But of all the descriptive parts of this song, there ❘viour of those women who had lost their husbands are none more beautiful than the four following on this fatal day? stanzas, which have a great force and spirit in them, and are filled with very natural circumstances. The thought in the third stanza was never touched by any other poet, and is such an one as would have shined in Homer or in Virgil:

In the catalogue of the English who fell, Witherington's behaviour is in the same manner particu-ing, she began with a theatrical air and tone of larized very artfully, as the reader is prepared for it by that account which is given of him in the beginning of the battle; though I am satisfied your little buffoon readers (who have seen that passage ridiculed in Hudibras) will not be able to take the beauty of it: for which reason I dare not so much as quote it.

91

E the town, so wild and beauty: by a thorough contempt of little excel

ence in our fate, d estate.'

very wild endeavour for ffer any opposition to so fair enemy is; but her many reflections, when I Among others, I could not tention, the false impresfair sex more especially) tended, when they say a Could not help revolving ts, and settling, as it were, in my own imagination. the esteem of the rest of as which are disagreeable -evail, as the standards of wherein he lives. What rules of reason and good From any place in the carn. I did not, I confess, on this subject, when I , and made it an instance ne orange-wench Double ■wn, that humanity obliges part of humankind rehom they reproach, may n with the most virtuous When a gentleman speaks himself clean to no purour minds certainly ought mat of our bodies. To becorrupt imagination, is a gainst the conversation of gligence of dress imaginthe matter is so far from people even of condition, a fine gentleman. He is soft, lewd, and obsequious e understanding and great at the present moment, y part of our women for a is generally in doubt. He 5, and confutes with a ceressing such and such a thing What makes his character e is a professed deluder of he empty coxcomb has no t is of itself sacred and inan unmarried lady of forne a gentleman as Vocifer The crowds of such incont infest all places of assemIl have in his eye from his would it not be worth configure a man who formed nciples among us, which are es of honour and religion, amiliar and ordinary occur

ved any one fill his several han Ignotus. All the under and such as are exposed to mave their rise in him from ves. A firm and unshaken er life makes him become ood-nature, fortified by the e same effect upon him, as dness has upon many others. ed in all matters of import_ttention which makes men's ppears in him with greater

lencies, he is perfectly master of them. This temper of mind leaves him under no necessity of studying his air, and he has this peculiar distinction, that his negligence is unaffected.

He that can work himself into a pleasure in considering this being as an uncertain one, and think to reap an advantage by its discontinuance, is in a fair way of doing all things with a graceful unconcern, and a gentleman-like ease. one does not behold his life as a short, transient, Such a perplexing state, made up of trifling pleasures and great anxieties; but sees it in quite another light; his griefs are momentary, and his joys immortal. Reflection upon death is not a gloomy and sad thought of resigning every thing that he delights in, but it is a short night followed by an endless day. What I would here contend for is, that the more virtuous the man is, the nearer he will naturally be to the character of genteel and agreeable. A man whose fortune is plentiful, shows an ease in his countenance, and confidence in his behaviour, which he that is under wants and difficulties. cannot assume. It is thus with the state of the mind; he that governs his thoughts with the everlasting rules of reason and sense, must have something so inexpressibly graceful in his words and actions, that every circumstance must become him. The change of persons or things around him does not at all alter his situation, but he looks disinterested in the occurrences with which others are distracted, because the greatest purpose of his life is to maintain an indifference both to it and all its enjoyments. in a word, to be a fine gentleman, is to be a generous and a brave man. What can make a man so much in constant good humour, and shine, as we call it, as to be supported by what can never fail him, and to believe that whatever happens to him was the best thing that could possibly befal him, or else He on whom it depeds, would not have permitted it to have befallen him at all!

As you your fortune bear, we will bear you.
CREECH.

THERE is nothing so common as to find a man whom in the general observation of his carriage you take to be of an uniform temper, subject to such unaccountable starts of humour and passion, that he is as much unlike himself, and differs as much from the man you at first thought him, as any two distinct persons can differ from each other. This proceeds from the want of forming some law of life to ourselves, or fixing some notion of things in general, which may affect us in such a manner as to create proper habits both in our minds and bodies. The negligence of this, leaves us exposed not only to an unbecoming levity in our usual conversation, but also to the same instability in our friendships, interests, and alliances. A man who is but a mere Spectator of what passes around him, and not engaged in commerces of any consideration, is but an ill judge of the secret motions of the heart of man, and by what degrees it is actuated to make such visible alterations in the same person: but at the same time, when a man is no way concerned in the effect of such inconsistencies,

