myself so entirely fond of a
sea prospect, that I think nothing on the land can equal it; and if it
be set off with shipping, I desire to borrow no ornament from the terra
firma. A fleet of ships is, in my opinion, the noblest object which
the art of man hath ever produced; and far beyond the power of those
architects who deal in brick, in stone, or in marble.

When the late Sir Robert Walpole, one of the best of men and of
ministers, used to equip us a yearly fleet at Spithead, his enemies of
taste must have allowed that he, at least, treated the nation with a
fine sight for their money. A much finer, indeed, than the same expense
in an encampment could have produced. For what indeed is the best idea
which the prospect of a number of huts can furnish to the mind, but of
a number of men forming themselves into a society before the art of
building more substantial houses was known? This, perhaps, would be
agreeable enough; but, in truth, there is a much worse idea ready to
step in before it, and that is of a body of cut-throats, the supports of
tyranny, the invaders of the just liberties and properties of mankind,
the plunderers of the industrious, the ravishers of the chaste, the
murderers of the innocent, and, in a word, the destroyers of the plenty,
the peace, and the safety, of their fellow-creatures.

And what, it may be said, are these men-of-war which seem so delightful
an object to our eyes? Are they not alike the support of tyranny and
oppression of innocence, carrying with them desolation and ruin wherever
their masters please to send them? This is indeed too true; and however
the ship of war may, in its bulk and equipment, exceed the honest
merchantman, I heartily wish there was no necessity for it; for, though
I must own the superior beauty of the object on one side, I am more
pleased with the superior excellence of the idea which I can raise in
my mind on the other, while I reflect on the art and industry of mankind
engaged in the daily improvements of commerce to the mutual benefit of
all countries, and to the establishment and happiness of social life.
This pleasant village is situated on a gentle ascent from the water,
whence it affords that charming prospect I have above described. Its
soil is a gravel, which, assisted with its declivity, preserves it
always so dry that immediately after the most violent rain a fine lady
may walk without wetting her silken shoes. The fertility of the place is
apparent f