very modern performances, they seldom fail of drawing the attention of the public. I have known nastiness attended with very happy effects, inasmuch as it frequently supplies the want of wit, and is sure of exciting the laugh in the genteelest companies. That the ladies are not displeased at it, is easy to be accounted for; nastiness is a stranger to them, and therefore entitled to their respect.

But if an author unfortunately wants talents for this kind of writing, there is nothing left for him that I know of, but to die as fast as he can, that his works may survive him. But the disadvantage even in this case is, that common and natural deaths are but very little talked of; so that a man may give up the ghost to no manner of purpose: it is therefore most earnestly to be recommended to all authors who are ambitious of sudden and lasting fame, that they set about some device to get themselves hanged. The sessions paper is more universally read than any other of the papers, and the deaths it records are more authentic and interesting. A good dying-speech would be an excellent preface to an author's works, and make every body purchasers. An advertisement like the following could never fail of exciting curiosity.

This day are published, the political, moral, and entertaining works of Thomas Crambo, Esq.; now under sentence of death in Newgate, for a rape and murder.'

Under these circumstances, indeed, an author may taste of fame before death, and take his leap from the cart with this comfortable assurance, that he has embraced the only opportunity in his power of making a provision for his family.

If it should be asked, why the having committed a rape or a murder should raise the curiosity of the public to peruse the author's works? the answer is,

that people who do spirited things, are supposed to write in a spirited manner. It is for this reason that we are so fond of the histories of warriors and great men, who, though they have happened to escape the gallows, have done something every day to show that they deserved it.

It is indeed as much to be wondered at as lamented, that while every author knows how essential it is both to his fame and the support of his family, to get himself hanged, we do not see the words EXECUTED AT TYBURN, always subjoined to his name in the title-page of his works. I hope it is not that authors have less regard for their families than other men, that this is not usually the case; for as to the love of life, we cannot suppose them to be possessed of it in an equal degree with other people; nor can they possibly be ignorant, that the world will have a particular satisfaction in hearing that they have made so desirable an end.

As for myself, I am an old man, and have not spirit enough to engage in any of those enterprises that would entitle my works to universal esteem. It was expected, indeed, that when I declared in my first paper against meddling with religion, I would avow myself an atheist in the second; but this is a discovery that I have not hitherto thought proper to make: nor have I, by any strokes of personal abuse, lewdness, or nastiness, endeavoured to introduce my papers into every family. And to confess the truth, I have at present no designs of committing any capital offence, being, as I said before, too old to ravish, and having too tender a disposition to commit a murder. I shall therefore content myself with going on in the old way, and leave my writings to shift for themselves, without deputing the Ordinary of Newgate to publish an account of the birth, parentage, and education, the trial, confession, con

demnation, and execution of the author, together with a catalogue of the works he has left behind him.

No. 174. THURSDAY, APRIL 29, 1756.

THE following letter has so genuine and natural an air, that I cannot doubt of its coming from a correspondent who has experienced every circumstance he has described; I shall therefore lay it before my readers, without the alteration of a single word.

SIR,

TO MR. FITZ-ADAM.

Among the variety of subjects with which you have entertained and instructed the public, I do not remember that you have any where touched upon the folly and madness of ambition; which, for the benefit of those who are dissatisfied with their present situations, I beg leave to illustrate by giving the history of my own life.

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I am the son of a younger brother of a good family, who at his decease left me a little fortune of a hundred pounds a year. I was put early to Eton school, where I learnt Latin and Greek, from whence I went to the university, where I learnt totally to forget them. I came to my fortune while I was at college; and having no inclination to follow any profession, I removed myself to town, and lived for some time, as most young gentlemen do, by spending four times my income. But it was my happiness, before it was too late, to fall in love, and

to marry a very amiable young creature, whose fortune was just sufficient to repair the breach madé in my own. With this agreeable companion I retreated to the country, and endeavoured, as well as I was able, to square my wishes to my circumstances. In this endeavour I succeeded so well, that, except a few private hankerings after a little more than I possessed, and now and then a sigh when a coachand-six happened to drive by me in my walks, I was a very happy man.

I can truly assure you, Mr. Fitz-Adam, that though our family economy was not much to be boasted of, and in consequence of it, we were frequently driven to great streights and difficulties, I experienced more real satisfaction in this humble situation than I have ever done since in more enviable circumstances. We were sometimes, indeed, a little in debt; but when money came in, the pleasure of discharging what we owed was more than an equivalent for the pain it put us to: and though the narrowness of our circumstances subjected us to many cares and anxieties, it served to keep the body in action as well as the mind: for as our garden was somewhat large, and required more hands to keep it in order than we could afford to hire, we laboured daily in it ourselves, and drew health from our necessities.

I had a little boy, who was the delight of my heart, and who probably might have been spoilt by nursing, if the attention of his parents had not been otherwise employed. His mother was naturally of a sickly constitution; but the affairs of her family, as they engrossed all her thoughts, gave her no time for complaint. The ordinary troubles of life, which to those who have nothing else to think of are almost insupportable, were less terrible to us than to persons in easier circumstances; for it is a

certain truth, however your readers may please to receive it, that where the mind is divided between many cares, the anxiety is lighter than where there is only one to contend with. Or even in the happiest situation, in the midst of ease, health, and affluence, the mind is generally ingenious at tormenting itself, losing the immediate enjoyment of those invaluable blessings, by the painful suggestion that they are too great for continuance.

These are the reflections that I have made since; for I do not attempt to deny that I sighed frequently for an addition to my fortune. The death of a distant relation, which happened five years after our marriage, gave me this addition, and made me for a time the happiest man living. My income was now increased to six hundred a year, and I hoped, with a little economy, to be able to make a figure with it. But the ill health of my wife, which in less easy circumstances had not touched me so nearly, was now constantly in my thoughts, and soured all my enjoyments. The consciousness too of having such an estate to leave my boy, made me so anxious to preserve him, that instead of suffering him to run at pleasure where he pleased, and to grow hardy by exercise, I almost destroyed him by confinement. We now did nothing in our garden, because we were in circumstances to have it kept by others; but as air and exercise were necessary for our healths, we resolved to abridge ourselves in some unnecessary articles, and to set up an equipage. This in time brought with it a train of expenses, which we had neither prudence to foresee, nor courage to prevent. For as it enabled us to extend the circuit of our visits, it greatly increased our acquaintance, and subjected us to the necessity of making continual entertainments at home, in return for all those which we were invited to abroad.

VOL. III.

R