in the behaviour of men of the world, the specula" | friends and acquaintance. He was come to that tion must be in the utmost degree both diverting knowledge of men by long observation, that he and instructive; yet to enjoy such observations in would profess altering the whole mass of blood in the highest relish, he ought to be placed in a post some tempers, by thrice speaking to them. As of direction, and have the dealings of their fortunes fortune was in his power, he gave himself constant to them. I have therefore been wonderfully di- entertainment in managing the mere followers of verted with some pieces of secret history, which it with the treatment they deserved. He would, an antiquary, my very good friend, lent me as a by a skilful cast of his eye, and half a smile, make curiosity. They are memoirs of the private life of two fellows who hated, embrace, and fall upon Pharamond of France. Pharamond,' says my each other's necks with as much eagerness, as if author, was a prince of infinite humanity and they followed their real inclinations, and intended generosity, and at the same time the most pleasant to stifle one another. When he was in high good and facetious companion of his time. He had a humour, he would lay the scene with Eucrate, and peculiar taste in him, which would have been on a public night exercise the passions of his whole unlucky in any prince but himself; he thought court. He was pleased to see an haughty beauty there could be no exquisite pleasure in conversa- watch the looks of the man she had long despised, tion, but among equals; and would pleasantly be- from observation of his being taken hotice of by wail himself that he always lived in a crowd, but Pharamond; and the lover conceive higher hopes, was the only man in France that could never get than to follow the woman he was dying for the into company. This turn of mind made him de- day before. In a court, where men speak affeclight in midnight rambles, attended only with one tion in the strongest terms, and dislike in the person of his bed-chamber. He would in these ex- faintest, it was a comical mixture of incidents to cursions get acquainted with men (whose temper see disguises thrown aside in one case, and inhe had a mind to try) and recommend them pri- creased on the other, according as favour or disvately to the particular observation of his first grace attended the respective objects of men's apminister. He generally found himself neglected probation or disesteem. Pharamond, in his mirth by his new acquaintance as soon as they had hopes upon the meanness of mankind, used to say, ‘As of growing great; and used on such occasions to he could take away a man's five senses, he could remark, that it was a great injustice to tax princes give him an hundred. The man in disgrace shall of forgetting themselves in their high fortunes, when immediately lose all his natural endowments, and there were so few that could with constancy bear he that finds favour have the attributes of an the favour of their very creatures. My author, angel. He would carry it so far as to say, It in these loose hints, has one passage that gives us should not be only so in the opinion of the lower a very lively idea of the uncommon genius of Pha- part of his court, but the men themselves shall think ramood. He met with one man whom he had put thus meanly or greatly of themselves, as they are to all the usual proofs he had made of those he had out, or in the good graces of a court.' a mind to know thoroughly, and found him for his A monarch who had wit and humour like Phapurpose. In discourse with him one day, he gave ramond, must have pleasures which no man else him an opportunity of saying how much would can ever have opportunity of enjoying. He gave satisfy all his wishes. The prince immediately fortune to none but those whom he knew could revealed himself, doubled the sum, and spoke to receive it without transport. He made a noble and him in this manner: Sir, you have twice what generous use of his observations, and did not regard you desired, by the favour of Pharamond; but his ministers as they were agreeable to himself, look to it, that you are satisfied with it, for it is but as they were useful to his kingdom. By this the last you shall ever receive. I from this mo-means, the king appeared in every officer of state; ment consider you as mine; and to make you truly so, I give you my royal word you shall never be greater or less than you are at present. Answer me not (concluded the prince smiling) but enjoy the fortune I have put you in, which is above my own condition; for you have hereafter nothing to hope or to fear.'

and no man had a participation of the power, who had not a similitude of the virtue of Pharamond *.

STEELE.

N 77. TUESDAY, MAY 29, 1711.

R.

Non convivere licet, nec urbe tota
Quisquam est tam prope tam proculque nobis.
MART. Epig. 1. 87.
What correspondence can I hold with you,
Who are so near, and yet so distant too?

His majesty having thus well chosen and bought a friend and companion, he enjoyed alternately all the pleasures of an agreeable private man, and a great and powerful monarch. He gave himself, with his companion, the name of the Merry Tyrant; for he punished his courtiers for their insolence and folly, not by any act of public disfa- My friend Will Honeycomb is one of those sort of vour, but by humorously practising upon their ima- men who are very often absent in conversation, ginations. If he observed a man untractable to and what the French call à reveur and à distrait. his inferiors, he would find an opportunity to take A little before our club-time last night, we were some favourable notice of him, and render him walking together in Somerset-garden, where Will insupportable. He knew all his own looks, words, had picked up a small pebble of so odd a make, and actions had their interpretations; and his friend that he said he would present it to a friend of his, Monsieur Eucrate (for so he was called) having a an eminent virtuoso. After we had walked some great soul without ambition, he could communicate time, I made a full stop with my face towards the all his thoughts to him, and fear no artful use would west, which Will knowing to be my usual method be made of that freedoin. It was no small de-of asking what's o'clock, in an afternoon, immelight when they were in private, to reflect upon all which had passed in public.

