sion of scruples, the recollection of better no- They are sufficient to give hope but not secu tions or the latent reprehension of good exam-rity; to animate the contest, but not to pro ples, will not suffer to live entirely contented mise victory. with their own conduct; these are forced to pacify the mutiny of reason with fair promises, and quiet their thoughts with designs of calling all their actions to review, and planning a new scheme for the time to come. Those who are in the power of evil habits, must conquer them as they can; and conquered they must be, or neither wisdom nor happiness can be attained; but those who are not yet subject to their influence may, by timely caution, preserve their freedom; they may effectually resolve to escape the tyrant, whom they will very vainly resolve to conquer. There is nothing which we estimate so fallaciously as the force of our own resolutions, nor any fallacy which we so unwillingly and tardily detect. He that has resolved a thousand times, and a thousand times deserted his own purpose, yet suffers no abatement of his confi- No. 28.] SATURDAY, OCT. 23, 1758. dence, but still believes himself his own master; and able, by innate vigour of soul, to press forward to his end through all the obstructions that inconveniences or delights can put in his way. That this mistake should prevail for a time is very natural. When conviction is present, and temptation out of sight, we do not easily conceive how any reasonable being can deviate from his true interest. What ought to be done, while it yet hangs only in speculation, is so plain and certain, that there is no place for doubt; the whole soul yields itself to the predominance of truth, and readily determines to do what, when the time of action comes, will be at last omitted. I believe most men may review all the lives that have past within their observation, without remembering one efficacious resolution, or being able to tell a single instance of a course of practice suddenly changed in consequence of a change of opinion, or an establishment of determination. Many, indeed, alter their conduct, and are not at fifty what they were at thirty; but they commonly varied imperceptibly from themselves, followed the train of external causes, and rather suffered reformation than made it. It is not uncommon to charge the difference between promise and performance, between profession and reality, upon deep design and studied deceit; but the truth is, that there is very little hypocrisy in the world: we do not so often endeavour or wish to impose on others as on ourselves; we resolve to do right, we hope to keep our resolutions, we declare them to confirm our own hope, and fix our own inconstancy by calling witnesses of our actions; but at last habit prevails, and those, whom we invited to our triumph, laugh at our defeat. SIR, TO THE IDLER. It is very easy for a man who sits idle at home, and has nobody to please but himself, to ridicule or to censure the common practices of mankind; and those who have no present temptation to break the rules of propriety, may ap plaud his judgment, and join in his merriment; but let the author or his readers mingle with common life, they will find themselves irresistibly borne away by the stream of custom, and must submit after they have laughed at others, to give others the same opportunity of laughing at them. There is no paper published by the Idler which I have read with more approbation than that which censures the practice of recording vulgar marriages in the newspapers. I carried it about in my pocket, and read it to all those whom I suspected of having published their nuptials, or of being inclined to publish them, and sent transcripts of it to all the couples that transgressed your precepts for the next fortnight. I hoped that they were all vexed, and pleased myself with imagining their misery. But short is the triumph of malignity. I was married last week to Miss Mohair, the daughter of a salesman; and, at my first appearance after the wedding night, was asked by my wife's mother whether I had sent our marriage to the Advertiser; I endeavoured to show how unfit it was to demand the attention of the public to our domestic affairs; but she told me with great vehemence, "That she would not have it thought to be a stolen match; that the blood of the Mohairs should never be disgraced; that her husband had served all Custom is commonly too strong for the most the parish offices but one; that she had lived resolute resolver, though furnished for the as-five-and-thirty years at the same house, and sault with all the weapons of philosophy. "He that endeavours to free himself from an ill habit," says Bacon, "must not change too much at a time, lest he should be discouraged by difficulty; nor too little, for then he will make but slow advances." This is a precept which may be applauded in a book, but will fail in the trial, in which every change will be found too great or too little. Those who have been able to conquer habit, are like those that are fabled to have returned from the realms of Pluto: Pauer, quos æquus amarit paid every body twenty