THE
LONDON MAGAZINE,
FOR OCTOBER, 1777.

For the LONDON MAGAZINE.
THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

NUMBER I. (To be continued monthly.)

Sunt verba & woces quibus bunc lenire dolorem
Poffis, & magnam morbi deponere partem.
Words will avail the wretched mind to eafe,
And much abate the difmal black diſeafe.

Horat.

Nov. 1, 1777.

A

PERIODICAL paper of instruction and entertainment may be reckoned one of the happiest inventions of modern times, whether we consider the advantage of writers, or of readers. To writers, it affords a ready opportunity of indulging their genius, without exhausting it. To undertake the writing of a large book is like entering on a long and difficult journey, in the course of which much fatigue and uneasefuls must be undergone, while at the fame time one is uncertain of reaching the end of it: whereas writing a short effay is like taking a pleasant airing that enlivens and invigorates by the exercise which it yields, while the design is gratified in its completion. Men of the greatest parts and application are at times averse to labour for any continuance; and could they not employ their pens on lighter pieces, would at thofe times remain in a total inactivity. Writing such effays therefore may fill up the interlides of their lives, and occupy moments which would otherwise be loſt. To other men, who have not yet attained to any considerable degree of conſtancy in application, the writing of periodical effays may ſerve to ſtrengthen their faculties and prepare them for the execution of more important works: and what a great proportion of ingenious men never have leisure or refolution to write any thing but a short effay, being like the artift in Horace, who could hit off a nail extremely well, but whose abilities extended not to operations of any magnitude.

Oct. 1777.

Toreaders, a periodical paper affords all the advantage of productions, which, but for the invention of this ſpecies of composition, never would have exifted. They have ſhort effuſions of exalted foul, which like sparks of diamonds are highly precious; and they have a variety of literary pieces by writers, whose abilities are perhaps not extenfive and robust, but who have not the leſs quickneſs and grace. Variety is wonderfully pleafing, and we find more of it in ſmall ſubjects than in great. There is a greater diversity and more beauty among flowers than among trees, in a bed of tulips than in a grove of oaks, and in the works of art of every kind, ſmaller pieces are more exquifitely finiſhed than greater. To a ſmall piece of metal we give the fineſt poliſh; a ſmall piece of ground is brought into the higheſt degree of cultivation. Upon this ſubject I would quote Sir Francis Ofſborn, whose works contain many ſhrewd obſervations in language abounding with lively metaphor, though with incorrectneſs. Upon this ſubject he ſays, "huge volumes, like the ox roaſted whole at Bartholomew Fair, may proclaim plenty of labour and invention, but afford leſs of what is delicate, favoury, and well concocted than ſmaller pieces." Indeed, what has been ſaid of writers will, by reference to the difference between more and leſs active employment of mind, apply in every reſpect to readers. Many of the moſt studious can at times run over only a few pages; and it is better if they can have in that ſpace ſomething entire and unbroken. Readers too, who were once ſo idle, diffipated or littleſs, as hardly to be

3 R 2

able

494

Memoirs of Mrs. A. Robinson,

Oct.

Memoirs of Mrs. Anastaia Robinson, a celebrated Singer at the Opera-House,
from the general Hiflory of Music, by Sir John Hawkins.

T
his lady was the daughter of
Mr. Robinson, a portrait painter,
who was defcended from a good family
in the county of Leicester. Her fa-
ther having an habitual weakneſs in
his eyes, which terminated in the loſs
of his fight, was prevented by this
misfortune from ſupporting his family
by his profession.

Before this fatal event, he had loft
his firſt wife, by whom he had only
one child, the ſubject of the preſent
article; and he had married a ſecond,
by whom he had another daughter,
named Margaret. Under the heavy
pressure of this calamity, they resolved
to bring up their children to proſe-
ſions by which they might ſupport
themselves; and Anastaia having dif-
covered in her childhood an ear for
muſic, was deſigned by them for a
finger, while other motives equally
cogent at the time, determined them
to make Peggy a miniature painter;
but her inclination being ſtrongly in
favour of her ſifter's profefſion, the
parents were obliged to comply with
it; ſhe was accordingly ſent to Paris to
be under the tuition of the celebrated
Rameau, where ſhe attained to ſuch
a degree of perſection in ſinging, as
ſet her upon a level with the firſt per-
formers of the time; but having a na-
tural bathfulneſs which ſhe could never
overcome, and being ſefides lower in
ſtature than the ſhortest of her ſex,
ſhe could never be prevailed upon to
become a public finger, but ſpent her
life in obſcurity.

On the other hand, Anastaia, who
had been committed to the care of
Dr. Croft, and was rather leſs indebted
to nature for the gift of a voice than
her ſifter, ſproſecuted her ſtudies with
the utmoſt industry. With the affiſ-
tance of her father, ſhe became ſuch
a miſtreſs of the Italian language, that
ſhe was able to converſe in it, and to
repeat with the utmoſt propriety, paſ-
fages from the poes. To remedy ſome
defects in her ſinging, to mend if poſ-
ſible her ſhake, which was not altoge-
ther correct, and above all, to make
the Italian modulation familiar to her,
the affiſtance of Sandoni, a celebrated

teacher, was called in, but all that
could be done by him, and the lady
called the baroneſs, a finger in the
opera, then greatly careſſed, in theſe
reſpects, was but little; ſhe had a fine
voice and an extenſive compaſs, but
ſhe wanted a nice and discriminaſte ear,
to make her a public finger. Her firſt
public appearance was in the concerts
performed at that time in York. Build-
ings, and at other places, in which
ſhe ſung, and generally accompanied
herself on the harpſicord. Her father
had exerted his utmoſt eſtorts to im-
prove her mind, which added to her
own good ſense and amiable qualities,
and a conduct full of reſpect to her ſu-
periors, eſſured her ſucceſs in whatever
the undertook. Encouraged by the fa-
vour of the public to his daughter, and
more eſpecially by the countenance and
bounty of ſome perſons of high rank of
her own ſex, Mr. Robinson took a house
in Golden Square, and had concerts,
and alſo converſations on certain days
in every week, which were the reſort of
all who had any pretenſions to politeneſs.

At the time when Mrs. Tofts and
Margarita retired from the ſtage,
ſcarce any female fingers worth hearing
were left; this was about the year
1718; under theſe favourable circum-
ſtances Mrs. Robinson was prevailed
on to appear on the opera ſtage. The
firſt opera ſhe ſung in was that of Nar-
ciſſus, composed by Domenico Scarlatti,
and brought on the ſtage by Rofcin-
grave; in this, ſhe ſung the part of
Echo with great applaſe. In the suc-
ceeding operas of Mutius Scævola, Crif-
fus, Grifelda, Otho, Floridante, Flavius,
Julius Cæsar, Pharnaces, Coriolanus, and
Vespasian, ſhe alſo ſung, and together
with Cuzzoni and Senefina, contributed
greatly to the ſupport of the enter-
tainment. Her ſalary was 1000, and
her emoluments arifing from benefits
and preſents of various kinds, were
eſtimated at nearly as much more.
She continued to ſing in the opera, till
the year 1723; at the end whereof, ſhe
retired from the ſtage, in conſequence,
as it is ſuppoſed, of her marriage with
the Earl of Peterborough; for ſhe at
that time went to refide at his house

at

1777.

545

2

For the LONDON MAGAZINE.
THE HYPOCHONDRIACK. N°. II.

*Terror in his ipso major foletus effe periculo.*

Fear is oft greater than the danger found.

OVID.

Of all the sufferings to which the mind of man is liable in this state of darkneſs and imperfection, the paſſion of fear is the ſevereſt, excepting the remorſe of a guilty conscience, which however has much of fear in it, being not ſolely a tormenting anguilſt of reflection on the paſt, but a direful foreboding of the ſuture; or as the ſacred ſcriptures ſtrongly expreſſs it, “a certain fearful looking for of judgement.”

The boastéd fearleſſneſs of ſome men will, upon a close examination, be found to be either affectation or inſenſibility; for, without queſtion, all who think and feel muſt find objects enough to excite fear, in a greater or leſſer degree, fear of one kind or of another. It is recorded as an eulogium pronounced over the grave of John Knox, the rugged reformer of Scotland, by one of higher rank, but not of much more reſined manners than himself, that “he never feared the face of man.” This was probably very true, yet Knox, though of a ſpirit not to be awed by the countenance of mortals, even by his fair sovereign and her court, muſt not be ſuppoſed to have been without fear of any fort; as we all know that those who are proof againſt one ſpecies of fear are affected by a different ſpecies. John duke of Argyle and Greenwich, one of the moſt gallant noblemen that ever graced the Britiſh army, is ſaid to have been timorous on horseback upon ordinary occasions. The apprehenſion of evil is awakened in ſome by one form, and in others by another; as pleasure is produced in different minds by different cauſes, each of which would have no effect upon ſome one mind. That there may be a state of mind ſo dull as to be inſenſible of fear, as there may be an utter deafneſs which no ſound can pervade, is I believe poffible, and I am inclined to think that there have been examples of it. It is alſo poffible that the mind Nov. 1777.

may be in ſuch a state of tumult and disorder from the agitation of violent paſſions, that fear cannot affect it, as there may be ſuch a previous degree of noise in a certain portion of ſpace as will exclude any additional ſound; an ſumourous representation of which we have in Hogarth’s enraged Muſician. But theſe extraordinarily ſituations do not infringe upon the general theory of the human mind as ſubject to the diſtressing paſſion of fear; nor is a ſystem founded upon general experience to be ſhaken by the appearances of want of fear which people have auſſumed. Nothing is more usual than to affect appearances, the very reverse of those of the real feelings, in order that the real feelings may be concealed. The unknown author of a fine copy of verſes to Clariffa, in Dodley’s collection, makes a tormented lover

“In clam’rous mirth each pang diſguſe,
“And laughter ſwell with burſtling ſights.”

And Dryden’s description of a clown who “whistled as he went for want of thought,” is not more juſt than the description which the reverend Mr. Blair, in The Grave, a poem, gives of a schoolboy croſſing a church yard,

“Whiffling aloud to hear his courage up.”

The boy was very much frightened; but being aſhamed of his fear, affected a lively and gay indifference. Since I have mentioned this poem, I muſt observe, that although there have been ſeveral editions of it both in Scotland, where it was firſt produced, and in London, I have found no notice taken of it by any author, except by Mr. Hervey, in his admired meditations; yet there are paſſages in it which well deferve more general attention from ſuperior taſte and criticism. The schoolboy’s fear of ghoſts, and his being aſhamed of it, is ſimilar to what Ovid makes Paris acknowledge to Helen.

“Quæque timere libet pertimuiffe pudet.”

We yield to fear; yet for our weakneſs bluſh.

4 A.

That

our reason to diprip falfe terrorists, the
fauſe tERRORES, of which the poet ſpeaks;
and in proportion as terrorists are greater
than they should be, they are falſe.

I am however by no means of op-
inion.

The History of Nancy Pelham.

1777.

547

is ſubject, but with which we our-
felves may never be attacked. The
bitter potion is taken soon enough
when we are obliged to swallow it.
Diludes, I am not at all clear that
evils when they actually are.

That fear is a neceſſary paſſion in
human nature, at least in that ſtate of
exſistence in which we now find our-
felves, cannot be denied. Perhaps it
may be neceſſary even in a better
ſtate, to prefer a continuance of ſe-
liſcity. Perhaps glorified ſpirits, tho'
all tears be wiped from their eyes, and
they may not be called upon to "join
trembling" with celestial harmony,
may have a certain degree of fear ſu-
ficient for ſafety, but not ſtrong enough
to occafion pain; a degree of fear
like the gentle ſolicitude of happy
lovers upon earth. But let us not
grasp too forwardly at the eternal
blazon, as to which, if we indulge
ſpeculation it should always be with
the moſt ſubmiſſive and reſpectful
diſtance.

In our preſent ſtate, fear is not only
unavoidable by rational beings, who
know that many evils may probably,
and ſome muſt certainly befall them,
but as far as we can judge, it ſeems
to be one of the preventives and cor-
rectives of human ſuffering. Accord-
ingly, that great judge of human na-
ture, Arifſtote, when juſtly extolling
the moral uſeſullneſs of tragedy, as
medicine for the mind, tells us in a
metaphorical definition taken from
phyſick, that δια ἀλλ' ἡ καὶ δόξ περιλαμβά
την τῶν τσιντῶν πανθυματῶν καθαρισθ
it by the means of pity and fear purges
the paſſions.

Here we find fear one of the princi-
pal remedies for the diſorders of the
paſſions; for by feeing the terrible ef-
fects of their excejſs, we are taught to
moderate them, as much as we can,
instead of either allowing them an un-
limited indulgence, or attempting to
praſtice the falſe philosophy of that
rigid and haughty ſeſt, which proſeſed
to extinguifh them, or rather indeed
to make one of them—pride—abſorb
all the reſt; the very reverse of that
enlightened counsel which preſcribes,
“be not high minded, but fear.”

There is a religious fear, which
however miſunderſood by the gloomy
on one hand, and the giddy on the
other, both of whom view it through
the fame falſe medium, is, when pro-
perly confiſdered, not only highly ra-
tional, but truly agreeable: “The
fear of the Lord is the beginning of
wisdom.” The diſmal apprehenſion
that the Supreme Being is ſtern and

ſevere, ſhould be far from his crea-
tures; and we are warned againſt it
by our Saviour in the parable where
the unprofitable ſervant thought
God “a hard maſter.” The religious
fear which I mean to inculcate, is
that reverential awe for the Moſt High
Ruler of the univerſe, mixed with af-
fectionate gratitude and hope, by
which our minds are kept ſteady,
calm, and placid, at once exalted by
the contemplation of greatneſs, and
warmed by the contemplation of good-
neſs, while both are contemplated with
a reference to ourſelves. I am ſenſible
that this is a ſubject of ſo ſublime and
delicate a nature, that precife pre-
cepts ought not to be given, there
being ſuch a multiplicity of varieties
suited to different individuals by rea-
fon of different affiliations of ideas,
which, though their original compo-
fition eludes our keenest inveſtigation,
have formed mental ſubſtances, if that
expréſſion may be uſed, which will be
wrought upon very differently by the
fame operations. I would only recom-
mend to my readers piety in general;
and let each praſtife that mode of de-
votion which he finds has the beſt
influence upon his diſpoſition and
conduct.

But my intention when I fat down
to write this paper was to caution my
readers againſt the indulgence of un-
necessary and excejſive fear, which at
times afflіſts moſt men, but more ef-
pecially a hypochondriack. ſhake-
ſpare obſerves, with much truth as
well as poetical expréſſion, that “ pre-
fent fears are leſs than horrible ima-
ginings.” For, unleſs it be ſome ex-
treme excruciating bodily torments,
the impreſſions of which through the
agonized ſenſes are ſtronger than any
imagination can produce, it is certain
that the ills of life appear more
dreadful at a diſtance than when ac-
tually felt. Sickneſs and poverty, and
the leſs of our deareſt friends and re-
lations, from the próſpect of which
we ſhrink with dilmay, prove more
mild in reality than in fancy, and
bring along with them alleviations
which cannot be discerned till they
are cloſe upon us. This reſlection
should make us leſs affected by the
thoughts of their appearing to us,
when theſe thoughts are forced upon
our minds, for we ſhould exert our

our

The Hypochondriack.

Nov.

546

Female Virtue and Greatneſs displayed.

Nov.

548

E—n. His was as rich as became his birth and fortune; for he would, on this occasion, appear as well as if he had married Mil D— or any lady of fortune, giving, as his reason, that the bulk of mankind pay as much regard to these things in such a situation as theirs, as to any one thing, and if he did not make a public appearance, would think he did not honour his own choice.

At this last time of going home he was the bearer of the following letter.

LETTER XXVI.

From Mrs. Pelham to Mrs. Butler.

Dear Madam,

NO doubt Mr. Trenchard will inform you, if he has not already, how matters stand between him and my daughter, and my dear Mr. Pelham and him. Nancy has acceded to his proposals, and I suppose they will be married soon. If at all, while Sir William thinks as he doth—the sooner the better. I am not a friend to young peoples keeping company long after they are determined. They are unfit for business, and are apt to trifle away precious time. But, O my friend, none but myself knows what I feel on the aspect of things. Mr. Pelham is silent, has told Mr. Trenchard he cannot be active, (you know by my former letter his reasons, and as I believe he acts from science I cannot urge him,) and declines to be present at their wedding. Sir James has tried his influence to bring him to alter his purpose, but has defied him since he found him resolved. The poor child was affected much when I told her this, nor can you or I wonder. She always was exemplary in attention to her father, and now that she needs his patronage, most to be disappointed, it is a hard thing to bear. She is now more composed, and I hope will be tolerably easy when the time comes. I shall be glad when it is over, for till then a mother must feel for her child so circumtanced. Mr. Trenchard can tell you more of the plan than I can, for I do not choose to enquire, and am easier as such worthy judicious friends as Sir James and his lady have the ma-

nagement. You cannot conceive how kind and generous they have been to all of us, to Nancy in particular, since Mr. Trenchard told them of his advances. The most that I know is, that our valuable Dr. Onflow, of H—, is to perform the office, and that Lord W— is to be her father on the occasion—this Dolly told me from Lady Parker. What shall I say? I never thought I could forbear forbidding a child of mine to accept any man whose parent refused consent; and yet, my dear friend, I can now say nothing against it. I dare not. My child, I verily believe, doth in this what she thinks her duty—but what struggles has it cost her? Methinks, if Mr. Trenchard's father had such a tenderneſs for his son, as I think all parents ought to have, he could not treat him with the rigour he is faſd to express. I am sure neither Mr. Pelham or I could thus afflict our child, though we had rather he had dropped his suit. She has been so exercised that I could not tell what to think would be the upshot to her health, and therefore I consented to let her go with a lady to G—n, whence she is but just returned. I cannot say but hitherto I like Mr. Trenchard; he has behaved like a true gentleman here, and I have heard much in his favour diverse ways; but especially from Mr. Allen of York, whom Dr. Butler saw here last winter. He is personally acquainted with Mr. Trenchard, and on hearing of this very accidentally, has wrote largely to Mr. Pelham about him, and thinks we ought to be glad of such a gentleman, though his father should withdraw his help: he says, the young gentleman is far from an extravagant turn, yet is no niggard, but used to save from trifling ways of spending money, and do much good with his money to help poorer scholars, and that he knows he need not want for means to live as well as we desire. Nancy has been concerned on this last head, but she owns that since he laid before her an account of his means and plan of living, she is quite easy about that matter. After all I am distrested, so defirous as we are to live in peace with all men, to have this interruption to that felicity: but I cannot fathom the conduct of

Pro-

1777.

613

For the LONDON MAGAZINE.
THE HYPOCHONDRIACK. N. III.

—Sævit toto Mars impius orbe.

And ruthlefs Mars raves wild o'er all the lands.

VIRG.

WARTON.

WHILE viewing, as travellers
usually do, the remarkable ob-
jects of curioſity at Venice, I was con-
ducted through the different depart-
ments of the Arſenal; and as I con-
templated that great ſtorehouse of mor-
tal engines, in which there is not only
a large deposit of arms, but men are
continually employed in making more,
my thoughts rebounded, if I may uſe
the expreſſion, from what I beheld;
and the effect was, that I was firſt as it
were ſtunned into a ſtate of amazement,
and when I recovered from that, my
mind expanded itself in reflections
upon the horrid irrationality of war.

What thofe reflections were I do
not precifely recollect. But the ge-
neral impreſſion dwells upon my me-
mory; and however ſtrange it may
ſeem, my opinion of the irrationality
of war is ſill affixed with the Arſenal
of Venice.

One particular however I well re-
member. When I faw workmen en-
gaged with grave affiuity in fashioning
weapons of death, I was ſtruck with
wonder at the ſhortfightedneſs, the
cææ mentes of human beings, who
were thus ſoberly preparing the in-
struments of deſtruction of their own
ſpecies. I have ſince found upon a
cloſer ſtudy of man, that my wonder
might have been ſpared; becauſe there
are very few men whose minds are
ſufficiently enlarged to comprehend
univerſal or even extenſive good. The
views of moſt individuals are limited to
their own happineſs; and the work-
men whom I beheld ſo busy in the Ar-
ſenal of Venice ſaw nothing but what
was good in the labour for which they
received ſuch wages as procured them
the comforts of life. That their im-
mediate ſatisfaction was not hindered
by a view of the remote conſequential
and contingent evils for which alone
their labours could be at all uſeful,
would not ſurprize one who has had a
tolerable ſhare of experience in life.

We muſt have the teleſcope of pilofo-
ſophy to make us perceive diſtant ills;
nay, we know that there are indi-
viduals of our ſpecies to whom the im-
mediate miſery of others is nothing in
comparifon with their own advan-
tage—for we know that in every age
there have been found men very willing
to perform the office of executioner
even for a moderate hire.

To prepare inſtruments for the
deſtruction of our ſpecies at large, is
what I now ſee may very well be done
by ordinary men, without ſtartling,
when they themſelves are to run no
risk. But I ſhall never forget, nor
ceafe to wonder at a moſt extraordina-
ry inſtance of thoughtleſs intrepidity
which I had related to me by a cousin
of mine, now a lieutenant-colonel in
the British army, who was upon guard
when it happened. A ſoldier of one
of the regiments in garrifon at Mi-
norca, having been found guilty of a
capital crime, was brought out to be
hanged. They had neglected to have a
rope in readineſs, and the ſhocking
bufineſs was at a ſtand. The fellow,
with a ſpirit and alertneſs which in a
general would, upon a difficult and
trying emergency, have been very great
prefence of mind and conduct, it tript
the lace off his hat, ſaid this will
do, and actually made it ſerve as the
fatal cord.

The irrationality of war is, I ſup-
poſe, admitted by almoſt all men: I ſay
almoſt all; becauſe I have myſelf met
with men who attempted ſeriously to
maintain that it is an agreeable occu-
pation and one of the chief means of
human happineſs. I muſt own that
although I uſe the plural number
here, I ſhould have uſed the dual,
had I been writing in Greek; for I
never met but with two men who ſup-
ported ſuch a paradox; and one of
them was a tragick poet, and one a
Scotch Highlander. The firſt had his
imagination ſo much in a blaze with
heroic

614

The Hypochondriac.

Dec.

heroic sentiments, with the "pride, pomp and circumstance of glorious war," that he did not advert to its miferies, as one dazzled with the pageantry of a magnificent funeral thinks not of the pangs of diffolution and the diſmal corpſe. The ſecond had his attention ſo eagerly fixed on the advantage which accrued to his clan from "the trade of war," that he could think of it only as a good.

We are told by ſome writers, who aſſume the character of philofophers, that war is neceſſary to take off the ſuperfluity of the human ſpecies, or at least to rid the world of numbers of idle and proſligate men who are a burthen upon every community, and would grow an insupportable burthen, were they to live as long as men do in the uſual course of nature. But there is unquestionably no reaſon to fear a ſuperfluity of mankind, when we know that although perhaps the time "(when every rood of land maintain'd its man") is a poetical exaggeration, yet vigorous and well directed industry can raſe ſuſtenance for ſuch a proportion of people in a certain ſpace of territory, as is aſſonilhing to us who are accuſtomed to fee only moderate effects of labour; and when we also know what immenſe regions of the terreftrial globe in very good climates are uninhabited. In theſe there is room for millions to enjoy exiſtence. In culti-vating theſe, the idle and proſligate, expelled from their original ſocieties, might be employed and gradually re-ſformed, which would be better ſurely, than continuing the practice of pe-riodical deſtruction, which is alſo in-discriminate, and involves the belt equally with the worſt of men.

I have often thought that if war ſhould ceaſe over all the face of the earth, for a thousand years, its reality would not be believed at ſuch a diſtance of time, notwithstanding the faith of authentick records in every nation. Were mankind totally free from every tinſture of prejudice in ſa-vour of thoſe gallant exertions which could not exiſt were there not the evil of violence to combat; had they never ſeen in their own days, or been told by their fathers or grandfathers, of battles, and were there no traces re-maining of the art of war, I have no doubt that they would treat as fa-

bulous or allegorical, the accounts in hiftory, of prodigious armies being formed, of men who engaged themselves for an unlimited time, under the penalty of immediate death, to obey implicitly the orders of commanders to whom they were not attached either by affection or by intereſt; that thoſe armies were ſometimes led with toil-fome expedition over vaſt tracts of land, ſometimes crowded into ſhips, and obliged to endure tedious, un-healthy and perilous voyages; and that the purpose of all this toil and danger was not to obtain any comfort or pleasure, but to be in a ſituation to en-counter other armies; and that thoſe oppoſite multitudes the individuals of which had no cauſe of quarrel, no ill-will to each other, continued for hours engaged with patient and obſtinate perſeverance, while thousands were diſain, and thousands cruſhed and mangled by diversity of wounds.

We who have from our earlieſt years had our minds filled with ſcenes of war of which we have read in the books that we moſt reverence and moſt admire, who have remarked it in every revolving century, and in every country that has been diſcovered by navigators, even in the gentle and benign regions of the southern ocean; we who have ſeen all the intelli-gence, power and ingenuity of our own nation employed in war, who have been accuſtomed to perſuſe ga-zettes, and have had our friends and relations killed or ſent home to us wretchedly maimed; we cannot with-ouſt a ſteady effort of reflection be ſen-fible of the improbability that rational beings should act so irrationally as to unite in deliberate plans, which muſt certainly produce the direful effects which war is known to do. But I have no doubt that if the project for a perpetual peace which the Abbe de St. Pierre ſketched, and Rouſſau improved, were to take place, the inſcredibility of war would after the lapſe of ſome ages be univerſal.

Were there any good produced by war which could in any degree com-penſate its direful effects; were better men to ſpring up from the ruins of thoſe who fall in battle, as more beau-tiful material forms ſometimes arise from the ashes of others; or were thoſe who eſcape from its deſtruction to have

1777.

The Hypochondriack.

615

have an encreafe of happineſs; in
ſhort, were there any great beneficial
effect to follow it, the notion of its
irrationality would be only the notion
of narrow comprehension. But we
find that war is followed by no gene-
ral good whatever. The power, the
glory, or the wealth of a very few may
be enlarged. But the people in general,
upon both ſides, after all the ſufferings
are paffed, purſue their ordinary oc-
cupations, with no difference from their
former ſtate. The evils therefore of
war, upon a general view of humanity
are as the French ſay: *à pure perte*, a
mere loſs without any advantage, un-
leſs indeed furniſhing ſubjects for
hifto ry, poetry, and painting. And
although it ſhould be allowed that
mankind have gained enjoyment in
theſe reſpectſs, I ſuppofe it will not be
ſeriously faid, that the miſery is over-
balanced. At any rate, there is already
ſuch a ſtore of ſubjects, that an addition
to them would be clearly purchased by
more wars.

I am none of those who would ſet
up their notions againſt the opinion of
the world; on the contrary, I have
ſuch a reſpect for that authority, as to
doubt of my own judgment when it op-
poſes that of numbers probably as
wife as I am. But when I maintain
the irrationality of war, I am not
contradicting the opinion, but the
práctice of the world. For, as I have
already obſerved, its irrationality is ge-
nerally admitted. Horace calls Hanni-
bal, demens a madman, and Pope gives
the fame appellation to Alexander the
Great and Charles XII.

"From Macedonia's madman to the
Swede."

How long war will continue to be
practiſed, we have no means of con-
jecturing. Civilization, which it might
have been expeſted would have abo-
liſhed it, has only refined its ſavage
rudeneſs. The irrationality remains,
though we have learnt infanire certa-
ratione modoque, to have a method in
our madneſs.

That amiable religion which “pro-
claims peace on earth,” hath not as yet
made war to cease. The furious
paffions of men, modified as they are
by moral inſtruction, ſtill operate with
much force; and by a perpetual fal-
lacy, even the conscientious in each
contending nation think they may

join in war, because they each believe
they are repelling an aggrèſor. Were
the mild and humane doctrine of thofe
Christians who are called *Quakers*,
which Mr. *Jenyns* has lately embellified
with his elegant pen, to prevail, hu-
man felicity would gain more than we
can well conceive. But perhaps it is
necessary that mankind in this ſtate of
existence, the purpose of which is ſo
mysterious, should ever suffer the woes
of war.

To relieve my readers from re-
flections which they may think too ab-
fraſt, I ſhall conclude this paper with
a few obſervations upon actual war.
In ancient times when a battle was
fought man to man, or as somebody
has very well expreſſed it, was a groupe
of duels, there was an opportunity for
individuals to diſtinguifh themſelves
by vigour and bravery. One who was
"robuſus acri militia, hardy from
keen warfare" could gratify his am-
bition for fame, by the exercife of his
own perſonal qualities. It was there-
fore more reaſonable then, for indi-
viduals to enliſt, than it is in modern
times: for, a battle now is truly no-
thing eſſe than a huge conſtict of op-
poſite engines worked by men who are
themſelves as machines directed by a
few; and the event is not ſo frequently
decided by what is intentionally done,
as by accidents happening in the dread-
ful conſuſion. It is as if two towns
in oppoſite territories ſhould be ſet on
fire at the fame time, and victory
ſhould be declared to the inhabitants of
that in which the flames were leaſt
deftraſtive. We hear much of the
conduſt of generals; and *Addifon* him-
felf has repreſented the Duke of Marl-
borough directing an army in battle, as
an "angel riding in a whirlwind and
directing the ſtorm." Nevertheless I
much doubt if upon many occafions the
immediate ſchemes of a commander
have had certain effect; and I believe
Sir *Callaghan Obralachan* in Mr. *Mack-
lin's Lowe A-la-mode* gives a very juſt ac-
count of a modern battle: "There
is ſo much doing every where that
we cannot tell what is doing any
where."

Very different indeed is the opinion
of Mr. A Boyer, who in his English
and French dictionary gives us with
great gravity ſuch a detail of an en-
gagement, as thaws that he ſuppofed
it

313

615

Description of the Bridge of Augustus.

Dec.

it to be carried on with as much design
and order as the martial performances
at a review. As I hope it may divert
my readers as well as it has done my-
fself, I shall preſent it exactly in his
own words.

DESCRIPTION of a BATTLE.

" The two armies being in fight,
" the cannon roars on each side; and
" the signal for the fight being given,
" they both move, and begin the en-
" counter. In the height of danger,
" the generals then their intrepidity
" by preferving their cool temper, and
" by giving their orders without emo-
" tion, and without hurry. In the clove
" engagement, the officers perform
" wonders, or then extraordinary va-
" lour and judgment; and ſeconded
" by their men, who fight like lions,
" they cut the enemy in pieces, kill,
" and overthrow all they meet in
" their way, break through battalions
" and bear down ſquadrons. Upon the

" point of being overpowered by num-
bers, they reſolutely ſubtain the ef-
fort of the enemy; and the generals
being informed by their aids-de-
camp of what paſſes on that ſide,
caufe ſuccours to march thither
with all ſpeed, revive the ſpirits of
the ſoldiers by their preſence, rally
the broken battalions, bring them
up again to the charge, repuſe the
enemy, drive them before them, re-
gain the ground they had loft, re-
trieve the whole affair, purſue the
enemy cloſe, trample them under
foot, or ride over them, entirely
disable them, put all that reſift to
the ſword; and after having ſu-
tained continual diſcharges of can-
non and ſmall ſhot, and gained an
entire and compleat viſory, caufe a
retreat to be founded, and lie on the
field of battle, whilſt the air re-
founds with the flourishes of
trumpets."

[ERRATUM in the Hypochondriack No. II. p. 546, column 2, line 3 from the bottom; for appearing, read happening.]

Description of the famous Marble Bridge built by AUGUSTUS CÆSAR over the River NERA.

(Illustrated from a view drawn on the spot.)

NARNI is a very antient, rich
and beautiful town of the pro-
vince of Sabina in Italy, part of the
ecclesiſtical territories. It is inhabited
by a great number of nobility and
gentry, on account of its falubrious
air and romantic ſituation; and it is
generally viſited by travellers, who
have a taſte for antiquities, on ac-
count of that great curioſity in its
neighbourhood, the bridge of Au-
guſtus over the river Nera. It is ſi-
tuated on the Flaminian Way, or an-
cient road to Rome, about half an
Engliſh mile from the town; but juſt
before you arrive at it, there is a ſteep
descent which is rather dangerous;
and from the account given of it to
ſtrangers at Narni, they are often de-
terred from viſiting this noble monu-
ment of antiquity.

The Romans, in order to obtain a
paſſage over the dangerous rocks of
the Nera, with altoniſhing ſkill and la-
bour hewed through a rocky mountain
to this day called the cut mountain,
and opened a ſafe paſſage thirty feet

high and fifteen wide. To the right
of this road you behold a dreadful
precipice, at the bottom of which the
waters of the Nera form a rapid ſtream
among the rocks, and the foaming
billows caufe ſuch a roaring noife, that
it is heard at a great diſtance. Here
are ſeen the admirable pillars and part
of the arches of the bridge exhibited in
the plate. It is ſaid that the principal
arch was 150 feet high and 200 wide,
which may be eaſily credited from the
preſent appearance of the ruins. Pro-
copius declares that he never ſaw any
arches higher than that of this bridge,
and he ſuppoſes it was built with the
money arifing from the ſpools of the
Sicambri, who were conquered by
Auguſtus. The basiſ was compoſed of
large ſquare ſtones joined together by
cramps of iron ſaſtened in with lead,
but without any mortar; the pillars
are of marble, and the ruins convey
the idea of a moſt magniſcent ſtruc-
ture, worthy of the Auguſtan age.
The people of the country believe that
treasures have been found from time

to

314

1778.

29

4

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK. No. IV.

Nam id ego arbitror
Ad prime in vita effe utile ut ne quid nimis.
TERENT.

“ For this I hold to be the golden rule

“ Of life, too much of one thing's good for nothing.” COLMAN.

EXCESS of every fort will be found upon due consideration to be wrong. Terence, in the paflage which I have choſen as a motto for my preſent paper, expreſſes this opinion in the moſt general and unlimited ſenſe. But, although all men be fully ſenſible that ſome kinds of exceſs are hurtful, I believe ſew have thought ſo extenſive ly upon the ſubjeſt, as to have a con viſion that there is no kind of exceſs which is not pernicious; and therefore it may not be an idle ſubjeſt of ſpecu lation to confider the juſtice of the ſen timent in a number of inſtances, vari ous enough to ſhow that it is univerſal ly applicable to human nature.

An exceſs in eating, called Glutto ny, and an exceſs in the uſe of fer mented liquors, called Drunkennefs, are ſo viſibly deſtructive in their effectſ, that though they were not vices by poſi tive prohibition, mankind could not but agree in condemning them; yet, however certainly intemperance pro duces a complication of deformity and diſeafes, the immediate pleafure of its gratification is ſo great, that we find a large proportion of mankind indulge in it. The favages devour with greedi neſs immoderate quantities of ſuch rude ſuſtenance as they have; and travellers uniformly concur in atteſting their violent fondneſs for ſtrong drink. In civilized nations, more elegant, but not leſs effectual methods of intem perance are praeſtised. Exceſs in eat ing is ſtimulated and increaſed by the infinite exertions of the art of cookery; and exceſs in drinking is promoted by the ſeducing taſe of rich wines, by the gaiety and ſplendour affociated with grand entertainments, and by mingling love and friendſhip, amiable and valu able qualities, with the heat and hurry of ſpirits arifing from intoxication. As I intend to treat of drinking in a future paper appropriated to that ſub jeſt alone, I muſt here pull the reins, and ſtop myſelf in a career of lucubra tion to which I am prone at the time; although perhaps both I and my read

ers may have reaſon to wifh I had not done ſo: for by checking a run down hill, I may have hard work of it in driving towards another quarter; and my readers, inſtead of being amu ſed with the celerity of my motion, may be wearied with my heavy drudg ing pace.

It muſt be acknowledged that exceſs is quite a relative term, applicable in different degrees to different individuals. Yet we all very well underſand the ne quid nimis, “the having or doing nothing in an extreme degree,” which my motto inculcates as an uſeful leſ ſon for paſſing life eafily and comfort ably; and the error of mankind is in imagining that they cannot poſſibly have too much of thofe things which are univerſally deſired; or at leaſt in individuals imagining their own parti cular capacities to be larger and more vigorous than they really are.

That too much wealth is an evil muſt appear a paradox; becauſe we do not find thofe, who are poſſeſed of the greatest opulence, complaining that they are too rich. They do not even go ſo far as the wretched man in the ſable, who formed a faint wifh to be eaſed of the burthen of life, but upon the approach of death, found that he was very willing to continue to bear the load which oppreſſed him; for they never utter a wifh to be rid of the em barraſſment of riches. Yet I am per fectly convinced that to have a great deal more wealth than a man can em ploy, is to be unhappy, though the poſſeſſor may not be ſenſible of the cauſe. It is like having much more body than one has ſpirit to animate, the ſuperfluous part of which is there fore a lifeleſs, unweildy, and irkſome mafs. I do not maintain that a man is the worſe for being plump, or, as the French ſay, en bon point. Let him be eafy in his circumſtances. Let him have peace and plenty, as the phraſe is; ſo full a ſhare of fortune, as never to be in want, or ſuffer the probable appre hensions of it.

I am

32

THOUGHTS ON SOLITUDE.

Jan.

terrogated several, and asked them what
was the reason of their being there;
but they all excused themselves with
different pretences, and endeavoured to
perfuade him that they were innocent;
there was but one amongst them, who
ingenuously confessed all the crimes he
had committed, and who owned he
had merited a much greater punishment

than that he suffered: "Drive away
that wicked man, says the Duke, or-
dering him to be set at liberty, for fear
he should corrupt all these good peo-
ple:" Thus rewarding by an elegant
pleaantry, the fincerity of this galley-
flave, and reproving the deceitfulness
of the others.

THOUGHTS ON SOLITUDE.

IT has been urged as an objection,
by some theifical writers, against
the existence of a God, that if there
had been such a perfect being, who
was completely happy in the enjoyment
of himself, he would never have been
at the trouble of creating a world.
Though this objection contributes not
to the support of Theism, the design of
the Deity in making the world not be-
ing to increase his happiness, but to
communicate it: yet it proceeds upon
this true supposition, that society is a
bleeding. This cannot be denied, for
it is not only in its own nature an in-
strument of happiness, but it is made
much more so, by the indigencies and
infirmities of men.

Man, of all other animals, is the
least qualified to live alone, having
more necessities to be relieved than any
other creature on earth. It is owing to
this imbecile, helpless state of human
nature, that mutual amity, and the re-
ciprocation of good offices in the com-
merce of life is secured. Common
neCESSITY obliges men to herd together
like mariners in a storm. In fact, we
are all embarked in one bottom, on the
extensive and perilous ocean of life,
and almost every instant stand in need of
each other's assistance, for the necessaries
and refreshments proper for such a
voyage. Thoſe, therefore, who fe-
clude themselves from society to lead
a recluse life, taking up their quarters
in convents, or in gloomy caverns,
amidst solitary defarts, under a pre-
tence of keeping themselves unspotted
from the world, or of devoting them-
felves wholly to acts of piety and reli-
gion; incapacitate themselves for do-
ing any good to, or receiving any bene-
fit from the world. This kind of life
is utterly inconsistent with the cir-
cumstances and situations of human
nature.

None but a Deity, self-sufficient and
independent, can be qualified for a state

of absolute and perfect solitude; as for
man, it is not good for him to be alone,
even in paradise.

But though society, as opposed to a
state of perpetual solitude, is an inef-
mable bleſſing, yet, considering how
little of it is truly valuable, it is cer-
tainly advisable for every man that
has good fenſe enough to enjoy his own
thoughts, frequently to make them his
companions; and we may be allowed to
be as retired as we please, to commu-
nicate with the world as little as po-
fible, if we take care to perform the
common offices of humanity to each
other, and to do as much good as po-
fible, when called upon to take a share in
the duties of citizens of the ſtate. Soli-
tude and society ought to claim an al-
ternate share of our affections: though
the largest may be given with propriety
to the former, yet the latter should re-
mind us, that we live not for ourselves
alone.

