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morning worship, and filling up the universal concert of praise and adoration:

Now when a sacred light began to dawn

In Eden on the humid flowers, that breath'd

Their morning incense; when all things that breathe
From the earth's great altar send up silent praise
To the Creator, and his nostrils fill

With grateful smell; forth came the human pair,
And join'd their vocal worship to their choir
Of creatures wanting voice-

ance.

These several particulars are all of them wrought into the following similitude:

-Hope elevates, and joy

Brightens his crest; as when a wandering fire,
Compact of unetuous vapor, which the night
Condenses, and the cold environs round,
Kindled through agitation to a flame,
(Which oft, they say, some evil spirit attends)
Hovering and blazing with delusive light,
Misleads th' amazed night wanderer from his way
To bogs and mires, and oft through pond or pool,
There swallow'd up and lost, from succor far.

The dispute which follows between our two first parents is represented with great art. It proceeds from a difference of judgment, not of passion, and those transient flushings of guilt and joy, which The secret intoxication of pleasure, with all is managed with reason, not with heat. It is the poet represents in our first parents upon eatsuch a dispute as we may suppose might have ing the forbidden fruit, to those flaggings of spirit, happened in Paradise, had men continued happy damps of sorrow, and mutual accusations which and innocent. There is a great delicacy in the succeed it, are conceived with a wonderful imamoralities which are interspersed in Adam's dis-gination, and described in very natural senticourse, and which the most ordinary reader cannot but take notice of. That force of love which

the father of mankind so finely describes in the eighth book, and which is inserted in my last Saturday's paper, shows itself here in many fine instances; as in those fond regards he casts toward Eve at her parting from him;

Her long with ardent look his eye pursu'd
Delighted. but desiring more her stay.
Oft he to her his charge of quick return
Repeated; she to him as oft engaged

To be return'd by noon amid the bow'r.

In his impatience and amusement during her absence:

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Of enemy hath beguil'd thee, yet unknown,
And me with thee hath ruin'd; for with thee
Certain my resolution is to die:

How can I live without thee? How forego
Thy sweet converse and love so dearly join'd,
To live again in these wild woods forlorn?
Should God create another Eve, and I
Another rib afford, yet loss of thee
Would never from my heart; no, no! I feel
The link of nature draw me; flesh of flesh,
Bone of my bone thou art, and from thy state
Mine never shall be parted, bliss or woe!

The beginning of this speech, and the preparation to it, are animated with the same spirit as the conclusion, which I have here quoted.

The several wiles which are put in practice by the tempter, when he found Eve separated from her husband, the many pleasing images of nature, which are intermixed in this part of the story, with its gradual and regular progress to the fatal catastrophe, are so very remarkable, that it would be superfluous to point out their respective beau

ties.

I have avoided mentioning any particular similitudes in my remarks on this great work, because I have given a general account of them in my paper on the first book. There is one, however, in this part of the poem, which I shall here quote, as it is not only very beautiful, but the closest of any in the whole poem; I mean that where the serpent is described as rolling forward in all his pride, animated by the evil spirit, and conducting Eve to her destruction, while Adam was at too great a distance from her to give her his assist

ments.

When Dido, in the fourth Eneid, yielded to that fatal temptation which ruined her, Virgil tells us the earth trembled, the heavens were filled with flashes of lightning, and the nymphs howled upon the mountain tops. Milton, in the same poetical spirit, has described all nature as disturbed upon Eve's eating the forbidden fruit:

So saying, her rash hand in evil hour,

Forth reaching to the fruit, she pluck'd, she ate:
Earth felt the wound, and Nature, from her seat
Sighing, through all her works gave signs of woe
That all was lost.-

Upon Adam's falling into the same guilt, the whole creation appears a second time in convul

sions:

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Adam's converse with Eve, after having eaten of the forbidden fruit, is an exact copy of that between Jupiter and Juno in the fourteenth Iliad. Juno there approaches Jupiter with the girdle which she had received from Venus; upon which he tells her, that she appeared more charming and desirable than she had ever done before, even when their loves were at the highest. The poet afterward describes them as reposing on a summit of Mount Ida, which produced under them a bed of flowers, the lotus, the crocus, and the hyacinth; and concludes his description with their falling asleep.

