THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

Sept.

466

1781. THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

407

we experience in ourselves of thinking,
knowing, doubting, and a power of
motion, subflit.

But that kind of Sleep of which we
are conscious, over which we have
power, and which is truly luxurious,
is Slumbering, or the state between
Sleeping and Waking. Most of my
readers, I fuppofe, have felt this; and
the unwillingneſs to be deprived of it
cannot be more feelingly expreſſed than
in Solomon's ſpeech of the fluggard:
" Yet a little Sleep, a little Slumber,
a little folding of the hands to Sleep."
There is an eagerness of intreaty for
folace in these words; we fee a man of
indolent enjoyment hugging himſelf.
The ſtate which I have juſt now been
defcribing is ſo agreeable, that I have
heard of men who ordered themſelves
to be called at different hours in the
night that they might have more fre-
quently the pleasure of falling aſleep.
A colonel of the guards told me a very
good anecdote of a brother officer of
that elegant clafs, who when called by
his ſervant whom he had ordered to
come at fix, and being told that it was
five minutes from that hour, then ſaid
he, " Shut the window-boards, let
down the curtains, and come and call
me when thofe five minutes are out."

The pleasure of Slumbering and
Sleeping muſt, however, like every
other pleasure of ſenſe be taken in mo-
deration, according to every one's con-
ſtitution, the diversity of which as to
the requisite quantity of Sleep is moſt
remarkable. He who finds himſelf
enervated and unſit for the duties of
life, by lying too much in bed, ought
refolutely to exert his power of aſti-
vy, and deny himſelf a gratification
which interferes with the purpofes of
his being. But while that gratifica-
tion makes him not a worſe, but per-
haps a better member of ſociety, let
him enjoy it and be thankful for the
blessing.

Sleep itself, however inexplicable, is
yet leſs myſterious than Dreaming, the
frequent if not the conſtant effect of
it, as to which φιλosophers have puz-
zled themſelves with a variety of con-
jectures. An ancient poet ſays "Dreams
are from Jove," and in the Sacred
Writings, though we have no general
declaration upon the ſubject, we find
Job ſaying to the Almighty, "Thou
tcareſt me with Dreams," and it is not

to be fuppofed, that he would aſcribe
bad dreams to Divine agency upon the
foul, and not believe the fame of good
Dreams. Baxter has given us a cu-
rious theory of Dreaming, in which
he aſcribes it to the agency of inferior
fpirits, and ſeems more poffitive in his
opinion of the ſoul's perpetual paſſive-
neſs in Sleep than I think he is war-
ranted to be, or is ſuitable to the ge-
neral modeſty of his character as a
writer.

In my opinion, the operations of the
foul in Sleep, like thofe when we are
awake, are ſometimes entirely its own,
and ſometimes, though rarely, are in-
fluenced by ſuperior intelligence. How
to diſtinguſh between the one and the
other I cannot tell. But I believe if
we would apply ourselves with con-
ſtancy to the recollection of our
Dreams, a habit of remembering what
has paffed in Sleep would be formed,
and if we would regifter what we re-
member, and obſerve the conſequences,
we might attain to a good degree of
probability in judging of them.

That the interpretation of Dreams
was a ſcience very carefully ſtudied by
certain wife men in ſome of the ancient
nations, is too well atteſted to be de-
nied; and ſuppofing the means of ac-
quiring it to be withheld, that would
neither diſprove its having once exſisted,
nor convince us that it will not exſit
again. I will not go ſo far as a meta-
physician of my acqaintances, who
maintains that every thing which we
can conceive, actually is ſomewhere.
But, according to the common proverb,
I hold that "What has been may be."
So far I go in arguing. But I have
had faſts as to future events commu-
nicated by Dreams in theſe latter days,
ſo well authenticated that I believe
them.

When I avow ſuch a belief it may
be neceſſary for my protection againſt
ridicule, to ſhield myſelf under great
authority—that of Addiſon, who though
in one of his ſpectators he with his ad-
mirable good ſenſe, admoniſhes his
readers not to be diſturbed by every
trifling Dream, yet in another he thus
expréſes himſelf:

"I muſt not omit that argument for
the excellency of the ſoul, which I have
ſeen quoted out of Tertullian, namely,
its power of divining in Dreams. That
feveral ſuch divinations have been
made,

1781.

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

557

ment of Lord North to be First Lord of the Treasury took place in the same month that Lord Camden was forced to resign. From this period, to the present time, Lord Camden has been a leading man in the opposition, and has frequently distinguished himself in parliament by his eloquent speeches against the coercive measures that brought on the revolt of the American colonies. His lordship was one of the latest in believing that the colonies aimed at independence, and having once declared that he thought every friend to this country ought to unite against them, if they ever avowed independence; as soon as that independence was published to the world, his lordship became silent, and remained so till the war with France and Spain, when he occasionally reprobated the conduct of the ministry, whose measures had forced us into a war that might have been avoided, if the petitions from the colonies had been attended to in due time. The last speech made by his lordship was in support of the amendment to the addrefs, on the opening of the present session of parliament; he attributed our want of successes in America and other parts of the globe to neglect and misapplication of our naval force; and as the motion was made by his great friend the Earl of Shelburne, it is imagined they are so firmly united that they will come into office or remain in opposition together.

The character we have drawn of Lord Camden, from the best authorities, exhibits him in the light of an able, upright judge, and a sincere, honest man. Hitherto we have not traced a single foible, but as it is the lot of humanity to err, we shall now mention, in the hope, it will be taken as a friendly hint, a very conspicuous blemish in his public conduct. Whenever a motion against the ministry is to be debated, his lordship can find health, spirits, and leisure to attend his duty in the House of Lords; but we have looked frequently for him in vain, when causes by appeal were brought before the House while Lord Bathurst was chancellor. There are reafons not proper to be given in this place, why his lordship ought to have been as seldom absent as possible upon these occasions; they do not subvert in so great a degree at present, but if his lordship wishes to maintain the affections of his fellow-subjefts, he will attend more closely in future, when their property is at stake.

Lord Camden, in his person, is of the middle class, he has rather a fickle appearance, but his countenance is placid, and befits peaks benevolence of sentiment; he is affable, polite, and easy in his addrefs and conversation.

His lordship married Elizabeth the daughter of Nicholas Jefferies, Efq. of Brecknock-priory, by whom he hasiffue the Hon. John Jefferies Pratt, member for Bath; and four daughters.

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK. No. LI.

Neque enim fruſtra in ſanſtis canonicis libris nufquam nobis divinitus præceptum permiffumve reperiri poteſt, ut vel ippius adipiſcendæ immortalitatis, vel ullaſi carendi cavendive mali cauſa, nobiſmetiſis necem inferamus.

SANCT. AUGUSTIN. De Civil. DeI.

" For, it is not without a meaning that we can no where in the holy canonical " books, find it commanded or permitted, that either to attain even immor- " tality, or to free ourſelves from, or guard against any evil, we ſhould kill " ourſelves."

ZAL for moral reſtitude and for the dignity of virtue, however laudable and generous, hath in my opinion gone too far in ſeveral of its assumptions. In particular, I am convinced that desirable as it may be to have an universal ſtandard of right and wrong, mankind have not been favoured with it. Not only is there no ſuch universal ſtandard conspicuous

alike to the learned and to the ignorant, as is the fun in the firmament; but it cannot even be discovered with equal clearneſs by the ſtudious, in the fame way as truths in mathematicks or natural philosophy are discovered.

But while I expreſs my opinion, that there is not an universal ſtandard of right and wrong, I at the fame time agree with those writers who have main-

446.

Dec.

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

558

1781.
THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

559

that this too, too solid flesh would melt,” takes it for granted, that “the Everlasting has fixed his canon ‘gainst self-flaughter.” But though as I have observed, we may by induction discover Self-flaughter to be an offence against the Majesty of Heaven, there is no canon to that purpose. The law of England proceeds upon the supposition that Suicide is an impious crime, and punishes it, not only as the Athenians did in the dead body of the criminal, by ordering it to be buried in the highway with a stake driven through it; but also in his posterity by the confutation of his estate.

But still it appears to me that people of humane and liberal minds cannot feel the fame indignation against one who has committed Suicide, that we feel against a robber, a murderer, or, in short, one who has daringly counteracted a clear and positive commandment. For man “Born but to die, and reas’ning but to err,” is liable to mitake, in a matter that is to be learned from a complex consideration of different texts. And unless in cafes of wild, chearful enthusiasm, such as areSUPPORED in my motto, when the motive to Suicide is haftening into immortality, they who do such violence to the strong principle of self-prefermentation, and are “at variance with themselves,” as Milton expresses it in his Samson Agonifles, have generally their faculties clouded with melancholy, and diftraught by misery.

One of the finest odes in the English language is “The Suicide,” by Mr. Thomas Warton. The difmal workings of the unhappy perfon’s mind, and all the popular ideas of horror attending Self-destruction are great materials for solemn and pathetick poetry, and Mr. Warton has made a masterly ufe of them. The moral too is highly given :

“In awful exp-ation plac’d,
Wait thy doom, nor impious haſte,
To pluck from God’s right hand his instru-
ments of death.”

I must approve of associating deep abhorrence with Suicide, and therefore, with all deference for Addifon, I fairly avow, that I cannot excufe his exhibiting Cato a Self-murderer as the hero of a tragedy full of exalted sentiments, especially when the example of his hero is recommended in the prologue in the

numbers of Pope, holding in some degree the place of the ancient chorus, whose bufineſs it was to inculcate the moral.

“Who fees him aft but envies ev’ry deed,
“Who hears him groan and would not with
  to bleed?”

That cafes can be figured, in which Suicide, as the leaf of two evils, may be preferred, I shall not deny. But cafuiftry is a dangerous thing, and I do not with to enter upon it. Certain it is that by far the greatest number of those who have “jumped the life to come,” have acted rafhly and foolifly. This is particularly true of Hypochondriacks, who in a fit of wretched impatience have ruſhed into eternity to eſcape from a “load of life,” which would soon have become light. To do justice to Rouſeau, he eloquently difſuades from ſuch fatal precipitancy on account of uneafineſs of mind: “La trifſeſe, l’ennui, les regrets, les deſefpoirs ſont des douleurs peu durables qui ne s’enracinent jamais dans l’amé; et l’experience deme't toujours ce ſentiment d’amertume qui nous fait regarder nos peines comme éternelles.—Sadneſs, langor, regret, and defpair, are woes which do not laſt long, and never take root in the foul; and experience always corrects the bitter ſentiment which makes us imagine that our misery is to be without end.”

Every melancholy man who has groaned under the temptation to deſtroy himſelf, has afterwards had ſuch enjoyments as to make him fully ſenſible that he would have acted very abſurdly had he cut himſelf off from this “pleaſing anxious being,” from a perſuafion that all that remained of it would be fadneſs. Melancholy does not leave even the flighted ſear; and a man after suffering grievouſly from it, is perfectly ſound and happy. Wifdom therefore ſuggests patience, and in this cafe peculiarly “patience worketh experience, and experience hope.” It is related ſomewhere that an ancient philofopher declaimed ſo feelingly on the miſery of human life, that all his diſciples went directly from his ſchool and killed themſelves. But we do not read that the philofopher did ſo. He was too wife.

Pride being a chief ingredient in the
composition of Hypochondria, a good
uſe

449

560

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

Deca.

use may be made of it to counteract so
desperate an effect of its other qualities
as a wish for Self-destruction. Let the
Hypochondriack confider, that if he
should be felo de fe, he will be expofed
to the mean and infolent triumph and
fcorn of creatures whom he despfes,
but who will then have the world along
with them.

But if we take a more aweful view
of the subject, with reference to the
Supreme Judge and to a future state,
we muft surely ſtartle. Hamlet's ſo-
liloquy

"To be, or not to be, that is the question?"
is a capital piece of philosophical rea-
foning, which every body recollects,
and which cannot be anſwered unless
one had an undoubted intimation from
the world of ſpirits. And there is a
fine paſſage not so well known, which
has long ſtruck me as a juſt and alarm-
ing view of Suicide; it is in a ſcene
between Phocyas and Eudocia, in
Hughes's Siege of Damascus, a trage-

dy. Phocyas ſhews a dagger, and is
about to kill himself.

Eudocia. Hold—Stay thee yet.—O mind-
neſs of deſpair! [the gulf,
And would'ſt thou die? Think, ere thou leap
When thou haſt trod that dark, that un-
known way, [worſe ;
Can'ſt thou return? What if the change prove
O think, if then—

Phocyas. No—thought's my deadlieſt foe ;
'Tis lingering racks, and flow confuming
fires,

And therefore to the grave I'd fly to ſhun it.

Eudocia. O fatal error !—Like a reſtleſs
ghoſt [there,
It will purſue and haunt thee ſtill; c'en
Perhaps, in forms more frightful, Death's
a name

By which poor gueſſing mortals are deceived;
'Tis no where to be found. Thou fly'ſt in
vain [fly'ſt.

From life, to meet again with that thou
How wilt thou curſe thy rafhneſs then ?
How ſtart [avoid

And ſhudder, and ſhrink back? Yet how
To put on thy new being?

ADVERTISEMENT.

THE PROPRIETORS of the LONDON MAGAZINE, duly ſensible of the very great obligations they are under, for the conſtant encouragement and ſupport they have enjoyed from their generous Countrymen, during FIFTY YEARS, are determined to uſe their utmoſt exertions, to deferve a continuance of the ſame favours, through a new ſeries of time. With this view, they have ſollicitèd and obtained the aſſistance of gentlemen of the firſt reputation in the republic of letters, whose joint labours will enliven and improve, by giving fresh ſpirit and vigour to their Mifcellany. The next Magazine, for JANUARY 1782, will exhibit a ſtriking ſpecimen of their deſire to preſerve their old, and acquire new friends. The firſt number of an original Paper called THE LINK BOY will make its appearance, and will be continued monthly—A paper replete with wit, humour, and good ſenſe; which will “ catch the manners living as they rive.”

5

449

REVIEW OF BOOKS.

35

1782.

have few wants, I hope I have effect
blżhed in a former paper, my opinion
that the more innocent pleasure we can

to say, that in other respects we have
never had an age less criminal than
this. The balance of morality therefore

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

Jan.

34

the preference given to former times
over the present, I agree with Valerius
Paterculus in the paflage which I have
taken as a motto to this paper, that
there is also a mixture of envy which
contributes to it. There is an acrimo-
nious pride which secretly pervades moſt
difpoſitions, and makes men unwilling
to be ſenſible of the worth of their co-
temporaries.

Of a ſimilar nature with this, but
more extenſive in its influence, is that
rigid falſe virtue which aſſeets to deſpife
and abhor human nature in general. A
perſon of that character is thus ſtriking-
ly addreſſed by Fielding, in one of his
Poems:

O though that darſt thus proudly ſcorn thy
kind,
Search with impartial ſcrutiny thy mind.
Difſaining outward flatterers to win,
Doſt thou not feed a flatterer within?
While other paffions temperance may guide,
Feaſt not with too delicious meals thy pride.
On vice triumphant while thy cenſures fall,
Be ſure no envy mixes with thy gall.

And afterwards,

A peeviſh four perverſenes of the will
Oft we miſcall antipathy to ill.

It is ſurely more agreeable to good no-
tions of Providence, that the world
should be in a progressive ſtate of im-
provement; and I do ſincerely think
that this age is better than ancient
times. Shakespeare, in his tragedy of
Macbeth, admits that ancient times
were worſe in the moſt important con-
cern of society:

" I'n'olden time,
" Ere human ſtate purg'd the general
weal."

And every candid thinking man muſt
acknowledge with comfort the peace
and ſecurity which we enjoy under the
regular adminiſtration of juſtice.

War, of which I have teſtified my
full diſapprobation in a former paper,
though it ſtill rages in ſpite of poliſhed
manners and Chriſtian gentlenefes, is a
much milder evil than in more rude
ages. Sir John Pringle, in one of his
excellent diſcourſes from the chair of
the Royal Society, has pointed out how
much the modern improvements in gun-
ery have abated the horrors of hu-
man maſſacre in its very execution, and
the tenderneſs with which prifoners,
especially the ſick and wounded, are
treated, makes the temper of this age

appear angelick, when compared with
ancient ſerocity.

When we review the condition of
ouranceſtors as authentically aſſcertained
by publick regiſters, and by hiſtories, we
find that the old barons lived in ſavage
tyranny, and their vafſals in ſervile de-
pendence; that ſeuds between great fa-
milies produced the moſt shocking
ſcenes of rapine and murder; the ſuc-
cerſul perpetrators of which ſeem ne-
ver to have felt remorſe; and in ſhort,
that men very much reſembled the wild
beaſts of the deſart. Nor was there more
honesty then than now, notwithstanding
the expreſſion " príſa fides—ancient
fidelity," for, inſtances of the deepest
cunning and moſt detestable treachery
occur in the earlieſt annals.

We are inſenſibly deceived into an
enthusiаſtick admiration of ancient cha-
racter, by having our fancies heated
in our undiſtinguishing youthful days
with the ballads in which violence is
displayed with all the interesting ap-
pearances of heroïsm. This ſtrengthenſ
the natural diſpoſition which mankind
have to regard antiquity in general,
which is ſo prevalent, that ſocieties are
formed for the expreſs purpose of col-
lecting and illustrating every thing that
is old, no matter what it may have been
in " its own day;" and perhaps there
is no clafs of men more induſtrious and
more zealous in their purſuits than
Antiquaries. In Leeds, where one
would not expeſt it, there is a very good
public library, where ſtrangers are
treated with great civility, of which I for
one retain a grateful ſenſe. I there
found a manuſcript containing the coats
of arms and deſcents of the families of
the Weſt Riding of Yorkſhire, upon
which there is this iſcription which I
copied as highly expreſſive of a true
devotee to a Múſeum: " Every inge-
nious fragment is venerable to the Vir-
tuſo, and always pleafant to a curious
inquiſitive mind. But, a collector
ſhould have the induſtry of a Hercules;
and the patience of a Socrates; an eye
like Argus; and a purſe like Crcſeus."

As rapine and murder were more
frequent in former ages than this, and
treachery as frequent, ſo, it cannot be
denied that Adultery was at leaſt as
frequent as it is now, and drunken-
neſs a great deal more ſo. The two
ſirſt crimes indeed decreased long be-
fore our time. But I will venture

to

36

REVIEW OF BOOKS.

Jan.

ter asserting that his amorous effusions are
not distated by nature and passion, and have
neither gailantry nor tenderneſs—he paſſes
the following cenſure on Henry and Emma—
"It is a dull and tedious dialogue which excites
neither eſſeem for the man, nor tenderneſs
for the woman. The example of Emma, who
reſolves to follow an outlawed murderer
wherever fear or guilt shall drive him, de-
ferves no imitation; and the experiment by
which Henry tries the lady's conſtancy is
ſuch as muſt end either in infamy to her, or
in diſappointment to himſelf." We leave
thoſe who have received any pleasure in
reading this poem, or in hearing and seeing
it repreſented on the ſtage to form their own
judgment on this paſſage. But we are fur-
ther told, "That Prior's numbers are ſuch as
mere diligence may attain, and this diligence
has juſtly placed him amongſt the muſt
correct English poets—yet as he inherited no
elegances none has he bequeathed." It will
be diſſicult, we believe, to reconcile this
account to reaſon. A correct poet muſt
poffeſs elegance. The ideas of correctneſs and
elegance in poetry are perhaps not to be ſo
eaſtly ſeparated as Dr. Johnſon imagines.

CONGREVE'S Comedy of the Old Barche-
lor, has extraordinary merit, in the opinion
of our critic, though he points out ſome stri-
king defects—" Yet this gay comedy, when
all deductions are made, will still remain the
work of a very powerful and fertile mind:
the dialogue is quick and sparkling, the in-
cidents ſuch as ſeize the attention, and the
wit ſo exorbitant that it over informs its te-
nement." If the reader will take the trouble
to compare this paſſage with that immediate-
ly preceding it. (See Congreve, Vol. 3. p. 50)
he will be apt to aſk this ſimple question—
whether it is a proof of a fertile mind, " to
be furnished with comic characters by the
perſal of other poets, without much actual
commerce with mankind." Invention and
lively imagination, not compoſing a comedy
by borrowing from others, we should have
thought the criterions of a fertile mind. It
is a very extraordinary circumstance, and
certainly deferves admiration, that Congreve
produced *The Old Batchelor*, *The Double Deal-
er*, *Love for Love*, and the *Mourning Bride*,
before he had paſſed his twenty fifth year.
Of the *Mourning Bride* we have the following
criticism, which will not be generally ad-
mitted: "The plot is busy and intricate,
and the events take hold on the attention, —
but, except a very few paſſages, we are rather
amused with noise, and perplexed with ſtra-
tagem, than entertained with any true deli-
neation of natural characters." Congreve, as
a dramatic writer, however, stands very high
in the eſſem of Johnſon, " he is an original
writer, who borrowed neither the models of
his plot, nor the manner of his dialogue"—
this is a manifeſt contradiction of the paſſage

before referred to.—Of his miscellaneous
poetry, he fays nothing favourable—" they
ſhow little wit and little virtue."

Of Gay, the celebrated author of the Beg-
gar's Opera, the learned critic obſerves, that
he cannot be rated very high. "He was, as I
once heard a female critic remark, of a lower
order. He had not in any degree the Mens
divinior, the dignity of genius. But we owe
to him the invention of the Ballad opera, a
mode of comedy which at first was supposed
to delight only by its novelty, but has now,
by the experience of half a century, been
found ſo well accomodated to the diſpoſition
of a popular audience, that it is likely to
keep long poſſeffion of the ſtage." He
thinks little of his ſables, as from ſome of
them it will be diſſicult to extraſt any mo-
ral principle.

We cannot paſs over the ſhort life of
Somervile without a ſevere cenſure, on the
writer. The compiler of a dictionary, that
is a ſtandard rule to guide our judgment in
reſpect to the English language—the author
of the Rambler, the first character in the
kingdom for literary exactneſs—should never
be inſtensive to his own ſtyle.—The Dieta-
tor, the Judge, the Preceptor, should never
be found writing in incorrectly as a ſchool
boy. Who will believe that the following
paſſage ever came from the pen of the learned
Dr. Johnſon ? " He was a gentleman whole
estate was in Warwickshire; his houſe is
called Edſton, a ſeat inherited from a long
line of ancesſors; for he was ſaid to be of
the first family in his country. He tells of
himſelf, that he was born near the Avon's
banks. He was bred at Wincheſter ſchool,
but I know not whether he was of any Uni-
verſity." Almost every rule of Syntax is
here violated.

The life of Savage exhibits ſuch a variety
of affecting and interreſing anecdotes, that it
well deferves the pains beſowed upon it by
the Editor; and to use one of his own fa-
vourite expressions, he has given it all poſ-
fible amplification. It occupies above one
third of the volume, and cannot be abridged
with any propriety; it is a fund of inſtruc-
tion and entertainment. Of his writings,
however, little more is ſaid, than that they
entitle him to an eminent rank in the classſes
of learning; and are the production of a ge-
nius truly poetical.

Swift's life was compiled by the late Dr.
Hawkeſworth, according to a ſcheme laid
before him by Dr. Johnſon; and the eſſence
of it is here repeated—As to his works, the
criticism is elaborate, and muſt be read in
the original to be thoroughly underſood.
His *Tale of a Tub* is diſtinguished from the
reſt, as exhibiting a vehemence and rapidity
of mind, a copiousneſs of images, and viva-
city of diſion, ſuch as he afterwards never
poſſeſſed or never exerted.

The

1782. PARLIAMENTARY HISTORY.

8r

53.

HOUSE OF LORDS.

Monday, Feb. 4.

The Duke of Richmond, upon whose motion the House had been summoned, exhibited a charge against Lord Rawdon and Colonel Balfour for having put to death, the rebel Colonel Haynes in an unwarrantable and unfoldier-like manner. The accusation was founded on no other authority but a letter from a Mr. Bowen an inhabitant of Pennsylvania, a stranger to the Duke, and a Pennsylvania news-paper, containing a proclamation from the American General Greene, threatening retaliation upon any British officers taken prisoners. After flatting the inhumanity, illegality, and bad policy of this execution, his grace made the following motion: "That an humble address be presented to his Majesty, praying that he would be graciously pleased to order the proper officers to lay before the House, a copy of the capitulation at Charles-Town, with copies of all instructions, powers, &c. &c. with which the commanders in America have been vested. To these his grace added—copies of all judicial proceedings, whether by court-martial or otherwife."

Lord Walfingham assigned his reafons for opposing the motions. It was contrary, he said, to the rule of parliament to grant a motion before the facts on which it was fonnded had been eftabliſhed. And he then juſtly reprobated the flight evidence on which the accuſation, and the conſuent motions were grounded. Upon the whole, he could not believe the duke was ferious upon this occafion. His lordship juſtified and applauded the conduct of Lord Rawdon, and maintained that Haynes was executed agreeable to the law of nations.

Lord Stormont and the Lord Chancellor enlarged upon the fame topics, and the latter quoted the authority of the great-east political writers, to prove that a man who has broke his parole is not entitled to a court-martial, and is always considered in a worse light than a spy. This was the case of Col. Haynes; when he was taken he had demanded to retire to his eſtate upon his parole; his demand was complied with, upon his taking the oath of allegiance to the King; but when he had retired a few miles from Charles-Town, he not only raised 200 men for the ſervice of the LOND. MAG. Feb. 1782.

rebels, but attacked the innocent inhabitants who would not join his banditti, murdered fome, fired the houses of others, threatened the lives of many who fled, and by taking this ungenerous, inhuman advantage of the lenity he enjoyed under his parole, he added perjury to a breach of truſt, and aggravated the forfeiture of his word, by the blackeft and moſt diabolical treachery.

