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his whole reign. He would receive visits from fools and half madmen; and at times I have met with people who have boxed, fought at back sword, and taken poison before King Charles II. In a word, he was so pleasant a man, that no one could be sorrowful under his government. This made him capable of baffling, with the greatest ease imaginable, all suggestions of jealousy; and the people could not entertain notions of anything terrible in him, whom they saw every way agreeable. This scrap of the familiar part of that prince's history I thought fit to send you, in compliance to the request you lately made to your correspondents. "I am, Sir,

"Your most humble Servant."

No. 463.] THURSDAY, AUGUST 21, 1712.

Omnia quæ sensu volvuntur vota diurno,
Pectore sopito reddit amica quies.
Tenator defessa toro cum membra reponit,
Mens tamen ad sylvas et sua lustra redit:
Judicibus lites, aurigis somnia currus,
Vanaque nocturnis meta cavetur equis.
Me quoque Musarum studium sub nocte silenti
Artibus assuetis sollicitare solet.-CLAUD.

In sleep, when fancy is let loose to play,
Our dreams repeat the wishes of the day.
Though farther toil his tired limbs refuse,
The dreaming hunter still the chase pursues.
The judge abed dispenses still the laws,
And sleeps again o'er the unfinish'd cause.
The dozing racer hears his chariot roll,
Smacks the vain whip, and shuns the fancied goal.
Me too the Muses, in the silent night,

With wonted chimes of jingling verse delight.

I was lately entertaining myself with comparing Homer's balance, in which Jupiter is represented as weighing the fates of Hector and Achilles, with a passage of Virgil, wherein that deity is introduced as weighing the fates of Turnus and Eneas. I then considered how the same way of thinking prevailed in the eastern parts of the world, as in those noble passages of Scripture, wherein we are told, that the great king of Babylon, the day before his death, had been "weighed in the balance, and found wanting." In other places of the holy writings, the Almighty is described as weighing the mountains in scales, making the weight for the winds, knowing the balancings of the clouds; and in others as weighing the actions of men, and laving their calamities together in a balance. Milton, as I have observed in a former paper, had an eye to several of these foregoing instances in that beautiful description, wherein he represents the archangel and the evil spirit as addressing themselves for the combat, but parted by the balance which appeared in the heavens, and weighed the consequences of such a battle.

The Eternal, to prevent such horrid fray,
Hung forth in heav'n his golden scales, yet seen
Betwixt Astrea and the Scorpion sign;
Wherein all things created first he weigh'd,
The pendulous round earth, with balanc'd air,

In counterpoise, now ponders all events,

Battles and realms; in these he put two weights,

The sequel each of parting and of fight,

The latter quick up flew, and kick'd the beam;
Which Gabriel spying, thus bespoke the fiend:

"Satan, I know thy strength, and thou know'st mine;
Neither our own, but giv'n. What folly then
To boast what arms can do, since thine no more
Than heaven permits; nor mine, though doubled now
To trample thee as mire! For proof look up,

And read thy lot in yon celestial sign,

sleep, and mingling themselves with my ordinary ideas, raised in my imagination a very odd kind of vision. I was, methought, replaced in my study, and seated in my elbow-chair, where I had indulged the foregoing speculations with my lamp burning by me as usual. While I was here medi tating on several subjects of morality, and considering the nature of many virtues and vices, as materials for those discourses with which I daily entertain the public, I saw, methought, a pair of golden scales hanging by a chain of the same metal, over the table that stood before me; when, on a sudden, there were great heaps of weights thrown down on each side of them. I found, upon examining these weights, they showed the value of everything that is in esteem among men. I made an essay of them, by putting the weight of wisdom in one scale, and that of riches in another: upon which the latter, to show its comparative lightness, immediately flew up and kicked the beam.

