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 commiseration with which all human beings ought to behold the distresses of each other, to try some expe dients 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 officiouspense, 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. It is naturally indifferent to this race of men what entertainment they receive, so they are but entertained. They catch with equal eager ness, 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 Sometimes it may happen that the haste or little interest or design. He that assumes the negligence of the first inquirers has left enough character of a critic, and justifies his claim by behind to reward another search; sometimes perpetual censure, and imagines that he is hurtnew objects start up under the eye, and heing none but the author, and him he considers as 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 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 artificiai fastidiousness, and making them too wise to concur with their own sensations. He who is taught by a critic 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 γὰρ 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 consequences are dubious; some evils which beneficence 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 establishment 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 camp but by crossing the sea; men of a more 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 head.. ed 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.] 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. SATURDAY, MAY 20, 1758. Ταμεῖον ἀρετῆς γεναῖα γυνή. GR. PRO. horse a thousand miles in a thousand hours, has completed her journey in little more than two thirds of the time stipulated, and was conducted through the last mile with triumphal honours. Acclamation shouted before her, and all the flowers of the spring were scattered in her way. Every heart ought to rejoice when true merit is distinguished with public notice. I am far from wishing either to the Amazon or her horse any diminution of happiness or fame, and cannot but lament that they were not more amply and suitably rewarded. There once a time when wreaths of bays or oak were considered as recompenses equal to the most wearisome labours and terrific dangers, and when the miseries of long marches and stormy seas were at once driven from the remembrance by the fragrance of a garland. If this heroine had been born in ancient times, she might, perhaps, have been delighted with the simplicity of ancient gratitude; or, if any thing was wanting to full satisfaction, she might have supplied the deficiency with the hope of deification, and anticipated the altars that would be raised, and the vows that would be made, by future candidates for equestrian glory, to the patroness of the race, and the goddess of the stable. But fate reserved her for a more enlightened age, which has discovered leaves and flowers to be transitory things; which considers profit as the end of honour; and rates the event of every undertaking only by the money that is gained or lost. In these days, to strew the road with daises and lilies is to mock merit, and delude hope. The toyman will not give his jewels, nor the mercer measure out his silks for vegetable coin. A primrose, though picked up under the feet of the most renowned courser, will neither be received as a stake at cards, nor procure a seat at an opera, nor buy candles for a rout, nor lace for a livery. And though there are many virtuosos, whose sole ambition is to possess something which can be found in no other hand, yet some are more accustomed to store their cabinets by theft than purchase, and none of them would either steal or buy one of the flowers of gratulation till he knows that all the rest are totally destroyed. Little, therefore, did it avail this wonderful lady to be received, however joyfully, with such obsolete and barren ceremonies of praise. Had the way been covered with guineas, though but for the tenth part of the last mile, she would have considered her skill and diligence as not wholly lost; and might have rejoiced in the speed and perserverance which had left her such superfluity of time, that she could at leisure gather her reward without the danger of Atalanta's miscarriage. So much ground could not, indeed, have been paved with gold but at a large expense, and we are at present engaged in a war, which demands and enforces frugality. But common rules are made only for common life, and some deviation from general policy may be allowed in favour of a lady that rode a thousand miles in a thousand hours. have given flowers instead of money, let us at least complete our imitation of the ancients, and endeavour to transmit to posterity the memory of that virtue which we consider as superior to pecuniary recompense. Let an equestrian statue of this heroine be erected, near the starting. post on the heath of Newmarket, to fill kindred souls with emulation, and tell the grand-daugh ters of our grand-daughters what an English maiden has once performed. As events, however illustrious, are soon obscured if they are intrusted to tradition, I think it necessary that the pedestal should be inscribed with a concise account of this great performance. The composition of this narrative ought not to be committed rashly to improper hands. If the rhetoricians of Newmarket, who may be supposed likely to conceive in its full strength the dignity of the subject, should undertake to express it, there is danger lest they admit some phrases which, though well understood at present, may be ambiguous in another century. If posterity should read on a public monument, that the lady carried her horse a thousand miles in a thousand hours, they may think that the statue and inscription are at variance, because one will represent the horse as carrying his lady, and the other tell that the lady carried her horse. Some doubts likewise may be raised by speculatists, and some controversies be agitated among historians, concerning the motive as well as the manner of the action. As it will be known that this wonder was performed in a time of war, some will suppose that the lady was frightened by invaders, and fled to preserve her life or her chastity: others will conjectnre that she was thus honoured for some intelligence carried of the enemy's designs: some will think that she brought news of a vic tory: others that she was commissioned to tell of a conspiracy: and some will congratulate themselves on their acuter penetration, and find, that all these notions of patriotism and public spirit are improbable and chimerical; they will confidently tell, that she only ran away from her guardians, and the true causes of her speed