtly
handſome, and prefers her to Honoria; yet
in fact, Flavia is much leſs handſome and
agreeable, and he himfelf would think fo
if Flavia had not by fome chance come
into more faſhion. Beauties then, whether
of art or nature, are it feems a kind of
adjectives-they are not allowed to ftand
by themſelves: Strabo is fond of operas, hu
has
very great pleaſure in hearing Amore-
voli fing, and even diftinguiſhes and enjoys
the peculiar excellence of his taſte and ex-
preffion, yet it happened the other day
before
[ 119 ]
7
before Strabo got into his chariot to go to
the opera that a friend of his, who was
waiting with him for the hour, hummed
an Italian air; Strabo appeared not even to
hear it, and yet that friend, perhaps, was
maſter of as much taſte and expreffion as
Amorevoli himſelf. Strabo too loves truth
and fentiment, and one night at fupper a
gentleman unknowingly made a remark
which happened to contain exactly the fenfe
of an exellent maxim of La Rochfaucault,
Strabo anſwered,-come, Sir, give me your
toaft.
THE teft of fome reflections is the im-
mediate correfpondence and affent to them;
the teft of others, and perhaps of thoſe
which are much the beſt is the immediate
diffent.
MEN fometimes arraign follies or faults
in others which they have not fenfe or vir-
tue enough to be guilty of themſelves, you
may be diſtant from the point of right by
Stopping Short as well as going beyond it.
How happy is it for us that the admira-
tion of others ſhould depend fo much more
on their ignorance than our perfection!
I 4
HOWEVER
f
[120]
HOWEVER far fome men may have
gone in the ſcience of impartiality, I am
perfuaded that there is not one of them
but would be furprized if he could be
ſhewn how much farther he might go.
THERE are fome men in whom a de-
ficiency of ſenſe or wit gives no pain; there
are ſome men in whom an abundance of
both gives no pleaſure.
BRILLUS has no great depth of under-
ſtanding, but, though you have, it will be
your fault if he don't pleaſe you. Brillus is
in his perfon extreamly agreeable, in his
behaviour proper, in his manners free, in
his heart good-natured. There is a certain
careleffneſs about him, not eafily defined,
but peculiar, and extreamly becoming; and
though his converſation has nothing very
uncommon in it, yet it is never injudicious
or diſpleaſing. His nature is gay, yet ſoft;
and though he has often flights of fancy,
yet he is never overbearing, for they are
always natural and often endearing. He
never copies any man, and for that reafon
is often copied. Brillus is a man of the
world
[121]
1
world, he dreffes well, but without. ftudy,
and it rather feems as if he could not do
otherwiſe than as if he defired to do it:
all aukwardneſs is repugnant to his nature,
he was born polite, eafy, and what the
French fo emphatically call placé. He is
governed by a kind of natural inſtinctive
propriety, and this principle is not only
ftrong but univerfal; he never fpeaks im-
properly, for even his gaiety and a certain
freedom in his difcourfe, is fo very much
his own, fits fo well upon him, and is
fo naturally inoffenfive to others, that
it is impoffible not to be pleaſed with it:
every thing Brillus does becomes him, and
he proves how much the qualities of the
heart are preferable and even affiftant to
thoſe of the underſtanding. If you want
to talk of ſciences or books, you muſt not
apply to Brillus, for he feldom or never
reads: if you want to diftinguiſh nicely,
or reaſon profoundly, you must not apply
to Brillus, for he gives up fpeculation and
theory for pleaſure and practice. But
if you poffefs extenfive knowledge and
deep penetration yourfelf; you will never
be
$
£
[122]
1
be ſhocked with his pretenfions to what he
does not underſtand, or dogmatical deci-
fions upon what he does, but will be at
full liberty to exerciſe your good humour,
your gaiety, your happineſs with Brillus.
PHOCION is a gentleman and a man of
letters; he has written feveral ingenious
things which have done him credit in the
world; his underſtanding then deferves
that credit, and you must approve it; yet,
if your character is a pleafing one, you
will find Phocion infupportable, becauſe his
underſtanding deferves that credit. Pho-
cion is in his perfon by no means pleafing,
in his behaviour ſeldom proper, in his man-
ners forward, in his difpofition impertinent :
there is a certain ſtiffneſs about him which
is extreamly ungraceful, and though his
converfation is often very ingenious, yet it
is always accompanied with fo much con-
ceit, that it never pleaſes even a good head
if it belongs to a good heart. Phocion is
rather a man of ingenuity than of taſte; if
he writes you a letter, it will certainly be
moſt exact in orthography and ftile, and
perhaps
[123]
7
perhaps full of fenſe, but he has no con-
ception, that there are faults in a negligent
freedom, which have ten times more beauty
than his forced accuracy can confer. His
nature is falfly gay, that is, pert and prag-
matical, and though he has often flights of
fancy, in which there is real wit, yet there
always appears fo much defire to fhew it,
ſo much of what the French fo emphati-
cally call gauche, that it entirely lofes its
effect, nay poffibly it difpleafes merely by
the impropriety with which it is introduced.
But if you was to tell Phocion that wit
miſplaced becomes folly, how cheap would
he hold
you for
your nonfenfical paradox!
Phocion is a fine gentleman manqué. He
has inſtead of the decent freedom, and air
du monde, that forced forwardneſs which
talents without tafte, flattered by talents
without taſte, naturally acquire. He takes
himſelf for an agreeable union of the fcho-
lar and the gentleman; for the polite Scho-
lar, and as fuch he holds forth. Drefs he
does not much regard; however, he orders.
his tailor to make him a frock, he don't
mind the colour, with a filver edging upon
it, and a tight round fleeve, which with a
coal
L
[124]
coal black bob-wig makes an agreeable
gentleman-like Neglidgee; if you aſk him
why he don't powder his bob, he will,
with a ſmile, aſk you the ufe, the' beauty,
the naturalness of powder; nay poffibly
prove to you the abfurdity of flinging white
duft into a beautiful natural black, and
thus come as it were with a rule and pair
of compaffes to meaſure what is in itſelf
unmeaſureable, thus reafon upon what is
not cognizable by reafon; what, I had al-
moſt ſaid is fuperior to reafon; TASTE. He
is right, that is, he is felf-perfuaded; but
in fact his ideas are inelegant, he is deplacé:
in a word, Phocion can write well and talk
well, but he cannot pleaſe.
ADRASTUS is neither a poliſhed man of
the world nor a ſcholar; nay, he has not the
ſmalleſt pretenfions to the character of either,
and yet he is often acceptable to both; he
is not the leaſt acquainted with books, not
even thoſe in his own language, and he is
equally ignorant of the elegancies of life:
his breeding does not extend an inch farther
than civility; his dress is always after his
own faſhion, nor is he lefs fingular in his
pleaſures and taſtes, and yet there are twenty
little
3
X
125 ]
little things that Adraftus underſtands better
than any man, and not one but he will take
pleaſure in doing for
you; do
do you want to
have a carriage made, a landau, or a poſt-
chaiſe, he will order it for you, and it will
be made just as you wish it; its fort ſhall be
either convenience or jemmyness, or a proper
mixture of both, juft as your character re-
quires it. He will himſelf ſee the ſtuff it
is made of, and above all he will take care
you ſhall not be cheated; he knows every
particular of every one of the various trades
the whole muſt paſs through. Would you
buy, two or three horſes for this poft-chaife?
He will even do that for you, and not a
ſplint, or ſpavin, or bad eye, or old broken
knee, or pinch't foot, or low heel efcapes
him. He will chufe any fort of horfe equally
well, from the thorough Engliſh black up
to the beſt bred bay. Adraftus is the beſt
humour'd fellow in the world, and, however
diſtant from every thing that is French, is
always acceptable to the moſt faſhionable
people, unless they are very much pinched
and preciſe indeed; nay, he likes the com-
pany of ladies that are good-humoured
and
[126]
and free, and will readily make one with
them at a Vaux-hall party, and when there,
will not fail to get them the best box, and
the beſt things of all forts: he has but to
give Mr. Tyers a wink and all is done:
they have drunk many a bowl of punch to-
gether, and fmoaked many a pipe. By the
way, do you love punch? he'll get you fuch
rum as perhaps you never taſted. You may
fend Adraftus about at your Vaux-hall parties
like a waiter if you will, he defires no bet-
ter ſport; nay, after fupper when the chief
of the company is gone, he will take a
French-horn, and give him a good ſecond,
he will delight you. If you love hunting
he will clang you the fan-fas till the gardens
ring again; you will like Alexander "fight
<< all your battles o'er again, and flay again
the flain." However, don't miſtake me,
Adraftus never in his life hunted with
a French-horn, he knows things better; he
only practiſes it as a genteel amuſement:
Oh! Adraftus is an excellent ſportſman in
every branch of it. But Adraftus is indeed
a moſt general man as far as modern things,
mechanical things, and uſeful things, go.-
Would
you ſhew
your hounds to a good
2
judge?
[ 127 ]
judge? get Adraftus to your kennel; the
beſt ſhaped ones will not eſcape him; and
his hints may be worth liftning to if you
want to make any new croffes: then if he
attends you in the field, and
in the field, and you know and
love the truth, you'll be delighted with
Adraftus; he never rides much, but yet is
always first in at the death, you'd fwear
that either he had whiſpered the fox which
way to go, or the fox him which way he
intended to go. Adraftus is indeed a moſt
manly character; all exerciſes are familiar
to him: few men beat him formerly at a hop,
ſtep, and jump; he now flings a cricket-
ball with moſt men, is a tolerable back-hand
in a tennis-court; and very few men indeed
excel him at a cudgel. Some people of
rule inſtead of taſte might object to Adraſ-
tus as having fomething odd in his appear-
ance, carriage, and drefs, and not being
gentleman-like. But if you are not of the
number will hold them very cheap; nay,
it will be that very oddity that delights
you and makes your connection with him
more pleafing, as different notes of mufic
make more ſtriking concord than the fame.
No man makes a worfe bow than Ad-
you
raftus,
[ 128 ]
raftus, or perhaps looks lefs like a gentle-
man; and that is his perfection. His con-
verfation too, is like no other perfon's, and
yet few other perſons pleaſe you as much
as Adraftus; you ask me why? -afk
nature.
HOWEVER inferior natures run down
fuperior ones, they never fail paying them
the moſt fincere, as the moft involuntary
homage whenever they meet without dif
guife.
WHAT is curiofity? a ftrong defire of
knowing the object that excites it: how
then do you reconcile that univerſal prin-
ciple of curiofity with that univerfal re-
ception of falfhood in mankind?
I HARDLY know fo melancholy a re-
flection, as that parents are neceffarily the
fole directors of the management of chil
dren, whether they have, or have not,
judgment, penetration, or tafte, to perform
the taſk.
HAOYK, haoyk, hawrk, hoalow! poor
Furio was a little in his beer, and contrary
to his cuſtom, he accofted us, his left
fore
J
7
...
1
[129]
·
fore finger in his left ear, with this fport-
ing, this deafening vociferation: generally
he is rather glum, and you fee plainly, for
it is plainly to be feen, that the fire and
ſpirit of his character lies a little low, Fu-
rio profeffes himſelf a lover of his own
country, a very patriot; happy turn in a
young gentleman poffefs'd of 3000l. per
annum! thoſe are the men to do honour to
it. D-
Dn their bags and folitaires, fays
Furio, dn their operas, their fuppers,
and their ſpeeches and ftuff, there's no
taſte, no honefty in any of them; they have
no foul, by g-d, they have no foul! what
has a man of fortune and tafte to do with
any thing but a pack of fox-hounds, well
man'd and well hors'd, and fomething in a
good qualification upon which he can ſport
two or three, cool hundreds? D-me
this is living, and like a gentleman, d-n
all their French nonfenfe fay I, by g-d
there is not one of them knows a horſe
from a gelding, or whether he is fourteen
fifteen or fixteen hands high; old England
fay I; thus Furio ran on, and had you
heard the tone, the emphafis, with which
he utter'd it all, it muſt have impreſs'd it
K
very
[ 130 ]]
very deeply on your mind as it did on mine:
his carriage and drefs were quite correfpon-
dent to his difcourfe; and I lamented that
a figure which nature had done fo much
for, fhould be thus difgraced by falfe
education and ill-directed fpirit; he was
light, admirably fhaped, and made to be
genteel; his drefs was adapted to his cha-
racter, extravagant and minutely exact to
every rule of tafte and elegance, received
by the best judges in the clafs of men to
which he belong'd, from head to foot,
from his fcratch comb'd down to his eyes,
to his walking fhoe (not pump) with one
leather for his heel, and no leather for his
toe; he never admitted any, nor did any
hints from the repeated knocks he got
from intruding ftones, (for the toes were fo
round and flat, he got many) induce him
to alter the faſhion. In his carriage he had
an agreeable flouch beyond defcription, a
determined merit-confcious air, and ftood
with his long ſhoes almoft ftraight as well
as flat on the ground, and his right hand
thruft into his bofom-the elbow a little
rounded-within two buttons of the top
of his waiſtcoat, (I mean the upper, for he
always
2
[131]
always wears four,) which was only button'd
down to the laft two buttons, for that alfo
is the bel-air; his talk was generally la-
conick, yet ſturdy; but the chief expref-
fion of eloquence lay in a peculiar ftile of
fpitting, occafion'd by the beſt pig-tail'd quid
in the three kingdoms. Alas! poor hu-
man nature! how has all the ſpirit of thy
compofition been perverted! what an ex-
uberance of fire, life, perhaps taſte and
merit, had it been rightly directed! I fell
into many reflections on human nature, on
the force of education, on the negligence
of parents and educators, and retir'd; nor
thought I more of Furio, when I had once
got him out of my head, till the next year
a character I met with accidentally, recall'd
him to my mind, by the oppofition and
contraft of it. It was a young man of a
pretty figure juſt landed from France, and
to all appearance a French coxcomb, the
very reverſe of Furio; he held forth on the
intolerable ruſticity of the Engliſh, "they
"don't know how to live, they can neither
CC
walk, fit, nor ſtand, ah! quelle difgrace!
"how coifféed! how chaufféed!" and indeed
his fhoes were in one reſpect the very re-
K 2
verfe
!
[132]
i
verſe of Furio's, for they were fo very piqued
that they could not fail pinching and ſqueez-
ing his toes all together; he rav'd about
clear fauces, Entrees, Entremets, Defferts,
what not; every third word was French,
Ecorché indeed ſometimes, but the aim was
always perfect; if an a came in his way
he took care it ſhould be broader than the
ftrongeſt affectation in a Frenchman would
have made it, je'n fuis bien FAAWCHE; no
truer Frenchman as far as heart and incli-
nation could go; every common-place re-
mark againſt his own country was run over,
and none was fo odious: ah, thinks I, were
Furio here-his friend comes in and ac-
cofts him, with my dear Will Furio! I ſtart-
ed, ſtared, wondered, it was he, it was
Furio.
PELEUS propoſes to himſelf the cha-
racter of a fine gentleman, and what think
you are in his opinion the requifites necef-
fary to form it? why, happily for Peleus,
thoſe which he poffeffes and no other: Pe-
leus has a good leg, a very good leg-the
calf full, muſcular, not too high nor too
low, going off handſomely without too
fudden
.5
[133]
fudden or too confiderable a dimunition,
and this is the principal; but think not that
this is all: Accompaniments, ornaments,
muſt attend on this leg in particular and in
general on the whole perfon; he dreffes
himſelf like a fine gentleman, and this leg
eſpecially employs many happy moments to
adorn, and many more to think of. Can
you recommend any fuper-excellent ho-
fier? Peleus don't mind price; do you
know
where the beſt morning, afternoon, or
boot-ſtockings, are to be bought? Peleus
wants many forts, particularly ribbed ones-
they ſhew the leg well. O! here he comes,
?
this is Peleus: did you ever fee ſo neat
a leg? the knee at top, delightful! the foot
at bottom, divine! if I was a ſtocking-mer-
chant I would give Peleus half my ſtock
if he would let his leg fit for my fign: you
fay his ſtocking looks tight-tight is not
the word, I ſay it looks like his fkin; and
fee how the muſcles fwell! how firm, how
elaftic! their influence afcends even to his
countenance; do you not fee in his face
how handſome his legs are? But has Peleus
then, as a fine gentleman, nothing but legs
to ſtand upon? nothing quite fo perfect,
K 3
but
}
!
[134]
but yet many excellencies in which he
furpaffes moſt other fine gentlemen; in Pele-
us, there is a correfpondency throughout,
mind and all. He often dreffes after din-
ner to be compleat in one of the fide-boxes
at about feven; there he spends moſt of
his evenings, and need he fay any thing
there? his accomodage, his cloaths, his ſtock
exactly plaited and broad, and above all,
tight to an almoft choaking degree, will
not they ſpeak for him? but his legs
true, if
you are not in the ſame box you
will not ſee them, but you may perhaps
be able to get into it and then you will,
ſome how or other, I'll answer for it. Peleus
is indeed a moſt finiſhed piece, no Flemiſh
one more fo; nor is his tafte fo confined as
you may imagine; he knows and frequents
fome of the beſt taverns, nor does he fail
to affume a proper dignity, by fwearing as
loud at the waiters as any man. If he is
with ladies he knows the French manner;
he will pick his teeth one by one fo care-
lefly, fo delicately! or he will whiſtle fo
agreeably, he would charm you. His
equipage too is made by Butler; and I
hear he is actually about another pair of
long
[ 135 ]
long tails. You afk if Peleus is polite, eaſy,
gallant; if his carriage and converfation have
that propriety which diftinguiſhes true good
breeding; if he knows all thoſe delicacies
of behaviour which are known to fo few ;
that politeness of heart, which like a kind
of internal fenfe, feels as it were all the
peculiarities of different circumftances of
time, place, and company, ftill accomodat-
ing itſelf to each with equal foftnefs and
dignity; if he poffeffes above all that natural,
that unaffumed and unaffuming fuperiority
which characterizes the fine gentleman of
every country in the world; but to what end
are all theſe queſtions? I tell you he has got
a pair of long tails, and the fign of the leg.
༣
A SENSIBLE man will fometimes, from
a kind of habitual fondneſs, preſerve ſome
old room in his houfe when he is new
building it, and fo deftroy all the ſymetry and
convenience of his edifice: in the fame man-
ner alfo will a fenfible man fometimes cleave
to fome old opinion in his difquifitions into
nature and truth, and thus entirely deſtroy
the connection and uniformity of his know-
ledge.