The Duke of Manchester, the Earl of Abingdon, and the Earl of Shelburne spoke in ſupport of the motion, but generally, as to the bad policy of commencing, and the milmanagement of the American war; but the countenance they gave to the motion ſeemed to be founded on the hopes that the papers called for by the addrefs would bring on a general enquiry; for they had very little to ſay on the ſubject of Col. Haynes. At a late hour the House divided on the question, which was rejected by 75 non contents against 25 contents.

HOUSE OF COMMONS.

Same day.

Sir Grey Cooper proposed to refer it to a committee to explain and amend two acts of Parliament of the 20th and 21st of his preſent Majesty, which allow of the sale of East-India goods, captured from the enemy, in England, upon paying the usual duties. A doubt had arisen if Teas were included, and the amendment which was afterwards voted, was to include them, under the general denomination of India goods, if brought from China.

A conversation took place between Lord Mulgrave and Mr. Fox, the former requesting that he would withdraw two of his motions relative to the naval enquiry, to which the latter agreed. They reſpected the inſtructions ſent from the Admiralty to Sir Charles Hardy before the Spaniſh war commenced, and to the preſent state of the Dutch force in the Texel.

Mr. Burke preſented a petition from one Hohen, a Jew refiding at St. Eustatius when it was taken by Sir George Rodney and General Vaughan, complaining of his being plundered of his goods and money, and praying for redrefs. He expatiated on the oppreſſive conduct of the British commanders, to the inhabitants, and was lavish of his

453

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

1782.

84

## 82 THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

Feb.

his encomiums on the behaviour of the Marquis de Bouillé upon his retaking the island. He concluded with moving that the petition might be referred to a committee, which was agreed to, and the Secretary at War, threw out a hint that members should be very cautious how they voted away the money of their constituents upon such kind of applications, especially as redrefs might be fought for in the due course of law.

Lord Beauchamp presented a petition signed by a great number of respectable trade-men of London and Westminster. His lordship then stated the various hardships to which shopkeepers are subjected, by being kept long out of their money, and finding it very difficult to prove their debts in courts of law. It was the common rule with retail dealers, to get three months credit from the wholesale dealer; and if, at the end of that time, they could not pay, they gave notes bearing interest, until they should be able to discharge the principal: now as they were, in many cases for years out of their money, it was a hardship, that they should be obliged to pay interest themselves for this money, without being able to exact any for it: the

consequence was, though the shopkeepers did not wish to have it known, that they made their good customers pay for those who did not pay at all. He would not pretend, he said, in so complicated a matter, to move any thing specific to the House; he would therefore only move, that the petition should lie upon the table, hoping that gentlemen more converfant in trade than he was, would turn their thoughts to the subject, and devise some means to grant such relief to the petitioners, as in this case might to them appear proper and expedient.

Mr. Fox rose to second the motion: he vouched for the respectability of the signatures to the petition; many of the persons whose names were signed to it he had the honour to represent; but while he maintained the respectability of this petition, he could not help speaking as respectfully of other petitions, of which the noble lord had spoken so harshly. He concurred with the noble lord in his wishes, that some gentlemen, converfant in trade, would take up the busineſs, and bring it before the House in a proper form. The petition was first read, and then ordered to lie upon the table.

## THE HYPOCHONDRIACK. No. LIII.

Natura rerum conditum est ut plura sunt negotia quam vocabula. ULPIAN.

"It is established in the nature of things, that there are more objects than "words."

WORDS, the representations, or rather signs of ideas and notions in the human race, though habitual to all of us, are, when abstracely confidered, exceedingly wonderful; in so much, that by endeavouring to think of them with a ſpirit of intenſe inquiry, I have been affected even with giddineſs and a kind of ſtupor, the conſequence of having one's faculties ſretched in vain. I ſuppofe this has been experienced by many of my readers, who in a fit of muſing, have tried to trace the connection between a word of ordinary use and its meaning, repeating the word over and over again, and ſtill ſtarting in a kind of foolish amazement, as if lifening for information from ſome ſecret power in the mind itſelf.

The origin and progreſs of language
hath been of late treated with curious

ingenuity by a learned judge, whose
lucrubrations upon that ſubject are well
worth the perusal of every one who has
a pleasure in ſtudying it. I admit that
he gives a very plausible account of the
gradations by which ſpeech is formed,
tupſoſing it to be an art invented by
man. But, after all I have read, I re-
main of opinion, that language is the
immediate gift of Heaven; for it ſo far
furpaſſes every thing else of which man
is capable, that I cannot believe it to
have been obtained otherwife than by
revelation. I mean that the general
faculty of communicating ideas and
notions by articulate ſounds has been
ſo obtained. I do not deny that when
once poſſeſed of it, men have without
fupernatural affiſtance enlarged and va-
ried and improved it.

When we enter the Bodleian, or any
other

84

THE FLOATING VILLAGE.

Feb.

terms, and ascertaining these by previous agreement. In carelefs and pleasant conversation this is not to be required. On the contrary, there is much amusement in beating about the fields of expression, and indulging in a play of words. And there is a species of wit which, however despised by some rigid criticks, has, I think, some merit when used easily and moderately, I mean *punning*, that we owe entirely to any word having more meanings than one. The answer of the comical fellow, who, upon being told " his coat was too short," said " it would be long enough before he got another," is an instance of agreeable surprize, produced by a pun, which I do not believe has been often excelled by any piece of verbal wit. And that there is a wit of language as well as a wit of thought I am clearly convinced, notwithstanding the authority of *Addison*, who lays it down as a rule, that nothing is wit, which cannot bear a

translation. If he had said that he did not deem highly any wit but that of thought, and made translation the test of it, I should not have disputed the proposition; for I would not dispute about taftes in wit more than in other things; but I cannot help seeing clearly that he has not attended to the inferior species of wit which is acknowledged in all countries.

If such superficial speculation upon words, as I have ventured to utter in this essay, can at all amuse, how must the mind be filled when we study a regular system of language. I am at present engaged in looking into a book of which I heard accidentally. It is entitled *Bayeri Museum Sinicum*, being a complete account of the Chinese language, printed at Peterburgh, in 1730; and it appears to me to display an aggregate of knowledge, ingenuity, and art, that is enough to make us contemplate such powers of mind with inexpresstible veneration.

## FOR THE LONDON MAGAZINE.
### DESCRIPTION OF THE FLOATING VILLAGES IN CHINA.

*(With a plate giving an exact representation of one of them.)*

AMONG other very curious accounts of China, that of the floating islands, or rather villages, appears to be the most extraordinary; and indeed it would be of no small utility to the inhabitants of this island, if they were to copy those ingenious people in this particular; since, by that means, persons of small fortune might escape the additional heavy house-tax, and also evade the window and land-tax.—For the better information of those who would wish to follow their example, and become water wanderers, we have given a small sketch of one of these floating islands, which are so artificially contrived, that the best artists in Europe would scarcely be able to make the like of the same stuff, being a common reed, which the Portuguese call bamboos, twisted so, close together, that no moisture can penetrate. Upon these reeds the Chinese set up huts, and little houses of boards and other light materials, in which they live with their

wives and children, as if they had dwellings upon the firm land. Some of them are large enough to contain above two hundred families: and those that live in them subvert for the most part by commerce and traffic in all manner of commodities, which they carry from place to place upon the river, being hurried down with the stream, and towed up again by bargemen. Whenever they intend to make any stay, they fasten their floating town with poles fixed in the ground. They keep and feed aboard their little island, all manner of tame cattle, but especially hogs. Wherefore ever they come, they continue lying moored some months before they remove. And, though they are people of several difficulties, yet they make up one common tongue, whereby they understand each other very well; for throughout all China there are several dialects, each province having its own proper tongue.

1782.

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

135

Wednesday, Feb. 20.

Mr. Fox brought on again, in a very
full Houfe, the motion for cenfuring
the conduſt of Lord Sandwich which
had been rejected in the committee on
the 7th, viz. " That it appears to this
Houſe, that there was great miſmanage-
ment in the naval affairs of this country
in the year 1781." As he had nothing
new to offer in proof of his motion, he
only made two obſervations, the one
was that a report had been induſtriouſ-
ly circulated that Lord Sandwich would
be removed; he defined gentlemen would
be upon their guard as this was only
a minifterial deluſion, calculated to pre-
vent the ardor of those who wifhed to
cenſure his lordship's conduſt. The
other was, that many gentlemen had
drawn a falſe conclusion, imagining
that by voting the cenſure contained
in the motion, they ſhould criminate
Lord Sandwich, which would be unjuſt
before he was put upon his defence, and
that they ſhould bind themſelves there-
by to vote an address to his Majeſty to

remove him from his councils. But
this, he faid, was by no means a fair con-
clusion. For those who voted for the
prefent motion were not bound by any
rule of conſtituency to the other.

Lord Nugent argued againſt the mo-
tion, that the Houſe was not competent
to decide on the merits of the queſtion,
as it was of a professional nature, and
could only be decided by professional
men.

General Conway, Mr. Dunning, Ad-
miral Keppel, Mr. W. Pitt, Lord Howe,
Sir Horace Mann, Mr. Hill, and Mr.
Sheridan spoke in ſupport of the motion
and mentioned ſeveral inſtances of what
appeared to them to be groſs miſina-
nagement.

Lord Mulgrave and the Lord Advo-
cate for Scotland were the chief de-
fendants, and went over the fame ar-
guments as upon the former occasion.
At a late hour, the motion was rejected
upon a division, by a majority of 19.
The numbers for the motion being 217,
againſt it 236.

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK. No. LIV.

Stude ergo cor tuum ab amore visibilium abſtrahere, et ad invifibilia te transferre.

THOMAS A KEMPIS.

" Use then thy utmoſt diligence to wean thy foul from the love of the things " that are ſeen, and fet thy affections on things that are not ſeen."

STANHOPE.

T
HAT to have Religion ſhould ever
be reckoned a proof of narrow-
neſs of mind, is, I think, one of the
ſtrangeſt errors which ſophiſtry has
been able to infinuate into thinking
beings. By Religion, I underſtand a
belief in a great and good power, the
ſupreme fountain of intelligence and
felicity, joined with an habitual de-
votion or pious endeavours to direct all
the powers of the foul towards that di-
vine objeſt, and, as much as may be,
to approach to a ſimilitude with what
we conceive of the amiable nature of
God. That certain notions of reli-
gion ſhould indicate an injudicious and
extravagant mind may be admitted.
But even in that cafe ſurely the mind
which believes much, is more enlarged
than the mind which believes little, ef-
pecially when the mind which believes
much takes in magnificent and perma-
nent views, bounded neither by time
nor ſpace. Whereas the mind which

believes little, however it may be ſtrong
and lively, takes in very limited and
uncertain views, and inſtead of the
contemplations of immenſtity and eter-
nity, has its attention fixed only on
what is to be found in this ſcene of
things.

Suppofing then that Religion were
altogether a ſiction, it is ſo grand a
work of the imagination that the very
ambition of a noble mind muſt deſire
to preferve it; and a man of true ſpi-
rit I ſhould ſuppofe can never fail to
feel an indignant jealouſy whenever
he perceives any attempt to deſtroy a
ſyſtem ſo honourable to human nature.

It appears to me that the fallacious
prejudice which is too often entertain-
ed againſt Religion, is owing to its
being confidered only as a duty, not
as a privilege, a comfort, an enjoy-
ment; as alſo to dark and diſmal views
of it, erroneouſly given by men of
gloomy or abjectly timorous minds. I

myſelf

136

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

March

myself visited a celebrated infidel when
he was dying, and when I tried to raiſe
the pleafing hope of a future ſtate, he
ſaid, “You never ſee it but through
the medium of Tartarus, or Phlegethon,
or Hell.” I concluded that he muſt
in his early years have had the idea of
Religion ſo affiliated with that of mi-
fery, that he was inſtituted to exert
himſelf againſt it as an enemy, with-
out ever having candidly examined if
it might not be a friend. A friend he
would have found it. But vanity, as
a fascinating miſtræſ, ſeſed upon his
fondneſs, and never quitted her domi-
nion over him.

There is another cause, to which I
am well perfuſed the prejudice againſt
Religion may be attributed, which is
an apprehenſion that a rigid practice of
morality will be indifpenſibly required,
the dread of which ſuppoſed exceſſive
conſtraint makes ſome people heedleſsly
chooſe not to engage in Religion at all;
like the unprofitable ſervant in the pa-
rable, who imagined his Lord to be
“ an auſtere man,” and therefore hid
his talent in a napkin.

But this is a wretched delusion. For
although the want of knowledge of
what is right is an excufe for not doing
it, no man can have that excufe whole
ignorance is wilful, from his ſhunning
knowledge, in order to be free from
duty. Besides, no ſuch rigid practice
of morality as is almoſt imſſible for
the frailty of human nature to attain,
is expeſed from a religious man; and
whatever ſome cold, hard-minded, po-
ſitive disputants have maintained, I
have no doubt that good principles are
often found in the fame perſon with
occafional bad practice. For this we
have the manly and generous avowal
of St. Paul, at once a very able man
and a moſt ſincere proſeſor of Reli-
gion: “ For the good that I would,
I do not: but the evil that I would
not, that I do.” Where there really
are good principles, there is hope that
good practice will in time be uniform.
Deviations from morality in thofe who
profefs Religion, are often particularly
obnoxious to cenſure, becauſe there are
numbers who are glad of an opportu-
nity to attack a religious perſon, being
envious of his claims to ſuperior worth,
and becauſe there may be a ſuſpicion
of hypocriſy; but where we are abfo-
lutely certain that good principles exiſt,

as in the case of the apſtle, there is a
reſpect and kindneſs entertained for
them, notwithstanding deficiencies and
contradictions in practice. Hypocriſy
is indeed deteſtable; but an acquain-
tance with life, or even a fair exami-
nation of our own belief and conduct,
will teach us to diſtinguifh it from in-
conſtancy. Far be it from me to en-
courage myſelf or others in the perni-
cious notion that good principles will
atone for deliberate bad practice, and
that confidence may faſely be ſoothed
by balancing faith againſt immorality.
My intention is only to inculcate upon
my readers that Religion is not to be
avoided from fear either of galling
ſtrictneſs, or of a charge of hypocriſy.
Unleſs in extraordinary cafes of peni-
tential discipline, or voluntary abſtra-
tion, the religious man may partake of
this world's goods as easily and agree-
ably as other men; and if he be clear-
ly conscious of the integrity of his
principles, let him be ever striving to
have his practice as good as he can.
Let not frequent failures diſcourage
him, and ſink him into deſpair; but
let him with animated refolution renew
his endeavours, confiding that the
more honest good there is in his life,
the proportion of evil will be the leſs,
and good may at length predominate;
while in the mean time the world ought
and perhaps will be juſt enough to
allow him credit for what merit he has.
We should let our light shine before
men ſuch as it is, though it be but
glimmering and ſląhy, hoping it may
become ſteady and bright. If from
the ſelfth fear of being ſuſpecteſ
hypocriſy, we conceal what light of
Religion we have, we contribute to
encreaſe the cold darkneſs which is ſo
baneful to rational felicity. When no
appearance of Religion is to be found
in a perſon's ordinary life and conver-
fation, how is it to be ſuppoſed that
there is in that instance any reality ?

This paper, I perceive, would be
too long were I now to add the reſt of
the thoughts upon Religion, with
which my mind is at preſent agreeably
ſupplied. I therefore reſerve them for
my next number. But I beg leave at
this parting to recommend to any of
my readers who may not know it, the
valuable, I had almoſt ſaid divine,
treatife of Thomas a Kempis, from which
my motto is taken, a treatife which in
leading

1782.

REVIEW OF BOOKS.

137

leading to the imitation of Christ, who
is allowed even by infidels to be the
most perfect pattern of goodneſs that
ever appeared upon earth, quiets, com-
forts, and cheers the foul in the gen-
tleſt and yet moſt effectual manner.
Its very general reception in various
languages by the moſt eminent men,
as well as by innumerable private
Christians, is a certain proof of its be-
mignant merit. There is faid to have

been an edition of it in one language
or other every month, since its firſt
publication, three centuries ago. I
have two editions of it in Latin; a
very ſmall one with cuts, printed at
Antwerp, 1664, to carry in my pocket;
and the ſplendid Louvre edition of
1640, in folio, which I keep for my
old age, in cafe I ſhall be permitted to
arrive at that ſtate.

An Impartial Review of New Publications.

ARTICLE XIII.

AN Authentic Narrative of a Voyage per-
formed by Captain Cooke and Captain
Clerke, in his Majefly's Ships Resolution and
Discovery, during the Years 1776, 1777,
1778, 1779, and 1780; in ſearch of a North-
West Paſſage between the Continents of Asia
and America. Including a faithful Account
of all their Discoveries, and of the Unfortunate
Death of Capt. Cooke. Iſt ſtrated with a
Chart and a variety of Cuts. By W. Ellis,
Aſſiſtant Surgeon to both Veffels, 8vo. 2 Vols.

WE have every reason to believe that
the present narrative is as correct as it is
ample and satisfactory: upon comparing the
chart of the voyage with that which we gave
to the public in our Magazine for the month
of July 1780. Vol. XLIX. p. 307, we find an
exact correspondence; the situations of the
places discovered, and the journal of the in-
cidents, perfectly agree; but the difference
conflicts in the one being an abfraſt calculated
for a miſcellaneous monthly publication, and
fully sufficient to gratify the curiosity of the
generality of readers, while the other con-
tains information and inſtruction peculiarly
adapted for the use of mariners, and marine
officers. The present enlarged narrative we
therefore recommend to thofe gentlemen, af-
furing them, that it appears, as far as we are
able to judge, to be compoſed with great
care and ſkill. The account of the manners
and customs of the inhabitants of the different
iſlands viſited by our navigators is very en-
tertaining and in ſome inſtances new; and
the plates exhibit views of thofe ſavage coun-
tries which have not been given in any for-
mer publication. Such are the market place
—and a hut and plantation at Tonga-taboo,
or New Amſterdam, one of the Friendly Iſlands,
in Vol. I.

We find nothing new in the account of
their ſecond viſit to Otaheite, except a change
in their behaviour, for accorcing to Mr. Ellis,
though they ſupplied them with every thing
they wanted, yet, in ſeveral ſ respects they had
loft that degree of cordiality for them, which
was experienced in the former voyage; and
LOND. MAG. March 1782.

this he attributes to the miſpresentations
of the Spaniards who had viſited them in
1774, in two ſhips from Lima, and had
ſaid on the iſland between three and four
months. During their ſididence, they had
ereſted a houſe on the ſhore, and the com-
mander, whole name was Oridde, died, and
was buried near this houſe. At the depar-
ture of the ſhips they took with them four
of the natives, who voluntarily offered to go,
and left behind them a young man called
Marteemo, and two prieſts. And theſe were
the perſons whose inſinuations, it is imagined,
had leſſen their eſteem for the English, by
repreſenting us as a ſet of idle piratical people,
who lived entirely by plunder, and had no
fixed abode, but were obliged to cruise about
from place to place to procure a living.
However, by a judicious diſtribution of pre-
fents, particularly of red feathers, Mr. Ellis
lays they at laſt ſurmounted their prejudices
in a great meaſure, and they acknowledged
that they were braver men than the Spa-
niards.

From Otaheite, Capt. Cook failed to
Imaoi, which Mr. Ellis describes as the moſt
pleaſant of all the Society Iſles, but he gives
no account of the inhabitants. The next
course they ſteered was for Huabeine, the
place Omai had fixed upon for his ſididence,
and accordingly the ſhips carpenters ſoon
ereſted him a houſe to contain his effects,
which would not have been ſecure in one of
his own country, especially as it ſoon appear-
ed that the natives were great thives, for
they ſtole a quadrant from one of the Aſtro-
nomers tentſ, and upon the detection of the
thief, who was severely puniſhed by our
people, he threatened vengeance against
Omai, who had been inſtrumental in having
him ſeized. From ſeveral circumstances in
this part of the account it ſeems more than
probable that this imprudent man would in
the end fall a ſacrifice to the envy or the
ſelſiſneſs of the natives, yet his only motive
for fetling at Huabeine in preference to
Otaheite his native place was, a deſire to be
near the Iſland of Bora-bora, in order to
annoy
T

138

REVIEW OF BOOKS.

March

annoy the inhabitants whom he mortally hated.

From their leaving the *Society Ifles* to their arrival in King George's Sound, we meet with nothing very material; they touched indeed, in their way, at the Sandwich Ifles, of which O'why-bee is one; but it does not appear that they had at that time any friendly intercourse with the inhabitants of that particular island, having only anchored off Onechow, of which Mr. Ellis has given a view.

The account of King George's Sound extends to its produce, animals, inhabitants— their temper, dressés, houses, food, cookery, manufactures, &c. and is more ample than any before published.

Sandwich found is the next place described in their progrèfs to the North; after getting through this found they continue tracing the coast, and the next station we find them at Unalafcha, of which island a short description is given; and from thence a regular journal of their coasting Northward is continued which shews that they got as far as 70 deg. 43 m. North latitude, when they were stopped by mountains of ice, and obliged to tack—their observed longitude was 198 deg. 34 min. East, and this being the extent of their navigation Capt. Cooke named it Icy Cape. At the time they tacked, the Discovery being to the Eastward of her comfort, hoaled her water almost suddenly to fix fathom and a quarter, when she fired a gun as a signal for tacking, which the Resolution answered and her depth of water was then only nine fathom. However they plainly discovered the Atlantic continent, which they continued to trace till their return to the Techutschi Nofs.

The journal of every material incident in their passage home is given with equal exactness in the second volume, and the melancholy fate of Capt. Cooke is related nearly in the same words, as in our publication.

But Mr. Ellis, having a talent for drawing and description, has embellished this part of his work, with views from nature, most of which are uncommon, and we believe perfectly new. Such as a hut on the West coast of America.—A view of Karaka Coowah bay in O'why-bee—and of the houses in the same island, &c.

XIV. Cai Bono? Or an Enquiry what benefits can arise either to the English or the Americans, the French, Spaniards, or Dutch, from the greatest Vistories or Successes in the present War? Being a Series of Letters addressed to Monſ. Neckar. With a plan for a general Pacification. By Jefiab Tucker, D. D. Dean of Glouceſter.

TOO much praife has often proved prejudicial to learned men, and this seems to have been the cafe with the Dean of Glouceſter; his first political traacts engaged the attention, and excited the admiration of ſenſible men; an impolitic civil war with America was reprobated by every moderate man in the king-

dom, and the idea of relinquishing the colonies and leaving them to the consequences of their own defection from the mother country was a popular idea; but encouraged by the approbation of this idea, we apprehend that the Dean, like another celebrated churchman of old, Cardinal Wolfey, has ventured beyond his depth; he has purfued the stream of politics too far, and in the pamphlet before us, which seemed to promife matter of great importance, has sank under the subject. Who can think him ferious or believe it is the fame writer, when he endeavours to ſhow that it is not the interest of France to reduce England to an impoverished ſtate by war, because he will not then be able to purchase her wines, nor her gold and silver laces nor other luxuries, or to let her travellers expend fums of money in her capital. His reasons upon the consequences that would arise from France being able to maintain the independence of America, and to continue the alliance have more weight, for he clearly demonstrates that the French subjects would emigrate to America as a free country to avoid burthenſome taxes and arbitrary government; but he ſurely forgot that an arbitrary government could prevent ſuch emigrations. His attempt to deftroy that rivalry in trade which has been the cause of so many wars between England and France is a great outline deferring attention, and in the hands of ſkilful statesmen might lay the foundation of a permanent peace between the two kingdoms. But this negotiation must be fucceſſul, before we pretend to advance ſuch a maxim as the following—"that it is our true interest to promote the profusion of France by all just and honourable means, for the very fame reaſons that we ought to promote our own." How far the Dean's politics with refpect to a reconciliation with America will be reſilhed we know not, but we believe he will hardly find a ſecond man in the kingdom to join in his very degrading representations of them, for they are ſuch as we would hope no Christian people ever deferred—but Cai bone, what good will England gain by the recovery of the allegiance of the colonies either by force or amicable reconciliation?—None, according to this pious churchman, whose prayer runs thus—"Oh may Britons have the wifdom, and the fortitude never to yoke with the Americans again as fellow-objects on any terms whatever."—From ſuch charitable prieſes, Good Lord deliver us! Our readers by this time will be ready to excufe our going farther into the merits of this haſty political ſketch, which is terminated by a plan for a general pacification, ſo visionary that we can only define ſuch members of parliament or statesmen as may be concerned directly or indirectly in the defirable work of peace, to ſtudy it closely in order to comprehend it, for it will be found beyond the reach of

vulgar

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very thinly clad; and are a moltenible looking people. The crowds of naked negroes which swarm in the streets, at first presents a molten shocking object, but use reconciles us to it; and after all that philosophers have said in praise of humanity, and of the melancholy situation of this race, I am very well convinced, that they are the happiest people of the island. They have never extended a wish beyond the present. They have two holidays a week; and on Sundays the black ladies throw forth all their charms. They dance before the Mafs-houses; their drels is becoming beyond any thing I have seen: very neat chintz gowns, and different coloured silk handkerchiefs, made in the shape of turbans on their heads, with gilt drop ear-rings hanging down on their necks. They dance with a grace that would shame most of our assemblies; although in the quick dances their method is not the most decent. You would conceive yourself in the seraglio of the Emperor of Morocco.