The fatigaſtion and advantages to
be derived from Solitude, when it only
fequeſters us for a time from ſociety,
transcend those of a continued, unin-
terrupted popular life; for whoever
maturely reflects on the great variety of
men's humours, the peevishneſs of ſome,
the pride and conceit of others, and the
impertinence of the major part of man-
kind: or on the unreasonable terms of
affociation, which many impoſe on
those who partake of their company;
fuch as obliging them to drink or game
to expeſs, with a thouſand other griev-
vances with which the folly, caprice,
and obſtinacy of men have confpired to
burthen ſociety; will find, taking one
thing with another, as much mortifica-
tion and diſguſt, in what is called good
fellowship, as pleafure and entertain-
ment. A man who is fond of ſolitude,
and does not peevishly or enthufiſtual-
ly give himself entirely up to it, has
time to pity, and to resolve to avoid the
follics of tumultuous ſcenes of unmean-

ing

1778.

THE BRITISH THEATRE.

57

the barbarous exploits of the military chiefs of those days, such as the Baron des Adrets, whose atrocious actions are rather those of an American savage than of an European warrior.

The whole fyle of politicks was dolas an virtus, force or artifice; witneſs the maſlacre of St. Bartholomew, and the affaffination of the Guíſes, and of the two Henrys. But here I

muſt break off that I may not tire your readers with too much at a time. The threadof an novel may be given in ſkaines; but a needleful at a time is as much on ſubjects of literature, and criticism, as can be worked up in a ſingle letter— therefore till a fit opportunity occurs to write to you again, adieu!

Verſailles, ſan.

27, 1778.

THE ENGLISHMAN.

## THE BRITISH THEATRE.

Wednesday, Feb. 4.

THIS evening a new muſical burletta was performed at Covent-Garden Theatre, for the firſt time, called POOR VULCAN.

Dramatis Perſonæ.

Vulcan, Crump, Mr. Quick.
Jupiter, Stud, Mr. Mattocks.
Apollo, Wifeman, Mr. Robſon.
Mars, Pike, Mr. Reinhold.
Bacchus, Gauge, Mr. Battifhill.
Adonis, Joe, Mr. Leoni.
Mercury, Drub, Mr. Mahon.
Venus, Maudlin, Mifs. Brown.
Grace, —— Mifs Dayes.

### FABLE.

Vulcan, harrassed with the intrigues of his wife Venus, petitions Jupiter to let him descend to the earth, in hopes of enjoying peace in future. Jove affenting to his prayers, Vulcan, Venus, an attendant Grace, and the Cyclops take their places in a ſtage cloud, and arrive at the terreftrial abodes, where Vulcan opens a blacksmith's ſhop by the name of Crump, and Venus keeps an ale-houſe by the name of Maudlin. The celeſtials, talking this droll matter over a bowl, propoſe defcending to take a peep at them in diſguife; which being affented to, Jupiter affumes the character of a country ſquire; Mercury a drummer; Mars that of a recruiting ſerjeant; while Bacchus transforms himſelf into an excifeman—and thus down they go. On their arrival, they put up at Mrs. Maudlin's houſe, who is enamoured with Adonis, under the diſguife of Joe the ſhepherd. Prefed, however, by the ſollicitations of the ſerjeant, ſquire, &c. the promifes to make them all happy that evening, by fealing to their ſeveral chambers;

LOND. MAG. Feb. 1778.

but in the mean time the orders matters ſo as to elope with Adonis. Crump hearing of it, reconciles himſelf to his fate, on the proposal of the Grace to ſupply her miſtrefſs's place; who tells him,

"When madam ſuch a trick has play'd,
The hufband always takes the maid!"

But at this inſtant, a clap of thunder is heard; the ſcene changes, and the whole celeſtial ſ Assembly, with Venus at their head, appears before them. Jupiter, after laughing at Vulcan for his continual jealouſy, tells him,

"This little frolick was deſign'd
A wholesome leſſon for mankind."

And the piece concludes with a ſinale, of which the following is the burden and chorus:

"Then be content, ye mortal race,
Nor wifh to change, nor ſates replace;
You muſt of good and ill have share,
And nature's nature every where."

The burletta is evidently an imita-
tion of Mr. O'Hara's comic ſtyle, and
proves no diſgrace to that ſpecies of
the burleſque. Though there is no
great variety of buſineſs, nor those
ſtriking ſituations which might have
been expeſted from the well-known
ſtory on which the piece is founded,
yet there is a vein of humour and
ſpreightlineſs, running through the
whole, that cannot fail to make it a
very favourite entertainment with the
town. The muſick, principally the
compoſition of Mr. Dibdin, does him
great credit; he has been no leſs happy
in his recitative accompaniments, than
in the airs, which were generally and
defervedly admired.

[For the favourite airs fee our Poetic ſeffays.]

I

THE

318

["THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.", "59", "1778.", "feems to have been. Like one who\ndefines the flingings of thousands of\ninfects but has not known the genning\nof a wolf, or other such fierce animal,\nhe brings together with truth and via-", "doubt that Hypochondria, as well as\ndoubt that Hypochondria

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK. N. V.

Feb.

58

1778. THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

59

burning rouſes activity to extinguish it; ſuch should be the conſequence upon the firſt rife of gloomy vapour in the mind. There is not the leaſt doubt that Hypochondria, as well as fire, may be checked, if diligence, ſuſciently early and ſuſciently vigorous, be uſed. Indeed, in ſome very particular inſtances, the ſmoke and the melancholy are of ſuch force as at once to incapacitate. But when a man cannot overcome them by himſelf, he muſt call in the aid of firemen or friends. Chearful companions, by playing their pleafantry upon the mind, will ſoon diffipate the dreary clouds. Senſible, however, of human imperfection, I muſt acknowledge that as there are fires in the univerſe which all the power of the human race cannot extinguish, ſo there are excejſive degrees of melancholy, which defy all our endeavours to remedy them, and which can be cured only by divine interpoſiion. But as we ſhould be careful not to think with the ſluggard, that " there is a lion in the street;" we ſhould equally guard againſt imagining that there is a volcano within us, a melancholy ſo dreadful that we can do nothing in oppoſition to it. We ſhould be particularly careful againſt reſigning ourſelves to the mental diſtemper, when it vents itſelf in immoral aſts, which a notion of our being driven about as the Demoniacs were, makes us too ready to excufe, and to deaden the voice of conscience upbraiding our transgressions. The *Abbé Le Blanc*, in his Letters on the English Nation, when treating of Hypochondria or vapours, makes a remark to this purpofe with much juſtice. He ſays, that people too often aſcribe to diſeafe what is in reality vice.

Hypochondria affects us in an infinite variety of ways; for a disordered imagination teems with a boundleſs multiplicity of evils; and the diforders of the body, which I believe always attend the direful diſeafe, make ſuch diverſities of combination, that it is ſcarcely possible to ſpecify all the ſufferings of a Hypochondriack.

Mr. Green, in his poem entitled *The Spleen*, of which I have heard Mr. Robert Doddley hooſt as a capital piece of the preſent age preſerved in his collection, has enumerated exceedingly well the effects of Hypochondria upon a mind of that light ſtructure which his

feems to have been. Like one who describes the ſtingings of thouſands of inſects but has not known the gnawings of a wolf, or other ſuch fierce animal, he brings together with truth and vivacity the minute fretful pains which are generally ſuffered by Hypochondriacks; but he has not had mind enough to be capable of being afflicted by its more horrible torments. Yet it muſt be allowed that The Spleen is both an elegant and a moſt uſeful didactic poem, as it not only points out in a very lively manner the ordinary effects of the diſeafe, but alſo ſuggeſts excellent methods of cure, ſo ſm artly, and at the fame time ſo pleasingly, that the patients cannot fail to take them.

Dr. Armstrong, in his Art of Preserving Health, has thought more deeply upon the ſubject,

"—the dim-ey'd fiend,
Sour Melancholy, night and day provokes
Her own eternal wound. The ſun grows pale;
A mournful visionary light o'er spreads
The chearful face of nature: earth becomes
A dreary defart, and heaven frowns above.
Then various ſhapes of curſt illuſion ſe
Whate'er the wretched fears, creating fear
Forms out of nothing; and with monsters
teems
Unknown in hell. The proſtrate ſoul beneath
A load of huge imagination heaves;
And all the horrors that the guilty feel,
With anxious flutterings wake the guiltlesſ
breast."

Such of my readers as have groaned under " a load of huge imagination," as I have done, will admire the exprefſion very much.

More poetically ſtill is Hypochondria deſcribed by Thomſon in his Caſtle of Indolence,

" And moping here did Hypochondria fit,
Mother of Spleen in robes of various die,
Who vexed was full oft with ugly fit,
And ſome her frantick deem'd, and ſome her
deem'd a wit,
A lady proud ſhe was, of ancient blood,
Yet oft her fear her pride made crouchen low,
She felt or fancy'd, in her fluttering mood,
All the diſeafe that the iſpitals know,
And fought all phyſick which the ſiops beſtow,
And ſtill new leaches and new drugs would try,
Her humour ever wavering to and fro,
For ſometimes ſhe would laugh and ſometimes
cry,
[not why."
Then ſudden waxed wrath, and all ſhe knew

Armstrong's deſcription refers primarily to the mind, "the reſtleſs mind," which, he well ſays, " 'tis the great art of life to manage well." Thomſon's refers

60

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

Feb.

refers primarily to the body, to that
relaxation of the system which indolence
produces, and of which Hypochondria
is one of the wretched consequences.
The struggle in the breast of a Hypo-
chondriack between pride and fear, is
finely imagined by Thomson; and it
must be remarked that these two qualities
are also introduced by Armstrong into
his account of melancholy. For after
the passage which I have quoted above,
he says,

"Such phantoms Pride in solitary scenes,
Or Fear on delicate self-love creates."

Perhaps there is a distinction between
Melancholy and Hypochondria, the first
gravely diurnal as in Armstrong, the
other fantastically wretched as in Thom-
son. In my opinion, however, they
are only different shades of the same di-
feafe; for I know that what each of
these poets has so strongly painted has
been felt by the same person in the gra-
dations of his continued diſtrefs.

Fielding, though famed for humour
and practical knowledge of life in its
most active ſcene, and its most convivial
gaiety, must have himself felt the di-
ſtrefes of Hypochondria, he describes it
so well, blending its corporeal and men-
tal ills.

He makes Amelia's husband say of
her, "these fatigues, added to the
uneafines of her mind, overpowered
her weak ſpirits, and threw her into

one of the worst disorders that can pof-
sibly attend a woman; a disorder very
common among the ladies; and our
physicians have not agreed upon its
name; some call it the fever on the
spirits, some a nervous fever, some
the vapours, and some the hypercricks."
And when Mif's Matthews breaks in,
"O! say no more, I pity you! I pity
you from my foul! A man had better
be plagued with all the curfes of Egypt
than with a vaperiſh wife;" the cap-
tain feelingly and gravely checks her
raillery, and calls Hypochondria a di-
ſtemper, the horrors of which are
scarce to be imagined. It is indeed a
fort of complication of all diſeaſes to-
gether, with almost madneſs added to
them.

At the time when I first happened to
read this paſſage I was very feverely af-
flicted with Hypochondria; and I well
remember that by comparing it with
my immediate ſufferings, I was ſtruck
with the juitneſs of the representation.
In my next paper I shall preſent my
readers with ſome of my own particu-
lar obſervations of the effects of Hy-
pochondria, which being the reſult of
intense ſtudy of the dire diſeaſe forced
upon me by ſad experience, they will
perhaps come more home to their boſoms,
than the obſervations of ſuperior wri-
ters.

MATHEMATICAL CORRESPONDENCE.

Answers to the Questions in our Magazine for December laſt.

[115.] QUESTION I. Answered by Mr. John Jackson.

By Malcolm's method the equated time is seven years, which is not true, for
let a, b, c, = 1st, 2d, and 3d payments; t = time between the 1st and 2d
payments, and u = time between the 2d and 3d, t + u = equated time required,
and r = interest of 1l. for 1 year; then art + arx will be = interest of the
1st, and brx = interest of the 2d payment; also $\frac{cru - crx}{1 + ru - rx}$ = discount of
the laſt payment at the equated time, which interest and discount is equal;
therefore, by substituting e for a + b, and f for 1 + ru, at + ex =
$\frac{cu - cx}{f - rx}$; also substituting g for c + ef - art, and h for atf - cu, x =
$\frac{g + \sqrt{g^2 + 4ex}}{2rx}$; and the equated time 7.028225 years.

The new rule given in the Ladies and Gentlemen's Diary for the year 1777, by Reuben Burrows, is equally erroneous with Malcolm's; notwithstanding the authour has invidiously confured the ingenious Professor Hutton for preferring Malcolm's method to some others.

4

The

THE FALSE PRUDE.

April

174

companions, she did not fail to criticise their conduct with the most bitter severity. But, nevertheless, Camilla was not entirely free from those failings she so loudly exclaimed again; in others; for she secretly fished for a gentleman who was also an attendant upon her royal mitrefs. After having suffered a year of constraint and misery, by endeavouring to conceal the flame that devoured her, she at length was so overcome, that she could fuppport it no longer, and resolved to discloſe her paffion, but, with such caution and mystery, that heaven alone should only be witneſs to her weakneſs. This reſolution was no sooner taken than she fought for an opportunity of putting it in practice. Having one day retired into her chamber, she perceived the object of her paffion walking on the terrafs alone. The night was advancing apace, of which she took advantage, and immediately calling one of the little pages to her, ordered him to go and acquaint that gentleman that a friend of his waited for him in the gallery leading to the garden. Whilſt the page was gone to execute this commission, she put on her mask and capote, and walked in the gallery, impatiently waiting his arrival, who no sooner appeared, than she threw herſelf eagerly about his neck, and, in as low a voice as she was able, addreſſed him in the following terms: "Tis a long time, my dear Sir, since I loved you, and have fought for an opportunity of difcloſing the extreme paffion I feel for you; but fearing the loſs of my honour, I have endeavoured all in my power to conquer it; but, alas! without effect; for, in ſpite of all my efforts, I am become ſuch a prey to love, that it has emboldened me to discover my heart to you; and as your worth and amiable qualities are well known to me, I declare to you, if you will promiſe to love me, and never discloſe it to any one, nor endeavour to find out who I am, I will, during my whole life, be your beſt and faithful friend; but I will ſooner die than tell you who I am, further than that I poffeſs rank, beauty, and riches." The gentleman promiſed to comply, hard as the conditions appeared to him. The preliminaries being fettled, the fair and coy Camilla did not cruple to indulge in all the extasy of a paffion she had for

fo long a time ſtrove to repreſs. " Do not fail (said she to her lover on quitting him) coming every evening on the terrafs, and as constantly the fame favours will be granted you." Each kept their word with great punc[tuality, and the intrigue continued for a long time without the Chevalier being able to find out the name or quality of his mitrefs; at length however he was determined to be kept no longer ignorant to whom he owed his happineſs; and one evening, embracing her in his arms, he made a mark on her ſhoulder with a crayon, without her perceiving it, and following the train of ladies into the princeſs apartment, what was his affonisſment when he found that Camilla, to whom no man dared to lift up his eyes, was the fair incognito! his conqueſt not only greatly amazed him, but moſt highly flattered his vanity; mean while, the lovers continued to meet with the fame mystery and ſecrety as ufual. But one day, as the Chevalier perceiv[ed Camille walking alone in the garden, he immediately joined her, and began with declaring his paffion for her, in the moſt reſpectful terms, rather like a lover who had but little to hope, than one who had nothing more to aſk. " It is a long time, Madam (said he) ſince I loved you, but durſt not venture to tell you so." "How durſt you now, Sir, (said Camillia with fury in her eyes) ven[ture to talk to me in such language? Are you ignorant that Camilla loves not, nor ever will?" "You are not (replied the Chevalier) always so ſevere and cruel; there have been ſome mo[ments in which your careſſes have re[compenſed me for the rigour with which you treat me to day." He had no ſooner ſpoken these laſt words, than Camilla fell into a moſt ouſtra[geous paffion; nothing he could ſay would appeaſe her; but still he per[ſiſted, and pufhed his point ſo far, (hoping to bring her to be more reaſon[able) that he even mentioned the place of their rendezvous, and ſhewed her the mark of the crayon, which he had made uſe of for the purpose of knowing the object of his careſſes. Camilla, upon this declaration, finding she was diſcovered, was not able to contain her reſentment, but flew with rage to the apartment of the princeſs, and

1778.

SUPPLIES FOR 1778.

315

1777.

ORDNANCE.

Dec. 4.

Ordinaries in 1778 382,816 2 8

Extraordinaries in 1777 300,483 13 10

unprovided for

683,299 16 6

1778.

MISCELLANEOUS SERVICES.

Feb. 10.

Extra expences in cold coin 105,227 8 3

March 26.

Final compensation to Mr.

Edward Moore for compiling General Index to the Journals of the House of Commons, in 13 years

6,400 0 0

Ditto to Mr. Foster, in eight years

3,000 0 0

Ditto to Dr. Roger Flexman, in nine years

3,000 0 0

Part compensation to Mr.

Cunningham, in nine years

500 0 0

Roads and bridges in Scotland 6,998 12 5

April 9.

CIVIL ESTABLISHMENTS, viz.

St. John's - 3,200 0 0
Georgia - 2,866 0 0
Nova Scotia - 4,701 10 0
Eaft Florida - 4,950 0 0
West Florida - 4,900 0 0
(in Africa) Senegambia - 5,550 0 0

26,167 10 0

General surveys in North America

2,372 0 0

Commons addressees

19,100 0 0

Expences of convicts on the River Thames

9,075 3 11

Towards relief of American civil officers

56,680 2 6

African forts and settlements

13,000 0 0

251,520 17 3

DEFICIENCIES.

April 9.

Three and a half per cents. 43,621 10 0

Grants, 1777 38,493 2 7½
Land and malt (as last seffions) 450,000 0 0

532,114 13 4¾

April 30.

Charge of embodyed militia, from 26 March to 24 Dec. 1778

402,622 9 0

Additional eloathing of ditto

45,608 2 0

448,230 11 0

Dec. 4. Exchequer bills discharged
1778. Vote of credit discharged

11,327,938 11 4¾

1,500,000 0 0

1,000,000 0 0

March 10. Lottery prizes discharged

480,000 0 0

Excefs of ways and means

14,307,938 11 4¾

65,652 10 1½

14,373,591 1 6¼

S s 2

325

318

ON MODERN MARRIAGES.

July

the appearance of similarity or connection in a numerous variety of particulars. There are some thoughts in it, however, that are agreeably juft, especially the conducting one which refers to the rational believer of a future state.

It is with great satisfaction that I think of a valuable publication since this Eſtay was compoſed, I mean Dr. Beattie's book on the Nature and Immutability of Truth, in oppofition to Sophiftry and Scepticism.

TO THE EDITOR OF THE LONDON MAGAZINE.

SIR,

THE gentleman who defires an explanation of the motto on the bowl of an ornamented tobacco-pipe and which you have engraved, October 1777, p. 513, will be better able to judge how far it may be deferving of a place in Mr. Lever's admirable museum, when he is told that the language is Ruffian, and would ſtand thus in our characters :

Seella Proboodit

Praveda i veara

Power increafes (perh. the fame as is increafed) by Truth and Religion.

This little uncertainty is occasioned by the imperfect representation, as usual

in unknown languages, and my having left my country when very young, nearly thirty years ago. What the Rhinoceros means, or whether ſuch ſhowy pipes are common, is more than I can tell. Perhaps Free Mafons here might think proper to give an air of dignity and morality even to a tobacco-pipe, for want of a more proper object.

I am, Sir, your's,

MICHAEL GOLLISHOFF,

Hafelbeech, Northamptonſbire,
June 5, 1778.

P. S. The ſtroke over the three first words is intended only to ſhow the letters below to be single ſyllables.

ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS,

NUMBER III.

ON MODERN MARRIAGES.

Sanefius his animal, mentifque capacius alta,
Deerat adhuc & quod dominari in cœtera poſset.
Natus homo eſt.

Ov. M. 1. 77.

THE great Author of human nature created man with every advantage neceſsary to his ſituation, and endowed him with faculties that render him ſuperior to the reſt of the creation; nor did the hand of Providence reſt here, but (to complete his happineſs) beſtowed a companion to participate in all his pleafures, all his forrows; and, to refrain his headſtrong paſſions within proper limits, inſtituted the ſacred rights of marriage, a deſign which nothing leſs than the infinite wifdom of Divine Providence could have formed. That this ſacred inſtitution is abufed, deſaſed, and proſtituted to the vileſt purposes, is a truth too ſelf-evident to bear a contradiſtion. To attempt a general reformation, is a taſk which I believe no one would be hardy enough to take in hand; my preſent deſign is to make ſome general remarks, and to introduce living characters by way of illustration. To aim at perſection in the married

state, is certainly beyond the reach of human nature; and in this point I believe people of the moſt ſanguine expectations have found themſelves the moſt deceived. The natural ardour and paſſion ſo common to a young couple before marriage, is too often extinguſhed by enjoyment; their mutual love, which before ſeemed ſo violent, inſenſibly diminifhes, and at laſt turns to a total diſregard and averſion.

Charles F— was the eldest son of an eminent and wealthy clergyman, in the county of ——, remarkable for his piety and humanity. At twelve years of age our hero was ſent to an eminent grammar-school in the neigbouredhood, where, in the course of five years, he made a tolerable proficiency, and being deſigned for the pulpit, it was now judged neceſſary to remove him to the University, to complete his education. He was a youth of a lively diſposition, poſſeſed of ſtrong paſſions,

was

12

THE
LONDON MAGAZINE,
FOR SEPTEMBER, 1778.

IRISH ANTIQUITIES DESCRIBED.

(With an elegant illustrative Plate.)

THE curious antiquities
presented to our readers
for their speculation and
amusement, have been
subject of admiration
for every ingenious tra-
veller who has visited
Ireland; and frequent mention
has been made of them by learned
antiqua-
rians and other writers; we have there-
fore thought proper to select them from
different works, and to open to them
another repository, as they merit not
only to be preserved, but to be better
known.

The first figure on the plate repre-
sents one of the antique round towers,
not to be met with in any other country
of Europe, except in Scotland, wherethere
are only two of inferior structure and di-
menstions. These buildings are numerous
in Ireland; but the most remarkable is
the tower of Kildare: it is built of
stone and mortar; is upwards of 130
feet high; the circumference at the base
is about 45, and about 10 feet in the
clear within; but it grows narrower by
degrees as you advance towards the
summit, near which there are four win-
dows, one to each of the cardinal
points, and the whole is crowned with
a balcony, or parapet, capable of hold-
ing only one person to stand conveni-
ently in an upright pofture, the parapet
being breast high. These edifices must
have been erected before the conquest
of Ireland by the English, for mention
is made of them by Giraldus Cambren-
fis, Bishop of St. David's, Secretary to
Henry II. and an old British hiftorian,
as one of the curiosities of Ireland. He
calls them, turres eccleſiálicas, quæ
more patrio arſtæ funt nec non et rotunda.
But the learned are by no means agreed
concerning the particular use to which
LOND. MAG. Sept. 1778.

* Dr. Watkinson, in his Survey of the South of Ireland. See our Review of new books for July, p. 326.

they were applied. A modern traveller
and writer * affents to the opinion that
they were belfries, and the reafons he
affigns for this poſiulatum are so perti-
nent, that we have taken the liberty to
transcribe them. " The very name of
them in Irifh, Cloghahd, imports a ſteeple
with a bell, and I am inclined to this
opinion from this and the following
considerations: over great part of the
Eaſt, they have tall round ſteeples,
called Minorets, with balconies at top,
whence a perſon calls the people to pub-
lick worthip at ſtated hours. As the
Irifh had their arts from Phœnicia, we
may fairly ſuppofe, that from thence
also came the model of theſe towers,
which ſerved as the Minorets of the eaſt
do at preſent, till bells came into uſe."
However we muſt not omit the pre-
vailing opinion, which is, that they are
Anchorite pillars, upon which the
Monks uſed to do pennance in an ereſt
poſture on the balconies; one of them
from the neighbouring abbey, or con-
vent, being ſeleſt for that purpofe, in
order to preſerve the appearance of ex-
traordinary ſanctity, and to augment
the fame of the Monks.

The ſecond figure delineates the ru-
ins of a convent of nuns of the order
of St. Brigid, who according to Giral-
dus, makes Kildare illuſtrious by her
unextinguifhable fires, the afhes of
which have never increaſed. Brigid is
the virgin ſaint of the land, and, after
the Bleſſed Virgin and St. Patrick, is
held in the higheſt veneration by the
Irifh Roman Catholicks. She was wor-
ſhipped like Vesta, with unextinguifhed
fires kept burning by the nuns in the
convent, which was therefore called the
fire-house.

The third figure represents a Tumu-
lus near Tipperary, thus deſcribed by
Dr
3D2

Dr

390

LIFE OF FRANCIS I.

Sept.

the country, take it into their heads for
a frolick to turn beggars for a little,
and infest that their lovers shall accom-
pany them. The gentlemen are not a
little surprised; but finding them de-
termined in their purpose, they give
begging a very pretty turn in several
allusions to themselves.

"Beggars! are we not so already?"

### *Tune, the Spinning Wheel.*

We beg, but in a higher strain
Than fordid flaves, who beg for gain.
No paltry gold nor gems we want;
We beg—what you alone can grant.
No lofty titles, no renown,
But something greater than a crown
We beg not wealth or liberty—
We beg your humble flaves to be.
We beg your snowy hands to kifs,
Or lips, if you'd vouchsafe the blifs.
And if our faithful vows can move
(What Gods might envy us!) your love;
The boon we beg if you deny,
Our fate's decreed, we pine and die,
For life we beg, for life implore—
The poorest wretch can beg no more.

This delicate and earnest submission
to two charming young ladies is ex-\ceedingly beautiful, and I own has al-
ways pleased me as much as any
love-addrefs that I have ever read.
But fetting afide that peculiar privilege
which Love has obtained, how un-
manly is the conduct of the two gentle-
men, who ought certainly to be looked
upon as a couple of pitiful fellows!
Undoubtedly had any thing else but the
favour of the ladies been the object of
their anxiety, they must have appeared

ERRATA in The Hypochondriack, No.

to us in a very unfavourable light. Some
nice spirits amongst us were offended
even at the metaphorical expression in
the late letter of a gallant, though un-
fortunate general officer, who "threw
himself at his majesty's feet for actual
employment." Yet how much nobler
an object is it to obtain the command
of an army than the most delicious
kindreds of any beauty!

This singular exception from the
usual effects of the degradation of man
from the firmends which is the boat of
his sex, is not natural; for we find in
the state of society most approaching to
nature, that is to say, in the savage
state, that the male maintains an unre-
mitting superiority over the female sex.
Its origin, therefore, must be referred
to that strange fyftem of manners called
Chivalry, the offspring of wild Gothick
imagination, and of which the amazing
prevalence must ever be held as one of
the most astonishing facts in the history
of human nature. By that fyftem,
Love was fancifully made a species of
devotion, and the woman who was the
object of it, a divinity. The utmost
proftration, therefore, was understood
to have nothing more of means in it
than the profound humility of religious
adoration. And now, though the fyft-
tem be worn away in the progress of
time, a certain degree of its delusion
and mode of expression remains, as we
find the Heathen Gods and Goddeffes
introduced into our poems, though we
have no belief in the Grecian or Roman
Mythology.

XI. p. 364, col. 1, l. 44, for efforts read

ghofts; p. 364, col. 2, l. 31, forispafm read spark.

## SELECT LIVES AND MEMOIRS.

*(Continued from p. 197.)*

### THE LIFE OF FRANCIS I. KING OF FRANCE.

THE correspondent who has favoured
us with this branch of entertain-
ment from the beginning of the year,
desires we would confider the life he now
prefents to our readers as peculiarly a-
dapted to the prefent times, when in-
vasions from France are hourly founded
in our ears, and all Britain seems to be
up in arms ready to take the field againft
a perfidious, degenerate people, whose
monarchs once fought and bled for the
liberties of Europe, and nobly contended
for the faith of treaties. The striking

contrast between those days and the pre-
sent may serve to dispel our idle fears,
by pointing out what kind of characters
must fill a throne, and what abilities the
ministers and generals must poffeſs, of
that monarch, who attempts to reduce
a warlike nation, his rivals in arms, in
commerce, and power, or to controul
and check the operation of its internal
policy.

FRANÇOIS or FRANCIS I. king of
France, fignamed the Father of Litera-
ture, becaufe a taſte for polite learning

was

332

1778.

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

457

obliged to her for adding much worth to it, and he hoped she would always meet grateful returns. She received his compliments with a model but a silent grace, and expressed her joy in seeing him there, which her husband feconded. They could not prevail on him to stay dinner, for he said his friends would wait for him, a number of them being engaged to dine with him at Mr. Harmel's; he took his leave for the present, and to their great disappointment drove away; but said he would visit his father again that afternoon towards evening. When he

was gone, Mrs. Mafham and Mr. John Trenchard observed, there was aiffinefs in his behaviour to them, and a look that indicated some harboured ren sentiment, which grieved them. On this, Mrs. Trenchard said she thought they had better open themselves freely, and come to an explanation next time he came, and she did not doubt they would all find they had been miftaken in each other; whereas if they kept a distance because he did, the wound would never be closed.

(To be continued.)

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK. N. XIII.

Durius in terris nihil eſt quod vivat amante;
Nec, modo ſi ſapias, quod minus eſse velis.

Of all the woes on human kind that wait,
None is more direful than the Lover's state.

Or rack'd with anguifh, or with pleafure cloy'd,
He fure is wifefl who can beſt avoid.

PROPERTIUS.

W
ERE there nothing worſe in the effects of Love than that hu- miliation of which I have treated, it could not juſtly be reckoned one of the chief caufes of human calamity. The dignity of man is an enobling thought; but to have that dignity leſſened, is not, poſitively ſpeaking, an exquifite evil. And when we take under our view, that the humiliation of a lover is not debaſed by being reckoned mean and diſgraceful, the moſt ſubmissive admirer is not an object of ſuch pity as we feel for the diſtreſſed.

But, whoever has experienced the
paffion of love in a ſtrong degree, will
acknowledge that he has felt ſenſations
infinitely worſe than mere humiliation,
even though pride has struggled againſt
it. For, Love immediately or conſe-
quentially affects the mind with every
painful feeling of which it is ſuſcep-
tible.

As there is a degree of heat which
produces only an agreeable warmth,
and approaches not in its effects to the
torments of burning, so we all know
that there is a degree of Love so gentle
as to be truely pleafing, and far diſtant
from the excruciating gloom of violent
paffion. This ſpecies of Love we muſt
allow to be the moſt general, and it is
this which is meant in the greatest
number of pretty little ſongs, and
pieces of pafforal poetry, and is re-
prefented emblematically by doves

LOND. MAG. Oct. 1778.

billing and cooing, Cupids with ſe-
toons of flowers, and many other gay
devices.

This, however, when compared with
the paffion of Love in its full force, is
like infancy compared with manhood,
or ſhrubbery with the oak; and indeed
this laſt comparison has been often very
properly made, to conſole the thofe of
humble ſtations in life with the bleſ-
ſing of ſecurity, by reminding them
that the lowly ſhrub remains in ſafetี้,
while the oak, being expofed by its
loftineſs, is rent by the ſtorm.

It is the violent paffion of Love
which is the ſubject of my lucubra-
tions. For the truth is, that a Hypo-
chondriack rarely knows a milder
ſpecies. I am aware of the juſtneſs of
a remark which a friend, who himſelf
uſed to be afflietd with Hypochondria,
once made to me when we were ſaun-
tering in rather a dreary frame, on a
winter day in the Mall at Utrecht :
"A man, ſaid he, whose mind is
clouded with melancholy, when he
falls in Love, is apt to aſcribe to that
paffion, a wretchedneſs which he would
have ſuffered without it, and which is
inherent in his temper at the time." I
believe this imputation of miſery is
often true in a great variety of in-
flances, as in politicks, nay in reli-
gion itſelf; so that a great deal of
the grumbling againſt men in power, and
of the moroſe zeal againſt the opinions

3 N

and

333

458

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

Oct.

and practices of those who differ from us, is only Hypochondria, fixing itself upon external objects, as smok will rest upon any objects within its reach, and render them black and detrimental. Fielding makes one of the ludicrous perfonages of his Tragedy of Tragedies, the Life and Death of Tom Thumb the Great, exclaim :

"This surely must be Love, or else the wind chock." {A Hypochondriack may sometimes very reasonably affect himself, if the uneafinefs which he feels be Love, or the Spleen ?

One of the most delicate and jufted descriptions of some of the symptoms of serious Love is Lord Lyttelton's little song, the burthen of which is, "Tell me, my heart, if this be Love." I once thought of inferting it in this paper, and of attempting a commentary on it. But upon a more close consideration, I was convinced that it was not in my power to add any thing to the reputation of what is so universally known and admired.

If we consider the principle of utility when speculating on the paffion of Love, we shall be at a loss what conclusion to draw from the observations which we make. Marriage is unquestionably the great fupport of civil society; and in so far as Love conduces to the advancement of that state, it is beneficial. But although Love in a calm and moderate degree is the safe conveyance to the matrimonial harbour, a violent paffion, even when it brings us to what we vehemently defire to attain, most commonly produces fatal effects, as a ship driven rapidly upon shore by a tempeft is затtered to pieces, or otherwife damaged. Besides, we must keep in mind that as a storm sometimes drives ships from their moorings into the ocean, so Love not unfrequently loofens the conjugal anchors, and fets its victims adrift upon the waves of licentiouſneſs.

Could marriage be entered upon with the fame cool and prudent forethought with which people enter upon other contracts; as for instance, permanent copartneries in trade, it may be thought that there would be fewer disappointments in that state, and that the advantages which the parties propofe to themſelves would be more constant and durable. But fuch is the constitution of our natures, that the advan-

tages of the conjugal copartnery confift in the gratification of the paffion of Love; at least these are the advantages which affect the imagination fo strongly, as to induce people to engage themſelves in an indifoluble contract, attended with many certain inconveniencies, and at the risk of many more. Without Love therefore, there would be very few marriages; fince it is but a small proportion of mankind who have wealth enough to enable them to marry principally with a view to join ftocks, fo as to have the comforts and elegancies of life more at command by an union of their different powers.

Whatever refpect I have for the inſtitution of marriage, and however much I am convinced that it upon the whole produces rational happineſs, I cannot but be of opinion that the paffion of Love has been improperly feign'd as continuing long after the conjugal knot has been tied. Milton, who ſhould be allowed to be a very competent judge of the felicity of marriage, as he engaged himſelf no leſs than three times in that state, has given us a moſt enchanting picture of wedded Love, and repréſented the consumable bed in all the alluring description of Arabian fancy.

Here Love his golden shafts employs—here lights

His conſtant lamp, and waves his purple wings,
Reigns here and revels, —

Yet there is no doubt that experience affords sufficient conviction that all the rapture, when rapture has been felt, is very tranſient. I do not limit its exilence to any precife portion of time, either with the French poet que le jour du mariage fut le tombeau de l'amour, that the day of marriage was the tomb of Love; or with the proverbial exprefſion, that it lasts no longer than the honey moon. But it is surely very short.

That there should be Love at first between those who are to be united for ever by marriage, ſeems very neceſſary. A warmth of paffion being as reſpectiue for coaleſcence of minds, as heat for the coheſion of metals. But they are ill prepared for happineſs, who delude themſelves with hopes that what is the compound effect of diſtance, reſtraint, and novelty, ſhould subſift in intimacy, freedom, and famenefs. It is to those who indulge ſuch unreasonable

334

460

Oa.

ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. N. V.
ON MODERN MARRIAGES.

(Continued from p. 319.)

Nec Veneris pharetris macer eſt, aut lampade ſervet:
Inde faces ardent veniunt a dote ſagittæ.

JUV. S. VI. 137.

— Quid non mortalia pœtora cogis,
Auri facra fames.

VIRG. Æ. III. 56.

WHEN mercenary views tempt a
miftaken couple to join their
hands in the sacred bonds of wedlock,
and every consideration is abſorbed in
that avaricious principle, who would
not pronounce their future life a com-
pound of every thing dull, difficult,
inſipid, and disagreeable? Yet how
many, how frequent are the examples
that tend to prove this aſſertion? The
misfortunes and ill conſequences inevi-
tably attendant on ſuch connexions,
feldom warn thofe who have not yet felt
the ſtroke of the rod, to evade its force,
or keep beyond its reach; but (as the
benighted traveller, tempted by the
light of a diſtant village, advances to
the top of a precipice) we rufh heedleſs
on, nor think of the danger that awaits
us till too late.—Marriages of this
kind, which have with great justice
been ſtyled “Smithfield bargains,” too
often originate in the miftaken preju-
dice of avaricious parents or guardians,
who center all their wiſhes in a corre-
ſponding eſtate, or a dignified title; but
that parent who can deliver an innocent
daughter into the poffeſſion of ſome
frozen dotard, the darkneſs and de-
formity of whole ſoul is, if poffible,
more confpicuous than that of his bo-
dy; or chain an unhappy inexperi-
enced ſon to ſome female monster, who,
under the ſpecious cloak of birth and
fortune, conceals every vice that diſ-
graces human nature; ſuch a parent, I
lay, is certainly guilty of the bafeſt
crimes, and reſponſible for the misfor-
tunes and evils that befall the unhappy
victims of his avaricious cruelty.

Mifs J—, the only daughter of
— J—, Eſq. had long liffened
to the addreſſes of Mr. Harrington with
peculiar pleafure, a pleafure arifing from
the reflection that his pretenſions were
founded on honour and integrity, and
that his heart was a ſtranger to falſe-
hood, and to every action beneath the
dignity of a man. Fortune, indeed,

had not been too lavifh in beſtowing her
favours; a few paternal acres of about
300l. a year, was the only circumſtance
that ever gave him reaſon to boaſt of
her friendſhip; but this defect was ſuſ-
ficiently ſupplied by his other good
qualities. Two years had ſeapled ſince
Mr. Harrington firſt became acquainted
with the amiable Mifs J—, during
which time their mutual ſeem and
aſſeption had been conſtantly increaſing.

“They lov’d; but ſuch their guileleſs paffion
was

As in the dawn of Time inform’d the heart
Of innocence and undiffembling truth.

'Twas friendſhip heighten’d by the mutual
wiſh.

Th'enchanting hope and sympathick glow
Beam’d from the mutual eye.”

THOMSON.

Nor did Mr. J— ſeem aſſerfe to
their proceedings, though (fincerely
ſpeaking) ambition from a ſecret cor-
ner of his ſoul held the reins of his
conduſt, and directed all his aſtions;
he wiſhed to have his daughter joined
to ſome wealthy nobleman whoſe title
and eſtate correſponded with his wiſhes;
but as nothing of this kind had yet
appeared, he reluctantly conſented to
her union with Mr. Harrington, and
the day was appointed that ſhould com-
plete their happineſs.—As Mifs J—
was ſitting one day in an arbour at the
foot of the garden, with Shenſtone’s
Judgement of Hercules in her hand,
the beheld her father advancing haſtily
towards her; a ſmile of heart-felt joy,
which ſhe had ſeldom obſerved before,
beained in his countenance. “My dear
Nancy, faſd he, taking her by the hand,
the regard you have always paid to my
commands, claims my utmoſt care for
your future happineſs, and I come now
to make a further trial of that duty and
obedience which has hitherto been punc-
tually obſerved. I have long confidered
the connexion between you and Mr.
Harrington as quite beneath your no-
tice; his ſmall fortune will be inſuffi-
cient

eient

15

THE
LONDON MAGAZINE,
FOR DECEMBER, 1778.

DESCRIPTION of the SUPERB EDIFICE now erecting in the Strand,
on the Spot where Somerset-House formerly stood.

(Continued from p. 436.)

*(With an elegant Engraving of the Front towards the internal Court, drawn from the View.)*

T

HE obstruction of the fence having occasioned a small inaccuracy in the last paragraph of our description of the front next the Strand in our Magazine for October last; this little circumstance has fortunately produced a correction from authority, and a precife, professional account of the whole building, in the true style of architectural delineation. The point we were mistaken in, respects the coach-way, there is room for any carriages to pass through the center arch, of the new public offices, which faces the Strand. This front is but a very small portion of the whole, which, when completed, will be one of the greatest works in Europe, as may be collected from the embankments on the river Thames, from the terrace and parts of the principal court, already raised to a considerable height, and from the extensive foundations spreading around in every direction.

The front towards the Strand is composed of a ructick basement, supporting a Corinthian order of columns, crowned in the center with an attic, and at the extremities with a balustrade.

