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been for five years last past courted by a gentle-
man of greater fortune than I ought to expect, as
the market for women goes. You must, to be
sure, have observed people who live in that sort
of way, as all their friends reckon it will be a
match, and are marked out by all the world for
each other. In this view we have been regarded
for some time, and I have above these three years
loved him tenderly. As he is very careful of his
fortune, I have always thought he lived in a rear
manner, to lay up what he thought was wanting
in my fortune to make up what he might expect
in another. Within these few months I have ob-
served his carriage very much altered, and he
has affected a certain art of getting me alone,
and talking with a mighty profusion of passion-
ate words, how I am not to be resisted longer,
how irresistible his wishes are, and the like. As
long as I have been acquainted with him, I could
not on such occasions say downright to him you
know you may make me yours when you please.'
But the other night, he with frankness and impu-
dence explained to me, that he thought of me only
as a mistress. I answered this declaration as it
deserved; upon which he only doubled the terms
on which he proposed my yielding. When my
anger heightened upon him, he told me he was
sorry he had made so little use of the unguarded
hours we had been together so remote from com-
pany, as indeed,' continued he, so we are at
present.' I flew from him to a neighboring gen-
tlewoman's house, and though her husband was
in the room, threw myself on a couch, and burst
into a passion of tears. My friend desired her
husband to leave the room. 'But,' said he,
there is something so extraordinary in this, that
I will partake in the affliction; and be it what it
will, she is so much your friend, that she knows
she may command what services I can do her.
The man sat down by me, and spoke so like a
brother, that I told him my whole affliction. He
spoke of the injury done me with so much indig
nation, and animated me against the love he said
he saw I had for the wretch who would have be-
trayed me, with so much reason and humanity to
my weakness, that I doubt not of my perse-
verance. His wife and he are my comforters, and
I am under no more restraint in their company
than if I were alone; and I doubt not but in a
small time contempt and hatred will take place
of the remains of affection to a rascal.

"I am, Sir, your affectionate Reader,
"DORINDA."

"MR. SPECTATOR,

No. 403.] THURSDAY, JUNE 12, 1712. Qui mores hominum multorum vidit

HOR. Ars Poet. v. 142.

Of many men he saw the manners. WHEN I consider this great city in its several quarters and divisions, I look upon it as an aggre gate of various nations distinguished from each other by their respective customs, manners, and interests. The courts of two countries do not so much differ from one another, as the court and city, in their peculiar ways of life and conversation. In short, the inhabitants of St. James's, notwithstanding they live under the same laws, and speak the same language, are a distinct people from those of Cheapside, who are likewise removed from those of the Temple on one side, and those of Smithfield on the other, by several climates and degrees in their ways of thinking and conversing together.

For this reason, when any public affair is upon the anvil, I love to hear the reflections that rise upon it in the several districts and parishes of London and Westminster, and to ramble up and down a whole day together, in order to make myself acquainted with the opinions of my ingenious countrymen. By this means I know the faces of all the principal politicians within the bills of mortality; and as every coffee-house has some particular statesman belonging to it, who is the mouth of the street where he lives, I always take care to place myself near him, in order to know his judgment on the present posture of affairs. The last progress that I made with this intention, was about three months ago, when we had a current report of the king of France's death. As I foresaw this would produce a new face of things in Europe, and many curious speculations in our British coffee-houses, I was very desirous to learn the thoughts of our most eminent politicians on that occasion.

That I might begin as near the fountain head as possible, I first of all called in at St. James's, where I found the whole outward room in a buzz of politics. The speculations were but very indifferent toward the door, but grew finer as you advanced to the upper end of the room, and were so very much improved by a knot of theorists, who sat in the inner room, within the steams of the coffee-pot, that I there heard the whole Spanish monarchy disposed of, and all the line of Bourbon provided for in less than a quarter of an hour.

