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To be ever unconcerned, and ever looking on new objects with an endless curiosity, is a delight known only to those who are turned for speculation: nay, they who enjoy it must value things only as they are the objects of speculation, without drawing any worldly advantage to themselves from them, but just as they are what contribute to their amusement, or the improvement of the mind. I lay one night last week at Richmond; and being restless, not out of dissatisfaction, but a certain busy inclination one sometimes has, I rose at four in the morning, and took boat for London, with a resolution to rove by boat and coach for the next four-and-twenty hours, till the many objects I must needs meet with should tire my imagination, and give me an inclination to a repose more profound than I was at that time capable of. I beg people's pardon for an odd humor I am guilty of. and was often that day, which is saluting any person whom I like, whether I know him or not. This is a particularity would be tolerated in me, if they considered that the greatest pleasure I know I receive at my eyes, and that I am obliged to an agreeable person for coming abroad into my view, as another is for a visit of conversation at their own houses.

The hours of the day and night are taken up in the cities of London and Westminster, by people as different from each other as those who are born in different centuries. Men of six o'clock give way to those of nine, they of nine to the genera tion of twelve; and they of twelve disappear, and make room for the fashionable world, who have made two o'clock the noon of the day.

When we first put off from shore, we soon fell in with a fleet of gardeners, bound for the several market ports of London; and it was the most pleasing scene imaginable to see the cheerfulness with which those industrious people plied their way to a certain sale of their goods. The banks on each side are as well peopled and beautified with as agreeable plantations, as any spot on the earth; but the Thames itself, loaded with the product of each shore, added very much to the landscape. It was very easy to observe their sailing, and the countenances of the ruddy virgins, who were supercargoes, the parts of the town to which they were bound. There was an air in the purveyors for Covent-garden, who frequently converse with morning rakes, very unlike the seeming Bobriety of those bound for Stocks-market.

ing men into love for they know not whom, who are fled they know not where. This sort of woman is usually a janty slattern; she hangs on her clothes, plays her head, varies her posture, and changes place incessantly, and all with an appearance of striving at the same time to hide herself, and yet give you to understand she is in humor te laugh at you. You must have often seen the coachmen make signs with their fingers, as they drive by each other, to intimate how much they have got that day. They can carry on that lan guage to give intelligence where they are driving. In an instant my coachman took the wink to pursue; and the lady's driver gave the hint that he was going through Long-acre toward St. James's, while he whipped up James-street, we drove for King-street, to save the pass at St. Martin's-lane. The coachmen took care to meet, jostle, and threa ten each other for way, and be entangled at the end of Newport-street and Long-acre. The fright, you must believe, brought down the lady's coachdoor, and obliged her, with her mask off, to inquire into the bustle,-when she sees the man she would avoid. The tackle of the coach-window is so bad she cannot draw it up again, and she drives on, sometimes wholly discovered, and sometimes half escaped, according to the accident of carriages in her way. One of these ladies keeps her seat in a hackney-coach, as well as the best rider does on a managed horse. The laced shoe on her left foot, with a careless gesture, just appearing on the opposite cushion, held her both firm, and in a proper attitude to receive the next jolt.

As she was an excellent coach woman, many were the glances at each other which we had for an hour and a half, in all parts of the town, by the skill of our drivers; till at last my lady was conveniently lost, with notice from her coachman to ours to make off, and he should hear where she went. This chase was now at an end: and the fellow who drove her came to us, and discovered that he was ordered to come again in an hour, for that she was a silk-worm. I was surprised with this phrase, but found it was a cant among the hackney fraternity for their best customers, women who ramble twice or thrice a week from shop to shop, to turn over all the goods in town without buying anything. The silk-worms are, it seems, indulged by the tradesmen; for, though they never buy, they are ever talking of new silks, laces, and ribbons, and serve the owners in getting them customers, as their common dunners do in making them pay.