:
K 4
I
[136]
I KNOW no virtue the want of which
may, with reſpect to almoſt all its advan-
tages, be fo well fupplied by a vice as gene-
rofity; vanity almoft alone will fometimes
perform its functions,
ARE there not inftances alas! wherein
even the well diſpoſed mind that is unhurt
at falſe thinking, will, from the fame prin-
ciple, be unhurt at falfe acting?
THERE are virtues which if they happen
to be ever fo little overcharged with alloy,
if I may ſo expreſs myſelf, or to uſe another
figure, if they have that defect which in a
picture might perhaps be only called a looſe
but maſterly manner, can produce nothing
to the poffeffor but endleſs inconveniency:
thus it is ordained, that the poor infect which
flies to the light, fhall fly to the fire
alfo.
SOME men methinks reliſh things the
more from not underſtanding them.
PEOPLE do not only enjoy content, and
the charms of ſelf-approbation from acting
well, but, different cafe! from thinking they
act well.
ONE
:
[ 37 ]
I
ONE of the greateſt philoſophers I know
in the world is Hermion: afk him the
news, what ſuch a great perfon is doing;
who is going out of place, who is coming
in, he knows nothing of the matter.
never meddle with other people's buſineſs, fays
Hermion, I endeavour to play my own
part in the world, that's all I aim at. A
very ftoic about other people's buſineſs; as
to his own indeed, ftoicifm gives way a
little to the care of externals. The accu-
mulation of money is his folace, his joy,
his-ne plus ultra; indifferent to all other
things, all his faculties are exerted on this,
and with only reverfing one word in the
fentence he could cry out virtute mea me
involvo. Hermion has found out the true
meaning of the precept;
« increaſe and
multiply," and as faſt as his guineas roll in,
he takes all due care they ſhall not roll out;
and thus his life wears away in a compla_
cent innocent tranquility; no reftlefs ambi-
tion; no looſe pleaſures; no weak attach-
ments; he never meddles with other people's
buſineſs; and unleſs you could convince him
that the ſtocks were broke, or his land funk
by an earthquake, you would in vain at-
2
tempt
[138]
tempt to diſturb his philoſophy. Your
Horaces may talk of their juftums and te-
nacems, Hermion prefers the fecret confo-
lating fnugneſs of poffeffion; the interior
fatisfaction, the philofophic eaſe reſulting
from the conſcioufnefs of poffeffed gold;
and let what will happen to the furrounding
world, fecure him but gold, of him too
fhall you exclaim, impavidum ferient
ruinæ !
THOSE men who are commended by
every body muſt be very extraordinary men,
or, which is more probable, very incon-
fiderable men.
COURAGE often decides fenfibly where
reaſon will not, nay where ſhe cannot.
MANY men that have not ſenſe might
have ſenſe if they would: to explain the
paradox; how numerous are the obftacles
from pride and frowardneſs to reafon! and
what is reafon but truth and ſenſe?
GREAT minds are feldom voluptuous,
but great and agreeable minds are almoft
always fo. How much more agreeable was
Henry the fourth of France than his minif
ter the Duke du Sully ?
Is
[139]
Is it then true that man is fo unhappy a
creature as ſo many wife men have told us
he is? I believe indeed that the caufes of
happineſs are often error and forgetfulneſs,
but of what moment is the nature of the
cauſe if you enjoy the effect?
ARISTARCHUS is charming: how full
of knowledge, of fenfe, of fentiment! you
get him with difficulty to your fupper, and
after having delighted every body and him-
felf for a few hours he is obliged to return
home, he is finiſhing his treatiſe which
proves, that unhappiness is the portion of
man.
THOUGH love is more endearing than
friendſhip yet lovers quarrel more than
friends.
AT a concert of mufic he who has no
part to play, but is at liberty to attend to, and
'contemplate all the others is beft off. In
the concert of the world it is juſt con-
trary.
FINIS coronat opus. No maxim fo
heartily and fo generally fubfcribed to, and
none,
[ 140 ]
none, if I underſtand it, right, ſo falſe:
mine ſhould be juft contrary, and I would
ſay that it could be only from the merit of
the defign, from the virtue of the beginning,
that the profperous end of the work could
be justly crowned and applauded. My
maxim then ſhould rather be, Opus coronat
finem.
MAN does not feem to have been de-
figned by nature for a great deal of re-
flection, it will damp the fpirit of his ac-
tion: Man does feem defigned for a cer-
tain degree of reflection, it will moderate
the impetuofity of it.
4
" TRUTH will prevail." It may be
true; but fome people, I believe, think
her a very flow worker; and little will
the fatisfaction of her prevailing be to
you, if you happen to be ruined in your
reputation or fortune while fhe is at
work.
You prove your generofity much lefs at
the time you give than after it; nay rather
it is after the gift only that you prove it at
all, for certainly when Tibullus told Crato,
he ought to remember that horſe he gave
him,
[141]
him, he at the fame time told him that
it was not from generofity that he gave
him the horſe.
It is the great men, the wife men, the
good men if you will, who corrupt man-
kind: for one that has been inſtructed by
their ſenſe, millions have been feduced by
their prejudice.
THERE are things fo very natural and
common, that every one fees them: there
are things fo very natural and common,
that no one fees them.
You deny that man is really fo přeju-
diced as I fuppofe him, talk to him then
of fome foreign country, afk him what re-
ligion he is of,
MIGHT not moſt men be as well named
boys grown old?
WHAT ideas are attached to theſe vene-
rable old trees, that reverend ivy-growing
wall! what inexpreffible delight I feel when
I inhabit thoſe manfions of my youth!
The old turrets are deftroyed; the trees
fubmitted to the ftroke of the ax: Good
God! is the delight then of my very foul,
the
+
[142]
.1
the enjoyment of a rational being, connected
with thoſe ſtones, thofe fticks!
THE neglecting to put yourſelf above
thoſe that ought to be inferior to you, will
often be as difguftful to thofe very people,
as the not putting yourſelf under thoſe who
ought to be fuperior to you, will be diſguſt-
ful to them.
Ir you get a title and 10,000l. per an-
num, you will outfhine every body, and
every thing; but remember, Flavio, that
the very jewels which decorate beauty,
make deformity ridiculous.
We are often furprized when experience
demonftrates what reafon had before ac-
knowledged to be true.
BLESS me, faid Bromio to Agener, at
what a rate your fet of horſes travel! why
we are come ſeventy miles in eleven hours.
Well, replied Agener, and why are you fo
furprized, did I not come to you laſt month
this very diſtance in this very time? you
may remember I fhewed you my watch
the moment I came in, and yet you are
juſt as much ſurprized at this expedition,
as if you had not believed the other. I
know
;
[143]
know not, faid Bromio, but when one
travels the very road one's felf, one feels
the truth of it methinks more forcibly.
TASTE and generofity, what words! do
they not in their moſt extenfive meaning,
comprehend almoft every power of the hu
man heart and underſtanding?
No wonder we judge of the fenfations of
other men by our own, fince we judge
of our future fenfations by our preſent, al-
though we know that we have felt differ-
ently from what we do feel with respect to
almoſt every object, and might there-
fore reaſonably infer that we ſhall do ſo.
It is not from an acquiefcence in what
yoù advance that you ſhould conclude there
is a belief of it: while the principle of any
error remains in the mind, like that of any
humour in the body, you may by particular
application, ſtop the progreſs of it at par-
ticular places; but then it will indubitably
break out again at others, perhaps at the
fame.
MAN feems to be made neither to live
alone nor with others.
Του
[144]
You will, I believe, in general ingratiate
yourſelf with others ftill lefs by paying
them too much court than too little.
It is perhaps true that women generally
come into life with higher ideas of delicacy
than men; but, I believe it true alſo, that
they generally retire from life with lower.
DISAGREEING in little things and agree-
ing in great ones, is what forms and keeps
up a commerce of fociety and friendſhip
among reaſonable men, and among unrea-
fonable men breaks it.
On the depth of forrow will fometimes
float a fuperficies of undiffembled gaiety; but
the fun-fhine of joy will never be obſcured
by the ſlighteſt vapour of real grief. There
is a falfe joy as there is a feigned voice, and
not an unpleafing one, and could I venture
fo looſe a compariſon as treble to pleaſure,
and baſe to grief, I would fay, that though
there was a feigned voice in the treble,
there was none in the bafe.
WHEN a man fhews his parts properly,
he is applauded for it, his confidence was
well placed it is the confidence without
knowledge that offends, yet poffibly it was
by
t
:
!
[145]
by mere good fortune that they went to-
gether, if
you ever once find him confident
and ignorant, be affured of it.
A VERY fmall offence may be a juft
cauſe for great reſentment; it is often much
leſs the particular inftance which is ob-
noxious to us, than the proof it carries
with it of the general tenour and dif-
pofition of the mind from whence it
fprung.
THOUGH love and hatred are as oppofite
as fire and water, yet do they fometimes
fubfift in the breaft together towards the
fame perfon, nay by their very oppofition
and defire to deftroy each other, are they
ftrengthened and increaſed.
WHAT a ſtrange thing is a populace!
now madly crying for this thing, then for
t'other, and never knowing why for any:
we who are not populace are ftruck with
indignation or contempt, or perhaps with
pity, at this diſgraceful folly of the human
fpecies. But is it fo certain that we who
are not populace do not often do exactly
the fame thing, only that our cry is on
higher ſubjects? as a piece of muſic is ſtill
L
the
[ 146 ]
the fame though it be taken an octave or a
key higher.
It is not enough that you can form
nay and follow the moſt excellent rules
for conducting yourſelf in the world, you
muſt alſo know when to deviate from them,
and where lies the exception.
THE Worft office you could do to fome
men, would be to cure them of what is
ridiculous about them. An edifice is bad
that has a bad fupport it is true, but what
will it be if it has no fupport at all?
Ir is a melancholy confideration, that if
either the mind or the body has any pecu-
liar malady which cannot be eradicated,
though it be fometimes fufpended, that
malady will be liable to be renewed by al-
moſt every other that may befal it.
THE common contrivances of cunning,
put me in mind of the preſervative inſtinct
I have fometimes obferved in beafts, which
lays a plot that is extreamly artful and well-
concealed in many parts, but at the fame
time left fo open in fome one, that it is
perfectly eafy for fuperior intelligence to fee
and
[ 147 ]
1
and underſtand the whole complication of
the contrivance.
WHEN men, for whom we have a well-
grounded contempt, at the fame time con-
temn us, (no uncommon caſe!) it becomes
humour and makes us laugh.
OUR prefent evil is generally thought
the worst of our evils, and all our own
evils worſe than other peoples.
Ir is infinitely lefs from what, then from
how you conceive, that the fuperiority of
your nature will be demonſtrated..
THERE are men in whom
you would
ſpoil all by reducing them to what you
call regularity, they are born and defigned
to be otherwiſe, and while vulgar eyes look
upon them as they do on comets as un-
natural and monftrous; thofe of fuperior
difcernment only admire in both the un-
common yet wife direction of nature.
I ADMIRE the very thing perhaps in one
writer which I difregard in another, for
when I know that my author thinks deeply,
my mind is conſtantly exerted to compre-
hend every ſentiment in its whole extent,
with
L 2
[148]
with all its connections and confequences;
I then fee that it is full, it is juft, it is im-
portant, and I not only apprehend but feel
what he tells me. But when I know that
my author fees only the fuperfices of things,
and fatisfies himſelf with it, I look for no-
thing that does not float on the ſurface of
his expreffions; I read with the fame in-
ertneſs that I impute to the writer, and
what I do not expect I do not find though
by chance it may be there.
CLITANDER feems to have faid, or
rather nature feems to have faid to him,
(c
you ſhall not be old." He is now three
or four and forty, yet he looks like a young
fellow and acts like a very young fellow:
nay, and what is ftill more extraordinary,
acting like a very young fellow becomes
him. Moft men of four and thirty are
much too old for him, he keeps company
only with very young fellows-like him-
felf. In one word, not to difguife his
character by palliative terms, he is a rake:
genteel, eafy, foft, even modeft with ladies,
he is a reveller and a rake: late hours, free
living, I confefs, are his favourites; but-
I
[ 119 ]
•
I know not how, they ſcarce difgrace him.
Brave as Cæfar, he is yet as peaceable as Frib-
ble; it is almoft impoffible to quarrel with
him. He is always good humoured, and the
chief, almoſt the only thing he requires of
you is to fit up with him. Every one blaines
Clitander aloud, and yet tacitly, and in-
voluntarily abfolves him. Nature is too
ſtrong for reaſon, and Clitander forces you
(unleſs you are a very dull dog indeed) to ſmile
even while you fhake your head at his irre-
gularities. Ay-there he is walking along
on the other fide of the way: you fee his
dreſs is the moſt careleſs in the world, and
yet how elegantly genteel he is in it! as if
he was elegantly genteel whether he would
or no; what a pretty figure too!-its now
two o'clock, and depend upon it, he is but
juft out of his bed,-or the round-houſe. Its
a pity however he does not take to another
fort of life, that is certain; and who knows?
when he is a middle aged man of a hundred
perhaps he will. It is odd, yet this very life
which you almoft approve in Clitander, you
deſpiſe in Valerius, who is near twenty years
younger. What think you if Clitander was
to cut off his hair, wear a tie-wig, and
L 3
go
into
[
150 ]
1
into the houſe of commons, would you bẹ
charmed with the decent dignity of his new
character?-Clitander is a comet,
I HAVE often heard it faid, yet never be-
lieved it, fúch a one writes fenfible, or witty
letters, but has neither wit or fenfe. Does
he who fays this confider how many things
may
have led him to miſtake in his account?
Is he fure that he has not thought a letter
fenfible or witty which was neither? or, if
he has not made that miſtake, is he fure
that the converſation in which he did not re-
mark wit or ſenſe was really without ſenſe or
wit? or is he fure that his own real deficiency
may not have been the cauſe of an appa-
rent one in his friend, by giving his abilities
no opportunity to come into play? has
he in fhort confidered that every effect muſt
have its cauſe, and that nothing is more evi-
dently true than that ex nihilo nil fit?
It often happens that there is an infallible
remedy for a diſorder of the body, but that
fome other diſorder makes the application of
it impoffible. Is not this equally the cafe
with many diſorders of the mind?
THE
[ 151 ]
THE only way of acquiring the know-
ledge of truth is to diſcourage the firſt intru-
fion of every deceit; what knowledge then
will men acquire by whom every one is en-
couraged?—but I miſtake, for every man
will tell me he never encourages any.
THE mind has often a ſtrong appetite and
a weak digeſtion as well as the body, ſo that
ſcience degenerates into error, as food into
morbid qualities.
WHATEVER natural right men may
have to freedom and independency, it is
manifeft that fome men have a natural afcen-
dency over others.
WHEN we are ſtrongly prepoffeffed that a
character has fome particular caft or quality,
very reaſons which naturally tend to de-
ſtroy that opinion will often ferve to confirm
it.
the
THERE is ſomething ſo fatisfactory in the
indulgence of natural paffions that even
grief feems to have a ftrange kind of pleaſure,
if I may fo expreſs myſelf, belonging to it.
THE language of Gelon is-" it is-you
"muſt--I know," and no man knows less than
Gelon: the language of Lælius is" it feems
L 4
}
"you
1
[152]
"-you may-I believe," and no man knows
more than Lælius.
NOTHING fo different as envy and
contempt, and yet nothing fo common as
to endeavour to perfuade others, nay nothing
ſo common as really to perfuade ourſelves,
that we deſpiſe thoſe whom we envy.
O TEMPORA! O mores! O! the profligacy
the luxury, the venality of this age! cried
the unvenal Mifanthes, who fold out decla-
mations on virtue, honour, and patriotiſm,
for bread and cheeſe; and he wrote, and
wrote, and wrote, till he had perfuaded
himſelf that all the rants of his abufive and
injurious pen were precepts of equal autho-
rity with thoſe of the twelve tables; he dealt
about him, he thundered like a little God
of this nether world, and all in the cauſe
of greatneſs of foul. Nay, I would not
fwear that there were not certain moments
of enthuſiaſtic rapture, when he really mif-
took the elevated fituation of his garret, for
a ftation fuperior to that of the vile nobility
whom he ſo particularly honoured with his
diſtinctions. Then there was a certain houſe,
a certain rendezvous, near the palace which
even
[153]
·
even raiſed his humorous contempt. O! the
wretches that haunt it are one and all in-
famous fcoundrels thinks Miſanthes, and
gives them a fneer, a fomething of a witty
ftroke of contempt. It happened that a
certain very profligate frequenter of that
certain houſe, a great man, had fome bufi-
neſs with Miſanthes, and appointed him to
attend on the morrow at his hotel. At the
very moment of appointment, he appeared at
the noble's ſtudy door. And behold Mifan-
thes! have you ever ſeen a dog walk about
a room on his hinder legs, keeping with
difficulty from crawling on all four, and
ſtill bending forward all the way he went?
as like as two peas-I mean the patriot and
the dog. If the noble fpoke, the anſwer
was ready long before the queſtion was
afked, and the ſweeteſt humility! did you
ever hear a certain loofe, but humorous
French fong, in which a capuchin fryar is
ſuppoſed to die, and travel to not the moſt
defirable of the two other worlds, where as
foon as he arrives, he is accofted by the
black monarch, with-Capucin?-plait il,
in great humility fays the capuchin,
plait il Monfeigneur ?
ASK
2
[154]
Ask the good driver of what confequence
it will be for you to hit the quarter when
your carriage is heavy, and the ruts are
deep at the very inftant of changing; he
will tell you that if you do not then hit
the quarter, you may drag on with diffi-
culty for miles together; and it may be
juſt as material for you to feize one oppor-
tunity of ferving yourſelf in the world, the
neglecting of which may leave you to
drudge on in difficulties and diſtreſs for
years afterwards.
MODESTY, non-pretenfion, and delicacy
of behaviour when joined to the accidental
dignity of riches, and an elevated ſtation,
will certainly fucceed and be admired;
but when joined only to intrinfic dignity,
without thoſe accidental advantages, they
will ferve perhaps, only to hide that dig-
nity in an obfcure ftation. The very qua-
lities then which make you admired at the
top of the world, might have ferved alfo,
however you deſerve to be there, to have
kept you from the top of the world.
