grow sad, and have no heart to mend shoes any longer."

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 a 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, I presume, interrupted I. "I cannot boast much of tra66 velling," 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 my business in one street, some "unforseen misfortune, or a desire of trying my luck "elsewhere, has removed me, perhaps a whole mile 66 away from my former customers, while some more lucky cobbler would come into my place, and "make a handsome fortune 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."

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. "Aye, 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 66 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 66 me, though we were obliged to starve the whole "week after 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 quarreling 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 LXVI.

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 any 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 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 wear a load till we have discharged the obligation. Every acknowledgment of gratitude is à 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 in 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 impairVOL. II.

G

ing 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 bar 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 a just acknowledgment, 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, for love. We receive but little advantage from repeated protestations of gratitude, but they cost them very much from whom we exact them in return; exacting a grateful acknowledgment, is demanding a debt by which the creditor is not advantaged, and the debtor pays with reluctance.

As Mencius, the philosopher, was travelling in the pursuit of wisdom, night overtook him at the foot of a gloomy mountain, remote from the habitations of men. Here, as he was straying, while rain and thunder conspired to make solitude still more hideous, he perceived a hermit's cell, and approaching, asked for shelter. Enter, cries the hermit, in a severe tone, men deserve not to be obliged, but it

would be imitating their ingratitude to treat them as they deserve. Come in: examples of vice may sometimes strengthen us in the ways of virtue.

After a frugal meal, which consisted of roots and tea, Mencius could not repress his curiosity to know why the hermit had retired from mankind, the actions of whom taught the truest lessons of wisdom. Mention not the name of man, cries the hermit, with indignation; here let me live retired from a base, ungrateful world; here, among the beasts of the forest, I shall find no flatterers; the lion is a generous enemy, and the dog a faithful friend; but man, base man, can poison the bowl, and smile while he presents it. You have been used ill by mankind, interrupted the philosopher, shrewdly. Yes, returned the hermit; on mankind I have exhausted my whole fortune, and this staff, and that cup, and those roots, are all that I have in return. "Did you be"stow your fortune, or did you only lend it?" returned Mencius. Ibestowed it undoubtedly, replied the other, for where were the merit of being a money lender? "Did they ever own that they received it?" still adds the philosopher. A thousand times, cries the hermit; they every day loaded me with professions of gratitude, for obligations received, and solicitations of future favours. "If then," says Mencius, smiling, "you did not lend your fortune, in order “to have it returned, it is unjust to accuse them of "ingratitude; they owned themselves obliged, you "expected no more, and they certainly earned each "favour, by frequently acknowledging the obliga"tion." The hermit was struck with the reply, and surveying his guest with emotion, I have heard of the great Mencius, and you certainly are the man ; I am now fourscore years old, but still a child in wisdom; take me back to the school of man, and educate me as one of the most ignorant and the youngest of your disciples..