of a superior, at the expense of conscience or honour. As to the question, Who are our superiors? I shall endeavour to ascertain them, when I come, in the second place, to mention our behaviour to our equals. The first instruction on this head being carefully to consider who are such; every little superiority of fortune or profession being too apt to intoxicate men's minds, and elevate them in their own opinion, beyond their merit or pretensions. Men are superior to each other in this our country by title, by birth, by rank in profession, and by age; very little, if any, being to be allowed to fortune, though so much is generally exacted by it, and commonly paid to it. Mankind never appear to me in a more despicable light than when I see them, by a simple as well as mean servility, voluntarily concurring in the adoration of riches, without the least benefit or prospect from them. Respect and deference are perhaps justly demandable of the obliged, and may be, with some reason at least, from expectation, paid to the rich and liberal from the necessitous; but that men should be allured by the glittering of wealth only to feed the insolent pride of those who will not in return feed their hunger; that the sordid niggard should find any sacrifices on the altar of his vanity seems to arise from a blinder idolatry, and a more bigoted and senseless superstition, than any which the sharp eyes of priests have discovered in the human mind.

All gentlemen, therefore, who are not raised above each other by title, birth, rank in profession, age, or actual obligation, being to be considered as equals, let us take some lessons for their behaviour to each other in public, from the following examples; in which we shall discern as well what we are to select, as what we are to avoid. Authades is so absolutely abandoned to his own humour, that he never gives it up on any occasion. If Seraphina herself, whose charms one would imagine

should infuse alacrity into the limbs of a cripple sooner than the Bath waters, was to offer herself for his partner, he would answer, he never danced, even though the ladies lost their ball by it. Nor doth this denial arise from incapacity; for he was in his youth an excellent dancer, and still retains sufficient knowledge of the art, and sufficient abilities in his limbs to practise it; but from an affectation of gravity, which he will not sacrifice to the eagerest desire of others. Dyskolus hath the same aversion to cards; and though competently skilled in all games, is by no importunities to be prevailed on to make a third at ombre, or a fourth at whist and quadrille. He will suffer any company to be disappointed of their amusement, rather than submit to pass an hour or two a little disagreeably to himself. The refusal of Philautus is not so general; he is very ready to engage, provided you will indulge him in his favourite game, but it is impossible to persuade him to any other. I should add, both these are men of fortune, and the consequences of loss or gain, at the rate they are desired to engage, very trifling and inconsiderable to them.

The rebukes these people sometimes meet with, are no more equal to their deserts than the honour paid to Charistus, the benevolence of whose mind scarce permits him to indulge his own will, unless by accident. Though neither his age nor understanding incline him to dance, nor will admit his receiving any pleasure from it, yet would he caper a whole evening, rather than a fine young lady should lose an opportunity of displaying her charms by the several genteel and amiable attitudes which this exercise affords the skilful of that sex. And though cards are not adapted to his temper, he never once baulked the inclinations of others on that account.

But as there are many who will not in the least instance mortify their humour to purchase the satisfaction

of all mankind, so there are some who make no scruple of satisfying their own pride and vanity, at the expence of the most cruel mortification of others. Of this kind is Agroicus, who seldom goes to an assembly, but he affronts half his acquaintance, by overlooking or disregarding them.

As this is a very common offence, and indeed much more criminal, both in its cause and effect, than is generally imagined, I shall examine it very minutely; and I doubt not but to make it appear, that there is no behaviour (to speak like a philosopher) more contemptible, nor, in a civil sense, more detestable, than his.

The first ingredient in this composition is pride, which, according to the doctrine of some, is the universal passion. There are others who consider it as the foible of great minds; and others again, who will have it to be the very foundation of greatness; and, perhaps, it may of that greatness which we have endeavoured to expose in many parts of these works; but to real greatness, which is the union of a good heart with a good head, it is almost diametrically opposite, as it generally proceeds from the depravity of both, and almost certainly from the badness of the latter. Indeed, a little observation will shew us, that fools are the most addicted to this vice; and a little reflection will teach us, that it is incompatible with true understanding. Accordingly we see, that while the wisest of men have constantly lamented the imbecility and imperfection of their own nature, the meanest and weakest have been trumpeting forth their own excellences, and triumphing in their own sufficiency.

Pride may, I think, be properly defined, the pleasure we feel in contemplating our own superior merit, on comparing it with that of others. That it arises from this supposed superiority is evident; for however great

you admit a man's merit to be, if all men were equal to him, there would be no room for pride. Now if it stop here, perhaps, there is no enormous harm in it, or at least, no more than is common to all other folly; every species of which is always liable to produce every species of mischief; folly I fear it is; for should the man estimate rightly on this occasion, and the balance should fairly turn on his side in this particular instance; should he be indeed a great orator, poet, general; should he be more wise, witty, learned, young, rich, healthy, or in whatever instance he may excel one, or many, or all; yet, if he examine himself thoroughly, will he find no reason to abate his pride? is the quality, in which he is so eminent, so generally or justly esteemed? is it so entirely his own; doth he not rather owe his superiority to the defects of others, than to his own perfection? or, lastly, can he find in no part of his character a weakness which may counterpoise this merit, and which as justly, at least, threatens him with shame, as this entices him to pride? I fancy if such a scrutiny was made (and nothing so ready as good sense to make it), a proud man would be as rare, as in reality he is a ridiculous monster. But suppose a man, on this comparison, is (as may sometimes happen) a little partial to himself, the harm is to himself, and he becomes only ridiculous from it. If I prefer my excellence in poetry to Pope or Young; if an inferior actor should, in his opinion, exceed Quin or Garrick; or a sign-post painter set himself above the inimitable Hogarth; we become only ridiculous by our vanity: and the persons themselves, who are thus humbled in the comparison, would laugh with more reason than any other. Pride therefore, hitherto, seems an inoffensive weakness only, and entitles a man to no worse an appellation than that of a fool; but it will not stop here; though fool be

perhaps no desirable term, the proud man will deserve worse; he is not contented with the admiration he pays himself; he now becomes arrogant, and requires the same respect and preference from the world; for pride, though the greatest of flatterers, is by no means a profitable servant to itself; it resembles the parson of the parish more than the squire, and lives rather on the tithes, oblations, and contributions it collects from others, than on its own demesne. As pride therefore is seldom without arrogance, so is this never to be found without insolence. The arrogant man must be insolent, in order to attain his own ends; and to convince and remind men of the superiority he affects, will naturally, by ill words, actions, and gestures, endeavour to throw the despised person at as much distance as possible from him. Hence proceeds that supercilious look, and all those visible indignities with which men behave in public, to those whom they fancy their inferiors. Hence the very notable custom of deriding and often denying the nearest relations, friends, and acquaintance, in poverty and distress; lest we should anywise be levelled with the wretches we despise, either in their own imagination, or in the conceit of any who should behold familiarities pass

between us.

But besides pride, folly, arrogance, and insolence, there is another simple (which vice never willingly leaves out of any composition), and this is ill-nature. A goodnatured man may indeed (provided he is a fool) be proud, but arrogant and insolent he cannot be; unless we will allow to such a still greater degree of folly, and ignorance of human nature; which may indeed entitle them to forgiveness, in the benign language of scripture, because they know not what they do.

For when we come to consider the effect of this behaviour on the person who suffers it, we may perhaps