DRYDEN.
TO THE RAMBLER.
SIR,
I sit down, in pursuance of my late engagement, to recount the remaining
part of the adventures that befel me in my long quest of conjugal
felicity, which, though I have not yet been so happy as to obtain it, I
have at least endeavoured to deserve by unwearied diligence, without
suffering from repeated disappointments any abatement of my hope, or
repression of my activity.
You must have observed in the world a species of mortals who employ
themselves in promoting matrimony, and without any visible motive of
interest or vanity, without any discoverable impulse of malice or
benevolence, without any reason, but that they want objects of attention
and topicks of conversation, are incessantly busy in procuring wives and
husbands. They fill the ears of every single man and woman with some
convenient match; and when they are informed of your age and fortune,
offer a partner for life with the same readiness, and the same
indifference, as a salesman, when he has taken measure by his eye, fits
his customer with a coat.
It might be expected that they should soon be discouraged from this
officious interposition by resentment or contempt; and that every man
should determine the choice on which so much of his happiness must
depend, by his own judgment and observation: yet it happens, that as
these proposals are generally made with a shew of kindness, they seldom
provoke anger, but are at worst heard with patience, and forgotten.
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