THE PROJECTOR. N° 81. "Nam id arbitror adprimè in vitâ esse utile, ut ne quid nimis." TERENCE. March 1808. IT T has been remarked by an eminent Moralist, that some men have an unhappy penetration in discerning faults; which, he observes, has a greater tendency to vitiate the temper than to improve the understanding. But it unfortunately happens that persons of this disposition have a notion that strength of understanding is best displayed by finding fault; and that to be very peevish and very wise, is the lot of all who are born to set mankind right. My neighbour Mr. Bluster has for so many years studied the art of finding fault, that his oldest friends are unable to recollect that he was ever pleased. He appears to have fixed in his own mind a certain standard of perfection, to which the most trifling circumstances are brought; and as such perfection is rarely to be found, he has no reason to complain of the As a danger of dwindling into contentment. husband and the father of a family, he is the envy of all who know the merits and accomplishments of his amiable wife and dutiful children; but those are enjoyments which afford him very little satisfaction. His wife is either too attentive or too careless, and his children too knowing or too stupid. His fortune is ample; but luckily the state of public affairs affords him much cause to complain that taxes are enormous, and provisions dear. His servants, distinguished in the neighbourhood for neatness, cleanliness, and circumspect behaviour, are sluts and slatterns; his cook is perpetually dressing his dinner too much or too little; and there is not a bottle of good wine, or an ounce of good tea, to be found within the bills of mortality. In making these complaints, which to his friends would be intolerable if they were not at the same time unintelligible, he is accustomed to back his assertions by appeals to some distant period when things were otherwise, some imaginary golden age, when rooms did not want washing and scouring, and when glass and china could not be broken; when servants never forgot what they were ordered to remember, and horses and carriages were liable to no THE PROJECTOR. N° 81. "Nam id arbitror adprimè in vitâ esse utile, ut ne quid nimis.” TERENCE. March 1808. Ir has been remarked by an eminent Moralist, that some men have an unhappy penetration in discerning faults; which, he observes, has a greater tendency to vitiate the temper than to improve the understanding. But it unfortunately happens that persons this disposition have a notion that strength of understanding is best displayed by finding fault; and that to be very peevish and very wise, is the lot of all who are born to set mankind right. of My neighbour Mr. Bluster has for so many years studied the art of finding fault, that his oldest friends are unable to recollect that he was ever pleased. He appears to have fixed in his own mind a certain standard of perfection, to which the most trifling circumstances are brought; and as such perfection is rarely to be found, he has no reason to complain of the envy danger of dwindling into contentment. As a husband and the father of a family, he is the of all who know the merits and accomplishments of his amiable wife and dutiful children; but those are enjoyments which afford him very little satisfaction. His wife is either too attentive or too careless, and his children too knowing or too stupid. His fortune is ample; but luckily the state of public affairs affords him much cause to complain that taxes are enormous, and provisions dear. His servants, distinguished in the neighbourhood for neatness, cleanliness, and circumspect behaviour, are sluts and slatterns; his cook is perpetually dressing his dinner too much or too little; and there is not a bottle of good wine, or an ounce of good tea, to be found within the bills of mortality. In making these complaints, which to his friends would be intolerable if they were not at the same time unintelligible, he is accustomed to back his assertions by appeals to some distant period when things were otherwise, some imaginary golden age, when rooms did not want washing and scouring, and when glass and china could not be broken; when servants never forgot what they were ordered to remember, and horses and carriages were liable to no accidents; when the streets were without danger, and the highways without robbers. He fancies too, that he remembers when all judges were just, and all exactors righteous men; when the rich were without pride, and the poor without necessities. He even hints that the weather of this country is not what it used to be; and is fond of recollecting the happy days when cold did not pinch, nor heat relax, as they now do: and it was but the last time I dined with him that he complained that the fowls were not what they used to be; and that coals and candles gave no such heat and light as he could remember. But what excites his most violent rage is the perusal of a newspaper. From the first paragraph to the marriages and deaths, he is sure to meet with something to put him in a passion. He can with great difficulty read of a carriage breaking down, without discharging his rage against coachmakers, paviours, and inspectors of streets. If a horse takes fright, he denounces vengeance on stable-keepers, drummers, flags, and paper-kites. But a robbery affects him yet more violently; and such is the force of sympathy, that he appears to suffer as much as the party robbed, and gets no relief until he has vented his spleen on the |