Thursday's, the reader will consider them as the sentiments of the club, and the other as my own private thoughts, or rather those of Pharamond.

The great point of honor in men is courage, and in women chastity. If a man loses his honor in one encounter, it is not impossible for him to regain it in another: a slip in a woman's honor is irreparable. I can give no reason for fixing the point of honor to these two qualities, unless it be that each sex sets the greatest value on the qualification which renders them the most amiable in the eyes of the contrary sex. I should believe the choice would have fallen on wisdom or virtue; or had women determined their own point of honor, it is probable that wit or good-nature would have carried it against chastity.

with great zeal and resolution. This holy man | traveled from place to place to preach down this monstrous commode; and succeeded so well in it, that, as the magicians sacrificed their books to the flames upon the preaching of an apostle, many of the women threw down their head-dresses in the middle of the sermon, and made a bonfire of them within sight of the pulpit. He was so renowned, as well for the sanctity of his life as his manner of preaching, that he had often a congregation of twenty thousand people; the men placing themselves on the one side of his pulpit, and the women on the other, appeared (to use the similitude of an ingenious writer) like a forest of cedars with their heads reaching to the clouds. He so warmed and animated the people against this monstrous ornament, that it lay under a kind of Nothing recommends a man more to the female persecution; and whenever it appeared in public, sex than courage; whether it be that they are was pelted down by the rabble, who flung stones pleased to see one who is a terror to others fall at the persons that wore it. But notwithstanding like a slave at their feet; or that this quality supthis prodigy vanished while the preacher was plies their own principal defect, in guarding them among them, it began to appear again some from insults, and avenging their quarrels; or that months after his departure, or, to tell it in Mon- courage is a natural indication of a strong and sieur Paradin's own words, "the women, that, sprightly constitution. On the other side, nothing like snails in a fright, had drawn in their horns, makes women more esteemed by the opposite sex shot them out again as soon as the danger was than chastity; whether it be that we always prize over." This extravagance of the women's head-those most who are hardest to come at; or that dresses in that age, is taken notice of by Mon- nothing beside chastity, with its collateral attensieur d'Argentre in his history of Bretagne, and dants, truth, fidelity, and constancy, gives the by other historians, as well as the person I have man a property in the person he loves, and conhere quoted. sequently endears her to him above all things.

It is usually observed, that a good reign is the only proper time for making laws against the exorbitance of power; in the same manner an excessive head-dress may be attacked the most effectually when the fashion is against it. I do therefore recommend this paper to my female readers by way of prevention.

I would desire the fair sex to consider how impossible it is for them to add anything that can be ornamental to what is already the master-piece of nature. The head has the most beautiful appearance, as well as the highest station, in a human figure. Nature has laid out all her art in beautifying the face; she has touched it with vermilion, planted in it a double row of ivory, made it the seat of smiles and blushes, lighted it up and enlivened it with the brightness of the eyes, hung it on each side with curious organs sense, given it airs and graces that cannot be described, and surrounded it with such a flowing shade of hair as sets all its beauties in the most agreeable light. In short, she seems to have designed the head as the cupola to the most glorious of her works: and when we load it with such a pile of supernumerary ornaments, we destroy the symmetry of the human figure, and foolishly contrive to call off the eye from great and real beanties, to childish gew-gaws, ribbons, and bonelace-L


No. 99.] SATURDAY, JUNE 23, 1711.

-Turpi secernis honestum.-HOR. 1 Sat. vi, 63. You know to fix the bounds of right and wrong.

I am very much pleased with a passage in the inscription on a monument erected in Westminster abbey to the late Duke and Duchess of Newcastle. "Her name was Margaret Lucas, youngest sister to the Lord Lucas of Colchester; a noble family, for all the brothers were valiant, and all the sisters virtuous."

In books of chivalry, where the point of honor is strained to madness, the whole story runs on chastity and courage. The damsel is mounted on a white palfrey, as an emblem of her innocence; and, to avoid scandal, must have a dwarf for her page. She is not to think of a man, until some misfortune has brought a knight-errant to her relief. The knight falls in love, and, did not gratitude restrain her from murdering her deliverer, would die at her feet by her disdain. However, he must waste many years in the desert, before her virgin heart can think of a surrender. The knight goes off, attacks everything he meets that is bigger and stronger than himself, seeks all opportunities of being knocked on the head, and after seven years' rambling returns to his mistress whose chastity has been attacked in the meantime by giants and tyrants, and undergone as many trials as her lover's valor.

