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further preface, and remark the several defects which appear in the fable, the characters, the sentiments, and the language of Milton's Paradise Lost; not doubting but the reader will pardon me, if I allege at the same time whatever may be said for the extenuation of such defects. The first imperfection which I shall observe in the fable is, that the event of it is unhappy.

The fable of every poem is, according to Aristotle's division, either simple or implex. It is called simple when there is no change of fortune in it: implex, when the fortune of the chief actor changes from bad to good, or from good to bad. The implex fable is thought the most perfect: I suppose, because it is more proper to stir up the passions of the reader, and to surprise him with a great variety of accidents.

The implex fable is therefore of two kinds: in the first, the chief actor makes his way through a long series of dangers and difficulties, until he arrives at honor and prosperity, as we see in the stories of Ulysses and Eneas; in the second, the chief actor in the poem falls from some eminent pitch of honor and prosperity, into misery and disgrace. Thus we see Adam and Eve sinking from a state of innocence and happiness, into the most abject condition of sin and sorrow.

of design, and masterly beauties which we disce ver in Homer and Virgil.

I must in the next place observe, that Milton has interwoven in the texture of this fable some particulars which do not seem to have probability enough for an epic poem, particularly in the actions which he ascribes to Sin and Death, and the picture which he draws of the "Limbo of Vauity," with other passages in the second book. Such allegories rather savor of the spirit of Spenser and Ariosto, than of Homer and Virgil. In the structure of his poem he has likewise admitted too many digressions. It is finely observed by Aristotle, that the author of an heroic poem should seldom speak himself, but throw as much of his work as he can into the mouths of those who are his principal actors. Aristotle has given no reason for this precept: but I presume it is because the mind of the reader is more awed, and elevated, when he hears Eneas or Achilles speak, than when Virgil or Homer talk in their own persons. Beside that, assuming the character of an eminent man is apt to fire the imagination, and raise the ideas of the author. Tully tells us, mentioning his dialogue of old age, in which Cato is the chief speaker, that upon a review of it he was agreeably imposed upon, and fancied that it was Cato, and not he himself, who uttered his thoughts on that subject.

If the reader would be at the pains to see how the story of the Iliad and the Eneid is delivered by those persons who act in it, he will be surprised to find how little either of these poems proceeds from the authors. Milton has, in the general disposition of his fable, very finely observed this great rule; insomuch that there is scarce a tenth part of it which comes from the poet; the rest is spoken either by Adam or Eve, or by some good or evil spirit who is engaged, either in their destruction, or defense.

The most taking tragedies among the ancients were built on this last sort of implex fable, particularly the tragedy of Edipus, which proceeds upon a story, if we may believe Aristotle, the most proper for tragedy that could be invented by the wit of man. I have taken some pains in a former paper to show, that this kind of implex fable, wherein the event is unhappy, is more apt to affect an audience than that of the first kind; not withstanding many excellent pieces among the ancients, as well as most of those which have been written of late years in our own country, are raised upon contrary plans. I must however own, that I think this kind of fable, which is the most From what has been here observed, it appears, perfect in tragedy, is not so proper for an heroic that digressions are by no means to be allowed of poem. in an epic poem, If the poet, even in the ordiMilton seems to have been sensible of this im-nary course of his narration, should speak as little perfection in his fable, and has therefore endeavored to cure it by several expedients; particularly by the mortification which the great adversary of mankind meets with upon his return to the assembly of infernal spirits, as it is described in a beautiful passage of the third book; and likewise by the vision wherein Adam, at the close of the poem, sees his offspring triumphing over his great enemy, and himself restored to a happier paradise than that from which he fell.

There is another objection against Milton's fable, which is indeed almost the same with the former, though placed in a different light, namely, That the hero in the Paradise Lost is unsuccessful, and by no means a match for his enemies. This gives occasion for Mr. Dryden's reflection, that the devil was in reality Milton's hero. I think I have obviated this objection in my first paper. The Paradise Lost is an epic, or narrative poem, and he that looks for a hero in it, searches for that which Milton never intended; but if he will indeed fix the name of a hero upon any person in it, it is certainly the Messiah who is the hero, both in the principal action and the chief episodes. Paganism could not furnish out a real action for a fable greater than that of the Iliad or Eneid, and therefore a heathen could not form a higher notion of a poem than one of that kind which they call an heroic. Whether Milton's is not of a sublimer nature I will not presume to determine; it is sufficient that I show there is in the Paradise Lost all the greatness of plan, regularity