The basement consists of nine large arches; three in the middle open, forming the principal entrance, and three at each end, filled with windows of the Dorick order, adorned with pilasters, entablatures, and pediments; on the key stones of the nine arches are carved in alto relievo, and in a very masterly manner, nine heads, representing Ocean,

and the eight great rivers of England viz. Thames, Severn, Humber, Mersey, Tyne, Medway, Dee, and Tweed, with proper emblems to denote their different peculiarities.

The order comprehends two floors; a principal, and a mezzanine; the windows of the latter being only surrounded with architraves; but those of the principal floor, have before them a balustrade, and are adorned with Ionick pilasters, entablatures, and pediments; the three central ones having large tablets, covering the architrave and frize, on which are represented medallions of his majesty, the queen, and the prince of Wales, supported by lions, and respectively adorned with garlands of laurel, myrtle, and oak.

The attick is divided into three spaces, separated by coloſſal figures placed on the columns which support it, the central space being left bare, probably for an inſcription. These figures represent four venerable men in fenatorial robes, bearing on their heads the cap of Liberty, and holding in their hands emblems of Power, and of Strength, derived from Unanimity; maintained by Jüſtice, Prudence, Moderation, and Valour.

The attick terminates with a group confifting of the arms of the British empire; supported on one side by the Genius of England; on the other, by Fame, founding her trumpet.

This whole composition is far from being considerable, being little more than 130 feet in extent; and all the artift could do in so small a compafs; all he seems to have attempted, was to pro-

3 Y 2

dunce

336

1779.

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

21

there, and in other parts of Greece, to
a common paſttime and amuſement,
without any moral, political, or reli-
gious intention, as it is now followed
and prætifted in England.

It is evident that the Romans, who
borrowed this, with many other things,
from Greece, uſed quails as well as
cocks for fighting. The firſt cauſe of
contention between the two brothers,
Baſſianus and Geta, ſons of the Em-
peror Septimius Severus, happened, ac-
cording to Herodian, about fighting
their quails and cocks. Cocks and
quails, fitted for the purpofe of engag-
ing one another to the laſt gaſp, for
the divarıſon of the people, are fre-
quently compared by Roman authors,
and with great propriety, to gladiators.
The fathers of the Chriſtian church in-
veigh with great warmth againſt the
ſpectacles of the Arena—the wanton
ſhedding of human blood in ſport. One
would have thought that with this,
cock-fighting would alſo have been dif-
carded, under the mild genius of Chriſ-
tianity; but it was referred for this
enlightened æra to præſiſe it with new
and aggravating circumſtances of cru-
elty. The Shrove-Tueſday maſſacre of
this ſpirited and uſeful creature is now,
indeed, in a declining way; but that
monſtrous ſcheme of barbarity the bat-
tle royal and Welch main ſtill continue
to be in full force amongſt us—a ſtri-

king diſgrace to the manly character of
Britons! It is probable that cock-fight-
ing was firſt introduced into this ſland
by the Romans, but the bird itself was
here before Cæſar's arrival.

William Fitzlephen, who wrote the
life of the famous Becket, Archbishop
of Canterbury, in the reign of Henry II.
is the firſt of our writers who mentions
cocking, deſcribing it as the ſport of
ſchool-boys on Shrove-Tueſday. The
theatre (the cock-pit) it seems was the
ſchool, and the after was the comp-
troller and director of the ſport. From
this time, at laſt, the divarıſon, how-
ever abſurd, and even impious, has
been continued amongſt us: it was
followed, though diſapproved and pro-
hibited by flatute, in the reigns of Ed-
ward III. and Henry VIII. It has been
called a royal divariſon, and it is well
known the Cock-pit at Whitehall was
erected by a crowned head for the more
magnificent celebration of the ſport;
but it was again prohibited by an act
of Cromwell's adminiſtration, in 1654.
His late majesty likewise diſcounte-
nanced it, and cock-pits were of the
number of deſtructive places of amuſe-
ment ſupprefled by the meritorious act of
the 25th of his reign. Now, to the afto-
niſhment of all good men, bloody Welch
mains, and battle royals, are fought
every winter at an obſure cock-pit in St.
James's Park, not far from the palace.

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK. No. XVI.

Sed cautos fueris ſi mortem ubique expectaveris.

BARCLAI ARGENIS.

" It is prudent to be everywhere prepared for Death."

MY readers, at laſt ſome of them,
may perhaps find fault with me
for not giving them variety enough in
theſe my ſpeculations; for I have given
them three confecutive papers upon
Love, and I am now to give a third,
without interruption upon Death; but
I ſhall fairly acknowledge, that The
Hypochondriack writes from the primary
motive of pleafing himſelf, being per-
fuaded that he who does not pleafe him-
ſelf, that is to ſay, indulge his own in-
clination at the time, will hardly pleafe
other people—Si vis me flere dolendum eſt
primum ipſe tibi—" If you would make
me weep you muſt firſt forrow yourſelf,"
ſays the poet; and I do not ſuppofe that
pleaſure is leſs ſympathetick than ſad-

neſs, I flatter myſelf that my two
former papers upon Death have not
made that awful ſubject more gloomy.
If I thought otherwife I ſhould certain-
ly deſiſt; for, though I write to pleafe
myſelf, I deſire to be underſood, that
it is in the belief that I am hurting no-
body; for it is my ſincere ſentiment,
that I would hold as accurſed any com-
poſition, however excellent in its man-
ner, not only if it ſhould "make one
worthy man my foe," but if it ſhould
even leſſen the peace and comfort of
any of the human race, however weak
or inſconſiderable.

After I had resolved to write this
one other paper on the ſubject of Death,
I happened to be looking into the Arge-

nis

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

Jan.

22

nis of Barclay, a book which had once
more celebrity than it now has, but
which, in my opinion, ought still to
maintain the place which its merit ac-
quired amongst our *flock books*, to borrow
a phrase from the theatre, when plays
in frequent representation are men-
tioned; for it not only abounds in
learning, in imagination, and in vir-
tuous notions, but is written in Latin
uncommonly elegant for a modern
writer, although it has been cenfured
for something of studied conceit in the
style, which, however, is always war-
ranted by classical authority.

In that book I lighted upon a paflage
concerning Death, which immediately
attraſted my attention—Sed Theopompum
nihil afficiebat magis quam objeſta toties
imago mortis: ne vivam inquit, nihil ita
me terret ac illa, dum mentem noſt'u ob-
werſatur, mortis memoria—"But Theo-
pompus was affected with nothing more
than the image of Death being ſo often
prefented. Let me die, ſaid he, if any
thing terrifies me ſo much as the remem-
berance of Death coming upon my mind
in the night-time."—Night is univer-
fally the ſeafon of terror (for Comus's
cuew, and thofe of congenial manners,
with them need ſcarily be named;) and
the habitual terror of real dangers
in filence and darkneſs diſpoſes us in-
ſenably to be more affected in theſe
circumſtances with objects of fear,
which are then truely no worſe than at
noon-day. All my readers, eſpecially
my own brethren, who have laboured
under Hypochondria, have experienced
how direful the thought of Death is
when one lies awake in the middle of
the night, ſo that the feelings of Theo-
pompus will be acknowledged to be
juſtly deſcribed.

As a ſhort episode, or relaxation
from this diſcourſe of Death, I ſhall
entertain my critical readers with a
little controversy concerning the inter-
pretation of one expreſſion, which was
carried on amongst a knot of literati,
who came into the library where I was
confidering the paſſage in Barclay.
The expreſſion which occasioned the
diſpute was ne vivam. One main-
tained that it ſhould be rendered thus
—nihil ita me terret ne vivam—"no-
thing ſo much terrifies me that I ſhall
not live." Another—"nothing ſo
much terrifies me, even to ſuch a degree
that I am ready to die for fear of Death.

Another—"that the words are an oath,
as thus, *let me die* if any thing terrifies
me ſo much."—I at first inclined to the
first opinion, but afterwards, though
not with positive conviction, preferred
the last. The expreſſion ne vivam
occurs as an oath in Cicero's fixteenth
epiftle to Atticus—ne vivam ſi ſcio—
"Let me die if I know."

Theopompus, a young nobleman, in
the vigour of youth, after having made
the natural and candid conſeſſion of his
fear of Death, feels a warm glow of ani-
mation, and with a momentary burſt of
fpirit, uncontrolled by reaſon, endeav-
vours to rife above the apprehenſion of
what he boafts is very diſtant from him,
and then ſays—*quid juvant ante ſeneſſe
tempora ea cogitatione torqueri ad mor-
tem, ante mortem ipsam oppetere ?*—
"Why torment one's ſelf before old age
with that thought, ſo as to anticipate
Death before it actually comes."—The
venerable ſage, between whom and
Theopompus a dialogue is ſuppoſed to
be carried on, checks, with a mild
wisdom, the young nobleman's impu-
tuosity, and, with a ſolemn affecting,
eloquence, enumerates a few of the va-
rious innumerable ways in which Death
attacks us; after which comes the
motto of this paper—Sed cautus fueris
ſi mortem ubique expectaveris—"It is
prudent to be every where prepared for
Death."

In my paper upon *Fear* I delivered my
difapprobation of a doctrine inculcated
by some writers, that we ſhould medi-
tate upon evils which may happen to us,
in order that the violence of the ſhock
may be gentler when it really comes.
But I would make an exception as to
Death, becaufe Death is not really an
evil which may happen, but an evil
which *will* certainly happen; and be-
caufe, by a proper preparation for it,
we may render it leſs hurtful, both
with respect to our concerns in this
world, and thofe in the world beyond
the grave. I would not indulge the
thought of death to exceſs; but as Dr.
Young counſels us, would

" Give it its wholſome empire."

It has indeed frequently ſtruck me
with a mixture of wonder and dejeſſion
to think how very few men have even
their worldly affairs ſo ſet in order, that
their death would not occaſion many
perplexities and unhappy wants, which
care might easilily have been taken to
prevent

1779.

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

23

prevent and supply. The distribution of property amongst relations; the appointment of guardians to children; the selection and arrangement of parents, are often neglected till Death has put it out of the power of a man to do what it would have vexed him exceedingly to be told should be undone.

And how infinitely more important is it to have our fouls in a condition fit for a future state; for, without entering upon the theological question, whether our condition shall be irreveribly fixed after Death, no serious Christian will deny that there is at least animenfe period at stake, when we make our transition from the present state of being.

The Death of kind relations, or friends, is, in my apprehension, the feverest affliction which can befall us in respect to this world, for it both imperfies us with a lively senfe of our own frailty, and deprives us of the best comforts to which we have been habituated; yet, with respect to the other world, and the dreary passage to it, we are really benefited by such affliction, if we make a right use of it, so as that it shall loosen our attachment to earth, and allure us to die with placid hope, as Dr. Young admirably says:

> "Our dying friends are pioneers to smooth
> Our rugged path to Death, to break those bars
> Of terror and abhorrence nature throws
> 'Crogs our obstructed way, and thus to make
> Welcome, as safe, our port from every storm."

I can fuppofe a man to have more relations and friends whom he loves upon the other side of the grave than upon this, in which situation the attraction to the other world muſt be ſo ſtrong, as to render his quitting this by no means painful. Cicero exults in the prouſe of meeting with illuſtrious men long ago departed, as well as with valued friends; and, after the solemn exercises of religion, I know no kind of meditation which can counteract the natural fear of Death so well as this. One who is to leap across a pit, or ride through a deep water, ought not to look into it, but beyond it.

The thought of Death should have a
falutary influence upon our temper and
manners. Horace, in that fine ode,
where he recommends a decent æquani-
mity, whether in a prouſerous or ad-
verfe state, cloſes his advice with the
thought of Death as an effectual argu-
ment--*moriture Delli*--"Dellius, as you

muſt die," has a beautiful pathos; and
were the thought of Death oftener pre-
fent to our minds, I am perfuaded we
should be much more humane and
kindly towards our fellow-creatures,
who are to die as well as ourselves.
Fellow-convicts, unleſs when very rug-
ged and hardened wretches indeed,
contrad an affection for each other!

Were Death the lot only of a few
individuals, or were there a particular
nation doomed to die, and all the rest of
mankind exempted from its horrors,
how dismal would Death appear! But
its universality alleviates it. The re-
flexion that — *ferius aut citius omnes
eodem cœgimur*—“fooner or later we
muſt all be gathered to the fame duſt.”
—and that— *Pallida mors æquo pede
pulſat pauperum tabernas regumque tur-
res*—“Pale Death knocks equally at
the cottages of the poor, and the pa-
laces of kings”—diffuſes the evil till it
lies comparatively light on every one.
Swift, indeed, has given us a ſad
picture of a nation that were never to
die! and, no doubt, unleſs the confi-
tution of human nature were to be to-
tally changed, Death muſt be acknow-
ledged to be a neceſſary evil.

Death, after all, as I have formerly
observed, is, whatever may be its con-
sequences, immediately an evil, and as
an evil, a wife man will prepare him-
felf to receive it. A French authour
has published a little book, under the
title of, *Reflections fur ceux qui font
morts en plaifantant*—“Reflections on
those who have died jeſting;” and he
has collected a good many inſtances,
both ancient and modern. But I hold
all such extraordinary appearances to
be unnatural, affected, or thoughtleſs;
for there is undoubtedly what Dr.
Young calls, “a pure, heroical defect
of thought.” Adrian’s dying addreſs
to his ſoul—*Animula vagula, blandula,
&c.* is, indeed, a kind of fluttering,
which one may fuppofe in a man not
without thought. One of the muſt ex-
preſſive deſcriptions of the situation of
a man about to die was that of an old
Scotch laird upon his death bed. “
am half ſleyed (i. e. afraid) half new
fangled.” There muſt, in a mind of
any vivacity, be a mixture of fear and
curiosity; and it is ſtrange that curio-
sity upon that occasion is not ſtronger,
considering what amazing ſcenes of
novelty are about to open.

Seneca.

342.

ESSAY ON REVENGE.

24

Jan.

Seneca, in the paſſage which I confi-
dered in my laſt number, accounts for
the fear of Death partly from the dark-
neſs in which we muſt be during that
tranſition, and he obſerves that dark-
neſs always produces fear. My Lord
Bacon, in one of his effays, has the
fame ſimilitude. " Men, ſays he,
fear Death, as children fear to walk in
the dark." Againſt this fear what a

ERRATA.—In No. XV. p. 533. col. 2. 1. 19. for *pray* r. *may*; p. 534. col. 2. 1. 19. after this *inſert* *away*.

blessed remedy have they, who, truſting
in God, can walk “ through the valley
and ſhadow of Death.” Let us di-
ligently avail ourselves of that “ light
which lighteth every man that cometh
into the world,” and with grateful
adoration endeavour to obey the pre-
cepts of him, who came to “ deliver
them who, through fear of Death, were
all their life-time ſubject to bondage.”

ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. No. IX.
ON THE FATAL EFFECTS OF REVENGE.

(Continued from our last vol. p. 588.)

REVENGE and cruelty are paſſions
of near alliance to one another,
and are beyond doubt the moſt bafe
and abject, as well as the moſt detesta-
ble of all the vices the frailties of our
nature have made us ſubject to.

The firſt of these, in whatever falſe
lights the ſoul may view it, that is
aſtuated by it, as men too often endeav-
vour to gild it over with the borrowed
names of honour, magnanimity, and
courage, is in reality ever the child of
cowardice alone, and that in no other
than the moſt weak and ſervile minds;
and the latter in itſelf ſo truly brutiſh,
and ſo univerſally hateful, that the ge-
neral confent of the world has in all
ages agreed, in compliment to our na-
ture, to call it inhumanity.

The weakſt, the meanest, and moſt
cowardly ſouls are ever the moſt cruel
and revengeful: murthers after viſto-
ries are generally committed by thofe
only who dared not join in the battle;
and after robberies, by women.

The valiant and generous mind con-
temns these ſavage paſſions, diſdaining
even to know what revenge is; and
the greatest of all inſtructors has taught
us, that true greatneſs of ſoul conſiſts
not in revenging ourselves of, but in
doing good to our enemies; and it is
worthy observation, that the greatest
men of the world have ever been of the
fame opinion: and Alexander and Cæ-
far, Epaminondas and Scipio, with a
long et-cætera of heroes, have, by mere
innate virtue and noblenefs of ſoul,
been taught to obey this precept as
ſtritely as if they had heard it from the
mouth of the divine teacher.

Cruelty is the vice of cowards only;
the man of true courage meets with open
force his reſifting enemy, but no ſooner
has he conquered: and fees him pro-
ſtrate, unreſifting, and at his mercy,
but he exerts and puts in act that mer-
cy, which is ever the diſtinguifhing
characteriſtick of great minds, and in-
ſtead of butchering him, will tear off
his own garment to tie up the wounds
he had before made.

True courage is in itſelf an amiable
virtue, and as with regard to religion
thofe who will not be at the pains of
living up to its precepts, often put on
hypocrify in the place of it; ſo the
coward not daring to tread the paths
of this honourable quality, makes
maſſacres and murther his pretence to
it. Fear is the true parent of cruelty:
civil wars are of all others ever the moſt
bloody, becauſe they are carried on by
perſons each in conſtant terror of his
neighbour; and tyrants are bloody
merely becauſe they fear; it is their
general terror alone that makes them
the general butchers of their people.
Mauritius, who well knew the human
mind in this reſpect, when he was told
that Phocas had a deſign to kill him,
enquired what was the cauſe, and who
and what the perſon; and on Philip’s
telling him, that he was a mean perſon
and a known coward, anſwered, then
I wonder not that he is cruel and a
murderer.

It is easy to conceive, from the na-
ture of cauſes and effects, that this fa-
vage temper cannot be long exerciſed
without bringing on one way or other
the deſtruction of the perſon who is
poſſessed

343

1779.

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

nice, and Turkey, from whence they
were escorted by a detachment of one
hundred Turkish horse to the Bafshaw
of Trawnick, the fame who had put the
fourth brother to death a few years be-
fore. After they had lain in prison
some time, sinking under the weight
of double irons, and strictly guarded
night and day: the alternative was pro-
poled to them, either to turn Maho-
metans, or to be impaled. It may
well be imagined they preferred the
milder operation of circumcision; and
at the fame time it shows the force of
Turkish superflition, which beats down
the fence of justice: for Socivizca was
publickly known to be the mortal foe
of their race; and had maſsacred ma-
ny of their brethren. Socivizca upon
this occafion took the name of Ibrahim,
but he did not thereby regain his li-
berty: his two brothers indeed were
releafed, and one of them had the poft
of Aga beſtowed upon him; but this
did not prevent them from taking the
first fair opportunity to fly from the
Turkish dominions. The Bafshaw en-
raged at this step, ordered the new
Ibrahim to be more closely confined;
that the indulgence lately granted to
him ſhould be withdrawn, and not-
withstanding his pretended zeal for the
Mahometan faith, that the guards
should never lose light of him.

Perceiving at length, that all his re-
ligious adorations, his affected docili-
ty, and exemplary patience did not ad-

vance his deliverance; his fruitful im-
gination furnished him another strata-
gem. His only relief from the horror
of his fate was to converse with his
guards, whom he one day addreſſed in
the following terms. “ My condenna-
tion to perpetual captivity I could bear
with fortitude; I have been guilty of
crimes which deferve this puniſhment;
but I regret the quantity of money I
have been obliged to bury under
ground, while the hand of justice pur-
fued me from place to place: consider-
able fums are likewise owing to me
from my former neighbours and friends.
The Bafshaw cannot demand the one,
nor find the other, but if he would
permit me to demand my dues in per-
fon, or to find the money I have con-
cealed, it ſhould be his; and I ſhould
be happy to regain his favour by these
prefents, and to be restored to the pri-
vileges I enjoyed before my brothers
incurred his displeasure by their ef-
cape.”

The ſubſtance of this ſpeech was car-
ried to the Bafshaw: avarice, the ru-
ling paſſion of the Turks, prevailed
over every other consideration, and an
order soon came to the gaoler, to per-
mit Ibrahim to leave the prifon, ef-
corted by ten of the guards, and to
give them directions to conduct him to
every spot where he ſhould indicate that
he had concealed any treasure.

*(To be continued in our next.)*

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK. N. XVII.

—Et a magna non de generare Culina.

JUVENAL.

— “ Nor in illuſtrious Cookery to decline.”

A MONGST the arts by which ci-
vilization is marked, that of
cookery, or the preparation of viſtuals
for the table, is one of the moſt con-
spicuous, and may be ranked with the
art of furniſhing commodious and or-
namental coverings or drefs for the
body. In the moſt ſavage ſituation
mankind devour their meat raw, and
go naked; and from this ſtate of bru-
tality there is an aſcent by innumerable
gradations to the luxury and elegance
of a company of ladies and gentlemen
of high rank ſitting at a dinner in Lon-
don or Paris.

Cookery, like many other means of
enjoyment, has been made an object of

violent reprehension by fatyrids. But
in my opinion, without juſt cauſe, and
owing entirely to the envy of those
who were precluded by their poverty
from the ſatistactions afforded by it.
That there may be bad and unwhole-
fome cookery I do not deny; and I
believe diſhes are ſometimes ſerved up,
which may with propriety have the
epithet applied to them which is odly
enough given by physicians to diet in
general, and be called *nonnaturals*.
But I have been affuſed by one of the
ableſt physicians of the age, whose me-
rit has raſed him not only to great
eminence in his proſeffion, but to the
hiſhelt literary honours both at home

and

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

Feb.

54

and abroad, that good cookery is by no means pernicious; but on the contrary, that it is more healthful to eat French dressed dishes than ordinary roast and boiled. Indeed we may conceive that the digestive powers will be more Streffed, worn, and hurt by the strong exertion necessary for the dissolution of tough masses, than by the gentle play which is sufficient for substances already much softened and separated. That to make our food favourry or delicious to the palate should render it unwholesome, is a proposition so strange, that it would require to be proved; and if the agreeable relish which cookery gives our victims, makes us eat more than we should do without it, there must be the fame objection to vigorous exercise which has the fame effect. I hope then that there is no real danger in any of the two effects of cookery, by which alone it can be hurtful. Therefore Horace's declamation againft luxury in eating, and praise of frugal and simple living, which Pope has so admirably imitated and modernified, is but counsel to make a virtue of necessity. It is but like an exhortation to patience, which is no doubt a wife and commendable quality, when we are unavoidably subjected to evils and wants; yet no rational man will deny that it would be better if we did not stand in need of patience.

That too much pleasure in general is unsafe, as being inconsistent with that moral discipline which religion recommends to us as candidates for immortal happiness, is undoubtedly true. But as none but the severest asceticlicks deny to themselves or others, the enjoyment of pleasure with due intervals, I cannot see that the pleasure of the table is to be peculiarly condemned. That the pleasure of the table contributes both to the immediate happiness of individuals, and to social benevolence, is proved by frequent experience, againft which it is in vain to argue; and although I cannot precisely agree with a hearty fellow who said that a man who loves a good dinner, and gets it every day, is three hundred and sixty five times in a year happy, which he could not be in any other way; I must admit that there is some justice in the observation.

It is not easy to explain how those

who practice the art of cookery, which marks civilization, and of which the effects are so benignant, should be held in such low estimation, though very large pecuniary emoluments are allowed them. One should imagine that the enjoyment which we have from a well-dressed dinner would excite a grateful regard for those to whose skill and advances we immediately owe it, especially as any great excellence in the art necessarily fuppofes a certain degree of knowledge in chymistry, as well as a very nice taste. But as one of the ancients said, that he hated the traitor though he loved the treason; so I fear we despise the cook, though we love his dishes. It is curious to consider that those who devote their time and labour to the other art which I observed may be ranked with cookery, that of making clothes, are also looked upon with an unaccountable contempt. A taylor, whose art is not only one of the most useful, but bears a large proportion in the elegant appearance of human life, is held in very low estimation, perhaps lower than any other tradesman. A man would rather have it said that his father was a blacksmith or a bricklayer than a taylor. Perhaps the mean idea which we entertain of men who have dedicated their lives to the kitchen or the shopboard, may partly be ascribed to the effeminacy of these employments, compared with others where more strength is required; and this idea has been affixed at an early period in human society, when employments were few; for ince life has become more diversified, we find many employments, which require as little strength and leis genius, are more regarded.

There is something I think particularly indelicate and disgusting in the idea of a cook-maid. Imagination can easilycherish a fondneſs for a pretty chambermaid or dairymaid, but one is revolted by the greatineſs and scorching connected with the wench who toils in the kitchen. And therefore, though Love which burns in the torrid zone, is, for what I know, as fervent in the kitchen as any where else, and though I have heard a noted story very well atteſted of an attorney in the Exchequer who married his cook-maid, "because he dressed a lovely bit of collop." I cannot much admire the choice which

Churchill

345

1779.

THE BRUTE. A CHARACTER.

Churchill has made of a simile to represent a young poet wooing the Muses, though I confess it is humourous.

“ When Cupid first infrastructs his darts to fly

“ From the fly corner of some cook-maid's eye,

“ The stripling raw, juft enter'd in his teens,

“ Receives the wound and wonders what it means;

“ His heart like dripping melts, and new defire

“ Within him flirs each time she flirs the fire.”

Yet George Buchanan writes very good Latin verses to a cook-maid, to which I refer my learned readers. They begin thus:

Utriusque juris carniu[mque et p[ic]fi[cium
Leonora d[omi]ta.

“ O Leonora ! learned in the laws

Both fleth and fish to dres's with high
applaufe.”

And complains that a man cook, even though bad at his buſineſs, ſhould be preferred by her to youths of rank and generofity.

That cookery has been thought of no ſmall importance in all civilized nations, is plain from books. Homer makes his heroes very attentive to the dressing of their viſituals; and we find ſcattered remarks concerning the art in many places. We are even told that Paulus Emilius, when about to entertain the Romans after a conquelt, faſd, there was equal ſkill required to ſet out a magniſcent entertainment, and to conduct an army. But we have the cookery of the ancients very fully explained to us by Apicius Cœlius de Arte

Cogninaria, of which there have been many editions, one of which was published at Amsterdam, with a number of his own annotations, as well as those of others, by Dr. Martin Lifter, phyſician to Queen Anne. This edition gave occation to ſome very witty letters prefixed to the art of cookery, a poem in imitation of Horace's art of poetry, a performance exceedingly well executed by Sir John Vanbrugh. Modern books of cookery have been as frequent as hiftories of England, or commentaries on the bible.

But the profefſors of the culinary art have in general never been much reſpected, except in their own eyes; though I have read of the Great Cook of the Palace being an officer of high dignity in France, the country which muſt be allowed to be the Athens of that kind of Taſte. Indeed a French cook's notion of his own conſequence is prodigious. A friend of mine told me, that he engaged one for Sir Benjamin Keen, when ambaſſador in Spain, and when he aſked the fellow if he had ever drefſed any magniſcent dinners, the anſwer was, *Monfieur j'ai accommodé un diner qui faisoit trembler toute la France.*—“ Sir, I have drefſed a dinner that made all France tremble.” There was the ſublime of vaunting nonſenſe in this expreſſion. In my next paper I ſhall introduce to the acquaintance of my readers an Englifh cook, whom they will find to be an extraordinary perſonage, and whose elevation of ſtyle I am perſuaded will aſſord them confiderable entertainment.

THE BRUTE. A CHARACTER.

SQUIRE BLUSTER is defcnded of an ancient family. The eſtate which his anſeſtor had immemorially poſſeſſed, was much augmented by Captain Bluſter, who ſerved under Drake, in the reign of Elifabeth; and the Bluſters, who were before only petty gentlemen, have from that time frequently repreſented the ſhire in parliament; been choſen to preſent addresses, and give laws at hunting matches and races. They were eminently hofpitable and popular, till the father of this gentleman died of an election. His lady went to the grave ſoon after him, and left the heir, then only ten years old, to the care of his

grandmother, who would not ſuffer him to be controlled, becauſe he could not bear to hear him cry; and never ſent him to ſchool, becauſe he was not able to live without his company. She taught him, however, very early, to inſpect the ſtewards accounts, to dog the butler from the cellar, and to catch the ſervants at a junket; ſo that he was at the age of eighteen years, a complete mafter of all the lower arts of domeſtick policy; had often on the road detected combinations between the coachman and oſtler, and procured the diſcharge of nineteen maids, for illicit correfpondence with cottagers and charwomen.

By

THE
LONDON MAGAZINE,
FOR MARCH, 1779.

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK. N°. XVIII.

Dum nimium vano tumefactus nomine gaudes.

"With disproportioned vanity you fwell."

MARTIAL.

THE perfonage whom in my last paper I engaged to introduce to the acquaintance of my readers in this, is Mr. Charles Carter, a very eminent cook, as I fuppole, who about fifty years ago publifhed a magnificent quarto volume upon his own profeſſion, illustrated with fuitable engravings to convey at once to the eye, the effect of his feftal arrangements.

His title-page is ample and pompous, and muſt be read with a full pronunciation and important tone.

The COMPLETE PRACTICAL COOK: or, a new SYSTEM of the whole ART and MYSTERY of COOKERY. Being a ſelect Collection of above five hundred Recipes for dressing after the moſt curious and elegant Manner (as well foreign as English) all Kinds of Flenſh, Fife, Fowl, &c.

As alſo Directions to make all Sorts of excellent Pottages and Soups, fine Paſtry, both sweet and favourie, delicate Puddings, exquifite Sauces, and rich Jellies. With the beſt Rules for Preferving, Potting, Pickling, &c.

Fitted for all occafions. But more eſpecially for the moſt grand and ſumptuous Entertainments.

Adorned with ſixty curious Copper Plates, exhibiting the full Seaſons of the Year, and Tables proper for every Month: As alſo Variety of large Ovals and Rounds, and Ambogues and Square Tables for Coronation-Feaſts, Initallments, &c.

The whole entirely new; and none of the Recipes ever publifhed in any Treatife of this kind.

Approved by divers of the PRIME NOBILITY; and by ſeveral Maſters of the Art and Mystery of Cookery.

By CHARLES CARTER, lately Cook to his Grace the Duke of Argyll, the

Earl of Pontefraſt, the Lord Cornwallis, &c.

London: Printed for W. Meadows, in Cornhill; C. Rivington, in St. Paul's Church yard; and R. Hett, in the Poultry. MDCCXXX.

His dedication, contrary to what we might have expected, is ſhort and ſimple.

To the Right Honourable William-Anne Keppel, Earl of Albemarle, Vicecount Bury, and Baron of Ashford, &c. This Treatife on the noble Art and Mystery of Cookery, is moſt humbly dedicated by his Lordship's moſt obliged, and moſt faithful humble ſer vant, Charles Carter.

Perhaps Mr. Carter was ſo elevated with his own importance and fancied dignity, that he thought it beneath his character to ſoop to the hackneyed flattery of dedication. Or perhaps he confidered that he had occafion for ſo many epithets of prafife for himſelf and his "Art and Mystery," that he could ſpare none for panegyrick upon a paſtron. Having ſo far exhaufted his ſtore of big expreſſion in his title page, he ſeems to have drawn his breath in the interval of penning his dedication, that he might break forth with renewed vigour in his prefatory addreſs, which is truely a maſter-piece. I once intended to have ſeleſted choice paffages from it. But every ſentence of it is ſo ſupereminent in its way, that I could not find in my heart to mangle the curious whole by leaving out any part, I ſhall therefore give his performance entire, marking with *italicks* the moſt exquifite expreſſions.

To the Reader.

The many books already publifhed on the ſubject of Cookery may ſeem in the opinions of ſome people, to render uſeles

347

102

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

March

fence of the grandest entertainment, and which are the foundation, and at the same time the epitome of all the succeeding plates, and indeed my late much valued friend, Mr. Auflin, master of Pontack's, in Abchurch-lane, who was an excellent judge in this noble art, was so well pleased with them, that he requested a copy of me which he very much esteemed, and gratified me for it in a manner as answerable to his spirit as it was superior to my expectation.

By help of those numerous plates a nobleman or gentleman will be enared at a view to pick and choose what services he likes for any particular occasion, and his choice will by this means be in a manner recorded for his future change or imitation, and a bill of fare naturally fetiled to his hand on all the various occasions that may occur throughout every page of his life, and through every advance of his fortune, his honour, or his felicity, or on any such chosen days as he may desire to celebrate or distinguißh by particular marks of his joy, his gratitude, his pleasure or grandeur in the most elegant and sumptuous entertainments.

They are besides methodically difpoſed, as well for ſecond as for firſt courſes, to fit a nine diſh table oval with all manner of varieties in ſeason, together with changes for pottages and diſhes for the ſide-board, the names of every diſh being inferted in the circles. They begin with the month of March, that being the ſpring month which may be ſaid to uſher in the whole year, and all is performed in ſo exact a manner that infallible methods are thereby pointed out for fettling a table in the moſt beautiful and elegant manner, beyond the power of miſtake, ſo that all other direction and affiſtance which at great entertainments is generally the buineſs of a particular officer deputed for that purpose, is thereby rendered unnecessary.

To render the whole intelligible to the moſt unſkilful in this noble art, I have given at the latter end of the book a brief explanation of the foreign or technical terms that occur throughout the work, and as I have alſo added in alphabetical order, a table of the contents of the book, pointing to the page where each recipe may be found, the reader will eſtably be able to refer by means of the ſaid table to any diſh men-

tioned in the plates, which renders the whole performance ſo complete, that all manner of embarraſſment or difficulty is prevented.

On the whole, I may venture to ſay, there is nothing of this nature extant equal to it, which I may be the bolder to aſſert becauſe no eminent practical cook before ever cared to publifh what he knew of the art, and though one or two pieces have been published under the names of diſtinguished artiſts, which I will be so tender of the property of others as not to mention, yet it is well known they never inferted any thing material in them; but for the ſake of a premium lent their names to the pieces, as one of them in particular often declared to me and others, on reproaching him with giving his approbation to compositions unworthy of it. But this I might have ſpared, having hinted it above, and refer alſo to what I have ſaid already to excufe myſelf to my brethren of the art, for the discoveries I have made of ſeveral valuable ſecrets, which for the ſake of the reputation of my practice, I thought myſelf obliged to give, as I was prevailed upon to appear in this publick way, or else to let the whole performance ſtill continue private, and they will perceive as I hinted that the art depends so much upon judicious practice, that there will be allways room enough for an experienced, thorough-bred Cook to meet with due encouragement, let gentlemen have what inſight they will into the myſtery.

One thing I may take upon me further to ſay, and with that I will conclude: So noble a market as Leadenhall, the fineſt in the world, as well as ſeveral other well furniſhed publick markets about this great and opulent metropolis, afford ſuch continual ſupplies for the table, that no Cook can be at a loſs for elegancies of every kind while he is near the town to gratify the moſt extensive wish, and to indulge the moſt profuse ſpirit of hospitality. But there are ſeats of the nobility and gentry, ſo incommodiouſly situated even in this land of plenty, at ſuch a diſtance from any confiderable market, and the ſeats of the year may at ſome times be ſo unpropitious for celebrating ſome wifned-for octuations, that the gardens, the ſiſh-ponds, the parks, the warrens, and adjacent farm yards may be all in ſufficient to furniſh out that ample variety.

350

THE
LONDON MAGAZINE,
FOR MAY, 1779.

*Description of the superb MAUSOLEUM erected to the Memory of the celebrated JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU, by his noble friend, the MARQUIS DE GIRARDIN.*

*(With a perspective View from the original Design.)*

THE principal incidents of Rouffleau's life are almost as well known as his works, and have been retailed to the publick, in various periodical publications, from the time of the appearance of his Eloisa, to that of his death; but it is acknowledged by the literati that a full and complete account of his life and writings cannot be given, till after the decease of some eminent men with whom he was intimately connected, or by whom his principles were opposed: till then, the motives to some parts of his extraordinary conduct through life cannot be decided upon with impartiality. In the mean time, being in possession of all the circumstances relative to the last act of disinterested, benevolent regard to his memory, shewn by his noble and excellent friend the Marquis de Girardin, and having been favoured with a drawing from the original design for his monument, we could not think of delaying a plate, which closes for the present, our partial records of the writer and the man, with decent propriety*.

The remains of Rouffleau were interred by order of the Marquis, in a delightful spot, called then the Isle of

Poplars, but since it has been honoured with the manes of this celebrated writer, the owner has thought proper to name it Elysium. Its situation corresponds with the romantick idea given by the ancients of that imaginary region for the immortal spirits of heroes, philosophers, and poets. It is of small dimensions being only about fifty feet long and thirty broad, surrounded by a small lake, and so defended from the winds by little groves of trees, that it is scarcely ever ruffled: the lonely paths passing through the island, inspire a solemn awe, and the whole is well calculated for the poppy to which the noble owner has consecrated it.

Here our author's tomb is to be erected, over his remains. It is to be executed in white marble; his bust by Houdon will be supported by, and ornamented with, the following emblematical figures. A pair of turtle doves to represent ELOISA. A mother fucking a child, the emblem of EMILIUS. Children offering sacrifices on the altar of nature. A lyre and other instruments of music and poetry. The description is to contain the warmest encomiums of his works, and of his general character, but no authentick copy has yet transpired.

* By references to the indexes of the London Magazine from vol. XXVIII. for 1759, to the present year, it will be found that ample extracts from his works, as they appeared, and narratives of all the material incidents of his life, made known to the publick, have been given, in the due order of time in which they happened.

Cc 2

TO

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May

nor employments, and besides, having now no longer, or scarcely having the stated exercises of former times which used to keep them brisk, they are the people in the world who have the least occupation; and if we except certain little things which do not require much attention, and still less care and application, they are almost always to be seen with their arms crossed, doing nothing else but hold assemblies, sing, eat, play, sleep, and in short do nothing." Would not one suppose that this view had been taken from the life, amongst the very fine people in London.

But it will be proper to present my readers with several detached particulars of similarity which I am perfuaded will strike them in a lively manner.

Savages submit to a great deal of trouble and pain to get their bodies adorned as they think, tattooing or pricking the skin with black spots in curious figures, and thrusting ear-rings and other jewels through their flesh. So do very fine people. They are pinched in tight clothes andffays, and little shoes, and I question if the hair dresser's operations of twisting and burning be not as severe as any that the savages undergo.

Savages universally paint their skins, from which custom, the original, at least the most ancient inhabitants of Britain that we know of, were called Picts. Very fine people paint too, some more, some less, in which I suppose they do not differ from the savages.

Savages are eager for present enjoyment, and gratify their desires without any regard to future advantage. Lafitau gives a striking instance.—"Pour mieux depouiller un arbre ils le coupent par le pied fans se mettre en peine des avantages qu'ils pourroient en retirer les années fuivantes. The better to defoil a tree of its fruit they cut it down, without troubling their heads about the good which they might get by it in after years." Do not very fine people act just in the same manner? and is cutting the fruit tree more irrational than spending the capital of one's fortune, regardless of the years to come, for which the interest of it was to be a provision?

The savages have a very narrow conversation having little knowledge

except what concerns their hunting and war. And their merriment when examined, will be found to arise from very trifling causes. Here too the resemblance holds between them and very fine people, whose knowledge is limited to their amusements, scandal and petty quarrels; and whose jeans are so flender that they are perceptible only to themselves, and that too but for the instant.

Savages are unquiet and restlefs, and continually moving from place to place. So are very fine people, who flutter about from their country feats to London; and from London to all the wells and bathing places in England; and sometimes even to the continent.

Savages are gamesters to the utmost excess. Lafitau, after describing a kind of game of chance which they play with stones of fruit colour, to serve as dice, observe, "Les savages ont la meme fureur pour ce jeu, que les joueurs les plus acharnés peuvent avoir. The savages have the same rage for this game that the most desperate gamesters can have." He tells us that they will not only lose all the little property that they have, so as to be obliged to run to the woods stark naked during the greatest rigours of winter. But that they will even lose their liberty for a certain term; that they will do any thing to procure success at play, and will sometimes prepare themselves by auftere faesting for several days. I need not surely say much to point out their resemblance in this respect to very fine people, who will play to lose all they have in the world, and to be thrown into gaol; and who, as the phrase is, will diet themselves like race horses that they may be cool and clever at the gaming table.

While I write of the savage life, I beg that my readers for the sake of accuracy and correctness may observe, that all the particulars which I mention as counterparts to very fine life are not to be found in any one savage nation. For I do not know that any one savage nation is quite the ton, a word which I think it lawful to use in my effays because it is the reigning expression of the present time in England to signify very high fashionable manners. But I can assure my readers that every one particular which I mention

4

is

355

SELECT ANECDOTES.

