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For my own part, I am for treating the sex with greater tenderness, and have all along made use of the most gentle methods to bring them off from any little extravagance into which they have sometimes unwarily fallen. I think it, however, absolutely necessary to keep up the partition between the two sexes, and to take notice of the smallest encroachments which the one makes upon the other. I hope, therefore, that I shall_not hear any more complaints on this subject. I am sure my she-disciples, who peruse these my daily lectures, have profited but little by them, if they are capable of giving in to such an amphibious dress. This I should not have mentioned, had I not lately met one of these my female readers in Hydepark, who looked upon me with a masculine assurance, and cocked her hat full in my face.

For my part, I have one general key to the behavior of the fair sex. When I see them singular in any part of their dress, I conclude it is not without some evil intention; and therefore question not but the design of this strange fashion is to smite more effectually their male beholders. Now to set them right in this particular, I would fain have them consider with themselves, whether we are not more likely to be struck by a figure entirely female, than with such a one as we may see every day in our glasses. Or, if they please, let them reflect upon their own hearts, and think how they would be affected should they meet a man on horseback in his breeches and jackboots, and at the same time dressed up in a commode and a nightraile.

I must observe that this fashion was first of all brought to us from France, a country which has infected all the nations of Europe with its levity. I speak not this in derogation of a whole people. having more than once found fault with those general reflections which strike at kingdoms or commonwealths in the gross-a piece of cruelty, which an ingenious writer of our own compares to that of Caligula, who wished the Roman people had all but one neck, that he might behead them at a blow. I shall therefore only remark, that as liveliness and assurance are in a peculiar manner the qualifications of the French nation, the same habits and customs will not give the same offense to that people which they produce among those of our own country. Modesty is our distinguishing character, as vivacity is theirs: and when this our national virtue appears in that female beauty for which our British ladies are celebrated above all others in the universe, it makes up the most amiable object that the eye of man can possibly behold.-C.

No 436.] MONDAY, JULY 21, 1712.
Verso pollice vulgi
Quemlibet occidunt populariter.-Juv. Sat. iii. 36.
With thumbs bent back, they popularly kill.-DRYDEN.

BEING a person of insatiable curiosity, I could not forbear going on Wednesday last to a place of no small renown for the gallantry of the lower order of Britons, namely, to the Bear-garden, at Hockley-in-the-Hole; where (as a whitish-brown paper, put into my hands in the street, informed me) there was to be a trial of skill exhibited between two masters of the noble science of defense, at two of the clock precisely. I was not a little charmed with the solemnity of the challenge, which ran thus:

"I, James Miller, sergeant (lately come from the frontiers of Portugal), master of the noble science of defense, hearing in most places where I have

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If the generous ardor in James Miller to dispute the reputation of Timothy Buck, had something resembling the old heroes of romance, Timothy Buck returned answer in the same paper with the like spirit, adding a little indignation at being challenged, and seeming to condescend to fight James Miller, not in regard of Miller himself, but in that, as the fame went out, he had fought Parkes of Coventry. The acceptance of the combat ran in these words:

"I, Timothy Buck, of Clare-market, master of the noble science of defense, hearing he did fight Mr. Parkes of Coventry, will not fail (God willing) to meet this fair inviter at the time and place appointed, desiring a clear stage and no favor.— Vivat Regina."

I shall not here look back on the spectacles of the Greeks and Romans of this kind, but must believe this custom took its rise from the ages of knight-errantry; from those who loved one woman so well, that they hated all men and women else; from those who would fight you, whether you were or were not of their mind; from those who demanded the combat of their cotemporaries both for admiring their mistress or discommending her. I cannot therefore, but lament, that the terrible part of the ancient fight is preserved, when the amorous side of it is forgotten. We have retained the barbarity, but lost the gallantry of the old combatants. I could wish, methinks, these gentlemen had consulted me in the promulgation of the conflict. I was obliged by a fair young maid, whom I understood to be called Elizabeth Preston, daughter of the keeper of the garden, with a glass of water; who I imagined might have been, for form's sake, the general representative of the lady fought for, and from her beauty the proper Amaryllis on these occasions. It would have run better in the challenge, “I, James Miller, sergeant, who have traveled parts abroad, and came last from the frontiers of Portugal, for the love of Elizabeth Preston, do assert that the said Elizabeth is the fairest of women." Then the answer; "I, Timothy Buck, who have staid in Great Britain during all the war in foreign parts for the sake of Susannah Page, do deny that Elizabeth Preston is so fair as the said Susannah Page. Let Susannah Page look on, and I desire of James Miller no favor."

