A Help To Elocution

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THE OHIO STATE UNIVERSITY
Jerry Tarver Elocution, Rhetoric
and Oratory Collection
Gift ofJerry Tarver
UNIVERSITY LIBRARIES
igin
.Masl t
on e.
Uf Mi t t Stre
203
NewcastleTyne
1864
enticall
4
May 7. 186
H E L P
ELOCUTION.
1
4
A
H EL P
то
ELOCUTION.
CONTAINING
THREE ESSAYS.
1. On READING and DECLAMATION , wherein the

Principles of both are laid down , under the ſeveral
Heads of Emphafis, Climax, Modulation, Pauſes ,
Breaks, Tranfitions, Cadences, and Geſture.
II. On the MARKS and CHARACTERS of the
different Paffions and Affections of the Mind.
III. On COMPOSITION, tending to explain and
illuftrate the Beauties of Fine Writing, and the
Principles on which they depend.
DESIGNED
To formthe MINDS OF YOUTH to a TRUE TASTE IN READING ;
to enable them to judge of the Beauties of Writing from
their own Obfervation ; and to ground them in an elegant
Manner of Compofition.
TO WHICH IS ADDED,
A very large Collection of EXAMPLES, in Profe and Verfe,
felected from the BEST AUTHORS , for the Exercife of the
Scholar in Reading and Declaiming.
FOR THE USE OF SCHOOLS.
-Speech is the Morning of the Soul,

It fpreads the beauteous Images abroad,
Which elfe lie furled in the clouded Mind. DRYDEN.
LONDON :
PRINTED FOR FIELDING AND WALKER , NO. 20,
AND JAMES MACGOWAN , NO. 27, PATER-
NOSTER-ROW. M,DCC,LXXX.
1780
TO THE
REA DE R..
HIS little volume, calculated for the

Tufe of Schools,
Ufe of Schools, it is prefumed, will
hardly ftand in need of any other recom-
mendation than that which it carries in
its Table of Contents.
It was not meant to give any thing

original to the world ; the only praiſe
which the Publiſhers afpire to, is that of
having made a careful, and , they hope,
not an injudicious Compilation .
THE firft Effay, however, is an origi-

nal, from the pen of a Gentleman who
has been long practiſed in the Art of
Speaking. The two next are extracted
from works of eſtabliſhed credit. - As for
the large collection of Examples , which
makes up the greateft part of the book,
they have been carefully felected from
the beft authors both in profe and verfe :
and we may venture to affirm, that there is
no fpecies of Utterance or Expreffion , of
which the human frame is capable, but
A 2 fome
vi TO THE READER .
fome or other of thefe pieces will afford

a juft occafion of employing it. The
firſt object was to furnish a proper field
of exerciſe, to fuch as are ftudious to ac-
complish themſelves in the Arts of Read-
ing and Declaiming ; yet at the fame
time fuch attention has been paid to the
intrinfic merit of the pieces admitted into
this Collection, that we flatter ourſelves
it will ferve another and even a more
valuable purpoſe , and will be found well
adapted to improve both the underſtand-
ing and the heart ; to form the one to juſt
affections, and to ftore the other with a
variety of agreeable ideas and uſeful fen-
timents. There is fcarce a paper in the
book but will readily be acknowledged ,
in refpect both of fenfe and ftyle, to be
truly excellent in its kind ; it holds up
none but the beft models to the fcholar ;
and if any one fhould take it up for the
amuſement of a leifure hour, in fo various
a collection it will not be difficult to find
fomething correfpondent to his taſte and
humour.
THE
THE
CONTENTS.
SSAY on Reading and Declamation Page

Es Effay on the Marks and Characters of
the different Paffions and Affections of the
Mind, 23
Effay on Compofition 65
EXAMPLE S.
An Admonitory Oration Holme 117
On the Delicacy of Taſte and Paffion 119

Hume's Effays 119
On Impudence and Modefty ib. 123
On Superftition and Enthufiafm ib. 127
A Dialogue between Mr. Addiſon and Mr.
Swift Lyttelton's Dialogues of the Dead 128
A Dialogue between Ulyffes and Circe ib. 132
A Dialogue between Mercury, an Engliſh Duel-
lift, and a North-American Savage ib. 136
A Dialogue between Pliny the Elder and Pliny
the Younger ib. 140
A Dialogue between M. Apicius and Darteneuf
ib. 144
A Dialogue between Mercury and a modern

fine Lady ib. 151
A Dialogue
TS.
$111 CONTEN
Page
ADialogue between Plutarch, Charon, and a mo-
dern Bookfeller Lyttelton's Dial. ofthe Dead 154
On Idleneſs Guardian 163
On Spending Time ib. 165
The Practice of Virtue recommended ib. 169
On Truth and Sincerity Spectator 172
On Defamation and Detraction ib. 175
·On Cheerfulneſs ib. 179
The Advantages of Cheerfulneſs ib. 183
On Happineſs World 187
The Art of Happineſs ib. 191
The Importance of the early Choice of a Call-
ing and Perfeverance in it Rambler 194
On the Uſefulneſs of Good- Breeding
Gordon's Cato's Letters 200
A Letter of Confolation to the Countess of
Effex, upon her Grief occafioned by the
Lofs of her only Daughter.
By Sir William Temple, Bart. 206
Servius Sulpicius to Cicero
Melmoth's Pliny's Letters 216
A Letter on the Abuſe of Words 220
Pliny to Paternus Melmoth's Pliny's Letters .226
Pliny to Tacitus ib. 228
Pliny to Cornelius Tacitus ib. 233
From Mr. Gay to Mr. F. 237
Letterfrom Lady M-y Wy Me to
Mr. P- e 240
The Story ofthe Eremite
Dr. More's Divine Dialogues 244
The
CONTENTS.
Page
The Story ofthe Jeweller Fordyce's Dialogues 244
Extract from Lord Bolingbroke's Letters 246
On the Duty of Children to Parents 248
A Letter to a young Gentleman at School 251
The Duty of endeavouring to obtain Wiſdom ,
and the Ufe and Importance of it 253
A Letter from Mr. Pope to the Biſhop of Ro-
chefter 256
Paffages from fundry Petitions prefented to the
French King by a difgraced Miniſter
Humorous Petition of a French Gentleman to
the King 259
Humorous Scene between Dennis the Critic
(fatirically reprefented by Swift as mad) and
the Doctor Swift 260
Whimfical Commendation of the Marquis de
Pifany's Courage Voiture 264
Seneca's Speech to Nero C. Tacitus, Annal. 14. ibid,
Romulus's Harangue to the Romans
Hooke's Roman Hiftory 266
Junius Brutus's Speech to the Romans ib. 268
Junius Brutus's Speech to M. Valerius , &c. ib. 271
Decius's Speech in Favour of the Tribunes ib. 273
Claudius's Speech against the Tribunes ib. 277
Scipio's Speech to his Soldiers ib. 280
Hannibal's Speech to his Soldiers ib. 284
Hannibal's Speech to Scipio ib. 287
Scipio's Anſwer to Hannibal ib. 289
The Picture of a Good Man 290
Parable
x CONTENTS.
Page
Parable of the Prodigal Son 292
Paternus's Advice to his Son Law 293
St. Paul's First Epistle to the Corinthians,
Chap. xiii. - 300
Part of the 15th Chapter of Ditto 301
Compariſon between Chriftianity and Mahome-
taniẩm - -
Bp. Sherlocke 304
Part of the 16th Chapter of St. Luke 305
On Converfation 306
On the fame Subject 309
Dedication to a Pamphlet, intitled, Killing no
Murder 313
Extract from Gordon's Dedication of his Tranf-
lation of Salluft 316
Compariſon between Cato and Cæfar
Gordon's Salluft ibid.
A Night-Piece on Death Dr. Parnell 318
Hymn to Contentment ib. 320
The Hermit ib. 322
Colin and Lucy Mr. Tickell 329
The Seeker Mr. Mat. Green 331
Ode to Evening Mr. W. Collins 332
To Mifs Lucy F. Lord Lyttelton 333
A Prayerto Venus in her Temple at Stowe ib. 334
Ode on a diſtant Profpect of Eaton College
Gray 335
Ode ib . 337
Ode on the Death of a Favourite Cat, drowned
.
in a Tub of Gold Fishes ib. 339
Elegy
gray gligy mondas far
Gout fuck to Adami
CONTENTS. xi
Page
Elegy written in a Country Churchyard
Gray 340
Hymn to Adverſity ib .
344
The 19th Pfalm paraphraſed Addifon 346
Ode on Melancholy Mafon 347
A Dialogue Mrs. Carter 349
On a Thunder- Storm ib . 350
On the Sea Shore ib. 351
To ib. 352
Ode to Melancholy ib. 353
To ib. 355
The Shepherd and the Philofopher, a Fable
Gay 357
The Jugglers, a Fable ib. 359
Epistle to Fleetwood Shephard, Efq.
Prior 361
Adrian to his Soul ib. 366
Baucis and Philemon Dr. Swift 367
Mrs. Harris's Petition ib. 372
Stella's Birth- Day ib. 376
Ode on St. Cecilia's Day Dryden 379
Ditto
Pope 383
Eve's Speech to Adam Milton 388
Extract from Dr. Young's Night- Thoughts
389
Extract from Thomfon's Winter
390
The Amuſement Mr. Tate 392
The Hern
393
Hope W. Shenfione, Efq. 394
Dying Chriſtian to his Soul Pope 396
Extract
CONTENTS.
Page
Extract from Pope's Effay on Man 397

Moral Effays 399
Extract from the Tragedy of Bufiris Young 400
William and Margaret 402
Hymn to Gratitude Addifon 404
Univerfal Prayer Pope 406
ΑΝ
AN
E S SAY
ON
READING
AND
DECLAMATION, &c.
EADING and DECLAMATION confift of Em-

R phafis, Climax, Modulation , Paufes, Breaks,
Tranfitions, Cadences, and Geſture.
EMPHASIS may be divided into two branches, Ex-
planatory and Expreffive ; by the first is meant that
ftrefs of utterance, which prefents more clearly to
conception the meaning of what we deliver ; as for
example ::-"—“ A popular man is, in truth, no better
than a profitute to common fame, and to the people ;
he lies down to every one he meets, for the hire of
praife, and his humility is only a diſguiſed ambition."
-By marking the preceding pallage fo, the mean-
ing ftrikes immediately with full force ; whereas if
the ſtreſs were laid upon other words, or if the whole
was uttered with Monotony, (a fameneſs of tone)
the fenfe would be confuſed, and to a hearer, whofe
apprehenfion was not very quick, perhaps quite unin-
telligible. In cafes where the fenfe is doubtful, pro-
per Emphafis is indifpenfibly neceflary ; for inftance:
B -Did
A HELP TO ELOCUTION.
-Did the Englishman deſerve to die ?-If I lay the

ſtreſs upon did, then it marks a queſtion arifing from
furprize ; if Englishman is diſtinguiſhed, then it im-
plies that others were concerned, and that I would
know his cafe particularly.--If die is marked, then it
appears that I admit guilt, but want to know if his
crime was of fuch a nature as to deſerve capital pu-
nishment.
EXPRESSIVE EMPHASIS is that which is uſed to
render a paffage, whofe meaning is obvious, more
forcible, as may appear by properly marking the fol-
lowing paffage from Shakeſpeare *.
In this, ye GODS, you make the weak moft ftrong ;
In this, ye GODS , you tyrants do defeat;
Norftony to'rs, nor walls of beaten brass,
Nor airless dungeon, nor ftrong links of iron,
Can be retentive to the ftrength ofSpirit ;
Butlife, being weary of thefe worldly bars,
Never lacks power to diſmiſs itſelf.
He bids the SPIRY firs arife,
The cedar, wig'rous, pierce the skies,
From Lebanon's chill brow :
Fearless, amid conflictingforms,
The tow'ring ftork his cradle forms,
High on the founding bough.
By laying the Emphafis onfpiry, in the first line,
the peculiar form of the trees mentioned is explain-
ed ; whereas, had the ſtreſs been laid upon firs, it
would leave us at liberty to think oaks, elms, &c.
fpiry too. The word arife is marked, as being the
purport of a command ; and though, in general, the
voice falls at the end of a line, yet in this cafe the
meaning requires it ſhould be raifed, but not too high,
nor abruptly.
In the fecond line vig'rous is marked as a property
of the cedar; indeed all Epithets, whether they
precede
The words printed in Italic are thoſe on which the Em-

phafis is laid ; but words in CAPITALS require a more forcible
Emphaſis than thoſe in Italic.
A HELP TO ELOCUTION. 3
precede or follow, require Emphafis. - Pierce is
noted as painting a quicknefs and boldneſs of vege-
tation, while the imagination is raiſed to a more
than ordinary height by particularizingSkies.
In the third line chill is marked as a characteriſtic
quality of the climate of Lebanon.
Fearless , in the fourth line, is pointed out as an
extraordinary attribute of a bird, and conflictingforms
are emphatical as a proof of that attribute, enlarging
the idea much more than the fimple word fearless,
unaffifted would have done.
In the fifth line tow'ring is diſtinguiſhed as an Epi-
thet ; and cradle, which happily defcribes the ftork's
neft in that rocking fituation, is diſtinguiſhed as the
motive of the bird's refolution.
In the last line high is marked as a material point
of the imagery, andfounding not only as an Epithet,
but alſo as referring to its turbulent fituation among
whiſtling or roaring gales.
I have chofen this ftanza of the 104th Pfalm, as
picturefque poetry refts more upon Emphafis than
any other fpecies of writing ; and I have been fo mi-
nute in the explanation of it, not only that my
meaning might be underſtood as to this branch of
expreffion, but likewiſe to ſhow that Emphaſis ſhould
be founded on reafon, not laid merely for a gingle
or variation of found.-Having thus marked and ex-
plained one ſtanza, I fhall propoſe two more for the
exercife of the ſtudent.
He, as a curtain, ftretch'd on high 4

The vaft cerulean canopy,
And gave with fires to glow :
'Twas he, tremendous potentate !
Built on the waves his hall of ſtate,
Wide as the waters flow.
He walks upon the wings of wind,

And leaves the rapid ftorms behind ;
Their monarch's awful will
B 2 Seraphs
Seraphs await in dreåd ſuſpenſe,

And, fwifter than the lightning's glance,
His mighty word fulfil.
After all that can be faid, the degrees of Emphaſis

are fo many and fo variable, that no precife rules
can be laid down for their application .- In Reading
and Declamation, as in Mufic, there must be taſte to
give beauty ; without it, mere rectitude will be moſt
unaffectingly infipid. This quality, though improve-
able, must certainly be firft derived from nature.—
A Reader, before he can reach bare propriety, muft
thoroughly understand what he reads ; for which
reafon the custom of putting children to read the
Bible, in which there are many difficult words and
abftrufe paffages, is by no means to be commended ;
nay, if we confider it in another light, it is highly
blameable ; for by being made the fubject of puzzle
and embarraffiment, by being toffed about in a care-
lefs flovenly manner, that love and refpect which
the Sacred Writings juttly claim, is too frequently
fet afide in youth. We are told that among the
Turks, if a piece of written paper appears on the
ground, it is taken up and carefully preferved, left
the word ALLAH, or GOD, be infcribed on it. Mark
the contraftic veneration of Chriftians ! who not
only profane with their mouths that most awful
name upon the moft trivial occafions, but alſo fre-
quently ufe, as wafte paper, whole fheets in which
not only his facred name is frequently mentioned,
but every letter is a part of his Divine word.
Another reafon against making the Bible an early
book among learners, is the frequency of periods,
and peculiarity of ftyle, in which it differs widely
from most other books. It is not rare to find , many
perfons who, by laboriously conning over the chap-
ters, can ftumble their way pretty tolerably through
any part of it : yet put them to any other book, you
fhall find them lamentably hampered, and frequently
at abfolute ſtand.
But
But to return more particularly to my ſubject.-
As no abfolute rules can be laid down for Emphaſis
in general, we muſt be content with remarks upon
particular cafes ; fuch as that Oppofition, or Anti-
thefis, requires Emphafis upon each of the oppofed
words ; and that most monofyllables beginning a
question, muſt be ſtrongly marked ; as, why didhe fo ?
What can he mean ? How did the look ? In com-
pound words that are oppofed to others, the Empha-
fis, or rather Accent, properly falls on the dif-
tinguishing fyllables ; for inftance : the virtuous are
modeft the vicious im- modeft—the righteous are bleff-
ed- the un-righteous are miferable.-- Here I have
oppofed fimple to fimple, and compound to com-
pound ; were the words im-modeft and un -righteous
to be pronounced without oppofition, the accent
would fall upon the fecond fyllable inftead of the
first.
In Explanatory Emphafis the very fame words are
differently marked according to the writer's defign ;
as, What did my mafter fay? If I lay the ftrefs upon
what, it is a general interrogation ; if I place it
upon my, it implies that other mafters were con-
cerned ; if mafter is diftinguished, it notes that there
were other perfons ; and if the Emphatis lies boldeft
upon fay, it fhows I want to know his particular
words.
Both the cauſe and the effect in any fentence re-
quire Emphafis .- Example : To live WELL, is to
die HAPPY-only to be GooD, is to be GREAT.
CLIMAX is that progreffive force and exaltation of
expreffion , which more powerfully impreffes the fub-
ject on the mind ; and is not only of indifpenfible
ufe, but alfo highly ornamental. In the execution
of this there is much nicety,as the rife, in moft cafes,
fhould be gradual, always tuneable, and upon many
occafions very forcible. --- To illuftrate the matter, I
fhall offer feveral examples of different degrees of
Climax.Firft from Shakespeare's Brutus, which
fhould rife with a full, fmooth, philofophic weight
and dignity.
B 3 ----if
2
6 A HELP TO ELOCUTION.
if thefe,
As I am fure they do, bear fire enough
To kindle cowards, and to fteel with valour
The melting fp'rits of women ; then, countrymen ,
What need we any fpur but our own caufe
To prick us to redrefs ? What other bond,
Than fecret Romans who have ſpoke the word
And will not falter ? Or what other oath,
Than honefty to honefty engag'd,
That this ſhall be, or we will fall for it ?
The Climax of Reafoning, in thefe lines, is too

obvious to be infifted on ; therefore I fhall only ob-
ferve, that the glow of Expreffion, as I may call it,
fhould warm with the argument ; and then proceed
to give another example from Addifon, which calls
for dignity, foftened and impaffioned by the moſt
pathetic feeling of manly grief ; a feeling which
very few have imagination to conceive happily, and
as few powers to exprefs properly.
'Tis Rome demands our tears ;

The miftrefs of the world, the feat of empire !
"The nurſe of heroes ! the delight of Gods !
That humbled the proud tyrants of the earth,
And fet the nations free- -Rome is no more .
Oh liberty ! Oh virtue ! Oh my country !
*
* * *
* * 4:
*
* * * * *
Whate'er the Roman virtue had fubdued,
The fun's whole courfe, the day and year, are
Cæfar's :
For him the felf-devoted Decii died ;
The Fabii fell, and the great Scipios conquered ;
Even Pompey fought for Cæfar : Oh, my friends ,
How is the work of fate, the toil of ages,
The Roman empire, fall'n ! -Oh curft ambition !
Fallen into Cæfar's hands ! Our great forefathers
Had left him nought to conquer but his country.
The
A HELP TO ELOCUTION . 7
The following Paffage from Otway ſhould gra-

dually warm into Rapture.
Can there in woman be fuch glorious faith !
Sure all ill ftories of thy fex are falſe !
Oh woman ! lovely woman ! nature made thee
To temper man : we had been brutes without you:
Angels are painted fair to look like you :
There's in you all that we believe of heaven,
Amazing brightnefs, purity, and truth,
Eternal joy, and everlaſting love.
An Infance of Climax in vindictive Rage, we

have in thefollowing lines of Young.
Yet, e'er I fall, be it one part of vengeance,
To make even thee confefs that I am juft :
Thou feeft a prince whoſe father thou haft flain,
Whofe native country thou haft laid in blood,
Whofe facred perfon-Oh, thou haft profan'd !
Whofe reign extinguifh'd. What was left to me
So highly born? no kingdom, but revenge ;
No treaſure, but thy tortures and thy groans.
AClimax ofjealous Rage, Shakespeare gives us in

the following lines.
I had been happy if the general camp,
(Pioneers and all ) had taſted her sweet body,
So I had nothing known.- Oh now, for ever
Farewell the tranquil mind ! Farewell content !
Farewell the plumed troops, and the big war
That make ambition virtue ! Oh farewell!
Farewell the neighing ſteed, and the thrill trump ;
The fpirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife,
The royal banner ; and all quality,
Pride, pomp, and circumftance of glorious war !
And, oh, ye mortal engines, whofe rude throats
Th' immortal Jove's dread clamours counterfeit,
Farewell ! Othello's occupation's gone.
B 4 A Cli-
A Climax of more Rapidity, proceedingfrom afud

den Burst ofGrief, Shakespeare gives as follows.
Come fhew me what thou'lt do ;
Woo't weep ? Woo't faft ? Woo't fight ? Woo't
tear thyfelf?
Woo't drink up Eifel, eat a crocodile ?
I'll do't.- Doft thou come hither but to whine ?
To outface me with leaping in her grave?
Be buried quick with her, and fo will I ;
And if thou prat'ft of mountains, let them throw
Millions of acres on us, till our ground,
Singeing its pate against the burning zone,
Make Offa like a wart.
Any perfon who can do juftice to thefe, or fimilar

paffages, either by genius or inftruction , may claim
a fufficient knowledge of Climax ; which however,
as well as Emphafis, is farther explained under the
term MODULATION .
If we confider the human voice through the whole
extent of its feveral divifions, we ſhall eafily diſcover
that nothing can require more of the affiftance of
art to render it pleafing and expreffive.
The art of harmonious Expreffion is diftinguished
by the term modulation ; for the better comprehend-
ing of which let us borrow a divifion from Mutic ;
Counter Tenor, Tenor, and Bafe ; or Upper, Me-
dium, and Lower Notes. Every one of thefe, ſo
far as Reading and Declamation extend, may be
found or created, more or lefs perfectly, in every
voice, according to the organs of utterance, and the
proper ufe of thofe organs ; it then remains properly
to appropriate each of the divifions.
To all plaintive, amorous paffages, humble infi-
nuation, flattery, and frequently to exclamations of
joy and diſtraction, the Counter Tenor is moft pro-
perly applied, as will appear from the following paf-
fages, firit from Otway, in the plaintive ftrain."
Oh,
Oh, Belvidera ! doubly I'm a beggar ;
Undone by fortune, and in debt to thee ;
Want, worldly want, that hungry meagre fiend,
Is at my heels, and chafes me in view.
Canft thou bear cold and hunger ? Can theſe limbs
Fram'd for the tender offices of love,
Endure the bitter gripes of fmarting poverty ?
When banish'd by our miferies abroad,
(As fuddenly we ſhall be) to ſeek out
Infome far climate, where our names are ſtrangers ,
For charitable fuccour ;-wilt thou then,
When in a bed of ſtraw we ſhrink together,
And the bleak winds fhall whiſtle round our heads,
Wilt thou then talk thus to me ? Wilt thou then
Hush my cares thus, and fhelter me with love ?
Inftance ofthe amorous Style, from Lee.

-No more of this, no more ; for I difduin
All pomp when thou art by. Far be the noife
Of kings and courts from us, whofe gentle fouls
Our kinder ſtars have ſteer'd another way.
Free as the foreft-birds , we'll pair together,
Without rememb'ring who our fathers were ;
Fly to the arbours, grots, and flow'ry meads,
And in foft murmurs interchange our fouls ;
Together drink the chryftal of the ſtream ,
Or tafte the yellow fruit which Autumn yields ;
And, when the golden ev'ning calls us home,
Wing to our downy neft, and fleep till morn.
Humility and Infinuation are thus happilyſet forth

by Shakespeare.
Thus, Brutus, did my mafter bid me kneel ;
Thus did Mark Antony bid me fall down ,
And, being proftrate, thus he bid me fay:
Brutus is noble, valiant, wife , and honefl ;
Cæfar was mighty, royal, bold, and loving :
Say I love Brutus , and I honour him ;
Say I fear'd Cæfar, honour'd him and lov'd him.
B5 If
If Brutus will vouchfafe that Antony
May fafely come to him, and be refolv'd
How Cæfar hath deferv'd to lie in death,
Mark Antony fhall not love Cæfar dead
So well as Brutus living ; but will follow
The fortunes and affairs of noble Brutus,
Thorough the hazards of this untrod ſtate,
With all true faith.
Diffimulation, which requires the fame tone ofEx-

preffion, wefind in thefe lines of Young.
It hurts not not me, my lord, but as I love you ;
Warmly as you, I wiſh Don Carlos well.
But I am likewife Don Alonzo's friend :
There all the difference lies between us two.
In me, my lord, you hear another ſelf,
And, give me leave to add, a better too;
Clear'd from thofe errors, which , tho' born of virtue,
Are fuch as may hereafter give you pain.-
Inftances of Exclamation in Joy and Rage are thus

fet forth by Shakeſpeare.
-Oh my foul's joy !
If after every tempeft come fuch calms,
May the winds blow till they have waken'd death ; :
And let the lab'ring bark climb hills of feas
Olympus high, and duck again as low
As hell's from heav'n.
-whip me, ye devils,
From the poffeffion of this heav'nly fight ;
Blow me about in winds, roaft me in fulphur,
Waſh me in ſteep-down gulfs of liquid fire
The preceding examples may fuffice for the upper

tones ofvoice ; which, however, fhould never be fuf-
fered to run into feigned fqueaking, or unnatural
foftnefs.
The middle notes, or tenor of expreffion , fuit all
common narrations, differtations, and thofe parts of
Declamation
A HELP TO ELOCUTION. II
Declamation which do not touch upon the paffions.

I prefume it would be deemed fuperfluous to give
various examples of what every book, which prefents
itſelf for peruſal, calls for in general ; therefore I
fhall only tranſcribe one ſhort paffage from Milton for
the medium notes.
-Know, that in the foul

Are many leffer faculties, that ferve
Reafon as chief : among theſe fancy next
Her office holds : of all external things
Which the five watchful fenfes repreſent,
She forms imagination's airy fhapes,
Which reafon joining or disjoining, frames
All what we affirm , or what deny, and call
Our knowledge or opinion ; then retires .
Into her private cell, where nature reſts.
Oft in her abfence mimic fancy wakes
To imitate her ; but misjoining fhapes
Wild work produces oft, and moſt in dreams ,
Ill matching words and deeds, long paſt or late.
That degree of Expreffion I term bafe , is particu

'
larly well applied to gloomy meditation, paffages of
horror, the invocation of fiends, cynical roughness,
and vindictive rage.Inftance of gloomy reflection ,
from Young.
Whether first nature, or long want of peace,

Has wrought my mind to this, I cannot tell
But,horrors now are not difpleafing to me :
I like this rocking of the battlements :
Rage on ye winds, burft clouds, and waters roar !!
Ye bear a juft refemblance of my fortune,
And fuit the gloomy habit of my foul.
An Example of Horror we have in thefe lines of

Rowe.
An univerfal horror
Struck thro' my eyes, and chill'd my very heart
The
12 A HELP TO ELOCUTION .
The cheerful day was every where fhut out

With care, and left a more than midnight darkneſs,
Such as might ev'n be felt : a few dim lamps,
That feebly lifted up their fickly heads,
Look'd faintly thro' the fhade, and made it ſeem
More difmal by fuch light ; while thoſe who waited
In folemn forrow, mix'd with wild amazement,
Obferv'd a dreadful filence.
Invocation offealousy, from Mallet.

--- Thou jealoufy !
Almighty tyrant of the human mind,
Who canft at will unfettle the calm brain,
O'erturn the fcaled heart, and ſhake the man
Thro' all his frame, with tempeft and diſtraction,
Rife to my prefent aid : call up thy powers,
Thy furious fears, thy blaft of dreadful paffion ;
Thy whips, fnakes, mortal ftings, thy hoft of hor-
rors :
Roufe thy whole war against him, and complete
My purpos'd vengeance.
Invocation ofFiends, from Young.

Ye pow'rs of darkneſs who rejoice in ill,
All worn by Styx, with peftilential blafts
To wither every virtue in the bud ;
To keep the door of dark confpiracy,
And fnuff the grateful fumes of human blood ;
From fulphur blue, or your red beds of fire,
On your black ebon thrones aufpicious rife !
And burſting thro' the barriers of this world,
Stand in dead contrast to the golden fun ;
Fright daylight hence with your infernal fmiles,
And howl aloud your formidable joy !
The following paffage ofenraged Difcontent, from

Rowe, claims the under Notes of Expreffion.
Come, lead me to my dungeon ; plunge medown

Deep from the hated fight of man and day ;
Where,
Where, under covert of the friendly darkneſs,
My foul may brood at leiſure o'er her forrows.
*
* * * * * * *
I tell thee, flave, I have ſhook hands with hope,
And all my thoughts are rage, deſpair, and horror.
Thefe lines of the fame Author prefent us with

cynical Roughness and Contempt.
Yes, thou haft thy fex's virtues ;
Their affectation, pride, ill -nature, noife,
Proneness to change even from the joy that pleaſed
them ;
So gracious is your idol, dear variety,
That for another love, you would forego
An angel's form , to mingle with a devil's.
Having thus given examples for each of the three

divifions of voice, it becomes neceffary to remark that
the variations in each are many ; and that the appro-
priations I have made are only meant in general. There
are certainly feveral exceptions ; but thefe muft be
left to the inftructor's or ftudent's difcernment, as en-
tering into every particular would be, if not im-
practicable, at leaſt intolerably tedious.
PAUSES next prefent themſelves to confideration,
and chiefly occurin meditation, doubt, or confufion :
No exact time can be fixed for them, but they ought
to be made longer or fhorter according to the impor-
tance of the fubject ; and in moſt, eſpecially paffages
of reflection, the voice fhould have a tone of conti-
nuance, which conftitutes the difference between a
Paufe and Break ; the former is a gradual ſtop, the
latter a fudden check of Expreffion.
Paufes of the first fort occur in the following lines
of Shakespeare ; and, as the fubject is of great weight,
fhould be of confiderable duration, perhaps while one
could number fix, or a period and a half to each .
It must be by his death : and for my part

I know no perfonal caufe to ſpurn at him,
But
But for the general. He would be crown'd-

How that might change his nature- -there's the
queftion-
It is the bright day that brings forth the adder ;
And that craves wary walking : crown him-that---
And then I grant we put a fting in him,
Which at his will he may do danger with.
1
Or thefe lines, from thefame Author.
• To be or notto be-that is the queſtion :
Whether ' tis nobler in the mind to fuffer
The flings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms againſt a ſea of troubles,
And by oppofing end them.-To die to fleep-
No more ;-and by that fleep to ſay we end
The heart-ache, and the thouſand natural fhocks
That flesh is heir to-'tis a confummation
Devoutly to be wifh'd. - To die- to fleep-
To fleep !-perchance to dream :-Aye, there's the
rub :
For in that fleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have fhuffled off this mortal coil,
Muft give us pauſe.
Paufes of confufion are ſhorter than thofe of reflec-

tion, and are to be filled up with hefitative panting
draughts of breath, while every fucceeding word or
fentence varies in tone of expreffion from the former ;
Inftances from Shakeſpeare, as follow.
Nay, good lieutenant- alas, gentlemen-

Help, ho ! lieutenant ! -Sir-Montano-
Help, Mafters ! --here's a goodly watch indeed ! -
Who's that? - Who ringsthatbell ? -- Diablo ?-No ;.
The town will rife
* * * * * *
Yes ; ' tis Emilia- by and by-fhe's dead.
'Tis like fhe comes to ſpeak of Caffio's death.
The noife was high. -Ha ! no more moving ?-
Still
Still as the grave-ſhall ſhe come in ?-wert good ?
I think the ſtirs again-no-what's the beſt ?—
Every difcerning Reader will readily perceive that

the latter example is of a ſtronger but flower confufion
than the former.
BREAKS, as I have before hinted, are only Paufes
of a different nature, more abrupt and ſudden, as
when a paffage cuts fhort before the meaning is fully
explained: thefe most frequently occur in-violent
grief and impetuous rage, and the tone of voice alters.
as the paffion rifes or falls. One general rule in the
expreffion of grief is, that, when gradual, the tones.
fhould fwell pathetically ; but, when fudden, they
fhould burſt forth and break the voice, ftill avoiding
any diffonant fcream or croak. - In thefe lines of
Shakeſpeare we find Paufes of grieffwelling flowly, and
working upon themſelves..
I pr'ythee, daughter, do not make me mad !-

I will not trouble thee, my child- farewell.—
We'll meet no more- no more fee one another ; →
Let fhame come when it will, I do not call it ; -
I do not bid the thunder-bearer ſtrike ,
Nor tell tales of thee to avenging Heav'n :
Mend when thou canft--be better at thy leifure ; -
I can be patient- I can ſtay with Regan.-
Examples of Breaks in impetuous Rage, as follow.

Darkneſs and devils ! --
Saddle my horfes-call my train together ;-
Degenerate viper- I'll not stay with thee!
I yet have left a daughter - Serpent ! monſter !
Leffen my train, and call ' em riotous !
All men approv'd- of choice and rareſt parts,
That each particular of duty know.-
Doft thou underſtand me, man ?
The king would ſpeak with. Cornwall ; -the dear
father
Would
Would with his daughter ſpeak : -Commands her

fervice.
Are theyinform'd of this ?-My breath and blood----
Fiery-the fiery duke ! -tell the hot duke that—
No-but not yet, may be he is not well.-
Having thus particularly and diftinctly explained
the Paufe and application of the three grand divifions
of the voice, in order to bring what has been faid into
a narrow compafs, and to place it in one point of
view, I fhall produce for an example the Seven
Ages of Shakespeare, and mark the lines according to
the variations ; which, agreeably to the foregoing
obfervations, ought to be made in fpeaking or in
reading this paffage. The Counter Tenor, or upper
notes, I diftinguish by Italics ; the Tenor, or me-
dium , retain the common type, and the Bafe is
marked by CAPITALS .
All the world's a ſtage,
And all the men and women merely players ;
They have their exits and their entrances ,
And each man in his time plays many parts ;
His acts being feven ages.-Firſt the infant,
Meling andperking in the nurse's arms :
And then the whining ſchool- boy, with hisfatchel
AndShining morning fece, creeping, like afnatl,
Unwillingly to fchool :-And then the lover,
Sighing, like furnace, with a woful ballad
Made to his miftrefs' eye-brow :-Then a foldier,
Full of ſtrange oaths, and bearded like a pard ;
Jealous in honour- fudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Ev'n inthe cannon's mouth : And then the JUSTICE ,
IN FAIR ROUND BELLY WITH GOOD CAPON
LIN'D,
WITH EYES SEVERE, AND BEARD OF FORMAL
CUT,
FULL OF WISE SAWS AND MODERN INSTANCES ;
And fo he plays his part : The fixth age fhifts
Into the ican andflipper'd pantaloon ;
With Spectacles on nofe, andpouch onfide ;,
Hisyouthful hofe, wellfav'd, a world too wide
For
B
For his fhrunkfhank ; and his big manly voice

Turning again towards childifh treble, pipes
And whiftles in the found. - Laft fcene of all,
Which ends this ſtrange eventful hiftory,
Is fecond childifhnefs and mere oblivion ;
Sans teeth, fans eyes, fans taite, fans every thing.
Every Emphafis and variation of voice fhould be

founded on reafon ; it may be proper therefore to
fhow why the feveral parts of the preceding lines are
thus diftinguiſhed. In the first age of infancy the
upper notes are moſt deſcriptive of that tender time,
as they are alfo of the whimpering ſchool-boy, and
their foftnefs likewife fuits the fighing of the lover.
The forward confidence of the foldier demands a full-
fpirited Medium ; and the corpulent importance gene-
rally imputed to magiftracy is well pictured by the
jolly fwell of the Bafe notes, while the feebleness of
faft declining age calls for the Counter Tenor, tre-
mulated as it were with weakneſs . "
Thus much for general explanation, which I have
delivered in as full and clear a manner as the nature
of my defign will poffibly admit ; and having fet
forth fuch examples as, explained by teachers, or
carefully inveftigated by ftudents, may give a full
idea of what is intended, I fhall proceed to fome
brief remarks upon Utterance and Action , in which ,
though it is not probable that many will excel, yet
most may be improved.
First then, ifa voice is naturally harsh, great care
ſhould be taken to avoid guttural expreffion ; nor
fhould the tongue be allowed to play too much be-
tween the teeth ; the breath, drawn as it were from
the ftomach, and vibrated upon within the mouth,
will ſoften harfli notes, and render them much more
tuneable ; on the contrary , a weak fhrill voice ſhould
borrow folidity and force from the throat ; as too
great an expanfion of the lips is difgraceful to the
features, fo an unnatural contraction of them will
render expreffion unmeaning and imperfect.
Stops
Stops and Cadences are a moft effential point of

confideration , and cannot be better fet forth than in
the following remarks of a French author : " It is
" neceflary for us," fays he, " to reſpire from time to
" time, but the voice does not repofe equally at the
" conclufion of every fenfe ; in a fentence of con-
" fiderable length we refpire at every comma ; buť
" this fhort paufe is made in fuch a manner as to
"66 fhow, by the tone of continuance, that we are to
go farther, the ear remaining unfatisfied, becauſe
" the pronunciation continues fufpended till the
" fentence is completely finished ; as for example :
" Atfuch a time, the king having taken these matters
" into confideration, determined, here attention is inqui-
" fitive to know what follows ; the colon and femico-
" lon are marks of more confiderable refpiration, yet
" ftill leave judgment in fufpenfe till the period un-
" folds the whole, and calls for a concluding Cadence.
" " In every part or parts of a ſentence there is ele-
" vation and depreffion of the voice, which never
"C
abfolutely repofes but at the conclufion of a pe-
" riod, all other reſpiration being of continuance."
There is undoubtedly much judgment in the com-
pofition of harmonious and comprehenfive periods ;
a diffonant unconnected ftyle will take greatly from
the beauty and force of expreffion, as a difcordant
piece of mufic muft difgrace the performance of the
ableft mafter, and injure the utterance of the moſt
perfect inftruments .
Frequent ufe ftrengthens and meliorates the organs
of expreffion, and practice will teach a moſt effential
point, that of pitching the voice to any place or num-
ber of perfons. There is confiderable nicety in
knowing the different effect which the fame notes of
voice may have in places of equal dimenfions, but
of different conftruction, of a place containing but
few auditors, or thronged with a large number ; and
this point of excellence must be attained by much
practice and obfervation . Only thus much may be
obferved in general of the operations of found ; that
where it undulates confiderably, the louder a Reader
or
or Declaimer goes beyond the juft pitch, the more
indiftinct he will be, of which we find very frequent
inftances in cathedral churches : A full audience in
any place will require at leaſt twice the force of ex-
preffion ofa thin one ; which, exclufive of fome buzz
that muft unavoidably attend a numerous affembly,
may be philofophically accounted for by an effential
denfity of air, from the conjunct refpiration of ſo
many people .
The voice being pitched, and modulated through
the feveral variations which may be found neceffary,
it remains to confider, to comprehend, and to feel
the fubject ; without which, expreffion must be lan-
guid, unaffecting, and wearifome. What we read
or fpeak unfelt, must be like painting without light
or fhade ; there may be juft fymmetry of parts and
good colouring ; but unless they are raiſed and brought
forward, both pall on the view, and die upon the
canvafs.
Spirit and feeling are neceffary to idea as well as
to fight ; for which reafon teachers fhould not only
make their pupils underſtand every word they read,
but their general fenfe in a ſtate of connection : a
point of care feldom attended to.
Emphatic expreffion, feeling, and tafte, are par-
ticularly effential to poetry, as that, in general, ap-
peals oftner to the paffions than any other fpecies of
writing. Cadences alfo are more critical in numbers
than in profe ; in both they ſhould be fmooth, gra-
dual, and die away almoft infenfibly, yet fo as to
preferve and to imprefs the laſt fyllable both upon the
ear and mind, without fnapping fhort the breath or
found, which is extremely grating to a judicious
hearer.
How miferably is verfe of every kind mangled ! A
fort of unmeaning pedantic recitative, tedious from
a repetition of mifplaced unharmonious tones, is
fubftituted for dignity ; thus we find many, who
make a tolerable fhift with proſe, the moment they
fee any number of meaſured fyllables, throw afide
nature, reaſon, nay even common fenfe, to diſplay
their
their knowledge of verfification, and what they think

its peculiar importance. What can be more ab-
furd ? Genuine poetry needs no pompous affectation
to dignify it ; for as by tranfpofing the words you
cannot reduce it to profe, neither can you take from
its harmony by plain, natural expreffion .
I know not any thing which has done our lan-
guage, and the reading of it, more injury than the
gingle of rhime, efpecially that which is thrown into
heroic meaſure ; it being certain that the more cor-
rect an author in that way is, the more he will lead
to monotony. Inftance Mr. Pope, who has been
fo critically exact in accenting particular fyllables,
that very few of his pieces can be read with any
tolerable variation of voice ; for which reafon I would
have learners kept from rhime in heroic meafure till
they are well grounded in a juft mode of utterance.
Indeed we are not to wonder that the generality
chant verfe in fo lamentable a manner, when fome
of thofe who have fketched rules for reading infift
upon fuch a fervile obedience to the author, as not
only to change the accented fyllable, but even to
favour his bad rhime with falfe pronunciation : for
example, to found the laſt fyllable of liberty as an
exact rhime either toflee orfly.To prefcribe a ftop
or half paufe at the end of a line, whether the fenfe
require it or not, is another rule that has been given ,
equally erroneous and diſguſtful.
In Reading, properly fo called, Action has no
concern, but Declamation is very defective without it;
yet, except upon the ftage, and among many there
miferably methodized, we fcarce find any.- -When
I recommend Action, I would not be fuppoſed to
intend that a ſpeaker ſhould be in continual motion ;
or that, puppet-like, he is tolift up firft one hand
and then another, merely to lay them down again.-
No- I would have motions few, eafy, graceful ;
and, for my own part, I know not how a Declaimer
can poffibly feel and ſtand ſtock-ſtill : but, admit the
poffibility of this, I will venture to ſay there is but
little probability that his audience will think him in
earnest.
earneft. I know that fome delicate perfons are afraid
of becoming too theatrical ; but there is a very wide
difference between the action of an orator and a
player, unleſs when the latter judiciouſly reprefents
the former ; but I fhall no further urge the neceffity
of a point fo obvious, let us proceed to the thing
itfelf.
First then, Action fhould be entirely referved for
thofe paffages which contain fomewhat interefting or
important, as Demonftration, or the enforcing of a
charge. This ſhould be attended with the right
arm ftretched forward to the full extent, the fingers
even, and the palm of the hand downwards ; or fome-
times the hand turned fideways, the fore-finger only
pointing if the circumftance demonftrated, or given
in charge, be very momentous, the well-known
and admired action of St. Paul preaching at Athens,
ftretching forth both arms, has much force and pro-
priety.
Where Grief is to be expreffed, the right hand
laid flowly to the left breaft, the head and cheft bend-
ing forward, is a juft indication of it. To exprefs
Confidence and Refolution, the fame hand must
move to the fame place, but with quicknefs and
vigour, recoiling as it were from the heart, which
thereby feems to meet it; with this action the head
thould be thrown back and the cheft forward. The
expreffion of Ardent Affection, is to clofe both hands
warmly at half arm's length, the fingers interming-
ling, and to bring them to the breaft with fpirit.
If Expanfion of Mind, or any thing fimilar, is to be
pointed out, then both arms fhould be caft different
ways in a parallel line, and the cheft thrown open.
There are fome few other inftances of Action which
may be graceful , and ferve for variation , though not
abfolutely neccffary ; but thefe must be left to the
choice and difcretion of the Declaimer, and to the
unconstrained operation of judicious feeling : Only
thus much it may be neceffary to obferve, that the
left hand fhould feldom or never be uſed by itſelf ;
and that all action ſhould move between the tip of
the
the fhoulder and the feat of the heart ; all above is
what Shakeſpeare juftly ftyles fawing the air; all below,
both unmeaning and ungraceful. Upon the whole,
every motion fhould be the natural attendant of what is
fpoken ; if an extreme cannot be avoided, I would
rather recommend no action than too much, or than
fuch as must offend judicious eyes . -Attitudes , or
pofitions ofthe body, being chiefly adapted to thea-
trical performance, which lies without the compafs
of my work, I fhall fay no more of them than that
they are pleafingly picturefque and ftriking when
well executed.
From theſe confiderations it refts upon me to re-
commend and request, that every Reader will digeſt
as well as perufe ; and that Inftructors will make
themſelves fo much mafters of the variations relative
to voice and gefture, fo as to explain and illuſtrate
the principles by their immediate example. Expe-
rience has verified the good effects this fhort Effay
may have, if coolly and carefully attended to ; and
this trial I hope it has a right to expect.
Thus I have touched upon all the points purpoſed
in my original defign, and could have faid much
more upon every one of them ; but flattering myſelf
I have been fufficiently explicit and extenfive for
the character of an affiftant, I reft the whole upon
candor and public opinion ; highly pleafed if my
endeavours to be uſeful fhould fucceed ; and eaſy,
as not being the first, if I have failed in the attempt.
AN
AN
ESSAY
ON THE
MARKS OR CHARACTERS
OF THE DIFFERENT
PASSIONS AND AFFECTIONS
OF THE
M I N D.
WITH EXAMPLES.
S the foregoing ESSAY on READING and DE-

A CLAMATION may be deemed imperfect in the
article of GESTURE , it has been thought proper, for
the fake of thoſe who may with the Author to have
been more copious on this head, to add the following
obfervations concerning the diftinguiſhing character
of the various humours and affections , or the effects
that each reſpectively produce in the human frame.
Every part of the human frame contributes to ex-
prefs the paffions and emotions of the mind, and to
fhew, in general, its prefent ftate. The head is
fometimes erected, fometimes hung down, fometimes
drawn fuddenly back with an air of difdain, fome-
times fhews by a nod a particular perfon or object ;
gives affent or denial by different motions ; threatens
by one fort of movement, approves by another, and
expreffes fufpicion by a third.
The arms are fometimes both thrown out, fome-
times the right alone. Sometimes they are lifted up
as high as the face, to exprefs wonder ; fometimes
held
held out before the breaft, to fhew fear ; fpread forth

with the hands open, to exprefs defire or affection ;
the hands clapped in furprife, and in fudden joy
and grief; the right hand clinched, and the arms
brandifhed, to threaten ; the two arms ſet a-kimbo,
to look big, and exprefs contempt or courage. With
the hands, as Quintilian fays, we folicit, we refuſe,
we promife, we threaten, we difmifs, we invite, we
intreat, we exprefs averfion, fear, doubting, denial,
afking, affirmation, negation, joy, grief, confefficn,
penitence. With the hands we defcribe, and point
out all circumftances of time, place, and manner of
what we relate ; we excite the paffions of others and
footh them; we approve and difapprove, permit or
prohibit, admire or defpife. The hands ferve us in-
ftead of many forts of words ; and where the lan-
guage of the tongue is unknown , that of the hands
is understood, being univerfal, and common to all
nations.
The legs advance, or retreat, to exprefs defire or
averfion, love or hatred, courage or fear, and pro-
duce exultation, or leaping in fudden joy ; and the
ftamping of the foot expreffes earneftnefs , anger, and
threatening.
Efpecially, the face, being furniſhed with a variety
of mufcles, does more in expreffing the paffions of
the mind than the whole human frame befides. The
change of colour (in white people) fhews, by turns,
anger by rednefs, and fometimes by palenefs ; fear
likewife by palenefs, and fhame by blufhing. Every
feature contributes its part. The mouth open,
fhews one state of the mind, fhut, another ; the
gnashing ofthe teeth, another. The forehead Imooth,
and eyebrows arched and eafy, fhew tranquillity or
joy. Mirth opens the mouth toward the ears, crifps
the nofe, half-fhuts the eyes, and fometimes fills
them with tears. The front wrinkled into frowns,
and the eyebrows over-hanging the eyes, like clouds
fraught with tempeft, fhew a mind agitated with fury.
Above all, the eye fhews the very ſpirit in a vifible.
form. In every different ſtate of the mind it affumes
a different
Å HELP TO ELOCUTION. 25
a different appearance. Joy brightens and opens it ;
grief half-clofes and drowns it in tears. Love darts
from it in glances like the orient beam. Hatred and
anger flash from it like lightning. Jealoufy and
fquinting envy dart their contagious blafts at the
eye ; and devotion raifes it to the fkies, as if the
foul of the holy man were going to take its flight to
heaven.
The Ancients uſed fome Geftures which are un-
known to us ; as, to exprefs grief and other violent
emotions of the mind, they uſed to ſtrike their knees
with the palms of their hands.
The force of attitude and looks alone appears in a
wonderouſly ſtriking manner in the works of the
painter and ftatuary, who have the delicate art of
making the flat canvafs and rocky marble utter every
paffion of the human mind, and touch the foul of
the fpectator, as if the picture, or ſtatue, ſpoke the
pathetic language of Shakespeare. It is no wonder
then that masterly action, joined with powerful elo-
cution, fhould be irrefiftible : and the variety of
expreffion by looks and gestures is fo great, that, as is
well known, a whole play can be repreſented without
a word ſpoken.
The following are, I believe, the principal paffions,

humours, fentiments, and intentions, which are to
be expreffed by fpeech and action ; and I hope it
will be allowed by the Reader that it is nearly in
the following manner that nature expreffes them .
TRANQUILLITY, or APATHY, appears by the
compofure of the countenance, and general repoſe
of the body and limbs, without the exertion of any
one muſcle. The countenance open, the forehead
fmooth, the eyebrows arched, the mouth just not
fhut, and the eyes paffing with an eaſy motion from
object to object, but not dwelling long upon any one.
CHEERFULNESS adds a fmile, opening the mouth
a little more.
MIRTH, OF LAUGHTER , opens the mouth ftill
more toward the cars, crisps the nofe, leffens the
с aperture
aperture of the eyes, and fometimes fills them with

tears , ſhakes and convulfes the whole frame, giving
confiderable pain, which occafions holding the fides.
RAILLERY, in fport, without real animofity,
puts on the afpect of cheerfulness ; the tone of voice
is fprightly. With contempt or difguft it cafts a
look afquint, from time to time, at the object, and
quits the cheerful afpect for one mixed between an
affected grin and fournefs ; the upper lip is drawn
up with an air of diſdain ; the arms are fet a-kimbo
on the hips, and the right hand now and then
thrown out toward the object, as if one were going
to ſtrike another a flight back-hand blow ; the pitch
of the voice rather loud, the tone arch and fneering ;
the fentences fhort ; the expreffions fatirical, with
mock-praiſe intermixed .
BUFFOONERY affumes an arch, fly, leering gra-
vity; must not quit its ferious afpect, though all
fhould be laughing round it. This command of
face is fomewhat difficult, though not ſo hard as to
reſtrain the contrary fympathy, that of weeping with
thoſe who weep .
Joy, when fudden and violent, expreffes itfelf by
clapping of hands, and exultation, or leaping. The
eyes are opened wide, perhaps filled with tears, often
raiſed to heaven, eſpecially by devout perfons. The
countenance is fmiling, not compofedly, but with
features aggravated . The voice riſes, from time to
time, to very high notes.
DELIGHT, OF PLEASURE , as when one is enter-
tained or raviſhed with mufic, painting, oratory, or
any fuch elegancy, fhews itfelf by the looks, geftures ,
and utterance of joy ; but moderated. (See Joy).
GRAVITY, or SERIOUSNESS, the mind fixed
upon fome important fubject, draws down the eye-
brows a little ; cafts down, or fhuts, or raiſes the eyes
to heaven ; fhuts the mouth, and pinches the lips
clofe. The poſture of the body and limbs is com-
pofed, and without much motion. The fpeech, if
any, flow and folemn, the tone unvarying.
INQUIRY into an obfcure fubject fixes the body
in
in one poſture, the head stooping and the eye poring,

the eyebrows drawn down.
ATTENTION to an eſteemed or fuperior character
has the fame afpect, and requires filence ; the eyes
often caſt down upon the ground, fometimes fixed
on the face of the ſpeaker, but not too pertly.
MODESTY, or SUBMISSION, bends the body for-
ward; levels the eyes to the breaft, if not to the
feet, ofthe fuperior character. The voice low, the
tone fubmiffive, and words few.
PERPLEXITY, OF ANXIETY, which is always at-
tended with fome degree of fear and uneafinefs, draws
all the parts of the body together ; gathers up the
arms upon the breaft, unleſs one hand covers the
eyes, orrubs the forehead ; draws down the eyebrows ;
hangs the head upon the breaſt ; cafts down the eyes,
fhuts and pinches the eyelids clofe ; fhuts the mouth,
and pinches the lips clofe, or bites them. Suddenly
the whole body is vehemently agitated ; the perfon
walks about bufily, ſtops abruptly; he talks to him-
felf, or makes grimaces ; if he fpeaks to another,
his paufes are very long, the toneofhis voice unvarying,
and his fentences broken, expreffing half, and keep-
ing in half of what arifes in his mind.
VEXATION , Occafioned by fome real or imaginary
misfortune, agitates the whole frame ; and befides
expreffing itſelf with the looks, geftures, reftleffneſs
and tone of perplexity, it adds complaint, fretting,
and lamenting.
PITY, a mixed paffion of love and grief, looks
down upon diſtreſs with lifted hands, eyebrows drawn
down, mouth open, and features drawn together.
Its expreffion , as to looks and gefture, is the fame
with thoſe of Suffering, ( fee SUFFERING ) but more
moderate, as the painful feelings are only fympa-
thetic, and therefore one remove, as it were, more
diſtant from the foul, than what one feels in his own
perfon.
GRIEF, fudden and violent, expreffes itſelf by
beating the head, grovelling on the ground, tearing
of garments, hair, and flesh , fcreaming aloud, weep-
ing,
ing, ſtamping with the feet, lifting the eyes, from

time to time, to heaven ; hurrying to and fro, run-
` ning ciftracted, or fainting away, fometimes without
recovery. Sometimes violent grief produces a torpid
fullen filence, refembling total apathy.
MELANCHOLY, or fixed grief, is gloomy, fedentary,
motionlefs. The lower jaw falls, the lips pale, the
eyes are caft down half fhut, eyelids fwelled and red,
or livid, tears trickling filent, and unwiped ; with a
total inattention to every thing that pafles. Words,
if any, few, and thofe dragged out rather than ſpoken ;
the accents weak and interrupted, fighs breaking into
the middle of fentences and words.
DESPAIR , as in a condemned criminal, or one
who has loft all hope of falvation, bends the eyebrows
downward, clouds the forehead, rolls the eyes around
frightfully, opens the mouth toward the ears, bites
the lips, widens the noftrils, gnaſhes with the teeth
like a fierce wild beaft. The heart is too much
hardened to fuffer tears to flow ; yet the eyeballs will
be red and inflamed like thofe of an animal in a
rabid ſtate. The head is hung down upon the breaſt ;
the arms are bended at the elbows ; the fifts clinched
hard ; the veins and muſcles fwelled ; the ſkin livid ;
and the whole body ftrained and violently agitated ;
groans, expreffive of inward torture, more frequently
uttered than words ; if any words, they are few,
and expreffed with a fullen, eager bitterness, the
tone of voice often loud and furious : as it often
drives people to diftraction and ſelf- murder, it can
hardly be over-acted by one who would reprefent it.
FEAR , violent and fudden, opens very wide the
eyes and mouth ; fhortens the nofe ; draws down the
eyebrows ; gives the countenance an air of wildneſs ;
covers it with deadly palenefs ; draws back the elbows
parallel with the fides : lifts up the open hands, the
fingers together, to the height of the breaft, fo
that the palms face the dreaded object, as ſhields
oppofed against it. One foot is drawn back behind
the other, fo that the body feems fhrinking from
the danger, and putting itſelf in a poſture for flight.
The
The heart beats violently, the breath is fetched
quick and ſhort ; the whole body is thrown into a
general tremor. The voice is weak and trembling ;
the ſentences are ſhort, and the meaning confufed
and incoherent. Imminent danger, real or fancied,
produces in timorous perfons, as women and chil-
dren, violent fhrieks, without any articulate found
of words ; and fometimes irrecoverably confounds
the understanding, produces fainting, which is fome-
times followed by death.
SHAME, or a fenſe of one's appearing to a difad-
vantage before one's fellow-creatures, turns away the
face from the beholders ; covers it with bluſhes ;
hangs the head ; cafts down the eyes ; draws down
the eyebrows ; either ftrikes the perfon dumb, or,
if he attempts to fay any thing in his own defence,
cauſes his tongue to faulter, and confounds his utter-
ance, and puts him upon making a thoufand geftures
and grimaces to keep himſelf in countenance ; all
which only heighten the confufion of his appear-
ance.
REMORSE, or a painful fenfe of guilt, cafts down
the countenance, and clouds it with anxiety ; hangs
down the head, draws the eyebrows down upon the
eyes. The right hand beats the breaft ; the teeth
gnafh with anguifh ; the whole body is ftrained and
violently agitated. If this ftrong remorfe is fucceed-
ed by the more gracious difpofition of penitence or
contrition, then the eyes are raifed (but with great
appearance of doubting and fear) to the throne of
mercy, and immediately caft down again to the
earth ; then floods of tears are feen to flow ; the
knees are bended, or the body proftrated on the
ground ; the arms are fpread in a fuppliant pofture,
and the voice of deprecation is uttered with fighs,
groans, timidity, heſitation, and trembling.
COURAGE, fteady and cool, opens the counte
nance, gives the whole form an erect and graceful
air; the accents are ſtrong, full-mouthed, and arti-
culate ; the voice firm and even.
C 3 BOAST-
BOASTING, or affected courage, is loud, blufter-

ing, threatening ; the eyes ftare, the eyebrows drawn
down, the face is red and bloated, the mouth pouts
out, the voice hollow and thundering, the arms are
fet a-kimbo, the head often nodding in a menacing
manner, and the right fift, clinched, is brandifhed,
from time to time, at the perſon threatened ; the
right foot is often stamped upon the ground, and the
legs take fuch large ftrides, and the fteps are fo
heavy, that the earth feems to tremble under them .
PRIDE affumes a lofty look, bordering upon the
afpect and attitude of Anger. The eyes open, but
with the eyebrows confiderably drawn down, the
mouth pouting out, or fhut, and the lips pinched
clofe. The words walk out a-ftrat, with a flow,
tiff, bombaftic affectation of importance ; the arms
generally a-kimbo, and the legs at a distance from
one another, taking large tragedy ftrides.
OBSTINACY adds to the afpect of Pride a dogged
fournefs, like that of Malice. ( See MALICE . )
AUTHORITY opens the countenance, but draws
down the eyebrows a little, fo far as to give the
look of Gravity. (See GRAVITY. )
COMMANDING requires an air a little more pe-
remptory, with a look a little fevere or ftern. The
hand is held out, and moved toward the perfon to
whom the order is given, with the palm upwards,
and the head nods toward him.
FORBIDDING , on the contrary, draws the head
backward, and pushes the hand from one with the
palm downwards, as if going to lay it upon the per-
ion to hold him down immoveable, that he may not
do what is forbidden him.
AFFIRMING, especially with an oath, is expreffed
by lifting the open right hand, and eyes toward
heaven; or, if confcience is appealed to, by laying
the right hand upon the breaſt.
DENYING is expreffed by pushing the open right
hand from one, and turning the face the contrary
way. (See AVERSION . )
DIFFER
1
DIFFERING in fentiment may be expreffed as Re-
fufing. (See REFUSING.)
AGREEING in opinion, or conviction, as Grant-
ing. (See GRANTING . )
EXHORTING, as by a general at the head of his
army, requires a kind, complacent look, unleſs mat-
ter of offence has paffed, as neglect of duty, or the
like .
JUDGING demands a grave, ſteady look, with deep
attention ; the countenance altogether clear from any
appearance of either difguft or favour ; the accents
flow, diftinct, emphatical, accompanied with little
action, and that very grave.
REPROVING puts on a ſtern aſpect, roughens the
voice, and is accompanied with geftures not much
different from thoſe of threatening, but not fo lively.
ACQUITTING is performed with a benevolent,
tranquil countenance and tone of voice ; the right
hand, if not both, open, waved gently toward the
perfon acquitted, expreffing difmiffion . ( See D1S-
missING.)
CONDEMNING affumes a fevere look, but mixed
with pity. The fentence is to be expreffed as with
reluctance.
TEACHING, EXPLAINING , INCULCATING, or
giving orders to an inferior, requires an air of fupe-
riority to be affumed. The features are to be com-
poſed to an authoritative gravity ; the eye fteady and
open, the eyebrow a little drawn down over it, but
not fo much as to look furly or dogmatical ; the tone
of voice varying according as the Emphafis requires,
of which a good deal is neceffary in expreffing matter
of this fort ; the pitch of the voice to be ſtrong and
clear, the articulation diſtinct, the utterance flow,
and the manner peremptory. This is the proper
manner of pronouncing the commandments in the
communion office.
PARDONING differs from acquitting, in that the
latter means clearing a perſon, after trial, of guilt ;
whereas the former fuppofes guilt, and fignifies
merely delivering the guilty perfon from puniſhment.
C 4 Pardoning
Pardoning requires fome degree of ſeverity of afpect

and tone of voice, becauſe the pardoned perfon is not
an object of entire unmixed approbation ; otherwife
its expreffion is much the fame as Granting. (See
GRANTING .)
ARGUING requires a cool, fedate, attentive afpect,
and a clear, flow, emphatical accent, with much
demonftration by the hand : it differs from Teaching,
(fee TEACHING ) in that the look of authority is not
wanted in arguing.
DISMISSING, with approbation, is done with a
kind afpect and tone of voice ; the right hand, open,
gently waved toward the perfon. With diſpleaſure,
befides the look and tone of voice which ſuits difplea-
fure, the hand is haftily thrown out toward the per-
fon difiniffed, the back part toward him, the coun-
tenance at the fame time turned away from him.
REFUSING , when accompanied with difpleafure ,
is expreffed nearly in the fame way. Without dif-
pleaſure, it is done with a viſible reluctance, which
occafions the bringing out the words flowly, with
fuch a fhake of the head and fhrug of the ſhoulders,
as is natural upon hearing of ſomewhat which gives us
concern .
GRANTING , when done with unreſerved good-
will, is accompanied with a benevolent afpect and
tone of voice ; the right hand prefled to the left
breaft , to fignify how heartily the favour is granted,
and the benefactor's joy in conferring it.
DEPENDENCE. (See MODESTY . )
VENERATION , or WORSHIPPING , comprehends
feveral articles, as afcription, confeffion, remorse,
interceffion, thankfgiving, deprecation, petition, &c.
Afcription of honour and praife to God, and con-
feffion and deprecation, are uttered with all that hu-
mility of looks and gefture, which can exhibit the
moft profound felf-abafement and annihilation, be-
fore One whofe fuperiority is infinite. The head is
a little raiſed, but with the most apparent timidity
and dread ; the eye is lifted, but immediately cait
down
down again, or cloſed for a moment ; the eyebrows
are drawn down in the moſt reſpectful manner ; the
features, and the whole body and limbs are all com-
pofed to the moſt profound gravity ; one pofture
continuing, without confiderable change, during the
whole performance of the duty. The knees bended,
or the whole body proftrate, or if the pofture be
ſtanding, which Scripture does not difallow, bending
forward, as ready to proftrate itfelf. The arms
fpread out, but modeftly, as high as the breaft ; the
hands open. The tone of the voice will be fub-
miffive, timid, equal, trembling, weak, fuppliant.
The words will be brought out with a vifible anxiety
and diffidence, approaching to heſitation ; few and
flow; nothing of vain repetition , haranguing, flowers
of rhetoric, or affected figures of fpeech ; all fimpli-
city, humility, and lowlinefs, fuch as becomes at
reptile of the duft, when prefuming to addrefs Him
whofe greatneſs is tremendous beyond all created
conception. In interceffion for our fellow-creatures,
which is prefcribed in Scripture, and in thankſgiving,
the countenance will naturally affume a fmall degree
of cheerfulneſs beyond what it was clothed with in
confeffion of fin, and deprecation of punishment :
but all affected ornament of fpeech, or gesture in
devotion, deferves the fevereft cenfure, as being
fomewhat much worſe than abfurd.
RESPECT for a fuperior puts on the looks and
gefture of Modeity. (See MODESTY . )
HOPE brightens the countenance, arches the
eyebrows, gives the eyes an eager wiſhful look, opens
the mouth to half a fmile ; bends the body a little
forward, the feet equal ; fpreads the arms, with
the hands open, as to receive the object of its long-
ings ; the tone of the voice is eager, and unevenly,,
inclining to that of joy, but curbed by a degree of
doubt and anxiety. Defire differs from Hope, as
to expreffion, in this particular, that there is more
appearance of doubt and anxiety in the former than
the latter ; for it is one thing to defire what is agree-
C S able,
able, and another to have a profpect of actually ob❤

taining it.
DESIRE expreffes itſelf by bending the body for-
ward, and ſtretching the arms towards the object, as
to grafp it ; the countenance finiling, but eager and
wifhful; the eyes wide open, and eyebrows raifed ;
the mouth open ; the tone of voice fuppliant, but
lively and cheerful, unless there be diftrefs as well
as defire ; the expreffions fluent and copious ; if no
words are uſed, fighs inftead of them ; but this is
chiefly in diftrefs.
LOVE (fuccefsful) lights up the countenance into
fmiles ; the forehead is fmoothed and enlarged ; the
eyebrows are arched ; the mouth a little open, and
fimiling; the eyes languishing, and half-fhut, dote
upon the beloved object. The countenance affumes
the eager and wishful look of Defire. (See DESIRE . )
but mixed with an air of fatisfaction and repofe. The
accents are foft and winning ; the tone of voice per-
fuafive, flattering, pathetic, various, mufical, rap-
turous, as in Joy. (See joy.) The attitude much
the fame with that of Defire ; fometimes both hands
preffing eagerly to the bofom. Love, unfucceſsful,
adds an air of Anxiety and Melancholy. (See PER-
PLEXITY and MELANCHOLY. )
GIVING , INVITING , SOLICITING , and fuch-
like actions, which fuppofe fome degree of affection,
real or pretended, are accompanied with much the
fame looks and gestures as exprefs Love, but more
moderate.
WONDER , OF AMAZEMENT , ( without any other
interefting paffion, as Love, Efteem, &c. ) opens
the eyes, and makes them appear very prominent 5
fometimes raiſes them to the skies ; but oftener, and
more expreffively, fixes them on the object, if the
caufe of the paffion be a prefent and viſible object,
with the look, all except the wildnefs, of Fear.
(See FEAR . ) If the hands hold any thing at the
time when the object of wonder appears, they imme-
diately let it drop, unconfcious, and the whole body
fixes in the contracted stooping poſture of Amaze-
ment ;
ment ; the mouth open ; the hands held up open,
nearly in the attitude of Fear. ( See FEAR . ) The
firſt acceſs of this paffion ſtops all utterance ; but it
makes amends afterwards by a copious flow of words
and exclamations.
ADMIRATION , a mixed paffion, confifting of
wonder, with love or eſteem, takes away the fami-
liar geſture and expreffion of fimple Love. See
LOVE.) Keeps the refpectful look and attitude.
(See MODESTY and VENERATION. ) The eyes
are opened wide, and now and then raiſed toward
heaven ; the mouth is opened ; the hands are lifted
up ; the tone of the voice rapturous. This paffion
expreffes itſelf copioufly, making great ufe of the
figure hyperbole.
GRATITUDE puts on an aſpect full of compla-
cency. (See LOVE. ) Ifthe object of it is a cha-
racter greatly fuperior, it expreffes much fubmiffion.
(See MODESTY. ) The right hand preffed upon the
breaft accompanies, very properly, the expreffion of a
fincere and hearty fenfibility of obligation.
CURIOSITY, as of a bufy-body, opens the eyes
and mouth, lengthens the neck, bends the body for-
ward, and fixes it in one pofture, with the hands
nearly in that of Admiration. ( See ADMIRATION,
DESIRE, ATTENTION , HOPE , INQUIRY, and PER-
PLEXITY. )
PERSUASION puts on the looks of moderate Love.
( See LOVE . ) Its accents are foft, flattering, em-
phatical, and articulate.
TEMPTING, or WHEEDLING , expreffes itſelf
much in the fame way, only carrying the fawning
part to exceſs.
PROMISING is expreffed with benevolent looks,
the nod ofconfent, and the open hands gently moved
toward the perſon to whom the promife is made, the
palms upwards. The fincerity of the promifer may
be expreffed by laying the right hand gently on the
breaft.
AFFECTATION difplays itſelf in a thouſand
different geftures, motions, airs, and looks, accord-
ing
N
36 A HELP TO ELOCUTIO .
ing to the character which the perfon affects. Affec

tation of learning gives a ftiff formality to the whole
perfon ; the words come ftalking out with the face
of a funeral proceffion , and every fentence has the
folemnity of an oracle. Affectation of piety turns
up the goggling whites of the eyes to heaven, as if
the perfon were in a trance, and fixes them in that
pofture fo long, that the brain of the beholder grows
giddy then comes up deep grumbling, a hollowgroan
from the lower parts of the thorax ; but fo tremens
dous in found, and fo long protracted, that you ex-
pect to fee a goblin rife, like an exhalation through
the folid earth. Then he begins to rock from fide
to fide, or backward and forward, like an aged pine
on the fide of a hill when a brifk wind blows ; the
hands are clafped together, and often lifted, and
the head often fhaken with foolish vehemence ; the
tone of the voice is canting, or fing- fong lullaby,
not much diftant from an Irish howl, and the words
godly doggrel. Affectation of beauty, and killing,
puts a fine woman, by turns, into all forts of forms,
appearances, and attitudes, but amiable ones : the
undoes by art, or rather by awkwardneſs, (for true
art conceals itſelf) all that nature had done for her.
Nature formed her almoft an angel , and.fhe, with
infinite pains, makes herſelf a monkey ; therefore
this fpecies of Affectation is eaſily imitated or taken
off. Make as many and as ugly grimaces , motions,
and geftures as can be made, and take care that na-
ture never peep out, and you reprefent coquettish
Affectation to the life.
SLOTH appears by yawning, dofing, fnoring, the
head dangling fometimes to one fide, fometimes to
the other, the arms and legs ftretched out, and every
finew of the body unftrung, the eyes heavy or cloſed;
the words, if any, crawl out of the mouth, but half
formed, fcarce audible to any ear, and broken off in
the middle by powerful fleep.
INTOXICATION fhows itſelf by the eyes half-fhut,
fleepy, ftupid, inflamed : an idiot fmile, a ridiculous
furlinefs, or affected bravado, difgraces the bloated
countenance ;
countenance ; the mouth open tumbles out nonfenfe
in heaps, without articulation enough for any ear to
take it in, and unworthy of attention if it could be
taken in ; the head feems too heavy for the neck ;
the arms dangle from the ſhoulders, as if they were
almoft cut away and hung by fhreds ; the legs totter
and bend at the knees, as ready to fink under the
weight of the reeling body ; and a general incapa-
city, corporeal and mental, exhibits human nature
funk below the brutal.
ANGER, (violent ) or RAGE, expreffes itſelf with
rapidity, interruption, noife, harfhnefs, and trepida-
tion ; the neck ſtretched out ; the head forward,
often nodding and fhaken in a menacing manner
against the object of the paffion ; the eyes red, in-
flamed, ſtaring, rolling, and ſparkling ; the eyebrows
drawn down over them, and the forehead wrinkled
into clouds ; the noftrils ftretched wide, every vein
fwelled, every muſcle ſtrained, the breaft heaving,
and the breath fetched hard ; the mouth open, and
drawn on each fide toward the ears, fhewing the
teeth in a gnashing poſture ; the face bloated, pale,
red, or fometimes almoft black ; the feet ftamping,
the right arm often thrown out, and menacing with
the clinched fift fhaken, and a general and violent
agitation of the whole body.
PEEVISHNESS , OF ILL -NATURE, is a low degree
of Anger, and is therefore expreffed in the above
manner, only more moderate ; with half fentences
and broken fpeeches uttered haftily, the upper lip
drawn up difdainfully, the eyes afquint upon the ob-
ject of diſpleaſure.
MALICE, OF SPITE , fets the jaws, or gnaſhes
with the teeth ; fends blaſting flaſhes from the eyes ;
draws the mouth toward the ears ; clinches both fifts,
and bends the elbows in a ſtraining manner. The
tone of voice and expreffion are much the fame with
that of Anger, but the pitch not fo loud.
ENVY is a little more moderate in its geſtures than
Malice, but much the fame in kind.
RE
REVENGE expreffes itſelf as Malice. (See MA-

LICE.)
CRUELTY. (See ANGER , AVERSION , MALICE ,
and the other irafcible paffions. )
COMPLAINING, as when one is under violent
bodily pain, distorts the features, almoſt cloſes the
eyes, fometimes raifes them wifhfully, opens the
mouth, gnaſhes with the teeth, draws up the upper
lip, draws down the head upon the breaft, and the
whole body together ; the arms are violently bent
at the elbows, and the fifts ftrongly clinched ; the
voice is uttered in groans, lamentations, and violent
fcreams. Extreme torture produces fainting and
death.
FATIGUE , from fevere labour, gives a general
languor to the whole body ; the countenance is de-
jected. (See GRIEF.) The arms hang liſtleſs ; the
body, if fitting or lying along be not the poſture,
ftoops, as in old age. (See DOTAGE . ) The legs,
if walking, are dragged heavily along, and feem at
every ſtep ready to bend under the weight of the
body ; the voice is weak, and the words hardly
enough articulated to be underſtood.
AVERSION , OF HATRED, expreffed to, or of, any
perfon or thing that is odious to the fpeaker, occa-
fions his drawing back, as avoiding the approach of
what he hates ; the hands, at the fame time, thrown
out fpread, as if to keep it off ; the face turned
away from that fide toward which the hands are
thrown out ; the eyes looking angrily and afquint
the fame way the hands are directed ; the eyebrows
drawn downward ; the upper lip difdainfully drawn
up, but the teeth fet ; the pitch of the voice loud,
the tone chiding, unequal, furly, vehement ; the
fentences fhort and abrupt.
COMMENDATION , OF APPROBATION , from a
fuperior, puts on the afpect of Love, (excluding De-
fire and Refpect) and expreffes itſelf in a mild tone
of voice ; the arms gently ſpread ; the palms of the
hands toward the perfon approved. Exhorting, or
Encouraging, as of an army by the general, is ex-
preffed
preffed with fome part of the looks and action of
Courage.
JEALOUSY is a ferment of Love, Hatred, Hope,
Fear, Shame, Anxiety, Sufpicion, Grief, Pity, Envy,
Pride, Rage, Cruelty, Vengeance, Madness, and
if there be any other tormenting paffion which can
agitate the human mind ; therefore to exprefs Jea-
loufy well, requires that one know how to repreſent
justly all thefe paffions by turns, (See LOVE, HA-
TRED, &c. ) and often feveral of them together.
Jealoufy fhews itſelf by reftleffnefs, peevishnefs,
thoughtfulness, anxiety, abfence of mind. Some
times it bursts out in piteous complaint and weep-
ing ; then a gleam of hope, that all is yet well, lights
up the countenance into a momentary fmile. Im-
mediately the face, clouded with a general gloom ,
thews the mind overcaft again with horrid fufpicions
and frightful imaginations. Then the arms are
folded upon the breaſt ; the fifts violently clinched ;
the rolling, bloody eyes dart fury. He hurries to
and fro ; he has no more reit than a ſhip in a
troubled fea, the fport of winds and waves. Again
he compofes himſelf a little, to reflect on the charms
of the fufpected perfon ; the appears to his imagi-
nation like the fweetneſs of the rifing dawn ; then
his monster-breeding fancy reprefents her as falfe
as fhe is fair ; then he roars out as one on the rack,
when the cruel engine rends every joint, and every
finew burſts : then he throws himſelf on the ground ;
he beats his head againſt the pavement ; then he
fprings up, and with the look and action of a fury
bursting hot from the abyss, he fnatches the inftru-
ment of death, and, after ripping up the boſom of
the loved, fufpected, hated, lamented fair one, he
ftabs himself to the heart, and exhibits a ſtriking
proof how terrible a creature a puny mortal is, when
agitated by an infernal paffion .
DOTAGE, or infirm OLD AGE, fhews itſelf by
talkativeneſs, boafting of the paft, hollowneſs of eyes
and cheeks, dimnefs of fight, deafnefs, tremor of
voice, the accents, through default of teeth, fcarce
C intelligible;
intelligible ; hams weak, knees tottering, head para-

lytic, hollow coughing, frequent expectoration,
breathlefs wheezing, laborious groaning, the body
ftooping under the infupportable load of years, which
foon will crush it into the duft from whence it had
its origin.
FOLLY, that is, of a natural idiot, gives the face
an habitual thoughtless, brainless grin ; the eyes
dance from object to object, without fixing fteadily
upon any one ; a thouſand different and incoherent
paffions, looks, geftures, fpeeches, and abfurdities,
are played off every moment.
DISTRACTION opens the eyes to a frightful
widenefs ; rolls them hastily and widely from object
to object ; diftorts every feature ; gnafhes with the
teeth ; agitates all the parts of the body ; rolls in
the duft ; foams at the mouth ; utters, with hideous
bellowings, execrations, blafphemies, and all that
is fierce and outrageous ; rufhes furioufly on all who
approach ; and, if not reſtrained, tears its own fleſh,
and deftroys itſelf.
SICKNESS has infirmity and feeblenefs in every
motion and utterance ; the eyes dim and almoſt
clofed ; cheeks pale and hollow ; the jaw fallen ;
the head hung down, as if too heavy to be fupported
by the neck ; a general inertia prevails ; the voice
trembling ; the utterance through the nofe ; every
fentence accompanied with a groan ; the hand fhaking,
and the knees tottering under the body, or the body
ftretched helpleſs on the bed.
FAINTING produces a fudden relaxation of all
that holds the human frame together, every finew
and ligament unftrung ; the colour flies from the
vermilion cheek ; the ſparkling eye grows dim ; down
the body drops, as helplefs, and as fenfelefs as a
mafs of clay, to which, by its colour and appearance,
it feems haftening to refolve itſelf. Which leads me
to conclude with
DEATH, the awful end of all flesh, which exhi-
bits nothing in appearance different from what I
have been just defcribing ; for Fainting continued,
ende
ends in Death ; a fubject almoſt too ferious to be
made a matter of artificial imitation.
Lower degrees of every paffion are to be expreffed
by more moderate exertions of voice and gesture, as
every public Speaker's difcretion will fuggeft to him.
Mixed paffions, or emotions of the mind, require
a mixed Expreffion. Pity, for example, is com-
pofed of Grief and Love : it is therefore evident
that a correct Speaker muft, by his looks and geſtures,
and bythe tone and pitch of his voice, exprefs both
Grief and Love in expreffing Pity ; and ſo of the
reft.
There may be other humours or paffions befides
thefe, which a Reader or Speaker may have occafion
to exprefs, but theſe are the principal. And though
it may be alledged that fome of theſe paffions or
humours are fuch as hardly ever come in the way
of the Speaker at the bar, in the pulpit, or either
houfe of parliament, it does not therefore follow
that the labour of ſtudying and practiling the proper
ways of expreffing them is ufelefs ; on the contrary,
every Speaker will find his account in enlarging his
fphere of practice. A gentleman may not have
occafion every day to dance a minuet ; but he has
occafion to go into company every day, and he will
go into a room with much the better grace for his
having learned to dance in the most elegant manner.
The Orator may not have actual occafion to exprefs
Anger, Jealoufy , Malice, and fome few others of
the more violent paffions , for which I have here
given rules ; but he will, by applying his organs of
Elocution to exprefs them, acquire a mafterly eaſe
and fluency in expreffing thofe he has actual occafion
to exprefs .
It is to be remembered that the action, in ex-
preffing the various humours and paffions for which
I have here given rules, is to be fuited to the age,
fex, condition, and circumſtances of the character.
Violent Anger, or Rage, for example, is to be ex-
preffed with great agitation ( See ANGER ) ; but the
rage of an infirin old man, of a woman, and of a
youth
youth, are all different from one another, and from

that of a man in the flower of his age, as every
Speaker's difcretion will fuggeft. A hero may fhew
fear or fenfibility of pain ; but not in the fame
manner as a girl would exprefs thofe fenfations.
Grief may be expreffed by a perfon reading a me-
lancholy ftory, or defcription, in a room ; it may be
acted upon the ſtage ; it may be dwelt upon by the
pleader at the bar ; or it may have a place in a fer-
mon. The paffion is ftill grief; but, if they have
judgment, the manner of expreffing it will be dif-
ferent in each of thefe Speakers.
A correct Speaker does not make a movement of
limb or feature for which he has not a reaſon. If
he addrefles Heaven, he looks upward ; if he ſpeaks
to his fellow-creatures, he looks round upon them ;
the ſpirit of what he fays, or is faid to him, appears
in his look. If he expreffes amazement, or would
excite it, he lifts up his hands and eyes ; if he in-
vites to virtue and happineſs, he fpreads his arms,
and his looks are all benevolence ; if he threatens
the vengeance of Heaven againſt vice, he bends his
eyebrow into wrath, and menaces with his arm and
countenance. He does not needlessly faw the air
with his arm, nor ftab himſelf with his finger. He
does not clap his right hand upon his breaſt, unleſs
he has occafion to fpeak of himſelf or to introduce
confcience, or ſomewhat fentimental . He does not
ftart back, unleſs he wants to expreſs horror or aver-
fion. He does not come forward, but when he has
occafion to folicit. He does not raife his voice,
but to exprefs fomewhat peculiarly emphatical. He
does not lower it, but to contraſt the raifing of it. His
eyes, by turns, according to the humour of the
matter he has to exprefs, fparkle fury, brighten into
joy, glance difdain, melt into grief, frown difguft
and hatred, languish into love, or glare diſtraction.
There is an error which is too inconfiderately re-
ceived by many judicious perfons, viz. that a public
Speaker's fhewing himfelf to be in earneſt, will alone
fecure him of duly affecting his audience. Were
this
this true, the enthuſiaſtic rant of the fanatic, who
is often very much in earnest, ought to pleaſe the
judicious ; in whom, on the contrary, we know it
excites only laughter or pity. It is granted that Na-
ture is the rule by which we are to ſpeak, and to
judge of propriety in fpeaking ; and every public
Speaker, who faithfully follows that univerfal guide,
commands attention and approbation : but a Speaker
may, either through incurable natural deficiency,
or by deviating into fome incorrigible abfurdity of
manner, express the real and the warm fentiments
of his heart in fuch an awkward way, as fhall effec
tually defeat his whole defign upon thoſe who hear
him , and render himſelf the object of their ridicule.
It is not enough, as Quintilian fays, to be a human
creature to make a good Speaker : as, on one hand, it
is not true that a Speaker's fhewing himself in earneſt
is alone fufficient ; fo, on the other, it is certain that,
if he does not ſeem to be in earneft, he cannot but
fail of his defign.
There is a true fublime in Delivery, as in the
other imitative arts, in the manner as well as in the
matter of what an Orator delivers. As in poetry,
painting, fculpture, mufic, and the other elegancies,
the true fublime confifts in a fet of mafterly, large,
and noble ſtrokes of art, fuperior to florid littleness,
fo it is in Delivery. The accents are to be clear and
articulate, every fyllable ſtanding off from that
which is next to it, fo that they might be numbered
as they proceed. The inflections of the voice are
to be fo diftinctly fuited to the matter, that the hu-
mour or paffion might be known by the found of the
voice only, where there could not be one word
heard ; and the variations are to be, like the full-
fwelling folds of the drapery in a fine picture or ſta-
tue, bold, free, and forcible.
True Eloquence does not wait for cool approba-
tion ; like irrefiftible beauty, it tranſports, it raviſhes,
it commands the admiration of all who are within its
reach. If it allows us time to criticife, it is not
genuine ; it ought to hurry us out of ourſelves, to
engage
engage and fwallow up our whole attention ; to drive

every thing out of our minds, befides the ſubject it
would hold forth, and the point it wants to carry.
The hearer finds himself as unable to refift it, as to
blow out a conflagration with the breath of his
mouth, or to stop the ftream of a river with his
hand; his paffions are no longer his own ; the Orator
has taken poffeffion of them, and, with fuperior
power, works them to whatever he pleaſes.
There is no earthly object capable of making fuch
various and fuch forcible impreffions upon the human
mind as a confummate Speaker. In viewing the
artificial creations, which flow from the pencil of a
Raphael, the critical eye is indeed delighted to a
high pitch, and the delight is rational, becauſe it
flows from fources unknown to beings below the ra
tional fphere ; but the ear remains wholly unengaged
and unentertained. }
In liftening to the raptures of Corelli, Geminiani,
and Handel, the flood of pleafure which pours upon
the ear is almost too much for human nature. And
mufic applied to exprefs the fublimities of poetry,
as in the oratorio of Samfon, and the Allegro and
Penforofo, yields a pleaſure ſo truly rational, that a
Plato or a Socrates need not be ashamed to declare
their fenfibility of it. But here again the eye has
not its gratification ; for the opera (in which action
is joined with mufic, in order to entertain the eye
at the fame time with the ear) I muſt beg leave,
with all due fubmiffion to the taſte of the great, to
confider as a forced conjunction of two things, which
nature does not allow to go together ; for it never
will be other than unnatural to fee heroes fighting,
commanding, threatening, lamenting, and making
love in the warblings of an Italian fong.
It is only the elegant Speaker who can at once
regale the eye with the view of its moſt amiable ob-
ject, the human form in all its glory ; the ear, with
the original of all mufic ; the underſtanding, with
its proper natural food, the knowledge of important
truth ; and the imagination, with all that, in nature
or
or in art, is beautiful, fublime, or wonderful : for
the Orator's field is the univerfe, and his fubjects
are all that is known of God and his works ; of fupe-
rior natures, good and evil, and their works ; and of
terreftrials, and theirs.
In a confummate Speaker, whatever there is of
corporeal dignity or beauty, the majesty of the hu
man face divine, the grace of action , the piercing
glance, or gentle languish, or fiery flaſh of the eye ;
whatever of lively paffion, or ftriking emotion of
mind ; whatever of fine imagination , of wife reflec-
tion, or irreſiſtible reaſoning ; whatever of excellent
in human nature, all that the hand of the Creator
has impreffed, of his own image, upon the noblest
creature we are acquainted with, all this appears in
the confummate Speaker to the higheft advantage :
and whoever is proof againſt fuch a difplay of all
that is noble in human nature, muſt have neither
eye, nor ear, nor paffion, nor imagination, nor taſte,
nor underſtanding.
Though it may be alledged that a great deal of
gefture or action, at the bar or in the pulpit, efpe-
cially the latter, is not wanted, nor is quite in cha-
racter, it is yet certain that there is no part of the
man that has not its proper attitude. The eyes are
not to be rolled along the ceiling, as if the Speaker
thought himſelf in duty bound to take care how the
flies behave themſelves ; nor are they to be con-
ftantly caft down upon the ground, as if he were
before his judge receiving fentence of death ; nor to
be fixed upon one point, as if he faw a ghoft. The
arms of the preacher are not to be needlessly thrown
out as if he were drowning in the pulpit, or bran-
diſhed after the manner of the ancient pugiles, or
boxers, exercifing themſelves by fighting with
their own ſhadow, to prepare them for the Olympic
conteſts ; nor, on the contrary, are his hands to be
pocketed up, nor his arms to hang by his fides, as
lank as if they were both withered. The head is
not to ftand fixed, as if the Speaker had a perpetual
crick in his neck ; nor is it to nod at every third
word,
word, as if he were acting Jupiter, or his would-be

fon Alexander.
A judicious Speaker is mafter of ſuch a variety
of decent and natural motion, and has fuch com-
mand of attitude, that he will not be long enough
in one pofture to offend the eye of the ſpectator.
The matter he has to pronounce will fuggeft the
propriety of changing, from time to time, his look,
his pofture, his motion, and tone of voice, which,
if they were to continue too long the fame, would
become tedious and irkſome to the beholders ; yet he
is not to be every moment changing pofture like a
harlequin, nor throwing his hands about as if he
were thewing legerdemain tricks.
Above all things, the public Speaker is never to
forget the great rule, Ars eft celare Artem. It would be
infinitely more pleafing to fee a public Speaker de-
liver himſelf with as little motion, and no better
attitude, than thofe of an Egyptian mummy, than
that he diſtort himſelf into all the violations of deco
rum which affectation produces. Art, feen through,
is execrable.
Modefty ought ever to be confpicuous in the be-
haviour of all who are obliged to exhibit themſelves
before the eye of the public. Whatever of gefture
or exertion of voice fuch perfons uſe, they ought
to appear plainly to be drawn into them by the im-
portance, fpirit, orhumourofthe matter. Ifthe Speaker
ufes any arts of Delivery which appear plainly to be
ftudied, the effect will be, that his awkward attempt to
work upon the paffions of his hearers , by means ofwhich
he is not mafter, will render him odious and con-
temptible to them. With what ftiff and pedantic
folemnity do fome public Speakers utter thoughts
fo trifling as to be hardly worth uttering at all ! and
what unnatural and unfuitable tones of voice and
gefticulations do others apply in delivering what,
by their manner of delivering, one would be apt
to queftion not only whether it is their own compo-
fition, but whether they really underſtand it.
EXAMPLES
EXAMPLES
FOR THE USE OF
YOUNG SCHOLARS .
I.
Remonftrance, and Contempt of Pride.
OES greatnefs fecure perfons of rank Queſtion-

DE from infirmities either of body oring.
mind ? Will the head-ache, the gout, or
fever, fpare a prince any more than a ſub- *
ject ? When old age comes to lie heavy
upon him, will his engineers relieve him
of the load? Can his guards and centinels †, Fear.
by doubling and trebling their numbers,
and their watchfulness, prevent the ap-
proach of death ? nay, if jealoufy, or even
ill-humour, disturb his happinefs, will theContempt.
cringes of his fawning attendants reſtore
his tranquillity ? What comfort has he in
reflecting, (if he can make the reflection )
while the cholic, like Prometheus's vul-
ture, tears his bowels, that he is under a
canopy of crimſon velvet fringed with
gold ?
* The word heavy to be dragged out as ex-

preffing diftrefs. See Complaining, p. 38.
+ This fentence [Can bis guards, &c. ] to be
fpoken with fear. See Fear, p. 28.
ON
U TI
LP OC
48 A HE TO EL .
gold? When the pangs of the gout, or

Anguiſh. ftone extort from him fcreams of agony,
do the titles of Highness or Majesty come
fweetly into his ear ? If he is agitated with
Boafting. rage *, does the found of Serene or Moſt
Chriftian prevent his ſtaring, reddening,
and gnafhing with his teeth like a madman ?
Contempt. Would not a twinge of the tooth -ache, or
an affront from an inferior, make the
mighty Cæfar forget that he was emperor
of the world ? [Montaigne.]...
II.
ADORATION.
Milton's Morning Hymn. PARADISE LOST,

Book V. ver . 153.
Venera- HESE are thy glorious works, parent

THES of good
tion.
Almighty thine this univerfal frame,
Admira- Thus wondrous fair ! thyfelf † how won-
tion. drous then
Venera- Unfpeakable ! who fit'ſt above the heav'ns,
tion. To us invifible, or dimly ſeen
In thefe thy loweft works; yet thefe declare
Love, with Thy goodneſs, beyond thought, and pow'r
Veneration. divine
Speak, ye who beft can tell, ye fons ofLight,
Angels !
Ifhe is agitated, &c . to be ſpoken full-mouthed,

as Boafting. See Boafting, p. 30.
+ " Thyfelf, how wondrous," &c. The fenfe,
in profe, would be, " If thy works be fo wonder-
" fully excellent, thine own original excellence
" is unfpeakable and inconceivable." It is not,
I believe, generally underſtood fo, elfe Readers
would not (as I have heard many) make a paufe
between the word then and unspeakable.
Angels ! for * ye behold him, andwith fongs Sacred
And choral fymphonies , day without night , Rapture.
Circle his throne rejoicing. Ye in heav'n !'
On earth, join all ye creatures to extol
Him firſt, him laſt, him midſt, and without
end.
Fairest of ſtars, laft in the train of night,
If better thou belong not to the dawn,
Sure pledge ofday, that crown'ft the ſmiling
morn
With thy bright circlet ! praiſe him in thy
fphere,
While morn arifes, that ſweet hour ofprime.
Thou , fun, of this great world both eye Admira
and foul, tion.
Acknowledge him thy greater. Sound his LowlySub-
praiſe miffion.
In thy eternal courfe, both when thou
climb'ft,
And when high noon haft gain'd, and when
thou fall'it.
Moon, that now meet'ſt the orient fun , now Rapture.
fly'it,
With the fix'd ftars, fix'd in their ſphere
on high,
And ye five otherwand'ring orbs, that move
In
The Reader need fcarce be told that fuch

matter ought to be expreffed with as much
fmoothness and liquidity of utterance as poffible.
" Ye in heav'n.' This is generally ill point-
ed. Theſe words are a complete fentence. The
meaning is, " I call on you (angels) to praiſe
" God in your celeftial habitation." And then
the poet goes on to call on the terreftrials to
join their humble tribute.
" Thou, fun, of this," &c. to be ſpoke a
little more ore rotundo, or full-mouthed , than the
foregoing, to image the ſtupendous greatneſs of a
world of fire, equal, as fuppofed by aftronomers,
to a million of earths.
D
In myftic dance, not without fong ! refound

His praife, who out of darkness call'd up
light.
Air, and ye elements, the eldeſt birth
Of Nature's womb, that in quaternion run
Perpetual circle, multiform , and mix
And nourish all things ; let your ceaſeleſs
change
Vary to our great Maker ſtill new praiſe.
Ye mifts and exhalations, that now riſe
From hill or ſteaming lake, dufky or grey,
Till the fun paint your fleecy fkirts with
gold,
In honour to the world's great Author rife ;
Whether to deck with clouds th' uncolour'd
fky,
Or cheer with falling fhow'rs the thirſty
ground,
Rifing, or falling, ftill advance his praife.
His praife, ye winds, that from four quar-
ters blow,
Breathe foft or loud ; and wave your tops,
ye pines,
With ev'ry plant, in fign of worship wave.
Fountains, and ye that warble, as ye flow,
Melodious murmurs, warbling tune his
praife.
Join voices, all ye living fouls. Ye birds ,
That finging up to heav'n's high gate
afcend,
Bear on your wings, and in your notes, his
praife.
Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk
The earth, and ſtately tread, or lowly creep.
Witneſs, if I be filent, morn or ev'n,
To hill, or valley, fountain , or freſh ſhade
Made vocal by my fong, and taught his
praife.
Profound Hail univerfal Lord ! be bounteous ftill,
Submiflion. To give us only good ; and if the night
Have
A HELP TO ELOCUTION. St
Have gather'd ought of evil, or conceal'd,
Difperfe it, as now the day the dark difpels.
III.
Contempt of the common Objects of Purſuit.