200

May

that this depravation like all other
foolish fashions will not last long. In
the mean time it should be a very fen-
sible mortification to the fairest, very
fine lady to be affured of what is moit

certainly true, that with all her charms
while she shews suchfcornful pride,
and such uncourteous indifference, she
is indeed no better than une belle fau-
vage, a beautiful savage.

E R R A T A.

In No. XIX. in the two verses quoted on page 178, for infernal read tremendous, and for confers read supprefs.

SELECT ANECDOTES.

ANTALCIDAS, a Spartan, being
about to enter into the priesthood,
was asked by the priest, What action
worthy of renown he had performed
during his life? he replied, "If I
have performed any, the gods them-
selves are acquainted with it." How
noble an infance of modesty; how
exalted a notion of the Deity! and
surely nothing can be more foolish than
to imagine by the commemoration of
our actions, to recommend ourselves
to the Deity, who, of whatever nature
these actions may be, must have the
clearest knowledge of their quality and
worth.

THE metampfychoſis, or transmi-
gration of ſouls, was not the doctrine
of Pythagoras alone: The bramins of
Malabar teach it to this day; of which
an English captain narrowly eſcaped
feeling the effects: for trading along
the coaſt, and going one day aſhore,
he unluckily ſhot a bird called Peru-
mel, which carries one of their gods
of the firſt rank. A Malabarian ſaw
it, and accufed him of this enormous
ſaſt, whereupon the people in the
neighbouring villages immediately af-
ſembled, ſeſed the ſacrilegious perſon,
and he was going to be ſacrificed,
when a Jew, to ſave the captain's life,
as kindly and ſhrewdly adviſed him, to
own the crime, and make the following
defence: "My father, who has been
dead some time, was thrown into the
ſea, and was become a carp; the pe-
rumel was going to devour him before
my eyes, and could I suffer that?"
His judges were ſtruck with the juſt-
neſs of his plea, and instantly dismissed

the criminal. *Si populus vult decipi*
*decipiatur.*

MONTAIGNE in his effays, in-
forms us, that *Pyrrho* was one of the
moſt absolute ſcepticks that ever lived;
for he many times ran the hazard of
his life by difbelieving his ſenſes; and
that he certainly would have loſt it by
his foolish principles, but that ſome
of his friends conſtantly attended him
to keep him out of harm's way. And
yet after all, ſays, he could not erate
the notion of a future ſtate from his
mind, but would often be repeating
that ſaying of Euripides. " Who
knows but that our death may be a
birth into a more perfect ſtate of life,
in comparifon with which, our prefent
life may be called a fort of death."

WHEN Protagoras, the ſceptick,
whofe trifling whimſies led him to
doubt of every thing, even though he
faw or ſelt it, began his book thus:
"As for the gods, whether they are
or are not, I have nothing to ſay:"
The magiſtrates of Athens, highly re-
fented this profane trifling with things
facred, banifhed him out of their city,
and condemned his book to be burnt
by the common executioner. And af-
ter this, when he and his friend Pyrrho
were aſked, why they walked ſo much
alone, they anſwered, " It was to me-
ditate how they might be good." And
being hereupon further aſked, what
necellity there was for being good, if it
be not certain that there is a God? they
replied, " It cannot be certain that
there is none; and therefore it is pru-
dence to provide againſt the worſt."

RELATION

359

THE
LONDON MAGAZINE,
FOR JUNE, 1779.

DESCRIPTION OF INVERARY CASTLE.

(With an elegant engraved View.)

HIS Castle, which is the
principal seat of the
Duke of Argyle (see
our account and map
of Argylehire, p. 273)
was built by Archibald
Campbell Duke of Ar-
gyle; it is quadrangular with a round
tower at each corner, and in the mid-
dle rifes a square one glazed on every
side to give light to the staircase and
galleries, and it has from without a
most disagreeable effect. In the attick
story are eighteen good bed-chambers;
the ground floor is in a manner un-
furnished, but will have several good
apartments. The whole is built with
a coarfe *lapis ollaris*, brought from the
other side of Loch-fin, and is of the fame
kind with that found in Norway, of
which the King of Denmark's palace
at Copenhagen is built. Near this,
which is called the new Castle, are
fome remains of the old.

In time, the new Castle will be very
magnificent; but at prefent the place
between the front and the water is dif-
graced with the old town, compofed
of the most wretched hovels that can be
imagined. The founder of the castle
deligned to have built a new town on
the weft side of the little bay the Castle
stands on: he finished a few houses, a

custon-houſe and an excellent inn: his
death interrupted the completion of the
plan, which when brought to perſec-
tion will give the place a very different
appearance to what it now bears. From
the top of the great rock called Duni-
quach, is a fine view of the Castle; the
lawn sprinkled with fine trees, the hills
covered with extenſive plantations, a
country fertile in corn, bordering the
Loch, and the Loch itſelf covered with
boats. The trees on the lawn about
the Castle are ſaid to have been planted
by the Earl of Argyle; they thrive
greatly; for there are beech trees from
nine to twelve feet and a half in girth,
pines of nine, and a leſſer maple be-
tween seven and eight.

But the busy ſcene of the herring
ſilhery, in the ſeafon, gives no ſmall
improvement to the magnificent envi-
rons of Inverary Castle. Every even-
ing ſome hundred of boats in a manner
cover the ſurface of Loch-fin, an arm of
the ſea, which from its narrowerſs and
the windings of its ſhores, has all the
beauties of a fresh water lake: on the
week days, the chearful noife of the
bagpipe and dance echoes from on
board: on the ſabbath, each boat ap-
proaches the land, and pſalmody and
devotion divide the day.

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK. No. XXI.

Nec mihi vitio vertas ſi res quas ex leſione varia mutuabor ipſis ſape verbis quibus ab ipſis auſtoribus enarrathe funt explicabo.

MACROBIUS.

" Nor muſt you find fault with me if I often give you what I have borrowed from my various reading, in the very words of the authors themſelves."

QUOTATION is ſo important a help to
every one who undertakes a literary
work, that I think one of theſe papers may
be very well employed in confidering it. I
do not recollect to have ever found it confi-

dered by any other writer; however much
almost all of us have been indebted to it;
and therefore it is, at least to my ſelf, a sub-
jeſt which has the advantage of novelty.

Dr. Johnson, in that wonderful achieve-
ment

I i 2

358

246

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

June

or in writings upon businesse. Yet these
have not always been free of Quotations.
In the Journals of the House of Commons
some reigns ago, we have upon record feve-
ral Quotations in the speeches of our feve-
reigns, and in the returns made to them by
the Speaker of the House of Commons;
and I myself have read a settlement of his
affairs by a gentleman who was remarkably
fond of Horace, in so much that he named a
fon for him; and in that settlement there
were many Quotations from his favourite
poet.

We shall often find that Quotation is only
an oftentious display, or perhaps affection
of learning. In the first case it is truly
pedantry, and a fit subject for ridicule; in
the latter it is impofition, and when detected
deferves a more severe cenfure. Many
aut hors quote only at fecond-hand by adopt-
ing Quotations inferted in the writings of
other authors; or quote only from indexes,
so that what they quote is probably all that
they have read of the books which they formally
cite. An index is one of the moſt
convenient inventions of literature, and one
of the best aids to the acquisition and retention
of knowledge. But there is no doubt,
that it is upon too many occasions made the
guide to that ſpecies of impofition which I
have juſt now pointed out, and which is one
of the many tricks of the " Charlataneria
aruditorum—the quackery of the learned,"
under which title, an author upon the con-
tinent has published a curious and diverting
treatife.

I have mentioned that these are Quotations introduced into the speeches of some of our sovereigns, and the returns by the Speaker of the House of Commons. It may not be amifs to give a few instances; Thomas Williams, Esq. speaker, has several allusions and Quotations in his ſpeech to Queen Elizabeth, 1562. This was very SUITABLE to so learned a queen. No leſs in character are a number of allusions and Quotations in the ſpeeches of the Scholaſtick monarch James, and in the returns made to him by the Speaker, which I am pofitive from internal evidence have been dictated by James himself; witneſs the following paſſages from the ſpeech of Sir Edward Pheflips, ſerjeant at law, and one of the knights for Somersetshire, who, as Speaker of the House of Commons, made the return to James's long laboured ſpeech on his acceſſion. It begins " Most renowned, and of all other moſt worthy to be admired ſovereign." It thus describes the High Court of Parliament: " This Court ſtandeth compounded of two powers; the one ordinary, the other absolute; ordinary in the Lords and Commons proceedings, but in your Highneſs absolute; either negatively to fructuate, or affirmative ly to confirm, but not to

institute.” He has a deal of Quotations and
allusions, and metaphors, particularly he
fays, “ the laws yield more fruits of reason
than words, the buds of art and blooming
terms of eloquence.” But the following
sentence is moſt charaſteriſtick of its true
author. “ And thus being by the rules of
difcretion foretold, that to offend your facred
cars with multa, ſince to ſatisfy your gracious
expectations with multum, is denied mɔ,
were an error of errors the moſt erroneous.”

In Charles the First's reign, the Speaker,
John Glanville, Esq. ſerjeant at law, quotes
to the king,

“ Serus in cœlum redeas diugue

“ Lætus interfis populo Britanno.”

“ O mavſt thou late thy place in Heaven
“ obtain,

“ But long in happineſs o’er Britain reign.”

Little did he think of the ſhocking events
which afterwards befel that unfortunate mo-
narch. In the fame reign the Speaker, Sir
John Finch, addreſſed the king thus: “ We
live neither enthralled to the fury and rage
of the giddy multitude, nor yet to the dif-
traſted wills of many maſters, but under the
command of a king the ſtay and ſtrength of
a people: one, as Homer ſaith well of kings,

“ Πολλὰν αὐταῖος ἀλλὰν.”

If my readers shall find themselves diſ-
poſed to treat this mode of quotation as
strange pedantry, let them consider that we
in this age have not so much reason to boast
of our fancied improvement. For if there
is leſs pedantry it is because there is leſs
learning.

I cannot omit a ſpecies of Quotation which
is very frequently uſed with great ſuccesſ,
which is citing another. perſons ſayings to
themselves, or in their preference with respect-
ful approbation, in the way of ſlattery, than
which ſew modes of ſlattery are more in-
finuating; and indeed it is ſo oblique that
thoſe who are moſt on their guard against
ſlattery will be infenſably won by it. Many
a time do we hear a man pay his court in
this way, by quoting things of very little
moment with an air of much importance.
As thus: " Well, I ſhall never forget what
your lordship obſerved upon that occasion,"
or, " as my lord once remarked to me."
This kind of ſlattery has ſtill more weight in
he who uſes it, mentions that in conſequence
of the very wife obſeryation or remark of the
perſon ſlattered, he either did or forbore
fomething of conſequence. King James,
whole talent at quoting was eminent, intro-
duced into his first ſpeech to his Parliament
this complimentary ſpecies of Quotation.
" And here have I occafion to ſpeak to you,
my lords the bifhops; for as you, my Lord of
Durham, ſaid very learnedly to-day in your
fermon, ' Correction without inſtruction is
but

361

1779. A PLAN OF CHART SUTTON CHURCH, 247

but a tyranny." He then in exhorting them to vigilance and care " their charges give a specimen of his own style in a parenthesis (the devil is so busy a bishop)." He again

quotes my Lord of Durham. " For the bi-
 shop said well to-day, That to deliberation
 would a large time be given; but to execution
 a greater promptness was required."

*A Plan of Chart Sutton Church, near Maidstone in Kent, from the West End, with a Description of the Damages done to it by Lightening, occasioned by misguided Conductors, on Friday, April 23, 1779.*

Joffing block.

WOODGATE, a labourer, at
Chart Sutton, was going to-
wards the church about half after fix
in the morning, by the south front of
the house, and towards the west end of
the church, when he saw a flash of
lightening strike down directly (as he
thought) before him from letter H to
letter I, like a lump (to use his own

expression) as big as his fist, but he
was so terrified he could not fix upon
the place where it disappeared, nor
what distance it was from him, though
it blighted the vines which grew up
the front of the house behind him. Ed-
ward Brookes, a shoemaker, was going
very soon after through the church-
yard at letter K, where he heard a snap-
ping

295

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

1779.

294

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

July

and thrown such a load on the publick
shoulder, as is too heavy for it to bear.
The Rich have lamented—the lefs opu-
lent felt—the more subordinate groaned
under it, and it has preffed the Poor
and Needy down to the very ground.
Many schemes for the remedy of this
great and growing evil have been adopt-
ed. The publick-spirited and humane
have united in bodies to suppreſs it.
The legislative authority has inter-
poſed, and long ſince opened our ports
for the importation of foreign ſupplies
(particularly from Ireland;) but all
theſe laudable endeavours have not
proved productive of the end intended.
They have, in ſome degree, indeed
prevented the progreſs of this evil; but
the cure of it is the Confummation de-
woutly to be wuſhed. Inattention, pre-
poſſion, and miſtaken prejudices,
have, in a great meaſure, obſtruſed
fuch happy effects; or how ſhall we
account for the large quantities of
wholesome provision now lying in the
warehouſes of the City of London un-
noticed, and in a manner without de-
mand? At the preſent hour when
Mutton and Beef are retailed from
four-pence half-penny to five-pence
half-penny per pound by the joint, and
other meat proportionably dear, there
is ſhut up in warehouſes the produce
of ſome thouſands of Hogs and Oxen,
together with large quantities of but-
ter, all good merchantable provision,
to be purchased on very eaſy condi-
tions, and for want of which many of
the poor are nearly perſiling in this
town and suburbs, as alſo in almoſt
every other part of the kingdom. Theſe
considerations have determined ſome
gentlemen, who wſh well to the com-
munity, to attempt a diſtribution of
the ſaid Provision, in a mode highly
beneficial to their fellow-creatures, not
doubting but it will be thought incum-
bent on mankind in general, to encourage
an undertaking ſo laudable in itſelf, and
pregnant with ſuch pleaſing conſequen-
ces: The ſaid Gentlemen have opened a
warehouſe on the Quayſide, Newcaſtle,
under the management of George Ram-
fay; by which it will at once be ſeen
that thofe of low circumſtances may
eaſily ſupply the neceſſities of them-
felves and families; and the benevo-
lent have an opportunity of conveying
to the hovels of the wretched (for a
trifling ſum) Abundance of meat that
perſueth; in return for which, they

will hereafter receive the bread of ever-
laſing life.

" P. S. The ſaid Gentlemen pro-
pofe alſo to accommodate the publick
with a quantity of fine Newfoundland
Cod-fish and Baccalao, of a very large
ſize and excellent quality, the useful-
neſs of which article (ſo beneficial to
the navigation and commerce of this
country) they wſh may be made
known, and the ſaid Fish brought into
general demand, by occaſionally in-
troducing it to the tables of every fa-
mily in the courſe of the ſeason.

" Pro bono Publico, with a view to re-
duce the high price of the neceſſaries of
life.

" Prime ſalted Beef, from two-pence
to three-pence half-penny per pound.
Ditto Pork from two-pence half-penny
to four-pence.

" All warranted ſweet and good.

" Captains of ships taking a quan-
tity in barrels will be ſerved very rea-
ſonable."

Being now come to the ſubjeſt of the
prefent eſſay, I muſt candidly acknow-
ledge, that in my opinion, the ſame-
neſs or ſimilarity which we frequently
find between paſſages in different au-
thors cannot be with abſolute cer-
tainty aſcribed to its proper origin un-
leſs where there is a paſſage of conſi-
derable length in one author, which
we can diſcover in the very ſame words
in another author; and then we may
without heſitation pronounce that it is
Plagiarism. A paſſage of conſiderable
length, ſomewhat varied, may be Imi-
tation; or it may be Coincidence to a
certain degree both in thought and ex-
preſſion. A very ſhort paſſage in one
author may be preciſely the ſame with
one in another, from pure coincidence,
or from aſcribing that to inſtantaneous
invention which is truely the effect of
memory. But no man would be be-
lieved who ſhould affirm, that a long
paſſage exaſtly in another author ſeem-
ed to him to be his own producſion.
For although the mind can produce a
little without being conſcious of its
labour, it cannot produce much with
the ſame facility which we experience
in the exercife of memory, ſo as not to
be ſenſible of the difference.

If we ſhould ſupſoſe all poffible
thoughts to be continually floating in
the intelleſtual world, and circulating
from mind to mind, there would be
no difficulty in imagining what was
one

July

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

294

1779.

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

one man's thought at one time to become another man's thought afterwards. But I really do not like such abstruse kind of speculation. I wish to reason upon such principles as experience furnishes, and not to go too far from the common and ordinary train of thinking. To speculate for construction, or for amusement, is wife; but to distend our faculties by ineffectual stretches is both unwife and painful.

There are innumerable plain truths which every rational being must acknowledge and express as soon as he has understanding and language. There do not fall under the subject of my present essay. No man is a plagiarist or an imitator who says two and two make four; nor is it to be remarked as Coincidence that millions say so. But there are many short reflexions not quite obvious, which may yet occur exactly in the same manner to different people. I remember a friend of mine applied to a barrister of great practice who was gathering money, what Horace says of the ant—"Ore trahit quodcunque potest atque addit acervoo—gets with its mouth what it can and adds to the heap." I marked this down in my collection of good things. But some years afterwards I found the very fame witty application in Butler's posthumeous works, which my friend had never looked into.

About twenty years ago there was published "A Letter to Mr. Mason on the marks of Imitation." I never saw this performance, but by extracts from it in the Monthly Review it appears to be learned and ingenious. The author of it traces many fine passages in English writers to a classical original, and fome he shews to have been taken from other English writers." I shall give a few instances of similarity which I have remarked

In Sir John Vanbrugh's exquisite comedy, *The Provoked Wife*, Heartfree fays, "I always confider a woman not as the taylor, the shoemaker, the tirewoman, the fempftrels; but I confider her as pure nature has contrived her."

Is not this very like a sentence of Sir Francis Ofborn's, in his advice to a fan? "If you confider beauty alone, quite discharged from such debentures, as fhe owes to the arts of tire-women, taylors, shoemakers, and perhaps pain-

ters, you will find the remains so inconsiderable as scarce to deferve your present thoughts, much lefs to be made the price of your perpetual slavery."

In *The Spleen*, a poem, which is in general truely original, a lively image it truck me, where he repreſents Scandal telling that a lady and gentleman were ſeen in a coach together

" Like Will and Mary on the coin."

But this is probably an imitation of Hudibras :

" Still amorous, and fond, and billing,

" Like Philip and Mary on a shilling."

In Mr. Murphy's tragedy of Zeno-bia the fond exprefſion

" Let me wander o'er him with my kiffes," appeared to me to be new as well as very poetical; but I find its prototype, or at least similitude, in an old fong which begins

" Young Corydon and Phillis"—

" And greater blifs purfuing,

" He wander'd o'er her breast."

Mr. Burke in his very ingenious essay on the Sublime and Beautiful, exhibits an excellence in Milton thus: "But darkneſs is more productive of ſublime ideas than light. Our great poet was convinced of this; and indeed ſo full was he of this idea, ſo entirely poſſed with the power of a well-mag.naged darkneſs, that in deſcribing the appearance of the Deity, amidst that profuſion of magniſcive images which the grandeur of his ſubjeſt provokes him to pour out upon every ſide, he is far from forgetting the obſcurity which ſurrounds the moſt incompreheſible of all beings, but

" With the majesty of darkneſs round

" Circles his throne."

This ſublime circumſtance is borrowed from a ſource with which Milton was well acquainted, the Pſalms, where, after a triumphant proclama-tion that "The Lord reigneth," it is faid, "Clouds and darkneſs are round about him."

In Goldsmith's beautiful little poem, *The Hermit*, there is a delicate philofophical ſentiment :

" Man wants but little here below,

" Nor wants that little long."

Which is certainly borrowed from Dr. Young's Night Thoughts.

" Man wants but little, nor that little long."

Goldsmith,

THE HYPÖCHONDRIACK.

July

296

Goldsmith, I suppoſe, had got the line
by heart; and it had afterwards re-
mained unperceived amongſt his own
ſtore of poetical thoughts.

In Soame Jenyns's lively and agreeable defence of Chriſtianity, I read with pleasure the following concluſive and at the fame time witty remark, that he who believes that the undoubted hiftory of the Goſpel happened without ſupernatural affiſtance, "muſt be poſſeſſed of much more faith than is neceſſary to make him a Chriſtian, and remain an unbeliſer from mere credulity."

But this is either taken from Dr. Young's Night Thoughts, or is a clear coincidence with this:

"—" How ſtrange
"To diſbelieve thro' mere credulity!"

These are two inſtances of borrowing, or imitation, or coincidence with Dr. Young. Many more I dare ſay might be diſcovered. But I found one point-ed out where one would not have expeſted to find it—in a note upon a law book of more than ordinary merit—" *A ſyſiem of the Principles of the Law of Scotland, by George Wallace, Advo-cate;*" a book which I am inſormed has been highly applauded by the preſent Lord Chieſ Chief Jüſtice, and which I am ſure deſerves to be applauded. He quotes the following lines on nature from Dr. Young's Univerſal Paffion:

"In diſtant wild, by human eyes unſeen,
"She rears her flowers and spreads her velvet green;
"Pure gurgling rills the lonely deſert trace,
"And waſte their muſick on the savage race."

And then obſerves, "Mr. Gray, one of the greateſt poets England ever produced, has the fame thought ſomething divertiſed in his Elegy. I would have tranſcribed his lines but many quotations are diſguſing." I who have not the fame neceſſaſ as to quotation which Mr. Wallace ſeems to have caught from other writers, ſhall now preſent my readers with Mr. Gray's ſtanza,

"Full many a gem of pureſt ray ſerene.
"The dark, unſathom'd caves of Ocean
"bear;

"Full many a flower is born to bluſh unſeen,
"And waſte its ſweetneſs on the deſert air."

The ſimilarity is very ſtrong, but Mr. Gray was certainly not ſcious of it; for he does not inſert it amongſt the *Imitations* which he ſubjoined to an edition of his Poems, though he has been uncommonly attentive to mark the ſmallest coincidence with paffages in other writings.

I have obſerved in Dr. Young's Night Thoughts two coincidences with paffages in other authors:

"Alas! ambition makes my little leſs," is after this line in Dr. Johnson's London, a Poem:

"And every moment makes my little leſs."
And,

"Man makes a death which nature never
"made,

"And feels a thousand deaths in fearing one,"
is a compound imitation of Parnell and Shakeſſeurope.

"When men my ſcythe and darte ſupply,
"How great a king of fears am I."

Night Piece, on Death.

"Cowards die many times before their
"deaths."

Julius Cæsar.

It is an innocent entertainment to trace
fuch ſimilarities; and were a man to
read much with that view only, he
might make a large collection, for
which I, and probably many others,
ſhould thank him. It occurred to me
while looking into Statius, that his de-
ſcription of the morning ſtar's appear-
ing in different ſituations may be ap-
plied to the fame thought ſtarting up
in different writers.

The deſcription ſtands thus:

"Lucifer
"Mutato noſturnut equo nec confcia fallit
"Sidera, et alterno depreſditur unus in ortu."

The paffage which I have taken for
my motto, *alterno deprenditur unus in
ortu*, is quite expreſſive of the famenefs
being diſcovered in different appear-
ances, the words *mutato equo* may well
ſignify that the conveyance, the author,
is changed; and *nec confcia ſidera fallit*
may be rendered, that the change does
not eſcape the penetration of knowing
criticks.

ERRATA.

*In the Hypochondriack, No. XXI. p. 246. col. 2. l. 39. for another read other;*
*p. 247. col. 1. l. 2. infert in before their, and for give read gives.*

THE
LONDON MAGAZINE,
FOR AUGUST, 1779.

* * The Description of Gordon Castle is included in that of the County of Banff,
given with the Map, page 369.

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK. No. XXIII.

Dicenda tacendaque calles.

PERSIUS.

" Well knowing what to utter, what suppreſs."

THE motto of this paper is a part of the prairie which Perseus gives to a young man riling in eloquence, as a follower of the great Pericles.

And so far as oratory depends upon art or judgement, nothing is of more importance to command ſucceſs than that faculty of ſelection which the poet applauds.

A fullneſs and richneſs of thought and expreſſion muſt, no doubt, be highly valued in a publick ſpeaker. Like a picture upon a large ſcale which is intended for being viewed from a confiderable diſtance, an orator's diſcourse ſhould never be little or familiar; for, he is always to be held, if not above his audience, at leaſt not near to them; so that his ſtyle and manner ſhould be very different from that of common converſation, to which again the ſtatelineſs of eloquence is pompouſely diſproportionate.

But the prairie of knowing what to utter, and what to ſuppreſs, is ſtill more to be defined by the man who would excel in common converſation, than by the orator. Lefſs diſcriminaſtion can be borne in publick than in private; the heat of animation, and the blaze of eloquence will make us inſenſible to improprieties which, when our minds are not wound up to ſuch a pitch, are perceived with diſguſt.

I have always considered it to be a very great misfortune to be one of those people, who may be faſd to have no fanners in their minds with which they can winnow the grain from the

chaff, so that all their thoughts of every ſort are brought forth, whatever may be the conſequence. This with ſome is a natural defect, an absolute want of diſcernment. But I believe it is moſt frequently owing to an extreme degree of inattention and careleſſneſs from not being habituated to any kind of correction.

Every child when not under reſtraint from ſhame or fear, utters his thoughts juſt as they are ſarife in his mind, without obliging them to undergo any examiſnation before they are allowed to pafſ; and it is only by inſtruction and experience that any of us attain to retenü, as the French well expréſs the power of ſupprefſing what it is improper to utter. In proportion therefore as a perſon has attained that habit, he may be considered as leſs childſh.

The five years ſilence which was preſcribed to his ſcholars by Pythagoras, before they were initiated in the myſteries of the Samian ſchool, was intended to give them ſuch a degree of ſelſ command, that they probably would not become relaxed during all the remaining course of their lives. I own I have a reſpect for every kind of diſcipline, for every mode which men more intellectual than corporeal have invented for bringing human nature to a ſtate of greater perſection in any particular. I cannot therefore join in any ridicule of the Pythagorean ſilence; for let it be remembered that the young philofophers who obſerved it were not merely "flow to ſpeak," but were alſo "ſwift to hear," so that while they were acquiring the management of their

X X 2

powers

342

Aug.

*A critical and satirical Dissertation on NAMES. With Observations on the great Absurdity and Impropriety of those of the Modern World.*

*(Continued from our last, page 312.)*

THE ancient Greeks, a learned and polite people, had always a meaning in their appellations, and among them a man's character was instantly known by his name. Thus the plain English of Driftophanes is, one of the best kind of men in the world, and of Theophrasius, one who talks like a god. They were, however, too wife to suppope that such names could with any propriety be made hereditary: they were certain that, as we find it to this day, every Tully would have his Mark, and therefore prudently suppressed them after the first generation. We may draw one fair inference from this custom of the Greeks. Names thus given were undoubtedly the origin of what we stile proper names; and as it is my wish to restore this rational distribution of male and female nomenclatives, it shall be my endeavour to demonstrate so clearly the absurdities of our prefent wretched misnomers, that my countrymen at large will I hope, find it for their interest to adopt my plan of reformation, the outline of which shall be given in an exhibition of a variety of names really proper. Give me leave to premife, that this revolution must be brought about by the people, for as to our rulers, it would be greatly to their difadvantage to give them their proper names. Custom and not law must establish this sensible alteration, for no member in either house, will be hardy enough to move for leave to bring in a bill to call either things or persons by their proper names, justly apprehensive that small beginnings might have great ends. And God only knows what might be the names beftowed by the vox populi on king, lords, and commoners. It is always in the power of the people to correct very gross national absurdities, fashion alone by its almighty influence can do more in this cafe than Mansfield or Thurlow. The prefent military tafe of our ladies, and their influence over our home troops favours the design. A very little perfusion from our camp officers, will soon convince Jadies who are converfant with

grooms, jockies, drummers, fifers, horves, and dogs, to call every thing by its proper name, indeed moft of them seem to have gone more than half way through their exercifes in this, and moft other field and marquee evolutions. Without further apology therefore, I shall proceed to state some remarkable instances of our prefent contradictory mode of misnaming persons; and by way of digression, before I dismifs my fubjeft entirely, I may here and there pafs from persons to things.

It is but very lately that my servant had the infolence to fend for a King to heel-piece his shoes, if he had added a new pair of soles, I should certainly have concluded that the fellow, who was one of John Wilkes's mob at Brentford, meant to libel the state; as it was, I own I had my doubts, for when they were brought home I heard him mutter, that the King had got bad awls, the wrong thread, and flinking wax in his stall, and had made but a cobling piece of work of it. Awls, faid I to myself, are too sharp for minifters, a cobler's thread can bear no allusion to the entangled thread of public affairs that has tied America, France, and Spain in a Gordian knot, nor cobler's wax to the wax of the Great Seal, or the noble bearer of it. I had juft quieted my mind upon John's account, with these reflections, when in came Sukey and almost petrified me with apprehenſion, that treafon, or patriotism, which (strange to tell) means the fame thing in our day, had been difleminated in my family. " Sir, fays he, the chimneys all over the house are so foul, that if you do not fend for the Prince to tweep them we may be burnt in our beds: they are quite choaked up with foot, and nobody can clean them but him." A chaos of confused ideas rufed into my imagination, the whole line of the Stuarts now living, crowded about my brain, and hurried me through a long sentimental journey from Luton-Hoo to Turin, in search of a pretender, but at length, conceiving it impoffible that the Scots could be more honoured, favoured,

24

THE
LONDON MAGAZINE,
FOR SEPTEMBER, 1779.

SOME ACCOUNT OF HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF RICHMOND,
&c. &c. &c.

*(With an engraved Portrait from an original Drawing.)*

HARLES LENOX, the present Duke of Richmond, Earl of March, and Baron Settrington in England; Duke of Lenox, Earl of Darnley, and Baron Methuen of Scotland; also, D. of Aubigny in France, was born in the month of February 1735; and succeeded to his titles and estates, upon the death of his father, in the month of August, 1750.

His Grace being then in the sixteenth year of his age; and having completed his classical studies, was soon after sent abroad by his guardians to improve and accomplish himself by visiting and refiding at the different courts and capitals of Europe. In early youth his Grace discovered a genius for letters, and as he advanced to manhood, an attachment to those branches of science which qualify men for important publick employments in the state. It appears, however, that his inclination led him to embrace the military life, for in the year 1756, we find him returned from his travels, and advanced to the rank of lieutenant-colonel of the 32d regiment of foot.

The duke likewise manifested about this time, a refined taste and great judgement in the polite arts, which constituted him a proper patron of the professors and students of those arts. Accordingly in the month of March, 1758, he opened a room in his house at Whitehall, from that time called the Duke of Richmond's Gallery, for the use of all artists above twelve years of age, who are permitted to model and draw from a collection of excellent plaister cafts made from the most celebrated antique busts and statues at Rome and Florence, collected by his Grace, while he was on his travels, or purchased since at a great expence; and he beflows two medals annually, as rewards on young students, for the two best models from those cafts. Besides this attention to the prosperity of the polite arts of architecture, sculpture, and painting, he contributed to the advancement of the useful arts, as a member of the Society for the Promotion of Arts, Manufactures, and Commerce, of which he continues to be a vice president.

In the month of March, 1761, his lordship was promoted to the rank of major-

general, and appointed one of the lords of the bed-chamber, which poffe he soon reſigned. In 1763, he was nominated lord lieutenant and cuftos rotulorum of the county of Suffolk, which honour he now enjoys, and is colonel of the militia of that county. In October 1765, his Grace was ſworn of his Majefty's moſt honourable privy council; and appointed ambaſſor extraordinary to the court of France; and in the month of May 1766, he was made his Majefty's principal secretary of state for the ſouthern department, which he reſigned in the month of August following, upon the diſolution of the Rockingham administration.

As his Grace had taken a principal part in carrying the declaratory act through the House of Peers, which act it was then imagined would have quieted the minds of the Americans and have reconciled them to the mother country, he received a letter of thanks from the Speaker of the House of Assembly of Maſſachusetts Bay, in the name of that assembly, to which he returned a polite answer in the month of November, 1766. From this time, the measures taken by government with refpect to America, being diametrically oppofite to the Sentiments of the duke and his friends, he has continued to oppofe them with manly eloquence and patriotick zeal in the House of Peers, and this conduct has conſequently excluded him from all publick employments. It will be unnecessary to enlarge on the ſubject of his oppofition, because every motion of conference made by his Grace, and debated in the House of Lords, will be found in our parliamentary history.

The duke married in the year 1757 Lady Mary, eldest daughter of Charles Bruce, late Earl of Ayleſbury, by whom he has no issue.

In his person he is tall and comely, wears his own hair, but is rather bald, he has a musical voice, an easy and genteel address, but has a warmth in his temper which sometimes exceeds moderation, and injures a delicate constitution. His Grace is in the prime of life, and his principles being certainly patriotick, a change of ſystem may reſtore him to the councils of his sovereign, and to those high publick truſts, which he will certainly diſcharge, whenever he comes into office, with ability and integrity.

THE

390

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

Sept.

in an honest brave Irishman, but there
was a very juft meaning in it, when
he said, upon being afked why he fat
still in a company long after the hour
at which he had an appointment fome-
where elfe, " Why, I obferved that
whenever any body went away his cha-
rafter was immediately attacked, fo I
ftayed to be ready to defend myſelf."

I have often wondered to find ſcan-
dal prevail so much amongst the fair-
ſex, whose delicacy one ſhould fuppoſe
would prevent them from what is in
effect ſo barbarous. But I ſometimes
confider a drawing-room to be like a
theatre of ſurgery, where patients are
mangled in various ways. Or, as they
are not preſent, it may perhaps be bet-
ter compared to a haunt of witches,
where the objects of their malignity are
tormented in effigy.

All who reflect upon their own in-
firmities ſhould be ſparing of other peo-
ple, that they themſelves may be ſpared;
and thus by mutual indulgence the ge-
neral ſtock of benevolence will be aug-
mented. On the contrary, by accuf-
toming ourſelves to cenſoriouſneſs, we
ſhall every day grow leſs kindly one
towards another, and each is propor-
tionally a ſoſer. Pope, when elated
with the pride of a lofty ſatyrift, boafſ

" No, while I live no rich or noble knave

" Shall walk in peace and credit to his grave."

But Pope, when in his beſt frame, prays

" Teach me to feel another's woe,

" To hide the fault I fee."

There may be two good reaſons given
for hiding faults which we think we
fee in our neighbours. We may be
miftaken; in which cafe an unjuſt ſen-
tence is not eafily remedied; and if we
are right, they perhaps may be endea-
vouring to correct what is wrong; and
it would be very hard that while thus
fruggling they ſhould be cruſhed.

For my own part, I look upon it as
a great misfortune to be quick-fighted
to the faults and imperfections of others.
It is the great ſtudy of civilized life to
promote good-humour and complacen-
cy, by making ourſelves and every
thing about us appear as agreeable as
we can; for which reaſon we endeavour
to keep out of fight whatever is im-
perfect and offenſive; and our inven-
tions are exerciſed in multiplying modes

of cleanlineſs and ornament. Swift
has ſhown us to a degree of exquifite
difſuſt the conſequence of prying, when
we ought to be ſatisfied with external
beauty of perſon and drefs. If we will
ſet ourſelves to inſ investigations in his man-
ner, we all know what naufious ideas
will be excited; yet happily for us how
very ſeldom are we diſturbed by them
as our views ſkim pleafingly along the
surface. In the fame manner we ought
to conduct ourſelves as to mental qua-
lities; and not be always examining
nicely into the charaſters of our neigh-
bourſ. We might as well have their bodies
put to the teſt of phyſick, as their minds
to the teſt of morality. It is ſaid that
no man is in perſect health; and it will
be admitted that no man is completely
virtuous. If a man has any inſeſtious
or loathſome diſeafe, it is evident, and
we ſhun him. A ſimilar remark is to
be made if he has any capital vice. But
they who are perpetually probing for
faults and imperfections, whether of
body or mind, are ſurely very unhap-
py. An acquaintance of mine told me
that he was much pleafed in the com-
pany of a very pretty agreeable woman.
But after leaving her, and mentioning
this to an anatomift who had been along
with him, the anatomift obſerved " Her
mufcles are no better than blubber."
A prying moralift is very apt to make
ſimilar remarks upon charaſter. He
goes to a gentleman's house in the coun-
try, and meets with a chearful, hofpi-
table reception; but when he comes
away he ſuggels that probably this
cheerfulneſs was forced, and that there
was a good deal of ſelſih vanity in the
entertainment; or perhaps he finds out
that the gentleman is not much of a
ſcholar, that he is indifferent about his
wife, and by no means liberal to his
fon.

I believe upon the whole, that he
who would pafs his life comfortably
ſhould not only abstain from cenſure,
but habituate himſelf to take things in
the moſt agreeable view; and by no
means to ſearch for faults. I have ob-
ſerved that no perſons are leſs happy
themſelves, or more diſliked by others
than those who are continually exa-
mining and inquiring with a nice keen-
neſs; and inſtead of being ſatisfied
with good' plain general enjoyment of
fociety, are upon every occafion analy-
fing people's characters.

T9

THE
LONDON MAGAZINE,

FOR JANUARY, 1780.

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK. No. XXVIII.

Interea fidos adit baud securus amicos
Utque velint inimicum animum frontifque sereæ
Dura supercilia induere & non parcere culpæ
Hos iterum atque iterum rogat, admonitufque latentis
Grates lætus agit vitii & peccata fatetur
Sponte fua quamvis etiam damnetur iniquo
Indicio & falfum queat ore refellere crimen.

VIDA.

“ He seeks his friends nor trusts himself alone,

“ But asks their judgement and resigns his own,

“Begs them with urgent prayers to be sincere,

“ Juft, and exact, and rigidly severe.

“ Due verdict to pronounce on ev'ry thought,

“ Nor spare the flighteſt ſhadow of a fault.

“ But bent againſt himself, and strictly nice

“ He thanks each critick that detects a vice,

“ Tho' charg'd with what his judgement can defend

“ He joins the partial sentence of his friend.

PITT.

MY
laſt number treated of revifon
and correction by an authour of
his own works. It may perhaps be
thought by ſome, that this ſelf-
criticifm will be always exceeding-
ly gentle, as Proteſtants are apt to
reſprefent the flagellation which Romiſh
penitents adminifter to themſelves. But
this will depend much upon the dif-
ferent tempers of authours. One who
is conceited and vain, will, like a har-
dened finner be inſenſible of his im-
perfections and faults, while one who
is modelt and diffident will, like a pe-
nitent whose heart is broken with con-
trition, be perhaps too ſevere in judg-
ing of his performances.

Pope maintains the opinion, that ſuc-
cerſul authours have been very rigid
criticks upon their own works. For
he tells us they

— “ Lofe half the praeſe they would have
get,

“ Were it but known what they diſcreetely
blot.”

But I am not ſure that this is a juſt
remark, though its quaintneſs has a

deſcijive appearance. If it is meant
that they lobe half the praeſe they
would have got, had they preferred
what they have blotted, their blotting
was not diſcreet. And if it is meant
that their additional praeſe would have
arifen from their diſcretion in blotting
being known, I think it is rated too
high, if it is to have half as much
praeſe as excellent compoſition.

It has been again and again recom-
mended to authours to diftruſt their
own opinion of their works, and to
have recourse to the judgement of
friends. This we know has ſuggeſted
to ſo many authours, that one ſhould
think they would now be aſhamed of
it as worn out, the plaſible pretext
of publishing at the requeſt, or by the
advice of friends. I know not if too
much diſtidence be either reaſonable or
at all advantageous ; and it ſeems to
me ſtrange to ſuppofe that a mind ca-
pable of producing performances wor-
thy of praeſe ſhould be ſo deftitute of
the faculty of judgement as to be al-
together unconſcious of their merit,
and on the other hand that they ſhould
not

374

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

1780.

6

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

Jan.

not be sensible of failing when their
intellectual powers are occasionally en-
feebled, or the light of their genius
obscured.

Vida represents as an example in his
didactic poem, an authour filled with
extreme distaste of himself, and the
most abject submission to the opinion
of his friends, in so much as even ac-
quiescing in what his judgement tells
him and can demonstrate to be wrong
in their sentence upon his works.

That this is an example which au-
thours should imitate I cannot agree.
For he who has not a decent confi-
dence in himself must be so weak that
nobody will get any value upon him,
or upon his works. That a fondness
for our own compositions may prevent
us in many instances from perceiving
their faults I allow; and therefore the
opinion of impartial friends may be
of use. But unless I am convinced
that my friends are in the right I will
not comply with their opinion.

