to others, without ever receiving thanks, or doing one good action.

I will end this discourse with a speech which I heard Jack make to one of his creditors (of whom he deserved gentler usage) after lying a whole night in custody at his suit.

"Sir, your ingratitude for the many kindnesses I have done you, shall not make me unthankful for the good you have done me, in letting me see there is such a man as you in the world. I am obliged to you for the diffidence I shall have all the rest of my life: I shall hereafter trust no man so far as to be in his debt."

No. 83.] TUESDAY, JUNE 5, 1711. - Animum pictura pascit inani.


The third artist that. I looked over was Fantasque, dressed like a Venetian scaramouch. He had an excellent hand at chimera, and dealt very much in distortions and grimaces. He would sometimes affright himself with the phantoms that flowed from his pencil. In short, the most elaborate of his pieces was at best but a terrifying dream; and one could say nothing more of his finest figures, than that they were agreeable monsters.

The fourth person I examined was very remarkable for his hasty hand, which left his pictures so unfinished that the beauty in the picture (which was designed to continue as a monument of it to posterity) faded sooner than in the person after whom it was drawn. He made so much haste to dispatch his business, that he neither gave himself time to clean his pencils, nor mix his colours. The name of this expeditious workman was Avarice.

VIRG. En. i. 464. And with the shadowy picture feeds his mind. WHEN the weather hinders me from taking my Not far from this artist I saw another of a quite diversions without doors, I frequently make a little different nature, who was dressed in the habit of a party with two or three select friends, to visit any Dutchman, and known by the name of Industry. thing curious that may be seen under covert. My His figures were wonderfully laboured. If he drew principal entertainments of this nature are pictures, the portraiture of a man, he did not omit a single insomuch that when I have found the weather set in hair in his face; if the figure of a ship, there was not to be very bad, I have taken a whole day's journey a rope among the tackle that escaped him. He had to see a gallery that is furnished by the hands of likewise hung a great part of the wall with nightgreat masters. By this means, when the heavens pieces, that seemed to show themselves by the canare filled with clouds, when the earth swims in rain,dles which were lighted up in several parts of them; and all nature wears a lowering countenance, I withdraw myself from these uncomfortable scenes into the visionary worlds of art; where I meet with shining landscapes, gilded triumphs, beautiful faces, and all those other objects that fill the mind with gay ideas, and disperse that gloominess which is apt to hang upon it in those dark disconsolate seasons.

I was some weeks ago in a course of these diversions, which had taken such an entire possession of my imagination, that they formed in it a short morning's dream, which I shall comunicate to my reader, rather as the first sketch and outlines of a vision, than as a finished piece.

I dreamt that I was admitted into a long, spacious gallery, which had one side covered with pieces of all the famous painters who are now living, and the other with the works of the greatest masters that are dead.

On the side of the living, I saw several persons busy in drawing, colouring, and designing. On the side of the dead painters, I could not discover more than one person at work, who was exceedingly slow in his motions, and wonderfully nice in his touches. I was resolved to examine the several artists that stood before me, and accordingly applied myself to the side of the living. The first I observed at work in this part of the gallery was Vanity, with his hair tied behind him in a riband, and dressed like a Frenchman. All the faces he drew were very remarkable for their smiles, and a certain smirking air which he bestowed indifferently on every age and degree of either sex. The toujours gui appeared even in his judges, bishops, and privy counsellors. In a word, all his men were petits maitres, and all his women coquettes. The drapery of his figures was extremely well suited to his faces, and was made up of all the glaring colours that could be mixed together; every part of the dress was in a flutter, and endeavoured to distinguish itself above the rest.

On the left hand of Vanity stood a laborious workman, who I found was his humble admirer, and copied after him. He was dressed like a German, and had a very hard name, that sounded something like Stupidity.

and were so inflamed by the sunshine which acci dentally fell upon them, that at first sight I could scarce forbear crying out "Fire."