as possible, he should certainly never let his narration sleep for the sake of any reflections of his own. I have often observed with a secret admiration, that the longest reflection in the Eneid is in that passage of the tenth book, where Turnus is represented as dressing himself in the spoils of Pallas, whom he had slain. Virgil here lets his fable stand still, for the sake of the following remark. "How is the mind of man ignorant of futurity, and unable to bear prosperous fortune with moderation! The time will come when Turnus shall wish that he had left the body of Pallas untouched, and curse the day on which he dressed himself in these spoils." As the great event of the Eneid, and the death of Turnus, whom Eneas slew because he saw him adorned with the spoils of Pallas, turns upon this incident, Virgil went out of his way to make this reflection upon it, without which so small a circumstance might possibly have slipped out of his reader's memory. Lucan, who was an injudicious poet, lets drop his story very frequently for the sake of his unnecessary digressions, or his diverticula, as Scaliger calls them. If he gives us an account of the prodigies which preceded the civil war, he declaims upon the occasion, and shows how much happier it would be for man, if he did not feel his evil fortune before it comes to pass: and suffer not only by its real weight, but by the apprehension of it. Milton's complaint for his blindness, his panegyric on marriage, his reflections on Adam and Eve's going naked, of the angels' eat

ing, and several other passages in his poem, are liable to the same exception, though I must confess there is so great a beauty in these very digressions, that I would not wish them out of his

poem.

I have in a former paper spoken of the characters of Milton's Paradise Lost, and declared my opinion as to the allegorical persons who are introduced in it.

If we look into the sentiments, I think they are sometimes defective under the following heads; first, as there are several of them too much pointed, and some that even degenerate into puns. Of this last kind I am afraid is that in the first book, where, speaking of the pigmies, he calls them

-The small infantry
Warr'd on by cranes-

hard things intelligible, and to deliver what is
abstruse of itself in such easy language as may
be understood by ordinary readers, beside, that
the knowledge of a poet should rather seem born
with him, or inspired, than drawn with books and
systems. I have often wondered how Mr. Dryden
could translate a passage out of Virgil after the
following manner:

Tack to the larboard and stand off to sea,
Veer starboard sea and land.

Milton makes use of larboard in the same man
ner. When he is upon building, he mentions
When he talks of heavenly bodies, you meet with
doric pillars, pilasters, cornice. frieze, architrave.
ecliptic and eccentric, the trepidation, stars drop-
ping from the zenith, rays culminating from the
equator: to which might be added many instances
of the like kind in several other arts and sciences.

Another blemish that appears in some of his thoughts, is his frequent allusion to heathen fables, which are not certainly of a piece with the divine subject of which he treats. I do not find fault with these allusions where the poet himself represents them as fabulous, as he does in some places, but where he mentions them as truths and matters of fact. The limits of my paper will not give me leave to be particular in instances of this kind; the reader will easily remark them in his No. 298.] MONDAY, FEBRUARY 11, 1711-12 perusal of the poem.

I shall in my next papers give an account of the many particular beauties in Milton, which would have been too long to insert under those general heads I have already treated of, and with which I intend to conclude this piece of criticism.-L.

A third fault in his sentiments is an uneasy ostentation of learning, which likewise occurs very frequently. It is certain that both Homer and Virgil were masters of all the learning of their times, but it shows itself in their works after an indirect and concealed manner. Milton seems ambitious of letting us know, by his excursions on free-will and predestination, and his many glances upon history, astronomy, geography, and the like, as well as by the terms and phrases he sometimes makes use of, that he was acquainted with the whole circle of arts and sciences.

If, in the last place, we consider the language of this great poet, we must allow what I have hinted in a former paper, that it is often too much labored, and sometimes obscured by old words, transpositions, and foreign idioms. Seneca's objection to the style of a great author, "Riget ejus oratio, nihil in eâ placidum, nihil lene," is what many critics make to Milton. As I cannot wholly refute it, so I have already apologized for it in an other paper: to which 1 may further add, that Milton's sentiments and ideas were so wonderfully sublime, that it would have been impossible for him to have represented them in their full strength and beauty, without having recourse to these foreign assistances. Our language sunk under him, and was unequal to that greatness of soul which furnished him with such glorious conceptions.

A second fault in his language is, that he often affects a kind of jingle in his words, as in the following passages and many others:

And brought into the world a world of woe.
-Begirt th' Almighty throne

Beseeching or besieging

This tempted our attempt

At one slight bound high overleap'd all bound.