The advantages of this island in a political view are very great. Here are three of the best harbours in these islands, for no ships can enter without warping in, and there is always a breeze to carry one out. For wood and water it is ipvaluable; all the other islands being exhausted of the first article. Cocoa, sugar, cotton, and coffee flourish here extremely well, although the French not having our privileges are more negligent and slovenly in their plantations. Coffee flourishes best in a dry, mountainous foil. In

thirty years it renders ground unfit for any future cultivation. This has almost ruined some islands; but here is an unexhausted mine of unbroken ground.

This island, as to its situation, hath an eye on Martinico, and covers St. Vincent's, Barbadoes, and the Grenades. The two former islands are in fight at about ten leagues distance.

Poultry we have in plenty, but exceedingly dear. The kid of this island is good; but the beef and mutton very scarce and bad. There are some fish, here tolerably good, but the red mullet was the only fish I could call excellent. The shores here are so bold that we fish off the rock with hook and line. A first rate man of war may come within fix yards of them.

The weather is very hot, which I admire as little as the fameness of perpetual vegetation, for it is one continued summer without the variation of the feasons. I ate my Christmas dinner in a garden, in a bower, surrounded with butterflies and humming-birds.

There hath been a flight flock of an earthquake since we have been here. It fhook our camp and threw down some chimneys in the Carenage, which is our chief town; but it did not any mischief. I had before felt a flight one at Kingsbridge in America. This happened at eight in the evening; the other about twelve at night.

These are the few observations I have yet made in this island. Barbadoes is so well known, and in so high a state of cultivation, that any description of it would be superfluous*****.

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK. No. LV.

Quieti, modefli, DEI noſtri liberalitate ſecuri, ſpem futuræ felicitatis, fide præſentis ejus majestatis animamur. Sic et beati refurgimus, et futuri contemplatione jam vivimus.

MINUCIUS FELIX.

“Moderate and contented, truſting in the liberality of our GOD, we confide “in the preſent protection of his power, and thence are animated with the “hope of future felicity. Thus, not only ſhall we have a joyful reſu- “ rection, but even now, in contemplation of an hereafter, we live happy.”

SIR DAVID DALRYMPLE.

WHEN a man is in high ſpirits, and he feels a degree of exultation in his exſtence, Religion is embraced by his mind with a facility and complacency which it is highly agreeable to experience. It ſeems natural

LOND. MAG. April 1782.

that the happiness which animates the frame ſhould be continued. The miſts of doubt diſappear in the ſunthine of gladneſs; and “It muſt be ſo” is fully preſent to his ſoul while he thinks of immortality.

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178

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

April

To be in the state which I have now described, when the hour of death shall come, is my very fervent will. The dread of that awful event is so habitual to me that I can conceive nothing so desirable as relief from its gloom. And perhaps it may please Infinite Benignity to impart to me what others have certainly enjoyed. Not that such a privilege should be deemed an essential requisite of divine favour to a departing spirit. For I believe many a faint has made a tremendous transition from dreary dark-ness to eternal light.

That St. Paul was rapt into the third Heavens, and had before death a glimpse of the beatific vision is a fact for which we have his unquestionable authority; and one cannot help indulging the contemplation of so noble a distinction! What a life of celestial faith should one lead! What exalted fortitude should one experience, after having actually been in the amazing scene of glory! St. Paul was honoured with a commission to be the Great Apostle of the Gentiles; and Christians in general are not to expect what it was proper should be granted to him. Yet I do sincerely believe that many humble, pious persons have had a foretaste of the happiness of Heaven, such as they were sufficiently sure was not a delusion, and by which they have been ever after serenely comforted.

It is in vain for those who have felt nothing of piety to affect, that there can be no reality in it. Vital Religion, as it is well expressed, is as undoubtedly an object of perception and taste, and delight, to numbers of the human race as poetry, or painting, or music. This is a fact in the History of Man- kind, which is fully ascertained by proof, by a series of testimony for ages, by those who have experienced it. It is then equally unreasonable to disbelieve the experiences of piety, as the experiences of any of the three higher arts as they are called, merely because we ourselves have not had any experience. We know well that there are some who have very little pleasure, and many who have no pleasure at all, from one or other, or perhaps from any of these arts. But are they entitled to deny that others have? Men may indeed, if they are unbelievers,

maintain fairly enough, that the joy of Religion is only a pleasure of the imagination, and the effect of enthusiasm. Be it so in this state of the argument. And is not the pious man fuperior to those who are not pious, at least as much as those who have a taste in poetry, painting, or music are superior to those who have none? If "the poet's eye in a fine frenzy, rolling and glancing from Heaven to earth, from earth to Heaven," rafies him above those whose conceptions are dull, and who see only what is immediately before them, is not he still higher in the intellectual scale, whose mind is occupied with the sublime ideas of divinity? My readers I trust always remember that I mean an elevating and pleasing piety. If a man's Religion be not of a good kind, if it makes him unhappy, I admit that the irreligious have a right to look down upon him. But I am persuaded that our most holy faith, when well understood, produces upon the whole the truest felicity even in this life.

I am not an absolute enemy either to enthusiasm or superstition, and the celebrated pamphlet, entitled "The Enthusiasm of Methodists and Papists compared," is very harmful and ineffective in my opinion. That there are many good Christians papists, and many good Christians methodists, I have no manner of doubt. Nor do I apprehend that any of them will be the worse for some warmth of imagination. The truth is, that there is to me something very pleasing in the merits of all denominations. Madame Guion has been my acquaintance from my early youth; and however some may affect to despise our modern merits, I consider them to be just Platonick philosophers, examining into the state of their fouls, refining themselves from material substance, and endeavouring to approach nearer and nearer to the fountain of all good. That spirituality has been debauched in some instances is no more an argument against vital Religion in general, than that there has been doggrel is an argument against poetry.

Life being to the most fortunate, a mixed scene of happiness and misery, and to many, a scene of weariness and woe, especially in an advanced age, it is of much importance to us to have Religion.

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maintain fairly enough, that the joy of Religion is only a pleasure of the imagination, and the effect of enthusiasm. Be it so in this state of the ar-

1782. THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

179

Religion as a comfort. Dr. Johnson, in his "Vanity of Human Wishes," after shewing with aftermost truth of observation, the wretchedness of all earthly purfuits, has the following grand effusion of philosophical poetry:

Where then shall hope and fear their objects find?

Shall dull suspense corrupt the stagnant mind?

Must helpless man in ignorance feed?

Roll darkling down the torrent of his fate?

Shall no dislike alarm, no wishes rife,

No cries attempt the mercy of the skies?

Enthusiasm ceafe. Petitions yet remain

Which Heaven may hear, nor deem Religion vain.

Surely the comfort which a religious man has in diff'rents must be allowed to make his situation more desirable than that of an unbeliever; and in this view alone which of the two characters is best entitled to think itself superiour to the other is obvious to the eye of wifdom. The "evidences of Religion" are given by several excellent writers, and I really think are such as must satisfy every candid mind upon an attentive study of them. Nor can I lay out of my consideration the weight of authority which we have by so many able and impartial men being convinced. That other able men have not been convinced is not of equal weight; for, it is a just maxim in the law of evidence, that one positive witness will counterbalance many negatives; and besides I cannot believe that those who have not been convinced were as impartial as those who have. All of us, and particularly Hypochondriacks, should resolve not to delpair in gloomy leafons, because after a long lapse of time, and many alterations which we have experienced in many respects, the reality of a future state does not yet seem clearer and stronger. Let us consider we are still in life as much as ever; and that it is not till we have passed beyond death, that we can be

fensible of the great change. In making a long voyage to a distant country which we long to reach, we perceive no difference at all as to our prospect of land, even after the greatest part of the voyage is over. We are still in the ocean, and we must wait with patience till a near approach shall blesse us with the immediate fight of safety and enjoyment.

In the meantime, we may "have peace and joy in believing," we may have what is esteemed to be most pleasing in this state of existence—Hope! and what is peculiar to the hope of a religious man, it lafts as long as he lives. But it is as necessary to cultivate the religious tafe, as the tafe of any of the fine arts if we would have the exquisite pleasure which it yields to the heavenly minded. Retirement, devotional reading, meditation, and prayer, if frequent and habitual, can scarcely fail to obtain for us that happiness.

I shall conclude this subject with fome beautiful verſes from Parnell's *Hymn to Contentment* which has a ſoft miniature refemblance to the "Vanity of Human Wishes." For after trying in vain to bring contentment in various ſcenes, he introduces the Grace herſelf declaring that it is with Religion only he is to be found.

Know God—and bring thy heart to know
The joys which from Religion flow:
Then every grace shall prove its guff,
And I'll be there to crown the reſt.

Oh! by yonder moffy ſeat,
In my hours of ſweet retreat;
Might I thus my foul employ,
With ſenſe of gratitude and joy;
Rais'd as ancient prophets were,
In heavenly vifion, prafize, and prayer,
Pleafing all men, hurting none,
Pleas'd and bleſs'd with God alone.

Go search among your idle dreams,
Your busy or your vain extremes,
And find a life of equal bleſs
Or own the next begun in this.

ARTICLE XVI.

TRAVELLING. Anecdotes through various Parts of Europe. Svo. Vol. I.

THESE anecdotes seem to be the produce of the pen of some lively English gentleman, who has travelled with those excellent com-

panions good health and ſpirits, and has afterwards committed to paper the various occurrences of his tour, with the fame of letters and cafe alone as he changed his drugs or his place of abode, while rambling from place to place on the continent. The pre-

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REVIEW OF BOOKS.

April

font volume contains his adventures in paſſing through Flanders to Aix la Chapelle.

With great gaieté de cœur, he gets into the common stage coach or diligence at Calais for Liffle, justly esteeming this mode of travelling to be the best calculated for acquiring a knowledge of the manners of the inhabitants of the country, and condemning his countrymen for box-ing themselves up in a poſt haife, in which they generally lieep the greatest part of the way, without converting with a foul upon the road, except it be the poſtillions, or the maſters of the inns where they change horses. From his freedom of dilpoſition, and the opportunity afforded in a diligence, he soon enters into familiar conversation with two ſaintes ſeurs, holy lifters, whom by mistake, he calls Carmelite nuns; he ſhould have laid lay lifters of that order, for no nuns are allowed to travel, except that ſpurious ſpecies of them in Flinders called beguines—this we throw out as a hint for correction in the next edition. He reaſons with the lay lifters like a good protestant, upon the absurdities of the moſt naſtic life, and induced them to acknowledge that where young people take the veil before they know the nature of the vow, or have well examined their own hearts, it is a very great crime and productive of fatal consequence. In proof of this, one of the lifters relates the affecting ſtory of La petite ſœur Pouſſine, a young beauty, who was lent to their convent at the age of sixteen—and this is the firſt travelling anecdote. On leaving the inn at Liliers, he thaws the maner in which English gentlemen of an extra-vagant turn are impoſed on, especially those who are fond of being called Mi-lor Anglois; by putting on a relolute air, and declaring he would not be impoſed upon, the landlady thought proper to abate one third of her bill. We are next entertained with the hiftory of Rofe, a pretty country girl, who is taken up at a village on the road, being obliged to quit it on account of a discovery that had been made of her encouraging the addresses of the Count—only son of the lady of the manor. A neceſsary caution is given to travellers, arising from a converſation at Liffle; our traveller is there accoſted by an Irish officer, wearing the croix de St. Louis, with offers of his best ſervices—he would be his ſecond, ſuppoſing he was come over to fight a duel—or he would introduce him into good company; in short he was ready to be his protector and friend upon every occasion; but in order to do this in character—or in other words to serve his own purpoſes—he put the following queries—
> "If I had left my country for manifold, &c. canles of neceſsity?—If I was an independent traveller on a tour of pleasure?—If I was a man of figure?—Relative to my letters, to know if I was entitled to the etiquette of

difſtinction, and whether he might venture to be seen in my company in the streets of Liffle, without my brown coat tarniſhing the lufſre of his croix de St. Louis." These queries were intermixed with the ſcandalous chronicle of all the English in the place, with the ſpecial reaſons for their living there—men of character cannot be too cautious how they anſwer all the impertinent questions they are asked by ſuch familiar introducers of themſelves, who often lead travellers into disagreeable situations.

To the variety of anecdotes contained in this volume, the author has added ſome obfervations and ilſtrations that demonstrate his ſkill in antiquities. Such are his thoughts and lecture on a medal of Julius Caſdar, and his deſcription of the ruins of Atatuca, a Roman ſtation, now the city of Tongres. The volume concludes with a very uncommon example of the fatal effects of enſibility, in the ſtory of a young Pruſian officer.

XVII. The Hiftory of Lord North's Administration, in Two Parts. 8vo.

THIS valuable publication might have been entitled, with great propriety, The hiftory of Great Britain from the commence ment of the year 1770, to the conclusion of the year 1781; for it contains the moſt ac curate records of all the public affairs of the empire foreign and domeſtic during that pe riod. The language, the order obſerved, and the affinity beſowed up in the work, all evidently denote that it is the compilation of a man of letters, and a ſkilful politician. If we were to pay attention solely to the nar rative of ſacts, we should not scruple to pro nounce it one of the beſt morceaux d'hiſtoire, pieces of hiftory, this country has produced. But we cannot ſtop there; the author has entered the lift as a reviewer of Lord North's admiſtration, conſequently every obli va tion he makes in the progreſs of his hiftory demands the cloſſ attention, for though he writes in the ſpirit of a gentleman, and with the moderation of a man of honour, we think we can diſcover a line of partiality which it is our duty to trace and det. et.

The performance is with great judgment divided into two parts; the firſt was pub lished in the autumn of laſt year; the ſe cond has juſt made its appearance; while it was incomplete we were unwilling to enter into a diſcuffion of ſuch a weighty ſubject; at preſent, being in poſſection of the whole, we ſhall purſue the author's method, by giving ſuch an idea of the firſt part as our limits will admit, and ſhall reserve the review of the ſecond for next month, when our readers may be affured it will be concluded, and we have a particular reaſon for this conduct. The writer cloſes his hiftory with an oblique with that a change of administration might take place; and this event having been hap pily eſtected ſince, ſome lights may be thrown

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1782.

THE BRITISH THEATRE.

231

Amsterdam, concludes that he is the rober; and this circumstance determines him, if possible, to get Amelia into his possession.

The second act commences with the old man dressing for an interview with Amelia, to whom he is introduced by Lucy - Amelia affects the character of insanity and folly, given her by Lucy, and in different flights fatigues the extirpavances of fashion, by pretending to be enamoured with camps, hunting, gambling, and phaeton driving. At the infatant old Rebate is certain of carrying the lady, Frank alarms them, by giving intelligence that Trueman is returned from town, seeking to put Rebate to death, on account of the injury he had attempted against his matter's credit; and also to kill the officer whom Rebate reprefented, as believing him his rival. Amelia flies for protection to a closet - Trueman enters, and offers Rebate a sword; the old man pretends he cannot fence, his arm being dislocated; Trueman offers him pitts, and he flies with difgrace.

The fon Præcipe is married to Lucy under the difguife of his naval uniform; Frank having kept him in a continual ftate of intoxication, and his new ſpouſe perfuades him to frighten his father under this difguife, for which purpose ſhe brings the father into his prefence. He bullies - Frank unnoticed puts a blunderbufs into the father's hands - he prefents it, and the fon falls down, difcovers himſelf, and roars for mercy.

While the father and the fon are in this ſituation, Trueman enters, and is followed by Amelia, to whom Lucy has given the diamonds and letter from Amsterdam, which difcovers the property to be Amelia's. The old man, overwhelmed with ſhame, goes off, determined to fly to Holland - Præcipe, the fon, comforts himſelf with his ſpouſe - Amelia gives her conſent to marry Trueman, and the piece concludes with a compliment to commerce.

It was received with general applause and bids fair to keep possession of the ſtage.

THEATRE ROYAL, Drury-Lane.

Saturday, May 18.

THIS evening a new Opera called the FAIR AMERICAN written by Mr. PILLON, was performed the first time.

The characters were as follow, and thus represented.

M. E. N.

<table><tr><td>Characters.</td><td>Performers.</td></tr><tr><td>Monckford</td><td>Mr. Palmer.</td></tr><tr><td>Adm. Dreadnought</td><td>Mr. Bannister.</td></tr><tr><td>Carbine</td><td>Mr. Suett.</td></tr><tr><td>Summers</td><td>Mr. Du-Bellamy.</td></tr><tr><td>Bale</td><td>Mr. Parsons.</td></tr><tr><td>Coachman</td><td>Mr. Griffiths.</td></tr><tr><td>Postillion</td><td>Mr. Wright.</td></tr><tr><td>Swifts</td><td>Mr. Burton.</td></tr><tr><td>Servants</td><td>Mr. Phillimore, &c.</td></tr></table>

WOMEN.

<table><tr><td>Angelica</td><td>Mif's Philips.</td></tr><tr><td>Charlotte</td><td>Mif's Wheeler.</td></tr><tr><td>Rachael</td><td>Mrs. Wrighten.</td></tr><tr><td>Mif's Dreadnought</td><td>Mrs. Hopkins.</td></tr><tr><td>Widow</td><td>Mif's Sherry.</td></tr><tr><td>Mrs. Mentor</td><td>Mif's Simpson.</td></tr></table>

This production is avowedly the work of Mr. Pillon; as the music is the composition of Mr. Carter.

The following is the plot of this drama: - Angelica, who is an American, in the course of the troubles in that country, had been captured by the French, and had been released from captivity by Col. Monckford, whose military duty precluded him from having done more than barely fetting her at liberty. Angelica comes to England, and is on a visit at her Uncle Bale's, a man mechanically attached to method, who has arranged his occupations for twenty years to come, and has determined, in consequence thereof, to marry his daughter to Colonel Monckford, who is the fon of a lord; notwithstanding Charlotte's previous attachment to Summers, a neighbouring gentleman. Upon Colonel Monckford's arrival, he proposes to his friend Summers to take his mitreſs off, and affifts him in consequence thereof. He then goes to his intended father-in-law's, as he fuppofes, and meets Angelica, whom he mittakes for Charlotte. He afterwards goes to the afylum, where his friend Summers had depofited Charlotte, and ſhe being informed that ſhe is purfued, he brings her back to her father's, under the ſuppoſition of protection, with a lady whom he was to be married to. Charlotte difcovers that ſhe is, as ſhe thinks, betrayed; and Summers, who has purfued them to Bale's, challenges Monckford, who difcovers that Angelica is the niece of Bale, and in consequence thereof gives

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232

up all idea of rivalship to his friend Summers; and Bale, notwithstanding his methodical attachment to all his arrangements, consents to the union of his daughter and Summers; which, with the marriage of Monckford and Angelica concludes the piece.

Admiral Dreadnought is an epistolical character, who scarcely added any thing to the interest of the piece, except giving the author an opportunity of paying compliments to integrity of manners; and on that occasion it was not unaptly faid by one of the auditors,

that the author had in him very well mixed up a *saline draught*.

In Dreadnought, the *Widow* finds a protector in consequence of the courage of her hufband, whose history has a very striking allusion to that of Captain Farmer, and is given in a very apposite long.

The mistakes in the piece were of that kind, which modern critics have called the *equivoque*, and containing much wit and humour were defervedly well received.

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK. No. LVI.

Οἱ γὰρ ἐπὶ μὴ χρήματα ἀπολυτε μονον συσπέον ἀλλ' ἐὶ ἡ δόξαν χρησιν ἀρι ἦς μαλλον
σπουδάζειε ἦ περι χρήματων.
DEMOSTHENES Advers. Sept.

“ For you should not be anxious, only that you may not lose your wealth.
“ But you should be careful of your reputation, which is more to be valued
“ than wealth.”

WHAT Demosthenes in the matter to this paper inculcated upon the Athenian nation, may with propriety and advantage be given as counsel to many individuals, for he who prefers riches to a good name, though he may actually pride himself in the contemplation of his money, notwithstanding the h affes of the multitude, as Horace represents, is indeed effeminately unwife.

It may, however, be questioned if there is not too violent, and undistinguishing a prejudice in the generality of mankind, against the character of a very frugal or a very faving man. We are too apt to confound it with greediness or rapacity, though it is certain they are clearly different, and may be as frequently found separate as united. A man may be as Sallust describes Catiline “Alieni appetens fui profusus.” Covetous of what belongs to others, profuse of what he himself has;” and on the other hand, a penurious man may be only careful of his own, withoutgrafping at the property of his neighbours.

Penuriousnes may no doubt grow to
fuch an exces that the person in whom
it predominates may be delpicable and
offensive. If he denies himself every
comfort in life merely from the motive
of faving his money, and though he is
rich will not contribute to the relief

of the distressed, he will with justice be
so flattered.

Such a degree of penuriousness is a
difease; and one affected by it is signifi-
cantly termed in English, a *miser*, for
he is truly a miserable wretch. His
state is altogether unnatural, and he
never can be easy. The late Earl Ma-
rischal of Scotland told me of a miser
who kept his money in a vault, locked
in an iron chest, upon which he fat all
night, with a loaded gun in his hand,
to watch against thieves. This was
living in torment; and it is with an
excellence of justness that Horace affi-
milates such a man, to the Tantalus
of Mythology:

Tantalus a labris fitiens fugientia captat
Flumina. Quid rides? Mutato nomine de te
Fabula narratur, congeſiis undique ſacrit,
Indormis inbias, et tamquam parcere ſacris,
Cogeris aut pittis tanquam gaudere labellis.

The Hypochondriack will prefume to give his readers a tranflation of this paffage, which he made when a boy at fifteen. It is a curiobity to himself as well as to them, and full allowance will be made for its imperfections:

The thirfly Tantalus at the streams does
catch, [reach.
Which ſhun his touch, and ſtill are out of
Thou fool, what makes thee laugh? Change
but the name,
And thou wilt find thy character the fame,
Thou

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Thou sleep'st still yawn't o'er huge heaps
of gold,
Which every day thou carefully haſt told;
And think't it taccrilege to ſpend a groat;
Judicious, then, if Tantalus you reſemble not?

It appears to me, notwithstanding the
exquisite merit of Moliere, that the dif-
tresses of a mifer are not the proper
ſubject of comedy, which though it
may laſh faults with ſmarteſs, and
expoſe them to ridicule, is not to excite
abhorrence, or to exhibit anguifh in any
character. This is the principle of Arif-
totle himſelf in his Poeticks. He li-
mits comedy in this reſpect, to what
is contemptible “τις αἰσχρον γενοιον μυριον
the laughable part of what is bafe;” and
he ſays it muſt be “αἰνωνιον, without
pain.” Now I declare, I could not laugh
at many of the ſcenes of the Mifer when
I have ſeen them acted; for the un-
happy man, though the circumſtances
were ludicrous, was suffering ſevere
pain. That he ought not in reaſon to
be in pain, and that his unhappineſs is
owing to a perſeverion of his underſtand-
ing, will not anſwer the objection upon
the principle which has been ſtated, and
which every humane man muſt approve A
madman may be in terror from diſturbed
imagination. We may fee he has no reaſon
for it. But it would be cruel to laugh at him.

There is a character which is to be
found in real life, but which I do not
remember to have ſeen upon the ſtage,
or in any dramatic piece; yet it would
be a choice morſel for any good comic
writer. It is a character compounded
of two qualities, each of which may be
the foundation of ridicule. I mean a
man who is at once narrow and vain.
The ſtruggle between these two oppo-
ſite paſſions, exemplified in variety of
incidents, would be exceedingly divert-
ing in the theatre. To obſerve often-
tation drawing him forth, and penu-
riouſneſs pulling him back. To fee a
ſplendid table ſet out with ſtudied ar-
rangement, and the maſter of the houſe
in tremor left a china plate, or a drink-
ing glaſs ſhould be broke. To hear
him preſſing his gueſts to partake hearti-
ly of what is before them, while he
is anxious to cover the retreat of ſome
untouched principal diſh, which may
be ſerved up again; or is making ſome
fantaſtical preteneſe to have the rareſt
and moſt valuable fruits in his deſert
carried away, as he has already had the
glory of their being ſeen by the com-

LOND, MAG, May, 1782.

pany, who, he flatters himself, will talk
of them all over the town.

I have heard it remarked by one, of
whom more remarks deferſe to be re-
membered, than of any perſon I ever
knew—that a man is often as narrow as
he is prodigal, for want of counting.
And hence comes the proverb “penny
wife, and pound fool ſh.” Were the
prodigal ſeriously to fit down, and make
a calculation in how ſhort a time his
course of expence will run out his for-
tune, and leave him expoſed to indi-
gence, he would be more moderate.
And were ſome narrow men to compute
the ſum total that it is poſſible for
them to ſave in trifles, and, at the ſame
time, to consider the meannefs of cha-
acter, which ſuch ſaving infallibly
eſtablishes, they would avoid it with
difſdain. There have been inſtances of
paltry narrowneſs, which are almost in-
credible. Perhaps, every man is nar-
row in ſomething. Men abundantly
liberal in general, have been niggards
in cheeſe, or candles, or paper, or ſome
fuch things, which they have been uſed
in early life to ſave. A nobleman who
had acquired a large fortune, and lived
magnificently, would not truſt the key
of the corn for the horſes to any of
his ſervants, but kept it himself.

Avarice or covetouſneſs, which ſhould
ever be odious becauſe it is hoſtile,
ſhould be diſtinguifhed from ſaving or
penuriousneſs; and penuriousneſs is of
two kinds, which I would call the malig-
nant, and the mild. The malignant
is when a man ſaves of other people;
for inſtance by ordering a piece of
work to be done, or ſomething to be
ſurniſhed to him, and not paying what
is fair and reaſonable. The mild is
when a man chooſes to do without things
which he no doubt might command,
did he not rather chooſe to ſave what
they would coſt.

