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of the poor man and his lamb is likewise more ancient than any that is extant, beside the above mentioned, and had so good an effect, as to convey instruction to the ear of a king, without offending it, and to bring a man after God's own heart to a right sense of his guilt and his duty. We find Esop in the most distant ages of Greece; and if we look into the very beginnings of the commonwealth of Rome,† we see a mutiny among the common people appeased by a fable of the belly and the limbs, which was indeed very proper to gain the attention of an incensed rabble, at a time when perhaps they would have torn to pieces any man who had preached the same doctrine to them in an open and direct manner. As fables took their birth in the very infancy of learning, they never flourished more than when learning was at its greatest height. To justify this assertion, I shall put my reader in mind of Horace, the greatest wit and critic in the Augustan age; and of Boileau, the most correct poet among the moderns; not to mention La Fontaine, who by this way of writing is come more into vogue than any other author of our times.

The fables I have here mentioned are raised altogether upon brutes and vegetables, with some of our own species mixed among them, when the moral hath so required. But beside this kind of fable, there is another in which the actors are passions, virtues, vices, and other imaginary persons of the like nature. Some of the ancient critics will have it, that the Iliad and Odyssey of Homer, are fables of this nature: and that the several names of gods and heroes are nothing else but the affections of the mind in a visible shape and character. Thus they tell us, that Achilles, in the first Iliad, represents anger, or the irascible part of human nature; that upon drawing his sword against his superior in a full assembly, Pallas is only another name for reason, which checks and advises him upon that occasion; and at her first appearance touches him upon the head, that part of the man being looked upon as the seat of reason. And thus of the rest of the poem. As for the Odyssey, I think it is plain that Horace considered it as one of these allegorical fables, by the moral which he has given us of several parts of it. The greatest Italian wits have applied themselves to the writing of this latter kind of fables. Spenser's Fairy-Queen is one continued series of them from the beginning to the end of that admirable work. If we look into the finest prose authors of antiquity, such as Cicero, Plato, Xenophon, and many others, we shall find that this was likewise their favorite kind of fable. I shall only further observe upon it, that the first of this sort that made any considerable figure in the world, was that of Hercules meeting with Pleasure and Virtue which was invented by Prodicus, who lived before Socrates, and in the first dawnings of philosophy. He used to travel through Greece by virtue of this fable, which procured him a kind reception in all the market towns, where he never failed telling it as soon as he had gathered an audience about him.

After this short preface, which I have made up of such materials as my memory does at present suggest to me, before I present my reader with a fable of this kind, which I design as the entertainment of the present paper, I must in a few words open the occasion of it.

In the account which Plato gives us of the conversation and behavior of Socrates, the morning he was to die, he tells the following circumstance:

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When Socrates "his" fetters were knocked off, (as was usual to be done on the day that the condemned person was to be executed), being seated in the midst of his disciples, and laying one of his legs over the other, in a very unconcerned posture, he began to rub it where it had been galled by the iron; and whether it was to show the indifference with which he entertained the thoughts of his approaching death, or (after his usual manner), to take every occasion of philosophizing upon some useful subject, he observed the pleasure of that sensation which now arose in those very parts of his leg, that just before had been so much pained by the fetter. Upon this he reflected on the nature of pleasure and pain in general, and how constantly they succeed one another. To this he added, that if a man of a good genius for a fable were to represent the nature of pleasure and pain in that way of writing, he would probably join them together after such a manner, that it would be impossible for the one to come into any place without being followed by the other.

It is possible, that if Plato had thought it proper at such a time to describe Socrates launching out into a discourse which was not of a piece with the business of the day, he would have enlarged upon this hint, and have drawn it out into some beautiful allegory or fable. But since he has not done it, I shail attempt to write one myself in the spirit of that divine author.

"There were two families which from the beginning of the world were as opposite to each other as light and darkness. The one of them lived in heaven, and the other in hell. The youngest descendant of the first family was Pleasure, who was the daughter of Happiness, who was the child of Virtue, who was the offspring of the Gods. These, as I said before, had their habitation in heaven. The youngest of the opposite family was Pain, who was the son of Misery, who was the child of Vice, who was the offspring of the Furies. The habitation of this race of beings was in hell.