ONE is ſometimes tempted to think that
there is a kind of compenſation of advan-
tage
:
[ 155 ]
tage even between knowledge and igno-
rance; how often is knowledge diſappointed
of its moſt rational expectations, and igno-
rance gratified in thofe that are irrational
and extravagant?
WE often act as if we .fancied that
per-
fuafion would be in proportion to vehemence;
yet do we not obferve, that the player who
over-acts, affects us ftill lefs than he that
under-acts?
If a particular branch of a tree grows
out fo luxuriantly as to rob the other parts
of their nouriſhment, we call it a defor-
mity in the tree; and we do the fame
when the like accident happens to the hu-
man body; ought we not alfo in the fame
caſe, to hold the fame opinion of the mind,
notwithſtanding the contrary has generally.
prevailed ?
Ir is fo much in the nature of men to
over-reach and deceive one another, that
their very ſports and plays are founded on
that principle.
We never play fo well at any game of
addrefs, as when we are not at all anxious
to play well; nay, as when we don't know
that
[156]
that we play well; is not this as true in the
game of life?
It would be doing cunning too much
honour to call it an inferior fpecies of true
diſcernment: every good quality ſeems to
be mimicked by fome mock quality that is
bad. Cunning then is a mock difcern-
ment as we read of a certain wild beaft
who has another ready to affift him in his
robberies, ſo is one bad quality of the mind
often affifted by another, and cunning is
the Jackall of perfidy; when cunning ap-
pears therefore, we fhould always fufpect
its companion to be near.
I HAVE often heard people wiſh to ſee
fuch or ſuch famous perfons who are dead,
as particular rarities in human nature, which
had produced no other like them, but what
if they ſee fuch continually, and it is the
occafion only, which brought the character
into play, that they ſhould wiſh to ſee ?
IT is infinitely lefs the thing which
makes you applaud the man that fays it,
than it is the man who makes you ap-
plaud the thing that is faid.
fay is obvious; granted: but I
This you
ſpeak of
the
[157]
the degree, and to you who think it
obvious.
He may be called a good muſician who
is capable of following a certain key pro-
perly and well, and poffibly going from it
into others which plainly and naturally of-
fer themſelves in their connection with it.
But he only can be called a great muſician,
who is capable of feeing the connection of
keys which do not plainly offer themſelves,
and yet exiſt in nature, and have an effect
on the hearer, delicate and refined in pro-
portion to the nicety of that connection.
Is not this obfervation exactly applicable to
the underſtanding?
WERE I to compoſe a triumvirate of
great and fimilar geniuſes, I would put to-
gether three men whom you may poffibly
think utterly unlike each other; I mean
Swift, the man of fun, prefident Montef
quieu the philofopher, and Scarlatti the
mufician. What diſcoveries did they make
of diſtant connections and beauties, till then
unknown, each in the different courfe of
nature he purſued, and therefore how fimi-
lar and how great is the triumvirate !
THERE
t
[158]
THERE is methinks a fenfe as well as a
man of faſhion.
THERE is a French word which it is the
faſhion to ridicule and laugh at, and which
notwithſtanding, I would give my vote for
adopting as an Engliſh one. It is in my
opinion as expreffive, as extenfive in its
meaning, and as little known here as any
in the French language, I mean the word
ton; I ſee methinks a good or a bad ton
in every thing that is faid, written, or
acted, and a man will diſcover one or the
other by the very manner of holding up
his
finger, or putting out his leg. The ton is
that which gives the ftamp of grace or
aukwardneſs to all we fay or do. The
bon ton is that which is neceffary to the
ornament of the writings, the carriage, the
actions of all the world.
*A MAUVAIS ton, to a man of a bon ton,
is what diſcord is to a good ear.
DON'T you think Lætitia, that Florimel
is a very pretty gentleman! O? vaſtly ſo,
fo French! true, vaftly French-he has
l'aile du pigeon. I'll tell you a fecret Læ-
titia, but don't divulge it, for the fake of
3
your
[159]
Well,
your friends-l'aile du pigeon is not
French. Oh! but it is though, elſe I'm
fure Florimel would not wear it.
perhaps it is French, but however, it is
the French of the Garçons Caffetiers and
the Commis. Well, replied Lætitia, I was
ſure it was French, and indeed-it's vaftly
pretty.
I HARDLY know any thing fo ridiculous
as the affumed caution of a fool who has
found himſelf deceived by you, or ſo ſure
of defeating its own end.
DEMONSTRATION is by no means a
match for ſelfiſhneſs, and often have I en-
vied the perſon whoſe ſelfiſhneſs has with-
ſtood the force of demonſtration; how happy
fometimes is fuch blindneſs, or if you
you will,
fuch meannefs! and how fallible therefore
is the maxim "virtue is its own reward.”
WE are generally willing to give up a
particular opinion in proportion as the ma-
jority of our opinions are good, and unwill-
ing in proportion as they are bad, it ſeems
as if this ordination reverſed would have been
happier.
THE
$
[160]
THE jockey will difcourfe by the hour
on horſes from generation to generation,
the hunter on chafes with all their appur-
tenances, the farmer on grain and tillage,
the politician on politics, and fo on, it is
natural; but there is one fort of man that
will talk, nay with pleaſure, on the very
contrary of what he does every day, and
all day long. I mean the ungenerous and
unreaſonable man.
BEING common-place is perhaps generally
leſs a proof of a thing's being too obvious
and trivial, than of its being ſtriking and
important; for how ſtriking muſt that ob-
fervation be which every body makes? and
at the fame time how neceffary is it ftill to
inculcate the leffon contained in it which
has never yet been carried into prac-
tice?
THERE is a kind of vanity and affecta-
tion, than which I know nothing more
diſguſtful to others, or comfortable to
ourfelves.
I HARDLY know a fight that raiſes ones
indignation more than that of an enlarged
foul, joined to a contracted fortune, unleſs
I
it
[ 161 ]
it be that fo much more common one, of a
contracted foul joined to an enlarged for-
tune.
We ought to confefs our faults; true:
but to whom? to generofity. How often
then ſhould we confefs our faults?
SAYS Philintus, what can be the mean-
ing of it! 'tis certainly fo-the world is not
fond of me; and yet God knows I do all
I can to pleaſe every body; I ſtudy the
humour of every body, and endeavour to
indulge it; I omit no opportunity of doing
pleaſure or ſervice, and yet, I fee it plainly,
the world does not like me-its very ungrate-
ful though after all-dn the world
rot me if ever I beftow another moment's
attention or thought upon it!-thus Phi-
lintus refolved; from that moment every
body was delighted with him.
THE head and heart corrupt, or improve
each other.
HELLUO has a heart rather cold, and a head
tolerably fenfible; Narciffus has a heart
räther warm, and a head intolerably fooliſh:
Helluo's underſtanding directs him to do
that which others think right; he ſees how
proper
M
1
[162]
proper it is to do fo, nay, how much it is
for his own credit and intereft, and how-
ever his ſelfiſhneſs may prompt him to fa-
crifice others to himſelf, yet he has too
much good ſenſe to do it, when the wrong
would be too grofs either to be concealed
or palliated; in fuch cafes therefore he is
govern'd by reaſon, and in fpight of incli-
nation, he does as he ought to do; but as
Helluo does right only from policy, Nar-
ciffus does right merely from inftinct: Nar-
ciffus is not without a certain warmth and
fellow-feeling for others, and therefore his
wiſhes and inclinations towards them are
almoſt always favourable, except when their
intereſt immediately and manifeftly claſhes
with his own; he never yet did any thing
becauſe he ought to do it, nor is he able to
judge what ought to be done, and there-
fore whenever his heart wants warmth to
prompt him to do right, his underſtanding
never hinders his doing wrong; hence he
will fometimes do wrong, when in mere
policy he ſhould do right, at other times.
he
may do right, when a better man on the
whole would do wrong. Nothing then is fo
different as the heads and hearts of Helluo
and
[163]
and Narciffus; but there is, it ſeems, a cer-
tain degree of kindneſs without fenfe, and
a certain degree of fenfe without kindness,
which with reſpect to the merit of the ac-
tions they produce, will weigh to a grain
alike, in the ſcales of reafon and juftice.
THE impertinent and the captious are
perhaps more offenfive at the time they are
not impertinent or captious than when they
are. Had you not rather that Damocles's
ſword ſhould e'en fall upon your head than
fit under it in continual fear of its fall-
ing?
How different are DELICACY and
CAPTIOUSNESS! and yet how often are
they confounded by ourſelves and others! he
who is offended at the omiffion of what he
had no right to expect, and he who feels
the minuteſt neglect of what he ought to
receive, will certainly confider their fenfations
as the effect of the fame principle: yet it is
manifeſt that the two principles which really
produce them differ in the fame degree as
right and wrong; but they who offend will
perhaps as often confound captioufnefs and
delicacy as they that are offended: for as
M 2
they
[164]
they always fuppofe their own conduct to
be right, it will neceffarily follow that they
will impute to the delicate man, who juftly
reſents it as wrong, the touchineſs of the
captious man who condemns it without rea-
fon. Thus then will theſe two things be
continually call'd the fame, yet fee how dif-
ferent they are in their natures; DELICACY
which by an exquifite fenfe feels that a cer-
tain refinement is due to itfelf from others,
is not only urged by that very fenfe to bestow
it more freely upon them, but is alfo guarded
againſt requiring more than is its due:
CAPTIOUSNESS which on the contrary
does require a conceffion from others of
more than is its due, is by that very principle
prompted to give them lefs than is theirs.
DELICACY never is deceived by mere
appearances of offence, nay it allows for the
ignorance, deficiency, and miſtakes of other
mens minds; CAPTIOUSNESS refents im-
proprieties which are perhaps altogether
ideal, and which fuppofing them to exiſt,
are meaſured not by reaſon but pride. DE-
LICACY finds its refourfe in itſelf for real
injuries, CAPTIOUSNESS is wounded by im-
aginary ones: DELICACY is fenfible and
exalted
[165]
exalted,
mean.
CAPTIOUSNESS foolish and
THE moſt ſelfiſh thing I know in the world
is generofity; but what a feifiſhneſs!
THERE are things belonging to us
which are called misfortunes, whoſe bad
effect falls chiefly on other people, and things
which are call'd faults whofe bad effect falls
chiefly on ourſelves; a ftinking breath, for
inftance, is other people's puniſhment, and
ill-humour our own.
COLDNESS is often call'd pride, and timi-
dity folly.
THINGS have fo many different afpects,
not to mention the different difpofitions of
the fame mind, that the moſt reaſonable
man muſt be liable to 'contradict himſelf.
THEY who quarrel often muſt have
L'efprit faux as well as L'efprit chagrin.
We have ſeen an actor often perform
the character of a villain; we have alſo feen
a great man or woman at the top of the
world crowded by attendants and fervants,
and another at the bottom of the world poor,
oppreffed, and difregarded; we do not fail
M 3
after
;
[166]
after this prepoffeffion to pronounce that the
firſt looks like a rogue, the fecond very
noble, and the third very mean.
THE pleaſure of an action is not always
in proportion to the advantage gain'd by it.
IMPERTINENCE is, I confefs it, a good
method for the great to keep up their con-
fideration and refpect in the world, but not
the best.
It's a hard task for a man to fay I don't
know; it hurts his pride: but ſhould not the
pretending he does hurt it much more?
As there is a no which the man of gal-
lantry perfectly underſtands to mean yes, fo
is there a yes which the man of delicacy
perfectly underſtands to mean no. In the
firft inftance, if
have any
you any diſcernment
you
will diſcover that while the lips refuſe,
the heart concedes, and you will therefore
be little mortify'd by the refufal. In the
laſt inſtance, if you have any feeling you
will diſcern that while the lips grant,
the heart denies, and you will be as little
flattered by the conceffion.
SERVICES which are beſtowed rather
from politeness than inclination are more
irkſome
[167]
irkſome to him that receives, than him
that beſtows them.
THE laſt time of ſeeing a man agreeable
or difagreeable, who is equally one or the
other, almoft entirely fixes our opinion
of his character.
MANY a man would be lefs clever, infi-
nitely leís agreeable, for learning to rea-
fon.
>
WHAT is the foundation of our opinion?
numberleſs things, fometimes reaſon.
We often judge from our.feeling when
we ſhould feel, or at leaft form our opinion,
from our judgment.
WHAT a ftrange thing is this French
opera! does it not excite laughter rather
than any other emotion? what ftrange
breaks! what unexpected gufts of found!
how inexpreffive of that tenderneſs to which
mufic is ſo peculiarly adapted! and yet
this is Chaffe, the finger whofe expreffion is
fo much admired; but a love-fcene is com-
ing on, and there is the divine Gelliant ;
liften, I beseech you, to that tender part
which you fee by your book he is going to
M 4
perform.:
1
[ 968]
perform: ftill worſe and worſe you ſay, and
in fhort I find that this tender, this beſt
part
of all, offends you more than any other;
this finging difgufts you in proportion as it
delights them, for their notion of perfection
being directly oppofite to yours, the nearer
they approach it in their opinion, the far-
ther you think they are from it. But will
you declare at Paris that Gelliant difpleaſes
you? be perfuaded, leave them to their
tranfports, and pafs not for a Hottentot.
But after all, you fay, that this finging is
deteftable; I ask why? you anſwer again
aſk
that it diſpleaſes you. That it diſpleaſes
you I will readily allow, but that you
therefore juſtly condemn it I may pof-
fibly doubt; and let me aſk you in my turn
whether you have fufficiently confidered
what is abſolutely, and what is only rela-
tively good or bad. There is in nature no
criterion by which queſtions of taſte can be
determined: when we fay that the expref-
fion of fuch or fuch finging is tender, we
ufe a relative term, and that expreffion
which excites tender fenfations is tender
with reſpect to thoſe in whom the ſenſation
is excited, though with refpect to another
,
in
[169]
in whom it produces no fuch fenfation it is
not tender. I fay alum is an acid, and I
prove it by fhewing that it turns fyrup of
you
violets red, but if I fay alum is four, how
muſt I prove that? I bid
taſte it, you
ſay it is ſweet, what am I to do then? there
is nothing to which I can appeal but the
tafte of others, the teftimony of which you
will never admit againft your own. The
debate between us therefore could have no
end; and in the fame endleſs debate was
all Paris lately engaged, when one party
was contending for the Italian, and another
for the French mufic; neither of them
confidered that nature had not ordained the
fame founds to raiſe the fame fenfations in
all minds, and therefore that different na-
tions muſt have chofen different tones, both
in ſpeaking and finging, to excite the fame
paffions, and exprefs the fame meaning;
and this indeed is the fact; let it however
be obſerved that I fpeak only of the expref-
fion, tafte, and manner, not of the com-
pofition, for they muſt not be confounded;
an interrogation for inftance is expreffed by
one tone in Italy, by another in France,
and by a third, equally different, in England,
[ 170 ]
ſo that the trueft manner of aſking a queſ-
tion on the Engliſh ſtage would be the moſt
abfurd on the French, and vice verfa. It is
juft the fame in mufic, for we find that
fongs which a lover of the Italian manner
thinks the moſt tender, ftriking, and ex-
preffive, and thoſe which almoſt alone con-
ftitute what can be called mufic, are the
very fongs at which a lover of the French
manner is moſt difpleaſed; and the reaſon
is plain, the expreffion is ftronger, confe-
quently more touching to the perfon who
has adopted it, and proportionably more
grating to them who have adopted another
that is widely different. I know indeed
how little I fhall be credited when I
fay that both thefe modes of expreffion
are equally right, becauſe moſt men
precipitately judge for others from their
own feelings, and in this cafe determine
that the founds which raiſe certain fen-
fations in them, ought to raiſe the fame
fenfations in others. The French dif-
putants went farther, they both deter-
mined that their own mufic had moft ex-
preffion in itself, becauſe it had moſt ex-
preffion
[171]
preffion to them, but one party contended
for the gaiety of the Italian; fo that pro-
bably thoſe who had the leaſt natural taſte
for mufic, defended Italian mufic, while
it was oppofed by thofe who had most;
thus prejudice and precipitancy produce
error, and thus error overwhelms truth:
THERE are qualities which are quite un-
obferved in one fituation, by the very peo-
ple who would admire them in another
where certain advantageous circumſtances
ferve as glaffes to affift their fight.
THERE are men who will be fair and
impartial about themſelves, when they are
reflecting calmly by themſelves, but the
misfortune is, that it is not then their impar-
tiality is wanted.
SOME Women deſtroy all your fenfibility
towards them by their coldneſs, others by
their heat.
A FOOL often gets the better of a man
of fenfe merely by his being defpifed and
difregarded; as the Dutch while they took
proper care to fecure the confiderable parts
of
[172]
+
of their bulwarks againſt the ſea, had like
to have been deſtroyed by the worms they
overlooked.
NOTHING is a ſtronger proof of the
prejudice of education than that men who
are born in defpotic governments, will
ftretch their imaginations to deviſe argu-
ments againſt thofe that are free, fince in
that inſtance prejudice is ſtronger even than
felf-intereft.
Ir is an unhappy, and yet I fear a true
reflection, that they who have uncommon
caſineſs and ſoftneſs of temper have fel-
dom very noble and nice ſenſations of
foul.
A SOFT temper much oftener proceeds
from an inſenſibility of meannefs, than a
fierce temper does from an abhorrence of
it.
1
No wonder we love difguifed flattery
when we love it even when it is known.
MISFORTUNES, and the natural con-
fequence of them, ill-ufage, may convert
a good temper into a bad one; but why does
prof.
13
[ 173 ]
profperity and good-ufage turn a bad temper
into a worfe?
It is in numberless inftances happier to
have a falfe opinion which we believe true,
than a true one of which we doubt.
Most men have more courage than
even they themſelves think they have.
THE heaviness of grief is rarely dif
tinguiſhed from that of ſtupidity.
WE fhould do by our cunning as we do
by our courage, always have it ready to
defend ourſelves, never to offend others.
THERE is a ftudy for which I would
give up the whole ſtudy of the ſchools, and
let me add that it is the eaſieſt, the moft
uſeful, as well as the moſt neglected ftudy
in the world: connection.
No wonder that men are fatisfied with
one falſe, or at beft dubious light of a thing,
fince they are fo often with two that are
contradictory.
WHAT man
man ſo mean as
as to fuffer
himſelf to be called lyar! yet where is
truth?