[ From Mr. Pope's Eſſay on Man. ]
ONOUR and fhame from no condi- Teaching.
Ho tion rife,
Act well your part ; there all the honour
lies.
Fortune in men has fome fmall diff'rence
made ;
One flaunts in rags, one flutters in brocade ;
The cobler apron'd, and the parfon gown'd ;
The friar hooded , and the monarch crown'd.
" What differ more (you cry) than crown Queſtion-
and cowl ?" ing.
* I'll tell you, friend ! a wife man and a Informing.
fool.
You'll find, if once the wife man acts the Teaching.
monk,
Or, cobler-like, the parfon will be drunk,
I Worth makes the man, and 2 want of it 1 Approba-
the fellow ; tion.
The reft is all but leather, or prunella. 2 Con-
Stuck o'er with titles, and hung round tempt.
with ftrings ,
That thou may't be by kings, or whores.
of kings.
Boaſt the pure blood of an illuſtrious race Contempt.
In quiet flow from Lucrece to Lucrece :
But by your father's worth if your's you
rate,
Count me thoſe only who were good and
great.
Go!
* This line [" I'll tell you, friend," &c. ] may

be expreffed in a fort of important half-whiſper,
and with fignificant looks and nods, as if a grand
fecret was told.
D 2
Go! if your ancient, but ignoble blood

Has crept thro' fcoundrels ever fince the
flood ;
Go! and pretend your family is young;
Nor own your fathers have been fools fo
long.
What can ennoble fots, or flaves, or cowards?
Alas ! not all the blood of all the Howards.
Queſtion- Look next on greatnefs. Say, where
ing. greatnefs lies ?
Where, but among the heroes and the wife.
Sneering. Heroes are all the fame, it is agreed,
From Macedonia's madman to the Swede.
Contempt.
The whole ftrange purpoſe of their lives
to find,
* Or make— an enemy of all mankind.
Not one looks backward, onward ſtill he
goes ;
Yetne'er looks forward farther than his noſe.
No lefs alike the politic and wife ;
All fly, flow things with circumfpective
eyes.
Men in their loofe, unguarded hours they
take,
Not that themſelves are wife, but others
weak.
But grant that thofe can conquer, theſe can
Remon-
ftrating. cheat,
'Tis phrafe abfurd to call a villain great.
Averfion. Who wickedly is wife, or madly brave,
Is but the more a fool, the more a knave.
Approba- Who noble ends by noble means obtains,
tion. Or, failing, fmiles in exile or in chains,
Admira- Like good Aurelius let him reign, or bleed
tion. Like Socrates, that man is great indeed.
What's
I have put a paufe after make, though con-

trary to general rules, to mark the Antithefis be-
tween find and make more diftinctly.
+ All fly, flow things, " to be pronounced
very fowly, and with a cunning look.
A HELP TO ELOCUTION. 53 .
What's fame? a fancy'd life in others Superior
breath ; neglect.
A thing beyond us, ev'n before our death.
Juft what you hear's your own ; and what's
unknown,
The fame (my Lord) if Tully's or your own.
All that we feel * of it begins and ends
In the finall circle of our foes or friends ;
To all befides as much an empty ſhade,
An Eugene living, as a Cæfar dead ;
Alike or when, or where they fhone, or
fhine,
Or on the Rubicon , or on the Rhine.
A wit's a feather, and a chief a rod ; Contempt.
An honeft man's the nobleft work of God. Approba-
Fame but from death a villain's name can tion.
fave,
As juftice tears his body from the grave ; Averfion
When what t'oblivion better were refign'd, Blaming.
Is hung on high to poifon half mankind.
All fame is foreign, but of true deſert, Superior
Plays round the head, but comes not to the Neglect.
heart +.
One felf-approving hour whole years out-
weighs Contempt.
Of stupid ftarers, and of loud huzzas ; Admira-
And more true joy Marcellus exil'd feels, tion.
Than Cæfar with a fenate at his heels. Contempt.
Queſtion-
In parts fuperior what advantage lies ? ing.
Tell (for you can ) what is it to bewife ?
'Tis but to know how little can be known , Reſpect.
To fee all other's faults, and feel our own : Concern.
Condemn'd in bus'nefs, or in arts, to drudge
Without a fecond, and without a judge.
Truths
* All that we feel," &c. to be expreffed

with the right hand laid upon the breaſt.
66
+ comes not tothe beart," to be ſpoken
with the right hand laid upon the breaft, And→
" Marcellus exil'd feels," below.
D 3
Truths would you teach, or fave a finking
land,
All fear, none aid you, and few underſtand.
Suffering. Painful pre-eminence ! yourſelfto view
Above life's weakneſs, and its comforts too.
Arguing. Bring then theſe bleffings to a ſtrict ac-
count ;
Make fair deductions ; fee to what they
mount.
How much of other each is fure to coft ;
How each for other oft is wholly loft ;
How inconfiftent greater goods with theſe ;
How fometimes life is rifk'd, and always
eafe ;
Think . And if ftill fuch things thy envy
call,
Queftion- Say, would'ft thou be the man to whom
ing. they fall?
To figh for ribbands, if thou art fo filly,
Contempt. Markhow theygrace Lord Umbra orSirBilly.
Is yellow dirt the paffion of thy life?
Look but on Gripus, or on Gripus' wife.
Concern. If parts allure thee, think how Bacon fhin'd,
The wifeft, brightest, meanest of mankind :
Contempt. Or ravish'd with the whistling of a name,
Averfion. See Cromwell damn'd to everlaſting fame :
Teaching. If all united thy ambition call ,
From ancient ſtory learn to fcorn them all.
IV.
SERIOUS MEDITATION.
[From Dr. Young's Night Thoughts. ]
Alarm. HE clock ftrikes one. We take no
THE note of time,
But by its lofs. To give it then a tongue
Is wife in man. As if an angel fpoke,
I feel the folemn found. If heard aright,
It is the knell of my departed hours.
Where are they? With the years beyond
the flood.
It
It is the fignal that demands difpatch.
How much is ftill to do ! my hopes and
fears
Start up alarm'd, and o'er life's narrow
verge
Lookdown- onwhat ? -Afathomless abyfs.
How poor, how rich, how abject, how au- Admira-
guft, tion .
How complate, how wonderful is man !
How paffing wonder he who made him fuch !
Who center'd in our make ſuch ſtrange ex-
tremes,
From different natures marvellously mixt,
Connection exquifite of diftant worlds !
Diftinguifh'd link in being's endleſs chain ,
Midwayfrom nothing to the one fupreme !
A beam ethereal, -fully'd and abſorpt !
Tho' fully'd and difhonour'd, ftill divine !
Dim miniature of greatnefs abfolute !
An heir of glory ! a frail child of duft !
Helpleſs immortal ! infect infinite !
A worm ! a god ! I tremble at myſelf!
What can preferve my life ? or what de-
ftroy ?
An angel's arm can't fnatch me from the
grave.
Legions of angels can't confine me there.
ས.
VARIOUS CHARACTERS.
[From Mr. Pope's Moral Effays. Epift. 1. ]
IS from high life high characters are Sneer, or
"TIS drawn : Mock-
Praife.
A faint in crape is twice a faint in lawn .
A judge is just ; a chanc'llor-juſter ſtill ; ·
A gownman learn'd ; a bishop - what you
will ;
Wife, if a minifter ; but if a king,
More wife, more juft, more learn'd, more
ev'ry thing.
D 4 'Tis
N
UTIO
56 A HELP TO ELOC .
Teaching. 'Tis education forms the common mind;

Juft as the twig is bent the tree's inclin’d.
* Boaftful and rough your first fon is a
'fquire ;
Smoothing. The next a tradeſman meek, and much a
liar ;
Strutting. Tom ftruts a foldier, open, bold, and brave ;
Sneaking. Will fneaks a fcriv'ner, an exceeding knave.
Pride. Is he a Churchman ? then he's fond of
pow'r ;
Forma-
lity. AQuaker 1 ? Sly. A Prefbyterian 2 ? Sour.
2 Peevith- A finart Freethinker ? All things in an
nefs. hour.
Foppery. Manners with fortunes, humours turn
Teaching. with climes,
Tenets with books, and principles with
times.
Search then the ruling paffion. There alone
The wild are conftant, and the cunning
known.
This clue, once found, unravels all the rest;
The profpect clears, and Wharton ſtands
confeft ;
3 Con- Wharton ! the fcorn I1 and wonder 2 of our
tempt. days,
4 Admira-
tion. Whofe ruling paffion was the luft of praife.
Born with whate'er could win it from the
wife,
Eagernefs. Women and fools muſt like him, or he dies .
Tho'
Though thefe lines contain defcriptions or
characters, they may be expreffed with aćtion,
almoft as if they were fpeeches. This firft line,
" Boaftful and rough," &c. may be fpoken with
the action of boafting. See Boofing, p. 30. The
next with that of tempting. See Tempting, P. 35-
The foldier's character may be reprefented by the
arms a-kimbo, the lips pouting out, and a blufter-
ing manner of reading the line. The fcrivener's
with the eyes turned a-fquint, a low voice, and
the action of fhame. See Shame, p. 20. The Qua-
ker's, with the words fpoken through the nofe,
and the appearance of affectation of piety. See
Affectation, P. 35 .
Tho'wond'ringfenates hungon all he spoke, Admira-
The club must hail him maſter of the joke. tion.
Contempt.
Shall parts fo various aim at nothing new ?
He'll thine a Tully and a Wilmot too.
Then turns repentant, and his God adores
Withthe fame ſpirit as he drinks and whores.
Enough ifall around him but admire,
And now the punk applaud, and now the
friar.
A falmon's belly, Helluo * was thyfate +.
The doctor call'd, declares all help too late. Trepida-
" Mercy, (cries Helluo) mercy on my foul ! tion.
" Is there no hope ?-Alas !-then bring tion. Depreca
the jowl ."― Grief, with
" Odious ! in woollen ! ' twould a faint Sickneſs.
" provoke . " Averfion.
(Were the laft words that poor Narciffa
fpoke)
" No- let a charming chintz and Bruffels Weakneſs.
lace
" Wrap theſe cold limbs, and ſhade this
" lifeless face.
" One need not, fure, be ugly tho' one's
66 dead;
" And-Betty-give this cheek-a little- Expiring.
" red."
The courtier fmooth, who forty years
had fhin'd
An humble fervant to all humankind,
Juft brought out this, whenſcarce his tongue
could ſtir,
Civility,
" If-where I'm going- I could - ſerve with weak.
66
" you, Sir." nefs. •
" I give
English readers may not perhaps know that

Helluo fignifies glutton.
That is, a furfeit of freſh falmon was thy
death.
The glutton will indulge appetite (fo indeed
will every habitual offender in every kind) in
fpite of all confequences.
D5
ION
P CUT
58 A HEL TO ELO .
Grief. " I give and I devife" ( old Euclio faid,
And figh'd) 66 my lands and tenements to
" Ned."
“ Your money, Sir?" " My money , Sir !
" -what-all ?
Weeping. " Why-if I muſt" -(then wept) —I give
" it Paul."
" The manor, Sir" " the manor !-hold"
- (he cry'd)
Weakneſs. " I cannot-must not part with that"-and
dy'd.
And you, brave Cobham ! at your lateſt
breath
Shall feel your ruling paffion ftrong in death.
Such in that moment, as in all the paſt,
Praying. " O fave my country, Heaven !"-fhall be
your laft.
VI.
ANXIETY. RESOLUTION.
Catofitting in athoughtful Pofture. In his Hand
Plato's Book onthe Immortality of the Soul. A
drawn Sword on the Table by him. After a
long Paufe, he lays down the Book andfpeaks.
Deep Con- Tmust be fo- Plato, thou reafon'ſt well-
templation. IT Elfe, whence this pleafing hope, this
fond defire * ;
This longing after immortality ?
Comfort. Or whence this fecret dread and inward
horror
Defire. Of falling into nought ?-Why fhrinks the
foul
Fear. Back on herſelf, and ſtartles at deſtruction ?
"Tis the divinity that ftirs within us.
Awe. 'Tis Heaven itſelf that points out an here-
" after,
And intimates eternity to man.
Eternity !
" this fond defire," may be ſpoken with

the right hand laid on the breaſt.
* Eternity ! --thou pleaſing 1 -dreadful 2 1 Satisfac-
tion.
thought !-
2 Approba-
Through what variety of untry'd being, tion.
Through what new fcenes and changes muſt Curiofity.
we pafs ?
The wide, th' unbounded proſpect lies be-
fore me ;
But fhadows, clouds, and darkneſs reſt Anxiety.
upon it. I Courage.
2 Venera-
1 Here will I hold. 2 If there's a power tion.
above us
And that there is , all nature cries aloud
Through all her works-he muſt delight
in virtue,
And that which he delights in, muſt be Satisfac
happy. tion.
But when !-or where ! -this world was Anxiety.
made for Cæfar.
I'm weary of conjectures- 1 this muſt end I1 Courage.
them .
[ Laying his hand on his fword. ]
Thus I am doubly arm'd. † My death, Firmness.
my life,
My bane and antidote, are both before me.
This in a moment, brings me to an end. tion. Approba-
Whilst this informs me I fhall never die.
Comfort.
The foul , fecur'd in her exiſtence, fmiles Noble
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point. Pride.
The ſtars || ſhall fade away, the fun himſelf Triumph.
Grow
" Eternity !-thou pleafing, " &c. requires

an eye fixed, with profound thoughtfulness, on
one point, throughout this line.
+ " Mydeath, my life," &c. long pauſes be-
tween, and pointing or looking at the fword in
pronouncing (6 my death," and at the book,
in pronouncing "C mylife," and ſo in " my bane
" and antidote," and in the two following lines.
" The foul," &c. may be pronounced with
the right hand laid upon the breaſt.
|| " The ftars," &c. may be fpoken with the
eyes raifed toward heaven, and the arms mode-
rately ſpread.
Grow dim with age, and nature fink in

years ;
But thou *-ſhalt flouriſh in immortal youth,
+ Unhurt amidſt the war of elements ,
The wrecks of matter, and the cruſh of
worlds.
VII.
ANGER. THREATENING.
Satan's Speech to Death, topping his Paffage

through the gate of hell ; with the Anfwer.
[From Milton's Par. Loft, B. II . Ver. 601. ]
Queſtion- THENCE , and what art thou, exe-
ing with WHENcrable ſhape !
Anger.
That dar'ft, tho' grim and terrible, advance
Thy mifcreated front athwart my way
Refolution. To yonder gates ? Thro' them I mean to
pafs,
Contempt. That be affur'd, without leave aſk'd of thee.
Threaten- Retire §, or tafte thy folly, and learn by
ing. proof,
Hell-born, not to contend with fpirits of
heav'n.
To whom the goblin, full of wrath, re-
ply'd,
Anger. " Art thou that traitor angel, art thou he,
" Who first broke peace in heav'n, and
" faith, till then
14. Unbroken, and in proud rebellious arms
" Drew after him the third part of heav'n's
" fons
" Con-
" thou-fhalt flourish," &c. the right hand

upon the breaft . (
+ " Unhurt," &c. the arms fpread again, as
above.
the crufh," &c. the hands brought to-
gether with force.
Setire," is to be fpoken as a whole fen-
tence, and the greateft force of threatening.
See Anger, P
" Conjur'd againſt the Higheſt, for which

" both thou
" And they, outcaft from God, are here
condemn'd
" To waſte eternal days in woe and pain ?
" And reckon'st thou thyfelf with fp'rits Contempt
" of heav'n , with
" Hell-doom'd, and breath'ft defiance here, Anger.
" and ſcorn,
" Where I reign king, and to enrage thee Pride.
66 more,
" Thy king and Lord ? Back to thy pu-
nishment,
" Falfe fugitive , and to thy fpeed add
66 wings,
" Left with a whip of fcorpions I purfue Threaten-
" Thy ling'ring, or with one ſtroke of this ing.
" dart
" Strange horror feize thee, and pangs un-
" felt before."
VIII.
Reflection on loft Happiness. Self-Condemnation .

Horror. Defperation .
Satan's Soliloquy. [ Milton's Parad. Loft, B. IV.
Ver. 32.].
THOU, that with furpaffing glory Admira-
crown'd, tion .
Look'ft, from thy fole dominion , like the
God
Of this new world, at whoſe fight all the
ftars
Hide their diminiſh'd heads, to thee I call,
But with no friendly voice, and add thy
name,
O fun, to tell thee how I hate thy beams, Hatred.
That
" and to thy fpeed," &c. to be ſpoken

quick.
Painful Re- That bring to my remembrance from what

flection. ftate
I fell ; howglorious once above thy ſphere,
'Till pride, and worſe ambition threw me
down,
Self-Con- Warring in heav'n againſt heav'n's match-
demnation. lefs King :
Vindica- Ah, wherefore ! he deferv'd no fuch return
tion of an
From me, whom he created what I was
enemy.
In that bright eminence, and with his good
Upbraided none ; nor was his fervice hard.
What could be leſs than to afford him praiſe,
The eafieft recompence, and pay him thanks,
Self-Con- How justly due ! yet all his good in me
demnation. Produc'd rank malice : lifted up fo high,
Pride. Subjection I difdain'd ; thought one ſtep
higher
Would fet me high'ſt, and in a moment
quit
The debt immenfe of endless gratitude,
So burdenfome ftill paying, ftill to owe.
Self-Con- Forgetful what from him I ftill receiv'd,
demnation . And understood not, that a grateful mind.
By owing owes not, but ftill pays ; at once
Indebted and difcharged ; what burden then ?
Anguifh. O had his pow'rful deſtiny ordain'd
Me fome inferior angel ! I had ſtood
Reflection Then happy ; no unbounded hope had
onloftHap- rais'd
pinefs.
Ambition. Yet why not ? fome other pow'r,
As great, might have aſpir'd, and me, though
mean,
Drawn to his part. But other pow'rs as
great
Fell not, but ftand unfhaken, from within,
Or from without, to all temptations arm'd.
Hadst thou the fame free-will, and pow'rto
ſtand ?
Self-Con- Thou hadft : whom haft thou then, or
demnation. what t' accufe,
But Heav'n's free love dealt equally to all ?
Be
Be then his love accurs'd ! fince love or Blafphe
hate my.
To me alike it deals eternal woe. Rage.
Nay, cur'sd be thou ; fince, against his, Self-Con-
thy will de: nation.
Chofe freely what it now ſo juſtly rues.
O wretched fpirit ! which way fhall I fly Defpera-
Infinite wrath, and infinite deſpair ? tion.
Which way I fly is hell, myſelf am hell ;
And in the loweſt deep a lower deep,
Still threat'ning to devour me, opens wide,
To whichthe hell, I fuffer, feems a heav'n→→
O then, at laſt, relent. Is there no place Effay to-
Left for repentance ? none for pardon left ? ward Re-
None left, but by fubmiffion i; and that pentance.
I Pride.
word
Difdain forbids me, and my dread of ſhame
Amongthe fp'rits beneath, whom I feduc'd
With other promiſes, and other vaunts
Than to fubmit ; boafting I could fubdue
Th' Omnipotent. Ay me ! they little know Anguiſh.
How dearly I abide that boaſt ſo vain ;
Under what torments inwardly I groan,
While they adore me on the throne of hell,
With diadem and fceptre high advanc'd,
The lower ſtill I fall, only fupreme
In mifery; fuch joy ambition finds.
But fay I could repent, and could obtain, Pride.
By act of grace, my former ſtate, how foon
Would heighth recal high thoughts, how
foon unfay
What feign'd fubmiffion fwore ? eafe would
recant
Vows made in pain, as violent and void.
For never can true reconcilement grow Malice.
Where wounds of deadly hate have pierc'd
fo deep
Which would but lead me to a worfe re-
lapfe,
And heavier fall : fo fhould I purchaſe dear
Short intermiffion boughtwith double fmart.
This
Hopeleſs This knows my puniſher ; therefore as far

Anguish. From granting he, as I from begging
peace :
All hope excluded thus, behold inſtead
Ma'ice. Of us outcaft, exil'd, his new delight,
Mankind created, and for them this world.
Fixed De- So, farewel hope ; and with hope, farewel
fpair. fear,
Refolved Farewel remorfe : all good to me is loft ;
Obduracy. Evil be thou my good ; by thee at leaſt
Divided empire with heav'n's King I hold,
By thee, and more than half, perhaps , ſhall
reign ;
Malice
bent on As man, ere long, and this new world ſhall
Miſchief. know.
ΑΝ
AN
E S S A Y
ON
COMPOSITION.
TENDING TO EXPLAIN AND ILLUSTRATE THE

BEAUTIES OF FINE WRITING , AND THE PRIN-
CIPLES ON WHICH THEY DEPEND .
O enter into the elegancies of Compofition in

T the writings of others, or to avail ourſelves of
them in our own, nature muſt have furniſhed us with
lively fentiment and clear difcernment, and theſe
must be improved and aided by an acquaintance with
the principles of true Rhetoric.
Now Rhetoric may be defin'd to be the Art or
Faculty of Speaking and Writing with elegance and
dignity, in order to inftruct, perfuade, and pleafe.
Grammar only teaches plainnefs and propriety :
Rhetoric lays theſe for its foundation , and raiſes upon
them all the graces of Tropes and Figures. Ele-
gance confifts in the purity and clearneſs of the lan-
guage. Purity requires choice and proper words ; a
command of which may be gained by studying the
beft authors, by converfing with refined company,
and by frequent and careful compofition : to obtain
perfpicuity or clearness, a full knowledge of our fub-
ject, and frequent clofe meditation upon it, are ne-
ceflary. You muſt likewife avoid ambiguous words,
a dry
a dry brevity, a confufed length of periods, and too

large a train of metaphors together. Dignity ariſes
from fublime thoughts, noble tropes, and moving fi-
gures. Tropes alter and affect fingle words : Figures
affect and enliven whole fentences. A Trope is a
word removed from its first and natural fignification,
and applied with advantage to another thing, which
it does not originally mean ; but only ftands for it,
as it has relation to, or connection with it : as in this
fentence, God is my rock. Here the Trope lies in
the word rock ; which, it is plain , in its primary and
proper fenfe, fignifies nothing lefs than the hope and
truft mankind have in that adorable Being : yet be
cauſe a rock is firm and immoveable, and a building
founded on it will not fink, it excites in our minds
the notion of God's unfailing power, and the ſteady
fupport which good men receive from their depen-
dence on him. The neceffity and ufe of Tropes
will be made plain in a few words.
I. No language furniſhes us with a fufficient num-
ber of proper and plain words fully to exprefs all our
thoughts. The mind of man is of an aftoniſhing ca-
pacity, and has a numberleſs ſtore of notions ; there-
fore, being often diftreffed for want of allowed and
proper terms to utter her conceptions in, fhe turns
things all ways ; confiders them in their different re-
lations ; and views them in all their various afpects
and appearances ; that the may be enabled to declare
her meaning in fuitable terms, and communicate
herſelf intelligibly and forcibly to perfons fhe has
converfation with. When we know not a man's
name which we have occafion to fpeak of, we de-
fcribe him by his features, profeffion, habit, place of
abode, acquaintance, and other circumftances, till
byfuch a deſcription he is as well known to the people
we fpeak to, as if we had at first given him his pecu-
liar name and diftinguishing title.
II. Tropes are uſed for the fake of an agreeable
variety ; they divert the mind, and revive attention
when it begins to flag and be weary. In many cafes
there is an abfolute neceffity for the writer or ſpeaker
to
to repeat the ſame thing feveral times ; therefore, to
prevent the offence which the repetition of it in the
fame words might probably give, he carefully diver-
fifies his expreffion, and judicioufly intermixes plain
and figurative language : fo he carries on his reader
or hearer with fuch continual pleaſure, that he is
infenfible of the length of the diſcourſe, and when
it is concluded, only wiſhes it had been longer ; as a
traveller, if he has a good road and fair weather, if
he be entertained as he paffes along with variety of
landſcapes, and pleaſant profpects of groves, meadows,
parks, and fine houſes, never confiders or regrets
the length of the way, but comes in freſh and cheer-
ful to his journey's end. Tropes increaſe the ſtores
of language by exchanging, or borrowing what it has
not : it is by the help of Tropes that nothing in nature
wants a name.
III. Tropes add wonderful ornament and emphafis
to a difcourfe, and often give the mind a brighter
and ſtronger idea of a thing than proper words. We
receive much of our knowledge into the mind bythe
outward fenfes ; and compariſons drawn from things
fenfible and pleafant, come eafy and agreeable to the
mind, as exempting it from that fevere ſtudy and ap-
plication which is neceffary for the diſcovery of thoſe
truths which do not immediately fall under the notice
of our fenfes. Such are the properties and fublime
powers of human fouls, the attributes and majeſty
of Almighty God, which are in themſelves the moſt
venerable truths of nature, and of the higheſt im-'
portance to mankind. A good and beautiful Trope
often gives us a clearer apprehenfion of theſe things,
than large difcourfes that are obfcured and cumbered
by perplexing reaſoning and endleſs divifions. Vir-
gil, calling the two Scipios the thunder-bolts of war,
reprefents the rapid fpeed and victorious progrefs of
their arms with more emphafis than all the plain
terms of the Roman language could have done.
When, to deſcribe the pleafantnefs of a rich harveft,
the writer fays the fields laugh and fing, he raiſes in
the mind a more gay and delightful imagination both
of
of the fruitfulneſs of the crop and the cheerfulneſs of

the feaſon, than a long and particular relation, in the
beſt choſen plain words, could have raiſed. Tropes
at first, in the rude times of the world, ufed for ne-
ceffity, were foon found to be ornamental, and to
give ſtrength and gracefulneſs to the turn of men's
thoughts. As garments, first put on for the neceffary
defence of the body againſt the ſeverities of the
weather, were quickly found to be ferviceable to fet
off the comely proportions, and add to the dignity of
the body itſelf.
IV. Mankind are mightily pleafed with a happy
and beautiful Trope, becauſe it expreffes the bold-
nefs and felicity of an Author's fancy, which is not
content with things near and vulgar only, but ſteps
out of the common way to fetch in fomething noble,
new, and furprifing. By an expreffive and beautiful
Trope a freſh notion is ſtarted to entertain the mind,
and yet it is not taken off from the fubject before it,
only fees it placed in a better and ſtronger light. That
you may make ufe of Tropes feafonably and with
advantage, theſe following directions may be carried
in mind :
ft. Be fparing and cautious in the uſe of them , and
omit them when they are not either as plain as pro-
per words, or more expreffive. Tropes are the
riches of a language, and therefore it will be an im-
putation upon a man to lavish them away without
difcretion. Too thick a crowd of them encumber a
difcourfe, and make it obfcure and heavy ; and that
is juft contrary to the nature and defign of Tropes ;
which is to illuftrate dark truths, and relieve the la-
bouring thoughts.
2d. Care must be taken that Tropes hold a propor-
tion to the ideas intended to be raiſed by them : and
this may be taken in two fenfes : first, there ought to
be an eafy and unforced relation betwixt the Trope
and the proper word it is put for, or the thing in
tended to be expreffed by it. When there is not this
fuitablenefs and relation, the expreffion at beſt will
not only be harsh and unpleaſant, but often barba-
rous
rous and ridiculous . Such was the faying of the Ro-
man expofed by Tully : " The commonwealth
66
was caftrated by the death of Cato." The con-
nection between the Trope and the proper word ought
to be fo cloſe and evident, that the one cannot be
well mentioned without raiſing the idea of the other.
This connection is either natural or artificial. The
natural is when the things expreffed by their proper
and metaphorical names naturally refemble one ano-
ther. When it is faid a man has arms of braſs, that
expreffion readily and naturally conveys to one's un-
derſtanding a notion of the extraordinary ſtrength and
firmness of that man's arms. The artificial con-
nection depends upon uſe and eſtabliſhed cuftom .
The Turks are generally eſteemed a barbarous and
cruel people ; a rude and unrelenting perfon is by
cuſtom called a Turk ; and the frequent uſe of it in
this fenfe makes the idea of the word Turk raife in
the mind the idea of a rude and unrelenting man.
The other way of preferving the proportion above-
mentioned is, that a Trope do not exprefs more or
lefs than the thing requires : that things capable of
heightening and ornament be not debaſed and vilified
by low expreffions ; nor fmall matters over- magnified
by pompous and fwelling words. Euripides is cen-
fured by Ariftotle for calling rowing the exerciſe of
the empire of the oar : and fo may Cato for calling
a hill covered with brakes and thickets, by the name
of a wart. But if a Trope feem to be a little harſh,
and yet is neceffary and very fignificant, you may
mollify and fmooth it by a good epithet ; or in a few
words without formality, begging the reader or
hearer to pardon the expreffion.
3d. A Trope ought to be obvious and intelligible,
and therefore must not be fetched from things too
remote, fo as to require much reading and learning
to apprehend it. If a man, fpeaking of a houfe of
debauchery, fays, It is a dangerous rock of youth, the
relation lies plain to an ordinary capacity: but if he
calls it the Syrtes of youth, it is far fetched, and ob-
fcure, becauſe few know that the Syrtes are fands on
the
the coafts of Afric, which inevitably ſwallow up all

the fhips that fall into them.
4th. No Tropes are to be uſed which convey a for-
did or lewd idea to the mind. Vile and debauched
expreffions are the fure marks of an abject and gro-
velling mind. He who fo far forgets the defign and
dignity of fpeech, as to endeavour to poifon and de-
bauch by it, inſtead of inſtructing in virtue, and
pleafing men in order to do them good, acts againſt
reafon and all the decencies and modefty of human
nature.
To conclude, Tropes and metaphorical expreffions
are either for neceffity, emphafis, or decency.
For neceffity, when we have not proper words to
declare our thoughts ; for emphafis, when the pro-
per words we have are not fo comprehenſive and fig-
nificant ; for decency, when plain language would
give offence and diſtaſte to the reader.
CHA P. II.
Containing a particular Account ofthe chiefTropes

ofLanguage.
1. ETAPHOR is a Trope by which we put a
M ftrange word for a proper word, by reaſon
of its refemblance and relation to it. All Tropes are,
in ſtrict ſpeaking, Metaphors or tranflations ; yet
this is more peculiarly called fo, by reafon of its con-
羞
ftant ufe and peculiar beauty. But more plainly to
diftinguish this particular Trope from the general
name, it may be thus defined : A Metaphor is a
fimile or compariſon intended to enforce and illuftrate
the thing we ſpeak of, without the figns or forms of
comparifon. Thus if we fay, God is a fhield to good
men, it is a Metaphor, becauſe the fign of the com-
parifon is not expreffed, though the refemblance,
which is the foundation of the Trope, is plain : as a
fhield guards him that bears it againſt the attacks and
ftrokes of an enemy ; fo the providence and favour of
God protects good men from malice and misfortune.
But if the fentence be put thus, God is as a fhield to
good
good men-then it becomes a fimile or comparifon.
So, in fhort, a Metaphor is a ftricter or clofer com-
parifon, and a comparifon a loofer and leſs compact
Metaphor. The Metaphor is very vigorous and beau-
tiful in that noble paffage of Lord Rofcommon, in his
Effay on Tranflated Verfe :
For who did ever in French authors fee

The comprehenfive English energy ?
The weighty bullion of one fterling line,
Drawn in French wire, would thro' whole pages
fhine.
This Trope may be taken from any thing which is

the object of any of our fenfes ; but that is generally
the most agreeable and fprightly which arifes from
the fenfe of ſeeing : becaufe, of all the fenfes, feeing
is the most perfect and comprehenfive ; the most un-
wearied and inquifitive ; the most defirable and de-
lightful. That is a fine paffage of Archbishop Til-
lotfon, " Piety and virtue, in perfons of eminent
" place and dignity, are feated to great advantage,
fo as to caft a luftre upon their very place, and,
" by a strong reflection, double the beams of Ma-
" jefty." This lively way of Expreffion is of extra-
ordinary ufe in deferiptions of confiderable length ;
it keeps the mind pleafed, and the attention awake.
If therefore an author is obliged to give a large ac-
count of things plain and of common obfervation, he
muft raife and ennoble them by ſtrong and graceful
Metaphors.
This rule Tully has obferved, in his defcription of
the feveral parts of this habitable world, in his books
concerning the nature of the gods : fo has Virgil in
his Georgics, where he has made his meanest and
coarfeft fubjects fine and admirable by his judicious
ufe of Metaphors. The little affairs of thepherds
and farmers in his perfect lines appear with dignity.
His defcriptions make the country a paradife, and
his touch, as a noble wit ( Boileau) expreffes it, turns
every thing into gold. Thefe are admirable and
very
very beautiful Metaphors, when the properties of ra-

tional creatures are applied to the animals, and thoſe
of animals to plants and trees : this way of treating
a fubject gives life and beauty to the whole creation.
We receive the ftrongeſt pleaſure from thoſe bold
and comprehenſive Metaphors, which , beſides the
illuftration of the fubject they are intended to raiſe
and improve, convey to us a freſh and lively image.
Thus Agamemnon (after all his dangers, mur-
dered by the hands of villains in his own kingdom )
is not faid barely to die, but to end
-the fad evening of a ſtormy life.
I know no cafe in which Metaphors of a bold

found are more proper than in arrogant ſpeeches,
when men defy the gods, or quarrel with the dif-
penfations of Providence. Philætius, in the Odyſſey,
is no arrogant character ; yet in one place (upon
confidering the afflictions of his prince, whofe piety
and virtue he was fo well affured of) he falls into a
rant againſt Providence ; in which the language is
as lively and vigorous, as the fentiment is ill ground-
ed and abfurd :
O Jove! for ever deaf to human cries ;

The tyrant, not the father, of the ſkies !
Unpiteous of the race thy will began :
The fool of fate, thy manufacture, man,
With penury, contempt, repulfe, and care,
The galling load of life is doom'd to bear.
II. Allegory is a continuation of feveral Meta-

phors all through the fame fentence or difcourfe,
when one thing is faid, and fomething different is
understood, as in the following paffage from Prior's
Henry and Emma.
Did I but purpoſe to embark with thee

On the ſmooth furface of a fummer's fea,
While
While gentle zephyrs play with profp'rous gales,
And fortune's favour fills the fwelling fails ;
But would forfake the fhip and make the fhore,
When the winds whiſtle and the tempefts roar?
The uſe of an Allegory is to convey our meaning

under difguifed terms, when to ſpeak it out in plain
may not be fo fafe, fo feaſonable, or effectual upon
the perfon we deſign to inftruct by it. It is often
likewiſe uſed for magnificence and loftinefs ; to raife
wonder, and gratify curiofity.
To prevent confufion, and want of decorum and
propriety in a difcourfe, an Allegory muft end as it
begun ; and the fame Metaphor, which was chofen
at first, be continued to the laft. Several Allegories
inay be brought into one difcourfe, at a ſmall diſtance
one from another ; but every particular muſt be in a
fentence diftinct from the rest, and muft adinit no-
thing foreign. To this may be referred Apologue
or Fable, which is afcribing the actions, paffions,
and difcourfe of mankind to the irrational and even
inanimate creation , with a defign to inſtruct and af-
fect people with a uſeful moral dexteroufly conveyed.
III. Metonymy is a Trope whereby one name is

put for another, which it may properly ſtand for, by
reafon ofthe near relation or mutual dependence there
is between both, as in Milton's Paradife Loft :
-as Jupiter
On Juno fmiles, when he impregns the clouds,
That fhed May- flowers-
By this Trope any of the most fignificant circum-

ftances or appendages of a thing are put for the ſub-
ject or chief thing to which they belong, or on which
they depend. But I think this Trope is ufed with
much more vigour and advantage in the following
cafes :
ft. When the narration or counſel ſtands for the
action, and what the poet or hiſtorian deſcribes he is
E faid
faid to do ; which is a vehement way of expreffion ,
exceeding the common as much as action goes be-
yond defcription, and life excels painting, as in Dry-
den's Juvenal :
Againſt bold Turnus the great Trojan arm,

Amidst their ſtrokes the poet gets no harm ;
Achilles may in epic verſe be flain, &c.
2d. When the name of any relation is put for the

duty which that relation requires, and the benevo-
lence and tenderneſs which may be expected from it.
Anacreon, fpeaking of money, fays, " That through
" itthere's no longer any fuch thing as brethren or pa-
" rents in the world. When the love of riches is the
reigning paffion in a man, it baniſhes humanity ; con-
founds right and diftinction ; and tramples upon the
" moft facred and endearing relations in nature."
3d. Rivers, which contribute fo much to the plenty
and pleaſantneſs of a country, are often mentioned
by the poets to exprefs the whole country in which
they arife, or through which they take their courfe *.
A branch of the Metonymy is Antonomafia, or ex-
change of name, which put a fignificant and em-
phatical epithet, title, or character, for the proper
and moft diftinguishing name. The word which is
uſed for the principal and moſt proper name, is either
taken from the perfon's country, family, relation ,
profeffion, perfonal circumftances, refemblance to
fome other perfon, or from the virtue or vice for
which he is remarkable. Sardanapalus was a monſter
of debauchery, Nero of cruelty ; therefore to call
a very debauched perfon Sardanapalus, and a cruel
one Nero, brands them much deeper than to call
one debauched and the other cruel.
IV. Synecdoche, or comprehenfion, is a Trope

which puts the name of the whole for a part, or of
a part for the whole ; a general for a particular of
the fame kind, or a particular for a general. By this
Trope a round and certain number is often fet down
for
See Theoc. Idyl. iv. 6.
for an uncertain one. The plural uſed for the fin-
gular generally gives an élevation and turn of gran-
deur to the difcourfe, as in the following paffage from
Virgil :
Leave earth, my mufe, and foar a glorious height,

Tell me what heroes flew the gallant Hector,
Cycnus, and Memnon terrible in arms.
When it is plain the poet only ſpeaks of Achilles ; but

he uſes the plural number, to magnify the ftrength
and courage of his hero ; and to fhew that one fuch
brave man is of more value and importance in war,
than troops of common warriors. The treacherous
Sinon emphatically ufes the plural for the fingular,
when he would aggravate his danger of being facri-
ficed by his countrymen, and raife the horror of
their preparations for thofe inhuman rites , as in the
following line from the above-mentioned author :
Ye curfed fwords and altars which I 'ſcap'd !
Sometimes a fingle collective word expreffes multi-

tudes with more clearness and vehemence than plural
would do ; as in that paffage of Herodotus, when
Phrymichus reprefented the deftruction of Miletus
on the stage, the Theatre burst out into tears. If the
author had ſaid all the people in the theatre burſt
out into tears, who fees not that the expreffion
would have been comparatively loofe and languid ?
But whether plurals be uſed for fingulars, or, on
the contrary, there is need of judgment and great
confideration to difcern, that the way of ſpeaking
preferred to the other be, in that place and upon
that occafion, more proper and beautiful that it
more ſtrongly defcribe the paffion, more agreeably
diverfify and adorn the period, and more effectually
contribute to the furprife and pleaſure of the reader.
V. Hyperbole is a Trope that goes beyond the

bounds of ftrict truth, in reprefenting things greater
E 2 or
or fmaller, better or worſe, than really they are, in

în
order to raiſe admiration or love, fear or contempt,
as in the following lines from Dryden's Virgil :
-Camilla
Outftript the wind in fpeed upon the plain,
Flew o'er the fields, nor hurt the bearded grain :
She ſwept the feas, and, as the ſkimm'd along,
Her flying foot unbath'd in billows hung.
Human nature is feldom content with things as

they are, but is apt to magnify what it admires to
the height of wonder, and fink what it defpifes or
hates to the lowest degree of contempt. Things
great, new, and admirable, extremely pleaſe the
mind of man ; but trifles, dreft up in gaudy orna-
ments and a counterfeit fublime, give the utmoſt
averfion to a man of clear reaſon and elegant taſte::
therefore temper and judgment are to be uſed in
both branches of this Trope, in exceſs and defect ;
that we neither fly too high nor fink too low, that
we neither mifapply nor carry too far our wonder,
nor our contempt : for to admire worthlefs things
and defpife excellences, is a fure fign of weakneſs
and ftupidity ; and, in the latter cafe, of ill -nature
and malice befides. There are various ways of ex-
preffing an Hyperbole ; I fhall name three, which
feem to be the chief.
f. In plain and direct terms, which far exceed the
Arictnefs of truth, as in the following line of Virgil :
The giant's lofty head o'ertops the clouds.
2d. By Similitude, or Compariſon, as in the follow-

ing from Dryden's Virgil :
It feems as if the Cyclades again
Were rooted up and juftled in the main :
Or floating mountains floating mountains meet :
Such is the first encounter of the fleet.
3d. By
A HELP TO ELOCUTION. '77
3. By a ftrong Metaphor : as the poet, in the

place above-mentioned, inſtead of faying that Ca-
milla ran very ſwiftly, heightens the expreffion, and
makes her fly. Two or three of theſe Tropes added
together raife our wonder and pleaſure by carrying
up the difcourfe to the utmoſt point of fublimity.
Pindar, fpeaking of Hercules invading the inhabi-
tants of Cos, fays, that hero's attack upon them
was not like winds , or feas, or fire, but like a thun-
der-bolt ; as if the fury of thofe was lefs, of this
only equal. There are the fame fteps and degrees
of finking what is to be rendered contemptible and
ridiculous, as of raifing what ſhould appear great
and wonderful. It is a bold Trope, and muſt be
ufed with caution and judgment. In comical cha-
racters and pieces of humour and drollery, more
liberty is allowed than in ferious and grave fubjects.
Not only Plautus in the character of Euclio, in Au
lularia ; but Horace, in the defcription of his mifer,
carries it to a degree of extravagance .
VI. Irony is a Trope whereby a man ſpeaks con-

trary to his thoughts, that he may fpeak with more
force and advantage. As when a notorious villain is
fcornfully complimented with the titles of a very
honeft and excellent perfon : the character of the
perfon ironically commended, the air of contempt
that appears in the fpeaker or writer, and the exor-
bitance of the commendations, fufficiently difcover
the diffimulation. Milton reprefents God Almighty
addreffing his bleffed Son upon the revolt of Lucifer,
and laughing to fcorn the attempts of thoſe moft
ungrateful and infatuated rebels in a very majestic
Irony :
Son ! Thou in whom my glory I behold

In full refplendence, heir of all my might,
Nearly it now concerns us to be ſure
Of our omnipotence !
E 3 And
N
UTIO
78 A HELP TO ELOC .
And Dryden finely ridicules the Egyptian worship,

in a laughing ironical commendation of their leek
and onion gods :
Th' Egyptian rites the Jebufites embrac'd ;

Where gods were recommended by their taste,
Such favory deities muſt needs be good,
As ferv'd at once for worship, and for food.
Abfalom and Achitophel.
This way of expreffion has great force in correct-

ing vice and hypocrify, and dafhing vanity and im-
pudence out of countenance. To drefs up a fcanda-
lous wretch in all the virtues and amiable qualities
that are directly contrary to the vicious difpofitions
that have rendered him infamous, only makes him
ridiculous in theſe mock-ornaments, and more effectu-
ally expofes him for a public mark of derifion. A
lively and agreeable kind of this Trope is ironical
exhortations : by this, when a man has largely rec-
koned up the inconveniences and mifchiefs that at-
tend any practice or way of living, he concludes
with feigned encouragement and advice to act after
that manner, and purfue that very courfe of life.
So when Horace has beautifully defcribed the tu-
mults, noife, and dangers of Rome, he clofes his
deſcription with this drolling application :
Go now, and ſtudy tuneful verfe at Rome !
When a dying or dead perfon is infulted with fcoffs

and ironical tartnefs, it is ufually called a Sarcaſm ,
which proceeds from heat of blood, eagerness of re-
fentment, and that arrogance and pride which pof-
feffes the heart of man upon victory and fuccefs.
Thus Pyrrhus, the fon of Achilles, when Priam re-
proached him with cruelty, and put him in mind of
his father's contrary behaviour, infults him with the
following farcafm :
Thou
Thou then be first, replies the chief, to go
With theſe fad tidings to his ghoſt below :
Begone, acquaint him with my crimes in Troy,
And tell my fire of his degenerate boy. Pitt's Virg.
Cuſtom has prevailed that any keen faying, which has

the true point of fatire, and cuts deep, is called a
Sarcafm .
VII. Catachrefis, or Abuſe, is a bold Trope,

which borrows the name of one thing to exprefs an-
other, which either has no proper name of its own,
or, if it has, the borrowed name is more furprifing
and acceptable by its boldnefs and novelty. Milton's
defcription of Raphael's defcent from the empireal
heaven to paradiſe, affords us a beautiful example of
this Trope :
-Down thither prone in flight

He ſpeeds, and thro' the vaſt etherial ſky
Sails between worlds and worlds-
The firſt way of ufing this Trope may be illuftrated

by this inftance : a parricide is ſtrictly and properly a
murderer of his father ; but there is no appropriate
and authoriſed name in Engliſh for a murderer of his
mother, brother, fifter, &c. therefore we call all
thofe bloody unnatural wretches by the name of par
ricides : and though at firft there be a feeming im-
propriety in the word fo applied, yet, upon a little
confideration, we find that the fenfe runs clear, and
the connection is juſt and obvious. It is no trefpafs
againſt reafon and propriety of language to give the
fame odious name to moniters , who are involved in
the fame enormous guilt.
By this ſhort account, it is plain that there is a ge
neral analogy or relation between all Tropes, and
that in all of them a man ufes a foreign or ftrange
word inſtead of a proper one, and therefore fays one
thing, and means fomething different. When he
fays one thing, and means another almoſt the fame,
E 4 it
it is a Synecdoche, or Comprehenfion : when he fays

one thing, and means another mutually depending,
it is a Metonymy : when he fays one thing, and
means another oppofite or contrary, it is an Irony :
when he fays one thing, and means another like to
it, it is a Metaphor : a Metaphor continued, and often
repeated, becomes an Allegory : a Metaphor carried
to a great degree of boldnefs, is an Hyperbole ; and
when at first found it ſeems a little harsh and fhocking,
and may be imagined to carry fome impropriety in it,
it is a Catachrelis.
CHA P. III.
Giving an Account of the Nature, Neceffity, and

Ufe of Figures in general.
I. FIGURE is a manner of fpeaking different
A from the ordinary and plain way, and more em-
phatical ; expreffing a paffion, or containing a beauty.
The best and most lively Figures do both. The
impreffions of wonder, love, hatred, fear, hope, &c.
made upon the foul of man, are characterifed and
communicated by Figures, which are the language of
the paffions.
The foul hath fuch a mighty command over that
curious organ the human body, that it can make all
the impreffions upon it (while it is in health and har-
mony) whereby all the different affections and paffions
are expreffed. It can by its fovereign 'pleafure fo
move and alter the blood and fpirits, fo contract or
relax the nerves, that, in forrow, a deadneſs and
heavinefs fhall make the countenance four : in anger,
a brutal fiercenefs fhall inflame the eyes, and ruffle
the looks into deformity: in joy and cheerfulneſs, a
fprightly gaiety fhall fmile in the eye, and enliven
every feature. The foul likewife tunes the organs of
fpeech, and fets them to that key which will most
effectually exprefs her prefent fentiments. So that
in joy, the voice fhall be tender, flowing, and rap-
turous ; in anger, fhrill, eager, and full of breaks:
in fear, low, confufed, and ftammering.
II. The
II. The neceffity of Figures may appear from the

following reafons :"
ift. Without Figures you cannot deſcribe a man in a
paffion ; becauſe a man in a cool and fedate temper
is quite another thing from himſelf under a commo-
tion and vehement disturbance. His eyes, his mo-
tions and expreffions are entirely different ; and why
fhould not the defcription of him in fuch contrary
poſtures be fo ? Nay, the feveral paffions must be
as carefully diftinguiſhed, as a ſtate of indolence and
tranquillity from any one paffion . For inftance, the
fame Hector taking leave of his lady and only fon,
and afterwards purfuing the Greeks with fire and
fword to their fhips, must be painted with very dif-
ferent colours. There, he muft lay afide all the
fiercenefs and terror of the warrior, and appear with
all the condefcenfion and goodneſs of a tender huf-
band and indulgent father. Here, he muſt reſume all
his military ardour ; a noble rage muft fparkle in his
face, and his very fmiles must be terrible.
2d. If writers and fpeakers defire to affect their
readers and hearers, they muft not only appear to be
concerned, but muft really be fo.
When a man is vehemently moved with the paffion
which he would infpire other people with, he ſpeaks
with ſpirit and energy ; and will naturally break out
into ftrong Figures, and all the ſuitable and moving
expreffions of an undiffembled eloquence. Unlearn-
ed people, in grief, anger, joy, &c. utter their
paflion with more vehemence and fluency than the
moſt learned, who are not heartily intereſted in the
matter, nor thoroughly warmed with the paffion which
they defcribe. What the fpeaker is, for the moſt
part the audience will be : if he be zealoufly con-
cerned, they will be attentive : if he be indifferent,
they will be perfectly carelefs and cold. Fire kindles
fire ; life and heat, in the ſpeaker, enliven and in-
fpirit the hearer. As we fee, by common experience,
that one very gay and pleafant perfon propagates
his cheerful humour wherever he comes, and gives
vivacity to a whole company ; fo, on the contrary, a
E 5 four
four and fullen wretch damps the liveliness of all
about him, and infects them with his own melancholy
and gloomy temper.
3d. Figures are highly ſerviceable to clear difficult
truths ; to make a ſtyle pleaſant and pathetical ; and
to awaken and fix attention.
III. I fhall now only mention fome of the direc-

tions which are given by our great maſters for the
prudent and proper ufe of Figures.
ft. Let your difcourfe always be founded upon
nature and ſenſe, fupported with ftrong reafon and
proof; and then add the ornaments and heightening
of Figures. A man of clear underſtanding will de-
fpife the flourish of Figures, without fenfe ; and
pomp of words, that wants truth and ſubſtance of
things. The regular way is to inform the judgment,
and then to raiſe the paffions. When your hearer is
fatisfied with your argument, he is then at leifure to
indulge his paffions ; and your eloquence and pathe-
tical addrefs will fcarce fail to have power and preva-
lence over him.
2d. Be fparing in the ufe of Figures. A paffion
defcribed in a multitude of words, and carried on to
a difproportionate length, fails of the end propofed,
and tires instead of pleafing. Contract your force
into a moderate compafs, and be nervous rather than
copious but if at any time there be occafion for you
to indulge a copiouſneſs of ſtyle, beware it does not
run into looſenefs and luxuriance.
3d. Figures must not be over-adorned, nor affect-
edly laboured, and ranged into nice and fcrupulous
periods. By affectation and fhew of art, the orator
betrays and expofes himfelf; and it is apparent, that
he is rather ambitious to fet off his parts and wit,
than to express his fincere concern and paffion. His
hearer will defpife him as a trifler, and hate his hy-
pocrify, who attempts to delude him with falfe rea-
foning; and perfuade him to the belief of what he
himſelf does not believe. Therefore he will ſtand
upon his guard againſt a man, whom he ſuſpects to
have
have defigns upon him ; and who propoſes to triumph

over his weaknefs. Sprightlinefs of thought and
fublimity of fenfe moft naturally produce vigorous
and tranſporting Figures ; and moſt beautifully con-
ceal the art, which muſt be uſed in cloathing them in
fuitable expreffions. The thought is fo bright, and
the turn of the period fo eaſy, that the hearer is not
aware of their contrivance, and therefore is more
effectually influenced by their force.
CHAP . IV.
Ofthe chiefand moſt moving Figures ofSpeech.

1. XCLAMATION is a Figure that expreffes
E the breaking out and vehemence of any
paffion :
O unexpected ftroke, worfe than of death !

Muft I thus leave thee, paradife ! thus leave
Thee, native foil ! thefe happy walks and fhades,
Fit haunt of gods ! Milt. Par. Loft:
Some Figures are the proper language of fome

particular paffions ; but this expreffes them all. It
is the voice of nature when he is in concern and
tranfport. The paffion of Andromache, upon the
news of her fon's being fentenced to be thrown from
a precipice and dafhed in pieces, and that of Hecuba
upon the view of his mangled body, are as mafterly
touches as any in Euripides : on that occafion the tra-
gic mufe put on her robe of deepest mourning, and
deplored the untimely and cruel fate of the royal in-
nocent in the tendereſt and moſt melting ftrains of
forrow.
II. Doubt expreffes the debate of the mind with
itfelf upon a preffing difficulty. A man in a fevere
ftrain and perplexity firft takes up one refolution ,
and then lays it afide ; after thinks another method
more convenient, and then changes again. He is
tuffed to and fro with ftrong tides of paffion ; and at
kut,
laft, after terrible ftruggles, fcarce fixes upon a final

determination. Thus Dido, after the departure of
her lover:
What fhall I do ? what fuccour can I find ?

Become a fuppliant to Hiarbas' pride ?
And take my turn to court and be deny❜d ?
Shall I with this ungrateful Trojan go?
Forfake an empire, and attend a foe?
Then fhall I feek alone the churlish crew ;
Or with my fleet their flying fails purfue ?
Rather with ſteel thy guilty breaft invade,
And take the fortune thou thyfelf haft made.
Dryd. Virg. Æn. v.
This Figure keeps us in eager attention, and moves-

all our tendernefs and compaffion for the unhappy
fufferer.
III. Correction is a Figure, whereby a man earnestly.

retracts and recalls what he had faid or refolved :
Firft and laft:

On me, me only, as the fource and fpring
Of all corruption, all the blamelights due :
So might the wrath ! fond wifh ! couldst thou fup-
port
That burthen heavier than the earth to bear ;
Than all the world much heavier ? Milt. Par. Loft.
When what an author hath faid appears too much ,

he abates by correcting himfelf, and ufing fome lef-
fening expreffion : " What is it then can give men
" the heart and courage, but I recall that word,
" becauſe it is not true courage, but fool-hardinefs, .
to outbrave the judgments of God ?" When
what has been faid appears too little, he ftrengthens
the expreffion , and enlarges the thought : " This
was great trouble to me, but that much more,
that
* Tillotfon .
that before my face they thus entertained, careffed,
and kiffed my enemy : my enemy, did I fay?
" Nay the enemy of the laws, the courts of justice,
" of peace, his country, and all good men * " An
author, thus correcting and checking himfelf, pre-
vents cavils and objections ; and, by the unexpected
quickness of the recollection and turn, pleafingly
furprifes the reader, and all of a fudden fires him
with his own paffion .
IV. Suppreffion is a Figure whereby a perfon in

rage, or other diſturbance in mind, fpeaks not out
all he means, but fuddenly breaks off his difcourfe.
The gentleman in Terence, extremely incenfed
against his adverfary, only accofts him with this.
abrupt faying, Thou of all- the excess of his
indignation and rage choaked the paffage of his voice,
and would not fuffer him to utter the reſt : but in theſe
cafes, though the difcourfe is not complete, the mean-
ing is readily understood ; and the evidence of the
thought eafily fupplies the defect of words..
Suppreffion fometimes proceeds from modefty, and
fear of uttering any word of ill and offenfive found.
V. Omiffion is, when an author pretends that he

conceals and omits what he declares : I do not
" mention my adverfaty's fcandalous gluttony and
" drunkennefs : I take no notice of his brutal lufts :
I fay not a fyllable of his treachery, malice, and
" cruelty." In eager paffion and contefts, variety
of arguments crowd into a man's thoughts ; but he is
fo moved and difturbed that he cannot regularly en-
large upon them. Befides, he has fome fear, that
if he fhould fay all his indignation would dictate, he
might trefpafs upon the patience of his hearer ; there-
fore he only gives fhorter hints, and pretends that
time and reverence for them will not allow him to
be more copious and exprefs. This Figure is fer-
viceable
* Cicero.
viceable to an orator in propofing his weaker argu

ments ; which yet he knows lie more level to the
capacities of fome part of his audience, which he de-
fires to have an intereft in. Therefore he does not
quite omit them, becauſe they may make impreffions
on thoſe people to his advantage : and yet he men-
tions them with an air of modefty and caution, left
he fhould difguft another part of his audience, to
whom they do not appear of equal force and con-
viction.
VI. Addrefs or Apoftrophe is, when in a vehe-

ment commotion a man turns himſelf on all fides, and
applies to the living and dead, to angels and men, to
rocks, groves, and rivers :
O woods, O fountains, hillocks , dales, and bowers !

With other echo late I taught your ſhades
To anſwer, and refound far other fong.
Milt. Par. Loft.
When the paffion is violent, it muſt break out and

difcharge itfelf. By this Figure the perfon moved
defires to intereft univerfal nature in his caufe ; and
appeals to all the creation for the juftneſs of his tran-
fport. Adam's morning hymn in Milton's Paradiſe
Loft, ver. 153 , is a chain and continuation of the
moft beautiful and charming Apoftrophes.
When the poets addrefs a mufe or fome divine
power to affift and direct them, this kind of Apoſtro-
phe, or poetical prayer, is called Invocation, by
which they gain efteem both to their perfons and
poems : they are looked upon as favoured, and their
poems as infpired, by Heaven. In the progrefs of
their poems they often repeat theſe pious addreſſes ;.
efpecially when a difficulty arifes, that furmounts
human power ; or a fecret is to be revealed that
could not be found out by human fagacity.
A fpecies of this Figure I take Communication to
be; when the fpeaker applies to the judge and hearers,
and entreats there opinion upon the queſtion in de-
bate,
bate. By this a man declares his hearty and un-

feigned concern for the caufe ; and pays deference
and honour to thoſe he addreffes. They are pleaſed
with his modeſty and fubmiffion, and fo inclined to
hear and judge with favour. There is a fort of
Communication fomething different from this, when
a perfon excufes his conduct, gives reafons for it,
and appeals to thoſe about him , whether they are
not fatisfactory :
Let envious jealoufy, and canker'd fpite,

Produce my actions to fevereſt light,
And tax my open day or fecret night.
Did e'er my tongue fpeak my unguarded heart
The leaft inclin'd to play the wanton's part?
Did e'er my eye one inward thought reveal,
Which angels might not hear, and virgins tell?
And haft thou in my conduct, Henry, known
One fault but that which I muſt ever own,
That I, ofall mankind, have lov'd but thee alone ?
Prior..
VII. Sufpenfion begins and carries on a period or

difcourfe in fuch a manner as pleaſes the reader all
along ; and keeps him in expectation of fome confi-
derable thing in the conclufion. With what infinite
fweetneſs does Eve carry on , with what grateful furs
priſe cloſe up, that rapturous fpeech to Adam ?
Sweet is the breath of morn, her rifing fweet,

With charm of earlieſt birds ; pleaſant the fun,
When firſt on this delightful land he ſpreads
His orient beams on herb, tree, fruit, and flower,
Glift'ring with dew: fragrant the earth
After ſoft ſhowers ; and fweet the coming on
Of grateful evening mild ; then, filent night
With this her folemn bird, aud this fair morn,
And theſe the gems of heaven, her ſtarry train.
But neither breath of morn when the afcends
With charm of earlieſt birds, nor rifing fun
In this delightful land, nor herb, fruit, flower,
Glift'ring
S8 A HELP TO ELOCUTION .
Glift'ring with dew, nor fragrance after showers,

Nor grateful evening mild, nor filent night
With this her folemn bird, nor walk by moon ,
Nor glittering ftarlight- without thee is fweet
Milt. Par. Left.
This beautiful Figure makes people attentive ; and

when it is perfect, as here, amply rewards the cloſeſt
attention. Great care muſt be taken that the expec-
tation which is raiſed be not difappointed : for no-
thing is more vain and contemptible than to promiſe
much and perform little ; to usher in an errant trifle
with the formality of preface and folemn preparation.
VIII. Interrogation is , when the writer or orator

raifes questions and returns anfwers ; not as if he was
in a fpeech or continued difcourfe, but in dialogue
or conference with his reader, auditor, or adverfary :
“ Tell me, will you go about and aſk one another,
" What news ? What can be more aftonishing news
than this, that the man of Macedon makes war
66
upon the Athenians, and difpofes the affairs of
" Greece ? Is Philip dead ? No ; but he's fick.
" What fignifies it to you whether he be dead or
alive ! for if any thing happen to this Philip,
66
you will immediately raife up another * ." All
this delivered without Interrogation had been faint
and ineffectual ; but the fuddennefs and fervour of
queftion and anfwer imitates the tranfport of paffion ;
makes the difcourfe to found with probability, and to
be heard with attention. What is faid after fuch a
warm and eager manner does not feem the effect of
ftudy and premeditation, but the natural refult and
effufion of a man's unfeigned concern . The orator
conceals his art and defign, and fo gains the eſteem
of the audience for his fincerity and heartiness ; they
lie open to him, and are carried along with the tor-
rent of his paffion and refiftlefs eloquence. Scarce
any paffion can be named but may be put into the
form
* Demofthenes, quoted by Longinus.

form of Interrogation, and may appear with beauty
and advantage in it.
Expoftulation is nearly related to this vigorous and
preffing Figure : whereby the injured perfon urges
the offender with all the proper queftions he thinks
can be propoſed, and pleads with him from all the
topics of reafon ; that he may convince him of his
injuſtice, and make him ashamed of his folly and in-
gratitude ; that he may beat him off his excufes and
pleas of abatement, that he may reduce him to an
ingenuous promife and ſteady refolution for the fu-
ture to obferve his duty :
" For what have you left unattempted, what have
66 you efteemed facred thefe late days ? What name
fhall I beftow on this affembly? Shall I call you
" foldiers, who have befieged your general and em-
peror's fon with trenches and arms ? Citizens , who
" fo contemptuouſly infult the authority of the
❝ fenate * ?"
IX. Prevention is, when an author ſtarts an ob-

jection , which he forfees may be made against any
thing he affirms , defires, or advifes to ; and gives
an anſwer to it :
What then remains ? Are we depriv'd of will ?

Mult we not ask for fear of afking ill ?
Receive my counfel, and fecurely move ;
Intrust thy fortune to the Pow'rs above.
Leave God to manage for thee, and to grant
What his unerring wifdom fees thee want.
Dryd. Juv
This generally gets the author the reputation of

forefight and care ; of diligence and a generous affu
rance of the reaſon and juſtice of his caufe. When
he
* Germanicus in his noble fpeech to his mutinous foldiers,,

Tacit. Annal. i. 27, &c. See alfo Scipio's noble fpeech to his..
mutineers, at Sucro, Liv. Vol. iii. lib. 28. p. 360. Edit. Hearne,.
he puts the objections against himſelf in their full
force, it is plain that he does not fear the cleareſt
light, nor decline the ftricteft examination. By it
likewife fome advantage is gained over an adverfary :
he is foreſtalled and prevented in his exceptions ; and
either filenced, or obliged to a repetition ; which is
not fo grateful as the mention of a thing freſh and
untouched.
To this Figure may be referred Premunition,
whereby the ſpeaker, efpecially in the entrance and
beginning of his difcourfe, cautiously guards himſelf
against prejudice and mifapprehenfion : that he may
neither leffen his intereft with his friends, nor in-
flame the malice, and increaſe the power of thoſe
who watch to do him mifchief.
X. Conceffion freely allows fomething that yet

might bear difpute, to obtain fomething that a man
would have granted to him, and which he thinks
cannot fairly be denied .
This Figure is fometimes favourable in the begin-
ning, but ſevere and cutting in the clofe ; as Tully
upon the Greeks :-" I allow the Greeks learning,
and ſkill in many fciences ; fharpneſs of wit, and
" fluency of tongue ; and if you praiſe them for
66 any other excellences, I fhall not much contra-
" dict you but that nation was never eminent for
" tenderneſs of confcience, and regard to faith and
" truth." Sometimes the first parts are fretting and
fevere, but the conclufion healing :-" I am, Sir, I
66
own, a pimp, the common bane of youth, a per-
" jured villain, a very peft ; but I never did you an
" injury *." The fhew of candour and veracity a
man makes by this Figure, in frankly granting fo
much, removes from him the fufpicion of partiality,
and gives him more credit and authority in what he
denies.
Another fort of Conceffion is, when fearing we
cannot obtain all we defire, we give up one part to
carry
Sannio to Æfchinus in Terence Adelphi 2, I. 34, 35.

carry the reft. When Dido defpairs of prevailing
with Æneas to ſettle with her at Carthage, the only
entreats he would ſtay a little longer, to allow her
fome time to affwage her grief, and prepare to bear
his departure :
Tell my perfidious lover, I implore

The name of wedlock he difclaims, no more :
No more his purpos'd voyage I detain
From beauteous Latium, and his deſtin'd reign.
For fome fmall interval of time I move,
Some fhort, fhort ſeaſon to fubdue my love,
Till reconcil'd to this unhappy ftate,
I grow at laſt familiar with iny fate :
This favour if he grant, my death ſhall pleaſe
His cruel foul, and ſet us both at eaſe.
Pitt's Virg. Æn. iv.
It is by this Figure that oppreffed people in the

extremity of their indignation provoke their enemies
to do them all the mifchief they can, and proceed
ftill to farther degrees of barbarity ; that fuch lively
reprefentations of their injuftice and cruelty may
ſtrike them with horror and ſhame, and difpofe them
to relent. The complaints and upbraidings ofjarring
friends and lovers are moſt emphatically expreffed in
this Figure ; the defign of which is to give the guilty
perfon a deep fenfe of his unkindnefs, and to kindle
all the old paffion and tenderneſs :
Proceed, inhuman parent, in thy fcorn,

Root out my trees, with blights deflroy my corn ;
My vineyards ruin, and my ſheepfolds burn :
Let loofe thy rage, let all thy fpite be ſhown,
Since thus thy hate purfues the praiſes of thy fon.
Dryd. Virg. Geor. iv.
To this Figure may be referred that eloquent infi-

nuation, whereby the orator, after he has ufed all
his arguments to perfuade his hearers, as it were
once more fets them at liberty, and leaves them to
their
their own election ; it being the nature of man to

ftick more ftedfaftly to what is not violently impofed,
but is our own free and deliberate choice : " If it
" feem evil unto you to ferve the Lord, chooſe you ›
" th's day whom you will ferve." When the great
Joſhua had, under God, inthe most astonishing man-
ner, conquered the people of Canaan, and conducted
the Ifraelites into their land, he exhorts them to a
fteady adherence to the worship of the true God,
who had fo vifibly appeared for them, and made
them fo glorioufly triumph over their enemies. In
the conclufion of his fpeech, well knowing the ad-
vantage and merits of his caufe, and that he might
fafely appeal to their confcience and experience for
the truth ofwhat he faid, he leaves them to their own
liberty and choice. As if that brave man had faid,
My friends and countrymen, if I should enlarge on a
matter fo plain, it might feem a distrust upon both
your understanding and ingenuity. I leave all to
you, not in the leaft fufpecting that you can refift
fuch arguments as cannot fail to work upon any one,.
who has either reafon or gratitude.
XI. Repetition is a Figure which gracefully and

emphatically repeats either the fame word, or the
fame fenfe in different words. Care is to be taken.
that we run not into infinite tautologies, nor affect a
trifling found and chime of infignificant words. All
Turns and Repetitions are fo that do not contribute
to the ſtrength and luftre of the difcourfe ; or at leaſt
ene of them . The nature and defign of this Figure
is to make deep impreffions on thofe we addrefs . It
expreffes anger and indignation ; full affurance of
what we affirm , and vehement concern for what we
have efpoufed.
The most charming Repetitions are thoſe where-
by the principal words in a ſentence, either the fame
in found or fignification, are repeated with ſuch ad-
vantage and improvement, as raiſes a new thought,
or gives a mufical cadence and harmony to the pe-
riod. Thefe in English are called fine Turns ; and
L are
are either upon the words or the thought, or both.
A dexterous Turn upon words is pretty ; the Turn
upon the thought fubftantial ; but the confummation
and crown of all is, when both the found of the
words is grateful, and their meaning comprehenfive ;
when both the reafon and ear are entertained with a
noble thought vigorously expreffed, and beautifully
finished. That in Mr. Prior's Henry and Emma is
a very agreeable Turn :.
Are there no poifons, racks, and flames, and fwords,

That Emma thus muft die by Henry's words ?
Yet what could fwords, or poifons, racks, or flame,
But mangle and disjoint this brittle frame?
More fatal Henry's words; they murder Emma's
fame. Prior.
Strong and vehement paffions will not admit Turns

upon words ; nor ought they to have place in heroic'
poems, or in grave exhortations and folemn difcourfes
of morality. To this Figure, which has greater va-
riety and many branches, may be referred the ufing
many words of the fame fignification to exprefs one
important thing. When a man is full of his fub-
ject , and eager to communicate his thoughts with
vigour, he is not fatisfied with one expreffion , though
never fo ftrong ; but ufes all the fignificant variety
the can recollect. So Tully for Milo * . " The affaf-
" fin was baffled, force repelled by force, or rather
boldnefs overcome by bravery. If reafon pre-
" fcribes this to the learned, and neceffity to Barba-
-“ rians, cuſtom to nations, and nature itſelf to brute
beafts, always to beat off all manner of violence,
" by all poffible ways, from their body, from their
head, from their life ; you cannot judge this to
" be a criminal and wicked action, but at the fame
time you muft judge that all perfons, who fall
amongſt robbers and bravoes, muft either perish
" by their weapons, or your fentence." An orator,
in
* Select. Orat. in ufum Del.

in the heat of his engagement, in the vehemence of

his indignation against an infolent and unreaſonable
adverfary, and his earneft concern for the preſerva-
tion of a dear friend in danger, exerts the utmoſt
power of his eloquence, redoubles his ftrokes, and
eagerly puſhes on all his advantages.
XII. Periphrafis or Circumlocution ufes more and

fometimes lefs plain words, to avoid fome inconve-
nience and ill effect which would proceed from ex-
preffing a thing in fewer and plainer words.
When Tully * could not deny the death of Clo-

dius, and was defending Milo charged with his mur-
der, he fays, Milo's fervants, without the command,
knowledge, or prefence of their mafter, did what
every mafter would expect his fervants ſhould do in
the like cafe. He avoids the word killed or ftabbed,
for fear of offending the people. This method of
treating a ſubject gives the audience a good opinion
of the prudence and modefty of the pleader : one
unguarded and diftafteful word has fometimes loft
the fpeaker the favour of the audience, before well
inclined to him, and ruined a promifing caufe.
Very often Circumlocution is ufed, not merely
out of prudence or neceffity to conceal a fecret, or
cover an indecency ; but for variety and ornament,
to give pomp and dignity to our expreffions, to en-
rich a difcourfe with new thoughts, and to multiply
the graces of a deſcription :
The night's bright emprefs in her golden car

Darting full glories from her lovely face,
Kindles fresh beauties in the eye of Heſper.
XIII. Amplification is, when every chief expref-

fion in a period adds ftrength and advantage to what
went before ; and fo the fenfe all along heightens, till
the period be vigoroufly and agreeably cloſed :
66 It
* Orat. pro Mil. § 6. p. 316 ,

" It is pleaſant to be virtuous and good, becauſe
" that is to excel many others : it is pleaſant to
66 grow better, becaufe that is to excel ourſelves :
66 nay, it is pleaſant even to mortify and fubdue our
lufts, becauſe that is victory : it is pleaſant to
" command our appetites and paffions, and to keep
" them in due order, within the bounds of reafon
" and religion, becauſe this is empire * ." When
an author thus improves upon us in his difcourfe, we
are extremely pleafed and attentive while he conti-
nues it ; and perfectly fatisfied when he concludes.
We are edified and charmed with the inftruction of
one whom we find to be complete mafter of his
fubject. What reputation muſt it be to the writer,
what pleaſure to the reader, when one fays every
thing in the beſt manner it can be faid ; and the other
is entertained with every thing that can be defired !
but it is the utmoft reproach to an author, and a moſt
intolerable difappointment to the reader, when the
one flags and faulters every ftep ; and fo the other
is fatigued and mortified with a continual feries of
heavy and lifelefs periods. There are various ways
of contriving and forming this Figure, which have
great force and elegance ; though perhaps they can-
not nicely be adapted to every part of the definition.
I fhall name three very lively ways of expreffing an
Amplification.
ft. We amplify or raiſe a diſcourſe by ſelecting a
number of the moſt emphatical and ſtrongeſt words
of the language we ufe ; every one of which adds
fomething new to the fentence ; and, all joined,
heighten it to the utmoſt degree of perfection. That
paffage in Pope's Effay on Man is upon this account
admired :
Who fees with equal eye, as God of all,

A hero perish, or a fparrow fall,
Atoms or fyftems into ruin hurl'd,
And now a bubble burſt, and now a world.
2d. This
* Archbishop Tillotson, Serm. 12. p. 138.