I afterward called in at Giles's, where I saw a board of French gentlemen sitting upon the life and death of their grand monarque. Those among them who had espoused the whig interest, very positively affirmed that he departed this life about a week since, and therefore proceeded without any further delay to the release of their friends in the galleys, and to their own re-establishment, but finding they could not agree among themselves, I proceeded on my intended progress.

"I had the misfortune to be an uncle before I knew my nephews from my nieces; and now we are grown up to better acquaintance, they deny me the respect they owe. One upbraids me with being their familiar, another will hardly be persuaded that I am an uncle, a third calls me little uncle, and a fourth tells me there is no duty at all due to an uncle. I have a brother-in-law whose son will win all my affection, unless you shall think this worthy of your cognizance, and will be Upon my arrival at Jenny Man's I saw an alerte pleased to prescribe some rules for our future re-young fellow that cocked his hat upon a friend of ciprocal behavior. It will be worthy the particularity of your genius to lay down rules for his conduct, who was, as it were, born an old man; in which you will much oblige,

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his who entered just at the same time with myself, and accosted him after the following manner: "Well, Jack, the old prig is dead at last. Sharp's the word. Now or hever, boy. Up to the walls of Paris directly." With several other deep re flections of the same nature.

I met with very little variation in the politics between Charing-cross and Covent-garden. And upon my going into Will's, I found their dis course was gone off from the death of the French king to that of Monsieur Boileau, Racine, Cor. neille, and several other poets, whom they regretted

on this occasion, as persons who would have obliged the world with very noble elegies on the death of so great a prince, and so eminent a patron of learning.

At a coffee house near the Temple, I found a couple of young gentlemen engaged very smartly in a dispute on the succession to the Spanish monarchy. One of them seemed to have been retained as advocate for the Duke of Anjou, the other for his imperial majesty. They were both for regulating the title to that kingdom by the statute laws of England; but finding them going out of my depth, I passed forward to St. Paul's churchyard, where I listened with great attention to a learned man, who gave the company an account of the deplorable state of France during the minority of the deceased king.

I then turned on my right hand into Fish-street, where the chief politician of that quarter, upon hearing the news (after having taken a pipe of tobacco, and ruminated for some time), "If," says he. "the king of France is certainly dead, we shall have plenty of mackarel this season: our fishery will not be disturbed by privateers, as it has been for these ten years past." He afterward considered how the death of this great man would affect our pilchards, and by several other remarks infused a general joy into his whole audience.

I afterward entered a by-coffee-house that stood at the upper end of a narrow lane, where I met with a non-juror, engaged very warmly with a lace-man who was the great support of a neighboring conventicle. The matter in debate was, whether the late French king was most like Augustus Cæsar or Nero. The controversy was carried on with great heat on both sides; and as each of them looked upon me very frequently during the course of their debate, I was under some apprehension that they would appeal to me, and therefore laid down my penny at the bar, and made the best of my way to Cheapside.

I here gazed upon the signs for some time, before I found one to my purpose. The first object I met in the coffee-room was a person who expressed great grief for the death of the French king; but, upon his explaining himself, I found his sorrow did not arise from the loss of the monarch, but for his having sold out of the bank about three days before he heard the news of it. Upon which, a haberdasher, who was the oracle of the coffee-house, and had his circle of admirers about him, called several to witness that he had declared his opinion above a week before, that the French king was certainly dead; to which he added, that, considering the late advices we had received from France, it was impossible that it could be otherwise. As he was laying these together, and dictating to his hearers with great authority, there came in a gentleman from Garraway's who told us that there were several letters from France just come in, with advice that the king was gone out a-hunting the very morning the post came away: upon which the haberdasher stole off his ha. that hung upon a wooden peg by him, and retired to his shop with great confusion. This intelligence put a stop to my travels, which I had prosecuted with much satisfaction, not being a little pleased to hear so many different opinions upon so great an event, and to observe how naturally upon such a piece of news every one is apt to consider it with regard to his own particular interest and advantage.-L.