In Spain, where there are still great remains of this romantic humor, it is a transporting favor for a lady to cast an accidental glance on her lover from a window, though it be two or three stories. high; as it is usual for a lover to assert his pas sion for his mistress, in a single combat with a mad bull.

The great violation in point of honor from man. to man, is giving the lie. One may tell another THE club, of which I have often declared my he whores, drinks, blasphemes, and it may pass self a member, were last night engaged in a dis- unresented; but to say he lies, though but in course upon that which passes for the chief point jest, is an affront that nothing but blood can exof honor among men and women; and started a piate. The reason perhaps may be, because no great many hints upon the subject, which I thought other vice implies a want of courage so much as were entirely new. I shall therefore method- the making a lie; and therefore telling a man he ize the several reflections that arose upon this lies, is touching him in the most sensible part of occasion, and present my reader with them for honor, and indirectly calling him a coward. I the speculation of this day; after having pre- cannot admit under this head what Herodotus mised, that if there is anything in this paper tells us of the ancient Persians-that from the which seems to differ with any passage of last age of five years to twenty they instruct their

sons only in three things, to manage the horse, to make use of the bow, and to speak truth.

The placing the point of honor in this false kind of courage, has given occasion to the very refuse of mankind, who have neither virtue nor common sense, to set up for men of honor. An English peer who has not long been dead,* used to tell a pleasant story of a French gentleman that visited him early one morning at Paris, and after great professions of respect, let him know that he had it in his power to oblige him; which, in short, amounted to this-that he believed he could tell his lordship the person's name who jostled him as he came out from the opera: but before he would proceed, he begged his lordship that he would not deny him the honor of making him his second. The English lord, to avoid being drawn into a very foolIsh affair, told him he was under engagements for his two next duels to a couple of particular friends; upon which the gentleman immediately withdrew, hoping his lordship would not take it ill if he meddled no farther in an affair from whence he himself was to receive no advantage.

The beating down this false notion of honor in so vain and lively a people as those of France, is deservedly looked upon as one of the most glorious parts of their present king's reign. It is a pity but the punishment of these mischievous notions should have in it some particular circumstances of shame and infamy: that those who are slaves to them may see, that instead of advancing their reputations, they lead them to ignominy and dishonor.

Death is not sufficient to deter men who make it their glory to despise it; but if every one that fought a duel were to stand in the pillory, it would quickly lessen the number of these imaginary men of honor, and put an end to so absurd a practice. When honor is a support to virtuous principles, and runs parallel with the laws of God and our country, it cannot be too much cherished and encouraged but when the dictates of honor are contrary to those of religion and equity, they are the greatest depravations of human nature, by giving wrong ambitions and false ideas of what is good and laudable; and should therefore be exploded by all governments, and driven out as the bane and plague of human society. L.

No. 100.] MONDAY, JUNE 25, 1711. Nil ego contulerim jucundo sanus amico.

HOR. 1 Sat. v, 44.

The greatest blessing is a pleasant friend. A MAN advanced in years that thinks fit to look back upon his former life, and call that only life which was passed with satisfaction and enjoyment, excluding all parts which were not pleasant to him, will find himself very young, if not in his infancy. Sickness, ill-humor and idleness will have robbed him of a great share of that space we ordinarily call our life. It is therefore the duty of every man that would be true to himself, to obtain, if possible, a disposition to be pleased, and place himself in a constant aptitude for the sat isfactions of his being. Instead of this, you hardly see a man who is not uneasy in pro portion to his advancement in the arts of life.An affected delicacy is the common improvement we meet with in those who pretend to be refined above others. They do not aim at true pleasures themselves, but turn their thoughts upon observ

*The editor has been told this was William Cavendish, the first duke of Devonshire, who lied August 18, 1707.

ing the false pleasures of other men. Such p are valetudinarians in society, and they shou more come into company than a sick man sh come into the air. If a man is too weak to what is refreshment to men in health, he mus keep his chamber. When any one in Sir R company complains he is out of order, he i diately calls for some posset-drink for him which reason that sort of people who are ev wailing their constitution in other places, a cheerfulest imaginable when he is present.


