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to the present purpose to consider it as an absurd passion of the heart, rher than as a vicious affection of the mind. As there are frequent instances to be met with of a proud humility, so this passion, contrary to most others, affects applause, by avoiding all show and appearance: for this reason it will not sometimes endure even the common decencies of apparel. "A covetous man will call himself poor, that you may soothe his vanity by contradicting him." Love and the desire of glory, as they are the most natural, so they are capable of being refined into the most delicate and rational passions. It is true, the wise man who strikes out of the secret paths of a private life, for honor and dignity, allured by the splendor of a court, and the unfelt weight of public

have neither mistaken our course, nor failen intr calamities of our own procuring.

Religion therefore (were we to consider it nc further than as it interposes in the affairs of this life) is highly valuable, and worthy of great vene ration; as it settles the various pretensions, and otherwise interfering interests of mortal men, and thereby consults the harmony and order of the great community; as it gives a man room to play his part and exert his abilities; as it animates to actions truly laudable in themselves, in their ef fects beneficial to society; as it inspires rational ambition, correct love and elegant desire.-Z.

employment, whether he succeeds in his attempts No. 225.] SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 17, 1711

or no, usually comes near enough to this painted greatness to discern the daubing; he is then desirous of extricating himself out of the hurry of life, that he may pass away the remainder of his days in tranquillity and retirement.

It may be thought then but common prudence in a man not to change a better state for a worse, nor ever to quit that which he knows he shall take up again with pleasure; and yet if human life be not a little moved with the gentle gales of hopes and fears, there may be some danger of its stagnating in an unmanly indolence and security. It is a known story of Domitian, that after he had possessed himself of the Roman empire, his desires turned upon catching flies. Active and masculine spirits in the vigor of youth neither can nor ought to remain at rest. If they debar themselves from aiming at a noble object, their desires will move downward, and they will feel themselves actuated by some low and abject passion. Thus, if you cut off the top branches of a tree, and will not suffer it to grow any higher, it will not therefore cease to grow, but will quickly shoot out at the bottom. The man indeed who goes into the world only with the narrow views of self-interest, who catches at the applause of an, idle multitude, as he can find no solid contentment at the end of his journey, so he deserves to meet with disappointments in his way; but he who is actuated by a noble principle; whose mind is so far enlarged as to take in the prospect of his country's good; who is enamored with that praise which is one of the fair attendants of virtue, and values not those acclamations which are not seconded by the impartial testimony of his own mind; who repines not at the low station which Providence has at present allotted him, but yet would willingly advance himself by justifiable means to a more rising and advantageous ground; such a man is warmed with a generous emulation; it is a virtuous movement in him to wish and to endeavor that his power of doing good may be equal to his will.

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I HAVE often thought if the minds of men were laid open, we should see but little difference between that of the wise man, and that of the fool. There are infinite reveries, numberless extravagances, and a perpetual train of vanities which pass through both. The great difference is, that the first knows how to pick and cull his thoughts for conversation, by suppressing some, and communicating others; whereas the other lets them all in differently fly out in words. This sort of disc etion, however, has no place in private conversation between intimate friends. On such occasions the wisest men very often talk like the veakest; for indeed the talking with a friend is nothing else but thinking aloud.

Tully has therefore very justly exposed a precept delivered by some ancient writers, that a inan should live with his enemy in such a manner, as might leave him room to become his friend; and with his friend in such a manner, that if he became his enemy, it should not be in his power to hurt him. The first part of this rule, which regards our behavior toward an enemy, is indeed very reasonable, as well as very prudential; but the latter part of it, which regards our behavior toward a friend, savors more of cunning than of discretion, and would cut a man off from the greatest pleasures of life, which are the freedoms of conversation with a bosom friend. Beside that, when a friend is turned into an enemy, and, as the son of Sirach calls him, "a bewrayer of secrets," the world is just enough to accuse the perfidiousness of the friend, rather than the indiscretion of the person who confided in him.

Discretion does not only show itself in words, but in all the circumstances of action, and is like an under-agent of Providence, to guide and direct us in the ordinary concerns of life.

There are many more shining qualities in the mind of man, but there is none so useful as discretion; it is this indeed which gives a value to all the rest, which sets them at work in their proper times and places, and turns them to the advantage of the person who is possessed of them. Without it, learning is pedantry, and wit impertinence virtue itself looks like weakness: the best parts only qualify a man to be more sprightly in errors. and active to his own prejudice.