No. 404.] FRIDAY, JUNE 13, 1712.

-Non omnia possumus omnes.-VIRG. Ecl. viii, 63. With different talents form'd, we variously excel. NATURE does nothing in vain: the Creator of the universe has appointed everything to a certain use and purpose, and determined it to a settled course and sphere of action, from which if it in the least deviates, it becomes unfit to answer those ends for which it was designed. In like manner, it is in the dispositions of society, the civil economy. is formed in a chain, as well as the natural: and in either case the breach but of one link puts the whole in some disorder. It is, I think, pretty plain, that most of the absurdity and ridicule we meet with in the world is generally owing to the impertinent affectation of ex celling in characters men are not fit for, and for which nature never designed them.

Every man has one or more qualities which may make him useful both to himself and others. Nature never fails of pointing them out; and while the infant continues under her guardian. ship, she brings him on in his way, and then offers herself for a guide in what remains of the journey: if he proceeds in that course, he can hardly miscarry. Nature makes good her engage. ments; for, as she never promises what she is not able to perform, so she never fails of performing what she promises. But the misfortune is, men despise what they may be masters of, and affect what they are not fit for; they reckon themselves already possessed of what their genius inclined them to, and so bend all their ambition to excel in what is out of their reach. Thus they destroy the use of their natural talents, in the same manner as covetous men do their quiet and repose: they can enjoy no satisfaction in what they have, because of the absurd inclination they are possessed with for what they have not.

Cleanthes had good sense, a great memory, and a constitution capable of the closest application. In a word, there was no profession in which Cleanthes might not have made a very good figure; but this will not satisfy him; he takes up an unaccountable fondness for the character of a gentleman: all his thoughts are bent upon this. Instead of attending a dissection, frequenting the courts of justice, or studying the fathers, Cleanthe reads plays, dances, dresses, and spends his time in drawing-rooms. Instead of being a good lawyer, divine or physician, Cleanthes is a downright coxcomb, and will remain to all that know him a contemptible example of talents misapplied. It is to this affectation the world owes its whole race of coxcombs. Nature in her whole drama never drew such a part; she has sometimes made a fool, but a coxcomb is always of a man's own making, by applying his talents otherwise tha Nature designed, who ever bears a high resentment for being put out of her course, and never fails of taking her revenge on those that do so. Opposing her tendency in the application of a man's parts, has the same success as declining from her course in the production of vegetables. By the assistance of art and a hot-bed, we may possibly extort an unwilling plant, or an untimely salad; but how weak, how tasteless and insipid! Just as insipid as the poetry of Valerio. Valerio had a universal character, was genteel, had learning, thought justly, spoke correctly; it was believed there was nothing in which Valerio did not excel; and it was so far true. that there was but one: Valerio had no genius. for poetry, yet he is resolved to be a poet; he writes verses, and takes great pains to convince the town that

Valerio is not that extraordinary person he was

taken for.

dence, and (as Tully expresses it) like the sin of the giants, an actual rebellion against Heaven.-Z.

No. 405.] SATURDAY, JUNE 14, 1712.

With hymns divine the joyous banquet ends;
The peans lengthened till the sun descends!
The Greeks restored, the grateful notes prolong;
Apollo listens, and approves the song.-POPE,

If men would be content to graft upon Nature, and assist her operations, what mighty effects might we expect! Tully would not stand so much alone in oratory, Virgil in poetry, or Cæsar in war. To build upon nature is laying a foundation upon a rock; everything disposes itself into order as it were of course, and the whole work is half done as soon as undertaken. Cicero's genius inclined him to oratory, Virgil's, to follow the train of the Muses; they piously obeyed the admonition, and were rewarded. Had Virgil attended the bar, his modest and ingenuous virtue would surely nave made but a very indifferent figure; and Tully's declamatory inclination would have been as useless in poetry. Nature, if left to herself, leads us on in the best course, but will do nothing by compulsion and constraint: and if we are not satisfied to go her way, we are always the great-generous approbation, he lately gave to an opera est sufferers by it.

