cious to be squandered away on trifles,—that religion is the only support againt the horrors of death, and the only guide to the joys of eternity.

THE OLLA PODRIDA, No. 39, Dec. 8, 1787.

No. CXXXVII.

Sed, dum abest, quod avemus, id exsuperare videtur
Cætera; post aliud, quum contigit illud, avemus.

The bliss we covet seems, at distant view,
To all superior; but, when once possest,
It cloys, we spurn it, and another call.

LUCRETIUS.

Good.

THAT the happiness of life consists rather in expectation than enjoyment, has been so frequently advanced, and so ably supported, by writers of former ages, and so often repeated by those of our own times, that it should seem impossible to urge any thing new on so trite a subject; yet, perhaps, the elucidation of a wellknown fact may produce variety where novelty ought not to be expected; particularly, if the examples be addressed to those who may never before have seen the object placed in a light adapted to their pursuits.

The man of business has little leisure to peruse the speculations of essayists; and, if he had, no arguments would prove sufficient to convince him, that when he shall have attained the object for which he daily toils, he will at length find happiness elude his embrace, and often at

the moment when he fancies he has reached her. Such a man will tell you of the joy which rest from unremitting labour will affcrd; he will talk of the fatigue of business, anxious days, and sleepless nights; and he will think it madness to suppose, that some years hence (when he shall have acquired the fortune that his hopes have promised) he shall not enjoy happiness, which seems so intimately combined with affluence and ease. I will allow, that the prospect of this distant hope is sufficient to excite his utmost industry to possess the promised good; but let him beware how he quits that industry when he thinks he has no longer need of it; let him reflect, that life without employment can never bring him happiness. No human being, however exalted may be his rank and fortune, however enlarged and cultivated his understanding, can long be happy, without some object of pursuit. Life is a ladder on which we climb from hope to hope, and by expectation strive to ascend to enjoyment; but he is miserable indeed, who fancies he has reached his highest hope, or who enjoys the utmost of his wishes; for those who have been most successful in their respective undertakings,`have given the gloomiest description of the emptiness of human pleasures. The pursuit alone can yield true happiness; and

I affirm, that the most trifling object that has power to fascinate the hopes of man, is worthy his attention. The money-getting trader looks with astonishment at the man of fortune, who neglects the palace of his ancestors, to visit foreign nations, without those views which induce the merchant to correspond with distant countries; and thinks that, were he but possessed of such a family estate, England alone would satisfy his range of happiness; but when we talk of what would make us happy, we always talk of what is not in our possession; and though mankind will sometimes boast of satisfaction, which they know they do not feel; yet it is on the prospect of some future good, that they truly dwell with rapture.

Though the man of business may not allow the truth of what I have asserted, the scholar and philosopher will say it is a fact so evident, and so well established, that it is almost as absurd to go about to prove it, as it would be to demonstrate that the sun gives light and heat: yet there is a middle class betwixt the busy and the studious, betwixt the man who speculates with thought too much, and him who never thinks but to get money; I mean the leisure country gentleman, who hunts, or shoots, or fishes, as the seasons or the weather tempt; and

who reads sometimes, because he can do nothing else for his amusement. To him I shall address the remainder of this paper; for he only can judge how truly I describe his feelings.

In a warm summer's evening, look at the patient angler, his eye intently fixed upon a floating quill; a little gust of wind deceives his sight, or his hand shakes the line and causes an undulating motion of the cork; his heart bounds with transitory joy: but all is still again, and expectation gives a joy more calm; many minutes now elapse in silent watchfulness; at length his patience is no longer kept in suspense; the float, with frequent jerks, is snatched below the surface of the flood; he feels the tremulous motion in his hand, and pleasure thrills through all his frame; anxiety and hope, but not unmixed with fear, engross his whole attention, and cautiously he drags the struggling victim to the light; here, when he views the unexpected magnitude of his glittering prize, his joy is at its utmost reach; what object could at this moment tempt him to quit his station? Intent upon his sport, he one moment pulls, then seems to yield, then gently draws the exhausted victim, till, at length, exulting, he takes the scaly prisoner in his hand; but, alas! with his victory