arms, a succession of little feathers appeared, which formed wings for them to flutter with from one visit to another. The envious and ma. licious lay on the ground with the heads of different sorts of serpents; and not endeavouring to erect themselves, but meditating mischief to others, they sucked the poison of the earth, sharpened their tongues to stings upon the stones, and rolled their trains unperceivably be. neath their habits. The hypocritical oppressors wore the face of crocodiles: their mouths were instruments of cruelty, their eyes of deceit; they committed wickedness, and bemoaned that there should be so much of it in the world; they devoured the unwary and wept over the remains of them. The covetous had so hooked and worn their fingers by counting interest upon interest, that they were converted to the claws of harpies, and these they still were stretching out for more, yet still seemed unsatisfied with their acquisitions. The sharpers had the looks of camelions; they every minute changed their appearance, and fed on swarms of flies which fell as so many cullies amongst them. The bully seemed a dunghill cock: he crested well, and bore his comb aloft; he was beaten by almost every one, yet still sung for triumph; and only the mean coward pricked up the ears of a hare to fly before him. Critics were turned into cats, whose pleasure and grumbling go together. Fops were apes in embroidered jackets. Flatterers were curled spaniels, fawning and crouching The crafty had the face of a fox, the slothful of an ass, the cruel of a wolf, the ill-bred of a bear, the lechers were goats, and the gluttons swine. Drunkenness was the only vice that did not change the face of its professors into that of another creature; but this I took to be far from a privilege, for these two reasons:-because it sufficiently deforms them of itself, and because none of the lower rank of beings is guilty of so foolish an intemperance. and susceptible of admonition. Expose the beasts whose qualities you see them putting on, where you have no mind to engage with their persons. The possibility of their applying this is very obvious. The Egyptians saw it so clearly, that they made the pictures of animals explain their minds to one another instead of writing; and, indeed, it is hardly to be missed, since Esop took them out of their mute condition, and taught them to speak for themselves with relation to the actions of mankind.' My guide had thus concluded, and I was promising to write down what was shown me for the service of the world, when I was awakened by a zealous old servant of mine, who brought me the Examiner, and told me, with looks full of concern, he was afraid I was in it again. It is of no small concern to me that the interests of virtue are supplanted by common cus tom and regard for indifferent things. Thus mode and fashion defend the most absurd and tenance for doing what every body practices, unjust proceedings, and nobody is out of counthough at the same time there is no one who is not convinced in his own judgment of the er rors in which he goes on with the multitude. My correspondent, who writes me the following letter, has put together a great many points which would deserve serious consideration, as much as things which at first appearance bear little arts that are used in the way to matrimony, a weightier aspect. He recites almost all the thing more common than for people, who have by the parents of young women. There is no good and worthy characters, to run without re spect to the laws of gratitude, into the most exorbitant demands for their children, upon no other foundation than that which should incline them to the quite contrary, the unreserved affec tion of the lover. I shall at this time, by inserting my correspondent's letter, lay such offences before all parents and daughters respectively, and reserve the particular instances to be con To Nestor Ironside, Esquire. As I was taking a view of these representations of things without any more order than is usual in a dream, or in the confusion of the world itself, I perceived a concern within me for what I saw! My eyes began to moisten, as if the virtue of that water with which they were purified was lost for a time, by their being touched with that which arose from a passion. The clouds immediately began to gather again, and close from either hand upon the prospect. I then turned towards my guide, who address-sidered in future precautions. ed himself to me after this manner: You have seen the condition of mankind when it descends from its dignity; now, therefore, guard your. self from that degeneracy by a modest greatness of spirit on one side, and a conscious shame on the other. Endeavour also with a generosity of goodness to make your friends aware of it; let them know what defects you perceive are grow. ing upon them; handle the matter as you see reason, either with the airs of severe or humourous affection; sometimes plainly describing the degeneracy in its full proper colours, or at other times letting them know, that, if they proceed as they have begun, you give them to such a day, or so many months, to turn bears, wolves, or foxes, &c. Neither neglect your more remote acquaintance, where you see any worthy 'SIR,-I have for some time retired myself from the town and business to a little seat where a pleasant campaign country, good roads, and healthful air, tempt me often abroad; and being a single man, have contracted more scquaintance than is suitable to my years, or agreeable to the intentions of retirement I brought down with me hither. Among others I have a young neighbour, who yesterday, imparted