But, before I proceed, I must inform my reader, that these weights did not exert their natural grav. ity till they were laid in the golden balance, insomuch that I could not guess which was light or heavy while I held them in my hand. This I found by several instances: for upon my laying a weight in one of the scales, which was inscribed with the word "Eternity," though I threw in that of Time, Prosperity, Affliction, Wealth, Poverty, Interest, Success, with many other weights which in my hand seemed very ponderous, they were not able to stir the opposite balance; nor could they have prevailed, though assisted with the weight of the Sun, the Stars, and the Earth.

Upon emptying the scales, I laid several titles and honors, with Pomps, Triumphs, and many weights of the like nature, in one of them; and seeing a little glittering weight lie by me, I threw it accidentally into the other scale, when, to my great surprise, it proved so exact a counterpoise, that it kept the balance in an equilibrium. This little glittering weight was inscribed upon the edges of it with the word "Vanity." I found there were several other weights which were equally heavy, and exact counterpoise to one another: a few of them I tried, as Avarice and Poverty, Riches and Content, with some others.

There were likewise several weights that were of the same figure, and seemed to correspond with each other, but were entirely different when thrown into the scales; as Religion and Hypocrisy, Pedantry and Learning, Wit and Vivacity, Superstition and Devotion, Gravity and Wisdom, with many others.

I observed one particular weight lettered on both sides: and, upon applying myself to the reading of it, I found on one side written, “In the dialect of men," and underneath it," Calamities;" on the other side was written, "In the language of the gods," and underneath, "Blessings." I found the intrinsic value of this weight to be much greater than I imagined, for it overpowered Health, Wealth, Good-fortune, and many other weights, which were much more ponderous in my hand than the other.

There is a saying among the Scotch, that an ounce of mother-wit is worth a pound of clergy: I was sensible of the truth of this saying, when I saw the difference between the weight of Natural Parts and that of Learning. The observations

Where thou art weighed, and shown how light, how weak, which I made upon these two weights opened to

If thou resist." The fiend looked up, and knew
His mounted scale aloft; nor more; but fled
Murm'ring, and with him fled the shades of night.

These several amusing thoughts, having taken possession of my mind some time before I went to

me a new field of discoveries; for, notwithstanding the weight of the Natural Parts was much heavier than that of Learning, I observed that it weighed a hundred times heavier than it did be fore, when I put Learning into the same scale

man. Then said I, wisdom is better than strength; nevertheless, the poor man's wisdom is despised, and his words are not heard."

with it. I made the same observation upon Faith | the city; yet no man remembered that same poor and Morality; for, notwithstanding the latter outweighed the former separately, it received a thousand times more additional weight from its conjunction with the former, than what it had by itself. This odd phenomenon showed itself in other particulars, as in Wit and Judgment, Philosophy and Religion, Justice and Humanity, Zeal and Charity, depth of Sense and perspicuity of Style, with innumerable other particulars too long to be mentioned in this paper.

As a dream seldom fails of dashing seriousness with impertinence, mirth with gravity, methought I made several other experiments of a more ludicrous nature, by one of which I found that an English octavo was very often heavier than a French folio; and, by another, that an old Greek or Latin author weighed down a whole library of moderns. Seeing one of the Spectators lying by me, I had it into one of the scales, and flung a two-penny piece into the other. The reader will not inquire into the event, if he remembers the first trial which I have recorded in this paper. I afterward threw both the sexes into the balance: but, as it is not for my interest to disoblige either of them, I shall desire to be excused from telling the result of this experiment. Having an opportunity of this nature in my hands, I could not forbear throwing into one scale the principles of a Tory, and into the other those of a Whig; but, as I have all along declared this to be a neutral paper, I shall likewise desire to be silent under this head also; though, upon examining one of the weights I saw the word "TEKEL" engraven on it in capital letters.

I made many other experiments; and, though I have not room for them all in this day's speculation, I may perhaps reserve them for another. I shall only add, that, upon my awaking, I was sorry to find my golden scales vanished; but resolved for the future to learn this lesson from them, not to despise or value any things for their appearances, but to regulate my esteen and passions toward them according to their real and intrinsic value.-C.

No. 464.] FRIDAY, AUGUST 22, 1712.

