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and pursue their private advantage by means which if once established, must destroy kindness, cut off from every man all hopes of assistance from another, and fill the world with perpetual suspicion and implacable malevolence. Whatever is thus gained ought to be restored, and those who have conquered by such treachery may be justly denied the protection of their native country.
Whoever commits a fraud is guilty not only of the particular injury to him whom he deceives, but of the diminution of that confidence which constitutes not only the ease but the existence of society. He that suffers by imposture has too often his virtue more impaired than his fortune. But as it is necessary not to invite robbery by supineness, so it is our duty not to suppress tenderness by suspicion ; it is better to suffer wrong than to do it, and happier to be sometimes cheated than not to trust.
N° 80. SATURDAY, DEC. 22, 1750.
Vides ut alta stet nive candidum
mountain's hoary height,
As Providence has made the human soul an active being, always impatient for novelty, and struggling for something yet unenjoyed with unwearied progression, the world seems to have been eminently adapted to this disposition of the mind'; it is formed to raise expectations by constant vicissitudes, and to obviate satiety by perpetual change.
Wherever we turn our eyes, we find something to revive our curiosity and engage our attention. In the dusk of the morning we watch the rising of the sun, and see the day diversify the clouds and open new prospects in its gradual advance. After a few hours, we see the shades lengthen, and the light decline, till the sky is resigned to a multitude of shining orbs different from each other in magnitude and splendour. The earth varies its appear. ance as we move upon it; the woods offer their shades, and the fields their harvests ; the hill flat
ters with an extensive view, and the valey invites with shelter, fragrance, and flowers.
The poets have numbered among the felicities of the golden age, an exemption from the change of seasons, and a perpetuity of spring; but I am not certain that in this state of imaginary happiness they have made sufficient provision for that insatiable demand of new gratifications, which seems particularly to characterise the nature of
Our sense of delight is in a great measure comparative, and arises at once from the sensations which we feel, and those which we remember : Thus ease after torment is pleasure for a time, and we are very agreeably recreated, when the body, chilled with the weather, is gradually recovering its natural tepidity ; but the joy ceases when we have forgot the cold; we must fall below ease again, if we desire to rise above it, and pure chase new felicity by voluntary pain. It is there. fore not unlikely, that however the fancy may be amused with the description of regions in which no wind is heard but the gentle zephyr, and no scenes are displayed but valleys enamelled with unfading flowers, and woods waving their perennial verdure, we should soon grow weary of uniformity, find our thoughts languish for want of other subjects, call on heaven for our wonted round of seasons, and think ourselves liberally recompensed for the inconveniencies of summer and winter, by new perceptions of the calmness and mildness of the intermediate variations.
Every season has its particular power of striking the mind. The nakedness and asperity of the
winter world always fills the beholder with pensive and profound astonishment ; as the variety of the scene is lessened, its grandeur is increased and the mind is swelled at once by the mingled ideas of the present and the past, of the beauties which have vanished from the eyes, and the waste and desolation that are now before them.
It is observed by Milton, that he who neglects to visit the country in spring, and rejects the pleasures that are then in their first bloom and fragrance, is guilty of sullenness against nature. If we allot different duties to different seasons, he may be charged with equal disobedience to the voice of nature, who looks on the bleak hills and leafless woods, without seriousnessand awe. Spring is the season of gaiety, and winter of terror; in spring, the heart of tranquillity dances to the inelody of the groves, and the eye of benevolence sparkles at the sight of happines and plenty; in the winter, compassion melts at universal calamity, aud the tear of softness starts at the wailings of hunger, and the cries of the creation in distress.
Few minds have much inclination to indulge heaviness and sorrow, nor do I recommend them beyond the degree necessary to maintain in its full vigour that habitual sympathy and tenderness, which in a world of so much misery, is necessary to the ready discharge of our most important duties. The winter therefore is generally cele. brated as the proper season for domestick merrie ment and gaiety. We are seldum invited by the votaries of pleasure to look abroad for any
other purpose, than that we may shrink back with more satisfaction to our coverts, and when we have
heard the howl of the tempest, and felt the gripe of the frost, congratulate each other with more gladness upon a close room, an easy chair, a large fire, and a smoking dinner.
Winter brings natural inducements to jollity and conversation. Differences, we know, are never so effectually laid asleep, as by some common calamity : An enemy unites all to whom he threatens danger. The rigour of winter brings generally to the same fire-side those who, by the opposition of inclinations, or difference of employment, moved in various directions through the other parts of the year ; and when they have met, and find it their mutual interest to remain together, they endear each other by mutual compliances, and often wish for the continuance of the social season, with all its bleakness and all its severities.
To the men of study and imagination the winter is generally the chief time of labour. Gloom and silence produce composure of mind and concentration of ideas; and the priva son of external pleasure naturally causes an effort to find entertainment within. This is the time in which those, whom literature enables to find amusements for themselves, have more than common convictions of their own happiness. When they are condemned by the elements to retirement, and debarred from most of the diversions which are called in to assist the flight of time, they can find new subjects of inquiry, and preserve themselves from that weariness which hangs always flagging upon the vacant mind.
It cannot indeed be expected of all to be poets and philosophers; it is necessary that the greater