eason, as a discouragement to writers,
that there are already books sufficient in the world; that all the
topicks of persuasion have been discussed, and every important question
clearly stated and justly decided; and that, therefore, there is no room
to hope, that pigmies should conquer where heroes have been defeated, or
that the petty copiers of the present time should advance the great work
of reformation, which their predecessors were forced to leave
unfinished.

Whatever be the present extent of human knowledge, it is not only
finite, and therefore in its own nature capable of increase, but so
narrow, that almost every understanding may, by a diligent application
of its powers, hope to enlarge it. It is, however, not necessary that a
man should forbear to write, till he has discovered some truth unknown
before; he may be sufficiently useful, by only diversifying the surface
of knowledge, and luring the mind by a new appearance to a second view
of those beauties which it had passed over inattentively before. Every
writer may find intellects correspondent to his own, to whom his
expressions are familiar, and his thoughts congenial; and, perhaps,
truth is often more successfully propagated by men of moderate
abilities, who, adopting the opinions of others, have no care but to
explain them clearly, than by subtle speculatists and curious searchers,
who exact from their readers powers equal to their own, and if their
fabricks of science be strong, take no care to render them accessible.

For my part, I do not regret the hours which I have laid out in these
little compositions. That the world has grown apparently better, since
the publication of the _Adventurer_, I have not observed; but am willing
to think, that many have been affected by single sentiments, of which it
is their business to renew the impression; that many have caught hints
of truth, which it is now their duty to pursue; and that those who have
received no improvement, have wanted not opportunity but intention to
improve.

No. 138. SATURDAY, MARCH 2, 1754.

_Quid pure tranquillet; honos, an dulce lucellum,
An secretum iter, et fallentis semita vitae._ HOR. Lib, i. Ep.
xviii. 102.

Whether the tranquil mind and pure,
Honours or wealth our bliss ensure:
Or down through life unknown to stray,
Where lonely leads the silent way. FRANCIS.

Having considered the importance of authors to the welfare of the
publick, I am led by