THE PLAIN DEALER. N^o I.
VOL. I.
MONDAY, March 23. 1724.

WHEN a Stranger comes into Com⯑pany, the Whiſper goes round, Who is He? and the Face each Man wears, is the Effect of his In⯑formation: You ought therefore, to know, who I am, that you may regard what I ſay; and then, it is to be hop'd, we ſhall converſe without Jealouſy.

I AM a talkative Old Batchelor, in my grand Climacterick, of a ſanguine Complexion; well-limb'd, ſtrong and hearty; in Stature more than middling; my Face is round and ſmooth, [2] my Forehead high and open, my Eye-brows are widely arch'd, my Teeth ſound, and white; I have a Noſe a little Aquiline, Eyes black and ſpritely; my Hair is brown and ſhort, but ſomewhat of the thinneſt, with a Silver⯑ing of Grey among it: I wear my Cloaths plain, am a great Lover of Walking, and go commonly alone; I carry a pair of Mouſe-colour'd Gloves in one Hand, and my Oaken Stick in the other, inſtead of a Cane; for I am naturally partial to the Manufactures of my Country, and an irreconcileable Enemy to the Eaſt-India Company.

MY Father, who was one of the Cavaliers of the laſt Century, had a Daſh in his Temper, of what his Miſtreſſes called Surly; but he was of frank Heart and ſimple Manners. There was an unlucky kind of Contraſt in his Diſ⯑poſition, for he was Amorous, but Unpoliſh'd: He ſeems to have been rather Serious, than Witty; yet he lov'd Wit in others, and was particularly charm'd with the Wantonneſs of Mrs. Behn. That arch Baggage has made bold, in her Comedy, called the Rover, both with his Name, and his Character.—Who⯑ever has ſeen Ned Blunt, has ſeen, not the Copy, but the very Life of my Father.

HE left me an Eſtate, rather moderate than plentiful; which I have neither improv'd, nor diminiſh'd. I was naturally diſpos'd to Quiet, and affected to think calmly: For this Reaſon I have obſtinately reſiſted MARRIAGE. I paſs my Summers at Blunt-Hall, the ancient [3] Seat of our Family, in the dirtieſt Part of Suſſex: My Winters I enjoy in Town, where I am the oldeſt Member now alive of an Aſſem⯑bly, of both Sexes, very numerous and diver⯑ſified: We meet, twice a Week, at the Houſe of a ſober Widow, whom we placed there on Purpoſe. But, becauſe I delight in Study, and am an Enemy to the Faction and Flutter of the Polite End of the Town, I have my Lodgings in a low-built, ſilent Houſe in the City, which has a large, ſhady Garden, and covers the very Spot, where, of old, as Stow tells me, ſtood the Watch-Tower of Barbican.

IT has always been my Cuſtom, To keep a daily Account, in Writing, of my Actions and Obſervations, even to Particulars of no ſeem⯑ing Importance. By Help of theſe Notes, I live over again my paſt Time, and learn Wiſ⯑dom from my Follies.—I have lately been reflecting, and taken it ſtongly into my Fancy, That, wanting Children of my own, I ſhould be Every Body's Father: I have ſo many Things to ſay, and am ſo naturally fond of Teaching, that I promiſe my ſelf no ſmall Fame, from the Succeſs of my Weekly Coun⯑ſel: The SUBJECT of my PAPER gave me little or no Pain: My Propenſity to Talking required, That it ſhould be General, and Un⯑boundedly Copious; But the NAME was a Dif⯑ficulty, that I could not eaſily get over: That Large Part of Mankind, which conſiſts of SUPERFICIALISTS, judging every Thing by Ap⯑pearance, taſte but coldly of a Meaning which [4] is not dreſs'd to their Reliſh; and the Will, that is too ſtubborn to bend to the Fancy, ſhall hard⯑ly be able to work upon the Underſtanding.

THIS Doubt was ſo knotty, that I ſub⯑mitted it to the Aſſembly, where a learned Clergyman ſpoke firſt, and was for calling it the INQUISITOR; He was honeſtly proceed⯑ing to give his Reaſons for that Name, but was ſmartly interrupted by an Alderman's Wife, who, with Eyes full of Fire, and Face as red as her Ribbands, told him, That, however the Inquiſition might agree with His Principles, it would never go down with honeſt People and Proteſtants:—If you deſire, (ſaid ſhe to me) That your PAPER ſhould be read by the Friends of the Government, you ſhould give it a ſober Name, and call it the TRUTH-TELLER.

A pert Coquet, who ſate next her, a Toaſt, and a great Fortune, burſt into a loud Laugh; Oh! Heavens! cry'd the Gipſey, I ſhall faint at the odious Formality of that Title! Ah, Ma⯑dam! How could you be ſo unreaſonably miſtaken! The TRUTH-TELLER!—Lord, deliver us! why, the COURT can never bear it! and all the gay World will deſpiſe and abhor it!—No, no, if you wiſh your PAPER to Spread and grow Publick, you have nothing to reſolve, but to call it the SECRET.

FOR my Part, anſwered a grave Virgin, about Fifty, I think they would do well to entitle it the COQUET; There's ſcarce a Fop in Town but would be fond of that Name; for he would conſider the PAPER as his Property.

[5]A FAMOUS Critick interpoſing, remark'd, That the Taſte of the Age was ſo vitiated, that no Name could be acceptable, unleſs it were Mu⯑ſical; and the Wind, (ſays he,) of Modern Ar⯑guments, being an Over-match for their Weight, I am for calling it the BAGPIPE.—Oh! much rather the FLUTE, reply'd the Coquet; The BAGPIPE is ſo filthy, ſo horrible an Inſtru⯑ment! that 'twould be impoſſible to bear the Sound of it, unleſs 'twere introduc'd in an Opera.

A Juſtice of the Quorum, my next Neigh⯑bour in the Country, and an eminent Fox-hunter, maintain'd, with invincible Strength, both of Voice and Authority, That it ought, by all Means, ſince it was intended for Society, to be called the GOOD FELLOW; But he bow'd, and chang'd his Mind, when our Alderman's Young Daughter, who ſate at her Mother's Elbow, bluſh'd, and whiſper'd in his Ear, That for her Part, ſhe could think of no Name, that would be ſo pretty, as the SWEET⯑HEART.

AN Old Maid of the Widow's, to whom, for Pleaſantry-ſake, we indulge the Familiari⯑ty, and Privilege of Impertinence, had been ſtanding all this while behind her Miſtreſs's Chair, and broke out, on a ſudden, with an Air of Amazement; Hey Day! if you muſt whip it about thus, and keep it conſtantly ſpin⯑ning, the beſt Thing you can do is, To call it the WHIRLIGIG. All the Company laugh'd at the Wench's Conceit; 'till the Critick, aſſume⯑ing a ſurpriz'd and deciſive Air, aſſur'd us, [6] poſitively, It muſt take; for that No Body could fail to expect as much Wit, at leaſt, in the WHIRLIGIG, as in the What-d'ye-call it.

I was unſatisfied with All This; and having a natural Partiality to my own Character, I bethought my-ſelf of the PLAIN DEALER. The whole Aſſembly agreed in Approbation of That Name, and gave it, as their Joint-Opinion, That, Whether it would be generally liked or no, it was never more generally wanted.

THE LADIES, when they hear, That my Deſign is PLAIN DEALING, will conſider me perhaps, as an Old-faſhion'd Fellow, who can have nothing to do with Them; yet I know they will be frequently kind enough to furniſh me with Buſineſs, and I ſhall handle them, as often as they allow me Opportunity.—The CHURCH and the STATE I have no great Genius for meddling with; They are either well as they are, or will never be the better for any Thing I can ſay to them. But the Paſſions, the Humours, the Follies, the Diſquiets, the Plea⯑ſures, and the Graces of Human Life, All theſe I claim a Right to conſider as my Subjects; and ſhall treat them, without Prejudice, in the moſt frank and open Manner; ſo that the Watch-Tower of Barbican ſhall again reſume its Uſe, and overlook this Antient CITY, for Her Ser⯑vice, and Her Safety.

THE PLAIN DEALER. N^o II.
FRIDAY, March 27. 1724.

THREE Enormous Abuſes, have grown of late Years to a ſcandalous Heighth among us, Maſquerading, Gaming, and Stock-Jobbing. They are Enemies to the Civil So⯑ciety of Mankind, and Deſtroyers of that va⯑luable Doctrine of PLAIN DEALING which I would ſo earneſtly recommend.

MASQUERADES are the Undoers of Beau⯑ty, Honour, and Innocence, and, methinks it ſhould be enough to deter any young Lady, if ſhe did but reflect upon this Great Truth, That her Maſque, has, at beſt, thrown a Cloud upon her Reputation, that will hang heavy for a long Time after, and ſink her in the Eſteem of her former Admirers.

AS to Gaming, the Sons of our Nobility, and the Heirs to plentiful Eſtates, eſpecial⯑ly thoſe who become too early their own Maſters, are the Victims of Sharpers, the Prey of thoſe Man-hunters, who form Aſſo⯑ciations [8] to over-turn as many Honeſt So⯑cieties as they can; and only live in Peace to⯑gether, by being united in a Confederacy to ſpread Deſolation among others. The Heads of our beſt Families may not improperly be called the GAME of this wide-waſting Fra⯑ternity.

STOCK-JOBBING is the Overthrow of all regular Commerce, and involves many a rich Trader, in the utmoſt Diſtreſs.

THESE Three Grand Enormities ſtand in direct Oppoſition to PLAIN DEALING; and the Province which I have undertaken, demands of me to declare War againſt them, and exert my beſt Endeavours to remove them out of the Way as faſt as I am able. They grow out of the Obliquity of a Mind, that meditates an unnatural Increaſe of its own Eaſe, by di⯑miniſhing the Satisfaction of other People, and filling them with Uneaſineſs and Diſquiet. Theſe Subjects are ſo fruitful, that I ſhall im⯑ploy this whole Paper upon the Maſquerades alone, and defer the Correction of the other to a ſecond Opportunity.

THE Count of the ill-favour'd Viſage may may be conſidered as the Leader and Captain-General of theſe Forces; and therefore, if in entring into a ſingle Combat with him, I am valiant enough to get the better, I doubt not but the Army under his Command will pull off their Maſques, in Reſpect to my Victory, and not be aſhamed to ſhew their Faces, when they appear on the ſide that is uppermoſt.

[9]THEY who lay Maſques to the Count's Charge, have accounted for it very pleaſantly, and will have it to be a politick Undertaking. He ought, ſay they, by the Laws of Sympathy to have Regard to a Vizor, ſince his natural Countenance bears ſuch Reſemblance to thoſe artificial ones, that the only means in his Power to look like a Man, was to teach every Man to look like a Monſter.

BUT I am not in a Humour to content my ſelf with ſuch abſtracted Speculations, which appear to me to be artfully framed on purpoſe to excuſe a Man they pretend to find fault with. It is true, they make a Jeſt of the Perſon, but they throw a Maſque over the Mind, which ought certainly to be moſt cha⯑ſtiſed. I dare ſwear for the Count, it is not his nature to be angry with any Body, that, by handling his Face a little freely, gives him a handſome Opportunity for handling the Pockets of other People. Greater Stateſmen than He, have been contented to look ſilly for a wiſe End, and to become the Jeſts of the People, when they have been ſure of an Equi⯑valent. This makes me afraid that theſe Waggs, who ſpeak of him with ſo much ſeeming Smartneſs, are his Friends at the bot⯑tom, and I doubt, if the Truth were known, he has bribed them to be of his Party by let⯑ting them now and then, into the Secrets of Maſquerading.

I MUST therefore take leave to look a little ſeriouſly into this Matter, and I am afraid we [10] ſhall find, That the Count has not ſo much a Deſign to make Perſons of Quality with their Maſques on, look like the Count, as to make the Count look like Perſons of Quality with their Maſques off.

SEVERAL Clergymen, ſome Biſhops, and other grave Perſonages, have thought this a Matter of Importance enough to take Notice of as well as I; but ſtill, it ſeems, the Count is ſecretly reſolved to have Wit enough to take no notice of any of us. It muſt be allowed indeed, That he is a Perſon of uncommon Parts, to ſtand Proof againſt the Reaſoning of ſo many Learned, and Great Men, without be⯑ing in the leaſt convinced or perſwaded.

BUT, tho' this Power, of reſiſting the Force of ſo many Eloquent Reaſoners, proves him a Prodigy in Genius, and demonſtrates him to have a world of Wit, yet I would not have him forget, that there is ſome Merit alſo, in Mo⯑deſty. If a Clergyman or a Biſhop, give their Opinions againſt him, he thinks it ſufficient to ſhrug his Shoulders, and ſay, grinning in his own Defence, That he wonders they ſhould make ſuch a Buſtle, for that a Domine, a Caſſock, and a Mitre, are the moſt common Maſques in Faſhion. This raiſes a loud Laugh, and he comes off cleverly among the young Fel⯑lows; but he muſt not imagine to eſcape ſo with Perſons of my Gravity.

SEVERAL old Counſellors of State, and at Law, grave Phyſicians, ancient Citizens, and worthy Country Gentlemen, juſt come up with [11] their Wives and Daughters, to pay a Viſit to the Town, have all complained of him in their Turns, and met with no better Quarter, and notwithſtanding all they can ſay to the contrary, he has continued to carry on his Shew with very ſucceſsful Raillery: I expect that he will give me my Share of his Taunts among the reſt; but I have as little Taſte for his Wit, as I have for his Sweetmeats; and to deal plainly with him, I am in no ſuch merry Vein, as he may think, when I tell him this unwelcome Truth, That the Effects of Maſ⯑querades, are very ſerious Things to Husbands, and Fathers, tho' they are Jokes to him and to ſome, who are pleas'd to ſupport him. I muſt, therefore, deſire him to lay aſide his Wit, and conſider, with a little Wiſdom, whether He may not be in Danger of falling hereafter in⯑to the Clutches of a certain dark Enemy, who is now his Friend in Maſquerade, and who will not be ſo eaſily eluded.

HE may recollect, if he pleaſes, in one of the Maſquerades, a ſtrange Spectacle, like a Man, whom he took, at firſt, to have a Vizard on, but found upon a more narrow Exami⯑nation to have exactly the Lineaments of his own Face, the ſame Shape, the ſame Air, the ſame Gait, the ſame Cloaths, as himſelf, and his very Wig of the ſame Colour, and hang⯑ing with the Fore-top on one Tip of the Ear, juſt like his own: He may remember, that this ghaſtly Mimick, conſtantly attended him, that whole Night, did every thing that he did; [12] ſaid every thing he ſaid; and went to every Place where he went: He may remember, that he was ſtruck with a terrible Panick, and did not know what to think of this uninvited Companion of his, but took him, ſometimes, for a meer Mimick; ſometimes for a Spectre, but at laſt he was convinced, that it cou'd be no other, than the Devil, which a great many well-meaning People believ'd was certainly the Truth: and he very well knows, that he, and his Companion, were eaſily miſtaken for one another, and that no body at laſt could well tell which was the Count, and which was the Devil.

THO' the Count, as the Phraſe goes of him, looks bad enough at the beſt, he was remark'd to look much worſe after this Viſion, than at any time before: He was for many Days much dejected, and profoundly penſive and melan⯑choly, and the terrible Apprehenſions he was under, cauſed a viſible Increaſe of Wrinkles, and furrow'd him into ſuch Frightfulneſs, that if ever he went to take Coach, the Horſes wou'd ſtart, and run away from him.—But one Day, above the reſt, when he was deep in the doleful Mood, an airy young Fellow hear⯑ing him ſay, He intended to have no more Maſquerades, got out of him the Secret of his Diſorder: This Youth who was afraid, that if that Diverſion diſcontinued, he ſhould not ſuc⯑ceed with a Lady, for whoſe ſake He was us'd to hide his Face, that he might charm her, with leſs Difficulty, found an Expedient [13] to free the Count from his Fears, and made him believe, that it was a Trick of the Prince de Monte Aſpero. But the poor Count is im⯑poſed on, if he gives Credit to that fictitious Story, and might have been better advertis'd of the Truth, if he had only had an Eye to the Club-Foot, which ſtood out, and plainly ſhewed his Companion, as ſeveral innocent Spectators then preſent could teſtify. Beſides, as a Poet, who would preſerve Probability, could produce no Body proper to perſonate Amphitryon but Jupiter, nor to mimick Sofia to the Life but Mercury; ſo the Count, if he reflects ſufficiently, upon his Perſon, Parts, and Qualities, muſt of neceſſity be convinc'd, in his Mind, that ſince nothing Human could ſo exactly reſemble him, It muſt be, at leaſt, a Cacodaemon.

UPON the whole, if he lay this ſeriouſly to heart, as I hope he will, he will lay aſide jeſting, become a true Penitent, and take the good Time of Lent to conſider, Whether it will not be proper to quit all Thoughts of Maſquerading, for fear that Ghaſtly Figure that once took his Perſon upon him, ſhou'd the next Time, take off his Perſon.

THE PLAIN DEALER. N^o III.
MONDAY, March 30, 1724.

SO weak is the Frailty of Human Nature, that we can never be too ſecure, tho' arm'd with the ſublimeſt Vertue, againſt the repeated Attacks of ſo many Paſſions, as conſtantly be⯑ſiege us; and, tho' the Garriſon of the Mind may be never ſo well provided with all Means of Reſiſtance, the greateſt of Qualities, Ver⯑tues, and Perfections, that our Nature is capa⯑ble of attaining; nevertheleſs Treachery, with⯑in, Force or Stratagem, from without, may ſur⯑prize and defeat us: An Example of which Infirmity the following Story will furniſh the Reader, and teach him, of all Things, to avoid, what is call'd Spiritual Pride, That Con⯑tempt of another for not being ſo good, as himſelf, when he ſees how, in an Inſtant, the greateſt Piety and Religion, may be chang'd, (by indulging only one dangerous Paſſion) into the other Extream of Wickedneſs; ſo that [15] we may apply to the Lubricity of Human Vertue, what a wiſe Man of Greece, ſaid of Happineſs, That it can never be determin'd, 'till Death.

IN the following Story, which is true, as to Fact, I ſhall be obliged to diſguiſe ſome Cir⯑cumſtances of Time and Place, to prevent the unfortunate Subject of this Paper, or his Fa⯑mily, from being known, ſo that it will be enough to inform the Reader, That, leſs than half an Age ago, there liv'd a certain Gentle⯑man, of good Birth and Fortune, who had poliſh'd, and finiſh'd, a Learned Education by the Improvement of a Camp, and a Court; in Both which He ſpent ſome Time; when about the Thirtieth Year of his Age, he thought fit to ſettle himſelf in the World, and change his Condition, by chuſing a Partner of Life, whoſe Mind was as well Adorn'd, as her Per⯑ſon was Engaging: This happy Couple ſpent Five Years together, in perfect Felicity; the Husband with Reputation, as well as Fortune, and the Wife with Vertue, not inferior to her Beauty.

BUT what crown'd all their Bliſs, was, That mutual Eſteem they had contracted for one another; in this time they had two or three Children, who all dy'd in their Infancy: And now, it pleas'd Heaven to ſnatch, from this happy Man, the only Joy and Comfort of his Life; his Charming Spouſe died, and left him not only an inconſolable, but almoſt diſtracted, Widower: When the firſt Emotions [16] of Grief were over, he retir'd, from his own Houſe, to a little Farm, in another Country, where no Object ſhould come in his way, to revive in his Memory the Loſs of his lament⯑ed Wife: Here he ſpent two Years, which led him into the Thirty Eighth of his Life: this Time he divided between his Studies and Devotion; being Religious from his very In⯑fancy: Which natural Piety was, now, ſo much increas'd, by his late Loſs, that at laſt he reſolv⯑ed to quit his Native Country, and to retire into a Convent, being born, and bred in the Roman Catholick Communion.

THIS Reſolution was no ſooner known to his Friends, but they endeavour'd to divert it, by all manner of Perſuaſions and Arguments; by remonſtrating to him, That he was, now, in the Flower of his Age, and bleſt with a plentiful Fortune to give him all the Comforts and Pleaſures of Life; that it would be un⯑juſt, thus, to fling himſelf away, not only to himſelf, but his Friends and Family, to whom he ow'd the Debt, which he had contracted, for Poſterity to continue his Name: They told him, That he had paid all the Tribute to the Memory of his deceas'd Wife, that the Laws of Honour, Decency, and the Obligations of a good Husband required; that he was now at Liberty to make another Choice; that one good Woman was not a Phoenix, but that others of the ſame Species might be found, to make him as happy as before.

[17]THESE Arguments, tho' back'd with Rea⯑ſon, were all ineffectual; he was deaf to every Remonſtrance; and paſs'd over into Flanders, where he plac'd himſelf, at firſt, as Penſioner in a Religious Houſe; and liv'd with the ſame Strictneſs, that even the Rules of that Order requir'd from thoſe, who were under Vows of ſuch Auſterities; nor did he receive more Edi⯑fication from the Example of others, than he gave by his own.

AFTER a Life led, for ſome time, with the greateſt Eſteem and Reputation, he com⯑municated to the Superiors of the Houſe, his ardent Deſire of being receiv'd into their Society: The good Fathers, tho' inwardly pleas'd with the Honour of having ſo excellent a Perſon, in their Order, did not receive his Propoſal with that Chearfulneſs, which he ex⯑pected: Their Prudence ſuggeſted to them, that he was yet too young a Man, to be real⯑ly, upon good Grounds, diſguſted with the World, into the Love of which he lay under great Temptations of relapſing, by reaſon of that large Fortune, which could furniſh Means of enjoying thoſe Pleaſures, which he muſt now for ever abandon; and the Loſs of which, if he ſhould repent his Vows, would make him as miſerable, as he propos'd to himſelf to to be happy: They conjur'd him, at the ſame time, ſtrictly to ſearch his own Heart, ſo as to be convinced, that this Deſire was an Im⯑pulſe, and Call from God, and not any Tem⯑porary Diſguſt of the World, which might [18] blow over, and vaniſh in time: He ſubmit⯑ted to this Propoſal, and in a little time aſſur'd them, That it proceeded from the Di⯑rections of that Providence, to whoſe Service he had ſo ſtrong and glorious a Paſſion to de⯑dicate the reſt of his Life: Upon this, the Society conſented, on Condition, That he would undergo a double Noviciate, that by the length of the Time, they might be aſſur'd of his be⯑ing confirm'd in thoſe pious Reſolutions.

THIS he accepted, and immediately ſent over Powers into his own Country, to convey and ſettle his Eſtate upon his Heir, which was accordingly done; and the Time of his Novice⯑ſhip being expir'd, he took his Vows, and em⯑braced that Life in which he propos'd to him⯑ſelf ſo much Heavenly Satisfaction.

HE had not thus lived long in the Convent, but his great Capacity and Learning, render'd him too neceſſary to the Service of his Order, to be kept at home; by Command of his Su⯑periors he went on ſeveral Commiſſions into other Countries, where he executed the Orders, which he had receiv'd, with wonderful Ad⯑dreſs and Fidelity; at the ſame time acquiring an univerſal Reputation, for his extraordinary Sanctity of Life.

HIS Fortune ſettled him, at laſt, in France, where he met with the ſame Eſteem, and Veneration, as in other Countries, being uni⯑verſally careſs'd, and admir'd: At laſt his ardent Zeal for the Service of God, inflam'd him with a paſſionate Deſire of laying [19] down his Life, in aſſerting the Croſs of Chriſt; nothing wou'd now ſatisfy his grow⯑ing Fervour, but to be ſent on a Miſſion, to convert Infidels to the Chriſtian Faith, in which Employ he had the holy Ambition to meet with a Crown of Martyrdom. This pious In⯑clination he communicated to the Superiors of his Order, but was repulſed in his Requeſt, being told, That Men of leſs Weight, than he, might be as ſerviceable in the Converſion of Savages; that leſs Abilities, than his, were ſufficient to inſtruct Nations, ſo ſtupidly igno⯑rant; that his Preſence was more neceſſary in Europe, where they had ſo many Learned Ad⯑verſaries to combat.

THIS Repulſe not a little mortify'd the Zeal of the good Father, whoſe Paſſion for Martyrdom was now more inflam'd, by hearing, That there was a new Miſſion of French Jeſuits going over to America: He apply'd himſelf to the Biſhop of Quebec, who was juſt upon his Departure for Canada; this Prelate was ſo charm'd with the Zeal, and Piety of the Man, whoſe Character he had heard before, that he enter'd into his Sentiments, and made uſe of the Intereſt he had in the Court of France, to get the Requeſt of this New Apoſtle granted by Authority. Thus, Maſter of his Wiſhes, he went over with the Biſhop to Canada, where he met with as much Veneration of his Piety, Humility, and all other Chriſtian Vertues, in America, as he left behind him in Europe: After ſome time of Refreſhment, he prepar'd [20] for his Apoſtolical Function, and went with his Collegues, among the moſt ſavage, and cruel Nations of the Indians: Some of his Com⯑rades were murther'd by theſe People; others died of the Hardſhips and Fatigues which they endured, while our Miſſionary eſcap'd, thro' the Goodneſs of his Conſtitution.

IN this firſt Expedition, he was ſeveral times in imminent Danger of Life, having once the Knife over his Head to ſcalp him; but Providence, whoſe Secrets are unſearchable, preſerv'd him, and would not vouchſafe that Honour, which he ſo paſſionately deſir'd, of dying a Martyr: In this firſt Attempt, he ſuc⯑ceeded ſo far, as to vanquiſh the Obſtinacy and Ignorance of Twenty-two Indian Men and Women, whom he baptiz'd, and brought with him to Quebec; which Town he enter'd, tri⯑umphantly, with his Converts. The Reader may gueſs at the Veneration paid him by the People, who look'd on him as a Saint and Apo⯑ſtle, and preſt near to touch, and kiſs his very Garments: The Winter Months he was oblig'd to ſpend his Time at Quebec, it being impoſ⯑ſible to preſerve Life in ſo cold a Country, without the Cover of Houſes againſt the Incle⯑mency of the Air: The Summer-Seaſons were taken up, entirely, by the Labours of his Miſ⯑ſion, in which he had wonderful Succeſs the third Winter, at which time he approach'd the 50th Year of his Age: The Governour, who had a profound Reſpect for him, invited the good Miſſioner to come and reſide at his Houſe, [21] with a Requeſt to inſtruct his Daughter, who deſired to learn Languages, and Mathematicks: The good Father chearfully undertook his New Province, and very aſſiduouſly attended his young Pupil, the Pregnancy of whoſe Parts made his Pains the more agreeable: This Lady was about Eighteen Years old, with a Perſon equal to the Beauties of her Mind, and all the Vivacity ſo natural to her Country: The Preceptor had not often attended his fair Scho⯑lar, but he found thoſe Emotions in his Heart, which, in a little time ſhipwreck'd his Ver⯑tue; he fell deſperately in Love, and thro' the Eyes, ſuck'd in that Poyſon, which now taint⯑ed a Soul, that ſo much Vertue had long, and conſtantly defended before: LOVE, that in⯑vincible Tyrant, entirely ſubdued, and added the Heart of this once Holy Man, to his other Triumphs: In order to make himſelf the more agreeable, he cut off his Beard, and now put on Linnen, next his Skin, which he had not worn for ſome Years, the more to in⯑dulge his Mortification, tho' he was not oblig'd to that Auſterity by the Rules of his Order: That Devotion, which had flam'd ſo long in his Heart towards God Almighty, was now turn'd into Adoration of one of his Creatures; LOVE converting all others Paſſions into itſelf, as the Plague does all other Diſtempers.

IN ſhort, he managed his Amours with that Addreſs, That, at laſt, he triumph'd, and gra⯑tify'd his Criminal Deſires; the Fruits of which ſoon appear'd; the young Damſel was with [22] Child, which flung the Lovers into the laſt Confuſion and Diſtreſs: There was no Re⯑medy, but one, which was, To fly; accord⯑ingly one Night, the Summer now advancing, ſo as to permit them to lie in the Woods, they got over the Ramparts, and fled to the Indians, among whom he had a great Intereſt, and who now receiv'd them with open Arms. As he had ſeen ſome Campaigns in his Youth, and underſtood Fortification, and the Mathe⯑matical Part of War, he began to Train and Diſcipline the Savages, whom he perſuaded to revolt againſt the French: In the mean while, the Governour, overwhelm'd with Grief for this terrible Misfortune in his Family, ſent out ſeveral ſmall Parties to bring them back; but theſe were defeated by the Superiority of Num⯑bers; upon which the Governour march'd with the whole Garriſon, and all the Fighting Men he could muſter; the Lovers animated and en⯑courag'd the Savages, whom they brought, in great Numbers, to oppoſe the Enemy; the little Armies came in ſight, and while the Two Unfortunate Lovers ſtood cloſe to one another, ſhe, with an Indian Quiver at her Back, and Bow in her Hand, the firſt Fire from the French laid them both on the Ground; Such was the ſad Cataſtrophe of this unhappy Man, whoſe Piety, and good Life, for ſo many Years, could not prevent his Falling, at laſt, ſo Memorable an Example of The Imbecility of all Human Ac⯑compliſhments.