Let the reader compare this with the following passage in Milton, which begins with Adam's speech to Eve:

For never did thy beauty since the day
I saw thee first and wedded thee, adorn'd
With all perfections, so inflame my sense
With ardor to enjoy thee, fairer now
Than ever, bounty of this virtuous tree.
So said he, and forbore not glance or toy
Of amorous intent, well understood
Of Eve, whose eye darted contagious fire.
Her hand he seized, and to a shady bank,
Thick overhead with verdant roof embower'd,
He led her nothing loth; flowers were the couch,
Pansies, and violets, and asphodel,

And hyacinth, Earth's freshest softest lap.
There they their fill of love and love's disport
Took largely, of their mutual guilt the seal,
The solace of their sin, till dewy sleep
Oppress'd them.-

As no poet seems to have ever studied Homer more, or to have more resembled him in the greatness of genius, than Milton, I think I should have given but a very imperfect account of his beauties, if I had not observed the most remarkable passages which look like parallels in these two great authors. I might, in the course of these criticisms, have taken notice of many particular lines and expressions which are translated from the Greek poet; but as I thought this would have appeared too minute and over curious, I have purposely omitted them. The greater incidents, however, are not only set off by being shown in the same light with several of the same nature in Homer, but by that means may be also guarded against the cavils of the tasteless or ignorant.-L.

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WILL HONEYCOMB was complaining to me yesterday that the conversation of the town is so altered of late years, that a fine gentleman is at a loss for matter to start a discourse, as well as unable to fall in with the talk he generally meets with. Will takes notice, that there is now an evil under the sun which he supposes to be entirely new, because not mentioned by any satirist, or moralist, in any age. "Men," said he, "grow knaves sooner than they ever did since the creation of the world before." If you read the tragedies of the last age, you find the artful men, and persons of intrigue, are advanced very far in years, and beyond the pleasures and sallies of youth; but now Will observes, that the young have taken in the vices of the aged, and you shall have a man | of five-and-twenty, crafty, false and intriguing, not ashamed to overreach, cozen, and beguile My friend adds, that till about the latter end of King Charles's reign there was not a rascal of any eminence under forty. In the places of resort for conversation, you now hear nothing but what relates to the improving men's fortunes, without regard to the methods toward it. This is so fashionable, that young men form themselves upon a certain neglect of everything that is candid, simple, and worthy of true esteem; and affect being yet worse than they are, by acknowledging, in their general turn of mind and discourse, that they have not any remaining value for true honor and honesty; preferring the capacity of being artful to gain their ends, to the merit of despising those ends when they come in competiton with their honesty. All this is due to the very silly pride that generally prevails, of being valued for the ability of carrying their point; in a word, from the opinion that shallow and inexperienced people entertain of the short-lived force of cunning But I shall, before I enter upon the various faces which folly, covered with artifice, puts on to impose upon the unthinking, produce a great authority for as serting, that nothing but truth and ingenuity* has any lasting good effect, even upon a man's

fortune and interest.

"Truth and reality have all the advantages of appearance, and many more. If the show of any thing be good for anything, I am sure sincerity is better; for why does any man dissemble, or

Ingenuity seems to be here used for ingenuousness.

seem to be that which he is not, but because he thinks it good to have such a quality as he pretends to? for to counterfeit and dissemble is to put on the appearance of some real excellency Now the best way in the world for a man to seem to be anything, is really to be what he would seem to be. Beside, that it is many times as troublesome to make good the pretense of a good quality, as to have it; and if a man have it not, it is teu to one but he is discovered to want it, and then all his pains and labor to seem to have it is lost. There is something unnatural in painting which a skillful eye will easily discern from native beauty and complexion.

"It is hard to personate and act a part long; for where truth is not at the bottom, nature wil! always be endeavoring to return, and will peep out and betray herself one time or other. Therefore if any man think it convenient to seem good, let him be so indeed, and then his goodness will appear to everybody's satisfaction; so that upon all accounts sincerity is true wisdom. Particularly as to the affairs of this world, integrity has many advantages over all the fine and artificial ways of dissimulation and deceit; it is much the plainer and easier, much the safer and more secure way of dealing in the world: it has less trouble and difficulty, of entanglement and perplexity, of danger and hazard in it; it is the shortest and nearest way to our end, carrying us thither in a straight line, and will hold out and last longest. The arts of deceit and cunning do continually grow weaker and less effectual and serviceable to them that use them; whereas integrity gains strength by use, and the more and longer any man practiceth it, the greater service 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 business and affairs of life.