shillings in the pound, and would have me know, though she was not as fine and as flaunting as Mrs. Gingham, the deputy's wife, she was not ashamed to tell her name, and would show her face with the best of them, and since I had married her daughter — At this instant entered my father-inlaw, a grave man, from whom I expected suc cour: but upon hearing the case, he told me, "That it would be very imprudent to miss such an opportunity of advertising my shop; and that when notice was given of my marriage, many of my wife's friends would think themselves obliged to be my customers." I was subdued by clamour on one side, and gravity on | all who require our assistance. It is common the other, and shall be obliged to tell the town that three days ago Timothy Mushroon, an eminent oilman in Sea-Coal-lane, was married to Miss Polly Mohair, of Lothbury, a beautiful young lady with a large fortune. SIR, I am, Sir, &c. for men of the most unwieldy corpulence to crowd themselves into a chair, and demand to be carried for a shilling as far as an airy young | lady whom we scarcely feel upon our poles. Surely we ought to be paid like all other mortals, in proportion to our labour, Engines should be fixed in proper places to weigh chairs as they weigh wagons; and those, whom ease and plenty have made unable to carry themselves, should give part of their superfluities to those who carry them. SIR, I am, Sir, &c. SATURDAY, Nov. 4, 1758. TO THE IDLER. I HAVE often observed that friends are lost by discontinuance of intercourse, without any of fence on either part, and have long known, that it is more dangerous to be forgotten than to be blamed; I therefore make haste to send you the rest of my story, lest, by the delay of another fortnight, the name of Betty Broom might be no longer rememberd by you or your I AM the unfortunate wife of the grocer whose Having left the last place in haste, to avoid the charge or the suspicion of theft, I had not secured another service, and was forced to take a lodging in a back street. I had now got good clothes. The woman who lived in the garret opposite to mine was very officious, and offered to take care of my room and clean it, while I went round to my acquaintance to inquire for a mistress. I knew not why she was so kind, nor how I could recompense her; but in a few days I missed some of my linen, went to another lodging, and resolved not to have another friend in the next garret. In six weeks I became under-maid at the On a Sunday, it is true, I make him walk abroad, and sometimes carry the child ;-I won-house of a mercer in Cornhill, whose son was der who should carry it! But I never take him out till after church-time, nor would I do it then, but that if he is left alone, he will be upon the bed. On a Sunday, if he stays at home he has six meals; and, when he can eat no longer, has twenty stratagems to escape from me to the ale-house; but I commonly keep the door locked, till Monday produces something for him to do. his apprentice. The young gentleman used to sit late at the tavern, without the knowledge of his father; and I was ordered by my mistress to let him in silently to his bed under the counter, and to be very careful to take away his candle. The hours which I was obliged to watch, whilst the rest of the family was in bed, I considered as supernumerary, and, having no business assigned for them, thought myself at liberty to spend them my own way: I kept myself awake with a book, and for some time liked my state the better for this opportunity of reading. At last, the upper-maid found my book, and showed it to my mistress, who told me, that wenches like me might spend their time better; that she never knew any of the readers that had good designs in their heads that she could always find something else to do with her time, than to puzzle over books; and did not like that such a fine lady should sit up for her young master. This was the first time that I found it thought criminal or dangerous to know how to read. I was dismissed decently, lest I should tell tales, and had a small gratuity above my wages. I then lived with a gentlewoman of a small fortune. This was the only happy part of a my life. My mistress, for whom public diversions were too expensive, spent her time with books, and was pleased to find a maid who could partake her amusements. I rose early in the morning, that I might have time in the afternoon to read or listen, and was suffered to tell my opinion, or express my delight. Thus fifteen months stole away, in which I did not repine that I was born to servitude. But a burning fever seized my mistress, of whom I shall say no more, than that her servant wept upon her grave. her chicken. A third was made, and destroyed Your humb.e servant, I had lived in a kind of luxury which made me very unfit for another place; and was rather too delicate for the conversation of a No. 30.] SATURDAY, Nov. 11, 1758. kitchen; so that when I was hired in the family of an East India director, my behaviour was so different, as they said, from that of a common servant, that they concluded me a gentlewoman in disguise, and turned me out in