UBRARy 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2008 with funding from 
 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/beeotheressaysOOgoldrich 
 
OLIVER GOLDSMITH 
 
 (sir JOSHUA Reynolds) 
 
OXFORD EDITWA^: 
 
 TH E BEE 
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS BY 
 
 OLIVER GOLDSMITH 
 
 TOGETHER ^VITH 
 
 THE LIFE OF NASH 
 
 HUMPHREY MH^FORD 
 OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS 
 • LONDON EDINBURGH GLASGOW 
 NEW YORK TORONTO MELBOURNE BOMBAY 
 
 1914 
 

 OXFORD : HORACE HART 
 PRINTER TO THE UNIVERSITY 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 THE BEE (1759) 
 
 Remarks on our Theatres 
 
 A Letter from a Traveller 
 
 A Short Account of the late Mr. Maupertuis 
 
 Some Particulars relative to Charles XII not com- 
 monly known ..... 
 
 On our Theatres 
 
 The History of Hypatia .... 
 
 Some Particulars relating to Father Freijo 
 
 Miscellaneous ..... 
 
 A Flemish Tradition . . . • . 
 
 The Sagacity of some Insects . 
 
 The Characteristics of Greatness 
 
 A City Night-Piece .... 
 
 Upon Political Frugality 
 
 A Reverie ...... 
 
 A Word or two on the late Farce called ' High Life 
 Below Sfcairs ' .... 
 
 Upon Unfortunate Merit 
 
 Some Account of the Academies of Italy . 
 
 Of Eloquence ..... 
 
 •— ---6ustom and Laws compared . 
 
 Of the Pride and Luxury of the Middling Class of 
 
 People ...... 
 
 Sabinus and Olinda .... 
 
 Of the Opera in England. 
 
 ESSAYS, Second Edition, 1766 
 
 The Preface 
 
 1. Introductory Paper 
 II. The Story of Alcander and Septimius 
 
 PAGE 
 3 
 
 7 
 10 
 
 12 
 17 
 19 
 23 
 25 
 30 
 33 
 38 
 41 
 44 
 54 
 
 61 
 63 
 66 
 68 
 
 77 
 
 81 
 83 
 86 
 
 93 
 
 97 
 
 100 
 
 676594 
 
iv CONTENTS 
 
 III. On Happiness of Temper . 
 
 IV. Description of Various Clubs 
 V. On the Use of Language . 
 
 VI. On Generosity and Justice 
 VII. On the Education of Youth v . 
 VIII. On the Instability of Popular Favour 
 IX. Specimen of a Magazine in Miniature 
 X. Beau Tibbs, a Character . 
 XI. Beau Tibbs (continued) 
 -"^^ XII. On the Irresolution of Youth . 
 
 XIII. On Mad Dogs 
 
 XIV. On the increased Love of Life with Age 
 XV. On the Passion of Women for levelling all Dis 
 
 tinctions of Dress .... 
 
 XVI. Asem the Man-hater, an Eastern Tale 
 XVII. On the English Clergy and popular Preachers 
 XVIII. On the Advantages to be derived from sending 
 a judicious Traveller into Asia 
 XIX. A Reverie at the Boar's Head Tavern in East 
 cheap .... 
 
 XX. On Quack Doctors . 
 XXI. Adventures of a Strolling Player 
 XXII. Rules enjoined to be observed at a Russian 
 Assembly .... 
 
 -Oy^lIII. The Genius of Love, an Eastei-n Apologue 
 XXIV. The Distresses of a Common Soldier . 
 XXV. Supposed to be Written by the Ordinary of New 
 gate ...... 
 
 XXVI. Supposed to come from a Common Comicil-man 
 XXVII. To the Printer 
 
 EIGHT ESSAYS, first collected in the Posthumous 
 Edition of 1798 
 
 National Concord , . . . . . . 243 
 
 Female Warriors ....... 246 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 V 
 
 /' 
 
 PAGE 
 
 National Prejudices |- . 
 
 . 250 
 
 Schools of Music 
 
 . 254 
 
 Carolan, the Irish Bard . 
 
 . 257 
 
 On the Tenants of the Leasowes 
 
 . 260 
 
 Sentimental Comedy 
 
 . 264 
 
 Scotch Marriages . . . * 
 
 . 269 
 
 THE LIFE OF RICHARD NASH, 1762 . . . 273 
 
 APPENDIX 
 
 
 Beau Tibbs : a third Essay . 
 
 . 411 
 
T H E 
 
 BEE. 
 
 BEING 
 
 ESSAYS 
 
 ON THE MOST 
 
 Interesting Subjects. 
 
 Floriferis ut Apes in jaltibus omnia libant^ 
 Omnia Nos itidem. 
 
 L N D N: 
 
 Printed for J. Wilkie, at the Blble^ in St. FauPs 
 Church^Tard. M DCC LIX. 
 
[In the following reprint of The Bee, the pieces subsequently revised 
 and included in Essays, 1765 (ed. 2, 1766) are omitted, being given 
 in their later form under ' Essays \ The following pieces are also 
 omitted ; Four translations from Voltaire ; ' The Sentiments of 
 a Frenchman on the Temper of the English,' reprinted with altera- 
 tions from the English translation (1747) of Le Blanc's Lettres; 
 ' On Deceit and Falsehood,' reprinted with alterations from The 
 Humourist, 1720; and ' An Account of the Augustan Age of England ' 
 (of doubtful authorship). Five poems are also omitted, which will 
 be found in the companion volume of Goldsmith's Poenis,] 
 
THE BEE 
 
 Number I. Saturday, October 6, 1759. 
 
 REMARKS ON OUR THEATRES 
 
 Our theatres are now opened, and all Grub Street 
 is preparing its advice to the managers ; we shall 
 undoubtedly hear learned disquisitions on the structure 
 of one actor's legs, and another's eyebrows. We shall 
 be told much of enunciations, tones, and attitudes, and 
 shall have our lightest pleasures commented upon by 
 didactic dullness. We shall, it is feared, be told, that 
 Garrick is a fine actor, but then, as a manager, so 
 avaricious 1 That Palmer is a most promising genius, 
 and Holland likely to do well, in a particular cast of 
 character. We shall have them giving Shuter instruc- 
 tions to amuse us by rule, and deploring over the ruins 
 of desolated majesty in Covent Garden. As I love to | 
 be advising too, for advice is easily given, and bears/ 
 a show of wisdom and superiority, I must be permitted ! 
 to offer a few observations upon our theatres and actors, 
 without, on this trivial occasion, throwing my thoughts 
 into the formality of method. 
 
 There is something in the deportment of all our 
 players infinitely more stiff and formal than among the 
 actors of other nations. Their action sits uneasy upon 
 them ; for as the English use very little gesture in 
 ordinary conversation, our English-bred actors are 
 obliged to supply stage gestures by their imagination 
 alone. A French comedian finds proper models of action 
 
4 THE BEE 
 
 in every company and in every coffee-house he enters. 
 An Englishman is obliged to take his models from the 
 fetage itself ; he is obliged to imitate nature from an 
 imitation of nature. I know of no set of men more likely 
 to be improved by travelling than those of the theatrical 
 profession. The inhabitants of the Continent are less 
 reserved than here ; they may be seen through upon 
 a first acquaintance ; such are the proper models to draw 
 from ; they are at once striking, and are found in great 
 abundance. 
 
 Though it would be inexcusable in a comedian to add 
 anything of his own to the poet's dialogue, yet as to 
 action he is entirely at liberty. By this he may show 
 the fertility of his genius, the poignancy of his humour, 
 and the exactness of his judgement ; we scarce see a 
 coxcomb or a fool in common life that has not some 
 peculiar oddity in his action. These peculiarities it is 
 not in the power of words to represent, and depend 
 solely upon the actor. They give a relish to the humour 
 of the poet, and make the appearance of nature more 
 illusive ; the Italians, it is true, mask some characters, 
 and endeavour to preserve the peculiar humour by the 
 make of the mask ; but I have seen others still preserve 
 a great fund of humour in the face without a mask ; one 
 actor, particularly, by a squint which he threw into some 
 characters of low life, assumed a look of infinite solidity. 
 This, though upon reflection we might condemn, yet, 
 immediately, upon representation, we could not avoid 
 being pleased with. To illustrate what I have been saying 
 by the plays I have of late gone to see : In The Miser, 
 which was played a few nights ago at Covent Garden, 
 Lovegold appears through the whole in circumstances 
 of exaggerated avarice ; all the player's action, therefore, 
 should conspire with the poet's design, and represent 
 him as as epitome of penury. The French comedian. 
 
REMARKS ON' OUR THEATRES 5 
 
 in this character, in the midst of one of his most violent 
 passions, while he appears in an ungovernable rage, feels 
 the demon of avarice still upon him, and stoops down to 
 pick up a pin, which he quilts into the flap of his coat- 
 pocket with great assiduity. Two candles are lighted up 
 for his wedding ; he flies and turns one of them into the 
 socket ; it is, however, lighted up again ; he then steals 
 to it, and privately crams it into his pocket. The Mock- 
 Doctor was lately played at the other house. Here again 
 the comedian had an opportunity of heightening the 
 ridicule by action. The French player sits in a chair 
 with a high back, and then begins to show away by 
 talking nonsense, which he would have thought Latin 
 by those whom he knows do not understand a syllable 
 of the matter. At last he grows enthusiastic, enjoys 
 the admiration of the company, tosses his legs and 
 arms about, and in the midst of his raptures and vocifera- 
 tion, he and the chair fall back together. All this 
 appears dull enough in the recital, but the gravity of 
 Cato could not stand it in the representation. In short, 
 there is hardly a character in comedy to which a player 
 of any real humour might not add strokes of vivacity 
 that could not fail of applause. But instead of this we 
 too often see our fine gentlemen do nothing, through 
 a whole part, but strut, and open their snuff-box ; our 
 pretty fellows sit indecently with their legs across, 
 and our clowns pull up their breeches. These, if 
 once, or even twice, repeated, might do well enough ; 
 but to see them served up in every scene, argues the 
 actor almost as barren as the character he would 
 expose. 
 
 The magnificence of our theatres is far superior to 
 any others in Europe where plays only are acted. The 
 great care our performers take in painting for a part, 
 their exactness in all the minutiae of dress, and other 
 
6 THE BEE 
 
 little scenical proprieties, have been taken notice of 
 by Ricoboni, a gentleman of Italy, who travelled Europe 
 with no other design but to remark upon the stage ; 
 but there are several apparent improprieties still con- 
 tinued, or lately come into fashion. As, for instance, 
 spreading a carpet punctually at the beginning of the 
 death scene, in order to prevent our actors from spoiling 
 their clothes ; this immediately apprises us of the 
 tragedy to follow ; for laying the cloth is not a more 
 sure indication of dinner, than laying the carpet of bloody 
 work at Drury Lane. Our little pages also with un- 
 meaning faces, that bear up the train of a weeping 
 princess, and our awkward lords in waiting, take of! 
 much from her distress. Mutes of every kind divide 
 our attention, and lessen our sensibility ; but here it 
 is entirely ridiculous, as we see them seriously em- 
 ployed in doing nothing. If we must have dirty- 
 shirted guards upon the theatres, they should be taught 
 to keep their eyes fixed on the actors, and not roll them 
 round upon the audience, as if they were ogling the 
 boxes. 
 
 Beauty, methinks, seems a requisite qualification in 
 an actress. This seems scrupulously observed elsewhere, 
 and for my part I could wish to see it observed at home. 
 I can never conceive a hero dying for love of a lady 
 totally destitute of beauty. I must think the part 
 unnatural, for I cannot bear to hear him call that face 
 angelic, when even paint cannot hide its wrinkles. I 
 must condemn him of stupidity, and the person whom 
 I can accuse for want of taste will seldom become the 
 object of my affections or admiration. But if this be 
 a defect, what must be the entire perversion of scenical 
 decorum, when, for instance, we see an actress that might 
 act the Wapping Landlady without a bolster, pining 
 in the character of Jane Shore, and, while unwieldy 
 
REMARKS ON OUR THEATRES 7 
 
 with fat, endeavouring to convince the audience that she ^ 
 is dying with hunger. 
 
 For the future, then, I could wish that the parts of the 
 young or beautiful were given to performers of suitable 
 figures ; for I must own, I could rather see the stage 
 filled with agreeable objects, though they might some- 
 times bungle a little, than see it crowded with withered 
 or misshapen figures, be their emphasis, as I think it is 
 called, ever so proper. The first may have the awkward 
 appearance of new-raised troops, but in viewing the last, 
 I cannot avoid the mortification of fancying myself 
 placed in an hospital of invalids. 
 
 A LETTER FROM A TRAVELLER 
 
 (The sequel of this correspondence to be continued 
 occasionally. I shall alter nothing either in the style 
 or substance of these letters, and the reader may depend 
 on their being genuine o) 
 
 CracoWj Aiig. 2., 1758o 
 My DEAR Will, 
 
 You see, by the date of my letter, that I am arrived 
 in Poland. When will my wanderings be at an end ? 
 When will my restless disposition give me leave to enjoy 
 the present hour ? When at Lyons, I thought all 
 happiness lay beyond the Alps ; when in Italy, I found 
 myself still in want of something, and expected to leave 
 solicitude behind me by going into Roumelia ; and now 
 you find me turning back, still expecting ease everywhere 
 but where I am. It is now seven years since I saw the 
 face of a single creature who cared a farthing whether 
 I was dead or alive. Secluded from all the comforts 
 of confidence, friendship, or society, I feel the solitude 
 of a hermit, but not his ease. 
 
8 THE BEE 
 
 The Prince of * * * has taken me in his train, so that 
 I am in no danger of starving for this bout. The prince's 
 governor is a rude ignorant pedant, and his tutor 
 a battered rake : thus, between two such characters, 
 you may imagine he is finely instructed. I made some 
 attempts to display all the little knowledge I had 
 acquired by reading or observation ; but I find myself 
 regarded as an ignorant intruder. The truth is, I shall 
 never be able to acquire a power of expressing myself 
 with ease in any language but my own ; and, out of my 
 own country, the highest character I can ever acquire, 
 is that of being a philosophic vagabond. 
 
 When I consider myself in the country which was once 
 so formidable in war, and spread terror and desolation 
 over the whole Roman empire, I can hardly account 
 for the present wretchedness and pusillanimity of its 
 inhabitants ; a prey to every invader ; their cities 
 plundered without an enemy ; their magistrates seeking 
 redress by complaints, and not by vigour. Everything 
 conspires to raise my compassion for their miseries, 
 were not my thoughts too busily engaged by my own. 
 The whole kingdom is in strange disorder ; when our 
 equipage, which consists of the prince and thirteen 
 attendants, had arrived at some towns, there were no 
 conveniences to be found, and we were obliged to have 
 girls to conduct us to the next. I have seen a woman 
 travel thus on horseback before us for thirty miles, 
 and think herself highly paid, and make twenty rever- 
 ences, upon receiving, with ecstasy, about twopence for 
 her trouble. In general, we were better served by the 
 women than the men on those occasions. The men 
 seemed directed by a low sordid interest alone ; they 
 seemed mere machines, and all their thoughts were 
 employed in the care of their horses. If we gently 
 desired them to make more speed, they took not the 
 
A LETTER FROM A TRAVELLER 9 
 
 least notice ; kind language was what they had by no 
 means been used to. It was proper to speak to them in 
 the tones of anger, and sometimes it was even necessary 
 to use blows, to excite them to their duty. How different 
 these from the common people of England, whom \ 
 a blow might induce to return the affront sevenfold. 
 These poor people, however, from being brought up to 
 vile usage, lose all the respect which they should have 
 for themselves. They have contracted a habit of 
 regarding constraint as the great rule of their duty. 
 When they were treated with mildness, they no longer 
 continued to perceive a superiority. They fancied 
 themselves our equals, and a continuance of our humanity 
 might probably have rendered them insolent ; but the 
 imperious tone, menaces, and blows, at once changed 
 their sensations and their ideas : their ears and their 
 shoulders taught their souls to shrink back into servitude, 
 from which they had for some moments fancied them- 
 selves disengaged. 
 
 The enthusiasm of liberty an Englishman feels is 
 never so strong as when presented by such prospects as 
 these. I must own, in all my indigence, it is one of my 
 comforts (perhaps, indeed, it is my only boast) that I 
 am of that happy country ; though I scorn to starve 
 there ; though I do not choose to lead a life of wretched 
 dependence, or be an object for my former acquaintance 
 to point at. While you enjoy all the ease and elegance 
 of prudence and virtue, your old friend wanders over the 
 world, without a single anchor to hold by, or a friend, 
 except you, to confide in. 
 
 Yours, &c. 
 
 b3 
 
10 THE BEE 
 
 A SHORT ACCOUNT OF THE LATE 
 MR. MAUPERTUIS 
 
 r 
 
 f Mr. Maupertuis, lately deceased, was the first to 
 whom the English philosophers owed their being parti- 
 cularly admired by the rest of Europe. The romantic 
 system of Des Cartes was adapted to the taste of the 
 superficial and the indolent ; the foreign universities 
 had embraced it with ardour, and such are seldom con- 
 vinced of their error till all others give up such false 
 opinions as untenable. The philosophy of Newton, 
 and the metaphysics of Locke appeared, but, like all 
 new truths, they were at once received with opposition 
 and contempt. The English, 'tis true, studied, under* 
 stood, and consequently admired thf m ; it was very 
 different on the Continent. Fontenelle, who seemed to 
 preside over the republic of letters, unwilling to acknow- 
 ledge that all his life had been spent in erroneous philo- 
 sophy, joined in the universal disapprobation, and the 
 English philosophers seemed entirely unknown. ] 
 
 Maupertuis, however, made them his study ; he thought 
 he might oppose the physics of his country, and yet still 
 be a good citizen ; he defended our countrymen, wrote 
 in their favour, and, at last, as he had truth on his side, 
 carried his cause. Almost all the learning of the English, 
 till very lately, was conveyed in the language of France. 
 The writings of Maupertuis spread the reputation of 
 his master Newton, and by a happy fortune have united 
 his fame with that of our human prodigy. 
 
 The first of his performances, openly, in vindication 
 of the Newtonian system, is his treatise entituled, 8ur 
 la figure des Astres, if I remember right ; a work at once 
 expressive of a deep geometrical knowledge, and the 
 most happy manner of delivering abstruse science with 
 
MR. MAUPERTUIS 11 
 
 ease. This met with violent opposition from a people, 
 though fond of novelty in everything else, yet, however, 
 in matters of science, attached to ancient opinions with 
 bigotry. As the old and the obstinate fell away, the youth 
 of France embraced the new opinions, and now seem more 
 eager to defend Newton than even his countrymen. 
 
 That oddity of character which great men are some- 
 times remarkable for, Maupertuis was not entirely free 
 from. It is certain he was extremely whimsical. Though 
 born to a large fortune, when employed in mathematical 
 inquiries, he disregarded his person to such a degree, 
 and loved retirement so much, that he has been more 
 than once put on the list of modest beggars by the curates 
 of Paris, when he retired to some private quarter of the 
 town, in order to enjoy his meditations without inter- 
 ruption. The character given of him by one of Voltaire's 
 antagonists, if it can be depended upon, is much to his 
 honour. * You,' says this writer to Mr. Voltaire, ' you 
 ' were entertained by the King of Prussia as a buffoon, 
 ' but Maupertuis as a philosopher.' It is certain that the 
 preference which this royal scholar gave to Maupertuis 
 was the cause of Voltaire's disagreement with him. 
 Voltaire could not bear to see a man, whose talents he 
 had no great opinion of, preferred before him as president 
 of the Royal Academy. His Micromegas was designed 
 to ridicule Maupertuis ; and probably it has brought 
 more disgrace on the author than the subject. Whatever 
 absurdities men of letters have indulged, and how 
 fantastical soever the modes of science have been, their 
 anger is still more subject to ridicule. 
 
12 THE BEE 
 
 Number II. Saturday, October 13, 1759. 
 
 SOME PARTICULARS RELATIVE TO 
 CHARLES XII NOT COMMONLY KNOWN 
 
 Stockholm. 
 
 Sir, 
 
 I cannot resist your solicitations, though it is 
 possible I shall be unable to satisfy your curiosity. The 
 polite of every country seem to have but one character. 
 A gentleman of Sweden differs but little, except in trifles, 
 from one of any other country. It is among the vulgar 
 we are to find those distinctions which characterize 
 a people, and from them it is that I take my picture of 
 the Swedes. 
 
 Though the Swedes in general appear to languish 
 under oppression, which often renders others wicked, or 
 of malignant dispositions, it has not, however, the same 
 influence upon them, as they are faithful, civil, and 
 incapable of atrocious crimes. Would you believe that 
 in Sweden highway robberies are not so much as heard 
 of ? For my part, I have not in the whole country seen a 
 gibbet or a gallows. They pay an infinite respect to their 
 ecclesiastics, whom they suppose to be the privy council- 
 lors of Providence, who, on their part, turn this credulity 
 to their own advantage, and manage their parishioners as 
 they please. In general, however, they seldom abuse 
 their sovereign authority. Hearkened to as oracles, 
 regarded as the dispensers of eternal rewards and 
 punishments, they readily influence their hearers into 
 justice, and make them practical philosophers without 
 the pains of study. 
 
 As to their persons they are perfectly well made, 
 and the men particularly have a very engaging air. 
 The greatest part of the boys which I saw in the country 
 
CHARLES XII 13 
 
 had very white hair. They were as beautiful as Cupids, 
 and there was something open and entirely happy in 
 their little chubby faces. The girls, on the contrary, 
 have neither such fair nor such even complexions, and 
 their features are much less delicate, which is a circum- 
 stance different from that of almost every other country. 
 Besides this, it is observed that the women are generally 
 afflicted Avith the itch, for which Scania is particularly 
 remarkable. I had an instance of this in one of the inns 
 on the road. The hostess was one of the most beautiful 
 women I have ever seen ; she had so fine a complexion, 
 that I could not avoid admiring it. But what was my 
 surprise, when she opened her bosom in order to suckle 
 her child, to perceive that seat of delight all covered 
 with this disagreeable distemper. The careless manner 
 in which she exposed to our eyes so disgusting an object, 
 sufficiently testifies that they regard it as no very 
 extraordinary malady, and seem to take no pains to 
 conceal it. Such are the remarks, which probably you 
 may think trifling enough, I have made in my journey 
 to Stockholm, which, to take it altogether, is a large, 
 beautiful, and even populous city. 
 
 The arsenal appears to me one of its greatest curiosities ; 
 it is an handsome spacious building, but, however, illy 
 stored with the implements of war. To recompense 
 this defect, they have almost filled it with trophies, and 
 other marks of their former military glory. I saw there 
 several chambers filled with Danish, Saxon, Polish, and 
 Russian standards. There was at least enough to suffice 
 half a dozen armies ; but new standards are more 
 easily made than new armies can be enlisted. I saw, 
 besides, some very rich furniture, and some of the crown 
 jewels of great value ; but what principally engaged my 
 attention, and touched me with passing melancholy, 
 were the bloody, yet precious, spoils of the two greatest 
 
14 THE BEE 
 
 heroes the North ever produced. What I mean are the 
 clothes in which the great Gustavus Adolphus, and the 
 intrepid Charles XII died, by a fate not usual to kings. 
 The first, if I remember, is a sort of a buff waistcoat, 
 made antique fashion, very plain, and without the least 
 ornaments ; the second, which was even more remark- 
 able, consisted only of a coarse blue cloth coat, a large hat 
 of less value, a shirt of coarse linen, large boots, and 
 buff gloves made to cover a great part of the arm. 
 His saddle, his pistols, and his sword, have nothing in 
 them remarkable ; the meanest soldier was in this 
 respect no way inferior to his gallant monarch. I shall 
 use this opportunity to give you some particulars of 
 the life of a man already so well known, which I had 
 from persons who knew him when a child, and who now, 
 by a fate not unusual to courtiers, spend a life of poverty 
 and retirement, and talk over in raptures all the actions 
 of their old victorious king, companion, and master. 
 
 Courage and inflexible constancy formed the basis of 
 this monarch's character. In his tenderest years he gave 
 instances of both. When he was yet scarce seven years 
 old, being at dinner with the queen his mother, intend- 
 ing to give a bit of bread to a great dog he was fond of, 
 this hungry animal snapped too greedily at the morsel, 
 and bit his hand in a terrible manner. The wound bled 
 copiously, but our young hero, without offering to cry, 
 or taking the least notice of his misfortune, endeavoured 
 to conceal what had happened, lest his dog should be 
 brought into trouble, and wrapped his bloody hand in 
 the napkin. The queen, perceiving that he did not eat, 
 asked him the reason. He contented himself with 
 replying, that he thanked her, he was not hungry. They 
 thought he was taken ill, and so repeated their solicita- 
 tions. But all was in vain, though the poor child was 
 already grown pale with the loss of blood. An officer who 
 
CHARLES XII 15 
 
 attended at table at last perceived it ; for Charles would 
 sooner have died than betrayed his dog, who, he knew, 
 intended no injury. 
 
 At another time, when in the small-pox, and his case 
 appeared dangerous, he grew one day very uneasy in 
 his bed, and a gentleman who watched him, desirous of 
 covering him up close, received from the patient a violent 
 box on his ear. Some hours after, observing the prince 
 more calm, he entreated to know how he had incurred his 
 displeasure, or what he had done to have merited 
 a blow. * A blow,' replied Charles, ' I don't remember 
 ' anything of it ; I remember, indeed, that I thought 
 ' myself in the battle of Arbela, fighting for Darius, 
 * where I gave Alexander a blow, which brought him to 
 ' the ground.' 
 
 What great effects might not these two qualities of 
 courage and constancy have produced, had they at first 
 received a just direction. Charles, with proper instruc- 
 tion, thus naturally disposed, would have been the delight 
 and the glory of his age. Happy those princes, who are 
 educated by men who are at once virtuous and wise, 
 and have been for some time in the school of affliction ; 
 who weigh happiness against glory, and teach their 
 royal pupils the real value of fame ; who are ever show- 
 ing the superior dignity of man to that of royalty ; 
 that a peasant who does his duty is a nobler character 
 than a king of even middling reputation. Happy, I say, 
 were princes, could such men be found to instruct them ; 
 but those to whom such an education is generally 
 entrusted, are men who themselves have acted in a 
 sphere too high to know mankind. Puffed up themselves 
 with ideas of false grandeur, and measuring merit by 
 adventitious circumstances of greatness, they generally 
 communicate those fatal prejudices to their pupils, 
 confirm their pride by adulation, or increase their 
 
16 THE BEE 
 
 ignorance by teaching them to despise that wisdom 
 which is found among the poor. 
 
 But not to moralize when I only intend a story, — 
 what is related of the journeys of this prince is no less 
 astonishing. He has sometimes been on horseback for 
 four and twenty hours successively, and thus traversed 
 the greatest part of his kingdom. At last none of his 
 officers were found capable of following him ; he thus 
 consequently rode the greatest part of these journeys 
 quite alone, without taking a moment's repose, and 
 without any other subsistence but a bit of bread. In 
 one of these rapid courses he underwent an adventure 
 singular enough. Riding thus post one day, all alone, 
 he had the misfortune to have his horse fall dead under 
 him. This might have embarrassed an ordinary man, 
 but it gave Charles no sort of uneasiness. Sure of finding 
 another horse, but not equally so of meeting with a good 
 saddle and pistols, he ungirds his horse, claps the whole 
 equipage on his own back, and thus accoutred, marches 
 on to the next inn, which by good fortune was not far 
 off. Entering the stable, he here found a horse entirely 
 to his mind ; so, without further ceremony, he clapped 
 on his saddle and housing with great composure, and was 
 just going to mount, when the gentleman who owned 
 the horse was apprised of a stranger's going to steal his 
 property out of the stable. Upon asking the king, 
 whom he had never seen, bluntly, how he presumed to 
 meddle with his horse, Charles coolly replied, squeezing 
 in his lips, which was his usual custom, that he took the 
 horse because he wanted one ; ' for you see,' continued 
 he, * if I have none, I shall be obliged to carry the saddle 
 ^ myself.' This answer did not seem at all satisfactory 
 to the gentleman, who instantly drew his sword. In this 
 the king was not much behindhand with him, and to it 
 they were going, when the guards, by this time, came 
 
CHARLES XII 17 
 
 up, and testified that surprise which was natural, to 
 see arms in the hand of a subject against his king. 
 Imagine whether the gentleman was less surprised than 
 they at his unpremeditated disobedience. His astonish- 
 ment, however, was soon dissipated by the king, who, 
 taking him by the hand, assured him he was a brave 
 fellow, and himself would take care he should be provided 
 for. This promise was afterwards fulfilled ; and I have 
 been assured the king made him a captain. 
 
 I am. Sir, &c. 
 
 ON OUR THEATRES 
 
 Mademoiselle Clairon, a celebrated actress at Paris, 
 seems to me the most perfect female figure I have ever 
 seen upon any stage. Not, perhaps, that nature has been 
 more liberal of personal beauty to her, than some to be 
 seen upon our theatres at home. There are actresses 
 here who have as much of what connoisseurs call statuary 
 grace, by which is meant elegance unconnected with 
 motion, as she ; but they all fall infinitely short of her, 
 when the soul comes to give expression to the limbs, 
 and animates every feature. 
 
 Her first appearance is excessively engaging ; she 
 never comes in staring round upon the company, as if 
 she intended to count the benefits of the house, or at 
 least to see, as well as be seen. Her eyes are always, 
 at first, intently fixed upon the persons of the drama, and 
 she lifts them by degrees, with enchanting diffidence, 
 upon the spectators. Her first speech, or at least the 
 first part of it, is delivered with scarce any motion of 
 the arm ; her hands and her tongue never set out 
 together ; but the one prepares us for the other. She 
 sometimes begins wdth a mute, eloquent attitude ; but 
 never goes forward all at once with hands, eyes, head, 
 
18 THE BEE 
 
 and voice. This observation, though it may appear of 
 no importance, should certainly be adverted to ; nor 
 do I see any one performer (Garrick only excepted) 
 among us, that is not, in this particular, apt to offend. 
 By this simple beginning she gives herself a power of 
 rising in the passion of the scene. As she proceeds, 
 every gesture, every look acquires new violence, till at 
 last transported, she fills the whole vehemence of the 
 part, and all the idea of the poet. 
 
 Her hands are not alternately stretched out, and then 
 drawn in again, as with the singing women at Sadler's 
 Wells ; they are employed with graceful variety, and 
 every moment please with new and unexpected eloquence. 
 Add to this, that their motion is generally from the 
 shoulder ; she never flourishes her hands while the upper 
 part of her arm is motionless, nor has she the ridiculous 
 appearance, as if her elbows were pinned to her hips. 
 
 But of all the cautions to be given our rising actresses, 
 I would particularly recommend it to them never to 
 take notice of the audience, upon any occasion whatso- 
 ever ; let the spectators applaud never so loudly, their 
 praises should pass, except at the end of the epilogue, 
 with seeming inattention. I can never pardon a lady 
 on the stage who, when she draws the admiration of the 
 whole audience, turns about to make them a low curtsy 
 for their applause. Such a figure no longer continues 
 Belvidera, but at once drops into Mrs. Gibber. Suppose 
 a sober tradesman, who once a year takes his shillings- 
 worth at Drury Lane, in order to be delighted with the 
 figure of a queen, the Queen of Sheba for instance, or 
 any other queen : this honest man has no other idea of 
 the great but from their superior pride and impertinence : 
 suppose such a man placed among the spectators, the 
 first figure that presents on the stage is the queen herself, 
 curtsying and cringing to all the company ; how can 
 
ON OUR THEATRES 19 
 
 he fancy her the haughty favourite of King Solomon 
 the wise, who appears actually more submissive than the 
 wife of his bosom. We are all tradesmen of a nicer 
 relish in this respect, and such a conduct must disgust 
 every spectator who loves to have the illusion of nature 
 strong upon him. 
 
 Yet, while I recommend, to our actresses a skilful 
 attention to gesture, I would not have them study it 
 in the looking-glass. This, without some precaution, 
 will render their action formal ; by too great an intimacy 
 with this, they become stiff and affected. People seldom 
 improve, when they have no other model but themselves 
 to copy after. I remember to have known a notable 
 performer of the other sex, who made great use of this 
 flattering monitor ; and yet was one of the stiffest 
 figures I ever saw. I am told his apartment was hung 
 round with looking-glass, that he might see his person 
 twenty times reflected upon entering the room ; and 
 I will make bold to say, he saw twenty very ugly fellows 
 whenever he did so. 
 
 :^' 
 
 Number III. Saturday, October 20, 1759. 
 THE HISTORY OF HYPATIA 
 
 Man, when secluded from society, is not a more solitary 
 b^ing than the woman who leaves the duties of her own 
 ^x to invade the privileges of ours. She seems, in such 
 
 ^^circumstances, like one in banishment ; she appears like 
 a neutral being between the sexes ; and though she may 
 have the admiration of both, she finds true happiness 
 from neither. 
 
 Of all the ladies of antiquity, I have read of none 
 who was ever more justly celebrated than the beautiful 
 
 • Hypatia, the daughter of Theon the philosopher. This 
 
20 THE BEE 
 
 most accomplished of women was born at Alexandria, in 
 the reign of Theodosius the younger. Nature was never 
 more lavish of its gifts than it had been to her, endued 
 as she was with the most exalted understanding, and the 
 happiest turn to science. Education completed what 
 nature had begun, and made her the prodigy not only of 
 her age, but the glory of her sex. 
 
 From her father she learned geometry and astronomy ; 
 she collected from the conversation and schools of the 
 other philosophers, for which Alexandria was at that 
 time famous, the principles of the rest of the sciences. 
 
 What cannot be conquered by natural penetration 
 and a passion for study ? The boundless knowledge 
 which, at that period of time, was required to form the 
 character of a philosopher no way discouraged her ; she 
 delivered herself up to the study of Aristotle and Plato, 
 and soon not one in all Alexandria understood so per- 
 fectly as she all the difficulties of these two philosophers. 
 
 But not their systems alone, but those of every other 
 sect, were quite familiar to her ; and to this knowledge 
 she added that of polite learning, and the art of oratory. 
 All the learning which it was possible for the human 
 mind to contain, being joined to a most enchanting 
 eloquence, rendered this lady the wonder not only of 
 the populace, who easily admire, but of philosophers 
 themselves, who are seldom fond of admiration. 
 
 The city of Alexandria was every day crowded with 
 strangers, who came from all parts of Greece and Asia 
 to see and hear her. As for the charms of her person, 
 they might not probably have been mentioned, did she 
 not join to a beauty the most striking, a virtue that 
 might repress the most assuming ; and though in the 
 whole capital, famed for charms, there was not one who 
 could equal her in beauty ; though in a city, the resort 
 of all the learning then existing in the world, there 
 
THE HISTORY OF HYPATIA 21 
 
 was not one who could equal her in knowledge ; yet, 
 with such accomplishments, Hypatia was the most modest 
 of her sex. Her reputation for virtue was not less than 
 her virtues ; and, though in a city divided between two 
 factions, though visited by the wits and the philosophers 
 of the age, calumny never dared to suspect her morals, 
 or attempt her character. Both the Christians and 
 the Heathens who have transmitted her history and her 
 misfortunes, have but one voice, when they speak of 
 her beauty, her knowledge, and her virtue. Nay, so 
 much harmony reigns in their accounts of this prodigy 
 of perfection, that, in spite of the opposition of their 
 faith, we should never have been able to judge of what 
 religion was Hypatia, were we not informed, from other 
 circumstances, that she was a heathen. Providence 
 had taken so much pains in forming her, that we are 
 almost induced to complain of its not having endeavoured 
 to make her a Christian ; but from this complaint we 
 are deterred by a thousand contrary observations, which 
 lead us to reverence its inscrutable mysteries. 
 
 This great reputation, which she so justly was possessed 
 of, was at last, however, the occasion of her ruin. 
 
 The person who then possessed the patriarchate of 
 Alexandria was equally remarkable for his violence, 
 cruelty, and pride. Conducted by an ill-grounded zeal 
 for the Christian religion, or perhaps desirous of 
 augmenting his authority in the cit}^, he had long medi- 
 tated the banishment of the Jews. A difference arising 
 between them and the Christians with respect to some 
 public games, seemed to him a proper juncture for putting 
 his ambitious designs into execution. He found no 
 difficulty in exciting the people, naturally disposed to 
 revolt. The prefect who, at that time, commanded the 
 city, interposed on this occasion, and thought it just to 
 put one of the chief creatures of the patriarch to the 
 
22 THE BEE 
 
 torture, in order to discover the first promoter of the 
 conspiracy. The patriarch, enraged at the injustice he 
 thought offered to his character and dignity, and piqued 
 at the protection which was offered to the Jews, sent 
 for the chiefs of the synagogue, and enjoined them to 
 renounce their designs, upon pain of incurring his highest 
 displeasure. 
 
 The Jews, far from fearing his menaces, excited new 
 tumults, in which several citizens had the misfortune 
 to fall. The patriarch could no longer contain : at the 
 head of a numerous body of Christians, he flew to the 
 synagogues, which he demolished, and drove the Jews 
 from a city, of which they had been possessed since the 
 times of Alexander the Great. It may be easily imagined 
 that the prefect could not behold, without pain, his 
 jurisdiction thus insulted, and the city deprived of a 
 number of its most industrious inhabitants. 
 
 The affair was therefore brought before the emperor. 
 The patriarch complained of the excesses of the Jews, 
 and the prefect of the outrages of the patriarch. At 
 this very juncture, five hundred monks of Mount Nitria, 
 imagining the life of their chief to be in danger, and that 
 their religion was threatened in his fall, flew into the 
 city with ungovernable rage, attacked the prefect in the 
 streets, and, not content with loading him with reproaches, 
 wounded him in several places. 
 
 The citizens had by this time notice of the fury of the 
 monks ; they, therefore, assembled in a body, put the 
 monks to flight, seized on him who had been found 
 throwing a stone, and delivered him to the prefect, 
 who caused him to be put to death without farther delay. 
 
 The patriarch immediately ordered the dead body, 
 which had been exposed to view, to be taken down, 
 procured for it all the pomp and rites of burial, and went 
 even so far as himself to pronounce the funeral oration, 
 
THE HISTORY OF HYPATIA 23 
 
 in which he classed a seditious monk among the martyrs. 
 This conduct was by no means generally approved of ; 
 the most moderate even among the Christians per- 
 ceived and blamed his indiscretion ; but he was now 
 too far advanced to retire. He had made several over- 
 tures towards a reconciliation with the prefect, which 
 not succeeding, he bore all those an implacable hatred 
 whom he imagined to have any hand in traversing his 
 designs ; but Hypatia was particularly destined to ruin. 
 She could not find pardon, as she was known to have 
 a most refined friendship for the prefect ; wherefore the 
 populace were incited against her. Peter, a reader of 
 the principal church, one of those vile slaves by which 
 men in power are too frequently attended — wretches 
 ever ready to commit any crime which they hope may 
 render them agreeable to their employer, — this fellow, 
 I say, attended by a crowd of villains, waited for Hypatia, 
 as she was returning from a visit, at her own door, 
 seized her as she was going in, and dragged her to one 
 of the churches called Cesarea, where, stripping her in 
 the most inhuman manner, they exercised the most 
 inhuman cruelties upon her, cut her into pieces, and burnt 
 her remains to ashes. Such was the end of Hypatia, the 
 glory of her own sex, and the astonishment of ours. 
 
 SOME PARTICULARS RELATING TO 
 FATHER FREIJO 
 
 Primus mortales toilers contra 
 Est oculos ausus, jyrimusque assurgere contra. 
 
 LucR. 
 
 The Spanish nation has, for many centuries past, 
 been remarkable for the grossest ignorance in polite litera- 
 ture, especially in point of natural philosophy ; a science 
 so useful to mankind, that her neighbours have ever 
 esteemed it a matter of the greatest importance to 
 
24 THE BEE 
 
 endeavour, by repeated experiments, to strike a light 
 out of the chaos in which truth seemed to be confounded. 
 Their curiosity, in this respect, was so indifferent, that, 
 though they had discovered new worlds, they were at 
 a loss to explain the phenomena of their own, and their 
 pride so unaccountable, that they disdained to bor- 
 row from others that instruction which their natural 
 indolence permitted them not to acquire. 
 
 It gives me, however, a secret satisfaction to behold 
 an extraordinary genius now existing in that nation, 
 whose studious endeavours seem calculated to undeceive 
 the superstitious, and instruct the ignorant : I mean 
 the celebrated Padre Frei jo . In unravelling the mysteries 
 of nature, and explaining physical experiments, he takes 
 an opportunity of displaying the concurrence of second 
 causes, in those very wonders which the vulgar ascribe 
 to supernatural influence. 
 
 An example of this kind happened a few years ago, 
 in a small town of the kingdom of Valencia. Passing 
 through at the hour of mass, he alighted from his mule, 
 and proceeded to the parish church, which he found 
 extremely crowded, and there appeared on the faces of 
 the faithful a more than usual alacrity. The sun, it 
 seems, which had been for some minutes under a cloud, 
 had begun to shine on a large crucifix, that stood on 
 the middle of the altar, studded with several precious 
 stones. The reflection from these, and from the diamond 
 eyes of some silver saints, so dazzled the multitude, 
 that they unanimously cried out, ' A miracle ! a miracle ! ' 
 whilst the priest at the altar, with seeming consternation, 
 continued his heavenly conversation. Padre Freijo soon 
 dissipated the charm, by tying his handkerchief round 
 the head of one of the statues, for which he was arraigned 
 by the Inquisition ; whose flames, however, he has had 
 the good fortune hitherto to escape. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS 25 
 
 Number IV. Saturday, October 27, 1759. 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS 
 
 Were I to measure the merit of my present under- 
 taking by its success, or the rapidity of its sale, I might 
 be led to form conclusions by no means favourable to 
 the pride of an author. Should I estimate my fame 
 by its extent, every newspaper and every magazine 
 would leave me far behind. Their fame is diffused in 
 a very wide circle — that of some as far as Islington, and 
 some yet farther still ; while mine, I sincerely believe, 
 has hardly travelled beyond the sound of Bow bell ; 
 and while the works of others fly like unpinioned swans, 
 I find my own move as heavily as a new-plucked goose. 
 
 Still, however, I have as much pride as they who have 
 ten times as many readers. It is impossible to repeat all 
 the agreeable delusions in which a disappointed author 
 is apt to find comfort. I conclude, that what my reputa- 
 tion wants in extent, is made up by its solidity. Minus 
 juvat Gloria lata quam magna. I have great satisfaction 
 in considering the delicacy and discernment of those 
 readers I have, and in ascribing my want of popularity 
 to the ignorance or inattention of those I have not. All 
 the world may forsake an author, but vanity will never 
 forsake him. 
 
 Yet notwithstanding so sincere a confession, I w^as 
 once induced to show my indignation against the public, 
 by discontinuing my endeavours to please ; and was 
 bravely resolved, like Raleigh, to vex them, by burning 
 my manuscript in a passion. Upon recollection, however, 
 I considered what set or body of people would be dis- 
 pleased at my rashness . The sun, after so sad an accident, 
 might shine next morning as bright as usual ; men 
 might laugh and sing the next day, and transact business 
 
20 THE BEE 
 
 as before, and not a single creature feel any regret but 
 myself. 
 
 I reflected upon the story of a minister, who, in the 
 reign of Charles II, upon a certain occasion resigned 
 all his posts, and retired into the country in a fit of 
 resentment. But as he had not given the world entirely 
 up with his ambition, he sent a messenger to town, to 
 see how the courtiers would bear his resignation. Upon 
 the messenger's return, he was asked whether there 
 appeared any commotions at court ? To which he 
 replied, ' There were very great ones.' ' Aye,' says the 
 minister, ' I knew my friends would make a bustle ; 
 'all petitioning the king for my restoration, I presume? ' 
 'No, Sir,' replied the messenger/ they are only petitioning 
 * his majesty to be put in your place.' In the same 
 manner, should I retire in indignation, instead of having 
 Apollo in mourning, or the Muses in a fit of the spleen ; 
 instead of having the learned world apostrophizing at 
 my untimely decease, perhaps all Grub Street might 
 laugh at my fall, and self -approving dignity might never 
 be able to shield me from ridicule. In short, I am 
 resolved to write on, if it were only to spite them. If 
 •the present generation will not hear my voice, hearken, 
 posterity, to you I call, and from you I expect redress ! 
 What rapture will it not give to have the Scaligers, 
 Daciers, and Warburtons of future times commenting 
 with admiration upon every line I now write, working 
 away those ignorant creatures who offer to arraign my 
 merit with all the virulence of learned reproach. Aye, 
 my friends, let thorn feel it ; call names ; never spare 
 them ; they deserve it all, and ten times more. I have 
 been told of a critic, who was crucified, at the command 
 of another, to the reputation of Homer. That, no doubt, 
 was more than poetical justice, and I shall be perfectly 
 content if those who criticize me are only clapped in the 
 
MISCELLANEOUS 27 
 
 pillor}^, kept fifteen days upon bread and water, and 
 obliged to run tlie gantlope through Paternoster Row, 
 The t-ruth is, I can expect happiness from posterity 
 either way. If I write ill, happy in being forgotten ; 
 if well, happy in being remembered with respect. 
 
 Yet, considering things in a prudential light, perhaps 
 I was mistaken in designing my paper as an agreeable 
 relaxation to the studious, or a help to conversation 
 among the gay ; instead of addressing it to such, I 
 should have written down to the taste and apprehension 
 of the many, and sought for reputation on the broad road. 
 Literary fame, I now find, like religious, generally begins 
 among the vulgar. As for the polite, they are so very 
 polite, as never to applaud upon any account. One 
 of these, with a face screwed up into affectation, tells you, 
 that fools may admire, but men of sense only approve. 
 Thus, lest he should rise into rapture at anything new, 
 he keeps down every passion but pride and self-impor- 
 tance ; approves with phlegm, and the poor author is 
 damned in the taking a pinch of snuff. Another has 
 written a book himself, and being condemned for a dunce, 
 he turns a sort of king's evidence in criticism, and now 
 becomes the terror of every offender. A third, possessed 
 of full-grown reputation, shades off every beam of favour 
 from those who endeavour to grow beneath him, and 
 keeps down that merit, which, but for his influence, 
 might rise into equal eminence. While others, still 
 worse, peruse old books for their amusement, and new 
 books only to condemn ; so that the public seem heartily 
 sick of all but the business of the day, and read every° 
 thing new with as little attention as they examine the 
 faces of the passing crowd. 
 
 From these considerations I was once determined to 
 throw off all connexions with taste, and fairly address 
 my countrymen in the same engaging style and manner 
 
28 THE BEE 
 
 with other periodical pamphlets, much more in vogue 
 than probably mine shall ever be. To effect this, I had 
 thoughts of changing the title into that of the Royal 
 Bee, the Anti-gallican Bee, or the Bee's Magazine. 
 I had laid in a proper stock of popular topics, such as 
 encomiums on the King of Prussia, invectives against 
 the Queen of Hungary and the French, the necessity of 
 a militia, our undoubted sovereignty of the seas, reflec- 
 tions upon the present state of affairs, a dissertation 
 upon liberty, some seasonable thoughts upon the intended 
 bridge of Blackfriars, and an address to Britons. The 
 history of an old woman, whose teeth grew three inches 
 long, an ode upon our victories, a rebus, an acrostic 
 upon Miss Peggy P., and a journal of the weather. All 
 this, together with four extraordinary pages of letter -pr ess y 
 a beautiful map of England, and two prints curiously 
 coloured from nature, I fancied might touch their very 
 souls. I was actually beginning an address to the people, 
 when my pride at last overcame my prudence, and 
 determined me to endeavour to please by the goodness 
 of my entertainment, rather than by the magnificence 
 of my sign. 
 
 The Spectator, and many succeeding essayists, fre- 
 quently inform us of the numerous compliments paid 
 them in the course of their lucubrations ; of the frequent 
 encouragements they met to inspire them with ardour, 
 and increase their eagerness to please. I have received 
 my letters as well as they ; but alas ! not congratulatory 
 ones ; not assuring me of success and favour ; but 
 pregnant with bodings that might shake even fortitude 
 itself. 
 
 One gentleman assures me, he intends to throw away 
 no more threepences in purchasing the Bee ; and what 
 is still more dismal, he will not recommend me as a poor 
 author wanting encouragement to his neighbourhood, 
 
MISCELLANEOUS 29 
 
 which it seems is very numerous. Were my soul set upon 
 threepences, what anxiety might not such a denunciation 
 produce ! But such does not happen to be the present "' 
 motive of publication : I write partly to show my 
 good nature, and partly to show my vanity ; nor will 
 I lay down the pen till I am satisfied one way or another. 
 
 Others have disliked the title and the motto of my 
 paper ; point out a mistake in the one, and assure me the u€ 
 other has been consigned to dullness by anticipation. All /^j^ 
 this may be true ; hut what is that to me ? Titles and ^^3^ 
 mottoes to books are like escutcheons and dignities in f^ 
 the hands of a king. The wise sometimes condescend to 
 accept of them ; but none but a fool will imagine them 
 of any real importance. We ought to depend upon 
 intrinsic merit, and not the slender helps of title. Nam 
 qitae non fecimus ipsi, vix ea nostra voco. 
 
 For my part, I am ever ready to mistrust a promising 
 title, and have, at some expense, been instructed not 
 to hearken to the voice of an advertisement, let it plead 
 never so loudly, or never so long. A countryman coming 
 one day to Smithfield, in order to take a slice of Bartholo- 
 mew Fair, found a perfect show before every booth. The 
 drummer, the fire-^ater, the wire- walker, and the salt- 
 box, were all employed to invite him in. Just a going ; 
 the court of the King of Prussia in all his glory ; pray, 
 gentlemen, walk in and see. From people who generously 
 gave so much away, the clown expected a monstrous 
 bargain for his money when he got in. He steps up, pays 
 his sixpence, the curtain is drawn ; when, too late, he 
 finds that he had the best part of the show for nothing 
 at the door. 
 
30 THE BEE 
 
 A FLEMISH TRADITION 
 
 Every country has its traditions, which, either too 
 minute or not sufficiently authentic to receive historical 
 sanction, are handed down among the vulgar, and 
 serve at once to instruct and amuse them. Of this 
 number the adventures of Robin Hood, the hunting of 
 Chevy Chace, and the bravery of Johnny Armstrong, 
 among the English ; of Kaul Dereg, among the Irish ; 
 and Creighton, among the Scots, are instances. Of all 
 the traditions, however, I remember to have heard, 
 I do not recollect any more remarkable than one still 
 current in Flanders ; a story generally the first the 
 peasants tell their children, when they bid them behave 
 like Bidderman the wise. It is by no means, however, 
 a model to be set before a polite people for imitation ; 
 since if, on the one hand, we perceive in it the steady 
 influence of patriotism ; we, on the other, find as strong 
 a desire of revenge. But, to waive introduction, let us 
 to the story. 
 
 When the Saracens overran Europe with their armies, 
 and penetrated as far even as Antwerp, Bidderman was 
 lord of a city, which time has since swept into destruc- 
 tion. As the inhabitants of this country were divided 
 under separate leaders, the Saracens found an easy 
 conquest, and the city of Bidderman, among the rest, 
 became a prey to the victors. 
 
 Thus dispossessed of his paternal city, our unfortunate 
 governor was obliged to seek refuge from the neighbour- 
 ing princes, who were as yet unsubdued, and he for some 
 time lived in a state of wretched dependence among 
 them. 
 
 Soon, however, his love to his native country brought 
 him back to his own city, resolved to rescue it from the 
 enemy, or fall in the attempt : thus, in disguise, he went 
 
A FLEMISH TRADITION 31 
 
 among the inhabitants, and endeavoured, but in vain, 
 to excite them to a revolt. Former misfortunes lay so 
 heavily on their minds, that they rather chose to suffer 
 the most cruel bondage, than attempt to vindicate 
 their former freedom. 
 
 As he was thus one day employed, whether by informa- 
 tion or from suspicion is not known, he was appre- 
 hended by a Saracen soldier as a spy, and brought 
 before the very tribunal at which he once presided. 
 The account he gave of himself was by no means satis- 
 factory. He could produce no friends to vindicate his 
 character ; wherefore, as the Saracens knew not their 
 prisoner, and as they had no direct proofs against him, 
 they were content with condemning him to be publicly 
 whipped as a vagabond. 
 
 The execution of this sentence was accordingly per- 
 formed with the utmost rigour. Bidderman was bound 
 to the post, the executioner seeming disposed to add to 
 the cruelty of the sentence, as he received no bribe for 
 lenity. Whenever Bidderman groaned under the scourge, 
 the other, only redoubling his blows, cried out. Does the 
 villain murmur ? If Bidderman entreated but a mo- 
 ment's respite from torture, the other only repeated his 
 former exclamation. Does the villain murmur ? 
 
 From this period, revenge, as well as patriotism, took 
 entire possession of his soul. His fury stooped so low as 
 to follow the executioner with unremitting resentment. 
 But, conceiving that the best method to attain these 
 ends was to acquire some eminence in the city, he laid 
 himself out to oblige its new masters, studied every art, 
 and practised every meanness, that serve to promote 
 the needy, or render the poor pleasing ; and by these 
 means, in a few years, he came to be of some note in the 
 city, which justly belonged entirely to him. 
 
 The executioner was, therefore, the first object of hie 
 
32 THE BEE 
 
 resentment, and he even practised the lowest fraud to 
 gratify the revenge he owed him. A piece of plate, 
 which Bidderman had j)reviously stolen from the Saracen 
 governor, he privately conveyed into the executioner's 
 house, and then gave information of the theft. They 
 who are any way acquainted with the rigour of the 
 Arabian laws, know that theft is punished with immediate 
 death. The proof was direct in this case ; the execu» 
 tioner had nothing to offer in his own defence, and he 
 was therefore condemned to be beheaded upon a scaffold 
 in the public market-place. As there was no executioner 
 in the city but the very man who was now to suffer, 
 Bidderman himself undertook this, to him^ most agree- 
 able office. The criminal was conducted from the 
 judgement-seat, bound with cords. The scaffold was 
 erected, and he placed in such a manner as he might lie 
 most convenient for the blow. 
 
 But his death alone was not sufficient to satisfy the 
 resentment of this extraordinary man, unless it was 
 aggravated with every circumstance of cruelty. Where- 
 fore, coming up the scaffold, and disposing everything 
 in readiness for the intended blow, with the sword in 
 his hand he approached the criminal, and whispering 
 in a low voice, assured him, that he himself was the 
 very person that had once been used with so much 
 cruelty ; that to his knowledge, he died very innocently, 
 for the plate had been stolen by himself, and privately 
 conveyed into the house of the other. 
 
 ' O, my countrymen,' cried the criminal, "" do you 
 
 * hear what this man says ? ' Does the villain murmur ? 
 
 replied Bidderman, and immediately, at one blow, 
 severed his head from his body. 
 
 Still, however, he was not content till he had ample 
 vengeance of the governois of the city, who condemned 
 him. To effect this, he hired a small house, adjoining 
 
A FLEMISH TRADITION 33 
 
 to the town wall, under which he every day dug, and 
 carried out the earth in a basket. In this unremitting 
 labour, he continued several years, every day digging 
 a little, and carrying the earth unsuspected away. 
 By this means he at last made a secret communication 
 from the country into the city, and only wanted the 
 appearance of an enemy, in order to betray it. This 
 opportunity, at length, offered ; the French army came 
 into the neighbourhood, but had no thoughts of sitting 
 down before a town which they considered as impregnable. 
 Bidderman, however, soon altered their resolutions, 
 and, upon communicating his plan to the General, he 
 embraced it with ardour. Through the private passage 
 above mentioned, he introduced a large body of the most 
 resolute soldiers, who soon opened the gates for the rest, 
 and the whole army rushing in, put every Saracen that 
 was found to the sword. 
 
 THE SAGACITY OF SOME INSECTS 
 
 To THE Author of the Bee 
 
 Sir, 
 
 Animals, in general, are sagacious in proportion 
 as they cultivate society. The elephant and the beaver 
 show the greatest signs of this when united ; but when 
 man intrudes into their communities, they lose all their 
 spirit of industry, and testify but a very small share of 
 that sagacity, for which, when in a social state, they 
 are so remarkable. 
 
 Among insects, the labours of the bee and the ant 
 have employed the attention and admiration of the 
 naturalist ; but their whole sagacity is lost upon 
 separation, and a single bee or ant seems destitute of 
 every degree of industry, is the most stupid insect 
 
 GOLDSMITH. Ill Q 
 
34 THE BEE 
 
 imaginable, languishes for a time in solitude, and soon 
 dieSo 
 
 Of all the solitary insects I have ever remarked, the 
 spider is the most sagacious ; and its actions to me, who 
 have attentively considered them, seem almost to exceed 
 beliefs This insect is formed by nature for a state of 
 war^ not only upon other insects, but upon each other. 
 "For this state nature seems perfectly well to have 
 formed it. Its head and breast are covered with a strong 
 natural coat of mail, which is impenetrable to the 
 attempts of every other insect, and its belly is enveloped 
 in a soft pliant skin, which eludes the sting even of 
 a waspo Its legs are terminated by strong claws, not 
 unlike those of a lobster, and their vast length, like 
 spears, serves to keep every assailant at a distance. 
 
 Not worse furnished for observation than for an attack 
 or a defence, it has several eyes, large, transparent, and 
 covered with a horny substance, which, however, does 
 not impede its vision. Besides this, it is furnished with 
 a forceps above the mouth, which serves to kill or secure 
 the prey already caught in its claws or its net. 
 
 Such are the implements of war with which the body 
 is immediately furnished ; but its net to entangle the 
 enemy seems what it chiefly trusts to, and what it 
 takes most pains to render as complete as possible. 
 Nature has furnished the body of this little creature 
 with a glutinous liquid, which, proceeding from the anus, 
 it spins into a thread, coarser or finer as it chooses to 
 contract or dilate its sphincter. In order to fix its 
 thread when it begins to weave, it emits a small drop of 
 its liquid against the wall, which, hardening by degrees, 
 serves to hold the thread very firmly. Then receding 
 from the first point, as it recedes the thread lengthens ; 
 and when the spider has come to the place where the 
 other end of the thread should be fixed, gathering up 
 
THE SAGACITY OF SOME INSECTS 35 
 
 with its claws the thread which would otherwise be too 
 slack, it is stretched tightly, and fixed in the same 
 manner to the wall as before. 
 
 In this manner it spins and fixes several threads 
 parallel to each other, which, so to speak, serve as the 
 warp to the intended web. To form the woof, it spins 
 in the same manner its thread, transversely fixing one 
 end to the first thread that was spun, and which is always 
 the strongest of the whole web, and the other to the wall. 
 All these threads, being newly spun, are glutinous, and 
 therefore stick to each other wherever they happen to 
 touch, and in those parts of the web most exposed to be 
 torn, our natural artist strengthens them, by doubling 
 the threads sometimes sixfold. 
 
 Thus far naturalists have gone in the description of 
 this animal ; what follows is the result of my own 
 observation upon that species of the insect called 
 a House-Spider, I perceived about four years ago, 
 a large spider in one corner of my room, making its 
 web ; and though the maid frequently levelled her fatal 
 broom against the labours of the little animal, I had the 
 good fortune then to prevent its destruction ; and I may 
 say, it more than paid me by the entertainment it 
 afforded. 
 
 In three days the web was, with incredible diligence, 
 completed ; nor could I avoid thinking that the insect 
 seemed to exult in its new abode. It frequently traversed 
 it round, examined the strength of every part of it, 
 retired into its hole, and came out very frequently. The 
 first enemy, however, it had to encounter, was another 
 and a much larger spider, which, having no web of its 
 own, and having probably exhausted all its stock in 
 former labours of this kind, came to invade the property 
 of its neighbour. Soon then a terrible encounter ensued, 
 in which the invader seemed to have the victory, and 
 
36 THE BEE 
 
 the laborious spider was obliged to take refuge in its 
 hole. Upon this I perceived the victor using every art to 
 draw the enemy from his stronghold. He seemed to go off, 
 but quickly returned ; and when he found all arts vain, 
 began to demolish the new web without mercy. This 
 brought on another battle, and, contrary to my expecta- 
 tions, the laborious spider became conqueror, and fairly 
 killed his antagonist. 
 
 Now, then, in peaceable possession of what was justly 
 its own, it waited three days with the utmost patience, 
 repairing the breaches of its web, and taking no suste- 
 nance that I could perceive. At last, however, a large blue 
 fly fell into the snare, and struggled hard to get loose. 
 The spider gave it leave to entangle itself as much as 
 possible, but it seemed to be too strong for the cobweb. 
 I must own I was greatly surprised when I saw the spider 
 immediately sally out, and in less than a minute weave 
 a new net round its captive, by which the motion of 
 its wings was stopped ; and when it was fairly hampered 
 in this manner, it was seized, and dragged into the hole. 
 
 In this manner it lived, in a precarious state ; and 
 nature seemed to have fitted it for such a life, for upon 
 a single fly it subsisted for more than a week. I once 
 put a wasp into the net ; but when the spider came out 
 in order to seize it as usual, upon perceiving what kind 
 of an enemy it had to deal with, it instantly broke all 
 the bands that held it fast, and contributed all that lay 
 in its power to disengage so formidable an antagonist. 
 When the wasp was at liberty, I expected the spider 
 would have set about repairing the breaches that were 
 made in its net, but those it seems were irreparable, 
 wherefore the cobweb was now entirely forsaken, and 
 a new one begun, which was completed in the usual 
 time. 
 
 I had now a mind to try how many cobwebs a single 
 
THE SAGACITY OF SOME INSECTS 37 
 
 spider could furnish ; wherefore I destroyed this^ and the 
 insect set about another. When I destroyed the other 
 also, its whole stock seemed entirely exhausted, and it 
 could spin no more. The arts it made use of to support 
 itself, now deprived of its great means of subsistence, 
 were indeed surprising. I have seen it roll up its legs 
 like a ball, and lie motionless for hours together, but 
 cautiously watching all the time ; when a fly happened 
 to approach sufficiently near, it would dart out all at 
 once, and often seize its prey. 
 
 Of this life, however, it soon began to grow weary, 
 and resolved to invade the possession of some other 
 spider, since it could not make a web of its own. It 
 formed an attack upon a neighbouring fortification with 
 great vigour, and at first was as vigorously repulsed. 
 Not daunted, however, with one defeat, in this manner it 
 continued to lay siege to another's web for three days, 
 and, at length, having killed the defendant, actually took 
 possession. When smaller flies happen to fall into the 
 snare, the spider does not sally out at once, but very 
 patiently waits till it is sure of them ; for, upon his 
 immediately approaching, the terror of his appearance 
 might give the captive strength sufficient to get loose : 
 The manner then is to wait patiently till, by ineffectual 
 and impotent struggles, the captive has wasted all its 
 strength, and then he becomes a certain and an easy 
 conquest. 
 
 The insect I am now describing lived three years ; 
 every year it changed its skin, and got a new set of legs. 
 I have sometimes plucked off a leg, which grew again 
 in two or three days. At first, it dreaded my approach 
 to its web, but at last it became so familiar as to take 
 a fly out of my hand, and upon my touching any part of 
 the web, would immediately leave its hole, prepared 
 either for a defence or an attack. 
 
38 THE BEE 
 
 To complete this description, it may be observed, 
 that the male spiders are much less than the female, and 
 that the latter are oviparous. When they come to lay, 
 they spread a part of their web under the eggs, and then 
 roll them up carefully, as we roll up things in a cloth, 
 and thus hatch them in their hole. If disturbed in their 
 holes, they never attempt to escape without carrying 
 this young brood in their forceps away with them, and 
 thus frequently are sacrificed to their parental affection. 
 
 As soon as ever the young ones leave their artificial 
 covering, they begin to spin, and almost sensibly seem 
 to grow bigger. If they have the good fortune, when even 
 but a day old, to catch a fly, they fall to with good 
 appetites ; but they live sometimes three or four days 
 without any sort of sustenance, and yet still continue 
 to grow larger, so as everyday to double their former size. 
 As they grow old, however, they do not still continue to 
 increase, but their legs only continue to grow longer ; 
 and when a spider becomes entirely stiff with age, and 
 unable to seize its prey, it dies at length of hunger. 
 
 THE CHARACTERISTICS OF GREATNESS 
 
 In every duty, in every science in which we would wish 
 to arrive at perfection, we should propose for the object 
 of our pursuit some certain station even beyond our 
 abilities ; some imaginary excellence, which may amuse 
 and serve to animate our inquiry. In deviating from 
 others, in following an unbeaten road, though we, 
 perhaps, may never arrive at the wished-for object, 
 yet it is possible we may meet several discoveries by the 
 way ; and the certainty of small advantages, even while 
 we travel with security, is not so amusing as the hopes 
 of great rewards, which inspire the adventurer. Evenit 
 
THE CHARACTERISTICS OF GREATNESS 39 
 
 nonnunquam, says Quintilian, ut aliquid grande inveniat 
 qui semper quaerit quod nimium est. 
 
 This enterprising spirit is, however, by no means the 
 character of the present age ; every person who should 
 now leave received opinions, who should attempt to be 
 more than a commentator upon philosophy, or an imitator 
 in polite learning, might be regarded as a chimerical 
 projector. Hundreds would be ready not only to point 
 out his errors, but to load him with reproach. Our") 
 probable opinions are now regarded as certainties ; the i 
 difficulties hitherto undiscovered, as utterly inscrutable ; 
 and the writers of the last age inimitable, and therefore 
 the properest models of imitation. 
 
 One might be almost induced to deplore the philosophic 
 spirit of the age, which in proportion as it enlightens 
 the mind, increases its timidity, and represses the vigour 
 of every undertaking. Men are now content with being 
 prudently in the right ; which, though not the way to 
 make new acquisitions, it must be owned, is the best 
 method of securing what we have. Yet this is certain, 
 that the writer who never deviates, who never hazards 
 a new thought, or a new expression, though his friends 
 may compliment him upon his sagacity, though criticism 
 lifts her feeble voice in his praise, will seldom arrive 
 at any degree of perfection. The way to acquire lasting 
 esteem, is not by the fewness of a writer's faults, but the 
 greatness of his beauties ; and our noblest works are j 
 generally most replete with both. 
 
 An author, who would be sublime, often runs his 
 thought into burlesque ; yet I can readily pardon his 
 mistaking ten times for once succeeding. True Genius 
 walks along a line ; and, perhaps, our greatest pleasure 
 is in seeing it so often near falling, without being ever 
 actually down. 
 
 Every science has its hitherto undiscovered mysteries, 
 
40 THE BEE 
 
 after which men should travel undiscouraged by the 
 failure of former adventurers. Every new attempt 
 serves, perhaps, to facilitate its future invention. We 
 may not find the Philosopher's stone, but we shall 
 probably hit upon new inventions in pursuing it. We 
 shall, perhaps, never be able to discover the longitude, 
 yet, perhaps, we may arrive at new truths in the investi- 
 gation. 
 
 Were any of these sagacious minds among us, (and 
 surely no nation, or no period, could ever compare with 
 us in this particular) were any of those minds, I say, 
 who now sit down contented with exploring the intricacies 
 of another's system, bravely to shake off admiration, 
 and, undazzled with the splendour of another's reputation, 
 to chalk out a path to fame for themselves, and boldly 
 cultivate untried experiment, what might not be the 
 result of their inquiries, should the same study that has 
 made them wise, make them enterprising also ? What 
 could not such qualities, united, produce ? But such is 
 not the character of the English, while our neighbours 
 of the Continent launch out into the ocean of science, 
 without proper stores for the voyage, we fear shipwreck 
 in every breeze, and consume in port those powers 
 which might probably have weathered every storm. 
 
 Projectors in a state are generally rewarded above 
 their deserts ; projectors in the republic of letters, never. 
 If wrong, every inferior dunce thinks himself entitled 
 to laugh at their disappointment ; if right, men of 
 superior talents think their honour engaged to oppose, 
 since every new discovery is a tacit diminution of their 
 own pre-eminence. 
 
 To aim at excellence, our reputation, our friends, and 
 our all, must be ventured ; by aiming only at mediocrity, 
 we run no risk, and we do little service. Prudence and 
 greatness are ever persuading us to contrary pursuits. 
 
THE CHARACTERISTICS OF GREATNESS 41 
 
 The one instructs us to be content with our station, and 
 to find happiness in bounding every wish. The other 
 impels us to superiority, and calls nothing happiness 
 but rapture. The one directs to follow mankind, and to 
 act and think with the rest of the world. The other 
 drives us from the crowd, and exposes us as a mark to 
 all the shafts of envy, or ignorance. 
 
 Nee minus periculum ex magna fama quam ex mala. — Tacit. 
 
 — \ 
 The rewards of mediocrity are immediately paidj 
 
 those attending excellence generally paid in reversion. 
 
 In a word, the little mind who loves itself, will write and 
 
 think with the vulgar, but the great mind will be bravely j 
 
 eccentric, and scorn the beaten road, from universal / 
 
 benevolence. 
 
 A CITY NIGHT-PIECE 
 
 Ille dolet vere, qui sine teste dolet. — Mart. 
 
 The clock has struck two, the expiring taper rises and 
 sinks in the socket, the watchman forgets the hour in 
 slumber, the laborious and the happy are at rest, and 
 nothing now wakes but guilt, revelry and despair. 
 5The drunkard once more fills the destroying bowl,|the 
 robber walks his midnight round, and the suicide lifts 
 his guilty arm against his own sacred person. 
 
 Let me no longer waste the night over the page of 
 antiquity, or the sallies of contemporary genius, but 
 pursue the solitary walk, where vanity, ever changing, 
 but a few hours past, walked before me, where she kept 
 up the pageant, and now, like a fro ward child, seems 
 hushed with her own importunities. 
 
 What a gloom hangs all around ! the dying lamp 
 feebly emits a yellow gleam, no sound is heard but of 
 the chiming clock, or the distant watch-dog. All the 
 
 C3 
 
42 THE BEE 
 
 bustle of human pride is forgotten, and this hour may 
 well display the emptiness of human vanity. 
 
 There may come a time when this temporary solitude 
 may be made continual, and the city itself, like its inhabi- 
 tants, fade away, and leave a desert in its room. 
 
 What cities, as great as this, have once triumphed in 
 existence, had their victories as great as ours, joy as 
 just, and as unbounded as we, and with short-sighted 
 presumption, promised themselves immortality. Pos- 
 l terity can hardly trace the situation of some. The 
 \ sorrowful traveller wanders over the awful ruins of others, 
 and as he beholds, he learns wisdom, and feels the 
 ti*ansience of every sublunary possession. 
 
 Here stood their citadel, but now grown over with 
 weeds ; there their senate-house, but now the haunt of 
 every noxious reptile ; temples and theatres stood here, 
 now only an undistinguished heap of ruin. They are 
 fallen, for luxury and avarice first made them feeble. 
 (The rewards of state were conferred on amusing and 
 not on useful members of society .N Thus true virtue lan- 
 guished, their riches (and opulence) invited the plunderer, 
 who, though once repulsed, returned again, and at last 
 swept the defendants into undistinguished destruction. 
 
 How few appear in those streets, which but some few 
 hours ago were crowded ; and those who appear, no 
 longer now wear their daily mask, nor attempt to hide 
 their lewdness or their misery. 
 
 But who are those who make the streets their couch, 
 and find a short repose from wretchedness at the doors 
 *of the opulent ? These are strangers, wanderers, and 
 orphans, whose circumstances are too humble to expect 
 redress, and their distresses too great even for pity. 
 Some are without the covering even of rags, and others 
 emaciated with disease ; the world seems to have dis- 
 claimed them ; society turns its back upon their distress, 
 
A CITY NIGHT-PIECE 43 
 
 and has given them up to nakedness and hunger. (These 
 poor shivering females have once seen happier days, 
 and been flattered into beauty. j They have been prosti- 
 tuted to the gay luxurious villain, and are now turned 
 out to meet the severity of winter in the streets. Perhaps, 
 now lying at the doors of their betrayers, they sue to 
 wretches whose hearts are insensible to calamity ^^ or 
 debauchees who may curse, but will not relieve them.) 
 
 Why, why was I born a man, and yet see the sufferings 
 of wretches I cannot relieve ! Poor houseless creatures ! 
 the world will give you reproaches, but will not give 
 you relief. The slightest misfortunes, the most imaginary 
 uneasinesses of the rich, are aggravated with all the 
 power of eloquence, and engage our attention ; while 
 you weep unheeded, persecuted by every subordinate 
 species of tyranny, and finding enmity in every law. 
 
 / /why was this heart of mine formed with so much 
 sensibility ! or why was not my fortune adapted to its 
 impulse [^Tenderness, without a capacity of relieving, 
 only makes the heart that feels it more wretched than 
 the object which sues for assistance. 
 
 ^- But let me turn from a scene of such distress to the 
 sanctified hypocrite, who has been talking of virtue till 
 the time of bed, and now steals out, to give a loose to 
 his vices under the protection of midnight ; vices more 
 atrocious, because he attempts to conceal them. See 
 how he pants down the dark alley, and, with hastening 
 steps,/ fears an acquaintance in every face. He has 
 passea the whole day in company he hates, and now goes 
 to prolong the night among company that as heartily 
 hate him. May his vices be detected ; raay the morning 
 rise upon his shame i^yet I wish to no purpose ^ villany, 
 when detected, never gives up, but boldly adds impudence 
 to imposture. 
 
44 THE BEE 
 
 Number V. Saturday, November 3, 1759. 
 UPON POLITICAL FRUGALITY 
 
 Frugality has ever been esteemed a virtue as well 
 among Pagans as Christians : there have been even 
 heroes who have practised it. However, we must acknow- 
 ledge, that it is too modest a virtue, or, if you will, too 
 obscure a one to be essential to heroism ; few heroes 
 have been able to attain to such a height. Frugality 
 agrees much better with politics ; it seems to be the base, 
 
 I the support, and, in a word, seems to be the inseparable 
 
 I companion of a just administration. 
 
 However this be, there is not, perhaps, in the world 
 
 . a people less fond of this virtue than Ihe -English ; and 
 of consequence there is not a nation more restless, more 
 exposed to the uneasinesses of life, or less capable of 
 providing for particular happiness. We are taught to 
 despise this virtue from our childhood ; our education is 
 improperly directed, and a man who has gone through 
 the politest institutions, is generally the person who is 
 least acquainted with the wholesome precepts of 
 frugality. We every day hear the elegance of taste, 
 the magnificence of some, and the generosity of others, 
 made the subject of our admiration and applause. All 
 this we see represented not as the end and recompense of 
 labour and desert, but as the actual result of genius, as 
 the mark of a noble and exalted mind. 
 
 r^ In the midst of these praises bestowed on luxury, for 
 
 •which elegance and taste are but another name, perhaps 
 it may be thought improper to plead the cause of frugality. 
 It may be thought low, or vainly declamatory, to exhort 
 our youth from the follies of dress, and of every other 
 superfluity ; to accustom themselves, even with mechanic 
 meanness, to the simple necessaries of life. Such sort 
 of instructions may appear antiquated ; yet, however, 
 
UPON POLITICAL FRUGALITY 45 
 
 they seem the foundations of all our virtues, and the 
 most efficacious method of making mankind useful 
 members of society. Unhappily, however, such discourses 
 are not fashionable among us, and the fashion seems 
 every day growing still more obsolete, since the press, 
 and every other method of exhortation, seems disposed 
 to talk of the luxuries of life as harmless enjoyments. 
 I remember, when a boy, to have remarked, that those 
 who in school wore the finest clothes, were pointed at as 
 being conceited and proud. At present, our little masters 
 are taught to consider dress betimes, and they are 
 regarded, even at school, with contempt, who do not 
 appear as genteel as the rest. Education should teach 
 us to become useful, sober, disinterested, and laborious 
 members of society ; but does it not at present point 
 out a different path ! It teaches us to multiply our 
 wants, by which means we become more eager to 
 possess, in order to dissipate, a greater charge to our- 
 selves, and more useless or obnoxious to society. 
 
 If a youth happens to be possessed of more genius 
 than fortune, he is early informed that he ought to think 
 of his advancement in the world ; that he should labour 
 to make himself pleasing to his superiors ; that he should 
 shun low company (by which is meant the company of 
 his equals) ; that he should rather live a little above than 
 below his fortune ; that he should think of becoming 
 great ; but he finds none to admonish him to become 
 frugal, to persevere in one single design, to avoid every 
 pleasure and all flattery, which however seeming to 
 conciliate the favour of his superiors, never conciliate 
 their esteem. There are none to teach him that the 
 best way of becoming happy in himself, and useful to 
 others, is to continue in the state in which fortune at 
 first placed him, without making too hasty strides to 
 advancement ; that greatness may be attained, but should 
 
46 THE BEE 
 
 not be expected ; and that they who most impatiently 
 expect advancement, are seldom possessed of their 
 wishes. He has few, I say, to teach him this lesson, or 
 I to moderate his youthful passions ; yet, this experience 
 may say, that a young man, who but for six years of the 
 early part of his life, could seem divested of all his 
 ]3assions, would certainly make, or considerably increase 
 his fortune, and might indulge several of his favourite 
 inclinations in manhood with the utmost security. 
 
 The efficaciousness of these means is sufficiently 
 known and acknowledged ; but as we are apt to connect 
 a low idea with all our notions of frugality, the person, 
 who would persuade us to it, might be accused of 
 preaching up avarice. 
 
 Of all vices, however, against which morality dissuades, 
 there is not one more undetermined than this of avarice. 
 Misers are described by some, as men divested of honour, 
 sentiment, or humanity ; but this is only an ideal picture, 
 or the resemblance at least is found but in a few. In 
 truth, they who are generally called misers, are some 
 of the very best members of society. The sober, the 
 laborious, the attentive, the frugal, are thus styled by 
 the gay, giddy, thoughtless, and extravagant. The 
 first set of men do society all the good, and the latter 
 all the evil that is felt. Even the excesses of the first 
 no way injure the commonwealth ; those of the latter 
 are the most injurious that can be conceived. 
 
 The ancient Romans, more rational than we in this 
 particular, were very far from thus misplacing their 
 admiration or praise ; instead of regarding the practice 
 of parsimony as low or vicious, they made it synonymous 
 even with probity. They esteemed those virtues so 
 inseparable, that the known expression of Vir Frugi 
 signified, at one and the same time, a sober and managing 
 man, an honest man, and a man of substance. 
 
UPON POLITICAL FRUGALITY 47 
 
 The Scriptures, in a thousand places, praise economy ; 
 and it is everywhere distinguished from avarice. But in 
 spite of all its sacred dictates, a taste for vain pleasures 
 and foolish expense is the ruling passion of the present 
 times. Passion, did I call it ? rather the madness which 
 at once possesses the great and the little, the rich and 
 the poor ; even some are so intent upon acquiring the 
 superfluities of life, that they sacrifice its necessaries 
 in this foolish pursuit. _^ 
 
 To attempt the entire abolition of luxury, as it would / 
 be impossible, so it is not my intent. The generality/ 
 of mankind are too weak, too much slaves to custom 
 and opinion, to resist the torrent of bad example. But! 
 if it be impossible to convert the multitude, those who 1 
 have received a more extended education, who are 
 enlightened and judicious, may find some hints on this 
 subject useful. They may see some abuses, the suppres- 
 sion of which would by no means endanger public liberty ; 
 they may be directed to the abolition of some unnecessar; 
 expenses, which have no tendency to promote happiness 
 or virtue, and which might be directed to better purposes. 
 Our fireworks, our public feasts and entertainments, our 
 entries of ambassadors, &c., what mummery all this ; 
 what childish pageants, what millions are sacrificed in 
 paying tribute to custom, what an unnecessary charge 
 at times when we are pressed with real want, which \ 
 cannot be satisfied without burdening the poor ! 1 
 
 Were such suppressed entirely, not a single creature 
 in the state would have the least cause to mourn their 
 suppression, and many might be eased of a load they 
 now feel lying heavily upon them. If this were put in 
 practice, it would agree with the advice of a sensible 
 writer of Sweden, who, in the Gazette de France, 1753, 
 thus expressed himself on that subject. '^ It were 
 * sincerely to be wished,' says he, ' that the custom were 
 
48 THE BEE 
 
 ^ established amongst ue, that in all events which cause 
 "' a public joy, we made our exultations conspicuous 
 ^ only by acts useful to society. We should then quickly 
 ' see many useful monuments of our reason, which would 
 ^ much better perpetuate the memory of things worthy 
 ' of being transmitted to posterity, and would be much 
 '^ more glorious to humanity than all these tumultuous 
 ' preparations of feasts, entertainments, and other 
 'rejoicings used upon such occasions.' 
 
 The same proposal was long before confirmed by 
 a Chinese emperor, who lived in the last century, who, 
 upon an occasion of extraordinary^ joy, forbade his 
 subjects to make the usual illuminations, either with 
 a design of sparing their substance, or of turning them 
 to some more durable indication of joy, more glorious 
 for him, and more advantageous to his people. 
 
 After such instances of political frugality, can we then 
 continue to blame the Dutch ambassador at a certain 
 court, who, receiving, at his departure, the portrait of 
 the king, enriched with diamonds, asked what this 
 fine thing might be worth ? Being told that it might 
 amount to about two thousand pounds : ' And why,' 
 cries he, ' cannot his majesty keep the picture, and 
 "^ give me the money ? ' This simplicity may be ridiculed 
 at first ; but, when we come to examine it more closely, 
 men of sense will at once confess that he had reason in 
 what he said, and that a purse of two thousand guineas 
 is much more serviceable than a picture. 
 
 Should we follow the same method of state frugality 
 in other respects, what numberless savings might not be 
 the result ! How many possibilities of saving in the 
 administration of justice, which now burdens the subject, 
 and enriches some members of society, who are useful 
 only from its corruption ! 
 
 It were to be wished, that they who govern kingdoms. 
 
UPON POLITICAL FRUGALITY 49 
 
 would imitate artisans. When at London a new stuff 
 has been invented, it is immediately counterfeited in 
 France. How happy were it for society, if a first minister 
 would be equally solicitous to transplant the useful laws 
 of other countries into his own. We are arrived at 
 a perfect imitation of porcelain ; let us endeavour to 
 imitate the good to society that our neighbours are found 
 to practise, and let our neighbours also imitate those 
 parts of duty in which we excel. 
 
 There are some men, who, in their garden, attempt 
 to raise those fruits which nature has adapted only to 
 the sultry climates beneath the line. We have at our 
 very doors a thousand laws and customs infinitely 
 useful ; these are the fruits we should endeavour to 
 transplant ; these the exotics that would speedily 
 become naturalized to the soil. They might grow in 
 every climate, and benefit every possessor. 
 
 The best and the most useful laws I have ever seen, 
 are generally practised in Holland. When two men are 
 determined to go to law with each other, they are first 
 obliged to go before the reconciling judges, called the 
 peacemakers. If the parties come attended with an 
 advocate or a solicitor, they are obliged to retire, as we 
 take fuel from the fire we are desirous of extinguishing. 
 
 The peacemakers then begin advising the parties, 
 by assuring them, that it is the height of folly to waste 
 their substance, and make themselves mutually miserable, 
 by having recourse to the tribunals of justice : ' Follow 
 * but our direction, and we will accommodate matters 
 ' without any expense to either.' If the rage of debate 
 is too strong upon either party, they are remitted back 
 for another day, in order that time may soften their 
 tempers, and produce a reconciliation. They are thus 
 sent for twice or thrice ; if their folly happens to be 
 incurable, they are permitted to go to law, and as we 
 
50 THE BEE 
 
 give up to amputation such members as cannot be cured 
 by art, justice is permitted to take its course. 
 
 It is unnecessary to make here long declamations, 
 or calculate what society would save, were this law 
 adopted. I am sensible, that the man who advises any 
 reformation, only serves to make himself ridiculous. 
 ' What ! ' mankind will be apt to say, ' adopt the 
 ' * customs of countries that have not so much real liberty 
 * as our own ? our present customs, what are they to any 
 ' man ? we are very happy under them ! This must be 
 ' a very pleasant fellow, who attempts to make us 
 ' happier than we already are ! Does he not know that 
 ' abuses are the patrimony of a great part of the nation ? 
 ' Why deprive us of a malady by which such numbers 
 ' find their account ? ' This I must own is an argument 
 to which I have nothing to reply. 
 
 What numberless savings might there not be made in 
 both arts and commerce, particularly in the liberty of 
 exercising trade, without the necessary prerequisites 
 of freedom 1 Such useless obstructions have crept into 
 every state, from a spirit of monopoly, a narrow selfish 
 spirit of gain, without the least attention to general 
 society. Such a clog upon industry frequently drives 
 the poor from labour, and reduces them, by degrees, to 
 a state of hopeless indigence. We have already a more 
 than sufficient repugnance to labour ; we should by no 
 means increase the obstacles, or make excuses in a state 
 for idleness. Such faults have ever crept into a state, 
 under wrong or needy administrations. 
 
 Exclusive of the masters, there are numberless faulty 
 expenses among the workmen ; clubs, garnishes, 
 freedoms, and such-like impositions, which are not too 
 minute even for law to take notice of, and which should 
 be abolished without mercy, since they are ever the 
 inlets to excess and idleness, and are the parent of all 
 
UPON POLITICAL FRUGALITY 51 
 
 those outrages which naturcally fall upon the more 
 useful part of society. In the towns and countries I 
 have seen, I never saw a city or a village yet, whose 
 miseries were not in proportion to the number of its 
 ]^ublic -houses. In Rotterdam, you may go through 
 eight or ten streets without finding a public-house. 
 In Antwerp, almost every second house seems an ale- 
 house. In the one city, all wears the appearance of 
 happiness and warm affluence ; in the other, the young 
 fellows walk about the streets in shabby finery, their 
 fathers sit at the door darning or knitting stockings, 
 while their ports are filled with dunghills. 
 