"Truth is always consistent with itself, and needs nothing to help it out; it is always near at hand, and sits upon our lips, and is ready to drop out before we are aware; whereas a lie is troublesome, and sets a man's invention upon the rack, and one trick needs a great many more to make it good. It is like a building upon a false foundation, which constantly stands in need of props to shore it up, and proves at last more chargeable than to have raised a substantial building at first upon a true and solid foundation; for sincerity is firm and substantial, and there is nothing hollow and unsound in it, and, because it is plain and open, fears no discovery; of which the crafty man is always in danger; and when he thinks he walks in the dark, all his pretenses are so transparent, 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 ridiculous.

"Add to all this, that sincerity is the most compendious wisdom, and an excellent instrument for the speedy dispatch of business; it creates confidence in those we have to deal with, saves the labor of many inquiries, and brings things to an issue in few words. It is like traveling in a plain beaten road, which commonly brings a man sooner to his journey's end than byways, in which men often lose themselves. In a word, whatsoever convenience may be thought to be in falsehood and dissimulation, it is soon over; but the incon venience of it is perpetual, because it brings a man under an everlasting jealousy and suspicion, so that he is not believed when he speaks truth, nor trusted when perhaps he means honestly. When a man has once forfeited the reputation of his integrity, he is set fast; and nothing will

then serve his turn, neither truth nor falsehood.

"And I have often thought, that God hath, in his great wisdom, hid from men of false and dishonest minds the wonderful advantages of truth and integrity to the prosperity even of our worldly affairs: these men are so blinded by their covetousness and ambition, that they cannot look beyond a present advantage, nor forbear to seize upon it, though by ways never so indirect; they cannot see so far as to the remote consequences of a steady integrity, and the vast benefit and advantages which it will bring a man at last. Were but this sort of men wise and clear-sighted enough to discern this, they would be honest out of very knavery, not out of any love to honesty and virtue, but with a crafty design to promote and advance more effectually their own interests; and therefore the justice of the Divine Providence has hid this truest point of wisdom from their eyes, that bad men might not be on equal terms with the just and upright, and serve their own wicked designs by honest and lawful means.

66

Indeed, if a man were only to deal in the world for a day, and should never have occasion to converse more with mankind, never more need their opinion or good word, it were then no great matter (speaking as to the concernments of this world) if a man spent 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 conversation while he is in it, let him make use of truth and sincerity 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."-T.

No. 353.] TUESDAY, APRIL 15, 1712.
VIRG., Georg. iv, 6.
Though low the subject it deserves our pains.

In tenui labor

THE gentleman who obliges the world in general, and me in particular, with his thoughts upon education, has just sent me the following letter:"SIR,

"The posts which require men of shining anc uncommon parts to discharge them are so very few, that many a great genius goes out of the world without ever having had an opportunity to exert itself; whereas persons of ordinary endow ments meet with occasions fitted to their parts and capacities every day in the common occurrences of life.

"I am acquainted with two persons who were formerly school-fellows, and have been good friends eyer since. One of them was not only thought an impenetrable blockhead at school, but still maintained his reputation at the university, the other was the pride of his master, and the most celebrated person in the college of which he was a member. The man of genius is at present buried in a country parsonage of eightscore pounds a-year; while the other, with the bare abilities of a common scrivener, has got an estate of above a hundred thousand pounds.

"I fancy, from what I have said, it will almost appear a doubtful case to many a wealthy citizen, whether or no he ought to wish his son should be a great genius: but this I am sure of, that nothing is more absurd than to give a lad the education of one, whom nature has not favored with any par ticular marks of distinction.

"The fault, therefore, of our grammar-schools is, that every boy is pushed on to works of genius; whereas it would be far more advantageous for the greatest part of them to be taught such little practical arts and sciences as do not require any great share of parts to be master of them, and yet may come often into play during the course of a man's life.

"Such are all the parts of practical geometry. I have known a man contract a friendship with a minister of state upon cutting a dial in his window; and remember a clergyman who got one of the best benefices in the west of England, by setting a country gentleman's affairs in some method,. and giving him an exact survey of his estate.