It is a wonderful thing that so many, and not reckoned absurd, shall entertain those whom they converse, by giving them a histo their pains and aches, and imagine such tions their quota of the conversation. all other the meanest help to discourse, and a must not think at all, or think himself ve significant, when he finds an account of his ache answered by another's asking what nev the last mail. Mutual good humor is a dre ought to appear in whenever we meet, an should make no mention of what concerns selves, without it be of matters wherein friends ought to rejoice; but indeed ther crowds of people who put themselves in no od of pleasing themselves or others; suc) those whom we usually call indolent perso Indolence is, methinks, an intermediate stat tween pleasure and pain, and very much unbe ing any part of our life after we are out o nurse's arms. Such an aversion to labor crea constant weariness, and one would think si make existence itself a burden. The ind man descends from the dignity of his n and makes that being which was rational n vegetative. His life consists only in the me crease and decay of a body, which, with rel to the rest of the world, might as well have uninformed, as the habitation of a reaso mind.

Of this kind is the life of that extraord couple, Harry Tersett and his lady. Harry in the days of his celibacy, one of those pert tures who have much vivacity and little u standing; Mrs. Rebecca Quickly, whom he ried, had all that the fire of youth and a l manner could do toward making an agre Woman. These two people of seeming mer into each other's arms; and passion being and no reason or good sense in either to su it, their life is now at a stand; their meal insipid and their time tedious; their fortun placed them above care, and their loss of reduced them below diversion. When we ta these as instances of inexistence, we do not that in order to live, it is necessary we shou always in jovial crews, or crowned with cha of roses, as the merry fellows among the and are described; but it is intended, by consid these contraries of pleasure, indolence and much delicacy, to show that it is prudence to serve a disposition in ourselves to receive a ce delight in all we hear and see.

This portable quality of good humor se all the parts and occurrences we meet with in a manner, that there are no moments lost they all pass with so much satisfaction, thi heaviest of loads (when it is a load), that of is never felt by us. Varilas has this quality 1 highest perfection, and communicates it whe he appears. The sad, the merry, the seven melancholy, show a new cheerfulness whe comes among them. At the same time no on repeat anything that Varilas has ever said thi serves repetition; but the man has that i goodness of temper, that he is welcome to e

body, because every man thinks he is so to him. He does not seem to contribute anything to the mirth of the company; and yet upon reflection you find it all happened by his being there. I thought it was whimsically said of a gentleman, that if Varilas had wit, it would be the best wit in the world. It is certain, when a well-corrected, lively imagination and good breeding are added to a sweet disposition, they qualify it to be one of the greatest blessings as well as pleasures of life.

long dead has a due proportion of praise allotted him, in which, while he lived, his friends were too profuse, and his enemies too sparing.

According to Sir Isaac Newton's calculations, the last comet that made its appearance in 1680, imbibed so much heat by its approaches to the sun, that it would have been two thousand times hotter than red hot iron, had it been a globe of that metal; and that supposing it as big as the earth, and at the same distance from the sun, it would be Men would come into company with ten times fifty thousand years in cooling, before it recovered the pleasure they do, if they were sure of hearing its natural temper. In the like manner, if an Ennothing that would shock them, as well as expect-glishman considers the great ferment into which ed what would please them. When we know our political world is thrown at present, and how every person that is spoken of is represented by intensely it is heated in all its parts, he cannot one who has no ill-will, and everything that is suppose that it will cool again in less than three mentioned described by one that is apt to set it in hundred years. In such a tract of time it is posthe best light, the entertainment must be delicate, sible that the heats of the present age may be exbecause the cook has nothing brought to his hand tinguished, and our several classes of great men but what is the most excellent in its kind. Beauti- represented under their proper characters. Some ful pictures are the entertainments of pure minds, eminent historian may then probably arise that and deformities of the corrupted. It is a degree will not write recentibus odiis (as Tacitus exprestoward the life of angels, when we enjoy conver- ses it) with the passions and prejudices of a cosation wherein there is nothing presented but in temporary author-but make an impartial distriits excellence; and a degree toward that of de-bution of fame among the great men of the premons, wherein nothing is shown but in its de- sent age. generacy.


