and I thought seemed to have a little heaviness upon know how he loves me; I find I can do any thing him, which gave me some disquiet. Soon after, my with him.'-'If you can so, why should you desire sister came to me, with a very matron-like air, and to do any thing but please him? but I have a word most sedate satisfaction in her looks, which spoke her or two more before you go out of the room; for I see very much at ease; bnt the traces of her countenance you do not like the subject I am upon; let nothing seemed to discover that she had been lately in a pas-provoke you to fall upon an imperfection he cannot sion, and that air of content to flow from a certain help; for, if he has a resenting spirit, he will think triumph upon some advantage obtained. She no your aversion as immoveable as the imperfection with sooner sat down by me, but I perceived she was one which you upbraid him. But above all, dear Jenny, of those ladies who begin to be managers within the be careful of one thing, and you will be something time of their being brides. Without letting her speak, more than woman; that is, a levity you are almost which I saw she had a mighty inclination to do, I all guilty of, which is, to take a pleasure in your power said, 'Here has been your husband, who tells me he to give pain. It is even in a mistress an argument of has a mind to go home this very morning, and I have meanness of spirit, but in a wife it is injustice and consented to it.' 'It is well,' said she, 'for you must ingratitude. When a sensible man once observes this know-Nay, Jenny,' said I, 'I beg your pardon, in a woman, he must have a very great, or very little for it is you must know-You are to understand, that spirit, to overlook it. A woman ought, therefore, to now is the time to fix or alienate your husband's consider very often, how few men there are who will heart for ever; and I fear you have been a little indis- regard a meditated offence as a weakness of temper." creet in your expressions or behaviour towards him, I was going on in my confabulation, when Traneven here in my house.' 'There has,' says she, 'been quillus entered. She cast all her eyes upon him with some words; but I will be judged by you if he was much shame and confusion, mixed with great comnot in the wrong; nay, I need not be judged by any placency and love, and went up to him. He took body, for he gave it up himself, and said not a word her in his arms, and looked so many soft things at when he saw me grow passionate, but, "Madam, you one glance, that I could see he was glad I had been are perfectly in the right of it:" as you shall judge;' talking to her, sorry she had been troubled, and Nay, madam,' said I, 'I am judge already, and tell angry at himself that he could not disguise the conyou, that you are perfectly in the wrong of it: for cern he was in an hour before. After which, he says if it is a matter of importance, I know he has better to me, with an air awkward enough, but methought sense than you; if a trifle, you know what I told you not unbecoming 'I have altered my mind, brother; on your wedding-day, that you were to be above little we will live upon you a day or two longer.' I replied, provocations.' She knows very well I can be sourThat is what I have been persuading Jenny to ask upon occasion, therefore gave me leave to go on.

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'Sister,' said I, I will not enter into the dispute between you, which I find his prudence put an end to before it came to extremity; but charge you to have a care of the first quarrel, as you tender your happiness; for then it is that the mind will reflect harshly upon every circumstance that has ever passed between you. If such an accident is ever to happen, which I hope never will, be sure to keep to the circumstance before you; make no allusions to what is passed, or conclusions referring to what is to come: do not show a hoard of matter for dissension in your breast; but, if it is necessary, lay before him the thing as you understand it, candidly, without being ashamed of acknowledging an error, or proud of being in the right. If a young couple be not careful in this point, they will get into a habit of wrangling; and when to displease is thought of no consequence, to please is always of as little moment. There is a play, Jenny, I have formerly been at when I was a student; we got into a dark corner with a porringer of brandy, and threw raisins into it, and then set it on fire. My chamber-fellow and I diverted ourselves with the sport of venturing our fingers for the raisins; and the wantonness of the thing was, to see each other look like a dæmon, as we burnt ourselves, and snatched out the fruit. This fantastical mirth was called snap-dragon. You may go into many a family, where you see the man and wife at this sport: every word at their table alludes to some passage between themselves; and you see by the paleness and emotion in their countenances, that it is for your sake, and not their own, that they forbear playing out the whole game in burning each other's fingers. In this case, the whole purpose of life is inverted, and the ambition turns upon a certain contention, who shall contradict best, and not upon an inclination to excel in kindness and good offices. Therefore, dear Jenny, remember me, and avoid snap-dragon.'

I thank you, brother,' said she, but you do not

of you, but she is resolved never to contradict your inclination, and refused me.'