were, fear and love. Let it therefore be carefully mentioned, that by this performance she won her wager; and, lest this should, by any change of manners, seem an inadequateor incredible incitement, let it be added, that at this time the original motives of human actions had lost their influence; that the love of praise was extinct; the fear of infamy was become ridiculous; and the only wish of an Englishman was, to win his wager. No. 7.] SATURDAY, MAY 27, 1758. ONE of the principal amusements of the Id ler is, to read the works of those minute historians the writers of news, who, though contemptuously overlooked by the composers of bulky volumes, are yet necessary in a nation where much wealth produces much leisure, and one part of the people has nothing to do but to observe the lives and fortunes of the Since the spirit of antiquity so much prevails amongst us, that even on this great occasion we | other. To us who are regaled every morning and ing authors might divide an event between evening with intelligence, and are supplied them; a single action, and that not of much from day to day with materials for conversa-importance, might be gradually discovered, so tion, it is difficult to conceive how man can sub- as to vary a whole week with joy, anxiety, and sist without a newspaper, or to what entertain-conjecture. ment companies can assemble in those wide We know that a French ship of war was regions of the earth that have neither Chronicles lately taken by a ship of England; but this nor Magazines, neither Gazettes nor Adver-event was suffered to burst upon us all at once, tisers, neither Journals nor Evening Posts. There are never great numbers in any nation, whose reason or invention can find employment for their tongues, who can raise a pleasing discourse from their own stock of sentiments and images; and those few who have qualified themselves by speculation for general disquisitions are soon left without an audience. The common talk of men must relate to facts in which the talkers have, or think they have an interest; and where such facts cannot be known, the pleasures of society will be merely sensual. Thus the natives of the Mahometan empires, who approach most nearly to European civility, have no higher pleasure at their convivial assembles than to hear a piper, or gaze upon a tumbler; and no company can keep together longer than they are diverted by sounds or shows. and then what we knew already was echoed from day to day, and from week to week. Let us suppose these spiders of literature to spin together, and inquire to what an extensive web such another event might be regularly drawn, and how six morning and six evening writers might agree to retail their articles. On Monday morning the captain of a ship might arrive, who left the Friseur of France, and the Bull-dog, captain Grim, in sight of one another, so that an engagement seemed unavoidable. Monday evening. A sound of cannon was heard off Cape Finisterre, supposed to be those of the Bull-dog and Friseur. Tuesday morning. It was this morning reported, that the Bull-dog engaged the Friseur, yard-arm and yard-arm, three glasses and a half, but was obliged to sheer off for want of powder. It is hoped that inquiry will be made into this affair in a proper place. All foreigners remark, that the knowledge of the common people of England is greater than that of any other vulgar. This superi- Tuesday evening. The account of the enority we undoubtedly owe to the rivulets of intel-gagement between the Bull-dog and Friseur ligence which are continually trickling among was premature. us, which every one may catch, and of which every one partakes. Wednesday morning. Another express is arrived, which brings news, that the Friseur This universal diffusion of instruction is, per- had lost all her masts, and three hundred of haps, not wholly without its inconveniences; her men, in the late engagement; and that capit certainly fills the nation with superficial dis-tain Grim is come into harbour much shattered. butants; enables those to talk who were born to work; and affords information sufficient to elate vanity, and stiffen obstinacy, but too little to enlarge the mind into complete skill for full comprehension. Whatever is found to gratify the public will be multiplied, by the emulation of venders, beyond necessity or use. This plenty, indeed, produces cheapnes, but cheapness always ends in negligence and depravation. Wednesday evening. We hear that the brave captain Grim, having expended his powder, proposed to enter the Friseur, sword in hand; but that his lieutenant, the nephew of a certain nobleman, remonstrated against it. Thursday morning. We wait impatiently for a full account of the late engagement between the Bull-dog and Friseur. Thursday evening. It is said the order of the Bath will be sent to captain Grim. The compilation of newspapers often com- Friday morning. A certain Lord of the Admitted to narrow and mercenary minds, not miralty has been heard to say of a certain capqualified for the task of delighting or instruct-tain, that if he had done his duty, a certain ing; who are content to fill their paper, with whatever matter, without industry to gather, or discernment to select. Thus journals are daily multiplied without increase of knowledge. The tale of the morning paper is told again in the evening, and the narratives of the evening are bought again in the morning. These repetitions, indeed, waste time, but they do not shorten it. The most eager peruser of news is tired before he has completed his labour; and many a man, who enters the coffee-house in his night-gown and slippers, is called away to his shop, or his dinner, before he has well considered the state of Europe. French ship might have been taken. It was not thus that merit was rewarded in the days of Cromwell. Friday evening. There is certain information at the Admiralty, that the Friseur is taken, after a resistance of two hours. Saturday morning. A letter from one of the gunners of the Bull-dog, mentions the taking of the Friseur, and attributes their success wholly to the bravery and resolution of captain Grim, who never owed any of his advancement to borough-jobbers, or any other corrupters of the people. Saturday evening. Captain Grim arrived at the Admiralty, with an account that he engag It is discovered by Reaumur, that spiders ed the Friseur, a ship of equal force with his might make silk, if they could be persuaded to own, off Cape Finisterre, and took her, after live in peace together. The writers of news, an obstinate resistance, having killed one hun if they could be confederated, might give more dred and fifty of the French, with the loss of pleasure to the public. The morning and even-ninety-five of his own men. |