The man who is fitted out by nature, and sent into the world with great abilities, is capable of doing great good or mischief in it. It ought therefore to be the care of education to infuse into the untainted youth early notions of justice and honor, that so the possible advantages of good parts may not take an evil turn, nor be perverted to base and unworthy purposes. It is the business of religion and philosophy not so much to extinguish our passions, as to regulate and direct Nor does discretion only make a man the master them to valuable well-chosen objects. When these of his own parts, but of other men's. The dis have pointed out to us which course we may law-creet man finds out the talents of those he confully steer, it is no harm to set out all our sail; if the storms and tempests of adversity should rise upon us, and not suffer us to make the haven where we would be, it will however prove no small consolation to us in these circumstances, that we

verses with, and knows how to apply them to proper uses. Accordingly, if we look into particular communities and divisions of men, we may

* Eccles., vi, 9, xxvii, 17.

observe that it is the discreet man, not the witty, nor the learned, nor the brave, who guides the conversation, and gives measures to the society. A man with great talents, but void of discretion, is like Polyphemus in the fable, strong and blind, endued with an irresistible force, which for want of sight is of no use to him.

Though a man has all other perfections, and wants discretion, he will be of no great consequence in the world; but if he has this single talent in perfection, and but a common share of others, he may do what he pleases in his particular station of life.

At the same time that I think discretion the Dost useful talent a man can be master of, I look upon cunning to be the accomplishment of little, mean, ungenerous minds. Discretion points out the noblest ends to us, and pursues the most proper and laudable methods of attaining them. Cunning has only private selfish aims, and sticks at nothing which may make them succeed. Discretion has large and extended views, and like a well-formed eye, commands a whole horizon. Cunning is a kind of short-sightedness, that discovers the minutest objects which are near at hand, but is not able to discern things at a distance. Discretion, the more it is discovered, gives a greater authority to the person who possesses it. Cunning, when it is once detected, loses its force, and makes a man incapable of bringing about even those events which he might have done, had he passed only for a plain man. Discretion is the perfection of reason, and a guide to us in all the duties of life: cunning is a kind of instinct, that only looks out after our immediate interests and welfare. Discretion is only found in men of strong sense and good understandings: cunning is often to be met with in brutes themselves, and in persons who are but the fewest removes from them. In short, cunning is only the mimic of discretion, and may pass upon weak men, in the same manner as vivacity is often mistaken for wit, and gravity for wisdom.

wise man, who sometimes mentions it under the
name of discretion, and sometimes under that of
wisdom. It is indeed (as described in the latter
part of this paper), the greatest wisdom, but at
the same time in the power of every one to attain.
Its advantages are infinite, but its acquisition
easy; or to speak of her in the words of the apo-
cryphal writer whom I quoted in my last Satur-
day's paper,* "Wisdom is glorious, and never
fadeth away, yet she is easily seen of them that
love her, and found of such as seek her. She
preventeth them that desire her, in making her-
self first known unto them. He that seeketh her
early, shall have no great travel; for he shall find
her sitting at his doors. To think therefore upon
her is the perfection of wisdom, and whoso watch-
eth for her shall quickly be without care.
she goeth about seeking such as are worthy of her,
showeth herself favorably unto them in the ways,
and meeteth them in every thought.”—C.

For

No. 226.] MONDAY, NOVEMBER 19, 1711.
-Mutum est pictura poema.

A picture is a poem without words.

I HAVE Very often lamented, and hinted my sorrow in several speculations, that the art of painting is made so little use of to the improveinent of our manners. When we consider that it places the action of the person represented in the most agreeable aspect imaginable, that it does not only express the passion or concern as it sits upon him who is drawn, but has, under those features, the height of the painter's imagination, what strong images of virtue and humanity might we not expect would be instilled into the mind from the labors of the pencil? This is a poetry which would be understood with much less capacity, and less expense of time, than what is taught by writing; but the use of it is generally perverted, and that admirable skill prostituted to the basest and The cast of mind which is natural to a discreet most unworthy ends. Who is the better man for man, makes him look forward into futurity, and beholding the most beautiful Venus, the best consider what will be his condition millions of wrought Bacchanal, the images of sleeping Cuages hence, as well as what it is at present. He pids, languishing Nymphs, or any of the repreknows that the misery or happiness which are re-sentations of gods, goddesses, demi-gods, satyrs, served for him in another world, lose nothing of their reality by being at so great distance from him. The objects do not appear little to him because they are remote. He considers that those pleasures and pains which lie hid in eternity, approach nearer to him every moment, and will be present with him in their full weight and measure, as much as those pains and pleasures which he feels at this very instant. For this reason he is careful to secure to himself that which is the proper happiness of his nature, and the ultimate design of his being. He carries his thoughts to the end of every action, and considers the most distant as well as the most immediate effects of it. He supersedes every little prospect of gain and advantage which offers itself here, if he does not find it consistent with his views of a hereafter. In a word, his hopes are full of immortality, his schemes are large and glorious, and his conduct suitable to one who knows his true interest, and how to pursue it by proper methods.