 Ale-houses are ever an occasion of debauchery and 
 excess, and either in a religious or political light, it 
 would be our highest interest to have the greatest part 
 of them suppressed. They should be put under laws 
 of not continuing open beyond a certain hour, and 
 harbouring only proper persons. These rules, it may be 
 said, will diminish the necessary taxes ; but this is 
 false reasoning, since what was consumed in debauchery 
 abroad, would, if such a regulation took place, be more 
 justly, and, perhaps, more equitably for the workman's 
 family, spent at home ; and this cheaper to them, and 
 without loss of time. On the other hand, our ale-houses 
 being ever open, interrupt business ; the workman is 
 never certain who frequents them, nor can the master 
 be sure of having what was begun, finished at the 
 convenient time. 
 
 A habit of frugality among the lower orders of mankind 
 is much more beneficial to society than the unreflecting 
 might imagine. The pawnbroker, the attorney, and other 
 pests of society, might, by proper management, be turned 
 into serviceable members ; and, were their trades 
 abolished, it is possible the same avarice that conducts 
 the one, or the same chicanery that characterizes the 
 
52 THE BEE 
 
 other, might, by proper regulations, be converted into 
 frugality, and commendable prudence. 
 
 But some have made the eulogium of luxury, have 
 represented it as the natural consequence of every 
 country that is become rich. ' Did we not employ our 
 ' extraordinary wealth in superfluities,' say they, ' what 
 ' other means would there be to employ it in ? ' To 
 which it may be answered, If frugality were established 
 in the state, if our. expenses were laid out rather in the 
 necessaries than the superfluities of life, there might be 
 fewer wants, and even fewer pleasures, but infinitely 
 more happiness. The rich and the great would be better 
 able to satisfy their creditors ; they would be better able 
 to marry their children, and, instead of one marriage at 
 present, there might be two, if such regulations took place. 
 
 The imaginary calls of vanity, which in reality 
 contribute nothing to our real felicity, would not then 
 be attended to, while the real calls of nature might 
 be always and universally supplied. The difference of 
 employment in the subject is what, in reality, produces 
 the good of society. If the subject be engaged in 
 providing only the luxuries, the necessaries must be 
 deficient in proportion. If, neglecting the produce of 
 our own country, our minds are set upon the productions 
 of another, we increase our wants, but not our means ; 
 and every new imported delicacy for our tables, or orna- 
 ment in our equipage, is a tax upon the poor. 
 
 The true interest of every government is to cultivate 
 the necessaries, by which is always meant every happi- 
 ness ^ux_i3LWJa.-country can produce; and suppress all 
 the luxuries, by which is meant, on the other hand, 
 every happiness imported from abroad. Commerce 
 has therefore its bounds ; and every new import, 
 instead of encouragement, should be first examined 
 whether it be conducive to the interest of society. 
 
UPON POLITICAL FRUGALITY 53 
 
 Among the many publications with which the press 
 is every day burdened, I have often wondered why we 
 never had, as in other countries, an Economical Journal, 
 which might at once direct to all the useful discoveries 
 in other countries, and spread those of our own. As 
 other journals serve to amuse the learned, or what is 
 more often the case, to make them quarrel, while they 
 only serve to give us the history of the mischievous 
 world, for so I call our warriors ; or the idle world, for 
 so may the learned be called ; they never trouble their 
 heads about the most useful part of mankind, our 
 peasants and our artisans ; were such a work carried 
 into execution with proper management and just 
 direction, it might serve as a repository for every useful 
 improvement, and increase that knowledge which learn- 
 ing often serves to confound. 
 
 Sweden seems the only country where the science 
 of economy seems to have fixed its empire. In other 
 countries, it is cultivated only by a few admirers, or by 
 societies which have not received sufficient sanction to 
 become completely useful ; but here there is founded 
 a royal academy, destined to this purpose only, composed 
 of the most learned and powerful members of the state ; 
 an academy which declines everything which only 
 terminates in amusement, erudition, or curiosity, and 
 admits only of observations tending to illustrate hus- 
 bandry, agriculture, and every real physical improve- 
 ment. In this country nothing is left to private rapacity, 
 but every improvement is immediately diffused, and its 
 inventor immediately recompensed by the state. Happy 
 were it so in other countries ; by this means every 
 impostor would be prevented from ruining or deceiving 
 the public with pretended discoveries or nostrums, and 
 every real inventor would not, by this means, suffer 
 the inconveniences of suspicion. 
 
54 THE BEE 
 
 In short, true economy, equally unknown to the 
 
 prodigal and avaricious, seems to bea just mean between 
 
 both extremes ; and to a transgression of this at present 
 
 decried virtue, it is that we are to attribute a great 
 
 / part of the evils which infest society. A taste for super- 
 
 / fluity, amusement, and pleasure bring effeminacy, 
 
 idleness, and expense in their train. But a thirst of 
 
 riches is always proportioned to our debauchery, and 
 
 the greatest prodigal is too frequently found to be the 
 
 greatest miser ; so that the vices which seem the most 
 
 opposite, are frequently found to produce each other ; 
 
 1 and, to avoid both, it is only necessary to be frugal. 
 
 Virtus est medium duorum vitiorum et utrinque reductutn. — Hor. 
 
 A REVERIE 
 
 Scarce a day passes in which we do not hear compli- 
 ments paid to Dryden, Pope, and other writers of the 
 last age, while not a month comes forward that is not 
 loaded with invective against the writers of this. Strange, 
 that our critics should be fond of giving their favours 
 to those who are insensible of the obligation, and their 
 dislike to these who, of all mankind, are most apt to 
 retaliate the injury. 
 
 Even though our present writers had not equal merit 
 with their predecessors, it would be politic to use them 
 with ceremony. Every compliment paid them would 
 be more agreeable, in proportion as they least deserved 
 it. Tell a lady with a handsome face that she is pretty, 
 she only thinks it her due ; it is what she has heard a 
 thousand times before from others, and disregards the 
 compliment : but assure a lady, the cut of whose visage 
 is something more plain, that she looks killing to-day, 
 she instantly bridles up and feels the force of the well- 
 
A REVERIE 55 
 
 timed flattery the whole day after. Compliments 
 which we think are deserved, we only accept, as debts, 
 with indifference ; but those which conscience informs 
 us we do not merit, we receive with the same gratitude 
 that we do favours given away. 
 
 Our gentlemen, however, who preside at the distribu- 
 tion of literary fame, seem resolved to part with praise 
 neither from motives of justice, or generosity ; one i^ 
 would think, when they take pen in hand, that it was j 
 only to blot reputations, and to put their seals to the-( 
 packet which consigns every new-born effort to oblivion. . 
 
 Yet, notwithstanding the republic of letters hangs 
 at present so feebly together ; though those friendships 
 which once promoted literary fame seem now. to be dis- 
 continued ; thou^h^eyery:,wiitex.whQ.nQw.draws the guill 
 seems to aim at profit, as well as applause, many among 
 them are probably laying in stores for immortality, and 
 are provided with a sufficient stock of reputation to 
 last the whole journey. 
 
 As I was indulging these reflections, in order to eke 
 out the present page, I could not avoid pursuing the 
 metaphor, of going a journey, in my imagination, and 
 formed the following Reverie, too wild for allegory, and 
 too regular for a dream. 
 
 I fancied myself placed in the yard of a large inn, in 
 which there were an infinite number of wagons and 
 stage-coaches, attended by fellows who cither invited 
 the company to take their places, or were busied in 
 packing their baggage. Each vehicle had its inscription, 
 showing the place of its destination. On one I could 
 read, The pleasure stage-coach ; on another. The wagon 
 cf industry ; on a third. The vanity whim ; and on 
 a fourth, The landau of riches, I had some inclination to 
 step into each of these, one after another ; but, I know 
 not by what means, I passed them by, and at last fixed 
 
66 THE BEE 
 
 my eye upon a small carriage, Berlin fashion, which 
 seemed the most convenient vehicle at a distance in 
 the world ; and, upon my nearer approach, found it 
 to be The fame machine, 
 
 I instantly made up to the coachman, whom I found 
 to be an affable and seemingly good-natured fellow. He 
 informed me, that he had but a few days ago returned 
 from the temple of fame, to which he had been carry- 
 ing Addison, Swift, Pope, Steele, Congreve, and Colley 
 Gibber ; that they made but indifferent company by 
 the way ; and that he once or twice was going to empty 
 his berlin of the whole cargo : ' However,' says he, 
 I got them all safe home, with no other damage than 
 a black eye, which Colley gave Mr. Pope, and am now 
 returned for another coachfuL' ' If that be all, friend,' 
 said I, ' and if you are in want of company, I'll make 
 one with all my heart. Open the door ; I hope the 
 machine rides easy.' ' Oh ! for that, sir, extremely 
 easy.' But still keeping the door shut, and measuring 
 me with his eye, ' Pray, sir, have you no luggage ? 
 You seem to be a good-natured sort of a gentleman ; 
 but I don't find you have got any luggage, and I never 
 permit any to travel with me but such as have some- 
 thing valuable to pay for coach-hire.' Examining my 
 pockets, I own I was not a little disconcerted at this 
 unexpected rebujff ; but considering that I carried 
 a number of the Bee under my arm, I was resolved to 
 open it in his eyes, and dazzle him with the splendour of 
 the page. He read the title and contents, however, 
 without any emotion, and assured me he had never 
 heard of it before. ' In short, friend,' said he, now 
 losing all his former respect, * you must not come in. I 
 
 * expect better passengers ; but, as you seem a harmless 
 ' creature, perhaps, if there be room left, I may let you 
 
 * ride a while for charity.' 
 
A REVERIE 57 
 
 I now took my stand by the coachman at the door, 
 and since I could not command a seat, was resolved to 
 be as useful as possible, and earn by my assiduity, 
 what I could not by my merit. 
 
 The next that presented for a place, was a most 
 whimsical figure indeed. He was hung round with 
 papers of his own composing, not unlike those who 
 sing ballads in the streets, and came dancing up to the 
 door with all the confidence of instant admittance. 
 The volubility of his motion and address prevented my 
 being able to read more of his cargo than the word 
 Inspector, which was written in great letters at the top 
 of some of the papers. He opened the coach-door 
 himself without any ceremony, and was just slipping in, 
 when the coachman, with as little ceremony, pulled him 
 back. Our figure seemed perfectly angry at this repulse, 
 and demanded gentleman's satisfaction. ' Lord, sir ! ' 
 replied the coachman, ' instead of proper luggage, by 
 ' your bulk you seem loaded for a West India voyage. 
 
 * You are big enough, with all your papers, to crack 
 
 * twenty stage-coaches. Excuse me, indeed, sir, for you 
 ' must not enter.' Our figure now began to expostulate ; 
 he assured the coachman, that though his baggage 
 seemed so bulky, it was perfectly light, and that he 
 would be contented with the smallest corner of room. 
 But Jehu was inflexible, and the carrier of the Inspectors 
 was sent to dance back again, with all his papers flut- 
 tering in the wind. We expected to have no more trouble 
 from this quarter, when, in a few minutes, the same 
 figure changed his appearance, like harlequin upon the 
 stage, and with the same confidence again made his 
 approaches, dressed in lace, and carrying nothing but 
 a nosegay. Upon coming near, he thrust the nosegay 
 to the coachman's nose, grasped the brass, and seemed 
 now resolved to enter by violence. I found the struggle 
 
58 THE BEE 
 
 soon begin to grow hot, and the coachman, who was 
 a little old, unable to continue the contest ; so, in order 
 to ingratiate myself, I stepped in to his assistance, and our 
 united efforts sent our literary Proteus, though worsted, 
 unconquered still, clear off, dancing a rigadoon, and 
 smelling to his own nosegay. 
 
 The person who after him appeared as candidate for 
 a place in the stage, came up with an air not quite so 
 confident, but somewhat, however, theatrical ; and, 
 instead of entering, made the coachman a very low bow, 
 which the other returned, and desired to see his baggage ; 
 upon which he instantly produced some farces, a tragedy, 
 and other miscellany productions. The coachman, 
 casting his eye upon the cargo, assured him, at present 
 he could not possibly have a place, but hoped in time he 
 might aspire to one, as he seemed to have read in the 
 book of nature, without a careful perusal of which none 
 ever found entrance at the temple of fame. ' What ! 
 (replied the disappointed poet) shall my tragedy, in 
 which I have vindicated the cause of liberty and 
 
 virtue ' * Follow nature, (returned the other) and 
 
 never expect to find lasting fame by topics which only 
 
 please from their popularity. Had you been first in 
 
 the cause of freedom, or praised in virtue more than 
 
 an empty name, it is possible you might have gained 
 
 admittance ; but at present I beg, sir, you will stand 
 
 aside for another gentleman whom I see approaching.' 
 
 This was a very grave personage, whom at some 
 
 distance I took for one of the most reserved, and even 
 
 disagreeable figures I had seen ; but as he approached, 
 
 his appearance improved, and when I could distinguish 
 
 him thoroughly, I perceived, that, in spite of the severity 
 
 of his brow, he had one of the most good-natured 
 
 countenances that could be imagined. Upon coming to 
 
 open the stage door, he lifted a parcel of folios into the 
 
A REVERIE 59 
 
 seat before him, but our inquisitorial coachman at once 
 shoved them out again. ' What, not take in my dic- 
 tionary ! ' exclaimed the other in a rage. * Be patient, 
 sir, (replied the coachman)! have drove a coach, man and 
 boy, these two thousand years ; but I do not remember 
 to have carried above one dictionary during the whole 
 time. That little book which I perceive peeping from^-^ 
 one of your pockets, may I presume to ask what itLi^u- 
 contains ? ' 'A mere trifle, (replied the author) it i^ 
 called the Rambler.'' ' The Rambler ! (says the coach- 
 man) I beg, sir, you'll take your place ; I have heard 
 our ladies in the court of Apollo frequently mention 
 it with rapture ; and Clio, who happens to be a little 
 grave, has been heard to prefer it to the Spectator ; 
 though others have observed, that the reflections, by 
 being refined, sometimes become minute.' 
 This grave gentleman was scarce seated, when 
 another, whose appearance was something more modern, 
 seemed willing to enter, yet afraid to ask. He carried 
 in his hand a bundle of essays, of which the coachman 
 was curious enough to inquire the contents. ' These 
 ' (replied the gentleman) are rhapsodies against the 
 ' religion of my country.' ' And how can you expect 
 ' to come into my coach, after thus choosing the wrong 
 ' side of the question ? ' 'Aye, but I am right (replied 
 ' the other ;) and if you give me leave, I shall in a few 
 
 * minutes state the argument.' * Right or wrong (said 
 ' the coachman) he who disturbs religion is a blockhead, 
 
 * and he shall never travel in a coach of mine.' ' If then // 
 ' (said the gentleman, mustering up all his courage) if 
 
 ' I am not to have admittance as an essayist, I hope 
 
 * I shall not be repulsed as an historian ; the last volume 
 
 * of my history met with applause.' ' Yes, (replied the 
 ' coachman) but I have heard only the first approved at 
 
 * the temple of fame ; and as I see you have it about you, 
 
60 THE BEE 
 
 -A-V^^ enter without further ceremony.' My attention was 
 p-' now diverted to a crowd, who were pushing forward a 
 person that seemed more inclined to the stage-coach of 
 riches ; but by their means he was driven forward to 
 the same machine, which he, however, seemed heartily 
 to despise. Impelled, however, by their solicitations, 
 he steps up, flourishing a voluminous history, and 
 demanding admittance.. ' Sir, I have formerly heard 
 your name mentioned (says the coachman) but never 
 as an historian. Is there no other work upon which 
 you may claim a place ? ' ' None (replied the other) 
 except a romance ; but this is a work of too trifling 
 a nature to claim future attention.' ' You mistake 
 (says the inquisitor), a well- written romance is no such 
 easy task as is generally imagined. I remember 
 formerly to have carried Cervantes and Segrais ; and 
 if you think fit, you may enter.' 
 
 Upon our three literary travellers coming into the 
 same coach, I listened attentively to hear what might 
 be the conversation that passed upon this extraordinary 
 occasion ; when, instead of agreeable or entertaining 
 dialogue, I found them grumbling at each other, and 
 each seemed discontented with his companions . Strange ! 
 thought I to myself, that they who are thus born to 
 enlighten the world, should still preserve the narrow 
 prejudices of childhood, and, by disagreeing, make even 
 the highest merit ridiculous. Were the learned and the 
 wise to unite against the dunces of society, instead of 
 sometimes siding into opposite parties with them, they 
 might throw a lustre upon each other's reputation, and 
 teach every rank of subordinate merit, if not to admire, 
 at least not to avow dislike. 
 
 In the midst of these reflections, I perceived the coach- 
 man, unmindful of me, had now mounted the box. 
 Several were approaching to be taken in, whose preten- 
 
A REVERIE 61 
 
 sions I was sensible were very just ; I therefore desired 
 him to stop, and take in more passengers ; but he rephed, 
 as he had now mounted the box, it would be improper 
 to come down ; but that he should take them all, one 
 after the other, when he should return. So he drove 
 away, and, for myself, as I could not get in, I mounted 
 behind, in order to hear the conversation on the way. 
 
 [To be continued.] 
 
 A WORD OR TWO ON THE LATE FARCE 
 CALLED ' HIGH LIFE BELOW STAIRS ' 
 
 Just as I had expected, before I saw this farce, I 
 found it, formed on too narrow a plan to afford a pleasing 
 variety. The sameness of the humour in every scene 
 could not at last fail of being disagreeable. The poor, 
 affecting the manners of the rich, might be carried on 
 through one character or two at the most, with great 
 propriety ; but to have almost every personage on the 
 scene almost of the same character, and reflecting the 
 follies of each other, was unartful in the poet to the last 
 degree. 
 
 The scene was also almost a continuation of the same 
 absurdity ; and my Lord Duke and Sir Harry (two foot- 
 men who assume these characters) have nothing else to 
 do but to talk like their masters, and are only introduced 
 to speak, and to show themselves. Thus, as there is 
 a sameness of character, there is a barrenness of incident, 
 which, by a very small share of address, the poet might 
 have easily avoided. 
 
 From a conformity to critic rules, which, perhaps, 
 on the whole, have done more harm than good, our 
 author has sacrificed all the vivacity of the dialogue 
 
62 THE BEE 
 
 to nature ; and though he makes his characters talk 
 Hke servants, they are seldom absurd enough, or lively 
 enough, to make us merry. Though he is always natural, 
 he happens seldom to be humorous. 
 
 The satire was well intended, if we regard it as being 
 masters ourselves ; but, probably, a philosopher would 
 rejoice in that liberty which Englishmen give their 
 domestics ; and, for my own part, I cannot avoid being 
 pleased at the happiness of those poor creatures, who, 
 in some measure, contribute to mine. The Athenians, 
 the politest and best-natured people upon earth, were 
 the kindest to their slaves ; and if a person may judge, 
 who has seen the world, our English servants are the 
 best treated, because the generality of our English 
 gentlemen are the politest under the sun. 
 
 But not to lift my feeble voice among the pack of 
 critics, who, probably, have no other occupation but 
 that of cutting up everything new, I must own, 
 there are one or two scenes that are fine satire, and 
 sufficiently humorous ; particularly the first interview 
 between the two footmen, which, at once, ridicules the 
 manners of the great, and the absurdity of their 
 imitators o 
 
 Whatever defects there might be in the composition, 
 there were none in the action ; in this the performers 
 showed more humour than I had fancied them capable 
 of. Mr. Palmer and Mr. King were entirely what they 
 desired to represent ; and Mrs. Clive (but what need I 
 talk of her, since, without the least exaggeration, she has 
 more true humour than any actor or actress upon the 
 English or any other stage I have seen) — she, I say, 
 did the part all the justice it was capable of. And, 
 upon the whole, a farce, which has only this to recom- 
 mend it, that the author took his plan from the volume 
 of nature, by the sprightly manner in which it was 
 
ON ' HIGH LIFE BELOW STAIRS ' 63 
 
 performed, was, for one night, a tolerable entertainment. 
 Thus much may be said in its vindication, that people 
 of fashion seemed more pleased in the representation 
 than the subordinate ranks of people. 
 
 UPON UNFORTUNATE MERIT 
 
 Every age seems to have its favourite pursuits, which 
 serve to amuse the idle, and relieve the attention of the 
 industrious. Happy the man who is born excellent in 
 the pursuit in vogue, and whose genius seems adapted to 
 j the times he lives in. How many do we see, who might 
 i have excelled in arts or sciences, and who seem furnished 
 with talents equal to the greatest discoveries, had the 
 road not been already beaten by their predecessors, 
 and nothing left for them, except trifles to discover, 
 while others, of very moderate abilities, become famous, 
 because happening to be first in the reigning pursuit. 
 
 Thus, at the renewal of letters in Europe, the taste 
 was not to compose new books, but to comment on the 
 old ones. It was not to be expected that new books 
 should be written, when there were so many of the 
 Ancients, either not known or not understood. It was 
 not reasonable to attempt new conquests, while they had 
 such an extensive region lying waste for want of cultiva- 
 tion. At that period, criticism and erudition were the 
 reigning studies of the times ; and he, who had only 
 an inventive genius, might have languished in hopeless 
 obscurity. When the writers of antiquity were sufficiently 
 explained and known, the learned set about imitating 
 them : from hence proceeded the number of Latin 
 orators, poets and historians, in the reigns of Clement 
 the Seventh and Alexander the Sixth. This passion 
 for antiquity lasted for many years, to the utter exclusion 
 
64 THE BEE 
 
 of every other pursuit, till some began to find, that those 
 works which were imitated from nature, were more like 
 the writings of antiquity, than even those written in 
 express imitation. It was then modern language began 
 to be cultivated with assiduity, and our poets and 
 orators poured forth their wonders upon the world. 
 
 As writers become more numerous, it is natural for 
 readers to become more indolent ; from whence must 
 necessarily arise a desire of attaining knowledge with 
 the greatest possible ease. No science or art offers its 
 instruction and amusement in so obvious a manner as 
 statuary and painting. From hence we see, that a desire 
 of cultivating those arts generally attends the decline 
 of science. Thus the finest statues, and the most 
 beautiful paintings of antiquity, preceded but a little 
 the absolute decay of every other science. The statues 
 of Antoninus, Commodus, and their contemporaries, are 
 the finest productions of the chisel, and appeared but 
 just before learning was destroyed by comment, criticism, 
 and barbarous invasions. 
 
 What happened in Rome may probably be the case 
 with us at home. Our nobility are now more solicitous 
 in patronizing painters and sculptors than those of any 
 other polite profession ; and from the lord, who has his 
 gallery^ down to the 'prentice, who has his twopenny 
 copperplate, all are admirers of this art. The great, 
 by their caresses, seem insensible to all other merit but 
 that of the pencil ; and the vulgar buy every book rather 
 from the excellence of the sculptor than the writer. 
 
 How happy were it now, if men of real excellence 
 in that profession were to arise ! Were the painters 
 of Italy now to appear, who once wandered like beggars 
 from one city to another, and produce their almost 
 breathing figures, what rewards might they not 
 expect ! But many of them lived without rewards, and 
 
UPON UNFORTUNATE MERIT 65 
 
 therefore rewards alone will never produce their equals. 
 We have often found the great exert themselves, not only 
 without promotion, but in spite of opposition. We have 
 found them flourishing, like medicinal plants, in a region 
 of savageness and barbarity, their excellence unknown, 
 and their virtues unheeded. 
 
 They who have seen the paintings of Caravagio are 
 sensible of the surprising impression they make ; bold, 
 swelling, terrible to the last degree ; all seems animated, 
 and speaks him among the foremost .of his profession ; yet 
 this man's fortune and his fame seemed ever in opposition 
 to each other. 
 
 Unknowing how to flatter the great, he was driven 
 from city to city in the utmost indigence, and might 
 truly be said to paint for his bread. 
 
 Having one day insulted a person of distinction, who 
 refused to pay him all the respect which he thought his 
 due, he was obliged to leave Rome, and travel on foot, 
 his usual method of going his journeys down into the 
 country, without either money or friends to subsist 
 him. 
 
 After he had travelled in this manner as long as his 
 strength would permit, faint with famine and fatigue, 
 he at last called at an obscure inn by the wayside. The 
 host knew, by the appearance of his guest, his indifferent 
 circumstances, and refused to furnish him a dinner 
 without previous payment. 
 
 As Caravagio was entirely destitute of money, he 
 took down the innkeeper's sign, and painted it anew for 
 his dinner. 
 
 Thus refreshed, he proceeded on his journey, and left 
 the innkeeper not quite satisfied with this method of 
 payment. Some company of distinction, however, 
 coming soon after, and struck with the beauty of the 
 new sign, bought it at an advanced price, and astonished 
 
 GOLDSMITH. Ill D 
 
66 THE BEE 
 
 the innkeeper with their generosity ; he was resolved, 
 therefore, to get as many signs as possible drawn by 
 the same artist, as he found he could sell them to good 
 advantage ; and accordingly set out after Caravagio, 
 in order to bring him back. It was nightfall before he 
 came up to the place, where the unfortunate Caravagio 
 lay dead by the roadside, overcome by fatigue, resent- 
 ment, and despair. 
 
 Number VI. Saturday, November 10, 1759. 
 
 SOME ACCOUNT OF THE ACADEMIES 
 OF ITALY 
 
 There is not, perhaps, a country in Europe, in which 
 learning is so fast upon the decline as in Italy ; yet 
 not one in which there are such a number of academies 
 instituted for its support. There is scarce a considerable 
 town in the whole country which has not one or two 
 institutions of this nature, where the learned, as they 
 are pleased to call themselves, meet to harangue, to 
 compliment each other, and praise the utility of their 
 institution. 
 
 Jarchius has taken the trouble to give us a list of 
 those clubs, or academies, which amount to five hundred 
 and fifty, each distinguished by somewhat whimsical in 
 the name. The academicians of Bologna, for instance, 
 are divided into the Abbandonati, the Ausiosi, Ociosio, 
 Arcadi, Confusi, Dubbiosi, &c. There are few of these 
 who have not published their transactions, and scarce 
 a member who is not looked upon as the most famous 
 man in the world, at home. 
 
 Of all those societies, I know of none whose works 
 are worth being known out of the precincts of the city 
 in which they were written, except the Gicalata Acade- 
 
THE ACADEMIES OF ITALY 67 
 
 mica (or, as we might express it, the Tickling Society) of 
 Florence. I have just now before me a manuscript 
 oration, spoken by the late Tomaso Crudeli, at that 
 society, which will, at once, serve to give a better 
 picture of the manner in which men of wit amuse them- 
 selves in that country, than anything I could say upon 
 the occasion. The oration is this : 
 
 ' The younger the nymph, my dear companions, the 
 more happy the lover. From fourteen to seventeen, you 
 are sure of finding love for love ; from seventeen to 
 twenty-one, there is always a mixture of interest and 
 affection. But when that period is past, no longer expect 
 to receive, but to buy. No longer expect a nymph who 
 gives, but who sells, her favours. At this age, every 
 glance is taught its duty ; not a look, not a sigh, without 
 design ; the lady, like a skilful warrior, aims at the heart 
 of another, while she shields her own from danger. 
 
 * On the contrary, at fifteen, you may expect nothing 
 but simplicity, innocence, and nature. The passions are 
 then sincere ; the soul seems seated in the lips ; the 
 dear object feels present happiness, without being anxious 
 for the future ; her eyes brighten if her lover approaches ; 
 her smiles are borrowed from the Graces, and her very 
 mistakes seem to complete her desires. 
 
 'Lucretia was just sixteen. The rose and lily took 
 possession of her face, and her bosom, by its hue and 
 its coldness, seemed covered with snow. So much 
 beauty, and so much virtue, seldom want admirers. 
 Orlandino, a youth of sense and merit, was among the 
 number. He had long languished for an opportunity of 
 declaring his passion, when Cupid, as if willing to indulge 
 his happiness, brought the charming young couple by 
 mere accident to an arbour, where every prying eye, 
 but that of love, was absent. Orlandino talked of the 
 sincerity of his passion, and mixed flattery with his 
 
68 THE BEE 
 
 addresses ; but it was all in vain. The nymph was 
 pre-engaged, and had long devoted to heaven those 
 charms for which he sued. " My dear Orlandino," 
 said she, '' jovl know I have long been dedicated to 
 *' St. Catherine, and to her belongs all that lies below 
 '*' my girdle ; all that is above, you may freely possess, 
 "' but farther I cannot, must not, comply. The vow is 
 ^' passed; I wish it were undone, but now it is impossible." 
 You may conceive, my companions, the embarrassment 
 our young lovers felt upon this occasion. They kneeled 
 to St. Catherine, and though both despaired, both 
 implored her assistance. Their tutelar saint was 
 entreated to show some expedient, by which both might 
 continue to love, and yet both be happy. Their petition 
 was sincere. St. Catherine was touched with compassion ; 
 for lo, a miracle ! Lucretia's girdle unloosed, as if without 
 hands ; and though before bound round her middle, fell 
 spontaneously down to her feet, and gave Orlandino the 
 possession of all those beauties which lay above it.' 
 
 Number VII. Saturday, November 17, 1759. 
 OF ELOQUENCE 
 
 Of all kinds of success, that of an orator is the 
 most pleasing. Upon other occasions, the applause we 
 deserve is conferred in our absence, and we are insensible 
 of the pleasure we have given ; but in eloquence, the 
 victory and the triumph are inseparable. We read our 
 own glory in the face of every spectator, the audience is 
 moved, the antagonist is defeated, and the whole circle 
 bursts into unsolicited applause. 
 
 The rewards which attend excellence in this way are 
 so pleasing, that numbers have written professed treatises 
 to teach us the art : schools have been established with 
 
OF ELOQUENCE 69 
 
 no other intent ; rhetoric has taken place among the 
 institutions ; and pedants have ranged under proper 
 heads, and distinguished with long learned names, some 
 of the strokes of nature, or of passion, which orators have 
 used. I say only some, for a folio volume could not 
 contain all the figures which have been used by the truly 
 eloquent ; and scarce a good speaker or writer but makes 
 use of some that are peculiar or new. 
 
 Eloquence has preceded the rules of rhetoric, as 
 languages have been formed before grammar. Nature 
 renders men eloquent in great interests, or great passions. 
 He that is sensibly touched, sees things with a very 
 different eye from the rest of mankind. All nature to 
 him becomes an object of comparison and metaphor, 
 without attending to it ; he throws life into all, and 
 inspires his audience with a part of his own enthusiasm. 
 
 It has been remarked, that the lower parts of man- 
 kind generally express themselves most figuratively, 
 and that tropes are found in the most ordinary forms of 
 conversation. Thus, in every language, the heart burns ; 
 the courage is roused ; the eyes sparkle ; the spirits are 
 cast down ; passion inflames ; pride swells, and pity 
 sinks the soul. Nature, everywhere, speaks in those 
 strong images, which, from their frequency, pass un= 
 noticed. 
 
 Nature it is which inspires those rapturous enthusiasms, 
 those irresistible turns ; a strong passion, a pressing 
 danger, calls up all the imagination, and gives the orator 
 irresistible force. Thus, a captain of the first caliphs, 
 seeing his soldiers fly, cried out, ' Whither do you run ? 
 ' the enemy are not there ! You have been told that the 
 ' caliph is dead ; but God is still living. He regards the 
 * brave, and will reward the courageous. Advance ! ' 
 
 A man, therefore, may he called eloquent, who transfers 
 the passion or sentiment with which he is moved himself, 
 
70 THE BEE 
 
 into the breast of another ; and this definition appears the 
 more just, as it comprehends the graces of silence, and 
 of action. An intimate persuasion of the truth to be 
 proved, is the sentiment and passion to be transferred ; 
 and he who effects this, is truly possessed of the talent 
 of eloquence. 
 
 I have called eloquence a talent, and not an art, as 
 so many rhetoricians have done, as art is acquired by 
 exercise and study, and eloquence is the gift of nature . 
 Rules will never make either a work or a discourse 
 eloquent ; they only serve to prevent faults, but not 
 to introduce beauties ; to prevent those passages which 
 are truly eloquent, and dictated by nature, from being 
 blended with others which might disgust or, at least, 
 abate our passion. 
 
 What we clearly conceive, (says Boileau) we can 
 clearly express. I may add, that what is felt with 
 emotion, is expressed also with the same movements ; the 
 words arise as readily to paint our emotions, as to express 
 our thoughts with perspicuity. The cool care an orator 
 takes to express passions which he does not feel, only 
 prevents his rising into that passion he would seem 
 to feel. In a word, to feel your subject thoroughly, and 
 to speak without fear, are the only rules of eloquence, 
 properly so called, which I can offer. Examine a writer 
 of genius on the most beautiful parts of his work, and he 
 will always assure you that such passages are generally 
 those which have given him the least trouble, for they 
 came as if by inspiration. To pretend that cold and 
 didactic precepts will make a man eloquent, is only 
 to prove that he is incapable of eloquence. 
 
 But, as in being perspicuous, it is necessary to have 
 a full idea of the subject, so in being eloquent, it is not 
 sufficient, if I may so express it, to feel by halves. The 
 orator should be strongly impressed, which is generally 
 
OF ELOQUENCE 71 
 
 the effects of a fine and exquisite sensibility, and not that 
 transient and superficial emotion, which he excites in 
 the greatest part of his audience. It is even impossible 
 to affect the hearers in any great degree without being 
 affected ourselves. In vain it will be objected, thatl 
 many writers have had the art to inspire their readers with / 
 a passion for. virtue, without being virtuous themselves ; 'y 
 since it may be answered, that sentiments of virtue / 
 filled their minds at the time they were writing. They J 
 felt the inspiration strongly, while they praised justice, 
 generosity, or good nature ; but, unhappily for them, 
 these passions might have been discontinued, when they 
 laid down the pen. In vain will it be objected again, 
 that we can move without being moved, as we can 
 convince without being convinced. It is much easier to 
 deceive our reason than ourselves ; a trifling defect in 
 reasoning may be overseen, and lead a man astray ; for 
 it requires reason and time to detect the falsehood, but our 
 passions are not so easily imposed upon, — our eyes, our 
 ears, and every sense, are watchful to detect the imposture. 
 No discourse can be eloquent that does not elevate the 
 mind. Pathetic eloquence, it is true, has for its only "^ 
 object to affect ; but I appeal to men of sensibility, 1 
 whether their pathetic feelings are not accompanied with ( 
 some degree of elevation. We may then call eloquence \ 
 and sublimity the same thing, since it is impossible to I 
 be one, without feeling the other. From hence it follows. Jt 
 that we may be eloquent in any language, since no 
 language refuses to paint those sentiments with which 
 we are thoroughly impressed. What is usually called 
 sublimity of style, seems to be only an error. Eloquence I 
 is not in the words, but in the subject ; and in great 1; 
 concerns, the more simply anything is expressed, it is 
 generally the more sublime. True eloquence does not 
 consist, as the rhetoricians assure us, in saying great 
 
72 THE BEE 
 
 things in a sublime style, but in a simple style ; for 
 there is, properly speaking, no such thing as a sublime 
 ^ style, the sublimity lies only in the things ; and when 
 'they are not so, the language may be turgid, affected, 
 metaphorical, but not affecting. 
 
 ^ What can be more simply expressed, than the following 
 extract from a celebrated preacher, and yet what was 
 ever more sublime ? Speaking of the small number of 
 the elect, he breaks out thus among his audience : ' Let 
 ' me suppose that this was the last hour of us all ; that 
 ' the heavens were opening over our heads ; that time 
 ' was passed, and eternity begun ; that Jesus Christ in 
 ' all His glory, that man of sorrows in all His glory, 
 ' appeared on the tribunal, and that we were assembled 
 
 * here to receive our final decree of life or death eternal ! 
 ' Let me ask, impressed with terror like you, and not 
 
 * separating my lot from yours, but putting myself in 
 ' the same situation in which we must all one day 
 ' appear before God, our judge, — let me ask, if Jesus 
 
 * Christ should now appear to make the terrible separa- 
 
 * tion of the just from the unjust, do you think the 
 ' greatest number would be saved ? Do you think the 
 
 * number of the elect would even be equal to that of 
 ' the sinners ? Do you think, if all our works were 
 
 * examined with justice, would He find ten just persons 
 
 * in this great assembly ? Monsters of ingratitude, would 
 ' he find one ? ' Such passages as these, are sublime in 
 every language. The expression may be less striking, or 
 more indistinct, but the greatness of the idea still 
 remains. In a word, we may be eloquent in every 
 language and in every style, since elocution is only an 
 assistant, but not a constitutor of eloquence. 
 
 Of what use, then, will it be said, are all the precepts 
 given us upon this head, both by the ancients and 
 moderns ? I answer, that they cannot make us eloquent, 
 
OF ELOQUENCE 73 
 
 but they will certainly prevent us from becoming 
 ridiculous. They can seldom procure a single beauty, 
 but they may banish a thousand faults. The true 
 method of an orator is not to attempt always to move, 
 always to affect, to be continually sublime, but at 
 proper intervals to give rest both to his own and the 
 passions of his audience. In these periods of relaxation, 
 or of preparation rather, rules may teach him to avoid 
 anything low, trivial, or disgusting. Thus criticism, 
 properly speaking, is intended not to assist those parts 
 which are sublime, but those which are naturally mean 
 and humble, which are composed with coolness and 
 caution, and where the orator rather endeavours not to 
 offend, than attempts to please. 
 
 I have hitherto insisted more strenuously on that 
 eloquence which speaks to the passions, as it is a species 
 of oratory almost unknown in England. At the bar it 
 is quite discontinued, and I think with justice. In the 
 senate it is used but sparingly, as the orator speaks to 
 enlightened judges. But in the pulpit, in which the 
 orator should chiefly address the vulgar, it seems strange 
 that it should be entirely laid aside. 
 
 The vulgar of England are without exception, the 
 most barbarous and the most unknowing of any in 
 Europe. A great part of their ignorance may be chiefly 7 
 ascribed to their teachers, who, with the most pretty 
 gentleman-like serenity, deliver their cool discourses, 
 and address the reason of men who have never reasoned 
 in all their lives. They are told of cause and effect, of 
 beings seK-existent, and the universal scale of beings. I 
 They are informed of the excellence of the Bangorian / 
 controversy, and the absurdity of an intermediate state, j 
 The spruce preacher reads his lucubration without lifting i 
 his nose from the text, and never ventures to earn the ' 
 shame of an enthusiast. J 
 
 D 3 
 
74 THE BEE 
 
 By this means, though his audience feel not one word 
 of all he says, he earns, however, among his acquaintance, 
 the character of a man of sense ; among his acquaintance 
 only, did I say ? nay, even with his bishop. 
 
 The polite of every country have several motives to 
 induce them to a rectitude of action ; the love of virtue 
 for its own sake, the shame of offending, and the desire 
 of pleasing. The vulgar have but one, the enforcements 
 of religion ; and yet those who should push this motive 
 home to their hearts, are basely found to desert their 
 post. They speak to the squire, the philosopher, and 
 the pedant ; but the poor, those who really want 
 instruction, are left uninstructed. 
 
 I have attended most of our pulpit orators, who, it 
 must be owned, write extremely well upon the text 
 they assume. To give them their due also, they read 
 their sermons with elegance and propriety, but this goes 
 but a very short way in true eloquence. The speaker 
 must be moved. In this, in this alone, our English 
 divines are deficient. Were they to speak to a few calm 
 dispassionate hearers, they certainly use the properest 
 methods of address ; but their audience is chiefly 
 composed of the poor, who must be influenced by 
 motives of reward and punishment, and whose only 
 virtues lie in self-interest or fear. 
 
 How then are such to be addressed ? not by studied 
 periods, or cold disquisitions ; not by the labours of the 
 head, but the honest spontaneous dictates of the heart. 
 Neither writing a sermon with regular periods and all 
 the harmony of elegant expression ; neither reading 
 it with emphasis, propriety, and deliberation ; neither 
 pleasing with metaphor, simile, or rhetorical fustian ; 
 neither arguing coolly, and untying consequences united 
 in a priori, nor bundling up inductions a posteriori ; 
 neither pedantic jargon, nor academical trifling, can 
 
OF ELOQUENCE 76 
 
 persuade the poor. Writing a discourse coolly in the 
 closet, then getting it by memory, and deHvering it on 
 Sundays, even that will not do . What then is to be done ? 
 I know of no expedient to speak — to speak at once 
 intelligibly and feelingly — except to understand the 
 language : to be convinced of the truth of the object — 
 to be perfectly acquainted with the subject in view — 
 to prepossess yourself with a low opinion of your 
 audience — and to do the rest extempore. By this means 
 strong expressions, new thoughts, rising passions, and 
 the true declamatory style, will naturally ensue. 
 
 Fine declamation does not consist in flowery periods, 
 delicate allusions, or musical cadences ; but in^ a plain, 
 open, loose style, where the periods are long and obvious ; 
 where the same thought is often exhibited in several 
 points of view ; all this, strong sense, a good memory, 
 and a small share of experience, will furnish to every 
 orator ; and without these a clergyman may be called 
 a fine preacher, a judicious preacher, and a man of sound 
 sense ; he may make his hearers admire his under- 
 standing, but will seldom enlighten theirs. 
 
 When I think of the Methodist preachers among us, 
 how seldom they are endued with common sense, and 
 yet how often and how justly they affect their hearers, 
 ^cannot avoid saying within myself, had these been bred 
 gentlemen, and been endued with even the meanest 
 share of understanding, what might they not effect ! j 
 Did our bishops, who can add dignity to their expostula- 
 tions, testify the same fervour, and entreat their hearers, 
 as well as argue, what might not be the consequence ! 
 The vulgar, by which I mean the bulk of mankind, 
 would then have a double motive to love religion ; first, 
 from seeing its professors honoured here, and next, 
 from the consequences hereafter. At present, the 
 enthusiasms of the poor are opposed to law ; did law 
 
76 THE BEE 
 
 conspire with their enthusiasms, we should not only be 
 the happiest nation upon earth, but the wisest also. 
 
 Enthusiasm in religion, which prevails only among the 
 vulgar, should be the chief object of politics. A society 
 of enthusiasts, governed by reason among the great, is 
 the most indissoluble, the most virtuous, and the most 
 efficient of its own decrees that can be imagined. Every 
 country that has any degree of strength, have had their 
 enthusiasms, which ever serve as laws among the people. 
 The Greeks had their Kalokagathia, the Romans their 
 Amor Patriae, and we the truer and firmer bond of the 
 Protestant religion. The principle is the same in all ; 
 how much then is it the duty of those whom the law has 
 appointed teachers of this religion, to enforce its obliga- 
 /tions, and to raise those enthusiasms among people, by 
 which alone political society can subsist. 
 
 From eloquence, therefore, the morals of pur people 
 are to expect emendation ; but how little can they be . 
 improved, by men who get into the pulpit rather to 
 show their parts than convince us of the truth of what 
 they deliver ; who are painfully correct in their style, 
 musical in their tones ; where every sentiment, every 
 expression, seems the result of meditation and deep study. 
 
 Tillotson has been commended as the model of pulpit 
 eloquence ; thus far he should be imitated, where he 
 generally strives to convince, rather than to please : 
 but to adopt his long, dry, and sometimes tedious 
 discussions, which serve to amuse only divines, and are 
 utterly neglected by the generality of mankind — to praise 
 the intricacy of his periods, which are too long to be 
 spoken, — to continue his cool phlegmatic manner of en- 
 forcing every truth, — is certainly erroneous. As I said 
 before, the good preacher should adopt no model, write 
 no sermons, study no periods ; let him but understand 
 his subject, the language he speaks, and be convinced of 
 
OF ELOQUENCE 77 
 
 the truths he delivers. It is amazing to what heights 
 eloquence of this kind may reach ! This is that eloquence 
 the ancients rep:^sented as lightning, bearing down every 
 opposer ; this the power which has turned whole assem- 
 blies into astonishment, admiration, and awe ; that is 
 described by the torrent, the flame, and every other 
 instance of irresistible impetuosity. 
 
 But to attempt such noble heights, belongs only ta 
 the truly great, or the truly good. To discard the lazy | 
 manner of reading sermons, or speaking sermons by 
 rote ; to set up singly against the opposition of men who 
 are attached to their own errors^ and to endeavour to be 
 great, instead of being prudent, are qualities we seldom 
 see united. A minister of the Church of England, who 
 may be possessed of good sense, and some hopes of 
 preferment, will seldom give up such substantial ad- 
 vantages for the empty pleasure of improving society. 
 By his present method he is liked by his friends, admired 
 by his dependents, not displeasing to his bishop ; he 
 lives as well, eats and sleeps as well, as if a real orator, 
 and an eager asserter of his mission ; he will hardly, 
 therefore, venture all this to be called, perhaps, an 
 enthusiast ; nor will he depart from customs established 
 by the brotherhood, when, by such a conduct, he only 
 singles himself out for their contempt. 
 
 CUSTOM AND LAWS COMPARED 
 
 What, say some, can give us a more contemptible 
 idea of a large state than to find it mostly governed by 
 custom ; to have few written laws, and no boundaries 
 to mark the jurisdiction between the senate and people ? 
 Among the number who speak in this manner is the great 
 Montesquieu, who asserts that every nation is free in 
 proportion to the number of its written laws, and seems 
 
78 THE BEE 
 
 to hint at a despotic and arbitrary conduct in the present 
 King of Prussia, who has abridged the laws of his country 
 into a very short compass. 
 
 As Tacitus and Montesquieu happen to differ in 
 sentiment upon a subject of so much importance (for 
 the Roman expressly asserts, that the state is generally 
 vicious in proportion to the number of its laws), it will 
 not be amiss to examine it a little more minutely, and 
 see whether a state which, like England, is burdened 
 with a multiplicity of written laws, or which, like 
 Switzerland, Geneva, and some other republics, is 
 governed by custom and the determination of the judge, 
 is best. 
 
 (And to prove the superiority of custom to written law, 
 we shall at least find history conspiring. Custom, or the 
 traditional observance of the practice of their forefathers, 
 was what directed the Romans, as well in their public 
 as private determinations. Custom was appealed to in 
 pronouncing sentence against a criminal, where part of 
 the formulary was more majorum. So Sallust, speaking 
 of the expulsion of Tarquin, says, mutato more, and not 
 le^e mutata ; and Virgil, pacisque importer e morem. So 
 that, in those times of the empire in which the people 
 retained their liberty, they were governed by custom ; 
 when they sunk under oppression and tyranny, they were 
 restrained by new laws, and the laws of tradition 
 abolished. 
 
 As getting the ancients on our side is half a victory, 
 it will not be amiss to fortify the argument with an 
 observation of Chrysostom's : That the enslaved are the 
 fittest to he governed by laws, and free men by custom. 
 Custom partakes of the nature of parental injunction ; 
 it is kept by the people themselves, and observed with 
 a willing obedience. The observance of it must, there- 
 fore, be a mark of freedom ; and coming originally to 
 
CUSTOM AND LAWS COMPARED 79 
 
 a state from the reverenced founders of its liberty, will 
 be an encouragement and assistance to it in the defence 
 of that blessing ; but a conquered people, a nation of 
 slaves, must pretend to none of this freedom, or these 
 happy distinctions ; having, by degeneracy, lost all right 
 to their brave forefathers' free institutions, their masters 
 will in policy take the forfeiture ; and the fixing a con- 
 quest must be done by giving laws which may every 
 moment serve to remind the people enslaved of their 
 conquerors : nothing being more dangerous than to trust 
 a late-subdued people with old customs, that presently 
 upbraid their degeneracy, and provoke them to revolt. 
 
 The wisdom of the Roman republic, in their veneration 
 for custom, and backwardness to introduce a new law, 
 was perhaps the cause of their long continuance, and of 
 the virtues of which they have set the world so many 
 examples. But to show in what that wisdom consists, 
 it may be proper to observe, that the benefits of new 
 written laws are merely confined to the consequences 
 of their observance ; but customary laws, keeping up 
 a veneration for the founders, engage men in the imitation 
 of their virtues, as well as policy. To this may be ascribed 
 the religious regard the Romans paid to their fore- 
 fathers' memory, and their adhering for so many ages 
 to the practice of the same virtues, which nothing 
 contributed more to efface than the introduction of 
 a voluminous body of new laws over the neck of vener- 
 able custom. 
 
 The simplicity, conciseness, and antiquity of custom ! 
 gives an air of majesty and immutability that inspires 
 awe and veneration ; but new laws are too apt to be \ 
 voluminous, perplexed, and indeterminate ; from whence • 
 must necessarily arise neglect, contempt, and ignorance. 
 
 As every human institution is subject to gross imper- 
 fections, so laws must necessarily be liable to the same 
 
80 THE BEE 
 
 inconveniences, and their defects soon discovered. Thus, 
 through the weakness of one part, all the rest are liable 
 to be brought into contempt. But such weaknesses in 
 a custom, for very obvious reasons, evade an examina- 
 tion ; besides, a friendly prejudice always stands up in 
 their favour. 
 
 But let us suppose a new law to be perfectly equitable 
 and necessary ; yet, if the procurers of it have betrayed 
 a conduct that confesses by-ends and private motives, 
 the disgust to the circumstances disposes us, unreasonably 
 indeed, to an irreverence of the law itself ; but we are 
 indulgently blind to the most visible imperfections of 
 an old custom. Though we perceive the defects ourselves, 
 yet we remain persuaded that our wise forefathers had 
 good reasons for what they did ; and though such 
 motives no longer continue, the benefit will still go along 
 with the observance, though we don't know how. It is 
 thus the Roman lawyers speak, Non omnium quae a 
 majoribus constituta sunt ratio reddi potest, et ideo rationes 
 eorum quae constituuntur inquiri non oportet, aliaquin 
 multa ex Ms quae certa sunt suhvertuntur , 
 
 Those laws which preserve to themselves the greatest 
 love and observance, must needs be best ; but custom, 
 as it executes itself, must be necessarily superior to 
 written laws in this respect, which are to be executed by 
 another. Thus nothing can be more certain than that 
 numerous written laws are a sign of a degenerate com- 
 munity, and are frequently not the consequence of 
 vicious morals in a state, but the causes. 
 
 From hence we see how much greater benefit it would 
 be to the state rather to abridge than increase its laws. 
 We every day find them increasing ; acts and reports, 
 which may be termed the acts of judges, are every day 
 becoming more voluminous, and loading the subject with 
 new penalties. 
 
CUSTOMS AND LAWS COMPARED 81 
 
 Laws ever increase in number and severity, until 
 they at length are strained so tight as to break them- 
 selves. Such was the case of the latter empire, whose 
 laws were at length become so strict, that the barbarous 
 invaders did not bring servitude but liberty. 
 
 OF THE PRIDE AND LUXURY OF THE 
 MIDDLING CLASS OF PEOPLE 
 
 Of all the follies and absurdities which this great 
 metropolis labours under, there is not one, I believe, at 
 present, appears in a more glaring and ridiculous light 
 than the pride and luxury of the middling class of 
 people ; their eager desire of being seen in a sphere 
 far above their capacities and circumstances, is daily — 
 nay hourly — instanced by the prodigious numbers of 
 mechanics, who flock to the races, and gaming-tables, 
 (brothels) and all public diversions this fashionable town 
 affords. ^_ , 
 
 You shall see a grocer or a tallow-chandler sneak from 
 behind the counter, clap on a laced coat and a bag, fly 
 to the E. 0. table, throw away fifty pieces with some 
 sharping man of quahty, while his industrious wife is 
 selling a pennyworth of sugar, or a pound of candles, 
 to support her fashionable spouse in his extrava- 
 gances. 
 
 I was led into this reflection by an odd adventure, 
 which happened to me the other day at Epsom races, 
 where I went, not through any desire, I do assure you, 
 of laying bets, or winning thousands ; but at the earnest 
 request of a friend who had long indulged the curiosity 
 of seeing the sport, very natural for an Englishman. 
 When we had arrived at the course, and had taken several 
 turns to observe the different objects that made up 
 
82 THE BEE 
 
 this whimsical group, a figure suddenly darted by us, 
 mounted and dressed in all the elegance of those polite 
 gentry who come to show you they have a little money, 
 and rather than pay their just debts at home, generously 
 come abroad to bestow it on gamblers and pickpockets. 
 As I had not an opportunity of viewing his face till his 
 return, I gently walked after him, and met him as he 
 came back, when, to my no small surprise, I beheld, 
 in this gay Narcissus, the visage of Jack Varnish, 
 a humble vender of prints. Disgusted at the sight, 
 I pulled my friend by the sleeve, pressed him to return 
 home, telling him all the way, that I was so enraged at 
 the fellow's impudence, I was resolved never to lay out 
 another penny with him. 
 
 And now, pray, sir, let me beg of you to give this a 
 place in your paper, that Mr. Varnish may understand 
 he mistakes the thing quite, if he imagines horse-racing 
 commendable in a tradesman ; and that he who is 
 revelling every night in the arms of a common strumpet 
 (though blessed with an indulgent wife) when he ought 
 to be minding his business, will never thrive in this 
 world. He will find himself soon mistaken, his finances 
 decrease, his friends shun him, customers fall off, and 
 himself thrown into a jail. I would earnestly recommend 
 this adage to every mechanic in London, ' Keep your 
 shop, and your shop will keep you.' A strict observance 
 of these words will, I am sure, in time, gain them estates. 
 Industry is the road to wealth, and honesty to happiness ; 
 and he who strenuously endeavours to pursue them both, 
 may never fear the critic's lash, or the sharp cries of 
 penury and want. 
 
83 
 
 SABINUS AND OLINDA 
 
 In a fair, rich, and flourishing country, whose cliffs 
 are washed by the German Ocean, lived Sabinus, a youth 
 formed by nature to make a conquest wherever he 
 thought proper ; but the constancy of his disposition 
 fixed him only with Olinda. He was, indeed, superior 
 to her in fortune, but that defect on her side was so 
 amply supplied by her merit, that none was thought 
 more worthy of his regards than she. He loved her, 
 he was beloved by her ; and, in a short time, by joining 
 hands publicly, they avowed the union of their hearts. 
 But, alas ! none, however fortunate, however happy, 
 are exempt from the shafts of envy, and the malignant 
 effects of ungoverned appetite. How unsafe, how 
 detestable, are they who have this fury for their guide ! 
 How certainly will it lead them from themselves, and 
 plunge them in errors they would have shuddered at, 
 even in apprehension. Ariana, a lady of niany amiable 
 qualities, very nearly allied to Sabinus, and highly 
 esteemed by him, imagined herself slighted, and injuri- 
 ously treated, since his marriage with Olinda. By 
 incautiously suffering this jealousy to corrode in her 
 breast, she began to give a loose to passion ; she forgot 
 those many virtues for which she had been so long 
 and so justly applauded. Causeless suspicion, and mis- 
 taken resentment, betrayed her into all the gloom of 
 discontent ; she sighed without ceasing ; the happiness 
 of others gave her intolerable pain ; she thought of 
 nothing but revenge. How unlike what she was, the 
 cheerful, the prudent, the compassionate Ariana ! 
 
 She continually laboured to disturb a union so 
 firmly, so affectionately founded, and planned every 
 scheme which she thought most likely to disturb it. 
 
 Fortune seemed willing to promote her unjust inten- 
 
84 THE BEE 
 
 tions : the circumstances of Sabinus had been long 
 embarrassed by a tedious law-suit, and the court 
 determining the cause unexpectedly in favour of his 
 opponent, it sunk his fortune to the lowest pitch of 
 penury from the highest affluence. From the nearness 
 of relationship, Sabinus expected from Ariana those 
 assistances his present situation required ; but she was 
 insensible to all his entreaties, and the justice of every 
 remonstrance, unless he first separated from Olinda, 
 whom she regarded with detestation. Upon a com- 
 pliance with her desires in this respect, she promised 
 her fortune, her interest, and her all, should be at his 
 command. Sabinus was shocked at the proposal ; he 
 loved his wife with inexpressible tenderness, and refused 
 those offers with indignation which were to be purchased 
 at so high a price. Ariana was no less displeased to 
 find her offers rejected, and gave a loose to all that 
 warmth which she had long endeavoured to suppress. 
 Reproach generally produces recrimination ; the quarrel 
 rose to such a height, that Sabinus was marked for 
 destruction ; and the very next day, upon the strength 
 of an old family debt, he was sent to jail, with none but 
 Olinda to comfort him in his miseries. In this mansion 
 of distress they lived together with resignation, and even 
 with comfort. She provided the frugal meal, and he read 
 for her while employed in the little offices of domestic 
 concern. Their fellow prisoners admired their content- 
 ment, and whenever they had a desire of relaxing into 
 mirth, and enjoying those little comforts that a prison 
 affords, Sabinus and Olinda were sure to be of the party. 
 Instead of reproaching each other for their mutual 
 wretchedness, they both lightened it, by bearing each 
 a share of the load imposed by Providence. Whenever 
 Sabinus showed the least concern on his dear partner's 
 account, she conjured him by the love he bore her, 
 
SABINUS AND OLINDA 86 
 
 by those tender ties which now united them for ever, 
 not to discompose himself ; that, so long as his affection 
 lasted, she defied all the ills of fortune, and every loss 
 of fame or friendship ; that nothing could make her 
 miserable, but his seeming to want happiness ; nothing 
 pleased, but his sympathizing with her pleasure.) A 
 continuance in prison soon robbed them of the little 
 they had left, and famine began to make its horrid 
 appearance ; yet still was neither found to murmur ; 
 they both looked upon their little boy, who, insensible 
 of their or his own distress, was playing about the room,/ 
 with inexpressible yet silent anguish] when a messenger 
 came to inform them that Ariana was dead, and that 
 her will, in favour of a very distant relation, who 
 was now in another country, might be easily procured, 
 and burnt, in which case, all her large fortune would 
 revert to him, as being the next heir at law. 
 
 A proposal of so base a nature filled our unhappy 
 couple with horror ; they ordered the messenger 
 immediately out of the room, and falling upon each 
 other's neck, indulged an agony of sorrow ; for now 
 even all hopes of relief were banished. The messenger 
 who made the proposal, however, was only a spy sent 
 by Ariana to sound the dispositions of a man she loved 
 at once and persecuted. This lady, though warped by 
 wrong passions, was naturally kind, judicious, and 
 friendly. She found that all her attempts to shake the 
 constancy or the integrity of Sabinus were ineffectual ; 
 she had, therefore, begun to reflect, and to wonder 
 how she could, so long, and so unprovoked, injure such 
 uncommon fortitude and affection. 
 
 She had, from the next room, herself heard the 
 reception given to the messenger, and could not avoid 
 feeling all the force of superior virtue ; she therefore 
 reassumed her former goodness of heart ; she came into 
 
86 THE BEE 
 
 the room with tears in her eyes, and acknowledged the 
 severity of her former treatment. She bestowed her first 
 care in providing them all the necessary supplies, and 
 acknowledged them as the most deserving heirs of her 
 fortune. From this moment Sabinus enjoyed an unin- 
 terrupted happiness with Olinda, and both were happy 
 in the friendship and assistance of Ariana, who, dying 
 soon after, left them in possession of a large estate, and, 
 in her last moments, confessed that virtue was the only 
 path to true glory ; and that, however innocence may 
 for a time be depressed, a steady perseverance will, 
 in time, lead it to a certain victory. 
 
 Number VIII. Saturday, November 24, 1759. 
 OF THE OPERA IN ENGLAND 
 
 The rise and fall of our amusements pretty much 
 resemble that of empire. They this day flourish without 
 any visible cause for such vigour ; the next they decay 
 away, without any reason that can be assigned for their 
 downfall. Some years ago the Italian opera was the 
 only fashionable amusement among our nobility. The 
 managers of the playhouses dreaded it as a mortal 
 enemy, and our very poets listed themselves in the 
 opposition ; at present, the house seems deserted, the 
 castrati sing to empty benches ; even Prince Vologese 
 himself, a youth of great expectations, sings himself 
 out of breath, and rattles his chain to no purpose. 
 
 To say the truth, the opera, as it is conducted among 
 us, is but a very humdrum amusement ; in other 
 countries, the decorations are entirely magnificent, the 
 singers all excellent, and the burlettas, or interludes, 
 quite entertaining ; the best poets compose the words, 
 and the best masters the music ; but with us it is other- 
 
OF THE OPERA IN ENGLAND 87 
 
 wise ; the decorations are but trifling, and cheap ; the"^ 
 singers, Matei only excepted, but indifferent. Instead of 
 interlude, we have those sorts of skipping dances, which 
 are calculated for the galleries of the theatre. Every 
 performer sings his favourite song, and the music is 
 only a medley of old Italian airs, or some meagre modern 
 Capricio. 
 
 When such is the case, it is not much to be wondered, 
 if the opera is pretty much neglected ; the lower orders 
 of people have neither taste nor fortune to relish such 
 an entertainment ; they would find more satisfaction 
 in the Roast Beef of Old England than in the finest closes 
 of an eunuch ; they sleep amidst all the agony of recita- 
 tive : On the other hand, people of fortune or taste 
 can hardly be pleased where there is a visible poverty 
 in the decorations, and an entire want of taste in the 
 composition. 
 
 Would it not surprise one, that when Metastasio is 
 so well known in England, and so universally admired, 
 the manager or the composer should have recourse to 
 any other operas than those written by him ? I might 
 venture to say, that ivritten by Metastasio, put up in 
 the bills of the day, would alone be sufficient to fill a 
 house, since thus the admirers of sense, as well as sound, 
 might find enter-tainment. 
 
 The performers also should be entreated to sing only '"^-^ 
 their parts, without clapping in any of their own 
 favourite airs. I must own, that such songs are generally ^x 
 to me the most disagreeable in the world. Every 
 singer generally chooses a favourite air, not from the 
 excellency of the music, but from the difficulty ; such 
 songs are generally chosen as surprise rather than please, 
 where the performer may show his compass, his breath, 
 and his volubility. 
 
 From hence proceed those unnatural startings, those 
 
88 THE BEE 
 
 unmusical closings, and shakes lengthened out to a 
 painful continuance ; such, indeed, may show a voice, but 
 it must give a truly delicate ear the utmost uneasiness. 
 Such tricks are not music ; neither Corelli nor Pergolesi 
 ever permitted them, and they begin even to be dis- 
 continued in Italy, where they first had their rise. 
 
 And now I am upon the subject : Our composers also 
 should affect greater simplicity, let their base clef have 
 all the variety they can give it ; let the body of the music 
 (if I may so express it) be as various as they please, 
 but let them avoid ornamenting a barren groundwork ; 
 let them not attempt, by flourishing, to cheat us of solid 
 harmony. 
 
 The works of Mr. Rameau are never heard without 
 a surprising effect. I can attribute it only to this 
 simplicity he everywhere observes, insomuch that some 
 of his finest harmonies are often only octave and unison. 
 This simple manner has greater powers than is generally 
 imagined ; and were not such a demonstration misplaced, 
 I think, from the principles of music, it might be proved 
 to be most agreeable. 
 
 But to leave general reflection. With the present set 
 of performers, the operas, if the conductor thinks proper, 
 may be carried on with some success, since they have all 
 some merit ; if not as actors, at least as singers. Signora 
 Matei is at once both a perfect actress and a very fine 
 singer. She is possessed of a fine sensibility in her 
 manner, and seldom indulges those extravagant and 
 unmusical flights of voice complained of before. Corna- 
 cini, on the other hand, is a very indifferent actor ; has 
 a most unmeaning face; seems not to feel his part; 
 is infected with a passion of showing his compass ; but 
 to recompense all these defects, his voice is melodious ; 
 he has vast compass and great volubility ; his swell 
 and shake are perfectly fine, unless that he continues 
 
OF THE OPERA IN ENGLAND 89 
 
 the latter too long. In short, whatever the defects of 
 his action may be, they are amply recompensed by his 
 excellency as a singer ; nor can I avoid fancying that 
 he might make a much greater figure in an oratorio, 
 than upon the stage. 
 
 However, upon the whole, I know not whether ever 
 operas can be kept up in England ; they seem to be 
 entirely exotic, and require the nicest management 
 and care. Instead of this, the care of them is assigned 
 to men unacquainted with the genius and disposition 
 of the people they would amuse, and whose only motives 
 are immediate gain. Whether a discontinuance of such 
 entertainments would be more to the loss or the advan- 
 tage of the nation, I will not take upon me to determine, 
 since it is as much our interest to induce foreigners of 
 taste among us on the one hand, as it is to discourage 
 those trifling members of society who generally compose' 
 the operatical dramatis personae, on the other. 
 
ESSAYS. 
 
 BY 
 
 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 COLLECTA REVIRESCUNT. 
 The SECOND EDITION^ correded. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 Printed for W. Griffin in Catharine-Street. 
 
 MDCCLXVI. 
 
[Two * Essays ' in Verse : * The Double Transformation ' and 
 ' A "New Simile in the Manner of Swift ' are omitted. They may be 
 fomid in the companion volume of Goldsmith's Poems. The titles 
 to the Essays have for the most part been supplied from the post- 
 humous edition of 1798. A third essay on ' Beau Tibbs ', not reprinted 
 in Essays, 1765 (ed. 2, 1766), will be found ui an Appendix to this 
 volume.] 
 
THE PREFACE 
 
 The following Essays have already appeared at 
 different times, and in different publications. The 
 pamphlets in which they were inserted being generally- 
 unsuccessful, these shared the common fate, without 
 assisting the bookseller's aims, or extending the writer's 
 reputation. The public were too strenuously employed 
 with their own follies, to be assiduous in estimating mine ; 
 so that many of my best attempts in this way have 
 fallen victims to the transient topic of the times ; the 
 Ghost in Cock Lane, or the siege of Ticonderago. 
 
 But though they have passed pretty silently into the 
 world, I can by no means complain of their circulation. 
 The magazines and papers of the day have, indeed, 
 been liberal enough in this respect. Most of these essays 
 have been regularly reprinted twice or thrice a year, and 
 conveyed to the public through the kennel of some 
 engaging compilation. If there be a pride in multiplied 
 editions, I have seen some of my labours sixteen times 
 reprinted, and claimed by different parents as their own. 
 I have seen them flourished at the beginning with praise, 
 and signed at the end with the names of Philantos, 
 Philalethes, Philalutheros, and Philanthropos. These 
 gentlemen have kindly stood sponsors to my produc- 
 tions ; and, to flatter me more, have always taken my 
 errors on themselves. 
 
 It is time, however, at last, to vindicate my claims ; 
 and as these entertainers of the public, as they call 
 themselves, have partly lived upon me for some years 
 let me now try if I cannot live a little upon myself 
 I would desire, in this case, to imitate the fat man, whom 
 
94 ESSAYS 
 
 I have somewhere read of, in a shipwreck, who, when 
 the sailors, pressed by famine, were taking slices from his 
 posteriors to satisfy their hunger, insisted, with great 
 justice, on having the first cut for himself. 
 
 Yet after all, I cannot be angry with any who 
 have taken it into their heads, to think that whatever 
 I write is worth reprinting, particularly when I consider 
 how great a majority will think it scarce worth reading. 
 Trifling and superficial are terms of reproach that are 
 easily objected, and that carry an air of penetration 
 in the otTserver. These faults have been objected to the 
 following essays ; and it must be owned, in some 
 measure, that the charge is true. However, I could have 
 made them more metaphysical, had I thought fit ; but 
 I would ask whether, in a short essay, it is not necessary 
 to be superficial ? Before we have prepared to enter 
 into the depths of a subject, in the usual forms, we have 
 got to the bottom of our scanty page, and thus lose the 
 honours of a victory, by too tedious a preparation for 
 the combat. 
 
 There is another fault in this collection of trifles, 
 which, I fear, will not be so easily pardoned. It will be 
 alleged, that the humour of them (if any be found) is 
 stale and hackneyed. This may be true enough as 
 matters now stand, but I may with great truth assert, 
 that the humour was new when I wrote it. Since that 
 time, indeed, many of the topics which were first started 
 here, have been hunted down, and many of the thoughts 
 blown upon. In fact, these Essays were considered as 
 quietly laid in the grave of oblivion ; and our modern 
 compilers, like sextons and executioners, think it their 
 undoubted right to pillage the dead. 
 
 However, whatever right I have to complain of the 
 public, they can, as yet, have no just reason to complain 
 of me. If I have written dull Essays, they have hitherto 
 
THE PREFACE 95 
 
 treated them as dull Essays. Thus far we are at least 
 upon par, and until they think fit to make me their 
 humble debtor, by praise, I am resolved not to lose 
 a single inch of my self-importance. Instead, therefore, 
 of attempting to establish a credit amongst them, it will 
 perhaps be wiser to apply to some more distant corre- 
 spondent ; and as my drafts are in some danger of being 
 protested at home, it may not be imprudent, upon this 
 occasion, to draw my bills upon Posterity. 
 
ESSAYS 
 
 ESSAY I 
 INTRODUCTORY PAPER 
 
 [Altered from ' Introduction ' in The Bee, No. I] 
 
 There is not, perhaps, a more whimsical figure in 
 nature, than a man of real modesty, who assumes an air 
 of impudence ; who, while his heart beats with anxiety, 
 studies ease, and affects good humour. In this situation, 
 however, every unexperienced writer, as I am, finds 
 himself. Impressed with the terrors of the tribunal 
 before which he is going to appear, his natural humour 
 turns to pertness, and for real wit he is obliged to 
 substitute vivacity. 
 
 For my part, as I was never distinguished for address, 
 and have often blundered in making my bow, I am at 
 a loss whether to be merry or sad on this solemn occasion. 
 Should I modestly decline all merit, it is too probable 
 the hasty reader may take me at my word. If, on the 
 other hand, like labourers in the magazine trade, I 
 humbly presume to promise an epitome of all the good 
 things that were ever said or written, those readers I most 
 desire to please may forsake me. 
 
 My bookseller, in this dilemma perceiving my em- 
 barrassment, instantly offered his assistance and advice : 
 You must know, sir,' says he, ' that the republic of 
 letters is at present divided into several classes. One 
 writer excels at a plan, or a title-page ; another works 
 away the body of the book ; and the third is a dab 
 at an index. Thus a magazine is not the result of any 
 single man's industry ; but goes through as many hands 
 as a new pin, before it is fit for the public. I fancy, sir,' 
 
 GOLDSMITH. Ill E 
 
98 ESSAYS 
 
 continues he, * I can provide an eminent hand, and upon 
 ' moderate terms, to draw up a promising plan to smooth 
 
 * up our readers a little, and pay them, as Colonel 
 ' Chartres paid his seraglio, at the rate of three half- 
 
 * pence in hand, and three shillings more in promises.' 
 
 He was proceeding in his advice, which, however, 
 I thought proper to decline, by assuring him, that, as 
 I intended to pursue no fixed method, so it was impossible 
 to form any regular plan ; determined never to be 
 tedious, in order to be logical, wherever pleasure pre- 
 sented, I was resolved to follow. 
 
 It will be improper therefore to pall the reader's 
 curiosity by lessening his surprise, or anticipate any 
 pleasure I am able to procure him, by saying what shall 
 come next. Happy could any effort of mine, but repress 
 one criminal pleasure, or but for a moment fill up an 
 interval of anxiety ! How gladly would I lead mankind 
 from the vain prospects of life, to prospects of innocence 
 and ease, where every breeze breathes health, and every 
 sound is but the echo of tranquillity. 
 
 But whatever may be the merit of his intentions, 
 every writer is now convinced that he must be chiefly 
 indebted to good fortune for finding readers willing to 
 allow him any degree of reputation . It has been remarked , 
 that almost every character which has excited either 
 attention or pity, has owed part of its success to merit, 
 and part to an happy concurrence of circumstances in 
 its favour. Had Caesar or Cromwell exchanged countries, 
 the one might have been a sergeant, and the other an 
 exciseman. So it is with wit, which generally succeeds 
 more from being happily addressed, than from its native 
 poignancy. A jest calculated to spread at a gaming 
 table, may be received with perfect indifference should 
 it happen to drop in a mackerel boat. We have all seen 
 dunces triumph in some companies, where men of real 
 
INTRODUCTORY PAPER 99 
 
 humour were disregarded, by a general combination in 
 favour of stupidity. To drive the observation as far as 
 it will go, should the labours of a writer who designs his 
 performances for readers of a more refined appetite, fall 
 into the hands of a devourer of compilations, what can 
 he expect but contempt and confusion ? If his merits 
 are to be determined by judges who estimate the value 
 of a book from its bulk, or its frontispiece, every rival 
 must acquire an easy superiority, who with persuasive 
 eloquence promises four extraordinary pages of letter- 
 press, or three beautiful prints, curiously coloured from 
 nature. 
 
 Thus then, though I cannot promise as much enter- 
 tainment, or as much elegance as others have done, yet 
 the reader may be assured he shall have as much of both 
 as I can. He shall, at least, find me alive while I study 
 his entertainment ; for I solemnly assure him, I was 
 never yet possessed of the secret of writing and sleeping. 
 
 During the course of this paper, therefore, all the wit 
 and learning I have, are heartily at his service ; which 
 if, after so candid a confession he should, notwithstand- 
 ing, still find intolerably dull, or low, or sad stuff, this 
 I protest is more than I know. I have a clear conscience, 
 and am entirely out of the secret. 
 
 Yet I would not have him, upon the perusal of a single 
 paper, pronounce me incorrigible ; he may try a second, 
 which, as there is a studied difference in subject and 
 style, may be more suited to his taste ; if this also fails, 
 I must refer him to a third, or even to a fourth, in case 
 of extremity : if he should still continue refractory, and 
 find me dull to the last, I must inform him, with Bayes 
 in the Rehearsal, that I think him a very odd kind of 
 a fellow, and desire no more of his acquaintance. But 
 still if my readers impute the general tenor of my subject 
 to me as a fault, I must beg leave to tell them a story. 
 
100 ESSAYS 
 
 A traveller, in his way to Italy, found himself in a 
 country where the inhabitants had each a large excres- 
 cence depending from the chin ; a deformity which, as 
 it was endemic, and the people little used to strangers, 
 it had been the custom, time immemorial, to look upon 
 as the greatest beauty. Ladies grew toasts from the size 
 of their chins, and no men were beaux whose faces 
 were not broadest at the bottom. It was Sunday, 
 a country church was at hand, and our traveller was 
 willing to perform the duties of the day. Upon his first 
 appearance at the church door, the eyes of all were 
 naturally fixed upon the stranger ; but what was their 
 amazement, when they found that he actually wanted 
 that emblem of beauty, a pursed chin. Stifled bursts of 
 laughter, winks, and whispers, circulated from visage 
 to visage ; the prismatic figure of the stranger's face was 
 a fund of infinite gaiety. Our traveller could no longer 
 patiently continue an object for deformity to point at. 
 
 * Good folks,' said he, ' I perceive that I am a very 
 ' ridiculous figure here, but I assure you am reckoned 
 
 * no way deformed at Home.' 
 
 ESSAY II 
 
 THE STORY OF ALCANDER AND SEPTIMIUS 
 
 Taken from a Byzantine Historian 
 
 [Altered from The Bee, No. I] 
 
 Athens, long after the decline of the Roman Empire, 
 still continued the seat of learning, politeness, and 
 wisdom. Theodoric, the Ostrogoth, repaired the schools 
 which barbarity was suffering to fall into decay, and 
 continued those pensions to men of learning, which 
 avaricious governors had monopolized. 
 
 In this city, and about this period, Alcander and 
 
ALCANDER AND SEPTIINIIUS 101 
 
 Septimius were fellow students together, Tiie brie', the 
 most subtle reasoner of all the Lyceum ; the other, the 
 most eloquent speaker in the academic grove. Mutual 
 admiration soon begot a friendship. Their fortunes were 
 nearly equal, and they were natives of the two most 
 celebrated cities in the world ; for Alcander was of 
 Athens, Septimius came from Rome. 
 
 In this state of harmony they lived for some time 
 together, when Alcander, after passing the first part of 
 his youth in the indolence of philosophy, thought at 
 length of entering into the busy world ; and, as a step 
 previous to this, placed his affections on Hypatia, a lady 
 of exquisite beauty. The day of their intended nuptials 
 was fixed ; the previous ceremonies were performed ; 
 and nothing now remained but her being conducted in 
 triumph to the apartment of the intended bridegroom^ 
 
 Alcander's exultation in his own happiness, or being 
 unable to enjoy any satisfaction without making his 
 friend Septimius a partner, prevailed upon him to 
 introduce Hypatia to his fellow student ; which he did 
 with all the gaiety of a man who found himself equally 
 happy in friendship and love. But this was an interview 
 fatal to the future peace of both ; for Septimius no 
 sooner saw her, but he was smitten with an involuntary 
 passion ; and, though he used every effort to suppress 
 desires at once so imprudent and unjust, the emotions 
 of his mind in a short time became so strong, that they 
 brought on a fever, which the physicians judged incurable. 
 
 During this illness, Alcander watched him with all 
 the anxiety of fondness, and brought his mistress to join 
 in those amiable offices of friendship. The sagacity of 
 the physicians, by these means, soon discovered that the 
 cause of their patient's disorder was love ; and Alcander 
 being apprised of their discovery^ at length extorted 
 a confession from the reluctant dying lover. 
 
.102 . ,. ' ,^,," ' ■ ESSAYS 
 
 It \^o'uld but delay ^ the narrative to describe the 
 conflict between love and friendship in the breast of 
 Alcander on this occasion ; it is enough to say, that 
 the Athenians were at that time arrived at such refine- 
 ment in morals, that every virtue was carried to excess. 
 In short, forgetful of his own felicity, he gave up his 
 intended bride, in all her charms, to the young Roman. 
 They were married privately by his connivance, and this 
 unlooked-for change of fortune wrought as unexpected 
 a change in the constitution of the now happy Septimius. 
 In a few days he was perfectly recovered, and set out 
 with his fair partner for Rome. Here, by an exertion 
 of those talents which he was so eminently possessed of, 
 Septimius, in a few years, arrived at the highest dignities 
 of the state, and was constituted the city judge, or 
 praetor. 
 
 In the meantime Alcander not only felt the pain of 
 being separated from his friend and his mistress, but 
 a prosecution was also commenced against him by the 
 relations of Hypatia, for having basely given up his 
 bride, as was suggested, for money. His innocence of 
 the crime laid to his charge, and even his eloquence in 
 his own defence, were not able to withstand the influence 
 of a powerful party. He was cast and condemned to 
 pay an enormous fine. However, being unable to raise 
 so large a sum at the time appointed, his possessions 
 were confiscated, he himself was stripped of the habit 
 of freedom, exposed as a slave in the market-place, and 
 sold to the highest bidder. 
 
 A merchant of Thrace becoming his purchaser, 
 Alcander, with some other companions of distress, was 
 carried into that region of desolation and sterility. His 
 stated employment was to follow the herds of an im- 
 perious master, and his success in hunting was all that 
 was allowed him to supply his precarious subsistence. 
 
ALCANDER AND SEPTIMIUS 103 
 
 Every morning waked him to a renewal of famine or 
 toil, and every change of season served but to aggravate 
 his unsheltered distress. After some years of bondage, 
 however, an opportunity of escaping offered ; he 
 embraced it with ardour ; so that travelling by night, 
 and lodging in caverns by day, to shorten a long story, 
 he at last arrived in Rome. The same day on which 
 Alcander arrived, Septimius sat administering justice in 
 the forum, whither our wanderer came, expecting to be 
 instantly known, and publicly acknowledged, by- his 
 former friend. Here he stood the whole day amongst 
 the crowd, watching the eyes of the judge, and expecting 
 to be taken notice of ; but he was so much altered by 
 a long succession of hardships, that he continued unnoted 
 among the rest ; and, in the evening, when he was 
 going up to the praetor's chair, he was brutally repulsed 
 by the attending lictors. The attention of the poor is 
 generally driven from one ungrateful object to another ; 
 for night coming on, he now found himself under a 
 necessity of seeking a place to lie in, and yet knew not 
 where to apply. All emaciated, and in rags as he was, 
 none of the citizens would harbour so much wretchedness ; 
 and sleeping in the streets might be attended with 
 interruption or danger : in short, he was obliged to take 
 up his lodging in one of the tombs without the city, the 
 usual retreat of guilt, poverty, and despair. In this 
 mansion of horror, laying his head upon an inverted urn, 
 he forgot his miseries for a while in sleep ; and found, on 
 his flinty couch, more ease than beds of down can supply 
 to the guilty. 
 
 As he continued here, about midnight, two robbers 
 came to make this their retreat ; but happening to 
 disagree about the division of their plunder, one of them 
 stabbed the other to the heart, and left him weltering in 
 blood at the entrance. In these circumstances he was 
 
104 ESSAYS •• 
 
 found next morning dead at the mouth of the vault. 
 This naturally inducing a further inquiry, an alarm 
 was spread ; the cave was examined ; and Alcander 
 being found, was immediately apprehended and accused 
 of robbery and murder. The circumstances against him 
 were strong, and the wretchedness of his appearance 
 confirmed suspicion. Misfortune and he were now so 
 long acquainted, that he at last became regardless of 
 life. He detested a world where he had found only 
 ingratitude, falsehood and cruelty ; he was determined 
 to make no defence ; and, thus lowering with resolution, 
 he was dragged, bound with cords, before the tribunal of 
 Septimius. As the proofs were positive against him, and 
 he offered nothing in his own vindication, the judge was 
 proceeding to doom him to a most cruel and ignominious 
 death, when the attention of the multitude was soon 
 divided by another object. The robber, who had been 
 really guilty, was apprehended selling his plunder, 
 and, struck with a panic, had confessed his crime. He 
 was brought bound to the same tribunal, and acquitted 
 every other person of any partnership in his guilt. 
 Alcander's innocence therefore appeared, but the sullen 
 rashness of his conduct remained a wonder to the 
 surrounding multitude ; but their astonishment was still 
 further increased when they saw their judge start from 
 his tribunal to embrace the supposed criminal : Septi- 
 mius recollected his friend and former benefactor, and 
 hung upon his neck with tears of pity and of joy. Need 
 the sequel be related ? Alcander was acquitted ; shared 
 the friendship and honours of the principal citizens of 
 Rome ; lived afterwards in happiness and ease ; and 
 left it to be engraved on his tomb. That no circumstances 
 are so desperate, which Providence may not relieve. 
 
105 
 
 ESSAY III 
 ON HAPPINESS OF TEMPER 
 
 [Altered from ' Happiness in a great measure dependent on Consti- 
 tution,' in The Bee, No. II] 
 
 When I reflect on the unambitious retirement in 
 which I passed the earlier part of my life in the country. 
 I cannot avoid feeling some pain in thinking that those 
 happy days are never to return. In that retreat, all 
 nature seemed capable of affording pleasure ; I then 
 made, no refinements on happiness, but could be pleased 
 with the most awkward efforts of rustic mirth ; thought 
 cross-purposes the highest stretch of human wit ; and 
 questions and commands the most rational way of 
 spending the evening. Happy could so charming an 
 illusion still continue ! I find that age and knowledge 
 only contribute to sour our dispositions. My present 
 enjoyments may be more refined, but they are infinitely 
 less pleasing. The pleasure the best actor gives^ can no 
 way compare to that I have received from a country 
 wag who imitated a Quaker's sermon. The music of 
 the finest singer is dissonance to what I felt when our 
 old dairymaid sung me into tears with ' Johnny Arm= 
 strong's Last Good Night ', or * The Cruelty of Barbara 
 Allen '. 
 
 Writers of every age have endeavoured to show that 
 pleasure is in us, and not in the objects offered for our 
 amusement. If the soul be happily disposed, every 
 thing becomes capable of affording entertainment ; and 
 distress will almost want a name. Every occurrence 
 passes in review like the figures of a procession ; some 
 may be awkward, others ill dressed ; but none but a fool 
 is for this enraged with the master of the ceremonies„ 
 
 I remember to have once seen a slave in a fortification 
 
 E 3 
 
l06 ESSAYS 
 
 in Flanders, who appeared no way touched with his 
 situation. He was maimed, deformed, and chained ; 
 obliged to toil from the appearance of day till nightfall, 
 and condemned to this for life ; yet, with all these 
 circumstances of apparent wretchedness, he sung, would 
 have danced but that he wanted a leg, and appeared the 
 merriest, happiest man of all the garrison. What a 
 practical philosopher was here ; a happy constitution 
 supplied philosophy ; and, though seemingly destitute 
 of wisdom, he was really wise. No reading or study had 
 contributed to disenchant the fairyland around him. 
 Every thing furnished him with an opportunity of liiirth ; 
 and, though some thought him, from his insensibility, 
 a fool, he was such an idiot as philosophers should wish 
 to imitate ; for all philosophy is only forcing the trade of 
 happiness, when nature seems to deny the means. 
 [ They who, like our slave, can place themselves on 
 that side of the world in which everything appears in 
 a pleasing light, will find something in every occurrence 
 to excite their good humour. The most calamitous 
 events, either to themselves or others, can bring no new 
 affliction ; the whole world is to them a theatre, on 
 which comedies only are acted. All the bustle of 
 heroism, or the rants of ambition, serve only to heighten 
 the absurdity of the scene, and make the humour more 
 poignant. They feel, in short, as little anguish at their 
 own distress, or the complaints of others, as the under- 
 taker, though dressed in black, feels sorrow at a funeral. 
 Of all the men I ever read of, the famous Cardinal de 
 Retz possessed this happiness of temper in the highest 
 degree. As he was a man of gallantry, and despised all 
 that wore the pedantic appearance of philosophy, 
 wherever pleasure was to be sold, he was generally fore- 
 most to raise the auction. Being an universal admirer 
 of the fair sex, when he found one lady cruel, he generally 
 
HAPPINESS OF TEMPER 107 
 
 fell in love with another, from whom he expected a more 
 favourable reception : if she too rejected his addresses, 
 he never thought of retiring into deserts, or pining in 
 hopeless distress. He persuaded himself, that, instead 
 of loving the lady, he only fancied that he had loved 
 her, and so all was well again. When Fortune wore her 
 angriest look, and he at last fell into the power of his 
 most deadly enemy, Cardinal Mazarine (being confined 
 a close prisoner in the castle of Valenciennes) he never 
 attempted to support his distress by wisdom or philo- 
 sophy, for he pretended to neither. He only laughed at 
 himself and his persecutor, and seemed infinitely pleased 
 at his new situation. In this mansion of distress, though 
 secluded from his friends, though denied all the amuse- 
 ments, and even the conveniences, of life, he still retained 
 his good humour ; laughed at all the little spite of his 
 enemies ; and carried the jest so far, as to be revenged, 
 by writing the life of his jailer. 
 