to me the history of an honourable amour, which has been carried on a considerable time with a great deal of love on his side, and (as he says he has been made to believe) with some thing very unlike aversion on the young lady's. But so matters have been contrived, that he could never get to know her mind thoroughly. When he was first acquainted with her, he might be as intimate with her as other people; but since he first declared his passion, he has never been admitted to wait upon her, or to see her, other than in public. If he went to her father's house, and desired to visit her, she was either to be sick or out of the way, and nobody would come near him in two hours, and then he should be received as if he had committed some strange offence. If he asked her father's leave to visit her, the old gentleman was mute. If he put it negatively, and asked if he refused it, the father would answer with a smile, "No, I don't say so, neither." If they talked of the fortune, he had considered his circumstances, and it every day diminished. If the settlements came into debate, he had considered the young gentleman's estate, and daily increased his expectations. If the mother was consulted, she was mightily for the match, but affected strangely the showing her cunning in perplexing matters. It went off seemingly several times, but my young neigh. bour's passion was such that it easily revived upon the least encouragement given him; but tired out with writing, (the only liberty allowed him,) and receiving answers at cross purposes, destitute of all hopes, he at length wrote a formal adieu; but it was very unfortunately timed, for soon after he had the long wished-for opportunity of finding her at a distance from her parents. Struck with the joyful news, in heat of passion, resolute to do any thing rather than leave her, down he comes post, directly to the house where she was, without any preparatory intercession after the provocation of an adieu. She, in a premeditated anger to show her resentment, refused to see him. He in a kind of fond frenzy, absent from himself, and exas. perated into rage, cursed her heartily; but returning to himself, was all confusion, repentance, and submission. But in vain; the lady continued inexorable, and so the affair ended in a manner that renders them very unlikely ever to meet again. Through the pursuit of the whole story (whereof I give but a short abstract) my young neighbour appeared so touched, and discovered such certain marks of unfeigned love, that I cannot but be heartily sorry for them, both. When he was gone, I sat down immediately to my scrutoire, to give you the account, whose business, as a Guardian, it is to tell your wards what is to be avoided, as well as what is fit to be done. And I humbly propose, that you will, upon this occasion, extend your instructions to all sorts of people concerned in treaties of this nature, (which of all others do most nearly concern human life) such as parents, daughters, lovers, and confidants of both sexes. I desire leave to observe, that the mistakes in this courtship (which might otherwise probably have succceded happily) seem chiefly these four, viz. 1. The father's close equivocal management, so as always to keep a reservation to use upon occasion, when he found himself pressed. 2. The mother's affecting to appear extremely artful. 3. A notion in the daughter (who is a lady of singular good sense and virtue) that no man can love her as he ought, who can deny any thing her parents demand. 4. Carrying on the affair by letters and confidants, without sufficient interviews. 'I think you cannot fail obliging many in the world, besides my young neighbour and me, if you please to give your thoughts upon treaties of this nature, wherein all the nobility and gentry of this nation (in the unfortunate methods marriages are at present in) come at one time or other unavoidably to be engaged; especially it is my humble request, you will be particular in speaking to the following points, to wit, 1. Whether honourable love ought to be mentioned first to the young lady, or her parents? 2. If to the young lady first, whether a man is obliged to comply with all the parents demand afterwards, under pain of breaking off dishonourably? 3. If to the parents first, whether the lover may insist upon what the father pretends to give, and refuse to make such settlement as must incapacitate him for any thing afterwards, without just imputation of being mercenary, or putting a slight upon the lady, by entertaining views upon the contingency of her death? 4. What instructions a mother ought to give her daughter upon such occasions, and what the old lady's part properly is in such treaties, her husband being alive? 5. How far a young lady is in duty obliged to observe her mother's directions, and not to receive any letters or messages without her knowledge? 6. How for a daughter is obliged to exert the power she has over her lover, for the ease and advantage of her father and his family; and how far she may consult and endeavour the interest of the family she is to marry into? 7. How far letters and confidants of both sexes may regularly be employed, and wherein they are improper? 