der no fear that it will tranfport him to any thing that is extravagant and improper; he is rather pleafed with the fenfibility of his own heart, and gives way to it with complacence and felf-approbation. He gladly indulges, therefore, the moft melancholy views which can naturally occur to him, concerning the calamity of his friend, for whom, perhaps, he never felt fo exquifitely before, the tender and tearful paffion of love. But it is quite otherwife with the perfon principally concerned. He is obliged, as much as poffible, to turn away his eyes from whatever is either naturally terrible or difagreeable in his fituation. Too ferious an attention to those circumstances, he fears, might make so violent an impreffion upon him, that he could no longer keep within the bounds of mode ration, or render himself the object of the compleat fympathy and approbation of the fpectators. He fixes his thoughts, therefore, upon those only which are agreeable, the applause and admiration which he is about to deferve by the heroic magnanimity of his behaviour. To feel that he is capable of fo noble and generous an effort, to feel that in this dreadful fituation he can still act as he would defire to act, animates and transports him with joy, and enables him to support that triumphant gaiety which seems to exult in the victory he thus gains over his misfor

tunes.

On the contrary, he always appears, in fome measure, mean and despicable, who is G funk

funk in forrow and dejection upon account of any calamity of his own. We cannot bring ourfelves to feel for him what he feels for himself, and what, perhaps, we should feel for ourselves if in his fituation: we, therefore, despise him; unjuftly, perhaps, if any fentiment could be regarded as unjust, to which we are by nature irrefiftably determined. The weakness of forrow never appears in any refpect agreeable, except when it arifes from

what we feel for others more than from what we feel for ourselves. A fon, A fon, upon the death of an indulgent and refpectable father, may give way to it without much blame.

His

forrow is chiefly founded upon a fort of fympathy with his departed parent; and we readily enter into this humane emotion. But if he fhould indulge the fame weakness upon account of any misfortune which affected himfelf only, he would no longer meet with any fuch indulgence. If he should be reduced to beggary and ruin, if he should be expofed to the moft dreadful dangers, if he should even be led out to a public execution, and there shed one fingle tear upon the fcaffold, he would difgrace himself for ever in the opinion of all the gallant and generous part of mankind. Their compaffion for him, however, would be very ftrong, and very fincere; but as it would still fall fhort of this exceffive weaknefs, they would have no pardon for the man who could thus expofe himself in the eyes of the world. His behaviour would affect them with fhame rather than with for

row; and the dishonour which he had thus brought upon himself would appear to them the most lamentable circumftance in his misfortune. How did it difgrace the memory of the intrepid Duke of Biron, who had fo often braved death in the field, that he wept upon the fcaffold, when he beheld the ftate to which he was fallen, and remembered the favour and the glory from which his own rashness had fo unfortunately thrown him.

CHA P. II.

Of the origin of ambition, and of the diftinction of ranks.

IT

T is because mankind are difpofed to fympathife more entirely with our joy than with our forrow, that we make parade of our riches, and conceal our poverty. Nothing is fo mortifying as to be obliged to expose our distress to the view of the public, and to feel, that though our fituation is open to the eyes of all mankind, no mortal conceives for us the half of what we fuffer. Nay, it is chiefly from this regard to the fentiments of mankind, that we pursue riches and avoid poverty. For to what purpose is all the toil and bustle of this world? what is the end of avarice and ambition, of the purfuit of wealth, of power, and preheminence ? Is it to supply the neceffities of nature? The G 2 wages

wages of the meaneft labourer can fapply them. We fee that they afford him food and cloathing, the comfort of a house, and of a family. If we examine his economy with rigor, we fhould find that he spends a great part of them upon conveniencies, which may be regarded as fuperfluities, and that, upon extraordinary occafions, he can give something even to vanity and diftinction. What then is the cause of our averfion to his fituation, and why fhould those who have been educated in the higher ranks of life, regard it as worfe than death, to be reduced to live, even without labour, upon the fame fimple fare with him, to dwell under the fame lowly roof, and to be cloathed in the fame humble attire ? Do they imagine that their stomach is better, or their fleep founder in a palace than in a cottage? The contrary has been so often obferved, and, indeed, is fo very obvious, though it had never been obferved, that there is no body ignorant of it. From whence, then, arifes that emulation which runs through all the different ranks of men, and what are the advantages which we propose by that great purpose of human life which we call bettering our condition? To be observed, to be -attended to, to be taken notice of with fympathy, complacency and approbation, are all the advantages which we can propofe to derive from it. It is the vanity, not the ease, or the pleasure, which interefts us. But vanity is always founded upon the belief of our being the object of attention and approba

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tion.

tion. The rich man glories in his riches, because he feels that they naturally draw upon him the attention of the world, and that mankind are difpofed to go along with him in all thofe agreeable emotions with which the advantages of his fituation fo readily infpire him. At the thought of this, his heart feems to fwell and dilate itself within him, and he is fonder of his wealth, upon this account, than for all the other advantages it procures him. The poor man, on the contrary, is alhamed of his poverty. He feels that it either places him out of the fight of mankind, or, that if they take any notice of him, they have, however, scarce any fellow-feeling with the mifery and diftrefs which he fuffers. He is mortified upon both accounts; for though to be overlooked, and to be disapproved of, are things entirely different, yet as obfcurity covers us from the daylight of honour and approbation, to feel that we are taken no notice of, neceffarily damps the most agreeable hope, and disappoints the moft ardent defire, of human nature. The poor man goes out and comes in unheeded, and when in the midst of a croud is in the fame obfcurity as if shut up in his own hovel. Thofe humble cares land painful attentions which occupy thofe in his fituation, afford no amusement to the diffipated and the gay. They turn away their eyes from him, or if the extremity of his diftrefs forces them to look at him, it is only to fpurn fo difagreeable an object from among The fortunate and the proud won

them.

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der