I have, in this essay upon discretion, considered it both as an accomplishment and as a virtue, and have therefore described it in its full extent; not only as it is conversant about worldly affairs, but as it regards our whole existence; not only as it is the guide of a mortal creature, but as it is in general the director of a reasonable being. It is in this light, that discretion is represented by the

Polyphemes, sphynxes, or fauns? But if the virtues and vices, which are sometimes pretended to be represented under such draughts, were given us by the painter in the characters of real life, and the persons of men and women whose actions have rendered them laudable or infamous; we should not see a good history piece without receiving an instructive lecture. There needs no other proof of this truth, than the testimony of every reasonable creature who has seen the cartoons in her majesty's gallery at Hampton-court. These are representations of no less actions than those of our blessed Savior and his apostles. As I now sit and recollect the warm images which the admirable Raphael had raised, it is impossible, even from the faint traces in one's memory of what one has not seen these two years, to be unmoved at the horror and reverence which appear in the whole assembly when the mercenary man fell down dead; at the amazement of the man born blind, when he first received sight; or at the graceless indignation of the sorcerer, when he is

* Wisdom of Solomon, chap. vi, ver. 12-16.

The speculation was written with the generous design of promoting a subscription just then set on foot for having the cartoons of Raphael copied and engraved by Signior Nicola Dorigny, who had been invited over from Rome by several of the nobility, and to whom the Queen had given her license for that purpose.

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sion of the picture, is so inconsiderable, that I am in very great perplexity when I offer to speak of any performances of painters of landscapes, buildings, or single figures. This makes me at a loss how to mention the pieces which Mr. Boul exposes to sale by auction on Wednesday next in Chandos-street: but having heard him commendfor great integrity in his dealing, and overheard him himself (though a laudable painter) say, nothing of his own was fit to come into the room with those he had to sell, I feared I should lose an occasion of serving a man of worth, in omitting to speak of his auction.-T.

struck blind. The lame, when they first find strength in their feet, stand doubtful of their new vigor. The heavenly apostles appear acting these great things with a deep sense of the infirmities which they relieve, but no value of themselves who administer to their weakness. They know themselves to be but instruments; and the geuerous distress they are painted in when divine honed by those who have bought of him heretofore, ors are offered to them, is a representation in the most exquisite degree of the beauty of holiness. When St. Paul is preaching to the Athenians, with what wonderful art are almost all the different tempers of mankind represented in that elegant audience? You see one credulous of all that is said; another wrapped up in deep suspense; another saying, there is some reason in what he says; another angry that the apostle destroys a

favorite opinion which he is unwilling to give up; No. 227.] TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 20, 1711.

another wholly convinced, and holding out his hands in rapture; while the generality attend, and wait for the opinion of those who are of leading characters in the assembly, I will not pretend so much as to mention that chart on which is drawn the appearance of our blessed Lord after his resurrection. Present authority, late sufferings, humility, and majestic, despotic command, and divine love, are at once seated in his celestial aspect. The figures of the eleven apostles are all in the same passion of admiration, but discover it differently according to their characters. Peter receives his master's orders on his knees with an admiration mixed with a more particular attention: the two next with a more open ecstasy, though still constrained by an awe of the Divine presence. The beloved disciple, whom I take to be the right of the two first figures, has in his countenance wonder drowned in love: and the last personage, whose back is toward the spectator, and his side toward the presence, one would fancy to be St. Thomas, as abashed by the conscience of his former diffidence, which perplexed concern it is possible Raphael thought too hard a task to draw, but by this acknowledgment of the difficulty to describe it.

The whole work is an exercise of the highest piety in the painter; and all the touches of a religious mind are expressed in a manner much more forcible than can possibly be performed by the most moving eloquence. These invaluable pieces are very justly in the hands of the greatest and most pious sovereign in the world; and cannot be the frequent object of every one at their own leisure but as an engraver is to the painter what a printer is to the author, it is worthy her majesty's name that she has encouraged that noble artist, Monsieur Dorigny, to publish these works of Raphael. We have of this gentleman a piece of the Transfiguration, which, I think, is held a work second to none in the world.