Merely faying that a composition, or
any part of a composition does not
pleafe, without explaining why, is fay-
ing nothing that should influence an
authour. It is only another instance
of what has ever been and ever will
be, that there are different tastes; so
that if an authour himself, after having
his critical attention awakened, is not
sensible that what is objected to should
not pleafe, he would be much in the
wrong to make an alteration.

A story is told which being proba-
ble is very likely to be true, that an
authour put a play which he had writ-
ten into the hands of a number of his
critical friends separately, begging to
have their candid remarks upon it;
and that when their remarks came to
be collected and compared, he found
that all of them had objections to parts
of the performance, but that each had
happened to object to a different scene.
If therefore he had been to follow im-
plicitly the judgement of his friends
in striking out what was objectionable,
he would not have had the veiige of a
play left. But would have resembled
the man in the fable who had two
wives, a young one and an old one,
each of whom wishing to have his hair
of her own colour, one pulled out the
grey hairs and one the black, till the
poor submissive husband was left quite
bald.

There is, I am afraid, in general
as little tenderness of confidence in
Criticism as in any thing which men
are ever engaged. If injuries, as they
certainly are, be great in proportion to
the pain which they occasion, Criti-
cism often injures our neighbour more
than hurting him in his body or estate.
Yet with what inattention and levity,
with what wantonness of abuse do we
find people decide upon the writings
of others. I do not recollect that law-
yers have mentioned this as a species
of injury upon which an action would
lie. To be sure it would be difficult
to empannael a jury to try the issue of
a suit upon a charge of being unjustly
called a blockhead, or a dunce; and
therefore I believe the merits of such
questions must be left as heretofore to
the grand affize of the publick.

Some of those whom an authour
calls his friends, take a haughty ma-
lignant pleasure in treating his per-
formances upon which they are con-
fulted, with capricious severity. But
it is no less cruel to deceive an authour
by false commendation, till he pub-
lishes works by which he may suffer
both in his fame and fortune. There
is a delicate evausion, which every au-
thour of any discernment will under-
stand, by which his friends may show
him that they totally disapprove of his
performance, without shocking him by
faying so directly. If, notwithstanding
this, he fends it forth into the
world, they are not to blame, and he
must take the consequences. But there
is an unconfidentious exercize of Cri-
ticism which is most deeply culpable.
An authour shows his manufercript to
persons in whose skill and taste the
purchasers of copy-right have confi-
dence; and those persons to oblige the
authour furnish him with flattering
opinions of his work, knowing that he
is to offer it to fale. Upon his show-
ing these opinions a handsome price is
given, and the bookfellers are confide-
rable lofers. Such critical judges
should confider that their commending
a literary production which does not
deferve it, is like an affay mafter certi-
fying that to be gold which is only
bafe metal.

It is no doubt one of the most diffi-
cult taeks in the world to convey to an
authour a candid disapprobation of his
works, or even to correct them in any
degree.

375

SELECT MAXIMS.

Jan.

OF CHASTITY.

P Pure Chastity is beauty to our
fools, grace to our bodies, and peace
to our desires. Solon.

Frugality is a token of Chafity.

Fortitude is the champion of Chaf-
tity.

Chafity without charity for the
failings of others, is like a lamp with-
out oil.

Chafity, humility, and charity are
the three united, real graces.

Though the body be ever so fair, it
cannot be beautiful without Chafity.

Gracious is the face that promiseth
nothing but love, and celestial the re-
resolution that tempereth it with Chaf-
tity.

Chafity doth not confift in total ab-
ftinence from lawful pleafures. It is
a virtue common to both fexes, and
belongs to the married as well as the
single ſtate.

Celibacy is the ſon of Auſterity.
Chafity the daughter of Modeſty.

Beauty is like the flowers of ſpring,
and Chafity like the ſtars in the hea-
vens.

A wandering eye is a manifeſt token
of an unchafte heart.

Idlenefs is the greateſt foe to Chaf-
tity.

Chafity and modeſty often enrich
the poor.

Rather make choice of honefly and
manners in a female, than of loose be-
haviour with great lands and rich po-
ſeffions.

It is cowardly and cruel to affault
female Chafity with the combined
forces of dignity, wealth, and an
agreeable perſon.

OF DANCING,

(For, and againſt it.)

DANCING is an active motion of
the body, which proceedeth from the
lightneſs of the heart, judiciously ob-
ferving the true time and meaſure of
muſick.

Time and Dancing are twins. Time,
the first born, being the meaſure of
all
moving; and Dancing the movement
of all in meaſure.

Dancing is the child of Muſick and
Love.

It is neceſſary that our footſteps be
as well ruled as our words ought to be.

The virgins of wereBAſſi accuſtom-
ed to dance publickly on feſtivals,
without the company of men, and
to ſing chaſſe ſongs: by this exerciſe
eſſeminacy, idleneſs, and laſcivioſneſs
being avoided, when they married they
became the mothers of a manly, ro-
buſt, virtuous race.

Pyrrhus's play was invented in Crete,
for the ſoldiers to exerciſe themſelves,
wherein he taught diverse geſtures, and
fundry shifts and motions, ſo that the
training to war was by dancing in
arms.

The ſoberer and wiser ſon however
of the heathens utterly diſliked dance-
ing; and among the ancient Romans
in the flourishing time of the common-
wealth it was accounted a ſhame to
dance well.

Sempronia, a Roman lady, although
fortunate in her hufband and children,
and famous for her learning, left her
reputation by her great dexterity in
footing a dance.

Plato and Ariftippus being invited
to a banquet by Dionysus, and being
both commanded by him to drefs them-
felves in purple, and to dance; Plato
refused, with this anſwer, I am born
a man, and know not how to demean
myſelf in ſuch womaniſh effeminacy.
Ariftippus drefſed himſelf in purple,
and prepared himſelf to dance, ſay-
ing, "At the ſolemnities of our father
Liber a chaſſe mind knoweth not how
to be corrupted."

Callithenes, King of Sicyon, having
a daughter marriageable, commanded
that it ſhould be proclaimed at the
games of Olympus, that he that would
be accounted Callithenes's ſon-in-law
ſhould within ſixty days repair to Si-
cyon. When many wooers had met
together, Hippoclides, the Athenian,
ſon of Tifander, ſeemed the ſitteſt:
but when he had trod the Laconick and
Antick meaſures, and had perſonated
them with his legs and arms, Callit-
thenes refenting it, ſaid, "O thou ſon
of Tifander, thou haſt danced away
thy marriage."

Frederick the Third, Emperor of
Rome, often uſed to ſay, that he had
rather be ſick of a burning fever than
give himſelf to dancing.

No man danceth except he be drunk
or mad. Tully.

LECTURES

THE
LONDON MAGAZINE,
FOR FEBRUARY, 1780.

SOME ACCOUNT OF LORD VISCOUNT STORMONT, &c. &c.

*(With an engraved Portrait from an original Picture.)*

D

AVID MURRAY, the
prefent Viscount Stormont,
Baron of Scoon and Bal-
vaird, heretable keeper of
the palace of Scoon in
Scotland, succeeded his fa-
ther as one of the sixteen
peers of Scotland, being elected in 1748.

His lordship, after receiving a finished education at home, made the tour of Europe, and while he was on his travels, he was appointed Resident at the Court of Dresden : in that capacity he was so highly esteemed by the Elector of Saxony and the nobility, that a marriage was accomplished between his lordship and a daughter of Count Bunan. This lady died at Vienna in 1766, leaving him one daughter, Lady Elizabeth Mary. In 1755, his lordship was appointed Ambassador to the King of Poland, in which situation, we believe, he remained till the peace, and immediately after, viz. in May 1763, his lordship was appointed Ambassador Extraordinary and Minifter Plenipotentiary to the Emperor, and the Emprefs Dowager of Germany. It was of the utmost importance, in order to preserve the tranquillity of Europe, to have an able minifter at the Court of Vienna at this period, and it is faid to be owing to the exertion of his lordship's minifterial talents and addrefs, that the Emperor has been kept steady in his alliance and friendshif for Great Britain, in oppofition to the undermining influence of France. His lordship also had a considerable share in promoting the peace between the Ruffians and the Turks, and in cementing that close, commercial, and political alliance between the Courts of Peterſburg and London, which may prove highly beneficial to Great Britain, by the affiftance to be obtained from the formidable power of the Empreſs of Ruffia. It is not meant to affert that Lord Stormont was a principal in the negociations between the Courts of Peterſburg and Conſtantinople, nor between the former and our court; the abilities of the minifers of the respective powers immediately concerned were equal to their important functions; but the strict intimacy in which his lordship lived with the minifers from every power in Europe to the courts where he refided, enabled him to become a powerful, friendly mediator.

His lordship lived upon terms of great
amity with the late Lord Cathcart, the Brit-
ish Ambassador at the Court of Peterſburg,
while his lordship was at Vienna, and upon
the appointment of other minifers to thofe
departments, their friendſhip was cemented
by the ties of affinity, Lord Stormont mar-
rying in 1776, the Lady Louifa Cathcart,
his lordship's third daughter. His Lord-
ship's laſt embaſſ was to the Court of
Verſailles, upon the recall of Lord Roch-
ford, who was appointed Secretary of State,
and in this ſtation he continued till the rup-
ture with France obliged him to quit that
perſidious court.

So many years refidence abroad, has made
Lord Stormont almost a ſtranger at home,
and though he may have performed very ef-
fential ſervices for his country, yet they
have been in ſuch a line as from their very
nature cannot be known to the publick at
large. Great expectations however may be
formed in his preſent ſtation of Secretary of
State for the Northern department, if the
prejudices entertained against him merely as
a North Briton, do not occasion his removal.
In the humble opinion of the writer of theſe
imperfeſt memoirs, it should be an inva-
riable rule to appoint thofe perſons who
have been long employed in embaſſes abroad
to the office of Secretary of State. The very
title and the principal functions of this officer
pointing out the propriety of this choice.

Lord Stormont's first ſpeech in the House
of Lords, on the 7th of December 1778 (ſee
our Magazine, Vol. XLVII. p. 589) when
adminiſtration was accuſed of deficiency in
not procuring early intelligence, was heard
with admiration by the crowd of ſtrangers
below the bar, and moſt affuredly his lord-
ship upon that occasion, and upon ſeveral
others ſince, has ſet an example of polite-
neſs, cool temper, and moderation towards
his adverfaries, highly becoming the dignity
of the House of Peers.

To a graceful perſon and genteel addrefs,
his lordship adds an elegance of diſtion,
rarely to be met with, and nature has ſup-
plied him with an harmonious voice. Is it
neceſtary to add, that this account is penned
by an Englishman, a native of London, and
one who has no connexion whatever with
adminiſtration?

M.

H 2

54

THE BRITISH THEATRE.

Feb.

as I do, an observation by Dr. John-
fon in his preface to Cowley. " He
published his prepositions and his dif-
content in an Ode called " The Com-
plaint," in which he ftiles himself the

melancholy Cowley. This met with
the usual fortune of complaints, and
feems to have excited more Contempt
than Pity."

THE BRITISH THEATRE.

COVENT-GARDEN.

Tuesday, Feb. 1.

THIS evening was performed the
first time a new dramatick piece,
written by Mr. Cumberland, intitled
*The Widow of Delphi; or, The Descent
of the Deities.* The characters were
represented as follow:

<table><tr><td>Phormio</td><td>Mr. Lewis.</td></tr><tr><td>Magadorus</td><td>Mr. Quick.</td></tr><tr><td>Pertinax</td><td>Mr. Wilson.</td></tr><tr><td>Apollo</td><td>Mr. Mattocks.</td></tr><tr><td>Mercury</td><td>Mr. Edwin.</td></tr><tr><td>Tranio</td><td>Mr. Lee-Lewes.</td></tr><tr><td>Venus</td><td>Miss Brown.</td></tr><tr><td>Lucretia</td><td>Mrs. Wilson.</td></tr><tr><td>Philænis</td><td>Mrs. Kennedy.</td></tr><tr><td>Agapea</td><td>Mrs. Hartley.</td></tr></table>

The FABLE, by which the immor-
tals are introduced, is short. The
chief prieſteſs of the oracle at Delphi,
called the Pythia, is on the point of
death, and Apollo, attended by Mer-
cury, deſcends in order to provide a
ſucceſſor. Venus alſo leaves Olympus
to enquire the fate of a ſon ſhe had by
a noble Theban, and whom ſhe had
expoſed in the Paphian grove. Venus
finds her ſon, who is called Phormio,
he is a ſlave in the ſervice of Agapea,
a beautiful widow of high rank, and
fondly attached to the memory of her
husband; but the uncommon attention
of her ſlave, aided by his beauty and
graces, had touched her heart, ſpight
of her natural haughtineſs and reſerve.
Mercury, with a view of ingratiating
himſelf with Venus, appears in the
diſguife of a pedlar, and prevails on
the widow to take a picture, which he
informs her of ſuch magick power,
that the perſon to whom ſhe gives it
will poffeſs her heart. He alſo ſhows
her the face of Phormio in a magick
mirrour; the widow, alarmed at her
danger, which is increaſed by the cap-
tivating behaviour of Phormio, deter-
mines to preſent the picture to the
Pythia, to prevent its falling into other

hands. But Venus aſſumes the diſ-
guife of a prieſteſs, or veſtal of the
temple, and by her aid Phormio re-
ceives the picture inſtead of the Pythia,
who is now dead—and the paffion of
the beautiful widow for her ſlave is
confirmed. After ſome attempts to
increaſe the dramatick perplexity by a
mysterious oracle, Phormio's real cha-
raſter is announced by Venus, he is
declared King of Thebes, and made
happy in the poſſeſſion of the lovely
widow.

The other characters are principally
thoſe of Magadorus and Pertinax, bro-
thers, but of totally different charac-
ters. Magadorus, who is called the
Magnifico, is ſent with certain depu-
ties from Thebes, deſiring a king to
be named by Apollo, and Magadorus
conceives himſelf the man intended:
he is a vain luxurious glutton, his
brother a ſtoick philofopher, who pre-
tends to deſpife pain and fear. Ma-
gadorus is a pleafing character, but
the author, in attempting to make Per-
tinax ridiculous and diſguſing, has
fucceded too well.

Lucretia, who is called an hoſteſs, or
keeper of a tavern in Delphi, and is
ſuppoſed to have had an amour with
Mercury in diſguife ſome years before,
was represented as an elegant girl, and
ſings and ſays a great number of very
pretty things, though it is not eaſy to
point out any material buſineſs or con-
nexion ſhe has with the piece.

Tranio, a ſervant of Magadorus, is
drawn with ſome very bold and ſuc-
ceſſul ſtrokes.

Mr. Cumberland, in the whole of
this piece, ſeems to have depended too
much on that ſtyle of humour, which
it was ſo much the fashion to admire
in Lucian; he would have done well
to have recollected that Lucian was
almost the only humouriſt amongſt all
the writers of antiquity, and the mo-
derns have excelled them in nothing
ſo much as this talent; and alſo, that
the

2

380

THE
LONDON MAGAZINE,
FOR MARCH, 1780.

SOME ACCOUNT OF THE EARL OF SHELBURNE, &c. &c.

W

ILLIAM Petty, a peer of the realm by the title and title of Baron Wycombe of Chepping Wycombe in the county of Buckingham; and also Earl of Shelburne, Viscount Fitzmaurice and Baron Dunkerton in the county of Waterford in Ireland; is the son of John Petty Lord Wycombe, &c. who was raised to the dignity of the peerage by his late majesty on the 20th of May 1760, being the last year of his reign. His lordship did not survive his new dignity quite a year, for he died on the 12th of May 1761, and was succeeded in title and estates by the present nobleman.

Lord Shelburne very early embraced the military life, and rising through the different gradations of rank, had the honour to be made one of the aids du camp to his present majesty in the year 1760, soon after his accession; and in 1772 he was raised to the rank of lieutenant-general, which he now enjoys; but without any command; and therefore, taking no further notice of him in the military line, we shall endeavour to do justice to his lordship's abilities in the walk of civil life, in which he has taken an active and conspicuous part both as a senator and a statesman.

At the time of his father's death he was a member of the House of Commons, representing the borough of Chepping Wycombe, though he was then only in the twenty-third year of his age; his removal to the House of Peers was not instantly followed by any display of those political talents, which have distinguished his character since. He lay dormant about two years, and studied affairs of state under that great master, the late Earl of Chatham. In the month of April 1763, his lordship was appointed First Commissioner

of the Board of Trade and Plantations, and at the same time sworn in one of his majesty's most honourable Privy Council. The Board of Trade and Plantations was not at that period a board of reference and subordinate to the Secretary of State for the Colonies, as it has been since made. On the contrary, the First Commissioner of that board was then an efficient minifter in the cabinet, and the department was one of the most important in the government.

His lordship succeeded a gentleman of great abilities, the late celebrated Charles Townshend, at a very critical juncture, just after the general peace, when the commercial interests and connections of the nation, extended and improved by a successful war, required the discernment and delicacy of an able statesman, to place them in security, on a permanent footing. In this service Lord Shelburne acquired great reputation by his affability and close attention to all the applications made to him by the merchants, planters, and traders, concerned in our commerce to the American continent, and to the West-India Islands; but not continuing in this station, for which he was so well qualified, above five months, the publick had not an opportunity of reaping those advantages from his knowledge of builnefs, which would have been the fruit of his long continuance in it. His lordship, however, seems to have inherited from his ancestor the great Sir William Petty, a turn for mercantile affairs, on which he always speaks with greater accuracy and intelligence, than any of his brother peers. In all the parliamentary debates on the subject of the American war, it will be found that his lordship understood thoroughly the trading interests of the two countries, and made exact calculations of the losses the mo-

N 2

ther

381

LECTURES ON

March

102

largely drunk there is less true social intercourse than in almost any other situation. Every one is intent upon the main object. His faculties are absorbed in the growing ebriety, the proceeds of which becomes more rapid every round, and all are for the moment perfused of the force of that riotous maxim which I believe has been seriously uttered, that " Conver nation spoils drinking."

Were we so framed that it were possible by perpetual supplies of wine to keep ourselves for ever gay and happy, there could be no doubt that Drinking would be the *fummum bonum*, the chief good, to find out which philosophers have been so variously bufied. We should then indeed produce in ourselves by the juice of the grape the effects which the seducingerpent pretended our first parents would feel by eating of the forbidden tree in the midft of

the garden. We should " be as gods knowing good and evil;" and such a wild imagination of felicity must have filled the mind of Homer, when he thought of representing the gods of the Greeks as drinking in heaven, as he does in so high a strain of poetry, that one forgets the absurdity of the mythology. But we know from huz-miliating experience that men cannot be kept long in a state of elevated intoxication, and that drunkennefs will be followed either by immediate frenzy or by such wretched ruin both of mind and body as must render its victims despicably miserable.

I find that my thoughts upon Drinking will not be contained in one paper. I shall therefore break off here, and reserve to myself afterwards to continue the subject, while I think it agreeable to myself and my readers.

## ERRATUM.

In The Hypochondrick, No. XXIX. p. 53, col. 1, l. 35, for allure read attune.

# LECTURES ON MODERN HISTORY.

## LECTURE IV.

*(Continued from our last January Magazine.)*

OUR present lecture must necessarily be confined to the affairs of England, in order to connect the history of our own country with that of the most considerable nations of Europe, at the same æras. But as little information and less instruction is to be derived from this early part of our history, we may be permitted to draw it within very narrow bounds, in conformity to our plan, which is to exhibit a correct out-line, not a finished historical picture. The æra we propose to make the subject of this narrative extends from the year 800, to the death of Charles the Simple of France in 929, when his widow the fifter of our King Athelstan, took refuge with her brother in England, and brought over her son Louis, who afterwards ascended the throne of France by the title of Louis IV. firmed D'Outremer, from beyond sea, owing to that circumstance.

The confused history of the Heptarchy (the Saxon government of England divided into seven kingdoms) closed with the eftablishment of a more noble and durable form of government in the person of the enterprising, valiant, and prudent Egbert the First, King of all England. This prince at an early age was driven from his country, his life being in danger from the

jealousy of Brithric King of the West Saxons, who had feised on the throne which by lineal descent belonged to Egbert. He found an asylum at the court of Charlemagne, and he made the most beneficial use of his exile, by studying the arts of war and policy under that renowned hero and statesman. The emperor who had experienced the difadvantages of governing divided dominions, favoured the ambition of young Egbert, who meditated the design of becoming sole monarch, if he could once recover the throne of his ancestors. Brithic died in the year 800, and his countrymen immediately sent a deputation to Egbert to offer him the crown. On his return home, he found himself at the head of a powerful, rich, and united people, as eager for renown and conquest as their aspiring prince. At first he only asumed the amiable character of mediator, and employed his good offices to reconcile Eardulf King of Northumbria and Kenulph King of Mercia, who had taken up arms to decide their differences. The justice and moderation with which he governed his own subjects, and his success in negociating a peace between Eardulf and Kenulph, endeared him to the other Saxon kings, and he was unanimously elected chief of the

Hep-

THE
LONDON MAGAZINE,
FOR APRIL, 1780.

SOME ACCOUNT OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE LORD
GEORGE GERMAINE, &c. &c. &c.

*(With an engraved Portrait, after a Drawing from the Life.)*

GEORGE SACKVILLE
the youngest son of Li-
onel Cranfield Sack-
ville, duke of Dorfet,
(grand-father to the
prefent duke) was born
in the month of Janua-
ry 1715-16, and by the courtesey of
England bore the title of Lord George
Sackville, till the death of Lady Betty
Germaine, to whose eftate he succeeded,
as heir at law, being, we believe, her
ladyship's nephew, according to whose
will he applied for and obtained an act
of parliament to enable him to take and
use the firname of Germaine.

His lordship was bred a soldier, and
made his first campaign in Flanders,
under his late Royal Highnefs the Duke
of Cumberland in the war of 1744.
Upon the breaking out of the rebel-
lion in Scotland in 1745, the British
cavalry were suddenly sent for home,
and Lord George Sackville, at that time
a cornet of horfe, went with his troop
under the command of General Wade
to the north. From that period to the
year 1758, we have not been able to
collect any memoirs of his lordship
worthy of communication to the public;
by the union of interest with merit we
then find him enjoying the rank of
lieutenant-general, and soon after the
death of the late Duke of Marlborough,
who was commander in chief of the
British forces in Germany, his lordship
was appointed to that important com-
mand. The duke was carried off by a
flux at the head quarters of the army
at Munster on the 20th of October, and
Lord George Sackville's commission to
succeed him was dated the 31st of Oc-
tober 1758. This commission expreſſly
recited, that he was to act under the
command of Prince Ferdinand of
Brunswick, who was generaliſmo of
the confederate army assembled on the

Lower Rhine to act against the French. Infruſtions under the king's ſign manual were likewife delivered to his lordship with his commission, directſing him conſtantly to carry into execution ſuch orders as he might receive from the ſaid Prince Ferdinand, or ſuch other perſon as might hereafter be comman-der in chief of his majety's ſaid army. His lordship with all convenient ſpeed repaired to Germany, and put himſelf at the head of the British ſorces. Un-fortunately, in a ſhort ſpace of time, a coolneſs was diſcovered between the prince and Lord George, which occaſi-oned ſome open hints that they would never agree. Attention ſhould have been paid to this circumſtance as ſoon as it was made known to adminiſtration at home; inſtead of which he was con-tinued in the command, and on the first day of Auguſt 1759 the famous battle of Minden was fought, when an incomplete viftory was gained over the French army, and that it was not the moſt complete that ever was known, Prince Ferdinand aſcribed to the mi-conduct of Lord George, in not obey-ing his orders to bring up the British cavalry to ſupport the ſoldanry when engaged with, and ſeverely ſuffering by, the enemy.

On the ſtrength of a private letter
from Prince Ferdinand to his late ma-
jeſty, his lordship was diſmiſſed from
all his military employments, and the
clamours of the public running high
against him, upon his return home, he
publiſhed a ſhort addreſs, written in a
maſterly ſtyle, and clearly demonstrat-
ing that he poſſed great literary ta-
lents. At the fame time, that his lord-
ship reſequed the public to ſuspend
their judgment on his cafe, he was in-
defatigable in his applications for a
court-martial; the ſentence of that
court-martial rendered him incapable

T 2

of

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

April

150

useful and agreeable conversation had begun, he would beg of the company to be silent that he might be heard, and in a coarse disorderly tumult of words would urge all of them to drink away; and this forsooth he pretended to do upon the strength of Plato's opinion, as if Plato in his books of laws had very fully written the praeis of drunkneſs, and declared it to be useful to good and gallant men. At the fame time in the midſt of this kind of diſcourſe, he quite drowned his faciſties in frequent and exſeſive cups, faying, that to have a man's mind and body inflamed with wine cheriſhed and incited genius and virtue. But the truth is, that Plato in his firſt and ſecond books of laws, does not, as that wretch ſuppoſed, commend that bafe drunkneſs which enſeebles and dimiſnifes the understanding; but does not diſapprove of that free and joyous inſulgence in wine which was praeſited under the ſuperintendance of ſome ſober maſters and governors of convivial meetings. For he thought that by moderate and decent intervals of relaxation over wine, our minds are reſoured and renewed for the performance of ſerious duties, and that they are gradually cheered and rendered more fit for refuming their ſtudies. As alio that if they have any erroneous affectiſons and deſires which a kind of reſpectful diſſidence conceals, all theſe may in the easy liberty of wine be difcovered without great danger, and put in the way of being corrected and cured. And Plato in the fame place alſo ſays, that we ſhould not ſhun or reſufe ſcenes of Drinking, becauſe they will ſerve as exerciſes to ſecure us againſt the violence of wine. For he never reckoned any man to be of ſuſciently approved continence and tem-

perance whose life had never been paſſed amidſt dangers of error, or his virtue tried amidſt the allurements of pleafure. For he to whom all the joys and graces of convivial felſivity are unknown, and who has never experienced them, if ever inclination leads, chance carries, or neceſſity obliges him to taſe theſe pleaſures, is inſantly entangled and taken, nor can his mind and ſoul remain firm, but fall under an unſual ſtroke. He thought therefore that we ſhould engage with pleaſures as if in a field of battle, and among the reſt with the pleafure of Drinking, that we may be ſafe from them not by flight or abſence, but by vigour and conſtant prefence of mind, and a moderate ſife of what is agreeable, may maintain temperance and continence; and that our ſouls being once warmed and comforted, we may get rid of any latent, cold ſadneſs, or torpid ſtimidity."

This excellent paſſage proves that the divine Plato was ſenſible that drinking wine is a great pleafure, and that it requires being trained to reſift excejfs in it. It alio ſhows in the plaineſt manner the advantages which the wife may derive from Drinking. But I find that *Aulus Gellius* has left me no room for writing more in this paper. I do not ſear cenſure on this account. For a periodical author, like one who is drawn for the militia, will be excuſed if he finds as good a man in his place. I take it for granted I ſhall rather be praſed for the ſubſtitution, as Sir Roger de Coverley's chaplain was, for giving his congregation the ſermons of Tillotson or Barrow, or other eminent divines, inſtead of his own. And ſurely none of my readers can be diſpleafed with *an attick evening's entertainment*.

ERRAMUM in the Hypochondriack, No. XXX, p. 101, col. 1, l. ult, read of an ancient,

SIR,

IT having been positively affected, in moſt of the newspapers (which have lately come into my hands) that there will be a Comet visible, sometime next month, and for ſeveral ſucceeding months; which is ſaid to be "the fame phenomenon, which was obſerved in the year 1680, by that great luminary Sir Isaac Newton, and by him particu-

larly described to be the fame, which appeared 43 years before the birth of our Saviour; and afterwards in the year in which Julius Cæsar was affaffinated." I muſt obſerve, that it is impoffible, this comet should make different periods, in the 43d year before Chrift, and afterwards in the year in which Julius Cæsar was affaffinated; for Sir Isaac

Newton

1780.

197

32

FOR THE LONDON MAGAZINE.
RULES OF BEHAVIOUR, OF GENERAL USE, THOUGH
MUCH DISREGARDED IN THIS POPULOUS CITY.

1. To be more ready to give the wall, than to affect it, for fear of a dirty quarrel in a trifling caufe.

2. Not to walk arm in arm, as if the street was made for us only, or we had no concern for any body's convenience but our own.

3. When we meet a friend we would talk with, take him afide, that the paffage may be uninterrupted.

4. Not to walk the streets with a cane or stick under one's arm, which may be very offensive to the eyes or face of those who follow us; a practice no les frequent than inconsiderate, to fay the best of it.

5. Not to uſe the ſauntering gait of a lazy Spaniard in this buſy town of trade and hurry; for though we may be ſo idle or inſignificant as to be in no haſte, yet multitudes are as well behind us as before us.

6. To be cautious of ſtaring in the faces of those that pafs by us, like an inquifitor general; for an over-bearing look has the air of a bully, and a prying one that of a bailiff. If we do it by maitake for a friend, aſk pardon.

7. Paſſing in haſte through a crowd, let us make way with our elbows, not with our hands; for laying hold of perſons ſeems contemptuous, and often gives offence; and call not out to your

companion to take care of his pocket, for that is a random imputation, and unmannerly fuppicion of thofe next you.

8. Not to faſten your eyes upon any perſon entering into a publick room, for fear (by ſuch a broadſide) of shocking his modety, and dismounting his affurance; yet this is the common behaviour of the sparks of the town (out of an air) though they look for no particular perſon.

9. At eating-houſes, &c. not to be officiously forward in our difcourſe or ceremonies to ſtrangers, who, perhaps, desire to be unobſerved, or incog.

10. Not to affect a difregard of any perſon, though ever ſo mean, by whifhing or humming a tune, as if nobody was prefent; the dignity of human nature, in any circumftance, is confiderable.

11. Never to force French complaifance upon mere Englishmen; but confider, that making people eafy is the end of good breeding.

12. In a coffee-houſe, never to uſe that unjuſt and provoking practice of keeping more papers than one in hand; for that is an arrogant encroachment upon the common right of all the company.

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK. No. XXXII.

At wos quo lubet hinc abite lymphæ
Vini pernicios, et ad ſeveros
Migrate, hie merus eſt Thyonianus.

CATULLUS.

“ Hence water—cryſtal though thou art,
From my convivial board depart;
Go where thou wilt, and spoil the wine;
Go where I ad, rigid mortals dine,
My heart to cheer, and griefs to cure,
The grape’s rich bounty shall be pure.”

WRITING upon Drinking is in one reſpect, I think, like Drinking itſelf: one goes on imperceptibly, without knowing where to ſtop; and as one calls for the other bottle to his friends, I preſſ the

other paper upon my readers. Happy ſhould I be, could I flatter myſelf, that this paper will be received with as hearty a fatisfaction as is generally felt upon the opening of an additional bottle.

Sir

384

May

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

198

1780. THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

199

fitions of men are infinitely various
in that respect, and even the fame man
is different at different times. Every
one therefore must judge for himself,
taking care however to judge fairly;
for the partitions between the bounds of
Drinking and Drunkenness, like those
between great wit and madnes, are
thin. He who has an inclination to
transgress the bounds of reasonable re-
freshment, should be on his guard, and
keep within them; while others, who
are favoured with more temperate ap-
petites, may folact themselves in a
more free security.

Drunkenness is most frequently to be
ascribed to the fame caufe which the
poet points out for the adultery of
Ægithus. It is the vice of unoccu-
pied men. Dr. *Robertson*, in his Hif-
tory of America, observes, that among
favages the love of strong liquors is ex-
cessive. " Whatever (fays he) be the
occasion, or pretext, on which the Amer-
icans assemble, the meeting always
terminates in a debauch. Many of
their festivals have no other object;
and they welcome the return of them
with transports of joy. As they are
not accustomed to refrain any appetite,
they fet no bounds to this. The riot
often continues, without intermission,
feveral days; and whatever be the fatal
effects of their exces, they never cease
from Drinking as long as one drop of
liquor remains. The perſons of greateft
eminence, the moſt distinguished war-
riors, and the chiefs moſt renowned
for their wifdom, have no more com-
mand of themselves than the moſt ob-
ſure member of the community. Their
eagerness for preſent enjoyment renders
them blind to its fatal conſequences;
and those very men, who in other fitua-
tions feem to poffess a force of mind
more than human, are in this instance
inferior to children in forelight, as well
as consideration, and mere flaves of
brutal appetite. When their paffions,
naturally strong, are heightened and in-
flamed by drink, they are guilty of the
moſt enormous outrages; and the fet-
tivity seldom concludes without deeds
of violence, or bloodſhed."

That this account may be exaggerated
by those from whom *Robertson* has it,
and the exaggeration be somewhat magnified
by his eloquence, I can allow;
but the ſubstance of the fact cannot be
called in question. And indeed we find

it sometimes exemplified in the moſt regular state of society.

How pale each worthy and reverend guest
Rife from a Clergy or a City feast,

is the farcasm of a fatirift; but is not
altogether a poetical ſcion; and that
diffusion of character makes no dif-
ference, when men are drinking largely,
we have all upon some occasions ob-
ferved.

As Drinking can only be a good in
ſo far as it is really a pleasure, or an
enlivening refreshment, I dil approve of
all external incitements to it. Indeed
all orderly Drinking is calculated for
Drunkenness. I mean all that Drink-
ing in evolutions of equal bumpers,
with toasts, to which juſtice is to be
done, and honour is to be done; and
in ſhort, the company are to get them-
felves drunk under the pretext of laud-
able principles. Let false notions of
hofpitality and gallantry in Drinking
be banifhed from the mind, and Drun-
keneſs will be much leſs frequent
amongſt men of better education. It
is affumed as a maxim, that there ſhould
be an equality in Drinking as long as
men fit together; and a very good ſtory
is told of a worthy ſquire, who knew
the conſtitutions of his neighbours ſo
well, that he had glaſſes ſuited to the
capacity of each, by which means he
could keep ſtrong drinkers and weak in
unifon for a whole afternoon. But I
ſee no good reaſon for ſuch attention.
For why ſhould not there be inequality
amongſt men, when Drinking, as well
as upon other occafions? It is argued,
that ſome ſhould not fit ſober, and be
ſpies upon others when intoxicated.
But it is plain that ſome will always be
ſober in comparifon with the reſt; and
it is as fair, that those who are tem-
perate ſhould have the advantage, as
those who are " mighty for ſtrong
drink." If ſome people will fill them-
felves drunk, and be expofed like the
flaves of the Spartans, it is their own
fault; they do it for pleasure; they
have their reward. But it is oppreſſive,
either to oblige temperate men to drink
at all, or men of weaker heads for
wine than theirs, to drink after than
they choose to do, and be intoxicated
before part of the company is warmed.
For my own part, I never drank
leſs than I choose to do, because
others were not drinking fair, as it is
called; and I really think, that Drink-
ing

200

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

May

ing may be trefted to every man's own inclination. Happy would it be, if even then, Drunkenneſs were rare. I do not, however, mean to forbid that ſocial glee by which men are infenſibly encouraged to exhilarate themſelves. But all adventitious means, and chiefly all compulſion, ſhould be avoided in Drinking. Where there is compulſion, there is no pleafure.

It is truely wonderful, what a ſerious ſ consequence Drinking may, in proceſs of time, acquire in the œconomy of civiliſed life. We find this amongſt the ancient Greeks and Romans; but the nation moſt celebrated for it amongſt the moderns, is the Irifh. In the late Earl of Cheſterfield's *Mifcellaneous Works*, of which Meffieurs Dilly have given a ſplendid edition, which does them honour, and will ever be an ornament to polite libraries, we find ſeveral very keen exclamationſs upon that ſubject. In his eighth letter to the Bifhop of Waterford, his lordſhip ſays, "Drinking is a moſt beaſtly vice in every country, but it is really a ruinous one to Ireland: nine gentlemen in ten in Ireland are impoſerſed by the great quantity of claret; which, from miſtaken notions of hoſpitality and dignity, they think it neceſſary should be drunk in their houſes." In his ſeventy-sixth, he mentions ſive thousand tuns of wine being annually imported into that country; and in his eighty-sixth there is the following paſſage: "If it would but please God, by his lightning, to blaſt all the vines in the world, and by his thunder to turn all the wines now in Ireland four, as I moſt ſincereſt with him would, Ireland would enjoy a degree of quiet and plenty that it has never yet known." Lord Cheſterfield, I admit, was too fine a gentleman; yet he had ſome "reafon in his rage," when he wrote thus. The noble writer adds, "By the way I am not ſo partial neither to Ireland, as not to pray for the ſame bleſſing for this my native country, notwithſtanding the grief and defolation which I know it would occaſion in our learned univerſities, the body of the clergy, and among our knights of ſhires, burgesses, &c. and in general among all the worthy honſt gentlemen who toaſt and are toaſted."

Drunkenneſs, one ſhould think, would be ſhunned by every man who has once felt the ſevere ſickneſs and pain which

is ſometimes the ſ consequence of it. If Ireland be remarkable for Drunkenneſs, I have found in an Irifh poet the only deſcription that I ever ſaw of its diſtrefſing effects: so the bane and antidote are both in that country. The deſcription is in a large quarto volume, entitled, "The *Shamrock*, or Hibernian *Cresses*," a collection of poems, "the original production of Ireland," published a few years ago. It is called *Next Morning*; and I ſhall transcribe the two firſt ſtanzas:

"What means this ſury in my veins?
This fire that hilles through my brains?
Ah me! my head! my head!
My pulſes beat; parch'd up my tongue;
Dry are my palms, my nerves unſtrung;
And every ſenſe is ſled.

Now naufous qualms my boſom heave,
And, oh! ſuch ſad ſenſations give,
Too exquifite to name!
In dizzy miſts my eye-balls ſwim;
A languor creepſ o'er every limb,
And all unmans my frame."

From theſe my readers will judge of its intention and effect. It very properly concludes with a ſolution to be, "Fair temperance, ever thine."

In a religious view, the ſ consideration of Drinking to exceſs is ſill more ſerious; and there every man's "conſciencie muſt accuſe, or eſſe excuſe him;" for the ſubject is in general ſo nice and complicated as to each individual, that one ſhould not judge another; but in this matter, above all, ſhould remember, that "to his own maſter he ſtandeth or falſeth."

I met with a ſentence upon the vice of Drunkenneſs in *Boston's* "Fourfold State of Man," a pious, practical book, by a Scotch Preſbyterian divine, and I marked it in my pocket-book, as ſtrongly and juſtly ſaid. "Drunkenneſs hurts ſoul and body, and hafteens death, while it unſits us for it." I truſt that none of my readers will imagine that I mean to vindicate the vice of Drunkenneſs, though I ſpeak with reliſh of the innocent gaiety of Drinking. But left they ſhould, I ſhall end my ſpeculations on the ſubject with the caution of an Italian poet, mentioned by Mr. Addiſon, in his *Travels*, who declared in a preſace, that if there was any thing in his writings against the doctrine of the church, he retraſted and renounced it.

FOR

34.

THE
LONDON MAGAZINE,
FOR JULY, 1780.

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK. No. XXXIV.

Disputantem contra se magis docere quam vincere.

ST. JEROME.

" In disputing with any one, he wifhed rather to infruct than to overcome."

I
T is the fashion with
some people to talk with
disrespect of the ancient
Fathers of the church.
But this must be owing
either to ignorance or
want of candour; or, to
express myself in milder terms, to their
not being acquainted with the writings
of these holy sages, or having a prejudice
against them because they are holy.

When a man has dulce considered any
proposition, and feels his mind firmly
fettled with regard to it, he may pro-
nounce his opinion with a decent con-
fidence; nay, I think it is his duty to
do so; for to borrow one of the senten-
ces of our copy-books at the writing-
school, " Zeal in a good cause is com-
mendable;" and that cause is good to
a man, which appears to him to be good,
after a fair enquiry. Truth would not
be established upon a solid basis were
men indifferent in maintaining their
opinions.

I therefore avow myself to be one
who venerates the Fathers, in whom,
though they are to be sure peculiarities,
and even sometimes what seem to be
weaknesses, I find an elevation of
thought, and a mild propriety, which
cannot fail to edify every one who is
willing to be improved. *Pere Bonbours,*
the French critic, has collected and
published a pocket volume of their apho-
ritms, under the title of *Penfées Inge-
nieurs des Peres de L'Eglise.*

The motto of this paper is a part of
the excellent character which St. Jerome
has drawn of Nepotien, nephew of He-
liodorus the Bifhop. It is indeed a pa-
negyrick prefented to an uncle of high
dignity after the death of a nephew in
holy orders, who is represented as hav-
ing attained to an uncommon degree of
perfection. I am however inclined to
receive it as just. Perhaps one is in
some measure influenced by the striking

and solemn views which the painters
have upon every occasion given us of
St. Jerome. But the fanctity of his
manners, and the weight of his writ-
tings, must ever give authority to every
thing which we are sure has come from
his pen.

