in the fragment of Euripides's Ixion-iλos ǎμTOG Kai Táoŋ Tóλεi-Urbi atque amicis pariter insociabilis. He must have no friend, for that would be to admit an equal; he must take no advice, for that would be to acknowledge a superior. Such society as he can find in his own thoughts, and such wisdom as he was sent into the world with, such he must go on with: as wit is not absolutely annexed to pedigree in this country, and arts and sciences sometimes conde-. scend to throw their beams upon the low-born and humble, it is not possible for the proud man to descend amongst them for information and society; if truth does not hang within his reach, he will never dive into a well to fetch it up: his errors, like some arguments, move in a circle: for his pride begets ignorance, and his ignorance begets pride; and thus in the end he has more reasons for being melancholy than Master Stephen had, not only because it is gentleman-like, but because he can't help it, and don't know how to be merry. I might enumerate many more properties of this contemptible character, but these are enough, and a proud man is so dull a fellow at best, that I shall gladly take my leave of him; I confess, also, that I am not able to treat the subject in any other than a vague and desultory manner, for I know not how to define it myself, and at the same time am not reconciled to any other definition of pride, which I have met in Mr. Locke's essay or elsewhere. It is called a passion, and yet it has not the essentials of a passion; for I can bring to mind nothing under that description, which has not reference either to God, to our fellow-creatures, or to ourselves. The sensual passions for instance, of whatever sort, have their end in selfish gratification; the generous attributes, such as valour, friendship, public spirit, munificence, and contempt of danger, have respect to our fellow-creatures; they look for their account in an honourable fame, in the enjoyment of present praise, and in the anticipation of that which posterity shall bestow; whilst the less ostentatious and purer virtues of self-denial, resignation, humility, piety, forbearance, and many others, are addressed to God alone, they offer no gratification to self, they seek for no applause from man. But in which of these three general classes shall we discover the passion of pride? I have indeed sometimes seen it under the cloak of religion, but nothing can be more opposite to the practice of it: it is in vain to inquire for it amongst the generous and social attributes, for its place is no where to be found in society; and I am equally at a loss to think how that can be called a selfish gratification, which brings nothing home to a man's heart but mortification, contempt, abhorrence, secret discontent, and public ridicule. It is composed of contraries, and founded in absurdity; for, at the same time that it cannot subsist without the world's respect, it is so constituted as never to obtain it. Anger is proverbially termed a short madness, but pride methinks is a perpetual one; if I had been inclined to use a softer word, I would have called it folly; I do confess I have often seen it in that more venial character, and therefore, not to decide upon point too hastily, I shall leave the proud man to make his choice between folly and madness, and take out his commission from which party he sees fit. the Good heaven! how pleasant, how complacent to itself and others, is a humble disposition! To a soul so tempered how delightfully life passes in brotherly love and simplicity of manners! Every eye bestows the cheering look of approbation upon the humble man; every brow frowns contempt upon the proud. Let me therefore advise every gentleman, when he finds himself inclined to take up the cha racter of pride, to consider well whether he can be quite proud enough for all purposes of life: whether his pride reaches to that pitch as to meet universal contempt with indifference; whether it will bear him out against mortification, when he finds himself excluded from society, and understands that he is ridiculed by every body in it; whether it is convenient to him always to walk with a stiff back and a stern countenance; and, lastly, whether he is perfectly sure, that he has that strength and self-support in his own human nature, as may defy the power and set at nought the favour of God, who resisteth the proud, but giveth grace to the humble. There is yet another little easy process, which I would recommend to him as a kind of probationary rehearsal before he performs in public: I am persuaded it will not be amiss if he first runs over a few of his airs and graces by himself in his own closet: let him examine himself from head to foot in his glass, and if he finds himself no handsomer, no stronger, no taller than the rest of his fellow-creatures, he may venture, without risk, to conclude that he like them is a man, and nothing more. Having settled this point, and taken place in the human creation, he may next proceed to consider what that place ought to be: for this purpose he may consult his pedigree and his rent-roll, and if, upon a careful perusal of these documents, he shall find (as most likely he will) that he is not decidedly the noblest and the richest man in the world, perhaps he will see no good cause, why he should strut over the face of it as if it was his own: I would then have him go back to his glass, and set his features in order for the very proudest and most arrogant look he can put on; let him knit his brow, stretch his nostrils, and bite his lips with all the dignity he can summon; and after this, when he has reversed the experiment, by softening them into a mild complacent look, with as much benignity as he can find in his heart to bestow upon them, let him ask himself honestly and fairly, which character best becomes him, and whether he does not look more like a man with some humanity than without it; I would, in the next place, have him call his understanding to a short audit, and upon casting up the sum total of his wit, learning, talents, and accomplishments, compute the balance between others and himself, and if it shall turn out that his stock of all these is not the prodigious thing it ought to be, and even greater than all other mens, he will do well to husband it with a little frugal humility. The last thing he must do (and if he does nothing else I should hope it would be sufficient), is to take down his Bible from the shelf, and look out for the parable of the Pharisee and Publican; it is a short story and soon read, but the moral is so much to his purpose, that he may depend upon it, if that does not correct his pride, his pride is incorrigible, and all the Observers in the world will be but waste paper in his service. NUMBER LVII. Μακάριος, ὅστις οὐσίαν καί νοῦν ἔχει· ( MENANDER. Circulatore. Abundance is a blessing to the wise; The use of riches in discretion lies: Learn this, ye men of wealth--a heavy purse THERE are so many striking advantages in the possession of wealth, that the inheritance of a great estate devolving upon a man in the vigour of mind and body, appears to the eye of speculation as a lot of singular felicity. There are some countries where no subject can properly be said to be independent; but in a constitution so happily tempered as ours, that blessing seems peculiarly annexed to affluence. The English landed gentleman, who can set his foot upon his own soil, and say to all the world—This is my freehold; the law defends my right: Touch it who dare!is surely as independent as any man within the rules of society can be, so long as he encumbers himself by no exceedings of expense beyond the compass of his income: if a great estate therefore gives a man independence, it gives him that which all, who do not possess it, seem to sigh for. When I consider the numberless indulgences, which are the concomitants of a great fortune, and the facility it affords to the gratification of every generous passion, I am mortified to find how few, who are possessed of these advantages, avail themselves of their situation to any worthy purposes: that happy temper, which can preserve a medium between dissipation and avarice, is not often to be found, and where I meet one man, who can laudably acquit himself under the test of prosperity, I could instance numbers, who deport themselves with honour under the visitation of adversity. Man must be in a certain degree the artificer of his own happiness; the tools and materials may be put into his hands by the bounty of Providence, but the workmanship must be his own. I lately took a journey into a distant county, upon a visit to a gentleman of fortune whom I shall call Attalus. I had never seen him since his accession to a very considerable estate; and as I have met with few acquaintance in life of more pleasant qua |