I know there are figures for this kind of speech; that some of the greatest ancients have been guilty of it, and that Aristotle himself has given it a place in his rhetoric among the beauties of that art. But as it is in itself poor and trifling, it is, I think, at present universally exploded by all the masters of polite writing.

The last fault which I shall take notice of in Milton's style, is the frequent use of what the learned call technical words, or terms of art. It is one of the greatest beauties of poetry, to make

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Nusquam tuta fides

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"I AM a virgin, and in no case despicable, but yet such as I am I must remain, or else become, it is to be feared, less happy; for I find not the least good effect from the good correction you some time since gave that too free, that looser part of our sex which spoils the men; the same connivance at the vices, the same easy admittance of addresses, the same vitiated relish of the conversation of the greatest rakes (or, in a more fashionable way of expressing one's self, of such as have seen the world most) still abounds, increases, multiplies.

"The humble petition, therefore, of many of the most strictly virtuous and of myself is, that you will once more exert your authority, and that according to your late promise, your full, your impartial authority, on this sillier branch of our kind; for why should they be the uncontrollable mistresses of our fate? Why should they with impunity indulge the males in licentiousness while single, and we have the dismal hazard and plague of reforming them when married? Strike home, Sir, then, and spare not, or all our maiden hopes, our gilded hopes of nuptial felicity are frustrated, are vanished, and you yourself as well as Mr. Courtly, will, by smoothing over immodest practices with the gloss of soft and harmless names, forever forfeit our esteem. Nor think that I am herein more severe than need be; if I have not reason more than enough, do you and the world judge from this ensuing account, which, I think, will prove the evil to be universal.

"You must know, then, that since your reprehension of this female degeneracy came out, I have had a tender of respects from no less than five persons, of tolerable figure too, as times go: but the misfortune is that four of the five are professed followers of the mode. They would face me down, that all women of good sense ever were, and ever will be, latitudinarians in wedlock; and always did and will give and take, what they profanely term conjugal liberty of conscience.

"The two first of them, a captain and a mer

chant, to strengthen their arguments, pretend to repeat after a couple of ladies of quality and wit, that Venus was always kind to Mars; and what soul that has the least spark of generosity can deny a man of bravery anything? And how pitiful a trader that, whom no woman but his own wife will have correspondence and dealings with? Thus these; while the third, the country squire, confessed, that indeed he was surprised into goodbreeding, and entered into the knowledge of the world unawares; that dining the other day at a gentleman's house, the person who entertained was obliged to leave him with his wife and nieces; where they spoke with so much contempt of an absent gentleman for being so slow at a hint, that he resolved never to be drowsy, unmannerly, or stupid, for the future, at a friend's house; and on a hunting morning not to pursue the game either with the husband abroad or with the wife at home.

"The next that came was a tradesman, no less full of the age than the former; for he had the gallantry to tell me, that at a late junket which he was invited to, the motion being made, and the question being put, it was, by maid, wife, and widow, resolved nemine contradicente, that a young sprightly journeyman is absolutely necessary in their way of business: to which they had the assent and concurrence of the husbands present. I dropped him a courtsey, and gave him to understand that this was his audience of leave.

"I am reckoned pretty, and have had very many advances beside these; but have been very averse to hear any of them, from my observation on those above-mentioned, until I hoped some good from the character of my present admirer, a clergyman. But I find even among them there are indirect practices relating to love, and our treaty is at present a little in suspense, until some circumstances are cleared. There is a charge against him among the women, and the case is this: It is alleged, that a certain endowed female would have appropriated herself to, and consolidated herself with, a church which my divine now enjoys (or, which is the same thing, did prostitute herself to her friends doing this for her); that my ecclesiastic, to obtain the one, did engage himself to take off the other that lay on hand; but that on his success in the spiritual, he again renounced the carnal.