 All that the wisdom of the proud can teach, is to be 
 stubborn or sullen under misfortunes. The cardinal's 
 example will instruct us to be merry in circumstances of 
 the highest affliction. It matters not whether our good 
 humour be construed by others into insensibility, or even 
 idiotism ; it is happiness to ourselves, and none but 
 a fool would measure his satisfaction by what the world, 
 thinks of it : for my own part, I never pass by one of 
 our prisons for debt, that I do not envy that felicity 
 which is still going forward among those people, who 
 forget the cares of the world by being shut out from 
 its ambition. 
 
 The happiest silly fellow I ever knew, was of the 
 number of those good-natured creatures that are said 
 to do no harm to any but themselves. Whenever he fell 
 into any misery, he usually called it, Seeing Life. If his 
 head was broke by a chairman, or his pocket picked by a 
 
108 ESSAYS 
 
 sharper, he comforted himself by imitating the Hibernian 
 dialect of the one, or the more fashionable cant of the 
 other. Nothing came amiss to him. His inattention to 
 money matters had incensed his father to such a degree, 
 that all the intercession of friends in his favour was 
 fruitless. The old gentleman was on his death-bed. 
 The whole family, and Dick among the number, gathered 
 around him. ' I leave my second son, Andrew,' said the 
 expiring miser, ' my whole estate, and desire him to be 
 * frugal.' Andrew, in a sorrowful tone, as is usual on 
 these occasions, prayed Heaven to prolong his life and 
 health to enjoy it himself. * I recommend Simon, my 
 ^ third son, to the care of his elder brother, and leave him 
 *^ beside four thousand pounds.' ' Ah ! father,' cried 
 Simon (in great affliction to be sure), * may Heaven 
 '^ give you life and health to enjoy it yourself.' At last, 
 turning to poor Dick, ' As for you, you have always been 
 ^ a sad dog ; you'll never come to good ; you'll never be 
 ' rich ; I'll leave you a shilling to buy a halter.' ' Ah ! 
 ' father,' cries Dick, without any emotion, ' may Heaven 
 ' give you life and health to enjoy it yourself.' This was 
 all the trouble the loss of fortune gave this thoughtless 
 imprudent creature. However, the tenderness of an 
 uncle recompensed the neglect of a father ; and my 
 friend is now not only excessively good-humoured, but 
 competently rich. 
 
 r Yes, let the world cry out at a bankrupt who appears 
 at a ball ; at an author who laughs at the public, which 
 pronounces him a dunce ; at a general who smiles at the 
 reproach of the vulgar, or the lady who keeps her good 
 humour in spite of scandal ; but such is the wisest 
 behaviour that any of us can possibly assume ; it is 
 certainly a better way to oppose calamity by dissipation, 
 than to take up the arms of reason or resolution to 
 oppose it : by the first method, we forget our miseries ; 
 
HAPPINESS OF TEMPER 109 
 
 by the last, we only conceal them from others ; by 
 struggling with misfortunes, we are sure to receive some 
 wounds in the conflict ; but a sure method to come off • 
 victorious, is by running away. J 
 
 ESSAY IV 
 DESCRIPTION OF VARIOUS CLUBS 
 
 [The Busy Body, October 13, 1759] 
 
 I REMEMBER to havc read in some philosopher (I believe 
 in Tom Brown's works), that, let a man's character, 
 sentiments, or complexion, be what they will, he can 
 find company in London to match them. If he be 
 splenetic, he may every day meet companions on the 
 seats in St. James's Park, with whose groans he may mix 
 his own, and pathetically talk of the weather. If he be 
 passionate, he may vent his rage among the old orators 
 at Slaughter's coffee-house, and damn the nation because 
 it keeps him from starving. If he be phlegmatic, he may 
 sit in silence at the Hum-drum Club in Ivy Lane ; and, 
 if actually mad, he may find very ^ood company in 
 Moorfields, either at Bedlam or the Foundery, ready to 
 cultivate a nearer acquaintance. 
 
 But, although such as have a knowledge of the town, 
 may easily class themselves with tempers congenial to 
 their own ; a countryman who comes to live in London, 
 finds nothing more difficult. With regard to myself, none 
 ever tried with more assiduity, or came off with such 
 indifferent success. I spent a whole season in the search, 
 during which time my name has been enrolled in societies, 
 lodges, convocations, and meetings without number. To 
 some I was introduced by a friend, to others invited by 
 an advertisement ; to these I introduced myself, and 
 
110 ESSAYS 
 
 to those I changed my name to gain admittance. In 
 short, no coquette was ever more solicitous to match her 
 ribbons to her complexion, than I to suit my club to 
 my temper, for I was too obstinate to bring my temper 
 to conform to it. 
 
 The first club I entered upon coming to town, was that 
 of the Choice Spirits. The name was entirely suited to 
 my taste ; I was a lover of mirth, good humour, and 
 even sometimes of fun, from my childhood. 
 
 As no other passport was requisite but the payment of 
 two shillings at the door, I introduced myself without 
 further ceremony to the members, who were already 
 assembled, and had, for some time, begun upon business. 
 The Grand, with a mallet in his hand, presided at the 
 head of the table. I could not avoid, upon my entrance, 
 making use of all my skill in physiognomy, in order to 
 discover that superiority of genius in men, who had 
 taken a title so superior to the rest of mankind. I ex- 
 pected to see the lines of every face marked with strong 
 thinking ; but, though I had some skill in this science, 
 I could for my life discover nothing but a pert simper, 
 fat, or profound stupidity. 
 
 My speculations were soon interrupted by the Grand, 
 who had knocked down Mr. Spriggins for a song. I was, 
 upon this, whispered by one of the company who sat 
 npxt me, that I should now see something touched off 
 to a nicety, for Mr. Spriggins was going to give us ' Mad 
 Tom ' in all its glory. Mr. Spriggins endeavoured to 
 excuse himself ; for, as he was to act a madman and 
 a king, it was impossible to go through the part properly 
 without a crown and chains. His excuses were overruled 
 by a great majority, and with much vociferation. The 
 president ordered up the jack-chain, and, instead of 
 a crown, our performer covered his brows with an 
 inverted Jordan. After he had rattled his chain, and 
 
DESCRIPTION OF VARIOUS CLUBS 111 
 
 shook his head, to the great delight of the whole company, 
 he began his song. As I have heard few young fellows 
 offer to sing in company, that did not expose themselves, 
 it was no great disappointment to me to find Mr. 
 Spriggins among the number ; however, not to seem an 
 odd fish, I rose from my seat in rapture, cried out, * Bravo ! 
 
 * Encore ! ' and slapped the table as loud as any of the rest. 
 
 The gentleman who sat next me seemed highly 
 pleased with my taste, and the ardour of my approbation ; 
 and whispering, told me that I had suffered an immense 
 loss ; for, had I come a few minutes sooner, I might have 
 heard ' Gee -ho -Dobbin ' sung in a tip-top manner by the 
 pimple -nosed spirit at the president's right elbow : but 
 he was evaporated before I came. 
 
 As I was expressing my uneasiness at this disappoint- 
 ment, I found the attention of the company employed 
 upon a fat figure, who, with a voice more rough than the 
 Staffordshire giant's, was giving us, ' The Softly Sweet, 
 
 * in Lydian Measure,' of Alexander's Feast. After a short 
 pause of admiration, to this succeeded a Welsh dialogue, 
 with the humours of Teague and Taffy : after that, came 
 on ' Old Jackson ', with a story between every stanza : 
 next was sung ' The Dust-cart ', and then ' Solomon's 
 Song ' . The glass began now to circulate pretty 
 freely ; those who were silent when sober, would now 
 be heard in their turn ; every man had his song, and 
 he saw no reason why he should not be heard as well 
 as any of the rest : one begged to be heard while he 
 gave ' Death and the Lady ' in high taste ; another sung 
 to a plate which he kept trundling on the edges ; nothing 
 was now heard but singing ; voice rose above voice, till 
 the whole became one universal shout, when the landlord 
 came to acquaint the company that the reckoning was 
 drank out. Rabelais calls the moments in which a reck- 
 oning is mentioned, the most melancholy of our lives : 
 
-112 ESSAYS 
 
 'never was so much noise so quickly quelled, as by this 
 short but pathetic oration of our landlord : * Drank out,' 
 was echoed in a tone of discontent round the table : 
 * Drank out already ! that was very odd 1 that so much 
 ' punch could be drank out already : impossible ! ' The 
 landlord, however, seeming resolved not to retreat from 
 his first assurances, the company was dissolved, and 
 a president chosen foiTthe night ensuing. 
 
 A friend of mine, to whom I was complaining some 
 time after of the entertainment I have been describing, 
 proposed to bring me to the club that he frequented ; 
 which he fancied would suit the gravity of my temper 
 exactlyo "' We have, at the Muzzy Club,' says he, * no 
 *^ riotous mirth, nor awkward ribaldry ; no confusion or 
 ■ bawling ; all is conducted with wisdom and decency : 
 ^ besides, some of our members are worth forty thousand 
 pounds ; men of prudence and foresight every one of 
 ' them : these are the proper acquaintance, and to such 
 ' I will to-night introduce you.' I was charmed at the 
 proposal : to be acquainted with men worth forty 
 thousand pounds, and to talk wisdom the whole night, 
 were offers that threw me into rapture. 
 
 At seven o'clock I was accordingly introduced by my 
 friend, not indeed to the company ; for, though I made 
 my best bow, they seemed insensible of my approach, 
 but to the table at which they were sitting. Upon my 
 entering the room, I could not avoid feeling a secret 
 veneration from the solemnity of the scene before me ; 
 the members kept a profound silence, each with a pipe 
 in his mouth, and a pewter pot in his hand, and with 
 faces that might easily be construed into absolute wisdom. 
 Happy society, thought I to myself, where the members 
 think before they speak, deliver nothing rashly, but 
 convey their thoughts to each other pregnant with 
 meaning, and matured by reflection. 
 
DESCRIPTION OF VARIOUS CLUBS 113 
 
 In this pleasing speculation I continued a full half- 
 hour, expecting each moment that somebody would 
 begin to open his mouth ; every time the pipe was laid 
 down, I expected it was to speak ; but it was only to 
 spit. At length, resolving to break the charm myself, and 
 overcome their extreme diffidence, for to this I imputed 
 their silence, I rubbed my hands, and, looking as wise 
 as possible, observed that the nights began to grow 
 a little coolish at this time of the year. This, as it was 
 directed to none of the company in particular, none 
 thought himself obliged to answer ; wherefore I continued 
 still to rub my hands and look wise. My next effort 
 was addressed to a gentleman who sat next me ; to 
 whom I observed, that the beer was extreme good : 
 my neighbour made no reply, but by a large puff of 
 tobacco-smoke. 
 
 I now began to be uneasy in this dumb society, till 
 one of them a little relieved me by observing, that bread 
 had not risen these three weeks : * Aye,' says another, 
 still keeping the pipe in his mouth, ' that puts me in 
 
 * mind of a pleasant story about that — hem — very well ; 
 
 * you must know — but before I begin — Sir, my service 
 
 * to you — where was I ? ' 
 
 My next club goes by the name of the Harmonical 
 Society ; probably from that love of order and friend- 
 ship which every person commends in institutions of 
 this nature. The landlord was himself founder. The 
 money spent is fourpence each ; and they sometimes 
 whip for a double reckoning. To this club few recom- 
 mendations are requisite, except the introductory four- 
 pence, and my landlord's good word, which, as he gains 
 by it, he never refuses. 
 
 We all here talked and behaved as everybody else 
 usually does on his club-night ; we discussed the topic 
 of the day, drank each other's healths, snuffed the 
 
114 ESSAYS 
 
 candles with our fingers, and filled our pipes from the 
 same plate of tobacco. The company saluted each other 
 in the common manner. Mr. Bellows-mender hoped 
 Mr. Currycomb-maker had not caught cold going home 
 the last club-night ; and he returned the compliment, by 
 hoping that young Master Bellows-mender had got well 
 again of the chin-cough. Doctor Twist told us a story of 
 a parliament-man with whom he was intimately ac- 
 quainted ; while the bag-man, at the same time, was 
 telling a better story of a noble lord with whom he 
 could do anything. A gentleman in a black wig and 
 leather breeches, at t'other end of the table, was 
 engaged in a long narrative of the Ghost in Cock Lane ; 
 he had read it in the papers of the day, and was telling 
 it to some that sat next him, who could not read. Near 
 him Mr. Dibbins w^as disputing on the old subject of 
 religion with a Jew pedlar, over the table, while the 
 president vainly knocked down Mr. Leathersides for 
 a songo Besides the combinations of these voices, which 
 I could hear altogether, and which formed an upper part 
 to the concert, there were several others playing under- 
 parts by themselves, and endeavouring to fasten on 
 some luckless neighbour's ear, who was himself bent 
 upon the same design against some other. 
 
 We have often heard of the speech of a corporation, 
 and this induced me to transcribe a speech of this club, 
 taken in shorthand, word for word, as it was spoken 
 by every member of the company. It may be necessary 
 to observe, that the man who told of the ghost had the 
 loudest voice, and the longest story to tell, so that his 
 continuing narrative filled every chasm in the conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 ^ So, Sir J d'ye perceive me, the ghost giving three loud 
 
 raps at the bed-post Says my lord to .me. My dear 
 
 Smokeum, you know there is no man upon the face of 
 
DESCRIPTION OF VARIOUS CLUBS 115 
 
 the yearth for whom I have so high A damnable 
 
 false heretical opinion of all sound doctrine and good 
 learning ; for I'll tell it aloud, and spare not that — 
 
 Silence for a song ; Mr. Leathersides for a song " As 
 
 *' I was a walking upon the highway, I met a young 
 
 " damsel " ^Then what brings you here ? says the 
 
 parson to the ghost Sanconiathan, Manetho, and 
 
 Berosus ^The whole way from Islington turnpike to 
 
 Dog-house bar — Dam — As for Abel Drugger, Sir, he's 
 damn'd low in it ; my 'prentice boy has more of the 
 
 gentleman than he For murder will out one time 
 
 or another ; and none but a ghost, you know, gentlemen, 
 
 can Damme if I don't ; for my friend, whom you 
 
 know, gentlemen, and who is a parliament-man, a man 
 of consequence, a dear honest creature, to be sure ; we 
 
 were laughing last night at Death and damnation 
 
 upon all his posterity, by simply barely tasting 
 
 Sour grapes, as the fox said once when he could not 
 reach them ; and I'll, I'll tell you a story about that, 
 that will make you burst your sides with laughing : A fox 
 
 once Will nobody listen to the song " As I was 
 
 *' a walking upon the highway, I met a young damsel both 
 *' buxom and gay " — No ghost, gentlemen, can be 
 murdered ; nor did I ever hear but of one ghost killed 
 in all my life, and that was stabbed in the belly with 
 a My blood and soul if I don't ^Mr. Bellows- 
 mender, I have the honour of drinking your very good 
 
 health Blast me if I do dam — blood — bugs — fire 
 
 — whizz — blid — tit — rat — trip ' 
 
 Were I to be angry at men for being fools, I could 
 here find ample room for declamation ; but, alas ! 
 I have been a fool myself ; and why should I be angry 
 with them for being something co natural to every child 
 of humanity ? 
 
 Fatigued with this society, I was introduced, the 
 
116 ESSAYS 
 
 following night, to a club of fashion. On taking my 
 place, I found the conversation sufficiently easy, and 
 tolerably good-natured ; for my lord and Sir Paul were 
 not yet arrived. I now thought myself completely 
 fitted ; and resolving to seek no farther, determined 
 to take up my residence here for the winter ; while my 
 temper began to open insensibly to the cheerfulness 
 I saw diffused on every face in the room : but the 
 delusion soon vanished, when the waiter came to apprise 
 us that his lordship and Sir Paul were just arrived. 
 
 From this moment all our felicity was at an end ; 
 our new guests bustled into the room, and took their 
 seats at the head of the table. Adieu now all confidence ; 
 every creature strove who should most recommend 
 himself to our members of distinction. Each seemed 
 quite regardless of pleasing any but our new guests ; 
 and, what before wore the appearance of friendship, was 
 now turned into rivalry. 
 
 Yet I could not observe that, amidst all this flattery 
 and obsequious attention, our great men took any notice 
 of the rest of the company. Their whole discourse was 
 addressed to each other. Sir Paul told his lordship 
 a long story of Moravia the Jew ; and his lordship gave 
 Sir Paul a very long account of his new method of 
 managing silkworms : he led him, and consequently the 
 rest of the company, through all the stages of feeding, 
 sunning, and hatching ; with an episode on mulberry- 
 trees, a digression upon grass-seeds, and a long paren- 
 thesis about his new postilion. In this manner we 
 travelled on, wishing every story to be the last ; but all 
 in vain ; 
 
 * Hills over hills, and Alps on Alps arose.* 
 
 The last club in which I was enrolled a member, 
 was a society of moral philosophers, as they called 
 themselves, who assembled twice a week, in order to 
 
DESCRIPTION OF VARIOUS CLUBS 117 
 
 show the absurdity of the present mode of religion, and 
 establish a new one in its stead. 
 
 I found the members very warmly disputing when 
 I arrived ; not indeed about religion or ethics, but about 
 who had neglected to lay down his preliminary sixpence 
 upon entering the room. The president swore that he 
 had laid his own down, and so swore all the company. 
 
 During this contest, I had an opportunity of observing 
 the laws, and also the members, of the society. The 
 president, who had been, as I was told, lately a bankrupt, 
 was a tall, pale figure, with a long black wig ; the next 
 to him was dressed in a large white wig, and a black 
 cravat ; a third, by the brownness of his complexion, 
 seemed a native of Jamaica ; and a fourth, by his hue, 
 appeared to be a blacksmith. But their rules will give 
 the most just idea of their learning and principles. 
 
 I. We, being a laudable society of moral philosophers, 
 intends to dispute twice a week about religion and priest- 
 craft ; leaving behind us old wives' tales, and following 
 good learning and sound sense. And if so be, that any 
 other persons has a mind to be of the society, they shall 
 be entitled so to do, upon paying the sum of three 
 shillings, to be spent by the company in punch. 
 
 II. That no member get drunk before nine of the 
 clock, upon pain of forfeiting threepence, to be spent by 
 the company in punch. 
 
 III. That, as members are sometimes apt to go away 
 without paying, every person shall pay sixpence upon 
 his entering the room ; and all disputes shall be 
 settled by a majority ; and all fines shall be paid in 
 punch. 
 
 IV. That sixpence shall be every night given to the 
 president, in order to buy books of learning for the good 
 of the society : the president has already put himself 
 to a good deal of expense in buying books for the club i 
 
118 ESSAYS 
 
 particularly the works of Tully, Socrates, and Cicero, 
 which he will soon read to the society. 
 
 V. All them who brings a new argument against 
 religion, and who, being a philosopher, and a man of 
 learning, as the rest of us is, shall be admitted to the 
 freedom of the society, upon paying sixpence only, to 
 be spent in punch. 
 
 VI. Whenever we are to have an extraordinary 
 meeting, ^it shall be advertised by some outlandish 
 name in the newspapers. 
 
 Saunders Mac Wild, President. 
 Anthony Blewit, Vice-President, 
 
 his X niark. 
 William Turpin, Secretary. 
 
 ESSAY V 
 
 [On the Use of Language. Altered from The Bee, No. Ill] 
 
 It is usually said by grammarians, that the use of 
 language is to express our wants and desires ; but men 
 who know the world, hold, and I think with some show 
 of reason, that he who best knows how to keep his neces- 
 sities private, is the most likely person to have them 
 redressed ; and that the true use of speech is not so 
 much to express our wants as to conceal them. 
 
 When we reflect on the manner in which mankind 
 generally confer their favours, there appears something 
 so attractive in riches, that the large heap generally 
 collects from the smaller ; and the poor find as much 
 pleasure in increasing the enormous mass of the rich, 
 as the miser, who owns it, sees happiness in its increase. 
 Nor is there in this anything repugnant to the laws of 
 morality. Seneca himself allows, that in conferring 
 benefits, the present should always be suited to the 
 
ON THE USE OF LANGUAGE 119 
 
 dignity of the receiver. Thus the rich receive large 
 presents, and are thanked for accepting them. Men of 
 middhng stations are obliged to be content with presents 
 something less ; while the beggar, who may be truly 
 said to want indeed, is well paid if a farthing rewards 
 his warmest solicitations. 
 
 Every man who has seen the world, and has had his ups 
 and downs in life, as the expression is, must have fre« 
 quently experienced the truth of this doctrine ; and must 
 know, that to have much, or to seem to have it, is the 
 only way to have more. Ovid finely compares a man of 
 broken fortune to a falling column ; the lower it sinks, 
 the greater is that weight it is obliged to sustain. Thus, 
 when a man's circumstances are such that he has no 
 occasion to borrow, he finds numbers willing to lend him ; 
 but, should his wants be such that he sues for a triflCp 
 it is two to one whether he may be trusted with the 
 smallest sum. A certain young fellow whom I knew,, 
 whenever he had occasion to ask his friend for a guinea, 
 used to prelude his request as if he wanted two hundred ; 
 and talked so familiarly of large sums, that none could 
 ever think he wanted a small one. The same gentleman, 
 whenever he wanted credit for a suit of clothes, always 
 made the proposal in a laced coat ; for he found by ex- 
 perience, that, if he appeared shabby on these occasions, 
 his tailor had taken an oath against trusting ; or, what 
 was every whit as bad, his foreman was out of the way, 
 and would not be at home for some time. 
 
 There can be no inducements to reveal our wants, 
 except to find pity, and by this means relief ; but before 
 a poor man opens his mind in such circumstances, he 
 should first consider whether he is contented to lose 
 the esteem of the person he solicits, and whether he is 
 willing to give up friendship to excite compassion. Pity 
 and friendship are passions incompatible with each other ; 
 
120 ESSAYS 
 
 and it is impossible that both can reside in any breast 
 for the smallest space, without impairing each other. 
 Friendship is made up of esteem and pleasure ; pity is 
 composed of sorrow and contempt ; the mind may, 
 for some time, fluctuate between them, but it can never 
 entertain both at once. 
 
 'iln fact, pity, though it may often relieve, is but, at 
 best, a short-lived passion, and seldom affords distress 
 more than transitory assistance ; with some it scarce 
 lasts from the first impulse till the hand can be put into 
 the pocket ; with others, it may continue for twice that 
 space ; and on some of extraordinary sensibility, I have 
 seen it operate for half an hour together : but still, 
 last as it may, it generally produces but beggarly effects ; 
 and where, from this motive, we give five farthings, 
 from others we give pounds. Whatever be our feelings 
 from the first impulse of distress, when the same distress 
 solicits a second time, we then feel with diminished sensi- 
 bility ; and, like the repetition of an echo, every stroke 
 becomes weaker ; till at last our sensations lose all mix- > 
 ture of sorrow, and degenerate into downright contempt.^ 
 These speculations bring to my mind the fate of 
 a very good-natured fellow, who is now no more. He was 
 bred in a compting-house, and his father dying just as 
 he was out of his time, left him a handsome fortune and 
 many friends to advise with. The restraint in which my 
 friend had been brought up, had thrown a gloom upon 
 his temper, which some regarded as prudence ; and, 
 from such considerations, he had every day repeated 
 offers of friendship. Such as had money, were ready to 
 offer him their assistance that way ; and they who had 
 daughters, frequently, in the warmth of affection, advised 
 him to marry. My friend, however, was in good circum- 
 stances ; he wanted neither money, friends, nor a wife, 
 and therefore modestly declined their proposals. 
 
ON THE USE OF LANGUAGE ' 121 
 
 Some errors, however, in the management of his 
 affairs, and several losses in trade, soon brought him 
 to a different way of thinking ; and he at last considered, 
 that it was his best way to let his friends know that their 
 offers were at length acceptable. His first address was 
 to a scrivener, who had formerly made him frequent 
 offers of money and friendship, at a time when, perhaps, 
 he knew those offers would have been refused. As a man, 
 therefore, confident of not being refused, he requested 
 the use of a hundred guineas for a few days, as he just 
 then had occasion for money. * And pray. Sir,' replied 
 the scrivener, ' do you want all this money ? ' ' Want 
 ' it. Sir ! ' says the other : ' if I did not want it I should 
 ' not have asked it.' 'I am sorry for that,' says the 
 friend ; ' for those who want money when they borrow^ 
 ' will always want money when they should come to 
 ' pay. To say the truth. Sir, money is money now ; 
 ' and I believe it is all sunk in the bottom of the sea, 
 ' for my part ; he that has got a little, is a fool if he does 
 
 * not keep what he has got.' 
 
 Not quite disconcerted by this refusal, our adventurer 
 was resolved to apply to another, whom he knew was 
 the very best friend he had in the world. The gentleman 
 whom he now addressed, received his proposal with all 
 the affability that could be expected from generous 
 friendship. ' Let me see — you want an hundred guineas ; 
 
 * and pray, dear Jack, would not fifty answer ? ' 'If 
 ' you have but fifty to spare. Sir, I must be contented „^ 
 ' Fifty to spare ! I do not say that, for I believe I have 
 
 * but twenty about me.' ' Then I must borrow the 
 ' other thirty from some other friend.' * And pray/ 
 replied the friend, ' would it not be the best way to 
 ' borrow the whole money from that other friend, and 
 ' then one note will serve for all, you know ? You 
 ^ know, my dear Sir, that you need make no ceremony 
 
122 ESSAYS 
 
 ' with me at any time ; you know I'm your friend ; 
 
 ' and when you choose a bit of dinner or so You, 
 
 ' Tom, see the gentleman down. You won't forget to 
 ' dine with us now and then. Your very humble servant.' 
 
 Distressed, but not discouraged, at this treatment, 
 he was at last resolved to find that assistance from love, 
 which he could not have from friendship. A young 
 lady, a distant relation by the mother's side, had a fortune 
 in her own hands ; and, as she had already made all 
 the advances that her sex's modesty would permit, 
 he made his proposal with confidence. He soon, however, 
 perceived, that no bankrupt ever found the fair one 
 kind. She had lately fallen deeply in love with another, 
 who had more money, and the whole neighbourhood 
 thought it would be a match. 
 
 Every day now began to strip my poor friend of his 
 former finery ; his clothes flew, piece by piece, to the 
 pawnbroker's, and he seemed at length equipped in the 
 genuine livery of misfortune. But still he thought 
 himself secure from actual necessity ; the numberless 
 invitations he had received to dine, even after his 
 losses, were yet unanswered ; he was therefore now 
 resolved to accept of a dinner, because he wanted one ; 
 and in this manner he actually lived among his friends 
 a whole week without being openly affronted. The last 
 place I saw him in was at a reverend divine's. He had, 
 as he fancied, just nicked the time of dinner, for he came 
 in as the cloth was laying. He took a chair without 
 being desired, and talked for some time without being 
 attended to. He assured the company, that nothing 
 procured so good an appetite as a walk in the Park, 
 where he had been that morning. He went on, and 
 praised the figure of the damask table-cloth ; talked of 
 a feast where he had been the day before, but that the 
 venison was overdone. But all this procured him no 
 
ON THE USE OF LANGUAGE 123 
 
 invitation : finding therefore the gentleman of the 
 house insensible to all his fetches, he thought proper, 
 at last, to retire, and mend his appetite by a second 
 walk in the Park. 
 
 ^You then, ye beggars of my acquaintance, whether 
 in rags or lace, whether in Kent Street or the Mall, 
 whether at the Smjrrna or St. Giles's, might I be permitted 
 to advise as a friend, never seem to want the favour 
 which you solicit. Apply to every passion but human 
 pity for redress : you may find permanent relief from 
 vanity, from self-interest, or from avarice, but from 
 compassion never. The very eloquence of a poor man 
 is disgusting ; and that mouth which is opened even by 
 wisdom, is seldom expected to close without the horrors 
 of a petition .V ♦ 
 
 4 To ward off the gripe of Poverty, you must pretend 
 to be a stranger to her, and she will at least use you 
 with ceremony. If you be caught dining upon a half- 
 penny porringer of pease-soup and potatoes, praise 
 the wholesomeness of your frugal repast. You may 
 observe that Dr. Cheyne has prescribed pease-broth 
 for the gravel ; hint that you are not one of those who 
 are always making a deity of your belly. If, again, you 
 are obliged to wear flimsy stuff in the midst of winter, 
 be the first to remark, that stuffs are very much worn 
 at Paris ; or, if there be found some irreparable defects 
 in any part of your equipage, which cannot be concealed 
 by all the arts of sitting cross-legged, coaxing, or darning, 
 say, that neither you nor Samson Gideon were ever 
 very fond of dress. If you be a philosopher, hint that 
 Plato or Seneca are the tailors you choose to employ ; 
 assure the company that man ought to be content with 
 a bare covering, since what now is so much his pride, 
 was formerly his shame. In short, however caught, 
 never give out ; but ascribe to the frugality of your 
 
124 ESSAYS 
 
 disposition what others might be apt to attribute to 
 the narrowness of your circumstances. To be poor, and 
 to seem poor, is a certain method never to rise : pride in 
 the great is hateful ; in the wise it is ridiculous ; but 
 beggarly pride is a rational vani^ty which I have been 
 taught to applaud and excuse. J 
 
 ESSAY VI 
 
 [On Generosity and Justice. Altered from The Bee, No. Ill] 
 
 Lysippus is a man whose greatness of soul the whole 
 world admires. His generosity is such, that it prevents 
 a demand, and saves the receiver the trouble and the 
 confusion of a request. His liberality also does not 
 oblige more by its greatness, than by his inimitable grace 
 in giving. Sometimes he even distributes his bounties 
 to strangers, and has been known to do good offices to 
 those who professed themselves his enemies. All the 
 world are unanimous in the praise of his generosity ; 
 there is only one sort of people who complain of his 
 conduct. Lysippus does not pay his debts. 
 
 It is no difficult matter to account for a conduct so 
 seemingly incompatible with itself. There is greatness 
 in being generous, and there is only simple justice in 
 his satisfying creditors. Generosity is the part of a soul 
 raised above the vulgar. There is in it something of what 
 we admire in heroes, and praise with a degree of rapture. 
 Justice, on the contrary, is a mere mechanic virtue, only 
 fit for tradesmen, and what is practised by every broker 
 in 'Change Alley. 
 
 In paying his debts a man barely does his duty, and 
 it is an action attended with no sort of glory. Should 
 Lysippus satisfy his creditors, who would be at the 
 
ON GENEROSITY AND JUSTICE 125 
 
 pains of telling it to the world ? Generosity is a virtue 
 of a very different complexion. It is raised above duty, 
 and, from its elevation, attracts the attention and the 
 praises of us little mortals below. 
 
 In this manner do men generally reason upon justice 
 and generosity. The first is despised, though a virtue 
 essential to the good of society ; and the other attracts 
 our esteem, which too frequently proceeds from an 
 impetuosity of temper, rather directed by vanity than 
 reason. Lysippus is told that his banker asks a debt of 
 forty pounds, and that a distressed acquaintance peti- 
 tions for the same sum. He gives it without hesitating to 
 the latter, for he demands as a favour what the former 
 requires as a debt. 
 
 Mankind in general are not sufficiently acquainted 
 with the import of the word Justice : it is commonly 
 believed to consist only in a performance of those duties 
 to which the laws of society can oblige us. This, I allow, 
 is sometimes the import of the word, and in this sense 
 justice is distinguished from equity ; but there is 
 a justice still more extensive, and which can be shown 
 to embrace all the virtues united. 
 
 Justice may be defined, that virtue which impels us 
 to give to every person what is his due. In this extended 
 sense of the word, it comprehends the practice of every 
 virtue which reason prescribes, or society should expect. 
 Our duty to our Maker, to each other, and to ourselves, 
 are fully answered, if we give them what we owe them. 
 Thus justice, properly speaking, is the only virtue, and 
 all the rest have their origin in it. 
 
 The qualities of candour, fortitude, charity, and gener- 
 osity, for instance, are not in their own nature virtues ; 
 and, if ever they deserve the title, it is owing only 
 to justice, which impels and directs them. Without 
 such a moderator, candour might become indiscretion, 
 
126 ESSAYS 
 
 fortitude obstinacy, charity imprudence, and generosity 
 mistaken profusion. 
 
 A disinterested action, if it be not conducted by 
 justice, is, at best, indifferent in its nature, and not 
 unf requently even turns to vice . The expenses of society, 
 of presents, of entertainments, and the other helps to 
 cheerfulness, are actions merely indifferent, when not 
 repugnant to a better method of disposing of our super- 
 fluities ; but they become vicious when they obstruct 
 or exhaust our abilities from a more virtuous disposition 
 
 ^f our circumstances. 
 
 ? True generosity is a duty as indispensably necessary 
 as those imposed upon us by law. It is a rule imposed 
 upon us by reason, which should be the sovereign law of 
 a rational being. But this generosity does not consist in 
 obeying every impulse of humanity, in following blind 
 passion for our guide, and impairing our circumstances 
 by present benefactions, so as to render us incapable 
 of future ones, j 
 
 Misers are generally characterized as men without 
 honour, or without humanity, who live only to accumu- 
 late, and to this passion sacrifice every other happiness. 
 They have been described as madmen, who, in the midst 
 of abundance, banish every pleasure, and make from 
 imaginary wants real necessities. But few, very few, 
 correspond to this exaggerated picture ; and, perhaps, 
 there is not one in whom all these circumstances are 
 found united. Instead of this, we find the sober and the 
 industrious branded by the vain and the idle with this 
 odious appellation ; men who, by frugality and labour, 
 raise themselves above their equals, and contribute 
 their share of industry to the common stock. 
 
 r Whatever the vain or the ignorant may say, well 
 were it for society had we more of these characters 
 a^mongst us In general, these close men are found at 
 
ON GENEROSITY AND JUSTICE 127 
 
 last the true benefactors of society. With an avaricious 
 man we seldom lose in our dealings, but too frequently 
 in our commerce with prodigality. 
 
 A French priest, whose name was Godinot, went 
 for a long time by the name of the Griper. He refused 
 to relieve the most apparent wretchedness, and, by 
 a skilful management of his vineyard, had the good 
 fortune to acquire immense sums of money. The 
 inhabitants of Rheims, who were his fellow citizens, 
 detested him ; and the populace, who seldom love 
 a miser, wherever he went, followed him with shouts 
 of contempt. He still, however, continued his former 
 simplicity of life, his amazing and unremitted frugality » 
 He had long perceived the wants of the poor in the city, 
 particularly in having no water but what they were 
 obliged to buy at an advanced price ; wherefore, that 
 whole fortune which he had been amassing, he laid out 
 in ati aqueduct ; by which he did the poor more useful and 
 lasting service, than if he had distributed his whole 
 income in charity every day at his door. 
 "^ Among men long conversant with books, we too 
 frequently find those misplaced virtues, of which I have 
 been now complaining. We find the studious animated 
 with a strong passion for the great virtues, as they are 
 mistakenly called, and utterly forgetful of the ordinary 
 ones. The declamations of philosophy are generally 
 rather exhausted on those supererogatory duties, than 
 on such as are indispensably necessary. A man, there- 
 fore, who has taken his ideas of mankind from study 
 alone, generally comes into the world with a heart 
 melting at every fictitious distress. Thus he is induced^ 
 by misplaced liberality, to put himself into the indigent 
 circumstances of the person he relieves. 
 
 I shall conclude this paper with the advice of one of 
 the ancients to a young man whom he saw giving 
 
128 ESSAYS 
 
 away all his substance to pretended distress. ' It is 
 
 * possible, that the person you relieve may be an honest 
 
 * man ; and I know that you, who relieve him, are such. 
 
 * You see then, by your generosity, that you rob a man 
 ' who is certainly deserving, to bestow it on one who 
 ' may possibly be a rogue : and, while you are unjust 
 
 * in rewarding uncertain merit, you arfe doubly guilty 
 
 * by stripping yourself.' 
 
 ESSAY VII 
 ON THE EDUCATION OF YOUTH 
 
 [Altered from The Bee, No. VI] 
 
 N.B. This treatise was published before Rousseau's 
 Emilius : if there be a similitude in any one instance, it 
 is hoped the author of the present essay will not be 
 deemed a plagiarist. 
 
 As few subjects are more interesting to society, so 
 few have been more frequently written upon, than the 
 education of youth. Yet it is a little surprising, that it 
 has been treated almost by all in a declamatory manner. 
 They have insisted largely on the advantages that 
 res\ilt from it, both to individuals and to society ; and 
 have expatiated in the praise of what none have ever 
 been so hardy as to call in question. 
 
 Instead of giving us fine but empty harangues upon 
 this subject, instead of indulging each his particular 
 and whimsical systems, it had been much better if the 
 writers on this subject had treated it in a more scientific 
 manner, repressed all the sallies of imagination, and 
 given us the result of their observations with didactic 
 simplicity. Upon this subject, the smallest errors are 
 of the most dangerous consequence ; and the author 
 
ON THE EDUCATION OF YOUTH 129 
 
 should venture the imputation of stupidity upon a 
 topic, where his slightest deviations may tend to injure 
 posterity. However, such are the whimsical and 
 erroneous productions written upon this subject. Their 
 authors have studied to be uncommon, not to be just ; 
 and, at present, we want a treatise upon education, not 
 to tell us anything new, but to explode the errors which 
 have been introduced by the admirers of novelty. It 
 is in this manner books become numerous ; a desire of 
 novelty produces a book, and other books are required 
 to destroy this production. 
 
 The manner in which our youth of London are at 
 present educated, is, some in free -schools in the city, 
 but the far greater number in boarding-schools about 
 town. The parent justly consults the health of his child, 
 and finds an education in the country tends to promote 
 this, much more than a continuance in town. Thus far 
 he is right : if there were a possibility of having even 
 our free-schools kept a little out of town, it would 
 certainly conduce to the health and vigour of, perhaps, 
 the mind as well as the body. It may be thought 
 whimsical, but it is truth ; I have found, by experience, 
 that they who have spent all their lives in cities, 
 contract not only an effeminacy of habit, but even of 
 thinking. 
 
 But when I have said that the boarding-schools are 
 preferable to free -schools, as being in the country, this is 
 certainly the only advantage I can allow them, other- 
 wise it is impossible to conceive the ignorance of those 
 who take upon them the important trust of education. 
 Is any man unfit for any of the professions, he finds 
 his last resource in setting up a school. Do any become 
 bankrupts in trade, they still set up a boarding-school, 
 and drive a trade this way, when all others fail : nay, 
 I have been told of butchers and barbers who have 
 
 GOLDSMITH. Ill xn 
 
130 ESSAYS 
 
 turned schoolmasters ; and, more surprising still, made 
 fortunes in their new profession. 
 
 Could we think ourselves in a country of civilized 
 people — could it be conceived that we have a regard 
 for posterity, when such persons are permitted to take 
 the charge of the morals, genius, and health of those 
 dear little pledges, who may one day be the guardians 
 of the liberties of Europe, and who may serve as the 
 honour and bulwark of their aged parents ? The care 
 of our children, is it below the state ? Is it fit to indulge 
 the caprice of the ignorant with the disposal of their 
 children in this particular ? For the state to take the 
 charge of all its children, as in Persia or Sparta, might at 
 present be inconvenient ; but surely, with great ease, 
 it might cast an eye to their instructors. Of all pro- 
 fessions in society, I do not know a more useful or 
 a more honourable one than a schoolmaster ; at the 
 same time that I do not see any more generally despised, 
 or men whose talents are so ill rewarded. 
 
 Were the salaries of schoolmasters to be augmented 
 from a diminution of useless sinecures, how might it 
 turn to the advantage of this people ; a people whom, 
 without flattery, I may, in other respects, term the 
 wisest and greatest upon earth. But while I would 
 reward the deserving, I would dismiss those utterly 
 unqualified for their employment : in short, I would 
 ^ make the business of a schoolmaster every way more 
 "^ — - respectable, by increasing their salaries, and admitting 
 only men of proper abilities. 
 
 It is true, we have already schoolmasters appointed, 
 
 and they have small salaries ; but where at present 
 
 tliere is only one schoolmaster appointed, there should 
 
 / at least be two ; and wherever the salary is at present 
 
 ^^twenty pounds, it should be augmented to an hundred. 
 
 Do we give immoderate benefices to our own instructors, 
 
ON THE EDUCATION OF YOUTH 131 
 
 and shall we deny even subsistence to those who instruct 
 our children ? Every member of society should be paid 
 in proportion as he is necessary ; and I will be bold 
 enough to say, that schoolmasters in a state are more 
 necessary than clergymen, as children stand in more 
 need of instruction than their parents. 
 
 But instead of this, as I have already observed, we 
 send them to board in the country to the most ignorant 
 set of men that can be imagined ; and, lest the ignorance 
 of the master be not sufficient, the child is generally 
 consigned to the usher. This is commonly some poor 
 needy animal, little superior to a footman either iji 
 learning or spirit, invited to his place by an advertise- 
 ment, and kept there merely from his being of a comply- > 
 ing disposition, and making the children fond of him. 
 ' You give your child to be educated to a slave,' says 
 a philosopher to a rich man ; ' instead of one slave, 
 * you will then have two.' 
 
 It were well, however, if parents, upon fixing their 
 children in one of these houses, would examine the 
 abilities of the usher, as well as the master ; for, what- 
 ever they are told to the contrary, the usher is generally 
 the person most employed in their education. If, then, 
 a gentleman, upon putting out his son to one of these 
 houses, sees the usher disregarded by the master, he 
 may depend upon it, that he is equally disregarded by 
 the boys : the truth is, in spite of all their endeavours 
 to please, they are generally the laughing-stock of the 
 school. Every trick is played upon the usher ; thd^. 
 oddity of his manners, his dress, or his language, are a \ 
 fund of eternal ridicule ; the master himself, now and \ 
 then, cannot avoid joining in the laugh ; 'and the poor 
 wretch, eternally resenting this ill usage, seems to live 
 in a state of war with all the family. This is a very 
 proper person, is it not, to give children a relish for 
 
132 ESSAYS 
 
 learning ? They must esteem learning very much, when 
 they see its professors used with such ceremony. If the 
 usher be despised, the father may be assured his child 
 will never be properly instructed. 
 
 But let me suppose, that there are some schools 
 without these inconveniences, where the masters and 
 ushers are men of learning, reputation, and assiduity. If 
 there are to be found such, they cannot be prized in 
 a state sufficiently. A boy will learn more true wisdom 
 in a public school in a year, than by a private education-- 
 in five. It is not from masters, but from their equals, 
 youth learn a knowledge of the world ; the little tricks 
 they play each other, the punishment that frequently 
 attends the commission, is a just picture of the great 
 world, and all the ways of men are pr^tJtised in a 
 public school in miniature. It is Tfue',"*ir child is early 
 made acquainted with some vices in a school ; but it is 
 better to know these when a boy, than be first taught 
 them when a man ; for their novelty then may have irre- 
 sistible charms. 
 
 In a public education boys early learn temperance ; 
 and if the parents and friends would give them less 
 money upon their usual visits, it would be much to 
 their advantage ; since it may justly be said, that a great 
 part of their disorders arise from surfeit, — jplus occidit 
 gula quam gladius. And now I am come to the article 
 of health, it may not be amiss to observe, that Mr. Locke 
 and some others have advised that children should 
 be inured to cold, to fatigue, and hardship, from their 
 youth ; but Mr. Locke was but an indifferent physician. 
 Habit, I grant, has great influence over our constitutions, 
 but we have not precise ideas upon this subject. 
 
 We know, that among savages, and even among our 
 peasants, there are found children born with such con- 
 stitutions, that they cross rivers by swimming, endure 
 
ON THE EDUCATION OF YOUTH 133 
 
 cold, thirst, hunger, and want of sleep, to a surprising 
 degree ; that when they happen to fall sick, they are 
 cured without the help of medicine, by nature alone. 
 Such examples are adduced to persuade us to imitate 
 their manner of education, and accustom ourselves 
 betimes to support the same fatigues. But had these 
 gentlemen considered first, how many lives are lost in 
 this ascetic discipline ; had they considered, that these 
 savages and peasants are generally not so long-lived as 
 those who have led a more indolent life ; that the more 
 laborious the life is, the less populous is the country : 
 had they considered that what physicians call the 
 stamina vitae by fatigue and labour become rigid, and 
 thus anticipate old age : that the numbers who survive 
 those rude trials, bear no proportion to those who die 
 in the experiment ; had these things been properly 
 considered, they would not have thus extolled an 
 education begun in fatigue and hardships. Peter the 
 Great, willing to inure the children of his seamen to 
 a life of hardship, ordered that they should only drink 
 sea-water, but they unfortunately all died under the 
 trial. 
 
 But while I would exclude all unnecessary labours, 
 yet still I would recommend temperance in the highest , 
 degree. No luxurious dishes with high seasoning, nothing \ 
 given children to force an appetite, as little sugared or 
 salted provisions as possible, though ever so pleasing ; 
 but milk, morning and night, should be their constant 
 food. This diet would make them more healthy than 
 any of those slops that are usually cooked by the 
 mistress of a boarding-school ; besides, it corrects any 
 consumptive habits, not infrequently found amongst 
 the children of city parents. 
 
 As boys should be educated with temperance, so the 
 first greatest lesson that should be taught them is, to 
 
134 ESSAYS 
 
 admire frugality. It is by the exercise of this virtue 
 ^ iilOllU, the)' liaii"*ever expect to be useful members of 
 society. It is true, lectures continually repeated upon 
 this subject, may make some boys, when they grow up, 
 run into an extreme, and become misers ; but it were 
 well, had we more misers than we have among us. 
 I know few characters more useful in society ; for 
 a man's having a larger or smaller share of money lying 
 useless by him, no way injures the commonwealth ; 
 since, should every miser now exhaust his stores, this 
 might make gold more plenty, but it would not increase 
 the commodities or pleasures of life ; they would still 
 remain as they are at present : it matters not, therefore, 
 whether men are misers or not, if they be only frugal, 
 laborious, and fill the station they have chosen. If 
 they deny themselves the necessaries of life, society is 
 no way injured by their folly. 
 
 Instead, therefore, of romances, which praise young 
 
 men of spirit, who go through a variety of adventures, 
 
 and at last conclude a life of dissipation, folly, and 
 
 extravagance, in riches and matrimony, there should be 
 
 Y some men of wit employed to compose books that 
 
 "N might equally interest the passions of our youth ; where 
 
 ( such an one might be praised for having resisted allure- 
 
 yments when young, and how he, at last, became Lord 
 
 Mayor ; how he was married to a lady of great sense, 
 
 fortune, and beauty : to be as explicit as possible, the old 
 
 story of Whittington, were his cat left out, might be more 
 
 serviceable to the tender mind, than either Tom J ones y 
 
 Joseph Andrews, or an hundred others, where frugality 
 
 is the only good quality the hero is not possessed of. 
 
 Were our schoolmasters, if any of them have sense enough 
 
 to draw up such a work, thus employed, it would be much 
 
 more serviceable to their pupils than all the grammars 
 
 and dictionaries they may publish these ten years. 
 
ON THE EDUCATION OF YOUTH 135 
 
 Children should early be instructed in the arts from 
 which they may afterwards draw the greatest advan- 
 tages. When the wonders of nature are never exposed 
 to our view, we have no great desire to become acquainted 
 with those parts of learning which pretend to account 
 for the phenomena. One of the ancients complains, that 
 as soon as young men have left school, and are obliged 
 to converse in the world, they fancy themselves trans- 
 ported into a new region. ' Ut cum in forum venerint 
 ' exist iment se in alium terrarum orbem delatos.' We 
 should early, therefore, instruct them in the experiments, 
 if I may so express it, of knowledge, and leave to 
 maturer age the accounting for the causes. But, instead 
 of that, when boys begin natural philosophy in colleges, 
 they have not the least curiosity for those parts of the 
 science which are proposed for their instruction ; they 
 have never before seen the phenomena, and' conse- 
 quently have no curiosity to learn the reasons. Might 
 natural philosophy, therefore, be made their pastime at 
 school, by this means it would in college become their 
 amusement. 
 
 In several of the machines now in use, there would be 
 ample field both for instruction and amusement ; the 
 different sorts of the phosphorus, the artificial pyrites, 
 magnetism, electricity, the experiments upon the rare- 
 faction and weight of the air, and those upon elastic 
 bodies, might employ their idle hours, and none should 
 be called from play to see such experiments, but such 
 as thought proper. At first then it would be sufficient 
 if the instruments, and the effects of their combination, 
 were only shown ; the causes should be deferred to 
 a maturer age, or to those tim.es when natural curiosity 
 prompts us to discover the wonders of nature. Man is 
 placed in this world as a spectator ; when he is tired of 
 wondering at all the novelties about him, and not till 
 
136 ESSAYS 
 
 then, does he desire to be made acquainted with the 
 causes that create those wonders. 
 
 What I have observed with regard to natural philo- 
 sophy, I would extend to every other science whatsoever. 
 We should teach them as many of the facts as possible, 
 and defer the causes until they seemed of themselves 
 desirous of knowing them. A mind thus leaving school, 
 stored with all the simple experiences of science, would 
 be the fittest in the world for the college course ; and 
 though such a youth might not appear so bright, or so 
 talkative, as those who had learned the real principles 
 and causes of some of the sciences, yet he would make 
 a wiser man, and would retain a more lasting passion 
 for letters, than he who was early burdened with the 
 disagreeable institution of cause and effect. 
 
 In history, such stories alone should be laid before 
 them as might catch the imagination : instead of this, 
 at present, they are too frequently obliged to toil through 
 the four empires, as they are called, where their memories 
 are burdened by a number of disgusting names, that 
 destroy all their future relish for our best historians, who 
 may be termed the truest teachers of wisdom. 
 
 Every species of flattery should be carefully avoided ; 
 a boy who happens to say a sprightly thing is generally 
 applauded so much, that he sometimes continues a 
 coxcomb all his life after. He is reputed a wit at fourteen, 
 and becomes a blockhead at twenty. Nurses, footmen, 
 and such, should therefore be driven away as much as 
 possible. I was even going to add, that the mother 
 herself should stifle her pleasure, or her vanity, when 
 little master happens to say a good or a smart thing. 
 Those modest lubberly boys who seem to want spirit, 
 become at length more shining men ; and at school 
 generally go through their business with more ease to 
 themselves, and more satisfaction to their instructors. 
 
ON THE EDUCATION OF YOUTH 137 
 
 There has of late a gentleman appeared, who thinks 
 the study of rhetoric essential to a perfect education^ 
 That bold male eloquence, which often, without pleasing, 
 convinces, is generally destroyed by such an institution. 
 Convincing eloquence is infinitely more serviceable to its^^ 
 possessor than the most florid harangue, or the most/ 
 pathetic tones that can be imagined ; and the man who 
 is thoroughly convinced himself, who understands his 
 subject, and the language he speaks in, will be more 
 apt to silence opposition than he who studies the force 
 of his periods, and fills our ears with sounds, while our 
 minds are destitute of conviction. 
 
 It was reckoned the fault of the orators at the decline 
 of the Roman empire, when they had been long instructed 
 by rhetoricians, that their periods were so harmonious, 
 that they could be sung as well as spoken. What a 
 ridiculous figure must one of these gentlemen cut, thus 
 measuring syllables, and weighing words, when he should 
 plead the cause of his client ! Two architects were once 
 candidates for the building a certain temple at Athens : 
 the first harangued the crowd very learnedly upon the 
 different orders of architecture, and showed them in 
 what manner the temple should be built ; the other, who 
 got up after him, only observed, that what his brother had 
 spoken, he could do ; and thus he at once gained his 
 cause. 
 
 To teach men to be orators, is little less than tol^ 
 teach them to be poets ; and, for my part, I should have ) 
 too great a regard for my child, to wish him a manor 
 only in a bookseller's shop. 
 
 Another passion which the present age is apt to run'V^ 
 into, is to make children learn all things ; the languages,^^ 
 the sciences, music, the exercises, and painting. Thus 
 the child soon becomes a Talker in all, but a Master in 
 none. He thus acquires a superficial fondness for every- 
 
 F3 
 
138 ESSAYS 
 
 thing, and only shows his ignorance when he attempts 
 to exhibit his skill. 
 
 As I deliver my thoughts without method or con- 
 nexion, so the reader must not be surprised to find me 
 once more addressing schoolmasters on the present 
 method of teaching the learned languages, which is 
 commonly by literal translations. I would ask such, 
 if they were to travel a journey, whether those parts of 
 the road in which they found the greatest difficulties, 
 would not be the most strongly remembered ? Boys 
 who, if I may continue the allusion, gallop through one 
 of the ancients with the assistance of a translation, can 
 have but a very slight acquaintance either with the 
 author or his language. It is by the exercise of the 
 mind alone, that a language is learned ; but a literal 
 translation, on the opposite page, leaves no exercise for 
 the memory at all. The boy will not be at the fatigue 
 of remembering, when his doubts are at once satisfied 
 by a glance of the eye ; whereas, were every word to be 
 sought from a dictionary, the learner would attempt to 
 remember them, to save himself the trouble of looking 
 out for the future. 
 
 To continue in the same pedantic strain, of all the 
 various grammars now taught in the schools about town, 
 I would recommend only the old common one ; I have 
 forgot whether Lilly's, or an emendation of him. The 
 others may be improvements ; but such improvements 
 seem, to me, only mere grammatical niceties, no way 
 influencing the learner, but perhaps loading him with 
 trifling subtleties, which, at a proper age, he must be 
 at some pains to forget. 
 
 Whatever pains a master may take to make the 
 learning of the languages agreeable to his pupil, he 
 may depend upon it, it will be at first extremely un- 
 pleasant. The rudiments of every language, therefore, 
 
ON THE EDUCATION OF YOUTH 139 
 
 must be given as a task, not as an amusement. Attempt- 
 ing to deceive children into instruction of this kind, 
 is only deceiving ourselves ; and I know no passion 
 capable of conquering a child's natural laziness, but 
 fear. Solomon has said it before me ; nor is there any 
 more certain, though perhaps more disagreeable truth, 
 than the proverb in verse, too well known to repeat on 
 the present occasion. It is very probable that parents) 
 are told of some masters who never use the rod, and 
 consequently are thought the properest instructors for 
 their children ; but, though tenderness is a requisite 
 quality in an instructor, yet there is too often the 
 truest tenderness in well-timed correction. 
 
 Some have justly observed, that all passion should be 
 banished on this terrible occasion ; but, I know not how, 
 there is a frailty attending human nature, that few 
 masters are able to keep their temper whilst they correct. 
 I knew a good-natured man, who was sensible of his 
 own weakness in this respect, and consequently had 
 recourse to the following expedient to prevent his 
 passions from being engaged, yet at the same time 
 administer justice with impartiality. Whenever any of 
 his pupils committed a fault, he summoned a jury of his 
 peers, I mean of the boys of his own or the next classes 
 to him : his accusers stood forth ; he had liberty of 
 pleading in his own defence ; and one or two more had 
 the liberty of pleading against him : when found guilty 
 by the panel, he was consigned to the footman, who 
 attended in the house, and had previous orders to punish, 
 but with lenity. By this means the master took off the 
 odium of punishment from himself ; and the footman, 
 between whom and the boys there could not be even 
 the slightest intimacy, was placed in such a light as to 
 be shunned by every boy in the school. 
 
140 
 
 ESSAY VIII 
 ON THE INSTABILITY OF POPULAR FAVOUR 
 
 [Altered from The Bee, No. VI] 
 
 An alehouse-keeper, near Islington, who had long 
 lived at the sign of the French King, upon the commence- 
 ment of the last war pulled down his old sign, and put 
 up that of the Queen of Hungary. Under the influence 
 of her red face and golden sceptre, he continued to sell 
 ale, till she was no longer the favourite of his customers ; 
 he changed her, therefore, some time ago, for the King of 
 Prussia, who may probably be changed, in turn, for 
 the next great man that shall be set up for vulgar 
 admiration. 
 
 In this manner the great are dealt out, one after the 
 other, to the gazing crowd. When we have sufficiently 
 wondered at one of them, he is taken in, and another 
 exhibited in his room, who seldom holds his station 
 long ; for the mob are ever pleased with variety. 
 
 I must own I have such an indifferent opinion of the 
 vulgar, that I am ever led to suspect that merit which 
 raises their shout ; at least I am certain to find those 
 great and sometimes good men, who find satisfaction in 
 such acclamations, made worse l)y it ; and history has 
 too frequently taught me, that the head which has 
 grown this day giddy with the roar of the million, 
 has the very next been fixed upon a pole. 
 
 As Alexander VI was entering a little town in the 
 neighbourhood of Rome, which had been just evacuated 
 by the enemy, he perceived the townsmen busy in the 
 market-place in pulling down from a gibbet a figure 
 which had been designed to represent himself. There 
 were some also knocking down a neighbouring statue of 
 one of the Orsini family, with whom he was at war, in 
 order to put Alexander's effigy in its place. It is possible 
 
THE INSTABILITY OF POPULAR FAVOUR 141 
 
 a man who knew less of the world, would have con- 
 demned the adulation of those bare -faced flatterers ; 
 but Alexander seemed pleased at their zeal ; and, 
 turning to Borgia, his son, said with a smile, * Vides, mi 
 
 * fill, quam leve discrimen patibulum inter et statuam.' 
 
 * You see, my son, the small difference between a gibbet 
 ' and a statue.' If the great could be taught any lesson, 
 this might serve to teach them upon how weak a 
 foundation their glory stands ; for, as popular applause ^ 
 is excited by what seems like merit, it as quickly/ 
 condemns what has only the appearance of guilt. 
 
 Popular glory is a perfect coquette ; her lovers must 
 toil, feel every inquietude, indulge every caprice ; and, 
 perhaps, at last, be jilted for their pains. True glory, 
 on the other hand, resembles a woman of sense ; her 
 admirers must play no tricks ; they feel no great 
 anxiety, for they are sure, in the end, of being rewarded 
 in proportion to their merit. When Swift used to appear 
 in public, he generally had the mob shouting in his 
 train. * Pox take these fools,' he would say, * how 
 ' much joy might all this bawling give my Lord Mayor ! ' 
 
 We have seen those virtues which have, while living, 
 retired from the public eye, generally transmitted to 
 posterity, as the truest objects of admiration and praise. 
 Perhaps the character of the late Duke of Marlborough 
 may one day be set up, even above that of his more- 
 talked-of predecessor ; since an assemblage of all the 
 mild and amiable virtues is far superior to those 
 vulgarly called the great ones. I must be pardoned 
 for this short tribute to the memory of a man, who, 
 while living, would as much detest to receive anything 
 that wore the appearance of flattery, as I should to 
 offer it. 
 
 I know not how to turn so trite a subject out of the 
 beaten road of commonplace, except by illustrating it, 
 
142 ESSAYS . 
 
 rather by the assistance of my memory than judgement ; 
 and, instead of making reflections, by telling a story. 
 
 A Chinese, who had long studied the works of Con- 
 fucius, who knew the characters of fourteen thousand 
 words, and could read a great part of every book that 
 came in his way, once took it into his head to travel 
 into Europe, and observe the customs of a people which 
 he thought not very much inferior even to his own 
 countrymen. Upon his arrival at Amsterdam, his 
 passion for letters naturally led him to a bookseller's 
 shop ; and, as he could speak a little Dutch, he civilly 
 asked the bookseller for the works of the immortal 
 Xixofou. The bookseller assured him he had never 
 heard the book mentioned before. ' Alas ! ' cries our 
 traveller, ' to what purpose, then, has he fasted to death, 
 
 * to gain a renown which has never travelled beyond 
 
 * the precincts of China ! ' 
 
 There is scarce a village in Europe, and not one 
 university, that is not thus furnished with its little 
 great men. The head of a petty corporation, who 
 opposes the designs of a prince who would tyrannically 
 force his subjects to save their best clothes for Sundays ; 
 the puny pedant, who finds one undiscovered property 
 in the polype, or describes an unheeded process in the 
 skeleton of a mole, and whose mind, like his microscope, 
 perceives nature only in detail ; the rhymer, who makes 
 smooth verses, and paints to our imagination, when he 
 should only speak to our hearts, — all equally fancy 
 themselves walking forward to immortality, and desire 
 the crowd behind them to look on. The crowd takes 
 them at their word. Patriot, philosopher, and poet, are 
 shouted in their train. * Where was there ever so much 
 
 * merit seen ; no times so important as our own ; ages, 
 
 * yet unborn, shall gaze with wonder and applause ! ' To 
 such music the important pigmy moves forward, bustling 
 
THE INSTABILITY OF POPULAR FAVOUR 143 
 
 and swelling, and aptly compared to a puddle in a 
 storm. 
 
 I have lived to see generals who once had crowds 
 hallooing after them wherever they went, who were 
 bepraised by newspapers and magazines, those echoes 
 of the voice of the vulgar, and yet they have long sunk 
 into merited obscurity, with scarce even an epitaph left 
 to flatter. A few years ago the herring-fishery employed 
 all Grub Street ; it was the topic in every coffee-house, 
 and the burden of every ballad. We were to drag up 
 oceans of gold from the bottom of the sea ; we were 
 to supply all Europe with herrings upon our own terms. 
 At present, we hear no more of all this. We have fished 
 up very little gold that I can learn ; nor do we furnish 
 the world with herrings, as was expected. Let us wait 
 but a few years longer, and we shall find all our expecta- 
 tions an herring-fishery. 
 
 ESSAY IX 
 SPECIMEN OF A MAGAZINE IN MINIATURE 
 
 We essayists, who are allowed but one subject at 
 a time, are by no means so fortunate as the writers of 
 magazines, who write upon several. If a magaziner be 
 dull upon the Spanish war, he soon has us up again 
 with the Ghost in Cock Lane ; if the reader begins to 
 doze upon that, he is quickly roused by an Eastern tale ; 
 tales prepare us for poetry, and poetry for the meteoro- 
 logical history of the weather. The reader, like the 
 sailor's horse, when he begins to tire, has at least 
 the comfortable refreshment of having the spur 
 changed. 
 
 As I see no reason why these should carry off all the 
 rewards of genius, I have some thoughts, for the future. 
 
144 ESSAYS 
 
 of making my Essays a magazine in miniature : I shall 
 hop from subject to subject ; and, if properly en- 
 couraged, I intend in time to adorn my feuille volante 
 with pictures, coloured to the perfection. But to begin, 
 in the usual form. 
 
 A MODEST Address to the Public in Behalf of the 
 Infernal Magazine. 
 
 The public has been so often imposed upon by the 
 unperforming promises of others, that it is with the 
 utmost modesty we assure them of our inviolable design 
 to give the very best collection that ever astonished 
 society. The public we honour and regard, and therefore 
 to instruct and entertain them is our highest ambition, 
 with labours calculated as well to the head as the heart. 
 If four extraordinary pages of letterpress be any recom- 
 mendation of our wit, we may at least boast the honour 
 of vindicating our own abilities. To say more in favour 
 of the Infernal Magazine, would be unworthy the 
 Public ; to say less, would be injurious to ourselves. As 
 we have no interested motives for this undertaking, 
 being a society of gentlemen of distinction, we disdain to 
 eat or write like hirelings ; we are all gentlemen, and 
 therefore are resolved to sell our magazine for sixpence 
 merely for our own amusement. 
 
 Be careful to ask for the Infernal Magazine. 
 
 Dedication to the Tripoline Ambassador. 
 May it please your Excellency, 
 
 As your taste in the fine arts is universally allowed 
 and admired, permit the authors of the Infernal 
 Magazine to lay the following sheets humbly at your 
 Excellency's toe ; and, should our labours ever have 
 the happiness of one day adorning the courts of Fez, we 
 
SPECIMEN OF A MAGAZINE 145 
 
 doubt not that the influence wherewith we are honoured, 
 shall be ever retained with the most warm ardour, by, 
 May it please your excellency, 
 
 Your most devoted humble servants. 
 
 The Authors of the Infernal Magazine. 
 
 A Speech spoken in the Political Club at Cateaton 
 not to declare War against Spain. 
 My honest friends and brother politicians ; I perceive 
 that the intended war with Spain makes many of you 
 uneasy. Yesterday, as we were told, the stocks rose, 
 and you were glad ; to-day they fall, and you are 
 again miserable. But, my dear friends, what is the rising 
 or the falling of the stocks to us, who have no money ? 
 Let Nathan Ben Funk, the Dutch Jew, be glad or sorry 
 for this ; but, my good Mr. Bellows-mender, what is all 
 this to you or me ? You must mend broken bellows, 
 and I write bad prose, as long as we live, whether we 
 like a Spanish war or not. Believe me, my honestl 
 friends, whatever you may talk of liberty and your own 
 reason, both that liberty and reason are conditionally 
 resigned by every poor man in every society ; and, as 
 we are born to work, so others are born to watch over 
 us while we are working. In the name of common 
 sense then, my good friends, let the great keep watch 
 over us, and let us mind our business, and perhaps 
 we may at last get money ourselves, and set beggars to 
 work in our turn. I have a Latin sentence that is worth 
 its weight in gold, and which I shall beg leave to translate 
 for your instruction. An author, called Lilly's Grammar, 
 finely observes, that ' Aes in praesenti perf ectum format ; ' 
 that is, ' Ready money makes a man perfect.' Let us, 
 then, to become perfect men, get ready money ; and 
 let them that will, spend theirs by going to war with 
 Spain, . ^ 
 
146 ESSAYS 
 
 Rules for Behaviour drawn up by an Indigent 
 Philosopher. 
 
 If you be a rich man, you may enter the room with 
 three loud hems, march deliberately up to the chimney, 
 and turn your back to the fire. If you be a poor man, 
 I would advise you to shrink into the room as fast as 
 you can, and place yourself, as usual, upon the corner of 
 some chair in a corner. 
 
 When you are desired to sing in company, I would 
 advise you to refuse. It is a thousand to one but that 
 you torment us with affectation, ignorance of music, 
 or a bad voice. This is a very good rule. 
 
 If you be young, and live with an old man, I would 
 advise you not to like gravy ; I was disinherited myself 
 for liking gravy. 
 
 Don't laugh much in public ; the spectators that are 
 not as merry as you, will hate you, either because they 
 envy your happiness, or fancy themselves the subject 
 of your mirth. 
 
 Rules for raising the Devil. Translated from the 
 Latin of Danaeus de Sortiariis, a Writer contemporary 
 with Calvin, and one of the Reformers of our 
 Church. 
 
 The person who desires to raise the Devil, is to 
 sacrifice a dog, a cat, and a hen, all of his own property, 
 to Beelzebub. He is to swear an eternal obedience, and 
 then to receive a mark in some unseen place, either 
 under the eyelid, or in the roof of the mouth, inflicted 
 by the Devil himself. Upon this he has power given 
 him over three spirits ; one for earth, another for air, 
 and a third for the sea. Upon certain times the Devil 
 holds an assembly of magicians, in which each is to give 
 an account of what ^vil he has done, and what he wishes 
 
SPECIMEN OF A MAGAZINE 147 
 
 to do. At this assembly he appears in the shape of an 
 old man, or often like a goat with large horns. They, 
 upon this occasion, renew their vows of obedience ; and 
 then form a grand dance in honour of their false deity. 
 The Devil instructs them in every method of injuring man- 
 kind, in gathering poisons, and of riding upon occasion 
 through the air. He shows them the whole method, upon 
 examination, of giving evasive answers ; his spirits have 
 power to assume the form of angels of light, and there 
 is but one method of detecting them ; viz. to ask them, 
 in proper form, What method is the most certain to 
 propagate the faith over all the world ? To this they 
 are not permitted by the Superior Power to make a false 
 reply, nor are they willing to give the true one, where- 
 fore they continue silent, and are thus detected. 
 
 ESSAY X . 
 BEAU TIBBS, A CHARACTER 
 
 [Altered from Letter LIV in The Citizen of the Worldl 
 
 Though naturally pensive, yet I am fond of gay 
 company, and take every opportunity of thus dismissing 
 the mind from duty. From this motive I am often 
 found in the centre of a crowd ; and wherever pleasure 
 is to be sold, am always a purchaser. In those places, 
 without being remarked by any, I join in whatever 
 goes forward, work my passions into a similitude of 
 frivolous earnestness, shout as they shout, and condemn 
 as they happen to disapprove. A mind -thus sunk for 
 a while below its natural standard, is qualified for 
 stronger flights ; as those first retire who would spring 
 forward with greater vigour. 
 
 Attracted by the serenity of the evening, a friend and 
 I lately went to gaze upon the company in one of the 
 
148 ESSAYS 
 
 public walks near the city. Here we sauntered together 
 for some time, either praising the beauty of such as were 
 handsome, or the dresses of such as had nothing else 
 to recommend them. We had gone thus deliberately 
 forward for some time, when my friend stopping on a 
 sudden, caught me by the elbow, and led me out of the 
 public walk ; I could perceive, by the quickness of his 
 pace, and by his frequently looking behind, that he was 
 attempting to avoid somebody who followed ; we now 
 turned to the right, then to the left ; as we went forward, 
 he still went faster, but in vain ; the person whom he 
 attempted to escape, hunted us through every doubling, 
 and gained upon us each moment ; so that, at last, 
 we fairly stood still, resolving to face what we could 
 not avoid. 
 
 Our pursuer soon came up, and joined us with all the 
 familiarity of an old acquaintance. * My dear Charles,' 
 cries he, shaking my friend's hand, ' where have you 
 
 * been hiding this half a century ? Positively I had 
 
 * fancied you were gone down to cultivate matrimony 
 
 * and your esfate in the country.' During the reply, 
 I had an opportunity of surveying the appearance of our 
 new companion. His hat was pinched up with peculiar 
 smartness ; his looks were pale, thin, and sharp ; round 
 his neck he wore a broad black ribbon, and in his 
 bosom a buckle studded with glass ; his coat was trimmed 
 with tarnished twist ; he wore by his side a sword with 
 a black hilt ; and his stockings of silk, though newly 
 washed, were grown yellow by long service. I was so 
 much engaged with the peculiarity of his dress, that I 
 attended only to the latter part of my friend's reply, 
 in which he complimented Mr. Tibbs on the taste of his 
 clothes, and the bloom in his countenance. ' Psha, psha, 
 
 * Charles,' cried the figure, 'no more of that if you love 
 
 * me ; you know I hate flattery, on my soul I do ; and 
 
BEAU TIBBS, A CHARACTER 149 
 
 ' yet to be sure an intimacy with the great will improve 
 ' one's appearance, and a course of venison will fatten ; 
 
 * and yet, |aith, I despise the great as much as you do ; 
 ' but there are a great many damned honest fellows 
 
 * among them ; and we must not quarrel with one half 
 ' because the other wants breeding. If they were all 
 ' such as my Lord Mudler, one of the most good-natured 
 
 * creatures that ever squeezed a lemon, I should myself 
 ' be among the number of their admirers. I was yester- 
 ' day to dine at the Duchess of Piccadilly's. My lord was 
 ' there. " Ned," says he to me, " Ned," says he, '' I'll 
 
 * hold gold to silver I can tell where you were poaching 
 'last night." ''Poaching, my lord," says I ; "faith, 
 ' you have missed already ; for I stayed at home 
 ' and let the girls poach for me." That 's my way ; 
 ' I take a fine woman as some animals do their 
 
 * prey ; stand still, and swoop, they fall into my 
 
 * mouth.' 
 
 'Ah, Tibbs, thou art a happy fellow,' cried my 
 companion with looks of infinite pity, ' I hope your 
 
 * fortune is as much improved as your understanding 
 ' in such company ? ' ' Improved ! ' replied the other ; 
 
 * you shall know, — but let it go no farther, — a great 
 ' secret — ^five hundred a year to begin with — My lord's 
 ' word of honour for it — His lordship took me down in 
 'his own chariot yesterday, and we had a tete-a-tete 
 ' dinner in the country, where we talked of nothing 
 
 * else.' ' I fancy you forgot, sir,' cried I, ' you told us 
 
 * but this moment of your dining yesterday in town ! ' 
 
 * Did I say so ? ' replied he coolly. ' To be sure, if I said 
 ' so it was so. — Dined in town : egad, now I do re- 
 ' member I did dine in town ; but I dined in the country 
 ' too : for you must know, my boys, I eat two dinners. 
 ' By the by, I am grown as nice as the devil in my 
 
 * eating. I'll tell you a pleasant affair about that : we 
 
150 ESSAYS 
 
 * were a select party of us to dine at Lady Grogram's : 
 ' an affected piece, but let it go no farther ; a secret : 
 
 * Well, says I, I'll hold a thousand guineas, and say 
 
 * done first, that — But, dear Charles, you are an honest 
 
 * creature, lend me half-a-crown for a minute or two, 
 
 * or so, just till — But hark'e, ask me for it the next 
 
 * time we meet, or it may be twenty to one but I forget 
 ' to pay you.' 
 
 When he left us, our conversation naturally turned 
 upon so extraordinary a character. ' His very dress,' 
 cries my friend, 'is not less extraordinary than his 
 ' conduct. If you meet him this day, you find him in 
 
 * rags ; if the next, in embroidery. With those persons 
 
 * of distinction, of whom he talks so familiarly, he has 
 ' scarce a coffee-house acquaintance. However, both for 
 ' the interest of society, and perhaps for his own, 
 
 * Heaven has made him poor ; and, while all the world 
 
 * perceives his wants, he fancies them concealed from 
 ' every eye. An agreeable companion, because he under- 
 
 * stands flattery ; and all must be pleased with the 
 
 * first part of his conversation, though all are sure of 
 
 * its ending with a demand on their purse. While his 
 
 * youth countenances the levity of his conduct, he may 
 
 * thus earn a precarious subsistence ; but, when age 
 
 * comes on, the gravity of which is incomparable with 
 
 * buffoonery, then will he find himself forsaken by all. 
 
 * Condemned in the decline of life to hang upon some 
 
 * rich family whom he once despised, there to undergo 
 
 * all the ingenuity of studied contempt ; to be employed 
 
 * only as a spy upon the servants, or a bugbear to 
 
 * fright children into duty.' - 
 
151 
 
 ESSAY XI 
 BEAU TIBBS {continued) 
 [Altered from Letter LV of The Citizen of the World] 
 
 There are some acquaintances whom it is no easy- 
 matter to shake off. My little beau yesterday overtook 
 me again in one of the public walks, and, slapping me 
 on the shoulder, saluted me with an air of the most 
 perfect familiarity. His dress was the same as usual^ 
 except that he had more powder in his hair, wore a 
 dirtier shirt, and had on a pair of temple spectacles, with 
 his hat under his arm. 
 
 As I knew him to be a harmless amusing little thing, 
 I could not return his smiles with any degree of severity '; 
 so we walked forward on terms of the utmost intimacy, 
 and in a few minutes discussed all the usual topics of 
 a gene'tal conversation. 
 
 The oddities that marked his character, however, 
 soon began to appear ; he bowed to several well-dressed 
 persons, who, by their manner of returning the compli- 
 ment, appeared perfect strangers. At intervals he drew 
 out a pocket-book, seeming to take memorandums 
 before all the company, with much importance and 
 assiduity. In this manner he led me through the length 
 of the whole Mall, fretting at his absurdities, and fancy = 
 ing myself laughed at as well as he by every spectatoro 
 
 When we were got to the end of our procession, ' Blast 
 
 * me,' cries he, with an air of vivacity, ' I never saw the 
 
 * Park so thin in my life before ; there 's no company at 
 
 * all to-day. Not a single face to be seen.' * No com- 
 
 * pany ! ' interrupted I peevishly ; * no company where 
 
 * there is such a crowd ! Why, man, there is too much. 
 
 * What are the thousands that have been laughing at us 
 
 * but company ? ' ' Lord, my dear,' returned he, with 
 
152 ESSAYS 
 
 the utmost good humour, * you seem immensely 
 ' chagrined ; but, blast me, when the world laughs at 
 
 * me, I laugh at the world, and so we are even. My 
 
 * Lord Trip, Bill Squash the Creolian, and I, sometimes 
 ' make a party at being ridiculous ; but I see you are 
 ' grave ; so if you are for a fine grave sentimental 
 
 * companion, you shall dine with my wife ; I must 
 
 * insist on 't. I'll introduce you to Mrs. Tibbs, a lady 
 
 * of as elegant qualifications as any in nature ; she was 
 
 * bred, but that 's between ourselves, under the inspec- 
 
 * tion of the Countess of Shoreditch. A charming body 
 'of voice ! But no more of that, she shall give us a song. 
 
 * You shall see my little girl too, Carolina Wilhelmina 
 
 * Amelia Tibbs, a sweet pretty creature ; I design her 
 
 * for my Lord Drumstick's eldest son ; but that 's in 
 ' friendship, let it go no farther ; she 's but six years 
 ' old, and yet she walks a minuet, and plays on the 
 
 * guitar immensely already. I intend she shall be as 
 
 * perfect as possible in every accomplishment. In the 
 
 * first place, I'll make her a scholar ; I'll teach her 
 
 * Greek myself, and I intend to learn that language 
 ' purposely to instruct her ; but let that be a secret.' 
 
 Thus saying, without waiting for a reply, he took me 
 by the arm, and hauled me along. We passed through 
 many dark alleys and winding ways. From some motives 
 to me unknown, he seemed to have a particular aversion 
 to every frequented street ; but, at last, we got to the 
 door of a dismal-looking house in the outlets of the town, 
 where he informed me he chose to reside for the benefit 
 of the air. 
 
 We entered the lower door, which seemed ever to 
 lie most hospitably open ; and began to ascend an old 
 and creaking staircase ; when, as he mounted to show 
 me the way, he demanded whether I delighted in 
 prospects ; to which answering in the affirmative, 
 
BEAU TIBBS, A CHARACTER 153 
 
 * Then,' says he, ' I shall show you one of the most 
 
 * charming out of my windows, for I live at the top of 
 ' the house ; we shall see the ships sailing, and the whole 
 ' country for twenty miles round, tip-top, quite high. 
 ' My Lord Swamp would give ten thousand guineas for 
 ' such a one ; but, as I sometimes pleasantly tell him, 
 
 * I always love to keep my prospects at home, that my 
 
 * friends may come to see me the oftener.' 
 
 By this time we were arrived as high as the stairs 
 would permit us to ascend, till we came to what he was 
 facetiously pleased to call the first floor down the 
 chimney ; and knocking at the door, a voice, with 
 a Scotch accent, from within, demanded, ^ Wha 's there ? ' 
 My conductor answered, that it was him. But this not 
 satisfying the querist, the voice again repeated the 
 demand ; to which he answered louder than before ; and 
 now the door was opened by an old maid-servant, with 
 cautious reluctance. 
 
 When we were got in, he welcomed me to his house 
 with great ceremony, and turning to the old woman, 
 asked where her lady was. ' Good troth,' replied she in 
 the northern dialect, ' she 's washing your twa shirts at 
 ' the next door, because they have taken an oath 
 ' against lending out the tub any longer.' * My two 
 ' shirts ! ' cries he, in a tone that faltered with confusion, 
 
 * what does the idiot mean ? ' 'I ken what I mean well 
 ' enough,' replied the other ; ' she 's washing your twa 
 
 * shirts at the next door, because — ' ' Fire and fury, no 
 
 * more of thy stupid explanations,' cried he ; 'go and 
 ' inform her we have got company. Were that Scotch 
 ' hag,' continued he, turning to me, ' to be for ever in 
 
 * my family, she would never learn politeness, nor forget 
 
 * that absurd poisonous accent of hers, or testify the 
 
 * smallest specimen of breeding or high life ; and yet it 
 
 * is very surprising too, as I had her from a Parliament- 
 
154 ESSAYS 
 
 man, a friend of mine, from the Highlands, one of the 
 ' politest men in the world ; but that 's a secret.' 
 
 We waited some time for Mrs. Tibbs's arrival, during 
 which interval I had a full opportunity of surveying the 
 chamber and all its furniture ; which consisted of four 
 chairs with old wrought bottoms, that he assured me 
 were his wife's embroidery ; a square table that had been 
 once japanned, a cradle in one corner, a lumbering cabinet 
 in the other ; a broken shepherdess, and a Mandarin 
 without a head, were stuck over the chimney ; and 
 round the walls several paltry, unframed pictures, which 
 he observed were all of his own drawing : ' What do 
 ' you think, sir, of that head in the corner, done in the 
 
 * manner of Grisoni ? There 's the true keeping in it ; 
 
 * it 's my own face ; and, though there happens to be no 
 
 * likeness, a countess offered me a hundred for its fellow : 
 ' I refused her, for, hang it, that would be mechanical, 
 
 * you know.' 
 
 The wife, at last, made her appearance, at once 
 a slattern and a coquette ; much emaciated, but still 
 carrying the remains of beauty. She made twenty 
 apologies for being seen in such an odious dishabille but 
 hoped to be excused, as she had stayed out all night at 
 Vauxhall Gardens with the countess, who was excessively 
 fond of the horns. 'And, indeed, my dear,' added she, 
 turning to her husband, ' his lordship drank your health 
 ' in a bumper.' ' Poor Jack,' cries he, ' a dear good- 
 
 * natured creature, I know he loves me. But I hope, my 
 
 * dear, you have given orders for dinner ; you need 
 ' make no great preparations neither, there are but 
 
 * three of us ; something elegant and little will do ; 
 
 * a turbot, an ortolan, or a .' * Or what do you 
 
 * think, my dear,' interrupts the wife, ' of a nice pretty 
 
 * bit of ox-cheek, piping hot, and dressed with a little 
 
 * of my own sauce ? ' ' The very thing,' replies he ; 'it 
 
BEAU TIBBS, A CHARACTER 155 
 
 ' will eat best with some smart bottled beer ; but be sure 
 
 * to let 's have the sauce his grace was so fond of. I hate 
 
 * your immense loads of meat ; that is country all over ; 
 
 * extreme disgusting to those who are in the least 
 ' acquainted with high life.' 
 
 By this time my curiosity began to abate, and my 
 appetite to increase ; the company of fools may at first 
 make us smile, but at last never fails of rendering us 
 melancholy. I therefore pretended to recollect a prior 
 engagement, and, after having shown my respect to the 
 house, by giving the old servant a piece of money at the 
 door, I took my leave ; Mr. Tibbs assuring me, that 
 dinner, if I stayed, would be ready at least in less than 
 two hours. 
 
 ESSAY XII 
 ON THE IRRESOLUTION OF YOUTH 
 
 [Altered from Letter LXI of The Citizen of the World] 
 
 As it has been observed that few are better qualified 
 to give others advice, than those who have taken the 
 least of it themselves ; so in this respect I find myself 
 perfectly authorized to offer mine ; and must take 
 leave to throw together a few observations upon that 
 part of a young man's conduct on his entering into life, 
 as it is called. 
 
 The most usual way among young men who have no 
 resolution of their own, is first to ask one friend's advice, 
 and follow it for some time ; 'then to ask advice of 
 another, and Jurn to that ; so of a third ; still unsteady, 
 always changing. However, every change of this nature 
 is for the worse ; people may tell you of your being 
 unfit for some peculiar occupations in life ; but heed 
 them not ; whatever employment you follow with 
 
156 ESSAYS 
 
 perseverance and assiduity, will be found fit for you ; 
 it will be your support in youth, and comfort in age. In 
 learning the useful part of every profession, very moder- 
 ate abilities will suffice : great abilities are generally 
 obnoxious to the possessors. Life has been compared 
 to a race ; but the allusion still improves, by observing, 
 that the most swift are ever the most apt to stray from 
 the course. 
 
 To know one profession only, is enough for one man to 
 know ; and this, whatever the professors may tell you 
 to the contrary, is soon learned. Be contented, therefore, 
 with one good employment ; for if you understand two 
 at a time, people will give you business in neither. 
 
 A conjurer and a tailor once happened to converse 
 
 together. ' Alas ! ' cries the tailor, ' what an unhappy 
 
 poor creature am I ! If people ever take it into their 
 
 heads to live without clothes, I am undone ; I have 
 
 no other trade to have recourse to.' ' Indeed, friend, 
 
 I pity you sincerely,' replies the conjurer ; ' but, thank 
 
 Heaven, things are not quite so bad with me : for, if 
 
 one trick should fail, I have a hundred tricks more for 
 
 them yet. However, if at any time you are reduced 
 
 to beggary, apply to me, and I will relieve you.' A 
 
 famine overspread the land ; the tailor made a shift 
 
 to live, because his customers could not be without 
 
 clothes ; but the poor conjurer, with all his hundred 
 
 tricks, could find none that had money to throw away : 
 
 it was in vain that he promised to eat fire, or to vomit 
 
 pins ; no single creature would relieve him, till he was 
 
 at last obliged to beg from the very tailor whose calling 
 
 he had formerly despised. 
 
 There are no obstructions more fatal to fortune than 
 pride and resentment. If you must resent injuries at 
 all, at least suppress your indignation till you become 
 rich, and then show away. The resentment of a poor 
 
ON THE IRRESOLUTION OF YOUTH 157 
 
 man is like the efforts of a harmless insect to sting ; it 
 may get him crushed, but cannot defend him. Who values 
 that anger which is consumed only in empty menaces ? 
 
