I cannot. Then let me recommend it to you, sir, to return into the country, and get a little more information as to these particulars, or, depend on it, you will never be a companion for the great." As it now began to grow dark, we imagined our labours for the day to be over; when a party of men on horseback attracted our notice, whom, from the peculiar smartness of their dress, and the miserable appearance of their horses, I should have been at a loss to have known what to think of, had not you, sir, at one view, informed me, that they were Oxford men going on a scheme to town. I had scarce time to inquire into the nature and purport of their expedition, when the forwardest of them rode up, and ordered us to make haste and let them through, with an air which promised no very quiet acquiescence in a refusal. Upon being told he must first inform us what was his business in London, he replied, Why, what the devil's that to you, my old buck?" Then, turning to the rest of his party, who by dint of whipping and spurring were now come up, exclaimed, "Here, Careless, is a damn'd quiz won't let us go through till we tell him what is our business in town."-"Oh, won't he," answered Careless, "we'll see that presently.""Damn him, let's row him, Racket," exclaimed 66 a third; upon which they unanimously turned their horses against me, and, with uplifted sticks (none of the smallest), made so desperate an attack, that I was not sorry to wake and find it only a dream. I am, Sir, Yours, &c. THE LOITERER, No. 55, February 13, 1790. No. CXLIII. Sweet is the breath of vernal shower, The bee's collected treasures sweet, GRAY. THERE appears to be no vice to which mankind is subject, but there is also some virtue which is exactly its reverse; thus courage is the opposite to cowardice, modesty to impudence, humility to pride, and integrity to deceitfulness; but it does not always happen, that each virtue is considered amiable in proportion as its opposite vice is deemed detestable. Is it that men love rather to condemn than praise? In other words, that to punish evil with reproach, is more congenial to our nature, than to reward the good with commendation? or, is the world, in general, so good, that, instances of vicious conduct being rare, we seize more eagerly the opportunities of censure than applause? I am led to this train of thought by having frequently observed how different is the treatment of gratitude and ingratitude: the latter is justly execrated as the blackest vice that can disgrace the human breast. "Ingratitude," says Shak speare, "is as if this mouth should tear this hand for feeding it;" yet its opposite, virtue, is seldom honoured with the "meed of praise; and the most generous service that a man may render to his benefactor, is damped by the cold and chilling remark, "that he has only done his duty." If, in all the occurrences of our responsibility, we could ensure ourselves this seemingly scanty pittance of reward, we might pass through life with satisfaction, and meet even death without fear; but while so few can boast that they have done their duty, it is invidious to withdraw our warm applause from those whose conduct may deserve it. Great opportunities of exercising virtue do not present themselves every day : but our gratitude can never long remain inactive; but may remind us of benefits received, and obligations due. The truly pious man will never retire to rest, or wake from sleep, but with thanksgiving to that Being, who dispenses happiness with life, and makes adversity itself a source of future blessing. Ingratitude is a constant subject of complaint with all mankind; and this, I fear, proceeds from their being more sensible of the benefits conferred by them, than of those which they receive. If a man do a good office, he never forgets that he has done it, he never sees the person whom he has obliged, but with a self-congratulation of applause; on the contrary, if he receive an obligation from another, he may express a sense of gratitude, at first, with fervour perhaps unfeigned; but time so moderates the ardour of this sense, that he at length forgets his benefactor, and even views him with indignation if he but discontinue for a while his wonted favours. My friend Aimwell complained to me of the ungrateful treatment he suffered from the tradesmen of the neighbouring market-town. The grocer, who at first bowed to the earth with gratitude for the honour of ranking the squire amongst his customers; because he occasionally supplied the Hall with certain petty articles: now that he furnishes almost every thing, mutters to the steward, because the tea used in the family is bought elsewhere. And the butcher, who supplies the house with meat, claims the liberty of coursing, when he pleases, in the park and fields adjoining: and though he owes his existence, as a tradesman, to the squire, yet he resents (as publicly as he dares) the message of the keeper, to remove his sports to greater distance: forgetful of the constant debt of gratitude, he considers as an injury, the refusal of that pri |