This would give the battle quite another turn; and a proper station for the ladies whose complex ion was disputed by the sword, would animate the disputants with a more gallant incentive than the expectation of money from the spectators; though I would not have that neglected, but thrown to that fair one whose lover was approved by the donor.

*On a large tomb in the great church-yard of Coventry the following inscription.

"To the memory of Mr. John Sparkes, a native of this city, he was a man of a mild disposition, a gladiator by profession, who, after having fought 350 battles in the principal parts of Europe, with honor and applause, at length quitted the stage, sheathed his sword, and with Christian resignation, submitted to the grand victor in the 521 year of his age. "Anno salutis humanæ, 1733."

athletic accomplishments, was advanced afterward to the rank of a captain in the British army, and did notable service in Scotland under the Duke of Cumberland in 1745.

His friend, Sergeant Miller, here mentioned, a man of vast

Yet considering the thing wants such amendments, it was carried with great order. James Miller came on first, preceded by two disabled drummers, to show, suppose, that the prospect of maimed bodies did not in the least deter him. There ascended with the daring Miller a gentleman, whose name I could not learn, with a dogged air, as unsatisfied that he was not principal. This son of anger lowered at the whole assembly, and, weighing himself as he marched around from side to side, with a stiff knee and shoulder, he gave intimations of the purpose he smothered till he saw the issue of this encounter. Miller had a blue ribbon tied round the sword arm; which ornament I conceive to be the remain of that custom of wearing a mistress's favor on such occasions of old.

Miller is a man of six foot eight inches in height, of a kind but bold aspect, well-fashioned, and ready of his limbs, and such a readiness as spoke his ease in them was obtained from a habit of motion in military exercise.

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The expectation of the spectators was now almost at its height; and the crowd pressing in, several active persons thought they were placed rather according to their fortune than their merit, and took it in their heads to prefer themselves from the open area or pit to the galleries. This dispute between desert and property brought many to the ground, and raised others in proportion to the highest seats by turns, for the space of ten minutes, till Timothy Buck came on, and the whole assembly, giving up their disputes, turned their eyes upon the champions. Then it was that every man's affection turned to one or the other irresistibly. A judicious gentleman near me said, I could, methinks, be Miller's second, but I had rather have Buck for mine." Miller had an audacious look that took the eye; Buck a perfect composure, that engaged the judgment. Buck came on in a plain coat, and kept all his air till the instant of engaging; at which time he undressed to his shirt, his arm adorned with a bandage of red ribbon. No one can describe the sudden concern in the whole assembly; the most tumultuous crowd in nature was as still and as much engaged as if all their lives depended on the first blow. The combatants met in the middle of the stage, and shaking hands, as removing all malice, they retired with much grace to the extremities of it; from whence they immediately faced about, and approached each other, Miller with a heart full of resolution, Buck with a watchful, untroubled countenance: Buck regarding principally his own defense, Miller chiefly thoughtful of annoying his opponent. It is not easy to describe the many escapes and imperceptible defenses between two men of quick eyes and ready limbs; but Miller's heat laid him open to the rebuke of the calm Buck, by a large cut on the forehead. Much effusion of blood covered his eyes in a moment, and the huzzas of the crowd undoubtedly quickened the anguish. The assembly was divided into parties upon their different ways of fighting; while a poor nymph in one of the galleries apparently suffered for Miller, and burst into a flood of tears. As soon as his wound was wrapped up, he came on again with a little rage, which still disabled him further. But what brave man can be wounded into more caution and patience? The next was a warm, eager onset, which ended in a decisive stroke on the left leg of Miller. The Lady in the gallery, during this second strife, covered her face, and for my part, I could not keep my thoughts from being mostly employed on the consideration of her unhappy circumstance that moment, hearing the clash of

