The Works of Samuel Johnson, Volume 4 | Page 7

moderation, not to lose his
reason in unbounded riot, when they are first put into his power.
Every possession is endeared by novelty; every gratification is
exaggerated by desire. It is difficult not to estimate what is lately
gained above its real value; it is impossible not to annex greater
happiness to that condition from which we are unwillingly excluded,
than nature has qualified us to obtain. For this reason, the remote
inheritor of an unexpected fortune, may be generally distinguished
from those who are enriched in the common course of lineal descent,
by his greater haste to enjoy his wealth, by the finery of his dress, the
pomp of his equipage, the splendour of his furniture, and the luxury of
his table.
A thousand things which familiarity discovers to be of little value, have
power for a time to seize the imagination. A Virginian king, when the
Europeans had fixed a lock on his door, was so delighted to find his
subjects admitted or excluded with such facility, that it was from
morning to evening his whole employment to turn the key. We, among
whom locks and keys have been longer in use, are inclined to laugh at
this American amusement; yet I doubt whether this paper will have a
single reader that may not apply the story to himself, and recollect
some hours of his life in which he has been equally overpowered by the
transitory charms of trifling novelty.
Some indulgence is due to him whom a happy gale of fortune has
suddenly transported into new regions, where unaccustomed lustre
dazzles his eyes, and untasted delicacies solicit his appetite. Let him
not be considered as lost in hopeless degeneracy, though he for a while
forgets the regard due to others, to indulge the contemplation of himself,
and in the extravagance of his first raptures expects that his eye should
regulate the motions of all that approach him, and his opinion be
received as decisive and oraculous. His intoxication will give way to
time; the madness of joy will fume imperceptibly away; the sense of his
insufficiency will soon return; he will remember that the co-operation

of others is necessary to his happiness, and learn to conciliate their
regard by reciprocal beneficence.
There is, at least, one consideration which ought to alleviate our
censures of the powerful and rich. To imagine them chargeable with all
the guilt and folly of their own actions, is to be very little acquainted
with the world.
De l'absolu pouvoir vous ignorez l'yvresse, Et du lache flateur la voix
enchanteresse.
Thou hast not known the giddy whirls of fate, Nor servile flatteries
which enchant the great. MISS A. W.
He that can do much good or harm, will not find many whom ambition
or cowardice will suffer to be sincere. While we live upon the level
with the rest of mankind, we are reminded of our duty by the
admonitions of friends and reproaches of enemies; but men who stand
in the highest ranks of society, seldom hear of their faults; if by any
accident an opprobrious clamour reaches their ears, flattery is always at
hand to pour in her opiates, to quiet conviction, and obtund remorse.
Favour is seldom gained but by conformity in vice. Virtue can stand
without assistance, and considers herself as very little obliged by
countenance and approbation: but vice, spiritless and timorous, seeks
the shelter of crowds, and support of confederacy. The sycophant,
therefore, neglects the good qualities of his patron, and employs all his
art on his weaknesses and follies, regales his reigning vanity, or
stimulates his prevalent desires.
Virtue is sufficiently difficult with any circumstances, but the difficulty
is increased when reproof and advice are frighted away. In common life,
reason and conscience have only the appetites and passions to
encounter; but in higher stations, they must oppose artifice and
adulation. He, therefore, that yields to such temptations, cannot give
those who look upon his miscarriage much reason for exultation, since
few can justly presume that from the same snare they should have been
able to escape.

No. 173. TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 1751
Quo virtus, quo ferat error. HOR. De Ar. Poet. 308.
Now say, where virtue stops, and vice begins?
AS any action or posture, long continued, will distort and disfigure the

limbs; so the mind likewise is crippled and contracted by perpetual
application to the same set of ideas. It is easy to guess the trade of an
artizan by his knees, his fingers, or his shoulders: and there are few
among men of the more liberal professions, whose minds do not carry
the brand of their calling, or whose conversation does not quickly
discover to what class of the community they belong.
These peculiarities have been of great use, in the general hostility
which every