:
I
[174]
I HAVE almoſt always obferved people's
profeffions, nay fometimes I could almoft
think even their fenfe of generofity has
been ſtrong, in proportion as their own ge-
neroſity has been weak; this puts one in
mind of the grove call'd Lucus a non lu-
cendo. But what does it proceed from? a
conſciouſneſs of defect which it is intended
to hide? or an exceſs of felf-love, which
exaggerates the virtue in proportion as it
finds more force neceffary to practiſe it?
as to me I ſhould think that both are
generally concurrent caufes of the con-
tradiction.
OUR admiration is generally rather in
proportion to our preſent ignorance of what
we admire, than the difficulty of knowing
it.
ARE not fome of the wonderful acts of
policy in government, which we admire as
the pinacle of human fagacity, to fome
common acts what the cafting up a fum
in pounds is, to the cafting up one in
Thillings?
WHAT is profufion and odious, what is
oftentation and defpicable in one man, is
fome-
[175]
fometimes a noble liberality and a becoming
dignity in another. I haye faid we ſhould
feel from our judgment, let me then offer
my exception and fay, we fhould judge
from our feeling.
No fruit has a more precife mark'd pe-
riod of maturity than love; if neglected to
be gather'd at that time, it will certainly
fall to the ground and die away.
THE greateſt flave in a kingdom is ge-
nerally the king of it.
THERE are men, if I may be allowed
ſo ſtrange a paradox, who would be more
agreeable, if they were lefs fo.
LOVE will facrifice more to others than
friendſhip, but then it exacts more from
them.
COURAGE, it must be confeffed, fome-
times feems to coincide but ill with rea-
fon, but then it is from being fuperior
to it.
Ir ever obftinacy and wrongheadedneſs
affume, nay acquire, the honourable titles of
refolution and ſteadineſs, furely it is in the
fpirit of party.
2
MINUCIUS
[ 176 ]
!
MINUCIUS is an ancient gentleman who
declares aloud for the honeft plain dealing
of our fore-fathers, and againſt all the new-
fangled inventions of their children; he has
never conformed to any alteration, he has not
even changed the make of his clothes theſe
thirty years, and has therefore been often forced
in and out of the faſhion, by old time, as the
fame mode has been renewed, aboliſhed, and
renewed again: a Smart was lately furprized
to fee old Minucius in fhort jemmy ruffles
as foon as himſelf; and but a few years
theſe ſame ſhort ruffles were laughed
ago
at, as a mark of the old Don's fingularity.
On a Sunday Minucius goes conftantly to
church, but he ſeems to think it equally
his duty to have beef and pudding for hist
Sunday's dinner; this in his opinion, is a
very confiderable part of orthodox chriftia-
nity: befides, he talks of beef as the foun-
dation not only of the vigour, but even of
the virtues of his countrymen, and he
thinks there is no beef but in England.
As to politics, he calls himſelf a tory, as
his father did; not a jacobite but a tory;
for his father did not call himſelf a jacobite;
the critical difference he muſt give you
himſelf,
•
[ 177 ]
himſelf, all I know is, that he never gave
a vote with any miniftry upon any occafion,
or 'ever will. There is a village within
two or three miles of his feat which no
man, except a certain judge, has driven
through of time immemorial, for the road
is impaffable; it happened that fome cour-
tier propoſed a turnpike to mend it, and
Minucius, with the heroic virtue of a Ro-
man patriot, has promoted fuch an oppo-
fition to the project, as would charm you.
No man fo fteady as Minucius; he is in-
deed one of the honefteft men in England,
and he ſhews it, you fee, the right way,
not in private, but in public life. He is in
ſhort, a man to be relied upon; the very
mirror of conſtancy: his gardens are ftill
full of green peacocks, green pyramids,
green minced
pyes, and green ftatues. He
lights his fires on Michaelmas day, and
would not for the Indies light them before.
Nay I queſtion, if we could fuppofe nature
in a waggiſh mood ſhould make winter
and ſummer change places, whether honeft
Minucius would not fhudder at his window
from May to September, and fwelter by his
fire from September to May. O he is a
N
X
moft
a
{
[178]
moſt ſteady man! I was lately at the county
meeting, and being afked for my bumper-
toaft; Sir, faid I, if you pleaſe I'll give you
koneft Mr. Minucius.
MAY not the reports circulated in the
world, be compared to the different cafts of
an intaglio or buſt, which are taken one
under another, and grow weak in propor-
tion to their diſtance from the originals?
may not alſo the fmatterers in politics and
news, who tell you, with an air of profound
penetration and great importance, the im-
perfect ſtories which they have imperfectly
learned from paltry retailers, be compared
to the ſmatterers in tafte, who admire the
dead ſpiritleſs produce of the fhadowy mould,
and value themſelves upon it?
Or how little value is the faculty of de-
monftrating a falfity in the reaſoning or
acting of another, compared to the power
of hearing falſe reaſoning, and ſeeing falſe
acting without pain!
WHEN We accufe men of loving fcandal,
let us however confider, and allow for the
diſproportion of numbers, between the proper
fubjects of praiſe and blame.
IT
ļ
[ 179 ]
Ir by no means follows, that he who
has more agreeable qualities than another, '
is therefore more agreeable; any more than
that the painter who has the richeſt colours
to work with, fhall therefore make the beſt
colour'd picture.
We often perfuade ourſelves that we dif-
like people we really like, and that we like
people we really diſlike.
THE old world and the new have been
inceffantly canvaffing the queftion, "what
"makes man happy." But I never heard
that either difputed what meat would beſt
gratify his palate; and yet it is as clear that
the fame things will not make all men
happy, as that the fame meats will not
pleaſe all palates.
PEOPLE are very apt to compare their
preſent fituation with the beſt that is paſt,
or with a better of other people's, whereas
quite the contrary would always be more
politic, and generally more reafonable.
that
Ir is fometimes happy for ſelfiſh people
you value yourſelf; they gain from that
principle what they could not poffibly obtain
on their own accounts.
3
N 2
1
[ 180 ]
I HAVE read in books of travels of
certain beafts of prey who are exceeding
fleet but cannot turn, and of other beafts
who are not fleet, but have a facility of
turning, by which they eſcape them: They
put me in mind of two forts of under-
ftandings.
THERE are faults in others we are often
indulgent to; I mean thofe which have a
connection with our own.
HABIT is the cement of fociety, the
comfort of life, and alas! the root of er-
for.
You fay that you are going to do fonte-
thing which to your friends and the world
appears wrong, but that you can eafily
produce arguments which will prove it to
be right: take my advice then, do it firſt
and prove it to be right afterwards; or rather
do it without proving it to be right at all;
and believe me, the world will be much
fooner. fatisfied by your doing what you
chooſe to do without producing any argu-
ments in defence of it, poffibly even without
your having any, than by the plaineſt de-
monftration, that you ought to do what.
they
:
4.
[ 181.]
they have previouſly determined
not do.
you fhould
As our circumſtances, company or place
change, and ſtill more as time advances,
we fancy all nature changes: thus children
believe that objects on fhore retire from
them when they are in a fhip that is under
full fail, and leaving the objects.
To diveft one's felf of fome prejudices,
would be like taking off the fkin to feel
the better.
THE mind's eye is perhaps no better
fitted for the full radiance of truth, than is
the body's for that of the fun.
WE fhould do by ſtories that are told us
as by goods in a fhop, make ſome abatement
of courſe, however ignorant we may be of
their true value.
WIT catches of wit, as fire of fire.
THE mirth of fools infpires melancholy.
•
WHAT is become of Argaftes? he is
dead: of Hermagoras? dead: of Fulvius?
dead: of Corinna, Philon, Fulvia, Pithius,
and all that ſet with whom I have paſſed ſo
many pleafing hours? they are all dead.
N 3
Dead?
[182]
Dead? all dead? all fallen round me ?
good God! and am I then alive? how have
I efcaped in fo general a mortality? what
a number! all walking, talking, enjoy-
ing-it was but yeſterday-to day all gone,
never to return! I too muft follow them-
alas! I know that I must follow them.-But
when? I know not when.-Soon: yes, I
know to demonftration that it will be ſoon.
And is not this inevitable, this near dif
folution, ſhocking to my nature? nothing
is fo ftrong as my attachment to life, and
muft not then. my abhorrence and dread of
death by a neceffary confequence be pro-
portionably ſtrong? yes, certainly, ſays rea-
fon, yet hear and wonder, experience fays
no. For who lives in this fear? who feels
this confequential dread of neceffary dif
folution? no one. And why? becauſe it
was kindly ordained that in this inſtance
we ſhould be inconfiftent; becauſe nature
has given us a happy infenfibility where
reaſon would not have been able to fupply
us with fortitude; for change the inftitution
of nature, to which fhe has thus adapted
our minds, ever fo minutely, nay change
it in favour of life, and the terrors of
anticipated
1
[183]
anticipated death will have all their force.
For ſuppoſe you was to be told that you
should certainly live thirty years, but that
at the end of thirty years you ſhould be
beheaded, and ſuppoſe your age to be now
fixty; would you accept the compofition?
or if you knew this to be your fate, would
you be as eaſy as if you were left to the
chance of nature? no certainly; death would
be every moment anticipated with anxiety
and terror; and yet if you have now lived
fixty years, the odds are very great that
you will not live thirty more; it is there-
fore very great odds that you gain feveral
years of life by ſuch a bargain: and if your
chearful refignation in one cafe was the
effect of reafon, it follows that your re-
fignation would be more chearful in the
other. If it be objected, that though it
is morally certain you will not live to be an
hundred and fifty, yet it is phyfically pof-
fible that you may live to be three hun-
dred, and that a fecret hope of this pof-
fibility would determine your choice for
the contingency; I answer, that our choice
would in no other cafe be determined by
fuch an hope; for ſuppoſe you was offered
either
N 4
[184]
either one thouſand pounds certain, or as
many times fifty pounds as you ſhould
throw the fame number fucceffively with
a pair of dice, you would not furely chooſe
the contingency becauſe there is a mere phy
fical poffibility that you may continue to
throw the fame number till you win two
thouſand. And yet the two cafes are ex-
actly parallel if the term of life offered to
"be enfured is put at more than an hundred,
Yes, believe me, the removing fome pre-
judices would be like taking off the ſkin
to feel the better.
Of two men one may have a right
opinion of a thing, the other a wrong, and
yet he that holds the right opinion may
have lefs knowledge of the fubject than
he that holds the wrong. The reafon is,
he that has examined it but a little way
may not have come to the difficulties which
embarraſs the truth and perplex him that
has examined farther. And theſe difficulties
being fuch, as perfect knowledge only can
furmount, and a little knowledge cannot fee,
the two extremities, deep knowledge and
great ignorance may form the fame judg
ment.
IT
[185]
It is in love that we prove the firſt
pleaſure is melancholy, and the first elo-
quence filence.
THE opinions of men of great abilities
are refpectable before they have given their
reaſons for them, but afterwards they are
upon a level with the opinions of other
men, for they will then depend upon the
reaſons for ſupport, not upon the authority
of the character.
THINGS that are advanced perfuade lefs
in general from their own force upon us,
than from that which they appear to have
had on the mind of him who relates
them,
ALMOST every virtue leads to a vice;
fo that he who did not perceive where one
began and the other ended, was, even at the
time he was exercifing what is called a vir-
tue, properly ſpeaking, only in the road to
vice.
GOOD-HUMOUR fhews itſelf even in
ill-humour:
PARMENIO'S contracted tafte is charm'd
with the piece of mufic when not a de-
viation
3
[ 186 ]
•
viation from harmony offends his ear;
with the high finiſhed picture where
each very hair is expreffed; with the face
where no one feature is out of propor
tion. Philemon's enlarged taſte is charmed
with the moſt unexpected note of a Scar-
latti; with the fingle ftroke of the pencil
of a Caracci; with the grace and expreffion
of beauty wherever he finds it. The two
taſtes go on thus differing about all arts, all
ſciences, and all nature.
SOME men tempt me to fay-Am-
bition is the coxcomicalneſs of good ſenſe
and old age.
SOME characters are like fome bodies
in chymiſtry; very good perhaps in them-
felves, yet fly off and refuſe the leaſt con-
junction with each other.
WE can in general be much leſs ſure of
the truth of a thing than of the falfhood;
becauſe though every part we have ſeen may
agree, yet we cannot tell how many may be
behind, and one failure of connection will
be fufficient to falfify the whole.
i
THE
[187]
THE first thing with men is the fide
they take; the Second, the arguments for
it.
MAN is the only creature endowed with
the power of laughter; is he not alſo the
only one that deſerves to be laughed at?
WHAT an advantage have ſome artiſts,
from the very nature of their art, over
others! charming Kent! how beautiful is
that green lawn, bounded by thofe venerable
oaks and beaches! how elegant is that
Grecian temple which terininates yonder
vifta; on the other hand, what a thicket of
odoriferous fhrubs rifes in the middle of
that level green, mixing innumerable va-
riegated colours, and breathing all the fra-
grancy of nature! every fenfe is delighted,
and your pleaſure again breaks out in fpon-
taneous encomiums on the artist whoſe
works you have not yet exhauſted.
You ftrike into the folemn fhade of a tall
grove, and as you walk on you are fud-
denly furprized with a ſteep defcent, and at
the bottom you difcover a gloomy cavern:
the ſcenes have now given a romantic turn
to your fancy, and you expect fome fyl-
3.
van
[188]
·
van god, or at leaſt fome venerable druid to
walk forth and accoft you. You purſue
your walk through the mazes of the wood,
and give yourſelf up to the power of ima-
gination, almoſt perſuaded that you wander
among the prodigies of enchantment. Your
ear is now alarmed by the fall of water,
and now you ſee it, rolling down the fteep,
in a copious and perpetual ftream, which
appears to have been the ſport of nature,
from the beginning of time: you turn, and
in a moment the water is heard no more:
the grove which involved
which involved you in its gloom
is vaniſhed, and a glade opens before you,
fpotted with deer, and diverfified with
clumps of trees that are too diſtant to
mingle their fhades with each other; the
ſkies are here reflected by a level lake, and
there invaded by a tow'ring obelisk that
ſeems to glory in its elevation: you look
round and fee the happy vale almoſt in-
cloſed by a hollow hanging wood, which
is itſelf overlooked by a temple that ſeems
the worthy habitation of a god. You gain
the fummit by an eafy and almoſt imper-
ceptible afcent, and a new world opens
before you! fertile vallies, craggy ſteps,
and
•
[189]
The
and winding waters, diverfify the fcene.-
Your foul is fhaken by the immenſity of
proſpect! you deſcend, and before you are
aware loſe yourſelf in a thicket, where the
bloffom of every fhrub fheds its fragrant
foliage in your bofom, and unnumbered
flowers fpring up under your feet.
brown bark of the taller tree bluſhes with
the damaſk hue of the interwoven rofe, and
the climbing woodbine repays the fupport
that the borrows with the redolence of
fpring. A gentle water fteals through its
winding way with a flow and filent pace,
waſhing the foot of a light and airy build-
ing, inſpiring not awe but pleaſure, adorned
with all the luxuriance of exhaufted art;
varied ſhells, fparkling cryftals, brown foffils,
and many coloured gems decorate its gay
pillars: furely you cry this is enchantment!
The dreams of poets are now realized, the
nymphs and fawns will ſhortly ruſh from
their retreats, I fhall hear the rural mufic
of the golden age, and trace immortal
beauties through the mazes of the dance!
But the melody of the birds now ceaſes,
the ſetting fun tinges the diftant hills with
a golden hue, and the woods are deepened
with.
[190]
!
with a browner fhade; you once more rés
collect your real fituation, and you once
more offer up your ejaculatory praiſe to
Kent, to whoſe art you impute the beauties
of nature, and whom you honour as the
genius to whoſe power you owed your de-
delight. You do not reflect that it was not
the power of Kent that raiſed that mighty
range of hills, and covered them with that
venerable wood; that Kent did not give
the valley its ſprings, nor break the rock
into craggs; that Kent has no influence
over that glorious planet, from which all
life and all beauty is derived, which gives
fertility to the ground, tafte to the peach, and
colour to the roſe.-Happy artiſt, and happy
art! to be thus employed on that which
at once diſpoſes every heart to rejoice, and
every tongue to commend; while the WIT
has no chance to pleaſe but by the happy
affemblage of things in themſelves indif-
ferent or diſpleaſing; of words which de-
rive all their force and beauty merely from
their arrangement, whofe work can never
much pleaſe till the whole connection is
known, and whom all men before they
can
[191]
can be thus pleaſed are impatient to con-
demn.
ALAS, poor Crito! how gay, how ſen-
fible, how witty! thus was he eſteemed by
every one, and happy were they who en-
joyed his company; he amufed, he fhone,
he entertained, and yet never overwhelmed :
often have I been delighted with his con-
verſation; and in ſhort, he was univerſally
eſteemed a man of wit and ſenſe. Strange
and fudden tranfition! laft night was he
pronounced a fool; his play was damned.
WHAT a paradox to the contracted
mind! often has a fault been the proof of
virtue, and an error of ſenſe.
POPE fays,
For forms of government let fools conteft,
Whate'er is beft adminifter'd is beft.
but are all equally calculated to be well ad-
miniſtered? or if all were well adminiftered
would all be equally good?
THOSE who play a part in a converſation
are, in one particular, like thoſe who play a
part in a concert; for though they bear the
other parts, yet they pay very little attention
to any but their own.
THEY
>
[192]
THEY that feldom take pleaſure, feldom
give pleaſure.
ONE thing feems to be true of pleaſure
which is true of nothing elfe; the more you
love it yourſelf, the more of it you afford
to others.
THE world will be much lefs willing to
excuſe you for not keeping it at a proper
diſtance from you, than for not keeping
yourſelf at a proper diftance from the
world.
How many ridiculous ſcenes fhould we
fee in the world if each pair of men, that
fecretly laugh at each other, were to laugh
at each other aloud!
IN giving rules for mankind to follow
fhould it not be remembered that men
are particulars?
Ir we do not correct' ourſelves we are.
fullied with faults, if we do correct our-
felves and remove our faults, we damp the
fire and leffen the natural charm of our
virtues. What is to be done?
How much furprized would fome con-
ſcientious people be to have it proved to them
how often they have told lies!
MEN
[193]
MEN oftner lay traps for others, in fa-
vour of themſelves, unknowingly than
knowingly.
WITH the trueft theory the practice will
very often be defective; is that ftrange?
without any theory at all, the practice
will often be compleat; is not that ſtranger
ftill?
