the time between his father's death and his mother's second marriage, brought together with so much disorder, make up as noble a part as any in that celebrated tragedy. The circumstance of time, I never could enough admire. The widowhood had lasted two months. This is his first reflection; but, as his indignation rises, he sinks to scarce two months; afterwards, into a month; and at last, into a little month: but all this so naturally, that the reader accompanies him in the violence of his passion, and finds the time lessen insensibly, according to the different workings of his disdain. I have not mentioned the incest of her marriage, which is so obvious a provocation; but cannot forbear taking notice, that when his fury is at its height, he cries, Frailty, thy name is Woman!' as railing at the sex in general, rather than giving himself leave to think his mother worse than others-Desiderantur multa. Whereas, Mr. Jeffery Groggram has surrendered himself by his letter bearing date December 7th, and has sent an acknowledgment that he is dead, pray- | ing an order to the company of upholders for interment at such a reasonable rate as may not impoverish his heirs the said Groggiam having been dead ever since he was born, and added nothing to his small patrimony; Mr. Bickerstaff has taken the premises into consideration; and being sensible of the ingenuous and singular behaviour of this petitioner, pronounces the said Jeffery Groggram a live man, and will not suffer that he should bury himself out of modesty; but requires him to remain among the living, as an example to those obstinate dead men, who will neither labour for life, nor go to their grave. N. B. Mr. Groggram is the first person that has come in upou Mr. Bickerstaff's dead warrant. Florinda demands, by her letter of this day, to be allowed to pass for a living woman, having danced the Derbyshire hornpipe in the presence of several friends on Saturday last. Granted; provided she can bring proof, that she can make a pudding on the twenty-fourth instant. No. 107.] THURSDAY, DECEMBER 15, 1709. -Ah miser! Quantâ laboras in Charybdi, Digue puer meliore flammâ? Hor. i. Od. xxvii. 20. Unhappy youth! doth she surprise? Thou did'st deserve a dart from kinder eyes. Sheer lane, December 14, ABOUT four this afternoon, which is the hour I usually put myself in readiness to receive company, there entered a gentleman, who I believed at first came upon some ordinary question: but, as he approached nearer to me, I saw in his countenance a deep sorrow, mixed with a certain ingenuous complacency, that gave me a sudden good-will towards him. He started, and betrayed an absence of thought, as he was going to communicate his business to me. But at last, recovering himself, he said with an air of great respect, Sir, it would be an injury to your knowledge in the occult sciences, to tell you what is my distress; I dare say you read it in my countenance: I therefore beg your advice to the most unhappy of all men.' Much experience has made me particularly sagacious in the discovery of distempers, and I soon saw that his was love. I then turned to my common-place-book, and found his case under the word Coquette; and reading over the catalogue which I have collected out of this great city, of all under that character, I saw at the name of Cynthia, his fit came upon him. I repeated the name thrice after a musing manner, and immediately perceived his pulse quicken two-thirds; when his eyes, instead of the wildness with which they appeared at his entrance, looked with all the gentleness imaginable upon me, not without tears. 'Oh! sir,' said he, you know not the unworthy usage I have met with from the woman my soul doats on. I could gaze at her to the end of my being; yet, when I have done so, for some time past, I have found her eyes fixed on another. She is now two-and-twenty, in the full tyranny of her charms, which she once acknowledged she rejoiced in, only as they made her choice of me, out of a crowd of admirers, the more obliging. But, in the midst of this happiness, so it is, Mr. Bickerstaff, that young Quickset, who is just come to town, without any other recommendation than that of being tolerably handsome and excessively rich, has wou her heart in so shameless a manner, that she dies for him. In a word, I would consult you, how to cure myself of this passion for an ungrateful woman, who triumphs in her falsehood, and can make no man happy, because her own satisfaction consists chiefly in being capable of giving distress. I know Quickset is at present considerable with her, for no other reason but that he can be therefore desire you, sir, to fortify my reason against without her, and feel no pain in the loss. Let me treated with neglect. the levity of an inconstant, who ought only to be All this time I was looking over my receipts, and asked him, if he had any good winter boots'Boots, sir!' said my patient-I went on; You may easily reach Harwich in a day, so as to be there when the packet goes off.'-'Sir,' said the lover, I find you design me for travelling; but, alas! I have no language, it will be the same thing to me as solitude, to be in a strange country. I have, continued he, sighing, been many years in love with this creature, and have almost lost even my English, at least to speak such as any body else does. I asked a tenant of ours, who came up to town the other day with rent, whether the flowery mead near my father's house in the country had any shepherd in it? I have called a cave a grotto these three years, and must keep ordinary company, and frequent busy people for some time, before I can recover my common words.' I smiled at his raillery upon himself, though I well saw it came from a heavy heart. You are,' said I, acquainted, to be sure, with some of the general officers suppose you made a campaign ?