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The middle station of nature between these two opposite extremes was the earth, which was inhabited by creatures of a middle kind, neither so virtuous as the one, nor so vicious as the other, but partaking of the good and bad qualities of these two opposite families. Jupiter considering that the species, commonly called man, was too virtuous to be miserable, and too vicious to be happy; that he might make a distinction between the good and the bad, ordered the two youngest of the above mentioned families, Pleasure, who was the daughter of Happiness, and Pain, who was the son of Misery, to meet one another upon this part of nature which lay in the half-way between them, having promised to settle it upon them both, provided they could agree upon the division of it, so as to share mankind between them.

"Pleasure and Pain were no sooner met in their new habitation, but they immediately agreed upon this point, that Pleasure should take possession of the virtuous, and Pain of the vicious part of that species which was given up to them. But upon examining to which of them any individual they met with belonged, they found each of them had a right to him: for that, contrary to what they had seen in their old places of residence, there was no person so vicious who had not some good in him, nor any person so virtuous who had not in him some evil. The truth of it is, they generally found upon search, that in the most vicious man Pleasure might lay claim to a hundredth part, and that in the most virtuous man Pain might come in for at least two-thirds. This they

saw would occasion endless disputes between | has undertaken to be his historiographer. I ha e them, unless they could come to some accommo- sent it to you, not only as it represents the actions dation. To this end there was a marriage proposed between them, and at length concluded. By this means it is that we find pleasure and pain are such constant yoke-fellows; and that they either make their visits together, or are never far asunder. If Pain comes into a heart, he is quickly followed by Pleasure; and if Pleasure enters, you may be sure Pain is not far off.

But notwithstanding this marriage was very convenient for the two parties, it did not seem to answer the intention of Jupiter in sending them among mankind. To remedy, therefore, this inconvenience, it was stipulated between them by article, and confirmed by the consent of each family, that notwithstanding they here possessed the species indifferently; upon the death of every single person, if he was found to have in him a certain proportion of evil, he should be dispatched into the infernal regions by a passport from Pain, there to dwell with Misery, Vice, and the Furies. Or, on the contrary, if he had in him a certain proportion of good, he should be dispatched into heaven by a passport from Pleasure, there to dwell with Happiness, Virtue, and the Gods."

No. 184.] MONDAY, OCTOBER 1, 1711.
-Opere in longo fas est obrepere somnum.
HOR. Ars. Poet., v, 360.

-Who labors long may be allowed sleep.
WHEN a man has discovered a new vein of hu-
mor, it often carries him much further than he ex-

of Nicholas Hart, but as it seems a very natural pic. ture of the life of many an honest English gentle man, whose whole history very often consists of yawning, nodding, stretching, turning, sleeping, drinking, and the like extraordinary particulars. I do not question, Sir, that if you pleased, you could put an advertisement not unlike the abovementioned, of several men of figure; that Mr. John Such-a-one, gentleman, or Thomas Such-a-one, esquire, who slept in the country last summer, intends to sleep in town this winter. The worst of it is, that the drowsy part of our species is chiefly made up of very honest gentlemen, who live quíetly among their neighbors, without ever disturb ing the public peace. They are drones without stings. I could heartily wish, that several turbulent, restless, ambitious spirits, would for while change places with these good men, and enter themselves into Nicholas Hart's fraternity. Could one but lay asleep a few busy heads which I could name, from the first of November next to the first of May ensuing, I question not but it would very much redound to the quiet of particular persous, as well as to the benefit of the public.

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'But to return to Nicholas Hart: I believe, Sir, you will think it a very extraordinary circumstance for a man to gain his livelihood by sleeping, and that rest should procure a man sustenance as well as industry; yet so it is, that Nicholas got last month. I am likewise informed that he has this year enough to support himself for a twelvepected from it. My correspondents take the hint year had a very comfortable nap. The poets value I give them, and pursue it into speculations which but I never heard they got a groat by it. On the themselves very much for sleeping on Parnassus, I never thought of at my first starting it. This has been the fate of my paper on the match of contrary, our friend Nicholas gets more by sleepmay be more grinning, which has already produced a second ing than he could by working, and paper on parallel subjects, and brought me the properly said, than ever Homer was, to have had following letter by the last post. I shall not pre-drowsy husband who raised an estate by snoring, golden dreams. Juvenal indeed mentions a mise anything to it further, than that it is built on but then he is represented to have slept what matter of fact, and is as follows: the common people call a dog's sleep; or if his sleep was real, his wife was awake, and "You have already obliged the world with a about her business. Your pen, which loves discourse upon grinning, and have since proceeded to moralize upon all subjects, may raise some to whistling, from whence you at length came to thing, methinks, on this circumstance also, aud yawning; from this I think you may make a very point out to us those set of men, who, instead natural transition to sleeping. I therefore recon- of growing rich by an honest industry, recommend to you for the subject of a paper the follow-mend themselves to the favors of the great, by ing advertisement, which about two months ago was given into everybody's hands, and may be seen, with some additions, in the Daily Courant of August the 9th.:

"SIR,

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making themselves agreeable companions in the participations of luxury and pleasure.