swords, and apprehending life or victory concerned her lover in every blow. but not daring to satisfy herself on whom they fell. The wound was exposed to the view of all who could delight in it, and sewed up on the stage. The surly second of Miller declared at this time, that he would that day fortnight fight Mr. Buck at the same weapons, declaring himself the master of the renowned Gorman; but Buck denied him the honor of that courageous disciple, and, asserting that he himself had taught that champion, accepted the challenge.

There is something in human nature very unaccountable on such occasions, when we see the people take a painful gratification in beholding these encounters. Is it cruelty that administers this sort of delight? or is it a pleasure that is taken in the exercise of pity? It was, methought, pretty remarkable that the business of the day being a trial of skill, the popularity did not run so high as one would have expected on the side of Buck. Is it that the people's passions have their rise in selflove, and thought themselves (in spite of all the courage they had) liable to the fate of Miller, but could not so easily think themselves qualified like Buck?

Tully speaks of this custom with less horror than one would expect, though he confesses it was much abused in his time, and seems directly to approve of it under its first regulations, when criminals only fought before the people. "Crudele gladiatorum spectaculum et inhumanum nonnullis videri solet; et haud scio annon ita sit ut nunc fit; cum verò sontes ferro depugnabant, auribus fortasse multa, oculis quidem nulla, poterat esse fortior contra dolorem et mortem disciplina." The shows of gla diators may be thought barbarous and inhuman, and I know not but it is so as it is now practised; but in those times when only criminals were combatants, the ear perhaps might receive many better instructions, but it is impossible that anything which affects our eyes should fortify us so well against pain and death.” 1

No. 437.] TUESDAY, JULY 22, 1712. Tune impune hæc facias? Tune hic homines adolescentulos, Sollicitando et pollicitando eorum animos lactas? Imperitos rerum, eductos, libere, in fraudum illicis? Ac meretricios amores nuptiis conglutinas?

TER. And. act v. sc. 4. Shall you escape with impunity; you who lay snares for young men of a liberal education, but unacquainted with the world, and by force of importunity and promises draw them in to marry harlots?

THE other day passed by me in her chariot a lady with that pale and wan complexion which we sometimes see in young people who are fallen into sorrow and private anxiety of mind, which antedate age and sickness. It is not three years ago since she was gay, airy, and a little toward libertine in her carriage; but, methought, I easily forgave her that little insolence, which she so severely pays for in her present condition. Flavilla, of whom I am speaking, is married to a sullen fool with wealth. Her beauty and merit are lost upon the dolt, who is insensible of perfection in anything. Their hours together are either painful or insipid. The minutes she has to herself in his absence are not sufficient to give vent at her eyes, to the grief and torment of his last conversation. This poor creature was sacrificed with a temper, which, under the cultivation of a man of sense, would have made the most agreeable companion, into the arms of this loathsome yokefellow, by Sempronia. Sempronia is a good