Auream quisquis mediocritatem
Diligit, tutus caret obsoleti
Sordibus tecti, caret invidenda

Sobrius aula.-HOR. 2 Od. x, 5.
The golden mean, as she's too nice to dwell
Among the ruins of a filthy cell,
So is her modesty withal as great,

To balk the envy of a princely seat.-NORRIS. I AM wonderfully pleased when I meet with any passage in an old Greek and Latin author, that is not blown upon, and which I have never met with in a quotation. Of this kind is a beautiful saying in Theognis: "Vice is covered by wealth, and virtue by poverty;" or, to give it in the verbal translation, "Among men there are some who have their vices concealed by wealth, and others who have their virtues concealed by poverty." Every man's observation will supply him with instances of rich men, who have several faults and defects that are overlooked, if not entirely hidden, by means of their riches; and, I think, we cannot find a more natural description of a poor man, whose merits are lost in his poverty, than that in the words of the wise man: "There was a little city, and few men within it, and there came a great king against it, and besieged it, and built great bulwarks against it. Now there was found in it a poor wise man, and he, by his wisdom, delivered

The middle condition seems to be the most advantageously situated for the gaining of wisdom. Poverty turns our thoughts too much upon the supplying of our wants, and riches upon enjoying our superfluities; and, as Cowley has said in an other case, "It is hard for a man to keep a steady eye upon truth, who is always in a battle or a triumph."

duran

If we regard poverty and wealth, as they are apt to produce virtues or vices in the mind of man, one may observe that there is a set of each of these growing out of poverty, quite different from that which rises out of wealth. Humility and patience, industry and temperance are very often the good qualities of a poor man. ity and good-nature, maguanimity and a sense of honor, are as often the qualifications of the rich. On the contrary, poverty is apt to betray a man into envy, riches into arrogance. Poverty is too often attended with fraud, vicious compliance, repining, murmur, and discontent; riches expose a man to pride and luxury, a foolish elation of heart, and too great a fondness for the present world. In short, the middle condition is most eligible to the man who would improve himself in virtue; as I have before shown, it is the most advantageous for the gaining of knowledge. It was upon this consideration that Agur founded his prayer, which, for the wisdom of it, is recorded in holy writ. "Two things have I required of thee; deny me them not before I die. Remove far from me vanity and lies; give me neither poverty nor riches; feed me with food convenient for me: lest I be full and deny thee, and say, Who is the Lord? or lest I be poor and steal, and take the name of my God in vain."

I shall fill the remaining part of my paper with a very pretty allegory, which is wrought into a play by Aristophanes, the Greek comedian. It seems originally designed as a satire upon the rich, though, in some parts of it, it is, like the foregoing discourse, a kind of comparison between wealth and poverty.

Chremylus, who was an old and a good man, and withal exceeding poor, being desirous to leave some riches to his son, consults the oracle of Apollo upon the subject. The oracle bids him follow the first man he should see upon his going out of the temple. The person he chanced to see was to appearance an old, blind, sordid man, but, upon his following him from place to place, he at last found, by his own confession, that he was Plutus, the god of riches, and that he was just come out of the house of a miser. Plutus further told him, that when he was a boy, he used to declare, that as soon as he came to age he would distribute wealth to no one but virtuous and just men; upon which Jupiter, considering the pernicious consequences of such a resolution, took his sight away from him, and left him to stroll about the world in the blind condition wherein Chremylus beheld him. With much ado Chremylus prevailed upon him to go to his house, where he met an old woman in a tattered raiment, who had been his guest for many years, and whose name was Poverty. The old woman refusing to turn out so easily as he would have her, he threatened to banish her not only from his own house, but out of all Greece, if she made any more words upon the matter. Poverty on this occasion pleads her cause very notably, and represents to her landlord, that, should she be driven out of the country, all their trades, arts, and sciences, would be driven