Nothing remarkable happened in our voyage; but I landed with ten sail of apricot-boats, at Strand-bridge, after having put in at Nine-Elms, The day of people of fashion began now to and taken in melons consigned by Mr. Cuffe, of break, and carts and hacks were mingled with that place to Sarah Sewell and Company, at their equipages of show and vanity; when I resolved stall in Covent garden. We arrived at Strand- to walk it, out of cheapness; but my unhappy bridge at six of the clock, and were unloading, curiosity is such, that I find it always my interest when the hackney-coachmen of the foregoing night to take coach; for some odd adventure among took their leave of each other at the Dark-house, beggars, ballad-singers, or the like, detains and to go to bed before the day was too far spent. throws me into expense. It happened so immeChimney-sweepers passed by us as we made up diately: for at the corner of Warwick street, as I to the market, and some raillery happened be- was listening to a new ballad, a ragged rascal, a tween one of the fruit-wenches and those black beggar who knew me, came up to me, and began men about the Devil and Eve, with allusion to to turn the eyes of the good company upon me, their several professions. I could not believe by telling me he was extremely poor, and should any place more entertaining than Covent-garden; die in the street for want of drink, except I immewhere I strolled from one fruit-shop to another, diately would have the charity to give him sixwith crowds of agreeable young women around pence to go into the next ale-house and save his me, who were purchasing fruit for their respective life. He urged, with a melancholy face, that all families. It was almost eight of the clock before his family had died of thirst. All the mob have I could leave that variety of objects. I took coach and followed a young lady, who tripped into another just before me, attended by her maid. I saw immediately she was of the family of the Vain-loves. There are a set of these, who, of all things, affect the play of Blindman' uf and lead

humor, and two or three began to take the jest; by which Mr. Sturdy carried his point, and let me sneak off to a coach. As I drove along, it was a pleasing reflection to see the world so prettily checkered since I left Richmond, and the scene still filling with children of a new hour. This

As

satisfaction increased as I moved toward the city:|
and gay signs, well-disposed streets, magnificent
public structures, and wealthy shops adorned with
contented faces, made the joy still rising till we
came into the center of the city, and center of the
world of trade, the Exchange of London.
other men in the crowds about me were pleased
with their hopes and bargains, I found my account
in observing them, in attention to their several
interests. I, indeed, looked upon myself as the
richest man that walked the Exchange that day;
for my benevolence made me share the gains of
every bargain that was made. It was not the least
of my satisfaction in my survey, to go up stairs,
and pass the shops of agreeable females; to ob-
serve so many pretty hands busy in the folding
of ribbons, and the utmost eagerness of agreeable
faces in the sale of patches, pins, and wires, on
each side of the counters, was an amusement in
which I could longer have indulged myself, had
not the dear creatures called to me, to ask what I
wanted, when I could not answer, only "To look
at you." I went to one of the windows which
opened to the area below, where all the several
voices lost their distinction, and rose up in a con-
fused humming; which created in me a reflection
that could not come into the mind of any but of
one a little too studious; for I said to myself with
a kind of pun in thought, "What nonsense is all
the hurry of this world to those who are above
it?" In these, or not much wiser thoughts, I had
like to have lost my place at the chop-house, where
every man, according to the natural bashfulness
or sullenness of our nation, eats in a public room
a mess of broth, or chop of meat, in dumb silence,
as if they had no pretense to speak to each other
on the foot of being men, except they were of each
other's acquaintance.