Methinks it would be ridiculous in our people of condition, after their large bounties to foreigners of no name or merit, should they overlook this occasion of having, for a trifling subscription, a work which it is impossible for a man of sense to behold, without being warmed with the noblest sentiments that can be inspired by love, admiration, compassion, contempt of this world, and expectation of a better.

It is certainly the greatest honor we can do our country, to distinguish strangers of merit who apply to us with modesty and diffidence, which generally accompanies merit. No opportunity of this kind ought to be neglected, and a modest behavior should alarm us to examine whether we do not lose something excellent under that disadvantage in the possessor of that quality. My skill in paintings, where one is not directed by the pas

Wretch that I am! ah, whither shall I go?
Will you not hear me, nor regard my woe?
I'll strip, and throw me from yon rock so high,
Where Olpis sits to watch the scaly fry.
Should I be drown'd, or 'scape with life away,

If cur'd of love, you, tyrant, would be gay.-THEOCR.

IN my last Thursday's paper, I made mention of a place called The Lover's Leap, which I find has raised a great curiosity among several of my correspondents. I there told them that this leap was used to be taken from a promontory of Leucas. This Leucas was formerly a part of Acaruania, being joined to it by a narrow neck of land, which the sea has by length of time overflowed and washed away; so that at present Leucas is divided from the continent, and is a little island in the Ionian sea. The promontory of this island. from whence the lover took his leap, was formerly called Leucate. If the reader has a mind to know both the island and the promontory by their modern titles, he will find in his map the ancient island of Leucas under the name of St. Mauro, and the ancient promontory of Leucate under the name of the Cape of St. Mauro.

Since I am engaged thus far in antiquity, I must observe that Theocritus, in the motto prefixed to my paper, describes one of the despairing shepherds addressing himself to his mistress after the following manner: " Alas! what will become of me! wretch that I am! Will you not hear me? I'll throw off my clothes, and take a leap into that part of the sea which is so much frequented by Olpis the fisherman. And though I should escape with my life, I know you will be pleased with it." I shall leave it with the critics to determine whether the place, which this shepherd so particularly points out, was not the above-mentioned Leucate, or at least some other lover's leap, which was supposed to have had the same effect. I cannot believe, as all the interpreters do, that the shepherd means nothing further here than that he would drown himself, since he represents the issue of his leap as doubtful, by adding, that if he should escape with life he knows his mistress would be pleased with it: which is, according to our interpretation, that she would rejoice any way to get rid of a lover who was so troublesome to her.

After this short preface, I shall present my reader with some letters which I have received upon this subject. The first is sent me by a phy sician.

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passion for Leander. A man is in no danger of | breaking his heart, who breaks his neck to prevent it. I know very well the wonders which ancient authors relate concerning this leap; and in particular, that very many persons who tried it, escaped not only with their lives but their limbs. If by this means they got rid of their love, though it may in part be ascribed to the reasons you give for it; why may not we suppose that the cold bath, nto which they plunged themselves, had also some share in their cure? A leap into the sea, or into any creek of salt waters, very often gives a new motion to the spirits, and a new turn to the blood; for which reason we prescribe it in distempers which no other medicine will reach. I could produce a quotation out of a very venerable author, in which the frenzy produced by love is compared to that which is produced by the biting of a mad dog. But as this comparison is a little too coarse for your paper, and might look as if it were cited to ridicule the author who has made use of it, I shall only hint at it, and desire you to consider whether, if the frenzy produced by these two different causes be of the same nature, it may not very properly be cured by the same means. "I am, Sir,

"Your most humble servant, and Well-wisher, "ESCULAPIUS."

"MR. SPECTATOR,

"P. S. My law-suits have brought me to London, but I have lost my causes; and so have made my resolutions to go down and leap before the frosts begin; for I am apt to take colds."

Ridicule, perhaps, is a better expedient against love than sober advice, and I am of opinion that Hudibras and Don Quixote may be as effectral to cure the extravagances of this passion, as any of the old philosophers. I shall therefore publish very speedily the translation of a little Greek manuscript, which is sent me by a learned friend. It appears to have been a piece of those records which were kept in the little temple of Apollo, that stood upon the promontory of Leucate. The reader will find it to be a summary account of several persons who tried the lover's leap, and of the success they found in it. As there seem to be in it some anachronisms, and deviations from the ancient orthography, I am not wholly satisfied myself that it is authentic, and not rather the production of one of those Grecian sophisters, who have imposed upon the world several spurious works of this nature. I speak this by way of precaution, because I know there are several writers of uncommon erudition, who would not fail to expose my ignorance, if they caught me tripping in a matter of so great moment.-C.

