The common talk of men must relate to
facts in which the talkers have, or think they have, an interest; and
where such facts cannot be known, the pleasures of society will be
merely sensual. Thus the natives of the Mahometan empires, who approach
most nearly to European civility, have no higher pleasure at their
convivial assemblies than to hear a piper, or gaze upon a tumbler; and
no company can keep together longer than they are diverted by sounds or
shows.
All foreigners remark, that the knowledge of the common people of
England is greater than that of any other vulgar. This superiority we
undoubtedly owe to the rivulets of intelligence, which are continually
trickling among us, which every one may catch, and of which every one
partakes[1].
This universal diffusion of instruction is, perhaps, not wholly without
its inconveniencies; it certainly fills the nation with superficial
disputants; enables those to talk who were born to work; and affords
information sufficient to elate vanity, and stiffen obstinacy, but too
little to enlarge the mind into complete skill for full comprehension.
Whatever is found to gratify the publick, will be multiplied by the
emulation of venders beyond necessity or use.
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