he carries round from friend to friend through to the place of dinner, though every step of his a circle of visits, till, hearing what each says horse dashed the mud into the air. upon the question, he becomes able at dinner In the afternoon, having parted from his comto say a little himself; and, as every great ge-pany, he set forward alone, and passed many nius relaxes himself among his inferiors, meets with some who wonder how so young a man can talk so wisely. At night he has a new feast prepared for his intellects; he always runs to a disputing society, or a speaking club, where he half hears what, if he had heard the whole, he would but half understand; goes home pleased with the consciousness of a day well spent, lies down full of ideas, and rises in the morning empty as before. No. 49.] SATUrday, March 24, 1759. I SUPPED three nights ago with my friend Will Marvel. His affairs obliged him lately to take a journey into Devonshire, from which he has just returned. He knows me to be a very patient hearer, and was glad of my company, as it gave him an opportunity of disburdening himself by a minute relation of the casualties of his expedition. collections of water, of which it was impossible to guess the depth, and which he now cannot review without some censure of his own rashness; but what a man undertakes he must perform, and Marvel hates a coward at his heart. Few that lie warm in their beds think what others undergo, who have perhaps been as tenderly educated, and have as acute sensations as themselves. My friend was now to lodge the second night almost fifty miles from home, in a house which he never had seen before, among people to whom he was totally a stranger, not knowing whether the next man he should meet would prove good or bad; but seeing an inn of a good appearance, he rode resolutely into the yard; and knowing that re spect is often paid in proportion as it is claimed, delivered his injunctions to the hostler with spirit, and entering the house called vigorously about him. On the third day up rose the sun and Mr. Marvel. His troubles and his dangers were Will is not one of those who go out and re- now such as he wishes no other man ever to turn with nothing to tell. He has a story of encounter. The ways were less frequented, his travels, which will strike a home-bred citi-and the country more thinly inhabited. He zen with horror, and has in ten days suffered so rode many a lonely hour through mire and often the extremes of terror and joy, that he is water, and met not a single soul for two miles in doubt whether he shall ever again expose together with whom he could exchange a either his body or mind to such danger and fa-word. He cannot deny that, looking round tigue. When he left London the morning was bright and a fair day was promised. But Will is born to struggle with difficulties. That happened to him, which has sometimes, perhaps, happened to others. Before he had gone more than ten ten miles it began to rain. What course was to be taken? His soul disdained to turn back. He did what the king of Prussia might have done; he flapped his hat, buttoned up his cape, and went forwards, fortifying his mind by the stoical consolation, that whatever is violent will be short. His constancy was not long tried; at the distance of about half a mile he saw an inn, which he entered wet and weary, and found civil treatment and proper refreshment. After a respite of about two hours, he looked abroad, and seeing the sky clear, called for his horse, and passed the first stage without any other memorable accident. Will considered, that labour must be relieved by pleasure, and that the strength which great undertakings require must be maintained by copious nutriment; he therefore ordered himself an elegant supper, drank two bottles of claret, and passed the beginning of the night in sound sleep; but, waking before light, was forewarned of the troubles of the next day, by a shower beating against his windows with such violence as to threaten the dissolution of nature. When he arose, he found what he expected, that the country was under water. He joined himself, however, to a company that was travelling the same way, and came safely upon the dreary region, and seeing nothing but bleak fields and naked trees, hills obscured by fogs, and flats covered with inundations, he did for some time suffer melancholy to prevail upon him, and wished himself again safe at home. One comfort he had, which was to consider that none of his friends were in the same distress, for whom, if they had been with him, he should have suffered more than for himself; he could not forbear sometimes to consider how happy the Idler is, settled in an easier condition, who, surrounded like him with terrors, could have done nothing but lie down and die. Admist these reflections he came to a town, and found a dinner which disposed him to more cheerful sentiments: but the joys of life are short, and its miseries are long; he mounted and travelled fiften miles more through dirt and desolation. At last the sun set, and all the horrors of darkness came upon him. He then repented the weak indulgence in which he had gratified himself at noon with too long an interval of rest: yet he went forward along a path which he could no longer see, sometimes rushing suddenly into water, and sometimes incumbered with stiff clay, ignorant whither he was going, and uncertain whether his next step might not be the last. In this dismal gloom of nocturnal peregrination his horse unexpectedly stood still. Mar vel had heard many relations of the insinct of horses, and was in doubt what danger might be at hand. Sometimes he fancied that he was on the bank of a river, still and deep, and sometimes that a dead body lay across