N
2d. This Figure is fometimes expreffed by way of
compariſon or appofition : -" When that great man
" P. Scipio, though but a private perfon, killed Ti-
" berius Gracchus, making fome finall innovation
and disturbance in the ftate ; fhall we, who are
" confuls, bear Cataline, who is endeavouring and
" plotting to lay the world waste with fire and
" fword * ?."
3d. A difcourfe is very happily and beautifully
heightened by way of argument or rational inference.
Quintilian + excellently obferves, that Homer gives
us a very exalted idea of Helen's fovereign charms,
when he introduces Priam's grave counsellors owning,
that it was not to be complained of or refented, that
the Trojans and Greeks had fuftained the calamities
of a long and cruel war for fuch a woman ; and
makes the king himſelf place her by him, call her,
dear child, and treat her with all poffible tenderneſs
and refpect. Muft not every judicious reader infer
that her beauty must be incomparable, which was
admired and praiſed to fuch a degree by men cool
and unpaffionate, of mature wifdom and great age, who
had been deep fufferers by it ? must not that face be
fuperlatively lovely, and thofe eyes fparkle with re-
fiftlefs luftre, that could be viewed with pleaſure and
veneration by that miferable prince ; though they
had kindled the flames of war in his country, and
blafted the profperity and all the hopes of his late
flourishing family ?
To this we may refer Climax or Gradation.-
Which is, when the word or expreffion, which ends
the first member of a period, begins the fecond, and
fo on ; fo that every member will make a diſtinct
fentence, taking its rife from the next foregoing, till
the argument and period be beautifully finished. Or,
in the terms of the ſchools, it is when the word or
expreffion, which was predicate in the first member
of a period, is fubject in the fecond, and fo on, till
the
Tully againſt Cataline. + Inftitut. lib. viii . cap. 4.

p. 405.
the argument and period be brought to a noble con-
clufion. This Figure, wher natural and vigorous,
furniſhes the mind with variety of ideas, and accuf-
toms it to attention and cloſe thinking. The art
and contexture of a Gradation often appears plain,
and lies in too open view ; therefore care muſt be
taken that the Gradations we ufe be inforced, and
abound with good fenfe ; be fignificant and dexterously
turned. I am pleaſed with that in Dr. Tillotfon *
" After we have practifed good actions a while ,
" they become eafy ; and when they are eafy, we
" begin to take pleaſure in them ; and when they
" pleafe us, we do them frequently ; and by fre-
quency of acts a thing grows into a habit ; and a
" confirmed habit is a fecond kind of nature ; and fo
far as any thing is natural, fo far it is neceffary,
" and we can hardly do otherwife ; nay,"" we do it
66 many times when we do not think of it.'
-XIV. Omiffion of a copulative, is when the con-

junctions, or little particles that connect words to-
gether, are left out, to repreſent haſte, or eagerneſs
of paffion.
When Dido, in the violence of her rage and re-
fentment for the abrupt departure of Æneas, charges
her people to arm themſelves and purſue the Trojan
Aeet :
Hafte, haul my gallies out, purfue the foe,

Bring flaming brands, fet fail, impetuous row†.
The members of the period are looſe and uncon

nected ; which moft naturally paints the hurry and
diſtraction of her thoughts. The conjunctions put
between the words would have cramped and fettered
the period, fo that it would have moved flow and
unwieldy, and have been far from a reprefentation
of the raging queen's diſturbance of mind, and vehe-
mence of paffion .
Salluft
* Serm. x. p. 117. † Æn. iv.
F
T ION
98 A HELP TO ELOCU .
Salluft excellently and very naturally reprefents

the rout and precipitate flight of the Moors in theſe
words : Tum fpectaculum horribile in campis patentibus :
fequi, fugere, occidi, capi.
The contrary to the former-multitude of copu-
latives is when the little particles are properly put in
before every principal word in the period.
Livy, giving an account how the pleaſures and
luxury of Capua corrupted and foftened the army of
Hannibal, among others has this beautiful paffage :
" For fleep, and wine, and feaſts, and ftrumpets,
and bagnios, and reft, that through cuſtom grow
" every day more bewitching, had fo weakened both
" their bodies and their minds, that the reputation
"
of their past victories protected them more than
their prefent ftrength ." This Figure , when
aptly and judicioufly ufed, makes a difcourfe ftrong
and folemn, fixes an emphafis upon every word,
and points it out as worthy of obfervation .
XV. Oppofition is a Figure whereby things very

different or contrary are compared and placed near,
that they may fet off each other. White placed near
black fhines brighter : innocence compared with guilt
appears with double charms and lovelineſs.
The poets, hiftorians, and orators, improve theirfub-
ject, and much heighten the pleafure of their reader,
by the beautiful oppofition of the characters and de-
fcriptions.
Tacitus deſcribes the exceffive dalliances and
frantic revels of the Emprefs Meffalina with Silius,
a little before their death, in wonderful pomp and
gaiety of expreffion ; that the reader may be the
more furprifed and aftonished at the fuddennefs and
terrible circumftances of her fall. The poet || in his
fine defcription of Dido's defpair, the night before her
death, reprefents all the creation enjoying profound
tran-
Bell. Jugurth . p. 106. Edit. Mattaire. Liv. Hift.

3. vol. edit. Hearne , lib. xxiii. p. 27. Annal. xi. p. 252.
Virg. Æn. iv. ver. 522.
tranquillity and fweet reft, to render that miferable
queen's difquietudes more moving. She was deprived
of the common privilege indulged to the poorest and
moft defpicable creatures ; fleep fled from her eyes,
and quiet was banished from her breast.
In Virgil's fecond Georgic there is a very agree-
able contrast and oppofition, in that fine compari-
fon between the court and country ; the pomp and
hurry of ſtate ; and the freedom and pure pleafures
of retirement and agriculture. Upon a full ennu-
ineration of the feveral conveniences and enjoyments
of both ways of living, what advantage and over-
balances does the poet give to the latter ! the very
manner of his expreffion, and turn of his poetry, are
with great judgment and dexterity varied, and made
fuitable to his different fubjects. The defcription of
the pride and ſtatelinefs of the great is drawn to the
life in a pompous run of verfe, and variety of very
bold Tropes :
-Ingentem foribus domus alta fuperbis,

Mane falutantûm totis vomit ædibus undam ;
-Varios inhiant pulchrâ teftudine pottes,
Illufafque auro veftes Virg. Georg. ii.
But you have the innocence and plainneſs, the ſweet-

nefs and undisturbed quiet of the country, naturally
reprefented in proper words, in plain and eafy expref-
fion, and in the finootheft and ſweeteſt numbers :
At fecura quies, & nefcia fallere vita,

Dives opum variarum ; at latis otia fundis,
Spelunce, vivique lacus ; at frigida Tempe,
Mugitufque boum , molefque fub arbore fomni
Non abfunt.- Virg. Georg. ii.
The foregoing Paffages from Virgil are thus tranf-

lated by Mr. Wharton.
Thrice happy fwains ! whom genuine pleaſuresblefs,
If they but knew and felt their happiness !
F 2 From
100 A HELP TO ELOCUTION,
From wars and diſcord far, and public ſtrife,

Earth with falubrious fruits fupports their life :
Tho' high-arch'd domes, tho' marble halls they
want,
And columns cas'd in gold and elephant,
In aweful ranks where brazen ſtatues ſtand ,
The polish'd works of Grecia's fkilful hand;
Nor dazzling palace view, whofe portals proud
Each morning vomit out the cringing crowd ;
Nor wear the tiffu'd garment's cumb'rous pride,
Nor feek foft wool in Syrian purple dy'd,
Nor with fantaſtic luxury defile
The native ſweetneſs of the liquid oil ;
Yet calm content, fecure from guilty cares,
Yet home-felt pleaſure, peace, and reſt, are theirs ;
Leifure and eafe, in groves, and cooling vales,
Grottos, and bubbling brooks, and darkfome dales ;
The lowing oxen, and the bleating ſheep,
And, under branching trees, delicious fleep !
There forefts, lawns, and haunts of beafts abound,
There youth is temperate, and laborious found;
There altars and the righteous gods are fear'd,
And aged fires by duteous fons rever'd ;
There juftice linger'd ere ſhe fled mankind,
And left fome traces of her reign behind !
XVI. Compariſon beautifully fets off and illuſtrates

one thing by reſembling and comparing it to an-
other, to which it bears a manifeft relation and re-
femblance :
-She never told her love,

But let concealment, like a worm i' th' bud,
Feed on her dainafk cheek : fhe pin'd in thought,
And fate, like patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief.- Shakespeare.
The poet wonderfully praiſes the bravery of his

hero, with perfect ferenity and prefence of mind,
giving orders of battle in the hurry and heat of the
bloody action, when he compares him to an angel
riding
A HELP TO ELOCUTION. ΙΟΣ
riding upon the wings of the wind, and directing a

ftorm where to pour out his fury :
So when an angel, by divine command,

With rifing tempeſts ſhakes a guilty land,
(Such as of late o'er pale Britannia paft)
Calm and ferene he drives the furious blaft ;
And glad th' Almighty's orders to perform ,
Rides in the whirlwind , and directs the ſtorm *.
Comparifons mightily ftrengthen and beautify a

diſcourſe ; for fome time take off the reader from the
principal fubject, and ſtart new and agreeable images
to divert and entertain him, that he may return to
it with freſh pleature and eagerness. In Compariſon
theſe things are to be obſerved.
f. The chief and effential parts of the Compari-
fon must bear an exact and true proportion. Some
fmall difagreement in a lefs confiderable circumſtance
will not ſpoil the grace, nor take away the ſtrength
of the Figure. Though the greater agreement and
exacter parallel there is in all particulars, the more
lively the Figure is. And therefore, generally ſpeak▾
ing, Compariſons ought to be ſhort. In running
into minute circumſtances, befides the tediouſneſs,
there is danger of diſcovering ſome unagreeable dif-
proportion.
2d. Compariſons need not always be drawn from
very noble and lofty ſubjects. Thoſe taken from
meaner things are fignificant and agreeable, if they
be ſet off in noble words, if they give clear notions,
and paint in ſtrong and fine colours the thing we in-
tend to repreſent by them. In great fubjects, Com-
parifons from leffer things relieve and refresh the
mind ; as when Shakeſpeare illuftrates the govern-
ment of a kingdom by comparing it with that of
bees :
So
Mr. Addifon's Campaign.

F 3
So work the honey bees ;
Creatures that, by a rule in nature, teach
The art of order to a peopled kingdom.
They have a king, and officers of itate ;
Where fome, like magiftrates, correct at home ;
Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad ;
Others , like foldiers, armed in their ftings,
Make boot upon the fummer's velvet buds,
Which they with merry march bring home
To the tent royal of their emperor :
Who, bufy'd in his majefty, furveys
The finging mafon building roots of gold,
The civil citizens kneading up the honey,
The poor mechanic porters crowding in
Their heavy burthens at his narrow gate,
The fad-ey'd juftice, with his furly hum,
Delivering o'er to execution pale
The lazy yawning drone.
And common fubjects may be heightened and im-

proved by ftrong and fublime Comparifons ; as when
the fame author compares the reſtoration of a lawful
king, to the rifing of the fun after a dark night :
-Know'st thou not

That whenthe ſearching eye of heaven is hid´
Behind the globe, and lights the lower world ;
Then thieves and robbers range abroad unſeen,
In murders, and in outrage bloody here :
But when from under this terreſtrial ball,
He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines ;
And darts his light thro' every guilty hole ;
Then murders, treafons, and detefted fins,
The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their
backs,
Stand bare and naked, trembling at themfelves.
So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke,
Who all this while hath revell'd in the night,
Whilst we were wand'ring with the antipodes,
Shall fee us rifing in our throne, the east ;
His treafons will fit bluſhing in his face,
Not
Not able to endure the fight of day,
But, felf-affrighted, tremble at his fin.
For more examples of both kinds, I refer you to

fome beautiful paffages in Hom. Il. iv. 130, 131.
Milton's Par. Loft, i. 768, &c. Virg. Georg. ii .
379 , &c.
Thofe alfo are very strong and glowing Compari-
fons, where the nobleft beings of the natural and
moral world, where angels, good or bad, are com-
pared to the luminaries of heaven. How fublime is
Milton in his comparifon of Lucifer's diminished,
flender, and faded beauties, to the fun over-clouded
or eclips❜d !
His form had not yet loft

All its original brightnefs, nor appear'd
Lefs than archangel ruin'd, and th ' excefs
Of glory obfcur'd : as when the fun new rifen
Looks thro' the horizontal mifty air
Shorn of his beams, or from behind the moon
In dim eclipfe diſaſtrous twilight ſheds
On half the nations, and with fear of change
Perplexes monarchs. Darken'd fo, yet fhone
Above them all th' archangel. Par. Loft.
XVII. Lively Defcription is fuch a strong and

beautiful reprefentation of a thing, as gives the reader
a diſtinct view and fatisfactory notion of it.
How animated and beautiful is Shakeſpeare's De-
fcription ofthe queen of the Fairies, and her power
of caufing dreams!
She is the fancy's midwife, and ſhe comes

In fize no bigger than an agate-ftone
On the forefinger of an alderman ;
Drawn with a team of little atomies ,
Athwart men's nofes as they lie afleep.
Her waggon fpokes made of long ſpinner's legs ;
The cover, of the wings of grafhoppers ;
The traces, of the ſmalleſt ſpider's web ;
F 4 The
The collars, of the moonshine's watʼry beams ;

Herwhip of cricket's bone ; the laſh, of film ;
Her waggoner, a ſmall grey-coated gnat,
Not half fo big as a round little worm,
Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid ;
Her chariot is an empty hazle nut,
Made by the joiner fquirrel, or old grub,'
Time out of mind, the Fairies coachmakers.
And in this ſtate fhe gallops, night by night,
Through lovers brains, and then they dream of love ;
On courtiers knees, that dream on curt❜fies ſtrait;
O'er lawyers fingers, who ftrait dream on fees ;
O'er ladies lips who ſtrait on kiffes dream ;
Which oft the angry Mab with blifters plagues,
Becauſe their breaths with fweetmeats tainted are.
Sometimes the gallops o'er a courtier's nofe,
And then dreams he of fmelling out a fuit :
And fometimes comes fhe with a tythe- pig's tail,
Tickling the parfon as he lies afleep ;
Then dreams he of another benefice.
Sometimes the driveth o'er a foldier's neck,
And then he dreams of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambufcadoes, Spaniſh blades,
Of healths five fathom deep ; and then anon
Drums in his ears , at which he ſtarts and wakes ;
And being thus frighted, fwears a prayer or two,
And fleeps again.
In Defcriptions a judicious author will omit low

and vulgar circumftances, and chiefly beſtow his pains
to complete and beautify all the effential and mafterly
ftrokes. It is the manner of little verfifiers to take
every hint that prefents itſelf, and run out into long
common places. A writer that would live and pleaſe,
will cut off fuperfluities, and reject the most pleafing
thoughts and florid lines which would come in abrupt-
ly, and quite foreign to his fubject. Many things
muſt be left to the imagination of the reader, and
ſeaſonable filence has its emphafis. Virgil tells his
reader, that Eurydice was killed by a ferpent lurk-
ing in a bank, but fays nothing more of that veno-
mous
mous creature. A poetafter would probably have
ſpent as many lines in a horrid Defcription of it, as
compofe that admirable poem : but that divine poet
knew there was no room for fuch a liberty here : his
defign, in this fhort and exquifite piece, being only
to give a moving pattern of true conjugal affection,
and to fhew the rapturous force which good mufic
and poetry have over the most fierce and favage
tempers.
But he defcribes the two ferpents which deſtroyed
Laocoon and his fons in fuch particular circumſtances,
and paints the devouring monſters in ſuch ſtrong and
frightful colours, that they amaze and chill the
reader. Here his only bufinefs was to raiſe terror,
and give his reader a due notion of the diſpleaſure of
the gods against Troy, which was fo fixed and impla-
cable, that they thus fignally cut off an innocent man
and his family, for giving his countrymen advice,
which tended to the oppofing their fevere decree,
and the preſervation of that devoted city. The De-
fcription of a perfon is called a Character, in drawing
which the true proof of art and judgment is to hit
a beautiful likenefs ; and with a delicate touch to
give thofe features and colours which are peculiar to
the perfon, and diſtinguiſh him from the rest of man-
kind. In every good and lively Deſcription a man
must come to an enumeration of the chief particu
lars ; for generals are often obfcure and faint ; a ju-
dicious account of particulars fets every thing in full
view, and makes a strong and lafting impreffion upon..
the reader..
XVIII. Vifion , or Image, is a reprefentation of

things diftant and unfeen, in order to raiſe wonder,
terror, or compaffion, made with fo much life and
emphafis, that as the poet has a full view of the
whole ſcene he defcribes, fo he makes the reader fee
it inthe fame ſtrong light :
Or mad Oreftes, when his mother's ghost .

Full in his face infernal torches toft;
F. 5 And
And ſhook her fnaky locks : he fhuns the fight,

Flies o'er the ſtage furpris'd with mortal fright,
The furiesguard the door, and intercept his flight.
Dryd. Virg. En. iv.
This noble Image raifes confternation and terror :

an inftance of tender Image to move pity we have in
thofe foft and fweet lines of Spenfer :
-Not one word more fhe faid ;

But breaking off the end for want of breath,
And fliding foft, as down to fleep the laid,
And ended all her woe in quiet death. Fairy Queen.
1
The poet, or orator, upon thefe occafions is fo
fully poffeffed of, and vehemently intent upon , his
fubject, that he is really tranfported with thoſe
paffions which he would infpire his readers or hearers
with ; and by that ftrength and noble enthufiafm of
imagination, he is happily qualified to captivatę
their affections. A commanding genius can imprefs
his own Images upon thofe he addreffes ; can move
the inmoft fprings of their foul ; and, with a pleaſing
power, triumph over the whole man.
XIX. Profopopoeia , perfonifying , or raifing qua

lities or things inanimate into perfons, has two parts.
ift. When good and bad qualities, accidents, and
things inanimate are introduced in difcourfe, and de-
fcribed as living and rational beings. Virtue and
Pleaſure addrefs young Hercules as two bright ladies
of oppofite parties ; the one would fain induce him
to decline the toils of war, and indulge hiinfelf in
cafe and luxury : the other earneſtly exhorts him to
fbake off floth, and purfue true fame and folid glory.
Take the Deſcription of them from an elegant poem
which Mr. Spence has given us in his Polymetis.
The firſt, in native dignity furpafs'd,

Artleſs and unadorn'd, the pleas'd the more :
Health ,
Health, o'er her looks, a genuine luftre caft ;

A veft, more white than new-fall'n fnow, fhe wore.
Auguft the trod, yet modeſt was her air ;
Serene her eye, yet darting heavenly fire,
Still the drew near ; and nearer ſtill more fair,
More mild appear'd : yet fuch as might infpire
Pleaſure corrected with an awful fear ;
Majeſtically ſweet, and amiably ſevere.
The other dame feem'd of a fairer hue ;
But bold her mien ; unguarded rov'd her eye :
And her flush'd cheek confefs'd at nearer view,
The borrowed bluſhes of an artful die.
All foft and delicate, with airy fwim
Lightly fhe danc'd along ; her robe betray'd
Thro' the clear texture every tender limb,
Heightening the charms it only feem'd to fhade :
And as it flow'd adown, fo looſe and thin,
Her ftature fhew'd more tall, more fnowy-white
her ſkin.
And in the fame poem, how animated and ftriking

is the Defcription of their different effects and confe-
quences, by being put into the mouth of Virtue as a
perfon, and addreffed to Vice as a perfon alfo !
Vaft happineſs, enjoy thy gay allies !

A youth of follies, an old age of cares :
Young, yet enervate ; old, yet never wife ;
Vice waftes their vigour, and their mind impairs.
Vain, idle, delicate, in thoughtleſs eaſe,
Referving woes for age, their prime they ſpend ;
All wretched, hopeleſs , in the evil days
With forrow to the verge of life they tend,
Griev'd with the prefent ; of the paſt aſham'd ;
They live, and are defpis'd ; they die, no more are
nam'd.
But with the gods, and godlike men I dwell :

Me, his fupreme delight, th' Almighty fire
Regards well pleas'd ; whatever works excel,
All, or divine or human, I infpire.
Counfel
Counfel with ftrength, and induſtry with art,
In union meet conjoin'd, with me refide :
My dictates arm , inftruct, and mend the heart ;
The fureft policy, the wifeft guide.
With me true friendſhip dwells ; fhe deigns to bind
Thofe generous fouls alone, whom I before have
join'd.
Nor need my friends the various coſtly feaſt :

Hunger to them th' effects of art fupplies :
Labour prepares their weary limbs to reft ;
Sweet is their fleep; light, cheerful, ſtrong they
rife.
Thro' health, thro' joy, thro' pleaſure, and re-
nown ,
They tread my paths ; and by a foft defcent,
At length to age all gently finking down,
Look back with tranfport on a life well ſpent :
In which, no hour flew unimprov'd away ;
In which, fome generous deed diſtinguiſh'd every
day.
And when, the deftin'd term at length complete,

Their afhes rest in peace, eternal fame
Sounds wide their praife ; triumphant over fate,
In facred fong for ever lives their name.
The invention and defcription of thefe imaginary

perfons, if managed with judgment, raiſes admira-
tion, and gives grace and grandeur to a difcourfe.
The poets, who were the divines of ancient ages,
finding that every part of the world was influenced
by a fuperior intelligent power, and every where ob-
ferving bright and manifett marks of art and wiſdom,
feigned a vast number of deities, to all which they
affigned their peculiar provinces. The rivers had
their guardian gods ; the fountains their nymphs ;
Flora prefided over the flowers ; Pomona over the
fruits, &c. The fable was gaily decked up to amuſe
and pleaſe the people ; but the great moral and truth ,
that lay at the bottom of the fiction, was, that a wife,
and
and powerful, and bounteous Providence over-ruled
and preferved the univerſe.
Some of the fineſt apoftrophes, and boldest me-
taphors, are founded upon the fiction of a perfon :
-Now gentle gales ,

Fanning their odoriferous wings, difpenfe
Native perfumes, and whiſper whence they ſtole
Thoſe balmyſpoils. Milt. Par. Loft.
2d. The fecond part of this lively Figure, is when

we give a voice to inanimate things , and make rocks,
woods, rivers, buildings, &c. to exprefs the paffions
of rational creatures.
As when the walls and pillars of a temple are
brought in trembling at, or inveighing against, the
daring profanation of blafphemy uttered, of facrilege
or debauchery committed, within their hallowed
bounds :
She foul blafphemous fpeeches forth did caft,

And bitter curfes, horrible to tell ;
That even the temple, wherein the was plac'd,
Did quake to hear, and nigh afunder braft.
Spencer's Fairy Queen.
Either feign'd perfons are repreſented as uttering

refentments of mankind in exprefs terms ; or it is
fuppofed they would cry out upon occafion : or it is
affirmed in general that they do utter concern and
paffion, but the words are not fet down . Of the
first kind, which is the moft moving and fprightly,
is that repreſentation of Tully, wherein he intro-
duces Rome as a venerable matron, the common
mother of all the Romans, in a pathetical fpeech
expoftulating with Catiline, who then was engaged
in a bloody and unnatural confpiracy to deftroy his
native country, and preffing him to depart and de-
liver her from her prefent terrible apprehenfions and
danger. There is an excefs of paffion, a degree
of
of enthuſiaſm , in this fublime Figure ; and therefore

it is dangerous and ridiculous to ufe it, but when the
importance and grandeur of the fubject requires fuch
a noble vehemence. A man of underſtanding will
keep his boldeſt flights within the bounds of com-
mon fenfe ; and guide himfelf by the rules of pro-
bability and decorum in his moſt adventurous fallies
of imagination. It is very tender and moving when,
in paftoral and mourning poems, rivers, groves, and
mountains are brought in languishing for the abſence,
or lamenting the lofs, of fome very valuable perfon,
that before frequented them and cheered them with
his prefence :
No more the mounting larks, while Daphne fings,

Shall lift'ning in mid air fufpend their wings ;
No more the nightingales repeat their lays,
Or hush'd with wonder, hearken from their ſprays ;
No more the ſtreams their murmurs fhall forbear,
A fweeter mufic than their own to hear ;
But tell the reeds, and tell the vocal fhore,
Fair Daphne's dead, and mufic is no more !
Her fate is whifper'd by the gentle breeze,
And told in fighs to all the trembling trees ;
The trembling trees in every plain and wood,
Her fate remurmur to the filver flood ;
The filver flood , fo lately calm, appears
Swell'd with new paffion, and o'erflows with tears ;
The winds, and trees, and floods her death deplore,
Daphne, our grief ! our glory ! now no more !
Pope.
This Figure animates all nature ; gratifies the cu-

riofity of mankind with a conſtant feries and fucceffion
of wonders ; raifes and creates new worlds and ranks
of rational creatures, to be monuments of the poet's
wit, to efpoufe his caufe and fpeak his paffion. What
force and fprightlinefs this Figure gives to a fentence
or expreffion, will appear from comparing the follow-
ing lines :
Aut
A HELP TO ELOCUTION. III
Aut conjurato defcendens Dacus ab Iftro. Georg. ii.

Aut conjuratus defcendens Dacus ab Iftro.
The laft is in the humble ftyle of Phædrus ; the firſt

has all the majeſty of Virgil .
So again from Young.
The fpirit walks of every day deceas'd,
And fmiles an angel, or a fury frowns.
The ſenſe of theſe lines is pretty fully exprefs'd in the

following fentence : " The remembrance of every
" paft day muft give pain or pleaſure, according to
the manner in which it has been spent." But
what a difference in the impreffion that they make !
XX . Change of Time is when things done and

paft are defcribed as now doing and prefent. This
form of expreffion places the thing to be reprefented
in a ſtrong and prevalent light before us , and makes
us fpectators rather than hearers :
My mother, with that curft partaker of her bed,

My royal father's head in pieces cleaves ,
As ſturdy woodmen fell a ftately oak :
By treafon's blow the victor hero falls
To woman's rage, and coward's guilt, a victim.
While thus the lord of Greece expiring lies,
-No pity touches any breaſt but mine.
Elect. of Soph.
Here the princefs prefents you with a mournful

fcene of Agamemnon's murder, and gives you a
view of the horrors of that guilty night and bloody
fupper. She moves every generous breaft to fym-
pathife with her ; to boil with indignation againſt
the treacherous and barbarous murderers ; and bleed
with compaffion for the royal fufferer.
XXI.
XXI. Change of perfons has fome variety. -It is

most commonly when the writer on a fudden breaks
off his relation, and addreffes his reader.
Again a fierce engagement by the ſhips arofe ;

You'd think that neither wearinefs nor wounds
Could teach the fearleſs warriors.- Iliad. xv.
This Figure, when we have it in perfection, takes

off the tedioufnefs of a long direct narration ; makes
the reader attentive, as if he faw the place where the
thing was tranfacted ; and raiſes his paffions, as if he
himselfwas in the hurry and heat of the action.
It is of peculiar grace and advantage in the de-
fcription of places ; it leads the reader pleaſantly into
them ; heightens his imagination ; and, to ufe a bold
expreffion, gives him the delight of fafe and eafy
travelling in a fine country. Sometimes, for variety's
fake, to fmooth a harth expreffion, to pay reverence
to the reader, or to avoid fuppofing that any thing
may happen which is fhocking or of dangerous con-
fequence, the author appropriates and applies that .
to himfelf, which he defigns for the reader's warning
or inftruction. So Virgil of the mifchievous ferpent:
in Calabria :
O! let not fleep my clofing eyes invade

In open plains or in the fecret fhade ;
When he, renew'd in all the fpeckled pride .
Of pompous youth, has caft his flough afide.
Dryd. Virg. Geor. iii.
Change of Perfons is common and very natural in

eager contefts and ſtrong paffions ; when adverfaries
breathe mutual rage and fcorn ; or a deferted lover
inveighs against the perjuries, and aggravates the
barbarity of the guilty and treacherous perfon.
Turnus in Virgil, enraged at the malicious ha-
rangue of Drances, firft finartly replies to him , and
then turns his difcourfe to King Latinus and his
council,
A HELP TO ELOCUTION, 113
council, then attacks Drances again with a variety
of ſevere and fatirical language .
Dido, upon notice of the departure of Æneas, dif-
tracted with rage and defpair, firſt furiously falls upon
him, then difdainfully turning from him , fpeaks of
him as an abfent perfon ; after exclaims againſt the
cruelty of heaven and earth ; then reproaches and
condems herſelf for her own credulity and weakneſs,
and again with fcorn and eager indignation turns her
fpeech to Æneas :
Falfe as thou art, and more than falſe, forfworn ;

Not fprung from noble blood, nor goddefs-born ;
Why should I fawn ; what have I worſe to fear ?
Did he once look, or lent a lift'ning ear ;
Sigh'd when I fobb'd, or ſhed one kindly tear
Nor Juno views my wrongs with equal eyes;
Faithlefs is earth, and faithlefs are the fkies !
I fav'd the fhipwreck'd exile on my fhore,
With needful food his hungry Trojans fed :
I took the traitor to mythrone and bed.
Fool that I was !
But go ; thy flight no longer I detain :
Go, feek thy promis'd kingdom through the main':
Virg. En.
What a ftorm is here, and how inimitably painted !
XXII. Tranfition is of two forts.

1. The first is when afpeech is introduced abruptly,
without exprefs notice given of it. As when Milton
gives an account of our firſt ancestors' evening devo-
tions :
Both turn'd, and under open fky ador'd

The God that made both ſky, air, earth, and hea-
ven-
-Thou alfo mad'il the night,
Maker Omnipotent, and thou the day !
Had
$ 14 A HELP TO ELOCUTION .
Had it been introduced in a formal manner,
Adam prefents their joint petition thus ;

O God! thou mad'ft both fky, &c. Parad. Loft.
it had loft all its fprightlineſs and grace. After Homer

has finished the narration of Hector putting to flight
the Grecians, and vehemently urging his Trojans to
purſue their advantage, and forbear the fpoil of the
field till they had burned the enemy's fhips ; without
any notice, he immediately makes the hero utter
his own paffion in an imperuous fpeech ; wherein he
threatens difgrace and death to any man that ſhould
difobey his orders, and neglect this promifing feafon
of a complete victory. The fpeech, that breaks
from a warrior in the fpeed of his glorious fuccefs , in
the full profpect of revenge upon his enemies, and
the final deliverance of his country and kingdoms
after a long and bloody war, comes rapid and refift-
lefs like a pointed fhot out of an engine, and ſtrikes
the reader with furpriſe and terror.
Leaving out the heavy formality of, be faid, and,
he replied, is very graceful in ftories and dialogues,
renders the relation clear and full, and the repartee
quick and lively.
Horace is extremely happy in this fort of Tran-
fition ; as indeed he is in every delicacy of turn, and
beauty of language.
2d. The ſecond ſort of Tranſition is when a writer
fuddenly leaves the fubject he is upon, and paffes on
to another, from which it feems very different at firſt
view ; but has a relation and connection with it, and
ferves to illuſtrate and enlarge it.
Horace, in the thirteenth ode of the fecond book,
gives us a very lively account of the danger he was
in of being deftroyed by the fall of a tree, and after
makes wife and moderate remarks on the accident.
Then he fallies out into an account of the other
world, upon which he was fo near entering ; and
beautifully expatiates upon the praiſes of his illuf-
trious
trious predeceffors in lyric poetry ; who were heard
with pleaſure and wonder, as they uſed to be in this.
world. In thefe cafes the poet does not difappoint
his reader of the inftruction and pleaſure he propoſes,
but multiplies and increaſes both ; nor does he fo
much take him off from the view of his fubject, as
he gives him a delightful profpect of it every way, and
in the best light. Aguide cannot be faid to miſlead the
traveller who brings him fafely and pleafantly to his/
journey's end ; and only takes him out ofthe com-
mon road, to fhew him a palace or a paradife, to enter-
tain him with a wonder or furpriſing curiofity.
XXIII. Sentence is an inftructive or lively remark

made on fomething very obfervable and agreeably
furprifing; which contains much fenfe in few words.
It is either direct and plain ; as, " In all the affairs
of the world fo much reputation is really fo
" much power * " Or indirect and diſguiſed ; as,
-Fool, not to think how vain,

Againſt th' Omnipotent to rife in arms ! Par. Loft.
This is a very dexterous and prevalent way of bring-

ing in a ſentence. You are entertained with a noble
reflection when you did not expect it ; and pleaſantly
furpriſed and inftructed without the appearance and
formality of art. Not to come down to uſeleſs nicety
and diſtinction, a ſentence appears with moſt beauty
and advantage when it is put into fome of thefe fol-
lowing forms.
ft. When it is expreffed in any way of exclama.
tion , but peculiarly of wonder or indignation ; as ,
" How advantageous it is to pass through adver-
" fities to the enjoyment of profperity + !"
" How fharper than a ferpent's tooth it is to have
66 a thankleſs child !" Shakespeare
2d. When it is put into a moving expoftulation,
or preffing interrogation.
Are
Tillotfon. † Pliny Panegyr. p. 125. Edit. Lipfii, 1652

Are thefe our fcepters ? theſe our due rewards ?

And is it thus that Jove his plighted faith regards ?
Dryd. Virg. Æn. i.
3d. When the fentence is delivered, and a reafon
immediately added to fupport it. In a government
it is much better to be unmindful of good fervices
than bad for a good man only becomes more flow ,
when you take no account of him ; a bad man more
daring and infolent *.
4th. When a ſentence is made up of a ſhort rela-
tion, and a clear and pertinent remark upon it.
Meffalina defired the name of matrimony (with her
adulterer Silius) purely for the greatnefs of the in-
famy; which is the laft pleaſure of profligate people †.
And this is near a-kin to the Epiphonema, of.
which we ſhall preſently ſpeak two or three words.
Sentences must not ſtand awkward and bulky out
of the difcourfe, but be neatly interwoven and
wrought into it.
They must be unaffected and fignificant ; and fuch
as the fubject eafily fuggefts to a thoughtful and dif-
tinguishing man..
Sentences are the ornaments and lights of a dif
courfe ; and therefore, as lights and fhades are in a
good picture, fo ought fentences to be fo exactly
and judiciously mixt with the other parts of the dif
courfe , that all together may make up one uniform
beauty, one regular and confummate piece..
XXIV. Epiphonema is an exclamation, contain.
ing a lively remark placed at the end of a difcourſe
or narration. So Milton, on the obftinacy of the
rebel angels, who were fo infatuated that they would
not fubmit, though they knew Almighty Power and
Majefty came armed against them.
In heavenly minds can fuch perverfenefs dwell !
This Figure cloſes a narration in a very advanta
geous and taking manner, deeply impreffes the thing
related upon the memory of the reader ; and leaves
him in a good humour, well fatisfied and pleaſed with
the fenfe and fagacity of his author. EXAM-
* Salluft. Bell. Jugurth. p. 61. + Tacit. Annal, xi. c. ix. p. 250
EXAMPLES,
SELECTED FROM THE
BEST AUTHOR S ,
FOR THE EXERCISE OF THE
SCHOLAR
IN
READING AND DECLAIMING.
AN ADMONITORY ORATION.
BROTHER SCHOOL- FELLOWS,
AY up thefe nine heads in your memory, with
L as much care as if they were a preſent from the
Nine Mufes.
Firft. Be candid, fincere, and modeftly grave.
Let justice and piety have their fhare in your cha-
racter. Let your temper be remarkable for mildneſs
and good-nature ; and be always enterprifing and vi-
gorous in your buſineſs. And, in fhort, ftrive to be
juft fuch as virtue and learning would make you.
Secondly. Be always doing fomething ferviceable
0 to mankind, and let this conftant generofity be your
only pleaſure ; not forgetting, in the mean time, a
due reverence and regard for God and religion .
Thirdly. Bring your will to your fate, and fuit
your mind to your circumſtances. For-
Shining heaps of maſſy plate,

All the gewgaws men prefer,
Gilded roofs and beds of ſtate
Cannot real wealth confer.
The
The man that's honeft, wife, and brave,
In body found, in fpirit free,
If he poffefs what nature crave,
Is in truth as rich as he.
Fourthly. Fortify at home, and rely upon yourſelf.

For a rational mind is born to the privilege of inde-
pendence. Honefty, and the inward quiet confe-
quent to it, is enough in all confcience to make you
happy.
Fifthly. Do not be fond of any thing, or think
that for your intereft which makes you break your
word, quit your modefty, be of a diffembling, fuf-
picious, or outrageous humour ; which puts you
upon hating any perfon, and inclines you to any
practice which will not bear the light, and look the
world in the face.
Sixthly. Believe that, if your judgment pronoun-
ces right, if your actions are friendly and well meant,
if your mind is contented and refigned to Providence,
you are in poffeffion of the greatest bleffings.
Seventhly. Be neither flave nor tyrant to any body
in your behaviour.
Eighthly. Put it out of the power of truth to give
you an ill character ; and if any body reports you
not to be honeft or good, let your practice give him
the lie.
Ninthly. Confider with yourself, that people of all
conditions, profeffions, and countries are forced to
die : caft your eyes upon what fort of mortals you
pleafe, and you will find them go the way of all
fleſh. Think therefore upon your laſt hour ; and do
not be bufy about other people's faults, but leave
them with thoſe that muſt anſwer for them.
As you have received theſe nine precepts from
the Mufes, take this tenth, if you pleafe, from their
prefident and inftructor, Apollo. Who fays-
Every one of you may be a happy fellow in any
ground, provided you have the wit to chooſe your
fortune handfomely : now if you afk further, fays he,
I munt
I must tell you, if your manners be good, your for-
tune can never be bad. For, in a word, happineſs
lies all in the functions of reafon, in warrantable
defires , and regular practice.
On the Delicacy ofTafte and Paffion.

[From Hume's Ejays.]
OME people are fubject to a certain delicacy of

ME which makes them extremely fenfible
SOpaffion,
to all the accidents of life, and gives them a
lively joy upon every profperous event, as well as a
piercing grief, when they meet with misfortunes and
adverfity. Favours and good offices eafily engage
their friendship, while the fmalleft injury provokes
their refentment. Any honour or mark of diftinc-
tion elevates them above meaſure ; but they are as
fenfibly touched with contempt. People of this
character have, no doubt, much more lively enjoy-
ments, as well as more pungent forrows, than men
of cool and fedate tempers : but, I believe, when
every thing is balanced, there is no one who would
not rather chooſe to be of the latter character, were
he entirely maſter of his own difpofition . Good or
ill fortune is very little at our own difpofal : and
when a perfon, that has this fenfibility. of temper,
meets with any misfortune, his forrow or refentment
takes entire poffeffion of him, and deprives him of all
reliſh in the common occurrences of life ; of which
the right enjoyment forms the greatest part of our
happineſs. Great pleaſures are much lefs frequent
than great pains ; fo that a fenfible temper muſt meet
with fewer trials in the former way than in the latter.
Not to mention, that men of fuch lively paffions are
apt to be tranfported beyond all bounds of prudence
and difcretion, and to take falſe ſteps in the conduct
of life, which are often irretrievable.
There is a delicacy of taſte obfervable in fome
men, which very much refembles this delicacy of
paffion,
paffion, and produces the fame fenfibility to beauty

and deformity of every kind, as that does to profpe-
rity and adverfity, obligations and injuries. When
you prefent a poem or a picture to a man poffeffed
of this talent, the delicacy of his feeling makes him
be touched very fenfibly with every part of it; nor
are the mafterly ſtrokes perceived with more exqui-
fite relish and fatisfaction, than the negligences or
abfurdities with difguft and uneafinefs. A polite
and judicious converfation affords him the higheſt
entertainment ; rudeness or impertinence is as great
a puniſhment to him. In fhort, delicacy of tafte has
the fame effect as delicacy of paffion : it enlarges the
fphere both of our happineſs and mifery, and makes
us fenfible to pains as well as pleafures, which efcape
the rest of mankind.
I believe, however, there is no one who will not
agree with me, that, notwithſtanding this refem-
blance, a delicacy of tafte is as much to be defired
and cultivated as a delicacy of paffion is to be lament-
ed, and to be remedied , if poffible. The good or ill
accidents of life are very little at our difpofal ; but we
are pretty much masters what books we fhall read,
what diverfions ve fhall partake of, and what com-
pany we ſhall keep. Philofophers have endeavoured
to render happinefs entirely independent of every
thing external. That is impoffible to be attained:
but every wife man will endeavour to place his hap-
pinefs on fuch objects as depend most upon himself;
and that is not to be attained fo much by any other
means as by this delicacy of fentiment. When a
man is poffeffed of that talent, he is more happy by
what pleaſes his tafte, than by what gratifies his ap-
petites, and receives more enjoyment from a poem
or a piece of reaſoning, than the moſt expenſive
luxury can afford.
How far delicacy of tafte and that of paffion are
connected together in the original frame ofthe mind,
it is hard to determine . To me there appears a very
confiderable connection between them : for we may
obferve
obferve that women, who have more delicate paffions

than men, have alfo a more delicate tafte of the or-
naments of life, of drefs, equipage, and the ordinary
decencies of behaviour. Any excellency in thefe
hits their tafte much fooner than ours ; and when
you pleaſe their tafte, you foon engage their af-
fections.
But whatever connection there may be originally
betwixt theſe difpofitions, I am perfuaded that no-
thing is ſo proper to cure us of this delicacy of paf-
fion, as the cultivating of that higher and more re-
fined tafte, which enables us to judge of the charac-
ters of men, of compofitions of genius, and of the
productions ofthe nobler arts. A greater or leſs re-
lifh of thoſe obvious beauties which ſtrike the fenfes,
depends entirely upon the greater or leſs fenfibility
of the temper: but with regard to the fciences and
liberal arts, a fine tafte is, in fome meaſure, the
fame with ftrong fenfe, or at leaſt depends fo much
upon it, that they are infeparable. To judge aright
of a compofition of genius, there are fo many views
to be taken in, fo many circumftances to be com-
pared, and fuch a knowledge of human nature requi-
fite, that no man, who is not poffeffed of the foundeſt
judgment, will ever make a tolerable critic in fuch
performances ; and this is a new reafon for cultivating
a relifh in the liberal arts. Our judgment will
trengthen by this exercife : we fhall form jufter
notions of life : many things which pleaſe or afflict
others, will appear to us too frivolous to engage our
attention and we fhall lofe by degrees that fenfi-
bility and delicacy of paffion , which is fo incommo-
dious.
But perhaps I have gone too far in faying, that a
cultivated tafte for the polite arts extinguishes the
paffions, and renders us indifferent to thoſe objects
which are fo fondly purfued by the rest of mankind.
On farther reflection, I find that it rather improves
our fenfibility for all the tender and agreeable paf-
fions, at the fame time that it renders the mind in-
capable of the rougher and more boisterous emotions.
G Ingenuas
Ingenuas didiciffe fideliter artes,

Emollit mores, nec finit effe feros.
For this I think there may be affigned two very na-

tural reafons. In the first place, nothing is fo im-
proving to the temper as the study of the beauties
either of poetry, eloquence, mufic, or painting ;
they give a certain elegance of fentiment, to which
the rest of mankind are entire ftrangers. The emo-
tions they excite are foft and tender. They draw the
mind off from the hurry of bufinefs and intereſt ;
cheriſh reflection ; difpofe to tranquillity; and pro-
duce an agreeable melancholy, which, of all difpo-
fitions of the mind, is the beſt fuited to love and
friendship.
In the fecond place, a delicacy of taſte is favour-
able to love and friendship, by confining our choice
to few people, and making us indifferent to the com-
pany and converfation of the greateſt part of men.
You will very feldom find that mere men of the
world, whatever ftrong fenfe they may be endowed
with, are very nice in diftinguiſhing of characters ,
or in marking thoſe infenfible differences and grada-
tions which make one man preferable to another.
Any one, that has competent ſenſe, is fufficient for
their entertainment : they talk to him of their plea-
fure and affairs, with the fame frankneſs as they
would to another ; and finding many who are fit to
fupply this place, they never feel any vacancy or
want in his abfence. But to make ufe of the allu-
fion of a celebrated French author * , the judgment
may be compared to a clock or watch, where the
moft ordinary machine is fufficient to tell the hours ;
but the most elaborate and artificial alone can point
out the minutes and feconds, and diftinguish the
1 fmalleft differences of time. One that has well di-
geſted his knowledge both of books and men, has
little enjoyment but in the company of a few felect
com-
* Monf. Fontenelle Pluralité des Mondes. Soir vi.

companions. He feels too fenfibly how much all
the rest of mankind fall short of the notions which
he has entertained ; and, his affections being thus
confined within a narrow circle, no wonder he carries
them further than if they were more general and un-
diftinguifhed. The gaiety and frolic of a bottle-com-
panion improves with him into a folid friendship ;
and the ardours of a youthful appetite become an ele-
gant paffion.
On Impudence and Modefty.

[From Hume's Effays. ]
AM of opinion that the common complaints
I againſt Providence are ill grounded, and that the
good or bad qualities of men are the caufes of their
good or bad fortune, more than what is generally
imagined. There are, no doubt, inftances to the
contrary, and thefe too pretty numerous ; but few,
in compariſon of the inftances we have of a right
diftribution of profperity and adverfity : nor indeed
could it be otherwife from the common courfe of
human affairs. To be endowed with a benevolent
difpofition, and to love others, will almoft infallibly
procure love and eſteem ; which is the chief circum-
ftance in life, and facilitates every enterpriſe and
undertaking, befides the fatisfaction which immedi-
ately refults from it. The cafe is much the fame
with the other virtues. Profperity is naturally,
though not neceffarily, attached to virtue and merit ;
and adverfity, in like manner, to vice and folly.
I muft, however, confefs, that this rule admits
of an exception with regard to one moral quality ;
and that modeſty has a natural tendency to conceal
a man's talents, as impudence difplays them to the
utmoft, and has been the only cauſe why many have
rifen in the world, under all the difadvantages of low
birth and little merit. Such indolence and incapa-
city is there in the generality of mankind, that they
are apt to receive a man for whatever he has a mind
G 2 to
124. A HELP TO ELOCUTION .
to put himself off for ; and admit his overbearing airs

as proofs of that merit which he affumes to himſelf.
A decent affurance feems to be the natural attendant
of virtue ; and few men can diftinguish impudence
from it : as, on the other hand, diffidence, being the
natural reſult of vice and folly, has drawn difgrace
upon modefty, which in outward appearance fo
nearly reſembles it.
As impudence, though really a vice, has the fame
effects upon a man's fortune as if it were a virtue ;
fo we may obferve that it is almoft as difficult to be
attained, and is, in that refpect, diftinguished from
all the other vices, which are acquired with little
pains, and continually increaſe upon indulgence.
Many a man, being fenfible that modeſty is extremely
prejudicial to him in making his fortune, has refolved
to be impudent, and to put a bold face upon the
matter : but it is obfervable that fuch people have
feldom fucceeded in the attempt, but have been
obliged to relapſe into their primitive modefty. No-
thing carries a man through the world like a true
genuine natural impudence : its counterfeit is good .
for nothing, nor can ever fupport itſelf. In any
other attempt, whatever faults a man commits, and
is fenfible of, he is fo much the nearer his end : but
when he endeavours at impudence, if he ever failed
in the attempt, the remembrance of that failure will
make him bluſh, and will infallibly difconcert him :
after which every bluſh is a caufe for new bluſhes ,
till he be found out to be an arrant cheat, and a vain
pretender to impudence.
If any thing can give a modeſt man more affu-
rance, it must be fome advantages of fortune, which
chance procures to him. Riches naturally gain a
man a favourable reception in the world, and give
merit a double luftre, when a perſon is endowed with
it ; and fupply its place, in a great meaſure, when
it is abfent. It is wonderful to obferve what airs of
fuperiority fools and knaves, with large poffeffions,
give themfelves above men of the greateſt merit in
poverty. Nor do the men of merit make any ſtrong
oppofition
oppofition to theſe ufurpations, or rather feem to
favour them by the modefty of their behaviour.
Their good fenfe and experience make them diffi-
dent of their judgment, and caufe them to examine
every thing with the greatest accuracy : as, on the
other hand, the delicacy of their fentiments makes
them timorous left they commit faults, and lofe in
the practice of the world that integrity of virtue, fo
to fpeak, of which they are fo jealous . To make
wifdom agree with confidence, is as difficult as to re-
concile vice and modelty.
Theſe are the reflections which have occurred upon
this fubject of impudence and modefty ; and I hope
the reader will not be difpleaſed to fee them wrought
into the following allegory,
Jupiter, in the beginning, joined Virtue, Wiſdom ,
and Confidence together; and Vice, Folly, and Dif-
fidence ; and, thus connected, fent them into the
world. But though he thought he had matched
them with great judgment, and faid that Confidence
was the natural companion of Virtue, and that Vice
deferved to be attended with Diffidence, they had
not gone far before diffention arofe among them .
Wifdom, who was the guide of the one company,
was always accuſtomed before fhe ventured upon any
road, however beaten, to examine it carefully; toinquire
whither it led ; what dangers , difficulties, and hin-
drances might poffibly or probably occur in it. In theſe
deliberations fhe ufually confumed fome time ; which
delay was very difpleafing to Confidence, who was
always inclined to hurry on, without much fore-
thought or deliberation, in the firſt road he met .
Wifdom and Virtue were infeparable : but Confi-
dence one day, following his impetuous nature, ad-
vanced a confiderable way before his guides and com-
panions ; and not feeling any want of their company,
he never inquired after them, nor ever met with
them more. In like manner the other fociety,
though joined by Jupiter, difagreed and feparated .
As Folly faw very little way before her, she had no-
thing to determine concerning the goodneſs of roads,
G 3 nor
nor could give the preference to one above another ;

and this want of refolution was increafed by Diffi-
dence, who, with her doubts and fcruples, always
retarded the journey. This was a great annoyance
to Vice, who loved not to hear of difficulties and
delays, and was never fatisfied without his full career,
in whatever his inclinations led him to. Folly, he
knew, thou h fhe hearkened to Diffidence, would
be easily managed when alone ; and therefore, as a
vicious horfe throws his rider, he openly beat away
this controller of all his pleaſures, and proceeded in
his journey with Folly, from whom he is infeparable.
Confidence and Diffidence being, after this manner,
both thrown loofe from their refpective companies,
wandered for fome time ; till at last chance led them
at the fame time to one village. Confidence went
directly up to the great houfe, which belonged to
Wealth, the lord of the village ; and, without ftay-
ing for a porter, intruded himfelf immediately into
the innermoft apartments, where he found Vice and
Folly well received before him. He joined the
train ; recommended himſelf very quickly to his
landlord ; and entered into fuch familiarity with
Vice, that he was inlifted in the fame company with
Folly. They were frequent gueſts of Wealth , and
from that moment infeparable. Diffidence, in the
meantime, not daring to approach the great houſe,
accepted of an invitation from Poverty, one of the
tenants ; and entering the cottage, found Wiſdom
and Virtue, who, being repulfed by the landlord,
had retired thither. Virtue took compaffion on her,
and Wiſdom found, from her temper, that ſhe would
eafily improve : fo they admitted her into their
fociety. Accordingly, by their means, the altered
in a little time fomewhat of her manner, and be-
coming much more amiable and engaging, was now
known by the name of Modefty. As ill company
has a greater effect than good, Confidence, though
more refractory to counſel and example, degenerated
fo far by the fociety of Vice and Folly, as to país
by the name of Impudence. Mankind, who faw
thefe
theſe focieties as Jupiter first joined them, and know
nothing of thefe mutual deſertions, are thereby led
into ſtrange miſtakes ; and wherever they fee Impu-
dence, make account of finding Virtue and Wiſdom ,
and wherever they obſerve Modeſty, call her atten-
dants Vice and Folly.
OfSuperftition and Enthufiafm.

HAT the corruption of the best things pro-
THduces the worst, is grown into a maxim , and
is commonly proved, among other inſtances, by the
pernicious effects of Superftition and Enthuſiaſm ,
the corruptions of true religion.
Theſe two fpecies of falfe religion , though both
pernicious, are yet of a very different, and even of
a contrary nature. The mind of man is fubject to
certain unaccountable terrors and apprehenfions, pro-
ceeding either from the unhappy fituation of private
or public affairs, from ill health, from a gloomy and
melancholy difpofition, or from the concurrence of
all theſe circumftances. In fuch a ſtate of mind, in-
finite unknown evils are dreaded from unknown
agents ; and, where real objects of terror are want-
ing, the foul, active to its own prejudice, and fofter-
ing its predominant inclination , finds imaginary ones,
to whoſe power and malevolence it ſets no limits . As
thefe enemies are entirely invifible and unknown ,
the methods taken to appeaſe them are equally un-
accountable, and confift in ceremonies, obfervances,
mortifications, facrifices, prefents, or in any prac-
tice, however abfurd or frivolous , which either folly
or knavery recommends to a blind and terrified cre-
dulity. Weaknefs , fear, melancholy, together with
ignorance, are, therefore, the true fources of Super-
ftition.
But the mind of man is alfo fubject to an unac-
countable elevation and prefumption , proceeding
from profperous fuccefs, from luxuriant health, from
ftrong fpirits, or from a bold and confident difpofi-
tion. În fuch a state of mind, the imagination .
G 4 fwells
fwells with great but confufed conceptions, to which

no fublunary beauties or enjoyments can correfpond.
Every thing mortal and perishable vanishes as un-
worthy of attention ; and a full range is given to the
fancy in the invifible regions or world of fpirits ,
where the foul is at liberty to indulge itfelf in every
imagination which may beft fuit its prefent taſte and
difpofition. Hence arife raptures, tranfports, and
furprifing flights of fancy ; and confidence and pre-
fumption ftill increafing, thefe raptures being alto-
gether unaccountable, and feeming quite beyond the
reach of our ordinary faculties, are attributed to the
immediate infpiration of that Divine Being, who is
the object of devotion . In a little time the infpired
perfon comes to regard himſelf as the chief favourite
of the Divinity ; and when this frenzy once takes
place, which is the fummit of Enthuliafm , every
whimſey is confecrated : human reafon and even mo-
rality are rejected as fallacious guides : andthe fanatic
madman delivers himſelf over, blindly, and without
referve, to the fuppofed illapfes of the fpirit, and to
infpirations from above. Hope, pride, prefump-
tion, a warm imagination, together with ignorance,
are, therefore, the true fources of Enthufiafm .
A Dialogue between Mr. Addiſon and Dr. Swift.

[From the Dialogues of the Dead. ]
Dr. Swift ceedingly ben
URELY, t upon fortune
Addifon, playing was ex-
the fool
(a humour her ladyfhip, as well as most other ladies

of very great quality, is frequently in) when ſhe
made you a minifter of ftate, and me a divine !
Addifon. I must confefs we were both of us out of
our elements. But you do not mean to infinuate,
that, if our deftinies had been reverfed, all would
have been right ?
Swift. Yes, I do . You would have made an ex-
cellent bishop, and I fhould have governed Great-
Britain as I did Ireland, with an abfolute fway, while
I talked
I talked of nothing but liberty, property, and fo
forth.
Addifon. You governed the mob of Ireland ; but
I never heard that you governed the kingdom. A
nation and a mob are different things.
Swift. Aye ; fo you fellows that have no ge-
nius for politics may fuppofe. But there are times
when, by putting himſelf at the head of the mob,
an able man may get to the head of the nation. Nay,
there are times when the nation itſelf is a mob, and
may be treated as fuch by a ſkilful obferver.
Addifon. I do not deny the truth of your axiom :
but is there no danger that, from the viciffitudes of
human affairs, the favourite of the mob fhould be
mobbed in his turn ?
Swift. Sometimes there may ; but I riſked it, and
it anſwered my purpoſe. Afk the lord-lieutenants,
who were forced to pay court to me inſtead of my
courting them, whether they did not feel my fupe-
riority. And if I could make myſelf ſo confiderable
when I was only a dirty dean of St. Patrick's, with-
out a feat in either houſe of parliament, what fhould
I have done if fortune had placed me in England,
unincumbered with a gown, and in a fituation to
make myſelf heard in the houſe of lords or of com-
mons ?
Addfon. You would doubtlefs have done very
marvellous acts ! perhaps you might have then been
as zealous a whig as Lord Wharton himfelf: or, if
the whigs had offended the ftatefman, as they un-
happily did the doctor, who knows but you might
have brought in the Pretender ? pray let me afk you
one queftion between you and me : if you had been
first minifter under that prince, would you have to-
lerated the Proteftant religion , or not?
Swift. Ha ! Mr. Secretary, are you witty upon
me ? do you think, becauſe Sunderland took a fancy
to make you a great man in the ſtate, that he could
alfo make you as great in wit as nature made me ?
No, no; wit is like grace, it must come from above.
You can no more get that from the king, than my
G 5 lords
130 A HELP TO ELOCUT .
ION
lords the bishops can the other. And though I will
own you had fome, yet believe me, my friend, it
was no match for mine. I think you have not vanity
enough to pretend to a competition with me.
Addifon. I have been often told by my friends
that I was rather too modeft ; fo, if you pleafe, I will
not decide this difpute for myfelf, but refer it to
Mercury, the god of wit, who happens juſt now to
be coming this way, with a foul he has newly brought
to the fhades.
Hail, divine Hermes ! a queftion of precedence in
the clafs of wit and humour, over which you prefide,
having arifen between me and my countryman, Dr.
Swift, we beg leave-
Mercury. Dr. Swift, I rejoice to ſee you.―― How
does my old lad? how does honeft Lemuel Gulliver?
Have you been in Lilliput lately, or in the Flying
Ifland, or with your good nurfe Glumdalclitch ?
Pray, when did you eat a cruft with Lord Peter ?
Is Jack as mad ftill as ever? I hear the poor fellow
is almost got well by more gentle ufage. If he had
but more food he would be as much in his fenfes as
brother Martin himfelf. But Martin, they tell me,
has fpawned a ſtrange brood of fellows, called Metho-
difts, Moravians, Hutchinfonians, who are madder
than Jack was in his worst days. It is a pity you
are not alive again to be at them ; they would be ex-
cellent food for your tooth ; and a ſharp tooth it was
as ever was placed in the gum of a mortal ; aye, and
a ſtrong one too. The hardest food would not break
it, and it could pierce the thickeſt ſkulls. Indeed it
was like one of Cerberus's teeth : one ſhould not
have thought it belonged to a man.——-Mr. Addi-
fon, I beg your pardon, I fhould have ſpoken to you
fooner ; but I was fo ftruck with the fight of the
doctor, that I forgot for a time the refpects due to
you.
Swift. Addifon, I think our difpute is decided be-
fore the judge has heard the cauſe.
Addifon. I own it is in yourfavour, and' I fubmit-
but-
Mercury.
Mercury. Do not be difcouraged, friend Addifon .
Apollo perhaps would have given a different judg-
ment. I am a wit, and a rogue, and a foe to all
dignity. Swift and I naturally like one another :
he worſhips me more than Jupiter, and I honour him
more than Homer : but yet, I affure you , I have a
great value for you. Sir Roger de Coverley,
Will Honeycomb, Will Wimble, the country gen-
tleman in the Freeholder, and twenty more charac-
ters, drawn with the fineft ftrokes of natural wit and
humour in your excellent writings, feat you very
high in the clafs of my authors , though not quite fo
high as the dean of St. Patrick's. Perhaps you
might have come nearer to him , if the decency of
your nature and cautioufnefs of your judgment
would have given you leave. But if in the force and
fpirit of his wit he has the advantage, how much
does he yield to you in all the polite and elegant
graces ; in the fine touches of delicate fentiment ;
in developing the fecret fprings of the foul ; in fhew-
ing all the mild lights and fhades of a character ; in
marking diftinctly every line, and every foft grada-
tion of tints which would efcape the common eye !
whoever painted like you the beautiful parts of hu-
man nature, and brought them out from under the
fhade even of the greateſt fimplicity, or the moſt
ridiculous weakneſſes ; ſo that we are forced to ad-
mire, and feel that we venerate, even while we are
laughing ! Swift could do nothing that approaches to
this. He could draw an ill face very well, or ca-
ricature a good one with a maſterly hand : but there
was all his power ; and, if I am to ſpeak as a god,
a worthleſs power it is. Yours is divine : it tends to
improve and exalt human nature.
Swift . Pray, good Mercury, (if I may have leave
to fay a word for myſelf) do you think that my talent
was of no ufe to correct human nature ? Is whipping
of no uſe to mend naughty boys?
Mercury. Men are not fo patient of whipping as
boys, and I feldom have known a rough Satirift mend
them . But I will allow that you have done fome
good
good in that way, though not half fo much as Addi-

fon did in his. And now you are here, if Pluto and
Proferpine would take my advice, they fhould dif-
pole of you both in this manner. When any hero
comes hither from earth, who wants to be humbled,
(as most heroes do) they ſhould fet Swift upon him
to bring him down. The fame good office he may
frequently do to a faint fwoln too much with the
wind of fpiritual pride, or to a philofopher, vain of
his wifdom and virtue. He will foon fhew the firft
that he cannot be holy without being humble ; and
the laft, that, with all his boafted morality, he is
but a better kind of Yahoo. I would alfo have him
apply his anticofmetic wash to the painted face of
female vanity, and his rod, which draws blood at
every ftroke, to the hard back of infolent folly or
petulant wit. But you , Mr. Addiſon , ſhould be em-
ployed to comfort and raiſe the fpirits of thoſe whoſe
good and noble fouls are dejected with a fenfe of
fome infirmities in their nature. To them you
fhould hold your fair and charitable mirrour, which
would bring to their fight all their hidden perfections,
caft over the reft a foftening fhade, and put them in
a temper fit for Elyfium.--- Adieu : I muſt now
return to my buſineſs above.
A Dialogue between Ulyffes and Circe.

In Circe's Ifland.
Circe.OU will go then, Ulyffes ; but why will

Y you go? I defire you to fpeak the thoughts
of your heart. Speak without referve. What car-
ries you from me ?
Ulyffes. Pardon, goddefs , the weakneſs of human
nature. My heart will figh for my country. It is a
tenderneſs which all my attachment to you cannot
Overcome.
Circe. This is not all. I perceive you are afraid to
declare yourwhole mind: but what do you fear ? my
terrors are gone. The proudeft goddefs on earth,
when
when he has favoured a mortal as I have favoured
you, has laid her divinity and power at his feet.
Ulyffes. It may be fo, while there ftill remains
in her heart the fondneſs of love, or in her mind the
fear of fhame. But you, Circe, are above thofe
vulgar fenfations .
Circe. I understand your caution ; it belongs to
your character: and therefore, to take all diffidence
from you, I fwear by Styx I will do no harm to
you or your friends for any thing which you fay,
though it fhould offend me ever fo much, but will
fend you away with all marks of my friendſhip.
Tell me now, truly, what pleafures you hope to
enjoy in the barren ifland of Ithaca, which can
compenfate for thoſe you leave in this paradife, ex-
empt from all cares, and overflowing with all de-
lights ?
Ulyffes. The pleaſures of virtue ; the fupreme hap.
pinefs of doing good. Here I do nothing. My
mind is in a palfy ; its faculties are benumbed. I
long to return into action again, that I may employ
thofe talents and virtues, which I have cultivated
from the earliest days of my youth. Toils and cares
fright not me. They are the exerciſe of my foul ;
they keep it in health and in vigour. Give me again
the fields of Troy, rather than thofe vacant groves ;
there I could reap the bright harvest of glory; here
I am hid from the eyes of mankind , and begin to
appear contemptible in my own. The image of my
former felf haunts and feems to upbraid me where-
ever I go. I meet it under the gloom of every
fhade : it even intrudes itfelf into your prefence, and
chides me from your arms. O goddefs, unleſs you
have power to lay that troublefome fpirit, unleſs
you can make me forget myfelf, I cannot be happy
here, I fhall every day be more wretched .
Circe. May not a wife and good man , who has
ſpent all his youth in active life and honourable dan-
ger, when he begins to decline, have leave to retire ,
and enjoythe rest of his days in quiet and pleaſure ?
Ulyffes.
Ulyffes. No retreat can be honourable to a wife and
good man, but in company with the mufes. I am
deprived of that facred fociety here. The mufes will
not inhabit the abodes of voluptuoufnefs and fenfual
" pleaſure. How can I ftudy, how can I think, while
fo many beafts ( and the worst beafts I know are men
turned into beafts) are howling, or roaring, or grunt-
ing about me ?
Circe. There is fomething in this ; but this is not
all. You fupprefs the ſtrongeſt reafon that draws
you to Ithaca. There is another image, befides
that of your former felf, which appears to you in all
parts of this ifland, which follows your walks, which
interpofes itſelf between you and me, and chides you
from my arms. It is Penelope, Ulyffes, I know it
is.-Do not pretend to deny it. You figh for her
in my bofom itſelf.--And yet ſhe is not an immortal.
-She is not, as I am, endowed with the gift of un-
fading youth. Several years have paft fince her's
has been faded. I think, without vanity, that the
was never fo handfome as I. But what is the now ?
Ulyffes. You have told me yourſelf, in a former
converfation, when I inquired of you about her,
that he is true to my bed, and as fond of me now,
after twenty years abfence, as when I left her to
go to Troy. I left her in the bloom of her youth
and her beauty. How much muft her conítancy
have been tried fince that time ! how meritorious is
her fidelity ! fhall I reward her with falfehood ? fhall
1 forget her who cannot forget me ; who has nothing
fo dear to her as my remembrance ?
Circe. Her love is preferved by the continual
hope of your fpeedy return . Take that hope from
her. Let your companions return, and let her know
that you have fixed your abode here with me ; that
you have fixed it for ever. Let her know that ſhe
is free to difpofe of her heart and her hand as the
pleafes. Send my picture to her ; bid her compare
it with her own face. - If all this does not cure her
of the remains of her paffion, if you do not hear of
her
her marrying Eurymachus in a twelvemonth, I un-
derſtand nothing of womankind.
Ulyffes. O cruel goddefs ! why will you force me
to tell you thofe truths I wish to conceal ! if by fuch
unjuft, fuch barbarous ufage, I could lofe her heart,
it would break mine. How fhould I endure the tor-
ment of thinking that I had wronged fuch a wife ?
what could make me amends for her not being mine,
for her being another's ? Do not frown, Circe, I
own, (fince you will have me fpeak) I own you
could not.--With all your pride of immortal beauty,
with all your magical charms to affiſt thoſe of nature,
you are not fuch a powerful charmer as the. You
feel defire, and you give it : but you never felt love,
nor can you infpire it. How can I love one who
would have degraded me into a beaft ? Penelope
raiſed me into a hero. Her love ennobled, invigo-
rated, exalted my mind. She bid me go to the
fiege of Troy, though the parting with me was
worfe than death to herfelf. She bid me expoſe my-
felf there to all perils among the foremoſt heroes of
Greece, though her poor heart trembled to think
of the leaſt I fhould meet, and would have given
all its own blood to fave a drop of mine. Then
there was fuch a conformity in all our inclinations !
when Minerva taught me the leffons of wiſdom ,
fhe lovedto be prefent ; ſhe heard , ſhe retained the moral
inftructions, thefublime truths of nature, ſhe gave them
back to me foftened and ſweetened with the peculiar
graces ofherown mind. When we unbent our thoughts
with the charms of poetry, when we read together the
poems of Orpheus , Mufæus, and Linus, with what taſte
didthe mark every excellence in them! my feelings were
dull, compared to her's. She feemed herſelf to be the
mufewho had inſpired thoſe verſes, and had tuned their
lyres to infufe into the hearts of mankind the love
of wisdom and virtue, and the fear of the gods.
How beneficent was the, how good to my people !
what care did the take to inftruct them in the finer
and more elegant arts ; to relieve the neceffities of
the
I ON
the fick and the aged ; to fuperintend the education

of children ; to do my fubjects every good office of
kind interceffion ; to lay before me there wants ; to
allift their petitions ; to mediate for thofe who were
objects of mercy ; to fue for thoſe who deferved the
favours of the crown. And fhall I banish myself for
ever from fuch a confort ? fhall I give up her fociety
for the brutal joys of a fenfual life, keeping indeed
the form of a man, but having loft the human foul,
or at leaft all its noble and god -like powers ? Oh ,
Circe, forgive me ; I cannot bear the thought.
Circe. Begone- do not imagine I afk you to ftay.
The daughter of the Sun is not fo mean - fpirited, as
to folicit a mortal to fhare her happineſs with her.
It is a happinefs which I find you cannot enjoy. I
pity you and defpife you . That which you ſeem
to value fo much I have no notion of. All you have
faid feems to me a jargon of fentiments fitter for a
filly woman than for a great man. Go , read, and
fpin too, if you pleafe, with your wife. I forbid
you to remain another day in my ifland. You fhall
have a fair wind to carry you from it. After that,
may every ftorm , that Neptune can raife, purfue
and overwhelm you. Begone, I fay ; quit my fight.
Ulyffes. Great goddefs, I obey-but remember
your oath.-
A Dialogue betwixt Mercury, an English Duel-

lift , and a North- American Savage.
[From the Dialogues ofthe Dead.]
Duellift. TERCURY, Charon's boat is on the
MER Ride ' ofthe water , allow me,
before it returns, to have fome converfation with the
North American favage, whom you brought hither
at the fame time as you conducted me to the fhades .
I never faw one of that fpecics before, and am curious
to know what the animal is. He looks very grim. →
Pray, Sir, lag is your name ? I understand you
fpeak Englin.
Savage:
Savage. Yes, I learned it in my childhood, having
been bred for fome years in the town of New- York :
but before I was a man I returned to my country-
men, the valiant Mohawks ; and being cheated by
one of your's in the fale of fome rum, I never cared
to have any thing to do with them afterwards. Yet
I took up the hatchet for them with the reft of my
tribe in the war against France, and was killed while
I was out upon a fealping party. But I died very
well fatisfied : for my friends were victorious, and be-
fore I was fhot I had fcalped feven men and five women
and children. In a former war I had done ftill
greater exploits. My name is the bloody bear :
it was given me to exprefs my fiercenefs and valour.
Duellift . Bloody bear, I refpect you, and am
much your humble fervant. My name is Tom Puſk-
well, very well known at Arthur's. I am a gentle-
man by my birth, and by profeffion a gamefter, and
man of honour. I have killed men in fair fighting,
in honourable fingle combat, but do not underfland
cutting the throats of women and children .
Savage. Sir, that is our way of making war.
Every nation has its own customs. But bythe grim-
nefs of your countenance, and that hole in your
breaft, I prefume you were killed, as I was myfeif,
in fome fcalping party. How happened it that your
enemy did not take off your fcalp ?
Duellift. Sir, I was killed in a duel. A friend of
mine had lent me fome money. After two or three
years, being in great want himſelf, he asked me to
pay him. I thought his demand an affront to my
honour, and fent him a challenge. We met in
Hyde-Park. The fellow could not fence : I was the
adroiteft fwordſman in England. I gave him three
er four wounds ; but at last he run upon me with
fuch impetuofity, that he put me out of my play,
and I could not prevent him from whipping me
through the lungs. I died the next day, as a man
of honour fhould, without any fniveling figns of re-
pentance and he will follow me foon, for his fur-
geon has declared his wounds to be mortal. It is
fid
faid that his wife is dead of her fright, and that his
family of feven children will be undone by his death.
So I am well revenged ; and that is a comfort. For
my part, I had no wife.-I always hated marriage :
my whore will take good care of herſelf, and my
children are provided for at the Foundling Hofpital.
Savage. Mercury, I won't go in a boat with
that fellow. He has murdered his countryman he
has murdered his friend : I fay, I won't go in a
boat with that fellow. I will fwim over the river : I
can fwim like a duck.
Mercury. Swim over the Styx ! it muft not be
done ; it is against the laws of Pluto's empire. You '
must go in the boat, and be quiet.
Savage. Do not tell me of laws : I am a Savage :
I value no laws . Talk of laws to the Englishman :
there are laws in his country, and yet you fee he
did not regard them. For they could never allow
him to kill his fellow-fubject, in time of peace, be-
cauſe he asked him to pay a debt. I know that the
English are a barbarous nation ; but they cannot be
fo brutal as to make fuch things lawful.
Mercury. You reafon well againſt him . But how
comes it that you are ſo offended with murder ; you ,
who have maffacred women in their fleep, and chil-
dren in the cradle ?
Savage. I killed none but my enemies : I never
killed my own countrymen : I never killed my friend .
Here, take my blanket, and let it come over in the
boat ; but fee that the murderer does not fit upon it,
or touch it. If he does, I will burn it in the fire I A
4
fee yonder. Farewell. - I am refolved to ſwim over
the water.
Mercury. By this touch of my wand I take all
thy ftrength from thee.- Swim now if thou canft.
Savage. This is a very potent enchanter.- -Re-
ftore me my ftrength, and I will obey thee.
Mercury. I reftore it ; but be orderly, and do as I
bid you ; otherwife worſe will befall you.
Duellift. Mercury, leave him to me. I will tutor
him for you. Sirrah, Savage, doft thou pretend
to
to be aſhamed of my company ? Doft thou know that
I have kept the best company in England ?
Savage. I know thou art a fcoundrel. - Not pay
thy debts ! kill thy friend who lent thee money for
afking thee for it ! get out of my fight. I will drive
thee into Styx.
Mercury. Stop.- I command thee . No violence.
-Talk to him calmly.
Savage. I must obey thee.- Well, Sir, let me
know what merit you had to introduce you into good
company ? What could you do ?
Duellift. Sir, I gamed, as I told you . - Beſides , I
kept a good table.—I eat as well as any man in Eng-
land or France.
Savage. Eat ! Did you ever eat the chine of a
Frenchman, or his leg, or his fhoulder ? there is
fine eating ! have eat twenty -My table was always
well ferved. My wife was the best cook for the
dreffing of man's flesh in all North-America . You
will not pretend to compare your eating with mine.
Duellift . I danced very finely.
Savage. I will dance with thee for thy ears.-I can
dance all day long. I can dance the war dance with
more fpirit and vigour than any man of my nation.
Let us fee thee begin it. How thou ftandeft like a
poft ! Has Mercury ftruck thee with his enfeebling
rod? Or art thou afhamed to let us fee how awkward
thou art ? If he would permit me, I would teach thee
to dance in a way that thou haft not yet learnt. I
would make thee caper and leap like a buck. But
what elſe canft thou do, thou bragging rafcal ?
Duellift. O heavens ! must I bear this ! what can I
do with this fellow ? I have neither fword nor piſtol ;
and his fhade feems to be twice as ftrong as mine.
Mercury. You must answer his questions. It was
your own defire to have a converfation with him.
He is not well bred ; but he will tell you ſome
truths which you muſt hear in this place. It would
have been well for you if you had heard them above.
He asked you what you could do befides eating and
dancing.
Duellift.
Duellift. I fung very agreeably.

Savage. Let me hear you fing your death fong, or
the war whoop. I challenge you to fing.The fel-
low is mute. - Mercury, this is a liar. He tells us
nothing but lies. Let me pull out his tongue.
Duellift. The lie given me ! —and alas ! I dare not
refent it. Oh, what a difgrace to the family of the
Pufhwells ! this indeed is damnation .
Mercury. Here, Charon, take thefe two favages
to your care. How far the barbarifm of the Mo-
hawk will ex ufe his horrid acts , I leave Mines to
judge. But the Englishman, what excufe can he
plead? The cuftom of duclling ? A bad excufe at
the Left ! but in his cafe cannot avail. The fpirit
that made him draw his fword in this combat againſt
his friend is not that of honour ; it is the fpirit of the
furies , of Alecto herfelf. To her he must go, for
he hath long dwelt in his mercilefs bofom .
Savage. If he is to be punished, turn him over to
me. I understand the art of tormenting. Sirrah,
I begin with this kick on your breech. Get you
into the boat, or I'll give you another. I am impa-
tient to have you condemned.
Duellift. Oh my honour, my honour, to what in-
famy art thou fallen !
A Dialogue between Pliny the Elder and Pliny

the Younger.
[From the Dialogues of the Dead.]

Pliny the Elder. HE account that you give me,
THnephew , of your behaviour,
amidst the terrors and perils that accompanied the
first eruption of Vefuvius , does not pleafe me much.
There was more of vanity in it than true magnani-
mity. Nothing is great that is unnatural and affected .
When the earth fhook beneath you , when the hea-
vens were obfcured with , fulphureous cloud's , full of
afhes and cinders thrown up from the bowels of the
new-formed volcano , when all nature feemed on the
brink
brink of deftruction, to be reading Livy, and making
extracts, as if all had been fafe and quiet about you, "
was an abfurd affectation . To meet danger with
courage is the part of a man, but to be infenfible
of it is brutal ftupidity ; and to pretend infenfibility,
where it cannot exist, is ridiculous falfeneſs . When
you afterwards refufed to leave your aged mother,
and fave yourfelf without her by flight, you indeed
acted nobly. It was alfo becoming a Roman to keep
up her fpirits, amidst all the horrors of that dreadful
fcene, by fhewing yourfelf undifmayed and coura-
geous. But the merit and glory of this part ofyour
conduct is funk by the other, which gives an air of
oftentation and vanity to the whole.
Pliny the Younger. That vulgar minds fhould fup-
pofe my attention to my ftudies in fuch a con-
juncture unnatural and affected, I ſhould not much
wonder : but that you would blame it as fuch, I did
not expect ; you, who approached ftill nearer than
I to the fiery ſtorm , and died by the fuffocating heat
ofthe vapour.
Pliny the Elder. I died, as a good and brave man
ought to die, in doing my duty. Let me recall to
your memory all the particulars , and then you ſhall
judge yourself on the difference of your conduct and
nine. I was the præfect of the Roman fleet which
then lay at Miſenum. Upon the first account I re-
ceived of the very unuſual cloud that appeared in
the air, I ordered a veffel to carry me out to fome
diſtance from the fhore, that I might the better ob-
ferve the phenomenon, and try to difcover its na-
ture and caufe. This I did as a philofopher, and it
was a curiofity proper and natural to a fearching,
inquifitive mind. I offered to take you with me, and ,
furely you ſhould have defired to go ; for Livy might
have been read at any other time, and fuch fpectacles
are not frequent : but you remained fixed and chain-
ed down to your book with a pedantic attachment.
When I came out from my houfe, I found all the
people forfaking their dwellings, and flying to the .
fea,
fea, as the ſafeſt retreat. To affift them, and all
others who dwelt on the coaft, I immediately order-
ed the fleet to put out, and failed with it round the
whole Bay of Naples, fteering particularly to thofe
parts of the fhore where the danger was greateſt, and
from whence the inhabitants were endeavouring to
efcape with the moft trepidation. Thus I ſpent the
whole day, and preferved by my care fome thoufands
of lives ; noting, at the fame time, with a ſteady
compofure and freedom of mind, the feveral forms
and phenomena of the eruption. Towards night,
as we approached to the foot of Vefuvius, all the
gallies were covered with aſhes and embers, which grew
hotter and hotter ; then fhowers of pumice stones and
burnt and broken Pyrites began to fall on our heads ;
and we were ſtopped by the obſtacles which the ruins
of the mountain had fuddenly formed by falling into
the fea, and almoft filling it up on that part of the
coaft. I then commanded my pilot to ſteer to the
villa of my friend Pomponianus, which you know
was fituated in the inmoft recefs of the Bay. The
wind was very favourable to carry me thither, but
would not allow him to put off from the fhore, as he
wifhed to have done. We were therefore conſtrained
to pass the night in his houfe. They watched, and
I flept, until the heaps of pumice stones, which fell
from the clouds, that had now been impelled to that
fide of the Bay, rofe fo high in the area of the apart-
ment I lay in, that I could not have got out had I
ftaid any longer ; and the earthquakes were fo vio-
lent, as to threaten every moment the fall of the
houfe: we therefore thought it more fafe to go into
the open air, guarding our heads as well as we
could with pillows tied upon them. The wind con-
tinuing adverfe, and the fea very rough, we remain-
ed on the fhore, until a fulphureous and fiery vapour
oppreſſed my weak lungs, and ended my life.-In
all this I hope that I acted as the duty of my ſtation
required, and with true magnanimity. But on this
occafion, and in many other parts of your life, I
muft
A HELP TO ELOCUTION . 143A
muft fay, my dear nephew, that there was a vanity
mixed with your virtue, which hurt and difgraced
it. Without that, you would have been one of the
worthieſt men that Rome has produced ; for none
ever excelled you in the integrity of your heart and
greatnefs of your fentiments. Why would you lofe
the fubftance of glory by feeking the fhadow ? Your
eloquence had the fame fault as your manners : it
was too affected. You profeffed to make Cicero
your guide and your pattern : but when one reads
his panegyric upon Julius Cæfar, in his oration for
Marcellus, and yours upon Trajan, the first feems
the language of nature and truth, raiſed and dignified
with all the majesty of the moft fublime eloquence :
the latter appears the ftudied harangue of a florid
rhetorician, more defirous to fhine and fet off his
own wit, than to extol the great man he was praifing.
Pliny the Younger. I have too high a refpect for
you, uncle, to question your judgment either of my
life or my writings ; they might both have been 5
better, if I had not been too folicitous to render
them perfect. But it is not for me to fay much on
that fubject permit me therefore to return to the
fubject on which we began our converfation. What
a direful calamity was the eruption of Vefuvius,
which you have now been defcribing ? Do not you
remember the beauty of that charming coaft, and
of the mountain itſelf, before it was broken and torn
with the violence of thofe fudden fires that forced
their way through it, and carried deſolation and ruin
over all the neighbouring country ? the foot of it
was covered with corn fields and rich meadows , in-
terperfed with fine villas and magnificent towns :
the fides of it were cloathed with the best vines in
Italy, producing the richeſt and nobleſt wines. How
quick, how unexpected, how dreadful the change !
all was at once overwhelmed with afhes and cinders
and fiery torrents, prefenting to the eye the moſt
difmal fcene of horror and deſtruction !
Pliny the Elder. You paint it very truly. - But
has it never occurred to your mind that this change
is
is an emblem of that which must happen to every
rich, luxurious ftate ! while the inhabitants of it
are funkin voluptuoufnefs , while all is fmiling around
them, and they think that no evil, no danger is
nigh, the feeds of deftruction are fermenting within ;
and, breaking out on a fudden, lay wafte all their
opulence, all their delights ; till they are left a
fad monument of divine wrath, and of the fatal
effects of internal corruption.
A Dialogue between M. Apicius and Darteneuf.
[From the Dialogues of the Dead. ]
Dartencuf. LAS ! poor Apicius-I pity thee

A much for not having lived in my
age and my country. How many good diſhes have
I eat in England that were unknown at Rome in
thy days !
Apicius. Keep your pity for yourſelf.-- How
many good dishes have I eat in Rome, the know-
ledge of which has been loft in thefe latter degene-
rate days ! the fat paps of a fow, the livers of feari,
the brains of phenicopters, and the tripotanum,
which confifted of three forts of fish for which you
have no names, the lupus marinus, the myxo, and
the murana.
Darteneuf. I thought the muræna had been our
lamprey. We have excellent ones in the Severn .
Apicius. No : the muræna was a falt-water fish,
and kept in ponds into which the fea was admitted.
Dartencuf. Why then I dare fay our lampreys are
better. Did you ever eat any of them potted or
ftewed ?
Apicius. I was never in Britain. Your country
then was too barbarous for me to go thither. I
fhould have been afraid that the Britons would have
eat'me.
Darteneuf. I am forry for you, very forry for
if you never were in Britain, you never eat the beſt
oyiters in the whole world.
Apicius.
Apicius. Pardon me, Sir, your Sandwich oysters
were brought to Rome in my time.
Darteneuf. They could not be freſh : they were
good for nothing there.-You fhould have come to
Sandwich to eat them . It is a fhame for you that
you did not. -An Epicure talk of danger when he is
in fearch of a dainty ! did not Leander fwim over
the Hellefpont to get to his miftrefs ? and what is a
wench to a barrel of excellent oyſters ?
Apicius. Nay- I am fure you cannot blame me
for any want of alertnefs in feeking fine fishes. I
failed to the coaſt of Afric, from Minturnæ in Cam-
pania, only to taile of one fpecies, which I heard
was larger there than it was on our coaft, and finding
that I had received a falfe information, I returned
again without deigning to land.
Darteneuf. There was fome fenfe in that : but
why did you not alfo make a voyage to Sandwich ?
Had you tafted thofe oyfters in their perfection, you
would never have come back : you would have eat
till you burft.
Apicius. I wish I had :-It would have been better
than poifoning myfelf, as I did, becaufe, when I
came to make up my accounts, I found I had not
much above the poor fum of fourfcore thouſand
pounds left, which would not afford me a table to
keep me from ſtarving.
Darteneuf. A fum of fourfcore thousand pounds
not keep you from ftarving ! would I had had it ! I
fhould not have fpent it in twenty years, though I
had kept the beſt table in London, fuppofing I had
made no other expence.
Apicius. Alas, poor man this fhews that you
English have no idea of the luxury that reigned in
our tables. Before I died I had ſpent in my kitchen
807,2911. 13 s. 4 d.
Darteneuf. I do not believe a word of it : there
is an error in the account.
Apicius. Why, the eſtabliſhment of Lucullus for
his fuppers in the Apollo, I mean for every ſupper
he eat in the room which he called by that name,
H Was
was 5000 drachms, which is in your money 16141 .

