THE IDLER. that does by others what he might do himself, or sacrifices duty or pleasure to the love of ease. Scarcely any name can be imagined from which less envy or competition is to be dreaded. The Idler has no rivals or enemies. The man of business forgets him; the man of enterprise despises him; and though such as tread the same track of life fall commonly into jealousy and discord, Idlers are always found to associate in peace; and he who is most famed for doing nothing, is glad to meet another as idle as himself. What is to be expected from this paper, whether it will be uniform or various, learned or familiar, serious or gay, political or moral, continued or interrupted, it is hoped that no reader will inquire. That the Idler has some scheme cannot be doubted; for to form schemes is the Idler's privilege. But though he has many projects in his head, he is now grown sparing of communication, having observed, that his hearers are apt to remember what he forgets himself; that his tardiness of execution exposes him to the encroachments of those who catch a hint and fall to work; and that very specious plans, after long contrivance and pompous displays, have subsided in weariness without a trial, and without miscarriage have been blasted by derision. If similitude of manners be a motive to kindness, the Idler may flatter himself with universal patronage. There is no single character under which such numbers are comprised. Every man is, or hopes to be, an Idler. Even Something the Idler's character may be supthose who seem to differ most from us are hast-posed to promise. Those that are curious after ening to increase our fraternity; as peace is the end of war, so to be idle is the ultimate purpose of the busy. There is perhaps, no appellation by which a writer can better denote his kindred to the human species. It has been found hard to describe man by an adequate definition. Some philosophers have called him a reasonable animal; but others have considered reason as a quality of which many creatures partake. He has been termed, likewise, a laughing animal; but it is said that some men have never laughed. Perhaps man may be more properly distinguished as an idle animal; for there is no man who is not sometimes idle. It is at least a definition from which none that shall find it in this paper can be excepted; for who can be more idle than the reader of the Idler? That the definition may be complete, idleness must be not only the general, but the peculiar characteristic of man; and, perhaps, man is the only being that can be properly called idle, diminutive history, who watch the revolutions of families, and the rise and fall of characters either male or female, will hope to be gratified by this paper; for the Idler is always inquisitive and seldom retentive. He that delights in obloquy and satire, and wishes to see clouds gathering over any reputation that dazzles him with its brightness, will snatch up the Idler's essays with a beating heart. The Idler is na. turally censorious; those who attempt nothing themselves, think every thing easily performed, and consider the unsuccessful always as criminal. I think it necessary to give notice, that I make no contract nor incur any obligation. If those who depend on the Idler for intelligence and entertainment, should suffer the disappointment which commonly follows ill-placed expectations, they are to lay the blame only on themselves. Yet hope is not wholly to be cast away. The Idler, though sluggish, is yet alive and may sometimes be stimulated to vigour and activity. He may descend into profoundness, or tower into sublimity; for the diligence of an Idler is rapid and impetuous, as ponderous bodies forced into velocity move with violence proportionate to their weight. But these vehement exertions of intellect cannot be frequent, and he will therefore gladly receive help from any correspondent, who shall enable him to please without his own labour. He excludes no style, he prohibits no subject; only let him that writes to the Idler remember, that his letters must not be long: no words are to be squandered in declaration of esteem, or confessions of inability; conscious dullness has little right to be prolix, and praise is not so welcome to the Idler as quiet. MANY positions are often on the tongue, and thrasher vociferates his heroics in the barn; when our traders deal out knowledge in bulky volumes, and our girls forsake their samplers to teach kingdoms wisdom, it may seem very unnecessary to draw any more from their proper occupations, by affording new opportunities of literary fame. I should be, indeed, unwilling to find that, for the sake of corresponding with the Idler, the smith's iron had cooled on the anvil, or the spinster's distaff stood unemployed. I solicit only the contributions of those who have already devoted themselves to literature, or, without any determinate intention, wander at large through the expanse of life, and wear out the day in hearing at one place what they utter at another. Of these the great part are already writers. One has a friend in the country