 Once upon a time a goose fed its young by a pond- 
 side ; and a goose, in such circumstances, is always 
 extremely proud, and excessive punctilious. If any 
 other animal, without the least design to offend, happened 
 to pass that way, the goose was immediately at it. The 
 pond, she said, was hers, and she would maintain her 
 right in it, and support her honour, while she had a bill 
 to hiss, or a wing to flutter. In this manner she drove 
 away ducks, pigs, and chickens ; nay, even the insidious 
 cat was seen to scamper. A lounging mastiff, however, 
 happened to pass by, and thought it no harm if he 
 should lap a little of the water, as he was thirsty. The 
 guardian goose flew at him like a fury, pecked at him 
 with her beak, and slapped him with her feathers. The 
 dog grew angry, and had twenty times a mind to give 
 her a sly snap ; but suppressing his indignation, because 
 his master was nigh, ' A pox take thee,' cried he, 'for a 
 ' fool ! sure those who have neither strength nor weapons 
 ' to fight, at least should be civil.' So saying, he went 
 forward to the pond, quenched his thirst, in spite of the 
 goose, and followed his master. 
 
 Another obstruction to the fortune of youth is, that, 
 while they are willing to take offence from none, they are 
 also equally desirous of giving nobody offence. From 
 hence they endeavour to please all, comply with every 
 request, and attempt to suit themselves to every company ; 
 have no will of their own ; but, like wax, catch every con- 
 tiguous impression. By thus attempting to give universal 
 satisfaction, they at last find themselves miserably 
 disappointed ; to bring the generality of admirers on 
 our side, it is sufficient to attempt pleasing a very few. 
 
 A painter of eminence was once resolved to finish 
 
158 ESSAYS 
 
 a piece which should please the whole world. When, 
 therefore, he had drawn a picture, in which his utmost 
 skill was exhausted, it was exposed in the public market- 
 place, with directions at the bottom for every spectator 
 to mark with a brush, that lay by, every limb and 
 feature which seemed erroneous. The spectators came, 
 and, in general, applauded ; but each, willing to show 
 his talent at criticism, stigmatized whatever he thought 
 proper. At evening, when the painter came, he was 
 mortified to find the picture one universal blot ; not 
 a single stroke that had not the marks of disapprobation. 
 Not satisfied with this trial, the next day he was resolved 
 to try them in a different manner ; and exposing his 
 picture as before, desired that every spectator would 
 mark those beauties he approved or admired. The 
 people complied ; and the artist returning, found his 
 picture covered with the marks of beauty ; every stroke 
 that had been yesterday condemned, now received the 
 character of approbation. * Well,' cries the painter, 
 ' I now find, that the best way to please all the world, 
 ' is to attempt pleasing one half of it.' 
 
 ESSAY XIII 
 ON MAD DOGS 
 
 [Altered from Letter LXIX of The Citizen of the World] 
 
 Indulgent nature seems to have exempted this 
 island from many of those epidemic evils which are so 
 fatal in other parts of the world. A want of rain for 
 a few days beyond the expected season, in some parts of 
 the globe, spreads famine, desolation, and terror over 
 the whole country ; but, in this fortunate land of Britain, 
 -the inhabitant courts health in every breeze, and the 
 husbandman ever sows in joyful expectation. 
 
ON MAD DOGS 159 
 
 But, though the nation be exempt from real evils, it 
 is not more happy on this account than others. The 
 people are afflicted, it is true, with neither famine nor 
 pestilence ; but then there is a disorder peculiar to the 
 country, which every season makes strange ravages 
 among them ; it spreads with pestilential rapidity, and 
 infects almost every rank of people ; what is still more 
 strange, the natives have no name for this peculiar 
 malady, though well known to foreign physicians by the 
 appellation of Epidemic Terror. 
 
 A season is never Imown to pass in which the people 
 are not visited by this cruel calamity in one shape or 
 another, seemingly different, though ever the same ; one 
 year it issues from a baker's shop in the shape of a 
 sixpenny loaf ; the next it takes the appearance of 
 a comet with a fiery tail ; the third it threatens like 
 a flat-bottomed boat, and the fourth, it carries con- 
 sternation in the bite of a mad dog. The people, when 
 once infected, lose their relish for happiness, saunter 
 about with looks of despondence, ask after the calamities 
 of the day, and receive no comfort but in heightening 
 each other's distress. It is insignificant how remote or 
 near, how weak or powerful, the object of terror may be, 
 when once they resolve to fright and be frighted ; the 
 merest trifles sow consternation and dismay ; each 
 proportions his fears, not to the object, but to the dread 
 he discovers in the countenance of others ; for, when 
 once fermentation is begun, it goes on of itself, though 
 the original cause be discontinued which flrst set it in 
 motion. 
 
 A dread of mad dogs is the epidemic terror which now 
 prevails, and the whole nation is at present actually 
 groaning under the malignity of its influence. The 
 people sally from their houses with that circumspection 
 which is prudent in such as expect a mad dog at every 
 
160 ESSAYS 
 
 turning. The physician publishes his prescription, the 
 beadle prepares his halter, and a few of unusual bravery 
 arm themselves with boots and buff gloves, in order to 
 face the enemy if he should offer to attack them. In 
 short, the whole people stand bravely upon their defence, 
 and seem, by their present spirit, to show a resolution of 
 being tamely bit by mad dogs no longer. 
 
 Their manner of knowing whether a dog be mad or 
 no, somewhat resembles the ancient Gothic custom of 
 trying witches. The old woman suspected was tied 
 hand and foot, and thrown into the water. If she swam, 
 then she was instantly carried off to be burnt for a 
 witch ; if she sunk, then indeed she was acquitted of 
 the charge, but drowned in the experiment. In the 
 same manner a crowd gather round a dog suspected of 
 madness, and they begin by teasing the devoted animal 
 on every side. If he attempts to stand upon the de- 
 fensive, and bite, then he is unanimously found guilty, 
 for ' A mad dog always snaps at everything.' If, on the 
 contrary, he strives to escape by running away, then he 
 can expect no compassion, for ' mad dogs always run 
 "" straight forward before them.' 
 
 It is pleasant enough for a neutral being like me, who 
 have no share in those ideal calamities, to mark the 
 stages of this national disease. The terror at first feebly 
 enters with a disregarded story of a little dog, that had 
 gone through a neighbouring village, which was thought 
 to be mad by several who had seen him. The next ac- 
 count comes, that a mastiff ran through a certain town, 
 and had bit five geese, which immediately ran mad, 
 foamed at the bill, and died in great agonies soon after. 
 Then comes an affecting history of a little boy bit in the 
 leg, and gone down to be dipped in the salt water. When 
 the people have sufficiently shuddered at that, they are 
 next congealed with a frightful account of a man who 
 
MAD DOGS 161 
 
 was said lately to have died from a bite he had received 
 some years before. This relation only prepares the way 
 for another, still more hideous ; as how the master of 
 a family with seven small children, were all bit by a mad 
 lap-dog ; and how the poor father first perceived the 
 infection by calling for a draught of water, where he saw 
 the lap-dog swimming in the cup. 
 
 When epidemic terror is thus once excited, every 
 morning comes loaded with some new disaster ; as in 
 stories of ghosts each loves to hear the account, though 
 it only serves to make him uneasy ; so here each listens 
 with eagerness, and adds to the tidings with new circum- 
 stances of peculiar horror. A lady, for instance, in the 
 country, of very weak nerves, has been frighted by the 
 barking of a dog ; and this, alas ! too frequently happens. 
 The story soon is improved and spreads, that a mad dog 
 had frighted a lady of distinction. These circumstances 
 begin to grow terrible before they have reached the 
 neighbouring village ; and there the report is, that 
 a lady of quality was bit by a mad mastiff. This account 
 every moment gathers new strength, and grows more 
 dismal as it approaches the capital ; and, by the time 
 it has arrived in town, the lady is described with wild 
 eyes, foaming mouth, running mad upon all four, barking 
 like a dog, biting her servants, and at last smothered 
 between two beds by the advice of her doctors ; while 
 the mad mastiff is, in the meantime, ranging the whole 
 country over, slavering at the mouth, and seeking whom 
 he may devour. 
 
 My landlady, a good-natured woman, but a little 
 credulous, waked me some mornings ago, before the 
 usual hour, with horror and astonishment in her look. 
 She desired me, if I had any regard for my safety, to keep 
 within ; for, a few days ago, so dismal an accident had 
 happened, as to put all the world upon their guard. 
 
 GOLDSMITH. Ill Q 
 
162 ESSAYS 
 
 A mad dog down in the country, she assured me, had bit 
 a farmer, who soon becoming mad, ran into his own yard, 
 and bit a fine brindled cow : the cow quickly became 
 as mad as the man, began to foam at the mouth, and 
 raising herself up, walked about on her hind legs, some- 
 times barking like a dog, and sometimes attempting to 
 talk like the farmer. Upon examining the grounds of 
 this story, I found my landlady had it from one neigh- 
 bour, who had it from another neighbour, who heard 
 it from very good authority. 
 
 Were most stories of this nature well examined, it 
 would be found that numbers of such as have been said 
 to suffer were no way injured ; and that of those who 
 have been actually bitten, not one in a hundred was bit 
 by a mad dog. Such accounts in general, therefore, only 
 serve to make the people miserable by false terrors, and 
 sometimes fright the patient into actual frenzy, by 
 creating those very symptoms they pretended to deplore. 
 
 But even allowing three or four to die in a season of 
 this terrible death (and four is probably too large a 
 concession), yet still it is not considered, how many are 
 preserved in their health and in their property by this 
 devoted animal's services. The midnight robber is kept 
 at a distance ; the insidious thief is often detected ; the 
 healthful chase repairs many a worn constitution ; and 
 the poor man finds in his dog a willing assistant, eager to 
 lessen his toil, and content with the smallest retribution. 
 
 ' A dog,' says one of the English poets, * is an honest 
 * creature, and I am a friend to dogs.' Of all the beasts 
 that graze the lawn or hunt the forest, a dog is the only 
 animal that, leaving his fellows, attempts to cultivate 
 the friendship of man ; to man he looks in all his 
 necessities, with a speaking eye for assistance ; exerts, 
 for him, all the little service in his power with cheerful- 
 ness and pleasure ; for him bears famine and fatigue with 
 
MAD DOGS 163 
 
 patience and resignation ; no injuries can abate his 
 fidelity ; no distress induce him to forsake his benefactor ; 
 studious to please, and fearing to offend, he is still an 
 humble, steadfast dependant ; and in him alone fawning 
 is not flattery. How unkind then to torture this faithful 
 creature, who has left the forest to claim the protection of 
 man ! How ungrateful a return to the trusty animal for 
 ail its services ! 
 
 ESSAY XIV 
 ON THE INCREASED LOVE OF LIFE WITH AGE 
 
 [Altered from Letter LXXIII of The Citizen of the World} 
 
 Age, that lessens the enjoyment..of-iife,^mcreases our ' 
 desire of living. Those dangers which, in the vigour of 
 youth, we had learned to despise, assume new terrors as 
 we grow old. Our caution increasing as our years 
 increase, fear becomes at last the prevailing passion of 
 the mind ; and the small remainder of life is taken up 
 in useless efforts to keep off our end, or provide for a 
 continued existence. 
 
 Strange contradiction in our nature, and to which 
 even the wise are liable ! If I should judge of that part 
 of life which lies before me by that which I have already 
 seen, the prospect is hideous. Experience tells me, that 
 my past enjoyments have brought no real felicity ; and 
 sensation assures me, that those I have felt are stronger 
 than those which are yet to come. Yet experience and 
 sensation in vain persuade ; hope, more powerful than 
 either, dresses out the distant prospect in fancied beauty ; 
 some happiness, in long perspective, still beckons me 
 to pursue ; and, like a losing gamester, every new 
 disappointment increases my ardour to continue the game. 
 
 Whence then is this increased love of life, which 
 
164 ESSAYS 
 
 grows upon us with our yeats ; whence comes it, that 
 we thus make greater efforts to preserve our existence, 
 at a period when it becomes scarce worth the keeping ? 
 Is it that Nature, attentive to the preservation of man- 
 kind, increases our wishes to live, while she lessens our 
 enjoyments ; and, as she robs the senses of every 
 pleasure, equips imagination in the spoils ? Life would 
 be insupportable to an old man, who, loaded with 
 infirmities, feared death no more than when in the 
 vigour of manhood ; the numberless calamities of 
 decaying nature, and the consciousness of surviving every 
 pleasure, would at once induce him, with his own hand, 
 to terminate the scene of misery ; but happily the 
 contempt of death forsakes him at a time when it could 
 only be prejudicial ; and life acquires an imaginary 
 value, in proportion as its real value is no more. 
 
 Our attachment to every object around us increases, 
 in general, from the length of our acquaintance with it. 
 * I would not choose,' says a French philosopher, ' to 
 ' see an old post pulled up with which I had been long 
 ' acquainted.' A mind long habituated to a certain set 
 of objects, insensibly becomes fond of seeing them ; 
 visits them from habit, and parts from them with 
 reluctance : from hence proceeds the avarice of the old 
 in every kind of possession ; they love the world and 
 all that it produces ; they love life and all its advantages ; 
 not because it gives them pleasure, but because they 
 have known it long. 
 
 Chinvang the Chaste, ascending the throne of China, 
 commanded that all who were unjustly detained in 
 prison, during the preceding reigns, should be set free. 
 Among the number who came to thank their deliverer 
 on this occasion, there appeared a majestic old man, who, 
 falling at the emperor's feet, addressed him as follows : 
 ' Great father of China, behold a wretch, now eighty-five 
 
INCREASED LOVE OF LIFE WITH AGE 165 
 
 ' years old, who was shut up in a dungeon at the age of 
 
 * twenty-two. I was imprisoned, though a stranger to 
 
 * crime, or without being even confronted by my accusers. 
 ' I have now lived in solitude and darkness for more than 
 ' fifty years, and am grown familiar with distress. As 
 ' yet, dazzled with the splendour of that sun to which 
 
 * you have restored me, I have been wandering the 
 ' streets to find out some friend that would assist, or 
 
 * relieve, or remember me ; but my friends, my family, 
 ' and relations, are all dead, and I am forgotten. Permit 
 ' me then, Chinvang, to wear out the wretched remains 
 ' of life in my former prison ; the walls of my dungeon 
 ' are to me more pleasing than the most splendid palace : 
 ' I have not long to live, and shall be unhappy except 
 ' I spend the rest of my days where my youth was passed ; 
 
 * in that prison from whence you were pleased to release 
 'me.' 
 
 The old man's passion for confinement is similar to 
 that we all have for life. We are habituated to the 
 prison, we look round with discontent, are displeased 
 with the abode, and yet the length of our captivity only 
 increases our fondness for the cell. The trees we have 
 planted, the houses we have built, or the posterity we 
 have begotten, all serve to bind us closer to the earth, 
 and embitter our parting. Life sues the young like 
 a new acquaintance ; the companion, as yet unexhausted, 
 is at once instructive and amusing ; its company pleases ; 
 yet, for all this, it is but little regarded. To us, who are 
 declined in years, life appears like an old friend ; its 
 jests have been anticipated in former conversation ; it 
 has no new story to make us smile, no new improvement 
 with which to surprise, yet still we love it ; destitute 
 of every enjoyment, still we love it ; husband the 
 wasting treasure with increasing frugality, and feel all 
 the poignancy of anguish in the fatal separation. 
 
166 ESSAYS 
 
 Sir Philip Mordaunt was young, beautiful, sincere, 
 brave, an Englishman. He had a complete fortune of 
 his own, and the love of the king his master, which was 
 equivalent to riches. Life opened all her treasures 
 before him, and promised a long succession of happiness. 
 He came, tasted of the entertainment, but was disgusted 
 even at the beginning. He professed an aversion to 
 living ; was tired of walking round the same circle ; 
 had tried every enjoyment, and found them all grow 
 weaker at every repetition. ' If life be, in youth, so 
 
 * displeasing,' cried he to himself, ' what will it appear 
 
 * when age comes on ? if it be at present indifferent, 
 
 * sure it will then be execrable.' This thought embittered 
 every reflection ; till, at last, with all the serenity of 
 perverted reason, he ended the debate with a pistol ! 
 Had this self -deluded man been apprised, that existence 
 grows more desirable to us the longer we exist, he would 
 have then faced old age without shrinking ; he would 
 have boldly dared to live ; and served that society by 
 his future assiduity, which he basely injured by his 
 desertion. 
 
 ESSAY XV ■• 
 
 ON THE PASSION OF WOMEN FOR LEVELLING 
 ALL DISTINCTIONS OF DRESS 
 
 [Altered from * On Dress ' in The Bee, No. II] 
 
 Foreigners observe that there are no ladies in the 
 world more beautiful, or more ill-dressed, than those of 
 England. Our country-women have been compared to 
 those pictures where the face is the work of a Raphael, 
 but the draperies thrown out by some empty pretender, 
 destitute of taste, and unacquainted with design. 
 
 If I were a poet, I might observe, on this occasion. 
 
WOMEN AND DRESS 167 
 
 that so much beauty, set off with all the advantages of 
 dress, would be too powerful an antagonist for the 
 opposite sex ; and therefore it was wisely ordered, that 
 our ladies should want taste, lest their admirers should^ 
 entirely want reason. 
 
 But to confess a truth, I do not find they have a 
 greater aversion to fine clothes than the women of any 
 other country whatsoever. I can't fancy that a shop- 
 keeper's wife in Cheapside has a greater tenderness for the 
 fortune of her husband than a citizen's wife in Paris ; 
 or that Miss in a boarding-school is more an economist 
 in dress than Mademoiselle in a nunnery. 
 
 Although Paris may be accounted the soil in which 
 almost every fashion takes its rise, its influence is never 
 so general there as with us. They study there the 
 happy method of uniting grace and fashion, and never 
 excuse a woman for being awkwardly dressed, by saying 
 her clothes are in the mode. A Frenchwoman is a perfect 
 architect in dress ; she never, with Gothic ignorance, ^ 
 mixes the orders ; she never tricks out a squabby Doric ' 
 shape with Corinthian finery ; or, to speak without 
 metaphor, she conforms to a general fashion only when it 
 happens not to be repugnant to private beauty. 
 
 The English ladies, on the contrary, seem to have no 
 other standard of grace but thejrun jof the town. If 
 fashion gives the word, every distinction of beauty, 
 complexion, or stature, ceases. Sweeping trains, Prussian 
 bonnets, and trollopees, as like each other as if cut from 
 the same piece, level all to one standard. The Mall, the^ 
 gardens, and playhouses, are filled with ladies in uniform ; 
 and their whole appearance shows as little variety or 
 taste as if their clothes were bespoke by the colonel of 
 a marching regiment, or fancied by the artist who dresses 
 the three battalions of guards. 
 
 But not only the ladies of every shape and complexion, 
 
168 ESSAYS 
 
 but of every age too, are possessed of this unaccountable 
 passion for levelling all distinction in dress. The lady 
 of no quality travels fast behind the lady of some quality ; 
 and a woman of sixty is as gaudy as her granddaughter. 
 A friend of mine, a good-natured old man, amused me, 
 the other day, with an account of his journey to the 
 Mall. It seems, in his walk thither, he, for some time, 
 followed a lady who, as he thought by her dress, was 
 a girl of fifteen. It was airy, elegant, and youthful. My 
 old friend had called up all his poetry on this occasion, 
 and fancied twenty Cupids prepared for execution in 
 every folding of her white negligee. He had prepared his 
 imagination for an angel's face ; but what was his morti- 
 fication to find that the imaginary goddess was no other 
 than his cousin Hannah, some years older than himself. 
 But to give it in his own words, * After the transports 
 
 * of our first salute,' said he, ' were over, I could not avoid 
 ' running my eye over her whole appearance. Her 
 ' gown was of cambric, cut short before, in order to 
 ' discover a high-heeled shoe, which was buckled 
 "' almost at the toe. Her cap consisted of a few bits of 
 ' cambric, and flowers of painted paper stuck on one 
 ' side of her head. Her bosom, that had felt no hand 
 ' but the hand of time these twenty years, rose suing 
 ' to be pressed. I could, indeed, have wished her more 
 ' than a handkerchief of Paris net to shade her beauties ; 
 
 * for, as Tasso says of the rose-bud, " Quanto se mostra 
 
 * men tanto e piu bella." A female breast is generally 
 
 * thought more beautiful as it is more sparingly discovered. 
 
 * As my cousin had not put on all this finery for 
 
 * nothing, she was at that time sallying out to the Park, 
 
 * when I had overtaken her. Perceiving, however, that 
 ' 1 had on my best wig, she offered, if I would 'squire her 
 ' there, to send home the footman. Though I trembled 
 ' for our reception in public, yet I could not, with any 
 
WOMEN AND DRESS 169 
 
 civility, refuse ; so, to be as gallant as possible, I took 
 her hand in my arm, and thus we marched on together. 
 
 * When we made our entry at the Park, two antiquated 
 figures, so polite and so tender, soon attracted the eyes 
 of the company. As we made our way among crowds 
 who were out to show their finery as well as we, where- —^ 
 ever we came, I perceived we brought good-humour/ 
 with us. The polite could not forbear smiling, and the 
 vulgar burst out into a horse-laugh at our grotesque 
 figures. Cousin Hannah, who was perfectly conscious 
 of the rectitude of her own appearance, attributed all 
 this mirth to the oddity of mine ; while I as cordially 
 placed the whole to her account. Thus, from being two 
 of the best-natured creatures alive, before we got half- 
 way up the Mall, we both began to grow peevish, and, 
 like two mice on a string, endeavoured to revenge the 
 impertinence of the spectators upon each other. " I am 
 amazed, cousin Jefiery," says Miss, "that I can never 
 get you to dress like a Christian. I knew we should 
 have the eyes of the Park upon us, with your great wig, 
 so frizzled, and yet so beggarly, and your monstrous 
 muff. I hate those odious muffs." I could have 
 patiently borne a criticism on all the rest of my 
 equipage ; but, as I had had always a peculiar venera- 
 tion for my muff, I could not forbear being piqued 
 
 a little ; and throwing my eyes with a spiteful air 
 on her bosom, 'M could heartily wish, madam," replied 
 I, " that, for your sake, my muff was cut into a tippet." 
 ' As my cousin, by this time, was grown heartily 
 ashamed of her gentleman-usher, and as I was never 
 very fond of any kind of exhibition myself, it was 
 mutually agreed to retire for a while to one of the 
 seats, and from that retreat remark on others as freely 
 as they had remarked on us. 
 
 * When seated we continued silent for some time, 
 
 G3 
 
170 ESSAYS 
 
 employed in very different speculations. I regarded 
 the whole company, now passing in review before me, 
 as drawn out merely for my amusement. For my 
 entertainment the beauty had, all that morning, been 
 improving her charms ; the beau had put on lace, and 
 the young doctor a big wig, merely to please me. But 
 quite different were the sentiments of cousin Hannah ; 
 she regarded every well-dressed woman as a victorious 
 rival ; hated every face that seemed dressed in good 
 humour, or wore the appearance of greater happiness 
 than her own. I perceived her uneasiness, and at- 
 tempted to lessen it, by observing that there was no 
 company in the Park to-day. To this she readily 
 assented ; *' and yet," says she, ''it is full enough of 
 scrubs of one kind or another." My smiling at this 
 observation gave her spirits to pursue the bent of her 
 inclination, and now she began to exhibit her skill in 
 secret history, as she found me disposed to listen. 
 *' Observe," says she to me, '' that old woman in tawdry 
 silk, and dressed out beyond the fashion. That is 
 Miss Biddy Evergreen. Miss Biddy, it seems, has 
 money ; and as she considers that money was never 
 so scarce as it is now, she seems resolved to keep what 
 she has to herself. She is ugly enough, you see ; yet, 
 I assure you, she has refused several offers, to my own 
 knowledge, within this twelvemonth. Let me see ; 
 three gentlemen from Ireland who study the law, two 
 waiting-captains, her doctor, and a Scotch preacher, 
 who had like to have carried her off. All her time is 
 passed between sickness and finery. Thus she spends 
 the whole week in a close chamber, with no other 
 company but her monkey, her apothecary, and cat ; 
 and comes dressed out to the Park every Sunday, 
 to show her airs, to get new lovers, to catch a new cold, 
 and to make new work for the doctor. 
 
WOMEN AND DRESS 171 
 
 ' '' There goes Mrs. Roundabout, I mean the fat lady 
 ' in the lutestring troUopee. Between you and I, she is 
 ' but a cutler's wife. See how she's dressed, as fine as 
 hands and pins can make her, while her two marriage- 
 able daughters, like bunters, in stuff gowns, are now 
 taking sixpenny worth of tea at the White Conduit 
 House. Odious puss, how she waddles along, with her 
 train two yards behind her ! She puts me in mind of 
 my Lord Bantam's Indian sheep, which are obliged to 
 have their monstrous tails trundled along in a go-cart. 
 For all her airs, it goes to her husband's heart to see 
 four yards of good lutestring wearing against the 
 ground, like one of his knives on a grindstone. To 
 speak my mind, cousin Jeffery, I never liked those 
 tails ; for, suppose a young fellow should be rude, and 
 the lady should offer to step back in the fright, instead 
 of retiring, she treads upon her train, and falls fairly 
 on her back ; and then you know, cousin, — her clothes 
 may be spoiled. 
 
 ' " Ah ! Miss Mazzard ! I knew we should not miss her 
 in the Park ; she in the monstrous Prussian bonnet. 
 Miss, though so very fine, was bred a milliner, and 
 might have had some custom if she had minded her 
 business ; but the girl was fond of finery, and, instead 
 of dressing her customers, laid out all her goods in 
 adorning herself. Every new gown she put on impaired 
 her credit ; she still, however, went on, improving her 
 appearance and lessening her little fortune, and is now, 
 you see, become a belle and a bankrupt." 
 
 ' My cousin was proceeding in her remarks, which 
 were interrupted by the approach of the very lady 
 she had been so freely describing. Miss had perceived 
 her at a distance, and approached to salute her. I 
 found, by the warmth of the two ladies' protestations, 
 that they had been long intimate esteemed friends and 
 
172 ESSAYS 
 
 ^acquaintance. Both were so pleased at this happy 
 
 * rencounter, that they were resolved not to part for the 
 
 * day. So we all crossed the Park together, and I saw 
 
 * them into a hackney-coach at St. James's.' 
 
 ESSAY XVI 
 ASEM THE MAN-HATER, AN EASTERN TALE 
 
 Where Tauris lifts its head above the storm, and 
 presents nothing to the sight of the distant traveller 
 but a prospect of nodding rocks, falling torrents, and all 
 the variety of tremendous nature ; on the bleak bosom 
 of this frightful mountain, secluded from society and 
 detesting the ways of men, lived Asem the Man-hater. 
 
 Asem had spent his youth with men ; had shared in 
 their amusements ; and had been taught to love his 
 fellow creatures with the most ardent affection : but 
 from the tenderness of his disposition, he exhausted all 
 his fortune in relieving the wants of the distressed. The 
 petitioner never sued in vain ; the weary traveller never 
 passed his door ; he only desisted from doing good when 
 he had no longer the power of relieving. 
 
 From a fortune thus spent in benevolence, he expected 
 a grateful return from those he had formerly relieved ; 
 and made his application with confidence of redress : 
 the ungrateful world soon grew weary of his importunity ; 
 for pity is but a short-lived passion. He soon, therefore, 
 began to view mankind in a very different light from 
 that in which he had before beheld them : he perceived 
 a thousand vices he had never before suspected to exist : 
 wherever he turned, ingratitude, dissimulation, and 
 treachery, contributed to increase his detestation of them. 
 Resolved therefore to continue no longer in a world 
 which he hated, and which repaid his detestation with 
 
ASEM, AN EASTERN TALE 173 
 
 contempt, he retired to this region of sterility, in order to 
 brood over his resentment in solitude, and converse with 
 the only honest heart he knew ; namely, with his own. 
 A cave was his only shelter from the inclemency of 
 the weather ; fruits gathered with difficulty from the 
 mountain's side, his only food ; and his drink was 
 fetched with danger and toil from the headlong torrent. 
 In this manner he lived, sequestered from society, passing 
 the hours in meditation, and sometimes exulting that 
 he was able to live independently of his fellow creatures. 
 At the foot of the mountain, an extensive lake dis- 
 played its glassy bosom ; reflecting, on its broad surface, 
 the impending horrors of the mountain. To this capa- 
 cious mirror he would sometimes descend, and, reclining 
 on its steep bank, cast an eager look on the smooth 
 expanse that lay before him. * How beautiful,' he often 
 cried, ' is "iSTature ! how lovely, even in her wildest 
 scenes ! How finely contrasted is the level plain that 
 lies beneath me, with yon awful pile that hides its 
 tremendous head in clouds 1 But the beauty of these 
 scenes is no way comparable with their utility ; from 
 hence an hundred rivers are supplied, which distribute 
 health and verdure to the various countries through 
 which they flow. Every part of the universe is 
 beautiful, just, and wise, but man : vile man is a 
 solecism in Nature ; the only monster in the creation. 
 Tempests and whirlwinds have their use ; but vicious, 
 ungrateful man is a blot in the fair page of universal 
 beauty. Why was I born of that detested species, 
 whose vices are almost a reproach to the wisdom of 
 the Divine Creator ! Were men entirely free from vice, 
 all would be uniformity, harmony, and order. A world 
 of moral rectitude should be the result of a perfectly 
 moral agent. Why, why then, Allah ! must I be 
 thus confined in darkness, doubt, and despair ? 
 
174 ESSAYS 
 
 Just as he uttered the word despair, he was going to 
 plunge into the lake beneath him, at once to satisfy his 
 doubts, and put a period to his anxiety ; when he 
 perceived a most majestic being walking on the surface 
 of the water, and approaching the bank on which he 
 stood. So unexpected an object at once checked his 
 purpose ; he stopped, contemplated, and fancied he saw 
 something awful and divine in his aspect. 
 
 * Son of Adam,' cried the Genius, ' stop thy rash 
 purpose ; the Father of the Faithful has seen' thy 
 justice, thy integrity, thy miseries, and hath sent me 
 to afford and administer relief. Give me thine hand, 
 and follow, without trembling, wherever I shall lead ; 
 in me behold the Genius of Conviction, kept by "the 
 great Prophet, to turn from their errors those who go 
 astray, not from curiosity, but a rectitude of intention. 
 Follow me, and be wise.' 
 
 Asem immediately descended upon the lake, and his 
 guide conducted him along the surface of the water ; 
 till, coming near the centre of the lake, they both began 
 to sink ; the waters closed over their heads ; they 
 descended several hundred fathoms, till Asem, just ready 
 to give up his life as inevitably lost, found himself with 
 his celestial guide in another world, at the bottom of 
 the waters, where human foot had never trod before. 
 His astonishment was beyond description, when he saw 
 a sun like that he had left, a serene sky over his head, 
 and blooming verdure under his feet. 
 
 ■^ I plainly perceive your amazement,' said the Genius ; 
 ' but suspend it for a while. This world was formed by 
 ' Allah, at the request, and under the inspection, of 
 
 * our great Prophet, who once entertained the same 
 ' doubts which filled your mind when I found you, and 
 
 * from the consequence of which you were so lately 
 
 * rescued. The rational inhabitants of this M^orld are 
 
ASEM, AN EASTERN TALE 175 
 
 ' formed agreeable to your own ideas ; they are absolutely 
 ' without vice. In other respects it resembles your 
 
 * earth, but differs from it in being wholly inhabited by 
 ' men who never do wrong. If you find this world more 
 
 * agreeable than that you so lately left, you have free 
 
 * permission to spend the remainder of your days in it ; 
 ' but permit me, for some time, to attend you, that 
 ' I may silence your doubts, and make you better 
 ' acquainted with your company and your new habita- 
 ' tion.' 
 
 ' A world without vice ! Rational beings without 
 ' immorality 1 ' cried Asem, in a rapture ; ' I thank 
 ' thee, Allah, who hast at length heard my petitions ; 
 ' this, this indeed will produce happiness, ecstasy, and 
 ' ease. for an immortality, to spend it among men 
 
 * who are incapable of ingratitude, injustice, fraud, 
 
 * violence, and a thousand other crimes, that render 
 
 * society miserable.' 
 
 ' Cease thine acclamations,' replied the Genius. ' Look 
 ' around thee ; reflect on every object and action before 
 ' us, and communicate to me the result of thine observa- 
 ' tions. Lead wherever you think proper, I shall be 
 ' your attendant and instructor.' Asem and his com- 
 panion travelled on in silence for some time, the former 
 being entirely lost in astonishment ; but, at last, 
 recovering his former serenity, he could not help ob- 
 serving, that the face of the country bore a near resem- 
 blance to that he had left, except that this subterranean 
 world still seemed to retain its primaeval wildness. 
 
 ' Here,' cried Asem, ' I perceive animals of prey, 
 
 * and others that seem only designed for their sub- 
 
 * sistence ; it is the very same in the world over our 
 ' heads. But had I been permitted to instruct our 
 
 * Prophet, I would have removed this defect, and formed 
 
 * no voracious or destructive animals, which only prey 
 
176 ESSAYS 
 
 * on the other parts of the creation.' ' Your tenderness 
 *for inferior animals is, I find, remarkable,' said the 
 Genius, smiling. ' But, with regard to meaner creatures, 
 
 * this world exactly resembles the other ; and, indeed, 
 
 * for obvious reasons : for the earth can support a more 
 
 * considerable number of animals, by their thus becom- 
 
 * ing food for each other, than if they had lived entirely 
 *on the vegetable productions. So that animals of 
 ' different natures thus formed, instead of lessening their 
 
 * multitude, subsist in the greatest number possible. But 
 'let us hasten on to the inhabited country before us, and 
 
 * see what that offers for instruction.' 
 
 They soon gained the utmost verge of the forest, and 
 entered the country inhabited by men without vice ; 
 and Asem anticipated in idea the rational delight he 
 hoped to experience in such an innocent society. But 
 they had scarce left the confines of the wood, when they 
 beheld one of the inhabitants flying with hasty steps, 
 and terror in his countenance, from an army of squirrels 
 that closely pursued him. ' Heavens ! ' cried Asem, 
 
 * why does he fly ? What can he fear from animals so 
 ' contemptible ? ' He had scarce spoke when he per- 
 ceived two dogs pursuing another of the human species, 
 who, with equal terror and ha&te, attempted to avoid 
 them. ' This,' cried Asem to his guide, ' is truly 
 
 * surprising ; nor can I conceive the reason for so 
 ' strange an action.' ' Every species of animals,' 
 replied the Genius, 'has of late grown very powerful 
 
 * in this country ; for the inhabitants, at first, thinking 
 ' it unjust to use either fraud or force in destroying them, 
 ' they have insensibly increased, and now frequently 
 ' ravage their harmless frontiers.' ' But they should 
 ' have been destroyed,' cried Asem ; ' you see the 
 ' consequence of such neglect.' * Where is then that 
 
 * tenderness you so lately expressed for subordinate 
 
ASEM, AN EASTERN TALE 177 
 
 * animals ? ' replied the Genius smiling : * you seem to 
 
 * have forgot that branch of justice.' ' I must acknow- 
 ' ledge my mistake,' returned Asem ; ' I am now 
 
 * convinced that we must be guilty of tyranny and 
 
 * injustice to the brute creation, if we would enjoy the 
 ' world ourselves. But let us no longer observe the 
 ' duty of man to these irrational creatures, but survey 
 ' their connexions with one another.' 
 
 As they walked farther up the country, the more he 
 was surprised to see no vestiges of handsome houses, 
 no cities, nor any mark of elegant design. His conductor, 
 perceiving his surprise, observed, that the inhabitants of 
 this new world were perfectly content with their ancient 
 simplicity ; each had a house, which, though homely, was 
 sufficient to lodge his little family ; they were too good 
 to build houses, which could only increase their own 
 pride, and the envy of the spectator ; what they built 
 was for convenience, and not for show. ' At least, 
 ' then,' said Asem, ' they have neither architects, 
 ' painters, or statuaries, in their society ; but these 
 ' are idle arts, and may be spared. However, before 
 ' I spend much more time here, you should have my 
 ' thanks for introducing me into the society of some 
 ' of their wisest men : there is scarce any pleasure to 
 ' me equal to a refined conversation ; there is nothing 
 ' of which I am so enamoured as wisdom.' * Wisdom 1 ' 
 replied his instructor, ' how ridiculous ! We have no 
 ' wisdom here, for we have no occasion for it ; true 
 ' wisdom is only a knowledge of our own duty, and the 
 ' duty of others to us ; but of what use is such wisdom 
 ' here ? each intuitively performs what is right in 
 ' himself, and expects the same from others. If by 
 ' wisdom you should mean vain curiosity and empty 
 ' speculation, as such pleasures have their origin in 
 ' vanity, luxury, or avarice, we are too good to pursue 
 
178 ESSAYS 
 
 ' them.' ' All this may be right,' says Asem ; ' but 
 ' methinks I observe a solitary disposition prevail among 
 ' the people ; each family keeps separately within their 
 ' own precincts, without society, or without intercourse.' 
 
 * That, indeed, is true,' replied the other; 'here is no 
 ' established society ; nor should there be any : all 
 ' societies are made either through fear or friendship ; 
 'the people we are among, are too good to fear each 
 ' other ; and there are no motives to private friendship, 
 ' where all are equally meritorious.' ' Well then,' said 
 the sceptic, ' as I am to spend my time here, if I am 
 ' to have neither the polite arts, nor wisdom, nor friend- 
 'ship, in such a world, I should be glad, at least, of an 
 ' easy companion, who may tell me his thoughts, and to 
 
 * whom I may communicate mine.' ' And to what 
 ' purpose should either do this ? ' says the Genius : 
 
 * flattery or curiosity are vicious motives, and never 
 
 * allowed of here ; and wisdom is out of the question.' 
 
 * Still, however,' said Asem, ' the inhabitants must 
 ' be happy ; each is contented with his own possessions, 
 ' nor avariciously endeavours to heap up more than is 
 ' necessary for his own subsistence : each has therefore 
 ' leisure to pity those that stand in need of his com- 
 
 * passion.' He had scarce spoken when his ears were 
 assaulted with the lamentations of a wretch who sat by 
 the wayside, and, in the most deplorable distress, seemed 
 gently to murmur at his own misery. Asem immediately 
 ran to his relief, and found him in the last stage of 
 a consumption. * Strange,' cried the son of Adam, 
 
 * that men who are free from vice should thus suffer so 
 
 * much misery without relief ! ' * Be not surprised,' 
 said the wretch who was dying ; ' would it not be the 
 ' utmost injustice for beings, who have only just sufficient 
 
 * to support themselves, and are content with a bare 
 
 * subsistence, to take it from their own mouths to put 
 
ASEM, AN EASTERN TALE 179 
 
 it into mine ? They never are possessed of a single 
 meal more than is necessary ; and what is barely 
 necessary cannot be dispensed with.' ' They should 
 have been supplied with more than is necessary/ cried 
 
 Asem ; 'and yet I contradict my own opinion but 
 a moment before : all is doubt, perplexity, and con- 
 fusion. Even the want of ingratitude is no virtue here, 
 since they never received a favour. They have, how» 
 ever, another excellence, yet behind ; the love of their 
 country is still, I hope, one of their darling virtues.' 
 Peace, Asem,' replied the Guardian, with a countenance 
 
 not less severe than beautiful, *nor forfeit all thy 
 pretensions to wisdom ; the same selfish motives by 
 which we prefer our own interest to that of others, 
 induce us to regard our country preferably to that of 
 another. Nothing less than universal benevolence is 
 free from vice, and that you see is practised here/ 
 Strange 1 ' cries the disappointed pilgrim, in an agony 
 
 of distress ; * what sort of a world am I now introduced 
 to ? There is scarce a single virtue, but that of temper- 
 ance, which they practise ; and in that they are rio 
 way superior to the very brute creation. There is scarce 
 an amusement which they enjoy ; fortitude, liberality, 
 friendship, wisdom, conversation, and love of country, 
 all are virtues entirely unknown here ; thus it seems, 
 that, to be unacquainted with vice is not to know 
 virtue. Take me, my Genius, back to that very 
 world which I have despised : a world which has 
 Allah for its contriver is much more wisely formed 
 than that which has been projected by Mahometc 
 Ingratitude, contempt, and hatred, I can now suffer,, 
 for perhaps I have deserved them. When I arraigned 
 the wisdom of Providence, I only showed my own 
 ignorance ; henceforth let me keep from vice myself, 
 and pity it in others.' 
 
180 ESSAYS 
 
 He had scarce ended, when the Genius, assuming an 
 air of terrible complacency, called all his thunders 
 around him, and vanished in a whirlwind. Asem, 
 astonished at the terror of the scene, looked for his 
 imaginary world ; when, casting his eyes around, he 
 perceived himself in the very situation, and in the very 
 place, where he first began to repine and despair ; his 
 right foot had been just advanced to take the fatal 
 plunge, nor had it been yet withdrawn ; so instantly did 
 Providence strike the series of truths just imprinted on 
 his soul. He now departed from the waterside in 
 tranquillity, and, leaving his horrid mansion, travelled 
 to Segestan, his native city ; where he diligently applied 
 himself to commerce, and put in practice that wisdom 
 he had learned in solitude. The frugality of a few years 
 soon produced opulence ; the number of his domestics 
 increased ; his friends came to him from every part of 
 the city ; nor did he receive them with disdain ; and 
 a youth of misery was concluded with an old age of 
 elegance, affluence, and ease. 
 
 ESSAY XVII 
 
 ON THE ENGLISH CLERGY AND POPULAR 
 PREACHERS 
 
 [From The Ladies' Magazine] 
 
 It is allowed on all hands, that our English divines 
 receive a more liberal education, and improve that 
 education, by frequent study, more than any others of 
 this reverend profession in Europe. In general, also, it 
 may be observed, that a greater degree of gentility is 
 annexed to the character of a student in England than 
 elsewhere ; by which means our clergy have an oppor- 
 tunity of seeing better company while young, and of 
 
THE ENGLISH CLERGY 181 
 
 sooner wearing off those prejudices young men are apt 
 to imbibe even in the best regulated universities, and 
 which may be justly termed the vulgar errors of the wise. 
 
 Yet, with all these advantages, it is very obvious that 
 the clergy are nowhere so little thought of, by the 
 populace, as here ; and, though our divines are foremost, 
 with respect to abilities, yet they are found last in the 
 effects of their ministry ; the vulgar, in general, appear- 
 ing no way impressed with a sense of religious duty. 
 I am not for whining at the depravity of the times, or 
 for endeavouring to paint a prospect more gloomy than 
 in nature ; but certain it is, no person who has travelled 
 will contradict me, when I aver that the lower orders of 
 mankind, in other countries, testify, on every occasion, 
 the prof oundest awe of religion ; while in England they 
 are scarcely awakened into a sense of its duties, even in 
 circumstances of the greatest distress. 
 
 This dissolute and fearless conduct foreigners are apt 
 to attribute to climate and constitution ; may not the 
 vulgar, being pretty much neglected in our exhortations 
 from the pulpit, be a conspiring cause ? Our divines 
 seldom stoop to their mean capacities ; and they 
 who want instruction most, find least in our religious 
 assemblies. 
 
 Whatever may become of the higher orders of man- 
 kind, who are generally possessed of collateral motives 
 to virtue, the vulgar should be particularly regarded, 
 whose behaviour in civil life is totally hinged upon their 
 hopes and fears. Those who constitute the basis of the 
 great fabric of society should be particularly regarded ; 
 for, in policy as in architecture, ruin is most fatal when 
 it begins from the bottom. 
 
 Men of real sense and understanding prefer a prudent 
 mediocrity to a precarious popularity ; and, fearing to 
 outdo their duty, leave it half done. Their discourses 
 
182 ESSAYS 
 
 from the pulpit are generally dry, methodical, and 
 unaffecting ; delivered with the most insipid calmness ; 
 insomuch, that, should the peaceful preacher lift his 
 head over the cushion, which alone he seems to address, 
 he might discover his audience, instead of being awakened 
 to remorse, actually sleeping over his methodical and 
 laboured composition. 
 
 This method of preaching is, however, by some called 
 an address to reason, and not to the passions ; this is 
 styled the making of converts fr.om conviction : but 
 such are indifferently acquainted with human nature, 
 who are not sensible, that men seldom reason about 
 their debaucheries till they are committed ; reason is 
 but a weak antagonist when headlong passion dictates ; 
 in all such cases we should arm one passion against 
 another ; it is with the human mind as in nature, from 
 the mixture of two opposites the result is most frequently 
 neutral tranquillity. Those who attempt to reason us 
 out of our follies, begin at the wrong end, since the 
 attempt naturally presupposes us capable of reason ; but 
 to be made capable of this, is one great point of the cure. 
 
 There are but few talents requisite to become a popular 
 preacher, for the people are easily pleased if they perceive 
 any endeavours in the orator to please them ; the 
 meanest qualifications will work this effect, if the 
 preacher sincerely sets about it. Perhaps little, indeed 
 very little, more is required, than sincerity and assurance; 
 and a becoming sincerity is always certain of producing 
 a becoming assurance. ' Si vis me fiere, dolendum est 
 ^ primum tibi ipsi,' is so trite a quotation, that it almost 
 demands an apology to repeat it ; yet, though all allow 
 the justice of the remark, how few do we find put it in 
 practice ? Our orators, with the most faulty bashfulness, 
 seem impressed rather with an awe of their audience than 
 with a just respect for the truths they are about to deliver; 
 
THE ENGLISH CLERGY 183 
 
 they, of all professions, seem the most bashful, who have 
 the greatest right to glory in their commission. 
 
 The French preachers generally assume all that 
 dignity which becomes men who are ambassadors from 
 Christ ; the English divines, like erroneous envoys, 
 seem more solicitous not to offend the court to which 
 they are sent, than to drive home the interests of their 
 employer. The Bishop of Massillon, in the first sermon 
 he ever preached, found the whole audience, upon his 
 getting into the pulpit, in a disposition no way favourable 
 to his intentions ; their nods, whispers, or drowsy be- 
 haviour, showed him that there was no great profit to 
 be expected from his sowing in a soil so improper ; how- 
 ever, he soon changed the disposition of his audience by 
 his manner of beginning : 'If,' says he, ' a cause, the 
 most important that could be conceived, were to be 
 tried at the bar before qualified judges ; if this cause 
 interested ourselves in particular ; if the eyes of the 
 whole kingdom were fixed upon the event ; if the most 
 eminent counsel were employed on both sides ; and if 
 we had heard from our infancy of this yet undeter- 
 mined trial ; would you not all sit with due attention, 
 and warm expectations, to the pleadings on each side ? 
 would not all your hopes and fears be hinged upon the 
 final decision ? And yet, let me tell you, you have 
 this moment a cause of much greater importance before 
 you ; a cause where not one nation, but all the world, 
 are spectators ; tried not before a fallible tribunal, but 
 the awful throne of Heaven, where not your temporal 
 and transitory interests are the subject of debate, but 
 your eternal happiness or misery, where the cause is still 
 imdetermined ; but, perhaps, the very moment I am 
 speaking, may fix the irrevocable decree that shall last 
 for ever ; and yet, notwithstanding all this, you can 
 hardly sit with patience to hear the tidings of your own 
 
184 ESSAYS 
 
 ' salvation ; I plead the cause of Heaven, and yet I am 
 ' scarcely attended to/ &c. 
 
 The style, the abruptness of a beginning like this, in 
 the closet would appear absurd : but in the pulpit it is 
 attended with the most lasting impressions : that style, 
 which, in the closet, might justly be called flimsy, seems 
 the true mode of eloquenge here. I never read a fine 
 composition, under the title of sermon, that I do not 
 think the author has miscalled his piece ; for the talents 
 to be used in writing well, entirely differ from those of 
 speaking well. The qualifications for speaking, as has 
 been already observed, are easily acquired ; they are 
 accomplishments which may be taken up by every 
 candidate who will be at the pains of stooping. Impressed 
 with a sense of the truths he is about to deliver, a 
 preacher disregards the applause or the contempt of his 
 audience, and he insensibly assumes a just and manly 
 sincerity. With this talent alone we see what crowds 
 are drawn around enthusiasts, even destitute of common 
 sense ; what numbers converted to Christianity. Folly 
 may sometimes set an example for wisdom to practise, 
 and our regular divines may borrow instruction from 
 even Methodists, who go their circuits and preach prizes 
 among the populace. Even Whitfield may be placed as 
 a model to some of our young divines ; let them join to 
 their own good sense his earnest manner of delivery. 
 
 It will be perhaps objected, that, by confining the 
 excellences of a preacher to proper assurance, earnestness, 
 and openness of style, I make the qualifications too trifling 
 for estimation : there will be something called oratory 
 brought up on this occasion ; action, attitude, grace, 
 elocution, may be repeated as absolutely necessary to 
 complete the character ; but let us not be deceived ; 
 common sense is seldom swayed by fine tones, musical 
 periods, just attitudes, or the display of a white hand- 
 
THE ENGLISH CLERGY 185 
 
 kerchief ; oratorial behaviour, except in very able hands 
 indeed, generally sinks into awkward and paltry affecta- 
 tion. 
 
 It must be observed, however, that these rules are 
 calculated only for him who would instruct the vulgar, 
 who stand in most need of instruction ; to address 
 philosophers, and to obtain the character of a polite 
 preacher among the polite — a much more useless, though 
 more sought-for character — requires a different method 
 of proceeding. All I shall observe on this head is, to 
 entreat the polemic divine, in his controversy with the 
 Deists, to act rather offensively than to defend ; to push 
 home the grounds of his belief, and the impracticability 
 of theirs, rather than to spend time in solving the 
 objections of every opponent. ' It is ten to one,' says 
 a late writer on the art of war, ' but that the assailant 
 ' who attacks the enemy in his trenches, is always 
 ' victorious.' 
 
 Yet, upon the whole, our clergy might employ them- 
 selves more to the benefit of society, by declining all 
 controversy, than by exhibiting even the profoundest 
 skill in polemic disputes ; their contests with each other 
 often turn on speculative trifles ; and their disputes with 
 the Deists are almost at an end since they can have 
 no more than victory, and that they are already possessed 
 of, as their antagonists have been driven into a confession 
 of the necessity of revelation, or an open avowal of 
 theism. To continue the dispute longer would only 
 endanger it ; the sceptic is ever expert at puzzling a 
 debate which he finds himself unable to continue ; 
 ' and, like an Olympic boxer, generally fights best when 
 * undermost.' 
 
186 
 
 ESSAY XVIII 
 
 ON THE ADVANTAGES TO BE DERIVED FROM 
 SENDING A JUDICIOUS TRAVELLER INTO ASIA 
 
 [Altered from Letter CVIII of The Citizen of the World] 
 
 I HAVE frequently been amazed at the ignorance of 
 almost all the European travellers who have penetrated 
 any considerable way eastward into Asia. They have 
 all been influenced either by motives of commerce or 
 piety, and their accounts are such as might reasonably 
 be expected from men of a very narrow or very pre- 
 judiced education, the dictates of superstition, or the 
 result of ignorance. Is it not surprising, that, of such 
 a variety of adventurers, not one single philosopher 
 should be found among the number ? For, as to the 
 travels of Gemelli, the learned are long agreed that the 
 whole is but an imposture. 
 
 There is scarce any country, how rude or uncultivated 
 soever, where the inhabitants are not possessed of some 
 peculiar secrets, either in nature or art, which might be 
 transplanted with success : thus, for instance, in Siberian 
 Tartary, the natives extract a strong spirit from milk, 
 which is a secret probably unknown to the chemists of 
 Europe. In the most savage parts of India they are 
 possessed of the secret of dyeing vegetable substances 
 scarlet, and likewise that of refining lead into a metal, 
 which, for hardness and colour, is little inferior to silver ; 
 not one of which secrets but would, in Europe, make 
 a man's fortune. The power of the Asiatics in producing 
 winds, or bringing down rain, the Europeans are apt to 
 treat as fabulous, because they have no instances of the 
 like nature among themselves ; but they would have 
 treated the secrets of gunpowder, and the mariner's 
 compass, in the same manner, had they been told the 
 
TRAVEL IN ASIA 187 
 
 Chinese used such arts before the invention was common 
 with themselves at home. 
 
 Of all the English philosophers, I most reverence 
 Bacon, that great and hardy genius : he it is who, 
 undaunted by the seeming difficulties that oppose, 
 prompts human curiosity to examine every part of 
 nature ; and even exhorts man to try whether he cannot 
 subject the tempest, the thunder, and even earthquakes, 
 to human control. Oh ! had a man of his daring spirit, 
 of his genius, penetration, and learning, travelled to 
 those countries which have been visited only by the 
 superstitious and mercenary, what might not mankind 
 expect ! How would he enlighten the regions to which 
 he travelled ! and what a variety of knowledge and 
 useful improvement would he not bring back in exchange ! 
 
 There is probably no country so barbarous, that would 
 not disclose all it knew, if it received equivalent informa- 
 tion ; and I am apt to think, that a person, who was 
 ready to give more knowledge than he received, would 
 be welcome wherever he came. All his care in travelling 
 should only be to suit his intellectual banquet to the 
 people with whom he conversed : he should not attempt 
 to teach the unlettered Tartar astronomy, nor yet 
 instruct the polite Chinese in the arts of subsistence : 
 he should endeavour to improve the barbarian in the 
 secrets of living comfortably ; and the inhabitant of 
 a more refined country in the speculative pleasures of 
 science. How much more nobly would a philosopher, thus 
 employed, spend his time, than by sitting at home, 
 earnestly intent upon adding one star more to his 
 catalogue, or one monster more to his collection ; or 
 still, if possible, more triflingly sedulous in the incatena- 
 tion of fleas, or the sculpture of cherry-stones. 
 
 I never consider this subject, without being surprised 
 that none of those societies, so laudably established in 
 
188 ESSAYS 
 
 England for the promotion of arts and learning, have 
 ever thought of sending one of their members into the 
 most eastern parts of Asia, to make what discoveries 
 he was able. To be convinced of the utility of such an 
 undertaking, let them but read the relations of their own 
 travellers. It will there be found, that they are as often 
 deceived themselves, as they attempt to deceive others. 
 The merchants tell us, perhaps, the price of different 
 commodities, the methods of baling them up, and the 
 properest manner for a European to preserve his health 
 in the country. The missioner, on the other hand, 
 informs us with what pleasure the country to which he 
 was sent embraced Christianity, and the numbers he 
 converted ; what methods he took to keep Lent in 
 a region where there was no fish, or the shifts he made 
 to celebrate the rites of his religion, in places where 
 there was neither bread nor wine : such accounts, with 
 the usual appendage of marriages and funerals, inscrip- 
 tions, rivers, and mountains, make up the whole of 
 a European traveller's diary ; but as to all the secrets 
 of which the inhabitants are possessed, those are 
 universally attributed to magic ; and when the traveller 
 can give no other account of the wonders he sees per- 
 formed, he very contentedly ascribes them to the devil. 
 It was a usual observation of Boyle, the English 
 chemist, that, if every artist would but discover what 
 new observations occurred to him in the exercise of his 
 trade, philosophy would thence gain innumerable 
 improvements. It may be observed, with still greater 
 justice, that, if the useful knowledge of every country, 
 howsoever barbarous, was gleaned by a judicious ob- 
 server, the advantages would be inestimable. Are there 
 not, even in Europe, many useful inventions, known or 
 practised but in one place ? The instrument, as an 
 example, for cutting down corn in Germany, is much 
 
TRAVEL IN ASIA 189 
 
 more handy and expeditious, in my opinion, than the 
 sickle used in England. The cheap and expeditious 
 manner of making vinegar, without previous fermenta- 
 tion, is known only in a part of France. If such dis- 
 coveries therefore remain still to be known at home, 
 what funds of knowledge might not be collected in 
 countries yet unexplored, or only passed through by 
 ignorant travellers in hasty caravans ? 
 
 The caution with which foreigners are received in 
 Asia, may be alleged as an objection to such a design. 
 But how readily have several European merchants 
 found admission into regions the most suspicious, under 
 the character of Sanjapins, or northern pilgrims ? To 
 such, not even China itself denies access. 
 
 To send out a traveller properly qualified for these 
 purposes, might be an object of national concern ; it 
 would, in some measure, repair the breaches made by 
 ambition ; • and might show that there were still some 
 who boasted a greater name than that of patriots, who 
 professed themselves lovers of men. 
 
 The only difficulty would remain in choosing a proper 
 person for so arduous an enterprise. He should be 
 a man of a philosophical turn, one apt to deduce con- 
 sequences of general utility from particular occurrences, 
 neither swollen with pride, nor hardened by prejudice ; 
 neither wedded to one particular system, nor instructed 
 only in one particular science ; neither wholly a botanist, 
 nor quite an antiquarian : his mind should be tinctured 
 with miscellaneous knowledge, and his manners human- 
 ized by an intercourse with men. He should be, in 
 some measure, an enthusiast to the design ; fond of 
 travelling, from a rapid imagination, and an innate 
 love of change ; furnished with a body capable of sus- 
 taining every fatigue, and a heart not easily terrified 
 at danger. 
 
190 
 
 ESSAY XIX 
 
 A REVERIE AT THE BOAR'S HEAD TAVERN IN 
 EAST-CHEAP 
 
 The improvements we make in mental acquirements, 
 only render us each day more sensible of the defects of 
 our constitution : with this in view, therefore, let us 
 often recur to the amusements of youth ; endeavour to 
 forget age and wisdom, and, as far as innocence goes, be 
 as much a boy as the best of them. 
 
 Let idle declaimers mourn over the degeneracy of the 
 age-; but, in my opinion, every age is the same. This I am 
 sure of, that man, in every season, is a poor fretful being, 
 with no other means to escape the calamities of the 
 times but by endeavouring to forget them ; for, if he 
 attempts to resist, he is certainly undone. If I feel 
 poverty and pain, I am not so hardy as to quarrel with 
 the executioner, even while under correction : I find 
 myself no way disposed to make fine speeches, while I am 
 making wry faces. In a word, let me drink when the 
 fit is on, to make me insensible ; and drink when it 
 is over, for joy that I feel pain no longer. 
 
 The character of old Falstaff, even with all his faults, 
 gives me more consolation than the most studied efforts 
 of wisdom : I here behold an agreeable old fellow, 
 forgetting age, and showing me the way to be young at 
 sixty-five. Sure I am well able to be as merry, though 
 not so comical, as he. Is it not in my power to have, 
 though not so much wit, at least as much vivacity ? 
 Age, care, wisdom, reflection, be gone — I give you to the 
 ! winds. Let's have t'other bottle : here's to the memory 
 of Shakespeare, Falstaff, and all the merry men of 
 East-cheap. 
 
 Such were the reflections that naturally arose while 
 
AT THE BOAR'S HEAD TAVERN 191 
 
 I sat at the Boar's Head Tavern, still kept at East- 
 cheap. Here, by a pleasant fire, in the very room where 
 old Sir John Falstaff cracked his jokes, in the very 
 chair which was sometimes honoured by Prince Henry, 
 and sometimes polluted by his immortal merry com- 
 panions, I sat and ruminated on the follies of youth ; 
 wished to be young again ; but was resolved to make 
 the best of life while it lasted, and now and then com- 
 pared past and present times together. I considered 
 myself as the only living representative of the old knight, 
 and transported my imagination back to the times 
 when the prince and he gave life to the revel, and made 
 even debauchery not disgusting. The room also con- 
 spired to throw my reflections back into antiquity : the 
 oak floor, the Gothic windows, and the ponderous 
 chimney-piece, had long withstood the tooth of time : 
 the watchman had gone twelve : my companions had all 
 stolen off, and none now remained with me but the 
 landlord. From him I could have wished to know the 
 history of a tavern that had such a long succession of 
 customers. I could not help thinking that an account of 
 this kind would be a pleasing contrast of the manners 
 of different ages ; but my landlord could give me no 
 information. He continued to doze and sot, and tell 
 a tedious story, as most other landlords usually do ; 
 and, though he said nothing, yet was never silent : one 
 good joke followed another good joke ; and the best 
 joke of all was generally begun towards the end of 
 a bottle. I found at last, however, his wine and his 
 conversation operate by degrees. He insensibly began 
 to alter his appearance : his cravat seemed quilled into 
 a ruff, and his breeches swelled out into a fardingale. 
 I now fancied him changing sexes : and, as my eyes 
 began to close in slumber, I imagined my fat landlord 
 actually converted into as fat a landlady. However, 
 
192 ESSAYS 
 
 sleep made but few changes in my situation : the tavern, 
 the apartment and the table, continued as before ; 
 nothing suffered mutation but my host, who was fairly 
 altered into a gentlewoman, whom I knew to be Dame 
 Quickly, mistress of this tavern in the days of Sir John ; 
 and the liquor we were drinking, seemed converted into 
 sack and sugar. 
 
 * My dear Mrs. Quickly,' cried I (for I knew her 
 perfectly well at first sight), ' I am heartily glad to see 
 ' you. How have you left Falstaff, Pistol, and the rest of 
 ^ our friends below stairs ? Brave and hearty, I hope ? ' 
 — ' In good sooth,' replied she, * he did deserve to 
 ' live for ever ; but he maketh foul work on 't where he 
 "^ hath flitted. Queen Proserpine and he have quarrelled 
 ^ for his attempting a rape upon her divinity ; and 
 ' were it not that she still had bowels of compassion, 
 
 * it more than seems probable he might have been now 
 
 * sprawling in Tartarus.' 
 
 I now found that spirits still preserve the frailties of 
 the flesh ; and that, according to the laws of criticism 
 and dreaming, ghosts have been known to be guilty of 
 even more than platonic affection : wherefore, as I found 
 her too much moved on such a topic to proceed, I was 
 resolved to change the subject ; and desiring she would 
 pledge me in a bumper, observed, with a sigh, that our 
 sack was nothing now to what it was in former days : 
 "' Ah, Mrs. Quickly, those were merry times when you 
 ^ drew sack for Prince Henry : men were twice as strong, 
 "" and twice as wise, and much braver, and ten thousand 
 'times more charitable, than now. Those were the 
 
 * times ! The Battle of Agincourt was a victory indeed ! 
 ' Ever since that we have only been degenerating ; and 
 ' I have lived to see the day when drinking is no longer 
 ^ fashionable ; when men wear clean shirts, and women 
 'show their necks and arms. All are degenerated. 
 
AT THE BOAR'S HEAD TAVERN 193 
 
 * Mrs. Quickly ; and we shall probably, in another 
 ' century, be frittered away into beaux or monkeys. Had 
 ' you been on earth to see what I have seen, it would 
 
 * congeal all the blood in your body (your soul, I mean). 
 ' Why, our very nobility now have the intolerable 
 ' arrogance, in spite of what is every day remonstrated 
 'from the press; our very nobility, I say, have the- 
 ' assurance to frequent assemblies, and presume to be as 
 
 ' merry as the vulgar. See, my very friends have scarce^ 
 ' manhood enough to sit to it till eleven ; and I only am 
 ' left to make a night on 't. Prithee do me the favour 
 
 * to console me a little for their absence by the story 
 
 * of your own adventures, or the history of the tavern 
 ' where we are now sitting : I fancy the narrative may 
 ' have something singular.' 
 
 ' Observe this apartment,' interrupted my companion ; 
 
 * of neat device and excellent workmanship — In this 
 ' room I have lived, child, woman, and ghost, more than 
 ' three hundred years : I am ordered by Pluto to keep 
 
 * an annual register of every transaction that passed here ; 
 ' and I have whilom compiled three hundred tomes, 
 ' which eftsoons may be submitted to thy regards.' 
 
 * None of your whiloms or eftsoons, Mrs. Quickly, if you 
 ' please,' I replied : ' I know you can talk every whit as 
 ' well as I can ; for, as you have lived here so long, it 
 ' is but natural to suppose you should learn the con- 
 ' versation of the company. Believe me, dame, at best, 
 ' you have neither too much sense nor too much language 
 ' to spare ; so give me both as well as you can : but, 
 
 * first, my service to you : old women should water their 
 
 * clay a little now and then ; aiid now to your story.' 
 
 * The story of my own adventures,' replied the vision, 
 ' is but short and unsatisfactory ; for, believe me, 
 
 * Mr. Rigmarole, believe me, a woman with a butt of 
 ' sack at her elbow is never long-lived. Sir John's 
 
 GOLDSMITH. Ill J£ 
 
194 ESSAYS 
 
 * death afflicted me to such a degree, that I sincerely 
 ' believe, to drown sorrow, I drank more liquor myself 
 ' than I drew for my customers : my grief was sincere, 
 ' and the sack was excellent. The prior of a neigh- 
 
 * bouring convent (for our priors then had as much power 
 
 * as a Middlesex justice now), he, I say, it was who gave 
 'me a licence for keeping a disorderly house, upon 
 ' condition, that I should never make hard bargains with 
 
 * the clergy, that he should have a bottle of sack every 
 'morning, and the liberty of confessing which of my 
 
 * girls he thought proper in private every night. I had 
 
 * continued, for several years, to pay this tribute ; and 
 *he, it must be confessed, continued as rigorously to 
 ' exact it. I grew old insensibly ; my customers con- 
 
 * tinned, however, to compliment my looks while I was 
 
 * by, but I could hear them say I was wearing when my 
 ' back was turned. The prior, however, still was constant, 
 
 * and so were half his convent : but one fatal morning 
 
 * he missed the usual beverage ; for I had incautiously 
 
 * drank over night the last bottle myself. What will you 
 ' have on 't ? — The very next day Doll Tearsheet and 
 ' I were sent to the house of correction, and accused of 
 ' keeping a low bawdy-house. In short, we were so well 
 
 * purified there with stripes, mortification, and penance, 
 
 * that we were afterwards utterly unfit for worldly 
 
 * conversation : though sack would have killed me, had 
 ' I stuck to it, yet I soon died for want of a drop of 
 
 * something comfortable, and fairly left my body to the 
 
 * care of the beadle. 
 
 * Such is my own history ; but that of the tavern, 
 
 * where I have ever since been stationed, affords greater 
 
 * variety. In the history of this, which is one of the 
 
 * oldest in London, you may view the different manners, 
 ' pleasures, and follies, of men at different periods. You 
 'will find mankind neither better nor worse now than 
 
AT THE BOAR'S HEAD TAVERN 195 
 
 formerly : the vices of an uncivilized people are 
 generally more detestable, though not so frequent, as 
 those in polite society. It is the same luxury which 
 formerly stuffed your alderman with plum-porridge, 
 and now crams him with turtle. It is the same low 
 ambition that formerly induced a courtier to give up 
 his religion to please his king, and now persuades him 
 to give up his conscience to please his minister. It is 
 the same vanity that formerly stained our ladies' cheeks 
 and necks with woad, and now paints them with 
 carmine. Your ancient Briton formerly powdered his 
 hair with red earth like brickdust, in order to appear 
 frightful : your modem Briton cuts his hair on the 
 crown, and plasters it with hog's-lard and flour ; and 
 this to make him look killing. It is the same vanity, "^- 
 the same folly, and the same vice, only appearin^^^^ 
 different, as viewed through the glass of fashion. In 
 a word, all mankind are ' 
 
 ' Sure the woman is dreaming,' interrupted I. * None 
 of your reflections, Mrs. Quickly, if you love me ; they 
 only give me the spleen. Tell me your history at once, 
 I love stories, but hate reasoning.' 
 
 * If you please then, sir,' returned my companion, ' I'll 
 read you an abstract which I made of the three hundred 
 volumes I mentioned just now.' 
 
 ' My body was no sooner laid in the dust, than the 
 prior and several of his convent came to purify the 
 tavern from the pollutions with which they said I had 
 filled it. Masses were said in every room, relics were 
 exposed upon every piece of furniture, and the whole 
 house washed with a deluge of holy-water. My 
 habitation was soon converted into a monastery ; 
 instead of customers now applying for sack and sugar, 
 my rooms were crowded with images, relics, saints, 
 whores, and friars. Instead of being a scene of occa- 
 
196 ESSAYS 
 
 * sional debauchery, it was now filled with continual 
 'lewdness. The prior led the fashion, and the whole 
 ^ convent imitated his pious example. Matrons came 
 
 * hither to confess their sins, and to commit new. Virgins 
 
 * came hither who seldom went virgins away. Nor was 
 
 * this a convent peculiarly wicked ; every convent at 
 
 * that period was equally fond of pleasure, and gave 
 ' a boundless loose to appetite. The laws allowed it ; 
 
 * each priest had a right to a favourite companion, and 
 ' a power of discarding her as often as he pleased. The 
 'laity grumbled, quarrelled with their wives and 
 
 * daughters, hated their confessors, and maintained them 
 
 * in opulence and ease. These, these were happy times, 
 
 * Mr. Rigmarole ; these were times of piety, bravery, 
 
 * and simplicity ! ' — ' Not so very happy, neither, good 
 ' madam ; pretty much like the present ; those that 
 ' labour starve, and those that do nothing wear fine 
 ' clothes and live in luxury.' 
 
 ' In this manner the fathers lived, for some years, 
 
 * without molestation ; they transgressed, confessed 
 ' themselves to each other, and were forgiven. One 
 
 * evening, however, our prior keeping a lady of distinction 
 ' somewhat too long at confession, her husband unex- 
 
 * pectedly came upon them, and testified all the indigna- 
 
 * tion which was natural upon such an occasion. The 
 
 * prior assured the gentleman that it was the devil who 
 
 * had put it into his heart ; and the lady was very 
 ' certain, that she was under the influence of magic, or 
 
 * she could never have behaved in so unfaithful a manner. 
 ' The husband, however, was not to be put off by such 
 
 * evasions, but summoned both before the tribunal of 
 
 * justice. His proofs were flagrant, and he expected 
 
 * large damages. Such, indeed, he had a right to expect, 
 
 * were the tribunals of those days constituted in the same 
 
 * manner as they are now. The cause of the priest was to 
 
AT THE BOAR'S HEAD TAVERN 197 
 
 ' be tried before an assembly of priests ; and a layman 
 ' was to expect redress only from their impartiality and 
 ' candour. What plea then do you think the prior made 
 ' to obviate this accusation ? He denied the fact, and 
 ' challenged the plaintiff to try the merits of their cause 
 ' by single combat. It was a little hard, you may be 
 
 * sure, upon the poor gentleman, not only to be made 
 ' a cuckold, but to be obliged to fight a duel into the 
 
 * bargain ; yet such was the justice of the times. The 
 ' prior threw down his glove, and the injured husband 
 
 * was obliged to take it up, in token of his accepting the 
 ' challenge. Upon this the priest supplied his champion, 
 
 * for it was not lawful for the clergy to fight ; and the 
 ' defendant and plaintiff, according to custom, were put 
 ' in prison ; both ordered to fast and pray, every method 
 
 * being previously used to induce both to a confession of 
 ' the truth. After a month's imprisonment, the hair of 
 ' each was cut, the bodies anointed with oil, the field of 
 ' battle appointed and guarded by soldiers, while his 
 
 * majesty presided over the whole in person. Both the 
 ' champions were sworn not to seek victory either by 
 ' fraud or magic. They prayed and confessed upon their 
 
 * knees ; and after these ceremonies, the rest was left 
 
 * to the courage and conduct of the combatants. As the 
 ' champion whom the prior had pitched upon, had 
 
 * fought six or eight times upon similar occasions, it was 
 ' no way extraordinary to find him victorious in the 
 ' present combat. In short, the husband was dis- 
 
 * comfited ; he was taken from the field of battle, 
 ' stripped to his shirt, and, after one of his legs was 
 
 * cut off, as justice ordained in such cases, he was 
 ' hanged as a terror to future offenders. These, these 
 
 * were the times, Mr. Rigmarole ; you see how much 
 
 * more just, and wise, and valiant, our ancestors were 
 ' than us.' — ' I rather fancy, madam, that the times 
 
198 ESSAYS 
 
 * then were pretty much like our own ; where aL_nmlti!-, 
 - * plicity of laws give a judge as much power as a want 
 
 "* of Jaw ; since he is ever sure to find among the number 
 
 * some to countenance his partiality.' 
 
 "^ Our convent, victorious over their enemies, now gave 
 ' a loose to every demonstration of joy. The lady 
 ' became a nun, the prior was made a bishop, and three 
 
 * Wickliffites were burned in the illuminations and fire- 
 
 * works that were made on the present occasion. Our 
 
 * convent now began to enjoy a very high degree of 
 
 * reputation. There was not one in London that had 
 ' the character of hating heretics so much as ours. Ladies 
 
 * of the first distinction chose from our convent their 
 ' confessors ; in short, it fiourished, and might have 
 
 * flourished to this hour, but for a fatal accident which 
 
 * terminated in its overthrow. The lady, whom the prior 
 
 * had placed in a nunnery, and whom he continued to 
 
 * visit for some time with great punctuality, began at 
 ' last to perceive that she was quite forsaken. Secluded 
 
 * from conversation, as usual, she now entertained the 
 ' visions of a devotee ; found herself strangely disturbed ; 
 ' but hesitated in determining, whether she was possessed 
 ' by an angel or a demon. She was not long in suspense ; 
 
 * for upon vomiting a large quantity of crooked pins, and 
 
 * finding the palms of her hands turned outwards, she 
 ' quickly concluded that she was possessed by the devil. 
 
 * She soon lost entirely the use of speech ; and, when she 
 
 * seemed to speak, everybody that was present perceived 
 ' that her voice was not her own, but that of the devil 
 
 * within her. In short, she was bewitched ; and all the 
 ' difficulty lay in determining who it could be that 
 
 * bewitched her. The nuns and the monks all demanded 
 ' the magician's name, but the devil made no reply ; for 
 ' he knew they had no authority to ask questions. By 
 
 * the rules of witchcraft, when an evil spirit has taken 
 
AT THE BOAR'S HEAD TAVERN 199 
 
 * possession, he may refuse to answer any questions 
 ' asked him, unless they are put by a bishop, and to 
 ' these he is obliged to reply. A bishop, therefore, was 
 
 * sent for, and now the whole secret came out : the devil 
 ' reluctantly owned that he was a servant of the prior ; 
 
 * that, by his command, he resided in his present habita- 
 
 * tion ; and that, without his command, he was resolved 
 
 * to keep in possession. The bishop was an able exorcist ; 
 
 * he drove the devil out by force of mystical arms ; the 
 ' prior was arraigned for witchcraft ; the witnesses were 
 
 * strong and numerous against him, not less than fourteen 
 ' persons being by who heard the devil talk Latin. There 
 ' was no resisting such a cloud of witnesses ; the prior 
 
 * was condemned ; and he who had assisted at so many 
 ' burnings, was burned himself in turn. These were 
 ' times, Mr. Rigmarole ; the people of those times were 
 ' not infidels, as now, but sincere believers ! ' — ' Equally 
 
 * faulty with ourselves ; they believed what the devil 
 ' was pleased to tell them ; and we seem resolved, at 
 ' last, to believe neither God nor devil.' 
 
 ' After such a stain upon the convent, it was not to be 
 ' supposed it could subsist any longer ; the fathers were 
 ' ordered to decamp, and the house was once again 
 ' converted into a tavern. The king conferred it on one 
 
 * of his cast-off mistresses ; she was constituted landlady 
 
 * by royal authority ; and as the tavern was in the 
 'neighbourhood of the court, and the mistress a very 
 ' polite woman, it began to have more business than ever, 
 ' and sometimes took not less than four shillings a day. 
 
 * But perhaps you are desirous of knowing what were 
 
 * the peculiar qualifications of women of fashion at that 
 
 * period ; and in a description of the present landlady, 
 
 * you will have a tolerable idea of all the rest. This lady 
 
 * was the daughter of a nobleman, and received such an 
 
 * education in the country as became her quality, 
 
200 ESSAYS 
 
 beauty, and great expectations. She could make 
 shifts and hose for herself and all the servants of the 
 family, when she was twelve years old. She knew the 
 names of the four and twenty letters, so that it was 
 impossible to bewitch her ; and this was a greater 
 piece of learning than any lady in the whole country 
 could pretend to. She was always up early, and saw 
 breakfast served in the great hall by six o'clock. At 
 this scene of festivity she generally improved good 
 humour, by telling her dreams, relating stories of 
 spirits, several of which she herself had seen, and one 
 of which she was reported to have killed with a black- 
 hafted knife. From hence she usually went to make 
 pastry in the larder, and here she was followed by her 
 sweethearts, who were much helped on in conversation 
 by struggling with her for kisses. About ten, Miss 
 generally went to play at hot-cockles and blindman's 
 buff in the parlour ; and when the young folks (for 
 they seldom played at hot-cockles when grown old) 
 were tired of such amusements, the gentlemen enter- 
 tained Miss with the history of their greyhounds, 
 bear-baitings, and victories at cudgel-playing. If the 
 weather was fine, they ran at the ring, shot at butts, 
 while Miss held in her hand a ribbon, with which she 
 adorned the conqueror. Her mental qualifications were 
 exactly fitted to her external accomplishments. Before 
 she was fifteen, she could tell the story of Jack the 
 Giant ELiller, could name every mountain that was 
 inhabited by fairies, knew a witch at first sight, and 
 could repeat four Latin prayers without a prompter. 
 Her dress was perfectly fashionable ; her arms and her 
 hair were completely covered ; a monstrous ruff was 
 put round her neck ; so that her head seemed like that 
 of John the Baptist placed in a charger^ In short, 
 when completely equipped, her appearance was so very 
 
AT THE BOAR'S HEAD TAVERN 201 
 
 * modest, that she discovered little more than her nose. 
 
 * These were the times, Mr. Rigmarole ; when every 
 
 * lady that had a good nose might set up for a beauty ; 
 ' when every woman that could tell stories might be 
 
 * cried up for a wit.' — ' I am as much displeased at those 
 
 * dresses which conceal too much, as at those which 
 ' discover too much : I am equally an enemy to a female 
 
 * dimce or a female pedant.' 
 
 ' You may be sure that Miss chose a husband with 
 
 * qualifications resembling her own ; she pitched upon 
 ' a courtier, equally remarkable for hunting and drinking, 
 ' who had given several proofs of his great virility among 
 ' the daughters of his tenants and domestics. They fell 
 ' in love at first sight (for such was the gallantry of the 
 ' times), were married, came to court, and Madam 
 
 * appeared with superior qualifications. The king was 
 
 * struck with her beauty. All property was at the king's 
 ' command ; the husband was obliged to resign all 
 ' pretensions in his wife to the sovereign whom God had 
 ' anointed, to commit adultery where he thought proper. 
 ' The king loved her for some time ; but at length, 
 
 * repenting of his misdeeds, and instigated by his father- 
 ' confessor, from a principle of conscience, removed her 
 ' from his levee to the bar of this tavern, and took a new 
 
 * mistress in her stead. Let it not surprise you to 
 ' behold the mistress of a king degraded to so humble an 
 ' office. As the ladies had no mental accomplishments, 
 
 * a good face was enough to raise them to the royal 
 
 * couch ; and she who was this day a royal mistress, 
 
 * might the next, when her beauty palled upon enjoy- 
 ' ment, be doomed to infamy and want. 
 
 ' Under the care of this lady, the tavern grew into 
 
 * great reputation ; the courtiers had not yet learned to 
 
 * game, but they paid it off by drinking : drunkenness is 
 
 * ever the vice of a barbarous, and gaming of a luxurious, 
 
 h3 
 
202 ESSAYS 
 
 < ageo They had not such frequent entertainments as 
 
 * the moderns have, but were more expensive and more 
 ' luxurious in those they had. All their fooleries were 
 
 * more elaborate, and more admired by the great and 
 
 * the vulgar than now. A courtier has been known to 
 ' spend his whole fortune at a single feast, a king to 
 « mortgage his dominions to furnish out the frippery of 
 ' a tournamento There were certain days appointed for 
 ' riot and debauchery, and to be sober at such times was 
 
 * reputed a crime. Kings themselves set the example ; 
 ' and I have seen monarchs in this room drunk before 
 
 * the entertainment was half concluded. These were the 
 
 * times, sir, when kings kept mistresses, and got drunk in 
 ^ public ; they were too plain and simple in those happy 
 ' times to hide their vices, and act the hypocrite, as now.' 
 — ' Lord ! Mrs. Quickly,' interrupting her, * I expected 
 
 * to have heard a story, and here you are going to tell 
 ' me I know not what of times and vices ; prithee let 
 ' me entreat thee once more to waive reflections, and 
 ' give thy history without deviation.' 
 
 * No lady upon earth,' continued my visionary corre- 
 spondent, * knew how to put off her damaged wine or 
 ' women with more art than she. When these grew 
 ' flat, or those paltry, it was but changing the names ; 
 ' the wine became excellent, and the girls agreeable. She 
 
 * was also possessed of the engaging leer, the chuck 
 ' under the chin, winked at a double entendre, could 
 ' nick the opportunity of calling for something comfort- 
 ' able, and perfectly understood the discreet moments 
 ' when to withdraw. The gallants of those times pretty 
 ' much resembled the bloods of ours ; they were fond 
 
 * of pleasure, but quite ignorant of the art of refining 
 
 * upon it ; thus a court-bawd of those times resembled 
 ' the common low-lived harridan of a modern bagnio. 
 ' Witness, ye powers of debauchery, how often I have 
 
AT THE BOAR'S HEAD TAVERN 203 
 
 been present at the various appearances of drunkenness, 
 riot, guilt, and brutality ! A tavern is a true picture of 
 human infirmity ; in history we find only one side of the 
 age exhibited to our view; but in the accounts of a tavern 
 we see every age equally absurd and equally vicious.' 
 
 * Upon this lady's decease the tavern was successively 
 occupied by adventurers, bullies, pimps, and gamesters. 
 Towards the conclusion of the reign of Henry VII gaming 
 was more universally practised in England than even 
 now. Kings themselves have been known to play off, 
 at Primero, not only all the money and jewels they 
 could part with, but the very images in churches. The 
 last Henry played away, in this very room, not only 
 the four great bells of St. Paul's Cathedral, but the fine 
 image of St. Paul, which stood upon the top of the 
 spire, to Sir Miles Partridge, who took them down the 
 next day, and sold them by auction. Have you then 
 any cause to regret being born in the times you now 
 live? or do you still believe that human nature continues 
 to run on declining every age ? If we observe the 
 actions of the busy part of mankind, your ancestors 
 will be found infinitely more gross, servile, and even 
 dishonest, than you. If, forsaking history, we only 
 trace them in their hours of amusement and dissipation, 
 we shall find them more sensual, more entirely 
 devoted to pleasure, and infinitely more selfish. 
 
 ' The last hostess of note I find upon record, was 
 Jane Rouse. She was bom among the lower ranks 
 of the people ; and, by frugality and extreme com- 
 plaisance, contrived to acquire a moderate fortune : 
 this she might have enjoyed for many years, had she 
 not unfortunately quarrelled with one of her neighbours, 
 a woman who was in high repute for sanctity through 
 the whole parish. In the times of which I speak, two 
 women seldom quarrelled, that one did not accuse the 
 
204 ESSAYS 
 
 ' other of witchcraft, and she who fh-st contrived to 
 
 * vomit crooked pins was sure to come off victorious, 
 
 * The scandal of a modern tea-table differs widely from 
 
 * the scandal of former times : the fascination of a lady's 
 ' eyes, at present, is regarded as a compliment ; but if 
 
 * a lady, formerly, should be accused of having witchcraft 
 
 * in her eyes, it were much better, both for her soul and 
 
 * body, that she had no eyes at all. 
 
 ' In short, Jane Rouse was accused of witchcraft ; and, 
 ' though she made the best defence she could, it was all 
 
 * to no purpose ; she was taken from her own bar to 
 ' the bar of the Old Bailey, condemned, and executed 
 
 * accordingly. These were times, indeed ! when even 
 ' women could not scold in safety. 
 
 * Since her time the tavern underwent several revolu- 
 
 * tions, according to the spirit of the times, or the dis- 
 
 * position of the reigning monarch. It was this day 
 ' a brothel, and the next a conventicle for enthusiasts. 
 
 * It was one year noted for harbouring Whigs, and the 
 ' next infamous for a retreat to Tories. Some years ago 
 ' it was in high vogue, but at present it seems declining. 
 ' This only may be remarked in general, that whenever 
 ' taverns flourish most, the times are then most ex- 
 
 — travagant and luxurious.' ' Lord ! Mrs. Quickly,' 
 
 interrupted I, ' you have really deceived me ; I expected 
 ' a romance, and here you have been this half -hour 
 
 * giving me only a description of the spirit of the times : 
 *if you have nothing but tedious remarks to com- 
 
 * municate, seek some other hearer ; I am determined 
 
 * to hearken only to stories.' 
 
 ^ I had scarce concluded, when my eyes and ears 
 seemed opened to my landlord, who had been all this 
 while giving me an account of the repairs he had made 
 in the house, and was now got into the story of the 
 cracked glass in the dining-room. 
 
205 
 
 ESSAY XX 
 ON QUACK DOCTORS 
 
 [Altered from Letters XXIV and LXVIII of The Citizen of the World\ 
 
 Whatever may be the merits of the English in other 
 sciences, they seem peculiarly excellent in the art of 
 healing. There is scarcely a disorder incident to 
 humanity, against which our advertising doctors are 
 not possessed with a most infallible antidote. The 
 professors of other arts confess the inevitable intricacy 
 of things ; talk with doubt, and decide with hesita- 
 tion ; but doubting is entirely unknown in medicine ; 
 the advertising professors here delight in cases of 
 difficulty : be the disorder never so desperate or radical, 
 you will find numbers in every street, who, by levelling 
 a pill at the part affected, promise a certain cure, without 
 loss of time, knowledge of a bedfellow, or hindrance of 
 business. 
 