II s. 8 d .
Darteneuf. Would I had fupped with him there !
but is there no blunder in theſe calculations ?
Apicius. Afk your learned men that. - I count as
they tell me.--But perhaps you may think that theſe
feafts were only made by great men, like Lucullus,
who had plundered all Afia to help him in his houſe-
keeping. What will you fay when I tell you that
the player Æfopus had one difh that coft him 6000
feftertia, that is 4843 1. 10s. Engliſh.
Darteneuf. What will I fay ? why, that I pity
poor Cibber and Booth ; and that, if I had known
this when I was alive, I fhould have hanged myſelf
for vexation that I did not live in thoſe days .
Apicius. Well you might, well you might.- You
do not know what eating is. You never could know
it. Nothing less than the wealth of the Roman em-
pire is fufficient to enable a man to keep a good
table. Our players were richer by far than your
princes.
Darteneuf. Oh that I had but lived in the bleffed
reign of Caligula, or of Vitellius, or of Heliogaba-
lus, and had been admitted to the honour of dining
with their flaves!
Apicius. Aye, there you touch me.-I am mifer-
able that I died before their good times. They
carried the glories of their table much farther than
the beſt eaters of the age that I lived in. Vitellius
fpent in eating and drinking within one year, what
would amount in your money to above feven millions
two hundred thousand pounds. He told me fo him-
felf in a converſation I had with him not long ago.
And the others you mentioned did not fall fhort of
his royal magnificence.
Dartencuf. Thefe indeed were great princes. But
what affects me moſt is the difh of that player, that
damned fellow Efopus. I cannot bear to think of
his having lived fo much better than I. Pray, of
what ingredients might the diſh he paid ſo much for
confift ?
Apicius.
Apicius. Chiefly of finging birds. It was that

which fo greatly enhanced the price.
Darteneuf. Of finging birds ! choak him.-I never
eat but one, which I ftole from a lady of my ac-
quaintance, and all London was in an uproar about
it, as if I had ſtolen and roaſted a child. But, upon
recollection, I begin to doubt whether I have fo
much reaſon to envy fopus ; for the finging bird
which I eat was no better in its tafte than a fat lark
or thruſh : It was not fo good as a wheatear or be-
cafigue ; and therefore I fufpect that all the luxury
you have bragged of was nothing but vanity and
foolish expence. It was like that of the ſon of Æſo-
pus, who diffolved pearls in vinegar, and drunk
them at fupper. I will be damned if a haunch of
venifon and my favourite ham pye were not much
better diſhes than any at the table of Vitellius him-
felf. I do not find that you had ever any good foups ,
without which no man of tafte can poffibly dine.
The rabits in Italy are not fit to eat ; and what is
better than the wing of one of our Engliſh wild rab-
bits ? I have been told that you had no turkies .
The mutton in Italy is very ill flavoured ; and as
for your boars roafted whole , I defpife them ; they
were only fit to be ferved up to the mob at a corpo-
ration feast or election dinner. A fmall barbecued
hog is worth a hundred of them ; and a good collar
of Shrewſbury brawn is a much better difh.
Apicius. If you had fome kinds of meat that we
wanted, yet our cookery muſt have been greatly fu-
perior to yours. Our cooks were fo excellent that
they could give to hog's flesh the taſte of all other
meats .
Darteneuf. I fhould not have liked their damned
imitations. You might as eafily have impofed on a
good connoiffeur the copy of a fine picture for the
original. Our cooks , on the contrary, give to all
other meats a rich flavour of bacon , without deftroy-
ing that which makes the diftinction of one from
another. I have not the leaſt doubt that our effence
of hams is a much better fauce than any that ever was
H 2. ufed
uſed by the Ancients. We have a hundred ragouts,
the compofition of which exceeds all defcription.
Had yours been as good, you could not have lolled,
as you did, upon couches, while you were eating.
They would have made you fit up and attend to
your bufinefs. Then you had a cuſtom of hearing
things read to you while you were at fupper. This
fhews you were not fo well entertained as we are
with our meat . For my own part, when I was at
table I could mind nothing elfe : I neither heard,
faw, nor fpoke : I only fmelt and tafted. But the
worſt of all is, that you had no wine fit to be named
with good Claret, or Burgundy, or Champagne, or
Old Hock, or Tokay. You boafted much of your Fa-
lernum ; but I have tasted the Lachrymæ Chriſti,
and other wines that grow upon the fame coaft, not
one of which would I drink above a glafs or two of,
if you would give me the kingdom of Naples. You
boiled your wines and mixed water with them , which
ſhews that in themſelves they were not fit to drink.
Apicius. I am afraid you beat us in wines ; not
to mention your cyder, perry, and beer, of all
which I have heard great fame from fome Engliſh,
with whom I have talked ; and their report has been
confirmed by the teftimony of their neighbours who
have travelled into England. Wonderful things have
been alſo ſaid to me of a liquor called Punch .
Darteneuf. Aye- to have died without taſting
that is unhappy indeed ! There is rum punch and
arrack punch ! it is hard to fay which is beft : but
Jupiter would have given his nectar for either of
them , upon my word and honour.
Apicius. The thought of it puts me into a fever
with thirst . From whence do you get your arrack
and your rum ?
Dartencuf. Why, from the East and Weft- Indies,
which you knew nothing of. That is enough to
decide the difpute. Your trade to the East-Indies
was very far fhort of what we carry on, and the
Weft-Indies were not difcovered. What a new
world
world of good things for eating and drinking has Co-

lumbus opened to us ? Think of that, and defpair.
Apicius. I cannot indeed but lament my ill fate,
that America was not found before I was born. It
tortures me when I hear of chocolate, pine apples,
and twenty other fine meats , or fine fruits produced
there, which I have never taited. What an advan-
tage it is to you, that all your fweetmeats, tarts,
cakes, and other delicacies of that nature, are
fweetened with fugar instead of honey, which we
were obliged to make uſe of for want of that plant !
but what grieves me moft is, that I never eat a turtle.
they tell me that it is abfolutely the beſt of all foods !
Darteneuf. Yes, I have heard the Americans fay
fo:-but I never eat any ; for in my time they
were not brought over to England.
Apicius. Never eat any turtle ! how didft thou
dare to accufe me of not going to Sandwich to eat
oyfters, and didit not thyfelf take a trip to America
to riot on turtles ? but know, wretched man, that I
am informed they are now as plentiful in England
as fturgeon. There are turtle boats that go regularly
to London and Briſtol from the Weft - Indies. I
have just feen a fat alderman, who died in London
laft week of a furfeit he got at a turtle feaſt in that
city.
Darteneuf. What does he fay ? Does he tell you
that turtle is better than venifon !
Apicius. He fays there was a haunch of veniſon
untouched, while every mouth was employed on the
turtle that he eat till he fell aſleep in his chair,
and that the food was fo wholeſome he ſhould not
have died, if he had not unluckily caught cold in
his fleep, which ſtopped his perfpiration, and hurt
-his digeſtion.
Darteneuf. Alas ! how imperfect is human felicity !
I lived in an age when the pleaſure of eating was
thought to be carried to its higheſt perfection in
England and France ; and yet a turtle feaft is a
novelty to me ! would it be impoffible, do you think,
to obtain leave from Pluto of going back for one day,
H 3 juft
juft to taste of that food ? I would promiſe to kill

myfelf by the quantity I would eat before the next
morning.
Apicius. You have forgot, Sir, that you have no
body that which you had has been rotten a great
while ago ; and you can never return to the earth
with another, unleſs Pythagoras carries you thither
to animate that of a hog. But comfort yourſelf,
that, as you have eat dainties which I never tafted ,
fo the next will eat fome unknown to the prefent.
New difcoveries will be made, and new delicacies
brought from other parts of the world. We muſt
both be philofophers. We must be thankful for the
good things we have had, and not grudge others bet-
ter if they fall to their fhare. Confider that, after
all, we could but have eat as much as our ſtomachs
would hold, and that we did every day of our lives.
-but fee, who comes hither ? I think it is Mercury.
Mercury. Gentlemen, I must tell you that I have
ftood near you invifible, and heard your diſcourſe ;
a privilege which we deities ufe when we pleaſe.
Attend therefore to a difcovery which I fhall make
to you, relating to the ſubject upon which you were
talking. I know two men, one of whom lived in
ancient and the other in modern times, that had
more pleaſure in eating than either of you ever had
in your lives.
Apicius. One of thefe, I prefume, was a Sybarite,
and the other a French gentleman fettled in the
Weft-Indies
Mercury. No: one was a Spartan foldier, and the other
an Engliſh farmer.-I fee you both look aftoniſhed ;
but what I tell you is truth. The foldier never eat
his black broth till the exercifes, to which by their
difcipline the Spartan troops were obliged, had got
him fuch an appetite, that he could have gnawed
a bone like a dog. The farmer was out at the tail
of his plough, or fome other wholefome labour, from
morning till night ; and when he came home his
wife dreffed him a piece of good beef, or a fine barn-
door fowl and a pudding, for his dinner, which he
eat
eat much more ravenouſly, and confequently with a
great deal more reliſh and pleaſure, than you did
your tripotanum or your ham pye. Your ftomachs
were always fo overcharged, that I queſtion if ever
you felt real hunger, or eat one meal in twenty years
without forcing your appetites, which makes all
things infipid. I tell you therefore again, that the
foldier and the farmer had much more of the joy
of eating than you.
Dartencuf. This is more mortifying than not to
have fhared a turtle feaft. I fear indeed we have
been in quite a wrong ſyſtem, and never had any true
notions of pleaſure.
Apicius. It is a fad thing not to know what good
living is before one is dead. I wish, Mercury , you
had taught me your art of cookery in my lifetime, or
held your tongue about it here.
A Dialogue between Mercury and a modern Fine

Lady.
[ From the Dialogues ofthe Dead.]
Mrs.Modib.TNDEED, Mr.
have the pl easuMercury, I gcannot
re of waitin upon
you now ; I am engaged, abfolutely engaged.
Mercury. I know you have an amiable affectionate
huſband, and feveral fine children ; but you need
not be told that neither conjugal attachments, mater-
nal affections, nor even the care of a kingdom's wel-
fare or a nation's glory, can excufe a perſon who
has received a fummons to the realms of death . If
the grim meffenger was not as peremptory as unwel-
come, Charon would not get a pallenger (except
now and then an hypochondriacal Engliſhman) once
in a century. You must be content to leave your
hufband and family, and pafs the Styx.
Mrs. Modifh. I did not mean to infift on any en-
gagement with my huſband and children ; I never
thought myfelf engaged to them. I had no engage-
H 4 ments
ments but fuch as were common to women of my

rank. Look on my chimney-piece, and you will
fee I was engaged to the play on Mondays, balls on
Tuefdays, the opera on Saturdays , and to card-
affemblies the rest of the week, for two months to
come ; and it would be the rudeft thing in the world
not to keep my appointments. - If you will ſtay for
me till the fummer feafon I will wait on you with
all my heart. Perhaps the Elyfian fields may be
lefs deteftable than the country in our world. Pray,
have you a fine Vauxhall and Ranelagh ? I think I
fhould not diflike drinking the Lethe waters when you
have a full feafon.
Mercury. Surely you could not like to drink the
waters of oblivion, who have made pleafure the
bufinefs, end, and aim of your life ! it is good to
drown cares, but who would wash away the remem-
brance ofa life of gaiety and pleaſure ?
Mrs. Modifh. Diverfion was indeed the bufinefs
of my life ; but as to pleaſure, I have enjoyed none
fince the novelty of my amufements was gone off.
Can one be pleaſed with feeing the fame thing over
and over again ? Late hours and fatigue gave me the
vapours, fpoiled the natural cheerfulneſs of my
temper, and even in youth wore away my youthful
vivacity.
Mercury. If this way of life did not give you plea-
fure, why did you continue in it ? I fuppofe you did
not think it was very meritorious ?
Mrs. Modifh. I was too much engaged to think
at all : fo far indeed my manner of life was agreeable
enough. My friends always told me diverfions were
neceffary, and my doctor affured me diffipation was
good for my fpirits. My huſband infiſted that it was
not, and you know that one loves to oblige one's
friends, comply with one's doctor, and contrad &t
one's husband ; and befides I was ambitious to be
thought du bon ton * .
Mercury.
* Du bon tan, is a cant phrafe in the modern French lan-

guage for the fashionable air of converſation and manners.
Mercury. Bon ton ! what's that, Madam ? Pray
define it.
Mrs. Modifh. Oh, Sir, excufe me, it is one of the
privileges of the bon ton never to define or be defined.
It is the child and the parent of jargon. It is— I
can never tell you what it is : but I will try to tell
you what it is not. In converfation it is not wit ; in
manners it is not politeness ; in behaviour it is not
addrefs ; but it is a little like them all. It can only
belong to people of a certain rank, who live in a
certain manner, with certain perfons who have not
certain virtues, and who have certain vices, and who
inhabit a certain part of the town. Like a place by
courteſy, it gets an higher rank than the perfon can
claim, but which thoſe who have a legal title to pre-
cedency dare not difpute, for fear of being thought
not to underſtand the rules of politenefs . Now, Sir,
I have told you as much as I know of it, though I
have admired and aimed at it all my life.
Mercury. Then, Madam, you have wafted your
time, faded your beauty, and deftroyed your health,
for the laudable purpoſes of contradicting your huf-
band, and being this fomething and this nothing
called the bon ton.
Mrs. Modifh. What would you have had me do ?
Mercury. I will follow your mode of inftructing.
I will tell you what I would not have had you do.
I would not have had you facrifice your time, your
reaſon, and your duties to faſhion and folly. I would
not have had you neglect your huſband's happineſs
and your children's education.
Mrs. Modifh. As to my daughters' education I
fpared no expence : they had a dancing-mafter, mufic-
mafter, and drawing-mafter, and a French governeſs
to teach them behaviour and the French language.
Mercury. So their religion , fentiments, and man-
ners were to be learnt from a dancing-mafter, mufic-
inafter, and a chamber-maid ! perhaps they might
prepare them to catch the bon ton. Your daughters
muſt have been fo educated as to fit them to be wives
without conjugal affection, and mothers without ma-
H 5 ternal
ternal care. I am forry for the fort of life they are
commencing, and for that which you have juſt con-
cluded. Minos is a four old gentleman , without the
leaft fmattering of the bon ton, and I am in a fright
for you. The best thing I can adviſe you is to do in
this world as you did in the other, keep happineſs in
your view, but never take the road that leads to it.
Remain on this fide Styx ; wander about without
end or aim ; look into the Elyfian fields, but never
attempt to enter into them, left Minos fhould push
you into Tartarus : for duties neglected may bring on
a fentence not much leſs fevere than crimes com-
mitted.
A Dialogue between Plutarch, Charon, and a

modern Bookfeller.
[ From the Dialogues ofthe Dead. ]
Charon. ERE is a fellow who is very unwilling

H to land in our territories. He fays he
is rich, has a great deal of bufinefs in the other,
world, and muft needs return to it : he is fo trouble-
fome and obftreperous I know not what to do with
him. Take him under your care, therefore, good
Plutarch ; you will eafily awe him into order and
decency by the fuperiority an author has over a
bookfeller.
Bookfeller. Am I got into a world fo abfolutely the
reverſe of that I left, that here authors domineer
over bookſellers ? Dear Charon, let me go back, and
I will pay any price for my paffage. But, if I muſt
ftay, leave me not with any of thoſe who are ſtyled
Claffical Authors . As to you, Plutarch, I have a
particular animofity against you, for having almoſt
occafioned my ruin. When I firſt ſet up ſhop, un-
derſtanding but little of bufinefs, I unadvifedly bought
an edition of your lives, a pack of old Greeks and
Romans, which coft me a great fum of money. I
could never get off above twenty fets of them. I
fold
fold a few to the univerſities, and fome to Eaton and
Weſtminſter ; for it is reckoned a pretty book for
boys and under-graduates ; but unleſs a man has the
luck to light on a pedant he ſhall not fell a fet of
them in twenty years.
Plutarch. From the merit of the fubjects I had
hoped another reception for my works. I will own
indeed that I am not always perfectly accurate in
every circumſtance, nor do I give fo exact and cir-
cumftantial a detail of the actions of my heroes, as
may be expected from a biographer who has con-
fined himſelf to one or two characters. A zeal to
preferve the memory of great men , and to extend
the influence of fuch noble examples, made me un
dertake more than I could accompliſh in the first de-
gree of perfection : but furely the characters of my
illuftrious men are not fo imperfectly ſketched, that
they will not ſtand forth to all ages as patterns of vir-
tue, and incitements to glory. My reflections are
allowed to be deep and fagacious ; and what can be
more uſeful to a reader than a wife man's judgment
on a great man's conduct ? in my writings you will
find no raſh cenfures, no undeſerved encomiums , no
mean compliance with popular opinions, no vain
oftentation of critical fkill, nor any affected fineffe..
In my parallels , which uſed to be admired as pieces.
of excellent judgment, I compare with perfect im-
partiality one great man with another, and each with
the rule of juftice. If indeed later ages have pro-
duced greater men and better writers, my heroes
and my works ought to give place to them . As the
world has now the affiftance of much better rules of
morality, than the unaffifted reafon of poor Pagans
could form , I do not wonder that thofe vices, which
appeared to us as mere blemishes in great characters,
fhould feem moft horrid deformities in the purer eyes
of the prefent age. A delicacy I do not blame, but
admire and commend ; and I muſt cenfure you for
endeavouring, if you could publish better examples,
to obtrude on your countrymen fuch as were de-
fective. I rejoice at the preference which they gave
to
ON .
A HELP TO ELOCUTI
156
to perfect and unallayed virtue ; and as I fhall ever
retain an high veneration for the illuftrious men of
every age, I ſhould be glad you would give me fome
account of thofe perfons, who in wiſdom, juftice,
valour, patriotifin, have eclipfed my Solon, Numa,
Camillus, Scipio, &c.
Bookfeller. Why, Mafter Plutarch, you are talking
Greek indeed. That work which repaired the lofs
I fuftained by the coftly edition of your books, was,
The Lives of the Highwaymen : but I fhould never
have grown rich, if it had not been by publiſhing
the lives of men that never lived. You must know,
that though in all times it was poffible to have a great
deal of learning and very little wifdom , yet it is only
by a modern improvement in the art of writing,
that a man may read all his life and have no learn-
ing or knowledge at all, which begins to be an ad-
vantage of the greatest importance. There is as
natural a war between your men of ſcience and fools,
as between the cranes and the pigmies of old . Moft
of our young men having deferted to the fools, the
party of the learned is near being beaten out of the
field ; and I hope in a little while they will not dare
to peep out of their forts and faſtneſſes at Oxford and
Cambridge.There let them ftay and study old
mufty moralifts, till one falls in love with the Greek,
another with the Roman virtue ; but our men of
the world fhould read our new books, which teach
them to have no virtue at all. No book is fit for a
gentleman's reading which is not void of facts and of
doctrines, that he may not grow a pedant in his mo-
rals or converfation. I look upon hiſtory ( I mean
real hiſtory) to be one of the worst kinds of ſtudy.
Whatever has happened may happen again; and a
well-bred man may unwarily mention a parallel in-
ſtance he had met with in hiftory, and be betrayed
into the awkwardneſs of introducing into his difcourfe
a Greek, Roman, or even Gothic name. But
when a gentleman has spent his time in reading ad-
ventures that never occurred, exploits that never
were atchieved, and events that not only never did,
but
but never can happen, it is impoffible that in life
or in difcourfe he fhould ever apply them. A fecret
history, in which there is no fecret and no hiſtory,
cannot tempt indiſcretion to blab or vanity to quote ;
and by this means modern converfation flows gentle
and eafy, unincumbered with matter, and unburthen-
ed of inftruction. As the preſent ſtudies throw no
weight or gravity into difcourfe and manners, the
women are not afraid to read our books , which not
only difpofe to gallantry and coquetry, but give
rules for them. Cæfar's Commentaries, and the ac-
count of Xenophon's expedition, are not more ſtudied
by military commanders, than our novels are by the
fair to a different purpoſe indeed : for their mili-
tary maxims teach to conquer, ours to yield : thofe
inflame the vain and idle love of glory, theſe incul-
cate a noble contempt of reputation. The women
have greater obligations to our writers than the men.
By the commerce of the world men might learn much
of what they get from books ; but the poor women,
who, in their early youth, are confined and reſtrained,
if it were not for the friendly affiftance of books,
would remain long in an infipid purity of mind,
with a difcouraging referve of behaviour.
Plutarch. As to your men who have quitted the
ftudy of virtue for the ftudy of vice, ufeful truth
for abfurd fancy, and real hiſtory for monftrous fic-
tion, I have neither regard nor compaffion for them :
but I am concerned for the women who are betrayed
into thefe dangerous ftudies : and I wish, for their
fakes, I had expatiated more on the character of
Lucretia and fome other heroines.
Bookfeller. I tell you our women do not read in
order to live or to die like Lucretia. If you would
inform us that a billet doux was found in her cabi-
net after her death, or give an hint as if Tarquin
really faw her in the arms of a flave, and that the
killed herſelf to prevent a diſcovery, fuch anecdotes
would fell very well. Or if even by tradition, but
better fill if by papers in the Portian family, you
would fhew fome probability that Portia died of
dram-
dram -drinking, you would oblige the world very

much ; for you must know that, next to new-invent-
ed characters, we are fond of new lights upon ancient
characters ; I mean fuch lights as fhew a reputed
honeft man to have been a concealed knave ; an il-
luftrious hero a pitiful coward, &c. Nay, we are
fo fond of theſe kinds of information , as to be pleaſed
fometimes to fee a character cleared from a vice or
crime it has been charged with , provided the perfon
concerned be actually dead. But in this cafe the
evidence muſt be authentic, and amount to a demon-
ftration in the other, a detection is not neceffary ;
a flight fufpicion will do , if it concerns a really good
and great character.
Plutarch. I am the more furpriſed at what you
fay of the taste of your contemporaries, as I met
with a Frenchman who affured me that lefs than a
century ago he had written a much-admired life of
Cyrus, under the name of Artamenes, in which he
afcribed to him far greater actions than thofe re-
corded of him by Xenophon and Herodotus, and
that many of the great heroes of hiſtory had been
treated in the fame manner ; that empires were gain-
ed and battles decided by the valour of a fingle man,
imagination beftowing what nature has denied, and
the fyftem of human affairs rendered impoffible.
Bookfeller. I affure you theſe books were very
ufeful to authors and their bookfellers ; and for whofe
benefit befide fhould a man write ? theſe romances were
very fashionable, and had a great fale ; they fell in
luckily with the humour of the age.
Plutarch. Monfieur Scuderi tells me they were
written in the times of vigour and fpirit, in the
evening of the gallant days of chivalry, which,
though then declining, had left in the hearts of men
a warm glow of courage and heroiſm ; and they were
to be called to books, as to battle, by the found of
the trumpet. He fays too that, if writers had not
accommodated themfelves to the prejudices of the
age, and written of bloody battles and defperate en-
counters, their works would have been eſteemed too
effeminate
effeminate an amufement for gentlemen . Hiftories
of chivalry, instead of enervating, tend to invigorate
the mind, and endeavour to raife humanity above
the condition which is naturally prefcribed to it ;
but as ftrict juftice, patriot motives, prudent coun-
fels, and a difpaffionate choice of what, upon the
whole, is the fitteſt and beſt, do not direct theſe he-
roes of romance, they cannot ferve for inftruction
and example, like the great characters of true hiftory.
It has ever been my opinion, that only the clear
and steady light of truth can guide men to virtue,
and that the leffon which is impracticable must be
unufeful. Whoever ſhall defign to regulate his con-
duct by theſe viſionary characters, will be in the con-
dition of fuperftitious people, who choose rather to
act by intimations they receive in the dreams of the
night , than by the fober counfels of morning medi-
tation. Yet I confefs it has been the practice of
many nations to incite men to virtue by relating the
deeds of fabulous heroes ; but furely it is the custom
only of yours to incite them to vice by the history
of fabulous fcoundrels. Men of fine imagination
have foared into the regions of fancy to bring back
Aftrea: you go thither in fearch of Pandora : oh dif-
grace to letters ! oh fhame to the muſes !
Bookfeller. You exprefs great indignation at our
prefent race of writers ; but, believe me, the fault
lies chiefly on the fide of the readers . As Monfieur
Scuderi obferved to you , authors must comply with
the manners and difpofition of thoſe who are to read
them. There must be a certain fympathy between
the book and the reader, to create a good liking.
Would you prefent a modern fine gentleman who is
negligently lolling in an eafy chair, with the labours
of Hercules for his recreation ? Or make him climb
the Alps with Hannibal, when he is expiring with
the fatigue of laſt night's ball ? Our readers muſt be
amufed, flattered, foothed ; fuch adventures muſt be
offered to them as they would like to have a fhare in.
Plutarch. It fhould be the first object of writers
to correct the vices and follies of the age. I will
allow
allow as much compliance with the mode of the

times as will make truth and good morals agreeable.
Your love of fictitious characters might be turned to
good purpofe, if thoſe preſented to the public were
to be formed on the rules of religion and morality.
It must be confeffed that history, being employed
only about illuftrious perfons, public events, and cele-
brated actions, does not fupply us with fuch inftances
of domeſtic merit as one could with : our heroes are
great in the field and the fenate, and act well in
great fcenes on the theatre of the world : but the
idea of a man, who, in the filent retired path of life
never deviates into vice, who confiders no fpectator
but the Omnifcient Being, and folicits no applauſe
but his approbation, is the nobleft model that can
be exhibited to mankind, and would be of the moſt
general ufe. Examples of domeſtic virtue would be
more particularly ufeful to women than thoſe of
great heroines. The virtues of women are blaſted
by the breath of public fame, as flowers that grow
on an eminence are faded by the fun and wind which
expand them. But true female praife, like the mufic
of the fpheres, arifes from a gentle, a conftant, and
an equal progrefs in the path marked out for them
by their great Creator ; and, like the heavenly har-
mony, it is not adapted to the grofs ear of mortals,
but is referved for the delight of higher beings, by
whoſe wife laws they were ordained to give a filent
light, and fhed a mild benignant influence on the
world.
Bookfeller. We have had fome Engliſh and French
writers who aimed at what you fuggeft. In the fup-
pofed character of Clariffa (faid a clergyman to me
a few days before I left the world) one finds the
dignity of heroifm tempered by the meeknefs and
humility of religion, a perfect purity of mind and
fanctity of manners. In that of Sir Charles Grandi-
fon, a noble pattern of every private virtue, with
fentiments fo exalted as to render him equal to every
public duty,
Plutarch.
Plutarch. Are both theſe characters by the fame

author ?
Bookfeller. Aye, Mafter Plutarch, and what will
furpriſe you more, this author has printed for me.
Plutarch. By what you fay it is pity he ſhould
print any works but his own. Are there no other
authors who write in this manner ?
Bookfeller. Yes, we have another writer of theſe
imaginary hiftories ; one who has not long fince de-
fcended to thefe regions ; his name is Fielding, and
his works, as I have heard the best judges fay, have
a true fpirit of comedy, and an exact reprefentation
of nature, with fine moral touches . He has not in-
deed given leffons of pure and confummate virtue, but
he has expofed vice and meannefs with all the powers
of ridicule ; and we have ſome other good wits, who
have exerted their talents to the purpoſes you ap-
prove. Monfieur de Marivaux and fome other French
writers have alfo proceeded much upon the fame
plan, with a ſpirit and elegance which give their
works no mean rank among the belles lettres. I will
own that, when there is wit and elegance enough
in a book to make it fell, it is not the worſe for good
morals.
Charon. I think, Plutarch, you have made this
gentleman a little more humble, and now I will
carry him the reſt of his journey ; but he is too fri-
volous an animal to prefent to wife Minos. I wiſh
Mercury were here, he would damn him for his
dulnefs. I have a good mind to carry him to the
Danaïdes, and leave him to pour water into their
veffels, which, like his late readers, are deſtined to
eternal emptiness. Or fhall I chain him to the rock,
fide to fide by Prometheus, not for having attempt-
ed to ſteal celeſtial fire, in order to animate human
forms, but for having endeavoured to extinguiſh that
which Jupiter had imparted ? Or fhall we conftitute
him frifeur to Tifiphone, and make him curl up her
locks with his fatires and libels ?
Plutarch. Minos does not eſteem any thing frivo-
lous
lous that affects the morals of mankind : he puniſhes

authors as guilty of every fault they have counte-
nanced, and every crime they have encouraged ;
and denounces heavy vengeance for the injuries
which virtue or the virtuous have fuffered in confe-
quence of their writings.
On Idlenefs.
[From the Guardian. ]
DLENESS is fo general a distemper, that I

I'cannot but imagine a fpeculation on this fubject
will be of univerfal ufe. There is hardly any one
perfon without fome allay of it ; and thouſands be-
fides myfelf fpend more time in an idle uncertainty,
whether of two affairs to begin firſt, than would have
been fufficient to have ended them both. The occa-
fion of this feems to be the want of fome neceffary
employment to put the fpirits in motion, and awaken
them out of their lethargy. If I had lefs leifure I
fhould have more ; for I fhould then find my time
diftinguished into portions, fome for buſineſs , and
others for the indulging of pleaſures ; but now one
face of indolence overfpreads the whole, and I have
no land-mark to direct myfelf by. Were one's time
a little ftraitened by buſineſs , like water incloſed in
its banks, it would have fome determined courſe ;
but unless it be put into fome channel it has no cur-
rent, but becomes a deluge without either uſe or
motion.
When Scanderberg, Prince of Epirus, was dead,
the Turks, who had but too often felt the force of
his arm in the battles he had won from them , ima-
gined that, by wearing a piece of his bone near their
heart, they ſhould be animated with a vigour and
force like to that which infpired him when living.
As I am like to be but of little ufe while I live , I am
refolved to do what good I can after my deceaſe, and
accordingly have ordered my bones to be difpofed of
in
in this manner for the good of my countrymen who
are troubled with too exorbitant a degree of fire.
All foxhunters, upon wearing me, would in a
ſhort time be brought to endure their beds in a morn-
ing, and perhaps even quit them with regret at ten.
Inſtead of hurrying away to teaze a poor animal, and
run away from their own thoughts, a chair or a cha-
riot would be thought the most defirable means of
performing a remove from one place to another. I
fhould be a cure for the unnatural defire of John
Trott for dancing, and a ſpecific to leffen the incli-
nation Mrs. Fridget has to motion, and cauſe her
always to give her approbation to the prefent place
fhe is in. In fine, no Egyptian mummy was ever
half fo uſeful in phyfic as I fhould be to thoſe feverish
conftitutions, to reprefs the violent fallies of youth,
and give each action its proper weight and repofe.
I can stifle any violent inclination, and oppofe a
torrent of anger, or the folicitations of revenge,
with fuccefs. But indolence is a ftream which flows
flowly on, but yet undermines the foundation of
every virtue. A vice of a more lively nature were a
more defirat le tyrant than this ruft of the mind,
which gives a tincture of its nature to every action
of one's life. It were as little hazard to be toft in a
ftorm, as to lie thus perpetually becalmed , and it
is to no purpoſe to have within one the feeds of a
thoufand good qualities, if we want the vigour and
refolution neceflary for the exerting them. Death
brings all perfons back to an equality ; and this image
of it, this flumber of the mind, leaves no difference
between the greateſt genius and the meaneſt under-
ftanding. A faculty of doing things remarkably
praife-worthy thus concealed, is of no more ufe to
the owner, than a heap of gold to the man who
dares not uſe it.
To-morrow is ftill the fatal time when all is to be
rectified : to-morrow comes, it goes, and ſtill I pleaſe
myſelf with the fhadow whilſt I loſe the reality ; un-
mindful that the preſent time alone is ours, the future
is yet unborn, and the paft is dead, and can only
live
live (as parents in their children) in the actions it

has produced.
The time we live ought not to be computed by
the number of years, but by the ufe which has been
made of it ; thus it is not the extent of ground, but
the yearly rent which gives the value to the eſtate.
Wretched and thoughtless creatures, in the only
place where covetoufnefs were a virtue we turn pro-
digals ! nothing lies upon our hands with fuch un-
eafinefs, nor has there been fo many devices for any
one thing, as to make it flide away imperceptibly,
and to no purpoſe. A fhilling fhall be hoarded up
with care, whilft that which is above the price of an
eftate, is flung away with difregard and contempt.
There is nothing now-a-days fo much avoided as
a folicitous improvement of every part of time : it
is a report muit be fhunned as one tenders the name
of a wit and a fine genius , and as one fears the dread-
ful character of a laborious plodder : but, notwith-
ſtanding this, the greateft wits any age has produced
thought far otherwife ; for who can think either So-
crates or Demosthenes loft any reputation by their
continual pains both in overcoming the defects and
improving the gifts of nature. All are acquainted
with the labour and affiduity with which Tully ac-
quired his eloquence. Seneca, in his letters to Lu-
cellius, affures him there was not a day in which he
did not either write fomething, or read and epito-
mize fome good author : and I remember Pliny in
one of his letters, where he gives an account of the
various methods he used to fill up every vacancy of
time, after ſeveral employments which he enume-
rates, " Sometimes," fays he, " I hunt ; but even then
" I carry with me a pocket-book, that, whilft my
" fervants are bufied in difpofing of the nets and
" other matters, I may be employed in fomething
" that may be uſeful to me in my ftudies ; and that,
" if I mifs of my game, I may at leaſt bring home
" fome of my own thoughts with me, and not have,
" the mortification of having caught nothing all
day."
Thus,
Thus, Sir, you fee how many examples I recall
to mind, and what arguments I ufe with myſelf to
regain my liberty ; but as I am afraid it is no ordi-
nary perfuafion that will be of fervice, I ſhall expect
your thoughts on this fubject with the greatest im-
patience, especially fince the good will not be con-
fined to me alone, but will be of univerfal ufe : for
there are no hopes of amendment where men are
pleafed with their ruin, and whilft they think lazineſs
is a defirable character ; whether it be that they like
the ſtate itſelf, or that they think it gives them a
new luftre when they do exert themfelves, feemingly
to be able to do that, without labour and application,
which others attain to but with the greateſt dili-
gence.
On Spending Time.
[ From thefame. ]
E all of us complain of the ſhortness of time,

W faith Seneca, and yet have much more than
we know what to do with. Our lives, fays he, are
ſpent either in doing nothing at all, or in doing no-
thing to the purpofe, or in doing nothing that we
ought to do we are always complaining our days
are few, and acting as though there would be no
end of them. That noble philofopher has defcribed
our inconfiftency with ourſelves in this particular, by
all thofe various turns of expreffion and thought
which are peculiar to his writings.
I often confider mankind as wholly inconfiftent
with itſelf in a point that bears fome affinity to the
former. Though we feem grieved at the ſhortnefs
of life, in general, we are wiſhing every period of it
at an end. The minor longs to be at age, then to
be a man of buſineſs, then to make up an eftate, then
to arrive at honours, then to retire. Thus although
the whole of life is allowed by every one to be fhort,
the feveral divifions of it appear long and tedious.
We are for lengthening our fpan in general, but
would
would fain contract the parts of which it is compofed .

The ufurer would be very well fatisfied to have all
the time annihilated that lies between the preſent
moment and next quarter-day. The politician would
be contented to lofe three years in his life, could he
place things in the pofture which he fancies they
will ftand in after fuch a revolution of time. The
lover would be glad to ſtrike out of his existence all
the moments that are to pafs away before the happy
meeting. Thus, as fast as our time runs, we fhould
be very glad, in moſt parts of our lives, that it ran
much faster than it does.
Several hours of the day hang upon our hands ;
nay, we wish away whole years, and travel through
time as through a country filled with many wild and
empty waftes, which we would fain hurry over, that
we may arrive at thofe feveral little fettlements or
imaginary points of reft which are difperfed up and
down in it.
Ifwe divide the life of most men into twenty parts,
we fhall find that at leaſt nineteen of them are mere
gaps and chafins, which are neither filled with plea-
fure nor bufinefs. I do not, however, include in this
calculation the life of thofe men who are in a perpe-
tual hurry of affairs, but of thoſe only who are not
always engaged in fcenes of action ; and I hope I
fhall not do an unacceptable piece of fervice to thoſe
perfons, if I point out to them certain methods for
the filling up their empty fpaces of life. The me-
thods I fhall propofe to them are as follow :
The first is the exercite of virtue, in the moft gene-
ral acceptation of the word. That particular fcheme,
which comprehends the focial virtues, may give em-
ployment to the moſt induftrious temper, and find a
man bufinefs more than the most active ftation of life.
To adviſe the ignorant, relieve the needy, comfort
the afflicted, are duties that fall in our way almoft
every day of our lives. A man has frequent oppor-
tunities of mitigating the fiercenefs of a party ; of
doing justice to the character of a deferving man ;
of foftening the envious, quieting the angry, and
rectifying
rectifying the prejudiced ; which are all of them .

employments ſuited to a reaſonable nature, and bring
great fatisfaction to the perfon who can bufy himfelf
in them with difcretion.
There is another kind of virtue that may find em-
ployment for thoſe retired hours in which we are
altogether left to ourfelves, and deftitute of compa-
ny and converfation ; I mean that intercourfe and
communication which every reaſonable creature ought
to maintain with the great Author of his being.
The man who lives under an habitual fenfe of the
Divine Prefence keeps up a perpetual cheerfulneſs
of temper, and enjoys every moment the fatisfaction
of thinking himself in company with his deareſt and
beft of friends. The time never lies heavy upon
him ; it is impoffible for him to be alone. His
thoughts and paffions are the most bufied at fuch
hours when thofe of other men are the moſt unactive.
He no fooner ſteps out of the world, but his heart
burns with devotion, fwells with hope, and triumphs
in the confcioufnefs of that prefence which every
where furrounds him ; or, on the contrary, pours
out its fears, its forrows, its apprehenfions to the
great Supporter of its exiſtence.
I have here only confidered the neceffity of a
man's being virtuous, that he may have fomething
to do ; but if we confider further, that the exercife
of virtue is not only an amuſement for the time it
lafts, but that its influence extends to thofe parts of
our exiſtence which lie beyond the grave, and that
our whole eternity is to take its colour from thoſe
hours which we here employ in virtue or in vice,
the argument redoubles upon us, for putting in prac-
tice this method of paffing away our time.
When a man has but a little ſtock to improve, and
has opportunities of turning it all to good account,
what fhall we think of him if he fuffers nineteen
parts of it to lie dead, and perhaps employs even the
twentieth to his ruin or difadvantage ? but becauſe
the mind cannot be always in its fervors, nor flrained
up
up to a pitch of virtue, it is neceffary to find out

proper employments for it in its relaxations .
The next method, therefore, that I would propoſe
to fill up our time, fhould be ufeful and innocent
diverfions. I must confefs I think it is below rea-
fonable creatures to be altogether converfant in fuch
diverfions as are merely innocent, and have nothing
elfe to recommend them, but there is no hurt in
them . Whether any kind of gaming has even thus
much to fay for itſelf I fhall not determine ; but I
think it is very wonderful to fee perfons of the beſt
fenfe paffing away a dozen hours together in fhuffling
and dividing a pack of cards, with no other conver-
fation but what is made up of a few game phraſes,
and no other ideas but thofe of black or red fpots
ranged together in different figures. Would not a
man laugh to hear any one of this fpecies complain-
ing that life is fhort ?
The frage might be made a perpetual fource ofthe
moft noble and ufeful entertainments, were it under
proper regulations. But the mind never unbends
itſelf fo agreeably as in the converfation of a well-
chofen friend : there is indeed no bleffing of life that
is any way comparable to the enjoyment of a dif-
creet and virtuous friend : it eafes and unloads the
mind, clears and improves the underſtanding, engen-
ders thought and knowledge, animates virtue and
good refolutions, foothes and allays the paffions,
and finds employment for most of the vacant hours
of life.
Next to fuch an intimacy with a particular perſon,
one would endeavour after a more general converfa-
tion with fuch as are capable of edifying and enter-
taining thoſe with whom they converſe, which are
qualities that feldom go afunder.
There are many other ufeful amufements of life,
which one would endeavour to multiply, that one
might on all occafions, have recourfe to fomething
rather than fuffer the mind to lie idle, or run adrift
with any paffion that chances to rife in it. A man
that
that has a taſte in mufic, painting, or architecture, is

like one that has another fenfe, when compared with
fuch as have no relish of thofe arts. The florift, the
planter, the gardener, the hufbandman, when they
are only as accomplishments to the man of fortune,
are great reliefs to a country life, and many ways uſe-
ful to thoſe who are poffeffed of them .
The Practice ofVirtue recommended.

[From thefame. ]
HEN Hercules , fays the divine Prodicus,

WHE was in that part of his youth in which it
was natural for him to confider what courſe of life he
ought to purfue, he one day retired into a defert,
where the filence and folitude of the place very much
favoured his meditations. As he was mufing on his
prefent condition, very much perplexed in himſelf
on the ftate of life he ſhould chooſe, he faw two wo-
men, of a larger ftature than ordinary, approaching
towards him. One of them had a very notable air
and graceful deportment ; her beauty was natural
and eafy ; her perfon, clean and unfpotted ; her eyes
caft towards the ground with an agreeable referve ;
her motion and behaviour full of modefty ; and her
raiment white as fnow. The other had a great deal
of health and floridnefs in her countenance, which
ſhe had helped with an artificial white and red, and
endeavoured to appear more graceful than ordinary
in her mien, by a mixture of affectation in all her
geftures. She had a wonderful confidence and affu-
rance in her looks , and all the variety of colours in
her dress that the thought were the moſt proper to
fhew her complexion to an advantage. She caft her
eyes upon herſelf, then turned them on thoſe that
were prefent to fee how they liked her, and often
looked on the figure fhe made in her own fhadow.
Upon her nearer approach to Hercules, the ſtepped
before the other lady, (who came forward with a
I regular
regular compofed carriage ) and running up to him,

accofted him after the following manner :
My dear Hercules, fays fhe, I find you are very
much divided in your own thoughts upon the way of
life that you ought to chooſe : be my friend, and fol
low me ; I will lead you into the poffeffion of plea-
fure, and out of the reach of pain, and remove you
from all the noife and difquietude of bufinefs. The
affairs of either war or peace fhall have no power to
disturb you your whole employment fhall be to
make your life eafy, and to entertain every fenſe
with its proper gratifications. Sumptuous tables,
beds of rofes, clouds of perfumes, concerts of mufic,
crowds of beauties, are all in readinefs to receive you.
Come along with me into this region of delights,
this world of pleaſure, and bid farewell for ever to
care, to pain, to bufinefs.
Hercules, hearing the lady talk after this manner,
defired to know her name ; to which the answered,
My friends, and thoſe who are well acquainted with
me, call me Happiness ; but my enemies, and thoſe
who would injure my reputation, have given me the
name of Pleaſure.
By this time the other lady was come up, who ad-
dreffed herſelf to the young hero in a very different
manner.
Hercules, fays fhe, I offer myfelf to you, becauſe I
know you are defcended from the gods, and give
proofs of that deſcent by your love to virtue, and ap-
plication to the ftudies proper for your age. This
makes me hope you will gain both for yourſelf and
ine an immortal reputation . But, before I invite
you into my fociety and friendship, I will be open
and fincere with you, and muft lay down this as an
eſtabliſhed truth, that there is nothing truly valuable
which can be purchaſed without pains and labour.
The gods have fet a price upon every real and noble
pleaſure ; if you would gain the favour of the Deity,
you must be at the pains of worshipping him ; if the
friendſhip of good men, you muſt ſtudy to oblige
them ;
then; ifyou would be honoured by your country, you

must take care to ferve it. In fhort, if you would be
eminent in war or peace, you muſt become maſter of
all the qualifications that can make you fo: Thefe
are the only terms and conditions upon which I can
propofe happinefs. The goddefs of pleaſure here
broke in upon her difcourfe : You fee, faid fhe, Her-
cules, by her own confeffion , the way to her pleaſure
is long and difficult, whereas that which I propofe is
fhort and eaſy. Alas ! faid the other lady, whoſe
vitage glowed with a paffion made up of fcorn and
pity, what are the pleafures you propofe ? To eat
before you are hungry, drink before you are thirsty,
fleep before you are tired, to gratify appetites before
they are raiſed, and raife fuch appetites as nature
never planted. You never heard the moſt delicious
mufic which is the praife of one's felf ; nor faw the
moſt beautiful object, which is the work of one's own
hands. Your votaries pafs away their youth in a
dream of mistaken pleafures, while they are hoarding
up anguish, torment, and remorfe for old age.
As for me, I am the friend of gods and of good
men, an agreeable companion to the artizan, a houſe-
hold guardian to the fathers of families, a patron and
protector of fervants, an affociate in all true and gene-
rous friendships. The banquets of my votaries are
never coftly, but always delicious ; for none eat or
drink at them who are not invited by hunger and
thirft . Their flumbers are found, and their wakings
cheerful. My young men have the pleaſure of
hearing themselves praiſed by thoſe who are in years ;
aud thoſe who are in years, of being honoured by
thoſe who are young. In a word, my followers are
favoured by the gods, beloved by their acquaintance,
esteemed by their country, and (after the cloſe of their
labours) honoured by pofterity.
We know by the life of this memorable hero, to
which of thofe two ladies he gave up his heart; and
I believe every one who reads this will do him the
juſtice to approve his choice.
I 2- I very
I very much admire the fpeeches of thefe ladies,

as containing in them the chief arguments for a life
of virtue, or a life of pleaſure, that could enter into
the thoughts of an Heathen : but am particularly
pleafed with the different figures he gives the two
goddeffes. Our modern authors have reprefented
Pleaſure or Vice with an alluring face, but ending
in fnakes and monſters : here fhe appears in all the
charms of beauty, though they were all falfe and
borrowed, and by that means compoſes a viſion en-
tirely natural and pleaſing.
I have tranflated this allegory for the benefit of the
youth of Great Britain ; and particularly of thoſe
who are ſtill in the deplorable ſtate of non - exiſtence,
and whom I moft earneſtly entreat to come into the
world. Let my embryos fhew the leaſt inclination
to any fingle virtue, and I fhall allow it to be a ſtrug-
gling towards birth. I do not expect of them that,
like the hero in the foregoing ftory, they fhould go
about as foon as they are born, with a club in their
hands and a lion's fkin on their fhoulders, to root out
monſters and deſtroy tyrants ; but, as the fineſt au-
thor of all antiquity has faid upon this very occafion,
though a man has not the abilities to diftinguish him-
felf in the moft fhining parts of a great character,
he has certainly the capacity of being juft, faithful ,
modeft, and temperate.
On Truth and Sincerity.
[ From the Spectator. ]
RUTH and reality have all the advantages of

RUTar and reality have all . If the fhew of
TRU
any thing be good for any thing, I am fure fincerity
is better : for why does any man diffemble, or feem
to be that which he is not, but becauſe he thinks it
good to have fuch a quality as he pretends to ? For
to counterfeit and diffemble, is to put on the appear-
ance of fome real excellency. Now the best way
in
A HELP TO ÉLOCUTION. 373
in the world for a man fo feem to be any thing, is
really to be what he would feem to be. Befides that,
it is many times as troublefome to make good the
pretence of a good quality as to have it ; and if a
man has it not, it is ten to one but he is difcovered
to want it, and then all his pains and labour to ſeem
to have it is loft. There is fomething unnatural in
painting, which a skilful eye will eafily diſcern from
native beauty and complexion.
It is hard to perfonate and act a part long ; for
where truth is not at the bottom , nature will always
be endeavouring to return, and will peep out and be-
tray herſelf one , time or other. Therefore if any
man thinks it convenient to feem good, let him be
fo indeed, and then his goodneſs will appear to every
body's fatisfaction ; fo that, upon all accounts, fince-
rity is truewiſdom. Particularly as to the affairs of
this world, integrity hath many advantages over all
the fine and artificial ways of diffimulation and deceit ;
it is much the plainer and eafier, much the fafer and
more fecure way of dealing in the world ; it has lefs
of trouble and difficulty, of entanglement and per-
plexity, of danger and hazard in it ; it is the fhorteſt
and neareſt way to our end, carrying us thither in a
ftraight line, and will hold out and laſt longeſt. The
arts of deceit and cunning do continually grow weaker,
and lefs effectual and ferviceable to them that uſe
them ; whereas integrity gains ſtrength by ufe, and
the more and longer any man practiſeth it, the greater
fervice it does him, by confirming his reputation ,
and encouraging thoſe with whom he hath to do to
repoſe the greateſt truſt and confidence in him , which
is an unspeakable advantage in the bufinefs and affairs
of life.
Truth is always confiftent with itſelf, and needs
nothing to help it out ; it is always near at hand , and
fits upon our lips, and is ready to drop out before we
are aware ; whereas a lie is troubleſome, and fets a
man's invention upon the rack, and one trick needs a
great many more to make it good. It is like building
upon a falſe foundation, which continually ſtands in
I 3 need
need of props to fhore it up, and proves at laft more

chargeable than to have raifed a fubftantial building
at firft upon a true and folid foundation ; for fincerity
is firm and fubftantial, and there is nothing hollow
and unfound in it ; and becauſe it is plain and open
fears no difcovery ; of which the crafty man is always
in danger, and when he thinks he walks in the dark,
all his pretences are fo tranfparent that he that runs
may read them : he is the laſt man that finds himſelf
to be found out ; and while he takes it for granted
that he makes fools of others, he renders himſelf ri-
diculous.
Add to all this, that fincerity is the most compen-
dious wifdom , and an excellent inftrument for the
fpeedy difpatch of bufinefs ; it creates confidence in
thofe we have to deal with, faves the labour of many
inquiries, and brings things to an iffue in few words :
it is like travelling in a plain beaten road, which
commonly brings a man fooner to his journey's end
than bye-ways, in which men often lofe themſelves.
In a word, whatfoever convenience may be thoughɛ
to be in falfehood and diffimulation, it is foon over ;
but the inconvenience of it is perpetual, becauſe it
brings a man under an everlaſting jealoufy and fuf-
picion, fo that he is not believed when he fpeaks
truth, nor truſted when perhaps he means honeſtly.
When a man hath once forfeited the reputation of
his integrity, he is fet faft, and nothing will then
ferve his turn, neither truth nor falfehood.
And I have often thought that God hath, in his
great wifdom, hid from men of falfe and diſhoneft
minds the wonderful advantages of truth and integrity
to the profperity even of our worldly affairs ; thefe
men are fo blinded by their covetoufneſs and ambi-
tion, that they cannot look beyond a prefent advan-
tage, nor forbear to feize upon it, though by ways
ever fo indirect : they cannot fee fo far as to the re-
moteft confequences of a steady integrity, and the
vaft benefit and advantages which it will bring a man
at laft . Were but this fort of men wife and clear-
fighted enough to difcern this, they would be honeſt
out
out of very knavery ; not out of any love to honeſty
and virtue, but with a crafty defign to promote and
advance more effectually their own interefts ; and
therefore the justice of the Divine Providence hath
hid this trueft point of wiſdom from their eyes, that
bad men might not be upon equal terms with the
juft and upright, and ferve their own wicked deſigns
by honeft and lawful means.
Indeed, if a man were only to deal in the world
for a day, and ſhould never have occafion to converfe
more with mankind, never more need their good
opinion or good word, it were then no great matter
(fpeaking as to the concernments of this world) if a
man fpent his reputation all at once, and ventured
it at one throw : but if he be to continue in the
world, and would have the advantage of converfa-
tion whilſt he is in it, let him make uſe of truth and
fincerity in all his words and actions ; for nothing
but this will laſt and hold out to the end : all other
arts will fail , but truth and integrity will carry a
man through, and bear him out to the last.
On Defamation and Detraction.
[From the fame. ]
T is a certain fign of an ill heart to be inclined to

Defamation. They who are harmlefs and inno
cent can have no gratification that way; but it ever
arifes from a neglect of what is laudable in a man's
felf, and an impatience of feeing it in another. Elfe
why should virtue provoke ? why should beauty dif
pleaſe in fuch a degree, that a man given to fcandal
never lets the mention of either paſs by him without
offering fomething to the diminution of it ? A lady
the other day at a vifit, being attacked fomewhat
rudely by one whoſe own character has been very
roughly treated, anfwered a great deal of heat and
intemperance very calmly, " Good Madam, fpare
66
me, who am none of your match ; I ſpeak ill of
64
nobody, and it is a new thing to me to be ſpoken
I 4 ill
" ill of." Little minds think fame confifts in the
number of votes they have on their fide among the
multitude, whereas it is really the infeparable fol-
lower of good and worthy actions. Fame is as natu-
ral a follower of merit, as a fhadow is of a body. It
is true, when crowds prefs upon you, this fhadow
cannot be feen ; but when they ſeparate from around
you it will again appear. The lazy, the idle, and
the froward, are the perfons who are the moſt pleaſed
with the little tales which pafs about the town to the
difadvantage of the reft of the world. Were it not
for the pleaſure of ſpeaking ill , there are numbers of
people who are too lazy to go out of their own
houfes, and too ill -natured to open their lips in con-
verfation. It was not a little diverting the other day
to obferve a lady reading a poft letter, and at thefe
words, " After all her airs he has heard fome ftory
66 or other, and the match is broke off," give orders,
in the midſt of her reading, " Put to the horſes."
That a young woman of merit had miffed an advan-
tageous fettlement was news not to be delayed, left
fomebody elfe ſhould have given her malicious ac-
quaintance that fatisfaction before her. The un-
willingneſs to receive good tidings is a quality as in-
feparable from a fcandal-bearer, as the readineſs to
divulge bad. But, alas ! how wretchedly low and
contemptible is that ſtate of mind, that cannot be
pleafed but by what is the fubject of lamentation.
This temper has ever been inthe highest degree odious
to gallant fpirits. The Perfian foldier, who was
heard reviling Alexander the Great, was well ad-
moniſhed by his officer ; " Sir, you are paid to fight
" againſt Alexander, and not to rail at him."
Cicero in one of his pleadings, defending his client
from general ſcandal, fays very handſomely, and with
much reafon, " There are many who have particular
66
engagements to the profecutor : there are many
" who are known to have ill-will to him for whom
" I appear : there are many who are naturally ad-
" dicted to Defamation, and envious of any good to
66 any
man, who may have contributed to fpread re-
66 ports
" ports of this kind : for nothing is fo fwift as fcan-
" dal, nothing is more eaſily fent abroad, nothing re-
" ceived with more welcome, nothing diffuſes itſelf ſo
" univerfally. I ſhall not defire that, if any report
66
to our diſadvantage has any ground for it, you would
" overlook or extenuate it : but if there be any thing
" advanced without a perfon who can fay whence he
" had it ; or which is attefted by one who forgot
" who told him it ; or who had it from one of fo little
" confideration, that he did not then think it worth his
" notice ; all fuch teftimonies as theſe I know you will
" think too flight to have any credit againſt the in-
66 nocence and honour ofyour fellow-citizen. " When
an ill report is traced, it very often vanishes among
fuch as the orator has here recited and how defpi-
cable a creature muſt that be, who . is in pain for
what paffes among fo frivolous . a people ? There is
a town in Warwickſhire of good note, and formerly
pretty famous for much animofity and diffention, the
chief families of which have now turned all their
whifpers, backbitings, envies, and private malices
into mirth and entertainment, by means of a peevish
old gentlewoman, known by the title of the Lady Blue-
mantle. This heroine had for many years together out-
done the whole fifterhood of goffips in invention, quick
utterance, and unprovoked malice. This good body
is of a lafting conftitution, though extremely decayed
in her eyes, and decrepit in her feet. The two
circumſtances of being always at home from her
lameness, and very attentive from her blindneſs,
make her lodgings the receptacle of all that paſſes
in town, good or bad ; but for the latter fhe feems:
to have the better memory . There is another thing
to be noted of her, which is, that, as it is ufual with
old people, fhe has a livelier memory of things
which paffed when he was very young than of late
years. Add to all this, that he does not only not
love any body, but the hates every body. The ftatue
in Rome does not ferve to vent malice half fo well !
as this old lady does to diſappoint it. She does not
know the author of any thing that is told her, but
1.5 can
can readily repeat the matter itself; therefore, though

the expofes the whole town, fhe offends no one body
in it. She is fo exquifitely reſtleſs and peevish, that
fhe quarrels with all about her, and fometimes, in a
freak, will inftantly change her habitation . To in-
dulge this humour, fhe is led about the grounds be-
longing to the fame houſe ſhe is in, and the perſons
to whom he is to remove being in the plot, are
ready to receive her at her own chamber again. At
ftated times the gentlewoman, at whofe houſe fhe
fuppofes fhe is at the time, is fent for to quarrel
with, according to her common cuftom : when they
have a mind to drive the jeft, fhe is immediately
urged to that degree, that ſhe will board in a family
with which ſhe has never yet been ; and away ſhe will
go this inftant, and tell them all that the reft have
been faying of them . By this means fhe has been
an inhabitant of every houfe in the place, without
ftirring from the fame habitation ; and the many fto-
ries which every body furnishes her with to favour
that deceit, make her the general intelligencer of the
town of all that can be faid by one woman againſt
another. Thus groundleſs ſtories die away, and
fometimes truths are fmothered under the general
word : when they have a mind to diſcountenance a
thing, Oh ! that is in my Lady Bluemantle's Me-
moirs.
Whoever receives impreffions to the difadvantage
of others without examination, is to be had in no
other credit for intelligence than this good Lady
Bluemantle, who is fubjected to have her ears impofed
upon for want of other helps to better information .
Add to this, that other fcandal- bearers fufpend the
ufe of theſe faculties which he has loft, rather than
apply them to do juftice to their neighbours ; and I
think, for the fervice of my fair readers, to acquaint
them that there is a voluntary Lady Bluemantle at
every vifit in town,
On
On Cheerfulness.
[From the fame. ]
HAVE always preferred cheerfulneſs to mirth.

I The latter I confider as an act , the former as an
habit of the mind. Mirth is fhort and tranfient,
Cheerfulneſs fixed and permanent. Thoſe are often
raiſed into the greateſt tranſports of mirth, who are
fubject to the greateſt depreffions of melancholy. On
the contrary, Cheerfulnefs, though it does not give
the mind fuch an exquifite gladnefs, prevents us
from falling into any depths of forrow. Mirth is
like a flash oflightening, that breaks through a gloom
of clouds, and glitters for a moment : Cheerfulneſs
keeps up a kind of daylight in the mind, and fills it
with a steady and perpetual ferenity.'
Men of auftere principles look upon mirth as too
wanton and diffolute for a ſtate of probation, and as
filled with a certain triumph and infolence of heart,
that is inconfiftent with a life that is every moment
obnoxious to the greateſt dangers. Writers of this
complexion have obferved, that the facred perfon
who was the great pattern of perfection was never ſeen
to laugh.
Cheerfulness of mind is not liable to any of theſe
exceptions ; it is of a ferious and compofed nature ;
it does not throw the mind into a condition improper
for the preſent ſtate of humanity, and is very confpi-
cuous in the characters of thoſe who are looked upon
as the greatest philofophers among the Heathens, as
well as among thoſe who have been defervedly esteem-
ed as faints and holy men among Chriftians.
If we confider Cheerfulneſs in three lights, with
regard to ourſelves, to thofe we converfe with, and
to the great Author of our being, it will not a little
recommend itſelf on each of thefe accounts. The
man who is poffeffed of this excellent frame of mind,
is not only eafy in his thoughts, but a perfect maſter
of all the powers and faculties of his foul ; his ima-
gination
gination is always clear, and his judgment undiſturb-

ed ; his temper is even and unruffled, whether in
action or in folitude. He comes with a reliſh to all
thoſe goods which nature has provided for him , taſtes
all the pleaſures of the creation which are poured
about him, and does not feel the full weight of thoſe
accidental evils which may befal him.
If we confider him in relation to the perfons whom
he converſes with, it naturally produces love and
goodwill towards him. A cheerful mind is not only
difpofed to be affable and obliging, but raiſes the
fame good humour in thoſe who come within its in-
fluence. A man finds himſelf pleafed, he does not
know why, with the cheerfulneſs of his companion ;
it is like a fudden funſhine that awakens a fecret de-
light in the mind without attending to it. The heart
rejoices of its own accord, and naturally flows out
into friendship and benevolence towards the perfon
who has fo kindly an effect upon it.
When I confider this cheerful ſtate of mind in its
third relation, I cannot but look upon it as a conſtant
habitual gratitude to the great Author of nature. An
inward Cheerfulneſs is an implicit praiſe and thankf-
giving to Providence under all his difpenfations. It
is a kind of acquiefcence in the ſtate wherein we are
placed, and a fecret approbation of the Divine Will
in his conduct towards man.
There are but two things which, in my opinion,
can reaſonably deprive us of this Cheerfulneſs of
heart. The first of theſe is the fenfe of guilt. A'
man who lives in a ſtate of vice and impenitence, can
have no title to that evennefs and tranquillity of mind
which is the health of the foul, and the natural effect
of virtue and innocence. Cheerfulneſs in an ill man
deferves a harder name than language can furniſh us
with, and is many degrees beyond what we commonly
call folly and madnefs.
Atheiſm, by which I mean a difbelief of the Su-
preme Being, and confequently of a future ſtate,
under whatfoever titles it fhelters itfelf, may likewife
very reaſonably deprive a man of this Cheerfulneſs
of
of temper. There is fomething fo particularly
gloomy and offenfive to human nature in the proſpect
of non existence , that I cannot but wonder , with
many excellent writers , how it is poffible for a man
to outlive the expectation of it. For my own part,
I think the being of a God is fo little to be doubted ,
that it is almoſt the only truth we are fure of : and
fuch a truth as we meet with in every object, in every
occurrence, and in every thought . If we look into
the characters of this tribe of infidels, we generally
find they are made up of pride , fpleen , and cavil :
it is indeed no wonder that men, who are uneafy to
themſelves , fhould be ſo to the rest of the world ;
and how is it poffible for a man to be otherwiſe than
uneafy in himſelf, who is in danger every moment
of lofing his entire exiſtence , and dropping into no-
thing ?
The vicious man and atheiſt have, therefore, no
pretence to Cheerfulneſs, and would act very unrea-
fonably fhould they endeavour after it. It is im-
poffible for any one to live in good humour, and
enjoy his prefent exiſtence, who is apprehenfive-
either of torment or of annihilation ;, of being mife-
rable, or of not being at all.
After having mentioned theſe two great principles ,
which are deftructive of Cheerfulneſs in their own.
nature as well as in right reafon, I cannot think of
any other that ought to banish this happy temper
from a virtuous mind. Pain and ſickneſs, ſhame and
reproach, poverty and old age, nay death itſelf, con-
fidering the fhortnefs of their duration , and the ad-
vantage we may reap from them, do not deferve the
name of evils. A good mind may bear up under
them with fortitude , with indolence, and with Cheer-
fulneſs of heart. The toffing of a tempeft does not
difcompofe him, which he is fure will bring him to a
joyful harbour.
A man who uſes his best endeavours to live accord-
ing to the dictates of virtue and right reaſon, has two
perpetual fources of Cheerfulness ; in the confidera-
tion of his own nature, and of that Being on whom
he
he has a dependence. If he looks into himſelf, he

cannot but rejoice in that exiſtence which is fo lately
bestowed upon him, and which, after millions of
ages, will be ſtill new, and ſtill in its beginning.
How many felf-congratulations naturally arife in the
mind, when it reflects on this its entrance into eter-
nity, when it takes a view of thoſe improveable
faculties, which in a few years, and even at its firſt
fetting out, have made fo confiderable a progreſs ,
and which will be ftill receiving an increafe of per-
fection, and confequently an increaſe of happiness ?
The conſciouſneſs of fuch a being fpreads a perpetual
diffufion of joy through the foul of a virtuous man,
and makes him look upon himself every moment as
more happy than he knows how to conceive.
The fecond fource of Cheerfulneſs to a good
mind, is its confideration of that Being on whom we
have our dependence, and in whom, though we be-
hold him as yet but in the firſt faint difcoveries of
his perfections, we fee every thing that we can ima-
gine, as great, glorious, or amiable. We find our-
felves every where upheld by his goodneſs , and fur-
rounded with an immenfity of love and mercy. In
fhort, we depend upon a Being, whofe power quali
fies him to make us happy by an infinity of means,
whofe goodneſs and truth engage him to make thoſe
happy who defire it of him, and whofe unchange-
ablenefs will fecure us in this happineſs to all eternity.
Such confiderations , which every one ſhould perpe-
tually cherish in his thoughts, will banifh from us all
that fecret heavinefs of heart which unthinking men
are fubject to when they lie under no real affliction ;
all that anguish which we may feel from any evil
that actually oppreffes us, to which I may likewiſe
add thofe little cracklings of mirth and folly, that
are apter to betray virtue than to fupport it ; and
eſtabliſh in us fuch an even and cheerful temper, as
makes us pleafing to ourſelves, to thoſe with whom
we converfe, and to him whom we were made to
pleaſe.
The
The Advantages of Cheerfulness.
[From thefame. ]
HEERFULNESS is, in the first place, the

C beſt promoter of health. Repinings and fecret
murmurs of heart give imperceptible ſtrokes to thoſe
delicate fibres of which the vital parts are compoſed ,
and wear out the machine infenfibly ; not to men-
tion thofe violent ferments which they ftir up in the
blood, and thofe irregular diſturbed motions which
they raife in the animal fpirits . I fcarce remember,
in my own obfervation , to have met with many old
men, or with fuch who (to uſe our English phraſe)
wear well, that had not at leaſt a certain indolence
in their humour, if not a more than ordinary gaiety
and Cheerfulneſs of heart. The truth of it is, health
and Cheerfulnefs mutually beget each other; with
this difference, that we feldom meet with a great de-
gree of health which is not attended with a certain
Cheerfulneſs, but very often fee Cheerfulneſs where
there is no great degree of health.
Cheerfulneſs bears the fame friendly regard to the
mind as to the body : it baniſhes all anxious care and
difcontent, foothes and compofes the paffions, and
keeps the foul in a perpetual calm. But having al-
ready touched on this laſt confideration, I ſhall here
take notice that the world, in which we are placed,
is filled with innumerable objects, that are proper to
raife and keep alive this happy temper of mind.
Ifwe confider the world in its fubferviency to man,
one would think it was made for our uſe ; but if we
confider it in its natural beauty and harmony, one
would be apt to conclude it was made for our plea-
fure. The fun, which is as the great foul of the
univerfe, and produces all the neceffaries of life, has
a particular influence in cheering the mind of man,
and making the heart glad.
Thoſe feveral living creatures which are made for
our ſervice or fuftenance, at the fame time either fill
the
the woods with their mufic, furnish us with game, or

raife pleafing ideas in us by the delightfulness of their
appearance. Fountains, lakes, and rivers are as re-
freſhing to the imagination as to the foil through which
they pafs.
There are writers of great diftinction, who have
made it an argument for Providence, that the whole
earth is covered with green rather than with any
other colour, as being fuch a right mixture of light
and ſhade, that it comforts and ftrengthens the eye,
inſtead of weakening or grieving it. For this reaſon
feveral painters have a green cloth hanging near
them , to ease the eye upon after too great an appli-
cation to their colouring. A famous modern philo-
fopher accounts for it in the following manner : all
colours that are more luminous, overpower and diffi-
pate the animal fpirits which are employed in fight ;
on the contrary, thofe that are more obfcure do not
give the animal fpirits a fufficient exercife ; whereas
the rays that produce in us the idea of green fall upon
the eye in fuch a due proportion, that they give the
animal fpirits their proper play, and, by keeping up .
the ftruggle in a juft balance, excite a very pleafing
and agreeable fenfation. Let the cauſe be what it
will, the effect is certain ; for which reaſon the
poets afcribe to this particular colour the epithet of
Cheerful.
To confider further this double end in the works of
nature, and how they are at the fame time both uſe-
ful and entertaining, we find that the most important
parts in the vegetable world are thoſe which are the
moft beautiful. Thefe are the feeds by which the
feveral races of plants are propagated and continued,
and which are always lodged in flowers or bloffoms.
Nature feems to hide her principal defign, and to be
induftrious in making the earth gay and delightful,
while fhe is carrying on her great work, and intent
upon her own prefervation. The hufbandman, after
the fame manner, is employed in laying out the
whole country into a kind of garden or landfcape, and
making every thing fmile about him , whilft, in reality,
he 1
he thinks of nothing but of the harveſt and increaſe
which is to arife from it.
We may farther obferve how Providence has taken
care to keep up this Cheerfulneſs in the mind of man ,
by having formed it after fuch a manner as to make
it capable of conceiving delight from ſeveral objects
which feem to have very little uſe in them ; as from
the wildnefs of rocks and deferts, and the like gro-
tefque parts of nature. Thoſe who are verfed in
philofophy may ftill carry this confideration higher,
by obferving, that if matter had appeared to us en-
dowed only with thofe real qualities which it actually
poffeffes, it would have made but a very joylefs and un-
comfortable figure ; and why has Providence given
it a power of producing in us fuch imaginary quali-
ties as taftes, colours, founds , and fmells, heat and
cold, but that man, while he is converfant in the
lower ſtations of nature, might have his mind cheered
and delighted with agreeable fenfations ? In fhort,
the whole univerſe is a kind of theatre , filled with
objects that either raiſe in us pleaſure, amuſement, or
admiration.
The reader's own thoughts will fuggeft to him the
viciffitude of day and night, the change of feafons,
with all that variety of fcenes which diverfify the face
of nature, and fill the mind with a perpetual fuccef-
fion of beautiful and pleafing images.
I fhall not here mention the ſeveral entertainments
of art, with the pleafures of friendship, books, con-
verfation, and other accidental diverfions of life, be-
cauſe I would only take notice of fuch incitements to
a cheerful temper, as offer themſelves to perfons of
all ranks and conditions, and which may fufficiently
fhew us that Providence did not defign this world
fhould be filled with murmurs and repinings, or that
the heart of man ſhould be involved in gloom and
melancholy.
I the more inculcate this Cheerfulneſs of temper,
as it isa virtue in which our countrymen are obferved
to be more deficient than any other nation. Melan-
choly is a kind of demon that haunts our ifland, and
often
often conveys itſelf to us in an easterly wind . A cele.

brated French novelift, in oppofition to tho'e who
begin their romances with the flowery feaſon of the
year, enters on his ſtory thus : " In the gloomy month
of November, when the people of England hang
" and drown themſelves, a difconfolate lover walked
out into the fields, ""
' &c.
Every one ought to fence against the temper of his
climate or conftitution, and frequently to indulge in
himfelf thofe confiderations which may give him a
ferenity of mind, and enable him to bear up cheer-
fully against thofe little evils and misfortunes which
are common to human nature, and which, by a right
improvement of them, will produce a fatiety of joy,
and an uninterrupted happiness.
At the fame time that I would engage my reader
to confider the world in its moft agreeable lights, I
must own there are many evils which naturally ſpring
up amidst the entertainments that are provided for
us ; but thefe, if rightly confidered, fhould be far
from overcafting the mind with forrow, or deftroying
that Cheerfulneſs of temper which I have been re-
commending, This interfperfion of evil with good,
and pain with pleaſure, in the works of nature, is
very truly afcribed by Mr. Locke, in his Effay on
Human Understanding, to a moral reafon, in the
following words :
" Beyond all this, we may find another reaſon
" why God hath fcattered up and down feveral de-
" grees of pleafure and pain, in all the things that
" environ and affect us, and blended them together,
" in almoſt all that our thoughts and fenfes have to
" do with ; that we finding imperfection , diffatisfac-
❝tion, and want of complete happineſs in all the
64
enjoyments which the creatures can afford us,
might be led to feek it in the enjoyment of him,
" with whom there is fulnefs of joy, and at whoſe
* right hand are pleaſures for evermore."
On
On Happiness.
[From the World. ]
OUGHT hourly to be looking up with gratitude

I and praife to the Creator of my being, for having
formed me of a difpofition that throws off every par-
ticle of fpleen, and either directs my attention to
objects of cheerfulneſs and joy, or enables me to look
upon their contraries as I do on fhades in a picture,
which add force to the lights and beauty to the
whole. With this happineſs of conſtitution, I can
behold the luxury of the times, as giving food and
cloathing to the hungry and naked ; extending our
commerce, and promoting and encouraging the libe-
ral arts. I can look upon the horrors of war, as
productive of the bleffings and enjoyments of peace ;
and upon the miferies of mankind, which I cannot
relieve, with a thankful heart that my own lot has
been more favourable.
There is a paffage in ' that truly original poem
called the Spleen, which pleaſes me more than almoſt
any thing I have read. The paffage is this :
Happy the man, who, innocent,

Grieves not at ills he can't prevent ;
His fkiff does with the current glide,
Not puffing pull'd againſt the tide ;
He, paddling by the fcuffling crowd,
Sees, unconcern'd, life's wager row'd ;
And when he can't prevent foul play,
Enjoys the follies of the fray.
The laughing philofopher has always appeared to

me a more eligible character than the weeping one ;
but before I fit down either to laugh or cry at the
follies of mankind, as I have publicly inlifted myfelf
in their fervice, it becomes me to adminifter every
thing in my power to relieve or cure them . For
this purpoſe I ſhall here lay before my readers fome
loofe
loofe hints on a fubject, which will, I hope, excite

their attention, and contribute towards the expelling
from the heart thofe malignant and fullen humours,
which deſtroy the harmony of focial life.
If we make obfervations on human nature, either
from what we feel in ourſelves or fee in others , we
fhall perceive that almoſt all the uneafineffes of man-
kind owe their rife to inactivity, or idleness of body
or mind. A free and brifk circulation of the blood
is abfolutely neceflary towards the creating eafinefs
and good- humour ; and is the only means of fecuring
us from a reſtlefs train of idle thoughts, which can-
not fail to make us burdenfome to ourfelves, and diſ-
fatisfied with all about us.
Providence has therefore wifely provided for the
generality of mankind, by compelling them to ufe
that labour, which not only procures them the ne-
ceffaries of life, but peace and health to enjoy them
with delight. Nay, farther, we find how effentially
neceffary it is that the greateſt part of mankind ſhould
be obliged to earn their bread by labour, from the
ill ufe that is almoſt univerſally made of thoſe riches
which exempt men from it. Even the advantages
of the best education are generally found to be infuf-
ficient to keep us within the limits of reaſon and mo-
deration. How hard do the very beſt of men find it,
to force upon themſelves that abftinence of labour,
which the narrownefs of their circumítances does not
immediately compel them to ? Is there really one in
ten, who, by all the advantages of wealth and lei-
fure, is made more happy in refpect to himſelf, or
more uſeful to mankind? what numbers do we daily
fee of fuch perfons, either rioting in luxury, or
fleeping in floth, for one who makes a proper ufe of
the advantages which riches give for the improve-
ment of himſelf, or the happineſs of others ? and
how many do we meet with, who, for their abuſe of
the bleffings of life, are given up to perpetual un-
eafinefs of mind, and to the greateſt agonies of bodily
pain ?
Whoever
Whoever ſeriouſly confiders this point, will diſcover

that riches are by no means fuch certain bleffings as
the poor imagine them to be : on the contrary, he
will perceive that the common labours and employ-
ments of life are much better fuited to the majority
of mankind, than profperity and abundance would
be without them.
It was a merciful fentence which the Creator paffed
on man for his diſobedience, " By the fweat of thy
" face fhalt thou eat thy bread ; " for to the puniſh-
ment itſelf he ftands indebted for health, ftrength,
and all the enjoyments oflife. Though the first pa-
radife was forfeited for his tranfgreffion, yet, by the
penalty inflicted for that tranfgreffion , the earth is
made into a paradife again, in the beautiful fields
and gardens which we fee daily produced by the labour
of man . And though the ground was pronounced
curſed for his diſobedience, yet is that curfe fo ordered,
as to be the punishment, chiefly and almoſt folely, of
thofe who, by intemperance or floth, inflict it upon
themſelves.
Even from the wants and weakneffes of mankind,
are the bands of mutual fupport and affection derived.
The neceffities of each , which no man of himſelf can
fufficiently fupply, compel him to contribute towards
the benefit of others ; and while he labours only for
his own advantage, he is promoting the univerfal
good of all around him .
Health is the bleffing that every one wishes to en-
joy ; but the multitude are ſo unreaſonable, as to de-
fire to purchaſe it at a cheaper rate than it is to be
obtained. The continuance of it is only to be fe-
cured by exerciſe or labour : but the misfortune is,
that the poor are too apt to overlook their own en-
joyments, and to view with envy the eaſe and afflu-
ence of their fuperiors, not confidering that the
ufual attendants upon great fortunes are anxiety and
difeafe.
If it be true that thofe perfons are the happieſt
who have the feweft wants, the rich man is more the
object of compaffion than envy. However moderate
his
his inclinations may be, the cuſtom of the world lays

him under a kind of neceffity of living up to his for-
tune. He must be furrounded by a uſeleſs train of
fervants ; his appetite must be palled with plenty,
and his peace invaded by crowds. He must give up
the pleaſures and endearments of domeſtic life, to be
the flave of party and faction. Or if the goodneſs of
his heart fhould incline him to acts of humanity
and benevolence, he will have the frequent mortifi-
cation of feeing his charities ill beftowed ; and, by
his inability to relieve all, the conftant one of making
more enemies by his refufals, than friends by his be-
nefactions. If we add to theſe confiderations a truth,
which I believe few perfons will difpute, namely,
that the greatest fortunes, by adding to the wants of
their poffeffors, ufually render them the most necefli-
tous of men, we ſhall find greatneſs and happineſs to be
at a wide distance from one another. If we carry
our inquiries fill higher ; if we examine into the
ftate of a king, and even inthrone him , like our own,
in the hearts of his people ; if the life of a father
be a life of care and anxiety, to be the father of a
people is a pre-eminence to be honoured, but not
envied.
This happinefs of life is, I believe, generally to be
found in thofe ftations, which neither totally fubject
men to labour, nor abfolutely exempt them from it.
Power is the parent of difquietude, ambition of diſ-
appointment, and riches of difeafe.
I will conclude thefe reflections with the following
fable.
" Labour, the offspring of Want, and the mother
" of Health and Contentment, lived with her two
" daughters in a little cottage by the fide of a hill,
" at a great diſtance from town. They were totally
" unacquainted with the great, and had kept no
" better company than the neighbouring villagers :
" but having a defire of feeing the world, they for-
" fook their companions and habitation, and deter-
mined to travel. Labour went foberly along the
66
road, with health on her right hand, who, by the
fprightlines
" fprightlinefs of her converfation, and fongs of
" cheerfulness and joy, foftened the toils of the way ;
" while Contentment went filing on the left, fup-
" porting the fteps of her mother, and, by her
" perpetual good humour, increafing the vivacity of
" her fitter.
" In this manner they travelled over forefts and
(6
through towns and villages, till at last they arrived
66
at the capital of the kingdom . At their entrance
" into the great city, the mother conjured her
66
daughters never to lofe fight of her ; for it was
" the will of Jupiter, fhe faid, that their feparation
" fhould be attended with the utter ruin of all three.
" But Health was of too gay a difpofition to regard
" the counfels of Labour ; the fuffered herſelf to be
" debauched by Intemperance, and at laſt died in
" child-birth of Difeafe. Contentment, in the ab-
" fence of her fifter, gave herſelf up to the incite-
(6 ments of Sloth, and was never heard of after ;
" while Labour, who could have no enjoyment
" without her daughters , went every where in fearch
" of them, till he was at latt feized by Laffitude in
" her way, and died in mifery."
The Art of Happineſs :
[From the fame. ]
GOOD Temper is one of the principal ingre-