out with her; and that if every one was rich, they would never be supplied with those pomps, or naments, and conveniences of life, which made riches desirable. She likewise represented to him the several advantages which she bestowed upon her votaries in regard to their shape, their health, and their activity, by preserving them from gouts, dropsies, unwieldiness, and intemperance. But whatever she had to say for herself, she was at last forced to troop off. Chremylus immediately considered how he might restore Plutus to his sight; and, in order to it, conveyed him to the temple of Esculapius, who was famous for cures and miracles of this nature. By this means, the deity recovered his eyes, and began to make a right use of them, by enriching every one that was distinguished by piety toward the gods, and justice toward men; and at the same time by tak-that Latimer, one of the glorious army of martyrs, ing away his gifts from the impious and undeserving. This produces several merry incidents, till in the last act Mercury descends with great complaints from the gods, that since the good men were grown rich, they had received no sacrifices; which is confirmed by a priest of Jupiter, who enters with a remonstrance, that since this late innovation he was reduced to a starving condition, and could not live upon his office. Chremylus, who in the beginning of the play was religious in his poverty, concludes it with a proposal, which was relished by all the good men who were now grown rich as well as himself, that they should carry Plutus in a solemn procession to the temple, and install him in the place of Jupiter. This allegory instructed the Athenians in two points; first, as it vindicated the conduct of Providence in its ordinary distributions of wealth; and in the next place, as it showed the great tendency of riches to corrupt the morals of those who possessed them. C.

No. 465.] SATURDAY, AUGUST 23, 1712.

Qua ratione queas traducere leniter ævum;
Ne te semper inops agitet vexetque cupido;
Ne pavor, et rerum mediocriter utilium spes.

HOR. 1 Ep. xviii. 97.

cases by which we are to regulate our lives, it is the greatest absurdity to be wavering and unsettled, without closing with that side which appears the most safe and the most probable. The first rule, therefore, which I shall lay down, is this; that when by reading or discourse we find ourselves thoroughly convinced of the truth of any article, and of the reasonableness of our belief in it, we should never after suffer ourselves to call it in question. We may, perhaps, forget the arguments which occasioned our conviction, but we ought to remember the strength they had with us, and therefore still to retain the conviction which they once produced. This is no more than what we do in every common art or science; nor is it possible to act otherwise, considering the weakness and limitation of our intellectual faculties. It was thus who introduced the reformation in England, behaved himself in that great conference which was managed between the most learned among the Protestants and Papists in the reign of Queen Mary. This venerable old man, knowing how his abilities were impaired by age, and that it was impossible for him to recollect all those reasons which had directed him in the choice of his religion, left his companions, who were in the full possession of their parts and learning, to baffle and confound their antagonists by the force of reason. As for himself, he only repeated to his adversaries the articles in which he firmly believed, and in the profession of which he was determined to die. It is in this manner that the mathematician proceeds upon propositions which he has once demonstrated; and though the demonstration may have slipped out of his memory, he builds upon the truth, because he knows it was demonstrated. This rule is absolutely necessary for weaker minds, and in some measure for men of the greatest abilities; but to these last I would propose, in the second place, that they should lay up in their memories, and always keep by them in readiness, those arguments which appear to them of the greatest strength, and which cannot be got over by all the doubts and cavils of infidelity.

wish. It is very certain, that a man of sound reason cannot forbear closing with religion upon an impartial examination of it; but at the same time it is as certain that faith is kept alive in us, and gathers strength from practice more than from speculation.

But, in the third place, there is nothing which strengthens faith more than morality. Faith and How you may glide with gentle ease Adown the current of your days; morality naturally produce each other. A man is Nor vex'd by mean and low desires, quickly convinced of the truth of religion, who Nor warm'd by wild ambitious fires; finds it is not against his interest that it should By hope alarm'd, depress'd by fear, For things but little worth your care.-FRANCIS. be true. The pleasure he receives at present and the happiness which he promises himself from it HAVING endeavored in my last Saturday's paper hereafter, will both dispose him very powerfully to show the great excellency of faith, I shall here to give credit to it, according to the ordinary obconsider what are the proper means of strength-servation, that we are easy to believe what we ening and confirming it in the mind of man. Those who delight in reading books of controversy, which are written on both sides of the question on points of faith, do very seldom arrive at a fixed and settled habit of it. They are one day entirely convinced of its important truths, and the next meet with something that shakes and disturbs them. The doubt which was laid revives again, and shows itself in new difficulties, and that generally for this reason, because the mind, which is perpetually tost in controversies and disputes, is apt to forget the reasons which once set it at rest, and to be disquieted with any former perplexity, when it appears in a new shape, or is started by a different hand. As nothing is more laudable than an inquiry after truth, so nothing is more irrational than to pass away our whole lives, without determining ourselves one way or other, in those points which are of the last importance to us. There are indeed many things from which we may withhold our assent; but, in