8. When a young lady's pen is employed about settlements, fortunes, or the like, whether it be an affront to give the same answers as if it had been in the hand-writing of those that instructed her? Lastly, be pleased at your leisure to correct that too common way among fathers, of publishing in the world, that they will give their daugh ters twice the fortune they really intend, and thereby draw young gentlemen, whose estates are often in debt, into a dilemma, cither of crossing a fixed inclination, contracted by a long habit of thinking upon the same person, and so being miserable that way; or else beginning the world under a burden they can never get quit of. Thus, sage sir, have I laid before you all that does at present occur to me on the important subject of marriage; but before I scal up my epistle, I must desire you farther to consider, how far treaties of this sort come under the head of bargain and sale; whether you cannot find out measures to have the whole transacted in fairer and more open market than at present. How would it become you to put the laws in execution against forestallers, who take up the young things of each sex before they are ex posed to an honest sale, or the worth or imper. I time, had a comfortable subsistence from a fection of the purchase is thoroughly considered? We mightily want a demand for women in these parts. I am, sagacious sir, your most obebient and most humble servant, T. L. A PUBLIC spirit is so great and amiable a character, that most people pretend to it, and perhaps think they have it in the most ordinary occurrences of life. Mrs. Cornelia Lizard buys abundance of romances for the encouragement of learning; and Mrs. Annabella squanders away her money in buying fine clothes, because it sets a great many poor people at work.. know a gentleman, who drinks vast quantities of ale and October to encourage our own manufactures; and another who takes his three bottles of French claret every night, because it brings a great custom to the crown. I have been led into this chat, by reading some letters upon my paper of Thursday was se'nnight. Having there acquainted the world, that I have, by long contemplation and philosophy, attained to so great a strength of fancy, as to believe every thing to be my own, which other people possess only for ostentation; it seems that some persons have taken it in their heads, that they are public benefactors to the world, while they are only indulging their own ambition, or infirmities. My first letter is from an ingenious author, who is a great friend to his country, because he can get neither victuals nor clothes any other way. To Nestor Ironside, Esquire. plague and a famine. I made the pope pay for my beef and mutton last Lent, out of pure spite to the Romish religion; and at present my good friend the king of Sweden finds me in clean linen, and the mufti gets me credit at the tavern. The astonishing accounts that I record, I usually enliven with wooden cuts, and the like paltry embellishments. They administer to the curiosity of my fellow-subjects, and not only ad vance religion and virtue, but take restless spi rits off from meddling with the public affairs. I therefore cannot think myself a useless burden upon earth; and that I may still do the more good in my generation, I shall give the world, in a short time, a history of my life, studies, seller advances a round sum for my copy. I am, maxims, and achievements, provided my book. sir, yours.' The second is from an old friend of mine in the country, who fancies that he is perpetually doing good, because he cannot live without drinking. 'OLD IRON,-We take thy papers in at the bowling-green, where the country gentlemen meet every Tuesday, and we look upon thee as a comical dog. Sir Harry was hugely pleased at thy fancy of growing rich at other folks' cost; and for my own part I like my own way of life the better since I find I do my neighbours as much good as myself. I now smoke my pipe with the greater pleasure, because my wife says she likes it well enough at second hand? and drink stale beer the more hardly, because, unless I will, nobody else does. I design to stand for our borough the next election, on purpose to make the squire on t'other side, tap lustily for the good of our town; and have some thoughts of trying to get knighted, because our neighbours take a pride in saying, they have been with sir Such-a-one. thou comest into the country, and Nanny, my 'I have a pack of pure slow hounds against 'SIR,Of all the precautions with which you have instructed the world, I like that best, which is upon natural and fantastical pleasure, because fat doc, shall bleed when we have thee at Haw it falls in very much with my own way of think-thorn-hall. Pr'ythee do not keep staring at ing. As you receive real delight from what creates only imaginary satisfactions in others; so do I raise to myself all the conveniences of life by amusing the fancy of the world. in a word, a member of that numerous tribe, who write for their daily bread. I flourish in a dearth of foreign news; and though I do not pretend to the spleen, I am never so well as in the time of a westerly wind. When it blows am, gilt coaches, and stealing necklaces and trinkets from people with thy looks. Take my word for it, a gallon of my October will do thee more good than all thou canst get by fine sights at London, which I'll engage, thou may'st put in the shine of thine eye.