The habit of disputing with good
temper, and a wifh rather to infruct
than overcome, which St. Jerome af-
cribes to Nepotien, is perhaps as rare a
quality as is to be found; and for want
of this there can be no doubt that man-
kind do not make near so good a pro-
gress in knowledge and virtue as they
otherwife might do.

Pride and vanity, open or disguised,
have such a predominance in almost
every human being, that a dispute is for
the most part a contest for superiority,
which ends in resentment. Without
making allowance for different oppor-
tunities of acquiring information, and
different degrees of application to par-
ticular studies, which may be accidental,
and imply no advantage in one man
over another, people who view a sub-
ject in different lights are apt to take
an inftant alarm, as if their judgement
and understanding were called in quef-
tion.

Inftances of this are so frequent, that
I am perfuaded none of my readers will
deny the justice of the remark; for,
indeed the violence of disputation is not
confined to thofe who have knowledge
or judgement to decide upon fubjects or
consequences; but it is to be found
amongft the moft ignorant and ftupid.
Accordingly, the phrafe for ſcolding is
taken from thofe whom I had almost
called brutifh animals in human ſhape,
the ſilfh women; and ſo we talk of
*Billinſgate language*.

Where ſubjects have been treated in
the form of dialogue, as in Dialogues
of the Dead, or in dialogues between
imaginary perſons, we find that calm-

P p a

nefs

350

MEMOIRS OF FATHER FAUL.

Aug.

petite and passion, as directly to believe even for a moment that their vices are not criminal. But we are apt to indulge ourselves in immoralities which we find the world dispirited to overlook in eminent men, without reflecting that we have not the great qualities by which such vices are counterbalanced; and that even if it were so, the eminence of character which we admire is to a certain degree diminished and stained by them.

This delusive propensity to imitate the vices of eminent men, makes it a question of fame difficulty in biography, whether their faults should be recorded. We have indeed the high example of holy writ, where we find the errours and crimes even of faints and martyrs fairly and freely related. But we ought not to assimilate ordinary human com-

positions to what carries a reverential awe. And notwithstanding that, it is to be feared that there have been too many infances of people offending under the mistaken sanction of scriptural history. At the fame time, truth is facer, and real characters should be known. I am therefore of opinion, that a biographer should tell even the imperfections and faults of those whose lives he writes, provided that he takes a conscientious care not to blend them with the general luscious of excellence, but to distinguish and separate them, and imprefs upon his readers a just fense of the evil, so that they may regret its being found in such men, and be anxiously dispirited to avoid what hurts even the most exalted characters, but would utterly fink men of ordinay merit.

ERRATUM.—In Hypochondriack, No. XXXIV. p. 299, col. 1. 1. 28, for they, r. there. P. 300, col. 1. 1. 41, for happiness, r. happiness.

MEMOIRS OF PETER SARPI, COMMONLY CALLED FATHER PAUL.

From Hayley's Essay on History. See our Review of New Publications, p. 387.

SARPI, blest name! from every foible clear*, Not more to science than to virtue dear. Thy pen, thy life, of equal praise secure! Both wifely bold, and both sublimely pure! That freedom bids me on thy merits dwell, Whose radiant form illum'd thy letter'd cell;

Who to thy hand the noblest task assign'd,
That earth can offer to a heavenly mind:
With Reafon's arms to guard invaded laws,
And guide the pen of Truth in Freedom's cause.

EPISTLE 2d.

* FATHER PAUL, the most amiable and exalted character that was ever formed in monaſtick retirement, was the son of Francesco Sarpi, a merchant of Venice, and born in that city in 1552. He took the religious habit in the monaſtery of the Servites, 1565. After receiving priefes orders in 1574, he pafped four years in Mantua, being appointed to read lectures on divinity and canon law, by the bishop of that diocese; and in this early part of his life, he is conjectured to have conceived the first idea of writing his celebrated history, as he formed an intimate friendship during his residence in Mantua with Camillo d'Oliva, who had been secretary to cardinal Gonzaga at the Council of Trent, and excited the learned Venetian to the arduous task, which he so happily accomplished in a future period. He was recalled from Mantua to read lectures on philosophy in his own convent at Venice, which he did with great repu-

tation, during the years 1575, 1576, and 1577. He went to Rome as Procurator General in 1585. Paffing from thence to Naples, he there formed an acquaintance with the famous Baptista Porta, who has left this honourable teftimony of his universal knowledge: Eò doſtio-rem, ſubtiliorem, quotquot adhuc videre contigeret, neminem cognovimus, natum ad Encyclopediam, &c. Nor is this an exaggerated compliment, as there is hardly any science which eſcaped his active mind. His discoveries in opticks and anatomy would be alone sufficient to immortalife his name, had he not gained immortality by a ſtill more noble exertion of his mental powers, in defending the liberties of his country against the tyranny of Rome. On the first attack of Pope Paul V. on two laws of Venice, very wifely framed to correct the abufes of the clergy, Father Paul aroſe as the literary champion of the republick, and defended its cauſe with

with

298

1780.

THOMAS HOLLIS, Esq.

397

ways professed myself a Diffender, though almost without any thing in common with the generality of Diffenters, except the name) left the world should think me partial or interested."

The living did not become vacant till after Mr. Hollis returned home, when a clergyman, who thought himself qualified to answer his wishes in every respect, made the proper application to him, and was accepted. This gentleman's letter does him great honour; it is too long for inflection in this place; and as neither his name nor that of the living are mentioned in the Memoirs, perhaps from delicacy, as we suppofe he is the prefent incumbent, the omission is the least material.

In Mr. Hollis's Diary, April 14th, 1760, is thus noted, "Entered the forty-first year of my age. Revived, the transactions of the last year, as they appear in these papers. By no means content with them; my situation disagreeable to me of late on many accounts, and likely to continue so for some time. Hope, however, to keep up in full spirit to amend my plan, and to tread more firmly than ever the path of active and extenfive virtue." What a genuine spirit of Christian humility, and pure philanthropy, breathes through the whole of this memorandum!

October 25th, 1760, there is the following entry in his Diary: "This day died suddenly his Majesty King George the Second, a prince endowed with many virtues; under whose reign I have paffed the principal part and flower of my life, in peace, and full security, and happiness. If to these virtues certain biaffes and imperfections have been joined, they should be considered as the effects of natural temper and education, or of the vicious age in which he lived, or of the weak and wicked principles of his various minifters and courtiers, by whom he was obtruded and surrounded. May his grandson, a youth of fine dispositions, avoid his imperfections, and excel his virtues, and purfue and adhere to, unflwervingly, every manly and regal accomplishment! May his pattern be that of Alfred, as bifloriated by the incomparable John Milton! And may he be supported effectually in his counsels and undertakings throughout a long and glorious reign, by wife and faithful parliaments and minifters, and by the affections of his people; that the constitution may be preserved, the

age reformed, science and art encouraged, pofterity attended to, mankind in general benefited, and he himself be poffeffed, by these means, of that fuperior and nobleft felicity that human nature can admit."

Reflections of this tendency, thrown out without a witness, but the all-confeious eye and ear of the Almighty, afford the moft incontestible evidence of an heart and ſpirit totally alienated from all party views and considerations, and firmly bent upon promoting human felicity by every laudable means, without respect of persons, and without giving honour to whom honour is not due, or withholding it from those to whom it is.

Mr. Hollis was a zealous supporter of the Protestant religion, and believing that the principles of Popery have a tendency to subvert the religious and civil liberties of mankind, he carefully noted its encroachments and progreſs in these kingdoms. His opinion of our ſtateſmen and dignified clergy, upon this ſubject, in a letter to his friend, Dr. Mayhew, written in 1763, has been verified ſince his death, by the favours and indulgences granted to the Roman Catholics, even by act of parliament.

"All the minifters of my time (fays he) have fought the parliamentary interest of the wealthier Papifts, have enjoyed it, and connived at their practices and perversions. The bifhops and clergy on promotion, obferving this procedure, as alſo from other motives, have taken the tone, and connived likewife at theſe practices and perversions." It appears, from ſeveral parts of Mr. Hollis's corſ correspondence with Dr. Mayhew of Boſton, that he clearly foreſaw the miſchiefs that would arise from the Stamp Act, and was inſtrumental in procuring its repeal, but he diſliked the Declaratory Act annexed to the repeal. He foretold the ſeparation of the colonies from the mother-country, if hard meaſures ſhould be purſued by the latter, and took every opportunity to warn adminiftration and the public against the fatal error of going to war with them.

To conclude, as it is not poffible to ſpecify within any moderate compafs, the numerous and extenfive exertions of this truly great private man for the ſervice of his own country, of foreign ſtates, and of worthy individuals at home

399

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

399

398

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

Sept.

home and abroad, we shall content ourselves with having produced sufficient evidence to prove, that he deferved the epithet of, *The good Mr. Hollis*. And that—

“An honest man (independent of title, or public offices of dignity and truft in the ſtate) is the nobleſt work of God.”

M.

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK. No. XXXVI.

*En iterum me rura vocant dulcesque receſſus.*

AMALTHEI Eelog.

“Again the country’s ſoft retreats invite.”

WHATEVER disputes there may be amongst antiquarians, politicians, or philosophers, as to the original ſtate of man, it is clear that the country life was before the city life. In none of the numerous ſantastical conjectures has it ever been figured, that a city upon this globe was eternal, or was even coeval with the creation. All have agreed in believing, that the human race exilèd firſt in the open fields. The progress has probably been too regularly traced in every book upon the ſubjeſt, where we find firſt the ſtate of hunting and ſhiling; ſecondly, the ſtate of paſturage; thirdly, the ſtate of agriculture; and fourthly, the ſtate of commerce, with all the concomitant circumstances of art and civilization.—All theories, or ſystems, will, I believe, be found more regular than reality.

The happineſs of a country life has been fondly exhibited in a wonderful variety of beautiful description by the poets, and other writers of warm imagination. Virgil exclaims,

O fortunati nimium fua ſi bona norunt
Agricolæ—

“O happy if he knew his happy ſtate,
The ſwain—”

DRYDEN.

Why they ſhould be too happy, as it is in the original, though Dryden has omitted it, I do not well ſee; but it is plain they are not ſo; for they have not the requisite which Virgil himself admits to be neceſſary; to wit, a conſciouſneſs of the good things in their poſſession. The truth is, that the happineſs of a country life has been pictured by thofe who have not always enjoyed it; and I have a notion is not ſo much in the country itself as in change and by comparifon. The ſource of it, however expanded and diversified, is all contained in the fine paſſage of Milton’s Paradife Loſt:

“As one who long in populous city pent,
Where houſeſt thick, and fewers annoy the air,
Forth influing on a summer’s morn, to breathe
Among the pleasant villages and farms,

Adjoin’d from each thing m’t, conceives de-light:

The ſmell of grain, or tedded graſs, or kine,
Or dairy; each rural fight, each rural ſand,”

The innocent pleatures of the ſenſes, and mere tranquillity of mind, may be enjoyed more perfectly in the country than in the town; and therefore they, who are fatiſed and jaded, and ſigh for *reſoſa*, delight their fancies with rural felicity. But animated intellectual pleasure muſt be fought in cities; that is, amongſt numbers of people affembled together, and having their powers and faculties excited by the vivifying mo-tives of gain, ambition, emulation, and every thing else, by which we find man urged on to extraordinary exertions and attainments.

“The city ſwarms intenſe the public haunt,
Full of each theme, and warm with mixt dif-courſe.”

THOMSON.

In ſome reſpects therefore life is better in the country; in ſome reſpects, better in town. Yet it muſt be allowed, that as civilization advances, towns increase; and in ſome nations, as in Spain, it is almost univerſal, that the people, from the highelt to the lowelt ranks, live in cities and in villages. It muſt also be allowed, that the descriptions of the happineſs of a country life seem all to originate from a ſtate of mind ſomewhat indolent, ſeeble, and timid; for they dwell upon freedom from the “cares of life,” which, however paradoxical it may ſeem in Dr. Young to ſay ſo, are indeed “comforts” to men of active spirits—and upon quietneſs and ſecurity, and hearing the din of war only at a diſtance. The well-known paſſage in Horace,

Orus quando ego te afficiam quandoque licet bit
Nunc veterum libris nunc jamno et inertibus
boris

Ducere felicitæ jucunda oblivia witæ.

“And oft with tervent with repeat,
When ſhall I fee my ſweet retreat!
Oh! when with books of ſages deep,
Sequeſter’d eafe, and gentle ſleep,

18

409

Sept.

DESCRIPTION OF ROXBURGHSHIRE IN SCOTLAND.

(With a new and accurate Map.)

THE shire of Roxburgh, or Rosburg, called also Teviot-dale, is bounded on the north by the Merchies, and the county of Lauder-dale. On the south-east by part of Cumberland; on the south and south-west by Anandale; and on the west by Tweed-dale. Its utmost extent, from Riddingburn in the east to Anan-dale in the west, is thirty miles, and from the southern borders to Lauder-moor in the north, its breadth is computed to be fifteen miles.

Roxburghshire is a sheriffdom that was hereditary in the ancient family of Douglas, and the sheriffs are styled sheriffs of Teviot-dale, which takes its name from the river Teviot running through it.

The inhabitants of this part of Scotland were always accounted a warlike, hardy race, and their vicinity to England made it in former times the theatre of memorable and bloody battles. In the course of those contending, the Scots and Kers, or Carrs (as they write their names) were two such powerful families, that they could raife 10,000 cavalry in a day's notice, and by the fortune of war, they aggrandised themselves in this country, and in the north of England. On the borders of this shire are situated those lands which were formerly claimed by both countries, and known by the name of the Debatable Lands; but after the union of the two crowns, they were adjudged by James I. to belong to Scotland.

The shire is divided into three subdivisions, Teviot-dale, Lids-dale, and Euds-dale; it is the seat of three prebyteries, to which belong twenty-five parishes. The foil in general is fruitful, and produces excellent oats, of which they export great quantities to England. It also affords good pasturage, and therefore abounds with sheep, black cattle, and horves. The mountains, though high and in some places impaffable, are covered with goodGRAFS; the principal mountain is named Cockraw, and a chain of smaller hills extend from it to the weft, which divide Scotland from England.

Jedburgh, a royal burgh, is the chief town, it is situated near the conflux of the rivers Tefy and Jed, from the latter of which it takes its name. This town suffered so much by the Rebellion in 1715, that to enable the inhabitants to repair and rebuild the public edifices, a tax of two pence Scots was laid on every pint of Scots ale fold within its liberties. The public buildings are now restored to good

condition, and the town is well inhabited; it has a good market for corn and cattle, and an annual fair. It gives the title of lord to the eldest sons of the Marquises of Lothian, but the royalty of its foreft belongs to the Duke of Douglas, being a grant from the crown of Scotland in the reign of Robert Bruce, to one of the ancestors of that family, who defeated the English in theaid foreft.

Kelfo, the next town of consideration, is large and beautiful; being pleasantly situated on the borders of England, and by the side of the river Tweed. The great road from Edinburgh to New-castle lying through this town, occasions a brisk trade. It has a very good market, held in a large square, containing several well-built houfes, and a very handsome one belonging to the Duke of Roxburgh, who is lord of the town. The parish church has been completed from the ruins of an abbey belonging to the Cifercian monks. On both sides of the river, the nobility, and persons in affluent circumstances, have beautiful villas and gardens, and the Duke of Roxburgh, a noble seat, called Les Fleurs.

Hawick is a market town on the banks of the Teviot, and is a royalty belonging to the family of Buccleugh.

Melroſs, or Mailroſs, the next town of any note, is the seat of a prebytery, and the royalty belongs to the Earl of Hardington, it is pleasantly situated on the banks of the Tweed, but is not remarkable in any reſpect, but for the remains of an abbey of Bernardine monks, which, from its ruins, appears to have been one of the nobleft in Europe. It had very great revenues belonging to it, and a sheep walk, extending four miles, on the fineft green downs imaginable, which are still used for pasturage. The town, called Roxburgh, which gives the title of duke, earl, and baron, to the eldest branch of the ancient family of the Kers, called formerly Marchidon or Marchmont, from its being feated among marhes, was anciently a place of strength, and the capital of the shire; but on account of the wars between England and Scotland, the castle was demolished; its privilege of being a royal burgh was transferred to Jedburgh, and it was suffered to go to decay.

This shire is remarkable for many remains of Roman encampments, particularly one, called by the common people, The Rugged Causeway; it extends from Houxam to the Tweed.

ABSTRACT

1780.

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

445

the futility of their arguments, and the
indignity of amusing the House of Peers
with prolix degressions from the sub-
ject of debate, which would not be per-
mitted to school boys. Indeed, if every
member of parliament was to keep
close to his subject, and not waffle the
time in unmanly personal abuse, nor in
a display of fruittles, unapplicable ora-
tory—mere innundations of empty
founds—the debates would be greatly
contracted, and the national business
tranacted in half the time. In a word,
Lord Dartmouth is a model for chafte,
sensible speakers, who are masters of

their subject, and are convinced, that
honest truth, plain matter of fact, and
found argument, require little or no
aid from the flowers of oratory.

His lordship in his person is rather
above the middle figure; his counte-
nance indicates a benevolent mind, and
a serenity of temper which few attain.
He has a juvenile appearance, uncommon to a man of his years, in which
may be traced the comeliness of his
youth; he is easy of accesse; affable,
and polite in his demeanour; and a
strict observer of his word.

M.

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK. No. XXXVII.

Nunc hujus columnæ doctrina vult nos tantum in hac studiorum ratione retinenda ponere fiducia tantum sibi collocare ut nos tales tantum, non proffusus et ab omni parte beatiuffimos exiftimemus.

VOLUSENUS, De Anim. Tranquill.

" Now the doctrine of this pillar is, that in readily purfuing our course of ſtudy, we should have ſuch a degree of confidence and hope, as to think that we may be as well, as the preſent ſtate of human nature admits, but by no means per-fectly happy."

IN considering the country life more
particularly, I shall be careful not
to consider it too minutely. I will to
give an agreeable notion of it to my
readers, and indeed to have an agree-
able notion of it my ſelf; and experience
has taught me, that as a microſcopic
eye would make man ſuffer continual
difſuſt while beholding the physical
world around him, too prying a view of
any ſyſtem of life produces a diſlike of
it. Indeed I have remarked, that no
exact detail of life from morning to
night, however much the perſon who
gave it was diſpoſed to repreſent it as
pleasing, had the effect to make one
with to realiſe it to "live o'er each
ſcene." On the contrary I can ſay for
my ſelf, that the effect of every ſuch de-
tail has been to make me wonder how
the daily talk could be performed, and
pity those who played their parts in the
weariſome drama.

While writing upon the country life,
I am in a ſituation quite different from
that of Horace, when he ſays, Virgini-
bus pueriſque canto, "I ſing to maidens
and youths." The young and the gay,
whole ſpirits are light and airy, have
no need of being furnished with any
counts for keeping their minds easy;
and I should as ſoon think of writing
to the birds as to them. Neither is my

effay intended for that folid tranquil
species of men whose character is ſo
well given by the fame poet in their re-
presentative Ocellus—

Ruficus abnormis ſapiens crassaque M. nerva.

Thus imitated by Pope :

— " One not vers'd in ſchools,
But strong in ſenſe, and wife without the
rules."

Nor do I write to those whole minds are
concentrated by the neceſſity of provid-
ing ſupport for their lives, and whole
attention therefore being ſixed on the
immediate means of obtaining it, are
kept from wandering after variety of
enjoyment. I write to people like my-
ſelf, in easy circumſtances, who are ar-
rived at the age of ſerious thinking; to
beings whole exiſtence is compounded
of reaſon and ſentiment; who can
judge rationally, yet feel keenly; who
have an ineſtant with for happineſs,
but find it difficult to have that with
gratified.

Happineſs may be confidered as the
honey of human life. It may be ex-
traſted from innumerable ſubſtances,
and provided it be pure and wholeſome,
it matters not from whence it is de-
rived, and though " out of the bitter
may come forth the ſweet." Happineſs
in the country, therefore, as happineſs
in

1780.

I am aware of the strong objection,

A FRIENDLY ADMONITION.

447

446

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

Oa.

in town, is in a great measure the effect
of industry applied by each individual in
the way that he has found from his par-
ticular experience to be most beneficial.

I may be wrong. But I do confess, it appears to me at present that a man cannot be happy in the country whose mind is not tolerably fedate, either naturally, or from having seen and enjoyed a great deal, and exhausted his curiosity and eager desires. There is indeed in the country the variety of fensons to contemplate; but the circling year moves too flowly for him whose blood bounds with rapidity, and he is apt to grow impatient and fretful. The fame remark may be made as to most other modes of occupation or amusement in the country as means of happiness. The sports of the field, indeed, afford play to the highest degree of activity and animation. But they are but for short periods, and are rather corporeal enjoyments than mental. Agriculture has much variety, but it is a sober variety. All its operations are carried on deliberately; so that there is not that quick succession of objects without which a mind of vivacity is uneafy, and languifhes. I hope I have many worthy readers who will scarcely believe what I am now writing. I sincerely wish them a continuance of that comfortable useful contentment which they poffeſs; but I beg they may have some friendly allowance for thofe who are compoſed of warmer and more flashy particles, who do not affume a vain superiority over them upon the whole, though at times it muſt not be denied that their flexibility is more exquifite. A man of vivacity, unleſs his views are kept ſteady, by a conſant golden prospect of gain, cannot long be pleafed in looking at the operations of ploughing, dunging, harrowing, reaping, or threshing. It is all very juſt what many fagacious authors have written in praise of agriculture, and no body will dispute the pointed eulogium which Swift gives to him who makes two blades of graſs grow where there was only one before. The judgement will be unquestionably convinced; nay, for a moment the live-lieſt of us may comply with Thompſon's enthufiaſtic exhortation.

"Ye generous Britons, venerate the plough."

But utility is not more univerſally
the cause of pleasure than wholeſome-
neſs is; and a man will not prefer

ploughing to a playhouse, nor milk to
Champagne. Even if the occupations
of agriculture could give lively minds
pleasure, we muſt confider what dull
intervals there are. When a field is
completely fown, and left to itself, we
cannot actually perceive the crop spring-
ing. Even plantations, the rearing of
which is by much the highest rural
enjoymment, advance so imperceptibly;
that a Hypochondriac proprietor is ſick
and ſick again and again with en-
nui, and is tempted with wild wishes
to hang himself on one of his own trees
long before they are able to bear his
weight.

Let not then a man of exuberant vi-
vacity, keen ſenſations, and perpetual
rage for variety, attempt to live in the
country. If he does, it is more than
probable he will be miferable himself,
and the ſcorn, perhaps the ſcourge of
thofe around him. Let the edge of his
mind be blunted in the world, and his
ſpirits be reduced to a temperate ſtate
before he fettles in a ſituation where the
greatest part of his time muſt paſs with-
out vivid conſciouſneſs of any kind, and
at beſt in uniform ſerenity.

If however a man be fit for living in
the country by his natural diſposition,
or by having gone through ſuch a course
of fermentation in busy and gay life,
that turbulence is evaporated, and ſe-
renity is not inſipid to him, he may
ſpend a very creditable and agreeable
life. It is by no means neceſſary that
every country gentleman should be re-
gular, ignorant, and RUſtic, like Hypa-
litus, in Dr. Young's Univerſal Paſſion.
He may be a ſcholar, and devote ſeve-
ral hours a day to books. He may re-
tain enough of the good breeding of a
court. He may be an useful juſtice of
the peace, and promote ſubordination,
good morals, and religion in his neigh-
bourhood, and he may have the plea-
fures of ſociety, if not with ſo high a
zeaſt as in cities, yet in a very satisfac-
tory manner.

Paſſidious people, who have been
long uſed to the gloſly polifh of elegant
life, may be diſguſtued with the plainneſs
of thofe with whom they muſt affociate
in the country. But unleſs they are
delicate to ſicklineſs, they will by de-
grees be habituated to a more homely
flyle, and by exerting themſelves with
complacent attention, they may in time
diſſuse gentility amongſt their visitors.

I am

483

448

A BURLESQUE ON GENEALOGY.

Oa.

of religion the mere white-wash of hy-
pocrify—to think, is the privilege of all
rational creatures; to think seriously,
the duty of every real Christian: then
let us prove ourselves entitled to thefe

enobling characters, by cherishing good
thoughts, speaking good words, and do-
ing good actions.

THE RURAL CHRISTIAN.

Hampstead, Oaft. 10th.

A CAUTION AGAINST JUDGING BY APPEARANCES.

AN ANECDOTE.

ABOUT thirty years ago an English
packet-boat that had several paſ-
fengers on board was cast away upon a
rock, and in so great danger of sinking,
that all who were in it endeavoured to
fave themselves as well as they could,
though only thate who could swim
well, had a bare poſsibility of doing it.
Among the passengers there were two
women of fashion, who seeing them-
felves in such a difconfolate condition,
begged of their husbands not to leave
them. One of them chose rather to die
with his wife than to forfake her; the
other, though he was moved with the
utmost compassion for his wife, told her,
That for the good of their children, it
was better one of them should live than
both perish. By a great piece of good
luck, next to a miracle, when one of
our men had taken the laft and long

farewell in order to fave himſelf, and
the other held in his arms the perſon
that was dearer to him than life, the
ſhip was preferved. It is with a ſecret
forrow and vexation of mind, that I
muſt tell the ſequel of the ſtory, and
let my reader know, that this faithful
pair, who were ready to have died in
each other's arms, about three years
after their eſcape, upon ſome trifling
difguſt, grew to a coldneſs at first, and
at length fell out to ſuch a degree, that
they left one another, and parted for
ever. The other couple lived together
in an uninterrupted friendſhip and feli-
city; and what was remarkable, the
hufband whom the ſhipwreck had like
to have ſeparated from his wife, died a
few months after her death, not being
able to ſurvive the loſs of her.

A BURLESQUE ON GENEALOGY.

FROM THE FRENCH.

TWO men disputing one day upon
their Genealogy, each of them
pretended to be better than the other.
" You cannot (fays one) compare
yourself to me, who am of a thousand
times better houſe than you."—" You !
(faid the other) Had your father, like
mine, the firſt poſt of the City ?"—
" The firſt poſt of the City (replied the
firſt) was he governor ?"—" No," an-
fwered he. " Was he judge ?"—" No ;
not that yet."—" What was he then ?"
continued the firſt. " Gate-keeper
(replied the ſecond) is not that the
firſt poſt of the City ?"—" Yes (faid
the other) but mine preceded the firſt
men of the province, he went before
the dukes and peers, and before the
marshals of France."—" In virtue of
what office ?"—" In virtue of his poſt,"
replied the other. " What was, then,
that poſt ?" fays he. " He was a
poſtillion (faid the other). If my father
had taken care, we ſhould have been
rich, but he was a fool."—" I grant
that to be true (faid the other) and I

ſee clearly that his office is hereditary."
" My father prevented that (added the
fon of the poſtillion) for before he was
poſtillion, he was a man of letters."

"What call you a man of letters? (re-
plied the ſon of the gate-keeper) was he
judge, advocate, or counſellor?"—"None
of all thate (faid the poſtillion) he was
runner to the poſt-office, Call you not
that a man of letters?"—" True (faid
the gate-keeper) but that does not prove
the antiquity of your family; whereas
I can trace mine farther back than five
hundred years."—" And mine (replied
the other) more than eight hundred."—
" That's nothing (anſwered the gate-
keeper) I can prove my family to have
exifted before the Deluge."—" And I
mine from Adam," faid the poſtillion.
" And mine before Adam," faid the
gate-keeper."—" You are in the right
(replied the other) the proof is very
eaſy; for before Adam there were no
animals but brutes, and it is very
certain that you are defcended from
them."

5

FOR

THE
LONDON MAGAZINE,
FOR NOVEMBER, 1780.

SOME ACCOUNT OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE CHARLES WOLFRAN CORNEWALL, Esq. &c.

THE election of a new Speaker of the House of Commons, on the meeting of the new parliament, having been attended with an animated debate, and a warm contest, almost unprecedented in the annals of parliament, public curiosity is naturally excited, to know something of a gentleman who has been chosen to that high dignity, in the face of a powerful opposition, determined, as far as in them lay, to reinstate the old Speaker.

An account of the debate upon the occasion, the election of the new Speaker, his presentation to his majesty, and the speech he made to the king, our readers will find in the Parliamentary History, continued, as usual, in our next. We wish it had been in our power to have given in this place more ample memoirs; but the little that is known of Mr. Cornewall before the year 1764, and the few incidents that have arisen since in his public character as a member of parliament, oblige us to be very concise.

Mr. Cornewall was educated for the profession of the law, was called to the bar, and riving in practice when the late Mr. Grenville was at the head of the Treasury. That honest minister, however mistaken he may have been in the opinion of many persons of great abilities, in taxing America, is allowed by all, to have been a faithful and evident administrator of the public revenues. The most extravagant demands being made upon the Treasury after the last war by the army commissaries, German and English, for force and other articles furnished to the British and German forces in the pay of Great Britain, serving in Germany,

Mr. Grenville determined to have their accounts scrutinized, and if the charges were not equitable, to reduce them. Mr. Cornewall being skilled in arithmetical calculations, and a proper judge of the difference between legal and illegal demands, was appointed principal commissioner for adjufting and liquidating these intricate accounts. The happy consequences of Mr. Cornewall's affinity and judgement, and of the minister's resolution and integrity, were a faving to the nation of several millions.

At the general election in 1768, Mr. Cornewall was returned member for Grampound, a Cornish borough, the Duke of Grafton being then First Lord of the Treasury, and was in the lift of his opponents, particularly in the affair of the Middlesex election, for we find his name amongst the minority, who thought that the votes of 1143 freeholders, who had elected Mr. Wilkes, ought to have entitled him to his seat, instead of the votes of 296, beating Colonel Lutterell, so that Mr. Wilkes has now the satisfaction of feeling an able lawyer, elected Speaker of the House of Commons, who gave his vote in favour of the legality of his election, and the further pleasure of having it declared by the present ministry, that Mr. Cornewall is duly qualified for his high office, by his knowledge of the laws of the land, and of the law of parliament. His friends, no doubt, will avail themselves of this circumstance, to support the motion which he has annually made for the House to rescind the resolution by which Colonel Lutterell was declared duly elected; especially as so many friends of the constitution regard it to this day as a daring violation of the rights of the electors of Great Britain.

QQQ2

It

THE BRITISH THEATRE.

1780.

495

494

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

Nov.

live in the golden age so far in effect
that they enjoy all the productions of
the earth without bodily labour, as
freely as if they sprung up to them spon-
taneously; and it is most certainly true,
that these are numbers of people in the
city of London who have not the least
notion of the proceffes by which the va-
rious articles of living are procured,
and who, for instance, would be quite
amazed if told that their hot rolls come
from a plant which they may see cover-
ing the ground in the spring like the grafs
in the Green Park. Agriculture, there-
fore, to a great proportion of people, is a
very indifferent, and a very dull topic;
and although Addison, in his elegant
metaphorical language, tells us that
Virgil, in his Georgicks, toffes about
his dung gracefully: there is to moft
of us no grace in any part of actual
farming. Country gentlemen there-
fore should consider this; and not ob-
lige all of their guefts to hear nothing
but what concerns ruftic operations.
Still more should they be delicate as to
taking them out to walk and view their
improvements, or perhaps to stand by
them while they look on their labourers
at work. If a gueft asks to see what is
going on about a gentleman's feat, let
him have all advantages for satisfying
his curiosity, or learning something
which he did not know before. But
gentlemen are too apt to trefpaſs on the
complying good manners of their gueſts,
and will carry them to ſurvey prodigious
plantations scarcely peeping over the
tops of the long graſs, immenſe tracts
of land which were cleared of furze,
levelled and limed the year before, and
thouſands of yards of ſtone wall or
ditch and hedge, with which they have
enclosed a number of farms, the rents
of which they expect will at least be
tripled. All theſe things may be, very
true, of that conſequence. But what
are they to the gueſts? What is worſe,
some country gentlemen will keep their
unhappy gueſts for hours on their legs,
while they overſee a parcel of fellows
quarrying ſtones, or hang in dumb at-
tention over the inanimate proſpect of a
burning heath, which may be good en-
tertainment to the proprietor, who ex-
pects to gain by it, but is a forry amufe-
ment to other people.

As a contraſt to ſuch grievous op-
preſſion of gueſts, I can with pleafure
mention, from my own knowledge, the

behaviour of a worthy, amiable, and
accomplished country gentleman, who
makes his friends heartily welcome, but
no more thinks of harrasſing them with
furveys of his farming operations than
of obliging them to fee dinner drefſt in
his kitchen. Nay, though remarkably
well ſkilled in country affairs, and ſo
fond of them as to write a Britiſh
Georgick, I have known him have a
learned and ingenious friend with him,
who having no taſte for farming, beg-
ged leave to enjoy the country in the
houſe; and lay on a ſettce in the par-
lour, looking out to the garden and
proſpects beyond it: this he called his
ruſſicating, and was indulged in it with
the utmost good humour.

A much more intimate acquaintance
is formed in the country than in town.
In town we fee each other only during
fragments of our exſistence, and may
more safely ſuffuse what character we
pleafe. But in the country we have
whole days together; and each day is
a life, as Shakſpere ſays in Macbeth;
ſo that it is exceedingly difficult to dif-
guife our real tempers and diſpoſitions.
Then there is the pleasure of having
casual ſupplies of company and conver-
fation, which we enjoy with a higher re-
ligion than conſtant good ſociety, of which
we are ſure; as it has been I believe
justly remarked, that it is more agree-
able to receive occasional acquisitions of
money by a proſection or trade, than to
have a certain annual income. And
when there is a good ſociety in the
country of people who like and eſteem
one another, there is comfort and cor-
diality beyond what is found in any
other mode of living. They for a time
all form one family, the matter of
which may, according to the agreeable
principles of the fourth commandment,
consider each gueſt " the ſtranger that
is within his gate," as in ſome degree
under his care in every reſpect, even as
to his religion and morals.

There is one view of a country gen-
tleman's life which pleafes me moſt, and
that is confidering him as maintaining
the ſlation which his anceſtors have held
for generations. In doing this with
benevolence and propriety, he may in-
dulge at once in affectionate attach-
ment and laudable pride.

In the Annual Regifter, 1765, there
are ſome very agreeable ſ reflections upon
this ſubject, ſaid to be extracted from a
letter

496

ANECDOTES.

Nov.

herit him, and to leave his fortune to
Mrs. Courtly, who is his next relation.

This she at first opposes, but afterwards consents to, in order to accomplish her own plan. At the same time she directs Supple to engage the baronet in a party at piquet with her, to let her into his hand, and to take advantage of his warm, impatient temper, and urge him to risque all he possested, which he does, and lofes. She then takes care to inform him of his uncle's having disinherited him, and continues to treat him with indifference.

Thus reduced to distrefs, Sir Harry
has recourse to his friends, but they

refuse him affistance. Dorinda forfakes
him, and Supple adds infult to his in-
gratitude. His ſervant is the only
friend, who continues faithfully attach-
ed to him. He gives way to defpair,
and refolves to put an end to his exiſ-
ence; but as he is on the point of effect-
ing his purpofe, Mrs. Courtly breaks
in and prevents him. She difeovers
her design to him, puts him again in
posſession of his fortune, and reconciles
him with his Uncle, who with Mrs.
Courtly's father consents to their mar-
riage.

The comedy was received with great
applause, and as a first production does
the author great credit.

ANECDOTES.

FRENCH FLATTERY AND DECEIT.

KING William III. had a French-
man who took care of his majefy-
ty's pointers, and whose buſineſs it
was likewife to load and deliver his
fowling pieces to the king. It happened
however one day, that monfieur forgot
to bring out any ſhot with him to the
field. Not daring to confess his neglig-
gence to ſo paffionate a man, and ſo ea-

ger a ſportsman as the king, he gave
his majesty the gun charged only with
powder. The king firing without ef-
fect, the cunning Frenchman shrugged
up his shoulders, turned up his eyes,
folded his hands, and extolling the
king's ſkill in ſhooting, vowed he had
never seen ſa Majefte miſs his aim be-
fore in his life.

THE CON-SEQUENCES.

AN old gentleman having occasion
for a footman, deſired his nephew
to look out for one; and as he could
not find any other whom he thought
would ſuſt him, he deſired his own to
hire himſelf to his uncle. The man
who revered his young maſter reluc-
tantly quitted him, but being perſuaded
it would be for his advantage he repair-
ed to the old gentleman, who being
confident that his nephew would not
reſ recommend him an improper perſon,
only aſked him, if he underſtood ſe-
quences. “I do not know, Sir (re-
plied the man) but if you will be plea-
ſed to explain yourſelf, I hope I ſhall be
able to give you ſatisſaction?”—“I
mean, ſaid, the old gentleman, that
when I order you to lay the cloth, you
ſhould underſtand by it all the things
connected with it, as the knives, forks,
ſalt, spoons, &c, &c. And ſo upon all
occasions, not to do barely what you
are bid, by word of mouth, but to think
of the Con-sequences, Sequences or de-
dependencies of one thing upon another.”

The man affured him that he had not
the least doubt of pleafing him, accord-
ingly he was hired, and for ſome time
they agreed perfectly well; but at laſt,

his maſter finding himſelf suddenly ill
one morning ordered him to fetch a
nurſe, as ſoon as poffible. In ſtead of
returning with ſpeed, he was abſent
for ſeveral hours; and the moment he
came into his maſter's preſence he ſe-
verely reprimanded him for having ſaid
ſo long away, when he had ſent him
on buſineſs that required dispatch.
The arch fellow waited till the old gen-
tleman's paſſion was abated, and then
proceeded to justify his conduct in the
following manner. “That he went and
found the Nurſe who was below, that
thinking the Conſequence of a Nurſe
might be an Apothecary, he had been
for one, who was alſo below: that
knowing, a Doctor always followed an
Apothecary he had likewife fetched a
Phyſician who was in waiting. A ſur-
geon was often he ſaid the Sequence to
a Doctor, and an Undertaker the Con-
sequence of all, he had therefore brought
them, and hoped he had thoroughly
underſtood his orders.” The old gentle-
man was ſo pleafed with the humour of
the man, that he ordered him to fetch
a Lawyer to make a codicil to his will,
by which he left him a valuable
legacy.

THE

542

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

Dec.

His diffempered fancy darts sudden
livid glaring views athwart time and
fpace. He cannot fix his attention
upon any one thing, but has tranſient
ideas of a thouſand things; as one ſees
objeſts in the ſhort intervals when the
wind blows aſide flame and ſmoke.

An extreme degree of irritability
makes him liable to be hurt by every
thing that approaches him in any reſpect.
He is perpetually upon the fret; and
though he is ſenſible that this renders
him unmanly and pitiful he cannot help
ſhewing it; and his ſenſiſionneſs that
it is obſerved, exaſperates him ſo, that
there is great danger of his being harſh
in his behaviour to all around him.

He is either ſo weakly timid as to be
afraid of every thing in which there is
a poſſibility of danger, or he ſtarts into
the extremes of rafhneſs and deſpera-
tion. He ruminates upon all the evils
that can happen to man, and wonders
that he has ever had a moment's tran-
quillity, as he never was nor ever can
be ſecure. The more he thinks the
more miſerable he grows, and he may
adopt the troubled exclamation in one
of Dr. Young's tragedies :

"Auſtets, ſaſſe me, force me to my chamber,
There chain me down, and guard me from
myſelf."