upon whom he exercises his powers; whose passions he raises and depresses; whose understanding he perplexes with paradoxes, or strengthens by argument; whose admiration he courts, whose praises he enjoys; and who serves him instead of a senate or a theatre; As the young soldiers in the Roman camp learned the use of their weapons by fencing against a post in the place of an enemy. Another has his pockets filled with essays and epigrams which he reads from house to house, to select parties, and which his acquaintances are daily entreating him to withhold no longer from the impatience of the public. If among these any one is persuaded that, by such preludes of composition, he has qualified himself to appear in the open world, and is yet afraid of those censures which they who have already written, and they who cannot write, are equally ready to fulminate against public pretenders to fame, he may, by transmitting his performances to the Idler, make a cheap experiment of his abilities, and enjoy the pleasure of success, without the hazard of miscarriage. Whence this negligence proceeds I am not able to discover. Many of my predecessors Many advantages not generally known arise have thought themselves obliged to return their from this method of stealing on the public. acknowledgments in the second paper, for the The standing author of the paper is always the kind reception of the first, and in a short time object of critical malignity. Whatever is mean apologies have become necessary to those inge-will be imputed to him, and whatever is excelnious gentlemen and ladies whose performan- lent be ascribed to his assistants. It does not ces, though in the highest degree elegant and much alter the event, that the author and his learned, have been unavoidably delayed. correspondents are equally unknown; for the What then will be thought of me, who hav-author, whoever he be, is an individual, of ing experienced no kindness, have no thanks to return; whom no gentleman or lady has yet enabled to give any cause of discontent, and who have, therefore, no opportunity of showing how skilfully I can pacify resentment, extenuate negligence, or palliate rejection ? I have long known that splendour of reputation is not to be counted among the necessaries of life, and therefore shall not much repine if praise be withheld till it is better deserved. But surely I may be allowed to complain that, in a nation of authors, not one has thought me worthy of notice after so fair an invitation. At the time when the rage of writing had seized the old and the young, when the cook warbles her lyrics in the kitchen, and the whom every reader has some fixed idea, and whom he is, therefore, unwilling to gratify with applause; but the praises given to his correspondents are scattered in the air, none can tell on whom they will light, and therefore none are unwilling to bestow them. He that is known to contribute to a periodical work, needs no other caution than not to tell what particular pieces are his own; such secrecy is, indeed, very difficult; but if it can be maintained, it is scarcely to be imagined at how small an expense he may grow considerable. A person of quality, by a single paper, may engross the honour of a volume. Fame is, in deed, dealt with a hand less and less bounteous through the subordinate ranks, till it descenda to the professed author, who will find it very difficult to get more than he deserves; but every man who does not want it, or who needs not value it, may have liberal allowances; and, for five letters in the year sent to the Idler, of which perhaps only two are printed, will be promoted to the first rank of writers by those who are weary of the present race of wits, and wish to sink them into obscurity before the lustre of a name not yet known enough to be detested. last our time, and we may leave posterity to shift for themselves. But if the stores of nature are limited, much more narrow bounds must be set to the modes of life; and mankind may want a moral or amusing paper, many years before they shall be deprived of drink or day-light. This want, which to the busy and inventive may seem easily remediable by some substitute or other, the whole race of Idlers will feel with all the sensibility that such torpid animals can suffer. When I consider the innumerable multitudes that, having no motive of desire, or determination of will, lie freezing in perpetual inactivity, till some external impulse puts them in motion; who awake in the morning vacant of thought, with minds gaping for the intellectual food, which some kind essayist has been accustomed to supply, I am moved by the commiserat on with which all human beings ought to behold the distresses of each other, to try some expedients for their relief, and to inquire by what methods the listless may be actuated, and the empty be replenished. IT has long been the complaint of those who frequent the theatre, that all the dramatic art has been long exhausted, and that the vicissitudes of fortune, and accidents of life, have been shown in every possible combination, till the first scene