I put this closely to him, and taxed him with disingenuity. He to clear himself made the subsequent defense, and that in the most solemn manner possible:-that he was applied to, and instigated to accept of a benefice that a conditional offer thereof was indeed made him at first, but with disdain by him rejected that when nothing (as they easily perceived) of this nature could bring him to their purpose, assurance of his being entirely unengaged beforehand, and safe from all their after-expectations (the only stratagem left to draw him in), was given him that pursuant to this the donation itself was without delay, before several reputable witnesses, tendered to him gratis, with the open profession of not the least reserve, or most minute condition; but that yet immediately after induction, his insidious introducer (or her crafty procurer, which you will) industriously spread the report which had reached my ears, not only in the neighborhood of that said church, but in London, in the university, in mine and his cwn country, and wherever else it might probably obviate his application to any other woman, and so confine him to this alone: in a word, that as he never did make any previous offer of his service, or the least step to her affection; so on his discovery of these designs thus aid to trick him, he could not but afterward, in

justice to himself, vindicate both his innocence and freedom, by keeping his proper distance. This is his apology, and I think I shall be satisfied with it. But I cannot conclude my te dious epistle without recommending to you not only to resume your former chastisement, but to add to your criminals the simoniacal ladies, who seduce the sacred order into the difficulty of either breaking a mercenary troth made to them, whom they ought not to deceive, or by breaking or keeping it offending against Him whom they. cannot deceive. Your assistance and labors of this sort would be of great benefit, and your speedy thoughts on this subject would be very seasonable to, Sir, "Your most humble servant, "CHASTITY LOveworth."

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Some country girl, scarce to a courtsey bred,
Would I much rather than Cornelia wed;
If supercilious, haughty, proud and vain,
She brought her father's triumphs in her train,
Away with all your Carthaginian state;
Let vanquish'd Hannibal without doors wait,
Too burly and too big to pass my narrow gute.
DRYDEN.

Ir is observed, that a man improves more by reading the story of a person eminent for prudence and virtue, than by the finest rules and precepts of morality. In the same manner a representation of those calamities and misfortunes which a weak man suffers from wrong measures, and illconcerted schemes of life, is apt to make a deeper impression upon our minds, than the wisest maxims and instructions that can be given us, for avoiding the like follies and indiscretions in our own private conduct. It is for this reason that I lay before my readers the following letter, and leave it with him to make his own use of it, without adding any reflections of my own upon the subject matter.

MR. SPECTATOR,

"Having carefully perused a letter sent you by Josiah Fribble, Esq., with your subsequent discourse upon pin-money, I do presume to trouble you with an account of my own case, which 1 look upon to be no less deplorable than that of Squire Fribble. I am a person of no extraction, having begun the world with a small parcel of rusty iron, and was for some years commonly known by the name of Jack Anvil.* I have naturally a very happy genius for getting money, insomuch that by the age of five-and-twenty I had scraped together four thousand two hundred pounds, five shillings and a few odd pence. then launched out into considerable business, and became a bold trader both by sea and land, which in a few years raised me a very great fortune. For these my good services I was knighted in the thirty-fifth year of my age, and lived with great

I

*It has been said by some, that the author of this letter ton; but others with more probability have assured the analluded here to Gore, of Tring, and Lady Mary Comp notator, that the letter referred to Sir Ambrose Crowley and his lady. See Tat., ed. 1786, cr. 8vo., vol. v. additional notes, P. 405 and 406. N. B. This ironmonger changed his name here by the change of Anvil into Envil, absurdly made by his from Crowley to Crawley, a folly which seems to be ridiculed lady.

dignity among my city neighbors by the name of Sir John Anvil. Being in my temper very ambitious, I was now bent upon making a family, and accordingly resolved that my descendants should have a dash of good blood in their veins. In order to this, I made love to the Lady Mary Oddly, an indigent young woman of quality. To cut short the marriage-treaty, I threw her a carte blanche, as our newspapers call it, desiring her to write upon it her own terms. She was very concise in her demands, insisting only that the disposal of my fortune, and the regulation of my family should be entirely in her hands. Her father and brothers appeared exceedingly averse to this match, and would not see me for some time: but at present are so well reconciled, that they dine with me almost every day, and have borrowed considerable sums of me; which my Lady Mary very often twits me with, when she would show me how kind her relations are to me. She had no portion, as I told you before; but what she wanted in fortune she makes up in spirit. She at first changed my name to Sir John Envil, and at present writes herself Mary Enville. I have had some children by her, whom she has christened with the surnames of her family, in order, as she tells me, to wear out the homeliness of their parentage by the father's side. Our eldest son is the honorable Oddly Enville, Esq., and our eldest daughter Harriet Enville. Upon her first coming into my family, she turned off a parcel of very careful servants who had been long with me, and introduced in their stead a couple of black-amoors, and three or four very genteel fellows in laced liveries, beside her French woman, who is perpetually making a noise in the house in a language which nobody understands, except my Lady Mary. She next set herself to reform every room in my house, having glazed all my chimneypieces with looking-glasses, and planted every corner with such heaps of china, that I am obliged to move about my own house with the greatest caution and circumspection, for fear of hurting some of our brittle furniture. She makes

