limped behind like one of the invalids which follow the march of an army.

In this plight I was considering the eagerness that appeared on every face, how some bustled to get foremost, and others contented themselves with taking a transient peep when they could; how some praised the four black servants, that were stuck behind one of the equipages; and some the ribbons that decorated the horses' necks in another; my attention was called off to an object more extraordinary than any that I had yet seen: a poor cobler sat in his stall by the way-side, and continued to work while the crowd passed by, without testifying the smallest share of curiosity. I own his want of attention excited mine; and as I stood in need of his assistance, I thought it best to employ a philosophic cobler on this occasion perceiving my business, therefore, he desired we to enter and sit down, took my shoe in his lap, and began to mend it with his usual indifference and taciturnity.

"How, my friend," said I to him, "can you " continue to work while all those fine things are "passing by your door ?" "Very fine they are "master," returned the cobler, "for those that "like them, to be sure; but what are all those fine

things to me? You do not know what it is to be "a cobler, and so much the better for yourself. "Your bread is baked, you may go and see sights "the whole day, and eat a warm supper when you "come home at night; but for me, if I should run

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hunting after all these fine folk, what should I get "by my journey but an appetite, and, God help "me, I have too much of that at home already, "without stirring out for it. Your people who may ❝eat four meals a day and a supper at night, are “but a bad example to such a one as I. No, mas"ter, as God has called me into this world in order

"to

"to mend old shoes, I have no business with fine "folk, and they no business with me." I here interrupted him with a smile. "See this last, master," continues he, " and this hammer; this last and ham"mer are the two best friends I have in this world; nobody else will be my friend, because I want a "friend. The great folks you saw pass by just now "have five hundred friends, because they have no "occasion for them: now, while I stick to my good "friends here, I am very contented; but when I "ever so little run after sights and fine things, I begin to hate my work, I grow sad, and have no "beart to mend shoes any longer.'

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This discourse only served to raise my curiosity to know more of a man whom Nature had thus formed into a philosopher. I therefore insensibly led him into an history of his adventures: "I have lived," said, he, "a wandering life now five and fifty years, "here to-day and gone to-morrow; for it was my "misfortune, when I was young, to be fond of "changing" You have been a traveller, then, 1 presume, interrupted I. "I cannot boast much of travelling," continued he, " for I have never left "the parish in which I was born but three times in my life, that I can remember; but then there is "not a street in the whole neighbourhood that I "have not lived in, at some time or another. When "I began to settle and to take to my business in one "street, some unforeseen misfortune, or a desire of trying my luck elsewhere has removed me, perhaps a whole mile away from my former custom"ers, while some more lucky cobler would come "into my place, and make a handsome fortune 66 among friends of my making: there was one who actually died in a stall that I had left, worth seven "pounds seven shillings, all in hard gold, which he "had quilted into the waistband of his breeches."

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I could

I could not but smile at these migrations of a man by the fire-side, and continued to ask if he had ever been married. "Ay, that I have, master," replied he, " for sixteen long years; and a weary life I had "of it, Heaven knows. My wife took it into her head, that the only way to thrive in this world "was to save money, so though our comings-in was "but about three shillings a week, all that ever she "could lay her hands upon she used to hide away "from me, though we were obliged to starve the "whole week after for it.

"The first three years we used to quarrel about "this every day, and I always got the better; but "she had a hard spirit, and still continued to hide "as usual: so that I was at last tired of quarrelling "and getting the better, and she scraped and scraped "at pleasure, till I was almost starved to death. "Her conduct drove me at last in despair to the "alehouse; here I used to sit with people who "hated home like myself, drank while I had money

left, and run in score when any body would trust "me; till at last the landlady, coming one day with "a long bill when I was from home, and putting it "into my wife's hands, the length of it effectually "broke her heart. I searched the whole stall after "she was dead for money, but she had hidden it so "effectually, that with all my pains I could never "find a farthing.'

By this time my shoe was mended, and satisfying the poor artist for his trouble, and rewarding him besides for his information, I took my leave, and returned home to lengthen out the amusement his conversation afforded, by communicating it to my friend. Adieu.

LETTER

LETTER LXV.

From Lien Chi Altangi to Hingpo, by the way of Moscow.

GENEROSITY properly applied will supply every other external advantage in life, but the love of those we converse with; it will procure esteem and a conduct resembling real affection, but actual love is the spontaneous production of the mind; no generosity can purchase, no rewards increase, nor no liberality continue it: the very person who is obliged, has it not in his power to force his lingering affections upon the object he should love, and voluntarily mix passion with gratitude.

Imparted fortune, and well-placed liberality may procure the benefactor good-will, may load the person obliged with the sense of the duty he lies under to retaliate; this is gratitude: and simple gratitude untinctured with love, is all the return an ingenuous mind can bestow for former benefits.

But gratitude and love are almost opposite affections; love is often an involuntary passion, placed upon our companions without our consent, and frequently conferred without our previous esteem. - We love some men, we know not why; our tenderness is naturally excited in all their concerns; we excuse their faults with the same indulgence, and approve their virtues with the same applause with which we consider our own. While we entertain the passion it pleases us, we cherish it with delight, and give it up with reluctance, and love for love is all the reward we expect or desire.

Gratitude, on the contrary, is never conferred, but where there have been previous endeavours to excite it; we consider it as a debt, and our spirits

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wear

wear a load till we have discharged the obligation. Every acknowledgement of gratitude is a circumstance of humiliation; and some are found to submit to frequent mortifications of this kind; proclaiming what obligations they owe, merely because they think it in some measure cancels the debt.

Thus love is the most easy and agreeable, and gratitude the most humiliating affection of the mind; we never reflect on the man we love, without exulting in our choice, while he who has bound us to him by benefits alone, rises to our idea as a person to whom we have in some measure forfeited our freedom. Love and gratitude are seldom therefore found in the same breast without impairing each other; we may tender the one or the other singly to those we converse with, but cannot command both together. By attempting to increase, we diminish them; the mind becomes bankrupt under too large obligations; all additional benefits lessen every hope of future return, and shut up every avenue that leads to tenderness.

In all our connexions with society, therefore, it is not only generous, but prudent to appear insensible of the value of those favours we bestow, and endeavour to make the obligation seem as slight as possible. Love must be taken by stratagem, and not by open force: we should seem ignorant that we oblige, and leave the mind at full liberty to give or refuse its affections; for constraint may indeed leave the receiver still grateful, but it will certainly produce disgust.

If to procure gratitude be our only aim, there is no great art in making the acquisition; a benefit conferred demands ajust ackowledgment, and we have a right to insist upon our due.

But it were much more prudent to forego our right on such an occasion, and exchange it, if we

can,