 When I consider the assiduity of this profession, their 
 benevolence amazes me. They not only, in general, 
 give their medicines for half value, but use the most 
 persuasive remonstrances to induce the sick to come 
 and be cured. Sure there must be something strangely 
 obstinate in an English patient, who refuses so much 
 health upon such easy terms ! Does he take a pride in 
 being bloated with a dropsy ? Does he find pleasure in 
 the alternations of an intermittent fever ? or feel as 
 much satisfaction in nursing up his gout, as he found 
 pleasure in acquiring it ? He must, otherwise he would 
 never reject such repeated assurances of instant relief. 
 What can be more convincing than the manner in which 
 the sick are invited to be well ? The doctor first begs 
 the most earnest attention of the public to what he 
 is going to propose ; he solemnly affirms the pill was 
 
206 ESSAYS 
 
 never found to want success ; he produces a list of those 
 who have been rescued from the grave by taking it. Yet, 
 notwithstanding all this, there are many here who now 
 and then think proper to be sick. Only sick ! did I say ? 
 There are some who even think proper to die. Yes, 
 by the head of Confucius, they die ; though they might 
 have purchased the health-restoring specific for half 
 a crown at every corner. 
 
 I can never enough admire the sagacity of this country 
 for the encouragement given to the professors of this art. 
 With what indulgence does she foster up those of her 
 own growth, and kindly cherish those that come from 
 abroad ! Like a skilful gardener, she invites them from 
 every foreign climate to herself. Here every great exotic 
 strikes root as soon as imported, and feels the genial 
 beam of favour ; while the mighty metropolis, like one 
 vast munificent dunghill, receives them indiscriminately 
 to her breast, and supplies each with more than native 
 nourishment. 
 
 In other countries, the physician pretends to cure 
 disorders in the lump : the same doctor who combats 
 the gout in the toe, shall pretend to prescribe for a pain 
 in the head ; and he who at one time cures a consump- 
 tion, shall at another give drugs for a dropsy. How 
 absurd and ridiculous ! This is being a mere jack of all 
 trades. Is the animal machine less complicated than 
 a brass pin ? Not less than ten different hands are 
 required to make a brass pin ; and shall the body be set 
 right by one single operator ? 
 
 The English are sensible of the force of this reasoning ; 
 they have therefore one doctor for the eyes, another for 
 the toes ; they have their sciatica doctors, and inocula- 
 ting doctors ; they have one doctor who is modestly 
 content with securing them from bug-bites, and five 
 hundred who prescribe for the bite of mad dogs. 
 
ON QUACK DOCTORS 207 
 
 But as nothing pleases curiosity more than anecdotes 
 of the great, however minute or trifling, I must present 
 you, inadequate as my abilities are to the subject, with 
 an account of one or two of those personages who lead 
 in this honourable profession. 
 
 The first upon the list of glory is Doctor Richard Rock, 
 This great man is short of stature, is fat, and waddles 
 as he walks. He always wears a white three -tailed wig 
 nicely combed, and frizzled upon each cheek. Some- 
 times he carries a cane, but a hat never ; it is indeed 
 very remarkable that this extraordinary personage 
 should never wear a hat, but so it is ; a hat he never 
 wears. He is usually drawn, at the top of his own bills, 
 sitting in his arm-chair, holding a little bottle between 
 his finger and thumb, and surrounded with rotten teeth, 
 nippers, pills, packets, and gallipots. No man can 
 promise fairer or better than he ; for, as he observes, 
 ' Be your disorder never so far gone, be under no un=> 
 ' easiness, make yourself quite easy, I can cure you.' 
 
 The next in fame, though by some reckoned of equal 
 pretensions, is Doctor Timothy Franks, living in the 
 Old Bailey. As Rock is remarkably squab, his great 
 rival Franks is remarkably tall. He was born in the 
 year of the Christian era 1692, and is, while I now 
 write, exactly sixty-eight years, three months and four 
 days old. Age, however, has no ways impaired his usual 
 health and vivacity ; I am told he generally walks with 
 his breast open. This gentleman, who is of a mixed 
 reputation, is particularly remarkable for a becoming 
 assurance, which carries him gently through life ; for, 
 except Doctor Rock, none are more blessed with the 
 advantage of face than Doctor Franks. 
 
 And yet the great have their foibles as well as the 
 little. I am almost ashamed to mention it — let the 
 foibles of the great rest in peace — yet I must impart the 
 
208 ESSAYS 
 
 whole. These two great men are actually now at 
 variance ; like mere men, mere common mortals. Rock 
 advises the world to beware of bog-trotting quacks ; 
 Franks retorts the wit and the sarcasm, by fixing on 
 his rival the odious appellation of Dumpling Dick. He 
 calls the serious Doctor Rock, Dumplin Dick ! What 
 profanation ! Dumplin Dick ! What a pity, that the 
 learned, who were born mutually to assist in enlighten- 
 ing the world, should thus differ among themselves, and 
 make even the profession ridiculous ! Sure the world is 
 wide enough, at least, for two great personages to figure 
 in ; men of science should leave controversy to the little 
 world below them ; and then we might see Rock and 
 Franks walking together, hand in hand, smiling, onward 
 to immortality. 
 
 ESSAY XXI 
 ADVENTURES OF A STROLLING PLAYER 
 
 I AM fond of amusement, in whatever company it is 
 to be found ; and wit, though dressed in rags, is ever 
 pleasing to me. I went some days ago to take a walk 
 in St. James's Park, about the hour in which company 
 leave it to go to dinner. There were but few in the 
 walks, and those who stayed, seemed by their looks 
 rather more willing to forget that they had an appetite 
 than gain one. I sat down on one of the benches, at the 
 other end of which was seated a man in very shabby 
 clothes. 
 
 We continued to groan, to hem, and to cough, as 
 usual upon such occasions ; and, at last, ventured upon 
 conversation. ' I beg pardon, sir,' cried I, ' but I think 
 '^ I have seen you before ; your face is familiar to me.' 
 ' Yes, sir/ replied he, ' I have a good familiar face, as 
 
A STROLLING PLAYER 209 
 
 ' my friends tell me. I am as well known in every town 
 'in England as the dromedary, or live crocodile. You 
 
 * must understand, sir, that I have been these sixteen years 
 
 * Merry Andrew to a puppet-show ; last Bartholomew Fair 
 ' my master and I quarrelled, beat each other, and parted ; 
 ' he to sell his puppets to the pincushion-makers in 
 ' Rosemary Lane, and I to starve in St. James's Park.' 
 
 * I am sorry, sir, that a person of your appearance 
 
 * should labour under any difficulties.' * 0, sir,' returned 
 he, ' my appearance is very much at your service ; but 
 'though I cannot boast of eating much, yet there are 
 
 * few that are merrier : if I had twenty thousand a year, 
 
 * I should be very merry ; and, thank the fates, though 
 ' not worth a groat, I am very merry still. If I have 
 ' three-pence in my pocket, I never refuse to be my 
 ' three halfpence ; and if I have no money, I never 
 
 * scorn to be treated by any that are kind enough to 
 ' pay my reckoning. What think you, sir, of a steak 
 ' and a tankard ? You shall treat me now, and I will 
 'treat you again when I find you in the Park in love 
 ' with eating, and without money to pay for a dinner.' 
 
 As I never refuse a small expense for the sake of a 
 merry companion, we instantly adjourned to a neigh- 
 bouring alehouse, and in a few moments had a frothing 
 tankard and a smoking steak spread on the table before 
 us. It is impossible to express how much the sight of 
 such good cheer improved my companion's vivacity. 
 ' 1 like this dinner, sir,' says he, ' for three reasons : 
 ' first, because I am naturally fond of beef ; secondly, 
 ' because I am hungry ; and, thirdly and lastly, because 
 ' I get it for nothing : no meat eats so sweet as that for 
 ' which we do not pay.' 
 
 He therefore now fell to, and his appetite seemed to 
 correspond with his inclination. After dinner was over, 
 he observed that the steak was tough ; ' and yet, sir,' 
 
210 ESSAYS 
 
 returns he, ' bad as it was, it seemed a rump-steak to 
 
 * me. Oh, the delights of poverty and a good appetite ! 
 
 * We beggars are the very foundlings of Nature ; the 
 
 * rich she treats like an arrant stepmother ; they are 
 
 * pleased with nothing : cut a steak from what part you 
 ' will, and it is insupportably tough ; dress it up with 
 
 * pickles, — even pickles cannot procure them an appetite. 
 
 * But the whole creation is filled with good things for 
 ' the beggar ; Calvert's butt out-tastes champagne, and 
 
 * Sedgeley's home-brewed excels tokay. Joy, joy, my 
 ' blood ! though our estates lie nowhere, we have fortunes 
 'wherever we go. If an inundation sweeps away half 
 
 * the grounds of Cornwall, I am content ; I have no 
 
 * lands there : if the stocks sink, that gives me no 
 
 * uneasiness ; I am no Jew.' The fellow's vivacity, 
 joined to his poverty, I own, raised my curiosity to 
 know something of his life and circumstances ; and I 
 entreated that he would indulge my desire. — ' That I will, 
 
 sir,' said he, ' and welcome ; only let us drink to prevent 
 our sleeping; let us have another tankard while we 
 are awake; let us have another tankard ; for, ah, how 
 charming a tankard looks when full ! 
 ' You must know, then, that I am very well descended ; 
 my ancestors have made some noise in the world ; for 
 my mother cried oysters, and my father beat a drum : 
 I am told we have even had some trumpeters in our 
 family. Many a nobleman cannot show so respectful 
 a genealogy : but that is neither here nor there. As 
 I was their only child, my father designed to breed me 
 up to his own employment, which was that of drummer 
 to a puppet-show. Thus the whole employment of my 
 younger years was that of interpreter to Punch and 
 King Solomon in all his glory. But, though my father 
 was very fond of instructing me in beating all the 
 marches and points of war, I made no very great 
 
A STROLLING PLAYER 211 
 
 ' progress, because I naturally had no ear for music ; 
 
 * so, at the age of fifteen, I went and listed for a soldier. 
 
 * As I had ever hated beating a drum, so I soon found 
 ' that I disliked carrying a musket also ; neither the 
 ' one trade nor the other was to my taste, for I was 
 ' by nature fond of being a gentleman : besides, I was 
 ' obliged to obey my captain ; he has his will, I have 
 
 * mine, and you have yours : now I very reasonably 
 ' concluded, that it was much more comfortable for 
 
 * a man to obey his own will than another's. 
 
 ' The life of a soldier soon therefore gave me the 
 
 * spleen. I asked leave to quit the service ; but, as 
 
 * I was tall and strong, my captain thanked me for my 
 
 * kind intention, and said, because he had a regard for 
 ' me, we should not part. I wrote to my father a very 
 ' dismal penitent letter, and desired that he would 
 ' raise money to pay for my discharge ; but the good 
 ' man was as fond of drinking as I was (Sir, my service to 
 ' you), — and those who are fond of drinking never pay for 
 ' other people's discharges : in short, he never answered 
 ' my letter. What could be done ? If I have not money, 
 
 * said I to myself, to pay for my discharge, I must 
 ' find an equivalent some other way ; and that must be 
 ' by running away. I deserted, and that answered my 
 
 * purpose every bit as well as if I had bought my 
 ' discharge. 
 
 ' Well, I was now fairly rid of my military employ- 
 
 * ment ; I sold my soldier's clothes, bought worse, and, 
 ' in order not to be overtaken, took the most unfre- 
 ' quented roads possible. One evening, as I was entering 
 
 * a village, I perceived a man, whom I afterwards found 
 
 * to be the curate of the parish, thrown from his horse 
 
 * in a miry road, and almost smothered in the mud. 
 ' He desired my assistance ; I gave it, and drew him out 
 
 * with some difficulty. He thanked me for my trouble. 
 
212 ESSAYS 
 
 and was going off ; but I followed him home, for I 
 loved always to have a man thank me at his own door. 
 The curate asked an hundred questions ; as, whose son 
 I was ; from whence I came ; and whether I would 
 be faithful ? I answered him greatly to his satisfaction, 
 and gave myself one of the best characters in the 
 world for sobriety (Sir, I have the honour of drinking 
 your health), discretion, and fidelity. To make a long 
 story short, he wanted a servant, and hired me. With 
 him I lived but two months ; we did not much like 
 each other ; I was fond of eating, and he gave me 
 but little to eat : I loved a pretty girl, and the old 
 woman, my fellow servant, was ill-natured and ugly. 
 As they endeavoured to starve me between them, 
 I made a pious resolution to prevent their committing 
 murder : I stole the eggs as soon as they were laid ; 
 I emptied every unfinished bottle that I could lay my 
 hands on ; whatever eatable came in my way was 
 sure to disappear : in short, they found I would not 
 do ; so I was discharged one morning, and paid three 
 shillings and sixpence for two months' wages. 
 * While my money was getting ready, I employed 
 myself in making preparations for my departure ; 
 two hens were hatching in an out -house ; I went and 
 habitually took the eggs ; and, not to separate the 
 parents from the children, I lodged hens and all in my 
 knapsack. After this piece of frugality, I returned to 
 receive my money, and, with my knapsack on my back, 
 and a staff in my hand, I bid adieu, with tears in my eyes, 
 to my old benefactor. I had not gone far from the 
 house when I heard behind me the cry of *' Stop 
 thief ! " but this only increased my dispatch ; it would 
 have been foolish to stop, as I knew the voice could 
 not be levelled at me. But hold, I think I passed those 
 two months at the curate's without drinking. Come, 
 
A STROLLING PLAYER 213 
 
 ' the times are dry, and may this be my poison if ever 
 ' I spent two more pious, stupid months in all my life. 
 
 * Well, after travelling some daj^s, whom should I 
 ' light upon but a company of strolling players. The 
 
 * moment I saw them at a distance my heart warmed to 
 ' them ; I had a sort of natural love for everything of the 
 
 * vagabond order : they were employed in settling their 
 
 * baggage, which had been overturned in a narrow way ; 
 
 * I offered my assistance, which they accepted ; and we 
 
 * soon became so well acquainted, that they took me as 
 
 * a servant. This was a paradise to me ; they sung, 
 
 * danced, drank, eat, and travelled, all at the same time. 
 ' By the blood of the Mirabels, I thought I had never 
 ' lived till then ; I grew as merry as a grig, and laughed 
 ' at every word that was spoken. They liked me as 
 
 * much as I liked them ; I was a very good figure, as 
 ' you see ; and, though I was poor, I was not modest. 
 
 ' I love a straggling life above all things in the world ; 
 
 * sometimes good, sometimes bad ; to be warm to-day, 
 ' and cold to-morrow ; to eat when one can get it, and 
 
 * drink when (the tankard is out) it stands before me. 
 
 * We arrived that evening at Tenderden, and took a 
 ' large room at the Greyhound, where we resolved to 
 ' exhibit Borneo and Juliet, with the funeral procession, 
 ' the grave, and the garden scene. Romeo was to be 
 
 * performed by a gentleman from the Theatre Royal in 
 ' Drury Lane ; Juliet by a lady who had never appeared 
 ' on any stage before ; and I was to snuff the candles : 
 ' all excellent in our way. We had figures enough, but 
 ' the difficulty was to dress them. The same coat that 
 ' served Romeo, turned with the blue lining outwards, 
 ' served for his friend Mercutio : a large piece of crape 
 ' sufficed at once for Juliet's petticoat and pall : a pestle 
 
 * and mortar, from a neighbouring apothecary's, answered 
 
 * all the purposes of a bell ; and our landlord's own 
 
214 ESSAYS 
 
 * family, wrapped in white sheets, served to fill up the 
 
 * procession. In short, there were but three figures 
 ' among us that might be said to be dressed with any 
 ' propriety : I mean the nurse, the starved apothecary, 
 ' and myself. Our performance gave universal satis- 
 
 * faction : the whole audience were enchanted with our 
 ' powers, and Tenderden is a town of taste. 
 
 ' There is one rule by which a strolling player may be 
 
 * ever secure of success ; that is, in our theatrical way of 
 
 * expressing it, to make a great deal of the character. 
 
 * To speak and act as in common life, is not playing, nor 
 ' is it what people come to see : natural speaking, like 
 ' sweet wine, runs glibly over the palate, and scarce 
 ' leaves any taste behind it ; but being high in a part 
 'resembles vinegar, which grates upon the taste, and 
 
 * one feels it while he is drinking. To please in town or 
 ' country, the way is, to cry, wring, cringe into attitudes, 
 
 * mark the emphasis, slap the pockets, and labour like 
 
 * one in the falling sickness : that is the way to work 
 
 * for applause ; that is the way to gain it. 
 
 ' As we received much reputation for our skill on this 
 ' first exhibition, it was but natural for me to ascribe 
 
 * part of the success to myself : I snufied the candles, 
 
 * and let me tell you, that without a candle-snufier 
 
 * the piece would lose half its embellishments. In this 
 
 * manner we continued a fortnight, and drew tolerable 
 
 * houses ; but the evening before our intended departure, 
 'we gave out our very best piece, in which all our 
 
 * strength was to be exerted. We had great expectations 
 
 * from this, and even doubled our prices, when behold 
 ' one of the principal actors fell ill of a violent fever. 
 ' This was a stroke like thunder to our little company : 
 
 * they were resolved to go, in a body, to scold the man 
 ' for falling sick at so inconvenient a time, and that too 
 ' of a disorder that threatened to be expensive ; I seized 
 
A STROLLING PLAYER 215 
 
 ' the moment, and offered to act the part myself in his 
 ' stead. The case was desperate ; they accepted my 
 ' offer ; and I accordingly sat down, with the part in 
 ' my hand and a tankard before me (Sir, your health), 
 ' and studied the character, which was to be rehearsed 
 ' the next day, and played soon after. 
 
 * I found my memory excessively helped by drinking : 
 
 * I learned my part with astonishing rapidity, and bid 
 ' adieu to snuffing candles ever after. I found that 
 ' Nature had designed me for more noble employments, 
 
 * and I was resolved to take her when in the humour. 
 
 * We got together in order to rehearse ; and I informed my 
 ' companions, masters now no longer, of the surprising 
 ' change I felt within me. '* Let the sick man," said 
 
 * I, ** be under no uneasiness to get well again ; I'll fill 
 ' his place to universal satisfaction : he may even die 
 ' if he thinks proper ; I'll engage that he shall never 
 ' be missed." I rehearsed before them, strutted, ranted, 
 ' and received applause. They soon gave out that a new 
 ' actor of eminence was to appear, and immediately all 
 ' the genteel places were bespoke. Before I ascended 
 ' the stage, however, I concluded within myself, that, as 
 
 * I brought money to the house, I ought to have my 
 
 * share in the profits. ** Gentlemen," said I, addressing 
 
 * our company, *' I don't pretend to direct you ; far be 
 ' it from me to treat you with so much ingratitude : you 
 ' have published my name in the bills with the utmost 
 ' good nature ; and, as affairs stand, cannot act without 
 
 * me ; so, gentlemen, to show you my gratitude, I expect 
 ' to be paid for my acting as much as any of you, other- 
 
 * wise I declare off ; I'll brandish my snuffers, and clip 
 ' candles as usual." This was a very disagreeable proposal, 
 
 * but they found that it was impossible to refuse it ; it 
 ' was irresistible, it was adamant : they consented, and 
 ' I went on in King Bajazet : my frowning brows 
 
216 ESSAYS 
 
 bound with a stocking stuffed into a turban, while on 
 my captiv'd arms I brandished a jack-chain. Nature 
 seemed to have fitted me for the part ; I was tall, and 
 had a loud voice ; my very entrance excited universal 
 applause ; I looked round on the audience with a smile, 
 and made a most low and graceful bow, for that is the 
 rule among us. As it was a very passionate part, 
 I invigorated my spirits with three full glasses (the 
 tankard is almost out) of brandy. By Allah ! it is 
 almost inconceivable how I went through it ; Tamer- 
 lane was but a fool to me ; though he was sometimes 
 loud enough too, yet I was still louder than he : but 
 then, besides, I had attitudes in abundance : in general 
 I kept my arms folded up thus upon the pit of my 
 stomach ; it is the way at Drury Lane, and has always 
 a fine effect. The tankard would sink to the bottom 
 before I could get through the whole of my merits : 
 in short, I came off like a prodigy ; and such was my 
 success, that I could ravish the laurels even from a 
 sirloin of beef. The principal gentlemen and ladies of 
 the town came to me, after the play was over, to 
 compliment me upon my success : one praised my 
 voice, another my person. '' Upon my word,'' says the 
 squire's lady, " he will make one of the finest actors 
 in Europe ; I say it, and I think I am something of 
 
 a judge." Praise in the beginning is agreeable 
 
 enough, and we receive it as a favour ; but when it 
 comes in great quantities, we regard it only as a debt, 
 which nothing but our merit could extort : instead of 
 thanking them, I internally applauded myself. We 
 were desired to give our piece a second time ; we 
 obeyed, and I was applauded even more than before. 
 
 ' At last we left the town, in order to be at a horse- 
 race at some distance from thence. I shall never 
 think of Tenderden without tears of gratitude and 
 
A STROLLING PLAYER 217 
 
 respect. The ladies and gentlemen there, take my word 
 for it, are very good judges of plays and actors. Come, 
 let us drink their healths, if you please, sir. We quitted 
 the town, I say ; and there was a wide difference 
 between my coming in and going out : I entered the 
 
 town a candle-snuffer, and I quitted it an hero ! 
 
 Such is the world ; little to-day, and great to-morrow. 
 I could say a great deal more upon that subject ; 
 something truly sublime, upon the ups and downs of 
 fortune ; but it would give us both the spleen, and so 
 I shall pass it over. 
 
 ' The races were ended before we arrived at the next 
 town, which was no small disappointment to our 
 company ; however, we were resolved to take all we 
 could get. I played capital characters there too, and 
 came off with my usual brilliancy. I sincerely believe 
 I should have been the first actor of Europe, had my 
 growing merit been properly cultivated ; but there 
 came an unkindly frost, which nipped me in the bud, 
 and levelled me once more down to the common 
 standard of humanity. I played Sir Harry Wildair ; 
 all the country ladies were charmed : if I but drew 
 out my snuff-box, the whole house was in a roar of 
 rapture ; when I exercised my cudgel, I thought they 
 would have fallen into convulsions. 
 
 ' There was here a lady who had received an education 
 of nine months in London ; and this gave her pre- 
 tensions to taste, which rendered her the indisputable 
 mistress of the ceremonies wherever she came. She 
 was informed of my merits ; everybody praised me ; 
 yet she refused at first going to see me perform : she 
 could not conceive, she said, anything but stuff from 
 a stroller ; talked something in praise of Garrick, and 
 amazed the ladies with her skill in enunciations, tones, 
 and cadences : she was at last, however, prevailed upon 
 
218 ESSAYS 
 
 * to go ; and it was privately intimated to me what 
 
 * a judge was to be present at my next exhibition : 
 
 * however, no way intimidated, I came on in Sir Harry, 
 ' one hand stuck in my breeches, and the other in my 
 ' bosom, as usual at Drury Lane ; but, instead of looking 
 
 * at me, I perceived the whole audience had their eyes 
 
 * turned upon the lady who had been nine months in 
 ' London ; from her they expected the decision which 
 
 * was to secure the general's truncheon in my hand, 
 ' or sink me down into a theatrical letter-carrier. I 
 ' opened my snuff-box, took snuff ; the lady was 
 
 * solemn, and so were the rest ; I broke my cudgel on 
 
 * Alderman Smuggler's back ; still gloomy, melancholy 
 ' all : the lady groaned and shrugged her shoulders ; 
 
 * I attempted, by laughing myself, to excite at least 
 ' a smile ; but the devil a cheek could I perceive wrinkled 
 
 * into sympathy : I found it would not do ; all my 
 
 * good humour now became forced ; my laughter was 
 
 * converted into hysteric grinning ; and, while I pre- 
 
 * tended spirits, my eye showed the agony of my heart : 
 'in short, the lady came with an intention to be dis- 
 ' pleased, and displeased she was ; my fame expired ; 
 
 * I am here, and (the tankard is no more !) ' 
 
 ESSAY XXII 
 
 RULES ENJOINED TO BE OBSERVED AT A 
 RUSSIAN ASSEMBLY 
 
 [From The Ladies' Magazine] 
 
 When Catharina Alexowna was made Empress of 
 Russia, the women were in an actual state of bondage, 
 but she undertook to introduce mixed assemblies, as in 
 other parts of Europe : she altered the women's dress 
 by substituting the fashions of England ; instead of 
 furs, she brought in the use of taffeta and damask ; and 
 
A RUSSIAN ASSEMBLY 219 
 
 cornets and commodes instead of caps of sable. The 
 women now found themselves no longer shut up in 
 separate apartments, but saw company, visited each 
 other, and were present at every entertainment. 
 
 But as the laws to this effect were directed to a savage 
 people, it is amusing enough, the manner in which the 
 ordinances ran. Assemblies were quite unknown among 
 them ; the Czarina was satisfied with introducing them, 
 for she found it impossible to render them polite. An 
 ordinance was therefore published according to their 
 notions of breeding ; which, as it is a curiosity, and has 
 never been before printed, that we know of, we shall 
 give our readers. 
 
 * I. The person at whose house the assembly is to 
 
 * be kept, shall signify the same by hanging out a bill, 
 ' or by giving some other public notice, by way of 
 
 * advertisement, to persons of both sexes. 
 
 * II. The assembly shall not be open sooner than four 
 
 * or five o'clock in the afternoon, nor continue longer 
 
 * than ten at night. 
 
 * III. The master of the house shall not be obliged to 
 ' meet his guests, or conduct them out, or keep them 
 ' company ; but, though he is exempt from all this, he 
 ' is to find them chairs, candles; liquors, and all other 
 
 * necessaries that company may ask for : he is likewise 
 ' to provide them with cards, dice, and every necessary 
 ' for gaming. 
 
 ' IV. There shall be no fixed hour for coming or going 
 
 * away; it is enough for a person to appear in the assembly. 
 
 ' V. Every one shall be free to sit, walk, or game, 
 
 * as he pleases ; nor shall any one go about to hinder 
 
 * him, or take exceptions at what he does, upon pain of 
 
 * emptying the great eagle (a pint-bowl full of brandy) : 
 
 * it shall likewise be sufficient, at entering or retiring, to 
 
 * salute the company. 
 
220 ESSAYS 
 
 'VI. Persons of distinction, noblemen, superior 
 ' officers, merchants, and tradesmen of note, head- 
 
 * workmen, especially carpenters, and persons employed 
 
 * in chancery, are to have liberty to enter the assemblies ; 
 ' as likewise their wives and children. 
 
 '' VII. A particular place shall be assigned the foot- 
 ' men, except those of the house, that there may be room 
 
 * enough in the apartments designed for the assembly. 
 
 ' VIII. No ladies are to get drunk upon any pretence 
 
 * whatsoever, nor shall gentlemen be drunk before nine. 
 
 * IX Ladies who play at forfeitures, questions and 
 
 * commands, &c. shall not be riotous : no gentleman 
 ' shall attempt to force a kiss, and no person shall offer 
 
 * to strike a woman in the assembly, under pain of 
 ' future exclusion.' 
 
 Such are the statutes upon this occasion, which, in 
 their very appearance, carry an air of ridicule and 
 satireo But politeness must enter every country by 
 degrees ; and these rules resemble the breeding of a 
 clown, awkward but sincere. 
 
 ESSAY XXIII 
 THE GENIUS OF LOVE, AN EASTERN APOLOGUE 
 
 [Altered from Letter CXIV of The Citizen of the World] 
 
 The formalities, delays, and disappointments, that 
 precede a treaty of marriage here, are usually as numerous 
 as those previous to a treaty of peace. The laws of this 
 country are finely calculated to promote all commerce 
 but the commerce between the sexes. Their encourage- 
 ments for propagating hemp, madder, and tobacco, are 
 indeed admirable ! Marriages are the only commodity 
 ^that meets with discouragement. 
 
 Yet, from the vernal softness^f the air, the verdure of 
 
THE GENIUS OF LOVE 221 
 
 the fields, the transparency of the streams, and the 
 beauty of the women, I know few countries more proper 
 to invite to courtship. Here Love might sport among 
 painted lawns and warbling groves, and revel amidst 
 gales, wafting at once both fragrance and harmony. 
 Yet it seems he has forsaken the island ; and, when a 
 couple are now to be married, mutual love, or an union of 
 minds, is the last and most trifling consideration. If their 
 goods and chattels can be brought to unite, their sym- 
 pathetic souls are ever ready to guarantee the treaty. The 
 gentleman's mortgaged lawn becomes enamoured of the 
 lady's marriageable grove ; the match is struck up, 
 and both parties are piously in love — according to act 
 of parliament. 
 
 Thus they who have fortune, are possessed at least 
 of something that is lovely ; but I actually pity those 
 who have none. I am told there was a time, when 
 ladies, with no other merit but youth, virtue, and beauty, 
 had a chance for husbands, at least among our clergy- 
 men and officers. The blush and innocence of sixteen 
 was said to have a powerful influence over these two 
 professions. But of late, all the little traffic of blushing, 
 ogling, dimpling, and smiling, has been forbidden by an 
 act in that case wisely made and provided. A lady's 
 whole cargo of smiles, sighs, and whispers, is declared 
 utterly contraband, till she arrives in the warm latitude 
 of twenty-two, where commodities of this nature are 
 too often found to decay. She is then permitted to 
 dimple and smile, when the dimples begin to forsake 
 her ; and, when perhaps grown ugly, is charitably 
 entrusted with an unlimited use of her charms. Her 
 lovers, however, by this time, have forsaken her ; the 
 captain has changed for another mistress ; the priest 
 himself leaves her in solitude, to bewail her virginity, 
 and she dies even without benefit of clergy. 
 
222 ESSAYS 
 
 Thus you find the Europeans discouraging Love with 
 as much earnestness as the rudest savage of Sofala. The 
 Genius is surely now no more. In every region there 
 seem enemies in arms to oppress him. Avarice in Europe, 
 jealousy in Persia, ceremony in China, poverty among 
 the Tartars, and lust in Circassia, are all prepared to 
 oppose his power. The Genius is certainly banished from 
 earth, though once adored under such a variety of forms. 
 He is nowhere to be found ; and all that the ladies of 
 each country can produce, are but a few trifling relics, 
 as instances of his former residence and favour. 
 
 ^The Genius of Love,' says the Eastern Apologue, 
 
 * had long resided in the happy plains of Abra, where 
 ' every breeze was health, and every sound produced 
 
 * tranquillity. His temple at first was crowded, but 
 
 * every age lessened the number of his votaries, or 
 ' cooled their devotion. Perceiving therefore his altars 
 ' at length quite deserted, he was resolved to remove to 
 ' some more propitious region ; and he apprised the fair 
 ' sex of every country, where he could hope for a proper 
 
 * reception, to assert their right to his presence among 
 ' them. In return to this proclamation, embassies were 
 ' sent from the ladies of every part of the world to 
 
 * invite him, and to display the superiority of their 
 
 * claims. 
 
 * * And, first, the beauties of China appeared. No 
 ' country could compare with them for modesty, either 
 
 * of look, dress, or behaviour ; their eyes were never 
 ' lifted from the ground ; their robes, of the most 
 ' beautiful silk, hid their hands, bosom, and neck, while 
 
 * their faces only were left uncovered. They indulged 
 ' no airs that might express loose desire, and they 
 
 * seemed to study only the graces of inanimate beauty. 
 
 * Their black teeth and plucked eyebrows were, however, 
 ' alleged by the Genius against them, but he set them 
 
THE GENIUS OF LOVE 223 
 
 entirely aside when he came to examine their little 
 feet. 
 
 ' The beauties of Circassia next made their appearance. 
 They advanced hand in hand, singing the most im- 
 modest airs, and leading up a dance in the most 
 luxurious attitudes. Their dress was but half a cover- 
 ing ; the neck, the left breast, and all the limbs, were 
 exposed to view ; which, after some time, seemed 
 rather to satiate than inflame desire. The lily and the 
 rose contended in forming their complexions ; and 
 a soft sleepiness of eye added irresistible poignance to 
 their charms : but their beauties were obtruded, not 
 offered, to their admirers ; they seemed to give rather 
 than receive courtship ; and the Genius of Love 
 dismissed them as unworthy his regard, since they 
 exchanged the duties of love, and made themselves not 
 the pursued, but the pursuing sex. 
 
 * The kingdom of Kashmire next produced its charm- 
 ing deputies. This happy region seemed peculiarly 
 sequestered by nature for his abode. Shady mountains 
 fenced it on one side from the scorching sun, and 
 sea-borne breezes on the other gave peculiar luxuriance 
 to the air. Their complexions were of a bright yellow, 
 that appeared almost transparent, while the crimson 
 tulip seemed to blossom on their cheeks. Their features 
 and limbs were delicate beyond the statuary's power to 
 express ; and their teeth whiter than their own ivory. 
 He was almost persuaded to reside among them, when 
 unfortunately one of the ladies talked of appointing 
 his seraglio. 
 
 ' In this procession the naked inhabitants of Southern 
 America would not be left behind ; their charms were 
 found to surpass whatever the warmest imagination 
 could conceive ; and served to show, that beauty 
 could be perfect, even with the seeming disadvantage 
 
224 ESSAYS 
 
 *of a brown complexion. But their savage education 
 ' rendered them utterly unqualified to make the proper 
 
 * use of their power, and they were rejected as being 
 
 * incapable of uniting mental with sensual satisfaction. 
 
 * In this manner the deputies of other kingdoms had 
 ' their suits rejected : the black beauties of Benin, and 
 
 * the tawny daughters of Borneo ; the women of Wida 
 ' with scarred faces, and the hideous virgins of Caffraria ; 
 
 * the squab ladies of Lapland, three feet high, and the 
 
 * giant fair ones of Patagonia. 
 
 * The beauties of Europe at last appeared : grace in 
 
 their steps, and sensibility smiling in every eye. It was 
 
 'the universal opinion, while they were approaching, 
 
 * that they would prevail ; and the Genius seemed to 
 
 * lend them his most favourable attention. They opened 
 
 * their pretensions with the utmost modesty ; but 
 ' unfortunately, as their orator proceeded, she happened 
 
 * to let fall the words, " House in town," " Settlement," 
 ' and '' Pin-money." These seemingly harmless terms 
 
 * had instantly a surprising effect : the Genius, with 
 
 * ungovernable rage, burst from amidst the circle ; and, 
 ' waving his youthful pinions, left this earth, and flew 
 ' back to those ethereal mansions from whence he 
 
 * descended. 
 
 ' The whole assembly was struck with amazement ; 
 
 * they now justly apprehended that female power would 
 
 * be no more, since Love had forsaken them. They 
 
 * continued some time thus in a state of torpid despair ; 
 
 * when it was proposed by one of the number, that, since 
 'the real Genius of Love had left them, in order to 
 
 * continue their power, they should set up an idol in 
 
 * his stead ; and that the ladies of every country should 
 
 * furnish him with what each liked best. This proposal 
 
 * was instantly relished and agreed to. An idol of gold 
 
 * was formed by uniting the capricious gifts of all the 
 
THE GENIUS OF LOVE 225 
 
 ' assembly, though no way resembling the departed 
 
 * Genius. The ladies of China furnished the monster with 
 ' wings ; those of Kashmire supplied him with horns ; 
 ' the dames of Europe clapped a purse into his hand ; 
 
 * and the virgins of Congo furnished him with a tail. 
 ' Since that time, all the vows addressed to Love are in 
 ' reality paid to the idol ; while, as in other false 
 
 * religions, the adoration seems most fervent, where the 
 
 * heart is least sincere.' y' 
 
 ESSAY XXIV 
 THE DISTRESSES OF A COMMON SOLDIER 
 
 [Altered from Letter CXIX of The Citizen of the World] 
 
 No observation is more common, and at the same time 
 more true, than that one half of the world are ignorant 
 how the other half lives. The misfortunes of the great 
 are held up to engage our attention ; are enlarged upon 
 in tones of declamation ; and the world is called upon to 
 gaze at the noble sufferers : the great, under the pressure 
 of calamity, are conscious of several others sympathizing 
 with their distress ; and have, at once, the comfort of 
 admiration and pity. 
 
 There is nothing magnanimous in bearing misfortunes 
 with fortitude, when the whole world is looking on : men 
 in such circumstances will act bravely even from motives 
 of vanity ; but he who, in the vale of obscurity, can 
 brave adversity ; who, without friends to encourage, 
 acquaintances to pity, or even without hope to alleviate 
 his misfortunes, can behave with tranquillity and 
 indifference, is truly great : whether peasant or courtier, 
 he deserves admiration, and should be held up for our 
 imitation and respect. 
 
 While the slightest inconveniences of the great are 
 
 GOLDSMIIH. Ill I 
 
226 ESSAYS 
 
 magnified into calamities ; while tragedy mouths out 
 their sufferings in all the strains of eloquence, the miseries 
 of the poor are entirely disregarded ; and yet some of the 
 lower ranks of people undergo more real hardships in 
 one day, than thoBe of a more exalted station suffer in 
 their whole lives. It is inconceivable what difficulties 
 the meanest of our common sailors and soldiers endure 
 without murmuring or regret ; without passionately 
 declaiming against Providence, or calling their fellows 
 to be gazers on their intrepidity. Every day is to them 
 a day of misery, and yet they entertain their hard fate 
 without repining. 
 
 With what indignation do I hear an Ovid, a Cicero, or 
 a Rabutin, complain of their misfortunes and hardships, 
 whose greatest calamity was that of being unable to 
 visit a certain spot of earth, to which they had foolishly 
 attached an idea of happiness. Their distresses were 
 pleasures, compared to what many of the adventuring 
 poor every day endure without murmuring. They ate, 
 drank, and slept ; they had slaves to attend them, and 
 were sure of subsistence for life : while many of their 
 fellow creatures are obliged to wander without a friend 
 to comfort or assist them, and even without shelter 
 from the severity of the season. , 
 
 I have been led into these reflections from accidentally 
 meeting, some days ago, a poor fellow, whom I knew 
 when a boy, dressed in a sailor's jacket, and begging at 
 one of the outlets of the town, with a wooden leg. I 
 knew him to have been honest and industrious when 
 in the country, and was curious to learn what had 
 reduced him to his present situation. Wherefore, after 
 giving him what I thought proper, I desired to know 
 the history of his life and misfortunes, and tho manner 
 in which he was reduced to his present distress. The 
 disabled soldier, for such he was, though dressed in 
 
DISTRESSES OF A COMMON SOLDIER 227 
 
 a sailor's habit, scratching his head, and leaning on his 
 crutch, put himself into an attitude to comply with my 
 request, and gave me his history as follows : 
 
 ' As for my misfortunes, master, I can't pretend to 
 Ihaye gone through any more than other folks ; for, 
 ■ except the loss of my limb, and my being obliged to 
 ' beg, I don't know any reason, thank Heaven, that 
 ' I have to complain ; there is Bill Tibbs; of our regiment^ 
 
 * he has lost both his legs, and an eye to boot ; but', 
 ' thank Heaven, it is not so bad with me yet. 
 
 'I was born in Shropshire; my father was a labourer, 
 
 * and died when I was five years old ; so I was put upon 
 
 * the parish. As he had been a wandering sort of a man, 
 
 * the parishioners were not able to tell to what parish 
 'I belonged, or where I was bom, so they sent me to 
 
 * another parish, and that parish sent me to a third, 
 ' I thought in my heart, they kept sending me about so 
 
 * long, that they would not let me be born in any parish 
 
 * at all ; but, at last, however, they fixed me. I had 
 
 * some disposition to be a scholar, and was resolved, at 
 
 * least, to know my letters ; but the master of tho 
 'workhouse put me to business as soon as I was able 
 
 * to handle a mallet ; and here I lived an easy kind of 
 ' a life for five years. I only wrought ten hours in the 
 'day, and had my meat and drink provided for my 
 ' labour. It is true, I was not suffered to stir out of the 
 ' house, for fear, as they said, I should run away ; but 
 ' what of that, I had the liberty of the whole house, and 
 
 * the yard before the door, and that was enough for 
 
 * me. I was then bound out to a farmer, where I was 
 ' up both early and late ; but I ate and drank well, and 
 ' liked my business well enough, till he died, when I was 
 
 * obliged to provide for myself ; so I was resolved to go 
 
 * seek my fortune. 
 
 * In this manner I went from town to town, worked 
 
228 ESSAYS 
 
 when I could get employment, and starved when 
 I could get none ; when happening one day to go 
 through a field belonging to a justice of peace, I spied 
 a hare crossing the path just before me ; and I believe 
 the devil put it in my head to fling my stick at it. — 
 Well, what will you have on 't ? I killed the hare, and 
 was bringing it away, when the justice himself met me : 
 he called me a poacher and a villain ; and collaring 
 me, desired I would give an account of myself : I fell 
 upon my knees, begged his worship's pardon, and 
 began to give a full account of all that I knew of my 
 breed, seed, and generation ; but though I gave 
 a very true account, the justice said I could give no 
 account ; so I was indicted at sessions, found guilty 
 of being poor, and sent up to London to Newgate, 
 in order to be transported as a vagabond. 
 
 * People may say this and that of being in jail ; but, 
 for my part, I found Newgate as agreeable a place as 
 ever I was in in all my life. I had my bellj^ul to eat 
 and drink, and did no work at alL This kind of life 
 was too good to last for ever ; so I was taken out of 
 prison, after five months, put on board a ship, and 
 sent off, with two hundred more, to the plantations. 
 We had but an indifferent passage, for, being all 
 confined in the hold, more than a hundred of our 
 people died for want of sweet air ; and those that 
 remained were sickly enough, God knows. When we 
 came ashore, we were sold to the planters, and I was 
 bound for seven years more. As I was no scholar, 
 for I did not know my letters, I was obliged to work 
 among the negroes ; and I served out my time, as in 
 duty bound to do. 
 
 ' When my time was expired, I worked my passage 
 home, and glad I was to see Old England again, because 
 I loved my country. I was afraid, however, that I should 
 
DISTRESSES OF A COMMON SOLDIER 229 
 
 * be indicted for a vagabond once more, so did not 
 ' much care to go down into the country, but kept about 
 ' the town, and did little jobs when I could get them. 
 
 ' I was very happy in this manner for some time, till 
 
 * one evening, coming home from work, two men knocked 
 
 * me down, and then desired me to stand. They belonged 
 ' to a press-gang : I was carried before the justice, and, 
 ' as I could give no account of myself, I had my choice 
 
 * left, whether to go on board a man-of-war, or list for 
 ' a soldier. I chose the latter ; and, in this post of 
 
 * a gentleman, I served two campaigns in Flanders, was 
 ' at the battles of Val and Fontenoy, and received but 
 
 * one wound, through the breast here ; but the doctor 
 
 * of our regiment soon made me well again. 
 
 * When the peace came on I was discharged ; and 
 ' as I could not work, because my wound was sometimes 
 ' troublesome, I listed for a landman in the East India 
 
 * Company's service. I here fought the French in six 
 
 * pitched battles ; and I verily believe, that if I could 
 ' read or write, our captain would have made me a 
 ' corporal. But it was not my good fortune to have any 
 
 * promotion, for I soon fell sick, and so got leave to 
 
 * return home again with forty pounds in my pocket. 
 
 * This was at the beginning of the present war, and 
 
 * I hoped to be set on shore, and to have the pleasure of 
 
 * spending my money ; but the Government wanted 
 ' men, and so I was pressed for a sailor before ever 
 
 * I could set foot on shore. 
 
 * The boatswain found me, as he said, an obstinate 
 ' fellow : he swore he knew that I understood my business 
 ' well, but that I shammed Abraham, to be idle ; but 
 
 * God knows, I knew nothing of sea-business, and he 
 
 * beat me without considering what he was about. I had 
 
 * still, however, my forty pounds, and that was some 
 'comfort to me under every beating ; and the money 
 
230 ESSAYS 
 
 * I might have had to this day, but that our ship was 
 
 * taken by the French, and so I lost all. 
 
 . * Our crew was carried into Brest, and many of them 
 
 * died, because they were not used to live in a jail ; but, 
 
 * for my part, it was nothing to me, for I was seasoned. 
 
 * One night, as I was sleeping on the bed of boards, 
 ^ with a warm blanket about me, for I always loved to 
 
 * lie well, I was awakened by the boatswain, who had 
 ' a dark lantern in his hand ; " Jack," says he to me, 
 ' "will you knock out the French sentries' brains ? " 
 
 * " I don't care," says I, striving to keep myself awake, 
 
 * " if I lend a hand." *' Then follow me," says he, " and 
 
 * I hope we shall do business." So up I got, and tied my 
 ' blanket, which was all the clothes I had, about my 
 
 * middle, and went with him to fight the Frenchmen. 
 ' I hate the French because they are all slaves, and 
 ' wear wooden shoes. 
 
 ' Though we had no arms, one Englishman is able to 
 ' beat five French at any time ; so we went down to 
 ' the door, where both the sentries were posted, and 
 ' rushing upon them, seized their arms in a moment, 
 ' and knocked them down. From thence, nine of us 
 ' ran together to the quay, and, seizing the first boat 
 
 * we met, got out of the harbour and put to sea. We 
 ' had not been here three days before we were taken 
 ' up by the Dorset privateer, who were glad of so many 
 
 * good hands ; and we consented to run our chance. 
 
 * However, we had not as much luck as we expected. In 
 'three days we fell in with the Pompadour privateer, 
 ^ of forty guns, while we had but twenty-thrcQ ; so to 
 ' it we went, yard-arm and yard-arm. The fight lasted 
 
 * for three hours, and I verily believe we should have 
 
 * taken the Frenchman, had we but had some more men 
 ' left behind ; but, unfortunately, we lost all our men 
 
 * just as we were going to get the victory. 
 
DISTRESSES OF A COMMON SOLDIER 231 
 
 * I was once more in the power of the French, and 
 
 * I believe it would have gone hard with me had I been 
 ' brought back to Brest ; but, by good fortune, we were 
 ' retaken by the Viper, I had almost forgot to tell you, 
 
 * that, in that engagement, I was wounded in two places : 
 ' I lost four fingers of the left hand, and my leg was 
 ' shot off. If I had had the good fortune to have lost 
 
 * Hiy leg and use of my hand on board a king's ship, 
 ' and not aboard a privateer, I should have been entitled 
 ' to clothing and maintenance during the rest of my life ; 
 
 * but that was not my chance : one man is born with 
 ' a silver spoon in his mouth, and another with a wooden 
 ' ladle. However, blessed be God, I enjoy good health, 
 ' and will for ever love liberty and Old England. Liberty^ 
 ' property, and Old England, for ever, huzza ! ' 
 
 Thus saying, he limped off, leaving me in admiration 
 at his intrepidity and content ; nor could I avoid 
 acknowledging, that an habitual acquaintance with 
 misery serves better than philosophy to teach us to 
 despise it. J 
 
 ESSAY XXV ■ 
 
 SUPPOSED TO BE WvRITTEN BY THE ORDINARY 
 OF NEWGATE 
 
 Man is a most frail being, incapable of directing his 
 steps, unacquainted with what is to happen in this life ; 
 and perhaps no man is a more manifest instance of the 
 truth of this maxim, than Mr. The. Gibber, just now 
 gone out of the world. Such a variety of turns of 
 fortune, yet such a persevering uniformity of conduct, 
 appears in all that happened in his short span, that the 
 whole may be looked upon as one regular confusion : 
 every action of his life was matter of wonder and surprise, 
 and his death was an astonishment. 
 
232 ESSAYS 
 
 This gentleman was born of creditable parents, who 
 gave him a very good education, and a great deal of 
 good learning, so that he could read and write before 
 he was sixteen. However, he early discovered an 
 inclination to follow lewd courses ; he refused to take 
 the advice of his parents, and pursued the bent of his 
 inclination ; he played at cards on Sundays ; called 
 himself a gentleman ; fell out with his mother and 
 laundress ; and, even in these early days, his father was 
 frequently heard to observe, that young The. — ^would be 
 hanged. 
 
 As he advanced in years, he grew more fond of 
 pleasure ; would eat an ortolan for dinner, though he 
 begged the guinea that bought it ; and was once known 
 to give three pounds for a plate of green peas, which 
 he had collected overnight as charity for a friend in 
 distress : he ran into debt with everybody that would 
 trust him, and none could build a sconce better than he ; 
 so that at last his creditors swore, with one accord, that 
 The. — ^would be hanged. 
 
 But, as getting into debt by a man who had no 
 visible means but impudence for subsistence, is a thing 
 that every reader is not acquainted with, I must explain 
 that point a little, and that to his satisfaction. 
 
 There are three ways of getting into debt ; first, by 
 pushing a face ; as thus : ' You, Mr. Lutestring, send 
 
 * me home six yards of that paduasoy, dammee ; — ^but, 
 'harkee, don't think I ever intend to pay you for it, 
 
 * dammee.' At this, the mercer laughs heartily ; cuts 
 off the paduasoy, and sends it home ; nor is he, till too 
 late, surprised to find the gentleman had said nothing 
 but truth, and kept his word. 
 
 The second method of running into debt is called 
 fineering ; which is getting goods made up in such a 
 fashion as to be unfit for every other purchaser ; and 
 
THE ORDINARY OF NEWGATE 233 
 
 if the tradesman refuses to give them upon credit, then 
 threaten to leave them upon his hands. 
 
 But the third and best method is called, ' Being the 
 ' good customer.' The gentleman first buys some trifle, 
 and pays for it in ready money : he comes a few days 
 after with nothing about him but bank bills, and buys, 
 we will suppose, a sixpenny tweezer-case ; the bills are 
 too great to be changed, so he promises to return 
 punctually the day after and pay for what he has bought. 
 In this promise he is punctual, and this is repeated for 
 eight or ten times, till his face is well known, and he 
 has got, at last, the character of a good customer. By 
 this means he gets credit for something considerable, 
 and then never pays for it. 
 
 In all this, the young man who is the unhappy subject 
 of our present reflections was very expert ; and could 
 face, fineer, and bring custom to a shop with any man 
 in England : none of his companions could exceed him 
 in this ; and his very companions at last said that 
 The. — would be hanged. 
 
 As he grew old, he grew never the better ; he loved 
 ortolans and green peas as before ; he drank gravy-soup 
 when he could get it, and always thought his oysters 
 tasted best when he got them for nothing ; or, which 
 was just the same, when he bought them upon tick : 
 thus the old man kept up the vices of the youth, and 
 what he wanted in power, he made up by inclination ; 
 so that all the world thought that old The. — would be 
 hanged. 
 
 And now, reader, I have brought him to his last 
 scene ; a scene where, perhaps, my duty should have 
 obliged me to assist. You expect, perhaps, his dying 
 words, and the tender farewell he took of his wife and 
 children ; you expect an account of his cofiin and white 
 gloves, his pious ejaculations, and the papers he left 
 
 13 
 
234 ESSAYS 
 
 behind him. In this I cannot indulge your curiosity ; 
 
 for, oh ! the mysteries of fate, The. was drown'd ! 
 
 * Reader,' as Hervey saith, * pause and ponder ; and 
 ' ponder and pause ; who knows what thy own end may 
 'be!' 
 
 ESSAY XXVI 1 
 
 The following was written at the time of the last Coronation^ 
 and supposed to come from a Common Council-man, 
 
 Sir, 
 
 I have the honour of being a Common Council- 
 man, and am greatly pleased with a paragraph from 
 Southampton in yours of yesterday. There we learn, 
 that the mayor and aldermen of that loyal borough, had 
 the particular satisfaction of celebrating the royal nuptials 
 by a magnificent turtle feast. By this means the gentle- 
 men had the pleasure of filling their bellies, and showing 
 their loyalty together. I must confess, it would give me 
 some pleasure to see some such method of testifying our 
 loyalty practised in this metropolis, of which I am an 
 unworthy member, instead of presenting His Majesty 
 (God bless him) on every occasion with our formal 
 addresses, we might thus sit comfortably down to dinner, 
 and wish him prosperity in a sirloin of beef ; upon our 
 army levelling the walls of a town, or besieging a fortifica- 
 tion, we might at our city feast imitate our brave troops, 
 and demolish the walls of venison pasty, or besiege the 
 shell of a turtle, with as great a certainty of success. 
 
 At present, however, we have got into a sort of dry, 
 unsocial manner of drawing up addresses upon every 
 occasion ; and though I have attended upon six 
 cavalcades, and two foot processions in a single year, 
 yet I came away as lean and hungry as if I had been 
 
 * First inserted in second edition. 
 
A COMMON COUNCIL-MAN 235 
 
 a juryman at the Old Bailey. For my part, Mr. Printer, 
 I don't see what is got by these processions and addresses, 
 except an appetite, and that, thank Heaven, we have all 
 in a pretty good degree without ever leaving our own 
 houses for it. It is true, our gowns of mazarine blue, 
 edged with fur, cut a pretty figure enough, parading 
 it through the streets, and so my wife tells me. In fact, 
 I generally bow to all my acquaintance, when thus in 
 full dress ; but alas, as the proverb has it, fine clothes 
 never fill the belly. 
 
 But even though all this bustling, parading, and 
 powdering through the streets be agreeable enough to 
 many of us ; yet I would have my brethren consider 
 whether the frequent repetition of it be so very agreeable 
 to our betters above. To be .introduced to Court, to 
 see the Queen, to kiss hands, to smile upon lords, to 
 ogle the ladies, and all the other fine things there, 
 may, I grant, be a perfect show to us that view it but 
 seldom ; but it may be a troublesome business enough 
 to those who are to settle such ceremonies as these every 
 day. To use an instance adapted to all our apprehensions ; 
 suppose my family and I should go to Bartholomew 
 Fair. Very well, going to Bartholomew Fair, the whole 
 sight is perfect rapture to us, who are only spectators once 
 and away ; but I am of opinion, that the wire -walker 
 and fire-eater find no such great sport in all this ; I am 
 of opinion, they had as lief remain behind the curtain, 
 at their own pastimes, drinking beer, eating shrimps, and 
 smoking tobacco. 
 
 Besides, what can we tell His Majesty in all we say 
 on these occasions, but what he knows perfectly well 
 already ? I believe if I were to reckon up, I could not 
 find above five hundred disaffected in the whole kingdom, 
 and here are we every day telling His Majesty how loyal 
 we are. Suppose the addresses of a people for instance 
 
236 ESSAYS 
 
 should run thus. * May it please your M y, we are 
 
 many of us worth a hundred thousand pounds ; and 
 are possessed of several other inestimable advantages; 
 For the preservation of this money and those advantages 
 we are chiefly indebted to your M- — r-y. We are 
 
 therefore once more assembled to assure your M -y 
 
 of our fidelity. This, it is true, we have lately assured 
 
 your M y five or six times, but we are willing once 
 
 more to repeat what can't be doubted, and to kiss your 
 royal hand, and the Queen's hand, and thus sincerely 
 to convince you, that we shall never do anything to 
 deprive you of one loyal subject, or any one of ourselves 
 of one hundred thousand pounds.' Should we not upon 
 reading such an address, think that people a little silly, 
 
 who thus made such unmeaning professions ? Excuse 
 
 me, Mr. Printer, no man upon earth has a more profound 
 respect for the abilities of the aldermen and the Common 
 Council than I ; but I could wish they would not take 
 up a monarch's time in these good-natured trifles, who 
 I am told seldom spends a moment in vain. 
 
 The example set by the City of London will probably 
 be followed by every other community in the British 
 Empire. Thus we shall have a new set of addresses from 
 every little borough with but four freemen and a burgess ; 
 day after day shall we see them come up with hearts 
 filled with gratitude, laying the vows of a loyal people 
 at the foot of the throne. Death ! Mr. Printer, they'll 
 hardly leave our courtiers time to scheme a single 
 project for beating the French ; and our enemies may 
 gain upon us, while we are thus employed in telling our 
 governor how much we intend to keep them under. 
 
 But a people by too frequent a use of addresses may 
 by this means come at last to defeat the very purpose 
 for which they are designed. If we are thus exclaiming 
 in raptures upon every occasion, we deprive ourselves 
 
A COMMON COUNCIL-MAN 237 
 
 of the powers of flattery when there may be a real 
 necessity. A boy three weeks ago swimming across the 
 Thames, was every minute crying out, for his amuse- 
 ment, ' I've got the cramp, I've got the cramp ; ' the 
 boatmen pushed off once or twice, and they found it was 
 fun ; he soon after cried out in earnest, but nobody 
 believed him, and so he sunk to the bottom. 
 
 In short, sir, I am quite displeased with any un- 
 necessary cavalcade whatever. I hope we shall soon have 
 occasion to triumph, and then I shall be ready myself 
 either to eat at a turtle feast, or to shout at a bonfire; 
 and will lend either my faggot at the fire, or flourish 
 my hat at every loyal health that may be proposed. 
 
 I am. 
 
 Sir, &c. 
 
 ESSAY XXVII 1 
 
 TO THE PRINTER 
 
 Sir, 
 
 I am the same Common Council-man who troubled 
 you some days ago. To whom can I complain but to 
 you ? for you have many a dismal correspondent ; in this 
 time of joy my wife does not choose to hear me, because 
 she says I'm always melancholy when she 's in spirits* 
 I have been to see the Coronation, and a fine sight it was^ 
 as I. am told. To those who had the pleasure of being 
 near spectators, the diamonds, I am told, were as thick 
 as Bristol stones in a show-glass ; the ladies and gentle- 
 men walked all along, one foot before another, and threw 
 their eyes about them, on this side and that, perfectly 
 like clock-work. Oh ! Mr. Printer, it had been a fine 
 sight indeed, if there was but a little more eating. 
 
 * First inserted in second edition. 
 
238 ESSAYS 
 
 Instead of that, there we sat, penned up in our 
 scaffoldings, like sheep upon a market-day in Smithfield ; 
 but the devil a thing could I get to eat (God pardon me 
 for swearing) except the fragments of a plum-cake, that 
 was all squeezed into crumbs in my wife's pocket, as she 
 came through thfe crowd. 
 
 You must know, sir, that in order to do the thing 
 genteelly, and that all my family might be amused at 
 the same time, my wife, my daughter, and I, took two 
 guinea places for the Coronation, and I gave my two 
 eldest boys (who, by the by, are twins, fine children) 
 eighteenpence apiece to go to Sudrick Fair, to see the 
 court of the Black King of Morocco, which will serve 
 to please children well enough. 
 
 That we might have good places on the scaffolding, 
 my wife insisted upon going at seven o'clock the evening 
 before the Coronation, for she said she would not lose 
 a full prospect for the world. This resolution I own 
 shocked me. * Grizzle,' said I to her, ' Grizzle, my dear, 
 ' consider that you are but weakly, always ailing, and 
 
 * will never bear sitting out all night upon the scaffold. 
 
 * You remember what a cold you caught the last fast- 
 ' day, by rising but half an hour before your time to go 
 
 * to church, and how I was scolded as the cause of it. 
 
 * Beside, my dear, our daughter Anna Amelia Wilhelmina 
 
 * Carolina, will look like a perfect fright, if she sits up, 
 'and you* know the girl's face is something at her time 
 
 * of life, considering her fortune is but small.' ' Mr. 
 
 * Grogan,' replied my wife, ' Mr. Grogan, this is always 
 
 * the case, when you find me in spirits ; I don't want to 
 
 * go, not I ; nor I don't care whether I go at all, it is 
 
 * seldom that I am in spirits, but this is always the case.' 
 In short, Mr. Printer, what will you have on 't ? to the 
 Coronation we went. 
 
 What difficulties we had in getting a coach, how we 
 
TO THE PRINTER 239 
 
 were shoved about in the mob, how I had my pocket 
 picked of the last new almanac, and my steel tobacco-box ; 
 how my daughter lost half an eyebrow and her laced 
 shoe in a gutter ; my wife's lamentation upon this, with 
 the adventures of the crumbled plum cake, and broken 
 brandy-bottle, what need I relate all these ; we suffered 
 this and ten times more before we got to our places. 
 
 At last, however, we were seated. My wife is certainly 
 a heart of oak ; I thought sitting up in the damp night 
 air would have killed her ; I have known her for two 
 months take possession of our easy-chair, mobbed up in 
 flannel nightcaps, and trembling at a breath of air ; 
 but she now bore the night as merrily as if she had sat 
 up at a christening. My daughter and she did not seem 
 to value it of a farthing. She told me two or three 
 stories that she knows will always make me laugh, and 
 my daughter sung me the Noontide air, towards one 
 o'clock in the morning* However, with all their en- 
 deavours I was as cold and as dismal as ever I remember. 
 If this be the pleasures of a coronation, cried I to myself, 
 I had rather see the court of King Solomon in all his 
 glory at my ease in Bartholomew Fair. 
 
 Towards morning sleep began to come fast upon me ; 
 and the sun rising and warming the air, still inclined me 
 to rest a little. You must know, sir, that I am naturally 
 of a sleepy constitution ; I have often sat up at table 
 with my eyes open, and have been asleep all the while. 
 What will you have on 't ? just about eight o'clock in the 
 morning I fell fast asleep. I fell into the most pleasing 
 dream in the world. I shall never forget it ; I dreamed 
 that I was at my Lord Mayor's feast, and had scaled 
 the crust of a venison pasty. I kept eating and eating, 
 in my sleep, and thought I could never have enough. 
 After some time, the pasty methought was taken away, 
 and the dessert was brought in its room. Thought I to 
 
240 ESSAYS 
 
 myself, if I have not got enough of the venison, I am 
 resolved to make it up by the largest snap at the sweet- 
 meats. Accordingly, I grasped a whole pyramid ; the 
 rest of the guests seeing me with so much, one gave me 
 a snap, and the other gave me a snap, I was pulled this 
 way by my neighbour on the right hand, and that by 
 my neighbour on the left, but still kept my ground 
 without flinching, and continued eating and pocketing 
 as fast as I could. I never was so pulled and hauled in 
 my whole life. At length, however, going to smell to 
 a lobster that lay before me, methought it caught me 
 with its claws fast by the nose. The pain I felt upon this 
 occasion is inexpressible ; in fact it broke my dream ; 
 when, awaking, I found my wife and daughter applying 
 a smelling-bottle to my nose ; and telling me it was 
 time to go home, they assured me every means had 
 been tried to awake me, while the procession was going 
 forward, but that I still continued to sleep till the whole 
 ceremony was over. Mr. Printer, this is a hard case, 
 and as I read your most ingenious work, it will be some 
 
 comfort, when I see this inserted, to find that 1 write 
 
 for it too. 
 
 I am. 
 Sir, 
 
 Your distressed. 
 
 Humble Servant, 
 L. Grogan. 
 
EIGHT ESSAYS 
 
 FIRST COLLECTED IN THE 
 POSTHUMOUS EDITION OF 1798 
 
243 
 
 NATIONAL CONCORD 
 
 I TAKE the liberty to communicate to the public 
 a few loose thoughts upon a subject which, though 
 often handled, has not yet, in my opinion, been fully 
 discussed, — I mean national concord, or unanimity, 
 which in this kingdom has been generally considered as 
 a bare possibility, that existed nowhere but in specula- 
 tion. Such a union is perhaps neither to be expected 
 nor wished for in a country whose liberty depends rather 
 upon the genius of the people than upon any precautions 
 which they have taken in a constitutional way for the 
 guard and preservation of this inestimable blessing. 
 
 There is a very honest gentleman with whom I have 
 been acquainted these thirty years, during which there 
 has not been one speech uttered against the ministry in 
 parliament, nor a struggle at an election for a burgess to 
 serve in the .House of Commons, nor a pamphlet pub- 
 lished in opposition to any measure of the administra- 
 tion, nor even a private censure passed in his hearing 
 upon the misconduct of any person concerned in public 
 affairs, but he is immediately alarmed, and loudly 
 exclaims against such factious doings, in order to set 
 the people by the ears together at such a delicate 
 juncture. 'At any other time,' says he, * such opposi- 
 tion might not be improper, and I don't question the 
 facts that are alleged ; but at this crisis, sir, to inflame 
 the nation ! — the man deserves to be punished as a traitor 
 to his country.' In a word, according to this gentleman's 
 opinion, the nation has been in a violent crisis at any 
 time these thirty years ; and were it possible for him 
 to live another century, he would never find any period 
 at which a man might with safety impugn the infalli- 
 bility of a minister. 
 
244 ^ ESSAYS 
 
 The case is no more than this : my honest friend has 
 invested his whole fortune in the stocks, on Government 
 security, and trembles at every whiff of popular dis- 
 content. Were every British subject of the same tame 
 and timid disposition, Magna Charta (to use the coarse 
 phrase of Oliver Cromwell) would be no more regarded 
 by an ambitious prince than Magna F — -ta, and the 
 liberties of England expire without a groan. [Opposition, 
 when restrained within due bounds, is the salubrious 
 gale that ventilates the opinions of the people, which 
 might otherwise stagnate into the most abject sub- 
 mission. It may be said to purify the atmosphere of 
 politics ; to dispel the gross vapours raised by the 
 influence of ministerial artifice and corruption, until the 
 constitution, like a mighty rock, stands full disclosed 
 to the view of every individual who dwells within the 
 shade of its protection^J Even when this gale blows 
 with augmented violence, it generally tends to the 
 advantage of the commonwealth : it awakes the appre- 
 hension, and consequently arouses all the faculties of 
 the pilot at the helm, who redoubles his vigilance and 
 caution, exerts his utmost skill, and, becoming acquainted 
 with the nature of the navigation, in a little time learns 
 to suit his canvas to the roughness of the sea and the 
 trim of the vessel. Without these intervening storms 
 of opposition to exercise his faculties, he would becomq 
 enervate, negligent, and presumptuous ; and in the 
 wantonness of his power, trusting to some deceitful 
 calm, perhaps hazard a step that would wreck the con* 
 stitution. Yet there is a measure in all things. A 
 moderate frost will fertilize the glebe with nitrous par- 
 ticles, and destroy the eggs of pernicious insects that 
 prey upon the fancy of the year: but if this frost 
 increases in severity and duration, it will chill the seeds, 
 and even freeze up the roots of vegetables ; it will 
 
NATIONAL CONCORD 245 
 
 check the bloom, nip the buds, and blast all the promise 
 of the spring. The vernal breeze that drives the frogs 
 before it, that brushes the cobwebs from the boughs, 
 that fans the air, and fosters vegetation, if augmented 
 to a tempest, will strip the leaves, overthrow the tree, 
 and desolate the garden. The auspicious gale before 
 which the trim vessel ploughs the bosom of the sea, 
 while the mariners are kept alert in duty and in spirits, 
 if converted to a hurricane, overwhelms the crew with 
 terror and confusion. The sails are rent, the cordage 
 cracked, the masts give way ; the master eyes the havoc 
 with mute despair, and the vessel founders in the storm. 
 rOpposition, when confined within its proper channel, 
 sweeps away those beds of soil and banks of sand which 
 corruptive power had gathered ; but when it overflows 
 its banks, and deluges the plain, its course is marked 
 by ruin and devastatioru_y 
 
 The opposition necessary in a free state, like that 
 of Great Britain, is not at all incompatible with that 
 national concord which ought to unite the people on 
 all emergencies in which the general safety is at stake. 
 It is the jealousy of patriotism, not the rancour of party 
 — ^the warmth of candour, not the virulence of hate — 
 a transient dispute among friends, not an implacable 
 feud that admits of no reconciliation. The history of all 
 ages teems with the fatal effects of internal discord ; 
 and were history and tradition annihilated, common 
 sense would plainly point out the mischiefs that must 
 arise from want of harmony and national union. Every 
 schoolboy can have recourse to the fable of the rods, 
 which, when united in a bundle, no strength could bend, 
 but when separated into single twigs, a child could break 
 with ease. 
 
246 
 
 FEMALE WARRIORS 
 
 I HAVE spent the greater part of my life in making 
 observations on men and things, and in projecting 
 schemes for the advantage of my country ; and though 
 my labours have met with an ungrateful return, I will 
 still persist in my endeavours for its service, like that 
 venerable, unshaken, and neglected patriot, Mr, Jacob 
 Henriquez, who, though of the Hebrew nation, hath 
 exhibited a shining example of Christian fortitude and 
 perseverance. And here my conscience urges me to 
 confess, that the hint upon which the following proposals 
 are built was taken from an advertisement of the said 
 patriot Henriquez, in which he gives the public to under- 
 stand, that Heaven had indulged him with ' seven 
 blessed daughters.' Blessed they are, no doubt, on 
 account of their own and their father's virtues ; but 
 more blessed may they be, if the scheme I offer should 
 be adopted by the legislature. 
 
 The proportion which the number of females born in 
 these kingdoms bears to the male children is, I think, 
 supposed to be as thirteen to fourteen ; but as women are 
 not so subject as the other sex to accidents and intem- 
 perance, in numbering adults we shall find the balance 
 on the female side. If, in calculating the numbers 
 of the people, we take in the multitudes that emigrate 
 to the plantations, from whence they never return ; 
 those that die at sea, and make their exit at Tyburn ; 
 together with the consumption of the present war, by 
 sea and land, in the Atlantic, Mediterranean, in the 
 German and Indian Oceans, in Old France, New France, 
 North America, the Leeward Islands, Germany, Africa, 
 and Asia, we may fairly state the loss of men during 
 the war at one hundred thousand. If this be the case. 
 
FEMALE WARRIORS 247 
 
 there must be a superplus of the other sex, amounting 
 to the same number, and this superplus will consist of 
 women able to bear arms ; as I take it for granted, that 
 all those who are fit to bear children are likewise fit to 
 bear arms. Now, as we have seen the nation governed 
 by old women, I hope to make it appear, that it may be 
 defended by young women : and surely this scheme will 
 not be rejected as unnecessary at such a juncture [1762], 
 when our armies, in the four quarters of the globe, are 
 in want of recruits ; when we find ourselves entangled in 
 a new war with Spain, on the eve of a rupture in Italy, 
 and, indeed, in a fair way of being obliged to make head 
 against all the great potentates of Europe. 
 
 But, before I unfold my design, it may be necessary 
 to obviate, from experience, as well as argument, the 
 objections which may be made to the delicate frame and 
 tender disposition of the female sex, rendering them 
 incapable of the toils, and insuperably averse to the 
 horrors, of war. All the world has heard of the nation 
 of Amazons, who inhabited the banks of the river 
 Thermodoon in Cappadocia, who expelled their men by 
 force of arms, defended themselves by their own prowess, 
 managed the reins of government, prosecuted the 
 operations in war, and held the other sex in the utmost 
 contempt. We are informed by Homer that Penthesilea, 
 queen of the Amazons, acted as auxiliary to Priam, 
 and fell, valiantly fighting in his cause, before the 
 walls of Troy. Quintus Curtius tells us, that Thalestris 
 brought one hundred armed Amazons in a present 
 to Alexander the Great. Diodorus Siculus expressly 
 says there was a nation of female warriors in Africa, 
 who fought against the Lybian Hercules. We read in 
 the voyages of Columbus, that one of the Caribbee 
 Islands was possessed by a tribe of female warriors, 
 who kept all the neighbouring Indians in awe ; but we 
 
248 ESSAYS 
 
 need not go further than our own age and country to 
 prove, that the spirit and constitution of the fair sex 
 are equal to the dangers and fatigues of war. Every 
 novice who has read the authentic and important 
 History of the Pirates is well acquainted with the exploits 
 of two heroines, called Mary Read and Anne Bonny. 
 I myself have had the honour to drink with Anne 
 Gassier, alias Mother Wade, who had distinguished her- 
 self among the Buccaneers of America, and in her old 
 age kept a punch-house, in Port-Royal of Jamaica. 
 I have likewise conversed with Moll Davis, who had 
 served as a dragoon in all Queen Anne's wars, and was 
 admitted on the pension of Chelsea. The late war with 
 Spain, and even the present, hath produced instances of 
 females enlisting both in the land and sea service, and 
 behaving with remarkable bravery in the disguise of 
 the other sex. And who has not heard of the celebrated 
 Jenny Cameron, and some other enterprising ladies of 
 North Britain, who attended a certain Adventurer in all 
 his expeditions, and headed their respective clans in 
 a military character ? That strength of body is often 
 equal to the courage of mind implanted in the fair sex 
 will not be denied by those who have seen the water- 
 women of Plymouth ; the female drudges of Ireland, 
 Wales, and Scotland; the fishwomen of Billingsgate; 
 the weeders, podders, and hoppers, who swarm in the 
 fields ; and the hunters who swagger in the streets of 
 London ; not to mention the indefatigable trulls who 
 follow the camp, and keep up with the line of march, 
 though loaded with bantlings and other baggage. 
 
 There is scarcely a street in this metropolis without 
 one or more viragos, who discipline their husbands and 
 domineer over the whole neighbourhood. Many months 
 are not elapsed since I was witness to a pitched battle 
 between two athletic females, who fought with equal 
 
FEMALE WARRIORS 249 
 
 skill and fury until one of them gave out, after having 
 sustained seven falls on the hard stones. They were 
 both stripped to the under petticoat ; their breasts were 
 carefully swathed with handkerchiefs ; and as no vestiges 
 of features were to be seen in either when I came up, 
 I imagined the combatants were of the other sex, until 
 a bystander assured me of the contrary, giving me to 
 understand, that the conqueror had lain-in about five 
 weeks of twin-bastards, begot by her second, who was 
 an Irish chairman. When I see the avenues of the 
 Strand beset every night with troops of fierce Amazons, 
 who, with dreadful imprecations, stop, and beat, and 
 plunder passengers, I cannot help wishing that such 
 martial talents were converted to the benefit of the 
 public ; and that those who were so loaded with tem- 
 poral fire, and so little afraid of eternal fire, should, 
 instead of ruining the souls and bodies of their fellow 
 citizens, be put in a way of turning their destructive 
 qualities against the enemies of the nation. 
 
 Having thus demonstrated that the fair sex are not 
 deficient in strength and resolution, I would humbly 
 propose, that as there is an excess on their side in 
 quantity to the amount of one hundred thousand, part 
 of that number may be employed in recruiting the army, 
 as well as in raising thirty new Amazonian regiments, 
 to be commanded by females, and serve in regimentals 
 adapted to their sex. The Amazons of old appeared 
 with the left breast bare, an open jacket, and trousers 
 that descended no farther than the knee ; the right 
 breast was destroyed, that it might not impede them 
 in bending the bow, or darting the javelin: but there 
 is no occasion for this cruel excision in the present 
 discipline, as we have seen instances of women who 
 handle the musket, without finding any inconvenience 
 from that protuberance. 
 
250 ESSAYS 
 
 As the sex love gaiety, they may be clothed in Vests 
 of pink satin, and open drawers of the same, with 
 buskins on their feet and legs, their hair tied behind, 
 and floating on their shoulders, and their hats adorned 
 with white feathers: they may be armed with light 
 carbines and long bayonets, without the encumbrance 
 of swords or shoulder-belts. I make no doubt but many 
 young ladies of figure and fashion will undertake to 
 raise companies at their own expense, provided they like 
 their colonels ; but I must insist upon it, if this scheme 
 should be embraced, that Mr. Henri quez's seven blessed 
 daughters may be provided with commissions, as the 
 project is in some measure owing to the hints of that 
 venerable patriot. I, moreover, give it as my opinion, 
 that Mrs. Kitty Fisher shall have the command of 
 a battalion, and the nomination of her own officerSj 
 provided she will warrant them all sound, and be 
 content to wear proper badges of distinction. 
 
 A female brigade, properly disciplined and accoutred, 
 would not, I am persuaded, be afraid to charge a 
 numerous body of the enemy, over whom they would 
 have a manifest advantage ; for if the barbarous 
 Scythians were ashamed to fight with the Amazons who 
 invaded them, surely the French, who pique themselves 
 on their sensibility and devotion to the fair sex, would 
 not act upon the offensive against a band of female 
 warriors, arrayed in all the charms of youth and beauty. 
 
 NATIONAL PREJUDICES 
 
 As I am one of that sauntering tribe of mortals who 
 spend the greatest part of their time in taverns, coffee- 
 houses, and other places of public resort, I have thereby 
 an opportunity of observing an infinite variety of 
 characters, which to a person of a contemplative turn 
 
NATIONAL PREJUDICES 251 
 
 is a much higher entertainment than a view of all the 
 curiosities of art or nature. In one of these my late 
 rambles I accidentally fell into the company of half 
 a dozen gentlemen, who were engaged in a warm dis- 
 pute about some? political affair, the -decision of which, 
 as they were equally divided in their sentiments, they 
 thought proper to refer to me, which naturally drew me 
 in for a share of the conversation. 
 
 Amongst a multiplicity of other topics, we took 
 occasion to talk of the different characters of the several 
 nations of Europe ; when one of the gentlemen, cocking 
 his hat, and assuming such an air of importance as if 
 he had possessed all the merit of the English nation in 
 his own person, declared that the Dutch were a parcel 
 of avaricious wretches ; the French a set of flattering 
 sycophants ; that the Germans were drunken sots, and 
 beastly gluttons ; and the Spaniards proud, haughty, 
 and surly tyrants ; but that in bravery, generosity, 
 clemency, and in every other virtue, the EngHsh excelled 
 all the other world. 
 
 This very learned and judicious remark was received 
 with a general smile of approbation by all the company 
 — all, I mean, but your humble servant, who, endeavour- 
 ing to keep my gravity as well as I could, and reclining 
 my head upon my arm, continued for some time in 
 a posture of affected thoughtfulness, as if I had been 
 musing on something else, and did not seem to attend 
 to the subject of conversation; hoping by this means 
 to avoid the disagreeable necessity of explaining myself, 
 and thereby depriving the gentleman of his imaginary 
 happiness. 
 
 But my pseudo -patriot had no mind to let me escape 
 so easily. Not satisfied that his opinion should pass 
 without contradiction, he was determined to have it 
 ratified by the suffrage of every one in the company ; 
 
252 ESSAYS 
 
 for which purpose, addressing himself to me with an air 
 of inexpressible confidence, he asked me if I was not of 
 the same way of thinking. As I am never forward in 
 giving my opinion, especially when 1 have reason to 
 believe that it will not be agreeable ; so, when I am 
 obliged to give it, I always hold it for a maxim to speak 
 my real sentiments. I therefore told him that, for my 
 own part, I should not have ventured to talk in such 
 a peremptory strain unless I had made the tour of 
 Europe, and examined the manners of these several 
 nations with great care and accuracy : that perhaps 
 a more impartial judge would not scruple to affirm, that 
 the Dutch were more frugal and industrious, the French 
 more temperate and polite, the Germans more hardy 
 and patient of labour and fatigue, and the Spaniards 
 more staid and sedate, than the English ; who, though 
 undoubtedly brave and generous, were at the same 
 time rash, headstrong, and impetuous ; too apt to be 
 elated with prosperity, and to despond in adversity. 
 
 I could easily perceive, that all the company began 
 to regard me with a jealous eye before I had finished 
 my answer, which I had no sooner done, than the patriotic 
 gentleman observed, with a contemptuous sneer, that 
 he was greatly surprised how some people could have 
 the conscience to live in a country which they did not 
 love, and to enjoy the protection of a government to 
 which in their hearts they were inveterate enemies. 
 Finding that by this modest declaration of my senti- 
 ments I had forfeited the good opinion of my com- 
 panions, and given them occasion to call my political 
 principles in question, and well knowing that it was in 
 vain to argue with men who were so very full of them- 
 selves, I threw down my reckoning and retired to my 
 own lodgings, reflecting on the absurd and ridiculous 
 nature of national prejudice and prepossession. 
 
NATIONAL PREJUDICES 253 
 
 Among all the famous sayings of antiquity, there is 
 none that does greater honour to the author, or affords 
 greater pleasure to the reader (at least if he be a person 
 of a generous and benevolent heart), than that of the 
 philosopher who, being asked what countryman he was, 
 replied, that he was ' a citizen of the world.' How few 
 are there to be found in modern times who can say the 
 same, or whose conduct is consistent with such a pro- 
 fession ! We are now become so much Englishmen, 
 Frenchmen, Dutchmen, Spaniards, or Germans, that 
 we are no longer citizens of the world ; so much the 
 natives of one particular spot, or members of one petty 
 society, that we no longer consider ourselves as the 
 general inhabitants of the globe, or members of that 
 grand society which comprehends the whole human kind. 
 
 Did these prejudices prevail only among the meanest 
 and lowest of the people, perhaps they might be excused, 
 as they have few, if any, opportunities of correcting 
 them by reading, travelling, or conversing with foreigners: 
 but the misfortune is, that they infect the minds, and 
 influence the conduct, even of our gentlemen ; of tliose, 
 I mean, who have every title to this appellation but 
 an exemption from prejudice, which, however, in my 
 opinion, ought to be regarded as the characteristical mark 
 of a gentleman ; for let a man's birth be ever so high, his 
 station ever so exalted, or his fortune ever so large, yet 
 if he is not free from national and all other prejudices, 
 I should make bold to tell him, that he had a low and 
 vulgar mind, and had no just claim to the character of 
 a gentleman. And, in fact, you will always find that 
 those are most apt to boast of national merit, who have 
 little or no merit of their own to depend on ; than which, to 
 be sure, nothing is more natural: the slender vine twists 
 around the sturdy oak, for no other reason in the world 
 but because it has not strength sufficient to support itself. 
 
254; ESSAYS 
 
 Should it be alleged in defence of national prejudice, 
 that it is the natural and necessary growth of love to 
 our country, and that therefore the former cannot be 
 destroyed without hurting the latter, I answer that this 
 is a gross fallacy and delusion. That it is the growth of 
 love to our country, I will allow ; but that it is the 
 natural and necessary growth of it, I absolutely deny. 
 Superstition and enthusiasm, too, are the growth of 
 religion; but who ever took it in his head to affirm, 
 that they are the necessary growth of this noble prin- 
 ciple ? They are, if you will, the bastard sprouts of 
 this heavenly plant, but riot"^^ its natural and genuine 
 branches, and may safely enough be lopt off, without 
 doing any harm to the parent stock: nay, perhaps, till 
 once they are lopped off, this goodly tree can never 
 flourish in perfect health and vigour. 
 jTls it not very possible that I may love my own 
 Country, without hating the natives of other countries? 
 that I may exert the most heroic bravery, the most 
 undaunted resolution, in defending its laws and liberty, 
 without despising all the rest of the world as cowards 
 and poltroons? Most certainly it is ; and if it were 
 not— But why need I suppose what is absolutely impos- 
 sible ?— But if it were not, I must own I should prefer 
 the title of the ancient , philosopher, viz. a citizen of 
 the world, to that of an Englishman, a Frenchman, 
 an European, or to any other appellation whatever. 
 
 SCHOOLS OF MUSIC 
 
 A SCHOOL, in the polite arts, properly signifies that 
 succession of artists which has learned the principles of 
 the art from some eminent master, either by hearing 
 his lessons or studying his works, and consequently who 
 imitate his manner either through design or from habit. 
 
SCHOOLS OF MUSIC 255 
 
 Musicians seem agreed in making only three principal 
 schools in music ; namely, the school of Pergolese in 
 Italy, of Lully in France, and of Handel in England ; 
 though some are for making Rameau the founder of 
 a new school, different from those of the former, as he 
 is the inventor of beauties peculiarly his own. 
 
 Without all doubt Pergolese 's music deserves the first 
 rank; though excelling neither in variety of movements, 
 number of parts, nor unexpected flights, yet he is 
 universally allowed to be the musical Raphael of Italy. 
 This great master's principal art consisted in knowing 
 how to excite our passions by sounds which seem 
 frequently opposite to the passion they would express : 
 by slow solemn sounds he is sometimes known to throw 
 us into all the rage of battle ; and even by faster move- 
 ments he excites melancholy in every heart that sounds 
 are capable of affecting. This is a talent which seems 
 born with the artist. We are unable to tell why such 
 sounds affect us : they seem no, way imitative of the 
 passion they would express, but operate upon us by an 
 inexpressible sympathy ; the original of which is as 
 inscrutable as the secret springs of life itself „ To this 
 excellence he adds another, in which he is superior to 
 every other artist of the profession, — the happy tran- 
 sitions from one passion to another. No dramatic poet 
 better knows to prepare his incidents than he ; the 
 audience are pleased in those intervals of passion with 
 the delicate, the simple harmony, if I may so express it, 
 in which the parts are all thrown into fugues, or often 
 are barely unison » His melodies also, where no passion 
 is expressed, give equal pleasure from this delicate 
 simplicity ; and I need only instance that song in the 
 Serva Padrona which begins ' Lo conosco a quegl' occelli,' 
 as one of the finest instances of excellence in the duOo 
 
 The Italian artists in general have followed his mannen 
 
256 ESSAYS 
 
 yet seem fond of embellishing the delicate simplicity of 
 the original. Their style in music seems somewhat to 
 resemble that of Seneca in writing, where there are some 
 beautiful starts of thought ; but the whole is filled with 
 studied elegance and unaffectihg affectation. 
 
 Lully, in France, first attempted the improvement of 
 their music, which in general resembled that of our old 
 solemn chants in churches. It is worthy of remark, in 
 general, that the music of every country is solemn in 
 proportion as the inhabitants are merry ; or, in other 
 words, the merriest sprightliest nations are remarked 
 for having the slowest music ; and those whose character 
 it is to be melancholy are pleased with the most brisk 
 and airy movements. Thus, in France, Poland, Ireland, 
 and Switzerland, the national music is slow, melancholy, 
 and solemn ; in Italy, England, Spain, and Germany, 
 it is faster, proportionably as the people are grave. 
 Lully only changed a bad manner, which he found, for 
 a bad one of his own. His drowsy pieces are played 
 still to the most sprightly audience that can be con- 
 ceived ; and even though Rameau, who is at once 
 a musician and a philosopher, has shown, both by 
 precept and example, what improvements French music 
 may still admit of, yet his countrymen seem little con- 
 vinced by his reasonings ; and the Pont-Neuf taste, as it 
 is called, still prevails in their best performances. 
 