Percunctatorem fugito, nam garrulus idem est.

HOR. 1 Ep. xviii, 69.

"I am a young woman crossed in love. My story is very long and melancholy. To give you No. 228.] WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 21, 1711. the heads of it: A young gentleman, after having made his applications to me for three years together, and filled my head with a thousand dreams of happiness, some few days since married another. Pray tell me in what part of the world your promontory lies, which you call The Lover's Leap, and whether one may go to it by land? But, alas! I am afraid it has lost its virtue, and that a woman of our times would find no more relief in taking such a leap, than in singing a hymn to Venus. So that I must cry out with Dido in Dryden's Virgil:

Ah! cruel heav'n, that made no cure for love! "Your disconsolate Servant, "ATHENAIS."

"MISTER SPICTATUR,

"My heart is so full of lofes and passions for Mrs. Gwinifrid, and she is so pettish and overrun with cholors against me, that if I had the good happiness to have my dwelling (which is placed by my creat cranfather upon the pottom of a hill) no farther distance but twenty mile from the Lofer's Leap, I would indeed indeafor to preak my neck upon it on purpose. Now, good Mister Spictatur of Creat Pritain, you must know it there is in Caernarvonshire a fery pig mountain, the clory of all Wales, which is named Penmainmaure, and you must also know, it is no great journey on foot from me; but the road is stony and bad for shoes. Now, there is upon the forehead of this mountain a very high rock (like a parish steeple), that cometh a huge deal over the sea; so when I am in my melancholies, and I do throw myself from it, I do desire my fery good friend to tell me in his Spic tatur, if I shall be cure of my griefous lofes; for there is the sea clear as glass, and as creen as a leek. Then likewise if I be drown and preak my neck, if Mrs. Gwinifrid will not lofe me afterward. Pray be speedy in your answers, for I am in crete haste, and it is my tesires to do my pusiness without loss of time. I remain with cordial affections, your ever lofing friend,

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Th' inquisitive will blab; from such refrain: Their leaky ears no secret can retain.-SHARD. THERE is a creature who has all the organs of speech, a tolerably good capacity for conceiving what is said to it, together with a pretty proper behavior in all the occurrences of common life; but naturally very vacant of thought in itself, and therefore forced to apply itself to foreign assistances. Of this make is that man who is very inquisitive. You may often observe, that though he speaks as good sense as any man upon anything with which he is well acquainted, he cannot trust to the range of his own fancy to entertain himself upon that foundation, but goes on still to new inquiries. Thus, though you know he is fit for the most polite conversation, you shall see him very well contented to sit by a jockey, giving an account of the many revolutions in his horse's health, what potion he made him take, how that agreed with him, how afterward he came to his stomach and his exercise, or any the like impertinence; and be as well pleased as if you talked to him on the most important truths. This humor is far from making a man unhappy, though it may subject him to raillery; for he generally falls in with a person who seems to be born for him, which is your talkative fellow. It is so ordered, that there is a secret bent, as natural as the meeting of different sexes, in these two characters, to supply each other's wants. I had the honor the other day to sit in a public room, and saw an inquisitive man look with an air of satisfaction upon the approach of one of these talkers. The man of ready utterance sat down by him, and rubbing his head, leaning on his arm, and making an uneasy countenance he began: "There is no manuer of news to-day. I cannot tell what is the matter with me, but I slept very ill last night; whether I caught cold or no, I know not, but I fancy I do not wear shoes thick enough for the weather, and I have coughed all this week. It must be so, for the custom of washing my head winter and sum.

mer with cold water, prevents any injury from the season entering that way; so it must come in at my feet; but I take no notice of it: as it comes so it goes. Most of our evils proceed from too much tenderness; and our faces are naturally as little able to resist the cold as other parts. The Indian answered very well to a European, who asked him how he could go naked: 'I am all face.""