three weeks, on suspicion of some design which they could not comprehend. THE desires of man increase with his acquisitions; every step which he advances brings something within his view, which he did not see before, and which, as soon as he sees it, he begins to want. Where necessity ends, curiosity begins; and no sooner are we supplied with every thing that nature can demand, than we sit down to contrive artificial appetites. I then fled for refuge to the other end of the town, where I hoped to find no obstruction from my new accomplishments, and was hired under the housekeeper in a splendid family. By this restlessness of mind, every populous Here I was too wise for the maids, and too and wealthy city is filled with innumerable emnice for the footman; yet I might have lived ployments, for which the greater part of manon without much uneasiness, had not my mis-kind is without a name; with artificers, whose tress, the housekeeper, who used to employ me in buying necessaries for the family, found a bill which I had made of one day's expense. I suppose it did not quite agree with her own book, for she fiercely declared her resolution, that there should be no pen and ink in that kitchen but her own. labour is exerted in producing such petty conveniences, that many shops are furnished with instruments of which the use can hardly be found without inquiry, but which he that once knows them quickly learns to number among necessary things. Such is the diligence with which, in counShe had the justice, or the prudence, not to tries completely civilized, one part of mankind injure my reputation; and I was easily admit-labours for another, that wants are supplied ted into another house in the neighbourhood, faster than they can be formed, and the idle and where my business was, to sweep the rooms luxurious find life stagnate for want of some and make the beds. Here I was for some time desire to keep it in motion. This species of the favourite of Mrs. Simper, my lady's wo-distress furnishes a new set of occupations; man, who could not bear the vulgar girls, and and multitudes are busied from day to day, in was happy in the attendance of a young woman finding the rich and the fortunate something to of some education. Mrs. Simper loved a no- do. vel, though she could not read hard words, and It is very common to reproach those artists therefore when her lady was abroad, we always as useless, who produce only such superfluities laid hold on her books. At last, my abilities as neither accommodate the body, nor improve became so much celebrated, that the house- the mind; and of which no other effect can be steward used to employ me in keeping his ac-imagined, than that they are the occasions of counts. Mrs. Simper then found out, that my sauciness was grown to such a height that nobody could endure it, and told my lady, that there had never been a room well swept since Betty Broom came into the house. I was then hired by a consumptive lady, who wanted a maid that could read and write. I attended her four years, and though she was never pleased, yet when I declared my resolution to leave her, she burst into tears, and told me that I must bear the peevishness of a sick bed, and I should find myself remembered in her will. I complied, and a codicil was added in my favour; but in less than a week, when I set her gruel before her, I laid the spoon on the left side, and she thew her will into the fire. In two days she made another, which she burnt in the same manner, because she could not eat spending money and consuming time. But this censure will be mitigated when it is scriously considered that money and time are the heaviest burdens of life, and that the unhappiest of all mortals are those who have more of either than they know how to use. To set himself free from these incumbrances, one hurries to Newmarket; another travels over Europe; one pulls down his house and calls architects about him; another buys a seat in the country, and follows his hounds over hedges and through rivers; one makes collections of shells; and another searches the world for tulips and carnations. He is surely a public benefactor who finds employment for those to whom it is thus difficult to find it for themselves. It is true, that this is seldom done merely from generosity or compassion, almost every man seeks his own | No. 31.] SATURDAY, Nov. 18, 1758. We all know that it is more profitable to be loved than esteemed; and ministers of pleasure will always be found, who study to make themselves necessary, and to supplant those who are practising the same arts. One of the amusements of idleness is read ing without the fatigue of close attention; and the world, therefore, swarms with writers whose wish is not to be studied, but to be read. No species of literary men has lately been so much multiplied as the writers of news. Not many years ago the nation was content with one gazette; but now we have not only in the metropolis papers for every morning and every evening, but almost every large town has its weekly historian, who regularly circulates his periodical intelligence, and fills the villages of his