Wherever Nature designs a production, she always disposes seeds proper for it, which are as absolutely necessary to the formation of any moral or intellectual excellence, as they are to the being and growth of plants; and I know not by what fate and folly it is, that men are taught not to reckon him equally absurd that will write verses in spite of Nature, with that gardener that should undertake to raise a jonquil or tulip without the help of their respective seeds.

I AM very sorry to find by the opera bills for this day, that we are likely to lose the greatest performer in dramatic music that is now living, or that perhaps ever appeared upon a stage. I need not acquaint my readers that I am speaking of Signior Nicolini. The town is highly obliged to that excellent artist, for having shown us the Italian music in its perfection, as well as for that of our own country, in which the composer endeavored to do justice to the beauty of the words, by following that noble example which has been set him by the greatest foreign masters in that art.

I could heartily wish there were the same application and endeavors to cultivate and improve our church music as have been lately bestowed on that of the stage. Our composers have one very great incitement to it. They are sure to meet with excellent words, and at the same time a wonderAs there is no good or bad quality that does ful variety of them. There is no passion that not affect both sexes, so it is not to be imagined is not finely expressed in those parts of the inbut the fair sex must have suffered by an affecta-spired writings, which are proper for divine songs tion of this nature, at least as much as the other. and anthems. The ill effect of it is in none so conspicuous as There is a certain coldness and indifference in in the two opposite characters of Cælia and Iras: the phrases of our European languages, when they Celia has all the charms of person, together with are compared with the oriental forms of speech; an abundant sweetness of nature, but wants wit, and it happens very luckily, that the Hebrew and has a very ill voice; Iras is ugly and ungen-idioms run into the English tongue with a particu teel, but has wit and good sense. If Calia would be silent, her beholders would adore her: if Iras would talk, her hearers would admire her: but Cælia's tongue runs incessantly, while Iras gives herself silent airs and soft languors, so that it is difficult to persuade one's self that Cælia has beauty, and Iras wit: each neglects her own excellence, and is ambitious of the other's character; Iras would be thought to have as much beauty as Cælia, and Cælia as much wit as Iras.

The great misfortune of this affectation is, that men not only lose a good quality, but also contract a bad one. They not only are unfit for what they were designed, but they assign themselves to what they are not fit for; and instead of making a very good figure one way, make a very ridiculous one another. If Semanthe would have been satisfied with her natural complexion, she might still have been celebrated by the name of the olive beauty; but Semanthe has taken up an affectation to white and red, and is now distinguished by the character of the lady that paints so well. In a word, could the world be reformed to the obedience of that famed dictate, "Follow Nature," which the oracle of Delphos pronounced to Cicero, when he consulted what course of studies he should pursue, we should see almost every man as eminent in his proper sphere as Tully was in his, and should in a very short time find impertinence and affectation banished from among the women, and coxcombs, and false characters from among the men. For my part, I could never consider this preposterous repugnancy to Nature any otherwise, than not only as the greatest folly, but also one of the most heinous crimes, since it is a direct opposition to the disposition of Provi

lar grace and beauty. Our language has received innumerable elegancies and improvements, from that infusion of Hebraisms, which are derived to it out of the poetical passages in holy writ. They give a force and energy to our expressions, warm and animate our language, and convey our thoughts in more ardent and intense phrases, than any that are to be met with in our own tongue. There is something so pathetic in this kind of diction, that it often sets the mind in a flame, and makes our hearts burn within us. How cold and dead does a prayer appear, that is composed in the most elegant and polite forms of speech, which are natural to our tongue, when it is not heightened by that solemnity of phrase which may be drawn from the sacred writings. It has been said by some of the ancients, that if the gods were to talk with men, they would certainly speak in Plato's style; but I think we may say with jus tice, that when mortals converse with their Creator, they cannot do it in so proper a style as in that of the Holy Scriptures.