A dients of Happinefs. This, it will be faid, is
the work of nature, and muſt be born with us : and
fo in a good meaſure it is , yet oftentimes it may be
acquired by art, and always improved by culture.
Almost every object that attracts our notice, has its
bright and its dark fide : he that habituates himſelf
to look at the difpleafing fide, will four his difpofi-
tion, and confequently impair his happinefs ; while
he who conftantly beholds it on the bright fide, infen-
fibly meliorates his temper, and, in confequence of
it,
it, improves his own Happineſs, and the Happineſs

of all about him.
Arachne and Meliffa are two friends : they are
both of them women in years, and alike in birth,
fortune, education, and accomplishments. They were
originally alike in temper too ; but, by different
management, are grown the reverfe of each other.
Arachne has accuſtomed herſelf to look only on the
dark fide of every object. If a new poem or play
makes its appearance with a thoufand brilliances, and
but one or two blemishes, the lightly ſkims over the
paffages that fhould give her pleaſure, and dwells
upon thofe only that fill her with dislike. If you
ſhew her a very excellent portrait, fhe looks at fome
part of the drapery which has been neglected, or to
a hand or finger which has been left unfiniſhed .
Her garden is a very beautiful one, and kept with
great neatnefs and elegancy ; but if you take a walk
with her in it, fhe talks to you of nothing but of
blights and ftorms, of fnails and caterpillars, and
howimpoffible it is to keep it from the litter of falling
leaves and worm- cafts . If you fit down in one of
her temples, to enjoy a delightful proſpect, fhe ob-
ferves to you, that there is too much wood, or too
little water ; that the day is too funny, or too gloomy ;
that it is fultry or windy ; and finishes with a long
harangue upon the wretchednefs of our climate.
When you return with her to the company, in hopes
of a little cheerful converfation , fhe cafts a gloom
over all, by giving you the hiſtory of her own bad
health, or of fome melancholy accident that has be-
fallen one of her daughter's children . Thus fhe in-
fenfibly finks her own fpirits, and the fpirits of all
around her, and at laſt diſcovers, fhe knows not why,
that her friends are grave.
Meliffa is the reverfe of all this. By conftantly
habituating herſelf to look only on the bright fide of
objects, the preferves a perpetual cheerfulneſs in
herfelf, which, by a kind of happy contagion, the
communicates to all about her. If any misfortune
has
has befallen her, fhe confiders it might have been
worfe, and is thankful to Providence for an eſcape.
She rejoices in folitude, as it gives her an opportu
nity of knowing herſelf; and in fociety, becauſe the
can communicate the Happineſs fhe enjoys. She op-
poſes every man's virtues to his failings, and can find
out fomething to cherish and applaud in the very
worft of her acquaintance. She opens every book
with a defire to be entertained or inftructed, and
therefore feldom miffes what fhe looks for. Walk
with her, though it be but on a heath, or a common,
and fhe will difcover numberlefs beauties, unobſerved
before, in the hills, the dales, the broom , brakes,
and the variegated flowers of weeds and poppies. She
enjoys every change of weather and of feafon, as
bringing with it fomething of health or convenience.
In converfation, it is a rule with her never to ſtart a
fubject that leads to any thing gloomy or difagree-
able ; you therefore never hear her repeating her
own grievances, or thoſe of her neighbours, or (what
isprit of all) their faults and imperfections. If any
thing of the latter kind be mentioned in her hearing,
fhe has the addreſs to turn it into entertainment, by
changing the moſt odious railing into a pleafant
raillery. Thus Meliffa, like the bee, gathers honey
from every weed ; while Arachne, like the fpider,
fucks poiſon from the fairest flowers. The confe-
quence is, that of two tempers, once very nearly
allied, the one is for ever four and diffatisfied, the
other always gay and cheerful ; the one fpreads an
univerfal gloom ; the other a continual funſhine.
There is nothing more worthy of our attention.
than this art of Happinefs. In converfation, as well
as life, Happinets very often depends upon the
flightest incidents. The taking notice of the badnefs
of the weather, a north-east wind, the approach of
winter, or any trifling circumstance of the difagree-
able kind, fhall infenfibly rob a whole company of
its good humour, and fling every member of it into
the vapours. If, therefore, we would be happy in
ourfelves, and are defirous of communicating that
K Happiness
Happiness to all about us, theſe minutiae of conver-

fation ought carefully to be attended to. The bright-
nefs of the fky, the lengthening of the days, the in-
creafing verdure of the fpring, the arrival of any little
piece of good news, or whatever carries with it the
moft diftant glimpſe of joy, fhall frequently be the
parent of a focial and happy converfation. , Good
manners exact from us this regard to our company.
The clown may repine at the funſhine that ripens his
harveft, becauſe his turnips are burnt up by it ; but
the man of refinement will extract pleaſure from the
thunder-ftorm to which he is expofed, by remarking
on the plenty and refreſhment which may be expected
from fuch a ſhower.
Thus does good manners, as well as good fenfe, di-
rect us to look at every object on the bright fide ; and
by thus acting, we cherish and improve both the
one and the other. By this practice it is that Meliſſa
is become the wifeft and the beſt bred woman living ;
and by this practice may every man and woman arrive
at that eaſy benevolence of temper, which the world
calls good-nature, and the Scripture charity, whofe
natural and never failing fruit is Happinefs."
The Importance of the early Choice of a Calling,

and Perfeverance in it.
T is never without very melancholy reflections,
I that we can obſerve the miſconduct or miſcarriage
of thoſe men, who feem, by the force of underſtand-
ing or extent of knowledge, exempted from the ge-
neral frailties of human nature, and privileged from
the common infelicities of life. Though the world
is crowded with ſcenes of calamity, we look for the
moft part upon the general mafs of wretchednefs with
very little regard ; and fix our eyes upon the ſtate of
particular perfons, whom the eminence of their qua-
lities marks out from the multitude ; as, in reading
an account of the battle, we feldom reflect on the
vulgar heaps of flaughter, but follow the hero, with
our whole attention, through all the varieties of his
fortune,
fortune, without a thought of the thouſands that are
falling round him.
With the fame kind of anxious veneration I have,
for many years, been making obfervations on the life
of Polyphilus ; a man whom all his acquaintance
have, from his first appearance in the world, feared
for the quickneſs of his difcernment, and admired
for multiplicity of attainments ; but whofe progrefs
in life, and whofe uſefulneſs to mankind, has perhaps
been hindered by the fuperfluity of his knowledge,
and the celerity of his mind.
Polyphilus was remarkable at the fchool for fur-
paffing all his companions, without any viſible appli-
cation ; and at the univerſity was diſtinguiſhed equally
for his fuccefsful progrefs, as well through the rough
and thorny mazes of fcience , as the ſmooth and
flowing paths of politer literature, without any ſtrict
confinement to hours of study, or any remarkable
forbearance of the common amufements of young
men.
When Polyphilus was at the age in which men
ufually choofe their profeffion, and prepare to enter
into a public character, every academical eye was
fixed upon him ; and all were curious to inquire,
what this univerfal genius would fix upon for the
employment of his life : and no doubt was made but
that he would leave all his contemporaries behind him ,
and mount to the highest honours of that clafs in
which he ſhould inlift himſelf, without thofe delays
and pauſes which muſt be always endured by meaner
abilities.
Polyphilus, though by no means infolent or affum-
ing, had been fufficiently encouraged, by uninter-
rupted fuccefs, to place great confidence in his own
parts ; and was not below his companions in the in-
duigence of his hopes, and expectation of the afto-
nishment with which the world would be ftruck,
when fit his luftre fhould break out upon it ; nor
could he help (for whom does not conftant flattery
intoxicate ? ) to join fometimes in the mirth of his
friends, at the fudden difappearance of thofe who,
K 2 having
having fhone a while, and drawn the eyes of the pub-

lic upon their feeble luftre, were now doomed to fade
away before him .
It is natural for a man to catch advantageous no-
tions of the condition, which thoſe with whom he
converſes are ſtriving to attain . Polyphilus, in a
ramble to London, fell accidentally among the phy-
ficians, and was fo much pleafed with the profpect
of turning philofophy to profit, and fo highly de-
lighted with a new theory of fevers, which darted
into his imagination, and which, after having con-
fidered it a few hours, he found himſelf able to main-
tain against all the advocates for the ancient ſyſtem,
that he refolved to apply himſelf to anatomy, botany,
and chymiſtry, and to leave no part unconquered,
either of the animal , mineral, or vegetable kingdoms.
He therefore read authors, conftructed fyftems, and
tried experiments. But unhappily, as he was going
to fee a new plant in flower at Chelſea, he met, in
croffing Weſtminſter to take water, the chancellor's
coach. He had the curiofity to follow him into the
hall, where a remarkable cauſe happened to be tried,
and found himſelf able to produce fo many argu-
ments, which the lawyers had omitted on both fides,
that he determined to quit phyfic for a profeffion, in
which he found it would be fo eafy to excel ; and
which promiſed higher honours and larger profits,
without melancholy attendance upon mifery, mean
fubmiffion to peeviſhneſs, and continual interruption
of reft and pleaſure.
He immediately took chambers in the Temple,
bought a common-place book, and confined himſelf
for fome months to the perufal of the ftatutes, year-
books, pleadings, and reports. He was a conftant
hearer of the proceedings in the courts, and began
to put cafes with reaſonable accuracy. But he foon
difcovered, by confidering the fortune of lawyers,
that preferment was not to be got by acutenefs, learn-
ing, and eloquence. He was perplexed by the ab-
furdities of attorneys, and mifreprefentations made
by his clients of their own cauſes ; by the uſeleſs an-
xiety
xiety of one, and the inceffant importunity of ano-

ther. He began to repent of having devoted himſelf
to a ſtudy, which was fo narrow in its comprehenfion ,
and could never carry his name to any other country ;
and he thought it unworthy of a man of parts to fell
his life only for money. The barrennefs of his fel-
low ſtudents forced him generally into other com-
pany at his hours of entertainment : and, among the
varieties of converfation through which his curiofity
was daily wandering, he by chance mingled at a
tavern with fome intelligent officers of the army.
A man of letters was eafily dazzled with the gaiety of
their appearance, and foftened into kindnefs by the
politenefs of their addrefs. He therefore cultivated
this new acquaintance ; and when he faw how readily
they found, in every place, admiffion and regard,
and how familiarly they mingled with every rank and
order of men, he began to feel his heart beat for
military honours ; and wondered how the prejudices
of the univerfity fhould make him fo long infenfible
of that ambition, which has fired fo many hearts in
every age, and negligent of that calling which is,
above all others, univerfally and invariably illuftri-
ous, and which gives, even to the exterior appearance
of its profeffors, a dignity and freedom unknown to
the rest of mankind.
Theſe favourable impreffions were made ſtill deeper
by his converfation with ladies, whofe regard for fol-
diers he could not obferve, without wishing himſelf
one of that happy fraternity, to which the female
world feemed to have devoted all their charms and
their kindneſs. The love of knowledge, which was
ftill his predominant inclination, was gratified by the
recital of adventures, and accounts of foreign coun-
tries ; and therefore he thought there was no way of
life in which all his views could fo completely con
center, as in that of a ſoldier. In the art of war he
thought it not difficult to excel , having obferved his
new friends not very much verfed in the principles
of tactics or fortification ; and therefore he ſtudied all
the military writers, both ancient and modern, and,
K 3 in.
in a fhort time, could tell how to have gained every
remarkable battle that has been loft from the begin-
ning of the world. He often fhewed, at table, how
Alexander fhould have been checked in his conquers,
what was the fatal error at Pharfalia, how Charles of
Sweden might have efcaped his ruin at Pultoway,
and Marlborough might have been made to repent
his temerity at Blenheim. He intrenched armies
upon paper, ſo that no fuperiority of numbers could
force them and modelled in clay many impregnable
fortreffes, on which all the prefent arts of attack
would be exhaufted without effect.
Polyphilus in a fhort time obtained a commiffion ;
but before he could rub off the folemnity of a ſcholar,
and gain the true air of military vivacity, a war was
declared, and forces fent to the Continent. Here
Polyphilus unhappily found, that ſtudy alone would
not make a foldier : for being much accustomed to
think, the fenfe of danger fank into his mind, and
he felt at the approach of any action that terror
which a fentence of death would have brought upon
him. He faw that, inſtead of conquering their fears,
the endeavour of his gay friends was only to eſcape
them but his philofophy chained his mind to its
object, and rather loaded him with fhackles, than fur-
nifhed him with arms. He, however, fuppreffed his
mifery in filence, and paffed through the campaign
with honour ; but found himſelf utterly unable to fup-
port another.
He then bad recourſe again to his books, and con-
tinued to range from one study to another. As I
ufually vifit him once a month, and am admitted to
him without previous notice, I have found him with-
in this laft half-year decyphering the Chineſe lan-
guage, making a farce, collecting a vocabulary of the
obfolete terms of the English law, writing an in-
quiry concerning the ancient Corinthian brafs, and
forming a new ſcheme of the variations of the needle.
Thus is this powerful genius, which might have
extended the fphere of any ſcience, or benefited the
world in any profeffion, diffipated in a boundlefs va-
riety,
riety, without any profit to others or himself. He
makes fudden eruptions into the regions of knowledge,
and fees all obftacles give way before him ; but he
never ſtays long enough to complete his conqueft, to
eſtabliſh laws, or bring away the ſpoils .
Such is often the folly of thofe men whom nature
has enabled to obtain ſkill and knowledge on terms fo
eafy, that they have no fenfe of the value of the ac-
quifition ; who are qualified to make fuch ſpeedy
progrefs in learning, that they think themfelves at
liberty to loiter in the way ; and often, by turning
afide after every new object, like Atalanta, lofe the
race to flower competitors, who prefs diligently for
ward, and whofe force is directed to a fingle point.
I have often thought them happy that have been
fixed, from the first dawn of thought, in a determi-
nation to fome ſtate of life, by the choice of one
whofe authority may preclude caprice, and whoſe
influence may prejudice them in the favour of his
opinion. The general precept of confulting the
genius is of little ufe, unless we are told how the
genius can be known. If it is to be diſcovered only
by experiment, life will be loft before the refolution
can be fixed ; if any other indications are to be found,
they may perhaps be very early diſcerned. At leaſt,
if to mifcarry in an attempt be a proof of having
miſtaken the direction of the genius, men appear not
lefs frequently deceived with regard to themfelves.
than to others : and therefore no one has much rea-
fon to complain, that his life was planned out by
friends ; or to be confident, that he ſhould either have
had more honour or happinefs by being abandoned
to the chance of his own fancy.
It was faid of the learned Sanderſon, that when he
was preparing his lectures, he hefitated fo much, and
rejected fo often, that at the time of reading he was
often forced to produce, not what was beft, but what
happened to be at hand. This will be the ftate of
every man, who, in the choice of his employment,
balances all the arguments on every fide. The com-
plication is fo intricate, the motives and objections fo
K 4 numerous ;
numerous ; there is fo much play for the imagination,

and fo much remains in the power of others, that
reafon is forced at laft to reft in neutrality ; the de-
cifion devolves into the hands of chance ; and, after
a great part of life fpent in inquiries which can never
be refolved, the reft must often pafs in repenting the
unneceffary delay ; and can be ufeful to few other
purpoſes, than to warn others againſt the fame folly ;
and to fhew that, of two ftates of life equally con-
fiftent with religion and virtue, he who chooſes earlieſt,
and perfeveres in it, chooſes beſt.
It is therefore of the utmost importance, that all
who have any intention of doing well for themſelves
or others, and acquiring a reputation fuperior to the
common names , which are hourly finking into obli-
vion, and ſwept away by time among the refufe of
fame, fhould add to their reafon and ſpirit the power
of perfifting in their purpoſes ; fince all the perform-
ances of human art, at which we look with praife or
wonder, are inftances of the refiftleſs force of perſe-
verance. It is by this that the quarry becomes a pyra-
mid, and that diſtant countries are united with canals .
If a man was to compare the effect of a ſingle ſtroke
of the pick-axe, or of one impreffion of the fpade,
with the general defign and laft effect, he would be
overwhelmed by the fenfe of their difproportion :
yet thofe petty operations, inceffantly continued, at
laft furmount the greateſt difficulties ; and mountains
are levelled, and oceans bounded, by the flender
force of human beings.
On the Ufefulness of Good Breeding.
[From Cato's Letters. ]
OOD-BREEDING is the art of fhewing men,

G by external figns, the internal regard which we
have for them. It arifes from good fenfe, improved
by converfing with good company. A well-bred
fool is impertinent ; and an ill-bred wife man, like a
good
good inftrument out of tune, is awkward, harſh, and

difagreeable. A courteous blockhead is , however,
a more acceptable guest, almoſt every where, than
a rude fage. Men are naturally fo fond of them-
felves, that they will rather mif-ſpend their time
with a complaifant ape, than improve it with a furly
and thwarting philofopher. Every bow, or good
word, whencefoever it comes, is taken by us as a
fign of our importance, and a confeffion of our me-
rit ; and the neglect of that complaifance, as a token
that we are thought of none : a reproach which, how-
ever filent, few care to bear.
Good Breeding is never to be learned by ſtudy;
and therefore they who ftudy it are coxcombs, and
formalifts, and stiff pedants. The beſt bred men, as
they come to be fo by uſe and obfervation only,
practiſe it without affectation. You fee Good Breed-
ing in all that they do, without feeing the art of it.
It is a habit ; and, like all others, acquired by prac
tice. A weak and ignorant man, who has lived in
good company, fhall enter a room with a better
grace, and fay common things much more agreeably,
than a profound wife man, who lives by himſelf, or
with only fuch as himſelf, and is above the forms of
the world, and too important to talk of indifferent
things, and to be like other people. A footman
employed in Howd'ye's fhall addrefs himſelf to a
perfon of figure with more decorum, and make a
fpeech with more eafe , than a learned ferjeant, who
lives wholly over briefs ; or the deep head of a col-
lege, occupied only in a momentous fcience. I have
known a man, who, with the learning of a whole
univerfity, had the manners of a clown, and the
furlinefs of a porter ; not from the want of fenfe,
though that want be very confiftent with a world
of learning, but from living long in a college, and
dictating to boys and pupils, or with old fellows,
who had no more breeding than himself, and, like
himfelf, were ſpoiled by living rarely upon the fquare
with any other fort of people.
Ꮶ ; Good
Good Breeding, therefore, is never to be learned in

a college, where the fphere of converfation is fo
narrow, where the diſtance between men is fo great,
and where the old have none to teach the young.
Hence you generally fee young men come from the
univerfities with a conceited air, and a quaint man-
ner, which often turn them into fops : they are ge-
nerally either pert or prim : the tone of their voice,
and the pofition of their muſcles, fhew their accom-
pliſhments before they have ſpoke two words : their
ftep, and the manner of ufing their legs and arms,
do the fame ; and every joint about them, and every
action that they do, declares the place and way of
their education. As to the fenior fellows, and heads
of houſes, they are fuch ftarched pedants, fuch fo-
lemn mamamouches, and fuch kingly old fops, that
from their mien you may know their characters, and
read their titles and preferments in their hats. They
carry the college about them wherever they go,
and talk at a table as they do at a lecture ; or, if fome-
times they break into gaiety, it is either imperious
or infipid, difrefpectful or awkward, and always un-
graceful : they want a good manner, lefs conceit,
and the appearance, at leaſt, of more humility ; all
which are only to be acquired by living abroad in the
world, and by converfing with all forts of men.
This accuftoms one to treat all men as they expect to
be treated ; and fuch general good treatment given
to all is called Good Breeding.
Hence the breeding of courts is always the eaſieſt
and moft refined . Courtiers have the conftant ad-
vantage of living daily with the beſt bred men : be-
fides, having occafion for all forts of people, they
accuftom themſelves to ufe all forts of people civilly.
By converfing with all forts, they can fall readily
into all forts of ftyles, and pleafe every body by
talking to him in his own way. They find too, by
daily experience, and promifcuous converfation, that
the difference between men and men is not fo great,
as an unacquaintednefs with men would generally
make
make it : they are, therefore, under no awe, nor
fhinefs, in fpeaking to the greatest ; nor have any
general contempt for the meaneft : a contempt which
too often rifes from a wrong judgment, grounded
upon pride, and continued by inexperience. They
confider, that as the greateſt can do them good, fo
the meanest can hurt them : they are therefore re-
fpectful without awe to thofe above them, and
complaifant without difdain to thoſe below them.
Courts, therefore , are the beſt ſchools for Good Breed-
ing ; and to be well bred we muſt live no only with
the beſt forts of men, but muſt be acquainted with
all forts.
The want of this general converfation may be enc
reafon why the country clergy are fo often accuſed of
want of Breeding. They come from the univerſity
full of an opinion , that all that is to be learned, is to
be learned there ; and believing themſelves to have
already every accomplishment, often remain without
any. In their parishes they can learn nothing but
an additional pride, from feeing or fancying them-
felves the biggest men there. If there be a fquire
in the place, he rarely mends them . If he have a
delicate tafte, he will not converfe with them : but
it frequently happens, that his tafte is as crude as
theirs, and confifts in eating much, and drinking
more, and talking loud. From this conceited edu-
cation, and narrow converfation , arifes their impa-
tience of contradiction , and their readineſs to contra-
dict . I own that I am always cautious of reafoning
with the vicar : his first argument is generally an af-
fertion ; and his next, an affront.
An engaging manner and a genteel addreſs may be
out of their power ; but it is in their power to be
condefcending and affable. When people are obliging,
they are faid to be well -bred. The heart and inten-
tion are chiefly confidered : when thefe are found
friendly and fincere, the manner of fhewing it, how-
ever awkward, will be kindly overlooked . Good
Breeding is artificial good nature ; and complaifance
is underſtood to be a copy of the invifible heart.
When
When people are fatisfied of one another's goodwill

and fincerity, the forms they fhew them are generally
laid afide. Between intimate friends there is little
ceremony, and lefs between man and wife. Some,
however, is ſtill neceffary, becauſe by figns and
actions the affections are fhewn. But a courteous be-
haviour, which is known to mean nothing, goes for
nothing, and is not neceffary when the meaning is
known to be good. Expreffions of kindneſs, when
they are not thought the marks and effects of kind-
nefs, are empty founds : and yet theſe unmeaning
expreffions are neceffary in life. We are not to de-
clare to every man whom we diflike, how much we
diflike him, nor to fhew it by dumb figns. When a
man fays, that he is my humble fervant, he obliges
me: not by the words, which in common fpeech
fignify fcarce any thing ; but becauſe by theſe words
he fhews that he thinks me worth notice. Good
Breeding therefore is then juft, when the actions
which it produces are thought fincere : this is its
end and fuccefs : it muſt ſeem produced by kindneſs
for the perfon for whom it is fhewn.
Good Breeding is of fo great importance in the
world, that an accomplishment this way goes often
further than much greater accomplishments without
it can do. I have known gentlemen, who, with mc-
derate parts and much Good Breeding, have been
thought great men ; and have actually come to be fo.
Great abilities alone make no man's perfon amiable ;
fome have been unpopular with the greateft, and
fome even ridiculous : but the gay, the eafy, the
complaifant man, whofe chief abilities are in his be-
haviour, pleaſes and obliges all, and is amiable to as
many as he obliges. To learn this behaviour, people
muft begin early. One who fets out in the world at
twenty, fhall make twice as much progrefs in life,
as one who, with twice his fenfe, fets out at forty ;
becaufe he is then lefs fufceptible of the arts of life.
Habits are not to be got in a day ; and after a certain
age, never. Forced complaifance is foppery ; and
affected eafinefs is a monfter. I have ſeen a world
or
of tradefmen, and almoſt as many gentlemen, take
fuch pains to be well -bred, that I have been in pain
for them : native plainnefs is a thousand times better.
Complaifance is ingenious flattery : it makes thoſe
to whom it is paid flatter themfelves, while they take
every act of complaifance in others as the declaration
of merit in themfelves : and beyond a certain degree
it is not innocent. Courtiers know its efficacy fo
well, that to it alone no fmall part of their power is
owing. Hence fo many people have always been de-
ceived by civil words and kind looks. To know fpe-
culatively the delufions of this art, is not fufficient to
put you upon your guard against it. A fair and plau-
fible behaviour, with a ready rote of kind expreffions,
and all the appearances of fincerity, will be apt to
miflead you in fpite of your foreknowledge. They
will catch your fenfes, and beat you off your theory
in politics. You must find their infincerity fome
time before you will come to distrust it. Their art
and your own felf-love will confpire against you,
drive away your incredulity, and beget faith, as it is
often begot, againſt evidence and reafon. You will
ftill flatter yourſelf, that you are an exception to the
rule, though there never were another exception .
The credulity of fome is perfectly incurable; many
have continued fteady believers, in fpite of daily
proofs and fatal experience, for twenty years toge-
ther. They were always perfuaded that every pro-
mife was at leaſt intended to be kept, and always
forgave the breaking it. The great man fmiled gra-
ciously, bowed courteoufly, excufed himfelf earnestly,
and vowed to God that you fhould have the next
thing. You miſcarried ; and then, with a concerned
face, he vowed to God that he could not help it,
promifed again with the fame folemn vow, was again
believed, and always believed. This wretched cre
dulity is the fruit of felf-love, of an opinion that we
are as confiderable in the eyes of others as we are in
our own. Mankind are governed by their weak-
neffes ; and all that ftatefinen have to do to keep ex-
pecting crowds about them , and attached to them,
15
is to promife violently, to feem violently in earnest,

and never be fo ; that is, they muſt be extremely
well bred.
Good Breeding is indeed an amiable and perfuafive
thing it beautifies the actions, and even the looks
of men. But equally odious is the grimace of Good
Breeding in comparifon with this, bluntnefs is an
accomplishment. The ape of a well-bred man is
just as offenfive as the well-bred man is agreeable :
he is a nuifance to his acquaintance. I am affrighted
at the affected fimile and the apifh fhrug. When theſe
foul copies of courtiers throw their civil grin in one's
face, it is as much as one can do to avoid ſpitting
in theirs. A ftarched rogue forcing fmiles , is a more
hideous fight than a mummy : he is a fugitive from
nature ; and it is notable impudence in fuch a crea-
ture to pretend to be courteous.
As to ill-breeding, or rudeness, there is fomething
fill worfe in it than its deformity : it is immoral ; it
is ufing others as you would not be uſed.
A Letter of Confolation to the Countess ofEffex,

upon her Grief occafioned by the Loss of her only
Daughter. By Sir William Temple, Bart.
Shene, Jan. 29, 1674.

HE honour I received by a letter from your
ΤTLady hip,, was too great and too fenfible not
Ladyfhip
to be acknowledged ; but yet I doubted whether that
occafion could bear me out in the confidence of giv-
ing your Ladyship any further troubles of this kind,
without as good an errand as my laft. This I have
reckoned upon a good while, by another vifit my
fifter and I had defigned to my Lord Capel . How
we came to have deferred it fo long, I think we
are neither of us like to tell you at this diftance,
though we make ourſelves believe it could not be
helped. Your Ladyfhip at leaſt has had the advan-
tage of being thereby excufed fome time from this
trouble,
trouble, which I could no longer forbear, upon the
fenfible wounds that have fo often of late been given
your friends here, by fuch defperate expreffions in
feveral of your letters concerning your humour, your
health, and your life ; in all which, if they are your
friends, you muſt allow them to be extremely con-
cerned. Perhaps none can be at heart more partial
than I am to whatever touches your Ladyship , nor
more inclined to defend you upon this very occafion ,
how unjust and unkind foever you are to yourſelf.
But when you go about to throw away your health,
or your life, fo great a remainder of your own fa-
mily, and fo great hopes of that into which you are
entered, and all by a defperate melancholy, upon an
accident paſt remedy, and to which all mortal race
is perpetually fubject ; for God's fake, Madam, give
me leave to tell you, that what you do is not at all
agreeable either with fo good a Chriſtian , or ſo rea-
fonable and fo great a perfon as your Ladyſhip appears
to the world in all other lights.
I know no duty in religion more generally agreed
on, nor more juffly required by God Almighty, than
a perfect fubmiffion to his will in all things ; nor do
I think any difpofition of mind can either pleaſe him
more, or become us better, than that of being fatis-
fied with all he gives, and contented with all he takes
away. None, I am fure, can be of more honour to
God, nor of more eaſe to ourſelves ; for if we con-
fider him as our Maker, we cannot contend with
him ; if as our father, we ought not to distrust him ;
fo that we may be confident, whatever he does is in-
tended for good, and whatever happens that we in-
terpret otherwife, yet we can get nothing by repin-
ing, nor fave any thing by refifting.
-But ifit were fit for us to reafon with God Al-
mighty, and your Ladyship's lofs be acknowledged as
great as it could have been to any one alive, yet I
doubt you would have but ill grace to complain at the
rate you have done, or rather as you do ; for the firſt
motions or paffions, how violent foever, may be par-
doned ; and it is only the courſe of them which makes
them
them inexcufable. In this world, Madam, there is
nothing perfectly good ; and whatever is called fo, is
but either comparatively with other things of its kind,
or elfe with the evil that is mingled in its compo-
fition ; fo he is a good man that is better than men
commonly are, or in whom the good qualities are
more than the bad ; fo in the courfe oflife, his condi-
tion is eſteemed good, which is better than that of
moſt other men, or wherein the good circumstances
are more than the ill. By this meaſure, I doubt,
Madam, your complaints ought to be turned into ac-
knowledgments, and your friends would have cauſe
to rejoice rather than condole with you for the
goods or bleffings of life are ufually esteemed to be
birth, health, beauty, friends, children, honour,
riches. Now when your Ladyfhip has fairly con-
fidered how God Almighty has dealt with you in
what he has given you of all thefe, you may be left
to judge yourſelf how you have dealt with him in
your complaints for what he has taken away. But
if you look about you, and confider other lives as
well as your own, and what your lot is in compariſon
with thoſe who have been drawn in the circle of
your knowledge ; if you think how few are born
with honour, how many die without name or chil-
dren, how little beauty we fee, how few friends we
hear of, how many difeafes, and how much poverty
there is in the world, you will fall down upon your
knees, and, instead of repining at one affliction, will
admire fo many bleffings as you have received at the
hand of God.
To put your Ladyfhip in mind of what you are,
and the advantages you have in all theſe points,
would look like a defign to flatter you ; but this I
may fay, that we will pity you as much as you
pleafe, if you will tell us who they are that you
think, upon all circumftances, you have reaſon to
envy . Now, if I had a mafter that gave me all I
could afk, but thought fit to take one thing from me
again, either becaufe I ufed it ill, or gave myfelf fo
much over to it, as to neglect what I owed either to
him
him or the rest of the world ; or perhaps becaufe he
would fhew his power, and put me in mind from
whom I held all the reft ; would you think I had
much reaſon to complain of hard ufage, and never to
remember any more what was left me, never to for-
get what was taken away ?
It is true you have loft a child, and therein all that
could be loft in a child of that age ; but you have
kept one child, and are likely to do fo long ; you
have the affurance of another, and the hopes of
many more. You have kept a huſband great in em-
ployment, and in fortune, and (which is more) in
the eſteem of good men : you have kept your beauty
and your health, unleſs you have deftroyed them
yourſelf, or diſcouraged them to ftay with you by
ufing them ill. You have friends that are as kind
to you as you can wifh, or as you can give them.
leave to be by their fears of lofing you, and being
thereby fo much the unhappier, the kinder they are
to you . But you have honour and eſteem from all
that know you ; or, if ever it fails in any degree, it
is only upon that point of your feeming to be fallen
out with God and the whole world, and neither to
care for yourſelf, or any thing elſe, after what you
have loft.
You will fay perhaps that one thing was all to you,
and your fondneſs of it made you indifferent to every
thing elfe ; but this, I doubt, will be fo far from
juſtifying you, that it will prove to be your fault as
well as your misfortune . God Almighty gave you
all the bleffings of life, and you fet your heart wholly
upon one, and deſpiſe or undervalue all the reſt : Ís
this his fault or yours ? nay, is it not to be very un-
thankful to Heaven, as well as very fcornful to the
reft of the world ? Is it not to fay, becauſe you have
loft one thing God hath given you, you thank him
for nothing he has left, and care not what he takes
away? Is it not to fay, fince that one thing is gone
out of the world, there is nothing left in it which you
think can deſerve your kindneſs or eſteem ? A friend
makes
makes me a feaſt, and fets all before me that his
care or kindneſs could provide ; but I fet my heart
upon one dish alone, and if that happens to be thrown
down, I fcorn all the reft ; and though he fends for
another of the fame, yet I rife from the table in a
rage, and fay my friend is my enemy, and has done
me the greatest wrong in the world : have I reafon,
Madam, or good grace in what I do ? or would it
become me better to eat of the rest that is before me,
and think no more of what had happened, and could
not be remedied ?
All the precepts of Chriſtianity agree to teach and
command us to moderate our paffions ; to temper our
affections towards all things below ; to be thankful for
the poffeffion, and patient under the lofs whenever
he that gave fhall fee fit to take away. Your ex-
treme fondneſs was perhaps as difpleafing to God
before, as now your extreme affliction ; and your
lofs may have been a puniſhment for your faults in
the manner of enjoying what you had. It is at leaſt
pious to afcribe all the ill that befalls us to our own
demerits, rather than to injuftice in God ; and it
becomes us better to adore all the iffues of his Pro-
vidence in the effects, than inquire into the cauſes ;
for fubmiffion is the only way of reafoning between
a creature and its Maker ; and contentment in his
will is the greateſt duty we can pretend to, and the
beſt remedy we can apply to all our misfortunes.
But, Madam, though religion were no party in
your cafe, and that for fo violent and injurious a
grief you had nothing to anſwer to God, but only to
the world and yourſelf; yet I very much doubt how
you would be acquitted. We bring into the world--
with us a poor, needy, uncertain life, fhort at the
longeft, and unquiet at the beſt ; all the imaginations
of the witty and the wife have been perpetually bufied
to find out the ways how to revive it with pleaſures,
or relieve it with diverfions ; how to compofe it
with eafe, and fettle it with fafety. To fome of
thefe ends have been employed the inftitutions of
law-
A HELP TO ELOCUTION. ZIT
lawgivers, the reafonings of philofophers, the inven-

tions of poets, the pains of labouring, and the ex-
travagances of voluptuous men . All the world is
perpetually at work about nothing elfe, but only
that our poor mortal lives fhould pafs the eafier and
happier for that little time we poffefs them, or elfe
end the better when we loſe them. Upon this occa-
fion riches came to be coveted, honours to be eſteem-
ed, friendſhip and love to be purfued, and virtues
theinfelves to be admired in the world . Now, Ma-
dam , is it not to bid defiance to all mankind to con-
demn their univerfal opinions and defigns , if inſtead
of paffing your life as well and eafily, you refolve to
pafs it as ill and as miferably as you can ? you grow
infenfible to the conveniences of riches, the delights
of honour and praife, the charms of kindnets or
friendship, nay to the obfervance or applaufe of
virtues themfeives ; for who can you expect, in
thefe excefles of paffion , will allow you to fhew either
temperance or fortitude, to be either prudent or juſt ?
And for your friends, I fuppofe, you reckon upon
lofing their kindneſs, when you have fufficiently
convinced them , they can never hope for any of
yours, fince you have none left for yourſelf or any
thing else. You declare upon all occafions, you are
incapable of receiving any comfort or pleaſure in any
thing that is left in this world ; and I affure you,
Madam, none can ever love you, that can have no
hopes ever to pleaſe you.
Among the feveral inquiries and endeavours after
the happiness of life, the fenfual men agree in pur-
fuit of every pleaſure they can ftart, without regard-
ing the pains of the chafe, the wearinefs when it
ends, or how little the quarry is worth. The buſy
and ambitious fall into the more lafting purfuits of
power and riches ; the fpeculative men prefer tran-
quillity of mind before the different motions of
paffion and appetite, or the common fucceffions of
defire and fatiety, of pleaſure and pain ; but this
may feem too dull a principle for the happineſs of
life, which is ever in motion ; and paffions are per-
haps
haps the ftings, without which they fay no honey

is made ; yet I think all forts of men have ever
agreed, they ought to be our fervants, and not our
afters ; to give us fome agitation for entertainment
or exerciſe, but never to throw our reafon out of its
feat. Perhaps I would not always fit ftill, or would
be fometimes on horſeback ; but I would never ride
a horfe that galls my flefh, or fhakes my bones, or
that runs away with me as he pleaſes, fo as I can
neither ſtop at a river or precipice. Better no paf-
fions at all, than have them too violent ; or fuch
alone, as, inſtead of heightening our pleafures, afford
us nothing but vexation and pain.
In all fuch loffes as your Ladyfhip's has been,
there is fomething that common nature cannot be
denied, there is a great deal that good-nature may
be allowed ; but all exceffive and outrageous grief or
lamentation for the dead, was accounted among the
ancient Chriſtians to have fomething of heathenish ;
and among the civil nations of old, to have fomething
of barbarous ; and therefore it has been the care of
the firſt to moderate it by their precepts, and the lat-
ter to reſtrain it by their law. The longeſt time that
has been allowed to the forms of mourning by the cuf
tom of any country, and in any relation, has been but
that of a year, in which ſpace the body is commonly
fuppofed to be mouldered away to earth, and to re-
tain no more figure of what it was ; but this has been
given only to the lofs of parents, of huſband, or wife.
On the other fide, to children under age, nothing
has been allowed; and I fuppofe with particular rea-
fon, (the common ground of all general customs)
perhaps, becauſe they die in innocence, and with-
out having tafted the miſeries of life, fo as we are
fure they are well when they leave us, and eſcape
much ill, which would, in all appearance, have be-
fallen them if they had ſtaid longer with us. Be-
fides, a parent may have twenty children, and fo his
mourning may run through all the beſt of his life, i £
his loffes are frequent of that kind ; and our kind-
nefs to children fo young, is taken to proceed from
common
common opinions or fond imaginations, not friend-
ſhip or eſteem ; and to be grounded upon entertain-
ment, rather than ufe in the many offices of life ;
nor would it paſs from any perfon befides your
Ladyship, to fay you loft a companion and a friend
at nine years old, though you loft one indeed, who
gave the fairest hopes that could be of being both in
time, and every thing elſe that was eſtimable and
good : but yet, that itſelf God only knows, confider-
ing the changes of humour and difpofition, which
are as great as thoſe of feature and ſhape the first fix-
teen years ofour lives, confidering the chances of time,
the infection of company, the fnares of the world,
and the paffions of youth ; fo that the moſt excellent
and agreeable creature of that tender age, and that
feemed born under the happieſt ſtars, might, by the
courſe of years and accidents, come to be the moſt
miferable herſelf, and more trouble to her friends by
living long, than fhe could have been by dying young.
Yet after all, Madam, I think your lofs fo great,
and fome meaſure of your grief ſo deſerved, that
would all your paffionate complaints, all the anguiſh
of your heart, do any thing to retrieve it ; could
tears water the lovely plant, fo as to make it grow
again after once it is cut down ; would fighs furniſh
new breath, or could it draw life and fpirits from
the wafting of yours ; I am fure your friends would
be fo far from accufing your paffion , that they would
encourage it as much, and fhare it as deep as they
could. But, alas ! the eternal laws ofthe creation ex-
tinguish all fuch hopes, forbid all fuch defigns : na-
ture gives us many children and friends to take them
away ; but takes none away to give them us again :
and this makes the exceffes of grief to have been fo
univerfally condemned as a thing unnatural, becauſe
fo much in vain ; whereas nature, they fay, does
nothing in vain : as a thing fo unreaſonable, becauſe
fo contrary to our defigns ; for we all defign to be
well, and at eafe, and by grief we make ourſelves ill
of imaginary wounds, and raiſe ourſelves troubles
moſt properly out of the duft, whilst our ravings and
complaints
complaints are but like arrows fhot up into the air, at

no mark, and ſo to no purpoſe, but only to fall back
upon our heads, and destroy ourſelves, inſtead of re-
covering or revenging our friends.
Perhaps, Madam, you will fay, this is your de-
fign, or if not, your defire ; but I hope you are not
fo far gone, or fo deſperately bent : your Ladyfhip
knows very well your life is not your own, but his
that lent it you to manage, and preſerve the beſt you
could, and not to throw it away, as if it came from
fome common hand. It belongs, in a great meaſure,
to your country, and your family ; and therefore by
all human laws, as well as divine , felf murder has
ever been agreed on as the greateſt crime, and is pu-
niſhed here with the utmost fhame, which is all that
can be inflicted upon the dead. But is the crime
much lefs to kill ourſelves by a flow poifon, than by
a fudden wound ? now if we do it, and know we do
it, by a long and a continual grief, can we think our-
felves innocent ? what great difference is there if we
break our hearts, or confume them ; if we pierce
them or bruife them ; fince all determines in the
fame death, as all arifes from the fame deſpair ? but
what if it goes not fo far? it is not indeed fo bad as
might be, but that does not excufe it from being
very ill though I do not kill my neighbour, is it
no hurt to wound him, or to fpoil him of the conve-
niences of life ? the greatest crime is for a man to
kill himſelf is it a fmall one to wound himſelf by
anguish of heart, by grief or deſpair, to ruin his
health, to ſhorten his age, to deprive himſelf of all
the pleaſures, or eafes, or enjoyments of life !
Next to the mifchiefs we do ourſelves, are thoſe
we do our children and our friends, as thoſe who
deferve beſt of us, or at leaſt deſerve no ill. The
child you carry about you, what has that done, that
you ſhould endeavour to deprive it of life, almoft as
foon as you beſtow it ? or if at beſt you fuffer it to
live to be born, yet, by your ill ufage of yourſelf,
fhould fo much impair the ftrength of its body and
health, and perhaps the very temper of its mind, by
giving
OCUTI
giving it fuch an infufion of melancholy, as may
ferve to difcolour the objects, and difrelish the acci-
dents it may meet with in the common train of life ?
but this is one you are not yet acquainted with ;
what will you fay to another you are ? Were it a
fmall injury to my Lord Capel to deprive him of a
mother, from whofe prudence and kindneſs he may
justly expect the cares of his health and education ,
the forming of his body, and the cultivating of his
mind; the feeds of honour and virtue, and thereby
the true principles of a happy life ? how has my
Lord of Effex deferved that you fhould go about to
looſe him a wife he loves with fo much paffion, and,
which is more, with fo much reafon ; fo great an ho-
nour and fupport to his family, fo great a hope to his
fortune, and comfort to his life? are there fo many
left of your own great family, that you fhould defire
in a manner wholly to reduce it, by fuffering the
greatest and almoſt last branch of it to wither away
before its time ? or is your country, in this age, fo
ftored with great perfons, that you fhould envy it
thoſe we may justly expect from fo noble a race !
Whilft I had any hopes your tears would eafe you,
or that your grief would confume itſelf by liberty and
time, your Ladyship knows very well I never once
accufed it, nor ever increafed it, like many others,
by the common formal ways of affunging it , and
this, I am fure, is the first offices of this kind I ever
went about to perform, otherwife than in the moſt
ordinary forms. I was in hope what was fo violent
could not be fo long ; but when I obferved it to grow
ftronger with age, and increaſe like a ftream the
further it run ; when I faw it draw out fo many un-
happy confequences, and threaten no iefs than your
child, your health, and your life, I could no longer
forbear this endeavour, nor end it without begging
of your Ladyship, for God's fake, and for your own,
for your children's and your friends, for your coun-
try's and your family's, that you would no longer
abandon yourſelf to fo difconfolate a paffion, but that
you would at length awaken your piety, give way
to
to your prudence, or at leaſt to roufe up the invin-
cible fpirit of the Percys, that never yet fhrunk at
any difafter ; that you would fometimes remember
the great honours and fortunes of your family, not
always the loffes; cherish thofe veins of good hu-
mour, that are fometimes fo natural to you, and
fear up thofe of 1, that would make you fo unnatu-
ral to your chien, and to yourfeif : but above all,
that you would enter upon the cares of your health ,
and your lite, for your friends fake at leaſt, if not for
your own. For my part, I know nothing could be
to me fo great an honour and fatisfaction, as if your
Ladyship would own me to have contributed towards
this cure ; but however, none can perhaps more
justly pretend to your pardon for the attempt, fince
there is none, I am fure, that has always had at
heart a greater honour for your Ladyship's family,
nor can have for your perfon more devotion and
eſteem , than,
L
Madam,
Your Ladyfhip's most obedient
and moſt humble Servant. 5
Servius Sulpicius to Cicero.

RECEIVED the news of your daughter's death
I'with all the concern it ſo juſtly deferves : and in-
deed I cannot but confider it as a misfortune, in
which I bear an equal fhare with yourſelf. If I had
been near you when this fatal accident happened, I
fhould not only have mingled my tears with yours, but
affifted you with all the confolation in my power.
I am fenfible at the fame time, that offices of this
kind afford at best but a wretched relief : for as none
are qualified to perform them, but thoſe who ſtand
near to us by the ties either of blood or affection,
fuch perfons are generally too much afflicted them-
felves,
felves, to be capable of adminiftring comfort to others.
Nevertheless I thought proper to fuggeft a few re-
flections which occurred to me upon this occafion :
not as imagining they would be new to you , but be-
lieving that, in your prefent difcompofure of mind,
they might poffibly have efcaped your attention .
Tell me then, my friend, wherefore do you indulge
this excess of forrow ? reflect, I intreat you , in what
manner fortune has dealt with every one of us : that
fhe has deprived us of what ought to be no lefs dear
than our children , and overwhelmed in one general
ruin our honours, our liberties, and our country.
And after theſe loffes, is it poffible that any other
ſhould increaſe our tears ? is it poffible that a mind ,
long exercifed in calamities fo truly fevere, fhould
not become totally callous and indifferent to every
event ? but you will tell me, perhaps, that your grief
arifes not fo much on your own account as on that of
Tullia. Yet furely you must often, as well as my-
felf, have had occafion, in theſe wretched times, to
reflect, that their condition by no means deferves to
be regretted, whom death has gently removed from
this unhappy fcene. What is there, let me afk, in
the prefent circumstances of our country, that could
have rendered life greatly defirable to your daughter ?
what pleafing hopes, what agreeable views, what ra-
tional fatisfaction could the poflibly have propofed to
herſelf from a more extended period ? was it in the
profpect of conjugal happiness in the fociety of fome
diftinguished youth ? as if, indeed, you could have
found a fon-in-law, amongst our prefent fet of young
men, worthy of being intrufted with the care of
your daughter ? or was it in the expectation of being
the joyful mother of a flourishing race, who might
poffefs their patrimony with independence, who might
gradually rife through the feveral dignities of the
ftate, and exert the liberty to which they were born
in the ſervice and defence of their friends and coun-
try ? But is there one amongst all theſe defirable pri-
vileges, of which we were not deprived before the
was in a capacity of tranfmitting them to her defcen-
L dants ?
dants ? yet, after all, you may ftill alledge, perhaps,
that the lofs of our children is a fevere affliction ;
and unquestionably it would be fo, if it were not a
much greater to ſee them alive to endure thoſe in-
dignities which their parents fuffer.
I lately fell into a reflection, which, as it afforded
great relief to the difquietude of my own heart, may
poffibly contribute likewiſe to affuage the anguiſh of
yours. In my return out of Afia, as I was failing
from Ægina towards Megara, I amuſed myſelf with
contemplating the circumjacent countries. Behind
me lay Ægina, before me, Megara ; on my right, I
faw Piræus, and on my left, Corinth. Thefe cities,
once fo flouriſhing and magnificent, now reprefented
nothing to my view but a fad fpectacle of defolation.
" Alas !" I faid to myſelf, fhall fuch a ſhort-
" lived creature as man complain, when one of his
fpecies falls either by the hand of violence, or by
" the common courſe of nature, whilſt in this nar-
" row compafs fo many great and glorious cities,
" formed for a much longer duration, thus lie ex-
" tended in ruins ? Remember then, O my heart,
" the general lot to which man is born ; and let
" that thought fupprefs thy unreaſonable murmurs."
Believe me, I found my mind greatly refreſhed and
comforted by theſe reflections. Let me adviſe you
in the fame manner to reprefent to yourſelf, what
numbers of our illuftrious countrymen have lately
been cut off at once, how much the ftrength of the
Roman republic is impaired, and what dreadful de-
vaftation has gone forth throughout all its provinces
and can you, with the impreffion of theſe greater
calamities upon your mind, be fo immoderately
afflicted for the lofs of one fingle individual, a poor,
little, tender woman ? who, if he had not died at
this time, muft, in a few fleeting years more, have
inevitably undergone that common fate to which the
was born. Reaſonable , however, as theſe reflections
are, I would call you from them a while, in order
to lead your thoughts to others more peculiarly fuit-
able to your circumftances and character, Remem-
ber
鼎
་
berthen, that your daughter lived as long as life was
worth poffeffing, that is, till liberty was no more ;
that the lived to fee you in the illuftrious offices of
prætor, conful, and augur ; to be married to fome of
the noblest youths in Rome ; to be bleft with almoſt
every valuable enjoyment ; and at length to expire
with the republic itfelf. Tell me now, what is there,
in this view of her fate, that could give either her
or yourſelf juſt reaſon to complain ? in fine , do not
forget that you are Cicero, the wife, the philofophi-
cal Cicero, who were wont to give advice to others :
nor refemble thoſe unſkilful empirics, who, at the
fame time that they pretend to be furniſhed with
remedies for other men's diſorders, are altogether in-
capable of finding a cure for their own. On the
contrary, apply to your private ufe thofe judicious
precepts you have adminiſtered to the public. Time
neceffarily weakens the ftrongest impreffions of for-
row but it would be a reproach to your character
not to anticipate this its certain effect, by the force
of your own good fenfe and judgment. If the dead
retain any conſcioufnefs of what is here tranfacted,
your daughter's affection, I am fure, was fuch both
to you and to all her relations, that the can by no
means defire you ſhould abandon yourſelf to this ex-
cefs of grief. Reftrain it then , I conjure you, for
her fake, and for the fake of the reſt of your family
and friends, who lament to fee you thus afflicted.
Reſtrain it too, I befeech you, for the fake of your
country, that whenever the opportunity fhall ferve,
it may reap the benefit of your counfels and affiftance.
In fhort, fince fuch is our fortune, that we muſt ne-
ceffarily fubmit to the prefent fyftem of public affairs,
fuffer it not to be fufpected, that it is not fo much
the death of your daughter, as the fate of the republic,
and the fuccefs of our victors, that you deplore.
But it would be ill manners to dwell any longer upon
this fubject, as I fhould feem to question the efficacy
of your own good fenfe. I will only add, therefore,
th at as we have often feen you bear proſperity in the
n"obleſt manner, and withLthe 2
higheſt applauſe, ſhew
us
us likewife that you are not too fenfible of adverſity,

but know how to fupport it with the fame advantage
to your character. In a word, let it not be faid, that
fortitude is the fingle virtue to which my friend is a
ftranger. As for what concerns myfelf, I will fend
you an account of the ſtate of this province, and of
what is tranfacting in this part of the world, as foon
as I fhall hear that you are fufficiently compoſed to
receive the information. Farewell.
A Letter on the Abuſe ofWords.

SIR,
HE languages of all nations have ever been in
Τ a ftate of fluctuation, and we find this com-
plaint is conſtantly made by the fenfible and judicious
in every age. Though the diction of the Romans is
likely to endure as long as time fhall fubfift, yet we
find that Horace , in one of his odes, feems to be
aware of the decay of words and phrafes, which die
away and are constantly fucceeded by a fudden birth
of new terms and modes of phrafeology. In feveral
other paffages of his writings there are fhort reflec-
tions upon this literary phenomenon , in which he
always appears to me to deliver himſelf with forrow
and regret. " They fall," fays he, " like leaves,
" and are replaced by a new product ; like young
" perfons, they flourish for a fhort time, and then
tendto oblivion." The compariſon is moft certainly
very juft ; and as young men, in their bloom and
vigour, are faid to be upon town, it is the fame with
words ; they are alfo upon town for a time, and then
totally perifh. I have often thought that a weekly
bill of words would not be unentertaining to men of
letters ; and if there was a proper regiſter-office for
the purpoſe, where their feveral births and burials
might be recorded with accuracy and precifion , I
fhould imagine it would furnish no difagreeable hif
tory. A diftinction might be made between a kind
of fex in words, according as they are appropriated
to
to men or women ; as for inftance, D- n my blood,

is of male extraction , and P/baw, Fiddleftick, I take
to be female. Upon this plan the weekly bill might
ftand in this form.
Ma
Males 300 Buried { les 400
Born this week {{"Females 900 f Fem . 990
I 200 1390
Decreaſed in the burial of words this week 57.

If, for the fatisfaction of the curious, a liſt ſhould
be furniſhed of the feveral terms that are born, or
that die away, with a fhort account of the life and
character of each phrafe, whether it be born of honeſt
parents in England or Ireland, what company it kept,
whether it was Whig or Tory, Popish or Proteftant,
it would in my opinion be an agreeable addition to
this hiftory of the rife and fall of words . There
might further be added an account of fuch expreffions
as might happen to be naturalized, with the objec-
tions of the learned, who fhould think proper to
protest against fuch a naturalization of foreigners
among the natives of this land. Such a procedure
could not fail to yield fatisfaction to the curious ; and,
though it would not prevent the inftability of our
language, it would at leaſt diſplay the gradual ſteps
towards improvement or final deftruction . For my
part, I have ever looked upon the permanency of our
language to be of greater confequence than the
ſtocks of whatever denomination ; and for that rea-
fon, I fhould be glad that ſome means were deviſed to
hinder the diction of our Shakeſpeare and Milton from
being obliterated, and to fufpend the evils which
Mr. Pope threatened us with , when he ſaid,
And fuch as Chaucer is, fhall Dryden be.
The dictionary which the learned Mr. Johnfon has

published, may in fome meafure anfwer this end ;
and, in aid to that defign, I have been for fome
time paft planning a dictionary of fuch words as ap-
peared to me, from a concurrence of various caufes,
L 3 to
to be most likely to be totally forgot. In order to

forwardthis undertaking I have annexed a fpecimen of
the work, not as yet reduced into alphabetical order,
but drawn out in fuch a manner as may ferve to con-
vey to Mr. Ranger fome idea of the intended work.
When the whole is completed , it may ſerve as a pro-
per companion to the Spectator, the Tatler, and all
the works of morality, which have been publiſhed in
this country ; and it may be contributing to make
our pofterity have fome faint notion of what is meant
in many places, when the vifible tendency of our
manners, to an entire change from ancient fimplicity,
has almoſt effaced the ideas which the author intended
to exprefs.
A Specimen of an Engliſh Dictionary.

CREATURE , A term to fhew our contempt of any
perfon whom we diflike, chiefly ufed by the ladies.
IMPERTINENT , A term of derifion , applied by
the ladies to every man who ſpeaks fenſe to them .
THING, Very often ufed to imply our diflike,
but chiefly ufed to fignify our higheſt approbation.
Thus it is faid of a fine lady, She's the very Thing ;
or of a young fellow, O Ma'am, he's the very Thing ;
and fometimes with limitation, as Yes, very well, but
not the Thing.
PATRIOT, A man who ſpeaks againſt the court
till he gets a place or penfion.
HONEST, This term is derived from the Latin
word honeftum, which, among the Romans , implied
every thing that is honourable in a character. From
thence Pope was induced to fay,
An honeft man's the nobleft work of God.
This is the original meaning of the word ; in its con-

fequential fenfe it is ftrangely altered : honeft now
fignifies gaming, drinking, and debauchery of every
fort ; it being common to fay of a man who is ad-
dicted
dicted to all theſe faſhionable vices, that he's an Ho-
neft Fellow.
GOOD-NATURE , An old English word ufed by
our anceſtors ; it is plain that it carried with it fome
allufion to the cuſtoms and manners of thoſe times,
but the ufage of the word being now quite altered,
there is no tracing it to its fource.
CHOCOLATE, The primitive intent of this word
was, a fort of refreſhment which was taken by the
gentlemen and ladies for breakfaft. In its metapho-
rical fenfe it fignifies wit, humour, and pleafantry,
and he who can entertain his friends with all thefe
brilliant qualities, is faid to give chocolate. The
etymology of this figurative expreffion is derived
from Mr. Foote, almoft the only writer of his time.
This gentleman having prepared a rich mental re-
paft, was obliged, to evade the cenfure of justices, to
invite his friends to drink chocolate with him in the
morning at the theatre in the Hay- Market, after
which he prefented feveral humorous dramatic pieces;
fince which, to give chocolate, is become a metapho-
rical term for every thing that is lively and ingenious.
RELIGION , An old English word for the wor-
fhip of a Supreme Being, and the practice of focial
duties to our neighbour ; probably a cuſtom known
to the ancient Druids.
VERY, A particle uſed by polite people for con-
cifenefs ; thus if you afk, Is not fuch a book well
written ? a modern fine gentleman anſwers, Very.
HUMBUG, A lie.
WORTH, Originally it meant laudable qualities of
the mind ; at prefent folely confined to a man's
fortune. Thus a fcoundrel of fifty thouſand is a
man of worth, and an honest man in indigence is
worth nothing.
PARTY, Formerly fignified divifions in the ftate,
at prefent it means a jaunt to Vauxhall, Bedlam,
Church, or any place of diverfion.
TRAGEDY, A name by which Shakeſpeare, Ot-
way, and fome others intitled their dramatic writings;
L 4 the
the moderns retain the word, but have totally loft

the original fenſe of it.
COMEDY, Probably a piece in which our rude
ancestors reprefented the follies and characters of the
age ; nothing ofthis fort is at prefent known amongft us.
DAMNED, When prieffcraft prevailed in this
country, the people were frightened with ftrange
ideas of hell, or a place of torture where the departed
fpirits of bad men were fuppofed to be confined. At
prefent it fignifies the highest praife we can confer.
Thus we fay, A damned fine woman ; a damned
charming creature ; a damned fine fellow , &c.
MARRIAGE , Alludes to a cuftom among our an-
ceftors of folemnly binding a man and woman to live
together for life : it remained among us till lately ;
but was entirely abolished by a marriage-act in the
year 1753.
DRUM, An inftrument of warlike mufic ufed at
the march of an army, or in time of battle to animate
the foldiery hence ftyled by Shakeſpeare the Spirit-
ftirring drum. It has not been uſed to any purpoſe
by the English fince the days of the Duke of Marl-
borough. In its metaphorical fenfe it means a party
of cards. (Vide Rout. ) Note. Its ancient ufe began
to revive in 1758 .
FRIENDSHIP, An old Engliſh word uſed by our
anceſtors to fignify the complex idea of affection and
efteem between two or more perfons, founded upon a
virtuous fympathy of tempers, and congenial habits
of virtue ( for the meaning of the word Virtue, fee in
its refpective place.) This custom was totally baniſh-
ed from among us in the reign of King Charles II.
and few or no traces of it have been difcovered ever.
fince.
GOD, The ancient Druids, it is probable from all
hiftorians, imagined that a fuperior being fuperin-
tended the direction of the univerſe, and the term
GOD, it is not unlikely, originally fignified this
fuperior being. But fince it has been happily found
out that every thing was made by chance, or that
nature
A HELP TO ELOCUTION .
225
* nature (Vide Nature in its proper place) produced
every thing we behold ; and fince the properties of
matter have been fufficiently detected by Lord Boling.
broke and others , the term God is totally exploded,
as merely expreffive of fome chimera, which has no
exiſtence.
TUCKER, A bit of linen, cambric, or muflin,
which the ladies ufe, to fhew as much as poffible of
their necks.
MODESTY, Alludes to fome custom among the
ancient Britiſh ladies.
EARTHQUAKE , A party at cards. (Vide Rout,
Drum, or Hurricane. )
FASHION , A polite term of excufe for all the
vices that can be thought of.
NATURE, Nothing at all ; it is often called Plaf-
tic Nature, Univerfal Nature, &c. but the idea is
always the fame .
ROUT, Formerly fignified the defeat of an army,
and when the foldiers were all put to flight, or to the
fword, they were faid to be routed. The ladies, in
order to preferve fome idea of Creffy, Poitiers, Bien-
heim, &c. have agreed to call their affemblies by the
name of Routs. This it is thought they do with
more propriety, as frequently at thefe meetings
whole families are entirely routed out of houfe and
home.
SOUL, It was formerly believed that in each hu-
man creature there exifted fomething incorruptible ,
which was not to perifh with the diffolution of our
bodies, but to be removed to fome other part of the
univerfe, and there to enjoy the reward due to virtue,
or fuffer condign punishment for all tranfgreffions ,
while in this ſtate of probation. But the happy dif-
covery of the properties of matter has alſo baniſhed
this abfurd doctrine, which ferves now to embelliſh
the fictions of poets .
IMMENSE, An epithet of praife ; thus we fay, An
immenfe fine woman, &c. (Vide Damned.)
VIRTUE, The ancient Druids made it a rule to
keep all their paffions in due government, by which
L- 5 means
means they were never known to prejudice their

neighbours, or hurt their own conftitutions by in-
temperance, and this practice, it is probable, was
fignified by the word Virtue. It is ufed by Shake-
fpeare, Spenfer, Milton, Pope, and other poets, as
a pretty ornament for their romantic performances.
(Vide Friendship.)
PITY, This is alſo an old Engliſh word, the mean-
ing of which cannot be traced : it is now a word of
courfe, when we do not care a farthing for a friend
in affliction.
Yours, &c.
Pliny to Paternus.
[ From Melmoth's Tranſlation ofPliny's Letters.]

HE ficknefs which has run through my family,
T and carried off ſeveral of my domeſtics, fome of
them too in the prime of their years, has deeply
afflicted me . I have two confolations, however,
which though they are not equal to fo confiderable
a grief, ftill they are confolations. One is, that
as I have always very readily manumifed my flaves,
their death does not altogether feem immature, if
they lived long enough to receive their freedoms ;
the other, that I have allowed them to make a kind
of a will * , which I obferve as religioufly as if they
were legally intitled to that privilege. I receive and
obey their laſt requeſts as fo many authoritative com-
mands, fuffering them to difpofe of their effects to
whom they pleaſe ; with this fingle reſtriction , that
they leave them to fome in my family, which, to
perfons in their ftations, is to be eſteemed as a fort of
commonwealth. But though I endeavour to acquiefce
under theſe reflections, yet the fame tenderneſs
which led me to fhew them theſe indulgences, ſtill
breaks out and overpowers my ſtrongeſt refolutions.
However, I would not wish to be infenfible to theſe
foft
* A flave could acquire no property, and confequently was
incapable by law of making a will,
foft impreffions of humanity ; though the generality

of the world, I know, look upon loffes of this kind
in no other view, than as a diminution of their pro-
perty, and fancy, by cherishing fuch an unfeeling
temper, they difcover a fuperior fortitude and good
fenfe. Their wisdom and magnanimity I fhall not
difpute, but manly I am fure they are not ; for it is
the very criterion of true manhood to feel thofe im-
preffions of forrow which it endeavours to refift, and
to admit not to be above the want of confolation .
But perhaps I have detained you too long upon this
fubject, though not fo long as I would. There is
a certain pleaſure in giving vent to one's grief; efpe-
cially when we pour out our forrows in the bofom
of a friend, who will approve, at leaſt pardon, our
tears. Farewell.
There is fomething fo uncommonly amiable in this

family piece, that the reader cannot be diſpleaſed with
being flopped a moment to take a ſecond view of it.
If nothing remained of Pliny but this fingular trait
of his character, we might nevertheleſs afluredly pro-
nounce of him, that he was ennobled by every focial
virtue. For as it is certain the greatest minds have
ever been moft open to impreffions of the humane
kind, fo every moral virtue neceffarily flows from
benevolence as from its true and genuine fource. It
is impoffible a man, who has a juft feeling of the
calamities of others, can deliberately break through
the moral ties of any kind ; becauſe it is certain he
cannot do fo without being the occafion of fuffering
to thoſe who ſtand within the influence of the par-
ticular action. This principle alfo will ever afford
the most unnerring tafte of patriotifm , or the pub-
lic affections ; for the cruel and unrelenting in pri-
vate and domeftic life, can never act upon the true
notion of liberty, in the more enlarged relations of
public concerns. With great juftice therefore our
author makes this generous principle the evidence of
manhood ; as Juvenal defcribes a tenderneſs of dif-
pofition to be a principal note of diftinction, which
nature
nature has marked out between the rational and brute
creation.
Heaven gave the tear humane, a fign confeft

Soft pity dwells within the mortal breaſt ;
That nobleft paffion nobleft bofoms know !
Turn'd every virtue from another's woe !
"Tis man's great privilege, the glorious line
That marks from brute, the human foul divine !
Juv. Satyr. 15. 181 .
Pliny to Tacitus.
[From Melmoth's Tranſlation ofPliny's Letters. ]
OUR request that I would fend you an account

YOU of my uncle's death, in order to tranfmit a
more exact relation of it to pofterity, deferves my
acknowledgments ; for if this accident fhall be cele-
brated by your pen, the glory of it, I am well affu-
red, will be rendered for ever illuftrious. And not-
withſtanding he periſhed by a misfortune, vhich, as
it involved at the fame time a moft beautiful country
in ruins, and deſtroyed fo many populous cities,
feems to promife him an everlasting remembrance ;
notwithstanding he has himself compofed many and
lafting works, yet I am perfuaded the mentioning of
him in your immortal writings, will greatly contri-
bute to eternize his name. Happy I efteem thoſe
to be, whom Providence has diftinguiſhed with the
abilities either of doing fuch actions as are worthy
of being related, or of relating them in a manner
worthy of being read ; but doubly happy are they
who are bleffed with both thefe uncommon talents :
in the number of which my uncle, as his own writ-
ings and your hiftory will evidently prove, may justly
be ranked. It is with extreme willingness, there-
fore, I execute your commands ; and fhould indeed
have claimed the task if you had not enjoined it. He
was at that time with the fleet under his command
at
A HELP TO ELOCUTION, 229
at * Mifenum. On the 24th of Auguft, about one
in the afternoon , my mother defired him to obferve
a cloud which appeared of a very unuſual ſize and
fhape. He had just returned from taking the bene-
fit of the fun, and after bathing himſelf in cold
water, and taking a flight repaft, was retired to his
ftudy: he immediately arofe and went out upon an
eminence, from whence he might more diftinctly
view this very uncommon appearance. It was not
at that diſtance difcernible from what mountain this
cloud iffued, but it was found afterwards to afcend
from mount Vefuvius . I cannot give you a more
exact
* In the Gulf of Naples.

The Romans ufed to lie or walk naked in the fun, after
anointing their bodies with oil, which was eſteemed as greatly
contributing to health, and therefore daily practifed by
them. This cuftom , however, of anointing themſelves, is
inveighed againſt by the fatirifts as in the number of their
luxurious indulgences : but fince we find the elder Pliny
here, and the amiable Spurinn , in a former letter, practiſing
this method, we cannot fuppofe the thing itself was efteemed
unmanly, but only when it was attended with fome parti-
cular circumſtances of an over-refined delicacy.
About fix miles diftant from Naples. - This dreadful
eruption happened , A. D. 79. in the first year of the Empe-
ror Titus. Martial has a pretty epigram upon this fubject,
in which he gives us a view of Vefuvius, as it appeared be-
fore this terrible conflagration broke out :
" Hic eft pampineis viridis Vefuvius umbris,
" Prefferat hic madidos nobilis uva Lacus,
" Hæc juga, quàm Nifæ colles, plus Bacchus amavit ;
" Hoc nuper Satyri monte dederê choros.
" Hoc Veneris fedes, Lacedæmone gratior illi ;
" Hic locus Herculeo nomine clarus erat :
" Cuneta jacent flammis, & trifti merfa flavilla ;
" Nec vellent fuperi hoc licuiffe fibi. Lib. 4. Ep. 44.
Here verdant vines o'erfpread Vefuvio's fides ;

The gen'rous grape here pour'd her purple tides.
This Bacchus lov'd beyond his native fcene ;
Here dancing Satyrs joy'd to trip the green.
Far more than Sparta this in Venus ' grace ;
And great Alcides once renown'd the place :
Now
exact defcription of its figure, than by refembling it

to that of a pine tree, for it fhot up a great height
in the form of a trunk, which extended itſelf at the
top into a fort of branches ; occafioned, I imagine,
either by a fudden guft of air that impelled it, the
force of which decreaſed as it advanced upwards, or
the cloud itſelf being preffed back again by its own
weight, expanded in this manner : it appeared
fometimes bright, and fometimes dark and fpotted,
as it was either more or lefs impregnated with earth
and cinders. This extraordinary phenomenon ex-
cited my uncle's philofophical curiofity to take a
nearer view of it. He ordered a light veffel to be
got ready, and gave me the liberty, if I thought
proper, to attend him. I rather choſe to continue
iny ſtudies ; for, as it happened, he had given me
an employment of that kind. As he was coming out
of the houſe * he received a note from Rectina, the
wife of Baſſus , who was in the utmoſt alarm at the
imminent danger which threatened her ; for her villa
being fituated at the foot of mount Vefuvius, there
was no way to eſcape but by fea ; fhe earneſtly in-
treated him therefore to come to her affiftance. He
accordingly changed his firit defign, and what he
began with a philofophical, he purfued with an he-
roical turn of mind. He ordered the gallies to put
to fea, and went himſelf on board with an intention
cf affifting not only Rectina, but ſeveral others ; for
the
Now flaming embers ſpread dire waſte around,

And gods regret that gods can thus confound.
It ſeems probable that this was the firft eruption of mount
Vefuvius, at leaſt of any confequence ; as it is certain we
have no particular accounts of any preceding one. Dio, in-
deed, and other ancient authors, fpeak of it as burning be-
fore ; but ftill they deſcribe it as covered with trees and vines,
fo that the eruptions muſt have been inconfiderable.
The manufcript and printed copies vary extremely from
each other as to the reading of this paffage. The conjecture
of Gefnerus feems the most fatisfactory, as it comes neareſt
the most approved manuſcripts, and beſt falls in with the
Context ; it is therefore adopted in the tranſlation.
8
the villas ftand extremely thick upon that beautiful

coaft. When haftening to the place from whence
others fled with the utmoſt terror, he ſteered his di-
rect courſe to the point of danger, and with fo much
calmness and prefence of mind, as to be able to make
and dictate his obfervations upon the motion and
figure of that dreadful ſcene. He was now fo nigh
the mountain, that the cinders, which grew thicker
and hotter the nearer he approached, fell into the
fhips, together with pumice-ftones, and black pieces
of burning rock : they were likewiſe in danger not
only of being a-ground by the fudden retreat of the
fea, but alſo from the vast fragments which rolled
down from the mountain, and obſtructed all the ſhore.
Here he ſtopped to confider whether he ſhould re-
turn back again ; to which the pilot adviſing him ,
" Fortune," faid he, " befriends the brave ; carry
*
" me to Pomponianus." Pomponianus was then at
Stabiæ, feparated by a gulf, which the fea, after
feveral infenfible windings, forms upon the fhore.
He had already fent his baggage on board ; for
though he was not at that time in actual danger, yet
being within the view of it, and indeed extremely
near, if it fhould in the leaſt increaſe, he was deter-
mined to put to fea as ſoon as the wind fhould change.
It was favourable, however, for carrying my uncle
to Pomponianus, whom he found in the greateſt
confternation : he embraced him with tenderneſs, en-
couraging and exhorting him to keep up his fpirits ;
and, the more to diffipate his fears , he ordered, with
an air of unconcern, the baths to be got ready ;
when, after having bathed, he fat down to fupper
with great cheerfulneſs, or at leaſt (what is equally
heroic ) with all the appearance of it. In the mean
while the eruption from mount Vefuvius flamed out
in feveral places with much violence, which the
darkness of the night contributed to render ſtill more
vifible and dreadful. But my uncle, in order to
footh
* Now called Caftel é Mar di Stabia, in the Gulf of

Naples.
&
footh the apprehenfions of his friend, affured him it

was only the burning of the villages, which the
country people had abandoned to the flames : after
this he retired to reſt, and it is moſt certain he was
fo little difcompofed as to fall into a deep fleep ; for
being pretty fat, and breathing hard, thofe who at-
tended without actually heard him fnore. The court
which led to his apartment being now almost filled
with ftones and afhes, if he had continued there any
time longer, it would have been impoffible for him
to have made his way out ; it was thought proper
therefore to awaken him. He got up, and went to
Pomponianus and the reft of his company, who were
not unconcerned enough to think of going to bed.
They confulted together whether it would be moſt
prudent to truft to the houfes, which now fhook
from fide to fide with frequent and violent concuffions,
or fly to the open fields, where the calcined ftones
and cinders, though light indeed, yet fell in large
fhowers, and threatened deftruction. In this diftrefs
they refolved for the fields, as the lefs dangerous
fituation ofthe two . a reſolution which, while the reft
of the company were hurried into by their fears, my
uncle embraced upon cool and deliberate confidera-
tion. They went out then, having pillows tied
upon their heads with napkins ; and this was their
whole defence againſt the ſtorm of ſtones that fell
round them . It was now day every where elfe, but
there a deeper darknefs prevailed than in the moſt
obfcure night ; which however was in fome degree
diffipated by torches and other lights of various kinds.
They thought proper to go down farther upon the
fhore to obferve if they might fafely put out to fea,
but they found the waves itill run extremely high
and boisterous. There my uncle having drank a
draught or two of cold water, threw himſelf down
upon a cloth which was fpread for him , when imme-
diately the flames, and a ftrong fmell of fulphur
which was the forerunner of them, difperfed the reft
of the company, and obliged him to rife. He raiſed
himfelf up with the affiftance of two of his fervants,
and
and inſtantly fell down dead ; fuffocated, as I con-
jecture, by fome grofs and noxious vapour, having
always had weak lungs, and frequently fubject to a
difficulty of breathing. As foon as it was light again,
which was not till the third day after this melancholy
accident, his body was found entire, and without
any marks of violence upon it, exactly in the fame
pofture that he fell, and looking more like a man
afleep than dead. During all this time my mother
and I were at Mifenum.- But as this has no con-
nection with your history ; fo your inquiry went no
farther than concerning my uncle's death ; with that
therefore I will put an end to my letter : fuffer me
only to add, that I have faithfully related to you
what I was either an eye-witness of myfelf, or re-
ceived immediately after the accident happened, and
before there was time to vary the truth. You will
chooſe out of this narrative fuch circumstances as
fhall be moſt fuitable to your purpoſe : for there is a
great difference between what is proper for a letter,
and an hiftory ; between writing to a friend, and
writing to the public. Farewell.
Pliny to Cornelius Tacitus.
[From Melmoth's Translation ofPliny's Letters. ]
HE letter which, in compliance with your re-

Tqueft, Iwrote toyou concerning the death of
TH
my uncle, has raifed, it feems, your curiofity to
know what terrors and dangers attended me while I
continued at Mifenum ; for there, I think, the ac-
count in my former broke off :
Tho' my fhock'd foul recoils, my tongue ſhall tell * .
My uncle having left us, I purfued the ftudies which

prevented my going with him till it was time to
bathe ;
Virg. Pitt's Tranſlation.

bathe ; after which I went to fupper, and from thence

to bed, where my fleep was greatly broken and dif-
turbed. There had been for many days before fome
fhocks of an earthquake, which the lefs furpriſed us,
as they are extremely frequent in Campania ; but
they were fo particularly violent that night, that they
not only fhook every thing about us, but feemed in-
deed to threaten total deftruction. My mother flew
to my chamber, where the found me rifing in order
to awaken her. We went out into a fnrall court be-
longing to the houfe, which feparated the fea from
the buildings. As I was at that time but eighteen
years of age, I know not whether I fhould call my
behaviour in this dangerous juncture, courage or
rafhnefs ; but I took up Livy, and amuſed myſelf
with turning over that author, and even making ex-
tracts from him , as if all about me had been in full
fecurity. While we were in this pofture, a friend
of my uncle's, who was juft come from Spain to pay
him a vifit, joined us, and obferving me fitting by
my mother with a book in my hand, greatly con-
demned her calmnefs, at the fame time that he re-
proved me for my carelefs fecurity : nevertheless I ftill
went on with my author. Though it was now morn-
ing, the light was exceedingly faint and languid ;
the buildings all around us tottered , and though we
ftood upon open ground, yet as the place was narrow
and confined, there was no remaining there without
certain and great danger ; we therefore refolved to
quit the town. The people followed us in the ut-
moſt confternation, and (as to a mind diſtracted with
terror, every fuggeftion feems more prudent than its
own) preffed in great crowds about us in our way out.
Being got at a convenient diftance from the houſes,
we ſtood still, in the midſt of a most dangerous and
dreadful ſcene. The chariots, which we had ordered
to be drawn out, were fo agitated backwards and
forwards, though upon the most level ground, that
we could not keep them fteady, even by fupporting
them with large ftones. The fea feemed to roll
back upon itſelf, and to be driven from its banks by
the
the convulfive motion of the earth ; it is certain at
leaft the fhore was confiderably enlarged , and ſeveral
fea-animals were left upon it. On the other fide, a
black and dreadful cloud bursting with an igneous
ferpentine vapor, darted out a long train of fire, re-
fembling flashes of lightning, but much larger.
Upon this our Spanish friend, whom I mentioned
above, addreffing himſelf to my mother and me with
greater warmth and earneftnefs : " If your brother
and your uncle," faid he, " is fafe, he certainly
" wishes you may be fo too ; but if he periſhed, it
66 was his defire no doubt, that you might both fur-
" vive him : why therefore do you delay your eſcape
66 a moment ?" We could never think of our own
fafety, we faid, while we were uncertain of his.
Hereupon our friend left us , and withdrew from the
danger with the utmost precipitation. Soon after-
wards the cloud feemed to defcend and cover the
whole ocean ; as indeed, it entirely hid the ifland of *
Caprea, and the promontory of Mifenum . My
mother ftrongly conjured me to make my eſcape at
any rate, which as I was young I might eafily do :
as for herſelf, fſhe ſaid, her age and corpulency ren-
dered all attempts of that fort impoffible ; however
fhe would willingly meet death, if he could have the
fatisfaction of feeing that he was not the occafion of
mine. But I abfolutely refuſed to leave her, and
taking her by the hand, I led her on the complied
with great reluctance, and not without many re-
proaches to herself for retarding my flight. The
ashes now began to fall upon us, though in no great
quantity. I turned my head, and obferved behind
us a thick ſmoke, which came rolling after us like a
torrent. I propofed, while we had yet any light, to
turn out of the high road, left ſhe ſhould be preffed
to death in the dark by the crowd that followed us.
We had fearce stepped out of the path, when dark-
nefs overſpread us, not like that of a cloudy night,
or when there is no moon, but of a room when it is
fhut
An iſland near Naples, now called Capri.

ſhut up, and all the lights extinct. Nothing them

was to be heard but the fhrieks of women, the ſcreams
of children, and the cries of men ; fome calling for
their children , others for their parents, others for
their huſbands, and only diſtinguiſhing each other by
their voices ; one lamenting his own fate, another
that of his family ; fome wifhing to die, from the
very fear of dying ; fome lifting their hands to the
gods ; but the greater part imagining that the laſt
and eternal night was come, which was to deftroy
*
both the gods and the world together. Among
thefe there was fome who augmented the real terrors
by imaginary ones, and made the frighted multitude
falfely believe that Mifenum was actually in flames.
At length a glimmering light appeared, which we
imagined to be rather the forerunner of an approach--
ing burit of flames, (as in truth it was) than the re-
turn of day however, the fire fell at a diſtance from
us : then again we were immerſed in thick darkneſs,
and a heavy ſhower of afhes rained upon us, which we
were obliged every now and then to ſhake off, otherwiſe
we ſhould have been cruſhed and buried in the heap.
I might boaſt that, during all this fcene of horror,
not a figh or expreffion of fear efcaped from me, had
not my fupport been founded in that miferable,
though ftrong confolation, that all mankind were in-
volved in the fame calamity, and that I imagined I
was perishing with the world itſelf. At last this
dreadful darknefs was diffipated by degrees, like a
cloud or finoke ; the real day returned, and even the
fun appeared, though very faintly, and as when an
eclipfe is coming on. Every object that prefented .
itſelf to our eyes, (which were extremely weakened )
feemed changed, being covered with white afhes, as
with
* The Stoic and Epicurean philofophers held, that the
world was to be destroyed by fire, and all things fall again
into original chaos ; not excepting even the national gods
themfelves from the deftruction of this general conflagration .
Mr. Addifon, in his account of mount Vefuvio, ob-
ferves, that the air ofthe place is fo very much impregnated
with falt-petre, that one can fcarce find a ftone which has
not the top white with it. Travels, 182 .
with a deep fnow. We returned to Mifenum, where
we refreſhed ourſelves as well as we could, and paſſed
an anxious night between hope and fear ; though,
indeed, with a much larger ſhare of the latter : for
the earthquake ftill continued, while feveral enthu-
fiaftic people ran up and down heightening their own
and their friends calamities by terrible predictions.
However, my mother and I, notwithſtanding the
danger we had paffed , and that which ftill threatened
us, had no thoughts of leaving the place , till we
fhould receive fome account from my uncle.
And now, you will read this narrative without any
view of inferting it in your hiftory, of which it is by
no means worthy ; and indeed you must impute it
to your own requeſt, if it fhall appear ſcarce to deferve
even the trouble of a letter. Farewell.
From Mr. Gay to Mr. F.
Stanton-Harcourt, Aug. 9, 1718.

HE only news that you can expect from me
THE here , is news from heaven , for I am quite out
of the world ; and there is ſcarce any thing that can
reach me except the noife of thunder, which un-
doubtedly you have heard too. We have read, in
old authors, of high towers levelled by it to the
ground, while the humble valleys have efcaped :
the only thing that is proof against it is the laurel,
which, however, I take to be no great fecurity to
the brains of modern authors. But to let you fee
that the contrary to this often happens, I muſt ac-
quaint you, that the higheſt and moſt extravagant
heap of towers which is in this neighbourhood, ftand
ftill undefaced, while a cock of barley in our next
field has been confumed to afhes. Would to God
that this heap of barley had been all that had perished!
for unhappily beneath this little fhelter fat two,
much more conftant lovers than ever were found in
romance under the fhade of a beech tree. John
Hewit was a well-fet man of about five-and-twenty ;
Sarah
Sarah Drew might be rather called comely than beau
tiful, and was about the fame age. They had paſſed
through the various labours of the year together,
with the greateſt fatisfaction. If the milked, it was
his morning and evening care to bring the cows to
her hand. It was but laft fair that he bought her a
prefent of green filk for her ſtraw hat, and the pofy
on her filver ring was of his choofing. Their love
was the talk of the whole neighbourhood ; for ſcandal
never affirmed that he had any other views than the
lawful poffeffion of her in marriage.. It was that
very morning that he had obtained the confent of her
parents, and it was but till the next week that they
were to wait to be happy : perhaps in the intervals of
their work they were now talking of their wedding-
cloaths, and John was fuiting feveral forts of poppies
and field-flowers to her complexion, to chooſe her a
knot for her wedding day. While they were thus
bufied (it was on the laft of July, between two and
three in the afternoon) the clouds grew black, and
fuch a ſtorm of lightning and thunder enfued, that
all the labourers made the best of their way to what
fhelter the trees and hedges afforded .
Sarah was frighted, and fell down in a fwoon on a
heap of barley. John, who never feparated from
her, fat down by her fide, having raked together two
or three heaps, the better to fecure her from the
ftorm. Immediately there was heard fo loud a crack,
as if heaven had ſplit afunder ; every one was now
folicitous for the fafety of his neighbour, and called
for one another throughout the field : no anſwer be-
ing returned to thoſe who called to our lovers, they
ftept to the place where they lay ; they perceived the
barley all in a ſmoke, and fpied this faithful pair,
John with one arm about Sarah's neck, and the
other held over, as to fcreen her from the lightning.
They were ftruck dead, and ſtiffened in this tender
pofture. Sarah's left eyebrow was finged, and there
appeared a black ſpot on her breast : her lover was
all over black ; but not the leaſt ſign of life was found
in either. Attended by their melancholy companions,
they
they were conveyed to the town, and the next day
interred in Stanton- Harcourt church-yard. My Lord
Harcourt, at Mr. Pope's and my requeft, has caufed
a ftone to be placed over them, upon condition that
we furniſh the epitaph , which is as follows :
When eaſtern lovers feed the fun❜ral fire,

Onthe fame pile the faithful pair expire :
Here pitying Heaven that virtue mutual found,
And blaſted both, that it might neither wound.
Hearts fo fincere th' Almighty faw well pleas'd,
Sent his own lightning, and the victims feiz’d.
But my Lord is apprehenfive the country people

will not underſtand this ; and Mr. Pope fays he will
make one with fomething of fcripture in it, and with
as little of poetry as Hopkins and Sternhold.
Yours, &c.
The Epitaph was this :

Near this place lie the bodies of
JOHN HEWIT and MARY DREW,
an induſtrious young man
and virtuous maiden of this pariſh ;
who being at harveſt work,
(with feveral others )
were, in one inftant, killed bylightning,
the laſt day of July, 1718.
Think not, by rig'rous judgment feiz'd,

A pair fo faithful could expire ;
Victims fo pure Heav'n faw well pleas'd,
And fnatch'd them in celeſtial fire.
Live well and fear no ſudden fate ;
When God calls virtue to the grave,
Alike ' tis juftice, foon or late,
Mercy alike to kill or fave.
Virtue, unmov'd, can hear the call,
And face the flaſh that melts the ball.
Letter
Letter from Lady M-y Wy Me to

Mr. P-e.
Dover, Nov. 1. O. S. 1718.