— If I did,' said he, I should venture more than any man there, for I should be in danger of starving; my father is such an untoward old gentleman, that he would tell me he found it hard enough to pay his taxes towards the war, without making it more expensive by an allowance to me. With all this, he is as fond as he is rugged, and I am his only son.' · I looked upon the young gentleman with much tenderness, and not like a physician, but a friend; for, I talked to him so largely, that if I had parcelled my discourse into distinct prescriptions, I am confident, I gave him two hundred pounds worth of advice. He good husband; but, to my great pleasure, he used her at first with coldness, and afterwards with contempt. I hear he still treats her very ill; and am informed, that she often says to her woman, this is a just revenge for my falsehood to my first love: what a wretch am I, that might have been married to the famous Mr. Bickerstaff!' My patient looked upon me with a kind of melancholy pleasure, and told me, He did not think it was possible for a man to live to the age I am now. of, who, in his thirtieth year, had been tortured with that passion in its violence. For my part,' said he, I can neither eat, drink, nor sleep in it; nor keep company with any body but two or three friends who are in the same condition.' 'There,' answered I, you are to blame; for as you ought to avoid nothing more than keeping company with yourself, so you ought to be particularly cautious of keeping company with men like yourself. As long as you do this you do but indulge your distemper. heard me with great attention, bowing, smiling, and showing all other instances of that natural goodbreeding which ingenuous tempers pay to those who are elder and wiser than themselves. I entertained him to the following purpose: I am sorry, sir, that your passion is of so long a date, for evils are much more curable in their beginnings; but, at the same time, must allow, that you are not to be blamed, since your youth and merit has been abused by one of the most charming, but the most unworthy sort of women, the Coqueites. A Coquette is a chaste jilt, and differs only from a common one, as a soldier, who is perfect in exercise, does from one that is actually in service. This grief, like all others, is to be cured only by time; and, although you are convinced this moment, as much as you will be ten years hence, that she ought to be scorned and neglected, you see you must not expect your remedy from the force of reason. The cure, then, is only in time, and the hastening of the cure, only in the manner of employing that time. You have answered me as to travel and a campaign, so that we have only Great Britain to avoid her in. Be then yourself, and listen to the following rules, which only can be of use to you in this unaccountable distemper, wherein the patient is often averse even to his recovery. It has been of benefit to some to apply themselves to business; but as that may not lie in your way, go down to your estate, mind your fox-hounds, and venture the life you are weary of, over every hedge and ditch in the country. These are wholesome remedies; but if you can have resolution enough, rather stay in town, and recover yourself even in the town where she inhabits. Take particular care to avoid all places where you may possibly meet her, and shun the sight of every thing which may bring her to your remembrance; there is an infection in all that relates to her: you will find her house, her chariot, her domestics, and her very lap-dog, are so many instruments of torment. Tell me, seriously, do you think you could bear the sight of her fan?" He shook his head at the question, and said, Ah! Mr. Bickerstaff, you must have been a patient, or you could not have been so good a phy-devil!' he cried out, who can bear it? To compose sician. To tell you truly,' said I, about the thirtieth year of my age, I received a wound that has still left a scar in my mind, never to be worn out by time or philosophy. The means which I found the most effectual for my cure, were, reflections upon the ill usage I had received from the woman I love, and the pleasure I saw her take in my sufferings. 1. I considered the distress she brought upon me the greatest that could befall a human creature, at the same time that she did not inflict this upon one who was her enemy, one that had done her an injury, one that had wished her ill; but on the man who loved her more than any else loved her, and more than it was possible for him to love any other person. In the next place, I took pains to consider her in all her imperfections; and, that I might be sure to hear of them constantly, kept company with those, her female friends, who were her dearest and most intimate acquaintance. 