It is the malignant ſpecies which
chiefly occaſions loſs of reputation;
for they who are politively hurt by a
man's narrowneſs, will naturally rail
against him. The mild ſpecies, being
only negative, will not produce much
reproach unſels it be excessive indeed.

The character of a penurious man
ſhould not, by any means, be ſo much
the object of reproach in an advanced
ſtate of ſociety as at an early period.
In old times, penurious men had hoards
ſecreted, and conſequently altogether

H h

uſeleſs

465

PANTHEON ANecdotes

1782.

235

234

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

May

ufeles' to others. Their money was literally 'abdita terris, hid in the earth.' Whereas now, when commerce is so universal, and money, by means of interest and certain modes of security, is willingly lent into the community, " Splendeat uſu, it hines in uſe" as much as if its owner ſpent it himself; and thus ſociety is equally benefited by the wealth of the ſaving man, as by that of the prodigal.

I am moſt willing to allow that we ought not to let our hearts too much on any thing in this world. But I confefs I do not fee a sufficient argu- ment why it ſhould be worſe to be ſond of money, than of other things. It is our duty to do good to others. But we are as much hindered from that, by diffipating our money in expensive pleafures, or laying it out in elegant amusements, or even in the cultivation of talte and learning, as by ſaving it. It is the ſame thing to thofe who are diſappointed of our charitie, whether our money is intercepted by the opinions of extravagance, or the negotiators of loans; whether it is transferred into pictures or hooks, or downright vulgar bonds. Indeed, in the latter cafes they may have more hope of obtaining ſome share of it, as the opera- tion is more ſimple, and the tranſition ſhorter.

I repeat it, that I do not mean to defend absolute devotion to wealth, ſo as that a man ſhould, like the licentiate in the Preface to Gil Blas, make it his ſoul. But I do maintain, that a money-faver (for I would avoid the odious term mifer) is not worſe than other worldly-minded men, under which description I include the ambitious, the vam, the gay, the man of pleasure of every fort. He is free from many vices which accompany prodigality, considering merely temporal pleasure, or ſatisfaction confined to this life. A man may freely choose for himself, and if he thinks it more agreeable to ſave his money, than to have what it can purchase, he has a right to ſave it. It was fenſibly and liberally ſaid, by an old money-faving father, when twitted with the profect that his ſon would diffipate all his wealth, "If he has as much pleasure in ſpending it as I had in ſaving it, I ſhall be very glad." Thus the wealth of the money-faver has the advantage that he ſerves at least two

generations, ſuppoſing his immediate ſucceſſor to be a ſpendthrift; whereas the wealth of one of a different character is gone at once. The pleafure of ſaving too is the moſt certain of any. A man may be dubious of his fame; he may be jealous of the woman he loves. But if he has common prudence, he may be absolutely certain of his wealth. His pleafure alſo is always augmenting. "Creſeit amor nummi quantum ipsis pecunia creſcit. His love for his money grows ſtronger in proportion as his money increales," and to the laſt hour of his life, his attachment is permanent. I was ſtruck one day, with a ſally of a learned and ingenious friend of mine upon this ſubject. The love of money ſaid he, is kindly given us in old age, to ſooth and amufe us when other paffions fail.

Some men have alternate fits of narrowneſs and prodigality, and they, like all other inconſiſtent characters, can neither be eafy in themſelves, or eſteem ed by others. And many who have a ſtrong paffion for ſaving, are from a falſe ſhame, or cowardly dread of the world, perpetually endeavouring to difguſe it. They are ſtill more uneaſy and contemptible. But let a man avoid indecent ſordidneſs, let him be juſt to every body, and charitable when occafions offer; let him but accumulate all that might be waſted from negligence, or ſpent for pleasure and vanity, in which views I ſhould think it inſdisputable, that ſaving cannot be more culpable than ſpending, but only more wife, and let him honeſtly and boldly avow himself to be a money-faver, and perſit in it with uniformity—I will venture to aſſure him, that inſtead of being deſpited, he will be treated with general attention and reſpect.

I do not regard the common place objection to the love of money, that it is in itſelf nothing, that it is merely "fhining ore" which has an imaginary value, artificially aſcribed to it by common consent. I know well that every thing in life may be analyzed into nothing. I take things as they are; as we feel them in civilized ſociety, and cannot help feeling them. I know that abſtractly there is no in-herent value in money. But in effect there is great value. I alſo know how little any individual can actually enjoy wealth in his own perſon more than another.

466

236

PANTHEON ANECDOTES.

May

crimes now rife up in horrid array,
and I almost sink under the load of ac-
cumulated guilt! — Are these arms
pure enough to embrace a guiltless
child? Can I give a blessing, where I
premeditated the most horrid
But let me not think of that; it fires
my soul, and sets my brain a madding!

*Lady Waddle*, who had been a mute spectator till now, applied herself to calm the violent transports that seemed to rend his very foul:—Confider, my lord, it was all accidental.—No, madam, replied his lordship, 'twas heaven's high will, to stop me in the career of my horrid enormities; I was on the brink of destruction, and my guardian angel has snatched me from the gulph of despair!—'Tis true, I knew not my child; but was I not about to rifle the innocent, and despoil her of her greatest ornament, her precious virtue?—I did not suppose I was the father of such a lovely maid, but I attempted to plunge a dagger in the heart of a fond parent!—His lordship, unable to support himself,unk breathless on a sopha; and was much relieved by the appearance of the landlady who declared, that chairs were in waiting:—*Lady Waddle* and *Emily* were instantly conducted to them, and *Lord Rifle* infested upon attending the ladies home, with a promise of breakfasting with them in the morning, if they were recovered. They got safe home, and went to bed to seek that repose they so much needed.—Early in the morning *Lord Rifle* lent to know how the ladies refled? The servant replied they were not stirring. We shall therefore leave them for a short time, and return to *Lady Flirt* in — Place:—

The transfections of the evening pre-
ceding were soon carried to *Flirt-House*
by *Lord Rifle's* valiant de chambre.—*La
Fleur* was exceedingly enamoured of
*Lady Flirt's* woman.—This lovely lafs
of the second hand *Polonaise*, was once
a cast-off mifs; late in the occupation
of *Lord Flirt* deceased. He bequeathed
her to his young wife, together with a
lovely boy by the said mifs.—Her lady-
ship (for prudent reasons) continued
*Teresa* in her service, wifely imagining
that the poffessor of secrets ought to be
made faithful by intereft.—*Teresa* kept
her lady's secrets duly and punctually;
and only divulged them, as a very pro-
found secret, to some of her intimates;

who she knew would fearn to blab ex-
cept to their own particular friends.
*La Fleur* was one of her male confidents;
nay she even honoured his paffion with
several innocent amorous tokens.—She
accepted some choice pots of foreign
effences, &c. and even bedewed her la-
dy's quondam white handkerchiefs with
her lover's tears, and his lord's *Eau de
mille fleurs!*—Thither in great haſte
went *La Fleur*:—He entered the draw-
ing-room about noon, and found the
tables covered with cards, and expi-
ring candles, as *Lady Flirt* had a party
after the Pantheon. He put a few
packs in his pocket, for fear they ſhould
be waſted, ſtried the half-extinguished
fire, rang for *Teresa* and breakfast.
*Teresa* entered, drefſed from top to toe;
and was followed by the very breakfast
intended for *Lady Flirt*.—She obſerved
(as the party had only retired the pre-
ceding evening, or rather the preſent
morning at eight) that her lady would
not will to be ſoon diſturbed; and
therefore wifely ſtopped the breakfast to
entertain her lover!—“Well, *La Fleur*,
what brings you here?—Egad the od-
deſt accident!—But you will tell?—
No; sooner ſhall my lady appear un-
painted in the drawing room than I
divulge—Come let us hear!—ſhall I
put fugar in your tea?—By all means,
Madam.” They then drew their chairs,
and *La Fleur* began—“Laft night;
but you will tell?—Pſhaw, I ſwear by
this tea I will not.—Well then hand me
the French-roll—Is your butter Ep-
ping, my dear? I can ſcarce fit in the
room with any other!—How you teize
me! It is. Come tell me.—“Well,
then, you muſt know that my maſter
went laſt night to the Pantheon —
Well, and where's the wonder of that?
“—Attend, and do not interrupt me
—As I was ſaying, my maſter went to
the Pantheon laſt night, and decoyed a
ſweet girl to a certain house in S—
ſtreet!—Oh, I know the house; pro-
ceed.—“The devil you do, Madam ?
—Pſhaw, I mean the ſtreet.—“So as
the devil would have it, juſt as his
lordship was about to intercede for fa-
vours, out bolted *Lady Waddle* — In-
deed? You ſurprize me! Well, go
on:—“Ay they were confoundedly ſu-
prized alſo, and who the duce do you
think the young lady was?—Nay I can-
not gueſs—“*Miff Emily Waddle* I”—In-
deed!—“Yes; but the beſt of the joke

3

19

1782.

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK. No. LVIII.

Του Φιλεούτ' επι δαίτα καλειν.

HESIOD.

“ Invite your friend to dine or fup with you.”

HOSPITALITY is the virtue which is in the moſt eminent degree its own reward. A man may have a full confciouſneſs of benevolence in many other ways. But in Hofpitality he finds his confciouſneſs confirmed and brightened by reflection from the com- pacent looks of his gueſts, while they fit around his board partaking of his good cheer.

At first view, Hofpitality appears to be a ſavage virtue, a virtue which can be exercis'd only in a rude ſtate of ſociety, where habitations are thinly ſcattered, and provisions ſcantly pro- cured. For how can there be room for hofpitality where all have enough of lodging and food ? No doubt there is much more need of Hofpitality in un- cultivated wilds than in improved di-ſtricts; and accordingly it prevails more in the former than in the latter. In the former, ſtrangers are rare, and in Hofpitality there is a mutual advan- tage to them and to thofe who enter- tain them, for intellectual entertain- ment is there communicated by almoſt any ſtranger. Whereas in the latter, ſtrangers are ſo numerous, that there arifes a clas of men to whom it is a gainful traffick to furniſh them every convenience and even every luxury for money; and of thofe who are received into private houſes as friends, a choice is made by connection, recommenda- tion, or taſte.

It is pleafing to think how ſacred Hofpitality has been held in all na- tions. To violate its faith has been ever looked upon as a crime of the ut- moſt abhorrence, even amongst bands of robbers. " Non hofpes ab hofpite tutus—a want of ſecurity between the maſter of a houſe and his gueſts," is pointed out by Ovid amongst the abo- minations of corrupted manners. I imagine the edict Nautæ coupones fla- bularii of the Roman law, by which landlords and ſhipmaſters were made anſwerable for all kinds of property brought into their houſes or ſhips by lodgers or paſſengers, has taken its life from that care of every thing be-

longing to them, which the mind, car- rying on the original idea of an en- tertainer of ſtrangers, has imputed to them as a duty, as an indifpenſible charge; though I recollect the reaſon affigned is reſtraining their ſhameful frauds.

Old Hesiod, in the motto to this pa- per, counſels us to invite our friends to feaſt with us. The paſſage from whence it is taken proceeds to bid us not aſk an enemy, but to be chiefly deurous of having the company of a near neighbour. There is ſomething primitive in all this, which may ſerve as very good doctrine even at this day. An indiscriminate invitation to ſhare with us, what ſhould be uniformly eſteemed a pledge of cordiality, I can- not approve. There is to be ſure no occasion for being leagued together in bands offenſive and defenſive, as in former times, for absolute prefervation of our lives and properties; nor is it neceſſary now, as it was then, to be pledged, while we drink, by a truſty friend with a drawn ſword, left we ſhould be murdered while off our guard. But I would have none to fit down as entertainer and gueſt who are not at leaſt free from ill-will to each other.

The more attentively we compare man with other animals, the more points of difference ſhall we find be- tween him and them. Other animals take a pleafure in ſharing the food they like beſt with their young, or even preferring them. But I believe man alone treats others of his ſpecies in that manner. The entertainment given in the ſable by the City Mouſe to the Country Mouſe, is not more founded on truth than their carrying on a con- verſation in very ſmart dialogue. I have therefore always thought it the mark of a brutiſh diſpoſition to feed alone, or even to eat perpetually with one's own family, which is compara- tively unfocial, and makes one figure a groupe of beaſts in the fame den day after day.

An interchange of entertaining is one

310

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

July

one of the varieties of life. No two things are quite alike. The poorest beggars will taste each other's brown crumbs, or half-picked bones and be amused with the difference. So in better situations, we taste each other's milk, or fruit, or mutton, or any thing else that is brought to the table; and we know the varieties of cookery, confectionary, and wines are infinite. When there is a good-humoured competition who shall have the best things for his friends, or when the excellence is divided, as when one has the best fish, another the best fowl, a third the best garden fruit, and there 'is a pleasant rotation of acknowledged advantage, it is very agreeable. But there have been violent animosities owing to contested tables; and even petty rivalries in gastry, or in syllabubs, have rankled in gentle bosoms.

Where a man entertains from often-
tation, where

"All is more than hospitably good,"

as at the table of the fumptuous man
in Parnell's Hermit, there is no virtue,
and of consequence no praise; though
numbers will resort to enjoy the lux-
ury, and inwardly laugh at the vanity
of the master who exhibits like a
showman. But the difference is easily
perceived between such vanity and that
real hearty wish to make others happy,
with which some men in all ranks are
blessed; for I will not exclude that
blessing from any rank though envy
may strive to create such a belief. I
have seen it with exultation at the ta-
bles of the first nobility; and it cannot
be denied that what is a blessing in a
cottage, is, if equally genuine, a su-
perlative blessing in a palace. It is one
of the scriptural characteristics of a
bishop to be "given to Hospitality."
It would be hard if the magnificence
of a prelate, whose fee has been pioutly
endowed with a princely revenue,
should put an absolute bar on a heart
as good as Hooker's, while he "eat
his bread in peace and privacy," as a
worthy parish priest. And who will
deny that such a heart may be found
in a bishop.

The Hospitality of convents never
comes into my mind but with a feeling
of reverential fondness. To entertain
those to whom entertainment is truly
a relief and a consolation is the Hospi-

tality recommended in the Gospel. For
this, every one who is able, may find
opportunities of one kind or other,
which will be gladly embraced by in-
digent relations, or people of mode-
ment, who can barely live, and to
whom the daily fare of the rich is a
regale. This sort of laudable Hospi-
tality is still kept up at stated times in
some places of this island. I once
dined at Durham on a Sunday with
the prebendary in residence. A num-
ber of the poor who were good decent
old people eat at table, and were help-
ed bountifully. After dinner, every
man of them had a glafs of ale, and
every woman a glafs of sweet wine;
and then each of them had a paper of
tobacco, and withdrew to a hall to
fmoak it. I witneffed this scene with
uncommon satisfaction.

There is something still worse than
oſentatious entertaining, which is
bringing people to a feast in order to
domineer over them like a baſhaw,
compel their eating and drinking with
all the rigour of an Egyptian taſk-
maſter, to cruſh their opinions, ſtifle their
pleaſantry, or make them the butt of
ridicule. Letſ oppreſſive, but trou-
bleſome enough, are those entertainers
who expect to be flattered in one or
other of the modes which the united
ingenuity of ſuch men and their ſy-
cophants have contrived. Prior, in
what he calls an Imitation of Chaucer,
has given us one inſtance:

Full oft doth Mat with Topaz dine,
Eateth bak'd meats, drinketh Greek wine;
But Topaz his own werkes rehearſeth,
And Mat mote pralife, what Topaz verſeth.
Now ſure as ſaint did e'er ſhrive finner
Full hardly earneth Mat his dinner.

The thought is borrowed from Mar-
tial, Lib. III. Epig. 50, which begins,

Hæc tibi non alia eſt ad canam cauſa vocandi
Versificos recites ut Ligurine tuos.

"To supper, Ligurinus, you invite

"For nothing but your verſes to recite."

There is in this epigram an humour-
ous account of the different courſes
being loaded with their ſeveral pro-
portions of the entertainer's poetry,
extending to no leſs than five books.
One would not eat growſe and drink
canary on ſuch terms.

Some men have a peculiar genius for
entertaining well. They take delight
in it, and do it with ease and alacrity,

10

1782.

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

311

so that their tables are never-failing
scenes of jovial society. Such men
ought to have handsome fortunes be-
cause they can turn them to the best
account. We must all recollect the
warm encomiums usually made upon
the master of the house, where we have
enjoyed a happy day. " There never
was a worthier man than our friend,"
is echoed from one guest to another in
their way from his house.

We are told that Swift, when invited to dine on some favourite dishes, would say, " I don't mind your bill of fare, let me have your bill of company." The bill of fare is, however, of some consequence, as is effectually, though tacitly, acknowledged by the numbers who flock to a good table. Good company I allow is a higher feast; but they do best together. There is a nice knowledge of character as well as a benevolent disposition displayed inforting a company, an art in which I have known fewer people excel than in any other. Painting and music are not so difficult for the principles, the component parts are each a study. But when there is a company of eminent merit of various kinds, finely adapted, and all in exertion, the effect is exquisite indeed !

Such enjoyment as this, such "noctes
ænæque deum—-evenings and fuppers of
gods," can rarely be had, unless in
large cities, where there is a multipli-
city of choice, and companies are ar-
ranged by invitation. But to have
this in the general course of life would
be too luxuriously selfish; and they,
who from felicity of circumstances are
more refined and accomplished, should
consider it as a duty to communicate
some of their advantages to let's for-
tunate, but worthy and modeft neigh-
bours in the country. This is ge-
nuine, kindly hospitality, which ought
by all means to be promoted, that
good will may be more diffused
amongst different ranks, and the ele-
gancies of the metropolis may in some
degree be known by those who live at
a distance from it, while at the same
time, the fragments of feasting gladden
the hearts of the poor.

I know of no legislature that has
enforced Hospitality by Statute, except

the parliament of Scotland; and it
does them honour. It seems that
about two centuries ago, a strange and
shameful custom prevailed there for
noblemen and gentlemen to defert their
country feats, and refuse altogether in
towns, or if they did live at their
country feats, to board themselves
with their own servants, that they
might not be at the expence of enter-
taining their neighbours, or relieving
the poor. To retrain this, there was
an act passed in the reign of James VI.
of Scotland, afterwards also I. of
England, 1581, Cap. 116, entitled—
" Againft the abuse of sum landed
gentil-men, and utheris forbearing to
keep house at their awin dwelling pla-
ces." It is a singular curiosity, and
as the Scottish acts are very short, I
shall infert it completely for the amufe-
ment of my readers, subjoining a glof-
fary of the most difficult words.

"*Foraſmeikle, as of lait there is
croppen in amangis ſum noblemen,
prelates, barronnes, and gentil-men,
in certaine pairs of this realme, being
of gude livinges, great abuse contrair
the honour of the realme, and different
from the honest frugalitie of their fore-
beares, paſſing to burrows-towns, clau-
channels, and aile-houſes with their
houſhaldes, and ſum abiding in their
awin places, uſis to buird themſelves
and others to their awin ſervants, as
in hoftillaries, quhairo[n] ſkaithful and
ſchameful inconvenients daylie falles
out, to the offence of God, defrauding
of the pure of their almes, ſclander of
the cuntrie, and hurt of the authours.
For remeid quhairoſ, our Soveraine
Lord, with advife of his three eſtates
of this preſent parliament, hes ſtatute
and ordain'd: That every prelate, lord,
barronne, and landed gentil-man, fall
make his ordinar dwelling and refi-
dence at his awin house with his fa-
milie, in all time cumming, after the
publication of the acts of this preſent
parliament. For fetting forward of
policie and decoration of their ſaides
dwelling places, ſupporting of the pure
with almes, and entertaining of friend-
ſchip with their nichtboures be all gude
and honest means. And that they for-
beare the ſaid unhonest forme of buird-
ing of themſelves, and their families,
and

* Foraſmeikle, foraſmuch
forebeares, forefathers
pure, poor

croppen in, crept in
clauchannels, villages
ſclander, ſcandal

amangis, amongſt
ſkaithſul, hurtful
ilk, each.

2 470

312

THE BRITISH THEATRE.

July

and householdes, in burrowes, clau-
channes, and ailehoufes, or in their
awin houfes, under the pains follow-
ing: That is to say : ilk lord and pre-
late, under the pain of 500 markes, ilk
great barronne under the pain of 300
markes; and ilk landed gentil-man un-
der the pain of 200 markes. And gif
they failzie, being called and ordourlie
convict of transgreffing this preſent aſt,
the faidis paines to be uplifted to our
Soveraine Lord's uſe."

Were the British parliament to make
a similar ſtature, obliging our modern
nobility and gentry to refide upon their
eſtates, and never to come to London
but boná ſide upon real buſineſs, with-
out paying a proportional fine toties
quoties, not only would laudable Hof-
pitality be more general, but a conſi-
derable addition to the revenue might
be raifed under a different title, but
the fame in effect with the late exploded
tax on publick amusements.

THE BRITISH THEATRE.

SHORT account of the new Comedy called
THE EAST INDIAN performed the
first time, at the Theatre Royal in the Hay-
market on Tuesday evening, July 16th.

Characters of the Drama. Performers.

| Character | Name |
| :--- | :--- |
| Colonel Errwou'd | Mr. Palmer. |
| Edmonds | Mr. Bannifter, Jun. |
| Savage | Mr. Benſley. |
| Darnford | Mr. Staunton. |
| Simpfon | Mr. Uſher. |
| Landlord | Mr. Webb. |
| Chairman | Mr. Egan. |
| Johnson | Mr. Gardner. |
| Young Johnson | Mr. R. Palmer. |
| Emma Cecil | Mrs. Inchbald. |
| Harriet | Mrs. Bulkley. |
| Mrs. Cecil | Mrs. Sherry. |
| Mrs. Johnson | Mrs. Pouſſin. |
| Nancy Johnson | Mifs Morris. |
| Jenny Johnson | Mifs —. |

THE fable of this comedy is rather thin
wrought, and is confined within a very
narrow compafs. Edmonds, an East-Indian
by birth, was committed by his deceased fa-
ther to the guardianship of Cecil, and comes
to England, where he falls in love with
Cecil's daughter Emma, previous to his being
compelled to return to India, on account of
his private affairs: at his departure an agree-
ment was made between them, that if either
should be dissatisfied with the other, any
previous passion which had been declared by
either should be no reason to bind them.

After an absence of four years in India,
Edmond returns to London, and by means
of a coffee-house conversation is made to be-
lieve that Emma Cecil is in love with, and
on the verge of marrying Colonel Errwou'd;
to which stratagem Errwou'd has been in-
duced by the advice of his friend Mr. Darn-
ford. A similar story has been carried by
Mr Darnford likewife to the ears of Emma,
which was, that Edmonds was on the eve of
wedlock with a rich Indian lady. This embar-

ras is aggravated by the impertinent advice of
Cecil, which brings about a quarrel between
him and Edmonds.

This is the main substratum of the play,
in which however there are several episodes;
for Mr. Savage, who had in his early youth
loft the miftres of his heart, and on account
of the resemblance of Emma to his Cecilia,
adopted her as heir to his fortune, having in
the opening of the play met Edmonds, and
being by him miftaken from his appearance
for a perſon in diſtrefls, he receives a purſue of
guineas from Edmonds, who leaves him in
admiration of ſo much virtue; at the fame
time he himſelf goes to fee a family in diſ-
trefls, which has too much pride to diſcover
its neceſſities.

The family confits of Johnson and his
children; the eldest daughter is preparing to
become a tragedian, the second is to be a
vocal performer, and the son is a member of
the affociation. They reject the offers of
Savage's bounty with scorn, and yet treat
their mother with contempt. This episode
was not well received. After this, there
comes on another between Colonel Errwou'd
and Harriet, which is introduced by ſome
declarations of the lady's ſuspicions of the
deceit committed by the colonel; and he
in ſeqüence thereof falls in love with her,
which in the end brings about a double mar-
riage.

In the discovery of the deceit which had
been employed on Edmonds and Emma, Err-
wou'd and Darnford are on the verge of a
duel, as are Edmonds and both the gentle-
men: however, this quarrel is made up
amicably by the gentlenefs of Edmonds's
manner, and the urbanity of the other gen-
tlemen.

This piece partakes more of the sentimental
than of the comic line, and on that account
is not likely to survive the usual run of nine
nights.

FOR

1782.

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK. No. LIX.

Τὰ δὲ τὰ παρασιτὰ ὀνομα πάλαι μὴν σεμνὴ καὶ ἐρον.

ATHENÆUS.

" The title of Parafite was anciently respectable and sacred."

THE motto of this paper will I doubt not, startle many of my readers; who, from the contemptible notion generally entertained of a parafite, will be struck with equal surprisef, as if told, that a coward, a lyar, or a scoundrel, was anciently a title respectable and sacred.

Yet that the fact was so, we are well informed by *Athenæus*, in his large collection or *farrago* of *Memoirs of Mankind*, in fifteen books, under the various denomination of *deipnofophiftæ*, or *supper philosophy*, the *table talk* of ancient fages, which the learned *Causabon* has augmented with ample annotations.