THE PLAIN DEALER. No 4.
FRIDAY, April 3. 1724.

GAMING, and Stock-jobbing, come to Day, under my Obſervation. The firſt methinks, needs no Aggravation of its Guilt in order to extinguiſh it; ſince it may ſo tru⯑ly be ſaid, That there is nothing Honourable, that it does not aim to make Vile; nothing Great and Magnificent, that it does not reduce to look Little and Deſpicable.

HOW would the deceaſed Bucharis have been able to leap down from behind the Chariot of a departed Lord, and ſtep into a finer of his own, if he had wanted the happy Turn of obliging unlucky Gentlemen to live in a more uncomfortable State, than even his Compani⯑ons, (before himſelf became a Gentleman.) What muſt the great Cartaerarius think when he prances along the Pavements, upon a Par with the Prime Nobility, and ſees a Wretch walk the Streets half-ſtarv'd with Cold and Hunger, dreſs'd in Sagathie in the Depth of [24] Winter, whom he knew to have been his Su⯑perior in Wealth, and Magnificence, till he reduc'd him to this Diſparity? Can my Rea⯑ders imagine, That Cartaerarius muſt not loſe the Jollity of his Heart for a Moment, at ſo mortifying a Proſpect? or, Do they think he can be Brute enough to enjoy himſelf upon the Reflection of his different Fortune, and of the Tricks he had play'd in his Life, and the Num⯑bers he had made as wretched, as the Object I have mentioned?

THIS is a ſtrange and melancholy Fate: a Box and Dice heartily ſtamp'd upon a Table here in London, ſhall have a more powerful Effect, on the Walls of a ſtrong-built Caſtle in the Country, than the firing of Twenty Mor⯑ta [...]s againſt it could have had, on the Spot, and ſhall force the Poſſeſſor to ſurrender it at Diſ⯑cretion, with all the Territories round about it, to one who is innocently called, a fair Enemy, and who attacks it in Play only.

IT is ſtill more ſtrange, That a Cuſtom, which has been known to have brought ſuch uncom⯑mon Calamities upon the greateſt and richeſt Men, ſhould at laſt become common, among the common People themſelves: And yet this was lately the Caſe. Tradeſmen and Sharpers of a Lower Rank, committed the like Hoſti⯑lities, and Shops were ſhut up by way of Gaming. I know one Wiſe Man an Apothecary, who ne⯑glected his Buſineſs to become Rich, and has been ſeen to loſe more Money by ſhaking his Elbow over a Gaming-Table in three Hours, than he [25] could recover by brandiſhing his Arm over a Mortar in three times as many Months.

I AM the more ſlack in my Remarks, and throw together only a few looſe Hints againſt this vicious Habit, becauſe a more effectual Way has been lately taken to check its Progreſs. And, if People of Faſhion did not think them⯑ſelves above the Benefit of thoſe Laws which vulgar Perſons are cautious of tranſgreſſing, for fear of being treated as Cheats, and Im⯑poſtors, this Diſcourſe would be render'd uſe⯑leſs. The Nature of Impoſture, is no other⯑wiſe alter'd, by being the Fact of a Perſon of Diſtinction, but by its becoming more highly Criminal. Out of Perſons of Faſhion and Eſtate, are generally choſen thoſe, who are obliged to watch over the publick Welfare: And can they guard Property in publick Life, who lay Snares to entrap it in a private Capacity? No Man ſhould be allow'd to appear in an Aſſem⯑bly of Buſineſs, who has made himſelf a Member among the Surrounders of a Hazard Table. There have been of late but Two Gameſters, that ſtepp'd high enough to have any Rule in publick Affairs entruſted to their Management, Exlex and the young Montanus; theſe, tho' otherwiſe Men of ſignal Capacities, and many worthy Qualifications, could not reſiſt their Natural Propenſity, and thereby infus'd into two Kingdoms ſuch an univerſal Spirit of Avarice and Gaming, by ſtrange Schemes, 'till then unheard-of, as muſt, if continued, have [26] ſoon accompliſh'd the Ruin, which they threaten'd at their firſt Appearance.

AS to Gaming in lower Life, the Juſtices of the Peace have acted with ſuch commendable Vigilance, That they have ſcarce left me a known Sharper in the Town, to exerciſe the Edge of my Satire upon. Moſt of them have, I believe, by this time, taken to the more ho⯑nourable way of Robbing with a Piſtol and Brace of Balls in it, which is much leſs dangerous to the Offended, and leſs ſafe to the Offender, than a Box with a Pair of Dice in it: Others have gone in Gangs like Foot-pads, and while one knock'd down the Paſſenger, the other rifled him, which is only a kind of Emblem of their Play called Two poll One. Thus I believe, that, if a ſtrict Scrutiny were made into the Num⯑bers that are left, of the Fraternity, we ſhould find, that, ſince the happy Diſſolution of that Knot, moſt of the looſe ones have been ſwept away, by his Majeſty's induſtrious Subject Mr. Jonathan Forward Rear-Admiral of the City Tranſports.

BUT there is a Species of more miſchie⯑vous Gameſters remaining ſtill among us, who ought, methinks, to have had free Paſſage in ſome of that Great Pilot's Veſſels—I mean, the preſent Fraternity of Stock-jobbers.

THIS Brotherhood, who play their Game upon the Hopes and Fears, of other People, make uſe of cant Names, as the Gameſters did, and with juſt the ſame Propriety. The Game⯑ſters called their Inſtruments of Miſchief by the [27] Denomination of Squibs and Puffs, and the Stock-jobbers have their Bulls and Bears; nor were thoſe half ſo formidable in Covent-Garden, as theſe are about the Royal-Exchange, in Corn⯑hill.

A Bear is a Beaſt of Prey, who, not having perhaps a Morſel in the World, appears with the Pretence of a whole Paw full of Stock, which he agrees to deliver on a Day. But, if Stock riſes, he muſt, as the Phraſe is, Shew his Tail, that is, he muſt Run away.

A Bull is juſt the Reverſe of this: He, is as Pennyleſs as his Brother Beaſt, but roars and bellows for Stock, and Devours all that is offer'd him; and if, at the Time when it is to be paid for, it happens to fall, then he too muſt Run off, as the Bear did.

NUMBERS of honeſt Tradeſmen are delu⯑ded by theſe odd Beaſts, and kept warm with imaginary Hopes of turning their Money better and faſter upon Stocks, than in Buſineſs: And where the Unskilful are drawn in to try their Fortunes this way, their Money becomes a Sa⯑crifice to the Jobbers, and themſelves Bankrupts to the Publick: Bulls and Bears, as oppoſite as they are in their Natures, agree very well together, and ſometimes perſonate one another to draw in an honeſt Citizen; and if he once gets between both, by that Time the Stocks, have had a few Variations to and fro, he is ſure, by their toſſing him from one to t'other, to be worried out of his Senſes.

[28]MY Friend the Alderman, who has ſome⯑times a way of Jeſting peculiar to himſelf, ſays, That when he has been running over the Ad⯑vertiſements, relating to Bankrupts in our Ga⯑zettes, he would frequently make Marks on the Margin, denoting, Where ſuch a broken-hearted Butcher has been forced to ſhut up his Stall upon being Gored by the Horn of a Bull; and where the Paw of a Bear has pulled a rich Linnen-Draper by the Head and Ears, over his Counter. I warrant you, my old Friend, (will he often ſay, for he is apt to dwell upon old Jokes) when the Watch-Tower of Barbi⯑can was ſtanding, the ſharpeſt Eye of any Man that ſtood in it, could never perceive round this whole City, one ſuch voracious Ani⯑mal, threatning Ruin to the Inhabitants, as the Modern Bulls and Bears are.

IT is certain, That the Alderman's Jeſt was true in Earneſt. For our wiſe Anceſtors made wholſome Laws for extirpating all wild and miſchievous Beaſts out of the Land, and ſet a Price upon their Heads. It muſt be therefore very wrong in ſuch a Populous Town as this, to permit Bulls, and unmuzzled Bears, to have their Stalls and Dens about Exchange-Alley, where they have Opportunity to run out and deſtroy unwary Citizens. Beſides, the Alder⯑man told me (as a Remark of his Wife,) That under Boaſt of the vaſt Stocks they deal for, they tempt the yielding Hearts of many a rich Citizen's Daughter, and pin themſelves on Fa⯑milies to be kept without a Groat, and ſome⯑times [29] take a Bite of the young Lady, in that Part they like beſt, and then run away, with⯑out coming to account for it. She ſays, That Mr. Honeyman, a Sugar Baker, has Two Cubs upon his Daughter's hands, by a Bear that has left the Alley; and that Mr. Simple's Favourite Child is upon the Point of being delivered of a Calf, begot by a ſilly awkward Bull, that Burſt himſelf, by ſwallowing Stock, beyond the Power of his natural Digeſtion.

THESE are Things not to be tolerated in any Civil Government whatſoever; for they manifeſtly tend to the Ruin of Commerce; and at this rate it will come to paſs in the courſe of a few Years, That while Ruſſia is poliſhing its rough Inhabitants into the finer Reſemblance of Engliſhmen, the Politeneſs of Britain will be transformed into the Barbarity of Ruſſia, and the greateſt Part of this Metropolis will be over⯑run with an unheard-of Generation of Savages and Monſters. It is, therefore, my ſerious Opi⯑nion, That the Practice ſhou'd be put down; and that for the Quiet and Safety of ſober Citizens, every Bull and Bear of them all, ſhould be firſt driven out of the City, by the way of Newgate, and then tranſported out of the Kingdom.

THE PLAIN DEALER. No 5.
MONDAY, April 6. 1724.

THE LOVE of our Country, when it is underſtood, as Great Spirits conſider it, is the moſt Noble, among thoſe Vertues, which grace and elevate Human Nature: But, in the General Idea, which Men form, when they ſpeak of this publick Duty, it is a mean, and ſelfiſh Frailty! A poor Contraction of Soul, which would call in our Beneficence from Mankind, our common Brotherhood! and con⯑fine it, with a ſcandalous Frugality of Affecti⯑on, to the Land which we were born in; for the ſame ridiculous Reaſon, which made the Ape, in the Fable, the Firſt, that produced her young Ones, when a Decree had been publiſh⯑ed, That the moſt Beautiful, among the Beaſts, ſhould ſucceed to the Government.

FEW Men, I am afraid, have any Nobler Motive, than this Love of themſelves, for the Love, they bear their Country! But the Partia⯑lity of a true Patriot muſt be juſtify'd by his [31] Care of the Publick Honour: He muſt contri⯑bute to the General Intereſt, with the Loſs of his particular Eaſe, and to the Hazard of his private Safety. The ſame impatient Beat, with which the Soul, conſcious of Immortality, preſſes forward to Futurity, and inſpires a Se⯑cret Pleaſure in our Hope of Fame Hereafter, tho' we are ſure we ſhall be Duſt, and have no Ear for thoſe Praiſes, which we charm our our ſelves in Death, with but the Proſpect, and faint Image of:—The ſame Noble Source has the Spirit of true Patriotiſm!—It teaches a wiſe Man to Love his Country, Like his Off-ſpring; not meerly, as they are His; but for the Natural Vertues, which he obſerves in them, and which he has taken Delight to to cheriſh, and urge forward, for the Orna⯑ment of Poſterity.

THE Prejudices of our Minds, and the dif⯑ferent Intereſts we are led by, make us very unqualified Judges, of the State of this Vertue, with Regard to the Times, we live in: And the ſame Paſſions have always produc'd the ſame Effects, in the Hiſtorians, of former Ages: But there are ſome Inſtances, ſo ſtrongly De⯑monſtrative, in their Nature, That Partiality can add no Beauty, by the Arts of Deſcribing; nor can Envy diſcolour them, by falſe Lights, or miſplacing.

DEEP Enquirers into Nature have recom⯑mended it, as a way to judge ſoundly of Mens good, or evil Tendency, by obſerving what Effect is produc'd in their Paſſions, upon Re⯑lation [32] of ſome Amiable Example, of Human Excellence; if ſuch a Trial is juſt, I ſhould wiſh to avoid the Society of that Man, who could reflect on the following Story, without unuſual Emotions, in Honour of the Noble Roman, to whoſe true Senſe of Publick Spirit, we owe it.

IN that part of the Punick War, when Fa⯑bius Maximus commanded the Forces of Italy, againſt Hannibal, certain Officers of the Roman Army, were taken Priſoners by the Enemy. Fabius was well acquainted with the Skill and Courage of theſe Men, and reſolv'd not to loſe them: He, therefore, treated with the Car⯑thaginians, and agreed upon their Ranſom, at a very high Sum. for Payment of which, by a Day appointed, he engag'd the Honour of the Roman Senate: But the Senate, inſtead of ſending him the Money, refuſed to ratify the Agreement.—Fabius receiv'd the News, with more Grief, than Indignation; and, giving ſtrict Orders, for concealing it from his Army, diſpatch'd his Son to Rome, with all Secrecy and Expedition, to make Sale of his Own Paternal Eſtate, and to return to him with the Money; which as ſoon he receiv'd, he ſent it to Hannibal, as from the Senate,—For I had rather, ſaid he, It ſhould be reported of the Ro⯑mans, That they have a General without Land, than a Senate without Humanity?

OUR Clergyman, whom we delight to con⯑ſider, as a Bleſſing to the Aſſembly, becauſe his Life is a ſilent Enforcer of his Doctrine, was [33] expatiating, the other Day, on the Grace, and Grandeur, of this Action; and had fix'd us, in the moſt ſatisfied, and reſpectful Attention; when he was broke in upon, by the Coquet, with the following Relation, which ſhe aſſur'd us, was Matter of Fact, and happen'd very lately;—And it contains, added ſhe, ſo ex⯑alted an Inſtance of refin'd, and generous Love, That if ever I find a Man, who would be Mine upon ſuch Terms, I ſhall Marry, and bid Defiance to the Sound of the Word Matron!

COURTHOPE was the Son of an Engliſh Merchant, who had liv'd long in the Canary Iſlands; he had been ſent young to London, for the Advantage of his Education, and (while there) fell in Love with Bellaria, the only Daughter of a Gentleman of a good Family and Eſtate, who had promis'd this Lady to a diſtant Relation, of his Name: But ſhe had an Averſion for his Perſon, and made open Profeſſion of a Paſſion for young Courthope, which the Father was ſo far from approving, that, being provok'd by her Firmneſs, he command⯑ed her, under Penalty of his Hatred, and his Curſe, never more to converſe with him; and confin'd her, from that time forward, to pre⯑vent even the Poſſibility of it. Bellaria, not⯑withſtanding this Reſtraint, found means to eſcape, and dreſſing her ſelf in Boy's Cloaths, imbark'd with Courthope, on a Spaniſh Ship, that was bound for the Canaries; where he aſſur'd her, they would be welcome to a Fa⯑ther, whoſe gentle Nature knew nothing of [34] that Rigour, which, from her Infancy, ſhe had been oppreſs'd by. They were taken in this Voyage, by a Mooriſh Veſſel, belonging to the Rovers of Sallee: And 'tis eaſier to conceive, than expreſs, the Affliction, the Deſpair, the Aſtoniſhment of Courthope: fallen, at once, from a Proſpect of the ſweeteſt, and moſt live⯑ly Joy, to the Depth of conſummate Miſery! He ſaw Her, now, the Companion of his Sla⯑very, who had wiſh'd, and ventur'd, ſo much, to make Him Partner of her Affluence; and he ſuffer'd more than Death, every time, that his Eyes, all ſwimming in Tears, ſtole a Glance, at his Bellaria, whom he durſt not diſtinguiſh, by any Marks of Reſpect, or Service, for fear of pointing out her Sex, to the Brutes, who were their Maſters.

BUT what aggravated his Sorrow, to the moſt piercing Extremity, was, an Information he receiv'd from a Native of the Canaries, whom he found a Slave at Sallee, That his Fa⯑ther was newly dead, and that all his Effects had been ſeiz'd by the Spaniards, on Occaſion of ſome Criminal Correſpondencies, which he had unwarily been drawn into.

THEY paſs'd about a Week, with the reſt of their Ship's Company, in a publick Dun⯑geon of the City, where they were to expect the killing Summons, which muſt expoſe them in a Market, to be ſold, and torn for ever from the Enjoyment of that mutual Comfort, which was, now, the only Thought, that could ſup⯑port 'em in their Wretchedneſs. The Moon, [35] one Night, ſhone clearly thro' the Grates of the Priſon Windows; and Courthope, while the reſt were aſleep, hung, in melancholy Tranſ⯑port, over the Boſom of Bellaria, who ſtarted, in broken Slumbers, and fill'd his Soul with ſad Reflections. He took Notice of a rugged Stone, which roſe, pointed, thro' the Earth, and imagining it might hurt her, remov'd it, with much Difficulty, and had no ſooner drawn it out, but he diſcover'd an old Piece of Wool⯑len Cloth, which had formerly been hidden under it, in which were Sixty Moidores, Two Gold Rings, and a Writing which he perceiv'd to have been French, but now defac'd, and not legible,

HE approach'd Bellaria's Ear, and awak'd her, in all the Ecſtacy of a Man, who conſider'd himſelf, as diſtinguiſhed by Providence: He whiſper'd his new Hopes, of an immediate Redemption; and found Means ſoon after, by Aid of an honeſt Jew, a Man of much Charity, who viſited the Slaves every Morning, to be carried to the Alcaid; and, truſting his Gold with the Jew, propos'd to ranſom Himſelf and Bellaria, whom he called his Brother: But the Conflict of his Paſſions had ſo viſible an Effect, in his Looks, and his Earneſtneſs, that the Alcaid took Advantage, from what he obſerved, and inſiſted on the whole Sum, for the Liberty, of One only, which was offered him, for Both.—He bid him name, at his Choice, either his Brother, or himſelf; but adviſed him to loſe no Time, for an Engliſh Sloop was ready [36] to ſail out of the Harbour, with ranſom'd Captives on Board, and would carry him to Gibraltar, where his Countrymen were in Gar⯑riſon:—He added too, That all the Chri⯑ſtian Slaves in Sallee, were to ſet out the next Morning, for Mequinez, to work on ſome New Buildings of the Emperor of Morocco.

Courthope trembled with Jealouſy; and a Thouſand different Fears, at the diſtracting Imagination of Bellaria, in the Eye and Power of ſuch a Tyrant!—He went out with the Jew, and took a ſudden Reſolution.

ABOUT Noon the ſame Day, the Jew re⯑turned to the Priſon, and carried with him an Order for the Diſmiſſion of Bellaria; who, en⯑quiring after Courthope, was told, He went be⯑fore, to prepare Things for her Reception, on Board the Veſſel, they were to embark in; and had given him Orders to conduct her thither immediately. Never was any Order obey'd with ſo much Tranſport; the Jew hir'd a Boat, and attending her to the Ship, return'd, abrupt⯑ly, to the Town, without taking Leave of her:—She was led into the Cabbin, where, ex⯑pecting to find her Lover, ſhe was receiv'd by the Maſter of the Veſſel, with whom the Jew had been before, and who deliver'd her a Let⯑ter, which ſhe open'd, with trembling Hands, and read in it, what follows.

SHE flew, skrieking, upon the Deck, as ſoon as ſhe had read this dreadful, this inſup⯑portable, Letter! but ſaw, with as much Di⯑ſtinction, as her Tears would permit her, that the Ship was under Sail, and all ſhe wiſh'd to live for, left in Slavery behind Her.

THE PLAIN DEALER. No 6.
FRIDAY, April 10. 1724.

THOUGH Good-Breeding and Politeneſs, are generally thought the ſame, they are Qualities very different. Politeneſs is the In⯑fluence of a Natural Refinement: Good-Breeding, the Form of an Artificial Civility. The Laſt but Reſtrains us from giving Offence; the Firſt, Impowers us to give Pleaſure. Politeneſs is the happy Mixture of Greatneſs, with Benignity: 'Tis a Sun-ſhine from the Soul, on the Looks, Words and Actions. Good-Breeding is often, a Surface without Depth; and, like the Painter's gay Colours, on dark Primings, ſpreads a Gloſs over the Outſide, even of Vices, and Mean⯑ſpiritedneſs: Whereas Politeneſs, like the Cry⯑ſtal, is tranſparent as well as ſhiny; and always appears lovelier, the fuller Light it is plac'd in.

I INTENDED to have adapted to this ſeri⯑ous Introduction, a very ſober Diſſertation, which many of my Gentle Readers, might, no [39] doubt have miſtaken for a Dull One: But I ſhall ſubſtitute in its Place, a moſt extraordinary Eſſay of the Epiſtolary Kind, which will ſerve for the ſame Purpoſe. It brings me the uncom⯑mon Caſe of a faithful, though unfavour'd Lover, whoſe Good-Breeding, without Politeneſs, has loſt him a Miſtreſs, by an odd Kind of Civility which he made uſe of, for engaging her.

I NEED not inform my Readers, That this Letter is an Original: They will diſcover na⯑tural Graces in it, which are inimitably Genuine.

[42]As I ſhall borrow, from my Correſpondents, the Entire Entertainment of this Day, here follows an Epiſtle, which I have newly receiv'd, from the Malapert Miſtreſs of a Riding-Hood Ware-Houſe.

THE PLAIN DEALER. No 7.
MONDAY, April 13. 1724.

BEING the other Day in a large Com⯑pany at a Gentleman's Houſe in Covent-Garden, I was highly delighted, to hear a young beautiful Lady acknowledge that Tears flow'd from her Eyes, upon reading of the Story of Courthope. She who had the Virtue to be ſo Elegantly moved by his Diſtreſs, will reliſh an Account of his better Fortune, which ſhe may hereafter expect to be Entertained with. But when ſhe added, That ſhe had been a Coquette too long, and if ever it ſhould be her Fate to meet with a Suitor of Courthope's Deſert, ſhe would let him loſe no Time, for Fear of Accidents: when I perceived ſhe made this frank Confeſſion, not only with her Lips, but from her Heart, I confeſs, I began to conceive Hopes of knowing very ſpeedily, That ſome viſible Fruits would ariſe from theſe my Labours.

[44]I WAS therefore a little concern'd, when I found my ſelf interrupted by a young Wag, who was pleaſed to paſs Pertneſs upon the Company for Jeſting. ‘'That PLAIN DEALER, ſaid he, is a well-meaning Writer, but he does not ſtrike out a Meaning cleverly. This is one of the beſt Stories I have read, upon the Subject of Love; only, there is not one Double-Meaning through the Whole, and that makes it Inſipid. He has been generally hitherto, a perfect Inhabitant of his Blunt-Hall, which ſeems to be, rather the Seat of his Underſtanding than of his Perſon. But, ſince the Ladies like him, I will endeavour to be of Their Mind, and eſpecially be⯑cauſe he tells us, he is an Old Batchelor, as well as a PLAIN DEALER, and we muſt have ſome Humour ſtruck out of him, when he comes to act that Character.’

I GUESS'D what the young Malapert would be at by the Word Humour, and I found I was not deceiv'd, when he pulled out of his Pocket a little Scrap of Poetry, intitled,—An Epiſtle from Mrs. Robinſon to Seneſino,—in which he peremptorily ſwore, There was a great deal of Turn, Life, and Spirit.

IT is certain, He ſhewed ſome Spirit in reading it, and proved himſelf a Maſter of Hu⯑mour, for he went boldly and undauntedly thro' it; and would never obſerve, that every freſh Line excited freſh Bluſhes in the Faces of all the Fair and Modeſt Part of the Aſſembly.

[45]I TAKE this Opportunity of Informing that young Spark (and all others of the ſame Claſs are deſired to take Notice of it) That he is greatly miſtaken, if he expects any ſuch Hu⯑mour from me, notwithſtanding his irreverent way of talking of his Elders, and throwing, over my Shoulder, a General Sneer upon all the Old Batchelors in Great-Britain.

MY Province muſt be Tedious, before it can grow Pleaſant; I muſt firſt remove Folly, before I can make Room for Wit; for it is by clear⯑ing their way through the Rubbiſh of Ab⯑ſurdity, that Men take the firſt Steps to Wiſ⯑dom.

IF, according to the Maxim in the Forehead of my Paper, it was my immediate Office to Teach that young Spark better Things, which I had then a great Inclination to Do, only for Fear of diſcovering my ſelf, I would begin by Weeding out of his Mind that rank Conceit, which he entertains of his Parts, and ſhewing him, that there is no true Humour in Lewdneſs, nor true Wit in a Double Entendre.

HOW different was the Principle of Waller? That Excellent Writer, as I have heard my old Friend Mr. Dryden relate publickly at Will's, in his Commendation, uſed to ſay, That he would raze any Line out of his Poems, which did not imply ſome Motive to Virtue. This is a Saying that ought to be Memorable among our Poets; it carries with it the Energy of Good Senſe, as well as Virtue.

[48]FOR my own Share, I declare, I would rather Propagate one ſuch Maxim, with good Effect, amongſt the Writers of the preſent Age, than be the Head of thoſe Writers my⯑ſelf, and the Author of better Verſes, than Waller's.

THEY who believe this to be my real Sen⯑timent, may gueſs how extreamly delighted I muſt have been, with the following Anſwer, which a young Lady has given, to the Affront and Outrage offered to the whole Sex, by one who perſonates Seneſino, in that ſcandalous Epiſtle.

THE Buſineſs of the following, is of a Nature very ſurprizing. To ſay Truth, I was ſtartled at it. It does not, directly, indeed, come to me from the Devil: But it was ſent me from a Deputy of his, who Profeſſes the Black Art, and ſtiles himſelf Doctor Fauſtus. He dates his Letter, From the Theatre in Lincolns-Inn-Fields,—and would paſs upon me, for a Player, or a Tumbler, or Zany, under the Diſguiſe of a Magician: But I beg his Pardon for That; I am ſeldom deceiv'd ſo eaſily. I am almoſt perſuaded, It is an Agile, Evil Spirit, [50] that walks and does Miſchief, by Candle-Light, and aſſumes enticing Shapes, to draw in the Unwary, and deprive People of their Wits. But, if he be, really, Fleſh and Blood, I am at a Loſs what to think of him; only his Aſſurance ſeems conſiderable, (ſince he appears, by his Letter, to belong to One of our Theatres) that he ſhould imagine me to be Novice enough to believe, he could be a Conjurer.

THE PLAIN DEALER. No 8.
FRIDAY, April 17. 1724.

THERE is a Livelineſs, and Race of Spirit, which we commonly call Wit; but it is the Effect of Natural Accident; and depends, like a Machine, upon Order and [53] Parts. It is only the Reſult of a Mixture of different Humours: and of Animal Spirits, finer and more delicately agitated, than ordi⯑nary; which imprint in their Paſſage, a quick and lively Senſe of Images; and animate by that Impreſſion, the Viſage, Voice, and Deport⯑ment.

IT is merely by this Quickneſs, and Heat of their Imagination, that witty Men ſurprize us. A ſmart and ſprightly Rhetorick! A hu⯑morous Turn of Phraſe! A frank Vivacity of Mien! with a modiſh Affectation of peculiar Looks, and Geſture, make the Merit of their Character. But theſe Men want, for the moſt Part, both Strength of Mind, and Penetration. Their Imaginations are thin, and delicate; and play lightly on the Skirts of Objects: But they are too weak for ſolid Reaſoning; and, in any Thing abſtracted, and above the Pitch of the Senſes, they are miſerably Impotent, and grow preſently weary.

THEY are the Ladies Favourites, however; by a Kind of Sympathy, or Reſemblance: For, Women, being naturally of feeble Conſtitutions, have their Brains of ſoft Conſiſtence; with Fibres fine, and ſlender; apt and eaſy to be mov'd, by the weakeſt Agitations. They are ſubject therefore, to their Senſes; and wanting Force, to ſtrike deeper, ſet up for Judges of Modes, and Faſhions; and reliſh nothing, but what contributes to their Pleaſure, or their Ornament. They have fix'd the Standard of Wit, by certain Rules of this Tendency; and [54] find nothing ſo difficult, as to believe a Man can want it, who has ſuch Charms for their Entertainment.