Pharamond would often, to satisfy a vain fool of power in his country, talk to him in a full court, and with one whisper make him despise all his old

diately pulled out his watch, and told me we had seven minutes good. We took a turn or two more, when to my great surprise, I saw him squir away

See Nos. 84 and 97.

nto the Thames, and oks put up the pebhis fob. As I have h speaking, and do f ill news, especially useful, I left him to due time, and conthese little absences nd resolving to make peculation.

and character of Moll Hinton *. My appearance before him just put him in mind of me, without making him reflect that I was actually present. So that keeping his eyes full upon me, to the great surprise of his audience, he broke off his first harangue, and proceeded thus: Why now there's my friend (mentioning me by my name), he is a fellow that thinks a great deal, but never opens his mouth; I warrant you he is now thrusting his short face into some coffee-house about 'Change. n my design, when II was his bail in the time of the Popish plot, when he was taken up for a Jesuit.' If he had looked on me a little longer, he had certainly described me so particularly, without ever considering what led him into it, that the whole company must necessarily have found me out; for which reason, remembering the old proverb, Out of sight out of mind,' I left the room; and upon meeting him an hour afterwards, was asked by him, with a great deal of good humour, in what part of the world I lived, that he had not seen me these three days.

very often blemishes excellent sense; and tation of that Latin has translated in the

,

༢།

near ally'd, ounds divide.'

Monsieur Bruyere has given us the character of an absent man with a great deal of humour, which he has pushed to an agreeable extravagance; with the heads of it I shall conclude my present paper.

-erceive, that I distinbecause he thinks of ho is absent, because The latter is too innonotice of; but the disI believe, be geneof these reasons. Menalcas (says that excellent author) comes olly fixed on some par- down in a morning, opens his door to go out, but en the case of mathe- shuts it again, because he perceives that he has his men; or are wholly night-cap on; and examining himself further, finds passion, such as anger, that he is but half-shaved, that he has stuck his e mind to some distant sword on his right side, that his stockings are about tractions proceed from his heels, and that his shirt is over his breeches. ness in a man's temper, When he is dressed he goes to court, comes into finite numbers of ideas the drawing-room, and walking bolt-upright under pushing it on, without a branch of candlesticks, his wig is caught up by particular image. No-one of them, and hangs dangling in the air. All atural than the thoughts the courtiers fall a laughing, but Menalcas laughs man, which are seldom louder than any of them, and looks about for the ompany he is in, or any person that is the jest of the company. Coming re placed before him. down to the court-gate he finds a coach, which ring a beautiful woman, taking for his own, he whips into it: and the is solving a proposition coachman drives off, not doubting but he carries ay imagine he is reading his master. As soon as he stops, Menalcas throws from being impossible, himself out of the coach, crosses the court, ascends and rebuilding the front the stair-case, and runs through all the chambers with the greatest familiarity; reposes himself on a couch, and fancies himself at home. The master of the house at last comes in; Menalcas rises to receive him, and desires him to sit down; he talks, muses, and then talks again. The gentleman of the house is tired and amazed; Menalcas is no less so, but is every moment in hopes that his impertinent guest will at last end his tedious visit. Night comes on, when Menalcas is hardly undeceived.

I am endeavouring to hers, I shall readily, conander the same infirmity ok to conquer it was a something from whatever hear. There is a way of ittain to it, by which he of any thing. I can at arts of good sense and eason in the conversation h satisfaction as the most lost finished orator; and mand my attention at a , as well as at Hamlet or e one of the company I little myself, my attention s of approbation which I , sufficiently show that I tereas Will Honeycomb, sense, is every day doing ings, which he afterwards red frankness, were someandesigned.

day to get into a coffeestanding in the midst of he had gathered round in an account of the person

When he is playing at backgammon, he calls for a full glass of wine and water; it is his turn to throw; he has the box in one hand, and his glass in the other; and being extremely dry, and unwil ling to lose time, he swallows down both the dice, and at the same time throws his wine into the tables. He writes a letter, and flings the sand into the ink-bottle; he writes a second, and mistakes the superscription. A nobleman receives one of them, and upon opening it read as follows: "I would have you, honest Jack, immediately upon the receipt of this, take in hay enough to serve me the winter." His farmer receives the other, and is amazed to see in it, “ My lord, I received your grace's commands, with an entire submission to ..." If he is at an entertainment, you may see the pieces of bread continually multiplying round

Some reigning toast of the time, we may suppose.