HAVE this minute received a letter of yours
I fent me from Paris . I believe and hope I fhall
very foon fee both you and Mr. Congreve ; but as I
am here in an inn, where we ftay to regulate our
march to London, bag and baggage, I fhall employ
fome Part of my leifure time in anfwering that part
of yours that feems to require an anſwer.
I muſt applaud your good- nature in fuppofing that
your paftoral lovers (vulgarly called hay-makers )
would have lived in everlafting joy and harmony, if
the lightning had not interrupted their fcheme of
happiness. I fee no reafon to imagine that John
Hewit and Sarah Drew were either wifer or more
virtuous than their neighbours. That a well-fet
man of twenty-five fhould have a fancy to marry a
brown woman of eighteen, is nothing marvellous ;
and I cannot help thinking that, had they married,
their lives would have paffed in the common track
with their fellow- parishioners. His endeavouring to
fhield her from a ftorm was a natural action , and
what he would certainly have done for his horfe, if
he had been in the fame fituation . Neither am I of
opinion that their fudden death was a reward of their
mutual virtue. You know the Jews were reproved
for thinking a village deftroyed by fire more wicked
than thoſe that had eſcaped the thunder. Time and
chance happen to all men. Since you deſire me to
try my fkill in an epitaph, I think the following lines
perhaps more juft, though not fo poetical as yours.
Here lie John Hewit and Sarah Drew ;

Perhaps you'll fay, What's that to you?
Believe me, friend, much may be faid
On that poor couple that are dead.
On
On Sunday next they ſhould have married ;
But fee how oddly things are carried !
On Thurſday laft it rain'd and lighten'd,
Theſe tender lovers fadly frighten'd,
Shelter'd beneath the cocking hay,
In hopes to pafs the time away.
But the bold thunder found them out,
(Commiffion'd for that end, no doubt)
And feizing on their trembling breath,
Confign'd them to the fhades of death.
Who knows if 'twas not kindly done ?
For had they ſeen the next year's fun,
A beaten wife and cuckold fwain
Had jointly curs'd the marriage chain :
Now they are happy in their doom ,
FOR POPE HAS WROTE UPON THEIR TOMB.
I confeſs theſe fentiments are not altogether fo he

roic as yours ; but I hope you will forgive them in
favour of the two laft lines. You fee how much I
eſteem the honour you have done them ; though I
am not very impatient to have the fame, and had
rather continue to be your ſtupid living humble fer-
vant, than be celebrated by all the pens in Europe.
The Story of the Eremite.
[From Dr. More's Divine Dialogues. ]
This Story is beautifully verfified by Dr. Parnell.
CERTAIN Eremite having conceived great

administration
Divine Providence in external occurrences in the
world, in this anxiety of mind was refolved to leave
his cell and travel abroad, and fee with his own eyes
how things went in the world. He had not gone half
a day's journey, but a young man overtook him and
joined company with him, and infinuated himſelf fo
far into the Eremite's affection, that he thought him-
M felf
ſelf very happy in that he had got fo agreeable a

companion. Wherefore, refolving to take their for-
tunes together, they always lodged in the fame
houfe. Some few days travels had overpaft before
the Eremite took notice of any thing remarkable.
But at laſt he obſerved that his fellow-traveller, with
whom he had contracted fo intimate a friendſhip, in
an houſe where they were extraordinary well treated,
ftole away a gilt cup from the gentleman of the
houſe, and carried it away with him. The Eremite
was very much aſtoniſhed with what he faw done by
fo fair and agreeable a perfon as he conceived him to
be ; but thought not yet fit to ſpeak to him, or feem
to take notice of it. And therefore they travel fairly
on together as aforetimes, until night forced them
to feek lodging. But they light upon fuch an houſe
as had a very unhofpitable owner, who fhut them out
into the outward court, and expofed them all night
to the injury of the open weather, which chanced
then to be very rainy : but the Eremite's fellow- tra-
veller unexpectedly compenfated his hoft's ill enter-
tainment with no meaner a reward than the gilt cup
he had carried away from the former place, thrusting
it in at the window when they departed. This the
Eremite thought was very pretty, and that it was
not covetoufnefs, but humour, that made him take it
away from its firſt owner. The next night, where
they lodged, they were treated again with a great
deal of kindness and civility ; but the Eremite ob-
ferved with horror that his fellow- traveller, for an
ill requital, ftrangled privately a young child of their
fo courteous hoft in the cradle. This perplexed the
mind ofthe poor Eremite very much ; but in fadnefs
and patience forbearing to fpeak, he travelled another
day's journey with the young man, and at evening
took up in a place where they were more made of
than any where hitherto ; and becauſe the way they
were to travel the next morning was not fo eafy to
find, the maſter of the houſe commanded one of his
fervants to go part of the way to direct them ; whom ,
while they were paffing over a ftone bridge, the Ere-
mite's
mite's fellow-traveller caught fuddenly betwixt the

legs, and pitched him headlong from off the bridge
into the river, and drowned him . Here the Eremite
could have no longer patience, but flew bitterly upon
his fellow-traveller for thefe barbarous actions, and
renounced all friendſhip with him, and would travel
with him no longer, nor keep him company. Where-
upon the young man fmiling at the honeft zeal of
the Eremite, and putting off his mortal difguife, ap-
peared, as he was, in the form and luftre of an angel
of God, and told him that he was fent to eaſe his
mind ofthe great anxiety it was incumbered with
touching the Divine Providence. In which, faid
he, nothing can occur more perplexing and paradoxi-
cal than what you have been offended at, fince we
two travelled together. But yet I will demonftrate
to you, faid he, that all I have done is very juſt and
right. For as for that firſt man from whom I took
the gilded cup, it was a real compenſation indeed of
his hofpitality ; that cup being fo forcible an occafion
of the good man's distempering himſelf, and of ha-
zarding his health and life, which would be a great
lofs to his poor neighbours, he being of fo good and
charitable a nature. But I put it into the window
of that harſh and unhoſpitable man that uſed us fo
ill, not as a booty to him, but as a plague and fcourge
to him, and for an eafe to his oppreffed neighbours,
that he may fall into intemperance, difeafes, and
death itſelf. For I knew very well that there was
that inchantment in this cup, that they that had it
would be thus bewitched with it. And as for that
civil perfon whofe child I ftrangled in the cradle, it
was in great mercy to him, and no real hurt to the
child, who is now with God. But if that child had
lived, whereas this gentleman hitherto had been
pioufly, charitably, and devoutly given, his mind, I
faw, would have unavoidably funk into the love of the
world out of love to his child, he having had none
before, and doting fo hugely on it ; and therefore I
took away this momentary life from the body of the
child, that the foul of the father might live for ever.
M 2 And
And for this laft fact, which you fo much abhor, it
was the moſt faithful piece of gratitude I could do to
one that had uſed us fo humanely and kindly as that
gentleman did. For this man, who, by the appoint-
ment of his maſter, was ſo officious to us as to fhew
us the way, intended this very night enfuing to let
a company of rogues into his maſter's houſe, to rob
him of all that he had, if not to murder him and his
family. And having faid thus he vanished. But the
poor Eremite, tranſported with joy and amazement,
lift up his hands and eyes to heaven, and gave glory
to God, who had thus unexpectedly delivered him
from any farther anxiety touching the ways of his
providence ; and thus returned with cheerfulneſs to
his forfaken cell, and ſpent the refidue of his days
there in piety and peace.
Narration of a real Fact, containing a very re-

markable Inftance of the Power ofConfcience.
[From Fordyce's Dialogues, Vol. II . p. 401. ]
A of confiderable wealth, having occafion, in the

way of his bufinefs, to travel at fome diſtance from
the place of his abode, took along with him a fervant,
in order to take care of his portmanteau . He had
along with him fome of his beſt jewels, and a large
fum of money, to which his fervant was likewiſe
privy. The maſter having occafion to difmount on
the road, the fervant watched his opportunity, took
a pistol from his maſter's faddle, and fhot him dead
on the fpot ; then rifling him of his jewels and
money, and hanging a large ftone to his neck, he
threw him into the nearest canal. With this booty
he made off to a diftant part of the country, where
he had reaſon to believe that neither he nor his maf-
ter were known. There he began to trade in a very
low way at first, that his obfcurity might fcreen him
from obfervation ; and, in the courſe of a good many
years,
1 years, feemed to rife, by the naturn! progrefs of

bufinefs, into wealth and confideration ; fo that his
good fortune appeared at once the effect and reward
of his industry and virtue. Of theſe he counter-
feited the appearances fo well, that he grew into
great credit, married into a good family, and by lay-
ing out his hidden ſtores diſcreetly as he faw occafion ,
and joining to all an univerſal affability, he was ad-
mitted to a ſhare of the government of the town, and
rofe from one poft to another, until at length he was
chofen chief magiftrate .
In this office he maintained a fair character, and
continued to fill it with no fmall applaufe, both as a
governor and a judge ; until one day, as he fat on
the bench with fome of his brethren, a criminal was
brought before them, who was accuſed of having
murdered his mafter. The evidence came out full,
the jury brought in their verdict that the prifoner
was guilty, and the whole aflembly waited the fen-
tence of the prefident of the court (which he hap-
pened to be that day ) with great fufpenfe. Mean
while he appeared to be in an unuſual diſorder and
agitation of mind, his colour changed often ; at length
he roſe from his feat, and coming down from the bench,
placed himſelfjuſt by the unfortunate man at the bar,
to the no fmall aſtoniſhment of all prefent. " You
" fee before you," ſaid he, addreffing himſelf to thoſe
who had fat onthe bench with him, " a ſtriking inſtance
" ofthe juſt awards of Heaven, which this day, after
66
thirty years concealment, prefents to you a greater
" criminal than the man just nowfound guilty." Then
he made an ample confeffion of his guilt, and of all
its aggravations, particularly the ingratitude of it to
a mafter who had raiſed him from the very duft, and
repofed a peculiar confidence in him ; and told them
in what manner he had hitherto fcreened himſelf
from public juſtice, and how he had eſcaped the ob-
fervation of mankind by the fpecious mafk he had
wore. " But now," added he, " no fooner did this
" unhappy prifoner appear before us, charged with
the fame crime I was confcious of myſelf, than
M3 " the
246. A HELP TO ELOCUTION .
" the cruel circumftances of my guilt befet me in all

" their horror, the arrows of the Almighty ſtuck
faft within me, and my own crime appeared fo
" atrocious, that I could not confent to pafs fen-
" tence againſt my fellow-criminal, until I had firſt
" impannelled and accufed myſelf. Nor can I now
" feel any relief from the agonies of an awakened
" confcience, but by requiring that juftice may be
" forthwith done against me in the moſt public and
" folemn manner, for fo aggravated a parricide ;
" therefore, in the prefence of the all-feeing God,,
the great Witnefs and Judge of my crime, and
" before this whole affembly, who have been the
" witneffes of my hypocrify, I plead guilty, and
66
require fentence may be paffed againſt me as a
moft notorious malefactor." We may eafily fup-
pofe the amazement of all the affembly, and efpe-
cially of his fellow-judges : however, they proceeded,
upon his confeffion, to pafs fentence upon him, and
he died with all the fymptoms of a penitent mind.-
An examplary inftance of the fatal effects of an exor-
bitant paffion, and the tremendous juftice of Provi-
dence in detecting one of the moſt cool and artful
villains, after fuch a long concealment !
Extract from Lord Bolingbroke's Letters.

MY LORD , 1736.
OU have engaged me on a fubject which inter-
YOU rupts the ſeries ofthofe letters I was writing to
you ; but it is one which, I confefs, I have very.
much at heart. I fhall therefore explain myſelf
fully, nor bluſh to reafon on principles that are out
of faſhion among men who intend nothing by ferving
the public, but to feed their avarice, their vanity,
and their luxury, without the fenfe of any duty they
owe to God or man.
It ſeems to me, that in order to maintain the mo-
ral fyftem of the world at a certain point, far below
that of ideal perfection , (for we are made capable of
conceiving
conceiving what we are incapable of attaining) but

however fufficient, upon the whole, to conftitute a
ftate eafy and happy, or at the worst tolerable ; I
fay, it feems to me, that the Author of nature has
thought fit to mingle, from time to time, among
the focieties of men, a few, and but a few of thoſe,
on whom he is gracioufly pleafed to beftow a larger
proportion of the ethereal fpirit than is given in the
ordinary courfe of his providence to the fons of men.
Thefe are they who engroſs almoft the whole reafon
of the fpecies, who are born to inftruct, to guide,
and to preferve ; who are defigned to be the tutors
and the guardians of human kind . When they
prove fuch, they exhibit to us examples of the
highest virtue and the trueft piety ; and they deferve
to have their feſtivals kept, instead of that pack of
Anachorites and Enthufiafts, with thofe names the
Calendar is crowded and difgraced . When thefe
men apply their talents to other purpofes, when they
ftrive to be great and defpife being good, they com-
mit a moft facrilegious breach of truft ; they per-
vert the means, they defeat, as far as lies in them ,
the deſigns of Providence, and diſturb, in fome fort,
the fyftem of Infinite Wifdom. To mifapply thefe
talents is the moſt diffuſed, and therefore the greateſt
of crimes in its nature and confequences ; but to
keep them unexerted and unemployed, is a crime
too. Look about you, my Lord, from the palace
to the cottage, you will find that the bulk of man-
kind is made to breathe the air of this atmoſphere,
to roam about this globe, and to confume, like the
courtiers of Alcinous , the fruits of the earth. Nos
numerusfumus & fruges confumere nati. When they
have trod this intipid round a certain number of years,
and begot others to do the fame after them , they
have lived ; and if they have performed, in fome to-
lerable degree, the ordinary moral duties of life, they
have done all they were born to do . Look about
you again, my Lord, nay, look into your own breaft,
and you will find that there are fuperior fpirits, men
who fhew even from their infancy, though it be not
M 4 always
always perceived by others, perhaps not always felt

by themfelves, that they were born for fomething
more, and better. Theſe are the men to whom the
part I mentioned is affigned : their talents denote
their general defignation, and the opportunities of
conforming themfelves to it, that arife in the courſe
of things, or that are prefented to them by any cir-
cumſtances of rank and fituation in the fociety to
which they belong, denote the particular vocation
which it is not lawful for them to refift, nor even to
neglect. The duration of the lives of fuch men
as thefe is to be determined, I think, by the length
and importance of the parts they act, not by the
number of years that pafs between their coming into
the world and their going out of it. Whether the
piece be of three or five acts, the part may be
long ; and he who fuftains it through the whole,
may be faidto die in the fulness of years ; whilft he,
who declines it fooner, may be faid not to live out half
his days .
On the Duty of Children to Parents.
HE courfe and compafs of God's providence,

THE and his methods of eftablishing and evidencing
the meaſures of reciprocal duty, is no where more
remarkable than in the mutual obligations between
parents and their children.
The child comes into the world naked and helpleſs ,
and from himſelf more deftitute of the natural means
of fecurity and fupport, than almoſt any of the infe-
rior creatures. In this exigency the paternal care
and tenderneſs fteps in to his relief, fupplies all his
neceffities, and relieves all his wants ; bears with all
his untowardly difpofitions, at an age when he is
neither capable of being corrected or convinced ; and
not only provides the propereft food for him, when
he is incapable of providing any for himſelf, but like-
wife adminifters it when he is incapable of feeding
himself; bears with all degrees of his folly and im-
pertinence,
pertinence, liftens to all his trifling and idle inquiries,

not only with patience, but with pleafure, until
they gradually conduct him to health, and ſtrength,
and knowledge.
But the child is not long arrived at this perfection
of his nature, before his parents begin to fall gradually
into the fame infirmities through which they but
lately conducted and fupported their children, and to
need the fame affiftance which they lately lent. And
first they begin to grow fickly, and then they call for
the aid of that health which they cultivated and took
care of in their children.
The lofs of cheerfulneſs and good- humour com-
monly fucceed the lofs of health ; the old parents are
uneafy, and fret at all about them. And now is the
time for children to return that tenderneſs and pa-
tience to their parents' peeviſhneſs, without fourneſs
or reproof, which their parents had long lent them in
all their childifh perverfenefs, at an age when they
were not capable of being corrected .
In the next place, the old parents grow trouble-
fomely talkative, and (as youth is too apt to think)
impertinent, and dwell eternally upon the obferva-
tions and adventures of their times and early years.
Remember, you alfo had your time of being talkative
and impertinent, and your parents bore with you ;
but with this difference, you aſked them filly and
trifling questions, and they now tell you wife and
ufeful obfervations. But they are troublefome, be-
cauſe they tell them too often. The answer to this
is very obvious ; if your parents bore your folly,
you may well bear their wifdom ; and although per--
haps they talk more than is neceffary to inform you
of prefent things, yet their converfation turns moftly
upon things pait, perhaps paft many years before you
came into the world, and confequently fuch as they
must know a thouſand times better than you. Or
though they ſhould talk more than is neceffary to in-
form you, they do not talk more than is neceffary to
inform your fervants or your children, who are now
come to an age of alking many queſtions ; and there-
M 5 fore
fore Providence hath well appointed, that their

grandfather or their grandmother are now in an hu-
mour to anſwer them all, and to fupply them with a
ftore of uſeful obfervations which they want ; nay,
which they want to hear over and over again, which
they want to have inculcated a thouſand times, and
which, without this affiftance, would require a courſe
ofyears to acquire for themſelves. So that the hu-
mour of talkativenefs, which is commonly thought.
fo troubleſome in old people, hath its ufe, and is
moft excellently appointed by Almighty God. But
fay it were not, the children, in bearing with it,
do but barely return their parents what they long
fince owed them.
In the next place, the ftrength of the old parents
fails them, and they cannot walk without a fupport ;
but fure you will not let them want one ! how many
years did they bear you in their arms ? how many
more did they lead you where you would be, and
faved you from falling and from danger ? and will
you now fuffer thoſe old limbs to totter and fall to the
earth, which fo often fupported and faved yours
when they were weak and tender, and unable to fup-
port and fave themfelves ? certainly you will not,
you cannot at once be guilty of fo much cruelty and
ingratitude. In the laft place, the underſtanding of
the old parents begins to fail, and the ſtrength of
their minds doth not long outlive the ſtrength of their
bodies, but decays gradually till they become again
children ; their teeth fall, and their tongues falter,
and they are once more infants, and are now con-
fined to their beds, as they were at first to their
cradles. This is the laft ftage of life ; and here they
demand all that care, and compaffion, and tender-
nefs at your hands, when they are just going out of
the world, which you called for at theirs when you
first came into it.
A Letter
A Letter to a Young Gentleman at School.
DEAR MASTER F.
AM glad to hear you are well fixt in your new
I fchool. I have now before me the three laſt let-
ters which you fent your father, and, at his defire ,
am going to give you a few directions concerning let-
ter-writing, in hopes they may be of fome fmall
fervice toward improving your talent that way.
When you fit down to write, call off your thoughts
from every other thing but the fubject you intend to
handle confider it with attention, place it in every
point of view, and examine it on every fide before
you begin. By this means you will lay a plan of it
in your mind, which will rife like a well-contrived
building, beautiful, uniform, and regular : whereas,
if you neglect to form to yourſelf fome method of
going through the whole, and leave it to be conducted
by giddy accident, your thoughts upon any fubject
can never appear otherwife than as a mere heap of
confufion. Confider you are now to form a ſtyle, or,
in other words, to learn the way of expreffing what
you think ; and your doing it well or ill for your
whole life, will depend, in a great meaſure, upon
the manner you fall into at the beginning. It is of
great confequence, therefore, to be attentive and
diligent at firft ; as an expreffive, genteel , and eaſy
manner of writing is fo ufeful, fo engaging a quality,
that whatever pains it cofts it amply will repay. Nor
is the taſk fo difficult as you at first may think, a little
practice and attention will enable you to lay down
your thoughts in order ; and I, from time to time,
will inftruct and give you rules for fo doing. But, on
your part, I fhall expect obfervance and application,
without which nothing can be done.
As to the fubjects, you are allowed in this way the
utmoſt liberty. Whatfoever has been done, or thought,
or feen, or heard ; your obfervations on what you
know, your inquiries about what you do not know ;
the
1
the time, the place, the weather, every thing around

ftands ready for your purpofe ; and the more variety
you intermix, the better. Set difcourfes require a
dignity or formality of ftyle fuitable to the fubject ;
whereas letter-writing rejects all pomp of words, and
is moft agreeable when moſt familiar. But though
lofty phrafes are here improper, the ſtyle must not
therefore fink into meannefs : and, to prevent its doing
fo, an eafy complaifance, an open fincerity, and unaf-
fected good-nature, fhould appear in every place. A
letter fhould wear an honeft, cheerful countenance,
like one who truly eſteems, and is glad to fee his
friend ; and not look like a fop admiring his own
drefs, and feemingly pleaſed with nothing but himſelf.
Expreis your meaning as briefly as poffible ; long
periods may pleaſe the ear, but they perplex the un-
derſtanding. Let your letters abound with thoughts
more than words. A ſhort ſtyle, and plain, frikes
the mind, and fixes an impreffion ; a tedious one is
feldom clearly underſtood, and never long remem-
bered. But there is ſtill fomething requifite beyond
all this, towards the writing a polite and agreeable
letter, fuch as a gentleman ought to be diſtinguiſhed
by; and that is, an air of good-breeding and huma-
nity, which ought conftantly to appear in every ex-
preffion, and give a beauty to the whole. By this I
would not be fuppofed to mean overſtrained or affected
compliments, or any thing that way tending ; but an
eafy, genteel, and obliging manner of addrefs, a
choice of words which bear the moſt civil meaning,
and a generous and good -natured complaifance.
What I have faid of the ftyle of your letters, is
intended as a direction for your converfation alfo, of
which your care is neceffary, as well as of your
writing. As the profeffion allotted for you will re-
quire you to fpeak in public, you ſhould be more
than ordinary folicitous how to exprefs yourſelf,
upon all occafions, in a clear and proper manner, and
to acquire an habit of ranging your thoughts readily,
in apt and handſome terms ; and not blunder out
your meaning, or be aſhamed to fpeak it for want of
words.
words. Common converfation is not of fo little con-
fequence as you may imagine ; and if you now ac-
cuftom yourſelf to talk at random, you will find it
hereafter not eaſy to do otherwiſe.
I wish you good fuccefs in all your ſtudies , and am
certain your capacity is equal to all your father's
hopes. Confider, the advantage will be all your
own ; and your friends can have no other fhare of it,
but the fatisfaction of feeing you a learned and a vir-
tuous man. I am, &c.
The Duty ofendeavouring to obtain Wiſdom, and

the Ufe and Importance ofit.
ISDOM is of itſelf delectable and fatisfactory.

WTSIt is like light, pleaſant to behold, cafting a
fprightly luftre, and diffufing a benign influence all-
about ; difplaying objects in their due fhapes, pof-
tures, magnitudes, and colours ; difpelling the dark-
nefs of ignorance, fcattering the mifts of doubt, and
driving away the ſpectres of delufive fancy ; diſcover-
ing obftacles, fecuring the progreſs, and making the
paffages of life clear, open, and pleafant. Wifdom
begets in us a hope of fuccefs in our actions, and is
ufually attended therewith . Now, what is more deli-
cious than hope? what more fatisfactory than fucceſs ?
and he that aims at a good end, and knows he uſes
proper means to attain it, why ſhould he deſpair of
fuccefs, fince effects naturally follow their caufes, and
the Divine Providence is wont to afford his concur-
rence to fuch proceedings ? Wifdom makes all the
troubles, griefs, and pains incident to life, whether
cafual adverfities, or natural afflictions, eafy and fup-
portable, by rightly valuing the importance, and mo-
deratingthe influences of them . It fuffers not buſy
fancy to alter the nature, amplify the degree, or ex-
tend the duration of them, by reprefenting them
more fad, heavy, and remedilefs than they truly are.
Befides that, it confers a felicity and dexterity in
action,
action, which is a very pleafant and commodious-

quality. To do things with difficulty and ſtruggling,
disheartens a man, quells his courage, blunts the edge
of his refolution, renders him fluggish and averſe
from bufinefs, though apprehended never fo neceffary
and of great moment . Thefe obftructions Wiſdom
removes, facilitating operations, by directing the in-
tention to ends poffible and attainable, by fuggefting
fit means and inftruments to work by, by contriving
right methods and courfes of procefs ; the mind by
it being ftored with variety of good principles, fure
rules, and happy expedients, repofed in the me-
mory, and ready upon all occafions to be produced
and employed in practice. Wiſdom begets a found,
healthful, and harmonious complexion of the foul,
difpofing us with judgment to diftinguish, and with
pleaſure to relifh favory and wholefome things, but
not to nauſeate and reject ſuch as are ungrateful and
noxious to us ; whence to the foul proceeds all that
confort, joy, and vigour, which refults to the body
from a good conflitution and perfect health . Wif-
dom acquaints us with ourſelves, our own temper and
conftitution, ourpropenfions and paffions, our habitudes
and capacities ; a thing not only of mighty advantage,
but of infinite pleaſure and content to us. No man in
the world lefs knows a fool than himſelf. He hath
wonderful conceits of his own qualities and faculties ;
he affects commendations incompetent to him, and
foars at employments furpaffing his ability to manage.
No comedy can reprefent a miſtake more odd and
ridiculous than his ; for what he wanders, ftares, and
hunts after, but never can find or difcern, is himſelf.
Wifdom procures and preferves a conftant favour and
fair refpect of men, purchaſes a good name, and up-
holds reputation in the world ; which things are na-
turally defirable, and commodious in life. The
compofed frame of mind, uniform and comely de-
meanor, compliant and inoffenfive converfation, fair
and punctual dealing, confiderate motions and dex-
terous addreffes of wife men, naturally beget efteem
and
and affection in thoſe that obferve them : whereas
folly is freakish and humorous, impertinent and ob-
ftreperous, inconftant and inconfiftent, peevish and
exceptious, and confequently troubleſome to fociety,
and productive of averfion and difrefpect. Wifdoin
instructs us to examine, compare, and rightly to va-
lue the objects that court our affections, and challenge
our care ; and thereby regulates our paffions, and
moderates our endeavours, which begets a pleafant
ferenity, and peaceful tranquillity of mind. For
when, being deluded with falfe fhews, and relying
upon ill-grounded prefumptions, we highly esteem
and eagerly purſue things of little worth in them-
felves, as we prostitute our affections, mif-fpend our
time, and lofe our labour ; fo the event not anfwer-
ing our expectation, our minds thereby are con-
founded, difturbed, and distempered. Wifdom dif-
covers our relations, duties, and concernments , in
refpect of others with whom we converfe ; diftin-
guishes the circumstances, limits the meaſures, deter-
mines the modes, appoints the fit ſeaſon of action ;
thus preferving decorum and order, the parents of
peace ; and preventing confufion , the mother of
iniquity, ftrife, and difquiet. In fine, Wifdom ac-
quaints us with the nature and reafon of true religion ,
and perfuades us to the practice of it ; teaches us
wherein it confifts , and what it requires, the miſtake
of which produceth daily fo many mifchiefs in the
world. It fhews that it confifteth not in fair pro-
feffions, but in real practice ; not in a pertinacious
adherence to any fet or party, but in a fincere love
of goodneſs, and diflike of naughtiness, wherever dif-
covering itself; not in harfh cenfuring, and virulently
inveighing against others, but in carefully amending
our own ways ; not in a vain oftentation of outward
performances , but in an inward goodneſs of mind,
exerting itſelf in works of true devotion and charity ;
not in a nice orthodoxy, or politic fubjection of our
judgments to the peremptory dictates of men, but in
a fincere love of truth, in a hearty approbation of and
com-
ION
compliance with the doctrines fundamentally good,

and neceffary to be believed.
ALetterfrom Mr. Pope to the Bishop ofRocheſter.
NCE more I write to you as I promiſed, and
will foon be drawn between my friend and me, and

nothing left but to wish you a long good-night. May
you enjoy a ſtate of repofe in this life, not unlike that
fleep of the foul which fome have believed is to fuc-
ceed it, where we lie utterly forgetful of that world
from which we are gone, and ripening for that to
which we are to go. If you retain any memory of
the paſt, let it only imagine to you what has pleaſed
you beft; fometimes prefent a dream of an abſent
friend, or bring you back an agreeable converfation.
But, upon the whole, I hope you will think lefs of the
time paft than of the future, as the former has been
lefs kind to you than the latter infallibly will be. Do
not envy the world your ſtudies ; they will tend to the
benefit of men againſt whom you can have no complaint,
I mean of all pofterity ; and perhaps at your time of
life nothing elſe is worthy your care. What is every
year of a wife man's life, but a cenfure or criticiſm
on the past ? Thoſe whofe date is the ſhorteſt, live
long enough to laugh at one half of it : the boy de-
fpifes the infant, the man the boy, the philofopher
both, and the Chriſtian all. You may now begin to
think your manhood was too much a puerility, and
you will never fuffer your age to be but a fecond in-
fancy. The toys and baubles of your childhood are
hardly now more below you, than thoſe toys of our
riper and of our declining years, the drums and rattles
of ambition, and the dirt and bubbles of avarice . At
this time, when you are cut off from a little fociety,
and made a citizen of the world at large, you ſhould
bend your talents not to ferve a party or a few, but
all mankind. Your genius fhould mount above the
mift
mift in which its participation and neighbourhood
with earth long involved it : to ſhine abroad to hea-
ven, ought to be the bufinefs and the glory of your
prefent fituation. Remember it was at fuch a time,
that the greatest lights of antiquity dazzled and blazed
the moſt, in their retreat, in their exile, or in their
death. But why do I talk of dazzling or blazing ?
it was then that they did good, that they gave light,
and that they became guides to mankind.
Thofe aims alone are worthy of ſpirits truly great,
and fuch I therefore hope will be yours. Resentment
indeed may remain, perhaps cannot be quite extin-
guished, in the nobleft minds ; but revenge never will
harbour there. Higher principles than thoſe of the
firft, and better principles than thoſe of the latter, will
infallibly influence men whofe thoughts and whoſe
hearts are enlarged, and caufe them to prefer the
whole to any part of man ind, especially to ſo ſmall
a part as one's fin le ſelf.
Believe me, my Lord, I look upon you as a ſpirit
entered into another life, as one just upon the edge of
immortality, where the paffions and affections must
be much more exalted, and where you ought to de-
ſpite all little views and all mean retroſpects. No-
thing is worth your looking back ; and therefore look
forward, and make (as you can) the world look after
you but take care that it be not with pity, but with
efteem and admiration .
I am with the greateſt fincerity, and paffion for
your fame as well as happineſs.
Yours, &c.
The Bishop of Rocheſter went into exile the month

following, and continued in it till his death, which
happened at Paris on the 15th of February, 1732.
Paffages
ION.
258 A HELP TO ELOCUT
Paffages taken from fundry Petitions prefented to

the French King by a difgraced Minifter.
EING weary of the uſeleſs life I live at prefent,

B I take the liberty of imploring, with profound
fubmiffion, your Majefty, that I may have leave to
feek an honourable death in your Majefty's fervice.
After the difappointments and reverfes of fortune
which I have had to ſtruggle with, my expectations
of rifing again to profperity are brought low enough.
But it would be a fatisfaction to me, that my real
character were known to your Majefty ; which if it
were, I flatter myfelf I fhould have your Majefty's
indulgence, nay, your esteem. Refufe not, moſt
gracious Sovereign, the means for gaining this end,
to a man who is ready to fhed his blood in proof of
his loyalty and affection to your Majesty. Were my .
own private intereft alone concerned, I ſhould be pe-
culiarly cautious how I intruded upon your Majeſty
with theſe folicitations : but as the only happineſs
I defire in this world, is to have an opportunity of
ferving my king and country, I humbly hope I may
be forgiven, though I urge my fuit with fome warmth
and importunity. I do not prefume, Sire, to claim
a total exemption from hardship : I pretend to no
right to live a life of indulgence : all I afk, is, to
change one punishment for another. And I befeech
your Majefty to have ſome confideration for my paſt
fervices ; and that a year's imprifonment, five years
exile, the ruin of my fortune, the fubmiffion with
which I have borne thefe puniſhments, and the zeal
I still am ready to fhew for your Majefty's fervice ,
may plead in my favour, and difarm your Majefty of
your indignation against me. It is true, that in
making your Majefty the offer of my life, I offer
what is of little value even to myfelf ; but it is all I
have to offer. The misfortune I have lain under
thefe fix years, of your Majefty's difpleafure, has
rendered life ſo infipid to me, that, befides the ho-
nour
nour of lofing it in your Majefty's fervice, the pro-
fpect of an end being, by death, put to my vexa
tions, makes the thought of my diffolution pleafing
to me. If it should feem good to your Majefty to
finish my diftreffes the other way, I mean by your
moft gracious pardon, the obligation will be ſtill
greater ; and to the zeal I have for your Majefty's
intereft, I fhall think myſelf obliged to add gratitude
fuitable to fo important a favour ; and with fuch fen-
timents, there is nothing I fhall not be willing to en-
terpriſe for your Majefty's fervice. May Heaven
touch the heart of your Majefty, that you may at,
laft forgive your fincerely penitent fubject. No
one knows better than your Majefty, that it is as
great to forgive as to punish. If I alone am doomed
to have no benefit from that goodneſs which extends
to fo many, my lot must be peculiarly calamitous.
Humorous Petition of a French Gentleman to the

King, who had given him a Title to which his
Income was not equal, by reafon of the Weight
ofTaxes levied from his Eftate.
[ After acknowledging the Honour done him by the King's

conferring on him a Title, he goes on as follows. ]
OUR Majeſty has only made me more unhappy
You by giving me a title ; for there is nothing
more pitiable than a gentleman loaded with a knap-
fack. This empty found, which I was fuch a fool
as to be ambitious of, does not keep away hunger.
I know well enough that glory makes us live after
we are dead ; but in this world a man has but a poor
time on it, if he has not a bit of bread to put in his
mouth. I had but a little bit of land on the banks
of the Rhone, on which I made a ſhift to live ; but
as it is now taxed, any body may have it for me,
for I fuppofe I fhall foon, with my title and eftate,
be glad of an alms -houſe for my feat. I have no re-
fource if there be a profecution commenced againſt
me,
me, as they threaten, but in your Majefty's good-

nefs. If, indeed, my fate is to be decided by that,
I am in no danger, but fhall laugh at them all. If
your Majefty were to feize my poor patrimony whole,
what would a few acres of marſh land be to the mighty
monarch of France and Navarre ? It bears nothing
but willows, and your Majefty values no trees but
the laurel ; I therefore befeech your Majefty to give
me leave to enjoy what my little fpot brings in,
without deduction. All that a poor fubject afks of
your Majesty is that your Majefty would ask nothing
of him .
Humorous Scene between Dennis the Critic (fati-

rically reprefented by Swift, as mad) and the
Doctor.
Scene DENNIS's Garret.

DENNIS, DOCTOR , NURSE , LINTOT the Book
feller, and another Author.
DENNIS. [Looking wife, and bringing out his Words

Slowly and formally. ]
EWARE, Doctor, that it fare not with you as
BEit did with your predeceffor, the famous Hip-
pocrates, whom the miſtaken citizens of Abdera fent
for, in this very manner, to cure the philofopher
Democritus. He returned full of admiration at the
wiſdom of the perfon whom he had fuppofed a lu-
natic. Behold, Doctor, it was thus that Ariftotle
himſelf, and all the great Ancients, ſpent their days
and nights, wrapped up in criticiſm , and befet all
round with their own writings. As for me, be affu-
red, I have no difeafe befides a fwelling in my legs,
of which I fay nothing, fince your art may farther
certify you.
Doctor. Pray, Sir, how did you contract this
fwelling ?
Dennis. By criticiſm .
Doctor
Doctor. By criticifm ! that's a diftemper I have

never heard nor read of.
Dennis. Death, Sir ! a distemper ! it is no diftem-
per ; but a noble art. I have fat fourteen hours a-
day at it ; and are you a doctor, and don't know that
there's a communication between the brain and the
legs ?
Doctor. What made you fit fo many hours, Sir ?
Dennis. Cato, Sir.
Doctor. Sir, I fpeak of your distemper. What
gave you this tumour?
Dennis. Cato, Cato, Cato *.
Nurfe For God's fake, Doctor, name not this evil
fpirit ; it is the whole cauſe of his madneſs. Alas !
poor maſter will have his fits again.
[Almoft crying.]
Lintot. Fits ! with a pox ! a man may well have
fits and fwelled legs, that fits writing fourteen hours
in a day. The Remarks, the Remarks, have brought
all his complaints upon him .
Doctor. The Remarks ! what are they ?
Dennis. Death ! have you never read my Remarks ?
I'll be hang'd if this niggardly bookſeller has adver-
tifed the book as it fhould have been.
Lintot. Not advertiſe it, quotha ! pox ! I have
laid out pounds after pounds in advertifing. There
has been as much done for the book as could be done
for any book in Chriſtendom .
Doctor. We had better not talk of books , Sir, I
am afraid they are the fuel that feed his delirium.
Mention books no more.
I defire a word in private with this gentleman. I
fuppofe, Sir, you are his apothecary.
Gent. Sir, I am his friend.
Doctor. I doubt it not. What regimen have you
obferved fince he has been under your care ? You re-
member, I fuppofe, the paffage in Celfus, which
fays, " If the patient on the third day have an inter-
val, fufpend the medicaments at night." Let fu-
migations
He publiſhed Remarks on Cato, in the year 1712.

migations be uſed to corroborate the brain. I hope

you have upon no account promoted fternutation by
hellebore ?
Gent. Sir, you miſtake the matter quite.
Doctor. What ! an apothecary tell a phyfician he
miſtakes ! you pretend to difpute my prefcription !
Pharmacopola componant. Medicus folus præfcribat.
Fumigate him, I fay, this very evening, while he is
relieved by an interval.
Dennis. Death, Sir ! do you take my friend for an
apothecary ! a man of genius and learning for an apo-
thecary ! know, Sir, that this gentleman profeffes,
like myſelf, the two nobleſt ſciences in the univerſe,
criticifm and poetry. By the immortals , he himſelf
is author of three whole paragraphs in my Remarks,
had a hand in my Public Spirit, and affifted me in
my defcription of the furies and infernal regions in
my Appius.
Lintot. He is an author. You miſtake the gentle-
man , Doctor. He has been an author thefe twenty
years, to his bookſeller's knowledge, ifto no one's elfe.
Dennis. Is all the town in a combination ? fhall
poetry fall to the ground ? muft our reputation in fo-
reign countries be quite loft ? O deſtruction ! perdi-
tion ! curfed opera ! confounded opera * ! as poetry
once raiſed critics, fo when poetry fails, critics are
overturned, and the world is no more.
Doctor. He raves, he raves. He must be pinioned,
he muſt be ftrait-waiſtcoated, that he may do no mif-
chief.
Dennis. O I am fick ! I am fick to death.
Doctor. That is a good ſymptom, avery good fymp-
tom . To be fick to death (fays the modern theory)
is Symptoma præclarum. When a patient is fenfible
of his pain he is half cured. Pray, Sir, of what are
you fick ?
Dennis. Of every thing. Of every thing. I am
fick of the fentiments, of the diction, of the protafis,
of
* He wrote a treatife to prove, that the decay of public

fpirit proceeds from the Italian opera.
of the epitafis, and the cataſtrophe.- Alas ! for the
loft drama ! the drama is no more .
Nurfe. If you want a dram, Sir, I will bring you
a couple of penn'orths of gin in a minute. Mr. Lin-
tot has drank the laſt of the noggin.
Dennis. O fcandalous want ! O fhameful omiffion !
By all the immortals, here is not the fhadow of a
paripatia ! no change of fortune in the tragedy.
Nurfe. Pray, Sir, don't be uneafy about change.
Give me the fixpence, and I'll get you change im-
mediately at the gin-ſhop next door.
Doctor. Hold your peace, good woman. His fit
increaſes. We must call for help. Mr. Lintot, a--
hold him, pray. [Doctor gets behind Lintot. ]
Lintot. Plague on the man ! I am afraid he is
really mad. And if he be, who the devil will buy
the Remarks ? I wish (fcratching his head) he had
been befh- t, rather than I had meddled with his
Remarks.
Doctor. He muft ufe the cold bath, and be cupped
on the head. The fymptoms feem defperate. Avi-
cen fays, " If learning be mixed with a brain that
" is not of a contexture fit to receive it, the brain
" ferments till it be totally exhaufted." We muſt
endeavour to eradicate theſe indigeſted ideas out of
the pericranium, and to reſtore the patient to a com-
petent knowledge of himself.
Dennis. Caitiffs , ſtand off ! unhand me, miſcreants !
[ The Doctor, the Nurfe, and Lintot run out of the room
inahurry, andtumble down thegarret fairs all together. ]
Is the man, whofe labours are calculated to bring the
town to reafon, mad ? is the man, who fettles poetry
on the bafis of antiquity, mad ? See Longinus in my
right hand, and Aristotle in my left ! [ Calls after the
Doctor, the Bookfeller, and the Nurse from the top of the
fairs.] I am the only man among the Moderns, that
fupports the venerable Ancients. And am I to be
affaffinated ? ſhall a bookfeller, who has lived upon
my labours, take away that life to which he owes his
fupport ? [Goes into his garret, andfhuts the door.]
Voiture's
Voiture's whimsical Commendation of the Marquis

de Pifany's Courage.
AM extremely glad to hear that you are grown
I fo hardy, that neither labour, watching, fickness,
lead nor fteel, can hurt you. I could not have
thought that a man, who lived on water-gruel, fhould
have fo thick a fkin ; nor did I imagine you had a
fpell, by which you was powder-proof. To account
how you come to be ſtill alive, after the deſperate
hazards you have run, is more than I can pretend
to : but I had rather it were by the help of the Devil
himſelf, than that you were as poor Attichy or Grin-
ville, if you were embalmed with the richeſt drugs
of the eaft. To tell you my opinion plainly, Sir ;
let a man die for his country, or for honour, or what
you pleaſe, I cannot help thinking he makes but a
filly figure when he is dead. It ſeems to me great
pity that fome people ſhould be fo careleſs about their
lives as they are ; for, defpicable as life is, a man,
when he has loft it, is not worth half what he was
when he had it. In fhort, a dead king, a dead hero,
or even a dead demi-god, is, in my mind, but a poor
character ; and much good may it do him who is am-
bitious of it.
The Speech of Seneca the Philofopher to Nero,

complaining of the Envy of his Enemies, and
requesting the Emperor to reduce him back to his
former narrow Circumftances, that he might no
longer be an Object of their Malignity.
[The Subftance is taken from Corn. Tacitus, Annal. 14. ]
"AY it pleaſe the Imperial Majeſty of Cæfar fa-
MA vourably to accept the humble fubmiffions and
grateful acknowledgments ofthe weak, though faithful
guide of his youth *.
It
Seneca was one of Nero's preceptors ; and theEmperor

feemed, during the first part of his reign, to have profited
much
It is now a great many years fince I first had the
honour of attending your Imperial Majefty as pre-
ceptor. And your bounty has rewarded my labours
with fuch affluence, as has drawn upon me, what I
had reaſon to expect, the envy of many of thofe per-
fons, who are always ready to prefcribe to their
prince where to beffow, and where to withhold his
favours. It is well known that your illuftrious an-
ceftor, Auguftus, beftowed on his deferving favou
rites, Agrippa and Macenas, honours and emolu-
ments fuitable to the dignity of the benefactor, and
to the fervices of the receivers : nor has his conduct
been blamed. My employment about your Impe-
rial Majefty has, indeed, been purely domeftic : I
have neither headed your armies nor affilted at your
councils. But you know, Sir, (though there are
fome who do not feem to attend to it) that a prince
may be ferved in different ways, fome more, others
lefs confpicuous , and that the latter may be, to him ,
as valuable as the former.
" But what," fay my enemies, " fhall a private
" perfon of equeftrian rank, and a provincial by birth,
" be advanced to an equality with the patricians ?
" fhall an upftart, of no name nor family, rank with
" thofe who can, by the ſtatues which make the or-
46
nament of their palaces, reckon backward a line
" of ancestors long enough to tire out the fafti * ?
Shall a philofopher, who has writ for others pre-
66
cepts of moderation, and contempt of all that is
" external, himſelf live in affluence and luxury ?
fhall he purchafe eftates, and lay out money at
intereft fhall he build palaces, plant gardens, and
"" adorn
much by his inftructions. The egregious follies and enor

mous unprovoked cruelties he afterwards committed , of which
his ordering Seneca to put himſelf to death is among the
moft flagrant, feem hardly otherwife accountable, than by
fuppofing that he loft the ufe of his reafon.
* The fafti, or calendars, or, if you pleafe, almanacs of
the Ancients, had, as our almanacs, tables of kings, con-
fuls, &c.
N
" adorn a country, at his own expence, and for his

" own pleaſure ?"
Cæfar has given royally, as became imperial mag-
nificence. Seneca has received what his prince be-
ftowed ; nor did he ever afk : he is only guilty of—
not refufing. Cæfar's rank places him above the reach
of invidious malignity. Seneca is not, nor can be,
high enough to defpife the envious. As the over-
loaded foldier or traveller would be glad to be relieved
of his burden, fo I, in this laſt ſtage of the journey
of life, now that I find myſelf unequal to the lighteſt
cares, beg that Cæfar would kindly eaſe me of the
trouble of my unwieldy wealth. I befeech him to
restore to the imperial treafury, from whence it
came, what is to me fuperfluous and cumbrous.
The time and the attention which I am now obliged
to beſtow upon my villa and my gardens, I fhall be
glad to apply to the regulation of my mind. Cæfar
is in the flower of life : long may he be equal to the
toils of government : his goodnefs will grant to his
worn-out fervant leave to retire. It will not be de-
rogatory from Cæfar's greatneſs to have it faid, that
he beſtowed favours on fome, who, fo far from being
intoxicated with them , fhewed- that they could be
happy when (at their own request) diveſted of them.
Romulus and Remus being fent by their Grandfa-

ther Numitor from Alba at the Head of a Colo-
ny, tofeek a new Settlement, quarrelled about the
Choice of a Spot where they should fix and build
them a City; Romulus choofing Mount Palatine,
and Remus Mount Aventine. Remus is faid to
have loft his Life in this Difpute. The City
was therefore built on Mount Palatine, and, in
Compliment to its Founder, called Rome. As
Romulus had not taken upon him the chiefCom-
mand of the Colony for any longer Time than
while the City was building, he, as foon as the
Work was finished, fubmitted the Form ofitsfu-
ture
ture Government to the Choice ofthe People, and

calling the Citizens together, harangued them in
Words to this Effect.
F all the * ſtrength of cities lay in the height of

I their ramparts or the depth of their ditches, we
fhould have great reaſon to be in fear for that which
we have now built. Are there, in reality, any walls
too high to be ſcaled by a valiant enemy ? and of
what uſe are ramparts in inteftine divifions ? They
may ferve for a defence againſt ſudden incurfions from
abroad ; but it is by courage and prudence chiefly, that
the invafions of foreign enemies are repelled ; and by
unanimity, fobriety, and juftice, that domeftic fedi-
tions are prevented. Cities, fortified by the ſtrongeſt
bulwarks, have been often ſeen to yield to force
from without, or to tumults from within. An exact
military difcipline, and a steady obfervance of civil
polity, are the fureft barriers againſt theſe evils. But
there is ftill another point of great importance to be
confidered ; the profperity of fome rifing colonies,
and the ſpeedy ruin of others, have in great meaſure
been owing to their form of government. Was
there but one manner of ruling ftates and cities that
could make them happy, the choice would not be
difficult but I have learnt that, of the various forms
of government among the Greeks and Barbarians,
there are three which are highly extolled by thoſe
who have experienced them ; and yet, that no one
of theſe is in all refpects perfect, but each of them
has fome innate and incurable defect. Chooſe you
then in what manner this city fhall be governed :
fhall it be by one man ? fhall it be by a ſelect number
of the wifeft among us ? or fhall the legislative power
be in the people ? As for me, I fhall fubmit to what-
ever
* Rome, properly ſpeaking, fays Mr. Hooke, was at firſt

but a very forry village, whereof even the principal inhabi-
tants followed their own ploughs ; and until it was rebuilt,
after burning of it by the Gauls, did not deferve the name of
a city. Such were the beginnings of the capital of the world!
N 2
eyer form of adminiftration you fhall pleaſe to eſtabliſh.

As I think myfelf not unworthy to command, fo nei-
ther am I unwilling to obey. Your having chofen
me to be the leader of this colony, and your calling
the city after my name, are honours fufficient to con-
ent me ; honours , of which, living or dead, I can
never be deprived.
Romulus was chofen King ; and Rome was govern-

ed by Kings for upwards of 240 Years, until
the Expulfion ofTarquin II . which was occafion-
ed by his Son Sextus ravishing Lucretia, the
Wife of Collatinus, a noble Roman. Lucretia,
upon receiving this Injury, fent for her Hufband,
who was then in the Camp at Ardea with Tar-
quin, and for feveral of his Friends, and having
informed them of the Outrage fhe had received,
and engaged them to revenge it, ftabbed herself
to the Heart, and died before them. The Ro-
mans had long groaned under the Tyranny and
Cruelties of the Tarquins, and were therefore glad
to lay hold on fo flagrant and outrageous an In-
fult toshake off their Yoke. Thefamous Junius
Brutus, who for fome Reafons had maſked him-
felf, and concealed great Talents under the Ap-
pearance ofIdiotifm , fuddenly threw offhis Dif
guife ; and going near to the dying Lady, drew
the Poinard out ofher Bofom, andfhewing it all
Bloody to the Affembly, to their great Aſtoniſh-
ment, thus addreffed them.
ES, noble lidy ! I fwear by this blood , which

Y was once fo pure, and which nothing but royal-
villany could have polluted, that I will purfue Lucius
Tarquinius the Proud, his wicked wife, and their
children, with fire and fword ; nor will I ever fuffer any
of that family, or of any other whatſoever, to be king
in Rome : ye gods, I call you to witnefs this my oath!
There
--There, Romans, turn your eyes to that fad fpec-

tacle-the daughter of Lucretius, Collatinus's wife
-fhe died by her own hand. See there a noble lady,
whom the luft of a Tarquin reduced to the neceflity of
being her own executioner, to atteft her innocence .
Hofpitably entertained by her as a kinfman of her
hufband's, Sextus, the perfidious gueft, became her
brutal ravisher. The chafte, the generous Lucreția
could not furvive the infult. Glorious woman ! but
once only treated as a flave, the thought life no
longer to be endured. Lucretia, a woman, difdained
a life that depended on a tyrant's will ; and th all we,
fhall men with fuch an example before our eyes,
and after five-and- twenty years of ignominious fervi-
tude, fhall we, through a fear of dying, defer one
fingle inftant to affert our liberty ? no, Romans ; now
is the time, the favourable moment we have fo long
waited for his come. Tarquin is not at Rome. The
patricians are at the head of the enterprize. The
city is abundantly provided with men, arms, and all
things neceffary. There is nothing wanting to fecure
the fuccefs, if our own courage does not fail us. And
fhall thofe warriors, who have ever been fo brave
when foreign enemies were to be fubdued, or when
conquefts were to be made to gratify the ambition
and avarice of Tarquin, be then only cowards, when
they are to deliver themſelves from flavery ? Some of
you are perhaps intimidated by the army which Tar-
quin now commands. The foldiers, you imagine,
will take the part of their general . Banish fo ground-
lefs a fear: the love of liberty is natural to all men.
Your fellow-citizens in the camp feel the weight of
oppreffion with as quick a fenfe as you that are in
Rome : they will as eagerly feize the occafion of
throwing off the yoke. But let us grant there may
be fome among them , who, through bafeneſs of ſpirit
or a bad education, will be difpofed to favour the ty-
rant. The number of theſe can be but finall, and
we have means fuflicient in our hands to reduce them
to reafon. They have left us hoflages more dear to
them than life. Their wives, their children , their
N 3 fathers,
fathers, their mothers, are here in the city. Cou-

rage, Romans, the gods are for us ; thofe gods,
whofe temples and altars the impious Tarquin has
profaned by facrifices and libations made with polluted
hands, polluted with blood, and with numberless un-
expiated crimes committed against his fubjects. Ye
gods, who protected our forefathers, ye genii, who
watch for the prefervation and glory of Rome, do
you infpire us with courage and unanimity in this
glorious caufe, and we will to our laft breath defend
your worship from all profanation.
After the Expulfion of the Tarquins , Rome was

governed by two Confuls, who held their Office
during the Space only of a Year, at the Conclu-
fion of which new ones were chofen by the Senate
and People. After fome Time, the People found
themselves very much oppreffed by the Patricians,
who engroffed the full Power of the State, and
by various Extortions, fuch as lending them Mo-
ney at exorbitant Intereft, and the like, had got
Poffeffion of all their Lands, and often feized
their Perfons, imprisoned, or used them asflaves
(the Laws permitting it in Cafe ofthe Non-pay-
ment of their Debts) , in a barbarous Manner.
Unable to bear this cruel Treatment, a Number
of them, at the Inftigation of Sicinnius Bellutus,
and another funius Brutus, took an Opportu
nity, when the State had great Need of their
Affiftance, to defert their Generals, and retired
to a Hill three Miles from Rome. In this Exi-
gence a Deputation was fent to them from the
Senate, perfuading them, with many fair Pro-
mifes, to return. At the Head of this Deputa-
tion were T. Lartius, Menenius Agrippa, and
M. Valerius, all three in great Efteem ; and of
whom two had governed the Republic, and com-
manded
manded her Armies in Quality ofDictator. When

they were introduced to the Camp of the Male-
contents, and hadgiven an Account of their Com-
miffion, Junius Brutus, perceiving his Comrades
continued in a profound Silence, and that none of
them attempted to make himſelf an Advocate in
the Caufe, ftepped forward, and thus addreſſed
them :
NE would imagine, fellow-foldiers, by this deep

O filence, that you are ftill awed by that fervile
fear in which the patricians and your creditors kept
you fo long. Every man confults the eyes of the reít,
to difcover whether there be more refolution in others
than he finds in himſelf ; and not one of you has the
courage to ſpeak in public, that which is the conftant
fubject of your private converfation . Do you not
know that you are free ? this camp, theſe arms, do
not they convince you that you are no longer under
tyrants and if you could ftill doubt it, would not
this ſtep which the fenate has taken be fufficient to
fatisfy you ? thofe patricians, fo haughty and impe-
rious, now fend to court us ; they no longer make
ufe either of proud commands or cruel threats ; they
invite us as their fellow-citizens to return into our
common city ; nay, fome of our fovereigns, you fee,
are fo gracious as to come to our very camp, to offer
us a general pardon. Whence then can proceed this
obftinate filence, after fuch fingular condefcenfions ?
If you doubt the fincerity of their promifes ; if you
fear that, under the veil of a few fine words, they
conceal your former chains, why do not you speak ?
declare your thoughts freely. Or, if you dare not
open your mouths, at leaſt hear a Roman, who has
courage enough to fear nothing but the not ſpeaking
the truth. [Then turning to Valerius] You invite
us to return to Rome, but you do not tell us upon
what conditions : Can plebeians, poor, though free,
think of being united with patricians, fo rich and fo
ambitious and even though we ſhould agree to the
N 4 conditions
conditions you have to offer, what fecurity will the

patricians give us for the performance ; thofe haughty
patricians, who make it a merit among themselves to
have deceived the people ? you talk to us of nothing
but pardon and foregivenefs, as if we were your fub-
jects, and fubjects in rebellion ; but that is the point
to be difcuffed. Is it the people or the fenate who are
in fault? which of the two orders was it that first vio-
lated thofe laws of fociety, which ought to reign among
the members of the fame republic ? This is the quef-
tion. In order to judge of this without prejudice,
give me leave barely to relate a certain number of
facts, for the truth of which I will appeal to no other
but yourſelf and your colleague . Our state was found-
ed by kings, and never were the Roman people more
free and more happy than under their government.'
Tarquin himfelf, the laft of thofe princes, Tarquin,
fo odious to the fenate and the nobility, favoured
our interefts as much as he oppofed yours. Never-
theless, to revenge your wrongs, we drove that prince
from Rome ; we took arms againſt a fovereign , who
defended himſelf only with the prayers he made to
us to leave your interefts, and to return to his obe-
dience. We afterwards cut to pieces the armies of
Veii and Tarquinii, which endeavoured to reſtore
him to the throne. The formidable power of Por-
fenna, the famine we underwent during a long fiege,
the fierce affaults, the continual battles, were all
thefe, or, in fhort, was any thing capable of fhaking
the faith which we had given you ? Thirty Latin
cities united to restore the Tarquins. What would
you have done then if we had abandoned you and
joined your enemies ? what rewards might we not
have obtained of Tarquin, while the fenate and no-
bles would have been the victims of his refentment ?
who was it that difperfed this dangerous combination ?
Towhom are you obliged for the defeat ofthe Latines?
Is it not to this people ? Is it not to them you owe
that very power which you have fince turned againſt
them ? What recompence have we had for the affift-
ance we gave you ? is the condition of the Roman
people
people one jot the better ? have you affociated them
in your offices and dignities ? have our poor citizens
found fo much as the fmalleſt relief in their neceth-
ties ? on the contrary, have not our braveft foldiers,
oppreffed with the weight of ufury, been groaning in
the chains of their mercilefs creditors ? what has come
of all thofe vain promifes of abolishing, in time of
peace, the debts which the extortions of the great
had forced us to contract ? fcarce was the war finiſhed,
but you alike forgot our fervices and your oaths.
With what defign then do you come hither ? why
do you try to reduce this people by the enchantments
of your words ? are there any oaths fo folemn as to
bind your faith ? and after all, what would you get by
an union brought about by artifice, kept up with
mutual diftruft, and which must end at laft in a civil
war ? let us on both fides avoid fuch heavy misfor-
tunes , let us not loſe the happineſs of our feparation ;
fuffer us to depart from a country where we are load-
ed with chains like fo many flaves, and where, being
reduced to be only farmers of our own inheritances ,
we are forced to cultivate them for the profit of our
tyrants . So long as we have our fwords in our
hands, we fhall be able to open ourſelves a way into
more fortunate climates : and wherever the gods
fhall grant us to live in liberty, there fhall we find
our country..
By this, andfrequent Struggles ofthis Sort which

the People had made before, they at length attain-
ed the Establishment of the Tribunefhip, which
confifted oftwo Officers annually chofen out ofthe
Order ofthe Plebeians, with Authority to pre-
vent the Injustices that might be done to the
People, and to defend their Interefis both public
and private. Rome, by this Eftablishment, made
a great Advance towards a new Change in the
Form ofher Government. It had paffed before.
from the Monarchic State to a Kind of Aristo-
N 5 Gay &
cracy ; for upon the Expulfion of Tarquin, the

whole Authority did really and in fact devolve
upon the Senate and the Great : but now , by the
Creation ofthe Tribunes, a Democracy began to
take Place, and the People, by infenfible Degrees,
and under different Pretences, get Poffeffion of
the much greater Share in the Government. A
Famine which raged at Rome, foon after the
Establishment of this Office, occafions great Com-
plaints amongst the People ; and a large Supply
of Corn being procured from Sicily by the Patri-
cians, Coriolanus, a young Senator, who had done
great Services to the State as a General, isfor
taking Advantage of the People's Distress, to get
the Tribunefhip abolished, which he proposes in
the Senate. The Tribunes and the People, en-
raged at this, determine to profecute Coriolanus,
and after much Altercation, defire to be heard
by the Senate in relation to their Charge against
bim ; where Decius, one ofthe Tribunes, makes
the following Speech.
YOU know, Confcript Fathers, that having by

our affiftance expelled Tarquin, and aboliſhed
the regal power, you eſtabliſhed in the republic the
form of goverment which is now obſerved in it, and
of which we do not complain. But neither can you
be ignorant, that in all the differences which any
poor plebeians had afterwards with wealthy patricians,
thofe plebeians conftantly loft their caufes, their ad-
verfaries being their judges, and all the tribunals be-
ing filled with patricians only. This abufe was what
made Valerius Poplicola, that wife conful and excel-
lent citizen, eſtabliſh the law which granted an appeal
to the people, from the decrees of the fenate, and the
judgments of the confuls .
Such is the law called Valeria, which has always
been looked upon as the bafis and foundation of the
public liberty. It is to this law that we now fly for
redrefs,
redreſs, if you refuſe us the juſtice we demand upon a
man, black with the greateſt crime that it is poffible to
commit in a republic. It is not a fingle plebeian
complaining, it is the whole body of the Roman
people demanding the condemnation of a tyrant, who
would have deftroyed his fellow-citizens by a famine,
has violated our magistracy, and forcibly repulfed our
officers, and the ediles of the commonwealth. Co-
riolanus is the man we accuſe of having propoſed the
abolition of the tribuneſhip, a magiftracy made facred
by the moſt folemn oaths.. What need is there of a
fenatus confultum to profecute a criminal like this ?
does not every man know that thoſe particular decrees
of the fenate, are requifite only in unforeſeen and ex-
traordinary affairs, and for which the laws have as
yet made no provifion ? but in the prefent cafe, where
the law is fo direct , where it expressly devotes to the
infernal gods, thofe that infringe it, is it not to be-
come an accomplice in the crime to hefitate in the
leaft ? are you not apprehenfive that theſe affected
delays, this obftruction you throw in the way of our
proceedings againſt this criminal, by the pretended
neceffity of a previous decree of the fenate, will
make the people inclined to believe that Coriolanus.
only ſpoke the fentiments of you all ?
I know that feveral among you complain it was
merely by violence that we extorted your confent for
the abolition of the debts, and the eſtabliſhment of
the tribuneſhip. I will even fuppofe that in the high
degree of power to which you had raiſed yourfelves
after the expulfion of Tarquin , it was neither conve-
nient nor honourable for you to yield up part of it in
favour of the people ; but you have done it, and the
whole fenate is bound by the moſt folemn oaths never
to undo it. After the eſtabliſhment of thofe facred
laws, which render the perfons of your tribunes in-
violable, will you, in compliance with the firít am-
bitious man that arifes, attempt to revoke what makes
the fecurity and peace of the ftate ? certainly you
never will ; and I dare anfwer for you, ſo long as I
behold in this affembly thofe venerable magiftrates
who
who had fo great a ſhare in the treaty made upon the

Mons Sacer. Ought you to fuffer a matter like this
to be fo much as brought into deliberation ? Coriola-
nus is the firft, who, by his feditious advice, has en-
deavoured to break thofe facred bonds , which ,
ftrengthened by the laws, unite the feveral orders of
the itate. It is he alone who is for deſtroying the
tribunitian power, the people's afylum, the bulwark
of our liberty, and the pledge of our reunion. In
order to force the people's confent, in order to perpe-
tuate one crime, he attempts another much greater.
He dares even in a holy place, and in the midſt of
the fenate, propofe to let the people die of hunger.
Cruel and unthinking man at the fame time ! did he
not confider that this people, whom he meant to
exterminate with fo much inhumanity, and who are
more numerous and powerful than he could wish, be-
ing reduced to deſpair, would have broken into the
houfes, forced open thofe granaries, and thoſe cellars
which conceal fo much wealth, and would rather have
fallen under the power of the patricians, or have to-
tally rooted out that whole order ? could he imagine .
that an enraged populace would in fuch a cafe have
hearkened to any law but what was dictated by necef-
fity and refentment ?
For that you may not be unacquainted with the
truth, we would not have perished by a famine brought
upon us by our enemies : but having called to witneſs
the gods, revengers of injuftice , we would have filled
Rome with blood and flaughter. Such had been the
fatal confequences of the counfels of that perfidious
citizen, if fome fenators, who had more love for their
country, had not hindered them from taking effect.
It is to you, Confcript Fathers, that we addrefs our
juft complaints. It is to your aid, and to the wiſdom
of your decrees, that we have recourſe to oblige this
public enemy to appear before the whole Roman
people, and anfwer for his pernicious counfels. It
is there, Coriolanus, that thou muſt defend thy for-
mer fentiments, if thou dareſt fo to do, or excuſe
them as proceeding from want of thought. Take my
advice ;
advice ; leave thy haughty and tyrannical maxims ;
make thyself lefs ; become like us ; nay, put on a ha-
bit of mourning, fo fuitable to thy prefent fortune.
Implore the pity of thy fellow-citizens, and perhaps
thou mayeft obtain their favour, and the forgivenes
of thy faults.
When Decius left off fpeaking, all the Senators

waited, fome with impatient Defire, others with
uneafy Apprehenfions, to hear how Appius Clau-
dius would declare himself. This Appius was
one of thofe Patricians, who had always the most
violently oppofed the Tribunitial Power. At its
firft Eftablishment he foretold the Senate, that they
werefuffering a Tribunal to befet up, which, by
Degrees, would rise against their Authority, and
at length destroy it. When it came to his Turn
to fpeak he delivered himſelf thus :
YOU know, Confcript Fathers, that I have long

oppofed, and frequently alone, that too great
eatinefs with which you grant the people whatever
they demand. Perhaps I made myſelf troubleſome,
when I fo frankly laid before you the misfortunes
which I prefaged would follow, from our reunion with
the deferters from the commonwealth. The event,
however, has but too well juftified my apprehenfions.
That ſhare of power which you yielded up to thoſe
feditious men , is now turned against yourſelves. The
people punish you by means of your own benefactions ;
they take advantage of your favour to ruin your au-
thority. It is in vain for you to attempt to hide from
yourſelves the danger which the fenate is in you
cannot but fee there is a defign to change the form of
our government : the tribunes make gradual advances
to the tyranny. At first the only demand was the
abolition of the debts ; and this people, who are now
fo haughty, and who endeavour to make themſelves
the fupreme judges ofthe fenators, then thought they
ftood
ftood in need of a pardon, for the difrefpectful manner

in which they fued for that conceffion .
Your eafinefs gave occafion to new pretenfions ; the
people would have their particular magiftrates. You
know how earnestly I oppofed thefe innovations ; but,
in fpight of all I could do, you affented in this point
alfo; you allowed the people to have tribunes, that is
to fay, perpetual ringleaders of fedition. Nay, the
people, intoxicated with fury, would have this new
magiftracy confecrated in a particular manner, fuch as
had never been practifed, not even in favour of the
confulfhip, the first dignity in the republic. The fe-
nate confented to every thing, not fo much out of
kindnefs for the people, as want of refolution ; the
perfons of the tribunes were declared facred and in-
violable, and a law made to that effect. The people
required that it should be confirmed by the most fo-
lemn oaths ; and that day, O Fathers ! you fwore upon
the altars the deſtruction of yourfelves and children .
What has beenthe fruit of all thefe favours ? they have
only ferved to make you contemptible in the eyes of
the people, and to increaſe the pride and infolence of
their tribunes, who have made themfelves new rights
and prerogatives. Theſe modern magistrates, who
ought to live as mere private men, take upon them
to convene the affemblies of the people, and without
our privity procure laws to be enacted by the voices.
of a bafe rabble.
It is fo odious a tribunal, that they now fummon a
patrician, a fenator, a citizen of your order, in a
word, Coriolanus, that great captain, and withal that
good man, yet more illuftrious for his adherence to
the interests of the fenate, than for his valour. They
prefume to make it a crime in a fenator to fpeak his
opinion in full fenate, with that freedom fo becoming
a Roman ; and if yourfelves had not been his buckler
and defence, they had affaffinated him even in your
prefence. The majesty ofthe fenate was juſt going
to be violated by this murder ; the refpect due to your
dignity was forgot, and you yourſelves were lofing
both your empire and your liberty.
The
The refolution and courage which you fhewed upon
this laſt occafion , in fome meaſure awakened thefe
madmen from their drunken fit. They feem now to
be aſhamed of a crime which they could not complete ;
they deſiſt from violent methods, becauſe they have
found them unfuccefsful, and they feemingly have
recourse to juftice and the rules of law.
But what is this juftice, immortal gods ! which
theſe men of blood would introduce ? they endea-
vour, by appearances of fubmiffion, to furprife you
into a fenatus confultum, which may give them power
to drag the best citizen of Rome to punishment. They
alledge the lex Valeria as the rule of your conduct ;
but does not every body know that this law, which
allows of appeals to the affembly of the people, re-
lates only to fuch poor plebeians as, being deftitute
of all other protection , might be oppreffed by the cre
dit of a ſtrong cabal ? the text of the law is plain ; it
exprefsly fays, that a citizen condemned by the con-
fuls fhall have liberty to appeal to the people. Popli-
cola, by this law, only provided a refuge for thofe
unhappy men, who had reafon to complain of hav-
ing been condemned by prejudiced judges. The de-
fign of the law was only to have their caufes heard
over again ; and when you afterwards confented to
the creation of the tribunes, neither you, nor even
the people themſelves, intended any thing more in
the eſtabliſhment of thoſe new magiftrates, than that
this law might have protectors, and the poor be pro-
vided with advocates, who might prevent their being
oppreffed by the great. What relation is there be-
tween fuch a law, and the cauſe of a fenator, a man
of an order fuperior to the people, and who is ac-
countable for his conduct to none but the fenate ? to
fhew that the lex Valeria relates only to plebeians ;
for about feventeen years that it has been made , let
Decius give me one fingle inftance of a patrician called
in judgment before the people by that law, and our
difpute will be at an end. And indeed what juſtice
would there be in delivering up a fenator to the fury
of the tribunes, and to ſuffer the people to be judges
in
in their own caufe ; as if their tumultuous affemblies,

directed by fuch feditious magiftrates, could be with-
out prejudice, without hatred, without paffion ? thus,
O Fathers, it is my advice, that before you come to
any determination , you maturely confider, that in this.
affair your interefts are infeparable from thoſe of Co-
riolanus. As to the reft, I am not for your revoking the
favours you have granted the people, by whatever
means they obtained them ; but I cannot forbear ex-
horting you to refufe boldly for the future whatever
they fhall endeavour to obtain of you contrary to
your own authority, and the form of our government.
The following Speeches are of a different Kindfrom

any ofthe foregoing. They are the Speeches of
two great Generals at the Head of their Armies
before an Engagement. It was at the Beginning
of the fecond Punic War, that Hannibal the
Carthaginian General made thatfurpriſingMarch
over the Alps with his Army, and entered Italy..
He was met near the Banks ofthe Po by Pub-
lius Scipio, with the Roman Army. The two
Generals are faid to have conceived a high Opi-
nion of each other. Hannibal's Name had leen
long renowned ; and that Scipio muſt be a Cap-
tain of eminent Worth, the Carthaginians bad
well concluded, from the Romans having chofen
him, preferably to all others, to be his Opponent,
But this mutual Impreffion was become much
fronger, by the hardy Enterprife of the one to
march over the Alps , and the happy Execution of
of it ; and the expeditious Courage of the other
in coming from the Banks of the Rhone, to meet
him at the Foot of thofe Mountains. But Scipio,
who was but newly appointed their General,
thought
thought proper to affemble his Soldiers before the *

Engagement, and endeavoured to animate their
·Courage by the following Words:
WERE you, foldiers, the fame army which I

had with me in Gaul, I might well forbear
faying any thing to you at this time. For what oc-
cafion could there be to ufe exhortation to a cavalry,
that had fo fignally vanquished the fquadrons of the
enemy upon the Rhone, or to legions by whom that
fame enemy, flying before them to avoid a battle, did,
in effect, confefs themfelves conquered ? but as thefe
troops, having been enrolled for Spain, are there with
my brother Cneius, making war under my aufpices
(as was the will of the fenate and people of Rome) ; I,
that you might have a conful for your captain againſt
Hannibal and the Carthaginians, have freely offered
myſelffor this war. You then have a new general,
and I a new army. In this circumftance a few words
from me to you will be neither improper nor unfea-
fonable . And that you may not be unapprifed of
what fort of enemies you are going to encounter, or
of what is to be feared from them , they are the very
fame , whom, in a former war, you vanquished both
by land and fea ; the fame from whom you took Si-
cily and Sardinia , and who have been theſe twenty
years your tributaries . You will not, I prefume ,
march against thefe men with only that courage with
which you are wont to face other enemies , but with
a certain anger and indignation , fuch as you would
feel , if you faw your flaves on a fudden rife up in
arms against you . Conquered and enflaved, it is not
boldness but neceffity that urges them to battle : un-
lefs you can believe that thofe who avoided fighting
when their army was entire, have acquired better
hope
This battle was fought on the banks of the Ticin, a fmall
river which runs into the Po, and is called the battle ofthe
Ticin . Scipio received a dangerous wound, and had been
left upon the place, if his fon, a mere youth, (afterwards the
great Africanus) had not, by a furprising effort of courage,
brought him off. The Romans were obliged to retire.
hope by the lofs of two-thirds of their horfe and foot
in the paffage of the Alps.
But you heard perhaps, that, though they are few
in number, they are men of ftout hearts and robuſt
bodies ; heroes of fuch ftrength and vigour, as no-
thing is able to reſiſt.- -Mere effigies ! nay, fhadows
of men! wretches, emaciated with hunger, and be-
numbed with cold ! bruifed and battered to pieces.
among the rocks and craggy cliffs ! their weapons
broke, and their horfes weak and foundered ! Such
are the cavalry, and fuch the infantry, with which
you are going to contend ; not enemies, but the
fragments of enemies. There is nothing which I
more apprehend, than that it will be thought, Han-
nibal was vanquished by the Alps, before we had any
conflict with him. But perhaps it was fitting that fo
it fhould be ; and that with a people and a leader,
who had violated leagues and covenants, the gods
themſelves , without man's help, fhould begin the
war, and bring it to a near conclufion ; and that we,
who, next to the gods, have been injured and offend-
ed, fhould happily finish what they have begun. I
need not be in any fear, that you ſhould fufpect me
of faying thefe things merely to encourage you,
while inwardly I have different fentiments . What
hindered me from going into Spain ? that was my
province ; where I fhould have had the lefs dreaded
Afdrubal, not Hannibal to deal with. But hearing,
as I paffed along the coaft of Gaul, of this enemy's
march, I landed my troops, fent the horfe forward,
and pitched my camp upon the Rhone. A part of
my cavalry encountered and defeated that of the ene-
my; my infantry not being able to overtake theirs,
which fled before us , I returned to my fleet, and
with all the expedition I could uſe in fo long a voyage
by fea and land, am come to meet them at the foot
of the Alps. Was it then my inclination to avoid a
conteft with this tremendous Hannibal ? And have I
lit upon him only by accident and unawares ? or am I
come on purpoſe to challenge him to the combat ? I
would gladly try whether the earth, within theſe
twenty
twenty years, has brought forth a new kind of Car-
thaginians, or whether they be the fame fort of men
who fought at the gates ; and whom, at Eryx, you
fuffered to redeem themfelves at eighteen denarii per
head whether this Hannibal, for labours and jour-
neys, be, as he would be thought, the rival of Her-
cules ; or whether he be what his father left him, a
tributary, a vaffal, a flave of the Roman people. Did
not the conſciouſneſs of his wicked deed at Saguntum
torment him and make him defperate, he would have
fome regard, if not to his conquered country, yet
furely to his own family, to his father's memory, to
the treaty written with Amilcar's own hand. We
might have ſtarved them in Eryx ; we might have
paffed into Africa with our victorious fleet, and in a
few days have deſtroyed Carthage. At their humble
fupplication we pardoned them ; we releafed them,
when they were clofely fhut up without a poffibility
of eſcaping ; we made peace with them when they
were conquered, when they were diſtreffed by the
African war, we confidered them, we treated them
as a people under our protection. And what is the
return they make us for all theſe favours ? under the
conduct of a hare-brained young man, they come
hither to overturn our ſtate, and lay waſte our coun-
try.- I could wiſh, indeed, that it were not fo ; and
that the war we are now engaged in , concerned only
our own glory, and not our prefervation . But the
conteft at prefent is not for the poffeffion of Sicily
and Sardinia, but of Italy itfelf. Nor is there be-
hind us another army, which, if we fhould not prove
the conquerors, may make head againſt our victorious
enemies. There are no more Alps for them to paſs,
which might give us leifure to raiſe new forces. No,
foldiers, here you muſt make your ſtand, as ifyou were
just now before the walls of Rome. Let every one
reflect, that he is now to defend, not his own perfon
alone, but his wife, his children, his helplefs infants..
Yet let not private confiderations alone poffefs our
minds ; let us remember that the eyes of the fenate
and people of Rome are upon us, and that as our
force
force and courage fhall now prove, fuch will be the

fortune of that city, and of the Roman empire.
Hannibal, on the other Side, made Ufe of a new

Kind ofRhetoricto infpire his Soldiers with Re-
folution. He gave Arms tofeveral Mountaineers
whom he had taken Prifoners in his Paffage over
the Alps, and propofed to them to fight two and
two to the Death of one of them, in Sight ofhis
Army; promifing Liberty and a complete Suit of
Armour, with a War Horfe, to fuch of them as
came off victorious. From the Joy with which
the Prifoners accepted thefe Conditions, and the
Sentiments which Hannibal obfervedin his Troops
on beholding thefe Conflicts, he took Occafion to
give them a more lively Image oftheir prefent Si-
tuation, which laid them under the abfolute Ne-
ceffity ofconquering or dying. His Speech was
to this Effect :
F , in the eſtimation of your own fortune, you will

I but bearthe fame mind which you juſt now did, in
contemplating the fortune of others, the victory, fol-
diers, is ours . What you have feen, was not a mere
fhew for amuſement, but a reprefentation of your own
real condition . I know not whether you or your
prifoners be encompafled by fortune with the stricter
bonds and neceffities. Two fes inclofe you on the
right and left ; not a fhip to fly to for efcaping.
Before you is the Po, a river broader and more ra-
pid than the Rhone ; behind you are the Alps , over
which, even when your numbers were undiminished ,'
you were hardly able to force a paflage . Here then ,
foldiers, you must either conquer or die, the very
first hour you meet the enemy. But the fame for-
tune which has thus laid you under the neceffity of
fighting, has fet before your eyes thoſe rewards of vic-
tory, than which no men are ever wont to wifh for
greater
greater from the immortal gods. Should we by our
valour recover only Sicily and Sardinia, which were
ravifhed from our fathers , thofe would be no incon-
fiderable prizes. Yet what are thofe ? the wealth of
Rome, whatever riches the has heaped together in the
fpoils of nations, all thefe, with the mailers of them ,
willbe yours . You have been long enough employ-
ed in driving the cattle upon the wat montains of
Loufitania and Celtiberia ; you have hitherto met
with no reward worthy of the labours and dangerss youy
have undergone. The time is now come to reap the
full recompence of your toilfome marches over fo
many mountains and rivers, and through fo many
nations, all of them in arms. This is the place which
fortune has appointed to be the limits of your la
bours ; it is here that you will finish your glorious
warfare, and receive an ample recompence of your
completed fervice. For I would not have you ima-
gine, that victory will be as difficult as the name of a
Roman war is great and founding. It has often hap-
pened that a defpifed enemy has given a bloody battle,
and the most renowned kings and nations have by a
fmall force been overthrown. And if you but take
away the glitter of the Roman name, what is there,
wherein they may ftand in competition with you?
For ( to fay nothing of your fervice in war for twenty
years together with fo much valour and fuccefs) from
the very pillars of Hercules, from the ocean, from
the utmoſt bounds of the earth, through fo many
warlike nations of Spain and Gaul, are you not
come hither victorious ? and with whom are you now
to fight ? with raw foldiers, an undifciplined army,
beaten, vanquished , belieged by the Gauls the very
laft fummer, an army unknown to their leader, and
unacquainted with him.
Or fhall I, who was born, I might almoſt fay, but
certainly brought up, in the tent of my father, that
moft excellent general, fhall I, the conqueror of
Spain and Gaul, and not only of the Alpine nations,
but, which is greater yet, of the Alps themfelves,
fhall I compare myfelfwith this half-year captain ?
a captain
a captain before whom ſhould one place the two armies

without their enfigns, I am perfuaded he would not
know to which of them he is conful ? I eſteem it no
fmall advantage, foldiers, that there is not one among
you, who has not often been an eye-witnefs of my
exploits in war; not one of whofe valour I myſelf
have not been a fpectator, fo as to be able to name
the times and places of his noble atchievements ; that
with foldiers, whom I have a thouſand times praiſed
and rewarded, and whofe pupil I was, before I be-
came their general, I fhall march againſt an army of
men, ftrangers to one another.
On what fide foever I turn my eyes, I behold all
full of courage and ſtrength ; a veteran infantry, a
moft gallant cavalry ; you, my allies, moft faithful
and valiant ; you Carthaginians , whom not only your
country's cauſe, but the juſteſt anger impels to battle.
The hope, the courage of affailants is always greater
than of thoſe who act upon the defenfive. With
hoftile banners difplayed, you are come down upon
Italy ; you bring the war. Grief, injuries, indigni-
ties fire your minds, and fpur you forward to re-
venge. First they demanded me ; that I, your ge-
neral, fhould be delivered up to them ; next, all you ,
who had fought at the fiege of Saguntum ; and we
were to be put to death by the extremeft tortures.
Proud and cruel nation ! every thing muſt be yours,
and at your difpofal ! you are to preſcribe to us with
whom we ſhall make war, with whom we fhall make
peace ! you are to fet us bounds ; to ſhut us up with-
in hills and rivers ; but you, you are not to obferve
the limits which yourſelves have fixed ! pafs not the
Iberus. What next? touch not the Saguntines ?
Saguntum is upon the Iberus, move not a ſtep to-
wards that city. Is it a fmall matter then, that you
have deprived us of our ancient poffeffions, Sicily
and Sardinia ; you would have Spain too ? well , we
fhall yield Spain ; and then- you will paſs into Africa.
Will pafs, did I fay?-This very year they ordered
one of their confuls into Africa, the other into Spain.
No, foldiers, there is nothing left for us but what we
can
ean vindicate with our ſwords . Come on then, be
men. The Romans may with more ſafety be cowards ;
they have their own country behind them, have places
of refuge to fly to, and are fecure from danger in
the roads thither ; but for you there is no middle
fortune between death and victory. Let this be but
well fixed in your minds, and once again, I fay, you
are conquerors.
The two following Speeches are thofe preceding the

Battle ofZama, which concludedthe fecond Pu-
nic War to the Advantage of the Romans, after
it had lafted feventeen Years. They are different
from the two former, as they relate to a Treaty
of Peace. The two Generals were Hannibal and
the famous Scipio Africanus, Son of the former
Scipio. An Interview was defired by Hannibal,
and agreed to by Scipio. The Place pitched upon
was a large Plain between the two Camps, en-
tirely open, and where no Ambush could be laid.
The two Generals rode thither, escorted by an
equal Number of Guards ; from whom feparat-
ing, and each attended only by an Interpreter,
they met in the Mid-way. Both remained for
a while filent, viewing each other with mutual
Admiration. Hannibal at length fpoke thus.
INCE fate has fo ordained it, that I, who began

SINC the war, and who have been ſo often on the
point of ending it by a complete conqueft, fhould not
come of my own motion to afk a peace, I am glad
that it is of you, Scipio, I have the fortune to afk it.
Nor will this be among the leaſt of your glories, that
Hannibal, victorious over fo many Roman generals,
fubmitted at laft to you.
I could wish that our fathers and we had confined
our ambition within the limits which nature feemed
to have preſcribed to it, the fhores of Africa, and
the
the fhores of Italy. The gods did not give us that

mind. On both fides we have been fo eager after
foreign poffeffions, as to put our own to the hazard
of war. Rome and Carthage have had, each in their
turn, the enemy at her gates. But fince errors paft
may be more eafily blamed than corrected, let it now
be the work of you and me to put an end, if poffible,
to the obftinate contention . For my own part, my
years, and the experience I have had of the inftability
of fortune, inclines me to leave nothing to her de-
termination which reafon can decide. But much I
fear, Scipio, that your youth, your want of the like
experience, your uninterrupted fucccís, may render
you averfe from the thoughts of peace. He whom
fortune has never failed, rarely reflects upon her in-
conftancy. Yet, without recurring to former exam-
ples, my own may perhaps fuffice to teach you mo-
deration. I am that fame Hannibal who, after my
victory at Cannæ, became mafter of the greateft part
of your country, and deliberated with myſelf what
fate I fhould decree to Italy and Rome. And now-
fee the change ! here in África, I am come to treat
with a Roman for my own prefervation and my
country's. Such are the fports of fortune. Is the
then to be trufted becaufe the fimiles ? an advantage-
ous peace is preferable to the hope of victory. The
one is in your own power, the other at the pleafure
of the gods. Should you prove victorious, it would
add little to your own glory, or the glory of your
country ; if vanquished, you lofe in one hour all the
honour and reputation you have been fo many years
acquiring. But what is my aim in all this? That
you fhould content yourfelf with our ceffion of Spain ,
Sicily, Sardinia, and all the islands between Italy and
Africa. A peace on thefe conditions, will, in my
opinion, not only fecure the future tranquillity of
Carthage, but be fufficiently glorious for you, and
for the Roman name. And do not tell me that
fome of our citizens dealt fraudulently with you in
the late treaty: It is I , Hannibal, that now afk a
peace ; I afk it, becaufe I think it expedient for my
country ;
country ; and, thinking it expedient, I will inviolably

maintain it.
The Anfwer of Scipio was to this Effect.
KNEW very well, Hannibal, that it was the hope

I of your return which emboldened the Carthagi-
nians to break the truce with us, and to lay afide all
thoughts of a peace, when it was juft upon the point
of being concluded ; and your prefent propofal is a
proof of it. You retrench from their conceffions
every thing but what we are, and have been long
poffeffed of. But as it is your care that your fellow-
citizens fhould have the obligations to you of being
eafed from a great part of their burthen, fo it ought
to be mine that they draw no advantage from their
perfidioufnefs . Nobody is more fenfible than I am
of the weakness of man, and the power of fortune,
and that whatever we enterpriſe is fubject to a thou-
fand chances. If, before the Romans paffed into
Africa, you had of your own accord quitted Italy, and
made the offers you now make, I believe they would
not have been rejected. But as you have been forced
out of Italy, and we are mafters here of the open
country, the fituation of things is much altered.
And, what is chiefly to be confidered, the Cartha-
ginians, by the late treaty, which we entered into
at their requeft, were, over and above what you offer
to have reſtored to us, our prifoners without ranfom ,
delivered up their fhips of war, paid us five thousand
talents, and to have given hoftages for the performance
of all. The fenate accepted thefe conditions, but
Carthage failed on her part ; Carthage deceived us.
What then is to be done ? Are the Carthaginians to
be releaſed from the most important articles of the
treaty, as a reward of their breach of faith ? No,
certainly. If, to the conditions before agreed upon,
you had added fome new articles to our advantage,
there would have been matter of reference to the
Roman people ; but when, inſtead of adding, you
O retrench ,
retrench, there is no room for deliberation. The
Carthaginians therefore muſt ſubmit to us at difcre-
tion, or must vanquish us in battle.
N. B. The battle was fought, the Romans gained
the victory, and the Carthaginians fubmitted to Rome.
This ended the fecond Punic war, and acquired Sci-
pio the furname of Africanus.
The Picture of a Good Man.
E makes the intereſt of mankind, in a manner,

HEhis own ; and has a tender and affectionate con-
cern for their welfare. He cannot think himself hap-
py, whatever his poffeffions and enjoyments are, while
he fees others miferable. His wealth and affluence de-
light him chiefly as the poor and indigent are the
better for it ; and the greateſt charm of profperity
is the opportunity it affords of relieving his fellow-
creatures, and of being more extenfively ufeful.
He thinks he has difcharged but the leaſt part of his
duty, when he has done ftrict juſtice to all ; and there-
fore the communicating advice and comfort, affiftance
and ſupport, according to the various exigencies of
thoſe with whom he converfes, is his conftant endea-
vour, and moſt pleaſing entertainment. In the ftrong
and elegant language of Job, " He is eyes to the
" blind, and feet to the lame ; he delivereth the
poor that cry, and the fatherlefs, and him that
" hath none to help him ; the bleffing of him that
is ready to periſh cometh upon him , and he cauſeth
" the widow's heart to fing for joy." And that he
may practiſe the more large and generous charity, he
retrenches ufelefs pomp and extravagance ; and, by a
regular and prudent management, conftantly pro-
vides for the relief of the neceffitous ; efteeming this
1 a much more fublime and noble gratification, than
the idle amuſements and gallantries of a vain and
luxurious age .
He not only takes all occafions that prefent them-
felves of doing good, but feeks for opportunities to
be
A HELP TO ELOCUTION. 29r
be ufeful; it is part of the ſtated employment and bu-
finefs of his life. He contrives and ſtudies which way
he may be moſt ſerviceable to his fellow- creatures, and
what that particular talent is, with which he is in-
truſted for the good of mankind. If it be power, he
protects and encourages virtue by his authority and
influence, is the patron of liberty, and vindicates the
caufe of oppreffed innocence. If riches , he is rich
in good works, ready to diſtribute, willing to com-
municate. If knowledge, he counts it his higheſt
pleaſure to inftruct the ignorant, and adminifter pro-
per direction and comfort in perplexing and difficult
circumftances ; and to defend the caufe of religion ,
and reprefent it in a juft and amiable light. And to
nothing of this does he want to be folicited, but his
generous heart is always ready, and ſtrongly difpofed
for beneficent defigns and actions. You cannot lay a
greater obligation upon him, than by propofing ways
in which he may be ufeful, or enlarge his fphere of
uſefulneſs; for this is the point in which all his views,
all his fatisfactions center.
Add to this, that he is inclined to abate of his right,
when infifting too ſtrictly upon it may have the ap-
pearance of harſhneſs and ſeverity ; and, as fuch, ` a
ftrong fenfe of benevolence, fuch an exalted ſpirit of
humanity and compaffion, that no confiderations of
private intereft, no difference of nation or religious
profeffion, can reftrain ; and which the greatest in-
juries cannot bear down and extinguifh. He aims
that his goodneſs may be as diffufive as poffible, and
as much like that of the Univerfal Parent, the eter
nal Fountain of Good, who fupports, enlivens, and
recreates the whole creation ; and therefore as he is
generous in all his defigns, he is very fearful of dif-
obliging any, either by word or action ; and endea-
vours, in his whole conduct, to be agreeable as weli
as ufeful to all being candid in his cenfures, prac-
tifing to his inferiors the moſt endearing condefcen-
fion, and carefully avoiding morofenefs, and every
thing that has the appearance of infolence or con-
tempt. Finally, to conclude the ſketch of this moſt
0 2 beautiful
beautiful and honourable character, the good man is

unwearied in his endeavours to promote the happi-
nefs of others ; the ardor of his benevolence is not
cooled, though he meets with ungrateful returns ;
the trouble and expence of the fervice do not dif-
courage him ; nay, he is ready to give up all private
confiderations for the fake of the public welfare, and
even to facrifice life itſelf, when the good of the
world requires it.
Part of the 15th Chapter of St. Luke.