I observed this discourse was as welcome to my general inquirer as any other of more consequence could have been; but somebody calling our talker to another part of the room, the inquirer told the next man who sat by him, that Mr. Such-a-one, who was just gone from him, used to wash his head in cold water every morning; and so repeated almost verbatim all that had been said to him. The truth is, the inquisitive are the funnels of conversation; they do not take in anything for their own use, but merely to pass it to another. They are the channels through which all the good and evil that is spoken in town are conveyed. Such as are offended at them, or think they suffer by their behavior, may themselves mend that inconvenience, for they are not a malicious people, and if you will supply them, you may contradict anything they have said before by their own mouths. A further account of a thing is one of the gratefulest goods that can arrive to them; and it is seldom that they are more particular than to say, "The town will have it, or I have it from a good hand; so that there is room for the town to know the matter more particularly, and for a better hand to contradict what was said by a good

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I have not known this humor more ridiculous than in a father, who has been earnestly solicitous to have an account how his son has passed his leisure hours; if it be in a way thoroughly insignificant, there cannot be a greater joy than an inquirer discovers in seeing him follow so hopefully his own steps. But this humor among men is most pleasant when they are saying something which is not wholly proper for a third person to hear, and yet is in itself indifferent. The other day there came in a well-dressed young fellow, and two gentlemen of this species immediately fell a whispering his pedigree. I could overhear by breaks, She was his aunt;" then an answer, "Aye, she was, of the mother's side;" then again, in a little lower voice, "His father wore generally a darker wig;" answer, "Not much, but this tleman wears higher heels to his shoes."

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"Plutarch tells us, that Caius Gracchus, the Roman, was frequently hurried by his passions into so loud and tumultuous a way of speaking, and so strained his voice, as not to be able to proceed. To remedy this excess, he had an ingenious servant, by name Licinius, always attending him with a pitch-pipe, or instrument to regulate the voice; who, whenever he heard his master begin to be high, immediately touched a soft note, at which, 'tis said, Caius would presently abate and grow calm.

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Upon recollecting this story, I have frequently wondered that this useful instrument should have been so long discontinued; especially since we find that this good office of Licinius has preserved his memory for many hundred years, which, methinks, should have encouraged some one to re vive it, if not for the public good, yet for his own credit. It may be objected, that our loud talkers are so fond of their own noise, that they would not take it well to be checked by their servants But granting this to be true, surely any of their hearers have a very good title to play a soft note in their own defense. To be short, no Licinius appearing, and the noise increasing, I was resolved to give this late long vacation to the good of my country; and I have at length, by the assistance of an ingenious artist (who works for the Royal Society), almost completed my design, and shall be ready in a short time to furnish the public with what number of these instruments they please, either to lodge at coffee-houses, or carry for their own private use. In the meantime I shall pay that respect to several gentlemen, who I know will be in danger of offending against this instrument, to give them notice of it by private letters, in which I shall only write, get a Licinius.'

I

"I should now trouble you no longer, but that must not conclude without desiring you to accept one of these pipes, which shall be left for you with Buckley; and which I hope will be serviceable to you, since as you are silent yourself, you are most open to the insults of the noisy.. "I am, Sir, etc.,

"W. B."

As the inquisitive, in my opinion, are such merely from a vacancy in their own imaginations, there is nothing, methinks, so dangerous as to communicate secrets to them; for the same temper "I had almost forgot to inform you, that as an of inquiry makes them as impertinently commu-improvement in this instrument, there will be a nicative; but no man, though he converses with particular note, which I shall call a hush-note; them, need put himself in their power, for they and that is to be made use of against a long story, will be contented with matters of less moment as swearing, obsceneness, and the like.” well. When there is fuel enough, no matter what it is. Thus the ends of sentences in the newspapers, as "This wants confirmation,"-" This occasions many speculations." and Time will No. 229.] THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 22, 1711. discover the event," are read by them, and considered not as mere expletives.

One may see now and then this humor accompanied with an insatiable desire of knowing what passes without turning it to any use in the world merely their own entertainment. A mind which is gratified this way is adapted to humor and pleasantry, and formed for an unconcerned character in the world; and, like myself, to be a mere Spectator. This curiosity, without malice or self-interest, lays up in the imagination a magazine of circumstances which cannot but entertain when they are produced in conversation. If one

-Spirat adhuc amor,
Vivuntque commissi calores

T.

Æoliæ fidibus puellæ.-HOR. 4 Od. ix, 4.
Nor Sappho's amorous flames decay;
Her living songs preserve their charming art,
Her verse still breathes the passions of her heart.
FRANCIS

AMONG the many famous pieces of antiquity which are still to be seen at Rome, there is the trunk of a statue which has lost the arms, legs, and head; but discovers such an exquisite workmanship in what remains of it, that Michael Angelo declared he had learned his whole art from it

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