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human ftations, that of a foldier in time of peace. I wandered with the regiment as the quarters were changed, without opportunity for bufinefs, tafte for knowledge, or money for pleasure. Wherever I came, I was for fome time a stranger without curiofity, and afterwards an acquaintance without friendfhip. Having nothing to hope in these places of fortuitous refidence, I refigned my conduct to chance; I had no intention to offend, I had no ambition to delight.

I fuppofe every man is fhocked when he hears how frequently foldiers are wishing for war. The wifh is not always fincere; the greater part are content with fleep and lace, and counterfeit an ardour which they do not feel; but those who defire it most, are neither prompted by malevolence nor patriotism; they neither pant for laurels, nor delight in blood; but long to be delivered from the tyranny of idleness, and restored to the dignity of active beings.

I never imagined myself to have more courage than other men, yet was often involuntarily wishing for a war, but of a war at that time I had no profpect; and being enabled, by the death of an uncle, to live without my pay, I quitted the army, and refolved to regulate my own motions.

I was pleased, for a while, with the novelty of independance, and imagined that I had now found what évery man defires. My time was in my own power, and my habitation was wherever my choice fhould fix it. I amufed myself for two years, in paffing from place to place, and comparing one convenience with another; but being at last ashamed of enquiry, VOL. VIII.

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and weary of uncertainty, I purchased a house, and established my family.

I now expected to begin to be happy, and was happy for a fhort time with that expectation. But I foon perceived my fpirits to fubfide, and my imagination to grow dark. The gloom thickened every day round me. I wondered by what malignant power my peace was blafted, till I discovered at laft that I had nothing to do.

Time, with all its celerity, moves flowly to him, whose whole employment is to watch its flight. I am forced upon a thousand shifts to enable me to endure the tedioufnefs of the day. I rife when I can fleep no longer, and take my morning walk; I fee what I have feen before, and return. I fit down, and perfuade myself that I fit down to think, find it impoffible to think without a subject, rife up to enquire after news, and endeavour to kindle in myself an artificial impatience for intelligence of events, which will never extend any confequence to me, but that a few minutes they abstract me from myself.

When I have heard any thing that may gratify curiofity, I am bufied, for a while, in running to relate it. I haften from one place of concourfe to another, delighted with my own importance, and proud to think that I am doing fomething, though I know that another hour would fpare my labour.

I had once a round of vifits, which I paid very regularly, but I have now tired most of my friends. When I have fat down I forget to rife, and have more than once overheard one afking another when I would be gone, I perceive the company tired, I obferve

obferve the mistress of the family whispering to her fervants, I find orders given to put off business till to-morrow, I see the watches frequently inspected, and yet cannot withdraw to the vacuity of folitude, or venture myfelf in my own company.

Thus burthenfome to myfelf and others, I form many schemes of employment which may make my life useful or agreeable, and exempt me from the ignominy of living by fufferance. This new course I have long defigned, but have not yet begun. The present moment is never proper for the change, but there is always a time in view when all obftacles will be removed, and I fhall furprize all that know me with a new diftribution of my time. Twenty years have past fince I have refolved a complete amendment, and twenty years have been loft in delays. Age is coming upon me; and I fhould look back with rage and despair upon the wafte of life, but that I am now beginning in earnest to begin a reformation.

I am, SIR,

Your humble fervant,

DICK LINGER.

NUMB. 22. SATURDAY, September 16, 1758.

SİR,

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To the IDLER.

SI was paffing lately under one of the gates of this city, I was ftruck with horror by a rueful cry, which fummoned me to remember the

poor debtors. The wisdom and juftice of the English laws are, by Englishmen at leaft, loudly celebrated; but scarcely the most zealous admirers of our inftitutions can think that law wife, which, when men are capable of work, obliges them to beg; or juft, which expofes the liberty of one to the paffions of another.

The profperity of a people is proportionate to the number of hands and minds ufefully employed. To the community, fedition is a fever, corruption is a gangrene, and idleness an atrophy. Whatever body, and whatever fociety, waftes more than it acquires, muft gradually decay; and every being that continues to be fed, and ceafes to labour, takes away fomething from the publick stock.

The confinement, therefore, of any man in the floth and darkness of a prison, is a loss to the nation, and no gain to the creditor. For of the multitudes who are pining in thofe cells of mifery, a very small part is suspected of any fraudulent act by which they retain what belongs to others. The reft are imprifoned by the wantonnefs of pride, the malignity of revenge, or the acrimony of disappointed expectation.

If thofe, who thus rigorously exercife the power which the law has put into their hands, be asked, why they continue to imprifon those whom they know to be unable to pay them; one will answer,' that his debtor once lived better than himself; another, that his wife looked above her neighbours, and his children went in filk clothes to the dancingfchool; and another, that he pretended to be a joker and a wit. Some will reply, that if they were in debt, they should meet with the fame treatment; fome, that they owe no more than they can pay, and need therefore give no account of their actions. Some will confefs their refolution, that their debtors fhall rot in jail; and fome will difcover, that they hope, by cruelty, to wring the payment from their friends.

The end of all civil regulations is to fecure private happiness from private malignity; to keep individuals from the power of one another; but this end is apparently neglected, when a man, irritated with lofs, is allowed to be the judge of his own cause, and to affign the punishment of his own pain; when the diftinction between guilt and happiness, between cafualty and design, is entrusted to eyes blind with intereft, to understandings depraved by refentment.

Since poverty is punished among us as a crime, it ought at least to be treated with the fame lenity as other crimes; the offender ought not to languish at the will of him whom he has offended, but to be allowed fome appeal to the juftice of his country. There can be no reason why any debtor fhould be imprisoned, but that he may be compelled to payment; and a term should therefore be fixed, in which

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