We were going on in that way which one hardly knows how to express; as when two people mean the same thing in a nice case, but come at it by talking as distinctly from it as they can; when very opportunely came in upon us an honest inconsiderable fellow. Tim Dapper, a gentleman well known to us both. Tim is one of those who are very necessary, by being very inconsiderable. Tim dropped in at an incident, when he knew not how to fall into either a grave or a merry way. My sister took this occasion to make off, and Dapper gave us an account of all the company he had been in to-day, who was, and who was not at home, where he visited. This Tim is the head of a species: he is a little out of his element in this town; but he is a relation of Tranquillus, and his neighbour in the country, which is the true place of residence for this species. The habit of a Dapper, when he is at home, is a light broad cloth, with calamanco or red waistcoat and breeches; and it is remarkable that their wigs seldom hide the collar of their coats. They have always a peculiar spring in their arms, and wriggle in their bodies, and a trip in their gate. All which motions they express at once in their drinking, bowing, or saluting ladies; for a distant imitation of a forward fop, and a resolution to overtop him in his way, are the distinguishing marks of a Dapper. These undercharacters of men, are parts of the sociable world by no means to be neglected: they are like pegs in a building; they make no figure in it, but hold the structure together, and are as absolutely necessary as the pillars and columns. I am sure we found it so this morning; for Tranquillus and I should, perhaps, have looked cold at each other the whole day, but Dapper fell in with his brisk way, shook us both by the hand, rallied the bride, mistook the acceptance he met with amongst us for extraordinary perfection in himself, and heartily pleased, and was pleased all

the while he staid. His company left us all in good humour, and we were not such fools as to let it sink, before we confirmed it by great cheerfulness and openness in our carriage the whole evening.

White's Chocolate-house, October 24.

I have been this evening to visit a lady who is a relation of the enamoured Cynthio, and there heard the melancholy news of his death. I was in hopes, that fox-hunting and October would have recovered him from his unhappy passion. He went into the country with a design to leave behind him all thoughts of Clarissa; but he found that place only more convenient to think of her without interruption. The country gentlemen were very much puzzled upon his case, and never finding him merry or loud in their company, took him for a Roman Catholic, and immediately upon his death seized his French valet-de-chambre for a priest; and it is generally thought in the country, it will go hard with him next session. Poor Cynthio never held up his head after having received a letter of Clarissa's marriage. The lady who gave me this account, being far gone in poetry and romance, told me, if I would give her an epitaph, she would take care to have it placed on his tomb; which she herself had devised in the following manner. It is to be made of black marble, and every corner to be crowded with weeping cupids. Their quivers are to be hung up upon two tall cypresstrees, which are to grow on each side on the monument, and their arrows to be laid in a great heap, after the manner of a funeral pile, on which is to lie the body of the deceased. On the top of each cypress is to stand the figure of a moaning turtle-dove. On the uppermost part of the monument, the goddess to whom these birds are sacred is to sit in a dejected posture, as weeping for the death of her votary.' I need not tell you this lady's head is a little turned however, to be rid of importunities, I promised her an epitaph, and told her I would take for my pattern that of Don Alonzo, who was no less famous in his age than Cynthio is in ours.

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'I have orders from Sir Harry Quickset, of Staffordshire, baronet, to acquaint you, that his honour Sir Harry himself, Sir Giles Wheel-barrow, knight, Thomas Rentfree, esquire, justice of the quorum, Andrew Windmill, esquire, nnd Mr. Nicholas Doubt, of the Inner Temple, Sir Harry's Grandson, will wait upon you at the hour of nine to-morrow morning, being Tuesday the twenty-fifth of October, upon business which Sir Harry will impart to you by word THE TATLER, No. 19.

of mouth. I thought it proper to acquaint you beforehand, so many persons of quality came, that you might not be surprised therewith. Which concludes, though by many years' absence since I saw you at Stafford, unknown, Sir, your most humble servant, 'JOHN THRIFTY.'