I was

at Edge-hill, that their uncle was at the siege of
Buda, and that her mother danced in a ball at
court with the Duke of Monmouth; with abund-
ance of fiddle-faddle of the same nature.
the other day a little out of countenance at a
question of my little daughter Harriet, who asked
me, with a great deal of innocence, why I never
told her of the generals and admirals that had
been in my family? As for my eldest son, Oddly,
he has been so spirited up by his mother, that if
he does not mend his manners I shall go near to
disinherit him. He drew his sword upon me
before he was nine years old, and told me that he
expected to be used like a gentleman: upon my
offering to correct him for his insolence, my Lady
Mary stepped in between us, and told me I ought
to consider there was some difference between his
mother and mine. She is perpetually finding out
the features of her own relations in every one of
my children, though, by the way, I have a little
chubfaced boy as like me as he can stare, if I durst
say so; but what most angers me, when she sees
me playing with any of them upon my knee, she
has begged me more than once to converse with
the children as little as possible, that they may
not learn any of my awkward tricks.

"You must further know, since I am opening my heart to you, that she thinks herself my supe rior in sense, as she is in quality, and therefore treats me as a plain well-meaning man, who does not know the world. She dictates to me in my own business, sets me right in points of trade, and if I disagree with her about any of my ships at sea, wonders that I will dispute with her, when I know very well that her great-grandfather was a flag-officer.

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To complete my sufferings, she has teased me for this quarter of a year last past to remove into one of the squares at the other end of the town, promising, for my encouragement, that I shall have as good a cock-loft as any gentleman in the square; to which the Honorable Oddly Enville, Esq., always adds, like a jack-a-napes as he is, that he hopes it will be as near the court as possible.

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"In short, Mr. Spectator, I am so much out of my natural element, that to recover my old way of life I would be content to begin the world again, and be plain Jack Anvil: but, alas! I am in for life, and am bound to subscribe myself, with great sorrow of heart, "Your humble Servant,

L.

64

JOHN ENVILLE, KN'T."

No. 300.] TUESDAY, FEB. 13, 1711-12.
-Diversum vitio vitium prope majus.
HOR. 1 Ep. xviii, 5.

-Another failing of the mind,

an illumination once a week with wax candles in one of our largest rooms, in order as she phrases it, to see company; at which time she always desires me to be abroad, or to confine myself to the cock-loft, that I may not disgrace her among her visitants of quality. Her footmen, as I told you before, are such beaux, that I do not much care for asking them questions; when I do, they answer with a saucy frown, and say that everything which I find fault with was done by my Lady Mary's order. She tells me that she intends they shall wear swords with their next liveries, having lately observed the footmen of two or three persons of quality hanging behind the coach with swords by their sides. As soon as the first honeymoon was over, I represented to her the unreasonableness of those daily innovations which she made in my family; but she told me, I was no longer to consider myself as Sir John Anvil, but as her husband; and added with a "WHEN you talk of the subject of love, and the frown, that I did not seem to know who she was. relations arising from it, methinks you should I was surprised to be treated thus, after such take care to leave no fault unobserved which confamiliarities as had passed between us. But she cerns the state of marriage. The great vexation has since given me to know, that whatever freedoms that I have observed in it is, that the wedded she may sometimes indulge me in, she expects in couple seem to want opportunities of being often general to be treated with the respect that is due enough alone together, and are forced to quarrel to her birth and quality. Our children have been and be fond before company. Mr. Hotspur and trained up from their infancy with so many ac- his lady, in a room full of their friends, are ever counts of their mother's family, that they know saying something so smart to each other, and that the stories of all the great men and women it has but just within rules, that the whole company produced. Their mother tells them, that such-a- stand in the utmost anxiety and suspense, for fear one commanded in such a sea-engagement, that of their falling into extremities which they could their great-grandfather had a horse shot under him not be present at. On the other side, Tom Faddle

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Greater than this, of quite a different kind.-POOLEY. MR. SPECTATOR,

ress.