How feldom do we hear it faid fuch a
man's ſcheme failed of the fuccefs he ex-
pected, but that he deferved to have fuc-
ceeded; and yet how often is that the caſe ?
how often do we hear the circumftancès
which precede the miſcarriage of an under-
taking canvaffed and judged to be fo many
concurrent cauſes of it; and yet how feldom
is that the cafe?
DISCERNMENT is a power of the under-
ſtanding in which few excel; is not that
owing to its connection with impartiality and
truth? for are not prejudice and partiality
blind?
I HAVE heard players on the harpsichord
fay, that a very difficult paffage would fome-
times become extremely eafy, merely from
being fhewn the beſt and moſt natural man-
O
ner
[194]
1
ner of fingering. Is not this rule applicable
to many difficulties of the mind?
there we have no maſter.
yes, but
WE invert the nature of man, and fup-
pofe that his opinion refults from his rea-
foning, inſtead of fuppofing that his rea
foning reſults from his opinion: fource of
error! and if we could avoid it, how much
impofition fhould we avoid with it!
IT is unlucky for all parties when
Avarice makes a painful effort to be gene-
rous, which only ferves to prove her want
of generofity.
POETIC licence is an allowed deviation
from certain general rules of writing; there
are alſo allowed deviations from certain ge-
neral rules of life, but in both caſes it is to
the ſuperior genius only that this allowance
is made.
It is a paradox, yet a truth; all men
cannot be reaſonable, I had almoſt faid,
all men cannot will to be reaſonable, and
often when we accuſe them of acting quite
contrary to reaſon, we ſhould confider, per-
haps pity, the imperfect eyes of their minds,
which
2
[ 195 ]
which fee falfly, for "what can we reaſon
"but from what we know?"
WHEN we are very young we have
fcarce an idea of becoming old, when we
are old we have ſcarce a remembrance of
having been
young.
I HAVE about as much faith in the
politician as phyſician, and I confefs it, not
a great deal in either: what a complication
of cauſes and effects mutually claſhing with
each other which they cannot regulate!
what windings and turnings in nature which
they cannot trace! I fpeak of the beſt; what
then ſhall be faid of the others?
I KNOW not whether the trueſt and beſt
ftate of nature be not a ſtate of more
prejudice and ignorance than we are aware
of.
THERE are men whom we call pene-
trating; and yet if we mean to be exact,
would not, even there, the true word be,
ingenious?
SWIFT fays fomewhere, and I think
very well; "If a great man keeps me at a
"diftance from him, he must also keep
" himſelf
0 2
[ 196 ]
"himſelf at a diſtance from me;" and un-
doubtedly he means that he will admit no
man's familiarity upon unequal terms; yet
there is a diſagreeable circumftance attend-
ing this cafe, I mean that this forry great
man will infallibly confider the diſtance
between you and him, as altogether the
effect of his own act, and that if you are
not about him, it is becauſe he will not
let you.
Ir unfortunately happens that moſt of
the cenfures on great men are paſſed by
little men; and do we not fometimes mif-
take in ourſelves the effect of pride and
envy, even for that of virtuous indigna-
tion ?
WHAT fatisfaction have you in the dif
courſe of others, about what you happen to
be minutely acquainted with yourſelf? what
faith then ſhould you have in that which is
about what you are not minutely acquainted
with yourſelf?
It is equally true of any part you are
to play in the world, as of any particular
game that depends upon manual dexterity,
as tennis, cricket, and billiards, that it is
2
lefs
[197]
lefs difficult to play well when you are a
head and likely to win, than when you are
behind and likely to lofe.
We often judge better of a thing before
reaſoning upon it than after.
A FISH will fometimes with pleaſure
rife out of his element and ſpring into
ours: fo a man will fometimes with plea
fure riſe from prejudice and falfhood into
the ſphere of reafon and truth. But the
fiſh will most naturally and joyfully dive
again into his element of water; and the
man as joyfully and naturally into his
element of prejudice and falfhood.
As there are mines in
mines in the earth
which men poffefs without knowing it;
ſo are there often qualities and perfec-
tions of the mind.
I REMEMBER a ridiculous ſcene in one
of our plays where a fooliſh ſervant maid
takes up a Guittar of her old maſter's, and
wonders to find that he cannot bring
any tunes out of it; there are tunes in it ſhe
is fure, for ſhe has heard feveral fetched
out of it by her mafter; why then can-
not the fetch them out? Is not this Guittar
}
0 3
an
[ 198 ]
an emblem of our own minds? is there
not a capacity in us of giving and re-
ceiving the moft delicious fenfations, a
harmony which may for ever lie dormant
for want of the artiſt's ſkill to produce it?
nay, may we not go yet farther, are not
ftrings fometimes touched, and powers of
fenfation awakened in us, which we our-
felves did not know to exift?
FREE-THINKER: What a term of
honour, or if you will, difhonour! but
where is he that can claim it?
THE fame quality may be delightful
in one man and difgufting in another:
one man may have a light that wants
a fhade, another a fhade that wants a
light.
How beautiful is the beft fide of the
world, how ſhocking the worst!
WE often palliate and conceal a fault
from ourſelves, juft as we do from an-
other.
A MAN of great cunning, art, and in-
finuation, may be compared to a high-
formed horfe at Newmarket, which, if
unknown,
[ 199 ]
unknown, may get an eftate; but if
known, will get lefs than a much worfe:
he will never be matched.
THERE are men, it is true, who will
talk and reafon with you agreeably and
fatisfactorily; if felf-love is their firſt prin-
ciple, you will at leaſt allow that reafon
is their fecond: if you are not fatisfied
with this and infift on reafon's being
the first, and felf love the Jecond, all that
can be faid is, that you are an uncon-
ſcionable man, and never will be fatif-
fied.What!
What! would you take your
enemy to your breaft! embrace that rea-
fon which will deftroy you!
HAVE you never feen a ftrange un-
connected deformed repreſentation of a
figure, which feen in another point of
view, became proportioned and agree-
able? It is the picture of man.
SELF-LOVE often preys on itſelf.
You will not buy that eſtate, that houſe,
that horſe, it is blown upon: you want
it?
and it is worth the money?
yes;
it is blown upon.-Fools that we are!
is it then not enough that we cheat others
04
but
[200]
but we muſt cheat ourſelves too! you
laugh, Timoleon, at the abfurdity, and-
-you will commit it.
·
Timoleon is generally allowed to be
notable and keen, one who knows what
he is about, and poffeffes that uſeful
knowledge how to take care of one;
yet I myſelf know three flips of his
making; he had a good picture which
was worth four hundred pound; he aſked
five for it a confiderable time, and was
forced at laft to fell it for three: he had a
match at tennis offered him, in which he
would have had about two biſques the ad-
vantage, but wanted half fifteen and re-
fuſed it he might have run his horfe at
Newmarket where he would have had four
or five pounds the beſt of it, but did not
becauſe he could not get feven or eight, and
I live in the hopes of hearing that he has
iniffed of fome fnug and convenient eſtate,
becauſe it is blown upon.
LET us not expect men to fee truth
before it is fhewn them, they do not ſee it
afterwards.
How
[ 201 ]
17
How feldom is generofity perfect and
pure! how often do men give becauſe it
throws a certain inferiority on thoſe who re-
ceive, and fuperiority on themſelves !
CAN man be incorrigible with fo much
love for virtue !
THERE are faults which do not feem to
require amendment; nay they almoft feem
to change their very effence, to become
virtues, and inſpire other men with a kind
of affection for them as foon as they dif
cover in us the confcicufnefs of having
them.
LUCULLUS faw a thouſand beauties in
Sophronia, fhe had the moft tender attach-
ment to Lucullus; and, as nothing hinder'd,
the happieſt union was foon compleated be-
tween them. The more he faw of her,
the more excellence he diſcover'd, the more
he admired her, the more he loved her.
But alas! where is perfection? as the con-
nection became more intimate, fome little
latent defects, fome of thofe weeds from
which the human foil was yet never free,
appear'd; and he could not but wish them
pluck'd up; not on the account of their
1
figni-
[202]
ficancy, but his peculiar admiration of the foil
in which they grew: yes,
that very
readineſs
at ſpying defect in another, that common
mark of human malignity, was in Lucullus
the refult of the moſt delicate fenfibility-
He could not bear that Sophronia ſhould
be fullied with the leaſt blemiſh, though
he knew that that blemiſh, like a flaw in
a diamond, was difcovered only by the
luftre that ſurrounded it. Sophronia had
the moſt tender and generous attachment
to Lucullus, and fhe obferved this filent,
this fecret uneafinefs; for though his de-
licacy prevented his expreffing it, yet her
good fenfe, or rather her affection, foon
diſcover'd it: fhe now grew uneafy in her
turn, but as her reaſon was not leſs ſtrong
than her delicacy was refin'd, fhe debated
with herſelf what could be the cauſe of
this uneafinefs in Lucullus: let me, faid
Sophronia, furmount if poffible the natural
blindneſs of partiality, and look into my
own breaſt to ſee if there be not fomething
there that may have affected Lucullus:
fhe did fo, fhe examin'd her behaviour,
ſhe examin'd her temper, fhe compar'd
them not with her own fenfations, but
with
[203]
with thoſe which were exprefs'd by other
people; and above all the watch'd the ex-
preffion of Lucullus's countenance, to ſee
if ſhe could not diſcover fome defect in her-
felf, by a correſpondency in his features
when it appear'd. If, fays fhe, I fee any
mark of diſapprobation in Lucullus, I ſhall
truſt to that information much more than
to my unconſciouſneſs of demerit; thus
in the condescending tenderneſs of her
foul did ſhe determine, and the refinement
of her art prevailed; fhe read in Lucullus's
face, not only what he was too generous to
unfold, but what ſhe herſelf had never fuf-
pected: alas! the very place which it is
moſt neceſſary we ſhould enter, is generally
the beſt guarded by prejudice againſt our
own tuition; but before her candour, her
reaſon, and above all, the delicacy of her
paffion for Lucullus, pride and pejudice im-
mediately gave way; fhe difputed not a mo-
ment with her own heart, ſhe ſaw its imper-
fection in as ſtrong a light as fhe would have
done the imperfection of another; nay,
ſhe ſaw it in a light which made it ap-
pear greater than it was. Beautiful ex-
cefs! amiable error! fhe thought it in-
finitely
1
[204]
.
finitely greater than Lucullus had ever
done: I hate myſelf, faid Sophronia, what!
could I want difcernment to fee the leaft
ſparkle of that in myſelf which would
have glar'd in my eyes from another!
poor Lucullus, thou shalt be ſatisfied; I
would before have facrificed my life to
thee, I will now do what I find would
have been harder for me to have done
hadft thou not thus generously taught me
the leffon, to thee I will facrifice even
my pride. Lucullus obferved in Sophro-
nia an attention yet more fcrupulous than
ſhe had before fhewn even to him; a
fenfibility, an attractive ſoftneſs, a love
which even ſurpaffed her own. He ob-
ferved too that whatever little peccadillo
had thus grieved him was removed with
the utmoſt complacency and chearfulneſs:
Sophronia feemed not to have heſitated a
moment between the pleafing Lucullus,
and difpleafing herfelf; nay, fhe found
that to be pleafing, which fhe faw to
be meritorious; or rather, he found that
to be pleafing to herſelf which ſhe thought
would be pleafing to Lucullus. How en-
dearing! how lovely! Lucullus_could not
help
[205]
help ſeeing this alteration in Sophronia;
what, fays he, has Sophronia's fuperior dif
cernment and virtue, corrected defects
which others want faculties to fee? it is
very ſtrange; no one could have told her
that they hurt me for I never told it to
any one. One evening as Sophronia was
fitting with Lucullus, tell me fays he,
has there been nothing through the day
that has difpleafed Lucullus? ah, tell me
if there has, for your approbation is to
me much preferable to my own! dear
Sophronia, replied he, whence fuch a
doubt? the trueft, the moſt efficacious
method of giving me pleaſure is to re-
ceive it yourſelf; and believe me, Sophro-
nia, there is no better mark of having
done right than the very doubt of having
done wrong; but of doing wrong thou
art incapable, and mayft thou ever en-
joy the reward of thy tenderneſs and ge-
nerofity! Lucullus, ſee the ſtange effects of
delicacy! he who had been hurt by what
he thought ſomething of a defect in So-
phronia, grew now yet more uneafy at
its removal, the very thing he had
defired: it ſeemed to him as if he had
been
1
[206]
1
•
been guilty of fome involuntary reproach,
fome indelicacy of carriage to his beloved
Sophronia: he grew melancholy: Sophro-
nia, the who was happy only by his
happineſs, foon faw it and reſolved to
mention it; Lucullus, faid fhe, the great,
the only joy of my life is to fee you
eafy and happy: I fear you have fome-
thing within your breaſt that affects you;
O could I remove it! dear Sophronia,
ſaid he, every tranfport, every endear-
ment that I experience comes from you,
every pain muſt proceed from you, and
while I am fure you have no pain I can
have none, but I am not worthy thy
goodness!-alas! faid Sophronia,, I have
lived but to offend you, and perhaps ftill
more myſelf. A torrent of tears gufhed
from her eyes, and as the two lovers
had often catched from each other the
tenderneſs of joy, fo did they now
the anguish of grief; as foon as they
found words, they infenfibly proceeded to
the original delicacy of the diſtreſs, and
each renewed a mutual forrow occafioned
by that of the other; it ſeemed as if all
the natural felf-love of the human mind
1
was
[207]
was increaſed in theſe two perfons, but
that each was intrufted with the portion
belonging to the other; the conteft was
not which ſhould gain moft, but which
fhould concede moft, and nothing could be-
fo real or fo endearing, as the mutual con-
fidence which each repofed in the other.
Ah, Sephronia! can I thus have tormented
thee, faid Lucullus; ah Lucullus, faid the,
can I have been thus unworthy! name not
the word, faid he, if thou would't not
wound the foul that lives but for thee. My
faults faid fhe.- -Name them not, I can-
not bear the found, name them not my
dear Sophonia, as thou loveft my being.-
Lucullus was afhamed, confounded, and
fhocked; he confidered every conſtitutional
caft, every bent, every difpofition of So-
phonia as fo much cæleftial perfection, nay
the very things he had wifhed a little
changed in her character, became fuddenly
perfections in his eyes, and claſping his dear
Sophronia in his arms, I loved thee, ſaid
he, for thy perfections, I adore thee, be
they real or imaginary, for thy imperfec-
tions.
THERE
1
ì
!
[ 208 ]
THERE are fometimes beauties in a
character which would never have appeared
but for a defect, and defects which would
never have appeared but for a beauty.
WERE the hunter, the fhooter, the
politician, the virtuofo, to learn exactly
what part of his pleaſure was produced by,
the hunting, the fhooting, the politics,
and the virtù, he would perhaps be
much furprized: were the collateral
fprings of pleaſure cut off how ftrangely
might his keenneſs abate!
LOVE, like many other things, has
its contraries; it dies away, and it lives
for ever.
COURAGE is oftener allied to vice,
than cowardice to virtue.
We are generally obliging and fer-
viceable to others in proportion as they
do not want the favour.
It is not how great or good your
underſtanding or mind, any more than
how pure the metal of your coin; it is
whether they are admitted as current ſtan-
dard by others that will be worth your
confideration.
WHEN
1
1
[209]
WHEN we are very young we fup-
pofe a certain tafte, a certain fenfibility
in others which, in fact, is only in our
own minds; when old, we do not al-
ways ſuppoſe even that taſte and fenfi-
bility in others which they really have.
UNCOMMON good fenfe bears no pro-
portion in value with
with common
common good
fenfe.
WHAT are fo different as fenfuality
and ſentiment? and yet how often is the
former miſtaken for the latter!
If the world likes you at all, deſpiſe
it, and it will like you a great deal.
It is a rule liable, I fear, to very few
exceptions, that a popular man is either
a groveling man or an artful one.
If we were to judge of great appli-
cation to the improvement of the under-
ſtanding by the example of many men,
we ſhould ſay that man loft ground in
the practice of fenfe in proportion as he
had advanced in the theory of it.
P
IF
}
[ 210 ]
If no man was to be allowed to cen-
fure an exceſs in another, who was him-
felf guilty of the contrary one, what a
fudden dearth of moralifts and critics
ſhould we have in the world!
IT is well known, and not
and not at all
ſtrange, that if you are about to learn to
dance of a good mafter, you had better
not have learnt to dance at all than of
a bad one: is not this equally true with
reſpect to the improvements of the mind?
THERE may be two pictures of the
fame perfon, one handfome, the other
ugly, and yet both like the original: it
is the fame thing in the accounts we
have of men and things: let us then
" with caution truft them."
How far Lothario's poetical picture of
Gratiana and that beautiful
group her
felect companions may have
have flattered
them, I will not pretend to ſay; that
equal beauty may poffibly be found in
ature I will venture to advance, and I
moft fincerely wish it
it was lefs rare.
Lothario gallantly tells Gratiana that he
2
will
[211]
will not attempt to defcribe her without
the affiftance that has been granted to
celebrate leſs worthy fubjects, and for
this affiſtance he immediately addreffes
himſelf to the Mufe. Come then, fays
Lothario,
Come then, my muſe, oh! come along,
Leave far behind vain fiction's throng;
Let truth alone thy fteps attend,
And rhime for once be reaſon's friend.
Exact, thy lov❜lieft dyes prepare,
There dip, and paint her character
Deſcribe that dignity with eaſe,
;
And all thoſe nat'ral charms that pleaſe,
Superior to th' affected art,
Which deigns to play a borrow'd part;
Whofſe ſtudied words, on fhining bent,
Conceal felf-love in compliment.
Deſcribe her nobly diff'rent aim,
Whoſe wiſh fupreme, declining fame,
Would lib'ral give with hand unknown,
And hide, while fhe beſtows the boon.
Attend, my mufe, thoſe fav'rite hours,
When gladneſs all around the pours,
P 2
* Her Suppers.
*
And,
[ 212 ]
1
And, like the fun's enliv'ning rays,
Improves whate'er her eye furveys;
With fancy's magic wand inſpires,
Delightful mirth and gay defires ;
The charm ftill fpreading far and nigh,
Till all is joy and harmony:
O! quit not this delightful ſcene,
But guide my hand, my mufe, unfeen
Deſcribe that luxury of mind,
(By heav'n to focial man confign'd!)
