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war they acted like other barbarians, and, with a degree of outrageous cruelty, which the gentleness of our manners scarcely suffers us to conceive, offered rewards by open proclamation to those who should bring in the scalps of Indian women and children. A trader always makes war with the cruelty of a pirate. “ They had long looked with envy and with terror upon the influence which the French exerted over all the northern regions of America by the possession of Louisbourg, a place naturally strong, and new fortified by some slight outworks. They hoped to surprise the garrison unprovided; but that sluggishness which always defeats their malice, gave us time to send supplies, and to station ships for the defence of the harbour. They came before Louisbourg in June, and were for some time in doubt whether they should land. But the commanders, who had lately seen an admiral shot for not having done what he had not power to do, durst not leave the place unassaulted. An Englishman has no ardour for honour, nor zeal for duty; he neither values glory nor loves his king, but balances one danger with another, and will fight rather than be hanged. They therefore landed, but with great loss; their engineers had, in the last war with the French, learned something of the military science, and made their approaches with sufficient skill; but all their efforts had been without effect, had not a ball unfortunately fallen into the powder of one of our ships, which communicated the fire to the rest, and, by opening the passage of the harbour, obliged the garrison to capitulate. Thus was Louisbourg lost, and our troops marched out with the admiration of their enemies, who durst hardly think themselves masters of the place.”

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No. 21. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 2, 1758.

TO THE IDLER
DEAR MR. IDLER;

THERE is a species of misery, or disease, for which our language is commonly supposed to be without a name, but which I think is emphatically enough denominated listlessness, and which is commonly termed a want of something to do. Of the unhappiness of this state I do not expect all your readers to have an adequate idea. Many are overburdened with business, and can imagine no comfort but in rest; many have minds so placid, as willingly to indulge a voluntary lethargy; or so narrow, as easily to be filled to their utmost capacity. By these I shall not be understood, and therefore cannot be pitied. Those only will sympathise with my complaint, whose imagination is active and resolution weak, whose desires are ardent, and whose choice is delicate; who cannot satisfy themselves with standing still, and yet cannot find a motive to direct their course. I was the second son of a gentleman, whose estate was barely sufficient to support himself and his heir in the dignity of killing game. He therefore made use of the interest which the alliances of his family afforded him, to procure me a post in the army, I passed some years in the most contemptible of all human stations, that of a soldier in time of peace. I wana dered with the regiment, as the quarters were changed, without opportunity for business, taste for knowledge,

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or money for pleasure. Wherever I came I was for
some time a stranger without curiosity and afterwards
an acquaintance without friendship. Having nothing
to hope in these places of fortuitous residence, I re-
signed my conduct to chance ; I had no intention to of.
fend, I had no ambition to delight.
I suppose every man is shocked when he hears how
frequently soldiers are wishing for war. The wish is
not always sincere; the greater part are content with
sleep and lace, and counterfeit an ardour which they

do not feel ; but those who desire it most are neither

prompted by malevolence nor patriotism; they neither
pant for laurels, nor delight in blood; but long to be
delivered from the tyranny of idleness, and restored
to the dignity of active beings.
I never imagined myself to have more courage than
other men, yet was often involuntarily wishing for a war,
but of a war at that time I had no prospect; and being
enabled, by the death of my uncle, to live without my
pay, I quitted the army, and resolved to regulate my
own motions.
I was pleased, for a while, with the novelty of inde-
pendence, and imagined that I had now found what ev-
ery man desires. My time was in my own power, and
my habitation was wherever my choice should fix it.
I amused myself for two years in passing from place
to place, and comparing one convenience with another;
but being at last ashamed of inquiry, and weary of un-
certainty, I purchased a house, and established my
family.
I now expected to begin to be happy, and was hap-
py for a short time with that expectation. But I soon
perceived my spirits to subside, and my imagination to
grow dark. The gloom thickened every day round me.
W. O. L. VII. - H

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I wondered by what malignant power my peace was blasted, till I discovered at last that I had nothing to do. Time, with all its celerity, moves slowly to him whose whole employment is to watch its flight. I am forced upon a thousand shifts to enable me to endure the tediousness of the day. I rise when I can sleep no longer, and take my morning walk; I see what I have seen before, and return. I sit down and persuade myself that I sit down to think; find it impossible to think without a subject, rise up to inquire after news, and endeavor to kindle in myself an artificial impatience for intelligence of events, which will never extend any consequence to me, but that a few minutes they abstract me from myself. When I have heard any thing that may gratify curiosity, I am busied for a while in running to relate it. I hasten from one place of concourse to another, delighted with my own importance, and proud to think that I am doing something, though I know that another hour would spare my labour. I had once a round of visits, which I paid very regularly; but I have now tired most of my friends. When I have sat down I forgot to rise, and have more than once overheard one asking another, when I would be gone? I perceive the company tired, I observe the mistress of the family whispering to her servants, I find orders given to put off business till to-morrow, I see the watches frequently inspected, and yet cannot withdraw to the vacuity of solitude, or venture myself in my own company. Thus burdensome to myself and others, I form many schemes of employment which may make my life useful or agreeable, and exempt me from the ignominy of living by sufferance. This new course I have long designed, but have not yet begun. The present moment is never proper for the change: but there is always a time in view when all obstacles will be removed, and I shall surprise all that know me with a new distribution of my time. Twenty years have passed since I have resolved a complete amendment, and twenty years have been lost in delays. Age is coming upon me; and I should look back with rage and despair upon the waste of life, but that I am now beginning in earnest to begin a reformation. I am, Sir, Your humble servant, DIcK LINGER.

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As I was passing lately under one of the gates of this city, I was struck with horror by a rueful cry, which summoned me to remember the floor debtors. The wisdom and justice of the English laws are, by Englishmen at least, loudly celebrated; but scarcely the most zealous admirers of our institutions can think that law wise, which, when men are capable of work, obliges them to beg; or just, which exposes the liberty of one to the passions of another. The prosperity of a people is proportionate to the number of hands and minds usefully employed. To

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