and calumnies, till, without knowing how she had | offended, she was shunned as infamous. She knew that her reputation was destroyed by the envy of her beauty, and resolved to degrade herself from the dangerous pre-eminence. She went to the bush where she rescued the bird, and called for Lady Lilinet. Immediately Lilinet appeared, and discovered by Floretta's dejected look that she had drank too much from the alabaster fountain. "Follow me," she cried, "my Floretta, and be wiser for the future." They went to the fountains, and Floretta began to taste the waters of sorrow, which were so bitter that she withdrew more than once the cup from her mouth: at last she resolutely drank away the perfection of beauty, the sparkling eye and rosy bloom, and left herself only agreeable. She lived for some time with great content; but content is seldom lasting. She had a desire in a short time again to taste the waters of joy; she called for the conduct of Lilinet, and was led to the alabaster fountain, where she drank, and wished for a faithful lover. After her return she was soon addressed by a young man, whom she thought worthy of her affection. He courted, and flattered, and promised; till at last she yielded up her heart. He then applied to her parents; and, finding her fortune less than he expected, contrived a quarrel, and deserted her. testation; she therefore went back, and by i large draught from the flinty fountain, though the water was very bitter, replaced herself under her mother's care, and quitted her spirit, and her own way. Floretta's fortune was moderate, and her de sires were not larger, till her mother took her to spend a summer at one of the places which wealth and idleness frequent, under pretence of drinking the waters. She was now no longer a perfect beauty, and therefore conversation in her presence took its course as in other company, opinions were freely told and observations made without reserve. Here Floretta first learned the importance of money. When she saw a woman of mean air and empty talk draw the attention of the place, she always discovered upon inquiry that she had so many thousands to her fortune. She soon perceived that where these golden goddesses appeared, neither birth, nor elegance, nor civility, had any power of attraction, and every art of entertainment was devoted to them, and that the great and the wise courted their regard. The desire after wealth was raised yet higher by her mother, who was always telling her how much neglect she suffered for want of fortune, and what distinctions, if she had but a fortune, her good qualities would obtain. Her narrative of the day was always, that Floretta walked in the morning, but was not spoken to because she had a small fortune, and that Floretta danced at the ball better than any of them, but nobody minded her for want of a fortune. This want, in which all other wants appeared to be included, Floretta was resolved to endure no longer, and came home flattering her imagination in secret with the riches which she was now about to obtain. Exasperated by her disappointment, she went in quest of Lilinet, and expostulated with her for the deceit which she had practised. Lilinet asked her with a smile, for what she had been wishing; and being told, made her this reply, "You are not, my dear, to wonder or complain: you may wish for yourself, but your wishes can have no effect upon another. You may become lovely by the efficacy of the fountain, but that you shall be loved is by no means a certain consequence; for On the day after her return she walked out you cannot confer upon another either discern-alone to meet Lady Lilinet, and went with her to ment or fidelity; that happiness which you must the fountain riches did not taste so sweet as derive from others, it is not in my power to regu- either beauty or spirit, and therefore she was not late or bestow." immoderate in her draught. Floretta was for some time so dejected by this limitation of the fountain's power, that she thought it unworthy of another visit; but, being on some occasion thwarted by her mother's authority, she went to Lilinet, and drank at the alabaster fountain for a spirit to do her own way. Lilinet saw that she drank immoderately, and admonished her of her danger; but spirit and her own way gave such sweetness to the water, that she could not prevail upon herself to forbear, till Lilinet, in pure compassion, snatched the cup out of her hand. When she came home every thought was contempt, and every action was rebellion: she had drunk into herself a spirit to resist, but could not give her mother a disposition to yield; the old lady asserted her right to govern; and, though she was often foiled by the impetuosity of her daughter, she supplied by pertinacity what she wanted in violence: so that the house was in continual tumult by the pranks of the daughter and opposition of the mother. In time, Floretta was convinced that spirit had only made her a capricious termagant, and that her own ways ended in error, perplexity, and disgrace; she perceived that the vehemence of mind, | which