When each glad breaft dilating gives,
The joy it mutually receives;
Whether in rational difcourfe,
Diſcov'ring truth's remoteft fource,
Or yielding in the ſportive hour,
To mirth and wit's indulgent pow'r ;
Free to enjoy, no forrow nigh,
The rapt'rous gifts of pleafantry:
Thoſe rapt'rous gifts the moments bring,
And lightly paſs on filken wing,
Renewing ftill, and ftill enjoy'd,
Each ſenſe poffeffing, never cloy'd!
Ev'n folly, in its place is made,
Lefs the difgrace of life than ſhade
And give me, fortune, long to uſe
The toy that can fo well amufe!
Let
[213]
Let various converſe charm the foul,
And gay good-humour crown the whole :
Prefiding, brillant be ſhe ſeen,
Of the gay court herſelf the queen:
Above the pride of mean pretence,
And gracious from ſuperior ſenſe :
Hum'rous, yet never low, nor loud;
A wit yet always underſtood.
Now all her aid let mufic lend,
Of love and beauty both the friend.
To tender founds attune the lay,
And beauties yet unſeen diſplay;
Let pow'rful ftrains her heart controul,
And to the features call the foul;
Give to the cheek a warmer glow,
New luftre on thofe eyes beſtow,
Give ev'ry glance to fpeak, to mean,
And let e'en thought itſelf be ſeen ;
Let fighs that riſe, and tears that flow,
Derive a grace from others' woe.
And ſhall the loves in exile pine?
The loves alone that breaft réſign?
Thoſe features want one abſent grace,
Which only love can give the face?
That heart one bliſs, the beſt we kno v,
Which only love vouchſafes below?
P 3
Forbid
+
[214]
Forbid it heav'n!-my mufe employ
Your utmoſt pow'r to aid the boy,
Direct his ſhaft, her breaſt prepare,
And fix it, deeply fix it, there!
But, as the shaft, the paffion guide,
Its object let your care provide,
To me her fated heart incline;
If love deſerves, defert is mine.
WHAT a weapon is ridicule againſt
folly and falfhood!-but may not ridicule
be employed alfo againſt wiſdom and
truth?
RIDICULE IS THAT SPECIES
OF WIT WHICH PROVOKES LAUGHter,
and that which provokes laughter in one
mạn, will not always provoke laughter in
another: one man may ſee the ſubject that
you ridicule in a light that favours your
purpoſe, of making it ridiculous; another
in a light that may totally diſappoint it;
and truth being miſtaken for falfhood by
the erroneous mind, that mind may be
provoked to laugh at truth. But, miſtak-
ing its own peculiar error for truth, it can-
not be provoked to laugh at that error
though others may. To BE RIDICULOUS
IS TO BE WORTHY OF LAUGHTER; and
moft
[215]
moſt certainly truth and wiſdom are not ri-
diculous; but though they do not deferve
laughter, they may excite it: there was
nothing that deferved laughter in fop's
choofing the burden of bread which was
heavier than any other, yet it excited the
laughter of his fellow-flaves who were not
able to ſee the action in its true light, and
did not confider that as the bread would
be confumed upon the road, Eſop upon
the whole of the journey would carry leſs
than they, though at the beginning he car-
ried more. It does therefore by no means
follow, that becauſe truth is not ridiculous,
ridicule is the teſt of truth; for there is
great difference between making a fool
laugh at truth, and making truth ridicu-
lous. Do not moſt diſputes on this ſubjec
ſeem to have ariſen from neglecting to make
theſe diſtinctions?
AWAY ye laughers, your mirth wounds
me, your gaiety makes me forrowful; you
think Sophron ridiculous, I refpect him;
and truſt me, the oppreffion and mockery
of innocence is fo far from exciting my
laughter, that it awakens every tender emo-
P 4
tion
[216]
tion of kindneſs, and heightens every fen-
timent of delicacy and generofity. I con-
feſs that Sophron's drefs is different from
yours and out of faſhion; he is ignorant
of the things that you delight in: I fee
it; but remember, the reproach of man is
not ignorance but pretenfion: Sophron is
ignorant, but then he is unpretending:
you are partially knowing and ſelf-fatif-
fied. Yes, that very mirth which you think
expoſes his defects, really proves your own.
Sophron is a man of buſineſs, nature form'd
him honeft and complacent, and when
fhe refuſed him that poignant vivacity, that
luftre of taſte and elegance with which the
has enriched ſome fouls, fhe gave an ample
recompenſe for the deficiency, fhe beſtowed
upon him the modefty of non-pretenfion,
and the candour of uprightneſs. He faith-
fully purſues the courfe nature has direc-
ted, he fills his duty of life, he acts his
part irreproachably as he feels no attrac-
tion to thoſe pleaſures which are fo dear
to others, fo he candidly and rationally
concludes that he has no merit in not
purfuing them, and is cautious of condemn-
ing what thoſe only to whom they are
fo
4.
[217]
fo dear can rightly comprehend. Real
diſhoneſty is alone odious to Sophron, it is
oppofite to his nature, and therefore can-
not coincide with it: he is ſo juſt in his
dealings that his promife is equal to every
poffible tie of obligation or felf-intereft.
It is true that he is very ignorant of many
of the graces of fociety, he is deficient in
the rules of good breeding, and to the
undiſcerning and indelicate, his deficiency
may ſometimes appear ridiculous; but then
the eye of true penetration will fee far
enough to examine the fecret the remote
fources of theſe deficiencies, and will dif-
cover that none of them ariſe from pride,
hatred, or malevolence, and therefore are
not justly the objects of ridicule. No, tho'
the whole world fhould laugh at Sophron,
Sophron would not be ridiculous.
IT is a miſtake to imagine that liber-
tiniſm in women muft proceed from too
much fenfibility; it proceeds very often,
I believe, from too little.
IT is unhappy for both parties when
there are neither fo few charms as to
make us break a connection, nor fo many
as
!
[218]
:
as to make us keep it up with ſatiſ-
faction.
I KNOW not whether actual diſhoneſty
may not fometimes be nearer allied to
exalted virtue, than actual honeſty.
GENEROSITY would act oftener if
ſhe was oftener trufted: and what a
ftriking proof of it does lord Clarendon
give us in the inftance of lord Digby's
diſcovering himſelf to Sir J. Hotham!
WHAT a nicety, what a care, what
an attention to every circumftance of a
cafe which is regularly laid before you
as a judge: what precipitation, what con-
fidence, in the decifion of a caſe that is
not laid before you as a judge.
To walk well, you muſt fee well; to
act well, muft you not judge well?
what fruits then are we to expect from
a perverted underſtanding! and who will
advance that ſenſe is not the guide to
virtue ?
A PENETRATING man is a man of
whom his acquaintance will every now
and then ſay, they wonder that one who
generally
[ 219 ]
generally talks like a man of ſenſe ſhould
advance ſo great an abſurdity.
WHAT crouds of people to whom it
would be the greateſt paradox, that a
fine voice is not the firft requifite for a fine
finger; and fine features not the firſt requifite
for true beauty.
PREJUDICE and lunacy have certainly
very different cauſes, but I think in effect
they are the fame: the madman will
talk rationally on all fubjects except that
which has a particular connection with
his malady; and the prejudiced man will
talk irrationally on the fubject that is con-
nected with his prejudice; fo that, if I
muſt diſtinguiſh prejudice from lunacy,
I can only fay, that prejudice is a per-
verfion of the underſtanding which is
more difficult to be cured.
A GOOD heart is the fine qua non of
true agreeableness; but true agreeableneſs
is by no means the neceffary conſequence
of a good heart.
He who commits an offence may not
only be faid to deferve all the blame of
his
1
[220]
his own act, but great part of the blame
which another's refentment of it may
incur, becauſe of this refentment alſo he
is the original cauſe.
IT may be thought a paradox, yet
I believe it is a truth, that the appli-
cation to reafon by argument is, of all
other methods, the leaft likely to con-
vince men of an error, and produce a
change in their opinion. Arguments are
oppoſed by a kind of inſtinctive impulſe,
and the mind neceffarily fortifies itſelf in
exerting its utmoſt force to refift an
attack. But if you laugh at the abfurd-
ity, and treat it with an air of fuperiority
and neglect, as the attack is not made
by reaſon, the defence will not be at-
tempted by fophiftry: the mind will of
courſe become willing to relinquish an
opinion that expofes it to ridicule, and
will then naturally confider it with im-
partiality; nay, it will even be induced
to give that up as indefenfible, which is
treated as unworthy of a ferious confu-
tation. Thus the moſt natural and ob-
vious place to affault a town is the gate,
2
yet
"
[221]
yet the beſt forces are always collected
there for its defence: fome ſkilful com-
manders therefore have fometimes fuc-
ceeded by making the attack at a place
leſs apparently fit to enter at, but where
there was lefs preparation for defence.
I SEE you are flattered, I fee you are
pleafed, Lycæus; yet believe
me, Amelia
only took you in her way; all thofe
pretty airs, all that coquettry was only
meant to diſplay and exhauft itſelf. Do
you know, Lycæus, that Amelia difputed
with me the day after you faw her that
it was Cleon fhe had converfed with, not
Lycæus.
AVARO is one of thofe neceffary evils
called a pains-taking, fortune-getting, for-
tune-deftroying man of bufinefs; oue who
does not admit the fi poffis bene into his
credo. He amaffes gold, he ſnatches it from
the bags of the rich, he extracts it even
from indigence itſelf, and then rolls himſelf
in the precious heap. He is a true digger
of gold, a toiler, a mole that works under
ground in the dark; who hates the light and
fees not in it. His fummum bonum is mud-
}
dling
[222]
dling in parchments, in the offals of dulnefs
and taftlefsnefs. Talk to Avaro of gene-
rous raptures, focial endearments, and ex-
quifite and reciprocal delight which is en-
joyed only in proportion as it is commu-
nicated, and your language will be as unin-
telligible to Avaro as that of an inhabitant
of Saturn would be to you. Avaro rifes
from bed almoſt with his pen in his hand,
and quits it only to lye down and dream of
it; he wears his night-gown both morning
and afternoon, ſo that you would believe,
whenever you went to ſee him, that he had
that day taken phyfick. He will almoſt
perfuade you to believe with the Maho-
metans, that ſome of the human fpecies
have no fouls. But if indeed Avaro has a
foul, how different is it from that of lovely
Camilla, or noble Phormio! Avaro knows
Phormio, and ſays, fhaking his head, Phor-
mio is a young man, I have a poor opinion
of him, he knows very little of buſineſs.
I DINED the other day with Phryne, and
I have hardly feen any thing fo fentimental,
ſo ſoft, and fo refined as her felf, and every
thing that was about her: fome people
might, perhaps, fay of the whole that it
was
¡
ส
[223]
was Outré, but poffibly they might have no
taſte for what they prefumed to cenfure
her houſe was the very pink of elegance:
her chairs, her tables, her glaffes, her pic-
ture-frames, and above all, her Sofa, was
Chineſe deliciouſly Chineſe! there was a
certain languor that accompanied every
thing the faid; fhe profeffed againſt every
thing that was boisterous, and for every
thing that was fentimental. She had been
formerly accuſed, perhaps maliciouſly, of
fome affairs in which ſhe had mixed fome-
thing ſomewhat grofs and material with
what was ſpiritual and refined: but even
ſuppoſing this imputation to be true, ſhe is
now moſt dyingly fentimental, exceffively
refined, I had almoft ſaid romantic in her
religion; ſo ſpiritual that ſhe ſeems already
to have diveſted herſelf of all terreftrial
ideas. Diveſted herſelf? her houſe then-
her Sofa, her? true, fhe indulges herſelf
in thoſe innocent, thoſe mental amuſe-
ments, and why not? do they not affift
her in the exercife and improvement of
her mind? for here fhe now acquires all
the delicacy of fentiment that books, or
refined converfation can beftow, and fhe
wants
1
[224]
wants not the influence of either. The poor
deluded grofs multitude ſay, that Phryne is
ridiculous, that the fame romantic turn, the
fame weakneſs of mind, in every refpect
the fame ſpirit which was formerly dif
play'd upon lovers and operas, has, now
the beſt of the lovers are gone, run up
into this elevated purity. They ſay too,
that ſhe is on the high-road to Methodiſm,
and will in a fhort time,-perhaps, by the
firſt ſummer days-arrive at it; and indeed
as to myſelf, I muſt confefs, I perceived
fomething of a contradiction in Phryne:
alas! who among us is without? She was
moſt exemplary and indeed elevated. in her
difcourfe; the purity of feraphic love, the
divine excellence of virtue, and the horrid
deformity of fenfuality and vice were her
everlaſting topics. Alas! from what an
humble diſtance did I look up to the cœ-
leſtial Phryne! and yet I obferved that a
poor lady, a relation who was fupported
by her charity, according to her wicked
enemies by her pride-was often reminded
of her fituation, and uſed pretty cavalierly;
this I confefs did appear to me a contra-
diction.
How
[ 225 ]
How difficult to follow is the line of
truth with the greateſt perfpicacity of wif-
dom and virtue, what then with the blind-
nefs of prejudice and ſelf-intereſt? The man
you blindfold and bid walk ftraight an hun-
dred yards, will probably be much furpriſed
to find himſelf ſo ftrangely wide of his in-
tended mark, as he certainly will be when
the bandage is taken off his eyes; and
fhould not we, think you, be ſurpriſed to
find how wide we are of that line of truth
if our bandage was taken off? But how dif
fimilar are the two cafes! in the first, the
bandage is put on by another, and the man
expects to be a little wide of the ſtraight
path, but in the laſt, we put it on ourſelves,
and expect to walk perfectly true. Nay,
ftrange imagination! we begin by putting
on this bandage, and then believe we have
it not on; we chufe to go in the dark,. and,
like Lord Peter fwearing his loaf was a
fhoulder of mutton, we fwear we have
nothing at all on our eyes, that we ſee per-
fectly well and damn heartily all thoſe that
contradict us.
FONTINELLE I remember fays fome-
where," Non feulement nous n'avons pas
е
en
!
[226]
•
"en nous des principes qui menent au
"vrai, mais nous
nous en avons auffi qui
"s'accomodent du faux," but what if
inſtead of faux his word had been con-
tradictoire!
HAVE you any thing to fay to the
world or to any part of it? be quick or
perhaps you will be too late and never
fay it.
You may fail fhining, in the opinion
of others, both in your converſation and
actions, from being fuperior, as well as
inferior, to them.
THOUGH beauty is with the moſt apt
fimilitude, I had almoft faid with the
moft literal truth, called a flower that
fades and dies almoft in the very mo-
ment of its maturity; yet there is me-
thinks a kind of beauty which lives even
to old age; a beauty that is not in the
features, but, if I may be allowed the ex-
preffion, fhines through them. As it is not
merely corporeal it is not the object of
mere fenfe, nor is it to be diſcovered but
by perfons of true taſte and refined fen-
timent. There are ftrokes of fenfibility,
nice touches of delicacy, fenfe, and even
virtue,
[227]
virtue, which like the mafter traits in
a fine picture are not to be difcerned by.
vulgar eyes that
that are
are captivated with
vivid colours and gaudy decorations. There
are emanations of the mind, which like
the vital ſpark of cœleftial fire,, animate the
form of beauty with a living foul. With-
out this, the moſt perfect fymetry in the
bloom of youth is but a "kneaded clod,"
and with this, the features that time it-
felf has defaced, have a ſpirit, a ſenſibility,
an inexpreffible charm which thofe only
do not admire who want faculties to
perceive.
IT has often been faid, that the beau-
ties of the mind are valuable becauſe they
are more laſting than thoſe of the body;
but I do not remember to have heard
it faid, that the beauties of the mind
are valuable becauſe they make thoſe of
the body more lafting.
•
THEY who have no idea of the charms
of folitude, will, I believe, have but an im-
perfect one of the raptures of fociety.
YES, faid Publius, I fay folitude. I un-
derſtand you, you approve a little of it
Q2
fome-
:
[228]
fometimes, a fingle friend in a contempla-
tive retirement, which I call a milder fo-
ciety, and fo do I too: but I fay I love
folitude, abfolute folitude-well-I can't
help it. The word and the idea fright
you, you beg to be excufed, you defire
not to be left more than a few minutes
to no other company than your own rumi-
nations, and when I talk of the charms
of this horror, you ftart with amaze-
ment; you cannot conceive how I can de-
light in a total abſence from the endear-
ments of a pleafing company of people,
fhooting away from "the human face
"divine," and wandering with penſive and
folitary ſteps, to the deepeſt and moſt fe-
queftered part of pathlefs woods; believe
then the novelty upon the word of a
friend, and learn that this is fometimes
one of my moſt delicious fatisfactions; but
do you then really never think? yes fay
you, very often. But how, and how far?
Do you ever feek and purſue truth? ex-
amine, compare, divide, ſuſpect your own
ideas? do you look for what is? you do?
I will not contradict it, and yet believe me,
they who ſay they do, nay, they who be-
lieve
[229]
lieve they do, are often ſtrangely miſtaken;
prejudice, pride, and felf-love, are moſt
deluding fyrens which are always at hand,
ready to detain the unwary traveller, and
few eſcape them, whether it be that their
curiofity to follow truth is weak, or that
they are weary of a journey which affords
them little entertainment: But you fay
you liften not to them, and neither will I
contradict this. But do you indeed feel
that fuperior fatisfaction, that more than
earthly fenfation which thrills in my breaft,
when I give a loofe to the ardour of ima-
gination, and towering above all terreſtrial
ideas pierce into the regions of reality far-
ther, and farther ftill, till I have quite
forgot that I am a frail mortal ſtanding in
a lone wood, and fettered by every fublu-
nary attachment which I had juſt def-
pifed and forgotten? even while I fpeak
the facred impulſe throbs within me, re-
flection rifes upon reflection, and I will
indulge them. What is true! what is
falfe! what am I? what have I been ?
what fhall I be?
what has been told me
about theſe things? let me not regard it-
let me weigh TRUTH in a juft balance, and
Q3
hold
[230]
{
hold the ſcale for myſelf. Yes! I rejoice
in my lone thoughts, I rejoice in all the
boundleſs variety of nature; not a buſh, a
blade, a twig that fhoots on the green
earth, not a ray of that animating fire
which ſtreams from above, but fills my
foul with fatisfaction. I participate in filence
the joys of furrounding nature, which riſe
in unifon with my own; nature corre-
fponding with congenial nature !—with thee,
O facred folitude! the noife and tumult of
the diftant world, is heard but as the buz
of an infect-nation that floats upon the
breeze, a found which is defpiſed by man
as a fuperior being, and forgotten as foon
as it ceaſes to be heard. I am lifted up
from this globe of earth, and fee it roll
huge and rapid at my feet, fee it mingled
with its fellow-planets, taking its mechanic
round, with all its toiling fwarms upon
it, encircled with clouds that falfhood co-
lours with a thouſand dyes, now obfcured
by the glooms of ignorance, now en-
lightened with the oblique rays of opinion,
which the deluded multitude miftake for
knowledge-I fee it all-yes, I fee it
fo as almoſt to realize the vifion; and, be-
lieve
[231]
lieve me, that very vigour of fancy which
carries us beyond the precincts of this
world, can alone give us the moſt elegant
and lively perception of thoſe focial rap-
tures that are fometimes found in it:
HIPPIAS is one of thofe gay young
gentlemen who is called very lively and
agreeable; he has a little fmattering of
every thing, and enjoys nothing; he loves an
opera, plays himſelf upon the harpsichord,
and the moſt light and trivial paffages
of mufic are conftantly his favourites;
thoſe that have a deeper meaning he re-
jects as dull and fpiritlefs, ftill declaring
for mirth even in his mufic. Nay, if
you were to aſk his opinion about the
deepeſt, as well as the fineſt tragedy that
Shakeſpear ever wrote, his word would
certainly be, that it was very pretty tra-
gedy. All folitude, you may be fure, he
detefts, becauſe he detefts all thought; nor
is it poffible to make him comprehend
that the fame caufe which produces this
indifpofition to folitude, produces alfo an in-
capacity to enjoy the beſt pleaſures of ſociety.