-I am, old İron, thine to command, 'NIC. HAWTHORN.' her family by coaches and liveries, purely out The third is from a lady who is going to ruin of compassion to us poor people that cannot go to the price of them. from that auspicious point, I raise to myself contributions from the British isle, by affright ing my superstitious countrymen with printed relations of murders, spirits, prodigies, or monsters. According as my necessities suggest to 'SIR,-I am a lady of birth and fortune, but me, I hereby provide for my being. The last never knew, till last Thursday, that the splen summer I paid a large debt for brandy and to-dour of my equipage was so beneficial to my bacco, by a wonderful description of a fiery dra- country. I will not deny that I have drest for gon, and lived for ten days together upon a some years out of the pride of my heart; but whale and a mermaid. When winter draws am very glad that you have so far settled my near, I generally conjure up my spirits, and conscience in that particular, that I can now have my apparitions ready against long dark look upon my vanities as so many virtues. Since evenings. From November last to January, II am satisfied that my person and garb give plea lived solely upon murders; and have, since that sure to my fellow-creatures, I shall not think the three hours business I usually attend at my toilette, below the dignity of a rational soul. I am content to suffer great torment from my stays, that my shape may appear graceful to the eyes of others; and often mortify myself with fasting, rather than my fatness should give distaste to any man in England. I am making up a rich brocade for the bene. fit of mankind, and design, in a little time, to treat the town with a thousand pounds worth of jewels. I have ordered my chariot to be new painted for your use, and the world's; and have prevailed upon my husband to present you with a pair of fine Flanders mares, by driving them every evening round the ring. Gay pendants for my ears, a costly cross for my neck, a dia. mond of the best water for my finger, shall be purchased at any rate to enrich you; and I am -band will not scruple to oblige me in these resolved to be a patriot in every limb. My hustrifles, since I have persuaded him from your scheme, that pin money is only so much set apart for charitable uses. You see, sir, how expensive you are to me, and I hope you will esteem me accordingly; especially when I assure you that I am, as far as you can see me, entirely yours, CLEORA.' THE tragedy of Cato has increased the number of my correspondents, but none of them can take it ill, that I give the preference to the let ters which come from a learned body, and which on this occasion may not improperly be termed the Plausus Academici. The first is from my lady Lizard's youngest son, who, (as I mentioned in a former precaution) is fellow of Allsouls, and applies himself to the study of divinity. SIR,-I return you thanks for your present of Cato: I have read it over several times with the greatest attention and pleasure imaginable. You desire to know my thoughts of it, and at the same time compliment me upon my know. ledge of the ancient poets. Perhaps you may not allow me to be a good judge of them, when I tell you, that the tragedy of Cato exceeds, in my opinion, any of the dramatic pieces of the ancients. But these are books I have some time since laid by; being, as you know, engaged in the reading of divinity, and conversant chiefly in the poetry "of the truly inspired writers." I scarce thought any modern tragedy could have mixed suitably with such serious studies, and little imagined to have found such exquisite poetry, much less such exalted sentiments of virtue, in the dramatic performance of a contemporary. "The ways of heaven are dark and intricate, 'Cato's soliloquy at the beginning of the fifth act is inimitable, as indeed is almost every thing in the whole play: but what I would observe, by particularly pointing at these places is, that such virtuous and moral sentiments were never before put into the mouth of a British actor; and I congratulate my countrymen on the virtue they have shown in giving them (as you tell me) such loud and repeated applauses. They have now cleared themselves of the imputation which a late writer had thrown upon them in his 502d speculation. Give me leave Self-Tormentor, when one of the old men acto transcribe his words:"In the first scene of Terence's play, the in his affairs, he answers, I am a man, and cuses the other of impertinence for interposing cannot help feeling any sorrow that can arrive at man.' It is said this sentence was received greater argument of the general good underwith universal applause. There cannot be a standing of a people, than a sudden consent to give their approbation of a sentiment which has no emotion in it. "If it were spoken with never so great skill in the actor, the manner of uttering that sentence could have nothing in it which could strike any but people of the greatest humanity, nay people elegant and skilful in observations upon it. It is possible he might have laid his hand on his breast, and with a winning insinua. tion in his countenance, expressed to his neighbour, that he was a man who made his case his own; yet I will engage a player in Covent-garden might hit such an attitude a thousand times before he would have been regarded." "These observations in favour of the Roman people, may now be very justly applied to our own nation. "Here will I hold. If there's a power above us This will be allowed, I hope, to be as virtuous a sentiment as that which he quotes out of Terence; and the general applause with which (you say) it was received, must certainly make this writer (notwithstanding his great assurance in pronouncing upon our ill taste) alter his opinion of his countrymen. Our poetry, I believe, and not our morals, has been generally worse than that of the Romans; for it is plain, when we can equal the best dramatic performance of that polite age, a British audience may vie with the Roman theatre in the virtue of their applauses. However different in other things our opinions may be, all parties agree in doing honour to a man, who is an honour to our country. How are our hearts warmed by this excellent tragedy, with the