The five foregoing artists were the most consider. able on this side the gallery; there were indeed seve ral others whom I had not time to look into. One of them, however, I could not forbear observing, who was very busy in re-touching the finest pieces, though he produced no originals of his own. His pencil aggravated every feature that was before overcharged, loaded every defect, and poisoned every colour it touched. Though this workman did so much mischief on the side of the living, he never turned his eye towards that of the dead. His name was Envy.

Having taken a cursory view of one side of the gallery, I turned myself to that which was filled by the works of those great masters that were dead; when immediately I fancied myself standing before a multitude of spectators, and thousands of eyes looking upon me at once for all before me appeared so like men and women, that I almost forgot they were pictures. Raphael's figures stood in one row, Titian's in another, Guido Rheni's in a third. One part of the wall was peopled by Hannibal Carracce, another by Correggio, and another by Rubens. be short, there was not a great master among the dead who had not contributed to the embellishment of this side of the gallery. The persons that owed their being to these several masters, appeared all of them to be real and alive, and differed among one another only in the variety of their shapes, complexions, and clothes; so that they looked like different nations of the same species.


Observing an old man (who was the same person I before mentioned, as the only artist that was at work on this side of the gallery) creeping up and down from one picture to another, and re-touching all the fine pieces that stood before me, I could not but be very attentive to all his motions. I found his pencil was so very light, that it worked impercep tibly, and, after a thousand touches, scarce produced any visible effect in the picture on which he was employed. However, as he busied himself inces

733033 A

Whether it were because the thread of my dream was at an end I cannot tell; but, upon my taking a survey of this imaginary old man, my sleep left me.


No. 84.] WEDNESDAY, JUNE 6, 1711.
Quis talia fando

Myrmidonum Dolupomve aut duri miles Ulyssei
Temperet a lachrymis ?-VIRG. Æn. ii. 6.

Who can such woes relate, without a tear,

santly, and repeated touch after touch without rest or apartment of Eucrate, he found him extremely deintermission, he wore off insensibly every little disa-jected: upon which he asked (with a smile that was greeable gloss that hung upon a figure. He also natural to him,) What, is there any one too miseradded such a beautiful brown to the shades and mel- able to be relieved by Pharamond, that Eucrate is lowness to the colours, that he made every picture melancholy? I fear there is,' answered the faappear more perfect thon when it came fresh from vourite: A person without, of a good air, well the master's pencil. I could not forbear look- dressed, and though a man in the strength of his ing upon the face of this ancient workman, and im- life, seems to faint under some inconsolable calamity. mediately by the long lock of hair upon his forehead, All his features seem suffused with agony of mind; discovered him to be Time. but I can observe in him, that it is more inclined to break away in tears than rage. I asked him what he would have. He said he would speak to Pharamond. I desired his business. He could hardly say to me, Eucrate, carry me to the king, my story is not to be told twice; I fear I shall not be able to speak it at all.' Pharamond commanded Eucrate to let him enter; he did so, and the gentleman approached the king with an air which spoke him under the greatest concern in what manner to demean himself The king, who had a quick discerning, relieved him from the oppression he was under; and with the most beautiful complacency said to him, Sir, do not add to that load of sorrow I see in your countenance the awe of my presence. Think you are speaking to your friend. If the circumstances of your distress will admit of it, you shall find me so. To whom the stranger: Oh, excellent Pharamond, name not a friend to the unfortunate Spinamont." I had one, but he is dead by my own hand; but, oh Pharamond, though it was by the hand of Spinamont, it was by the guilt of Pharamond. I come not, oh excellent prince, to implore your pardon; I come to relate my sorrow, a sorrow too great for human life to support; from henceforth shall all occurrences appear dreams, or short intervals of amusement from this one affliction, which has seized my very being. Pardon me, oh Pharamond, if my griefs give me leave, that I lay before you in the anguish of a wounded mind, that you, good as you are, are guilty of the generous blood spilt this day by this unhappy hand. O that it had perished before that instant!' Here the stranger paused, and recollecting his mind, after some little meditation, he went on in a calmer tone and gesture as follows:

As stern Ulysses must have wept to hear? LOOKING over the old manuscript wherein the private actions of Pharamond are set down by way of table-book, I found many things which gave me great delight; and as human life turns upon the same principles and passions in all ages, I thought it very proper to take minutes of what passed in that age, for the instruction of this. The antiquary who lent me these papers gave me a character of Eucrate, the favourite of Pharamond, extracted from an author who lived in that court. The account he gives both of the prince and this his faithful friend, will not be improper to insert here, because I may have occasion to mention many of their conversations, into which these memorials of them may give light.

"Pharamond, when he had a mind to retire for an hour or two from the hurry of business and fatigue of ceremony, made a signal to Eucrate, by putting his hand to his face, placing his arm negligently on a window, or some such action as appeared indifferent to all the rest of the company. Upon such notice, unobserved by others (for their entire intimacy was always a secret,) Eucrate repaired to his own apartment to receive the king. There was a secret access to this part of the court, at which Eucrate used to admit many, whose mean appearance in the eyes of the ordinary waiters and door-keepers made them be repulsed from other parts of the palace. Such as these were let in here by order of Eucrate, and had audiences of Pharamond. This entrance Pharamond called the gate of the unhappy,' and the tears of the afflicted who came before him, he would say, were bribes received by Eucrate; for Eucrate had the most compassionate spirit of all men living, except his generous master, who was always kindled at the least affliction which was communicated to him. In regard for the miserable, Eucrate took particular care that the proper forms of distress, and the idle pretenders to sorrow, about courts, who wanted only supplies to luxury, should never obtain favour by his means; but the distresses which arise from the many inexplicable occurrences that happen among men, the unaccountable alienation of parents from their children, cruelty of husbands to wives, poverty occasioned from shipwreck or fire, the falling out of friends, or such other terrible disasters to which the life of man is exposed,-in cases of this nature, Eucrate was the patron, and enjoyed this part of the royal favour so much without being envied, that it was never inquired into, by whose means what no one else cared for doing was brought about. "One evening, when Pharamond came into the

"There is an authority due to distress, and as none of human race is above the reach of sorrow, none should be above the hearing the voice of it; I am sure Pharamond is not. Know then, that I have this morning unfortunately killed in a duel, the man whom of all men living I most loved. I command myself too much in your royal presence, to say Pharamond gave me my friend! Pharamond has taken him from me! I will not say, shall the merciful Pharamond destroy his own subjects? Will the father of his country murder his people? But the merciful Pharamond does destroy his subjects, the father of his country does murder his people. Fortune is so much the pursuit of mankind, that all glory and honour is in the power of a prince, be cause he has the distribution of their fortunes. It is therefore the inadvertency, negligence, or guilt, of princes to let any thing grow into custoin which is against their laws. A court can make fashion and duty walk together; it can never, without the guilt of a court, happen, that it shall not be unfashionable to do what is unlawful. But, alas ! in the dominions of Pharamond, by the force of a tyrant custom, which is misnamed a point of honour,

* Mr. Thornhill, the gentleman here alluded to under the fictitious or translated name of Spinamont, killed Sir Cholmondley Deering, of Kent, Bart. in a duel May 9, 1744.

the duellist kills his friend whom he loves; and the judge condemns the duellist while he approves his behaviour. Shame is the greatest of all evils; what avail laws, when death only attends the breach of them, and shame obedience to them? As for me, O Pharamond, were it possible to describe the nameless kinds of compunctions and tendernesses I feel, when I reflect upon the little accidents in our former familiarity, my mind swells into sorrow which cannot be resisted enough to be silent in the presence of Pharamond. (With that he fell into a flood of tears, and wept aloud.) Why should not Pharamond hear the anguish he only can relieve others from in time to come? Let him hear from me, what they feel who have given death by the false mercy of his administration, and form to himself the vengeance called for by those who have perished by his negligence.' "—Ŕ.

