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invented among the sons of men. The present your nearest relations as much as if you were an
King of France, in his pursuits after glory, has utter stranger to them. The occasion of this is to
particularly distinguished himself by the promot-give you an account of the death of Madame de
ing of this useful art, insomuch that several books
have been printed in the Louvre at his own ex-
pense, upon which he sets so great a value, that
he considers them as the noblest presents he can
make to foreign princes and ambassadors. If we
look into the commonwealths of Holland and
Venice, we shall find that in this particular they
have made themselves the envy of the greatest
monarchies. Elzevir and Aldus are more fre-
quently mentioned than any pensioner of the one,
or doge of the other.

The several presses which are now in England, and the great encouragement which has been given to learning for some years last past, has made our own nation as glorious upon this account, as for its late triumphs and conquests. The new edition which is given us of Caesar's Commentaries* has already been taken notice of in foreign gazettes, and is a work that does honor to the English press. It is no wonder that an edition should be very correct which has passed through the hands of one of the most accurate, learned, and judicious writers this age has produced. The beauty of the paper, of the character, and of the several cuts with which this noble work is illustrated, makes it the finest book that I have ever seen; and is a true instance of the English genius, which, though it does not come the first into any art, generally carries it to greater heights than any other country in the world. I am particularly glad that this author comes from a British printing house in so great a magnificence, as he is the first who has given us any tolerable account of our country.

My illiterate readers, if any such there are, will be surprised to hear me talk of learning as the glory of a nation, and of printing as an art that gains a reputation to a people among whom it flourishes. When men's thoughts are taken up with avarice and ambition, they cannot look upon anything as great or valuable which does not bring with it an extraordinary power or interest to the person who is concerned in it. But as I shall never sink this paper so far as to engage with Goths and Vandals, I shall only regard such kind of reasoners with that pity which is due to so deplorable a degree of stupidity and ignorance.

L.

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When first an infant draws the vital air,
Officious grief should welcome him to care:
But joy should life's concluding scene attend,
And mirth be kept to grace a dying friend.

As the Spectator is in a kind a paper of news from the natural world, as others are from the busy and politic part of mankind, I shall translate the following letter, written to an eminent French gentleman in this town from Paris, which gives us the exit of a heroine who is a pattern of patience and generosity.

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Villacerfe, whose departure out of this life I know not whether a man of your philosophy will call unfortunate or not, since it was attended with some circumstances as much to be desired as to be lamented. She was her whole life happy in an uninterrupted health, and was always honored for an evenness of temper and greatness of mind. On the 10th instant that lady was taken with an indisposition which confined her to her chamber, but was such as was too slight to make her take a sick-bed, and yet too grievous to admit of any satisfaction in being out of it. It is notoriously known that some years ago Monsieur Festeau, ore of the most considerable surgeons in Paris, was desperately in love with this lady. Her quality placed her above any application to her on the account of his passion; but as a woman always has some regard to the person whom she believes to be her real admirer, she now took it in her head upon advice of her physicians, to lose some of her blood) to send for Monsieur Festeau on that occasion. I happened to be there at that time, and my near relation gave me the privilege to be present. As soon as her arm was stripped bare, and he began to press it in order to raise the vein, his color changed, and I observed him seized with a sudden tremor, which made me take the liberty to speak of it to my cousin with some apprehension. She smiled and said, she knew M. Festeau had no inclination to do her injury. He seemed to recover himself, and smiling also, proceeded in his work. Immediately after the operation, he cried out that he was the most unfortunate of all men, for that he had opened an artery instead of a vein. It is as impossible to express the artist's distraction as the patient's composure. I will not dwell on little circumstances, but go on to inform you, that within three days' time it was thought necessary to take off her arm. She was so far from using Festeau as it would be natural to one of a lower spirit to treat him, that she would not let him be absent from any consultation about her present condition, and on every occasion asked if he was satisfied in the measures that were taken about her. Before this last operation she ordered her will to be drawn, and, after having been about a quarter of an hour alone, she bid the surgeons, of whom poor Festeau was one, go on in their work. I know not how to give you the terms of art, but there appeared such symptoms after the amputation of her arm, that it was visible she could not live four-and-twenty hours. Her behavior was so magnanimous throughout this whole affair, that I was particularly curious in taking notice of what passed as her fate approached nearer and nearer, and took notice of what she said to all about her, particularly word for word what she spoke to M. Festeau, which was as follows:

"Sir, you give me inexpressible sorrow for the anguish with which I see you overwhelmed. I am removed to all intents and purposes from the interests of human life, therefore I am to begin to think like one wholly unconcerned in it. I do not consider you as one by whose error I have lost my life; no, you are my benefactor, as you have has tened my entrance into a happy immortality. This is my sense of this accident: but the world in which you live may have thoughts of it to your disadvantage: I have therefore taken care to provide for you in my will, and have placed you above what you have to fear from their ill-nature. While this excellent woman spoke these words, Festeau looked as if he received a condemnation to die, instead of a pension for his life. Madame

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de Villacerfe lived till eight of the clock the next
night; and though she must have labored under
the most exquisite torments, she possessed her
mind with so wonderful a patience, that one may
rather say she ceased to breathe, than she died at
that hour. You, who had not the happiness to be
personally known to this lady, have nothing but
to rejoice in the honor you had of being related to
so great merit; but we, who have lost her conver-
sation, cannot so easily resign our own happiness
by reflection upon hers.

"I am, Sir, your affectionate kinsman,
"and most obedient, humble Servant,
"PAUL REGNAUD."

The river dragon is an allusion to the crocodile, which inhabits the Nile, from which Egypt derives her plenty. This allusion is taken from that sublime passage in Ezekiel: "Thus saith the Lord God, Behold I am against thee, Pharaoh, king of Egypt, the great dragon that lieth in the midst of his rivers, which hath said, My river is mine own and I have made it for myself." Milton has given us another very noble and poetical image in the same description, which is copied almost word for word out of the history of Moses:

All night he will pursue, but his approach
Darkness defends between till morning watch:
Then through the fiery pillar and the cloud
God looking forth will trouble all his host,
And craze their chariot wheels: when, by command,
Moses once more his potent rod extends
Over the sea: the sea his rod obeys:

On their embattl'd ranks the waves return,
And overwhelm their war-

There hardly can be a greater instance of an heroic mind than the unprejudiced manner in which this lady weighed this misfortune. The regard of life itself could not make her overlook the contrition of the unhappy man, whose more than ordinary concern for her was all his guilt. As the principal design of this episode was to It would certainly be of singular use to human give Adam an idea of the holy person who was to society to have an exact account of this lady's reinstate human nature in that happiness, and perordinary conduct, which was crowned by so un- fection from which it had fallen, the poet confines common magnanimity. Such greatness was not himself to the line of Abraham, from whence the to be acquired in the last article; nor is it to be Messiah was to descend. The angel is described doubted but it was a constant practice of all that as seeing the patriarch actually traveling toward is praiseworthy, which made her capable of be- the land of promise, which gives a particular liveholding death, not as the dissolution, but consum-liness to this part of the narration: mation of her life.-T.

No. 369.] SATURDAY, MAY 3, 1712.

Segnius irritant animos demissa per aures,
Quam quæ sunt oculis subjecta fidelibus-.
HOR., Ars. Poet., 180.
What we hear moves less than what we sce.

ROSCOMMON.

I see him, but thou canst not, with what faith
He leaves his gods, his friends, and native soil,
Ur of Chaldea, passing now the ford

To Haran; after him a cumbrous train

Of herds, and flocks, and num'rous servitude;
Not wand'ring poor, but trusting all his wealth
With God, who call'd him in a land unknown.
Canaan he now attains; I see his tents
Pitch'd about Shechem, and the neighboring plain
Of Morch; there by promise he receives
Gift to his progeny of all that land;

From Hamath northward to the desert south:
(Things by their names I call, though yet unnam'd).

As Virgil's vision in the sixth Eneid probably gave Milton the hint of this episode, the last line is a translation of that verse where Anchises mentions the names of places, which they were to bear

hereafter:

Hæc tum nomina erunt, nunc sunt sine nomine terræ.

The poet has very finely represented the joy and gladness of heart which rises in Adam upon his discovery of the Messiah. As he sees his day at a distance through types and shadows, he rejoices in it: but when he finds the redemption of man completed, and Paradise again renewed, he breaks forth in rapture and transport:

MILTON, after having represented in vision the history of mankind to the first great period of nature, dispatches the remaining part of it in narration. He has devised a very handsome reason for the angel's proceeding with Adam after this manner; though doubtless the true reason was the difficulty which the poet would have found to have shadowed out so mixed and complicated a story in visible objects. I could wish, however, that the author had done it, whatever pains it might have cost him. To give my opinion freely, I think that the exhibiting part of the history of 'mankind in vision, and part in narrative, is as if a history-painter should put in colors one-half of his subject, and write down the remaining part of it. If Milton's poem flags anywhere, it is in this narration, where in some places the author has been so attentive to his divinity that he has neglected his poetry. The narration, however, rises very happily on several occasions, where the sub-an heroic poem, according to the opinion of the ject is capable of poetical ornaments, as particufarly in the confusion which he describes among the builders of Babel, and in his short sketch of the plagues of Egypt. The storm of hail and fire, with the darkness that overspread the land for three days, are described with great strength. The beautiful passage which follows is raised upon noble hints in Scripture:

-Thus with ten wounds,

The river dragon, tam'd, at length submits
To let his sojourners depart: and eft
Humbles his stubborn heart; but still, as ice,
More harden'd after thaw: till in his rage
Pursuing whom he late dismiss'd, the sen
Swallows him with his host; but them lets pass
As on dry land between two crystal walls,
Aw'd by the rod of Moses so to stand
Divided-

O goodness infinite, goodness immense!
That all this good of evil shall produce, etc.

I have hinted in my sixth paper on Milton, that

best critics, ought to end happily, and leave the mind of the reader, after having conducted it through many doubts and fears, sorrows and disquietudes, in a state of tranquillity and satisfaction. Milton's fable, which had so many other qualifications to recommend it, was deficient in this particular. It is here therefore that the poet has shown a most exquisite judgment, as well as the finest invention, by finding out a method to supply this natural defect in his subject. Accordingly he leaves the adversary of mankind, in the last view which he gives us of him, under the lowest state of mortification and disappointment. We see him chewing ashes, groveling in the dust, and loaded with supernumerary pains and tor ments. On the contrary, our two first parents are comforted by dreams and visions, cheered with

promises of salvation, and in a manner raised to a greater happiness than that which they had forfeited. In short, Satan is represented miserable in the height of his triumphs, and Adam triumphant in the height of misery.

Milton's poem ends very nobly. The last speeches of Adam and the archangel are full of moral and instructive sentiments. The sleep that fell upon Eve, and the effects it had in quieting the disorders of her mind, produces the same kind of consolation in the reader, who cannot peruse the last beautiful speech, which is ascribed to the mother of mankind, without a secret pleasure and satisfaction:

Whence thou return'st, and whither went'st, I know;
For God is also in sleep, and dreams advise,
Which he hath sent propitious, some great good
Presaging, since, with sorrow and heart's distress
Wearied, I fell asleep; but now led on;

In me is no delay: with thee to go,

Is to stay here; without thee here to stay,

Is to go hence unwilling: thou to me

Art all things under heav'n, all places thou,
Who for my willful crime art banish'd hence;
This farther consolation yet secure

I carry hence; though all by me is lost,
Such favor I unworthy am vouchsaf'd,

By me the promis'd seed shall all restore.

The following lines, which conclude the poem, rise in a most glorious blaze of poetical images and expressions.

Heliodorus in his Ethiopics acquaints us, that the motion of the gods differs from that of mortals, as the former do not stir their feet, nor proceed step by step, but slide over the surface of the earth by a uniform swimming of the whole body. The reader may observe with how poetical a description Milton has attributed the same kind of motion to the angels who were to take possession

of Paradise:

So spake our mother Eve; and Adam heard
Well pleas'd, but answer'd not; for now too nigh
Th' archangel stood; and from the other hill
To their fix'd station, all in bright array
The cherubim descended; on the ground
Gliding meteorous, as evening mist
Ris'n from a river, o'er the marish glides,
And gathers ground fast at the lab'rers heel
Homeward returning. High in front advanc'd,
The brandish'd sword of God before them blaz'd
Fierce as a comet-

The author helped his invention in the following passage, by reflecting on the behavior of the angel who in holy writ has the conduct of Lot and his family. The circumstances drawn from that relation are very gracefully made use of on this occasion:

In either hand the hast'ning angel caught

Our ling'ring parents, and to th' eastern gate
Led them direct; and down the cliff as fast
To the subjected plain; then disappear'd,
They looking back, etc.

The scene which our first parents are surprised with, upon their looking back on Paradise, wonderfully strikes the reader's imagination, as nothing can be more natural than the tears they shed on that occasion:

They, looking back, all th' eastern side beheld,
Of Paradise, so late their happy seat,
Wav'd over by that flaming brand, the gate
With dreadful faces throng'd and fiery arms:
Some natural tears they dropp'd, but wip'd them soon;

The world was all before them, where to choose
Their place of rest, and Providence their guide.