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"As I walked the other day in a fine garden, and observed the great variety of improvements in plants and flowers, beyond what they otherwise would have been, I was naturally led into a reflection upon the advantages of education, of modern culture: how many good qualities in the mind. are lost, for want of the like due care in nursing: and skillfully managing them; how many virtues. are choked by the multitude of weeds which are suffered to grow among them; how excellent parts are often starved and useless, by being planted in a wrong soil; and how very seldom do these moral. seeds produce the noble fruits which might be expected from them by a neglect of proper manuring, necessary pruning, and an artful management. of our tender inclinations and first spring of life.. These obvious speculations made me at length I went afterward to Robin's, and saw people, conclude, that there is a sort of vegetable princiwho had dined with me at the five-penny ordinary ple in the mind of every man when he comes into just before, give bills for the value of large estates; the world. In infants, the seeds lie buried and and could not but behold with great pleasure, undiscovered, till after a while they sprout forth property lodged in, and transferred in a moment in a kind of rational leaves, which are words; and from, such as would never be masters of half as in due season the flowers begin to appear in much as is seemingly in them, and given from variety of beautiful colors, and all the gay pictures them, every day they live. But before five in the of youthful fancy and imagination; at last the afternoon I left the city, came to my common scene fruit knits and is formed, which is green perhaps of Covent garden, and passed the evening at Will's at first, sour and unpleasant to the taste, and not in attending the discourses of several sets of fit to be gathered: till, ripened by due care and people, who relieved each other within my hearing application, it discovers itself in all the noble proon the subjects of cards, dice, love, learning, and ductions of philosophy, mathematics, close reasonpolitics. The last subject kept me till I heard the ing, and handsome argumentation. These fruits, streets in the possession of the bellman, who had when they arrive at a just maturity, and are of a now the world to himself, and cried, "Past two good kind, afford the most vigorous nourishment o'clock." This roused me from my seat; and I to the minds of men. I reflected further on the went to my lodgings, led by a light, whom I put intellectual leaves before-mentioned, and found into the discourse of his private economy, and almost as great a variety among them, as in the made him give me an account of the charge, hazard, vegetable world. I could easily observe the smooth profit, and loss, of a family that depended upon a shining Italian leaves, the nimble French aspen link, with a design to end my trivial day with the always in motion, the Greek and Latin evergreens, generosity of six-pence, instead of a third part of the Spanish myrtle, the English oak, the Scotch that sum. When I came to my chambers, I wrote thistle, the Irish shambrogue, the prickly German down these minutes; but was at a loss what and Dutch holly, the Polish and Russian nettle, instruction I should propose to my reader from beside a vast number of exotics imported from the enumeration of so many insignificant matters Asia, Africa, and America. I saw several barren and occurrences; and I thought it of great use, if plants, which bore only leaves, without any hopes they could learn with me to keep their minds open of flower or fruit. The leaves of some were frato gratification, and ready to receive it from any grant and well-shaped, of others ill-scented and thing it meets with. This one circumstance will irregular. I wondered at a set of old whimsical make every face you see give you the satisfaction botanists, who spent their whole lives in the conyou now take in beholding that of a friend; will templation of some withered Egyptian, Coptic, make every object a pleasing one; will make all Armenian, or Chinese leaves; while others made the good which arrives to any man, an increase of it their business to collect, in voluminous herbals, happiness to yourself.-T. all the several leaves of some one tree. The flowers afforded a most diverting entertainment, in a wonderful variety of figures, colors, and scents; however, most of them withered soon, or at best

66

"Your most humble Servant."

No. 456.] WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 13, 1712. De quo libelli in celeberrimis locis proponuntur, huic ne perire quidem tacite conceditur.

TULL

The man whose conduct is publicly arraigned is not suffered even to be undone quietly.

are but annuals. Some professed florists make" 'MR. SPECTATOR, them their constant study and employment, and "I desire you will print this in italic, so as it despise all fruit; and now and then a few fanciful may be generally taken notice of. It is designed people spend all their time in the cultivation of a only to admonish all persons, who speak either at single tulip, or a carnation. But the most agreea- the bar, pulpit, or any public assembly whatsoever, ble amusement seems to be the well-choosing, mix how they discover their ignorance in the use of ing, and binding together, these flowers in pleasing similes. There are, in the pulpit itself, as well as nosegays, to present to ladies. The scent of Ital-in other places, such gross abuses in this kind, ian flowers is observed, like their other perfumes, that I give this warning to all I know. I shall to be too strong, and to hurt the brain; that of bring them for the future before your spectatorial the French with glaring, gaudy colors, yet faint authority. On Sunday last, one, who shall be and languid; German and northern flowers have nameless, reproving several of his congregation for little or no smell, or sometimes an unpleasant one. standing at prayers, was pleased to say, 'One The ancients had a secret to give a lasting beauty, would think, like the elephant, you had no knees.' color, and sweetness, to some of their choice flowers, Now I, myself, saw an elephant, in Bartholomewwhich flourish to this day, and which few of the fair, kneel down to take on his back the ingenious moderns can effect. These are becoming enough, Mr. William Penkethman. and agreeable in their season, and do often handsomely adorn an entertainment; but an over-fondness of them seems to be a disease. It rarely happens to find a plant vigorous enough to have (like an orange tree) at once beautiful and shining leaves, fragrant flowers, and delicious, nourishing fruit. 'Sir, yours," etc. "DEAR SPEC. August 6, 1712. "You have given us, in your Spectator of Saturday last, a very excellent discourse upon the force of custom, and its wonderful efficacy in making everything pleasant to us. I cannot deny but that I received above two-pennyworth of instruction from your paper, and in the general was very well pleased with it: but I am, without a compliment, sincerely troubled that I cannot exactly be of your opinion, that it makes everything pleasing to us. In short, I have the honor to be yoked to a young lady, who is, in plain English, for her standing, a very eminent scold. She began to break her mind, very freely, both to me and to her servants, about two months after our nuptials; and, though I have been accustomed to this humor of hers these three years, yet I do not know what is the matter with me, but I am no more delighted with it than I was at the very first. I have advised with her relations about her, and they all tell me that her mother and her grandmother before her were both taken much after the same manner; so that, since it runs in the blood, I have but small hopes of her recovery. I should be glad to have a little of your advice in this matter. I would not willingly trouble you to contrive how it may be a pleasure to me; if you will but put me in a way that I may bear it with

indifference, I shall rest satisfied.

