THE RAMBLE R. NUMB. 71. TUESDAY, November 20, 1750. Vivere quod propero pauper, nec inutilis annis True, fir, to live I hafte, your pardon give, MART. For tell me, who makes hafte enough to live? F. Lewis. ANY words and fentences are fo frequently MA heard in the mouths of men, that a fu perficial observer is inclined to believe, that they must contain fome primary principle, fome great rule of action, which it is proper always to have present to the attention, and by which the use of every hour is to be adjusted. Yet, if we confider the conduct of those fententious philofophers, it will often be found, that they repeat these aphorifms, merely because they have fomewhere heard them, because they have nothing else to fay, or because they think veneration gained by fuch appearances of wisdom, but that no ideas are annexed to the words, VOL. VI. and B and that according to the old blunder of the followers of Ariftotle, their fouls are mere pipes or organs, which tranfinit founds, but do not underftand them. Of this kind is the well known and well attested pofition, that life is fhort, which may be heard among mankind by an attentive auditor, many times a day, but which never yet within my reach of obfervation left any impreffion upon the mind; and perhaps, if my readers will turn their thoughts back upon their old friends, they will find it difficult to call a single man to remembrance, who appeared to know that life was fhort till he was about to lose it. It is obfervable that Horace, in his account of the characters of men, as they are diversified by the various influence of time, remarks, that the old man is dilator, fpe longus, given to procastination, and inclined to extend his hopes to a great diftance. So far are we generally from thinking what we often fay of the fhortness of life, that at the time when it is neceffarily fhortest, we form projects which we delay to execute, indulge fuch expectations as nothing but a long train of events can gratify, and fuffer those paffions to gain upon us, which are only excufable in the prime of life. These reflections were lately excited in my mind, by an evening's converfation with my friend Profpero, who, at the age of fifty-five, has bought an eftate, and is now contriving to difpofe and cultivate it with uncommon elegance. His great pleasure is to walk among ftately trees, and lie mufing in the heat of noon under their fhade; he is therefore maturely confidering how he fhall difpofe his walks and |