There is still another method, which is more persuasive than any of the former; and that is an habitual adoration of the Supreme Being, as well in constant acts of mental worship, as in outward forms. The devout man does not only believe, but feels there is a Deity. He has actual sensations of him; his experience concurs with his reason; he sees him more and more in all his intercourses with him, and even in this life almost loses his faith in conviction.

The last method which I shall mention for the giving life to a man's faith, is frequent retirement from the world, accompanied with religious medi tation. When a man thinks of anything in the darkness of the night, whatever deep impressions

it may make in his mind, they are apt to vanish as soon as the day breaks about him. The light and noise of the day, which are perpetually soliciting his senses, and calling off his attention, wear out of his mind the thoughts that imprinted themselves in it, with so much strength, during the silence and darkness of the night. A man finds the same difference as to himself in a crowd and in a solitude: the mind is stunned and dazzled amidst that variety of objects which press upon her in a great city. She cannot apply herself to the consideration of those things which are of the utmost concern to her. The cares or pleasures of the world strike in with every thought, and a multitude of vicious examples gives a kind of justification to our folly. In our retirements everything disposes us to be serious. In courts and cities we are entertained with the works of men; in the country with those of God. One is the province of art, the other of nature. Faith and devotion naturally grow in the mind of every reasonable man, who sees the impressions of divine power and wisdom in every object on which he casts his eye. The Supreme Being has made the best arguments for his own existence, in the formation of the heavens and the earth; and these are arguments which a man of sense cannot forbear attending to, who is out of the noise and hurry of human affairs. Aristotle says, that should a man live under ground, and there converse with works of art and mechanism, and should afterward be brought up into the open day, and see the several glories of the heaven and earth, he would immediately pronounce them the works of such a being as we define God to be. The psalmist has very beautiful strokes of poetry to this purpose, in that exalted strain: The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament showeth his handy-work. One day telleth another; and one night certifieth another. There is neither speech nor language; but their voices are heard among them. Their sound is gone out into all lands; and their words into the ends of the world." As such a bold and sublime manner of thinking furnishes very noble matter for an ode, the reader may see it wrought into the following

one:

I.

The spacious firmament on high,
With all the blue ethereal sky,
And spangled heavens, a shining frame,
Their great original proclaim;

Th' unwearied sun from day to day,
Does his Creator's power display,

And publishes to every land

The work of an Almighty hand.

II.

Soon as the evening shades prevail,
The moon takes up the wondrous tale,
And nightly to the listening earth
Repeats the story of her birth:
While all the stars that round her burn,
And all the planets in their turn,
Confirm the tidings as they roll,

And spread the truth from pole to pole
III.

What though, in solemn silence all
Move round the dark terrestrial ball?
What though no real voice or sound
Amid their radiant orbs be found?
In reason's ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious voice;
Forever singing as they shine,
"The Hand that made us is divine."