 The English school was first planned by Purcell : he 
 attempted to unite the Italian manner that prevailed 
 in his time with the ancient Celtic carol and the Scotch 
 ballad, which probably had also its origin in Italy ; for 
 some of the best Scotch ballads, — * The Broom of 
 Cowdenknows,' for instance, — are still ascribed to David 
 Rizzio. But be that as it will, his manner was some- 
 thing peculiar to the English ; and he might have con- 
 tinued as head of the English school, had not his merits 
 
SCHOOLS OF MUSIC 257 
 
 been entirely eclipsed by Handel. Handel, though 
 originally a German, yet adopted the English manner : 
 he had long laboured to please by Italian composition, 
 but without success ; and though his English oratorios 
 are accounted inimitable, yet his Italian operas are 
 fallen into oblivion. Pergolese excelled in passionate 
 simplicity : Lully was remarkable for creating a new 
 species of music, where all is elegant, but nothing 
 passionate or sublime. Handel's true characteristic is 
 sublimity ; he has employed all the variety of sounds 
 and parts in all his pieces : the performances of the 
 rest may be pleasing, though executed by few per- 
 formers ; his require the full band. The attention is 
 awakened, the soul is roused up at his pieces ; but 
 distinct passion is seldom expressed. In this particular 
 he has seldom found success ; he has been obliged, in 
 order to express passion, to imitate words by sounds, 
 which, though it gives the pleasure which imitation 
 always produces, yet it fails of exciting those lasting 
 affections which it is in the power of sounds to produce. 
 In a word, no man ever understood harmony so well 
 as he ; but in melody he has been exceeded by several. 
 
 CAROLAN, THE IRISH BARD 
 
 There can be perhaps no greater entertainment than 
 to compare the rude Celtic simplicity with modem 
 refinement. Books, however, seem incapable of fur- 
 nishing the parallel ; and to be acquainted with the 
 ancient manners of our own ancestors, we should 
 endeavour to look for their remains in those countries, 
 which, being in some measure retired from an intercourse 
 with other nations, are still untinctured with foreign 
 refinement, language, or breeding. 
 
 GOLDSMITH, ni J£ 
 
258 ESSAYS 
 
 The Irish will satisfy curiosity in this respect prefer- 
 ably to all other nations I have seen. They in several 
 parts of that country still adhere to their ancient 
 language, dress, furniture, and superstitions ; several 
 customs among them still speak their original ; and 
 in some respects, Caesar's description of the ancient 
 Britons is applicable to these. 
 
 Their bards, in particular, are still held in great 
 veneration among them ; those traditional heralds are 
 invited to every funeral, in order to fill up the intervals 
 of the howl with their songs and harps. In these they 
 rehearse the actions of the ancestors of the deceased, 
 bewail the bondage of their country under the English 
 government, and generally conclude with advising the 
 young men and maidens to make the best use of their 
 time ; for they will soon, for all their present bloom, 
 be stretched under the table, like the dead body before 
 them. 
 
 Of all the bards this country ever produced, the last 
 and the greatest was Cabolan the Blind. He was at 
 once a poet, a musician, a composer, and sung his own 
 verses to his harp. The original natives never mention 
 his name without rapture ; both his poetry and music 
 they have by heart ; and even some of the English 
 themselves, who have been transplanted there, find his 
 music extremely pleasing. A song beginning, ' O'Rourke's 
 noble fare will ne'er be forgot,' translated by Dean 
 Swift, is of his composition ; which, though perhaps by 
 this means the best known of his pieces, is yet by no 
 means the most deserving. His songs, in general, may 
 be compared to those of Pindar, as they have frequently 
 the same flights of imagination, and are composed (I 
 don't say written, for he could not write) merely to 
 flatter some man of fortune upon some excellence of 
 the same kind. In these one man is praised for the 
 
CAROLAN, THE IRISH BARD 259 
 
 excellence of his stable, as in Pindar, another for his 
 hospitality, a third for the beauty of his wife and 
 children, and a fourth for the antiquity of his family. 
 Whenever any of the original natives of distinction were 
 assembled at feasting or revelling, Carolan was generally 
 there, where he was always ready with his harp to 
 celebrate their praises. He seemed by nature formed 
 for his profession ; for as he was born blind, so also he 
 was possessed of a most astonishing memory, and 
 a facetious turn of thinking, which gave his entertainers 
 infinite satisfaction. Being once at the house of an 
 Irish nobleman, where there was a musician present, 
 who was eminent in the profession, Carolan immediately 
 challenged him to a trial of skill. To carry the jest 
 forward, his lordship persuaded the musician to accept 
 the challenge, and he accordingly played over on his 
 fiddle the fifth concerto of Vivaldi. Carolan, immedi- 
 ately taking his harp, played over the whole piece after 
 him, without missing a note, though he had never heard 
 it before ; which produced some surprise : but their 
 astonishment increased, when he assured them he could 
 make a concerto in the same taste himself, which he 
 instantly composed, and that with such spirit and 
 elegance, that it may compare (for we have it still) 
 with the finest compositions of Italy. 
 
 His death was not more remarkable than his life. 
 Homer was never more fond of a glass than he ; he 
 would drink whole pints of usquebaugh, and, as he used 
 to think, without any ill consequence. His intemper- 
 ance, however, in this respect, at length brought on an 
 incurable disorder, and when just at the point of death, 
 he called for a cup of his beloved liquor. Those who 
 were standing round him, surprised at the demand, 
 endeavoured to persuade him to the contrary ; but he 
 persisted, and when the bowl was brought him, attempted 
 
260 ESSAYS 
 
 to drink, but could not ; wherefore, giving away the 
 bowl, he observed, with a smile, that it would be hard 
 if two such friends as he and the cup should part at 
 least without kissing ; and then expired. 
 
 ON THE TENANTS OF THE LEASOWES 
 
 Of all men who form gay illusions of distant happi- 
 ness, perhaps a poet is the most sanguine. Such is the 
 ardour of his hopes, that they often are equal to actual 
 enjoyment ; and he feels more in expectance than actual 
 fruition. I have often regarded a character of this kind 
 with some degree of envy. A man possessed of such 
 warm imagination commands all nature, and arrogates 
 possessions of which the owner has a blunter relish. 
 While life continues, the alluring prospect lies before 
 him ; he travels in the pursuit with confidence, and 
 resigns it only with his last breath. 
 
 It is this happy confidence which gives life its true 
 relish, and keeps up our spirits amidst every distress 
 and disappointment. How much less would be done, 
 if a man knew how little he can do ! How wretched 
 a creature would he be if he saw the end as well as the 
 beginning of his projects ! He would have nothing left 
 but to sit down in torpid despair, and exchange employ- 
 ment for actual calamity. 
 
 I was led into this train of thinking upon lately 
 visiting the beautiful gardens of the late Mr. Shenstone, 
 who was himself a poet, and possessed of that warm 
 imagination which made him ever foremost in the pur- 
 suit of flying happiness. Could he but have foreseen 
 the end of all his schemes, for whom he was improving, 
 and what changes his designs were to undergo, he 
 would have scarcely amused his innocent life with what, 
 
ON THE TENANTS OF THE LEASOWES 261 
 
 for several years, employed him in a most harmless 
 manner, and abridged his scanty fortune. As the pro- 
 gress of this Improvement is a true picture of sublunary 
 vicissitude, I could not help calling up my imagination, 
 which, while I walked pensively along, suggested the 
 following Reverie. 
 
 As I was turning my back upon a beautiful piece of 
 water, enlivened with cascades and rock-work, and 
 entering a dark walk, by which ran a prattling brook, 
 the Genius of the place appeared before me, but more 
 resembling the God of Time, than him more peculiarly 
 appointed to the care of gardens. Instead of shears he 
 bore a scythe ; and he appeared rather with the imple- 
 ments of husbandry than those of a modern gardener. 
 Having remembered this place in its pristine beauty, 
 I could not help condoling with him on its present 
 ruinous situation. I spoke to him of the many altera- 
 tions which had been made, and all for the worse ; of 
 the many shades which had been taken away, of the 
 bowers that were destroyed by neglect, and the hedge- 
 rows that were spoiled by clipping. The Genius, with 
 a sigh, received my condolement, and assured me that 
 he was equally a martyr to ignorance and taste, to 
 refinement and rusticity. Seeing me desirous of know- 
 ing farther, he went on : 
 
 ' You see, in the place before you, the paternal 
 ' inheritance of a poet ; and, to a man content with little, 
 'fully sufficient for his subsistence : but a strong imagina- 
 ' tion, and a long acquaintance with the rich, are dangerous 
 'foes to contentment. Our poet, instead of sitting down 
 ' to enjoy life, resolved to prepare for its future enjoy- 
 ' ment, and set about converting a place of profit into 
 ' a scene of pleasure. This he at first supposed could be 
 ' accomplished at a small expense ; and he was willing 
 ' for a while to stint his income, to have an opportunity 
 
262 ESSAYS 
 
 of displaying his taste . The Improvement in this manner 
 went forward ; one beauty attained led him to wish for 
 some other ; but he still hoped that every emendation 
 would' be the last. It was now therefore found, that 
 the Improvement exceeded the subsidy — ^that the place 
 was grown too large and too fine for the inhabitant. 
 But that pride which was once exhibited could not 
 retire : the garden was made for the owner, and though 
 it was become unfit for him, he could not willingly 
 resign it to another. Thus the first idea, of its beauties 
 contributing to the happiness of his life, was found 
 unfaithful ; so that, instead of looking within for 
 satisfaction, he began to think of having recourse to 
 the praises of those who came to visit his Improve- 
 ment. 
 
 ' In consequence of this hope, which now took posses- 
 sion of his mind, the gardens were opened to the visits 
 of every stranger ; and the country flocked round to 
 walk, to criticize, to admire, and to do mischief. He 
 soon found that the admirers of his taste left by no 
 means such strong marks of their applause, as the 
 envious did of their malignity. All the windows of his 
 temples and the walls of his retreats were impressed 
 with the characters of profaneness, ignorance, and 
 obscenity ; his hedges were broken, his statues and 
 urns defaced, and his lawns worn bare. It was now, 
 therefore, necessary to shut up the gardens once more, 
 and to deprive the public of that happiness which had 
 before ceased to be his own. 
 
 ' In this situation the poet continued for a time, in 
 the character of a jealous lover, fond of the beauty he 
 keeps, but unable to supply the extravagance of every 
 demand. The garden by this time was completely 
 grown and finished ; the marks of art were covered up 
 by the luxuriance of nature ; the winding walks were 
 
ON THE TENANTS OF THE LEASOWES 263 
 
 ' grown dark ; the brook assumed a natural sylvage ; 
 *and the rocks were covered with moss. Nothing now 
 ' remained but to enjoy the beauties of the place, when 
 *the poor poet died, and his garden was obliged to be 
 ' sold for the benefit of those who had contributed to its 
 'embellishment. 
 
 ' The beauties of the place had now for some time 
 ' been celebrated as well in prose as in verse ; and all 
 ' men of taste wished for so envied a spot, where every 
 ' turn was marked with the poet's pencil, and every 
 ' walk awakened genius and meditation. The first pur- 
 ' chaser was one Mr. Truepenny, a button-maker, who 
 
 * was possessed of three thousand pounds, and was willing 
 ' also to be possessed of taste and genius. 
 
 ' As the poet's ideas were for the natural wildness of 
 ' the landscape, the button-maker's were for the more 
 ' regular productions of art. He conceived, perhaps, that 
 
 * as it is a beauty in a button to be of a regular pattern, 
 ' so the same regularity ought to obtain in a landscape. 
 
 * Be this as it will, he employed the shears to some pur- 
 ' pose ; he clipped up the hedges, cut down the gloomy 
 ' walks, made vistas upon the stables and hog-sties, and 
 ' showed his friends that a man of taste should always 
 
 * be doing. 
 
 ' The next candidate for taste and genius was a captain 
 'of a ship, who bought the garden because the former 
 'possessor could find nothing more to mend: but un- 
 ' fortunately he had taste too. His great passion lay in 
 'building, in making Chinese temples and cage-work 
 ' summer-houses. As the place before had an appearance 
 ' of retirement and inspired meditation, he gave it a more 
 ' peopled air ; every turning presented a cottage, or ice- 
 ' house, or a temple ; the Improvement was converted 
 ' into a little city, and it only wanted inhabitants to give 
 
 * it the air of a village in the East Indies. 
 
264 ESSAYS 
 
 ' In this manner, in less than ten years, the Improve- 
 ' ment has gone through the hands of as many proprietors, 
 ' who were all willing to have taste, and to show their 
 Haste too. As the place had received its best finishing 
 ' from the hand of the first possessor, so every innovator 
 ' only lent a hand to do mischief. Those parts which 
 
 * were obscure, have been enlightened ; those walks 
 
 * which led naturally, have been twisted into serpentine 
 ' windings. The colour of the flowers of the field is not 
 
 * more various than the variety of tastes that have been 
 'employed here, and all in direct contradiction to the 
 'original aim of the first improver. Could the original 
 
 * possessor but revive, with what a sorrowful heart would 
 ' he look upon his favourite spot again ! He would 
 'scarcely recollect a Dryad or a Wood-nymph of his 
 'former acquaintance, and might perhaps find himself 
 'as much a stranger in his own plantation as in the 
 ' deserts of Siberia.' 
 
 SENTIMENTAL COMEDY 
 
 The theatre, like all other amusements, has its 
 fashions and its prejudices ; and when satiated with 
 its excellence, mankind begin to mistake change for 
 improvement. For some years tragedy was the reigning 
 entertainment ; but of late it has entirely given way to 
 comedy, and our best efforts are now exerted in these 
 lighter kinds of composition. The pompous train, the 
 swelling phrase, and the unnatural rant are displaced 
 for that natural portrait of human folly and frailty, of 
 which all are judges, because all have sat for the 
 picture. 
 
 But as in describing nature it is presented with 
 a double face, either of mirth or sadness, our modern 
 
SENTIMENTAL COMEDY 265 
 
 writers find themselves at a loss which chiefly to copy 
 from ; and it is now debated, whether the exhibition 
 of human\distress is likely to afford the mind more 
 entertainment than that of human absurdity ? 
 
 Comedy is defined by Aristotle to be a picture of the f 
 frailties of the lower part of mankind, to distinguish it 
 from tragedy, which is an exhibition of the misfortunes 
 of the great. When comedy, therefore, ascends to pro- ^ 
 duce the characters of princes or generals upon the ^ 
 stage, it is out of its walk, since low life and middle life j^ 
 are entirely its object. The principal question therefore J 4 
 is, whether, in describing low or middle life, an exhibition 
 of its follies be not preferable to a detail of its calamities ? 
 Or, in other words, which deserves the preference,— 
 the weeping sentimental comedy so much in fashion at 
 present [1773], or the laughing and even low comedy 
 which seems to have been last exhibited by Vanbrugh 
 and Cibber ? 
 
 If we apply to authorities, all the great masters in 
 
 the dramatic art have but one opinioUo Their rule is^ 
 
 that as tragedy displays the calamities of the great , so 
 
 comedy should excite our laughter by ridiculously 
 
 exhibiting the fplHes of the lower part of mankind^ 
 
 Bqijeau, one of the best modern critics, asserts that 
 
 comedy will not admit of tragic distress : 
 
 Le comique, ennemi des soupirs et des pleurs, 
 N'admet point dans ses vers de tragiques douleurs. 
 
 Nor is this rule without the strongest foundation in nature, j 
 
 as the distresses of the mean by no means affect us so I 
 
 strongly as the calamities of the great. When tragedy 
 
 exhibits to us some great man fallen from his height, and 
 
 struggling with want and adversity, we feel his situation 
 
 in the same manner as we suppose he himself must feel, 
 
 and our pity is increased in proportion to the height from 
 
 whence he fell. On the contrary, we do not so strongly 
 
 K3 
 
266 ESSAYS 
 
 sympathize with one bom in humbler circumstances, 
 and encountering accidental distress ; so that while we 
 melt for Belisarius, we scarce give halfpence to the 
 beggar who accosts us in the street. The one has our 
 pity ; the other our contempt. Distress, therefore, is 
 the proper object of tragedy, since the great excite our 
 pity by their fall ; but not equally so of comedy, since 
 the actors employed in it are originally so mean, that 
 
 Lthey sink but little by their fall. 
 " Since the first origin of the stage, tragedy and comedy 
 have run in distinct channels, and never till of late 
 encroached upon the provinces of each other. Terence, 
 who seems to have made the nearest approaches, always 
 Judiciously stops short before he comes to the downright 
 pathetic ; and yet he is even reproached by Caesar for 
 wanting the vis comica. All the other comic writers of 
 antiquity aim only at rendering folly or vice ridiculous, 
 but never exalt their characters into buskined pomp, 
 or make what ^Jtaire humorously calls a tradesman's 
 tragedy. 
 i Yet notwithstanding this weight of authority, and 
 
 the universal practice of former ages, a jnew sj )ecie&jQf 
 dramatic composition has been introduced, under the 
 name of sentimental comedy, in which the virtues of 
 private life are exhibited, rather than the vices exposed ; 
 and the distresses rather than the faults of mankind 
 make our interest in the piece. These comedies have 
 had of late great success, perhaps from their novelty, 
 and also from their flatteringevery man in his favourite 
 foible. In these plays almost all the characters _are 
 good, and exceedingly generous ; they are lavish enough 
 of their tin money on the stage ; and though they want 
 humour, have abundance of sentiment and feeling. If 
 they happen to have faults or foibles, the spectator is 
 taught, not only to pardon, but to applaud them, in 
 
7-^ PdUJh^^^^ 
 
 SENTIMENTAL COMEDY 267 
 
 consideration of the goodness of their hearts ; so that 
 folly, instead of being ridiculed, is commended, and the 
 comedy aims at touching our pa^ions without the 
 pojKoij'-of being truly pathetic. In this manner we are 
 likely to lose one great source of entertainment on the 
 stage ; for while the comic poet is invading the province 
 of the tragic muse, he leaves her lovely sister quite 
 neglected. Of this, however, he is no way solicitous, 
 as he measures his fame by his profits. 
 
 But it will be said that the theatre is formed to 
 "X amuse mankind, and that it matters little, if this end 
 be answered, by what means it is obtained. If man- 
 kind find delight in weeping at comedy, it would be cruel 
 to abridge them in that or any other innocent pleasure. 
 If those pieces are denied the name of comedies, yet 
 call them by any other name, and if they are delightful, 
 they are good. Their success, it will be said, is a mark 
 of their merit, and it is only abridging our happiness to 
 deny us an inlet to amusement. 
 
 These objections, however, are rather specious than 
 solid. ; It is true that amusement is a great object of 
 the theatre, and it will be allowed that these sentimental 
 pieces.jiQ often amuse us ; but the question is, whether 
 ^ the tru^ comedy would not amuse us more ? The 
 question is, whether a character supported throughout 
 a piece with its ridicule still attending, would not give 
 us more delight than this species of bastard tragedy,^ 
 which only is applauded because it is new ? 
 
 A friend of mine, who was sitting unmoved at one of 
 these sentimental pieces, was asked how he could be so 
 indifferent ? 'Why, truly,' says he, 'as the hero is but a j 
 * tradesman, it is indifferent to me whether he be turned I 
 ^ out of his counting-house on Fish-street Hill, since he I 
 ' will still have enough left to open shop in St. Giles's.' 
 
 The other objection is as ill-grounded ; for though 
 
n 
 
 268 ESSAYS 
 
 we should give these pieces another name, it will not 
 mend their efficacy. It will continue a kind of mulish 
 production, with all the defects of its opposite parents, 
 and marked with sterility. If we are permitted to make 
 comedy weep, we have an equal right to make tragedy 
 laugh, and to set down in blank verse the jests and 
 repartees of all the attendants in a funeral procession.^ 
 But there is one argument in favour of sentimental^ 
 comedy, which will keep it on the stage, in spite of all 
 that can be said against it. It is, of all others, the most 
 A7 easily written. Those abilities that can hammer out 
 / a novel are fully sufficient for the production of a 
 ^ Y sentimental comedy. It is only sufficient to raise the 
 characters a little ; to deck out the hero with a riband, 
 or give the heroine a title ; then to put an insipid 
 dialogue, without character or humour, into their 
 mouths, give them mighty good hearts, very fine 
 clothes, furnish a new set of scenes, make a pathetic 
 scene or two, with a sprinkling of tender melancholy con- 
 versation through the whole, and there is no doubt but 
 all the ladies will cry, and all the gentlemen applaud. 
 
 Humour at present seems to be departing from the 
 stage, and it will soon happen that our comic players 
 will have^ nothing left for it but a fine coat and a jong. 
 It depends upon the audience whether they will actually 
 drive those poor merry creatures from the stage, or sit 
 at a play as gloomy as at the tabernacle. It is not easy 
 to recover an art when once lost ; and it will be but 
 a just punishment, that when, by our being too fastidious, 
 we have banished humour from the stage, we should 
 ourselves be deprived of the art of laughing, \ 
 
 Vf 
 
269 
 
 SCOTCH MARRIAGES 
 
 As I see you are fond of gallantry, and seem willing 
 to set young people together as soon as you can, I cannot 
 help lending my assistance to your endeavours, as I am 
 greatly concerned in the attempt. You must know, 
 sir, that I am landlady of one of the most noted inns 
 on the road to Scotland, and have seldom less than 
 eight or ten couples a week, who go down rapturous 
 lovers, and return man and wife. 
 
 If there be in this world an agreeable situation, it 
 must be that in which a young couple find themselves, 
 when just let loose from confinement, and whirling off 
 to the land of promise. When the post-chaise is driving 
 off, and the blinds are drawn up, sure nothing can 
 equal it. And yet, I do not know how, what with the 
 fears of being pursued, or the wishes for greater happi- 
 ness, not one of my customers but seems gloomy and 
 out of temper. The gentlemen are all sullen, and the 
 ladies discontented. 
 
 But if it be so going down, how is it with them coming 
 back ? Having been for a fortnight together, they are 
 then mighty good company to be sure . It is then that the 
 young lady's indiscretion stares her in the face, and the 
 gentleman himself finds that much is to be done before 
 the money comes in. 
 
 For my own part, sir, I was married in the usual way ; 
 all my friends were at the wedding ; I was conducted 
 with great ceremony from the table to the bed ; and 
 I do not find that it any ways diminished my happi- 
 ness with my husband, while, poor man ! he continued 
 with me. For my part, I am entirely for doing things 
 in the old family way ; I hate your new-fashioned 
 
270 ESSAYS 
 
 manners, and never loved an outlandish marriage in 
 my life. 
 
 As I have had numbers call at my house, you may 
 be sure I was not idle in inquiring who they were, and 
 how they did in the world after they left me. I cannot 
 say that I ever heard much good come of them : and 
 of a history of twenty-five that I noted down in my 
 ledger, I do not know a single couple that would not 
 have been full as happy if they had gone the plain way 
 to work, and asked the consent of their parents. To 
 convince you of it, I will mention the names of a few, 
 and refer the rest to some fitter opportunity. 
 
 Imprimis, Miss Jenny Hastings went down to Scotland 
 with a tailor, who, to be sure, for a tailor, was a very 
 agreeable sort of man. But, I do not know how, he 
 did not take proper measure of the young lady's dis- 
 position they quarrelled at my house on their return ; 
 so she left him for a cornet of dragoons, and he went 
 back to his shop-board. 
 
 Miss Rachel Runfort went off with a grenadier. They 
 spent all their money going down ; so that he carried 
 her down in a post-chaise, and coming back, she helped 
 to carry his knapsack. 
 
 Miss Racket went down with her lover in their own 
 phaeton ; but upon their return, being very fond of 
 driving, she would be every now and then for holding 
 the whip. This bred a dispute ; and before they were 
 a fortnight together, she felt that he could exercise the 
 whip on somebody else besides the horses. 
 
 Miss Meekly, though all compliance to the will of her 
 lover, could never reconcile him to the change of his 
 situation. It seems he married her supposing she had 
 a large fortune ; but being deceived in his expectations, 
 they parted ; and they now keep separate garrets in 
 Rosemary Lane. 
 
SCOTCH MARRIAGES 271 
 
 The next couple of whom I have any account actually 
 lived together in great harmony and uncloying kindness 
 for no less than a month ; but the lady, who was a little 
 in years, having parted with her fortune to her dearest 
 life, he left her to make love to that better part of her 
 which he valued more. 
 
 The next pair consisted of an Irish fortune-hunter 
 and one of the prettiest, modestest ladies that ever my 
 eyes beheld. As he was a well-looking gentleman, all 
 dressed in lace, and as she seemed very fond of him^ 
 I thought they were blest for life. Yet I was quickly 
 mistaken. The lady was no better than a common 
 woman of the town, and he was no better than a sharper ; 
 so they agreed upon a mutual divorce : he now dresses 
 at the York Ball, and she is in keeping by the member 
 for our borough in Parliament. 
 
 In this manner we see that all those marriages, in 
 which there is interest on one side, and disobedience on 
 the other, are not likely to promise a long harvest of 
 delights. If our fortune -hunting gentlemen would but 
 speak out, the young lady, instead of a lover, would 
 often find a sneaking rogue, that only wanted the lady's 
 purse, and not her heart. For my own part, I never 
 saw anything but design and falsehood in every one of 
 them ; and my blood has boiled in my veins when 
 I saw a young fellow of twenty kneeling at the feet of 
 a twenty-thousand pounder, professing his passion, 
 while he was taking aim at her money. I do not deny 
 but there may be love in a Scotch marriage, but it is 
 generally all on one side. 
 
 Of all the sincere admirers I ever knew, a man of my 
 acquaintance, who however did not run away with his 
 mistress to Scotland, was the most so. An old excise- 
 man of our town, who, as you may guess, was not very 
 rich, had a daughter who, as you shall see, was not 
 
272 ESSAYS 
 
 very handsome. It was the opinion of everybody that 
 this young woman would not soon be married, as she 
 wanted two main articles, beauty and fortune. But, 
 for all this, a very well-looking man, that happened to 
 be travelling those parts, came and asked the excise- 
 man for his daughter in marriage. The exciseman, 
 willing to deal openly by him, asked if he had seen the 
 girl ; * for,' says he, ' she is humpbacked.' — ' Very 
 
 * well,' cried the stranger, Hhat will do for me.' — * Aye,' 
 says the exciseman, ' but my daughter is as brown as 
 
 * a berry.' — * So much the better,' cried the stranger ; 
 
 * such skins wear well.' — * But she is bandy-legged,' 
 says the exciseman. — * No matter,' cries the other ; 
 ' her petticoats will hide that defect.' — * But then she is 
 
 * very poor, and wants an eye.' — ' Your description 
 
 * delights me,' cries the stranger : * I have been long 
 ' looking out for one of her make ; for I keep an ex- 
 ' hibition of wild beasts, and intend to show her off 
 ' for a chimpanzee.' 
 
THE 
 
 LIFE 
 
 O F 
 
 RICHARD NASH, Efq^ 
 
 LATE 
 
 Mafter of the Ceremonies at Bath. 
 
 Extraded principally from 
 
 HisORIGINALPAPERS. 
 
 Non ego paucis 
 
 Offendar Maculis. Hor. 
 
 THE SECOND EDITION. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 Printed for J. Newbery, in St. Paul's Church- 
 yard; W.Frederick, at Bath; and 
 G. Faulkener, in Dublin. 
 
 M DCC LXII. 
 
TO 
 THE RIGHT WORSHIPFUL, 
 THEMAYOR, 
 RECORDER, 
 ALDERMEN, 
 
 AND 
 
 COMMON COUNCIL, 
 
 OF T HE 
 
 CITY OF BATH; 
 This VOLUME 
 
 Is Humbly INSCRIBED 
 By their 
 Most Obedient Humble Servant, 
 
 The editor. 
 
PREFACE 
 
 The following memoir is neither calculated to inflame 
 the reader's passions with descriptions of gallantry, nor 
 to gratify his malevolence with details of scandaL The 
 amours of coxcombs, and the pursuits of debauchees, are 
 as destitute of novelty to attract us, as they are of 
 variety to entertain, they still present us but the same 
 picture, a picture we have seen a thousand times repeated. 
 The life of Mr. Nash is incapable of supplying any 
 entertainment of this nature to a prurient curiosity. 
 Though it was passed in the very midst of debauchery, 
 he practised but few of those vices he was often obliged 
 to assent to. Though he lived where gallantry was the 
 capital pursuit, he was never known to favour it by his 
 example, and what authority he had was set to oppose 
 it. Instead therefore of a romantic history, filled with 
 warm pictures and fanciful adventures, the reader of 
 the following account must rest satisfied with a genuine 
 and candid recital compiled from the papers he left 
 behind, and others equally authentic ; a recital neither 
 written with a spirit of satire nor panegyric, and with 
 scarce any other art than that of arranging the materials 
 in their natural order. 
 
 But though little art has been used, it is hoped that 
 some entertainment may be collected from the life of 
 a person so much talked of, and yet so little known, as 
 
276 THE LIFE OF RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 
 
 Mr. Nash. The history of a man, whd for more than 
 fifty years presided over the pleasures of a polite 
 kingdom, and whose life, though without anything to 
 surprise, was ever marked with singularity, deserves 
 the attention of the present age ; the pains he took in 
 pursuing pleasure, and the solemnity he assumed in 
 adjusting trifles, may one day claim the smile of posterity. 
 
 ^ At least such a history is well enough calculated to supply 
 a vacant hour with innocent amusement, however it may 
 
 N-fail to open the heart, or improve the understanding. 
 
 Yet his life, how trifling soever it may appear to the 
 inattentive, was not without its real advantages to 
 the public c He was the first who diffused a desire of 
 society, and an easiness of address, among a whole people 
 who were formerly censured by foreigners for a reserved- 
 ness of behaviour and an awkward timidity in their 
 first approaches. He first taught a familiar intercourse 
 among strangers at Bath and Tunbridge, which still 
 subsists among theme That ease and open access first 
 acquired there, our gentry brought back to the metropolis, 
 and thus the whole kingdom by degrees became more 
 refined by lessons originally derived from him. 
 
 Had it been my design to have made this history 
 more pleasing at the expense of truth, it had been easily 
 performed ; but I chose to describe the man as he was, 
 not such as imagination could have helped in completing 
 his picture ; he will be found to be a weak man, govern- 
 ing weaker subjects, and may be considered as resem- 
 bling a monarch of Cappadocia, whom Cicero somewhere 
 calls, {he little king of a little peophc 
 
PREFACE 277 
 
 But while I have been careful in describing the 
 monarch, his dominions have claimed no small share 
 of my attention ; I have given an "exact account of the 
 rise, regulation, and nature of the amusements of the 
 city of Bath, how far Mr. Nash contributed to establish 
 and refine them, and what pleasure a stranger may 
 expect there upon his arrival. Such anecdotes as are 
 at once true and worth preserving are produced in their 
 order, and some stories are added, which, though 
 commonly known, more necessarily belong to this 
 history than to the places from whence they have 
 been extracted. But it is needless to point out the 
 pains that have been taken, or the entertainment that 
 may be expected from the perusal of this performance. 
 It is but an indifferent way to gain the reader's esteem, 
 to be my own panegyrist, nor is this preface so much 
 designed to lead him to beauties, as to demand pardon 
 for defects. 
 
ADVERTISEMENT 
 
 We have the permission of George Scott, Esq. (who kindly 
 undertook to settle the affairs of Mr. Nash, for the benefit of his 
 family and creditors) to assure the public, that all the papers found 
 in the custody of Mr. Nash, which any ways respected his life, and 
 were thought interesting to the public, were communicated to the 
 Editor of this volume ; so that the reader will, at least, have the 
 satisfaction of perusing an account that is genuine, and not the 
 work of imagination, as biographical writings too frequently are. 
 
THE 
 LIFE OF RICHARD NASH, Esq. 
 
 History owes its excellence more to the writer's 
 manner than the materials of which it is composed. 
 The intrigues of courts, or the devastation of armies, 
 are regarded by the remote spectator with as little 
 attention as the squabbles of a village, or the fate of 
 a malefactor, that fall under his own observation. The 
 great and the little, as they have the same senses, and 
 the same affections, generally present the same picture 
 to the hand of the draughtsman ; and whether the 
 hero or the clown be the subject of the memoir, it is only 
 man that appears with all his native minuteness about 
 him ; for nothing very great was ever yet formed from 
 the little materials of humanity. 
 
 Thus none can properly be said to write history, but 
 he who understands the human heart, and its whole 
 train of affections and follies. Those affections and 
 follies ar6 properly the materials he has to work upon. 
 The relations of great events may surprise indeed ; they 
 may be calculated to instruct those very few who 
 govern the million beneath, but the generality of man- 
 kind find the most real improvement from relations 
 which are levelled to the general surface of life ; which 
 tell, not how men learned to conquer, but how they 
 endeavoured to live ; not how they gained the shout 
 of the admiring crowd, but how they acquired the 
 esteem of their friends and acquaintance. 
 
 Every man's own life would perhaps furnish the 
 most pleasing materials for history, if he only had 
 candour enough to be sincere, and skill enough to select 
 
280 THE LIFE OF 
 
 such parts as once making him more prudent, might 
 serve to render his readers more cautious. There are 
 few who do not prefer a page of Montaigne or CoUey 
 Gibber, who candidly tell us what they thought of the 
 world and the world thought of them, to the more 
 stately memoirs and transactions of Europe, where we 
 see kings pretending to immortality, that are now 
 almost forgotten, and statesmen planning frivolous 
 negotiations, that scarce outlive the signing. 
 
 It were to be wished that ministers and kings were 
 left to write their own histories ; they are truly useful 
 to few but themselves ; but for men who are contented 
 with more humble stations, I fancy such truths only 
 are serviceable as may conduct them safely through life. 
 That knowledge which we can turn to our real benefit 
 should be most eagerly pursued. Treasures which we 
 cannot use but little increase the happiness or even the 
 pride of the possessor. 
 
 I profess to write the history of a man placed in 
 the middle ranks of life ; of one, whose vices and 
 virtues were open to the eye of the most undiscerning 
 spectator ; who was placed in public view, without power 
 to repress censure, or command adulation ; who had too 
 much merit not to become remarkable, yet too much 
 folly to arrive at greatness. I attempt the character of 
 one, who was just such a man as probably you or I may 
 be, but with this difference, that he never performed an 
 action which the world did not know, or ever formed 
 a wish which he did not take pains to divulge. In short, 
 I have chosen to write the life of the noted Mr. Nash, 
 as it will be the delineation of a mind without disguise, 
 of a man ever assiduous without industry, and pleasing 
 to his superiors, without any superiority of genius or 
 understanding. 
 
 Yet if there be any who think the subject of too little 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 281 
 
 importance to command attention, and had rather gaze 
 at the actions of the great, than be directed in guiding 
 their own, I have one undeniable claim to their attention. 
 Mr. Nash was himself a king. In this particular, perhaps 
 no biographer has been so happy as I. They who are 
 for a delineation of men and manners may find some 
 satisfaction that way, and those who delight in adven- 
 tures of kings and queens, may perhaps find their hopes 
 satisfied in another 
 
 It is a matter of very little importance who were the 
 parents, or what was the education, of a man who 
 owed so little of his advancement to either. He seldom 
 boasted of family or learning, and his father's name and 
 circumstances were so little known, that Doctor Cheyne 
 used frequently to say, that Nash had no father. The 
 Duchess of Marlborough one day rallying him in public 
 company upon the obscurity of his birth, compared him 
 to Gil Bias, who was ashamed of his father : ' No, 
 * Madam,' replied Nash, ' I seldom mention my father in 
 ' company, not because I have any reason to be ashamed 
 ' of him, but because he has some reason to be ashamed 
 ' of me.' 
 
 However, though such anecdotes be immaterial, to 
 go on in the usual course of history, it may be proper 
 to observe, that Richard Nash, Esq., the subject of this 
 memoir, was born in the town of Swansea, in Glamorgan- 
 shire, on the 18th of October, in the year 1674.^ His 
 father was a gentleman, whose principal income arose 
 
 ^ This account of his birth and parentage is confirmed by the 
 following memorandum, written by Mr. Nash himself in a book 
 belonging to Mr. Charles Morgan, at the CofiFee-House in Bath ; 
 whence it was transcribed by George Scott, Esq. ; to whom we 
 are indebted for this and many other anecdotes respecting the life 
 of Mr. Nash. 
 
 * My father was a Welch Gentleman, my mother niece to Col. 
 Poyer, who was murdered by Oliver for defending Pembroke. I was 
 bom Octo 18, 1674, in Swansey, Glamorganshire.' 
 
282 THE LIFE OF 
 
 from a partnership in a glass-house ; his mother was 
 niece to Colonel Poyer, who was killed by Oliver Crom- 
 well, for defending Pembroke Castle against the rebels. 
 He was educated under Mr. Haddocks at Carmarthen 
 School, and from thence sent to Jesus College, in Oxford, 
 in order to prepare him for the study of the law. His 
 father had strained his little income to give his son such 
 an education ; but from the boy's natural vivacity, he 
 hoped a recompense from his future preferment. In 
 college, however, he soon showed that though much 
 might be expected from his genius, nothing could be 
 hoped from his industry. A mind strongly turned to 
 pleasure, always is first seen at the University : there 
 the youth first finds himself freed from the restraint of 
 tutors, and being treated by his friends in some measure 
 as a man, assumes the passions and desires of riper 
 age, and discovers in the boy, what are likely to be the 
 affections of his maturity. 
 
 The first method Mr. Nash took to distinguish himself 
 at college was not by application to study, but by his 
 assiduity in intrigue. In the neighbourhood of every 
 University there are girls who with some beauty, some 
 coquetry, and little fortune, lie upon the watch for 
 every raw amorous youth, more inclined to make love 
 than to study. Our hero was quickly caught, and went 
 through all the mazes and adventures of a college 
 intrigue, before he was seventeen ; he offered marriage, 
 the offer was accepted, but the whole affair coming to 
 the knowledge of his tutor, his happiness, or perhaps 
 his future misery, was prevented, and he was sent home 
 from college, with necessary advice to him, and proper 
 instructions to his father.^ 
 
 ^ Since the publication of the first edition of this book, notice 
 has been taken in some of the newspapers of Mr. Nash's leaving the 
 University without discharging a small debt which he owed to the 
 college where he was placed, and which stands on their books to this 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 283 
 
 When a man knows his power over the fair sex, he 
 generally commences their admirer for the rest of life. 
 That triumph which he obtains over one, only makes 
 him the slave of another ; and thus he proceeds, con- 
 quering and conquered, to the closing of the scene. The 
 army seemed the most likely profession in which to 
 display this inclination for gallantry ; he therefore 
 purchased a pair of colours, commenced a professed 
 admirer of the sex, and dressed to the very edge of his 
 finances. But the life of a soldier is more pleasing to 
 the spectator at a distance than to the person who 
 makes the experiment. Mr. Nash soon found that a red 
 coat alone would never succeed, that the company of 
 the fair sex is not to be procured without expense, and 
 that his scanty commission could never procure him the 
 proper reimbursements. He found too that the pro- 
 fession of arms required attendance and duty, and often 
 encroached upon those hours he could have wished to 
 dedicate to softer purposes. In short, he soon became 
 disgusted with the life of a soldier, quitted the army, 
 entered his name as a student in the Temple books, and 
 here went to the very summit of second-rate luxury. 
 ^Though very poor he was very fine ; he spread the little 
 gold he had, in the most ostentatious manner, and 
 though the gilding was but thin, he laid it on as far as 
 it would go. They who know the town, cannot be 
 
 day. This is a circumstance which we were informed of before the 
 publication of our former edition ; but as our business was to write 
 the life of Mr. Nash, and not to settle his accounts, it seemed to us too 
 immaterial to deserve any particular notice : besides, had we paid 
 any regard to this, we ought also to have taken some notice of 
 another anecdote, communicated to us, which was, that when he 
 was sent from college he left behind him a pair of boots, two 
 plays, a tobacco-box, and a fiddle, which had engaged more of his 
 attention than either the public or private lectures. But as this, 
 as well as the other, could afford neither entertainment nor edifica- 
 tion, they were purposely omitted. 
 
284 THE LIFE OF 
 
 unacquainted with such a character as I describe ; one, 
 who, though he may have dined in private upon a 
 banquet served cold from a cook's shop, shall dress at 
 six for the side -box ; one of those, whose wants are 
 only known to their laundress and tradesmen, and their 
 fine clothes to half the nobility ; who spend more in 
 chair hire, than housekeeping ; and prefer a bow from 
 a Lord, to a dinner from a Commoner. 
 
 In this manner Mr. Nash spent some years about 
 town, till at last his genteel appearance, his constant 
 civility, and still more, his assiduity, gained him the 
 acquaintance of several persons qualified to lead the 
 fashion both by birth and fortune. To gain the friend- 
 ship of the young nobility, little more is requisite than 
 much submission and very fine clothes ; dress has 
 a mechanical influence upon the mind, and we naturally 
 are awed into respect and esteem at the elegance of 
 those, whom even our reason would teach us to contemn. 
 He seemed early sensible of human weakness in this 
 respect ; he brought a person genteelly dressed to every 
 assembly; he always made one of those who are called 
 very good company, and assurance gave him an air of 
 elegance and ease. 
 
 When King William was upon the throne, Mr. Nash 
 was a member of the Middle Temple. It had been long 
 customary for the Inns of Court to entertain our 
 monarchs upon their accession to the crown, or some 
 such remarkable occasion, with a revel and pageant. In 
 the earlier periods of our history, poets were the con- 
 ductors of these entertainments ; plays were exhibited, 
 and complimentary verses were then written ; but by 
 degrees the pageant alone was continued. Sir John Davis 
 being the last poet that wrote verses upon such an 
 occasion, in the reign of James I. 
 
 This ceremony, which has been at length totally 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 285 
 
 discontinued, was last exhibited in honour of King 
 WilHam, and Mr. Nash was chosen to conduct the whole 
 with proper decorum. He was then but a very young 
 man, but we see at how early an age he was thought 
 proper to guide the amusements of his country, and be 
 the Arbiter Elegantiarum of his time ; we see how early 
 he gave proofs of that spirit of regularity, for which he 
 afterwards became famous, and showed an attention to 
 those little circumstances, of which, though the observ- 
 ance be trifling, the neglect has often interrupted men 
 of the greatest abilities in the progress of their fortunes. 
 
 In conducting this entertainment, Nash had an 
 opportunity of exhibiting all his abilities, and King 
 William was so well satisfied with his performance, that 
 he made him an offer of knighthood. This, however, he 
 thought proper to refuse, which in a person of his 
 disposition seems strange. ' Please your Majesty,' replied 
 he, when the offer was made him, ' if you intend to 
 ' make me a knight, I wish it may be one of your poor 
 ' Knights of Windsor, and then I shall have a fortune 
 * at least able to support my title.' Yet we do not find 
 that the King took the hint of increasing his fortune ; 
 perhaps he could not : he had at that time numbers 
 to oblige, and he never cared to give money without 
 important services. 
 
 But though Nash acquired no riches by his late office, 
 yet he gained many friends, or what is more easily 
 obtained, many acquaintance, who often answer the 
 end as well. In the populous city where he resided, to 
 be known was almost synonymous with being in the 
 road to fortune. How many little things do we see, 
 without merit, or without friends, push themselves 
 forward into public notice, and by self-advertising, 
 attract the attention of the day. The wise despise them, 
 but the public are not all wise. Thus they succeed, rise 
 
286 THE LIFE OF 
 
 upon the wing of folly, or of fashion, and by their 
 success give a new sanction to effrontery. 
 
 But beside his assurance, Mr. Nash had in reality 
 some merit and some virtues. He was, if not a brilliant, 
 at least an easy companion. He never forgot good 
 manners, even in the highest warmth of familiarity, and, 
 as I hinted before, never went in a dirty shirt to disgrace 
 the table of his patron or his friend. These qualifications 
 might make the furniture of his head ; but for his heart, 
 that seemed an assemblage of the virtues which display 
 an honest benevolent mind, with the vices which 
 spring from too much good nature. He had pity for 
 every creature's distress, but wanted prudence in the 
 application of his benefits. He had generosity for the 
 wretched in the highest degree, at a time when his 
 creditors complained of his justice. He often spoke 
 falsehoods, but never had any of his harmless tales 
 tinctured with malice. 
 
 An instance of his humanity is told us in the Spectator, 
 though his name is not mentioned. When he was to 
 give in his accompts to the Masters of the Temple, 
 among other articles, he charged * For making one man 
 * happy, £10.' Being questioned about the meaning of 
 so strange an item, he frankly declared, that happening 
 to overhear a poor man declare to his wife and a large 
 family of children, that £10 would make him happy, 
 he could not avoid trying the experiment. He added, 
 that if they did not choose to acquiesce in his charge, 
 he was ready to refund the money. The Masters, struck 
 with such an uncommon instance of good nature, publicly 
 thanked him for his benevolence, and desired that the 
 sum might be doubled as a proof of their satisfaction. 
 
 Another instance of his unaccountable generosity, 
 and I shall proceed. In some transactions with one of 
 his friends, Mr. Nash was brought in debtor twenty 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 287 
 
 pounds. His friend frequently asked for the money, 
 and was as often denied. He found at last, that assiduity 
 was likely to have no effect, and therefore contrived an 
 honourable method of getting back his money without 
 dissolving the friendship that subsisted between them. 
 One day, returning from Nash's chamber with the usual 
 assurance of being paid to-morrow, he went to one of 
 their mutual acquaintance, and related the frequent 
 disappointments he had received, and the little hopes 
 he had of being ever paid. * My design,' continues he, 
 ' is that you should go, and try to borrow twenty pounds 
 ^from Nash, and bring me the money. I am apt to 
 ' think he will lend to you, though he will not pay me. 
 ' Perhaps we may extort from! his generosity, what 
 * I have failed to receive from his justice.' His friend 
 obeys, and going to Mr. Nash, assured him, that, unless 
 relieved by his friendship, he should certainly be undone; 
 he wanted to borrow twenty pounds, and had tried all his 
 acquaintance without success. Mr. Nash, who had, but 
 some minutes before, refused to pay a just debt, was 
 in raptures at thus giving an instance of his friendship, 
 and instantly lent what was required. Immediately 
 upon the receipt, the pretended borrower goes to the 
 real creditor, and gives him the money, who met 
 Mr. Nash the day after ; our hero, upon seeing him, 
 immediately began his usual excuses, that the billiard- 
 room had stripped him, that he was never so damnably 
 out of cash ; but that in a few days — ' My dear sir, be 
 under no uneasiness,' replied the other, ' I would not 
 interrupt your tranquillity for the world ; you lent 
 twenty pounds yesterday to our friend of the back 
 stairs, and he lent it to me ; give him your receipt, and 
 you shall have mine.' * Perdition seize thee,' cried 
 Nash, * thou hast been too many for me. You demanded 
 ' a debt, he asked a favour ; to pay thee, would not 
 
288 THE LIFE OF 
 
 ' increase our friendship, but to lend him was procuring 
 ' a new friend, by conferring a new obligation.' 
 
 Whether men, at the time I am now talking of, had 
 more wit than at present, I will not take upon me to 
 determine ; but certain it is, they took more pains 
 to show what they had. In that age, a fellow of 
 high humour would drink no wine but what was 
 strained through his mistress's smock. He would eat 
 a pair of her shoes tossed up in a fricassee. He would 
 swallow tallow-candles instead of toasted cheese, and 
 even run naked about town, as it was then said, to divert 
 the ladies. In short, that was the age of such kind of 
 wit as is the most distant of all others from wisdom. 
 
 Mr. Nash, as he sometimes played tricks with others, 
 upon certain occasions received very severe retaliations. 
 Being at York, and having lost all his money, some of 
 his companions agreed to equip him with fifty guineas, 
 upon this proviso, that he would stand at the great door 
 of the Minster, in a blanket, as the people were coming 
 out of church. To this proposal he readily agreed, but 
 the Dean passing by, unfortunately knew him. ' What,' 
 cried the divine, ' Mr. Nash, in masquerade ? ' ' Only 
 ' a Yorkshire penance, Mr. Dean, for keeping bad 
 ^* company,' says Nash, pointing to his companions. 
 
 Some time after this, he won a wager of still greater 
 consequence, by riding naked through a village upon 
 a cow. This was then thought a harmless frolic ; at 
 j)resent it would be looked upon with detestation. 
 
 He was once invited by some gentlemen of the navy 
 on board a man-of-war, that had sailing orders for the 
 Mediterranean. This was soon after the affair of the 
 revels, and being ignorant of any design against him, he 
 took his bottle with freedom. But he soon found, to 
 use the expression then in fashion, that he was absolutely 
 bitten. The ship sailed away before he was aware of 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 289 
 
 his situation, and he was obliged to make the voyage in 
 the company where he had spent the night. 
 
 Many lives are often passed without a single adventure, 
 and I do not know of any in the life of our hero that can 
 be called such, except what we are now relating. During 
 this voyage, he was in an engagement, in which his par- 
 ticular friend was killed by his side, and he himself 
 wounded in the leg. For the anecdote of his being 
 wounded, we are solely to trust to his own veracity ; 
 but most of his acquaintance were not much inclined to 
 believe him, when he boasted on those occasions. Telling 
 one day of the wound he had received for his country, in 
 one of the public rooms at Bath (Wiltshire's, if I don't 
 forget), a lady of distinction, that sat by, said it was 
 all false. ' I protest, Madam,' replied he, ' it is true ; 
 
 * and if I cannot be believed, your Ladyship may, if 
 
 * you please, receive farther information, and feel the 
 ' ball in my leg.' 
 
 Mr. Nash was now fairly for life entered into a new 
 course of gaiety and dissipation, and steady in nothing 
 but in pursuit of variety. He was thirty years old, 
 without fortune, or useful talents to acquire one. He 
 had hitherto only led a life of expedients, he thanked 
 chance alone for his support, and having been long 
 precariously supported, he became, at length, totally 
 a stranger to prudence, or precaution. Not to disguise 
 any part of his character, he was now, by profession, 
 a gamester, and went on from day to day, feeling the 
 vicissitudes of rapture and anguish, in proportion to the 
 fluctuations of fortune. 
 
 At this time, London was the only theatre in England, 
 for pleasure, or intrigue. A spirit of gaming had been 
 introduced in the licentious age of Charles II, and had by 
 this time thriven surprisingly. Yet all its devastations 
 were confined to London alone. To this great mart of 
 
 GOLDSMITH. Ill L 
 
290 THE LIFE OF 
 
 every folly, sharpers from every country daily arrived, 
 for the winter, but were obliged to leave the kingdom 
 at the approach of summer, in order to open a new 
 campaign at Aix, Spa, or the Hague. Bath, Tunbridge, 
 Scarborough, and other places of the same kind here, 
 were then frequented only by such as really went for 
 relief ; the pleasures they afforded were merely rural, 
 the company splenetic, rustic, and vulgar. In this 
 situation of things, people of fashion had no agreeable 
 summer retreat from the town, and usually spent that 
 season amidst a solitude of country squires, parsons' 
 wives, and visiting tenants, or farmers ; they wanted 
 some place where they might have each other's company, 
 and win each other's money, as they had done during 
 the winter in town. 
 
 To a person who does not thus calmly trace things to 
 their source, nothing will appear more strange, than 
 how the healthy could ever consent to follow the sick 
 to those places of spleen, and live with those, whose 
 disorders are ever apt to excite a gloom in the spectator. 
 The truth is, the gaming-table was properly the salutary 
 font to which such numbers flocked. Gaming will ever 
 be the pleasure of the rich, while men continue to be 
 men ; while they fancy more happiness in being possessed 
 of what they want, than they experience pleasure in the 
 fruition of what they have. The wealthy only stake 
 those riches, which give no real content, for an expecta- 
 tion of riches, in which they hope for satisfaction. By 
 this calculation, they cannot lose happiness, as they 
 begin with none ; and they hope to gain it, by being 
 possessed of something they have not had already. 
 
 Probably upon this principle, and by the arrival of 
 Queen Anne there for her health, about the year 1703, 
 the city of Bath became in some measure frequented 
 by people of distinction. The company was numerous 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 291 
 
 enough to form a country dance upon the bowling green ; 
 they were amused with a fiddle and hautboy, and diverted 
 with the romantic walks round the city. They usually 
 sauntered in fine weather in the grove, between two 
 rows of sycamore trees. Several learned physicians, 
 Doctor Jordan and others, had even then praised the 
 salubrity of the wells, and the amusements were put 
 under the direction of a master of the ceremonies. 
 
 Captain Webster was the predecessor of Mr. Nash. 
 This I take to bo the same gentleman whom Mr. Lucas 
 describes in his history of the lives of the gamesters, by 
 which it appears, that Bath, even before the arrival of 
 Mr. Nash, was found a proper retreat for men of that 
 profession. This gentleman, in the year 1704, carried 
 the balls to the town hall, each man paying half a guinea 
 each ball. 
 
 Still, however, the amusements of this place were 
 neither elegant, nor conducted with delicacy. General 
 society among people of rank or fortune was by no 
 means established. The nobility still preserved a 
 tincture of Gothic haughtiness, and refused to keep 
 company with the gentry at any of the public entertain- 
 ments of the place. Smoking in the rooms w^as per- 
 mitted ; gentlemen and ladies appeared in a disrespect- 
 ful manner at public entertainments in aprons and boots. 
 With an eagerness common to those whose pleasures 
 come but seldom, they generally continued them too 
 long ; and thus they were rendered disgusting by too 
 free an enjoyment. If the company liked each other, 
 they danced till morning ; if any person lost at cards, 
 he insisted on continuing the game till luck should turn. 
 The lodgings for visitants were paltry, though expensive ; 
 the dining-rooms and other chambers were floored with 
 boards, coloured brown with soot and small beer, to 
 hide the dirt ; the walls were covered with unpainted 
 
292 THE LIFE OF 
 
 wainscot; the furniture corresponded with the meanness 
 of the architecture ; a few oak chairs, a small looking- 
 glass, with a fender and tongs, composed the magnificence 
 of these temporary habitations. The city was in itself 
 mean and contemptible : no elegant buildings, no open 
 streets, nor uniform squares. The Pump-house was 
 without any director ; the chairmen permitted no 
 gentlemen or ladies to walk home by night without 
 insulting them ; and to add to all this, one of the 
 greatest physicians of his age conceived a design of 
 ruining the city, by writing against the efficacy of the 
 waters. It was from a resentment of some affronts he 
 had received there, that he took this resolution ; and 
 accordingly published a pamphlet, by which he said, 
 he would cast a toad into the spring. 
 
 In this situation of things it was, that Mr. Nash first 
 came into that city, and hearing the threat of this 
 physician, he humorously assured the people, that if 
 they would give him leave, he would charm away the 
 poison of the Doctor's toad, as they usually charmed the 
 venom of the Tarantula, by music. He therefore was 
 immediately empowered to set up the force of a band of 
 music, against the poison of the Doctor's reptile ; the 
 company very sensibly increased, Nash triumphed, and 
 the sovereignty of the city was decreed to him by every 
 rank of people. 
 
 We are now to behold this gentleman as arrived at 
 a new dignity for which nature seemed to have formed 
 him ; we are to see him directing pleasures, which none 
 had better learned to share ; placed over rebellious and 
 refractory subjects, that were to be ruled only by the 
 force of his address, and governing such as had been 
 accustomed to govern others. We see a kingdom 
 beginning with him, and sending off Tunbridge as one of 
 its colonies. 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 293 
 
 But to talk more simply, when we talk at best of 
 trifles. None could possibly conceive a person more 
 fit to fill this employment than Nash : he had some wit, 
 as I have said once or twice before ; but it was of that 
 sort which is rather happy than permanent. Once a 
 week he might say a good thing ; this the little ones 
 about him took care to divulge ; or if they happened to 
 forget the joke, he usually remembered to repeat it 
 himself. In a long intercourse with the world he had 
 acquired an impenetrable assurance ; and the freedom 
 with which he was received by the great, furnished him 
 with vivacity, which could be commanded at any time, 
 and which some mistook for wit. His former intercourse 
 among people of fashion in town, had let him into most 
 of the characters of the nobility ; and he was acquainted 
 with many of their private intrigues. He understood 
 rank and precedence with the utmost exactness, was 
 fond of show and finery himself, and generally set a 
 pattern of it to others. These were his favourite 
 talents, and he was the favourite of such as had no 
 other. 
 
 But to balance these, which some may consider as 
 foibles, he was charitable himself, and generally shamed 
 his betters into a similitude of sentiment, if they were 
 not naturally so before. He was fond of advising those 
 young men, who, by youth and too much money, are 
 taught to look upon extravagance as a virtue. He was 
 an enemy to rudeness in others, though in the latter 
 part of his life he did not much seem to encourage a 
 dislike of it by his own example. None talked with more 
 humanity of the foibles of others, when absent, than he, 
 nor kept those secrets with which he was entrusted 
 more inviolably. But above all (if moralists will allow 
 it among the number of his virtues) though he gamed 
 high, he always played very fairly. These were his 
 
294 THE LIFE OF 
 
 qualifications. Some of the nobility regarded him as an 
 inoffensive, useful companion, the size of whose under- 
 standing was, in general, level with their own ; but 
 their little imitators admired him as a person of fine 
 sense, and great good breeding. Thus people became 
 fond of ranking him in the number of their acquaintance, 
 told over his jests, and Beau Nash at length became the 
 fashionable companion. 
 
 His first care, when made master of the ceremonies, 
 or King of Bath, as it is called, was to promote a music 
 subscription, of one guinea each, for a band which was 
 to consist of six performers, who were to receive a guinea 
 a week each for their trouble. He allowed also two 
 guineas a week for lighting and sweeping the rooms, for 
 which he accounted to the subscribers by receipt. 
 
 The Pump-house was immediately put under the care 
 of an officer, by the name of the Pumjper ; for which he 
 paid the corporation an annual rent. A row of new 
 houses was begun on the south side of the gravel walks, 
 before which a handsome pavement was then made for 
 the company to walk on. Not less than seventeen or 
 eighteen hundred pounds was raised this year, and in 
 the beginning of 1706, by subscription, and laid out in 
 repairing the roads near the city. The streets began to 
 be better paved, cleaned and lighted, the licences of the 
 chairmen were repressed, and, by an Act of Parliament 
 procured on this occasion, the invalids, who came to 
 drink or bathe, were exempted from all manner of toll, 
 as often as they should go out of the city for recreation. 
 
 The houses and streets now began to improve, and 
 ornaments were lavished upon them even to profusion. 
 But in the midst of this splendour the company still 
 were obliged to assemble in a booth to drink tea and 
 chocolate, or to game. Mr. Nash undertook to remedy 
 this inconvenience. By his direction, one Thomas 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 295 
 
 Harrison erected a handsome Assembly-house for these 
 purposes. A better band of music was also procured, 
 and the former subscription of one guinea was raised to 
 two. Harrison had three guineas a week for the room 
 and candles, and the music two guineas a man. The 
 money Mr. Nash received and accounted for with the 
 utmost exactness and punctuality. To this house were 
 also added gardens for people of rank and fashion to 
 walk in ; and the beauty of the suburbs continued to 
 increase, notwithstanding the opposition that was made 
 by the corporation, who, at that time, looked upon every 
 useful improvement, particularly without the walls, as 
 dangerous to the inhabitants within. 
 
 His dominion was now extensive and secure, and he 
 determined to support it with the strictest attention. 
 But, in order to proceed in ever5rthing like a king, he 
 was resolved to give his subjects a law, and the following 
 rules were accordingly put up in the Pump-room. 
 
 RULES to he observed at Bath. 
 
 1. That a visit of ceremony at first coming and 
 another at going away, are all that are expected or 
 desired, by ladies of quality and fashion, — except 
 impertinents. 
 
 2. That ladies coming to the ball appoint a time for 
 their footmen coming to wait on them home, to prevent 
 disturbance and inconveniences to themselves and others. 
 
 3. That gentlemen of fashion never appearing in 
 a morning before the ladies in gowns and caps, show 
 breeding and respect. 
 
 4. That no person take it ill that any one goes to 
 another's play, or breakfast, and not theirs ; — except 
 captious by nature. 
 
 5. That no gentleman give his ticket for the balls 
 
296 THE LIFE OF 
 
 to any but gentlewomen. — ^N.B. Unless he has none of 
 his acquaintance. 
 
 6. That gentlemen crowding before the ladies at the 
 ball, show ill manners ; and that none do so for the 
 future, — except such as respect nobody but themselves. 
 
 7. That no gentleman or lady takes it ill that another 
 dances before them ; — except such as have no pretence ^ 
 to dance at all. 
 
 8. That the elder ladies and children be content with 
 a second bench at the ball, as being past or not come to 
 perfection. 
 
 9. That the younger ladies take notice how many 
 eyes observe them. N.B. This does not extend to the 
 Have-at-alls. 
 
 10. That all whisperers of lies and scandal, be taken 
 for their authors. 
 
 11. That all repeaters of such lies, and scandal, be 
 shunned by all company ; — except such as have been 
 guilty of the same crime. 
 
 N.B. Several men of no character, old women and 
 young ones of questioned reputation, are great authors of 
 lies in these places, being of the sect of levellers. 
 
 These laws were written by Mr. Nash himself, and, by 
 the manner in which they are drawn up, he undoubtedly 
 designed them for wit. The reader, however, it is 
 feared, will think them dull. Poor Nash was not born 
 a writer ; for whatever humour he might have in 
 conversation, he used to call a pen his torpedo ; when- 
 ever he grasped it, it numbed all his faculties. 
 
 But were we to give laws to a nursery, we should make 
 them childish laws ; his statutes, though stupid, were 
 addressed to fine gentlemen and ladies, and were probably 
 received with sympathetic approbation. It is certain, 
 they were in general religiously observed by his subjects, 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 297 
 
 and executed by him with impartiality ; neither rank nor 
 fortune shielded the refractory from hts resentment. 
 
 The balls, by his directions, were to begin at six, and 
 to end at eleven. Nor would he suffer them to continue a 
 moment longer, lest invalids might commit irregularities, 
 to counteract the benefit of the waters. Everything was 
 to be performed in proper order. Each ball was to open 
 with a minuet, danced by two persons of the highest 
 distinction present. When the minuet concluded, the 
 lady was to return to her seat, and Mr. Nash was to bring 
 the gentleman a new partner. This ceremony was to be 
 observed by every succeeding couple, every gentleman 
 being obliged to dance with two ladies till the minuets 
 were over, which generally continued two hours. At 
 eight, the country dances were to begin ; ladies of quality, 
 according to their rank, standing up first. About nine 
 o'clock a short interval was allowed for rest, and for the 
 gentlemen to help their partners to tea. That over, 
 the company were to pursue their amusements till the 
 clock struck eleven. Then the master of the ceremonies 
 entering the ballroom, ordered the music to desist, by 
 lifting up his finger. The dances discontinued, and some 
 time allowed for becoming cool, the ladies were handed 
 to their chairs. 
 
 Even the Royal Family themselves had not influence ^ 
 enough to make him deviate from any of these rules. 
 The Princess Amelia once applying to him for one 
 dance more, after he had given the signal to withdraw, 
 he assured Her Royal Highness, that the established rules 
 of Bath resembled the laws of Lycurgus, which would 
 admit of no alteration, without an utter subversion of 
 all his authority. 
 
 He was not less strict with regard to the dresses, in 
 which ladies and gentlemen were to appear. He had 
 the strongest aversion to a white apron, and absolutely 
 
 L3 
 
298 THE LIFE OF 
 
 excluded all who ventured to come to the assembly 
 dressed in that manner. I have known him on a ball 
 
 night strip even the Duchess of Q , and throw her 
 
 apron at one of the hinder benches among the ladies' 
 women ; observing, that none but Abigails appeared in 
 white aprons. This from another would be insult, in 
 him it was considered as a just reprimand ; and the 
 good-natured duchess acquiesced in his censure, and with 
 great good sense, and good humour, begged his Majesty's 
 pardon. 
 
 But he found more difficulty in attacking the gentle- 
 men's irregularities ; and for some time strove, but in 
 vain, to prohibit the use of swords. Disputes arising 
 from love or play, were sometimes attended with fatal 
 effects. To use his own expression, he was resolved to 
 hinder people from doing what they Jmd no mind to ; 
 but for some time without effect. However, there 
 happened about that time a duel between two gamesters, 
 whose names were Taylor and Clarke, which helped to 
 promote his peaceable intentions. They fought by 
 torchlight in the grove ; Taylor was run through the 
 body, but lived seven years after, at which time his 
 wound breaking out afresh, it caused his death. Clarke 
 from that time pretended to be a Quaker, but the ortho- 
 dox brethren never cordially received him among their 
 number ; and he died at London, about eighteen years 
 after, in poverty and contrition. From that time it was 
 thought necessary to forbid the wearing of swords at 
 Bath, as they often tore the ladies' clothes, and frighted 
 them, by sometimes appearing upon trifling occasions. 
 Whenever therefore Nash heard of a challenge given, 
 or accex^ted, he instantly had both parties arrested. The 
 gentlemen's boots also made a very desperate stand 
 against him, the country squires were by no means 
 submissive to his usurpations ; and probably his authority 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 299 
 
 alone would never have carried him through, had he not 
 reinforced it with ridicule. He wrote a song upon the 
 occasion, which, for the honour of his poetical talents, 
 the world shall see. 
 
 Frontinella's invitation to the Assembly, 
 
 Come, one and all, to Hoyden Hall, 
 For there 's the assembly this night ; 
 
 None but prude fools, 
 
 Mind manners and rules ; 
 We Hoydens do decency slight. 
 
 Come, Trollops and Slatterns, 
 
 Cock'd hats and white aprons, 
 This best our modesty suits ; 
 
 For why should not we 
 
 In dress be as free 
 As Hogs -Norton squires in boots ? 
 
 The keenness, severity, and particularly the good 
 
 rhymes of this little morceau, which was at that time 
 
 highly relished by many of the nobility at Bath, gained 
 
 him a temporary triumph. But to push his victories, he 
 
 got up a puppet-show, in which Punch came in booted 
 
 and spurred, in the character of a country squire. He 
 
 was introduced as courting his mistress, and having 
 
 obtained her consent to comply with his wishes, upon 
 
 going to bed, he is desired to pull off his boots. ' My 
 
 boots ! ' replies Punch, ' why, madam, you may as well 
 
 bid me pull off my legs ; I never go without boots, I 
 
 never ride, I never dance, without them ; and this 
 
 piece of politeness is quite the thing at Bath. We 
 
 always dance at our town in boots, and the ladies often 
 
 move minuets in riding-hoods.' Thus he goes on, till 
 
 his mistress, grown impatient, kicks him off the stage. 
 
 From that time few ventured to appear at the assem- 
 
300 THE LIFE OF 
 
 blies in Bath in a riding-dress ; and whenever any 
 gentleman, through ignorance, or haste, appeared in the 
 rooms in boots, Nash would make up to him, and, 
 ' bowing in an arch manner, would tell him, that he had 
 forgot his horse. Thus he was at last completely 
 victorious. 
 
 Dolisque coacti 
 
 Quos neque Tydides nee Larissaeus Achilles 
 
 Non anni domuere decern. 
 He began therefore to reign without a rival, and like 
 other kings had his mistresses, flatterers, enemies and 
 calumniators. The amusements of the place however 
 wore a very different aspect from what they did formerly. 
 Regularity repressed pride, and that lessened, people 
 of fortune became fit for society. Let the morose and 
 grave censure an attention to forms and ceremonies, 
 and rail at those, whose only business it is to regulate 
 them ; but though ceremony is very different from 
 politeness, no country was ever yet polite, that was 
 not first ceremonious. The natural gradation of breeding 
 begins in savage disgust, proceeds to indifference, 
 improves into attention, by degrees refines into cere- 
 monious observance, and the trouble of being cere- 
 monious at length produces politeness, elegance and 
 ease. There is therefore some merit in mending society, 
 even in one of the inferior steps of this gradation ; and 
 no man was more happy in this respect than Mr. Nash. 
 In every nation there are enough who have no other 
 business or care, but that of buying pleasure ; and he 
 taught them, who bid at such an auction, the art of 
 procuring what they sought, without diminishing the 
 pleasure of others. 
 
 The city of Bath, by such assiduity, soon became 
 the theatre of summer amusements for all people of 
 fashion ; and the manner of spending the day there 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 301 
 
 must amuse any, but such as disease or spleen had 
 made uneasy to themselves. The following is a faint 
 picture of the pleasures that scene affords. Upon a 
 stranger's arrival at Bath, he is welcomed by a peal of 
 the Abbey bells, and in the next place, by the voice and 
 music of the city waits. For these civilities the ringers 
 have generally a present made them of half a guinea ; 
 and the waits of half a crown, or more, in proportion to 
 the person's fortune, generosity, or ostentation. These 
 customs, though disagreeable, are however generally 
 liked, or they would not continue. The greatest incom- 
 modity attending them is the disturbance the bells 
 must give the sick. But the pleasure of knowing the 
 name of every family that comes to town recompenses 
 the inconvenience. Invalids are fond of news, and 
 upon the first sound of the bells, everybody sends out 
 to inquire for whpm they ring. 
 
 After the family is thus welcomed to Bath, it is the 
 custom for the master of it to go to the public places, 
 and subscribe two guineas at the assembly -houses towards 
 the balls and music in the Pump-house, for which he is 
 entitled to three tickets every ball night. His next 
 subscription is a crown, half a guinea, or a guinea, 
 according to his rank and quality, for the liberty of 
 walking in the private walks belonging to Simpson's 
 Assembly-house ; a crown or half a guinea is also 
 given to the booksellers, for which the gentleman is to 
 have what books he pleases to read at his lodgings. 
 And at the Coffee-house another subscription is taken 
 for pen, ink and paper, for such letters as the subscriber 
 shall write at it during his stay. The ladies too may 
 subscribe to the booksellers, and to a house by the 
 Pump-room, for the advantage of reading the news, and 
 for enjoying each other's conversation. 
 
 Things being thus adjusted, the amusements of the 
 
302 THE LIFE OF 
 
 day are generally begun by bathing, which is no un- 
 pleasing method of passing away an hour or so. 
 
 The baths are five in number. On the south-west 
 side of the Abl^ey church is the King's Bath, which is an 
 oblong square ; the walls are full of niches, and at every 
 corner are steps to descend into it : this bath is said to 
 contain 427 tons and 50 gallons of water ; and on its 
 rising out of the ground over the springs, it is sometimes 
 too hot to be endured by those who bathe therein. 
 Adjoining to the King's Bath there is another, called the 
 Queen's Bath ; this is of a more temperate warmth, 
 as borrowing its water from the other. 
 
 In the south-west part of the city are three other 
 baths, viz. : The Hot Bath, which is not much inferior 
 in heat to the King's Bath, and contains 53 tons 2 hogs- 
 heads and 11 gallons of water. The Cross Bath, which 
 contains 52 tons 3 hogsheads and 1 1 gallons ; and the 
 Leper's Bath, which is not so much frequented as the 
 rest. 
 
 The King's Bath (according to the best observations) 
 will fill in about nine hours and a half ; the Hot Bath in 
 about eleven hours and a half ; and the Cross Bath in 
 about the same time. 
 
 The hours for bathing are commonly between six 
 and nine in the morning ; and the baths are every 
 morning supplied with fresh water ; for when the 
 people have done bathing, the sluices in each bath are 
 pulled up, and the water is carried off by drains into 
 the river Avon. 
 
 -^ In the morning the lady is brought in a close chair, 
 dressed in her bathing clothes, to the bath : and, being 
 in the water, the woman who attends presents her 
 with a little floating dish like a basin ; into which the 
 lady puts a handkerchief, a snuff-box, and a nosegay. 
 She then traverses the bath ; if a novice, with a guide ; 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 303 
 
 if otherwise, by herself ; and having amused herself 
 thus while she thinks proper, calls for her chair, and 
 returns to her lodgings. 
 
 The amusement of bathing is immediately succeeded 
 by a general assembly of people at the Pump-house, 
 some for pleasure, and some to drink the hot waters. 
 Three glasses, at three different times, is the usual 
 portion for every drinker ; and the intervals between 
 every glass are enlivened by the harmony of a small 
 band of music, as well as by the conversation of the gay, 
 the witty, or the forward. 
 
 From the Pump-house the ladies, from time to time, 
 withdraw to a female coffee-house, and from thence 
 return to their lodgings to breakfast. The gentlemens,^ 
 withdraw to their coffee-houses, to read the papers, or ) 
 converse on the news of the day, with a freedom and 
 ease not to be found in the metropolis. 
 
 People of fashion make public breakfasts at the 
 assembly-houses, to which they invite their acquain- 
 tances, and they sometimes order private concerts ; or 
 when so disposed, attend lectures upon the arts and 
 sciences, which are frequently taught there in a pretty 
 superficial manner, so as not to tease the understanding, 
 while they afford the imagination some amusement. 
 The private concerts are performed in the ballrooms, 
 the tickets a crown each. 
 
 Concert breakfasts at the Assembly-house sometimes 
 make also a part of the morning's amusement here, the 
 expenses of which are defrayed by a subscription among 
 the men. Persons of rank and fortune who can perform 
 are admitted into the orchestra, and find a pleasure in 
 joining with the performers. 
 
 Thus we have the tedious morning fairly over. When 
 noon approaches, and church (if any please to go there) 
 is done, some of the company appear upon the Parade, 
 
304 THE LIFE OF 
 
 and other public walks, where they continue to chat 
 and amuse each other, till they have formed parties for 
 the play, cards, or dancing for the evening. Another part 
 of the company divert themselves with reading in the 
 booksellers' shops, or are generally seen tasting the air 
 and exercise, some on horseback, some in coaches. 
 Some walk in the meadows round the town, winding 
 along the side of the river Avon and the neighbouring 
 canal ; while others are seen scaling some of those 
 romantic precipices that overhang the city. 
 
 When the hour of dinner draws nigh, and the company 
 is returned to their different recreations, the provisions 
 are generally served with the utmost elegance and 
 plenty. Their mutton, butter, fish, and fowl, are all 
 allowed to be excellent, and their cookery still exceeds 
 their meat. 
 
 After dinner is over, and evening prayers ended, the 
 company meet a second time at the Pump-house. From 
 this they retire to the walks, and from thence go to 
 drink tea at the assembly-houses, and the rest of the 
 evenings are concluded either with balls, plays or visits. 
 A theatre was erected in the year 1705 by subscription, 
 by people of the highest rank, who permitted their arms 
 to be engraven on the inside of the house, as a public 
 testimony of their liberality towards it. Every Tuesday 
 and Friday evening is concluded with a public ball, the 
 contributions to which are so numerous, that the price 
 of each ticket is trifling. Thus Bath yields a continued 
 rotation of diversions, and people of all ways of thinking, 
 even from the libertine to the methodist, have it in their 
 power to complete the day with employments suited to 
 their inclinations. 
 
 In this manner every amusement soon improved under 
 Mr. Nash's administration. The magistrates of the city 
 found that he was necessary and useful, and took every 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 305 
 
 opportunity of paying the same respect to his fictitious 
 royalty, that is generally extorted by real power. The 
 same satisfaction a young lady finds upon bein^ singled 
 out at her first appearance, or an applauded poet on 
 the success of his first tragedy, influenced him. All 
 admired him as an extraordinary character ; and some 
 who knew no better, as a very fine gentleman ; he was 
 perfectly happy in their little applause, and affected at 
 length something particular in his dress, behaviour and 
 conversation. 
 
 His equipage was sumptuous, and he usually travelled 
 to Tunbridge in a post chariot and six greys, with 
 outriders, footmen, French horns, and every other 
 appendage of expensive parade. He always wore a 
 white hat, and, to apologize for this singularity, said, he 
 did it purely to secure it from being stolen ; his dress 
 was tawdry, though not perfectly genteel ; he might be 
 considered as a beau of several generations, and in his 
 appearance he, in some measure, mixed the fashions of 
 the last age with those of the present. He perfectly 
 understood elegant expense, and generally passed his 
 time in the very best company, if persons of the first 
 distinction deserve that title. 
 
 But I hear the reader now demand, what finances 
 were to support all this finery, or where the treasures, 
 that gave him such frequent opportunities of displaying 
 his benevolence, or his vanity ? To answer this, we must 
 now enter upon another part of his character, his talents 
 as a gamester ; for by gaming alone at that period, of 
 which I speak, he kept up so very genteel an appearance. 
 When he first figured at Bath, there were few laws 
 against this destructive amusement. The gaming-table 
 was the constant resource of despair and indigence, 
 and the frequent ruin of opulent fortunes. Wherever 
 people of fashion came, needy adventurers were generally 
 
306 THE LIFE OF 
 
 found in waiting. With such Bath swarmed, and 
 among this class Mr. Nash was certainly to be numbered 
 in the beginning, only with this difference, that he 
 wanted the corrupt heart, too commonly attending 
 a life of expedients ; for he was generous, humane and 
 honourable, even though by profession a gamester. 
 
 A thousand instances might be given of his integrity, 
 even in this infamous profession ; where his generosity 
 often impelled him to act in contradiction to his interest. 
 Wherever he found a novice in the hands of a sharper, 
 he generally forewarned him of the danger ; whenever he 
 found any inclined to play, yet ignorant of the game, he 
 would offer his services, and play for them. I remember 
 an instance to this effect, though too nearly concerned 
 in the affair to publish the gentleman's name of whom it 
 is related. In the year 1725, there came to Bath a giddy 
 youth, who had just resigned his fellowship at Oxford. 
 He brought his whole fortune with him there ; it was 
 but a trifle ; however, he was resolved to venture it all. 
 Good fortune seemed kinder than could be expected. 
 Without the smallest skill in play, he won a sum 
 sufficient to make any unambitious man happy. His 
 desire of gain increasing with his gains, in the October 
 following he was at all, and added four thousand pounds 
 to his former capital. Mr. Nash one night, after losing 
 a considerable sum to this undeserving son of fortune, 
 invited him to supper. ' Sir,' cried this honest, though 
 veteran gamester, ' perhaps you may imagine I have 
 
 * invited you, in order to have my revenge at home ; 
 ' but, sir ! I scorn so inhospitable an action. I desired 
 
 * the favour of your company to give you some advice, 
 
 * which you will pardon me, sir, you seem to stand in 
 ' need of. You are now high in spirits, and drawn away 
 ' by a torrent of success. But there will come a time, 
 
 * when you will repent having left the calm of a college 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 307 
 
 i life for the turbulent profession of a gamester. Ill 
 ' runs will come, as sure as day and night succeed each 
 
 * other. Be therefore advised, remain content with your 
 
 * present gains ; for be persuaded, that had you the 
 ' Bank of England, with your present ignorance of gaming 
 
 * it would vanish like a fairy dream. You are a stranger 
 ' to me, but to convince you of the part I take in your 
 ' welfare, I'll give you fifty guineas, to forfeit twenty, 
 ' every time you lose two hundred at one sitting.' The 
 young gentleman refused his offer, and was at last 
 undone ! 
 
 The late Duke of B. being chagrined at losing a 
 considerable sum, pressed Mr. Nash to tie him up for 
 the future from playing deep. Accordingly, the beau 
 gave his Grace a hundred guineas, to forfeit ten thousand, 
 whenever he lost a sum to the same amount at play, in 
 one sitting. The Duke loved play to distraction, and 
 soon after at hazard lost eight thousand guineas, and 
 was going to throw for three thousand more ; when 
 Nash, catching hold of the dice-box, entreated his Grace 
 to refletjt upon the penalty if he lost : the Duke for 
 that time desisted ; but so strong was the furor of play 
 upon him, that soon after, losing a considerable sum at 
 Newmarket, he was contented to pay the penalty. 
 
 When the late Earl of T d was a youth, he was 
 
 passionately fond of play, and never better pleased than 
 with having Mr. Nash for his antagonist. Nash saw 
 with concern his lordship's foible, and undertook to 
 cure him, though by a very disagreeable remedy. Con- 
 scious of his own superior skill, he determined to engage 
 him in single play for a very considerable sum. His 
 lordship, in proportion as he lost his game, lost his 
 temper too ; and as he approached the gulf, seemed 
 still more eager for ruin. He lost his estate ; some 
 writings were put into the winner's possession ; his very 
 
308 THE LIFE OF 
 
 equipage was deposited as a last stake, and he lost that 
 also. But, when our generous gamester had found his 
 lordship sufficiently punished for his temerity, he 
 returned all ; only stipulating, that he should be paid 
 five thousand pounds whenever he should think proper 
 to make the demand. However, he never made any 
 such demand during his lordship's life ; but some time 
 after his decease, Mr. Nash's affairs being in the wane, 
 he demanded the money of his lordship's heirs, who 
 honourably paid it without any hesitation. 
 
 But whatever skill Nash might have acquired by long 
 practice in play, he was never formed by nature for 
 a successful gamester. He was constitutionally passionate 
 and generous. To acquire a perfection in that art, 
 a man must be naturally phlegmatic, reserved and cool ; 
 every passion must learn to obey control ; but he 
 frequently was unable to restrain the violence of his, and 
 was often betrayed by this means into unbecoming 
 rudeness, or childish impertinence ; was sometimes 
 a minion of fortune, and as often depressed by adversity. 
 While others made considerable fortunes at the gaming- 
 table, he was ever in the power of chance ; nor did even 
 the intimacy with which he was received by the great, 
 place him in a state of independence. 
 
 The considerable inconveniences that were found to 
 result from a permission of gaming, at length attracted 
 the attention of the legislature, and in the twelfth year 
 of his late Majesty, the most prevalent games at that 
 time were declared fraudulent and unlawful. Every age 
 has had its peculiar modes of gaming. The games of 
 Gleek, Primero, In and In, and several others now 
 exploded, employed our sharping ancestors ; to these 
 succeeded the Ace of Hearts, Pharaoh, Basset, and 
 Hazard, all games of chance like the former. But 
 though in these the chances seemed equal to the novice, 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 309 
 
 in general those who kept the bank were considerable 
 winners. The Act therefore, passed upon this occasion, 
 declared all such games and lotteries illicit, and directed, 
 that all who should set up such games, should forfeit 
 two hundred pounds, to be levied by distress on the 
 offender's goods ; one-third to go to the informer, the 
 residue to the poor. 
 
 The Act further declared, that every person who 
 played in any place, except in the royal palace where 
 His Majesty resided, should forfeit fifty pounds, and 
 should be condemned to pay treble costs in case of an 
 appeal. 
 
 This law was scarcely made, before it was eluded by 
 the invention of divers fraudulent and deceitful games ; 
 and a particular game, called Passage, was daily prac- 
 tised, and contributed to the ruin of thousands. To 
 prevent this, the ensuing year it was enacted, that this 
 and every other game invented, or to be invented, with 
 one die, or more, or any other instrument of the same 
 nature, with numbers thereon, should be subject to 
 a similar penalty ; and at the same time, the persons 
 playing with such instruments should be punished as 
 above. 
 
 This amendment of the law soon gave birth to new 
 evasions ; the game of Roily Polly, Marlborough's 
 Battles, but particularly the E 0, were set up ; and 
 strange to observe ! several of those very noblemen who 
 had given their voices to suppress gaming, were the 
 most ready to encourage it. This game was at first set 
 
 up at Tunbridge. It was invented by one C k, and 
 
 carried on between him and one Mr. A e, proprietor 
 
 of the Assembly-room at that place ; and was reckoned 
 extremely profitable to the bank, as it gained two and 
 a half per cent, on all that was lost or won. 
 
 As all gaming was suppressed but this, Mr. Nash was 
 
310 THE LIFE OF 
 
 now utterly destitute of any resource that he could 
 expect from his superior skill, and long experience in 
 the art. The money to be gained in private gaming is at 
 best but trifling, and the opportunity precarious. The 
 minds of the generality of mankind shrink with their 
 circumstances ; and Nash, upon the immediate prospect 
 of poverty, was now mean enough (I will call it no 
 worse) to enter into a base confederacy with those low 
 creatures to evade the law, and to share the plunder. 
 The occasion was as follows. The profits of the table 
 
 were, as I observed, divided between C k, the 
 
 inventor, and A e, the room-keeper. The first year's 
 
 profits were extraordinary, and A e the room- 
 keeper now began to wish himself sole proprietor. The 
 combinations of the worthless are ever of short duration. 
 
 The next year, therefore, A e turned C k out of 
 
 his room, and set up the game for himself. The gentle- 
 men and ladies who frequented the Wells, unmindful of 
 the immense profit gained by these reptiles, still con- 
 tinued to game as before ; and A e was triumphing 
 
 in the success of his politics, when he was informed, that 
 
 C k and his friends hired the crier to cry the game 
 
 down. The consequences of this would have been fatal 
 
 to A e's interest, for by this means frauds might have 
 
 been discovered which would deter even the most 
 ardent lovers of play. Immediately, therefore, while 
 the crier was yet upon the walks, he applied to Mr. Nash 
 to stop these proceedings, and, at the same time, offered 
 him a fourth share of the bank, which Mr. Nash was 
 mean enough to accept. This is the greatest blot in his 
 life, and this it is hoped will find pardon. 
 
 The day after, the inventor oftered a half of the bank ; 
 but this Mr. Nash thought proper to refuse, being pre- 
 engaged to A e. Upon which, being disappointed, 
 
 he applied to one Mr J e, and under his protection 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 311 
 
 another table was set up, and the company seemed to 
 be divided equally between them. I cannot reflect, 
 without surprise, at the wisdom of the gentlemen and 
 ladies, to suffer themselves to be thus parcelled out 
 between a pack of sharpers, and permit themselves to be 
 defrauded, without even the show of opposition. The 
 company thus divided, Mr. Nash once more availed 
 himself of their parties, and prevailed upon them to 
 unite their banks, and to divide the gains into three 
 shares, of which he reserved one to himself. 
 