NED VOLATILE, a Member of our Aſſem⯑bly at the Widow's, is a Foreman of this Species. With a great Extent of Good Nature, he ap⯑pears Void of any; his Facility to jeſt and rally, tranſports him, beyond Decency, to illuſtrate Objects, or debaſe 'em; and, without regard to Ceremony, Merit, or Condition, he contracts Things, or magnifies them, when they fall in his Way, 'till he has adapted them to his Talent, of preſenting every Thing ridiculouſly.

WE have the very Reverſe of this Character, in the frank-hearted Major Stedfaſt: a Brave, and Able Officer, the Reward of whoſe Merit has been Oppreſſion and Injuſtice! yet, ſo firm is the manly Generoſity of his Temper, that, at one and the ſame Time, he vindicates his Character with the Boldneſs of an injur'd Sol⯑dier; and offers Arguments, in Excuſe for the Raſhneſs of his Ruiner! Imputing to Credulity, and the Malice of Miſrepreſenters, what his Friends, All, conſider as an Act of Violence and Barbarity. There is no Subject, which he, oftner, or with more Pleaſure, enlarges on, than the great, and noble Qualities, of the Man who has undone him! Nay, he talks, even of his Juſtice, with as much Warmth and Seriouſneſs, as if he had, himſelf, been oblig'd by it.

THE Major and Ned Volatile, are the North and South Poles of our Aſſembly. Ned ſpeaks, [55] and the Major thinks. The firſt is always pleas'd, but the other always pleaſes. There is a Humanity in the Major's Air, that never fails to mark him out as the common Friend of the Company: and a kind of Majeſtick Tenderneſs in his Behaviour, gives him the Authority of their Father. He corrects, and approves, with Openneſs; and is, at once, ſevere and amiable! There is a ſolemn Force and Weight, in the Manner of his ſpeaking, which ſeems to borrow its Equality from the Steddineſs of his Principles. He eſteems, without Tranſport; and condemns, without Anger. What is Fancy in Ned Volatile, is Reaſon in the Major. The One has a Judg⯑ment, that is Solid and Plain: The Other an Imagination, that is Sparkling and Wanton.

IT is a very frequent, and agreeable Enter⯑tainment, which ariſes to the Aſſembly out of the natural Oppoſition, of theſe two Characters; who yet preſerve a Decorum, by Effect of the Regard each has for the other. The Major loves Ned's Chearfulneſs; But thinks him trifling and impertinent: And Ned Volatile hears, with Reverence, the Wiſdom of the Major; but would like him a great deal better, if he would be merrier and more noiſy.

WE had lately the Pleaſure of hearing, in a full Meeting, ſome of the neweſt Opera Songs, by a skilful Italian Lady, who has been famous on our Theatres; and is equally remarkable for the Sweetneſs of her Voice, and the Strength of her Features! ſhe is an Acquaintance of the Widow, who asked us, aſſoon as ſhe was gone, [56] our Opinion of this Perſon, to whom, we all knew her Partial. Ned Volatile prevented any Anſwer but his own; and deſir'd, He might have Liberty to give it, under his Hand. He had Pen and Ink brought him; and every Bo⯑dy was grown Impatient for the Product of his Muſe, when he preſented it, in the following VERSES, from Randolph.

NO ſooner had Ned Volatile repeated his Verſes, but a General Applauſe, of Laughter, was return'd him by the Company. All but the Widow, the Major and My-ſelf, were ex⯑travagantly tranſported with the Humour and the Satire: And Ned was triumphantly expand⯑ing his Poetry, with an Air of Levity, and Satisfaction; when the Major, to prevent [57] a ſecond Reading, of what he ſaw was diſtaſteful to ſome Part of the Aſſembly, began to ſpeak in this Manner.

HERE, the Major clos'd his Speech; and it was difficult to ſay, which had moſt pleas'd the Hearers, His Story, or his Good-Nature: Ned Volatile, himſelf, tho' his Vanity was a little ſhock'd, felt an Awe, from the Vertue and Plain-Dealing of his Friend; and, looking generouſly out of Countenance, told the Major, with a ſerious Smile, ‘'That, in Company of 'the Wiſe, none are Fooliſh, but the Witty.’

[61]THE Major embrac'd Ned Volatile with a fatherly Pride, and Tenderneſs: And there was not One, in Company, who did not think it a Happineſs, to be guilty of a Fault, which had furniſh'd an Opportunity of repenting, ſo gracefully.

THE PLAIN DEALER. No 9.
MONDAY, April 20. 1724.

THERE is Nothing more talk'd of and leſs eaſily found than Friendſhip; Every One Pretends to It, and not One in a Million really Poſſeſſes this Noble Paſſion, which is the moſt Generous that can Actuate and Adorn the Soul of Man; being as Neceſſary a Cement, in Private and Domeſtick Life, as Publick Faith to Publick Society, and the greater Commerce of the World.

FOR Want of Authentick and Real Ex⯑amples of this Noble Quality ſo conducive to Pleaſure as well as Profit, the Antient Poets have had Recourſe to Fiction, and told us Stories of their Pylades and Oreſtes; but we [62] will entertain the Reader with the greateſt Action of Generous Friendſhip that Human Na⯑ture is capable of Performing; and this from an Author of unexceptionable Credit, who was both an Eye and Ear Witneſs to Part of the Story, which is more remarkable, by happening between Two Brothers, whom the conſtant Ob⯑ſervation of all Ages, has remark'd to be leſs often Friends, notwithſtanding the Ties of Blood, than other Perſons; inſomuch that Vir⯑gil, who had a Perfect Knowledge of Human Nature, has thought fit (as it were Proverbially) to expreſs himſelf on this Occaſion,

IN the Beginning of the XVIth Century, the Portugueze Carracks ſailed from Lisbon to Goa, a very great Colony of Portugueze, in the Eaſt-Indies. Theſe Carracks are the largeſt Veſſels that preſs the Ocean: On Board of one of them were Twelve Hundred Souls, Mariners, Merchants, Paſſengers, Prieſts, and Fryars, who were going on their ſeveral Miſſions eſta⯑bliſhed in China and the Indies: The Begin⯑ning of their Voyage was Proſperous; they had doubled the Cape of Good Hope, and were ſteer⯑ing North-Eaſt to the Continent of India, when ſome Gentlemen on Board, having ſtudied Geo⯑graphy and Navigation, found in the Latitude in which they then were, a very great Ridge of Rocks laid down in their Sea Charts; upon this, they apply'd themſelves to the Captain [63] of the Ship, and acquainted him with the Danger which they apprehended, deſiring him at the ſame Time, to communicate what they had diſcovered to the Pilot; which Requeſt he immediately gratify'd, recommending to the Pilot to lie by in the Night, and ſlacken Sail by Day, 'till they ſhould be paſt the Danger. By the Diſcipline of the Portugueze Navy, the Sailing Part is abſolutely committed to the Care of the Pilot, who is anſwerable with his Head, for the ſafe Carriage of the King's Ship, and under no manner of Direction from the Captain, who commands in all other Reſpects.

INSTEAD of complying with ſo reaſonable a Requeſt, on which the Safety of ſo many Lives depended, the inſolent Pilot, thinking it an Affront to be taught in his own Art, crowded more Sail than he carried before.

THE Obſervations of theſe Gentlemen were too true, not to have a fatal Iſſue: They had not ſailed many Hours, but juſt upon Break of Day, (which would have been prevented if they had lain by) the Ship ſtruck upon a Rock, and broke her Back.

I LEAVE to the Reader's Imagination, what a Scene of Horror this muſt be; the Fright of Twelve hundred Perſons in the ſame inevita⯑ble Danger, at the Sight of that inſtantaneous Death, which ſtar'd them in the Face!

THE Captain in this Diſtreſs, order'd the Pinnace to be launch'd, into which, after hav⯑ing toſs'd in a ſmall Quantity of Biſcuit, and ſome few Boxes of Marmelade, he got himſelf [64] with nineteen others, who ſeeing the Danger of a Crowd in the common Horror, ruſhing in⯑to the Boat, drew their Swords and prevented the coming in of any more: The ſame Neceſ⯑ſity oblig'd them immediately to put off, leſt their Pinnace ſhould be drawn in by the Suction of the ſinking Carrack.

HERE their Eyes were entertain'd with the moſt diſmal of Spectacles, the Sight of their ſinking Friends, and their Ears with the Cries of ſo many in the ſame Miſery, whom they could not help without their own Deſtruction; a Scene of Woe, which nothing could alleviate but the Reflection, that they themſelves were not in the ſame Extremity, though humanly ſpeaking, they were not in a much better Con⯑dition, being deſtitute on the vaſt Indian Ocean, in an open Boat, without any Compaſs to direct them, without any freſh Water, but what muſt fall from thoſe Heavens, whoſe Mercy alone could deliver them. To which muſt be added, the inevitable Danger of being overſet by the firſt Wind that ſhould raiſe the Waves, beſides the Certainty of periſhing aſſoon as their ſmall Stock of Proviſions ſhould be ſpent, which only ſerv'd to prolong their Miſeries by reſerving them for a more lingring and cruel Death. In this Diſtreſs, after they had for four Days row⯑ed to and fro, without Guide or Direction, the Captain, who had been ſick, and very weak, for ſome Time, overcome with Grief and Fa⯑tigue, died. This added, if poſſible, to their Miſery, for now they fell into the laſt Con⯑fuſion, [65] Every one would Govern, and none would Obey: This oblig'd them to chuſe one of their own Company to command them, whoſe Orders they agreed implicitly, without any Reſerve, to follow.

THE Choice fell upon a Gentleman, who was, what the Portugueze call a Meſtizzo, that is, one begotten between an European and an Indian: This Perſon, veſted with his new Authority, propoſed to the Company to draw Lots, and throw every fourth Man overboard, by Reaſon their Proviſion was ſpent ſo far, as not to laſt above three Days longer: They were now Nineteen Perſons in all; in this Number were a Fryar and the Carpenter, both whom, they would exempt, by Reaſon of their being ſo neceſſary, the One to Ab⯑ſolve and Comfort them in their laſt Extremi⯑ty, and the other to take Care of the Boat, in Caſe of a Leak, or other Accident; the ſame Compliment they paid to their new Captain, he being the odd Man, and his Life of more Conſequence than any of the reſt. He refu⯑ſed a great while, but at laſt acquieſced; ſo that there were four to dye out of the ſixteen remaining.

THE Three firſt on whom the Lot fell, after having confeſs'd, and receiv'd Abſoluti⯑on, ſubmitted to their Fate.

THE Fourth, whom Fortune condemn'd, was a Portugueze Gentleman who had a younger Brother in the Boat, who, ſeeing him about to be flung over-board, moſt tenderly embraced [66] him, and with Tears in his Eyes, beſought him to let him dye for him; enforcing his Ar⯑guments by telling him, That, He was a Mar⯑ried Man, and had a Wife and Children at Goa, beſides the Care of three Siſters who abſolutely de⯑pended upon him: That as for himſelf, he was ſingle, and his Life of no great Importance; he therefore conjur'd him to let him ſupply his Place.

THE Elder Brother aſtoniſh'd, and melted with this Generoſity, replied, That ſince the Providence of GOD, had appointed him, it would be wicked and unjuſt to ſuffer any other to dye for him, eſpecially a Brother to whom he was ſo infinitely oblig'd.

THE Younger would take no Denial, but flinging himſelf on his Knees, held his Brother ſo faſt, that they could not diſengage them: Thus they diſputed for a while, the Elder Bro⯑ther bidding him be a Father to his Wife and Children, and as he would inherit his Eſtate, take Care of their common Siſters; but all he could ſay, made him not deſiſt; This was a Scene of Tenderneſs which muſt fill with Pity any Breaſt ſuſceptible of generous Impreſſions!

AT laſt, as it is no difficult Thing to per⯑ſuade a Man to live, the Conſtancy of the Elder Brother yielded to the Piety of the Younger; he acquieſced, and ſuffered the Gallant Young Man to ſupply his Place; who being flung in⯑to the Water, when he came to it, could not be content to dye; but being a very good Swimmer, got to the Stern of the Pinnace, and [67] laid hold with his right Hand; which being perceiv'd by one of the Sailors, he cut off the Hand with a Cutlaſs, upon which, dropping into the Sea, he caught hold again with his Left, which received the ſame Fate by a ſecond Blow; thus diſmembered in his two Hands, he made a ſhift, notwithſtanding, to keep him⯑ſelf above Water, with his Feet and two Stumps.

THIS moving Spectacle ſo raiſed the Pity of the whole Crew, that they cry'd out, He is but one Man, let us ſave him; which was ac⯑cordingly done; and he taken into the Boat, had his Hands bound up as well as the Place and Circumſtances would permit. They row'd all that Night, and next Morning, when the Sun aroſe, as if Heaven would reward the Gal⯑lantry and Piety of this Young Man, and for his Sake, ſave all the reſt, they deſcry'd Land, which prov'd to be the Mountains of Mozam⯑bique in Africk, where the Portugueze have a Colony; hither they all ſafely got, where they ſtaid 'till the next Ships from Lisbon paſs'd by, and carried this Company to Goa; where Linſchotten, a Dutch Author of good Credit, aſſures us, That he himſelf ſaw them land, ſupp'd with the two Brothers that very Night, ſaw the Younger with his Stumps, and had the Story from both their Mouths, as well as from the reſt of the Company.

THE PLAIN DEALER. No 10
FRIDAY, April 24. 1724.

AMONG the Benefits we owe to Trade, there is One Diſadvantage, unavoidably annexed to It—It weakens our Humanity, and eradicates an open Confidence, which moſt Men are born with; but loſe, as it were, inſenſibly, by the Influence of low Maxims: ſuch as are early imprinted on the Minds of all who are educated to the Arts of Bargaining.

THE Notions of ſuch Men, unleſs in ſome extraordinary Caſes, are ſtrangely narrow, and confin'd. They are ſeldom capable of reliſhing, or even of comprehending, the Extent of a diſ⯑intereſted Beneficence.—Their Wiſdom is but Cunning, and their Learning is a Craft. When they hear the Fame of ſome vaſt Bounty, ſome Expanſion of the Soul, that is unuſual, and aſtoniſhing, inſtead of that Emotion and warm Tranſport of Heart, which it excites, in the Generous, all their Wonder is the Effect of their Incapacity to conceive it: for, meaſuring [69] it by a Suppoſition, That there muſt be ſome latent Deſign, they are at a Loſs to account for the Gain, or the Drift of it.

CIVILITY, in theſe Men, is not Manners, but Myſtery. Their Friendſhips are a Kind of Barterings, for Exchange of Good Offices, and the weakeſt of their Paſſions, are their Love, and their Pity.

NO Condition of Life can be more afflicted and mortifying, than the Miſery of Owing Mo⯑ney to theſe Scantlings of Humanity. They conſider you, then, no longer on the Foot of Merit, or Quality; but, as if Good Manners, and Decency, were their Ready Money Commo⯑dities, they throw off all Reſpect, and grow brutal, and unſociable.

Mr. Hawthorn, my Neighbour, the Suſſex Juſtice of the Quorum, came lately into the Aſſembly, with a Mien, diſturb'd, and Martial. He ſwung his Arms, like a Pendulum. His Face was fluſh'd, and flaming; and his whole Geſture menacing. He puff'd and breath'd ſhort; ſat him down, in one of the Windows; threw his Hat upon the Floor; and, as ſoon as he cou'd ſpeak intelligibly, gave us loudly to underſtand, That he had been waiting, ſix Hours, in a Tavern, without eating or drink⯑ing, with a furious Determination, to break the Head of the Vintner.—Is this, ſaid he, the Good-Breeding of your Welcome-mongers, that keep Taverns?—Is this, the little, flattering, ſcraping, ſneering, wagtail Fellow, that us'd to be ſo ready, and ſo nimble?—To rub his [70] Hands, and wriggle forward, like a Spaniel, to the Street-End of his Entry?—Odsbobs! it was a lucky Reprieve for his Bones, that he was gone down to the Cuſtom-Houſe! for I am verily convinc'd, that, in the Fury of my Heart, I ſhou'd have broke the King's Peace, tho' I had loſt my Commiſſion for't.

THE Aſſembly was, by this Time, in a Mid⯑way Diſpoſition, betwixt Mirth and Aſtoniſh⯑ment! when he threw me a rumpled Paper, and nodded at me, to open it. I did ſo, in ſome Confuſion, and, perceiv'd, it was a Letter; which, upon a ſecond permiſſive Nod, I read, aloud, to the Company.

[71]I WAS a little at a Loſs how to act in this Buſineſs, for it happen'd, unfortunately, that I had recommended Mr. Winpenny, to my worthy Neighbour Mr. Hawthorn; ſo that I was un⯑der ſome Surprize, and in Perplexity, what to ſay: When Ned Volatile, whoſe Levity is, ſome⯑times, of much Weight, interpos'd, very ſea⯑ſonably, and with his uſual Vein of Humour.

LEND your Cudgel to Me, Mr. Juſtice o'the Quorum; for, if you ſhou'd pay him, your ſelf, you will pay him, with Intereſt.—Beſides, it is an Honour that every Body does not merit,—to be beat by a Magiſtrate.—The Matter is not ſo great neither.—If you will do me but the Favour to ſup, to Night, at my Lodg⯑ings, there's my Man, now, I'll warrant you, can produce half a Score, ſuch tender Billets as this.—I give 'em him, once a Week, to cut out into Fringes, for my Candleſticks.—But, as to poor Winpenny, he's an honeſt Fellow, at Bottom, and no worſe than a Miſer.—But ſo pleaſantly covetous, that, if you were as learn'd in him, as I am, you wou'd forgive him, out of Gratitude, for the Laughter he wou'd afford you.—Shall I tell you a merry Story of him?—Poor Winpenny, you muſt know, loſt a Cargo of Wine, that was coming to him, from Lis⯑bon; and, in the Anguiſh of his Heart, he re⯑ſolv'd to live no longer: He ty'd a Rope about his Neck, and faſt'ning it to a Beam in his Cellar, jump'd, heroically off, from an unlucky, empty, Hogſhead, that tumbled down, from its Stand, and alarm'd one of his Drawers, who [72] was unſeaſonably Vigilant. The ſilly Rogue cry'd out; and I, happening, at that Time, to be Drinking behind the Bar, run immediate⯑ly down; and, as Ill-Luck wou'd have it, came Time enough to cut the Rope.—Great Endeavours were us'd, to compoſe his ruffled Mind.—But, when he was told, the next Morning, in what Manner he was preſerv'd, he grew deſperate, and uncomfortable; And nothing wou'd ſerve his Turn, but his Rope muſt be paid for.—I have the Bill, at Home uncancell'd, where he charges me, by Way of Poſtſcript, with this remarkable Arti⯑cle,—For Cutting a New Rope, what you pleaſe, or think reaſonable.

MR. Hawthorn loſt his Anger, in Ned Vo⯑latile's Start of Pleaſantry; and the Aſſembly grew compos'd, and took Occaſion, from this Incident, to enter upon a ſerious, and inſtru⯑ctive, Chain of Reaſoning, on the Lovelineſs of that Quality, which is call'd Generoſity: At the Cloſe of which, the Major, who had liſten'd, from the Beginning, with a ſilent Approbati⯑on, and a Face auguſtly ſweeten'd, with an Amiable Reverence, took his Turn in the Con⯑verſation: And as ſoon as he offer'd to ſpeak, a chearful Expectation appear'd in the Eyes of the whole Company; and every Body paid him the Homage of a voluntary Attention.

I have been greatly delighted, ſaid this Friend of Mankind, with the Diſcourſe which I have heard, of an Excellence, I love: And, which, I remember a fine Experience of, by [73] a Companion of mine, an agreeable, young Fellow, who, in an Exigency, that befel him, try'd the Difference of Mens Natures.—He applyed himſelf to Two Perſons; of whom One was his near Relation, and the Other had been his School-fellow. He ſent each of them a Letter, which had the ſame Contents, Ver⯑batim.—From the firſt, he had this Anſwer. I keep both Copies in my Pocket-Book; for I ſhould be ſorry to loſe Either.

THE Note, which he ſent back, was that, by which my Friend had acknowledged his Receipt of the Money he deſired to borrow; and which he promiſed to repay, on Demand, to the Lender, or his Order: All this, the re⯑fined Obliger had eraz'd with his Pen; and inſtead of it, wrote what follows, on the blank Side of the Paper.—I do hereby declare, That I owe five Hundred Guineas, to my good Friend, Mr. S—, and will always reſerve them in a Readineſs for his Call; in Return for the [75] Pleaſure he has given me, by borrowing of me One Hundred.

WHILE we were expreſſing our Satisfaction in this fine-ſpirited Inſtance, of the Art of en⯑larging Favours, by the Manner of conferring them, the Alderman was obſerved to have fix'd his Eyes on the Floor, in a Poſture of Thought, and Sadneſs, that was very unuſual in him.—Ned Volatile, who had juſt made a Tour, round the Table, to beg a Pinch of Spaniſh from the Coquett's Venetian Snuff-Box, paſſing cloſe behind the Alderman, and ſuppoſing him faſt aſleep, guided Part of it to his Noſe, and rows'd him, into a Fit of Sneezing; which, as ſoon as he was freed from, he looked round for Ned Volatile; and, after a Half Smile, and a Sober Wag of his Head, thus addreſſed him⯑ſelf to the Company.

I KNEW, I owed this Favour to the Wan⯑tonneſs of that young Mad-cap; who is as full of Miſchief as a Monkey. He fancy'd, I was nodding; and, truly, I am ſorry, that he hap⯑pened to be miſtaken; for I was muſing, and very melancholy.—This Story of the Major's brought afreſh into my Mind an extraordinary Accident that I met with, my ſelf, in the Year of the Great Froſt, that was before the Revo⯑lution.

MANY Loſſes, that Year, had diſabled me to make good my Credit; ſo that I was run upon, by my Enemies; and gave myſelf up for no Better than a Gone Man. But, one Morning, early,—I ſhall never forget it!—I was juſt [76] come down into my Counting Houſe, in my Night-Gown, and Slippers;—when, in comes a Porter, and delivers me a Letter; and away he goes, immediately, without asking for an Anſwer.—The Letter was from a Merchant, that had formerly been my Beſt Friend; but we had broke off, for ſome Years, upon my re⯑fuſing to lend him a Thouſand Pounds, upon his Bond; and we had never convers'd, ſince that Time, till now, that he ſent this Letter; the Contents of which, were to tell me, That he was ſorry to hear, what was reported abroad, to the Diſcredit of my Circumſtances; for he knew, it muſt be owing to ſome unfortunate Accident; ſince, whatever Defects I had, I could never want Frugality.—But, however, ſays he, If Five Thouſand Pounds can ſave you, call for it when you pleaſe, and I will lend it you, by Way of Puniſhment, for an Unkindneſs of Yours, formerly: And ſince the Mortification This muſt give you, merits Pardon for your Fault, I will forget it, from this Time forward, that we may be Friends again, as uſual.

THE Alderman interrupted himſelf in this Part of his Story, by a ſudden Burſt of Tears; which he ſtrove, in vain, to ſuppreſs; and which affected the whole Aſſembly with a Sympathy, more touching, than could have been excited by the moſt pathetick Force of Elo⯑quence.—He recover'd himſelf, after a ſhort Pauſe, and went on, to inform us, That, with⯑in leſs than a Week, after he had ſav'd him⯑ſelf from Ruin, by Receipt of this Money, his [77] generous Friend, the Merchant, fell out of a Boat, below Bridge, and was, unfortunately drown'd.—It is true, continu'd the good Alderman, I repaid it, very punctually, and have made all Acknowledgments, and done all Services, in my Power, to his ſorrowful Widow, and his Children.—But, alas! What did all That ſignify?—He was dead, that had Oblig'd me:—And gone, beyond all Poſſibi⯑lity of ever knowing how I repented my unkind Uſage of him! and what a Shame, and a Change, his Generoſity had produced in me!

He would willingly have ſpoke more; but could not ſupport his Anguiſh;—and wept again, very paſſionately; ſo that riſing ab⯑ruptly, he haſtened out of the Room, and left Us all in great Diſorder.

THE PLAIN DEALER. No 11
MONDAY, April 27. 1724.

I YESTERDAY went to ſee a very agree⯑able Friend, at whoſe Houſe, I found a handſome Appearance of Young People of both SEXES. Upon my Entrance, every one [78] roſe, and very obligingly proffered me a Seat, each inſiſting on the Preference I ſhould give in Acceptance of the Honour deſign'd me.

AS I was unwilling to diſoblige any One, where All had treated me with ſo much Civili⯑ty, I wink'd at my Friend, who, with great Formality, conducted me to a large Elbow-Chair; and put an End to the Diſpute.

WHILE I was wondring with a ſecret Pleaſure, at ſuch an unaccuſtom'd Piece of Good-breeding, and examining the Countenances of the Com⯑pany, my Friend, who till then had diſcours'd of indifferent Matters, told me with a Smile, He had aſſembled this Sett of Young People, with a Promiſe of ſhewing them the PLAIN DEALER, and therefore deſir'd, I would throw aſide all Re⯑ſervedneſs, and look upon every one as my pro⯑feſs'd Admirer, and Friend, which was imme⯑diately confirm'd by a General Reverence.

I THANK'D him for the Favour he had done me, in introducing me to ſuch Agreeable Society; and could not help diſcovering by my Looks, the inward Satisfaction I felt, at the Sight of ſo much Youth, and Beauty; which ended in that melancholy Reflection, How many Dangers it was expos'd to, and how eaſily it might be vitiated.

WHEN the Tea-Equipage was remov'd, and every One remained ſilent in Expectation of what I ſhould ſay, the Charming Leonilla, my Friend's Eldeſt Daughter, after having firſt fix'd her Eyes on a Young Lady that ſat op⯑poſite to her, and then on me, deſir'd in Be⯑half [79] of Part of the Company, I would give my Opinion in the Caſe of That Reſtriction Young Women lie under, who, from a Cuſtom, which, in her Opinion, had no juſt Grounds for its Support, are forbid by Decency, let their Paſſion be the moſt vertuous and tender that was ever felt, to make the leaſt Advance, by which the Party belov'd may diſcover the Sen⯑timents they have in his Favour. To which I anſwer'd, A Woman of Senſe can never feel that Tenderneſs for a Fool;—and a Man of Senſe would always reckon ſuch a Declaration, a Deſire of enjoying that Happineſs, whoſe Baſis is Love, and whoſe Support is Virtue.

AFTER I had delivered my Opinion in Fa⯑vour of Leonilla, I turn'd to the Lady, with whom (I could perceive by the Bluſh in her Cheeks) ſhe had been diſputing, and told her, There was a falſe, as well as a true Decency; and that One conſiſted in Grimace and Shew, the Other in an open Deportment, the Reſult of an unaffected, diſintereſted Love of Virtue. And that it would always be found, a Man has no more Reaſon to conceive Hopes from the free Con⯑verſe of the Latter, than to fear Succeſs from the diſtant Carriage of the Former. True Vir⯑tue wants no Foil, and is never talking of itſelf. Falſe Virtue, ſenſible of its Weakneſs, is forc'd to have Recourſe to Hypocriſy, and is ever boaſting a Strength it is a Stranger to.

AS I was running on in this grave Diſ⯑courſe, I was interrupted by a young Gentle⯑man, who told us, he had juſt met with a Copy [80] of VERSES, ſaid to be written by Lady W—y M—e, wherein he thought there was the moſt Delicate Senſe of Virtue, mixed with the moſt agreeable Turn of Wit. Upon the whole Company's deſiring to ſee it, he pulled a Paper out of his Pocket, and read as follows.

WE all agreed in the Character he had given of this little Piece; particularly a Gentleman, who has a Smattering in Poetry; who, not to be behind-hand with the Sex in Modeſty, pro⯑duc'd the ſubſequent Lines, which he deſir'd I would read to the Company.

IF before, we were loud in Commendation of the Firſt, here, we were extravagant; the LADIES oppreſt him with Thanks; and told him, He ſhould loſe Nothing, by the Generous Opinion he had entertain'd of the SEX. To which a Wag, in Company, with an envious Smile, reply'd, ‘'If he ſhould loſe Nothing by it he was ſure, he would get Nothing, but what wou'd be merited, by his Mortifi⯑cations.’