If any one would judge of the beauties of poetry that are to be met with in the divine writings, and examine how kindly the Hebrew manners of speech mix and incorporate with the English language; after having perused the Book of Psalms, let him read a literal translation of Horace or Pindar. He will find in these two last such an absurdity and confusion of style, with such a comparative poverty of imagination, as will make him very sensible of what I have been here advancing.

Since we have, therefore, such a treasury of words, so beautiful in themselves, and so proper for the airs of music, I cannot but wonder that persons of distinction should give so little atten

tion and encouragement to that kind of music which would have its foundation in reason, and which would improve our virtue in proportion as it raised our delight. The passions that are excited by ordinary compositions generally flow from such silly and absurd occasions, that a man is ashamed to reflect upon them seriously; but the fear, the love, the sorrow, the indignation, that are awakened in the mind by hymns and anthems, make the heart better, and proceed from such causes as are altogether reasonable and praiseworthy. Pleasure and duty go hand in hand; and the greater our satisfaction is, the greater is our religion.

Music, among those who were styled the chosen people, was a religious art. The songs of Siou, which we have reason to believe were in high repute among the courts of the eastern monarchs, were nothing else but psalms and pieces of poetry that adored or celebrated the Supreme Being. The greatest conqueror in this holy nation, after the manner of the old Grecian lyrics, did not only compose the words of his divine odes, but generally set them to music himself: after which, his works, though they were consecrated to the tabernacle, became the national entertainment as well as the devotion of his people.

The first original of the drama was a religious worship, consisting only of a chorus, which was nothing else but a hymn to a deity. As luxury and voluptuousness prevailed over innocence and religion, this form of worship degenerated into , tragedies; in which, however, the chorus so far remembered its first office, as to brand everything that was vicious, and recommend everything that was laudable, to intercede with Heaven for the innocent, and to implore its vengeance on the criminal.

a very great respect, and to whom he communicates the satisfaction he takes in retirement; the other is a letter to me, occasioned by an ode written by my Lapland lover: this correspondent is so kind as to translate another of Scheffer's songs in a very agreeable manner. I publish them together, that the young and old may find something in the same paper which may be suitable to their respective tastes in solitude; for I know no fault in the description of ardent desires, provided they are honorable.

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You have obliged me with a very kind letter; by which I find you shift the scene of your life from the town to the country, and enjoy that mixed state which wise men both delight in and are qua lified for. Methinks most of the philosophers and moralists have run too much into extremes, in praising entirely either solitude or public life; in the former, men generally grow useless by too much rest; and, in the latter, are destroyed by too much precipitation; as waters lying still, putrefy and are good for nothing; and running violently on, do but the more mischief in their passage to others, and are swallowed up and lost the sooner themselves. Those who, like you, can make themselves useful to all states, should be like gentle streams, that not only glide through lonely vales and forests, amid the flocks and shepherds, but visit populous towns in their course, and are at once of ornament and service to them. But there is another sort of people who seem designed for solitude, those I mean who have more to hide than to show. As for my own part, I am one of those of whom Seneca says, Tum umbratiles sunt, ut putent, in turbido esse quicquid in luce est.' Some men, like pictures, are fitter for a corner than a full light: and I believe such as have a natural bent to solitude are like waters, which may be forced into fountains, and exalted to a great height, may make a much nobler figure, and a much louder noise, but after all, run more smoothly, equally, and plentifully, in their own natural course upon the ground. The consideration of this would make me very well contented with the possession only of that quiet which Cowley calls the companion of obscurity; but whoever has the Muses too for his companions can never be idle enough to be uneasy. Thus, Sir, you see I would flatter myself into a good opinion of my own way of living: Plutarch just now told me, that it is in human life as in a game at tables: one may wish Music, when thus applied, raises noble hints in he had the highest cast; but, if his chance be oththe mind of the hearer, and fills it with great con-erwise, he is even to play it as well as he can, and ceptions. It strengthens devotion, and advances make the best of it. praise into rapture; it lengthers out every act of worship, and produces more lasting and perma-"Your most obliged, and most humble Servant. nent impressions in the mind than those which accompany any transient form of words that aro uttered in the ordinary method of religious worship.-O.

