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quent we shall experience it so, even when is truly lamented; and when, to avoid it, is both our wish and our endeavour. And if the influence of truth may receive such hindrance from our natural depravity, from this depravity, even when we have kept out of the way of all, who would encourage us to favour it, there, surely, must be an high degree of probability, that we shall be less mindful of our obligations, when we are not only prompted by our own appetites to violate them, but moved thereto by the counsel and example of those, whose conversation best pleases us; and whose opinions and actions will, therefore, come with a more than ordinary recommendation to us.

The assent, which we give, upon sufficient evidence, to moral truths, could no more be unsettled by ridicule and sophistry, than that which we give to mathematical truths, did our minds always retain the same disposition with respect to the one, that they do, as to the other.

With regard to the latter, we are never willing to be deceived--we always stand alike affected towards them: our conviction about them was obtained, at first, upon such grounds, as must always remain our inducements to preserve it: no lust could be gratified, no interest served, by its acting less forcibly upon us: in its defence the credit of our understanding is greatly concerned. And how vain must ridicule and sophistry be necessarily thought, where their only aim is, that we should acknowledge a superior discernment in those persons, whose opposition increases our contempt of their ignorance, by making a plainer discovery of it?

As for moral truths, they are often disagreeable to us-When we have had the fullest evidence of them, we want not, occasionally, the inclination to overlook it. If, under some circumstances, we are ready to acknowledge its force; there are others, when we will not give it any attention. Here fancy and hope interpose: a governing passion allows us only a faint view of, or wholly diverts our notice from, whatever should be our inducement to restrain it; and suffers us to dwell on nothing but what will justify, or excuse, us in giving way to it. Our reluctance to admit, that we have not judged as we ought to have done, is strangely abated, when we thereby are set at liberty to act as we please.

When the endeavour is to laugh us, or to argue us, out of those principles that

we, with much self-denial, adhere to; we
He has
shall but feebly oppose its success.
a strong party on his side within our bo-
soms, who seeks to make us quit opinions,
which are still controuling our affections.
If we are not secure from acting contrary
to our duty, what cogent proofs soever we
have of its being such, and what satisfac-
tion soever we have had in its discharge;
we are highly concerned to avoid every
temptation to offend: and it, undoubtedly,
is a very strong one, to hear continually
what is likeliest to remove the fear of in-
dulging our appetites; and continually to
see, that they who apply to us act as they
advise-allow themselves in the liberties
they would have us to take; and are under
none of the checks, which they prompt us
to throw off.

Though what we did not relish, and what we thought would speedily destroy us, we might not eat, when our companions shewed themselves fond of it, and pressed us to taste it; yet, if we apprehended no immediate danger from their meal—if we were eye-witnesses of its being attended with none-if they were continually expressing their high delight in it, and repeating their assurances, that all, either our indifference towards, or disrelish of it, was only from prejudice and prepossession; we, very probably, should at length yield, and quit both our disgust of their repast, and our dread of its consequences. And if this might ensue, when we were invited to partake of that, which was less agreeable to our palates, what should be feared, when our company tempted us to that, which we could be pleased with, and were only withheld from by such an apprehension of danger, as nothing could sooner remove, than our observing those, with whom we most conversed, to be without it?

Reason is, certainly, always on the side of duty. Nor is there, perhaps, any man, who, when He seriously considers what is best for him to do, will not purpose to do that which is right. But, since we can act without consideration in the most important articles, and nothing is less likely to be considered, than what we find quite customary with others--what we see them act without remorse or scruple; when we are, day after day, eye-witnesses of our associates allowing themselves in a wrong practice, persisting in it without expressing the least dread of its consequences; it is as absurd to think, that our moral feeling should not be injured thereby, as it is to

suppose,

suppose, that our hands would preserve the same softness, when they had been for years accustomed to the oar, which they had when they first took it up; or, that hard labour would affect us as much when inured to it, as when we entered upon it.

I will, for the present, take my leave of you with an Italian proverb, and an Eng lish one exactly answerable to it.

Dimmi con chi tu vai, sapro chel che fai. Tell me with whom thou goest, and I'll

tell thee what thou doest.

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I know not what I can add on the present subject of our correspondence, that may be of greater service to you than the following short relation.-I may not, indeed, be exact in every particular of it, because I was not at all acquainted with the gentleman whom it concerns; and because many years have passed since I received an account of him; but as my information came from persons, on whose veracity I could depend, and as what they told me, much affected me when I heard it, and has, since, been very often in my thoughts; I fear that the melancholy description, which you will here have of human frailty, is but too true in every thing material

therein.