to a man may sometimes procure awe and obedience, produce to a woman nothing but de When they returned from the cavern, Lilinet gave her wand to a fairy that attended her, with an order to conduct Floretta to the Black Rock. The way was not long, and they soon came to the mouth of a mine in which there was a hidden treasure, guarded by an earthly fairy deformed and shaggy, who opposed the entrance of Floretta till he recognised the wand of the lady of the Mountain. Here Floretta saw vast heaps of gold and silver and gems, gathered and reposited in former ages, and intrusted to the guard of the fairies of the earth. The little fairy delivered the orders of her mistress, and the surly sentinel promised to obey them. Floretta, wearied with her walk, and pleased with her success, went home to rest, and when she waked in the morning, first opened her eyes upon a cabinet of jewels, and looking into her drawers and boxes, found them filled with gold. She Floretta was now as fine as the finest. was the first to adopt any expensive fashion, to subscribe to any pompous entertainment, to encourage any foreign artist, or engage in any frolic of which the cost was to make the pleasure. She was on a sudden the favourite of every place. Report made her wealth thrice greater than it really was, and wherever she came, all was attention, reverence, and obedience. The fadies who had formerly slighted her, or by whom I might be finer, or to conduct her through spacious she had been formerly caressed, gratified her apartments, for her thoughts were full of nobler pride by open flattery and private murmurs. She fabrics of airy palaces, and Hesperian gardens. sometimes overheard them railing at upstarts, and She admired nothing, and praised but little. wondering whence some people came, or how Her conversation was generally thought untheir expenses were supplied. This incited her civil. If she received flatteries, she seldom reto heighten the splendour of her dress, to in- paid them; for she set no value upon vulgar crease the number of her retinue, and to make praise. She could not hear a long story without such propositions of costly schemes, that her ri-hurrying the speaker on to the conclusion; and vals were forced to desist from contest. obstructed the mirth of her companions, for she rarely took notice of a good jest, and never laughed except when she was delighted. But she now began to find that the tricks which can be played with money will seldom bear to be repeated, that admiration is a short-lived passion, and that the pleasure of expense is gone when wonder and envy are no more excited. She found that respect was an empty form, and that all those who crowded round her were drawn to her by vanity or interest. It was, however, pleasant to be able on any terms to elevate and to mortify, to raise hopes and fears and she would still have continued to be rich, had not the ambition of her mother contrived to marry her to a lord, whom she despised as ignorant, and abhorred as profligate. Her mother persisted in her importunity; and Floretta having now lost the spirit of resistance, had no other refuge than to divest herself of her fairy fortune. She implored the assistance of Lilinet, who praised her resolution. She drank cheerfully from the flinty fountain, and found the waters not extremely bitter. When she returned she went to bed, and in the morning perceived that all her riches had been conveyed away she knew not how, except a few ornamental jewels, which Lilinet had ordered to be carried back as a reward for her dignity of mind. She was now almost weary of visiting the fountain, and solaced herself with such amusements as every day happened to produce: at last there arose in her imagination a strong desire to become a Wit. The pleasures with which this new character appeared to teem were so numerous and so great, that she was impatient to enjoy them, and, rising before the sun, hastened to the place where she knew that her fairy patroness was always to be found. Lilinet was willing to conduct her, but could now scarcely restrain her from leading the way but by telling her, that, if she went first, the fairies of the cavern would refuse her passage. They came in time to the fountain, and Floretta took the golden cup into her hand; she filled it and drank, and again she filled it, for wit was sweeter than riches, spirit, or beauty. This behaviour made her unwelcome wherever she went; nor did her speculation upon human manners much contribute to forward her reception. She now saw the disproportions between language and sentiment, between passion and exclamation; she discovered the defects of every action, and the uncertainty of every conclusion; she knew the malignity of friendship, the avarice of liberality, the anxiety of content, and the cowardice of temerity. To see all this was pleasant, but the greatest of all pleasures was to show it. To laugh was something, but it was much more to make others laugh. As every deformity of character made a strong impression upon her, she could not always forbear to transmit it to others: as