There was, it seems, in pagan imagination, something whimsically mySTERIOUS, supphofed in the character of one, who while he shared in the feast, cheered and elevated all around him, by raifing in their minds agreeable and lofty notions of themelves; and hence it was feigned, that some of the Gods were the parafites of Jove. A parafite, as I have now difplayed the character, is effentially valuable; and we find in *Athenæus*, that the *bards* of the *Celtic* nations were looked upon in that light by *Pofidonium*, who describes their chiefs carrying about with them men so called, whose buſineſs it was to celebrate, in their preference, the glories of their ancestors, and of their own atchievements. Yet nobody will controvert that the *bards* were perſonages highly venerable.

Adulation or flattery in whatever way exercised, if it produce complacency, will be fure of regard, and whatever may be the refined difguifes of more civilized times, when people will not avow the delight which they take in being flattered, it is certain that a fucceſtul flatterer is as highly valued now, as in the ruder ages of barbarity, when his art was openly known as an office, which indeed it was even in Sylla's time, when many of the publick lands were appropriated to parafites. In our publick constitution there ſtill remains an office of that kind, the *Poet-Laureat*, whose duty it is to flatter

the ſovereign twice every year. The office is by no means held in difſteem; and I will do Mr. Whitehead, the prefent laureat, the justice to ſay, there is no probability that its credit will ſink in his time. For confidering the famenefs of his topics, each new year and each birth day, it is wonderful to find so much ſpirit and elegance in his odes.

Nations, bodies of men, and perſons in great employments, may have adulation to any degree offered to them, without indelicacy; for, where there is a large number, each has a ſmall share of the praife; and where there is a great employment, the praife may be considered as directed more to the office than to the man.

The nice and delicate art is to flatter individuals ſimply as ſuch; and of this there are ſo many modes, that people of good temper, and any ingenuity and addrefs, who apply their attention to it, will be pretty ſure to succeed.

*Theopbraftus* in his *characters*, has given us that of a flatterer ſo well, that it is not merely entertaining as a picture of Grecian manners, but has the striking features which flattery at all times exhibits to an obſerving eye; ſo that one might take it for a character in our own, as well as any other age. I ſhall prefent it to my readers in *Budgell's* lively translation.

"Flattery is a manner of converſation very ſhameful in itſelf, but beneficial to the flatterer. If a flatterer is upon a publick walk with you, Do but mind, ſays he, how every one's eye is upon you. Sure there is not a man in Athens that is taken ſo much notice of. You had justice done you yefterday in the Portico. There were above thirty of us together, and the queſtion being ſtarted, who was the moſt confiderable perſon in the common-wealth? the whole company was of the fame ſide. In ſhort, Sir, every one made familiar with your name. He follows his whifper with a thouſand other flatteries of the fame nature. If a bit of lint ſicks

to

PARLIAMENTARY HISTORY

1782.

359

358

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

Aug.

to your garment, he takes it off with great officiousneſs. If the wind has blown a feather or straw into your hair, he picks it out very carefully, and shewing it you, with a moſt insipid smile, How old you are grown, ſays he, since I saw you laſt! 'Tis time enough, methinks, for a man of your age to have grey hairs in his head. Whenever the perſon to whom he would make his court begins to ſpeak, the ſycophant begs the company to be filent, moſt impudently prales him to his face, is in raptures all the while he talks, and as ſoon as he has done, cries out, That is perfectly right! When his patron aims at being witty upon any man, he is ready to burſt at the ſmartneſs of his raillery, and ſtops his mouth with his handkerchief, that he may not laugh out. If he walks with him in the street, he clears the way for him, and makes every one ſtand till he is gone by. When he comes home and calls his children about him, the Flatterer has a pocket full of apples for them, which he diſtributes among them with a great deal of fondneſs; wonders to fee so many fine boys, and turning about to the father, tells him, they are all as like him as they can ſtare. His patron cannot ſo much as try on a ſhoe, but he falls a complimenting him upon the ſhape of his foot. If he makes a visit, our Parafite runs before him, gives notice to the maſter of the house, and returns quite out of breath, to let him know that every thing is ready for his reception. He is perfectly well verſed in all female buſineſs, and is as handy among the women as the beſt of them. When he is invited to a ſeaſt, he is the very first man that calls for a glaſs of wine, and is wonderſully pleafed with the deliciousneſs of the flavour; gets as near as poſſible to the man of the house, and tells him with much concern, that he eats nothing himself. He finches out some particular diſt, and recommends it to the reſt of the company for a rarity. He defines the maſter of the ſeaſt to fit in a warmer part of the room, begs him to take more care of his health, and adviſes him to put on a ſupernumerary garment this cold weather. He is in a close whisper with him during the whole entertainment, and has neither eyes nor ears for any one else in the company. When he ſees a great man enter the theatre, he finch-

es the cushion from his ſervant, and places it under him. If a man ſhews him his house, he extols the architect, admires the gardens, and expatiates upon the furniture. If the owner is groſly flattered in a picture, he outflaters the painter, and though he diſeovers a great likeneſs in it, can by no means allow that it does justice to the original. In ſhort, his whole buſineſs is to ingratiate himself with those who hear him, and to wheedle them out of their fenies."

John Home, in his tragedy of Douglas, makes the proſligate and artful Glenalvon ſay,

Flattery direct
Rarely diſguſs. They little know mankind
Who doubt its operation, 'tis my key,
And opes the wicket to the human heart.

Glenalvon is a character of a rude age; and in proportion as human nature is artiſes or groſs, the more direct ſhould Flattery be to have its influence. A child muſt be flattered in the plainest terms: ſo muſt a ſavage. Neither of them could perceive a delicate compliment. The incenſe muſt be held under their very noſe. The fame remark may be made upon people much habituated to Flattery, whose appetite for it comes to be ſo eager and conſitant, that they languiſh and are miferable without it. Dr. Young describes their dependent ſituation very juſtly,

"See how they beg alms of a Flattery."

But people, whose taſe is refined, muſt have the sweet and soothing poſtion of Flattery adminiſtered with a gentle hand, that they may ſip it as it were imperceptibly, and enjoy the eſſence without feeling the coarneſs of any vehicle. The moſt effectual Flattery to ſuch people is what is contrived ſhall come to them by report. " There is no Flattery ſo irreſtible as this at ſecond hand," ſays Fielding in his Tom Jones. Flattery direct may be repelled; but Flattery oblique is ſure to penetrate. One is not prepared against it; and it darts into the heart. Flattery at ſecond-hand is ſubtilized like ſmoak out of a long winding pipe, ſuch as the Turks luxuriously uſe. It is therefore better to make others carry our Flattery, if we are certain it will be faithfully delivered. But Flattery is in one reſpect ſimilar to money. We may always have intereſt upon it; but are ſometimes afraid to truſt it to others.

The

4

473

The modes of Flattery are various as the characters of men. All however may be flattered by a ready, re-

360

PARLIAMENTARY HISTORY.

Aug.

the third reading of the bill to exclude reve-
nue officers from voting at elections for
members of parliament being moved,

Earl Mansfield not only opposed it, but condemned it in the strongest terms, as depriving thousands of his Majesty's subjects of their birth-right, contrary to the principles of the revolution, and of both the common and the flatute law of the land.

The *Bishop of Peterborough* replied, and maintained that the bill would remove a great and improper influence of the crown, and destroy smuggling.

The Marquis of Roaringham, who was in an ill state of health, briefly stated the nature of this influence—he reckoned up 140 boroughs, in which 23,000 voters were influenced by the revenue, and one fifth of these, his lordship's aid, were absolutely subject to the orders of the First Lord of the Treasury; he therefore wished to see the bill receive the royal assent.

The House divided upon the question, 34 contents to 18 non-contents, whereupon the bill passed.

THE fame day in the HOUSE of COMMONS, upon a motion of the Lord Advocate, after a short debate, the following resolutions were agreed to: That the second reading of the bill for inflicting pains and penalties on Sir Thomas Rumbold, be postponed to that day two months.—That the business ought to be resumed as early as possible in the next session of parliament—For bringing in a bill to prevent the suspension of the said bill of pains and penalties, by any prorogation of parliament.

The petition of the East-India Company, praying to be released from paying into the Exchequer immediately, the sum of 400,000, pursuant to an act of the last session, was referred to a committee, who, upon the motion of Sir Henry Fletcher, gave leave to bring in a bill to discharge the company from the said payment.

HOUSE OF COMMONS.

Wednesday, June 5.

Mr. Byng moved for leave to bring in a bill to strengthen the hands of the magistrates of Middlesex and Westminster, in the suspension of gambling, growing into an enormous nuisance, particularly E. O. tables, leave was given accordingly, but afterwards, owing to some extraordinary clauses, vesting in the magistrates powers thought to be unconstitutional, the bill was amended and amended, till such delays were occasioned thereby, that the feffion was closed before it was ready for the royal assent.

Mr. Fox moved that a new writ should be issued to elect a member for Westminister, in the room of Sir George Brydges Rödney, who had been called up to the House of Peers.

A debate enfused, in opposition to the motion, chiefly maintained by Commodore Johnstone, on the pretext that it was highly improper, till it was known whether the Admiral would accept the honour intended him, and it was inflied that a peerage could not be forced upon him. But Mr. Rodney, his son, satisfied the House, by producing a letter from his father, in which he expressed his will that such an honour might be conferred upon him. The question was then put and carried, upon which the writ was ordered accordingly.

HOUSE OF LORDS.

Friday, June 7.

A Bill brought in by the Earl of Salisbury to enable him to commute the tythes on his estate, by allowing the rector a certain quantity of land, in lieu of his tythes, being in its progreſs to be committed, the Lord Chancellor opposed that, and all other commutations. Earl Batburfuſ, on the contrary, affected the beneficial effects of commutations, not only to the clergy themselves, but to the whole nation. The Chancellor, however, made a motion to negtive a claufe in the bill, upon which Lord Dudley moved the previous question, which was carried by 27 contents againſt 9 non contents, and then the bill was committed.

IN the HOUSE of COMMONS an attempt was made by Sir Francis Boffat, to obtain an address to his Majefly to make a ſettlement on Sir George Rodney; but after a debate, in which Mr. Fox convinced the House of the impropriety of the meaſure, the motion was withdrawn by, consent of Sir Francis and his friends.

Monday, June 10.

Mr. Mellifh moved, that Mr. Gilbert's bill for regulating the poor should be read the third time. It was opposed by Mr. Duncembe, Lord Mahon, Mr. Dempfter, and Mr. Alderman Sawbridge, and occasioned a long debate, as well as ſeveral divifions. After it had been carried by a majority to read it a third time, fresh objedions were flarted to ſeveral claufes, and, at length, it was rejected, upon the question being put, " That it do now paſ," by 44 votes againſt 22.

The bill for eſtablifhing a militia in Scotland, was withdrawn, owing to a claufe proposed and carried by the Secretary at War, to allow the privates, if they thought proper, to inflit in the regulars. The Marquis of Grabam and the other Scotch members would not submit to this claufe, and the Secretary of War apprehended it was not inferted, the bill would hinder the recruiting ſervice.

\*\* The remainder of the proceedings of the last ſession of parliament will be given in our next, with his Majefly's moſt gracious ſpeech at the close of the ſession.

TO

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

1782.

407

406

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

Sept.

That a dedication should be Flattery
is by no means a proposition inherent
in its nature; for where there is real
veneration or regard, the debasing epi-
thet of Flattery ought not to be applied
to the expression of it. Dedication, in
its original meaning, was solemnly de-
voting to a divinity any work which
a nation or an individual had finished,
that it might be under the protection of
superior power. In time it was found
that the immediate protection of the
great and opulent, amongst mankind,
was very desirable, and as divine ho-
nours were actually paid to some princes,
it is not to be wondered at that literary
performances were gradually attached
to elevated patrons. Men of genius
have in general proof in need of bene-
ficient favour; and we find, at a very
early period of learning, the practice of
inhabiting their works to men of rank.
In the progress of literature we may
trace with amulating inquiry the varieties
of dedication, according to the different
dispositions, and circumstances of dif-
ferent writers.

The most extraordinary dedication of
a literary performance is that of Ed-
wards's Natural History. It is in these
words:

“TO GOD,

“ The ONE Eternal! the Incompre-
henable! the Omnipresent! Omnif-
cient, and Almighty Creator of all
things that exift! from orbs immen-
surably great, to the minuteft points of
matter, this ATOM is dedicated and
devoted with all poffible gratitude, hu-
miliation, worſhip, and the highett ado-
ration both of body and mind,

“ By his moſt reſigned,

“ Low, and humble creature,

“GEORGE EDWARDS.”

His Preface is solely to juſtify the
propriety of the dedication. He men-
tions, that people in all ages and places
of the world have offered, prefentet, or
ſacrificed part of the encreafe of ſuch
good things as he had bleſſed them
with, and he thinks endowments of
mind and ability, of penetrating into,
and admiring the wonderful works of
the Great Creator, are gifts far ſupe-
rior to any others.

Bacon's advancement of learning is
dedicated to his sovereign thus—"There
were under the law, excellent King!
both daily ſacrifices and freewill offer-
ings, the one proceeding upon ordinary

obſervance, the other upon a devout
chearfulneſs. In like manner, there
belongeth to Kings from their ſervants
both tribute of duty, and preſents of
aſſection. In the former of these, I
hope, I shall not live to be wanting ac-
cording to my moſt humble duty, and
the good pleasure of your Majefy's
employments. For the latter I thought
it more reſpective to make choice of
ſome oblation, which might rather refer
to the propriety and excellency of your
individual perſon than to the buineſs
of your crown and ſtate."

He then expreſſes his extreme wonder
at the King's "virtues and faſulties
which the philofophers call intellectual"
and expands the praeſe of his perfections
very largely.

The fame great man in a dedication
of his effays to the Duke of Bucking-
ham, fays, "My Inſturation I dedi-
cated to the King. My Hiftory of
Henry the Seventh, and my portions of
Natural Hiftory to the prince: And
these I dedicate to your grace, being of
the belt fruits that by the good increafe
which God gives to my pen and la-
bours, I could yield."

The learned and pious Dr. Henry
More, dedicates his philosophical wri-
tings to the Vifcountefs Conway, in the
ancient ſtrain of reverence; and in con-
formity with the notion held forth in
the noſo to this paper. " For my own
part, it ſeems to me as real a point of
religious worſhip to honour the vir-
tuous, as to relieve the neceſſitous,
which Chriſtianity terms no leſs than a
faſcifice. Nor is there any thing here
of hyperbolick or high-flown language,
it being agreed upon by all fides, by
prophets, apoſtles, and ancient philo-
lophers, that holy and good men are
the temples of the living God. And
verily the refidence of divinity is ſo con-
spicuous in that heroical pulchritude
of your noble perſon, that Plato, if he
were alive again, might find his timorous
ſuppofition brought into abſolute act,
and to the enraſhment of his amazed
foul might behold virtue become viſible
to his outward fight."

Drummond of Hanothornden, dedicates
his hiftory of the five King Jameses of
Scotland, "To the Right Honourable
my very good LORD and CHIEF, John
Earl of PERTH." He celebrates the
house of Drummond, from generation
to generation, and exulting in the
thought

THE HYPOCHONDRACK.

Sept.

406

obfervance, the other upon a devout
cheerfulness. In like manner, there
belongeth to Kings from their leavants
both virtue of duty, and prefences of

that a dedication should be flatery
is by no means a deflouporion inherent
in its nature; for where there is real

1782. THE HYPOCHONDRACK.

407

thought that the mother of " that high
and great prince" the first of these
monarchs was a daughter of it, he thus
compliments his patron: " If we be-
lieve some schoolmen, that the fouls of
the departed have some dark knowledge
of the actions done upon earth, which
concern their good or evil; what foace
then will this bring to James I. that
after two hundred years, he had one of
his mother's name, and race, that had
renewed his fame and actions in the
'world."

Dryden in an ample dedication of his
poems to the Duke of Ormond, by whole
father and grandfather he had been pa-
tronized, obviours, " Some estates are
held in England by paying a fine, at
the change of every lord;" and in doing
homage to his grace, the then lord, he
carries on the allusion very prettily.
" In his great climacterick" he dedi-
cates his Virgil to Lord Clifford of
Chudleigh, whole father was " the pa-
tron of his manhood;" and he puts his
lordship in mind, that in Rome " the
fame plebeian houes had recourse to
the fame patrician Ine which had for-
merly protected them." This dedication
does Lord Clifford great honour, for it
begins, " I have found it not more dif-
ficult to translate Virgil, than to find
fuch patrons as I defire for my tranfla-
tion."

Prior's dedication of his poems to the
Earl of Dorfet, the fon of his patron, is
an elegant panegyrick on his lordship's
father; and he lays, " I lend your lord-
ship a dedication not filled wrth a long
detail of your praiés, but with the fin-
ceret wifhes that you may deferve
them." In the fame manner Hervey
dedicates one of the volumes of his
Meditations, to Paul Orchard, Esq. of
Stoke-Abbey, in Devonshire, his godfon.
There is a mott pleafing delicacy to a
worthy mind, in fuch praife of a deceafed
parent, addreſſed to a fon, on whom it
will not fail to " defend as the dew of
Hermon."

There is a venerable ſpirit in the de-
dication of Barclay's apology for the
Quakers, to King Charles the Second,
dated at Ury in Scotland, the place of
his pilgrimage. He, with a decent free-
dom, brings to that monarch's remem-
brance, his sufferings as a banifhed
man, previous to his exaltation, and
faithfully charges him to maintain a
proper conduct, and to pay an earneſt
attention to the important concerns of
futurity.

One very fair purpofe of a dedication
to an eminent perſon, is to have the
weight of his authority in favour of a
performance, which the world can be
told has had his approbation. Thus,
Denham, in his dedication of his poems
to the King, who he maintains " has as
good a title to give law in matters of
this nature, as in any other," ſays,
" they who shall prefume to diffule
from your Majefty, will do more wrong
to their own judgment, than their judg-
ment can do to me." The " courtly
Sprat" as he has been well characteriſed,
dedicates his poems to the Reverend
Dr. Wilkins of Oxford, and holds out as
" a field against prejudices."—" the uni-
verſal ſeem and authority which your
judgment and approbation carries with
it." Innumerable inſtances of ſuch autho-
ritative manifeſtoes in dedication, might
be pointed out. But Buchanan, in the
dedication of his celebrated verſion of
the Pſalms, to Mary Queen of Scotſ,
has, in the genteelſt manner, uſhered
his work into the world, honoured with
the good opinion of that beautiful and
accomplified princeſs :

Nympba, Caledonie quæ nune feliciter oræ

Milla per innumeros sepeſt tuers avos;

Quæ fortem autem ſonis meritis, virtutibus annos,

Sexum animis, morum nobilitate genus:

Accipe (ſed facili) culta donata Latino

Corinna, fatidici nobile regis opus;

Illa quidem, Cirrbò prout & Permeſſide lym-

Pene ſub Arctol ſidere nata poli: [ſætum,

Non tomen auſus eram male natum exponere

Ne mihi difficiant quæ placuerè tibi.

Nam quod ab ingenio domini ſperare nequaibant,
Deindebunt genio forſtigen illa tua.

There is, in general, in dedications
too much affection of humility, too
much depreciating of what is offered at
the ſhrine of patronage, and yet an in-
direct anxiety in the writer, to guard
against being believed; and therefore
the ſanction of a better judgement than
his own is mentioned in favour of the
performance; so that he may have at
once the praife of modeſty, and of litera-
ry excellence.

Hooke's dedication of his Roman Hif-
tory to Pope, is in a peculiar eafy ſtyle.
It is ſufficiently complimentary to the
patron, and it ſecures the merit of the
writer,

“ Sir,

" The displaying your name at the
head of theſe ſheets is I confess like
hanging out a ſplendid ſign to catch the
traveller's eye, and entice him to make
tryal of the entertainment the place at-

lirds.

477

408 LIFE OF AN ENG. GENT. AT BENGAL. Sept.

fords. But when I can write under my
ign, that Mr. POPE has been here, and
was content, who will question the
goodneſs of the houſe."

I find this ſubject of Dedication ſo
amusing, to myſelf at least, that I cannot
put an end to it yet, but ſhall continue
to indulge it in another of theſe papers.

DIARY of the Custodial Life of an ENGLISH GENTLEMAN in Bengal.
(From M'Intosh's Travels in Europe, Asia, and Africa.)

ABOUT the hour of ſeven in the
morning, his durvan (porter or
door-keeper) opens the gate, and the
viranda (gallery) is free to his circars,
peons (footmen) harcarrahs (meſſen-
gers or ſpies) chubdars (a kind of con-
ſtables) huccabadars and conſumas (or
ſteward and butler) writers and folli-
citors. The headbearer and jemmadar
enter the hall, and his bed-room at
eight o'clock. A lady quits his ſide,
and is conducted by a private ſtair-cafe,
either to her own apartment, or out of
the yard. The moment the maſter
throws his legs out of bed, the whole
poſſe in waiting ruff into his room,
each making three falams, by bending
the body and head very low, and
touching the forehead with the infide of
the fingers, and the floor with the back
part. He conſeſcends, perhaps, to
nod, or caſt an eye towards the folli-
citors of his favour and protection. In
about half an hour after undoing and
taking off his long drawers, a clean
ſhirt, breeches, flockings, and ſlippers,
are put upon his body, thighs, legs,
and feet, without any greater exertion
on his own part, than if he was a ſta-
tue. The barber enters, ſhaves him,
cuts his nails, and cleans his ears.
The chillumjee and ewer are brought
by a ſervant, whose duty it is, who
pours water upon his hands, to wath
his hands and face, and preſents a
towel. The ſuperior then walks in
ſtate to his breakfasting parlour in his
waſtcoat; is feated; the conſumah
makes and pours out his tea, and pre-
fents him with a plate of bread or
toaſt. The hair-dreſſer comes behind,
and begins his operation, while the
huccabadar softly ſlips the upper end
of the ſnake or tube of the houcca into
his hand. While the hair-dreſſer is
doing his duty, the gentleman is eating,
ſlipping, and ſmoaking by turns. By
and bye, his banian preſents himſelf
with humble falams, and advances
somewhat more forward than the other
attendants. If any of the folliſitors
are of eminence, they are honoured
with chairs. Theſe ceremonies are con-
tinued perhaps till ten o'clock; when,
attended by his cavalcade, he is con-

ducted to his palanquin, and preceded
by eight or twelve chubdars, harcar-
rahs, and peons, with the insignia of
their professions, and their livery di-
ſtinguished by the colour of their tur-
bans and counterbands (a long muſlin
belt wrapped round the waist); they
move off at a quick amble; the fet of
bearers, confiding of eight generally,
relieve each other with alertneſs, and
without incommoding the maſter. If
he has viſits to make, his peons lead
and direct the bearers; and if buſineſs
renſes his preſence only neceſſary, he
ſhews himſelf, and purſues his other
engagements until two o'clock, when
he and his company ſit down, perfectly
at eafe in point of drefs and addrefs,
to a good dinner, each attended by his
own ſervant. And the moment the
glasses are introduced, regardlets of
the company of ladies, the huccaba-
dars enter, each with a houcca, and
prefents the tube to his maſter, watch-
ing behind and blowing the fire the
whole time. As it is expected that
they ſhall return to ſupper, at four
o'clock they begin to withdraw with-
out ceremony, and ſtep into their pa-
lanquins, so that in a few minutes the
maſter is left to go into his bed-room,
when he is inſantly undreſſed to his
ſhirt, and his long drawers put on;
and he lies down on his bed, where he
ſleeps till about ſeven or eight o'clock:
then the former ceremony is repeated,
and clean linen of every kind, as in the
morning is adminiſtered; his huccaba-
dar, preſents the tube to his hand, he
is placed at tea-table, and his hair-
dreſſer performs his duty as before.
After tea, he puts on a handſome coat,
and pays viſits of ceremony to the la-
dies; returns a little before ten o'clock;
ſupper being ſerved at ten. The com-
pany keep together till between twelve
and one in the morning, preferving
great ſobriety and decency; and when
they depart, our hero is conducted to
his bed-room, where he finds a female
companion to amufe him until the hour
of ſeven or eight next morning. With
no greater exertions than theſe, do the
company's ſervants amafſ the moſt
ſplendid fortunes.

FOR

THE
LONDON MAGAZINE,
FOR OCTOBER, 1782.

MEMOIRS OF THE RIGHT HON. EARL TEMPLE.

HE Right Hon. Richard Grenville Temple, Earl Temple, Viscount and Baron Cobham, was born September the 26th, 1711. He married May the 9th, 1737, Anna, one of the daughters and co-heireffes of Thomas Chambers, of Hanworth, in the county of Middlesex, Esq. and had only one daughter by her, who died July 14, 1742, and her ladyship died April 7, 1777.

The family of Temple, from whom this lord is maternally defended, is said to be derived from Leofrick, Earl of Mercia, who founded the abbey of Coventry, and dying in 1087, was buried in that monaftery. He married the famous Lady Godiva, who is reported to have rode naked through Coventry to obtain some immunities from her husband to that place.

Peter Temple purchased several manors in the county of Warwick, and also the manor of Stow in the county of Bucks, in the reign of King Edward VI. and Queen Elisabeth. He married Millicent, daughter of William Jekyll, Esq. and had two sons, whereof Anthony the youngest was father of Sir William, from whom defended the famous Sir William Temple, Bart. and Henry Temple, Viscount Palmerston in Ireland.

John, the eldest, who was born in 1542, succeeded his father. He died on the 9th of May, 1603, having married Sufan, daughter of Thomas Spencer, Esq. left six sons and six daughters: Millicent, married to Edward Saunders, Esq. Dorothy, to Paul Reilly, Esq. Catharine, to Sir Nicholas Parker; Sufanna, to Sir Thomas Darton; Mary, to John Farmer, Esq. and Elisabeth to William, the first Viscount Say and Sele. Of the sons which were Thomas, George, John, Sir Alexander, William, and Peter.