Hippias is a kind of beau, he loves the
Q4
town,
i.....
[232]
town, gaiety, drefs; and little does he
fufpect that he enjoys neither; his equi-
page, fervants, and living are all ill un-
derſtood; and if he could be made to
conceive for a moment the peculiar ni-
ceties and refinements of which each is
capable, he would be compelled to con-
fefs that even in his favouritie amufe-
ments he had wanted all that was worth
having. He is indeed always merry, but
he was never happy; and if you know bow
to laugh he will almoft make you cry.
But he loves the ladies; yes, but what
ladies? and how far does he love them?
not one meaning grace ever broke in upon
the foul of Hippias! oh! but he is gal-
lant! yes, he is an excellent fportf-
man in gallantry; he loves the chafe-
he defires not the death.
IT is fometimes happy to have done
wrong, I mean when we have ſeized the
opportunity of acknowledging it: and I
know not whether
not whether that very offence
which is fo deftructive to common con-
nections may not ftrengthen fuch as have
reafon and true delicacy for their bafis;
as
[233]
as the very place where a bone has been
broken and well fet, if the conftitution
is good, becomes ftronger than any other
part.
CASUAL difagreements have been con-
fidered as fprings that give new force to
love; and I believe they are fo. Yet
as a ſpring too frequently or too forcibly
uſed, remains at the place to which it
is drawn back inftead of flying forwards
fo lovers will find that difagreements,
if they are too frequent, will at length
tofe their elaſticity and impel to love no
more.
;
THERE feems to be fomething fatif
factory refulting from almoft every thing
that is deficient in human nature, and it
is in a certain nice perception of that
fatisfaction, methinks, that all the endear-
ing refinements of fociety confift: there
are a thouſand little and undefinable de-
licacies in our converfation, our looks, and
even geftures, which mutually require to
be understood and returned. Nay, there
are little indulgencies which the well
difpofed and well conceiving mind feels
a
2
[234]
want to beſtow as well as to receive,
and will be uneafy and difatisfied till an
opportunity offers to do it, and hence
that firſt of concerts the play and har-
mony of according minds.
EXTREMITIES meet; It feems dif-
ficult therefore to pronounce whether the
ftateſman at the top of the world, or the
plough-man at the bottom labours hardeſt.
I HAVE often thought that though
dreſs may juſtly be called a trivial thing
in itſelf, yet that it deferved more the
confideration of a Philofopher than is
generally imagined, as being no incon-
fiderable or unfaithful index of the mind.
Thoſe who ſee accurately will certainly
diſcover a connection between many par-
ticulars in a man's drefs, and his pecu-
liar difpofition, temper, and turn of thought,
fuppofing his dreſs to be the choice of
his own tafte, and that he has not im-
plicitly conformed to the manner of others
which must be firft well confidered; and
after all, a great variety of particulars muſt
be examined before a certain judgment
can be made, for there is fuch a thing
as
G
[235]
as being above drefs, (in general or par-
ticular) and being equal to it and being
below it. However, a difcerning eye will
very often diſcover ftrong indications of
character in drefs, and it ſeems as if the
fame principle that directs a man in
the cloathing of his body, directs him
alſo in the furniſhing not only his houſe
but his mind.
IF you ever met with Trafimond, you
certainly met with dirt in conjunction with
embroidery, and fhew without taſte. He
generally wears a coat that is pretty nearly
covered with gold or filver, and provided
the colour, the little colour that appears,
be a flaming one, that's all he cares for.
He very ſeldom wafhes his hands or face,
or cleans his teeth, or commits any other
cleanly act; and indeed were he to clean
himſelf ever ſo much, he would look at
leaſt almoſt as dirty as if he did not; for
his complexion happens to be black and
white, and yellow, and it is much ſet off
by a huge white bag-wig, white in its
natural colour, and white by being loaded
with powder. If other people tie their
bags
[236]
one
bags low, it is more than probable that
Trafimond's will be above his poll, and if
their wigs are dreffed fhort, his will hang
upon his fhoulders. Not that Trafimond
affects this, he does it naturally: not a
duck goes more by inftinct into water,
than Trafimond into whatever happens
to be wrong. Trafimond is fcarce twenty
eight years old, but for any advantage.
his perfon or character receives from
that delightful age, he might juſt as well
be
hundred and twenty eight:
Thus fay the women, and I believe them;
he feems to prove that youth charms
us lefs merely as youth, than by the
manner with which it is fet off. But
Trafimond's mind is all of a piece, and
the falſe taſte which he manifefts at fo
great an expence in his dreſs, he mani-
feſts in every thing elfe. If he hums a
tune, depend upon it, it will be without
meaning or feeling, or elfe, that both
will be expreffed in the wrong place.
If he reads to you he will always ftop
wrong, place the emphaſis wrong, and very
likely pronounce wrong. If he gives an
entertainment you may fafely conclude
before-
[237]
before-hand that every one of his innu-
merable and enormous dishes will be
drefs'd, what the French call, a la
diable. I met Trafimond the other day
in his chariot; it was of a strange
ſhape, painted of a nafty blue, and
gilt with a ginger-bread gilding; his
horfes were ugly, lean and dirty, but their
natural colour was white, and they had
long tails: the coachman, I remembered
to have been his under gardiner, and the
footman was an old fat Blackamoor. Tra-
fimond was dreffed in a tawdry green coat
bedaub'd all over with filver; his great
white periwig covered his head; that part
of his perfon which had no other cover-
ing was covered with dirt; and as he ſtept
out, I obferved he had dirty white thread-
ſtockings on. He is bow-leg'd, and fquat in
his figure, and as he waddled along he ſeemed
to be a very odd kind of creature-fome-
thing between a man and a Parrot.
STRANGE and melancholy reflection,
Milton lay half a century mixed with all the
fenfelefs writers of the times, neglected and
defpifed; Moliere's and Congreve's beft plays
were condemned, while many paultry per-
formances
[238]
formances were extolled by men whoſe
underſtandings are eſteemed to be of the
firſt claſs! Oh man, thou reaſonable crea-
ture! which way doft thou fhew thy rea-
fon? but, fay you, no fuch abfurdity can
justly be imputed to me or to Hillarius or
to Timoleon; perhaps not; but ſuppoſe
it might, do you think that you would
be lefs inclined to truft Hillarius or Ti-
moleon or yourſelf afterwards? and do
you really think that the fame creature
will not be liable to act in the fame
manner at all times? Yes, believe me, call
man a prejudiced creature, or an incon-
fiftent creature, but never a rational crea-
ture, or a confiftent one.
So diftinct in man are character and
reaſon, that we are often urged by reaſon
to laugh at ridiculous things, in the cha-
racter even of ourſelves. This puts me
in mind of having feen unmix'd in the
fame glaſs, two liquors of different colours.
THERE are, methinks, two forts of under-
ſtandings, one naturally and almoft mechani-
cally comprehends two objects at once, the
effect and the cauſe, and is diffatisfied with
2
the
[239]
the firft, whatever it be, till it fees the fe-
cond. The other fees only the firſt, and
feeks not, wants not, to ſee the ſecond:
the laſt of theſe underſtandings may fee
truth oftener than the firſt, but the firſt
will certainly miſtake falfhood for truth
feldomer.
WE judge of others from ourſelves ;
fource of knowledge! fource of error!
IT by no means follows, that becaufe
two men utter the fame words they have
preciſely the fame idea which they mean to
exprefs; language is inadequate to the va-
riety of ideas which are conceived by dif
ferent minds, and which could they be
expreffed, would produce a new variety of
characteriſtic differences between man and
man; from this deficiency of language flow
innumerable miſtakes, for when I tell you
fuch a thing was pleafing or difpleafing,
delicate or indelicate, proper or improper,
and fo in a great or a little degree, there
are no words that peculiarly belong to my
ideas, which though they may be generically
the fame with yours, may be specifically
different, and hence perhaps you may give
me
!
[240]
me credit for taſtes which I poffefs either
not at all, or very imperfectly; would not
this confideration be worth attending to,
and might it not be of uſe to us if we
could conſtantly carry it about us to be
ready whilſt we read or hear?
NOTHING is more manifeft than that
there is a certain equality to which all men
have a natural right, unleſs it be their
meanneſs in giving it up.
CLARA aims at the character of one of
our impertinent fine ladies; fhe has hand-
fome features without true beauty, but is
really capricious, ignorant and infolent; nay
Clara is not a good actreſs of the vile part
ſhe has choſen for herſelf; her airs are not
of the first kind: I ſee others indeed are
of a different opinion, but I think ſhe plays
imperfectly what I too would admire as
good acting were it fuch: but fee the court,
the attention, the homage of thoſe crowds
of fervile wretches, all encouraging the
not lefs mean Clara in her overbearing
impertinence! and is it poffible not to mo-
ralize, not to be ſhocked at fo general a
manifeſtation of abjectnefs, innate abject-
nefs
[241]
nefs of the human fpecies? though you
fhould offer your proteft what will your
fingle oppofition avail againſt this multi-
tude? you ſpeak to Clara, fhe either an-
ſwers you or not, juft as whim or the
place you happen to be in prompts her;
if you bow to her ſhe is very capable of
ftaring you in the face and not returning
you the compliment, or of doing even
worſe by returning it in ſuch a manner as
ſhall render even her civility an imperti-
nence; and if you bow to her again fhe
will do the fame, nay and ſhe will then
do right, for then you will certainly deſerve
it. Clara talks louder and longer than
any perſon in her company, and the want
of freedom is fupplied by impudence, of
dignity by infolence, and of gracefulneſs by
confidence; fhe has no parts; but her own
forwardneſs, and the mean encouragement
of others, give her fomething that has
ſometimes an appearance of them, for as ſhe
talks inceffantly and fearleſsly, ſhe ſometimes
ſtumbles upon combinations of thought
which are not without propriety and connec-
tion. There are many proofs of the ſtrange
divifibility of matter, Clara will give you a
R
proof
;
[242]
proof of the ftrange divifibility of thoughts
for after ſhe has talk'd almoſt inceffantly for
three hours, I'll engage that you fhall fay every
thing you can recollect of her difcourſe in
three minutes: Clara is however in great
faſhion, and have I not given fufficient
reaſons for her being fo? Silia admires
Clara beyond expreffion, but Silia was not
born to be of her fet, and fhe is too low,
too defirous to get into it, ever to fucceed;
nothing can be more curious than the
commerce between Clara and Silia; while
one exerciſes every fuperiority which the
advantages I have ennumerated fo fairly
beſtow, the other exerciſes every inferiority
the diſadvantages of her fituation as necef-
farily imply; but Silia's great principle is
perfeverance; condefcending perfeverance;
fhe is quite a female philoſopher, no ſlight
fours or mortifies her, and the favour of one
minute amply atones for the neglect of many
days; Clara triumphs with all the defpo-
tiſm of an Eaſtern monarch, and Silia obeys
with all the fervility of an Eaſtern ſubject;
it is quite curious to fee this pair fo dif-
ferent and fo like; yes, if nature or fate had
changed their fituations, you may without
trial
[243]
trial fwear, that Silia would have been
Clara, and Clara Silia.
To fay with La Rochefoucault, that
in the adverfity of our best friends
"there is fomething that does
દ
not
diſpleaſe us;" and to fay, that in the
profperity of our best friends there is
fomething that does not pleaſe us, feems
to be the fame thing; yet, I believe,
the firft is falfe, and the latter true.
IT does not follow that of two men
he who acts worſt has the worft heart,
or the contrary. There are men, me-
thinks, whoſe ill-actions we might rather
pity than blame; as there are men whoſe
good actions we rather do not blame
than poffitively commend. Some men
poffefs numberlefs perfections, which,
if one fingle impediment, one ob-
ftructing imperfection was removed,
would, like water guſhing from a rich
fpring, not only adorn, but fertilize all
around them. There are others whoſe
apparent good qualities, reftrained by no
fingle impediment, flow into many ſtreams
R 2
and
[244]
and fetch
fetch a wide
wide compaſs, but the
fpring whence they are derived being poor,
the water is of little ufe, and therefore
can have beauties only to thofe who are
deceived by its appearance,
appearance, and
ftrangers to its nature.
are
THERE is a fhort and eafy method with
things which we do not tafte or compre-
hend: Condemning them: and if this me-
thod is not univerfally adopted let us at
leaft do juftice to mankind, and acknow-
ledge that the reafon is by no means our
diſapprobation of it, but the inconvenience
which fometimes would arife from the
practiſe of it.
I HAVE long remarked, that the firft
movement of the mind, at leaft of the little
mind, on ſeeing any piece of literature is
to condemn; and that commendation is at
beſt but the ſecond, and generally only an
echo of the commendation of others: but
I cannot help thinking that what the little
mind thus condemns aloud, it fecretly ap-
proves, perhaps admires, and condemns
even for that reaſon; that it approves and
admires, ſeems to be the neceffary confe-
quence
[245]
quence of difcovering an effect of an un-
derſtanding fuperior to its own, and that
it condemns, feems to be as neceffary a
confequence of an unwillingneſs to allow a
merit to others which it cannot claim for
itſelf; for it will readily be allowed, that
there are few literary performances which
nine in ten of thoſe who condemn do not
feel themſelves unable to have produced:
thus then theſe little minds conclude, and
perhaps not always without reaſon, that
what they withhold from another they gain
for themſelves.
HONOUR may perhaps be defined ho-
nefty, and fomething more; Difcernment,
fenſe, and fomething more; Candour, im-
partiality, and fomething more; Tafte,
knowledge, and fomething more; Generofi-
ty, equity, and fomething more; Delicacy,
generoſity and ſomething more. But if the
things themſelves are rare, what would
the ftrange man think of the world whofe
meaſure of rectitude fhould be taken from
theſe ſomethings more!
A GOOD ear for muſick, and a taste for
muſick, are two very different things which
R 3
are
[246]
i
are often confounded; and fo is compre
bending and enjoying every object of ſenſe
and fentiment.
THERE are three kinds of returns for
injuries; abject fubmiffion, fevere retalia-
tion, and contemptuous difregard. The
firſt is always the worft, and the laſt ge-
nerally the beſt; yet however different they
may be in themſelves, the dignity of the
laft is ſo much fuperior to common con-
ceptions, that you may perhaps be forced
upon the ſecond, purely to prove that you
did not ftoop to the firſt.
MENALCAS is call'd an economiſt, and
when he is to give, it is a rule with him
that it shall always be a little under what
it ought to be; Gremio is not called an
œconomiſt, and when he is to give, it is
a rule with him that it fhall always be a
little above what it need be. Why does
one or the other give at all? certainly in
order to do themſelves juft honour, and
preſerve their own credit and reputation ;
Menalcas then, or Gremio the œcono-
miſt?
THE
*
[247]
THE first thing the enamel painter has
to do, is to prepare his plate for the re-
ception of the colours he is to lay upon it.
It will be of little confequence how well
he draws, or how beautifully he blends his
tints, if the leaft part of that preparation
is omitted, and it will be found that the
fuccefs of his art, depended much more
on the difpofition of the fubject than the
power of his agency. Does not this caſe of
the painter illuftrate that of the moraliſt?
how much more depends upon the diſpo
fition of thoſe that hear, than upon the
abilities of him that ſpeaks!
I SCARCE know any thing fo ridiculous
as a literary difpute: each party is perfectly
convinced that he is in the right, and at-
tacks the other with arguments which ſeem
unanfwerable and irrefiftible to himſelf, but
for the fame reafon have no effect upon
his antagonist; for both are fo far from
weighing the allegations that make againſt
themſelves, that they do not attend enough
to them to know their purport: thus each
combatant attacks the very place that is
Covered
R 4
f
3
248 T
covered by prejudice with impenetrable
armour, and is therefore invulnerable: each
wearies himſelf with ftriking, and each
is aftoniſhed that his blows are not felt.
Dn the blockhead, fays he, he is as
infenfible as a ſtone; you may as well beat
a ſtockfish, or make paffes againſt a brick
wall.
You blame men for being offended at
criticiſms on their performances, but if you
expect me to blame them too, fhew me at
leaft the critic who has been delicate
enough to attack the work without the
leaft attack on the author.
I KNOW nothing that fo clearly proves
the arbitrarinefs of our ideas of handſome
and ugly, of right and wrong, as faſhion;
nor any thing which fhows in fo ftrong
a light how little the proof of handſome
and ugly, right and wrong, from the
unvarying principles of truth and nature,
is followed by its juft confequences.