I received this message with less surprise than I believe Mr. Thrifty imagined; for I knew the good company too well to feel any palpitations at their approach; but I was in very great concern how I should adjust the ceremonial, and demean myself to all these great men, who perhaps had not seen any thing above themselves for these twenty years last past. I am sure that is the case of Sir Harry. Besides which, I was sensible that there was a great point in adjusting my behaviour to the simple Squire, so as to give him satisfaction, and not disoblige the justice of the


The hour of nine was come this morning, and I had no sooner set chairs, by the steward's letter, and fixed my tea-equipage, but I heard a knock at my door, which was opened, but no one entered; after which followed a long silence, which was broke at last by, Sir, I beg your pardon; I think I know better:' and another voice, nay, good Sir Giles' I looked out from my window, and saw the good company all with their hats off, and arms spread, offering the door to each other. After many offers, they entered with much solemnity, in the order Mr. Thrifty was so kind as to name them to me. But they are now got to my chamber-door, and I saw'my old friend Sir Harry enter. I met him with all the respect due to so reverend a vegetable: for, you are to know, that is my sense of a person who remains idle in the same place for half a century. I got him with great success into his chair by the fire, without throwing down any of my cups. The knight-bachelor told me he had a great respect for my whole family, and would, with my leave, place himself next to Sir Harry, at whose right hand he had sat at every quarter sessions these thirty years, unless he was sick.' The steward in the rear whispered the young templar, That is true, to my knowledge.' I had the misfortune, as they stood cheek-by-jowl, to desire the squire to sit down before the justice of the quorum, to the no small satisfaction of the former, and resentment of the latter. But I saw my error too late, and got them as soon as I could into their seats. 'Well,' said I, 'gentlemen, after I have told you how glad I am of this great honour, I am to desire you to drink a dish of tea.' They answered one and all, that they never drank tea in a morning.'-'Not in a morning!' said I, staring around me. Upon which the pert jackanapes, Nic Doubt, tipped me the wink, and put out his tongue at his grandfather. Here followed a profound silence, when the steward in his boots and whip proposed, that we should adjourn to some public house, where every body might call for what they pleased, and enter upon the business.' We all stood np in an instant, and Sir Harry filed off from the left, very discreetly, countermarching behind the chairs towards the door. After him, Sir Giles in the same manner. The simple squire made a sudden start to follow; but the justice of the quorum whipped between upon the stand of the stairs. A maid, going up with coals, made us halt, and put us into such confusion, that we stood all in a heap, without any visible possibility of recovering our order; for the young jackanapes seemed to make a jest of this matter, and had so contrived, by pressing amongst us, under pretence of making way, that hi

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grandfather was got into the middle, and he knew
nobody was of quality to stir a step, until Sir Harry
moved first. We were fixed in this perplexity for some
time, until we heard a very loud noise in the street;
and Sir Harry asking what it was, I, to make them
move, said, it was fire.'
Upon this, all ran down
as fast as they could, without order or ceremony, until
we got into the street, where we drew up in very good
order, and filed off down Sheer-lane; the impertinent
templar driving us before him, as in a string and point-
ing to his acquaintance who passed by.

reius, and Cneius Scipio, the son of the great Africanus, were competitors for the office of prætor. The crowd followed Cicereius, and left Scipio unattended. Cicerius saw this with much concern; and desiring an audience of the people, he descended from the place where the candidates were to sit, in the eye of the multitude; pleaded for his adversary; and, with an ingenuous modesty, which it is impossible to feign, represented to them, how much it was to their dishonour, that a virtuous son of Africanus should not be preferred to him, or any other man whatsoever.' This immediately gained the election for Scipio; but all the compliments and congratulations upon it were made to Cicereius. It is easier in this case to say who had the office, than the honour. There is no occurrence in life where this quality is not more ornamental than any other. After the battle of Pharsalia, Pompey marching towards Larissus, the whole people of that place came out in procession to do him honour. He thanked the magistrates for their respect to him; but desired them to perform these ceremonies to the conqueror.' This gallant submission to his fortune, and disdain of making any appearance but like Pompey, was owing to his modesty, which would not permit him to be so disingenuous, as to give himself the air of prosperity, when he was in the contrary condition.

1 must confess, I love to use people according to their own sense of good breeding, and therefore whipped in between the justice and the simple squire. He could not properly take this ill; but I overheard him whisper the steward, that he thought it hard, that a common conjurer should take place of him, though an elder squire.' In this order we marched down Sheerlane, at the upper end of which I lodge. When we came to Temple-bar, Sir Harry and Sir Giles got over; but a run of the coaches kept the rest of us on this side of the street; however, we all at last landed, and drew up in very good order before Ben Tooke's shop, who favoured our rallying with great humanity; from whence we proceeded again, until we came to Dick's coffee-house, where I designed to carry them. Here we were at our old difficulty, and took up the street upon the same ceremony. We proceeded through the entry, and were so necessarily kept in order by the situation, that we were now got into the coffee-house itself, where, as soon as we arrived, we repeated onr civilities to each other; after which, we marched up to the high table, which has an ascent to it inclosed in the middle of the room. The whole house was alarmed at this entry, made up of persons of so much state and rusticity. Sir Harry called for a mug of ale and Dyer's Letter. The boy brought the ale in an instant; but said, 'they did not take in the Letter.' 'No!' says Sir Harry, then take back your mug; we are like indeed to have good liquor at this house!' Here the templar tipped me a second wink, and if I had No. 87.] SATURDAY, OCTOBER 29, 1709. not looked very grave upon him, I found he was disposed to be very familiar with me. In short, I observed after a long pause, that the gentlemen did not care to enter upon business until after their morning draught, for which reason I called for a bottle of mum; and finding that had no effect upon them, I ordered a second, and a third, after which Sir Harry reached over to me, and told me in a low voice, that the place was too public for business; but he would call upon me again to-morrow morning at my own lodgings, and bring some more friends with him.'

