therefore fwarms with writers whofe wifh is not to be

studied, but to be read.

No fpecies of literary men has lately been fo much multiplied as the writers of news. Not many years ago the nation was content with one gazette; but now we have not only in the metropolis papers for every morning and every evening, but al moft every large town has its weekly hiftorian, who regularly circulates his periodical intelligence, and fills the villages of his district with conjectures on the events of war, and with debates on the true intereft of Europe.

To write news in its perfection requires fuch a combination of qualities, that a man completely fitted for the task is not always to be found. In Sir Henry Wotton's jocular definition, An ambassador is faid to be a man of virtue fent abroad to tell lies for the advantage of his country; a news-writer is a man without virtue, who writes lies at home for his own profit. To thefe compofitions is required neither genius nor knowledge, neither industry nor sprightliness; but contempt of fhame and indifference to truth are abfolutely neceffary. He who by a long familiarity with infamy has obtained thefe qualities, may confidently tell to-day what he intends to contradict tomorrow; he may affirm fearlefsly what he knows that he shall be obliged to recant, and may write letters from Amfterdam or Drefden to himself.

In a time of war the nation is always of one mind, eager to hear fomething good of themfelves and ill of the enemy. At this time the task of newswriters is eafy they have nothing to do but to tell that a battle is expected, and afterwards that a battle

has been fought, in which we and our friends, whether conquering or conquered, did all, and our enemies did nothing.

Scarcely any thing awakens attention like a tale of cruelty. The writer of news never fails in the intermiffion of action to tell how the enemies murdered · children and ravished virgins; and, if the scene of action be fomewhat diftant, fcalps half the inhabitants of a province.

Among the calamities of war may be justly numbered the diminution of the love of truth, by the falfehoods which intereft dictates, and credulity en courages. A peace will equally leave the warrior and relator of wars deftitute of employment; and I know not whether more is to be dreaded from streets filled with foldiers accustomed to plunder, or from garrets filled with fcribblers accustomed to lie.

NUMB

NUMB. 31. SATURDAY, November 18, 1758.

M

ANY moralifts have remarked, that pride

has of all human vices the widest dominion, appears in the greatest multiplicity of forms, and lies hid under the greatest variety of difguifes; of difguifes, which, like the moon's veil of brightness, are both its luftre and its shade, and betray it to others, though they hide it from ourselves.

It is not my intention to degrade pride from this pre-eminence of mifchief; yet I know not whether idleness may not maintain a very doubtful and obftinate competition.

There are fome that profefs idlenefs in its full dignity, who call themselves the Idle, as Bufiris in the play calls himself the Proud; who boaft that they do nothing, and thank their ftars that they have nothing to do; who fleep every night till they can fleep no longer, and rife only that exercife may enable them to fleep again; who prolong the reign of darkness by double curtains, and never fee the fun but to tell him how they hate his beams; whose whole labour is to vary the pofture of indulgence, and whofe day differs from their night but as a couch or chair differs from a bed.

These are the true and open votaries of idleness, for whom the weaves the garlands of poppies, and into whofe cup the pours the waters of oblivion; who exift in a state of unruffled ftupidity, forgetting

and

and forgotten; who have long ceafed to live, and at whose death the furvivors can only fay, that they have ceased to breathe.

But idleness predominates in many lives where it is not fufpected; for, being a vice which terminates in itself, it may be enjoyed without injury to others; and it is therefore not watched like fraud, which endangers property; or like pride, which naturally seeks its gratifications in another's inferiority. Idleness is a filent and peaceful quality, that neither raises envy by oftentation, nor hatred by oppofition; and therefore nobody is bufy to cenfure or detect it.

As pride fometimes is hid under humility, idlenefs is often covered by turbulence and hurry. He that neglects his known duty and real employment, naturally endeavours to crowd his mind with fomething that may bar out the remembrance of his own folly, and does any thing but what he ought to do with eager diligence, that he may keep himself in his own favour.

Some are always in a ftate of preparation, occupied in previous measures, forming plans, accumulating materials, and providing for the main affair. These are certainly under the fecret power of idlenefs. Nothing is to be expected from the workman whofe tools are for ever to be fought. I was once told by a great mafter, that no man ever excelled in painting, who was eminently curious about pencils and colours.

There are others to whom idlenefs dictates another expedient, by which life may be paffed unprofitably away without the tedioufnefs of many vacant hours.

The

The art is, to fill the day with petty bufinefs, to have always fomething in hand which may raise curiofity, but not folicitude, and keep the mind in a state of action, but not of labour.

This art has for many years been practifed by my old friend Sober with wonderful fuccefs. Sober is a man of strong defires and quick imagination, fo exactly balanced by the love of ease, that they can feldom ftimulate him to any difficult undertaking; they have, however, so much power, that they will not fuffer him to lie quite at reft; and though they do not make him fufficiently useful to others, they make him at least weary of himself.

Mr. Sober's chief pleasure is conversation; there is no end of his talk or his attention; to fpeak or to hear is equally pleafing; for he ftill fancies that he is teaching or learning fomething, and is free for the time from his own reproaches.

But there is one time at night when he muft go home, that his friends may fleep; and another time in the morning, when all the world agrees to fhut out interruption. These are the moments of which poor Sober trembles at the thought. But the mifery of these tiresome intervals he has many means of alleviating. He has perfuaded himself, that the manual arts are undeservedly overlooked; he has observed in many trades the effects of close thought, and just ratiocination. From fpeculation he proceeded to practice, and fupplied himself with the tools of a carpenter, with which he mended his coalbox very fuccessfully, and which he ftill continues to employ, as he finds occafion.

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