MY Friend perceiving both Parties grew warm, deſir'd them, before they went on, to conſider what they were ſaying, ſince he was perſuaded the PLAIN DEALER would print the Occurrences of that Day. Upon which, they all compos'd their Looks, and a general Silence enſued. When my Friend turning to me, ‘'You ſee, (ſays he) the Ne⯑ceſſity of a Man of your Character: Ev'ry [82] way you're Serviceable; the Publick feels the Benefit of your Writings; and Private Families of your Preſence: One is reſtrain'd by Fear of Publick Cenſure; the Other, of Private Reproof; If therefore you have any Enemies, treat them with Candour, and con⯑vince them of their Errors by a — But I am engaging in a needleſs Office; and giving Advice where I ought to ask it.’

IT growing late, I took Leave of the Com⯑pany (not without a particular Invitation from Each, which I promis'd at the firſt Opportu⯑nity to comply with,) and calling at my Prin⯑ter's as I went Home, found the following Billet, which, but for the Advice my Friend gave me, I ſhould hardly have been prevail'd upon to make publick.

THE PLAIN DEALER. No 12.
FRIDAY, May 1. 1724.

I HAVE as juſt a Veneration as any Man living, for the Laws of my Native Coun⯑try: They are generous, mild, and gentle; built on equal Foundations of Juſtice and Mer⯑cy: And, to ſay all, in a Word, they are ſuch, as every Freeman wou'd wiſh to be govern'd by. I am ſo far from denying them the Re⯑verence [84] they deſerve, that I have always read with Pleaſure, the moſt elaborate, and ſtrain'd En⯑comiums, with which the Gentlemen of the Robe fill their Writings, on this Subject.

BUT, ſince it is the moſt deſireable, among all the Advantages of Liberty, to think, and ſpeak freely; it cannot, I hope, be offenſive, if I declare myſelf not well ſatisfy'd, with any Arguments I have, yet, heard, in Defence of Capital Puniſhment for certain Crimes, which are low, and frequent: And which carry, me⯑thinks, no Proportion, in Compariſon with others, of a much blacker Complexion; to which notwithſtanding, they ſeem parallell'd, by the Equality of their Sentence.

THE Life of a Man is, ſo infinitely of more Value than his Beaſt, or his Moveable, that, whenever I ſee the Sufferings of pinch'd, and hunger-ſtarv'd Wretches, under the Agonies of an Execution; for having robb'd perhaps to avoid famiſhing; I find myſelf oppreſs'd by a Grief, which nothing mitigates, but this Reflection—That their Lives were expos'd to ſuch Extremities of Want, and Miſery, that their Death ſhould be a Comfort.—And yet, the long protracted Gazings, the Paleneſs, the Tremblings, and the ghaſtly, diſtorted Faces, of the poor departing Strugglers (who die with ſtrong Reluctance, and linger, and lengthen out, their laſt painful Moment) make it evi⯑dent, to the Beholders, That, Unfriendly as the World was to them, they are not willing to forſake it.

[85]I AM convinc'd, that if it were poſſible to ſee, on ſome ſuch Plain, as that of Salisbury, under one aſſembled Proſpect, the whole Num⯑ber, of Men and Women, who have been exe⯑cuted, for Theft only, in all the Counties of this Kingdom, within the Memory of any Per⯑ſon, of but a moderate Advance in Years; ſuch a dreadful Demonſtration of the Waſte, which is made, by this Sweep of the Sword of Juſtice, would be a ſtartling Inducement to thoſe, whoſe Province it is known to be, to weigh, with Pity, and Deliberation, whether Puniſh⯑ments, more adequate, and more politick, too, than Death, might not eaſily be appropriated to a Number of Petty Crimes, which ever were, and ever muſt be, unavoidably frequent, in all peopled Places; being the neceſſary Con⯑ſequences, either of the Wants, or the Depra⯑vity, of the loweſt Part of the Human Species.

ONE Evening, very lately, All my Neigh⯑bourhood, in Barbican, were in an Uproar, on a ſudden; and I was diſturb'd, in my Medi⯑tations, by the ſhrieking of Women, the mix'd Cries of Children, and a growing Hum of Con⯑courſe, that ſeem'd cloſe under my Window.—I threw aſide my Pipe; and, haſtening to look out, ſaw the Street entirely fill'd, by a Groupe of diſmal Faces; that had gather'd themſelves into a Tumult, about a Houſe, directly oppoſite, and appear'd to be touch'd, as ſtrongly as Common Natures are capable, with a Mixture of Surprize and Sorrow. It ſeems, the Husband of a laborious, poor Crea⯑ture, [86] who was Miſtreſs of this Houſe, had been condemn'd, at the County Aſſizes, in one of the late Circuits, for ſtealing a Horſe: And a Letter had, juſt now, been deliver'd to his Wife; which the Criminal himſelf had writ⯑ten, the very Morning he was executed.

HIS Relations and Acquaintance had de⯑pended on a Reprieve; for the Man was uni⯑verſally belov'd among his Neighbours: And, tho' always very poor, and unfortunate in his Dealings, had been remarkable for his Induſtry; of a ſober Diſpoſition, and never known, be⯑fore, to have been guilty of the leaſt Diſho⯑neſty. He had Six Children alive, and the Eldeſt but Eight Years old. His Mother, who liv'd in the ſame little Houſe, had been diſabled, by Sickneſs, for ſeveral Months paſt: So that, perceiving it beyond his Power to ſubſiſt his Family any longer, and not daring to ſtay in Town, by Reaſon of ſome Debts he had contracted, he went down, to try his Friends, who liv'd, in good Circumſtances, in the Country. But, inſtead of meeting with Aſſiſtance, he only ſpent, in this Journey, all the little he had carried with him: And not being able to ſupport the Thoughts of return⯑ing, without Bread, to a Family, in ſuch want of it, he rode away with a Horſe, which he found ty'd to a Gate; and being purſu'd, and overtaken, was try'd, condemn'd, and hang'd, for it.

THIS Hiſtory was loudly given me, by the good Women, in the Street; after which, [87] I had the Curioſity to preſs in, among the Crowd; and was ſtruck, at my firſt Entrance, by the moſt moving Scene of Sorrow, that I ever remember to have met with. The Wi⯑dow had broke open her Husband's Letter, in Tranſport, concluding, That it brought her the Confirmation of a Reprieve, which a former had given her Hopes of. But ſhe was ſo ſhock'd, and overwhelm'd by the ſudden Reverſe of Paſ⯑ſion, that her Grief was a kind of Madneſs. She ſat on the Floor without Headcloaths; and had an Infant, croſs her Knees, that was crying, with great Impatience, for the Breaſt, it had been thrown from. Another ſlept in a Cradle, cloſe by a little Bed, in which the Grandmother ſat weeping; bending forward in ſtrong Agony; and wringing her Hands in ſilence. The Four Eldeſt Children were gather'd into a Knot, and clung about the Neck of their miſerable Mother: ſtamping, ſcreaming, and kiſſing her, in a Storm of diſtracted Tenderneſs!—The poor Woman, herſelf, was in a Condition, paſt deſcribing! She preſs'd the Letter of her dead Husband, to her Eyes!—her Lips!—her Boſom!—She rav'd, and talk'd, and queſtion'd him, as if he had been preſent!—And, at every little Interval, dry'd her Tears, with his Letter: And caſt a Look upon the Com⯑pany, ſo wild! and ſo full of Horror! that it cannot be conceiv'd, but by thoſe, who were Witneſſes of it.

AS ſoon as ſhe ſaw me there, ſhe ſtretched out her Hand; and made Signs, that I ſhould read [88] the Letter; which I received from her, accord⯑ingly. And going back, to my Lodging, with a Reſolution to ſend over ſome fitter Perſon than myſelf, to aſſiſt, in the Diſtreſſes of ſo diſ⯑conſolate a Family, I ſat down, and took a Copy of it, becauſe it moved me exceedingly.

I carry'd this Letter with me to the Aſſem⯑bly: where it was univerſally Agreed, That there is a plain-hearted Honeſty, very mani⯑feſt in all Parts of it; and a generous and manly Sorrow, not ariſing ſo much from his own Deſire to Live, as from a Proſpect of their Wants, whom his Death was to leave Deſtitute. Our Clergyman, in particular, was greatly mov'd to Compaſſion; and propos'd a Chari⯑table Collection, to be ſent to the poor Widow, to which himſelf contributed firſt, in a very liberal Proportion.

He related to us afterwards an extraordinary Dying Speech, of a very different Turn; which he heard made when a Student, by a Houſe⯑breaker, who was hang'd for Murder and a Robbery.

We had ſeveral other Stories, on this Sub⯑ject, of the Publick Executions: but none pleas'd me better, than one, which I ſhall cloſe my Paper with; and which we were alſo oblig'd to the Vicar for.

THE PLAIN DEALER. No 13.
MONDAY, May 4.1724.

THERE are in every Man's Life, even the wiſeſt, and moſt fortified, certain Periods of Weakneſs, which demonſtrate our common Frailty, and ſeem thrown into our Nature, as Preſervatives againſt Pride; and for the Mortification of Human Vanity.

THAT Venerable Sage of old, who has left us this Aphoriſm, That no Man ſhould be eſteem'd happy, 'till after his Death; might have extend⯑ed his Obſervation, as well to our Conduct, as our Fortune: Let no Man, during Life, be call'd Reſolute, or Prudent.

COULD I ever have thought, That after paſſing my giddy Youth in a ſteddy Contempt of Beauty, I ſhould be enſlav'd to it, againſt Judgment, in my Grand Climacterick! If the Duty of a PLAIN DEALER did not indiſpen⯑ſibly oblige me to the moſt rigid Impartiality; [94] even to the giving Sentence againſt my-ſelf, with what Face cou'd I confeſs, (what I am aſham'd, when I but think of) That I, who am a ſtaid Old Batchelor, am afraid, I am fall⯑ing in Love with Patty Amble the Coquet! who always ſeem'd to me, to have been born in a Fit of Laughter! and never had a Thought of Gravity, but when it furniſh'd her with an Oc⯑caſion to divert herſelf at the Expence of it!

WELL! If this ſhould, in good Earneſt, come to paſs, I ſhall have a moſt uncomforta⯑ble Time of it! What Reaſon I have had, and from what Time, to ſuſpect it, I ſhall, without Reſerve, communicate, in the Progreſs of my PAPERS. But let it prove what it will, the Occaſion of this Preamble is from an un⯑uſual Diſorder, in which I am come Home this Evening, after a kind of frolickſome Ad⯑venture, with that young Romp; which has left me under an Impreſſion, little better than Witchcraft; tho' at any Time before laſt Eaſter, I ſhould have thought it not worth telling.

TO Day, when ſhe hoyden'd into the Aſ⯑ſembly, the whole Company roſe together, and received her with that Pleaſure, which her Gayety diffuſes every where. She ſailed through us all, with a ſwimming, ſmiling Port, that was viſibly affected, but irreſiſtably enga⯑ging!—When ſhe had flutter'd, and fidget⯑ed, and ſloped her ſelf forward, and wheel'd down her Hoop, to the wideſt Swell of its Convex, in a Circular Courſe of Curteſies; ſhe tript ſideways to her Seat; and I was juſt be⯑ginning [95] to hope Calm Weather, after ſuch a Whirl-wind of Ceremony! when ſhe roſe, as it were in a Start, with a Look moſt whimſical⯑ly Serious; and drawing a Paper from her Bo⯑ſom, pac'd demurely to my Chair—She carry'd her Head to the left ſide, ſoftly ſweep⯑ing her right Eye-Brow, with the Knob of her Fan, and ſinking forward, when ſhe came near me, with a Fantaſtical Air of Languiſhment, bruſh'd my Mouth with her Paper; and be⯑gan to play over her Tricks, in a long and myſtical Jargon of moſt Womaniſh Impertinence.

AND were they, ſaid ſhe, ſo naughty, to leave it by it's nown ſelf? And did no body help it to write it's PLAIN-DEALERS? and was it abus'd, and over-work'd and neglected? Well then, let it be Good, and mind it's Book, and waſh it's Face, and forget to be croſs, and comb it's Head, and throw away it's dirty Stick; and ſee what I intend to do for it! There take it, and Print it; And, don't care a Pin for the Work they have put upon it. For I love it, and will think for it; and bring it good Things. And if it wou'dn't look Grim, I ſhould buſs it, and ſtroak it, and chuck it under the Chin; and make much of it, and play with it, and—&c.—&c.—&c.—

AFTER this ſilly Rate, ſhe ran on, with a ridiculous, but lively and never-ending Volu⯑bility: and perceiving, that the Company laugh'd out, and were diverted at the groteſque Figure I was making under her Hand's, at length ſhe kiſs'd me out-right, and ſet 'em all, [96] in an Uproar. I wou'd fain have look'd peeviſh. I turn'd my Face from her, and cry'd Piſh—and Pſhaw—and Fiddle—and ſhook my Head in a great Heat, and winch'd in both Shoulders; and much Pains I took, to ſeem nettled, and uneaſy. But, to confeſs a fooliſh Truth, it was all, but mere Show; for I was never ſo agreeably made an Aſs of in my Life, and while I felt the buſy Wanderings of her Fingers about my Face, I was ſtung I can't tell how, with a Kind of tingling Delight, all over me; which being deſirous to prolong, I pretended to make Efforts for puſhing her away; and under that Pretence, gave my Hands the Opportunity of touching her, here and there—And I muſt own, I was ſorry when ſhe put an End to her Gambols.

BUT as ſoon as I came home, and look'd into her Paper, I was not ſo much an Aſs, (far gone as I found My-ſelf) but that I pre⯑ſently diſcern'd her Drift: And I wiſh, with all my Heart, that I had Courage enough to return it her; and tell her, in downright Terms, I don't think it worth Printing. But whatever the Cauſe of this ſtrange Alteration may be, there is nothing ſo dreadful to me, as the Dan⯑ger of diſobliging this She-Cockatrice! Since therefore, I am in this odd Manner, bewitch'd, e'en take it, in the arch Flirt's own Words: For it is no Work of mine; and I will have nothing to do with it.

THUS, I have given you, the Coquet's Story; and am well enough aware what the Gypſy's Head was running on: But, if any Body ſhou'd deſire to be made as wiſe as I am, I ſhall tell 'em an old Story and let 'em take it, in Satisfaction.— ‘'A Philoſopher bought ſome Meat, and returning from the Market, hid it under his Cloak. An Impertinent Fellow met him, and wou'd needs know What it was?—It is there, ſaid the Philoſopher, on purpoſe, That you ſhou'd not know it.’

THE PLAIN DEALER. No 14.
FRIDAY, May 8. 1724.

LITTLE Follies, which we but Smile at in Perſons who are Indifferent to us, gives us Sorrow and Pain, when obſerv'd in thoſe we Love. Patty Amble is of late become of ſuch Importance, that I watch her with a Tenderneſs, that intereſts me in all her Acti⯑ons. For this Reaſon, I am frequently con⯑triving to interrupt Her, when ſhe lets her Tongue run Races, that out-gallop her Rea⯑ſon. But I always loſe my Labour: My Operations upon this Goſſip are like the Wind's upon Fire; I may blow till my Breath fails,—inſtead of putting her out, I make her burn but the faſter!

I HAVE ſucceeded however, in what I fail'd to do My-ſelf, by the Aſſiſtance of Ned Volatile, But not to aſſume more Triumph than is due to me, the Stratagem I made uſe of, was found out by Shakeſpear, before me. That Poetical Politican taught his Richard the Third, among the reſt of his ſurprizing Victories, to conquer [103] a Woman's Tongue; but it was by Aid of one of his Drums, which no ſooner Beat up, but the Enemy was put to Silence.

WE ſhall now enjoy ſome Freedom, and may all Talk in our Turns; for Ned, and the Coquet, will be play'd off at Pleaſure. When either of 'em grows Troubleſome, we ſhall let looſe the Rival, and like Sulphur and Salt-Petre, one ſhall blow up the other.

PATTY AMBLE came Yeſterday fine⯑ly dreſs'd to the Aſſembly; ready to burſt with Impatience for our Admiration of her Fancy. She kept us Silent above an Hour, while ſhe was ſo kind as to open to us the Labours and Difficulties, ſhe had for fourteen Days been fatigu'd by, before ſhe cou'd unite ſo elegant⯑ly all her trifling Varieties. From her Head to her Foot, ſhe oblig'd us with the Minutes of her whole Fortnight's Hiſtory. It was not to be expected, that in the midſt of ſo much Buſineſs, ſhe cou'd be at Leiſure to conſider, That after we had approv'd both the Price, and Colour of her Damask, it was of no great Edification, at leaſt to the Male Part of the Company, to know what Shop ſhe bought it at. But happy had it been cou'd ſhe have found Reſt ſo ſpeedily! Nothing like it, I aſſure you; we were alſo to learn, in what Places ſhe miſs'd it. Yet for my own Part, I muſt ſay, I was particularly edify'd by her cri⯑tical Remarks, on certain Differences to be found, betwixt buying on Ludgate-Hill, or of the Mercers about Covent-Garden.

[104]BUT ill fare, ſay I, that unlucky Word Garden! It put her fatally in Mind of a Fat freſh-colour'd Country Lady, who cou'd never be perſuaded to make Viſits, in any thing but Garden Silks, tho' her Arms were as big as a Rolling-Stone! Then the unfortunate Word Fat, brought as aptly to her Remembrance, poor old Dimpley the laughing Staymaker, that us'd to Work for her Grandmother, when firſt ſhe was Married! and never lac'd our Patty, when ſhe was a Girl, but ſhe made her very Neck ake with twiſting it to look back at him. At length, after infinite Diſappointments and Dangers, ſhe arriv'd ſafe at her Hoop-Petticoat; where, being ſeiz'd with a Fit of Gratitude for the Parliament's ſtrange good Nature, and ex⯑traordinary Care of Trade, ſhe was thinking to turn WHIG, becauſe they had taken off the Duty, that lay ſo heavy upon Whalebone.

WELL, as to that however, ſhe was not al⯑together ſo poſitive. But there was one Thing, of more Conſequence, that ſhe was abſolutely convinc'd of; ſhe wou'd venture any Wager, that not one Perſon in the Company, cou'd be able to gueſs, what her Ground Bruſſels Head had coſt her a Yard; nor where, nor by what particular odd, Accident, ſhe had been ſo hap⯑py as to light of it! The Dutcheſs of M—r took Coach in a Fright, the very Moment ſhe ſaw it, to buy up the Remnant. But ſince ſhe was ſure we cou'd not gueſs, ſhe wou'd tell us the Price her ſelf; and not name one Farthing more or leſs than it really coſt her; ſhe wonder'd, [105] for her Part, how Women cou'd be ſo ſilly! For what ſignify'd after all, the little Vanity of being thought skill'd in good Penny-worths! If ſhe had a mind to be Vain, ſhe need only believe, what was ſaid to her at the Opera, by a cer⯑tain Duke, who muſt be nameleſs! But one Thing his Grace was pleas'd with, that ſhe might venture to ſpeak of, and it was that Fancy of her own upon her Fan! Lord! ſhe remem⯑ber'd too he obſerv'd, That there was ſome⯑thing in a Lady's Fan, much genteeler in its Uſe, than any part of the Mens Equipage.

IT was juſt in this Place, that I took Pity of the Company; for I thought I felt their Heads ake! So tipping the Wink on Ned Vo⯑latile, he ſtarted up from his Chair, with ſuch a Stare of Amazement, that one wou'd have thought he was apprehenſive the Houſe had been falling! The Coquet ſtarted too, and hold⯑ing her Tongue till ſhe cou'd look round her, Ned, with wonderful Agility, ſnatch'd the Nick of that Interval; and reſolving at once to bear down all Oppoſition, broke in upon her, like a Torrent, with this ſudden Exclamation, ‘'Ah! Madam! Madam! What a Trifle is a Fan, in Compariſon with a Feather! I ſhou'd be ſorry to diſſent from any Opinion you are fond of; but pray let your Reaſon be Judge of this Difference! I have one, in my Hat here, that all the African Oſtriches, clubbing Tails, to produce the Fellow of it, might be moulting theſe thouſand Years, and all to no Purpoſe! Dear Madam, do but look on it! [106] The nearer you examine it, the more it will charm you! With all your Wit now, and your Induſtry, my Life to one of your Lappits, it puzzles you theſe three Hours to gueſs where I bought it? I can't be altogether ſo poſitive, that you won't hit the Price of it; but upon my Honour, if you ſhou'd, I'll acknowledge it to a Farthing. There's ſome Pleaſure in con⯑verſing on theſe critical Affairs, with ſo nice a Judge as you, Madam! Why here's a Coat, I have worn this five Weeks, and not one in fifty has had the Taſte to take Notice, that all the Wool it was made of, is true unmix'd Spaniſh! You were ſaying ſomething about Whalebone: 'Tis a uſeful Commodity indeed, as you Ladies have manag'd it, but what are Hoop Petticoats, to the Woollen Manufacture?’

‘'FOR Heaven's ſake take Breath, cry'd the Coquet, (ſwiftly Fanning herſelf; and half burſting with a Windyneſs, from Suppreſſion of Meanings,) do but hear, what I was going to ſay to you?—Never, never, reply'd Ned, he can never be a good Subject, who ſub⯑mits to hear any thing to the Prejudice of the Woollen Manufacture. Mark the wonderful Pro⯑greſs of this ſilly thing call'd Wool, but from the Sheep's Back to Mine! Take Notice, in the firſt Place, of theſe few of the many My⯑ſteries which depend on this humble Material! There's the Grazier for Example; and the Shepherd, and the Shearer, and the Sorter, and the Comber, and the Carder, and the Spinner, and the Dyer, and the Scowrer, and the Fuller, [107] and the Weaver, and the Napper, and the Preſ⯑ſer, and the Stretcher, and the Carrier, and the Factor, and the Draper, and the Taylor, and the Packer, and the Merchant: But mention⯑ing the Word Merchant, I muſt ſtop a little in my Way, and lay open to you the Won⯑ders and Advantages of Navigation! I ſhall inform you clearly, and diſtinctly, under their proper Heads and Diviſions, to what different Corners of the Univerſe, you Madam, are oblig'd for all thoſe Ornaments which are adorn'd by you! I will begin like a good Builder, and examine firſt your Foundation. That glittering Pair of Shoes, which we can but ſee the pointed Tips of, had a long and tireſome Journey, to the prettieſt Foot in the World, from three moſt diſtant Parts of it. The Silver in their Lacing, you are indebted for to America. Now, you wou'd ask me, as I go along, whence that new Quarter of the Globe took this Name of America? I ſhall come to it in its Turn; but firſt you muſt be acquainted with the Fortunes of its chief Diſcoverers, Spaniſh, Engliſh, French, Por⯑tugueſe, and Hollanders. And for clearing Things more effectually to your Apprehen⯑ſion, I ſhall, with as much Brevity as poſſible, trace the Originals and Hiſtories of theſe Nations. But ſpeaking juſt now of Silver, I am preſented by that Means, with a fortunate Opportunity to Sail away with you for Peru; and when once I have got you there, we ſhall never want Amuſements ſuited to the [108] Mercury of your Spirit. For in the firſt Place, Madam, I will carry you to the Bot⯑tom of thoſe Mines, which have enrich'd and embroil'd all Europe. And becauſe I know you are a Lady of moſt unſatisfy'd Curioſity, I will now anticipate in ſome meaſure this Improvement I deſign for you; for I will enumerate, in their pro⯑per Order, the Subterraneous Inhabitants of the whole mineral Kingdom. There is Gold, Madam, and Silver, and Copper, and Tin, and Quickſilver, (your Favourite, Madam!) and Iron, and Lead, and Antimony, and Marchaſi⯑tes, and Lapis Calaminaris, and Pyrites, and Vitriol, and Allom, and Brimſtone, and Sal Gem, and Cryſtal, and Marble, and Millſtone, and Alabaſter, and Bolus, and Ochre, and Talc, Madam! And of all theſe I will immediate⯑ly explain to you the Growth, and the Ope⯑rations; and their ſtrange and diſtinct Uſes, whether in Science or in Trade! And after⯑wards I will take Occaſion from this wonder⯑ful Proviſion of Materials for our Induſtry, to demonſtrate, beyond Denial, how needleſs it is for Man, Woman, or Beaſt, to live idle, and unuſeful. But Firſt, (for I wou'd be Regular) I muſt return to your Shoes. What I was, in their ſecond Diviſion, to particula⯑rize, was the Silk, which they are cover'd with. I dare not be poſitive, at this Diſtance, whether it is Chriſtian or Eaſt-Indian; but I will tell you immediately, when I have ex⯑amin'd it a little nearer.’

[109] NED was riſen from his Chair, and had levell'd his Eye at her Foot, when ſhe made her Advantage of the lucky Opportunity which this Pauſe of his afforded her; and recovering her loſt Ground, renew'd her Charge with a Vigour, that was fatal to her Opponent.

‘'BRAVELY Shot! cry'd ſhe, laughing, but I am not ſo eaſily to be ſcar'd, I aſſure you. 'Twill be time enough to liſten to ſuch wiſe Harangues as yours, after I have talk'd myſelf weary. A moſt polite Entertainment indeed you are deſigning us! With your greaſy Generation of Scowerers, and Wool-Combers! The Aſſembly will be better pleas'd with the intricate Prettineſſes, which are to be learnt in the Art of Lace-making. Oh! the dexterous Diſpoſition of the Cuſhion, and the Pattern, and the Pins, and the Bobbins!’

SHE ſet us all to work, but had no ſooner entangled us, among her Threads, and her Bobbins, when ſhe flew on a ſudden, out of that Subject to another; and from that to a third. She led us up, ſo far back, that we were preſent at her Mother's Labour; and af⯑ter having been merry at her Chriſtening, ſhe took us along with her to her Nurſe's on Ban⯑ſted Downs. From thence to her Father's Coun⯑try-Houſe beyond Canterbury. After this we liv'd with her four Years at a Boarding School in Hackney; and returning thence, with Plea⯑ſure, had the Honour of her Company to the very firſt Play that ever ſhe ſaw in her Life; nay, ſhe permitted us to take Part with her, [110] even in the Maſquerade; and at the Opera. But the worſt of it was, that, before we were well ſeated, we were drawn away in her Aunt's old Coach, and carry'd down, the Lord knows whi⯑ther to make Butter and Cheeſe in Warwick⯑ſhire. Yet in this Place, to do her Juſtice, ſhe kept us to our no ſmall Emolument, for we grew as good Houſewives as her Aunt was. We all learnt to Brew and fatten Hogs, and feed Poultry. But what I found moſt Reliſhable were, certain ſavoury Inſtructions, ſhe was ſo good as to communicate; inſomuch that I who but yeſterday Morning cou'd almoſt as eaſily have made a Horſe, as a Pudding, am to Day a Man of Learning as well in Diſhes as their Garnitures. I can read, if I pleaſe, when I meet with a Perſon of good Taſte, a long luxurious Lecture on Farces, Bisks, and forc'd Meats, Ma⯑rinades, Puptoons, and Olios, Soops, Sauces, Ra⯑gouſts, Puffs, Paſtry, and Pickles, Tarts, Cheeſe⯑cakes, and Cuſtards, Jellies, Conſerves, and Mar⯑malades, Slops, Waſhes, Pomatums, Cold Creams, and Cordial Waters!

BUT, what was ſtill more obliging, not con⯑tent to have enrich'd us with this profound Knowledge! ſhe was liberal enough to talk on, with ſuch unceaſing Rapidity, that we had no Time to thank her; till at length, ſhe ſaw Ned Volatile was preparing to take his Turn; and roſe, and flutter'd her Fan, and ſcudded out of the Aſſembly; but we heard her Tongue running, all the way down Stairs, ask⯑ing Queſtions of the Servants, and anſwering [111] them herſelf; and, for any think that I know, ſhe may be Talking to this Time, while I am penning the Narration!

I AM myſelf too a great Talker, only I ſome⯑times love to liſten; and nothing is ſo ſtrange to me as that ſince theſe Pratlers are thus tranſ⯑ported, but by too much Vivacity, that very Vivacity ſhou'd not teach 'em to know when they grow Troubleſome! I ſometimes fancy them like Horſes, which ſhutting their Eyes in their Swiftneſs, paſs the Bounds of their Courſe, and never ſtop till they are beat backward by ſome Wall which they run their Heads againſt.

THE PLAIN DEALER. No 15.
MONDAY, May 11. 1724.