No. 85.] THURSDAY, JUNE 7, 1711.
Interdum speciosa locis, morataque recte
Fabula, nullius Veneris, sine pondere et arte,
Valdius oblectat populum, meliusque moratur,
Quam versus inopes rerum. nugæque canoræ.

HOR. Ars. Poet. ver. 319,

When the sentiments and manners please,
And all the characters are wrought with ease,
Your tale, though void of beauty, force, and art,
More strongly shall delight, and warm the heart;
Than where a lifeless pomp of verse appears,

aversion to loquacity, gives me a good deal of employment when I enter any house in the country; for I cannot for my heart leave a room, before I have thoroughly studied the walls of it, and examined the several printed papers which are usually pasted upon them. The last piece that I met with upon this occasion gave me most exquisite pleasure. My reader will think I am not serious, when I acquaint him that the piece I am going to speak of was the old ballad of the Two Children in the Wood, which is one of the darling songs of the common people, and has been the delight of most Englishmen in some part of their age.

This song is a plain simple copy of nature, desti-
tute of the helps and ornaments of art. The tale of
it is a pretty tragical story, and pleases for no other
reason but because it is a copy of nature. There is
even a despicable simplicity in the verse; and yet,
because the sentiments appear genuine and unaf-
fected, they are able to move the mind of the most
polite reader with inward meltings of humanity and
compassion. The incidents grow out of the subject,
and are such as are the most proper to excite pity;
for which reason the whole narration has something
in it very moving, notwithstanding the author of it
(whoever he was) has delivered it in such an abject
phrase and poorness of expression, that the quoting
any of it would look like a design of turning it into
ridicule. But though the language is mean, the
other, are natural, and therefore cannot fail to please
thoughts, as I have before said, from one end to the
those who are not judges of language, or those who,
notwithstanding they are judges of language, have a
true and unprejudiced taste of nature. The condi-
tion, speech, and behaviour, of the dying parents,
with the age, innocence, and distress, of the children,
are set forth in such tender circumstances, that it is
impossible for a reader of common humanity not to
be affected with them.
the robin-red-breast, it is indeed a little poetical or-
As for the circumstance of
nament; and to shew the genius of the author amidst
all his simplicity, it is just the same kind of fiction
which one of the greatest of the Latin poets has
made use of upon a parallel occasion; I mean that
passage in Horace, where he describes himself when
he was a child fallen asleep in a desert wood, and
covered with leaves by the turtles that took pity
on him.

Me fabulosæ vulture in Appulo,
Altricis extra limen Apuliæ,
Ludo fatigatumque somno
Fronde nova puerum palumbes
4 Od. iii.

And with sonorous trifles charms our ears.-FRANCIS. Ir is the custom of the Mahometans, if they see any printed or written paper upon the ground, to take it up and lay it aside carefully, as not knowing but it may contain some piece of their Alcoran. I must confess I have so much of the Mussulman in me, that I cannot forbear looking into every printed paper which comes in my way, under whatsoever despicable circumstances it may appear; for as no mortal author, in the ordinary fate and vicissitude of things, knows to what use his works may some time or other be applied, a man may often meet with very celebrated names in a paper of tobacco. I have lighted my pipe more than once with the writings of a prelate; and know a friend of mine, who, for these several years, has converted the essays of a man of quality into a kind of fringe for his candlesticks. I remember in particular, after having read over a poem of an eminent author on a victory, I met with several fragments of it upon the next rejoicing day, which had been employed in squibs and crackers, and by that means celebrated its subject in a double capacity. I once met with a page of Mr. Baxter under a Christmas-pie. Whether or no the pastry-cook had made use of it through chance or waggery, for the defence of that superstitious riande, I know not; but upon the perusal of it, I conceived so good an idea of the author's piety, that I bought the whole book. I have often profited by I have heard that the late Lord Dorset, who had these accidental readings, and have sometimes found the greatest wit tempered with the greatest candour, very curious pieces that are either out of print, or and was one of the finest critics as well as the best not to be met with in the shops of our London book-poets of his age, had a numerous collection of old sellers. For this reason, when my friends take a survey of my library, they are very much surprised to find upon the shelf of folios, two long band-boxes standing upright among my books; till I let them see that they are both of them lined with deep erudition and abstruse literature. I might likewise men-thoughts on this subject, as he expressed them in I might likewise refer my reader to Moliere's tion a paper-kite, from which I have received great the character of the Misanthrope; but those only improvement; and a hat-case which I would not ex- who are endowed with a true greatness of soul and change for all the beavers in Great Britain. This genius, can divest themselves of the little images of my inquisitive temper, or rather impertinent humour ridicule, and admire nature in her simplicity and prying into all sorts of writing, with my natural nakedness. As for the little conceited wits of the age,