"I must further acquaint you, Sir, that one of the most eminent pens in Grub-street is now employed in writing the dream of this miraculous sleeper, which I hear will be of a more than ordinary length, as it must contain all the particulars that are supposed to have passed in his imagina tion during so long a sleep. He is said to have gone already through three days and three nights of it, and to have comprised in them the most remarkable passages of the four first empires of the world. If he can keep free from party-strokes, his work may be of use; but this 1 much doubt, having been informed by one of his friends and confidants, that he has spoken some things of Nimrod with too great freedom.

"I am ever, Sir," etc.-L.

No. 185.] TUESDAY, OCT. 2, 1711.
Tantære animis coelestibus iræ ?

VIRG. Æn., 1, 15.
And dwells such fury in celestial breasts?
THERE is nothing in which men more deceive
themselves than in what the world calls zeal

*The time in which the parliament usually sits.

There are so many passions which hide themselves under it, and so many mischiefs arising from it, that some have gone so far as to say it would have been for the benefit of mankind if it had never been reckoned in the catalogue of virtues. It is certain, where it is once laudable and prudential, it is a hundred times criminal and erroneous: nor can it be otherwise, if we consider that it operates with equal violence in all religions, however opposite they may be to one another, and in all the subdivisions of each religion in particular.

We are told by some of the Jewish rabbins, that the first murder was occasioned by a religious controversy; and if we had the whole history of zeal from the days of Cain to our own times, we should see it filled with so many scenes of slaughter and bloodshed, as would make a wise man very careful how he suffers himself to be actuated by such a principle when it only regards matters of opinion and speculation.

Many a good man may have a natural rancor and malice in his heart, which has been in some measure quelled and subdued by religion: but it it finds pretense of breaking out, which does. not seem to him inconsistent with the duties of a Christian, it throws off all restraint, and rages in full fury. Zeal is, therefore, a great ease to a malicious man, by making him believe he does. God service, while he is gratifying the bent of a perverse, revengeful temper. For this reason we find, that most of the massacres and devastations which have been in the world, have taken their rise from a furious pretended zeal.

I love to see a man zealous in a good matter, and especially when his zeal shows itself for advancing morality, and promoting the happiness · of mankind. But when I find the instruments he works with are racks and gibbets, galleys and. dungeons: when he imprisons men's persons,. confiscates their estates, ruins their families, and burns the body to save the soul, I cannot stick to pronounce of such a one, that (whatever he may think of his faith and religion), his faith is vain, and his religion unprofitable.

I would have every zealous man examine his heart thoroughly, and, I believe, he will often find, that what he calls a zeal for his religion, is either pride, interest, or ill-nature. A man who After having treated of these false zealots in differs from another in opinion, sets himself religion, I cannot forbear mentioning a monstrous above him in his own judgment, and in several species of men, who one would not think had any particulars pretends to be the wiser person. This existence in nature, were they not to be met with is a great provocation to the proud man, and in ordinary conversation-I mean the zealots in gives a very keen edge to what he calls his zeal. atheism. One would fancy that these men, though. And that this is the case very often. we may ob- they fall short, in every other respect, of those serve from the behavior of some of the most zeal-who make a profesion of religion, would at least ous for orthodoxy, who have often great friend- outshine them in this particular, and be exempt ships and intimacies with vicious, immoral men, from that single fault which seems to grow out provided they do but agree with them in the same of the imprudent fervors of religion. But so it scheme of belief. The reason is, because the is, that infidelity is propagated with as much vicious believer gives the precedency to the vir- fierceness and contention, wrath and indignation tuous man, and allows the good Christian to be as if the safety of mankind depended upon it the worthier person, at the same time that he There is something so ridiculous and perverse in cannot come up to his perfection. This we find this kind of zealots, that one does not know how exemplified in that trite passage which we see to set them out in their proper colors. They are quoted in almost every system of ethics, though a sort of gamesters who are eternally upon the upon another occasion: fret, though they play for nothing. They are perpetually teasing their friends to come over to them, though at the same time they allow that neither of them shall get anything by the bargain. In short, the zeal of spreading atheism is, if pos

-Video meliora proboque, Deteriora sequor

OVID. Met,, vii, 20.