If I might presume to offer at the smallest alteration in this divine work, I should think the poem would end better with the passage here quoted, than the two verses which follow:

They hand in hand, with wand'ring steps and slow,
Through Eden took their solitary way.

These two verses, though they have their beauty fall very much below the foregoing passage, and renew in the mind of the reader that anguish which was pretty well laid by that consideration:

The world was all before them, where to choose Their place of rest, and Providence their guide. The number of books in Paradise Lost is equal to those of the Ereid. Our author in his first edi tion had divided his poem into ten books, but afterward broke the seventh and the eleventh each of them into two different books, by the help of some small additions. This second division was made with great judgment, as any one may see who will for the sake of such a chimerical beauty as that of be at the pains of examining it. It was not done resembling Virgil in this particular, but for the more just and regular disposition of this great work.

Those who have read Bossu, and many of the critics who have written since his time, will not pardon me if I do not find out the particular moral which is inculcated in Paradise Lost. Though I can by no means think, with the last-mentioned French author, that an epic writer first of all pitches upon a certain moral, as the ground-work and foundation of his poem, and afterward finds out a story to it; I am however of opinion, that no just heroic poem ever was or can be made, from whence one great moral may not be deduced. That which reigns in Milton is the most universal and most useful that can be imagined. It is in short this, that obedience to the will of God makes men happy, and that disobedience makes them miserable. This is visibly the moral of the principal fable, which turns upon Adam and Eve, who continued in Paradise while they kept the command that was given them, and were driven out of it as soon as they had transgressed. This is likewise the moral of the principal episode, which shows us how an innumerable multitude of angels fell from their state of bliss, and were cast into hell upon their disobedience. Beside this great moral, which may be looked upon as the soul of the fable, there are an affinity of under morals which are to be drawn from the several parts of the poem, and which make this work more useful and instructive than any other poem in any language.

Those who have criticised on the Odyssey, the Iliad, and Eneid, have taken a great deal of pains to fix the number of months or days contained in the action of each of those poems. If any one thinks it worth his while to examine this particular in Milton, he will find, that from Adam's first appearance in the fourth book, to his expulsion from Paradise in the twelfth, the author reckons ten days. As for that part of the action which is described in the three first books, as it does not pass within the regions of nature, I have before observed that it is not subject to any calculations

of time.

I have now finished my observations on a work which does an honor to the English nation. I have taken a general view of it under these four heads-the fable, the characters, the sentiments, and the language, and made each of them the subject of a particular paper. I have in the next place spoken of the censures which our author may incur under each of these heads, which I have confined to two papers, though I might have enlarged the number if I had been disposed to dwell on so ungrateful a subject: I believe, however, that the severest reader will not find any little fault in heroic poetry, which this author has fallen into, that does not come under one of those heads among which I have distributed his several

blemishes. After having thus treated at large of Paradise Lost, I could not think it sufficient to have celebrated this poem in the whole without descending to particulars. I have therefore bestowed a paper upon each book, and endeavored not only to prove that the poem is beautiful in general, but to point out its particular beauties: and, to determine wherein they consist. I have endeavored to show how some passages are beautiful by being sublime, others by being soft, others by being natural; which of them are recommended by the passion, which by the moral, which by the sentiment, and which by the expression. I have likewise endeavored to show how the genius of the poet shines by a happy invention, a distant allision, or a judicious imitation; how he has copied or improved Homer or Virgil, and raised his own imaginations by the use which he has made of several poetical passages in Scripture. I might have inserted also several passages in Tasso, which our author has imitated: but, as I do not look upon Tasso to be a sufficient voucher, I would not perplex my reader with such quotations as might do more honor to the Italian than to the English poet. In short, I have endeavored to particularize those innumerable kinds of beauty which it would be tedious to recapitulate, but which are essential to poetry, and which may be met with in the works of this great author. Had I thought, at my first engaging in this design, that it would have led me to so great a length, I believe I should never have entered upon it; but the kind reception which it has met with among those whose judgment I have a value for, as well as the uncommon demands which my bookseller tells me have been made for these particular discourses, give me no reason to repent of the pains I have been at in composing them.-L.

No. 370.] MONDAY, MAY 5, 1712.
Totus Mundus agit histrionem.

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players.
SHAKSPEARE.