Though his reaſon be entire enough,
and he knows that his mind is ſick, his
gloomy imagination is ſo powerful that
he cannot diſentangle himſelf from its
inſuſence, and he is in effect perſuaded
that its hideous repreſentations of life
are true. In all other diſtreſſes there is
the relief of hope. But it is the pecu-
liar woe of melancholy, that hope hides
itſelf in the dark cloud,

Could the Hypochondriack ſee any
thing great or good or agreeable in the
situation of others, he might by ſympa-
thy partake of their enjoyment. But
his corroſive imagination deſtroys to
his own view all that he contemplates.
All that is illuſtrious in publick life,
all that is amiable and endearing in ſo-
ciety, all that is elegant in ſcience and
in arts, aſſect him juſt with the fame
indifference, and even contempt, as the
purſuits of children aſſect rational men.
His fancied elevation and extent of
thought prove his bane; for he is de-
prived of the aid which his mind might
have from found and firm underſand-
ings, as he admits of none ſuch. Even
his humanity towards the diſtreſſed is

apt to be made of no avail. For as he
cannot even have the idea of happineſs,
it appears to him immaterial whether
they be relieved or not. Finding that
his reaſon is not able to cope with his
gloomy imagination, he doubts that he
may have been under a deluſion when
it was cheerful; ſo that he does not
even wiſh to be happy as formerly,
fince he cannot wiſh for what he appre-
hends is fallacious.

In the multitude of ſuch thoughts as
theſe, when the Hypochondriack is
funk in helpleſs and hopeleſs wretched
neſs, if he has recourse only to his ſel-
low creatures and to objects upon earth
—How bleſſed is the relief which he
may have from the divine comforts of
religion! from the comforts of GOD,
the Father of Spirits, the Creator and
Governour of the Universe, whose
mercy is over all his other works, and
who graciously hears the prayers of the
aſſuſted.

In order to have theſe comforts,
which not only relieve but "delight
the foul," the Hypochondriack muſt
take care to have the principles of our
holy religion firmly eſtablished in his
mind, when it is found and clear, and
by the habitual exerciſe of piety to
ſtengthen it, ſo as that the flame may
live even in the damp and foul vapour
of melancholy. Dreadful beyond de-
ſeription is the ſtate of the Hypochon-
driack who is bewildered in univerſal
ſcepticifin. But when the mind is ſick
and diſtreſſed, and has need of religion,
that is not the time to acquire it. The
underſtanding is then wavering, and
the temper capricious; and the beſt ar-
guments may be ineffectual againſt pre-
judice.

By religion the Hypochondriack will
have his mind fixed upon one invariable
object of veneration, will have his
troubled thoughts calmed by the con-
fideration that he is here in a ſtate of
trial, that to contribute his part in car-
rying on the plan of providence in this
ſtate of being is his duty, and that his
ſufferings however ſevere will be found
beneficial to him in the other world, as
having prepared him for the felicity of
the ſaints above, which by ſome myſte-
rious constitution, to be afterwards ex-
plained, requires in human beings a
course of tribulation. And in the mean
time he will have celestial emanations
imparted to him.

While

2

411

1780.

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

543

While writing this paper, I have by
fome gracious influence been infenſibly
relieved from the diſtreſs under which
I laboured when I began it. May the

fame happy change be experienced by
any of my readers, in the like affliction,
is my ſincere prayer.

ERRATA.—In the Hypochondriack, No. XXXVIII. p. 493. col. 1. 1. 5. for compliment, read complement. Ibid. col. 2. 1. 14. for by, read in. P. 494. col. 1. 1. 46 and 47. for very true of that consequence, read of great consequence to them.

STATE PAPERS.

Copy of the Memorial presented by Sir Joseph Yorke to the States-general, concerning the five papers found amongst others belonging to Henry Laurens, late president of the American Congreſs.

" High and Mighty Lords,

"THE king, my master, has, during the whole course of his reign, manifested the strongeft defire of maintaining the union that has subſiſted for above a century between him and this republic. This union reſts on the firm bases of reciprocal intereſt; and, as it ever was known to contribute greatly to the advantage of both nations, their natural enemy has fet to work all the engines of politics to deftroy it. For some time ſuch attempts have met with but too great a ſuccesſs, being countenanced by a ſaction that wishes to rule over the whole republic, and is ever ready to ſacrifice the public good to its own private views. His majesty ſees, with no leſs ſurprife than concern, the little regard that has been hitherto paid to his reiterated claim of the affiſtance ſtipulated by treaties, and to the remonſtrances made by his ambaſſador on the daily infractions of the moſt ſolemn engagements.

" The king's moderation has induced his majesty to look upon the conduct of your High Mightineſſes, as the working of a predominant cabal, and is ſtill perfuaded that your wifdom and juſtice will direct you to fulfil your engagements towards him, and to ſhow by all the tenour of your future conduct, that you are determined to purfue with vigour the plan ſet on foot by the wifdom of your anceſtors; the only one that can ſecure the ſafety and glory of the republic.

" The anſwer your High Mighti-
neſſes will be pleaſed to return to the
following declaration, which the under-
written now preſents by exprſes com-
mand of his court, will prove the

touchſtone of your intentions and ſen-
timents towards his majesty.

" For a long time paſt his majesty has had numberleſs ſurmiſes of the dangerous deſigns hatched by an unbridled ſaction: but the papers of the Sieur Laurens, calling himſelf president of the pretended Congreſs, have led to the diſcovery of a plot unprecedented in the annals of the republic. It appears by the papers alluded to, that the States of Amſterdam have entered into a clanſtine correſpondence with the American rebels: ſo early as the month of August 1778; that inſtructions and powers have been given by them, for the purpose of entering into a treaty of indiſoluble friendſhip with the faſi'd reßels, natural ſubjeſts of a sovereign to whom the republic is joined by the ſtricſt ſties of friendſhip. The authors of this plot do not pretend to deny it. They, on the contrary, avow and labour, though in vain, to justify it. In these circumſtances, the king, relying on the equity of your High Mightineſſes, requires that ſo irregular a conduct may be formally diſavowed, as it is no leſs contrary to your moſt ſacred engagements, than repugnant to the Dutch constitution. The king further inſiſts on ſpeedy ſatisfaction, adequate to the offence, and the exemplary puniſhment of the penſionary Van Berkel and his accomplices, as diſturbers of the public peace, and violators of the rights of nations. His majesty flatters himſelf that the anſwer of your High Mightineſſes will be ſpeedy, and to the purpose in every reſpect: but if the contrary ſhould be the cafe, and your High Mightineſſes ſhould reſufe to comply with ſo juſt a requeſt, or endeavour to paſs it over in ſilence, which will be deemed as a denial: the king cannot but look on the whole republic as approving of miſdeeds, which they would reſufe to diſavow or puniſh: and in ſuch a cafe his majesty will think him-

delf

412

STATE PAPERS.

Dec.

544

self obliged to take such steps as become
his dignity and the interests of his sub-
jects.

Written at the Hague, Nov. 10, 1780.

LE CHEVALIER YORKE.”

Copy of the second Memorial, the extra-
ordinary Answer to which occasioned
his Majesty's Manifesto and Proclama-
tion, hereunto subjoined.

“ High and Mighty Lords !

“T
HE uniform conduct of the
king towards the republic: the
friendship which hath so long subfifted
between the two nations; the right of
fovereigns, and the faith of the moft
folemn engagements, will decide, with-
out doubt, the anſwer of your High
Mightineſſes to the memorial which the
underſigned prefented, ſome time ago,
by expreſs order of his court. It would
be to miſtruſt the wifdom and the juſ-
tice of your High Mightineſſes, to ſup-
poſe that you could poſe a moment in
giving the ſatisfaction demanded by his
majety.

“ As the refolutions of your High
Mightineſſes of the 27th of November,
were the reſult of a deliberation which
regarded only the interior of your go-
vernment, and did not enter upon an
anſwer to the ſaid memorial, the only
remark to be made on thofe refolutions
is, that the principles which have dic-
tated them, evidently prove the juſtice
of the demand made by the king.

“ In deliberating upon that memo-

rial, to which the under-ſigned here re-
quires, in the name of his court, an
immediate and ſatisfactory anſwer in
every reſpect, your High Mightineſſes
will doubtlesſ consider that the affair is
of the laſt importance; that it relates to
the complaint of an offendeſ sovereign;
that the offence, for which he demands
an exemplary puniſhment, and a com-
plete ſatisfaction, is a violation of the
Batavian constitution, of which the
king is a guarantee; an inſraction of
the publick faith; an attempt againſt
the dignity of his crown! The king
has never imagined that your High
Mightineſſes had approved of a treaty
with his rebellious ſubjeſts. That had
been raſing the buckler on your part;
a declaration of war. But the offence
has been committed by the magiſtrates
of a city which make a considerable
part of the ſtate; and it belongs to the
fovereign power to puniſh and give ſa-
tisfaction for it.

“ His majesty, by the complaints
made by his ambaſſador, has placed the
punifhment and the reparation in the
hands of your High Mightineſſes; and
it will not be till the laſt extremity, that
is to ſay, in the caſe of a denial of juſ-
tice, or of ſilence, which muſt be in-
terpreted as a reſuſal, that the king will
take them upon himself.

Done at the Hague the 12th of De-
cember, 1780. (Signed)

LE CHEVALIER YORKE.”

FOR THE LONDON MAGAZINE,
AN ADMONITORY MEMORANDUM.

“Time waſted is exiſtence, us’d is life.” DR. YOUNG.

HOW few among the ſons and
daughters of Adam, are concerned
to improve thofe various talents en-
trusted to their care by the great Lord
of all !

“Time is a talent to be improv’d by all.”

It would be well for thouſands, if
they were as ſollicitous to improve their
time, as they are to increaſe their for-
tunes; but, alas! that which ought to
be thought of, and attended to, in the
first place, is the laſt in our minds, and
the leaſt regarded: the great Creator has
given us many bleſſings to enjoy; a-
mong the reſt, health, friends, food,
and raiment; and the continuance of
our time, and opportunities for repen-
tance, and preparation for a better
world, are not the laſt: but are we
fuitably affected with a grateful ſenſe of

them, and an earneſt desire of living, as
well as ſpeaking his praeſ. No, very
few indeed think on the grand and im-
portant end for which they were created
and ſent into the world, much leſs do
they endeavour to live mindful of it.

Cards, balls, plays, and fashionable
diverſions, are eagerly purſued by the
giddy multitude, to the utter ruin of
families, fortune, reputation, and ſe-
rious reflexion; the killing of time,
the loſs of the ſoul, and diſregard of
eternity. Was the queſtion to be
aſked, How is time to be improv’d? I
would reply, By preparing for eternit.
Was the queſtion to be aſked, How am
I to prepare for eternit? I would an-
fwer in the words of ſacred inſpiration,
By living ſoberly, righteouſly, and godly,
in the world.

THE RURAL CHRISTIAN.

1781. PARLIAMENTARY HISTORY. 39

and the lieutenant of the Apollo, who had both behaved with such singular bravery; the two lieutenants who had failed round the world with Captain Cooke; and one member of that House, who had been an old lieutenant, Mr. James Luttrell. The House were therefore left to judge, whether such appointments had any thing to do with election jobs!

Mr. Fox affented to the resolution, in the fame manner as he had done to the vote for the seamen, mentioning again his intention to institute an enquiry into the conduct of the first Lord of the Admiralty, in promoting a man who had been convicted on record of having brought a malicious and ill-founded accusation against his commander.

Admiral Keppel and Sir Hugh Palliser being prefent, a long and harsh conversation enfued: the former with his friends infifting that Sir Hugh was rendered incapable of serving again, without difgracing the navy.

Sir Hugh Palliser read a very long defence, and complained of extreme ill useage received from the friends of Admiral Keppel, who had encouraged a mob to pull down his houfes and destroy his furniture.

Lord North acknowledged that he had advifed his Majesty to promote

Sir Hugh, and therefore the whole blame did not lie at the door of the first Lord of the Admiralty, if there was any; but his lordship juſtified the measure, as the court-martial, after theſt enquiry, had pronounced his conduct to be exemplary and highly meritorious, which was certainly a recommendation of him to the favour of his sovereign. As to the cenſure pafſed by the court-martial who ſat on Admiral Keppel's trial, upon Sir Hugh Palliser, his lordship faſd, it was extra-judicial and therefore ought not to be attended to, especially as Sir Hugh Palliser was not ſuffered by thofe who pronounced it to exculpate himſelf. It is unnecessary to purſue this conversation any further, because the ſubstance of it muſt be repeated again, as it ended the next day by a motion for laying the minutes and proceedings of the court-martial upon Sir Hugh Palliser before this house, which was carried, and conſequently the ſubject will be resumed, when Mr. Fox brings on his enquiry.

The resolution for the navy extraordinary were carried, and being reported the next day were agreed to, after which the House adjourned to Tuesday, the 23d of January, 1781.

(To be continued in our next.)

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK. No. XL.

Τμν δὲ ἀμβολήν ὁιδα ὥσπερ ποίησον.

“ I know what variety there is in Pleasure.”

PLATO Diag.

THERE are certain words which from being moſt frequently used in a limited ſignification do not readily prefent to the mind their full and genuine meaning. Amongſt these is the word Pleasure, which commonly ſugges ts at first the idea of ſenſual gratification, ſo that to pronounce the word Pleasure by itſelf would alarm the deſticate ſenſibility of a very moſt eſt lady. You may tell her that you are happy to have the Pleasure of ſeeing her, or may introduce the word into many ſuch ſentences, where its meaning is particularly ſpecified by the reſt of the words connected with it. But you muſt not talk of Pleasure ſimply. We all know what is meant by a Man of Pleasure, or a Woman of Pleasure.

Yet Pleasure is indeed a word of moſt extenſive meaning. For it com-prehends all things that are pleafing, all things that produce ſatisfaction, joy, or delight, and in general what-ever we can perceive as an agreeable effect. It is therefore confining and debaſing it when we refer it only to our ſenſes. The Pleasure of mind when we attain to it is the highelt pleasure. But I am willing to partake of every Pleasure that is innocent, and I am to confider in this eſtay the variety of means by which mankind procure, or endeavour to procure, to themſelves that which Pepe enumerates amongſt the epithets of

“ Our Being's end and aim.”

Whatever

POETICAL ESSAYS.

Jan.

42

Nor whitening fleeces crown the hills around,
Nor lowing herds shall in the stalls be found,
Yet shall my foul in thy salvation trust
O Thou for ever mercitul and juft!

Happier the sooner, who from forrows reft
Releas'd from care and in thy slumberes bleſt,
But if beyond this dark terrene there lies
A purer world and more refulgent ſkies,
Of joys immortal the divine abode,
Where raptur'd Seraphis view the univerſal
God:

What cruel power refrain'd thy freeing hand
O Death ! and ſnatch'd me from that happy
land.

Or was it yet too soon, and muſt I bear
Encreasing ills and trials more ſevere
Thro' rougher paths to thofe glad regions rife,
And win by harder ſtrife the glorious prize !
Be then Supreme, thy righteous will obey'd
Lo! in the duſt my proftrate foul is laid

For all the various turns of mortal fate,
And Life, and Death, on thy decrees await.
Thou canſt with caſe confound the proud
and vain,

[reſtrain.
Blaſt all their hopes and their ſond ſchemes
Thou canſt with caſe the meek and humble
raſe,

[gaze;
To heights of fame the world's diſtinguish'd
d o'er the following foul ſweet peace diſ-
play

Her balmy wings, and clear the lonely way.
But, oh! forgive the weakneſs of our heart,
Still to our aid thy pow'rful grace impart,

Then tho' no bloſſom make the vallies ſmile
Nor golden crops reward the peſant's toil,

THE PARLIAMENTARY DUELLISTS'

Inferibed to both

MAJORITY and MINORITY.

A S ſoon as Cadmus had the dragon flail,
Ils teeth he ſcatter'd o'er the ſorrow'd
plain,

For ſo did gods and oracles ordain :*
The teeth tho' buried, ſoon appear'd again,
But metamorphos'd into warlike men

Who (fuch the whimsical decree of fate)
Attack'd each other with relentless hate.

'Twixt you, my maſters, and that earth-
born race

The dulleſt eye may much reſemblance trace;
Like them, to venom, you importance owe,
With mutual ſpite, like their's, your boſoms
glow,

Like them, you fight too—here I ſtop indeed,
No farther will the parallel proceed,

For of that monſtrous multitude but five
Did (if mythologiſs ſpeak true) ſurvive
But all our Duellifts are yet alive !

O ! that ſome god in pitty to our ſtate
Wou'd make your courage equal to your hate
By mutual wounds then all our faſtions flain,
Britain her former glory wou'd regain.

THE MONTHLY

From the LONDON GAZETTE
EXTRAORDINARY,

St. James's Jan. 9, 1781

T

HIS day arrived Lieut. Waugh,
of the invalids, at the Earl
of Hillborough's office, with
letters from Lieutenant Go-
vernour Irving, of Guernsey
encloſing a letter to him from

Lieut. Gov. Corbet, of the illand of Jerſey,
dated Jerſey, Jan. 6, 1781, of which the
following is an ext tract.

"I AM now to acquaint you, that the French landed this morning, about two o'clock, between two poſts, so diſtant that the guards did not perceive them. They marched acroſs the roads and were in the market-place by fix this morning. I was taken prifoner about ſeven, but I was fortunately reſeated by the very brave and ſteady behaviour of the troops and militia; and the commandant then inſormed me, that they had ſurrendered prifoners of war; they were all taken, killed, or wounded. Poor Major Pierſon, exerting himself at the head of a brave troop of followers, at the loſe of the affair, was unfortunately killed.

"P. S. We have about 500, prifoners;
Some hundreds are killed, and about 100

CHRONOLOGER.

wounded. The ſeft left their arms, and
fled into the country; but I hope to have
them all Tomorrow.

" Our loſs may be 50 killed, and perhaps
half that number wounded.

" My friend Mulcaffer has as ufual exerted himself. I am not hurt, but had two ſhots through my hat.

"I ſhall tranſmit particulars tomorrow
morning to England; but ſend this if you can."

From the LONDON GAZETTE.

St. James's, Jan. 16, 1781. It appears
from accounts from the illand of Jerſey,
that the French, to the number of 800,
and upwards, landed before day-break on the
6th current, at the Banc du Violet.

That in their attempt, to land, one pri-
vateer and four tranſport veſſels were wrecked
upon the rocks, whereby upwards of 200
men were loſt.

That the French general, Baron de
Rullecourt, marched acroſs the country to
the town of St. Heliers, ſeſed the avenues
of the town and the guard, made prifoner
Capt. Charlton of the artillery, and ſent a
detachment to ſeife the Lieutenant-Gover-
nour.

That the lieutenant-governour had by ſome
means received information in time to
despatch two meſſengers to the different
stations

* See Ovid's Metam. iii. 14

1784.

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

53

maintain the high character he has obtained in the world.

His lordship is in his person some-
what above the middle ſtature, and has
been confidered as remarkably handsome:
his engaging manners and addrefs have
been admired by both ſexes, and as a
public speaker he is clear and convincing,
but seems to avoid paſſion or impetuofy.

His lordship was created a peer of
Ireland on the 10th of July 1776, by
the ſtyle and title of Lord Macartney,
Baron of Liffanure in the county of
Antrim, and was elected a representative
in the preſent parliament of Great-
Britain for the borough of Beeralſton
in Devonshire.

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK. No. XLI.

Tu tamen vel me autore mentem iſtam mutabis, & cœlibatu reliſto, ſterili ac parum humano vitæ inſtituto, ſanctiffimo conjugio indulgebis. ERASMUS.

" But by my advice you shall change that resolution, and quitting celibacy, " a barren ſtate of life little suited to human nature, shall indulge in holy " Matrimony."

ERASMUS has written so well up-
on so many ſubjects, that his
works alone might make a very good
ſtudy for moſt men. But what I pe-
cularly admire in him is a pleasant
ſerenity of mind that ſhows itſelf in
the eafe and vivacity with which he
treats every lighter theme on which his
thoughts have been employed. As he
viſited England, he may be confidered
as naturalized among the literati of
this iſland; and indeed much has been
done by them in his honour. Let me
only mention his life by Dr. Jortin,
and the heroick encomium upon him
by Mr. Pope.

Having been obliged to him for a
motto to this paper, I have been led
to introduce it with ſomething ſaid in
praise of one of my moſt favourite
writers. But I have taken care to ſtop
ſhort, left I ſhould not leave myſelf
room enough for the ſubject of the
prefent ſeſſay, which I mean ſhould be
Marriage.

Upon this ſubject, indeed, one may
write volumes, becauſe it is ſo exten-
ſive, and makes ſo eſſential a part of
the hiftory of mankind. I am to write
upon it, as I have done upon other
ſubjects, in the course of these my
monthly lucubrations, with little ſyf-
tem or order, but with a frankneſs of
communication, and a benevolent wiſh
to entertain, and perhaps in ſome de-
gree inſtruct my readers.

There has perhaps been no period
when Marriage was more the general
topick of conversation than at preſent;
when a celebrated popular preacher has

ventured to publish under the title of
THELYPHTHORA, an elaborate, nay,
as he professes, a religious exhortation
to the comforts of a plurality of wo-
men. I am not going to enter upon
the wide field of Marriage, in all its
varieties in different parts of the globe.
My reflections are to be limited to the
good, plain inſtitution eſtablished in
our own country, with which we are
all well acquainted; in ſhort, to Bri-
tiſh Marriage as by law eſtablished.
And, inſtead of attempting an anſwer
to Thelyphthora, till I have more leifure
to confider whether it is right or wrong,
I ſhall in the mean time relate an anec-
dote which I had from grave authority.
Mr. Blount, who wrote what he calls
The Oracles of Reaſon, having loſt his
wife, fell in love with her ſifter, a ve-
ry beautiful woman, and having com-
poſed with a great deal of ingenuity
a treatiſe to prove that it was lawful
for him to marry her, he ſent it to the
Bishop of London, and afterwards
waited upon his lordship to aſk his opi-
nion. The biphop did not wiſh to en-
tangle himſelf in diſputation; ſo he
calmly ſaid, " Your arguments, Mr.
Blount, may be very good; but I'll
tell you, if you marry the lady you
will be hanged."

To the ſubject of Marriage we may
well apply the obſervation which the
Speſtator ſo humourouſly returns to
Sir Roger de Coverley, " Much may
be ſaid on both ſides." Eraſmus amuſed
himſelf in the way of declamation upon
it in different views, by writing " Su-
ſoria de ineundo Matrimonio—Argu-
ments

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

54

Feb.

ments for entering into Marriage.”
And also “De Matrimonio infidelium—of
unhappy Marriage,” by way of “Præ-
ceptiuncula generis diffusa foriit—little pre-
cepts of the diffusive kind.” And it
is wonderful to observe the fertility of
his imagination in bringing forth such
a number of circumstances. The truth
is, that were a man to resolve not to
marry till he has fully settled in his
mind, that it will be upon the whole
for his greatest good, the numbers of
mankind would decrease very rapidly;
so that if Dr. Price were to introduce
philosophy into his calculations upon
this subject, and conjecture what the
effect of the increase of reafoning may
be upon future population, the result
might indeed be alarming. I trust
however that our natural appetites and
affections will long prove a sufficient
counterbalance to the selfish difadvan-
tages which cool judgement may dif-
cover in the connubial engagement.

That Marriage should ever be re-
spected by the wife and virtuous, is
plain from the consideration, that it is
the mode of continuing the human
race in a regular and becoming man-
ner. Man loves his species. He feels
a pleasure in the contemplation of that
multitude of beings of whom he is
one; and he cannot but have a regard
for an orderly institution to which he
himself owes his education, and with-
out which he is fentible that society
would be a scene of grofs and difcord-
ant confluence.

To consider one's self as a part of a
general fyftem, and to think of the
good of the whole may have been car-
ried to an aburd exefs by the ftoicks
of old, and by some philosophers of
modern times who have affuminated
their notions to thofe of that lofty ſeet.
Yet it muſt be allowed, that much of
our happineſs arifes from viewing our
exſistence in that light. Voltaire in his
Candide has unquestionably ſhown, by
practical impreſſions ſtronger than any
eſfects from induſtion, that a ſeries of
ſevere diſtreſſes will be felt by an in-
dividual notwithstanding all the boafed
arguments of optimifm. This how-
ever even Voltaire with all his wit could
not but know, and indeed I believe
his benevolence made him know it
well, that the enjoyment of man is
far from being merely ſelſih, but is
in a considerable degree ſympathetick.

3

It extends itself to his wife and chil-
dren, to his friends, to his country-
men, to all with whom he feels a con-
nexion; and if his mind is enlarged
enough, it extends itself to the whole
human race. There cannot be a more
fublime expreſſion of benevolence than
the following line in Dr. Johnson's
imitation of the Tenth Satire of Juve-
nal, where he incites to pray,

"For love which scarce collective man can
fill."

A man therefore may be induced to
marry from the principle that he shall
by doing so, have a better connexion
with society, and add more good to the
general fyftem than by any other
means. But the "Officina gentium—
the work-shop of nations," would be
ill carried on, were only such extenſive
principles to operate. Ninety-nine of
a hundred marry from the impulse of
appetite, from immediate defire of a
particular object. All who think it
immoral to gratify the ſtrongest natural
inclination without the ſanction of wed-
lock, and cannot or do not choofe to
repreſs it, muſt marry, and then do
well; though Swift wittily ſays, that
to take a wife to preferve one's chaſtity
is like constantly wearing a Burgundy
pitch plaifter to preferve one's health.
Sir John Brute in the Provoked Wife,
coarſely but juſtly ſpeaks out the moſt
common motive for Marriage, "Why,
I had a mind to lye with her, and ſhe
would not let me." It is in vain to
diſguife, that the enjoyment of woman
is the moſt general and the prime in-
centive to Marriage, when man is in
his vigour. Fielding in one of his poems
when treating of the choice of a wife,
requires that ſhe ſhould be

"A warm partaker of the genial bed."

Nay the more delicate Guardian, when
recommending a lady to his young
friend, tells him, " She will not be
lefs an ornament to your table than
give you pleafure in bed."

That there are additional motives to
Marriage, besides what I have ventured
to ſpecify as the chief, I shall not deny.
I will even admit that it is frequently
not perceived to be the "fomething
which prompts," and alſo that in fo-
ciety highly civilized, the feelings of
nature are ſo overwhelmed with artifi-
cial means of gratifying pride and plea-
ſure,

417

1781.

THE BRITISH THEATRE.

55

sure, that they bear a very small pro-
portion. Nor, am I so full of my own
notion, as not to be fenible that the
fame man will have different motives
for Marriage at different periods of his
life. Bafiard, a poet of fome ingenuity
and conceit, has the following Latin
epigram on his three wives :

Terna mibi variis duξta eſt ætatibus uxor,
Hæc Juveni, illa wiro, tertia nupta ſeni.

Prima eſt propter opus, teneris mibi junξta
ſub annis,

Altera propter opes, tertia propter opem.

The meaning of which is, he married
the firſt in youth for love; the ſecond
in manhood for money; the third in
old age for a nurſe.

But I ſpeak of Marriage as it moſt
frequently happens, taking a view of
mankind in general; of Marriage by
which the world is continually furnifh-

ed with new ſupplies of people; and I
maintain that we owe it to the natural
desire which is ſo exceedingly ſtrong
and prevalent. The motive of intereſt
aſſects but a very limited number. The
celebrated line in Garth's epilogue to
Cato

" 'Tis beſt repenting in a coach and fix,"

is the ſentiment of a fine lady, and there
are comparatively ſpeaking but few fine
ladies. I have found an excellent con-
traſt to it, which I confider as the ſen-
timent of women whose paſſions have
fair play. Fielding's Harriot, a lovely
natural character of a young girl in the
Authorour's Farce, ſays to her lover

" And thy arms my coach and fix."

A fine figure to expreſs enthufiaſtick
fondneſs.

THE BRITISH THEATRE.

DRURY-LANE.

ON Saturday evening, Feb. 17th,
was performed, for the firſt time, a
new tragedy called *The Royal Suppliants*. The characters were thus represented:

<table><tr><td>Acamas</td><td>Mr. Smith.</td></tr><tr><td>Demophoon</td><td>Mr. Benſley.</td></tr><tr><td>Alcander</td><td>Mr. Farren.</td></tr><tr><td>Iolaus</td><td>Mr. Aickin.</td></tr><tr><td>Theſtor</td><td>Mr. Packer.</td></tr><tr><td>Hæman</td><td>Mr. Williams.</td></tr><tr><td>Hyllus</td><td>Mr. Banniſter, jun.</td></tr><tr><td>Deïanira</td><td>Mrs. Crawford.</td></tr><tr><td>Macaria</td><td>Mis ſarren.</td></tr></table>

The plot is partly hiſtorical, and
partly fabulous.

The firſt aſt informs us that Deïani-
ra, the widow of Hercules, and her
two children, Hyllus and Macaria, are
driven from Argos by the tyrant Eu-
ryſtheus, who had ufurped the throne.
After having vainly ſollicited the pro-
tection of different ſtates, the queen
and her daughter take refuge in a tem-
ple at Athens. To which place they
are followed by Alcander, the herald
of Euryſtheus, who comes to demand
them of Demophoon, King of Athens.
The king being at that time abſent,
Acamas, his brother, is inveſted with
the royal power; who is ſo much aſſected
by the beauty and diſtrefſs of Macaria,

that he promiſes to become her protec-
tor againſt Euryſtheus. Upon which,
Alcander declares war againſt Athens,
and tells the prince, that Euryſtheus is
now on his march againſt him.

In the ſecond aſt, Demophoon re-
turns to Athens; and Alcander, who
had previouſly bribed Theſtor, a priſt
of Jupiter, to pronounce a falſe oracle,
which required the facriſce of Deïani-
ra or Macaria, before Hyllus could be
reſtored to the throne of Argos, en-
deavours to make Demophoon jealous
of his brother; and partly prevails up-
on him to favour the demand of Eu-
ryſtheus. Upon hearing the oracle,
Macaria offers herſelf a viſtim to ſave
her mother, and reſtore her brother
Hyllus to the throne. Demophoon is
ſtruck with her noble behaviour, and
ſeems unwilling to give his conſent,
without further deliberation.

Acamas, in the third aſt, acknow-
ledges to Deïanira his love for Maca-
ria, and acquaints her with the arrival
of Hyllus, who is to appear as his fol-
dier. Hyllus then enters to acquaint
Acamas, that Euryſtheus is on his
march to Athens. A tender interview
follows between him and his mother.
They both retire, at Demophoon's ap-
proach; who reproaches Acamas for
bringing him into ſuch danger. Al-
cander and Theſtor prevail upon the

king

418

56

THE BRITISH THEATRE.

Feb.

king to consent to Macaria's sacrifice, in order to avoid the war. A tender meeting follows between her and Deïanira, who is ignorant of her daughter's destination; and Macaria goes to the king's palace. Acamas then tells the queen that Demophoon had conformed to let him lead the troops against Eurytheus, and that Hyllus should attend him as his officer.

In the fourth act, Alcander acquaints Thestor that he had prevailed upon Demophoon to send his brother forth with a mock command; that orders were sent after him not to engage Eurytheus, and that in his absence Macaria was to be sacrificed. In the mean time Deïanira, much alarmed at her daughter's delay, is going towards the palace after her, but stops at Juno's temple, which she enters, in hopes, by her prayers, to deprecate her wrath. Macaria then enters dressed like a victim, and is going into the temple to be sacrificed. Deïanira, upon hearing solemn music, comes out of the temple and meets her daughter. A scene of great distrefts follows; and Macaria is faved by the sudden arrival of Acamas, who returns in wrath againſt the king, for having ſo deceived him.

In the fifth act we find that Acamas is imprifoned by the king's command—that Macaria is forced from the temple of Jupiter, and again led to sacrifice. The queen appears in the deepet diftrefts; and, upon hearing a loud ſhout, ſuppoſes it to be the army's groan at the death of her daughter. Almoſt frantick with deſpair, ſhe is ruffing

forth to burſt upon the rites; when Macaria meets her with a drawn dagger. She then tells her, that as ſhe was about to ſacrifice herſelf, for the prefervation of a mother and a brother, Iolaus broke into the grove, and with a launce, which he threw at Alcander, killed Theſtor.—That Acamas, who had been releſed from priſon by the guards, entered at the fame time, and that ſhe had eſcaped in the general confusion. Upon the fight of Alcander they enter the temple. Acamas immediately follows Alcander; and the queen and Macaria return upon hearing his voice. Demophoon, who had learned from the confession of Theſtor, that he had been ſuborned by Alcander to pronounce a falſe oracle, upbraids him with it; and tells the queen that Alcander had alſo ſent a ruffian to murther Hyllus. Deïanira, in the anguifh of her ſoul, ſtabs him at the altar. An officer then brings an account that Hyllus had eſcaped the ruffian; and he immediately enters triumphant, having ſlain Eurytheus at the head of his troops, who all with joy acknowledged him for their king. A reconciliation then takes place between Demophoon and Hyllus, and the generofity and valour of Acamas is rewarded with the hand of Macaria.

\*\* Our readers will be pleafed to obſerve, that our account of this tragedy precedes that of Sinope, owing to the former being brought out, after the account of the latter was printed off.

## ANECDOTES.

### Anecdote of the King of Pruffia.

A Prince of Oetingen in Germany never required an oath from his miniftry or counſellors; but, taking them up to a window in his palace, prefented to their view a gallows.—" Now, gentlemen (faid the prince) you have your choice: you may either, by your good actions, obtain my regard and protection, or, by your bad ones, have the honour of a flying upon yonder tree."—This prince was remarkably well ſerved by his miniftry.

As the king was paffing through the hall of his palace at Sans-fouci, with one of his generals, he faid to him, General, you ſhall dine here, in a few days, with three hundred of my chamberlains.—Sire, faid the general, I did not think you had ſo many.—The king replied, with a ſmile—I do not mean thofe nothings who wear gold keys, but my brave chamberlains who opened to me the gates of Sileſia.

## DESCRIPTION

42.

1781.

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

109

pick-pockets; this happened upon a
memorable occasion, when the late Earl
of Chatham made his last speech, and
the bar was indeed remarkably crowd-
ed, but there were persons in that
crowd, whose rank and fortune far ex-
ceeded Mr. Rigby's; others of supe-
rior abilities, and many whose charac-
ters were equal to his. One of these
wittily retorted in the public news-
papers, that he did not know that he
had been hemmed in by pick-pockets
below the bar of the House of Lords,

till it had been mentioned by Mr. Rig-
by in the other House, and then he re-
collected that he had been very much
crowded and jostled by the Paymaſter
of the Forces, who flood next to him.
Independent of such rude fallies as this,
he is a fair and found reafoner, and is
admired even by his opponents.

Mr. Rigby in his perſon is tall, and
rather corpulent, he has the appearance
of a robust constitution, but he wears
the aspect of a declining good liver.

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK. No. XLII.

“Ατοπον οὖν τὸ γυναίκην ἀρετῆς φάναι μηδ' αλλης μετείναι τί δει λεγειν περὶ δε σωφροσύνης ἡ ἄνευδεσθαι αὐτῶν εἰς δε πικρεως ἡ δικαιοσύνης ὀπου ἡ ποιδρεοῦ καὶ τὸ δαρβάλεον ἡ τὸ μεγαλόψυχον εἰ πολλὰς εἰπανές γέγονε πρὸ; πα ἄλλα καὶ τὴν Φυσιν αὐτῶν ἄλλα ἡ ἑγγουπαιεὶς μουννον φιλία αὐδρμοσον ἀποφάνειν παντα πασιν δεινον.

PLUTARCH ERATICUS.

"But to detract virtue from the character of women is certainly repugnant to réafon. For since their chaſtity, prudence, fidelity, juſtice, nay, fortitude, refolution, and magnanimity ſhine forth in many remarkable instances, it is plainly foolish to ſay with a view to leſſen them, that their nature which is fo well adapted to all other offices, is incapable of friendſhip."

CIVILIANS define Marriage, "Con-
junctio maris et feminæ individuam
vitæ confuetudinem continens.—The uni-
on of a man and a woman comprehen-
ding one common train of life," which
in Thomſon's poetry is, without any
reference to law, thus expreſſ'd:

— “ In one fate

Their lives, their fortunes, and their beings
blnd.”

Canonisſs define it, “Conjunctio maris et feminæ, confortium omnis vitæ divini et humani juris communicatio — The union of a man and woman, a ſociety for the whole of life, a participation of rights temporal and ſpiritual.”

It is curious to compare with theſe
definitions a modern Marriage, as ap-
pearing in the practice of many ſplen-
did couples in this metropolis. They
inſtead of having one common train of
life, contrive it ſo as very ſeldom to
approach each other. A hufband is ſo
far from being the ſole cauſe of com-
fort and happineſs in the matrimonial
ſtate, that he is only like the maſter or
ſuperintendant of a great manuſactory,
and the beneficial effect of ſubdivision
of labour, upon which Dr. Adam
Smith inſiſts ſo much, in his Wealth of
Nations, ſeems to be alluſed in the

connubial copartnery. Different men
attend a lady to different places of
amusement; and conversation being
ſhared with numbers, there is a gay va-
riety, inſtead of the uniform dullneſs
of frequent intercourse with the fame
perſon. Neither is it thought of any
advantage to have an attention to for-
tune as a fund common to both, ſince
each can with leſs care, take occafion-
ally what is wanted, as the birds peck
at large, wherever they fly and hop
about.

If happineſs be not promoted by
Marriage, it is undoubtedly a bad in-
ſtitution; and ſupernical thinkers eafi-
ly adopt the opinion that it is not.
Accordingly we find the wits and the
poets have employed the ſhaſts of their
ridicule upon no ſubject more freely,
than upon this. Yet Marriage ſtands
its ground, and even the greateſt part
of the railers againſt it are obſerved to
conform to it like other mortals. The
explanation is obvious. A flight prof-
pect takes in only reſtraint and all its
concomitant ideas. A ſteady view dif-
covers the real advantages.

It is a thoughtleſs errour to conceive
of Marriage, as of a ſtate altogether
of enjoyment, and not “ for better for
worse,” as the form for celebration of
matrimony

419

110

THE HYPOCHONDRIAK.

March

matrimony bears. This errour how-
ever has afforded much play both to
raw imagination and licentious fancy.
One is deceived by finding that it is
not what was ignorantly supposed.
The other concludes that when high
enjoyment ceases, the contract is at an
end.

Of the latter species there is a fine
lively inſtance, in a ſong in Dryden's
Marriage A-la-mode :

" Why should a fooliſh Marriage vow
Which long ago was made,

Oblige us to each other now
When passion is decay'd.

We lov'd and we lov'd as long as we could,
Till our love was lov'd out of us both,
But our Marriage is dead when the pleatures
are fled;

"Twas pleasure first made it an oath."

The fame free thought is exhibited
in a leſs elegant, but very charaſteriſt-
cal manner, in Carey's Beggar's Wed-
ding, a ballad farce.

" Like jolly beggars thus we live,
Since now the wedding's o'er,
We'll love and live, and live and love,
Till we can love no more.

In life we'll love, in freedom live,
In loving live our fill,

For I to you will constant prove—
Or part whene'er you will."

To beings of levity ſuch fallies are
admirably ſuited. But human nature
is not in general devoid of ſettled think-
ing. Though man be diſtinguished as a
riſible animal, there is not a large
portion of his exiſtence ſpent in laugh-
ter. In his early years indeed he has
much of it. But in his early years he
is an imperſect animal—He is green—
He is not ſubſtantiated. And it will
be allowed that men who after arriving
at the full age of reaſon are continual
laughers, have no credit by their mer-
ritment, but are with juſtice looked up-
on as fooliſh. Man is not more diſlin-
guished as a riſible, than as a reaſon-
ing animal, and the longer he lives he
approaches the more to ſteadineſs.
Therefore when a man and a woman
have lived together for years, and they
have gradually become habituated to
each other, they will not feel diſagree-
ably the change from livelier ſenafions
of pleasure to comfortable ſatisfactions,
nor regret that love has grown into
friendſhip.

There is in human nature a love of
permanency, as well as a love of va-
riety. Identity of perſon is absolutely

requisite in the idea of happineſs,
though the perſon muſt no doubt have
changes of ſenation to exiſt agreeably.
There is an egotism in this view which
is not only valuable, but without which
man is nothing. As the ſoul " ſtartles
at deſtruction," no thinking perſon,
though in a ſtate of little enjoyment,
would be content to ſink into annihi-
lation upon condition of riling into a
much more happy ſtate without any
conſciouſneſs of former exiſtence. If
I am deſtroyed it is of no conſequence
to me, that another being in lieu of me
has a large ſhare of felicity. This love
of permanency, with reference to our-
ſelves, extends itself alſo to objects
with which we are intimately connect-
ed. Even inanimate objects ſo cir-
cumſtanced, have a certain hold of our
aſſection; and no man, unleſs of a
rugged caſt indeed, ever quitted a house
in which he had lived long, and did
not feel ſome regret. How much
ſtronger then muſt it be, when appli-
cable to a wife, " the moſt delightful
name in nature," as the ſpexator with
an amiable moral ambition has ſhewn
it to be. Horace extends the conjugal
union of felicity to the laſt moment of
this life,

Felices ter et amplius

Quos irrupta tenet copula ; nec malis

Diuſtus querimonitis

Suprema citius folvet amor die.