'Among her highest imperfections, I still dwelt upon her baseness of mind, and ingratitude, that made her triumph in the pain and anguish of the man who loved her, and of one who, in those days, without vanity be it spoken, was thought to deserve her love. To shorten my story, she was married to another,which would have distracted me, had he proved a 'I must not dismiss you without further instructions. If possible, transfer your passion from the woman you are now in love with to another; or, if you cannot do that, change the passion itself into some other passion, that is, to speak more plainly, find out some other agreeable woman: or if you cannot do this, grow covetous, ambitious, litigions; turn your love of women into that of profit, preferment, reputation; and for a time give up yourself entirely to the pursuit. 'This is a method we sometimes take in physic, when we turn a desperate disease into one we can more easily cure.' He made little answer to this, but crying out, Ah, sir!' for his passion reduced his discourse into interjections. There is one thing,' added I, which is present death to a man in your condition, and, therefore, to be avoided with the greatest care and caution: that is, in a word, to think of your mistress and rival together, whether walking, discoursing, dallying' The him, for I pitied him very much; The time will come,' said I, when you shall not only bear it, but laugh at it. As a preparation to it, ride every morning, an hour at least, with the wind full in your face. Upon your return, recollect the several precepts which I have now given you, and drink upon them a bottle of Spa-water. Repeat this every day for a month successively, and let me see you at the end of it.' He was taking his leave, with many thanks, and some appearance of consolation in his countenance, when I called him back to acquaint him, that I had private information of a design of the coquettes to buy up all the true Spa-water in town' upon which he took his leave in haste, with a resolution to get all things ready for entering upon his regimen the next morning. Sheer-lane, December 15. Ir is not to be imagined how great an effect welldisposed lights, with proper forms and orders in assemblies, have upou some tempers, I am sure I feel it in so extraordinary a manner that I cannot in a day or two get out of my imagination any very beautiful or disagreeable impression which I receive on such occasions. For this reason I frequently look in at the playhouse in order to enlarge my thoughts, and warm my mind with some new ideas, that may be serviceable to me in my lucubrations. In this disposition I entered the theatre the other day, and placed myself in a corner of it very convenient for seeing, without being myself observed. I found the audience hushed in a very deep attention, and did not question but some noble tragedy was just then in its crisis, or that an incident was to be unravelled which would determine the fate of a hero. While I was in this suspense, expecting every moment to see my old friend Mr. Betterton appear in all the majesty of distress, to my unspeakable amazement there came up a monster with a face between his feet; and, as I was looking on, he raised himself on one leg in such a perpendicular posture, that the other grew in a direct line above his head. It afterwards twisted itself into the motions and wreathings of several different animals, and after a great variety of shapes and transformations, went off the stage in the figure of a human creature. The admiration, the applause, the satisfaction of the audience, during this strange entertainment, is not to be expressed. I was very much out of countenance for my dear countrymen, and looked about with some apprehension, for fear any foreigner should be present. Is it possible, thought I, that human nature can rejoice in its disgrace, and take pleasure in seeing its own figure turned to ridicule, and distorted into forms that raise horror and aversion? There is something disingenuous and immoral in the being able to bear such a sight. Men of elegant and noble minds are shocked at seeing the characters of persons who deserve esteem for their virtue, knowledge, or services to their country, placed in wrong lights, aud by misrepresentation made the subject of buffoonery. Such a nice abhorrence is not indeed to be found among the vulgar; but, methinks, it is wonderful, that those who have nothing but the outward figure to distinguish them as men, should delight in seeing humanity abused, vilified, and disgraced. I must confess, there is nothing that more pleases me, in all that I read in books, or see among mankind, than such passages as represent human nature in its proper dignity. As man is a creature made up of different extremes, he has something in him very great and very mean. A skilful artist may draw an excellent picture of him in either of these views. The finest authors of antiquity have taken him on the more advantageous side. They cultivate the natural grandeur of the soul, raise in her a generous ambition, feed her with hopes of immortality and perfection, and do all they can to widen the partition between the virtuous and the vicious, by making the difference betwixt them as great as between gods and brutes. In short, it is impossible to read a page in Plato, Tully, and a thousand other ancient moralists, without being a greater and a better man for it. On the contrary, I could never read any of our modish French authors, or those of our own country, who are the imitators and admirers of that trifling nation, without being for some time out of humour with myself, and at every thing about me. Their business is, to depreciate human nature, and consider it under its worst appearances. They give mean interpretations and base motives to the worthiest actions; they resolve virtue and vice into constitution. In short, they endeavour to make no distinction