" MR. SPECTATOR,

ady, who supports herself in an affluent condi- arms of a clown or a blockhead, obliges her to a tion, by contracting friendship with rich young crime too odious for a name. It is in a degree the widows, and maids of plentiful fortunes at their unnatural conjunction of rational and brutal be own disposal, and bestowing her friends upon ings. Yet what is there so common, as the be worthless, indigent fellows; on the other side she stowing an accomplished woman with such a ensnares inconsiderate and rash youths of great disparity? And I could name crowds who lead estates into the arms of vicious women. For this miserable lives for want of knowledge in their purpose, she is accomplished in all the arts which parents of this maxim, that good sense and good can make her acceptable at impertinent visits; she nature always go together. That which is attri knows all that passes in every quarter, and is well buted to fools, and called good-nature, is only an acquainted with all the favorite servants, busy-inability of observing what is faulty, which turns, bodies, dependents, and poor relations, of all per- in marriage, into a suspicion of everything as sons of condition in the whole town. At the price such, from a consciousness of that inability. of a good sum of money, Sempronia, by the instigation of Flavilla's mother, brought about the match for the daughter; and the reputation of this, which is apparently, in point of fortune, more the equestrian females, who affect both the mascu "I am entirely of your opinion with relation to than Flavilla could expect, has gained her the line and feminine air at the same time; and canot visits and the frequent attendance of the crowd forbear making a presentment against another r of mothers, who had rather see their children der of them, who grow very numerous and power miserable in great wealth, than the happiest of ful; and since our language is not very capable of the race of mankind in a less conspicuous state of good compound words, I must be contented to call life. When Sempronia is so well acquainted with them only the naked-shouldered.' These ewties a woman's temper and circumstances, that she believes marriage would be acceptable to her, and are not contented to make lovers wherever they advantageous to the man who shall get her, her appear, but they must make rivals at the same time. Were you to see Gatty walk the back at next step is to look out for some one, whose condition has some secret wound in it, and wants a her and those who met her would ima diately high mall, you would expect those who followed sum yet, in the eye of the world, not unsuitable to draw their swords for her. I hope, Sir, her. If such is not easily had, she immediately provide for the future, that women may stick to you will adorns a worthless fellow with what estate she their faces for doing any further mischief, and not thinks convenient, and adds as great a share of allow any but direct traders in beauty to expose good humor and sobriety as is requisite. After more than the fore-part of the neck, unless you this is settled, no importunities, arts, and devices, please to allow this after-game to those who are are omitted, to hasten the lady to her happiness. very defective in the charms of the conntenance. In the general, indeed, she is a person of so strict I can say, to my sorrow, the present practice is justice, that she marries a poor gallant to a rich wench, and a moneyless girl to a man of fortune. Very unfair, when to look back is death; and it But then she has no manner of conscience in they be said of our beauties, as a grea', poet die of bullets, disparity, when she has a mind to impose a poor rogue for one of an estate: she has no remorse in adding to it, that he is illiterate, ignorant, and unfashioned; but makes those imperfections arguments of the truth of his wealth; and will, on such an occasion, with a very grave face, charge the people of condition with negligence in the education of their children. Exception being made, the other day, against an ignorant booby of her own clothing, whom she was putting off for a rich heir: "Madam," said she, "you know there is no making children, who know they have estates, attend their books."

Sempronia, by these arts, is loaded with presents, importuned for her acquaintance, and admired by those who do not know the first taste of life, as a woman of exemplary good-breeding. But sure to murder and rob are less iniquities, than to raise profit by abuses as irreparable as taking away life; but more grievous, as making it lastingly unhappy. To rob a lady at play of half her fortune, is not so ill as giving the whole and herself to an unworthy husband. But Sempronia can administer consolation to an unhappy fair at home, by leading her to an agreeable gallant elsewhere. She can then preach the general condition of all the people in the married world, and tell an inexperienced young woman, the methods of softening her affliction, and laugh at her simplicity and want of knowledge, with an "Oh! my dear, you

will know better."

The wickedness of Sempronia, one would think, should be superlative; but I cannot but esteem that of some parents equal to it: I mean such as sacrifice the greatest endowments and qualifications to base bargains. A parent who forces a child of a liberal and ingenious spirit into the

• Ingenuous.

They kill and wound, like Parthians, as they fly. "I submit this to your animadversion; and am, for the little while I have left,

"Your humble Servant, the languishing, PHILANTHUS.

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made a simile about the 'porcupine; but I submit "P. S. Suppose you mended my letter, and

that also."

T.

No. 438.] WEDNESDAY, JULY 23, 1712.
Animum rege, qui, nisi paret,
HOR. 1 Ep. ii. 62.

Imperat
-Curb thy soul,

And check thy rage, which must be rul'd or rule.-CREECH.