Sir Thomas, the eldest, succeeded, and was created a baronet. He married Hefter, daughter of Miles Sandys,

Esq. by whom he had four sons and nine daughters; who lived to be married, and multiplied so exceedingly, that this lady, who survived him, saw seven hundred defended from her besides a new generation of marriageable females just at her death, which is affirmed by Dr. Fuller, in his Worthies of England. Their sons were, 1. Sir Peter; 2. Sir John, who married Dorothy, daughter of Edmond Lee; 3. Thomas; 4. Miles. The daughters were, Sufan, married to Sir Edward Clark; Hefter, to Sir John Rous, Knut. Bridget, to Sir John Lenthal; Martha, to Sir Thomas Pennifon; Elisabeth, to Sir Henry Gibbs; Catharine, to Sir William Alcombe; Anne, to Sir William Andrews; Margaret to Sir Edward Longueville; and Milli-cent to —— Ogle, Esq.

Sir Peter, his heir, married first Anne, daughter to Sir Arthur Throc-morton, by whom he had only two daughters, Anne, married to Thomas Roper, Viscount Baltinglafs, and Martha, to Wefton Ridgeway, Earl of Lon-donderry. By his second wife, Christian, daughter of Sir John Levefon, he had two daughters, Frances and Hefter, and Sir Richard his heir, who married Mary, daughter to —— Knapp, Esq. and had four sons and six daughters, whereof two died young; Christian, the third daughter, was married to Sir Thomas Lyttleton; Maria, first to Dr. Weft, and secondly to Sir John Langham; Hefter, the second daughter, late Countefs of Tem-ple; and Penelope, to Mofes Berenger, Esq. Of the sons, which were Richard, Purbeck, Henry, and Arthur, the three latter died unmarried. And (first Visc.) Richard was created Baron and Viscount Cobham, and to his heirs; and in default, the dignities of Viscountefs and Baronets Cobham to Hefter Grenville, fifth of the said Richard, Baron of Cobham; and the dignities of Viscount Cobham, and Baron Cobham, to the heirs male of her body, lawfully begotten; and in default, the

3 M 2

fame

Oa.

1716; He
James
ordfshire,
Dec. 14,
mes and
n 1717,
Largaret,
Esq. by
fa, born
as, born
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747. 7-
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Earl of
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to which
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confider-
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we cer-
cent than
a young
tues have
of.

XII

anda mihi
em minime
hi fortasse
ITIAN.
Received, I
the mean
, nor de-

y perfor-
n dedica-
l imagery
ple of in-
down Bufo,
y soft de-
Bufo been
cmine into
ulogiums
he might
the faty-
have made

dilcourage
in one re-
to litera-
ture,

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

1782.

ture. It is a bill of exchange in the
fair commerce between munificence
and genius. When great and opulent
men patronise men of literary talents,
by liberally affording them the means
of living easily and happily without
application to the coarser methods of
gain, they have a good right to be
praised; for to them are owing the
useful and agreeable productions arising
from the cultivation of faculties which
but for such patronage might have
laid dormant.

"Some mut, inglorious Milton here may
reft,"
is a line, which though not in its full
extent of meaning may have been ut-
tered with probability in many places
in every age. " *Si fuit Mecænates non
deerint Flacce Marones*—If there are pa-
trons, poets will not be wanting," is
a classical authority for what I am now
maintaining. It is a fullen pride which
fuggefts the notion that all dedication
is meannefs, and which has prevented
fome writers from it. For there fure-
ly cannot be meannefs in gratitude,
in acknowledging that we have been
treated with kindneſs and generofity.
There is no neceſſity for flattering a
patron, and I admit that Flattery, as
*Laurentius Valla* elegantly obſerves,
"*ſervile eſt non liberale et ingenum*—
is the mark of a ſervile not of a liberal
and ingenuous mind." But to be an-
nounced to the world in a dedication
as the Mecænas of a man of genius,
is of itſelf a high gratification; and
there are ſew patrons to whom there
cannot, with truth, be displayed many
pleafing circumſtances of their families,
their fortunes, or their perſonal merits.
Great and opulent men, knowing that
patronage produces dedication, will
naturally be induced to befriend the
ingenious, even without any other mo-
tive than the love of that fame which
arifes from patronagè itſelf being well
recorded. But when they are alſo
conſious that their characters deferve
to be celebrated, they will have a lau-
dable desire to be preferred in the pa-
negyrick of eminent writers, as peo-
ple are anxious to have their portraits
done by painters of ſuperior excellence.
A likeneſs may be equally ſtrong fa-
vourably or unfavourably painted. It
is therefore of conſequence to be look-
ed upon " *placido lumine*—with a plea-
ſing eye," by those who draw for po-
ſiterity,

It may seem absurd that men should
pay for dedications, while they may be
certain that what they purchase is not
a fincere tribute of præife. But when
it is confidered how few know a per-
fon's real character—that fame is often
but floating breath, or a ſeries of im-
preſsions, upon many minds produced
by words, of which the truth is
brought to no teſt, we need not won-
der that artificial reputation should be
a commodity of constant value. As
there are innumerable artiſts employed
in various modes of embellifhing our
perſons, and making them appear more
agreeable than they are in reality, ſo
there will always be encouragement
given to thofe who have the ikill to
adorn our characters. A fine lady
orders the particular articles of dres-
which ſhe thinks will beſt become her;
and I believe on many occafions a pa-
tron has fuggeſted the topicks of præife
which he would choose in a dedication.
I myſelf knew one inſtance of this in
a gentleman much celebrated by the
wits of his time. To keep ſuch lovers
of flattering fame in countenance there
is the example of no leſs a man than
*Cicero*, whom one of his epiſtles fairly
requeſts that he may have it.

Dedications are moſt frequently writ-
ten in order to pleafe the pride, vanity,
or juſt ſelf-complacence of a patron.
But ſometimes they are written with a
reflex view, to do honour to thofe who
write them; to ſhow how elegantly
they can turn a compliment, or how
well they can judge of merit; to ſhow
to the world their real intimacy with
the great or the eminent; or to affume
an intimacy to which they are not en-
titled, forwardly beginning, My dear
Lord, or My dear Sir, carrying on a
petulant freedom, and ending Your
affectionate friend. An impertinence
of this kind, however diſguſting, can-
not be avoided. One who has not
nerves to be familiar face to face, can
inſult one with a familiar dedication,
as a coward, who would shrink from a
cloſe attack, can fire from a diſtance.
A great or an eminent man ſo treated
muſt find himſelf in a very auakwaſt
ſituation. He may treat the imperti-
ment fellow with contempt ſo far as his
circle reaches; but in the world at
large, and to poſterity, if the book
has any merit, the dedication will pafs
unchallenged, for it would be ridicu-
lous

453

491

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

1782.

455

454

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

Oct.

lous to contradict it. All that can be
faid is, that this does not often hap-
pen, and when it does, the great or
the eminent muſt recollect that they
are liable to many worſe things; that
every man is in ſome degree in the
power of another; that this will not
do them much harm, and that accord-
ing to the vulgar proverb “ a cat may
look at a king.”

Although I do not think there muſt
always be a meaneſs in dedication, I
at the fame time allow there is more
dignity in not dedicating at all, and I
find ſome reſpectable writers have
ſhewn they were of this opinion. Some
ſuch as Pope, Young, and Thomſon,
to avoid dedication in form, have in-
troduced it into the performance itſelf,
and ſome have prefixed a ſimple in-
ſcription, as if there were leſs obeſance
in uſing the third perſon than the firſt,
which is as if one ſhould make a bow
to a ſide, inſtead of bowing ſtraight
forward. Yet I cannot think the dig-
nity of any writer leſſen by a dedi-
cation to his KING, to whom, next to
his GOD, reſpect is to be offered, and
to whom all ſubjects ſhould look up
as their proteſor in all their under-
takings. Nor need the proudeſt man
difſain to dedicate to any illuſtrious
society, for in doing ſo, he admits not
that any individual ſubject is his ſu-
perior. Thus we fee with great pro-
priety Sir *Ifaac Newton* dedicating to
the Royal Society; Cowley to the Uni-
verſity of Cambridge; *Sherlock*, Bifhop
of London, to the Society of the Tem-
ple, and ſeveral other ſuch instances,
one of which I cannot reſift particu-
larly mentioning, it is the learned,
worthy, and modelled *Ruddiman's* dedi-
cation of his Grammar to the Faculty
of Advocates at Edinburgh: “ *Domin-
nus ac Mæcenatibus fuis benigniſmis*—
his very kind maſters and patrons.”
It is a dedication which does great
honour to that ſociety, at the fame time
celebrating them as men of genteel
birth, of univerſal learning, and of
powerful influence; and he gratefully
acknowledges that the office of their
librarian, which he had then held for
five and twenty years, had enabled
him to execute the work which he de-
dicates. The ſentiment and expreſ-
ſion of this dedication, is uncommonly
excellent and beautiful. I recommend
it to the perſual of all my learned

readers, and to the moſt attentive pre-
fervation of the ſociety to whom it is
addreſſed.

There indeed cannot poffibly be a
better motive to dedicate to any patron
than that the book owes its compoſi-
tion to his beneficence. Such a teſti-
mony of gratitude, while it confers a
juſt reward on an encourager of litera-
ture, is a pleafing evidence of goodneſs
of heart in the writer. *Feltham's Re-
ſolves*, a book of ſingular merit, upon
many ſubjects, is dedicated by him
“ To the Right Honourable my moſt
honoured Lady Mary, Countels Dow-
ager of Thomond.” He, in a very
gallant ſtrain, tells her ladyſhip, that
it is out of the ſenſe of duty he has
aſpired to the patronage of her name
and dignity, moſt of theſe pieces hav-
ing been compoſed under her roof, and
ſo born ſubjects under her dominion—
but he allows a further *prerogative*,
a higher command—“ an empire of
affeſtion.”

In dedicating literary performances,
attention ſhould be paid to propriety,
ſo that the work may be ſuitable to
the character of the perſon to whom it
is dedicated. Plays are very properly
inſeribed to the players who have ani-
mated them; ſermons to the congre-
gations who have heard them; books
in different departments of learning
or ſcience to those who excel in them,
or at leaſt be fond of them. But it
would be preſenterous to dedicate The-
ological Difcourſes to a proſligate, or
Anacreonticks to a bifhop. *Vertot* de-
dicates his *Hifory of the Knights of
Malta* to Don Manuel de Vilhena, then
the Grand Maſter of that order. *Grotius*
dedicates his *Truth of the Chriſtian Re-
ligion* to M. Bignon, King's Advocate
at Paris, as a treatife ſimilar to his
uſual occupations: “ *Audies, teſſes vim
teſtimoniorum expendes, judicium ſeres*—
you ſhall hear the witneſſes, you ſhall
weigh the force of their teſtimony, you
ſhall pronounce your judgement.” He
fays with a noblenſs of ſpirit “ *auda-
cem me facet religionis Christianæ tutela*
—defending the Chriſtian religion
makes me bold.”

For my own part, I own I am proud
enough. But I do not relish the ſtate-
lines of not dedicating at all. I pre-
fer pleafure to pride, and it appears to
me that there is much pleafure in ho-
neſtly expreſſing one's admiration, ef-

2

tem,

1782. LORD ADVOCATE FOR SCOTLAND.

501

man for carrying on the business with
success and dispatch. His address was
plausible and infinuating, his eloquence
elaborate and philosophical, and his prin-
ciples as pliable as his views were self-
ish and ambitious. The plan, there-
fore, by which he has hitherto main-
tained a majority in the General As-
fembly of the Kirk, does equal credit to
his, and to their heart who have all
along patronized and countenanced
him. Most of the crown livings in
Scotland were resigned to his disposal,
and in the distribution of these a strict
regard has been inviolably preserved,
not to liberality or worth, but to mean-
ness and insignificance. The clergy in
the country, especially of late, have
consequently succeeded best, who were
least acceptable to their inferiors, and
cringed most obsequiously to those above
them. In this detestable and mortify-
ing system, he has been joined and sup-
ported by the whole landed interest of
Scotland. It struck them as the most
probable means of quaffing that noble
spirit of independence, which was so
much encouraged and promoted by
those who made religion subservient to
the claims of humanity. For this rea-
son, every little and growing defpot
confidered his interest as involved in its
success. But no man was more diflin-
guished by such ignoble exertions than
the Lord Advocate, who, notwithstanding
his characteristic rudeness and ef-
ronry, has been oftener than once put
to silence by the honest and pointed re-
plies of a plain prehypertarian parson.

These anecdotes give no unfavour-
tory account of the Treasurer's late
apostacy from his old political friends.
His principles are happy of such a
texture, as uniformly to suit his interest.
How perfectly farcical, therefore, and
chimerical must not all those reforms in
which his colleagues are engaged ap-
pear to him. His officious interference
at elections for members of parliament
was a decided proof of the system which
corresponded most with his inclination.
And he, who has been thus active in
baffling the choice of his own country-
men, cannot with much proficiency
concur in forwarding any measure,
which may tend to a more equal and
constitutional representation in this.

His lordship's abilities, if depreciated
by one party, are at least as much over-
rated by another. His life has been

too busy and active to leave him leisure
for the liberal improvement of his fa-
culties, by a proper attention to the
elements of any one useful or general
science. His written compositions are
particularly flat, and, without regularity
or design, discover a most tedious for-
mality, the impertinence of a pedant,
and the garrulity of a dotard. To speak
critically, he has neither taste nor ge-
nius. His conceptions are all rude and
grotes, and he expresses them with vul-
garity, temerity, and in such an useles-
s profusion of words, as dazzles the fal-
low, and even sometimes perplexes and
confounds the acutest understandings.

He is not, however, defitute of parts.
What address he may display in the
etiquette of office, in the defence of his
own conversion, in the support of the
most unpopular minister ever this coun-
try had, in repelling the indignant con-
tempt of those whom he formerly op-
posed on another ground, and in the ex-
ercise of all his new honours and powers,
time and experience only can unfold.
With what consummate effrontery he has
repeatedly heaved on the Treasury-
bench will not be soon forgotten by
those who have witnessed his frantic
gesticulations, and been stunned by his
intemperate vociferation. The truth is,
his only talent is extempore speaking.
And his speeches are not without a vein
of strong rough sense, though his fu-
rious abruptness, his aukward and
boisterous manners, his boorish and un-
couth articulation, his extreme noise,
confusion, and verbofity, render him
altogether, perhaps, one of the most
disgusting orators that ever addresse d a
popular assembly. His audacity often
contrasts him with the first speakers of
the age, and in these encounters he
seems to imagine that his opinions, like
bullets, should knock them down by
the violence of their utterance. But all
his hereditary flock of impudence, all
his artifice in accommodating his va-
rious powers to his own emolument,
all the fulsome adulation and enco-
miums of his own party and country-
men, and all the honours and wealth
of office conferred on him by the pre-
fent premier, as the reward of treachery
to his predecessor, will never reconcile
the people of England with a reverence
or respect for talents which have been
so strenuously exerted to undo them.

THE

"Ridiculum acri"

503

verence which ought to be entertained
for important truths or elevated fla-
tions.

when describing the talents of Lucius

as a writer,

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

1782.

502

62.

Nov.

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK. No. LXII.

"Εἰ γὰρωτα ἀτρεπον το πρᾶγμα.

THUCYDIDES.

"They turned the affair into ridicule."

"TO define Ridicule, has puzzled and vexed all the critics," says Lord Kaimes, in his Elements of Criticifin—a book which investigates the principles of taſte with much philosophical ingenuity. But although he prides himſelf in " having happily unravelled the knotty part," he exhibits a new inſtance of the truth of the maxim, that " Definitions are dangerous." For he does not exprefs with clearneſs what is meant by that faculty. Nor is he aware of the conſequence when he admits the celebrated propofition of a noble author, that Ridicule is the teſt of truth. He ſpeaks of a ſenſe of Ridicule as independent, and not at all under the control of judgment. Whereas, if that were the cafe, a wife man would not have the advantage over a fool which he now has, and to which he is undoubtedly entitled. We need not wonder that one who has written upon ſo many ſubjects ſhould ſometimes miſs his aim.

By Ridicule I understand a faculty of representing any object as at once ridiculous and contemptible, whether it be ſo in its own nature or not. This may be done either by falſely adjecſing qualities to it, or by magnifying out of all proportion ſome of its qualities, and keeping others out of ſight.

Thus, if one miſchievouſly pins a
dirty rag to the beſt looked and beſt
dreſſed perſon in a publick ſ Assembly,
as " a little leaven leaveneth the
whole lump," this one mean circum-
ſtance of ridicule will deſtroy the effect
of all the perſection natural and arti-
ficial. In the fame manner if a wicked
rogue ſhall create a belief of extreme
vanity or ſelf-conceit being inherent
in the higheſt character, the malignant
influence will operate with equal
ſtrength. Yet, in both theſe cafes, the
circumſtances of ridicule do not belong
to the objects but are ſuperinduced.
And if the wifſt man has a red noſe,
a large belly, or a pair of long lank
legs perpetually pointed out as his cha-
acteriſtick, the reſpect which he ought

to have, will be loſt in the rिſibility
excited by a ſtrong ludicrous idea.

I ſpeak of the generality of mankind who have not from ſtudy and habit the vigorous uſe of judgement to counteract ſuch ludicrous influence. The Roman poet frankly admits " Simia quam ſimilis turpiffima beſia nobis—how like to us is the ape, the bafeſt of animals." And the truth is, that the generality of mankind are as prone to grinning laughter at trifles as monkeys are. Such is the ſenſe of Ridicule, to which if we ſhould truſt the teſt of the firſt principles of human nature, we ſhould be contemptible indeed, and there would be an end of that dignity which we certainly can conceive, of which we have in every age ſome inſtances, and to which we ſhould all asſpire.

What I have ſaid as to perſons will apply to things, to ſubjects of every consideration, even the moſt valuable and ſacred, which, ſictions added, or particular parts diſtorted by enlarge- ment, will make quite different in the view of moſt obſervers. How has the uſeful and agreeable ſubordination of civil ſociety from the monarch to the loweſt ſubjects, how has the grand and comfortable ſyſtem of religion, been made to appear abſurd to many who had faculties fitted only to ſubmit, not to underſand? An ſastronomer, gazing at the ſky for hours in the night through a tube, may be eafily made the ſport of a fooliſh clown who has not the leaſt notion of what is thus to be learned. A hoſly hermit, abſtaining from ſenſual gratifications of high re- ligious, and devoting himſelf for hours to religious exerciſes, may be looked upon with ſcorn by a fine gentleman, who is as ignorant of piety as a clown is of aſtronomy, who perceives only ſtarv- ing, watching, and kneeling, and knows not the ſublime enjoyments of ſpiritual delight, or the enlarged bene- volence of interceſſion at the throne of Heaven with which the ſaint is ani- mated.

It is true we are told by Horace,
when

484

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK. No. LXII.

THUCYDIDES.

Eg yachw ἀτρεσχα. Ταυταρχιακός

NOV.

502

1782. THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

503

when describing the talents of Lucilius
as a writer,

“Ridiculum acri

Fortius ac melius magnus plerumque fecat res.

For, Ridicule shall frequently prevail,
And cut the knot when graver reasons fail,”

FRANCIS.

But to cut with this weapon is not
very safe. For we know that it is by
no means like the spear of Ithuriel, but
will cut indiscriminately, right or
wrong. In the Old Teftament we find
the Prophet Elijah employing it very
succesfully against the priests of Baal
till they in despair cut themselves with
knives; but in the New and better
Teftament there is not the flighteht ap-
pearance of it upon any occasion. I am
therefore always offended when I find
it ufed in religious controversy, which
is too frequent in the writings of Pro-
telfants against, Roman Catholicks,
where it is not a bit fairer than when
ufed by Deifts against Chriftians in ge-
neral. Let doctrines be tried by evi-
dence and by reafoning, not by Ridi-
cule, which, the more exalted and fo-
lemn the ſubject is, has the greater ad-
vantage.

There is, however, a clear diffiſtion
between that gay and pleafant ſpecies
of argument, which, as it were by
throwing more light upon a ſubjeſt,
makes error more evident, and that
ſcoffing Ridicule which raifes the paſ-
fion of pride like a tempeſt, and diſ-
turbs the fair power of judging. In
the firſt cafe he who is to judge ſmiles.
In the ſecond he ſneers. In the firſt
he views his neighbour with a com-
placent conſeſſion; in the ſecond
with an infolent contempt.

“And coxcombs vanquifh Berkeley with a
grin,”

is a very juſt line in Dr. Brown of Car-
lile's Poetical Effay on Satire. That
would not be the cafe were wife men
the judges, before whom the fallies of
Ridicule would pafs like the tricks of
a mountebank. But as ten of man-
kind can be tickled with what is ludi-
crous for one that can ſeparate and
determine with penetration and ſaga-
city, Ridicule is therefore to be vo-
luntarily checked by worthy men who
are poſſeſed of it, and to be refrained
In the unprincipled by ſome other ſenſe
of awe or of intereſt, in every cafe
where its effect may be to leſsen the re-

ference which ought to be entertained
for important truths or elevated ſta-
tions.

Man has been denominated by one
of the ancient philofophers “a rifiable
animal,” and I should be forſory to coun-
teract his natural propensity: But there
may be a deal of laughter without Ri-
dicule, though ſome have maintained
contempt to be an effential ingredient
in it, a proposition which I am certain
is not true. There may be innume-
rable ſportive flights of a playful ima-
gination which only exhilarate for the
moment. But cutting Raillery, de-
preciating Sarcaſm, or any mode of Ri-
dicule which deftroys real good quali-
ties is to be avoided as poſon.

As there is no metal but what has
fome droſs in it, ſo there is nothing
human ſo perſect but there may be
fomething ridiculous discovered in it,
if, like Satan, we “defire to ſift it as
wheat.” Buffoons, reverſing the no-
ble purpofe of the alchymiſt in tranſ-
mutation, endeavour to deſaſe the ſub-
ſtance which is unlucky enough to be
brought into their crucible, and are
but too ſucceſſul. I have been vexed
with inſtances of this which have fal-
len within my own ſphere. Even a
good man who has a luxuriance of
Ridicule in his mind is at times be-
trayed into ſuch inſtances for which
he is afterwards heartily ſorry. Dean
Swift, I am perſuaded, upon many oc-
cafions felt a ſevere regret for fallies of
Ridicule that broke from him unfea-
fonably, and leſſened his authority as
a clergyman. There is great difficulty
in preferving the boundaries between
what is grave and what is ridiculous;
and although Calamy tells us of Wild,
a preſbyterian minifter, who was re-
markable for facetiounſes and being
what is called a boon companion, that
“he was very ſerious in ſerious things,”
which is ſo far much to be praſed, I
doubt that his ſeriousneſs would, at leaſt
in the ſupſicion of others, be too much
tinged with the ridiculous.

But it is not the Ridiculous confider-
ed only as a laughable quality that I
intend as the ſubject of this paper. It
is Ridicule which I have already ob-
ferved comprehends contempt, and for
that reaſon is noxious. It is vain to
argue, as many have done, that Ri-
dicule can make nothing contemptible
that is not really ſo. It is true it can-
not

4

504

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

Nov.

not do it effentially in the opinion of
the judicious. But in the opinion of
levity and inconsideration it changes a
subject, it turns it into Ridicule as my
motto bears, a phrase which is not only
a good expression in the Greek of Thu-
cydides, but is a common colloquial
idiom in our own and other modern
languages, a sure proof that it is a juſt
one.

Ridicule, I own, is no ſmall grati-
cation to those who can command it;
for it gratifies at once rifiability and
pride, both of which are ſtrong in hu-
man nature: and I would allow of
fome indulgence in it in cafes where
one has firſt fettled by consideration
that contempt can do no hurt, but
perhaps good. There are many cafes
which are fair game for Ridicule mere-
ly as ſport, and others which require
it as a corrective, as is well expresſed
in a late prologue :

" Safe from the bar, the pulpit, and the
throne,
[alone."
" And checked (if checked) by Ridicule

But to have prurient powers of Ri-
dicule of which one has not the com-
mand, and which, unrestrained by rea-
son, run wild upon all occasions, is
certainly a great misfortune, for they
not only get one many enemies who
are keenly exasperated, but prevent the
grave enjoyments of ſtudy, eſteem, and
admiration, which are far ſuperior to
the ticklings and convulsions of con-
temptuous rifiability. Ridicule *crescit*

indulgens ſibi—grows by indulgence.
When excessive, it is a kind of mental
drunkennofs. It throws every object,
whether great or beautiful, into one
undistinguish'd mafs of grotesque ap-
pearance. It exhauls the ſpirits to
wearinofs, and at laſt makes one fully
ſenſible of the truth of the wife man's
remark, "I faid of laughter it is ſad."

I am posſeſed of an excellent large
folio Dutch book of Emblems, by Fa-
cob Catts. The defigns and engravings
are remarkably good, and the morals
are given in verſe in different lan-
guages as well as in that of Vaderland,
as Holland is affectionally deſigned by
her ſteady native. There is in this
book a very juſt admonition againſt a
thoughtleſs indulgence of Ridicule. A
line of perſons are walking along in
ſucceſſion in different drefſes. The ſe-
cond is laughing at the firſt, the third
at the ſecond, and the finger of ſcorn
is pointed by each behind the others
back, through the whole line, while
it is evident to the Spectator that not
one of them has a better reaſon for
ſport than the other, and that he who
laughs at his neighbour, is in his turn
as much laughed at, without his being
at all conscious of it. Indeed they
who are moſt apt to exerciſe ridicule,
are often moſt ridiculous themselves,
and were this to be inculcated upon
them it is to be hoped they would con-
duct themselves with more caution and
moderation.