"Dear Spec.,

64

Your very humble Servant."

"P. S. I must do the poor girl the justice to let you know that this match was none of her own choosing (or indeed of mine either); in consideration of which, I avoid giving her the least provocation; and, indeed, we live better together than usually folks do who hated one another when they were first joined. To evade the sin against parents, or at least to extenuate it, my dear rails at my father and mother, and I curse hers for making

the match."

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OTWAY, in his tragedy of Venice Preserved, has described the misery of a man whose effects are in the hands of the law, with great spirit. The bitterness of being the scorn and laughter of base minds, the anguish of being insulted by men har dened beyond the sense of shame or pity, and the injury of a man's fortune being wasted, under pretense of justice, are excellently aggravated in the following speech of Pierre to Jaffier:

I pass'd this very moment by thy doors, And found them guarded by a troop of villains; The sons of public rapine were destroying, They told me, by the sentence of the law. They had commission to seize all thy fortune; Nay, more, Priuli's cruel hand had signed it. Here stood a ruffian with a horrid face, Lording it o'er a pile of massy plate, Tumbled into a heap for public sale; There was another making villainous jests At thy undoing. He had ta'en possession Of all thy ancient most domestic ornaments; Rich hangings intermix'd and wrought with gold; The very bed, which on thy wedding night Received thee to the arms of Belvidera, The scene of all thy joys, was violated By the coarse hands of filthy dungeon villains, And thrown among the common lumber. condition of bankruptcy. The calamity which Nothing, indeed, can be more unhappy than the happens to us by ill fortune, or by the injury of others, has in it some consolation; but what arises from our own misbehavior, or error, is the state siders not only an ample fortune, but even the When a man conof the most exquisite sorrow. very necessaries of life, his pretense to food itself, at the mercy of his creditors, he cannot but look

upon himself in the state of the dead, with his formed by his adversaries instead of his friends. case thus much worse, that the last office is perFrom this hour the cruel world does not only take possession of his whole fortune, but even of everything else which had no relation to it. All his indifferent actions have new interpretations put upon them; and those whom he has favored in his former life, discharge themselves of their obligations to him, by joining in the reproaches of his enemies. It is almost incredible that it should be so; but it is too often seen that there is a pride mixed with the impatience of the creditor; and there are who would rather recover their own by the downfall of a prosperous man, than be discharged to the common satisfaction of themselves and their creditors. The wretched man, who was

lately master of abundance, is now under the direction of others; and the wisdom, economy, good sense, and skill in human life before, by reason of his present misfortune, are of no use to him in the disposition of anything. The incapacity of an infant, or a lunatic, is designed for his provision and accommodation; but that of a bankrupt, with out any mitigation in respect of the accidents by which it arrived, is calculated for his utter ruin, except there be a remainder ample enough, after the discharge of his creditors, to bear also the expense of rewarding those by whose means the effect of all this labor was transferred from him. This man is to look on and see others giving directions upon what terms and conditions his goods are to be purchased; and all this usually done, not with an air of trustees to dispose of his effects, but destroyers to divide and tear them to pieces.

There is something sacred in misery to great and good minds; for this reason all wise lawgivers have been extremely tender how they let loose even the man who has right on his side, to act with any mixture of resentment against the defendant. Virtuous and modest men, though they be used with some artifice, and have it in their power to avenge themselves, are slow in the application of that power, and are ever constrained to go into rigorous measures. They are careful to demonstrate themselves not only persons injured, but also that to bear it longer would be a means to make the offender injure others before they proceed. Such men clap their hands upon their hearts, and consider what it is to have at their mercy the life of a citizen. Such would have it to say to their own souls, if possible, that they were merciful when they could have destroyed, rather than when it was in their power to have spared a man, they destroyed. This is a due to the common calamity of human life, due in some measure to our very enemies. They who scruple doing the least injury are cautious of exacting the utmost justice.