I see the right, and I approve it too; Condemn the wrong, and yet the wrong pursue.—TATE. On the contrary, it is certain, if our zeal were true and genuine, we should be much more angry with a sinner than a heretic; since there are several cases which may excuse the latter before his great Judge, but none which can excuse the

former.

sible, more absurd than atheism itself.

Since I have mentioned this unaccountable zeal which appears in atheists and infidels, I must further observe, that they are likewise in a most particular manner possessed with the spirit of bigotry. They are wedded to opinions full of contradiction and impossibility, and at the same time look upon the smallest difficulty in an article of faith as a sufficient reason for rejecting it. Notions that fall in with the common reason of mankind, that are conformable to the sense of all ages, and all nations, not to mention their tendency for promoting the happiness of societies, or of particular persons, are exploded as errors and prejudices; and schemes erected in their stead that are altogether monstrous and irrational, and require the most extravagant credulity to embrace them. I would fain ask one of these bigoted infidels, supposing all the great points of atheism, as the casual or eternal formation of the world, the materiality of a thinking substance, the mortality of the soul, the fortuitous organization of the body, the motions and gravitation of matter, with the like particulars, were laid together and formed into a kind of creed, according to the opinions of the most celebrated atheists; I say, supposing such a creed as this were formed, and imposed upon any one people in the world, whe ther it would not require an infinitely greater Ill-nature is another dreadful imitator of zeal.-measure of faith, than any set of articles which

Interest is likewise a great inflamer and sets a man on persecution under the color of zeal. For this reason we find none are so forward to promote the true worship by fire and sword, as those who find their present account in it. But I shall extend the word interest to a larger meaning than what is generally given it, as it relates to our spiritual safety and welfare, as well as to our temporal. A man is glad to gain numbers on his side, as they serve to strengthen him in his private opinions. Every proselyte is like a new argument for the establishment of his faith. It makes him believe that his principles carry conviction with them, and are the more likely to be true, when he finds they are conformable to the reasor of others, as well as to his own. And that this temper of mind deludes a man very often into an opinion of his zeal, may appear from the common behavior of the atheist, who maintains and spreads his opinions with as much heat as those who believe they do it only out of a passion for God's glory.

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they so violently oppose. Let me therefore advise this generation of wranglers, for their own and for the public good, to act at least so consistently with themselves, as not to burn with zeal for irreligion, and with bigotry for nonsense.

man,

C.

No. 186.] WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 3, 1711.
Coelum ipsum petimus stultitia- HOR. 3 Od. i, 38.
High Heaven itself our impious rage assails.-P.
UPON my return to my lodgings last night, I
found a letter from my worthy friend the clergy-
whom I have given some account of in my
former papers. He tells me in it that he was
particularly pleased with the latter part of my
yesterday's speculation; and at the same time
inclosed the following essay, which he desires me
to publish as the sequel to that discourse. It con-
sists partly of uncommon reflections, and partly
of such as have been already used, but now set in
a stronger light.

little of the matter in question, that their iufidelity is but another terni for their ignorance.