district with conjectures on the events of war, and with debates on the true interests of Europe. MANY moralists have remarked, that pride has It is not my intention to degrade pride from There are some that profess idleness in its full dignity, who call themselves the Idle as Busiris in the play calls himself the Proud; who boast that they can do nothing, and thank their stars that they have nothing to do; who sleep every night till they can sleep no longer, and rise only that exercise may enable them to sleep again; who prolong the reign of darkness by double curtains; and never see the sun but to tell him how they hate his beams; whose whole labour is to vary the posture of indulgence, and whose day differs from their night but as a couch or chair differs from a bed. pies, and into whose cup she pours the waters To write news in its perfection requires such a combination of qualities, that a man completely fitted for the task is not always to be These are the true and open votaries of idlefound. In Sir Henry Wotton's jocular defini-ness, for whom she weaves the garlands of poption, An ambassador is said to be a man of virtue sent abroad to tell lies for the advantage of his country; a newswriter is a man without virtue, who writes lies at home for his own profit. To these compositions is required neither genius nor knowledge, neither industry nor sprightliness; but contempt of shame, and indifference to truth, are absolutely necessary. He who by a long familiarity with infamy has obtained these qualities, may confidently tell to-day what he intends to contradict to-morrow; he may affirm fearlessly what he knows that he shall be obliged to recant, and may write letters from Amsterdam or Dresden to himself. In a time of war the nation is always of one mind, eager to hear something good of themselves, and ill of the enemy. At this time the task of news-writers is easy; they have nothing to do but to tell that the battle is expected, and afterwards that a battle has been fought, in which we and our friends, whether conquering or conquered, did all, and our enemies did nothing. Scarcely any thing awakens attention like a tale of cruelty. The writer of news never fails in the intermission of action to tell how the enemies murdered children and ravished virgins; and if the scene of action be somewhat distant, scalps half the inhabitants of a province. Among the calamities of war, may be justly numbered the diminution of the love of truth, by the falsehoods which interest dictates, and credulity encourages. A peace will equally leave the warrior and relator of wars destitute of employment; and I know not whether more is to be dreaded from streets filled with soldiers accustomed to plunder, or from garrets filled with scribblers accustomed to lie. But idleness predominates in many lives where it is not suspected; for, being a vice which terminates in itself, it may be enjoyed without injury to others; and it is therefore not watched like fraud, which endangers property; or like pride, which naturally seeks its gratifications in another's inferiority. Idleness is a silent and peaceful quality, that neither raises envy by ostentation, nor hatred by opposi tion; and therefore nobody is busy to censure or detect it. As pride sometimes is hid under humility, idleness is often covered by turbulence and hurry. He that neglects his known duty and real employment, naturally endeavours to crowd his mind with something that may bar out the remembrance of his own folly, and does ary thing but what he ought to do with eager diligence, that he may keep himself in his own favour. Some are always in a state of preparation, occupied in previous measures, forming plans, accumulating materials, and providing for the main affair. These are certainly under the secret power of idleness. Nothing is to be expect ed from the workman whose tools are for ever to be sought. I was once told by a great master that no man ever excelled in painting, who was eminently curious about pencils and colours. There are others to whom idleness dictates another expedient, by which life may be passed unprofitably away without the tediousness of many vacant hours. The art is, to fill the day with petty business, to have always something in hand which may raise curiosity, but not solicitude, and keep the mind in a state of action, but not of labour. This art has for many years been practised by my old friend Sober with wonderful success. Sober is a man of strong desires and quick imagination, so exactly balanced by the love of ease, that they can seldom stimulate him to any difficult undertaking; they have, however, so much power, that they will not suffer him to lie quite at rest; and though they do not make him sufficiently useful to others, they make him at least weary of himself. Mr. Sober's chief pleasure is conversation; there is no end of his talk or his attention; to speak or to hear is equally pleasing; for he still fancies that he is teaching or learning something, and is free for the time from his own reproaches. fruitless curiosity, and still as he acquires more, perceives only that he knows less. Sleep