 Nash had hitherto enjoyed a fluctuating fortune ; and, 
 had he taken the advantage of the present opportunity, he 
 might have been for the future not only above want, 
 but even in circumstances of opulence. Had he cautiously 
 employed himseK in computing the benefits of the 
 table, and exacting his stipulated share, he might have 
 soon grown rich ; but he entirely left the management of 
 it to the people of the rooms ; he took them (as he 
 says in one of his memorials upon this occasion) to be 
 honest, and never inquired what was won or lost ; and, 
 it is probable, they were seldom assiduous in informing 
 him. I find a secret pleasure in thus displaying the 
 insecurity of friendships among the base. They 
 pretended to pay him regularly at first, but he soon 
 discovered, as he says, that at Tunbridge he had suffered 
 to the amount of two thousand guineas. 
 
 In the meantime, as the E table thus succeeded at 
 Tunbridge, Mr. Nash was resolved to introduce it at 
 Bath, and previously asked the opinion of several 
 lawyers, who declared it no way illegal. In consequence 
 
 of this, he wrote to Mrs. A e, who kept one of the 
 
 great rooms at Bath, acquainting her with the profits 
 attending such a scheme, and proposing to have a fourth 
 
 share with her and Mr. W , the proprietor of the 
 
 other room, for his authority, and protection. To this 
 
312 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Mr. W and she returned him for answer, that they 
 
 would grant him a fifth share ; which he consented to 
 accept. Accordingly, he made a journey to London, 
 and bespoke two tables, one for each room, at the rate 
 of fifteen pounds each table. 
 
 The tables were no sooner set up at Bath, than they 
 were frequented with a greater concourse of gamesters 
 than those at Tunbridge. Men of that infamous pro- 
 fession, from every part of the kingdom, and even other 
 parts of Europe, flocked here to feed on the ruins of 
 each other's fortune. This afforded another opportunity 
 for Mr. Nash to become rich ; but, as at Tunbridge, he 
 thought the people here also would take care of him, 
 and therefore he employed none to look after his 
 interest. The first year they paid him what he thought 
 just ; the next, the woman of the room dying, her son 
 paid him, and showed his books. Some time after the 
 people of the rooms offered him one hundred pounds 
 a year each for his share, which he refused ; every 
 succeeding year they continued to pay him less and less ; 
 till at length he found, as he pretends, that he had thus 
 lost not less than twenty thousand pounds. 
 
 Thus they proceeded, deceiving the public and each 
 other, till the legislature thought proper to suppress 
 these seminaries of vice. It was enacted, that after the 
 24th of June, 1745, none should be permitted to keep a 
 house, room or place, for playing, upon pain of such 
 forfeitures as were declared in former Acts instituted for 
 that purpose. 
 
 The legislature likewise amended a law, made in the 
 reign of Queen Anne, for recovering money lost at play, 
 on the oath of the winner. By this Act, no person was 
 rendered incapable of being a witness ; and every 
 person present at a gaming-table might be summoned 
 by the magistrate who took cognizance of the affair. 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 313 
 
 No privilege of Parliament was allowed to those con- 
 victed of having gaming-tables in their houses. Those 
 who lost ten pounds at one time, were liable to be 
 indicted within six months after the offence was com- 
 mitted ; and being convicted, were to be fined five 
 times the value of the sum won or lost, for the use of 
 the poor. Any offender, before conviction, discovering 
 another, so as to be convicted, was to be discharged 
 from the penalties incurred by his own offences. 
 
 By this wise and just act, all Nash's future hopes of 
 succeeding by the tables were blown up. He had now 
 only the justice and generosity of his confederates to 
 trust to ; but that he soon found to be a vain expecta- 
 tion ; for, if we can depend on his own memorials, what 
 at one time they confessed, they would at another deny ; 
 and though upon some occasions they seemed at variance 
 with each other, yet when they were to oppose him, 
 whom they considered as a common enemy, they 
 generally united with confidence and success. He now 
 therefore had nothing but a lawsuit to confide in for 
 redress ; and this is ever the last expedient to retrieve 
 a desperate fortune. He accordingly threw his suit into 
 Chancery, and, by this means, the public became ac- 
 quainted with what he had long endeavoured to conceal. 
 They now found that he was himself concerned in the 
 gaming-tables, of which he only seemed the conductor ; 
 and that he had shared part of the spoil, though he 
 complained of having been defrauded of a just share. 
 
 The success of his suit was what might have been 
 naturally expected ; he had but at best a bad cause, 
 and as the oaths of the defendants were alone sufficient 
 to cast him in Chancery, it was not surprising that he 
 was nonsuited. But the consequence of this affair was 
 much more fatal than he had imagined ; it lessened him 
 in the esteem of the public, it drew several enemies 
 
314 THE LIFE OF 
 
 against him, and in some measure diminished the 
 authority of any defence he could make. From that 
 time (about the year 1745), I find this poor, good- 
 natured, but misguided man involved in continual 
 disputes, every day calumniated with some new slander, 
 and continually endeavouring to obviate its effects. 
 
 Upon these occasions his usual method was, by 
 printed bills handed about among his acquaintance, to 
 inform the public of his most private transactions with 
 some of those creatures with whom he had formerly 
 associated ; but these apologies served rather to blacken 
 his antagonists, than to vindicate him. They were in 
 general extremely ill written, confused, obscure, and 
 sometimes unintelligible. By these, however, it ap- 
 peared, that W was originally obliged to him for 
 
 the resort of company to his room ; that Lady H , 
 
 who had all the company before W 's room was 
 
 built, offered Mr. Nash a hundred pounds for his pro- 
 tection ; which he refused, having previously promised 
 
 to support Mrs. W . It appears by these apologies, 
 
 that the persons concerned in the rooms made large 
 fortunes, while he still continued in pristine indigence ; 
 and that his nephew, for whom he had at first secured 
 one of the rooms, was left in as great distress as he. 
 
 His enemies were not upon this occasion contented 
 with aspersing him, as a confederate with sharpers : 
 they even asserted, that he spent and embezzled the 
 subscriptions of gentlemen and ladies, which were given 
 for useful or charitable purposes. But to such aspersions 
 he answered, by declaring, to use his own expression, 
 before God and man, that he never diverted one shilling 
 of the said subscriptions to his own use ; nor was he 
 ever thought to have done it, till new enemies started 
 up against him. Perhaps the reader may be curious to 
 see one of these memorials, written by himself ; and 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 315 
 
 I will indulge his curiosity, merely to show a specimen 
 of the style and manner of a man whose whole life was 
 passed in a round of gaiety and conversation, whose 
 jests were a thousand times repeated, and whose 
 company was courted by every son and daughter of 
 fashion. The following is particularly levelled against 
 those, who, in the latter part of his life, took every 
 opportunity to traduce his character. 
 
 A MONITOR. 
 
 ' For the Lord hateth lying and deceitjid lips. — Psalm. 
 *The curse denounced in my motto, is sufficient to 
 
 * intimidate any person who is not quite abandoned in 
 ' their evil ways, and who have any fear of God before 
 
 * their eyes ; everlasting burnings are a terrible reward 
 
 * for their misdoings ; and nothing but the most 
 
 * hardened sinners will oppose the judgements of heaven, 
 
 * being without end. This reflection must be shocking 
 
 * to such, as are conscious to themselves, of having 
 ' erred from the sacred dictates of the Psalmist, and who 
 ' following the blind impulse of passion, daily forging 
 ' lies and deceit, to annoy their neighbour. But there 
 ' are joys in heaven which they can never arrive at, 
 ' whose whole study is to destroy the peace and harmony, 
 ' and good order of society, in this place.' 
 
 This carries little the air of a bagatelle ; it rather 
 seems a sermon in miniature, so different are some men 
 in the closet and in conversation. The following I have 
 taken at random from a heap of other memorials, all 
 tending to set his combination with the aforementioned 
 partners in a proper light. 
 
 'E O was first set up in A e room, the profits 
 
 divided between one C k (the inventor, of the game) 
 
 and A e. 
 
316 THE LIFE OF 
 
 'The next year, A e finding the game so advan- 
 tageous, turned C k out of his room, and set the 
 
 game up himself ; but C k and his friends hired the 
 
 crier to cry the game down ; upon which A e came 
 
 running to me to stop it, after he had cried it once, which 
 I immediately did, and turned the crier off the walks. 
 
 ' Then A e asked me to go a fourth with him in the 
 
 bank, which I consented to ; C k next day took me 
 
 into his room which he had hired, and proffered me to 
 go half with him, which I refused, being engaged before 
 to A e. 
 
 ' J e then set up the same game, and complained 
 
 that he had not half play at his room ; upon which 
 I made them agree to join their banks, and divide 
 equally the gain and loss, and I to go the like share in 
 the bank. 
 
 ' I, taking them to be honest, never inquired what was 
 won or lost ; and thought they paid me honestly, till it was 
 discovered that they had defrauded me of 2,000 guineas. 
 
 ' I then arrested A e, who told me I must go into 
 
 Chancery, and that I should begin with the people of 
 Bath, who had cheated me of ten times as much ; and 
 
 told my attorney, that J e had cheated me of 500, 
 
 and wrote me word that I probably had it not under 
 his hand, which never was used in play. 
 
 ' Upon my arresting A e, I received a letter not to 
 
 prosecute J e, for he would be a very good witness : 
 
 I wrote a discharge to J e for £125 in full, though he 
 
 never paid me a farthing, upon his telling me, if his 
 debts were paid, he was not worth a shilling. 
 
 ' Every article of this I can prove from A e's own 
 
 mouth, as a reason that he allowed the bank-keepers 
 but 10 per cent, because I went 20 ; and his suborning 
 * * * * to alter his informations. 
 
 'Richard Nash.' 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 317 
 
 This gentleman's simplicity, in trusting persons whom 
 he had no previous reasons to place confidence in, seems 
 to be one of those lights into his character, which, while 
 they impeach his understanding, do honour to his 
 benevolence. The low and timid are ever suspicious ; 
 but a heart impressed with honourable sentiments, 
 expects from others sympathetic sincerity. 
 
 But now that we have viewed his conduct as a gamester, 
 and seen him on that side of his character, which is by 
 far the most unfavourable, seen him declining from his 
 former favour and esteem, the just consequence of his 
 quitting, though but ever so little, the paths of honour ; 
 let me turn to those brighter parts of his life and character 
 which gained the affection of his friends, the esteem of 
 the corporation which he assisted, and may possibly 
 attract the attention of posterity. By his successes we 
 shall find, that figuring in life, proceeds less from the 
 possession of great talents, than from the proper applica- 
 tion of moderate ones. Some great minds are only fitted 
 to put forth their powers in the storm ; and the occasion 
 is often wanting during a whole life for a great exertion : 
 but trifling opportunities of shining are almost every 
 hour offered to the little sedulous mind ; and a person 
 thus employed, is not only more pleasing, but more 
 useful in a state of tranquil society. 
 
 Though gaming first introduced him into polite 
 company, this alone could hardly have carried him 
 forward, without the assistance of a genteel address, 
 much vivacity, some humour, and some wit. But once 
 admitted into the circle of the Beau Monde, he then laid 
 claim to all the privileges by which it is distinguished. 
 Among others, in the early part of his life, he entered 
 himself professedly into the service of the fair sex ; he 
 set up for a man of gallantry and intrigue ; and if we can 
 credit the boasts of his old age, he often succeeded. In 
 
318 THE LIFE OF 
 
 fact, the business of love somewhat resembles the busi- 
 ness of physic ; no matter for qualifications, he that 
 makes vigorous pretensions to either is surest of success. 
 Nature had by no means formed Mr. Nash for a Beau 
 Gargon ; his person was clumsy, too large and awkward, 
 and his features harsh, strong, and peculiarly irregular ; 
 yet even, with those disadvantages, he made love, 
 became a universal admirer of the sex, and was 
 universally admired. He was possessed, at least, of 
 some requisites of a lover. He had assiduity, flattery, 
 fine clothes, and as much wit as the ladies he addressed. 
 Wit, flattery, and fine clothes, he used to say, were 
 enough to debauch a nunnery. But my fair readers of 
 the present day are exempt from this scandal ; and 
 it is no matter now, what he said of their grand- 
 mothers. 
 
 As Nestor was a man of three ages, so Nash sometimes 
 humorously called himself a beau of three generations. 
 He had seen flaxen bobs succeeded by majors, which in 
 their turn gave way to negligents, which were at last 
 totally routed by bags and ramilies. The manner in 
 which gentlemen managed their amours, in these 
 different ages of fashion, were not more different than 
 their periwigs. The lover in the reign of King Charles 
 was solemn, majestic, and formal. He visited his 
 mistress in state ; languished for the favour, kneeled 
 when he toasted his goddess, walked with solemnity, 
 performed the most trifling things with decorum, and 
 even took snuff with a flourish. The beau of the latter 
 part of Queen Anne's reign was disgusted with so much 
 formality ; he was pert, smart and lively ; his billets 
 doux were written in a quite different style from that of 
 his antiquated predecessor ; he was ever laughing at his 
 own ridiculous situation ; till at last, he persuaded the 
 lady to become as ridiculous as himself. The beau of 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 319 
 
 the third age, in which Mr. Nash died, was still more 
 extraordinary than either ; his whole secret in intrigue 
 consisted in perfect indifference. The only way to make 
 love now, I have heard Mr. Nash say, was to take no 
 manner of notice of the lady, which method was found 
 the surest way to secure her affections. 
 
 However these things be, this gentleman's successes 
 in amour were in reality very much confined in the 
 second and third age of intrigue ; his character was 
 too public for a lady to consign her reputation to his 
 keeping. But in the beginning of life, it is said, he 
 knew the secret history of the times, and contributed 
 himself to swell the page of scandal. Were I upon the 
 present occasion to hold the pen of a novelist, I could 
 recount some amours, in which he was successful. I 
 could fill a volume with little anecdotes, which contain 
 neither pleasure nor instruction ; with histories of 
 professing lovers, and poor believing girls deceived by 
 such professions. But such adventures are easily 
 written, and as easily achieved. The plan even of 
 fictitious novel is quite exhausted ; but truth, which 
 I have followed here, and ever design to follow, presents 
 in the affair of love scarce any variety. The manner in 
 which one reputation is lost, exactly resembles that by 
 which another is taken away. The gentleman begins at 
 timid distance, grows more bold, becomes rude, till the 
 lady is married or undone ; such is the substance of every 
 modern novel ; nor will I gratify the pruriency of folly, 
 at the expense of every other pleasure my narration may 
 afford. 
 
 Mr. Nash did not long continue a universal gallant ; 
 but in the earlier years of his reign, entirely gave up his 
 endeavours to deceive the sex, in order to become the 
 honest protector of their innocence, the guardian of their 
 reputation, and a friend to their virtue. 
 
320 THE LIFE OF 
 
 This was a character he bore for many years, and 
 supported it with integrity, assiduity and success. It 
 was his constant practice to do everything in his power 
 to prevent the fatal consequences of rash and inconsider- 
 ate love ; and there are many persons now alive, who 
 owe their present happiness to his having interrupted the 
 progress of an amour, that threatened to become un- 
 happy, or even criminal, by privately making their 
 guardians or parents acquainted with what he could 
 discover. And his manner of disconcerting these schemes 
 was such as generally secured him from the rage and 
 resentment of the disappointed. One night, when I was 
 in Wiltshire's room, Nash came up to a lady and her 
 daughter, who were people of no inconsiderable fortune, 
 and bluntly told the mother, she had better be at home : 
 this was at that time thought an audacious piece of 
 impertinence, and the lady turned away piqued and 
 disconcerted. Nash, however, pursued her, and repeated 
 the words again ; when the old lady, wisely conceiving 
 there might be some hidden meaning couched under this 
 seeming insolence, retired, and coming to her lodgings, 
 found a coach and six at the door, which a sharper had 
 provided to carry off her eldest daughter. 
 
 I shall beg leave to give some other instances of 
 Mrc Nash's good sense and good nature on these occa- 
 sions, as I have had the accounts from himself. At 
 the conclusion of the treaty of peace at Utrecht, Colonel 
 
 M was one of the thoughtless, agreeable, gay 
 
 creatures, that drew the attention of the company at 
 Batho He danced and talked with great vivacity ; and 
 when he gamed among the ladies, he showed, that his 
 attention was employed rather upon their hearts than 
 their fortunes. His own fortune however was a trifle, 
 when compared to the elegance of his expense ; and his 
 imprudence at last was so great, that it obliged him to 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 321 
 
 sell an annuity, arising from his commission, to keep up 
 his splendour a little longer. 
 
 However thoughtless he might be, he had the happi- 
 ness of gaining the affections of Miss L , whose 
 
 father designed her a very large fortune. This lady was 
 courted by a nobleman of distinction, but she refused 
 his addresses, resolved upon gratifying rather her inclina° 
 tions than her avarice. The intrigue went on successfully 
 between her and the Colonel, and they both would 
 certainly have been married, and been undone, had 
 not Mr. Nash apprised her father of their intentions. 
 The old gentleman recalled his daughter from Bath, and 
 offered Mr. Nash a very considerable present, for the 
 care he had taken, which he refused. 
 
 In the meantime Colonel M had an intimation 
 
 how his intrigue came to be discovered ; and by taxing 
 Mr. Nash, found that his suspicions were not without 
 foundation. A challenge was the immediate conse= 
 quence, which the King of Bath, conscious of having 
 only done his duty, thought proper to decline. As none 
 are permitted to wear swords at Bath, the Colonel found 
 no opportunity of gratifying his resentment, and waited 
 with impatience to find Mr. Nash in town, to require 
 proper satisfaction. 
 
 During this interval, however, he found his creditors 
 became too importunate for him to remain longer at 
 Bath ; and his finances and credit being quite ex- 
 hausted, he took the desperate resolution of going over 
 to the Dutch army in Flanders, where he enlisted himself 
 a volunteer. Here he underwent all the fa^tigues of a 
 private sentinel, with the additional misery of receiving 
 no pay, and his friends in England gave out, that he was 
 shot at the battle of . 
 
 In the meantime the nobleman pressed his passion 
 with ardour, but during the progress of his amour, the 
 
 GOLDSMITH. Ill M 
 
322 THE LIFE OF 
 
 young lady's father died, and left her heiress to a fortune 
 of fifteen hundred a year. She thought herself now 
 disengaged from her former passion. An absence of two 
 years had in some measure abated her love for the 
 Colonel ; and the assiduity, the merit, and real regard of 
 the gentleman who still continued to solicit her, were 
 almost too powerful for her constancy. Mr. Nash, in 
 the meantime, took every opportunity of inquiring after 
 
 Colonel M , and found, that he had for some time 
 
 been returned to England, but changed his name, in 
 order to avoid the fury of his creditors ; and that he 
 was entered into a company of strolling players, who 
 were at that time exhibiting at Peterborough. 
 
 He now therefore thought he owed the Colonel, in 
 justice, an opportunity of promoting his fortune, as he 
 had once deprived him of an occasion of satisfying his 
 love. Our Beau therefore invited the lady to be of a 
 party to Peterborough, and offered his own equipage, 
 which was then one of the most elegant in England, to 
 conduct her there. The proposal being accepted, the 
 lady, the nobleman, and Mr. Nash, arrived in town just 
 as the players were going to begin. 
 
 Colonel M , who used every means of remaining 
 
 incognito, and who was too proud to make his distresses 
 known to any of his former acquaintance, was now 
 degraded into the character of Tom in the Conscious 
 
 Lovers, Miss L was placed in the foremost row of 
 
 the spectators, her lord on one side, and the impatient 
 Nash on the other ; when the unhappy youth appeared 
 in that despicable situation upon the stage. The 
 moment he came on, his former mistress struck his view, 
 but his amazement was increased when he saw her 
 fainting away in the arms of those who sat behind her. 
 He was incapable of proceeding, and scarce knowing 
 what he did, he flew and caught her in his arms. 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 323 
 
 ' Colonel/ cried Nash, when they were m some 
 measure recovered, ' you once thought me your enemy, 
 ' because I endeavoured to prevent you both from 
 ' ruining each other ; you were then wrong, and you 
 ' have long had my forgiveness. If you love well enough 
 ' now for matrimony, you fairly have my consent, and 
 
 * d n him, say I, that attempts to part you.' Their 
 
 nuptials were solemnized soon after, and affluence added 
 a zest to all their future enjoyments. Mr. Nash had the 
 thanks of each, and he afterwards spent several agreeable 
 days in that society, which he had contributed to render 
 happy. 
 
 I shall beg the reader's patience, while I give another 
 instance, in which he ineffectually offered his assistance 
 and advice. This story is not from himself ; but told 
 us partly by Mr. Wood, the architect of Bath, as it fell 
 particularly within his own knowledge ; and partly from 
 another memoir, to which he refers. 
 
 Miss Sylvia S was descended from one of the best 
 
 families in the kingdom, and was left a large fortune 
 upon her sister's decease. She had early in life been 
 introduced into the best company, and contracted a 
 passion for elegance and expense. It is usual to make 
 the heroine of a story very witty, and very beautiful, 
 and such circumstances are so surely expected, that 
 they are scarce attended to. But whatever the finest 
 poet could conceive of wit, or the most celebrated painter 
 imagine of beauty, were excelled in the perfections of 
 this young lady. Her superiority in both was allowed 
 by all, who either heard, or had seen her. She was 
 naturally gay, generous to a fault, good-natured to the 
 highest degree, affable in conversation, and some of her 
 letters, and other writings, as well in verse as prose, 
 would have shone amongst those of the most celebrated 
 wits of this, or any other age, had they been published. 
 
324 THE LIFE OF 
 
 But these great qualifications were marked by another, 
 which lessened the value of them all . She was imprudent ! 
 But let it not be imagined, that her reputation or honour 
 suffered by her imprudence ; I only mean, she had no 
 knowledge of the use of money ; she relieved distress, by 
 putting herself into the circumstances of the object 
 whose wants she supplied. 
 
 She was arrived at the age of nineteen, when the 
 crowd of her lovers, and the continual repetition of new 
 flattery, had taught her to think she could never be 
 forsaken, and never poor. Young ladies are apt to expect 
 a certainty of success, from a number of lovers ; and yet 
 I have seldom seen a girl courted by a hundred lovers 
 that found a husband in any. Before the choice is 
 fixed, she has either lost her reputation, or her good 
 sense ; and the loss of either is sufficient to consign her 
 to perpetual virginity. . 
 
 Among the number of this young lady's lovers was 
 
 the celebrated S , who, at that time, went by the 
 
 name of the good-natured man. This gentleman, with 
 talents that might have done honour to humanity, 
 suffered himself to fall at length into the lowest state of 
 debasement. He followed the dictates of every newest 
 passion, his love, his pity, his generosity, and even his 
 friendships were all in excess ; he was unable to make 
 head against any of his sensations or desires, but they 
 were in general worthy wishes and desires ; for he was 
 constitutionally virtuous. This gentleman, who at last 
 died in a jail, was at that time this lady's envied 
 favourite. 
 
 It is probable that he, thoughtless creature, had no 
 other prospect from this amour but that of passing the 
 present moments agreeably. He only courted dissipa- 
 tion, but the lady's thoughts were fixed on happiness. At 
 length, however, his debts amounting to a considerable 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 325 
 
 sum, he was arrested, and thrown into prison. He 
 endeavoured at first to conceal his situation from his 
 beautiful mistress ; but she soon came to a knowledge 
 of his distress, and took a fatal resolution of freeing him 
 from confinement by discharging all the demands of his 
 creditors. 
 
 Mr. Nash was at that time in London, and represented 
 to the thoughtless young lady, that such a measure 
 would effectually ruin both ; that so warm a concern 
 
 for the interests of Mr. S , would in the first place 
 
 quite impair her fortune, in the eyes of our sex ; and 
 what was worse, lessen her reputation in those of her 
 
 owno He added, that thus bringing Mr. S from 
 
 prison, would be only a temporary relief ; that a mind 
 so generous as his would become bankrupt under the 
 load of gratitude ; and instead of improving in friend- 
 ship or affection, he would only study to avoid a creditor 
 he could never repay ; that though small favours produce 
 goodwill, great ones destroy friendship. These admoni- 
 tions, however., were disregarded, and she too late found 
 the prudence and truth of her adviser. In short, her 
 fortune was by this means exhausted ; and, with all 
 her attractions, she found her acquaintance began to 
 disesteem her, in proportion as she became poor. 
 
 In this situation she accepted Mr, Nash's invitation 
 of returning to Bath ; he promised to introduce her to 
 the best company there, and he was assured that her 
 merit would do the rest ; upon her very first appearance, 
 ladies of the highest distinction courted her friendship 
 and esteem ; but a settled melancholy had taken 
 possession of her mind, and no amusements that they 
 could propose were sufiicient to divert it. Yet still, 
 as if from habit, she followed the crowd in its levities, 
 and frequented those places where all persons endeavour 
 to forget themselves in the bustle of ceremony and show. 
 
326 THE LIFE OP 
 
 Her beauty, her simplicity, and her unguarded situa- 
 tion, soon drew the attention of a designing wretch, who 
 at that time kept one of the rooms at Bath, and who 
 thought that this lady's merit, properly managed, 
 might turn to good account. This woman's name was 
 Dame Lindsey, a creature, who, though vicious, was in 
 appearance sanctified ; and, though designing, had some 
 wit and humour. She began by the humblest assiduity 
 
 to ingratiate herself with Miss S ; showed that she 
 
 could be amusing as a companion, and by frequent 
 offers of money, proved, that she could be useful as 
 a friend. Thus, by degrees, she gained an entire ascen- 
 dant over this poor, thoughtless, deserted girl ; and, in 
 
 less than one year, namely about 1727, Miss S , 
 
 without ever transgressing the laws of virtue, had 
 entirely lost her reputation. Whenever a person was 
 wanting to make up a party for play at Dame Lindsey's, 
 Sylvia, as she was then familiarly called, was sent for, 
 and was obliged to suffer all those slights which the 
 rich but too often let fall upon their inferiors in point 
 of fortune. 
 
 In most, even the greatest, minds, the heart at last 
 becomes level with the meanness of its condition ; but, 
 in this charming girl, it struggled hard with adversity, 
 and yielded to every encroachment of contempt with 
 sullen reluctance. 
 
 But though in the course of three years she was in 
 the very eye of public inspection, yet Mr. Wood, the 
 architect, avers, that he could never, by the strictest 
 observations, perceive her to be tainted with any other 
 vice, than that of suffering herself to be decoyed to the 
 gaming-table, and, at her own hazard, playing for the 
 amusement and advantage of others. Her friend, Mr. 
 Nash, therefore, thought proper to induce her to break 
 off all connexions with Dame Lindsey, and to rent part 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 327 
 
 of Mr. Wood's house, in Queen Square, where she 
 behaved with the utmost complaisance, regularity, and 
 virtue. 
 
 In this situation her detestation of life still continued ; 
 she found that time would infallibly deprive her of part 
 of her attractions, and that continual solicitude would 
 impair the rest. With these reflections she would 
 frequently entertain herself and an old faithful maid in 
 the vales of Bath, whenever the weather would permit 
 them to walk out. She would even sometimes start 
 questions in company, with seeming unconcern, in order 
 to know what act of suicide was easiest, and which was 
 attended with the smallest pain. When tired with exer- 
 cise, she generally retired to meditation, and she became 
 habituated to early hours of sleep and rest. But when 
 the weather prevented her usual exercise, and her sleep 
 was thus more difficult, she made it a rule to rise from 
 her bed, and walk about her chamber, till she began to 
 find an inclination for repose. 
 
 This custom made it necessary for her to order 
 a burning candle to be kept all night in her room. And 
 the maid usually, when she withdrew, locked the chamber 
 door, and pushing the key under it beyond reach, her 
 mistress by that constant method lay undisturbed till 
 seven o'clock in the morning, then she arose, unlocked 
 the door, and rang the bell, as a signal for the maid to 
 return. 
 
 This state of seeming piety, regularity, and prudence, 
 continued for some time, till the gay, celebrated, toasted 
 Miss Sylvia was sunk into a housekeeper to the gentleman 
 at whose house she lived. She was unable to keep 
 company for want of the elegances of dress, that are the 
 usual passport among the polite, and she was too haughty 
 to seem to want them. The fashionable, the amusing, 
 and the polite in society now seldom visited her, and 
 
328 THE LIFE OF 
 
 from being once the object of every eye, she was now 
 deserted by all, and preyed upon by the bitter reflections 
 of her own imprudence. 
 
 Mr. Wood, and part of his family, were gone to 
 London. Miss Sylvia was left with the rest as a governess 
 at Bath. She sometimes saw Mr. Nash, and acknow- 
 ledged the friendship of his admonitions, though she 
 refused to accept any other marks of his generosity, than 
 that of advice. Upon the close of the day, in which 
 Mr. Wood was expected to return from London, she 
 expressed some uneasiness at the disappointment of not 
 seeing him ; took particular care to settle the affairs 
 of his family, and then as usual sat down to meditatioUo 
 She now cast a retrospect over her past misconduct, and 
 her approaching misery ; she saw, that even affluence 
 gave her no real happiness, and from indigence she 
 thought nothing could be hoped but lingering calamity. 
 She at length conceived the fatal resolution of leaving 
 a life in which she could see no comer for comfort, and 
 terminating a scene of imprudence in suicide. 
 
 Thus resolved, she sat down at her dining-room 
 window, and with cool intrepidity, wrote the following 
 elegant lines on one of the panes of the window. 
 
 death ; thou pleasing end of human woe 1 
 Thou cure for Hfe ! Thou greatest good below S 
 Still may'st thou fly the coward, and the slave. 
 And thy soft slumbers only bless the brave. 
 
 She then went into company with the most cheerful 
 serenity ; talked of indifferent subjects till supper, which 
 she ordered to be got ready in a little library belonging 
 to the family. There she spent the remaining hours, 
 preceding bed-time, in dandling two of Mr, Wood's 
 children on her knees. In retiring from thence to her 
 chamber, she went into the nursery, to take her leave 
 of another child, as it lay sleeping in the cradle. Struck 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 329 
 
 with the innocence of the little babe's looks, and the 
 consciousness of her meditated guilt, she could not avoid 
 bursting into tears, and hugging it in her arms ; she 
 then bid her old servant a good night, for the first time 
 she had ever done so, and went to bed as usual. 
 
 It is probable she soon quitted her bed, and was 
 seized with an alternation of passions, before she yielded 
 to the impulse of despair. She dressed herself in clean 
 linen, and white garments of every kind, like a bride- 
 maid. Her gown was pinned over her breast, just as 
 a nurse pins the swaddling clothes of an infant. A pink 
 silk girdle was the instrument with which she resolved 
 to terminate her misery, and this was lengthened by 
 another made of gold thread. The end of the former 
 was tied with a noose, and the latter with three knots, 
 at a small distance from one another. 
 
 Thus prepared, she sat down again, and read ; for 
 she left the book open at that place, in the story of 
 Olympia, in the Orlando Furioso of Ariosto, where, by 
 the perfidy and ingratitude of her bosom friend, she was 
 ruined, and left to the mercy of an unpitying world. 
 This tragical event gave her fresh spirits to go through 
 her fatal purpose ; so, standing upon a stool, and 
 flinging the girdle, which was tied round her neck, over 
 a closet -door that opened into her chamber, she remained 
 suspended. Her weight, however, broke the girdle, and 
 the poor despairer fell upon the floor with such violence, 
 that her fall awakened a workman that lay in the house, 
 about half an hour after two o'clock. 
 
 Recovering herself, she began to walk about the room, 
 as her usual custom was when she wanted sleep ; and 
 the workman imagining it to be only some ordinary 
 accident, again went to sleep. She once more, therefore, 
 had recourse to a stronger girdle made of silver thread ; 
 and this kept her suspended till she died. 
 
 M3 
 
330 THE LIFE OP 
 
 Her old maid continued in the morning to wait as 
 usual for the ringing of the bell, and protracted her 
 patience, hour after hour, till two o'clock in the after- 
 noon ; when the workmen at length entering the room 
 through the window, found their unfortunate mistress 
 still hanging, and quite cold. The coroner's jury being 
 empanelled, brought in their verdict lunacy ; and her 
 corpse was next night decently buried in her father's 
 grave, at the charge of a female companion, with whom 
 she had for many years an inseparable intimacy. 
 
 Thus ended a female wit, a toast, and a gamester ; 
 loved, admired, and forsaken. Formed for the delight of 
 society, fallen by imprudence into an object of pity. 
 Hundreds in high life lamented her fate, and wished, 
 when too late, to redress her injuries. They who once 
 had helped to impair her fortune, now regretted that 
 they had assisted in so mean a pursuit. The little 
 effects she had left behind were bought up with the 
 greatest avidity, by those who desired to preserve some 
 token of a companion, that once had given them such 
 delight. The remembrance of every virtue she was 
 possessed of was now improved by pity. Her former 
 follies were few, but the last swelled them to a large 
 amount. As she remains the strongest instance to 
 posterity, that want of prudence, alone, almost cancels 
 every other virtue. 
 
 In all this unfortunate lady's affairs Mr. Nash took 
 a peculiar concern ; he directed her when they played, 
 advised her when she deviated from the rules of caution, 
 and performed the last offices of friendship after her 
 decease, by raising the auction of her little effects. 
 
 But he was not only the assistant and the friend of 
 the fair sex, but also their defender. He secured their 
 persons from insult, and their reputations from scandal. 
 Nothing offended him more, than a young fellow's 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. . 331 
 
 pretending to receive favours from ladies he probably 
 never saw ; nothing pleased him so much, as seeing such 
 a piece of deliberate mischief punished. Mr. Nash and 
 one of his friends, being newly arrived at Tunbridge from 
 Bath, were one day on the Walks, and seeing a young 
 fellow of fortune, with whom they had some slight 
 acquaintance, joined him. After the usual chat and 
 news of the day was over, Mr. Nash asked him, how long 
 he had been at the Wells, and what company was there ? 
 Vhe other replied, he had been at Tunbridge a month ; 
 but as for company, he could find as good at a Tyburn 
 ball. Not a soul was to be seen, except a parcel of 
 gamesters and whores, who would grant the last favour, 
 for a single stake at the Pharaoh bank. ' Look you 
 ' there,' continued he, ' that Goddess of midnight, so 
 
 * fine, at t'other end of the Walks, by Jove, she was 
 
 * mine this morning for half a guinea. And she there, 
 ' who brings up the rear with powdered hair and dirty 
 
 * ruffles, she 's pretty enough, but cheap, perfectly cheap ; 
 ' why, my boys, to my own knowledge, you may have 
 ' her for a crown, and a dish of chocolate into the 
 
 * bargain. Last Wednesday night we were happy.' 
 ' Hold there, sir,' cried the gentleman ; * as for your 
 ' having the first lady, it is possible it may be true, and 
 ' I intend to ask her about it, for she is my sister ; but 
 ' as to your lying with the other last Wednesday, I am 
 ' sure you are a lying rascal — she is my wife, and we 
 'came here but last night.' The buck vainly asked 
 pardon ; the gentleman was going to give him proper 
 chastisement ; when Mr. Nash interposed in his behalf, 
 and obtained his pardon, upon condition that he quitted 
 Tunbridge immediately. 
 
 But Mr. Nash not only took care, during his administra- 
 tion, to protect the ladies from the insults of our sex, 
 but to guard them from the slanders of each other. He, 
 
332 THE LIFE OF 
 
 in the first place, prevented any animosities that might 
 arise from place and precedence, by being previously 
 acquainted with the rank and quality of almost every 
 family in the British dominions. He endeavoured to 
 render scandal odious, by marking it as the result of 
 envy and folly united. Not even Solon could have 
 enacted a wiser law in such a society as Bath. The 
 gay, the heedless, and the idle, which mostly compose 
 the group of water-drinkers, seldom are at the pains 
 of talking upon universal topics, which require com- 
 prehensive thought, or abstract reasoning. The adven- 
 tures of the little circle of their own acquaintance, or of 
 some names of quality and fashion, make up their whole 
 conversation. But it is too likely, that when we mention 
 those, we wish to depress them, in order to render 
 ourselves more conspicuous ; scandal must therefore 
 have fixed her throne at Bath, preferable to any other 
 part of the kingdom. However, though these endeavours 
 could not totally suppress this custom among the fair, 
 yet they gained him the friendship of several ladies of 
 distinction, who had smarted pretty severely under 
 the lash of censure. Among this number was the old 
 Duchess of Marlborough, who conceived a particular 
 friendship for him, and which continued during her life. 
 She frequently consulted him in several concerns of 
 a private nature. Her letting leases, building bridges, or 
 forming canals, were often carried on under his guidance ; 
 but she advised with him particularly in purchasing 
 liveries for the footmen ; a business to which she thought 
 his genius best adapted. As anything relative to her 
 may please the curiosity of such as delight in the 
 anecdotes and letters of the great, however dull and 
 insipid, I shall beg leave to present them with one or 
 two of her letters, collected at a venture from several 
 others to the same purpose. 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 333 
 
 To Mr, Nash, at the Bath. 
 
 Blenheim, Sept. 18, 1724. 
 Mr. Jennens will give you an account how little time 
 I have in my power, and that will make my excuse for 
 not thanking you sooner for the favour of your letter, 
 and for the trouble you have given yourself in bespeak- 
 ing the cloth, which I am sure will be good, since you 
 have undertaken to order it. Pray ask Mrs. Jennens 
 concerning the cascade, which will satisfy all your 
 doubts in that matter ; she saw it play, which it will 
 do in great beauty, for at least six hours together, and it 
 runs enough to cover all the stones constantly, and is 
 a hundred feet broad, which I am told is a much greater 
 breadth than any cascade is in England ; and this will be 
 yet better than it is, when it is quite finished ; this water 
 is a great addition to this place, and the lake being 
 thirty acres, out of which the cascade comes and falls 
 into the canal that goes through the bridge, it makes 
 that look as if it was necessary, which before seemed so 
 otherwise. 
 
 I am 
 Your most humble Servant, 
 
 S.' Marlborough, 
 
 To Mr. Nash, at the Bath. 
 
 Marlborough House, May 17, 1735. 
 
 Sir, 
 
 I have received the favour of yours of the tenth 
 of May, with that from Mr. Harvey. And by last post 
 I received a letter from Mr. Overton, a sort of a bailiff 
 and a surveyor, whom I have employed a great while upon 
 my estates in Wiltshire. He is a very active and very 
 useful man of his sort. He writes to me, that Mr. 
 Harvey has been with him, and brought him a paper, 
 
334 THE LIFE OF 
 
 which I sent you. He says, that finding he was a man 
 that was desirous to serve me, he had assisted him all 
 he could, by informations which he has given ; and 
 that he should continue to assist him. I have writ to 
 him that he did mighty well. There is likewise a con- 
 siderable tenant of my Lord Bruce 's, his name is Cannons, 
 who has promised me his assistance towards recommend- 
 ing tenants for these farms. And if Mr. Harvey happens 
 to know such a man, he may put him in mind of it. 
 I am sure you do me all the good you can. And I hope . 
 you are sure that I shall always be sensible of the 
 obligations I have to you, and ever be 
 
 Your most thankful and obliged 
 
 humble Servant, 
 S. Mablborough. 
 Mr. Harvey may conclude to take any prices that were 
 given you in the paper. But as I know that we have 
 been scandalously cheated, if he finds that anything 
 can be let better than it has been let, I do not doubt 
 but he will do it. 
 
 The Duchess of Marlborough seems not to be a much 
 better writer than Mr. Nash, but she was worth many 
 hundred thousand pounds, and that might console her. 
 It may give splenetic philosophy, however, some scope 
 for meditation, when it considers, what a parcel of 
 stupid trifles the world is ready to admire. 
 
 Whatever might have been Mr. Nash's other excel- 
 lences, there was one in which few exceeded him ; I 
 mean his extensive humanity. None felt pity more 
 strongly, and none made greater efforts to relieve 
 distress. If I were to name any reigning and fashionable 
 virtue in the present age, I think it should be charity. 
 The numberless benefactions privately given, the various 
 public solicitations for charity, and the success they 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 335 
 
 meet with, serve to prove, that though we may fall 
 short of our ancestors in other respects, yet in this 
 instance we greatly excel them. I know not whether 
 it may not be spreading the influence of Mr. Nash too 
 widely to say, that he was one of the principal causes of 
 introducing this noble emulation among the rich ; but 
 certain it is, no private man ever relieved the distresses 
 of so many as he did. 
 
 Before gaming was suppressed, and in the meridian 
 of his life and fortune, his benefactions were generally 
 found to equal his other expenses. The money he got 
 without pain, he gave away without reluctance ; and 
 whenever unable to relieve a wretch who sued for assist- 
 ance, he has been often seen to shed tears. A gentleman 
 of broken fortune, one day standing behind his chair, as 
 he was playing a game of picquet for two hundred pounds, 
 and observing with what indifference he won the money, 
 could not avoid whispering these words to another 
 who stood by, * Heavens ! how happy would all that 
 money make me ! ' Nash, overhearing him, clapped the 
 money into his hand ; and cried, ' Go and be happy.' 
 
 About six and thirty years ago, a clergyman brought 
 his family to Bath for the benefit of the waters. His 
 wife laboured under a lingering disorder, which it was 
 thought nothing but the Hot Wells could remove. The 
 expenses of living there soon lessened the poor man's 
 finances ; his clothes were sold, piece by piece, to 
 provide a temporary relief for his little family ; and his 
 appearance was at last so shabby, that, from the number 
 of holes in his coat and stockings, Nash gave him the 
 name of Doctor Cullender. Our beau, it seems, was rude 
 enough to make a jest of poverty, though he had sensi- 
 bility enough to relieve it. The poor clergyman combated 
 his distresses with fortitude ; and, instead of attempting 
 to solicit relief, endeavoured to conceal them. Upon 
 
336 THE LIFE OF 
 
 a living of thirty pounds* a year he endeavoured to 
 maintain his wife and six children ; but all his resources 
 at last failed him, and nothing but famine was seen in 
 the wretched family. The poor man's circumstances were 
 at last communicated to Nash ; who, with his usual 
 cheerfulness, undertook to relieve him. On a Sunday 
 evening, at a public tea-drinking at Harrison's, he went 
 about to collect a subscription, and began it himself, by 
 giving five guineas. By this means, two hundred guineas 
 were collected in less than two hours, and the poor family 
 raised from the lowest despondence into affluence and 
 felicity. A bounty so unexpected had a better influence 
 even upon the woman's constitution than all that 
 either the physicians or the waters of Bath could 
 produce, and she recovered. But his good offices did not 
 rest here. He prevailed upon a nobleman of his acquaint- 
 ance to present the Doctor with a living of a hundred 
 and sixty pounds a year, which made that happiness, he 
 had before produced, in some measure permanent. 
 
 In the severe winter, which happened in the year 
 1739, his charity was great, useful, and extensive. He 
 frequently, at that season of calamity, entered the 
 houses of the poor, whom he thought too proud to beg, 
 and generously relieved them. The colliers were at this 
 time peculiarly distressed ; and, in order to excite 
 compassion, a number of them yoked themselves to 
 a wagon loaded with coals, and drew it into Bath, and 
 presented it to Mr. Nash. Their scheme had the proper 
 effect. Mr. Nash procured them a subscription, and gave 
 ten guineas towards it himself. The weavers also shared 
 his bounty at that season. They came begging in a body 
 into Bath, and he provided a plentiful dinner for their 
 entertainment, and gave each a week's subsistence at 
 going away. 
 
 There are few public charities to which he was not 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 337 
 
 a subscriber, and many he principally contributed to 
 support. Among others, Mr. Annesley, that strange 
 example of the mutability of fortune, and the inefficacy 
 of our laws, shared his interest and bounty. I have now 
 before me a well -written letter, addressed to Mr. Nash, 
 in order to obtain his interest for that unhappy gentle- 
 man ; it comes from Mr. Henderson, a Quaker, who was 
 Mr. Annesley's father's agent. This gentleman warmly 
 espoused the young adventurer's interest, and, I am 
 told.- fell with him. 
 
 London, October 23, 1756. 
 
 My Good Friend, 
 
 When I had the honour of conversing with thee 
 at Tunbridge, in September last, concerning that most 
 singular striking case of Mr. Annesley, whom I have 
 known since he was about six years old, I being then 
 employed by the late Lord Baron of Altham, his father, 
 as his agent. From what I know of the affairs of that 
 family, I am well assured, that Mr. Annesley is the 
 legitimate son of the late Lord Baron of Altham, and, in 
 consequence thereof, is entitled to the honours and estates 
 of Anglesey. Were I not well assured of his right to 
 those honours and estates, I would not give countenance 
 to his claim. — I well remember, that then then madest 
 me a promise to assist him in soliciting a subscription, 
 that was then begun at Tunbridge ; but, as that place was 
 not within the limits of thy province, thou couldest not 
 promise to do much there. But thou saidst, that in case 
 he would go to Bath in the season, thou wouldest then 
 and there show how much thou wouldest be his friend. 
 
 And now, my good friend, as the season is come on, 
 and Mr. Annesley now at Bath, I beg leave to remind 
 thee of that promise ; and that thou wilt keep in full view 
 the honour, the everlasting honour, that will naturally 
 redound to thee from thy benevolence, and crown all the 
 
338 THE LIFE OF 
 
 good actions of thy life.- — I say, now in the vale of life, 
 to relieve a distressed young nobleman, to extricate so 
 immense an estate, from the hands of oppression ; to 
 do this, will fix such a ray of glory on thy memory, as 
 will speak forth thy praise to future ages. — ^This with 
 great respect is the needful, 
 
 from thy assured Friend, 
 
 William Henderson, 
 Be pleased to give my respects to Mr. Annesley and 
 his spouse. 
 
 Mr. Nash punctually kept his word with this gentle- 
 man ; he began the subscription himself with the utmost 
 liberality, and procured such a list of encouragers, as at 
 once did honour to Mr. Annesley's cause, and their own 
 generosity. What a pity it was, that this money, which 
 was given for the relief of indigence only, went to feed 
 a set of reptiles, who batten upon our weakness, miseries, 
 and vice. 
 
 It may not be known to the generality of my readers, 
 that the last act of the comedy, called Esop, which was 
 added to the French plot of Boursault, by Mr. Vanbrugh, 
 was taken from a story told of Mr. Nash, upon a similar 
 occasion. He had in the early part of life made proposals 
 
 of marriage to Miss V , of D — — ; his affluence at 
 
 that time, and the favour which he was in with the 
 nobility, readily induced the young lady's father to 
 favour his addresses. However, upon opening the affair 
 to herself, she candidly told him, her affections were 
 placed upon another, and that she could not possibly 
 comply. Though this answer satisfied Mr. Nash, it was 
 by no means sufficient to appease the father ; and he 
 peremptorily insisted upon her obedience. Things were 
 carried to the last extremity ; when Mr. Nash under- 
 took to settle the affair ; and desiring his favoured rival 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 339 
 
 to be sent for, with his own hand presented his mistress 
 to him, together with a fortune equal to what her 
 father intended to give her. Such an uncommon 
 instance of generosity had an instant effect upon the 
 severe parent ; he considered such disinterestedness as 
 a just reproach to his own mercenary disposition, and 
 took his daughter once more into favour. I wish, for the 
 dignity of history, that the sequel could be concealed ; 
 but the young lady ran away with her footman, before 
 half a year was expired ; and her husband died of grief. 
 
 In general, the benefactions of a generous man are 
 but ill bestowed. His heart seldom gives him leave to 
 examine the real distress of the object which sues for 
 pity ; his good nature takes the alarm too soon, and he 
 bestows his fortune on only apparent wretchedness. The 
 man naturally frugal, on the other hand, seldom relieves ; 
 but when he does, his reason, and not his sensations, 
 generally find out the object. Every instance of his 
 bounty is therefore permanent, and bears witness to his 
 benevolence. 
 
 Of all the immense sums which Nash lavished upon 
 real or apparent wretchedness, the effects, after a few 
 years, seemed to disappear. His money was generally 
 given to support immediate want, or to relieve im- 
 provident indolence, and therefore it vanished in an 
 hour. Perhaps towards the close of life, were he to look 
 round on the thousands he had relieved, he would find 
 but few made happy, or fixed by his bounty in a state 
 of thriving industry ; it was enough for him, that he 
 gave to those that wanted ; he never considered, that 
 charity to some might impoverish himself without 
 relieving them ; he seldom considered the merit or the 
 industry of the petitioner ; or he rather fancied, that 
 misery was an excuse for indolence and guilt. It was 
 a usual saying of his, when he went to beg for any 
 
340 THE LIFE OF . 
 
 person in distress, that they who could stoop to the 
 meanness of solicitation, must certainly want the favour 
 for which they petitioned. 
 
 In this manner, therefore, he gave away immense sums 
 of his- own, and still greater, which he procured from 
 others. His way was, when any person was proposed 
 to him as an object of charity, to go round with his hat, 
 first among the nobility, according to their rank, and so 
 on, till he left scarce a single person unsolicited. They 
 who go thus about to beg for others, generally find 
 a pleasure in the task. They consider, in some measure, 
 every benefaction they procure, as given by themselves, 
 and have at once the pleasure of being liberal, without 
 the self-reproach of being profuse. 
 
 But of all the instances of Mr. Nash's bounty, none 
 does him more real honour than the pains he took in 
 establishing a hospital at Bath, in which benefaction, 
 however. Doctor Oliver had a great share. This was one 
 of those well-guided charities, dictated by reason, and 
 supported by prudence. By this institution the diseased 
 poor might recover health, when incapable of receiving 
 it in any other part of the kingdom. As the disorders of 
 the poor, who could expect to find relief at Bath, were 
 mostly chronical, the expense of maintaining them there 
 was found more than their parishes thought proper to 
 afford. They therefore chose to support them in a 
 continual state of infirmity, by a small allowance at 
 home, rather than be at the charge of an expensive cure. 
 A hospital therefore at Bath, it was thought, would be an 
 asylum, and a place of relief to those disabled creatures, 
 and would, at the same time, give the physician more 
 thorough insight into the efficacy of the waters, from the 
 regularity with which such patients would be obliged to 
 take them. These inducements therefore influenced 
 Doctor Oliver, and Mr. Nash, to promote a subscription 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 341 
 
 towards such a benefaction. The design was set on foot 
 so early as the year 1711, but not completed till the year 
 1742. This delay, which seems surprising, was in fact 
 owing to the want of a proper fund for carrying the work 
 into execution. What I said above, of charity being the 
 characteristic virtue of the present age, will be more 
 fully evinced, by comparing the old and new subscrip- 
 tions for this hospital. These will show the difference 
 between ancient and modern benevolence. When I run 
 my eye over the list of those who subscribed in the 
 year 1723, I find the subscription in general seldom rise 
 above a guinea each person ; so that, at that time, with 
 all their efforts, they were unable to raise four hundred 
 pounds ; but in about twenty years after, each particular 
 subscription was greatly increased — ten, twenty, thirty 
 pounds, being the most ordinary sums subscribed, and they 
 soon raised above two thousand pounds for the purpose. 
 
 Thus, chiefly by the means of Doctor Oliver and 
 Mr. Nash, but not without the assistance of the good 
 Mr. Allen, who gave them the stone for building and 
 other benefactions, this hospital was erected, and it is 
 at present fitted up for the reception of patients, the 
 cases most paralytic or leprous. The following conditions 
 are observed previous to admittance. 
 
 ' I. The case of the patient must be described by 
 ' some physician, or person of skill, in the neighbour- 
 
 * hood of the place where the patient has resided for some 
 
 * time ; and this description, together with a certificate 
 
 * of the poverty of the patient, attested by some persons 
 ' of credit, must be sent in a letter post-paid, directed 
 
 * to the register of the General Hospital at Bath. 
 
 'II. After the patient's case has been thus described, 
 
 * and sent, he must remain in his usual place or residence 
 
 * till he has notice of a vacancy, signified by a letter 
 ^ from the register. 
 
342 THE LIFE OF 
 
 ' III. Upon the receipt of such a letter, the patient 
 must set forward for Bath, bringing with him this 
 letter, the parish certificate duly executed, and allowed 
 by two justices, and three pounds caution -money, if 
 from any part of England or Wales ; but if the patient 
 comes from Scotland or Ireland, then the caution- 
 money, to be deposited before admission, is the sum of 
 five pounds. 
 
 ' IV. Soldiers may, instead of parish certificates, bring 
 a certificate from their commanding officers, signifying 
 to what corps they belong, and that they shall be 
 received into the same corps, when discharged from 
 the Hospital, in whatever condition they are. But it is 
 necessary that their cases be described, and sent 
 previously, and that they bring with them three 
 pounds caution-money. 
 ' Note, The intention of the caution-money is to 
 defray the expenses of returning the patients after they 
 are discharged from the Hospital, or of their burial in 
 case they die there. The remainder of the caution- 
 money, after these expenses are defrayed, will be 
 returned to the person who made the deposit.' 
 I am unwilling to leave this subject of his benevolence, 
 because it is a virtue in his character which must stand 
 almost single against a hundred follies ; and it deserves 
 the more to be insisted on, because it was large enough to 
 outweigh them all. A man may be a hypocrite safely 
 in every other instance, but in charity ; there are few 
 who will buy the character of benevolence at the rate 
 for which it must be acquired. In short, the sums he 
 gave away were immense ; and, in old age, when at 
 last grown too poor to give relief, he gave, as the poet 
 has it, all he had, a tear ; when incapable of relieving the 
 agonies of the wretched, he attempted to relieve his own 
 by a flood of sorrow. 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 343 
 
 The sums he gave and collected for the hospital, were 
 great, and his manner of doing it was no less admirable. 
 I am told that he was once collecting money in Wiltshire's 
 room for that purpose, when a lady entered who is more 
 remarkable for her wit than her charity, and not being 
 able to pass by him unobserved, she gave him a pat 
 with her fan, and said, ' You must put down a trifle for 
 ' me, Nash, for I have no money in my pocket.' ' Yes, 
 ' madam,' says he, ' that I will with pleasure, if your 
 ' Grace will tell me when to stop ' : then taking a handful 
 of guineas out of his pocket, he began to tell them into 
 his white hat, one, two, three, four, five. ' Hold, hold,' 
 says the Duchess, * consider what you are about.' 
 ' Consider your rank and fortune, madam,' says Nash, 
 and continued telling, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Here 
 the Duchess called again, and seemed angry. * Pray 
 ' compose yourself, madam,' cried Nash, ' and don't 
 ' interrupt the work of charity ; eleven, twelve, thirteen, 
 ' fourteen, fifteen.' Here the Duchess stormed, and 
 caught hold of his hand. ' Peace, madam,' says Nash ; 
 ' you shall have your name written in letters of gold^ 
 ' madam, and upon the front of the building, madam. 
 ' Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty.' * I 
 ' won't pay a farthing more,' says the Duchess. * Charity 
 
 * hides a multitude of sins,' replies Nash. * Twenty-one, 
 
 * twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five.' 
 ' Nash,' says she, ' I protest you frighten me out of my 
 
 ' wits. L d, I shall die ! ' * Madam, you will never 
 
 ' die with doing good ; and if you do, it will be the 
 ' better for you,' answered Nash, and was about to 
 proceed ; but perceiving her Grace had lost all patience, 
 a parley ensued, when he, after much altercation, agreed 
 to stop his hand, and compound with her Grace for thirty 
 guineas. The Duchess, however, seemed displeased the 
 whole evening ; and when he cam-e to the table where 
 
344 THE LIFE OF 
 
 she was playing, bid him, ' Stand farther, an ugly devil, 
 for she hated the sight of him.' But her Grace afterwards, 
 having a run of good luck, called Nash to her. ' Come,' 
 says she, ' I will be friends with you, though you are 
 ' a fool ; and to let you see I am not angry, there is ten 
 * guineas more for your charity. But this I insist on, 
 ^ that neither my name, nor the sum, shall be mentioned.' 
 From the hospital erected for the benefit of the poor, 
 it is an easy transition to the monuments erected by him 
 in honour of the great. Upon the recovery of the Prince 
 of Orange, by drinking the Bath waters, Mr. Nash caused 
 a small obelisk, thirty feet high, to be erected in a grove 
 near the Abbey church, since called Orange Grove, This 
 Prince's arms adorn the west side of the body of the 
 pedestal. The inscription is on the opposite side, in the 
 following words : 
 
 In memoriam 
 
 Sanitatis 
 
 Principi Auriaco 
 
 Aquarum thermalium potu, 
 
 Favente Deo, 
 
 Ovante Britannia, 
 
 Feliciter restitutce, 
 
 M. DCC. XXXIV. 
 
 In English thus : 
 
 In memory 
 
 Of the happy restoration 
 
 Of the health of the 
 
 Prince of Orange, 
 
 Through the favour of God, 
 
 And to the great joy of Britain, 
 
 By drinking the Bath waters. 
 
 1734. 
 
 I find it a general custom, at all baths and spas, to 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 345 
 
 erect monuments of this kind to the memory of every 
 prince who has received benefit from the waters. Aix, 
 Spa, and Pisa, abound with inscriptions of this nature, 
 apparently doing honour to the prince, but in reality 
 celebrating the efficacy of their springs. It is wrong, 
 therefore, to call such monuments instances of gratitude, 
 though they may wear that appearance. 
 
 In the year 1738, the Prince of Wales came to Bath, 
 who presented Mr. Nash with a large gold enamelled 
 snuff-box ; and upon his departure, Nash, as King of 
 Bath, erected an obelisk in honour of this prince, as he 
 had before done for the Prince of Orange. This hand- 
 some memorial in honour of that good-natured prince is 
 erected in Queen Square. It is enclosed with a stone 
 balustrade, and in the middle of every side there are 
 large iron gates. In the centre is the obelisk, seventy 
 feet high, and terminating in a point. The expenses of 
 this were eighty pounds ; and Mr. Nash was determined, 
 that the inscription should answer the magnificence of 
 the pile. With this view he wrote to Mr. Pope, at London, 
 requesting an inscription. I should have been glad to 
 have given Mr. Nash's letter upon this occasion ; the 
 reader, however, must be satisfied with Pope's reply ; 
 which is as follows. 
 
 Sir, 
 
 I have received yours, and thank your partiality 
 in my favour. You say words cannot express the 
 gratitude you feel for the favour of his R. H., and yet 
 you would have me express what you feel, and in a few 
 words. I own myself unequal to the task ; for even 
 granting it possible to express an inexpressible idea, 
 I am the worst person you could have pitched upon 
 for this purpose, who have received so few favours 
 from the great myself, that I am utterly unacquainted 
 
346 THE LIFE OF 
 
 with what kind of thanks they like best. Whether the 
 
 P most loves poetry or prose, I protest I do not 
 
 know ; but this I dare venture to affirm, that you can 
 give him as much satisfaction in either as I can. 
 I am, 
 Sir, 
 Your affectionate Servant, 
 A. Pope. 
 
 What Mr. Nash's answer to this billet was, I cannot 
 take upon me to ascertain, but it was probably a per- 
 severance in his former request. The following is the 
 copy of Mr. Pope's reply to his second letter. 
 
 Sir, 
 
 I had sooner answered yours, but in the hope 
 of procuring a properer hand than mine ; and then in 
 
 consulting with some, whose office about the P 
 
 might make them the best judges, what sort of inscription 
 to set up. Nothing can be plainer than the enclosed ; 
 it is nearly the common sense of the thing, and I do not 
 know how to flourish upon it. But this you would do 
 as well, or better yourself, and I dare say may mend the 
 expression. I am truly. 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Your affectionate Servant, 
 
 A. Pope. 
 I think I need not tell you my name should not be 
 mentioned. 
 
 Such a letter as this was what might naturally be 
 expected from Mr. Pope. Notwithstanding the seeming 
 modesty towards the conclusion, the vanity of an 
 applauded writer bursts through every line of it. The 
 difficulty of concealing his hand from the clerks at the 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 347 
 
 Post Office, and the solicitude to have his name concealed, 
 were marks of the consciousness of his own importance. 
 It is probable, his hand was not so very well known, nor 
 his letters so eagerly opened by the clerks of the Office, 
 as he seems always to think. But in all his letters, as 
 well as those of Swift, there runs a strain of pride, as if 
 the world talked of nothing but themselves. * Alas,' 
 says he, in one of them, ' the day after I am dead, the 
 ' sun will shine as bright as the day before, and the 
 ' world will be as merry as usual ! ' Very strange, that 
 neither an eclipse nor an earthquake should follow the 
 loss of a poet ! 
 
 The inscription referred to in this letter, was the same 
 which was afterwards engraved on the obelisk ; and is as 
 follows : 
 
 In memory of honours bestow'd. 
 
 And in gratitude for benefits conferred in this city, 
 
 By his Royal Highness 
 
 Frederick, Prince of Wales, 
 
 And his Royal Consort, 
 
 In the Year 1738, 
 
 This obelisk is erected by 
 
 Richard Nash, Esq. 
 
 I dare venture to say, there was scarce a Common 
 Council-man in the corporation of Bath, but could have 
 done this as well. Nothing can be more frigid ; though 
 the subject was worthy of the utmost exertions of 
 genius. 
 
 About this period every season brought some new 
 accession of honour to Mr. Nash ; and the corporation 
 now universally found, that he was absolutely necessary 
 for promoting the welfare of the city ; so that this year 
 seems to have been the meridian of his glory. About 
 this time he arrived at such a pitch of authority, that 
 
348 THE LIFE OP 
 
 I really believe Alexander was not greater at Persepolis. 
 The countenance he received from the Prince of Orange, 
 the favour he was in with the Prince of Wales, and the 
 caresses of the nobility, all conspired to lift him to the 
 utmost pitch of vanity. The exultation of a little mind, 
 upon being admitted to the familiarity of the great, is 
 inexpressible. The Prince of Orange had made him 
 a present of a very fine snuff-box. Upon this some of 
 the nobility thought it would be proper to give snuff- 
 boxes too ; they were quickly imitated by the middling 
 gentry, and it soon became the fashion to give Mr. Nash 
 snuff-boxes ; who had in a little time a number sufficient 
 to have furnished a good toy-shop. 
 
 To add to his honours, there was placed a full-length 
 picture of him, in Wiltshire's Ballroom, between the 
 busts of Newton and Pope. It was upon this occasion 
 that the Earl of Chesterfield wrote the following severe 
 but witty epigram : 
 
 Immortal Newton never spoke 
 More truth than here you'll find ; 
 
 Nor Pope himself e'er penn'd a joke 
 Severer on mankind. 
 
 This picture placed these busts between, 
 
 Gives satire its full strength ; 
 Wisdom and Wit are little seen, 
 
 But FoUy at full length. 
 
 There is also a full-length picture of Mr. Nash in 
 Simpson's Ballroom ; and his statue at full length in 
 the Pump-room, with a plan of the Bath Hospital in his 
 hand. He was now treated in every respect like a great 
 man ; he had his levee, his flatterers, his buffoons, his 
 good-natured creatures, and even his dedicators. A 
 trifling ill-supported vanity was his foible, and while he 
 received the homage of the vulgar, and enjoyed the 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 349 
 
 familiarity of the great, he felt no pain for the un- 
 promising view of poverty that lay before him ; he 
 enjoyed the world as it went, and drew upon content for 
 the deficiencies of fortune. If a cringing wretch called 
 him his Honour, he was pleased ; internally conscious, 
 that he had the justest pretensions to the title. If 
 a beggar called him my Lord, he was happy, and generally 
 sent the flatterer off happy too. I have known him, in 
 London, wait a whole day at a window in the Smyrna 
 Coffee-house, in order to receive a bow from the Prince, 
 or the Duchess of Marlborough, as they passed by where 
 he was standing ; and he would then look round upon 
 the company for admiration and respect. 
 
 But perhaps the reader desires to know, who could be 
 low enough to flatter a man, who himself lived in some 
 measure by dependence. Hundreds are ready upon those 
 occasions. The very needy are almost ever flatterers. 
 A man in wretched circumstances forgets his own value, 
 and feels no pain in giving up superiority to every claims 
 ant. The very vain are ever flatterers ; as they find it 
 necessary to make use of all their arts, to keep company 
 with such as are superior to themselves. But particularly 
 the prodigal are prone to adulation, in order to open 
 new supplies for their extravagance. The poor, the vain, 
 and extravagant, are chiefly addicted to this vice : and 
 such hung upon his good nature. When these three 
 characters are found united in one person, the com- 
 position generally becomes a great man's favourite. It 
 was not difficult to collect such a group in a city that was 
 the centre of pleasure. Nash had them of all sizes, from 
 the half-pay captain in laced clothes, to the humble 
 boot -catcher at the Bear. 
 
 I have before me a bundle of letters, all addressed 
 from a pack of fiattering reptiles, to his Honour ; and 
 even some printed dedications, in the same servile strain 
 
350 THE LIFE OF 
 
 In these his Honour is complimented as the great en- 
 courager of the polite arts, as a gentleman of the most 
 accomplished taste, of the most extensive learning, and, 
 in short, of everything in the world. But perhaps it will 
 be thought wrong in me, to unveil the blushing muse, to 
 brand learning with the meanness of its professors, or to 
 expose scholars in a state of contempt. — For the honour 
 of letters, the dedications to Mr. Nash are not written 
 by scholars or poets, but by people of a different stamp. 
 Among this number was the highwayman, who was 
 taken after attempting to rob and murder Doctor 
 Hancock. He was called Poulter, alias Baxter, and 
 published a book, exposing the tricks of gamblers, thieves 
 and pickpockets. This he intended to have dedicated to 
 Mr. Nash ; but the generous patron, though no man 
 loved praise more, was too modest to have it printed. 
 However, he took care to preserve the manuscript, 
 among the rest of his papers. The book was entitled. 
 The discoveries of John Poulter, alias Baxter, who was 
 apprehended for robbing Doctor Hancock, of Salisbury, on 
 Claverton Down near Bath ; and who has since been 
 admitted Tang's evidence, and discovered a most numerous 
 gang of villains. Being a full account of all the robberies 
 he committed, and the surprising tricks and frauds he has 
 practised for the space of five years last past, in different 
 parts of England, particularly in the West, Written 
 wholly by himself. The dedication intended to be 
 prefixed is as follows, and will give a specimen of the 
 style of a highwayman and a gambler. 
 
 To the Honourable Richard Nash, Esq. 
 May it please your Honour, 
 
 With humblest submission, I make bold to present 
 the following sheets to your Honour's consideration, 
 and well-known humanity. As I am industriously careful. 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 351 
 
 in respect to his Majesty, and good subjects, to put an 
 end to the unfortunate misconducts of all I know, by 
 bringing them to the gallows. To be sure some may 
 censure, as if from self-preservation I made this ample 
 discovery ; but I communicate this to your Honour and 
 gentry, whether the life of one person being taken away, 
 would answer the end, as to let escape such a number of 
 villains, who has been the ruining of many a poor family, 
 for whom my soul is now much concerned. If my 
 inclinations was ever so roguish inclined, what is it to 
 so great a number of villains, when they consult together. 
 As your Honour's wisdom, humanity, and interest are 
 the friend of the virtuous, I make bold to lay, at your 
 Honour's feet, the following lines, which will put every 
 honest man upon his defence against the snares of the 
 mischievous ; and am, with the greatest gratitude, 
 honoured Sir, 
 
 Your Honour's 
 Most truly devoted and obedient Servant, 
 
 John Poulter, alias Baxter. 
 
 Taunton Gaol, 
 June 2nd. , 
 
 Flattery from such a wretch as this, one would think 
 but little pleasing ; however, certain it is, that Nash 
 was pleased with it : he loved to be called your Honour, 
 and Honourable ; and the highwayman more than once 
 experienced his generosity. 
 
 But since I have mentioned this fellow's book, I 
 cannot repress an impulse to give an extract from it, 
 however foreign from my subject. I take the following 
 picture to be a perfectly humorous description of artful 
 knavery affecting ignorance on one hand, and rustic 
 simplicity pretending to great wisdom and sagacity on 
 the other. It is an account of the manner in which 
 countrymen are deceived by ga»mblers^ at a game called 
 
352 . THE LIFE OF 
 
 Pricking in the Belt, or the Old Nob. This is a leathern 
 strop, folded up double, and then laid upon a table ; if the 
 person who plays with a bodkin pricks into the loop of the 
 belt he wins ; if otherwise, he loses. However, by slipping 
 one end of the strop, the sharper can win with pleasure. 
 ' There are generally four persons concerned in this 
 fraud, one to personate a Sailor, called a Legg Cull, 
 another called the Capper, who always keeps with the 
 Sailor ; and two pickers up, or Money -Droppers, to 
 bring in Flats or Bubbles. The first thing they do at 
 a fair, is to look for a room clear of company, which the 
 Sailor and Capper immediately take, while the Money- 
 Droppers go out to look for a Flat. If they see a country- 
 man, whose looks they like, one drops a shilling, or 
 half a crown, just before him, and picking it up again, 
 looks the man in the face, and says, I have found 
 a piece of money, friend, did you see me pick it up ? 
 The man says, yes : Then says the sharper, if you had 
 found it, I would have had half, so I will do as I would 
 be done unto ; come, honest friend, we will not part 
 with dry lips. Then taking him into the room where 
 the other two are, he cries. By your leave, gentlemen, 
 I hope we don't disturb the company. No, cries the 
 Sailor ; no, brothers ; Will you drink a glass of 
 brandy, I don't like your weak liquors ; and then 
 begins a discourse, by asking the Capper how far it is 
 to London ; who replies, I don't know ; perhaps the 
 gentleman there can tell you, directing his discourse to 
 the Flat ; perhaps the Flat will answer, a hundred 
 miles ; the Sailor cries, I can ride that in a day, ay, 
 in four or five hours ; for, says he, my horse will run 
 twenty knots an hour for twenty -four hours together : 
 Capper, or the Sailor's supposed companion, says, I 
 believe, Farmer, you have not got such a horse as the 
 Sailor has ; the Farmer cries No, and laughs ; and 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 353 
 
 * then the Sailor says, I must go and get half a pint of 
 ' brandy, for I am griped, and so leaves them. The 
 
 * Capper, affecting a look of wisdom in his absence, 
 ' observes, that it is an old saying, and a true one, that 
 
 * Sailors get their money like horses, and spend it like 
 ' asses ; as for that there Sailor, I never saw him till now, 
 
 * buying a horse of my man ; he tells me he has been 
 ' at Sea, and has got about four hundred pounds prize- 
 ' money, but I believe he will squander it all away, for he 
 ' was gaming just now with a sharping fellow, and lost 
 
 * forty shillings, at a strange game of pricking in a 
 ' string. Did either of you ever see it, gentlemen ? 
 
 * continued the Capper ; if you two are willing, I will 
 
 * ask him to show it, for we may as well win some of 
 ' his money as any body else : The Flat and the Dropper 
 ' cry. Do. Then in comes the Sailor, staggering as if 
 ' drunk, and cries. What cheer, brothers ? I have just 
 
 * seen a pretty girl in the fair, and went in to drink with 
 ' her, we made a bargain, and I gave her a six and 
 
 * thirty shilling piece, but an old b — h, her mother, came 
 
 * and called her away, but I hope she will come back 
 ' to me presently ; then the Capper laughs, and says, 
 ' Have you got your money of her again ? The Sailor 
 ' says. No ; but she will come to me, I'm sure ; then they 
 ' all laugh. This is done to deceive the Flat : then says 
 
 * the Capper, What have you done with the stick and 
 
 * the string, Sailor ? he answers, What, that which 
 ' I bought of the boys ? I have got it here, but will 
 ' not sell it, and then he pulls out the Old Nobb, saying, 
 ' What do you think I gave for it ? I ga e but six-pence, 
 ' and as much brandy as the two boys could drink ; it 
 
 * is made out of a monkey's hide, as the boys told me, 
 ' and they told me, there is a game to be played at it, 
 ' which no body can do twice together ; I will go down 
 
 * aboard ship, and play with my Captain, and I do not 
 
 GOLDSMITH, ni jq- 
 
354 THE LIFE OF 
 
 ■* fear but I shall win his ship and cargo : then they all 
 laugh, and the Sailor makes up the Old Nobb, and the 
 Capper lays a shilling, and pricks himself and wins ; 
 the Sailor cries. You are a dab, I will not lay with you, 
 but if you will call a stranger, I will lay again ; why 
 if you think me a dab, as you call it, I will get this 
 strange gentleman, or this (pointing to the Flat). 
 Done, cries the Sailor, but you shall not tell him ; then 
 he makes up the Nob, and Capper lays a shilling. 
 Flat pricks, being permitted to go sixpence ; to which 
 he agreeing, wins ; and Capper says to the Flat, Can 
 you change me half a crown ? This is done to find the 
 depth of his pocket ; if they see a good deal of gold, 
 Flat must win three or four times ; if no gold, but 
 twice. Sometimes, if the Flat has no money, the 
 Sailor cries, I have more money than any man in the 
 fair, and pulls out his purse of gold, and saith. Not 
 one of you can beg, borrow, or steal half this sum in an 
 hour for a guinea. Capper cries, I have laid out all 
 mine ; Farmer, Can you ? I'll go your halves, if you 
 think you can do it. The Sailor saith, you must not 
 bring any body with you ; then the Dropper goes with 
 the Flat, and saith. You must not tell your friend it is 
 for a wager ; if you do, he will not lend it you. Flat 
 goes and borrows it, and brings it to the Sailor, shows 
 it him, and wins the wager ; then the Sailor pinches 
 the Nob again, and the Capper whispers to the Flat, 
 to prick out purposely this time, saying, it will make 
 the Sailor more eager to lay on ; we may as well win 
 his money as not, for he will spend it upon whores : 
 Flat, with all the wisdom in the world, loses on purpose ; 
 upon which the Sailor swears, pulls out all his money, 
 throws it about the room, and cries, I know no man 
 can win for ever, and then lays a guinea, but will 
 not let him prick, but throws down five guineas ; and 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 355 
 
 'the Capper urging the Flat, and going his halves, the 
 ' Sailor saith, my cabbin boy will lay as much as that ; 
 ' I'll lay no less than twenty guineas ; the Capper cries, 
 
 * lay, Farmer, and take up forty ; which, being certain of 
 ' winning, he instantly complies with, and loses the 
 ' whole. When he has lost, in order to advise him, the 
 
 * Dropper takes him by the arm, and hauls him out of 
 
 * doors, and the reckoning being in the mean time paid 
 ' within, the Capper and Sailor follow after, and run 
 
 * another way. When they are out of sight, the Dropper 
 
 * saith to the Flat, Go you back, and play with the 
 
 * Sailor for a shilling, whilst I go and borrow money i 
 ' but when the Flat goes to the house, he finds them gone, 
 ' and then he knows that he is bit, but not till he has 
 
 * dearly paid for it.' 
 
 By this fellow's discoveries Mr. Nash was enabled to 
 serve many of the nobility and gentry of his acquaint- 
 ance ; he received a list of all those houses of ill-fame 
 which harboured or assisted rogues, and took care to 
 furnish travellers with proper precautions to avoid them. 
 It was odd enough to see a gamester thus employed^ 
 in detecting the frauds of gamblers. 
 
 Among the dedications, there is one from a professor 
 of cookery, which is more adulatory than the preceding. 
 It is prefixed to a work, intituled, The complete preserver ^ 
 or a new method of preserving fruits, flowers, and other 
 vegetables, either with or without sugar, vinegar, or spirits^ 
 &e. 
 
 To the very Honourable Richard Nash, Esq. 
 
 Honoured Sir, 
 
 As much as the oak exceeds the bramble, so 
 much do you exceed the rest of mankind, in benevolence^ 
 charity, and every other virtue that adorns, ennobles, 
 and refines the human species, I have therefore made 
 
356 THE LIFE OF 
 
 bold to prefix your name, though without permission, to 
 the following work, which stands in need of such a patron, 
 to excuse its errors, with a candour, only known to such 
 a heart as your own ; the obligations I have received 
 at your hands, it is impossible for me ever to repay, 
 except by my endeavours, as in the present case, to 
 make known the many excellent virtues which you 
 possess. But what can my wit do to recommend such 
 a genius as yours : a single word, a smile from yourself, 
 outweighs all that I, or perhaps the best of our poets, 
 could express in writing to the compass of a year. It 
 would ill become my sex, to declare what power you have 
 over us, but your generosity is, even in this instance, 
 greater than your desire to oblige. The following sheets 
 were drawn up at my hours of leisure, and may be 
 serviceable to such of my sex, as are more willing to 
 employ their time in laudable occupations and domestic 
 economy, than in dress and dissipation. What reception 
 they may receive from your Honour, I am incapable of 
 telling ; ho we ver , from your known candour and humanity, 
 I expect the most favourable. 
 
 I am. Honoured Sir, 
 Your most obedient, 
 
 and obliged humble Servant, 
 
 H. W. 
 
 A musician in his dedication still exceeds the other 
 two in adulation. However, though the matter may 
 be some impeachment on his sincerity, the manner in 
 which it is written reflects no disgrace upon his under- 
 standing. 
 
 To Richard Nash, Esq. 
 
 Sir, 
 
 The kind partiality of my friends prevailed with 
 me to present to the world these my first attempts in 
 musical composition ; and the generous protection you 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 357 
 
 have been pleased to afford me, makes it my indispens- 
 able duty to lay them at your feet. Indeed, to whom 
 could I presume to offer them, but to the great encourager 
 of all polite arts ; for your generosity knows no bounds ; 
 nor are you more famed for that dignity of mind, which 
 ennobles and gives a grace to every part of your conduct, 
 than for that humanity and beneficence, which makes 
 you the friend and benefactor of all mankind. To you, 
 the poor and the rich, the diseased and the healthy, the 
 aged and the young, owe every comfort, every con- 
 veniency, and every innocent amusement, that the best 
 heart, the most skilful management, and the most 
 accomplished taste can furnish. Even this age, so 
 deeply practised in all the subtilties of refined pleasure, 
 gives you this testimony : even this age, so ardently 
 engaged in all the ways of the most unbounded charity, 
 gives you this praise. Pardon me then, if, amidst the 
 crowd of votaries, I make my humble offering, if I seize 
 this first opportunity of publicly expressing the grateful 
 sentiments of my own heart and profound respect, with 
 which, 
 
 I am, Sir, 
 Your most obliged, most devoted, 
 
 and most obedient Servant, 
 
 J. G. 
 I fancy I have almost fatigued the reader, and I am 
 almost fatigued myself, with the efforts of those elegant 
 panegjo-ists ; however, I can't finish this run of quota- 
 tion, without giving a specimen of poetry, addressed to 
 him upon a certain occasion ; and all I shall say in its 
 defence is, that those, who are pleased with the prose 
 dedications, will not dislike the present attempt in 
 poetry. 
 
358 THE LIFE OF 
 
 To Richard Nash, Esq. 
 On his sickness at Tunhridge, 
 Say, must the friend of human kind, 
 Of most refin'd — of most diffusive mind ; 
 Must Nash himself beneath these ailments grieve ? 
 He felt for all — He felt — but to relieve, 
 To heal the sick — the wounded to restore, 
 And bid desponding nature mourn no more. 
 Thy quick 'ning warmth, let thy patron feel, 
 Improve thy springs with double power to heal : 
 Quick, hither, all-inspiring health, repair, 
 And save the gay — and wretched from despair ; 
 Thou only Esra's drooping sons can'st cheer. 
 And stop the soft-ey'd virgin's trickling tear ; 
 In murmurs who their monarch's pains deplore ; 
 While sickness faints — and pleasure is no more ; 
 let not deatb, with hasty strides advance. 
 Thou, mildest charity, avert the lance ; 
 His threat'ning power, celestial maid ! defeat ; 
 Nor take him with thee, to thy well-known seat ; 
 Leave him on earth some longer date behind, 
 To bless, — to polish,-— and relieve mankind : 
 Come then, kind health, O quickly come away. 
 Bid Nash revive — and all the world be gay. 
 
 Such addresses as these were daily offered to our titular 
 King. When in the meridian of power, scarce a morning 
 passed, that did not increase the number of his humble 
 admirers, and enlarge the sphere of his vanity. 
 
 The man, who is constantly served up with adulation, 
 must be a first-rate philosopher, if he can listen without 
 contracting new affectations. The opinion we form of 
 ourselves, is generally measured by what we hear from 
 others ; and when they conspire to deceive, we too 
 readily concur in the delusion. Among the number of 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 359 
 
 much applauded men in the circle of our own friends, we 
 can recollect but few that have heads quite strong 
 enough to bear a loud acclamation of public praise in 
 their favour ; among the whole list, we shall scarce 
 find one, that has not thus been made, on some side of 
 his character, a coxcomb. . 
 
 When the best head turns and grows giddy with praise, 
 is it to be wondered that poor Nash should be driven 
 by it almost into a phrenzy of affectation ? Towards 
 the close of life he became affected. He chiefly laboured 
 to be thought a sayer of good things ; and by frequent 
 attempts was now and then successful, for he ever lay 
 upon the lurch. 
 
 There never perhaps was a more silly passion, than 
 this desire of having a man's jests recorded. For this 
 purpose, it is necessary to keep ignorant or ill-bred 
 company, who are only fond of repeating such stories ; 
 in the next place, a person must tell his own jokes, in 
 order to make them more universal ; but what is worst 
 of all, scarce a joke of this kind succeeds, but at the 
 expense of a man's good nature ; and he who exchanges 
 the character of being thought agi'eeable, for that of 
 being thought witty, makes but a very bad bargain. 
 
 The success Nash sometimes met with led him on, 
 when late in life, to mistake his true character. He was 
 really agreeable, but he chose to be thought a wit. 
 He therefore indulged his inclination, and never mattered 
 how rude he was, provided he was thought comical. He 
 thus got the applause he sought for, but too often found 
 enemies, where he least expected to find them. Of all 
 the jests recorded of him, I scarce find one that is not 
 marked with petulance ; he said whatever came upper- 
 most, and in the number of his remarks it might naturally 
 be expected that some were worth repeating ; he threw 
 often, and sometimes had a lucky cast. 
 
aeO THE LIFE OF 
 
 In a life of almost ninety years, spent in the very 
 point of public view, it is not strange, that five or six 
 sprightly things of his have been collected, particularly 
 as he took every opportunity of repeating them himself. 
 His usual way, when he thought he said anything 
 clever, was to strengthen it with an oath, and to make up 
 its want of sentiment by asseveration and grimace. For 
 many years he thus entertained the company at the coffee- 
 house with old stories, in which he always made himself 
 the principal character. Strangers liked this well 
 enough ; but they who were used to his conversation 
 found it insupportable. One story brought on another, 
 and each came in the same order that it had the day 
 preceding. But this custom may be rather ascribed to 
 the peculiarity of age, than a peculiarity of character • 
 it seldom happens, that old men allure, at least by 
 novelty ; age that shrivels the body contracts the 
 understanding ; instead of exploring new regions, they 
 rest satisfied in the old, and walk around the circle of 
 their former discoveries. His manner of telling a story, 
 however, was not displeasing, but few of those he told 
 are worth transcribing. Indeed it is the manner, which 
 places the whole difference between the wit of the 
 vulgar, and of those who assume the name of the polite ; 
 one has in general as much good sense as the other ; 
 a story transcribed from the one, will be as entertaining 
 as that copied from the other ; but in conversation, the 
 manner will give charms even to stupidity. The follow- 
 ing is the story which he most frequently told, and pretty 
 much in these words. Suppose the company to be 
 talking of a German war, or Elizabeth Canning, he would 
 begin thus : ' I'll tell you something to that purpose 
 ' that I fancy will make you laugh. A covetous old par- 
 ' son, as rich as ,the Devil, scraped a fresh acquaintance 
 * with me several years ago at Bath. I knew him when 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 361 
 
 he and I were students at Oxford, where we both 
 studied damnationly hard, but that 's neither here nor 
 there. Well. Very well. I entertained him at my 
 house in John's Court. (No, my house in John's 
 Court was not built then) but I entertained him with 
 all that the city could afford ; the rooms, the music, 
 and everything in the world. Upon his leaving Bath, 
 he pressed me very hard to return the visit ; and 
 desired me to let him have the pleasure of seeing me 
 at his house in Devonshire. About six months after, 
 I happened to be in that neighbourhood, and was 
 resolved to see my old friend, from whom I expected 
 a very warm reception. Well : I knocks at his door, 
 when an old queer creature of a maid came to the 
 door, and denied him. 1 suspected, however, that he 
 was at home ; and going into the parlour, what should 
 I see, but the Parson's legs up the chimney, where he 
 had thrust himself to avoid entertaining me. This 
 was very well. *' My dear," says I to the maid, " it is 
 very cold, extreme cold indeed, and I am afraid 
 I have got a touch of my ague ; light me the fire, if you 
 please." ''La, sir," says the maid, who was a modest 
 creature to be sure, "the chimney smokes monstrously ; 
 you could not bear the room for three minutes together." 
 By the greatest good luck there was a bundle of straw 
 in the hearth, and I called for a candle. The candle 
 came. " Well, good woman," says I, " since you 
 won't light me a fire, I'll light one for myself," and in 
 a moment the straw was all in a blaze. This quickly 
 unkennelled the old fox ; there he stood in an old 
 rusty nightgown, blessing himself, and looking like — 
 a^ — hem — egad . ' 
 
 He used to tell surprising stories of his activity when 
 young. * Here I stand, gentlemen, that could once leap 
 'forty-two feet upon level ground, at three standing 
 
 n3 
 
362 THE LIFE OF 
 
 * jumps, backward or forward. One, two, three, dart 
 
 * like an arrow out of a bow. But I am old now. I 
 
 * remember I once leaped for three hundred guineas with 
 
 * Count Klopstock, the great leaper, leaping-master to the 
 
 * Prince of Passau ; you must all have heard of him. 
 
 * First he began with the running jump, and a most 
 
 * damnable bounce it was, that 's certain : everybody 
 ' concluded that he had the match hollow ; when only 
 
 * taking off my hat, stripping off neither coat, shoes, nor 
 ' stockings, mind me, I fetches a run, and went beyond 
 ' him one foot, three inches and three quarters, measured, 
 ' upon my soul, by Captain Pately's own standard.' 
 