Will's Coffee-house, October 26.

Though this place is frequented by a more mixed company than it used to be formerly; yet you meet very often some whom one cannot leave without being the better for their conversation. A gentleman this evening, in a dictating manner, talked, I thought, very pleasingly in praise of modesty, in the midst of ten or twelve libertines, upon whom it seemed to have had a good effect. He represented it as the certain indication of a great and noble spirit. Modesty,' said he, is the virtue which makes men prefer the public to their private interest, the guide of every honest undertaking, and the great guardian of innocence. It makes men amiable to their friends, and respected by their very enemies. In all places, and on all occasions, it attracts benevolence, and demands approbation.'

One might give instances, out of antiquity, of the irresistible force of this quality in great minds; Cice

This I say of modesty, as it is the virtue which preserves a decorum in the general course of our life; but, considering it also as it regards our mere bodies, it is the certain character of a great mind. It is memorable of the mighty Cæsar, that when he was murdered in the capitol, at the very moment in which he expired he gathered his robe about him, that he might fall in a decent posture. In this manner, says my author, he went off, not like a man that departed out of life, but a deity that returned to his abode.

Will's Coffee-house, October 28.

THERE is nothing which I contemplate with greater pleasure than the dignity of human nature, which often shews itself in all conditions of life. For, notwithstanding the degeneracy and meanness that is crept into it, there are a thousand occasions in which it breaks through its original corruption, and shows what it once was, and what it will be hereafter. I consider the soul of man as the ruin of a glorious pile of building; where, amidst great heaps of rubbish, you meet with noble fragments of sculpture, broken pillars and obelisks, and a magnificence in confusion. Virtue and wisdom are continually employed in clearing the ruins, removing these disorderly heaps, recovering the noble pieces that lie buried under them, and adjusting them as well as possible according to their ancient symmetry and beauty. A happy education, conversation with the finest spirits, looking abroad into the works of nature, and observations upon mankind, are the great assistances to this necessary and glorious work But even among those who have never had the hap piness of any of these advantages, there are some times such exertions of the greatness that is natural to the mind of man, as show capacities and abilities, which only want these accidental helps to fetch them out, and show them in a proper light. A plebeian soul is still the ruin of this glorious edifice, though encumbered with all its rubbish, This reflection rose in me from a letter which my servant dropped


as he was dressing me, and which he told me was communicated to him, as he is an acquaintance of some of the persons mentioned in it. The epistle is from one Serjeant Hall of the foot-guards. It is directed: To Serjeant Cabe, in the Coldstream regiment of foot-guards, at the Red-lettice, in the Butcher-row, near Temple-bar.'

I was so pleased with several touches in it, that I could not forbear showing it to a cluster of critics, who, instead of considering it in the light I have done, examined it by the rules of epistolary writing. For as these gentlemen are seldom men of any great genius, they work altogether by mechanical rules, and are able to discover no beauties that are not pointed out by Bouhours and Rapin. The letter is as follows:

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I received yours, and am glad yourself and your wife are in good health, with all the rest of my friends. Our battalion suffered more than I could wish in the action. But who can withstand fate? Poor Richard Stevenson had his fate with a great many more. He was killed dead before we entered the trenches. We had above two hundred of our battalion killed and wounded. We lost ten serjeants, six are as followeth Jennings, Castles, Roach, Sherring, Meyrick, and my son Smith. The rest are not your acquaintance. I have received a very bad shot in my head myself, but am in hopes, and please God, I shall recover. I continue in the field, and lie at my Colonel's quarters. Arthur is very well; but I can give you no account of Elms; he was in the hospital before I came into the field. I will not pretend to give you an account of the battle, knowing you have a better in the prints. Pray, give my service to Mrs. Cook and her daughter, to Mr. Stoffet and his wife, and to Mr. Lyver, and Thomas Hogsdon, and to Mr. Ragdell, and to all my friends and acquaintance in general who do ask after My love to Mrs. Stevenson. I am sorry for the sending such ill news. Her husband was gathering a little money together to send to his wife, and put it into my hands. I have seven shillings and threepence, which I shall take care to send her. Wishing your wife a safe delivery, and both of you all happiness, rest