between man and man, or between the species of men and that of brutes. As an instance of this kind of authors, among many others, let any one examine the celebrated Rochefoucault, who is the great philosopher for administering consolation to the idle, the envious, and worthless part of mankind. I remember a young gentleman of moderate understanding, but great vivacity, who, by dipping into many authors of this nature, had got a little smattering of knowledge, just enough to make an atheist or a free-thinker, but not a philosopher or a man of sense. With these accomplishments, he went to visit his father in the country, who was a plain, rough, honest man, and wise, though not learned, The son, who took all opportunities to show his learning, began to establish a new religion in the family, and to enlarge the narrowness of their country notions; in which he succeeded so well, that he had seduced the butler by his table-talk, and staggered his eldest sister. The old gentleman began to be alarmed at the schisms that arose among his children, but did not yet believe his son's doctrine to be so pernicious as it really was, until one day talking of his setting dog, the son said, 'he did not question but Tray was as immortal as auy one of the family;' and in the heat of the argument told his father, that, for his own part, he expected to die like a dog.' Upon which the old man, starting up in a very great passion, cried out, Then, sirrah, you shall live like one;' and taking his cane in his hand, cudgelled him out of his system. This had so good an effect upon him, that he took up from that day, fell to reading good books, and is now a bencher in the Middle Temple. I do not mention this cudgelling part of the story with a design to engage the secular arm in matters of this nature; but certainly, if it ever exerts itsed in affairs of opinion and speculation, it ought to do it on such shallow and despicable pretenders to knowledge, who endeavour to give man dark and uncom→ fortable prospects of his being, and destroy those principles which are the support, happiness, and glory of all public societies, as well as private per sons. I think it is one of Pythagoras's golden sayings, That a man should take care, above all things, to have a due respect for himself.' And it is certain, that this licentious sort of authors, who are for depreciating mankind, endeavour to disappoint and unde what the most refined spirits have been labouring to advance since the beginning of the world. The very design of dress, good breeding, outward ornaments, and ceremony, were to lift up human nature, and set it off to an advantage. Architecture, painting, and statuary, were invented with the same design: as, indeed, every art and science contributes to the embellishment of life, and to the wearing off and throwing into shades the mean and low parts of our nature. Poetry carries on this great end more than all the rest, as may be seen in the following passage, taken out of Sir Francis Bacon's Advancement of Learning,' which gives a truer and better account of this art than all the volumes that were ever written upon it. Poetry, especially heroical, seems to be raised altogether from a noble foundation, which makes much for the dignity of man's nature. For seeing this sensible world is in dignity inferior to the soul of man, poesy seems to endow human nature with that which history denies; and to give satisfaction to the mind, with at least the shadow of things, where the substance cannot be had. For, if the matter be thoroughly considered, a strong argument may be drawn from poesy, that a more stately greatness of things, a more perfect order, and a more beautiful variety, delights the soul of man, that any way can be found in nature since the fall. Wherefore, seeing the acts and events which are the subjects of true history, are not of that amplitude as to content the mind of man, poesy is ready at hand to feign acts more heroical. Because true history reports the successes of business not proportionable to the merit of virtues and vices, poesy corrects it, and presents events and fortunes according to desert, and according to the law of providence: because true history, through the frequent satiety and similitude of things, works a distaste and misprision in the mind of man; poesy cheereth and refresheth the soul, chaunting things rare and various, and full of vicissitudes. So as poesy serveth and conferreth to delectation, magnanimity, and morality; and, therefore, it may seem deservedly to have some participation of divineness, because it doth raise the mind, and exalt the spirit with high raptures, by proportioning the shows of things to the desires of the mind, and not submitting the mind to things, as reason and history do. And by these allurements and congruities, whereby it cherisheth the soul of man, joined also with consort of music, whereby it may more sweetly insinuate itself, it hath won such access, that it hath been in estimation even in rude times and barbarous nations, when other learning stood excluded.' But there is nothing which favours and falls in with this natural greatness and dignity of human nature so much as religion, which does not only promise the entire refinement of the mind, but the glorifying of the body, and the immortality of both. No. 109.] TUESDAY, DECEMBER 20, 1709. Perditur hæc inter miseris lux Hor, 2. Sat. vi. 59. in this giddy, busy maze, I lose the sun-shine of my days. Francis. Sheer-lane, December 19. THERE has not some