We know almoſt every thing rather
WE
by its accidental than its effential qualities,
and therefore are fo often deceived by
appear-
3
[249]
appearances and fo often encourage ap-
pearances to deceive us the keen man
at play finks his winnings, and magnifies.
his lofings, and practifes twenty other
little artifices which though not effential
to his character as a keen man at play,.
are yet the only marks by which that.
character is generally known; the ſhrewd
jockey is continually making myfteries
when there is nothing to conceal; the
politician looks important upon the moſt
trivial occafions; and almost every man
expreffes his particular trade and pro-
feffion by ſome infignificant peculiarity
in his drefs, manner, and dialect; even
the man of fenfe and knowledge will
probably talk in terms of art, and join
with his ſenſe and knowledge fome kind
of cant or pedantry. Now, if we were
to ſuppoſe ſome ſtrange man to rife up
who ſhould fully poffefs any excellence
without its common, but uſeleſs ap-
purtenances; by how many, think you,
and how foon, would he be found out?
It is fo long fince truth went naked that
ſhe is now known only by her clothes.
I's
[250]
Is a man a creature of habit, or
change? It ſeems as if we had proof of
both;
as we have that matter is and is
not infinitely divifible.
In this country every criminal has the
privilege of being tried by his peers,
but an author.
WHY is he who poffeffes generofity
more offended at
at the want of it in
another, than he who does not poffefs
generofity? not from the advantage that
might accrue to himself; for, from the
very principles of his generoſity,
for any perfonal advantage lefs.
nerous man, then muft wifh
act generouſly towards him for their fakes,
not his.
he wiſhes
The ge-
others to
THE place where you are uſed to be
happy with your miſtreſs always pleaſes
you more than any other. Thus do we
prize numberless other things, indifferent
in themſelves, merely from their connex-
ion with what is ufeful or pleafing. Of
this we have the ftrongeft inftance in
money: we prize money by having ha-
bitually connected with it the idea of
every temporal bleffing without immedi-
ately
[ 251 ]
ately confidering it not as an end, but
a means; nay the very bleffings them-
ſelves, from which money derives all its
value, are frequently facrificed to money;
and men live and die in the want of
real advantages, merely for the fatisfaction
of locking up the indifferent guineas
which might produce them.
SUPPOSE I were to fay that no man
has ſenſe that has not been out of his own
country, will you not tell me I am very
impertinent? yet if I gave my particular
definition of the word fenfe, perhaps you
would abfolve me. Let me appeal to
every fenfible man in Great-Britain that
has been out of it, and aſk him what he
felt even in the first twenty-four hours
after he had landed on the other fide of
the Britiſh channel.
THERE is fcarce any paffion fo heartily
decried by moralifts and fatyrifts as AMBI-
TION; and yet methinks ambition is not a
vice but in a vicious mind in a virtuous
mind it is a virtue, and will be found to
take its colour from the character in which
it is mixed. Ambition is a defire of fupe-
:
riority;
[252]
riority; and a man may become fuperior
either by making others lefs or himſelf
greater. He that attempts to make him-
felf great by laudable means, furely gives
- more evidence of virtue than vice; though
he that attempts it either by degrading
others, or by diſhoneftly aggrandizing him-
felf, gives an evidence of more vice than
virtue. It muſt indeed be confeffed, that
no paffion has produced more dreadful ef-
fects than ambition, and yet perhaps it has
been generally decried for that effect which
is common to it both as a virtue and a
vice, the elevation of another above our-
felves. This effect naturally offends little
minds rather than great, for if ambition
is a vice, it is not the vice of little minds;
they do not aim to furpafs others, and yet
repine with inexorable malignity at being
furpaffed. The great, when they mention
ambition, do it rather as if they were ftu-
dious to make an apology for themſelves,
than to bring diſgrace upon others.
DRYDEN calls it,
The glorious fault of angels and of gods.
:
And
[253]
And lord Clarendon fays, " if ambition
" is a vice, it loves to grow in a rich
•
foil." As to myſelf, I confefs that I
fee ſome men, in whom I honour am-
bition; and others, in whom I moft heartily
deſpiſe it.
CLEONTES is one of thofe ambitious
men who does not, I think, quite reach the
fecond clafs, though by himſelf, and
perhaps many of his friends, he may
be placed in the firft. He is, if you
will, a man of ſenſe; that is, he is
fteady, exact, and laborious; nay, he is
not without invention and ingenuity;
for labour and diligence, though they do
not always accompany ingenuity, have
been fometimes known to produce it;
or at leaſt ſomething which could fcarce
be diſtinguiſhed from it. Cleontes is a
politician, and whatever abilities he pof
feffes all are employed upon politics: poli-
ticks ſeems to be not only the great ob-
ject of his life, but the only one: he
is, however, by no means one of thoſe
MASTERS who practiſe the art they
profeſs almoft fpontaneouſly, who excel
without
}
[254]
without labour, who are conſcious to fo
much eaſe and negligence in their ope-
rations that they ſcarce admire the per-
fection they produce, and who readily
allow the profeffors of other arts their
due merit. Have you a reliſh for ſome
of thoſe refined endearments of which
humanity is fufceptible? do not then ap-
ply to Cleontes; he has fenfe, but it is
not that exalted fenfe whofe objects are
fine and delicate in proportion as its own
nature is exquifite and penetrating: It
does not rife with the fubtil activity
of a pure fpirit, which urged by a ge-
nerous fire, leaves the grofs elements behind.
He knows indeed many of the concords of
human nature when they have a fenfible
effect, and can even difcover fome before
that effect is produced; but he knows as
little of thofe difcords which refolve into
harmony, as he does of the laſt refinements
of harmony itſelf. Are you a philofopher?
if
you are, you may perhaps fmile to read
in Cleontes's countenance, a full convic-
tion that he has arrived at the ne plus ultra
of human perfection. Perfeverance is the
1
3
art
[255]
art by which he has afcended many ſteps
in the ladder of ambition; and attained if
not the top-most round, yet an agreeable
elevation,--an honourable and lucrative
employment. Cleontes now feels his im-
portance; his wiſhes inſtead of diminiſhing
increaſe he heartily ſubſcribes to the old
proverb, L'appetit vient en mangeant. Yes,
fays he, in his foliloquies, I will advance,
I will ftill climb: fhall I not exert my
faculties to the utmoſt! fhall I be left be-
hind to grovel with the inferior world!
fhall I not rather ftruggle and mount with
the foremoſt of thoſe that mount? yes,
Cleontes, mount; let emulation ftill urge
you to aſcend: fhew the world you have
a foul that is equal to elevation: but what
is elevation? true elevation is that fuperi-
ority to which we are directed by nature.
Cleontes is ambitious and a politician; he
delights in the character, and yet furely he
does not follow nature. If he does, however
great he now is, or hereafter may be, he
will never be the object of my ad-
miration, for he will be great only as
a politician; he is abforbed in politics;
he is a kind of ftate packhorſe, pleaſ
•
ed
[256 1
ed while he plods on with the gingle
of his bells; politics is his delight
though it is his labour; nay, I had almoſt
faid it was his meat and drink. He is in-
toxicated with politics: He is a mifer,
and always counting to himſelf his political
ftore: Even while he ſeems to reſign him-
ſelf to the moſt pleaſing avocations of fo-
ciety, he is still ruminating on political
<<
ftratagems and ſpoils," and for this he
flatters himſelf, and is flattered by others,,
with imputed greatneſs and elevation. But
alas! Cleontes has never once rifen to any
thing higher or more endearing than poli-
tics: Every elegance of nature is deſpiſed by
Cleontes as inferior to the acquirements of
his calling. Cleontes rarely feels that man
is SOCIAL, never does he reflect that from
fociety in its beſt acceptation, arife not only
the firſt pleaſures of humanity, but the firſt
virtues.
PRIDE is a virtue-let not the moralift
be fcandalifed-Pride is alfo a vice. Pride,
like ambition, is fometimes virtuous and
fometimes vicious, according to the cha-
racter in which it is found, and the object
to which it is directed. As a principle it
is
1
[257]
is the parent of almoſt every virtue, and
every vice, every thing that pleaſes and
diſpleaſes in mankind; and as the effects
are ſo very different, nothing is more
eafy than to diſcover even to ourſelves,
whether the pride that produces them
is virtuous or vicious. The first ob-
ject of virtuous pride is rectitude, and
the next independance; the vices that fear
avoids as incurring puniſhment, pride avoids
as degrading the dignity of man; the fup-
port and fatisfaction which meannefs is
content to receive from others, pride glories
to derive from itſelf. It concedes not only
with the fame pleaſure, but the fame dig-
nity with which it demands and acquires;
for it is modeft though not mean, and
though elevated not affuming. It not only
hates but difdains falfhood, with all its lit-
tle artifices to avoid difgrace and paſs for
truth; as its honour is better founded than
in the opinion of others, it is fuperior both
to neglect and adulation; as it neither talks
nor acts with a view of arrogating more
than is due to itſelf, or of granting more
than is due to others, it does not vary
with varying companies or places; nay,
S
it
[258]
!
it pleaſes others not only in what it
gives, but in what it gains from them.
If you are a great man, this principle will
not only give you true content, but even
procure you the approbation of others;
and if you are not a great man, it will
either procure you that approbation, or
convince, you that you do not want it.
Such are the characteriſtics of true pride,
thoſe of falſe pride are juſt the con-
trary.
As it is often only the vicious part that dif
pleaſes in thoſe virtuous characters which are
indifcriminately faid to be difpleafing, fo it
is only fome weakneſs in fuperior charac-
ters that we laugh at when we ſuppoſe the
whole character to be ridiculous. A poet
is generally confidered as a ridiculous cha-
racter, and yet there is nothing ridiculous
in poetry. It frequently happens that poets,
and indeed thofe who are eminent in any
particular branch of literature have neg-
lected every other accompliſhment; they
are deformed as a tree is when all the
vigour of the root is exerted only on a
particular branch. The mathematician,
3.
anti-
[ 259 ]

antiquarian, linguiſt or poet, is probably as
ignorant of all that does not immediately.
relate to mathematics, antiquities, the lan-
guages or poetry, as an infant; how then
can it be wondered that they are ridiculous?
or how can it be thought that they are ridi-
culous for what they poffefs, when it is fo
plain that they are ridiculous only for what
they want? Did you ever know one inſtance
of
a poet or a philofopher,, who had the
common qualifications of thoſe who are not
poets and philofophers, that was not uni-
verfally diftinguiſhed as a fuperior character,
and treated with proportionable reſpect? re-
member then that even when you laugh at
a poet, you ridicule not his excellence but
his foible only, and that in this inftance,
you are not only more juft than others think
you, but more juſt than you think yourſelf.
Ir is a miſtake to think that uglineſs
or deformity, are in themſelves difguftful;
he who begins by faying I am ugly, or I
am deformed, immediately reconciles either
to our imaginations, and gives the moſt
convincing proof in the world, not only
that truth and non-pretenfion are moſt
amiable
Sz
[260]
amiable in themſelves, but even in the efti-
mation of thoſe very men who are pre-
tending and proud-Would you recom-
mend this doctrine to others? alas! truth
already knows it, and falfhood is not fuf
ceptible of proof.
How obliging, or at leaft how fatif-
factory, is the neglect of fome people!
ARTIS eft celare artem. True; a man
then might be fo clever that he would paſs
for a fool.
If they who underſtand the utmoſt re-
finement of any art will enjoy the perfec-
tion of it in a manner fuperior to other
men, will they not amply pay for that
advantage in feeling more than other men
the imperfection of it, which in the na-
tural course of things muft fo much
oftener fall in their way?—by this rule,
methinks, a a man may be ſuppoſed to
live in almoſt continual pain from his
love of pleaſure.
PRAY, Sir, where is the fault? no
where ; and every where. How often
might this anſwer be made both to an
actor on the ſtage and in life? and yet
3
tho'
T 261]
1
tho' this fault is every where it might
perhaps be eafily taken away by the
removal of one thing; and its ten to one
but affectation or pride is that thing.
IMPERTINENCE is to dignity what
cunning is to wiſdom.
have no cun-
It does not follow that becauſe you are
not guilty of impertinence you poffefs dig-
nity; or, that becauſe you have no
ning you are wife: nay, it does not even
follow that becauſe you defpife impertinence
and cunning you fhould therefore never
practiſe either. It is one thing to know
the intrinfic value of a thing; another, to
know the current eftimation of it;
THEY tell you it is wrong? do it
again. Still wrong? again. There-now
you fee it's right.
A GENEROUS and delicate man will,
methinks, want a certain condefcenfion
from his miſtrefs in order to give it her
back again.
IT by no means follows that we acted
from reaſon, becauſe good reaſons can be
produced for what we did.
S 3
WHAT
[262]
WHAT a terrible, what an ordeal
tryal would it be, if he only was allowed
to be RATIONAL, against whom it could
not be proved that he ever once refuſed
his affent to what was demonftrable to
his reafon! and yet would not that tryal
be just?
To a delicate and generous mind, the
merit of a prefent will be the freedom
with which it is given; and yet there is
one preſent that has merit only in the
reluctance with which it is given: The
perſon we moſt love.
How often might a very reaſonable
man, who avoids the extremes of the
unreaſonable, put one in mind of a vul-
gar proverb which begins with, "be-
"<tween two ftools?"
THERE is in every thing a going ſo far
to be right, and a little farther to be very
right afk the man of the world who is
at the top of his trade, if you muſt not
be a little out of the faſhion to be well
in it.
THERE
[263]
THERE are things perhaps in which
men of an inferior claſs of underſtandings
are above their fuperiors, but unfortunately
for them, they have no council among
them to plead for them.
WHEN one reflects
one reflects on the ftrange
blindneſs of man, which prompts him
always to except himſelf, with respect to
faults and failings which he allows to be
truly charged upon every other, it fills
one with aſtoniſhment; and yet, in the
midſt of this very aftoniſhment, we again
except ourſelves from the abfurdity which
we impute to others, nor are we hurt
by the practice of fo weak a partiality,
even when we reflect upon it. As to
myſelf indeed I confefs that it is abfo-
lutely contradictory to every rule of right
reafon; and yet I contend that it is na-
tural and therefore right. It is, like fome
others, a happy prejudice which coin-
cides with other imperfections of nature
in its preſent depraved ftate; it preferves
a general order, tho' of an inferior kind;
or, if I may be allowed the metaphor,
keeps a weak and defective inftrument
;
S 4
in
'
[264]
in tune, by reducing all the notes to the
fame fcale.
THERE is a power of the underſtand-
ing which compares and judges of what
it fees, and there is another that fees
what it compares and judges of in a true
light. The firft is that power by which
men defend error with
error with argument, and
the latter that by which they reject error
for truth. Shall I compare them through
all their operations on the mind? let me.
then, for the fake of diftinction, be per-
mitted to call the firft SENSE and the latter
GENIUS. SENSE is fo diftinct from GENIUS,
that it may exift without it: GENIUS fo
much fuperior to SENSE, that SENSE feems
to be valuable only in proportion as it
partakes of the elevated qualities of GE-
NIUS: The eye of GENIUS pierces
through the mifts of cuftom and prejudice,
and fees things not as they appear, but as
they are; the eye of SENSE pervades not
the medium, and therefore fees things not
as they are, but as they appear through it:
SENSE is the dupe of its own powers, which
are continually exerted to give fpecious
names and honourable titles to the pro-
geny
[265]
geny of falfhood; GENIUS in a moment
diſcovers the fallacy and fpontaneouſly dif
tinguiſhes truth: The unalterable nature of
GENIUS is to be free, juft, and enlarged;
that of SENSE to be enflaved, partial, and
contracted: GENIUS, often without con-
fideration, fixes upon what is right; SENSE
generally confiders only to make choice of
what is wrong: GENIUS, when it does con-
fider, always deduces its opinion from rea-
fon; SENSE generally reaſons only to defend
an opinion already formed: GENIUS is not
influenced by the peculiarities of different
countries or men; SENSE is controlled by
both: GENIUS always looks forward, and
not only fees what is, but what neceffarily
will be; SENSE, miſtaking appearance for
reality, builds falfhood upon falſhood,
and from preſent errors deduces future:
GENIUS, with refpect to fubjects that lie
beyond its reach, forms probable conjectures
by justly comparing what it fees, and
allowing for what it knows to be out
of fight; SENSE, not perceiving the con-
nection between parts that are ſeen, and
others that are not, proudly concludes that
it fees all: GENIUS therefore from know-
ing
[266]
-
ing moſt, doubts; SENSE from knowing
leaſt, decides: GENIUS is always ad-
mirable even when it deviates into error;
SENSE often deſpicable even when it ar-
rives at truth: GENIUS often appears to
SENSE to act wrong, merely by acting
right; and while fenfe is tied down by
rule, GENIUS foars above it: What SENSE
admires, GENIUS defpifes; and what GENIUS
loves, SENSE neglects: GENIUS often fees
wiſdom or virtue, where SENSE only re-
marks folly or vice; and the contrary;
for GENIUS diftinguiſhes good and bad
however blended; fenfe fees only the pre-
dominant quality, and having precipitately
determined, will afterwards
afterwards exaggerate
or extenuate either good or bad in fa-
vour of that determination : GENIUS ne-
ceffarily yields to the demonftration which
reſults from contradictions; SENSE rather
than admit demonſtratión againſt a favorite
opinion, will fuppofe a thouſand contra-
dictions to be confiftent: GENIUS pre-
fers truth, even to itſelf; SENSE, how-
ever it loves truth, always loves itfelf
better. SENSE, like a winged infect, flut-
ters through the mifts that furround
3.
this
[267]
this dark ſpot at a ſmall diftance from its
furface; GENIUS, like a planet, takes a
wide circuit through the pure expanfe
of nature, and vifits not regions only,
but whole worlds which SENSE does not
know to exift.
WHAT an excellent compofition for
Truth, could fhe procure it, if men were
to adopt just half the confequences of their
own true principles;
It is true perhaps you may be allowed
your privilege, * but though the firſt ſug-
geftion of your mind may be to claim
it, does not the fecond urge you to give
it up? are you not rather moved to pity
than to hate what you acknowledge to
be an almoſt neceffary effect of deplo-
rable depravity? nay, will you not rather
fmile at its malignity, and thus avert its
effect? furely this would not only be phi-
lofophical but politic: When we arraign
others, let us not forget ourſelves: let us
remember, that if man is irrational, un-
See Maxim, page 109.
generous,
[268]
generous, and unkind, we are all compre-
hended in that common name; and let
its confefs for our own fakes, that if the
human mind naturally produces noifome
weeds, it alfo produces flowers and fruit;
and that the best method to mend the foil
in general, is for each of us to cultivate his
own particular ſpot.

STRIKE, BUT HEAR ME.,
Plutarch of Alcibiades,
FINI S.

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN
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