42 On the Want of Money. [JAN, 



thinks, that the most pathetic story in the world is that of Smollett's 

 fine gentleman and lady in goal, who have been roughly handled by the 

 mob for some paltry attempt at raising the wind, and she exclaims in 

 extenuation of the pitiful figure he cuts, "Ah ! he was a fine fellow once ! 

 It is justly remarked by the poet, that poverty has no greater incon- 

 venience attached to it than that of making men ridiculous. It not only 

 has this disadvantage with respect to ourselves, but it often shews us 

 others in a very contemptible point of view. People are not soured 

 by misfortnne, but by the reception they meet with in it. When 

 we do not want assistance, every one is ready to obtrude it 

 on us, as if it were advice. If we do, they shun us instantly. 

 They anticipate the increased demand on their sympathy or bounty, 

 and escape from it as from a falling-house. It is a mistake, how- 

 ever, that we court the society of the rich and prosperous, merely 

 with a view to what we can get from them. We do so, because there is 

 something in external rank and splendour that gratifies and imposes on 

 the imagination ; just as we prefer the company of those who are in 

 good health and spirits to that of the sickly and hypochondriacal, or as 

 we would rather converse with a beautiful woman than with an ugly 

 one. I never knew but one man who would lend his money freely and 

 fearlessly in spite of circumstances (if you were likely to pay him, he 

 grew peevish, and would pick a quarrel with you). I can only account 

 for this from a certain sanguine buoyancy and magnificence, of spirit, 

 not deterred by distant consequences, or damped by untoward appear- 

 ances. I have been told by those, who shared of the same bounty, that 

 it was not owing to generosity, but ostentation if so, he kept his osten- 

 tation a secret from me, for I never received a hint or a look from which 

 I could infer that I was not the lender, and he the person obliged. 

 Neither was I expected to keep in the back-ground or play an under- 

 part. On the contrary, I was encouraged to do my best ; my dormant 

 faculties roused, the ease of my circumstances was on condition of the 

 freedom and independence of my mind, my lucky hits were applauded, 

 and I was paid to shine. I am not ashamed of such patronage as this, 

 nor do I regret any circumstance relating to it but its termination. 

 People endure existence even in Paris : the rows of chairs on the Boule- 

 vards are gay with smiles and dress : the saloons, they say, are brilliant ; 

 at the theatre there is Mademoiselle Mars what is all this to me? 

 After a certain period, we live only in the past. Give me back one 

 single evening at Boxhill, after a stroll in the deep-empurpled woods, 

 before Buonaparte was yet beaten, " with wine of attic taste," when 

 wit, beauty, friendship presided at the board ! Oh no ! Neither the 

 time nor friends that are fled, can be recalled ! Poverty is the test of 

 sincerity, the touchstone of civility. Even abroad, they treat you 

 scurvily if your remittances do not arrive regularly, and though you 

 have hitherto lived like a Milord Anglais. The want of money loses us 

 friends not worth the keeping, mistresses who are naturally jilts or 

 coquets ; it cuts us out of society, to which dress and equipage are the 

 only introduction; and deprives us of a number of luxuries and advan- 

 tages of which the only good is, that they can only belong to the pos- 

 sessors of a large fortune. Many people are wretched because they 

 have not money to buy a fine horse, or to hire a fine house, or to keep a 

 carriage, or to purchase a diamond necklace, or to go to a race-ball, or 

 to give their servants new liveries. I cannot myself enter into all this. 



