The pride of wit fluttered in my heart, and when I prepared to leave the college, nothing entered my imagination but honours, caresses, and rewards, riches without labour, and luxury without expence.

I however delayed my departure for a time, to finish the performance by which I was to draw the first notice of mankind upon me.' When it was com: pleted I hurried to London, and considered every moment that passed before its publication, as loft in a kind of neutral existence, and cut off from the golden hours of happiness and fame. The piece was at last printed and diffeminated by a rapid fale; I wandered from one place of concourse to another, feasted from morning to night on the repetition of my own praises, and enjoyed the various conjectures of criticks, the mistaken candour of my friends, and the impotent malice of my enemies. Some had read the manuscript, and rectified its inaccuraciesį others had seen it in a state fo imperfect, that they could not forbear to wonder at its present excellence; fome had conversed with the author at the coffee-house; and others gave hints that they had lent him

money, I knew that no performance is so favourably read as that of a writer who suppresses his name, and therefore resolved to remain concealed, till those by whom literary reputation is established had given their fuffrages too publickly to retract them. At length my bookseller informed me that Aurantius, the standing patron of merit, had sent enquiries after me, and invited me to his acquaintance.

The time which I had long expected was now ar. rived. I went to Aurantius with a beating heart, for I Tooked upon our interview as the critical moment of


my destiny. I was received with civilities, which iny academick rudeness made me unable to repay ; but when I had recovered from my confusion, I profecuted the conversation with such liveliness and propriety, that I confirmed my new friend in his esteem of my abilities, and was dismissed with the utmost ardour of profession, and raptures of fondness.

I was soon summoned to dine with Aurantius, who had assembled the most judicious of his friends to partake of the entertainment. Again I exerted my powers of sentiment and expression, and again found every eye sparkling with delight, and every tongue silent with attention. I now became familiar at the table of Aurantius, but could never, in his most private or jocund hours, obtain more from him than general declarations of esteem, or endearments of tenderness, which included no particular promise, and therefore conferred no claim. This frigid reserve somewhat disgusted me, and when he com. plained of three days absence, I took care to inform him with how much importunity of kindness I had been detained by his rival Pollio.

Aurantius now considered his honour as endangered by the desertion of a wit, and left I should have an inclination to wander, told me that I could never find a friend more constant and zealous than himself; that indeed he had made no promises, because he hoped to surprise me with advancement, but had been filently promoting my interest, and should continue his good offices, unless he found the kindness of others more desired,

If you, Mr. Rambler, have ever ventured your philosophy within the attraction of greatness, you know


the force of such language introduced with a finile of gracious tenderness, and impressed at the conclufion with an air of folemn sincerity. From that instant I gave myself up wholly to Aurantius, and as he immediately resumed his former gaiety, expected every morning a summons to some employment of dignity and profit. One month succeeded another, and in defiance of appearances I still fancied myself nearer to my wishes, and continued to dream of success, and wake to disappointment. At last the failure of my little fortune compelled me to abate the finery which I hitherto thought necessary to the company with whom I associated, and the rank to which I should be raised. Aurantius, from the moment in which he discovered my poverty, considered me as fully in his power, and afterwards rather permitted my attendance than invited it; thought himself at liberty to refuse my visits, whenever he had other amusements within reach, and often suffered me to wait, without pretending any necessary business. When I was admitted to his table, if any man of rank equal to his own was present, he took occasion to mention my writings, and commend my ingenuity, by which he intended to apologize for the confusion of distinctions, and the improper assortment of his company; and often called upon me to entertain his friends with my productions, as a sportsman delights the squires of his neighbourhood with the curvets of his horse, or the obedience of his spaniels.

To complete my mortification, it was his practice to impose tasks upon me, by requiring me to write upon luch subjects as he thought susceptible of ornament and illustration. With these extorted performances he was little satisfied, because he rarely found in them the ideas which his own imagination had suggested, and which he therefore thought more natural than mine.


When the pale of ceremony is broken, rudeness and insult soon enter the breach. He now found that he might safely harass me with vexation, that he had fixed the shackles of patronage upon me, and that I could neither resist him nor escape. At last, in the eighth year of my servitude, when the clamour of creditors was vehement, and my necessity known to be extreme, he offered me a small office, but hinted his expectation that I should marry a young woman with whom he had been acquainted.

I was not so far depressed by my calamities as to comply with his proposal; but knowing that complaints and expoftulations would but gratify his insolence, I turned away with that contempt with which I shall never want fpirit to treat the wretch who can outgo the guilt of a robber without the temptation of his profit, and who lures the credulous and thoughtless to maintain the show of his levee, and the mirth of his table, at the expence of honour, happiness, and life.

I am, SIR, &c.


Nomb. 164. SATURDAY, October 12, 1751.

Vitium, Garre, Catonis habes.


Gaurus pretends to Cato's fame;
And proves - by Cato's vice, his claim.


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ISTINCTION is so pleasing to the pride

of man, that a great part of the pain and pleasure of life arises from the gratification or difappointment of an incessant wish for superiority, from'the success or miscarriage of secret competitions, from victories and defeats, of which, though they appear to us of great importance, in reality none are conscious


ourselves. Proportionate to the prevalence of this love of praise is the variety of means by which its attainment is attempted. Every man, however hopeless his pretensions may appear to all but himself, has some project by which he hopes to rise to reputaz tion; some art by which he imagines that the notice of the world will be attracted; some quality, good or bad, which discriminates him from the common herd of mortals, and by which others may be

persuaded to love, or compelled to fear him. The ascents of honour, however steep, never appear inaccessible; he that despairs to scale the precipices by which valour and learning have conducted their favourites, discovers some by-path, or easier acclivity, which, though it cannot bring him to the summit, will yet enable hiin to overlook those with whom

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