the track. He sat still awhile to recollect his thoughts; and as he was about to alight and explore the darkness, out stepped a man with a lantern, and opened the turnpike. He hiredness, increase or extinguish fondness by mara guide to the town, arrived in safety, and slept in quiet. been used to gain their approbation; that mco and women should at first come together by chance, like each other so well as to commence acquaintance, improve acquaintance into fond riage, and have children of different degrees of intellects and virtue, some of whom die before their parents, and others survive them. The rest of his journey was nothing but danger. He climbed and descended precipices on which vulgar mortals tremble to look; he passed marshes like the "Serbonian bog, where armies whole have sunk;" he forded rivers where the current roared like the Egre or the Severn; or ventured himself on bridges that trembled under him, from which he looked down on foaming whirlpools, or dreadful abysses: he wandered over houseless heaths, amidst all the rage of the elements, with the It is certain that without some artificial aug snow driving in his face, and the tempest howl-mentations, many of the pleasures of life, and ing in his ears. Yet let any tell his own story, and nothing of all this has ever befallen him according to the common order of things; something has always discriminated his case; some unusual concurrence of events has appeared which made him more happy or more miserable than other mortals; for in pleasures or calamities, however common, every one has comforts and afflic tions of his own. Such are the colours in which Marvel paints his adventures. He has accustomed himself to sounding words and hyperbolical images, till he has lost the power of true description. In a road through which the heaviest carriages pass without difficulty, and the post-boy every day and night goes and returns, he meets with hardships like those which are endured in Siberian deserts, and misses nothing of romantic danger but a giant and a dragon. When his dreadful story is told in proper terms, it is only that the way was dirty in winter, and that he experienced the common vicissitudes of rain and sun-shine. No. 50.] SATURDAY, MARCH 31, 1759. almost all its embellishments, would fall to the ground. If no man was to express more delight than he felt, those who felt most would raise little envy. If travellers were to describe the most laboured performances of art with the same coldness as the survey them, all expec tations of happiness from change of place would cease. The pictures of Raphael would hang without spectators, and the gardens of Versailles might be inhabited by hermits. All the pleasure that is received ends in an opportunity of splendid falsehood, in the power of gaining notice by the display of beauties which the eye was weary of beholding, and a history of happy moments, of which in reality the most happy was the last. The ambition of superior sensibility and superior eloquence disposes the lovers of arts to receive rapture at one time, and communicate THE character of Mr. Marvel has raised the mer-it at another; and each labours first to imriment of some and the contempt of others, who pose upon himself, and then to propagate the do not sufficiently consider how often they hear imposture. and practise the same arts of exaggerated narration. There is not, perhaps, among the multitudes of all conditions that swarm upon the earth, a single man who does not believe that he has something extraordinary to relate of himself; and who does not, at one time or other, summon the attention of his friends to the casualties of his adventures, and the vicissitudes of his fortune; casualties and vicissitudes that happen alike in lives uniform and diversified ; to the commander of armies, and the writer at a desk, to the sailor who resigns himself to the wind and water, and the farmer whose longest journey is to the market. In the present state of the world men may pass through Shakspeare's seven stages of life, and meet nothing singular and wonderful. But such is every man's attention to himself, that what is common and unheeded when it is only seen, becomes remarkable and peculiar when we happen to feel it. It is well enough known to be according to the usual process of nature that men should sicken and recover, that some designs should succeed and others miscarry, that friends should be separated, and meet again, that some should be made angry by endeavours to please them, and some be pleased when no care has Pain is less subject than pleasure to caprices of expression. The torments of disease, and the grief for irremediable misfortunes, sometimes, are such as no words can declare, and can only be signified by groans, or sobs, or inarticulate ejaculations. Man has from nature a mode of utterance peculiar to pain, but he has none peculiar to pleasure, because he never has pleasure, but in such degrees as the ordinary use of language may equal or surpass. It is nevertheless certain, that many pains as well as pleasures are heightened by rhetorical affectation, and that the picture is, for the most part, bigger thar the life. When we describe our sensations of another's sorrow either in friendly or ceremonious condolence, the customs of the world scarcely admit of rigid veracity. Perhaps the fondest friendship would enrage oftener than comfort, were the tongue on such occasions faithfully to represent the sentiments of the heart; and I think the strictest moralists allow forms of address to be used without much regard to their literal acceptation, when either respect or tenderness requires them, because they are universally know to denote not the degree but the species of our sentiments. But the