informs us of the last, and the play no sooner opens, than every auditor knows There are said to be pleasures in madness how it will conclude. When a conspiracy is known only to madmen. There are certainly formed in a tragedy, we guess by whom it will miseries in idleness which the Idler only can be detected; when a letter is dropt in a come- conceive. These miseries I have often felt dy, we can tell by whom it will be found. and often bewailed. I know by experience how Nothing is now left for the poet but character welcome is every avocation that summons the and sentiment, which are to make their way thoughts to a new image; and how much lanas they can without the soft anxiety of sus- guor and lassitude are relieved by that officiouspensc, or the enlivening agitation of surprise. ness which offers a momentary amusement to A new paper lies under the same disadvan-him who is unable to find it for himself. tages as a new play. There is danger lest it be new without novelty. My earlier predecessors had their choice of vices and follies, and selected such as were most likely to raise meriment or attract attention; they had the whole field of life before them, untrodden and unsurveyed; characters of every kind shot up in their way, and those of the most luxuriant growth, or most conspicuous colours, were naturally cropt by the first sickle. They that follow are forced to peep into neglected corners, to note the casual varieties of the same species, and to recommend themselves by minute industry, and distinctions too subtle for common eyes. Sometimes it may happen that the haste or negligence of the first inquirers has left enough behind to reward another search; sometimes new objects start up under the eye, and he that is looking for one kind of matter is amply gratified by the discovery of another. But still it must be allowed that as more is taken less can remain; and every truth brought newly to light impoverishes the mine from which succeeding intellects are to dig their treasures. Many philosophers imagine that the elements themselves may be in time exhausted; that the sun, by shining long, will effuse all its light; and that by the continual waste of aqueous particles, the whole earth will at last become a sandy desert. I would not advise my readers to disturb themselves by contriving how they shall live without light and water. For the days of universal thirst and perpetual darkness are at a great distance. The ocean and the sun will It is naturally indifferent to this race of men what entertainment they receive, so they are but entertained. They catch with equal eagerness, at a moral lecture, or the memoirs of a robber; a prediction of the appearance of a comet, or the calculation of the chances of a lottery. They might therefore easily be pleased if they consulted only their own minds; but those who will not take the trouble to think for themselves, have always somebody that thinks for them; and the difficulty of writing is to please those from whom others learn to be pleased. Much mischief is done in the world with very little interest or design. He that assumes the character of a critic, and justifies his claim by perpetual censure, and imagines that he is hurting none but the author, and him he considers as a pestilent animal, whom every other being has a right to persecute; little does he think how many harmless men he involves in his own guilt, by teaching them to be noxious without malignity, and to repeat objections which they do not understand; or how many honest minds he debars from pleasure, by exciting an artificial fastidiousness, and making them too wise to concur with their own sensations. He who is taught by a critie to dislike that which pleased him in his natural state, has the same reason to complain of his instructor, as the madman to rail at his doctor, who when he thought himself master of Peru, physicked him to poverty. If men will struggle against their own advantage they are not to expect that the Idler will take much pains upon them; he has him self to please as well as them, and has long learned, or endeavoured to learn, not to make the pleasure of others too necessary to his own. No. 4.] SATURDAY, MAY 6, 1758. HOM. Πάντας γαρ φιλέεσκε. CHARITY, or tenderness for the poor, which is now justly considered, by a great part of mankind, as inseparable from piety, and in which almost all the goodness of the present age consists, is, I think, known only to those who enjoy, either immediately or by transmission the light of revelation. Those ancient nations who have given us the wisest models of government and the brightest examples of patriotism, whose institutions have been transcribed by all succeeding legislatures, and whose history is studied by every candidate for political or military reputation, have left behind them no mention of alms-houses, or hospitals, of places where age might repose, or sickness be relieved. The Roman emperors, indeed, gave large donations to the citizens and soldiers, but these distributions were always reckoned rather popular than virtuous; nothing more was intended than