philosophy is enabled to condemn ignorance; and ignorance is quite satisfied with itself in ridiculing the vanity of human wisdom.

An attempt has lately been made to rescue the lower orders of people from their extreme of ignorance, by the appropriating one day in the week to the instilling of religious knowledge into the minds of the young, and exciting in them a desire of intel lectual improvement. For the prosecution of this plan, sermons have been preached, subscriptions opened, and every mode of persuasion and encouragement been adopted, that wealth, learning, and benevolence could suggest. Yet to these laudable designs there have been found many enemies. Armed with the fallacies of logic, they have with sufficient ingenuity demonstrated to us, that the ignorance of the multitude is a public good; that to the "hewers of wood, and drawers of water," learning is injurious or unprofitable; and that the husbandman and the mechanic have other objects on which their attention is more properly engaged than wisdom and science. All the arguments which were first produced to restrain the arrogance of the overwise, are made use of to reconcile ignorance to its darkness, and to hide the light from those, who, having never enjoyed it, are little solicitous to acquire what they have so long been able to live without. Many of these reasoners have answered some private end. Some have discovered the skill with which they can argue in a bad cause; and others, under the sanction of such reasoning, have indulged their avarice, by sparing their money. But let him who would prove that ignorance is either a blessing or a virtue, remember, that he

advances the position of a wicked man, which he must support with the arguments of a fool. The same reason which informs us, that to make such an attempt is unjust, adds the comfortable assurance, that to succeed in it is impossible.

There is, perhaps, some cause of complaint against the people themselves; who appear too little anxious for their own welfare, who neglect to catch the opportunity which presents itself of emerging from their darkness, and by their inattention thwart the designs of those who interest themselves in their behalf, or render the success of them partial and limited. There is, I believe, in the minds of the lower class, an almost universal prevalence of inclination to receive instruction from one of their own order. They choose rather to deal with the same person for their cabbage-nets and their Christianity, their pickled pork and their prayers, than receive their religious information from the hands of him whom learning has made more able to inform them, and who is more likely to be honest, if it be only that he has less tempta. tion to be otherwise. They have no value for what they do not understand, and no inclination to understand what those have taught them is unprofitable, whose interest it is to flatter their ignorance and indulge their prejudices.

There are many persons whom betrayed confidence or disappointed expectation have driven from the world, to indulge in private their illfounded resentment against the sons of men. They leave the haunts and "the busy hum of men," to brood in solitude over their discontents; they continue to live in the studious and constant neglect of

the duties they owe to society, and endeavour, by perseverance, to persuade themselves they can despise mankind. Not unfrequently to this compound of wickedness and folly do they give the title of philosophy. It is the peculiar tendency of such philosophers to take upon themselves the office of scrutinizing the springs of human action, with no other intent than to discover their imperfections. They employ their penetration, with invidious accuracy and malicious eagerness, to detect vices which were hidden from the world; they exhibit them with the ostentation of a discovery; they exaggerate them with every art and expedient their invention can suggest or their sagacity approve. This is the philosophical system of many a hermit. But be the success of such men's labours what it may, they will be so unfortunate as to find virtue enough in the world to defeat their hopes, and happiness sufficient to insure their misery.

Upon the whole, perhaps, the philosophy of a recluse has little claim to our encouragement. That which is sometimes unfriendly, and generally useless, is seldom commendable. The knowledge which is cultivated, and not called into use for the public good, confers little benefit upon man ; and the religion which is exercised in secret, with whatever fervour of devotion, loses much of its efficacy when it hides such an example from the world.

It is too often that these recluse and splenetic philosophers, whom I have mentioned, denounce their comprehensive anathemas against the sons of men, and condemn the whole species for the crime of an individual.

It is, perhaps, a dangerous indulgence, by which we ever allow ourselves to declaim in general terms against the depravity of human nature, and to give way to the too frequent tendency of our hearts, when we are irritated by particular offences, to say in our haste, "All men are liars."

It might not be amiss for those who are solicia tous to supply their neighbours on every occasion with the apposite precepts of proverbial wisdom, to be cautious lest they become more desirous of indulging their spleen than their benevolence, more fond of correcting vice than reforming it, and lest they find more pleasure in the detection of evil than in the bringing good to light.

MONRO.

No. XXXII.

SATURDAY, OCTOBER 20, 1787.

The short and simple annals of the poor.-Gray.

SIR,

To the Author of the Olla Podrida.

If you should esteem this little tale worth a place in your amusing publication, you will probably hear more from him, who is yours,

A WANDERER.

BEING on a tour to the North, I was one evening arrested in my progress at the entrance of a small

hamlet, by breaking the fore-wheel of my phaeton. This accident rendering it impracticable for me to proceed to the next town, from which I was now sixteen miles distant, I directed my steps to a small cottage, at the door of which, in a woodbine arbour, sat a man of about sixty, who was solacing himself with a pipe. In the front of his house was affixed a small board, which I conceived to contain an intimation, that travellers might there be accommodated. Addressing myself therefore to the old man, I requested his assistance, which he readily granted; but on my mentioning an intention of remaining at his house all night, he regretted that it was not in his power to receive me, and the more so, as there was no inn in the village. It was not till now that I discovered my error concerning the board over the door, which contained a notification, that there was taught that useful art, of which, if we credit Mrs. Baddeley's Memoirs, a certain noble lord was so grossly ignorant. In short, my friend proved to be the schoolmaster, and probably secretary to the hamlet. Affairs were in this situation when the vicar made his appearance. He was one of the most venerable figures I had ever seen; his timesilvered locks shaded his temple, whilst the lines. of misfortune were, alas! but too visible in his countenance. Time had softened, but could not efface them. On seeing my broken equipage, he addressed me; and when he began to speak, his countenance was illumined by a smile. "I presume, sir," said he, "that the accident you have just experienced will render it impossible for you to proceed. Should that be the case, you will be much distressed for lodgings, the place affording no ac