TO THE AUTHORS OF THE MONTHLY REVIEW.

I Have juſt now learned, that, in your
laſt Review, after almost a whole
twelvemonth had elapſed (a very mo-
derate time for rumination) ye have,
at length, thought fit to honour my
Pamphlet on Nervous Diſorders, and to
lay me under unmerited obligations.
Laconic, indeed, is the ſentence.

" At the beginning of this letter, we
are informed, that it was written at the
earnest deſire of a friend: but as it con-
tains nothing that can be new even to
the generality of medical readers, we
cannot conceive what could induce the
writer to print and publish it."

Generouly declining the appearance
of an open encounter, ye favoured me
with ſelwed inſuation; nor have

ye so much as ſummoned your innocent
auxiliaries, the generality of medical
readers. I muſt, however, so far avail
myself of your friendſhip, as to inflaſt
on an explicit ſpecification of the au-
thorities, upon which the ſeveral ob-
ſervations on nervous diſorders, if not
my own, have been adopted.

In the mean time, I have done all
in my power to enable you to conceive,
what your modeſty thought beyond all
conception; how he, who had, at the
earnest deſire of a friend, made a ſyf-
tematic inſtigation of, perhaps, the
moſt important ſubject in the human
economy, could be induced, not only
to print and publish, but to carry it
from edition to edition.

A. THOMSON.

FOR

1782.

CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER.

549

his politics are likely to bring on the
national counsels. But nothing pro-
mised so complete a remedy to the
schism now effected as afligning to Mr.
Pitt an oftensible office in administra-
tion.

He was accordingly promoted, in
June laft, to be Chancellor and Under
Treasurer of his Majesty's Exchequer,
and fworn of his Majesty's most ho-
nourable Privy Council. The buſineſs
of this office is peculiarly complicated
and immenſe. The various emolu-
ments it accumulates are enormous,
and make an adequate recompense for
the great reſponſibility it requires.
The form and routine of buſineſs, how-
ever, depends but little on the Chan-
cellor, as it is uniformly carried on
by ſuch as are bred and appointed for
the purpose.

A Chancellor of the Exchequer, at
the age of twenty-three, was a natural
objeſt of publick curiſity and ſpecu-
lation. The multitude gazed on him
as a ſupernatural being, endowed with
the power of working miracles. But
to those who ſounded the policy of his
appointment, this idol of the people,
this redeemer of his father's fame, this
inheritor of a Chatham's capacity, pa-
triotiſm, and oratory, was no more
than the ill-starred puppet of a miniftry
without ſolidity, union, or credit. And
nothing marks the extreme abjeſtneſs
and impotence of the predominating
principle in the preſent prevailing ſyt-
tem more than the fulſome attention ſo
officiously paid to the name, the effigy,
the echo, and the very mimic of Pitt.

Extraordinary elevation, especially
for youth, is a moſt invidious ſituation.
Mr. Pitt's popularity was not yet ſuſ-
ficiently eſtablished to ſuſtain ſuch a
ſhock unimpaired. The publick per-
ceived no defects in the ſon till he
awovedly relinquified the ſfootſteps of
the father. At the very point where
the comparifon which their ſond ima-
ginations had ſubſtituted between them
failed, they deemed their expectations
fruſtrated, and cenſure took place of
approbation! Would a man, they now
alk in the language of regret, who va-
lued no distinſection ſo much as honeſly or
honour, have acted under a character
altogether deſtitute of this cardinal vir-
tue? Would he whose principles were
always open and decided have given a
ſanction to meaſures formed on no prin-
ciple? Would he, after reprobating one
administration for their hoſtility to the
conſtitution, have made part of another
conſtituted, though by leſs avowed means,

for accompliſhing the ſame objeſt? Would
one of his manly, undiſguſed, and unde-
ſigning ſentiments have meanly endeav-
oured to ſmother a declaration which
had eſcaped him, at a moment when all
the generofity of his nature was alive?
Would Chatham who regarded every
thing false, equivocal, or hollow, as base
and contemptible, have ever fat on the ſame
bench in an official capacity, with a col-
league whose publick character is marked
only by a treacherous desertion of his
friends and principles? Would he who
ſleadily met every ſpecies of worth, with
a mixture of reverence and enthuſaſm,
have treated one of the firſt ſenators for
ability, induſtry, and publick ſpirit, that
ever fat in a Britiſh ſenate, with all that
ſupercilious puerility, and that arrogant
petulance which emphatically mark the
transito ry ſferment, and froth of place
and power? Then might have been
feen the noble and capacious genius of
his venerable father, which had ſtill
kept hovering around him, and cheriſh-
ed till now his juvenile exertions, leav-
ing him indignantly to all the morti-
fication of chimerical vanity and abor-
tive ambition.

The novelty unavoidable from any
degree of excellence in a very young
practitioner, being once over, men of-
ten bluſh for their firſt conceptions of
what they afterwards deſpife. The
eloquence of Mr. Pitt is no longer
poſſeſed of those charms with which
its maiden exertions were accompa-
nied. His preſent ſituation obliges
him to be often on his legs, and he
feldom rifes without losing ſome of the
admiration he formerly poſſeſed. The
Houſe no longer liftens to him with im-
plicit or even profound attention. To
be heard, he is already under the ne-
cessity of ſpeaking out. His diſion,
however, is singularly pure and claſſi-
cal. And though his ſpeeches are
marked with few ſtrong points, though
his reaſoning has but little force, and
his declamation no poignancy; though
he ſometimes inflments the judgement of
his auditors by a mere ſonorous ar-
rangement of vocables in place of ar-
gument, his replies are generally happy,
his ideas clear and unembarraffed, his
remarks always pertinent, and he often
hits the point in debate with preciſion
and elegance. To a manly and gen-
teel figure he adds a muſical voice and
a graceful manner. But he wants that
enthusiſm, that comprehension and
fertility, that pathos and majesty which
alone conſtitute true oratory.

THE

552

ANECDOTE OF M. DE SARTINE.

Dec.

and an affecting picture of the times,
and brings to light those unprincipled
plans of action which, especially of
late years, have so foully debauched
the minds and manners of the multi-
tude. The period has at last come,
when the people of this country are
loft to every sense of honest shame!
Reason has no longer any real influ-
ence on their conduct. The very dif-
terictions of right and wrong are ex-
tirpated from their hearts and puruits,
by a criminal attachment to fenes of
the lowest and basest indulgences, by
the grossnefs of venality, and the mad-
nefs of ambition !

Never was the honest and manly in-
dignation of a Juvenal more needed
than at present. This key to the ar-

cana of the beau monde very happily
connects profligacy in morals with ver-
fatility in politics, and by exposing
corruption in high life takes one very
probable step or means to prevent it in
low. These few things I have pre-
sumed to say in consequence of the
very great satisfaction, which in com-
pany with a number of my friends, I
have received from the particular arti-
cle now mentioned in the London Ma-
gazine for November last. Nor have
I met with one who does not with fin-
cerely to see the conclusion of a per-
formance which must be very generally
acceptable because it comes to imme-
diately home to the common concerns
of life.

ANECDOTES.

Anecdote of Monf. DE SARTINE.

A
N Irish gentleman, who wifed to
purchafe an eftate in France,
lodged his money in the hands of a
banker, who took it, as common on
the continent, without giving the gen-
tleman a voucher; but lodged it in an
iron cheſt, and gave to the gentleman
the key. When the contract for the
purchafe was made, he called on his
banker to receive his caſh, when the
latter peremptorily denied his having
received any fuch ſum, or having any
money transſaction whatever with the
gentleman. In this dilemma the in-
jured party was advifed to apply to M.
de Sartine, and he accordingly did ſo,
and told him his ſtory. The minifter
fent for the banker, and asked him, if
he had not received fuch a ſum? The
banker fteadily denied it. " Very
well (replied M. de Sartine) then ſit
down and write a letter which I ſhall
dictate to you, and you ſhall continue
in the room with me until the anſwer
arrives." Paper was brought, and
Sartine dictated, and made him write
a letter to his wife, to the following
effect: — " My dear wife, you muſt
immediately ſend to me the ſum which
Monf. —— left in my hands, and
which was depoſed originally in the
iron cheſt, in the compting-houſe, but
was removed you know whither. You
muſt ſend it inſ instantly, or eſſe I ſhall be
ſent to the Baſtile. I am already in
the hands of justice." The banker

ſtared—" Mon Dieu! (fays he) muſt
I ſend this letter to my wife?"—"You
muſt (fays the minifter): I dare ſay,
that if you are guilty of the robbery,
your wife, who is remarkable for her
ingenuity, was privy to it, and ſhe
will obey your commands: if you are
innocent, ſhe cannot comprehend the
order which you ſend, and will ſay ſo
in her anſwer. We will make the ex-
periment, and if you reſit, you ſhall
go immediately to the Baſtile." The
reſolution was deciſive. The letter
was ſent, and in leſs than an hour the
money was brought in the bags in
which it was originally ſealed, and re-
flored to the original owner. M. de
Sartine diſcharged the banker, telling
him the matter ſhould be kept a ſecret,
provided he acted with more faith and
honesty for the future.

A Circuit Bon Mot.—Some few years
ſince a Counſellor Vanſittart went the
Oxford circuit, and that eminent and
facetious counſel, Mr. Bearcroft, went
the fame circuit. Mr. Bearcroft one
day, in his usual droll manner, told
Vanſittart he thought his name was
rather too long, and tedious to pro-
nounce: " Suppose, for ſhortneſs, we
agree to call you Van, and leave out
ſittart."—" With all my heart (fays
Vanſittart) if you'll do the fame—strike
off the croſt, and let us call you Bear."

FOR

1783.

5

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK. No. LXIV.

Πράτον μεν τούς γειμένους νομους ισχυρώς φυλάττειε, καλ' μηδένα ἀναπνεύαμετάδηλα·
Τα γὰρ εὖν ταύτω μένοινα καν' χείρω ἤ συμφοράτερα τῶν διεὶ κανυνομούμενων καὶ
εἰλίω εἶναι δουν ἐξίν·

DION CASSIUS.

"First then, firmly retain the established laws, and change them in nothing. For what remain always the fame, though they may have some defects, are more useful than innovations which have an appearance of being better."

“*N* VOLUMUS leges Anglie mutare—
We will not change the laws
of England,” was pronounced with
one voice by the earls and barons of
the realm, when legitimation by sub-
sequent marriage was attempted to be
introduced, in the reign of Henry III.
Their conduct on this occasion is ap-
plauded by *Blackbone*, who speaks of
“the firm temper which the nobility
flawed at the famous parliament of
Merton.”

Whether they were right or wrong
in their opposition, does not depend
upon the nature of the question pro-
posed. For, it is probable, not one
of them considered it. They were ac-
tuated by a general resolution against
altering the laws of their country in
any degree. And that such a resolu-
tion was not merely the rude positive-
ness of a barbarous age, appears from
the passage in *Dion Cassius*, which I
have prefixed as a motto to this paper,
to show that, in the politeness and re-
finement which prevailed under the
Roman Emperours', the fame thought
was equally cherished.

In truth, there is in human nature
a regard for permanency, and a dislike
of innovation, of which it requires a
good deal of re reasoning and exertion to
get the better. I myself feel what I
have now expressed, by having often
experienced it. I am sure to change
any old custom whatever, even the
shortest, having a certain pleasure
in what has been long practised, and
imagining that no new contrivance
will do as well.

Novelty and variety are doubtless
agreeable; and it is not quite easy to
reconcile the love which we in general
have of them with that principle of
attachment which I have also affected.

It appears to me, that fetting apart
those individuals in whom there is a
considerable mixture of indolence and

superfition, the proper distinction which
will be found to obtain in the senti-
ments of mankind, is, that in lighter
matters change is natural and pleasing,
but in matters of importance is dan-
gerous and alarming.

We may here observe an analogy
with the government of the universe,
in which all the great parts are con-
stant, and the small variable. Were
the course of the planets to alter, were
the sea to be absorbed, or its tides to
move in a different manner, the effect
would be frightful. But we are amused
with the varieties of weather, of vege-
tation, and other particulars.

Changes in drefs are harmlefs and
diverting. The primary purposes of it
are decency, warmth, and eafe, which
however are not always well studied.
But ornament and grace are its moft
conspicuous and animating objects,
and these depend so much upon fancy,
that they cannot be uniform or per-
manent.

Matters of taſte of every kind are in
a ſimilar ſituation; in particular that
taſte which occupies ſo great a number
both of artiſts or designers, and of la-
bourers—I mean gardening or beauti-
fying grounds. It is happy that there
is ſuch a diversity of taſte in this, be-
cauſe it affords conſtant employment
to the induſtrious. I know a gentle-
man in my neighbourhood who had all
the roads through his place dug pretty
deep, and guarded on each side by
funk fences. This cost much money
and kept many men in work. It seem-
ed to be an excellent contrivance, that
the view of the green fields might not
appear to be broken, and that men and
horſes, and carts might paſs without
being perceived, and he and his friends
joined heartily in approving of it. His
heir ſucceeded, who would not ride in
a ditch, and have his land cut into
quarters, like a piece of fortification.

He

489

["ANECDOTES", "7", "1782.", "\"In proportion therefore as the intellectual faculties are exalted, will the character be fixed.\"", "Pope. Dryden, and the Duke of Wharton by", "That some men are born with more readiness of mind than others cannot be denied. Yet, I believe, it is much in our power to cure incontinacy by refocusing its beginnings, and refighting them, till a habit of stability is formed.", "And it has been found of them is stable. And it has been just that which is confucious of the character itself. There may be all varieties of perception and reflection, while the character itself which is confucious of them is stable. And it has been just that which is confucious of the character itself. And it has been just that which is

8 ANECDOTES. Jan.

8

India Company, and the Governor General of Batavia, had each sent an ambassador to the Great Mogul: the two minifters, on their arrival, disputed about precedence; the cause was referred to the Emperor for his decision. — The English envoy founded his claim to precedence over his competitor, on this circumstance, that he (the Englishman) was the representative of a great King, like the Emperor himself; and consequently, that he was entitled to preeminence over a person, who was the servant of a parcel of merchants. This had great weight with Aurengzebe, who feemed inclined to pronounce in favour of the representative of Majefty, till the Dutchman made this reply: “It is true, he is the servant of a great King; but that great King is one of our merchants. The English could not carry on their own businesses; and therefore we sent one of our factors to command them, and fetle their accounts.” This mercantile interference ruined the claim of the English ambassador, for that time; Aurengzebe pronounced in favour of the Dutchman; but his decree was followed with an afterclap, that made the Dutchman most devoutly wish that he had not said a word of England's being in the hands of one of their servants: the old Emperor said, that he was glad to hear of the success of the Dutch; that the English had wickedly defrauded his subjects of what was justly due to them, and against public faith had plundered them at fea; but that now the Dutch had subdue'd them, he expected that they (the Mynheers) would make him reparation for the damages, which the English now their subjects, had done to his people.” The Dutchman was confounded, and most heartily wish'd the precedence obtained on such terms at the devil!

Anecdotes of Alexander Severus, a Roman Emperor.

THE simple journal of his ordinary occupation exhibits a pleasing picture of an accomplished Emperor, and, with some allowance for the difference of manners, might well deferve the imitation of modern princes. Alexander rose early: the first moments of the day were consecrated to private devotions,

and his chapel was filled with images of those heroes, who, by improving or reforming human life, had deferved the grateful reverence of posterity. But as he deemed the service of mankind the acceptable worhip of the gods, the greatest part of his morning hours was employed in his countfel, where he discuſed publick affairs and determined private cauſes, with a patience and discretion above his years. The dryneſs of buſineſs was relieved by the charms of literature, and a portion of time was always set apart for his favourite ſtudies of poetry, history, and philofophy. The works of Virgil and Horace, the republics of Plato and Cicero formed his tafte, enlarged his understanding, and gave him the nobleft ideas of man and government. The exerciſes of the body ſucceeded those of the mind; and Alexander, who was tall, active, and robust, ſurpass'd moſt of his equals in the gymnasiaſc arts. Refresh'd by the uſe of the bath and a flight dinner, he resumed with new vigour the buſineſs of the day, and till the hour of ſupper, the principal meal of the Romans, he was attended by his secretary, with whom he read and anſWERed the multitude of letters, memorials, and petitions, that muſt have been addreſſed to the maſter of the greatest part of the world. His table was ſerved with the moſt frugal simplicity; and, whenever he was at liberty to confult his own inclinations, the company confited of a few ſelect friends, men of learning and virtue, amongst whom Ulpin, his prime minifter, and a good man, was conſantly invited. Their converſation was familiar and inſtrumental; and the paſſes were occasionally enlivened by the recital of ſome pleasing composition, which ſupplied the place of dancers, comedians, and even gladiators, ſo frequently ſummoned to the tables of the rich and luxurious Romans. The drefs of Alexander was plain and moſt, his demeanour courteous and afſable; at the proper hours, his palace was open to all his ſubjects; but the voice of a crier was heard as in the Eleuſinian mysteries, pronouncing the fame falutary admonition, “ Let none enter these holy walls, unleſs he is conscious of a pure and innocent mind.”

FOR

THE
LONDON MAGAZINE,
FOR FEBRUARY, 1783.

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK. No. LXV.

Απαγγεραπλαι δε ὁ χρονος εὐ τοις ἱερᾶις εἰλοις.

JOSEPHUS.

“ Time is recorded in the Sacred Writings.”

T
IME is the most difficult of all subjects on which our thinking faculty can be employed. We have no distinct notion what it is, at least, no notion which we can distinctly define. Hence it is, that some have endeavoured to maintain that it has no existence. Their reafonings, like thofe of Berkeley againſt the exiſtence of matter, will not convince thofe who cannot anſwer them. The ingenious Soame Jenyns, who ſports in metaphyſicks with a ſingular agility of mind, has in one of his late Diſquifitions added himſelf to the number of thofe ſophiſts, and he exhibits a proof that a lively fancy and elegant language can make even puzzling, abſtract ſpeculation entertaining.

But although we have no distinct notion of Time, we are ſure of its being ſomething real in itself, independent of our own perceptions, or of thofe of other beings. To think of it as infinite is alonſoming and painful; and yet it is impoſſible for us not to believe that it is infinite.—That is a truth which the wildeſt theaſt, the abſurdeſt ſceptick, cannot for a moment oppoſe. Time, without beginning and without end, takes within its immenſt all naſtions, tongues, and languages; the ſaint, the ſavage, and the ſage; the believer and the infidel of every kind, and imprefſes upon them perpetual exiſtence with full conviction.

Nor is there any thing in the circle of human knowledge which is ſo frequently mentioned as Time. It is in every body's mouth in the course of common conversation. It is in one way or other introduced into every book that is written.

Like moſt other objects of contemplation, Time has been perſonified, but with more variety than many others. There is in general a greater uniformity in emblematical ſcience than one would fuppoſe. Fame is always a woman founding a trumpet. Death a skeleton with a ſcythe and a dart. But Time is ſometimes a river, along whose ſtream we are carried; ſometimes a female, in whose womb events are hid; ſometimes a man with wings, a fandglafs, and a ſcythe. Time is imaged both as a creator and as a destroyer. Ambroſe Philips, in a translation from Pindar, calls it “ Time the father that produces all,” and a thousand inſtances may be found where it is repreſented as ruining all. One of the fineſt and ſolemn is an old love-ſong:

Devouring Time with stealing pace,
Makes lofty elms and cedars bow,
And marble towers and walls of braſs
In his proud march he levels low.

It is plain then, that we are not only perfuaded of the exiſtence of Time, but of its exiſtence and powerful activity. Such indeed is its activity, that there is nothing material upon the face of the globe, but what its progressive operation will gradually make as if it had never been. If there be a melancholy and discouraging reflection from this upon one hand to check our fondneſs and ambition, there is on the other hand a confolitary reflection to the unhappy, who, by looking forward with a keen eye, may behold the most proferous and moſt infolent amongst mankind brought as low as themselves. The proverb ſays, “A living dog is better than a dead lion.” If then the poor, unfortunate, and diſpirited, can by foreſight have a clear view of the lions of their time, grown old or dead,

I 2

they

THE
LONDON MAGAZINE,
FOR MARCH, 1783.

MEMOIRS OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE WILLIAM EARL FITZWILLIAM.

THE very great estate to which this nobleman succeeds, in consequence of the death of his noble and much-lamented uncle the late Marquis of Rockingham, gives him a title to the publick attention. His family is now among those of the first interest in the kingdom, and he is one of the few whose political principles, connections, and virtues are objects of considerable expectation and sollicitude to all ranks and degrees of people in this country.

His lordship's pedigree is equally ancient and honourable. By a manuscript in the family, above two hundred years old, it appears that the antecedent of the Fitzwilliams were marked with very honourable distinctions, even by William the Conqueror, to whom Sir William Fitzwilliam acted as marhal of his army in 1666, and who, for his bravery at the battle of Haltings, received a scarf from his master's own arm.

We find another of this illustrious line entrusted by Queen Elizabeth with the management of a business in its own nature peculiarly delicate and important, and to her most exquisitely interesting. A Sir William Fitzwilliam was constituted Constable of Fotheringay Castle, during the imprisonment of Mary, Queen of Scots. His courtesy and attention to his royal prisoner did him so much honour, and were so affecting to that elegant but unfortunate prince, that the morning before she was beheaded she presented him with the picture of her son, King James the First. This valuable present is still to be seen in the family.

The family were ennobled in the year 1620, by an Irish peerage.

William, of Milton and Gaines Park-Hall, Esq. being then created Lord Fitzwilliam of Liffar alias Lifford, in the county of Donegall, in the kingdom of Ireland.

William, the third Lord Fitzwilliam, on the accession of George the First, was created Viscount Miltown, in the county of Westmeath, and Earl Fitzwilliam of the county of Tyrone, in Ireland, by letters patent bearing date July 2, 1716.

The father of the present Earl was raised to a peerage of Great-Britain by George the Second, under the name, title, or title of Lord Fitzwilliam, Baron of Milton in the county of Northampton. His Lordship a few years after was created a Viscount and Earl of Great-Britain, by the titles of Viscount Milton and Earl Fitzwilliam of Norborough, in the county of Northampton.

It was this nobleman who married the Lady Anne Wentworth, eldest daughter of Thomas Marquis of Rockingham, and by her he had issue six daughters and two sons, the eldest of whom is the subject of these memoirs, the present and second Earl Fitzwilliam of Great-Britain and fourth of Ireland.

His Lordship is indebted for much of his celebrity to his high rank, to an immense fortune, and to a lineage that might well confer respectability on any character or family. But the eminent worth and abilities of the late Marquis of Rockingham have chiefly brought him forward on the theatre of politics. He was long regarded by this distinguished nobleman as the heir of his fortune, and trained up with this view under his peculiar tuition of patronage. His education must consequently have been greatly superior to that of his competitors who had not

the

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

1783.

xi

IIo

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

March

means when he fays, Lucilius gave us a
picture of his life, his poetical life, in
his writings."

I cannot give up the opinion which
I have ever held, even to Bentley, a
critic whom I fincerely reſpect, eſpe-
cially when I am supported by the
commentators. It is clear to me that
by *libris* the poet means *journals* or
*diaries*, and that *vita* signifies life in
its plain and usual ſenſe, and not its
metaphorical ſenſe. I ſhall, therefore,
inſcribe upon a cheſt containing my
journal.

Ettonia pateat veluti descripta tabella
Tita Senis.

The chief objection againſt keeping a
diary fairly registered, which the itate
of our minds, and all the little occur-
rences by which we are intimately af-
fected, is the danger of its falling into
the hands of other people, who may
make use of it to our prejudice. An
Hypochondriack is particularly prone
to think of himself. Uneatenſes directs
his attention inwards. I have kept a
diary for confiderable portions of my
life. And, in order to guard againſt
detection of what I wifhed to be con-
cealed, I once wrote parts of it in a
character of my own invention, by way
of a cypher, but having given over the
practice for several years, I forgot my
alphabet, ſo that all that is written in
it muſt for ever remain as unintelligible
to myſelf as to others. This was mere-
ly a loſs. But a much worſe circum-
stance happened. I left a large parcel
of diary in Holland to be ſent after me
to Britain with other papers. It was
fairly written out, and contained many
things which I ſhould be very ſorry to
have communicated except to my moſt
intimate friends; the packages having
been loofened, some of the other
papers were chafed and ſpoiled with
water, but the Diary was miſſing.
I was fadly vexed, and felt as if a part
of my vitals had been ſeparated from
me, and all the confolation I re-
ceived from a very good friend, to
whom I wrote in the moſt earneſt
anxiety to make enquiry if it could be
found any where, was, that he could
discover no trace of it, though he had
made diligent ſearch in all the little
houtes, ſo trifling did it appear to
him. I comfort myſelf with tuppofing
that it has been totally destroyed in the
carrying. For, indeed it is a ſtrange
difſagreeable thought, that what may be

properly enough called so much of one's
mind ſhould be in the poſſeffion of a
ſtranger, or perhaps of an enemy. This
ſhould ſerve as a leſſon not to write any
thing in a Diary, the diſcovery of which
may do one eſſential hurt, unless the
perſon who writes it carries his diary
continually about him, and can
take as good care of it as Cæſar did of
his Commentaries.