love of liberty, and our constitution! How irresistible is virtue in the cha How elegant, just, and virtuous is that re-racter of Cato! Who would not say with the flection of Portius ? Numidian prince to Marcia, "I'll gaze for ever on thy godlike father, Transplanting, one by one, into my life His bright perfections, till I shine like him." Rome herself received not so great advantages from her patriot, as Britain will from this admirable representation of him. Our British Cato improves our language, as well as our morals, nor will it be in the power of tyrants to rob us of him, (or to use the last line of an epigram to the author) "In vain your Cato stabs, he cannot die." I am, sir, your most obliged humble servant, WILLIAM LIZARD. Oxon. All-souls Col. May 6.' Oxon. Christ Church, May 7. a MR. IRONSIDE,-You are, I perceive, a very wary old fellow, more cautious than a late brother-writer of yours, who at the rehearsal of new play, would at the hazard of his judgment, endeavour to prepossess the town in its favour: whereas you very prudently waited till the tragedy of Cato had gained a universal and irresist. ible applause, and then with great boldness venture to pronounce your opinion of it to be the same with that of all mankind. I will leave you to consider whether such a conduct becomes a Guardian, who ought to point out to us proper entertainments, and instruct us when to bestow our applause. However, in so plain a case we did not wait for your directions; and I must tell you, that none here were earlier or louder in their praises of Cato, than we at Christ-church. This may, I hope, convince you, that, we don't deserve the character (which envious dull fel. lows give us) of allowing nobody to have wit or parts but those of our own body, especially when I let you know that we are many of us, your affectionate humble servants.' 'To Nestor Ironside, Esquire. and must often remember the whole structure 'SIR,-There is nothing in which men deceive themselves more ridiculously than in the point of reading, and which, as it is commonly prac tised under the notion of improvement, has less advantage. The generality of readers who are pleased with wandering over a number of books, almost at the same instant, or if confined to one, who pursue the author with much hurry and impatience to his last page, must, without doubt, be allowed to be notable digesters. This unsettled way of reading naturally seduces us into as undetermined a manner of thinking, which continued chain of thought would probably unprofitably fatigues the imagination, when a produce inestimable conclusions. All authors are eligible either for their matter, or style; if for the first, the elucidation and disposition of it into proper lights ought to employ a judicious reader: if for the last, he ought to observe how some common words are started into a new signification, how such epithets are beautifully reconciled to things that seemed incompatible, of a period, because, by the least transposition, that assemblage of words which is called a style becomes utterly annihilated. The swift des. patch of common readers not only eludes their memory, but betrays their apprehension, when the turn of thought and expression would insensibly grow natural to them, would they but give themselves time to receive the impression.. Suppose we fix one of these readers in his easy chair, and observe him passing through a book with a grave ruminating face, how ridiculously must he look, if we desire him to give an account of an author he has just read over! and how unheeded must the general character of it be, when given by one of these serene unob. Cæsar will no longer be a hero in our de- servers! The common defence of these people clamations. This tragedy has at once stripped is, that they have no design in reading but far. him of all the flattery and false colours, which pleasure, which I think should rather arise from historians and the classic authors had thrown the reflection and remembrance of what one upon him, and we shall for the future treat him has read, than from the transient satisfaction as a murderer of the best patriot of his age, of what one does, and we should be pleased and a destroyer of the liberties of his country, proportionably as we are profited. It is proCato, as represented in these scenes, will cast a digious arrogance in any one to imagine, that blacker shade on the memory of that usurper, by one hasty course through a book he can than the picture of him did upon his triumph. fully enter into the soul and secrets of a writer, Had this finished dramatic picce appeared some whose life perhaps has been busicd in the birth hundred years ago, Cæsar would have lost so of such production. Books that do not imme many centuries of fame, and monarchs had dis-diately concern some profession or science, are dained to let themselves be called by his name. However, it will be an honour to the times we live in, to have had such a work produced in them, and a pretty speculation for posterity to 'Oxon. Wad. Coll. May 7. 'MR. IRONSIDE,—Were the seat of the muses silent while London is so loud in their applause of Cato, the university's title to that name might very well be suspected;-in justice therefore to your alma mater, let the world know our opinion of that tragedy here. The author's other works had raised our expectation of it to a very great height, yet it exceeds whatever we could promise ourselves from so great a genius. generally run over as mere empty entertainments, rather than as matter of improvement; though, in my opinion, a refined speculation upon morality, or history, requires as rauch |