The Rambler, Vol. II | Page 4

gives birth to a swarm of
expositors, whose business is to explain and illustrate it, and who can
hope to exist no longer than the founder of their sect preserves his
reputation.
There are, indeed, few kinds of composition from which an author,
however learned or ingenious, can hope a long continuance of fame. He
who has carefully studied human nature, and can well describe it, may
with most reason flatter his ambition. Bacon, among all his pretensions
to the regard of posterity, seems to have pleased himself chiefly with
his Essays, _which come home to men's business and bosoms_, and of
which, therefore, he declares his expectation, that they will live as long
as books last. It may, however, satisfy an honest and benevolent mind
to have been useful, though less conspicuous; nor will he that extends
his hope to higher rewards, be so much anxious to obtain praise, as to
discharge the duty which Providence assigns him.

No. 107. TUESDAY, MARCH 26, 1751.
_Alternis igitur contendere versibns ambo Coepere: alternos Musoe
meminisse volebant_. VIRG. Ec. vii. 18
On themes alternate now the swains recite; The muses in alternate
themes delight. ELPHINSTON.
Among the various censures, which the unavoidable comparison of my
performances with those of my predecessors has produced, there is
none more general than that of uniformity. Many of my readers remark
the want of those changes of colours, which formerly fed the attention
with unexhausted novelty, and of that intermixture of subjects, or
alternation of manner, by which other writers relieved weariness, and
awakened expectation.
I have, indeed, hitherto avoided the practice of uniting gay and solemn
subjects in the same paper, because it seems absurd for an author to
counteract himself, to press at once with equal force upon both parts of
the intellectual balance, or give medicines, which, like the double

poison of Dryden, destroy the force of one another. I have endeavoured
sometimes to divert, and sometimes to elevate; but have imagined it an
useless attempt to disturb merriment by solemnity, or interrupt
seriousness by drollery. Yet I shall this day publish two letters of very
different tendency, which I hope, like tragi-comedy, may chance to
please even when they are not critically approved.
TO THE RAMBLER.
DEAR SIR,
Though, as my mamma tells me, I am too young to talk at the table, I
have great pleasure in listening to the conversation of learned men,
especially when they discourse of things which I do not understand;
and have, therefore, been of late particularly delighted with many
disputes about the alteration of the stile, which, they say, is to be made
by act of parliament.
One day when my mamma was gone out of the room, I asked a very
great scholar what the style was. He told me he was afraid I should
hardly understand him when he informed me, that it was the stated and
established method of computing time. It was not, indeed, likely that I
should understand him; for I never yet knew time computed in my life,
nor can imagine why we should be at so much trouble to count what we
cannot keep. He did not tell me whether we are to count the time past,
or the time to come; but I have considered them both by myself, and
think it as foolish to count time that is gone, as money that is spent; and
as for the time which is to come, it only seems further off by counting;
and therefore, when any pleasure is promised me, I always think of the
time as little as I can.
I have since listened very attentively to every one that talked upon this
subject, of whom the greater part seem not to understand it better than
myself; for though they often hint how much the nation has been
mistaken, and rejoice that we are at last growing wiser than our
ancestors, I have never been able to discover from them, that any body
has died sooner, or been married later, for counting time wrong; and,
therefore, I began to fancy that there was a great bustle with little
consequence.
At last, two friends of my papa, Mr. Cycle, and Mr. Starlight, being, it
seems, both of high learning, and able to make an almanack, began to
talk about the new style. Sweet Mr. Starlight--I am sure I shall love his

name as long as I live; for he told Cycle roundly, with a fierce look,
that we should never be right without a year of confusion. Dear Mr.
Rambler, did you ever hear any thing so charming? a whole year of
confusion! When there has been a rout at mamma's, I have thought one
night of confusion worth a thousand nights of rest; and if I can but