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Let any one who is conversant in the variety of human life reflect upon it, and he will find the man who wants mercy has a taste of no enjoyment of any kind. There is a natural disrelish of every thing which is good in his very nature, and he is born an enemy to the world. He is ever extremely partial to himself in all his actions, and has no sense of iniquity but from the punishment which shall attend it. The law of the land is his gospel, and all his cases of conscience are determined by his attorney Such men know not what it is to gladden the heart of a miserable man; that riches are the instruments of serving the purposes of heaven or hell, according to the disposition of the possessor. The wealthy can torment or gratify all who are in their power, and choose to do one or other, as they are affected with love, or hatred to mankind. As for such who are insensible of the concerns of others, but merely as they affect themselves, these men are to be valued only for their mortality, and as we hope better things from their heirs. I could not but read with great delight a letter from an eminent citizen, who has failed, to one who was intimate with him in his better fortune, and able by his countenance to retrieve his lost condition.

"SIR,

"It is in vain to multiply words and make apologies for what is never to be defended by the best advocate in the world, the guilt of being unfortunate. All that a man in my condition can do or say, will be received with prejudice by the generality of mankind, but I hope not with you; you have been a great instrument in helping me to get

what I have lost; and I know (for that reason, as well as kindness to me) you cannot but be in pain to see me undone. To show you I am not a man incapable of bearing calamity, I will, though a poor man, lay aside the distinction between us, and talk with the frankness we did when we were nearer to an equality; as all I do will be received with prejudice, all you do will be looked upon with partiality. What I desire of you is, that you, who are courted by all, would smile upon me, who am shunned by all. Let that grace and favor which your fortune throws upon you, be turned to make up the coldness and indifference that is used toward me. All good and generous men will have an eye of kindness for me for my own sake, and the rest of the world will regard me for yours. There is a happy contagion in riches, as well as a destructive one in poverty: the rich can make rich without parting with any of their store; and the conversation of the poor makes men poor, though they borrow nothing of them. How this is to be accounted for I know not; but men's estimation follows us according to the company we keep. If you are what you were to me, you can go a great way toward my recovery; if you are not, my good fortune, if it ever returns, will return by slower reproaches.

"I am, Sir,

"Your affectionate Friend

"and humble Servant.'

This was answered by a condescension that did not, by long impertinent professions of kindness, insult his distress, but was as follows:

"DEAR TOM,

"I am very glad to hear that you have heart enough to begin the world a second time. I assure you, I do not think your numerous family at all diminished (in the gifts of nature, for which I have ever so much admired them) by what has so lately happened to you. I shall not only countebut shall accommodate you with a considerable nance your affairs with my appearance for you, sum at common interest for three years. know I could make more of it; but I have so great a love for you, that I can wave opportunities of gain to help you; for I do not care whether they say of me after I am dead, that I had a hundred or fifty thousand pounds more than I wanted when I was living. "Your obliged humble Servant."

T.

You

No. 457.] THURSDAY, AUGUST 14, 1712. -Multa et præclara minantis.-HOR. 2 Sat. iii. 9. Seeming to promise something wondrous great.

I SHALL this day lay before my readers a letter written by the same hand with that of last Friday, which contained proposals for a printed newspaper that should take in the whole circle of the penny-post.

"SIR,

"The kind reception you gave my last Friday's letter, in which I broached my project of a newspaper, encourages me to lay before you two or three more; for, you must know, Sir, that we look upon you to be the Lowndes* of the learned world, and cannot think any scheme practicable or rational before you have approved of it, though all the

*Secretary at this time of the Treasury, and director of the Mint.

money we raise by it is on our own funds, and for our private use.