"While I am upon this subject, I cannot forbear mentioning a particular which is of use in every station of life, and which, methinks, every master should teach his scholars; I mean the wri ting of English letters. To this end, instead of "I take the liberty to send you a fourth letter perplexing them with Latin epistles, themes, and upon the education of youth. In my last I gave verses, there might be a punctual correspondence you my thoughts upon some particular tasks, established between two boys, who might act in which I conceived it might not be amiss to mix any imaginary parts of business, or be allowed: with their usual exercises, in order to give them sometimes to give a range to their own fancies, an early seasoning of virtue: I shall in this pro-and communicate to each other whatever trifles. pose some others, which I fancy might contribute to give them a right turn for the world, and enable them to make their way in it..

"The design of learning is, as I take it, either to render a man an agreeable companion to himself, and teach him to support solitude with pleasure; or, if he is not born to an estate, to supply that defect, and furnish him with the means of acquiring one. A person who applies himself to learning with the first of these views, may be said to study for ornament; as he who proposes to himself the second, properly studies for use. The one does it to raise himself a fortune; the other, to set off that which he is already possessed of But as far the greater part of mankind are included in the latter class, I shall only propose some methods at present for the service of such who expect to advance themselves by their learning. In order to which I shall premise, that many more estates have been acquired by little accomplishments than by extraordinary ones; those qualities which make the greatest figure in the eye of the world, not being always the most useful in themselves, or the most advantageous to their owners.

they thought fit, provided neither of them ever failed at the appointed time to answer his correspondent's letter.

"I believe I may venture to affirm, that the ge nerality of boys would find themselves more advantaged by this custom, when they come to be men, than by all the Greek and Latin their masters can teach them in seven or eight years.

"The want of it is very visible in many learned persons, who, while they are admiring the styles of Demosthenes or Cicero, want phrases to express themselves on the most common occasions. I have seen a letter from one of these Latin orators which would have been deservedly laughed at by a common attorney.

"Under this head of writing, I cannot omit accounts and short-hand, which are learned with little pains, and very properly come into the num

*Swift and Mr. Stratford, a merchant, "Stratford is worth

a plum, and is now lending the government 40,000l, yet we were educated together at the same school and university. Swift's Works, vol. xxii, p. 10, cr., 8vo.-Stratford was after ward a bankrupt.

ber of such arts as I have been here recommend- another with too much bitterness for one that had

ing.

You must doubtless, Sir, observe, that I have hitherto chiefly insisted upon these things for such boys as do not appear to have anything extraordinary in their natural talents, and consequently are not qualified for the finer parts of learning; yet I believe I might carry this matter still further, and venture to assert, that a lad of genius has sometimes occasion for these little acquirements, to be as it were the forerunners of his parts, and to introduce him into the world.

"History is full of examples of persons who, though they have had the largest abilities, have been obliged to insinuate themselves into the favor of great men by these trivial accomplishments; as the complete gentleman, in some of our modern comedies, makes his first advances to his mistress under the disguise of a painter or a dancing

no jealousy mixed with her contempt of it. If at any time she sees a man warm in his addresses to his mistress, she will lift up her eyes to heaven, and cry, What nonsense is that fool talking! Will the bell never ring for prayers?' We have an eminent lady of this stamp in our country, who pretends to amusements very much above the rest of her sex. She never carries a white shockdog with bells, under her arm, nor a squirrel or dormouse in her pocket, but always an abridged piece of morality, to steal out when she is sure of being observed. When she went to the famous ass-race (which I must confess was but an odd diversion to be encouraged by people of rank and figure), it was not, like other ladies, to hear those poor animals bray, nor to see fellows run naked, or to hear country 'squires in bob-wigs and white girdles make love at the side of a coach, and cry, Madam, this is dainty weather.' Thus she de"The difference is, that in a lad of genius these scribes the diversion; for she went only to pray are only so many accomplishments, which in heartily that nobody might be hurt in the crowd, another are essentials; the one diverts himself and to see if the poor fellow's face, which was with them, the other works at them. In short, I distorted with grinning, might any way be brought look upon a great genius with these little addi- to itself again. She never chats over her tea, but tions, in the same light as I regard the Grand covers her face, and is supposed in an ejaculation Seignior, who is obliged, by an express command before she tastes a sup. This ostentatious behain the Alcoran, to learn and practice some handi-vior is such an offense to true sanctity, that it discraft trade: though I need not to have gone for my instance further than Germany, where several emperors have voluntarily done the same thing. Leopold the last worked in wood: and I have heard there are several handicraft works of his making to be seen at Vienna, so neatly turned, that the best joiner in Europe might safely own them without any disgrace to his profession.*

master.