she hated false appearances, she thought it her duty to detect them, till between wantonness and virtue, scarce any that she knew escaped without some wounds by the shafts of ridicule; not that her merriment was always the consequence of total contempt, for she often honoured virtue where she laughed at affectation. For these practices, and who can wonder, the cry was raised against her from every quarter, and to hunt her down was generally determined. Every eye was watching for a fault, and every tongue was busy to supply its share of defamation. With the most unpolluted purity of mind, she was censured as too free of favours, because she was not afraid to talk with men with generous sensibility of every human excellence, she was thought cold or envious, because she could not scatter praise with undistinguished profusion: with tenderness that agonized at real misery, she was charged with delight in the pain of others, when she would not condole with those whom she knew to counterfeit affliction. She derided false appearances of kindness and of pity, and was therefore avoided as an enemy to society. As she seldom commended or censured but with some limitations and exceptions, the world condemned her as indifferent to the good and bad; and because she was often doubtful where others were confident, she was charged with laxity of principles, while her days were distracted and her rest broken by niceties of honour and scruples of As she returned she felt new successions of imagery rise in her mind, and whatever her memory offered to her imagination, assumed a new form, and connected itself with things to which it seemed before to have no relation. All the appear-morality. ances about her were changed, but the novelties Report had now made her so formidable that all exhibited were commonly defects. She now saw flattered and all shunned her. If a lover gave a that almost every thing was wrong, without often ball to his mistress and her friends, it was stipuseeing how it could be better; and frequently im-lated that Floretta should not be invited. If she puted to the imperfection of art those failures which were caused by the limitation of nature. entered a public room, the ladies courtsied, and shrunk away, for there was no such thing as Wherever she went, she breathed nothing but speaking, but Floretta would find something to censure and reformation. If she visited her criticise. If a girl was more sprightly than her friends, she quarrelled with the situation of their aunt, she was threatened that in a little time she houses, the disposition of their gardens, the di- would be like Floretta. Visits were very dilirection of their walks, and the termination of gently paid when Floretta was known not to be their views. It was vain to show her fine furni-at home; and no mother trusted her daughter to ture, for she was always ready to tell how it herself without a caution, if she should meet Floretta, to leave the company as soon as she could. With all this Floretta made sport at first, but in time grew weary of general hostility. She would have been content with a few friends, but no friendship was durable: it was the fashion to desert her, and with the fashion what fidelity will contend? She could have easily amused herself in solitude, but that she thought it mean to quit the field to treachery and folly. Persecution at length tired her constancy, and she implored Lilinet to rid her of her wit: Lilinet complied, and walked up the mountain, but was often forced to stop and wait for her follower. When they came to the flinty fountain, Floretta filled a small cup and slowly brought it to her lips, but the water was insupportably bitter. She just tasted it, and dashed it to the ground, diluted the bitterness at the fountain of alabaster, and resolved to keep her wit with all its consequences. Being now a wit for life, she surveyed the various conditions of mankind with such superiority of sentiment, that she found few distinctions to be envied or desired, and therefore did not very soon make another visit to the fountain. At length being alarmed by sickness, she resolved to drink length of life from the golden cup. She returned elated and secure, for though the longevity acquired was indeterminate, she considered death as far distant, and therefore suffered it not to intrude upon her pleasures. But length of life included not perpetual health. She felt herself continually decaying, and saw the world fading about her. The delights of her early days would delight no longer, and however widely she extended her view, no new pleasure could be found; her friends, her enemies, her admirers, her rivals, dropped one by one into the grave, and with those who succeeded them she had neither community of joys nor strife of com petition. By this time she began to doubt whether old age were not dangerous to virtue; whether pain would not produce peevishness, and peevishness impair benevolence. She thought that the spectacle of life might be too long continued, and the vices which were often seen might raise less abhorrence; that resolution