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As folly and inconsiderateness are the foundations of infidelity, the great pillars and supports of it are either a vanity of appearing wiser than the rest of mankind, or an ostentation of courage in despising the terrors of another world, which have so great an influence on what they call weaker minds; or an aversion to a belief that must cut them off from many of those pleasures they propose to themselves, and fill them with remorse for many of those they have already tasted. "The great received articles of the Christian religion have been so clearly proved, from the authority of that divine revelation in which they are delivered, that it is impossible for those who have ears to hear, and eyes to see, not to be con vinced of them. But were it possible for anything in the Christian faith to be erroneous, I can find no ill consequences in adhering to it. The great points of the incarnation and sufferings of our Savior produce naturally such habits of virtue in the mind of man, that, I say, supposing it were possible for us to be mistaken in them, the "A believer may be excused by the most har-infidel himself must at least allow, that no other dened atheist for endeavoring to make him a con- system of religion could so effectually contribute vert, because he does it with an eye to both their to the heightening of morality. They give us interests. The atheist is inexcusable who tries to great ideas of the dignity of human nature, and gain over a believer, because he does not propose of the love which the Supreme Being bears to his the doing himself or the believer any good by creatures, and consequently engage us in the such a conversion. highest acts of duty toward our Creator, our "The prospect of a future state is the secret neighbor, and ourselves. How many noble argucomfort and refreshment of my soul; it is that ments has St. Paul raised from the chief articles which makes nature look gay about me; it doubles of our religion, for the advancing of morality in all my pleasures, and supports me under all my its three great branches! To give a single exafflictions. I can look at disappointments and ample in each kind. What can be a stronger misfortunes, pain and sickness, death itself, and motive to a firm trust and reliance on the mercies what is worse than death, the loss of those who of our Maker, than the giving us bis Son to suf are dearest to me, with indifference, so long as I fer for us? What can make us love and esteem keep in view the pleasures of eternity, and the even the most inconsiderable of mankind, more state of being in which there will be no fears nor than the thought that Christ died for him? Or apprehensions, pains nor sorrows, sickness nor what dispose us to set a stricter guard upon the separation. Why will any man be so imperti-purity of our hearts, than our being members of nently officious as to tell me all this is only fancy and delusion? Is there any merit in being the messenger of ill news? If it is a dream, let me enjoy it, since it makes me both the happier and

better man.

Christ, and a part of the society of which that immaculate person is the head? But these are only a specimen of those admirable enforcements of morality, which the apostle has drawn from the history of our blessed Savior.

"If our modern infidels considered these matters with that candor and seriousness which they deserve, we should not see them act with such a spirit of bitterness, arrogance, and malice. They would not be raising such insignificant cavils, doubts, and scruples, as may be started against everything that is not capable of mathematical demonstration; in order to unsettle the mind of the ignorant, disturb the public peace, subvert morality, and throw all things into confusion and disorder. If none of these reflections can have any influence on them, there is one that perhaps may, because it is adapted to their vanity, by which they seem to be guided much more than their reason. I would therefore have them consider, that the wisest and best of men, in all ages of the world, have been those who lived up to the religion of their country, when they saw nothing in

"I must confess I do not know how to trust a man who believes neither heaven nor hell, or in other words, a future state of rewards and punishments. Not only natural self-love, but reason, directs us to promote our own interests above all things. It can never be for the interest of a believer to do me a mischief, because he is sure upon the balance of accounts to find himself a loser by it. On the contrary, if he considers his own welfare in his behavior toward me, it will lead him to do me all the good he can, and at the same time restrain him from doing me any injury. An unbeliever does not act like a reasonable creature, if he favors me contrary to his present interest, or does not distress me when it turns to his present advantage. Honor and good-nature may indeed tie up his hands; but as these would be very much strengthened by reason and principle, so without them they are only instincts, or wait opposite to morality, and to the best lights they vering, unsettled notions, which rest on no foundation.

"Infidelity has been attacked with so good success of late years, that it is driven out of all its outworks. The atheist has not found his post tenable, and is therefore retired into deism, and a disbelief of revealed religion only. But the truth of it is, the greatest number of this set of men are those who, for want of a virtuous education, or examining the grounds of religion, know so very

had of the divine nature. Pythagoras's first rule directs us to worship the gods 'as it is ordained by law,' for that is the most natural interpretation of the precept. Socrates, who was the most re. nowned among the heathens, both for wisdom and virtue, in his last moments desires his friends to offer a cock to Esculapius: doubtless out of a submissive deference to the established worship of his country. Xenophon tells us, that his prince (whom he sets forth as a pattern of perfection),

when he found his death approaching, offered sacrifices on the mountains to the Persian Jupiter, and the Sun, according to the custom of the Persians;' for those are the words of the historian. Nay, the Epicureans and atomical philosophers showed a very remarkable modesty in this particular; for though the being of a God was entirely repugnant to their schemes of natural philosophy, they contented themselves with the denial of a Providence, asserting at the same time the existence of gods in general; because they would not shock the common belief of mankind, and the religion of their country."-L.