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Edward and Henry, now the boast of fame,
And virtuous Alfred, a more sacred name,
After a life of generous toils endur'd,
The Gaul subdu'd, or property secur'd,
Ambition humbled, mighty cities storm'd,
Or laws establish'd, and the world reform'd:
Clos'd their long glories with a sigh to find

The unwilling gratitude of base mankind.-POPE.
"CENSURE," says a late ingenious author, "is
the tax a man pays to the public for being emi-
Dent." It is a folly for an eminent man to think
of escaping it, and a weakness to be affected with
it. All the illustrious persons of antiquity, and
indeed of every age in the world, have passed
through this fiery persecution. There is no defense
against reproach but obscurity; it is a kind of
concomitant to greatness, as satires and invectives
were an essential part of a Roman triumph.

If men of eminence are exposed to censure on one hand, they are as much liable to flattery on the other. If they receive reproaches which are not due to them, they likewise receive praises which they do not deserve. In a word, the man in a high post is never regarded with an indifferent eye, but always considered as a friend or an enemy. For this reason persons in great stations have seldom their true characters drawn till several years after their deaths. Their personal friendships and enmities must cease, and the parties they were engaged in be at an end, before their fanlts or their virtues can have justice done them. When writers have the least opportunities of knowing the truth, they are in the best disposition

to tell it.

It is therefore the privilege of posterity to adjust the characters of illustrious persons, and to set matters right between those antagonists, who by their rivalry for greatness divided a whole age into factions. We can now allow Caesar to be a great man without derogating from Pompey; and celebrate the virtues of Cato, without detracting from those of Cæsar. Every one that has been

I cannot forbear entertaining myself very often with the idea of such an imaginary historian describing the reign of Anne the first, and introducing it with a preface to his reader that he is now entering upon the most shining part of the English story. The great rivals in fame will be then distinguished according to their respective merits, and shine in their proper points of light. Such a one (says the historian), though variously represented by the writers of his own age, appears to have been a man of more than ordinary abilities, great application and uncommon integrity: nor was such a one (though of an opposite party and interest) inferior to him in any of these respects. The several antagonists who now endeavor to depreciate one another, and are celebrated or traduced by different parties, will then have the same body of admirers, and appear illustrious in the opinion of the whole British nation. The deserving man, who can now recommend himself to the esteem of but half his countrymen, will then receive the approbations and applauses of a whole age.

Among the several persons that flourish in this glorious reign, there is no question but such a future historian, as the person of whom I am speaking, will make mention of the men of genius and learning, who have now any figure in the British nation. For my own part, I often flatter myself with the honorable mention which will then be made of me; and have drawn up a paragraph in my own imagination, that I fancy will not be altogether unlike what will be found in some page or other of this imaginary historian.

It was under this reign, says he, that the Spectator published those little diurnal essays which are still extant. We know very little of the name or person of this author, except only that he was a man of a very short face, extremely addicted to silence and so great a lover of knowledge, that he made a voyage to grand Cairo for no other reason but to take the measure of a pyramid. His chief friend was one Sir Roger de Coverley, a whimsical country knight-and a Templar, whose name he has not transmitted to us. He lived as a lodger at the house of a widow-woman, and was a great humorist in all parts of his life. This is all we can affirm with any certainty of his person and character. As for his speculations, notwithstanding the several obsolete words and obscure phrases of the age in which he lived, we still understand enough of them to see the diversions and

"The next motion is that of Unfurling in which are comprehended several little vibrations, as also gradual and deliber ings, with many voluntary fallings asun fan itself, that are seldom learned under : practice. This part of the exercise pl spectators more than any other, as it dis a sudden an infinite number of cupids, altars, birds, beasts, rainbows, and the li able figures that display themselves t while every one in the regiment holds a her hand.

characters of the English nation in his time: not | shakes her fan at me with a smile, then but that we are to make allowance for the mirth right-hand woman a tap upon the shoul and humor of the author, who has doubtless presses her lips with the extremity of her strained many representations of things beyond lets her arms fall in an easy motion, and the truth. For if we interpret his words in their readiness to receive the next word of e literal meaning, we must suppose that women of the All this is done with a close fan, and is first quality used to pass away whole mornings at learned in the first week. a puppet-show: that they attested their principles by their patches: that an audience would sit out an evening, to hear a dramatical performance written in a language which they did not understand: that chairs and flower-pots were introduced as actors upon the British stage: that a promiscuous assembly of men and women were allowed to meet at midnight in masks within the verge of the court; with many improbabilities of the like mature. We must, therefore, in these and the like cases, suppose that these remote hints and allusions aimed at some certain follies which were then in vogue, and which at present we have not any notion of. We may guess by several passages in the speculations, that there were writers who endeavored to detract from the works of this author: but as nothing of this nature is come down to us, we cannot guess at any objections that could be made to this paper. If we consider his style with that indulgence which we must show to old English writers, or if we look into the variety of his subjects, with those several critical dissertations, moral reflections,

The following part of the paragraph is so much to my advantage, and beyond anything I can pretend to, that I hope my reader will excuse me for not inserting it.-L

No. 102.]