might be sapped by time, and let that virtue sink, which in its firmest state it had not without difficulty supported; and that it was vain to delay the hour which must come at last, and might come at a time of less preparation and greater imbecility. These thoughts led her to Lilinet, whom she accompanied to the flinty fountain; where, after a short combat with herself, she drank the bitter water. They walked back to the favourite bush pensive and silent; "And now," said she, "accept my thanks for the last benefit that Floretta can receive." Lady Lilinet dropped a tear, impressed upon her lips the final kiss, and resigned her, as she resigned herself, to the course of na ture. BY SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL.D SELECTED FROM THE COLLECTION OF MRS. PIOZZI, AND OTHERS. LETTER I. To MR. JAMES ELPHINSTON. LETTER II.-To MRS. THRALE. London, Aug. 19th, 1785. MADAM, Sept. 25th, 1750. DEAR SIR, If you have really so good an opinion of me as You have, as I find by every kind of evidence, you express, it will not be necessary to inform lost an excellent mother; and I hope you will you how unwillingly I miss the opportunity of not think me incapable of partaking of your coming to Brighthelmstone in Mr. Thrale's comgrief. I have a mother, now eighty-two years pany; or, since I cannot do what I wish first, of age, whom therefore I must soon lose, un-how eagerly I shall catch the second degree of less it, please God that she rather should mourn for me. I read the letters in which you relate your mother's death to Mrs. Strahan, and think I do myself honour, when I tell you, that I read them with tears; but tears are neither to you, nor to me, of any farther use, when once the tribute of nature has been paid. The business of life summons us away from useless grief, and calls us to the exercise of those virtues, of which we are lamenting our deprivation. pleasure, by coming to you and him, as soon as I can dismiss my work from my hands. I am afraid to make promises even to myself; but I hope that the week after the next will be the end of my present business. When business is done, what remains but pleasure? and where should pleasure be sought, but under Mrs. Thrale's influence? Do not blame me for a delay by which I must suffer so much, and by which I suffer alone. If you cannot think I am good, pray think I am mending, and that in time I may deserve to be, dear Madam, your, &c., LETTER III. TO THE SAME. Ditchfield, July 20th, 1767. MADAM, THOUGH I have been away so much longer than I purposed or expected, I have found nothing that withdraws my affections from the friends whom I left behind, or which makes me less desirous of reposing at that place which your kindness and Mr. Thrale's allows me to call my The greatest benefit which one friend can confer upon another, is to guard, and excite, and elevate his virtues. This your mother will still perform, if you diligently preserve the memory of her life, and of her death: a life, so far as I can learn, useful, wise, and innocent; and a death, resigned, peaceful, and holy. I cannot forbear to mention, that neither reason nor revelation denies you to hope that you may increase her happiness by obeying her precepts; and that she may, in her present state, look with pleasure upon every act of virtue to which her instructions or example have contributed. Whether this be more than a pleasing dream, or a just opinion of separate spirits, is, indeed, of no great import-home. ance to us, when we consider ourselves as acting under the eye of God: yet, surely, there is something pleasing in the belief, that our separa. tion from those, whom we love, is merely corporeal; and it may be a great incitement to virtuous friendship, if it can be made probable, that that union, which has received the divine approbation, shall continue to eternity. There is one expedient, by which you may, Your most obliged, most obedient, Miss Lucy is more kind and civil than I expected, and has raised my esteem by many excellences very noble and resplendent, though a little discoloured by hoary virginity. Every thing else recalls to my remembrance years, in which I proposed what, I am afraid, I have not done, and promised myself pleasure which I have not found. But complaint can be of no use; and why then should I depress your hopes by my lamentations? I suppose it is the condition of humanity to design what never will be done, and to hope what never will be obtained. But among the vain hopes, let me not number the hope which I have, of being long, dear, Madam, your, &c. LETTER IV.