"MR. SPECTATOR,

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and his pretty spouse, wherever they come, are there are some private reasons for it; and I will billing and cooing at such a rate, as they think leave it to you to determine on which side a part must do our hearts good to behold them. Cannot is then acted. Some women there are who are aryou possibly propose a mean between being wasps rived at years of discretion, I mean are got out and doves in public? I should think, if you ad- of the hands of their parents and governors, and vised to hate or love sincerely it would be better; are set up for themselves, who are yet liable to for if they would be so discreet as to hate from these attempts; but if these are prevailed upon, the very bottoms of their hearts, their aversion you must excuse me if I lay the fault upon them, would be too strong for little gibes every moment; that their wisdom is not grown with their years. and if they loved with that calm and noble valor My client, Mr. Strephon, whom you summoned which dwells in the heart, with a warmth like to declare himself, gives you thanks however for that of life-blood, they would not be so impatient your warning, and begs the favor only to enlarge of their passions as to fall into observable fond- his time for a week, or to the last day of the term, This method, in each case, would save ap- and then he will appear gratis, and pray no day pearances; but as those who offend on the fond over. Yours, side are much the fewer, I would have you begin "PHILANTHROPOS." with them, and go on to take notice of a most impertinent license married women take, not only to be very loving to their spouses in public, but also make nauseous allusions to private familiarities, and the like. Lucina is a lady of the greatest discretion, you must know, in the world; and withal very much a physician. Upon the strength of these two qualities there is nothing she will not speak of before us virgins; and she every day talks with a very grave air in such a manner, as is very improper so much as to be hinted at, but to obviate the greatest extremity. Those whom they call good bodies, notable people, hearty neighbors, and the purest, goodest company in the world, are the great offenders in this kind. Here I think I have laid before you an open field for pleasantry: and hope you will show these people that at least they are not witty; in which you will save from many a blush a daily sufferer, who is very much your most humble Servant,

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"In yours of Wednesday, the 30th past, you and your correspondents are very severe on a sort of men, whom you call male coquets; but without any other reason, in my apprehension, than that of paying a shallow compliment to the fair sex, by accusing some men of imaginary faults, that the women may not seem to be the more faulty sex; though at the same time you suppose there are some so weak as to be imposed upon by fine things and false addresses. I cannot persuade myself that your design is to debar the sexes the benefit of each other's conversation. within the rules of honor; nor will you, I dare say, recommend to them, or encourage the common tea-table talk, much less that of politics and matters of state, and if these are forbidden subjects of discourse, then as long as there are any women in the world who take a pleasure in hearing themselves praised, and can bear the sight of a man prostrate at their feet, so long I shall make no wonder that there are those of the other sex who will pay them those impertinent humiliations. We should have few people such fools as to practice flattery, if all were so wise as to despise it. I do not deny but you would do a meritorious act, if you could prevent all impositions on the simplicity of young women; but I must confess, I do not apprehend you have laid the fault on the proper persons; and if I trouble you with my thoughts upon it, I promise myself your pardon. Such of the sex as are raw and innocent, and most exposed to these attacks, have, or their parents are much to blame if they have not, one to advise and guard them, and are obliged themselves to take care of them; but if these, who ought to hinder men from all opportunities of this sort of conversation, instead of that encourage and promote it, the suspicion is very just that

"I was last night to visit a lady whom I much esteem, and always took for my friend; but_met with so very different a reception from what I expected, that I cannot help applying myself to you on this occasion. In the room of that civility and familiarity I used to be treated with by her, an affected strangeness in her looks, and coldness in her behavior, plainly told me I was not the welcome guest which the regard and tenderness she has so often expressed for me gave me reason to flatter myself to think I was. Sir, this is certainly a great fault, and I assure you a very common one; therefore I hope you will think it a fit sub ject for some part of a Spectator. Be pleased to acquaint us how we must behave ourselves toward this valetudinary friendship, subject to so many heats and colds, and you will oblige,

SIR,

"Sir, your humble Servant,

"MIRANDA.”

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Dilapsam in cineres facem.-HOR. 4 Od. xiii, 26. That all may laugh to see that glaring light, Which lately shone so fierce and bright,

End in a stink at last, and vanish into night.-ANOX.

WE are generally so much pleased with any lit tle accomplishments, either of body or mind, which have once made us remarkable in the world, that we endeavor to persuade ourselves it is not in the power of time to rob us of them. We are eternally pursuing the same methods which first procured us the applauses of mankind. It is from this notion that an author writes on, though he is come to dotage; without ever considering that his memory is impaired, and that he hath lost that life, and those spirits, which formerly raised

1629, and much the most regular and dramatic piece of this *A tragedy by William Alexander, Earl of Stirling, fol., noble author.

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