"Thrice happy they whom love unites

In equal rapture, and ſincere delights,

Unbroken by complaints or ſtrife,

Even to the lateſt hours of life." FRANCIS.

But we carry our love of permanency
ſtill farther, and plegpe ourſelves with
an anxious hope that an agreeable
union may be continued even in a ſu-
ſtate of exiſtence. That this was
the popular notion of the Jews, appears
from their queſtioniing our Saviour,
Whole wife a woman, who had many
huſbands in ſucceſſion, ſhould be at
the reſuſection ? He tells them, that
" at the reſuſection there is neither
Marrying nor giving away in Marriage,
but that they ſhall be like the angels
in Heaven." The notion, however,
though thus corrected by the higheſt
authority, ſtill prevails, and will be
found in many good Chriſtians, eſpe-
cially in thoſe of a warm poetical mind,
who utter it in elegies and in epitaphs ;
and I doubt not that where there is a
laſting love Marriage, it would be ex-

exceed-

112 PARLIAMENTARY HISTORY, March

the motion, the former declaring with great warmth, that Admiral Darby had seen the enemy three times, and had flunned them, which had occasioned great discontent amongst his officers. Admiral Keppeil made a remark upon copper bottomed ships; he said they gave additional strength to the navy, and that feventeen such ships were not to be reckoned as so many common ships; and he reproached Lord Saudwich with having refused to sheath only a few ships with copper at his request, when he had since ordered the whole navy to be sheathed.

Mr. Oldfworth informed the house that Count D'Eftaing had but twenty two ships of the line, when he was met by Admiral Darby, or perhaps not so many, as the Indiamen might be mistaken for two deckers; and therefore he thought it a great misfortune to this country that so fair an opportunity was lost of coming to an engagement, for which reason he should support every motion for an enquiry into the admiral's motives for retreating. The question being then put, it was rejected upon a division by 97 votes againft 63.

In a committee of supply, the following resolutions were carried without opposition.

That 15,487.1. be granted to Duncan Campbell, Elg. to maintain the convicts.

That 22,222.1. be granted to make good the like sum issued by his majesty in pursuance of addresses, to indemnify the foreign ambaßadors and other perions for the damages they suftained by the riots in June laft.

That 30,999.1. be granted to his majesty to replace the deficiency of the like sum issued out of the sinking fund, towards the fupplies of the laft year.

191,664.1. for the like purpose.

193,663.1. for the like purpose.

222,745.1. for the like purpose.

57,000.1. for the support of the American refugees.

Tuesday Feb. 20.

Upon bringing up the report of the above resolutions, Sir George Yonge complained of the sum granted for the maintenance of the convicts; he understood that the measure was only an expedient, till a better plan for differring of them should be adopted, and he called upon the ministry for satisfaction upon this head.

Sir Grey Cooper informed the house that no other plan had been offered, and as that the increase voted this year, was owing to the appointment of a chaplain and some other necessary officers.

Mr. Byng complained of the votes for supplying such large deficiencies to the sinking fund without producing specific ac-

counts to the house, how those deficiencies arose; and Sir George Yonge observed that the subject had been discussed the preceding evening, when there were only five or six members present in the committee.

Sir Philip Jennings Clerke found fault with the penions granted to American refugees, many of whom he said deferved a halter in-stead of a penion, for having given false in-formations to the king's minifters, by which they were induced to begin the American war.

Lord North said that none of the refugees had penions exceeding the incomes of the offices they held under government in America before the war, unless in some cafes where the parties had lost a considerable fortune besides their places, and had large families to support.

His lordship then accounted for the deficiencies to be made good to the sinking fund; he said they proceeded from deficiencies in the taxes on made wine, and on houses; but he should propose a plan on a future day to make them more produc'tve. The report was then agreed to.

The Secretary at War moved for leave to bring up the report from the committee on the mutiny bill.

Mr. Fox hereupon mentioned his design to have moved the recommitment of the bill, on account of the word Ireland being left out, but as the house was very thin he declined it.

Mr. Burke said, he was not surprifed, as we were accustomed to give away the dependence of our subordinate dominions, that fo gfeat a star as Ireland should be driven from the orb, without any notice having been taken of it. One bright star was driven after another from our political heaven, one light was put out after another, and all was night. An independent army was eftablished in Ireland: this was a weighty concern, especially as the liberty of this country was involved in it.

The Speaker now informing the house that though the report should be brought up immediately, it did not follow that they must agree to it directly, for the consideration of it might be postponed to another day; it was resolved to receive the report, and to take it into consideration on the Friday following.

Thursday, Feb. 22.

Lard George Germaine moved that the thanks of the house should be given to the Reverend Dr. Burnaby, for his sermon preached before the house on the preceding day, being the day appointed for a general faft, which motion paffed unanimously.

TO

THE
LONDON MAGAZINE,
FOR APRIL, 1781.

FOR THE LONDON MAGAZINE.
MEMOIRS OF SIGNOR VESTRIS, SENIOR.

*(With an elegant Portrait from the Life.)*

HEN the moſt exalted
personages in the king-
dom, in point of rank
and fortune, and not
a few of the commer-
cial classes of the peo-
ple, are all united in
befɔwing the moſt lavish praifes, and
in liberally rewarding from their pur-
fes, *foreign opera dancers*, in time of
war—while thouſands and ten thou-
fands of ingenious and uſeful Britiſh
ſubjects are pining in obſcurity, and
finking under that indigence, which
heavy, accumulated, and perpetuated
TAXES have brought upon them, it
would be unpardonable in us, not to
give ſome account of this rare phœno-
menon, whom our good brother Lou-
is XVI. has kindl[y lent us, to ſurprife
and amufe us, while he is laying the
foundation of a French empire in
America.

We candidly confess, that ſwimming
with the current, we have poſtponed
the portraits and memoirs of a general,
and of a ſtateſman, to give way to the
prefling neceſſities of the times, which
loudly call for thofe of Veftris ſenior
and junior. Befides, theſe birds of
paſſage will ſoon leave us—and our
ſtateſmen will remain with us, moſt
aſſuredly till we are tired of them—and
as for our generals, we ſhall hear of
them in the Gazettes, on *Tuesday* and
*Saturday* evenings, after the operas are
over. If they die in the bed of ho-
nour fighting for their country, while
Signor Veftris is dancing for the emo-
lument of France, 'tis well!—but if
they loſe battles—off with their heads!
But away with theſe irdſome reflec-
tions!

Let Britons learn from ſmiling France,
To court the Graces in the mazy dance.

Signor Veftris the elder, if we are
rightly informed, is a native of Italy,
was born at Bologna, and is now in
the fifty-fourth or fifty-fifth year of
his age. In his perſon he is tall (near-
ly fix feet high) and his whole figure
is very graceful and elegant. His
head is placed on his shoulders like
the Apollo Belvedere. But his legs are
rather too cloſe. His countenance is
very open and prepoſſing, and at
Paris he is called *Le Dieu de danſe*—
The God of dancing. His face is
moſt admirably adapted to the ſtage,
and he has an eye that marks every
situation.

He began to be famous in his pro-
ſeſſion as a dancer about the year 1750,
and was engaged at all the principal
Opera-houses in Italy and Germany;
and at the expiration of about ten
years he ſettled in France, where he
has danced at the Royal Italian thea-
tre at Paris near twenty years, and
has a comfortable penſion ſettled upon
him for life, we believe by the late
king—ſubject, however, to the condi-
tion of being commanded to dance
whenever their Gallick majefties are in
the humour.

The reaſon of his *honouring* Eng-
land with a viſit, is as follows:—He
applied to the direſtor of the Opera
at Paris, to intreat the king to increaſe
his ſon’s ſalary. The king and queen
readily aſſented, but as the œconomi-
cal arrangements of *Mr. Neckar* (the
French firſt lord of the treaſury) ren-
dered it impoſſible for *two* years to
come; they graciously conſeſcend to
give the father and ſon leave to make
up the deficiency and to add a few
thouſands to it, from the pockets of
the English. With this proviso, that
they ſhould both return to Paris by
the
U 2

43.

160

ON MODERN COUNTRY GENTLEMEN.

April

cloſed with ſomething, though ever ſo
cheap and indifferent: after being
pinched a great while, and clambering
up the ſteep hill of Parſimony, where
the leaſt ſ fallen ſtep throws you to the
bottom—he cries, *Why, let the Devil
take the hindmoſt! and ſo, being ſpright-
ly enough to find that poſterity never
did any thing for him, he grows care-
leſs about poſterity at once, and im-
mediately builds away, to gain a tem-
porary increaſe of income; careleſs, ſo
he lives well, who lives ill after he is
departed.

But, you cry, there are always tenants for theſe houſes, which proves a great increaſe of inhabitants; and this is ever allowed to be the riches of a kingdom. Why, fir, theſe people, who ſlock to town, can't ſtay in the country. They are pensioners in the diſguife of men of fortune, and are drawing what little they have left to the capital, to look big, and make a figure with here; which properly diſſused in their village would make hundreds hap-py. But, by this means, the extreme parts grow cold; which, in the human body, declares an approaching diſſolu-tion; and why not in the political body alſo?

Theſe, then, are the people who fill
your new ſtreets with inhabitants; they
muſt attend the Stock Exchange or their
daily ſubſtence would be at an end.
They muſt ſwell the levees of their pa-
tron, or he will ſet a mark upon them;
and, *If they have no coaches of their
own, they muſt hire them; for I will
be reſpecteſt, and I will have coaches
at my levee* (ſays a certain lord) *or I'll
mark thofe who neglect me.*

To conquer a country, the ſureſt
way is to ſoſten their minds; as your
bajſet weavers ſteep their oſiers in wa-
ter ſome days before they work them
up, that they may bend the eſtair. *We
are* (as Othello ſays) *ſleeped in poſter-
to the very lips* to make us more plia-
ble. And I indeed believe, that our
ſturdineſs, as Sir Robert diled it, is
pretty well gone off: partly pleasure,

chiefly diſtrefſs has unhinged us: we
are no longer the people we were; and
a new dance or a new ſaſhion, makes
us forget the gloom and diſtrefſs of
yesterday.

Then never tell me that we are rich,
becauſe new ſtreets are building. You
might as well urge the number of car-
riages about the ſtreets, as proofs of
plenty and abundance. But I ſee far-
ther; and I know that the moſt nau-
feous medicines are always the moſt
gilded; and that very tawdry clothes
and ſhowy banquets often are cloaks
to extreme poverty.

Look round the country of England;
fee the numberleſs ſeats and capital
manor houſes daily advertiſed to be
lett or ſold. Enquire as you ride,
whofe houſe that is up the avenue,
and where the maſter lives; and the
anſwer is always, *In London.* In Lon-
don we will ſuppofe him to live then.
He pays hard money there even for the
roots and garniſh of his table, which
in the country would have coſt him
nothing; and are, in the interim,
confuſed by the more worthy tenants
in the parſih.

In the country a gentleman is viſited
not only by the neceſſitous, but the
wealthy, becauſe he is the principal
perſon in a certain diſtrefſt; which al-
ways draws reſpect. In London, your
next door neighbour knows juſt enough
of you to criticiſe on you, and ſmile
at your conduſt, and, by the ſtratagem
of a meſſage with the words *rout or
aſſembly* joined to it, people are hete-
rogeneouſly packed together, with no
other view, than to *ſhuffle* a pack of
cards; and gain *by tricks*, what they
are above gaining by industry and fair
dealing.

This is the life of a modern country
gentleman, removed to town with the
incumbrance of a family. By this
means your new ſtreets are contantly
filled—by the neceſſitous, and not the
wealthy.

Your's, &c.

L. B.

FOR

THE
LONDON MAGAZINE,
FOR MAY, 1781.

FOR THE LONDON MAGAZINE.
ANECDOTES OF MONS. VESTRIS, JUNIOR.

HERE is a distinction to be made between the title of the father, whose memoirs and affecting features we gave in our last, and the son. The father being an Italian, is addressed by the title of Signor, while the son is called Monfieur; it remains to account for this in a natural manner, as most titles generally are accounted for, but more especially those of some of our British dukes. Know then, gentle reader, that the power of sympathetic attraction drew to a close connection, the God of Dance, Signor Vestris, and the Goddefs of Dance, Madame Allard, a most celebrated performer on the Italian theatre at Paris.

Their co-operations upon the stage were the admiration of all Paris, and gratitude inspired them with the idea of making some permanent return to the public for the constant applause they received. The God of Dance is sublime in all his ideas, and what could be more divine, more truly imitative of the ancient deities, than "to stamp an image of himself." Pardon the hyperbole—but the birth of a young Alexander, or of a young Vestris, is not to be announced in the dirty fltyle of a Tyburn Chronicle!

We shall see by the sequel that his father, the most vain and arrogant of mortal beings, thought as we do— For he named him Auguſtus, and this according to the laudable custom of France, with respect to baſtards, was the only name he was known by till he was about fourteen years of age, when dancing one evening, remarkably well, before his father, who was his master, he resolved on the next day,

which was the anniversary of his birth, to confer upon the youth an extraordinary honour—the inauguration to which, we shall give in the original, for the benefit of all the maſters and miſtreſſes of boarding ſchools, and all the grown gentlemen and ladies of this land, who read, translate, or chat-ter French.

Vestris, ſen. Auguſte mon fils.

Auguſte. Papa !

Vestris, ſen. Je vais vous donner un cadeau plus ſuperbe que vous ne puif-fiez imaginer !

Auguſte. Quelle cadeau mon pere—des diamans ?

Vestris, ſen. Non mon fils, c'eſt un cadeau plus ſuperbe—c'eſt—le nom de Vestris !

Which dialogue may be reduced in plain English to the father's informing his son, that he would make him a richer present on his birth-day than he could imagine; the son concluded it was a casket of diamonds, but the father informs him, it is more ſuperb!—it is the name of Vestris !

In fact, this was the general prepossession in favour of a youth, who had been taught by the God of Dance, that his first appearance on the stage was rewarded with the loudest applause, and the father struck with the conscious pride of having hit upon the means of transmitting his name to poſterity, burst into a flood of tears, and retired fainting from the too pathetic scene.

Young Vestris, however, does not answer all the expectations of his divine father. There is an alloy of the fecondary aid, which nature requires in the performance of her miracles—he has too much of the mother in him.

the

2 C

427

206 SAMPLES OF SENSIBILITY AND HUMOUR. May

know their own dispositions and talents, to attain to the government and direction of their faculties at all times, so as to make the most of them with reference both to themselves and others;

in short to be as uniformly as possible
wife and agreeable members of society,
which without Prudence it is impolite
ble they can ever be.

(From the Adventures of a Hackney-Coach, just published. See our Review.)

ORIGIN OF THE HACKNEY-COACH.

I WAS made by a distinguished
coach-maker in Great Queen-street,
Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, for Mr. M—,
a very worthy merchant in Thread-
needle-street, who acquired a confide-
rable property, by an early and intense
application to commercial busineſs.
He had as great a forefight of future
events as most speculative men; could
decypher a man of small capital and
great appearance, whom he generally
called a cracker; fhook hands with
the firſt merchants on the Royal Ex-
change, and was ever foremost in all
their cabinet councils. As he had a
rising family he was circumſpect even
in trifles; ſtudied little else than how
to acquire a proviſion to ſhield them
from the winter of adversity.

Notwithstanding all this ſagacity, he
truſted as much to appearances, where
riches centered, as his unthinking
neighbours; and by the failure of that
plunderer F—d—e, this industrious
ſon of industry, and his darling fami-
ly, were bereft of the honest harvest
of many toiling years. At the time of
this national calamity, I was at his
little villa at Clapham Common, with
his wife and children, who moſtly re-
fided there. When rumour, the har-
binger of the dreadful tidings, arrived,
the genius of miſery only could expręſs
the horror that ran through the family;
which was ſcarcely felt, before the
unfortunate wreck himself arrived with
the confirmation. He entered the back
part of his garden, and retired to an
arbour, where he and his little family
uſed often to assemble—to hide the
bitterneſs of his affliction.

He did not remain long in this ſitua-
tion, when his wife and children came
to pour the balm of confolation into
his bleeding boſom. His eldest daugh-
ter, with ſuppurſing fortitude ſuppressed

her anguish, while ſhe began to chafe
from his tortured imagination the ap-
proaching ſpirit of defpair.

" You know, my dear papa (fays
ſhe, with the endearing tenderness of
youthful affection) when Lady Notable
did us the honour of a visit laſt, how
very much ſhe admired my embroidery;
placed it in as flattering a point of
view as the ingenious and unrivalled
Mrs. Wright's. My brother Billy's
miniatures are likewife much admired.
I have now a very good likeneſs, neat-
ly executed, of the Duchefs of ——,
Lady Notable ſhewed it to her, and
ſhe admired it highly; ſhe is a good
 creature; I will make her a preſent of
it; ſhe will be a friend to us, my dear
papa, and will recommend me. There
is no fear, between my brother and I,
but we will realize ſomething to begin
the world anew.

" This little villa belongs to my
uncle, who often told me we should
reſide here, if we wanted his affiſtance;
he too will be generous; for, you
know, he calls my mama his darling
ſifter.

" We will retrench all ſuperfluities,
and live like our primitive parents,
when there were no F—s."

He preſed the little charmer to his
boſom, and deſired her brothers and
ſifters to do the fame; after which he
roſe, with his wife in one hand, and
ſhe in the other, and walked into the
houſe.

A few days after I was driven to
the coach-maker's, where I had been
made but two months before; who told
my maſter he would ſettle with him
next morning, when he generously re-
turned the original price. I did not
remain long in this ſituation, when I
was purchased by a hackney-man of
Oxford-street, who had me numbered,
and ſent to his ſtand next day in Pic-
ccadilly.

THE

430

THE
LONDON MAGAZINE,
FOR JUNE, 1781.

MEMOIRS OF THE RIGHT HON. EARL CORNWALLIS.

HARLES CORN-
WALLIS, Earl Corn-
wallis, Visc. Broome,
and Baron Cornwallis
of Eye in Suffolk; is a
lineal descendant from
John Cornwallis, a

wealthy citizen of London, who served
the office of sheriff in the year 1377,
the first of the reign of Richard II.
and was greatly instrumental in putting
a stop to the prosecutions which the
Duke of Lancaster the King's uncle
had commenced against the city. The
sheriff had a son named also John, who
married Philippa, daughter and heirefs
of Robert Buxton, Esq. of Broome, in
Suffolk, upon whose death Mr. Corn-
wallis in right of his wife came into
possession of the Buxton estate at Broome,
and fixed his residence there. It is
from this estate, the present Earl takes
his second title; and the family still
reside at the manor house occasionally.

FREDERICK the only son and heir
of Sir William Cornwallis, and the fe-
venth in descent from the ancestor, was
created a peer of the realm, on the 20th
of April 1661, by Charles II. by the
title of Baron Cornwallis of Eye.

CHARLES, the fourth Baron, who
succeeded his father in 1699, had nine
sons. The eldest was Charles the first
Earl, father to the present, who was
raised to that dignity, with the addi-
tion of Viscount Broome, by letters
patent from his late Majesty, on the
30th of June 1753. The seventh son,
a twin, was Frederick the present Arch-
bishop of Canterbury; and confequent-
ly uncle to the present Earl.

His lordship was born on the 31st of
December 1738, succeeded to the titles
and estates of his father, upon his de-
cease on the 23d of June 1762, and
was married on the 14th of July 1768,
to Miffes Jones, who died in 1779. His

lordship's mother, who is living to en-
joy the honour of having such a son,
is the eldest daughter of the late, and
sifter to the present Lord Vifcount
Townshend.

We are not informed where our re-
nowned hero received the rudiments of
education, but we know that an early
love of arms, and a desire to signalize
himself in the service of his country,
induced him to enter very young into
the army. His first campaign was made
in Germany in the last war, and he par-
ticularly distinguished himself by his
gallant behaviour at the battle of Min-
den, at the head of the 12th regiment
of foot, of which he was colonel. His
lordship has risen regularly in the army
to the rank of Lieutenant-General, and
has signalized himself in a most glorious
manner in America, where his suc-
cesses have been remarkably rapid.
While he acted under General Howe,
as his aid de camp, he acquired such an
accurate knowledge of the country and
of the strength and resources of the
rebels, that when examined at the bar
of the House of Commons by the com-
mittee of enquiry into the conduct of
the war, the justification of the pro-
ceedings of the commander in chief
referred chiefly on the evidence given by
his lordship.

Upon his return to America, and
having a separate command given him
by Sir Henry Clinton, his lordship had
an opportunity of displaying his ex-
traordinary military talents as a gene-
ral and a foldier. The important vic-
tory at Camden in South Carolina on
the 16th of August 1780, the reader
will find recorded in our Magazine for
that year, Vol. XLIX. p. 487, in his
lordship's own words, and it is with
pleasure we observe that his dispatches
are written with so much perplicuity,
that they afford uncommon satisfaction

212

not

PARLIAMENTARY HISTORY.

June

254

sum—Then how great, how exquisite
is another pleasure, to see your chil-
dren smiling, lipping, and then prat-
tling; to cherish them in your bosom,
to kiss them, to fonds them to your
breast, and when you go out and re-
turn to have, even amidst misfortunes,
fuch cheering interviews.” This is
truly pleasing, and perhaps one is ne-
ver fonder of ones children than when
they are about three years old, just in
the flate that Lipfius describes, nor
does one suffer more keenly by their
death than when they are so engaging.
One would then wish to take in a lit-
teral sense our Saviour’s words as to
little children, “of such is the king-
dom of Heaven.” And how that may
be we cannot tell. There is something
of a peculiar pleasing fanciful confo-
lation in the letter from a child of two
years old in Heaven to its disconfolate
surviving mother, in Mrs. Rowe’s Let-
ters from the Dead to the Living.

I remember once observing to a friend
that children are like nettles, very in-

nocent when young, but stinging you
when they grow up. I trust, that this
observation, though plausible, is not
just; for, I believe it is often a father's
own fault if his children do not give
him increasing satisfaction as they ad-
vance in life. If he does the reverse
of what he ought to do by indulging
them when very young, and retraining
them at the time he should relax, it is
in the nature of things that they should
be hurt by his treatment of them, and
should be apt to dislike him. But if
he has managed them with rational
discipline while totally unfit to manage
themselves, and allowed them a suit-
able freedom and confidence when
older; has stored their minds with good
infruption, and enabled them to ac-
quire virtuous and pious habits, he
will probably find them a joyful cre-
dit to him in life, and a support and
comfort at death, so that he shall be
fertile of the truth of that verne of the
Psalmist, “ Lo, children are an heri-
tage of the Lord.”

## PARLIAMENTARY HISTORY.

*A Concise History of the Proceedings of the First Session of the FIFTEENTH Parliament of Great Britain. Begun and holden at Westminster, on Thursday the 31st of October, 1780.*

*(Continued from our last, p. 236.)*

### HOUSE OF COMMONS.

Tuesday, March 8.

UPON bringing up the report from the Committee of ways and means on the loan for 12,000,000. Sir Philip Jennings Clarke opposed the motion for the House to agree with the committee, assigning as a reason, the exorbitant premium it bore at the stock-exchange that morning wix. eleven and a half per cent, which plainly showed that the minister had made a very bad bargain for the public, but a very profitable one for his friends the subscribers, Mr. Byng, Mr. Huysey and Mr. Burke distinguished themselves on the same side of the question, and particularly objected to the Lottery.

Lord Northb, and Sir Grey Cooper defended
the terms of the loan as the best that could be
obtained, and they would not admit that any
confusable quantity of the loan had been
sold at so high a premium. It might have
been a trick, or that bargain between two
brokers to answer particular purposes, and
before the usual hour of closing the stock bu-
fines the same day, the premium was only
seven and a half. They denied all partiality
in the distribution of the loan; but they

said not a syllable in defence of lotteries,
which their opponents justly represented as
greatly prejudicial to trade, and injurious to
the morals of the people. Upon a division,
the resolutions of the committee were agreed
to by 133 votes against 80; and bills were
ordered in accordingly. Upon the third rea-
ding of these bills in the House of Lords,
the Marquis of Rockingham opposed them,
but without effect; and the next day a pro-
test was entered against them upon the jour-
nals of the House, signed by the Marquis,
the Dukes of Portland and Bolton, the Mor-
quis of Caermarthen, Earl Fitzwilliam, Lords
Ponsonby and De Ferrars, and the Bishop of
St. Asaph. They declare their diffent, be-
cause it is a bargain improvident in its terms,
corrupt in its operation, and partial in its
distribution.

Monday March 12.

Mr. Byng proposed three resolutions, the
first was for a lift of the subscribers to the
loan. The second, for a lift of all persons
who had applied to become subscribers, but
were rejected. The third, for copies of all
letters sent on the subject of the loan to the
first

434

THE
LONDON MAGAZINE,
FOR JULY, 1781.

MEMOIRS OF DON FRANCISCO DE QUEVEDO.

From Letters on the Origin and Progress of Spanish Poetry.* See our Reviews of New Publications.

(With an engraved portrait from the original.)

HE golden age of Spanish poetry, according to our author, was the fixteenth century, and of the many poets who supported the spirit of it, Don Francifco de Quevedo holds rank as one of the most eminent. He was born at Madrid in 1570, of a noble family, and had an early taste for poetry, which he cultivated and improved as he advanced to years of maturity; and this talent was the source of honour and difgrace, of prosperity and of adversity to Quevedo.

His genius was such, that neither the perfections he suffered from his enemies, or other mortifications, could damp his bold, masculine spirit, or the keenness of his fatire: besides his merit as a poet, he was well verfed in the oriental languages, and a man of great erudition. When the Duke of Offuna was Viceroy of Naples, Quevedo was employed in several committions of consequence amongst the Italian states, and had the addrefs to go to Venice, on a particular object, difguifed as a mendicant. The Viceroy afterwards ſent him to the court of Madrid, acknowledging his ſervices, for which he was made a knight of the order of St. James. When the duke's intereft and favour declined, he came in for his ſhare of difgrace, and was three years in confinement, afflicted with illnesses, but nothing appearing againſt him, he was ſet at liberty.

Difguſed with theicklenefs of court favour, and attendance on the great,

he refuſed ſeveral employments that were offered to him, as well in the miniftry, as the embaſſy to Genoa; and retired to his own ſeat, where he gave himſelf up intirely to literary puruifts.

At the age of fifty-four, he entered into the ſtate of matrimony with Donna Esperanza de Arragon, a lady of rank, whom he ſoon had the misfortune to loſe, finding no other alleviation than ſuch as aroſe from his philosophical diſpoſition. But the envenomed ſhaſts of envy ſtill reached him in his ſolitude. Upon a falſe accufation of being the author of an infamous libel againſt the government, he was arreſted in the night, put in close confinement, and his eſtate ſequeſtered. In this ſituation he laboured under various diſeaſes, with acute pain of body and mind: his paſtrimony ſeſed, and himſelf ſupported by charity! Under this diſtrefſs he wrote that elegant and pathetic letter to the prime minifter Olivarez, which procured him his enlargement: the cafe was enquired into, and the calumny, as well as its author, diſcovered. He once more returned to court to recover his eſtate, which had suffered various depredations, but this ungrateful theatre he ſoon abandoned, and retired to his country ſeat, overwhelmed with illnesses, the conſequence of his cruel imprisonment, all which he bore with manly fortitude, and ſinſhed his days with exemplary and Christian resignation in the year 1645, the 75th of his age.

His perſon was engaging, his complexion fair, and great expreſſion in his

* The author of this work will find that we have added some touches to his elegant sketch of Quevedo's life, from other eſtablished authorities, particularly Le Nouveau Dictionnaire Hiftorique. Paris edit. 1772.

1781.

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

357

family in Ireland, Sir Moyfes Hill, one
of his ancestors, having signalized him-
felf for his loyalty so early as the reign
of Queen Elizabeth, by raifing troops,
and affilting the Earl of Efflex in sup-
pressing O'Neil's rebellion.

His lordship married, in 1748, Lady
Margaret Fitzgerald, Sifter to the Duke
of Leinfter, by whom he had issue Mar-
cus, Viscount Kilwaring, born in 1752,
who died in 1761. Arthur the preſent
Viscount Fairford, member in the pre-
fent parliament for Malmſbury, Wilt-

ſhire. Lady Mary Ann, born in 1749,
died an infant. Lady Mary Amelia,
born in 1754, married in 1773, to Lord
Cranbourn now Earl of Salſbury.
Lady Charlotte, born in 1754, married
to Mr. Talbot, nephew to Earl Tal-
bot. Lady Hillſborough died at Na-
ples in 1766; and in 1768 his lordship
married the Baroneſs Stawell, widow
of the Right Honourable Henry Bifon
Legge, late chancellor of the Exche-
quer; her ladyship died in 1780, lea-
ving no issue by Lord Hillſborough.

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK. No. XLVII.

Cedens glacialisbus auris.

VALERIUS FLACCUS.

" Yielding submiſſive to the powers of froſt."

IN a former number I intimated that
I had a few effays formerly publiſh-
ed, which I intended to adopt into this
ſeries. I hope the following will prove
acceptable to my readers. It appeared
in the Publick Advertiser, June 2,
1770.

"THE great progreſs that has of late years been made in every branch of philosophy cannot but give much joy to every man of an inquitive turn. Such a man am I. But I fairly own, that my studies have generally led me rather to what was uſeful than to what was curious. The moſt ingenious and beautiful theories are nothing to me, in comparison of any kind of diſcovery that can be reduced to practice.

A discovery lately made by a cele-
brated naturalift has given me more fa-
tisfaction than any thing I have met
with of a long time. This discovery
is the art of congealing living animals
in ſuch a manner, that they ſhall re-
main exaſtly in the fame ſtate they were
in when the frigorific operation is per-
formed, ſo that although when frozen
every power is locked up, whenever the
cold is diſsolved, and their frame re-
leased from its chilly ſhackles by a
gradual and gentle warmth, they ſhall
appear with the fame ſentiments, paſ-
fions, looks; in a word, with the fame
qualities in every reſpect.

All the world has read of the
marvellous ſtory told by the traveller
of a froſt at fea, which was ſo intense,
that all the words uttered by the crew
and paſengers on board a ſhip were
congealed in the air, and remained

fixed there till a thaw came; and then
there was ſuch a jargon and medley of
voices, ſuch volleys of oaths, and ſuch
an incoherent variety of ſentences, that
it ſeemed as if one of the four elements
had been ſeized with madnets.

This ſtory may make cautious
people ſomewhat flow in believing the
New Freezing Diſcovery which I have
mentioned. I own I have not yet ſeen
the operation: but as I am well in-
formed of its ſucces, or at leaſt of its
being much nearer to ſucces than the
philofopher's ſtone, I am indulging
myſelf in pleafing ſpeculations on the
great uſe of which it will be to ſociety.

Inconſtancy, impatience, and many
other qualities in human nature, are
often not only very troubleſome to in-
dividuals, but prevent the beſt ſchemes
and nobleft plans from taking effect.
For theſe qualities the New Freezing
Diſcovery affords an effectual remedy.
Is a perſon impatient or fretful ? freeze
him. Is his inconſtancy ſuch that he
cannot remain of the fame mind two
days together ? Whenever he is ſound
in a proper frame, let him give his
orders, and then ſhut him up in ice
till ſuch time as it is of no conſequence
whether he is conſitant or no.

Jealousy, the moſt tormenting of
all the paſſions, the moſt hurtful to
human repofe, and the moſt baneful in
itſeſſes, will be entirely prevented by
the New Freezing Diſcovery. A Spa-
nith padlock is a ludicrous invention :
it is alſo an uncertain ſecurity; for it
may be picked, or a key may chance
to fit it. But when a husband has his
wife

439

360

THE SUMMER THEATRE.

Aug.

of that receptacle of profligate feamen,
and their accommodating doxies. The
Story is extremely simple, and we are
bound in compliment to the fair and
noble authoreſs, to give a narrative of
the buſineſs, as it was this night pre-
fented to the public.

The first scene opens with a view of
the sea from the Point, from an ale-
houſe (the sign of the Victory) where
Sally and Nancy, daughters of Old
Rosemary, the landlord, are discovered
finging a melancholy duet, bewailing
the loſs of an honest tar, whom they
fuppose (to use the burthen of the ſong)
" is in Davy Jones's locker." The
duet over, Nan, the youngest filter,
chides the other for her ingratitude in
encouraging the addreſſes of a young
officer (Williams) who is quartered at
her father's houſe ſo immediately after
the death of her late lover Tom Splice'em.
The father makes his appearance, and
while he is endeavouring to adjust the
difference between his two daughters,
Williams enters, and relates the agree-
able news of his majesty's fleet being
arrived with ſeveral Spanish prizes.
This event occations great joy to the
youngest girl, who prefers failors to
ſoldiers. The officer intreats the com-
pany of the landlord and his two lovely
daughters to dine with him, which in-
vitation is no sooner accepted, than
they fit down to a table moſt oppor-
tunely ſpread, but from which they
rife ſomewhat too abruptly, the whole
dinner time being comprized in little
more than the ſpace of two or three
minutes. The act concludes with the
old admired glee of " We be three poor
mariners."

The second act commences with ſe-
veral of Tom's meſtinateſs, who arrive
at the alehouse, and give various ac-
counts of his death, &c. agreeable to
his requeſt, as the touchſone of the
ſincerity of Sal's paſſion. During this
converſation, Tom enters unperceived
by Sal, and hears her declare, that the
mildneſs of the young officer's face
and ſpeech, which ſeem formed by na-
ture to create agreeable emotions in a

female heart, have operated ſo power-
fully upon her, as to eraſe every re-
membrance of himself entirely from her
memory. This disappointment Tom
bears like a philofopher; for inſtead of
ſhewing any ſentiment, he adviſes Old
Rosemary to make himself immediate-
ly acquainted with the officer's inten-
tions, who thereupon declares them to
be of the moſt honourable kind, and
that if ſhe had but 500l. he would mar-
ry her directly; nay, were it not that
he apprehended his father's ſentiment,
he would take her without a ſhilling.
Rosemary on this, informs him that he
could ſcrape together 500l. but that he
ſhould leave himself and his other
daughter pennyleſs; however, by the
advice of Tom, the match is con-
cluded, and the dowry agreed upon.
Tom, after this, pretends to be in a
difſtrefsful ſituation, and without a fix-
pence to ſuccour him, and muſt be un-
der the painful neceſſity of going on
board, deſtitute of every neceſſary;
gratuitous ſentiments, on this occa-
ſion, appear in the breaſts of the whole
family, but are moſt confpicuous in
the youngest daughter; and to prove
the goodneſs of her heart, ſhe brings a
legacy, which was left her by her grand-
mother (all this time concealed) and
begs that Tom will not reſufe her the
favour, which ſhe requeſts of him; and
which he, after ſome little heſitation,
confents to grant, be it whatever it
may. From the ſucceeding incident
the entertainment takes its title, for
Nan preſents him with a large old fa-
ſhioned Silver Tankard from under
her apron, which act of unaſſected ge-
nerofity excites in the honest tar ſenti-
ments of the warmeſt gratitude, which,
however, do not reſt there, for he im-
mediately after tenders his hand and
heart, which are as ſincerely accepted
by the artleſs Nancy; and the father's
confent, and Tom's declaring the re-
lation of his poverty to be all a ſtction,
with an account that his ſhare of prize
money is ſo considerable, as to enable
him to give Sal a portion of a thouſand
pounds, concludes the piece.

THE

1781.

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

407

we experience in ourselves of thinking,
knowing, dothing, and a power of
motion, subfift.

to be suppoſed, that he would aſterc
bad dreams to Divine agency upon the
ſoul, and not believe the fame of good
Dreams. Baxter has given us a cu-
tious theory of Dreaming, in which
he aſcribes it to the agency of inferior
spirits, and feems more positive in his
opinion of the ſoul's pernicious paſſa-
ges in Sleep, which is, this, and that.

But that kind of Sleep of which we
are confecious, over which we have
power, and which is truly luxurious,
is Slumbering, or the state between
Sleeping and Waking. Moft of my

406

THE HYPOCHONDRIACK.

Sept.

" And is there aught in Sleep can charm the
wife,

To lie in dull oblivion, losing half

The precious moments of too short a life."

transitions, such as that of being fepa-
rated from land, and swimming in wa-
ter. There is in Sleep a kind of infen-
sibility which is absolutely incompati-
ble with our perceiving it. Had a man
never experienced Sleeping and waking
again, he would shrink as much from
Sleep, as we all do from death; and
therefore I pleale myself with a com-
fortable analogy, by thinking that our
Creator gives us every night and day
an instance of a change of exiſtence,
which though it ſeems at first to put
an end to bodily activity and mental
vivacity, does yet restore both with ad-
ditional vigour. Should not this mi-
nature example, this model of death,
perfude us that the laſt Sleep of man
will be ſimilar, and that he ſhall awake
in a bright morning of immortality. I
acknowledge, however, that indepen-
dent of Revelation, and above all of
the illuſtrious proof exhibited in the re-
furrection of our SAVIOUR Jefus Chriſt,
after being dead and buried, this hope
would not be ſufficiently ſtrong in all
flates of mind.

Could life be paffed in the perpetual
acquifition of knowledge and virtue,
the moments ſpent in mere agreeable
exiſting might be confidered as loft.
But as that is not permitted to us,
Sleep may be as juſtifiable as many
waking occupations, the ſole object of
which is to amufe.

Absolute, unfeeling, and uncon-
feious, or as it is well expreſſed, "dead
Sleep," to be ſure cannot charm either
the wife or the foolish. But that kind
of Sleep is not in any degree a matter
of choice; ſo that he who is thus fixed
cannot be upbraided in Thomſon's words
with

" Faleſely luxurious will not man awake,"

In what manner Sleep produces ſuch
benignant effects upon the human con-
ſtitution as it generally does, I cannot
difcover myſelf, nor have I found it
difcovered by others. For the pulſe is
higher when we are aſleep than when
we are awake; and the faculties of the
mind are oftener in keener exerciſe.
But there is no doubt of the ſaſt; and
accordingly, one of the chief articles of
reſerved luxury is agreeable and elegant
accommodation during the time appro-
priated to repofe. I have ſometimes
been apt to laugh when I contemplated
a bed-room with all its contrivances,
and thought of deliberately pulling off
my clothes, flutting out the light, and
laying myſelf down for fix, ſeven, or
eight hours. It ſeemed to be a very
ſtrange practice while I could abſtract
the idea of its effects ſo often expe-
rienced.

for he has no *will* either for or against it, and no *power* to awake. We are equally paffive too in Sleep during which we have pleafant dreams; but the time ſo employed cannot properly be charged with "dull oblivion," for we are then as happy as in moſt situations when awake, ſo that it has been made an ingenious metaphysical queſtion, whether a man who ſhould paff half his life miferably aſleep, and the other half happily awake, or in the reverse way, ſhould be really confidered as happy or miferable. For my own part ſuppoſing a man to be equally confious of agreeable ſenſations when aſleep as when awake, I ſhould reckon one half of ſuch a ſuppoſed life an exaſt counterbalance to the other; for I require confciouſneſs of being happy to the perſection of happineſs, and I do not allow thofe to be happy whom I fee ſporting in thoughtleſs gaiety. But ſuch a conſciouſneſs or power of reſflexion could not subſift in Sleep, and a life ſo completely divided between happineſs and misery would be that of two diſtinct beings alternately exiſting in the fame body. Let not any of my readers ſupſicially ſtart when I talk of *beings* diſtinct from *body*. I have learned from Mr. Locke in his Effay on Human Understanding, and am convinced from reſflexion that we have as clear an idea of ſpirit as of body, the ſubſtance of body or matter being ſomething wherein the many ſenſible qualities which affect our ſenſes subſift, and the ſubſtance of ſpirit being ſome-

I cannot help thinking that Sleep is
one of the best enjoyments allowed to
us in our present state. Shakespeare
feems to have been fully ſenſible of its
value, as appears from the ſoliloquies
of Henry IV. and Macbeth upon that
ſubjeſt, in which there are ſo many
pleasing images introduced as ſhew that
the poet had felt it as more than a ne-
gative good. Thomſon therefore, is in
my opinion, in the wrong, when he
treats it with contempt and conſure:

we