"I would not be thought, by anything I have said, to be against improving a boy's genius to the utmost pitch it can be carried. What I would endeavor to show in this essay is, that there may be methods taken to make learning advantageous even to the meanest capacities. X.

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"I am, Sir, yours," etc.

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MR. SPECTATOR,

"You have in some of your discourses described most sort of women in their distinct and proper classes, as the ape, the coquette, and many others; but I think you have never yet said anything of a devotee. A devotee is one of those who disparage religion by their indiscreet and unseasonable introduction of the mention of virtue on all occasions. She professes she is what nobody ought to doubt she is; and betrays the labor she is put to, to be what she ought to be with cheerfulness and alacrity. She lives in the world, and denies herself none of the diversions of it, with a constant declaration how insipid all things in it are to her. She is never herself but at church; there she displays her virtue, and is so fervent in her devotions, that I have frequently seen her pray herself out of breath. While other young ladies in the house are dancing, or playing at questions and commands, she reads aloud in her closet. She says, all love is ridiculous, except it be celestial; but she speaks of the passion of one mortal to

The instance of Czar Peter is still more recent, and more remarkable.

parages it, and makes virtue not only unamiable, but also ridiculous. The sacred writings are full of reflections which abhor this kind of conduct, and a devotee is so far from promoting goodness, that she deters others by her example. Folly and vanity in one of these ladies is like vice in a clergyman: it does not only debase him, but makes the inconsiderate part of the world think the worse of religion.

"I am, Sir, your humble Servant,

"MR. SPECTATOR,

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66 HOTSPUR.

Xenophon, in his short account of the Spartan commonwealth, speaking of the behavior of their young men in the streets, says, There was so much modesty in their looks, that you might as soon have turned the eyes of a marble statue upon you as theirs; and that in all their behavior they were more modest than a bride when put to 'bed upon her wedding-night.' This virtue, which is always subjoined to magnanimity, had such an influence upon their courage, that in battle an enemy could not look them in the face, and they durst not but die for their country.

"Whenever I walk into the streets of London and Westminster, the countenances of all the young fellows that pass by me make me wish myself in Sparta: I meet with such blustering airs, big looks, and bold fronts, that, to a superficial observer, would bespeak a courage above those Grecians. I am arrived to that perfection in speculation, that I understand the language of the eyes, which would be a great misfortune to me had I not corrected the testiness of old age by philosophy. There is scarce a man in a red coat, who does not tell me, with a full stare, he is a bold man: I see several swear inwardly at me, without any offense of mine, but the oddness of my person: I meet contempt in every street, expressed in different manners, by the scornful look, the elevated eyebrow, and the swelling nostrils of the proud and prosperous. The 'prentice speaks his disrespect by an extended finger, and the porter by stealing out his tongue. If a country gentleman appears a little curious in observing the edifices, signs, clocks, coaches, and dials, it is not to be imagined how the polite rabble of this town, who are acquainted with these objects, ridicule

his rusticity. I have known a fellow with a burden on his head steal a hand down from his load, and slily twirl the cock of a 'squire's hat behind him while the offended person is swearing, or out of countenance, all the wag-wits in the highway are grinning in applause of the ingenious rogue that gave him the tip, and the folly of him who had not eyes all round his head to prevent receiving it. These things arise from a general affectation of smartness, wit, and courage. Wycherley somewhere rallies the pretensions this way, by making a fellow say, 'Red breeches are a certain sign of valor;' and Otway makes a man, to boast his agility, trip up a beggar on crutches. From such hints I beg a speculation on this subject in the meantime, I shall do all in the power of a weak old fellow in my own defense; for as Diogenes, being in quest of an honest man, sought for him when it was broad day-light with a lantern and candle, so I intend for the future to walk the streets with a dark lantern, which has a convex crystal in it; and if any man stares at me, I give fair warning that I will direct the light full into his eyes. Thus, despairing to find men modest, I hope by this means to evade their impu dence.

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1712.

No. 355.] THURSDAY, APRIL 17,
Non ego mordaci distrinxi carmine quenquam.
OVID, Trist. ii, 563

I ne'er in gall dipp'd my envenom'd pen,
Nor branded the bold front of shameless men.