ND Jefus faid, A certain man had two fons :
A And the younger of them faid to his father, Fa-
ther, give me the portion of goods that falleth to me.
And he divided unto them his living.
And not many days after, the younger fon gathered
all together, and took his journey into a far country,
and there waſted his fubftance with riotous living.
And when he had ſpent all, there aroſe a mighty
famine in that land ; and he began to be in want.
And he went and joined himſelf to a citizen of that
country; and he ſent him into his fields to feed fwine.
And he would fain have filled his belly with the
hufks that the fwine did eat : and no man gave unto
him.
And when he came to himſelf, he ſaid, how many
hired fervants of my father's have bread enough and
to fpare, and I periſh with hunger !
I will arife, and go to my father, and will fay unto
him, father, I have finned againſt Heaven, and before
thee,
And am no more worthy to be called thy fon, make
me as one of thy hired fervants.
And he arofe and came to his father. But when
he was yet a great way off, his father faw him, and
had compaffion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and
kiffed him.
And the fon faid unto him, Father, I have finned
against Heaven, and in thy fight, and am no more
worthy to be called thy fon.
But
But the father faid to his fervants, Bring forth the
best robe, and put it on him, and put a ring on his
hand, and ſhoes on his feet.
And bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it ; and
let us eat and be merry.
For this my fon was dead, and is alive again : he
was loft, and is found. And they began to be merry.
Now his elder fon was in the field : and as he came
and drew nigh to the houſe, he heard mufic and dan-
cing.
And he called one of the fervants, and aſked what
thefe things meant.
And he faid unto him, Thy brother is come ; and
thy father hath killed the fatted calf, becauſe he hath
received him fafe and found.
And he was angry, and would not go in: therefore
came his father out, and entreated him .
And he anſwering, faid to his father, Lo, theſe
many years do I ferve thee, neither tranfgreffed I at
any time thy commandment, and yet thou never
gaveft me a kid, that I might make merry with my
friends :
But as foon as this thy fon was come, which hath
devoured thy living with harlots, thou hast killed for
him the fatted calf.
And he faid unto him, Son, thou art ever with me,
and all that I have is thine.
It was meet that we ſhould make merry, and be
glad for this thy brother was dead, and is alive
again ; and was loft, and is found.
Paternus's Advice to his Son.
ATERNUS lived about two hundred years ago ;

P he had but one fon, whom he educated himſelf
in his own houfe. As they were fitting together in
the garden, when the child was ten years old, Pa .
ternus thus began to him.
The little time that you have been in the world,
my child, you have fpent wholly with me ; and my
O3 love
love and tenderneſs to you has made you look upon

me as your only friend and benefactor, and the cauſe
of all the comfort and pleaſure that you enjoy your
heart, I know, would be ready to break with grief, if
you thought this was the laft day that I fhould live
with you.
But, my child, though you now think yourſelf
mighty happy becauſe you have a hold of my hand,
you are now in the hands, and under the tender care
of a much greater father and friend than I am, whoſe
love to you is far greater than mine, and from whom
you receive fuch bleffings as no mortal can give.
That God whom you have feen me daily worship ;
whom I daily call upon to blefs both you and me, and
all mankind ; whofe wondrous acts are recorded in
thofe Scriptures which you conftantly read. That
God who created the heavens and the earth ; who
brought a flood upon the old world ; who faved Noah
in the ark ; who was the God of Abraham, Ifaac,
and Jacob ; whom Job bleffed and praiſed in the
greateſt afflictions ; who delivered the Ifraelites out of
the hands of the Egyptians ; who was the protector
of righteous Jofeph, Mofes, Joſhua, and holy Da-
niel ; who fent fo many prophets into the world ;
who fent his fon Jefus Chrift to redeem mankind.
This God, who has done all theſe great things ; who
has created fo many millions of men ; who lived and
died before you was born, with whom the fpirits of
good men that are departed this life, now live ; whom
infinite numbers of angels now worship in heaven .
This great God, who is the creator of worlds, of an-
gels, and men, is your loving father and friend, your
good creator and nouriſher, from whoin, and not from
me, you received your being ten years ago, at the
time that I planted that little tender elm which you
there fee.
I myſelf am not half the age of this fhady oak, un-
der which we fit ; many of our fathers have fat under
its boughs ; we have all of us called it ours in our
turn, though it ftands and drops its mafters as it drops
its leaves.
You
You fee, my fon , this wide and large firmament
over our heads, where the fun and moon, and all the
ftars appear in their turns. If you was to be carried
up to any of theſe bodies at this vaſt diſtance from us,
you would ſtill diſcover others as much above you,
as the ſtars that you fee here are above the earth.
Were you to go up or down, eaſt or weft, north or
fouth, you will find the fame height without any top,
and the fame depth without any bottom.
And yet, my child, fo great is God, that all theſe
bodies added together, are but as a grain of fand in
his fight. And yet you are as much the care of this
great God and Father of all worlds, and all ſpirits , as
if he had no fon but you , or there were no creature
for him to love and protect but you alone. He num-
bers the hairs of your head, watches over you fleep-
ing and waking, and has preferved you from a thou-
fand dangers, which neither you nor I know any
thing of.
How poor my power is, and how little I am able
to do for you, you have often feen. Your late fick-
nefs has fhewn you how little I could do for you in
that ſtate ; and the frequent pains of your head are
plain proofs that I have no power to remove them.
I can bring you food and medicines, but have no
power to turn them into your relief and nouriſhment ;
it is God alone that can do this for you .
Therefore, my child, fear, and worſhip, and love
God. Your eyes indeed cannot yet fee him, but
every thing you fee are ſo many marks of his power
and prefence, and he is nearer to you than any thing
that you can fee.
Take him for your lord, and father, and friend ;
look up unto him as the fountain and cauſe of all the
good that you have received through my hands ; and
reverence me only as the bearer and miniſter of God's
good things unto you ; and he that bleffed my father
before I was born, will blefs you when I am dead.
Your youth and little mind is only yet acquainted
with my family, and therefore you think there is no
happineſs out of it.
04 But
But, my child, you belong to a greater family than

mine ; you are a younger member of the family of
this Almighty Father of all nations, who has created
infinite orders of angels, and numberlefs generations
of men, to be fellow- members of one and the fame
fociety in heaven.
You do well to reverence my authority, becauſe
God has given me power over you, to bring you up
in his fear, and to do for you as the holy fathers re-
corded in Scripture did for their children , who are
now in reft and peace with God.
I fhall in a fhort time die , and leave you to God and
yourfelf; and if God forgiveth my fins, I fhall go to
his fon Jefus Chrift, and live amongft patriarchs and
prophets, faints and martyrs, where I fhall pray for
you, and hope for your fafe arrival at the fame place.
Therefore, my child, meditate on thefe great things,
and your foul will foon grow great and noble by fo me-
ditating upon them.
Let your thoughts often leave theſe gardens , theſe
fields and farms, to contemplate upon God and hea-
ven, to confider angels , and the ſpirits of good men
living in light and glory.
As you have been uſed to look to me in all your ac-
tions, and have been afraid to do any thing, unleſs
you first knew my will ; fo let it now be a rule of
your life to look up to God in all your actions, to do
every thing in his fear, and to abstain from every
thing that is not according to his will.
Bear him always in your mind ; teach your thoughts
to reverence him in every place ; for there is no place
where he is not.
God keepeth a book of life, wherein all the actions
of all men are written : your name is there, my child,
and when you die, this book will be laid open before
men and angels ; and according as your actions are
there found, you will either be received to the happi-
nefs of thofe holy men who have died before you , or
be turned away amongſt wicked ſpirits, that are never
to fee God any more.
Never forget this book, my fon ; for it is written,
it
it must be opened, you muſt fee it, and you muſt be
tried by it. Strive therefore to fill it with your good
deeds, that the hand-writing of God may not appear
against you.
God, my child, is alf love, and wifdom , and good-
nefs ; and every thing that he has made, and every ac-
tion that he does, is the effect of them all. There-
fore you cannot pleaſe God, but fo far as you ftrive
to walk in love, wisdom, and goodneſs . Ás all wif-
dom, love, and goodness proceeds from God ; fo no-
thing but love, wiſdom , and goodneſs can lead to God.
When you love that which God loves, you act with
him, you join yourſelf to him ; and when you love
what he dislikes, then you oppofe him, and feparate
yourſelf from him. This is the true and the right
way ; think what God loves, and do you love it with
all your heart.
First of all, my child, worship and adore God,
think of him magnificently, fpeak of him reverently,
magnify his providence, adore his power, frequent
his fervice, and pray unto him conftantly.
Next to this, love your neighbour, which is all
mankind, with fuch tenderness and affection as you
love yourſelf. Think how God loves all mankind,
how merciful he is to them, how tender he of them ,
how carefully he preferves them, and the trive to
love the world as God loves it.
God would have all men to be happy, therefore
do you will and defire the fame. All men are great
inftances of divine love, therefore let all men be
inftances of your love.
Let the only motive to all your good actions be to
do every thing in as perfect a manner as you can ; for
this only reafon, becauſe it is pleafing to God, who
writes all your actions in a book. When I am dead,
my fon, you will be mafter of all my eftate, which
will be a great deal more than the neceflities of one
family require. Therefore as you are to be chari-
table to the fouls of men, and with them the fame
happineſs with you in heaven ; fo be charitable to
05 their
their bodies, and endeavour to make them as happy as

you upon earth.
As God has created all things for the common good
of all men ; fo let that part of them , which is fallen
to your fhare, be employed, as God would have all
employed, for the common good of all.
Do good, my fon , first of all to thoſe that moſt de-
ferve it, but remember to do good to all. The greateſt
finners receive daily inftances of God's goodness to-
wards them ; he nouriſhes and preſerves them , that
they may repent, and return to him ; do you therefore
imitate God, and think no one too bad to receive
your reliefand kindneſs, when you fee that he wants it.
I am teaching you Latin and Greek, that at pro-
per times you may look into the hiſtory of paſt ages,
and learn the methods of God's providence over the
world : that reading the writings of the ancient fages,
you may fee how wiſdom and virtue have been the
praife of great men of all ages, and fortify your mind
by their wife fayings.
Let truth and plainneſs therefore be the only orna-
ment of your language, and ftudy nothing but how to
think of all things as they deferve, to chooſe every
thing that is beft, to live according to reafon and or-
der, and to actin every part of your life in conformity
to the will of God.
Study how to fill your heart full of the love of God
and the love of your neighbour, and then be content
to be no deeper a ſcholar, no finer a gentleman, than
theſe tempers will make you. As true religion is no-
thing elfe but fimple nature governed by right reafon ;
fo it loves and requires great plainnefs and fimplicity
of life. Therefore avoid all fuperfluous fhews, finery,
and equipage, and let your houſe be plainly furniſhed
with moderate conveniences. Do not confider what
your eſtate can afford, but what right reafon requires.
Let your drefs be fober, clean, and modeft ; not
to fet out the beauty of your perſon, but to declare
the fobriety of your mind, that your outward garb
may refemble the plainnefs of your heart. For it is
highly
highly reaſonable that you ſhould be one man, all of
a piece, and appear outwardly fuch as you are inwardly.
As to your meat and drink, in them obferve the
higheſt rules of Chriftian temperance and fobriety ;
confider your body only as the fervant of your foul;
and only fo nourish it, as it may beſt perform an
humble and obedient ſervice to it.
But, my fon, obferve this, as a moft principal thing
which I shall remember you of as long as I live.
Hate and defpife all human glory, for it is nothing
elfe but human folly. It is the greateſt fnare, and the
greateſt betrayer that you can poffibly admit into your
heart.
Let every day therefore be a day of humility, con-
defcend to all the weakneſs and infirmities of your
fellow-creatures, cover their frailties, love their ex-
cellences, encourage their virtues, relieve their wants,
rejoice in their profperities, compaffionate their dif-
trefs, receive their friendſhip, overlook their unkind-
nefs, forgive their malice, be a fervant of fervants,
and condefcend to do the loweſt offices to the loweſt of
mankind.
Afpire after nothing but your own purity and per-
fection, and have no ambition but to do every thing
in fo reaſonable and religious a manner, that you may
be glad that God is every where prefent, and fees all
your actions. The greateſt trial of humility, is an
humble behaviour towards your equals in age, eſtate,
and conditions of life. Therefore be careful of all
the motions of your heart towards theſe people. Let
all your behaviour towards them be governed by un-
feigned love. Have no defire to put any of your
equals below you, nor any anger at thofe that would
put themſelves above you. If they are proud, they
are ill of a very bad distemper ; let them therefore
have your tender pity, and perhaps your meekneſs
may prove an occafion of their cure ; but ifyour hu-
mility fhould do them no good, it will however be the
greatest good to yourſelf.
The time of practifing thefe precepts, my child,
will foon be over with you ; the world will foon flip
through
through your hands, or rather you will foon flip

through it ; it feems but the other day fince I received
thefe fame inftructions from my dear father, that I
am now leaving with you. And the God that gave
me ears to hear, and a heart to receive what my fa-
ther faid unto me, will, I hope, give you grace to
love and follow the fame inftructions.
The 13th Chapter of St. Paul's Firf Epiftle to the

Corinthians.
HOUGH I fpeak with the tongues of men and
THO of angels, and have not charity, I am become
as founding brafs, or a tinkling cymbal.
And though I have the gift of prophecy, and un-
derftand all myfteries, and all knowledge, and though
I have all faith, fo that I could remove mountains,
and have not charity, I am nothing.
And though I beftow all my goods to feed the
poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and
have not charity, it profiteth me nothing.
Charity fuffereth long, and is kind ; Charity en-
vieth not ; Charity vaunteth not itſelf, is not puffed up,
Doth not behave itſelf unfeemly, feeketh not her
own, is not eafily provoked, thinketh no evil,
Rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth :
Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all
things, endureth all things.
Charity never faileth : but whether there be pro-
phecies, they fhall fail ; whether there be tongues,
they fhall ceafe ; whether there be knowledge, it fhall
vanish away.
For we know part, and we prophecy in part.
But when that which is perfect is come, then that
which is in part fhall be done away.
When I was a child, I fpake as a child, I under-
ftood as a child, I thought as a child ; but when I
became a man, I put away childish things.
For now we fee through a glafs darkly ; but then
face to face now I know in part ; but then fhall I
know even as alfo I am known.
And
And now abideth faith, hope, charity, theſe three
but the greateſt of theſe is Charity.
Part ofthe 15th Chapter ofSt. Paul's First Epifile

to the Corinthians.
TOW if Chrift be preached that he rose from the

N dead, how fay fome among you , that there is
no refurrection of the dead ?
But if there be no refurrection of the dead, then is
Chrift not rifen.
And if Christ be not rifen, then is our preaching
vain, and your faith is alſo vain.
Yea, and we are found falfe witneffes of God ; be-
cauſe we have teftified of God, that he raiſed up
Christ whom he raiſed not up , if ſo be that the dead
rife not .
For if the dead rife not, then is not Chrift raiſed :
And if Christ be not raiſed, your faith is vain ; ye
are yet in your fins.
Then they alfo which are fallen afleep in Chriſt are
perished.
If in this life only we have hope in Chrift, we are
of all men moft miferable.
But now is Chrift rifen from the dead, and become
the first fruits of them that flept.
For fince by man came death, by man came alfo
the refurrection of the dead . For as in Adam all die,
even foin Chrift fhall all be made alive.
But every man in his own order : Chrift the firſt
fruits, afterward, they that are Chrift's at his coming.
Then cometh the end, when he fhall have deliver-
ed up the kingdom to God, even the Father; when
he fhall have put down all rule, and all authority , and
power.
For he must reign till he hath put all enemies un-
der his feet.
The last enemy that ſhall be deſtroyed, is Death.
For he hath put all things under his feet. But
when he faith all things are put under him, it is ma-
nifeft
nifest that he is excepted which did put all things un-

der him.
And when all things fhall be fubdued unto him ,
then fhall the fon alfo himfelf be fubject unto him
that put all things under him, that God may be all
in all.
Eife what fhall they do which are baptized for the
dead, if the dead rife not at all ? why are they then.
baptized for the dead?
And why ftand we in jeopardy every hour ?
I proteft by your rejoicing which I have in Chrift
Jefus our Lord, I die daily.
Ifafter the manner of men I have fought with beafts
at Ephefus, what advantageth it me, if the dead rife
not let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die.
Be not deceived : evil communications corrupt good
manners.
Awake to righteoufnefs, and fin not ; for fome
have not the knowledge of God : I fpeak this to your
fhame.
But fome man will fay, How are the dead raiſed
up ? and with what body do they come ?
Thou fool, that which thou foweft is not quickened
except it die.
And that which thou foweft, thou foweft not that
body that ſhall be, but bare grain, it may chance of
wheat, or of fome other grain.
But God giveth it a body as it hath pleaſed him,
and to every feed his own body.
All flesh is not the fame flefh: but there is one kind
of flesh of men, another fleſh of beafts, another of
fishes, and another of birds.
There are alfo celeſtial bodies, and bodies terreſtrial :
but the glory of the celeftial is one, and the glory of
the terreftrial is another.
There is one glory of the fun, and another glory of
the moon, and another glory of the ſtars ; for one ſtar
differeth from another ftar in glory.
So alfo is the refurrection of the dead. It is fown
in corruption, it is raiſed in incorruption.
It
It is fown in difhonour, it is raifed in glory it is
fown in weakneſs, it is raiſed in power :
It is fown a natural body, it is raised a fpiritual
body. There is a natural body, and there is a ſpritual
body.
And fo it is written , The first man Adam was made
a living foul, the laſt Adam was made a quickening
fpirit.
Howbeit, that was not first which is fpiritual, but
that which is natural ; and afterward that which is
fpiritual.
The first man is of the earth, earthy : the fecond
man is the Lord from heaven.
As is the earthy, fuch are they alſo that are earthy :
and as is the heavenly, fuch are they alſo that are
heavenly.
And as we have borne the image of the earthy, we
fhall alfo bear the image of the heavenly.
Now this I fay, brethren, that flesh and blood can-
not inherit the kingdom of God ; neither doth cor-
ruption inherit incorruption.
Behold I fhew you a myftery : we ſhall not all
fleep, but we fhall all be changed,
In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the
laft rump (for the trumpet ſhall found) , and the dead
fhall be raiſed incorruptible, and we ſhall be changed.
Forthis corruptible muft put on incorruption , and
this mortal must put on immortality.
So when this corruptible fhall have put on incor-
ruption, and this mortal fhall have put on immorta-
lity, then fhall be brought to paſs the ſaying that is
written, Death is fwallowed up in victory.
O death ! where is thy fting ? O grave ! where is
thy victory ?
The fting of death is fin ; and the ftrength of fin
is the law.
But thanks be to God which giveth us the victory,
through our Lord Jefus Chrift.
Therefore, my beloved brethren, be ye ftedfaft,
unmoveable, always abounding in the work of the
Lord,
Lord, forafmuch as ye know that your labour is not

in vain in the Lord.
Comparison between Chriflianity and Maho-

metanifm.
HE Gofpel had no competitor, till the great and
THE no till
pretends a commiffion to all the world, and found
means fufficiently to publish his pretences : he afferts
his authority upon the ftrength of Revelation, and
endeavours to transfer the advantages of the Gofpel
evidence to himfelf, having that pattern before him
to copy after : and fhould we fay that the Alcoran
was never promulged to us by perfons duly commif-
fioned, it may be answered perhaps, that the Alco-
ran is as well published to us as the Gofpel is to them ;
which has fome appearance of an anfwer, though
the fact is indeed otherwife ; for even the Alcoran
owns Jefus for a true prophet.
But, with respect to this inftance, I perfuade my-
felf it can be no very diftracting ftudy to find reafons
to determine our choice. Go to your Natural Reli-
gion lay before her Mahomet and his difciples ar-
rayed in armour and in blood, riding in triumph over
the fpoils of thoufands and tens of thoufands, who
fell by his victorious fword : fhew her the cities which
he fet in flames, the countries which he ravaged and
deftroyed, and the miferable diftrefs of all the inha-
bitants of the earth. When he has viewed him in
this fcene, carry her into his retirements : fhew her
the prophet's chamber, his concubines, and his wives ;.
let her fee his adultery, and hear him alledge reve-
lation and divine commiffion to justify his luft and his
oppreffion. When fhe is tired with this profpect, then
fhew her the bleffed Jefus humble and meek, doing
good to all the fons of men, patiently inftructing both
the ignorant and the perverfe. Let her fee him in
his most retired privacies : let her follow him to the
mount, and hear his devotions and fupplications to
God.
God. Carry her to his table to view his poor fare,
and hear his heavenly difcourfe. Let her fee him in-
jured, but not provoked : let her attend him to the
tribunal, and confider the patience with which he
endured the fcoffs and reproaches of his enemies.
Lead her to his crofs ; and let her view him in the
agony of death, and hear his laſt prayer for his per-
fecutors : " Father, forgive them, for they know not
" what they do !"
When Natural Religion has viewed both, afk,
Which is the prophet of God ? but her anſwer we
have already had ; when the faw part of this fcene
through the eyes of the centurion who attended at
the cross, by him the fpoke and faid, " Truly this
man was the Son of God."
Part ofthe 16th Chapter of St. Luke.
HERE was a certain rich man, which was

THclothed in purple and fine linen, and fared
fumptuously every day.
And there was a certain beggar, named Lazarus,
which was laid at his gate full of fores,
And defiring to be fed with the crumbs which fell
from the rich man's table : moreover, the dogs came
and licked his fores,
And it came to pafs that the beggar died, and was
carried by the angels into Abraham's bofom ; the rich
man alfo died, and was buried.
And in hell he lift up his eyes, being in torments,
and feeth Abraham afar off, and Lazarus in his bo-
fom .
And he cried, and faid, Father Abraham, have
mercy on me, and fend Lazarus, that he may dip the
tip of his finger in water, and cool my tongue ; for
I am tormented in this flame.
But Abraham faid, Son, remember that thou in
thy lifetime receivedít thy good things, and likewife
Lazarus evil things : but now he is comforted, and
thou art tormented.
And
ION
And befides all this, between us and youthere is a

great gulf fixed : fo that they which would paſs from
hence to you, cannot ; neither can they paſs to us,
that would come from thence.
Then he faid, I pray thee, therefore, Father, that
thou wouldeſt fend him to my father's houfe:
For I have five brethren ; that he may teftify un-
to them, left they alfo come into this place of tor-
ment.
Abraham faith unto him, They have Mofes and
the prophets let them hear them.
And he faid, Nay, Father Abraham : but if one
went unto them from the dead, they will repent.
And he faid unto him , If they hear not Mofes and
the prophets, neither will they be perfuaded, though
one rofe from the dead.
On Converfation.
OCIETY fubfifts amongſt men by a mutual com-

munication of their thoughts to each other.
Words, looks, geſture, and different tones of voice,
are the means of that communication. I ſpeak, and
in an-inftant my ideas and fentiments are communi-
cated to the perſon who hears me ; my whole foul in
a manner paffes into his. This communication of
my thoughts is again the occafion of others in him,
which he communicates to me in his turn. Hence
arifes one of the moſt lively of our pleafures ; by this.
means too we enlarge our knowledge, and this reci-
procal commerce is the principal fource of our intel-
lectual wealth.
The first rule with regard to Converfation, is to ob-
ferve all the laws of politenefs in it. This rule is of
all others the moſt indifpenfible It is not in every
one's power perhaps to have fine parts, fay witty things,
or tell a story agreeably ; but every man may be po-
lite, if he pleafes, at leaſt to a certain degree. Po-
litenefs has infinitely more power to make a perfon
be loved, and his company fought after, than the
moft
moft extraordinary parts or attainments he can be
maſter of. Thefe fcarce ever fail of exciting envy,
and envy has always fome ill-will in it. If you would
be eſteemed, make yourſelf be loved ; we always
eſteem the perfon we love more than he deferves,
and the perfon we do not love, as little as ever we
can ; nay, we do all we can to deſpiſe him , and com-
monly fucceed in it.
Great talents for Converfation require to be accom-
panied with great politenefs ; he who eclipfes others
owes them great civilities ; and whatever a miſtaken
vanity may tell us, it is better to pleaſe in Converfa-
tion than to ſhine in it.
Another general rule in Converfation is , to con-
form yourſelf to the taſte, character, and preſent hu-
mour of the perfons you converfe with. This rule
is a confequence of the foregoing ; politenefs dictates
it, but it requires a large fund of good- nature and
complaifance to obferve it ; not but that a perfon
muft follow his talent in Converfation ; do not force
nature, no one ever did it with fuccefs. If you have
not a talent for humour, or raillery, or ſtory-telling,
never attempt them. Contain yourſelf alfo within
the bounds of what you know, and never talk upon
things you are ignorant of, unleſs it be with a view
to inform yourſelf. A perfon cannot fail in the ob-
fervance of this rule, without making himſelf ridicu
lous ; and yet how often do we fee it tranfgreffed !
fome, who on war or politics could talk very well,
will be perpetually haranguing on works of genius
and the belles lettres ; others, who are capable of
reafoning, and would make a figure in grave difcourſe,
will yet conftantly aim at humour and pleafantry,
though with the worst grace imaginable. Hence it
is, that we fee a man of merit fometimes appear like
a coxcomb, and hear a man of genius talk like a fool.
Avoid difputes as much as poffible. In order to
appear eafy and well-bred in converfation, you may
affure yourſelf it requires more wit, as well as more
good humour, to improve, than to contradict the
notions of another ; but if you are at any time obliged
to
to enter on an argument, give your reafons with the
utmoſt coolness and modefty, two things which ſcarce
ever fail of making an impreffion on the hearers.
Befides, if you are neither dogmatical , nor fhew either
by your actions or words that you are full of yourſelf,
all will the more heartily rejoice at your victory ;
nay, ſhould you be pinched in your argument, you
may make your retreat with a very good grace ; you
were never pofitive, and are now glad to be better in-
formed. This has made fome approve the Socratical
way of reafoning, where, while you fcarce affirm any.
thing, you can hardly be caught in an abfurdity ;
and though poffibly you are endeavouring to bring
over another to your opinion, which is firmaly fixed,
you feem only to defire information from him ..
In order to keep that temper which is fo difficult,
and yet fo neceffary to preferve, you may pleaſe to
confider, that nothing can be more unjuft or ridiculous,
than to be angry with another, becauſe he is not of
your opinion. The intereft, education , and means
by which men attain their knowledge, are fo very
different, that it is impoffible they fhould all think
alike, and he has at leaſt as much reafon to be angry
with you, as you with him. Sometimes, to keep
yourſelf cool, it may be of fervice to aſk yourſelf
fairly, what might have been your opinion, had you
all the biaffes of education and intereft your adverſary
may poffibly have ? but ifyou contend for the honour
of victory alone, you may lay down this as an infal-
lible maxim, that you cannot make a more falſe ſtep,
or give your antagoniſt a greater advantage over you,
than by falling into a paffion.
When an argument is over, how many weighty
reafons does a man recollect, which his heat and vio-
lence made him utterly forget ?
It is yet more abfurd to be angry with a man becauſe
he does not apprehend the force of your reafons, or
gives weak ones of his own. If you argue for repu-
tation , this makes your victory the eafier ; he is cer-
tainly in all refpects an object of your pity, rather
than anger , and if he cannot comprehend what you
do,
do, you ought to thank nature for her favours, who
has given you fo much the clearer underſtanding.
You may pleaſe to add this confideration , that
among your equals no one values your anger, which
only preys upon its mafter ; and perhaps you may
find it not very confiftent either with prudence or
your eafe, to punish yourſelf whenever you meet
with a fool or a knave.
Laftly, If you propofe to yourſelf the true end of
argument, which is information, it may be a ſeaſon-
able check to your paffion ; for if you fearch purely
after truth, it will be almoſt indifferent to you where
you find it. I cannot in this place omit an obferva-
tion which I have often made, namely, that nothing
procures a man more eſteem and lefs envy from
the whole company, than if he chooſes the part of
moderator, without engaging directly on either fide
in a difpute. This gives him the character of impar-
tial, furnishes him with an opportunity of fifting
things to the bottom , of fhewing his judgment, and
of fometimes making handfome compliments to each
of the contending parties. I fhall cloſe this fubject
with giving you one caution : when you have gained
a victory, do not push it too far ; it is fufficient to let
the company and your adverfary fee it is in your
power, but that you are too generous to make uſe
of it.
On the fame Subject.
HE faculty of interchanging our thoughts with

TH one another, or what we exprefs by the word
Converfation has always been repreſented, by moral
writers, as one of the nobleſt privileges of reafon, and
which more particularly fets mankind above the brute
part of the creation.
Though nothing fo much gains upon the affections
as extempore eloquence, which we have conftantly
occafion for, and are obliged to practife every day,
we very rarely meet with any who excel in it.
The
The Converfation of moft men is difagreeable, not.
fo much for want of wit and learning, as of good-
breeding and difcretion.
If you refolve to pleaſe, never ſpeak to gratify any
particular vanity or paffion of your own, but always
with a defign either to divert or inform the company.
A man who only aims at one of thefe, is always eafy
in his difcourfe : he is never out of humour at being
interrupted, becauſe he confiders that thoſe who hear
him are the best judges, whether what he was faying
could either divert or inform them.
A modeft perfon feldom fails to gain the goodwill
of thoſe he converfes with ; becauſe nobody envies a
man who does not appear to be pleaſed with himſelf.
We should talk extremely little of ourfelves. In-
deed what can we fay ? it would be as imprudent to
difcover our faults, as ridiculous to count over our
fancied virtues. Our private and domeſtic affairs are
no less improper to be introduced into Converfation.
What does it concern the company how many horſes
you keep in your ftables ? or whether your fervant is
moft knave or fool ? a man may equally affront the
company he is in, by engroffing all the talk, or ob-
ferving a contemptuous filence.
Before you tell a ftory, it may be generally not
amifs to draw a fhort character, and give the compa-
ny a true idea of the principal perfons concerned in
it ; the beauty of most things confifting not fo much
in their being faid or done, as in their being faid
ordone by fuch a particular perſon, or on fuch a parti-
cular occafion.
Notwithſtanding all the advantages of youth, few
young people pleaſe in Converfation ; the reafon is,
that want of experience makes them pofitive, and
what they fay is rather with a deſign to pleaſe them-
felves than any one elſe.
It is certain, that age itſelf ſhall make many things
pafs well enough, which would have been laughed at
in the mouth of one much younger.
Nothing, however, is more infupportable to men
of fenfe, than an empty formal man, who ſpeaks in
proverbs,
proverbs, and decides all controverfies with a ſhort
fentence. This piece of ſtupidity is the more infuf-
ferable, as it puts on the air of wiſdom.
A prudent man will avoid talking much of any par-
ticular ſcience for which he is remarkably famous.
There is not, methinks, an handfomer thing faid of
Mr. Cowley in his whole life, than that none but
his intimate friends ever difcovered he was a great
poet by his difcourfe. Befides the decency of this
rule, it is certainly founded in good policy. A man
who talks of any thing he is already famous for, has
little to get, but a great deal to lofe . I might add,
that he who is fometimes filent on a fubject where
every one is fatisfied he could fpeak well, will often
be thought no lefs knowing in other matters, where
perhaps he is wholly ignorant.
Whenever you commend, add your reafons for dɔ-
ing fo ; it is this which diftinguishes the approbation
of a man of fenfe from the flattery of fycophants, and
admiration of fools.
Raillery is no longer agreeable than while the
whole company is pleafed with it. I would leaft of
all be underſtood to except the perfon rallied.
Though good-humour, fenfe, and diſcretion , fel-
dom fail to make a man agreeable, it may be no ill
policy fometimes to prepare yourſelf in a particular
manner for Converfation, by looking a little farther
than your neighbours into whatever is become a
reigning fubject. If our armies are befieging a place
of importance abroad, or our houfe of commons de-
bating a bill of confequence at home, you can hardly
fail of being heard with pleaſure, if you have nicely
informed yourſelf of the strength, fituation, and hif-
tory of the first, or of the reafons for and againſt the
latter. It will have the fame effect, ifwhen any fingle
perfon begins to make a noife in the world, you can
learn fome of the ſmalleſt accidents in his life or con-
verfation, which, though they are too fine for the
obfervation of the vulgar, give more fatisfaction to
men of fenfe (as they are the beſt opening to a real
character), than the recital of his moft glaring actions.
I know
I know but one ill confequence to be feared from this

method, namely, that coming full- charged into
company, you ſhould refolve to unload, whether
an handfome opportunity offers itſelf or no.
Though the afking of queſtions may plead for itſelf
the fpecious name of modefty, and a defire of infor-
mation, it affords little pleafure to the rest of the
company who are not troubled with the fame doubts ;
befides which, he who afks a queſtion would do well
to confider, that he lies wholly at the mercy of another
before he receives an anfwer.
Nothingis more filly than the pleaſure fome people
take in what they call fpeaking their minds. A man
of this make will fay a rude thing for the mere plea-
fure of faying it ; when an oppofite behaviour, full as
innocent, might have preferved his friend, or made
his fortune.
It is not impoffible for a man to form to himſelf as
exquifite a pleaſure in complying with the humour and
fentiments of others, as of bringing others over to
his own ; fince it is the certain fign of a fuperior
genius, that can take and become whatever drefs it
pleafes.
I fhall only add, that befides what I have here faid,
there is fomething that can never be learnt, but in the
company of the polite. The virtues of men are
catching as well as their vices, and your own obferva-
tions added to theſe, will foon diſcover what it is that
commands attention in one man, and makes you tired
and diſpleaſed with the difcourfe of another.
The
The Dedication to a Pamphlet, intitled, Killing

no Murder, printed in the Year 1689.
To his Highnefs Oliver Cromwell.
MAY IT. PLEASE YOUR HIGHNESS ,
OW I have ſpent fome hours of the leiſure your

H Highnefs hath been pleafed to give me, this
following paper will give your Highneſs an account.
How you will pleaſe to interpret it, I cannot tell ;
but I can with confidence fay, my intention in it is
to procure your Highnefs that juftice nobody yet does
you, and to let the people fee, the longer they defer
it the greater injury they do both themfelves and you.
Το your Highness juftly belong the honours of dying
for the people, and it cannot chooſe but be an un-
fpeakable confolation to you in the last moments of
your life, to confider, with how much benefit to the
world you are like to leave it. It is then only, my
Lord, the titles you now ufurp will be truly yours ;
you will then be, indeed, the deliverer of your
country, and free it from a bondage, little inferior
to that from which Mofes delivered his you will
then be that true reformer which you would now be
thought ; religion fhall then be reftored, liberty af-
ferted, and parliaments have thofe privileges they
have fought for : we fhall then hope, that other laws
will have place befides thofe of the fword, and that
juftice fhall be otherways defined, than the will and
pleaſure of the ftrongeft ; and we fhall then hope,
men will keep oaths again, and not have the neceflity
of being falfe and perfidious, to preferve themſelves,
and be like their rulers : all this we hope from your
Highness's happy expiration, who are the true father
of your country ; for, while you live, we can call
nothing ours, and it is from your death that we hope .
for our inheritances : let this confideration aim and
fortify your Highness's mind against the fears of
P death ,
death, and the terrors of your evil confcience , that

the good you will do, by your death, will fomewhat
balance the evils of your life . And if, in the black
catalogue of high malefactors, few can be found that
have lived more to the affliction and diſturbance of
mankind, than your Highness hath done ; yet your
greateſt enemies will not deny, but there are likewiſe
as few that have expired more to the univerfal benefit
of mankind, than your Highness is like to do. To
haften this great good is the chief end of my writing
this paper ; and, if it have the effects I hope it will,
your Highness will quickly be out of the reach of
men's malice, and your enemies will only be able to
wound you in your memory, which ſtrokes you will
not feel. That your Highness may be ſpeedily in this
fecurity, is the univerfal with of your grateful coun-
try; this is the defire and prayer of the good and of
the bad, and, it may be, is the only thing wherein
all fects and factions do agree in their devotions, and
is our only common prayer. But, amongst all that
put in their requeſts and fupplications for your High-
nefs's fpeedy deliverance from all earthly troubles,
none is more affiduous, nor more fervent, than he
that, with the reſt of the nation , hath the honour to
be, may it pleaſe your Highness,
Your Highness's prefent Slave and Vaſſal,
W. A.
To all thofe Officers and Soldiers of the Army, that

remember their Engagements, and dare be honeft.
HEARTILY wish, for England's fake, that your

I number may be far greater than I fear it is ; and
that his Highness's frequent purgations may have left
any amongst you, that, by theſe characters, are con-
cerned in this dedication. That I, and all men, have
reaſon to make this a doubt, your own actions, as well
as
as your tame fufferings, do but too plainly manifeft.
For you, that were the champions of our liberty,
and to that purpoſe were raiſed, are not you become
the inftruments of our flavery ? and your hands, that
the people employed to take off the yoke from our
necks, are not thoſe the very hands that now do put
it on ? Do you remember, that you were raiſed to
defend the privileges of parliament, and have fworn
to do it ; and will you be employed to force elections,
and diffolve parliaments, becauſe they will not eſta-
blish the tyrant's iniquity, and our flavery, by a law?
I beseech you, think upon what you have promifed,
and what you do ; and give not pofterity, as well as
your own generation , the occafion to mention your
name with infamy, and to curfe that unfortunate va-
lour and fuccefs of yours, that only hath gained vic-
tories, as you uſe them, againſt the commonwealth.
Could ever England have thought to have ſeen that
army, that was never mentioned without the titles of
religious, zealous, faithful, courageous, the fence of
her liberty at home, the terror of her enemies abroad,
become her jailers ? not her guard, but her oppreffors ?
not her foldiers, but a tyrant's executioners, drawing
to blocks and gibbets all that dare be honeſter than
themſelves ? This you do, and this you are ; nor can
you ever redeem your own honour, the truſt and
love of your country, the estimation of brave men,
or the prayers of good, if you let not, fpeedily, the
world fee you have been deceived ; which they will
only then believe, when they fee your vengeance up❤
on his faithleſs head that did it : this, if you defer
too long to do, you will find too late to attempt, and
your repentance will neither vindicate you nor help
us. To let you fee you may do this, as a lawful ac-
tion, and to perfuade you to it, as a glorious one, is
the principal intent of this following paper : which ,
whatever effects it hath upon you, I ſhall not abfolutely
fail of my ends ; for, if it excites not your virtue and
courage, it will yet exprobate your cowardice and
bafenefs. This is from one that was amongst you,
and will be fo again, when you dare be as you were.
Pa Extrad
Extract from Gordon's Dedication of his Tranf

lation of Salluft .
HERO without heroifm, can only be created

A by flatterers without fhame : a king void of
faith, can pafs for a hero with none but fycophants
void of confcience. Praiſe not merited, but bought,
rarely lives fo long as the buyer, even though he be
conftantly buying: if it be ingenious praife, it will
rather be the portion of the feller; at all events, it will
be for ever ſtained with the reproach of being fold.
The worthless dead, as they could not expect, nei-
ther can they bear remembrance. True worth gains
by the grave. The good which they did, is remem-
bered : the little and great falfities raiſed about them ,
are forgotten ; perfonal envy ceafes ; the clamour of
party is heard no more : juftice is reſtored , truth pre-
vails, and that virtue which ſtands in no man's way,
is by all men applauded .
After death, characters are better known. The
good ſtand the teft of pofterity. The great and vir-
tuous continue to be loved and praiſed. The great
and bad are hated and blaſted. Nero and Meffalina
are names of reproach and horror, at the end of
feventeen hundred years : Scipio and Portia are names
fill celebrated, at a greater distance of time. They
themſelves indeed feel neither obloquy nor praife :
but they will ever, live in record, and reap eternal
renown, or eternal infamy.
Comparison between Cato and Cæfar.
ATO contended for public liberty and virtue ;

CA Cæfar for his own power ; and thence promoted
all public abufes and corruption. In Cato, all virtu-
ous men, and every righteous caufe, found a fure pa-
tron and fanctuary : by Cæfar, the profligate, the de-
praved, and defperate, with every traitor, and all trai-
terous practices, were protected and cheriſhed. Cato
endea-
endeavoured to recal ancient probity and innocence;
to reclaim or puniſh evil-doers ; to fecure the public
by upright meaſures ; and to tranfmit liberty and
good government to generations to come : Cæfar pro-
moted diffolutenefs and venality ; encouraged public
criminals ; embroiled, and debauched, and oppreffed
the ſtate. Cato loved his country, fought for it, and
died for it ; and thence left to it an illuftrious and affect-
ing example, of virtue incorruptible, and of primi-
tive zeal : Cæfar loved himſelf beyond his country,
fought for himſelf againſt his country, and to himſelf
enflaved his country : he entailed bondage upon that
and fucceeding ages ; and left a race of fucceffors
truly worthy of the inheritance of tyranny ; a race
who were the fcourge and fhame of human nature,
the peſts and butchers of the Romans, and of all men.
Such, literally, were the doings and character of
thy boafted Cæfar, O Rome ; thefe his atchieve-
ments, this his legacy ! if all this make him not a
parricide, the higheſt parricide, the meaning of words
is inverted, truth and reafon have loft their courſe,
and gilt and innocence are no more. Did he not fill
thee, Rome, and all thy wide regions, with blood,
and woe, and chains ? he ſpoke well, he fought well ;
but for whofe fake ? and who reaped the benefit ? was
not the benefit his ; the expence, the pain, and for-
row, thine ? over thee and thy liberties was his laft
triumph.
Rather boaſt a patriot; thy patriot Cato ; one who
was a foe to thy foes, thy beft champion, thy true pro-
phet : one who forewarned thee of all thy impending
calamities ; ftruggled to avert them ; and periſhed ra-
ther than behold them. This is fame indeed ; ge-
nuine fame ; great, immortal, and unallayed. What-
ever exploits Cæfar did, whatever fine qualities he
had, ſtill he enflaved his country ; a confideration
that tarnishes and fruftrates all his praife.
P 3 A Night
N
318 A HELP TO ELOCUTIO ,
A Night-Picce on Death.
[ By Dr. Parnell. ]
Y the blue taper's trembling light,

BYNo more I waſte the wakeful night,
Intent with endlefs view to pore
The fchoolmen and the fages o'er :
Their books from wifdom widely firay,
Or point at beſt the longest way.
I'll ſeek a readier path, and go
Where wiſdom's furely taught below.
How deep yon azure dyes the fky !
Where orbs of gold unnumber'd lie,
While through their ranks in filver pride
The nether crefcent feems to glide.
The flumb'ring breeze forgets to breathe,
The lake is fmooth and clear beneath,
Where once again the ſpangled ſhow
Defcends to meet our eyes below.
The grounds which on the right afpire,
In dimnefs from the view retire :
The left prefents a place of graves,
Whofe wall the filent water laves.
That ſteeple guides thy doubtful fight
Among the livid gleams of night.
There pafs with melancholy ftate,
By all the folemn heaps of fate,
And think, as foftly fad you tread
Above the venerable dead,
Time was, like thee they life poffeft,
And time ſhall be, that thou shalt reft.
Thofe graves, with bending ofier bound,
That nameless heave the crumbled ground,
Quick to the glancing thought diſcloſe,
Where toil and poverty repofe.
The flat ſmooth ſtones that bear a name,
The chiffel's flender help to fame,
(Which ere our fet of friends decay
Their frequent fteps may wear away ;)
A middle
A middle race of mortals own,
Men, half ambitious, all unknown,
The marble tombs that rife on high,
Whofe dead in vaulted arches lie,
Whofe pillars fwell with fculptur'd ftones,
Arms, angels, epitaphs, and bones ;
Thefe, all the poor remains of ſtate,
Adorn the rich, or praife the great ;
Who while on earth in fame they live,
Are fenfelefs ofthe fame they give.
Ha ! while I gaze, pale Cynthia fades,
The bursting earth unveils the ſhades !
All flow, and wan, and wrapp'd with ſhrouds,
They rife in vifionary crowds,
And all with fober accent cry,
" Think, mortal, what it is to die."
Now from yon black and fun'ral yew,
That bathes the charnel -houſe with dew,
Methinks, I hear a voice begin ;
(Ye ravens, ceafe your croaking din,
Ye tolling clocks, no time refound
O'er the long lake and midnight ground)
It fends a peal of hollow groans,
Thus fpeaking from among the bones.
When men my fcythe and darts fupply,
How great a king of fears am I!
They view me like the laft of things ;
They make, and then they dread my ftings..
Fools ! if you lefs provok'd your fears,
No more my fpectre-form appears.
Death's but a path that must be trod,
If man wou'd ever paſs to God :
A port of calms, a ftate of eaſe
From the rough rage of fwelling feas.
Why then thy flowing fable ftoles,
Deep pendent cyprefs, mourning poles,
Loofe fcarfs to fall athwart thy weeds,
Long palls, drawn herfes, cover'd fteeds,
And plumes of black, that as they tread,
Nod o'er the 'fcutcheons of the dead ?
P 4 Nor
Nor can the parted body know,

Nor wants the foul thefe forms of woe:
As men who long in prifon dwell,
With lamps that glimmer round the cell,
Whene'er their fuff'ring years are run,
Spring forth to greet the glitt'ring fun :
Such joy, though far tranfcending fenfe,
Have pious fouls at parting hence..
On earth, and in the body plac'd,
A few, and evil years, they waſte :
But when their chains are caft afide,
See the glad fcene unfolding wide,
Clap the glad wing, and tow'r away,
And mingle with the blaze of day.
A Hymn to Contentment.
[By Dr. Parnell.]
OVELY, lafting peace of mind !

L Sweet delight of human kind !
Heav'nly born, and bred on high,
To crown the fav'rites of the ſky
With more of happineſs below,
Than victors in a triumph know !
Whither, O whither art thou fled,
To lay thy meek contented head ?
What happy region doſt thou pleaſe
To make the feat of calms and eafe ?
Ambition fearches all its fphere
Of pomp and ſtate, to meet thee there.
Increafing avarice would find
Thy prefence in its gold infhrin'd.
The bold advent'rer ploughs his way,
Through rocks amidst the foaming fea,
To gain thy love ; and then perceives
Thou wert not in the rocks and waves.
The filent heart which grief affails,
Treads foft and loneſome o'er the vales,
Sces
Sees daifies open, rivers run,
And feeks (as I have vainly done)
Amufing thought ; but learns to know
That folitude's the nurſe of woe.
No real happineſs is found
In trailing purple o'er the ground :
Or in a foul exalted high,
Το range the circuit of the ſky,
Converſe with ſtars above, and know
All nature in its forms below ;
The reft it ſeeks, in feeking dies,
And doubts at last for knowledge rife.
Lovely, lafting peace appear !
This world itſelf, if thou art here,
'
Is once again with Eden bleft,
And man contains it in his breaſt.
'Twas thus as under fhade I ftood,
I fung my wiſhes to the wood,
And loft in thought no more perceiv'd
The branches whiſper as they wav'd :
It feem'd, as all the quiet place
Confefs'd the prefence of the grace.
When thus the fpoke- Go rule thy will,
Bid thy wild paffions all be ſtill,
Know God and bring thy heart to know,
The joys which from religion flow :
Then ev'ry grace fhall prove its guest,
And I'll be there to crown the reſt.
Oh ! by yonder moffy feat,
In my hours of ſweet retreat ;
Might I thus my foul employ,
With fenfe of gratitude and joy :
Rais'd as ancient prophets were,
In heav'nly vifion, praife, and pray'r ;
Pleafing all men, hurting none,
Pleas'd and blefs'd with God alone :
Then while the gardens take my fight,
With all the colours of delight ;
While filver waters glide along,
To pleaſe my ear and court my fong :
P 5 I'll
I'll lift my voice, and tune my firing,

And thee, great Source of nature, fing.
The fun that walks his airy way,
To light the world, and give the day ;
The moon that fhines with borrowed light
The ftars that gild the gloomy night;
The ſeas that roll unnumber'd waves ;
The wood that fpreads its fhady leaves ;
The field whofe ears conceal the grain,
The yellow treaſure of the plain ;
All of thefe, and all I fee,
Shou'd be fung, and fung by me :
They fpeak their Maker as they can,
But want and afk the tongue of man.
Go fearch among your idle dreams,
Your bufy, or your vain extremes ;
And find a life of equal blifs,
Or own the next begun in this.
The Hermit. [ By Dr. Parnell.]
-I may affert eternal Providence,

And juſtify the ways of God to man. Mihon.
AR in a wild, unknown to public view,

FAFrom youth to age a rev'rend hermit grew;
The mofs his bed, the cave his humble cell,
His food the fruits, his drink the chryſtal well :
Remote from man, with God he pafs'd the days,
Pray'r all his bus'nefs, all his pleaſure praife.
Á life fo facred, fuch ferene repofe,
Seem'd Heav'n itfelf, ' till one fuggeftion rofe ;
That vice fhould triumph, virtue vice obey,
This fprung fome doubt of Providence's fway :
His hopes no more a certain profpect boaſt,
And all the tenour of his foul is loft :
So when a fmooth expanfe receives impreft
Calin nature's image on its watry breast,
Down bend the banks, the trces depending grow,
And fkies beneath with anfw'ring colours glow ;
But
But if a ftone the gentle fea divide,
Swift ruffling circles curl on ev'ry fide ,
And glimmering fragments of a broken fun,
Banks , trees, and fkies, in thick diſorder run.
To clear this doubt, to know the world by fight,
To find if books, or fwains, report it right;
(For yet by fwains alone the world he knew,
Whofe feet came wand'ring o'er the nightly dew)
He quits his cell ; the pilgrim-ftaff he bore,
And fix'd the fcallop in his hat before ;
Then with the fun a rifing journey went,
'
Sedate to think, and watching each event.
The morn was wafted in the pathlefs grafs,
And long and loneſome was the wild to pafs ;
But when the fouthern fun had warm'd the day,
A youth came pofting o'er a croffing way ;
His raiment decent, his complexion fair,
And foftin graceful ringlets wav'd his hair.
Then near approaching, Father, hail ! he cry'd,
And hail, my Son , the rev'rend fire reply'd ;
Words follow'd words, from queftion anfwer flow'd,
And talk of various kind deceiv'd the road ;
'Till each with other pleas'd, and loth to part,
While in their age they differ, join in heart :
Thus ftands an aged elm in ivy bound,
Thus youthful ivy clafps an elm around.
Now funk the fun ; the clofing hour of day :
Came onward, mantled o'er with fober grey ; :
1
Nature in filence hid the world repoſe :
When near the road a ſtately palace rofe :
There by the moon through ranks of trees they paſs,
Whofe verdure crown'd their floping fides of grafs.
It chanc'd the noble mafter of the dome,
Still made his houfe the wand'ring ftranger's home :
Yet ftill the kindnefs, from a thirst of praife,
Prov'd the vain flourish of expenſive eafe.
The pair arrive : the liv'ry'd fervants wait ;
Their lord receives them at the pompous gate.
The table groans with coftly piles of food,
And all is more than hofpitably good.
Then
Á HELP TO ELOCUTION.
324
Then led to reft, the day's long toil they drown,
Deep funk in fleep, and filk, and heaps of down.
At length ' tis morn, and at the dawn of day,
Along the wide canals the zephyrs play ;
Fresh o'er the gay parterres the breezes creep,
And ſhake the neighb'ring wood to baniſh fleep.
Up rife the gueſts, obedient to the call :
An early banquet deck'd the fplendid hall ;
Rich lufcious wine a golden goblet grac'd,
Which the kind maſter forc'd the gueſts to taſte.
Then pleas'd and thankful, from the porch they go ;
And, but the landlord, none had caufe of woe :
His cup was vaniſh'd ; for in fecret guiſe
The younger gueſt purloin'd the glitt'ring prize.
As one who fpies a ferpent in his way,
Glift'ning and baſking in the ſummer ray,
Diſorder'd ſtops to fhun the danger near,
Then walks with faintnefs on, and looks with fear:
So feem'd the fire ; when far upon the road ,
The fhining fpoil his wily partner fhow'd., ?
He ftopp'd with filence, walk'd with trembling heart,
And much he wish'd, but durft not aſk to part :
Murm'ring he lifts his eyes, and thinks it hard,
That gen'rous actions meet a baſe reward.
While thus they pafs, the fun his glory fhrouds,
The changing fkies hang out their fable clouds ;
A found in air prefag'd approaching rain,
And beaſts to covert fcud acroſs the plain .
Warn'd by the figrs , the wand'ring pair retreat,
To feek for ſhelter at a neighb'ring feat.
'Twas built with turrets, on a rifing ground,
And ſtrong, and large, and unimprov'd around ;
Its owner's temper, tim'rous and ſevere,
Unkind and griping, caus'd a defert there .
As near the mifer's heavy doors they drew,
Fierce rifing gufts with fudden fury blew ;
The nimble lightning mix'd with ſhowers began,
And o'er their heads loud rolling thunder ran.
Here long they knock, but knock or call in vain,
Driv'n by the wind, and batter'd by the rain;
At
325
At length fome pity warm'd the maſter's breaſt,
('Twas then, his threſhold firſt receiv'd a gueſt)
Slow creaking turns the door with jealous care,
And half he welcomes in the fhiv'ring pair ;
One frugal faggot lights the naked walls,
And nature's fervor through their limbs recalls :
Bread of the coarſeft fort, with eager wine,
(Each hardly granted) ferv'd them both to dine ;
And when the tempeft first appear'd to ceaſe,
A ready warning bid them part in peace.
With ftill remark the pond'ring Hermit view'd,
In one fo rich, a life fo poor and rude ;
And why fhou'd fuch , within himſelf he cry'd,
Lock the loft wealth a thouſand want befide ?
But what new marks of wonder foon took place,
In ev'ry ſettling feature of his face ;
When from his veft the young companion bore
That cup, the gen'rous landlord own'd before,
And paid profufely with the precious bowl
The ftinted kindneſs of this churlish foul.
But now the clouds in airy tumult fly,
The fun emerging opes an azure ſky ;
A fresher green the fmelling leaves difplay,
And glitt'ring as they tremble, cheer the day :
The weather courts them from the poor retreat,
And the glad maſter bolts the wary gate.
While hence they walk, the pilgrim's bofom
wrought,
With all the travel of uncertain thought ;
His partner's acts without their cauſe appear,
'Twas there a vice, and feem'd a madneſs here :
Deteſting that, and pitying this he goes,
Loft and confounded with the various fhows.
Now night's dim fhades again involve the ſky,
Again the wand'rers want a place to lye,
Again they fearch, and find a lodging nigh.
The foil improv'd around, the manſion neat,
And neither poorly low, nor idly great :
It feem'd to ſpeak its master's turn of mind,
Content, and not for praife, but virtue kind.
Hither
TION
Hither the walkers turn with weary feet,

Then blefs the manfion, and the mafter greet
Theirgreeting fair, beſtow'd with modeft guiſe,
The courteous mafter hears, and thus replies :
Without a vain, without a grudging heart,
To him who gives us all, I yield a part ;
From him you come, for him accept it here,
A frank and fober, more than coftly cheer.
He fpoke, and bid the welcome table ſpread,
Then talk'd of virtue till the time of bed,
When the grave houſehold round his hall repair,
Warn'd by a bell, and cloſe the hours with pray'r..
At length the world, renew'd by calm repofe,
Was ftrong for toil, the dappled morn arofe ;
Before the pilgrim's part, the younger crept,
Near the clos'd cradle where an infant flept,
And writh'd his neck : the landlord's little pride,
Oftrange return ! grew black, and gafp'd, and dy'd.
Horror of horrors ! what ! his only fon !
How look'd our Hermit when the fact was done ?·
Not hell, though hell's black jaws in funder part,
And breathe blue fire , cou'd more affault his heart.
Confus'd, and ftruck with filence at the deed,
He flies, but trembling fails to fly with ſpeed .
His fteps the youth purfues ; the country lay
Perplex'd with roads, a fervant fhow'd the way ::
A river crofs'd the path ; the paffage o'er
Was nice to find ; the fervant trode before ;
Long arms of oaks an open bridge fupply'd,
And deep the waves beneath the bending glide.
The youth, who ſeem'd to watch a time to fin,
Approach'd the careless guide, and thruſt him in ;
Plunging he falls, and rifing lifts his head,
Then flashing turns, and finks among the dead.
Wild, fparkling rage inflames the Hermit's eyes,
He burfts the bands of fear, and , madly cries,
Detefted wretch ! --but fcarce his fpeech began ,
When the ſtrange partner feem'd no longer man :
His youthful face grew more ferenely fweet ;
His robe turn'd white, and flow'd upon his feet ;
Fair
A HELP TO ELOCUTION.. 327
Fair rounds of radiant points inveft his hair ;
Celeſtial odours breathe through purpled air ;.
And wings, whofe colours glitter'd on the day,
Wide at his back their gradual plumes difplay.
The form ethereal burits upon his fight,
And moves in all the majefty of light.
Though loud at first the pilgrim's paffion grew,.
Sudden he gaz'd, and wift not what to do ;
Surpriſe in fecret chains his words fufpends,
And in a calm his fettling temper ends.
But filence here the beauteous angel broke,
The voice of mufic ravifh'd as he spoke.)
Thy pray'r, thy praife, thy life to vice unknown,
In fweet memorial rife before the throne :
Thefe charms, fuccefs in our bright region find,.
And force an angel down to calm thy mind ;,
For this commiffion'd, I forfook the sky,
Nay, ceaſe to kneel- thy fellow-fervant I..
Then know the truth of goverment divine,
And let theſe fcruples be no longer thine.
The Maker juftly claims that world he made,
In this the right of Providence is laid ;:
Its facred majefty through all depends
On ufing fecond means to work his ends :
Tis thus, withdrawn in ftate from human eye,
The Pow'r exerts his attributes on high,
Your actions ufes, nor controuls your will,
And bids the doubting fons of men be ſtill..
What ftrange events can ftrike with more furpriſe,
Than thoſe which lately ftruck thy wond'ring eyes ?
Yet taught by thefe, confefs th' Almighty juſt,
And where you can't unriddle, learn to trust !
The great, vain man, who far'd on coſtly food,
Whofe life was too luxurious to be good ;
Who made his iv'ry ftands with goblets fhine,
And forc'd his guests to morning draughts of wine,
Has, with the cup, the graceless custom loft,
And ſtill he welcomes, but with lefs of coſt.
The mean, fufpicious wretch, whoſe bolted door
Ne'er mov'd in duty to the wand'ring poor ;
With
With him I left the cup, to teach his mind

That Heav'n can blefs, if mortals will be kind.
Confcious of wanting worth he views the bowl,
And feels compaffion touch his grateful foul.
Thus artiſts melt the fullen oar of lead,
With heaping coals of fire upon its head ;
In the kind warmth the metal learns to glow,
And looſe from drofs, the filver runs below.
Long had our pious friend in virtue trod,
But now the child half-wean'd his heart from God ;
(Child of his age) for him he liv'd in pain,
And meaſur'd back his ſteps to earth again.
To what exceffes had his dotage run ?
But God, to fave the father, took the ſon .
To all but thee, in fits he feem'd to go,
(And 'twas my miniſtry to deal the blow)
The poor fond parent, humbled in the duſt,
Now owns in tears the punishment was juſt.
But now had all his fortune felt a wrack,
Had that falfe fervant fped in fafety back ;
This night his treafur'd heaps he meant to ſteal,
And what a fund of charity would fail !
Thus Heav'n inftructs thy mind : this trial o'er,
Depart in peace, refign, and fin no more.
On founding pinions here the youth withdrew,
The fage ftood wond'ring as the feraph flew.
Thus look'd Eliſha, when , to mount on high,
His mafter took the chariot of the fky;
The fiery pomp afcending, left the view ;
The prophet gaz'd, and wifh'd to follow too.
The bending Hermit here a pray'r begun,
Lord ! as in heav'n, on earth thy will be done.
Then gladly turning, fought his ancient place,
And pafs'd a life of piety and peace.
Colin
Colin and Lucy. [By Mr. Tickell.]
I.
F Leinfter fam'd for maidens fair,
Ο Bright Lucy was the grace ;
Nor e'er did Liffy's limpid 1tream
Reflect a fairer face.
II.
"Till luckless love and pining care
Impair'd her rofy hue,
Her dainty lip, her damafk cheek,
And eyes of gloffy blue.
III.
Ah ! have you feen a lilly pale
When beating rains defcend ?
So droop'd this flow-confuming maid,
Her life now near its end.
IV.
By Lucy warn'd of flattering fwains
Take heed, ye eaſy fair !
Of vengeance due to broken vows,
Ye flatt'ring fwains, beware !
V.
Three times, all in the dead of night,
A bell was heard to ring ;
And at her window fhrieking thrice,
The raven flapp'd his wing.
VI.
Full well the love-lorn maiden knew
The folemn-boding found,
And thus in dying words beſpoke
The virgins weeping round.
VII.
I hear a voice you cannot hear,
" That cries I must not ſtay ;
" I fee a hand you cannot fee,
" That beckons me away.
VIII.
N
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330
VIII.
" Of a falfe fwain, and broken heart,
In early youth I die :
" Am I to blame becauſe the bride
Is twice as rich as I ?
IX.
" Ah, Colin, give not her thy vows,
" Vows due to me alone !
" Nor thou, rash girl, receive his kifs,
" Nor think him all thy own!
X.
" To-morrow in the church, to wed,
" Impatient both prepare :
" But know, falfe man, and know, fond maid,
" Poor Lucy will be there..
XI.
" Then bear my corfe, ye comrades dear,
" The bridegroom blythe to meet ;
" He in his wedding - trim fo gay,
" I in my winding-fheet !"
XII
She ſpoke, the dy'd, her coarfe was borne
The bridegroom blythe to meet ;
He in his wedding -trim fo gay,
She in her winding-fheet..
XIII.
What then were Colin's dreadful thoughts ?
How were theſe nuptials kept ?.
The bride's-men flock'd round Lucy dead,
And all the village wept.
XIV.
Compaffion, fhame, remorfe, defpair,
At once his bofom fwell :.
The damps of death bedew'd his brow,
He groan'd, he shook, he fell.
XV.
From the vain bride, a bride no more,
The varying crimſon fled ;
When, ftretch'd befide her rival's corfe,
She faw her lover dead..
XVI.
A HELP TO ELOCUTION. 33 .
* XVI.
He to his Lucy's new- made grave,
Convey'd by trembling fwains,
In the fame mould, beneath one fod,
For ever now remains.
XVII.
Oft at this place the conftant hind
And plighted maid are ſeen ;
With garlands gay, and true- love knots,
They deckthe facred green.
XVIII.
But fwain forfworn, whoe'er thou art,
This hallow'd ground forbear !
Remember Colin's dreadful fate,
And fear to meet him there.
The Seeker.
[By Mr. Matthew Green ofthe Cuftom -Houfe.]
"HEN I first came to London , I rambled about

W From fermon to fermon, took a flice and
went out,
Then on me, in divinity batchelor, try'd
Many priests to obtrude a levitical bride ;
And urging their various opinions, intended
To make me wed fyftems which they recommended.
Said a letch'rous old fry'r, ſkulking near Lincoln's-
Inn,
Whofe trade's to abfolve, but whoſe paſtime's to fin ;
Who, fpider-like, feizes weak Proteftant flies,
Which hung in his fophiftry cobweb he ſpies ;
Ah pity your foul, for without our church pale,
If you happen to die, to be damn'd you can't fail ;
The bible, you boaſt, is a wild revelation,
Hear a church that can't err, if you hope for fal
vation.
Said a formal Non-con, whofe rich ſtock of grace
Lies forward expos'd in fhop-window of face,
Ah !
832 A HELP TO ELOCUTION:
Ah ! pity your foul, come be of our fect,

For then you are fafe, and may plead you're elect ;
As it ſtands in the Acts we can prove ourſelves faints,
Being Chrift's little flock ev'ry where fpoke againft.
Said a jolly church parfon, devoted to eaſe,
While penal law dragons guard his golden fleece,
If you pity your foul, I pray liften to neither ;
The firft is in error, the laſt a deceiver :
That ours is the true church, the ſenſe of our tribe is,
And furely in medio tutiffimus ibis,
Said a yea-and-nay friend with a ſtiff hat and band ,
Who while he talk'd gravely would hold forth his hand,
Dominion and wealth are the aim of all three,
Though about ways and means they may all difagree ;
Then pr'ythee be wife, go the Quakers ' bye-way,
'Tis plain, without turnpikes, fo nothing to pay.
Ode to Evening. [By Mr. W. Collins.]
ought of oaten flop, or paſtoral fong,

I modeft ear
Like thy own folemn fprings,
Thy fprings and dying gales,
O nymph referv'd, while now the bright-hair'd fun
Sits in yon weſtern tent, whofe cloudy ſkirts,
With brede ethereal wove,
O'erhang his wavy bed:
Now air is hufh'd, fave where the weak-ey'd bat,
With fhort fhrill fhrieks flits by on leathern wing,
Or where the beetle winds
His fmall but fullen horn,
As oft he rifes 'midst the twilight path,
Against the pilgrim born in heedlefs hum :
Now teach me, maid compos'd,
To breathe fome foften'd ſtrain,
Whoſe numbers ſtealing through thy darkning vale,
May not unfeemly with its ftillneſs fuit,
As mufingflow, I hail
Thy genial lov'd return !
For
Forwhen thy folding ftar arifing fhews
His paly circlet, at his warning lamp
The fragrant hours, and elves
Who flept in flow'rs the day,
And many anymphwhowreaths her brows with fedge,
And fheds the fresh'ning dew, and lovelier still,
The penfive pleaſures ſweet
Prepare thy fhadowy car.
Then lead, calm vot'refs, where ſome ſheety lake
Cheers the lone heath, or fome time-hallow'd pile,
Or-up land fallows grey
Reflect its laft cool gleam.
But when chill bluft'ring winds, or driving rain,
Forbid my willing feet, be mine the hut,
That from the mountain's fide
Views wilds, and fwelling floods,
And hamlets brown, and dim difcover'd fpires,
And hears their fimple bell, and marks o'er all
Thy dewy fingers draw
The gradual dufky veil.
While fpring fhall pour his fhow'rs, as oft he wont,
And bathe thy breathing treffes, meekeſt Eve !
While fummer loves to fport
Beneath thy ling'ring light ;
While fallow autumn fills thy lap with leaves ;
Or winter yelling through the troublous air,
Affrights thy fhrinking train,
And rudely rends thy robes ;
So long, fure-found beneath the fylvan ſhed,
Shall fancy, friendship, fcience, rofe -lip'd health,
Thy gentleft influence own,
And hymn thy fav'rite name!
To Mifs Lucy F-
O him who in an hour muſt die,

T Not ſwifter ſeems that hour to fly,
Than flow the minutes feem to me,
Which keep me from the fight of thee.
Not
$34 A HELP TO ELOCUTION.
Not more that trembling wretch would give

Another day or year to live ;
Than I to fhorten what remains
Of that long hour which thee detains.
Oh ! come to my impatient arms,

Oh! come with all thy heav'nly charms,
At once to justify and pay
The pain I feel from this delay.
A Prayer to Venus in her Temple at Stowe, on

her pleading Want ofTime.
1.
N Thames's bank, a gentle youth
For Lucy figh'd with matchlefs truth,
Ev'n when he figh'd in rhyme ;
The lovely maid his flame return'd,
And would with equal warmth have burn'd,
But that he had not time.
11.
Oft he repair'd with eager feet
In fecret fhades his fair to meet
Beneath th'accuſtomed lyme :
She would have fondly met him there,
And heal'd with love each tender care,
But that she had not time.
III.
" It was not thus, inconftant maid,
" You acted once (the fhepherd faid)
" When love was in its prime :"
She griev'd to hear him thus complain,
And would have writ to eafe his pain,
But that she had not time.
IV.
How can you act ſo cold a part ?
No crime of mine has chang'd your heart,
If love be not a crime.- 1
We
We foon muſt part for months, for years-
She would have anſwer'd with her tears,
But that the had not time.
An Ode on a diftant Profpect of Eaton College.
[By Mr. Gray.]
E diftant fpires, ye antique towers

YEThat crown the wat'ry glade,
Where grateful fcience ftill adores
Her Henry's holy ſhade ;
And ye that from the ſtately brow
Of Windfor's heights th'expanfe bolow
Of grove, of lawn, of mead furvey,
Whofe turf, whofe fhade, whofe flowers among
Wanders the hoary Thames along
His filver-winding way.
Ah happy hills, ah pleafing fhade,
Ah fields belov'd in vain,
Where once my careleſs childhood ſtray'd,
A ftranger yet to pain !
I feel the gales that from ye blow,
A momentary blifs beſtow,
As waving freſh their gladfome wing,
My weary foul they ſeem to footh,
And redolent of joy and youth,
To breathe a fecond ſpring.
Say, father Thames, for thou haſt ſeen .
Full many a fprightly race
Difporting on thy margent green,
The paths of pleaſure trace,
Who foremost now delight to cleave
With pliant arms thy glaffy wave ?
The captive linnet which enthrall ?
What idle progeny fucceed
To chafe the rolling circle's fpeed,
Or urge the flying ball ?
While fome on earnest bus'nefs bent
Their murm'ring labours ply,
'Gainft
ION
'Gainft graver hours that bring conſtraint
To fweeten liberty :
Some bold adventurers difdain
The limits of their little reign,
And unknown regions dare defcry :
Still as they run, they look behind,
They hear a voice in every wind,
And fnatch a fearful joy.
Gay hope is theirs by fancy fed,
Lefs pleafing when poffefs'd ;
The tear forgot as foon as fhed,
The funſhine of the breaſt.
Theirs buxom health of rofy hue,
Wild wit, invention ever new ,
And lively cheer, of vigour born ;
The thoughtless day, the eafy night,
The fpirits pure, the flumbers light,
That fly th'approach of morn.
Alas, regardleſs of their doom,
The little victims play !
No fenfe have they of ills to come,
No care beyond to-day:
Yet fee how all around 'em wait
The minifters of human fate,
And black misfortune's baleful train !
Ah ! fhew them where in ambuſh ſtand,
To feize their prey, the murth'rous band,
Ah ! fhew them they are men !
Theſe fhall the fury paffions tear,
The vultures of the mind,
Difdainful anger, pallid fear,
And ſhame that fculks behind ;
Or pining love fhall waſte their youth ,
Or jealoufy with rankling tooth,
That inly gnaws the fecret heart,
And envy wan, and faded care,
Grim-vifag'd comfortleſs defpair,
And forrow's piercing dart.
Ambition this fhall tempt to rife,
Then whirl the wretch from high,
To
To bitter fcorn a facrifice,
And grinning infamy;
The ftings of falsehood thofe fhall try,
And hard unkindneſs' alter'd eye,
That mocks the tear it forc'd to flow ;
And keen remorfe with blood defil'd,
And moody madneſs laughing wild
Amidst fevereſt woe.
Lo, in the vale of years beneath,
A griefly troop are ſeen,
The painful family of death,
More hideous than their queen :
This racks the joints, this fires the veins,
That every lab'ring finew ſtrains,
Thofe in the deeper vitals rage :
Lo, poverty, to fill the band,
That numbs the foul with icy hand,
And flow- confuming age.
To each his fuff'rings : all are men,
Condemn'd alike to groan,
The tender for another's pain :
Th'unfeeling for his own.
Yet ah! why should they know their fate,
Since forrow never comes too late,
And happineſs too fwiftly flies.
Thought would deftroy their paradife.
No more ; where ignorance is bliſs,
'Tis folly to be wife.
O D E. [By Mr. Gray.] ·
I.
O! where the rofy-bofom'd hours ,
L Fair Venus ' train appear,
Difclofe the long expecting flowers,
And wake the purple year !
The Attic warbler pours her throat
Refponfive tothe cuckow's note,
The untaught harmony of fpring :
While,
1
N
UTIO
338 A HELP TO ELOC .
While, whifp'ring pleaſure as they fly,

Cool zephyrs through the clear blue fky
Their gather'd fragrance fling.
II.
Where'er the oak's thick branches ſtretch
A broader browner fhade ;
Where'er the rude and mofs-green beech
O'ercanopies the glade ;
Befide fome water's ruſhy brink
With me the mufe fhall fit and think
(At eaſe reclin❜d in ruſtic ſtate)
How vain the ardour of the crowd,
How low, how indigent the proud,
How little are the great !
III.
Still is the toiling hand of care :
The panting herds repofe :
Yet hark, how through the peopled air
The bufy murmur glows !
The infect youth are on the wing,
Eager to taste the honied fpring,
And float amid the liquid noon :
Some lightly o'er the current ſkim ,
Some fhew their gaily gilded trim
Quick-glancing to the fun.
IV.
To contemplation's fober eye
Such is the race of man ;
And they that creep, and they that fly,
Shall end where they began.
Alike the bufy and the gay
But flutter through life's little day,
In fortune's varying colours drefs'd :
Brush'd by the hand of rough miſchance,
Or chill'd by age, their airy dance
They leave, in duft to reft.
V.
Methinks I hear, in accents low,
The fportive kind reply:
Poor moralift ! and what art thou ?
A folitary fly !
The
339
Thy joys no glittering female meets,
No hive haft thou of hoarded fweets,
No painted plumage to difplay :
On hafty wings thy youth is flown ;
Thy fun is fet , thy fpring is gone—
We frolic , while ' tis May.
Ode on the Death ofa favourite Cat , drowned in

a Tub of Gold Fishes .
[By Mr. Gray. ]
I.
WAS on a lofty vafe's fide ,
" T Where China's gayeft art had dy'd
The azure flowers that blow ;
Demureft of the tabby kind,
The penfive Selima reclin'd
Gaz'd on the lake below.
II.
Her confcious tail her joy declar'd ;
The fair round face , the fnowy beard,
The velvet of her paws ,
The coat that with the tortoife vies,
Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes ,
She faw ; and purr'd applauſe .
III.
Still had the gaz'd : but ' midſt the tide
Two beauteous forms were feen to glide
The genii of the ſtream ;
Their fcaly armour's Tyrian hue
Through richest purple to the view
Betray'd a golden gleam.
IV.
The hapiefs nymph with wonder faw :
A whiſker firft, and then a claw ,
With many an ardent wiſh,
She ſtretch'd in vain to reach the prize.
What female heart can gold defpife ?
What cat's averfe to fish ?
V.
Prefumptuous maid ! with looks intent
Again the ftretch'd, again fhe bent,
Nor knew the gulf between ;
(Malignant fate fat by and fmil'd)
The flipp'ry verge her feet beguil❜d,
She tumbled headlong in.
VI.
Eight times emerging from the flood
She mew'd to ev'ry wat❜ry god,
Some fpeedy aid to fend.
No dolphin came, no Nereid ſtirr'd :
Nor cruel Tom, nor Sufan heard.
A fav'rite has no friend !
VII.
From hence, ye beauties undeceiv'd,
Know one falfe ftep is ne'er retriev❜d,
And be with caution bold.
Not all that tempts your wand'ring eyes
And heedlefs hearts, is lawful prize ;
Nor all that glifters gold.
An Elegy written in a Country Churchyard.
[By Mr. Gray.]
HE curfew tolls the knell of parting day,

