It is apparent, that the inventors of all these
fictions intend some exaltation of themselves, and are
led off by the pursuit of honour from their
attendance upon truth: their narratives always imply
some consequence in favour of their courage, their
sagacity, or their activity, their familiarity with the
learned, or their reception among the great; they
are always bribed by the present pleasure of seeing
themselves superior to those that surround them,
and receiving the homage of silent attention and
envious admiration.
But vanity is sometimes excited to fiction by less
visible gratifications: the present age abounds with
a race of liars who are content with the consciousness
of falsehood, and whose pride is to deceive others
without any gain or glory to themselves. Of this
tribe it is the supreme pleasure to remark a lady in the
playhouse or the park, and to publish, under the
character of a man suddenly enamoured, an advertisement
in the news of the next day, containing a
minute description of her person and her dress. From
this artifice, however, no other effect can be
expected, than perturbations which the writer can
never see, and conjectures of which he never can be
informed; some mischief, however, he hopes he has
done; and to have done mischief, is of some importance.
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