In two days she made another, which she burnt in the same manner, because she could not eat her chicken.  A third was made, and destroyed because she heard a mouse within the wainscot, and was sure that I should suffer her to be carried away alive.  After this I was for some time out of favour, but as her illness grew upon her, resentment and sullenness gave way to kinder sentiments.  She died, and left me five hundred pounds; with this fortune I am going to settle in my native parish, where I resolve to spend some hours every day in teaching poor girls to read and write[1].

I am, Sir,
Your humble servant,

BETTY BROOM.
[1] Mrs. Gardiner, a pious, sensible, and charitable woman, for whom
    Johnson entertained a high respect, is said to have afforded a hint
    for the story of Betty Broom, from her zealous support of a Ladies’
    Charity-school, confined to females.  Boswell, vol. iv.

No. 30.  SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 11, 1758.

The desires of man increase with his acquisitions; every step which he advances brings something within his view, which he did not see before, and which, as soon as he sees it, he begins to want.  Where necessity ends, curiosity begins; and no sooner are we supplied with every thing that nature can demand, than we sit down to contrive artificial appetites.

By this restlessness of mind, every populous and wealthy city is filled with innumerable employments, for which the greater part of mankind is without a name; with artificers, whose labour is exerted in producing such petty conveniencies, that many shops are furnished with instruments, of which the use can hardly be found without inquiry, but which he that once knows them quickly learns to number among necessary things.

Such is the diligence with which, in countries completely civilized, one part of mankind labours for another, that wants are supplied faster than they can be formed, and the idle and luxurious find life stagnate for want of some desire to keep it in motion.  This species of distress furnishes a new set of occupations; and multitudes are busied, from day to day, in finding the rich and the fortunate something to do.

It is very common to reproach those artists as useless, who produce only such superfluities as neither accommodate the body, nor improve the mind; and of which no other effect can be imagined, than that they are the occasions of spending money, and consuming time.

But this censure will be mitigated, when it is seriously considered, that money and time are the heaviest burdens of life, and that the unhappiest of all mortals are those who have more of either than they know how to use.  To set himself free from these incumbrances, one hurries to Newmarket; another travels over Europe; one pulls down his house and calls architects about him; another buys a seat in the country, and follows his hounds over hedges and through rivers; one makes collections of shells; and another searches the world for tulips and carnations.