:

in

At the first appearance of town, nothing, perhaps, was more the topic of conversation, than his merit. He had read much what he had read, as it was on the most useful subjects, so he was thoroughly master of it; gave an exact account of it, and made very wise reflections upon it. During his long residence at a distance from our metropolis, he had met with few, to whom he was not greatly superior, both in capacity and attainments: yet this had not in the least disposed him to dictate, to be positive and assuming, to treat any with contempt or neglect.

He was obliging to all, who came near him: talked on the subjects which they best understood, and which would be likeliest to induce them to take their full share of the conversation.

They, who had spent every winter near the court, saw nothing in his behaviour, that shewed how far he had lived from it -nothing which was less suitable to any civility, that could be learned in it.

His manners were only less courtly, in their simplicity and purity. He did not,

often, directly reprove the libertine discourse of his equals, but would recommend himself to none, by expressing the slightest approbation of such discourse: He shewed it did not please him, though he declined saying so.

He forbore that invective against the manners of the age, which could only irritate; and thought that, at his years, the fittest censure he could pass on them, would be to avoid them. It seemed, indeed, his particular care, that he might not be represented either as a bigot, or a cynic; but yet, as he knew how to defend his principles, so he shewed himself, on every proper occasion, neither afraid nor ashamed to engage in their defence.

His conversation was among persons of his own rank, only so far as decorum required it should be: their favourite topics were so little to his taste, that his leisure hours, where he could have his choice, were passed among those, who had the most learning and virtue, and whether distinguished, or not, by their ancestors' worth, would be so by their own.

He had high notions of his duty to his country; but having seen what self-interestedness, at length, shewed itself, where he had heard the strongest professions of patriotism, it made him very cautious with whom he engaged, and utterly averse from determining of any as friends to the public, merely because they were opposers of the court.

No one judged more rightly of the hurt that must ensue, from irreligion spreading itself among the common people; and, therefore, where his example was most remarked, and could be most efficacious, he took particular care, that it should promote a just reverence of the Deity.

Thus did A. A. set out in the world, and thus behaved, for some years, nothwithstanding the bad examples he had every where before him, among those of his own station. In one of the accomplishments of a gentleman (though, surely, one of the very meanest of them) he was thought to excel; and many fine speeches were made him upon that account. They were but too much regarded by him; and, gradually, drew him often into the company that he would have despised, had he heard less of his own praise in it. The compliments so repeatedly paid him by the frivolous reconciled him, at length, to them. As his attachment to them got ground, his seriousness lost it. The patriot was no

more

more-The zeal he had for the morals of his countrymen abated.—

The tragical conclusion of his story let those tell you, who would not feel that concern at the relation of it, which I should do: this you certainly may learn from it That, as the constant dropping of water wears away the hardest stone, so the continual solicitations of the vicious are not to be withstood by the firmest mind-All, who are in the way of them, will be hurt by them-Wheresoever they are used, they will make an impression-He only is secure from their force, who will not hazard its being tried upon him.

In what you have hitherto received from me, I have argued wholly from your own dispositions, and endeavoured to shew you, from thence, the danger of having bad companions: See now your danger from their dispositions. And first let these persons be considered only, in general, as partial to their notions and practices, and eager to defend them.

Whatever our persuasion or conduct is, we are usually favourable to it; we have our plea for it: very few of us can bear, with any patience, that it should be judged irrational: The approbation of it is a compliment to our understanding, that we receive with pleasure; and to censure it, is such a disparagement of us, as doth not fail to disgust us. I will not say, there are none to be found, that give themselves little or no concern who thinks or acts as they do; but it is certain, that, ordinarily, we are desirous to be joined in the cause we espouse we are solicitous to vindicate and spread our opinions, and to have others take the same courses with us. Should I allow you to be as intent on this, as any of your acquaintance are; yet, pray, consider what you may expect, when you stand alone, or when a majority is against youwhen each of them relieves the other in an attack upon you-when this attack is, day after day, repeated-when your numerous opponents join in applauding, or strength ening, or enlivening their several objections to your sentiments; and in treating what ever you can urge in your defence, as absard, or weak and impertinent-when your peace can only be purchased by your silence -when you find, that there is no hope of bringing those you delight to be with into your opinions, that they confirm each other in opposition to you, and that you can be only agreeable to them, by adopt ing their maxims, and conforming to their

manners.