Ir is a very common expression that such a one is very good-natured but very passionate. The expression, indeed, is very good-natured, to allow passionate people so much quarter: but I think a passionate man deserves the least indulgence maginable. It is said, it is soon over; that is, all the mischief he does is quickly dispatched, which, I think, is no great recommendation to favor. I have known one of these good natured passionate men say in a mixed company, even to his own wife or child, such things as the most inveterate enemy of his family would not have spoken, even in imagination. It is certain that quick sensibility is inseparable from a ready understanding; but why should not that good understanding call to itself all its force on such occasions, to master that sudden inclination to anger? One of the greatest souls now in the world is the most subject by nature to anger, and yet so famous, from a conquest of himself this way that he is the known

Lord Somers.

example when you talk of temper and command of a man's self. To contain the spirit of anger, is the worthiest discipline we can put ourselves to. When a man has made any progress this way, a frivolous fellow in a passion is to him as contemptible as a froward child. It ought to be the study of every man for his own quiet and peace. When he stands combustible and ready to flame upon everything that touches him, life is as uneasy to himself as it is to all about him. Syncropius leads, of all men living, the most ridiculous life; he is ever offending and begging pardon. If his man enters the room without what he was sent for-"That blockhead," begins he-"Gentlemen, I ask your pardon, but servants now-a-days"-.ment of it that I have ever known, which hap The wrong plates are laid, they are thrown into the middle of the room; his wife stands by in pain for him, which he sees in her face, and answers as if he had heard all she was thinking :Why what the devil! Why don't you take care to give orders in these things?" His friends sit down to a tasteless plenty of everything, every minute expecting new insults from his impertinent passions. In a word, to eat with, or visit Syncropius, is no other than going to see him exercise his family, exercise their patience, and his own

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anger.

It is monstrous that the shame and confusion in which this good-natured angry man must needs behold his friends, while he thus lays about him, does not give him so much reflection, as to create an amendment. This is the most scandalous disuse of reason imaginable: all the harmless part of him is no more thau that of a bulldog, they are tame no longer than they are not offended. One of these good-natured angry men shall, in an instant, assemble together so many allusions to secret circumstances, as are enough to dissolve the peace of all the families and friends he is acquainted with in a quarter of an hour, and yet the next moment be the best-natured man in the whole world. If you would see passion in its purity, without mixture of reason, behold it represented in a mad hero, drawn by a mad poet. Nat. Lee makes his Alexander say thus:

Away! begone! and give a whirlwind room,
Or I will blow you up like dust! Avaunt!
Madness but meanly represents my toil.
Eternal discord!

Fury! revenge! disdain and indignation!

Tear my swoll'n breast, make way for fire and tempest!
My brain is burst, debate and reason quench'd;
The storm is up, and my hot bleeding heart
Splits with the rack; while passions, like the wind,
Rise up to heav'n, and put out all the stars.

Every passionate fellow in town talks half the day with as little consistency, and threatens things as much out of his power.

The next disagreeable person to the outrageous gentleman, is one of a much lower order of anger, and he is what we commonly call a peevish fellow. A peevish fellow is one who has some reason in himself for being out of humor, or has a natural incapacity for delight, and therefore disturbs all who are happier than himself with pishes and pshaws, or other well-bred interjections, at everything that is said or done in his presence. There should be physic mixed in the food of all which these fellows eat in good company. This degree of anger passes, forsooth, for a delicacy of judg ment, that will not admit of being easily pleased; but none above the character of wearing a peevish man's livery ought to bear with his ill-manners. All things among men of sense and condition should pass the censure, and have the protection, of the eye of reason.

