of the ground was obscured by an undistinguished mass of brush-wood. I enlarged the extent of my arable ground, by opening fields to the sun, which had lain hid under a matting of furze and brambles. In the formation of a fish-pond, I have drained an unwholesome fen, and converted a quagmire into a luxuriant meadow. At the end of the first year, my tutor in husbandry gave me hopes that the succeeding crop would double the returns which the farm had ever afforded under his management; and the event justified his prediction. How delightful, my dear friend, was it for me to perceive that the taste of my Lucinda seemed equally adapted with my own to our new mode of life! Far from inheriting that instability of mind with which her sex is generally reproached, her ardour was unabated, and every thought was centered in the cares of her household and the education of her children. Completely engaged in these domestic duties, while I superintended the labours of the fields and garden, we had no other anxiety than what tended to give a zest to our enjoyments. In place of feeling time lie heavy on our hands, we rose with the sun, and found the day too short for its occupations.

'We had now learned, by experience, how very moderate an income is sufficient to purchase all the real comforts of life. At the conclusion of the third year, on summing up our accounts, we found a clear saving of 400l. This sum we might, perhaps, without any breach of what the world terms honesty, have considered as our own. But, thank God! slaves as we had been to the world, we had better notions of moral rectitude. It was unfit that we should accumulate for ourselves, while there existed a single person that could say, we had done him wrong. We set apart this sum as the beginning of a fund for the payment of that equitable claim which yet remained

to our creditors; and it is now some years since we could boast of having faithfully discharged the last farthing of our debts. The pleasure attendant on this reflection you may conceive, but I cannot describe. How poor in comparision to it, are the selfish gratifications of vanity, the mean indulgence of pampered appetites, and all the train of luxurious enjoyments, when bought at the expense of conscience!

'Since my residence here, I have more than once made a visit to town on an errand of business. I there see the same scenes as formerly; and others intoxicated, like myself, with the same giddy pleasures. To me the magical delusion is at an end; and I wonder where lay the charm which once had such a power of fascination. But one species of pleasure I have enjoyed from these visits, which I cannot omit to mention; the affectionate welcome I have received from the most respectable of my old acquaintance. I read from their countenances their approbation of my conduct; and, in their kindness mingled with respect, I have a reward valuable in proportion to the worth of those who bestow it. Nor is the pleasure less which I derive from the regard and esteem of my honest neighbours in the country. Of their characters I had formed a very unfair estimate, when seen through the medium of my own distempered mind; and in their society my Lucinda and I enjoy, if not the refined pleasures of polished intercourse, the more valuable qualities of sincerity, probity, and good sense.

Such, Sir, for these fourteen years past, has been my manner of life; nor do I believe I shall ever exchange it for another. The term of my lease has, within that period, been renewed in my own name, and that of my son. If a more active life should be his choice, he is free to pursue it. I should be content with the reflection of having bestowed on him

a better patrimony than I myself enjoyed,—a mind uncorrupted by the prospect of hereditary affluence, and a constitution tempered to the virtuous habits of industry and sobriety.'

"Here Mr. Saintfort made an end of his story. I have given it as nearly as I could in his own words; and judging it to afford an example not unworthy to be recorded, I transmit it in that view to the author of a work which bids fair to pass down to posterity. "I am, SIR, yours, "J. D."

No. 71. SATURDAY, JUNE 10, 1786.

Quærite nunc, habeat quam nostra superbia causam.

OVID. MET. vi. 184.

THERE is no complaint more common than that which is made against the pride of wealth. The claim of superiority which rests upon a circumstance so adventitious as that of suddenly-acquired riches, is universally decried as the insolent pretension of mean and illiberal minds, and is resisted with a greater degree of scorn and indignation, than perhaps any other encroachment of vanity or self-importance.

Yet one might observe in those who are loudest in the censure of this weakness, a certain shame of being poor, which in a great measure justifies the pride of being rich. One may trace this in their affectation of indifference to all those pleasures and conveniences which riches procure, and in the eulogium they often make, in despite of their own real feelings, of the opposite circumstances. When they are at pains to declare how much better the plain dish and home-brewed liquor suits their taste than the highseasoned ragout and the high-priced wine, what is it

but disguising their inability to procure the luxury under the pretence of their preferring its opposite? Poverty, in this case, flies from her own honourable tattered colours, to join the fresh and flaunting standard of wealth; she allows the power of those very external circumstances by which wealth lays claim to a superiority. The dignity of her station should be supported on other grounds: the little value of those external circumstances in which wealth has the advantage, when compared with the virtues and qualities which money cannot buy, when set in competition with that native purity and elevation of mind, which, in the acquisition of wealth, we frequently forfeit, and, in its possession, we frequently destroy.

Both in those who possess riches, and in those who want them, false pretension often defeats itself. It would often be for the honour of wealth if he could lay down his insolence, and for the happiness of poverty if she could smooth her scorn. True benevolence and delicacy would teach both their proper duties, and preserve those cordial charities of life, which, in different stations and in different circumstances, promote alike the comfort of individuals and the general advantage of society.

But it is only over minds of a higher order that external circumstances do not possess a power to push them from that equilibrium in which virtue and happiness reside. Ordinary men will equally feel the inflation of prosperity, and the harshness of a less favourable situation; will in the one case incur the contempt and derision of the world, and in the other experience the grating of a ruffled spirit. Moderation and wisdom would teach the one to procure respect, and the other to attain good humour.

I remember some years ago,—it was during the last war, and it is of no importance that I have for

got the exact date,-being invited to dine at the house of Mr. Draper, one of the most considerable merchants in this country. Mr. Draper, twenty years ago, was not worth a shilling: but, by a course of industry and great intelligence in his profession, he is reported since that time to have realized a very great fortune.

The principal part of our company, I found, upon entering the house, consisted of Sir William Roberts, his Lady, and children. Sir William is a country gentleman, the representative of a very old and respectable family, whose ancestors were once in possession of a great estate; but, partly from a want of economy in some of its proprietors, and partly from the change in manners and the mode of living, it is now dwindled down to an inconsiderable amount. Sir William, however, still feels strongly the pride of ancient family, and is apt to be hurt by the rise of those new men who are but of yesterday, and yet overtop him in wealth.

When I entered the drawing-room the company were pretty generally assembled. Sir William's manner attracted my notice, and I found in it the most finished complaisance and attention. There was a degree of politeness which carried in its oppearance the utmost respect and condescension to Mr. Draper and his family; at the same time there was a formal distance which was calculated to prevent them from using any familiarity with him; and, instead of showing that Sir William really felt high reverence for the company,contained evident marks of his considering himself as much above them. We stoop, as well as rise, with difficulty; 'tis only on even ground that we carry ourselves easily.

Draper's manner was very different. Without being in the least moved by Sir William's formal obeisance, he went on in his usual way, giving a dis-