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O Corporal Hartwell desires to be remembered to you, and desires you to enquire of Edgar, what is become of his wife Pegg; and when you write to send word in your letter what trade she drives.

We have here very bad weather, which 1 doubt will be a hindrance to the siege; but I am in hopes we shall be masters of the town in a little time, and then, I believe, we shall go to garrison.'

I saw the critics prepared to nibble at my letter; therefore examined it myself, partly in their way, and partly my own. This is, said I, truly a letter, and an honest representation of that cheerful heart which accompanies the poor soldier in his warfare. Is not there in this all the topic of submitting to our

destiny as well discussed as if a greater man had been placed, like Brutus, in his tent at midnight, reflecting on all the occurrences of past life, and saying fine things on Being itself? What Serjeant Hall knows of the matter is, that he wishes there had not been so many killed; and he had himself fa very bad shot in the head, and should recover if it pleased God. But be that as it will, he takes care, like a man of honour, as he certainly is, to let the widow Stevenson know, that he had seven and threepence for her, and that, if he lives, he is sure he shall go into garrison at last. I doubt not but all the good company at the Red-lettice drank his health with as much real esteem as we do of any of our friends. All that I am concerned for is, that Mrs. Peggy Hartwell may be offended at showing this letter, because her conduct in Mr. Hartwell's absence is a little enquired into. But I could not sink that circumstance, because you critics would have lost one of the parts which I doubt not but you have much to say upon, whether the familiar way is well hit in this style or not? As for myself, I take a very particular satisfaction in seeing any letter that is fit only for those to read who are concerned in it, but especially on such a subject.

If we consider the heap of an army, utterly out of all prospect of rising and preferment, as they certainly are, and such great things executed by them, it is hard to account for the motive of their gallantry. But to me, who was a cadet at the battle of Coldstream in Scotland, when Monk charged at the head of the regiment, now called Coldstream, from the victory of that day; I remember it as well as if it were yesterday, I stood on the left of old West, who I believe is now at Chelsea; I say, to me, who know very well this part of mankind, I take the gallantry of private soldiers to proceed from the same, if not from a nobler impulse than that of gentlemen and officers. They have the same taste of being acceptable to their friends, and go through the difficulties of that profession by the same irresistible charm of fellowship, and the communication of joys and sorrows, which quickens the relish of pleasure, and abates the anguish of pain. Add to this, that they have the same regard to fame, though they do not expect so great a share as men above them hope for; but I will engage Serjeant Hall would die ten thou sand deaths rather than a word should be spoken at the Red-lettice, or any part of the Butcher-row, in prejudice to his courage or honesty. If you will have my opinion, then, of the serjeant's letter, I pronounce the style to be mixed, but truly epistolary; the sentiment relating to his own wound is in the sublime; the postscript of Pegg Hartwell, in the gay; and the whole, the picture of the bravest sort of men, that is to say, a man of great courage and small hopes.

From my own Apartment, October 28.

When I came home this evening, I found, after many attempts to vary my thoughts, that my head still ran upon the subject of the discourse to-night at Will's. I fell, therefore, into the amusement of

proportioning the glory of a battle among the whole army, and dividing it, into shares, according to the method of the million lottery. In this bank of fame, by an exact calculation, and the rules of political arithmetic, I have allotted ten hundred thousand shares; five hundred thousand of which is the due of the general, two hundred thousand I assign to the general officers, and two hundred thousand more to all the commissioned officers, from colonels to ensigns; the remaining hundred thousand must be distributed

among the non-commissioned officers and private men; according to which computation, I find serjeant Hall is to have one share and a fraction of two-fifths. When I was a boy at Oxford, there was, among the antiquities near the theatre, a great stone, on which were engraven the names of all who fell in the battle of Marathon. The generous and knowing people of Athens, understood the force of the desire of glory, and would not let the meanest soldier perish in oblivion. Were the natural impulse of the British nation animated with such monuments, what man would be so mean, as not to hazard his life for his ten hundred thousandth part of the honour in such a day as that of Blenheim or Blareguies ?