No man ought to be tolerated in an habitual humor whim, or particularly of behavior, by any

who do not wait upon him for bread. Next to the peevish fellow is the snarler. This gentleman deals mightily in what we call the irony; and as those sort of people exert themselves most against those below them, you see their humor best in their talk to their servants. "That is so like you You are a fine fellow; Thou art the quickest head piece;" and the like. One would think the hectoring, the storming, the sullen, and all the different species and subordinations of the angry, should be cured, by knowing they live only as pardoned men; and how pitiful is the condition of being only suffered! But I am interrupted by the pleasantest scene of anger and the disappointpened while I was yet writing, and I overheard as I sat in the back-room at a French bookseller's. There came into the shop a very learned man with an erect solemn air; and though a person of great parts otherwise, slow in understanding anything which makes against himself. The composure of the faulty man, and the whimsical perplexity of him that was justly angry, is perfectly new. After turning over many volumes, said the seller to the buyer, "Sir, you know I have long asked you to send me back the first volume of the French Sermous I formerly lent you."-"Sir," said the chap. man, "I have often looked for it, but cannot find it; it is certainly lost, and I know not to whom I lent it, it is so many years ago."-"Then, Sir, here is the other volume; I'll send you home that, and please to pay for both."-" My friend," replied he, "canst thou be so senseless as not to know that one volume is as imperfect in my library as in your shop?"-" Yes, Sir, but it is you have lost the first volume; and, to be short, I will be paid."-" Sir," answered the chapman, "you are a young man, your book is lost; and learn by this little loss to bear much greater adversities, which you must expect to meet with."-"Yes, Sir, but I'll bear when I must, but I have not lost now, for I say you have it, and shall pay me. Friend, you grow warm; I tell you the book is lost; and I foresee, in the course even of a prosperous life, that you will meet afflictions to make you mad, if you cannot bear this trifle.' Sir, there is in this case no need of bearing, for you have the book.""I say, Sir, I have not the book; but your passion will not let you hear enough to be informed that I have it not. Learn resignation of yourself to the distresses of this life: nay, do not fret and fume; it is my duty to tell you, that you are of an impatient spirit, and an impatient spirit is never without woe."- Was ever anything like this?"-"Yes, Sir, there have been many things like this: the loss is but a trifle; but your temper is wanton, and incapable of the least pain; therefore let me advise you, be patient; the book is lost, but do not you for that reason lose yourself."

T.*

No. 439.] THURSDAY, JULY 24, 1712.
Hi narrata ferunt alio: mensuraque ficti
Crescit; et auditis aliquid novus adjicit auctor.
OVID, Metam. xii. 57.
Some tell what they have heard, or tales devise;
Each fiction still improv'd with added lies.
OVID describes the palace of Fame as situated
in the very center of the universe, and perforated
with so many windows and avenues as gave her

*By Steel. See No. 324, ad finem.

This scene passed in the shop of Mr. Vaillant, afterward Messrs. Payne and Mackinlay's, in the strand; and the sub

ject of it was (for it is still in remembrance) a volume of

Massillon's Sermons. The shop is now one of the last to which authors wish to have recourse, a trunkmaker's!

the sight of everything that was done in the heavens, in the earth, and in the sea. The structure of it was contrived in so admirable a manner, that it echoed every word which was spoken in the whole compass of nature; so that the palace, says the poet, was always filled with a confused nubbub of low, dying sounds, the voices being almost spent and worn out before they arrived at his general rendezvous of speeches and whispers. I consider courts with the same regard to the governments which they superintend, as Ovid's palace of Fame with regard to the universe. The eyes of a watchful minister run through the whole people. There is scarcely a murmur of complaint that does not reach his ears. They have newsgatherers and intelligencers, distributed into their Several walks and quarters, who bring in their respective quotas, and make them acquainted with the discourse and conversation of the whole kingdom or commonwealth where they are employed. The wisest of kings, alluding to these invisible and unsuspected spies, who are planted by kings and rulers over their fellow-citizens, as well as to those voluntary informers that are buzzing about the ears of a great man, and making their court by such secret methods of intelligence, has given us a very prudent caution;* "Curse not the king, no not in thy thought, and curse not the rich in thy bedchamber; for a bird of the air shall carry thy voice, and that which hath wings shall tell the

matter."