have often thought that a news-letter of whispers, written every post, and sent about the kingdom, after the same manner as that of Mr. Dyer, Mr. Dawkes, or any other epistolary historian, might be highly gratifying to the public, as well as beneficial to the author. By whispers I mean those pieces of news which are communicated as secrets, and which bring a double pleasure to the hearer; first, as they are private history; and, in the next place, as they have always in them a dish of scandal. These are the two chief qualifications in an article of news, which recommend it, in a more than ordinary manner, to the ears of the curious. Sickness of persons in high posts, twilight visits paid and received by ministers of state, clandestine courtships and marriages, secret amours, losses at play, applications for places, with their respective successes or repulses, are the materials in which I chiefly intend to deal. I have two persons, that are each of them the representative of a species, who are to furnish me with those whispers which I intend to convey to my correspondents. The first of these is Peter Hush, descended from the ancient family of the Hushes. The other is the old Lady Blast, who has a very numerous tribe of daughters in the two great cities of London and Westminster. Peter Hush has a whispering-hole in most of the great coffee-houses about town. If you are alone with him in a wide room, he carries you up into a corner of it, and speaks in your ear. I have seen Peter seat himself in a company of seven or eight persons, whom he never saw before in his life; and, after having looked about to see there was no one that overheard him, has communicated to them in a low voice, and under the seal of secrecy, the death of a great man in the country, who was, perhaps, a fox-hunting the very moment this account was given of him. If, upon your entering a coffee-house, you see a circle of heads bending over the table, and lying close to one another, it is ten to one but my friend Peter is among them. I have known Peter publishing the whisper of the day by eight o'clock in the morning at Garraway's, by twelve at Will's, and before two at the Smyrna. When Peter has thus effectually launched a secret, I have been very well pleased to hear people whispering it to one another at second-hand, and spreading it about as their own; for you must know, Sir, the great incentive to whispering is the ambition which every one has of being thought in the secret, and being looked upon as a man who has access to greater people than one would imag ine. After having given you this account of Peter Hush, I proceed to that virtuous lady, the old Lady Blast, who is to communicate to me the private transactions of the crimp-table, with all the arcana of the fair sex. The Lady Blast, you must understand, has such a particular malignity in her whisper, that it blights like an easterly wind, and withers every reputation it breathes upon. She has a particular knack at making private weddings, and last winter married about five women of quality to their footmen. Her whisper can make an innocent young woman big with child, or fill a healthful young fellow with distempers that are not to be named. She can turn a visit into an intrigue, and a distant salute into an assignation. She can beggar the wealthy, and degrade the noble. In short, she can whisper men base or foolish, jealous or ill-natured; or, if occasion requires, can tell you the slips of their great grandmothers, and traduce the memory of honest coachmen that have been in their graves above these hundred years. By these and the like helps, I question

not but I shall furnish out a very handsome news letter. If you approve my project, I shall begin to whisper by the very next post, and question not but every one of my customers will be very well pleased with me, when he considers that every piece of news I send him is a word in his ear, and lets him into a secret.

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Having given you a sketch of this project, I shall, in the next place, suggest to you another for a mouthly pamphlet, which I shall likewise submit to your spectatorial wisdom. I need not tell you, Sir, that there are several authors in France, Germany, and Holland, as well as in our own country, who publish every month what they call, An Account of the Works of the Learned, in which they give us an abstract of all such books as are printed in any part of Europe. Now, Sir, it is my design to publish every month, An Account of the Works of the Unlearned. Several late productions of my own countrymen, who, many of them, make a very eminent figure in the illiterate world, encourage me in this undertaking. I may in this work possibly make a review of several pieces which have appeared in the foreign accounts above-mentioned, though they ought not to have been taken notice of in works which bear such a title. I may likewise take into consideration such pieces as appear, from time to time, under the names of those gentlemen who compli ment one another in public assemblies by the title of the learned gentlemen.' Our party-authors will also afford me a great variety of subjects, not to mention the editors, commentators, and others, who are often men of no learning, or, what is as bad, of no knowledge. I shall not enlarge upon this hint; but, if you think anything can be made of it, I shall set about it with all the pains and application that so useful a work deserves.-C. "I am ever,

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I COULD not but smile at the account that was yesterday given me of a modest young gentleman, who, being invited to an entertainment, though he was not used to drink, had not the confidence to refuse his glass in his turn, when on a sudden he grew so flustered, that he took all the talk of the table into his own hands, abused every one of the company, and flung a bottle at the gentleman's head who treated him. This has given me occasion to reflect upon the ill effects of a vicious modesty, and to remember the saying of Brutus, as it is quoted by Plutarch, that "the person has had but an ill education, who has not been taught to deny anything." This false kind of modesty has, perhaps, betrayed both sexes into as many vices as the most abandoned impudence; and is the more inexcusable to reason, because it acts to gratify others rather than itself, and is punished with a kind of remorse, not only like other vicious habits when the crime is over, but even at the very time that it is committed.

Nothing is more amiable than true modesty, and nothing is more contemptible than the false. The one guards virtue, the other betrays it. True modesty is ashamed to do anything that is repugnant to the rules of right reason: false modesty is ashamed to do anything that is opposite to

*Mr. Michael de la Roche, 38 vols. 8vo. in Engl. under dif ferent titles, and in Fr.8 tomes, 24mo.

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