Homer and Hesiod intimate to us how this art should be applied, when they represent the Muses as surrounding Jupiter and warbling their hymns about his throne. I might show, from innumerable passages in ancient writers, not only that vocal and instrumental music were made use of in their religious worship, but that their most favorite diversions were filled with songs and hymns to their respective deities. Had we frequent entertainments of this nature among us, they would not a little purify and exalt our passions, give our thoughts a proper turn, and cherish those divine impulses in the soul, which every one feels that has not stifled them by sensual and immoderate pleasures.

1

No. 406.] MONDAY, JUNE 16, 1712. Hæc studna adolescentiam alunt, senectutem oblectant, secundas res ornant, adversis solatium et perfugium præbent; delectant domi, non impediunt foris; pernoctant nobiscum, peregrinantur, rusticantur. TULL.

These studies nourish youth; delight old age; are the ornament of prosperity, the solacement and the refuge of adversity; they are delectable at home, and not burdensome abroad, they gladden us at nights, and on our journeys, and in the country.

THE following letters bear a pleasing image of the joys and satisfactions of private life. The first is from a gentleman to a friend, for whom he has

"MR. SPECTATOR,

"I am, Sir,

"The town being so well pleased with the fine picture of artless love, which nature inspired the Laplander to paint in the ode you lately printed, we were in hopes that the ingenious translator would have obliged it with the other also which Scheffer has given us; but since he has not, s much inferior hand has ventured to send you this

"It is a custom with the northern lovers to di. vert themselves with a song, while they journey through the fenry moors to pay a visit to their mistresses. This is addressed by the lover to his rein-deer, which is the creature that in that country supplies the want of horses. The circumstances which successively present themselves to him in his way, are. I believe you will think, naturally interwoven. The anxiety of absence, the gloominess of the roads, and his resolution of

frequenting only those, since those only can carry him to the object of his desires; the dissatisfaction he expresses even at the greatest swiftness with which he is carried, and his joyful surprise at an unexpected sight of his mistress as she is bathing, seem beautifully described in the original.

"If all those pretty images of rural nature are lost in the imitation, yet possibly you may think fit to let this supply the place of a long letter, when want of leisure, or indisposition for writing, will not permit our being entertained by your own hand. I propose such a time, because, though it is natural to have a fondness for what one does one's self, yet I assure you, I would not have anything of mine displace a single line of yours."

I.

Haste, my rein-deer, and let us nimbly go

Our am'rous journey through this dreary waste! Haste, my rein-deer! still, still thou art too slow, Impetuous love demands the lightning's haste.

II.

Around us far the rushy moors are spread:
Soon will the sun withdraw his cheerful ray:
Darkling and tir'd we shall the marshes tread,
No lay unsung to cheat the tedious way.
III.

The wat'ry length of these unjoyous moors
Does all the flow'ry meadows' pride excel:
Through these I fly to her my soul adores;
Ye flow'ry meadows, empty pride, farewell.
IV.

Each moment from the charmer I'm confined,
My breast is tortur'd with impatient fires;
Fly, my rein-deer, fly swifter than the wind,
Thy tardy feet wing with my fierce desires.

V.

Our pleasing toil will then be soon o'erpaid,
And thou, in wonder lost, shalt view my fair,
Admire each feature of the lovely maid,

Her artless charms, her bloom, her sprightly air.
VI.

But, lo! with graceful motion there she swims,
Gently removing each ambitious wave:
The crowding waves, transported, clasp her limbs:
When, when, oh when shall I such freedoms have?

VII.

In vain, ye envious streams, so fast ye flow,
To hide her from her lover's ardent gaze:
From every touch you more transparent grow,
And all reveal'd the beauteous wanton plays.
T.