As it is absolutely necessary for rulers to make use of other people's eyes and ears, they should take particular care to do it in such a manner, that it may not bear too hard on the person whose life and conversation are inquired into. A man who is capable of so infamous a calling as that of a spy, is not very much to be relied upon. He can have no great ties of honor, or checks of conscience, to restrain him in those covert evidences, where the person accused has no opportunity of vindicating himself. He will be more industrious to carry that which is grateful than that which is true. There will be no occasion for him if he does not hear and see things worth discovery; so that he naturally inflames every word and circumstance, aggravates what is faulty, perverts what is good, and misrepresents what is indifferent. Nor is it to be doubted but that such ignominious wretches let their private passions into these their clandestine informations, and often wreak their particular spite or malice against the person whom they are set to watch. It is a pleasant scene enough, which an Italian author describes between a spy and a cardinal who employed him. The cardinal is represented as minuting down everything that is told him. The spy begins with a low voice, Such a one, the advocate, whispered to one of his friends, within my hearing, that your eminence was a very great poltroon;" and, after having given his patron time to take it down, adds, that another called him a mercenary rascal in a public conversation. The cardinal replies, "Very well," and bids him go on. The spy proceeds, and loads him with reports of the same nature, till the cardinal rises in great wrath, calls him an impudent scoundrel, and kicks him out of the

64

room.

It is observed of great and heroic minds, that they have not only shown a particular disregard to those unmerited reproaches which have been cast upon them, but have been altogether free from that impertinent curiosity of inquiring after them, or the poor revenge of resenting them. The histories of Alexander and Cæsar are full of this

Eccl. x. 20.

kind of instances. Vulgar souls are of a quite contrary character. Dionysius, the tyrant of Si cily, had a dungeor which was a very curious piece of architecture; and of which, as I am informed, there are still to be seen some remains in that island. It was called Dionysius's Ear, and built with several little windings and labyrinths, in the form of a real car. The structure of it made it a kind of whispering place, but such a one as gathered the voice of him who spoke into a funnel which was placed at the very top of it. The tyrant used to lodge all his state criminals, or those whom he supposed to be engaged together in any evil designs upon him, in this dungeon. He had at the same time an apartment over it, where he used to apply himself to the funnel, and by that means overheard everything that was whispered in the dungeon. I believe one may venture to affirm, that a Cæsar or an Alexander would rather have died by the treason, than have used such disingenuous means for the detecting of it.

A man who in ordinary life is very inquisitive after everything which is spoken ill of him, passes his time but very indifferently. He is wounded by every arrow that is shot at him, and puts it in the power of every insignificant enemy to disquiet him. Nay, he will suffer from what has been said of him, when it is forgotten by those who said or heard it. For this reason I could never bear one of those officious friends, that would be telling every malicious report, every idle censure, that passed upon me. The tongue of man is so petulant, and his thoughts so variable, that one should not lay too great a stress upon any present speeches and opinions. Praise and obloquy proceed very frequently out of the same mouth upon the same person and upon the same occasion. A generous enemy will sometimes bestow commendations, as the dearest friend cannot sometimes refrain from speaking ill. The man who is indifferent in either of these respects gives his opinion at random, and praises and disapproves as he finds himself in humor.

I shall conclude this essay with part of a character, which is finely drawn by the Earl of Clarendon, in the first book of his History, and which gives us the lively picture of a great man teasing himself with an absurd curiosity.

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He had not that application and submission, and reverence for the queen, as might have been expected from his wisdom and breeding; and often crossed her pretenses and desires with more rudeness than was natural to him. Yet he was impertinently solicitous to know what her majesty said of him in private, and what resentments she had toward him. And when by some confidants, who had their ends upon him from those offices, he was informed of some bitter expressions falling from her majesty, he was so exceedingly afflicted and tormented with the sense of it, that sometimes by passionate complaints and representations to the king, sometimes by more dutiful addresses and expostulations with the queen in bewailing his misfortune, he frequently exposed himself, and left his condition worse than it was before, and the eclaircissement commonly ended in the discovery of the persons from whom he had received his most secret intelligence."—C.

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