AS I know not a more amiable Figure than that, which a Prudent and Indul⯑gent Father, makes with regard to an only Son, who is a promiſing young Gentleman; And as I am not able to frame an Idea, of any Pro⯑ſpect ſo Shocking and Frightful to Human Na⯑ture, as that which repreſents a Mother who can look with Indifference (not to ſay with Aver⯑ſion) upon the Child of her Body, I was reſolv⯑ing [112] the other Day to form a PLAIN DEALER out of theſe two different Characters.

METHINKS I would not miſs ranging the Deformities of one Parent, near the Beauties of the other; becauſe this Manner of Illuſtra⯑tion by Oppoſites, in Writing, like Shade and Light in Painting, will make the Moral ap⯑pear with Vigour, and ſtrike upon the Eye of the Underſtanding a more forcible Effect.

COULD I execute this Deſign according to my Wiſh; could I make the Draught juſt, and give it the Lively Touches and warm Colours it deſerves, it might perhaps be a valuable Pre⯑ſent, and inſtructive Family Piece, for the mar⯑ried Part of my Readers, and ſome of their Poſterity might, for ought I know, have good Reaſon to thank me for it.

I WAS, according to Cuſtom, opening my Mind upon this intended Subject to the worthy Major Stedfaſt; and telling him, That I ſhould be agreeably loſt in Pleaſure, while I was tracing, in a good Father, the ſecret Springs of a Thouſand little Beautiful Actions which would paſs unnoticed by common Eyes, that are too Incurious and Indelicate on ſuch Nice and Elegant Occaſions.

—HERE I pauſed a while, with Intent to name ſome particular Obſervations, I have made, of theſe Critical Workings of a Spirit truely Parentile; when this conſtant Friend of Mankind changed my Inclination to ſpeak, into the greater Pleaſure of attending to what he began to ſay, in this Manner.

[113]THERE is, no fear of your loſing yourſelf in that Delightful Part of the Contemplation: But when you come to conſider the Unnatural Mother, I don't know how difficult a Task it may be, even for all your Philoſophy to ac⯑count for it. You will find yourſelf extream⯑ly perplexed, if you deſcend to make Enquiry, what Monſtrous Turn in the whole Courſe of the Blood, what Prodigies over-ruling the whole Rational and Animal Syſtem, can Eraze from a Mother's Heart all thoſe fond Records of Ten⯑derneſs which the Hand of Nature muſt have engraven there, in behalf of the Being which received its firſt Principle of Vitality ſo near it, and its immediate Preſervation from it.

YOU may remember that, at your ſetting out, I told you, the Expreſſion, which hit my Taſte the beſt of any in your Firſt PAPER, was, That you would look upon yourſelf as every Body's Father; and I would rather ſee you acting like a Father, than deſcribing one: which ſaid he (giving into my Hand a Paper) you may do, by publiſhing thoſe Verſes, which, according to my Opinion, want nothing more than their being Known, in order to their be⯑ing Applauded.

THE Author is a Young Gentleman who, tho' ſevere Accidents, and the Rigour of For⯑tune have thrown him into the Condition of an Orphan, is ſtill likely to prove a Fav'rite Son of the Muſes: But a Genius, tho' never ſo pro⯑miſing, will not readily make its Way into [114] Eſteem, without the Aid of a Recommender, or the Encouragement of a Patron.

HERE I read over the Verſes, and ſignified my Approbation, in very few Words, becauſe I perceived the generous Temper of the Ma⯑jor inclin'd him to ſpeak further, in behalf of Unfortunate Deſert; when, reſuming the Diſ⯑courſe, he proceeded in this Manner.

YOU may gueſs by this little Performance, That thoſe Talents, which were not happy enough to procure their Poſſeſſor a Compe⯑tency, from Parents who liv'd in Affluence, may, if Cultivated and Improved, intitle him to the Adoption of ſome great Perſonage, who, obſerving a Noble Impartiality, with Regard to Strangers and Acquaintance, may aſſiſt Me⯑rit whereſoever he finds it. It would really be pity that a Perſon, who has demonſtrated, that he has a Capacity to entertain the World, ſhould not meet with a Patron in it, to give him a Taſte of its Enjoyments. Whoever may be meant by HORATIUS, if he makes as Handſome a Figure in his Reception of the Poet, as he does in the Poet's Deſcription, he will be to him inſtead of a Mecoenas; and you will have the Satisfaction of knowing, That you put the Meritorious in a Way to meet Reward, and adminiſter an Opportunity, the moſt Grateful (that can be) to a Perſon truly Great, an Op⯑portunity of doing a Graceful Action.

HERE a Gentleman interrupted us, and left me no Room to make Reply by Word of Mouth: But the beſt Anſwer I could, ſince, make him, [115] was to repeat, in this manner, what he ſaid, and to publiſh the following Lines inſtead of the Eſſay I intended.

THE PLAIN DEALER. No 16.
FRIDAY, May 15. 1724.

THERE is a Scantineſs, in ſome Mens Souls, that gives a diſtaſteful Air to their very Favours, and their Praiſes; what the Mien is to the Body, the Temper is to the Mind. And for Want of this Obſervation, on Occaſi⯑ons where it had been moſt uſeful, ſome have loſt their Friends Good-will by an arrogant Manner of obliging them; and others prais'd Men into a Contempt both for their Perſons and their Civilities.

THERE muſt be viſible, in thoſe, who wou'd ſay, or do, Things engagingly, a certain Sweet⯑neſs in the Eye, and a Senſe of Pleaſure in the Deportment. A Compliment is an Affront, when accompany'd with a ſullen Brow, or a negligent, an abſent, or ſupercilious, Behaviour. I appeal to my Readers, Whether they do not [118] always find themſelves uneaſy in the Company of a Perſon, who ſeems more pleas'd with Him⯑ſelf, than with thoſe he is converſing with.

I WAS drawn into this Reflection, by read⯑ing, the other Day, a little Copy of VERSES, which is printed, with ſome Poetical Pieces of Mr. Pope's, and was written by a Perſon of very great Quality, and whoſe Wit, too, was of the firſt Mangnitude!

THE good Nature of Mr. Pope, muſt be as Extenſive, as his Wit, if his Eſteem for this Noble Author was not leſſen'd, by ſo Ignoble a Start of his Poetry. It is a grudging, haugh⯑ty, conſcious, reluctant, and penurious En⯑comium! Under Pretence of Praiſe to a Friend, it indulges Spleen to his Enemies. It carries, throughout, a cloſer Eye upon his own Merit, than upon His to whom he addreſſes it. In four and twenty Verſes, the four odd ones, I think, have ſome faint Inclination to ſhew Re⯑ſpect to another; but the twenty, I am ſure, with a much ſtronger Bent, point directly up⯑on Himſelf.

WOULD this great Man have applauded ſuch a POET, as he ought, he ſhou'd have forgotten, or ſeem'd to forget, both Himſelf, and his Rank, in that Reverence, ſo juſtly due to an Excellence, which will do Honour to our Nation. He ſhou'd not have imagin'd himſelf over Bountiful in his Condeſcention: The Praiſe of Mr. Pope will be a Theme for Wit, and Learning, when all the Dukes, his Patrons, ſhall be loſt in the Duſt that covers them! The accidental Advantages of Birth, Wealth, and Title, are ſo far from beſtowing Worth, where they find it not originally, that they ſerve but to make the Want of it more [120] obvious and contemptible; whereas a Genius like this Gentleman's, ſurmounts all the ſha⯑dowy Superiorities of Fortune, adorns Dignity itſelf, and makes Obſcurity illuſtrious!

THE great Cardinal Richelieu, in a Circum⯑ſtance of like Nature, acted in ſo different a Manner, that I am always charm'd afreſh, when I read over a Letter, which he ſent to Balzac a French Writer, whoſe Merit was as inferior to Mr. Pope's, as the Grandeur of the Prime Miniſter was ſuperior to the Nobleman's: Let a Judgment be drawn, from an impartial Compariſon.

[122]I AM tranſported, while I read this Letter, at the flaming Intermixture of this Stateſman's lovely Qualities! What a Glow of Humanity! What a Conſciouſneſs of that Care, which is the Duty of the Great, to draw up Merit, out of Obſcurity! What a Knowledge of a State's true Intereſt, from the Force of ſuch Examples! What a genteel Magnanimity! What a ſpirited Race of Sweetneſs, does there ſhine, in this ſhort Letter!

IT is pleaſant enough to remark, That both the French Encomium and the Engliſh, had Effects, the very Reverſe of what was intend⯑ed by their Authors; yet, at the ſame Time, ſtrictly conſonant with Juſtice, and their diffe⯑rent Merits; while the Engliſh Applauder ad⯑dreſſes to Mr. Pope the Praiſe he means to Him⯑ſelf; his Verſes are never read without leſſen⯑ing his own Character; whereas, the generous French Cardinal, meaning nothing in his Let⯑ter, but the Encouragement of Monſieur Bal⯑zac, draws that Honour on his own Name, which he wou'd beſtow upon another's; and becomes Himſelf, the Reader's Idol, while he is pointing him where to worſhip!

IT was impoſſible for Monſieur Balzac, after being thus nobly diſtinguiſh'd, not to ſtrain his Genius to the utmoſt, to keep Poſſeſſion of a Glory, he muſt ſo juſtly have been Proud of; whereas Neglect, on the other Hand, has diſ⯑courag'd a thouſand Spirits, which might have been capable, had they been Fortunate, or ſup⯑ported by thoſe who were ſo, to ſhine out [123] as living Lights, and illuſtrate the Age, they were born in, thro' a long Courſe of Futuri⯑ty. Camoens, whom the Portugueſe call the Virgil of their Country, has touch'd this Sub⯑ject very happily, in the 5th Book of his Luſiad.

THE PLAIN DEALER. No 17.
MONDAY, May 18. 1724.

MY Old Maid, who has liv'd with me theſe thirty Years, and claims the tuck⯑ing me up, as a Privilege annex'd to her Office; left open my Window-curtains laſt Night, [125] which ſo early let in the Beams of the Sun upon me, that I was wak'd from a Dream, which I cou'd have wiſh'd to enjoy much longer.

FANCY had remov'd all my Diſtance from Youth; and given me back thoſe gentle Flames, which warm and brighten Life in its Morning. I ſaw an adorable Object, which my Soul, me⯑thought, had once been paſſionately fond of: And of whoſe Perfections I imagin'd myſelf to have been vertuouſly enamour'd: But I had loſt her, as I fancy'd, in Death. Oh! the Pain of that Imagination was terrible even in Sleep! I ſaw this lovely Perſon, adorn'd with all her Sweetneſs! I heard the Muſick of her Accents, informing me, ſhe was my PATTY. Now grown kinder and more ſenſible, I even felt her leaning over me; and found the animat⯑ing Influence of her Soul-enchanting Preſſures! With what Ecſtaſy of Fondneſs did I ſurvey her lovely Languor! Her Eyes were melting⯑ly relax'd; and their Beams ſerenely temper'd with angelick Softneſs and Compaſſion. Her very Soul ſeem'd to ſhine upon me, through the Smile of every Feature. Oh! how beau⯑tiful is a chaſt Paſſion! How ſweetly does it remain upon the Mind, and appeal from Death to the Memory! I never knew, till this dear Dream convinc'd me, what I loſt by not lov⯑ing, while my Body, as well as my Soul, cou'd have done Juſtice to the Paſſion.

WHILE I was thus tenderly employ'd, I wiſh ſome Artiſt cou'd have ſnatch'd my Pic⯑ture! Old as I am, I flatter myſelf, That Love [126] wou'd have lent it Luſtre. I wou'd have all my Friends, who are not, reſolve immediate⯑ly, to commence Lovers. The Inſipids, who have never lov'd, may be ſaid to live as the Greedy drink; they ſwallow Life without taſt⯑ing it.

BUT, all tranſported as I was, with this charming Dream, it was raviſh'd from me, by the Sun. Yet did I not complain. It had tun'd my Soul to Harmony; and transform'd me from an Old Philoſopher, into a young and hap⯑py Wanton! I ſtarted from my Bed, and flew with Vigour to the Glaſs! to which I have long accuſtom'd myſelf to creep without Tranſport. Old and Worm-eaten as it is in every Part of its broad Frame, yet did it not alarm me. I even ſaw my own Face in it without the leaſt Mortification. Nay, I took Notice, That my Night-cap was not ſo White as it ought to have been; which in more unpolite Hours, I ſhou'd have thought not worth remarking. But Love adorns and improves us! My Bo⯑ſom ſwell'd with Sighs, and my Eyes ſhone with Pleaſure. I bruſh'd up my Mouſe-colour Gloves, and was wiſhing they had been Yellow ones. I powder'd my ſhort Hair; and comb'd it down to look longer. Nay I almoſt arriv'd at the Foppery of ſpoiling my new Beaver, by inflicting the modern Pinch on it. At length I remember'd, That my Youth was but a Dream! And my PATTY a COQUET! My Arms, at this Thought, folded ſadly upon my Breaſt; I ſunk into my eaſy Chair, and was, ſome [127] Minutes, quite loſt there, before I cou'd recover myſelf. How dreadful is the Deſcent, from airy Pleaſure to ſubſtantial Miſery! It is not to be deſcrib'd in Proſe, and ſince LOVE both deſerves good Poetry, and can inſpire it, let me ſee what my Muſe will ſay to it.

WELL! My Readers ſhou'd think as I do, that all Things are for the Beſt. I loſt my Dream, and they find a Poet. The Witlings will ſay, a dreaming one! But Melancholy has its Charms, and I am ſweetly Sad, in the Re⯑membrance of it.

WHILE I was indulging this mournful Tenderneſs, I heard a gentle Rap at my Door, as if it fear'd to alarm me; and the Outſide of it ſeem'd to be ſwept by the ruſtling of Silk; a Muſick I am not us'd to! I open'd it ſlow⯑ly, for I was ſtill loſt to myſelf; and was ad⯑dreſs'd by a Lady in a modeſt but moſt en⯑chanting [128] Manner. She appear'd to be near thirty; and was dreſs'd, very gravely, a little remov'd from the preſent Mode. But my Heart ſprung within me! For all the Beauties of my Viſion were more than verify'd in this Reality! The Soul of a God ſeem'd to ſtream through her Eyes! And the Ideas of her Wit and Majeſtick Underſtanding flam'd and ſparkled in her meaning Softneſs! There was ſomething in her Air, that made the Room ſeem to blaze round her! I led her to my great Chair, but ſhe gracefully declin'd it, and ſeated herſelf at ſome Diſtance, not to ſhew the Re⯑ſpect ſhe had, to my Age, I hope, but my Writings: After a Preface, of the ſweeteſt Praiſe, that Vanity cou'd wiſh to hear, ſhe took a Paper from her Boſom; and ſeem'd to tremble, while ſhe gave it me, as if it enclo⯑ſe'd ſome Declaration, that her Heart was con⯑cern'd in. How becoming is Humility, when ſuch Excellence condeſcends to wear it!—She withdrew: and, from her Manner, I open⯑ed her Paper with Impatience; and found in it what follows.

THE PLAIN DEALER. No 18.
FRIDAY, May 22. 1724.

I FELL aſleep, the other Night, after medi⯑tating, in my Bed, on our general Diſſa⯑tisfaction, at the Fortune that is alloted us; and had, again, an extraordinary Dream, but [133] very different from my laſt; and ſo ſtrongly diſtinct, and entertaining, that I flatter myſelf, my Readers will be glad to ſhare its Impreſſion, while it is new, upon my Memory.

I WAS plac'd, I knew not how, on the Top of a green Hill; which was very flow'ry, and fragrant. The World, methought, lay under it, in a vaſt Deſcent of Cloudineſs! A thouſand Roads led up to it; but, with ſuch intricate, and mazy Windings, that my Eye was unable to trace any of them, diſtinctly: Yet they, all, open'd at laſt, upon the Summit of the Hill, and pour'd out a mix'd Multitude, of both Sexes, and of all Ages, and Conditions; who, as ſoon as they had reach'd the Flat, haſten⯑ed forward towards its Center.

I WAS wonderfully pleas'd, to diſcover Patty Amble, in the Crowd; and, giving her my Hand, led her on, with great Compoſure. She inform'd me, That the Place we were up⯑on, was the Mount of Fortune; and, That ſhe was going to a Fair, which is held on it, and call'd, Mend-all Market. Her Buſineſs, ſhe ſaid, was to change her Condition, for a Bet⯑ter; and, ſhe doubted not, but I might do the ſame, if I pleas'd, ſince I had found my Way, up the Hill. For all People, who came thither, were allow'd the happy Privilege, to lay down their own Burdens; and take up lighter, in the Room of them.

IN the very middle of the Plain, we came, at length, to a kind of May-Pole, which was bigger than the Monument; and as high as the [134] Pike of Teneriff: It was of a bright Yellow, or Gold-colour; but twinkled, ſtrangely, at a Diſtance; and looked dazling, and tranſparent. There hung, off from it, all about, lovely Garlands, of precious Stones, with a Mixture of the ſweeteſt Flowers; the Hues of which were changeable, and varied every Moment, with a moſt bewitching Delightfulneſs. Upon the Pinacle of this Pyramid, ſat the Goddeſs of the Place, very buſily ſpinning: But the Thread ſhe twiſted off, was too fine, to be ſeen, diſtinct⯑ly, by Us, who ſtood, ſo far, below it. The Wheel, in its Motion, made a muſical Sound; but ſo rough, and ſo loud, that it ſhook the Hill, all round it. It ſcatter'd, while ſhe turn'd it, a ſparkling Shower of Globules, that were many-colour'd, but hollow; and broke, like empty Bubbles, in their deſcending over the Multitude.

WHAT I obſerv'd, with moſt Concern, was, that, the nearer we came, the Proſpect grew leſs charming; for the Duſt was ſo thick, that our Eyes, and Mouths, were filled with it; and our Heads ak'd with the Buſtle, and the Noiſe, of the Tumult. The Commodities, which were to be barter'd for, lay, ſpread, every where, in Heaps; and All, who paſs'd between, were invited to come, and cheapen them.—Sweet⯑meats, Limonades, and Variety of the fineſt Fruits, were offer'd, diligently, up and down, by little Cupids, with painted Baskets: And Trumpeters, Jugglers, Rope-dancers, Merry-Andrews, and Opera-Mongers, were exerting [135] themſelves, on all Sides, to compleat the Up⯑roar of the Market. But, tho' I paſs'd by all their Stages, I ſaw no more than Two, whoſe Faces were well known to me; and Thoſe were, Heidegger, and Doctor Fauſtus.

IN the Front of every Pile, roſe an Alabaſter Pillar, whereon hung a Picture, fill'd with Figures, all in Motion; repreſenting whatever was moſt tempting, and deſirable, in the Mer⯑chandize it recommended. And, at the Foot of each Pillar, was placed an Ebony Chair; on both Sides of which, ſtood young, and beau⯑tiful Women, dreſs'd like Muſes and Graces: Some inviting Paſſengers to take Poſſeſſion of the Empty Seat; and others pointing up, to a Compartment, on the Top of it, where was to be read, in golden Letters, the Name, and Quality, of the Merchandize.

WE made up, to a Heap, that was remark⯑ably higher than the Reſt; and read, there, the Word ROYALTY. We were agreeably ſurpriz'd, to ſee, moving, in the Picture, that hung upon this Pillar, Armies, Palaces, and Navies! Crowds of Men, upon their Knees; and Women, ſtill more proſtrate!—Banquets, Treaſures, Sports, and Triumphs, all ſucceed⯑ing, in their Turns, drew a mighty Crowd of Gazers; who were ſtruggling for the Chair, and puſh'd each other from it. Patty Amble was very earneſt, to have had me put in for it: But I wink'd upon her, to be quiet; and pre⯑ſently, we ſaw a Perſon, breaking ſtrong⯑ly through the Crowd; who, with loud [136] Huzza's, and Concurrence, plac'd him, there, and bow'd round him.—But, no ſooner was he ſeated, when the tempting Figures, in the Picture, chang'd, immediately, into horrible Ones!—Cares, Dangers, Hatred, Reſtleſs⯑neſs, and a thouſand ſooty Furies, roll'd, un⯑quietly, about him! The Muſes, and Graces, were transform'd into Serpents, and Satyrs! that hiſs'd, grinn'd, and pointed at him. And, when he wou'd have, gladly, eſcap'd, and ſprung out of the Chair, he found himſelf held down in it, by a Troop of meagre Phan⯑toms, that frighted us away, from any further Obſervation of him.

THE next Place, that we ſtopp'd at, was the Column of BEAUTY. We look'd up, to the Picture, and ſaw, moving, in it, a mix'd, and confus'd Buſtle, of Coaches, Footmen, and Coronets: Men, with their Hearts in their Hands; and an indiſtinct Cavalcade, of ſhape⯑leſs Things, without Heads, call'd Smiles, Sighs, Vows, Deſires, Faintings, Languiſhments, and Adorations. There came, up, to this Place, in great Hurry, a fat, but ſprightly, Young Woman, with a Bundle, under her Arm; which ſhe laid down, by Way of Bar⯑ter; and which, we obſerv'd, as ſhe ſorted the Goods, to be fill'd with large Legs, red Hair, brown Skin, big Breaſts; and Small-Pox-Marks, in abundance. The Attendants, at the Pillar, having agreed to the Exchange, were inviting her into the Ebony Chair; when I, who, by this Time, began to ſuſpect their fair Appear⯑ance, [137] turn'd the Picture, with my Stick: and expos'd its other Side to the She-Merchant; which was to be Part of her Bargain, and con⯑ſiſted of Scandal, Spleen, Jealouſy, Anguiſh, Perjury, and Ruin. She no ſooner ſaw the Faces of this ugly Neſt of Monſters, but, ſnatching up her own Bundle, ſhe ran, as faſt as her thick Legs cou'd carry her; tumbling, Head over Heels, at every Heap in her Way; and getting up, as ſhe beſt cou'd; without ſtaying, to look behind her.

WHILE we were diverting ourſelves, at this pleaſant Flight, a Perſon, whom Nature had deſign'd, and limb'd, for a PLOWMAN, had been ſeiz'd with an Ambition to be made a Miniſter of State; and, having thrown down his Burden, of Toil, Penury, and Dirtineſs be⯑fore the Pillar of POWER, had ſeated himſelf, triumphantly, in the Chair, at the Foot of it; but was frighted out of his Wits, by that time we came up to him; for we found him al⯑moſt ſmother'd, under an unmerciful Load of Slanders, Terrors, Axes, and Halters; which he had much ado to crawl out from; and was bawling, with great Earneſtneſs, and Diſtortion of Muſcles, to have his Own Goods reſtor'd him.

IN the next Compartment we examin'd, we found written the Word, TITLES. We ſaw, there, a Beau, with ſix Footmen behind him, very earneſtly peruſing the moving Trophies, in the Picture. My Coquet felt her Heart beat, at the Sight of ſo fine a Gentleman; and whiſ⯑per'd [138] her Opinion, That I need not turn that Picture; for ſure! there was no Ill to be ap⯑prehended, there;—I did it, however, and the Beau fell into Fits; at the ſudden ruſhing out of a Whirlwind of Ignorance, Conceited⯑neſs, Scorn, Luxury, and Diſeaſes!

I frighted an honeſt Citizen, in much the ſame Manner, from the Standard of WEALTH. He had taken a Fancy for Preferment: and was wiſhing, extremely, to be erected into an Alderman!—He had counted out, for the Pur⯑chaſe, a Life-full of Eaſe; a ſmall Parcel of Underſtanding; and Ditto, of Conſcience. But, the very Minute I turn'd the Picture, there flew, into his Face, Dullneſs, Cuckoldom, and Clumſineſs! upon which he took to his Heels, and left his own Bag behind him.

AT the Column of WIT, I was agreeably entertain'd, among a large Circle of Gapers, who were admiring the wonderful Mechaniſm of the Picture, that was hung upon that Pillar.—Cities, Mountains, Oceans, Woods, Skies, Meadows, Gardens, Gods, and Goddeſſes, Gi⯑ants, Mermaids, Cupids, Dragons, Miſtreſſes, Witches, Enchanted Caſtles, Fields of Air; and Seas of Fire; all, delightfully, intermix'd, and confounded, roſe, and charm'd the Obſer⯑vation!—But the Crowd diſpers'd, immedi⯑ately, on my diſcovering, to their great Ter⯑ror, and Amazement, that there lurk'd, behind all this Gaiety, a lean Society, call'd Envy, Malice, Poverty, Dependence, and Calamity!

[139]I WALK'D quite through the Fair; and, where-ever I wander'd, perceived it was, in all Parts, alike. They, who brought Complaints, to exchange, againſt Good-Fortune, choſe to carry their own back again, rather than con⯑clude a New Bargain. There was ſomething, in every Heap, that they were inclinable enough to purchaſe;—But there was ſome⯑thing too, that muſt go with it, which they could not bear to be troubled with: ſo, they went murmuring, away; and beſtow'd their Curſes, in great Plenty, on the Goddeſs, who kept the Market; which was never the thinner, notwithſtanding; for, ſtill, new Crowds ſup⯑ply'd the Places of thoſe, who return'd, diſ⯑ſatisfy'd. Nor cou'd the Warnings they met with, from ſuch Numbers who had been diſ⯑appointed, prevail with theſe new Comers, to believe, they ſhou'd go back again, without being the Richer, from a Mart, that was ſtor'd, ſo plentifully, with all, that the World calls Valuable.

AMONG the infinite Variety of Temptati⯑ons, which glitter'd, every where, about me, I was in Danger but once; and That was, at the Pillar of FAME. I ſaw, when I turn'd that Picture, that the Weight of the Counter-balance lay, chiefly, in theſe four Evils,—Death, Time, Detraction, and Uncertainty! Yet, ſo ſtrong was my Deſire to float my Name through Futurity, that I was reſolutely deter⯑min'd to take Poſſeſſion of the Chair.—But, having Nothing of Value about me, but my [140] Oaken Stick, and Mouſe-colour'd Gloves, (the firſt of which they refus'd, becauſe of the Miſchief it had done 'em, in turning up the wrong Sides of their Pictures; and the Second, be⯑cauſe not fine enough to be faſhionable, in that Region,) I was forc'd upon an Expedient, which I am almoſt afraid to confeſs, for fear of loſing, for ever, the Good Opinion of my Female Readers.

TO ſay all, in a Word, I was, heroically, reſolv'd, to give up my Love for my Glory; ſo, taking Patty Amble by the Hand, I prof⯑fer'd Her, in Barter, (having no Other Com⯑modity.) The Attendants, who watch'd the Pillar, were juſt ready to take hold of her; when ſhe threw her Arms about my Neck, and conjur'd me, by all the Tyes, of Honour, and of Gallantry, that I wou'd not leave her, a Sa⯑crifice, to ſo empty a Divinity, as the Regent of that Mountain! She begg'd, that I wou'd return, with her, to the Lower, but happier World: and, whatever I ſhould ask of her, ſhe wou'd grant me, by Way of Recompence. I took her ſuddenly, at her Word, and ask'd her Heart for a Fairing.—Nay, ſpare me but that One Thing, ſaid ſhe, with a languiſhing Re⯑proachfulneſs, and take any thing elſe, about me.

Unfortunately overjoy'd, at this Bliſs, which, methought, befel me, the ſudden Flow of my Spirits, under a Senſe of the promis'd Tranſport, caus'd ſo violent an Agitation, that, waking on a ſudden, I dropt, out of her Arms, and per⯑ceiv'd myſelf in my Bed, in Barbican.

THE PLAIN DEALER. No 19
MONDAY, May 25. 1724.

I PASS ſome agreeable Hours, now and then, at the Houſe of Sir Portly Rufus, an old and wealthy Acquaintance; who lives, a few Miles, out of Town; and having got his Eſtate, by a long and buſy Life, ſpent in Trading, adventurouſly, to moſt Parts of the World, is, now, retir'd from its Hurry; and enjoys it with a graceful Eaſe, and unde⯑ſigning Hoſpitality. The only Inconvenience, I have to complain of, when I am with him, is, that the Company I meet there, is not ſo Delicate as I cou'd wiſh it; but mix'd with that Ineligance, which muſt be expected, and ſubmitted to, among Men of Buſineſs: whoſe Friendſhips are form'd, for the moſt Part, not on Sympathy of Minds; but mutual Commerce of Intereſts.

YET, as there is, always, ſomething to be learnt, from the moſt inconſiderable Accidents we can meet with, I never return'd from Dine⯑ing, or Supping, with my good Friend Sir [142] Portly, but I brought away with me as ſtrong a Proof, as I cou'd any where have met with, That the Reaſon why, in mix'd Com⯑panies, we ſeldom find much Pleaſure, is, be⯑cauſe every Perſon, not under ſome immediate Guard of Hope, Fear, or Reverence, keeps only Himſelf in View: And directs his Diſ⯑courſe, and Behaviour, not to the Taſte of thoſe he ſhou'd Entertain; but to the parti⯑cular Bent of his own Humour, or Capacity.