Me when a child, as tir'd with play
Upon the Apulian hills I lay

In careless slumbers bound,
The gentle doves protecting found,
And cover'd me with myrtle leaves.

English ballads, and took a particular pleasure in the reading of them. I can affirm the same of Mr. Dryden, and know several of the most refined writers of our present age who are of the same humour.

who can only shew their judgment by finding fault, they cannot be supposed to admire these productions which have nothing to recommend them but the beauties of nature, when they do not know how to relish even those compositions that, with all the beauties of nature, have also the additional advantages of art. L.

No. 86.] FRIDAY, JUNE 8, 1711. Heu quam difficile est crimen non prodere vultu! OVID, Met. ii. 447. How in the looks does conscious guilt appear!-ADDISON.

THERE are several arts, which all men are in some measure masters of, without having been at the pains of learning them. Every one that speaks or reasons is a grammarian and a logician, though he may be wholly unacquainted with the rules of grammar or logic, as they are delivered in books and systems. In the same manner, every one is in some degree a master of that art which is generally distinguished by the name of Physiognomy: and naturally forms to himself the character or fortune of a stranger, from the features and lineaments of his face. We are no sooner presented to any one we never saw before, but we are immediately struck with the idea of a proud, a reserved, an affable, or a good-natured man; and upon our first going into a company of strangers, our benevolence or aversion, awe or contempt, rises naturally towards several particular persons, before we have heard them speak a single word, or so much as know who they are. Every passion gives a particular cast to the countenance, and is apt to discover itself in some feature or other. I have seen an eye curse for half an hour together, and an eye-brow call a man a scoundrel. Nothing is more common than for lovers to complain, resent, languish, despair, and die, in dumb-show. For my own part, I am so apt to frame a notion of every man's humour or circumstances by his looks, that I have sometimes employed myself from Charing-Cross to the Royal Exchange in drawing the characters of those who have passed by me. When I see a man with a sour rivelled face, I cannot forbear pitying his wife: and when I meet with an open ingenuous countenance, think on the happiness of his friends, his family, and relations.


I cannot recollect the author of a famous saying to a stranger, who stood silent in his company, Speak, that I may see thee." But, with submis. sion, I think we may be better known by our looks than by our words, and that a man's speech is much more easily disguised than his countenance. In this case, however, I think the air of the whole face is much more expressive than the lines of it. The truth of it is, the air is generally nothing else but the inward disposition of the mind made visible.

Those who have established physiognomy into an art, and laid down rules of judging men's tempers by their faces, have regarded the features much more than the air. Martial has a pretty epigram on this subject:

Crine ruber, niger ore, brevis pede, lumine læsus :
Rem magnam præstas, Zoile, si bonus es -Epig. liv. 12.
Thy beard and head are of a different die;
Short of one foot, distorted in an eye:
With all these tokens of a knave complete,
Should'st thou be honest, thou'rt a devilish cheat.