same indulgence cannot be allowed to him who aggravates dangers incurred or sorrow endured by himself, because he darkens the prospect of futurity, and multiplies the pains of our condition by useless terror. Those who magnify their delights are less criminal deceivers, yet they raise hopes which are sure to be disappointed. It would be undoubtedly Dest, if we could see and hear every thing as it is, that nothing might be too anxiously dreaded, or too ardently pursued. No. 51.] SATURDAY, APRIL 7, 1759. It has been commonly remarked, that eminent men are least eminent at home, that bright characters lose much of their splendour at a nearer view, and many who fill the world with their fame, excite very little reverence among those that surround them in their domestic privacies. all sink to the common level. We are all nak ed till we are dressed, and hungry till we are fed; and the general's triumph, and sage's disputation, end, like the humble labours of the smith or ploughman, in a dinner or in sleep. Those notions which are to be collected by reason, in opposition to the senses, will seldom stand forward in the mind, but lie treasured in the remoter repositories of memory, to be found only when they are sought. Whatever any man may have written or done, his precepts or his tant uniformity which runs through his time. valour will scarcely overbalance the unimpor We do not easily consider him as great, whom our own eyes show us to be little; nor labour lencies of him who shares with us all our weakto keep present to our thoughts the latent excelnesses and many of our follies; who like us is To blame or to suspect is easy and natural. delighted with slight amusements, busied with When the fact is evident, and the cause doubt-trifling employments, and disturbed by little ful, some accusation is always engendered between idleness and malignity. This disparity of general and familiar esteem is therefore imputed to hidden vices, and to practises indulged in secret, but carefully covered from the public eye. vexations. Great powers cannot be exerted, but when great exigencies make them necessary. Great exigencies can happen but seldom, and therefore those qualities which have a claim to the veneration of mankind lie hid, for the most the foot passes as on common ground, till nepart, like subterranean treasures, over which cessity breaks open the golden cavern. Vice will indeed always produce contempt: The dignity of Alexander, though nations fell prostrate before him, was certainly held in little veneration by the partakers of his midnight In the ancient celebration of victory, a slave revels, who had seen him, in the madness of was placed on a triumphal car, by the side of the wine, murder his friend, or set fire to the Per-general, who reminded him by a short sentence, sian palace at the instigation of a harlot; and it is well remembered among us, that the avarice of Marlborough kept him in subjection to his wife while he was dreaded by France as her conqueror, and honoured by the emperor as his deliverer. But though, where there is vice there must be want of reverence, it is not reciprocally true that when there is want of reverence there is always vice. That awe which great actions or abilities impress will be inevitably diminished by acquaintance, though nothing either mean or criminal should be found. Of men, as of every thing else, we must judge according to our knowledge. When we see of a hero only his battles, or of a writer only his books, we have nothing to allay our ideas of their greatness. We consider the one only as the guardian of his country, and the other only as the instructor of mankind. We have neither opportunity nor motive to examine the minuter parts of their lives, or the less apparent peculiarities of their characters; we name them with habitual respect, and forget, what we still coninue to know, that they are men like other mortals. that he was a man. Whatever danger there might be lest a leader, in his passage to the capitol, should forget the frailties of his nature, tion: the intoxication could not have continued there was surely no need of such an admonilong; he would have been at home but a few forgot his greatness, and shown him, that nothours before some of his dependents would have withstanding his laurels, he was yet a man. tic degradation, by labouring to appear always There are some who try to escape this domeswise or always great; but he that strives against nature will for ever strive in vain. To be grave solicitude and speak with hesitation, is attainaof mien and slow of utterance; to look with ble at will; but the show of wisdom is ridiculous when there is nothing to cause doubt, as that of valour where there is nothing to be feared. of his being will contentedly yield to the course A man who has duly considered the condition of things; he will not pant for distinction where distinction would imply no merit; but though on great occasions he may wish to be greater than others, he will be satisfied in com mon occurrences not to be less. Responsare cupidinibus. HOR. But such is the constitution of the world, that much of life must be spent in the same manuer No. 52.] SATURDAY, APRIL 14, 1759. by the wise and the ignorant, the exalted and the low. Men, however distinguished by external accidents or intrinsic qualities, have all the same wants, the same pains, and, as far as the senses are consulted, the same pleasure. The petty cares and petty duties are the same in every station to every understanding, and every hour brings some occasion on which we THE practice of self-denial, or the forebearance of lawful pleasures, has been considered by almost every nation, from the remotest ages, as the highest exaltation of human virtue; and all have