 But in this torrent of insipidity, there sometimes were 
 found very severe satire, strokes of true wit, and lines of 
 humour, cum fluerent lutulentus, d^c. He rallied very 
 successfully, for he never felt another's joke ; and drove 
 home his own without pity. With his superiors he was 
 familiar and blunt, the inferiority of his station secured 
 him from their resentment ; but the same bluntness 
 which they laughed at, was by his equals regarded as 
 insolence. Something like a familiar boot-catcher at an 
 inn, a gentleman would bear that joke from him, for 
 which a brother boot-catcher would knock him down. 
 
 Among other stories of Nash's telling, I remember one, 
 which I the more cheerfully repeat, as it tends to correct 
 a piece of impertinence that reigns in almost every 
 country assembly. The principal inhabitants of a market- 
 town, at a great distance from the capital, in order to 
 encourage that harmony which ought to subsist in 
 society, and to promote a mutual intercourse between 
 the sexes, so desirable to both, and so necessary for 
 all, had established a monthly assembly in the Town 
 Hall, which was conducted with such decency, decorum, 
 and politeness, that it drew the attention of the gentle- 
 men and ladies in the neighbourhood ; and a nobleman 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 363 
 
 and his family continually honoured them with their 
 presence. This naturally drew others, and in time the 
 room was crowded with, what the world calls, good 
 company, and the assembly prospered, till some of the 
 new-admitted ladies took it 'into their heads, that the 
 tradesmen's daughters were unworthy of their notice, and 
 therefore refused to join hands with them in the dance. 
 This was complained of by the town ladies, and that 
 complaint was resented by the country gentlemen, who, 
 more pert than wise, publicly advertised, that they would 
 not dance with tradesmen's daughters. This the most 
 eminent tradesmen considered as an insult on them- 
 selves, and being men of worth, and able to live 
 independently, they in return advertised that they would 
 give no credit out of their town, and desired all others to 
 discharge their accounts. A general uneasiness ensued ; 
 some writs were actually issued out, and much distress 
 would have happened, had not my Lord, who sided with 
 no party, kindly interfered and composed the difference. 
 The assembly, however, was ruined, and the families, 
 I am told, are not friends yet, though this affair happened 
 thirty years ago. 
 
 Nothing debases human nature so much as pride-^-This 
 Nash knew, and endeavoured to stifle every emotion of 
 it at Bath. When he observed any ladies so extremely 
 delicate and proud of a pedigree, as to only touch the 
 back of an inferior's hand in the dance, he always called 
 to order, and desired them to leave the room, or behave 
 with common decency ; and when any ladies and 
 gentlemen drew off, after they had gone down a dance, 
 without standing up till the dance was finished, he made 
 up to them, and after asking whether they had done 
 dancing, told them, they should dance no more unless 
 they stood up for the rest ; and on these occasions he 
 always was as good as his word. 
 
364 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Nash, though no great wit, had the art of sometimes 
 saying rude things with decency, and rendering them 
 pleasing by an uncommon turn. — But most of the good 
 things attributed to him, which have found their way 
 into the jest-books, are no better than puns ; the 
 smartest things I have seen are against him. One day 
 in the grove, he joined some ladies, and asking one of 
 them, who was crooked, whence she came ? she replied, 
 \ Straight from London.' ' Confound me, madam,' said 
 he, ' then you must have been damnably warped by the 
 *^way.' 
 
 = She soon, however, had ample revenge. Sitting the 
 following evening in one of the rooms, he once more 
 joined her company, and with a sneer and a bow, asked 
 her, if she knew her Catechism, and could tell the name 
 of To bit's dog ? ' His name, sir, was Nash,' replied the 
 lady, ' and an impudent dog he was.' This story is told 
 in a celebrated romance ; I only repeat it here to have 
 an opportunity of observing, that it actually happened. 
 
 Queen Anne once asked him, why he would not accept 
 of knighthood ? To which he replied, lest Sir William 
 Read, the mountebank, who had been just knighted, 
 should call him brother. 
 
 A house in Bath was said to be haunted by the 
 Devil, and a great noise was made about it, when Nash, 
 going to the minister of St. Michael's, entreated him to 
 drive the Devil out of Bath for ever, if it were only to 
 oblige the ladies. 
 
 Nash used sometimes to visit the great Doctor Clarke. 
 The Doctor was one day conversing with Locke, and two 
 or three more of his learned and intimate companions, 
 with that freedom, gaiety and cheerfulness, which is 
 ever the result of innocence. In the midst of their 
 mirth and laughter, the Doctor, looking from the 
 window, saw Nash's chariot stop at the door. * Boys^ 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 365 
 
 0* boys,' cried the philosopher, to his friends, * let us now 
 
 * be wise, for here is a fool coming.' 
 
 Nash was one day complaining in the following manner 
 to the Earl of Chesterfield of his bad luck at play. 
 
 * Would you think it, my Lord, that damned bitch 
 
 * fortune, no later than last night, tricked me out of 
 
 * 500. Is it not surprising,' continued he, * that my luck 
 
 * should never turn, that I should thus eternally be 
 ' mauled ? ' 'I don't wonder at your losing money, 
 
 * Nash,' says his lordship, ' but all the world is surprised 
 ' where you get it to lose.' 
 
 Doctor Cheney once, when Nash was ill, drew up 
 a prescription for him, which was sent in accordingly. 
 The next day the Doctor coming to see his patient, 
 found him up and well ; upon which he asked, if he had 
 followed his prescription ? ' Followed your prescription,' 
 cried Nash, ' No. — Egad, if I had, I should have broke my 
 neck, for I flung it out of the two pair stairs window.' 
 
 It would have been well , had he confined himself to such 
 sallies ; but as he grew old he grew insolent, and seemed, 
 in some measure, insensible of the pain his attempts to be 
 a wit gave others. Upon asking a lady to dance a minuet; 
 if she refused, he would often demand, if she had got 
 bandy legs. He would attempt to ridicule natural de- 
 fects ; he forgot the deference due to birth and quality, 
 and mistook the manner of settling rank and precedence 
 upon many occasions. He now seemed no longer fashion- 
 able among the present race of gentry ; he grew peevish 
 and fretful, and they who only saw the remnant of 
 a man, severely returned that laughter upon him, which 
 he had once lavished upon others. 
 
 Poor Nash was no longer the gay, thoughtless, idly 
 industrious creature he once was ; he now forgot how 
 to supply new modes of entertainment, and became too 
 rigid, to wind with ease through the vicissitudes of 
 
366 THE LIFE OF 
 
 fashion. The evening of his life began to grow cloudy. 
 His fortune was gone, and nothing but poverty lay in 
 prospect. To embitter his hopes, he found himself 
 abandoned by the great, whom he had long endeavoured 
 to serve : and was obliged to fly to those of humbler 
 stations for protection, whom he once affected to despise. 
 He now began to want that charity, which he had never 
 refused to any ; and to find, that a life of dissipation 
 and gaiety, is ever terminated by misery and regret. 
 
 Even his place of master of the ceremonies (if I can 
 trust the papers he has left behind him) was sought 
 after. I would willingly be tender of any living reputa- 
 tion ; but these papers accuse Mr. Quin of endeavouring 
 to supplant him. He has even left us a letter, which 
 he supposed was written by that gentleman, soliciting 
 a Lord for his interest upon the occasion. As I choose 
 to give Mr. Quin an opportunity of disproving this, I will 
 insert the letter, and, to show the improbability of its 
 being his, with all its faults, both of style and spelling. 
 I am the less apt to believe it written by Mr. Quin, as 
 a gentleman, who has mended Shakespeare's plays so 
 often, would surely be capable of something more correct 
 than the following. It was sent, as it should seem, from 
 Mr. Quin to a nobleman, but left open for the perusal 
 of an intermediate friend. It was this friend who sent 
 a copy of it to Mr. Nash, who caused it to be instantly 
 printed, and left among his other papers. 
 
 The letter from the intermediate friend to Nash, 
 is as follows, 
 
 London, October 8, 1760. 
 
 Dear Nash, 
 
 Two posts ago I received a letter from Quin, the 
 old player^ covering one to my Lord, which he left open 
 for my perusal, which after reading he desired I might 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 367 
 
 seal up and deliver. The request he makes is so extra- 
 ordinary, that it has induced me to send you the copy 
 of his letter to my Lord, which is as follows. 
 
 Bath, October 3, 1760* 
 
 My der Lord,i 
 
 Old beaux Knash has mead himselfe so dissagiee- 
 able to all the companey that comes here to Bath that 
 the corperatian of this city have it now under thier 
 consideration to remove him from beeing master of the 
 cereymoines, should he be continuead the inhabitants 
 of thiss city will be rueind, as the best companey declines 
 to come to Bath on his acc*t. 
 
 Give me leave to show to your Lords 'hip how he 
 beheaved at the firs't ball he had here thiss' season 
 which was Tus'day las't. A younge Lady was as'ked 
 to dance a minueat she begg the gent^ would be pleased 
 to exquise here, as' she did not chuse to dance ; upon 
 thiss' old Nash called out so as to be head by all the 
 companey in the room, G — dam yo. Madam, what buis- 
 ness have yo here if yo do not dance, upon which the 
 Lady was so afrighted, she rose and danced, the ress'et 
 of the companey was so much offended at the rudness 
 of Nash that not one Lady more, would dance a minueat 
 that night. In country dances' no person of note danced 
 
 except two boys' Lords S and T , the res't of 
 
 the companey that danced waire only the families of 
 
 * Can any one, who has read what precedes and what follows this 
 letter, suppose that we thought it was written by Mr. Quin, or that 
 it would give any uneasiness either to him or his friends ? — The 
 letter was really found among Mr. Nash's papers, as the Editor can 
 at any time prove, and it was inserted here, to show what artifices 
 were used, by those who had more levity than good nature, to impose 
 upon a poor old man, and to embitter his last moments. 
 
 This Note has been rendered necessary, by a piece of criticism 
 without candour, and an epigram without wit, which appeared oa 
 this occasion, in the public papers. 
 
368 THE LIFE OF 
 
 all the habberdas'hers' machinukes and inkeepers in the 
 three kingdoms' brushed up and colexted togither. 
 
 I have known upon such an occaison as' thiss' seven- 
 teen Dutchess' and Contiss' to be at the opening of the 
 ball at Bath now not one. This man by his' pride and 
 extravagancis has out-lived his' reasein it would be 
 happy for thiss' city that he was ded ; and is, now only 
 fitt to reed Shirlock upon death by which he may seave 
 his soul and gaine more than all the proffits he can 
 make, by his white hatt, suppose it was to be died red : 
 
 The fav^ I have now to reques't by what I now have 
 wrote yo ; is' that your Lordship will speke to Mr. Pitt, 
 for to recommend me to the corporeatian of this city 
 to succede this old sinner as master of the cerremonies 
 and yo will much oblige. 
 
 My Lord your 
 Lords and Hu° 
 Ob* Ser*. 
 
 N.B. There were some other private matters and 
 offers in Quin's letter to my Lord, which do not relate 
 to you. 
 
 Here Nash, if I may be permitted the use of a polite 
 and fashionable phrase, was humm'd ; but he experi- 
 enced such rubs as these, and a thousand other morti- 
 fications every day. He found poverty now denied him 
 the indulgence not only of his favourite follies, but of 
 his favourite virtues. The poor now solicited him in 
 vain ; he was himself a more pitiable object than they. 
 The child of the public seldom has a friend, and he who 
 once exercised his wit at the expense of others, must 
 naturally have enemies. Exasperated at last to the 
 highest degree, an unaccountable whim struck him ; 
 poor Nash was resolved to become an author ; he who, 
 in the vigour of manhood, was incapable of the task, 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 369 
 
 now at the impotent age of eighty-six, was determined 
 to write his own history ! From the many specimens 
 already given of his style, the reader will not much 
 regret that the historian was interrupted in his design. 
 Yet as Montaigne observes, as the adventures of an 
 infant, if an infant could inform us of them, would be 
 pleasing ; so the life of a beau, if a beau could write, 
 would certainly serve to regale curiosity. 
 
 Whether he really intended to put this design in 
 execution, or did it only to alarm the nobility, I will 
 not take upon me to determine ; but certain it is, that 
 his friends went about collecting subscriptions for the 
 work, and he received several encouragements from such 
 as were willing to be politely charitable. It was thought 
 by many, that this history would reveal the intrigues 
 of a whole age ; that he had numberless secrets to dis- 
 close ; but they never considered, that persons of public 
 character, like him, were the most unlikely in the world 
 to be made partakers of those secrets which people 
 desired the public should not know. In fact, he had 
 few secrets to discover, and those he had, are now buried 
 with him in the grave. 
 
 He was now past the power of giving or receiving 
 pleasure, for he was poor, old and peevish ; yet still he 
 was incapable of turning from his former manner of life 
 to pursue his happiness. The old man endeavoured to 
 practise the follies of the boy, he spurred on his jaded 
 passions after every trifle of the day ; tottering with 
 age he would be ever an unwelcome guest in the assem- 
 blies of the youthful and gay ; and he seemed willing 
 to find lost appetite among those scenes where he was 
 once young. 
 
 An old man thus striving after pleasure is indeed an 
 object of pity ; but a man at once old and poor, running 
 on in this pursuit, might excite astonishment. To see 
 
370 THE LIFE OF 
 
 a being both by fortune and constitution rendered in- 
 capable of enjoyment, still haunting those pleasures he 
 was no longer to share in ; to see one of almost ninety 
 settling the fashion of a lady's cap, or assigning her 
 place in a country dance ; to see him unmindful of his 
 own reverend figure, or the respect he should have for 
 himself, toasting demireps, or attempting to entertain 
 the lewd and idle ; a sight like this might well serve 
 as a satire on humanity ; might show that man is the 
 only preposterous creature alive, who pursues the shadow 
 of pleasure without temptation. 
 
 But he was not permitted to run on thus without 
 severe and repeated reproof. The clergy sent him fre- 
 quent calls to reformation ; but the asperity of their 
 advice in general abated its intended effects ; they 
 threatened him with fire and brimstone, for what he 
 had long been taught to consider as foibles, and not 
 vices ; so, like a desperate debtor, he did not care to 
 settle an account, that, upon the first inspection, he 
 found himself utterly unable to pay. Thus begins one 
 of his monitors. 
 
 ' This admonition comes from your friend, and one 
 
 * that has your interest deeply at heart : It comes on 
 *a design altogether important, and of no less conse- 
 'quence than your everlasting happiness : so that it 
 
 * may justly challenge your careful regard. It is not to 
 
 * upbraid or reproach, much less to triumph and insult 
 
 * over your misconduct or misery ; no, 'tis pure bene- 
 *volence, it is disinterested goodwill prompts me to 
 ' write ; I hope therefore I shall not raise your resent- 
 
 * ment. Yet be the consequence what it will, I cannot 
 ' bear to see you walk in the paths that lead to death, 
 
 * without warning you of the danger, without sounding 
 
 * in your ear the lawful admonition, " Return and live ! 
 
 * *' Why do you such things ? I hear of your evil dealings 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 371 
 
 '' by all this people." I have long observed and pitied 
 you ; and must tell you plainly, sir, that your present 
 behaviour is not the way to reconcile yourself to God. 
 You are so far from making atonement to offended 
 justice, that each moment you are aggravating the 
 future account, and heaping up an increase of His 
 anger. As long as you roll on in a continued circle of 
 sensual delights and vain entertainments, you are dead 
 to all the purposes of piety and virtue. You are as 
 odious to God as a corrupt carcass that lies putrefying 
 in the churchyard. You are as far from doing your 
 duty, or endeavouring after salvation, or restoring 
 yourself to the Divine favour, as a heap of dry bones 
 nailed up in a coffin is from vigour and activity.— 
 Think, sir, I conjure you, think upon this, if you have 
 any inclination to escape the fire that will never be 
 quenched. Would you be rescued from the fury and 
 fierce anger of God ? Would you be delivered from 
 weeping and wailing, and incessant gnashing of teeth ? 
 sure you would ! But be certain, that this will never 
 be done by amusements, which at best are trifling and 
 impertinent ; and for that, if for no other reason, 
 foolish and sinful. 'Tis by seriousness ; 'tis by retire- 
 ment and mourning, you must accomplish this great 
 and desirable deliverance. You must not appear at 
 the head of every silly diversion, you must enter into 
 your closet, and shut the door ; commune with your 
 own heart, and search out its defects. The pride of 
 life and all its superfluity of follies must be put away. 
 You must make haste, and delay not to keep every 
 injunction of heaven. You must always remember, 
 that mighty sinners must be mightily penitent, or else 
 mightily tormented. Your example and your projects 
 have been extremely 'prejudicial ; I wish I could not 
 say, fatal and destructive, to many. For this there is 
 
372 THE LIFE OF 
 
 no amends but an alteration of your conduct, as signal 
 and remarkable as your person and name, 
 
 ' If you do not by this method remedy in some degree 
 the evils that you have sent abroad, and prevent the 
 mischievous consequences that may ensue — wretched 
 will you be, wretched above all men to eternity. The 
 blood of souls will be laid to your charge ; God's 
 jealousy, like a consuming flame, will smoke against 
 you ; as you yourself will see in that day, when the 
 mountains shall quake, and the hills melt, and the 
 earth be burnt up at His presence. 
 
 ' Once more then I exhort you as a friend ; I beseech 
 
 * you as a brother ; I charge you as a messenger from 
 ' Grod, in His own most solemn words; " Cast away 
 ' " from you your transgressions ; make you a new heart, 
 ' " and a new spirit ; so iniquity shall not be your ruin." 
 
 * Perhaps you may be disposed to contemn this, and 
 ' its serious purport ; or to recommend it to your com- 
 ' panions as a subject for raillery. Yet let me tell you 
 
 * beforehand, that for this, as well as for other things, 
 
 * God will bring you to judgement. He sees me now 
 ' I write : He will observe you while you read. He notes 
 
 * down my words ; He will also note down your conse- 
 ' quent procedure. Not then upon me, not upon me ; but 
 
 * upon your own soul, will the neglecting or despising my 
 
 * sayings turn. '' If thou be wise, thou shalt be wise for 
 
 * " thyself ; if thou scornest, thou alone shalt bear it." ' 
 
 Thus we see a variety of causes concurred to embitter 
 his departing life. The weakness and infirmities of 
 exhausted nature, the admonitions of the grave, who 
 aggravated his follies into vices ; the ingratitude of his 
 dependants, who formerly flattered his fortunes ; but 
 particularly the contempt of the great, many of whom 
 quite forgot him in his wants ; all these hung upon his 
 spirits and soured his temper, and the poor man of 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 373 
 
 pleasure might have terminated his Hfe very tragically, 
 had not the Corporation of Bath charitably resolved to 
 grant him ten guineas the first Monday of every month. 
 This bounty served to keep him from actual necessity, 
 though far too trifling to enable him to support the 
 character of a gentleman. Habit, and not nature, makes 
 almost all our wants ; and he who had been accustomed 
 in the early parts of life to affluence and prodigality, 
 when reduced to a hundred and twenty-six pounds 
 a year, must pine in actual indigence. 
 
 In this variety of uneasiness his health began to fail. 
 He had received from nature a robust and happy constitu- 
 tion, that was scarce even to be impaired by intem- 
 perance. He even pretended, among his friends, that he 
 never followed a single prescription in his life ; however, 
 in this he was one day detected on the Parade ; for 
 boasting there of his contempt and utter disuse of 
 medicine, unluckily the water of two blisters, which 
 Dr. Oliver had prescribed, and which he then had upon 
 each leg, oozed through his^ stockings, and betrayed him. 
 His aversion to physic, however, was frequently a topic 
 of raillery between him and Doctor Cheney, who was 
 a man pf some wit and breeding. When Cheney recom- 
 mended his vegetable diet, Nash would swear that his 
 design was to send half the world grazing like Nebuchad- 
 nezzar. 'A5^e,V Cheney would reply, * Nebuchadnezzar 
 ' was never such an infidel as thou art. It was but last 
 ' week, gentlemen, that I attended this fellow in a fit of 
 ' sickness ; there I found him rolling up his eyes to 
 
 • heaven, and crying for mercy ; he would then swallow 
 
 * my drugs like breast-milk, yet you now hear him, 
 ' how the old dog blasphemes the faculty.' What Cheney 
 said in jest was true,, he feared the approaches of death 
 more than the generality of mankind, and was generally 
 very devout while it threatened him. Though he was 
 
374 THE LIFE OF 
 
 somewhat the libertine in action, none believed or trem- 
 bled more than he ; for a mind neither schooled by philo- 
 sophy, nor encouraged by conscious innocence, is ever 
 timid at the appearance of danger. 
 
 For some time before his decease nature gave warning 
 of his approaching dissolution. The worn machine had 
 run itself down to an utter impossibility of repair ; he 
 saw that he must die, and shuddered at the thought. 
 His virtues were not of the great, but the amiable kind ; 
 so that fortitude was not among the number. Anxious, 
 timid, his thoughts still hanging on a receding world, he 
 I, desired to enjoy a little longer that life, the miseries of 
 \ which he had experienced so long. The poor unsuccess- 
 ful gamester husbanded the wasting moments, with an 
 increased desire to continue the game, and to the last 
 \ eagerly wished for one yet more happy throw. He died 
 at his house in St. John's Court, Bath, on the 12th of 
 February, 1761, aged eighty-seven years, three months, 
 and some days. 
 
 His death was sincerely regretted by the city, to 
 which he had been so long and so great a benefactor. 
 The day after he died, the Mayor of Bath called the 
 Corporation together, where they granted fifty pounds 
 towards burying their sovereign with proper respect. 
 After the corpse had lain four days, it was conveyed to 
 the Abbey church in that city, with a solemnity some- 
 what peculiar to his character. About five the pro- 
 cession moved from his house ; the charity girls two 
 and two preceded, next the boys of the charity school 
 singing a solemn occasional hymn.^ Next marched the 
 
 ^ The Hymn sung at his Funeral, 
 
 I 
 Most unhappy are we here. 
 Full of sin and full of fear. 
 Ever weary, ne'er at rest. 
 When, O Lord, shall we be blest ? 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. * 375 
 
 city music, and his own band sounding at proper intervals 
 a dirge. Three clergymen immediately preceded the 
 coffin, which was adorned with sable plumes, and the 
 pall supported by the six senior aldermen. The masters 
 of the Assembly-rooms followed as chief mourners ; the 
 beadles of that hospital, which he had contributed so 
 largely to endow, went next ; and last of all, the poor 
 patients themselves, the lame, the emaciated, and the 
 feeble, followed their old benefactor to his grave, shed- 
 ding unfeigned tears, and lamenting themselves in him. 
 The crowd was so great, that not only the streets were 
 filled, but, as one of the journals in a rant expresses it, 
 even the tops of the houses were covered with spectators ; 
 each thought the occasion affected themselves most ; 
 as when a real king dies, they asked each other, where 
 shall we find such another ; sorrow sat upon every face, 
 and even children lisped that their Sovereign was no 
 
 II 
 Earth 's a clog, a pageant life, 
 Fill'd with folly, guilt, and strife ; 
 Till we all unite in Thee, 
 With ourselves we disagree. 
 
 Ill 
 What 's our comfort here below ? 
 Empty bubble, transient show ; 
 Wrapt in the body's vile disguise. 
 None truly is until he dies. 
 
 IV 
 
 Here we dwell, but not at home, 
 To other worlds ordain'd to roam ; 
 Yet still we seek for joys that waste, 
 Fleeting as the vernal blast. 
 
 V 
 
 Lord remove these shadows hence. 
 Give us faith instead of sense ; 
 Teach us here in life to die. 
 That we may live •eternally. 
 
376 THE LIFE OF 
 
 * more. The awfulness of the solemnity made the deepest 
 ' impression on the minds of the distressed inhabitants. 
 ' The peasant discontinued his toil, the ox rested from 
 
 * the plough, all nature seemed to sympathize with their 
 ' loss, and the muffled bells rung a peal of Bob Major.' 
 
 Our deepest solemnities have something truly 
 ridiculous in them : there is somewhat ludicrous in the 
 folly of historians, who thus declaim upon the death of 
 kings and princes, as if there was anything dismal, or 
 anything unusual in it. ' For my part,' says Poggi, the 
 Florentine, * I can no more grieve for another's death, 
 
 * than I could for my own. I have ever regarded death 
 
 * as a very trifling affair ; nor can black staves, long 
 
 * cloaks, or mourning coaches, in the least influence my 
 
 * spirits. Let us live here as long, and as merrily as we 
 
 * can ; and when we must die, why, let us die merrily too, 
 
 * but die so as to be happy.' 
 
 The few things he was possessed of were left to his 
 relations. A small library of well-chosen books, some 
 trinkets and pictures, were his only inheritance. Among 
 the latter (besides the box given him by the Prince of 
 Wales), were a gold box, which was presented to him 
 by the Countess of Burlington, with Lady Euston's 
 picture in the lid ; an etui, mounted in gold, with a 
 diamond to open it, and ornamented with another 
 diamond at the top, given him by the Princess-dowager 
 of Wales. He had also a silver terene, which was given 
 him by the Princess Amelia ; and some other things of 
 no great value. The rings, watches, and pictures, which 
 he formerly received from others, would have come 
 to a considerable amount ; but these his necessities had 
 obliged him to dispose of : some family pictures, how- 
 ever, remained, which were sold by advertisement, for 
 five guineas each, after Mr. Nash's decease. 
 
 It was natural to expect, that the death of a person 
 so long in the eye of the public, must have produced 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 377 
 
 a desire in several to delineate his character, or deplore 
 his loss. He was scarce dead, when the public papers 
 were filled with elegies, groans and characters ; and 
 before he was buried, there were epitaphs ready made to 
 inscribe on his stone. 1 remember one of those character 
 writers, and a very grave one too, after observing, alas ! 
 that Richard Nash, Esq. was no more, went on to assure 
 us, that he was sagacious, debonair, and commode ; and 
 concluded with gravely declaring, that impotent posterity 
 would in vain fumble to produce his fellow^ Another, 
 equally sorrowful, gave us to know, that he ivas indeed 
 a man ; an assertion, which I fancy none will be so 
 hardy as to contradict. But the merriest of all the 
 lamentations made upon this occasion was that where 
 he is called, A constellation of the heavenly sphere. 
 
 One thing, however, is common almost with each of 
 them, and that is, that Venus, Cupid, and the Graces, are 
 commanded to weep ; and that Bath shall never find 
 such another. 
 
 But though he was satirized with the praises of those, 
 yet there were some of real abilities who undertook to 
 do justice to his character, to praise him for his virtues, 
 and acknowledge his faults. I need scarcely mention, 
 that Doctor Oliver and Doctor King are of this number. 
 They had honoured him with their friendship while 
 living, and undertook to honour his memory when 
 dead. As the reader may choose to compare their 
 efforts upon the same subject, I have subjoined them, 
 and perhaps many will find in either enough, upon so 
 unimportant a subject as Mr. Nash's life, to satisfy 
 curiosity. The first published, was that by Doctor 
 Oliver, written with much good sense, and still more 
 good nature. But the reader will consider, that he has 
 assumed in his motto the character of a panegyrist, and 
 spares his friend's faults, though he was too candid 
 entirely to pass them over in silence. 
 
378 THE LIFE OF 
 
 A FAINT Sketch of the Life, Character, and Manners, 
 OF THE late Mr. Nash. 
 
 Imperium in Imperio. 
 
 De mortuis nil nisi bonum. 
 
 Bath, February 13, 1761. 
 
 This morning died 
 
 RICHARD NASH, Esq. 
 
 Aged eighty-eight. 
 
 He was by birth a gentleman, an ancient Briton ; 
 
 By education, a student of Jesus College, in Oxford ; 
 
 By profession 
 
 His natural genius was too volatile for any. 
 
 He tried the army and the law ; 
 But soon found his mind superior to both — 
 He was born to govern, 
 Nor was his dominion, like that of other legislators. 
 Over the servility of the vulgar. 
 But over the pride of the noble, and the opulent. 
 His public character was great, 
 As it was self -built, and self -maintained : 
 His private amiable. 
 As it was grateful, beneficent, and generous. 
 By the force of genius 
 He erected the city of Bath into a province of pleasure, 
 And became, by universal consent. 
 Its legislator, and ruler. 
 He planned, improved, and regulated all the amuse- 
 ments of the place ; 
 .His fundamental law was, that of good breeding ; 
 Hold sabred decency, and decorum, 
 His constant maxim : 
 Nobody, howsoever exalted 
 By beauty, blood, titles, or riches, 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 379 
 
 Could be guilty of a breach of it, unpunished 
 
 The penalty, his disapprobation, and public shame. 
 To maintain the sovereignty he had established, 
 He published rules of behaviour. 
 Which, from their propriety, acquired the force of laws ; 
 And which the highest never infringed, without im- 
 mediately undergoing the public censure. 
 He kept the men in order ; most wisely, 
 By prohibiting the wearing swords in his dominions ; 
 By which means 
 He prevented sudden passion from causing 
 
 The bitterness of unavailing repentance, 
 
 In all quarrels he was chosen the Umpire 
 
 And so just were his decisions. 
 That peace generally triumphed. 
 Crowned with the mutual thanks of both parties. 
 He kept the ladies in good humour ; most effectually 
 By a nice observance of the rules of place and prece- 
 dence ; 
 By ordaining scandal to be the infallible mark 
 Of a foolish head, and a malicious heart. 
 
 Always rendering more suspicious 
 The reputation of her who propagated it, 
 
 Than that of the person abused. 
 
 Of the young, the gay, the heedless fair. 
 
 Just launching into the dangerous sea of pleasure, 
 
 He was ever, unsolicited {sometimes unregarded), 
 
 The kind protector : 
 
 Humanely correcting even their mistakes in dress, 
 
 As well as improprieties in conduct : 
 
 Nay, often warning them. 
 
 Though at the hazard of his life, 
 
 Against the artful snares of designing men, 
 
 Or an improper acquaintance with women of doubtful 
 
 characters. 
 
380 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Thus did he establish his government on pillars 
 
 Of honour and politeness, 
 
 Which could never be shaken : 
 
 And maintained it, for full half a century, 
 
 With reputation, honour, and undisputed authority. 
 
 Beloved, respected, and revered. 
 
 Of his private character, be it the first praise, 
 
 That, while by his conduct, the highest ranks became 
 
 his subjects. 
 
 He himself became 
 
 The servant of the poor and the distressed : 
 
 Whose cause he ever pleaded amongst the rich. 
 
 And enforced with all the eloquence of a good example : 
 
 They were ashamed not to relieve those wants, 
 
 To which they saw him administer with 
 
 So noble an heart, and so liberal an hand. 
 
 Nor was his munificence confined to particulars, 
 
 He being, to all the public charities of this city, 
 
 A liberal benefactor ; 
 
 Not only by his own most generous subscriptions, 
 
 But, by always assuming, in their behalf, the character of 
 
 A sturdy beggar ; 
 
 Which he performed with such an authoritative address 
 
 To all ranks, without distinction. 
 
 That few of the worst hearts had courage to refuse. 
 
 What their own inclinations would not have prompted 
 
 them to bestow. 
 
 Of a noble public spirit. 
 
 And 
 
 A warm grateful heart. 
 
 The obelisk in the grove. 
 
 And 
 
 The beautiful needle in the square. 
 
 Are magnificent testimonies 
 
 The One 
 
^ RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 381 
 
 Erected to preserve the memory of a 
 
 Most interesting event to his country, 
 
 The restitution of health, by the healing waters of this 
 
 place, 
 
 To the illustrious Prince of Orange, 
 
 Who came hither in a most languishing condition : 
 
 The Other, 
 
 A noble offering of thanks 
 
 To the late Prince of Wales, and his royal Consort, 
 
 For favours bestowed, 
 
 And honours by them conferred, on this city. 
 
 His long and peaceful reign of 
 
 Absolute power 
 
 Was so tempered by his 
 
 Excessive good-nature, 
 
 That no instance can be given either of his own cruelty, 
 
 Or of his suffering that of others, to escape 
 
 Its proper reward . 
 
 Example unprecedented amongst absolute monarchs. 
 
 READER. 
 
 This monarch was a man, 
 
 And had his foibles, and his faults ; 
 
 Which we would wish covered with the veil of good 
 
 nature. 
 
 Made of the same piece with his own : 
 
 But, truth forceth us unwillingly to confess, 
 
 His passions were strong ; 
 
 Which, as they fired him to act strenuously in good. 
 
 Hurried him to some excesses of evil. 
 
 His fire, not used to be kept under by an early restraint, 
 
 Burst out too often into flaming acts. 
 Without waiting for the cool approbation of his judge- 
 ment. 
 
382 THE LIFE OF 
 
 His generosity was so great, 
 
 That Prudence often whispered him, in vain, 
 
 That she feared it would enter the neighbouring confines 
 
 of profusion : 
 
 His charity so unbounded, 
 
 That the severe might suspect it sometimes to be 
 
 The offspring of folly, or ostentation. 
 
 With all these. 
 
 Be they foibles, follies, faults, or frailties, 
 
 It will be difficult to point out. 
 
 Amongst his cotemporary Kings of the whole earth, 
 
 More than ONE 
 
 Who hath fewer, or less pernicious to mankind. 
 
 His existence 
 
 (For life it scarcely might be called) 
 
 Was spun out to so great an age, that 
 
 The man 
 
 Was sunk, like many former heroes, in 
 
 The weakness and infirmities of exhausted nature ; 
 
 The unwilling tax all animals must pay 
 
 For multiplicity of days. 
 
 Over his closing scene. 
 
 Charity long spread her all-covering mantle, 
 
 And dropped the curtain, 
 
 Before the poor actor, though he played his part, 
 
 Was permitted to quit the stage. 
 
 Now may she protect his memory ! 
 
 Every friend of Bath, 
 
 Every lover of decency, decorum, and good breeding. 
 
 Must sincerely deplore 
 
 The loss of so excellent a governor ; 
 
 And join in the most fervent wishes (would I could say 
 
 hopes !) 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 383 
 
 That there may soon be found a man 
 Able and worthy, 
 To succeed him. 
 
 The reader sees in what alluring colours Mr. Nash's 
 character is drawn ; but he must consider, that an 
 intimate friend held the pencil ; the Doctor professes to 
 say nothing of the dead but what was good ; and such 
 a maxim, though it serves his departed friend, is but 
 badly calculated to improve the living. Dr. King in 
 his Epitaph, however, is still more indulgent ; he produces 
 him as an example to kings, and prefers his laws even 
 to those of Solon, or Lycurgus. 
 
 Epitaphium Richardi Nash, Armigeri. 
 
 H. S.E. 
 
 RICHARDUS NASH 
 
 Obscuro loco natus, 
 
 Et nullis ortus majoribus : 
 
 Cui tamen 
 
 (0 rem miram, et incredibilem ! ) 
 
 Regnum opulentissimum fiorentissimumque 
 
 Plebs, proceres, principes, 
 
 Liberis suis suffragiis 
 
 Ultro detulerunt, 
 
 Quod et ipse summa cum dignitate tenuit, 
 
 Annos plus quinquaginta, 
 
 Universo populo consentiente, approbante, plaudente. 
 
 Una voce praeterea, unoque omnium ordinum consensu, 
 
 Ad imperium suum adjuncta est 
 
 Magni nominis ^ Provincia : 
 
 Quam admirabili consilio et ratione 
 
 Per se, non unquam per legatos, administravit ; 
 
 * Tunbridge. 
 
384 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Earn quotannis invisere dignatus, p. 
 
 Et apud provinciales, quoad necesse fuit, 
 Solitus manere. 
 
 In tanta f ortuna 
 
 Neque fastu turgidus Rex incessu patuit, 
 
 Neque, tyrannorum more, se jussit coli, 
 
 Aut amplos honores, titulosque sibi arrogavit ; 
 
 Sed cuncta insignia, etiam regium diadema rejiciens. 
 
 Caput contentus fuit ornare 
 
 Galero albo, 
 
 Manifesto animi sui candoris signOe 
 
 Legislator prudentissimus, 
 
 Vel Solone et Lycurgo illustrior 
 
 Leges, quascunque voluit, 
 
 Statuit, fixit, promulgavit : 
 
 Omnes quidem cum civibus suis, 
 
 Turn vero hospitibus, advenis, peregrinis, 
 
 Gratas, jucundas, utiles. 
 
 VoLUPTATUM arbiter et minister, 
 
 Sed gravis, sed elegans, sed urbanus, 
 
 Et in summa comitate satis adhibens severitatis;, 
 
 Imprimis curavit, 
 
 Ut in virorum et foeminarum coetibus 
 
 Nequis impudenter faceret, 
 
 Neque in iis quid inesset 
 
 Impuritatis, clamoris, tumulti. 
 
 CiviTATEM banc celeberrimam, 
 
 Delicias suas, 
 
 Non modo pulcherrimis aedificiis auxit, 
 
 Sed praeclara disciplina et moribus ornavit : 
 
 Quippe nemo quisquam 
 To Prepon melius intellexit, excoluit, docuit. 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 385 
 
 Justus, liberalis, benignus, facetus, 
 
 Atque amicus omnibus, praecipue miseris et egenis, 
 
 ' Nullos habuit inimicos, 
 
 Praeter magnos quosdam ardeliones, 
 
 Et declamatores eos tristes et fanaticos, 
 
 Qui generi humano sunt inimicissimi. 
 
 Pacis et patriae amans, 
 
 Concordiam, felicem et perpetuam, 
 
 In regno suo constituit, 
 
 Usque adeo, 
 
 Ut nullus alteri petulanter maledicere, 
 
 Aut facto nocere auderet ; 
 
 Neque, tanquam sibi metuens, 
 
 In publicum armatus prodire. 
 
 FuiT quanquam potentissimus, 
 
 Omnia arbitrio suo gubemans : 
 
 Haud tamen ipsa libertas 
 
 Magis usquam floruit 
 
 Gratia, gloria, auctoritate. 
 
 Singulare enim temperamentum invenit, 
 
 (Rem magnae cogitationis, 
 
 Et rerum omnium fortasse difficillimam) 
 
 Quo ignobiles cum nobilibus, pauperes cum divitibus, 
 
 Indocti cum doctissimis, ignavi cum fortissimis 
 
 Aequari se putarent, 
 
 Rex Omnibus Idem. 
 
 QuiCQUiD Peccaverit, 
 
 (Nam peccamus omnes) 
 
 In seipsum magis, quam in alios, 
 
 Et errore, aut imprudentia magis quam scelere, aut 
 
 improbitate, 
 
 Peccavit ; 
 
 aOLDSMITH. ni O 
 
386 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Nusquam vero ignoratione decori, aut honesti, 
 
 Neque ita quidem usquam, 
 
 Ut non veniam ab humanis omnibus 
 
 Facile impetrarit. 
 
 Hujus vitae morumque exemplar 
 
 Si caeteri reges, regulique, 
 
 Et quotquot sunt regnorum praefecti, 
 
 Imitarentur ; 
 
 (Utinam ! iterumque utinam !) 
 
 Et ipsi essent beati, 
 
 Et cunctae orbis regiones beatissimae. 
 
 Tamm virum, tantumque ademptum 
 
 Lugeant musae, charitesque ! 
 
 Lugeant Veneres, Cupidinesque ! 
 
 Lugeant omnes juvenum et nympharum chori ! 
 
 Tu vero, Bathonia, 
 
 Ne cesses tuum lugere 
 
 Principem, praeceptorem, amicum, patronum ; 
 
 Heu, heu, numquam posthac 
 
 Habitura parem ! 
 
 The following translation of this Epitaph will give 
 the English reader an idea of its contents, though not 
 of its elegance. 
 
 The Epitaph of Richard Nash, Esq. 
 
 Here lies 
 RICHARD NASH, 
 
 Born in an obscure village. 
 
 And from mean ancestors. 
 
 To whom, however, 
 
 Strange to relate. 
 
 Both the vulgar, and the mighty, 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 387 
 
 Without bribe or compulsion, 
 Unanimously gave 
 A kingdom, equally rich and flourishing. 
 A kingdom which he governed 
 More than fifty years. 
 With universal approbation and applause. 
 To his empire also was added, 
 By the consent of all orders, 
 A celebrated province ^ ^ 
 Which he ever swayed with great prudence, 
 Not by delegated power, but in person. 
 He deigned to visit it every year, 
 And while the necessities of state demanded his presence, 
 He usually continued there. 
 In such greatness of fortune 
 His pride discovered itself by no marks of dignity ; 
 Nor did he ever claim the honours of prostration. 
 Despising at once titles of adulation, 
 And laying aside all royal splendour. 
 Wearing not even the diadem. 
 He was content w4th being distinguished only by the 
 ornamental ensign 
 Of a white hat ; 
 A symbol of the candour of his mind. 
 He was a most prudent legislator. 
 And more remarkable even than Solon or Lycurgus. 
 He at once established and authorized 
 Whatever laws were thought convenient, 
 Which were equally serviceable to the city. 
 And grateful to strangers, 
 Who made it their abode. 
 He was at once a provider and a judge of pleasures. 
 But still conducted them with gravity and elegance. 
 And repressed licentiousness with severity. 
 ^ Tunbridge. 
 
388 THE LIFE OF 
 
 His chief care was employed 
 
 In preventing obscenity or impudence 
 
 From offending the modesty or the morals 
 
 Of the Fair Sex, 
 
 And in banishing from their assemblies 
 
 Tumult, clamour, and abuse. 
 
 He not only adorned this city, 
 
 Which he loved, 
 
 With beautiful structures. 
 
 But improved it by his example ; 
 
 As no man knew, no man taught, what was becoming 
 
 Better than he. 
 
 He was just, liberal, kind, and facetious, 
 
 A friend to all, but particularly to the poor. 
 
 He had no enemies, 
 
 Except some of the trifling great. 
 
 Or dull declaimers, foes to all mankind. 
 
 Equally a lover of peace and of his country, 
 
 He fixed a happy and lasting concord 
 
 In his kingdom. 
 
 So that none dare convey scandal, or injure by open 
 
 violence the universal peace. 
 
 Or even by carrying arms appear prepared for war. 
 
 With impunity. 
 
 But though his power was boundless. 
 
 Yet never did liberty flourish more, which he promoted, 
 
 Both by his authority, and cultivated for his fame. 
 
 He found out the happy secret 
 
 (A thing not to be considered without surprise) 
 
 Of uniting the vulgar and the great, 
 
 The poor and the rich, 
 
 The learned and ignorant. 
 
 The cowardly and the brave, 
 
 In the bonds of society, an equal king to all. 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 389 
 
 Whatever his faults were, 
 
 For we have all faults. 
 
 They were rather obnoxious to himself than others ; 
 
 They arose neither from imprudence nor mistake, 
 
 Never from dishonesty or corrupt principle. 
 
 But so harmless were they, 
 
 That though they failed to create our esteem. 
 
 Yet can they not want our pardon. 
 
 Could other kings and governors 
 
 But learn to imitate his example, 
 
 (Would to heaven they could !) 
 
 Then might they see themselves happy, 
 
 And their people still enjoying 
 
 more true felicity. 
 
 Ye Muses and Graces mourn 
 
 His death ; 
 
 Ye powers of love, ye choirs 
 
 of youth and virgins, 
 
 But thou, Bathonia, more than the rest, 
 
 Cease not to weep, 
 
 Your king, your teacher, patron, friend, 
 
 Never, ah, never, to behold 
 
 His equal. 
 
 Whatever might have been justly observed of Mr. 
 Nash's superiority as a governor, at least it may be 
 said, that few contemporary kings have met with such 
 able panegyrists. The former enumerates all his good 
 qualities with tenderness ; and the latter enforces them 
 with impetuosity. They both seem to have loved him, 
 and honourably paid his remains the last debt of friend- 
 ship. But a cool biographer, unbiased by resentment 
 or regard, will probably find nothing in the man either 
 
390 THE LIFE OF 
 
 truly great, or strongly vicious. His virtues were all 
 amiable, and more adapted to procure friends than 
 admirers, they were more capable of raising love than 
 esteem. He was naturally endued with good sense ; but 
 by having been long accustomed to pursue trifles, his 
 mind shrunk to the size of the little objects on which 
 it was employed. His generosity was boundless, because 
 his tenderness and his vanity were in equal proportion ; 
 the one impelling him to relieve misery, and the other 
 to make his benefactions known. In all his actions, 
 however virtuous, he was guided by sensation and not 
 by reason ; so that the uppermost passion was ever sure 
 to prevail. His being constantly in company had made 
 him an easy though not a polite companion. He chose 
 to be thought rather an odd fellow, than a well-bred 
 man ; perhaps that mixture of respect and ridicule, with 
 which his mock royalty was treated, first inspired him 
 with this resolution. The foundations of his empire were 
 laid in vicious compliance, the continuance of his reign 
 was supported by a virtuous impartiality. In the 
 beginning of his authority, he in reality obeyed those 
 whom he pretended to govern ; towards the end, he 
 attempted to extort a real obedience from his subjects, 
 and supported his right by prescription. Like a monarch 
 Tacitus talks of, they complied with him at first because 
 they loved, they obeyec^at last because they feared him. 
 He often led the rich into new follies, in order to promote 
 the happiness of the poor, and served the one at the 
 expense of the other. Whatever his vices were, they 
 were of use to society ; and this neither Petronius, nor 
 Apicius, nor Tigellius, nor any other professed volup- 
 tuary, could say. To set him up, as some do, for a 
 pattern of imitation, is wrong, since all his virtues 
 received a tincture from the neighbouring folly ; to 
 denounce peculiar judgements against him, is equally 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 391 
 
 unjust, as his faults raise rather our mirth than our 
 detestation. He was fitted for the station in which 
 fortune placed him. It required no great abilities to 
 fill it, and few of great abilities but would have disdained 
 the employment. He led a life of vanity, and long 
 mistook it for happiness. Unfortunately he was taught 
 at last to know, that a man of pleasure leads the most 
 unpleasant life in the world. 
 
392 THE LIFE OF 
 
 A Letter from Mr. * * * * in Tunbridge, to Lord in 
 
 London ; found among the Papers of Mr. Nash, and 
 prepared by him for the press. 
 
 My Lord, 
 
 What I foresaw has arrived ; poor Jenners, after 
 losing all his fortune, has shot himself through the head. 
 His losses to Bland were considerable, and his playing 
 soon after with Spedding contributed to hasten his ruin. 
 No man was ever more enamoured of play, or under- 
 stood it less. At whatever game he ventured his money, 
 he was most usually the dupe, and still foolishly attri- 
 buted to his bad luck, those misfortunes that entirely 
 proceeded from his want of judgement. 
 
 After finding that he had brought on himself irrepar- 
 able indigence and contempt, his temper, formerly so 
 sprightly, began to grow gloomy and unequal ; he grew 
 more fond of solitude, and more liable to take offence 
 at supposed injuries ; in short, for a week before he 
 shot himself, his friends were of opinion that he medi- 
 tated some such horrid design. He was found in his 
 chamber fallen on the floor, the bullet having glanced 
 on the bone, and lodged behind his right eyCo 
 
 You remember, my Lord, what a charming fellow 
 this deluded man was once. How benevolent, just, 
 temperate, and every way virtuous ; the only faults of 
 his mind arose from motives of humanity ; he was too 
 easy, credulous and good-natured, and unable to resist 
 temptation, when recommended by the voice of friend- 
 ship. These foibles the vicious and the needy soon 
 perceived, and what was at first a weakness they soon 
 perverted into guilt ; he became a gamester, and con- 
 tinued the infamous profession, till he could support the 
 miseries it brought with it no longer. 
 
 I have often been not a little concerned to see the 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 393 
 
 first introduction of a young man of fortune to the 
 gaming-table. With what eagerness his company is 
 courted by the whole fraternity of sharpers ; how they 
 . find out his most latent wishes, in order to make way 
 to his affections by gratifying them ; and continue to 
 hang upon him with the meanest degree of condescen- 
 sion. The youthful dupe, no way suspecting, imagines 
 himself surrounded by friends and gentlemen, and in- 
 capable of even suspecting that men of such seeming 
 good sense, and so genteel an appearance, should deviate 
 from the laws of honour, walks into the snare, nor is he 
 undeceived till schooled by the severity of experience. 
 
 As I suppose no man would be a gamester unless he 
 hoped to win, so I fancy it would be easy to reclaim 
 him, if he was once effectually convinced, that by con- 
 tinuing to play he must certainly lose. Permit me, my 
 Lord, to attempt this task, and to show, that no young 
 gentleman by a year's run of play, and in a mixed 
 company, can possibly be a gainer. 
 
 Let me suppose in the first place, that the chances 
 on both sides are equal, that there are no marked cards, 
 no pinching, shuffling, nor hiding ; let me suppose that 
 the players also have no advantage of each other in 
 point of judgement, and still further let me grant, that 
 the party is only formed at home, without going to the 
 usual expensive places of resort frequented by gamesters. 
 Even with all these circumstances in the young game- 
 ster's favour, it is evident he cannot be a gainer. With 
 equal players after a year's continuance of any particular 
 game it will be found, that, whatever has been played 
 for, the winnings on either side are very inconsiderable, 
 and most commonly nothing at all. Here then is a year's 
 anxiety, pain, jarring, and suspense, and nothing gained ; 
 were the parties to sit down and professedly play for 
 nothing, they would contemn the proposal ; they would 
 
 03 
 
394 THE LIFE OF 
 
 call it trifling away time, and one of the most insipid 
 amusements in nature ; yet in fact, how do equal 
 players differ ? It is allowed that little or nothing can 
 be gained ; but much is lost ; our youth, our time, 
 those moments that may be laid out in pleasure or 
 improvement, are foolishly squandered away, in tossing 
 cards, fretting at ill-luck, or, even with a run of luck 
 in our favour, fretting that our winnings are so small. 
 
 I have now stated gaming in that point of view in 
 which it is alone defensible, as a commerce carried on 
 with equal advantage and loss to either party, and it 
 appears, that the loss is great, and the advantage but 
 small. But let me suppose the players not to be equal, 
 but the superiority of judgement in our own favour. 
 A person who plays under this conviction, however, 
 must give up all pretensions to the approbation of his 
 own mind, and is guilty of as much injustice as the thief 
 who robbed a blind man because he knew he could not 
 swear to his person. 
 
 But in fact, when I allowed the superiority of skill 
 on the young beginner's side, I only granted an impos- 
 sibility. Skill in gaming, like skill in making a watch, 
 can only be acquired by long and painful industry. The 
 most sagacious youth alive was never taught at once 
 all the arts and all the niceties of gaming. Every 
 passion must be schooled by long habit into caution, 
 and phlegm ; the very countenance must be taught 
 proper discipline ; and he who would practise this art 
 with success, must practise on his own constitution all 
 the severities of a martyr, without any expectation of 
 the reward. It is evident therefore every beginner must 
 be a dupe, and can only be expected to learn his trade 
 by losses, disappointments, and dishonour. 
 
 If a young gentleman therefore begins to game, the 
 commencements are sure to be to his disadvantage ; and 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 395 
 
 all that he can promise himself is, that the company 
 he keeps, though superior in skill, are above taking 
 advantage of his ignorance, and unacquainted with any 
 sinister arts to correct fortune. Bub this, however, is 
 but a poor hope at best, and what is worse, most fre- 
 quently a false one. In general, I might almost have 
 said always, those who live by gaming, are not beholding 
 to chance alone for their support, but take every advan- 
 tage which they can practise without danger of detectiono 
 I know many are apt to say, and I have once said so 
 myself, that after I have shuffled the cards, it is not in 
 the power of a sharper to pack them ; but at present I 
 can confidently assure your Lordship, that such reasoners 
 are deceived. I have seen men, both in Paris, the 
 Hague, and London, who, after three deals, could give 
 whatever hands they pleased to all the company. How- 
 ever, the usual way with sharpers is to correct fortune 
 thus but once in a night, and to play in other respects 
 without blunder or mistake, and a perseverance in this 
 practice always balances the year in their favour. 
 
 It is impossible to enumerate all the tricks and arts 
 practised upon cards ; few but have seen those bungling 
 poor fellows who go about at coffee-houses, perform their 
 clumsy feats, and yet, indifferently as they are versed 
 in the trade, they often deceive us ; when such as these 
 are possessed of so much art, what must not those be, 
 who have been bred up to gaming from their infancy, 
 whose hands are not like those mentioned above, 
 rendered callous by labour, who have continual practice 
 in the trade of deceiving, and where the eye of the 
 spectator is less upon its guard. 
 
 Let the young beginner only reflect by what a variety 
 of methods it is possible to cheat him, and perhaps it 
 will check his confidence. His antagonists may act by 
 signs and confederacy, and this he can never detect; 
 
396 THE LIFE OF 
 
 they may cut to a particular card after three or four 
 hands have gone about, either by having that card 
 pinched, or broader than the rest, or by having an 
 exceeding fine wire thrust between the folds of the paper, 
 and just peeping out at the edge. Or the cards may 
 be chalked with particular marks, which none but the 
 sharper can understand, or a new pack may be slipped 
 in at a proper opportunity. I have known myself in 
 Paris, a fellow thus detected with a tin case, containing 
 two packs of cards concealed within his shirt sleeve, 
 and which, by means of a spring, threw the cards ready 
 packed into his hands. These and a hundred other arts 
 may be practised with impunity, and escape detection. 
 
 The great error lies in imagining every fellow with 
 a laced coat to be a gentleman. The address and 
 transient behaviour of a man of breeding are easily 
 acquired, and none are better qualified than gamesters 
 in this respect. At first, their complaisance, civility, and 
 apparent honour is pleasing, but upon examination, few 
 of them will be found to have their minds sufficiently 
 stored with any of the more refined accomplishments, 
 which truly characterize the man of breeding. This 
 will commonly serve as a criterion to distinguish them, 
 though there are other marks which every young gentle- 
 man of fortune should be apprised of. A sharper, when 
 he plays, generally handles and deals the cards awk- 
 wardly like a bungler ; he advances his bets by degrees, 
 and keeps his antagonist in spirits by small advantages 
 and alternate success at the beginning ; to show all his 
 > force at once, would but fright the bird he intends to 
 decoy ; he talks of honour and virtue, and his being 
 a gentleman, and that he knows great men, and mentions 
 his coal-mines, and his estate in the country ; he is 
 totally divested of that masculine confidence which is 
 the attendant of real fortune ; he turns, yields, assents. 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 397 
 
 smiles, as he hopes will be most pleasing to his destined 
 prey ; he is afraid of meeting a shabby acquaintance, 
 particularly if in better company ; as he grows richer, 
 he wears finer clothes ; and if ever he is seen in an 
 undress, it is most probable he is without money ; 
 so that seeing a gamester growing finer each day^ is 
 a certain symptom of his success. 
 
 The young gentleman who plays with such men for 
 considerable sums, is sure to be undone, and yet we 
 seldom see even the rook himself make a fortune. A life 
 of gaming must necessarily be a life of extravagance : 
 parties of this kind are formed in houses where the 
 whole profits are consumed ; and while those who play 
 mutually ruin each other, they only who keep the house 
 or the table acquire fortunes. Thus gaming may readily 
 ruin a fortune, but has seldom been found to retrieve it. 
 The wealth which has been acquired with industry and 
 hazard, and preserved for ages by prudence and fore- 
 sight, is swept away on a sudden ; and when a besieging 
 sharper sits down before an estate, the property is often 
 transferred in less time than the writings can be drawn 
 to secure the possession. The neglect of business, and 
 the extravagance of a mind which has been taught to 
 covet precarious possession, brings on premature destruc- 
 tion ; though poverty may fetch a compass and go 
 somewhat about, yet will it reach the gamester at last ; 
 and though his ruin be slow, yet it is certain. 
 
 A thousand instances could be given of the fatal 
 tendency of this passion, which first impoverishes the 
 mind, and then perverts the understanding. Permit me 
 to mention one, not caught from report, or dressed up 
 by fancy, but such as has actually fallen under my own 
 observation, and of the truth of which, I beg your 
 Lordship may rest satisfied. 
 
 At Tunbridge, in the year 1715, Mr. J. Hedges made 
 
398 THE LIFE OF 
 
 a very brilliant appearance ; he had been married about 
 two years to a young lady of great beauty and large 
 fortune ; they had one child, a boy, on whom they 
 bestowed all that affection which they could spare from 
 each other. He knew nothing of gaming, nor seemed 
 to have the least passion for play ; but he was un- 
 acquainted with his own heart ; he began by degrees 
 to bet at the tables for trifling sums, and his soul took 
 fire at the prospect of immediate gain ; he was soon 
 surrounded with sharpers, who with calmness lay in 
 ambush for his fortune, and coolly took advantage of 
 the precipitancy of his passions. 
 
 His lady perceived the ruin of her family approaching, 
 but, at first, without being able to form any scheme to 
 prevent it. She advised with his brother, who, at that 
 time, was possessed of a small fellowship in Cambridge. 
 It was easily seen, that whatever passion took the lead 
 in her husband's mind, seemed to be there fixed unalter- 
 ably ; it was determined, therefore, to let him pursue 
 fortune, but previously take measures to prevent the 
 pursuits being fatal. 
 
 Accordingly every night this gentleman was a constant 
 attender at the hazard table ; he understood neither the 
 arts of sharpers, nor even the allowed strokes of a con- 
 noisseur, yet still he played. The consequence is obvious ; 
 he lost his estate, his equipage, his wife's jewels, and 
 every other movable that could be parted with, except 
 a repeating watch. His agony upon this occasion was 
 inexpressible ; he was even mean enough to ask a gentle- 
 man, who sat near, to lend him a few pieces, in order 
 to turn his fortune ; but this prudent gamester, who 
 plainly saw there were no expectations of being repaid, 
 refused to lend a farthing, alleging a former resolution 
 against lending. Hedges was at last furious with the 
 continuance of ill-success, and pulling out his watch, 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 399 
 
 asked if any person in company would set him sixty 
 guineas upon it : the company were silent ; he then 
 demanded fifty ; still no answer ; he sunk to forty, 
 thirty, twenty; finding the company still without answer- 
 ing, he cried out, ' By G — d, it shall never go for less,' and 
 dashed it against the floor, at the same time attempting to 
 dash out his brains against the marble chimney-piece. 
 
 This last act of desperation immediately excited the 
 attention of the whole company ; they instantly gathered 
 round, and prevented the effects of his passion ; and 
 after he again became cool, he was permitted to return 
 home, with sullen discontent, to his wife. Upon his 
 entering her apartment, she received him with her usual 
 tenderness and satisfaction ; w^hile he answered her 
 caresses with contempt and severity ; his disposition 
 being quite altered with his misfortunes. ' But, my dear 
 
 * Jemmy,' says his wife, * perhaps you don't know the 
 ' news I have to tell ; My Mamma's old uncle is dead, 
 ' the messenger is now in the house, and you know his 
 ' estate is settled upon you.' This account seemed only 
 to increase his agony, and looking angrily at her, he 
 cried, ' There you lie, my dear, his estate is not settled 
 ' upon me.' 'I beg your pardon,' says she, ' I really 
 ' thought it was, at least you have always told me so.' 
 ' No,' returned he, 'as sure as you and I are to be 
 ' miserable here, and our children beggars hereafter, 
 ' I have sold the reversion of it this day, and have lost 
 
 * every farthing I got for it at the hazard table.' ' What^ 
 ' all ! ' replied the lady. ' Yes, every farthing,' returned 
 he, ' and I owe a thousand pounds more than I have 
 ' to pay.' Thus speaking, he took a few frantic steps 
 across the room. When the lady had a little enjoyed 
 his perplexity, ' No, my dear,' cried she, ' you have 
 ' lost but a trifle, and you owe nothing. Our brother 
 
 * and I have taken care to prevent the effects of your 
 
400 THE LIFE OF 
 
 * rashness, and are actually the persons who have won 
 
 * your fortune ; we employed proper persons for this 
 
 * purpose, who brought their winnings to me ; your 
 
 * money, your equipage, are in my possession, and here 
 ' I return them to you, from whom they were unjustly 
 
 * taken. I only ask permission to keep my jewels, and 
 
 * to keep you, my greatest jewel, from such dangers for 
 
 * the future.' Her prudence had the proper effect : he 
 ever after retained a sense of his former follies, and 
 never played for the smallest sums, even for amusement. 
 
 Not less than three persons in one day, fell a sacrifice 
 at Bath, to this destructive passion. Two gentlemen 
 fought a duel, in which one was killed, and the other 
 desperately wounded ; and a youth of great expectation, 
 and excellent disposition, at the same time ended his 
 own life by a pistol. If there be any state that deserves 
 pity, it must be that of a gamester ; but the state of 
 a dying gamester is of all situations the most deplorable. 
 
 There is another argument which your Lordship, I 
 fancy, will not entirely despise ; beauty, my Lord, I own 
 is at best but a trifle, but such as it is, I fancy few 
 would willingly part with what little they have. A man 
 with a healthful complexion, how great a philosopher 
 soever he be, would not willingly exchange it for a sallow 
 hectic phiz, pale eyes, and a sharp wrinkled visage. 
 I entreat you only to examine the faces of all the noted 
 gamblers round one of our public tables ; have you ever 
 seen anything more haggard, pinched, and miserable ? 
 and it is but natural that it should be so. The succession 
 of passions flush the cheek with red, and all such flushings 
 are ever succeeded by consequent paleness ; so that 
 a gamester contracts the sickly hue of a student, while 
 he is only acquiring the stupidity of a fool. 
 
 Your good sense, my Lord, I have often had an 
 occasion of knowing, yet how miserable is it to be in 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 401 
 
 a set of company where the most sensible is ever the 
 least skilful : your footman, with a little instruction, 
 would, I dare venture to affirm, make a better and more 
 successful gamester than you ; want of passions, and low 
 cunning, are the two great arts ; and it is peculiar to 
 this science alone, that they who have the greatest pas- 
 sion for it, are of all others the most unfit to practise it. 
 
 Of all the men I ever knew, Spedding was the greatest 
 blockhead, and yet the best gamester : he saw almost 
 intuitively the advantage on either side, and ever took 
 it ; he could calculate the odds in a moment, and decide 
 upon the merits of a cock or a horse, better than any 
 man in England ; in short, he was such an adept in 
 gaming, that he brought it up to a pitch of sublimity 
 it had never attained before ; yet, with all this, Spedding 
 could not write his own name. What he died worth, 
 I cannot tell ; but of this I am certain, he might have 
 possessed a ministerial estate, and that won from men, 
 famed for their sense, literature, and patriotism. 
 
 If, after this description, your Lordship is yet resolved 
 to hazard your fortune at gaming, I beg you would 
 advert to the situation of an old and luckless gamester. 
 Perhaps there is not in nature a more deplorable being : 
 his character is too well marked, he is too well known 
 to be trusted. A man that has been often a bankrupt, 
 and renewed trade upon low compositions, may as well 
 expect extensive credit as such a man. His reputation 
 is blasted, his constitution worn, by the extravagance and 
 ill hours of his profession ; he is now incapable of alluring 
 his dupes, and like a superannuated savage of the forest, 
 he is starved for want of vigour to hunt after prey. 
 
 Thus gaming is the source of poverty, and still worse, 
 the parent of infamy and vice. It is an inlet to de- 
 bauchery ; for the money thus acquired is but little 
 valued. Every gamester is a rake, and his morals worse 
 
402 THE LIFE OF 
 
 than his mystery. It is his interest to be exemplary 
 in every scene of debauchery, his prey is to be courted 
 with every guilty pleasure ; but these are to be changed, 
 repeated, and embellished, in order to employ his 
 imagination, while his reason is kept asleep ; a young 
 mind is apt to shrink at the prospect of ruin ; care must 
 be taken to harden his courage, and make him keep 
 his rank ; he must be either found a libertine, or he 
 must be made one. And when a man has parted with 
 his money like a fool, he generally sends his conscience 
 after it like a villain, and the nearer he is to the brink 
 of destruction, the fonder does he grow of ruin. 
 
 Your friend and mine, my Lord, had been thus driven 
 to the last reserve : he found it impossible to disentangle 
 his affairs, and look the world in the face ; impatience 
 at length threw him into the abyss he feared, and life 
 became a burthen, because he feared to die. But I own 
 that play is not always attended with such tragical 
 circumstances : some have had courage to survive their 
 losses, and go on content with beggary ; and sure those 
 misfortunes, which are of our own production, are of 
 all others most pungent. To see such a poor disbanded 
 being an unwelcome guest at every table, and often 
 flapped off like a fly, is affecting ; in this case the closest 
 alliance is forgotten, and contempt is too strong for the 
 ties of blood to unbind. 
 
 But however fatal this passion may be in its con- 
 sequence, none allures so much in the beginning ; the 
 person once listed as a gamester, if not soon reclaimed, 
 pursues it through his whole life ; no loss can retard, 
 no danger awaken him to common sense ; nothing can 
 terminate his career but want of money to play, or of 
 honour to be trusted. 
 
 Among the number of my acquaintance, I knew but 
 of two who succeeded by gaming ; the one a phlegmatic 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 403 
 
 heavy man, who would have made a fortune in whatever 
 way of life he happened to be placed ; the other who 
 had lost a fine estate in his youth by play, and retrieved 
 a greater at the age of sixty-five, when he might be 
 justly said, to be past the power of enjoying it. One 
 or two successful gamesters are thus set up in an age to 
 allure the young beginner ; we all regard such, as the 
 highest prize in a lottery, unmindful of the numerous losses 
 that go to the accumulation of such infrequent success. 
 
 Yet I would not be so morose, as to refuse your youth 
 all kinds of play : the innocent amusements of a family 
 must often be indulged, and cards allowed to supply 
 the intervals of more real pleasure ; but the sum played 
 for in such cases should always be a trifle ; something 
 to call up attention, but not engage the passions. The 
 usual excuse for laying large sums is, to make the players 
 attend to their game ; but in fact, he that plays only for 
 shillings, will mind his cards equally well, with him that 
 bets guineas ; for the mind, habituated to stake large 
 sums, will consider them as trifles at last ; and if one 
 shilling could not exclude indifference at first, neither 
 will a hundred in the end. 
 
 I have often asked myself, how it is possible that he 
 who is possessed of competence, can ever be induced to 
 make it precarious by beginning play with the odds 
 against him ; for wherever he goes to sport his money, 
 he will find himself overmatched and cheated. Either 
 at White's, Newmarket, the Tennis-Court, the Cock- 
 Pit, or the Billiard-Table, he will find numbers who have 
 no other resource, but their acquisitions there ; and if 
 such men live like gentlemen, he may readily conclude 
 it must be on the spoils of his fortune, or the fortunes of 
 ill-judging men like himself. Was he to attend but a 
 moment to their manner of betting at those places, he 
 would readily find the gamester seldom proposing bets 
 
404 THE LIFE OF 
 
 but with the advantage in his own favour. A man of 
 honour continues to lay on the side on which he first 
 won ; but gamesters shift, change, lie upon the lurch, and 
 take every advantage, either of our ignorance or neglect. 
 In short, my Lord, if a man designs to lay out his 
 fortune in quest of pleasure, the gaming table is, of all 
 other places, that where he can have least for his money. 
 The company are superficial, extravagant, and un- 
 entertaining ; the conversation flat, debauched, and 
 absurd ; the hours unnatural, and fatiguing ; the 
 anxiety of losing is greater than the pleasure of winning ; 
 friendship must be banished from that society, the 
 members of which are intent only on ruining each other ; 
 every other improvement, either in knowledge or virtue, 
 can scarce find room in that breast which is possessed by 
 the spirit of play ; the spirits become vapid, the con- 
 stitution is enfeebled, the complexion grows pale ; till, 
 in the end, the mind, body, friends, fortune, and even 
 the hopes of futurity sink together ! Happy, if nature 
 terminates the scene, and neither justice nor suicide are 
 called in to accelerate her tardy approach. 
 
 I am, 
 
 my Lord, &c. 
 
 Among other Papers in the custody of Mr. Nash, was the 
 following angry Letter, addressed to him in this manner. 
 
 To Richard Nash, Esq. 
 
 Sire, ^'*^^ ^-^ ^^*^- 
 
 I must desire your Majesty to order the enclosed 
 to be read to the great Mr. Hoyle, if he be found in any 
 part of your dominions. You will perceive that it is 
 a panegyric on his manifold virtues, and that he is 
 thanked more particularly for spending his time so much 
 to the emolument of the public, and for obliging the 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 406 
 
 world with a book more read than the Bible, and which 
 so eminently tends to promote Christian knowledge, 
 sound morality, and the happiness of mankind. 
 
 (The enclosed we have omitted, as it contains a satire on 
 gaming, and may probably give offence to our betters.) 
 
 This author, however (continues the letter -writer), has 
 not set forth half the merits of the piece under con- 
 sideration, nor is the great care which he has taken 
 to prevent our reading any other book, instead of this, 
 been sufficiently taken notice of : beware of counterfeits ; 
 these books are not to be depended on unless signed by 
 E, Hoyle, is a charitable admonition. As you have so 
 much power at Bath, and are absolute, I think you 
 should imitate other great monarchs, by rewarding those 
 with honours who have been serviceable in your state ; 
 and I beg that a new order may be established for that 
 purpose. Let him who has done nothing but game all his 
 life, and has reduced the most families to ruin and beggary, 
 be made a Marshal of the Black Ace; and those who are 
 everyday making proselytes to the tables, have the honour 
 of knighthood conferred on them, and be distinguished 
 by the style and title of Knights of the four Knaves. 
 
 The moment I came into Bath, my ears were saluted 
 with the news of a gentleman's being plundered at the 
 gaming table, and having lost his senses on the occasion. 
 The same day a duel was fought between two gentlemen 
 gamesters on the Downs, and in the evening another 
 hanged himself at the Bear ; but first wrote a note, 
 which was found near him, importing that he had 
 injured the best of friends. These are the achievements 
 of your Knights of the four Knaves. The Devil will pick 
 the bones of all gamesters, that 's certain ! — Ay ! and 
 of duellers too ! but in the meantime let none think 
 that duelling is a mark of courage ; for I know it is not. 
 
406 THE LIFE OF 
 
 A person served under me in Flanders who had fought 
 four duels, and depended so much on his skill, the 
 strength of his arm, and the length of his sword, that 
 he would take up a quarrel for anybody; yet, in the 
 field, I never saw one behave so like a poltroon. If 
 a few of these gamesters and duellers were gibbeted, it 
 might perhaps help to amend the rest. I have often 
 thought, that the only way, or at least, the most effectual 
 way, to prevent duelling, would be to hang both parties, 
 the living and the dead, on the same tree ; ^ and if the 
 
 ^ A scheme to prevent duelling, similar to this, was attempted 
 by Gustavus Adolphus ; and is thus recorded by the writer of his life. 
 
 * In one of the Prussian Campaigns, when the irrational practice 
 ' of duelling arose to a considerable height in the Swedish army, 
 
 * not only amongst persons of rank and fashion, but even amongst 
 
 * common soldiers, this prince published a severe edict, and de- 
 ' nounced death against every delinquent. Soon after a quarrel 
 
 * arose between two officers of very high command, and as they knew 
 
 * the king's firmness in preserving his word inviolable, they agreed to 
 ' request an audience, and besought his permission to decide the 
 
 * affair like men of honour. His Majesty took fire in a moment, but 
 
 * repressed his passion with such art, that they easily mistook him ; 
 ' of course with some reluctance, but under the appearance of pitying 
 
 * brave men, who thought their reputation injured, he told them, 
 
 * that he blamed them much for their mistaken notions, concerning 
 
 * Fame and Glory ; yet as this unreasonable determination appeared 
 ' to be the result of deliberate reflection, to the best of their deluded 
 ' capacity, he would allow them to decide the affair at the time and 
 ' place specified : " and, gentlemen," said he, "I will be an eye- 
 ' witness myself of your extraordinary valour and prowess." 
 
 ' At the hour appointed Gustavus arrived, accompanied by 
 
 * a small body of infantry, whom he formed into a circle round the 
 
 * combatants. " Now," says he, " fight till one man dies ; " and 
 
 * calling the executioner of the army to him (or the provost-marshal, 
 ' as the language then ran), " Friend," added he, " the instant one is 
 
 * killed, behead the other before my eyes." 
 
 ' Astonished with such inflexible firmness, the two generals, after 
 
 * pausing a moment, fell down on their knees, and asked the king's 
 
 * forgiveness, who made them embrace each other, and give their 
 ' promise to continue faithful friends to their last moments ; as 
 ' they did with sincerity and thankfulness.' 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 407 
 
 winner and the loser were treated in the same manner, 
 it would be better for the public ; since the tucking up 
 
 of a few R Is might be a warning to others, and save 
 
 many a worthy family from destruction. 
 
 I am yours, &c. 
 
 The author of this letter appears to have been very angry, 
 and not without reason ; for, if I am rightly informed, 
 his only son was ruined at Bath, and by sharpers. But why 
 is Nash to be blamed for this ? It must be acknow- 
 ledged, that he always took pains to prevent the ruin of the 
 youth of both sexes, and had so guarded against duelling, 
 that he would not permit a sword to be worn in Bath. 
 
 As the heart of a man is better known by his private 
 than public actions, let us take a view of Nash in domestic 
 life ; among his servants and dependants, where no gloss 
 was required to colour his sentiments and disposition, 
 nor any mask necessary to conceal his foibles. Here we 
 shall find him the same open-hearted, generous, good- 
 natured man we have already described ; one who was 
 ever fond of promoting the interests of his friends, his 
 servants, and dependants, and making them happy. In 
 his own house no man perhaps was more regular, cheer- 
 ful, and beneficent than Mr-. Nash. His table was 
 always free to those who sought his friendship, or wanted 
 a dinner ; and after grace was said, he usually accosted 
 the company in the following extraordinary manner, to 
 take off all restraint and ceremony : * Come, gentlemen, 
 'eat and welcome; spare, and the Devil choke you.' 
 I mention this circumstance for no other reason but 
 because it is well known, and is consistent with the 
 singularity of his character and behaviour. 
 
 As Mr. Nash's thoughts were entirely employed in the 
 affairs of his government, he was seldom at home but at 
 the time of eating or of rest. His table was well served. 
 
408 THE LIFE OP 
 
 but his entertainment consisted principally of plain 
 dishes. Boiled chicken and roast mutton were his 
 favourite meats, and he was so fond of the small sort of 
 potatoes, that he called them English pine-apples, and 
 generally eat them as others do fruit, after dinner. In 
 drinking he was altogether as regular and abstemious. 
 Both in this, and in eating, he seemed to consult Nature, 
 and obey only her dictates. Good small beer, with or 
 without a glass of wine in it, and sometimes wine and 
 water, was his drink at meals, and after dinner he generally 
 drank one glass of wine. He seemed fond of hot suppers, 
 usually supped about nine or ten o'clock, upon roast 
 breast of mutton and his potatoes, and soon after supper 
 went to bed ; which induced Dr. Cheney to tell him 
 jestingly, that he behaved like other brutes, and lay down 
 as soon as he had filled his belly. ' Very true,' replied 
 Nash, ' and this prescription I had from my neighbour's 
 ' cow, who is a better physician than you, and a superior 
 ' judge of plants, notwithstanding you have written so 
 ' learnedly on the vegetable diet.' 
 
 Nash generally arose early in the morning, being 
 seldom in bed after five ; and to avoid disturbing the 
 family and depriving his servants of their rest, he had 
 the fire laid after he was in bed, and in the morning 
 lighted it himself, and sat down to read some of his 
 few but well-chosen books. After reading some time, 
 he usually went to the Pump-room and drank the waters ; 
 then took a walk on the parade, and went to the coffee- 
 house to breakfast ; after which, till two o'clock (his 
 usual time of dinner), his hours were spent in arbitrating 
 differences amongst his neighbours, or the company 
 resorting to the wells ; directing the diversions of the 
 day, in visiting the new-comers, or receiving friends at 
 his own house, of which there were a great concourse 
 till within six or eight years before his death. 
 
RICHARD NASH, ESQ. 409 
 
 His generosity and charity in private life, though not 
 so conspicuous, was as great as that in public, and 
 indeed far more considerable than his little income 
 would admit of. He could not stifle the natural impulse 
 which he had to do good, but frequently borrowed 
 money to relieve the distressed ; and when he knew not 
 conveniently where to borrow, he has been often observed 
 to shed tears, as he passed through the wretched 
 supplicants who attended his gate. 
 
 This sensibility, this power of feeling the misfortunes 
 of the miserable, and his address and earnestness in 
 relieving their wants, exalts the character of Mr. Nash, 
 and draws an impenetrable veil over his foibles. His 
 singularities are forgotten when we behold his virtues, 
 and he who laughed at the whimsical character and 
 behaviour of this Monarch of Bath, now laments that 
 he is no more. 
 
APPENDIX 
 
 BEAU TIBBS : A THIRD ESSAY 
 
 {See pp. 147, 151) 
 
 [From The Citizen of the World, Letter LXXI] 
 
 The people of London are as fond of walking as our 
 friends at Pekin of riding ; one of the principal entertain- 
 ments of the citizens here in summer is to repair about 
 nightfall to a garden not far from town, where they 
 walk about, show their best clothes and best faces, and 
 listen to a concert provided for the occasion. 
 
 I accepted an invitation a few evenings ago from my 
 old friend, the man in black, to be one of a party that 
 was to sup there ; and at the appointed hour waited 
 upon him at his lodgings. There I found the company 
 assembled and expecting my arrival. Our party con- 
 sisted of my friend in superlative finery, his stockings 
 rolled, a black velvet waistcoat which was formerly new, 
 and his grey wig combed down in imitation of hair. 
 A pawn-broker's widow, of whom, by the by, my friend 
 was a professed admirer, dressed out in green damask, 
 with three gold rings on every finger. Mr. Tibbs, the 
 second-rate beau, I have formerly described ; together 
 with his lady, in flimsy silk, dirty gauze instead of linen, 
 and an hat as big as an umbrella. 
 
 Our first difficulty was in settling how we should set 
 out. Mrs. Tibbs had a natural aversion to the water, 
 and the widow being a little in flesh, as warmly protested 
 against walking ; a coach was therefore agreed upon ; 
 which being too small to carry flve, Mr. Tibbs consented/ 
 to sit in his wife's lap. 
 
 In this manner therefore we set forward, being 
 entertained by the way with the bodings of Mr. Tibbs, 
 
412 APPENDIX 
 
 who assured us, he did not expect to see a single creature 
 for the evening above the degree of a cheesemonger ; 
 that this was the last night of the gardens, and that 
 consequently we should be pestered with the nobility 
 and gentry from Thames Street and Crooked Lane ; 
 with several other prophetic ejaculations probably 
 inspired by the uneasiness of his situation. 
 
 The illuminations began before we arrived, and I must 
 confess, that upon entering the gardens I found every 
 sense overpaid with more than expected pleasure ; the 
 lights every where glimmering through the scarcely 
 moving trees ; the full-bodied concert bursting on the 
 stillness of the night, the natural concert of the birds, 
 in the more retired part of the grove, vying with that 
 which was formed by art ; the company gaily dressed, 
 looking satisfaction ; and the tables spread with various 
 delicacies, — all conspired to fill my imagination with the 
 visionary happiness of the Arabian lawgiver, and lifted 
 me into an ecstasy of admiration. * Head of Confucius,' 
 cried I to my friend, ' this is fine ! this unites rural 
 ' beauty with courtly magnificence ! if we except the 
 'virgins of immortality that hang on every tree, and 
 ' may be plucked at every desire, I don't see how this 
 'fall^ short of Mahomet's Paradise ! ' 'As for virgins,' 
 /cries my friend, 'it is true, they are a fruit that don't 
 ' ' much abound in our gardens here ; but if ladies as plenty 
 ' as apples in autumn, and as complying as any Houri of 
 * them all can content you, I fancy we have no need to 
 ' go to heaven for Paradise.' 
 
 I was going to second his remarks, when we were called 
 to a consultation by Mr. Tibbs and the rest of the com- 
 pany, to know in what manner we were to lay out the 
 evening to the greatest advantage. Mrs. Tibbs was for 
 keeping the genteel walk of the garden, where she 
 observed there was always the very best company ; 
 
BEAU TIBBS 413 
 
 the widow, on the contrary, who came but once a season, 
 was for securing a good standing place to see the water- 
 works, which she assured us would begin in less than 
 an hour at farthest ; a dispute therefore began, and as 
 it was managed between two of very opposite characters, 
 it threatened to grow more bitter at every reply. Mrs. 
 Tibbs wondered how people could pretend to know the 
 polite world who had received all their rudiments of 
 breeding behind a counter ; to which the other replied, 
 that though some people sat behind counters, yet they 
 could sit at the head of their own tables too, and carve 
 three good dishes of hot meat whenever they thought 
 proper, which was more than some people could say for 
 themselves, that hardly knew a rabbit and onions from 
 a green goose and gooseberries. 
 
 It is hard to say where this might have ended, had not 
 the husband, who probably knew the impetuosity of 
 his wife's disposition, proposed to end the dispute by 
 adjourning to a box, and try if there was anything to 
 be had for supper that was supportable. To this we 
 all consented, but here a new distress arose : Mr. and 
 Mrs. Tibbs would sit in none but a genteel box, a box 
 where they might see and be seen — one, as they expressed 
 it, in the very focus of public view ; but such a box 
 was not easy to be obtained, for though we were perfectly 
 convinced of our own gentility, and the gentility of our 
 appearance, yet we found it a difficult matter to persuade 
 the keepers of the boxes to be of our opinion ; they 
 chose to reserve genteel boxes for what they judged more 
 ^ genteel company. 
 
 At last however we were fixed, though somewhat 
 obscurely, and supplied with the usual entertainment of 
 the place. The widow found the supper excellent, but 
 Mrs. Tibbs thought every thing detestable. * Come, 
 * come,my dear/ cries the husband, by way of consolation, 
 
414 APPENDIX 
 
 ' to be sure we can't find such dressing here as we have 
 * at Lord Crump's or Lady Crimp's ; but for Vauxhall 
 ' dressing it is pretty good ; it is not their victuals indeed 
 ' I find fault with, but their wine ; their wine,' cries he, 
 drinking off a glass, ' indeed, is most abominable.' 
 
 By this last contradiction the widow was fairly 
 conquered in point of politeness. She perceived now 
 that she had no pretensions in the world to taste ; her 
 very senses were vulgar, since she had praised detestable 
 custard, and smacked at wretched wine ; she was 
 therefore content to yield the victory, and for the rest 
 of the night to listen and improve. It is true, she would 
 now and then forget herself, and confess she was pleased, 
 but they soon brought her back again to miserable 
 refinement. She once praised the painting of the box 
 in which we were sitting, but was soon convinced that 
 such paltry pieces ought rather to excite horror than 
 satisfaction ; she ventured again to commend one of 
 the singers, but Mrs. Tibbs soon let her know, in the 
 style of a connoisseur, that the singer in question had 
 neither ear, voice, nor judgement. 
 
 Mr. Tibbs, now willing to prove that his wife's pre- 
 tensions to music were just, entreated her to favour the 
 company with a song ; but to this she gave a positive 
 denial, ' for you know very well, my dear,' says she, 
 ' that I am not in voice to-day, and when one's voice is 
 ' not equal to one's judgement, what signifies singing ? 
 ' besides, as there is no accompaniment, it would be but 
 ' spoiling music' All these excuses however were over- 
 ruled by the rest of the company, who, though one 
 would think they already had music enough, joined in 
 the entreaty. But particularly the widow, now willing 
 to convince the company of her breeding, pressed so 
 warmly that she seemed determined to take no refusal. 
 At last then the lady complied, and after humming for 
 
BEAU TIBBS 416 
 
 some minutes, began with such a voice, and such 
 affectation, as I could perceive gave but little satisfaction 
 to any except her husband. He sat with rapture in his 
 eye, and beat time with his hand on the table. 
 
 You must observe, my friend, that it is the custom 
 of this country, when a lady or gentleman happens to 
 sing, for the company to sit as mute and motionless as 
 statues. Every feature, every limb, must seem to 
 correspond in fixed attention, and while the song con- 
 tinues, they are to remain in a state of universal petrifac- 
 tion. In this mortifying situation we had continued 
 for some time, listening to the song, and looking with 
 tranquillity, when the master of the box came to inform 
 us, that the water-works were going to begin. At this in- 
 formation I could instantly perceive the widow bounce 
 from her seat ; but correcting herself, she sat down 
 again, repressed by motives of good breeding. Mrs. Tibbs, 
 who had seen the water- works an hundred times, 
 resolving not to be interrupted, continued her song 
 without any share of mercy, nor had the smallest pity 
 on our impatience. The widow's face, I own, gave me 
 high entertainment ; in it I could plainly read the 
 struggle she felt between good breeding and curiosity ; 
 she talked of the water-works the whole evening before, 
 and seemed to have come merely in order to see them ; 
 but then she could not bounce out in the very middle of 
 a song, for that would be forfeiting all pretensions to 
 high life, or high-Hved company ever after : Mrs. Tibbs, 
 therefore, kept on singing, and we continued to hsten, till 
 at last, when the song was just concluded, the waiter 
 came to inform us that the water-works were over. 
 
 ' The water-works over ! ' cried the widow ; * the 
 ' water-works over already, that 's impossible, they can't 
 be over so soon ! ' — * It^is not my business,' replied the 
 fellow, ' to contradict your ladyship ; J'U run again and 
 
416 APPENDIX 
 
 ' see.' He went, and soon returned with a confirmation 
 of the dismal tidings. No ceremony could now bind 
 my friend's disappointed mistress. She testified her 
 displeasure in the openest manner ; in short, she now 
 began to find fault in turn, and at last insisted upon going 
 home, just at the time that Mr. and Mrs. Tibbs assured 
 the company that the polite hours were going to begin, 
 and that the ladies would instantaneously be entertained 
 with the horns. — ^Adieu. 
 
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