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MANY of my fair readers, as well as very gay and well-received persons of the other sex, are extremely perplexed at the Latin sentences at the head of my speculations. I do not know whether I ought not to indulge them with translations of each of them however, I have to-day taken down from the top of the stage in Drury-lane a bit of Latin which often stands in their view, and signifies, that The whole world acts the player." It is certain that if we look all round us, and behold the different employments of mankind, you hardly see one who is not, as the player is, in an assumed character. The lawyer who is vehement and loud in the cause wherein he knows he has not the truth of the question on his side, is a player as to the personated part, but incomparably meaner than he as to the prostitution of himself for hire because the pleader's falsehood introduces injustice; the player feigns for no other end out to divert or instruct you. The divine whose passions transport him to say anything w th any view but promoting the interests of true piety and religion, is a player with a still greater imputation of guilt, in proportion to his depreciating a character more sacred. Consider all the different pursuits and employments of men, and you will And half their actions tend to nothing else but disguise and imposture; and all that is done which proceeds not from a man's very self, is the action of a player. For this reason it is that I

make so frequent mention of the stage. It is with me a matter of the highest consideration, what parts are well or ill performed, what passions or sentiments are indulged or cultivated, and consequently what manners and customs are transfused from the stage to the world, which reciprocally imitate each other. As the writers of epic poenis introduce shadowy persons, and represent vices and virtues under the characters of men and women; so I, who am a Spectator in the world, may perhaps sometimes make use of the names of the actors on the stage, to represent or admonish those who transact affairs in the world. When I am commending Wilks for representing the tenderness of a husband and a father in Macbeth, the contrition of a reformed prodigal in Harry the Fourth, the winning emptiness of a young man of good nature and wealth in The Trip to the Jubilee, the officiousness of an artful servant in the Fox; when thus I celebrate Wilks, I talk to all the world who are engaged in any of those circumstances. If I were to speak of merit neglected, misapplied, or misunderstood, might I not say Estcourt has a great capacity? But it is not the interest of others who bear a figure on the stage, that his talents were understood; it is their business to impose upon him, what cannot become him, or keep out of his hands anything in which he would shine. Were one to raise a suspicion of himself in a man who passes upon the world for a fine thing, in order to alarm him, one might say, If Lord Foppington was not on the stage (Cibber acts the false pretensions to a genteel behavior so very justly), he would have in the generality of mankind more that would admire than deride him. When we come to characters directly comical, it is not to be imagined what effect a well-regulated stage would have upon men's manners. The craft of a usurer, the absurdity of a rich fool, the awkward roughness of a fellow of half courage, the ungraceful mirth of a creature of half wit, might forever be put out of countenance by proper parts for Dogget. Johnson, by acting Corbacchio the other night, must have given all who saw him, a thorough detestation of aged avarice. The petulancy of a peevish old fellow, who loves and hates he knows not why, is very excellently performed by the ingenious Mr. William Penkethman in the Fop's Fortune; where, in the character of Don Choleric Snap Shorto de Testy, he answers no questions but to those whom he likes, and wants no account of anything from those he approves. Mr. Penkethman is also master of as many faces in the dumb scene as can be expected from a man in the circumstances of being ready to perish out of fear and hunger. He wonders throughout the whole scene very masterly, without neglecting his victuals. If it be, as I have heard it sometimes mentioned, a great qualification for the world to follow business and pleasure too, what is it in the ingenious Mr. Penkethman to represent a sense of pleasure and pain at the same time—as you may see him do this evening?

As it is certain that a stage ought to be wholly suppressed, or judiciously encouraged, while there is one in the nation, men turned for regular pleasure cannot employ their thoughts more usefully, for the diversion of mankind, than by convincing them that it is in themselves to raise this entertainment to the greatest height. It would be a great improvement, as well as embellishment to the theater, if dancing were more regarded, and taught to all the actors. One who has the advan tage of such an agreeable girlish person as Mrs. Bicknell, joined with her capacity of imitation, could in proper gesture and motion represent all

together a set of oglers as he called them, consist ing of such as had an unlucky cast in their eyes His diversion on this occasion was to see the cross bows, mistaken signs, and wrong connivances, that passed amid so many broken and refracted

the decent characters of female life. An amiable
modesty in one aspect of a dancer, and assumed
onfidence in another, a sudden joy in another, a
falling-off with an impatience of being beheld, a
return toward the audience with an unsteady re-
solution to approach them, and a well-acted soli-rays of sight.
citude to please, would revive in the company all
the fine touches of mind raised in observing all
the objects of affection or passion they had before
beheld. Such elegant entertainments as these
would polish the town into judgment in their
gratifications; and delicacy in pleasure is the first
step people of condition take in reformation from
vice. Mrs. Bicknell has the only capacity for this
sort of dancing of any on the stage; and I dare
say all who see her performance to morrow-night,
when sure the romp will do her best for her own
benefit, will be of my mind.-T.