I have seen a very ingenious author on this subject, who founds his speculations on the supposition, that as a man hath in the mould of his face a remote likeness to that of an ox, a sheep, a lion, a hog, or

any other creature; he hath the same resemblance in the frame of his mind, and is subject to those passions which are predominant in the creature that appears in his countenance. Accordingly he gives the prints of several faces that are of a different mould, and by a little overcharging the likeness, discovers the figures of these several kinds of brutal faces in human features. I remember, in the life of the famous Prince of Condé, the writer observes, the face of that prince was like the face of an eagle, and that prince was very well pleased to be told so. In this case therefore we may be sure, that he had in his mind some general implicit notion of this art of physiognomy which I have just now mentioned; and that when his courtiers told him his face was made like an eagle's, he understood them in the same manner as if they had told him, there was something in his looks, which shewed him to be strong, active, piercing, and of a royal descent. Whether or no the different motions of the animal spirits, in different passions, may have any effect on the mould of the face when the lineaments are pliable and tender, or whether the same kind of souls require the same kind of habitations, I shall leave to the consideration of the curious. In the mean time I think nothing can be more glorious than for a man to give the lie to his face, and to be an honest, just, good-natured man, in spite of all those marks and signatures which nature seems to have set upon him for the contrary. This very often happens among those who, instead of being exasperated by their own looks, or envying the looks of others, apply themselves entirely to the cultivating of their minds, and getting those beauties which are more lasting, and more ornamental. I have seen many an amiable piece of deformity; and have observed a certain cheerfulness in as bad a system of features as ever was clapped together, which hath appeared more lovely than all the blooming charms of an insolent beauty. There is a double praise due to virtue, when it is lodged in a body that seems to have been prepared for the reception of vice; in many such cases the soul and the body do not seem to be fellows.


Socrates was an extraordinary instance of this nature. There chanced to be a great physiognomist in his time at Athens, who had made strange discoveries of men's tempers and inclinations by their outward appearances. Socrates' disciples, that they might put this artist to the trial, carried him to their master, whom he had never seen before, and did not know he was then in company with him. After a short examination of his face, the physiognomist pronounced him the most lewd, libidinous, drunken old fellow that he had ever met with in his whole life. Upon which the disciples all burst out a-laughing, as thinking they had detected the falsehood and vanity of his art. But Socrates told them, that the principles of his art might be very true, notwithstanding his present mistake; for that he himself was naturally inclined to those particular vices which the physiognomist had discovered in his countenance, but that he had conquered the strong dispositions he was born with, by the dictates of philosophy.*

We are indeed told by an ancient author,† that Socrates very much resembled Silenus in his face; which we find to have been very rightly observed

De Humana Physiognomia: which has ran through many This doubtless refers to Baptista della Porta's famous book editions, both in Latin and Italian. He died in 1615. *Cicer. Tusc. Qu. 5 et De Facto.

↑ Plat. Conviv.

my face,

With this account you may wonder how I can have the vanity to offer myself as a candidate, which I now do, to the society where the Spectator and Hecatissa have been admitted with so much ap plause. I don't want to be put in mind how very defective I am in every thing that is ugly: I am too sensible of my own unworthiness in this particular, and therefore I only propose myself as a foil to the club.

from the statues and busts of both, that are still ex-be particular in nothing but the make of tant; as well as on several antique seals and precious which has the misfortune to be exactly oval. This Ï stones, which are frequently enough to be met with take to proceed from a temper that naturally inclines in the cabinets of the curious. But however observ-me both to speak and hear. ations of this nature may sometimes hold, a wise man should be particularly cautious how he gives credit to a man's outward appearance. It is an irreparable injustice we are guilty of towards one another, when we are prejudiced by the looks and features of those whom we do not know. How often do we conceive hatred against a person of worth, or fancy a man to be proud or ill-natured by his aspect, whom we think we cannot esteem too much when we are acquainted with his real character? Dr. Moore, in his admirable System of Ethics, reckons this particular inclination to take a prejudice against a man for his looks, among the smaller vices in morality, and, if I remember, gives it the name of a prosopolepsia." L.