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WHEN Æneas, the hero of Virgil, is lost in the wood, and a perfect stranger in the place on which he is landed, he is accosted by a lady in a habit for the chase. She inquires of him, whether he has seen pass by that way any young woman dressed as she was? whether she were following the sport in the wood, or any other way employed, according to the custom of huntresses? The hero answers with the respect due to the beautiful appearance she made; tells her he saw no such person as she inquired for; but intimates that he knows her to be of the deities, and desires she would conduct a stranger. Her form, from her first appearance, manifested she was more than mortal; but, though she was certainly a goddess the poet does not make her known to be the god dess of beauty until she moved. All the charms of an agreeable person are then in their highest exertion; every limb and feature appears with its respective grace. It is from this observation that I cannot help being so passionate an admirer as I am of good dancing. As all art is an imitation of nature, this is an imitation of nature in its highest excellence, and at a time when she is most agreeable. The business of dancing is to display beauty; and for that reason all distor tions and mimicries, as such, are what raise aversion instead of pleasure; but things that are in themselves excellent, are ever attended with imposture and false imitation. Thus, as in poetry there are laboring fools who write anagrams and acrostics, there are pretenders in dancing, who think merely to do what others cannot, is to excel. Such creatures should be rewarded like him who had acquired a knack of throwing a grain of corn through the eye of a needle, with a bushel to keep his hands in use. The dancers on our stage are very faulty in this kind; and what they mean by writhing themselves into such postures, as it would be a pain for any of the spectators to stand in, telligible. Mr. Prince has a genius, if he were and yet hope to please those spectators, is uninencouraged, would prompt him to better things. In all the dances he invents, you see he keeps close to the characters he represents. He does not hope to please by making his performers move. in a manner in which no one else ever did, but by motions proper to the characters he represents. He gives to clowns and lubbards clumsy graces; that is, he makes them practice what they would think graces; and I have seen dances of his which might give hints that would be useful to a comic writer. These performances have pleased the taste of such as have not reflection enough to know their excellence, because they are in nature; and the distorted motions of others have offended those who could not form reasons to themselves for their displeasure, from their being a contradiction to

nature.

When one considers the inexpressible advantage there is in arriving at some excellence in this art, it is monstrous to behold it so much neglected. The following letter has in it something very natural on this subject:

"MR. SPECTATOR,

"I am a widower with but one daughter: she was by nature much inclined to be a romp; and I had no way of educating her, but commanding a young woman, whom I entertained, to take care of her, to be very watchful in her care and attendance about her. I am a man of business, and

her once,

Were any one to see Mariamne dance, let him be never so sensual a brute, I defy him to entertain any thoughts but of the highest respect and esteem toward her. I was showed last week a picture in a lady's closet, for which she had a hundred differ ent dresses, that she could clap on round the face on purpose to demonstrate the force of habits in the diversity of the same countenance. Motion, and change of posture and aspect, has an effect no less surprising on the person of Mariamne whep she dances.

Chloe is extremely pretty, and as silly as she is pretty. This idiot has a very good ear, and a most agreeable shape; but the folly of the thing is such, that it smiles so impertinently, and affects to please so sillily, that while she dances you see the simpleton from head to foot. For you must know (as trivial as this art is thought to be), no one ever was a good dancer that had not a good understanding. If this be a truth, I shall leave the reader to judge, from that maxim, what esteem they ought to have for such impertinents as fly, hop, caper, tumble, twirl, turn round, and jump over their heads; and, in a word, play a thousand pranks which many animals can do better than a man, instead of performing to perfection what the human figure only is capable of performing.