Lusus animo debent aliquando dari,
Ad cogitandum melior ut redeat sibi.
The mind ought sometimes to be diverted, that it may re-

turn the better to thinking.

"Upon my giving the word to Discha fans, they give one general crack that heard at a considerable distance when sets fair. This is one of the most diffi of the exercise: but I have several ladies who at their first entrance could not g loud enough to be heard at the farther room, who can now discharge a fan i manner, that it shall make a report like pistol. I have likewise taken care (in hinder young women from letting off the wrong places or on unsuitable occasions upon what subject the crack of a fan ma properly: I have likewise invented a which a girl of sixteen, by the help of a l which is inclosed about one of the larg can make as loud a crack as a woman of an ordinary fan.

"When the fans are thus discharged of command, in course, is to Ground This teaches a lady to quit her fan when she throws it aside in order to pack of cards, adjust a curl of hair, rep I Do not know whether to call the following let-ing pin, or apply herself to any other ter a satire upon coquettes, or a representation of their several fantastical accomplishments, or what other title to give it; but, as it is, I shall communicate it to the public. It will sufficiently explain its own intentions, so that I shall give it my reader at length, without either preface or postscript. "MR. SPECTATOR,

"Women are armed with fans as men with swords, and sometimes do more execution with them. To the end, therefore, that ladies may be entire mistresses of the weapon they bear, I have erected an academy for the training up of young women in the exercise of the fan, according to the most fashionable airs and motions that are now practiced at court. The ladies who carry fans under me are drawn up twice a day in my great hall, where they are instructed in the use of their arms, and exercised by the following words of command: Handle your fans, Unfurl your fans, Discharge your fans, Ground your fans, Recover your fans, Flutter your fans. By the right observation of these few plain words of command, a woman of a tolerable genius, who will apply herself diligently to her excercise for the space of but one half-year, shall be able to give her fan all the graces that can possibly enter into that little modish machine.

"But to the end that my readers may form to themselves a right notion of this exercise, I beg leave to explain it to them in all its parts. When my female regiment is drawn up in array, with every one her weapon in her hand, upon my giving the word to Handle their fans, each of them

importance. This part of the exercise. consists in tossing a fan with an air up table (which stands by for that purpos learned in two days' time as well as in month.

"When my female regiment is thus d generally let them walk about the room time; when, on a sudden (like ladies upon their watches after a long visit), them hasten to their arms, catch ther hurry, and place themselves in their p tions, upon my calling out, Recover This part of the exercise is not difficult a woman applies her thoughts to it.


The fluttering of the fan is the last, the master-pieces of the whole exercise lady does not mis-spend her time, she herself mistress of it in three months. lay aside the dog-days and the hot t summer for the teaching this part of th for as soon as ever I pronounce, Flutter the place is filled with so many zephyrs breezes as are very refreshing in that se year, though they might be dangerous of a tender constitution in any other.

"There is an infinite variety of mo made use of in the flutter of a fan. T angry flutter, the modest flutter, the tim ter, and the amorous flutter. Not to there is scarce any emotion in the m does not produce a suitable agitation insomuch, that if I only see the fan plined lady, I know very well whether frowns, or blushes. I have seen a fa

angry, that it would have been dangerous for the | by his heart, and speak as he thinks, and do not absent lover who provoked it to have come within express more kindness to every man than men the wind of it; and at other times so very lan-usually have for any man, he can hardly escape guishing, that I have been glad for the lady's sake the lover was at a sufficient distance from it. I need not add, that a fan is either a prude or coquette, according to the nature of the person who bears it. To conclude my letter, I must acquaint you that I have from my own observation compiled a little treatise for the use of my scholars, entitled, The Passions of the Fan; which I will communicate to you, if you think it may be of use to the public. I shall have a general review on Thursday next; to which you shall be very welcome if you will honor it with your presence,

"I am, etc.