"You see how honest I have been to confess all my imperfections, which is a great deal to come from a woman, and what I hope you will encourage with the favour of your interest.


There can be no objection made on the side of the matchless Hecatissa, since it is certain I shall be in no danger of giving her the least occasion of jealousy; and then a joint stool in the very lowest place at the table is all the honour that is coveted by "Your most humble and obedient servant,


"P. S. I have sacrificed my necklace to put into the public lottery against the common enemy. And last Saturday, about three o'clock in the afternoon, I began to patch indifferently on both sides of my

No. 87.] SATURDAY, JUNE 9, 1711. - Nimium ne crede colori.-VIO. Eccl. ii. 17. Trust not too much to an enchanting face.-DRYDEN. It has been the purpose of several of my speculations to bring people to an unconcerned behaviour, with relation to their persons, whether beautiful or defective. As the secrets of the Ugly club were ex-face." posed to the public, that men might see there were some noble spirits in the age who are not at all displeased with themselves upon considerations which they had no choice in; so the discourse concerning Idols tended to lessen the value people put upon themselves from personal advantages and gifts of nature. As to the latter species of mankind-the beauties, whether male or female-they are generally the most untractable people of all others. You are so excessively perplexed with the particularities in their behaviour, that to be at ease, one would be apt to wish there were no such creatures. They expect so great allowances, and give so little to others, that they who have to deal with them find, in the main, a man with a better person than ordinary, and a beau. tiful woman, might be very happily changed for such to whom nature has been less liberal. The handsome fellow is usually so much a gentleman, and the fine woman has something so becoming, that there is no enduring either of them. It has therefore been generally my choice to mix with cheerful ugly creatures, rather than gentlemen who are graceful enough to omit or do what they please, or beauties who have charms enough to do and say what would be disobliging in any but themselves.


London, June 7, 1711.

"Upon reading your late dissertation concerning idols, cannot but complain to you that there are, in six or seven places of this city, coffee-houses kept by persons of that sisterhood. These idols sit and receive all day long the adoration of the youth within such and such districts. I know, in particular, goods are not entered as they ought to be at the custom-house, nor law reports perused at the temple, by reason of one beauty who detains the young mer chants too long near 'Change, and another fair one who keeps the students at her house when they should be at study. It would be worth your while to see how the idolaters alternately offer incense to their idols, and what heart-burnings arise in those who wait for their turn to receive kind aspects from those little thrones which all the company, but these lovers, call the bars. I saw a gentleman turn as pale as ashes, because an idol turned the sugar in a tea-dish for his rival, and carelessly called the boy to serve him, with a 'Sirrah! why don't you give the gentleman the box to please himself?" Certain it is, that a very hopeful young man was taken with leads in his pockets below-bridge, where he intended to drown himself, because his idol would wash the dish in which she had but just drunk tea, before she would let him use it.

Diffidence and presumption, upon account of our persons, are equally faults; and both arise from the want of knowing, or rather endeavouring to know, ourselves, and for what we ought to be valued or neglected. But indeed I did not imagine these little "I am, Sir, a person past being amorous, and do considerations and coquetries could have the ill con-not give this information out of envy or jealousy, but sequences I find they have by the following letters of my correspondents, where it seems beauty is thrown into the account, in matters of sale, to those who receive no favour from the charmers.

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I am a real sufferer by it. These lovers take any thing for tea and coffee; I saw one yesterday surfeit to make his court! and all his rivals, at the same time loud in the commendation of liquors that went against every body in the room that was not in love. While these young fellows resign their stomachs with their hearts, and drink at the idol in this manner, we who come to do business or talk politics. are utterly poisoned. They have also drams for those who are more enamoured than ordinary; and it is very common for such as are too low in constitution to ogle the idol upon the strength of tea, to

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