ONE of the moſt conſtant Gueſts, at Sir Portly's, is Tony Gingle his Siſter's Son; who has a great Genius for Poetry. He makes very good Verſes, and pronounces, gracefully enough, thoſe he repeats, from other Writers,—ſo far, all is well. But the worſt of it is, that Tony has ſtudied nothing, but Poetry. He is quite dark in the uſeful Doctrine of Times, Seaſons, and Places. It is the ſame Thing to him, when the Muſe bites, whether he quotes Tragedy, to a Man of Letters, his Taylor's Wife, or a Stockjobber. The Chimes of his Numbers are for ever, ringing in his Fancy: And all, who chance to ſit near him, muſt have their Share of the Melody. He has taken it into his Head, that, becauſe he can make a conſiderable Figure, as a Poet, there is nothing, conſiderable, but Poetry! And it is a very pleaſant Scene to obſerve Tony, ſtudying, at one of the Tables of a full Coffee-Houſe, in the midſt of the City; ſcanning Verſes, on his Fingers: Conceiving, writing, and blotting out: And humming them over, to himſelf, [143] with all the Rapture, and Geſticulation, of Tone, Action, and Paſſion! Regardleſs that he is ſtar'd at, and remark'd, all the while, by a dozen or two of thriving Citizens; who ſhake their Heads and pity him, as a Man, that has loſt his Wits; even while he is under the Ope⯑ration of being Witty!—He has never per⯑mitted his Brain to grow cool enough to re⯑flect, That Wit, in dull Company, is the dulleſt Subject in the World; and that it is a Folly, to talk of Homer, Horace, or Pope, among Grave Fellows within Ludgate; who, when they hear of a Great Poet, will tell you a Story of Tom Brown; and feel no Difference in the Power of Tony Gingle's own Works, and the humble La⯑bours of their Bellman.

Jack Juniper, the Apothecary; and Tom Tireſome, the Haberdaſher, living both in the ſame Street, ride down together, twice a Week, to take a Bottle, with my Friend, Sir Portly.—Jack Juniper reads us Lectures, on the new Improvements in Botany, and the Riſe, and Progreſs of Inoculation, which are, accurately, anſwer'd, by Mr. Thomas Tireſome; with the Price of the Stocks; and the Mournful Decay of the Spittle-fields Weaving.—As ſoon as this very able Apothecary has open'd, and ex⯑plain'd to us, the Circulation of the Blood, the punctual Haberdaſher repays his Kindneſs, with the Courſe of Exchange. If ſome Patient, of the One, has taken Phyſick, for her Complexion; ſome Lady, who is the Other's Cuſtomer, has, with equal Advantage to her Skin, fallen into [144] the Wear of his new Bluſh-Colour.—But, in the very Heighth of their Elucidations, Tony Gingle never fails to wedge in, between 'em both, ſome ſix Dozen of Quotations, from a Poem, call'd the Diſpenſary; though the intel⯑ligent Mr. Juniper is continually interrupting him with the true Hiſtory of every weighty Occurrence, in Apothecaries-Hall, which pro⯑vok'd the Muſe of the merry Doctor. While poor Tom Tireſome, when he has yawn'd, and liſten'd, in vain, to the full Extent of his Pa⯑tience, for an Opportunity to grow Eloquent on the Uſe of Colcheſter-Bays, falls aſleep, in his Chair; and ſnores at us, in Revenge, to maintain his Part in the Converſation.

HONEST Sir Portly wou'd be often at a Loſs, to ſhape ſuch ſtubborn Obliquities, into any direct Line of Society, if he had not, al⯑ways, at his Elbow, the good-natur'd Mr. William Weathercock, a Gentleman Farmer, in his Neighbourhood; who has a large, but empty, Underſtanding.—The Mind of Will. Weathercock is like the Sail of a great Ship, that has Room, to contain much Wind; but, hav⯑ing none, of its own producing, is ſwell'd out, by Turns, from all the Quarters of the Com⯑paſs. Will. hits every Man's Taſte; and is of all People's Opinion. He is ſo deſirous to Oblige, that there is not a Point in the Circum⯑ference, but wou'd ſerve him for a Center. He is this Moment, in your Sentiment: and, the next, will, before your Face, be of his Opinion who contradicts you. But, if a Third [145] affirms you Both to have been in the Wrong, and appeals to Will. Weathercock:—Will, with the beſt-bred Agility in the World, ſhifts, immediately, to his Side, too; and thinks it as clear as the Sun that You were, All Three, in the Right of it.

THIS pliable Ductility, in the Reaſon of Will. Weathercock, hitches in, and chains toge⯑ther, the moſt repugnant Idea's; and, uniting them into an active Body, like the hook'd Atoms, of Des Cartes, gives 'em Strength, Fluidity, and Conſequence. Such a lively Effect have the very Weakneſſes of Humanity beyond the Force, and Subtlety, of Ill-Nature, and Self-Intereſt!

Tony Gingle, the laſt Time that I ſaw this Company together, was ſo put to it, for an Opportunity, to repeat ſome Verſes, he was big with, that, in order to bring 'em in, with a tolerable Appearance of Propriety, he began, to compliment Sir Portly's Lady, on the Fine⯑neſs of her Shape, and Skin, and inferring, from their being Praiſe-worthy, that they ſhould lie open to Obſervation, took Occaſion, by theſe Lines, to enforce his kind Opinion, that it was neceſſary for her, to go naked.

THE Lady bluſh'd, and ſmil'd. Sir Portly laugh'd aloud; and begg'd to hear 'em over again. For my Part, I was doubly pleas'd, with the Turn of the Verſe; and Particularity of the Fancy. Tony Gingle, himſelf, was in Raptures, which he cou'd not hide, at the Applauſe his Muſe had met with.—But Tom Tireſome had been weighing with the Foreſight of a prudent Citizen, the Ill Conſequence of going naked, to his good Friends the Weavers, and felt a commendable Indignation, againſt the tuneful Mr. Gingle; inſomuch that in the Heat of his Reſentment, he call'd him Madman; and Ballad-Singer—Pray, what do you ſup⯑poſe, ſaid he, wou'd become of many thou⯑ſand honeſt People, who live, by making Pet⯑ticoats, and what belongs to Petticoats, if all handſome Women were to go impudently Na⯑ked!—Out upon it! Methinks I ſee 'em; and am aſham'd of you! It is ſcandalous, and in⯑decent; and to ſay nothing of the Plot, which may lie, conceal'd, in it, againſt Trade; it is the Whim of a Heathen Turk! and not fit to be thought of, in a Chriſtian-Country!

TONY by this Time had fathom'd the Depth of his Antagoniſt, and began to play upon him, from his Batteries of poetical Ar⯑tillery; the War was growing hot: and threa⯑tened dangerous Conſequences, when Will. Weathercock put in, between 'em, and taking [147] Part with the Wit, becauſe he obſerv'd him to be a Favourite, made this Charge, upon his Oppoſite, like a brave and faithful Auxiliary.

YOU are certainly in the right, moſt divert⯑ing Mr. Gingle!—Nature never wou'd have cover'd Women with ſuch white, and tempt⯑ing Skins, if ſhe had not meant 'em for a pub⯑lick Ornament. The Ladies are Nature's Fa⯑vourites; and, can we ſuppoſe her to have been leſs liberal, to thoſe Favourites; than to the Beaſts, which ſhe plac'd below 'em?—She never ſent us a Calf, but he came into the World, with his Coat on. An Ox has no Breeches to pull off, when he goes to Bed weary. The Lamb is born, ready dreſs'd, with her Freeze Coat about her. And who, ever, ſaw a Sow, drawing off her Shoes, and Stockings?—None ſleep ſofter than the Birds do: Yet they riſe, in the Morning, with their Feather⯑beds, upon their Backs.—The moſt Excel⯑lent, of the Virtues, are always painted, like Women; but it is, like Women, without Cloaths on! And, what does this mean, but to inſinu⯑ate, to the Sex, that all, who love Virtue, ſhou'd deſpiſe Hoop-Petticoats, and go naked?—There is this manifeſt Abſurdity in Wo⯑mens Dreſſing, that it involves them in Per⯑plexities, which make the chief End they dreſs for, much more difficult than it need be: For, as they order the Matter, they are to be taken to Pieces, like Watches, before a Man can come near enough, to examine the Wonders of [148] their Workmanſhip.—Faſhions differ, in all Nations; and, what is a fine Dreſs, in one Place, is a frightful one, in another. But, were Women once uncover'd, all Mens Judg⯑ments wou'd agree, about 'em.—In a Word, ſince the Sun, Moon, and Stars, appear, as Na⯑ture has made 'em; ſince all Animals are ſatis⯑fy'd with their own natural Figures; and, ſince the Roſes are not aſham'd to ſhew their Thorns, with their Beauties; why ſhou'd Woman, Na⯑ture's Maſterpiece! ſeek to hide, or diſguiſe, her Lovelineſs?

WILL went, eloquently on, after this ex⯑traordinary Manner, till he had fully con⯑vinc'd, and ſatisfy'd, all that Part of his Au⯑dience, who were on this firſt Side the Queſtion. But, caſting his Eye, on poor Tom Tireſome, and, pitying the melancholy Air, with which he liſten'd to an Opinion, he had not Wit enough to argue againſt, though he thought it little Better than Fornication, and Adultery;—Will, in ſimple Honeſty of Heart; and out of a mere Motive of Compaſſion, ſlipt, by a very ſudden Tranſition, into a ſure Method of comforting him; and chang'd his Level, as follows.

YET, I muſt do Juſtice to both Arguments, and it ſeems plain, beyond Contradiction, that Beauty was made, to be ornamented. The Pea⯑cock's ſtarry Tail, ſhews, that Nature loves gay Fancies. Nature dreſs'd the Hills, and the Meadows, in their fine, embroider'd Man⯑tles. [149] It was ſhe, that ſpangled over all that glorious Veil, of Heaven!—Who, but Na⯑ture, ſpotted the Ermin? And gilt the ſcaly Skins, of Fiſhes, and of Serpents?—Man, indeed, ſhe ſent into the World, plain, and naked:—Not, that ſhe meant, he ſhou'd remain ſo,—but, becauſe ſhe adorn'd all Things elſe, for his Reaſon, to chuſe a Dreſs from. What is the Silkworm, but Nature's little Spinſter, ſet to Work for our common Benefit? The very Spider keeps a Loom; and weaves a finer Manufacture, than the Artiſts of Spittle-Fields, can!—Why ſmell theſe love⯑ly Flowers, round the Summer-Houſe we are ſitting in, ſo delightfully ſweet, and fragrant, but to teach us, That we ſhou'd perfume our ſelves? And, to what End can we ſuppoſe they were made, ſo various, in their Colours, but to give Ladies the happy Hint, of employ⯑ing Dyers, and Silk-weavers!

TOM TIRESOME broke in upon him, at thoſe two inſpiring Words, with a loud and triumphant Hollow; and filling, inſtantly, two Bumpers, drank Proſperity to Trade; and Health and Happineſs to Mr. Weathercock.—His Toaſts went round the Company; and both Parties were ſo well ſatisfied with the Share each had, in his Deciſion, that Neither of them appear'd ſhock'd at the manifeſt Contradicti⯑on of his Reaſoning. But Tony Gingle went away, the moſt pleas'd, of the Two; becauſe Sir Portly deſir'd him, at parting, to repeat his Verſes, the third Time; and to make an⯑other [150] Copy, againſt next Meeting, on the com⯑fortable uſe of Swan-skin Breeches, to Ladies who wear Wide Hoops, in a ſharp and froſty Winter.

THE PLAIN DEALER. No 20.
FRIDAY, May 29. 1724.

I WILL cloſe my Paper, here, and revere the Soul of this great Prince, in Silence! for, to ſay any Thing, in Praiſe, or Explanation, [160] of ſuch a Letter, were to treat my Readers, like Inſenſibles.—If there lives any one Perſon, who can conſider it, without Love, and Vene⯑ration, for its Writer, his Apprehenſion muſt be ſo groſly cover'd, with a Cloud of Dulneſs, and Stupidity, that he is deſtin'd to remain impenetrable, by Honour, Juſtice, or Huma⯑nity!

THE PLAIN DEALER. No 21.
MONDAY, June 1. 1724.

THE Coquette, and Ned Volatile, have been Indulged in their Propenſities to talk, and, enjoyed their Humour and Pleaſan⯑try; nay, they have been permitted to break in upon one another, ſometimes, with unex⯑pected Vollies of Raillery, which might, per⯑haps, have been carried to unwarrantable Lengths, and attended with ill Conſequences, if they had not been over-awed by the Preſence of us, of a more ſedate Turn; and ſometimes, ſeaſonably parted, by the Interpoſition of the Major, and timely relieved from one another in thoſe brisk Onſets.

[161]IF an Account of the little Infirmities of this pair of Scufflers has had its proper Tendency towards the Cure of any noted Impertinents, of either Sex, who have a Flux in their Tongues, I ſhall not think that I have as yet offended the Gravity of my Character, or loſt any Time, in penning down ſuch Levities, the Know⯑ledge of which, rightly convey'd, produces Conſequences of ſo much Importance to the Quiet and Repoſe of the more ſerious part of the Human Species. Thus far I can ſay, from what has fallen within my own Obſervation, That ſeveral gay Parts, which I have diſ⯑cover'd, of the Converſation between Ned and the Coquette, have excited an unuſual Vein of Merriment among many of my young Readers; but, tho' I muſt confeſs, I had a ſecret Plea⯑ſure in finding them pleaſed; I ſhould have been delighted, in a more exquiſite Degree, if my Writings, taking a better Effect, had ſtir'd up, in ſome of them, whom it wou'd have become, a little more Self-Reflection, and leſs Laughter. They who only laugh at the Follies of others, give me the worſt half of their Ap⯑plauſe; I ſhall never be compleatly pleas'd, till I can teach them to laugh at themſelves: they think me a pleaſant and facetious old Fellow, but I wou'd be, at the ſame Time, a uſeful and a profitable Companion.

I LATELY ſaw the moſt penetrating pair of Eyes that ever ſhone upon Paper, very buſily employed upon that Plain-Dealer, wherein I deſcribed the laſt Tongue-Skirmiſh, between [162] the Two Talkatives of our Aſſembly. She read it to herſelf, and ever, now and then, laugh'd out heartily. I could gueſs, by obſerving her Eye, what Paſſages tickled her the moſt, and found 'em to be thoſe, which threw the for⯑ward Humour of the two Combatants into the ſtrongeſt Pitch of Ridicule. I was in hopes, That, if any of that Female Infirmity, which ſhe ſo heartily laugh'd at in others, fell to her Share, ſhe would ever after carefully avoid appearing in the ſame Light, in which ſhe had ſeen her Neighbour make ſo ungraceful a Figure, and whom ſhe confeſs'd, by ſuch ſen⯑ſible Signs, to be a proper Object of Ridicule. But, to my very great Wonder, ſhe no ſooner laid the Paper out of her Hands, but ſhe in⯑continently exerciſed thoſe Lips, with ten times more Velocity in Talking, than they ſeem'd to have in the Courſe of their Reading. Her Tongue out-gallop'd the Coquette's; and I am perſuaded, if Ned Volatile had been to ſtart with her upon equal Terms, ſhe would fairly have diſtanced him; he would have loſt Sight of her in the firſt Flight: Up got I, (no Room being given to take Leave) and march⯑ed off, as faſt as my Oaken-ſtick would help me; and have been mightily diſcouraged, to ſee the little Effects of my Performances.—I warrant this Goſſip, told the next Company ſhe fell into, That ſhe read my Paper, and the Moment after, in utter Contempt of the Moral palpably contained in it, bolted away into numberleſs Fooleries, and as many Imperti⯑nences [163] as before. But can this pert Fair-One be properly ſaid to have read the PLAIN-DEALER? No, ſhe ſaw it, but did not read it. At this Rate I muſt be obliged to turn Lecturer upon my own Works, and where there are any genteel Hints, ſubſtitute rougher, and coarſer, in their Room, that they may not be too deli⯑cate, and eſcape Obſervation. It is the Sign of a well-manner'd Writer, juſt to touch upon the Verge of a ſevere Truth, and leave the reſt to a Reader's private Meditation. But if this Method proves ineffectual, it is next to impoſ⯑ſible, to preſerve the Character of a PLAIN-DEALER, without ſaying ſomething that may penetrate, more violently. I ſhall, therefore for the Future, without Scruple, declare, that any Eyes, let them appear never ſo beautiful, which at once look over, and overlook, theſe Papers, are in a Manner as bad as blind; and that the only Grace in beautiful Lips, which are almoſt always in Motion, and ſcarce ever to the Purpoſe, conſiſts in the Propriety of their Colour, which ſhews, as if they bluſh'd, with a Senſe of their own Impertinence.

THE Gentlemen run over my Papers, as well as the Ladies, without reading them. They conceive a Jeſt on ſome particular Per⯑ſon, then laugh; and become more a Jeſt themſelves: yet will not conſider, till they are told in plain Terms, that each of them is that particular Perſon.

THE odd Spark, whom my Correſpondent, fair Cleora, very properly liken'd to a Mercury [164] Reverſed, is the ſame odd Spark he was, and, what is worſe, has ſince that Time brought over Hundreds of Proſelytes, to the ſame ſilly Faſhion; ſo that one would be apt to imagine, there is nothing more wanting, to make a Dreſs very popular, but ſhewing it firſt to be very ridiculous. There ſeems to be a general Emulation among the Faſhion-Mongers, which of them can be the moſt Whimſical, as the on⯑ly ſure Way to be the moſt Taking and Suc⯑ceſsful.

THESE Mercuries conſiſt moſtly of your Sma [...]t, Dapper Blades; tho' ſome very tall Men have condeſcended to come into the Fa⯑ſhion, which makes them appear to have no Heads at all, or as if half the Head, lay hid in the Bag behind it.

IT is an extraordinary Entertainment to ſee the whole Mall crowded with this kind of Pup⯑pets; and yet more ſo, when examining theſe Childiſh Figures, you read in their Faces, that they generally conſiſt of Perſons from Five and Twenty, to upwards of Forty Years of Age. Some Fops of Fifty-odd, make the firſt Decays of Age remarkable in them by this Dreſs, which would be otherwiſe unnoticed. A jolly old Friend of mine, was taking an Airing with me in the Park the other Day, ‘'What muſt be in theſe Peoples Minds, ſaid he, that, in order to look Gay, appear Hoary, like the Pictures of Old Winter, when every Thing looks flouriſhing about them? The very Breezes blow to refreſh them, and ſweep [165] away the Load of Duſt, which wou'd ſwel⯑ter them if they had not ingeniouſly prevent⯑ed it, by a Cement of Orange-Butter.’

CAN any of theſe Sparks pretend to read my Papers; who, without looking into their Minds, continue to cultivate the Outſide of their Heads after ſuch a prodigious and pre⯑poſterous Rate! As to the Powderers of Fifty, I muſt tell them, that even I, who am in my grand Climacterick, and have gone thro' the Snow of ſo many Winters, am not half ſo much powder'd as they, and that therefore it cannot look decent in them.

IF we ſurvey from the Head downwards, every Part of their Dreſs, there is not one, but what is prepoſterous.

IF a Man, for Example, was to take a Re⯑view of the Officers and Soldiers, provided they had Sleeves of the Modern Cut, he would take them for an Army of Invalids. The Company of Taylors ſeem to have forgot them⯑ſelves, and want the Aſſiſtance of the Barber-Surgeons, to inſtruct them in the Rules of Ana⯑tomy, without which, the Elbows of Men are viſibly out of Joint, and can never be ſet cle⯑verly.

THE young Fellows have drop'd down the Flaps of their Coats, very near as Low as the Clocks of their Stockings, ſo that ſcarce any thing of the Leg is to be ſeen but Ancle; and they ſeem to be pulling them ſtill lower and lower, that they may be more and more like Petticoats, which the Women are, grate⯑fully, [166] tucking up ſhorter and ſhorter, that there will be a decent Neceſſity for converting them into Breeches.

BUT I obſerve, that the Ladies go open-breaſted in Winter, tho' the Dappers button up to the Chin in Summer; and have garniſhed the Folds of their Coats with Supernumerary Buttons, the Uſe of which I cannot poſſibly learn, tho' I have applied to thoſe who are very deeply read. I would propoſe Buttons and Button-holes down the Seam of the Back, that they may be button'd up to the Poll, as they are to the Chin, which will be of great Uſe, when, they are lazy; for they may be unbutton⯑ed, as Ladies are unlac'd, behind, by a Servant.

IF theſe Alterations ſhould be carried on a little further, my Friend Gunter's Predictions, concerning the Mutation of Sexes, muſt be al⯑lowed to be punctually verified.

WHAT I moſt fear is, leſt our Merchants and others, whoſe Affairs have kept them ma⯑ny Years beyond Sea, ſhou'd be ſurprized, at their Return, to find us dreſs'd after the pre⯑ſent Mode, hear our Officers ſing Italian, our Beaus compliment one another in High Dutch, our old Women talk Politicks in French, and not believe us to be the ſame Generation of Peo⯑ple, they left behind them in this Iſland.

THE PLAIN DEALER. No 22.
FRIDAY, June 5. 1724.

IT has been remark'd in the Courſe of theſe PAPERS, that among the Wiſe, there are none more Fooliſh than the Witty: May it not with great Truth be ſaid, That, among the merely Witty, none are more ridiculed than the Wiſe? If a Clergyman offers to ſpeak, the Witlings foretel Dullneſs.

BUT the Caſe is quite otherwiſe with Per⯑ſons of a ſerious Caſt of Thought, who know, that, as Truth is the only Mean, by which Divines can ſurely inſtruct, ſo their Stile muſt be peculiarly clear, which, without ſtopping at Brightneſs, purſues Solidity. I am therefore fully ſatisfy'd, that, that Grave Claſs of my Readers, whom I count doing me an Honour, when I ſee them clap on their Spectacles to read my Works, as if they thought they could meet with Improvement from them, after their [168] own long Experience of the World, will be pleaſed with the following Diſcourſe, which the Clergyman made, the other Day, upon that Virtue call'd Plain-Dealing.

WHEN we conſider that every Body, ſaid he, is continually recommending the Subject of your Papers in common Converſation, one would think there was little need for a Writer to employ his Time upon it: But when we reflect how few practiſe it, no Subject requires more Pains to inforce it. People praiſe it every Day, and violate it every Hour, and common Honeſty, like common Senſe, is boldly pretended to by every Body, but really poſ⯑ſeſſed by few.

IT muſt be worth a little of our Meditation to inform ourſelves, how this Quality comes to be ſo Valuable among us, and yet we ſo frequently and ſo eaſily part with it; in ſhort, by what Myſtery in our Conduct ſuch Numbers of Men, would appear to be what they are not.

WE ſee upon the firſt Moment's Reflection, that PLAIN-DEALING is the Soul of Friendſhip; it is the neceſſary Eſſence of it; and, when that is once gone, the moſt warm and lively In⯑timacies can no longer ſubſiſt: They grow cold and dye at once. Now Friendſhips, we all know, are the very Bonds of Society; again, we as clearly comprehend, that what we call, a Good Underſtanding, among publick Bodies of Men, (which cannot be maintained but by Fair-Dealings) is the Prop and Support of every Civilized Government. Since we are ſo [169] ſoon and ſo perfectly convinced, that Plain-Dealing carries along with it ſuch Advantages, it is no wonder, that we ſhould deſire to be reckoned the Poſſeſſors of ſo valuable a Good. It is Natural for us to deſire it; it is in this Senſe ſcarce a Vertue; for, morally ſpeaking, it is what we cannot help deſiring. Every Mortal breathing has felt the firſt Principles of Honeſty very ſtrong in his Heart; and even he that departed from it, knows his Struggle was very great. It is the Quality he covets to find in every one with whom he converſes, and he ſecretly adores the Man in whom he hap⯑pens to meet it.

ON the other hand, if Plain-Dealing had not all theſe attractive Charms, yet there is ſomething ſo ridiculous and unpopular in play⯑ing the Double upon Mankind; there is ſuch a Baſeneſs in the doing of it, ſuch an Impoſſi⯑bility of doing it often without being diſcover⯑ed; ſuch an irretrievable Ignominy, ſuch a quick and painful Remorſe, that a Life of Diſ⯑ſimulation is full enough of Horror to fright Men from it, if a Life of Honeſty had not Charms to tempt, and invite us.

SURE then it is a Riddle, that we are not like the People we Love, but the People we Hate. The meaneſt Slave cannot bear to be called a Diſſembler, and yet the great⯑eſt Princes do not bluſh to diſſemble. Qui neſcit Diſſimulare, neſcit Regnare, is grown their Political Motto. Stateſmen originally meant the ſame as Faithful Servants of a State; [170] they are now adays called Politicians, and Politican is little more than a new Name for Deceiver. Even Religious Perſons have enter'd into a Conſpiracy againſt Plain-Dealing; Diſ⯑ſemblers, in Holy Orders, have cauſed, In ver⯑bo Sacerdoti, to ſignify a Falſhood, and Nolo Epiſ⯑copare to ſtand for deſiring earneſtly what a Man pretends to decline.

UPON the whole it is nothing but Folly and Cowardice, that ſeduces Men firſt out of the plain Road of Honour and Vertue, into the By-ways of Double-Dealing? and, when once Cunning took the Place of Wiſdom in Mens Minds, and Fear inſtead of Reſolution govern'd their Hearts; they at length brought Double-Dealing (which was, at firſt, a Crime, by Ac⯑cident) thro' a long and conſtant Habit, to be no leſs than an Art and Profeſſion.

SUCH a Duty as Plain-Dealing, cannot be too much known, and nothing is learnt, more eaſily; but then in a Corrupt Age nothing is ſo eaſily loſt: in a depraved and impious Com⯑pany, nothing is ſo readily parted from.

THE Clergy have a Right to diffuſe among the People this Spirit of Honeſty, by Precept, and a more particular Duty, incumbent upon them, to enforce it by Example. But too many among them have ſuch a Taſte for world⯑ly Intereſt, as to have loſt the Reliſh of Primi⯑tive Religion; and while they profeſs them⯑ſelves Prieſts, appear aſhamed, to be thought Chriſtians.

[171]AS there is nothing nobler than a good Prieſt; ſo there is nothing ſo ſhocking and ri⯑diculous, as to ſee a baſe Man of that Profeſ⯑ſion, which annexes Reverend to his Name. A Layman, that does not reverence a good Paſtor, is a Profligate: But a wicked Man, in holy Orders, is a Monſter. The Ancients, when they drew the Pictures of Beauty and Uglineſs, took Pieces from ſeveral Objects, the better to compleat their Deſign. In order to excite true Horror againſt wicked Prelates I ſhall uſe the ſame Liberty, and draw from the wickedeſt, I have heard of, a kind of Eccle⯑ſiaſtical Caligula, and ſuppoſe him to be a Biſhop, to give him the Fulneſs of his Deformity: I ſhall then give the Sketch of a virtuous Eccle⯑ſiaſtick; but muſt remark, for the Honour of Prieſthood, that the ill Character is compound⯑ed of a great many Double-Dealers, and that the good one, did really belong to one good Man.

UMBRA was always a great Pretender to Virtue and Piety, but never Poſſeſſor of Com⯑mon Honeſty: He made Godlineſs his Gain, and never eſpouſed the Intereſts of Virtue, but with the View of puſhing his own. Umbra cant⯑ed inordinately; but never once pray'd hearti⯑ly. In order to ingratiate himſelf with great Families, he applied himſelf to learn a falſe kind of Oratory, and grew a famed Panegy⯑riſt, and Compoſer of Funeral Sermons, in which he would ſalve up the Vices of great Men, in favour of Death-bed Repentance; [172] and demonſtrate very elaborately, how the Virtue of a Moment, could atone the Impiety of an Age. If he dined at a Nobleman's Table, he ſaid a ſcanty Grace to a full Meal, and would juſt dip down his Head to the great Author, who multiplies Food for the Uſe and Benefit of his Creatures; but, before he ſeated himſelf, would make a profound Reverence to the Debauchee that entertain'd him. When he grew, by theſe Means, acquainted with great Men, he turn'd Politician, and raiſed himſelf up on the blind Side of one, by ſetting him at Variance with another: He next became a State Preacher, and changed his Note as the Times changed, ſo that there were many Ser⯑mons of his, direct Contradictions to each other. He ſold the Goſpel by Retale, and lived long in Grandeur, by debaſing Chriſtianity: he has ſometimes taken Delight in abuſing the very Prieſthood, and triumph'd in a Biſhoprick, when he deſerv'd to be excommunicated. Thus veſted, unhappily, with Prelatical Autho⯑rity, he would ruin his honeſt Inferiors, and if they ſought Juſtice, terrify them by his Pri⯑vilege. This Double-Dealer, with a Mitre on his Head, lived prevaricating for many Years, and then died as he lived, leaving ſuch Falſ⯑hoods under his Hand on his Death-bed, as if the Meaſure of his Days had been too ſhort for his Prevarication.

