“Non amo te, Sabidi, nec possum dicere quare;
        Hoc tantum possum dicere, non amo te”—­

[Or:  “I do not love thee Dr. Fell The reason why I cannot tell.  But this I know and know full well:  I do not love thee Dr. Fell.”  D.W.]

has puzzled a great many people, who cannot conceive how it is possible not to love anybody, and yet not to know the reason why.  I think I conceive Martial’s meaning very clearly, though the nature of epigram, which is to be short, would not allow him to explain it more fully; and I take it to be this:  O Sabidis, you are a very worthy deserving man; you have a thousand good qualities, you have a great deal of learning; I esteem, I respect, but for the soul of me I cannot love you, though I cannot particularly say why.  You are not aimable:  you have not those engaging manners, those pleasing attentions, those graces, and that address, which are absolutely necessary to please, though impossible to define.  I cannot say it is this or that particular thing that hinders me from loving you; it is the whole together; and upon the whole you are not agreeable.

How often have I, in the course of my life, found myself in this situation, with regard to many of my acquaintance, whom I have honored and respected, without being able to love.  I did not know why, because, when one is young, one does not take the trouble, nor allow one’s self the time, to analyze one’s sentiments and to trace them up to their source.  But subsequent observation and reflection have taught me why.  There is a man, whose moral character, deep learning, and superior parts, I acknowledge, admire, and respect; but whom it is so impossible for me to love, that I am almost in a fever whenever I am in his company.  His figure (without being deformed) seems made to disgrace or ridicule the common structure of the human body.  His legs and arms are never in the position which, according to the situation of his body, they ought to be in, but constantly employed in committing acts of hostility upon the Graces.  He throws anywhere, but down his throat, whatever he means to drink, and only mangles what he means to carve.  Inattentive to all the regards of social life, he mistimes or misplaces everything.  He disputes with heat, and indiscriminately, mindless of the rank, character, and situation of those with whom he disputes; absolutely ignorant of the several gradations of familiarity or respect, he is exactly the same to his superiors, his equals, and his inferiors; and therefore, by a necessary consequence, absurd to two of the three.  Is it possible to love such a man?  No.  The utmost I can do for him, is to consider him as a respectable Hottentot.—­[This ‘mot’ was aimed at Dr. Johnson in retaliation for his famous letter.]