an ostentation of liberality, nor was any recompense expected, but suffrages and acclamations. Their beneficence was merely occasional; he that ceased to need the favour of the people, ceased likewise to court it; and therefore, no man thought it either necessary or wise to make any standing provision for the needy, to look forwards to the wants of posterity, or to secure successions of charity, for successions of distress. Compassion is, by some reasoners, on whom the name of philosophers has been too easily conferred, resolved into an affection merely selfish and involuntary perception of pain at the involuntary sight of a being like ourselves languishing in misery. But this sensation, if ever it be felt at all from the brute instinct of uninstructed nature, will only produce effects desultory and transient; it will never settle into a principle of action or extend relief to calamities unseen, in generations not yet in being. The devotion of life or fortune to the succour of the poor, is a height of virtue to which humanity has never risen by its own power. The charity of the Mahometans is a precept which their teacher evidently transplanted from the doctrines of Christianity; and the care with which some of the Oriental sects attend, as it is said, to the necessities of the diseased and indigent, may be added to the other arguments which prove Zoroaster to have borrowed his institutions from the law of Moses. The present age, though not likely to shine hereafter among the most splendid periods of history, has yet given examples of charity, which may be very properly recommended to imitation. The equal distribution of wealth, which long commerce has produced, does not enable any single hand to raise edifices of piety like fortified cities, to appropriate manors to religious uses, or deal out such large and lasting beneficence as was scattered over the land in ancient times, by those who possessed counties or provinces. But no sooner is a new species of misery brought to view, and a design of relieving it professed, than every hand is open to contribute something, every tongue is busied in solicitation, and every art of pleasure is employed for a time in the interest of virtue. The most apparent and pressing miseries incident to man, have now their peculiar houses of reception and relief; and there are few among us, raised however little above the danger of poverty, who may not justly claim, what is implored by the Mahometans in their most ardent benedictions, the prayers of the poor. Among those actions which the mind can most securely review with unabated pleasure is that of having contributed to an hospital for the sick. Of some kinds of charity the conse quences are dubious; some evils which benefi cence has been busy to remedy, are not certainly known to be very grievous to the sufferer or detrimental to the community; but no man can question whether wounds and sickness are not really painful; whether it be not worthy of a good man's care to restore those to ease and usefulnesss, from whose labour infants and wo men expect their bread, and who, by a casual hurt, or lingering disease, lie pining in want and anguish, burthensome to others, and weary of themselves. Yet, as the hospitals of the present time subsist only by gifts bestowed at pleasure, without any solid fund of support, there is danger lest the blaze of charity which now burns with so much heat and splendour, should die away for wanting of lasting fuel; lest fashion should suddenly withdraw her smile, and inconstancy transfer the public attention to something which may appear more eligible, because it will be new. Whatever is left in the hands of chance must be subject to vicissitude; and when any estab lishment is found to be useful, it ought to be the next care to make it permanent. But man is a transitory being, and his designs must partake of the imperfections of their author. To confer duration is not always in our power. We must snatch the present moment, and employ it well, without too much solicitude for the future, and content ourselves with reflecting that our part is performed. He that waits for an opportunity to do much at once, may breathe out his life in idle wishes, and regret, in the last hour, his useless intentions, and barren zeal. The most active promoters of the present schemes of charity, cannot be cleared from some instances of misconduct, which may awaken contempt or censure, and hasten that neglect which is likely to come too soon of itself. The open competitions between different hospitals, and the animosity with which their patrons oppose one another, may prejudice weak minds against them all. For it will not be easily believed, that any man can, for good reasons wish to exclude another from doing good. The spirit of charity can only be continued by a re Of these ladies, some, I hope, have lap-dogs, and some monkeys; but they are unsatisfactory companions. Many useful offices are performed by men of scarlet, to which neither dog nor monkey has adequate abilities. A parrot, indeed, is as fine as a colonel, and if he has been much used