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"I do not know that you have ever touched upon a certain species of women, whom we ordinarily call jilts. You cannot possibly go upon a more useful work, than the consideration of these dangerous animals. The coquette is indeed one degree toward the jilt; but the heart of the former is bent upon admiring herself, and giving false hopes to her lovers; but the latter is not contented to be extremely amiable, but she must add to that advantage a certain delight in being a torment to others. Thus when her lover is in full expectation of success, the jilt shall meet him with a sudden indifference and admiration in her face at his being surprised that he is received like a stranger, and a cast of her head another way with a pleasant scorn of the fellow's insolence. It is very probable the lover goes home utterly astonished and dejected, sits down to his scrutoire, sends her word in the most abject terms, that he knows not what he has done, that all which was desirable in this life is so suddenly vanished from him, that the charmer of his soul should withdraw the vital heat from the heart which pants for her. He continues a mournful absence for some time, pining in secret, and out of humor with all things that he meets with. At length he takes a resolution to try his fate, and explains with her resolutely upon her unaccountable carriage. He walks up to her apartment, with a thousand inquietudes, and doubts in what manner he shall meet the first cast of her eye; when upon his first appearance she flies toward him, wonders where he has been, accuses him of his absence, and treats him with a familiarity as surprising as her former coldness. This good correspondence continues until the lady observes the lover grows happy in it, and then she interrupts it with some new inconsistency of behavior. For (as I just now said) the happiness of a jilt consists only in the power of making others uneasy. But such is the folly of this sect of women, that they carry on this pretty skittish behavior, until they have no charms left to render it supportable. Corinna, that used to torment all who conversed with her with false glances, and little heedless unguarded motions, that were to betray some inclination toward the man she would insnare, finds at present all she attempts that way Xenoph. Cyropæd., lib. 8, p. 500. Ed. Hutchins, 1747, 8vo.

unregarded; and is obliged to indulge theilt in her constitution, by laying artificial plots, writing perplexing letters from unknown hauds, and inaking all the young fellows in love with her, until they find out who she is. Thus, as before she gave torment by disguising her inclination, she is now obliged to do it by hiding her person. "As for my own part, Mr. Spectator, it has been my unhappy fate to be jilted from my youth upward; and as my taste has been very much toward intrigue, and having intelligence with women of wit, my whole life has passed away in a series of impositions. I shall, for the benefit of the present race of young men, give some account of my loves. I know not whether you have ever heard of the famous girl gbout town called Kitty. This creature (for I must take shame upon myself) was ny mistress in the days when keeping was in fashion. Kitty, under the appearance of being wild, thoughtless, and irregular in all her words and actions, concealed the most accomplished jilt of her time. Her negligence had to me a charm in it like that of chastity, and want of desires seemed as great a merit as the conquest of them. The air she gave herself was that of a romping girl, and whenever I talked to her with any turn of fondness, she would immediately snatch off my periwig, try it upon herself in the glass, clap her arms a-kimbo, draw my sword, and make passes on the wall, take off my cravat, and seize it to make some other use of the lace, or run into some other unaccountable rompishness, until the time I had appointed to pass away with her was over. I went from her full of pleasure at the reflection that I had the keeping of so much beauty in a woman who, as she was too heedless to please me, was also too inattentive to form a design to wrong me. Long did I divert every hour that hung heavy upon me in the company of this creature, whom I looked upon as neither guilty nor innocent, but could laugh at myself for my unaccountable pleasure in an expense upon her, until in the end it appeared my pretty insensible was with child by my footman.

"This accident roused me into disdain against all libertine women, under what appearance soever they hid their insincerity, and I resolved after that time to converse with none but those who lived within the rules of decency and honor. To this end I formed myself into a more regular turn of behavior, and began to make visits, frequent assemblies, and lead our ladies from the theaters, with all the other insignificant duties which the professed servants of the fair place themselves in constant readiness to perform. In a very little time (having a plentiful fortune), fathers and mothers began to regard me as a good match, and I found easy admittance into the best families in town to observe their daughters; but I, who was born to follow the fair to no purpose, have by the force of my ill stars, made my application to three jilts successively.

"Hyæna is one of those who form themselves into a melancholy and indolent air, and endeavor to gain admirers from their inattention to all around them. Hyæna can loll in her coach, with something so fixed in her countenance, that it is impossible to conceive her meditation is employed only on her dress, and her charms in that posture. If it were not too coarse a simile, I should say, Hyæna, in the figure she affects to appear in, is a spider in the midst of a cobweb, that is sure to destroy every fly that approaches it. The net Hyæna throws is so fine, that you are taken in it before you can observe any part of her work. I attempted her for a long and weary season, but I found her passion went no further than to be ad

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