obliged to be much abroad. The neighbors have told me, that in my absence our maid has let in the spruce servants in the neighborhood to junk etings, while my girl played and romped even in the street. To tell you the plain truth, I caught at eleven years old, at chuck-farthing among the boys. This put me upon new thoughts about my child, and I determined to place her at a boarding-school; and at the same time gave a very discreet young gentlewoman her maintenance at the same place and rate, to be her companion. I took little notice of my girl from time to time, but saw her now and then in good health, out of harm's way, and was satisfied. But, by much importunity, I was lately prevailed with to go to one of their balls. I cannot express to you the anxiety my silly heart was in, when I saw my romp, now fifteen, taken out; I never felt the pangs of a father upon me so strongly in my whole life before, and I could not have suffered more had my whole fortune been at stake. My girl came on with the most becoming modesty I had ever seen, and casting a respectful eye, as if she feared me more than all the audience, I gave a nod, which I think gave her all the spirit she assumed upon it; but she rose properly to that dignity of aspect. My romp, now the most graceful person of her sex, assumed a majesty, which commanded the highest respect; It may perhaps appear odd, that I, who set up and when she turned to me, and saw my face in for a mighty lover, at least, of virtue, should take rapture, she fell into the prettiest smile, and I saw so much pains to recommend what the soberer part in all her motions that she exulted in her father's of mankind look upon to be a trifle; but, under satisfaction. You, Mr. Spectator, will, better than favor of the soberer part of mankind, I think they I can tell you, imagine to yourself all the different have not enough considered this matter, and for beauties and changes of aspect in an accomplished that reason only disesteem it. I must also, in my young woman, setting forth all her beauties with a own justification, say, that I attempt to bring intɔ design to please no one so much as her father. the service of honor and virtue everything in naMy girl's lover can never know half the satisfacture that can pretend to give elegant delight. It tion that I did in her that day. I could not possi- may possibly be proved, that vice is in itself debly have imagined that so great an improvement structive of pleasure, and virtue in itself conducive could have been wrought by an art that I always to it. If the delights of a free fortune were under held in itself ridiculous and contemptible. There proper regulations, this truth would not want is, I am convinced, no method like this, to give much argument to support it; but it would be ob young women a sense of their own value and dig-vious to every man, that there is a strict affinity nity; and I am sure there can be none so expedi- between all things that are truly laudable and tious to communicate that value to others. As for beautiful, from the highest sentiment of the soul the flippant, insipidly gay, and wantonly forward, to the most indifferent gesture of the body.-T. whom you behold among dancers, that carriage is more to be attributed to the perverse genius of the performers, than imputed to the art itself. For my part, my child has danced herself into my esteem; and I have as great an honor for her as ever I had for her mother, from whom she derived those latent good qualities which appeared in her countenance when she was dancing; for my girl, though

I

say it myself, showed in one quarter of an hour
the innate principles of a modest virgin, a tender
wife, a generous friend, a kind mother, and an in-
dulgent mistress. I'll strain hard but I will pur-
chase for her a husband suitable to her merit. I
am your convert in the admiration of what I
thought you jested when you recommended; and
if you please to be at my house on Thursday next,
I make a ball for my daughter, and you shall see
her dance, or,
if you will do her that honor, dance
with her.

"I am, Sir, your humble Servant,
"I'HILOPATER."

I have some time ago spoken of a treatise written by Mr. Weaver on this subject, which is now, I understand, ready to be published. This work sets this matter in a very plain and advantageous light; and I am convinced from it, that if the art was under proper regulations, it would be a mechanic way of implanting insensibly, iu minds not capable of receiving it so well by any other rules, a sense of good-breeding and virtue.

No. 467.] TUESDAY, AUGUST 26, 1712.

-Quodcunque meæ poterunt audere Camana,
Seu tibi par poterunt; seu, quod spes abnuit, ultra;
Sive minus; certeque canent minus; omne vovemus
Hoc tibi: ne tanto careat mihi nomine charta.

TIBULL, ad Messalam, 1 Eleg. iv, 24.
Whate'er my Muse adventurous dares indite,
Whether the niceness of thy piercing sight
Applaud my lays, or censure what I write,
To thee I sing, and hope to borrow fame,
By adding to my page Messala's name.

THE love of praise is a passion deeply fixed in the mind of every extraordinary person; and those who are most affected with it seem most to par take of that particle of the divinity which distinguishes mankind from the inferior creation. The Supreme Being himself is most pleased with praise and thanksgiving: the other part of our duty is but an acknowledgment of our faults, while this is the immediate adoration of his perfections. 'Twas an excellent observation, that we then only despise commendation when we cease to deserve it; and we have still extant two orations of Tully and Pliny, spoken to the greatest and best princes of all the Roman emperors, who, no doubt, heard with the greatest satisfaction, what even the

*Probably Mrs. Bicknell.

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