years been such a tumult in our neighbourhood as this evening about six. At the lower end of the lane the word was given, that there was a great funeral coming by. The next moment came forward, and in a very hasty, instead of a solemn manner, a long train of lights, when at last a footman, in very high youth and health, with all his force, ran through the whole art of beating the door of the house next to me, and ended his rattle with the true finishing rap. This did not only bring one to the door at which he knocked, but to that of every one in the lane in an instant. Among the rest, my country maid took the alarm, and immediately running to me, told me, there was a fine, fine lady, who had three men with burial torches making way before her, carried by two men upon poles, with looking-glasses on each side of her, and one glass also before, she herself appearing the prettiest that ever was.' The girl was going on in her story, when the lady was come to my door in her THE TATLER, No. 23. chair, having mistaken the house. As soon as she entered I saw she was Mr. Isaac's scholar, by her speaking air, and the becoming stop she made when she began her apology. You will be surprised, sir,' said she, that I take this liberty, who an utterly a stranger to you; besides that it may be thought an indecorum that I visit a man.' She made here a pretty hesitation, and held her fan to her face; then, as if recovering her resolution, she proceeded- But I think you have said, that men of your age are of no sex; therefore, may be as free with you as one of my own.' The lady did me the honour to consult me on some particular matters, which I am not at liberty to report. But, before she took her leave, she produced a long list of names, which she looked upon, to know whither she was to go next. I must confess, I could hardly forbear discovering to her, immediately, that I secretly laughed at the fantastical regularity she observed in throwing away her time; but I seemed to indulge her in it, out of a curiosity to hear her own sense of her way of life. Mr. Bickerstaff,' said she, 'you cannot imagine how much you are obliged to me, in staying thus long with you, having so many visits to make; and, indeed, if I had not hopes that a third part of those I am going to will be abroad, I should be unable to despatch them this evening.'- Madam,' said I, 'are you in all this haste and perplexity, and only going to such as you have not a mind to see?'-'Yes, sir,' said she, ' I have several now with whom I keep a constant correspondence, and return visit for visit punctually every week, and yet we have not seen each other since last November was twelvemonth.' She went on with a very good air, and fixing her eyes on her list, told me, she was obliged to ride about three miles and a half before she arrived at her own house.' I asked after what manner this list was taken, whether the persons writ their names to her, and desired that favour, or how she knew she was not cheated in her muster-roll ?'-' The method we take,' says she, 'is, that the porter or servant who comes to the door, writes down all the names who come to see us, and all such are entitled to a return of their visit.' But,' said I, madam, I presume those who are searching for each other, and know one another by messages, may be understood as candidates only for each other's favour; and that, after so many how-do-ye-does, you proceed to visit or not, as you like the run of each other's reputation or fortune.' You understand it aright,' said she; and we become friends, as soon as we are convinced that our dislike to each other may be of any consequence: for, to tell you truly,' said she, for it is in vain to hide any thing from a man of your penetration, general visits are not made out of good-will, but for fear of ill-will. Punctuality in this case is often a suspicious circumstance; and there is nothing so common as to have a lady say, "I hope she has heard nothing of what I said of her, that she grows so great with me!" But, indeed, my porter is so dull and negligent, that I fear he has not put down half the people I owe visits to.'-' Madam,' said I, 'methinks it would be very proper if your gentlemanusher or groom of the chamber were always to keep an account by way of debtor and creditor. I know a city lady who uses that method, which I think very laudable; for though you may possibly, at the court end of the town, receive at the door, and light up better than within Temple bar, yet I must do that justice to my friends, the ladies within the walls, to own, that they are much more exact in their correspondence. The lady I was going to mention as an 2 A example has always the second apprentice out of the counting-house for her own use on her visiting-day, and he sets down very methodically all the visits which are made her. I remember very well, that on the first of January last, when she made up her account for the year 1708, it stood thus: 'Mrs. Courtwood-Debtor. born with are abated, and desires indulged, in proportion to her love of that light and trifling conversation. I know I talk like an old man; but I must go on to say, that I think the general reception of mixed company, and the pretty fellows that are admitted at those assemblies, give a young woman so false an idea of life, that she is generally bred up To seventeen hundred and four visits received. 