It is next to be considered, what you may fear from an intimacy with the immoral, when they must look upon themselves to be reproached by such of their acquaintance, as will not concur with them in their excesses. They cannot but do this; because all who seek either to make them alter their manners, or to weaken their influence upon others, charge them with what is, really, the highest reproach to them; and because they are sensible, that the arguments likeliest to be used by any one for his not complying with them, are grounded on the mischief of their conduct, or on its folly. Regard then yourself, as in their place. Reflect how you would behave towards the man whose opinion of you was, that you acted either a very criminal, or a very imprudent part: reflect, I say, how you would behave towards the person thus judging of you, if you wished to preserve a familiarity with him, but yet, was resolved to persist in your notions and practice. You, certainly, would try every method to remove his distaste of them: you would colour them as agreeably as you possibly could: you would spare no pains to weaken every objection he could have to them-you would in your turn attack his maxims and manners; you would seek to convince him upon what slight grounds he preferred them to your's-you would apply to every artifice, that could give them the appearance of being less defensible, or that could incline him to overlook what might be urged in their defence.

And if this might naturally be supposed the part you would act towards others; you ought to expect that they, in the same circumstances, would behave alike towards you. But can you think it prudent to let them try, with what success they may proceed? Would not caution be your most effectual security? Would it not be the wisest method of providing for your safety, to keep out of the way of danger?

You are, further, to look upon those, from associating with whom I would dissuade you, as extremely solicitous to be kept in countenance. The vicious well know, to how many objections their conduct is liable: they are sensible, to what esteem good morals are entitled, what praise they claim, and what they, in the most corrupt times, receive.

Virtue is so much for the interest of mankind, that there can never be a general agreement, to deny all manner of applause to the practice of it: such numbers are made sufferers by a departure from its

rules,

rules, that there are few crimes, which meet not with an extensive censure.

You have long since learned it to be the language of paganism itself, that

"All, who act contrary to what the "reason of things requires-who do what "is hurtful to themselves or others, must "stand self-condemned:" and you cannot want to be informed, in what light they are seen by those who do not share their guilt. The endeavour, therefore, of such men, while they are without any purpose of amendment, will, unquestionably, be, to make their cause as specious as possible, by engaging many in its defence, and to silence censure, by the danger that would arise from the numbers it would provoke. The motives to this endeavour, when duly reflected on, will fully satisfy us, with what zeal it must be accompanied; and it may well, therefore, alarm all, on whom its power is likely to be tried-may well induce them to consider seriously, what they have to fear from it, how much their virtue may suffer by it.

I will conclude this with a short story of the Poet Dante, for which Bayle quotes Petrarch. Among other visits made by Dante, after his banishment from Florence, one was to the then much-famed Can, Prince of Verona.

Can treated him at first with great civility; but this did not last: and by the little complaisance at length shewn the Poet, he plainly perceived that he ceased to be an acceptable guest.

Scholars, it seems, were not Can's favourites he liked those much better, who studied to divert him; and ribaldry was by no means the discourse that least pleased him. Suspecting that this did not raise Dante's opinion of him, he one day took occasion to single out the most obnoxious of the libertine crew that he entertained; and, after high praises given the man, turning to Dante, he said, I wonder how it is, that this mad fellow is beloved by us all, as giving us the pleasure which, really, we do not find in your company, wise as you are thought to be.

Sir, answered the Poet, you would not wonder at this, if you considered, that our love of any proceeds from their manners being suitable, and their dispositions similar, Dean Bolton.

to our own.

SIR,

§ 126. LETTER VII.

I have but one thing more to propose to your consideration, as a dissuasive from

associating with the vicious and it isThe way in which they, ordinarily, seek to corrupt those, with whom they con

verse.

The logic of the immoral contributes but little to increase their numbers, in comparison of what they effect by raillery and ridicule. This is their strength; they are sensible of its being so; and you may be assured that it will be exerted against you. There is nothing that cannot be jested with; and there is nothing that we, universally, bear worse, than to be made the jest of any.

What reasoning on moral subjects may not have its force evaded by a man of wit and humour; and receive a turn, that shall induce the less considerate to slight it, as weak and inconclusive? The most becoming practice-that which is most our duty, and the importance of which to our present welfare is most evident, a lively fancy easily places in a ridiculous view, and thereby brings it into an utter neglect.

That reverence of the Deity, which the best both ancient and modern writers have so strongly recommended-which the worthiest men in every age have so carefully expressed-which any observation of nature, any attention to our own frame fails not to inculcate, is yet, by being represented under the garb of superstition or fanaticism, seen among us to such disadvantage, that many, our military gentlemen especially, appear to take a pride in shewing themselves divested of it.