is a state in which a great part of every life is passed. No animal has yet been discov ered, whose existence is not varied with intervals of insensibility; and some late philosophers have extended the empire of sleep over the vegetable world. Yet of this change, so frequent, so great, so general, and so necessary, no searcher has yet found either the efficient or final cause; or can tell by what power the mind and body are thus chained down in irresistible stupefaction; or what benefits the animal receives from this alternate suspension of its active powers. Whatever may be the multiplicity or contrariety of opinions upon this subject, Nature has taken sufficient care that theory shall have little influence on practice. The most diligent But there is one time at night when he must inquirer is not able long to keep his eyes go home, that his friends may sleep; and ano- open; the most eager disputant will begin ther time in the morning, when all the world about midnight to desert his argument; and agrees to shut out interruption. These are the once in four-and-twenty hours, the gay and the moments of which poor Sober trembles at the gloomy, the witty and the dull, the clamorous thought. But the misery of these irksome inter- and the silent, the busy and the idle, are all vals he has many means of alleviating. He has overpowered by the gentle tyrant, and all lie persuaded himself that the manual arts are un-down in the equality of sleep. deservedly overlooked; he has observed in Philosophy has often attempted to repress many trades the effects of close thought, and insolence, by asserting that all conditions are just ratiocination. From speculation he pro-levelled by death; a position which, however it ceeded to practice, and supplied himself with the tools of a carpenter, with which he mended his coalbox very successfully, and which he still continues to employ, as he finds occasion. He has attempted at other times the crafts of shoe-maker, tinman, plumber, and potter; in all these arts he has failed, and resolves to qualify himself for them, by better information. But his daily amusement is chemistry. He has a small furnace which he employs in distillation, and which has long been the solace of his life. He draws oils and waters and essences and spirits, which he knows to be of no use, sits and counts the drops as they come from his retort, and forgets that whilst a drop is falling, a moment flies away. Poor Sober! I have often teased him with reproof, and he has often promised reformation; for no man is so much open to conviction as the Idler, but there is none on which it operates so little. What will be the effect of this paper I know not; perhaps he will read it and laugh, and light the fire in his furnace; but my hope is that he will quit his trifles, and betake himself to rational and useful diligence. No. 32.] SATURDAY, Nov. 25, 1758. AMONG the innumerable mortifications that waylay human arrogance on every side, may well be reckoned our ignorance of the most common objects and effects a defect of which we become more sensible, by every attempt to supply it. Vulgar and inactive minds confound familiarity with knowledge, and conceive themselves informed of the whole nature of things, when they are shown their form or told their use; but the speculatist, who is not content with superficial views, harrasses himself with may deject the happy, will seldom afford much comfort to the wretched. It is far more pleasing to consider, that sleep is equally a leveller with death; that the time is never at a great distance, when the balm of rest shall be diffused alike upon every head, when the diversities of life shall stop their operation, and the high and low shall lie down together. It is somewhere recorded of Alexander, that in the pride of conquests, and intoxication of flattery, he declared that he only perceived himself to be a man by the necessity of sleep. Whether he considered sleep as necessary to his mind or body it was indeed a sufficient evidence of human infirmity; the body which required such frequency of renovation, gave but faint promises of immortality; and the mind which from time to time, sunk gladly into insensibility, had made no very near approaches to the felicity of the supreme and self-sufficient nature. I know not what can tend more to repress all the passions that disturb the peace of the world, than the consideration that there is no height of happiness or honour from which man does not eagerly descend to a state of unconcious repose; that the best condition of life is such, that we contentedly quit its good to be disentangled from its evils; that in a few hours splendour fades before the eye, and praise itself deadens in the ear; the senses withdraw from their objects, and reason favours the retreat. What then are the hopes and prospects of covetousness, ambition, and rapacity? Let him that desires most have all his desires gratified, he never shall attain a state which he can for a day and a night contemplate with satisfaction, or from which, if he had the power of perpetual vigilance, he would not long for periodical separations |