No. 371.] TUESDAY, MAY 6, 1712.
Jamne igitur laudas quod de sapientibus unus.
Ride bat?
Juv., Sat. x, 28.
And shall the sage* your approbation win,
Whose laughing features wore a constant grin?

I SHALL Communicate to my readers the following letter for the entertainment of this day :

SIR,

4

"You know very well that our nation is more famous for that sort of men who are called 'whims' and humorists,' than any other country in the world for which reason it is observed, that our English comedy excels that of all other nations in the novelty and variety of its characters.

"Among those innumerable sets of whims which our country produces, there are none whom I have regarded with more curiosity than those who have invented any particular kind of diversion for the entertainment of themselves and their friends My letter shall single out those who take delight in sorting a company that has something of burlesque and ridicule in its appearance. I shall make myself understood by the following example. One of the wits of the last age, who was a man of a good estate, thought he never laid out his money better than in a jest. As he was one year at the Bath, observing that, in the great confluence of fine people, there were several among them with long chins, a part of the visage by which he himself was very much distinguished, he invited to dinner half a score of these remarkable persons, who had their mouths in the middle of their faces. They had no sooner placed themselves about the table but they began to stare upon one another, not being able to ima gine what had brought them together. Our Eng. fish proverb says,

"Tis merry in the hall,
When beards wag all.

The third feast which this merry gentleman exhibited was to the stammerers, whom he got together in a sufficient body to fill his table. He had ordered one of his servants, who was placed behind a screen, to write down their table-talk, which was very easy to be done without the help. of short-hand. It appears by the notes which were taken, that though their conversation never fell, there were not above twenty words spoker during the first course; that upon serving up the second, one of the company was a quarter of an hour in telling them that the ducklings and asparagus were very good; and that another took up the same time in declaring himself of the same opinion. The jest did not, however, go off so well as either of the former; for one of the guests being a brave man, and fuller of resentment than he knew how to express, went out of the room, and sent the facetious inviter a challenge in writ ing, which, though it was afterward dropped by the interposition of friends, put a stop to these ludicrous entertainments.

"Now, sir, I dare say you will agree with me, that as there is no moral in these jests, they ought to be discouraged, and looked upon rather as pieces of unluckiness than wit. However, as it is natural for one man to refine upon the thought of another; and impossible for any single person, how great soever his parts may be, to invent an art, and bring it to its utmost perfection; I shall here give you an account of an honest gentleman of my acquaintance, who, upon hearing the character of the wit above-mentioned, has himself assumed it and endeavored to convert it to the benefit of mankind. He invited half-a-dozen of his friends one day to dinner, who were each of them famous for inserting several redundant phrases in their discourse, as D'ye hear me?-D'ye see?-That is,-Aud so, Sir.' Each of his guests making frequent use of his particular elegance, appeared so ridiculous to his neighbor, that he could not but reflect upon himself as appearing equally ridiculous to the rest of the company. By this means, before they had sat long together, every one talking with the greatest circumspection, and carefully avoiding his favorite expletive, the conversation was cleared of its redundancies, and had a greater quantity of sense though less of sound in it.

"The same well-meaning gentleman took occasion, at another time, to bring together such of his friends as were addicted to a foolish habitual custom of swearing. In order to show them the absurdity of the practice, he had recourse to the invention above-mentioned, having placed an amanuensis in a private part of the room. After the second bottle, when men open their minds without reserve, my honest friend began to take It proved so in the assembly I am now speaking notice of the many sonorous but unnecessary of, who seeing so many peaks of faces agitated words that had passed in his house since their with eating, drinking, and discourse, and observ- sitting down at table, and how much good convering all the chins that were present meeting toge-sation they had lost by giving way to such superher very often over the center of the table, every fluous phrases. What a tax,' says he, would one grew sensible of the jest, and came into it they have raised for the poor, had we put the with so much good humor, that they lived in laws in execution upon one another! Every one strict friendship and alliance from that day for- of them took this gentle reproof in good part, ward. upon which he told them, that, knowing their conversation would have no secrets in it, he had ordered it to be taken down in writing, and for the humor-sake, would read it to them, if they +Villars, the last Duke of Buckingham, and father of the pleased. There were ten sheets of it, which late Lady Mary Wortley Montague.

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The same gentleman, some time after, packed

*Democritus.

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might have been reduced to two, had there not

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