Conjugal fidelity, though of such moment to the peace of families-to their interest to the prosperity of the common wealth, that, by the laws of the wisest and best regulated states, the severest punishment has been inflicted on the violation of it, is, nevertheless, by the levity, with which some have treated it, so much, at present, slighted, that the adulterer is well received: Women, who would think it the grossest affront to have their virtue questioned, who affect the character of the strictest observers of decorum, shun him not-shew him the utmost complaisance. Whatever dishonour, in this case, falls on any, it accrues wholly to the injured person.

Can you assign a better reason, why the intemperate, among the meaner people, have so prodigiously increased their num bers, than the banter they use towards such as they meet with disposed to sobriety,→ the mockery with which they treat it,—

the

the songs and catches with which they are so plentifully provided, in derision of it? I cannot give you the very terms of Lord Shaftesbury, as I have not his works; but I think I may be certain that there is an observation in them to this effect-That, "had the enemies to Christianity exposed its first professors, not to wild beasts, but "to ridicule, their endeavours to stop its "progress might have had very different "success from what they experienced."

Had the wit of man been only concerned in the spreading that religion, I believe the conjecture well founded. But this success could no more have affected the truth of that religion, than it lessens the worth of a public spirit, of honesty, of temperance, that so many have been laughed out of them that the jest made of them has occasioned their being so rare among us.

The author of the Beggar's Opera gives the true character of his Newgate tribe, when he exhibits them ludicrous on all pretences to virtue, and thus hardening each other in their crimes. It was the most effectual means to keep up their spirits under their guilt, and may well be judged the likeliest method of bringing others to share it.

"The Duke of Buckingham," says a late writer," had the art of turning per"sons or things into ridicule, beyond any "man of the age. He possessed the young "King [Charles II.] with very ill princi"ples, both as to religion and morality, " and with a very mean opinion of his fa"ther, whose stiffness was, with him, a "subject of raillery." It is elsewhere observed, that to make way for the ruin of the Lord Clarendon, " He often acted and “mimicked him in the King's presence, "walking stately with a pair of bellows "before him, for the purse, and Colonel Titus carrying a fire-shovel on his "shoulder, for the mace; with which "sort of banter and farce the King was "too much delighted."

Such are the impressions of the disparagement of the best things, and of the best men, that may be made by burlesque and buffoonery: they can destroy the efficacy of the wisest precepts, and the noblest examples.

The Monarch here spoken of may, perhaps, be thought as ill-disposed as the worst of his favourites; and rather humoured, than corrupted, by the sport they made with all that is, ordinarily, held serious. Were this admitted to be true of

him-Were we to suppose his natural depravity not heightened by any thing said or done before him, in derision of virtue or the virtuous; yet the effects of his being accustomed to such representations may be looked upon as extremely mischievous; when we may, so probably, attribute to them the loose he gave to his natural depravity-the little decorum he observed that utter carelessness to save appearances, whence so much hurt ensued to the morals of his people, and whereby he occasioned such distraction in his af fairs, so weakened his authority, so entirely lost the affections of the best of his subjects; and whence that he did not experience still worse consequences, may be ascribed to a concurrence of circumstances, in which his prudence had no share.

The weakness of an argument may be clearly shewn-The arts of a sophister may be detected, and the fallacy of his reasoning demonstrated-To the most subtile objections there may be given satisfactory answers: but there is no confuting raillery -the acutest logician would be silenced by a Merry Andrew. that we

It is to no manner of purpose have reason on our side, when the laugh is against us; and how easy is it, by playing with our words-by a quibbleby the lowest jest, to excite that laugh!

When the company is disposed to attack your principles with drollery, no plea for them is attended to; the more serious you shew yourself in their defence, the more scope you give to the mirth of your opponents.

How well soever we have informed ourselves of the motives to a right conduct, these motives are not attended to, as often as we act our ordinary practice is founded on the impression, that a former consideration of them has made; which impression is very liable to be weakenedwants frequently to be renewed in the same way, that it was at first produced.

When we continually hear our virtue bantered as mere prejudice, and our notions of honour and decorum treated as the sole effects of our pride being dexterously flattered-When our piety is frequently subjecting us to be derided as childishly timorous, or absurdly superstitious; we soon know not how to persuade ourselves, that we are not more scrupulous than we need to be; we begin to question whether, in settling the extent of our obligations, we have sufficiently consulted the imperfections

of

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