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meet with such a fantastic vanity in one of this order,
it is no wonder if we may trace it through all degrees above it, and
particularly through all the steps of greatness.
We easily see the absurdity of pride when it enters into the heart of a
cobbler; tho in reality it is altogether as ridiculous and unreasonable,
wherever it takes possession of a human creature. There is no
temptation to it from the reflection upon our being in general, or upon
any comparative perfection, whereby one man may excel another. The
greater a man's knowledge is, the greater motive he may seem to have
for pride; but in the same proportion as the one rises the other sinks, it
being the chief office of wisdom to discover to us our weaknesses and
imperfections.
As folly is the foundation of pride, the natural superstructure of it is
madness. If there was an occasion for the experiment, I would not
question to make a proud man a lunatic in three weeks' time, provided I
had it in my power to ripen his frenzy with proper applications. It is an
admirable reflection in Terence, where it is said of a parasite, "Hic
homines ex stultis facit insanos." "This fellow," says he, "has an art of
converting fools into madmen." When I was in France, the region of

complaisance and vanity, I have often observed that a great man who
has entered a levee of flatterers humble and temperate has grown so
insensibly heated by the court which was paid him on all sides, that he
has been quite distracted before he could get into his coach.
If we consult the collegiates of Moorfields, we shall find most of them
are beholden to their pride for their introduction into that magnificent
palace. I had, some years ago, the curiosity to inquire into the particular
circumstances of these whimsical freeholders; and learned from their
own mouths the condition and character of each of them. Indeed, I
found that all I spoke to were persons of quality. There were at that
time five duchesses, three earls, two heathen gods, an emperor, and a
prophet. There were also a great number of such as were locked up
from their estates, and others who concealed their titles. A leather-seller
of Taunton whispered me in the ear that he was the "Duke of
Monmouth," but begged me not to betray him. At a little distance from
him sat a tailor's wife, who asked me, as I went, if I had seen the
sword-bearer, upon which I presumed to ask her who she was, and was
answered, "My lady mayoress."
I was very sensibly touched with compassion toward these miserable
people; and, indeed, extremely mortified to see human nature capable
of being thus disfigured. However, I reaped this benefit from it, that I
was resolved to guard myself against a passion which makes such
havoc in the brain, and produces so much disorder in the imagination.
For this reason I have endeavored to keep down the secret swellings of
resentment, and stifle the very first suggestions of self-esteem; to
establish my mind in tranquillity, and over-value nothing in my own or
in another's possession.
For the benefit of such whose heads are a little turned, tho not to so
great a degree as to qualify them for the place of which I have been
now speaking, I shall assign one of the sides of the college which I am
erecting, for the cure of this dangerous distemper.
The most remarkable of the persons, whose disturbance arises from
pride, and whom I shall use all possible diligence to cure, are such as
are hidden in the appearance of quite contrary habits and dispositions.

Among such, I shall, in the first place, take care of one who is under the
most subtle species of pride that I have observed in my whole
experience.
The patient is a person for whom I have a great respect, as being an old
courtier, and a friend of mine in my youth. The man has but a bare
subsistence, just enough to pay his reckoning with us at the Trumpet;
but, by having spent the beginning of his life is the hearing of great
men and persons of power, he is always promising to do good offices to
introduce every man he converses with into the world; will desire one
of ten times his substance to let him see him sometimes, and hints to
him that he does not forget him. He answers to matters of no
consequence with great circumspection; but, however, maintains a
general civility in his words and actions, and an insolent benevolence to
all whom he has to do with. This he practises with a grave tone and air;
and tho I