No. 88.] TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 1, 1709.

White's Chocolate-house, October 31.

I HAVE lately received a letter from a friend in the country, wherein he acquaints me, that two or three men of the town are got among them, and have brought down particular words and phrases, which were never before in those parts.' He mentions in particular the words Gunner and Gunster, which my correspondent observes, they make use of, when any thing has been related that is strange and surprising; and, therefore, desires I would explain those terms, as I have many others, for the information of such as live at a distance from this town and court, which he calls the great mints of language. His letter is dated from York; and, if he tells me truth, a word in its ordinary circulation does not reach that city within the space of five years after it is first stamped. I cannot say how long these words have been current in town, but I shall now take care to send them down by the next post.

I must, in the first place, observe, that the words Gunner and Gunster are not to be used promiscuously; for a Gunner, properly speaking, is not a Gunster; nor is a Gunster, vice versa, a Gunner. They both, indeed, are derived from the word gun, and so far they agree. But as a gun is remarkable for its destroying at a distance, or for the report it makes, which is apt to startle all its hearers, those who recount strange accidents and circumstances, which have no manner of foundation in truth, when they design to do mischief are comprehended under the appellation of Gunners; but when they endeavour only to surprise and entertain, they are distinguished by the name of Gunsters. Gunners, therefore, are the pest of society, but the Gunsters often the diversion. The Gunner is destructive, and hated; the Gunster innocent, and laughed at. The first is prejudicial to others, the other only to himself.

This being premised, I must, in the next place, subdivide the Gunner into several branches; all, or the chief of which are, I think, as follows;

First, the Bombadier. Secondly, the Miner. Thirdly, the Squib. Fourthly, the Serpent.

And, First, of the first. The Bombadier tosses his balls sometimes into the midst of a city, with a design to fill all around him with terror and combustion. He has been sometimes known to drop a bomb in a senate-house, and to scatter a panic over a nation. But his chief aim is at several eminent stations, which he looks upon as the fairest marks, and uses all his skill to do execution upon those who possess them. Every man so situated, let his merit be never so

great, is sure to undergo a bombardment. It is further observed, that the only way to be out of danger from the bursting of a bomb, is to lie prostrate on the ground; a posture too abject for generous spirits. Secondly, The Miner.

As the bombadier levels his mischief at nations and cities, the Miner busies himself in ruining and overturning private houses and particular persons. He often acts as a spy, in discovering the secret avenues and unguarded accesses of families, where, after he has made his proper discoveries and dispositions, he sets sudden fire to his train, that blows up families, scatters friends, separates lovers, disperses kindred, and shakes a whole neighbourhood.

It is to be noted, that several females are great proficients in this way of engineering. The marks by which they are to be known are, a wonderful solicitude for the reputation of their friends, and a more than ordinary concern for the good of their neighbours. There is also in them something so very like religion, as may deceive the vulgar; but if you look upon it more nearly, you see in it such a cast of censoriousness, as discovers it to be nothing but hypocrisy. Cleomilla is a great instance of a female Miner: but as my design is to expose only the incorrigible, let her be silent for the future, and I shall be so too.

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The Serpents are a pretty kind of Gunners, more pernicious than any of the rest. They make use of a sort of white powder, that goes off without any violent crack, but gives a gentle sound, much like that of a whisper; and is more destructive in all parts of life, than any of the materials made use of by any of the fraternity.

Come we now to the Gunsters.

This race of engineers deals altogether in windguns, which, by recoiling, often knock down those who discharge them, without hurting any body else; and, according to the various compressions of the air, make such strange squeaks, cracks, pops, and bounces, as it is impossible to hear without laughing. It is observable, however, that there is a disposition in a Gunster to become a Gunner; and though their proper instruments are only loaden with wind, they often, out of wantonness, fire a bomb, or spring a mine, out of their natural inclination to engineering; by which means, they do mischief when they do not design it, and have their bones broken when they do not deserve it.

This sort of engineers are the most unaccountable race of men in the world. Some of them have received above a hundred wounds, and yet have not a scar in their bodies; some have debauched multitudes of women, who have died maids. You may be with them from morning until night, and the next day they shall tell you a thousand adventures that happened when you were with them, which you know nothing of. They have a quality of having been present at every thing they hear related; and never heard a man commended, who was not their intimate acquaintance, if not their kinsman.

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