to good company, is not wholly without conversation; but a parrot, after all is a poor little creature, and has neither sword nor shoulder knot, can neither dance nor play at cards. OUR military operations are at last begun; our Since the soldiers must obey the call of their troops are marching in all the pomp of war, and duty, and go to that side of the kingdom which a camp is marked out on the Isle of Wight; the faces France, I know not why the ladies, who heart of every Englishman now swells with cannot live without them, should not follow confidence, though somewhat softened by gen- them. The prejudices and pride of man have erous compassion for the consternationand dis-long presumed the sword and spindle made for tresses of our enemies. different hands, and denied the other sex to partake the grandeur of military glory. This notion may be consistently enough received in France, where the salique law excludes females from the throne; but we, who allow them to be sovereigns, may surely suppose them capable to be soldiers. This formidable armament, and splendid march, produce different effects upon different minds, according to the boundless diversities or temper, occupation, and habits of thought. Many a tender maiden considers her lover as already lost, because he cannot reach the but by crossing the sǝa; men of a more camp political understanding are persuaded that we shall now see, in a few days, the ambassadors of France supplicating for pity. Some are hoping for a bloody battle, because a bloody battle makes a vendible narrative; some are composing songs of victory; some planning arches of triumph; and some are mixing fireworks for the celebration of a peace. Of all extensive and complicated objects different parts are selected by different eyes; and minds are variously affected, as they vary their attention. The care of the public is now fixed upon our soldiers, who are leaving their native country to wander, none can tell how long, in the pathless deserts of the Isle of Wight. The tender sigh for their sufferings, and the gay drink to their success. I who look, or believe myself to look, with most philosophic eyes on human affairs, must confess, that I saw the troops march with little emotion; my thoughts were fixed upon other scenes, and the tear stole into my eyes, not for those who were going away, but for those who were left behind. We have no reason to doubt but our troops will proceed with proper caution; there are men among them who can take care of themselves. But how shall the ladies endure without them? By what arts can they, who have long had no joy but from the civilities of a soldier, now amuse their hours, and solace their separation? It were to be wished that some men, whose experience and authority might enforce regard, would propose that our encampments for the present year should comprise an equal number of men and women who should march and fight in mingled bodies. If proper colonels were once appointed, and the drums ordered to beat for female volunteers, our regiments would soon be filled without the reproach or cruelty of an impress. Of these heroines some might serve on foot, under the denomination of the Female Buffs, and some on horseback, with the title of Lady Hussars. What objections can be made to this scheme I have endeavoured maturely to consider, and cannot find that a modern soldier has any duties except that of obedience, which a lady cannot perform. If the hair has lost its powder, a lady has a puff; if a coat be spotted, a lady has a brush. Strength is of less importance since fire-arms have been used; blows of the hand are now seldom exchanged; and what is there to be done in the charge or the retreat beyond the powers of a sprightly maiden? Our masculine squadrons will not suppose themselves disgraced by their auxiliaries, till they have done something which women could not have done. The troops of Braddock never saw their enemies, and perhaps were defeated by women. If our American general had headed an army of girls, he might still have built a fort and taken it. Had Minorca been defended by a female garrison, it might have been surrendered, as it was, without a breach; and I cannot but think, that seven thousand women might have ventured to look at Rochfort, sack a village, rob a vineyard, and return in safety. Of fifty thousand men, now destined to different stations, if we allow each to have been occasionally necessary only to four women, a short computation will inform us, that two hundred thousand ladies are left to languish in distress; two hundred thousand ladies, who must run to sales and auctions without an attendant; sit at the play without a critic to direct their opinion; buy their fans by their own No. 6.] SATURDAY, MAY 20, 1758. judgment; dispose shells by their own invention; Walk in the Mall without a gallant; go to the gardens without a protector; and shuffle cards with vain impatience, for want of a fourth THE lady who had undertaken to ride on one to complete the party. horse a thousand miles in a thousand hours, bas Ταμεῖον ἀρετῆς γεναῖα γυνή. GR. PRO. |