No. 407.] TUESDAY, JUNE 17, 1712.
abest facundis gratia dictis.
OVID, Met. xiii, 127.
Eloquent words a graceful manner want.

more than once, by those who have seen Italy,
that an untraveled Englishman cannot relish all
the beauties of Italian pictures, because the pos-
tures which are expressed in them are often such
as are peculiar to that country. One who has not
seen an Italian in the pulpit, will not know what
to make of that noble gesture in Raphael's pic-
ture of St. Paul preaching at Athens, where the
apostle is represented as lifting up both his arms,
and pouring out the thunder of his rhetoric amid
an audience of pagan philosophers.
It is certain that proper gestures and vehement
exertions of the voice cannot be too much studied
by a public orator. They are a kind of comment
to what he utters, and enforce everything he says,
with weak hearers, better than the strongest argu-
ment he can make use of. They keep the audience
awake, and fix their attention to what is delivered
to them, at the same time that they show the
speaker is in earnest, and affected himself with
what he so passionately recommends to others.
Violent gestures and vociferation naturally shake
the hearts of the ignorant, and fill them with a
kind of religious horror. Nothing is more frequent
than to see women stand and tremble at the sight
of a moving preacher, though he is placed quite
out of their hearing; as in England we very fre-
quently see people lulled asleep with solid and
elaborate discourses of piety, who would be
warmed and transported out of themselves by the
bellowing and distortions of enthusiasm.

If nonsense, when accompanied with such an emotion of voice and body, has such an influence on men's minds, what might we not expect from many of those admirable discourses which are printed in our tongue, were they delivered with a becoming fervor, and with the most agreeable graces of voice and gesture!

We are told that the great Latin orator very much impaired his health by the laterum contentio, the vehemence of action, with which he used to deliver himself. The Greek orator was likewise so very famous for this particular in rhetoric, that one of his antagonists, whom he had banished from Athens, reading over the oration which had procured his banishment, and seeing his friends admire it, could not forbear asking them, if they were so much affected by the bare reading of it, how much more they would have been alarmed, had they heard him actually throwing out such a storm of eloquence?

How cold and dead a figure, in comparison of these two great men, does an orator often make at the British bar, holding up his head with the most insipid serenity, and stroking the sides of a long wig that reaches down to his middle! The truth of it is, there is often nothing more ridiculous than MOST foreign writers, who have given any cha- the gestures of an English speaker: you see some racter of the English nation, whatever vices they of them running their hands into their pockets as ascribe to it, allow, in general, that the people are far as ever they can thrust them, and others looking naturally modest. It proceeds, perhaps, from this with great attention on a piece of paper that has our national virtue, that our orators are observed nothing written on it; you may see many a smart to make less gesture or action than those of other rhetorician turning his hat in his hands, moulding countries. Our preachers stand stock-still in the it into several different cocks, examining somepulpit, and will not so much as move a finger to times the lining of it, and sometimes the button, set off the best sermons in the world. We meet during the whole course of his harangue. A deaf with the same speaking statues at our bars, and man would think he was cheapening a beaver, in all public places of debate. Our words flow when perhaps he is talking of the fate of the Brifrom us in a smooth continued stream, without tish nation. I remember when I was a young those strainings of the voice, motions of the body, man, and used to frequent Westminster-hall, there and majesty of the hand, which are so much cele- was a counselor who never pleaded without a brated in the orators of Greece and Rome. We piece of packthread in his hand, which he used to can talk of life and death in cold blood, and keep twist about a thumb or finger all the while he was our temper in a discourse which turns upon every-speaking: the wags of those days used to call it 'hing that is dear to us. Though our zeal breaks the thread of his discourse," for he was not able out in the finest tropes and figures, it is not able to utter a word without it. One of his clients, to stir a limb about us. I have heard it observed who was more merry than wise, stole it from him

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