-TO THE SAME. MADAM, I SET out on Thursday morning, and found my companion, to whom I was very much a stranger, Miss Lucy Porter, daughter to Dr. Johnson's wife. by a former husband. more agreeable than I expected. We went cheerfully forward, and passed the night at Coventry. We came in late, and went out early; and therefore I did not send for my cousin Tom; but I design to make him some amends for the omission. Next day we came early to Lucy, who was. I believe, glad to see us. She had saved her best gooseberries upon the tree for me; and, as Steele says, "I was neither too proud nor too wise" to gather them. I have rambled a very little inter fontes et flumina nola, but I am not yet well. They have cut down the trees in George-Lane. Evelyn, in his book of Forest Trees, tells us of wicked men that cut down trees, and never prospered afterwards; yet nothing has deterred these audacious aldermen from violating the Hamadryads of George-Lane. As an impartial traveller, I must however tell, that, in Stow-Street, where I left a draw-well, I have found a pump, but the lading-well in this ill-fated George-Lane lies shamefully neglected. I am going to-day, or to-morrow, to Ashbourne; but I am at a loss how I shall get back in time to London. Here are only chance coaches, so that there is no certainty of a place. If I do not come, let it not hinder your journey. I can be but a few days behind you; and I will follow in the Brighthelmstone coach. But I hope to come. Tell Strea I took care to tell Miss Porter, that I have got another Lucy. I hope she is well. Mrs. Salusbury, that I beg her stay at tham, for little Lucy's sake. I am, &c. LETTER V.--TO THE SAME. MADAM, SINCE my last letter, nothing extraordinary has happened. Rheumatism, which has been very troublesome, is grown better. I have not yet seen Dr. Taylor, and July runs fast away. I shall not have much time for him, if he delays much longer to come or send. Mr. Green, the apothecary, has found a book, which tells who paid levies in our parish, and how much they paid, above a hundred years ago. Do you not think we study this book hard? Nothing is like going to the bottom of things. Many families that paid the parish-rates are now extinct, like the race of Hercules. Pulvis et umbra sumus. What is nearest us touches us most. The passions rise higher at domestic than at imperial tragedies. I am not wholly unaffected by the revolutions of Sadler-Street; nor can forbear to mourn a little when old names vanish away, and new come into their place. Do not imagine, Madam, that I wrote this letter for the sake of these philosophical meditations; for when I began it, I had neither Mr. Green, nor his book, in my thoughts; but was resolved to write, and did not know what I had to send, but my respects to Mrs. Salusbury, and Mr. Thrale, and Harry, and the Misses. I am, dearest Madam, your, &c. LETTER VI.-TO THE SAME. Ashbourne, July 23d, 1770. DEAREST MADAM, THERE had not been so long an interval between my two last letters, but that when I came hither I did not at first understand the hours of the post. I have seen the great bull; and very great he is. I have seen likewise his heir apparent, who promises to inherit all the bulk and all the virtues of his sire. I have seen the man who offered a hundred guineas for the young bull, while he was yet little better than a calf. Matlock, I am afraid, I shall not see, but I purpose to see Dovedale, and, after all this secing, I hope to see you. I am, &c. LETTER VII.-TO THE SAME. DEAR MADAM, Ashbourne, July 3d, 1771 LAST Saturday I came to Ashbourne; the dangers or the pleasures of the journey I have at present no disposition to recount; else might I paint the beauties of my native plains; might I tell of the "smiles of nature and the charms of art;" else might I relate how I crossed the Staffordshire canal, one of the great efforts of human labour, and human contrivance; which, from the bridge on which I viewed it, passed away on either side, and loses itself in distant regions, uniting waters that nature had divided, and dividing lands which nature had united. Í might tell how these reflections fermented in my mind till the chaise stopped at Ashbourne, at Ashbourne in the Peak. Let not the barren name of the Peak terrify you; I have never wanted strawberries and cream. The great bull has no disease but age. I hope in time to be like the great bull: and hope you will be like him too hundred years hence. I am, &c LETTER VIII.-TO THE SAME. Ashbourne, July 10th, 1771 DEAREST MADAM, I AM obliged to my friend Harry for his remem brance; but think it a little hard that I hear nothing from Miss. There has been a man here to-day to take a farm. After some talk he went to see the ball, and said that he had seen a bigger. Do you think he is likely to get the farm? Toujours strawberries and cream. Dr. Taylor is much better, and my rheumatism is less painful. Let me hear in return as much good of you and Mrs. Salusbury. You despise the Dog and Duck; things that are at hand are always slighted. I remember that Dr. Grevil, of Gloucester, sent for that water when his wife was in the same danger; but he lived near Malvern, and you live near the Dog and Duck. Thus, in difficult cases, we naturally trust most what we least know. Why Bormefield, supposing that a lotion can do good, should despise laurel-water in comparison with his own receipt, I do not see; and see still less why he should laugh at that which Wall thinks efficacious. I am afraid philosophy will not warrant much hope in a lotion. Be pleased to make my compliments from Mrs. Salusbury to Susy. I am, &c. |