THThe lowing herd wind flowly o'er the lee,
The plowman homewards plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkneſs and to me.
Now fades the glimmering landfcape on the fight,

And all the air a folemn ftillneſs holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his drony flight,
And drowſy tinklings lull the diftant folds ;
Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r

The moping owl does to the moon complain
Of fuch, as wand'ring near her fecret bow'r,
Moleft her ancient, folitary reign.
Beneath
Beneath thofe rugged elms, that yew-tree's fhade,
Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap,
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,
The rude forefathers of the hamlet fleep.
The breezy call of incenfe-breathing morn,

The ſwallow twittering from the ſtraw- built ſhed,
The cock's fhrill clarion , or the echoing horn
No more fhall rouſe them from their lowly bed.
For them no more the blazing hearth ſhall burn ,

Or bufy houſewife ply her evening care :
No children run to lifp their fire's return ,
Or climb his knees the envied kiſs to ſhare.
Oft did the harveſt to their fickle yield,

Their furrow oft the ſtubborn glebe has broke ;
How jocund did they drive their teem afield !
How bow'd the woods beneath their fturdy ftroke !
Let not ambition mock their uſeful toil,

Their homely joys and deſtiny obfcure ;
Nor grandeur hear, with a difdainful ſmile,
The fhort and fimple annals of the poor.
The boaſt of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r,

And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
Await alike th' inevitable hour.
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Nor you, ye proud, impute to theſe the fault,

If mem'ry o'er their tomb no trophies raife,
Where through the long-drawn`iſle and fretted vault
The pealing anthem fwells the note of praife.
Can ftoried urn or animated buſt
Back to its manfion call the fleeting breath ?
Can honour's voice provoke the filent duft,
Or flatt'ry footh the dull cold ear of death ?
Q3 Perhaps
Perhaps in this neglected ſpot is laid

Some heart once pregnant with celeſtial fire ;
Hands, that the rod of empire might have fway'd,
Or wak'd to ecftafy the living lyre.
But knowledge to their eyes her ample page

Rich with the fpoils of time did ne'er unroll ;
Chill penury reprefs'd their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the foul.
Full many a gem of pureft ray ferene,

The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear ;
Full many a flower is born to bluſh unſeen,
And wafte its ſweetneís on the defert air.
Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breaſt

The little tyrant of his fields withſtood ;
Some mute inglorious Milton hear may reft,
Some Cromwel guiltlefs of his country's blood.
Th' applauſe of lift'ning fenates to command,

The threats of pain and ruin to deſpiſe,
To fcatter plenty o'er a fmiling land,
And read their hiſt'ry in a nation's eyes.
Their lot forbade : nor circumfcrib'd alone

Their growing virtues, but their crimes confin'd ;
Forbade to wade through flaughter to a throne,
And ſhut the gates of mercy on mankind.
The ftruggling pangs of confcious truth to hide,

To quench the bluſhes of ingenuous fhame,
Or heap the fhrine of luxury and pride
With incenfe kindled at the mufe's flame.
Far from the madding crowd's ignoble ftrife,

Their fober wiſhes never learn'd to ſtray ;
Along the cool fequefter'd vale of life
They kept the noiſeleſs tenor of their way.
Yet
Yet ev❜n theſe bones from infult to protect
Some frail memorial ftill erected nigh,
With uncouth rhimes and fhapelefs fculpture deck'd,
Implores the paffing tribute of a figh.
Their name, their years, fpelt by th'unletter'd mufe,

The place of fame and elegy fupply :
And many a holy text around the ftrews,
That teach the ruftic moraliſt to die.
For who to dumb forgetfulneſs a prey,

This pleafing anxious being e'er refign'd,
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,
Nor caft one longing lingʼring look behind ?
On fome fond breaft the parting foul relies,

Some pious drops the clofing eye requires ;
Ev'n from the tomb the voice of nature cries,
Ev'n in our aſhes live their wonted fires.
For thee, who mindful of th'unhonour'd dead

Doft in theſe lines their artlefs tale relate ;
If chance, by lonely contemplation led,
Somekindred fpirit fhall inquire thy fate,
Haply fome hoary-headed fwain may ſay,

" Oft have we ſeen him at the peep of dawn
" Brushing with hafty ſteps the dews away
" To meet the fun upon the upland lawn.
" There at the foot of yonder nodding beech,

" That wreathes its old fantaſtic roots fo high,
" His liftlefs length at noon-tide would he ſtretch,
" And pore upon the brook that bubbles by.
" Hard by yon wood, now fmiling as in fcorn,

" Mutt'ring his wayward fancies he would rove ;
" Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn,
" Or craz'd with care, or crofs'd in hopeleſs love.
Q4 " One
" One morn I mifs'd him on the cuſtom'd hill,

46
.Along the heath and near his fav'rite tree :
" Another came ; nor yet befide the rill,
" Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he ;
" The next with dirges due in fad array,

" Slow through the church-way path we faw him borne
46
Approach and read (for thou can'ft read) the lay,
" Grav'd on the flone beneath yon aged thorn.
The Epitaph.
ERE refts his head upon the lap of earth,

H ' A youth to fortune and to fame unknown ,
Fair fcience frown'd not on his humble birth,
And melancholy mark'd him for her own.
Large was his bounty, and his foul fincere,

Heav'n did a recompence as largely ſend :
He gave to mis'ry all he had, a tear,
He gain'd from Heav'n ('twas all he wifh'd) a friend.
No farther feek his merits to diſcloſe,

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode,
(There they alike in trembling hope repoſe)
The bofom of his Father and his God.
Hymn to Adverfity. [By Mr. Gray. ]
AUGHTER of Jove, relentlefs pow'r,

D Thou tamer of the human breaſt,
Whofe iron fcourge and tort'ring hour
The bad affright, afflict the beft !
Bound in thy adamantine chain
The proud are taught to tafte of pain,
And purple tyrants vainly groan
With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone.
When
When first thy fire to fend on earth
Virtue, his darling child defign'd,
To thee he gave the heav'nly birth,
And bade to form her infant mind.
Stern rugged nurfe ! thy rigid lore
With patience many a year the bore :
What forrow was, thou bad'ft her know,
And from her own fhe learn'd to melt at others' woe.
Scared at thy frown terrific , fly

Self-pleafing folly's idle brood,
Wild laughter, noife, and thoughtleſs joy,
And leave us leiſure to be good.
Light they difperfe, and with them go
The fummer friend, the flattering foe ;
By vain profperity receiv'd ,
To her they vow their truth, and are again believed .
Wiſdom in fable garb array'd,
Immers'd in rapt'rous thought profound,
And melancholy, " filent maid
With leaden eye, that loves the ground,
Still on thy folemn ſteps attend :
Warm charity, the gen'ral friend,
With justice, to herſelf fevere,
And pity, dropping foft the fadly-pleafing tear.
Oh ! gently on thy fuppliant's head,

Dread goddefs, lay thy chaft'ning hand !
Not in thy gorgon terrors clad,
Nor circled with the vengeful band
(As by the impious thou art feen)
With thund'ring voice and threat'ning mien,
With fcreaming horror's funeral cry,
Defpair, and fell diſeaſe, and ghaftly poverty.
Thy form benign, oh goddefs ! wear,

Thy milder influence impart,
Thy philofophic train be there
To foften, not to wound my heart,
Q5 The
N
The gen'rous fpark extinct revive,

Teach me to love, and to forgive,
Exact my own defects to ſcan,
What others are to feel, and know myſelf a man.
The 19th Pfalm paraphrafed by Mr. Addifon:
HE fpacious firmament on high,

THWith all the blue ethereal ſky,
And fpangled heav'ns, a fhining frame,
Their great original proclaim ;
Th'unweary'd fun, from day to day,
Does his Creator's pow'r difplay ;
And publiſhes to ev'ry land,
The work of an Almighty hand.
Soon as the ev❜ning fhades prevail,

The moon takes up the wond'rous tale ;
And nightly, to the lift'ning earth,
Repeats the ſtory of her birth :
While all the ſtars that round her burn,
And all the planets in their turn,
Confirm the tidings as they roll,
And ſpread the truth from pole to pole.
What though, in folemn filence, all

Move round the dark terreſtrial ball ?
What though, nor real voice nor found
Amid their radiant orbs be found ?
In reafon's ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious voice,
For ever finging, as they fhine,
" The hand that made us is divine."
Ode
Ode on Melancholy. To a Friend.
[By Mr. Mafon.]
I.
H! ceafe this kind perfuafive ftrain,
A Which, when it flows from friendſhip's tongue,
However weak, however vain,
O'erpowers beyond the firen's fong :
Leave me, my friend, indulgent go,
And let me mufe upon my woe.
Why lure me from theſe pale retreats ?
Why rob me of theſe penſive ſweets ?
Can mufic's voice, can beauty's eye,
Can painting's glowing hand, fupply
A charm fo fuited to my mind,
As blows this hollow gust of wind,
As drops this little weeping rill
Soft-tinkling down the mofs-grown hill,
Whilft through the weft, where finks the crimſon day,
Meek twilight flowly fails, and waves her banners grey ?
II.
Say, from affliction's various fource
Do none but turbid waters flow?
And cannot fancy clear their courſe ?
For fancy is the friend of woe.
Say, ' mid that grove, in love-lorn ſtate,
When yon poor ringdove mourns her mate,
Is all, that meets the fhepherd's ear,
Infpir'd by anguiſh and defpair?
Ah no, fair fancy rules the fong :
She fwells her throat ; fhe guides her tongue ;
She bids the waving afpin-ſpray
Quiver in cadence to her lay ;
She bids the fringed ofiers bow,
And ruftle round the lake below.
To fuit the tenor of her gurgling fighs,
And footh her throbbing breaft with folemn fym-
pathies.
III.
T ION
III.
To thee, whofe young and poliſh'd brow
The wrinkling hand of forrow fpares ;
Whofe cheeks , beſtrew'd with roſes, know
No channel for the tide of tears ;
To thee yon abbey dank and lone,
Where ivy chains each mould'ring ſtone
That nods o'er many a martyr's tomb,
May caft a formidable gloom,
Yet fome there are, who, free from fear,
Could wander through the cloiſters drear,
Could rove each deſolated ifle,
Though midnight thunders fhook the pile ;
And dauntlefs view, or feem to view,
(As faintly flaſh the lightnings blue)
Thin fhiv'ring ghofts from yawning charnels throng,
And glance with filent fweep the fhaggy vaults along.
IV.
But fuch terrific charms as thefe,
I afk not yet: my fober mind
The fainter forms of fadnefs pleaſe ;
My forrows are of ſofter kind.
Through this ftill valley let me tray,
Wrapt in fome ftrain of penfive Gray :
Whofe lofty genius bears along
The confcious dignity of fong ;
And, fcorning from the facred ftore
To waſte a note on pride, or power,
Roves, when the glimmering twilight glooms,
And warbles ' mid the rustic tombs :
He too perchance (for well I know,
His heart would melt with friendly woe)
He too perchance, when theſe poor limbs are laid,
Will heave one tuneful figh, and footh my hov'ring
fhade.
A Dialogue.
A Dialogue. [ By Mrs. Carter. ]
AYS body to mind, ' tis amazing to fee,

SAWe're fo nearly related yet never agree,
But lead a moft wrangling ftrange fort of a life,
As great plagues to each other as huſband and wife.
The fault's all your own , who with flagrant oppreffion,
Encroach ev'ry day on my lawful poffeffion.
The best room in my houfe you have feiz'd for your
own,
And turn'd the whole tenement quite upfide down,
While you hourly call in a diforderly crew
Of vagabond rogues, who have nothing to do
But to run in and out, hurry, fcurry, and keep
Such a horrible uproar, I can't get to fleep.
There's my kitchen fometimes is as empty as found,
I call for my ſervants, not one's to be found :
They are all fent out on your ladyfhip's errand,
To fetch fome more riotous gueſts in, I warrant !
And fince things are growing, I fee, worfe and worfe,
I'm determin'd to force you to alter your courfe.
Poor Mind, who heard all with extreme moderation ,
Thought it now time to ſpeak, and make her allegation .
'Tis I , that, methinks, have molt caufe to complain,
Who am cramp'd and confin'd like a flave in a chain .
I did but ſtep out, on fome weighty affairs,
To vifit, laft night, my good friends in the ſtars,
When, before I was got half as high as the moon,
You diſpatch'd pain and languor to hurry me down ;
Vi et armis they feiz'd me, in midst of my flight,
And fhut me in caverns as dark as the night.
'Twas no more, reply'd Body, than what you de-
ferv'd,
While you rambled abroad , I at home was halfſtarv'd:
And , unless I had clofely confin'd you in hold ,
You had left me to perifh with hunger and cold.
I've a friend, anfwers Mind, who, though flow, is
yet fure,
And will rid me at laft of your infolent pow'r :
Will
Will knock down your mud walls, the whole fabric de-
molish,
And at once your ftrong holds and my flav'ry aboliſh :
And while in the duft your dull ruins decay,
I fhall fnap off my chains and fly freely away,
Written at Midnight in a Thunder- Storm.
ET coward guilt with pallid fear,

L To fhelt'ring caverns fly,
And justly dread the vengeful fate,
That thunders through the ſky.
Protected by that hand, whofe law

The threat'ning ſtorms obey,
Intrepid virtue fmiles fecure,
As in the blaze of day.
In the thick clouds tremendous gloom,

The light'nings lurid glare,
It views the fame all-gracious pow'r,
That breathes the vernal air.
Through nature's ever varying ſcene,

By diff'rent ways purfu'd,
The one eternal end of Heav'n
Is univerfal good.
With like beneficent effect

O'er flaming ether glows,
As when it tunes the linnet's voice,
Or bluſhes in the roſe.
By reafon taught to ſcorn thoſe fears

That vulgar minds molett ;
Let no fantaſtic terrors break
My dear Narciffa's `reft.
Thy life may all the tend'reſt care

Óf Providence defend ;
And
A HELP TO ELOCUTION. 35 *
And delegated angels round
Their guardian wings extend.
When through creation's vaft expanſe,

The last dread thunders roll,
Untune the concord of the ſpheres,
And ſhake the riſing foul :
Unmov'd mayft thou the final ſtorm ,

Of jarring worlds furvey,
That uſhers in the glad ferene
Of everlaſting day.
Written Extempore on the Sea Shore.
[By Mrs. Carter.]
HOU reſtleſs fluctuating deep,

T Expreffive of the human mind,
In thy for ever varying form,
My own inconſtant ſelf I find.
How foft now flow thy peaceful waves,

In just gradations to the fhore :
While on thy brow unclouded ſhines
The regent of the midnight hour.
Bleft emblem of that equal ftate,

Which I this moment feel within :
Where thought to thought fucceeding rolls,
And all is placid and ferene.
As o'er thy finoothly-flowing tide,

Their light the trembling moon-beams dart,
My lov'd Eudocia's image fmiles,
And gaily brightens all my heart.
But ah ! this flattering ſcene of peace,

By neither can be long poffeft,
When Eurus breaks thy tranfient calm ,
And rifing forrows ſhake my breaſt.
Obfcur'd
Obfcur'd thy Cynthia's filver ray
When clouds oppofing intervene :
And ev'ry joy that friendship gives
Shall fade beneath the gloom of fpleen.
To [By Mrs. Carter.]
WHILE foft through water, earth, and air

WEThe vernal fpirits rove,
From noify joys, and giddy crowds,
To rural fcenes remove.
The mountain fnows are all diffolv❜d ,

And hufh'd the bluft'ring gale :
While fragrant zephyrs gently breathe,
Along the flow'ry vale.
The circling planets ' conftant rounds

The wintry waftes repair :
And ſtill from temporary death
Renew the verdant year.
But ah ! when once our tranfient bloom,

The fpring of life is o'er,
That rofy feafon takes it flight,
And inuft return no more.
Yet judge by reafon's fober rules,

From falfe opinion free,
And mark how little pilf'ring years
Can steal from you, or me.
Each moral pleafure of the heart,

Each lafting charm of truth,
Depends not on the giddy aid
Of wild, inconftant youth.
The vain coquet, whofe empty pride

A fading face fupplies,
May justly dread the wintry gloom,
Where all its glory dies.
Leave
Leave fuch a ruin to deplore
To fading forms confin'd :
Nor age, nor wrinkles difcompofe
One feature of the mind.
Amidst the univerfal change,

Unconscious of decay,
It views, unmov'd, the fcythe of time
Sweep all befides away.
Fix'd on its own eternal frame,

Eternal are its joys :
While borne on tranfitory wings,
Each mortal pleaſure flies.
While ev'ry fhort- liv'd flower of fenſe

Destructive years confume,
Through friendship's fair enchanting walks
Unfading myrtles bloom.
Nor with the narrow bounds of time,

The beauteous proſpect ends,
But lengthen'd through the vale of death,
To paradife extends.
Ode to Melancholy. [By Mrs. Carter.]
OME Melancholy ! filent pow'r,

Co Companion of my lonely hour,
To fober thought confin'd :
Thou fweetly-fad ideal gueft,
In all thy foothing charms confeſt,
€ Indulge my penfive mind.
No longer wildly hurried through

The tides of mirth, that ebb and flow,
In folly's noify ſtream :
I from the bufy crowd retire,
To court the objects that inſpire
Thy philofophic dream .
Through
Through yon dark grove of mournful yews

With folitary ſteps I mufe,
By that direction led :
Here, cold to pleaſure's tempting forms,
Confociate with my fifter-worms,
And mingle with the dead.
Ye midnight horrors ! awful gloom !

Ye filent regions of the tomb,
My future peaceful bed :
Here fhall my weary eyes be clos'd,
And ev'ry forrow lie repos'd
In death's refreſhing ſhade.
Ye pale inhabitants of night,

Before my intellectual fight
In folemn pomp afcend!
O tell how trifling now appears
The train of idle hopes and fears
That varying life attend.
Ye fruitless idols of our fenfe,

Here own how vain your fond pretence,
Ye empty names of joy !
Your tranfient forms like fhadows pafs,
1 Frail offspring of the magic glafs,
Before the mental eye.
The dazzling colours, falfely bright,

Attract the gazing vulgar fight
With fuperficial ſtate :
Through reafon's clearer optics view'd,
How ſtript of all its pomp, how rude
Appears the painted cheat.
Can wild ambition's tyrant pow'r,

Or ill-got wealth's fuperfluous ftore,
The dread of death controul ?
Can pleaſure's more bewitching charms.
Avert, or footh the dire alarms
That ſhake the parting foul?
Religion !
Religion ! e'er the hand of fate
Shall make reflection plead too late,
My erring fenfes teach,
Amidit the flatt'ring hopes of youth,
To meditate the folemn truth,
Theſe awful relics preach .
Thy penetrating beams difperfe

The mitt of error, whence our fears
Derive their fatal ſpring :
"Tis thine the trembling heart to warm ,
And foften to an angel form
The pale terrific king.
When funk by guilt in fad defpair,

Repentance breathes her humble pray'r,
And owns thy threat'nings just:
Thy voice the hudd'ring fuppliant cheers,
With mercy calms her tort'ring fears,
And lifts her from the duft.
Sublim'd by thee the foul afpires

Beyond the range of low defires ,
In nobler views elate :
Unmov'd her deſtin'd change furveys ,
And arm'd by faith, intrepid pays
The univerſal debt.
In death's foft flumber lull'd to reſt,

She fleeps, by fmiling viſions bleſt,
That gently whiſper peace :
'Till the laſt morn's fair opening ray
Unfolds the bright eternal day
Of active life and bliſs.
To [By Mrs. Carter.]
AY, dear Emilia, what untry'd delight

SAHas earth, or air, or ocean to beſtow,
That checks thy active fpirit's nobler flight,
And bounds its narrow view to fcenes below ?
Is
"
Is life thy paffion ? let it not depend
On flutt'ring pulfes, and a fleeting breath :
In fad defpair the fruitlefs with muſt end,
That feeks it in the gloomy range of death.
This world, deceitful idol of thy foul,

Is all devoted to his tyrant pow'r :
To form his prey the genial planets roll,
To fpeed his conqueſt flies the rapid hour.
This verdant earth, thefe fair furrounding ſkies,
Are all the triumphs of his wafteful reign :
'Tis but to fet, the brighteſt funs ariſe ;
'Tis but to wither, blooms the flow'ry plain.
"Tis but to die, mortality was born ;

Nor ftruggling folly breaks the dread decree :
Then ceaſe the common deſtiny to mourn,
Nor with thy nature's laws revers'd for thee.
The fun that fets, again fhall gild the ſkies ;

The faded plain reviving flow'rs fhall grace :
But hopeleſs fall, no more on earth to riſe,
The tranfitory forms of human racę.
No more on earth, but fee beyond the gloom ,

Where the ſhort reign of time and death expires,
Victorious o'er the ravage of the tomb,
Smiles the fair object of thy fond defires.
The feed of life, below, imperfect lies,

To virtue's hand its cultivation giv'n :
Form'd by her care, the beauteous plant fhall rife,
And flourish with unfading bloom in heav'n.,
C
The
The Shepherd and the Philofopher.
A Fable. [By Mr. Gay. ]
EMOTE from cities liv'd a fwain,

R Unvex'd with all the cares of gain,
His head was filver'd o'er with age,
And long experience made him fage.
In fummer's heat and winter's cold
He fed his flock, and penn'd the fold ;
His hours in cheerful labour flew,
Nor envy nor ambition knew ;
His wiſdom , and his honeſt fame,
Through all the country rais'd his name.
A deep philofopher (whoſe rules

Of moral life were drawn from ſchools)
The shepherd's homely cottage fought,
And thus explor'd his reach of thought.
Whence is thy learning ? hath thy toil

O'er books confum'd the midnight oil ?
Haft thou old Greece and Rome furvey'd,
And the vaſt ſenſe of Plato weigh'd ?
Hath Socrates thy foul refin'd,
And haft thou fathom'd Tully's mind ?
Or, like the wife Ulyffes, thrown
By various fates on realms unknown,
Haft thou through many cities ſtray'd,
Their customs, laws, and manners weigh'd ?
The shepherd modeftly reply'd,

I ne'er the paths of learning try'd,
Nor have I roam'd in foreign parts,
To read mankind, their laws and arts ;
For man is practis'd in difguife,
He cheats the moſt diſcerning eyes :
Who by that fearch fhall wifer grow,
When we ourfelves can never know ?
The
I ON
The little knowledge I have gain'd,

Was all from fimple nature drain'd ;
Hence my life's maxims took their rife,
Hence grew my fettled hate to vice.
The daily labours of the bee

Awake my foul to induſtry.
Who can obferve the careful ant,
And not provide for future want ?
My dog (the truftieft of his kind)
With gratitude inflames my mind :
I mark his true, his faithful way,
Andin my ſervice copy Tray.
In conftancy, and nuptial love,
I learn my duty from the dove.
The hen, who from the chilly air
With pious wing protects her care,
And ev'ry fowl that flies at large
Inftructs me in a parent's charge.
From nature too I take my rule,

To fhun contempt and ridicule.
I never, with important air,
In converfation overbear ;
Can grave, and formal, pafs for wife,
When menthe folemn owl defpife ?
My tongue within my lips I rein,
For who talks much muft talk in vain :
We from the wordy torrent fly ?
Who liftens to the chatt'ring pye ?
Nor would I, with felonious flight,
By ſtealth invade my neighbour's right,
Rapacious animals we hate :
Kites, hawks, and wolves deſerve their fate.
Do not we just abhorrence find
Against the toad and ferpent kind ?
But envy, calumny, and fpite,
Bear ſtronger venom in their bite.
Thus ev'ry object of creation
Can furniſh hints to contemplation,
And
And from the moſt minute and mean
A virtuous mind can morals glean.
Thy fame is juft, the fage replies,

Thy virtue proves thee truly wife ;
Pride often guides the author's pen,
Books as affected are as men ;
But he who ſtudies nature's laws,
From certain truth his maxims draws, -
And thoſe, without our ſchools, fuffice
To make men moral, good, and wife.
The Jugglers. A Fable. [ By Mr. Gay. ]
A Had rais'd his fortune and renownallthe ;town

You'd think (fo far his art tranfcends)
The devil at his fingers ends .
Vice heard his fame, the read his bill ;

Convinc'd of his inferior ſkill,
She fought his booth, and from the crowd
Defy'd the man of art aloud.
Is this then he fo fam'd for flight,

Can this flow bungler cheat your fight,
Dares he with me difpute the prize ?
I leave it to impartial eyes.
Provok'd, the juggler cry'd, 'tis done ;

In fcience I fubmit to none.
Thus faid. The cups and balls he play'd

By turns, this here, that there, convey'd ;
The cards, obedient to his words,
Are by a fillip turn'd to birds ;
His little boxes change the grain,
Trick after trick deludes the train.
He ſhakes his bag, he fhows all fair,
His fingers fpread, and nothingthere ;
Then
Then bids it rain with fhowers of gold,
And now his iv'ry eggs are told ;
But when from thence the hen he draws,
Amaz'd fpectators hum applauſe.
Vice now ftept forth and took the place

With all the forms of his grimace.
This magic looking-glafs , fhe cries,

(There, hand it round ) will charm your eyes :
Each eager eye the fight defir'd,
And ev'ry man himself admir'd.
Next, to a fenator addreffing ;

See this bank-note ; obferve the bleffing :
Breathe on the bill. Heigh, pafs ! 'tis gone.
Upon his lips a padlock fhone.
A fecond puff the magic broke,
The padlock vanifh'd, and he spoke,
Twelve bottles rang'd upon the board,

All full, with heady liquor ſtor'd,
By clean conveyance diſappear,
And now two bloody fwords are there.
A purſe ſhe to a thief expos'd ;

At once his ready fingers clos'd ;
He opes his fift, the treafure's fled,
He fees a halter in its ftead.
She bids ambition hold a wand,

He grafps a hatchet in his hand.
A box of charity ſhe ſhows :

Blow here ; and a church-warden blows :
'Tis vaniſh'd with conveyance neat,
And on the table ſmokes a treat.
She ſhakes the dice, the board the knocks,

And from all pockets fills her box.
She
She next a meagre rake addreſt :
This picture fee ; her fhape, her breaſt !
What youth, and what inviting eyes !
Hold her, and have her. With furpriſe,
His hand expos'd a box of pills ;
And a loud laugh proclaim'd his ills.
A counter in a mifer's hand,

Grew twenty guineas at command ;
She bids his heir the fum retain,
And ' tis a counter now again.
A guinea with her touch you fee

Take ev'ry ſhape but charity ;
And not one thing, you faw, or drew,
But chang'd from what was firſt in view.
The Juggler now, in grief of heart,

With his fubmiffion own'd her art.
Can I fuch matchless flight withſtand ?
How practice hath improv'd your hand !
But now and then I cheat the throng ;
You ev'ry day, and all day long.
An Epifle to Fleetwood Shephard, Efq;
[By Mr. Prior. ]
SIR, Burleigh, May 14, 1689 .

S once a-twelvemonth to the priest,
A Holy at Rome, here Antichrift,
The Spanish king preſents a jennet,
To fhew his love ; -that's all that's in it :
For if his Holiness would thump
His reverend bum 'gainſt horſe's rump,
He might be 'quipt from his own ſtable
With one more white, and eke more able.
Or as with Gondola's and men, his
Good Excellence the Duke of Venice
R (Iwith -
(I wish, for rhime, t'had been the king)

Sails out, and gives the Gulf a ring ;
Which trick of ſtate, he wifely maintains,
Keeps kindneſs up ' twixt old acquaintance :
For elfe, in honest truth, the fea
Has much leſs need of gold than he.
Or, not to rove and pump one's fancy
For Popish fimilies beyond fea ;
As folks from mud-wall'd tenement
Bring landlords pepper-corn for rent ;
Prefent a turkey, or a hen,
To thofe might better ſpare them ten :
Ev'n fo with all fubmiflion, I
(For first men inftance, then apply)
Send you each year a homely letter,
Who may return me much a better.
Then take it, Sir, as it was writ,
To pay refpect, and not ſhow wit :
Nor look afkew at what it faith ;
There's no petition in it, 'faith ;
Here fome would ſcratch their heads and try
What they ſhould write, and how, and why ;
But I conceive fuch folks are quite in
Miſtakes, in theory of writing.
If once for principle ' tis laid,
That thought is trouble to the head,
I argue thus : the world agrees ,
That he writes well, who writes with eaſe :
Then he, by fequel logical,
Writes beft, who never thinks at all.
Verſe comes from heav'n, like inward light ;
Mere human pains can ne'er come by't ;
The god , not we , the poem makes ;
We only tell folks what he fpeaks.
Hence, when anatomifts difcourſe,
How like brutes organs are to ours ;
They grant, if higher powers think fit,
A ear might foon be made a wit ;
And that, for any thing in nature,
Pigs might fqueak love odes, dogs bark fatyr.
Memnon ,
Memnon, though ftone, was counted vocal ;
But 'twas the god, mean while, that ſpoke all.
Rome oft has heard a crofs haranguing:
4 With prompting prieſt behind the hanging :
The wooden head refolv'd the queſtion ;
While you and Pettis help'd the jett on.
Your crabbed rogues that read Lucretius,
Are against gods , you know ; and teach us,
The god makes not the poet ; but
The thefis, vice verfa put,
Should Hebrew -wife be underſtood ;
And means, the poet makes the god.
Egyptian gard'ners thus are faid to
Have fet the leeks they after pray'd to ;
And Romish bakers praife the deity
They chipp'd, while yet in its paniety.
That when you poets fwear and cry,
The god infpires ; I rave, I die ;
If inward wind does truly fwell ye,
'T muſt be the cholic in your belly ;
That writing is but just like dice,
And lucky mains make people wiſe :
That jumbled words, if fortune throw 'em ,
Shall, well as Dryden, form a poem ;
Or make a ſpeech, correct and witty,
As you know who- at the committee.
So atoms dancing round the center,
They urge made all things at a venture.
But granting matters ſhould be ſpoke
By method rather than by luck ;
This may confine their younger ſtyles,
Whom Dryden pedagogues at Will's :
But never could be meant to tye
Authentic wits, like you and I ;
For as young children , who are try'd in
Go-carts, to keep their fteps from fliding ;
When members knit, and legs grow ſtronger,
Make uſe of ſuch machine no longer ;
But leap pro libitu, and ſcout
On horfe call'd hobby, or without :
R 2 So
364
So when at fchool we first declaim,
Old Bufbey walks us in a theme,
Whofe props fupport our infant vein,
And help the rickets in the brain :
But when our fouls their force dilate,
And thoughts grow up to wit's eſtate ;
In verfe or profe we write or chat,
Not fixpence matter upon what.
'Tis not how well an author fays ;
But 'tis how much, that gathers praiſe.
Tonfon, who is himſelf a wit,
Counts writer's merits by the ſheet.
Thus each fhould down with all he thinks ,
As boys eat bread, to fill up chinks.
Kind Sir, I fhould be glad to ſee you ;
I hope y'are well ; fo God be wi' you ;
Was all I thought at firſt to write :
But things fince then are alter'd quite ;
Fancies flow in, and mufe flies high :
So God knows when my clack will lie :
I muft, Sir, prattle on, as afore,
And beg your pardon yet this half hour,
So at pure barn of loud non-con,
Where with my granam I have gone,
When Lobb had fifted all his text,
And I well hop'd the pudding next ;
Now to apply, has plagu'd me more,
Than all his villain cant before.
For your religion, first, of her
Your friends do fav'ry things aver :
'They fay fhe's honeft as your claret,
Not four'd with cant, nor ftumm'd with merit`;
Your chamber is the fole retreat
Of chaplains ev'ry Sunday night :
of grace, no doubt, a certain fign ,
When lay-man herds with man divine :
For if their fame be juſtly great,
Who would no Popiſh nuncio treat ;
That his is greater, we must grant,
Who will treat nuncios Proteftant.
One
365
One fingle pofitive weighs more,
You know, than negatives a fcore.
In politics, I hear you're ftaunch,
Directly bent against the French ;
Deny to have your free-born toe
Dragoon'd into a wooden fhoe :
Are in no plots ; but fairly drive at
The public welfare in your private :
And will, for England's glory, try
Turks, Jews, and Jefuits to defy,
And keep your places till you die : }
For me, whom wand'ring fortune threw
From what I lov'd, the town and you ;
Let me juft tell you how my time is
Paft in a country life.--Imprimis,
As foon as Phoebus rays infpect us,
First, Sir, I read, and then I breakfaft ;
So on, till forefaid god does fet,
1 fometimes ftudy, fometimes eat.
Thus, of your heroes, and brave boys,
With whom old Homer makes fuch noife,
The greateſt actions I can find,
Are, that they did their work, and din'd.
The books of which I'm chiefly fond,
Are fuch as you have whilom conn'd ;
That treat of China's civil law,
And ſubject's right in Golconda ;
Of highway elephants at Ceylan,
That rob in clans, like men o'th'highland ;
Of apes that ſtorm , or keep a town,
As well almoſt as Count Lauzun ;
Of unicorns and alligators ,
Elks, mermaids, mummies, witches, fatyrs,
And twenty other stranger matters ; }
Which, though they're things I've no concern in,
Make all our grooms admire my learning.
Critics I read on other men,
And hypers upon them again ;
From whofe remarks I give opinion
On twenty books, yet ne'er look in one.
R 3 Then
Then all your wits that flear and ſham,

Down from Don Quixote to Tom Tram ;
From whom I jefts and puns purloin,
And flily put 'em off for mine :
Fond to be thought a country wit!
The reft when fate and you think fit.
Sometimes I climb my mare and kick her,
To bottled ale, and neighb'ring vicar;
Sometimes at Stamford take a quart,
Squire Shephard's health, --with all my heart.
Thus, without much delight, or grief,
I fool away an idle life ;
'Till Shadwell from the town retires,
(Choak'd up with fame and fea-coal fires)
To blefs the wood with peaceful lyric ;
Then hey for praife and panegyric ;
4
Juftice reftor'd, and nations freed,
And wreaths round William's glorious head.
Adrian to his Soul imitated.
[By Mr. Prior.]
OOR little, pretty, flutt'ring thing,

Muft we no longer live together ?
And doft thou prune thy trembling wing,
To take thy flight thou know'ft not whether ?
Thy humorous vein, thy pleafing folly
Lies all neglected, all forgot :
And penfive wav'ring melancholy
Thou dread'ft, and hop'st thou know'ft not what.
Baucis
Baucis and Philemon. Imitated from the Eighth

Book of Ovid.
[By Dr. Swift. ]
N ancient times, as ftory tells ,

IN The faints would often leave their cells ,
And ftrole about, but hide their quality,
To try good people's hofpitality.
It happen'd on a winter night,
As authors of the legend write,
Two brother hermits, faints by trade,
Taking their tour in maſquerade,
Difguis'd in tatter'd habits, went
To a fmall village down in Kent,
Where, in the ftroller's canting ſtrain,
They begg'd from door to door in vain,
Try'd ev'ry tone might pity win ;
But not a foul would let them in.
Our wand'ring faints in woful ſtate,
Treated at this ungodly rate,
Having through all the village pafs'd, ¸
To a finall cottage came at laſt ;
Where dwelt a good old honeſt ye'man ,
Call'd in the neighbourhood Philemon,
Who kindly did thefe faints invite
In his poor hut to pass the night ;
And then the hofpitable fire
Bid Goody Baucis mend the fire ;
While he from out the chimney took
A flitch of bacon off the hook,
And freely from the fatteft fide
Cut out large flices to be fry'd ;
Then ſtepp'd afide to fetch ' em drink,
Fill'd a large jug up to the brink,
And faw it fairly twice go round ;
Yet (what is wonderful ! ) they found
'Twas ftill replenish'd to the top,
As if they had not touch'd a drop.
R 4 The
The good old couple were amaz'd,

And often on each other gaz'd ;
For both were frighten'd to the heart,
And just began to cry, -What ar't ?
Then foftly turn'd aſide to view
Whether the lights were burning blue.
The gentle pilgrims foon aware on't,
Told them their calling, and their errant.
Good folks, you need not be afraid,
We are but faints, the hermits faid ;
No hurt fhall come to you or yours :
But for that pack of churlish boors,
Not fit to live on Chriſtian ground,
They and their houſes fhall be drown'd ;
Whilst you fhall fee your cottage rife,
And grow a church before your eyes.
They fcarce had fpoke, when fair and foft
The roof began to mount aloft ;
Aloft rofe ev'ry beam and rafter ;
The heavy wall climb'd flowly after.
The chimney widen'd, and grew higher,
Became a ſteeple with a fpire.
The kettle to the top was hoift,
And there ſtood faſten'd to a joiſt,
But with the upfide down, to ſhow
Its inclination for below :
In vain ; for a fuperior force
Apply'd at bottom ftops its courfe :
Doom'd ever in fufpence to dwell ,
'Tis now no kettle, but a bell .
A wooden jack, which had almoſt
Loft by difufe the art to roast,
A fudden alteration feels,
Increas'd by now inteftine wheels ;
And what exalts the wonder more,
The number made the motion flow'r.
The flyer, though't had leaden feet,
Turn'd round fo quick, you fcarce could fee't :
But, flacken'd by fome fecret pow'r,
Now hardly moves an inch an hour.
The
A HELP TO ELOCUTION. 369.
The jack and chimney near ally'd,
Had never left each other's fide :
The chimney to a ſteeple grown,
The jack would not be left alone ;
But, up against the ſteeple rear'd,
Became a clock, and ſtill adher❜d ;
And ſtill its love to houſehold cares,
By a fhrill voice at noon declares,
Warning the cook-maid not to burn
That roast meat, which it cannot turn.
The groaning chair began to crawl,
Like a huge fnail, along the wall ;
There ſtuck aloft in public view,
And, with fmall change, a pulpit grew.
The porringers, that in a row
Hung high, and made a glitt'ring ſhow,
a lefs noble fubftance chang'd,
Were now but leathern buckets rang'd.
The ballads pafted on the wall,
Of Joan of France, and English Moll,
Fair Rofamond, and Robin Hood,
The Little Children in the Wood,
Now feem'd to look abundance better,
Improv'd in picture, fize, and letter ;
And, high in order plac'd, defcribe
*.
The heraldry of ev'ry tribe.
A bedſtead of the antique mode,
Compact of timber many a load.
Such as our anceſtors did ufe,
Was metamorphos'd into pews ;
Which ſtill their ancient nature keep
By lodging folks difpos'd to fleep.
The cottage by fuch feats as theſe
Grown to a church by just degrees,
The hermits then defir'd their hoft
To aſk for what he fancy'd moſt.
Philemon,
* Ofthe twelve tribes of Ifrael, which in country churches

are fometimes diftinguished by the enfigns appropriated to
them by Jacob on his death-bed .
R5
Philemon, having paus'd a while,

Return'd them thanks in homely ftyle ;
Then faid, my houfe is grown fo fine,
Methinks, I ftill would call it mine :
I'm old, and fain would live at eaſe ;
Make me the parfon , if you pleafe.
He fpoke ; and preſently he feels
His grazier's coat fall down his heels ;
He fees, yet hardly can believe,
About each arm a pudding fleeve ;
His waiſtcoat to a caflock grew,
And both affum'd a fable hue ;
But, being old, continu'd juft
As thread-bare, and as full of duft.
His talk was now of tythes and dues :
He fmoak'd his pipe, and read the news ;
Knew how to preach old fermons next,
Vamp'd in the preface and the text ;
At chrift'nings well could act his part,
And had the ſervice all by heart ;
Wiſh'd women might have children faſt,
And thought whofe fow had farrow'd laſt ;
Againſt Diffenters would repine,
And ſtood up firm for right divine ;
Found his head fill'd with many a fynem :
But claffic authors- he ne'er mifs'd 'em.
Thus having furbiſh'd up a parfon,
Dame Baucis next they play'd their farce on.
Inftead of home-fpun coifs, were feen
Good pinners edg'd with colberteen ;
Her petticoat, transform'd apace,
Became black fattin flounc'd with lace.
Plain Goody would no longer down ;
'Twas Madam, in her grogram gown.
Philemon was in great furprife,
And hardly could believe his eyes,
Amaz'd to fee her look fo prim ;
And the admir'd as much at him .
Thus happy in their change of life
Were fev'ral years this man and wife ;
When
(The only comfort they propofe,
To have companions in their woes :)
Grant this the cafe : yet fure ' tis hard
That virtue, ftyl'd its own reward,
And by all fages underſtood
To be the chief of human good ,
Should acting die , nor leave behind
Some lafting pleaſure in the mind,
Which by remembrance will affuage
Grief, fickneſs, poverty, and age,
And ſtrongly ſhoot a radiant dart
To fhine through life's declining part.
Say, Stella, feel you no content,
Reflecting on a life well ſpent ?
Your ſkilful hand employ'd to fave
Defpairing wretches from the grave ;
t And then fupporting with your ſtore
Thoſe whom you dragg'd from death before :
So Providence on mortals waits,
Preferving what it firſt creates :
Your gen'rous boldneſs to defend
An innocent and abſent friend ;
That courage which can make you juft
To merit humbled in the duft ;
The deteftation you expreſs
For vice in all its glitt'ring dress ;
That patience under tort'ring pain,
Where ſtubborn Stoics would complain ;
Muſt theſe like empty fhadows paſs,
Or forms reflected from a glaſs ?
Or mere chimeras in the mind,
That fly, and leave no marks behind ?
Does not the body thrive and grow
By food of twenty years ago ?
And, had it not been ftill fupply'd,
It muſt a thousand times have dy'd.
Then who with reafon can maintain
That no effects of food remain ?
And
And is not virtue in mankind
The nutriment that feeds the mind ;
Upheld by each good action paſt,
And ftill continued by the laſt ?
Then, who with reafon can pretend
That all effects of virtue end ?
Believe me, Stella, when you ſhow

That true contempt for things below,
Nor prize your life for other ends
Than merely to oblige your friends,
Your former actions claim their part,
And join to fortify your heart.
For virtue in her daily race,
Like Janus, bears a double face ;
Looks back with joy where the has gone,
And therefore goes with courage on..
She at your fickly couch will wait,
And guide you to a better ſtate.
O then, whatever Heav'n intends,

Take pity on your pitying friends !
Nor let your ills affect your mind,
To fancy they can be unkind.
Me, furely me, you ought to fpare,
Who gladly would your fuff'rings ſhare ;
Or give my fcrap of life to you,
And think it far beneath your due ;
You, to whofe care fo oft I owe
That I'm alive to tell you fo.
Ode
Ode on St. Cecilia's Day.
[By Mr. Dryden. ]
WAS at the royal feaſt for Perfia won

"TBy Philip's warlike fon ;
Aloft, in awful ſtate,
The god-like hero fate
On his imperial throne.
His valiant peers were plac'd around,
Their brows with rofes and with myrtles bound,
(So fhould defert in arms be crown'd)
The lovely Thais, by his fide,
Sate like a blooming eaftern bride,
In flower of youth, and beauty's pride.
Happy, happy, happy pair !
None but the brave, none but the brave,
None but the brave deſerves the fair.
Timotheus plac'd on high
Amid the tuneful quire,
With flying fingers touch'd the lyre ;
$ The trembling notes afcend the iky,
And heav'nly joy infpire,
The fong began from Jove,
Who left his bliſsful feats above,
(Such is the pow'r of mighty love ! )
dragon's fiery form bely'd the god :
Sublime on radiant fpires he rode,
When he to fair Olympia prefs'd ;
And while he fought her fnowy breaſt,
Then round her flender waste he curl'd,
And ftamp'd an image of himſelf, a fov'reign of the
world :
The liſtening crowd admire the lofty found,
A prefent deity ! they fhout around,
A prefent deity ! the vaulted roofs rebound.
With
With ravish'd ears
The monarch hears,
Affumes the god,
Affects to nod,
And ſeems to ſhake the ſpheres .
The praife of Bacchus then the tweet muſician fung,
Of Bacchus ever fair, and ever young.
The jolly god in triumph comes ;
Sound the trumpets, beat the drums !
Fluſh'd with the purple grace,
He fhews his honeft face.
Now give the hautboys breath ; he comes ! he comes !
Bacchus, ever fair and young,
Drinking joys did firſt ordain :
Bacchus' bleffings are a treaſure ,
Drinking is the foldier's pleaſure ;
Rich the treaſure.
Sweet the pleaſure,
Sweet is pleaſure after pain.
Sooth'd with the found , the King grew vain,
Fought all his battles o'er again,
And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he flew
the flain.
The mafter faw the madnefs riſe,
His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes ;
And, while he heav'n and earth defy'd,
Chang'd his hand, and check'd his pride:
He chofe a mournful muſe,
Soft pity to infuſe :
He fung Darius great and good,
By too fevere a fate,
Fall'n, fall'n, fall'n , fall'n,
Fall'n from his high estate,
And welt'ring in his blood;
Deſerted at his utmoſt need,
By thoſe his former bounty fed ;
On the bare earth expos'd he lies,
With not a friend to cloſe his eyes.
With down-caft looks the joyless victor fate,
Revolving in his alter'd foul
The
The various turns of chance below ;
And now and then a figh he ſtole
And tears began to flow.
The mighty mafter ſmil'd to fee
That love was in the next degree ;
'Twas but a kindred found to move,
For pity melts the foul to love.
Softly fweet in Lydian meaſures,
Soon he footh'd his foul to pleaſures :
War, he fung, is toil and trouble,
Honour but an empty bubble ;
Never ending, ſtill beginning ;
Fighting ftill, and ftill destroying :
If the world be worth thy winning,
Think, O think it worth enjoying !
Lovely Thais fits beſide thee ;
Take the good the gods provide thee.
The many rend the ſkies with loud applauſe ;
So love was crown'd ; but mufic won the cauſe.
The Prince, unable to conceal his pain,
Gaz'd on the fair
Who caus'd his care,
And figh'd and look'd, figh'd and look'd,
Sigh'd and look'd, and figh'd again.
At length with wine and love at once opprefs'd,
The vanquish'd victor funk upon her breaſt.
Now ſtrike the golden lyre again,
A louder yet, and yet a louder ftrain ;
Break his bands of fleep afunder,
And rouze him like a rattling peal of thunder.
Hark, hark the horrid found
Has rais'd up his head ;
As awak'd from the dead,
And, amaz'd, he ftares around.
Revenge ! revenge ! Timotheus cries,
See the furies arife !
See the fnakes that they rear
How they hifs in their hair,
And the fparkles that flaſh from their eyes !
Behold
U TION
Behold a ghaftly band,

Each a torch in his hand !
Theſe are Grecian ghoſts that in battle were flain ,
And unburied remain,
Inglorious, on the plain ;
Give the vengeance due
To the valiant crew :
Behold how they tofs their torches on high,
How they point to the Perfian abodes,
And glitt'ring temples of their hoftile gods !
The princes applaud with a furious joy,
And the King feiz'd a flambeau, with zeal to deſtroy :
Thais led the way,
To light him to his prey ;
And, like another Helen, fir'd another Troy.
Thus long ago,
Ere heaving bellows learn'd to blow,
While organs yet were mute,
Timotheus to his breathing flute,
And founding lyre,
Could fwell the foul to rage, or kindle foft defire.
At laft divine Cecilia came,
Inventrefs of the vocal frame ;
The fweet Enthufiaft, from her facred ſtore,
Enlarg❜d the former narrow bounds,
And added length to folemn founds,
With Nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before.
Let old Timotheus yield the prize,
Or both divide the crown ;
He rais'd a mortal to the ſkies,
She drew an angel down.
Ode
Ode on St. Cecilia's Day.
[By Mr. Pope.]
I.
ESCEND, ye nine ! defcend and fing ;
DE The breathing inftruments infpire :
Wake into voice each filent ftring,
And fweep the founding lyre !
In a fadly- pleafing ſtrain
Let the warbling lute complain :
Let the loud trumpet found ,
Till the roofs all around
The fhrill echoes rebound :
While, in more lengthen'd notes and flow,
The deep, majeftic, folemn organs blow.
Hark! the number foft and clear,
Gently ſteal upon the ear;
Now louder, and yet louder rife,
And fill with fpreading founds the ſkies ;
Exulting in triumph, now fwell the bold notes,
In broken air trembling, the wild mufic floats ;
Till, by degrees, remote and ſmall,
The ftrains decay,
And melt away
In a dying, dying fall.
II.
By mufic, minds an equal temper know,
Nor fwell too high, nor fink too low.
Ifin the breast tumultuous joys arife,
Mufic her foft, affuafive voice applies ;
Or, whenthe foul is preft with cares,
Exalts her in enlivening airs.
Warriors the fires with animated founds ;
Pours balm into the bleeding lover's wounds :
Melancholy lifts her head ;
Morpheus rouzes from his bed ;
Sloth
་
Sloth unfolds her arms and wakes ,
Lift'ning envy drops her fnakes ;
Inteſtine war no more our paffions wage,
Ev'n giddy factions hear away their rage.
III.
But when our country's caufe provokes to arms ,
How martial mufic ev'ry bofom warms !
So when the firſt bold veſſel dar'd the ſeas ,
High on the stern the Thracian rais'd his ſtrain,
While Argo faw her kindred trees
Defcend from Pelion to the main ;
Tranſported demi-gods flood round,
And men grew heroes at the found,
Inflam'd with glory's charms :
Each chief his fevenfold fhield diſplay'd,
And half unſheath'd the ſhining blade ;
And feas, and rocks, and fkies rebound
To arms! to arms ! to arms !
IV.
But when through all th' infernal bounds
Which flaming Phlegeton furrounds,
Sad Orpheus fought his confort loft ;
Th' inexorable gates were barr'd,
And nought was feen, and nought was heard
Around the dreary coaft,
But dreadful gleams,
Difinal ſcreams ,
Fires that glow,
Shrieks of woe,
Sullen moans,
Hollow groans ,
And cries of tortur'd ghofts.
But hark ! he ſtrikes the golden lyre ;
And fee ! the tortur'd ghoſts refpire,
See fhady forms advance!
Thy ftone, O Sifiphus ! ftands ftill ;
Ixion refts upon his wheel,
And the pale ſpectres dance !
The furies fink upon their iron beds,
Andſhakes uncurl'd hang liſt'ning round their heads.
V.
V.
By the ftreams that ever flow,
By the fragrant winds that blow
O'er th' Elyfian flowers,
By thofe happy fouls who dwell
In yellow meads of Afphodel,
Ór Amaranthine bowers :
By the hero's arined ſhades
Glitt'ring through the gloomy glades,
By the youths that dy'd for love,
Wand'ring in the myrtle grove,
Reftore, reffore Eurydice to life,
Oh take the huſband, or return the wife !.
He fung, and hell confented
To hearthe poet's pray'r ;
Stern Proferpine relented,
And gave him back the fair.
Thus fong could prevail
O'er death and o'er hell,
A conqueft how hard and how glorious ?
Though fate had faſt bound her,
With Styx nine times round her,
Yet mufic and love were victorious.
VI..
But foon, too foon , the lover turns his eyes:
Again fhe falls, again fhe dies, the dies !
How wilt thou now the fatal fifters move ?
No crime was thine, if 'tis no crime to love.
Now under hanging mountains ,
Befide the falls of fountains ;
Or where Hebrus wanders,
Rolling in meanders,
All alone,
Unheard, unknown,
He makes his moan ;
And calls her ghoſt
For ever, ever loft !
Now with furies furrounded,
Defpairing, confounded,
He
ON
P C UTI
386 A HEL TO ELO .
He trembles, he glows,
Amidst Rhodope's fnows :
See, wild as the winds, o'er the defert he flies ;
Hark! Hæmus refounds with the Bacchanals cries-
-Ah fee, he dies !
Yet ev❜n in death Eurydice he fung,
Eurydice ſtill trembled on his tongue ;
Eurydice the woods,
Eurydice the floods
Eurydice the rocks and hollow mountains rung.
VII.
Mufic the fierceft griefs can charm,
And fate's fevereſt rage difarm :
Mufic can foften pain to eaſe,
And make deſpair and madneſs pleaſe;
Our joys below it can improve,
And antedate the blifs above.
This the divine Cecilia found,
And to her Maker's praiſe confin'd the found.
When the full organ joins the tuneful quire,
Th' immortal pow'rs incline their ear ;
Borne on the fwelling notes our fouls aſpire,
While folemn airs improve the facred fire ;
And angels lean from heav'n to hear !
Of Orpheus now no more let poets tell,
To bright Cecilia greater pow'r is giv'n ;
His numbers rais'd a fhade from hell,
Her's lift the foul to heav'n.
Eve's Speech to Adam.

[From Milton's Paradije Left, Book IV.]
HAT day I oft remember, when from fleep

T I firft awak'd, and found myfelf repos'd
Under a fhade on flowers, much wond'ring where
And what I was, whence thither brought, and how. 1
Not diſtant far from thence a murm'ring found
Of
Ofwaters iffued from a cave, and ſpread
Into a liquid plain, then ſtood unmov'd
Pure as th' expanfe of heav'n ; I thither went
With unexperienc'd thought, and laid me down
On the green bank, to look into the clear
Smooth lake, that to me feem'd another ſky.
As I bent down to look, juft oppofite
A ſhape within the watry gleam appear'd,
Bending to look on me : I ſtarted back,
It ſtarted back ; but pleas'd I foon return'd,
Pleas'd it return'd as foon with anfw'ring looks
Of ſympathy and love.
Eve's Speech to Adam.
[From Milton's Paradife Loft, Book IV. ]
Y author and difpofer, what thou bidſt

M'Unargued I obey ; to God ordains ;
God is thy law, thou mine, to know no more
Is woman's happieſt knowledge and her praiſe.
With thee converfing I forget all time ;
All feafons and their change, all pleaſe alike.
Sweet is the breath of morn, her rifing fweet,
With charm of earlieſt birds ; pleaſant the fun,
When first on this delightful land he ſpreads
His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower,
Glift'ring with dew ; fragrant the fertile earth
After foft fhow'rs ; and fweet the coming on
Of grateful evening mild ; then filent night
With this her folemn bird, and this fair moon,
And theſe the gems of heav'n , her ſtarry train :
But neither breath of morn , when ſhe aſcends
With charm of earlieſt birds ; nor rifing fun
On this delightful land ; nor herb, fruit, flower,
Glift'ring with dew ; nor fragrance after ſhowers ;
Nor grateful evening mild ; nor filent night
S 2 With
ION
A HELP TO ELOCUT .
388
With this her folemn bird, nor walk by moon,
Or glitt'ring ftarlight without thee is ſweet.
Extract from Dr. Young's Night -Thoughts .
NIGHT I.
ROCRASTINATION is the thief of time,

Year after year it ſteals, till all are fled,
PR
And to the mercies of a moment leaves
The vast concerns of an eternal fcene .
If not fo frequent , would not this be ſtrange ?
That 'tis fo frequent , this is ftranger ſtill.
Of man's miraculous mistakes , this bears
The palm , " That all men are about to live :"
For ever on the brink of being born.
All pay themſelves the compliment to think
They, one day, fhall not drivel ; and their pride
On this reverfion takes up ready praiſe ;
At leaſt their own ; their future felves applauds ;
How excellent that life they ne'er will lead ?
Time lodg'd in their own hands is folly's vails :
That lodg'd in Fate's , to wiſdom they confign :
The thing they can't but purpoſe , they poftpone ;
'Tis not in folly, not to fcorn a fool ;
And ſcarce in human wifdom to do more.
All promife is poor dilatory man,
And that through every ftage ; when young, in-
deed,
In full content , we fometimes nobly reſt,
Unanxious for ourſelves ; and only with,
As duteous fons , our fathers were more wife.
At thirty, man fufpects himſelf a fool ;
Knows it at forty , and reforms his plan ;
At fifty chides his infamous delay,
Pufhes his prudent purpoſe to refolve ;
In all the magnanimity of thought
Refolves , and re-refolves : then dies the fame.
From
From the Same.
NIGHT IV .
HY ftart at death ? where is he ? Death

WHYarriv'd
Is patt ; not come, or gone, he's never here.
Ere hope, fenfation fails ; black-boding man
Receives, not fuffers death's tremendous blow.
The knell, the fhroud, the mattock and the grave ;
The deep damp vault, the darkneſs and the worm,
Thefe are the bugbears of a winter's eve,
The terrors of the living, not the dead.
Imagination's fool, and error's wretch,
Man makes a death , which nature never made ;
Then on the point of his own fancy falls ;
And feels a thouſand deaths in fearing one.
From the Same.
NIGHT VII.
IE for thy country ? →→→ -thou romantic fool !

D Seize, feize the plank thyfelf, and let her fink :
Thy country ? what to thee ?-the Godhead ; what ?
(I fpeak with awe ! ) though he ſhould bid thee bleed ?
If, with thy blood, thy final hope is fpilt,
Nor can Omnipotence reward the blow,
Be deaf; preferve thy being ; difobey.
Nor is it difobedience : know, Lorenzo !
Whate'er th' Almighty's fubfequent command,
His first command is this :-Man, love thyfelf."
In this, alone, free agents are not free,
Exiſtence is the bafis, blifs the prize ;
If virtue costs exiſtence, ' tis a crime ;
Bold violation of our law fupreme,
Black fuicide ; though nations which confult
Their gain, at thy expence, refound applaufe.
S 3 Extract
Extract from Mr. Thomson's Winter.
S thus the fnows arife ; and foul and fierce,

As All Winter drives along the darkened air :
In his own loofe-revolving fields the ſwain
Difafter'd ftands ; fees other hills afcend,
Of unknown joylefs brow ; and other fcenes,
Of horrid profpect, fhag the trackleſs plain ;
Nor finds the river, nor the foreft, hid
Beneath the formleſs wild ; but wanders on
From hill to dale, ftill more and more aftray ;
Impatient flouncing through the drifted heaps,
Stung with the thoughts of home ; the thoughts of
home
Rush on his nerves, and call their vigour forth
In many a vain attempt. How finks his foul!
What black defpair, what horror fills his heart !
When for the duſky fpot, which fancy feign'd
His tufted cottage rifing through the fnow,
He meets the roughnefs of the middle waſte,
Far from the tract and bleft abode of man ;
While round him night refiſtleſs clofes fatt,
And every tempeft, howling o'er his head,
Renders the favage wilderneſs more wild ;
Then throng the bufy fhapes into his mind,
Of cover'd pits, unfathomably deep
A dire defcent! beyond the power of frost,
Of faithlefs bogs ; of precipices huge,
Smooth'd up with fnow ; and, what is land unknown,
What water, of the ſtill unfrozen fpring,
In the looſe marfh or folitary lake
Where the fresh fountain from the bottom boils.
Theſe check his fearful ſteps ; and down he finks
Beneath the ſhelter of the fhapeleſs drift,
Thinking o'er all the bitterneſs of death ,
Mix'd with the tender anguiſh nature ſhoots
Through the wrung bofom of the dying man,
His wife, his children, and his friends unfeen.
In
In vain for him th ' officious wife prepares
The fire fair blazing, and the veſtment warm ;
In vain, his little children peeping out
Into the mingling ſtorm , demand their fire,
With tears of artleſs innocence. Alas !
Nor wife, nor children, more ſhall he behold,
Nor friends, nor facred home. On ev'ry nerve
The deadly Winter feizes ; fhuts up fenfe ;
And, o'er his inmoft vitals creeping cold,
Lays him along the fnows, a stiffened corfe,
Stretch'd out, and bleaching in the northern blaſt.
Ah little think the gay licentious proud,
Whom pleafure, power, and affluence furround ;
They, who their thoughtless hours in giddy mirth,
And wanton, often cruel, riot waſte ;
Ah little think they, while they dance along,
How many feel, this very moment, death
And all the fad variety of pain.
How many fink in the devouring flood,
Or more devouring flame. How many bleed,
By fhameful variance betwixt man and man.
How many pine in want, and dungeon -glooms ;
Shut from the common air, and common ufe
Of their own limbs. How many drink the cup
Of baleful grief, or eat the bitter bread
Of mifery. Sore pierc'd by wintry winds,
How many fhrink into the fordid hut
Of cheerlefs poverty. How many fhake
With all the fiercer tortures of the mind,
Unbounded paffion , madnefs, guilt, remorſe ;
Whence tumbled headlong from the height of life,
They furnish matter for the tragic mufe.
Even in the vale, where wiſdom loves to dwell,
With friendship, peace, and contemplation join'd,
How many, rack'd with honeft paffions, droop
In deep retir'd diftrefs. How many ſtand
Around the death-bed of their dearest friends,
And point the parting anguish. Thought, fond man,
Of these, and all the thouſand nameleſs ills,
S 4 That
That one inceffant ſtruggle render life

One ſcene of toil, of fuffering, and of fate,
Vice in his high career would ſtand appall'd,
And heedlefs rambling impulfe learn to think ;
The confcious heart of charity would warm,
And her wide with benevolence dilate ;
The focial tear would rife, the focial figh ;
And into clear perfection, gradual blifs,
Refining ftill, the focial paffions work.
The Amusement. [By Mr. Tate.]
HY weeps my Sylvia ? Pr'ythee why?

Streon
Sylvia. W To think my Strephon once muftdie,
And that withal poor Sylvia may,
• When he's remov'd, be doom'd to ſtay.
Streph. Nymph, you're too lavish of your tears.
To wafte them on fantastic fears.
Sylu. No: for when I this life refign
If fate prolong the date of thine,
The tears you'll give my funeral
Will pay me intereft, ſtock and all.
Streph. Not fo, for fhould this fetting light
Ne'er rife again on Sylvia's fight,
Without a tear in mine I'd view
Her dying eyes.
Sylv. "Tis falfe.
'Tis true.
Streph.
Sylv. Not weep? falfe fhepherd, fwear.
Streph. I fwear
I wou'd not give thy hearfe a tear.
Sylv. Break, fwelling heart. Perfidious man,
Can you be ferious, fwear again,
Yes : fwear by Ceres and by Pan. }
Streph . Let then great Pan and Ceres hear,
And punish if I falfely fwear.
Sylv. Gods, can ye hear this and forgive ?
You may, for I have heard, and live.
Streph
Streph. Rage not, rafh nymph, for I've decreed
When Sylvia dies →→→→
Sylv. -Speak , what ?
Streph. -To bleed :
I'll drain the life's blood from my heart,
But no cheap tear fhall dare to ſtart.
Sylv. Kind fhepherd, cou'd you life defpife,
And bleed at Sylvia's obfequies ?
Streph. To Ceres I appeal, for fhe
Knows this has long been my decree.
Sylv. Since then, you cou'd, your vow fulfil,
Swear, fwear once more you never will.
The Hern.
PAMPER'D Hern, of lofty mien, in ſtate

A Strutting along upon a river's brink,
Pleas'd with her own majeſtic air and gait,
Wou'd ſcarce vouchfafe to bow her head to drink.
The glorious planet that revives the earth,
Shone with full luftre on the cryſtal ſtreams,
Which made the wanton fishes in their mirth
Roll to the fhore to baſk in his bright beams.
Our Hern might now have taken pike or carp,
They feem'd to court her by their near acceſs ;
But the, forfooth, her ftomach not being sharp,
Now paft them by, and flighted their addreſs :
It is not yet, faid the, my hour to eat,
My ftomach is too nice, I must have better meat.
So they went off, and tench themfelves prefent ;
This forry fish t'affront me fure was fent,
Cry'd fhe, and toft her nofe up with difdain,
I ne'er can eat a tench, cry'd the, and toſt her noſe
again.
So thefe paft off as pike and carp had done,
As they retir'd gudgeons in fhoals came on :
A Hern eat gudgeons ! no, ' t fhall neʼer be ſaid
That I to fuch low diet have been bred.
S 5 One
One of my birth eat gudgeons ! no, thank fate,

My ftomach is not fo fharp fet.
Then from them ftraight fhe turn'd away in rage,
But quickly after found her ſtomach's edge ;"
Then tothe fhore ſhe went in hopes of one,
But when ſhe came the gudgeons too were gone :
With hunger preſt, ſhe look'd around for food,
But cou'd not find one tenant ofthe flood.
At length a fnail upon the bank ſhe ſpy'd,
Welcome, delicious bait, rejoicing cry'd ;
And gorg'd the naufeous thing for all her pride. }
Hope. [By William Shenfione, Efq.]

I.
"Y banks they are furniſh'd with bees,
MY Whofe murmur invites one to fleep ;
My grottos are ſhaded with trees,
And my hills are white over with ſheep.
I feldom have met with a lofs,
Such health do my fountains beſtow ;
My fountains all border'd with mofs,
Where the hare-bells and violets grow.
II.
Not a pine in my grove is there ſeen,
But with tendrils of woodbine is bound :
Not a beech's more beautiful green,
But a fweet-briar twines it around.
Not my fields, in the prime of the year,
More charms than my cattle unfold :
Not a brook that is limpid and clear,
But it glitters with fishes of gold.
III.
One would think fhe might like to retire.
To the bow'r I have labour'd to rear ;
Not a fhrub that I heard her admire,
But I hafted and planted it there.
O how
O how fudden the jeffamine ftrove
With the lilac to render it gay !
Already it calls for my love,
To prune the wild branches away.
IV.
From the plains, from the woodlands and groves,
What ſtrains of wild melody flow ?
Howthe nightingales warble their loves
From thickets of rofes that blow !
And when her bright form fhall appear,
Each bird fhall harmoniouſly join
In a concert fo foft and fo clear,
As-ſhe may not be fond to refign.
V.
I have found out a gift for my fair ;
I have found where the wood- pigeons breed :
But let me that plunder forbear,
She will fay 'twas a barbarous deed .
For he ne'er could be true, fhe averr'd,
Who could rob a poor bird of its young :
And I lov'd her the more, when I heard
Such tenderneſs fall from her tongue.
VI.
I have heard her with ſweetneſs unfold
How that pity was due to- a dove :
That it ever attended the bold,
And the call'd it the fifter of love.
But her words fuch a pleaſure convey,
So much I her accents adore,
Let her fpeak, and whatever ſhe ſay,
Methinks I fhould love her the more.
VII.
Can a bofom fo gentle remain
Unmov'd, when her Corydon fighs ?
Will a nymph that is fond of the plain,
Thefe plains and this valley defpife ?
Dear
Dear regions of filence and fhade !

Soft fcenes of contentment and eaſe !
Where I could have pleaſingly ſtray'd,
If aught, in her abfence, could pleaſe.
VIII.
But where does my Phyllida ftray ?
And where are her grots and her bow'rs ?
Are the groves and the vallies as gay,
And the shepherds as gentle as ours ?
The groves may perhaps be as fair,
And the face of the vallies as fine ;
The fwains may in manners compare,
But their love is not equal to mine.
The Dying Chriftian to his Soul.
[An Ode by Mr. Pope. ]
1.
TITAL fpark of heav'nly flame !
AL oh quit this mortal frame !
VITQuit,
Trembling, hoping, ling ring, flying,
Oh the pain, the blifs of dying!
Ceafe, fond nature, ceaſe thy ftrife,
And let me languiſh into life.
11.
Hark ! they whifper ; angels fay,
Sifter fpirit, come away.
What is this abforbs me quite ?
Steals my fenfes, fhuts my fight,
Drowns my fpirits, draws my breath,
Tell me, my foul, can this be death ?
III
III.
The world recedes ; it diſappears !
Heav'n opens on my eyes ! my ears
With founds feraphic ring :
Lend, lend your wings ! I mount ! Ifly!
O grave! where is thy victory?
O death ! where is thy fting ?
From Pope's Effay on Man, Epift. I.
EAV'N from all creatures hides the book of

HE fate,
All but the page prefcrib'd, their preſent ſtate :
From brutes what men, from men what fpirits know :
Or who could fuffer being here below ?
The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day,
Had he thy reaſon, would he ſkip and play ?
Pleas'd to the laft, he crops the flow'ry food,
And licks the hand juſt rais'd to ſhed his blood.
Oh blindneſs to the future ! kindly giv❜n ,
That each may fill the circle, mark'd by Heav'n :
Who fees with equal eye, as God of all,
A hero perish, or a fparrow fall,
Atoms or ſyſtems into ruin hurl'd,
And now a bubble burst, and now a world.
Hope humbly then ; with trembling pinions foar
Wait the great teacher death ; and God adore.
What future blifs, he gives not thee to know,
But gives that hope to be thy bleffing now.
Hope fprings eternal in the human breaſt :
Man never is, but always to be bleft :
The foul uneafy, and confin'd from home,
Refts and expatiates in a life to come.
Lo, the poor Indian ! whoſe untutor❜d mind
Sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind ;
His foul, proud fcience never taught to ſtray
Far as the folar walk, or milky way ;
Yet
Yet fimple nature to his hope has giv'n,

Behind the cloud-topt hill, an humbler heav'n ;
Some fafer world in depth of woods embrac❜d,
Some happier ifland in the watʼry waſte,
Where flaves once more their native land behold,
No fiends torment, no Chriftians thirſt for gold.
To be, contents his natural defire,
He asks no angel's wing, no feraph's fire ;
But thinks, admitted to that equal ſky,
His faithful dog fhall bear him company.
Go, wifer thou ! and, in thy fcale of ſenſe,
Weigh thy opinion againſt Providence ;
Call imperfection what thou fancy'ft fuch,
Say, here he gives too little, there too much
Destroy all creatures for thy fport or guſt,
Yet cry, if man's unhappy, God's unjust ;
If man alone ingrofs not Heav'n's high care,
Alone made perfect, here, immortal there :
Snatch from his hand the balance and the rod,
Rejudge his juftice, be the god of God.
In pride, in reas'ning pride, our error lies ;
All quit their fphere, and rush into the ſkies.
Pride ftill is aiming at the bleſs'd abodes,
Men would be angels, angels would be gods.
Afpiring to be gods, if angels fell,
Afpiring to be angels, men rebel :
And who but wishes to invert the laws
Of order, fins againft th' Eternal Caufe.
From Pope's Effay on Man, Epift. IV.
NOME then, my friend ! my genius ! come along ;

CoOh master of the poet and the fong!
And while the mufe now ftoops, or now afcends ,
To man's low paffions , or their glorious ends,
Teach me, like thee, in various nature wife,
To fall with dignity, with temper riſe ;
Form'd
Form'd by thy converfe, happily to ſteer
From grave to gay, from lively to fevere ;
Correct with fpirit, eloquent with eaſe,
Intent to reaſon, or polite to pleaſe.
Oh ! while along the ftream of time thy name
Expanded flies, and gathers all its fame ;
Say, fhall my little bark attendant fail,
Purſue the triumph, and partake the gale ?
When ſtateſmen, heroes, kings, in duft repoſe,
Whoſe fons fhall bluſh their fathers were thy foes,
Shall then this verſe to future age pretend,
Thou wert my guide, philofopher, and friend ?
That, urg'd by thee, I turn'd the tuneful art,
From founds to things, from fancy to the heart?
For wit's falfe mirror held up nature's light ?
Shew'd erring pride, " Whatever is, is right ?"
That reafon, paffion, anfwer one great aim ?
That true felf- love and ſocial are the ſame ?
That virtue only makes our blifs below ?
And all our knowledge is, " ourſelves to know ?”
L
From Pope's Moral Eſſays, Epift. III.
UT all our praifes why fhould lords engrofs !

ВЧRife honeft mufe ! and fing the Man of Rofs :
Pleas'd Vaga echoes through her winding bounds,
And rapid Severn hoarfe applauſe refounds.
Who hung with woods yon mountain's fultry brow ?
From the dry rock who bade the waters flow ;
Not to the fkies in uſeleſs columns toft,
Or in proud falls magnificently loft ;
But clear and artlefs, pouring through the plain
Health to the fick, and folace to the fwain ?
Whoſe cauſeway parts the vale with ſhady rows ?
Whoſe feats the weary traveller repofe?
Who taught that heav'n-directed fpire to rife ?
" The Man of Rofs," each lifping babe replies.
Behold
Behold the market- place with poor o'erfpread !

The Man of Rofs divides the weekly bread :
He feeds yon alms-houſe, neat, but void of ſtate,
Where age and want fit fmiling at the gate :
Him portion'd maids, apprentic'd orphans bleft,
The young who labour, and the old who reſt.
Is any fick the Man of Rofs relieves,
Prefcribes, attends, the med'cine makes , and gives.
Is there a variance ? enter but his door,
Balk'd are the courts, and conteſt is no more,
Defpairing quacks with curfes fled the place,
And vile attornies, now an uſeleſs race.
Thrice happy man ! enabled to purſue
What all fo with, but want the pow'r to do !
Oh fay, what fums that gen'rous hand fupply?
What mines, to fwell that boundleſs charity ?
Of debts and taxes, wife and children clear,
This man poffefs'd-five hundred pounds a-year.
Blush, grandeur, blush ! proud courts, withdraw
your blaze !
Ye little ftars, hide your diminish'd rays.
And what ? no monument, infcription , ftone ?
His race, his form, his name almoft unknown ?
Who builds a church to God, and not to fame,
Will never mark the marble with his name.
Go, fearch it there, where to be born and die,
Of rich and poor makes all the hiſtory ;
Enough, that virtue fill'd the space between ;
Prov'd, by the ends of being, to have been.
Extract from the laft Scene of Bufiris, wherein

he is introduced wounded, and in Chains.
ONQUER'D ! ' tis falfe ! I am your maſter

C ftill ;
Your mafter, though in bonds ; you and aghaft
At your good fate, and trembling cat enjoy.
Now,
Now, from my foul, I hug thefe welcome chains,
Which fhew you all Bufiris, and declare
Crowns and fuccefs fuperfluous to my fame.
You think this ftreaming blood will low'r my thought;
No , ye miſtaken men, I finile at death !
For living here, is living all alone,
To me a real folitude amid
A throng of little beings grovelling round me ;
Which yet ufurp one common fhape and name.
I thank theſe wounds, thefe raging pains, which pro
mife
An interview with equals foon elſewhere.
[Hefees Memnon.]
Ha ! dead ? ' tis well ; he rofe not to my fword,
I only wish'd his fate, and there he lies.
Some, when they die, die all ; their mould'ring clay
Is but an emblem of their memories :
The ſpace quite clofes up through which they pafs'd.
That I have liv'd, I leave a mark behind,
Shall pluck the fhining age from vulgar time,
And give it whole to late pofterity.
My name is writ in mighty characters,
Triumphant columns, and eternal domes,
Whofe fplendor heightens our Egyptian day,
Whofe ftrength fhall laugh at time, till their great
bafis,
Old earth itſelf, fhall fail . In after ages,
Who war or build, fhall build or war for me,
Grow great in each, as my example fires :
'Tis I of art the future wonders raiſe ;
I fight the future battles of the world.-
Great Jove, I come ! Egypt, thou art forfaken :
[Sinks. ]
Afia's impoverish'd by my finking glories,
And the world leffens, when Bufiris falls. [Dies.]
William
William and Margaret.
HEN all was wrapt in dark midnight,

WHAnd all were faſt aſleep,
In glided Margret's grimly ghoit,
And flood at William's feet.
Her face was like the April-morn ,

Clad in a wintry cloud ;
And clay-cold was her lilly- hand,
That held the fable ſhroud,
So fhall the faireft face appear,
When youth and years are flown ;
Such is the robe that kings must wear,
When death has reft their crown.
Her bloom was like the fpringing flow'r

That fips the filver dew ;
The rofe was budded in her cheek,
And opening to the view.
But love had, like the canker-worin,

Confum'd her early prime :
The rofe grew pale, and left her cheek ;
She dy'd before her time.
Awake, the cry'd, thy true- love calls ,

Come from her midnight grave,
Now let thy pity hear the maid,
Thy love refus'd to fave.
This is the dark and fearful hour,

When injur'd ghoſts complain ;
Now dreary graves give up their dead,
To haunt the faithlefs fwain .
Bethink
Bethink thee, William, of thy fault,
Thy pledge, and broken oath ;
And give me back my maiden-vow,
And give me back my troth.
How could you fay my face was fair,

And yet that face forfake ?
How could you win my virgin heart,
Yet leave that heart to break ?.
How could you promife love to me,

And not that promiſe keep ?
Why did you fwear mine eyes were bright,
Yet leave thofe eyes to weep ?
How could you fay my lip was ſweet,

And made the ſcarlet pale ?
And why did I, young witlefs maid,
Believe the flatt'ring tale ?
That face, alas ! no more is fair,

That lip no longer red ;
Dark are mine eyes, now clos'd in death ,
And ev'ry charm is fled.
The hungry worm my_fifter is ;

This winding-fheet I wear;
And cold and weary lafts our night,
"Till that laft morn appear.
But hark ! the cock has warn'd me hence :

A long and laft adieu !
Come fee, falfe man, howlow fhe lies,
That dy'd for love of you .
Now birds did fing, and morning finile,

And thew her glittering head ;
Pale William fhook in every limb,
Then raving left his bed.
He
He hy'd him to the fatal place

Where Margret's body lay,
And stretch'd him on the green grafs turf,
That wrapt her breathlefs clay.
And thrice he call'd on Marg'ret's name,

And thrice he wept full fore ;'
Then laid his cheek to the cold earth,
And word ſpake never more.
A Hymn of Gratitude.
[By Mr. Addifon.]
THEN all thy mercies, O my God,

WMy rifing foul furveys ;
Tranfported with the view I'm loft
In wonder, love, and praiſe !
O how fhall words with equal warmth,

The gratitude declare,
That glows within my ravish'd heart !
But thou can't read it there.
Thy providence my life fuftain'd,

And all my wants redreft,
When in the filent womb I lay,
And hung upon the breaſt.
To all my weak complaints and cries

Thy mercy lent an ear,
Ere yet my feeble thoughts had learnt
To form themſelves in pray'r.
Unnumber'd comforts to my foul
Thy tender care beſtow'd,
Before my infant heart conceiv'd
From whom thofe comforts flow'd.
When
When in the flipp'ry paths of youth
With heedlefs fteps I ran,
Thine arm unfeen convey'd me fafe
And led me up to man ;
Through hidden dangers, toils, and deaths,

It gently clear'd my way :
And through the pleafing fnares of vice,
More to be fear'd than they.
When worn with fickneſs oft haft thou
With health renew'd my face,
And when in fins and forrow funk,
Reviv'd my foul with grace.
Thy bounteous hand with worldly blifs

Has made my cup run o'er,
And in a kind and faithful friend
Has doubled all my ftore.
Ten thouſand thouſand precious gifts

My daily thanks employ,
Nor is the leaft a cheerful heart
That tastes thofe gifts with joy.
Through every period of mylife

Thy goodness I'll purſue ;
And after death in diftant worlds
The glorious theme renew.
When nature fails, and day and night

Divide thy works no more,
My ever-grateful heart, O Lord,
Thy mercy fhall adore.
Through all eternity to thee
A joyful fong I'll raife,
For oh ! eternity's too fhort
To utter all thy praiſe.
The
U TION
The Univerfal Prayer.
[By Mr. Pope.]
ATHER of all ! in ev'ry age,

FIn ev'ry clime ador'd,
By faint, by favage, and by fage,
Jehovah, Jove, or Lord !
Thou great First Caufe, leaft underſtood,

Who all my ſenſe confin'd
To know but this, that thou art good ,
And that myſelf am blind.
Yet gave me, in this dark eftate,

To fee the good from ill ;
And binding nature faſt in fate,
Left free the human will.
What confcience dictates to be done,

Or warns me not to do,
This, teach me more than hell to fhun,
That, more than Heav'n purſue.
What bleffings thy free bounty gives,

Let me not caſt away ;
For God is paid when man receives,
T' enjoy is to obey.
Yet not to earth's contracted fpan

Thy goodneſs let me bound,
Or think thee Lord alone of man,
When thouſand worlds are round.
Let not this weak unknowing hand

Prefume thy bolts to throw,
And deal damnation round the land,
On each Ijudge thy foe,
If
If I am right, Oh teach my heart
Still in the right to ſtay ;
If I am wrong, thy grace impart
To find the better way.
Save me alike from foolish pride,

Or impious difcontent ;
At ought thy wiſdom has deny'd,
Or ought thy goodneſs lent.
Teach me to feel another's woe,

To hide the fault I fee ;
That mercy I to others ſhow,
That mercy ſhow to me.
Mean though I am, not wholly fo,

Since quicken'd by thy breath :
O lead mewherefoe'er I go,
Through this day's life or death.
This day be bread and peace my lot ;

All elſe beneath the fun
Thou know'ſt if beſt beſtow'd or not,
And let thy will be done.
To thee, whofe temple is all ſpace,

Whoſe altar, earth, fea, ſkies,
One chorus, let all Being raife !
All Nature's incenſe riſe!
THE EN D.
14438
1970

A Help To Elocution

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This is a reproduction of a library book that was digitized

by Google as part of an ongoing effort to preserve the

Jerry Tarver Elocution, Rhetoric

and Oratory Collection

Gift ofJerry Tarver

1. On READING and DECLAMATION , wherein the

FOR THE USE OF SCHOOLS.

-Speech is the Morning of the Soul,

HIS little volume, calculated for the

It was not meant to give any thing

THE firft Effay, however, is an origi-

fome or other of thefe pieces will afford

SSAY on Reading and Declamation Page

An Admonitory Oration Holme 117

On the Delicacy of Taſte and Paffion 119

A Dialogue between Mercury and a modern

Extract from Pope's Effay on Man 397

EADING and DECLAMATION confift of Em-

-Did the Englishman deſerve to die ?-If I lay the

The words printed in Italic are thoſe on which the Em-

He, as a curtain, ftretch'd on high 4

He walks upon the wings of wind,

Seraphs await in dreåd ſuſpenſe,

After all that can be faid, the degrees of Emphaſis

The Climax of Reafoning, in thefe lines, is too

'Tis Rome demands our tears ;

The following Paffage from Otway ſhould gra-

An Infance of Climax in vindictive Rage, we

AClimax ofjealous Rage, Shakespeare gives us in

A Climax of more Rapidity, proceedingfrom afud

Any perfon who can do juftice to thefe, or fimilar

Inftance ofthe amorous Style, from Lee.

Humility and Infinuation are thus happilyſet forth

Diffimulation, which requires the fame tone ofEx-

Inftances of Exclamation in Joy and Rage are thus

The preceding examples may fuffice for the upper

Declamation which do not touch upon the paffions.

-Know, that in the foul

That degree of Expreffion I term bafe , is particu

Whether first nature, or long want of peace,

An Example of Horror we have in thefe lines of

The cheerful day was every where fhut out

Invocation offealousy, from Mallet.

Invocation ofFiends, from Young.

The following paffage ofenraged Difcontent, from

Come, lead me to my dungeon ; plunge medown

Thefe lines of the fame Author prefent us with

Having thus given examples for each of the three

It must be by his death : and for my part

But for the general. He would be crown'd-

Paufes of confufion are ſhorter than thofe of reflec-

Nay, good lieutenant- alas, gentlemen-

Every difcerning Reader will readily perceive that

I pr'ythee, daughter, do not make me mad !-

Examples of Breaks in impetuous Rage, as follow.

Would with his daughter ſpeak : -Commands her

For his fhrunkfhank ; and his big manly voice

Every Emphafis and variation of voice fhould be

Stops and Cadences are a moft effential point of

their knowledge of verfification, and what they think

PASSIONS AND AFFECTIONS

S the foregoing ESSAY on READING and DE-

held out before the breaft, to fhew fear ; fpread forth