I HAVE been very often tempted to write invectives upon those who have detracted from my works, or spoken in derogation of my person: but I look upon it as a particular happiness, that I have always hindered my resentments from proceeding to this extremity. I once had gone through half a satire, but found so many motions of humanity rising in me toward the persons whom I had severely treated, that I threw it into the fire without ever finishing it. I have been angry enough to make several little epigrams and lampoons; and, after having admired them a day or two, have likewise committed them to the flames. These I look upon as so many sacrifices to humanity, and have received much greater satisfaction from the suppressing such performances, than I could have done from any reputation they might have procured me, or from any mortificaion they might have given my enemies, in case I had made them public. If a man has any talent in writing, it shows a good mind to forbear answering calumnies and reproaches in the same spirit of bitterness in which they are offered. But when a man has been at some pains in making suitable returns to an enemy, and has the instruments of revenge in his hands, to let drop his wrath, and stifle his resentments, seems to have something in it great and heroical. There is a particular merit in such a way of forgiving an enemy; and the more violent and unprovoked the offense has been, the greater still is the merit of him who thus forgives it.

I never met with a consideration that is more finely spun, and what has better pleased me, than one in Epictetus, which places an enemy in a new light, and gives us a view of him altogether different from that in which we are used to regard him. The sense of it is as follows: " Does a man reproach thee for being proud or ill-natured, envious or conceited, ignorant, or detracting? Consider with thyself whether his reproaches are true.

If they are not, consider that thou art not the per son whom he reproaches, but that he reviles an imaginary being, and perhaps loves what thou really art, though he hates what thou appearest to be. If his reproaches are true, if thou art the envious, ill-natured man he takes thee for, give thyself another turn, become mild, affable, and obliging, and his reproaches of thee naturally cease. His reproaches may indeed continue, but thou art no longer the person whom he reproaches."* I often apply this rule to myself; and when I hear of a satirical speech or writing that is aimed at me, I examine my own heart whether I deserve it or not. If I bring in a verdict against myself, 1 endeavor to rectify my conduct for the future in those particulars which have drawn the censure upon me; but if the whole invective be grounded upon a falsehood, I trouble myself no further about it, and look upon my name at the head of it to signify no more than one of those fictitious names made use of by an author to introduce an ima ginary character. Why should a man be sensible of the sting of a reproach, who is a stranger to the guilt that is implied in it? or subject himself to the penalty, when he knows he has never committed the crime? This is a piece of fortitude which every one owes to his own innocence, and without which it is impossible for a man of any merit or figure to live at peace with himself, in a country that abounds with wit and liberty.

The famous Monsieur Balzac, in a letter to the Chancellor of France, who had prevented the publication of a book against him, has the following words, which are a lively picture of the greatness of mind so visible in the works of that author: "If it was a new thing, it may be I should not be displeased with the suppression of the first libel that should abuse me; but since there are enough of them to make a small library, I am secretly pleased to see the number increased, and take de light in raising a heap of stones that envy has cast at me without doing me any harm."

The author here alludes to those monuments of the eastern nations, which were mountains of stones raised upon the dead bodies by travelers, that used to cast every one his stone upon it as they passed by. It is certain that no monument is so glorious as one which is thus raised by the hands of envy. For my part, I admire an author for such a temper of mind as enables him to bear an undeserved reproach without resentment, more than for all the wit of any the finest satirical reply.

Thus far I thought necessary to explain myself in relation to those who have animadverted on this paper, and to show the reasons why I have not thought fit to return them any formal answer. I must further add, that the work would have been of very little use to the public had it been filled with personal reflections and debates; for which reason I never once turned out of my way to observe those little cavils which have been made against it by envy or ignorance. The common fry of scribblers, who have no other way of being taken notice of but by attacking what has gained some reputation in the world, would have furnished me with business enough, had they found me disposed to enter the lists with them. I shall conclude with the fable of Boccalini's traveler, who was so pestered with the noise of grasshoppers in his ears, that he alighted from his horse in great wrath to kill them all. “This,” says the author, "was troubling himself to no

* Epict. Ench., cap. 48 and 64, ed. Berk., 1670, 8vo. There are abundant monuments of the same kind in North Britain, where they are called "cairns.”

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