THERE was ſuch a Perſon lately living as Cordatus, who had an honourable Poſt in the Church. He belong'd to a great Cathedral, [173] and was really a Perſon of Quality; joining the Gentleman with the Chriſtian, he was both Religious and Polite. He had this peculiar Felicity in his Temper, that, though he lived in an Age of Faction, he judged many, of a different Opinion from himſelf, to be honeſt and well-meaning Men, and, by treating them as ſuch, won them over to his Opinion. He never uſed his Authority but to quiet Animoſi⯑ties, to make or renew Friendſhips, and to eſtabliſh Peace, good Will, and Union. He was learned and wiſe, and tho' he had an Im⯑pediment in his Speech, he preached clearly to the Underſtanding. He never choſe that Oratory, which tends more to nouriſh Pride in the Speaker, than to inſtil Virtue into the Hearer. He knew it his Duty to inſtruct the Ignorant, and therefore ſtudied Perſpicuity, in all that he deliver'd from the Pulpit. He made Virtue the Study of one part of his Life, and the other was taken up with the Labour of communicating what he had learnt, for the Uſe and Inſtruction of others. He never con⯑cealed any thing that might make other Men better; ſave one, and that was his Charity. All knew he recommended what he acted, and finding the Preacher in earneſt, the Hearers were ſo too. Nothing among his Pariſhioners, was deliver'd over to Shame, but Impiety. He lived thus for many Years a general Bleſſing, and his Death was a Common Calamity. The Poor loſt a Benefactor, the Rich a valuable [174] Friend, and every individual Man of his Ac⯑quaintance, an exemplary Companion.

I MUST, before I conclude, adviſe all Cler⯑gymen not to fix any Parts in the Deſcription of Umbra, upon any particular Perſons they may not think well of; becauſe that will be ſhewing, they have ſome of his Spirit: Let them rather ſtudy to live like Cordatus, that they may die with his Character. What ſigni⯑fies finding out who is meant by Umbra, or who is Cordatus? The profitable Search will be to examine what Parts they have acted like Umbra, and amend them; and, in what they have perſonated Cordatus, and improve them: If they do otherwiſe, they will imitate the Dog in the Fable, and, by catching at the Shadow, loſe the Subſtance of my Diſſertation.

THE PLAIN DEALER. No 23.
MONDAY, June 8. 1724.

I PUBLISH the following LETTER, in Juſtice to ſome great Qualities, which were latent, till now, in my good Friend, Mr. Jyngle: And which he held, it ſeems, like the Flint; that never ſparkles till it is ſtruck upon.

[182]BY a very unlucky Accident, this Letter, before I receiv'd it, fell into the Hands of Tom Tireſome; who has writ to me, about it, in very high Terms. And what the Conſequence of it may be, I know not.

[183]WHILE I was at a Loſs how to account for the Cauſe of this great Misfortune, the following, from Will Weathercock, unriddled the whole Myſtery.

I AM afraid, I muſt cloſe in, with my Friend Will's Opinion, That they are both in the Wrong. But what ſhall I do, with this unlucky Alder⯑man Blunder? The odd Creature has no harm in him; but he does more harm than a Stockjob⯑ber! He has a plain and open Heart, but wants both Foreſight and Reflection. He is Miſ⯑chievous, not Malicious: and errs on, with⯑out Ill Purpoſe, from a Natural Clumſineſs of Mind, and Healthy Coarſeneſs in his Underſtand⯑ing. He overturns Things, without feeling 'em, like the Elephant of Africa; that, walk⯑ing gravely in the Night, among the Villages, of the Negroes, does not diſturb himſelf in the leaſt, about the Houſes, that ſtand in his Way; but, keeping ſtreight forwards, overſets 'em, ſays a Dutch Author, without intending it, as if they were ſo many Nut-ſhells.

WHEN I took him with me, the firſt time, to drink Tea, at Patty Amble's, after ſhe had prattled and trifled him into an Ecſtaſy at her Wit, and Beauty; he turn'd from her, in a Start of Rapture, and ſaid, to me, aloud, How [185] cou'd you be ſo Miſtaken, as to tell me, ſhe was not Handſome? I ſhall never forget the extra⯑ordinary Look, ſhe obliged me with, upon this fine Queſtion! I gloſs'd it over as well as I could, by telling Blunder, That he miſrepre⯑ſented my Words, which were not, That ſhe was not Handſome—But That ſhe was more Witty than Handſome. He had found out, by this Time, that he had done a ridiculous Action, and look'd as like an Aſs, as any reaſonable Man could have deſir'd him; but he repented, as moſt Men do, when it was too late, and to no Purpoſe: And I verily believe, I am doom'd to great Afflictions, (if my Paſſion ſhou'd conti⯑nue) for that dull Start of Mr. Alderman Blun⯑der's.

THE PLAIN DEALER. No 24.
FRIDAY, June 12. 1724.

THE PLAIN DEALER. No 25.
MONDAY, June 15. 1724.

WITH the Leave of the Grammarians, I ſhall venture to put one of their Moods a little upon the Rack; while I affirm, in a kind of Riddle, for the Uſe and Pleaſure of my Reader—That, tho' every Body may be Happy, yet ſcarce any Body can be ſo.

THERE is no Definite Point, that we can fix at, when we wou'd deſcribe what Happi⯑neſs is; yet the Road, to this great Journey's End is very Short, and Obvious. One wou'd wonder therefore, how it comes to be ſo uni⯑verſally [194] miſtaken, if it were not eaſily obſerv'd, that moſt Men are under an Error, even as to the very Placing it.—Happineſs is ſeated, not in Power, but in Will.—Though very few can be Fortunate, yet all Men may be Sa⯑tisfy'd: And they, who leſſen their Deſires, have, in one great Point, the Advantage, over thoſe who enlarge their Proſperity; for, allow⯑ing both to be equally Happy, yet the Firſt, at leaſt, are Happy, with leſs Danger, and In⯑cumbrance.

WHOEVER can be ſo wiſe, as to content himſelf with his preſent Lot, while he, patient⯑ly, hopes a better, will eſcape the common Fate, of taſting, with Diſreliſh, what he finds within his Reach, from a reſtleſs and devour⯑ing Thirſt after what is Future, and Uncer⯑tain—Life ſlides from the Impatient, like the Motion of a murmuring Brook; where the Cur⯑rent waſtes much faſter, than if the Surface had been ſmooth, and ſilent.—When we are upon the Brink of the Grave, we ſtart,—and wonder at our Situation! And, then, firſt, be⯑gin to look back, with Shame, and Sorrow, at the too Little we have Done, in Life; and the too Much, we have wiſh'd, in it.

SO complain'd a Friend of mine, to a Gen⯑tleman, wiſer than himſelf, by as much as his Deſires were more moderate.—It was in a Poem, which he call'd his Choice: But his Mind was ſo diſcompos'd, by a Tempeſt of ungovern'd Wiſhes, that he ſcarce knew what to chuſe, even when his Choice was the Sub⯑ject choſen!

I AM ſure, I wiſh no Ill to the Author of the Manuſcript, from which I took theſe Ver⯑ſes; becauſe, to ſay Truth, he is the moſt In⯑timate of all my Acquaintance;—yet, I fore⯑ſee an inexhauſtible Proviſion of Diſappoint⯑ments in Store, for a Mind, that is ſo un⯑ſtable, as to afflict itſelf with other's Sorrows, when there are Domeſtick ones, more than enow, in the happieſt Man's Condition, to interweave, and make Checquer-work of, the richeſt Robes of Fortune.

I REMEMBER a pleaſant Fancy, in Plu⯑tarch's Feaſt of the Seven Wiſe Men, concern⯑ing the Limits we ſhou'd ſet to our Deſires.— ‘'If a Perſon, (ſays the Speaker) is a Man of [197] Wiſdom and Gravity, he wants no Rule but his Reaſon, to preſcribe him a proper Mea⯑ſure: But, if a Fool were to ask me the Que⯑ſtion, I would tell him this Story.—The Moon, upon a Time, was very earneſt with her Mother, that ſhe wou'd make her a new Pet⯑ticoat, that might ſit handſomely about her; and be neither too ſhort, nor too long, for her Body:—But how is that poſſible, an⯑ſwer'd the Mother, with ſome Emotion, when thou art always changing Shapes, and never contented with thy own Figure?’

THERE is a reſtleſs and univerſal, Circu⯑lation of Diſcontent, in all Degrees, and Con⯑ditions;—The Rich Man is miſcrable, becauſe he has no Heirs; and wiſhes himſelf but ſo bleſs'd, as the poor Labourer; who cries out, while he trims his Hedges, that he cou'd be happy and live comfortably, if he had no Chil⯑dren, to provide for!—The Citizen ſighs, with Envy, at the Smell of a new Hay-cock; and longs to wind himſelf out of Buſineſs, that he may enjoy Life in the Country!—The Coun⯑try Gentleman finds his Time the moſt heavy, of all his Cares; and dreams, for ever, of the Delights, which he cou'd paſs it in, at London!—The great Man complains, that he is wretch⯑ed, from too much Notice; and the good Man is really ſo, from too little.—Command is full of Cares; and Dependance pinch'd with Miſe⯑ries! Every Body repines at ſome Deficiency in his own Fortune, and has ſomething to wiſh for, from another, who is ſtill leſs ſatisfy'd!

[198]DISTANT Proſpects are moſt pleaſing; but they ſeldom fail to deceive us. The rough Lines, and Ruggedneſſes, which look ſmooth, a great Way off, perplex, and entangle, us, when we find ourſelves among them.—I have often been entertain'd, by an ingenious Italian Emblem, where, to ſatirize the Levity of this inſatiate Diſpoſition, Boys are painted very buſy, running about, with erected Faces, to purſue, and catch at Bubbles; which are blown down, among them, by a Monkey, with a long Pipe, and a Baſon.—The Boys, who are ſuppos'd to have graſp'd ſome, look amaz'd, and diſappointed, that they are va⯑niſh'd, in the catching! And the Motto, un⯑der-written, is—He, who reaches me, loſes me.

PERHAPS, it might deſerve to be remem⯑ber'd, as a Maxim, That nothing ought to af⯑flict us, which it is abſolutely out of our Power to remedy.—If it were as eaſy to regulate our Lives, by this Rule, as it is reaſonable to ap⯑prove it, much the largeſt Part of our Calami⯑ties wou'd, at once, be cut off, and effectual⯑ly prevented, for the future.—It is certainly an Ambition, not only juſt, but noble, to purſue the honeſt Calls, either of Fortune, or of Glory: But, if we cou'd purſue 'em, with ſuch Pati⯑ence, and Moderation of Deſire, as not to loſe, in the Interim, all Reliſh of our preſent Con⯑dition; not to place our only Happineſs, in at⯑tempting to become more happy; but content ourſelves with what we are, from the Proſpect [199] of what we hope to be:—All the Bitterneſs of Adverſity wou'd loſe its Taſte, in our Uſe of it; and Proſperity become leſs envied, than Peace of Mind and Tranquillity.

BUT this, however poſſible to Nature, is impoſſible to Pride and Cuſtom—Things, indifferent, in themſelves, become hateful, or amiable, from their Conſequences.—The Re⯑putation, that follows Wealth, gives the ſharpeſt Pain to Poverty: And a Man who is brave enough to provoke Danger, and Death, ſhall want Courage to bear Contempt, though but an imaginary Evil!

HATEMTAI, ſays the Arabian Hiſtory, was the moſt bountiful, of all Mankind; and was flatter'd, by a Train of Followers, with continual Flights of Praiſe, and Congratulati⯑ons of his Good Fortune.—They were ask⯑ing him one Day, ‘'Whether, ever, he had ſeen, or heard of, any Man, who had ſo noble a Soul, as Hatemtai?—He ſmil'd, and return'd this Anſwer:—I walk'd out into the Fields, on a certain Time, when, at a Sacrifice of a Hundred Camels, my Houſe was fill'd, by my Order, with all the Poor, and the Miſerable, who cou'd be found, in the Space of many Miles round my Dwelling.—Some of the Lords in my Company, diſ⯑cern'd, at a little Diſtance, a Man, who was very buſy, in gathering up a Bundle of dry Thorns, to ſell, at the next Village. We went to him and ask'd, why he was not among the Number of his Fellows, who were [200] feaſting at the Houſe of Hatemtai?—Be⯑cauſe, anſwer'd he, a Man, who can provide himſelf with Bread, by his own Labour, needs not be oblig'd to Hatemtai.—This Man, ſaid he, had a Nobler Soul, than Hatemtai.’

I WALK'D, lately, into the City, toward the Cloſe of the Day, and obſerving a Church open, went in, to Evening Prayers. I ſat near a Lady, whoſe fine Face, methought, appear'd like the Seat of a long War, between Beauty, and Affliction. She ſaw, that I had no Prayer-Book, and modeſtly offer'd me her own. I kept it, during the Service, and took Plea⯑ſure to charge my Memory with the Eight following Lines, which were written, in a Woman's Hand, on a white Leaf, at the Be⯑ginning; and were, I believe, of her own com⯑poſing.

THIS was a fine, and uſeful Leſſon; and not improperly plac'd. But it was pity that ſhe learnt is not ſoon enough to protect her againſt thoſe Paſſions, which had left their Traces too viſibly on her Eyes, her Air, and her Complexion.

[201]THE World, upon the whole, may be di⯑vided into two Claſſes;—The one ſeldom Find, what they are, always, painfully Seek⯑ing: The other Find it, eaſily, but are never the more Contented.—Among many Remark⯑able Proverbs, which are proper to the Eaſtern People, they have one to our preſent Purpoſe.— ‘'There are only two Things which can fill the Covetous Man's Eye;—Diſcretion:—Or the Earth that his Corpſe muſt be cover'd with.’

AFTER all that can be ſaid of Riches; or, that is the Conſequence of their Poſſeſſion:—Content is the ſureſt Comfort.—It is Luxury, that creates Poverty; and they are Rich, who deſire Nothing.

THE PLAIN DEALER. No 26.
FRIDAY, June 19. 1724.

THE Number of my Correſpondents en⯑creaſing, very faſt, I muſt reſolve to diſengage my ſelf from ſome of their Obliga⯑tions: As many of their Letters, therefore as [202] I can make room for, to Day, ſhall compoſe my Reader's Entertainment.

PERHAPS, this Lady's Caſe is not ſo bad as ſhe thinks it.—Let her only find out what it is, ſhe wou'd do with him; and, for what ſhe has to ſay to him, ſhe may take a Hint, from the following Verſes.—They were writ⯑ten, in Italian, by Milton, when he was at Florence, in his Youth; and fell in Love, as Fidelia has done, with a Perſon, whoſe Lan⯑guage he underſtood but little of.—They were addreſs'd to his Italian Miſtreſs.

THE PLAIN DEALER. No 27.
MONDAY, June 22. 1724.

THE Writer of the Rehearſal, puts in⯑to the Mouth of Mr. Bayes, with regard to the Good to be extracted from Books, by the moſt indifferent Hands, a Truth, that might have been ſpoken by a Perſon, whoſe Air of Gravity, was not (like that of Mr. Bayes,) in⯑tended to make him Ridiculous.

HOW far was I from thinking Mr. Jyngle the moſt Eligible Companion in the World, when I met him at Sir Portly's? And yet this very Mr. Jyngle, (for I will take heed how I an⯑ger ſo touchy a Philologiſt, by miſ-ſpelling his Name any more, with a broad-back'd Gothick G, as he calls it) no ſooner became my Cor⯑reſpondent, but he proved himſelf a Man of more than ordinary Parts, and one whoſe Ta⯑lents are new and uncommon. I may liken him to ſome curious Engine, of great Uſe to me in my Writing-Capacity; and very neceſ⯑ſary [213] in the Machinery of ſome Inventions which I ſhall make known in the Courſe of theſe PAPERS, for the Benefit of thoſe, who have contracted an ill Habit of Humour, and are ſickly in their Underſtanding.

I EXPRESS myſelf, with much Seriouſ⯑neſs, when I declare, as I here do, that I know not one Science, ſo Advantageous in Theory, as Mr. Jyngle's New Syſtem of Mind Midwife⯑ry. If this lucky Gentleman can but make it anſwer in Practice, according to the vaſt Idea's I conceive of its Excellence and Uſe, he will be as much ſuperior to Hippocrates as the Soul is to the Body. Now, Hippocrates, as Sir Clouterly Rumble, in one of his Phyſical Treatiſes, informs us, was complimented with Divine Honours, juſt as his Predeceſſor Aeſ⯑culapius had been erected to the Dignity of a Demi-God, from ſo low a ſetting out, as that of a Tooth-drawer. As mean a Conception, therefore, as I, or any of my Readers, might have, too haſtily, entertained of Mr. Jyngle, as a mere Repeater of his own Rhimes, there is now ample Room for forming great Idea's of his Abilities, and of the Preferment, he may come to, ſince he is, the Inventor, and will, in all Probability, be the Perfecter of this more noble Art of Healing. And if, in the very Infancy of his Science, he makes a thorough Cure of his deſperate Patient Sir Clouterly; I do verily think, after that, there will not be the leaſt Room for any ſick minded Perſon what⯑ſoever, to deſpair of Succeſs under his Regimen.

[214]HOWEVER, ſince a Perſon muſt be in a painful way indeed, before he cries out for the Phyſician, I would propound a kind of Diet to thoſe who diſcover Symptoms of any ap⯑proaching Spiritual Malady, which will ſerve them by way of Prevention. This Method is certainly preferable to the common way of Delaying till the Diſeaſe is actually upon them, which is then in Danger of not being removed, without Recourſe to violent Reme⯑dies. In Sir Clouterly's Caſe, the Preſcription of Mr. Jyngle is ſo very ungentle, that Fair Ladies, who find themſelves a going into any Immoral Habit, ſhould, one would think, take early Care to ſtop the Progreſs of it, for fear of lying under the Neceſſity of ſuch dreadful Emeticks. That, it ſeems, which the Titled Patient muſt be forced to undergo, for the Cure of Vanity only, (and, what Perſon, with a Title, thinks Vanity ſo great an Ill?) will, he confeſſes, be attended with ſuch violent Workings, that it will make him vomit his Heart up. Now, who would not avoid this rough Handling, by taking Things in Time, when they apprehend a Diſorder to be riſing, and obſerving a regular Mind-Diet.

I SHALL proceed, to lay down ſome ge⯑neral Rules, and ſhort Recipes, by way of Spe⯑cimen, that the Ladies, eſpecially, may encou⯑rage a Pocket Volume, which I intend ſhort⯑ly to publiſh, on the Subject of Mind-Labours, and Deliveries, and which I only wiſh may be diſperſed into as many Hands as Culpeper's Mid⯑wifery; [215] for I am ſure I may ſay, without Boaſting, it will be a more uſeful and valua⯑ble Treatiſe.

PERSONS, who have any Conſideration for the Health of their Minds, are deſired to re⯑flect Seriouſly, that all Exceſſive Paſſions are Diſtempers of the Mind; and but Fore-runners of Diſeaſes in the Body. Let them know, that nothing conduces more, to the Reſtraint of theſe Humours, (which grow peccant and per⯑nicious, the very Moment they become Inor⯑dinate,) than Exerciſe in the Thinking Fa⯑culty.

READING the Salutary Maxims of Wiſe Men, with Attention, digeſting them by Me⯑ditation, and imprinting them on the Memory, by frequent Recollection, is a Mind-Diet or Regimen, which will, in a ſhort Time, reſtore Health to a decayed Conſtitution, and add incredible Vigour, to a Weak and Languiſhing Underſtanding. Minds the beſt arm'd, are not always Invulnerable: There are conſtantly ſome peeviſh Accidents, ſome croſs and fret⯑ful Diſappointments, in the rugged Road of Life, to throw a Cloud over the ſereneſt, and diſcompoſe the moſt equal Tempers. But, there is not methinks, a quicker or ſweeter Re⯑medy than to ſtep to the Cloſet, and take down a moral Draught, which will ſmooth us into the moſt perfect Calm. Gallus, Tibullus, Ovid, Catullus, will afford us Lenitives; and Horace, Juvenal and Perſius, will furniſh us with Cor⯑roſives, ſo that we may find a Cure for every [216] Diſtemper. There are not any Infirmities, Pains, or Sufferings of the Mind, but what the Writings of ſome of theſe Doctors contain proper Specificks for. The beſt of this Method of preſcribing, is, that the Phyſick is eaſy and delightful. For what does it conſiſt in but Exerciſing one's Wits with ſome of the beſt Company in the World, whom even Ladies cannot go to for Diverſion, without finding them at the ſame Time uſeful, or viſit for Inſtruc⯑tion, without finding them agreeable. Dry⯑den, Congreve, &c. Have made them refined Engliſhmen, and our Modern Beauties have the ſame Advantages in their Tranſlations, the Ro⯑man Ladies had in the Originals.

WHY ſhould it not be the Care of profeſs'd Viſiters, not to contract ill Habits which are always very catching, and fill the Mind, with Spots and Blemiſhes? a Toaſt that never had the Small-Pox, would be in a Pannick, at the Appearance of a Face newly mark'd; and Per⯑ſons who break out with Detraction, have the Small-Pox of the Mind, and are frightful when the Marks are upon them.

YOU ſhall ſee a Young Creature torture her⯑ſelf into Beauty puniſh herſelf to pleaſe her Lover, and skin her Face for a Complexion; And yet, tho' ſhe knows ſhe is a little Vixen in her Nature, ſhe ſhall not ſo much as once, after ſhe is married to him, endeavour to learn, how ſhe may avoid the praeternatural Paleneſſes and Fluſhings, which Anger excites in a Beautiful Countenance, giving the whole Form of it ſuch [217] a contrary Caſt, that it is enough to terrify all Beholders. Whenever any of theſe blooming Buſtlers begin to bluſter, the Husband may be the Phyſician; for, when the fiery Par⯑ticles within them betray any of the Soft Things to an unbecoming Fit of Rage, the Sight of a Looking-Glaſs, at that Critical Minute of De⯑formity, has been preſcribed by our Fore⯑fathers with admirable, and neverfailing Effect. But this is only a tranſitory Cure, and does not go to the Root of the Diſeaſe. There are Paſ⯑ſages relating to the Effects of Anger in a mar⯑ried State, that would place their Inſide as clear⯑ly before them. A Lady, whom this Practice would not work into Gentleneſs of Temper, could never be cured of ſo violent an Inflam⯑mation, but by one of Mr. Jyngle's ſevereſt Operations.

IS a Lady jealous? And will ſhe not have Senſe enough, to bluſh at the Follies of Jealouſy, when ſhe is reading them, in private, and ſave herſelf from the Inconveniency of looking frightful, in publick Company? She ſtands highly in need of Mr. Jyngle. Who, that could not read away a Fit of the Spleen, in that Excellent Modern Poem, the Rape of the Lock, could be otherwiſe than given over, as quite loſt, Unleſs Mr. Jyngle appear'd, to carry it off, by his new Invention? Thoſe Ladies, who have Wit enough to plead their being of the Unfortify'd Sex in ſo artful a Manner,

have likewiſe Wit enough, to Fortify them⯑ſelves by proper Lectures, againſt the Attacks of Paſſion and Folly. Therefore, after this ſeaſonable Warning, Mr. Jyngle is the Word; and if any wild, diſorderly, pretty Creatures, will Steal away from theſe Precepts, and run Gadding after their own Inventions, till they hurt their Health and Quiet; Care ſhall be taken, to ſend Mr. Jyngle, with all conve⯑nient Speed, after them; and he may drive as faſt as he pleaſes, into Practice.

THE PLAIN DEALER. No 28.
FRIDAY, June 26. 1724.

THE Loſs of Friends is a Miſery, which, more than any other, puts our Patience to the Trial; and breaks in upon Human Na⯑ture with a Violence not to be reſiſted. All the Looks, Words, and Actions, of thoſe, who were dear to us, in their Life-times, riſe, like Ghoſts, to haunt the Memory: But, with this Difference from their Effects, before Death had interpos'd, that we now remember with a kind of Pleaſure, the Wrongs and Slights we may have ſuffer'd from them, as the only Remedy we can have Recourſe to, for ſome Mitigation of our Sorrow: Whereas their Vertues, their Endearments, and the Good Offices they have done us, are like Tortures to the Imagination; and the moſt painful Enflamers of our Miſery.

[220]BUT the Tenderneſs of the Lovelier Sex maintains a generous Superiority, over ours, in the Warmth, and Softneſs, of their Sorrow. There is a Sweetneſs, in a Mother's Grief, when ſhe drowns her Charms in Tears, that raiſes Beauty into Majeſty; and mixes Reve⯑rence with our Fondneſs for her. It is her Soul, we are, then, enamour'd of! And the Husband, Son, or Father, of ſuch a Mourner, conſiders, with an inward Triumph, the In⯑tereſt, he is proud to hold, in a Heart, ſo grac'd by Pity; and ſo ſincerely Sweet and Senſi⯑ble.

THE Force of Natural Affection has its ſtrongeſt Effect, in Mothers from the great Ne⯑ceſſity there is, for that long Care, and Pati⯑ence, which are the Supports of the Human Species, during the Wants, and Helpleſſneſs of Infancy: And the moſt unreaſonable Par⯑tialities, of fond Mothers, to their Children, are not only Pardonable, but Beautiful, when we conſider, what good Effects are owing to the Influence of this charming Weakneſs.

SHAKESPEARE's Tragedy, of King John, has, I hear, been lately alter'd, with Deſign to bring it on the Stage next Winter. I doubt not, but the Alterer has been careful not to rob us of the Grief of Conſtance, for the Loſs of her Son Arthur, when in the Hands of the King, who deſigns to murder him.—Being told, that ſhe is Mad, not Sorrowful, ſhe replies,

THIS Thought, of her Son's Sorrow, and his becoming ſo alter'd by it, as not to be known, if ſhe ſhou'd meet him, in Heaven, has ſo natural a Mixture in it, of the Tender and the Wild! Something ſo exquiſitely adapt⯑ed both to her Character, and her Condition, that I have always conſider'd it, as one of the livelieſt Strokes in the Tragedy: Tho' it is finely ſupported, by what follows.

HOW much eaſier, and leſs lovely, wou'd this Conſtance have appear'd, under the Afflicti⯑on of her Son's Loſs, had ſhe regarded him with the cold Indifference of a Modern Mo⯑ther; whom I am glad, for her own Sake, not to find nam'd, in the following Letter!

I AM ſorry, that, in a Nation, juſtly famous for Good-Nature, we have ſo ſtrong an Ex⯑ception, as may be taken from this Letter. But I will forbear, with my Correſpondent's Leave, to addreſs any Arguments, to the Lady: Since, if ſhe is not harden'd, beyond Nature, the ge⯑nerous Sorrow, and the Sufferings, expreſs'd, in her Son's Sentiments, will melt her Heart into Pity for him; and move her, more effec⯑tually, than any Thing, that can be, morally, offer'd to her.

I WILL turn my Advice, therefore, to the Service of thoſe Sons and Daughters, who are neglected, and made unhappy, by the Aver⯑ſion, or Partiality, of the Parent they depend on. A Caſe, too common, in moſt Families! and which ſtands in need of all the Comfort, that can be pour'd upon their Affliction.

IT is a very melancholy Circumſtance when this happens, as it often does, to the fineſt ſpirited Child, of the whole Number. But it ſhou'd be Ground enough for Conſolation, that ſuch Sufferers owe the wrong Poſition, they appear in, to a Weakneſs in the Parents Reaſon: A kind of Deception, in their Judg⯑ment's Sight! As, when we ſee our Shadows, [227] in the Water, our Heads ſeem to hang down⯑wards; and our loweſt Parts are preferr'd, to look, unnaturally, uppermoſt.