agreed to pay respect and vene ration to those who abstained from the delights | fixed, beyond which, if he passes he will not of life, even when they did not censure those who enjoy them. The general voice of mankind, civil and barbarous, confesses that the mind and body are at variance, and that neither can be made happy by its proper gratifications but at the expense of the other; that a pampered body will darken the mind, and an enlightened mind will macerate the body. And none have failed to confer their esteem on those who prefer intellect to sense, who control their lower by their higher faculties, and forget the wants and desires of animal life for rational disquisitions or pious contemplations. The earth has scarcely a country so far advanced towards political regularity as to divide the inhabitants into classes, where some orders of men or women are not distinguished by voluntary severities, and where the reputation of their sanctity is not increased in proportion to the rigour of their rules, and the exactness of their performance. When an opinion to which there is no temptation of interest spreads wide and continues long, it may reasonably be presumed to have been issued by nature or dictated by reason. It has been often observed that the fictions of imposture, and illusions of fancy soon give way to time and experience; and that nothing keeps its ground but truth, which gains every day new influence by new confirmation. But truth, when it is reduced to practice, easily becomes subject to caprice and imagination; and many particular acts will be wrong, though their general principal be right. It cannot be denied that a just conviction of the restraint necessary to be laid upon the appetites has produced extravagant and unnatural modes of mortification, and institutions, which, however favourably considered, will be found to violate nature without promoting piety. casily return. It is certainly most wise, as it is most safe, to stop before he touches the utmost limit, since every step of advance will more and more entice him to go forward, till he shall at last enter into the recesses of voluptuousness, and sloth and despondency close the passage behind them. To deny early and inflexibly, is the only art of checking the importunity of desire, and of preserving quiet and innocence. Innocent gratifications must be sometimes withheld; he that complies with all lawful desires will certainly lose his empire over himself, and in time either submit his reason to his wishes, and think all his desires lawful, or dismiss his reason as troublesome and intrusive and resolve to snatch what he may happen to wish, without inquiring about right and wrong. No man whose appetites are his masters, can perform the duties of his nature with strictness and regularity; he that would be superior to external influences must first become superior to his own passions. When the Roman general, sitting at supper with a plate of turnips before him, was solicited by large presents to betray his trust, he asked the messengers whether he that could sup on turnips was a man likely to sell his own country. Upon him who has reduced his senses to obedience, temptation has lost its power; he is able to attend impartially to virtue, and execute her commands without hesitation. To set the mind above the appetites is the end of abstinence, which one of the fathers observes to be not a virtue, but the ground-work of virtue. By forbearing to do what may innocently be done, we may add hourly new vigour or resolution, and secure the power of resistance when pleasure or interest shall lend their charms to guilt. But the doctrine of self-denial is not weaken- No. 53.] SATURday, April 21, 1759. ed in itself by the errors of those who misinterpret or misapply it; the encroachment of the appetites upon the understanding is hourly perceived; and the state of those, whom sensuality has enslaved, is known to be in the highest degree despicable and wretched. The dread of such shameful captivity may justly raise alarms, and wisdom will endeavour to keep danger at a distance. By timely caution and suspicious vigilance those desires may be repressed, to which indulgence would soon give absolute dominion; those enemies may be overcome, which, when they have been a while accustomed to victory, can no longer be resisted. SIR, TO THE IDLER. I HAVE a wife that keeps good company. You know that the word good varies its meaning according to the value set upon different qualities in different places. To be a good man in a college, is to be learned; in a camp, to be brave; and in the city, to be rich. By good company in the place which I have the misfortune to inhabit, we understand not always those from whom any good can be learned, whether wisdom or virtue; or by whom any good can be conferred, whether profit or reputation. Good company is the company of those whose birth is high, and whose riches are great; or of those whom the rich and noble admit to familiarity. Nothing is more fatal to happiness or virtue, than that confidence which flatters us with an opinion of our own strength, and by assuring us of the power of retreat, precipitates us into hazard. Some may safely venture farther than I am a gentleman of fortune by no means others into the regions of delight, lay them-exuberant, but more than equal to the wants of selves more open to the golden shafts of plea- my family, and for some years equal to our desure, and advance nearer to the residence of sires. My wife, who had never been accusthe Sirens; but he that is best armed with tomed to splendour, joined her endeavours to constancy and reason is yet vulnerable in one mine in the superintendence of our economy, part or other, and to every man there is a point |