1704. with a scorn of that sort of merit in a man, which This gentlewoman is a woman of great economy, and was not afraid to go to the bottom of her affairs; and therefore, ordered her apprentice to give her credit for my lady Easy's impertinent visits upon wrong days, and deduct only twelve per cent. He had orders also to subtract one and a half from the whole of such as she had denied herself to before she kept a day; and after taking those proper articles of credit on her side, she was in arrear but five hundred. She ordered her husband to buy in a couple of fresh coach horses; and with no other loss than the death of two footmen, and a church-yard cough brought upon her coachman, she was clear in the world on the tenth of February last, and keeps so before-hand, that she pays every body their own, and yet makes daily new acquaintances.' I know not whether this agreeable visitant was fired with the example of the lady I told her of, but she immediately vanished out of my sight, it being, it seems, as necessary a point of good-breeding, to go off as if you stole something out of the house, as it is to enter as if you came to fire it. I do not know one thing that contributes so much to the lessening the esteem men of sense have to the fair sex, as this article of visits. A young lady cannot be married, but all impertinents in town must be beating the tattoo from one quarter of the town to the other, to show they know what passes. If a man of honour should once in an age marry a woman of merit for her intrinsic value, the envious things are all in motion in an instant to make it known to the sisterhood as an indiscretion, and publish to the town how many pounds he might have had to have been troubled with one of them. After they are tired with that, the next thing is, to make their compliments to the married couple and their relations. They are equally busy at a funeral, and the death of a person of quality is always attended with the murder of several sets of coach-horses and chairmen. In both cases, the visitants are wholly unaffected, either with joy or sorrow; for which reason, their congratulations and condolences are equally words of course; and any one would be thought wonderfully ill-bred, that should build upon such expressions as encouragements to expect from them any instance of friendship. only can make her happy in marriage; and the wretch, to whose lot she falls, very often receives in his arms a coquette, with the refuse of a heart long before given away to a coxcomb. Having received from the society of upholders sundry complaints of the obstinate and refractory behaviour of several dead persons, who have been guilty of very great outrages and disorders, and by that means elapsed the proper time of their interment; and having, on the other hand, received many appeals from the aforesaid dead persons, wherein they desire to be heard before such their interment; I have set apart Wednesday, the twentyfirst instant, as an extraordinary court-day for the hearing of both parties. If, therefore, any one can allege why they, or any of their acquaintance, should or should not be buried, I desire they may be ready with their witnesses at that time, or that they will for ever after hold their tongues. N.B. This is the last hearing on this subject. No. 110.] THURSDAY, DECEMBER 22, 1709 Virg. Æn. vi. 721. Sheer-lane, December 21. As soon as I had placed myself in my chair of judicature, I ordered my clerk, Mr. Lillie, to read to the assembly, who were gathered together according to notice, a certain declaration, by way of charge, to open the purpose of my session, which tended only to this explanation, that as other courts were often called to demand the execution of persons dead in law; so this was held to give the last orders relating to those who are dead in reason. The solicitor of the new company of upholders near the Haymarket appeared in behalf of that useful society, and brought in an accusation of a young woman, who herself stood at the bar before me. Mr. Lillie read her indictment, which was in substance, That, whereas, Mrs. Rebecca Pindust, of the parish of St. Martin-in-the-Fields, had, by the use of one instrument called a looking-glass, and by the further use of certain attire, made either of cambric, muslin, or other linen wares, upon her head, attained to such an evil art and magical force in the motion of her eyes and turn of her countenance, that she, the said Rebecca, had put to death several young men of the said parish; and that the said young men had acknowledged in certain papers, commonly called loveletters, which were produced in court, gilded on the edges, and sealed with a particular war, with certain As for my part, I think most of the misfortunes amorous and enchanting words wrought upon the in families arise from the trifling way the women said seals, that they died for the said Rebecca: and, have in spending their time, and gratifying only whereas the said Rebecca persisted in the said evil their eyes and ears, instead of their reason and un-practice; this way of life the said society construed derstanding. to be, according to former edicts, a state of death, and demanded an order for the interment of the said Rebecca.' Thus are the true causes of living, and the solid pleasures in life, lost in show, imposture, and impertinence. A fine young woman, bred under a visiting mother, knows all that is possible for her to be acquainted with by report, and sees the virtuous and the vicious used so indifferently, that the fears she is I looked upon the maid with great humanity, and desired her to make answer to what was said against |