TIME will, certainly, bring a Remedy, to thoſe, who bear this Trial, with Temperance: For Submiſſion diſarms the Rancour, that wou'd gather Strength, from Exerciſe, by an imprudent Oppoſition. None, whoſe Injuries are receiv'd, with Mildneſs, and return'd by Acts of Affection, can be, long, without diſ⯑covering, and repenting, their Ingratitude. Whereas, by permitting ourſelves to revenge the Wrongs we ſuffer, we furniſh our Oppreſ⯑ſors with an Appearance of Juſtice; and only make them more blind, when 'tis our Intereſt, that they ſhou'd ſee clearly.

IMPATIENCE under this, or any other, Affliction, does but double our Mortification. How languid wou'd Life be, to the largeſt Part of the World, if Expectation did not quicken it! Hope is the ſweeteſt, of all Companions!—If it leads us not to the Road, which we are moſt inclin'd to travel in, its Converſation, however, is ſo entertaining, and agreeable, that we can never tire, in the Journey.

WHEN a wicked Man is happy, he ſeems unworthy of his Happineſs: But, where Ver⯑tue is unfortunate, it looks the larger, for the Clouds we ſee it through.—There is a Courage, in Adverſity, that can put Fortune out of Countenance.—Men are not deſpicable, by their Fate, but, by their Manner of ſupport⯑ing it. The Lyon has more Majeſty, in his [228] Chains, than when in the Foreſt: His Fierce⯑neſs is reduc'd, and ſoften'd, by the Reſtraint of his Condition, and, what was terrible, in him, before, becomes venerable, by his Calamity.

BUT, we ſhou'd not only bear our Misfor⯑tunes, with Patience; we ſhou'd ſuſtain 'em, too, with Silence.—Complaints are weak Mens Weapons: And, there was ſomething, delicate, and finely judg'd, in the Conduct of a Perſian Merchant, I have read of, who, finding him⯑ſelf on the Brink of Ruin, by a Race of Loſſes, that befel him, gave ſtrict Orders, to his Son, that he ſhou'd ſpeak of it to Nobody. For, otherwiſe, ſaid he, of One Misfortune, we ſhall make Two—The Loſs, itſelf, which we com⯑plain of;—and our Enemy's rejoicing at it.

BUT, as the moſt perfect Pleaſures in the World are always mix'd with Afflictions, ſo the ſharpeſt Afflictions have their Uſes, and their Pleaſures.—A Man's beſt Friend, is his Enemy! Since by mortifying his Vanity, he adorns his Nature with Humility; and teaches him to ſhun the Practice of thoſe Ill Qualities, toward Others, which he finds ſo unjuſt, and hateful, while he himſelf is oppreſs'd by them.

BUT, while I talk of Humility, I bluſh, at my own Pride, who wou'd teach others a Sci⯑ence, which I am myſelf, but a Learner in.—My Reader, in this Caſe, muſt be ſo good as to compare me to a Blind Man, with a Torch in his Hand—Though I ſee not my own Way, I carry Light enough along with me, to guide the Steps of thoſe who follow me.

THE PLAIN DEALER. No. 29.
MONDAY, June 29. 1724.

UNLESS my Legs are in Motion, my Ima⯑gination is apt to ſtand ſtill: for which Reaſon I am ſo great a Walker, that, if the Weather does not allow me to take the Air, in the open Fields, I meaſure my Landlady's Hall Floor, ſo many Times, for a Breathing, that I can walk Twenty Miles, without ſtirring out of my Lodgings.—I was meditating, Yeſter⯑day Morning, in one of theſe reverted Peram⯑bulations, when I heard the Sound of a Horſe's Feet, on the Pavement, before my Door; which was follow'd by a loud, ruſtick, Whiſtle; and a thumping againſt the Porch, with the Handle⯑end of a Whip.—I look'd out; and was ſa⯑luted, by a Country Servant of Will. Weather⯑cock's, with this ſimple, and hearty Addreſs,—That Maſter remember'd his Love to me; and had ſent him up with a Letter. I diſpatch'd my Friend's Courier; and ſhall lay before my Reader the Contents of this Intelligence.

THE Anſwer I return'd to this apprehenſive Humanity, of Will. Weathercock, was, That I cou'd determine nothing, ſuddenly, in ſo doubt⯑ful a Caſe: But I deſir'd him to tell Tony the following Story, the firſt Time he ſhou'd catch him at a Wig-Knot, or an Apron-String: and, from the Effects of it, I might judge better.

UPON opening ſome late Letters, which have been ſent me by my Correſpondents, I found, inclos'd in one, the following Learned Propoſition, for unravelling the Occult Sciences.

I AM ignorant with what Intention this Pro⯑poſal was enclos'd to me; there having been no Letter ſent with it. But I take it for grant⯑ed, that it is the Wiſh of the Undertaker to have it notic'd, in the PLAIN DEALER: And I recommend it, with the more Readineſs, be⯑cauſe, if this Work is any way anſwerable to its Title, the Author will deſerve to be con⯑ſider'd as a Patriot! and may, by opening the [237] Eyes of thoſe, who are fond of that vile Art, call'd Gaming, become the Means of more Good to his Country, than the Care and Wiſdom of our Parliaments have, yet, been able to ac⯑compliſh.

THE PLAIN DEALER. No. 30.
FRIDAY, July 3. 1724.

IT is ſaid, by a Vulgar Error, That the Eng⯑liſh are fond of Novelty.—I have won⯑der'd, a Thouſand Times, how this Notion became eſtabliſh'd: For, that nothing is more falſe, in Fact, may be proved, from our oldeſt Hiſtories: and is, every Day, remarkable, in our modern, and familiar Practice.

THOUGH ten Engliſhmen, in twelve, are the Deſcendants of Foreigners, and the very Name itſelf, of England, is Foreign: Yet, the Noti⯑on of a Foreigner has been, always, ridicu⯑louſly, diſtaſtful to us!

INNOVATIONS were ever odious to us; and we choſe rather to neglect Advantages, than to try an untrodden Path, for 'em.—What loſt England the firſt Poſſeſſion of that Gold and Silver World in the Spaniſh Weſt-Indies, but her Diſpoſition to diſcredit Novelty?—Our very Laws depend on Precedent:—And the De⯑fence, even of Rights, in Parliament, is ſup⯑ported upon what has been; and ſeems uncon⯑cern'd [240] in why it was. Thoſe ſcandalous Op⯑poſitions, which are ſo obſtinately given, to the Cleareſt Bills, for Publick Benefit, ſuch, as making our Rivers Navigable,—Putting our Lands under a Regiſter,—Promoting untry'd Trades,—And Eſtabliſhing National Fiſheries: Are, all, convincing Inſtances, that no Nation, under Heaven, have ſo fix'd an Averſion to Novelty; which, yet, every Body is imputing to us, as the Reigning Humour of our Coun⯑try.

BUT we have a Preſent Example, that will confirm my Remark, and for ever put to Si⯑lence thoſe, who accuſe us of the Love of Novelty. I mean, the new Practice, of Ino⯑culating the Small-Pox, on Bodies, purpoſely, prepar'd to receive it: So, to prevent the uſual Danger, and Malignancy, of that Diſtemper; and ſuſtain it, without the Terror, the Fatali⯑ty, and the Sorrow, which have heretofore, gone along with it.

IT was a generous Undertaking, in that Pub⯑lick-ſpirited Member of the Royal Society, who, reſolving, by clear Matter of Fact, to eſtabliſh or explode, this Practice, has, with an unwea⯑ried Application, and the moſt ſtedfaſt Impar⯑tiality, inform'd himſelf of its Succeſs, through⯑out all Parts of the Kingdom; and given the World an Account of it, in his Pamphlet, late⯑ly publiſh'd. A Treatiſe! which deſerves the Eye, and moſt careful Conſideration, of every Parent, who has Reaſon, or who wou'd ſave a Favourite Child, the promis'd Comfort of [241] his Life! from being ſnatch'd away, perhaps in its Bloom, by the Sweep of this Diſtemper.

IT is demonſtrated, in the mention'd Trea⯑tiſe, from a Forty Year's Examination of the Bills of Mortality, ‘'That the Small-Pox car⯑ries off, at leaſt, one in every ſix, of all whom it ſeizes in the natural Way; whereas not one in fifty, (ſcarce one in many hundreds) of thoſe who receive it by Inoculation, have been found to die under it.’

THE whole Number of Perſons, who have been ſo much as ſuſpected to owe their Deaths to it, ever ſince its firſt Introduction, in Eng⯑land, amounts to Nine, only!—They are, all nam'd, in the Printed Account; and there is ſcarce one among them, for whoſe Death a Clearer Cauſe, than the Inoculation, is not aſſign'd, and atteſted, by the very Phyſicians, and Surgeons, who directed the Operation—So that Providence ſeems to have guided, and enlighten'd, Art, in this Practice, to aſſiſt, and relieve, Nature, for the Preſervation of the Human Species.

YET, with what Violence, and Malice, has it not been rail'd at, and oppos'd?—How many Falſe Affirmations have we ſeen, with unbluſhing Boldneſs, inſulting Truth, in our Publick News-Papers!—Nay, the Pulpits, too, have trembled, under the Zeal of Reverend Railers; who, in the holy Blindneſs of their Paſſion, have ſhewn us Job, upon his Dung⯑hill; inoculated, for the Small-Pox, by the De⯑vil, of a Surgeon!

[242]IT has been repreſented, as a Wilful Mur⯑der! A new, and wicked, Preſumption! An Aſſault on the Prerogative of Heaven! And a taking God's own Work out of his Hands, to be mended by Man's Arrogance!

BUT the Common Arguments, however deſ⯑picable, give me Diverſion, and Entertainment.—When I hear a pious Old Woman wiſely wondering,—What this World would come to! and concluding her Remarks with this great Maxim of Reſignation, that God's own Time is beſt! I compare this Force of Female Rea⯑ſoning, to the Repreſentation which, a late Writer tells us, The old Boyars, or Grandees of Ruſſia, gravely made, to the Preſent Czar, when he attempted a Communication, by Dig⯑ing a Canal, between the Volga, and the Tanais.— ‘"The Deſign, they ſaid, was Great;—But they humbly conceiv'd it Impious:—For, ſince God had made the Rivers to run one Way, Man ought not to turn them Another.’

IT is an eſtabliſh'd Rule, amongſt Game⯑ſters, That Loſers ſhou'd have leave to ſpeak: And, for this Reaſon, I rather pity, than grow angry with an unmarried Prude or Coquet, when I catch 'em Railing at Inoculation, with a Thouſand Excuſes for it, in their Faces.—As it is a Comfort to the Miſerable to have Companions in their Miſery, ſo, it muſt be a Provocation, to theſe Fair Invalids, to hear of a Preſervative, for other's Beauty, when it is too late, to ſave their own by it.

[243]YET, theſe good Ladies, unmindful that they carry about with them, the Cauſe of their own Peeviſhneſs, treat an innocent Practice, when they join the Chorus of Railers, as the Indian did the Looking-Glaſs, which he found on the Sea-Side.—He was frightfully Ugly; and, ſtarting back from his own Image, threw away the Glaſs, in great Rage, with this com⯑fortable Obſervation:—I might have gueſs'd, thou wert good for nothing: Thou would'ſt not have been left here elſe.

IT is the Obſervation of ſome Hiſtorian; but I forgot where I met with it: That Eng⯑land has ow'd to Women the greateſt Bleſſings ſhe has been diſtinguiſh'd by—In the Caſe, we are now upon, this Reflection will ſtand juſtified.—We are indebted to the Reaſon, and the Courage of a Lady, for the Introduction of this Art; which gains ſuch Strength in its Progreſs, that the Memory of its Illuſtrious Foundreſs will be render'd Sacred, by it, to future Ages.

THIS Ornament of her Sex, and Country, who ennobles her own Nobility, by her Learn⯑ing, Wit, and Vertues, accompanying her Con⯑ſort into Turkey, obſerv'd the Benefit of this Practice, with its Frequency, even among thoſe obſtinate Praedeſtinarians; and brought it over, for the Service, and the Safety, of her Native England; where ſhe conſecrated its firſt Effects, on the Perſons of her own fine Children! And has, already, receiv'd this Glory from it, ‘"That the Influence of her Example has reach'd as high as the Blood Royal."’ And [244] our nobleſt, and moſt antient, Families, in Confirmation of her happy Judgment, add the daily Experience of thoſe, who are moſt Dear to them.

I HAVE ſeen a ſhort Poetical Eſſay, on the Occaſion we are now treating of. I wou'd ſay, if I meant the Verſes an Encomium they ſhou'd be envied for, ‘"That their Subject need not bluſh at them!’

A Journey into Greece being the Subject of theſe Verſes, Parnaſſus lay a little too direct⯑ly in the Way.—I ſhou'd, elſe, have been out of Humour, that the Force of the Author's Fancy took its Turn from the Pagan Syſtem: and does Apollo as much Honour, as the Lady, who is worth a Thouſand of him. But, it is an uncommon Misfortune, to her Genius, ‘"That the only Thing in the World, worth knowing, and not known, to her, is, her own prodigious Excellence.’—So, ſhe is nei⯑ther able, nor willing, to deſcribe it, herſelf; and no Verſe, but her own, can ſoar high enough, for her Merit.—The ſweeteſt of our Engliſh Poets has endeavour'd it with leſs Succeſs, than attended any of his other Compoſitions: And, if a Nameleſs one has miſs'd it, after him, he has, at leaſt, this Conſolation, ‘"That he miſcar⯑ries [246] in ſuch Company, as it is a kind of Ho⯑nour to go aſtray with.’

I WOU'D not, however, be miſtaken, in this Cenſure.—The Verſes, I mean, abound with Wit.—They have only an Air of wanton Levity, that looks too merry, to be enough in Earneſt, and gives the Turn of a ſmiling Satire.—Praiſe ought always to be ſerious, when it is addreſs'd to the Perſon prais'd, and where the Subject is of Weight, and Dig⯑nity.

THERE is, I know, a pert Species of Pane⯑gyrick, which has been admir'd, in the Exam⯑ples of Balzac, Voiture, and other French Writers; who, when they wou'd praiſe Kings, and Heroes, took 'em, ironically, to Task: and chid 'em, by way of Commendation.—But, to ſpeak like a PLAIN DEALER, ſuch familiar, and ſmart Encomiums imply ſomething like a Senſe of ſuperior Qualities, in the over-conſcious Beſtowers of 'em.—Some of the Verſes, juſt now hinted at, have a little too much of the Sportive; but nothing of the French Arro⯑gance.

THIS is exquiſite, and lively, Wit! But it is Wit of too brisk a Species, for the Pur⯑poſe it is applied to.—If a Barriſter ſhou'd take a Fancy to dance in his Pleading, wou'd the Judge admit his Skill, in Excuſe of his In⯑decorum?—This Praiſe, ſo gayly given, wou'd have ſurpriz'd, like a Flaſh of Lightning; where, inſtead of being the profeſs'd Subject, it had been ſtruck out, unexpectedly.—As it is, it looks like Trifling; and miſrepreſents the Author, as not charm'd into Reverence of the Worth he celebrates. It ſpeaks him Regard⯑leſs; and but half Intent:—and is like trip⯑ping, antickly, over a Drawing-Room, when it is prepar'd for the Steps of Majeſty.

IF ever this Remark ſhou'd fall in the way of that Excellent Writer, and he ſhou'd not, himſelf, think, as I do; I ſhall fear, I have been miſtaken. But, It is the Duty of every Man, when he aſſumes the Critick, to ſpeak frankly his Opinion, what is an Error, and what an Excellence; that his Reaſons being weigh'd by the Reader's Impartiality, may con⯑tribute to produce that Judgment, which is the ſole good End of Criticiſm.

[248]BUT, to return to the Lady, from whoſe extenſive Benevolence, we receiv'd the Art we have been ſpeaking of;—It is a Godlight De⯑light, that her Reflection muſt be conſcious of! when ſhe conſiders, to whom we owe, ‘"That many Thouſand Britiſh Lives will be ſav'd, every Year, to the Uſe, and Comfort, of their Country, after a General Eſtabliſh⯑ment of this Practice!"’—A Good! ſo laſt⯑ing, and ſo vaſt! that none, of thoſe wide En⯑dowments, and deep Foundations, of publick Charity, which have made moſt Noiſe in the World, deſerve, at all, to be compar'd with it.

SAADI, the Perſian Author of the Work call'd Guliſtan, tells a Story, of three Sages;—A Greek, an Indian, and a Perſian; who, in Preſence of a King of Perſia, debated, on this Queſtion. ‘"Which, of all Evils, was moſt grievous?"’—The Grecian ſaid, Old-Age, oppreſs'd with Poverty.—The Indian anſwer'd, Pain, under Impatience.—But the Perſian de⯑cided it to be Death, without Good Works be⯑fore it.

IF the want of Good Works is all, that makes Death Terrible, the great Beſtower of the mentioned Bleſſing cannot fail to die, with Chearfulneſs.—It muſt be Impoſſible for her to want Joy, at her laſt Moments: But it may be fear'd, ſhe will carry it away with her to the other World;—For this will be left, in Sorrow.

THE PLAIN DEALER. No 31.
FRIDAY, July 6. 1724.

I TACK this extraordinary Pair of Epiſtles together, becauſe of a manifeſt Reſemblance in their Contents; and, for that I am deſirous to promote a Union between Mrs. Softly, and Mr. Queer.—Their Beaſts, at leaſt, if not themſelves, muſt be ſubſcribed into a Joint-Stock, for the better carrying on of their Trade.—They may afterwards debate, at Leiſure, concerning the Incorporation of their Perſons. But, certain it is, that two Animal Artiſts, of ſuch Sagacity, as both the African, and the Ruſſian Stranger, cou'd never have honour'd London with their Reſidence, at a properer Time than this: Or, with a fairer Promiſe, for their own Benefit.

SOME Stateſmen, who look deep into Nati⯑onal Conſequences; and diſcern at a Diſtance, the Fate of Mightineſs, and Miniſtry, have pre⯑tended to foreſee the ſudden Downfall of Opera!—Who knows, if ſuch a melancholy Revolu⯑tion ſhou'd befall the Polite World; but theſe two, qualify'd, Performers, may take Poſſeſſion [253] of that deſerted Theatre; and, under the Au⯑ſpices of ſo noble, and ſo unanimous, a Board of Directors, out-do, even the ſurprizing Things, which have already been heard, and ſeen, there!

OR, ſuppoſe, it were, yet, a Winter, before the Haymarket will be in a Condition to receive them: They cannot fail, in the mean Time, to meet with more than reaſonable Encourage⯑ment, if they but apply themſelves to the Ma⯑nagers, of either of our Theatres: In one, of which, they labour under ſuch a want of good Actors, that two ſuch accompliſh'd Comedians (having the Advantage, too, of being foreign Ones!) may, certainly, make their own Terms, if they are inclinable to ſtrengthen the Youngeſt Company: Or, if Fortune, againſt her uſual Cuſtom, moſt propitious to her old Favourites, ſhou'd diſpoſe their Choice another Way; they may be entertain'd, as Friends, and Allies, up⯑on the Foot of well-paid Subſidies; the Com⯑manding Officers, of thoſe Veterans, entering, lately, with much Vivacity upon New Plans of Action, which fall, immediately, within the Genius of our fourfooted Virtuoſo's.

HAVING barely touch'd this Hint for the Service of my Correſpondents, who are Per⯑ſons, of great Parts and Induſtry; I come now to ſay a Word or two, in my own Perſon, to the Stages.

MUCH of the Summer is, yet, before us; and Winter, being the Seaſon of our Theatri⯑cal Campaigning, I ſhall prepare myſelf againſt [254] that Time, to take the Field, at their firſt Marching: and move, with one, or other of the Bodies, during the whole Courſe of their Operations. My Readers may then, expect to be entertain'd, from my private Journal, with the Good, or Bad, Diſcipline, of both Armies: and the Perſonal Conduct of their Generals, in the Exerciſes, Evolutions, Sallies, Stratagems, or Engagements, they ſhall, at any Time be concern'd in.—Let 'em therefore ſtand warn'd: and aſſure themſelves, that I ſhall animadvert on their Behaviour, with a Frankneſs, they have been little us'd to; and lay 'em Open, like a PLAIN DEALER.

BUT, to enter on another Subject, I have receiv'd ſeveral Letters, from the Female Part of my Care, to complain of my Odious Title, (ſo they call it!) of PLAIN DEALER.—They had heard of me, it ſeems, but did not dream I had any Thing in me.—They took my Buſineſs to have been Politicks.—They little thought me the Man they find me.—Inſtead of Humour, and Wit, they look'd for Bluntneſs, and Malice, from a ſurly, old, Fellow, that was ſetting him⯑ſelf up for a Cynick,—with a great deal more, to the ſame Purpoſe. But one arch Flirt, among the Reſt, is for forcing me to declare myſelf, that People may know, what to make of me. She is at a Loſs how to think, or what to ſay, of my Papers; and can neither like, nor diſlike, with any Manner of Certainty, till ſhe hears, whether I am a Whig, or a Tory?—She adds, in a Poſtſcript, ‘"That, perhaps, I may think [255] indifferently of both, and pretend to an Im⯑pudent Neutrality, like the Old Graſier, in our Civil Wars: who, when he was met, on the Road, by Either of the oppoſite Parties, and ask'd: For King? Or for Parliament? told 'em.—For Neither: 'till both were wiſer.’

THE Hotheads, and Teſtimonies, of this pre⯑ſent Generation, think it a Diſgrace to their Vivacity, not to be as briskly in the Wrong, as their Anceſtors. And I pity, very heartily, the Condition of the King's poor Subject, who has ſent me the following Letter.

THE PLAIN DEALER. No 32
FRIDAY, July 10. 1724.

I MADE a Viſit, the other Day, to a Gen⯑tleman, who has a Country-Houſe, near London; and, while we refreſh'd ourſelves with a Social Glaſs, in a Summer Bower, which he has rais'd above the Corner of his Garden-Wall, I obſerv'd him to fix his Eyes, with much Attention, on the Gate of a ſtately Building, that ſtood on the oppoſite Side of the Road.—The Miſtreſs, ſaid he, of that fine Houſe, has been charming me, all this Morning, in a Poem, which was written, in Praiſe of her Extraordinary Beauty, by a very celebrated, Engliſh, Genius.—The warm, and lively, Imagination of the Poet has plac'd her exactly before me! I feel, methinks, the Influence of her Eyes! I am inchanted, by her Air and Movement!—But I loſe my ſelf in Rapture, while I ſeem to gaze upon [260] that Spring of Youth, which he deſcribes with ſo much Wantonneſs! That living, thinking, Bloom! that quickens her ſoft Languor; and adds Health, and Joy, to Lovelineſs.—But, ſee!—Look yonder! The very Charmer comes, This! this! is ſhe: This gay, young, wiſh'd, ador'd dear Maſter-piece of Nature; whom I have been reading of, with ſo much Tranſport.

I STARTED up, in great Amazement; and, inflam'd by eager Curioſity, look'd out, to ſee this Prodigy.—But I beheld no other than a thin, wither'd, ſtooping, old Lady; whom Two Servants, with much ſeeming Difficulty, ſupported; and were leading along, between them, toward a Coach, that waited for her, at the Gate. Her Head, and both her Hands, ſhook, ſtrongly, with the Palſey; but every other Part ſeem'd motionleſs, and quite inſen⯑ſible.—I ſigh'd at the Appearance of ſo mortifying an Object! And recall'd my Eyes, from aking at it, to fix 'em, reproachfully, upon my Friend, for his ill-pointed Levity, in ſporting with the Weakneſs, and Miſery of Human Nature.—Yet This, ſaid he, was once, ſo chang'd as we now ſee her! that Di⯑vine! that Godlike! that reſiſtleſs Miracle! whom, to contemplate, in Dryden's warm De⯑ſcription of her Influence, when the Hearts of a gay Monarch, and a Court of Rival Lovers, were the Trophies of her Beauty, Who cou'd think, that Time wou'd thus re⯑duce her, to a Contradiction of all thoſe flou⯑riſhing [261] Attractions; which, though periſh'd in the chang'd Original, will bloom, for ever, in the Poet's Picture.

I PROTEST, the ſudden Shock, which this malicious Artfulneſs of my good Friend's Mo⯑rality ſurpriz'd and ſtruck me with, quite damp'd, and overwhelm'd my Chearfulneſs.—I ſicken'd, at this too near and naked View of Life, without its Palliatives.—I reſolv'd to drink no more.—Your Wine, ſaid I, has loſt its Reliſh, and your Society is grown in⯑ſipid; from the tingling Thoughts which you have fill'd me with.—So, riſing for my Hat and Gloves, I took my Leave abruptly, and walk'd homeward, croſs the Fields, oppreſs'd with muſing Melancholy.

I have not, to this Moment, loſt the Weight of its Oppreſſion; and ſhall never ceaſe to wonder, That the Young reflect ſo ſeldom on the Shortneſs of their Spring, when yet the Old are always near us; and the Younger coming up behind, to puſh us forward into Winter.—It was a ſharp and ſtartling An⯑ſwer, That of the Armenian Beggar, who, leaning double on his Staff, was ask'd by a young jeſting Coxcomb, How much that Bow had coſt him? For I wou'd be glad, ſaid he, to buy one—Have Patience, anſwer'd the old Man, and, if God prolongs your Life, you will have as good a one for nothing.

THERE is but one Thing Here, that can deſerve our conſtant Thoughts, and that is the very Thing, which we moſt hate to think of! [262]—What ought, ſo frequently, to buſy our Remembrance, as the only ſure, and unavoid⯑able common Lot of ALL who ever liv'd, who now do live; or who ſhall live here⯑after?—Where are, now, Times paſt?—We toil, and ſtrive, and labour on, through Life, as if to live were our chief Buſineſs! Unmindful, all the while, what empty Sha⯑dows we are graſping at; and for how ſhort a Time, and how uncertainly they can be Ours, when we have gain'd them. What is become of all thoſe buſy Buſtlers, who have liv'd and died before us? Are they not vaniſhed, and forgotten? They have made their Way thro' Life, as an Eagle does through Air; and their Path is clos'd up after them; nor have they left a Track to follow by.

TIME is the greateſt of all Deceivers; but deceives us, without flattering us.—It has a Tongue in every Steeple; and points its Finger to the Dial's Shadow, to alarm and give us Notice. But we neglect its hourly Summons; we truſt its gentle Pace, againſt the Harſhneſs of its Warning. Yet, were we wiſe, we ſhould think Time a ſmooth, but precipitate Current, that carries us down to Death, whether we are bound thither, or no: And He will, always, have the rougheſt Paſ⯑ſage, who, inſtead of gliding quietly, will be ſtruggling to ſwim againſt it.

LIFE has nothing, that is truly deſirable, but the Preſence of thoſe we love; yet this, of all its Pleaſures, is moſt precarious and [263] unſtable.—Are we charm'd by the Power of Beauty? Let us learn from ſuch an Object, as the once blooming Lady, whom I have been ſpeaking of, that it is a falſe and fluid Proſpect.—It is chang'd ſince Yeſterday; and will be further chang'd, To-morrow.—All, that is Ours, is mutable. We ſtill, in⯑deed, live on; but we are no longer what we have been, nor can we continue what we are. Though the River is ſtill known by its old Name, its Waters, To-day, are not the ſame Waters that were Yeſterday. Not our Blood alone is flowing, and in conſtant Motion; our Faces, Strength, Health, Comforts, Fears, Joys, Miſeries, and Dangers, all move and mix us in one Gulph, Eternity!

I KNOW nothing ſo ridiculous, as what is call'd being ſerious: nor is any thing more idle, than what we uſually term Buſineſs.—We wou'd be fortunate, lov'd, fear'd, great, every thing, but what we ſhou'd be:—For, whoever, in this Life, propoſes to be com⯑pleatly happy, hopes to build, like the Men of Babel; and wou'd raiſe a Pile, as high as Heaven, without Foundation to erect it on. The World is too narrow to allow Dimenſions for a Baſis, where the wild-intended Height is ſo unproportionably extravagant.

The Mahometans, who affect, after the an⯑cient Manner of the Eaſtern Writers, to ex⯑preſs their Moral Doctrine, in a kind of pro⯑verbial Chain of Parallels; ſay, there are ſix Things which a wiſe Man will ground no [264] Hopes on:—The Colour of a Cloud, be⯑cauſe imaginary. The Friendſhip of the Co⯑vetous, becauſe mercenary. The Love of Women, becauſe inconſtant. Beauty, be⯑cauſe frail. Praiſe, becauſe airy: And, the Pleaſures of this World, becauſe deceitful.