If a Diary be honestly and judiciously kept, it will not only be immediately useful to the perſon who keeps it, but will afford the moſt authentick materials for writing his life, which, if he is at all eminent, will always be an acceptable addition to literature; and in ſome instances it will give the moſt genuine view of many of the events and characters of the time. Diaries have been kept by perſons of all ranks and denominations, and I fancy there is not one that will not in ſome degree interest an inquirer into human nature. I was lately reading the Diary of that illuſtrious and much injured prelate Archbishop Laud, which the violent and oppressive rage of rebellion dragged forth as part of the evidence againſt him. It is eſtimable not only for the fragments which it contains of important history, but for the tender, humane, and pious ſentiments which it undeniably proves were the conſtant current of his mind. Let the following excerpts ſuffice :

"January 25. It was Sunday. I was alone and languifhing with I know not what sadneſs."—Here I venture to claim connection with him; for this fureely was Hypochondria.

"October 2. Saturday. In the evening at Mr. Windebank's, my ancient ſervant, Adam Torleſs, fell into a ſwoon, and we had much ado to recover him, but I thank God we did.

"January 30. Sunday night, my dream: of my bleſſed Lord and Saviour Jefus Chriſt. One of the moſt comfortable paſſages that ever I had in my life.

"July 3. Sunday in my ſleep his Majesty King James appeared to me. I ſaw him only paſſing by ſwiftly, pleasant, and ſerene countenance. In paſſing he ſaw me, beckoned to me, ſmiled, and was immediately withdrawn from my ſight."

The ſuperſition which is to be found
in his Diary, ſuch as his taking notice
of two Robin red-breasts flying into his
ſtudy, and his picture having fallen
down, instead of leſſening his character

in

112

ANECDOTES:

March

trees on every fide, the birds on every
spray, and herds and flocks around me,
all, all proclaim the wifdom and good-
nefs of the great creator, while they
filently reproach my scanty knowledge
of, my little love for, and small ac-
quaintance with, that gracious God,
in whom alone I live, and move, and
have my being.

The God of nature in his works is seen.

Well might David say, when con-
templating the wonders of creation as
displayed above and upon the earth;
the heavens declare the glory of God, and
the firmament before his handy work*;
or as in another psalm, great and mar-
wellous are thy works Lord God Almigh-
ty, in wisdom haft thou made them all,
the earth is full of thy riches†.—The
more we search into the things which

he has made, the more we shall (if
rightly divested) be lost in wonder,
love, and praise.

When I take a view of the various
objeets, both animate and inanimate,
which the meadows, fields, and heath
abound with; when I reflect on
the innumerable beauties which the
country affords to every attentive spec-
tator, and look above me, and think how
infinitely surpassing all description is
the great and omnipotent maker, pre-
ferrer, and upholder of the universe,
and all which it contains, I cannot but
venerate his power, celebrate his wif-
dom, magnify his goodneſs, and implore
his mercy, feeing I merit nothing at
his hands but hell, and have forfeited
by fin every claim to his favour, love,
and grace.

THE RURAL CHRISTIAN.

A VIEW S. W. BY S. OF FOOT'S-CRAY PLACE, THE SEAT
OF BENJAMIN HARENE, ESQ.

THIS beautiful and elegant build-
ing is situated nearly in the cen-
ter of Sidcup and Foots-Cray, and
lies about twelve miles from London.
The fourth front of it commands a very
pleasing and extenfive prospect. The
north view is not so open, being inter-
cepted by high grounds and much
wood. The plan on the whole is ra-
ther whimsical. It stands on the brow
of a declivity. One would imagine
that the view of the architect had been

to hide his work till the paffenger is
very near the entrance of it, which
appears as if cut through a cluster of
trees, and is guarded by a five-bar
gate, not sixty yards distant from the
feat, where the principal road leads to
it, as marked in our view. This feat
was built by Boucher Cleeve, Esq.—
Sir George Young, in conſequence of
marrying his niece, got poſſession of it.
He has ſince, however, divested of it
to Benj. Harene, Esq. its preſent owner.

EASTERN ANECDOTES.

A Mahometan consulted Aïschech,
one of Mahomet's wives asking
her advice about the conduct of his
life: Aïschech anſwered, " Acknow-
ledge God, command your tongue, re-
frain your anger, get knowledge, stand
firm in your religion, abstain from
evil, converse with good people, cover
the faults with your neighbours, affix
the poor with your alms, and expect
eternity for your reward."

A Slave of Amrou Leits ran away,
but being purfued, was brought back;
and that King's Grand Vizier, who
hated the slave, solicited Amrou to put
him to death, fuggelting to him, it
would be an infance to deter others.
Hereupon the slave caſting himſelf on
the ground before the King, ſaid,
"Whatever your Majeſty will be
pleafed to order as to my deſtiny muſt
be done; for a slave cannot find fault

with the judgement of his lord and
maſter; but becauſe I have been brought
up in your palace, as a mark of my
gratitude, I could wifh you might not
anſwer for my blood at the day of
judgement; and, therefore, if you de-
ſire I ſhould be killed, let it be under
pretence of juſtice.”—Amrou aſked
him what he meant by that pretence?
“Suffer me (anſwered the slave) to kill
the Vizier, and then you will be in the
right in taking away my life to avenge
his death.” Amrou laughed at the
conceit, and aſked the Vizier what he
thought of it? The Vizier anſwered,
“I advife your Majeſty to forgiue the
wretch: he might draw ſome misfor-
tune upon me; I have deſerved that
anſwer; not confidering, when we de-
ſign to kill another, we expoſe our-
felves to be killed, as much as him
whom we intend to murther.”

FOR

* Psalms, xix. 1.

† Psalms, civ. 24.

1783.

206

FOR THE LONDON MAGAZINE.
PART OF THE SEA COAST IN THE COUNTY OF DURHAM
DESCRIBED.

THIS terraqueous globe pre矣 an inexhaustible store of pleafing
Scenes to the imagination of beings en-
dued with a reaʃonable understanding,
" The murmur of brooks, the melody
of birds, the flade of groves and woods,
and the embroidery of fields and mea-
dows heighten the pleafures of the
eye, and raife a rational admiration in
the foul." But beſides these ſoft and
delightful beauties of the creation, the
mind of man may find much pleafure
and agreeable aftonifhment in viewing
the more rugged, romantic ſcenes of
lofty mountains, ſtupendous rocks, and
curious irregularities of nature.—This
thought engaged my mind after a ride
on the ſea ſhore near South Shields;
the day was pleafant, and the unuſual
proſpects around, much improved by
the awful ſound and ſhining foam of
the breach of the ſea daſhing tremen-
douſly againſt the rocks; this circum-
ftance inſenſibly and unavoidably led
the mind to the admiration of the won-
derful power and ineſſable wifdom of
the Supreme Being, " who gathered
the waters under the Heaven together
unto one place, and let the dry land
appear; and the gathering together of
the waters called he ſeas."

About a mile ſouth of Shields, the
coaſt ſuddenly changes from a ſmooth
fandy beach, to a remarkable rocky,
unequal ſhore, extending along the
coaſt for ſome miles, in many places
of a great height and inacceſſible, form-
ing many little bays and curves, and
exhibiting many rude and curious
caves, and prodigious rocks, in varie-
ty of romantic figures and positions,
which to ſurvey affords no unpleasing
employment to thole who have leifure,
and curioſity.—Some few places cur-
ſarily obſerved on my ride, I ſhall at-
tempt a brief deſcription of; firſt
noting, that the time of low water
only is proper and ſafe for examining
any part of this coaſt.

A ſhort way from where the rocks
commence, you may, by an eafy de-
fent, go down into a ſmall fandy bay,
which having crosſed, and the rocky

point oppoſite, you enter another ſmall
bay, at the nook or bottom of which,
are ſeveral apertures in the rock, with
rude arched ways leading from one
cave to another, and within a copious
ſpring of excellent water, called the
Fairy's Well, diffuing from the rock;
to which you ascend the height of fix
or ſeven feet, by almoſt regular ſteps
worn and formed in the rock by the
ineſſant running of the water, which
agreeably trickles down its ſides, the
water ſlands on the top of the rock in
a natural circular bafon; on the ſides
of the rock, down which the water
runs, is a white incruſation very much
reſembling ice.—In a ſmall bay, called
Man Haven, is a ſubterraneous paſſage
leading into a ſpacious cavern hol-
lowed in the rock by the violence of
the ſea, but you cannot enter the cave
by this paſſage, becauſe of a deep pool
of water which obſtructs the way; ac-
cets to it is, therefore, difficult, for
you muſt either climb over a chaos of
ſharp rocks, or down a very ſteep bank,
to come at the mouth of the cave, open
to the ſea, which on entering strikes
the ſenſes with a degree of horror and
aftonifhment: from the entrance it is
forty-three yards to the farther end;
forty yards wide, and at leaſt ten yards
perpendicular height in the centre, the
roof forming an almoſt regular arch or
canopy, inclining near the bottom at
the extremes; in ſhore, it forms a ſur-
prizing ſubterraneous rotunda.

As you pafs along the top of the
bank, you obſerve a particular perfo-
rated rock, ſupported only by a very
ſmall bafe. Further ſouthward there
is a rock hollow beneath, and on the
top covered with a mixture of long
grafs and moſs, more ſoft and elastic
than the fineſt down, where, we were
told, the rural nymphs and ſwains take
much paſſime in tumbling and toying
on Sundays and holidays.—From this
laſt mentioned rock, to the outermoſt
point you fee to the ſouth, which form
the extremities of a ſpacious bay, it is
evident has once been a ſtraight coaſt,
but the alteration muſt have been im-

perceptible,

1783.

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

289

to so universal a length, the members grew impatient for the question. The fourth resolution was accordingly put by the speaker, and on the division of the House, the numbers to food

For it - 207
Against it 190

The majority for censuring the terms of the peace were 17.

Lord John withdrew the motion relative to the loyalists; and at four in the morning the House adjourned, after a debate the most interesting that ever had taken place in the British Senate.

(To be continued.)

AN IDEA OF DR. JOHNSON'S MODE OF WRITING.

(From Dr. Blair's Lectures.)

YOUNG writers are apt to imitate the faults while they neglect the beauties of distinguished authors. The late Mr. Blackwel, of Aberdeen, is excessively affected in all his works.—" And here I must not pass the author of the Rambler. His writings are useful, as having a good moral tendency, and his style is copious, smooth, and free from harsh arrangement, but all affection. He has also loaded it with a number of latinized words, such as salubriety, cogitation, &c. &c. He

has studied music so much that his style is a perfect monotony, which is always dif disagreeable. He imitates the manner of Cicero, which has been confuted by all the critics of antiquity, and is fond to excess of antithesis, continually contraifting both words and things. When he speaks of persons of knowledge, they are exalted by knowledge, and elevated by virtue; and thus he goes on with an elegance defitute of simplicity, and a flateliness that is only a burlesque on dignity."

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK. No. LXIX.

Мейав оркоў омовас.

PINDAR Olymp.

" Having sworn a greet oath."

SWEARING is one of the most ancient and universal practices of mankind; and although we easily perceive solemn oaths upon great occasions to be a natural mode of confirming veracity and confidence, it has often appeared to me not a little difficult to account for the antiquity and universality of imprecations in the common intercourse of society. Yet so prevalent is the use of them that we read of no period of time, nor are acquainted with any nation, in which it is not to be traced. Nay, we find a propensity to it so wonderfully prevalent, that the powers of moralities and legislators have been exerted to retrain it, but have by no means fully succeeded. Philologists of old, as well as modern divines, have ably expounded its profanenefs and bad effects; and in the statute books of civilized states there are many laws against Cursing and Swearing, by which it is prohibited under penalties. Yet let us go into almost any company, in any part of the known world, and we shall too soon be satisfied that a vice

LOND. MAG. June, 1783.

to which it should seem there is no temptation abounds in an amazing degree.

The antiquity and universality of oaths, in whatever sense, is, I think, one proof among many of the existence of a Supreme Spirit; for it shews the consent of nations in that belief. In the first volume of Histoire de l'Academie des Inscriptions et Belles Lettres, there is an excellent dissertation "Sur les Serments des Anciens," by M. l'Abbé Maffieu. The ingenious writer observes, that originally menfwore by the true God, the Most High, the Lord of heaven and earth. But when the proper notion of the Divinity came to be corrupted, and polytheism was introduced, swearing followed the fate of religion, "et il e le monde fut tout surpris de se trouver rempli d'une multitude prodigieuse de dieux monstreux, il ne le fut pas moins de se voir comme monde d'un deluge de ferments ridicules—And if the world was confounded to find itself filled with a prodigious multitude of monstrous gods, it was not lets so

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to see itself as it were drowned in a deluge of ridiculous oaths." Such of my readers as with to have their cu-riosity gratified upon the subject, may find in this diffentation a learned col-lection of particulars, interperfed with good remarks well expreſſed.

Though I have the comfort to think my practice has been blameleſs in that respect, my opinion as to the impious immorality of ſwearing in paffion, or in levity of talk, was never quite fettled, till in the view of writing this effay I looked into the four ſermons which that very diſtinguished prelate, Arch-biſhop Secker, preached againſt it from the well-known text, James v. 12. *But above all things, my brethren, ſwear not, &c.* In theſe admirable diſcourſes the Archbiſhop has in the firſt place demonſtrated the lawfulneſs of oaths upon ſolemn occafions, from the utility, and in ſome caſes even almoſt neceſſity of them, and ſhew the practice to be fanſtified by the awful example of God himſelf in ſeveral texts in ſcrip-ture, by that of our SAVIOUR, when he told the Jews there ſhould no ſign be given to them but that of the pro-phet Jonas; and who, while in the lowly form which he conſedended to auſume in carrying on the great myſtery of re-demption, ſubmitted to anſwer the High Priſe under an adjuration " by the living God;" and by that of the holy apoſtles in many paſſages: and in the ſecond place has demonſtrated the po-tiſe evil not only of " taking the name of God in vain," or introducing it into trifling diſcourſe, or without ſome very important reaſon, but of all irre-vertent mention of ſacred ſubjects. He enumerates many of the beſt of the heathen ſages who wrote againſt com-mon ſwearing as hurtful to religion, and he fully juſtifies the wifdom of St. James's prohibition in that ſenſe of the words, by ſhewing how much it leſſens the celestial awe of piety, and how in-conſiſtent it is in other reſpectſ with the ſpirit of Chriſtianity, as it inflames violence and wrath, and certainly of-fends the good and the gentle.' He very fairly argues that this unprofitable vice is unbecoming in well-bred men, and I hope my fair readers will forſive me for quoting the following paſſage, for which I am very forſoly to think there is any occasion : " But, above all, the moſt diſtant advances towards any fort

of profaneneſs in diſcourſe, ſhould be ſcrupulouſly avoided by that ſex, which cannot yet plead any eſtabliſhed cuſtom for it; and whose eſteem from the other depends ſo very greatly on the gentle-neſs and delicacy of their converſation, that they will be far from finding their account (whatever they may fancy) in exchanging it for a confident behaviour, and oſtenſive expreſſions of maſculine boldneſs." I would earneſtly recom-mend to all my readers a calm and at-tentive perſal of theſe four ſermons, in a collection, which, I am auſured by valuable authority, contains an in-ſtructive and beautiful ſystem of the Chriſtian life, by one who was himſelf a noble example of it.

They who attempt to deſpife a con-viction of the criminality of curling and ſwearing as weak ſcrupulofity, ſhould be informed, that by repeated aſts of parliament it is held to be no flight ofſence, and when ſo inſormed, it is thought they would be too arrogant, were they to ſet their inconfiderate no-tions above the well-weighed reſolves of Senates. The earlieſt aſts againſt ſwearing which we find in this inſland were paffed in Scotland in 1551, in the reign of the beauteous Queen Mary, and in 1581, in the reign of her ſon James VI. of Scotland, afterwards I. of England. Perhaps the " *preferridentium Scotorum*, the violent temper of the Scots" made ſuch a law neceſſary amongſt them ſooner than amongſt the English. The firſt English aſt againſt ſwearing is in 1623, in the reign of James I. and begins " Foraſmuch as all profane ſwearing and curling is for-bidden by the word God." The next is in 1695, in the reign of William and Mary. But ſo late as 1746, in the reign of George II. there is " an aſt more effectually to prevent profane curling and ſwearing," and as a ſhort ſermon by King, Lords, and Commons to ſome who would have a ſupernical contemptuous prejudice againſt a ſermon by a clergyman, I ſhall here inſert the preamble " Foraſmuch as the horrid, impious and execrable vices of profane curling and ſwearing (to highly diſ-pleasing to Almighty God, and loath-fome and oſtenſive to every Chriſtian) are become ſo frequent and notorious, that unleſs ſpeedily and effectually pu-niſhed, they may juſtly provoke the Divine vengeance to increafe the many calamities

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calamities these nations now labour under." That I may produce the deliberateuffrage of all the three kingdoms againſt Curling and Swearing, I am to mention that ſimilars acts to thofe of the English parliament have been paffed in Ireland, a country remarkable for the warm blood of its inhabitants, whose talk is particularly charactered in plays and novels, by a variety of oaths.

I have heard of a preacher in Holland who in admoniſhing his hearers againſt the vice of ſwearing, uſed very gravely to repeat in the pulpit, the moſt usual and ſhocking execrations which he charged them to avoid. This I dare ſay, was thought ludicrous. Yet the fame thing actually occurs in the firſt act of the ſcotſtliſh Parliament to which I have referred. Thus it begins: "Item, Because notwithstanding the oft and frequent preachings in deteſtation of the grievous and abominable (a) aithes ſwearing, execrations, and blaſphemiatioun of the name of GOD (b) ſwearand in vaine be his precious (c) blud, bodie, paffion, and wounds, Devil (d) ſtick, cummer, gore, roiſt or rieſe them, and ſik uther (e) oug-ſum aithes and execrations, againſt the command of God, zit the ſamin e cum in ſik ane ungodlie uſe amangſt the people of this realme, baith of great and ſmall eſtates, that dailie and hourelie may be heard amangſt them, open blaſphemation of God's name, and Maſejſie, to the great econtemplation thereof, and bringing of the ire and wrath of GOD upon the people."

Nay, there is ſomething ſimilar in the civil law, Novell 77, where certain horrible oaths are ſpeciſed, and where profane ſwearing is held in ſuch abomination that it is classed with the ſin againſt nature. The words againſt curling are, "Quoniam quidam blaphema verba et sacramenta de Deo jurant, DEUM ad iracundiam provocantes, ifiſ injungimus abſtinere ab hujusmodi et alis blaſphemis verbis, et non jurare per capillos et caput et his proxima verba." It is unnecessary to tranſlate this. The Emperour proceeds to declare, that on account of ſuch crimes the land is viſited with famine, earthquakes, and peſtilence; and he denounces the puniſhment of death.

The common ſaying that there is no

pleaſure in curling and ſwearing, I should think cannot be true, otherwise that vice could not be ſo frequent as we know it to be, in ſpite of all the provisions againſt it. Indeed I have heard of a roaring 'ſquire who obſerved upon this, "No pleaſure! no pleaſure! Why I'd give up half my eſtate rather than not be allowed to ſwear." Here then was an end of the argument upon that head with him. In truth there is a certain kind of gratification in the force of which ſwearing is expressive; and although it has been ſaid that "no man is born of a ſwearing conſtitution," yet, I imagine all men are at times inclined to ſwear, either as an immediate proof of their earneſtneſs, or as giving vent to a ſtrong paffion. A gentleman of a violent temper, but of ſtrict religious principles, was one day in high indignation at one of his colliers, whom he chaced round a coal-pit with his ſtick brandiſhed to beat him. The fellow had more agility than his maſter, and feeing him ready to burſt with anger, he ſtopped a little, looked him in the face, and very imprudently ſaid to him "Your honour's at a great loſs that you dare not curfe." In that cafe ſwearing would have been a relief to the gentleman, and consequently a pleaſure. There is a remarkable inſtance to the fame effect in a paffion of a very different nature in Captain Inglefield's narrative of the loſs of his Maſejſty's ſhip the Centaur, and of the wonderful eſcape of himſelf and a few more, after being toſt ſeventeen days in an open boat, almost deſtitute of neceſſaries. He relates that one of the ſeamen upon being certain that he law land "broke out into an immoderate ſwearing fit of joy, from which he could not be refrained." I have had the pleaſure of being in company with Captain Inglefield ſince his dreadful danger, and found him moſt obliquely communicative. He told me that this ſeaman uttered a number of moſt extraordinary oaths, which ſeemed to be invented in the moment of his tranſport. So far as my opinion can have weight. I would here do justice to that narrative, which is uncommonly ſimple, clear, and pathetic, and has a propriety of which the pious Hervey justly regrets the want, in the Hiftory of Anſon's Voyage. I mean an acknowledgement of Divine Providence.

The

(a) Oaths. (b) Swearing. (c) Blood. (d) Stab. (e) Ugly.

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published for no other reason but because
they were Atterbury's: and Atterbury
having been the friend of Pope and the
other wits of the day, whose attention gave
distinction, and whose praise conferred fame,
his very trifles acquire a fort of relative, and
adventitious consequence, and we are willing
to fee such a man even in his most careles and
unguarded hours. We are sometimes amused
by the trifles of a great man; and sometimes
flattered by them. We are glad to fee him
on a level with ourselves—where if we cease
to admire, we also cease to envy him.

Some of the pieces published in this collection have been already communicated to the world; others and those not a few, and not the least meritorious, are now for the first time published. The editor particularly acknowledges his obligations for the communication of several curious pieces, to some of the Bishop's neareft relations. They are undoubtedly authentic:—for we know no person so cautious on this head as the present editor. If he sometimes admits into his collections more than is necessary, yet he never admits more than is genuine: if he doth not always gratify, yet he never impoves on the reader; and if he condefts (which in the present collection he is not ashamed to acknowledge) to borrow from Curl, yet he never gets at intelligence by Curl's meaneffes, nor passes off impositions and forgeries with Curl's eſirontery.

We pay this compliment to a deferving
man, whose industry faves some a great deal
of trouble, and gives others a great deal of
entertainment and information.

XXXVII. An Enquiry into the Causes of
the Infidelity and Scepticism of the Times. By
John Ogilvie, D. D. 8vo.

DR. Ogilvie appears to write with the
best intentions; we wish, however, that his
work had something better to recommend it
than the intention of doing good. To deny
Dr. Ogilvie the praise of genius would be in-
justice to him; but to give him any com-
 mendation for perſpicuity of language, or
for ſolidity or force, or compaſtneſs of argu-
ment, would be higher injustice to the
 public. As a poet he was sometimes sub-
 lime; sometimes elegant; and frequently
 inſtructive. As a divine—as a philofopher—
 as a logician, he is inaccurate, obscure, and
 inſufferably tireſome. His work is ſo diſt ſu-
 where the reader always fees the author's
 object, and goes on regularly towards it by
 natural and obvious ſteps, and doth not for-
 get this moment where he was the laſt, that
 in the perſal of it we were sometimes be-
 wildered in a labyrinth of ideas, and at
 other times thrown into a barren defaſt,
 where we had ſcercely any ideas at all!

XXXVIII. The American Wanderer
through various Parts of Europe. In a ſeries
of Letters to a Lady. By a Virginian. 8vo.

THERE are some that think the author
(as Sancho Pancho ſaid) ſaw all theſe various
parts of Europe, over which others wander
with much fatigue and to little purpofe,
“dry-flood at home!” Let that be as it may,
we have wandered with him—we will not
ſay with uninterrupted ſatisfaction: he did
not design we ſhould—but with ſuch a degree
of it as we have ſeldom met with in journies,
conſeffedly ſentimental. His deſcriptions are
very lively; his ſereflections are sometimes
very acute and to the point; attention is ar-
refled, and expectation generally gratified.
The author hath wit; he hath vivacity and
penetration: but he is not always delicate:
he is frequently frivolous; and we think we
too often fee the coxcomb.

XXXIX. The general prevalence of the
Worship of Human Spirits in the Antient Hea-
then Nations afferted and proved. By Hugh
Farmer. 8vo.

THIS learned and ingenious author main-
tains that the demons mentioned in the
Scriptures, and in the antient writings of the
Pagans, do not mean a diſtinkt clafs of beings
of a different nature, and originally in a di-
ferent ſituation from the human race. They
mean human ſpirits ſupſped to exiſt at
prefent, in another ſtate, and who received the
diſtinction of demons, from ſome ſignal
aſctions performed by them while they re-
fided in this world. In ſupport of this po-
ſition, he hath ſhewn much erudition: but
the work is not calculated to entertain the
generality. It will offend the orthodox; and
there are ſome fastidious critics who will ſay,
that the work doth not diſcover deep learning,
or extenſive reading; or acute inſVESTIGATION;
or indeed any thing but what might have
been accompliſhed by a moderate underſtand-
ing, aſſited by great industry, and wholly ab-
forſed in one object.

XL. The Modern Art of Lowe, or the
Congreſs of Cythera. Translated from the
Italian of Count Algarotti. small 8vo.

SINCE Algarotti's time the Art of Love
hath varied its forms; and the Congreſs of
Cythera hath introduced ſome new regulations
—particularly in reſpect to the ſtate of love
in this country. Inſtead of the ſullen and
unſocial ſilence attributed to Englishmen;
inſtead of politics and the bottle proving an
armour against the ſhafts of love, the moſt
frivolous petit maitre could not deſire a more
trifling and unintereſting converſation than
the Pantheon records could conſantly reſtify;
nor could the moſt ardent votary of Cythera
expect greater appearances of love, whatever
becomes of the reality than are every day
vivable

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