"P. S. I teach young gentlemen the whole art of gallanting a fan.

the censure of want of breeding. The old English plainness and sincerity-that generous integrity of nature, and honesty of disposition, which always argues true greatness of mind and is usually accompanied with undaunted courage and resolution, is in a great measure lost among us. There hath been a long endeavor to transform us into foreign manners and fashions, and to bring us to a servile imitation of none of the best of our neighbors, in some of the worst of their qualities. The dialect of conversation is now-a-days so swelled with vanity and compliment, and so surfeited (as I may say) of expressions of kindness and respect, that if a man that lived an age or two ago should return into the world again, he would really want a dictionary to help him to understand

“N. B. I have several little plain fans made for his own language, and to know the true intrinsic this use, to avoid expense."

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My friend the divine having been used with words of complaisance (which he thinks could be properly applied to no one living, and I think could be only spoken of him, and that in his absence), was so extremely offended with the excessive way of speaking civilities among us, that he made a discourse against it at the club, which he concluded with this remark, "that he had not heard one compliment made in our society since its commencement." Every one was pleased with his conclusion; and as each knew his good-will to the rest, he was convinced that the many professions of kindness and service, which we ordinarily meet with, are not natural where the heart is well inclined: but are a prostitution of speech, seldom intended to mean any part of what they express, never to mean all they express. Our reverend friend, upon this topic, pointed to us two or three paragraphs on this subject in the first sermon of the first volume of the late archbishop's posthumous works. I do not know that I ever read anything that pleased me more; and as it is the praise of Longinus, that he speaks of the sublime in a style suitable to it, so one may say of this author upon sincerity, that he abhors any pomp of rhetoric on this occasion, and treats it with a more than ordinary simplicity, at once to be a preacher and an example. With what command of himself does he lay before us, in the language and temper of his profession, a fault which, by the least liberty and warmth of expression, would be the most lively wit and satire! But his heart was better disposed, and the good man chastised the great wit in such a manner, that he was able to speak as follows:

"Among too many other instances of the great corruption and degeneracy of the age wherein we live, the great and general want of sincerity in conversation is none of the least. The world is grown so full of dissimulation and compliment, that men's words are hardly any signification of their thoughts; and if any man measure his words

See Archbishop Tillotson's Sermon on Sincerity, from John, chap. i, ver. 47, being the last discourse he preached, July 29, 1694. He died Nov. 24, following.

value of the phrase in fashion-and would hardly at first believe at what a low rate the highest strains and expressions of kindness imaginable do commonly pass in current payment: and when he should come to understand it, it would be a great while before he could bring himself with a good countenance and a good conscience to converse with men upon equal terms, and in their own way.


"And in truth it is hard to say, whether it should more provoke our contempt or our pity, to hear what solemn expressions of respect and kindness will pass between men, almost upon no occasion; how great honor and esteem they will declare for one whom perhaps they never saw before, and how entirely they are all on the sudden devoted to his service and interest, for no reason; how infinitely and eternally obliged to him, for no benefit; and how extremely they will be concerned for him, yea, and afflicted too, for no cause. know it is said, in justification of this hollow kind of conversation, that there is no harm, no real deceit in compliment, but the matter is well enough, so long as we understand one another; e verba valent ut nummi, "words are like money;" and when the current value of them is generally understood, no man is cheated by them. This is something, if such words were anything; but being brought into the account, they are mere ciphers. However it is still a just matter of complaint, that sincerity and plainness are out of fashion, and that our language is running into a lie; that men have almost quite perverted the use of speech, and made words to signify nothing; that the greatest part of the conversation of mankind is little else but driving a trade of dissimulation; insomuch that it would make a man heartily sick and weary of the world, to see the little security that is in use and practice among men."

When the vice is placed in this contemptuous light, he argues unanswerably against it, in words and thoughts so natural, that any man who reads them would imagine he himself could have been the author of them.

"If the show of anything be good for anything, I am sure sincerity is better: for why does any man dissemble, or seem to be that which he is not, but because he thinks it good to have such a quality as he pretends to? For to counterfeit and dissemble, is to put on the appearance of some real excellency. Now the best way in the world to seem to be anything, is really to be what he would seem to be. Beside, that it is many times as troublesome to make good the pretense of a good quality, as to have it; and if a man have it not, it is ten to one but he is discovered to want it; and then all his pains and labor to seem to have it, are lost."

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